Wabash River Parkway Rahway, NJ
(birds singing, indistinct shouting)
Slave labor.
Chopping weeds all day for no pay.
Ought to sue.
(chuckles, sniffles)
I guess it's worth getting out of the cell
for a few hours and feeling the sun on our faces, am I right?
What's your problem?
Too good to talk to me?
You can go to hell. I'm just trying to be friendly.
They send you here? Huh?
Freshest fish in the tank, and you get outdoor PI?
How did that happen?
I just went where I was sent. Yeah.
(grunting) Oh! Oh!
What the hell?!
God!
If they sent you, you would have blocked those easy.
I don't know what you're talking about.
I ain't with anyone, you psycho.
I know, so I'm sorry.
(grunting)
- MAN: Hey, look, it's Whitman! - Whitman, freeze!
MAN: Go, go, go!
(indistinct shouting)
MAN: You see that? We got a runner. Call a chopper!
Damn it!
MAN: What happened?
Get down river! Hurry! Cut him off!
(indistinct, overlapping chatter)
Where is he, man? MAN: Dispatch.
We need a chopper at the Wabash River. We got a swimmer.
(gunshots)
He's over there upstream.
Where is Casey?
MAN: Go! Go! Go!
He cut his foot off.
(sighs)
(distant chatter)
(grunts)
(grunting)
(siren blaring)
Maybelle Minimum Security Prison Hudson, NY.
LLOYD: Oh, she's just got these soulful eyes.
And her perfume– it's just like this
sublimely supple blend of-of, like, citrus and–
I don't know– coconut or something?
But she was supposed to get you a pencil.
You got a pen. But a pen
is deeper. It's more meaningful, I think, so...
Oh, shut up already.
Have some of my special toilet wine.
Down... the snatch.
Oh.
(sniffs) My God, that is an earthy, earthy body, Shakes.
- I'm gonna pass. - All right.
But remember. Huh?
My bunk's right upstairs
if you're lonely.
And these dentures– they pop out real easy.
(buzzer sounding)
(door rumbles open)
Lowery, work detail.
Love beckons.
Not for you, though.
Pop those bitches back in, Shakes.
(laughs)
Hey.
Hi.
So, your, uh... your pen gesture was a tad cryptic,
but then, this week, as I watched an inmate named Tito
get a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his throat, I realized,
ink is permanent.
It's a commitment.
You could have given me a pencil,
but you wanted to make a statement,
and I just want to repeat, I'm on board.
Um...
Lloyd, the... the pen
was a gesture... of
friendship.
You-you asked me if I had feelings for you,
and I do.
Just not like you think.
I'm sorry. Um, you-you are still
so... important to me,
an important... friend.
(door opens)
ZANCANELLI: Lowery, get in here!
What wrong with you, hmm?
Nothing.
"With love, from Damien."
Our serial killing pen pal just sent you another
forget-me-not.
A picture of Ancient Babylon.
"I persevere. I excel. What's your condition?"
- Any ideas? - In the three seconds I've had to look at this,
I haven't quite cracked it, Ray. Sorry.
Don't get snippy. Just keep it on you.
When you get a break in the case, I want you working on it.
All right, let's not forget what happened
the last time he sent us one of these.
Yeah, I got it.
You're quiet. You're never quiet.
Everything all right?
Let's get to it.
All right, scumbag of the week, Jonah Whitman. Ten months
in a six-year stretch after nearly killing a guy in a barroom fight.
You serious about this file here, Ray?
Seen more information written on bathroom stalls.
Most of his file's been redacted.
It's a, uh, safety protocol
for government operatives.
Okay, who is this guy, James Bond?
Whitman was a former Navy SEAL.
Okay, well, that would explain his hard-core escape.
He swam 100 yards against the current
in chains, never coming up for air.
He cut the foot off the guy he was chained to?
That's bad-ass. How'd he free his own hoof?
Police found his bracelet in the woods,
along with bits of his flesh and blood.
SHEA: He Ginsu'd his own foot?
ZANCANELLI: He didn't cut it off. He cut it.
Pulled a ballerina squeeze.
JULIANNE: Compromising restraints through
minor self-mutilation, using blood as lubricant.
It's standard P.O.W. training for Special Ops.
Hey, dingus, pay attention.
- Hmm? Hmm. - ERICA: It says Whitman left the Navy.
