JOHN REESE POV

It's a cool New York morning as John climbs up the stairs with two cups of hot goodness in hand. He can see his employer busying himself on his computer with a manic energy, as if he just got a number…

Did they? The machine has been quiet since their last failed number. Even though it wasn't his fault that he failed to save the man, John still feels Bad for failing to save Dr. Nelson but John can't dwell on it too much or he might go mad with guilt. At least, the good doctor had some sense of closure before he went out, which is more than most people would get.

Hopefully, this time they won't be late.

"Got your favourite green tea." John says with a slight smile as he places the cup near to Harold's keyboard.

"Impeccable timing as usual and thank you for the excellent choice, Mr. Reese." Harold glances momentarily at the tea before going back to the computer and does whatever computing wizardry he always does.

As soon as Bear rises from his bed, he nudges John's hand, causing him to pet the dog instantly. "Hello bear… do we have a new number?"

"Yes." Harold gets up from his seat and limps to the glass board to stick a picture on it.

Giving Bear a final ruffle, John goes to the board as well, and sees a picture. It's a picture of a buff, handsome-looking man with short blonde hair, a moustache, brown eyes and a scar on his right cheek. The scar runs horizontally from the middle of his cheek towards his ear. Curious scar looks like someone used a knife on him and it's old.

"I thought your machine was on the fritz?" John comments as he lifts the picture up.

Harold turns his body to look at him with a raise brow and says. "It thought so too, but it seemed that the machine has pulled itself together this time."

John smirks slightly as he turns to Harold. "So, who's our fortunate number?"

"Gary Cook., age 48…" Harold says as he walks back to his chair. "… he is the CEO and owner of a fairly large hedge fund based in Flushing called Beacon Light Unseen, which was founded around 10 years ago."

Another investor. The last number was killed by one. Let's hope this guy isn't planning on killing someone else.

Also… who does that kind of business In Flushing? Odd place to put a hedge fund.

"The hedge fund specializes in small-cap companies with 6.28 billion dollars in assets under management." Harold continues. "Our number's net worth is 10% of the AUM."

"That's a lot of money…" John says as they both share a glance. "Someone might be aiming for his money, a disgruntled partner in his hedge fund, or even his own family."

Harold turns his body to give John a look before saying. "A likely motive, but Mr. Cook's fund is a sole proprietorship and for family. He doesn't have one. There are no records of any relationships, and his all of his immediate family are deceased."

Harold said his company is 10 years old that means he would be 38 when he founded it. A reasonable age for someone to create their own business… Not that he knows anything about it.

"That's convenient… Any obvious suspects?" John takes a drink of his hot coffee -just the thing to drink on a cool morning-. "Maybe he pissed someone off, or maybe he just dated the wrong person. How about his history?"

"It would appear that Mr. Cook does not believe in social media, given his lack of online presence. So, finding out his social life has been difficult, and I've been looking at his employee's feeds to get a second-hand source but came up empty-handed. As for his records…" Harold takes a sip of the green tea. "By all account he's your average investor, a bachelor from NYU and an MBA from Wharton. Then worked at Jane Street and Goldman before starting his own fund. As for any criminal records, other than some traffic fines and speeding tickets, he's as clean as a whistle."

John isn't one to judge early seeing his experience with other numbers, but something about this feels off. As if it's artificial, however, he'll hold judgment until there's more evidence.

"Harold, when has our job has been anything but average?" He smirks at his friends. "How about his clients? Maybe he screwed up an investment."

Harold types on his keyboard and brings up multiple PDFs. "I've taken the liberty of acquiring the hedge fund's SEC filing over the past decade and found that the fund has never lost money in its ten years of existence. They have had an annualized return of 17.8% since its inception beating the stock market and most hedge funds, in the same time frame."

By the sound of his friend's voice, it would seem Cook had a new admirer.

"Looks like our number here has a Midas touch." John says teasingly.

"More like he found his niche and is very good at what he does." Harold replies in a matter-of-fact tone. "As for his clients, that's where I encountered a wall. I tried to get into his office network, but whoever manages their office network security is an artisan. They made use of a unique usage of a modified block cipher that I've only seen published a year ago, along with its customized cryptographic and authentication protocol. To harden it to a point where it would be almost impossible for anyone to get in without permission, but it will take me a very long time to get in."

Harold let out a sigh. "If I had the time, I would love to dive deeper into this."

That's a lot of computer talk that he doesn't understand and flies over his head. But if it impressed Harold, then it impressed John as well.

"That just means we have to do it the good old fashion way." John says with a grin and finishes his coffee. "Maybe you should invest in his fund. Who knows, you'll make double your wealth in a few years."

Harold just turns to him and gives him that look with a slight smirk. "Time is imperative, seeing that we don't know if the machine is late for this number or not, and I managed to set up a meeting with Mr. Cook."

John gives a slight snort and says. "I thought u said it's impossible to get in?"

"Improbable not impossible, Mr. Reese…" Harold finishes his green tea. "And it would seem to me that Mr. Cook's should practice better informational security."

Always trust the genius to have something up his sleeve.

With his knuckles, John knocks on the desk and smiles. "While you play billionaire and work on your signature for your cheque book. In the meantime, I'll check out his house. Maybe there's something in there that reveals more about our number. Who knows… he can be perp rather than the victim."

"Like any of our past numbers, it's a possibility, Mr. Reese." Harold grabs a notebook from the desk as gets up from his chair and limps to his coat.

HAROLD FINCH POV

Pushing the door open and entering the modern-looking office in the middle of Flushing. Harold limps his way forward to the front desk.

"Hello." Harold uses a soft tone, causing the receptionist to look up from her monitor with wide eyes, as if she's surprised to see someone walking in those doors. "I have an appointment with Mr. Cook."

"Ahh… sure, let me check." The receptionist frowns as she keeps giving Harold glances.

Odd reaction… it's like Mr. Cook or this office doesn't receive many visitors. However, this doesn't deter him from meeting the person of interest. All he has to do is to be calm and confident… Maybe it would have been better if John did this… he is much more charming than Harold.

"I'm not seeing anything in the schedule for now." The receptionist frowns deepens, and she's giving him a suspicious look.

Harold just keep his passive look and smile. "There must be some mistake. Could you please ask Miss Michaels?"

The reception quirks her brow at him, but in the end, she picks up the phone and makes the call.

"Hi Allison, could you please come to the front? There's someone here." The receptionist puts down the phone and looks at him. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"No, thank you." Harold says with a smile. Despite calm demeanor to anyone that can see, his inside is churning with anxiety. He doesn't want to fail another person after failing three people in the past month.

Harold has gotten so used to being able to save people that he almost forgot what it felt like before he hired John to help him; the feeling of helplessness, and it feels horrible. It wasn't hard to imagine why Nathan ran himself to the ground in order to save as many people as he could alone.

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat brings him back to the present, making him turn to the source of the sound. A brunette woman, that's slightly shorter than himself.

"How could I help you, mister…?" Michaels asks softly.

