Hey guys, sorry it's a day late. Had a busy Saturday and I didn't want to kill myself trying to get this written in one day. I knew I had today off (Memorial Day) so ...here it is. A little late but hopefully enjoyable. Reviews fuel me!


Lizzie smiled softly as she lay on her side on a blanket in her little back yard. Sam lay next to her, his little feet in the air where he lay with her on the blanket under the shade of a tree, gumming on his Sophie the giraffe toy. She had taken a few days off, citing recovering from the pneumonic plague. As excuses went, no one could really argue with that one. But the truth was, she just wasn't ready to go back. It'd been two days and she still couldn't bring herself to talk to Ressler. He'd called. She had had to shut her phone off, he was so relentless. But she just couldn't speak to him.

The anger had dissipated after the first day. Now she was just sad.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Red looked out the kitchen window at the sight of his daughter and grandson laying in the shade of a tree and smiled sadly. He knew his daughter was hurting, he'd been hanging around her house as much as possible the last couple days to watch over her. She put on a brave face for Sammy but he knew the tears fell at night.

Looking away from the window at the sound of a hesitant knock at the door, Red sighed. There was only one person that could be. Briskly walking down the hall, Red reached to the small of his back and drew his gun. Once he reached the door, he whipped it open, aiming his gun at Donald's chest. The other man stared at him in shock, his arm still raised, poised to knock once more.

"Agent Ressler." Red growled. "I don't believe you're welcome here."

"R…Reddington." Don stuttered, swaying on his feet slightly. "I just…wanna see her. Please. I miss… I miss her."

Red's brow furrowed as he looked Ressler over from head to toe. The man's hair was mussed and greasy, his shirt was wrinkled and half untucked and the man could barely stand on his own two feet. Red began to see well…red as realization dawned on him.

"Are you drunk?" He asked scathingly. "It's the middle of the day on a Tuesday! And you come here, drunk, trying to see my daughter?"

Don looked down lazily and his eyes widened slightly when he finally noticed the gun before he straightened up as much as his drunk ass could do so and looked back up at Red's face. "If you're gonna kill me, do it. After I talk to Liz." Don stated with drunken bravado.

Red laughed coldly, cocking his gun. "I don't think you want to tempt me Agent Ressler. I did warn you I've rather a habit of killing off any man who hurt her." Red took a step towards Ressler and the other man blinked owlishly. "And you did hurt her, Agent Ressler. You insulted me – her father. Worse than that, you insulted her." Red spat. "You built her up, made her feel love again… and then you showed her how you truly feel."

Don's head dropped though not before Red saw the sheen of a tear track on his cheek. "I didn't mean…I don't feel that way, I swear." Don choked out.

Red stared at Ressler silently before heaving a great sigh, lowering his gun. He had never seen the man like this before. He couldn't tell if this was a drunk Ressler or the man was truly this desperate for forgiveness, either way, the man was broken. "You're not seeing my daughter, especially not as you are. Get out of here before I hold to my threat and kill you." He stated gruffly.

Don nodded, dejectedly and began to turn away, heading down the porch steps.

"Agent Ressler." Red waited for Don to turn around before he continued. "Get your ass sober. And when Lizzie comes back to work, you are her work partner, nothing more. You will do your job and give her space."

Don's face crumpled though he nodded before turning back around and left.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie and Red were lazing about in the living room. Lizzie lay on the sofa, a sleeping Sammy on her chest as she gently ran her fingers along his spine soothingly. Red sat in the over stuffed chair she'd bought just for him.

"So Lizzie," Red started, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the TV. "How long are you going to let Donald stew in his filth?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know, Dad." She said on a sigh.

"Sweetheart, I would be the last to defend our dear Donald, but – "

"Then don't." Lizzie interrupted waspishly.

Red frowned at her, his brow raised at her childish behavior. "I'm only saying, Lizzie, that he was absolutely petrified."

Lizzie groaned, closing her eyes. "That doesn't excuse it, Dad!" She said vehemently before biting her lip as Sammy squirmed in her arms. Once the baby settled once more, she looked over at her dad. "The things he said… he clearly has issues with who and what I am – what we are." Lizzie shook her head, forlorn. "I don't know if I can be with someone who doesn't accept the whole package." Lizzie sniffled as quietly as she could, looking away towards the TV.

Red's brow furrowed. He hated seeing his Lizzie so upset. But short of pummeling Agent Ressler into the ground, there wasn't much he could do. Besides, he was sure that that would only make him feel better, not Lizzie.

"Tigers in India have become less abundant in recent years due to excessive hunting. The remaining big cats are now concentrated in tiny, isolated groups, leading to inbreeding, which weakens their resistant to disease."

Red clicked the TV off, a sudden idea popping into his head. He knew just how to take Lizzie's mind off of her love life. She sure as hell wasn't going to like the distraction much better though.

"So nostalgic. The charming and yet tragic naïveté, as if these creatures will somehow flourish if Harlan and Jack can – " Red shook his head, chuckling darkly. " – just manage to relocate a breeding female."

Lizzie raised her brow, incredulous as she knew her dad well enough to know where this was going. "Poachers?"

