Previously...

"You and Liz," Aram answers, and the younger man is whispering now and Ressler is worried for him, too. "Boss, you need to get the hell away from here. Call Mr. Reddington. It's no longer safe for you to work this from the inside."

"I can't leave you and Samar," Ressler argues, but he knows it's a weak argument, because if he doesn't leave them he'll be behind bars and of no help to anyone.

"Leave, NOW," Aram says, and he's still whispering but his words are filled with conviction. "I saw some men on the camera heading to your position. Leave us, we'll be fine. Go. Now."

The line goes dead (did Aram get caught? Hang up just in time to avoid detection? Ressler has no way of knowing and it drives him crazy).

Ressler holds his phone listening to the dial tone as it blends in with the sound of echoing footsteps on the metal staircase leading down to the parking garage.

What the hell should he do now?

May 22nd, Post Office Parking Garage, 8:10 AM

Ressler is back at his apartment in record time, heart pounding because he knows he was followed and that he doesn't have long to grab a few necessities and get the hell out of dodge. He has tried to call Reddington at least ten times but to no avail. It had only been about forty minutes since Aram had called him, had let him know that he was done for and being hunted along with Reddington and Liz.

Forty minutes was all it took to realize his life - the life he knew and was comfortable in - was over.

He stuffs a few changes of clothes into a small duffle bag, throws his toothbrush, razor, hair gel, and a few other bathroom necessities on top, and tugs it closed as he balances his phone on his ear again.

He's just barely staving off complete panic and he knows he has to get out of here, because he was followed for sure and they may already have him surrounded.

Reddington, pick up your fucking phone! he yells internally, almost throwing his cell onto the floor (he'll have to ditch it anyway, he knows). But instead of destroying his phone out of anger, he realizes something.

"Dembe," he mutters, and palms his phone once again, heart pounding as he dials, grabs his keys, wallet, and bag and walks out of the door. The phone rings twice - standard, Ressler' is realizing, for Dembe - before his rumbling voice floats through the phone line. Ressler is on the stairs, walking quickly toward his SUV. His apartment door is closed, not locked, because what's the point? He's not sure when (if ever) he'll be able to go back.

"Hello?"

"Dembe, thank God someone is answering their phone," he grouses, and he tosses his bag in the back seat of his car as he climbs in. He locks the doors automatically and puts both hands on the steering wheel, letting his phone drop as it switches from the phone to the car Bluetooth. "I need to be extracted. Now."

Dembe's reaction is immediate. As if he'd been expecting something like this (which, to be fair, he probably had - Reddington was a very smart and resourceful man, and he had to know this was coming). Fuck, maybe he did know. If Aram got the pictures, there's a good chance Reddington had gotten his hands on them, too, Ressler realizes, shifting his car first into 'reverse' to exit the parking lot and then 'drive' to get as far away from his apartment as he can.

"Meet me at the park on 36th and Main. I'll call Mr. Reddington and ask him what he'd like us to do."

Ressler breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Dembe. And hey - "

Ressler ran his hand through his hair and blushes like a freaking school girl.

"Would you ask him to have Liz call me?"

Dembe is silent for a minute, and Ressler winces, certain he'd been hung up on because of the enormous stupidity of his request. But then Dembe says, "I'll see what I can do," and it occurs to Ressler that, despite the fact that Dembe is Reddington's man (and possibly because he is Reddington's man) that he's on Ressler's side and he's really not alone in this shitty situation.

"Thanks," Ressler says, and pushes the 'end call' button on his steering wheel as he eases his SUV into traffic on Broadway.

"Directions to 36th and Main," he says, pushing the GPS app on his phone. The route is calculated, and Ressler is dismayed to see that, in heavy traffic, it'll take him almost 41 minutes to reach his extraction point. He sighs, looks around (as if he's expecting to see one of the assassins in the car next to him) and settles in for the long drive.

May 20th, Unknown Location, 8:30 AM

"Lizzie?"

Liz turns around, biting her lip as she watches Reddington hang up his phone. She'd heard words like 'extraction' and 'being followed' in relation to Ressler's name, and had been worriedly pacing the entire time Reddington had been on the phone.

"He's been compromised, hasn't he?" she asks, sitting down across from Reddington as he places his phone on the table and picks up his glass of wine. She's absurdly annoyed all of a sudden that he can be so calm, drinking his wine, while Ressler is obviously in danger. They should be doing something.

"That was Dembe. Dear Donald was able to surmise that he was being followed and is convinced his life is in danger. I told Dembe to tell Donald he's an idiot, of course he's in danger, he always has been, it's just now he's smart enough to see it."

Liz sighs and looks pointedly at Reddington, as if to say get to the fucking point. Reddington grins and swirls his wine around as he crosses his legs, looking the picture of perfect contentedness as Liz bounces her leg up and down anxiously.

"Regardless, we believe it's time to extract Donald and Dembe is on his way to him as we speak."

"OK," Liz said, slightly breathless, as if she isn't internally screaming in both fear and excitement.

She'll see Ressler.

Soon.

"However," Reddington continues, and his tone shifts from business to mildly amused and also mildly annoyed and Liz sits up straighter because Reddington is a commanding presence and also because she knows from his face - not a hint of amusement present - that this will be important. "It is ... disappointing that we have to extract him this soon. I was hoping he could do us some good, being at - and in charge of! - the task force." He makes a 'tsk' noise and Liz feels like she's twelve, although she doesn't know why yet.

"Riiiight," Liz ventures, unsure of where Reddington is going with this.

Thankfully, Reddington isn't one to beat around the bush and he swivels around in his chair to meet her eyes. "What you two did was very stupid, Lizzie. Meeting him? Now, here, of all places? Literally in the United States, where they have eyes and ears everywhere, and you let yourselves be compromised because you missed each other?"

