(line ringing)
WOMAN: Hello! You have reached...
MAN: Aaron.
WOMAN: Bonnie.
GIRL: Willow.
WOMAN: Bonnie.
GIRL: Willow.
BOY: And Tommy.
ALL: Please leave a message.
AARON: Hey, guys.
I know you're probably asleep. I just wanted to let you know
that I landed safe and sound and I'm on my way to the hotel
to get some rest before the big board meeting tomorrow.
So if everything goes okay,
it should only take a couple of hours,
and you can expect me home for spaghetti night.
All right, see you guys then.
Love you.
AUTOMATED VOICE: Drive 1. 6 miles,
then make a left towards Henry Hudson Parkway.
In 200 feet, make a right turn.
GPS: You have reached your destination.
(Aaron scoffs)
You can't be serious.
(beeping)
(static crackling)
Great.
(rustling)
(signal warbles)
(sighs)
(beeps)
(heavy breathing over intercom)
Hello?
(wheezing over intercom)
Hello? Is anyone there?
Can I get some help, please?
MAN (over intercom): On-Board Safety.
Can I help you?
Yeah, um, I think I'm lost.
I could use some directions to midtown Manhattan, please.
(wheezing over intercom)
Where are you?
I don't know. Um...
I saw a sign earlier that said 183 Street
and, um, there a place here
called Jack & Sam's Storage.
You're on South Clover.
That's a very bad neighborhood.
You shouldn't be there.
Yeah, I know. That's why I'm calling you.
So, if you could please just get me the hell out of here,
that would be great.
No need to get angry,
Mr. Dexter.
How did you know my name?
Thank you for calling On-Board Safety.
Hey, hey. Hey, wait! Wait!
Aren't you going to help me?
No.
(alarm wailing, horn honking)
AARON: Hello?
(tires squealing)
(electrical crackling)
(engine starter clicking)
Come on. Come on.
Hello?
Hello? Please help me.
(heavy breathing over intercom)
Please!
(glass shattering)
(siren wailing)
FLACK: Jess! Jess!
Jess! Hey!
Hey, babe, hey. Hey, can you look at me?
Hey, I'm here.
Where's the ambulance?!
Don.
Okay, you're going to be all right.
Don.
Hey, Mac.
I didn't hear you pull up.
You okay?
Yeah, I'm fine.
When was the last time you slept?
I'm fine.
We're over here.
Our vic's name is Aaron Dexter.
Trash collector making rounds spotted the body
and called it in.
Looks like a robbery gone south.
What makes you think robbery?
Just a hunch.
At least they left us the body.
HAWKES: Okay, Mac.
Single small caliber GSW to the chest area.
Stippling around the entry makes it
a close shot.
Defensive wounds on the arms.
Lividity hasn't set in.
Which would make the TOD approximately six hours ago.
Which means whoever jacked this guy had to have worked fast.
And had a crew to handle the ghetto pit stop.
These jokers even took the dash.
We had to use the VIN stamp on the frame rail to get an ID.
Vehicle belongs to Olympus Rents.
According to their main office,
Aaron Dexter picked up the car last night around JFK.
So he's not local.
No. According to his reservation, he is the CEO
of GMI Health Network,
which is a Medicare company out of Philly.
Hm. City of Brotherly Love.
So, let's see who in New York
didn't offer Mr. Dexter any love.
(Aaron grunting)
(Aaron screams)
♪ Out here in the fields ♪
♪ I fight for my meals ♪
♪ I get my back into my living ♪
♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. ♪
(electronic beep)
Freeze it.
Zoom in.
Close and sharp as you can get.
The best you can do?
I've already tweaked the resolution.
Unfortunately, the surveillance cameras located
near the crime scene are low quality analog.
Pretty craptastic.
I'm surprised we even got that much.
There's no way we're going to be able
to run this through facial recognition.
Faces? You want faces? I got faces.
Just not of the shooter.
Well, then who do you have?
A new species of Dermestidae beetles.
Only these guys are a lot bigger
and they walk around on two legs.
MESSER: It's unbelievable.
You got-- what-- 20 dirtbags running through this crime scene
and not one of them calls in a dead body?
Just like the Dermestidae beetle,
they're too preoccupied with gorging themselves.
TAYLOR: And now their greed is going to put them in jail.
Run their faces.
I want to squash some of these bugs.
(talking indistinctly)
ROSS: No match.
Zoom in. Tighter.
Boom.
High five.
So, Willie, how much you get for that GPS you lifted last night?
