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  01x11 - Super
 Posted: 01/14/12 20:07
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You are being watched.

The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on you every hour of every day.

I know, because I built it.

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

Violent crimes involving ordinary people.

People like you.

Crimes the government considered irrelevant.

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

But I needed a partner--

Someone with the skills to intervene.

Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret.

You will never find us.

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

Got eyes on Reese. Kill the cameras.

Time to come home, John. Slate's been wiped clean.

You know that'll never happen.


Third one tonight. Must be a full moon.

Your name is Farouk Madani.

You were the best surgeon in Najaf, but you can't afford a license in the States because you send all your money home to family.


Stitch him up--

No questions asked-- and you can be a doctor again.

Police. Everybody out.

[Pounding on truck]

NYPD! Come out of there!

There a problem, detective?

Are you guys this sloppy when you tail Al-Qaeda?

Cute place. You gonna be out for a while?

Right, this isn't you being sloppy at all.

This is you making a point.

You're the only person we know of who's had any contact with our boy.

If I hear from him, you'll be the first to know, but all this?

Just can't figure out how he did it.

It's not my case anymore, so you have fun with that.

I don't like this any more than you do, Carter.

Watching someone night and day, you never know what you'll dig up.

I've seen it ruin careers, families.

Threatening a police officer is against the law, Mr. Snow.

So is lying to a federal agent.

I'll be seeing you.


Okay, where would you keep...


This guy's his partner, and it turns out I've had his cell phone number for weeks now.


[Phone ringing]

The number you have reached is not in service.

You're gonna use my computer, you gotta do my reports too.

Hi, Detective Carter, NYPD.

I need all the locations data you've got on a disconnected cell phone.

Yeah, name's "Burdett, Norman."


So who's this guy?

That's what I'm trying to find out.

I thought these folks were just for your boss.

Sorry about all the cloak-and-dagger.

So what brings you up from DC?


[Gasps playfully]

I'm flattered, Alicia. Don't be.

My people want answers.

Your company has had the NSA feeds for three years.

Not my company, just me.

If congress knew about this machine you're building, about the unfettered access we've given you to all the data we're compiling on U.S. citizens, you wouldn't just be shut down. You would go to jail.

I don't suppose they'd let us be cell mates.

We need progress, Nathan, or we're pulling the plug.

What's this?

It's progress.

Nine digits?

You work in intelligence.

Figure it out.

For once, I'd like you to handle one of these meetings while I lurk in the shadows.

You couldn't lurk if you tried.

That number we gave her... It better pan out.

It will.


I don't know. But the machine does.

Have a little faith, Nathan.

In you or in the machine?

Okay, Mr. Hayes, this is the place.

Watch your step-- Uh...

Not your step, I mean--

It's just one of those things people say, you know? No-- no offense.

But we got ramps all over the place, so if you need anything--

I'll be on my feet in a few days.

Yeah, but if anything goes wrong, you call me.

I'm the super. Name is Trask.

I tell you that already?


I guess I'm getting old.

It seems like yesterday I was partying till dawn down in Miami.

Used to own six nightclubs down there.

You know, I had a mansion in coral gables, a white bengal tiger... Had to give all that up.

Bad for my health. What about you?

Where you from? What do you do?

How'd you wind up in that chair?

I had a rough night.

[Laughs] Okay.

Here are the keys. You need anything, my number's on that lease.

The name is--

Well, you know.

[Door closes]

Everything satisfactory, Mr. Reese?

Nice place.

You really shouldn't have gone to this much trouble, though.

No trouble-- I thought you'd get tired of hotels, and, in your condition, I felt that something a bit more low-profile was in order.

Where's our pal Snow?

Preoccupied with detective Carter at the moment.

She all right?

Not that I don't share your concern for the woman who tried to hand you over to the CIA--

She did let us go. Just...

Keep an eye on her for me for a while, while I'm resting up.

About that...

I'm not here to rest, am I?

I'm afraid the machine waits for no man.

So who's the next number on your list?

You just met him.

The super?

Mr. James, got that shower head for you.


