Until Next Time

by RedHarryWhoLocked

What if Lizzie had always known Red was her dad? AU. I own nothing. ON HIATUS

35. Chapter 35

Yep. This is a long one. Insanely long.

---

Lizzie and Ressler stood in the hallway of the post office. Rubbing her scar as she leaned against the wall, Lizzie stared at the door to the room where she would be "questioned" for who knew how long. In an attempt to calm her nerves, Lizzie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to do this. She had to prove that she had no knowledge whatsoever of Tom's actions if she wanted to get their marriage annulled.

Right at that moment, she knew there were agents raiding her old house…and the storage unit where she and Red had been conducting their investigation. That was what she was most worried about. There was evidence in that locker that the FBI didn't know about. About 'Berlin,' about Jolene Parker, the woman who was supposed to be Tom Keen's replacement. Hopefully they wouldn't deem this effort of full disclosure on her part as too little too late.

Looking over at Ressler, Lizzie attempted to smile but was fairly certain she only managed a nervous grimace. She was going to have to take him out somewhere nice soon, to thank him for being her rock in the last couple of moths.

"Hey, you're doing the right thing here, Liz. You finally can put that asshole behind you." He murmured, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Lizzie only managed a small nod of her head in answer.

They both turned to look as a door opened. Her interrogator was looking at them expectantly. Ressler looked back to her, squeezing her shoulder. "You ready?"

Lizzie nodded her head once more, letting out a shaky breath as she stood up to her full height, squared her shoulders, and walked forward.

/\/\/\/\/\

Dembe hung up the phone and looked over at Red. Sitting back down in his chair on the opposite side of the plane, he sighed softly. "They lost the husband." He stated in answer to Red's questioning gaze. Red pursed his lips and shook his head before going back to analyzing the papers in front of him.

"How bad is it?" Dembe asked, pointing to the papers. They had obtained an encoded calculus book from one of Tom's known drops and had gotten an associate to decode it for them.

"Worse than I thought." Red murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly with his thumb and forefinger.

/\/\/\/\/\

Red looked over at Lizzie from where he stood in the war room, his hands in his pockets and his fedora tilted jauntily on his head. "This case relates directly to your husband and why he was here. I have reason to believe an attack is imminent."

Lizzie took a shaky breath, looking at her dad steadily. They were operating on shaky ground now. Between her questioning and their raid on the storage unit, the task force now knew with certainty that Tom Keen was there to infiltrate her life to get close to Lizzie. She now had to balance on the high wire and pretend she was as clueless as they were as to why she mattered to #4 on the FBI's Most Wanted list. No big deal, right? Rubbing her rounded stomach, Lizzie gave Red a faint nod.

"There was a piece of evidence in your storage unit. Berlin. Is that what this is about? Something in Berlin?" Cooper questioned, his gaze switching from Red to Lizzie and then back again.

"Earlier today, a man died at The Westland Bank in Manhattan. Reports indicate the cause of death may have been the Cullen virus. Haz Mat teams have quarantined the bank. The deceased has been identified as a Paul Blankenship, an armored–truck driver. They're working to identify how he was infected. Paul Blankenship didn't pick up this bug while wandering through subtropical Africa." Red gazed around at the people in the room as he leaned against the table behind him. "I believe he was infected as part of a larger plot involving myself and this task force."

Cooper did his best pug impression as his brow wrinkled. "How does a man dying in a bank have anything to do with you?"

Red gave Cooper his best you're-so-stupid-it's-adorable smile. "Threats on my life are a constant. I monitor them closely. Two days ago, I received word of a biological threat."

"Does this connect back to Berlin?" Cooper questioned, growing impatient.

"I suspect this incident at the bank is not what it seems, but rather the first shot in a larger, coordinated assault aimed directly at me. I don't think Paul Blankenship was a victim of an outbreak. I think he was a foot soldier in a biological army. I think he was meant to carry out orders by a superior, someone who's willing to use one of the world's deadliest viruses to further their cause."

"An outbreak of Cullen could lead to a global pandemic." Meera stated.

Red nodded in agreement. "The very threat of an outbreak would cause panic, fear. And fear is a valuable tool to get people to do what you want."

"Sounds like an elaborate plan just to get to you." Lizzie challenged, biting her lip as she tried to keep up appearances.

Red cocked his head as he smiled gently at her. "Listen, I can't connect all the dots between the incident at the bank and the eventual outcome, but I sincerely doubt his death was part of the plan, a plan devised by someone who doesn't care how many people die, as long as I'm one of them."

/\/\/\/\/\

Liz and Ressler ducked under the police tape and crossed the street, heading towards the bank full of quarantined people. As they got closer, a short woman with brunette hair down to her shoulders walked towards them with purpose.

"Dr. Nina Buckner, CDC's Epidemic Intelligence Service." She introduced herself, holding out her hand for them to shake.

"Good to see you again." Lizzie greeted as she took the woman's hand. "Thanks for taking the time. We don't want to interfere with your investigation."

"No, actually, you do." Buckner replied fiercely. "Especially after what I'm about to show you. We did a full work–up on the victim. He was infected with what we call Cullen, a virus strain so lethal that two dozen of the world's leading virologists declared a moratorium on all research." Buckner explained as she directed them over towards the mobile lab that had been set up on the street.

"It's too deadly to study?" Lizzie questioned, astonished.

Buckner nodded her head. "All known cultures are on lockdown. The risk is too great. The influenza pandemic in 1918 killed 50 million people. If this strain went airborne, it would wipe out that number in the first month."

"If it went airborne." Lizzie stated, having noticed Buckner's turn of phrase. "So you're saying you think it didn't?"

"Correct. We've checked everyone in the bank. Incredibly, nobody else is infected. It looks like this virus was intentionally mutated to contain itself in the original host. It doesn't spread."

"So you're saying that somebody designed this virus, built it to target the infected victim." Ressler asked as they walked.

"Yes. He was poisoned. I think we may have found the murder weapon." Bucker took a thin case off of the table in the mobile lab – aka a tent with a few microscopes, some computers, and a centrifuge. "This was in Blankenship's jacket." Buckner opened the case up to reveal an IV filled with a yellowish liquid.

"That's the virus? –" Lizzie asked, looking down at the case warily, placing her hands on her stomach as if to shield it.

Buckner snapped the case closed, as if realizing how uncomfortable it was making Lizzie. "Well, we don't know yet. We're taking it back for analysis now."

"Why would somebody send it to him? Did he inject himself?" Ressler spoke up, standing with his feet planted on the ground and his hands on his hips.

Buckner shrugged her shoulders as she looked at Ressler. "Well, that's your department. But I'll say this. There are not a lot of scientists proficient enough to mutate a virus like this. Anyone working with Cullen is doing so in isolation, illegally, and for no good purpose."

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat with her feet up on the couch of her dad's jet, a file in her lap as she sifted through it. "This doctor friend of yours tell me about him."

Red smiled over at Lizzie before wiping his face clean as he got down to business. "He was the lead research scientist on infectious diseases at USAMRIID and the foremost expert on the Cullen virus."

"'Was.' Now he's a criminal." Lizzie phrased it as more of a question.

Red shook his head, sipping at his scotch. "No, the work he's done has been criminalized, which is why he left USAMRIID. But if anybody knows anything about black–market viruses, it's Dr. Bruce Sanders." Red gathered up the large sheaf of papers and lifted himself from his chair to hand it over to Lizzie who fumbled with the file she had in her lap to take it. "This is a copy of Tom's code book. It was used to pass information between Tom and his superiors. I had my associate Borakove decode it. There's surprisingly little about myself and my organization, but it contains speculation about our cases and a great deal about you. I suggest you use some discretion as to how you disclose any of it."

Lizzie nodded, looking over at her dad, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thanks. I'm glad not everything we have on Tom is in FBI custody."

Red just nodded and gave a small sardonic grin. "Frankly, I'd give the thing over to the FBI right now if we thought it could help make Tom my ex-son-in-law sooner. Tell me again, Lizzie, why the FBI are interjecting themselves into your divorce proceedings?"

Lizzie chuckled as she flicked through the papers he'd handed her, not really paying attention to them. "You can't get an annulment without justifiable cause. Obviously I can't walk into a divorce court and say 'my husband was a mercenary undercover agent hired to gather intel about me.' So the FBI have to get the full story before they will willingly give testament saying that the marriage was a fraud." Lizzie paused, her good humor shifting quickly. "The reasons will then be classified." She finished softly, focusing on what was in her lap, and so unable to see the soft devastation in her father's eyes as he gazed at her.

/\/\/\/\

"Dr. Sanders is incredibly well–respected by everyone on staff. I've never seen anyone quite as dedicated to his work." The nurse explained as she walked them down the hall of the hospital and into a large room where various patients sat at tables or on couches.

"Please, Monique, tell me he's not testing his pincushion voodoo on the patients. He's still doing research?" Red asked, laughing.

Monique chuckled. "Oh, yes. And, mind you, it's all over my head. But virology is Dr. Sanders' lifework." She stopped just a few feet from the man in question and swept out her hand in invitation to approach him. "I'll check on you in a bit."

"One of the brightest men I've ever met." Red murmured to Lizzie as they walked towards the man.

"Dr. Sanders. I don't know if you remember me, but –" Red spoke up, addressing the man at the table who sat surrounded by chalk boards and pin boards with pages of research data, newspaper clippings, an formulas taped all over them.

Sanders sprang up like a shot and got incredibly close to Red's face. Red didn't flinch or react in any way. "Liechtenstein. Right. December 2010. No, no. January 2011. Reming – No, no, no. Reddington."

Red smiled, nodding slightly "Raymond." he supplied.

Sanders clapped his hands once, and did a little jig in victory. "Yes! Raymond! Sit down, Raymond. Sit, please." Sanders proffered one of the chairs at the table and Red sat graciously as Sanders too took a seat. Hesitating a moment, Lizzie quietly took the final remaining chair.

Red looked over at her, with a conspiratorial smile. "I met Dr. Sanders here through a mutual friend to discuss a very delicate and underfunded research project. As I recall, the science was awesome but financially precarious." Red then turned his attention back to Sanders with a chuckle. "We did, however, spend a glorious weekend in God's country with two snow bunnies who were dead ringers for the Swiss miss girl."

Sanders eyes lit up. "And we watched Space Ranger."

"Yes. Space Ranger." Red said with a wistful laugh. "What a memory. I heard you went through a bit of a rough patch. But it looks like you've landed on your feet."

"I've never been better." Sanders sliced his hand through the air in emphasis.

Red looked around them, pursing his lips as he apparently inspected their surroundings. "And you've relocated."

"The, um staff is not exactly what you would call 'top drawer.'" Sanders leaned forward and spoke in a stage whisper. "I have fired Monique twice, and she still shows up for work every day like clockwork. I don't have the heart to pull her security badge."

