Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Not mine, nope, but I did reenact the scene of Red on the floor…I hope that counts for something ;-)

Notes: OH wow 102 reviews! Thank you all! :-D I got 99 problems, but a B*** aint one. I read them all, just did not have the time to respond to each one personally this time. Does happy dance, can't believe you lads & lasses like it. Also a thank you for the follows/fave's and guests popping by!

My apologies for taking so long! RL has been a bitch, but TBH so was this chapter. Ch. 5 will be up sooner, I promise.

Special Thanks to my beta, the lovely jadenanne7, I take my hat of to you dear for helping a Blacklist starved wannabe writer. Shout out to Miss FrostyFingers – you awesome writer cookie thx for all the praise and RedandLizzie for recommending this story, I hope it won't disappoint.

As always, the music helps tell the story as well as the graphics, both can be found on my Tumblr account ( hestia-prytaneum / tagged/ fanfiction )

Okay then that's it, let's get this show rolling shall we.

XOXOXO

Previously

The overpowering odor of lavender, paradichlorobenzene, and expensive cigars filled his nostrils before his eyes gradually blinked to a tunnel vision. Her limp body had disappeared and her shoes were no longer visible. Out of sight. All he saw was red. All there was was blood.

Red slowly batted his eyelids until he couldn't blink anymore. His whole world turned dark. He really wished this was some horrible nightmare and that he would wake up soon before his last thought struck him. "Lizzie…I am so sorry…." The music drifted away. An uncomfortable and eerie stillness. Lights out. Pitch black.

CH. 4 – The Magician.

Agitated, confounded, and freezing. That was how Red felt at the moment. How in god's name did he end up in this conflagration of frozen hell? Another shiver assaulted his physique as he desperately tried to open his eyes. It was as if his eyelashes were glued on top of each other. His heartbeat was strong and rapid; his body coated in cold sweat, made the damp broadcloth of his white dress shirt cling to his body like a second skin. Every part of his body ached...his fingers were slightly numb, his feet were throbbing, and hoof beats were pounding in his head. It was excruciating.

He tried to cough to clear his painfully dry throat and burning lungs, but all he got was dust and a tang of plasma. His nostrils felt as if they were stuffed with cotton and caked with old blood. It was hard to breathe through them; yet, there was no escaping the overpowering odor of blood mixed in with a killer scent of bleach. He felt incredibly dehydrated and the stabbing pains in his back reminded him that someone had recently hit him. None too gently.

Guess it wasn't a nightmare after all. Not that this was anything new for him. Red had been in similar situations before. An occupational hazard. However, this time, he wasn't so sure that lady luck was on his side.

'How could I have been so reckless?'

Red had always been prepared for anything and everything. It was a necessity in his world. A checklist for his survival, not that he so much as cared for his life as he did for the ones he held most dear. Cared about. Loved. He had to stay alive to protect them. All of them, but most of all…'Lizzie'. His eyes popped open and groaned in pain as some of his lashes got ripped out of their roots by the sudden rash movement. It was never his intent to drag her into this filth. He would get her out, even if that meant risking his life. The ultimate sacrifice. His final act.

His eyes prickled as he tried to adjust his eyesight to the nominal lighting within the room, moving them made him feel dizzy. Nothing. Everything was still pitch black.

'Have I gone blind?'

He lay facedown on a cold, very uncomfortable floor, covered in dust and tiny insects that crawled over his face and neck. Some tickled and some itched, nevertheless it was certainly not the most unpleasant feeling at the moment. Insects meant that Mother Nature was out there somewhere. If they could get in, he could get out. He attempted to glide backwards on his stomach, the buttons of his dress shirt pressed hard on his torso as he wriggled around, however his ankles which were inflexibly tied together as well as his wrists, bound tightly behind his back restricted his movements.

Red stretched his legs to see how far he could reach, his knees protested and bones cracked as the tip of his shoe hit another wall. He took a deep breath through his mouth to clear his mind and calm his body down. He was alive, and that could mean either one or two things: whoever took him needed him alive for information or wanted to torture him first and then put him out of his misery. It felt like Anslo all over again, only this time there was more at stake.

