Elizabeth Keen sat miserably at her desk inside the Post Office, her eyelids heavy and her brow furrowed in despair as she went through the events of the previous night for the umpteenth time…
She had spent most of the prior evening at the penitentiary where Red had been kept, she stayed and watched as Raymond Reddington was executed.
They were too late.
Seconds after Red's heart stopped, Dembe left the viewing room without a word.
Liz didn't blame him for storming out. She doubted he would ever forgive her for her role in Reddington's death.
The man had been Dembe's closest friend, his family, his brother.
Lizzie couldn't bring herself to move in the moments after. The horrific refrain of 'I killed him. I killed him. I killed him,' shouting the accusation inside her skull alongside the piercing echo of Red flat-lining.
The door had no more closed at Dembe's back, then a massive explosion shook the building from somewhere in the distance.
Reporters coming to cover Reddington's execution all went scrambling out into the hall.
The warden and the nurses in the execution chamber looked confusedly at one another, the former immediately closing the curtain to the viewing area.
Lizzie heard a frantic commotion going on outside in the hallway, but she just sat there, completely unmoving. She did not cry then, she did not blink or twitch. She barely even breathed as she stared in horror at the closed curtain behind which she knew Red's still body lay.
Liz remained in her seat for almost an hour, paralyzed by shock and guilt.
No one even noticed she was still there until the door to the room opened and a soft, comforting male voice called to her. For a moment, one terrifying moment, she thought it was Red.
Try as she might, Liz couldn't turn her head from the viewing window. She couldn't bear to see him pale, wan, and horribly still.
Death would never suit someone who was always so wonderfully, voraciously alive.
Lizzie had been so unyielding in her relentless pursuit of the truth, she had barely gotten to experience the untethered spirit that was Raymond Reddington.
Why hadn't she enjoyed him more?
She wished she had gone with him to Cuba and worn that guayabera dress.
She wished she had taken him up on that grapefruit gusher.
She should have taken his arm that day with the helicopter and the Djinn.
She should have let him spend more time with Agnes.
She shouldn't have called him a monster.
She shouldn't have fought him so much.
Why hadn't she enjoyed his ebullient, eccentric zest for life just a little more?
"Keen."
It wasn't Red.
"Keen."
Was it Ressler?
"Liz."
A large, warm hand grasped Lizzie's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
The woman turned silently, her gaze settling on the obviously masculine hand and following it upward along a thick, muscled arm, straight up to Baz's gentle face.
He looked better than she had ever seen him.
Baz's face was no longer taut or etched in harsh lines. It seemed as though he had slept the intervening months away, eaten a few square meals that weren't protein bars, and most importantly, hadn't dodged a bullet in years.
"Let's get you home."
He gingerly eased Liz from the chair, wrapping a consoling arm about her shoulders and leading her out into the chaotic hallway.
Liz watched dazedly as guards and attendants scurried the halls like cockroaches, shouting and gesturing wildly at one another.
A slight haze hung in the bright incandescent light, the smoke and scent of fire wafting from a lengthy hallway to their left.
"What's going on?" She asked in a distant voice, sounding entirely unlike herself.
"Nothing you need to worry about." Baz insisted, gently attempting to steer her blank gaze away from the conspicuous wreckage at the end of the hall. "Come on, let's get out of here."
"Wait." Liz's breath caught forcefully in her throat, the full gravity of her loss crashing in around her. "Where is he? Where's Red?"
One white-hot tear trickled down her cheek, burning a wet trail on her skin.
"He's gone, Elizabeth." Baz's steady voice held a heavy, sorrowful note, sending another pang of despair to Liz's gut.
"No," she whispered, "No! I need to say goodbye!" She fought Baz's firm but gentle hold, his kindness in that moment only serving to infuriate her.
She knew Red was down that hallway, she just knew it. Lizzie had to say goodbye, had to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant for this to happen.
She never wanted him to die.
"Liz, he's not there." Baz tried to get her to understand, but it was as if she couldn't hear him at all.
"Where have they taken him? Why are there so many people? Red!" She called out for the man, but he did not answer.
He must really be gone, Red would never ignore Lizzie calling for him. If he were there, if he were alive, he would have come striding around the corner, cool as a cucumber and flashing her that roguish smile which told her he had definitely just gotten away with something.
Nobody came. Nobody answered.
"Lizzie, he's gone," Baz reiterated, "These people are here because someone took Red."
