You are being watched.

The government has a secret system.

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

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

Violent crimes involving ordinary people.

The government considers these people irrelevant.

We don't.

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.

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

The storm warning is for the coastal areas of Nassau and Suffolk counties, including East and South Hampton and Owen Island.

Heavy rains and destructive winds will continue into the night.

Residents are advised to prepare for evacuation.

[Thunder crashes]

Isn't this service vest a little unethical?

I am handi-capable, Mr. Reese, but I need some assistance.

We don't want to exclude Bear from our rainy day activities.

We should have seen Once Upon A Time In The West.

Fewer subtitles.

Any word from our dearly departed Agent Shaw?

Not a whisper.

What worries me more at the moment is that we haven't heard anything from the machine recently either.

Yes, I've noticed. Three days. No numbers.

Maybe we're finally cleaning up the streets.

As much as I'd like that, I have to wonder if it hasn't got something to do with the actually departed Kara Stanton.

The virus that she uploaded during the time you spent in your bomb vest could easily have spread from the Department of Defense systems, all the way to the machine.

You built the machine, Finch. Can't you access it?

You know, check under the hood?

I sealed it for a reason, Mr. Reese.

I'm afraid you're going to have to wait and see what Stanton's employers have in mind for the future.

[Phone rings]

[Phone rings]

[Indistinct electronic voices]

[Electronic static]

Maybe your machine really is on the fritz.

Has this ever happened before, Finch?

It's a precedent.

It gave us all six numbers at once?

Spread out across the country like this.

Very worrisome.

Stranger yet, I can find no solid connection between them.

Maybe they're plotting something together.

Or someone's plotting against them.

I wondered that.

[Thunder rumbling]

Three of the six numbers are listed on the NCIC missing persons database.

Two of the others dropped off the grid entirely.

No digital footprint at all.

People with something to hide or hiding from something.

And there's one local. Jack Rollins.

He's an antiques dealer in Brooklyn.

He hasn't been reported missing yet.

That could be the next target.

I'll go say hi.

I'll enlist Carter's help looking into the other five.

And I'll keep an eye on the machine's erratic behavior.

[Electronic bleeping]

Looks like Rollins runs his shop out of his apartment, Finch.

There's no answer, so I'm going to let myself in.

Rollins' taste in antiques is exotic.

No sign of the man himself.

[Gun uncocks]

But someone was already here and went to a lot of effort to dig up a bill for a rental property out on Owen Island.

I found the account for Jack Rollins' Visa.

Payments on the beach property and a train ticket to Suffolk County, all in the last 24 hours.

Rollins was in a hurry to get out of the city.

And we're not the only ones looking for him.

Heading out in a storm like this?

Rollins is running from something.

I'll find out what's on Owen Island.

Mr. Reese, is that a good idea?

Storm or no, Finch, if Rollins is our one lead, I'm headed to the beach.

[Indistinct chatter]

Next time you need a favor, can we wait till after the monsoon season?

Thanks for your help, Moss.

These files seem a little thin.

Because the cases are thin.

Dozens of reasons people step off the grid.

Bad credit, old rap sheet.

I mean, hell, sometimes people just disappear, Detective.

First person to go missing was a French student studying abroad at Stanford, seven years ago.

Post-collegiate wanderlust. Wouldn't be the first.

What's your interest?

What's the name at the bottom of that file?

It's on the others too.

Alan Fahey.

Desk jockey at our CCSR branch.

Handles cybercrimes, identity theft, mostly white collar stuff.

Looks like he files one hell of a report.

Yeah, he has a lot of notes.

Seems like he's on to something.

If you want, I can give him a call.

See what he's--

No, that's okay.

I can handle the follow-up.

Well, I'm gonna beat the rain home.

Okay.

Agent Moss?

I've been doing this job a long time.

Heh, probably too long.

All that business about Cal Beecher... what do you know?

Been doing my job for a long time too.

And not having those IAB files, I can only surmise, but the kind of red flags they put up, Beecher is bad news.

Steer clear, Carter.

Okay...

[Cell phone rings]

This is Special Agent Fahey.

This is Detective Carter of the NYPD.

I've been looking through some missing person files that have your notes on them.

The cases were connected through one potential MO, something about missing or destroyed photos you uncovered at more than one potential crime scene.

