01x22 - No Good Deed

[bunniefuu]

You are being watched.

The government has a secret system--

A machine that spies on you every hour of every day.

I know, because I built it.

I designed the machine to detect acts of terror, but it sees everything...

Violent crimes involving ordinary people, people like you, crimes the government considered irrelevant.

They wouldn't act, so I decided I would.

But I needed a partner--

Someone with the skills to intervene.

Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret.

You will never find us.

But victim or perpetrator, if your number's up, we'll find you.

Thought you would have turned this thing off by now.

We turn it over tomorrow.

I'm keeping it online as long as possible.

The world has been spinning for 5 billion years without your machine, Harold.

I'm sure it will be fine for one more night.

[Sighs]

Honestly, I'll be glad to be rid of the thing.

This "thing" has already saved countless lives.

You mean countless relevant lives.

We had to draw the line somewhere.

Everyone is relevant to someone.

You would know that if you had anyone in your life you cared about.

[Sighs] I'm sorry.

What you've built here is incredible.

And no one else will ever get a chance to tell you that.

And I don't envy the decisions you've had to make, but I worry about you.

Seven years, you've been watching other people's lives, their plans, their relationships.

Maybe it's time for you to invest a little time on your own.

Who says I haven't?

I would never hear the end of it.

[Laughs]

[Indistinct radio chatter]

[Phone rings]

Hello, Lionel.

You ready to bust some dirty cops?

Simmons wants me to meet the HR Brass next week.

Then call me next week. I'm busy with research.

Research?

[Laughs]

You mean following your boss again.

You tailed him for weeks.

You couldn't even find out where he lives.

Yeah, well, unless you got an address, I'd say that we're both striking out, huh?

[Cell phone beeps]

[Static, garbled voice]

[Phone rings]

Finch?

We need to meet, Mr. Reese.

We've just received another number.

We never had this conversation, but I wanted to thank you personally for your work on the Dubai report.

If you hadn't flagged Carlson--

Carlson, sir?

He was the key to the whole thing.

You saved our asses, son. Thank you, sir.

Henry Peck, 33 years old, never married, lives alone in Turtle Bay.

Peck works as a chartered financial analyst, which is a fancy way of saying he picks stocks for a small financial firm, Decker North and Associates.

Are you following me?

Financial analyst. It's riveting.

Well, they can't all be babies and mafia dons.

So far, the most unusual thing about Henry Peck is that he has better-than-average security habits.

I haven't been able to hack his voicemail, his email, or any online accounts.

Secretive, solitary...

He's just like you, Finch.

So how'd you get his number?

Well, John, there's this machine...

Yeah, but you didn't get it here.

No...

It's much more subtle than that.

And it's time I knew how the machine communicates with you.

Why?

Not to be blunt, but wouldn't you want me to keep doing this if something ever happened to you?

If something ever happens, I have...

A contingency.

Well, sooner or later, you're gonna need to let the cat out of the bag, Finch.

Curiosity kills cats, Mr. Reese.

Well, Finch, so far the biggest threat to Peck is a paper cut.

Any luck getting more info on him?

It's gonna take more than luck.

The firm's firewall is even better than Peck's.

Yeah, I've got line of sight on his office, but I can't get any signals from his wi-fi or his cell.

He works in the IQZ telecom building.

Financial firms like to co-locate with internet hubs so they can get their trades in a few picoseconds faster.

If you're not getting a signal, it's probably just interference from IQZ's antennas.

Couldn't bluejack him, Finch, so I went old school... Wireless bug.

Alicia, it's Henry Peck... Uh, again.

Listen, I really need to talk to you, so please just give me a call and we'll find a place to meet, okay?

Alicia... So who's Alicia? An ex-girlfriend?

Or someone he wishes was a girlfriend?

Mr. Peck! You forgot to wipe your phone.

He has to wipe his phone's memory?

It's become common practice for executes traveling overseas, but that's the first time I've heard of it here.

Sorry, I guess I'm just a little distracted today.

Well, you work too hard.

