Finch limped into the library less than an hour later. Sometimes the limp was less pronounced; today it betrayed how tense his body still was. Reese sat in one of the side chairs, pretending to be innocently reading. He could tell by the way Finch sat down at the computer that he wasn’t buying it. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
“Afternoon, actually, Mr. Reese.” Harold’s hands flew over the keyboard and a moment later the system sprang up again.
Reese watched him for a moment. “You can’t blame me for trying, Harold. You knew I was curious when you hired me.”
Finch nodded without looking up. “Of course. That’s part of why I hired you. And I don’t begrudge your attempts to find out more about me. Any of them.” He paused, looked over at Reese. “I truly appreciate your help this morning. Your observation made a difficult situation … somewhat easier.”
“You haven’t heard from the boy yet?”
“No. But they said it would take a few hours.” His mouth drew tight. “I did hear from the director of Skydd. Will’s entire security detail is dead.”
“That’s what you expected, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.” Finch shook his head. “I’m glad they were able to get to Will as quickly as they did. I can’t imagine days or weeks of that kind of waiting. A single hour was agonizing.”
Reese nodded. “They were planning to extract him.”
Finch frowned, puzzled.
“They were planning to take him out of Mali before he was kidnapped. They knew someone was coming for him.” He paused. “They must have gotten some good intelligence. From somewhere.”
He watched the words sink in. Finch relaxed a notch. They would probably never know for certain whether the Machine had played a part in Will Ingram’s swift rescue. But it was definitely a possibility. The money his captors might have demanded for ransom would have paid for a lot of terrorist activities.
“The boy’s safe, Harold. He’ll call soon. Relax. Maybe take the rest of the day off.”
Finch just looked at him. After a long moment, Reese realized why. “We have a new Number.”
“I told you, Mr. Reese. The Numbers wait for no man.” With some resignation, he turned back to his keyboard.
John rolled to his feet. “All right. Get me what you can. Then I’ll deal with the case. You deal with your nephew.”
“I appreciate that,” Finch answered. “And I may take you up on it. But as you say, Will is safe. And even if they fly him out right now it will take most of a day to get him home. Perhaps we can resolve this new matter before he gets here.”
“Sure,” Reese answered. They’d had Numbers they’d resolved in under a day. Plenty of them. But the way the world worked, he was absolutely certain this wouldn’t be one of them. “Start the preliminaries. I’ll go get some coffee. And tea.”
“Mr. Reese,” Finch said, before he got to the doorway. John turned back. “Thank you.”
Reese nodded, a little embarrassed by the warmth in his employer’ eyes, and went out.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“Her name is Julie Mullins,” Finch said when he returned. He taped her picture to the board, took his cup from Reese’s hand. She was a pretty blonde with short hair and brown eyes. “Thirty years old, works as a translator for a company called Universal Transport. They specialize in international shipments and logistics. She has an apartment in Brooklyn. Clean driving record. Unremarkable financials.”
“International shipments may imply drugs,” Reese mused.
“Perhaps.”
Reese picked up his phone and dialed. On the fifth ring, a breathless woman answered, “Uhhh … Universal Transport, how can I help you?”
“Julie Mullins, please,” Reese said evenly.
“One moment.” There was a lengthy pause. “I’m sorry, Ms. Mullins isn’t in today. Would you like her voice mail?”
Reese raised one eyebrow at Finch. “No, thanks. I’ll try her at home.”
“I … uh … believe she’s out of town,” the woman told him.
“Oh. All right then. I’ll try her back next week. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone, stood up. “I think I’ll take a drive out to Brooklyn.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Finch answered. “I’ll see what else I can find out about her.”
“Let me know.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
Reese let himself into the apartment and waited just inside the door, listening. There didn’t seem to be anyone home. He looked around. Nice enough place, mid-range furniture, fairly neat. Small. He moved through the living room and glanced through a doorway at the single bedroom. The bed wasn’t made. Smallish bathroom, with one damp towel thrown over the shower rod. One toothbrush in the holder next to the sink. He opened the medicine cabinet. Clearly only a woman lived here; no sign of a man. He went to the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. It looked like a single woman’s refrigerator, too, one who was a little worried about her weight.
