Original subtitles

It's weird to think that everyone on this street,

everyone in this city,

soon they're going to want to know:

Who is Ezra Kleinfelter?

What kind of man puts his country's secrets out there

for anybody to read?

Buddy?

We're here.

Sorry.

Got distracted.

Uh-huh.

Sorry, sir.

Your card is being declined.

My God.

They froze my accounts.

They know.

You got another card?

Cash?

Hey.

Hey, hey, get over here.

Hey!

Hey, over here!

Over here! He went that way!

Devon!

Devon, give that ball back.

That's not your ball.

Okay.

That's good running.

I don't know why you volunteer to come here.

It's like Lord of the Flies.

All right, let me just make sure everything is cool.

Jewel heist?

Mad bomber on the loose?

No, there's no crime.

Sherlock quizzes me sometimes.

It's part of the work.

Quizzes you about what?

Dollhouse.

Cute. Yeah, Sherlock builds it.

Is that doll supposed to be dead?

It's a way to practice flash analysis of crime scenes.

Suicide by prescription meds?

Ha. Who knew?

So, are you getting any "real world" time?

Uh, this is... this is pretty much it.

You know, as cool as it is,

you spend your time chasing thieves and murderers.

You live with your business partner.

It might be a good idea to carve out some time for...

you know, regular stuff.

Keep your options open.

Wow.

That's a whole family of dead dolls.

Yeah. It's ghastly.

"No foul play."

Uh, keep my options open?

What is that, what, about dating?

Okay, no, put that down.

I know it's not your birthday for a while, but...

happy birthday.

What is this?

TrueRomantix. What?

It's a horrible name.

It's a great site,

from what I hear.

Got you a six-month membership.

Oh, my God. I even filled out the profile for you.

Use it, don't use it-- up to you.

But, you know, use it.

I meet people, you know.

My life is not that weird.

Oh, my God.

Staged suicide, obviously.

No one sticks their head in the oven anymore.

Shut up. Please.

If you're going to interrupt my coffee time,

you could at least make the questions more challenging.

You must tell me how he became so skilled.

Do you train with him?

Train? I didn't even realize we had a backgammon board.

One can't bend the dice to one's will.

Ah, good. Watson.

I see you've met Mr. Mueller

of Brussels. Sort of.

Mr. Mueller arrived shortly after you left

and has refused to state his business until all parties

were present.

So...

state your business.

You're no doubt aware that four days ago

a civil contractor by the name of Ezra Kleinfelter

leaked a dossier of national secrets

to the media.

It is believed that he is sitting

on more such information.

Yes, I vaguely recall the incessant

media coverage.

I represent a consortium of like-minded citizens

and we are concerned about Mr. Kleinfelter's safety.

We think that certain other parties

that are pursuing him have something other

than a fair trial in mind.

You're worried someone's going to kill him?

Your work comes highly recommended

by the Damery Corporation.

Hmm. We would like you to join

in the pursuit of Mr. Kleinfelter.

If and when you find him,

we would like you to deliver him to us,

and we will in turn bring him to an embassy

that has promised to provide

safe haven until trial.

Now, I under that Mr. Kleinfelter's actions

are controversial.

So if you'd like a small window of time to research

the group that I represent...

No, that won't be necessary.

We'll take the case.

If you'll excuse us, Mr. Mueller.

My associate, she gets rather grumpy

if she doesn't take her mid-morning nap.

We will be in touch

when we have secured Mr. Kleinfelter.

Thank you both very much.

Thank you.

Yes? Really?

Sounds like aiding and abetting a fugitive.

Hmm. Excellent.

I took that while you distracted him.

Good enough likeness, don't you think?

What are you going to do with that picture?

I once helped a Lebanese agoraphobe retain copyright

on a piece of facial recognition software.

I'm not saying the young lady owes me billions of pounds,

but I do think she can analyze my portrait for me.

I took the case because I want to put Mr. Mueller,

or whatever his name is, at ease.

We are going to follow him and divine his nefarious plans,

so we don't want his hackles up.

Mueller's not his real name?

No Belgian is that bad at backgammon.

Of course Mueller has nefarious plans for Kleinfelter.

Why else the ruse?

I'm not arguing that he's a good guy.

Can you just stop saying "nefarious"?

