Previously on Instinct: I want to go see a friend
who may be able to help. Wait. I'll drive.
He works undercover.
(RINGS DOORBELL)
DYLAN: I'll take whatever
you can get on the victims.
Who are you?
Where did you find out all this?
- Does it matter? - Of...
It matters if I want to get a warrant
to back up these rumors.
You know things you're not telling me,
but these are my cases.
♪
(QUIET CHATTER)
(EXPLOSION)
(PEOPLE SCREAMING, FRANTIC CHATTER)
(YELLS IN PAIN)
♪
WOMAN: New York's Finest!
Joan has told me everything about you.
(WHISPERS): And about your hush-hush past.
Can the government really create hurricanes?
Uh, no.
But if I was going to share
an intelligence secret with you,
I would totally do it in a pancake restaurant.
Oh, the sourdough pancakes here are amazing.
Do you want a drink?
- No, thanks. - Dylan, I think...
I can help you.
I hope Joan explained, my reservations
have nothing to do with you personally.
And yes, I was talked into doing that
local TV news segment...
Mistake, small potatoes. It devalues your brand.
I do not have a brand. I do not want a brand.
And no offense... I do not need a publicist.
I disagree.
Now, listen up, because this is
not-screwing-around Ashley you're talking to now.
Bring it in.
Come on.
A little closer.
Right here, right here.
Stop.
(WHISPERS): You do not need a publicist.
You need the best publicist.
- I am talking about me. - Yes, got that.
But my life does not need publicizing.
Look, the public deserves to hear about their heroes.
That is why I have arranged
for New York magazine to do a story about you.
Well, that's very impressive, but...
Did I mention you'll be on the cover?
Now do you want that drink?
Still no.
But I do have an idea about that magazine story.
Bring it in.
JASMINE: I created a monster.
Now she's weighing in on the venue.
Oh, that has to stop. This is your wedding.
You know my mom... she needs to be the star.
She needs to be the star, the costar, the understudy
and the guy in the lobby who sells Milk Duds.
You should just keep her busy.
Give her something to do.
Lizzie, you may have just
come up with a way to save my insanity
that doesn't include vodka.
(CHUCKLES) It's my pleasure,
and you owe me one.
And I'm paying up right now.
I'm putting you on the grade list.
What?
I'm recommending you for a promotion.
To second grade detective?
No, to flight engineer on the space station.
Yes, to second grade detective.
You've closed some big cases lately.
Dylan shares in that.
Yeah, yeah, he's a genius, but you are my best cop.
And it's not a favor. You deserve it.
Thank you, but I'm not gonna celebrate just yet.
I could be stuck on that grade list for years.
No, your name's already on the chief's desk.
This is in the works.
Wow.
It does mean more responsibility.
I know. That's why I'm so excited.
(CHUCKLING)
(CELL PHONE RINGING) - Oh.
Lieutenant Gooden.
Any fatalities?
Okay, we're on our way.
Suicide bomber just blew himself up in Battery Park.
You should get over there.
Dylan asked to be assigned.
Okay.
(QUIET CHATTER)
- Hey. - Hey.
The bomb squad's nearly finished its sweep.
LIZZIE: You asked to be assigned this case?
No, I just called to offer my expertise.
Back in the day, my study on suicide bombers
kind of made me a name in the abnormal behavior community.
Hmm. Sounds like a fun bunch.
By the way, is there a subject you're not an expert on?
Whale hunting? Soap carving?
As a matter of fact, soap carving
became popular in 1924...
- All clear. - Thank God.
Okay.
Wallet and I.D.
DYLAN: Guess he wanted credit.
Ramzy Kharal, 25.
I'll call the Intelligence Bureau,
see if he's on their radar.
Name and appearance suggests Middle Eastern descent,
but look at his face... clean-shaven.
Don't bombers shave in order to blend in?
Yes,
but most Middle Eastern bombers
have beards their entire lives, so when they shave,
the lower part of their faces is lighter
from being deprived of the sun.
The color of Ramzy's skin is uniform.
That doesn't fit the profile of a suicide bomber.
Neither does the fact he was the only one killed.
Malfunction? Change of heart?
Hard to say, but even an attack with limited casualties
can cause a devastating psychological effect on a city.
- Did we find the detonator he used? - Blown to bits,
so it's gonna take a while to get any info.