"Not poachers, Lizzie – traffickers. The poor devils who do the killing are the smallest of cogs in a very large machine. And the Mombasa Cartel is the worst of the lot. They operate behind an impenetrable veil of secrecy, enforced by brute terror and a rat's nest of corporate fronts. Subsidiaries of shells inside numbered accounts."

"This is going to take some convincing." Lizzie said hesitantly. "The FBI's job is to protect people."

"Granted. Let's forget about the animals for a moment." Red fluttered his hand in the air as if physically knocking the idea away. "The wholesale extinctions, the impact on the environment." He paused. "Let's just consider the human toll. The thorough corruption of local authorities, political assassinations, the massacres of entire villages and wildlife compounds. Eradicated for the most base of all possible motives: Profit. Hundreds of billions of dollars a year in blood money – human blood money."

Lizzie pursed her lips. "This is important to you."

Red sighed and sat back in what had come to be known as his chair. "Someday the creatures on that program will be akin to unicorns and griffins – A fairy-tale bestiary written in past tense, and no one is lifting a finger to stop it. Why not, Lizzie? Why not us?"

Lizzie stared at her dad, silently sizing him up. "No." She murmured. Before Red could accompany his wounded visage with words, she continued. "I don't believe you." Lizzie held a hand up to keep him from speaking. "I know you care about the animals, Dad. You've always been a proponent of conservation, but this is something else. Something more. What is it?"

Red sighed and looked out the darkened window. "Lizzie, the Mombasa Cartel – " Red shook his head as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"Dad?" Lizzie encouraged hesitantly.

"They're the ones, Lizzie." Red took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to stave off a painful image.

Lizzie carefully sat up, cradling Sammy in her arms and deposited him onto the couch beside her, thankful when he barely squirmed at the movement. "Dad, what's wrong?" His visceral reaction had her worried.

"Lizzie, they're the ones who sold Dembe to the slavers."

Lizzie's eyes widened and she gasped in horror, tears immediately springing to her eyes. She could still remember the first time she'd seen her brother's branded skin when she'd been a pre-teen – her righteous indignation at the idea of someone doing that to her brother. Then, when Dembe had finally told her his story when she had been in school, writing a paper about Floriana Campo. The horrors her brother had gone through had left her sobbing, clinging to him. She'd had nightmares for weeks after, imagining the terrible things that had been done to Dembe. After that, she had called her brother as often as she could when they were apart and hung onto him like a limpet when they were together. She had wanted so bad to make sure he knew that there are people in this world who love him.

And now she had the chance to take a chunk out of the people who had sold him into that life. Lizzie looked over at her dad, grim determination turning her face to stone. "Alright, where do we start?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Over the last few years, high-ranking poachers have disappeared without a trace from the Jalloh and Yeboah clans, the Bholas in India, and the Rocha Cartel in Bolivia." Lizzie explained as she paced in front of the main desk in the war room. "Now, no one's taken credit yet, but according to Reddington, the Mombasa Cartel is working to corner the illegal wildlife trade."

Before Liz could continue, Ressler walked hurriedly into the room, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he mumbled a quick "Sorry," as he adjusted his suit jacket.

Lizzie stared at him a moment, her mouth open in a small 'o' of consternation before she rolled her eyes and continued. "Four days ago, a dead body washed up south of Petropavlovsk on the Kamchatka Peninsula. Flayed and skinned with surgical precision, according to the local medical examiner."

"Does the victim have a name?" Cooper questioned.

Lizzie nodded her head at Aram who brought up a picture onto the large screen. "Joseph Batouala – Kenyan, part of the Wanjiku Cartel, the alleged mastermind behind the 2013 elephant massacre at Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe. The park's watering holes were dosed with cyanide, killing 300 elephants and thousands of other animals."

Cooper raised a brow. "And this is the work of our victim?"

"Victims." Samar corrected. "High-ranking officials from half a dozen other cartels have also disappeared."

"According to Reddington, these gangs are just small fish in a very big pond. By far, the most destructive is the Mombasa Cartel." Lizzie continued on where Samar left off.

"They are ruthless, secretive, and highly organized." Samar added. "It's estimated that the Mombasa Cartel smuggles about a billion dollars in contraband per year, from ivory and hides to the illegal import of exotic pets to traditional folk remedies."

"Remedies." Cooper muttered, his brow furrowed. "For what?"

Samar shrugged. "Anything from blindness to erectile dysfunction. For instance, in Vietnam, the horn of a rhinoceros is believed to cure cancer, so it commands a price of about $9,000 per gram."

Ressler cleared his throat awkwardly. "Where was Batouala last seen alive?"

"Hotel d'Argent, Paris."

"Paris." Ressler stated, his eyebrows doing their best to meet his hairline. "And yet his body washes ashore on the Russian coast?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Red and Lizzie ambled slowly through a park that was near the Post Office. They'd just finished off some delicious street tacos and were finally getting down to business. Red firmly believed in not mixing business with pleasure if it could be helped. And street tacos were certainly pleasurable. "I've arranged drinks for you with Geoff Perl."