For a company named Alastor.
JULIANNE: It's a private security company.
No, it's more like a paramilitary organization.
These guys are contracted by Uncle Sam
for overseas covert missions
our government don't want their prints on.
Make Blackwater look like the Cub Scouts.
Well, Alastor is an epithet the Greeks used
to describe the bloodshed left in the wake of the god of war,
so, they went pretty direct with the name, I guess.
It's better than sending mixed signals, though.
ZANCANELLI: Well, he has no immediate family. This guy's a lone wolf.
LLOYD: Well it's a pretty standard psych profile for somebody who joins
the Green Berets, the SEALs, what have you... but this is not.
Uh, prison med records say
he has sporadic violent outbursts, delusions,
advanced paranoia, forced psychiatric care.
Well, his prison shrink's on the way.
What am I supposed to do with this, Ray, when his file is a black hole?
JULIANNE: I have a friend who works at the Department of Defense.
I'll see what she can pull on Whitman's military file.
ZANCANELLI: All right, let's get to it. Whitman's a trained assassin and a mental case.
Get him off the streets.
Paddock, New Jersey.
Oh. Damn it!
Come on, man! This is cashmere.
So sorry.
This is a great way to start a day.
(laughs)
But I do know of a better way. I, uh...
I would love to, but duty calls.
You know, I hate it when you leave.
I'll try to come back later.
No. When you leave leave.
You know, when they take you.
You're cute when you get worked all up, and...
it's been a while since a guy's counted the minutes for me.
It's kind of nice.
You know, speaking of which, you never told me exactly
how many minutes or years I'm gonna have to count.
A while.
But I can knock a month off today
if you'd let me out of this kung fu grip, GI Joe.
Yeah? Yeah.
(laughs)
Hey, uh, before you abandon me again,
I got a quick favor. Sure.
I feel a little bit like a dick asking,
but I have this cousin, Tommy Fitzgerald.
We're like brothers.
Haven't seen the guy in ten years.
He's been in and out of AA, fell off the map.
I heard that he's back in town here in New York,
and I would love to find him.
I'm not allowed access to the Marshals' database.
Uh, yeah, no. It's no biggie. I wasn't even sure if it was something you could do.
I-I... I wish I could.
Yeah. See you later?
Yeah.
Mm-hmm. (Laughing): Get out of here.
Jonah Whitman's delusions became even more acute
despite all of my sessions with him.
He was belligerent.
He became violent on more than one occasion.
Why wasn't he moved to a psych ward?
Because he was fully functioning.
Made best efforts to have him transferred,
properly medicated, but as you know, it's difficult
to have someone committed against their will.
Especially if you have a court-appointed attorney
fresh out of law school, eager to make their bones.
Hate the lawyers.
Transient psychotic symptoms,
social withdrawal, irritability, dysphoria.
You had your hands full.
To say the least.
And all the textbook symptoms of schizophrenia.
Adult onset instances have occurred in cases
where individuals have suffered stress-induced mental breaks.
So, being a Navy SEAL, Whitman is right in the sweet spot.
Did Whitman mention any places he missed, people he trusts?
Oh, he didn't trust anyone. He thought his cell was being bugged
and that people were trying to kill him.
ZANCANELLI: Anyone specific?
The warden, God, Santa Claus.
In his case, everybody's a threat.
If anyone's a threat, then nobody's safe.
I need to be getting back to Central State now for group.
Thanks for coming in.
Hey, Doc. (Clears throat) Real quick.
What is a Cornell grad doing working at a prison?
I don't mean to be rude, but you don't see that every day.
Leges sine moribus vane.
Cornell's motto.
"Lacking moral sense, laws are in vain."
Just trying to give back.
ZANCANELLI: Thanks again.
My pleasure.
Hey, Ray, wait a minute. Damien's postcard.
I persevere. I excel. Perstare et Praestare.
Persevere and excel. That's NYU's motto.
- Oh, you think it's something? - No, no, no. I just really like talking in Latin.
You know, you've been a really moody bitch this morning.
Now if you think it's something about Damien,
I want you to stay here and figure it out.
Have Jules work on it with you.
I'll call you back.
Pedestrian thinks they saw someone fitting Whitman's
description wearing a jacket in a parking lot in Paramus.
Local PD interviewed the witness. They think it's a solid ID.