That's like 15 times in the last ten minutes.

My agoraphobe responds.

Yep, there are no recent photos of anyone

matching our man on public record.

But the orbital ridge doesn't lie.

I give you Elliot Honeycutt,

as he looked when he entered

Officers' Candidate School in 1975.

He entered the Q course for Special Forces Training

right after he graduated.

He was discharged in '88,

and he went to work as a systems analyst

for Everwood Communications.

Since exposed by The Sentinel as a CIA front.

Currently VP of Corporate Counterintelligence

at... Redding Enterprises.

The same contractor that, until recently,

employed Ezra Kleinfelter.

How did you know that?

Redding.

That man is not looking

to bring Ezra Kleinfelter to justice.

He's looking to eliminate him.

Kleinfeltarianism.

Catchy name.

Turns out that most of Ezra's thoughts on a broken world

have to do with how he can't get a date with his neighbor.

That, and a bunch of Ayn Rand quotes.

Philosopher-in-chief to the intellectually bankrupt.

Hey, we never talked about what we're going to do with him.

We are going to gather data on him,

and then we're going to use that data

to extrapolate his current whereabouts.

No, I'm talking about after that.

I mean, Ezra exposed some pretty terrible stuff.

Some people think he's a hero.

Yet some would like to see him hung from the nearest yardarm.

You're asking where I stand?

I'm fairly certain that he doesn't deserve to be stalked

and possibly executed by his former employers.

It's funny. Most leakers, they tend to release

their information to multiple sources at the same time.

It's the best way to insure that it is disseminated.

But Kleinfelter dealt exclusively with one journalist,

Celia Carroll of the Dispatch.

I wonder why.

Oh.

Well, she looks like that.

Could have something to do with it.

I've already talked to everybody in this city

who carries a badge.

Who are you guys again?

Sherlock Holmes. Joan Watson.

We are consultants with the NYPD,

although our interest in this matter is private.

Okay. Well, I'll tell you what I told everyone else.

But I'm doing an on-camera soon, so this has to be quick.

I haven't heard from Ezra.

I've no idea where he is.

Before your story came out,

did he tell you what his plans were?

Well, sure, he planned to leave the country

before I published, but that got scotched

when Redding figured out

he'd been downloading classified material.

Everything got pushed up, Ezra had to go into hiding.

Do you think he has a romantic interest in you?

Judging by his writings, you're exactly his type.

You're bespectacled, you're lean

and yet possessed of an alluring curve of flank.

Possessed of...?

Look, you know what, never mind.

The couple of times we met face-to-face, it never came up.

So you no longer consider him your source?

You have no reason to believe

he's going to get in touch with you?

I already told you: I don't know where he is.

I'm not looking to help anybody find Ezra,

but even if I were,

I'd be the last person he'd get in touch with.

You'd think someone that ambitious

would be a better liar.

Hmm.

You made sure to ask her where Ezra is a second time.

She leaned back, crossed her arms.

When someone who's not used to lying is forced to repeat it,

they resort to defensive posture.

Ms. Carroll has been in touch with Ezra Kleinfelter,

but she's done it in a way which has eluded

the attention of those observing her.

We're going to have to analyze her movements.

Determine how they're communicating.

We're about to sit around for a very long time, aren't we?

Ms. Carroll, it seems,

will give an interview to anyone with a camera.

This is her fifth one today, no sign of fatigue.

Do you think we're cut off from the world?

You know, neither of us dates,

neither of us really goes out much.

At all, actually.

We're not cut off from the world.

We're engaged in creating one that's actually worth living in.

One that addresses our needs entirely,

and eliminates everything extraneous.

Well, my friend signed me up for this dating Web site,

and I think I'm gonna put my profile up.

You know, so be nice, if I bring anyone around, okay?

Won't be an issue.

Oh.

Our journalist tears herself away from her adoring public.

Why won't it be an issue?

Because you won't actually bring anyone around.

I've lived most of my life

with the firm conviction that romantic love is a delusion.

It's a futile hedge against the existential terror

that is our own singularity.

Then I met someone who calls herself Irene Adler,

and that forced me to reexamine those convictions.

She, of course, turned out to be a criminal.

Never really discussed how that made you feel.

I feel...

liberated.