Lizzie gave a double take and scoffed, incredulous. "Who will be joining us? Bill Gates, Warren Buffett?"

Red chuckled lightly and shook his head. "No, just you and Geoff. Despite being the 33rd richest man on the planet and the C.E.O of Deckard Capital, Geoff is a passionate advocate for wildlife protection. He's also an expert on the illegal-animal trade. If anyone knows anything about the Mombasa Cartel, it'll be Geoff."

Lizzie stared blankly at Red for a moment before shaking her head in an attempt to clear it. "I'm sorry. I'm still getting past the whole 'you're buddies with Geoff Perl' thing."

"We're not buddies." Red rolled his eyes good naturedly. "I don't have buddies. Geoff and I simply share a number of interests. Among them, the protection of endangered animals. I act as a bundler for his charities."

Lizzie raised a brow at her dad's 'I don't have buddies' comment but left it alone for now. "And what does he do in return?"

"Nothing nefarious, I assure you." Red stated, giving her his best I'm-completely-innocent-and-oh-so-adorable face. "Advice, information, the occasional stock tip. One hand washes the other."

They were walking through the outdoor chess area and Red sidled up to one of the tables where two old men were playing silently.

"There we go." He murmured. "Queen to B4. Check."

Lizzie shook her head, a small grin on her face. She was always impressed by her dad's tactician brain.

Red straightened back up and took Lizzie's hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow as he continued on with their walk. "Your name is Judy Trierweiler. You're an activist, investigative reporter, researching an exposé on the Mombasa Cartel. You post under the screen name 'Elsa.'"

Lizzie nodded, becoming serious as her adrenaline began to pump at just the mention of going undercover, even if it was in a completely harmless situation. She had loved spending her maternity leave with her son, but god she'd missed this. "And when is this happening?"

Red smiled softly, quietly proud of his daughter's tenacious work ethic and love for what she did. "Tonight at La Porte Rouge, Dress down."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie looked up at the sound of the front door opening and closing. She immediately smiled from where she sat on the couch, feeding Sammy as her brother turned the corner into the living room.

"Hey big bro." She said softly. "Oh you are a life saver, my fridge is barren and I was worried I was going to have to meet Perl on an empty stomach." Lizzie murmured excitedly at the sight of the bag of Chinese food Dembe placed on the coffee table.

Dembe chuckled quietly and leaned over Lizzie to kiss her forehead in greeting. He then walked out of the room and Lizzie could hear him rustling around in the kitchen. Looking down, she saw Sammy smiling up at her, clearly done with his meal. Chuckling, she threw a muslin cloth over her shoulder and lifted him up to burp him just as Dembe walked into the room with plates and cutlery.

"How are you doing, Dembe?" Lizzie asked as he sat down beside her and began removing the various cartons from the paper bag, dishing her favorites onto a plate.

Dembe paused and looked over at her, a brow raised. "Ask your real question, Elizabeth." He murmured in dark good humor.

Lizzie flushed, biting her lip. It was spooky how well the man could read her sometimes. "Are…are you – " Lizzie hesitated, unsure of how to phrase this. "How are you handling this new case?" She finally murmured, standing up quickly to place Sammy in his swing before sitting back down.

Dembe let out a small sigh as he handed Lizzie her plate. "It is not pleasant." He murmured. "I have moved on with my life. You and Raymond have helped me do so." He paused, taking a fortifying breath. "I do not like the memories." Dembe looked down with a pained wince, moving the shrimp fried rice on his plate around with a fork.

Lizzie looked at her brother sadly. She hated to see her brother so distraught. Dembe didn't express his emotions very often; he was a very reserved man. So for him to show any visible signs of his inner turmoil, Lizzie knew it meant a great deal more pain was hidden underneath.

Setting her plate back down on the coffee table, Lizzie scooted closer to her brother and wrapped her arms around his shoulder, leaning into him and smiling sadly as he quickly returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist after carefully balancing his plate on the arm of the sofa.

Lizzie kissed the top of his bald head. "Dembe, we don't…we don't have to do this. We can tell Dad that we need to move onto another name on the list." Lizzie soothingly massaged the back of Dembe's neck. "I can explain it to him, I'm sure he'd be willing to come up with another name that we can convince the FBI is a bigger fish." She murmured.

Dembe shook his head from where it rested on her shoulder. "No Elizabeth. Raymond feels he needs to do this. He feels it is some long awaited closure."

Lizzie sighed, rolling her eyes in agitation. "For him or for you?"

Dembe's silence was her only answer.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie sat at the bar, pretending to take a sip of her beer as she listened to the band play. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the Geoff Perl playing drums in a hard rock band. The band quickly finished their set and Lizzie could see Perl looking around for her. She plastered on a happy smile as he noticed her and walked over to where she sat at the bar.

"You must be Elsa." Perl said with a roguish grin. "Seen your posts. Like your style. A friend tells me you want some inside dope on the Mombasa Cartel."

Lizzie nodded enthusiastic, falling into her blogger identity. "I've had a hard time getting a toehold."

