End of Innocence
Chapter 29
Street near Library Office, Manhattan, December 2013
Bright sunshine belied the cold bite of wind on them. A steady blow right in the face, and bitter with the gusts; it had him questioning why he hadn't taken his car. But a glance Bear's way and he had his answer.
Finch hunched a shoulder against the wind, hustling along as fast as his limp would allow, while Bear kept pace on his right. A white bag half-filled with lunch dangled from his wrist. Thin wisps of steam trailed from its folds into the cold.
Finch grimaced, shaking his leash hand – to keep the blood moving. Even thick leather gloves felt like no match for the chill seeping in. His fingers had started to go numb.
One more block to go.
He tipped his head, pressing a hat lower on his brow – as much to keep the wind from lifting it away as for sneaking a glance behind them: anyone walking the street; any eyes tracking their way. It seemed they were alone on the street. Not a surprise.
Wind vibrating the wires overhead sounded a low hum in the air. Finch shuddered. Somehow, the sound only heightened the sense of desolation here.
He'd picked one of the secondary routes back – the street running directly behind the library grounds. At the other end, the street was busy with shops and snarls of traffic, but here on this end the busy-ness had yielded.
Here, the street was empty of shops – dusty and overgrown with weeds and untidy shrubs on both sides. Odd to see it like this in such a posh part of the City. Like a creeping blight had overtaken the land here.
They hustled along, alone on the street.
Ahead, a tiny dust devil spun up on the pavement in front of them. Like a thin dance of dust in the wind, a swirl playfully gathering shape in the street. Soon, though, the full force of wind grabbed on, spinning it faster and faster, taller and taller, 'til the devil stretched higher than their heads.
And like a dark and sudden force unleashed on the land, it weaved and bobbed, vacuuming all the debris from its path. It crackled – millions of tiny bits colliding inside. In moments, it doubled in size, twice as tall as Finch, and louder again. It jumped the curb and careened their way.
Finch braced and pulled Bear in close, nowhere to run as the funnel bore down. The crackling grew, like static on a radio turned to ten. For a moment the funnel even blocked the sun. Then just feet away, it lurched to the right, up over the curb and into the weeds, flinging a hail of stone and dirt.
Neither one avoided a pelting.
All they could do was crouch where they were and turn away from the flying, stinging bits. Meanwhile, the funnel had spent itself, crashing through the brush, rustling the branches, sandblasting the few saplings attempting to grow there. In moments, the little trees had sheared its strength and the devil collapsed in an empty field.
A quiet returned. The hail of stone and dirt had ceased. Finch rose and stared after it. All that remained was its dusty trail thrashing through the brush.
"That was a nasty surprise, eh, Bear?"
He brushed absently at his coat and hat. Little stones and dirt dropped from the wool. Then he bent to tousle Bear's fur. More of the same.
Bear shook himself and sneezed a hearty sneeze.
"Better get inside," Finch murmured, and the two started up again.
On either side of the street where they walked, shops and storefronts had dwindled to none; replaced by a long run of high steel fencing hugging the edge of the sidewalk – the kind you'd see surrounding construction sites. A few feet inside, another full run of fencing encircled the entire library grounds, like double protection against vandals and mischief-makers.
A large painted sign hung from the outer layer of fence with a message for passersby: Coming Soon …
No indication of what might be coming, or when. Finch couldn't help smiling to himself. The sign had been there for years. Its letters were starting to fade in the weather.
All part of his carefully crafted plan.
The grounds had slipped into legal limbo, artfully arranged so that, on paper, neither party could clearly lay claim to the land. For years it had languished in the middle of an international bank failure on one side and his team of dedicated lawyers on the other – and no mandate at all to close a deal. On the contrary, delay was the point.
As long as the land remained in limbo, Finch could keep the abandoned library as it was – the perfect site for his work. Any money he spent on lawyers' fees and running expenses to keep the building "secure" – these were a pittance compared to the value of what lay hidden inside. No one would suspect that this bleak, abandoned shell of a building housed the world's best hope for security and justice.
Finch smiled – or would have if the cold hadn't stiffened his face. Untangling this legal quagmire could take them decades, and by then, perhaps, his Machine would select its own next home.
He scanned the landscape around him one last time before they entered the grounds.
An interruption appeared in the heavy fencing ahead – a large gate, heavily chained, and wide enough to accommodate construction vehicles descending the long hill below. A little further along, another smaller pedestrian version allowed people passage inside.
They'd enter the grounds through the two smaller gates, then down the long sidewalk at the back of the library. Lastly, through a secluded security door on the loading dock. A newly-installed retinal scanner at the door enforced the short list of those Finch allowed inside.
They approached the outer gate and Finch stopped to key in the code. Bear naturally assumed his guard stance while Finch fumbled with the keypad. Fingers didn't want to work in the cold: three tries before the gate finally swung in.