What's by the lot?
Uh, a strip mall.
All right, tell local PD to hit every shop with a photo of Whitman.
I want to know where he was, what he wanted, what he bought.
You two, get to work.
What's going on with you and Lowery?
What? Nothing.
Well, he's looking at you with these puppy eyes
during briefings, and he's a little crankier than usual.
- I don't know. - Right.
I'm not a homeroom teacher.
I want you both focused on work.
Mm-hmm.
Hackensack, New Jersey.
♪ I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee ♪
WIFE: Still no lights, Chase.
That's 'cause I haven't even started yet, honey.
This house will be filled with six-year-olds in one hour.
We need electricity.
I need a Scotch, pain in my ass.
(music continues)
People are looking for you.
Oh, and I'm looking for people.
You're one of them.
Tell me what I want to know, and you might live.
Who made the call?
Please, listen to me.
You're sick.
You need help.
You need to see a doctor.
Yeah, I know.
I need my meds, so I can keep quiet.
- (doorbell rings) - Who made the call?
I swear, I don't know what you want...
WIFE: Oh, my God, you're so early.
Asher, Thomas is here.
(door closes)
Please, my son's inside.
Yeah, suddenly you care about others, hmm?
WIFE: Honey, where's the electricity?
Beheaded?
Yeah.
As in the dude's head is gone?
Yeah, that's what "beheaded" means, genius.
- And it looks like he took it with him. - Beheaded?
Let's hit the house to see who else might be on Whitman's hit list.
COWBOY: Rawhide Ronnie's here.
Who's ready for a balloon saloon showdown?
Why are the cops here?
I'm gonna let you handle this one.
That's a nice hat.
Damien's target is an NYU student?
Possibly. I just can't find the connection
between NYU and this picture of Babylon.
And how-how can you say you don't have feelings?
You kissed me.
I had been drinking.
It was a "thank you" kiss,
not a...
big deal.
I beg to differ 'cause it was a big deal to me, obviously.
And I know you, Julianne.
You are not impulsive like that.
Lloyd, it was just a kiss.
I regret doing it.
(sighs) That came out wrong.
I don't care, you know.
It was a mistake, I just...
As far as I'm concerned, it is ancient history, and...
Lloyd... Shh.
I got it. I got it.
It's history.
It's history; That's the Babylon reference.
Uh, check out the NYU catalog
for, um,
ancient civilizations, archaeology, anthropology.
"What is your condition?" Okay, so he sent this to me.
He knows I'm a doctor.
Is he pointing toward my diagnosis of his condition
or is it referencing another diagnosis?
Search NYU and Esagil-kin-apli, please.
E-S-A-G-I-L...
Got it. Okay.
Well, he was the godfather of, uh, pharmacology in Babylon.
He created the first diagnostics manual.
No courses on him at NYU,
but there is a book about him at the NYU library.
- You can't leave. - We go off on our own all the time now,
Or haven't you been paying attention? Not without Ray's permission.
Ray wanted me to figure out this postcard, which is what I'm doing.
You're in my custody now.
I'm not asking you. I'm telling you.
Well, if you don't like it, you can call the Marshals
and report my escape.
I'm just a con to you anyway.
(sighs)
Alastor Corporation White Plains, NY.
What are you, Spiderman?
They got security cameras all over the place.
If you want to be on Big Brother's radar, be my guest.
ERICA: Why would they have security cameras in a meeting room?
ZANCANELLI: See, guess I'm not the only one that doesn't trust
his employees.
Hi, I'm Kendra Park, executive director.
This is our chief of security, Richard Drake.
- How can Alastor assist the U.S. Marshals? - Jonah Whitman.
- Name ring a bell? - Of course, he was.
One of our consultants.
He was let go for undisclosed medical reasons.
Another way of saying he went crazy?
He lost his way.
That's putting it mildly; He escaped from prison,
killed one of your employees, Chase Lansing.
When?
A few hours ago.
Our operatives experience things that would break any man.
We have programs set up to help, but sometimes they're not enough.
Can you think of anyone he might target or reach out to?
Not that I'm aware of. I'm sorry. This is just a lot to take in.
(alarm sounds) SHEA: Whoa, whoa, what the hell is that?
Ray, what the hell is that?
Uh, we're having a minor security issue.