Have you been able to chase down any new leads on that MO?

I work out of headquarters in DC, Detective.

I don't chase leads. I write reports... that no one reads.

Right. But I might have a new informant with additional information for this case.

Well, I put all that information together months ago.

I called the NYPD at the time. No one there was helpful.

No one had anything to add.

Now something suddenly just popped up?

It's a confidential source.

Confidential from the FBI? Nice try.

Call the Bureau Liaison if you have any new information, otherwise have a nice day.

[Dial tone]

[Chuckles]

[Electronic voice]

Congratulations on your new...

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

They're evacuating the island, Finch.

But I made it out to Rollins' rental house.

Where are you?

Well, I'm back at Rollins' in Brooklyn.

Bumping around in the dark.

[Thunder rumbling]

Storm knocked out a transformer down on the street and all power within a nine-block radius.

Why go back there?

Detective Carter spoke with an FBI agent who's discovered a pattern in the crimes.

There were no photographs of the missing persons at their homes.

So I'm looking for photos, or a lack thereof.

What's this?

"Basement storage."

I'm gonna take a look downstairs, Bear.

Nothing to worry about.

[Dog barks]

Empty photo frames. Just like the others.

Mr. Reese, I've found something interesting in Rollins' basement.

Finch, I didn't copy.

Finch?

[Creaking]

Finch?

I'm not alone.

[Dog whimpering]

Bear?

[Dog barks]

What are you doing?

[Dog barking and whimpering]

What is it?

Mr. Reese, I think I know what happened to all those missing people.

FBI, don't move.

Hands up. I want to see some ID.

Well, which is it?

You want my hands up, or you want to see ID?

Jennings. US Marshals Service.

I'm trying to locate someone, a guy named Rollins.

Got some questions for him.

You looking for Rollins? Me too.

I believe he's connected to--

To another missing persons case.

We believe a wanted fugitive may be looking for Rollins.

Is he here?

I don't know. I just started looking.

Well, why don't we take our weapons off each other and clear this house?

Trail was hot on Rollins, but no one at HQ would get off their hands, follow up the lead.

So I decided to come out here myself.

[Thunder rumbles]

You out here all alone?

Well, it's been a few years since Quantico, but I remember a thing or two about working in the field.

Well, you're on the right trail.

Rollins was here recently, he couldn't have gotten far in this storm.

My car is outside.

Why don't we head to the local police station?

We're gonna need a few more guys on this.

Someone tried to destroy these teeth.

But the flame wasn't hot enough to burn enamel.

It could take some time, but... if the vic's dentals are on file, we could get an ID.

No, we can't wait that long.

Assuming that the teeth belong to Jack Rollins, he was likely dead when they were removed.

One would hope so, anyway.

Well, whoever did this knows how to get rid of a body.

They didn't just want to kill Rollins, they wanted him to disappear.

We may be looking at more than a string of missing persons.

We may be looking at a string of murders.

Six victims.

If our killer can assume these identities, then he would be a composite of all these missing persons in more ways than one.

We're looking at a serial killer.

Finch, what are you doing?

Mr. Reese is out on an island looking for a man violent enough to pull out another man's teeth.

And now I can't warn him. I have to get there myself.

I'm pretty sure all the roads are closed now.

How do you think you're gonna get out there?

Think I'll use my pilot's license.

I got a nor'easter touching down right now.

I've got a population of 357 souls I've got to get off this island before I can't anymore.

Chief of police is running the evacuation on the mainland.

I'm the law left in the town with half its ass underwater.

This is a matter of federal importance.

We're looking for this man.

Don't recognize him.

But if he was a renter, he's probably been evacuated.

Chief? Chief, come in.

Mind if we at least make a few phone calls while we're here?

Sure.

If the cell and land lines weren't down, the power wasn't out, and the emergency radio didn't pick today to crap out on me.

Anything else?

Yeah. How's your coffee?

Hey, gents, you may have jurisdiction and authority here, but one thing you don't have is my cooperation.

For now, mother nature takes priority.

[Thunder rumbling]

Look, Marshal, we can't afford to sit around here with or without the deputy's help.

I don't think we're on the trail of just a missing person here.

I think Rollins is dead, and he may not be the only one.

I think we're on the trail of a cold-blooded killer.

You didn't want to share this earlier?