How you doing, Mrs. Park?

Oh, fine, thanks.

Ease up on the phone, Aaron. It'll nuke your brain.

Yeah, thanks, Ernie.

Lily the cook, I love how you look.

Thanks, Ernie. You write that one yourself?

Ernest P. Trask, 51 years old.

Born in Goodland, Florida, population 394.

Small towns aren't exactly paragons of digital record-keeping, but I did verify he got a high school diploma.

Let me guess. No nightclubs, no mansions, no pet tigers?

Mr. Trask seems to have a vivid imagination.

Don't you have anything to unpack?

I travel light.

Any idea what the threat is?

Not yet.

He's been super for 14 years.

Lives and works in the same place.

So whatever's gonna happen with Trask, it will probably happen here.

How many people in the building?


So 241 suspects?

Or maybe just one.

I took the liberty of hacking into Trask's online phone bill.

He called three pawn shops last week, the kind that specialize in off-the-books sales of untraceable handguns.

Trask might be planning to kill somebody.

You didn't get me anything?

Coffee's for closers.

I got you a clear shot at Reese and you whiffed.

I wasn't aiming to kill. You said you wanted to question him about what happened in Ordos.

If possible.

Secondary objective.

What's she up to?

Near as we can tell? Catching up on paperwork.

She's not using her computer or phones.


We got people checking every hospital, clinic, and morgue in a 300-mile radius.

If anybody stitched him up, we'll pick up the scent.

I hope you don't mind, but in addition to the necessary hardware, I brought a few books for you to read...

And a little housewarming gift.


You want to try it out?

Oh, no. I'm-- I'm good for now.

You'll thank me later.

You know, Trask may seem like a harmless bag of wind, but I've been fooled before.

If he bought a gun, I'd just like to know why.

Only one way to find out.

We're going to hack his wi-fi?

We're gonna hack all of them.

If the threat's in the building, we should get to know our neighbors.

You're into 16 networks already?

When the phone company puts in your wi-fi, the password is your phone number.

Most people never even change it.

The other ones might actually take a minute.

Once we're in, we can turn every webcam, nanny cam, security system, and laptop on the network into our eyes and ears.

Just like the machine.

I suppose...

If one apartment building were the entire world.

Well, Lily the cook seems to be dating Rick from the penthouse.


And Amber in 714 is...


Somehow I doubt that's what alerted the machine.

Got one, Finch.

[Camera shutter clicks]

Doug Stanley, security guard.

He's been hunting a thief who's been stealing jewelry out of women's apartments.

Maybe Trask is the thief planning to kill Doug, to cover his crimes.

Or Trask knows who the thief is and now they're planning to kill him.

That's the landlord, Alan Holt.

Doesn't look like Trask is the employee of the month.

Maybe he's about to snap and kill his boss?

Why did the machine give us his number?

Is Trask in trouble...

Or is he the problem?

Well, you're not gonna get it staring at the wall.

We need to do some legwork.


I'm in position. Make it quick, please.

Mr. Trask, it's John Hayes in 521.

I'm having a bit of a problem.

I'll be right there.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I've planted the cameras, Mr. Reese.

I'm starting to search.

I haven't seen damage like this since hurricane Opal trashed my yacht.

Looks like somebody went at this with a hammer.

No sign of a gun.

But I doubt if he's just a collector of bullets.

So who does he want to shoot?

Of course, I didn't bring the right one.

I'll be right back.

Trask needs a pipe wrench, Finch.

He's coming back down.

Okay, just a minute.

Finch, he's in the courtyard headed your way.


Watch where you're going, Trask.


He's obsessed with her.

I'm afraid we're not the only ones spying on our neighbors, Mr. Reese.

Harold, get out of there now.

Finch, did you get out of there?


Who the hell--

Hey! Come here!

What were you doing in my place?

I could use a hand here.

Okay, hang on, hang on, hang on.

Okay, he's gonna kill the elevator.

Security, this is Trask.

Finch, he's in the west stairwell.

Turn right, take the east stairs up three flights and you're home.

But move quick, he'll be on your floor in about 40 seconds.