I am, now and forever, post-love.

And, as such, I'm free to pursue a life of meaning.

Oh, how very droll.

So the security guard is her conduit to Ezra.

We need to learn how he's connected.

Look through his phone should do the trick.

Yeah, think he's just gonna give us his phone?

No, of course not. I'm going to pickpocket it.

Of course, because you know how to pick pockets.

It's a fascinating art.

It's all to do with establishing trust and eye contact.

Oh, I'll just have to take your word for it.

Good. And you'll need this back.

You just stole that phone. Why are you nuking it?

Because it couldn't be more dangerous

if it was fashioned from liquid Ebola.

Hector, the security guard, it seems,

is a man of hidden enthusiasms.

In his spare time, he frequents a Web site called

"Jamaica Quay."

It's a gathering place for identity thieves,

intellectual property pirates, other cyber-highwaymen.

And judging by his posts and his private messages,

Hector is affiliated with the collective

that calls itself "Everyone."

Oh, yeah, the hackers from the news.

Well, they prefer to describe themselves

as "cyber activists," but yes.

It seems that Hector and his associates

have taken up the banner of Mr. Kleinfelter.

They're committed to getting him to safety.

Hector has received

a number of communiqués from someone who calls himself

"Defenestrator."

They're speaking in code,

but I am quite certain that "Defenestrator"

is harboring Ezra Kleinfelter.

Oh. So, what are we supposed to do?

Just look up "Defenestrator"

in the phone book and we're good to go?

Well, you are closer

to a productive thought than you realize.

Jamaica Quay is anonymous.

So you can't simply trace the user name Defenestrator

to an actual person. You need to wait for them

to reveal themselves.

In other words, you plan on arguing

on the Internet all night? Yes.

I think I'm just gonna take this upstairs.

I put Clyde in your bed

in an effort to be a more considerate flat mate.

I've decided not to wake you at dawn

unless absolutely necessary.

So you used your pet turtle

as an alarm clock?

And circumstances have dictated that

I violate the spirit of my resolution.

It's been an eventful night.

Defenestrator has proved to be a canny piece of quarry.

During the course of the debate,

she revealed that she lives

within a three-block radius

of the building that used to house Ruben's Delicatessen.

She? That was around 2:00 a.m.

I spent the rest of the night

coaxing an employee of Saturnware Computers

into trying to reveal

who within that radius recently purchased

high-end equipment suitable enough for hacking.

My search yielded one name-- Vanessa Hiskie.

That's who's hiding Ezra Kleinfelter.

Vanessa?

Vanessa Hiskie?

Before you throw the last tumbler, you might want to pause

to consider the beauty of this moment.

We're about to succeed where the combined wits

of a dozen or so federal agencies have failed.

Remind me again what cloistered, shriveled things our lives are.

Ezra Kleinfelter?

Sherlock.

There are skin fragments beneath her fingernails.

I'm confident those will yield the attacker's DNA.

So, argument gone bad.

And according to you,

Ezra Kleinfelter's been hiding out here?

We haven't found any concrete evidence

that she had a guest, but yes.

Which, considering this place wasn't broken into,

would have to make him a suspect.

I mean, I don't get it.

The whole world's looking for this guy,

she's willing to put him up and he kills her?

He didn't set out to kill her.

No, something went wrong between them.

Most likely a spurned romantic overture, yes.

Kleinfelter grew insistent, Ms. Hiskie resisted...

But we needn't have a Socratic dialogue,

Captain, 'cause we have DNA.

Well, actually, we don't.

Kleinfelter doesn't have any priors.

I just double-checked with VICAP.

He was fingerprinted for his security clearance,

but he doesn't have a DNA sample on file.

So, in the messages that she passed on to that reporter,

Vanessa Hiskie, did... she never referred

to Kleinfelter by name?

Excuse me. Did you find that book in this box?

Yeah. It was in the closet. Why?

Ezra Kleinfelter's favorite author.

Half the college kids in the country have that book.

Yes, but Vanessa's bookshelf

is in her bedroom.

Why would she leave this one book out

in this box along with, uh,

a map of New York, a travel guide to Venezuela,

a compass and an unopened box

of crackers?

Ezra didn't hook up with Everyone

until a couple of days

after he was on the run,

so he had to be hiding somewhere during that time.