Red laughed, nodding his head before looking back over at Lizzie. "Dr. Sanders is at the forefront of virology. He's been working tirelessly to find cures for some of the world's deadliest illnesses. A few years back, he injected himself with meningitis and along with what he thought was a synthesized cure."

Sanders put his fingers over hips lips and giggled. "Oops!" He then waved his hand in a flourish. "But I'm no, I'm- I'm- I'm fine, really. Full recovery."

"Doctor, we've come to you on pressing business. What can you tell us about the Cullen virus?"

Sanders sat back, his eyes wide. "Oh, spooky. Spooky stuff. Bad news."

"You've researched it?" Lizzie questioned, finally feeling as if she was on more firm footing with where this conversation was heading. "Well, it was recently used as a weapon to target a man named Paul Blankenship."

Sanders nodded solemnly. "He must be the first. There will be more."

Lizzie's eyes narrowed in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Cullen is the instrument of the Apocalypse." Sanders stated as if it were obvious. "The five horsemen are coming, and they will bring death and destruction unlike –"

"There are four horsemen." Lizzie corrected softly.

Sanders body tensed with ferocity as he slammed his hand down on the table. "There are five!" He shouted, causing Lizzie to jump slightly in her chair. "This I know."

"How do you know?" Red asked gently.

Sanders looked over at him as if seeing him for the first time. "The Space Agent. The Space Agent. UD-4126."

Red opened his eyes comically wide. "Is he still active?"

Sanders nodded his head frantically. "Active and operational."

"UD-4126 was never – " Red shook his head in consternation. "That wormy little bastard could barely land the simulator, let alone carry out an Alpha–level mission."

Sanders shook his head in exasperation. "Chesterfield cleared him. Two days later, he came to me for research. He wanted me to look at some some field tests, systematic observations."

"Anything you can share?" Red asked.

Sanders stood up and began rifling through his research notes. "Well, I've got research on Cullen, if that's what you mean, and activated carbon samples, absorption tests."

"Whatever you've got. I'd love our people at the lab – to give this a once–over."

"Yeah." Sanders nodded excitedly.

"UD-4126 is way out of line this time, way out of line." Red murmured as he gazed at the pages that Sanders had handed to him.

"Dr. Sanders, can we talk about Space Agent UD-4126?" Lizzie asked gently, trying to steer the conversation towards something more useful. She knew her dad would more than willingly play along with the poor man's delusions, and she loved him for it. But time was not on their side and they needed answers.

Sanders blinked owlishly at her before shaking his head decisively. "No can do."

"Did he visit you here?"

"Don't remember." Sanders began to subtly rock back and forth in his chair.

"Did he come to you for help?" Lizzie persisted.

"You said she was trustworthy. What are all these questions?" Sanders snapped at Red.

"She's been cleared Alpha level. You want me to get Chesterfield on the line?" Red asked, his hands out in front of him as if to pacify as his voice whipped in reprimand.

"I need answers." Lizzie stated firmly.

"Well, I – Yes, he came to me for help. He, uh, asked me to look at some fieldwork."

"Who came to you for help?" Lizzie questioned.

"UD-4126"

"You have to give me the scientist's name. Who's doing the experiments?"

Sanders' rocking became more obvious as he wrapped his arms around himself. "I told you his name UD-4126."

"His name." Lizzie demanded, her stomach churning in guilt.

"He doesn't know his name." Red cut in gently.

"4126. That's all I know." The man continued to rock.

"Bruce, lives are at stake. UD-4126 I need some way of knowing who that is."

"No! The horsemen! I told you what I know! It was a top–secret mission, this! That's all I know! UD-4126!" He cried startling the other patients around them. "Monique, Monique Monique Monique!"

Dr. Sanders' nurse trotted over quickly and leaned over to calm the man down, and that was when she saw it. Her security badge. Standing up abruptly, Lizzie left the room, her mind already jumping five steps ahead.

"What is it? What did you see?" Red called out behind her. She could hear the scrape of his chair sliding back as he hastened towards her.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie stood at one of the computer terminals in the war room, going over case notes and jumped slightly when Ressler slapped a large folder on the table beside her. "Reddington sent over the research notes from the doctor you met with."

Lizzie lifted his brow, her lips turned down. "The 'doctor' we met with. Sanders is a patient in a mental institution." She honestly didn't have much hope for his abilities to be of any use in telling them about the virus itself but at the very least, they had a lead on who was manufacturing it.

"Yeah, well, according to Dr. Buckner, he's created an antidote to Cullen."

Lizzie looked over at him in shock. "Sanders is researching a lethal virus from inside a psych ward?"

"That's not all – in order to test these theories, he'd have to synthesize the molecules, find out how they interact in vivo. For that, he'd need a lab." Lizzie looked over at Ressler as if he'd grown two heads, wondering where the hell all that jargon had come from.

When he noticed her face, Ressler scoffed, a smile on his face as he rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into hers. "What? I can learn."

Lizzie laughed and nodded her head. "And by that, you mean you asked Dr. Buckner."

"Shut up." He murmured good naturedly.

Lizzie had a difficult time wiping the smile off of her face. Only once she realized that they'd both been staring at each other with what were probably rather stupid grins right in the middle of the war room, did she look away, coughing slightly to cover her sudden awkwardness. "You really believe he's working with someone on the outside who's testing his theories, manufacturing an antidote?"

Ressler shrugged his shoulders, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "If Sanders has a partner, he may be the one who infected Blankenship. You've got to go back to him, find out who Sanders is working with."

Lizzie nodded but before she could reply, Aram came jogging over to them. "I ran every badge from every agency that responded to the incident at Westland Bank Homeland, FBI, FEMA and DCPD." He then made a beckoning motion with his hand as he walked back over to his computer. As they followed him over, Lizzie realized that he'd probably been trying to get their attention for awhile. With a furtive glance at Ressler, she caught him looking at her out the corner of his eye as well. And by his slight blush, she guessed he'd come to the same conclusion.

"Why limit the search to the bank?" Ressler asked once they reached Aram's work station, now refusing to meet Lizzie's eye.

"Because that's where I saw it a badge with the UD classification." Lizzie stated.

Aram nodded and hit a few keys on his keyboard. "Searching the preface 'UD' turned up nothing. So I widened to HHS, ADSTR, and I got a hit. The only department that uses the preface UD is the Center for Disease Control. 'Space Agent 4126' is Dr. Nikolaus Vogel. He lives in Arlington." With a flourish, Aram hit another key and Vogel's picture showed up on the screen.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie watched Meera who sat in one of the chairs at the table and Ressler who stood in his signature position – feet firmly planted with his hands on his hips – through the two-way mirror as they were in the interrogation room with Vogel.

"We need to have a few words, Dr. Vogel. Who are you blackmailing and why?" Ressler questioned. "I asked you a question." He barked when his inquiry was met with silence.

"Whatever the incident is, we know it's scheduled to happen today. Tell us what we need to know. Help up stop this. We can help you." Meera said more gently, apparently being the good cop today.

Vogel shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "There's nothing to say. There's nothing you can do." A small smirk adorned his face. "He's coming."

"Who's coming?" Meera questioned, her eyes darting towards the mirror where she knew Liz and Cooper were watching.

"Let me go in there, sir. Let me talk to him." Lizzie looked over at Cooper who was already shaking his head before she finished speaking.

"Absolutely not, Agent Keen. I will not put my pregnant agent into a room with a man that uses germ warfare as a blackmail tool.

"Sir, I think that's exactly why you should put me in there."

/\/\/\/\

"Tell me about the people you blackmailed. Who are they? You don't seem like someone with enemies." Lizzie questioned, her hands folded primly in front of her.

"Oh, no, they're not." He said with a small chuckle before taking a sip of water. "They're not my enemies at all. They're just different people from all walks of life."

"I'm gonna need names."

Vogel snorted derisively. "You can't have them. And it won't make any difference, anyway. How are you gonna help them?" He took another small sip of water. "I'm the only one that has what they want what they need. So, they're gonna carry out my instructions or die trying, no matter what you do. That's how blackmail works, sweetheart."

Lizzie smiled sweetly at the man. "I've got to hand it to you." She shook her head, her eyes alight with admiration. "It's a pretty sharp play. Infecting people with a fatal virus that only you have the antidote for and then telling them they can't have that antidote unless they do exactly as you ask. Such a smart plan that I borrowed it." Lizzie smirked as she took a thin case out of the pocket of her blazer and set it on the table, opening it up to reveal a vial of what she knew he knew was the cure for Cullen. " Now, I'm no doctor, so I don't know how fast this virus of yours takes to set in, but I know it will kill you, soon." She watched in twisted fascination as his eyes flickered to his glass of water. His hand slowly crept up towards his upper lip where a trail of blood was beginning to trickle down from his nose. "So you're gonna do what I say and give me those five names, 'cause that's how blackmail works, sweetheart." She stood up, walking over to the door. "Let me know when you're ready to talk."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie stood in the war room, looking over the evidence boards – not just the ones from this case but they now had boards with the highlights from every case they've worked with Red thus far. Straightening her shoulders, Lizzie looked at them, knowing what she had to do. The pattern wasn't clear to her, but she at least knew enough about her dad, about what was going on to know that there was an end game. Now it was time to start letting the FBI in on the secrets. "Oh, my God. It's all connected." She gasped, still gazing at the boards.

"What is?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ressler's head pop up like a gopher's from where he'd been hunched over a table.

"All of it, everything the blacklist. We've been looking at it all wrong. We see these cases Reddington gives us as individual, as if they're disconnected, but what if they're not random? What is there's a larger pattern to all of it?" She asked, spinning to look at the team. They all looked back with varying depictions of wary curiosity so she continued. "Reddington got a number from Wujing, a code that he entered into ViCAP after helping us stop General Ludd in order to identify Lucy Brooks, also known as Jolene Parker, who he then tracked down using The Alchemist's client list." Lizzie rattled off as she pointed to each corresponding case photo or note as she mentioned it. "They're connected. Maybe not all, but some. Gina Zanetakos, the courier. I believe they all trace back to one entity."

"Putting aside the fact that a good bit of that was news to us," Cooper paused, giving her a pointed look, his lips pinched in displeasure. Oops. "I'm assuming you're referring to the entity in Berlin."

Lizzie nodded, her insides twisting as she worried that she'd done the wrong thing. Cooper had been the one to let Red use the ViCAP database. But he hadn't known why or who Red had been searching for.

"So Reddington's using us to clear the table, wipe out the competition." Ressler questioned.

"That's what I thought. That's what we're trained to think. But that's not how he thinks. Look at this like he would, like a criminal. Reddington said he's bracing for war. And in a war, you need allies." She took a deep breath. "Put yourself in his position. It's not just the FBI who's after him. What if there's someone else, someone he can't stop alone? What better way for a criminal to turn the tables on someone than to get the FBI on his side? Our resources and our protection not to expand his empire, but simply to survive."