He tried to speak, to call for Lizzie, except his voice came out small, a hoarse, wheezy whisper, no more than a 30-decibel sound that only a dog could hear. A small, sad smile graced his lips. That would have been something if Hudson came to the rescue. The guardian of the canines. He chuckled at his own ridiculous, tired mind until he couldn't anymore. His body protested against every movement, no matter how benign.

'You really did it this time, Ray. You have officially lost your mind.'

How he regretted not telling anyone about their whereabouts, not even the almighty FBI. Too bad Donald wasn't around to chase his own tail; at least that would have been amusing to see. Certainly Agent Navabi would have the intellect to track Lizzie's cellphone, If whoever was behind this incursion had not disposed of it already. As much as he despised working with the G-men, they did come with certain perks. Mr. Kaplan was out of town and he had guaranteed her that he would not get in too much trouble while she was away. Well, live and learn. The hard way.

Using his shoulders, abdominal muscles, pelvis, and the tiptoes of his shoes, Red mustered up all his strength and slithered sideways like a snake in the desert until his right side hit another wall.

'Good...two walls so far, now let's find a door.'

He tried to swing his body up, but he was still too weak, as if he had been hit with a hypodermic full of tranquilizer and his body was still fighting off the after effects. He was engaging in an inner monologue to configure a coherent plan of escape when he heard voices and the patter of footsteps coming closer and closer. He pricked up his ears and stretched his strained neck out to listen when the noises abruptly stopped.

A key turned inside a lock not far from him, unlocking and opening a heavy, metal, screechy door.

Red saw a man's figure outlined in the bright yellow light streaming from the half-opened entry, his eyes squinting at the sudden intrusion. His vision was distorted, but at least he could see. He lay at the far end of the room and had a direct view of a very white blob entering and closing the door behind it.

The room was unnervingly dark again, all he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears and the slow breathing of another person at the far end of the opposite wall. By his estimation, the room was no more than 7 yards in length and width. Squared.

"Wakey wakey, old man, it is time for some well needed supper!" a grating voice called, condescending with a tenor not dissimilar to the Joker. Pure evil.

Red groaned. He couldn't respond, even if he wanted to. There was no way in hell that he was going to eat anything this lunatic had prepared for him.

"Oops! Where are my manners? Let's shed some light on the situation, shall we?" the man stridently simpered, menacing as he flicked the light switch on. The center of the room came to life, illuminated by one soft, flickering, half-shielded orange light bulb hanging midpoint from the tall ceiling, projecting downwards. There was a single black folding chair placed right in the middle, not 10 feet in front of him.

Red let his eyes wander around the room; he was surrounded by concrete floor, while the outer walls remained obscure. All appeared bare. A bunker, perhaps. Just his luck, Wujing and this guy must have had the same decorator.

'They do love their greys.'

The shadow figure slowly strode towards Red, then quietly sat down and crossed his right leg over his left, as light as a feather. His ostentatious, orange hued, snowy white patent shoes, pink socks, and linen pants were the only things perceptible in Red's blurred line of vision. He craned his neck as far as he could, but could not see past the man's knees and a metallic colored plate perched on top.

The man unexpectedly hurled the contents of the plate in Red's direction. Lukewarm liquid, and something squishy and rotten smelling hit him square in his face, while the plastic cup bounced off the back of his left shoulder, hit the floor and rolled away. He sputtered and coughed to get the ghastly stink and horrendous taste out of his mouth, but it was futile. His stomach turned as he suppressed the urge to hurl. He reeked of death and raw sewage as the fluid slowly dripped from his chin down to his already wet torso.

The man let out a rumble of high-pitched, vile, fake laughter as his whole body and chair shook, producing a rattling sound as it skidded over the floor.

'Stupendous, the chair is loose,' Red thought, not in the least concerned about being the butt of this man's obviously tasteless joke.

"You should have seen your face! Priceless…." the man chortled, slippery as an eel. "Now be a good boy and clean up after yourself, will you? One would think that your mother hasn't taught you any proper etiquette." He shook his head lightly and smacked himself on the forehead, the muffled clash and cruel words echoed from the hollowness and high ceilings of the room. "Of course not. If I remember correctly, it was your father who raised you," he enlightened himself, snapping his fingers as if he were having one of those Eureka moments.