GPS?
You know, the little satellite deal.
Tells you how to get from one place to the next.
I know what a GPS is, thin man.
It's an "aconym" for Global Positioning Satellite.
"Aconym"?
Oh, you like that, huh?
I do.
Yeah, Big Willie's, uh, smart like that.
Abbreviations and whatnot.
Like sonar.
Stands for Sound Navigation and Ranging.
Or PIN-- Personal Identification Number.
That's very impressive. How about this one?
TYAIJ.
That stands for Throw Your Ass In Jail.
Which is exactly what I'm going to do
if you don't tell me what went down last night.
Afraid I don't have an answer for you on that FAQ, my brother.
But if I hear anything on your gunslinger,
I'll give you a holler.
Yeah, I'm sure you will.
Now, if you don't mind,
Yeah, I'm sure you will.
Now, if you don't mind,
IMOH.
I'm out of here.
Wait. Hold up.
I got some video I want to show you before you take off.
Don't tell me. You need a little help with your Twittering?
Huh? You got your own personal YouTube channel?
Something like that.
But better.
Ooh, who's that?
That's you, my brother, at my crime scene
with a GPS between
your sticky little fingers.
All right. Whoa.
Let's get something straight. That car was just sitting there.
Like low hanging fruit.
All I'm saying is the white boy was chalk ready
when I got there.
Right.
And you could have called it in,
done your civic duty, but you opted for the cash and prizes,
which makes you a candidate for some jail time, Willie, my man.
Oh, this is such BS, man.
How do you steal from a dead guy?
♪ ♪
Sorry I'm late.
The sitter was stuck in traffic.
Mmm. Whitesnake, huh?
Uh... Baby threw up on everything else.
So, what is all this?
Flack got one of the suspects to turn on his peeps.
NYPD rounded them up as well as all the evidence they stole.
So this all came from the rental car the vic was driving?
Right. And since we know the killer made contact
with this door, I'm running prints.
Hey, looks like three of your prints got hits.
HAWKES: Yeah, but which one's our shooter?
Well, we could use the car door as a scale.
Create a ratio and then determine the height
of the shooter.
See if it matches one of these three jokers.
(beeps)
54 inches.
So, the height of our shooter
is 1.36 times the height of the door.
So, that's about 70 inches.
And that puts our shooter at about five foot, ten.
Well, that rules out these two mutts.
They're both over six feet.
Yeah. They may have helped strip the car.
But this guy...
Junior Mosley, he's five-nine.
Makes him look good for the murder.
FLACK: NYPD!
Mosley, get down on the ground!
Hold it right there!
(Mosley screaming)
MOSLEY: Ow!
(moaning in pain)
Ow, ow, ow, ow!
Oh! Let me take it out first!
I'm afraid I can't
let you do that.
Why not?
This syringe is evidence of drug use.
We're going to have to document it where we found it.
Now one for the jackass of the year award.
How's the foot?
I had to get a tetanus shot because of you.
When you get out of jail, you should file a complaint.
(chuckles)
Jail-- for what?
What do you have to say?
Hmm.
Whoever shot this,
should have considered using a filter.
There's no color in my man's face.
You done?
Are you?
I'm just getting started.
You recognize this wallet?
Nope.
It belonged to our murder victim, Aaron Dexter.
And we found it in your apartment.
FLACK: And that ain't all.
TAYLOR: Ballistics matched it to the bullet
we pulled out of Aaron's body.
Here's how it adds up:
Your prints were at the scene,
your gun was used to kill Aaron Dexter.
Simple math, Junior.
MOSLEY: That fool had no business being on that corner.
And then he starts calling attention to himself.
(car alarm wailing, horn honking)
FLACK: You got worried he'd draw the attention of the cops
and put an end to your profitable evening.
TAYLOR: The wallet also tells me you saw a crime of opportunity.
A way to subsidize a slow night.
When Aaron didn't roll over and play dead,
you decided to make it happen for real.
(Aaron grunting)
The street's a jungle.
Got to do what you got to do to survive.
The man you killed had a wife, two kids.
Yeah?
Well, so do I.
Now both of you will never see them again.
BONASERA: Hey, Mac.
What's up?
When I spoke to our vic's wife,
she told me that her husband wasn't too familiar with Manhattan.
And according to the voice mail he left
after his plane landed,
he was headed for his hotel in Midtown.
Maybe he took a wrong turn
or someone gave him the wrong directions.
Or something.
Right, take a look.
