All language subtitles for Elementary - 2x03 - We Are Everyone.HDTV.LOL.en

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."