He gives her a smile and brings forward his hand. "Andy Partridge. I have an appointment with Mr. Cook."

She returns the gesture by shaking his hand and after that, taking out her phone. "Just a moment."

After what it feels like an eternity, Ms. Michaels' eyes darts from her phone to eye him with a slight suspicion. "Please follow me."

A slight tension left him as Michaels turns around and walks away. Harold gives the receptionist, who has a look of confusion and disbelief, a nod.

Harold follows Michaels out of the reception area and into the office area. The office area is quite large, with 20 or so people in their own modern looking cubicles. It might be a stretch calling them cubicles, seeing how large one cubical is, it even has doors. Each cubicle is basically an office room. How he wished he had these in the 80s.

He had expected the place to use an open floor plan like most of the office trends now of days. Good to see that some people still carry the dimming torch of the office cubicles.

As they made their way deeper into the office, Harold notices that there's not a lot of people for a fund this size and he has seen some funds with twice the people and less money. Peculiar, but seeing how almost every hedge fund now uses math and algorithms to do trades, it's not too unusual. Maybe Mr. Cook and his team have developed something that gave them an edge over others.

"If you don't count the massive amount of security features that's guarding this house, it's a lovely New York Suburb house." John comments through Harold's earpiece. "Now, why would someone need this kind of security if there's nothing to hide?"

Harold would have loved to reply back to John, saying 'Being proactive on one's safety is a valid worry for someone of his wealth' but he can't. Not right now with how cautious this his guide is being.

They came to a stop in front of a frosted glass door, and Michaels turned towards Harold, her gaze filled with suspicion. "Please have a seat while I talk with Mr. Cook."

His eyes glance towards the plush chairs opposite of Michaels's desk. "That will be unnecessary but thank you for the offer."

Michaels didn't say anything back to Harold as she went into the office.

So far, it's been a bit of a lukewarm reception. Odd considering that these types of funds would throw themselves onto a rich person's feet just to get a whiff of their money, which is to be expected since they need that money. It could be that they're just suspicious of anyone coming to their offices in fear of losing their trade secrets.

The glass door opens wide, revealing Michaels and gesturing for him to enter. "Please come in, Mr. Partridge. Mr. Cook would like to meet you."

Wordlessly he enters and gives Miss Michaels a nod as he passes her.

There in front of him is his person of interest. The blonde in a well-tailored suit -by the way that it's cut, it must be Italian made- has his feet on a very spartan yet really expensive looking desk while reading something on his tablet and he's wearing odd designer sunglasses… who wears sunglasses while they're reading indoors? Let's hope his personality isn't as bad as he's portraying.

Harold comes to a stop by the very plush chair but doesn't take a seat. Notwithstanding the man's dearth of social graces, Harold wouldn't emulate such impoliteness. Without turning back, he can hear that Michaels didn't leave the room after closing the door.

Is that some kind of protocol?

Almost a minute pass with Harold just standing before Cook turns his head to face Harold.

"Hey, what's the matter with ya? Grab a seat already!" Cook says in a very thick New York accent.

Harold takes a seat and says. "Thank you."

"Do ya want anything? Coffee, tea, or a soda? I think we have Dr. Pepper." Cook removes his feet from his desk and puts down his tablet as he points to Michaels. "Allison, go grab a can of Dr. Pepper for the guy."

The man is sure easy going…

"He's sounds like a character." John commentates at the situation Harold's in. "Well, I'm entering his house and good luck… sounds like you need it."

"Yes, Mr. Cook." Michaels acknowledges from behind Harold.

When did she get behind him?

"That would be unnecessary." Harold smiles as he holds up his hands. "I tend to not drink beverages while in a meeting. It's a distraction for me."

Cook just eyes him oddly, but then shrugs and says. "Whatever floats ya boat, bro." Cook then nods towards Michaels. "Be a doll and grab a can for me."

… Bro?

"Isn't he supposed to be a 48-year-old high-flying investor and not a frat?"

Guess some people just never change their personality from when they were in their 20s… and Harold isn't sure if he appreciates John's commentary on his circumstances.

Cook's attention drifts back to Harold. "Partridge, was it?" Cook points his finger at him. "Now… where have I head of that name…" He mutters the last part to himself.

He shouldn't know about this identity involvement in shorting Virtanen since he did that transaction through one of his own family offices. That meant he's referring to something else…

"Our number really likes his carbs and protein."

That does tally with how big this man's muscles are.

"Yes, thank you for mee…" Harold tries get on with the conversation.

But Cook cuts him off and wiggles his finger at Harold. "Did we meet at a Bloomberg conference like four years ago?"

What…

"No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else…" Harold shakes his head, and he tries to continue again but was cut off again.

"No. No, that was Partington…" He mutters to himself. "Just you wait, it'll come back to me."

"So far, other than it being spartan, the ground floor is clean and nothing that shows he has a case of dementia."

Harold pauses for a second to regain his composure. This is getting out of hand.

"I assure you, Mr. Cook, that this is the first time we've met." Harold puts his hand over his heart. "And I would like to thank you for meeting me on such a short notice. You must be extremely busy."

Just as Harold ends his speech, Michaels enters back into the room with a can of Dr. Pepper and puts it on the desk. Cook has a look of deep concentration and doesn't thank his assistant as he just waves her away like she's some bug.

Just as Harold was about to continue the conversation after Michaels left the office, Cook snaps his fingers and points at Harold.

"Ingram…" When he said those words, Harold could feel his heart froze for a second. "Nathan Ingram, do you know the man? Because he mentioned someone with a name that starts with Pa- back before he died."

Cook's face looks upon Harold on with satisfied delight as if he just unlocked the mystery of the world.

"Harold… do you want me to get you out of there?"

He can hear his heart roaring back to life as it beats heavily in his ears, but thankfully, he didn't break his poker face and reveal his hand. Trying to not balk under the pressure he's in right now, he needs to process everything as fast as possible before Cook suspects anything.

It's not a surprise that Cook knew Nathan, but there's no way Nathan would ever reveal this identity to anyone, especially an unknown such as Cook here. The man must misremember or is downright wrong about this.

"No…" Harold says to both John and Cook. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of ever meeting Nathan Ingram before he tragically passed away."

Cook's face lost its satisfied look, and a deep frown took its place. Before Cook can continue with his insistence on knowing Harold, he says. "Ingram must have been a great man; how did you meet him?"

Cook snorted dismissively and said, "If he were really that great, he wouldn't have been blown up."

Harold could feel his blood boiling at the glib comment about his friend, but he can't react. Even if this man makes him want to get up and walk away.

"That's true." Harold said with a strained smile. Not that the man opposite of him noticed it as he busies himself with his can of soda.

"Anyway, let's not talk about the dead." Cook takes a drink from his can. "How can I help the person, who's appointment mysteriously appeared on my assistant's calendar?"

A brief moment of breathlessness overcame him when he considered the possibility of being caught.

"Get out of there Harold."