Geoff scoffed under his breath. "Welcome to the party. My foundation's had the Mombasas in our sights since our inception. Public enemy number one, the worst of the worst and very smart. The crafty bastards at the top keep their hands clean by financing their wet work through a hundred shells and offshores. Never been able to crack that firewall. If you want to give it a try."

"Mm." Lizzie hummed as she brought her beer to her lips.

Geoff grinned as he watched her. "Got to warn you, though – It could be very dangerous."

Lizzie threw him a smirk. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can." Perl concurred with a laugh. "I wager you can handle just about anything."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Red smiled over at Lizzie as they drove together to the Post Office, sitting in the backseat while a subdued Dembe drove. "I knew Geoff would adore you. You're a dead ringer for the last two of his three wives." Red teased.

Lizzie lifted a brow. "Oh? What did his first one look like?"

Red tilted his head back with a laugh. "More like me than you, I'm afraid. Geoff is a savant of sorts. Married into a small fortune, built it into Deckard. Sits on the boards of half a dozen tech companies, owns a big piece of all of them. Then plows millions into animal-related causes. What did he have on the Mombasas?"

Lizzie shook her head. "Just one access point Lee Chung, Emerson-Concorde Imports."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The moment the men hopped out of their small delivery truck, Liz and Ressler rolled up in their SUV, sirens blaring with several other agents pouring out of their own SUV's, blocking every exit.

One of the men, a well dressed Asian man with long raven hair, looked around him, startled. "Who are you? Why you do this?"

"FBI." Liz stated, flashing her badge. "We were wondering if you wouldn't mind assisting us in an investigation we're conducting." Liz kept her hands out in front of her to show she was unarmed.

"What kind of investigation?" Chung spat suspiciously.

Ressler walked directly up to the man, aiming his gun at the man's face. "The kind of investigation where, if you don't help us out, I just yell, 'gun!' And we beat your ass to the curb." Ressler stated through grit teeth.

"I'm unarmed." Chung stated simply, affronted by Ressler's aggression.

"You gonna cooperate? Please say 'no.'" Ressler ground out.

After a tense testosterone fueled staring contest, the man put his arms up and an agent quickly came up behind him to cuff him. Ressler turned towards Lizzie and immediately took a step back at the sight of her livid face.

"What?" He asked.

"What? You ask me 'what?'" Lizzie barely managed to keep the volume level of her screech to a minimum. "What the hell was that, Ressler? We're taking him in for questioning! We need him to cooperate! You being an asshole right out of the gate doesn't exactly ingratiate him to us!" She yelled.

"He's our only lead!" Ressler argued.

"Exactly! He's a lead, not a suspect!" When the only response she got was a clenched jaw and a stonewalled expression, Lizzie tossed her head back in angry exasperation. "You know what, fuck you." She muttered tiredly, heading off to the left.

"Where are you going?" Ressler yelled at her retreating back as she walked away from him and their SUV.

"I'm riding back in with O'Donnell!" Lizzie yelled without turning back around.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Chung's business specializes in the importation of game meats and animal parts from endangered species." Lizzie announced as she hopped up onto one of the metal tables in the war room. "He's willing to roll over on everyone else but claims he doesn't know anything about the Mombasa Cartel."

"You show him the contraband customs had tagged in his warehouse?" Cooper questioned, raising a brow.

Lizzie nodded in affirmation. "Yeah. And the estimated fees Aram worked up."

"It's a lot." Aram murmured from his workstation.

"Plus 112 charges pending." Ressler barked. Both he and Lizzie carefully avoided eye contact.

Cooper looked between Ressler and Lizzie, his eyes narrowing. "And that didn't rattle him?"

Aram sat up straight in his chair as an alert on his computer began to beep. "Whoa, oh, flag up. Looks like we got another one." Aram quickly pressed a few keys, bringing a mirror image of what was on his screen onto the large overhead screen. "Pulled up this morning in a fisherman's net in Hokkaido, Japan. – Same M.O, skinned. A local M.E. I.D.'d him from the serial numbers found on an artificial hip. Alejandro Gomez, Bolivian."

"Rocha Cartel?" Lizzie asked.

Aram nodded. "According to Bolivian police and WCS, rumors are that Gomez worked for –"

"The Mombasa Cartel." Samar stated, causing everyone to look over as she walked into the room. "Chung broke. It turns out our original victim was not with the Wanjiku Cartel. He defected a year ago to the Mombasas."

Lizzie raised her brow in interest. "Somebody's poaching the poachers."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Agent Keen!" Cooper barked as she was getting ready to head out.

Lizzie looked up to where he stood in the doorway of his office. "Sir?"

"May I speak to you a moment?"

Lizzie nodded and quickly made her way up to his office, walked in at his direction and stood awkwardly as he closed the door.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" She questioned as he rounded his desk. Though instead of sitting down, he remained standing, leaning with his fists braced against the desk.

"I think I should be asking you that, Miss Scott." Cooper intoned.

