The Task Force had been in existence for just over three years and in that time, they had brought down quite a few high – level criminals, most of whom they would never have known about if not for Raymond Reddington. Elizabeth Keen was proud of the work they were doing even though it meant being in cahoots with a man who technically was still at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted List.
What she still didn't know and couldn't figure out was why he had insisted on speaking with her when he had turned himself in at 26 Federal Plaza. What were his motives? Whatever they were, he was holding up his end of the bargain and if each bad actor the Task Force put out of commission benefitted Red somehow, well, that was the cost of doing business with a known criminal.
He seemed to know so much about her, but she knew next to nothing about him. She knew what was in his FBI file, but when she would ask him a question, his answer would raise more questions so it felt like the more he told her, the less she knew. The only person she knew even less about was Dembe.
I don't even know his last name! she thought as she glanced at him driving from her spot in the back seat. I don't think I've heard him speak a hundred words since I met him! She looked to her left at Red who was taking the opportunity the ride afforded him to catch a quick nap. They were on their way to one of Red's safehouses in Delaware. It constantly amazed her how he had been able to move around the country and the planet without ever getting caught, which was working in her favor now that she was also a fugitive. There were so many moving parts to keeping him under law enforcements' radar; his safehouses were the least of them, there were also his protocols, his caches of cash and weapons scattered worldwide and most importantly, his people who for love, loyalty or money did his bidding. He must pay Dembe really well, he's like Reddington's shadow.
Dembe pulled into a driveway that ran almost a quarter of a mile before rounding a curve that brought a large stone house into view. He pulled up to the front door and said, "Raymond, you and Elizabeth go inside. I'm going to pick up some supplies. I'll be back in an hour."
"All right," Red answered, "But could you also stop at that vineyard on Route 13 and get some wine? You know the one I like. Lizzie, do you have a preference?" When she shook her head no, he said, "You'll like what Dembe is bringing back; I'm sure of it. Dembe, please get a case and be careful."
"I will, Raymond." And with that he drove back down the driveway.
Red unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Elizabeth entry. "Welcome to my home. Make yourself comfortable."
She walked in, removed her coat and hung it on the coat rack. The living room was all stone and wood and leather. In a way it reminded her of the container they escaped DC in; functional, but very warm and very male. That's why it surprised her when she noticed that the pillows on the couch and the recliners were all needlepoint designs; mostly birds, but also flowers and cats. "I didn't know you liked this sort of thing," she said as she picked up a pillow with a colorful peacock with its tail open behind it. Do you have a girlfriend who does them for you or do you buy them from Etsy?"
"They're not my thing, Dembe made all of those. I don't know where he buys the kits. If you look in the hallway, you'll see drawings of birds on the walls. He did those, too."
"Dembe made these? Are you kidding?" She went into the hallway and saw pencil sketches of more birds, each one neatly framed and displayed. "Wow!" she exclaimed as she reentered the living room, "I have so many questions."
Red, who had hung up his coat and hat and had started placing wood in the fireplace straightened up and looked at her. "What kind of questions?"
She came over and began balling up the newspaper that was stacked next to the woodpile and handing it to Red so he could place it in and amongst the logs. "I like Dembe, but I always thought of him as your hired muscle, your driver, your…" She waved her arm toward the door. "Your errand runner. And then, I come here and see things he's made scattered around your safehouse."
Red interjected, "It's our safehouse; mine and Dembe's."
"Which brings me to my first question: Who is Dembe to you? Is he a business partner? I mean, I thought he was just an employee, but if he is, why are pillows he's made and sketches he's drawn in your place?"
Red was satisfied the fire was growing the way he wanted it, so he moved to sit on the couch and motioned for her to join him. "No, Dembe isn't my employee or my business partner. The short answer is that he is my friend." He crossed his leg, adjusted the crease of his pants and looked at her with a look that said (to her), You may ask me something else.
"How long have you known him?"
"I met him when he was fourteen and I was twenty – four."
Lizzie quickly did the math. "You've known Dembe for twenty – nine years! Then you know his family, too."
Red shook his head. "I'm Dembe's family or at least, I'm the only family he has left." He didn't like lying to Elizabeth, but it wasn't his place to tell her about Isabella and Ellie.
And there it was; she got an answer to her question, but it didn't explain anything. "Reddington…"
"Lizzie, before you work yourself into a state," Red interrupted her to say, "Let me say this: If you want to know about Dembe's life before he met me or even after, you need to speak with him. He likes you; he may answer."
She snorted. "He likes me? He barely speaks to me! For a while, I actually thought he was incapable of speech. How do you know what he thinks about me?"
"Like I said, he is my friend. He told me." Red chuckled to himself, smiled and then laughed out loud. "I'm sorry," he said when he realized she was staring at him, "but the idea that Dembe is incapable of speech…Sometimes, I have to tell him to take a breath when we're having a discussion so I can get a word in edgewise!"
She shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe we're talking about the same person."
"But we are. The same man who sketched those drawings and made those pillows also guards my life and speaks many languages. He is the Renaissance Man that I am not. He is someone I aspire to be. You asked who Dembe is to me. I don't know how to describe our bond to you other than to say that he has my Power of Attorney and when Anslo Garrick put a gun to his head and I told Harold I would give him anything if he gave Garrick the code to open the door, I meant it."
"You love him."
"Let's just say that he matters to me." He stood up and went into the kitchen and Elizabeth knew the conversation was finished. "I'm going to try to put together a charcuterie platter to complement the wine we'll be drinking."
Sensing that Reddington felt the need to be alone, she picked up a magazine and began to read it. Twenty minutes or so later, she saw Dembe pull up and park the car. She went outside and said, "Reddington is puttering around in the kitchen, you need some help?"
Dembe answered, "If you would carry those two bags of groceries, I will carry this case of wine."
"Sure, no problem."
She grabbed the bags and used her hip to close the door after Dembe picked up the case. He used his body to hold the box against the house and swung the screen door open so that she could hold it open for him with her back before following him inside.
They entered the kitchen and put everything away. "Thank you, Elizabeth," Dembe said with a small smile.
"You're welcome! We make a good team," she said with an answering smile, which caused him to look away in embarrassment. She thought, maybe he does like me.