Just wait here.
We'll be back in a few minutes.
ANNOUNCER: We have a Code 3 alarm.
Proceed to your assigned sections.
Shit, they're locked. Hey, Ray, you got to get
your Hulk on and knock these doors down.
This glass is one inch thick; Impossible.
All right, then give me a credit card.
For what? You gonna buy yourself some new eyeballs?
It's a retinal scanner.
W-wait, Whitman knows the security system here.
That's why he took Chase's head.
For his eyes.
Whitman is here. Now.
(gunshot) Aah!
What you doing, Bleers? Trying to erase all the good stuff before I can get it?
Trying to protect our nation's security
before you compromise it.
Please, you don't know what you're doing.
I know, I'm crazy.
But I have a gun, so sit down.
All right.
Pull up the files on the Yemen operation.
That's a ton of data.
Now.
Even the phones all lockdown.
Shut off all outgoing signals. (Beep) I can't even use my cell phone.
You don't think that means they caught him?
- SHEA: Dude, they're gonna cut our heads off. - Sorry for the inconvenience.
Where the hell do you get off, locking us in here?
I suggest you knock it down a peg.
How about I knock you down a peg? I know you got Whitman in here.
If Mr. Whitman were on our premises, he would be in custody.
I'm getting a warrant for all your security footage.
Access to our database requires
a clearance level you've never heard of.
And certainly one not granted to convicts or dirty cops.
Not to someone associated
with five homicides?
We can prove you did them.
Or to someone whose great-grandfather
had ties to the IRA. Right?
Seamus?
I thought your real name was Sean.
I so much as get a hint that you're aiding Whitman,
your next government job will be breaking rocks at Leavenworth.
Such anger, but not surprising
coming from someone whose dad abandoned him at three
and whose mother put him in foster care because she couldn't handle him.
(door opens) We're in their house, Ray.
PARK: What the hell is going on here?
You're excused. Now.
I'm sorry; He was completely unprofessional.
I'm asking once: Where's Whitman?
I can neither confirm nor deny the source of the breach,
but, uh, off the record, he was here.
We've locked down the facility, but there's no sign of him.
In other words, he escaped out from under your noses?
Okay, well, why would Whitman cut the head off a guy
to break into a secure compound where he could easily be ID'd?
He dropped another body, didn't he?
He killed our data analyst, Greg Bleers.
All right, I don't want any roadblocks.
I want to see that crime scene right now.
I want to find Whitman as badly as you do.
Alastor might be able to turn their back on him, but I can't.
I hire these men, I send them into dangerous situations.
I have a responsibility to them.
Help me help them.
Please.
NYU Library New York, NY.
All I'm saying is once the government's got you
in their crosshairs, that's it.
We're in the machine now, man.
I mean, can't another unit get this guy, Ray?
No, same as in the car: Shut it.
Where's Lowery?
NYU library following up on a postcard clue.
What about the strip mall?
None of the proprietors recall seeing Whitman,
but there was an incident at an Internet café
with a man fitting Whitman's description.
No firm ID, though.
All right, tell ESU
I want every e-mail from that place read, checked and tracked.
There's multiple computers, so it could take a while.
Uh, but I did find out
something on Dr. Deitz.
Whitman's prison shrink?
He... When he was at Cornell,
he was frat brothers
with a Mr. Richard Drake, who is currently...
The biggest jag-off at Alastor.
Yeah, we met the guy; He's charming.
Son of a bitch.
Deitz was planted in the prison by Alastor.
See? See, what was I just saying about government?
They stick a doc in Central State,
they make Whitman look crazy in case he talks,
then try to dope him, so he don't talk.
Talk about what?
About whatever super-secret, black ops,
oogity-boogity thing he knows about.
I mean, think about it. If they knew everything there was to know about us,
I bet you they know some top-shelf info, too;
I'm telling you, this is Big Brother's bigger brother right here.
PETE: Hey.
(door closes)
Everything okay?
Yeah.
Yeah, no...
Listen,
there are things that I've done that I haven't been charged for,
things that, if I were charged,
my sentence would have words, not numbers.
Following me? I-I think so.
Why are you telling me this?
Because...
Because despite what you know about me,
you trust me, and...
I trust you.
Tommy Fitzgerald's address.
I can't believe that you did this for me.
Lose something, Shea?
Sh...