Lizzie looked around as if searching for answers within the office walls. "I don't understand – "

"I allowed the relationship between you and Agent Ressler – we're operating in uncharted territories now. Though you are technically an asset now and any relations between an agent and an asset are expressly forbidden…" Cooper sighed. "We're now a taskforce who is knowingly going rogue so government regulations don't exactly apply and I imagine allowing romantic relationships between two colleagues is rather small fish compared to what we're going to be doing in the future in the name of what is right." Cooper stated darkly.

"Sir, I – "

Cooper cut her off, slashing his hand through the air. "However, this is still my taskforce, rogue though it may be. It's obvious that something has happened between you and Agent Ressler – trouble in paradise I suppose." Cooper paused. "Fix it. I will not have your personal life interfering with our work. Understood?"

Lizzie sighed, biting her lip. "Yes sir."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Red picked up his coffee from the small metal table and stood, surreptitiously dropping his hat onto the seat as he walked away from the little cluster of outdoor seating.

"Hey! Hey, mister! You forgot –"

Red turned around, acting startled as the young woman – the barista for the coffee truck that was parked a few feet away ran over. "My hat. Oh, my gosh." Red chuckled as she handed to her. "I can't believe I forgot it. It's my favorite. Thank you." Red gave a little bow of gratitude and smiled when she nodded her head, returning his smile. "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Zoe." The young woman replied.

"Zoe." Red murmured. "Thank you so much, Zoe." Red fished in his pocket for his money clip, and held out a few bills to her.

Zoe quickly put her hands up, shaking her head as she backed away. "Oh, no, really. I can't. No, no, no."

Red took a step forward. "Please. I insist."

"No, I'm good." Zoe refused.

Red smiled benignly, giving a short nod of acquiescence as he put the clip back in his pocket. "All right, then." Red startled slightly as if just remembering something and moved forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Kenneth, by the way Kenneth Rathers."

Zoe smiled as she shook his hand. "Hello, Kenneth."

"Thank you again, Zoe." Red lifted his hat. "I am quite fond of this hat."

"Let me see." Zoe requested and Red chuckled, placing the hat on his head and giving a little pose. "Very snappy, Kenneth."

Red chuckled before giving a small wave of goodbye as he climbed into the car.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Taking into account estimated time of death, I– I've programmed a simulation illustrating point of origin by running the tidal and ocean-current data for the dates our two floaters washed up in Japan and Russia. Check it out." Aram brought up an interactive map onto the overhead screen. He then began the simulation of the trajectory of the bodies found. "The orange one is Gomez. And as you can see, both bodies were dumped somewhere off the coast of Sitka, Alaska."

"Sitka was the location of the Animal Underground network, a militant animal-rights group." Samar stated.

Cooper looked over to Samar. "'Was?'"

"Yes. In 1971, their leader, Timothy Carlyle, along with six others, were tried and convicted on five counts of homicide for stalking and killing grizzly poachers up at Katmai National Park."

"I remember that case. Became a bit of a cause célèbre, as I recall." Cooper murmured.

Samar nodded. "Yes, the Sitka Seven."

"Seven why's it always seven?" Ressler muttered under his breath.

"After the bust, the whole thing imploded." Lizzie stated, trying to keep on topic. "By all accounts, the rest of the group were more or less hangers-on – Flakes, useful idiots."

"Go deep on Animal Underground. See what became of every member of the group. Arrests, activities, associates. Especially those still in Sitka." Cooper ordered.

"What about Chung?" Samar questioned.

"Cut him loose. Put a tail on him and see where he leads us." Cooper then pointed to Ressler. "Ressler, get packed. I want you in Sitka for face-time with anyone Samar turns up."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie greeted her brother with a smile as she walked into her home. Her smile became a full grin as her son took notice of her and screeched happily from where he lay on his back on the living room floor, kicking his little arms and legs in greeting.

"Hey baby boy!" She said excitedly, bending down to pick him up and steal him away from play time with Dembe. Walking into the kitchen from which a delicious smell was emanating.

"Hey Dad." Lizzie greeted, smiling at the sight of her dad in a yellow and white striped apron.

"Hello Sweetheart!" Red replied happily though he didn't look up from where he was stirring some sort of sauce.

"Smells delicious." Lizzie murmured around her son's little fingers as he squealed and laughed. He'd recently taken to sticking his fingers in things, including people's mouths. Lizzie liked to gum at them and pretend she was eating them. It only caused him to do it more frequently but she loved making him laugh.

"Mmm." Red hummed, clearly distracted.

"Dad? What's up?" Lizzie asked, noticing his mood.

Red sighed and put down his whisk, turning down the heat on the stove before he turned to look at her though he remained silent. He worked his mouth as if to speak but was unsure how to get the words to come out.

"Dad?" Lizzie encouraged hesitantly. "You're starting to worry me."

Red sighed again as he leaned against the counter. "There is something I…probably should have told – should have warned you of a while ago." Lizzie's brow furrowed in confusion though she remained silent, bouncing Sammy on her hip as she waited for her dad to continue. "You see, after the incident with Garrick and what happened with…Audrey, Agent Ressler was well on his way to becoming addicted to pain pills."

Lizzie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped in shock. "Oh…okay." She muttered stupidly.