No, he can't. If he does that, then it looks way more suspicious than just him barreling through this. Curiously, Harold observes Cook's tone and demeanor. The man doesn't seem to be surprised or concerned about it, as if this is a common occurrence or has happened to him before. Or it could easily be a ruse on Cook's part to see how Harold will react.

"As stated in your assistant's calendar. I am here to invest a significant amount of money into your fund." Harold bluffs with a straight face as he looks deep into Cook's eyes.

The man rise a single brow and just says. "Huh…" He then puts the can back on the table, and for the first time since Harold entered the room, sits up straight. "Fran must have sent you." It's a complete 180 from his carefree attitude.

… Who?

"Who's the hell is Fran?"

He has no idea who this Francine is, but he better go with the flow lest he bungle this. So, he didn't let up his stare or break his poker face. However, he can't shake off the feeling that something is amiss with everything here.

"Odd that she didn't just message or call me as usual…" Cook takes out his phone and scrolls through it. "And she hasn't contacted me in a few weeks…"

"Yes, she sent me. As for why there's been no contact, it's because there's a change of protocol." Harold does not know what he says is correct or not, but he's a gambling man.

"Again?" Cook lets out an agonizing sigh and dumps his phone on the desk. "We just changed it a few months ago!"

"That's a nice save, Harold, but try not to shake the tree too much… I've checked most of the first floor and there's nothing interesting. I'm going into the master bedroom."

"I'm sure Francine has her reasons." Harold says with a smirk as he discreetly takes out his phone and tries to bluejack into Cook's phone.

Cook rubs his eyes and chuckles a little. "Oh, I'm sure short stuff has explanations. She always does." Cook nods towards Harold. "How about you? I haven't seen you around before."

"Better pull something good out from your hat Harold because Gary here sure loves his 2nd amendment or maybe he has something he's hiding since there's a small arsenal of guns in his closest."

He felt his phone vibrating twice, telling him that the bluejacking failed to which he quickly puts back his phone into his pocket.

All of this is highly suspicious. As if this fund is a front for some kind of organization.

An organization that might have 6.8 billion dollars? The suspicious looks… the surprised looks…

Oh dear…

He might have dived headfirst into the deep end.

"I'm more on the administrative side of things of the organization." It's a shot in the dark, but Harold still says with full confidence. However, there's a part of his brain that's screaming at him that the man in front of him will harm him if Cook calls his bluff.

"Huh… I've always thought it's just the girls that's in 'management', with Fran doing most of the work. I guess you learn something new every day." Cook gives Harold a thoughtful look.

"The guy sure loves his guns, multiple versions of the same guns. A few derringers, a lot of shotguns, and a few rifles."

The girls? Management? Guns? And what's with that tone when he said 'management'?

There are so many questions just from this brief interaction. Cook is so accepting that Harold is part of this organization or whatever this is, can only mean one thing; it's compartmentalized.

Just what is this man involved in?

Cook shrugs as he leans back into his seat and claps his hands. "Alright, so how much is Franny sending this time?"

"Oh, what do we have here?"

"A hundred and fifty million dollar." Harold says without skipping a beat.

"Are you sure you want to give this guy that kind of money? I have a bad feeling."

If this fund is really a front for some kind of secret organization, as Harold is now suspected, he can't lowball. Not now, not when he's just lying his pants off… not if there's a chance to save someone.

He just nods as if it's normal. "That's a bit more than the last time she sent money my way. I guess the collective has been busy while I've been wasting away here."

The collective? Is that the name of this organization? Are they some kind of organized crime that he haven't heard of before? Or is this some kind of money laundry system? Or some kind of financial conspiracy? And why does he sound disgruntled about being here? There are just too many possibilities and Harold just doesn't have that much information.

The needle that's indicating if Mr. Cook here is a perpetrator or a victim for Harold has moved firmly towards him being a perpetrator.

"Alright, so when's the money going to be transferred?" Cook leans forward.

"There was a mess up when we changed the protocol recently and it appears that our mutual colleague didn't provide me with an account number for the transfer." Harold continues his bluff as he leans forward as well.

Cook rolls his eyes and says. "Christ, this shit is like three years ago when we first changed shit."

What happened three years ago?

"Harold… Our guy here has multiple IDs and passports, along with enough cash in multiple currencies for him to retire in any country in the world."

"Indeed." Harold replies to both men, as Cook tears out a piece of paper and writes on it.

After he finishes writing, Cook places the piece of paper on the edge of his desk that's near to Harold and says. "Here are the account details. How many accounts are you going to use to send the money? Cuz I gotta inform those eggheads so they don't get surprised."

Harold discreetly takes out a listening device from his pocket.

"Just the one. Francine feels that there's no reason to send through multiple accounts this time." Harold states with a smile. When he leans forward to grab the paper, he carefully sticks the device underneath his chair.

"Really? That's the one thing that hasn't changed since I first joined." Cook gives him a look.

Oh, dear… did he screwed up?

He can't freeze now. That will only lead to more suspicion. So, Harold leans back into his seat and just stares back with a poker player's bluffing an all-in confidence.

After what it feels like an eternity, Cook gives another shrug and says dismissively. "The girl is odd, so this isn't the weirdest thing she's done."

Harold doesn't feel entirely comfortable being alone in this building anymore.

"Thank you. I'll transfer the money tomorrow." Harold gets up from his chair and makes his way forward to shake Cook's hand. "I'm sure we'll meet again in the future."

Cook just eyes Harold's hand before waving his own hand in dismissal. "Just tell Frannie when you meet her that I want to go back outside. Been cooped up here for way too long."

"I shall, and I'll see myself out. Goodbye." Harold gives a nod as he retracts his hand.

As Harold is just about to pull the door open, he hears a finger snap.

"I remember now!" Cook sounds delighted, but that delight caused Harold's heart to stop.

Turning around, Harold sees that Cook is leaning forward as he points a finger at Harold and a bright smile on his face.

This is nothing they'd never met before, and he shouldn't know him.

"Partridge is a name of a bird, isn't it?" There's a wide grin plaster on Cook.

Oh, thank God…

His frozen veins instantly melt, and he opens the door as he replies. "That's true… A north American bird to be exact. Have a good day Mr. Cook."

Once outside, He can see Cook's assistant continue to eye him suspiciously from her desk and not even bothering to stand up.

Harold just give her a nod and hurries himself out of the office building but not too fast…

Finally, making his way out of the office building, Harold let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Guns, money, fake IDs, this collective organization… Just who the hell is this guy, Finch?"

Harold walks towards his car but stops midway… someone might have bugged it. He scans his surroundings for anything suspicious.

"I don't know, Mr. Reese, but something is going to happen, and we'll have to figure it." Harold says with conviction as he turns away from his car.

Guess he'll take the subway back to the library.

JOHN REESE POV

The morning sun begins to rise over the neighborhood as John sits in his car with binoculars on hand and the other is a cup of cold coffee. Just over the short distance lies their person of interest's house. The house is the largest in the neighborhood. It's practically a mansion, a yard that takes up two house lots and the house itself takes up the other two lots. A modern-looking two floor mansion in stark contrast to the middle-income houses that surround their number's home.