I couldn't figure out what he was doing in the Bronx,
so I had Adam process the GPS system
that Willie stole from the car.
Turns out that the address
that Aaron put into the GPS
was for a luxury hotel in Midtown.
But he ended up in the Bronx.
What, the GPS gave him the wrong directions?
Exactly, but it wasn't just a computer glitch.
Someone spoofed Aaron's GPS and created a false signal.
And according to the manufacturer,
one of the differential ground stations was compromised
shortly after he rented the car.
Someone hacked it.
ROSS: Not just someone.
Some super hacker, and it is the best I've ever seen.
He also hit the microprocessors
under the hood of Aaron's rental.
So I ran a diagnostics on the car's computer,
and it turns out the signal pirate
went in through the stolen vehicle recovery system.
He was able to worm his way around,
remotely shutting down the engine.
(engine sputters then stalls)
BONASERA: Which means once our vic realized
where he was, he couldn't drive away.
So this hacker purposely lured our victim
to the worst neighborhood in New York,
crippled his car...
(engine starter clicking)
...and perhaps got what he wished for.
(talking quietly)
There you go.
Looks great.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
Bon appétit.
Yes.
Mmm.
Something wrong?
Jeff? Are you okay?
(wheezing)
Call 911!
Jeff? Are you okay?
It's okay, it's okay.
Just...
(wheezes and coughs)
Just...
(wheezes and coughs)
(gasping)
(patrons exclaim)
Can somebody help me?!
Please! Is anyone here a doctor?!
Hello? Can you hear me?
(heavy breathing over phone)
Is anyone there?
MAN: What is your emergency?
One of our customers just collapsed.
We need an ambulance.
Hello?
Is your customer having trouble breathing?
Yes.
Neck swelling?
Yes.
So your customer's in need of medical attention?
Yes, yes! Please hurry!
Can you tell me, is Dr. Evans turning blue?
I think...
Wait, how do you know his name?
Ma'am, I just need you to answer my question.
Is Dr. Evans turning blue?
Yes, he can't breathe.
Good.
Uh-huh.
Yeah, I understand. Right.
All right, thanks, Doc.
Where's the vic?
He's over at Trinity General.
Just got off the phone with one of the doctors.
They've got him on life support.
The hospital's calling it anaphylactic shock.
What's the crime?
Accessory to murder.
How do you figure?
Well, the waitress who called 911
says that the person she spoke to never notified an ambulance.
Did you check with dispatch?
I did, and they said
they never received the call.
But according to the phone records,
a 911 call was, in fact,
made from this location.
Someone hijacked the call.
Waitress also said that the person she spoke to
identified the vic by name,
without her ever giving that information.
She give us a voice description?
She did.
It was a male,
raspy like that of a heavy smoker.
Lots of breathing between words.
(man wheezing)
(beeping)
Also, our waitress swears that she put in the order
exactly the way the vic specified--
without peanut dressing.
Hold the peanut dressing.
I'll have honey mustard instead.
Okay.
Allergies.
But the chef who made the salad
said that information
was never relayed to his order screen.
Someone hacked the 911 call,
maybe someone hacked the order as well.
That's Big Brother, Mac.
Is that even possible?
(man wheezing)
What are you thinking?
Someone hacked Aaron Dexter's GPS
and sent him into a dangerous neighborhood.
Now someone tampers with Dr. Evan's order,
which triggers a life-threatening allergy.
So our two cyber attacks are connected.
Our suspect's using technology as a murder weapon.
Hey, Stella, I think I may have found
a connection between our two victims.
Our anaphylactic shock vic, Dr, Evans,
he's an oncologist at St. Sebastian's Hospital,
which is owned by GMI Health Network
where Aaron Dexter is the CEO.
Well, GMI Health owns about a dozen hospitals
on the east coast.
We're talking thousands of employees--
any one of which could be our computer-savvy psycho.
So our two victims both worked for the same health care company.
Maybe a coincidence, maybe not.
Lindsay, break it down.
Correlation science.
See if we can find a stronger connection
between our two vics.
If we find one, we might just be able to find out
who wanted to hurt them.
Yeah, I'm on it.
Hey, um, I heard that Danny's making improvement?
Yeah, he's got limited movement in his toes.
It's not much, but the doctors say it's a really good sign.
Good.
Well, I've got my fingers crossed.
Thanks, Stell.
MAN: Yeah, hand me the red one.
Excuse me.
Do you have authorization for this?
Yeah, it's signed at the bottom of the first page.