"I didn't think to mention it because he suddenly stopped. He stopped refilling his prescriptions and he didn't attempt to get any through nefarious means. Then he started to spend more and more time with you." Red coughed awkwardly, shifting on his feet.

"Okay… and what exactly does this have to do with anything?" Lizzie questioned hesitantly.

"Well… he seems to have taken up a new habit. Alcohol." Red scratched the crown of his head. "When he came to try and speak to you a few days ago he was… far from sober. And yesterday when he showed up late to work he'd… stopped at a bar."

Lizzie's eyes widened as she shook her head in refusal. "No. No he wouldn't do that, Dad. He wouldn't risk coming to work with any sort of impairment like that. You're wrong." Lizzie defended Don vehemently.

"I wish I were, Sweetheart. I really do." Red looked at her sadly, his lips thinned.

"Why?" She asked desperately.

Red stared at her a moment before sighing. "I think he needs help, Lizzie. He's far from being addicted, he's just…falling back on an old coping mechanism. But I know addiction, Lizzie. He needs help and soon."

Lizzie stood silently for a moment. "'Falling back on an old coping mechanism'… you're saying it's my fault." Lizzie whispered heatedly, walking away to set Sammy in his playpen that sat in the corner of the kitchen. "That he's doing this because he and I are fighting."

Red opened his arms out in front of him in supplication. "No Lizzie. It is in no way your fault. Is this how he's coping with the situation? Yes. But that does not make it your fault in any way." Red ran a hand over his face as he chewed the inside of his lip. "Lizzie, is he aware that you only view this as a fight – as a mere bump in the road?" An indecisive silence was his only answer. "Donald probably thinks that he is incapable of keeping a family together. Trust me, I know all too well what that feels like." Red shook his head tiredly. "As far as he knows, he's lost you Lizzie. Not just you, but Sammy as well. You may not be dead, but you're lost to him nonetheless – just like he lost Audrey and subsequently their baby."

Lizzie choked on a sob, her hand flying up to cover her anguished cries. Red took a large step towards her and wrapped her in his arms tightly.

"Shh Sweetheart, it'll be alright. You'll get this sorted." Red murmured as he kissed the top of her head.

"How could I do that to him, Dad? I didn't even think – " Lizzie choked on another sob. "I was just so angry at him."

"And you had every right to be angry, you still do." Red argued quietly, petting her hair. "But there are two sides to every story, Lizzie. You know that. But sometimes, you're just so hotheaded that you can't see your hand in front of your face for all that righteous anger."

Lizzie laughed wetly, pinching him in the side at his gentle teasing. With a muttered "ow," Red hopped away from her and moved back to the stove to finish dinner.

Lizzie stood there indecisively, unsure of what to do. Wiping her tears away angrily, Lizzie wanted nothing more than to rush over to Ressler's apartment and talk to him. Apologize to him and yell at him and kiss him. But she couldn't because he was half way to Alaska by now.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Ressler."

Lizzie cleared her throat awkwardly at the sound of Don's voice on the other end of the phone. "Chung disappeared this morning. Somebody shot the agent surveilling him with a tranquilizer dart."

There was a pause. "Do you think he might have been abducted?"

"Possibly." Lizzie shrugged though she knew he couldn't see. "We're not sure. He might have fled. We flagged his passport. We're tracking all international flights. We'll keep you posted. At this point, the closest former Animal Underground members that we could find are in Anchorage."

"Any prospects?"

"Outside of one arrest for possession 15 years ago, they look clean."

"The Ranch." Samar murmured, having been listening in on the conversation.

"Oh, yeah. And make a run out to Igaluk Ranch. It's the former location of their commune. Property was picked up at auction after the big bust by Wendigo, LLC."

"I'll check it out."

"Ress!" Lizzie called out when she could tell he was moments away from hanging up, moving away from Samar, to a more secluded part of the war room.

"Yea?" Ressler questioned gruffly.

"Uh… I just… I think we should talk." Lizzie coughed. "I want to talk."

The silence extended for so long, Lizzie was beginning to wonder if he'd hung up on her. Just as she was pulling her phone away from her ear, she heard his voice come over the line. "Yea?" He uttered again though it sounded both weak and hopeful at the same time. A far cry from his earlier abrupt gruffness.

"Yea." She murmured. "But uh…but I need you to be sober. Can you do that? No more drinking. Promise me."

Another long silence greeted her but this time she waited patiently. "How did you know?" He asked softly.

Lizzie snorted out a laugh. "Are you forgetting about my personal spy network?" She asked teasingly.

"Red." Ressler groaned before clearing his throat. "Alright, yea. I promise."

Lizzie laughed at his apparent woe-be-gone attitude before nodding her head at his promise. "Good. Then uh… I'll talk to you when you get back."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"The two vics were skinned antemortem." Samar explained. "Presuming Sitka is the dumping site –"

"They were transported alive." Lizzie finished Samar's thought.

Samar nodded. "You think sedated?"

"No doubt, but, still, customs, security – Someone would have – " Lizzie paused, the corners of her eyes crinkling in confusion. "But, plus, how did they get onto a commercial flight without proper documentation?"