John brings up his binoculars and sees that Gary gets up from bed with the rising of the sun. He can hear through the microphones he installed yesterday that the man is groaning as he does his morning stretches before going to the toilet.

If it weren't for John's discovery of the hidden room in the master bedroom, and the really weird conversation Harold had with Gary, John would have thought Gary's the victim and not the perp.

"Are you at the house, Mr. Reese?"

John taps his earpiece and says. "Finally awake Finch?"

"I wouldn't consider what I've been doing in the past 12 hours to be sleeping, Mr. Reese… And I can safely assume that you have relieved Detective Fusco from the stakeout duty?"

"Yeah, I sent Fusco back two hours ago." John answers and takes a sip of the cold coffee. "Are you sure we shouldn't fill Fusco or get Carter in for this? Seems like we should have all hands-on deck for this one."

"Not until we understand what we're dealing with, Mr. Reese. If what we suspect is true, then involving the detectives is risky."

Both of them risk their lives every time they help with the numbers and neither ever complain about it. Well… except for Fusco, but that's just posturing on his part. If Fusco really believes what he says every time John drags him into this, he would have bolted after he helped to take down HR last year and stopped helping. Nonetheless, he'll accept Finch's reasoning.

"What have you found out, Finch?" John asks as he sees Gary exits the toilet and enter the gym beside his bedroom. "Is our guy involved in organized crime or something?"

"Not from what I see… I've checked all of the names you've given me, and each name has their own meticulously crafted cover, history, family, relationships, work. It has everything for a person to live a different life and all the names are clean. Everything checks out, except for them being illusions about someone that doesn't exist."

John frowns. "That means the fake I.D.s were legitimately issued by the government?"

As they both talk, their number starts exercising and what's interesting is that John recognizes that routine.

"Yes, I've triple checked all eight identities."

A stray thought enters John's mind, and he quickly asks. "Legitimately issued by the government, just like Caroline Turing's?"

At that mere suggestion, Harold went silent, but that silence didn't last long.

"No… I've checked who issued those documents thoroughly. Whoever created those IDs, they didn't use some low-level opportunistic clerk. In truth, both Detective Carter and I can't find who issued it other than where it was issued."

Money, guns, an unknown organization, genuine documents, airtight cover identities…

"Finch… are we dealing with a NOC?" John puts down his binoculars and rubs his clean-shaven chin in contemplation.

It fits… but why would any intel agency park one of their guys here? At a front that legitimately has billions of dollars in it… Unless they just stumbled upon a secret government slush fund and Gary here is the one that handles it.

That just complicates things…

"A distinct possibility, Mr. Reese. However, I wouldn't make that judgement just yet without ample evidence. Unlike last year with Mr. Peck, I still can't find out what's Mr. Cook's true identity is."

"So what have you learned so far, Finch?" John asks as he finishes his cup of cold coffee.

"All of the identities have nothing in common with each other, except for Mr. Cook's first name, which is the same with all identities. There's a high likelihood that our number's real name is Gary."

"That's all?" John asks with raised brows as he continues to eye Gary. "Does any of the cover identities include him being a veteran?"

"No? Why?"

"Wakes up at the crack of dawn and the first thing he does is perform the same exercise routine I did when I was in the army." John brings up the binoculars and sees Gary finish his routine. "I have a distinct impression that he has training."

"That might be the first clue that might help us to figure out his background."

Looks like Gary is preparing to go to work now. John glances at his watch and sees the time. That's exactly 40 minutes of exercising. John's failure to hear an alarm is a clear sign that the man has a finely tuned internal clock from training. Maybe in some special forces unit.

"How about the fund… have you found out anything new?" John asks. "And are you really going to put 150 million dollars into what might be a clandestine slush fund?"

"I'll try to delay the transfer as long as I can, but if I don't then any further contact between me and our number will be difficult. As for anything new… from the bank account Mr. Cook gave me, I've managed to get a hold on the transfer history for the past 5 years and it's a lot… There are at least two thousand unique accounts that are linked to other funds, companies or individuals and I haven't sorted it all yet."

At least two thousand accounts… not even the agency could realistically pull that off, not with that kind of money. The agency would have just coerced or co-opted an existing criminal organization to do their dirty laundry.

"That's a lot… have you checked the background of the accounts owners?"

Gary exits his bathroom looking ready for work as he makes his way downstairs and into his kitchen, where John doesn't have a line of sight.

"I have on a few, and they're all real. At least I think they're real… if all of these account owners have the same type of cover as Mr. Cook…"

"Then this organization and this Francine lady have more resources than the most powerful spy agency in the world." John concludes, feeling incredibly uncomfortable at the thought that someone out there might be superior to the agency.

"Mr. Reese, I think we have just stumbled upon a large and dangerous conspiracy. However, we're no closer to finding out if Mr. Cook is the threat or is the one in danger."

"You might want to have Leon helping you, Harrold. The man might be a menace, but he's a money launderer and an accountant." John starts up the car as he sees Gary drives out from his mansion. "While you do what's best on your end, I'll tail our guy."

"I'll see if Mr. Tao is available…. And be safe, Mr. Reese. We have no idea what's coming."

John didn't reply as he taps his earpiece and begins trailing the classic sports car that their number is driving.

Hours have passed since John arrived at his current location that's overlooking Gary's 'hedge fund' and so far, nothing is out of place. From his position, he can see into Gary's office and from Harold's listening device, hear everything that goes on in there. For all the security Harold rattled off about that office, a simple listening device was able to negate that security. However, everything John has been listening to has been rather dull and uneventful.

John learned nothing new, other than the man spends most of his time on his tablet or just being a blatant sexist to his female 'employees'. Plus, he never expects the man to do any kind of actual work, seeing he's just the man that's in charge of the front, but interestingly, none of the employees that work ever report to him for anything. It's like the whole thing is a sham, but that can't really be right if what Harold said about their performance. There must be something else…

Just after lunch time as John takes a sip from his hot cup of coffee, the microphone in Gary's office lights up with activity.

"Sir, we have a problem." The assistant barges into Gary's office.

"What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?" Gary lazily responded.

"Sir, you need to look at this." The assistant passes a tablet that she has in her hand.

"Ugh… what the fuck? What is the fuck is going on? How is this happening?" Gary explodes and tosses the tablet back to the poor lady.

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, do your fucking job and ask those dumb eggheads that cause this mess! If you don't I'll put a bullet in you and everyone!"

John instantly sits up straighter at that threat as if he's all coiled up, ready to jump out of the car and rush into that building.

"Yes, sir." With that, the assistant quickly leaves the room.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gary quickly picks up the landline and dials a number.

John taps his earpiece and asks. "What's going on, Finch?"

"If the investments haven't changed since their last SEC filing… it would seem that every investment that the fund has in the stock market just collapsed… along with a multitude of other stocks."

What? … "How?" The words escape his lips without him even realizing it.

"I don't know Mr. Reese, but what's happen…" Harold couldn't finish his sentence when a loud voice cuts Harold off.