I feel like a rat in a maze.

How do you put up with this?

Doug, I just caught a guy breaking in.

He was just in my apartment.

Keep walking, Finch. You'll be fine.

5'9", glasses. He walks with a limp.

I think he might be that thief you've been looking for.


What was that security guard doing in that apartment?


I'm pretty sure Doug knows you're not the thief.

[Taps keyboard] He is.

[Phone vibrates]

And I'm sending you the proof.

Nice phone.

Can I show you something?

Doug, is he up there? Have you found him yet?

So we can call the police...

Or you can forget you saw me, and I'll forget I saw you.

I'm gonna check the next floor.

He's not on two.

So Trask is armed, has a dangerous fixation on Lily, and he just chased me up three floors.

Safe to say he's our perpetrator.

I don't know, Finch. Sure you don't want to double-check with your machine?

Yes, that joke never gets old.

Harold, is everything okay?

What the hell?

We have company.

Sorry to pop up unannounced, Nate.

I guess we're not doing this over drinks.

He works here.

Even I need technical support sometimes.

Nathan, you remember Deputy Director Weeks.

The man in charge. I hope I'm not in trouble.

The nine digits you gave us are the social security number of a man named Gordon Kurzweil. He's one of ours.

He's a DIA case officer. Top secret clearance.

Been acing FBI background checks for 20 years.

We surveilled Kurzweil for two weeks, got nothing.

And just when we were thinking that you'd sold us a bill of goods, he breaks pattern.

Goes for a drive.

At a park in Bethesda, a Syrian businessman drops his phone.

Kurzweil picks it up, and via coded SMS, he arranges to sell 26 pounds of weapons-grade uranium to the iranian government.

So I guess the number panned out?

What I need you to explain to me is...

How did some damn computer program spot a traitor when federal agents couldn't?

Honestly? Not a clue.

The machine will deliver actionable intelligence in time to thwart any threat to national security, but its operating system is a black box.

And if we want to direct this machine at a specific target?

No need.

It already watches every target.

You're asking us to take a lot on faith here, Nathan.

A piece of software we can't inspect, can't control or modify, that only feeds us intel when it feels like it?

When it perceives a threat.

Look, I'm sorry, folks, but it's the only way that we can keep it and us protected.

If no human sees what the machine sees, then technically, no one's fourth amendment rights have been violated.

Why don't you just focus on your computer, Mr. Ingram, and leave the constitutional concerns to us?

Because I'm a citizen too, and I'm a lot more comfortable having this machine watch my every move than someone like you.

So it will remain a closed system, fully autonomous?

All we get is a number?

Did you need more than a number to pick up Kurzweil?

The software told you to take a closer look, so you did.

It's a black box.

That's the deal. Take it or leave it.

I'm not accustomed to having contractors dictate terms.

If you're going to be supplying crippled software, maybe we need to revisit the question of price.

Why don't you tell him the price negotiated, Alicia?

Mr. Ingram felt that this project was his duty as a citizen, not a businessman.

He's building the machine for one U.S. dollar.

I suppose I don't have a choice.

I know, I know.

I don't know what to do anymore, how else to say no. He's always right there.

Even when I can't see him, I can feel his eyes on me.

It's a bump key.

A hardware hack.

Just stick it in, twist, give it a little jolt...

And it'll open any lock in the building.

You won't be caught with nowhere to run again.

And this is everything you've found on the woman that Trask is obsessed with?


Lily Thornton. Grew up in Georgia cooking in her dad's diner. Cordon Bleu, class of '05.

Staying in her great aunt's apartment since '09 and currently a rising star at a top Manhattan bistro.

Romantically linked to Rick Morris, a powerful restaurateur.

This is very nice work, Mr. Reese.

Well, I have used a computer before.

But we can't get video from her place.

She changes her wi-fi password every day.

Random alphanumerics.

You gotta love a girl with good security habits.

So Trask has been snapping pictures of her.

Are we sure that means he wants to kill her?

76% of all female homicide victims are stalked before they're murdered.

Well, I better keep an eye on her then.