"Why wouldn't he just tell us who's after him?" Aram asked.

"Because he doesn't know." Ressler replied before she could do so. True enough. Lizzie thought to herself.

"Sanders said there's an impending apocalypse, and Vogel's words to us? 'He's coming?'" Lizzie put her arms out beside her in question. "Who's coming? Berlin. It's not a place. It's a person. And that person is coming for Red today."

Lizzie had to swallow heavily as fear hit her. This stuff had always existed at the back of her mind. Her entire personal history was wrapped up in the things her father did to protect her from the entities that wanted to kill him, who would use her to hurt him. Voicing it, however, has made it so much more real. Her father turned himself over to the FBI in order to receive their assistance. The freaking F.B.I. He'd thrived for the last 25 years and now suddenly he needs help. As the terror from the implications of this gripped her, her path became that much clearer. As her emotions raged inside of her, she put on her best poker face for the rest of the people in the room.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Dr. Vogel talked." Meera stated, hitting a button the the remote which brought up pictures of five individuals. "Meet our blackmail victims: an electrician, a maintenance person, a retired air–traffic controller, and an armored–truck driver."

"And they're connected how?" Cooper asked.

"Airports. Edger Pivens is a retired air–traffic controller. The others have contracts with various airports in the area. Waste management, security, and power upgrades. The driver of the armored vehicle? His company picks up payroll from regional airports."

"Paul Blankenship's replacement." Ressler added.

"This last guy, Dimitri Federov former pilot for Aeroflot, the Russian airline." Meera pointed to the man's picture.

"That's five victims." Cooper stated gruffly from where he stood at the back of the group as they all stared at the screen.

"Five horsemen." Ressler murmured.

Aram lifted his head up from his computer screen. "That's a great band name." At the varying looks of amusement his comment garnered, he quickly put his head back down as his cheeks became visibly red.

"And Vogel told you this was what? An attack?" Cooper asked, deciding not to comment on Aram's little outburst.

"He's not sure." Meera shook her head. "All he knows is that it involves some kind of prison transport."

Ressler blew out a harsh breath as realization dawned. "This isn't an outbreak."

"It's a jailbreak." Lizzie stated, having come to the same conclusion as Ressler.

"Notify the FAA and alert Tactical." Cooper ordered, pointing to Aram. "Put in a kite-runner to CENTCOM. Find that plane now."

As everyone else rushed off to do their jobs, Lizzie hung back.

"Sir, whoever is after Reddington is clearly coming after him today. I think we need to give him a protective detail."

Cooper nodded slowly as he gazed at her. "Something tells me that he isn't going to like that, Agent Keen. Meet with him. Convince him to come in."

Lizzie nodded and hurried off.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked across the park as quickly as she was able to, towards where her father was sat playing chess at one of the small tables.

"We need to leave." Lizzie stated firmly once she reached him

Red looked up and smiled at her, his eyes barely visible behind his rose tinted sunglasses.

"Lizzie! Have a seat! Would you like to join me for a game? It's so good to find a worthy opponent these days."

"I'm serious, we need to get out of here. Berlin is coming after you. Come with me to the Post Office. Please." Lizzie pleaded.

"Lizzie, sweetheart, sit down." Red gestured towards the chair that sat across the table from him. "All this stress really can't be good for you."

"We don't have time for this." Lizzie bit out.

Dembe stepped forward from where he'd been standing guard across the courtyard. "Raymond, I agree with Elizabeth. We should go."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to sit here and play chess, enjoy this beautiful day."

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Lizzie cried.

"Because the moment I hide, Berlin has won." Red stated firmly, his jaw set. He and Lizzie stared at each other for a moment, tension mounting between them. "Now Lizzie, on second thought, I think it would be a good idea, however, for you to head to the Post Office. Why Harold thought it was a good idea to send you out in the field today of all days, I will never know. Though I intend to ask him." Red looked down at the table in clear dismissal and Lizzie growled in pure frustration and fear.

Lizzie cursed under her breath. "Please Dad, Please. Let's just go. We don't even have to go to the FBI, please." She pleaded.

"Lizzie, what could that man possibly do to me that hasn't been done to me before? Kill me?" Red laughed harshly. "None of it is worse than losing you. I will not leave. But you should." Red nodded, his gaze flicking away from her. "Dembe." His voice was like a command.

Suddenly, Lizzie felt a hand grasp her elbow and looked down, her line of sight following the hand to the attached arm, the shoulder, and finally she glared directly at Dembe.

"No. Absolutely not." She shouted. "You don't always get to have your way. You can't do this anymore! You can't just ride off and leave me alone anymore!" Lizzie cried in anguish.

Red's lips pursed, his face constricting in despair. "Elizabeth, please Sweetheart. Trust me."

Before she could say anything, however, all three of them looked up at the sky at the sound of a terrible choked whirring noise. They stared in shock as a plane, with smoke billowing behind it, quickly lost altitude overhead, heading towards the Potomac river.

"Now it begins." Red murmured.

/\/\/\/\/\

"What do we know?" Cooper demanded as he walked into the war room from his office.

Aram startled slightly, having been so focused on his task but he quickly righted himself. "Prison transport – eight dead at the scene."

"NTSB says the plane was retrofitted with restraints." Meera continued where Aram left off. "Two victims– still unidentified– were found cuffed to their seats."

"Survivors?" Cooper asked.

"Witness accounts vary. Sightings have been reported from midtown to Wall Street." Lizzie replied.

"What about a manifest – an official record of who was on that plane?"

Lizzie shook her head. "There's nothing official about this."

"The FAA say they were tracking a plane that was supposedly a commercial flight that originated in Bogotá. At 4:53, they lost radar contact, transponders, radios. They now believe that the flight plan was bogus." Meera expounded, rounding the table as she pointed to the bogus flight plans that were currently on the screen.

"Altimeter readings indicate they were flying below 3,000 feet and along the borders between various air-traffic-control centers." Aram scratched his forehead in agitation as he spoke. "They flew in radar dead zones to fly undetected across American airspace."

Ressler walked over to the group as he put his phone away in his pocket. "DCPD just apprehended two suspects in a carjacking. They think they were passengers on that plane– a Chechen mobster wanted for arms trafficking in Brazil and a Colombian drug dealer."

/\/\/\/\/\

The news reports about the crash had been relegated to a constant buzz as they played on the majority of the screens in the war room. Lizzie stood at Aram's side at his work station, watching the live feeds of the interrogation rooms. Ressler and Meera as well as several other agents were questioning the prisoners, all with heavy accents, that they'd been able to catch who had been in that plane.

"– You heard me. The man – the pilot – he was shooting people."

"– I hear two shots behind me. I turn around – I see the pilot. He goes into the cockpit, and he shoots the co-pilot."

"– People are panicking, screaming."

"– The next thing I know I open my eyes, and this guy – the guy with the hood on his head – monster of a guy."

"– He's handcuffed to a guard."

"– And he's cutting his hand off."

"–cutting his hand off."

"–his hand off."

"–cutting hand."

"– Berlin? Berlin? I've never been to Berlin."

"– I don't know anybody named Berlin."

"– All I know is, they brought on some guy. Okay? Big guy."

"– He got a hood on."

"– He was handcuffed to some guy– a guard."

"– And he's got this guard attached to a handcuff next to him."

"– And then, when the plane is going down, the guy in the hood is telling the pilot what to do, like he was in charge."

"– Mr. Hood."

"– I don't know names."

"– Types, yes. Colombian, Serbian, Russian. How do I know there was a Russian? Besides being able to smell him? I saw his marks– the tattoos. Those Russians, they love their tattoos."

"– You want me to draw you a picture?"

[ News Report (in background): ] Despite a citywide manhunt, three of the prisoners from that crashed plane remain at large. Local authorities are still on high alert after trading gunfire with a barricaded suspect outside Gramercy Park. He's believed to be one of the missing prisoners. The suspect opened fire on police with a 9–millimeter semiautomatic before retreating into a nearby warehouse along with two hostages…

/\/\/\/\/\

Red sat at the table of his favorite coffee shop – they made just the most delicious bagels – with a small file in front of him as he munched on his food. As the chair across from his pulled out, loudly scraping against the linoleum floor, he trained his face into a disinterested mask.

"Hello, Ray. I got to tell you, Ray, this concerns me. I'm in the intelligence business. That means knowing things. We tried to trace where that plane originated, where it was headed – hell, even who it belongs to. We've come up dry. Why do I think this is connected to your adversary?"

Red gazed at Fitch and shook his head disbelievingly, a small huff of a laugh escaping his lips. "Perhaps if you had accepted my offer of alliance, neither of us would find ourselves in this position now – you managing a massive intelligence failure and national-news spectacle and me with a ghost adversary with a rather large grudge beating down my door."

"My people made their decision." Fitch countered before shrugging. "That said, I think they made the wrong one. Having you disappear into some black hole somewhere doesn't serve either of our interests."

Red smirked as he closed the file on his lap. "Does that mean you intend to help me?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. My hands are tied. Like I said, I can't find anything on the plane or this apparent enemy of yours."

"Then why the hell are you here? Your mere presence is enough to make this delicious bagel sour my stomach." Red snarked, pointing to his half eaten snack.

Fitch shook his head, rolling his eyes at Red's antics. "You know, every time we have one of these little talks, I wonder if it'll be our last. But when I consider the odds, I usually figure you'll come out fine. This time I'm not so sure. You and your task force are now targets. Good luck, Ray. If you make it out of this, I'll be sure to make the rest of the group believe you next time."

Fitch stood up to leave but then paused, turning around as he buttoned his coat. "Oh and Ray, the key is your daughter's ex-husband."

/\/\/\/\/\

Red quickly dialed Lizzie's phone number, looking anxiously around him as he stood at the pay phone a block away from the café. "Lizzie. Listen to me." He began speaking as soon as she picked up. "You're in danger. Everyone on the task force is a target."

"What are you talking about?"

"There'll be time to explain later. For now, pull everyone back. You are all in danger."

Lizzie stared down at her phone for a moment after Red hung up before looking over at Aram. "I'm calling Ressler and Meera back in."

After trying both of their phones several times and receiving no response, Lizzie threw her phone on the desk angrily. "I can't reach them. They're already in the field. I need an address."

Aram nodded meekly, before pulling something up on his computer.

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie looked around her desperately, a hand over her stomach as she waded through the crowd of wreathing bodies. She tried not to think about how stupid she looked –a pregnant woman in a club – she had more important things to worry about. Looking up towards the VIP section, Lizzie spotted Ressler, in the middle of cuffing someone. "Ressler! Ressler!" She yelled over the thumping music.

Ressler's head jerked up at the sound of her voice. "Find Meera! Find her!"

Lizzie nodded before making her way towards the hallway that circled around the dance floor, hoping to get her bearings. As she walked down the hallway, peering through the latticed wall that gave a peak into the dance floor, Lizzie came around a corner and tripped over something, catching herself at the last moment. Looking down at the floor to see what she'd tripped over, Lizzie gasped.

