The buzzing of her phone, showing a withheld number, made Danielle frown.
"Did you forget something or is my mobile too close to the noisy coffee mashine?", she accepted the call with a smile.
"Neither this nor that, little princess."
The voice, which she immediately identified in a memory flashback as Samuel Cardiff's, let Danielle freeze in her motion.
"From your reaction, I'm assuming you were expecting someone else, but I hope you'll still take a moment for me", her tormentor continued with the poise of an individual who seemed visibly enjoying the celebration of his self-promotion. Knowing that asking how he got her number wouldn't make a difference, she broke it down to a single question: "What do you want from me?"
For a moment there was an ominous silence on the other end before an almost amused laugh reached her ears.
"So straight to the point? You could have had that several years back already. Maybe I had more of an influence on you than I thought or do we in between even have some things in common?"
Stifling a gag reflex at the last part of his remark, her voice managed more self-control than ever thought possible.
"We will never have anything in common", she hissed. „You are a beast that should never have been freed."
"And yet I am. Which brings me to my acutal point. Do you remember the promise that I gave you in the courtroom?"
Closing her eyes, Danielle unsuccessfully tried to fight the memory that was coming up like a corrosive gout of stomach acid.
"It seems your bodyguard isn´t too happy about the thought of our meeting. Honestly, I don't have a clue of who he is, or why he´s protecting you but it doesn't matter either. All I know is that, he isn´t as professional as he thinks, when he is currently being watched unsuspectingly through the lens of an assault rifle by one of my men."
The words, that were as serene as surreal, made Danielle's muscles stiffen in an involuntary reaction.
"So let's keep it short: if you won´t make it Corner Wortman Ave, and Flatland in 15 minutes, that lousy calf-biter is going to get a third eye in the shape of a bullet. Are we clear?"
Not giving her the chance to reply, he ended the call before Danielle was able to swallow the growing lump in her throat.
Harold's gaze slid over to the second screen, which was recording the incoming call on Ms. Benson's phone. As with all of his targets, he had the default feature enabled in this case as well. The unfamiliar voice, which he intuitively attributed to Samuel Cardiff, had made him stiffen up in his chair. Out of reflex, he pressed the button on his command center that connected him to the young woman.
"What else? Did you forget to mention the exciting details of what you intend to do to me once we´re alone?", Danielle's angry voice rang through the line.
"Ms. Benson. It's me, Mr Finch. I just followed your conversation with Mr Cardiff. Please don't believe a word he says. Mr. Reese is very adept at spotting observers. If someone were actually pointing a gun at him at this moment, he would have eliminated the attacker long ago."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Finch, but it's a risk I won't take. I'm not willing to put John or you at danger for trying to protect me. Even if it may sounds strange to you, but perhaps it's exactly the situation that had to arise in order to understand that I can't run away forever. It's time to face my past, no matter how it will turn out. If we're being honest, I can't call this constant game of hide-and-seek a life anyway."
"Ms. Benson, I'm asking you to stay where you are. We'll take care of the rest", Harold attempted another appeal.
The sound of a door slamming, followed by the obvious roar of an engine, dashed his hope.
"I'm really sorry, Mr Finch. Thank you for everything you and John have done for me, but it has to stop somewhere. I cannot and will not implicate innocent people in this. Please take care of yourself and tell John to change his bandage regularly for the next two days after cleaning his wound.
The sound of an ended call, along with the bursting signal of her transmitted location on the screen, made Harold sink into his chair.
"That's not good at all", he stated while already pressing the speed dial button to his employee.
"Mr. Reese, can you hear me?"
"I hear you, Finch. It looks like I missed Cardiff. However, one of Sanchez's employees, was -after a little encouragement- kind enough to tell me that he had been spotted here on and off over the past few days."
"That's good to know. At the moment, however, we have a more urgent problem than that."
John lowered the camera, which he was using to observe the people inside the store.
"What kind of problem?", he asked with an inner alarm when the actual target person had taken a subordinate place at that moment.
"Apparently Mr. Cardiff was also able to find out Ms. Benson's phone number. In the conversation he threatened that if she wouldn't show up at the corner of Wortman Avenue and Flatland in about 15 minutes, he would, I quote: put a bullet between the eyes of her lousy calf-biter, who is being watched unnoticed by his men. I assume you would have noticed a pursuer by now. Unfortunately, Ms. Benson seems to have believed the lie and thus severed my connection to her."
"Damn it." Driven by reflex, John started his car's engine. "I'm on my way", he told Harold shortly before screeching down the side street toward East New York.
I'm not willing to put John or you at danger for trying to protect me. It may sounds strange to you but perhaps it's exactly the situation that had to arise in order to understand that I can't run away forever. It's time to face my past, no matter how it turns out. If we're being honest, I can't call this constant game of hide-and-seek a life anyway, Danielle's determined words echoed in John's head. He'd had the recording of Harold's conversation forwarded, hoping to find a way to keep her from this avoidable danger - if he could make it on time.
Facing the past, not running from oneself. It´s been thoughts that made him wonder how honest he was with himself on this point. Did he agree on this job as some sort of make-up for things he couldn't prevent? Situations to which he had closed his eyes or simply made the wrong decision? A single decision that could have changed everything. Or was he using his job as a welcome distraction from thoughts whose implications had admittedly propelled him closer to a death wish than a decision for life in the past? On his way to hopefully catch up Danielle early enough, he'd pondered her words, with which she not just described Finch in accuracy. While he was usually careful to reveal as little as possible about himself, he had to admit a certain respect for her powers of observation. Although her understanding on certain topics differed from his, he recognized a common understanding on a large number of subjects.
"You have to help with the traffic lights", he had asked Harold, who shortly afterwards took control of New York's transit system. From the side streets he heard the annoyed horns of those whose green wave miraculously lasted no longer than a few seconds or even failed completely.
"I took a closer look at the area, Mr. Reese", his partner let him know. Apart from a car repair service, which according to the registration register probably belongs to Sanchez´ men, there are no other conspicuities. Thus, my guess is that Ms. Benson should be taken there first."
"In any case, a place like that doesn´t only offer the opportunity to launder money", John continued Finch's train of thoughts.
"Wait. One of the area's security cameras picked up Ms. Benson. Apparently she decided to rent a scooter, which she's using to make her way through traffic toward Wortman Avenue. If you want to be on time, you should hurry. As far as I can see. she is only four blocks away from the meeting point."
"Thanks Harold, I'll be in touch." Cutting the connection, John ignored the detour, which would have cost him valuable time. From the side of the road he heard the rude insults of the responsible construction workers, who obviously showed little enthusiasm for his zigzag course through four open spots in the ground. With a scooter that was significantly lighter in traffic than a car, Danielle would, based on his estimates, arrive at her destination in about four minutes. While she couldn't have made it to the designated meeting point without a motorized vehicle, his original plan was to intercept her a few streets earlier. Now, however, he wasn't sure if he would make it in time.
Driving the speedometer needle of his car into the red area again, he knew that he only had one chance if he too, would want reach his destination before her.