He lives a few blocks away. Hey, guys, don't leave.
We're gonna need a sweep of his apartment.
LIZZIE: Okay.
Wow.
Judging by all these materials,
I would say Ramzy was a ringleader
or a member of a cell,
because one suicide bomber would not need all this.
Our bomber was a graduate student at Columbia University.
Got his visa from the American University in Cairo.
I studied Arabic there.
I really need to travel more.
I've never been east of Flushing.
So you think this is the beginning
of a wave of these attacks?
Hey, come here. Quick.
Today's date is circled, and there are two sets of numbers.
What time did the bomb go off?
1:14. - 1314.
Military time for 1:14 p.m.
What about the other four numbers? 1071.
Since we have date and time, I'm guessing it's location,
but that's not enough digits for GPS coordinates.
Unless we assume they're local.
Can we pinpoint a location
within the city using those
last four numbers as a suffix?
(MUTTERING)
Oh, my God.
They're coordinated for Battery Park,
right where the bomb went off.
There's gonna be another attack today.
Yeah, at 1621... 4:21.
That's in 15 minutes.
Where's 4360?
The band shell in Central park.
If we find our guy, we isolate and contain
until the bomb squad gets here.
DYLAN: Guy's slouching. Too relaxed.
- Gait's too loose, steady. - The blonde woman with a case?
DYLAN: No, normal response to her environment.
3:00... walking too fast, hunched over.
Police! Don't move! But I didn't do anything.
Now, listen to me. We are going to stand
in this position until the bomb squad arrives.
You understand? Bomb squad?
(EXPLOSION; PEOPLE SCREAMING)
- Are you okay? - Yes, sir.
DYLAN: You all right? LIZZIE: Oh, my God.
It's the woman we ruled out.
The woman I ruled out.
What did I miss?
Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Thank you.
Her name is Barbara Kramer.
She lived in Fort Washington.
How did I miss her tells?
She was behaving normally.
She stooped to help that child.
It's as though she switched off her body's own reactions.
Bombers sometimes appear drugged.
They sweat. They have tunnel vision.
She displayed none of that. None.
We were supposed to have lunch together,
but she canceled.
Do you know why?
No, I have no idea. (TAKES DEEP BREATH)
I can't believe she's dead, and...
in this awful way.
Any recent changes in her behavior?
(SIGHS) She was upset about politics.
She was ranting more, but who hasn't been?
Was she under any stress?
Uh, her cheating husband left her a year ago,
and she began worrying that her playing was suffering.
Was she seeing anyone new?
You know, she hinted at it.
And she was rushing off a lot after rehearsals, but...
she could be secretive.
She mostly kept to herself.
Did she ever mention a Ramzy Kharal?
Sorry. No, that doesn't ring a bell.
LIZZIE: Did your brother ever mention dating Barbara Kramer?
Barbara Kramer?
No, it doesn't ring a bell.
Ramzy never mentioned her name?
But if my brother were romantically involved,
he probably wouldn't have told me.
I... I ask too many questions.
Since your brother arrived here,
have you had any cause for concern
about his friends or interests?
None.
He did start driving for a rideshare company.
I can get you the name. Please.
And I worried about all the strangers he drove.
But...
he said it's so expensive here,
and he didn't want to call home for more money.
He felt my parents had done enough.
They were so proud of him.
(CRYING)
Have you spoken to them?
Yes, they're on the first flight out of Cairo.
My parents are such good, decent people.
They don't deserve this.
Don't do the magazine story.
Wow.
Your contacts in the publishing world
didn't take long to get on the phone.
I appreciate your concern,
but you're worrying about nothing.
Kandahar, Fallujah, Waziristan.
We've seen a lot together.
You used to be careful.
Are you comparing Pakistan's lawless border region
with a magazine that did a cover story
about the city's best falafel?
I'm saying former CIA officers don't hire publicists.
- You been spying on me? - Yes.
She's not my publicist.
Two words:
Tony Collins.
Five words:
I have work to do.
Collins was careless.
(QUIET CHATTER)
Anything at our musician's apartment?
No maps, no explosives, no nothing.
We ran a check on Ramzy's sister: squeaky clean.
Any contact at all between the bombers?
FUCCI: I haven't turned up a single text,
phone call or online signal between them.
So they avoided leaving an electronic footprint.