DOD files of the other SEALs who followed Whitman to Alastor.
I knew it.
They bugged the bull pen.
Call a Transpo.
I'm going back to Maybelle.
Whoa, what's going on?
Alastor bugged the bull pen.
That's ours.
Marshals bugged the office when the team first formed, genius.
Whoa, this is your bug?
Yeah, they've been off for months.
JULIANNE: Think I found something.
When you said that Whitman
killed Greg Bleers, Alastor's data analyst,
I thought, um... Well, I thought that maybe
he was after something more than revenge.
They have got more firewalls than the devil's bedroom,
so ESU couldn't see what was taken,
but there was a massive download of information
from their main server the same time you were there.
All right, we're gonna need everybody on this.
Call Lloyd, tell him the postcard is gonna have to wait.
(phone ringing)
You know, there's some tin foil in the kitchen if you want
to make yourself a little hat.
Stop the nonsense. Get back to work.
Hey, Ray, Lloyd's phone keeps going straight to voice mail.
Uh, probably turned it off in the library.
ERICA: We're busting our humps and he's playing hooky– nice.
Maybe Alastor's Men in Black snatched him up.
Who would want Lowery? I don't even want him.
But Whitman killed two of their guys. Then he steals files from them.
They don't want us to catch him. They want to kill him.
Grabbing Lloyd slows us down.
They probably got electrodes hooked up to his brain
- right now. - Yeah, unlikely.
Well, then, to his nuts.
If they can find them.
As soon as Lloyd's phone is on, I want you to put a trace on it.
Check this out.
All the guys that were on Whitman's team at Alastor are dead.
Well, hajjis are good shots.
No, but, but these, these guys all died in the U.S.
Thinking Whitman went postal, killed his own men?
You fight side by side with your boys,
make it home safe and sound, and then kill them?
Doesn't make any sense.
None, none of this makes sense.
Okay.
Brian Giannone– stabbed to death in a 2:00 a.m. mugging.
Now, how does a, a crackhead get the jump on a Navy SEAL?
Eric Grossman– heroin overdose,
but he had no history of drug abuse
and no prior criminal record.
Lawrence Perry– fishing accident.
Okay, one, one person dies– tragedy.
Two– coincidence.
But three over 12 months?
I mean, the whole time Whitman is sitting in prison,
hearing about all this.
Thinking they're hits.
(chuckles) Who's paranoid now?
Okay, Lawrence Perry's body was never found,
just DNA from a chunk of flesh that was in a propeller.
Perry figured out Alastor killed his boys,
thought he was next,
then he could have faked his own death.
I mean, more of that self-mutilation business.
If Whitman was at that Internet café,
maybe he was sending an e-mail.
Who would a paranoid schizophrenic reach out to?
He'd only trust a member of his team.
Like Perry if he's alive.
Yeah, we find Perry, we find our runner.
And where the hell is Lowery?
DAMIEN: Wake up, Doc.
You can sleep when you're dead.
Shit.
The Marshals know I'm missing, they're going to be here any minute.
We both know that's not true.
Cops will be by later
to wheel you out, though.
You know, killing Charlie was a really, really bad idea.
Every law enforcement agency in the country
has a price on your head.
You kill one middle-aged marshal
and everybody gets their panties in a bunch.
Speaking of panties...
No.
Know you love games of chance.
What do you say we raise the stakes a bit?
(panting)
ESU pulled an e-mail.
Isn't linked to any for-pay providers,
credit cards, nothing.
E-mail address is FM62?
Some kind of radio station?
Maybe, or, um, FM could be "frogman"–
nickname for a SEAL.
'62 is the year the SEALs were established.
Message says, "See you soon."
Think that's our guy reaching out to Perry?
Did you trace the receiver's ISP address?
Mm-hmm, they're tracking it now.
Shouldn't take long.
What?
I kissed Lloyd.
I knew it.
Come on!
It didn't mean anything,
at least not to me.
I told him that I didn't have feelings for him and then he stormed out.
Library said that a man matching his description left an hour ago.
And you're just telling me this now?
Because he was upset
and I think he may have run, and it's my fault.
If he ran because of your little office romance,
we lose our jobs.
Damn it, Jules,
no one wanted me to hire you because of your past.
You know that?
No one!
I vouched for you.
You know you're trespassing?
