Aram wasn't sure what was worse. Knowing Agent Ressler was going to have surgery in a dark cave, or knowing that he was the one Mr Reddington had chosen to be his liaison to the outside world regarding said surgery in the dark cave. He was tired. He was wet, having stood out in the rain for an hour before a tent appeared from seemingly nowhere, affording the rescue team some shelter. He hadn't ended up getting that umbrella but right now, he hardly even noticed. Part of him was stressed beyond belief and given the choice, just wanted to take his toys and go home. But the other part was determined to do a good job as lead agent on scene. Director Cooper had faith in him.
And Agent Ressler needed him. And that was hardest of all. Because Ressler was always the capable one. The one in charge. And now the baton had passed to him, and Ressler would be out cold in a cave while they opened up his belly. Looking through the tent flaps he took in the sight of the lighthouse in the rain, rising tall and commanding above its surroundings, biding it's time before its light shone out again. And in a moment of clarity, Aram realized that if Agent Ressler had to actually endure the surgery, he sure as heck could be the support team on the outside.
He straightened as Red finished going over the plan on the phone a second time. "Aram, have you got everything?"
"Got it, Mr Reddington. Mr Shanks has been talking with the doctor that Samar contacted. The surgical instruments are on their way," he replied, looking to Shanks for confirmation, who was now nodding.
"Good man. Once you have the items, seal them in waterproof packaging. Then get yourself and the medic to the coordinates I gave you. We need to move as quickly as we can, Aram. Call us when you're leaving for the meeting point."
"I will," said Aram, nodding to Shanks who had stood by waiting. And while he knew time was of the essence, he held Red on the phone a little longer. "Um, sir. Mr Reddington. How is Agent Ressler doing? Is he going to be okay…?"
From the other end of the phone, he was relieved that Red never hesitated. "He's tough, and holding up well. It's not going to be easy for him, but he'll pull through. This is better in the long run than if we wait it out," he reassured Aram.
"Yes sir. Thank you, Mr Reddington."
"Give my regards to Agent Navabi," Red added, then hung up.
###
Red flipped the phone closed, standing at the rear of the cave and looking down the dark tunnel that led to the flooded section. As he turned, the first thing he saw was Ressler going down, dropping to his hands and knees after throwing up yet again in the bowl.
"Damn," he cursed under his breath. "Donald, why the hell aren't you lying down? Anyone else in your condition would have been flat on their back hours ago," Red reprimanded him, walking toward him and leaning down to the agent. He'd just told Aram that Ressler was tough. But 'stubborn' was the optimum word here.
Ressler didn't answer. Just leaned back on his haunches as Liz slid more toward him on the couch. About to offer another admonishment to the agent, Red stopped as he looked into Ressler's eyes. For the first time he saw trepidation creeping into the agent's countenance.
Red's voice softened, "There is one of those oh-so-comfortable cots over there. Come on, let's get you on it," he told the agent, and gently hoisted Ressler up to his feet. He didn't complain. His gut was beyond agony, but what was the point in mentioning it. Before he lay down, Red added another pillow under his head to raise him up a little more.
Ressler looked at the roof of the cave, half lit in the gentle flickering shadows cast by the oil lamps. He'd agreed to the surgery, and was not going back on that decision. But the very thought of it rattled him. He could die right here in this cave. He'd agreed for Liz, but then the overwhelming reality of what they were about to attempt had hit him. And the worst of it wouldn't be for him. If he did this for her but died during it, she'd have to live with that. He needed to talk to her then talk them all out of this before it went too far.
As Ressler attempted to rise, Red was suddenly in his face, interrupting his thoughts and forcing him to focus on him. "Donald," said Red softly close to his ear, so that only Ressler heard. "I know you're having second thoughts. We can do this. I'll get the medic and bring him back and we'll have the doctor online overseeing the entire surgery on camera. We will get you through this. Do you hear me?"
Ressler's eyes slid to Red and he held his gaze, but did not acknowledge what he'd said.
"Do you hear me? I will get you through this."
As Ressler looked in the criminals eyes, he wanted to believe him.
Red placed his hand on Ressler's chest, feeling the fever radiating through his t-shirt. "While I'm gone, Conrad will stay here and then get you ready for the surgery once the medic and I are back on this side of the water in the tunnel. I will not let you die. Understand?"