But the calendar is proof of a connection.
Barbara detonated her device at the exact time and place
that we found in Ramzy's calendar.
Yeah, and ballistics says the two bombs are identical.
Still nobody taking credit? Intelligence Bureau's still
sorting through the chatter. So far, zip.
JASMINE: I suppose the one piece of good news
is the calendar you found.
The rest of the month is empty.
Let's hope it stays that way.
You sure your segment is airing tonight?
Past your bedtime?
I was excited about it, uh, two hours ago.
Since then, I have seen the three-day forecast,
the seven-day forecast, a Mr. Food segment
and a story about a drunk guy who got
into an argument with a telephone pole.
(CHUCKLES) - I surrender. I'm turning in.
- Good night. - Night.
Thanks.
Oh, guess what.
New York magazine
is doing a story about the squad.
- Get out of here. - Yeah.
We're doing a shoot tomorrow at the precinct.
A shoot? Wow.
And I thought, if they needed
any more photos, I would suggest Rafters.
You know, cops after work.
Maybe catch you behind the bar.
Yeah, uh...
- Yeah, I don't think so. - It would be great publicity.
Well... I'm from the Midwest.
You know, we're not really as comfortable
with the limelight as you.
Wh-What do you mean?
Nothing. I'm just...
Are you saying I am seeking the limelight?
Well, aren't you?
What are you talking about?
Okay, the man I married was a brilliant,
cagey psychologist.
Now you have a publicist?
Oh, I do not have a publicist.
It was a five-minute meeting.
Which led to this magazine story.
Which I'm hoping will include you.
I don't want my life on display.
You know what, Andy?
Anything you do, I am proud of.
Anything.
You have a good month at the bar,
I'm proud of your business acumen.
You have a bad month at the bar,
I'm proud of your resilience.
I don't care if you finish
the New York City Marathon or the damn Jumble.
Stupid me to think you would feel the same way.
Please.
Turn off the TV.
I'd hate to think my segment would further enrage
your moral indignation.
Mind if I join you?
Wow.
Dylan's super special, secret friend
has come all the way to Forest Hills
for a slice at Ray's.
Three enthusiastic Yelp reviews can't be wrong.
Actually, I've wanted to thank you
for proving Charlie's innocence.
Losing him was really hard, but at least now I have peace.
It was my pleasure.
I need to ask a favor.
Shouldn't we be meeting on a park bench
or a bridge shrouded in darkness?
Even spies occasionally come in from the cold for a hot slice.
Mm, somehow you don't strike me as a pizza kind of guy.
I'm not.
My palate is quite refined.
- Need something, pal? - Four garlic knots
- and a pepperoni pinwheel, please. - Hmm.
So, this is not too public for you?
Being too public is not my problem.
It's your partner's.
That's why I wanted to talk to you.
Okay.
Dylan is being unwise becoming a public figure.
It's dangerous.
Sounds like you should warn him.
I tried.
He didn't listen.
There was a former MI6 officer
named Tony Collins.
He wrote a tell-all,
began discussing his work on television,
did the whole circuit.
Became so distracted by the attention
that he stopped taking proper precautions.
They found him floating in Hackney Brook.
You really think Dylan is endangering his life?
Let's just say he's making me nervous.
You don't strike me as the nervous type.
Spies and nervous systems have similar functions:
extract and process information
to determine an appropriate threat level.
And no, I'm not the nervous type.
So, when I feel this way, it's usually for a good reason.
Dylan's a big boy, and, um,
I'm not in the habit of keeping secrets
from my partner.
Wait.
Just in case.
And, uh, if I were to call, what would I call you?
Julian.
Ramzy and Barbara showed no warning signs
of being radicalized, which leaves us nowhere.
Don't drive yourself crazy.
When the evidence from their apartments
gets here, we'll find a lead.
When's it getting here? ASHLEY: I don't want it there.
Hopefully by the time your lunatic publicist
wraps up this dog-and-pony show. ASHLEY: Thank you.
She's not my publicist. ASHLEY: Don't tidy up too much.
Keep it real, grounded.
Not that grounded.
Get rid of any food that is blue or moldy.
No time for second thoughts. The brass love the idea.
- Look at you. - Don't start.
(HUSHED): This can only be good for your promotion.
You're a terrible whisperer.