Well, I didn't know all the facts.

Technically, it's still just a theory.

Tell me, what do you know about making a body disappear?

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

This place is a ghost town.

Yeah. Our uni's out are storm patrol.

What brings you down here?

You.

I would have called, but you're not answering those, are you?

So I decided to drop by, and maybe you could tell me what I did wrong.

Cal, I'm working on something. I'll talk when I can.

I guess I'll check in later.

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

So how'd you get stuck on the island?

We got water in the muffler and the engine died, so we came here--

Carly and I.

That's my new bride Carly over there.

We just got married. We're both dental hygienists.

Did I say that?

Yes.

What did you mean earlier when you said Rollins wasn't the only one?

[Sighs]

I think we're on the trail of several crimes.

I'm looking at multiple murders across multiple states.

The killer must have taken the identity of his victim before moving on.

I followed the trail back to that student at Stanford, then I worked forward.

It turns out every victim of the killer moved cities within 18 months of vanishing.

Rollins moved to New York.

So I went to New York, found the rental bill.

Followed him out here to Owen Island.

Whoever was traveling as Rollins could easily still be on this island.

[Clatter]

[Wind whipping]

Hi. Erica, we just lost the bridge.

When did this happen, Stan?

A few minutes ago.

I locked up the bar, I saw Becky finishing the boards on the A&P.

We high-tailed it down to the bridge just in time to see it go under.

No crossing it until the tides go down.

And who's this guy?

Dennis Cunningham.

I picked a bad day to check up on my hotel.

So you're the guy building that hotel?

On my drier days.

We're 90 days out on that property.

If it washes away--

There's more.

On the way here, we saw someone.

Down by the docks.

Did it look like it was trying to get off the island?

Looked like he was prepping a boat for himself.

We have to get down there.

I've now got five stranded people and no way off this rock, this is where I need to be.

Absolutely, Deputy.

So we'll go and bring him back here for you.

Special kind of man ricks his life in this weather for a few crustaceans.

Whoa, fellas, I'm just a fisherman.

There's a lot of money in this haul.

I didn't know I was breaking a law.

You have ID?

Don't get asked for it on the water.

What's your name?

Ethan Mattson.

Well, Ethan, you're on land now.

[Rattling]

Who's with you?

No one.

Hey!

I know you're there.

I've got 15 shots here.

Think it over.

No need for shooting!

I was just looking to get away from this storm is all!

You from the island?

No, I was looking for some work on the boats.

Got stuck out here by the storm, thought I'd ride it out.

Let's get them both back to the station.

[Airplane buzzing]

I don't care who you are, you can't endanger my citizens by landing your Cessna in the middle of my town.

That's actually a De Havilland Beaver.

What's going on here?

This amateur storm chaser Harold Gull is under arrest.

He landed his float plane in the town square.

I needed a stretch of water to land and there was, well, water everywhere.

And what's all this?

My meteorological equipment.

I've been a certified member of the National Storm Chasers and Spotters Association for over ten years.

Deputy, despite this man's recklessness, could you book him with endangering our lives after the storm?

We have bigger things to worry about.

Fine.

But when the storm ends, I'm hitting him with everything I've got.

Hey, Stan, it's getting dark out there.

You think you could put some more diesel in the gennie out back?

Yeah, sure.

The National Storm Chasers Association, Harold?

Well, it worked, didn't it?

We were wrong. This isn't a group conspiracy.

Those numbers, they're all dead.

And we're tracking their killer.

I know.

I had the displeasure of seeing all that was left of the real Jack Rollins, molars and all.

Some twisted mind's idea of a trophy.

What if the machine sent us all six numbers to tell us that someone had been all of those people?

What if a smart killer was interested not only in taking lives, but in taking identities.

Like a chameleon.

Changing into his victims, living their lives until he gets bored and moves on to the next.

To identify such a killer, we would want to consider who he has been, and what he might look like.

Okay, so how do you spot someone who's that good at being anyone else?

Excuse me, Marshal.

That FBI guy needs to see you out back.

You need to see this. Stanley put them out.

Someone used diesel to try to cook the pile.

The killer was here minutes ago.

He's close.

And he's shed the "Rollins" identity.

Then he could be anyone in there.

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

If the killer is among these people, then he's out of his element-- he's broken his pattern.