Ressler nodded a little as sweat dripped in his eyes and rolled down his face. Red was unable to tell this time if tears ran down with it.
"Do you know why I'm going to do everything in my power to get you safely through this?" he asked, as Ressler looked at him questioningly.
He regarded Ressler quietly, "Because Lizzie would never forgive herself if we let you die, my friend. And we're not going to let her live with that, are we?" he asked, with the barest hint of a smile.
He should have known Red knew where his head was at. No, he was not going to do that to her. And giving Red the smallest of determined smiles, he shook his head.
"Good man," Red whispered to him, patted his chest and then was gone, leaving Ressler contemplating the roof of the cave again.
###
After Red left, Liz made her way carefully off the couch and walked slowly over to Ressler, leaning down to him as he lay on the cot. Her back was trying its best to seize up on her, but she was determined to move and keep the muscles as supple as she could, despite the massive bruising. Her partner needed her. While she hadn't heard what Red had said to him, their conversation being unmistakably private, she had a pretty good idea. He needed their support. And she was going to give it.
Conrad brought a chair for her to sit on beside her partner and then placed a wet cloth in her hand.
"Thank you," she told him, reaching up and touching his arm. And not even asking if he'd mind, Liz gently wiped the sweat from Ressler's face as he closed his eyes for her as she did so. He didn't mind at all.
Conrad stood there a moment, eyeing the two of them together, the unspoken bond between the two agents glaringly apparent. "May I sketch the two of you, while we wait for Red and the medic?" he asked, almost feeling an intruder as Liz now wiped Ressler's sweaty hair as best she could.
"You draw?" Liz asked, surprised as he nodded, smiling at them. "Do you have some here we could see?" she asked him.
"Oh, only a few hundred," he laughed. Walking over to a large cabinet he opened it, revealing piles of sketch books on each shelf. He grabbed a few and gave them to Liz as she put the damp cloth down. Opening the first sketch book, she turned the first few pages, then looked to Conrad in awe.
"Oh my goodness!" she cried, looking at the sketches. "Ress, look at these!" she told him, turning in her chair to where he could also see them as he lay in the cot. Faces leapt from each page, almost alive in their realism yet created from grey pencil instead of flesh and bone. Portraits of old men, young men, old and young women, boys, girls, and the most innocent babies sprang from each page as Liz turned.
"Whoa…" Ressler said quietly. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked Conrad.
Sitting in the couch across from them, he shrugged. "I always drew as a kid, and then did art in high school and college. Throughout my working life, before my 'forced retirement' that is, I always drew. My family and friends would always want me to draw them," he said, smiling, reaching for a sketchpad as he talked to them.
They looked through another sketch book, devoted solely to hands. Old hands and young faced them on each page, folded, open, offering, clinging to each other, praying, pointing and caressing. "These are beautiful," she whispered, looking up at Conrad again.
And still another sketch book was filled with drawings that rivaled anything in Grey's Anatomy. "Wow…these are amazing… Look at this," she showed Ressler again, holding the notebook so they could both see the drawings. Detailed sketches and diagrams of hearts, lungs, kidneys and many more, all painstakingly drawn in such detail it was as if they could reach into the page and lift them up.
"I did those in my years as Coroner," Conrad explained. "I don't think there is an organ I've not drawn at some time or another," he chuckled.
"Just don't get any ideas about drawing my appendix during the surgery okay?" Ressler told him, looking sideways at Conrad from the cot, "Or anything else that I have draped down there."
Liz rolled her eyes at him and smiled, glad to see his sense of humor had returned somewhat.
"I'll resist the urge," Conrad assured him, smiling.
"Oh, my…" Liz had found his latest notebook and was staring at the drawing Conrad had done in the tunnel. Not knowing he'd drawn it in the first place was a surprise. But the detail. The face she knew so well, rendered in pencil brought her fingers to her lips and tears to her eyes. On the white sheet of paper was Ressler; asleep and lying on his back, head tilted to the side with eyes closed and eyelashes against his cheeks. The complete picture of peace; entirely taking out the pain, fever, sweat and dust.
Looking at Conrad, she whispered, "When did you…?"
He smiled and didn't offer an explanation, as she thought back to the only time he could have done it, right after they'd escaped the cave in. Blinking back tears she turned the sketch pad and showed her partner.
