Author's Note: This is the second of a three-chapter fic for Morgan, and it deviates much further from canon than the first. What would happen if Red stood up for himself at the end of the stewmaker? What if Tom and Liz actually took that trip to Boston, and Red didn't back off after the incident with Gina Zanetakos? Between this chapter and the next, you'll find numerous verbatim quotes from the show, all given a new context.
With that in mind, allow me to be extra clear with the obligatory disclaimer. I own nothing at all, and my only profit is the pleasure of my entertainment and yours. Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Morgan!
Chapter Two
Red could always lead Liz to the truth, but still, he couldn't make her believe it.
Never was that so apparent as the evening in which Gina Zanetakos, handcuffed to a hospital bed, first claimed to have never met Tom, and then pointed a finger at Red for taking out the hit on Fokin. It's too bad, Red thought, that Ressler didn't kill her. The dead can't actively cover their tracks or displace the appropriation of blame.
Gina's explanation begged several questions though. Had they always planned on blaming Red for hiring her, if she got caught? If not, then how did they communicate to form the plan? Did someone higher up hand down the orders? Since Gina effectively took the fall for Tom, does he have some sort of exit strategy in place for her? On a similar note, why were Lizzie's employers so quick to believe Gina's version of the events? Red couldn't help wondering if she had someone working for her on the inside as well.
That night, after Liz stormed off in a rage, Red went to work on making the most of their upcoming trip to Boston. After the FBI had cleared him, Tom was obviously banking on the idea that an innocent man wouldn't cancel their trip. Liz herself had all but entirely abandoned her original objective, and watching her cling to her guilt over hurting Tom's feelings was beyond nauseating.
Red dialed an old friend, coincidentally a Boston native, and asked for his assistance. His friend, Alan, was to visit the the Dickenson Inn, and spin a simple tale to the front desk clerk, in order to get into Liz and Tom's room. Alan immediately came up with the perfect story. He'd say that the couple, both his close friends, were arriving soon to celebrate their anniversary, and he wanted to surprise them without intruding on their time together. Would they please let him into the room for a moment, just so he could leave them a gift and scatter some rose petals? He'd point to a gift bag in one hand. It would mean so, so much to them, of course.
Alan's persuasive skills are top notch. He could literally charm the pants off of anyone. Compulsively, he seldom resisted the urge to do so.
Once inside, he'd hastily bug the room, ditch the gift bag, and then leave quietly. If Liz ever left Tom alone in there, Red would know if he did anything shady during her absence. His next task was to bug every pay phone within a five mile radius of the Inn. If Tom made any attempt to touch base with either his girlfriend or his employer, Red would catch it. Last but not least, Alan was to hire his best local PI's to tail Tom's every move in the city, and photograph any suspicious activity.
Unfortunately, these methods came without any guarantees. After Tom's recent run-in with the feds, he'd be wise to lay low on the trip. On the other hand, perhaps he'll be a little out of control, irrational, paranoid, and reactionary. He may be scrambling for a foothold. Therein lied Red's opportunity to wait and to watch. With one little slip, Red would be perfectly poised to expose and exploit it. Just to be on the safe side, however, while they were gone, he'd use the opportunity to bug their home as well, along with every payphone in the surrounding area. Lucky for him, the damn things are so few and far in between that it should be a quick and easy setup for his guys.
Red was disappointed that it had come to this. He didn't want to spy on Liz. He didn't want to bug her home or have her tailed. Nabbing Gina should have been enough, but since it wasn't, he could find no better recourse. The due date of Liz and Tom's baby was drawing nearer every day, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Just the same, he didn't plan on personally viewing any non-incriminating footage. Just the thought of accidentally watching them have s-UGH, no, absolutely not.
Red shook his head ruefully. He was indeed desperate.
-...-...-
On the afternoon of their arrival in Boston, Alan phoned Red to confirm that he had no trouble getting into the room and placing the bugs. He got lucky in one regard. They traveled by plane, so he didn't have to worry about bugging their car, or the possibility that Tom would drive to a more distant payphone.
Didn't Liz ever wonder how they were able to afford so many of the nice things that they had, like the huge brownstone, the Mercedes Benz, and the plane tickets for every random "teaching convention" or "job interview" that Tom attended? The stacks of cash in the go box should have clued her in somehow, if nothing else. No doubt he also had an offshore account, probably in the Caymans, like every other anonymous American crook with a couple million to hide.