Liz winces - of course he knew. Just because he hadn't said anything yet (to be fair, she hadn't seen him at all last night when she'd returned, he didn't really have a chance to say anything) didn't mean he didn't also have eyes and ears everywhere - probably more of them than the FBI and the Cabal combined, in fact. Of course he knew.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then snaps it shut again, because it's clear from Reddington's steely look he isn't interested in discussing her stupidity. What's done is done, she supposes.

Silence reigns for a few moments, and as awkward as it is, it's better than talking.

Reddington heaves a hugely annoyed sigh and puts his (empty) wine glass down before speaking.

"Also, Donald would like you to call him. You remember the rules of burner phones," Reddington says offhandedly, and Liz grins, grabs her phone, and forces herself to walk (not run) out of the room to make a phone call.

May 20th, Ressler's Car (stuck in traffic), 8:45 AM

"Liz," Ressler sighs in relief, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he eeks his way around another car that's not moving. Traffic is worse than the normal morning commute, and his GPS informs him that his ride time has increased by seven minutes because of a stalled car near 32nd. He knows having an entire lane out of business in busy, New York traffic will delay him for longer than seven minutes and he's both annoyed and terrified. His car isn't moving, and while it's unlikely that anyone could catch up to him in this traffic, if they did, he'd be a sitting duck.

"Hey," Liz says, and her voice floats calmingly throughout the car as his phone automatically connects to the Bluetooth. "Reddington said you wanted me to call you?"

Ressler purses his lips together tightly as a young, stoned-looking man flips him off. "Reddington fill you in?"

"Yeah," Liz says, and he can hear the worry in her voice. "He said you're being extracted. We, uh, were apparently compromised at Disney World."

"Not one of our brighter moments," Ressler agrees, fighting a grin, because he shouldn't be happy about this, much less amused, but it is kind of funny, and also in some strange way he expects his chaotic life to calm down now that he's not a double agent and instead is simply a fugitive.

"So I guess I'll see you again soon?"

She doesn't say anything, but Ressler can hear it in her voice - she's both excited and nervous, which is to be expected, since they hadn't had very much of an opportunity to talk about what had happened in Disney World, or, as he'd been hoping, some time to filter through his own thoughts and emotions before seeing her again. The fact that they had kissed was still very fresh in his mind, and he would be seeing her again soon, in less than ideal circumstances.

"Yeah, if I can ever make it out of this traffic," he says, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders as she laughs lightly on the other end.

"New York traffic is a bitch," she agrees, and he flexes his fingers on the wheel, wanting very much to see her now.

"My exit is coming up," he regretfully informs her, knowing in said bitchy traffic he'll need to do a considerably better job focusing than he's doing right now. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," Liz agrees, and it's after a few seconds of silence that she wishes him luck and hangs up. Ressler lets the car deal with that, knowing it'll shut his phone off a few seconds after the call disconnects. He keeps his eyes forward, focusing on making it to 36th and Main so he can leave this panic and fear behind.

May 20th, 36th and Main, 9:15 AM

Dembe is already at the park when Ressler arrives. He's leaning against a nondescript black car (why always black? Did Reddington have a fascination with black cars, or did it serve an actual purpose?), his head down and his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. Kids run around the park, and parents chase after them or ignore them completely without noticing the black man by the black car. (Maybe black was less often noticed? Maybe Reddington did have a reason for the strange things he did.)

"Dembe," Ressler greets him, sliding out of the driver's seat of the SUV as he switches off the engine and grabs his bag. "I assume time is of the essence?"

Dembe nods, opening the back door for Ressler. Ressler regards the man quietly as he climbs in. Dembe looks neither annoyed with the fact that he had to ferry Ressler around, but nor does he look excited. He looks, as usual, like he doesn't mind one way or the other or like he was out running simple errands. Ressler envies the way that Dembe can arrange his facial features to look like nothing ever ruffled him. He couldn't do it, he often felt like a live wire, especially when he was angry (or afraid).

"I'm afraid I need your phone," Dembe says, sliding into the driver's seat and rolling down his window. Ressler passes it over, knowing that Dembe is going to disable it and leave it at the park. "Do you have any other electronics on you? An iPod, MP3 player, anything they can bounce a signal off of?"

Ressler shakes his head - having an iPhone was as techy as he got. "No, that's all."

"Good. To your knowledge, has the FBI planted a tracking device in you?"

Ressler shakes his head again, and Dembe seems satisfied as he takes out the SIM card in Ressler's phone, cracks it in half, and tosses all of the parts out of his window before shifting the sleek black car into 'drive' and pulling away from the park.

"Get comfortable, Agent Ressler," Dembe advises from the front seat. "We cannot travel by plane, so this is going to be quite the long trip."

Right, they were staying in Florida, Ressler recalls, knowing that Liz probably hadn't been able to travel far to make it to Disney World under Reddington's watchful eye, which meant that they were in for roughly a 16 hour drive, if Dembe didn't decide to take the lesser known back roads.

Sighing quietly, Ressler rests his head against the window and watches as Dembe expertly pulls out into the slowly thinning traffic.

I'm on my way, Liz.

IamSOfreakingSORRY that it took me forever to write this. I'm going to assume 1 update a week for both this and Two FBI Agents and a Baby. That's about all I'll be able to squish out. Remind me never to have two stories going AT THE SAME TIME ever again! (Although, since this one is set to finish by Ch. 15 and Two FBI Agents by 15-16, I can TOTALLY start thinking about/accepting new ideas for a chapter story to write until Blacklist comes back. Any ideas?

Please Review! (I know there wasn't a sneak peak for this chapter, but I wrote it in 2 hours and decided you'd like a chapter more than a preview, but I PROMISE not to be a slacker and send a peak for Ch. 10 if you review!)