Person of Interest: Redemption

Chapter 1: Assignment

2006

The dusty market square was right in the middle of one of Mumbai's most populous middle-class neighborhoods. As such, there was a loud cacophony of voices, accents, dialects, and other sounds; merchants hawking wares in a mixture of English and other languages.

It was so alien to John Reese that he simply trailed after Kara Stanton as she wove between vendors' stalls, selling everything from fabric to children's toys to food. Different smells assailed his nose, and although he'd been in dusty desert environments before—Afghanistan, Iraq—somehow, India seemed unique.

"Reese. Come on. Stop staring." Kara's imperious tone warned him that he'd better keep up—she was perfectly capable of leaving him if she thought it would teach him a lesson. She had before; John had had to find his own way back to their hotel in Rio when they'd gotten separated, early on in the days of their partnership, when he'd stopped to stare at the magnificent stone Jesus, arms spread wide, on the Brazilian mountaintop. That was the incident that had taught him that he'd better be completely focused on her and whatever their assignment was; no matter where they were or what they had to do, Kara never seemed to want to stop and take in the sights, never experienced the sense of wonder he felt when he saw something new, never was curious to explore tourist spots or ancient wonders. He'd had to sneak away from her one day and tour the Taj Mahal alone because she would never have approved of his going—and never understand why he would want to see it. All business, she was. No room for anything else.

He hurried after her now; she was dressed as a tourist, so was he, but their eyes were scanning the market for their target even as they both scanned the paperwork hidden in a tourist brochure. "Mahesh Rao. Born August thirteenth, 1970. Four sisters, three older, one younger. No brothers. Mother deceased, father is an exporter of India silks. Oldest sister is a factory worker in the father's factory, weaving textiles and making clothes; lost her husband to a factory accident, raising two children alone. Second sister married to a hotel owner who runs a small tourist bed-and-breakfast, no children, and they both recently filed paperwork to emigrate to the US. Third sister is an entry-level office worker in the front office of the town's mayor; youngest sister is the one he lives with, she's a doctor who takes care of the poor, one child, a daughter about six; married to an Italian man attached to the embassy in Mumbai.

"Mahesh Rao's sister, the doctor, is well-known in Mumbai and beyond reproach; she provides healthcare to the poorest people and those marginalized or ostracized, an outspoken activist for women's and girls' rights, and while that has garnered her some enemies in India's political circles none of them is a threat to us or to US interests. What is interesting is her brother's connection to the Italian embassy." Kara handed John a newspaper. It wouldn't have been obvious to a casual observer that the newspaper was about six years old.

The headline on the main article on the page had been circled. 'Accident in market square results in diplomat injury' said the bold dark letters, in English. John scanned the article quickly. An Italian diplomat had been driving back to the embassy from a consulate office on the outskirts of Mumbai; there had been an explosion in the market square, at a stall that sold firecrackers for children. The noise had startled the driver; who, thinking they were under hostile attack, had floored the pedal and accidentally rammed the car into the brick side of a building. The driver had been killed; the diplomat had been taken out of the back of the car by the security attaché; and a young female doctor had rushed out of the crowd and tended to the diplomat.

"So that was how the doctor and the diplomat's attaché met. They dated, then the doctor got pregnant by the security attaché, who, when he found out, accepted a permanent posting to the Italian embassy in order to marry the doctor, and they had a child, a daughter, eight months after they got married. Now, when she went up to the embassy to see her husband, before they got married, her brother, Rao, would escort her there. Apparently the attaché got his wife's brother a job at the embassy as a driver; and as a driver, he's suddenly privy to a lot of private conversations," Kara said briskly, and Reese nodded; he'd learned long ago that drivers heard much and yet were rarely ever noticed. People rarely ever thought about how much their doorman, driver, or receptionist would see of their personal business. These people were invisible unless something was wanted, and even then they were rarely ever actually paid attention to; they were simply robots to whom you gave an order and it would be carried out or you got someone else.

"Recently Rao got a salary raise, and he started spending some time at a local tavern, we assume drinking and doing some light gambling. One of the regulars has ties to the Muslim community in India, and that community has ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. So it's been decided to eliminate Rao, because that Italian diplomat is also one who's collaborating with US intelligence agents embedded here in India. We can't afford to have that get out, we can't afford to have the names of our intelligence agents get out, and this driver, the doctor's brother, working at the embassy as a driver by day and drinking and gambling by night, is an information security risk. So we're ordered to take him out."

"We're taking him out because he may do something, not because he has done something or he's planning on doing something?" John frowned.

"Not questioning orders, are you?" Kara asked sharply.

