Chapter 3

Sinking into the passenger seat, Shaw let out a deep breath as she looked through the window.

Outside the car, the moonless, starless night shrouded everything. Trees, fields, and distant mountains were nothing but vague contours. City lights afar didn't even look real to her.

A truck whizzed by, its bright headlights being reflected on the rear view mirror, almost blinding her. It quickly passed by the car she was in and changed lane in front of them, before it disappeared in the darkness.

The only light left now was from the dashboard, dim, cold. Shaw glanced at her reflection in the side mirror, a face shadowed by the night. The distant light coming from the cars far behind her made her feel like she was running away from it.

She felt like she was running deep into the darkness. She was running into a place without an outlet. It was just her, and endless, edgeless night.

She closed her eyes and threw her head back, letting her frustration sink into her stomach and rot. A bitter feeling squeezed her heart, making it clench so desperately inside her chest. Despair broke free, clawing her veins, digging into her stomach, and scraping everything off from her.

It felt so familiar. It had accompanied her for years. It had always been lurking in the darkest corner of her chest, waiting for her to be alone. Now, it was back again, laughing.

A slight buzz in her ear made her roll her eyes. She pressed the tip of her middle finger on her tragus, and straightened her body.

"Sameen," her mother's voice came. "You haven't tried to kill the driver and take the car, have you?"

Shaw took a glimpse of the driver, and rolled her eyes again when the man looked back at her nervously.

"He's no fun to kill," she replied. "And I like my brain. I don't want it to get shocked again."

"Good," the other woman told her. "I don't want to send people after you and watch you get shot either."

Shaw sneered. She lifted her legs and rested her heels on top of the glove compartment, before she said, "if you can't trust me, don't send me out on a job."

"I do trust you," her mother argued. "I just think that you are beyond impulsive sometimes."

Shaw huffed out a scoff. "Don't worry," she drawled. "I'm not going anywhere."

She paused briefly, inhaling the cold, misty night. "This is where I belong," she added, her voice as sullen as it could possibly get.

"It's good to finally acknowledge that. Although, I'd hope that one day you can truly embrace that," her mother said. "This is the beginning of a new world. The beginning of the most beautiful thing."

"Whatever," Shaw murmured.

"As long as you behave, you won't see their disemboweled bodies hanging somewhere in Time Square. I promise."

"Do that," Shaw hissed, squeezing her words through her clenched teeth, "I will end you. I will put a bullet in your head myself, and I don't give a fuck if that damn AI kills me afterwards."

Pulling her wireless earbud out and hurled it at the windshield, she slammed her foot at the glove compartment hard, almost cracking the dashboard.

"Umm..." the driver muttered nervously and turned to her, one of his hands slowly moving away from the steering wheel and to his side.

Shaw glared at him. For a split second she just wanted to grab his gun, shove it into his mouth, and execute him. Then she'd kill as many as she could before the Samaritan would kill her.

But what good would that do? She would die, and her death would mean nothing to anyone but….

She didn't allow herself to say that name. Fisting her hand, she rested her chin on the back of it, and smirked at the driver. "Eyes on the road, and drive with both hands, okay? You don't want get pulled over by a cop, do you?"

The man awkwardly coughed, before he turned away from her and focused on driving again.

The silence resumed. Shaw bit her nail and rested the side of her head on the window. The darkness drained her, causing her heart to freeze.

Root glanced at the street camera on her left and smiled at it before she got dragged away by Reese.

"Shouldn't we lay low or something?" Reese let go of her and turned away from the camera.

"Relax, as long as the Samaritan doesn't discover the 7 drives I placed, we are safe no matter what identity we use," Root replied.

"I'm sure they know that we are still alive, and I don't know if they have bought the story of us fleeing out from this country. If they haven't, they'd be looking for us. It's only a matter of time before they figure out how we could stay invisible."

"Ms. Groves, perhaps you should listen to him," Finch's voice came into her ear. "The Samaritan could have already figured that out, and is spying on us."

Root shrugged reluctantly. "Fine," she murmured, walking away from the corner, "tell us about this jeweler, Harold. Why is he so special?"

"I am sending everything that I've found to your phone," Finch said. "However, I haven't figured out yet why the Machine thinks that he's in danger."

"Robbery? Theft? He has something that he isn't supposed to have? Know someone that he shouldn't?"

"Well, he's local. He has been running his jewelry shop for 23 years now. Single, relatives are either out of the country or passed away. Doesn't strike me as someone who would get himself in trouble but-huh, interesting."

"What is interesting?" Both Root and Reese asked.

"The Machine is going through every documents from his store, and a familiar name popped out," Finch replied. "It's Diane Claypool."

"Diane Claypool? As in Arthur Claypool's wife Diane?" Root asked, frowning. She didn't realize that she had stopped walking until she saw Reese beckon at her impatiently.

"It appears to be the same name, yes. It was found in the description of a custom jewelry order." He paused to a bit, as if he tried to make sure both had heard him. Then, he continued, "I also find it strange that the person who made the order has the name: Alan Turing written on the order form."