I think he brought this box with him when he came here.

Let's get word out that Kleinfelter

is a person of interest in a homicide.

Please. I need a moment free from the Internet.

I'm trying to drag myself away,

but the people I'm in conflict with

are too infuriating to ignore.

Oh, you're still fighting with people?

I've been monitoring "Jamaica Quay."

It's frequented by members of Everyone,

so there's at least a chance

one of them knows where Ezra is hiding.

But I have, of course, been drawn into a debate

as to whether Mr. Kleinfelter, murder suspect,

is the victim of a government frame-up.

Are governments capable of evil?

Yes, of course they are.

All institutions are.

But they're more capable of incompetence.

That's good. I should post that.

What are you doing?

I'm looking at profiles

of guys who winked at me on TrueRomantix.

I weep for the whole desperate lot of you.

Hello.

Hi. I'm calling about your Web ad.

Uh, I think you have the wrong number.

You don't have a model train set?

What? No.

Well, I happen to think that

Jeff Heinz of Washington Heights is cute.

I'm gonna wink back.

How's that for post-love?

Hello.

Hey, I can be there in 20 minutes.

Are the trains set up?

Excuse me? Um, what is this thing about the trains?

Oh, you said we can take our clothes off

and play with the trains together?

What?!

What is happening with my computer?

Hey. Got your pies.

Uh, we didn't order pizza.

Um, yeah, you did.

I-I got, like, 20 more larges with pineapple

in my trunk. I'm afraid you've been duped.

This is for your trouble.

Please see those pizzas find a good home. Thank you.

What is happening?

Hmm.

They most likely traced the phone here

before the microwave destroyed it.

Who-who traced the phone here?

Hector the security guard realized

his phone had been stolen,

and then tracked it to this address

before I realized he was a member and destroyed it.

He and his compatriots have reasoned

that the enemies of Ezra Kleinfelter reside here,

and now they plan to subject us to a life-ruin.

Have you changed your online banking password recently?

In the last couple of weeks. Why?

They can just get into our computers like that?

Well, amongst other places,

but you should be all right on that front.

Your e-mail, social media sites,

those passwords are not derived from the names

of family members, are they? Why?

I don't think there's any need to panic.

Heartfelt apology still works miracles, I've found.

What am I apologizing for? Where are you going?

We're not going to get any work done here.

All right, thanks.

Hey, did you guys know your phones are disconnected?

Yes.

Any word on the box that we found

in Vanessa Hiskie's apartment?

We pulled some partial prints,

but nothing matches Kleinfelter.

I need to examine the contents of that box.

I told you it was a bust.

Forensically, yes, But Kleinfelter's on

the front page of every bloody newspaper.

He doesn't exactly have the run of the city.

He had to go somewhere after he murdered Vanessa Hiskie.

He couldn't reach out

to everyone straightaway,

not after murdering one of their own.

We also know that he wasn't under their protection

until two days after he became a fugitive.

You think he went back

to the first place he was hiding.

Okay. So...

Looks like he's somewhere... in New York.

Or Venezuela.

And doesn't have anything to spread his cheese on.

This paper's... it's brittle.

It's ready to crack.

They went stale... a long time ago.

So why would Kleinfelter carry around a bunch of old crackers?

"O.C.D."

The Office of Civil Defense.

It's a Cold War-era bureaucracy.

Amongst other things, they maintained emergency bunkers

for officials to use in case of...

nuclear holocaust. They were stocked with supplies,

food. Ezra's hiding in one of those bunkers.

He took that box with him when he went to Vanessa's.

So how many of these bunkers were there?

I don't know.

Dozens. Maybe hundreds. It's difficult to say.

The Office of Civil Defense closed down years ago.

You can use the desk line.

Mmm. He hardly ever answers the phone anyway.

Going to have to pay him a visit.

You're telling me that one guy lives in this building.

Milton Van Kirk inherited the estate from his parents.

The man has spent his entire adult life

writing a biography of Robert Moses,

the builder who shaped much of this city.

Van Kirk just turned 75,

and he has yet to finish the manuscript.

He's been writing the same thing his whole life?

His research has made him

the world's foremost expert

in the geography of New York City.

We've had a delightful correspondence

about the Delaware Aqueduct.