Promotion? Okay, don't... (MUTTERS)
I'm fluent in seven languages, and I have
no idea what you're trying to say.
Okay, it's far from a done deal.
Can we just keep it... (CLICKS TONGUE)
Yeah, on the DL?
- Sure. - ASHLEY: Pardon me.
- Hi. Are you a Mennonite, dear? - Um, no.
'Cause it wouldn't kill you to, you know, take your hair down.
Maria says that with the, uh, proper shading,
I look like a young Paul Newman.
Is there another Paul Newman I don't know about?
- (LIGHT LAUGHTER) - ASHLEY: Okay!
Let's line up, everyone.
- Oh! - Oh! That's the stuff
from Barbara and Ramzy's apartments.
- Uh, conference room, guys. - Uh-uh.
Get back in line, Batman and Robin.
- (DYLAN MUTTERING) - Okay, uh, let's do this.
- We have work to do. - (DYLAN CLEARS THROAT)
- Okay, this is gonna be a long day. - ASHLEY: Excuse me, honey.
- Oh, sorry. - We're on either side
of the man wearing more makeup than you.
Eyes forward, super cops.
One, two, three.
(CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS)
DYLAN: For a small apartment,
Ramzy sure had a lot of stuff.
Maybe CCU will have more luck with their computers.
- I can't find anything. - Check this out.
A prescription for antidepressants.
Wait.
This is fake.
The doctor's signature is initials only: AWB.
DYLAN: And there's no license number.
This prescription is dated today.
Yeah, and Ramzy died yesterday.
And on the back, there's tomorrow's date.
What are you thinking?
Everything about this is phony.
A dosage of 150.8 milligrams?
That's nonsense. Why leave a fake dosage?
150.8.
Numbers. 1-5-0-8.
1508?
You think it's another clue? Like the calendar?
Well, if it is, it's a clue that only
a doctor or a psychologist would know.
It also implies another attack today at 3:08.
In less than four hours.
Barbara and Ramzy were working with someone else.
This is an obscure way to announce an attack.
Unless it's not the code for the next bombing.
You think someone's playing with us?
Um, maybe I'm just grasping at straws.
No, you're not. Look at the address.
This is Ramzy's apartment. What the hell?
Why leave us an address we've already searched?
Maybe we missed something.
Well, if there is a clue here,
it doesn't have many places to hide.
Nope.
♪
(SIGHS) Nothing.
Nothing.
The ceiling.
Yes, that's a ceiling.
No, but look.
Th-There's an "M."
LIZZIE: What, that crack?
That's not a crack.
That was etched there, into the paint.
Why would someone etch lines onto a ceiling?
Well, like you said, maybe someone's playing with us.
Okay, but "M" is not a number.
It was in Roman times.
A thousand.
And it's next to the fan.
MX.
1010 in Roman numerals.
What location does 1010 correspond to?
Bethesda Fountain.
Okay, well, at least we have
a couple of hours notice this time.
- You better call it in. - Hang on.
You want me to mobilize bomb squad, CRC,
CSU and ESU based on a scratch,
a ceiling fan and Roman numerals?
- I do. - Are you crazy?
If this is a clue, how could anyone
be expected to solve it?
Look, maybe we're not dealing with a terror cell.
Maybe we're dealing with some kind of mastermind
who thinks in numbers and can recruit followers
who will die for him.
You have to trust me on this.
Okay. Let's do this.
Thank you.
Remember, the color of the day is purple.
Everyone be careful and call out anything unusual you see.
Stay focused and watch each other's sixes.
2:00. Long black coat.
Male, 50s, long black coat, moving east.
- Right on time. - Police! Hands! Let me see your hands!
Let's go! Let's go! Don't move, sir! Don't move!
It's under my coat.
What?
- Who gave this to you? - A friend.
Who's your friend? What's his name?
He gave me $50.
Oh, my...
It's 3:08.
(DISTANT EXPLOSION)
(FRANTIC CHATTER, SCREAMING)
LIZZIE: Go.
One casualty. Just the perp again.
The blast radius was about ten feet again.
Same small device.
I thought I had the right location.
Well, he obviously wanted us to go to the fountain.
The guy with the note. It's okay.
- What have you got? - A neighbor said
the guy got on his motorcycle, started it, and boom.
What kind of a bomber
gets on a motorcycle, starts it,
and then blows himself up in the middle of a quiet street?