"Wha-What?" Her voice had fractured to a fragile, gravelly whisper, "What do you mean someone took him?"
Baz turned her firmly away from the carnage scattered in the distance, "I will tell you everything I know, once we get you out of here."
Minutes later, he carefully lowered Lizzy into the passenger seat of Red's usual black sedan and closed the door, slid into the driver's side and immediately sped from the parking lot.
"What happened to you?" Liz questioned, "Last time I saw you, you were dying in the middle of the road from a gunshot wound to the chest courtesy of Kate Kaplan."
Baz gave a curt nod, "Red had his code 77 team on standby. He had the ambulance take me to the warehouse and they patched me up just fine. When I woke up, the whole mess with Kate was over and there was Reddington, once again sitting atop the bone pile. I was battle weary, told the man it was high time I retired. He agreed, insisted I do so. He gave me a house and a massive acreage up in Montana and a salary to carry me through the rest of my days-"
"He was broke at the time, how on earth did he manage such a thing?" Liz was growing more and more suspicious as they trundled along in Reddington's car.
"Illiquid," Baz corrected with a smirk, "There's a difference. The Reddington empire has failsafes for certain things and certain people. I had been with Red long enough to have my very own failsafe. You and Dembe are in that category as well, Kate was at one point, R-" he faltered, "Anyway, I've got a new wife now, see my kids every week for dinner, it's been a good life thanks to Red."
"You have kids?" Lizzie had never even thought to ask about Baz's personal life. She had been too busy trying to get him out of hers.
Baz's face lit up with a broad grin, "Two. They're long grown now, one's got a baby on the way."
"That's great…" The car fell into an awkward silence, as Liz continued eyeing the man warily. "Baz, why are you here?"
The old bodyguard sat chewing the inside of his cheek while they waited for the traffic light in front of them to turn green. "I wouldn't miss this. I couldn't let Red go without…I couldn't live out my days knowing I didn't make an appearance, didn't pay my respects to the man who gave me damn near everything I hold dear."
Liz picked up on the half-truth, her eyes narrowing further. "That's not all."
"No," agreed Baz, carefully keeping his eyes on the road. They were pulling up to a hastily assembled roadblock cobbled together by local police.
"What is all this, Baz? Tell me what's going on."
The man held up a finger as two members of the local pd came up to the windows.
He handed one officer his identification, which Liz would bet her life was completely false, and asked her to flash her badge, while the second officer ran a mirror alongside the bottom of the vehicle.
The officers requested Baz open the trunk, which he did, and upon finding nothing, they were sent on their merry way.
Liz's eyes continued to bore into the side of Baz's head, refusing to relent until he told her what was going on.
"There are certain protocols in place for when Red would eventually be killed. One of them pertains to you and your protection. Having at one time been responsible for your protocol, I knew you would likely need safe transport back to D.C."
"Why?"
"I'm sure Red told you, in the event of his death, you inherit the vast majority of his wealth. That kind of money puts you at a significant risk. You wouldn't be able to just hop on a commercial jet anymore, Liz."
Baz gave a heavy sigh, "There's a plan for everything from here on out, except…"
"Except?" She prompted, desperate for more information.
"Except nobody knows if the protocols are in play, because there's no proof of death."
"Proof of death? What do you mean? They killed him, I heard him flat-line. How can there be any question?"
Baz began explaining the scene they happened upon in the hallway, "There was an explosion on the South wall of the building seconds after the injections were administered."
Liz nodded vigorously, she had heard the sound. "What happened then?"
Baz turned meaningfully toward her, "The curtain of the viewing area was closed. No Time of Death was ever called because of all the commotion. An extraction team came in through the detonation point and took him right from the execution chamber."
"You don't know who's responsible or where they took him?"
Baz's didn't answer as they pulled up to an aircraft hanger just outside of Terre Haute. Two armed guards stepped out of a Gulfstream Liz knew to be Reddington's.
The old bodyguard cautiously opened the door to the sedan, "Stay here a moment." Stepping out with his hands held aloft, he strode casually up to the other two, speaking in a voice much too soft to hear.
Only one guard responded, his manner and response quite curt.
Baz carefully reached into his jacket pocket, just above his heart, and unpinned something. He opened his hand to the guards and they peered at the small item for a moment before both giving a nod of assent, hurriedly re-boarding the plane.