He moved back to the living room and looked around more closely. There was framed commercial art on the wall, nothing helpful. In a drawer he found an electronic photo frame. He turned it on and flipped through all the pictures in it. There were four dozen, nearly all of them of a Hispanic family. The very last one was a group of young women. He snapped a picture of it with his phone, then plugged in a flash drive and downloaded all the photos. When it was done, he put the frame away.
By the front door there was a trash can that overflowed with junk mail. He bent and picked a handful out. None of it had been opened. He flipped through the stack, then touched his earpiece. “Finch? You there?”
“I’m here, Mr. Reese.”
“Mary Delgado,” he read off the junk mail. “Sarah Towne, with an ‘e’. Rachel Smith. Serena Orazco.” He ran through the stack again, then dropped it back into the trash.
“And who are they?” Finch asked.
“Possibly they’re all sharing this cozy one-bedroom apartment with Julie Mullins. But more likely they’re all fake identities.” He sent the photo he’d taken from the electronic picture frame. “This may be them. Or not. But judging from the other pictures, the Hispanic girl is the only one who lives here.”
“So where is Miss Mullins?” Finch wondered.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
There was clicking in the silence. “All of these young women are friends on Facebook,” Finch finally said. “None of them are particularly active. Nothing controversial or even very personal.” There was another pause. “You’re right; I don’t think any of these are real identities.”
Reese studied the picture again. Five young women, all in t-shirts and shorts, all smiling, sweaty. Fit. Their target was second from the right. “Her name is not Julie Mullins, Finch.”
“Obviously,” Finch answered. “And we have no idea where to locate her. I’ll find out what the five have in common.”
“It’s a good bet that Universal Transport is a front company, too,” Reese offered.
Finch sighed. “You knew it wouldn’t be an easy one, didn’t you?”
“I had my suspicions.” Reese let himself out of the apartment.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“As we know,” Finch said, when Reese got back to the library, “when the Machine gives us a Number that’s part of a false identification, it generally means that that ID has been compromised.”
“She’s an undercover?” Reese asked.
“I believe so. But I haven’t been able to determine what agency she works for. You’re sure she doesn’t live in the apartment?”
“It’s just a mail drop.”
“As you predicted, Universal Transport is a false front as well.” He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache was gathering behind his eyes. “She’s in danger, Mr. Reese, whatever her name is. We need to locate her. And I really have no idea where to look.”
Before Reese could answer, Finch’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and relief surged through his body. “Will! Are you alright?”
The young man laughed. The connection was filled with static, but he’d have known that laugh anywhere. “I’m alright, Uncle Harold. I’m fine.”
“I was scared to death, Will.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Reese retreat from the main room, down the corridor toward the stairs. It gave the illusion of privacy, though Finch was sure he could still hear every word he said. He didn’t care. Not as much as he might have once, anyhow.
“I know,” Will said, “and I’m sorry. Really, this was no big deal…”
“You were kidnapped at gunpoint.” Finch snapped. “That’s a big deal. A very big deal, in my book.”
“We’re fine,” the boy said again. “We’re not hurt. We barely had time to be scared. I promise, Uncle Harold, we’re okay.”
Harold sat back, forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m probably over-reacting. I just …” He let the words fall off. But maybe the boy needed to hear them. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, too.”
He did not turn his head, but peripherally he could see Reese studiously not react.
“I know, Uncle Harold.” Will’s voice was soft for a moment, gentle. Then he cleared his throat, because conversational again. “So, um, the State Department has us and they’re making us fly back to New York.”
“Good.”
“I don’t really think it’s necessary. I mean, we’re not hurt or anything, I don’t see why we …”
“If you’re asking me to intervene, Will …”
“Could you?”
“Absolutely not. They must have their reasons.”
“Uncle Harold …”
“And I want you back here. I want to see for myself that you’re not hurt.”
The boy sighed, audibly exasperated.
“Besides,” Finch cajoled gently, “you probably need a real shower and a good meal anyhow.”
There was a brief pause. “All right. I’ll come home for a while.”
“Good.”
“But just for a while. Not really like I have any choice. But listen, can you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Can you meet me “ us “ at the airport?” There was muttering behind him. “Air strip, I guess. I don’t know where they’re flying us in to, I’ll let you know.”
“Of course,” Harold repeated. He did glance at Reese then. Being invited to a secret government airstrip set off all his internal alarms. Reese moved closer, a little crease of concern between his eyes.