"FUCK! Why isn't that bitch answering the phone?!" Gary slams the handset back on the telephone as he stands up and paces around the office.

He must be trying to reach that Francine person…

"As I was saying, what's happening now has spread throughout the stock market and everything is in the red."

"ALLISON!" Gary screams from the top of his lungs as he stares out the window.

John slides down a little so Gary can't see him and says. "Was this specifically targeting this fund's investment, or was our guy just very unlucky?"

"No, the asshole was totally being targeted!"

An amusing smirk crosses his lips. "Leon? Am I on speaker Finch?"

"Yes, and it's safer for Mr. Tao to be in the library with me rather than somewhere else. He's been helping me with the accounts and now the stock market crash…"

"Yeah!" Leons enthusiastically continue on. "So, I looked closer at the asshole's investments and saw all of them went down a few microseconds before the other stocks."

"Can we find out who caused the stock to collapse?" John asks as he continues to watch Gary paces in the room as he mutter profanities.

"No…" Harold was cut off again when Gary's assistant came back into the room.

"How much are we down and have the geniuses figure out what the fuck is going on?" Gary points at the assistant.

"It's 40% now, and they haven't, sir." The assistant answers in a calm tone.

At least someone isn't panicking…

"Well, get the fuck back out there and come back when they know what's happening! What am I paying them for? Just to sit around with their thumbs up their asses?" Gary yells sounding more manic by the second. "Also, have those idiots make up a plan on how we're going to recover from this!"

"As I was saying…" Harold continues from where he stopped. "It's almost impossible to know who is behind this due to how the stock market and the SEC operate without months of investigation, but whoever causes this sophisticated."

"Sophisticated? More like it's a fucking genius. The amount of coordination to do this is insane! Whoever did this had a shit ton of money and balls." Leons butts into the conversation and serenates John with his wonderful observation as usual.

"Fuck, I need to get a hold of her… Wait yesterday, that guy who came in… what's his name? He said he works alongside Fran. Maybe he can get in contact with her for me." Gary stops pacing and goes back to his desk to search for something.

"I hope you haven't transferred your money yet, Finch." John comments as she watches the man manically turn his desk upside down in search of something.

"Thankfully, no Mr. Reese, but the schedule was supposed to be 5 o'clock." Harold sounds relieved. Who wouldn't be relieved to not lose a 150 million dollars?

"That's lucky of you, Harold. You should try the Powerball next." John praises and continues. "Now Leon, what have you found out about the accounts Harold discovered? Because whoever they are, is going to be awfully pissed off that Gary here just lost their money."

"I don't know where you guys find these characters, but every time I help you guys, it involves something crazy."

"You were one of these 'characters', Leon." John retorts with a smile on him. While it's true that Leon is an annoying pest that doesn't know how to not get himself killed, but he's a good guy… deep down… really deep down. If he weren't he wouldn't help for nothing in return… well, maybe it's his way of paying back for saving his life multiple times within the spend of a year.

"Compared to that dead psycho lady and saving a billionaire? I'm nothing!"

"Leon, pay attention." John amusingly says as he looks on at Gary, who has stop trying to find whatever it is and is just holding his head with despair.

"Yeah man, that's what I'm getting at before you cut me off. Which was rude, by the way…"

"Leon." John makes it as if he sounds was pissed, which normally works with the shorter man.

"Okay, okay. Look, those accounts are fucking crazy. Harold here gave me two thousand accounts for me to dig through and you know what if found?!"

After a moment of silence with Leon not continuing, John relents and says. "What did you find, Leon…"

"That each of the accounts has between a couple of dozens to thousands of other accounts that have transferred to it or received transfers from it. All of it randomized, none of the accounts are the same, and none of them have ever transferred to any of the accounts that's involved. It's insanely clean, too fucking clean, and I've never seen something like this before in my life." Leon pauses for a moment after talking nonstop. "Then I thought, all of these sprawling accounts must lead somewhere like a branch on a tree, and like a tree, there must be a root where it collects water; in our case, it collects money. So, I randomly pick an account and follow where the branches lead me. And you know where it leads me? To fucking nowhere! It's never ending. There I've followed the branches up to two hundred accounts and I don't think it's going to end. It's like a fucking forensic accountant nightmare, like staring down into a pit of despair where I might go insane if I continue on."

"I hope you know a good shrink, Leon." John teases the haggard sounding accountant.

"Hold on for…"

John cuts Leon off and asks. "Harold, did you check the background of each of the accounts?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. I have checked each account and found that they are all linked to a 'real' entity or person with pictures and history. As Mr. Tao has eloquently presented, each account is clean, almost too clean."

"So, what we have are two unknown, incredibly powerful forces. One of which is Gary's employers and the other one is trying to bankrupt the other." John tries to understand this whole situation.

"Is successfully trying, Mr. Reese."

"We're witnessing some kind of secret war, Harold." John concludes.

"And one side is clearly winning if all the red is on my screen is to say anything about that."

"Hey guys, do I really need to continue down this rabbit hole from hell?" Leon chimes in again.

"Yes."

"Yes." John and Harold answer at the same time.

"You guys aren't paying me enough…"

"We aren't paying you anything, Leon." John quips back.

John can hear Leon mutter something in the background, but ignores it as he says. "I think our guy might just be the victim, Harold. Either the people trying to take down this fund are going to kill him, or Gary's employers are for losing their money."

"I believe that is the case as well, Mr. Reese."

"Fuck, why can't I find that guy's number?!" Gary snaps as he stands up and punches his desk in frustration. He then picks up the landline phone and dials again. "Pick up bitch, I know this number is for emergency only. So, pick up or I'll swear to God, I'll shoot you the next time we met."

"Who is he calling Finch?" John asks as he tapped into that office phone box, not long after Finch left yesterday.

"It's a New York exchange number… Give me a second… The number is registered to a company called Mammoth Automation Next Network. It does networking services for the national phone carriers. The number's office is at the Flatiron District."

"I can't be in two places at once, Finch, and you can't leave the library until you figure out who we're dealing with." John presses Harold.

"FUCKING BITCH!" Gary slams the receiver again and paces around the room again.

"Hey! What am I? A ham sandwich." Leons butts in again.

John ignores Leon's whining and continues. "We need help."

"We don't know what we're dealing with, Mr. Reese. The risks in involving either detective are considerable."

John rolls his eyes at Harold's over-caution. "They risk their life every time they help us, Finch. Trust that they can keep themselves safe."

"I'll see if Detective Carter is available."

JOSS CARTER POV

"What the…" Joss looks up from the piece of paper that she wrote on the address earlier and sees the building, then looks back down to double check. She then takes out her phone and makes a call.

"Hello, detective Carter. How can I help you?"

"Are you sure this is the place, Finch?" Joss asks as she glances at the building number that's plastered on the wall.

"Yes, it's the address that's registered with the carrier. Why? Is there a problem?"

"Because I'm not sure if this building fits the description of a company you gave me earlier, because it's a dump." Joss answers as she looks upon the abandoned-looking corner lot building that doesn't look like anyone has been occupying it for some time.