Baz turned and opened Liz's door, holding out a hand to her. "Off we go, kid"
He ushered her onto the plane without another word, but Liz was already full of questions.
"Does this mean the protocols are in place?" She asked, sitting down in one of the empty seats, her eyes flitting guiltily to the one which had so often been occupied by Red.
"No, that whole exchange served to show the protocols have not been engaged."
Liz was confused, "...But the thing you showed them?"
"The brooch isn't a protocol, it's a chit," he explained, "It was left for you by someone who knew you might need its protection."
"Reddington."
Baz's mouth twitched, "A chit is something owed to the giver, redeemable at the time of her choosing." He held the item out to Lizzie, "You should keep it."
Liz held out her palm, into which was placed a glittering gold brooch. The precious metal was cast in the figure of a slender ballerina in a voluminous tu-tu. The bodice and skirt were made of spectacular blue fire opal, the hem studded with tiny white diamonds glittering like a thousand resplendent stars.
The ballerina was a pristine yellow gold, her long limbs stretching daintily outward in a flawless arabesque. Everything about her was perfect, right down to the neat little bun atop her head.
"What happens now?"
Baz closed the door to the cockpit, leaving the two guards and the pilot inside. "Now we get you home."
Liz didn't want to go home. "But Reddington-"
"His own people will focus on him." Baz interjected in a tone which brooked no argument. He nearly laughed as Liz's stubborn blue eyes scowled at him.
"Does Dembe know?"
He stroked his goatee pensively, "I don't know. He has his own protocols to follow. Red being taken may supersede his final orders. I can't imagine him not knowing."
"Didn't you speak to him?" Liz asked, not believing the two compatriots would simply ignore each other after all this time.
"Only in passing outside the viewing area. He just reminded me to do my job."
"That's it?" Liz snapped, "He didn't say anything else?"
Baz looked pityingly at her, "You don't understand how deep their friendship went, Dembe and Red. I'm amazed the man said that much."
Lizzie felt another hot stab of guilt hit her insides, silencing any further questions.
"I'm sorry I don't have all the answers you're looking for." Baz was doing his best to placate, knowing beneath Red and Lizzie's volatile relationship lay a certain undeniable measure of caring.
"Do you have a phone?" Liz asked tentatively, "I need to call the taskforce."
Baz shifted uncomfortably, "I don't know if that's a good idea…"
"Please, Baz. I have to do something."
The man's lips pursed sympathetically beneath his snowy whiskers. He hesitated another moment before he relented and pulled out the satellite phone.
Baz stood and handed the phone to Liz, then stepped into the cockpit so she could have a moment's privacy.
"Is she on?"
Dembe's smooth, calm voice echoed from the speaker of a satellite phone which was immediately thrust into Baz's hand.
"I'm here with her, we are on the second leg."
Baz dropped himself into a nearby seat with a heavy sigh of relief. "How are they? How far from the changeover are you?"
A small smile could be heard in Dembe's voice, "Both are going to be just fine, she hasn't left his side. We are meeting the seaplane in fifteen minutes. We'll take off immediately from Lake Ontario in twenty."
"Excellent," Baz stretched the tightness from his back, he had forgotten how stiff all this traveling made him.
"What about your package? I assume her chit got you on the plane?"
"Yes, everything went as planned, the penitentiary is still in complete chaos. Nobody knows anything just yet. Liz is pretty shook up, but she'll find out the truth as soon as the FBI pulls the security footage."
Dembe could be heard relating the information to the parties on his end, who were voicing their own follow-up questions. "Has she called the taskforce yet?"
Baz checked the surveillance screen showing the plane's cabin, Liz hadn't moved from her seat, the phone still pressed tightly against her ear. "She's on with them right now. I'd say you've got four, maybe five hours before they catch up."
Dembe was murmuring his agreement with someone on the other end, "We will be long off-grid by then. It's just over an hour's flight in the seaplane."
"Excellent," Baz grinned, "I'll let you go so you can focus on your changeover. Give my best to the Mrs."
He could hear Dembe chuckle softly to himself before the line fell silent once more.
Out in the main cabin, Liz dialed Ressler's cell.
Ressler, Samar, and Aram were quietly drinking in Cooper's office, their eyes red-rimmed and brows furrowed.
They had stood together around Ressler's phone just before midnight and watched the minutes tick by, signaling the end of Reddington's life, and thus the end of the taskforce.