Red's eyes widened in shock, No one knew about his mother's passing. The ones that did know were individuals from a past long forgotten. His former self. "Who are you?" Red questioned, his voice slightly stronger than before, but still croaky and far from his normal smooth tone. He felt weak and insanely pathetic. Powerless.

The man shifted in his seat, unclasped his legs, got up, threw the plate on the chair with a deafening sound, and walked to two feet in front of Red, blocking the light with his imposing lanky stance. The overpowering odor of lavender, paradichlorobenzene, and expensive cigars jolted Red's memory in an instant.

'Mothballs.'

"Doctor Noj Eisenkamp, I presume. What do you want?" Red growled out, his voice prickled with venom and his eyes cross as he eyed the blurred shoes in front of him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, anger awoke in the pit of his core, and his headache immensely intensified. His teeth clenched together, his hands balled into crushing fists; the zip ties dug harshly into his raw flesh from the sheer force, but did not budge an inch. He was furious.

"Ding, Ding, DING! We have a winner, ladies and gents!" Eisenkamp all but shouted to no one in particular. Apparently he was his own audience. He pulled up his pants legs and crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet to look Red right in the eyes, his off set pink tie swinging back and forth between his knees.

He had a mischievous glint in his raven black, cold eyes, deeply sunken under his straight, semi-translucent eyebrows, with a sharp nose that pointed towards his sinister sneer. Not one wrinkle adorned his smooth, perfect complexion and his forehead remained unmoving as his expression changed to one of pure amusement. He cocked his head to the side, the incandescent light reflecting off his Harry Potter wire trimmed glasses. His over-bleached hair created an unpleasant flickering orange halo, which was anything but angelic. Merely a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing.

Eisenkamp shrugged and shook his head lightly. "Well, sort of. I can't believe that you don't recognize me…" he whined and flattened his right, white cashmere gloved hand over his heart in mock hurt, protruding his lip in a pout, while his other rested on his knee.

"But then again, how could you? We have never formally met and I do look a little bit different. But you can call me The Magician, and this lovely place, my friend, is what I like to call…My Dungeon. Welcome!" he boasted, straightening himself up and slowly turning, with his hands up, as if he were a real-estate agent presenting the most beautiful room in the house.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then slowly breathed out. Woosah."Ahhhhh...My favorite scent in the entire world...bleach makes everything just a little better, don't you agree? The scent of…Cleanliness." He reopened his eyes. "And what I really, truly want is..." he drawled, when a heavy knock interrupted him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and yelled, "Yes?!" clearly annoyed.

The disembodied high-pitched voice on the other side sounded taut and a little bit tremulous. "My apologies for the intrusion, Sir, but it seems like the other one has woken up as well."

Red's eyes snapped up towards the door, suddenly very alert, his heart thumping hard against his ribcage 'Lizzie must be here somewhere.' A blanket of relief washed over him before it dissipated, morphing into ice-cold fear as the realization of the ghastly situation hit him. 'What is he going to do to her?'

Eisenkamp interjected his train of thought with an overly friendly, obviously fake apology. "Pardon my rudeness, but it seems like one of my other guests are waiting for me to grace them with my ingenious presence." With that, he turned and briskly made his way towards the door.

"Wait!" Red exclaimed, finding his voice and causing Eisenkamp to turn his head while his right hand hovered over the door handle. With a tremendous surge of energy, Red swung himself up onto his right side, ignoring the stabbing pain still present throughout his body and leaned back against the wall.

"The woman you took, where is she?" he asked flatly, trying to deprive his voice of any emotions. He knew Eisenkamp wouldn't tell him, but he needed to gauge his reaction.

Eisenkamp's lips quirked into a pleased, closed lipped smirk. "You mean the pretty, blue eyed, brown haired girl with a body to die for?" he questioned, his cold eyes pinning Red to his spot with a malevolent glare. "If I were you, I would worry about myself. I already took care of her. She was…" He tapped his mouth with his left fingers, as if in deep thought, "quite the fighter..." he breathed out slowly after a moment.