I have, however, learned not to ask him

about the progress of his book.

I recommend you do the same.

The Office of Civil Defense maintained...

Let's see.

Forty-one

emergency bunkers in New York City

during the Cold War.

But they were all decommissioned

by the time Clinton took office.

I don't know how your man got hold of a box

with a O.C.D. stencil.

But those bunkers just aren't there anymore.

Can I... can I look at those?

Yeah. Thanks...

Milton.

Look... two lists.

Commissions, decommissions.

The list of commissions is 41 entries long.

The list of decommissions 40.

There is one bunker situated

in a caisson in the Brooklyn Bridge,

which was built but never decommissioned.

They must have just simply just lost track of it.

Ezra had access to government records for his job.

Maybe he noticed the same thing

that you did.

Thank you, Milton.

Wait.

Can you help me?

How did I end up agreeing

to reading a 5,000-page manuscript?

Well, you won't be wasting as much time

on the Internet now, will you?

So you're gonna need something to fill up the hours

you've spent selling yourself to strangers.

Excuse me, might I borrow your phone?

It's police business. I'm just...

As soon as we pick up Kleinfelter,

we're gonna figure out how to get

these people off our backs, okay?

Excuse me.

My name is Sherlock Holmes.

I have to get a message to Captain Gregson in Major Cases.

Kleinfelter hiding.

Brooklyn Bridge, east caisson.

On the way, all right?

It's of paramount importance.

Okay.

So, you might consider this something of a lesson.

If you keep a discreet digital footprint as I do,

you're less vulnerable to the harassment

which is Everyone's stock-in-trade.

Hey.

Can you pop the trunk?

U.S. Secret Service! Hands in the air!

What's this about?

You seriously think we can't trace a blog

back to an IP address?

"44mustdie.com"-- sound familiar?

It should, because you posted it yesterday.

And it's got the details of four different plans

to assassinate the president of this country.

That's a class-D felony. Please, he didn't put that up.

We're being harassed.

Once again, I have no designs on the life of your president.

I have no designs on the life of any president.

Although I suppose if I lived in the age of Millard Fillmore,

I might consider drastic action.

We're talking about the leader of the free world.

This isn't a joke.

Isn't it? Because while we sit here

and engage in beef-witted debate,

my pursuit of an actual enemy of your state lies dormant.

I've told you,

call Captain Thomas Gregson of the NYPD.

We'll get to that. You're in pursuit

of the author of a series of hate pamphlets

who calls himself "Skrewdriver," are you not?

I saw your bulletin board while you had me waiting at the desk.

You want to know if he's a credible threat.

If you make the call, I will tell you his identity.

You couldn't know that.

Couldn't I?

I know that you, Agent Polk, are in the latest stages

of a divorce, and have recently starting shaving your chest

in anticipation of dating again.

And if you won't find alternative sources of protein,

then you really need to resume eating meat.

Veganism is not a choice to be made flippantly.

I just spent three hours answering questions

on whether or not I plan to assassinate the president.

I just heard from Captain Gregson.

By the time the police got to the bunker, it was empty.

This was all they found.

Everyone is helping Kleinfelter again.

Gregson believes they were monitoring the police band.

Told him when the officers were on the way.

How did you get your phone to start working again?

Oh, it's not mine.

I liberated it from Agent Polk.

Uh, hi.

Hi.

Uh, you're Joan, you're Joan Watson?

Y-Yes, and you are...?

Oh, Jeff... Heinz.

Uh, the guy from TrueRomantix.

Okay.

It's just that, you know, we exchanged some nice messages.

And then I got some really weird stuff from you.

Oh, no.

They-they all had your home address,

which I thought was a little weird.

It's on your profile now, too...

along with some... interesting thoughts on same-sex marriage.

Oh, my God, you know what?

I-I know those things are probably on my profile,

but I did not write any of those things.

Yeah, I mean, I ki... I kind of figured that.

I'm no computer expert,

but it seems like somebody's messing

with you pretty badly.

So, um, I just wanted

to make sure you're okay.

Oh.

Oh, hey, I-I hope that's not too strange.

No, it's-it's nice.

Right, hack this!

Oh, God, that is my roommate.

He's kind of a long story.