Samar's eyes widened with sudden realization. "Unless you don't fly commercial. Homeland Security is loathe to inconvenience the rich and powerful."

Lizzie spun around to face Aram. "Pull information on private jets departing the same days our victims were abducted. Crosscheck tail numbers. See if you can find a pattern."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Paris, two hours after Batouala disappears, a chartered Citation, CJ3S, leaves a private airstrip outside the city. Sao Paulo another Citation departs 45 minutes – after Alejandro Gomez is abducted." Aram explained, bringing the flight logs up onto the large screen.

"Same pilots?" Lizzie questioned.

"Well, I got two different names here, but both check out as bogus, so I'd say yes."

"He's comfortable behind the stick of a Citation." Samar murmured, thinking aloud. "Why change horses?"

Aram nodded, pointing his finger at her as if he were a game show host and she'd just answered correctly. "Right. So I checked local airports and got a third hit." Aram hit a key and another flight log popped onto the screen. "Another citation, which departed yesterday from Westchester at 5:12 p.m."

"Chung. Did they file a flight plan?" Samar asked quickly.

Aram shrugged. "Bogus. Uh, all over the map – Uh, Tokyo, Dubai, Paris."

"Who chartered the planes?" Lizzie asked, leaning against the desk beside Aram.

"Three separate jets, three separate companies. One domiciled in Oslo, uh, the second in Belgium, uh, the third in South Africa. But they all share a common corporate parent." Aram paused thoughtfully. "Or should I say a common corporate second-uncle-cousin-sister once removed?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"What do you know about a company called Wendigo, LLC?" Lizzie swung her chair back and forth as she spoke into her phone.

"Wendigo. What have you found that connects him to the cartel?" Red questioned, catching Dembe's eye in the rear view mirror of their Mercedes.

Lizzie shrugged. "Not sure. All we know is Wendigo controls chartered jets used in the abductions and they own a piece of property in the same area where the bodies were dumped in the ocean Sitka, Alaska. Used to be a commune for a group called Animal Underground. Ressler went up there to ask some questions. He's fallen out of contact." Lizzie paused, taking a shaky breath. If something had happened to Ressler… "Anchorage division's scrambling HRT, and Samar and I are set to rendezvous with them in Juneau. In the meantime, if you can dig up any names behind Wendigo…"

"Lizzie, be careful up there." Red murmured before hanging up. He once again caught Dembe's gaze in the rearview mirror. "There's been a change of plans."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I don't care if Matthew likes it. I should have tipped off the police when he began his little hobby." A pause. "I know that. Tell Peter to call me when it's done."

Red smiled, having listened to the man's side of his phone conversation, as Perl turned the corner into the living room. "Namaste, Geoff." He greeted.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie and Samar stood huddled with a few Alaska State Troopers as well as a Hostage Rescue Team. They had a map laid out atop the hood. "Any intelligence on who's up there?" Lizzie asked the Chief.

"Two confirmed – Rosemary, aka 'Skye,' Kincaid and her son, Peter." He answered.

"The woman checks out as an associate of Animal Underground." A Lieutenant continued.

"Yeah, a local girl got knocked up by one of their members, a fella they called 'Ace.'" One of the search and rescue guys chimed in. "Her son Pete is an expert guide and tracker."

"Anybody else?" Lizzie asked.

The men all shared conspiratorial glances before the Chief spoke up. "There could be. Word is, Rosie was pregnant again 40 years ago and insisted on giving birth up at the Ranch – refused to come in town. Social services paid her a visit about eight months in, tried to convince her to change her mind and reported that she was no longer with child. People have talked hunters and whatnot. And there's been sightings of somebody or 'something' else."

"'Something?'" Lizzie asked, incredulous. It seemed a bit too far fetched to her – like an urban legend or something.

"The rumor is, it's Rosie's younger son."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Red squinted as he looked over an old photo before letting out a small "Ah!" and leaned forward in his seat, showing the picture to Geoff, tapping his finger as he pointed to where he wanted the other man to look. "There you are – Sean Salter. You went by the name 'Ace' back then. You left Animal Underground two years before the Sitka Seven killings and subsequent trials. Lucky, that. But, then, you've always had a talent for well-timed exits. Well, it seems, Ace, there's still some freaks up there living in the woods, skinning people and dumping them in the Bay."

Geoff's eyes narrowed at the use of the term 'freaks.' "Poachers, not people, responsible for the decimation of hundreds of wild and endangered species."

Red nodded, smiling benevolently. "Yes. Horrific. And if that was your endgame, I'd be writing you another sizable contribution to keep up the good work. But that isn't the endgame, is it, Geoff?" Red's smiled was wiped from his face and his gaze hardened as he placed his elbows on his knees. "You see, before I got involved with your Foundation, I ran a comprehensive background check. All your business interests, corporations. Among them, a rather innocuous shell called 'Wendigo, LLC.' Everything looked fine. Shame on me." Red uttered darkly. "Turns out Wendigo holds controlling stock in a small but lucrative concern called Emerson-Concorde Imports that you recently identified to a lovely young friend of mine as a front for the Mombasa Cartel."