"Not really, I'd just like to know why we're so positive that he will divulge who our intelligence agents are on the ground here. From what I see here he doesn't have a reason to—his sister's married to security personnel here, his niece is half-Italian and has Italian citizenship, he's making more money driving for the embassy than he would working in his father's factory, and he's reportedly a devout Hindu. He doesn't have significant debt to need money for; he's unlikely to buy into religious radicalism; he has family ties to the embassy." The picture John was getting didn't add up to a possible terrorist. "Rao has no real reason to betray the Italian diplomat. Doesn't need money, no girlfriend who's a fanatic, not affiliated with the religious sect presenting a threat, his only problem is that he gambles a little and drinks. He doesn't even gamble that much; his bank info here shows no big amounts coming or going either way, and he hasn't spent large amounts in the tavern, so he's not a heavy drinker." And he wasn't sure, but hadn't he read somewhere that Hindus didn't approve of alcohol?

"John, we wouldn't have been given his information if he wasn't a threat in some way, all right?" Kara sound exasperated. "Come on. We were sent here to do a job, let's just get it done so we can get out of this desert." She yanked the newspaper from his hand with just a little more force than was strictly necessary.

He didn't comment, but he gritted his teeth as he followed Kara. It just didn't fit. His common sense was telling him Rao wasn't a threat. But if he wasn't, then why had they been given his information? "So why are we looking for him here?" In a dusty market in the middle of Mumbai?

"He lives with his sister, John," Kara said in a tone of exaggerated patience. '"His sister has a daughter. When the sister is working or the child's father is working, Rao picks her up from school and brings her home and babysits until her mother or father gets off work." She dropped the sarcasm, became cold and businesslike again. "Their way home usually takes them through this market. He buys her ice cream on the way home from a seller over…there!" she pointed. "If we play this right, we can eliminate them now and be out of this dusty hellhole in a couple of hours."

"What are you going to do, shoot him in front of the little girl?"

He was being sarcastic, and so was taken aback when Kara said with perfect seriousness, "I will if I have to. In fact, since we're ordered to make this look like an accident, and any witnesses could be problematic, we probably should take the girl out too."

"I didn't get into this to kill children," he ground out through gritted teeth, but Kara didn't hear him—or if she did, she ignored him. He stared at her retreating back, wondering why he'd gotten into this CIA gig to begin with, then sighed. Leave the questions for later.

"Wait here," Kara said suddenly, and with a whisk of dark hair she vanished. He was left staring at the spot she'd formerly occupied, then realized that if he kept standing there he'd stick out like a sore thumb. He drifted over to a nearby stall with a crowd of customers, mingling with a line of people waiting for what smelled, to John, like some very good, strong coffee.

Screams and shouts attracted his attention, and he turned in time to see a car driving wildly, erratically, along the road leading into the market square. Reflexes kicked in; he scanned the immediate vicinity for anyone who might be in the way, or otherwise in danger. People were shouting and running; and in the middle of the melee, he suddenly saw a knot of people stumbling around and over what appeared to be a small bundle of clothing lying on the ground.

Directly in the path of the erratically driving car.

He dove for the little bundle of cloth, a very small, distant part of his mind realizing it was a child who'd gotten trampled, and tucked the child's body against his own even as he rolled, taking himself and the small body out of the way of the car. The car drove past, narrowly missing them, and headed out of the market along another street, followed by curses and shouts from the people who had had near misses with the crazy driver.

John slowly uncurled from around the child, looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Now he could see it was a little girl, he guessed about eight; thick dark hair cascaded in waves to her shoulders, though her skin was a lighter shade than many of the other faces he saw around him. But her eyes were closed, and he could see what was shortly going to be a huge dusky bruise on her forehead. And she was lying too still.

"Emmy!" Came a desperate shout, and suddenly there was a man beside John, grabbing for the child. "Oh my God, Emmy, please be okay, please…oh God, she's not moving…" He spoke in accented but still understandable English.

"Easy, easy," John said placatingly as he surrendered the little girl. "I think she's okay, she just got knocked out. Did you get separated in the commotion?"

"Yes, we did. I was picking her up from school and we were on our way home—we always walk through here and I buy her ice cream." He looked up…and John froze.

Mahesh Rao. Their target.

Several things clicked at once for him. The driver of the car had not been crazy or reckless; he'd bet real money that had been Kara. She'd deliberately started a panic in the crowded marketplace hoping to make Rao's death look like an 'accident'. The other thing that hit him was that Kara hadn't cared about collateral damage, hadn't cared if people other than their target had gotten hurt, that stalls had been broken, merchandise broken or ruined. Off to one side, a vendor who sold food was loudly exclaiming over his broken cart and spilled food; from the quality of his clothes, he was barely scratching out a living and the loss of his market cart probably represented a significant blow. Her casual callousness shocked him.

