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Slave labor.

Chopping weeds all day for no pay.

Ought to sue.

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.

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.

Hey, look, it's Whitman!

Whitman, freeze!

Go, go, go!

You see that? We got a slider.

Call a chopper!

Damn it!

What happened?

Get that river!

Hurry! Cut him off!

Where is he, man?
Dispatch.

We need a chopper at the Wabash River.
We got a swimmer.

He's out of the irons...

Where's Whitman?

No, man.

Got him. Look. He's over there upstream.

He's up there...

Where is Casey?

Go! Go! Go!

He cut his foot off.

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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.

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.

Lowery, work detail.

Love beckons.

Not for you, though.

Pop those bitches back in, Shakes.

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 onboard.

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.

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 these things.

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.

He Ginsu'd his own foot?

He didn't cut it off.

He cut it, pulled a ballerina squeeze.

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.

It says Whitman left the Navy
for a company named Alastor.

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.

Well, he has no immediate family.
This guy's a lone wolf.

Well it's a pretty standard psych profile

for somebody who join 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.

Okay, well, what am I supposed

to do with this, Ray, when
his file is a black hole?

I have a friend who works at
the Department of Defense.

I'll see what she can pull
on Whitman's military file.

All right, let's get to it.

Whitman's a trained
assassin and a mental case.

Get him off the streets.

Oh. Damn it!

Come on, man! This is cashmere.

So sorry.

This is a great way to start a day.

- 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.

Hey, uh, before you abandon me again,

I got a quick favor. Sure.

I feel a little bit like
a dick even 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.

Oh, yeah, no. It's no biggie.

I mean, 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.
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.

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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

Who made the call?

I swear, I don't know what you want...

Oh, my God, you're so early.

Asher, Thomas is here.

Please, my son's inside.

Yeah, suddenly you care
about others, hmm?

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.

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 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.

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,
archeology, 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.

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.

Why would they have security
cameras in a meeting room?

See, guess I'm not
the only one who 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.

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 few minutes.

We have a Code 3 alarm.

Proceed to your assigned sections.

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 highballs?

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.

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 lock down.

Shut off all outgoing signals.

I can't even use my cell phone.

You don't think that
means they caught him?

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 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.

We're in their house, Ray.

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.

Of course; 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.

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 cafe

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.

Hey.

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 bullpen.

Call a Transpo.

I'm going back to Maybelle.

Whoa, what's going on?

Alastor bugged the bullpen. 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.

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.

We're gonna need everybody on this.

Call Lloyd, tell him the
postcard is gonna have to wait.

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.

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.

Who's paranoid now?

Okay, Lawrence Perry's
body was never found,

just DNA from a chunk of
flesh that was in a opeller.

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 cafe,

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?

Wake up, Doc.

You can sleep when you're dead.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

This is sector one.

I need those men here now.

Well, what's the ET..?

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.

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.

No more games, Doc.

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.

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.

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?

Listen to me.

We don't have much time.

Take these.

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.

You okay?

Yeah.

Hold up.

John Franklin, CIA.

This is my associate, Vaughn,
from Alastor Corporation.

Whitman has something that belongs to us.

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.

Now he's my prisoner.

Don't take him to Sacred Heart.

Bring him to County General.

Yeah, Jules?

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.

How you doing?

Are you with the Marshals?

Um... mm-hmm.

Your guy's over here. Come on.

Lloyd.

Medic said physically he's fine,

but what went on in there...

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.

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.

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.

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