They hadn't yet heard from Cooper or Keen, but this did not surprise the three agents. Liz was no doubt distraught over Red's death, and Cooper had likely been railing against the President for the past hour.
An unknown number appeared on Ressler's screen.
He merely stared at it for a moment before hitting the answer button and placing the call on speaker.
"Ressler?"
"Keen?"
Samar and Aram lifted weary heads at the sound of the agent's name.
"How are you...How are you holding up?"
Liz fidgeted with the gold ballerina, "I've certainly been better."
"Yeah…" Donald didn't know what to say, what could possibly be done to make any of this better.
"Somebody took Reddington after he… After he stopped breathing. I was hoping I could ask for your help in locating him."
"Wait," Aram blurted, "Somebody did what?"
Liz wasted no time in telling the whole sad, suspicious tale. There was a finite length of time before the trail would inevitably go cold, and she needed their help.
"Why on earth would someone take Reddington's body? It seems so unnecessary." Samar wondered aloud, now just as skeptical as Liz.
Aram looked like he might be ill. "It's positively abhorrent."
"What did Dembe have to say about this?" Something didn't add up in this retelling, and Ressler was determined to find out why.
Liz lowered her voice, "That's the really strange bit. Dembe's run off somewhere. He left the viewing area seconds before that explosion, but he's supposedly off tending to some protocol Red had in place in the event of his death."
The three agents on the other end glance confusedly around at one another. It was Ressler who asked, "Who told you that?"
"Baz."
"Baz? Where did you run into Baz?"
"I thought he died?" Samar added, holding Aram's despondent gaze.
Liz continued to whisper into the phone, "Nope, apparently he just retired. He was there at the execution, supposedly to pay his respects and to do his part in a protocol Reddington had in place for me."
"What was the protocol?" Asked Ressler, taking a seat on the corner of Cooper's desk.
"I don't know what the protocol is, because according to Baz none of them are in play. No time of death was ever called for Raymond Reddington."
"Then that begs the question," the smooth, deep voice of Harold Cooper echoed from the line, "...Where is Dembe Zuma?"
Samar, Aram, and Ressler turned to find their boss leaning against the office doorway, listening in on the conversation.
"Sir," Liz acknowledged, not realizing the other man had been on the line.
Cooper hung up his coat and sat himself in his usual chair. "Fill me in, I've heard the news from Terre Haute. Where are we on recovering Reddington?"
"I'm en route to D.C. as we speak. Reddington's order of events for his inevitable death aren't in play, but apparently there's a bargaining chip he left with Baz which bought me safe passage in his Gulfstream."
"That sounds like something Reddington would do," Samar conceded, "but why drag Baz into it?"
"Baz said he was at one time responsible for my protocol, whatever it was. He came to say goodbye, and because he knew I would need assistance getting home."
"What can we do to help?"
It was Aram's voice this time, soft and sincere.
Liz felt a small smile tug at her lips at the sound of her friend's voice. "Can you pull the surveillance footage from Terre Haute? If we're going to find Red or Dembe, we will need to start with what happened after the execution."
"Of course, I'm on it." Aram leapt you from the small sofa and whipped out of the room, heading directly for his desktop.
"We'll start digging immediately," Cooper assured, "How long until you reach D.C.?"
Red's plane landed just shy of an hour later, dropping Liz and Baz on a private landing strip before taxiing right back onto the tarmac and taking off once more.
"Where are they going?" Liz questioned, watching the sleek bird speed off into the night.
Baz guided her toward a hanger in which one of Reddington's signature S-class sedans sat waiting. "They're going to assist Red's people."
For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Liz wondered if he was being purposefully vague.
Baz opened the door for Liz, who simply stared for a moment at the cavernous backseat.
It seemed so wrong that Red wasn't there in his usual immaculate suit, offering up some clever quip regarding her choice of attire or lack of adequate response to his phone calls.
Baz waited patiently, giving her time to come to terms with the empty cabin.
In truth, he felt badly for Liz. She seemed really cut up about the old man's passing, despite how much he recalled the two of them perpetually fighting like cats and dogs.
Liz finally slid into the seat, and the pair took off toward the heart of D.C.
"Can you take me to the Post Office?" She asked eventually, her eyes following the rows of bare cherry blossom trees as they sped past the window.
"Are you sure? It's awfully late" Baz's face wrinkled in a frown, knowing the question was a losing battle.
"The taskforce is already looking into Red's disappearance, I'm going to help."