Geoff smirked, shaking his head slowly. "Why would I kill my own people?"

Red shrugged. "You're a businessman. As long as you were killing off the competition, you took the opportunity to clear out deadwood in your own operation. The evidence of your guilt is convoluted but irrefutable." Red began to bite the inside of his cheek as the small tic under his eye began to twinge. "I simply cannot fathom the journey, the moral detours necessary to change a man who cherished all creatures great and small into one who profits from their slaughter."

Geoff's lips thinned as he looked at Red compassionately. "My motives have never been about profits. I have more money than I'll ever need. And there's been no journey, no detours. I'm the same guy I've always been – I'm a conservationist. And as you pointed out, I'm a businessman. I understand the law of supply and demand. As long as the market exists – and it will always exist – there will be people willing to meet the demand. It can't be stopped. It can be controlled."

Red shook his head. "A natural monopoly."

Geoff nodded, smiling as if he was happy that Red was beginning to understand, completely ignoring or simply unaware of Red's apparent disgust. "Exactly. These cartels are completely out of control. But through a natural monopoly, the supply curve can be managed. The short-term demand can be met without threatening the long-term survival of the species."

Red barked out a dark laugh. "Geoff, that was breathtaking – an operatic perversion of righteous intent. But your strategy, no matter how noble the rhetoric, is betrayed and, inevitably, defined by your actions." Red paused and lifted one hand behind him, drawing his gun from its holster. "This isn't about conservation. It's about consolidation. We are what we do, Ace." Red

Geoff eyed Red's gun warily. "What do you want?"

"A list identifying every member and operative in the Mombasa Cartel, their business entities, and distribution networks."

"Or?"

Red smiled benignly. "Or I shoot you here, now." He stated simply, pointing his weapon at Geoff.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Status?" A man's voice chattered over Lizzie's earpiece.

"Male subject downstairs. Female upstairs bathroom."

Lizzie watched as the HRT squad surrounded the house. A few of the men walked up the porch quietly before one of them shouted "FBI!" And knocked down the door. Within moments, gunfire was exchanged and quickly silenced. Samar and Lizzie quickly made their way into the cabin and followed along as the men cleared the lower level. Sharing a glance, Lizzie and Samar made their way upstairs. Pushing open the bathroom door, Lizzie and Samar crowded the doorway, stopping short at the sight of an old woman sat in a tub stained red with blood, a 40 something year old man sat in the opposite side of the tub from her. When the woman raised her hand out of the soapy water, Lizzie raised her gun. "Freeze!" She shouted.

But the woman ignored her, looking over at her son. "Don't cry, buttercup. Everything's gonna be all right." The woman murmured just before tipping the phonograph which until that moment had been playing a haunting tune – into the tub. Lizzie watched, her eyes widening in horror as their bodies twitched and spasmed until they finally went limp.

/\/\/\/\/\

"There it is. That's everything – the whole cartel." Geoff stated, turning around from where he stood at his desk and handed Red a USB.

Red grasped the USB before putting it in his pocket and aiming his gun at Perl's chest. "You know, 29 years ago in Sierra Leone, there was a farmer named Samwel Zuma who had the audacity to identify several low-level Mombasa operatives to local authorities. The cartel massacred the entire family." Red uttered, his voice deep and grave. "All but the youngest son. He was sold to a local ring of flesh peddlers. The majority of children in those circumstances don't last more than nine months. He survived eight years. He was 14 when I found him. Too old, too tall, too angry and dangerous to be of any further value. He was left to die, chained to a standpipe in the basement of a squalid brothel in Nairobi. Branded, burned, barely alive. So I took him." Red paused with a small sigh. "Made him well, saw to his education. He graduated university with a bachelor's degree in English Literature. He speaks four languages fluently and can get by in a half a dozen more. He is splendid." Red uttered with obvious awe. "His name is Dembe – Dembe Zuma."

"Raymond, don't. That was then. It serves no purpose to kill him now." Dembe's voice came from the shadows of the hallway behind Red.

Red let out a little breath of a laugh, shaking his head. "You see that, Geoff? That is what a good man does. That is what separates men like him from men like you" Red paused thoughtfully." – and me." He finished before pulling the trigger, shooting Geoff Perl in the chest.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lizzie walked down the porch steps in a daze. As she looked around her, her steps faltered, her eyes skittering back towards what she saw. Don. Sitting in the back of an ambulance. Without hesitation, Lizzie sprinted towards him, making a beeline around all of the officers moseying around the yard and completely uncaring of the spectacle she made as she slammed into Ressler's chest, hugging him tightly.

Despite a pained groan, Don hugged her back, refusing to let her back away no matter how much it hurt his bruised ribs. Don nuzzled his head into her neck and Lizzie sniffled, knowing that her tears were dripping down Don's neck but couldn't bring herself to care, just basking in the sheer relief and joy at knowing he was safe.

"So does this mean that you forgive me?" Don whispered gruffly, his voice muffled as he refused to move away.

Lizzie laughed wetly before sniffling. "No, it just means I'm so damn happy you're alive so that I can."