"Meera! Meera!" Lizzie dropped to her knees at the sight of her colleague clutching her throat, blood seeping through her fingers. "Oh, my God. No! No. Stay with me." She tried to cajole Meera as she placed her own hands over Meera's, knowing it was futile.

/\/\/\/\

"The aircraft that crashed into the East River earlier today is apparently being classified as a prison-transport plane. Rescue officials report that the cabin was retrofitted with restraints with the capacity for 10 to 12 passengers. No word yet on survivors. Its original flight plan is also still unknown. The plane appears to be similar in design to the C-47A, a common military plane–" Lizzie muted the small television in the office she shared with Ressler before hitting #1 on her speed dial.

"Are you alright?" He greeted the moment he answered.

"Meera's dead." Lizzie said wetly. "You said we were all targets. Why?" Lizzie questioned, leaning back in her chair.

Red was silent for a moment as he closed his eyes, dwelling in his guilt for a moment. Guilty for bringing this war to these agents' door. Guilt for being thankful that it wasn't his Lizzie. "The day I turned myself in to the FBI, you asked me why. There were many reasons. One of them was Berlin. That's why he's here – because the work we've done has forced him out of the shadows. He can't allow the task force to continue. Meera was a casualty in a war she didn't even know she was fighting. I'm afraid just by association, I've made you all potential targets."

Lizzie's resolved quickened as she set her jaw. "It was Tom. If Berlin had the names of the agents in the task force, he had to have gotten them from Tom. Sam's name was also in that book. Why? How is Sam involved in this?"

"It's all just pieces of a much larger puzzle, and until all the pieces are laying in front of you, it won't go together. What I do know is this – Sam's involvement was as your Pop. And no one can pervert or distort that. Right now, our task is to identify our enemy – our enemy today. Berlin wasn't the only prisoner on that plane, and whoever wanted him wanted the others, as well. You need to find out who that someone is."

/\/\/\/\

Ressler strode into the war room and set a file down on the table as he came to where Lizzie and Cooper stood. "This was an SVR op. This guy's a Russian fugitive being stolen back by his own country." He stated, pointing to the file of the man he'd just been interrogating. "No wonder the damn plane's unmarked."

Cooper shook his head in dismay. "The Russians are never gonna say a word about it, let alone release the manifest."

"You want me to get the State Department involved?"

"No." Cooper looked over at Lizzie. "I want you to get Reddington involved. Maybe he'll pay the Russian ambassador a visit."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Tuzik? Tuzik! Come! Tuzik." Red could hear the man calling for his dog as he entered his home. Red didn't have to wait very long before the man himself rounded the corner and found him sitting at his dining room table, a napkin tucked primly into the collar of his shirt, a bag of peaches beside him, and a cut peach on the plate in front of him which he was eating with the knife he'd cut it with.

"Mmm." Red chuckled as the small dog in his arm licked his cheek. "Good evening, Ambassador." He greeted brightly.

The man had stopped short in the doorway but slowly began to creep towards Red, rounding the side of the table. "Who the hell are you?"

"No need to worry. Tuzik and I are getting along splendidly. Care for a peach?" Red asked, gesturing to the bag. "I rarely enter someone's home for the first time without bringing a gift, and there's a wonderful little produce stand around the corner."

"I'm calling the police."

Straight to business then. "Mr. Ambassador, as we speak, there's an unmarked plane being pulled from the Potomac. I think we both know that plane is Russian."

The Ambassador stood to his full height, feeling now on firmer ground. "That plane has no ties to the Russian government."

Red chuckled softly, taking a bite of the peach he'd stabbed at the end of his knife. "You really should try the peaches. They're perfectly ripe– and freestone. Unlike a clingstone, the pit of a freestone separates more freely from the flesh, making it ideal for consumption. The prisoners on that plane– I need the manifest."

The ambassador's glance flicked to his dog and back to Red's face. "I swear if you hurt him"

"Oh, my goodness, no. I'm not a monster." Red laughed, putting the rest of the peach slice in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "You really think I'd harm a dog? You, on the other hand –" Red turned the knife in his hand and expertly threw it, watching with satisfaction as it embedded itself in the man's thigh.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked into the war room. "The manifest." She shouted, waving a sheet of paper above her head. "I just received it from Reddington."

Cooper walked over to her and she handed him the manifest. "According to this, there were three guards. Two were killed in the crash."

"The third is in ICU. They're just bringing him out of surgery now."

Ressler cleared his throat. "Based on everything we know, there were 10 prisoners on that transport. Three are in custody, four are confirmed dead, one of which is burned beyond recognition. Coroner's working to ID the John Doe now."

Lizzie nodded. "That leaves three convicts at large."

"Alexei Fayer, Bogdan Chrikoff, and Vadim Okecka." Ressler said, reading off of the manifest which Cooper had placed on the table between them.

"One of them has to be Berlin." Lizzie stated definitively.

Cooper nodded his head. "Talk to that surviving guard. Bring photos of our fugitives. Nobody sleeps until Agent Malik's killer is found."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie stood off to the side as Ressler showed photos of the prisoners that had been onboard the plane to the guard laying in the hospital bed, pointedly not looking at where the man currently had a stump instead of a hand.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no." The bearded, shaggy maned man muttered as he looked at each photo.

"Look, we know the situation you're in." Ressler sighed, unable to keep his impatience from leaking into his voice. "The people you work for – they know you're here, so whatever secret you're trying to protect–"

"We know about the man they call 'Berlin.'" Lizzie interjected. "We know he's one of those three, and we need you to tell us which one."

The man shook his head, laughing quietly. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"Why don't you tell us?" Lizzie asked.

The man sighed, pausing a moment as if to gather his thoughts. "I don't know his name. No one knows his name. All I know is the story."

"Story? What story?" Ressler pressed the man.

"They say he started in the Red Army and then the KGB, and he was notorious for sending off his enemies to the war camps in Siberia. Then, towards the end of the Cold War, some stories began to circulate that his daughter had fallen in love with a dissident. She was captured, imprisoned. But, you see, the Colonel – he knew his way around. He arranged so she could escape. When the Kremlin found out, they decided to make an example of him, so they sent him off to Siberia to rot away with his enemies. It is said that they could hear him every night praying for his daughter's safety, that she would never be found. And one day, something arrived in his cell. It was a pocket watch he had given his daughter, and inside was a picture of her. And a few months later, something else arrived– her ear. And then a finger. His enemies sent her back to him piece by piece. No one knows how he did it, but he did– some say that he carved a knife from one of his daughter's bones– and slaughtered all the men that had held him captive for so many years. Then he vanished, disappeared. A ghost hunting, searching for the man responsible for his daughter's death." The man smiled at Lizzie, shaking his head. "The man you're looking for is not on those photos. The man you're looking for was never on the manifest."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Cooper's been attacked." Lizzie greeted her dad when he answered his phone, a tear sliding down her cheek. "He's in pretty bad shape."

Complete radio silence was her answer and just as she was beginning to worry that he had hung up, she heard his peculiarly scratchy voice. "Lizzie, I am so sorry, Sweetheart."

Lizzie cleared her throat, trying not to break down completely. The Director wasn't dead. She would mourn when she needed to. "He was at the park, apparently meeting with Agent Martin to give him an update, check in with the Washington office. When he got into his car, his driver was dead. Someone was there waiting for him, tried to strangle him with a garrot."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie watched through the two-way as Ressler interrogated the man they'd rounded up.

"We have an eyewitness. You were picked up six blocks from the crime scene."

When the bald hulk of a man gave only a small smirk in answer, Ressler continued. "We have a bloody fingerprint inside the vehicle, surveillance from that club. You have one chance right now– who commissioned the hits? I want a name and location." The man's smirk widened before he puckered his lips in a clear mimic of a kiss.

Ressler huffed out a laugh tinged with anger. "Okay. All right. Funny thing, you know– I used to be a real Boy Scout, strictly by the book, followed all the rules." Ressler rounded the table to sit atop it next to the man shackled to his chair. "Then this thing happens. My fiancé, she gets killed– murdered right in front of me. The guy I did it– the only way I could get him was to forget all the rules. It was a real crossroads for me. Had to choose which path to take. The thing is, I think it's real important for you to know – the path I took there wasn't any rules. And the thing I realized was that sometimes, that's okay. Like when some greasy Russian starts murdering my friends!" At this, Ressler swung himself behind the man with incredible speed and grasped his collar, tightening it around the man's neck. "I want a name. I want a name! I want a name."

Just as Lizzie was about to intervene, the man choked out an answer.

/\/\/\/\/\

Red sat at the wingback across from where Fitch sat, having charmed and bribed his way into the man's club. Again. "Milos Pavel Kinsky – sometimes known as 'Berlin.' He's a Russian national, former Spetsnaz Commando, trained in the KGB's 45 Division. Organized crime is now his fancy."

Fitch gazed at Red, a look of annoyed disinterest shaping his features. After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him, however, and he took the folder out of Red's outstretched hand. Red leaned forward and poured himself a measure of Scotch from where it'd been sitting on the small table that sat between them as Fitch read.

After several quiet minutes, Fitch looked up, shaking his head. "Makes Putin look like a Christmas elf. Now that you know who he is, what exactly did you do to put him in such a bad mood?"

Red shrugged. "I'm just as curious as you."

"And you're here because you want…?"

"Access. The kind even the FBI doesn't have. All those spinning satellites that record every keystroke, every phone call, everybody's dirty little secrets. You find him for me, and I'll do the rest."

"I heard about Harold." Fitch evaded.

Red pursed his lips and stood, placing his fedora back on his head and tugging at the brim. "Find him."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sighed as she slouched in the backseat of her father's car, her dad sitting right beside her. It was one in the morning and Red had convinced Harold to let her go home to get some sleep. She knew she should be embarrassed but she was just too damn tired.

"I'm not sure how long we're going to be able to keep up this charade."

"To which charade are you referring to, Lizzie?"

"This whole thing, Dad. The Blacklist, the FBI, keeping our relationship a secret – or rather, apparently, the worst kept secret in the criminal circles." She huffed, shaking her head.

"Lizzie, we must. To publicly acknowledge that you're my daughter would put you in grave danger."

Lizzie's eyes snapped towards her father as Dembe drove them to her house in silence. "Meera is dead. Cooper is laying in a hospital bed, his throat sliced. I'm pretty sure I'm already in grave danger, Dad." She bit out.

"Because you are FBI, because you a part of the task force. If it came out that you were my daughter, not only would you lose your job but a whole new slew of threats will surface Lizzie." He argued, his eyes pinched.

Lizzie bit her lip, trying to stave off the tears. Luckily, Red's phone began to ring.

"Yes?" he answered.

A pause.

"I'm listening."

Another pause before he hung up.

"Was that your source?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes." He murmured.