Why, is there a problem?
What's going on?
Did you order the installation
of surveillance cameras in the lab?
No.
Well, according to this e-mail memo you did.
It's got your electronic signature.
So if you didn't order them, who did?
Our suspect.
Why?
He wants to see how our investigation is progressing.
Okay, take it down now.
No, no, wait.
Are you done?
Almost.
Leave it up.
What are you thinking?
If he wants to watch us,
let's use it to our advantage.
(phone ringing)
Hello.
MAN (wheezing): Mac Taylor?
Yeah.
Head of the New York Crime Lab?
That's right.
You served in the Gulf War,
and then joined NYPD after a distinguished military career.
Adam, I need you to put a trace
on an incoming call to Mac's line.
Okay.
I seem to be at a, uh, disadvantage.
You know a lot about me,
but I don't know anything about you.
(wheezing): That's the point, Detective.
So what do I call you?
Grave Digger.
You think that's funny?
You killed one man, put another on life support today.
Well, how unfortunate for them.
And for you.
Why is that?
Because when I catch you,
you're going to spend the rest of your life in jail.
(wheezing)
You don't sound well.
And you sound frustrated.
It'll pass.
It always does.
He's on a cell.
But the signal's been bounced all over the city.
camWhat about the security feed? The same thing--
he's piggybacking the transmissions.
This guy's good.
So why don't you save everybody a lot of trouble
and tell me where you are.
Oh, where's the sport in that, Detective?
Look, clearly, you think
Mr. Dexter and Mr. Evans wronged you in some way.
Not just Mr. Evans and Mr. Dexter.
Who else?
I'm not gonna play that game with you, Detective Taylor.
Then what do you want?
I want to talk about your father.
My father?
Your father was McCanna Boyd Taylor.
Served in the army during World War II,
then worked as a machinist on the South Side of Chicago.
Tell me how he died.
(wheezing)
How did he die, Detective?
My father had cancer.
No, no, no, be precise, Detective.
It was small-cell lung cancer.
That's right.
It must have been very difficult for you.
It was hard on all of us.
But mostly for you, I imagine.
I have that profile the Times did on you
a few years back.
In it, you mention your father
(wheezing) was your hero,
the reason you joined the military
and eventually went into law enforcement.
What about you? You're not well, are you?
Is that why you're using the Internet?
Are you incapacitated in some way?
Your hero spent the last eight months of his life
in bed on a feeding tube.
Not a very dignified way to end a life, don't you think?
I think I'm running out of patience.
Then I guess we're done for now.
But don't worry.
You'll be hearing from me again very soon.
Until then, you think about your father.
(click)
(machine whirring)
GRAVE DIGGER: I want to talk about your father.
Tell me how he died.
It was small -cell lung cancer.
Not a very dignified way to end a life, don't you think?
You think about your father.
TAYLOR: Mom, I'm home.
How is he?
He's good.
He's been asking for you all day.
(raspy breathing)
(phone rings)
(wheezing)
How much time do you have left?
(wheezing) Enough.
Look, why don't you just turn yourself in?
That's what you want, isn't it?
What I want is for you to tell my story.
So that's what this is about?
Is that why you chose me?
No, I didn't choose you, Detective.
Fate brought us together
(wheezing) when I read your story.
If you think I'm gonna relate to what you did, you're wrong.
No, not so fast, Detective.
Then give me something to make me understand.
oh, in time, Detective, in time.
Unfortunately, you don't have any.
Let me help you.
No, it's too late for that.
You of all people should know that.
Dr. Evans was your oncologist, wasn't he?
And the hospital you were treated at
was run by Aaron Dexter.
Very good.
Surely, you don't blame them for your cancer.
I blame genetics.
Something you yourself should consider
when making long-term plans.
So, cancer was in your family.
Who had it, your mother, father?
I have to go now, Detective.
I imagine in a few hours you're going to want
to talk to me again.
No, wait, wait, don't hang up.
(click)
Hey, I reached out to the oncology department
at St. Sebastian's.
Here is a list of the patients
that Dr. Evans was taking care of.
What's wrong?
He's going after someone else.
MESSER: Mac, I think we got something.
All right, so we know on both attacks
the Grave Digger infiltrated the systems
using a sophisticated worm program.
There was no way to trace it to an IP address,
but we were able to isolate his digital fingerprint.
A man's wireless was bouncing off a couple different servers.
But we overlaid the digital fingerprint from both attacks
and we got one match.