"Oh, dear… I'll try to find out if there was something wrong on my end."

"Do that and I'll have a look around." Joss ends the call and looks around at the neighbors of the abandoned building.

Better to canvas the neighbors, but after she sees what's inside. Joss walks right up to the door and knocks on it. Then again, and after a minute of no response, she let out an annoyed sigh.

Why can't things just be easy when it comes to the boys?

She gives the door knob a strong tug just in case, but the door doesn't budge an inch, indicating that it is sealed shut. Joss would do a lot of the boys, but she isn't going to picklock this door in broad daylight and in the public eye, she's an officer of the law, she at least has to set an example for others.

Stepping away from the door, Joss walks around the building and enters the alley behind the building. After a few steps, she sees the backdoor into the building along with a half-broken window that's next to the door.

Someone must have accidentally broken it after this place was abandoned. Guess that's enough of a probable cause for her…

Walking up to the door, she gives it a tug and finds it just as sealed up as the front one. Bringing out her lock pick, she made quick work of the locks on the door and opens the door, revealing a dark empty room.

At the top right of the room, she spots a CCTV camera with its red-light blinking, showing that it's on. Well, that isn't creepy in the slightest. She takes out her light and readies her right hand on her gun, just in case.

"NYPD, is anyone here?" Joss says out loud into the empty building, hoping that there's someone in here.

With the absence of any reply, Joss walks deeper into the building and ignoring the CCTV camera that's just looking at her when she first enters. She steps into a long dark hallway and the only source of light is her small flashlight. At some point during the past century, the building appears to have been converted from a factory to an office building. Not uncommon in this area.

She looks up and sees a small red dot further down the hallway. What's up with the cameras?

She notices a switch near to the door and flicks it, but nothing turns on. Whoever last used this place must have shut off the breakers just before they left, but left the power for the CCTV cameras on. She needs to get to the front, that's where the panels are normally at.

Cautiously, she makes her way down the dark hallway, passing by dark empty rooms with cobwebs everywhere in the rooms, and in every room there's a CCTV camera as well as every five yards in the hallway.

Finally, she reaches a door that opens up into a wide-open space and sees what looks like the front door, along with the windows. The panel must be somewhere here…

She walks along the wall until she reaches the front and sees the panel. Ripping open the metal panel, she flicks on every breaker that's off and suddenly the entire room is awash with light.

Putting away her flashlight, she takes a good look into the space. The place is empty except for the ton of wires strewn about everywhere… it's a miracle she didn't trip on any of this wire while walking. She takes a few steps and crouches to inspect one of these wires.

Are these fiber optic cables? She recognizes the ethernet cables that are in the pile of wires, but she isn't too familiar with these thin cables. Looking at the floor, she sees scuff marks, indicating that there was something heavy here previously before.

Looking up, she spots a ton of CCTV cameras around the office space. There's at least 20 cameras on the ceiling, looking in every direction. Kinda overkill if this was an office that does telcos work in the past. Something like this is normally seen in a place that handles expensive things or something secret.

In the middle of the room, there's a staircase going up. Guess there're more stuff upstairs…

Once she reaches the first floor and through a series of doors, she reaches another wide-open room, but this time the room isn't empty. The entire space is packed with empty server shelves, with wires dangling everywhere.

As she walks through the sea of empty shelves, Joss can't help but have the feeling that someone is watching her. Darting her eyes up, she sees those damn cameras, ever present and always watching. She shakes her head to remove the dumb thought. If someone was actually watching her, then someone would have come by now.

RING

The sudden sound of a phone ringing startled her so much that it made her jump out of her skin, and she instinctively draws out her gun to point at the direction of the sound.

A second pass and another ring echoes throughout the space is when she calms herself down. She lets out an uncomfortable giggle. Maybe the person who's watching her wants to talk to her.

With haste she follows the sound of the ringing phone, which leads to the back end of the room where there's a phone that's connected to some kind of device which itself is connected to the sole server in the cabinet.

Joss picks up the receiver, and instantly she hears a male's voice blaring out from it.

"Jesus, finally you fucking picked up the fucking phone, Fran! I've been trying to get you since lunch. What the fuck is happening? The fund is crashing…"

Whops… she quickly puts back the receiver. That clearly isn't the person who's been 'watching' her.

Almost immediately after she puts down the phone, it rings again. Who was that? Is that the person Harold is trying to save? What does this abandoned place have to do with it? Why would a telco servicing company need this many servers? Just what is going…

Halfway through her thoughts, her own cellphone rang. She instantly takes it out and sees a familiar number.

"Finch? I think you got some explaining to do." Joss steps away from the ringing phone.

"I assume you were the one that picked up the phone?"

"Yeah, and was that…" Joss eyes drifts towards one of the camera that's pointing right at the ringing phone. "Well, talk about that later… There's something off about this place, Finch. The place is empty… There are a ton of wires on the ground floor, and I assume some heavy stuff was down there before it was moved. The first floor is filled with rows of empty server cabinets and the only thing that's left is this one server that's connected to the phone."

"Is there a monitor that's connected with that server?"

Joss walks back to the server rack and says. "No. Just the server and what I assume a fiber cable."

"Could you please take the server with you?"

"Take?" Joss sputters as she glances back at the server to give it a double take. "I don't know if I can… I don't have any tools on me, and it looks like I need a second person helping me."

A year ago, she would have balked at the thought of stealing anything for anyone, but after everything and all the lines she's crossed. This is nothing in comparison.

"All servers in the past decade have been designed to be as toolless as possible that, you just need a Philips head screwdriver and remove the four front screws then you can just slide the server out. As for the weight… is it roughly 2in, 4in or 5inches? And the front of the server, is it grills or are there push tabs on it?"

Joss puts her hand on the server to get a rough estimate. "4 inches and just grills."

"That's a 2U server without an entire row of hard drive. It should be light enough for you to carry it on your own, Detective Carter."

Joss lets out a sigh. "Easy for you to say, and a screwdriver is a tool, Finch."

"I'm sure you will figure something out… And make sure to press the power button at the front of the server. It's the best you can do before transporting it."

"Yeah, I'll call you later." Joss ends the call and puts her phone back into her pocket, then takes out her flashlight.

If he wants her to improvise, she'll improvise. She presses the front button and removes the wires when the server shuts down. After several minutes of finagling the screws with her flashlight, she removes the last of the screws. The phone stopped ringing for the past couple of minutes. Guess the guy that the boys are trying to save gave up.

She gives the server a tug and slides it partially out and grabs the side handles before pulling it completely out.

Grunting at the weight of the server. "Oh, it's light he says, light my ass."

With the heavy server in hand, she makes her way out of the building and ignores the glowing red lights of the cameras that she feels are judging her for her actions. After a few minutes of struggling with the weight and trying to open the trunk of her car, she dumps the server into her trunk.