I want to know what goes on in Peck's office, and since we can't get signals out, I'll have to charm my way in.

May I help you?

Yes, um...

John Rooney, assets.

I have a meeting with...

Thomas Brewster, CFA.

Tom Brewster.

I'm a tad early.

[Typing on keyboard]

We just lost the feed from our bug.

I don't have a record of that meeting, and I'm afraid nobody's allowed back without an appointment.

Perhaps you should reschedule.

Perhaps I should.

I'm surprised, Mr. Reese.

That nice young lady seemed somehow impervious to your charms.

That nice young lady had a .45 pointed at me under her desk.

There's a guard and a spin lock on the main door.

This isn't a financial firm. It's a SCIF.

Sensitive compartmented information facility.

Secret government installation designed to protect classified data.

Peck's no financial analyst either.

He's a NOC, some kind of spy.

And you thought he didn't have a life.

So how do we spy on a spy?

I believe I've found a way in, Mr. Reese.

The security in Peck's office blocks wireless signals, but what about good old-fashioned wires?

And since every office runs on caffeine, all we have to do is hide a camera and transceiver inside a shiny new coffeemaker, wire it to send data out through the electrical system, then wait for them to plug it in.

Let me play that for you again.

Got a signal, Finch.

[Indistinct, garbled voice]

That's the voice of Hassan Ben Amir.

I listened to him every day when I was at Fort Meade.

Hassan is a major player, funding terror throughout the Middle East, and if he's calling New York, we need to pay attention.

Now, if you'll look at these intercepts...

Peck's an intelligence analyst, and from the sound of it, a damn good one.

That's why they're in a telecom building.

They can Jack into the feeds.

It's an NSA listening station.

I guess we'd better listen.

All right, Finch, Peck just got home.

Time to see what our spy does at night.

So far... Not much.

Not everyone is a social butterfly, Mr. Reese.

For some of us, human interaction is difficult.

Not calling it "human interaction" might help.

Works around the clock, no sign of friends or family...

Poor guy doesn't seem to have much of a life.

Well, we can hardly fault him for that, seeing as everyone thinks we're dead.

[Knock at door]

Mr. Peck. Are you there?

Mr. Peck?

Mr. Chen?

Your landlord called with a complaint.

You mind if we have a look around, Mr. Peck?

What's this about?

I was wondering the same thing.

Well, apparently your smoke detector was malfunctioning today.

When Mr. chen entered the apartment to fix it...

He saw these.

Adderall, felony weight.

What? No, that's not mine.

We're sure they'll give you a chance to explain it down at the station. Let's go.

Hold on. I'd rather have the chance to explain it right here.

Well, Finch, I think Peck's life just got a little more interesting.

[High-pitched feedback]

Finch?

Feedback from the bug.

Something else must be on the channel.

Trying to clean it...

It's the same signal.

There's another bug. Someone else is listening.

Yeah, and I think I've got eyes on him.

I think those dr*gs were planted, Finch.

I think Peck's being set up.

Question is, why?

[Phone rings]

You ever buy 20 copies of the same magazine, Carter?

What?

Never mind.

Do you have news?

Peck made bail about an hour ago.

I got everything I could on Henry Peck, which isn't much.

Only one charge on his record, and Peck had that expunged.

Does he have a history of drug abuse?

Not even close. It was a speeding ticket.

He fought to get a speeding ticket off his record?

It was "the principle of the thing."

At least, that's what Peck said in his meticulous, 78-page brief he sent the judge.

Wow.

Got to love a man who doesn't know when to quit.

Thanks, Carter.

Yep.

Well, Peck's no addict. Somebody planted those dr*gs.

I visited the bodega that's down the street from Peck's office...

And chatted up their wireless network, downloading this video of someone breaking into his apartment.

I'm pretty sure that's the same guy I saw last night.

Whoever he is, he's well-trained.

Someone's targeting Peck. We need to figure out why.

And until we figure out who's after him...

I'll keep an eye on Peck.

Henry, we need to talk.