"Either the great man himself has walked out from the grave, or we have one of his admirer," Root concluded. "Could be Arthur, you know. Maybe he wanted to order her something but didn't want to use his real name."

"True, except that this order was placed approximately 8 months after her funeral. Why would someone do that?"

"Could be a memorial?" Reese suggested. "A lot of people do that for their late spouse."

"But, no one has picked it up from the store." Finch said. "I checked the order status of it. It's a locket. The artist finished crafting it a year ago, but it's still in their safe."

"So, someone ordered a locket for Diane Claypool. Then they never came by and get it? Did the person leave any contact information?"

"Yes, a phone number, 211-623-1912."

Root huffed out a chuckle and licked her lips. "You know it's not a legitimate number, Harry. 211 is a reserved code. It's not been used for any phone numbers."

"Mhm, also Alan Turing was born on June 23, 1912," Finch hummed. "Fake name, fake number...what secret could this person possibly be keeping? Never mind, whatever it is, it's probably why the Machine gave us his number."
Root turned at the corner a little absentmindedly as she followed Reese. She pondered that question for a second or two. Before she had come up with anything, she quickly ducked behind a car parked on the side of the road. She pulled Reese down with her, and tilted her head at the other side of the street.

She peeked out carefully, and saw several cars parked outside a jewelry store. A sign above the door said "Willow's Jewelries".

Reese pulled out his gun, and Root pulled out hers. "The Machine warned me about that," she told him, her eyes looking at the store.

They were about to go in, but a group of people rushed out from the store. Several of them were carrying a big bag and the others were looking around vigilantly. The "closed" sign dangled behind the glass door, while two fingers slipped out from the unzipped end of the bag.

"Is everything okay, Ms. Groves?" Finch asked after having found that the two had been quiet for too long. "Mr. Reese? What's going on?"

"Something that we came here to prevent, I guess," Reese answered him as he watched the group get into their cars. When they started their engines, he smashed the window of the car in front of him with the butt of his gun. He unlatched the door and got in.

Pulling the wires out from under the dashboard, he was about to hotwire the car. Before he cut them though, Root tapped his shoulder.

He raised to see the woman's grin. Root took a small magnet box from under the fender and tossed it to him.

"Thanks." Reese nodded as he started the car with the backup key kept in the box. He drove away, tailing the group.

"My pleasure," Root murmured at the leaving car.

"Is everything okay?" Finch asked, concerned.

"Everything's fine. John decided to go for a ride," Root replied, though her voice a little tight. She quickly sprinted across the street once all the cars had disappeared from her sight.

She looked for possible threats around her first. The street the store was on was rather quiet right now, with only a few cars driven by once in a while.

She grimaced at a parking lot camera not too far away from her, before she went into the store.

She stepped on broken glass pieces the moment she stepped in. She picked up one piece from the dark carpet, and noticed that a corner of it was coated in fresh blood.

She scanned the entire place. Everything seemed to be intact except a cue or two that indicated a struggle that had taken place here. The bloody glass piece, for example, and a fallen catalog with a shoe print on. A set of master keys for the cabinets fell behind the counter, and under them there was a pocket watch with its glass broken.

There were a few drops of blood on the wall behind the counter. She stared at them, her eyes narrowed. Before she did anything, Reese's voice came.

"I found their abandoned cars. Pursuing them to the interstate," he told her briefly and went quiet again.

"Okay, you do that," Root replied. "I'm gonna go check the back room."

With that she squeezed her gun and approached the half open door of the room in the back of the store.

She nudged the door open with her shoulder, pointing her gun immediately to her front. She scanned every corner, before she turned to check the other side of the room.

There was no one else, except herself and a floor covered with scattered jewelry pieces. Most of them were kept in separate bags with tags. A few though, had their bags torn. One of them was a pearl bracelet. A couple of pearls had fell off its string and rolled to the corner of the room.

"Finch, what's the order number of the locket Alan Turing ordered for Diane?"

"Hold on. Let me pull out the details of the customer request for that order…" Finch murmured, going silent while typing, and Root checked several pieces of jewelry on the floor. She tossed them aside after having found out that none of them were lockets.

"It's TA470072," Finch told her shortly, and the woman started to looked for that piece.

She found no match, so she ran to check the pieces kept in the counters outside. She went through everything twice, before she finally concluded, "it's not here, Harry. They took it."

"Who took it?"

"A bunch of Decima agents. They were already here when John and I arrived. I think they kidnapped Jack, and took the locket."

"Decima agents? Are you sure?"

"Well I don't recognize any of them but they look like the ones working for Greer."

Finch paused briefly. "Let me find today's surveillance camera footage on its manufacturer's server. Maybe the Samaritan hasn't gotten to it yet. Okay here's today's video and maybe the Machine can track them once it identifies-oh dear."

Root waited for the man to explain why he had seemed to be shocked, but she got nothing. "What?" She asked, checking every corner of the store to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

"I think it is the best if you watch the footage too," Finch told her, his voice dry. "I am...emm...the Machine is running facial recognition programs on it."