I don't know.
DYLAN: What if the bombers aren't bombers...
...but innocents?
Strangers.
Unless he wasn't a suicide bomber.
Maybe he didn't know there was a bomb in his saddlebag.
That would explain why Barbara didn't have any tells
and Ramzy didn't fit the profile of a bomber.
They weren't bombers.
They were victims.
Once ballistics is finished rebuilding the detonators,
we'll be able to tell if they were dummies.
So, if Ramzy wasn't part of a cell, that means someone
went to the trouble of staging his apartment.
Someone is...
Dylan?
This used to be Meacham Townhouse.
The Meacham Townhouse? How do you know that?
Because I've been here before.
And I don't think this is a coincidence.
This is personal.
When I was 15, I was invited
to participate in a two-week program
for gifted students at Meacham Townhouse.
Dylan thinks the guy who ran this program fits the profile
of someone who's capable of carrying out these attacks.
What's his name?
Dr. Avery W. Beams.
AWB... the same initials we found
on the prescription slip.
- (CELL PHONE BUZZING) - Harris, Zack, find out all you can
- about this Dr. Beams. - On it.
- Yes, ma'am. - Bomb squad verified your hunch.
The detonators were dummies.
Which means that if it is Beams,
he was in the vicinity before each attack
in order to slip the device into the victims' pockets.
And to detonate the bombs remotely.
So the other bomb sites
had something to do with Beams, too?
I...
I don't know.
JASMINE: Well, eat some spinach,
drink a damn sports drink... I don't care.
Just do whatever you gotta do
to kick that giant brain of yours
- into high gear. - I'll do my best.
Are you okay?
You seem a bit off. I keep guessing wrong,
and every time I do, someone dies.
It's not a feeling that
Mr. Hot Shot Consultant is used to.
One question I haven't asked:
Why would Dr. Beams want to hurt you?
You were a kid. I don't know.
The program started out well enough...
before it took a turn.
Maybe it's because Beams couldn't break me.
Break you?
Dylan, what kind of a program was this?
We found Dr. Beams' obituary.
Died 11 years ago. Not our guy.
Thanks. Uh...
Anyone else from this program that would want to hurt you?
The only other people I remember were kids.
Maybe this is a dead end.
We should keep working our other leads.
No. The initials? The townhouse?
We went down that path and came up empty.
Is it worth calling your super special,
- secret friend? - No.
Okay.
Okay, let's go over Ramzy's list of passengers,
see if he had any repeat customers.
And we should also revisit the CCTV footage.
So, you get started on Ramzy, and I'll head over to TARU.
♪
Now, this would make a great magazine cover.
Consultant for the police
working late after his shift is over.
Dedication. (CHUCKLES QUIETLY)
I'm sorry if I surprised you.
- It's a nice surprise. - I won't stay long.
I-I know you're probably busy, but, uh,
I also know you probably haven't fed yourself.
Yeah, I don't have much of an appetite right now.
I just feel like...
I'm completely useless.
Well, that's unlike you.
Still, takeout Chinese is light on the stomach, right?
I mean, when my dad had his gallbladder out,
they gave him Jell-O and Cantonese barbecued pork.
(BOTH CHUCKLE)
Look, I'm... I'm really sorry for what I said last night.
I got upset
because...
I haven't told you something.
The real reason I didn't want to be
in the magazine article is because...
I haven't told my folks I gave up being a lawyer.
What?
The man who came out to his parents at 16
is too afraid to tell them he's had a career change?
It was more than just a... a career change.
I mean, when I passed the bar, it was their proudest moment.
I was their son, the lawyer.
First lawyer in the family.
My folks worked their asses off
to put me through law school, so...
the last thing they want to hear is that I threw
their tuition money and my law degree down the drain
to do the same job as my Uncle Otis.
If they accept who you love,
they'll accept what you love.
That's... that is... that's really beautiful, Dylan,
- and completely wrong. - (LAUGHS)
Well, just tell them that you bought the bar
as an investment with all the money
from your fancy law firm. (CLICKS TONGUE)
Hmm?
You see, you're not completely useless.
You know, it's crazy, I...
I have always dreamt of owning my own business,
and yet letting my parents down is a lifelong fear.