"Did he find Berlin?"

Red cleared his throat and pointedly looked out the window. "We'll have to keep looking."

/\/\/\/\/\

Red walked purposefully towards the beat up apartment building, his gun at his side. As he came level with two thugs on the street, clearly guards, they fumbled with their holsters, giving Red ample time to shoot both in the chest.

He ambled up the stairwell, towards the apartment where he knew Berlin was hiding. Silently picking the lock for the front door, he entered the apartment. Walking in, he found the man – Kinksy – sitting with his back to the door, on the phone.

"Let's deal with the other female agent first. Then I want you to take care of the ginger."

Rage boiled inside Red's veins as he realized who the man was referring to. He quickly rounded the table, his gun pointed at the man's chest as he smiled benignly, not an ounce of his anger twisted his features.

"You must be the one they call 'Berlin.'"

The man looked at Red, then at the gun pointed at him and smirked.

"I must say, I'm very good at finding people. I've tracked enemies far and wide. I once found a hedge–fund manager hiding in the Amazon with the Yawalapiti on the banks of the Kuluene River. You know what the key to finding your enemies is? Remembering everyone's name. It's critical to my survival. Anyone knows the head of some drug cartel in Colombia, some politician in Paris. But I know their wives, girlfriends, children, their enemies, their friends. I know their favorite bartender, their butcher. I remember the name of the baker I stole the strawberry bismark from when I was 11 years old and his wife–Trudy Svoboda. But you– I have no idea who in the Sam Hill you are." Red threw his hands up in the air in exasperation before aiming his gun back at the man. "I have not a clue what I've done to you, what I've taken from you. And yet, of all the people I've hurt, none of them have come after me with half as much vim and vigor as you. I don't even recognize your face." Red shouted. "I'm stymied. And yet, here we are. You found me."

Kinsky laughed drily. "Through your weakness." He said softly. "I searched for one for years– a weakness that would allow me to get to you. I nearly gave up. And then I find out about her. Seemed so implausible that someone so careful could be so careless. And so I exploited it and waited. And here we are thanks to Elizabeth Keen."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat at Cooper's bedside. According to the nurse, he had woken briefly before she'd arrived, but had yet to awaken again. She couldn't stand to see the man that she'd come to see as a mentor in such a state, with bandages around his neck and his hands from where he'd tried to pry the weapon away from his neck. "You, Meera, it's all because of me." She murmured, finally allowing more tears to fall.

After sitting with him for awhile longer, Lizzie finally made her way out of the hospital and to her car. Looking in the rear view mirror, intending to check her face for tear marks, Liz gasped when she saw Tom's reflection. He sat in the backseat, a gun pointed at her.

"Hey, babe." Tom greeted with a small grin.

/\/\/\/\

"Help me understand what horrible thing I did to you that could possibly make all of this worth it. Who on God's green Earth are you?" Red didn't give the man any time to answer him before he shot the man in the hand. Kinsky screamed in pain, twisting in his seat as much as he was able to in his restraints, his face reddening in agony.

"What was that? Being shot in the hand is just an absolute bitch– all those little bones. At least it goes right through." Red shrugged, not a care in the world as the man breathed heavily. "Worst part, honestly, is needing somebody to help zip your fly. Tell me your story. I'm not leaving here without a story."

Red paused for a breath before raising his gun once more and shooting Kinsky in the hip. The man threw his head back, screaming in sheer agony as he stomped his feet against the floor. "Being shot in the hip, on the other hand– Jiminy Cricket. Thick bone, large artery not to mention the fact that it makes walking upright forever impossible. Just don't pass out. Stay focused." Red leaned towards Kinsky. "The story. What did I do to you?"

The man grunted, breathing shallowly before he leaned forward as much as he was able and spat in Red's face. Rearing back in disgust, Red fished in his pocket for his kerchief. Whipping it out with a flourish, he quickly wiped down his face. Placing the kerchief back in his pocket, Red rested his gun against Kinsky's knee. "How about the kneecap? The IRA always loved a good kneecapping."

"Beirut! Beirut." The man finally yelled.

Red took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. "The Campolongo Incident."

At the sound of footsteps, Red looked up and stopped short at the sight of Lizzie walking into the room, followed closely by Tom who held a gun to her head. His poker face slipped for a moment as terror sketched valleys in his face.

"Slide it. Slide the gun now." Tom ordered.

"No." Red answered, his poker face slamming back across his features. Red's eyes flicked over to Lizzie as he kept his gun trained on Kinsky. "Are you hurt?"

"Do it! Kill her! Pull the trigger! Do it! Now!" Kinksy yelled at Tom, disallowing Lizzie from answering her father.

"Don't do it. Do you hear me?! – Tom. Please." Lizzie pleaded, tears making fresh tracks down her face.

"Shoot her! This man – he take everything from me! For what? For nothing. For money – business. He snaps his fingers, and my life was–"

Red shot Kinksy in the head, bringing a sudden and gory end to the man's rant.

"Well, that simplifies matters. Just the three of us. Red now kept his gun trained on the small amount of Tom's head that peaked out from where he shielded himself behind Lizzie. Red slowly walked closer to them, his eyes never leaving Tom as Tom's never left him. "Tom, put the gun down before you do something you'll deeply regret. I'm the one you want. Make the right choice, Tom. But make it fast. Because when I get over there, I'm gonna take that gun away from you."

The bang of a gun rent through the air as Tom shot at Red, though his view was obstructed by Lizzie's hair. Red flinched, hissing as he looked down at his now bleeding arm.

Taking her chance, Lizzie elbowed Tom in the gut, causing the man to reflexively lower his arms to protect his vital organs. Spinning quickly, Lizzie grasped the gun in his hand, yanked it from his grip and aimed it at his stomach, before firing three shots before she could even allow herself to think. They looked at each other in shock. Tom slid down the wall as Lizzie backed away, dropping the gun as her jaw dropped in shock.

Red came up behind Lizzie, wrapping one arm around her shoulder, he gently reeled her in towards him so that she was facing him, her head resting against his shoulder. Wincing slightly as he brough his wounded arm up, he quickly took aim and shot Tom in the head.

"Shhh. It's alright." He murmured softly in Lizzie's ear as she jolted at the sound.

It took a moment for the meaning of that sound to perforate her shock. When it did, Lizzie began slamming her fist into her father's chest. "You had no right! You son of a bitch! How could you do that? He was my – "

Stepping back, Red grasped Lizzie's chin. "He was an imposter."

Red's words cut through Lizzie's rant and she swallowed thickly as her tears flowed. Staring at her dad, her face crumpled in anguish and she quickly threw her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry! I shot him and then you… and I can't…"

Realizing Lizzie was in the middle of a full blown panic, Red quickly untangled her arms from around his neck and stepped back. "Lizzie. Lizzie, sweetheart, I need you to listen to me. I need you to breath, Darling. Can you do that for me?"

Panicked eyes met his as she shook her head, her lips shuddering as she gasped.

"Yes, yes you can, Sweetheart. Deep breath in" Red allowed his chest to visibly expand as he showed her what to do. "And out." He said on an exhale. "Yes, that's good, Lizzie. Again."

"Good, you're doing great. Keep doing it."

After a few moments, Lizzie's breath evened out and Red drew her back towards his chest, cradling her head in his hand. "I swear to god, Lizzie. I'm making Baz drive you from the Post Office to home, no stops in between. I can't take much more of this." The thought Your baby can't take much more of this sat unsaid between them.

"How am I ever supposed to reconcile with what we just did?" He heard her murmur into his shoulder after several minutes of silence.

"You don't." He stated simply. "You can only find the thing that heals your soul, wipes away every misdeed, and continue forward."

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie stood at Meera's desk, slowly packing the woman's personal effects into a cardboard box. Picking up a small picture frame, Lizzie bit her lip as she gazed down at the photo of Meera's kids. "Her kids were only 8 and 5." She murmured as she felt Ressler's presence walk up beside her.

Ressler wrapped an arm around Lizzie's shoulders and she gratefully leaned into him. "Any update on Cooper?" He asked softly.

Before she could answer, Aram walked over to them. "Um the coroner, uh, just called in the results on the John Doe– the charred body found at the scene." He stated, trying not to look at the way that Ressler's arm was wrapped snuggly around Liz but failing miserably. "He wasn't a prisoner." He finished flatly.

Ressler and Lizzie pulled away from each other simultaneously. "He had to be. I mean, we accounted for everyone." Ressler argued.

Lizzie took the papers that Aram held in his hands and read through them quickly. "This report identifies him as the third guard on the manifest."

"What?" Ressler asked sharply. "No. I mean, the third guard – he's in a hospital. Berlin cut his hand off."

Aram froze, his eyes shifting as his brain raced a mile a minute. "Oh, no."

Ressler blew air out of his nose, clearly impatient. "What is it?"

"He cut his hand off." Aram murmured with dawning horror.

"Yeah, that's what all the prisoners said – he cut his hand off." Lizzie said, confused by Aram's hang up on such a detail.

"No, no. It's, um, it's a lexical ambiguity. He cut his hand off." Aram explained.

Lizzie froze as well as it dawned on her. "Berlin cut off his own hand?"

Ressler swore, running a hand through his hair. "The guard."

/\/\/\/\/\

After the incident with Tom and Kinsky, Lizzie was more than willing to agree to Cooper's terms that she was not to leave the office except to go home. So the moment she took Ressler's call, she had been sat at her desk with only her desk lamp on and dozing. His announcement that Berlin was gone and a male nurse had been stabbed with a femur woke her up rather quickly, however.

After they hung up, Lizzie hit #1 on her speed dial.

"The man you killed wasn't Berlin."

Red sighed and Lizzie could hear the distinct sound of glass clattering together as he set a glass down. "Yes, I know."

"You know? How?"

"He spoke of Beirut 2010, the Campolongo incident– an unfortunate mess, but Berlin's attacks on my business started years earlier. The moment he said it, I knew."

"But you didn't say anything?" Lizzie grumped.

"Berlin needs to believe I think he's dead. It provides us with an advantage."

"So, he's still out there." Lizzie furiously beat her rising panic back down.

"We will find him, Lizzie. I promise."

"Can I come stay over at your safe house tonight?" Lizzie practically whispered, embarrassed that she needed the reassurance.

There was silence for a moment before she heard him heave a sigh. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I'm half way across the Atlantic right now. I've got a few trees to shake."

"Oh uh…yea. Ok. That's fine. I'll talk to you when you get back."

"Lizzie –"

She hung up before he could hear her sobs.

/\/\/\/\

Red awoke, his head pounding, to a cacophony of children's laughter and gunfire. From his limited view, he could tell that he was laying in the back of a jeep and could see the children shooting at a military Humvee as it chased them through the jungle, that is, until one of the children took them out with a rocket launcher. Lovely.

Red allowed the children to lead them toward their "leader" who sat on a tattered airplane seat.