Red's twitch beneath his left eye and jaw clench did not go unnoticed by Eisenkamp, whose smirk grew in response. "Now don't try to miss me too much while I am gone," he cooed before he switched the light off, left the room, and locked it behind him. The marching of two pair of footsteps slowly faded away.

'At least ten large steps,' Red counted in his head before an eerie silence and total darkness flooded over him. Just him and his unsettling thoughts left to rot. He had brought them into this mess, put Lizzie's life in danger and right into the hands of this psycho. If she wasn't dead already.

'No, he must be lying. Lizzie is alive. I can still feel her. At least Dembe or the twins must have gotten away and is attaining the cavalry,' Red tried to reassure himself before shoving his thoughts away. This was not the time to let his doubts or Eisenkamp's words get under his skin.

He turned and shifted against the stony, rough wall until he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him. Too bad he was divested of his vest, tie, and jacket; he sure could have made use of his sunglasses and a bottle of aspirin. He took a deep breath in and slowly breathed it out, getting used to the ever-present stench. His head was killing him, yet nothing felt more poignant than the regrets overflowing his heart or the inner sadness that came over him.

'God, a time machine would certainly be handy right about now. How the hell am I getting her out of here?'

XOXOXO

MEANWHILE AT THE POST OFFICE.

"What do you mean they were not at the club?!" Cooper shouted at Aram, who slunk back in his seat as he rapidly scanned over the security footage of the outside entrance of 1OAK.

"Sir, I have examined the traffic cameras' footage and followed Mr. Reddington's Sedan to a few miles within the perimeter of the club before they entered a blind area. I hacked into the club's surveillance feeds and went over them, but there is just no evidence of Mr. Reddington, Dembe or Agent Keen ever making it there," Aram tightly responded, slightly scared of the stern look on his boss's face as he eyed him over his left shoulder. Not only that...sadly, the images were too dark to make out any clear faces.

Cooper sighed and placed his hands on his wrinkled, pinstriped, dark suit pants covered hips. His eyebrows scrunched together in a heavy frown and his lips formed a straight line. Why did he always have to be the one who cleaned up Reddington's mess when things went sideways? It had been several hours since he last heard from the incorrigible duo. He should have tagged Agent Keen with a Darpa tracking chip; it would have made his job a lot easier. "Did you hear back from Agent Navabi?" he questioned, more calm than he felt.

"Yes, Sir, she called about 10 minutes ago when the NYPD found Reddington's vehicle near Washington Square Park. There were three DB's discovered within...two men and one woman. CSU is still processing the crime scene. Agent Navabi said that she was going to follow up on some leads and then report back to us. However, we have been able to identify one of the victims as the Judge's bailiff. I am still running the other two through the database, but I am sure that we will have something soon," Aram answered nervously, brushing a hand over his night blue silk tie, which matched his expensive pocket square and slightly lighter sapphire suit. He really hated it, when one of his colleagues went missing. Just the thought of what a guy like The Magician could do to Agent Keen and Mr. Reddington gave him the hibbie jibbies.

Aram scratched the back of his head and glanced at the time stamp of the feed. 'Huh, that can't be right! How could I have missed that?' A flush colored his bearded cheeks; sometimes the pressure was too much. "Uh, Sir?" he tentatively voiced and then remained quiet, his eyes glued to the screen above them.

"What is it, Aram?!" Cooper asked while scanning through the case files. He was on edge and losing his patience. First Ressler and now this; the deputy was going to '86' him. He had a nagging feeling that something horrible had occurred and he feared the worse.

After losing Meera and all the havoc following, his team had been extra cautious with their dealings with the blacklisters. He could not believe that he trusted Reddington once again. The man was reckless to the point of suicidal and loved to pull the wool over his eyes. However, he could not deny his pristine track record or his irrefutable value to the task force. As much as he hated working with the man, he highly appreciated the Intel Reddington provided, and the scum that got eradicated from this earth, mainly due to his efforts. He just hoped none of his agents would follow suit. Not again. 'There has to be a connection somewhere.' They needed to hurry...time was not on their side.