You're not tailing her to work?

I'm getting pretty good at this thing.

Yes, I'm sure the CIA will be deeply impressed when they shoot you.

Just feeling a little restless here, Finch.

Use the cushion.

The numbers never stop coming in, Finch.

What are we gonna do if another one comes in while I'm sidelined?

I'm sure I'd think of something.

And I know you won't carry a gun, but if I'm sending you back in the field, you're getting some basic self-defense.

Oh, I really don't think--

No, listen up.

If Trask comes at you, put your fingers straight out like this and strike at his eyes.

Poke him in the eyes? That's your technique?

No, that's your technique, and if that doesn't work, you can always take your thumb, jam it in his eye socket, and twist till you hit his brain.

Please, stop.

[Lock thumps]

Trask is still in the courtyard, but I want eyes on Lily at work.

I'll be with her shortly.

If she is Trask's intended victim, I'd like a better view of the inside of her apartment instead of simply peering at her through a window.

Mr. Reese, there's already a camera here.

Basic consumer model. Wireless.

Streaming to a hidden network.

The receiver it's paired with could be anywhere in the building.

I think Trask has been watching her every move.

And I think Lily's been spied on enough.

Cell phone location data.


Hey, where you going?

To get lost.

Need to dust this for prints.

There you go.

Yo! I think you broke it!

So? Read a book.

Sir? NYPD. I need your jacket now.

You're requisitioning my jacket?


Queens, corner of 45th and 21st.

Hey, you guys got a real problem.

Carter's got info from one of your cell phones.

She's tracking you.

I'm aware that she's looking for me.

I don't suppose you know why.

No, not yet. How's our guy?

Alive. Hidden.

Did you receive the package I sent?

Yeah, I got it right here.

What, did you run out of Adderall?

Our friend's prints are on it.

I need you to throw the CIA off his trail.

Take a road trip, detective.

Connecticut's nice this time of year.

Is everything good?

It's great. Thank you.

You make sure you try...

Good afternoon, Mr. Finch.

How's it going with Lily?

This may be the best-catered stakeout in history.

Don't eat in the field, Finch.

Never know when you'll have to move fast.

Any progress on the landlord's email?

Still working on that one.

What about the camera I found at Lily's?

If we can trace it to Trask, we can get him fired, maybe even arrested.

Still trying to break into the hidden wireless network.

No luck cracking the password yet.

But I did find out some information about our friend Trask.

Turns out there used to be a Mrs. Trask.

Used to?

She disappeared 13 years ago.

Trask never called the cops.

Told everyone she went to be with family in Boca Raton.

And I'm guessing she's not in Boca.

As far as I can tell...

She's not anywhere.

Maybe Lily's not his first.

[Frustrated sigh]

[Clears throat]

And I think it's safe to say she knows she has a stalker.

Hey, Aaron?

Can you just throw these away for me?

Yeah, sure.

Poor girl seems miserable.

She just threw a gift in the trash.

Bouquet of roses.


So, this is where Burdett's trail ends.

Where'd you go from here?

[Pay phone ringing]

You're wasting your time, detective.

I falsified the location data this morning.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess your name isn't Burdett.

Do you think finding me will lead you to my partner?

Are you still trying to make that arrest?

Oh, no. His CIA pals got that out of my system.

I wanted to catch him, not kill him.

What do you want now?

[Sighs] Still working that out.

But if I'm going to keep lying to government agents to protect you two, I'm gonna need a damn good reason.

I want answers.

I need to know what you do.

Turn around, detective.

How's your friend?


You're gonna have to tell me something.

Like who the hell are you, and what exactly is going on here?

When I was nine years old, my brothers decided I needed to learn swim, so they tossed me into the deep end of the pool.

Took a few minutes, but I figured it out.

Do you see that man, detective?

His name is Derek Watson, 39 years old.

18 months ago, he lost his job.

He tried to keep up with the mortgage as best he could, but the money ran out eventually.

Lost his house, and his wife left soon after.

Derek Watson is about to be involved in a violent crime.