We know about the arrest and drug problem.

There is no drug problem.

Under executive order 13526, your security clearance is suspended, pending investigation.

You're hereby placed on administrative leave, effective immediately.

Please, sir, you can't just--

I need you out, Henry.

As of this moment, you can't work for the NSA.

In the seven years I've worked here, the strongest drug I've taken is aspirin.

There's something else going on here.

I'm being set up.

If you're alleging some greater conspiracy here, I can add that to your file, but it might make you seem unstable.

Question authority and they call you crazy.

Peck's being forced out.

I don't know about you, Mr. Reese, but I'd very much like to know why.

I'm sorry to keep calling, but it's really important.

Please, I just need to speak to Ted Gibbons, my--

Hello?

Recognize that name, Finch?

Theodore Gibbons, deputy director of the NSA.

He's going over his boss' head, way over.

Whatever Peck's into, it's big.

"Out of the country"? Really?

Because some guy at headquarters just told me he was in a meeting. Please.

Now, all I did was ask questions.

Any decent analyst wou--

Hello?

Hello?

Someone is destroying Peck's life for asking questions.

About what?

Finch, the security camera over Peck's door, was it working last night?

Yes. Why?

Because someone's in his apartment.

[Pills crunching]

What the hell?

[Grunting]

Mr. Reese, is everything o--

[Crashing sounds]

I'll take that as a no.

[Glass shattering]

[Car door slamming shut, tires squealing]

Finch, I know a government trained assassin when I see one.

They're not just after Peck's job.

Someone in Washington wants him dead.

Then we need to protect him, Mr. Reese.

He can't have gotten far.

I'll use the bug to track him down.

[Phone beeping]

Hello?

Hi, Ted Gibbons please.

Hello?

Deputy director Gibbons, my name is Henry Peck.

I work for you.

This is my daughter's cell phone.

How did you get this number?

I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but someone just tried to k*ll me.

What?

Now, three weeks ago, you called me off the record to congratulate me on a report that I submitted that led to the high-level arrest of a man named Carlson, but I never heard of a Carlson.

His name was in your report.

But I didn't put it there.

Someone slipped this name into my report, and that one name was the key to stopping a major t*rror1st attack.

All I did was ask questions.

I have been arrested, I have lost my job, and they're trying to execute me, and I just want to know why.

Don't ever call me again.

[Click, dial tone]

Everything okay, Finch?

I know who wants Peck dead and I know why.

I know what he's been asking questions about.

They want him dead because of me.

Henry Peck doesn't know it, but he's been asking about the machine.

No.

[Clears throat]

Is something wrong, Alicia?

You mean other than being a part of an ongoing conspiracy to spy on millions of Americans?

Yes, but it's all for a good cause.

[Glass clinking]

Day after tomorrow, freight train out of Des Moines.

The last six cars, the manifest will list the contents as decommissioned computer parts.

What about things on your end?

The facility is designed to the specifications you gave us, and it's discreet, where we're putting it.

No one's going to go looking.

Any other problem?

Dissemination.

We have a protocol in place.

If the machine identifies a suspect, the name will find its way to the right people...

With no way to trace the intel back to the source.

There can't be. Otherwise...

We'll all wind up someplace where no one's going to go looking.

Eight people in the world know it exists.

We need to keep it that way.

Seven, Nathan.

Seven people, unless you told someone.

[Chuckles]

Come on, Alicia, you know I'm terrible at math.

The people on your end...

You sure about them?

Making sure no one ever finds out about the machine is our problem.

We'll take care of it.

We've known each other a long time, Alicia.

Something's got you rattled.

I'm fine, Nathan.

I'll be happier when this thing is settled and I can go back to my day job.

And what's that exactly?

Classified.

[Inhales]

You can buy me that drink now.

[Phone rings]

Yeah, Carter?

One of Peck's neighbors called 911, said they saw two men fighting in his apartment.

Is everything okay?

The situation has been resolved.

We're fine now, Detective.

Thank you.