Finch reached out, hesitated, then pressed the key that put the rest of the conversation on speaker. The sentimental part of the conversation was over, anyhow.
Will’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “And, um, could you bring chocolate?”
“Chocolate?”
“Really good chocolate. Like Godiva, one of those? Not a lot, just like, ten pieces. Dark chocolates, no nuts.”
Finch frowned at his computer screens, not seeing them.
“You don’t like dark chocolate, Will.”
Reese tipped his head, puzzled. He obviously wondered if it was some kind of code. Finch wondered the same thing.
“Yeah, I know.” Will cleared his throat again, but continued to speak very softly. “The other, uh, the other hostage. She’s coming back with me, on the plane. She doesn’t have any family to meet her, so I thought … not a big box, she’s kind of a health nut. Just a little …”
“Will …” Harold said.
The voice grew quieter still, but there was a smile in it. “I really want you to meet her, Uncle Harold. She’s, um … she’s pretty special.”
“You were kidnapped with this woman for, what, three hours, and now you’re telling me you have feelings for her?” Finch asked carefully.
Reese shook his head. Evidently it sounded like a terrible idea to him, too.
“No, it’s not like that. I’ve been crazy about her for weeks, way before we were kidnapped, I just never got anywhere with her. But you should have seen her, Uncle Harold. She was just … I was scared to death, and she was just so calm, so together … look, just come and meet her, okay? And bring her chocolate? She’s had a rough couple days.”
“As have you,” Finch sighed. “I will bring chocolates. Dark, no nuts. Understood.”
“Thanks. I, uh … thanks. I gotta go.”
Reese suddenly leaned down, urgently mouthed several words. Finch blinked at him, confused. He repeated it. “Will, wait,” Finch said swiftly.
“Yeah?”
“Your young lady. What’s her name?”
“Oh. Her name’s Julie,” Will answered. “Julie Mullins.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
The library was silent. Except it wasn’t, of course. Noise from outside traffic filtered in through the windows. The generator hummed; the computers whispered.The only sound missing was the omnipresent click of a keyboard. But its absence made the library seem lifeless.
Finch stared at his monitor. His fingers rested on the home keys. But he was not typing. Or moving. Reese had to look closely to make sure he was even breathing.
“Harold,” he said gently.
The genius turned his head a little to meet his eyes. “What if she means to kill him? What if she intends to murder Will?”
Reese shook his head firmly. “She’s had dozens of opportunities to do that already. Think, Harold. If she wanted him dead, she’d have made it happen by now.”
“Oh.” Finch blinked. John could almost see the paralyzing fear leave him. He took a deep breath. Began to focus. “Oh. Of course.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s in the clear,” Reese continued reluctantly. “If someone’s after her and he gets in the way, or if someone’s after her because she stopped them from getting to him … but Will Ingram is not her target. I’m sure of that much.”
Finch nodded. “Is she safe, for now? Are they safe?”
“State’s got them wrapped up. They won’t let either of them out of their sight until they get them back here.”
“So we have a little time.”
“Yes.” Reese could see that the gears had re-engaged in Finch’s head; he was thinking again, and probably faster than John ever would. “And we know we can start looking for background on her with State.”
“I didn’t know the State Department even had undercover agents,” Finch admitted.
“Not many,” Reese confirmed. “So she should be easy to find.”
“Yes.” Finch reached for the keyboard, then paused. “Will doesn’t know, does he?”
“Probably not. Julie Mullins, or whatever her name is, is a government minder. Her job is to follow him around and keeps him out of trouble. And if that doesn’t work, she calls in the big guns to get him out of trouble.”
“He had a security team. He didn’t know about that, either.”
“Why not?”
“Will’s very independent. And highly resentful of the limitations that he felt his father’s wealth imposed on him. When he was in high school he thought his bodyguard was reporting back to his father.” He began typing.
“Was he?”
“Of course he was.” Finch looked mildly annoyed . “So Will took to shaking him off whenever he could. They fought about it constantly. When Will went to college, Nathan discontinued the protection.”
“Except he didn’t,” Reese guessed. “He just had them drop back a little, stay out of sight.”
“Yes.”
John nodded. “State knew about them. That’s why they sent him a minder instead of a real covert op.”
Finch raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t stop typing.