The man gave a curt nod and turned the sedan per her directions.
Liz guided him through the city to the narrow alleyway which the taskforce used to access the Post Office.
Twenty minutes later, Baz pulled up alongside the familiar fire escape and parked. Lizzie recognized the three vehicles sitting inconspicuously at the edge of the alley as Ressler's, Samar's, and Cooper's. Aram's bike was no doubt inside.
The gang was all there.
"This is where you and I part ways."
Liz came hurtling back to reality with unpleasant force. "You aren't staying?"
Baz met her panicked gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled, "No, I did my part in getting you home safe and sound. It's time I get back to my wife." He exited the car and opened the door for her.
Liz nodded her understanding. Of course Baz wasn't about to come bounding back into Reddington's world now that he'd gotten out. She wrapped her arms about the old bodyguard's massive shoulders and thanked him for his help.
"Don't mention it," he insisted, allowing the brief hug, "You've got your chit?"
Liz held out the delicate ballerina with a small grimace, "Are you sure I should keep this? It looks expens-"
"It's meant specifically for you. Do not lose it." Baz's tone was quite serious, "Keep it on you at all times until this all blows over. Either on the inside of your jacket or pinned with your badge. You never know when you might need a hand."
Liz nodded nervously and watched as Red's hired gun headed back to the sleek black sedan.
"Fly safe," she murmured with a small wave. "If you hear anything from Dembe or Red's people, will you have them give me a call?"
Baz's mouth twitched into a small smile, "Good luck, Lizzie."
With that, he loaded into the car, and Liz hurried up the stairs of the fire escape, heading directly for the Post Office elevator.
Baz purposefully waited until Liz was in the building and out of earshot before he hit the call button on the car's bluetooth phone connection. It rang thrice before he heard the click of the line being picked up.
"She's officially at the Post Office. Where are you on the timeline?"
Dembe breathed a sigh of relief through the connection, "We are settled in her safehouse. Nobody followed, nobody noticed us landing, no chatter whatsoever. It could not have gone more smoothly."
"How about Red?" Baz asked eagerly, hoping for more good news.
A warm female voice came over the line, "He's perfectly stable, the code 77 team is insisting on keeping him sedated for two days. They seem to think I'll cause a bit of a shock."
Baz laughed aloud at the woman's tone of clear disgruntlement. "Well, you have had a bit of a surprise streak these past few weeks."
He gladly teased the woman he knew so well, knowing she was probably at her wits end and needed a laugh.
A half-hearted titter of amusement filtered through the connection, "Yes, well, they can bear Raymond's wrath when he wakes up."
They both had a good laugh at this, taking great joy in imagining the fugitive's reaction.
"I can't thank you enough, Baz" the gentle voice whispered earnestly, "Now go home or I'll have hell to pay with your wife."
Baz roared with laughter once again, "Yes Ma'am."
"My plane is back at the airstrip, ready and waiting to take you home."
"You ought to come out sometime, once you're all settled."
"We'll be sure to do that…Thank you again, my dear, for everything."
The old bodyguard grinned and kicked the sedan's powerful engine into life.
"Anytime, Reddington, anytime."
Liz rode the elevator down into the Post Office without fully comprehending where she was.
Reaching the lower level, she trudged toward her office, her eyes focused on the floor as her guilty mind hurtled through the events of the past few months and where everything had gone terribly, horribly wrong.
To add to her misery, her mind reminded her that someone had now taken him. Someone had taken Red before- Before she could say goodbye.
Liz's spine stiffened and her eyes narrowed icily at the black concrete floor. She would find the people responsible. They would find who took Reddington if it was the last case the taskforce ever completed.
"Um, Liz?… Liz!…. Agent Keen!"
Liz was pulled from her plans for retribution by a gentle hand on her shoulder and what she vaguely registered as her name.
She turned to see Aram following just behind her with his laptop in tow.
"Hey Aram-"
The woman barely got the words out before her friend gathered her in a bone-crushing hug.
Liz patted his back a bit awkwardly, as her arm had gotten trapped at an odd angle beneath his. She tried to catch her breath as he slowly squeezed even more air out of her, "…Aram?"
"Oh, right," he murmured, releasing her immediately only to take her hand in his. "You've got to see this."
Aram dragged her directly up to Cooper's office, where the rest of their co-workers were all nursing glasses of stout liquor. They all stood when Liz entered the room.