Assuming the identities of his victims, it's part of his ritual.

And now that rollins' ID is burned, he's trapped.

He must have taken on another identity.

And he can't go anywhere with it.

He's as stuck as we are.

Why didn't the machine give us his real identity?

Why play games?

I assume he's smart, and he digitally erased his original persona.

I did.

Well, we need to find a way to hunt him.

We might be able to, Mr. Reese.

Are you familiar with storm chasing?

[Electronic beeps, buzzing]

What are you watching?

Didn't know if you were still too busy to talk to me.

Actually, I could use another set of eyes on something.

Take a look.

This is a building-owned security camera in Chicago six months ago.

A missing persons I'm working. Guy named Rollins.

This is him leaving his shop, and him coming back the next day.

Oh, he moved to New York soon after.

What do you notice?

That the same guy both times?

Why do you ask?

That's a close match.

But the guy locking up is left-handed, and the guy unlocking is a righty.

He's also a couple inches taller.

Exactly.

What are you looking at here?

Some kind of elaborate robbery?

Something much worse.

So let me get this straight.

You want me to conduct a series of interviews with everyone on the station and you want this guy to help?

He's the only one who arrived on this island after the bridge went out.

I know he appears a little strange, but he does have some interesting equipment in those bags.

Yeah, well, unless he has a fingerprint scanner and the ViCAP database, what does he have that we need?

Agent... Fahey, is it?

Are you familiar with the Instantel seismograph?

Body armor?

I don't think we'll be taking too much heavy fire with this group.

Look, Jennings, I spend most of my nine-to-five tethered to a desk.

I've questioned a few embezzlers and some identity thieves.

We're about to walk into a room with a killer.

And I' be standing right behind you.

Thank you, Mr. Amis.

I'm with the FBI, looking for a missing person on the island here.

I'd like to ask you a standard series of questions, and I'd appreciate your cooperation.

Okay, so ask.

This is Jack Rollins.

I'm trying to establish who had contact with him on the island recently.

I don't recognize him.

We don't get too many tourists this time of the year, but I would have seen him at the store.

Who do you recognize at the station tonight, Becky?

I've known Stanley most of my life.

Who don't you recognize?

That honeymoon couple for one.

And where did you two meet?

We met in Albany.

We met in Albany.

Why didn't you evacuate earlier?

I told you, I've got a few thousand bucks crawling around in those traps you made me leave down on the docks.

So you disregarded a state of emergency?

I had to preserve my catch.

You often pull in traps all by yourself?

How's it going?

Good.

See all these tiny waves?

They're called microseisms, and all these little bumps are the heartbeat.

The needle picks it up like it would a tectonic shift, and it's picking up a lot.

And everyone else?

I'm getting clean readings.

The metal in the table amplifies it.

Everyone is steady.

Stanley the bar owner is a little below average, but I think there might be something wrong with him.

No, I just think his blood alcohol level could start a lawn mower.

But that fisherman in there?

He's nervous about something.

I know Ethan Mattson.

He's lived on Owen for five years.

He gets into some trouble, but he's good on the boats.

Do you wanna know who I don't recognize?

Half of Owen knows Cunningham Properties, but I can't say I've ever said "hi" to his face.

And that drifter?

I mean, who comes to an island in winter looking for seasonal work?

Ms. Winter, how long have you been the Dean of Student Affairs at Stanford?

10-- no, 11 years.

I'm wondering if you could shed light on a former student who went missing.

Henri Musset? He graduated--

In 2005. I remember Henri. He was an international student.

He went missing right after he graduated.

Police called for weeks.

Inspectors from France, even Interpol.

There was a digital trail on the boy in San Diego, 18 months after graduating.

Just as we told the authorities then, Henri never left a forwarding address.

We often lose touch with recent alumni until they settle down somewhere.

So the last time Henri was seen was on campus.

He lived in student housing. Did he have a roommate?

[Keyboard clicking]

Yes. His last year, it was a student named Alex Declan.

It says here-- huh.

What?

I just see a note on Henri's housing form.

He requested a new roommate his last semester.

The last semester of his senior year?

Does that happen often?

Not usually.

Most seniors have a million other things on their mind.

But the matter seems to have been resolved.

Do you have any records on Declan?

[Keyboard clicking]

That's strange.