Doesn't sound resolved to me.

So Peck asks about your machine, and now someone's trying to k*ll him.

Something you want to tell me, Finch?

As with all computer systems, the big problem is human error.

Strictly speaking, the machine is not legal.

I always knew that certain measures would be taken to protect it, but...

But as I found out myself, the people I've entrusted it to are more...

Ruthless than I anticipated.

[Phone rings]

Hello?

Is this Peck?

Alicia Corwin?

Corwin?

That's the Alicia he's trying to meet?

She worked for the National Security Council.

Miss Corwin, are you there?

You've been looking for me?

Can we meet?

No.

Two months ago, a report I wrote was changed when it went through your office, but your office has been shut down for more than a year.

Please, I just want to know what's going on.

I just want my life back.

Sibilance.

Okay.

Is there anything else you can tell me?

Run.

We need to stop him, Mr. Reese.

From learning more about the machine, about Sibilance, whatever that is.

We need to treat this like an outbreak.

Peck is infected--

With an idea, but infected all the same.

Anybody he talks to can wind up dead, and everything that Peck uncovers makes it that much more impossible for us to save his life.

So let's just get him to a safe house.

It's not that simple.

He'll want to know who we are, and knowing that would put him closer to finding out about the machine.

[Feedback]

Whatever we do to save Peck, it must be without him knowing that we exist.

Mr. Reese, are you even listening?

Well, now we have a bigger problem.

Peck found the bug, and he just gave us the slip.

Peck's cashed out his bank accounts.

His credit cards are popping up at cheap hotels and liquor stores all over the city.

He's probably handing them out to the homeless.

The NSA certainly taught him how to scatter a digital footprint.

Finch, are you getting anything off Peck's phone?

Unfortunately, they taught him how to brick a cell phone as well.

The flash memory is unrecoverable.

What can you tell us about the people hunting him?

An elite squad, probably a three-man team.

The guy I fought had a handgun chambered for r*fle amm*nit*on, so it shreds Kevlar.

Only one unit I know gave those as standard issue...

Intelligence Support Activity, an obscure army unit that does black-ops so dark, technically, they don't exist.

Guess we better find Peck first.

They'll hunt him like I would, start with his needs...

Sleep, a place to hide, and a way to get information.

Cash-only hotels with internet access.

[Phone dialing number]

There's been a complication.

The target's still in play.

That's not a complication.

That's failure.

He has assistance.

Who?

Unknown. One of ours, I think, or at least he used to be.

We've lost the element of surprise and the ability to make it look like an accident.

What's the mandate?

Take the gloves off.

Get it done.

I've got a hit, Mr. Reese, a youth hostel in hell's kitchen.

I can't be certain he's still there, but Peck definitely used their computer.

He wasn't able to dig up anything on Sibilance, but he had good luck finding a pinout to hack the card reader at his office.

I believe Mr. Peck is planning to break into the NSA.

[Door opening]

He's in.

So am I.

Then I'd very much appreciate it if you would stop Peck from getting any more information that'll get him k*lled.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but if I take those reports, he's gonna know I exist.

I recognize this is a challenging situation, but you have to avoid direct contact.

Peck!

[Grunting, g*nf*re]

[Dramatic music]

♪ ♪

You're right, Mr. Reese. It's a three-man team.

Two and half.

[Sustained g*nf*re]

Hey, hey!

[Glass breaking, tires squealing]

Hey, I just broke in that building, okay?

You gonna arrest me?

What the hell's the matter with you?

Hey, don't lose those. That's evidence.

You're gonna want that when I confess.

Relax, pal. Soon as I read you your rights, you can tell us everything.

Get your head down.

[Car door shutting]

[Sirens wailing]

Finch?

You're not gonna like this.

Everything's in place.

Point-to-point transit will take ten days.

Hope nothing goes wrong in the rest of the world in ten days.

Wait.

Do we have a contingency?

A contingency?

Alicia seemed... Nervous.

Now, what do we do if the government decides to abuse this thing?

They're your contacts, Nathan.