I don't know what exactly, but believe me, something is gonna happen.

[Laughs] You can't know that.

Did you bring your service weapon, detective?

Sorry to toss you into the deep end, but, as you know, my friend is indisposed.

NYPD homicide.

It's Carter.

I need a background on a Derek Watson, 39 years old.

I show a Derek H. Watson in Mount Vernon.

House was foreclosed two months ago.

No current address.

That's him. What do you got?

Not much. No priors, no arrests.

A couple of unpaid parking tickets, but that's about it.

Hey, what's the name of the bank that took his house?

Truprime Mortgage.

Who filed the paperwork for the bank?

John Dalton. Is this for an open homicide?

I'll have to get back to you on that.

Finest surveillance training on the planet, and a New York cop gave you the slip.

Well, I know she's not in here, guys.

Reese hasn't turned up dead, so odds are he's found a safe house.

Expand the search.

All apartments and hotels rented in the last two days.

But if he's anywhere--

Just... Make it happen.

You have eyes on Trask, Mr. Reese?

Where the hell have you been?

Now you know how I feel.

Lily's headed home. Is it safe for her there?

I'm watching Trask right now.

And I'm not sure she's his target.

I think Trask might be after Rick.


Well, he spent the afternoon sniffing around Rick's apartment.

If I didn't know better, I'd say now he's digging a grave.


Trask gets rid of the boyfriend and has Lily all to himself.

Everything allight?

Yeah, I'm just sick of being cooped up and, uh, staring at screens all day.

I'd rather be doing that than trudging around half of Manhattan.

I have half a mind to spot Lily cab fare.

Finch, how fast can you get here?

About 15 minutes. Why?

Because we just ran out of time.

I think Trask is making his move tonight.

Checking your mail, huh, Mr. Morris?

Looks like it.

Yeah, I think I, uh, I think I figured out why your place is flooding.

It just, uh, it just needs a special faucet.

Why don't we, uh, why don't we go downstairs and check it out?

If, uh, if you like it, I can install it tomorrow.

No more floods. So why don't we go down to the basement?

I-I'm busy, all right?

I don't need to see anything, just have it fixed.

You need to stay away from Lily.


Have you lost your mind?

I've called the car. I can be there in five.

That'll be four minutes too late.

She doesn't love you, man. All right?

You need to leave her alone.

You got some kind of pathetic old-man crush here, Trask?

Gonna punch me out, take Lily to the dance?

You're not her boyfriend, and you're not her hero.

You're just the damn janitor.

So if my toilet clogs, I'll let you know.

Otherwise, step aside.

[Fire alarm ringing]

Is the building on fire?

I'm sure everything's fine, Mrs. F, but I'm gonna go check it out just the same, all right?

I come home and things have moved, like he's been inside my apartment.

I'm scared of what he's going to do.

Finch, this isn't over. Trask will try again.

And he's still obsessed with Lily.

Perhaps we should consider more aggressive tactics.

[Phone notification tone]

[Phone notification tone]

[Phone notification tone]

He's terrorizing her.

I want Trask out of the building tonight.


Mr. Hayes.

My name isn't Hayes.

Well, then I'm gonna ask you to leave.


You're the one who'll be leaving.

Hey, I don't know what you think--

I know about the roses, and the texts, and the hidden camera.

No, I would never--

I know about the gun, Trask, and I know you were ready to kill her boyfriend tonight.

He's not her boyfriend.

You don't understand.

Now, you're gonna pack your bag and leave this place.

[Gun cocks]

And no matter how much you think you love her, you're never coming back.


I love this job.

And I do care for Lily, but not like that.

Not like that.

[Computer beeps]

Finch, Trask didn't take those photos of Lily.

He stole them from the penthouse.

I know.

He didn't plant the cameras either.

Trask isn't the stalker.

Didn't you like the flowers, babe?

How did you get in here?

I thought it could just be you and me tonight.

Please, go. I want you to go.

Come on, baby.

You know you don't want me to leave.

Mr. Reese, we're gonna need a little help.

Get out of my apartment now.

You don't mean that.