“State’s agents are primarily assigned to diplomats and their families,” Reese explained. “And they’re mostly in the open. They have less training than some of the other agencies. A lot of their people aren’t ex-military.” He shrugged. “They’re good at what they do. They’re very diplomatic. Good at smoothing things over, making things run right. But if they get into trouble, they whistle for the big dogs. Our girl would have known about the private team. When they vanished, she screamed for help. Which is exactly what she’s supposed to do. That’s why there was an extraction team there. They weren’t planning on having to rescue him. They were just going to throw him in a bag and get him out.”
“Will would have been furious.”
A little smirk pulled at the corner of Reese’s mouth. “The mission would have been to get him out safe, not happy.”
“Found her,” Finch announced. He gestured to the screen. “Miss Mullins is actually Miss Essex. Mrs. Essex,” he corrected. He frowned at the screen. “She married Paul Essex in 2004. He’s a …” there was a brief pause for scrolling and tapping. “He was Marine corporal.”
“Was?”
“He was killed in 2006 in Afghanistan.”
Reese shook his head. “Is that when she went to the State Department?”
“No. She’d been working at a consulate in Germany since shortly after they were married. But after Paul’s death it does look like she retrained for field assignments.” He looked further. “Before her marriage, she was …”
There was a very long pause. Reese stood up and moved closer. “Finch?”
Finch shook his head, aggravated. “It looks like everything prior to her marriage to Corporal Essex has been redacted.”
“Standard procedure for undercovers. Even with State.”
“It limits our knowledge,” Finch complained. “Which limits our ability to help her.”
“I doubt that an old college rival is trying to kill her now,” Reese pointed out. “We’re in good shape, Finch. We know who she is and who she works for. We know where she’ll be tomorrow, and we know she’s safe until then.”
“Yes,” Finch said dryly. “The only thing we don’t know is who may be planning to kill her and why.”
“Or who she may be planning to kill and why. But we have time to work on that.” Reese rolled a chair closer. “We need to talk about you going to the airstrip, Harold. It’s a bad idea.”
Finch nodded. “You think this whole kidnapping drama may be a means to trap me.” From his tone, that scenario had already occurred to him.
“I think we need to consider that possibility.”
“I can’t not go, John.”
That was the answer Reese had expected. “That may be the point, Harold. They may have found the one thing you can’t refuse.”
Finch sat back, folded his arms over his chest. “If that were true, though, they could easily have detained me in my office.”
“True.” Reese sat quietly for a minute, rolling the possibilities around in his head. “Their choice of airstrip may tell us a lot about their intentions,” he finally said.
“We probably won’t know that until morning.”
“Which may also be part of their plan.” It was standard SOP to conceal the location of a meet from the enemy for as long as possible. It limited their ability to prepare, gave your side an advantage. He sighed. “Take a look, Harold. Look for chatter, for spikes in …”
“I know what to look for,” Finch reminded him, with just a bit of tartness in his voice.
“I know you do. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t too distracted by Ingram and the girl.”
Finch glared at him for a moment. Then his expression softened and he unfolded his arms. “Will can be a bit of a distraction at times,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Yeah. I got that impression.” Reese shrugged. “It may be nothing. It may be exactly as it’s been presented. But as you’re fond of saying, only the paranoid survive.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
Reese returned to the library just after seven the next morning. He hadn’t really wanted to leave the night before, but Finch had convinced him that first, he wasn’t doing anything useful and second, once their target was back in the country, sleep might become a very rare commodity.
There was a third element that had gone unspoken. John sensed that Harold was deeply rattled by the day’s events, by the reality that he might have lost Will Ingram. Reese would have stayed and tried to soothe his nerves, but Finch wasn’t that kind. However deep their friendship became, Finch was at heart a recluse. To get his mental equilibrium back, what he required most was solitude. He wouldn’t ask for it, not that baldly, but Reese had sensed his relief when he finally agreed to leave.
Finch had changed his clothes since the night before, but Reese doubted that he’d slept. The active board was full of new postings, mostly letters and reports surrounding their picture of the girl.
“Good morning, Mr. Reese.” Finch sounded more like himself. He didn’t look up from his desk; he was hunched over a small box wrapped in gold foil.
“You’re putting bugs in her chocolate?” Reese said. “That’s rather unappetizing.”
Finch glanced up at him. “I suppose so, when you put it that way.” He straightened, took the tea Reese had brought him with a grateful nod. Turned the box to examine the views on two monitors. “I don’t actually anticipate that it will do much good, but I am fond of back-up plans.”