Red chuckled as he drew near, watching as the man in front of him took a large chug of rum straight from the bottle. "Oh, my stars. Is that how you cope with this insufferable humidity? I couldn't do it."

"We had an agreement." The man muttered.

Red nodded as he looked behind him at the ripped and torn bench seat of a car which was moonlighting as a couch before sitting down on it. "We did."

"I told you if I ever found you in my territory again, I'd kill you."

Red smiled pleasantly, cocking his head towards a boy who was currently pulling Red's fedora down on his head. "Tell the boy not to pull on the brim of the hat, Yaabari."

"What's in the box?" Yaabari nodded his head towards the large, heavy duty plastic crate that some of his men had unloaded from the jeep.

"I've come to propose a business transaction."

"No, we have no business. The box."

One of Yaabari's men attempted to shoot at the lock of the box, to no avail and he began arguing with one of his associates in Bantu.

Red sighed wistfully. "Typically, I steer clear of tin-pot dictators who employ boy soldiers, but I'm afraid this situation is unique."

The man who had attempted to shoot the box open, walked up to Red and began yelling in Bantu, holding his gun at Red's head.

"Well, now you're being shortsighted." Red muttered, his eyes boring into the other man who continued to yell in Bantu.

Red looked over at Yaabari. "Tell him to put the gun down."

Yaabari sighed before he lazily raised his hand and shot the man.

Red looked down at the lifeless body and gave a nod. "I'm glad to know you're a man of decisive action. You see, Yaabari, you didn't actually find me. I found you. And while your prepubescent ruffians may not know it, they brought me here to strike a deal that could benefit all of us."

Yaabari threw his head back and laughed. "What kind of deal?"

/\/\/\/\/\

"A man calling himself Berlin hired a bounty hunter to find me and my associates. That bounty hunter worked for you. I've since dispatched of him, but if Berlin hired one bounty hunter, he hired five. I want their names. I'm willing to pay $3 million." Red gestured beside him to where a couple of Yaabari's men held the now opened box aloft and large wads of money poured out of the box. "We do need to move quickly, though. You have –"

"Or what?"

"Or you give me the names for free." Red laughed, shaking his head. "We really should act swiftly."

Yaabari began to laugh as well. "We really should kill you and keep your money." He stated with a large grin.

"Now, there's a point of view that I can relate to." Red chuckled darkly before his face grew serious and drawn. "Yaabari, look at me. Give me what I want, or so help me God, I'll make it rain fire on you."

Yaabari's face twisted into a cruel smirk as he slouched in his seat. "Kill him." He ordered one of his boy soldiers. Before the boy could carry out his orders, a distinct whistling noise grew closer and closer before a sudden explosion rocked the camp.

Red laughed at Yaabari's sudden panic as the man jumped up and began barking orders before turning back to Red. "Funny thing I recently acquired three hellfire missiles at a considerable discount. If you give me what I want, I can still call off the other two. But I'll need to borrow your phone."

"I know nothing!"

"Mm. I think you do, Yaabari. I think you've heard things. Who else has Berlin hired to hunt me?"

"The Cuban." Yaabari quickly stated, looking at the sky warily.

Red shook his head, grabbing one of Yaabari's bottles of alcohol and poured it over the pile of money. "Orci. I've dealt with Orci. Who else?"

"I told you I don't know!" The distinct whistle followed by another, closer, explosion. "Okay. There was someone. I-I can't remember his name. They call him something the, 'The Prince,' 'The Lord.'"

Red frowned. "Lord Baltimore." Taking a cigar out of its case, Red quickly clipped it and lit it. Grinning at Yaabari, he threw his match onto the pile of money which ignited quickly.

/\/\/\/\/\

Red chuckled as Lizzie walked up to where he sat on the park bench. "Did you take a different route?" He teased.

Lizzie shook her head before wordlessly handing him a small rectangular piece of paper. "I can't believe you forgot." She muttered with no real heat.

Red stared down at the ultrasound photo, smiling brightly. "Oh look at that! They've got my head shape. Poor child."

"Poor boy." She corrected.

Red began to laugh before choking it back as her words hit him, causing him to do a double take. "Really?" He breathed.

Lizzie smiled, her eyes glittering with happiness. "Yep. You're going to have a grandson."

"Oh Sweetheart!" Red cried, standing up and grasping her hand to pull her up into a tight hug which she gladly returned, laughing at his excitement.

"I'm so happy for you, Lizzie." He murmured in her ear.

"Thanks, Dad." She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry. Dammit, stupid hormones.

/\/\/\/\/\

It had taken quite some time and quite a few promises of a celebration meal before their shared excitement died down enough for them to remember that they were meeting for a reason.

"Justice is freaking out." Lizzie stated, her glum tone a far cry from what it'd been just minutes before. "Hellfire missiles? – Seriously?"

Red shrugged, cocking his with a small smile on his face. "Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about."

"Martin won't protect the task force." She stated, speaking of the interim Director who took over while Cooper is out. "He doesn't care that Berlin is still targeting us. And without Cooper to defend our actions –"

"People love to decry big brother, the NSA, the government listening in on their most private lives, yet they all willingly go online and hand over the most intimate details of those lives – to big data." Red cut in.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Most people don't care that Google knows their search history."

"They know more than that." He stated gruffly. "They know your habits, the banks you use, the pills you pop, the men or women you sleep with. Every piece of information is worth something to somebody. And in the hands of the wrong person, that could be deadly."

Lizzie gazed at her dad for a moment before shaking her head as she picked up his trail. "You have a lead."

Red gave a sharp nod. "Lord Baltimore is in town."

"Lord Baltimore?"

"He's a tracker by trade, but his methods are thoroughly modern. He's made an art of combing through cyberspace, finding the status updates, financial records, and location blips that virtually everyone leaves behind in the modern age."

"And he has a new target?"

"Yes. Me." At this, Lizzie's eyes widened. "Follow this, Lizzie. It's our first lead. If we find Lord Baltimore, he may very well point us to Berlin."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Berlin has hired a skip tracer who calls himself Lord Baltimore." Lizzie said, looking from Aram to Ressler as she spoke.

"The man burns three million dollars and rains down Hellfire missiles and Reddington brings you a bounty hunter?" Martin asked from behind her.

Lizzie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Barely. "He's more than a bounty hunter. He's a statistician."

"Even less impressive. What does he do, find them with a slide ruler?" Martin chuckled at his own joke.

"No. With data analytics." Aram spoke up.

Ressler turned to Aram. "You've heard of this guy?"

"Yeah. Lord Baltimore is an urban legend." Aram enthused, his face nearly rapturous. "They say he roams the deep web, hunting those who don't wish to be found. Uses some sort of collection algorithms to build a dossier based on the information that people give away online."

"He's a data miner. Aram, can you pull up that file you showed me? Rowan Mills. She works as a data engineer at Quancord Analytics." Lizzie requested, turning to face the screen as Aram brought up the file.

"Agent Keen asked me to look for any irregularities in the accounts of employees at the six big data firms. I found several, but this was especially odd: a $250,000 payment that went into Mills' I.R.A. out to an offshore account." Aram stated in explanation of the data and figures they were seeing.

/\/\/\/\/\

The petite woman who sat in front of Liz and Ressler twirled her ring around her thumb nervously as she spoke. "Yes, $250,000 was deposited into my I.R.A., but as soon as I saw that, I changed my passwords and I reported it. I'm telling you, I'm the victim here."

"And you said this wasn't the first time you were targeted?" Lizzie asked gently.

Rowan nodded her head. "There was an incident in August."

"What kind of an incident?" Ressler questioned in his usual gruff manner.

Rowan shrugged her shoulders. "Someone accessed my systems."

"Looking for what? Bank accounts? Credit-card numbers?"

"It would be impossible to know what they were looking for because the data we gather has no limits."

"They were looking for someone who doesn't want to be found." Lizzie said, trying to point the woman in the right direction.

"Could the data that was taken help them do that?" Ressler asked.

Rowan scoffed, a small smirk adorning her face. "Yes. That's what we do."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Did you hear what she said?" Lizzie looked over at Ressler as he drove them back to their hotel.

Ressler chuckled under his breath. "We just interviewed the girl for a half hour, Liz. You're gonna need to be more specific than that.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, a small smile gracing her face. "The bit about how their whole purpose is to find people who don't want to be found. Isn't that… creepy? How easy it is to track someone? I mean, I just feel like – I don't know – someone is watching me."

Ressler glanced over at Liz for a second before putting his eyes back on the road. "Hey." He said softly, reaching out one of his hands and grasping hers where she had it resting on the seat next to her. "You can't think like that. Tom's dead. That whole thing is behind you now." He murmured soothingly.

Lizzie merely nodded, biting her lip as she looked out the window. Though she squeezed his hand in gratitude, happy to notice he didn't let go.

"You talk to Dr. Friedman yet?" Lizzie asked after a moment, looking back over at Ressler.

"Don't change the subject." A small twitch of a smirk on his lips told Lizzie he could see right through her.

"The visits are mandatory." She persisted.

"Look, the Bureau isn't interested in our mental health. They've assigned a shrink to talk to us to cover their asses in case one of us wigs out, but that ain't gonna be me."

Liz snorted in derision. "You're too healthy to talk to a shrink?"

"I talk to you all the time." He teased. "Aren't you board certified?"

"Yeah. And in my professional opinion, I think you need to talk to Dr. Friedman."

/\/\/\/\/\

Just a few hours later, Ressler and Lizzie were sitting in Rowan Mills' apartment. She'd called them up, absolutely terrified about a voicemail. So they figured they'd come take a listen.

Hello, Rowan. I know about that little chat you had today with the FBI. So, I'm going to make this real simple for you. I'm warning you, do not talk to them again. I know where you live.

Liz and Ressler trade glances as the voicemail – complete with automated voice to disguise the caller – ends. "This person calls you by name." Lizzie pointed out.

Rowan sighed, twisting the ring on her thumb once more. "I don't know. It could be anyone."

"It's as if they know you, though." Ressler persisted.

"What about the apartment? Any reason to believe there might be something missing, – out of place?" Lizzie asked.

Rowan looked around them nervously. "You think someone's been in here?"

Lizzie held up a finger, grimacing apologetically as she rummaged in her pockets for her phone. Taking a look at the Caller ID, she quickly answered it. "Hey, perfect timing. I'm gonna need you to trace a call."

"Okay. Great. But I have something. Our suspect, Mills, she's telling the truth. Security at Quancord Analytics confirm her terminal was hacked from the outside." Aram's voice came on the other line.

"Any idea what was taken?"

"Uh, yeah, like, a gajillion bytes of online data, – which makes no sense."

"Why?"

"Because Mr. Reddington's a Luddite. No e-mail, no computer, no digital communication of any kind. I mean, Dembe uses disposable flip phones for God's sakes. Why would Berlin hire Lord Baltimore to track him? Unless –" Aram cut himself off, apparently unwilling to finish the thought.