'Now, here at the end, I'm at peace because of them.'
Lizzie's eyes shone with tears as she recalled one of the last things Raymond Reddington said to her. These few precious people standing in Cooper's small dark office at this ungodly hour...
Her friends.
They were the reason he could go peacefully into that good night.
Samar was the first to wrap Liz in a warm, consoling hug. She was immediately followed by Ressler, who like Aram, nearly tried to squeeze the life out of Liz.
Cooper was the last one, stepping forward with a face full of regret.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am."
"You did everything you could." She assured, wrapping her arms around Cooper and squeezing him tightly. "I know Red appreciated your efforts on his behalf. All of you." She added, releasing him and looking to the rest of their group. "Thank you all for everything you've done, I know it couldn't have been easy."
"If I had gotten to the White House minutes earlier-" Cooper began, but Liz shook her head.
"Diaz still would have said no."
Cooper locked eyes with the rest of the team, suddenly realizing nobody had told Liz of Diaz's change of heart. "He said yes."
She stood with her mouth agape, her voice rising by several decibels. "Diaz was going to give Red clemency?" She didn't think her heart could take the god-awful news that Raymond had been mere seconds away from freedom.
Cooper placed a calming hand on her shoulder, "No, merely a stay of execution to catch Ziegler's killer."
Liz scoffed, that explanation sounded a lot more like Diaz. "Wait, Ziegler's dead?"
"We forgot to mention it when you called," admitted Ressler with a grimace.
She gave him a placating half-smile, "I'll forgive you if I can get a glass of whatever you're drinking. Today has been hell, and I think I'm going to need a stiff drink for whatever comes next."
The tension in the room broke, and the taskforce shared a small, commiserating laugh.
Cooper pulled another dixie cup from the stack they'd brought in and the bottle of whiskey he had hidden in his desk, pouring a measure of the amber liquid and handing it to Liz.
Samar's voice cut the room with a note of exasperation. "My love, what are you doing?"
Aram was scurrying around the small space, closing the blinds and setting up a small projector screen on the back wall. He put a finger to his lips, ensuring the office was dark and the equipment was properly setup before tapping into a complex-looking program on his laptop and placing a small black box at the base of the door.
"What is that?" Asked Ressler, pointing at the box with his plastic cup.
"It's a very powerful, very portable jammer," Aram explained, "Liz might recognize them from that time Anslo Garrick attacked the blacksite."
Liz balked at the little black box, "We didn't get to them all…"
"I kept this one...For study," he clarified when the others all looked at him with varying levels of incredulity. "It now makes this room and anywhere within 1,000 feet of it a communications vacuum. If there is any kind of bug or transmission device within eavesdropping distance of this room, it is now officially offline."
"Why all the secrecy?" Samar questioned, peering thoughtfully at the box. She had not been here for the Garrick incident, but she found it quite amusing that her lover had weaponized the technology once used to bring the Post Office to its knees.
Aram glanced sheepishly up at the rest of them. "Well, um... Well, because I don't want there to be even the slightest possibility we are overheard. I don't trust those in charge…Diaz, McMahon, any of them, so I figured it's best to just take certain precautions."
"Well, we're all here and the room is secure. What is it you wanted to show us?" Cooper settled into his office chair with a weary yawn, the others falling into their respective seats as well.
"Right," Aram cleared his throat, "I was reviewing the footage from the penitentiary like you asked," he gestured toward Liz, "and I found something, something big."
Liz sat up a little straighter in her seat, " You saw who took Reddington?"
Aram nodded, "There's something else, though. The local pd in Terre Haute haven't been able to piece anything together because they've only been looking at the footage from the execution onward. Nobody's stopped to look at what happened before the execution. If they had, they would have seen this."
He cut the lights and turned on the projector connected to his computer, the back wall of the room displaying the still image of a closed circuit feed. "This is the med staff lounge situated directly behind the execution chamber." Aram explained, dialing the footage back to 11:15 pm and hitting play.
"Look at this."
The taskforce watched as a middle age nurse carrying a tray of syringes through the lounge clumsily dropped the contents of the tray onto the floor.
"Watch her hands." Aram whispered, dialing the footage back again and letting it play at half the usual speed.
As the door of the room closed with a bang, they could finally catch the woman's sleight of hand. She tilted the tray and slid the three syringes into her right hand. Her left hand released the tray and dropped three different syringes onto the floor.