Declan is listed in housing as Henri's roommate, but I can't find his registration.

No student photo either.

Something must have fallen through the cracks.

Dennis, you're such a busy guy.

You don't get out to the island very often.

I don't babysit my properties.

But the hotel out here was days behind schedule.

You think I want to slog around this sandpit in the rain?

[Sighs] Victor, you don't have an ID.

You don't have a solid alibi for being here on the island and, last of all, for being down at the boatyard.

I told you. I was passing through.

Recognize this? It's yours.

You've got a lot of D-rings.

Kind of weird.

Unless you're a climber, or... in the military.

[Thunder crashes]

[Knock on door]

Do you have a heart problem?

Because right now, yours is really pumping.

Owen Island Station, this is Detective Joss Carter.

Eighth Precinct, New York City, calling on the emergency police frequency.

Do you read me? Over.

This is Deputy Schmidt of the Owen Island PD.

Who is this?

[Static crackling]

Detective Carter from New York City.

I have new information for the US Marshal on your island.

I need to speak to him immediately.

Who is it?

Some detective from the city got through, said her name was Carpenter-- Carter--

Ugh! The generator.

Do you read me? Over.

[Crashing]

[Motor puttering]

[Motor puttering]

[Screams]

Oh, my God. Is she-- is she dead?

[Static]

You shouldn't go out there. The storm's pretty bad.

I'm following up on a lead, it's urgent.

I need to get to Owen Island.

Whoa, yo, I can't let you do that.

I don't care what lead it is.

I'm going, Kyle.

I won't say it again.

Okay... but I'm driving.

What's going on here?

First you question us, and now this?

You. You were helping them.

What were they doing in there, really?

They asked to use my equipment for police business.

They were looking for liars in the group.

Talking about finding a killer.

Becky, what did they ask you?

They asked me who I recognized here.

So who don't you recognize?

Everyone please settle down.

You're building a hotel on the other side of the island.

Nobody even knows your face.

I have hundreds of business contacts in the city.

Call any of them.

And what good did that do, Harold?

Behavior analysis, John. Just give it a minute.

What about you, Mr. Newlywed? Nobody knows your face.

Wait a second, I know his face.

Everybody, we're forgetting, she was killed with a knife.

So whose knife was it?

I know whose it is.

That knife? It's called a Ka-Bar.

Not exactly something you pick up at a local bait and tackle.

I didn't hurt anybody.

You need to be a special kind of person to carry a weapon like that.

[Both grunting]

[Grunting]

Let me go.

That's what I thought.

I was lying.

Okay?

God help me, I was lying. But I'm not a killer.

No. You're a Marine.

The knife. The tattoo.

The D-rings clipped to your bag.

You're on the run.

24th Meu out of Camp Lejeune.

Second tour.

I couldn't go back.

I wanted to get a boat to Canada.

I got stuck here.

So who else knew you had that knife?

I don't know.

I mean, I came into the station with the fisherman.

Wait, where is the fisherman?

He must have slipped out.

I'll go after him.

If I don't come back, get these people to safety.

[Thunder crashes]

So... do you think we can cross the entire state before you say a word to me?

What do you want to talk about?

I can think of some things.

Like how an NYPD detective got aced out of the FBI because she keeps bad company, how about that?

What are you talking about, the FBI?

Not a friend of Internal Affairs, huh, Cal?

Joss, I'm in Narcotics.

We get pulled in by IAB half-a-dozen times a year.

My neck of the woods don't mean a thing.

It does to me.

Makes me wonder about the man I trusted.

Oh, what, you don't trust me?

[Engine revving]

You think I'm dirty? That I'm on the take?

Is that what you think?

I don't know what to think, Cal.

Yo, what did they tell you about me?

[Gasps]

Beecher! Slow down!

[Tires screeching]

You serious?

What, you think I'd hurt you?

I don't know.

But I don't want to hurt you.

[Wind howling]

Marijuana.

This is what you were trying to protect from the storm.

[Both grunting]

Unh! Unh!

Huh.

[Drops harpoon]

[Thunder crashes]

Oh, no, that couldn't be.

Unbelievable.

We're hunting a killer, and instead we get amateur drug night in the sticks.

[Groaning]

You smuggle it in on your boat?

Ah, don't say anything. Just bleed if I'm right.