Finch turned to push the gate closed behind him. He took a moment to peer through the fencing and scan the street: deserted and quiet for as far as he could see.
The inner gate held no surprises, either, so as soon as they'd cleared through the second fence, they headed down the long sidewalk to the security door on the dock. A high roof overhead covered the entire dock area at the bottom of the walk. From street level, they'd be hidden from view.
Finch turned himself all the way around to check his surroundings. It certainly felt abandoned here. Bear had stopped at his side to sample the air with his nose. He looked completely unfazed, so Finch leaned in to offer his eye to the scanner. A moment later, the metallic pop and a faint vibration told them they had just seconds to enter before the door reset.
Finch gave it a pull. The door was a thick, substantial-appearing affair; yet it swung out silently on hidden hinges. The two stepped in and stopped while the door whirred closed behind them. Home at last.
Finch shuddered again. Felt himself do it this time. It was more than just the cold. He closed his eyes, sensing the quiet around him. In the quiet here, alone, he could admit to himself a gnawing truth: no longer were they the hope for success they'd been before. It felt to him like things were beginning to turn. And not in a good way.
He lingered there in the vestibule and finally inhaled deeply. Best part of the trip.
Something about a building full of books. That scent: old paper and book bindings – knowledge, and pleasure upon pleasure waiting inside – and always the lure of the next page, the next volume. Priceless, to his way of thinking.
And now that they were back inside, Finch could begin to relax. Safe again, inside.
Floor after floor above them, awash in stack after stack of books. His chest swelled as he breathed in the scent again. Bear watched him with something of a dog-smile of his own. He enjoyed their time here, too, in the cozy spot they'd made for themselves upstairs. Good to be back again.
Finch focused along the passageway, air crystal clear and cold here at the door. Their breath came like little clouds hanging in the dimness.
Down at the other end, the hall opened to a much larger space with a much older scent, lit by a wall of windows over a wide sweep of old marble stairway. Beyond it, on this lowest level, twin elevators – meant to shuttle deliveries from the loading dock. They hadn't been used in years.
Finch limped along the narrow hallway with Bear, out to the base of the stairs.
There it was. A scent reminiscent of that soap they'd used on the floors back in high school. Metal bucket rolling down the hallways, big stringy mop, dipped and squashed dry in the wringer at the top. That's where he recalled the scent. Green soap. Perhaps they still used it today, somewhere. Made him smile. Funny how the mind can remember a fragrance so clearly. After this many years.
Two flights up they'd reach their home away from home: a few rooms he could heat in the winter and cool in the summer. He'd kept a small kitchenette there, too, to heat a meal or brew his tea; and a second space for his office, with room for his desk and the monitor cluster.
From there, he and his Machine kept their watch on the world.
Some might have found this a lonely duty. Finch hadn't found it so.
On any given day, there'd been the comings and goings of his Team, the vigil they kept over their numbers, and the constant demands of the case. As always, the pressure to perform, flawlessly, instantly, to keep them informed and alive. Threats were everywhere. And not just the threat of perpetrator to victim, but the ever-present war against his Team.
He'd never imagined it'd be like this when they'd started: absolutely no good deed left unpunished.
And especially now, after the unveiling of HR's infiltration, always the risk of a few escapees. Lying low, they could wait it out and re-group. An armed militia bent on more revenge. And now, with news of Samaritan's code, war on two fronts could be inevitable. These were tenuous times. No time for loneliness.
Bear shook himself and leaned down for a drink of water at his bowl. He nosed at his food bowl and turned to look at Finch.
"Yes," he said, "I know," and Bear followed him into the kitchenette. A minute or two later Bear pranced along at Finch's side all the way back to his bowl, smacking his lips. Finch leaned down to fill it. His eyes crinkled as Bear dug into the meaty chunks and thick gravy.
By the time Finch returned from the kitchenette with his own plate and tea, the food was gone from Bear's bowl and licked dry. He smiled, watching Bear stretch and settle down on his rug near the desk.
Finch headed over and sat down. Perhaps there'd be some news. For weeks now, no new cases coming in for him. A strange quiet had fallen over the Team. He was certain more was going on than he knew.
Miss Groves had said it herself. A coming storm. They needed to prepare for the possibility of another AI. And if not Samaritan, there would eventually be another. It was only a matter of time.
Finch helped himself to a bite of hot food and a sip of tea. He shuddered as the thin line of heat coursed through his center. Perhaps he should have brought out the whole teapot.
A still-chilled hand reached for the keyboard and touched a key. On the frame above the screen, the camera eye glowed white. His Machine was there, watching.
Finch rolled his chair in front of the monitor cluster. His screen had suddenly filled with a dozen new files, and a red light blinked on the screen. The Machine had something to say.
"What is it?" he whispered to the eye at the top of the screen.
First, a video file opened in front of him, a piece of grainy CCTV, shot from overhead in front of a building: Hong Kong Airport, he noticed.