Root tucked her hand into her pocket and pulled her buzzing phone out. She tapped the screen and started to watch the video, still having no idea why Finch seemed a little carried away.

The video started with the shop owner, Jack Willows, organizing his merchandize. An open catalog was on the counter right in front of him.

He took a pocket watch out from one tray. Before he had put it into another tray, a group of people with suits swarmed in through the door.

The shop owner, Jack Willows, yelled something at them, taking his phone out. One of the intruders raised their gun at the camera while the last two people went into the store. Then, the video went out.

Right before the video turned blank, the camera caught a glimpse of one of the two people in the video. It was merely a collection of pixels, but the moment she saw it, her heart began to slam violently against her ribcage. She couldn't breathe.

She hit the replay. Then again. Then for the third time. She watched the last second of the video over and over, until finally her voice came back to her.

"Shaw…?" That name slipped through her lips, and her chest clenched painfully at that sound. Her heart fluttered, bounced, and jumped, in joy, in fear, in excitement, and in pain, as if it was a trapped rabbit running desperately towards the distant light while being chased by a nameless monster.

She paused the video when Shaw's face showed up as she asked herself that question. Was that really Shaw? Or was that her imagination because the image of Shaw being gundown had haunted her since? She had tried so hard to convince herself, and the others, to believe that Shaw was still alive, yet now when she was looking at her side face on her phone, doubt and fear gloomed her heart.

"Root," Reese's voice interrupted her, and she almost dropped her phone while raising her gun in reflex.

"I...umm...I couldn't find the..." she muttered incoherently. For a while she was unable to decide whether to lower her gun first or to put her phone back into her pocket.

"They've killed Jack and dumped his body beside the east bridge," Reese told her. "I'll call Fusco."

"And that means they've got what they came here for. That locket must be something important," Root said as she slammed the side of her fist into the wall in great frustration.

"Yeah," Reese answered absentmindedly. He paused for a long time, before he said, "I saw Shaw sitting in one of their cars. None of them saw me but..."

Root swallowed her whimper back, her tears fell instead. "K," she mumbled. "You...saw her?"

"It was either her or her clone," Reese replied. "Seems that she's working with them."

The only thing Root managed to get out from her throat, was a shaking huff.

"Anyway, I stopped following them when it became too risky. We need to regroup and...do you need a ride?"

Root took a deep breath and put her gun back into its holster. "I'd rather take a walk, if you don't mind," she answered.

Quieting walking back to their hideout, Root stared at the sidewalk tile under her feet while Reese uncomfortable pulling his collar because there were a few drops of blood there.

At an intersection, they stopped for the pedestrian light. Reese glanced at Root, and said, "don't worry. "

"I am not," Root replied firmly, though her voice shaking a little. She tucked a strand of her loosened hair behind her ear, and looked away from the man. Tears started to sting her eyes again, and her fingers were quivering hard.

"Look on the bright side. She's still alive," Reese told her. "That's more than anything."

"Yeah, she's alive, and working for Decima. That's..." Root scoffed. "...great news."

"She's a trained intelligence operative. She would do anything to survive," Reese told her. "Good thing is that Decima and us seem to be looking for the same thing. I'm sure you'll see her again, and when you do, you can fire all your questions at her."

"Except that we've lost our guy, the locket. We have no idea what that locket is for, or who ordered that," Root murmured, throwing her hands into the air.

"Maybe we don't know what that locket is for, Ms. Groves," Finch interrupted them, "however we may not be absolutely clueless either."

"What did you find out, Finch?"

"I am looking for the camera footage from the day the order was made."

"Don't that type of cameras only keep their footage for a week or less?" Reese asked.

"Yes, they do, however the backup footage they sent to the manufacturer's server doesn't get deleted. They claim that they delete them every once in a while, but what they actually would do is to delete the index of the file only. That way it would appear to be gone from the system, but if you know where to look, you can find the file...okay, now I have it and-oh dear."

"Don't tell me that she's in it again," Root grunted.

"No, of course she's not," Finch replied. "It was Arthur Claypool. He was the one who made that order."

"So...he ordered a locket for his dead wife. He left a fake phone number and a fake name. He also never came by to pick it up. Why?" Reese asked.

"Maybe because of his memory loss?" Root suggested. "He could have forgotten about it."

"But, why did he give the jeweler a number that never has existed? Why would he leave Turing's name there, with his birthday as the phone number?"

"It could be a clue," Root said. "Or maybe he had already been suffering from memory loss when he made the order. Maybe he thought his wife was still alive and considered himself as Alan Turing."

"He sometimes couldn't remember things, but he was delusional," Finch said. "I think there's something to it. There's a reason why he made the order. If we could find the locket...maybe we could…hold on."

"What is it, Finch?"

"I found the 3D model of the locket in Jack's computer," Finch explained. "It seems that he's doing the designs using a software...I'm retrieving it from his computer and-wait, why would he want something like this engraved on a locket for his wife?"

"Something like this?"

"It-it's a pattern, a very..." Finch trailed off. Having noticed that both Root and Reese were waiting for him to elaborate, he continued, "I've seen this pattern before."