Aram almost jumped out of his chair and hastily replied, "I think someone might have doctored the time stamps. You see there?" Aram questioned, pointing to the small digits at the right side of the monitor. "There is a wrinkle. The time jumps between 10.44 p.m. and 10.45 p.m. But we need the original footage just to be sure."

Cooper's deep brown eyes squinted behind his rectangle glasses, fixating on the numbers flashing over the screen; there was a mini second split between the times, almost unnoticeable if you were not looking for it. 'Reddington and Keen must have been there.' They had no other leads. The bailiff was a dead end. Literally.

His boss's face and shoulders visibly relaxed and patted Aram's left shoulder. "Good work, Aram, now contact Agent Navabi, Ressler, and SWAT. I want them to fine comb that club with a toothpick if necessary. Nobody sleeps before Agent Keen and Reddington are accounted for, understood?!" Cooper exclaimed, glancing at the dozen frightened faces in the room before he turned around and made his way towards his office. He had a very important phone call to make, one he dreaded to no end. 'Time to bite the bullet.'

"Uh Sir? Agent Cooper, hold up!" Aram called out as he hastily made his way to his boss.

Cooper's white dotted, crimson red tie flew through the air before settling back on his ivory white pinstriped button up as he swiftly spun on his cane and pinned the tech with a curious glare, one eyebrow perched high on his forehead, lips pressed together in a tight smile. "Aram?"

Aram anxiously glanced around the room and leaned forward until there was less than a foot between them. "Sir, are you sure about Agent Ressler? I mean he is still on his 'holiday'. But of course if you need him, I will phone him…but are you sure that he is well enough to perform his duties adequately?' Aram questioningly whispered. He doubted that he was. Only direct task members were aware of Ressler's condition.

Cooper eyed the young man peculiarly and took a moment before he orotundly responded, "As much as I appreciate your concern, I highly doubt that Agent Ressler would mind cutting his vacation short for this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters to attend to. Keep me updated on the status." With that, he turned around and wobbled back towards his office, indirectly dismissing Aram.

"Yes, Sir," Aram whispered to the back of his boss, mentally smacking himself against his forehead for his indiscretion. He didn't really feel like himself today. He truly hoped that his friends were alright. Mr. Reddington was a lot of things, but he would never let anything happen to Agent Keen, at least not intentionally, and he always got her out of the most impossible situations. Aram had to trust him on that. He really wanted to know why Mr. Reddington had chosen Agent Keen, but that was a question left unanswered. Perhaps indefinitely. Right now, he had the dreadful task of ringing Ressler and oh boy, would he be livid. For some reason he had and always would despise Mr. Reddington, despite all the good the man did. The bad always outweighed the good in Ressler's book.

XOXOXO

THE FBI BATMOBILE

Agent Navabi was on her way to pick Ressler up before heading over to 1OAK. She questioned if he was up for it, but it was all hands on deck. Right now, all that mattered was finding Keen and Reddington, safe and sound. Somehow those two got in a shitload more trouble in a short span of time, than the whole Mossad did in a year.

'This task force will be the end of me,' Samar thought as she swirled between the lanes, her army style boots errantly stuck on the gas, the blue and red strobe lights transfixing her into a highly alert state of empowerment as numerous cars irreversibly got out of her way to let her pass. She loved the thrill that a mission brought with it, a feeling stuck in between fear and exhilaration.

'I hope that we'll make it in time.'

Who was she kidding, they would have to be...she had unfinished business with Reddington and was just starting to like Keen, even though the feeling was not reciprocated. She understood why, probably would have felt the same way if the roles were reversed. Still, she could not shake the feeling that there was more to the story than met the eye.

Her mind desperately wanted to figure out where the pieces of the puzzle fit when it came to Reddington's and Keen's relationship. They weren't related….FBI DNA testing confirmed that. There was just something off about them that she couldn't quite put her finger on. They seem at odds some days and attached at the hip on others. Thank god, Liz didn't know what had transpired between her and Reddington a while back, and after her jealous confession, maybe it was better if she never found out. Once Pandora's box was opened, it couldn't be closed. Hell would follow, and she, for one, did not want to be on the receiving end of Keen's wrath.