Reese nodded. The box contained two cameras on opposite sides and a microphone. It might be useful “ unless she put it in a drawer, or shared all the chocolates and threw the box in the trash. Still, it was worth a try. He stepped over to the glass and took a closer look. “You’re been busy.”
“I’ve been looking into Ms. Essex’s history with the State Department. It’s somewhat interesting, if not particularly helpful. But more importantly, at the moment, Mr. Ware just called. Will and Ms. Essex will be arriving around ten this morning.”
“Where?”
“The NorthEast Aviation hangar at Teterboro.”
Reese could feel the tension sliding off his shoulders. He’d only been half-aware that it was there.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Finch continued.
“It’s very good. Open, visible, public. It’s possible, but it’s not a great place for a snatch. Of course, it is in New Jersey.”
“You haven’t lived in this city long enough to rip on New Jersey,” Finch said.
“I’ve lived here for more than ten minutes. Apparently that’s long enough.” He sobered. “That doesn’t mean you’re in the clear, Harold.”
“I know. But it does mean it’s less likely that the government is up to anything nefarious.” He returned to his computer. “I’ve checked all night. There’s some chatter related to the rescue, but nothing more.”
Reese glanced at his watch. “I want to get out there first, have a look around. I’ll pick up a tie. I can be your driver.”
“No,” Finch said flatly.
“I’m a very good driver,” he protested. “Ask Zoe Morgan, she’ll vouch for me.”
“I’m sure she will. But if this is a snatch, as you say, I need you on the outside so you can come and get me.”
John sighed. He’d pretty much known that was what Finch would say. And the truth was, he was right. But he would have been a lot more comfortable with the whole thing if he could have been right at Harold’s back.
He gestured to the board. “Tell me about our girl.”
Finch put the lid on the chocolates and stood to join him at the board. “As we learned yesterday, she was in as support position at a US consulate in Germany while her husband was in Afghanistan. After his death, she re-trained and took her first field assignment in 2007. She didn’t work undercover, however, until late 2009. Her evaluations are glowing. Her reports are well-written and concise. And she gets love letters from her clients.”
He gestured. Reese bent to read one of the letters. It was from an ambassador whose name and location had been redacted, and it praised her work with his small children during what sounded like a brief but violent local uprising. “Kept them calm and entertained,” he read aloud, “which greatly assisted the defense of the consulate.” He skimmed a little further. “She even helped the older boy get his history project done.”
“This one,” Finch said, tapping another, “is from a much older statesman, who finds her to be an excellent companion and promising bridge player. And in this one she managed to usher a teenage girl around the city without losing her temper at her even once. Which, I gather from the context, is a significant achievement.”
“It doesn’t sound like she’s done anything particularly challenging,” Reese mused. He scanned the other documents. “Still …”
Finch nodded. “I saw it, too.”
“They’re all rich.”
“Rich, powerful, privileged. Or some combination thereof.”
“Kind of a cushy niche, but I couldn’t do it.”
Finch raised one eyebrow. “You don’t think you’d get along well with the very wealthy, Mr. Reese?”
“Not with the conventional very wealthy, no.”
Harold seemed amused by that answer. He moved on. “Eleven months ago, Ms. Essex began to follow Will. At a distance, at first; apparently she checked in on him three or four times a day, but she didn’t make contact. She also noted his security detail daily.”
Reese nodded. The boy was covered. She had no reason to get close.
“Seven weeks ago, when he relocated to Mali …” Finch paused and did not quite roll his eyes, “… she signed on to the clinic as support staff and began to track him very closely.” He tapped one other paper on the board. “This is her last report.”
It was very concise. It contained their location and the exact nature of the expected threat. It was urgent, but not panicked. It explicitly requested an extraction, and it noted that the subject was likely to object.
It was sent roughly six hours before Will Ingram had been kidnapped.
Reese nodded approvingly. Within the limited scope of her training and assignments, Ms. Essex knew her stuff.
“But none of this,” Finch complained, “gets us any closer to knowing who might be after her or why.”
“True.” Reese glanced at his watch again. “I’m going to go poke around New Jersey. Let me know if you find anything else.”
On his way out of the library, he gathered a duffle and a small arsenal of guns. He knew Finch could hear him. But for once there was not even a token objection.
Not that it would have made any difference anyhow.
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