You know what? I-I would love

to explain all of this to you.

Um, could I just have a couple of days

to sort some things out and get things under control?

Yeah.

But, you know, big picture, I am fine.

Seriously.

Thank you so much for checking in on me.

Yeah, of course.

I-I hope to see you soon.

Yeah.

Good night.

Good night.

Everyone may have had our power turned off,

but they can't hack our generator.

The generator powers the laptop,

which is connected to the neighbor's wireless.

I've opened a chat on Jamaica Quay,

so I can appeal directly to Everyone.

I've written them a heartfelt plea

for them to end their campaign against us.

Oh, because they're known for compassion.

Well, I'm expecting nothing but mockery.

But if I can engage them at all, it might prove fruitful.

At least some of them are working with Kleinfelter.

Perhaps I can goad them

into revealing something of their plans.

Um, I asked you about Irene yesterday.

Her name is Moriarty.

Sure, Moriarty.

What she put you through was cruel.

And-and I don't think

you've really dealt with it yet.

I submitted to one recovery at your behest.

There won't be a second.

I...

"Shoe on head."

They want me to upload a photograph of myself

with a shoe on my head as it is a ritual

of humiliation for the tribe.

Fine.

Oh.

Very well.

Um...

No.

I remind you we are investigating a murder.

No!

They all just... left.

Everyone is a collective.

They don't take orders.

Why would they just fall silent

just because "Jormungandr" says to?

It's 9:00. You didn't wake me.

I didn't need to.

We're quite free until 4:22 this afternoon.

I thought a leisurely breakfast might be nice.

Mmm.

And what is happening at 4:22?

Well, after you went to bed last night,

I spent some time reviewing

Ezra Kleinfelter's options.

He could try to survive as a fugitive here in the States.

That's a difficult life. It's highly risky.

He could present himself to a sympathetic embassy.

His best option, by far, is the third.

Make his way to foreign soil, gain asylum,

live out his days.

Wait, first of all,

there's only a handful of places

that will take right now.

I mean, everyone in the country's looking for him.

Public travel's out of the question, I agree. Yeah.

But private air travel is far less regulated.

The security measures are minimal.

What, so he needs his own private plane?

No, he needs an ally with a plane.

And a few days to make

the necessary arrangements.

Jormungandr.

The name of the member of Everyone

who got his compatriots to toe the line.

The name, of course, refers to the third child

of Loki and Angrboda

in Norse mythology.

Oh, of course, because everyone knows that.

He was a serpent who grew so large

he could encircle the earth

and swallow his own tail.

It's quite a striking image.

And it led me to the man behind the alias.

15 years ago, an Irishman named Darragh O'Connor

sold a nifty bit of software that he'd written himself.

It was his first and only foray into the business world,

but it netted him nearly a billion dollars.

Since then,

he's spent his time primarily

as an advocate for freedom of information.

That's Everyone's pet cause.

The name of the program he wrote: Ouroboros.

A snake eating his own tail.

So Darragh O'Connor is Jormungandr.

Well, according to the FAA, his private plane is scheduled

to touch down here in New York later this afternoon

and take off for Venezuela shortly thereafter.

I'll wager he'll be taking on a passenger.

4:22 on the nose.

The driver.

Kleinfelter's the driver.

We want the driver!

Move in.

Ezra Kleinfelter.

You're under arrest.

You're facing federal charges,

and you're a person of suspicion

in the murder of Vanessa Hiskie.

You people are persistent, I'll give you that.

But I'm still getting on this plane,

and I'm flying to Caracas.

I can tell you two things

wrong with that sentence.

Arrest me, and 14 innocent men and women

will lose their lives.

One of you, reach into my bag there.

There's an envelope.

It's a dossier

concerning a man named Farouq Hassad.

Yeah?

What about him?

He's an intelligence asset of ours in Morocco.

Call that phone number on the Post-It.

See how fast the section chief asks how you knew that.

That's just one to prove that I'm not bluffing.

There are 13 more,

and if you arrest me, their names go public.

Now...

some of them might get to protection in time.

But most of them?

Well, there's a reason why they call it "deep cover."

We gotta let him go.

Let him go.

It doesn't matter where you go.

We know you killed Vanessa Hiskie.

We'll prove it.