Rick, please. This has to stop.

The phone calls, the flowers--

Oh, come on. Those were just a little "thank you" for our date last night.

That wasn't a date. We were going to the same party.

[Laughs] You're such a tease.

You made me share a cab with you and then you followed me all night.

I'm just trying to help you, sweetie.

Come on, I could do so much for you in this town.

Make you executive chef.

I don't want to work for you, I just want you to leave.

The super told me to stay away from you.

Did you--[Laughs]-- tell him about us?

Did you lie and say you don't love me?

[Faintly] No.

Now, why would you want to hurt me like that, baby?

Would you like it if I hurt you?



All I've ever done is look out for you, Lily.

It's time you showed a little gratitude.

Let her go, Mr. Morris!



I believe I told you to leave her alone.



[Both grunting]

[Car door opens]


We got something.

Break-in at a veterinary clinic in northern Connecticut.

Reese's prints were on a prescription bottle found at the scene.

Couldn't be telling me this while we drive?

"Anonymous tip" my ass.

This has gotta be some kind of joke.

All right, let's go. Hands behind your back.

BP 90 over 50.

Thready pulse, multiple fractures, bleeding internally.

I told him that I wasn't interested, and...

And it was like something in him snapped.

He became obsessive and, um, very unstable.

He's been stalking me for months, but I was too afraid to tell anyone.

And if Ernie hadn't shown up when he did--

[Laughs] That wasn't nothing.

Should've seen some of the guys they sent after me back in Miami.

You do not want to mess around with the Cuban mafia.

Ow-- Easy.

Sorry, sir.


What's this?

Trask's gun.

Oh. Good.

You know, his name isn't Ernest Trask, it's Ernesto Machado.

He used to own six nightclubs in Miami, a yacht, house in Coral Gables, and...

A pet tiger.

It was all true.

Even the part about it being bad for his health.

He testified against the Cuban mafia in 1996.

Still a price on his head.

He's in Witness Protection.

That's why you couldn't find Mrs. Trask.

She came with him from Miami, but without the houses and the clubs she didn't last long.

She left him, moved in with relatives--

In Boca Raton.

How'd you find all that out?

I'm good with computers.

Be honest, Finch.

There is no machine, is there?

It's just you.

I'll be ready when the next number comes.

Funny you should mention that.

[Crowd chatter]



Drop it! Drop it!

It's all right. NYPD. Everything's under control.

[Handcuffs click]

[Phone ringing]

Get down.

That, Detective Carter, is what we do.

Well done, my friend.

Now, tell me...

What on Earth was it that made the machine pick out Kurzweil's number?

You want me to pop the hood?


[Keyboard tapping]

November 2002.

This isn't the first item chronologically, but it's the one that triggered a harder look.

A gas station receipt?

18 of them...

From a Shell station just outside Towson, Maryland.

Kurzweil stopped there every third Thursday of every even month, even if he'd filled up the day before.

On 3 of his 18 visits, this SUV was present two hours before.

A dead drop.

The SUV was registered to the wife of a turkish oil executive that paid for plane tickets used by an iranian suspect in the bombing of a Jewish community center in Buenos Aires in 1994.

The thinnest thread connects Kurzweil and his contact and the machine could see it.

It knew, and it was right.

It does this all the time...

To all of us?


It's probably a good thing that you're the only other person that will ever see how this machine works.

When it's complete, I'll encrypt the OS so completely that no computer on earth will ever crack it.

Does it bother you? I mean...

What you've achieved is historic.

But no one will ever know.

It's the way it has to be to be sure.

Sure of what?

Sure that they'll use it the way I intended.

So you think the government would abuse this machine?


Denton Weeks has spent the last six months trying to tunnel into the machine by way of the NSA feeds.

He's failed, but he'll keep trying.

And he won't be alone.

I don't even want to think about what a man like Weeks would do with that kind of power.

That's why we have to keep him or anyone else from ever getting their hands on it.

You sure it was Weeks?

The machine told me.

It has an instinct for self-preservation.

You talk about that thing like it's alive.

Shh. It can hear you.

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