Finch watched a sleek black car swing in at the curb and stop. A woman emerged from the back seat of the car and stood there with the door open. Dark glasses and some kind of shawl over her hair shielded her features.
She scanned around her, clearly scouting the area near the car. And then she turned around and checked behind.
In the meantime, the driver had stepped out on his side and opened the back door. Finch waited and watched for who would emerge. When he did, Finch recognized him instantly.
"Mr. John Greer… And what have you been up to?"
Airport Road, Cimarron, Colorado
The whole drive from the cabin to the airport, Shaw hadn't said a word. She was aware of the men talking; mostly Chase, with a few words every now and then from Reese. That scene from back at the cabin kept tumbling around in her head.
Chase and his wife seemed legit, but the other one hadn't gotten the reception she'd been expecting. Not from Reese, anyway. In fact, Shaw could tell by the way he'd stiffened up that he wasn't happy they were there at all. Seemed like he knew Chase's wife, Ginny, but the other one – not so much.
Shaw'd seen her flicking her eyes back and forth – first to Reese, then to her, sizing them up. She'd seen the little toss of her head and the sniff. Reese had, too.
He'd even turned around to make sure she wasn't gonna kneecap her, or something worse. Could have. But that look in his eyes told her he didn't want that. Not sure why.
She'd watched the woman try to get a little too close to him, then, and Reese had shut her right down.
Huh.
The main highway ran north of the city of Montrose, then swung through a stretch of valley between peaks on both sides. The airport nestled in there. Two long skinny runways stretched at an angle from the main terminal. Not much else around.
Chase had driven in on Route 50 all the way, then onto Airport Road. She'd kept her eyes roaming on the way in, still silent between the men. Chase pointed to the drop zone where he could let her off.
"There's parking over there, though, if ya want me to wait," he said, pointing off to the left at a small main lot.
"No need," Shaw said, her eyes on the cars in the lot. "Just let me off by the entrance over there."
Chase nodded and swung around toward the main entrance. He picked a spot to pull over and hopped out, leaving the truck running. Her bag was lashed in the back of the truck bed.
Reese pushed his door open and let himself out onto the sidewalk. Once he was down, Shaw slipped over the seat and hopped down next to him.
She stood really close. Reese perked up.
"You see 'em on the way in?" she asked in a low whisper.
"Who?"
"The girls. First row, down at the end. They can see us." Reese frowned but didn't try to catch a look. He believed her.
"So, how do you wanna play this?" she asked, glancing up at his eyes. When he didn't answer, she gave him a choice, "lovers or just friends?" He nodded then and turned to Chase, just coming around the back of the truck with her bag.
"I'll take it," he said, grabbing for the handle. "Give us a minute."
Reese slipped his arm around her shoulders and walked them toward the entrance. Tall, wide glass panels angled up three stories into the air there, with the doors below.
Well before they got to the doors, Reese stopped and swung her around, in full view of Chase in his truck, and the parking lot off to the side.
He gathered her into his arms. And far from stiffening against him, she seemed to melt there. A rush of feeling made him pull her in closer. She wrapped her arms around him and didn't hold back. Reese could feel the strength in her body coiled against him. And the smell of her hair, the smell of her skin, so close. The next thing he knew, he felt himself trembling inside. Don't let it end, he thought. Not yet.
If he just didn't say anything, he wouldn't ruin it.
For what seemed a long time, he held her there in his arms against his chest. His heart pounded inside. She didn't resist. She leaned in, instead. So, he kissed her.
First, on the top of the head, then on her brow, then on her lips when she turned them to his. The warmth surprised him. Another rush of feeling swept through him – and just like this was the last kiss he'd ever share with her, he let it linger.
She never pulled away.
He was the one who stopped it. If he hadn't, he'd have lost himself and never recovered. Reese held her close, silent, aching to speak, aware it would shatter the moment.
He swung her in his arms, rolling left and right, not enough to lift her off her feet, but just enough to keep her there, longer, in his arms. One last kiss on the top of the head and he let her go.
Shaw grabbed his hand and stared up at him with her cool, dark eyes. She smiled. Actually smiled.
"Better than I thought you'd be," she smirked.
"Same," he said, nearly breathless, in his whisper-voice.
The blue of his eyes seemed so far away. Almost sad, she thought.
Reese shivered inside his coat. "Better get you inside."
He gathered her in, with an arm around her shoulders and reached back for the handle of her bag. When they got to the door, a redcap opened it for them, smiling, and the two disappeared inside.
In the last car at the far end of the first row, Ginny turned to her best friend, Cat.
"So, wha'dya think?" She'd been chewing on her lip, worried. Things hadn't exactly gone the way she'd wanted back at the cabin.
"Not convinced," Cat announced. "Not by that," and she tossed her head in their direction as the terminal door closed behind them.
Good, Ginny thought, she's not giving up.