"You think they might be looking for one of us?"

"Not a day goes by where I don't think about Agent Malik." Aram murmured.

"Me too."

After a slight pause, Aram sighed. "What number do you need me to trace?"

"Rowan Mills received a message last night. I need a location."

/\/\/\/\/\

The tires screeched as Ressler, Liz and a unit of agents pulled up outside of the location where the call had originated from.

"You're staying in the car until we clear the scene." Ressler demanded then held up a finger as Lizzie opened her mouth to argue. "No arguments! That little boy needs you to keep your ass in this truck. You got me?" Ressler stated, pointing a finger at her stomach.

Sighing in defeat and knowing that he was right, Lizzie nodded her head and watched as he hopped out of the truck and jogged after the team of agents entering the building.

Within minutes, Lizzie's phone rang.

"Hey, it's clear. You're gonna want to see this."

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie looked around the apartment she was in. there were various gadgets, a rather impressive computer system, and shockingly, a few photos of Rowan with some friends. Though they didn't seem to be photos a stalker would take then hang up as some sort of shrine. It seemed, to Lizzie, as something someone would do to remember the moments captured with their friends.

"Ressler. Let's get Mills in here. I want to see how she reacts to this."

"Sure, but you're leaving the moment she comes."

"Oh come on!"

"Nope. No arguments. You know the rules. But you suck at following them. That's why I'm here.

/\/\/\/\/\

Red smiled sweetly at Cooper as the man came slowly down the stairs to his own living room, leaning heavily on a cane. "Hello, Harold. Please apologize to Charlene, your side gate may need a new lock. A get-well present." Red said breezily, holding out a flash drive which Cooper took hesitantly.

Red leaned forward, squinting as he inspected Cooper's neck where a thin scar stretched across the entire front, right below his Adam's apple. "It looks so soft. Shea butter?"

Cooper ignored the question and waved the flash drive. "Is this what I think it is?"

"When are you coming back to work?" Red evaded the question with one of his own.

"I'm not."

Red shook his head in disappointment. "Things are at a tipping point, Harold. Your replacement has the unfortunate distinction of being both untrustworthy and incompetent."

"I've informed the Bureau. It's time to be with my family. Charlene's from the Dominican. I've always promised we'd spend more time there."

"I hate sand." Red stated, pursing his lips in distaste.

"If this is some kind of threat?"

Red laughed, shaking his head. "It's not a threat, Harold. It's a bribe. That is my only copy of Our Little Adventure in Kuwait. I'm giving it to you only to underscore the urgency of our situation."

Cooper sighed but pocketed the flash drive. "I'm not coming back."

"You need to get back on your feet. There's no shame in being a cripple."

Cooper glared at Red, shifting unsteadily on his feet to take weight off his bad leg. "I'll remember you to Charlene."

"I know what they found while you were at the hospital. I know about the diagnosis. Let's get the job done."

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat back in the chair. Having convinced Ressler that she would be perfectly safe since the petite woman was currently shackled to the opposite chair in the interrogation room, he'd allowed her to take point on her interrogation. "I mean, you got to do better than that."

Rowan shook her head. "It's the only possible explanation."

"And this Nora – She died?"

"In Mosul, seven years ago. But if what you're saying is true, if all of this is real, then it's the only explanation. My twin sister is alive."

/\/\/\/\/\

"It's nice to have you back, Mr. Howe. Your rib eye is on its way to your room along with a complimentary bottle of '82 Margaux." The Concierge simpered as he followed Red and Dembe towards the steps of the hotel.

"Thank you, Steven." Red murmured.

"Are you sure you want to take the stairs?"

"Doctor's orders. We'll be fine." Red stated in clear dismissal as he headed up the aforementioned stairs. "I don't remember him." He murmured to Dembe. "Find out who he is and put two more men on detail downstairs."

Both Red and Dembe paused on the landing at the growing sound of helicopter blades.

"You hear that?" Red asked, looking around. Suddenly, a helicopter took up the entirety of the view out the window next to them. Glass began to shatter as the men inside the helicopter began shooting into the hotel. Ducking for cover in the melee, Red covered his head and so didn't notice the men using ropes to jump into the hotel. He did, however, hear the distinct sound of Dembe's weapon, able to recognize his preferred pistol. Red looked up only to be plunged into darkness as a hood was placed over his head and he was dragged away.

/\/\/\/\/\

The hood was removed and Red found himself tied to a chair inside of a warehouse, a rather very attractive Persian woman wearing boots, khakis and a tank top, was stood near him, leaning over a computer.

"Lord Baltimore. Aren't you a surprisingly saucy minx." He flirted.

The woman quickly spoke in Hebrew to the armored man next to her, never taking her eyes of the screen. The man soon left, off to follow her orders. "Unbelievable." The woman murmured before looking away from the computer. "I'm sorry. Who is it exactly that you think I am?"

Red took a second look at the woman, his eyes wandering over her body from head to toe. "You're Mossad." He stated before chuckling. "Please don't tell me this is about that little dust-up in Haifa."

"That 'dust-up' claimed the lives of two agents and a Turkish diplomat."

Red threw his head back and laughed. "A diplomat? I had nothing to do with it."

The woman raised a brow and shrugged her shoulder. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

"Oh, you have no idea how I wish that were true. I have tens of thousands of things to worry about. Fortunately, you, my dear, are not one of them."

"And why is that?"

"Because the person you just informed of my capture is going to release me within the hour." Red stated with a smirk.

"Aren't we confident today?"

Red flashed her a smile. "I'm confident every day."

The woman couldn't wipe a small smirk from her face. "And I thought we had nothing in common."

/\/\/\/\

"Your younger brother, Shahin, was killed in the 2009 Pishin Bombing. In Farsi, Shahin, means – "

She looked at him sharply, unable to mask her confusion. "Falcon. How did you know?"

"I know everything about the people who are tasked with finding me. Your turn. How did you do it?"

The woman smirked, leaning against the table behind her. "You possess an affinity for Zegna ties."

Red chuckled. "So do millions of other men."

"Thousands, actually at least in the Northeast Corridor. Nonetheless, this sample was far too broad to be of any practical use. However, we couldn't help but notice that you lean toward a darker, earth-tone palate – chocolate and oxblood – geometric shapes, rarely stripes. We introduced a diblock copolymer nanoparticle marker into the brown dye in their factory in Novara, which supplies all the vendors on the Eastern seaboard."

Red laughed, shaking his head. He had to admit, even if only to himself. He was impressed. "Effectively turning every earth-toned Zegna tie into a homing device. Brilliant. Just like a bloodhound."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Hey, I got something! I got something." Aram cried out from where he sat at his desk. Lizzie and Ressler hurried over to see what he'd dug up. "Okay, so, the collection algorithms – that Lord Baltimore uses?"

"Yeah." Lizzie replied.

"I applied them to the data he hacked, and, uh, I think I see how he does it. It's amazing. He's using personal details about his target's life to create markers to narrow his search. So he's looking for someone who lived in D.C. before 1990, has a prescription for Lipitor through Medco, downloads World War II documentaries on Netflix not Amazon and has a digital subscription to both the Wall Street Journal and CatFanatic."

Ressler's brow raised in morbid fascination. "Reddington has a subscription to Cat Fanatic?"

"No. Turns out Lord Baltimore's not looking for Mr. Reddington."

/\/\/\/\/\

"Your suspect's been remanded into my custody." Martin stood at the entrance to the warehouse, holding out a sheaf of papers which the lovely Mossad agent snatched from his fingers and read.

"This references a task force. What task force?"

Martin smiled tightly. "It's a matter of national security."

"Perhaps next time." Red said to the woman as he was released from his handcuffs and walked over to the FBI agents.

"Keen wants you to take a look at these." Martin muttered to him as they exited the building. Red took the documents before spinning on his heel.

"Ms. Navabi." He called, happy to see that she stood at the entrance to the doorway. "Jundallah claimed responsibility for the bomb that killed your brother. They had nothing to do with it. I can give you the name of the man who did."

Ms. Navabi smiled bitterly. "Walid Abu Sitta. Disappeared from his hotel room in Jiyeh last May." She paused, giving him a small smirk. "Police are baffled."

Red laughed, shaking his head. "Are they?"

/\/\/\/\/\

"What the hell is going on? Martin said you were extracted by Mossad." Lizzie answered her phone when he called her. He had refused any FBI transport and so waited for Dembe, who'd only been just around the block. He now sat in the back of his car, languishing in the air conditioning.

"We'll discuss it later. What am I looking at?" He asked, looking down at the rather large folio with what appeared to be ID's of various women.

"Targets. Turns out Berlin didn't contract Lord Baltimore to find you. He's looking for a woman."

"What woman?" He asked, rifling through the pages until he noticed a familiar face. Snatching the page out of the stack, he stared at it, his spine stiffening.

"We're not sure. We only know her profile. Aram was able to narrow the search, but that still leaves us with over 200 potential targets."

"Naomi Hyland." He murmured.

"Who? W-who is Naomi Hyland?"

"You need to get a unit to her right now."

"She's in protective custody. Wait. I don't understand. Uh, how do you know?"

"Listen, Lizzie." Red said urgently. "Berlin is coming for this woman. You have to move now."

"Why? Who the hell is Naomi Hyland?"

"She was my wife." Red stated, closing his eyes and bracing himself for impact.

"What?" Red pulled the phone away from his ear at her screech. "I'm going to kill you. You're dead. No. Wait. I amend that. I'm going to have this baby and then I'm going to kill you, it'll be so much easier for me that way." Lizzie ranted. "She's alive?!"

"Elizabeth, I didn't know until I just saw her picture. You must believe me. We can discuss this later, but right now, you need to send people out to retrieve her and bring her in."

"Oh we are definitely talking about this." She demanded before hanging up.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie looked down at her caller ID as her phone rang. She'd been catching up on paper work in her office and relished the distraction.

"Hey Ress, what's up? Did you visit Rowan's mother?"

"Yea, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I just found Nora Mills' body. I don't know. Either Rowan is the greatest liar in the world, or some kind of split happened."

Lizzie was silent for a moment as she shifted in her chair. "With what we know, I'm going to guess that a split happened.

/\/\/\/\

Once again, Lizzie had had to wait until the agents cleared the scene and allowed the U.S. Marshalls to approach the woman first since she was technically under their jurisdiction. Walking up to her, Lizzie felt like she was in some sort of Twilight Zone. This was her… step mother? Who was alive. Apparently. Her life was one step away from an episode of Jerry Springer.

"Mrs. Highland?" Lizzie questioned hesitantly.

The woman looked around her, at the Marshalls and FBI agents milling around and her party guests who sat on the couches, looking lost and confused…her husband. "I had a life, you know?" She started, her voice cracking. "My daughter had a life with a house and a dog. And then I woke up one day. You can't imagine what it's like to have a man like Raymond Reddington turn your life upside down." Lizzie swallowed thickly. Yep she had definitely entered the Twilight Zone. And she was not enjoying it. Or this woman. She was really going to have to discuss his taste in women with her father.

