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.
The storm warning is for the coastal areas of Nassau and Suffolk Counties...
...including East and South Hampton and Owen Island.
Heavy rains and disruptive winds will continue into the night.
Residents are advised to prepare for evacuation.
Isn't the service vest a little unethical?
I am handi-capable, Mr. Reese, but I need some assistance.
And we don't want to exclude Bear from our rainy-day activities.
We should've 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 we're gonna have to wait and see...
...what Stanton's employers have in mind for the future.
Chance. Juliet. Silo. Account. Echo. Bravo.
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.
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.
Could be the next target.
I'll go say hi.
I'll enlist Carter's help looking into the other five.
I'll keep an eye on the machine's erratic behavior.
Looks like Rollins runs his shop out of his apartment, Finch.
There's no answer, so I'm gonna let myself in.
Rollins' taste in antiques is exotic.
No sign of the man himself.
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 an 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 was 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.
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. And sometimes people just disappear, detective.
The 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? It's on the others too.
Alan Fahey. Desk jockey at our CCSR branch.
Handles cyber crimes, 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 onto something.
- If you want, I can give him a call-- - No, that's okay.
I can handle the follow-up.
- Well, I'm gonna beat the rain home. - Okay.
Uh, 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 IEB files, I can only surmise...
...but the kind of red flags they put up, Beecher is bad news.
Steer clear, Carter.
Okay.
This is Special Agent Fahey.
This is Detective Carter of the N. Y.P.D.
I've been looking through missing person files that have your notes on them.
The cases were connected through one potential MO.
Missing or destroyed photos...
...you uncovered at more than one crime scene.
You been able to chase down any new leads on that MO?
I work out of headquarters in D.C., 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.
I put all that information together months ago. I called the N.Y.P.D. 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 new information.
Otherwise, have a nice day.
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.
The storm knocked out a transformer down the street...
- ...and all power within a nine-block radius. - Why go back?
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."
We'll take a look downstairs, Bear.
Nothing to worry about.
Empty photo frames, just like the others.
Mr. Reese, I've found something interesting....
Finch, I didn't copy.
Finch?
I'm not alone.
Bear?
What are you doing?
What is it?
Mr. Reese, I think I know what happened to all those missing people.
FBI. Don't move. Hands up. I wanna see some ID.
Well, which is it?
You want my hands up or you want to see ID?
Jennings, U.S. Marshals Service.
I'm trying to locate someone. A guy named Rollins.
- Got some questions for him. - You're looking for Rollins? Me too.
- He's connected-- - 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 follow up the lead.
So I decided to come out here myself.
- You out here all alone? - 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.
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.
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?
Reese is on an island looking for a man violent enough to pull out another man's teeth.
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 got a population of 357 souls I gotta get off this island before I can't anymore.
Chief of police is running the evacuation on the mainland...
...and I'm the law left in a 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?
Gents, you may have jurisdiction and authority here...
...but one thing you don't have is my cooperation.
For now, Mother Nature takes priority.
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 have all the facts. Technically, it's still just a theory.
Tell me, what do you know about making a body disappear?
This place is a ghost town.
Yeah, our unis are out on storm patrol.
- What brings you down here? - You.
I would've 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.
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?
I think we're on the trail of several crimes, 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 worked forward.
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.
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 to the bridge in time to see it go under.
No crossing 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.
It look like he 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 risks 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. Didn't know I was breaking the 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.
- 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 looking to get away from the 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.
I don't care who you are.
You can't endanger my citizens by landing your Cessna in the middle of my town.
It's actually a deHavilland Beaver.
What's going on here?
This amateur storm chaser, Harold Gull, is under arrest.
Landed his float plane in the town square.
I needed a stretch of water to land. 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 10 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.
Could you put more diesel in the gennie out back?
Yeah.
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 those people?
What if a smart killer is 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 and cook the pile.
The killer was here minutes ago. He's close.
And he shed the Rollins identity.
Then it could be anyone in there.
If the killer is among these people, he's out of his element. He's broken his pattern.
Assuming the identities of his victims, it's part of his ritual.
But now that Rollins' ID is burned, he's trapped.