None of them could tear their eyes from the screen, silent and shell-shocked by the implications of this development.
The older of the two nurses bent to pick up the fallen syringes, amid what looked like a string of apologies from her counterpart. While the woman was bent over, the nurse with the tray surreptitiously slipped the syringes carrying the lethal injection into the nearby trash can.
"Aram?" Liz whispered, hoping against hope this meant what she thought it did.
"There's more." He pulled up the feed from the execution chamber and fast-forwarded to 12:02 AM. "As soon as that explosion occurred, they closed the curtain…"
Liz nodded frantically, willing Aram to get to the point.
"This was what happened after the curtain was closed."
The taskforce watched as the same blonde nurse moved from her place at the far wall, pulling four new, smaller syringes from the pocket of her scrubs and quickly began pushing them through Red's IV.
When she was caught by the warden, they all gasped in horror as she slipped a scalpel from her sleeve, lodged the weapon in the man's abdomen and kicked out, sending him bodily across the room.
The younger of the two remaining nurses screamed and tried to run, but the blonde nurse switched her grip and deftly flung the same scalpel into the fleeing woman's chest.
Liz couldn't believe what she was seeing as the older of the three nurses shrank into the far corner, not daring to move as the blonde woman Liz now suspected was most certainly not a nurse, removed Red's restraints and carefully disconnected the various cords attached to him.
Five people dressed in black riot gear burst into the room carrying a military-style field gurney.
With practiced ease, they hoisted Reddington's limp form and situated him on the black canvas surface.
"Oh my God," Liz gasped, watching as they cut open the front of Red's shirt and strapped him into what she recognized as an autopulse CPR device.
One of them placed a bag valve mask over Reddington's face, administering four full, life-giving breaths into his lungs while the rest of the team strapped him into the gurney and started the autopulse. Once the device was compressing steadily up and down, the team lifted the gurney and hurried Red out of the room.
One of the people in riot gear stopped to hand a small canvas bag to the blonde woman, who removed her scrubs to reveal black jeans and a white t-shirt beneath.
She pulled a holster vest in a warm chestnut leather from the bag, a handgun already nestled in its hold. A thigh holster followed, fully loaded with another, slightly larger handgun. A pair of sharp blades were strapped to the underside of her forearms.
Armed to the teeth, she quickly followed the others out into the hall.
Aram switched the view to a dual-screen camera showing the hallway just outside the execution chamber and the one facing the wreckage of the detonation site, through which a large black suv could be seen.
They watched the woman stride purposefully through the hall, pulling out a dark honey-colored leather jacket and one last handgun, discarding the empty bag and donning the outerwear without missing a step.
She stopped in front of the hallway's camera, looking directly into the lens.
The taskforce got a good, long look at their suspect, who looked murderous as she racked a bullet into the chamber of her firearm before shoving it into a holster at the small of her back and leaving through the same hole in the wall.
Stepping out into the night, the woman watched in stoic silence as Reddington was gingerly loaded into the back of the suv, which appeared to have been converted into a makeshift ambulance.
The whole of Cooper's office minus Aram let out a collective gasp when a man they all recognized exited the passenger's side of the vehicle.
Dembe Zuma moved to the rear of the suv, throwing his arms around the blonde woman and gripping her in a vice-like hug. The pair stood there for a brief moment, Dembe's mouth moving in soundless words.
The taskforce watched as the extraction team closed up the rear of the suv.
Dembe's large hands cradled the woman's face, now showing long, glistening streaks cascading from her dark eyes. The bodyguard kissed her forehead repeatedly, tears falling along his usually impassive face as well.
The two seemed to bolster each other, nodding shakily and murmuring back and forth.
The woman cupped Dembe's chin, moving up to brush the trails of moisture from his eyes and placed a kiss to each of his cheeks before giving one final, firm nod.
The two climbed into the front of the vehicle, their extraction team standing on the running boards and holding onto the roof rails as the suv peeled out of the prison yard.
Aram glanced fretfully between the various shocked faces of his co-workers. "Mr. Reddington's Mercedes was found at the airstrip where Baz took Liz. Wherever Dembe is, he's with Red, and the woman."
The taskforce sat in stunned silence, staring at the frozen image of the renegade nurse on the screen.
Liz didn't dare hope. Her eyes turned imploringly up to Aram. "What does this mean?"
"I think," his voice shook anxiously, "I think Mr. Reddington might be alive."