The other thing that hit him was that the girl must be his niece, his sister's half-Italian daughter, and the man's obvious panic as he took the girl from John's arms spoke eloquently of how much he cared for the child. And again it reinforced to John that Rao really had no reason to strike against the embassy, against the diplomat who employed his brother-in-law and the girl's father; had no reason to betray the Italians to a radicalist faction. On the contrary—as much as he apparently cared for the little girl, to judge from the frantic way he was performing CPR on the unconscious child—he'd have every reason to want to keep the little girl—and therefore the life she lived with her parents—intact.

John simply wasn't seeing 'terrorist' in Mahesh Rao.

The little girl started to cough, and Rao went wild with happiness. John couldn't quite understand the broken Hindustani that poured from Rao's lips as he hugged the little girl, but it was evident that he was very thankful that whatever God he believed in had spared the little girl—Emmy, he kept calling her.

John was about to stand, slip away into the crowd, when Rao caught his hand. "You saved her, you saved my niece. Thank you, thank you…you must come to dinner, you must meet her parents so they can thank you properly…"

"It was nothing, really," John said reassuringly. "Anyone else would have." But no one else in the market would have been responsible for it happening in the first place, he thought to himself bitterly as he melted into the crowd, avoiding Rao's effusive thanks, ignoring the efforts of other people in the crowd to stop him and thank him for possibly saving the little girl's life. He paused for one last look at the knot of people behind him, then head for the hotel, steeling himself for Kara's anger. He had no doubt she'd seen what he'd done and was going to be angry—but as much as he wasn't looking forward to her wrath, he also couldn't bring himself to be honestly sorry he'd saved the little girl's life, let alone Mahesh Rao's.

She was furious.

He sat at the small table in their hotel room—since their cover was a married couple on a honeymoon world tour, it would have looked odd had they not shared a room; however, John couldn't possibly have found Kara any less desirable. It was odd, she was a pretty woman, with dark hair and eyes and fair skin, and when he'd first met her he'd thought her pretty; but after having worked with her for a year or so, now, while she was still pretty outwardly, there was nothing under the surface that attracted him at all. It hadn't taken him long at all to decide he really didn't like her personally and if they hadn't been partnered together, he would never have sought her acquaintance or even called her 'friend'.

He was rapidly starting to not like her professionally either.

"It was the perfect opportunity!" she snapped now, dark eyes flashing. "Run both of them over, they'd have died on the street. No one could possibly think of it as anything other than a regrettable accident. We'd have been on a plane out of here tonight. And then you have to go and ruin it! I swear, I know they picked you because you're good, and even I have to admit you have some of the best skills I've ever seen in any of my partners, but you have regrettable moral proclivities."

He'd never once heard it put in those terms. "'Regrettable moral proclivities'?"

She slapped a hand on the tabletop. "You let your feelings get in the way of what needs to be done. Come on, it's not that hard. Separate the man named 'John' from the assassin we created named 'Reese'. Lock down 'John's' feelings emotions, thoughts. 'John' has no place in the work we do. I'd rather get rid of 'John' altogether if I could. You'd be so much better a partner as simply Reese instead of 'John Reese'."

"Kara…I can't simply cut off part of who I am."

"Yes, you can. You have to. If we're going to play this game of assassins, I need Reese, not John. John is a liability. John's emotions are going to get all of us killed."

"I didn't sign up for this to murder children, Kara!" he was angry.

She leaned in. "Look, you served in Iraq. You know as well as I do that that a little boy you save from a landmine one day could turn around and blow you up with a suicide vest the next. Every person out there is a threat, whether man, woman, or child. Everything out there is a threat. And every threat has to be eliminated with extreme prejudice. 'John' is a threat. Reese is the only one I can count on but 'John' is Reese's weak spot. I need Reese, not 'John'. Got that?"

He couldn't answer her.

"I can easily ask Control to burn you and get a new partner. Do you want that? Assassinated by your own government?" John shook his head numbly. "Good. Then you lock John out. Get rid of him. You don't need feelings or emotions anymore. And to show me you've got that, your assignment now is to get rid of that child. She regained consciousness after Rao performed CPR on her. There's a chance she'll remember you. She is now a threat." Kara's voice went flat, hard. "Your part of this assignment now is to eliminate that threat."

"Kara…" he felt like he was on the edge of an abyss. He'd done a lot of things in his life that he regretted, but that was one line he'd sworn to himself he would never cross; he'd never, ever deliberately hurt a child. And here she was asking him to do something… unthinkable.

"This is your assignment, Reese. Get rid of 'John' and get rid of that child. I don't care how you do it, just do it." And she spun on her heel, left the room.