End of Innocence
Chapter 1
LaGuardia Airport, Queens, December 2013
Reese checked the flight board one more time: On Time.
He had his bag over his shoulder. A few additions to his wardrobe from the closet in his apartment. And a new down jacket slung over his bag. All carry-ons. Traveling light.
He glanced at the cameras hanging from the ceiling. Wasn't trying to hide himself anymore. Hoped Finch had gotten the message.
Wandered over to his Gate. High windows looked out on the runways and Reese stood there, sipping his coffee. Gray day out there. No rain or snow, just gray. Cold by the windows. He stepped back and turned toward the seats.
When they called to board, he let the eager ones go first. Stopped to flash his boarding pass at the agent, and moments later he was ambling down the chute. They directed him in, and Reese could hear the whoosh of the air ducts inside, the rustle of people settling in. He stopped to help a woman, stooped, gray hair, struggling with her bag. Lifted it for her, up into the overhead. And then remembered why he shouldn't when he'd stretched to lift it.
Grimaced and she grabbed him by the arm. "Oh, dear. Are you alright, young man?" He nodded and snapped the overhead door closed.
Made his way along, slowly, back to his seat. Reese sat in the back and didn't really mind. Noisy, but he felt like he could sleep through a war now. Bombs dropping, buildings coming down? Wouldn't even make him stir. Whatever was the other side of exhaustion, that's what he had now. Barely kept his eyes open for the take-off.
Library Office, Midtown, same day
Finch sat at the monitor cluster at his desk.
He looked up at the white eye above his laptop screen. His Machine, watching.
"Do we have any live feed from Arthur Claypool, please?" A moment's hesitation, while the Machine switched screens for him. And then, there in front of him, a cheery room bright with warm yellow sun filtered through breezy white panels. Harold watched. They were offering him some food on a spoon.
"Tasty," he thought he heard Arthur say. Garbled with just the one side of his face working.
"Plums," she said. Harold only saw her back, and her long dark hair caught in a braid. She worked at it, aiming the plum on the spoon to his lips.
A gentler place to land, there. He'd arranged a quiet spot for Arthur. Away. Where no one would bother him in his final days. Harold flew there when he could. They spent hours together. Sometimes all he could do was sleep when Harold sat with him, but sometimes the two of them would laugh. And once, Arthur had told him a secret.
Anyone who'd programmed computers knew to leave a back door. Just in case. If things had hit the fan, things had run amok – the back door. He'd put down the details in a special file for Harold. And when the time came, he'd said, the file would be sent to him. He could do what he wished with the file, after. Funny. Harold had never told him – the Machine had given the news to Miss Groves, and she had informed him. That box in the vault? With Arthur's backup copy of his system, Samaritan? They were all fakes in the box. Arthur had destroyed fakes. Bravely.
But the Machine had traced where the real ones had gone. That bank manager had taken them. For a pretty penny, she'd sold them off to a gray-haired man. British accent.
He'd been some trouble to find in the files. MI-6. And now, he had his own very real last copy of Samaritan. The last thing they saw of him on surveillance video? He'd thanked the bank manager for her excellent work, and then he'd drawn his gun. Finch couldn't watch the rest.
What was Mr. John Greer, murderer, and ex-MI-6 from England, planning to do with Arthur's code?
Reese smelled food. Heard the rattle of the cart coming down the aisle. Should he bother? Checked in with his stomach. Growling with the smells. Okay, he opened his eyes.
She was reaching for his tray table on the back of the seat. Beef tips with mashed and gravy or fish with dill sauce? He picked the beef. She slid the tray onto his table, and the scents wafted above it.
He didn't know how hungry he'd been.
Checked in with his watch. Two hours gone already. Half-way to Denver. He'd rent a car from there, drive down to Cimarron, and take up where he'd left off. Let Chase know he was on his way back, so don't close up the cabin.
A little relief now. Didn't have to hide anymore.
He'd told them not to follow.
Reese inhaled the food. Wished there was more. He ordered a beer. Then a coffee. After that, he'd leaned back in his seat again. He'd picked the aisle side. Wanted to sleep on the flight, and he knew if he'd been on the window, he'd be watching instead of sleeping. Two hours had barely made a dent. He was impressed that the smell of the food had wakened him. Guess that's why they always said the best way to a man's heart …
Reese stiffened. Better think of something else. Don't want to go that way. Don't poke sleeping dogs.
Thought of the drive down from Denver, instead. Good time to see the sights if the weather was good. There were a couple of ways to go, depending on the weather. Mountains or low, if the weather wasn't good.
Closed his eyes, thinking about the trip down. Next thing he knew, they were on the approach.
Finch sat in front of the monitor cluster. He'd closed the live feed with Arthur. There was work to do.
He'd started writing the code for an intervention, if Samaritan were ever to show up in front of them. Arthur had given him the way in. He could throttle it back or snuff it from existence – once he had the details. Sad that it would take Arthur's death, by his own choice, before the details were disclosed. He couldn't think about that right now.
Finch sat back in his chair. He thought of Mr. Reese.
Out in the world, now. On his own. Wished he was still here. No telling what this new news would bring.
He stared at the white pupil above his laptop screen. The Machine, ever watching.
Wouldn't take more than a few keystrokes. He'd know where Reese had gone.
His fingers went to the keys, so familiar to him.
Just a few taps. He'd know.
Finch stared at the eye. Never said a word. Closed the cover and walked away…