In each attack, Grave Digger used different servers,
never using the same one twice except in this location:
HAWKES: 7892 40th Street.
It's a cyber security firm called ProspectiveData.
ROSS: And we're thinking since he's got mad computer skills...
He could be working there.
Here is a list of their current employees.
And here's a list of Dr. Evans' cancer patients.
Let's see if there's a match.
(computer trilling)
Boom.
BONASERA: "Victor Benton."
He's Grave Digger.
Says here Benton
worked on the government's GPS program ten years ago.
They "launched the global navigation satellites
and created the GPS network."
Explains where he gets his skillage from.
Track him down. Hawkes.
(siren wailing)
TAYLOR: What do you mean you can't find him?
BONASERA: Well, according to ProspectiveData,
Victor Benton was on medical leave for the last year,
and when his health benefits ran out,
he moved and left no forwarding address.
MESSER: It's safe to say that if he was in
the final stages of cancer that he's not mobile.
So we got a killer that can't move from his bed
that we can't find.
MONROE: We might be able to locate who he's targeting next.
According to the hospital records, there were only
two people who ever treated Victor Benton
while he was a patient there:
Dr. Evans and a medical technician
by the name of Lisa Kim.
Now, Kim stopped administering chemotherapy two months ago
when Aaron Dexter shut down the oncology department
because of budget cuts.
Until then, patients who didn't have insurance
were being treated for free.
So, in Benton's eyes,
when they cut that treatment,
they signed his death warrant.
Now Benton wants to make them pay.
Hi, Pam.
(elevator bell dings)
(elevator machinery clanks)
(loud clank)
(intercom clicks)
Hello?
I need some help.
I-I'm stuck in the elevator.
(wheezing over intercom)
Hello?
Talk to me, Adam.
According to the on-duty nurse,
Lisa Kim left the hospital about ten minutes ago,
and she never checked out.
inte(heavy breathing overnyone there?
Can you hear me?
I'm stuck in an elevator!
BENTON: What floor are you on?
The... The 20th.
That's very high, Lisa.
Victor? Is that you?
(loud clank, power whirrs to a stop)
Hey, Mac, no one's seen her leave the building.
Elevator's not working.
We got an elevator malfunction here.
You know what's going on?
All right, I'm looking at the main
access control for the hospital elevators.
Looks like there's been a cyber security violation from the outside.
It's Benton.
Yeah, he's got the whole system jammed up,
and an elevator holding on the 20th floor.
Benton's hijacked the elevator.
He's holding Kim on the 20th floor-- we're going up.
Victor, what's going on?
(raspy breathing)
We can't bypass the system, Mac.
Keep trying.
Come on, guys. There's got to be something we can do.
(over speaker): How do you feel, Lisa? Shut in?
I remember you telling me
about your fear of enclosed spaces.
How they made you feel...
like you were suffocating.
Let me out of here! Please?! Please!
No one can hear you.
People working, somebody?
Somebody, please!
Somebody!
No, not anymore.
They're all gone.
You're lying. You're lying. Help!
This floor is being painted later tonight.
Didn't you get the memo I sent?
(gasping)
I can't breathe!
(gasping) I can't breathe.
I'm so sorry about that, Lisa.
Please... Please...
You want me to help you?
You want me to save your life. Why would I do that, Lisa?
I'm sorry.
I didn't have a choice.
Apologies--
that's all I ever heard from you and Dr. Evans.
You knew me.
You knew what I was going through.
You could have found a way
to help me...
(over speaker): but you didn't.
(Kim panting rapidly)
(over speaker): but you didn't.
(Kim panting rapidly)
We weren't allowed to.
(gasping rapidly)
(sharp inhale)
(gasping)
We weren't allowed to.
Right. Right.
The corporation...
isn't in the charity business, hm?
They made that... quite clear to me.
Every time I... spoke to someone,
they said the same thing:
"I'm sorry, Mr. Benton.
"I wish I could help you, Mr. Benton.
"I wish...
(gasping)
"we didn't have to take your bed, Mr. Benton.
(Kim gasping over speaker)
"If your insurance hadn't...
"run out,
"we could do something for you,
"Mr. Benton.
"We wished you the best,
"Mr. Benton.
Thank you for calling."
Miss Kim?
Miss Kim!
Miss Kim?
Miss Kim! Miss Kim!
Miss Kim?
(gasping, knocking)
Here! Here!
(grunting)
We need something to leverage it open.
Miss Kim?
I'm Detective Taylor
from the New York Crime Lab.