You know your breath stinks, Perry?
(both laugh)
Boating accident my ass.
When I read they couldn't find your body,
I knew you'd be here.
Yeah, it's real good to see you.
Shit's really hit the fan, huh?
Not like the shit we're gonna lay on 'em.
You better clean yourself up.
You look like hell.
I'm not going after Alastor, Jonah.
They already think I'm dead.
You think I humped all the way out here for the exercise and the MREs?
We got to take these guys out
for what they did to our SEAL team,
for what they made us do.
I, I'm clean now.
I'm a ghost to them.
You can be, too, right here living in the woods, you and me...
Running. Hiding out in the sticks.
What happened to the kid I fought with?
- He died in a boating accident. - Well, I can't live.
With what we did to those people,
so give me the video.
That's the only thing keeping me alive.
I thought you were dead.
If they ever find me, that video is my bargaining chip.
That video is the bullet to Alastor's heart,
and I will knock you out and tear this shack to splinters,
but I'm not leaving without it.
It's in the woods...
under a rock behind a tree.
I don't know. I can't remember.
You're really going to do this?
They killed Grossman and Giannone, Jonah!
And you hid up here!
Well, I'm gonna do something about it.
Jonah.
It never leaves me.
Till now, here.
Good luck.
Newark, New Jersey
(train whistle blows)
Exciting, isn't it?
Both of us finally able to talk openly to one another,
convict to convict.
Tell me, Lloyd, what did it feel like
selling drugs to support your gambling habit,
knowing that student died at your hands?
Did you feel powerful?
It felt awful.
You're lying.
I know what it feels like.
There's a high that comes with having total control.
Then come the lows.
The highs and lows aren't real,
Damien, they are tricks your mind plays on you.
You are anything but in control.
All this time you pretended to be better than me
when, in reality, we're more alike than you realize.
Both smart, both misunderstood.
Both murderers.
A hand of cards was more important to you than that girl's life.
You're as evil as me, Doc.
Maybe more.
It was a mistake that I made,
one that I will never make again.
Let's see about that.
I'll deal.
Get it over with: Kill me.
We're not from Alastor.
I'm a U.S. Marshal.
If you're looking for Whitman, I don't know where he is.
Listen, Whitman's in serious trouble.
He stole data from Alastor; Now they want him dead.
Maybe you want him dead.
If we were Alastor, you would have been clipped
through the window at 80 yards. Am I right?
Come on, do we really look like operatives?
You want Whitman to live?
Tell us what you know.
About four years ago we were in Yemen.
Orders were to eliminate a safe house full of insurgents,
so we light the place up.
Smoke clears, and the so-called insurgents
are actually tribal elders who were about to vote down
a measure to run an oil pipeline
from their village to Uzbekistan.
Alastor was hired to fix the situation.
Me, Whitman, the others–
we slaughtered innocent people.
Alastor backpedaled, but we knew what they'd done.
So they decided to keep you all quiet.
We thought we had insurance.
We wear these small video cameras
on our helmets during operations.
Whitman had me download film from the massacre
onto a jump drive.
We thought we were safe and could live our lives.
Outfits like Alastor don't leave loose ends,
so Grossman and Giannone were taken out
and you faked your death because you thought you were next.
When I read about Whitman's escape online,
I knew he'd eventually come for me.
He had two goals: Get the videotape– which I gave him–
and find out who ordered the Yemen hits.
That was the video he downloaded at Alastor?
Enough dirt on 'em to get 'em all hung at The Hague–
Richard Drake, Kendra Park, all of 'em.
New Rochelle, New York
- (phone rings) - KENDRA: Deputy Zancanelli.
I knew I couldn't trust you once I found out about Whitman's shrink.
I don't have time for wild goose chases.
I am dealing with matters of national security here.
No, you're dealing with matters of covering your ass.
As much as I would like to bring you up on murder charges,
my authority doesn't extend to Yemen,
but I'm obligated to offer you protection
from a fugitive who I think is coming after you.
Well, if he finds me, let's hope there isn't gunplay.
Somebody could get hurt.
(phone beeps)
One guard on the whole house?
This is Whitman we're dealing with.
- I want two on every door! - Yes, ma'am.
Don't do this. You could leave now and just disappear.
Boring.
This isn't about her.
Okay, it's me that you want.
And I thought I had a big ego.
