"I don't understand what's going on here, what the hell does the FBI want with a bank robbery case?" Raymond Reddington asked, closing the case file in front of him. "Local police are more than capable of handling this, why didn't you call some of your friends at the precinct? I was just ready to air out a bottle of scotch older than your first kid when you called me."
"I'm sorry this one was out of my control," Cooper said.
"I'm sure there is an equally handsome beat cop to whom she can confess on a Sunday afternoon. I've never met this girl; she couldn't possibly want anything to do with me."
"You should know before you go in there that the reason you were called in was because she asked for you by name, Reddington."
Raymond Reddington felt his blood run cold. He ran through all the past cases he could think of, anyone he wasn't able to put away who might have had unfinished business. The only time he ended up even speaking to women in their mid-thirties was at grief support groups. Maybe bartenders. Was there someone to whom he owed a favor, who may have given her his name? This woman's face was completely unfamiliar to him.
"Can I take it from the sweat on your brow that I have your attention or do you want to get back to your scotch?" Cooper asked, challenging him with little subtlety.
"What do we know about her?" he asked, resigning himself to the task at hand and feeling the chair creek as he leaned back, flopping the case file onto Cooper's desk.
"Her name is Elizabeth Keen. She graduated from Yale 10 years ago with a degree in Psychoanalytic Research. She was highly sought after when she graduated but efforts to locate her once the ink was dry on her degree were unsuccessful. In essence, she vanished. A marriage license, a few addresses and phone numbers linked to her, but nothing of note. And until now, no one looking for her, no criminal record."
"How about her family?"
"Mother and father were killed when she was four, house fire. Suspected arson. She was in the home at the time but she was rescued by a neighbor. Was adopted shortly after."
The photo on her case file made her look like any woman you might pass on the street, even though she was clearly stunningly beautiful. She didn't look like someone who had robbed a bank. Gorgeous yet trustworthy, she looked like she was more likely to read you the nightly news from behind a desk than point a gun in someone's face.
"Listen to me very carefully," Reddington said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I have not had coffee yet this morning. If I'm going to deal with this you are going to need to get me the maximum recommended serving of the darkest roast you can find, and then I want you to add a shot of espresso."
"Or you could just do the job I'm asking you to do as your superior, Agent Reddington."
"I don't see you doing anything compelling in here on a Sunday morning. Unless that game of Minesweeper you have open is a matter of national security."
"How in the hell have I not fired you yet?" Cooper said, sighing as he got up from his chair and grabbed his coat. "You're getting Starbucks."
"I hate Starbucks. It tastes like what would happen if real coffee were somehow capable of experiencing shame."
"You're getting Starbucks. Get in there and do your job."
He took a few moments to study her through the two way mirror. In order for her to know who he was, he had to have met her somewhere before. When the hell would I have met a woman who has been invisible for 10 years? He tried to remember every waitress he'd tipped, every stranded driver whose car he'd jumped, every regular on his subway ride, every person to whom he'd handed a business card… he was positive he'd never met her. Taking a moment to adjust his tie in the reflection, he tried to think about the best way to approach her, but the circumstances had him caught uncharacteristically off-guard.
"Good morning Ms. Keen, I am Agent Reddington. You'll have to forgive the wrinkles in my suit as I am not used to showing up to work on a Sunday morning," he said.
"Nice to meet you, Red," she said with an easy grin.
"Feigning familiarity, are we? Yale Psychology's freshman seminars must have been fascinating," he said, his last word only a breath above a whisper it was so heavy with sarcasm. "If we are assigning each other nicknames already I am afraid you're going to have to tell me why you asked for me, or I'll have to insist on 'Agent Reddington' from here on."
"What can I say?" she said, settling back in her chair. "I asked specifically for the biggest smart ass in the bureau."
He laughed, in spite of her audacity. He studied her for a moment, waiting for her to talk. It was amazing what people would give up if you just sit and watch them. He had seen suspects buckle under his stare numerous times, but she let him search her eyes for a while. Although she wasn't talking, he noticed her eyes begin to wander; first merely to his lips, then to the corners of the room. As the silence continued, her chest, previously confident and squared at him, sunk slightly. Her blinking became faster, the pulse visibly throbbing in her delicate neck became quick. Then she began pressing her thumb into her palm, stroking the skin where it met her wrist.
"Looks like a burn," he said, remembering the arson case mentioned in her background file.
"It is a burn," she said, fidgeting a bit in her chair. The confidence she had used to try gaining the upper hand had clearly been diminished noticeably. Reaching across the table he took her hand and turned it over, her handcuffs clinking against the metal tabletop. He felt her eyes on him as he cocked his head, studying the scar. Her hand was delicate, even with her long, slender fingers forming a tight fist under his grasp. He tightened his grip, running his thumb over the crinkled, whitened scar tissue. She was sitting up straight again, every muscle in her body seeming to tense up.
"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "Little Elizabeth Keen experienced childhood trauma so now she uses it to justify robbing banks?"
She wrenched her hand away, her eyes narrowing in anger. There we go. Now we're getting somewhere.
"I don't need to justify anything."