Samar slowed down and parked the car in front of Ressler's 'Holliday Inn'. She could not believe how mediocre Ressler performed, yet, still got to be the lead agent on the task force. Five years of his life wasted chasing after Reddington, just to get beaten by a rookie agent and herself. That must have been a slap in the face. Twice. It would have made her feel inadequate too.

The ginger agent appeared well as he approached the black FBI issued GMC Yukon. His face clean-shaven, blue eyes prominent and vigilant, hair well groomed, gelled and sharply parted to the left. The only thing that betrayed his somewhat unruly mindset was the slightly disheveled clothes he wore: a grey-red checkered, miss buttoned lumberjack shirt, paired with slightly dirtied dark jeans and saddle brown Timberland rugged boots. Samar found his haircut atrocious, but she had to admit that the boy looked good in casual wear as she gave him a once over.

"Sorry, did not pack a suit for my trip," Ressler's breathy voice apologized as he took the seat on the passenger's side, mistaking her expression for one of disapproval.

Samar dismissively waved her right hand. "The only suit you'll need today is the one made out of Kevlar," she countered lightly, flashing him a smile as she reached to get Ressler the bulletproof vest from the back seat and handed it to him. Now they matched. Partners.

"Tell me...what is this all about? I got a disturbing call from Aram that Keen and Reddington are missing? How the hell did that happen?" Ressler scoffed, clearly annoyed as he fastened his vest.

Samar kept her eyes on the road as they sped away before responding in a modulated tone "We got a call yesterday morning from local PD about a body found in Madison, near New York Penn Station. Apparently they had caught the perp red handed after shooting and killing Thomas J. Maloney in broad daylight."

"Sorry, you mean THE Thomas J. Maloney? As in Judge Maloney?" Ressler exclaimed, perplexed.

"Yes. Apparently the Judge was dirty, took bribes, rigged murder cases, and had a reputation for ruling without so much as glancing at the evidence. He let a lot of criminals go free because of his wanton negligence. He was under investigation by the federal bureau. They took him in before his overpaid lawyer arrived and was cut loose due to insufficient evidence. You know the funny thing about this whole ordeal?" Samar asked in a fruity voice.

Ressler quirked an eyebrow. "Is there a funny side?"

"More like ironic. The judge tattled himself into a corner and tried to justify his behavior by quoting the Blackstone's formulation: It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer." She shook her head lightly, pursing her lips while the corners lifted in distain and slight amusement. 'Greedy, arrogant son of a bitch. As if he wasn't rich enough.' Surely the world was much better off without him.

Ressler mirrored her expression. The level of idiocracy that ruled the American Judicial System astounded him. Justice is supposed to be blind, not the judges or its operatives. That's why he loved men like Edmund Burke. 'The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.' At least he had a good moral compass, one Ressler found lacking within himself lately. He knew that most people thought that he was a thick, righteous prick, but you don't become the lead agent on Reddington's case for nothing. He had worked hard to get where he was and still did. He had just suffered from a momentary setback.

"What does he have to do with our case? Aram said something about a magician?" he questioned, a little dumbfounded. To be honest, he zoned out after he heard that Keen and Reddington were captured. His mind wasn't functioning at a 100% yet, but he would stop at nothing to find his partner and their asset.

"According to Reddington, The Magician is a man who kidnaps and brainwashes ordinary individuals into killing random, high ranking targets, without leaving so much as a trace of evidence behind. The shooters have no recollection after the fact and don't know anything about why or how they got to the crime scene. His service extends from the government to the elite of the underworld. There has been a significant loss on both sides in the US for over a decade spread over various states. The only way we know for sure that he is the one responsible for the killings, is because of his signature," she clarified, handing Ressler a card.

"What is this?" he inquired, studying the thin cardboard card as if he were analyzing a bug under a microscope.

"A tarot card. On the back you see the zodiac sign of The Magician. Le Bateleur, or The Magnus of Power. It means mastery of the material world, creative action, self-discipline, and a willingness to take risks. An ability to recognize one's own potential, the power to initiate, communicate, and wit. We found a similar one on the judge, just with a different front image. The judge had one of the Lady of Justice, with a sword in one hand, the scale in the other and was crying blood. We deducted that it is a message of sorts, directed at the amoral actions of the victims. The one you are holding is..."