Joss lets out a breath of relief as she closes the trunk and leans on it to rest for a second to catch her breath. Her eyes darts to the neighbors of the abandoned building. Better talk to them before calling Harold again. So, with a heave, she pushes herself off the car and walks to the neighbor's door.

The door opens not long after she presses on the bell and the man gives her a look of surprise as she presents her police badge.

"Hi, I'm detective Carter, NYPD homicide task force. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" Joss asks in a sweet voice that she always uses when she does canvassing.

"Oh god, Homicide? Sure, sure, do you want to come in?" The man has a worried look on him as he opens the door wider to reveal a lobby of an office with an empty desk in the middle of the lobby.

The man must be the receptionist, perfect.

"Thank you, but I won't take too much of your time, mister…" Joss puts away her badge and presents her hand to the man.

Who quickly shakes it and answers. "Name's Williams."

"Well, William, I have a case that involves a…" Carter brings out her notebook. "Mammoth Automation Next Network and their registered address is supposed to be next to yours, but it looks empty."

A look of recognition passes Williams's face. "Oh yeah, that company been here way before I worked here, but they left like a year or so ago. They must not have changed their registered address."

"A year ago?" Joss questions. Who the hell forgets to change their address after a year?

"Yeah, like 13 or maybe 14 months ago. Really caused a ruckus with all of those trucks coming and going. Took them like a week to vacate." He replies and nods his head.

Sounds about right for the number of things that were removed from that building.

"Do you have a number that I could contact them or someone who works at that company?" Joss asks.

"Sorry, but I don't know. I rarely see or spoke to anyone working in that place and to be honest with you? The ones I saw working there rarely speak to anyone. They just go in during the morning and leave at night, like clockwork. They're quite private about their affairs." Williams explains, looking guilty, that he can't help more.

Joss lets out a sigh of disappointment as she produces her card and gives it to Williams. "Thank you for your cooperation and if you remember anything else, please call me."

Williams smiles as he takes her card. "Sorry that I can't be of any more help."

"No, it's fine." Joss gives Williams a nod and walks away as the door behind her shuts.

Something fishy went down in that abandoned building. A secretive office building where their immediate neighbor has no idea what's going on or knows anyone from the abandoned building? That is New York City, and that's almost impossible.

Joss looks around at the other buildings surrounding her. Better start canvasing now, but somehow, she has a feeling that she'll just get the same answer.

JOHN REESE POV

By the time the stock market bell rings, sounding the closure of the market and the fund Gary's 'managing' has lost 90% of its value. John just watched the guy's whole cover identity life imploding for the past few hours and he trying to salvage whatever he could. The man now just look entirely lost sitting in his office after a shouting match with the 'eggheads' on how they will recover and what caused it. Gary gets up from his seat and went to the table near the window to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

John taps his earpiece. "Tell me you have something, Finch."

"Mr. Tao has been doing his task and hasn't found anything that can help us…" Harold pauses, and John can hear Leon yelling from the background, which causes him to snort with amusement. "I'm sure it's a herculean task, Mr. Tao, but a life is at stake… Anyway, I've been trying to access the server."

John frowns and asks. "The one that Carter gave to you? It's been giving you trouble?"

Harold informed John earlier about what Carter had gathered about that company, and it wasn't much. Both Harold and John had a distinct impression that the place was a SCIF from the way Carter described it. From that information, John believes that Gary here works for some foreign intelligence agency and just got a burned notice. What country? John doesn't have a single clue, because few countries have this kind of resource to throw away. Harold, on the other hand, is skeptical of John's theory, believing that this is a domestic thing, maybe some black ops group in the government, but John doesn't know of a group that would do this. Not that what he knows matters since he didn't know about ISA before Shaw's number pop up.

"Yes, saying that it's giving me trouble would be an understatement. On the surface, it looks like a normal server that you can just buy from anywhere but the software… it's something else. It uses a version of Linux kernel that I've never seen before, and its encryption is something else entirely. It uses a block cipher that differs completely from any cipher I've ever encountered in the past and yet it's structure is strangely familiar. As if this cipher was created at the same time as other prominent block ciphers that we're using for the past twenty years. The easiest way for me to describe is convergent evolution." There's a sense of wonder in Harold's voice.

"So… you got nothing, and you can't break the encryption?" John cheekily asks as he sees Gary grab his things and leaves.

"… I wouldn't say nothing, but nothing that can help Mr. Cook and it'll take me weeks just to figure out the basics of this cipher before I can even attempt to break it."

"Well, use that big brain of yours, Harold, because that server is the best lead we have." John starts up his car as Gary exits the building and walks to his sports car.

"I'll try to see if I can pry some information from the OS itself or directly from the CPU."

"While you do that, I'm going to see who's going to kill our guy." John says as he tails Gary.

The daylight was replaced with the night sky as John sat in his car overlooking the mansion. On the way back here, Gary used a different route from usual and employed tactics that's meant to shake off any tails. Not that it mattered to John since he put a GPS tracker on Gary's sports car, but it told John that Gary doesn't feel safe and was more cautious.

Earlier, John tried to get into the mansion compound, but the man reactivated all of his alarms and it was such a hassle for him to disarm everything yesterday. That meant he has to be vigilant from the safety of his car and making sure that no one suspicious goes near to that oversized house.

Now with his binoculars, John can see the man still pacing around his room, trying desperately to call someone.

Suddenly, the passenger door opens, causing him to instantly drop his binoculars and draws his pistol as he turns to face the intruder.

And to his surprise, he sees a face that he didn't expect…

"Shaw?" John asks in his usual even tone, despite his surprise. "Were you just in the neighborhood?"

"John…" Shaw sitting in the passenger seat with a small smile on her as she points a gun at him as well. "Just what the hell are you doing here?"

"Really? I was wondering the same thing." John shots back, mirroring her small smile. Only to receive an unimpressed look from Shaw.

"How about we both put away our guns before anyone answers anything?" John says calmly as he puts on his winning smile. Not that it would do anything knowing Shaw's psychological profile, but it helps to cut the tension.

After a moment of silence between the two and a staring contest, both of them relent at the same time. Now that the guns are safely away…

"I'm here doing my job." John tilts his head at the mansion. "Now, how about you?"

"I'm protecting the program." Shaw answers with a smirk on her.

"You're out of the job, but still going out of your way to protect it?" John asks with slight amusement.

"I'm sentimental like that." Shaw quips with a grin.

They both know that isn't that's bullshit, but John doesn't point that out.

"Who are you saving this time?" Shaw continues as her eyes drift to the mansion.

"I think we both know who." John turns his attention back to the mansion as well.

Shaw shrugs as she stares at the pacing Gary. "Guess our guy Gary here is popular. Did research give you his number?"

"More or less." John answers as he gives Shaw side glances. Wonder if it's smart to tell her about the machine or not. Harold wouldn't like it, despite Shaw's previous occupation in executing the machine's relevant numbers.

"When?" Shaw instantly asks with hardness in her voice that puzzles John.

"Yesterday." John glances back at Shaw, who is staring hard at him. "Before the guy's life went up in flames."