Shortly after Alan called, Red received troubling news from a member of his tech team at Lizzie's house. The place had already been bugged! But by whom? Was it Tom himself, or the people he reported to? Was it the still-nameless and faceless adversary that had been plaguing Red's own business for years? Whoever it was, they now knew that they'd been caught by someone, but fortunately, Red's men were wise enough to wear ski masks on the job, and to call him from outside of the house. After assuring Red that the original buggers would be unable to identify the new ones, he gave them the green light to proceed, with the caveat that they be ready to remove the devices at any given time. The man just laughed. Wasn't that already a given?
Well yes, of course it was. He's Raymond Reddington, after all.
-...-...-
On their first night in Boston, one of Alan's tails called Red directly, both using burner phones. He had little to say about the couple's first night. They only left the room once, to go out for dinner, and their only time apart was while they each showered. Red couldn't help cracking a quick smile at that. Separate showers while on vacation? Who does that? Obviously, Tom was nuts.
What the tail didn't catch, however, would soon prove to be of far greater value.
When Tom and Liz returned from dinner, the desk clerk greeted them cheerfully in the lobby. "Happy Anniversary! I hope you all liked that present!"
Liz shook her head, smiling, "Sorry, it isn't our anniversary. You must have us confused for someone else."
The clerk knew for a fact that she was correct. They were the only couple that had checked in that day. Not wanting to invite any more tension, however, she feigned embarrassment. "Oh, I guess I must have. My apologies."
Liz smiled with polite reassurance. "Hey, it happens. No big deal."
Tom placed a hand on the small of her back, gently leading her away from the lobby. His mind was tangled in suspicion. Someone had lied to get into their room. What did they do, bug it? Discreetly poison something? He couldn't be sure. Something fishy was afoot.
Very.
He tried to think of a reason to switch rooms without tripping his wife's radar, but ultimately concluded that if something shady was going down, then it was already in motion. If so, his best defence would be plausible deniability. Requesting a new room would make him look suspicious, and that was the last thing he wanted.
He did his very best to pretend that he had shrugged off the clerk's mistake, just as Liz did. If it turned out to be another attempt by Red to out him, then the timing couldn't have been worse. Tom still hadn't replaced the phony documents of his go box, and effective escape would be dubious without the passports.
-...-...-
The following morning, Tom woke up early and told Liz that since she had been working so hard lately, she deserved the chance to sleep in, so he wanted to bring her breakfast in bed. Wasn't he a wonderful husband? He promised not to take too long, and Liz hardly stirred, mumbling something about loving him and being thankful. Hastily, he donned a Red Sox cap and slipped away through the inn's back door, unaware of the tail that followed at a safe distance.
Tom's first stop was the nearest payphone. Lifting the receiver, and before inserting the coins, he quickly looked all around him, in the habitual manner of every common crook. Popping out from behind a brick wall, the tail snapped several photos, still unseen. Tom's conversation was wirelessly transmitted to Red's team in DC.
"Bantam Finance. How may I direct your call?" a brusque-sounding woman answered.
"I'm having a little trouble with my account, number delta sierra four five one," Tom replied, an edge in his voice.
"Line is secure. Proceed."
"Washboard is compromised. Bonafide's in question. Tell Berlin I was forced to liquidate."
Tom was obviously speaking in code, and little could be gleamed from the immediate surface, but it was still a sizable puzzle piece. Something had spooked him enough that he had to reach out to a member of his team, someone using the alias "Berlin". Bantam Finance could only be a cover for his employer's secured phone line.
After the call, Tom walked another block to a cafe called Au Bon Pain. To the hundred or so people who passed, it probably looked like he was only there to grab breakfast, but the tail knew better. Boldly, he followed him into the line at the register, and ordered a coffee and croissant for himself. He watched as Tom exited, carry-out bag in hand, and sat down at one of the sidewalk tables, casually sipping his coffee, and definately waiting for someone. The tail grabbed a newspaper and sat near enough to record any sort of conversation. Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, another tail kept watch and snapped a steady stream of photos.
Within minutes, a guy on a bicycle zoomed by, and as if by accident, dropped a manilla envelope marked only with a black, Rorschach-looking blob. Like any good person would, Tom bounced up from his seat and grabbed it, shouting, "Excuse me, sir! Come back! You've dropped something!"
Well played, Mr. Keen.
The biker kept going, of course, because it was no accident. The tail across the street alerted another, the next the block over, to follow him.
The tail at the table, acting like any casually helpful stranger, addressed Tom. "Maybe you should leave it there. As soon as he realizes what happened, he'll probably retrace his steps to find it."