"Speak no evil, See no evil, Hear no evil," Ressler finished for her, looking at the three funny looking monkeys and read the description. 'Ancient Japanese Carving, 716 B.C. What does it mean?'

"Exactly," Navabi nodded. "We believe that the victims found in Reddington's vehicle must have done just that when they came in contact with The Magician. He is not known for leaving loose ends behind."

"Wait...you found Reddington's car? Where? Have you been able to identify them?" Ressler questioned as he gave the card back.

"On the road of 5th avenue, near the park, a few miles south from the club. Yes and no. We have identified one of the male DB's who sat behind the wheel as Lucius Robinson. He was the judge's bailiff, and, we suspect, hired The Magician to get rid off Maloney. He tried to run away from the crime scene before the cops took notice and apprehended him. Unfortunately, he was unwilling to cooperate until we got him into safety and now its impossible." Samar answered sadly.

"What happened to him?" Ressler asked sympathetically, aware of the emotion in his colleague's voice. Something went down.

"He slipped through our fingers when a highly trained crew of four men ambushed our vehicle this morning. I guess The Magician found him somehow," Navabi shrugged, ashamed to admit that she was present. "The other two sat in the backseats. One was a young blond woman in her mid twenties, the other an older gentleman in his late fifties. All three appeared to be strangled to death and displayed similar qualities to the three monkeys. The bailiff was missing his tongue, the girl her eyes, and the other male victim had both of his ears cut off. Not The Magician's normal MO. I believe that it was staged on purpose as a warning for what will happen to Dembe, Reddington, and Keen," Navabi expressed matter-of-factly.

"How are Keen and Reddington connected to all this?" Ressler asked gravely.

"In my opinion, Reddington knows who The Magician is, or at least has an inkling. He converted his own sting with Keen and himself as the leading characters on an undercover mission. He told us about the whereabouts of The Magician, but did not want the bureau involved because of, and I quote: their incompetence. He felt that it was better if he spoke with The Magician himself and would report back before midnight. This, of course, never happened. I did go to the location where he said they would be...you know, as backup. However, when I got there, there was no sign of Reddington, Dembe, or Keen."

Ressler's face contorted into a scowl. "Let me guess, the place he sent you off to was nonexistent?"

"Oh NO, it exists alright. The nightclub was a front for a sadomasochistic underground party. Not the kind where you would think to find them at. It still sends chills down my spine…the things people tend to willingly participate in. But, I did catch a handful of some very powerful, married businessmen with their pants down. Now they owe me, big time." Samar responded with a smirk and quickly shook her head, trying to get rid of the disgusting images. "I was about to break up the merrymaking and leave, when I got a call from Cooper regarding a police report of possible gunshots fired at 1OAK. It is a high end club where we think Keen and Reddington were located," Navabi enlightened.

Ressler could have laughed at Reddington's conduct, if the situation had not been so dire. Why was he not surprised? 'Leave it up to Reddington to send the FBI on a wild-goose chase.' It did explain why Samar wore a cobalt blue, slim fit, short cocktail dress, heavy make-up, and loose, fluffed out hair; the dark military boots, vest, and FBI windbreaker were the only items of clothing that did not match the rest of her outfit.

"I really hate that man," he mumbled, baring his teeth in a grimace. Even though his greatest enemy had bought him three more months with the love of his life, Reddington's recklessness would be the end of all of them. Hopefully, their ultimate sacrifice would make a difference for others someday.

If you could save the world by killing someone, would you do it? One of the questions asked by the Bureau, back when he was a rookie. Ressler knew his answer had always remained the same. One day he feared that all the good they did wouldn't be enough.

He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster.

Maybe Reddington had it right all this time; it was the system that created the true criminals...with a badge or without. All this time, Alan Fitch had hid in plain sight, and although he had departed from this strange world, the question still lingered: was he good or bad? The lines had blurred over time.

Difficulties multiply like dandelions for the cosmic humanist.

Ressler knew the distinction between right and wrong, but nothing was black and white anymore...sometimes there were different shades of gray. However so, it begged the question: Do the ends justify the means?