John's quite aware that Shaw hasn't answered his initial question, showing him that she's quite cautious about her intentions. Not that he believes she's the one that's threatening Gary's life. Also, this helps build some trust between them.

"You got ears in there?" Shaw's attention turns back to the mansion.

"What's Gary to you, Shaw?" John shoots back at her, causing her to look at him with some suspicion.

Shaw lets out a sigh and answers. "He has information that's pertinent to the safety of the country and to the program."

That gave John pause. Despite their brief encounter with each other, John don't believe Shaw would lie about that. Just what does she know that he and Harold doesn't?

"Really? If so, then why don't you throw ISA an anonymous tip about this?" John presses.

Shaw shoots a glare at him before answering. "It's complicated."

"What isn't in our line of work?" John lets out a sigh. "Yeah, I got ears in there. Now, what do you know about Gary?"

He can see Shaw's fingers tapping on the armrest as she makes a face before shaking it as if she's having an internal debate.

"He works for something that I've been chasing for the past three years." Shaw answers and then points at Gary, who's still pacing. "What has he been doing since coming back home?"

Three years? That means whoever Gary employers, or this Francine person, are Relevant threats? But how is that possible? The machine would have given their numbers to the government or the ISA a long time ago… This just brings forth more questions than answers.

"Just been doing the same thing since he came back, pacing in and out from his room to his secret room. All the while raging at his employers and trying to get in touch with his employers." John quickly answers and asks. "What do you mean you've been chasing for three years?"

However, John didn't get a reply. What he got is a frown from the woman and her frown slowly getting deeper as the seconds tick by to become a minute. Then, like a snap, both her eyes and mouth widen in some sort of realization.

"Shaw?" John frowns at the woman's reaction, and slightly worried that something's wrong.

As if his words jolts her out of her stupor, her eyes harden as she stares into John's soul and asks. "He haven't cooked anything since coming back, has he?"

Puzzled by the question, John immediately answers. "No, why?"

He can see Shaw's jaw tighten in what he can only describe as anger. "Motherfucker."

In an instance Shaw turns away from him to get out of the car, sprinting away quickly and leaving him behind.

However, such rash acts didn't stun him as John as he too gets out of his car and sprints with all his might to catch up with Shaw. The former operative must have realized something that's threatening Gary's life, but he can't let her trigger that mansion's alarm and alerting the paranoid man. Not when he's high strung with what's happening to him.

Despite all of his might, the woman is just plain out faster than him. God, he's getting old.

"Shaw wait!" He tries to get the former operative attention as she reaches the boundary of the Mansion compound.

He then sees she takes out her phone and presses it before jumping over the fence. Just what in the hell is she trying to do?

John reaches the side door and opens it, using the key he forged. Upon opening the door, he sees the mansion's front door is open. How the hell did she open that? That doesn't matter, he needs to catch up fast. He quickly resumes his sprint and enters the mansion. Once inside, the air feels a little different, like there's something in the air, but he can't identify what it is.

He hears the door upstairs being forcefully open with a kick and Gary shouting after. He'll figure out the weird air after…

John climbs up the stairs with his pistol drawn, ready just for anything, but when he reaches the bedroom, he sees an unconscious Gary on the floor and a heavily breathing Shaw trying to pick him up.

"What are you doing, Shaw?" John asks as he rushes to Shaw's side and holster his pistol. "Did you taser him?"

"Come on, John." Shaw says as she tries to carry the man that's twice her size. "Help me or we all die."

Well, that explains some things. He'll just get an answer from her later. "You take his legs."

With a bit of coordination, they both carry the unconscious heavy man down the stairs and out of the house. Just as they pass through the side door…

BOOOOM

A loud explosion and shockwave knocks both of them onto the ground with Gary in the uncomfortable position on top of them.

John lets out a groan as he pushes the unconscious body off him and says. "How did you know?"

Patting parts of his body to make sure nothing is broken. There's no sharp pain anywhere… that's good. That means he didn't break anything. He'll just get some bruises, which is normal at this point. John gets up from his position on the ground and turns towards the mansion. He sees a burning wreck. Both floors of the mansion are blown to smithereens, there's only the skeletal remains of the building left.

Shaw groans as she gets up and rubs the back of her neck. "Experience."

Huh? John gives her a look.

"Because it's not the first time the fuckers done it." She shakes her head as she stretches her arms. "Let's go. They're going to come after this guy now that he didn't die."

That's a given. "We'll take him to a safe house. It should be safe there."

"I don't know if anywhere is safe." Skepticism is laced through in her voice as she gives him a blank look.

She sounds extremely certain about that…

Despite both of them feeling sore, they once again carry the unconscious Gary until they reach the car where they deposit the unconscious man in the front seat. John ties the man's hand with a zip tie he always has on hand and puts on the seat belt for the man. Can't have the police stopping them for something as stupid as not wearing a seat belt.

When he closes the door, he's graced with Shaw standing in front of him with her hand starch out as she taps her foot on the ground impatiently.

"You're not going to drive." John says, amusingly.

Shaw rolls her eyes. "I'm a better driver than you."

"You've never seen me drive before and you don't know where the safe house at." John retorts.

"You can just give me directions and I know this part of town like the back of my hand." Shaw rebuts.

"Not gonna happen, and it's my car." John shakes his head as walks around Shaw.

It's technically not his car… honestly, he never actually asked Harold where he gets all of the car from.

"Fine, if anything happens, it's your fault." She says sourly and points at him as she gets in the back seat.

John just smiles at the former operative and doesn't reply as he gets into the driver's seat. He quickly starts up the car and drives away, seeing the burning wreckage of the mansion from the rear-view mirror.

After several minutes of driving, John finally breaks the silence.

"Look Shaw." John looks at the woman from the rear-view mirror, who's just staring out, scanning for anything that's coming for them. "We might have different reasons for saving this guy, but we both don't want him dead. You need to tell me everything you know, and I will tell you everything we know. We're just handicapping ourselves by not knowing the full story."

Shaw turns her head towards John with what he feels a contemplating look, but he can't really say for certain due to her perpetually blank face.

Several seconds pass before she gives a nod. "I'll tell you when four-eyes is there with you, because I really don't want to repeat myself."

John gives her a smile and looks back at the road in front of him. "That's the only thing I ask."

Speaking of Harold, he has been quiet this entire time. John must have forgotten to connect to Harold earlier…

"Motherfucker!" Shaw screams from behind causing him to snap his head to his right and at that moment he felt like time grind down to a halt.

As a very conscious and angry Gary's fist slowly making, it's way towards John's head. It's too late for him to do anything. If it were just two seconds earlier, he could have stopped it.

He didn't feel anything when the fist made contact with his head, just that the world turned to darkness.

A/N: My first attempt at the classic POI number of the week episode and it's supposed to be only one chapter, but work has been interfering with my writing, so I'm splitting the chapter into 2 parts. I still haven't nailed down Reese's dry wit, and it shows.

Next chapter might come out in 2-3 weeks. Also, for anyone wondering, this chapter is set after S02E20 and before S02E21.