"They accused me of being a part of it?" Naomi continued. "Somehow, I was a suspect. Put my life under a-a microscope every call, e-every charge. My assets were – "She sighed, taking a deep breath. "I finally convinced them I was innocent. They said I had to go, give up everything. I remember it was a Wednesday afternoon. My daughter wasn't even out of school yet. And by Thursday, we were in Philadelphia, fending for ourselves."

Lizzie looked towards Naomi's husband and nodded towards him. "You're gonna have to tell him." She stated, trying to get the woman away from this line of thought. Selfishly, she really couldn't handle this can of worms right now.

Naomi nodded shakily. "We can be ready in 20 minutes."

"Okay, I'll let them know."

Just as Lizzie went to walk out of the kitchen, the front windows shattered and men came rushing into the house, guns firing. Lizzie quickly ducked behind the kitchen island, pulling Naoimi down with her.

"Get down!"

Grabbing blindly for her radio, Lizzie could finally feel it in her grasp and pressed the button. "I need backup! –"

Before she could finish, she cried out in pain, her muscles contracting as she was tazed. Thankfully, whoever was doing it, didn't hold it very long and the pain soon eased, though her muscles would not stop contracting and so she watched helplessly as the strange men took Naomi.

She could hear the woman yelling "What are you doing?!" As she was led away.

/\/\/\/\

The moment Lizzie could stand, she did so, putting a hand to her belly and letting out a sigh of relief as her baby kicked her. Logically, she knew that the taser only affects the muscles directly under the skin. That didn't mean it was a good idea to tase a pregnant woman. The assholes.

Hurrying out of the house, Lizzie looked up and down the street. Her eyes locked on the sight of Rowan/ Nora walking out of the house next door, a large case, one typically used to house a sniper rifle, in her hand. She smirked at Lizzie and continued walking, without a care in the world. Lizzie quickly shouted out to the agents standing nearest her.

"Hey! That's her!"

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie and Ressler stood at the evidence board, trying to figure out if they were missing something.

"You're the expert, but from where I sit, this is the perfect setup." Ressler murmured. "One personality hiding behind the other, able to commit a crime and yet have no memory of it."

Lizzie shook her head. "Well, that's not exactly how it works."

"Rowan passed the lie-detector test."

"That's because Rowan's unaware of Nora and Nora's unaware of Rowan. That's how dissociative identity disorder works. The two can't conspire."

Ressler chuckled darkly, shaking her head. "Well, then we're screwed because we have Rowan and we need Nora."

"What we need to do is identify the trigger the image, sound, memory that flips her switch." As her gaze swept across the board, her eyes stuttered to a stop at the picture of Nora and Marcus – the man they'd detained along with Lord Baltimore. "Of course. It's him." She said excitedly, snapping the picture off the board.

/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked into the interrogation room where Nora/ Rowan was still languishing away in shackles. "You know I think you were right. I think Nora survived that incident in Mosul." Lizzie stated, cutting straight to the chase. "I think she escaped, came home, and killed Rowan."

"What?" The woman questioned, looking at Lizzie as if she were crazy.

Lizzie simply smiled and pressed "play" on her cell phone. "We Three" by the Ink Spots began to play and Rowan immediately began to become agitated, shifting in her seat as her eyes flickered about the room.

"Th-That's impossible."

Lizzie leaned forward, bracing herself against the table. "Nora killed Rowan because she envied her. She wanted to become her. She wanted to be the good sister, the sister who didn't get abused by her uncle."

Rowan began to rock in her chair. "You're lying. Nobody murdered Rowan! I'm Rowan!"

"No, Rowan is dead. You murdered your sister, didn't you, Nora? That's what caused the split – the trauma and guilt of the murder."

"No, I- I'm Rowan Mills!"

"It was playing that night, wasn't it?" Lizzie nodded towards her phone. "Do you remember how it felt that night? Do you remember what you were feeling, Nora, when you killed your sister? It's over, Nora. Marcus cut a deal. Tell me where you took Naomi Hyland."

In that moment, it was like a curtain had lifted. Rowan stopped fidgeting, her eyes cleared and a smirk crept across her face. Lizzie was looking at Nora now.

/\/\/\/\

"We got here too late." Lizzie spoke into her phone as she looked around the warehouse.

"Describe the scene." Red demanded.

Lizzie sighed, unsure where to start."It's… bloody. Lord Baltimore's men, they're all dead, – all but one, and I don't think he's –"

"Let me speak with him." Red requested urgently.

"What? Why?"

"Because he didn't survive. He was left alive to deliver a message, and it won't be to you. It's for me."

Lizzie rushed after the paramedics who'd just wheeled the injured man away.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" She called, after them, coming up beside the gurney once they'd finally stopped. "The man with one hand, what did he instruct you to say?" Lizzie instructed the injured man, holding the phone closer to him.

"The Blue Jay on Benning Road. N-Number 604." He murmured weakly.

/\/\/\/\

Dembe and Red walked silently down the hallway, their weapons drawn. A scantily clothed was banging on one of the apartment doors, yelling in Spanish. Yet when she turned to look at them, she gasped and ran in the opposite direction.

Stopping at no. 604, Dembe looked to Red who gave him a tight nod. Stepping back, Dembe kicked the door down with a crash. The two men rushed into the apartment, moving from room to room. Growling as he rubbed his head, Red looked around him, lowering his weapon. That was when he noticed a small glint coming from the bed. Walking over to the bed warily, his lips turned down into a frown at the sight of the pocket watch laying there. Taking ahold of it, Red opened the watch and sucked in a breath at the sight of a cut out polaroid picture of Naomi's face.

/\/\/\/\

"Hey, did you find her?" Lizzie asked, having answered her phone the moment "Nick's Pizza" flashed across the screen.

"No. They were gone." Her dad's gruff voice came over the line.

"You'll find her, don't worry." She murmured in what she hoped was a comforting tone. When she received no response, Lizzie sighed. "Hey, you know, I've been thinking."

"Oh dear, should I be worried?" He teased though Lizzie could hear how utterly exhausted he sounded.

"That depends." Lizzie answered.

Red sat up in his seat on the couch, his eyes glancing at Dembe as he walked back to his seat after putting Red's luggage into his room. "What are you think about doing, Lizzie?"

"I think it's high time I do my part in protecting our family."

"Lizzie, Elizabeth. What the hell are you thinking?" He demanded but it was too late. She'd already hung up.

Red sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his face. Both he and Dembe looked up at the sound of a knock at their hotel room door. Dembe quickly stood, heading towards the door, his gun drawn.

"This was left at the front desk for Mr. Hirschfeld." The Concierge murmured, handing Dembe a package. Dembe quickly tipped the man and walked back to Red, handing him the package.

"Raymond." Dembe encouraged when it didn't appear as though he was going to open it. "You want me to open it?"

Red shook his head. "No, I got it." He murmured.

Just as he opened it, the sound of a phone ringing emanated from the package. Reaching in, he took the phone out and quickly answered.

"Ah, Mr. Reddington, I presume."

Red immediately knew who it was. "Where is she?" He demanded.

Berlin chuckled. "Oh, here and there, out and about. You know women. I can only imagine how dearly you must be missing her after all these years, huh? So I made you a little something to remember her by. You see I'm gonna do to your wife what you did to my daughter. I'm gonna send her back to you piece by piece by piece."

Berlin hung up and Red tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, reaching hesitantly into the package when he noticed there was still something in there. Removing an ornate rectangular box, Red paused, gathering his courage before opening it. Letting out a harsh breath, he gazed down at the index finger of his ex wife.

/\/\/\/\/\

"I talked to Reddington. He couldn't find her." Lizzie announced as she walked over to Ressler.

Ressler shrugged his shoulders as they headed towards their office. "A win's a win. Lord Baltimore's off the street. Did I hear right? Was Reddington detained by some, uh, Mossad agent?"

Lizzie snorted. "Yeah, apparently Martin had to negotiate his release." She stated as they walked into their office and both went to their respective desks.

Ressler smirked, shaking his head. "Well, any agent who can track down Reddington, I'm buying them a beer."

The both looked up at the sound of a knock on their open door.

"Congratulations. " Dr. Friedman, the task force's psychiatrist spoke to Ressler. He'd been expertly avoiding her for the last few days – the last few months, really. "I heard you captured the man you were after. I thought maybe now we could go over a couple things, maybe take stock." Ressler snorted in derision, shaking his head.

"Agent Ressler. I will recommend you for suspension." She said sternly, following him out of the office as he made his escape. Lizzie trailed behind them, worried for her partner.

"Look, I don't mean to be a prick here, but I'm not sure what you think you're gonna fix."

"Yeah, I'm not sure either – Until we talk."

"About what?" Ressler demanded. "Those agents who died today? About the fact that we lost a woman that we were supposed to protect? How do I feel about that? I feel like crap. But I know the good we do here, why it matters. And am I worried that someday it's not gonna be enough? Yeah. And when that day comes, you'll be the first to know."

Lizzie watched as Ressler made his way across the way room.

"Why are you all smiles?" Lizzie asked, a smile of her own adorning her face at the sight of Aram's happiness, temporarily forgetting about her partner's run in with the psychiatrist.

"Guess who's no longer Interim Director."

"What? Martin – he's gone?" She asked excitedly. "Well, who do we answer to now?"

"That would be me." A welcome voice said from behind them. Lizzie whipped around and let out a happy laugh, grinning at Cooper.

"What are you waiting on, Agent Keen? Tell me where we are with Berlin." He demanded as he limped, still relying heavily on his cane, further into the war room. The moment he did so, the entire staff at the Post Office erupted in applause, Lizzie happily joining in.

/\/\/\/\

Lizzie knocked on Cooper's door, having given him a little while to get settled.

"Sir?"

"Come in Agent Keen."

Lizzie smiled shakily as she walked into his office, sitting down in one of the chairs at his desk.

"What is it, Keen?" He demanded, after watching her fidget in the seat for a few moments, rubbing the scar on her wrist.

"Sir, due to recent events I feel it necessary to lay everything out on the table, full disclosure."

Cooper's brow furrowed in confusion as he took off his glasses. "What do you mean?"

"Sir, I know why Reddington turned himself in."

At this, Cooper sat back in his seat. "Please, do enlighten me." He said, waving his head in a 'please continue' gesture.

"Well actually there were several reasons. Reasons that I'll be more than willing to tell you all I know." Lizzie gulped. "But the reason he wished to only speak with me." Her voice caught in her throat and she had to take a deep breath. "Was to stay close to me, to protect me."

"And why would he feel that necessary, Agent Keen?" Cooper questioned, frowning.

"Because I'm his daughter."

---

Yes. I know. I'm evil. I'm sorry!