"Robin Hood himself could justify this one, sweetheart. You scared the hell out of that teller, it was her 21st birthday today and now she's likely going to spend it laundering her underwear because of you. Now let's get down to business Miss Keen before I put into lock-up and I go on about my day."
"You want to get down to business? Let's talk about Marie and Addy."
The icy shiver of a nervous sweat stung his neck. Even after all these years, hearing their names spoken aloud give him chills… pangs of heartache that could make him curl up in bed for days under the right circumstances. He gulped away the strangling feeling in his throat that, if he were alone, might turn into an indulgent sob. A drink. Sleep.
"There is no more Marie and Addy. They died 25 years ago," he said, trying to sound as cold as possible, refusing to give her an inch of emotion to play on, to taunt him with.
"You know as well as I do, Red, that there will always be a Mary and an Addy Reddington. Just like there will always be a John and Anna Scott. They are the reasons that we do what we do. They are the reason that you devoted your life to law enforcement instead of the military. The hope that one day some case would lead you to the person responsible for their deaths?"
"And instead of doing that, Miss Keen, my job seems to involve spending my Sundays talking to ineffectual bank robbers who seem to know how to utilize Google."
"Or maybe it's your lucky day, Red."
"Tell that to the scotch I have waiting for me at home Miss Keen," he said, his voice deepening to a growl as he shoved back his chair. He moved toward the phone on the wall. "It's a shame, a pretty girl like you having to waste away in jail over stolen cash. I'll be sure to visit some time, we can talk about how shitty our lives have been."
"The people responsible for killing my parents are the same people who were responsible for killing your wife and daughter, Agent Reddington," she said, enunciating her words quickly but carefully as his hand neared the receiver. He froze. She winced inwardly, realizing she saw it.
"Alright, Miss Keen," he sighed, taking his seat again across from her. "I'm listening."
"It's not really a matter of listening, it's a matter of getting me what I want and I will get you what you want. The people responsible for what happened to both of us are associates of the men I was in the bank with today but they are very powerful, and there are quite a few of them."
"Names, or I walk right back over to that phone."
"Thomas Vincent Keen." She grinned, leaning back in her chair. With her hands still cuffed together she reached into the inner pocket of her blazer and produced five passports, slapping them down on the table in front of them. "Legally speaking, he is my husband. In actuality, he is a high ranking member of a crime syndicate responsible for taking out targets that they have determined will be recruited into influential positions in law enforcement."
"You mean to tell me you went to the trouble of marrying a man in order to keep tabs on the crime ring he's a part of?" Red said, looking through the passports. All of them were from different countries, contained different names, but they all contained a picture of the same man. "I have heard of some scams, Miss Keen but I don't think anyone is that good."
"I have been that good. For three years. I'm very dedicated to my mission and it doesn't take much to be convincing as a doting wife when all men are paying attention to are your looks." Her confident swagger made him smile. His pulse quickened as he realized that she was likely right. She was a beautiful enough woman to make any man want to believe her. But he wasn't going to fall for a pretty face that quickly.
"How do you know they are responsible for the deaths of my wife and my daughter?" he asked, noticing his own tone change from interrogating to questioning.
"Think about it, Red. You were their target. You always suspected it, didn't you? Once you pulled out of the military, even though you were unfinished business you were no longer a priority for them. But now, after all these years, someone found out you have been working for the FBI. They recognized your name, and now they have re-named you a target. Your life is in danger. I am here to protect you. And I am here to get you answers. To right a wrong."
He remembered the crushing guilt. He knew that no one would mean harm to his wife and daughter if it wasn't for him. The years of depression and crippling grief that took hold of him in the years after their murders was enough to make him give up on ever finding out what happened to them. This girl, however, was too young when her parents were killed to know when it was time to give up hope. And she hadn't. For the first time in many years he allowed himself to entertain the possibility that he might get answers.
"So why rob a bank?" he asked, realizing that he had been staring at her.
"To get myself into police custody, and out from under their watch. I asked for you specifically so that I could try to help you."
"And what are you asking in return?" he asked.
"What do I want in return for possibly saving your life and handing you over the first breadcrumb on the trail that leads to the men who murdered your family? Protection. I give you names, you keep me safe until every one of them is dead. I'm an asset here, Red. I think you can pretty easily make a case for that with Cooper. I wouldn't put myself here if I didn't think I could help you… if I didn't think I could get what I wanted."
She smiled at him with a genuine brightness that offered a stark contrast the fluorescent lighting of the clinical interrogation room. Despite the conniving and bargaining that had just happened in front of his eyes, he saw her face take on that same quality from the booking photo. Benevolent, honest and beautiful.
He got up from his chair and approached her side of the table. For a moment he saw the light fall from her eyes, and she leaned away from him in her chair just slightly. The crux of her plan had relied on his reaction and he watched her lose faith the closer he got. The hint of desperation he sensed as her breathing hitched reassured him; this girl was the real deal. He extended his hand toward her.
"Elizabeth," he started. "We are going to make a great team."
"You can call me Liz."
"Alright… Lizzie," he said, smiling as she took his hand. "Let's go make your case."