They're just people.

The power that this thing represents--

I mean, who would you trust it with?

Besides you? No one.

Which is why the machine has been coded in such a way that it cannot be abused. It cannot even be accessed.

It upgrades itself, maintains itself, patches itself.

After tonight, no one can alter it. Ever.

I used to be a software engineer, Harold.

Remember, back before I became your corporate beard?

Any system can be compromised, given enough time.

We need an off switch, a back door, and this is our last chance to build one.

You are a talented engineer, Nathan, so you should remember...

Any exploit is a total exploit.

The tiniest crack becomes a flood.

If we build a back door into this machine and someone else finds out about it, that would be... Very bad.

We need to trust the machine, exactly as we built it, and then let it go.

[Machine powering down]

Car three to central.

Suspect in custody.

Subject's name is Peck, Henry L.

We've got a BOLO on that guy.

Take him to Detective Carter at the eighth.

Please just listen. They've taken my job, ruined my life.

Now I know why. This is the proof.

These are six reports I wrote for the NSA, and six covert actions based on those reports.

In each case, a single name gets added to what I wrote, and each time, that name turns out to be the key to stopping a major t*rror1st attack.

Six for six.

The only way to be that accurate is with illegal surveillance on a massive scale.

Then there's this, "Sibilance" is an internal audit of the NSA intranet. It's totally routine--

Until they find signals hidden just beyond the Shannon limit.

It should just be static, but there was data.

Someone is sneaking just as much data out as the NSA is taking in.

To scan through all that, you need an organization ten times our size.

It's more than any human--

Oh, my God, they actually built it.

After 9/11, the government wanted a computer system--

A machine--

That could watch everyone and everything, catch t*rrorists before they strike.

They tried with trailblazer, TIA, stellar wind. They-- they all failed.

But if I'm right, then someone really built the damn thing, and it's watching us right now.

Okay, you want a soda or something?

You just questioned my suspect?

Questioned your suspect?

Guy's in there talking a blue streak all by himself.

Should be wearing a tinfoil hat.

Gets arrested yesterday for dr*gs, tonight he throws a bottle at a cop--

This guy's out of his mind.

We need to get you out of here, Henry.

Who are you?

[David Bowie's I'm Afraid Of Americans]

♪ Johnny's in America ♪
♪ no tricks at the wheel ♪

I suppose we can count our blessings Detective Fusco isn't the inquisitive type.

But Peck's in more danger than ever.

Seriously, who the hell are you?

All Henry Peck did was ask questions.

He deserves a normal life, and if we have any hope of giving it to him, we have to destroy all that evidence and stop him from getting any more.

[Engine revving]

Yes, my name is Henry Peck.

I'm an analyst--

Who did you just call?

The office of Special Counsel.

It's the agency that protects whistleblowers.

Oh, I really wish you hadn't let him do that, Mr. Reese.

The people who know about the machine, one of them works for the office of Special Counsel.

[Phone clatters]

What are you doing?

Our own government is spying on us and they want to k*ll me to cover it up.

I have to tell someone!

The people you called aren't who you think they are.

There's no one to tell. No one is safe.

He just called us.

I'm sending their last known coordinates.

That's all I need.

♪ Johnny's in America ♪
♪ I'm afraid of Americans ♪
♪ I'm afraid of the world ♪

[g*nsh*t]

Get down.

♪ I'm afraid I can't help it ♪
♪ I'm afraid I can't ♪
♪ I'm afraid of Americans ♪
♪ I'm afraid of the words ♪
♪ I'm afraid I can't help it ♪
♪ I'm afraid I can't ♪
♪ I'm afraid of Americans ♪

[Grunting]

[Knife slicing] [Groans]

Do you know why you were ordered to k*ll him?

Never asked.

Okay, Peck, let's get you out of--

[Exhales heavily]

This isn't over, Finch.

The man wrote 78 pages to fight a speeding ticket.

I know. He's not gonna give up.

And neither are the people who know about the machine.

So what the hell are we gonna do?