He must have taken on another identity.
But 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 was smart and 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?
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.
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?
It'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 interviews with everyone on this 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 a 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 9-to-5 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'll 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 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 many tourists this time of year, but I would've 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.
Why didn't you evacuate earlier?
I told you. I got a few thousand bucks crawling around in those traps...
- ...you made me leave on the docks. - 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.
All these little bumps are the heartbeat.
The needle picks it up like it would a tectonic shift.
It's picking up a lot.
- And everyone else? - I'm getting clean readings.
The metal in the table amplifies it.
Everyone's steady. Stanley, the bar owner, is below average.
I think there might be something wrong with him.
No, I just think his blood-alcohol level could start a lawn mower.
- 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 dean of student affairs at Stanford?
Ten-- No, 1 1 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?
Yes. His last year, it was a student named Alex Declan.
It says here.... Hm.
What?
I just see a note on Henri's housing form.
He requested a new roommate his last semester.
His 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?
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've 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 wanna slog around this sandpit in the rain?
Victor, you don't have an ID.
You don't have an alibi for being on the island and for being at the boatyard.
I told you I was passing through.
Recognize this? It's yours.
You've got a lot of D-rings. It's kind of weird, unless you're a climber...
...or in the military.
You have a heart problem?
Because right now, yours is really pumping.
Owen Island Station, this is Detective Joss Carter...
...8th Precinct, New York City, calling on the emergency police frequency.
Do you read me? Over.
This is Deputy Schmidt of the Owen Island P.D. Who is this?
Detective Carter. From New York City.
I have new information for the U.S. Marshal.
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.
Oh, my God. Is she--? Is she dead?
You shouldn't go out there. The storm's pretty bad.
I'm following up on a lead. I need to get to Owen Island.
I can't let you do that. I don't care what lead it is.
- I'm going, Cal. 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'd 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 island, nobody even knows your face.
I have hundreds of business contacts in the city. Call any of them.
- What good did that do, Harold? - It's behavior analysis. Give it a minute.
What about you, Mr. Newlywed? Nobody knows your face.
Wait a second. I know his face.
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.
Unh. 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.
Twenty-fourth 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've slipped out.
I'll go after him. If I don't come back...
...get these people to safety.
So you think we can cross the entire state before you say a word to me?
What do you wanna talk about? I can think of some things.
Like how an N.Y.P.D. detective got aced out of the FBI...
...because she keeps bad company. How about that?
What're you talking about, 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. - Does to me.
It makes me wonder about the man I trusted.
Oh, what, you don't trust me?
Think I'm dirty? That I'm on the take, is that what you think?
- I don't know what to think. - What'd they tell you about me?
Beecher, slow down.
You serious?
- You think I'd hurt you? - I don't know.
But I don't want to hurt you.
Marijuana.
This is what you were trying to protect from the storm.
Huh.
Oh, no, that couldn't be.
Unbelievable.
We're hunting a killer...
...and instead we get amateur drug night in the sticks.
You smuggle it in on your boat?
Don't say anything. Just bleed if I'm right.
Ordinarily, I'd make sure you went behind bars.
But I've got bigger fish to fry. So you go in the trunk.
FBI?
What gave me away?
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've 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 the teeth out of his head and threw him in a furnace?
Damn things never burn. Sloppy, I know.
When the FBI is 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 U.S. Marshal comes knocking.
I was stuck as Special Agent Fahey. So I improvised.
The deputy, why harm her?
Couldn't be sure what she heard over 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.
This is 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.
Don't worry, as cold as this water is, it'll be quick.
Hey, Ethan.
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.
I live those lives better than the 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'd 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.
- You all right, Harold? - Detective?
You have impeccable timing.
- How did you get here? - I hitched a ride with the Coast Guard.
Some very unpleasant people inside said they thought they saw you come this way.
Was 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--
- And what? - Body armor.
What are you doing?
It's a police station.
There was bound to be one of these around here somewhere.
Hey, listen.
I don't know what happened last night between us...
...but 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.
- I'm 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's passing.
No, Mr. Reese, I have a feeling that it's just beginning.