Then why all the postcards? Why all the attention?
Because the mind forgets, Doctor.
You needed constant reminders
that there's a man walking this earth
who was– is– and will continue to be
superior to you in every way.
Then be superior, and let her go.
Show me that you're in control.
Whether she lives or dies is not up to me.
It's up to you.
I believe poker's your game?
You win, she lives.
You lose...
she dies.
MAN: This is sector one. I need those men here now.
Well, what's the ET...?
(choking gasps)
(grunting)
(bones crack)
I can see why you love this game.
Sometimes it's skill, other times it's straight luck.
All I have is ten high.
Queen high.
I win.
Now please, let her go.
I won.
Ooh, you were so close.
I wasn't close. I won.
But you forgot to take into account the most important variable.
I'm insane.
Or have your already forgotten your own diagnosis of me?
We had a deal.
Winning hand, losing hand–
none of it matters, Lloyd, because I have the upper hand.
(keys beeping)
WOMAN: 911. What's your emergency?
Hello, this is Damien Fontleroy.
I wanted to let you know I'm about to add to my list.
Feel free to trace the call.
I'll leave the line open.
(gasping)
No more games, Doc.
(gunshot)
All right, Whitman beat us here.
Shea, you go downstairs, you go upstairs,
I'm going to take the main floor.
No, the only thing I'm taking
is my black ass back to the SUV.
Hey, Ray, they got Navy SEALS,
kung fu ninja assassins and shit up in there.
That's the job, Seamus.
Fine, but if you think I'm going up in there empty-handed,
you can swing on my black shillelagh.
All right, fine. You take this.
Just be smart.
I want the drives, the video and the stuff you stole
or your head matches your shoulder.
It's in my sock.
Nice try.
Get it.
(grunting)
(Kendra yells)
(Whitman grunts)
(grunts)
So who did you e-mail– your friend Perry?
I always wondered whether or not he was dead.
But it's academic,
'cause he will be soon.
(grunts)
You're lucky you're a woman
or you'd be dead.
Hey, relax, man. Relax.
We're the good guys.
Ambulance is on their way.
Let me put some pressure on that.
You know, I told 'em about Alastor. They called me crazy,
and said I was paranoid, just like they said you were.
But we were right, weren't we?
(panting): Listen to me.
We don't have much time.
Take these.
(siren approaching)
As soon as they take me away, they're gonna
kill me, 'cause of what's on these drives.
I'm trusting them with you.
Keep them safe.
ZANCANELLI: You okay?
Yeah.
Hold up. John Franklin, CIA.
This is my associate, Vaughn, from Alastor Corporation.
Whitman has something that belongs to us.
ZANCANELLI: He's clean. We already searched him.
Did you hear what I said?
Don't let your last hours on earth
be more difficult than they need to be.
Where is it?
Up your ass.
Get your hands off my prisoner.
Court-ordered custodial transfer papers.
He's now my prisoner.
Don't take him to Sacred Heart. Bring him to County General.
(low chatter)
(phone rings)
Yeah, Jules?
(ambulance doors close)
(crunching)
What's the location?
No, no, no, no. Jules, we're too far out. You gotta go there.
Okay?
Stay in contact.
What is it?
It's Lowery.
(low chattering)
How you doing?
Are you with the Marshals?
Um... mm-hmm.
Your guy's over here. Come on.
(gasping breaths)
Lloyd.
(siren wailing)
Medic said physically he's fine,
but what went on in there...
MAN: Deputy Zancanelli?
Inspector Bill Bergman, with HQ.
Our system indicates a search was run from a computer
in this office on a man named Tommy Fitzgerald.
ZANCANELLI: I don't know the guy.
- Never heard of him. - No.
Why you asking?
Fitzgerald's in a coma at Saint Joe's right now.
He was found at his house, badly beaten.
- I'll see what I can do. - Do that.
Marshals are working in conjunction with NYPD on this.
When they reach out to you, we expect your full cooperation.
ZANCANELLI: Sure thing.
You bastard.
No one should see what you saw today, Lloyd.
If you want to talk to somebody,
whatever you need, I'll get it.
I want off the team.
Look, today was traumatic...
Don't tell me what today was, Ray!
I'm done with all of this.
I quit.
The foregoing story was fictional and did not depict any actual person or event.
(barks)