You believe that? I am a grown man
whose childhood dreams are still in a steel-cage death match
against my childhood fears. (CHUCKLES)
DYLAN: Childhood dreams.
Not "MX." "MT."
Meacham Townhouse.
I am so sorry, Andy, but I've got to go.
Sorry.
(QUIET CHATTER)
(R AND B MUSIC PLAYING FAINTLY)
♪ Something's got a hold on me... ♪
Care for a drink?
No, thanks. Working.
I have to say I was surprised you called.
Yeah, so was I.
So, did you find anything?
I did, indeed.
In the late '80s and early '90s,
there was a bit of controversy surrounding
a program for gifted students at the Meacham Townhouse.
What kind of controversy?
I'm not sure,
but from what I was able to piece together,
there was some kind of unethical psychological experiment
conducted on unwilling teens.
How come I wasn't able to find any of this?
It appears the test was conducted
in concert with the government.
Which is why the test files
and the participants' names have been redacted.
Took quite a lot of digging to unearth
what little information I was able to find.
The government? I think I'll have that drink now.
Sorry I couldn't find more specifics.
Dylan knows the specifics.
Dylan was involved?
My God, was he one of the kids?
I don't know. He doesn't want to talk about it.
And you think
Dylan is connected to the bombings?
Again, don't know.
The only viable suspect died 11 years ago.
But whatever this is all about, I'm pretty sure
it has something to do with the experiment.
Hey, Dylan.
This won't hurt a bit.
No such thing as coincidences.
I know there aren't.
Tell me what happened.
You can trust me.
It was called The Whitford Project.
Psychology gone off the rails.
In what way?
Like I said, the first week of camp was fun...
lectures, debates, academic competitions.
Then one afternoon during the second week,
we were each given a partner.
Mine was a nervous, awkward kid...
like me.
And we were instructed
to spend every second with one another
and to share our innermost hopes and dreams.
My partner said...
I'm gonna devise a comprehensive theory of optimal processes,
win the Fields Medal, and solve the Riemann hypothesis.
DYLAN: And I said...
Study all over the world.
Play with the Philharmonic.
Ride a motorcycle just like my father.
Just like our victims.
One a foreign student, one a musician,
and one on a motorcycle.
Same one as my dad had.
And Beams ran the test?
Yes.
He wanted to see how much we could endure.
What the threshold was to break us.
This won't hurt a bit.
DYLAN: He monitored our reactions to stress.
LIZZIE: What kind of stress?
DYLAN: He humiliated us.
Told us our partners had belittled our dreams.
Undermined everything we hoped to accomplish.
A 12-year-old writing a concerto with the Philharmonic?
Why not a ballerina?
That was your partner's joke.
You know it's fully unrealistic,
right?
You're mediocre at best, according to your partner.
Young man,
he's heard you practicing,
and he's thinks you're, well, deluded.
I don't believe you.
I was so sure it was Beams...
because he knew all my dreams.
But Beams is dead.
And he's not the only one you told your dreams to.
What was your partner's name?
John Raymond.
His name is John Raymond?
Yes, and Raymond may have suffered
psychological damage from the experiment.
My guess is antisocial personality disorder.
Whoa, whoa, don't tell me what you guess.
Tell me what you know. He's a brilliant guy.
- Got his PhD. - DYLAN: In mathematics.
Which he talked about all the time when he was a kid.
He liked nothing more than number puzzles.
And now he's talking to us... to Dylan...
- with numbers. - Okay.
Still listening.
He taught at some top universities.
But the jobs never lasted very long.
He got poor evaluations or didn't
get along with his colleagues.
He bounced around... Until a few years ago,
when he landed at a community college
- in Hudson Valley. - Where he finally
published his opus and was fired for plagiarism.
That's the trigger? Dylan was the trigger.
The book he plagiarized was Freaks, my book.
It seems the publicity
surrounding Dylan's book's release
coincided with Raymond's deterioration.
- Where's Raymond now? - Uh, well, we have no idea.
He disappeared off the face of the earth.
No credit cards, no bank account, no phone number.
I don't know where he is, but I know where he's been.
The bomb site at the band shell.
He had to have been there
- to plant the bomb. - What?
The one we profiled is John Raymond.
I was so busy looking for the bomber
I didn't see it was John.
It was 30 years ago.
This means he detonated the bomb with a timer.