Tom pretended to consider the suggestion, and then replied, "But somebody else might find it first."
"Ah... good point. Maybe you could give it to the cashier?"
Again, Tom politely pretended to consider, and then replied, "But then how would she give it to him? I mean, she's been inside this whole time, and since he never went in, he won't go in there to look for it."
"No, I suppose he wouldn't. This is tough! I feel bad for the guy..." He paused, pretending to think of the reply that was already perched on the tip of his tongue. "Well hey, you can leave it with me, if you'd like. It's my day off. I don't mind waiting for him to come back, and someone's gotta be waiting for their meal." He pointed to Tom's take-out bag.
His eyes narrowed, suspicious of the stranger's motives. Was he just trying to be a good samaritan, or was he trying to intercept the envelope? Either way, Tom couldn't let on that he was suspicious. "Wow... That's very generous of you, but I think... well, I just got another idea. That server was out here when he dropped it." He pointed to a blonde woman inside. "I bet she'd recognize him if he came back."
The tail grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "Perfect! That's a great idea."
"Well, thanks for trying to help," Tom congenially offered, standing up to go inside.
"Sure. Take care." He casually flipped through the pages of his newspaper, as if in search of the sports section.
"You too."
Inside, Tom followed the server to the back of the restaurant, facing away from the street, and asked if she would direct him towards the restroom. He covertly slipped the envelope under his jacket, and then turned back to leave.
As he passed, like an afterthought, Tom thanked the tail once more.
He looked up from his newspaper, jumping intentionally as if startled, giving the impression that he wasn't watching his ruse inside the cafe. "Always happy to help."
Satisfied that it was nothing to worry about, Tom briskly headed back to the Inn, followed by the other tail from across the street. He glanced at his watch. He'd only been gone for about thirty minutes. As he walked, he opened the envelope and reached inside to grab its contents-a key. He slipped it into his coat pocket and tossed the envelope into a sidewalk trashcan. Seconds later, the tail grabbed the envelope and tucked it into his own pocket.
Back at the cafe, the first tail approached the server, seeking audio proof that Tom never gave her the envelope. "Excuse me, miss. Did you just see a man carrying a manilla envelope? Is he still here?"
"Why yes, I did, and he was weird too. He wanted to know where our restroom is, but then instead of using it, he just turned around and left."
"False alarm, I guess?" The tail replied, laughing.
-...-...-
After the incident at the cafe, the tail that followed the man on the bicycle phoned Red, informing him of everything that had just transpired. Red instructed him to stay on the man. He and Dembe were on their way.
The flight from DC to Boston only took an hour, and the bicyclist hadn't left his location in the interim. Looking at the photos snapped by the tail, Red didn't recognize the younger man. He and Dembe had no trouble breaking into what appeared to be his own apartment, knocking him out and hog-tying him before Red's interrogator arrived, towing an O2 tank for his COPD.
Knowing that his curmudgeonly interrogator preferred to work alone, Red and Dembe slipped out to give him some privacy, offering to return with lunch, in case the subdued man proved tough to crack.
They then met up with another member of Alan's team, already awaiting their arrival. He gave them the envelope, along with all of the photos, the audio recording from the cafe, and the clip from the feed inside of the inn, showing Tom's offer to bring Lizzie her breakfast in bed. Red already had the wirelessly-transmitted recording from the payphone.
Oh, it was good. It was so, so good. If the interrogator could get anything from the bicyclist, it would be great. Red was very pleased. None of it directly tied Tom to the hit on Fokin, but it was shady enough to look very, very bad. The marking on the envelope was clearly meant to mimic the shape of the scar on Lizzie's wrist. More importantly, it matched the mark on Tom and Gina's go boxes. No blinders could be thick enough for her to deny that.
When Red and Dembe returned with lunch, the interrogator greeted them at the door, panting. "You got my reuben?" he asked.
Red held up the carry-out bag.
"Okay, good. This guy? He's tough."
"But you're tougher," Red replied, shaking his head and grinning.
"You're goddamn right I am. This pinko hippie's gonna crack, but it might take another day or two. Come back with dinner. Kung pao chicken, if you don't mind."
"You know, your palate is almost as impressively varied as your technique," Red smoothly complimented.
"Oh yes, I know." He replied, snatching the bag from Red's hand and unceremoniously shutting the door in his face.
As they headed out, Dembe flashed a smile and quipped, "I have a feeling we'll have to call Mr. Kaplan after he's finished in there."