Ordinarily, I'd make sure you went behind bars.

But I got bigger fish to fry.

So you go in the trunk.

FBI.

[Punch, thud]

[Thunder crashes]

What gave me away?

[Electronic beeping, buzzing]

How did you know?

The needle spiked in between the interviews.

When I wasn't watching.

When you were resting on the table.

You should keep an eye on that heart rate.

I knew you were too good at those interrogations.

Who are you really?

I could ask you the same thing.

You're taller than I would have thought.

And you cut your hair.

And you bought every minute of the dedicated "Agent Fahey."

Yes, quite the performance.

Make a sound, I start hurting innocents.

Let's take a walk.

I thought a bit more privacy would do us some good.

You know, the walls are closing in.

You have no place to run. It's over.

It's over for Fahey, sure.

Just like it was over for Rollins.

Was that before or after you tore teeth out of his head and threw them in a furnace?

Damn things never burn. Sloppy, I know.

But when the FBI's knocking on your door, you have to move faster than you should.

Other agents will come looking.

Like the last one?

Federal agents always work in pairs.

But this hard-ass showed up solo in a stupid blue windbreaker, knocking on my door, looking for Rollins.

He talked to me.

Seemed nervous.

A little out of his element.

Right then I knew I had him beat.

He left me no choice. I had to kill him.

Then I realized my only way off this island was to become him.

Then this damn storm hits, and some cowboy US Marshal comes knocking.

I was stuck as Special Agent Fahey, so I improvised.

And the deputy. Why harm her?

Well, I couldn't be sure what she heard off the radio.

You always have to be ready to improvise.

Honestly, the question isn't who I am.

It's who you are.

I watched you all night.

I can always spot an impostor.

I spotted you.

Are you like me?

You have no idea.

You're an amateur at this.

Not the way I planned it, man.

I don't hurt people.

And I didn't kill the FBI guy in that trunk.

But you're in the way, so you go in the drink.

[Grunts]

Don't worry.

As cold as this water is, it'll be quick.

[Grunting]

Hey, Ethan.

Oof! Uhh!

As quick as that?

Now that Fahey won't get far, I think the mysterious Mr. Gull might be my next great challenge.

You'll never get off the island.

By morning they'll come here looking for the real Alan Fahey.

And they'll find him... in the trunk of his car.

And what about you?

And what about you?

And what about you?

And what about... you?

You asked the question and you're the answer.

Your plane.

You're gonna fly me out of here.

You haven't outlived your usefulness.

You could never be me because I save lives.

You take them.

No, I live those lives better than real people ever could.

I follow them and watch them waste what they have.

I do those identities justice.

The things I've seen.

The lives I've lived.

One day I'll stop, when I find the person I'm meant to be.

What?

People like you don't stop.

You can rationalize it however you like.

But you hurt people because you like it.

Because you're sick!

You're maladjusted and you need help.

On second thought, maybe I'll find another way off this island.

I'll miss finding out more about you.

If there's anything left to tell, I'll make it up as I go along.

Don't worry, I'm good at that.

Just like you.

[Gunshot]

You all right, Harold?

Detective?

You have impeccable timing.

How did you get here?

I hitched a ride with the Coast Guard.

And some very unpleasant people inside said they thought they saw you come this way.

So is that him, our identity killer?

He was pretending to be an FBI agent.

He was really rather good at it.

He had a badge and a gun and a--

And what?

Body armor.

[Gunshot]

[Thunder rumbling]

[Electronic beeps, buzzes]

[Police radio chatter]

What are you doing?

It's a police station.

There's bound to be one of these around here somewhere.

Hey, listen...

I don't know what happened last night between us, but, uh, I'm wondering what happens today.

I don't know what happens.

But I'm glad you were here.

A drug smuggler shot at me with a spear gun last night.

Is that a first for you?

Wish I could say yes.

Glad you made it back, Mr. Reese.

I am too.

And I'm glad the machine was right.

How so?

It was smart enough to tell us about a killer with multiple identities.

It may be true that the six numbers were not a glitch, but the three days of silence preceding it were.

If the machine had been working properly, we might have gotten a number for the real Alan Fahey and saved him.

Instead, an FBI agent is dead.

I wish I knew what that means for the future.

At least the storm is passing.

No, Mr. Reese, I have a feeling that it's just beginning.