Yeah, so okay, we know what he looks like,
but unfortunately, we don't know
where he's going to attack.
Oh, he was luring me in from the start.
He knew I'd want this case.
He blames me for destroying his dreams,
and now he is determined to destroy mine.
We should run any numbers associated with Raymond's past
that could nail down the time and location
of today's attack.
JASMINE: The attacks are aimed at Dylan,
so maybe the numeric clue is... is personal to you.
We need a list of all your numbers:
social, faculty I.D., bank accounts.
Check the GPS coordinates 4753.
Steppingstone Park.
That's where we had recess.
11:23 a.m., Steppingstone Park.
That's where he'll be.
- Are you sure? - Yes, yes.
We weren't allowed to refer to each other by name
during the experiment.
We had to use our test subject numbers.
John Raymond's number was 11234753.
How do you remember that?
Because mine was 11234754.
1123... 11:23.
I'll mobilize snipers, bomb squad and CRC.
And we have three hours to figure out
whose pocket Raymond's gonna plant the next bomb in.
Oh, I think I know the answer to that one, too.
You do?
There was one more dream I shared with John.
Hello, John.
Sorry I didn't recognize you at the park,
but it has been quite a few years.
- Stay where you are. - You, too.
Take your hands out of your pockets.
- You won't shoot me. - No.
She would.
And they would.
JOHN: I've got more than one bomb.
You didn't deserve what happened to you, John.
But neither did those people who died.
It's Beams you should be angry with.
Who we should both be angry with.
I know.
That's why I killed him.
Told him it wouldn't hurt a bit.
I lied.
You once had dreams
to accomplish something big, John.
Something noble.
I have no dreams.
But I remember all of yours.
I know.
That's why you chose the baby carriage.
Because I once told you
how much I wanted to be a father.
Why do you get everything while I have nothing?
I always believed in you, John.
You were the best mathematical mind I ever met.
What do you think about the recent stab
at the Riemann hypothesis?
The proof seemed flawed to me, but I...
I can't say why.
Well, they got the zeta function wrong.
Then tackle that.
All you ever needed was time,
and now we can make that happen.
We'll get you the help you need in a hospital.
But this is the best offer you will ever get.
Take it.
LIZZIE: Go, go, go!
- Get him out of here. - OFFICER: Hands down.
So, I guess this collar will clinch your promotion, huh?
I'll celebrate once it becomes official.
- Huh. - Thanks a lot, jackass.
Hey, I had no control over...
What was that about?
Oh...
You fired your publicist, and we got
bumped from the cover.
Thanks a lot, jackass.
- There's a picture inside. - Hmm.
Good.
Oh. She was right about the hair.
(LAUGHING): Oh, I can see why Fucci's upset.
He wasted $20 on a Moroccan red clay mask for nothing.
(BOTH LAUGHING)
The staple's right through his forehead.
You know, I never told my parents
about what happened in the townhouse.
Well, you were a kid.
You probably didn't trust anyone had your back.
For years, I just assumed the other kids were fine.
You don't need to blame yourself
for getting through that test unaffected.
No, I wasn't unaffected.
Just took me 30 years to find someone
I wanted to share the memory with.
So thank you.
I trust you've got my back.
(SIGHS)
So, how did your publicist take it
when you told her you wouldn't be working together anymore?
She said, "That sounds great,"
and then asked if I'd be interested
in writing a cookbook.
She's not a great listener.
Well, maybe some more quiet will be good for you.
Maybe.
Sweeping things under the rug isn't the answer,
but neither is living your life on display.
(SIGHS) Well...
guess that applies to me, too, huh?
You'll find a way to break it to them.
Yeah. How about this? How about, uh...
"Hey, Mom, Dad, remember that landmark decision
"you thought I'd author?
"Well, today the decision I made was whether
the daily special should be coconut shrimp or clam strips."
(LAUGHS)
We are so lucky to be able to do what we love.
Yeah.
John Raymond caused a lot of pain,
but he reminded me to be grateful
for the dreams I've been able to realize.
Only one left unfulfilled.
You think it's time?
What do you think?
I think we've been talking about fatherhood
since we fell in love.
Maybe it's time.
Maybe it is.
♪ Maybe we'll get 40 years together ♪
♪ But one day I'll be gone...
So much for quiet in our lives.
(LAUGHING): Oh, God.
Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com