If there's evidence

that ties Ezra to the murder,

do you think that Venezuela will still grant him asylum?

Why?

Um...

Well, I stole his watch.

You...

That's why you grabbed him?

We-we didn't cover sleight of hand yet.

Well, I dug into it on my own.

You were right.

I mean, all it is is eye contact

and controlling the point of focus.

Our power's out,

so what else am I gonna do but read?

Well, if we can scrape together enough skin cells

to get a viable epithelial DNA sample,

and we get creative about how we came into

possession of the watch, then...

we can prove he killed Vanessa Hiskie.

Okay, but even if we do get Kleinfelter back,

isn't he just gonna release those names?

Oh, undoubtedly.

But, uh... we just have to try and make sure

that all 14 of those people are safe before he does.

Yeah, but we don't know who they are.

Not yet.

But it's a nine-hour flight to Caracas.

I need a backgammon board.

Time to give our client a status update.

Good evening, Elliot Honeycutt.

Holmes.

How did you get in here?

Have a seat.

We can sharpen your backgammon skills while we talk.

Things are going rather poorly, I'm afraid.

Ezra Kleinfelter, as we speak,

is on his way to Venezuela.

It seems he will escape justice...

and whatever fate you had in mind for him.

We can tie him to the murder of Vanessa Hiskie,

but if we do,

he will release the contents of several stolen files.

They contain the names

of 14 clandestine operatives.

That's not really surprising

to you, though, is it?

Did you tell your employers

that he has the names

of more than a dozen key assets?

No.

The board decided to pursue a strategy

of containment.

Didn't work, though, did it?

But now you have a choice.

Release those names to the government,

and they can get those people to safety

before Kleinfelter posts their identities.

That's suicide for the company.

The board will never agree.

I'm not talking about the board.

Can you access the stolen files?

I can access anything at this company.

You're a former operative yourself.

Does it sit well with you?

Your board playing fast and loose

with the lives of people in service?

I have no intention

of letting Ezra Kleinfelter

get away with murder.

You've done your research on me.

You know I get my man.

Even if it means letting those operatives die?

I don't believe it will mean that.

'Cause when I leave here,

you're going to release those names to the government,

regardless of what it means to this company.

Why would I do that?

Because you know what it means to serve.

You won't leave

those men and women to their fates.

You're bluffing.

Well, I've told you what needs to happen.

Those souls won't be on my conscience.

Your turn, Mr. Honeycutt.

This was the scene

at Miami International Airport, as federal agents

took Ezra Kleinfelter into custody early this morning.

Federal sources say that Kleinfelter confessed

to the murder of Vanessa Hiskie

in exchange for a guarantee that he won't

face capital punishment for espionage.

Hmm. The power's on.

So you got confirmation

that the agents are all okay?

After Honeycutt turned over the names,

they were in safe houses within the hour, apparently.

Kleinfelter's confession

has dampened Everyone's enthusiasm for him.

They've moved on to other pursuits.

I might have sent them a photograph

of myself with a shoe on my head

to hasten the reconciliation.

Oh.

My phone's back on.

We are free to resume our lives.

You might want to check all your voice mails.

The landline as well.

Potential clients may have reached out.

No more detective work for me today.

I need to figure out

how many people Everyone managed to offend

when they hacked into my accounts.

Have you considered letting the matter lie?

Might be a chance to pare back on

unnecessary social entanglements.

And I'm going out tonight.

I need a little "real world" time.

"For a long while now,

"I've suspected that connection with another person,

"real connection,

"simply isn't possible.

"I'm curious if you disagree,

"although I suspect you feel as I do in this,

as you do in so many other things..."

Oh, hey.

I'm assuming the evening went well,

or you wouldn't have ended it with a good-night kiss.

It wasn't bad.

I mean, I don't know if there were any sparks.

It was fun.

I think it's sad that you've given up.

I think you have a lot to share, if you cared to.

I shouldn't be the only one who knows you.

"So tell me:

"Is it possible to truly know another person?

"Is it even a worthwhile pursuit?

"Yours is the only opinion I'll trust,

"the only point of view

"that holds even the faintest interest.

"I find my diversions, as I always do,

"but the days are long in this gray place.

"I dearly hope you'll write soon.

"Ever yours,

Jamie Moriarty."

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