Hello! I was inspired by the last episode (01x06) and Red's interest in the painting of a ship lost at sea. That's where the inspiration begins, but since then, it has taken on a life of its own. Of course, I don't own the awesome characters or story of the Blacklist. Any feedback, constructive criticism, thoughts, concerns, or questions are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

(x)

Marble Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

The cold seeped in all the way down to his bones. A lone guard, dressed from head to toe in a fur coat and hat, shivered as he watched his breath turn to ice in the freezing air. He was no stranger to the temperature or to the long nights without the sting of alcohol to warm himself. But he wasn't on post outside. He was on post –inside-, and he'd been on post for fourteen hours now. Even for the dead of Russian winter, this was ridiculous. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that those идиоты he worked with either turned off the heater as their idea of a joke, or they noticed the heater wasn't working and let it be his problem to deal with.

He took out his cell phone in his gloved hand. He tried Dmitri. He tried Romanski. He even tried Pyetr. Of course, none of the idiots picked up. He spat out under his breath. "Черт! он холоднее, чем презрение к моей жене."

Grumbling and cursing, he stomped away from his post to go fix the problem himself.

As his footsteps grew fainter and fainter, echoing ethereally within the confines of the breath-takingly opulent Marble Palace, half a face moved into the light streaming through the stained glass windows. A smile curled upward.

The darkly dressed figure moved soundlessly out from the shadows and into the main museum floor. The figure stopped short at an overwhelming painting, done in the colors and technique of the late Baroque era. While the painting reminded the figure of a Courier and Ives, its value could not be measured. It was priceless.

The figure refused to damage any part of the original artwork, but that didn't mean that it couldn't be replaced with a lesser version of itself. The figure worked cleanly and efficiently with a quickness that could only come from practice and experience, before taking leave just as soundlessly as making the arrival. By the time the guard returned to his post, cursing further about the room's broken heater, the thief and the painting had disappeared altogether.

It would be nine hours before the crime would be discovered. Not on the recording systems that had been compromised, but by the talisman the thief left at the scene of the crime.

(x)

FBI Headquarters

Washington, D.C.

"Gemstone."

Her team members, Ressler and Cooper, stared back at her mutely.

Liz repeated herself. "I believe the word you're looking for is gemstone."

Donald patted his lips in that dry, condescending way he so often did. "Talisman, gemstone, dollar store knick knack. Whatever you want to call it. He comes in, robs the place right under the noses of the guards, and leaves undeniable evidence for anyone to come along and find. It's pure ego."

Liz surprised herself by not saying 'wouldn't you know?' She added, "He likes to taunt law enforcement, of any kind, apparently." Both Ressler and Liz's eyes moved to the plasma TV screen hanging above them. It played more news footage of the crime scene in St. Petersburg. The moment Liz had turned on her television this morning, she knew her agency would be involved, and that the day would be a long one.

Cooper took out a remote control and changed the image on the screen to a blurred, dark picture showing what Liz could only assume was sadly the best photographic evidence that had ever been taken of the thief. "Our man likes his games. The papers call these runarounds he gives law enforcement 'lighthearted', despite the severity of his crimes. But seems he's taken the leap into darker waters this time."

Liz frowned. "How so?"

Cooper changed the image again. This time to a stern Arab man dressed in traditional white garb stared down at them. "Here's what your local news stations won't tell you. This time our international art thief didn't just steal a painting. He stole a painting that's of great significance to Amad Yousef, the Syrian dictator."

Donald crossed his arms. "What's he got to do with a painting of three white guys freezing their asses off in Siberia?"

They heard his voice before they saw him. "Three Russian gentlemen." Red's voice was as crisp as his shirt collar. "They're hunting in what is now the Sakha Republic. But close enough. For government work." He smiled at his own words. He liked to do that. "A rather famous work called Богатыри, otherwise known as 'Boyatri'. The Knights." He shrugged. "Not really my thing personally, but then again, I'm not a Russian diplomat."

Liz listened to the history lesson and turned back to Cooper. "Yousef's not Russian. He's Syrian. What's he got to do with the painting?"

Cooper paused and then said, "It wasn't so much the painting as what was inside of it. According to communications intercepted between Russia and Syria, the canvases of the painting were being used as a means of transporting a computer chip containing documents. Documents that may outline not otherwise disclosed military locations, along with plans the military are intending to carry out."

Red stepped forward, dressed from head to toe in a pressed suit and sharp hat as usual. "The Syrians aren't much for allies. But when it's Russia or nothing, some countries still take Russia."

Ressler asked, "What about NSA? Homeland security? How did this fall to us?"

Liz gazed down at freshly printed information in front of her. As she read, she reported, "They believe the Cat is back in the United States. Specifically the capitol."

Red seemed to find something amusing about that. "The Cat," he mused.

Liz looked at him. "Something you'd like to share with the class?"

He answered her question with a question. "What makes you so sure it's the Cat?" he asked.

Ressler answered for her. "It has all his signatures. The break-in. The shutdown of all security in a government building, without it registering with Russian intelligence. The talism…" He glanced at Liz and looked for a moment like he wanted to roll his eyes, though he refrained. "The gemstone. All that was missing was a photo with a signed autograph."

"And," Red added. "DNA evidence."

"There's DNA evidence," Cooper corrected. "Just nothing that ever has any hits on any criminal database."

"Guy's a ghost," Ressler said.

Liz asked Red. "Are you suggesting our cat is actually a copy-cat?"

Red clicked his lips and said, "It is outside the usual MO. Though agencies do have all the evidence Ressler mentioned. Moreover, whoever stole the painting used tactics the Cat's used many times before."

Liz watched Red carefully. She tried to read his face, found she couldn't, and kept trying to read it anyway, like a language that she recognized but couldn't translate. "You talk about this man like you know something about him."

Red neither confirmed nor denied her statement. "Whatever I may or may not know, Lizzie, the Syrian government has a wealth of funding at their disposal. With their assets and sudden vested interest, I'd be in shock if they didn't put out a contract on the Cat before I could employ my own resources."

"Funny you say that." Liz looked up. "They have."

Red nodded sagely in response.

Liz held up a wanted poster print-out with a face she'd grown to know well. "While they were at it, they put a contract out on you, too."