A good friend once showed me that, even with an intractable problem, one can still find a way to do the right thing.

[Sighs]

[Mechanical chirping]

[Suspenseful music]

♪ ♪

[Typing]

Your predecessors failed, and now Peck's reaching out to the press.

He's meeting a reporter tomorrow.

I want you to silence them both.

We'll be there.

[Chair scraping on ground]

You're not the reporter.

No. No, I'm not. Oh, she's quite safe.

Right now, my associate is dealing with the assassins who were sent to k*ll you both.

The answer to your question is yes.

It exists.

And it's watching us right now.

I'm telling you this because you remind me a little of myself.

And I know that, if I were you, I would keep asking until I knew the truth.

So now you do.

Now stop asking the question.

Where is it?

How does it work? I mean, the servers alone--

I know how you feel.

Your need to understand.

But believe me, Mr. Peck, this is a mystery you do not want to solve.

Knowing the answer has cost me something I value more than my own life.

Clean passport, plane tickets, a bank card to a well-funded account in your new name.

Please, Mr. Peck, for your own sake-- and quite frankly, for mine--

Go and live your life. Find some secrets of your own.

And if you really need a mystery, I recommend the human heart.

How do you know all this?

Because I built it.

Carter.

Yeah?

That guy Peck who pulled the disappearing act, we just pulled his prints off a burnt-out cab with a john doe next to it.

What about Peck? Any idea where he is now?

He's in the wind.

A bunch of paper burned up in that cab.

All we could make out was this.

[Phone rings]

Hey, this HR deal's a lock.

We get three days to prepare.

Now we gonna do this or not?

We'll be ready.

I'll call you as soon as I'm done here.

Yeah, right.

Like you'll ever be done spying on Mr. Glasses.

Next time I see you, I just might have his address.

John, your order's ready.

And you're here every day?

Hello, Finch.

Can I help you?

Sorry to bother you.

Detective Stills.

Someone reported a disturbance at this address.

Really? I'm the only one here.

Probably just an old lady who saw a shadow or a kid playing a joke.

We just have to check everything out.

Do you want help with these?

Uh, sure. Thanks.

There must be about 50 copies here.

You a collector?

Uh, kind of.

They send me extras when it's one of mine.

You draw the covers.

Yeah. A bit old-fashioned, I know.

Everything's going digital. Print is dying.

But, uh, every time I think I'll never work again, another magazine or newspaper calls, so...

Guess I have a guardian angel.

Who's this?

Um, that's Harold, my fiance.

Looks like a nice guy.

Yeah.

He's a very nice guy.

I never really thought that I'd meet anyone who got me.

You know, spending all your time alone, drawing, isn't exactly the best way to find someone.

[Chuckles] But Harold found me.

I was painting in the park one day, and... There was this man, eating an ice cream cone in January.

And he smiled at me.

He asked me if I wanted one.

Does he live here with you?

No, he doesn't.

Um, he used to.

I lost him two years ago.

There was an accident.

I'm sorry.

Good location.

Clear line of sight, but enough obstructions and distance to avoid being seen.

I built an app that alerts me if I ever get within 100 meters of her.

I've never regretted building the machine.

But I didn't fully realize the personal cost.

I'm good with computers.

People-- Well, people other than Grace-- have always been a mystery to me.

I failed to recognize the lengths to which they would go to protect the machine, to control it.

By the time I realized it, it was too late...

For me.

But not for her.

You see, Mr. Reese, if knowing about the machine is like a virus, that makes me patient zero.

Simply being near me was putting her life in danger.

I'm sorry.

I was lucky.

I had four years of...

Happiness.

Some people only get four days.

Please, Mr. Peck, for your own sake-- and quite frankly, for mine--

Go live your life.

Find some secrets of your own.

♪ God is an American ♪

And if you really need a mystery, I recommend the human heart.

How do you know all this?

♪ God is an American ♪

Because I built it.

♪ God is an American ♪
♪ God is an American ♪

Stay tuned for scenes from our next episode.