"What do you have against Reddington?" Samar asked out of the blue, as she cut through traffic as fast as possible. The strobe light shifted from red to blue, reflective of their serious expressions, heightening their current frame of minds.

Ressler's eyebrows shot high up his forehead. "Besides the obvious? Let's just put it this way...we share a history," he replied flatly.

Samar nodded. "Right." Of course they did. She was just about to ask him about said history when the phone ringing interrupted her. It was Aram. She answered and put him on speaker. "Aram, what have you got for us?"

"Agent Navabi, Agent Ressler, we got a hit on the two other victims. The young woman is Annie James Parker, a part of the notorious grifter twins, nicknamed The Angels. A minor rap sheet, which I will inform you on later. But, get this...the male victim's name is…Vito Andolini," Aram informed them in his best fake Italian accent. "He is the owner of 1OAK. Reddington and Keen must have been there and hopefully still are. I am forwarding you the layout of the building right about…now."

"Thank you Aram. We have just arrived at the club. I will call you as soon as we are done processing it," Samar replied with a small smile before she hung up. She really liked Aram's silliness. It was adorable.

Samar turned off the car's engine and reached beneath her seat to unclip a weapon. "Here," she said, handing Ressler a Glock Model 22.

Ressler looked pensively at the object before grabbing it out of her hand and feeling the weight of it in his own. It had been a while since he had handled one. He wondered if he still had it in him. He was anxious to find out.

Samar glanced over at her colleague, who sat still and shifted his gaze to the scene in front of them. The team had already secured the place and appeared to be waiting on them, while more than two dozen cops were questioning witnesses at the other side of the tape. The commotion was quite an impressive sight.

"Are you okay?" Samar asked curiously, with sincere concern in her voice.

Ressler turned his head and they locked eyes. "I am fine," he answered briskly with confidence. He was ready. His lip twitched into a small smile.

"Thank you for the gun. Now, let's get this nutjob before we lose another agent," he said before his face set back to his regular expression, somewhere between a scowl and seriousness. Their moment was over when he stepped out of the car and started organizing a plan of attack with the team surrounding him.

Samar wondered if there was more to Ressler that met the eye. He had a determination unlike any other agent. Beneath that tough guy exterior he cared tremendously about his fellow man, and she had no doubt that he would give his life for his colleagues, or maybe there was more between him and Keen.

She had seen his wandering eye now and again. He needed to get himself straightened out first before he could even consider initiating a relationship. And if it was Keen he wanted, than she wished him all the luck in the world with that. He had to get through Reddington to get to Keen. Like that would ever happen. She sure hoped that she would be around with front row seats if it did. It was just another reason to save the incongruous trio. Sooner rather than later.

She shook her head; a fleeting smile graced her lips before she got out of the vehicle and joined the rest of the squad led by Special Agent Donald Ressler.

"Ok, people listen up…."

XOXOXO

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MY READERS! MAY IT BE A SPLENDID ONE FILLED WITH JOY. :-D Love to hear what you think before you stuff yourself ;-) XO.

Everything has a meaning and there is a meaning to everything…words I live by when writing this. Sorry it took me a while, had to write the whole case first in order to have it make sense and spread clues.

The Magician's Tarot cards, description, music, graphics etc. can be found on my tumblr page for those who are interested. ( hestia-prytaneum / tagged/ fanfiction )

MUSIC:

First scene : U2 – Love is blindness

The Magician : Tribute to the Joker - U2 - Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me.

Red's mind : Nine Inch Nails – hurt

Car scene : Epic Music – Car chase

End scene : Bleeding - muddy water

DECEASED CHARACTERS:

Vito Andolini :The 1OAK's club owner a.k.a The godfather

Judge Thomas J. Maloney and his sidekick

Lucius Robinson are real people, their story was based on a true case.

Annie James Parker :one of the twins, RIP.

ABRIVIATIONS:

NYPD - New York Police Department

CSU - Crime Scene Unit

86 - Getting rid of something/someone.

1OAK - 1 Of A Kind club NY

Perp - Perpetrator

MO - The Method of Operation

QUOTES:

'He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster.' Friedrich Nietzsche

'Difficulties multiply like dandelions for the cosmic humanist.' New Age Ethics - Worldviews