I'm gonna get you out of there.
Hold on.
Mac.
(strained grunt)
Miss Kim.
Miss Kim. Miss Kim.
Miss Kim.
TAYLOR (over speaker): Miss Kim...
HAWKES: Mac! It's moving! Come on!
Come on. Mac!
(loud thud)
HAWKES: You all right?
(phone ringing)
Taylor.
(phone ringing)
Taylor.
BONASERA: We found Victor Benton.
HAWKES: How?
ROSS: Benton was too busy terrorizing Lisa Kim
to realize he left his flank exposed.
So I pulled out the old Trojan horse,
ran a back trace and got an I.P. address.
And I got a street address for you, too-- it's in Brooklyn.
TAYLOR: Call Flack, tell him to meet us on site with backup.
Silent approach-- I don't want Benton to know we're coming.
(phone rings)
Mac Taylor.
BENTON: I tried your office,
but they said you were out.
You're not the only case I'm working on.
It would be...
if you hadn't spoiled my plans.
What would putting Lisa Kim in the morgue accomplish?
She needed to feel...
what it's like...
to be helpless and forgotten.
She suffers from severe claustrophobia.
She could've died in that elevator.
That's what happens when one doesn't get the help they need.
You remember when your father...
needed help,
don't you?
And he got it.
Well, I wasn't given that option.
You won't get sympathy from me.
You have a problem with the health care system--
you found three scapegoats.
Don't you see... Detective?
That's the lesson here.
I needed to...
put Lisa Kim, Aaron Dexter and Dr. Evans in my shoes...
to make them understand.
You have a message, write your congressman.
(soft groan)
(weak panting)
(church bells chiming in distance)
Where'd you say you were?
I didn't.
(bells continue chiming)
(panting, mumbling)
He knows we're coming.
HAWKES: Yeah.
(groaning)
(pants)
(groaning, wheezing)
(labored breathing)
OFFICER: Clear!
Hawkes!
Flack, get an ambulance.
One, two, three,
four, five, six,
seven, eight...
Come on.
WOMAN (over P.A.): Dr. Stanford...
(monitor beeping)
(slow, labored breathing)
You should have let me die.
Maybe I should have.
Now the city has to keep you alive,
'cause you're entitled to a fair trial.
Don't worry,
I won't make it that far.
Oh, come on...
do you think I wanted to kill people...
to get the treatment I needed?
I told you, you're not gonna get any sympathy from me.
I don't want your sympathy,
Detective.
Then you understand,
if your father hadn't been given chemotherapy,
he would have died a lot earlier than he did.
My father wasn't a rich man.
So the help he got in his final days,
it wasn't much.
But unlike you...
he didn't blame everyone
for his fate.
He knew he was dying,
and he took comfort in the fact that
it was his time.
My father died courageously,
with his family around him, looking up to him.
(raspy breathing): But I'm certain, Detective...
if he hadn't gotten the treatment... he needed...
you...
would've done whatever had to be done...
in order to see him live...
another day,
even it meant breaking the law.
You would have done that to honor your father.
You think you know me because you read a few stories?
You have no idea who I am.
But I know who you are.
You're a coward.
I put guys like you away every day.
That's how I honor my father.
(raspy breathing)
MAN: When'd you get in?
A few hours ago.
(raspy breathing): The Silver Star.
Damn.
You did good, son.
Thank you, sir.
(wheezing inhale)
So, what does Claire think about you considering plans to...
(wheezing inhale)
...retire from the Corps?
She, uh, says it's my decision,
but I think she'd be happy to...
settle down someplace and have me home for a while.
You stay close to her, son.
She's a good woman.
TAYLOR: Yes, sir.
Your mother tells me you got offered that job in New York.
What are you gonna do?
I'm not sure.
(raspy breathing): Well... New York City Police Department's
the best in the country.
You've had your war, son.
Take the job.
Dad...
Claire's from New York, hm?
She has family there.
You're gonna need their help when...
babies start coming.
(laughs)
babies start coming.
(laughs)
Whoa, Dad.
(coughing)
TAYLOR: We just got married, Dad.
And I was thinking that maybe I'd...
...if I do retire,
maybe I'd move back to Chicago for a while.
(labored breath)
No, son.
There's no need for you to be here.
I've had a good life.
You need to live yours.
TAYLOR: Dad...
You've served... your country, Mac.
Pick up the phone.
Make the call.
Take the job.
(weak, labored breathing)
Promise me...
you'll make the call.
I promise.