Ressler studied the detail in his portrait before glancing up at Liz who was looking at him as her eyes shone. "So I do have a good side."
And unnoticed by the two of them, Conrad had already started sketching them together, his pencil flying over the sketch pad.
###
Red made his way into the tunnel, backpack in place that held rope and knife in case he needed them, as well as the waterproof flashlight. Taking his phone from his pocket he dialed Aram's number. In something that had made Red laugh out loud at the resourcefulness of it all, Conrad had charged up his phone from his power supply in the cave before tossing it to him as he left.
"Mr Reddington," said Aram in answer, "I was literally just picking up my phone to call-"
"Have you left for the meet point?" interrupted Red, walking briskly down the tunnel as his oil lamp chased away the shadows before him. He followed the route through the tunnels, bypassing the ones that led to the cave-ins.
"Yes sir, we just left the beach. We're coming around in the dinghy. Deeks is bringing us in closer to the Sanatorium and we will walk in from there. Oh, and it's still raining," said Aram, the sound of the boat motor in the background.
"And you have the oxygen tanks for traversing the water in the tunnel?" asked Red as he continued walking along the sandy tunnel.
"Yes, we have them strapped to our backs. These things are heavy!"
"Excellent," said Red, and then hung up. Sealing his phone in a plastic bag, he then slipped it in his pocket.
After another twenty minutes or so, he found the water tunnel and turned into it. As he walked, holding up the oil lamp to the walls and ceiling he listened for the tell tale sound of the water. The tunnel was damp and musty after years of flooding. Not a good environment but he wouldn't be in it long.
The sound of dripping water reached him now. Stopping, he threw the backpack down and retrieved the large flashlight from it. As the beam of light pierced the darkness, he made out the water rippling gently in the tunnel about 50 feet from his position. Turning the flashlight to the tunnel wall, he looked for the mark he'd made when he had come back out of the water earlier in the day. It would tell him how much deeper the water had got, and more to the point, how much further he'd need to swim underwater.
Scanning the wall for his mark, he finally found it and sucked in a sharp breath. He could already see how much more water filled the tunnel, coming much further up than previously. The beam of the flashlight showed his mark a good 40 feet further from where he stood at the edge of the water. The water had more than tripled in length in the few hours since they'd been here. And with it still raining, it was still growing.
Throwing off his shoes and socks, he stowed them in the pack and then tossed the closed backpack as far back up the tunnel as he could, the dull thud reached him as it landed on the sandy floor. He hoped it would be far enough back to escape the rising water by the time he came back.
Leaving the oil lamp burning back in the sandy tunnel, he jogged forward then stepped into the water, knife at his belt and flashlight in hand. He walked in quickly, striding against the pressure. As the water reached waist height he plunged into it and swam to the submerged section, treading water before it. It was time to do this. Taking the biggest breath he could muster he then dropped down into the water, swimming as swiftly as he could down the submerged tunnel. He wouldn't beat those 30 something Navy SEALS who could do this twice before breakfast and barely break a sweat, but for a 55 year old he could hold his own.
As he kicked forward through the murky water, he was calculating in his mind. He estimated about 60 feet of underwater swimming this time around. Shining the flashlight through the water ahead of him, he was looking for the tunnel floor to start rising, giving him his approximate half way point. Still swimming strongly, he was alarmed that the tunnel was still dropping. Estimating the distance he'd come to be about 40 feet, the tunnel floor leveled out, then began to rise slightly in front of him. And it needed to. He was at the point of needing to turn back if it had kept descending. And he would have to try again if that happened. He would not fail Donald.
Lungs bursting with the pressure now, still holding his breath and reaching into the water with each stroke, he kicked harder with his legs, propelling himself through the murky depths. Spots were floating before his eyes and still he forced himself onward. He'd gone further than this in training, but that was 30 years ago. A lot of water under the bridge since then, he thought, no pun intended. He had to make it through. And mercifully as his chest strained with the need for oxygen and his vision danced, the depth of the water began to change. Above him the flashlight picked up a water surface. Flipping to his back he rose up, reaching out of the water with his face to find the tunnel ceiling mere inches above him as he gasped and sucked in a large breath. Floating on his back he continued to fill his lungs while still moving toward the head of the tunnel, aware of the support beams near his head. As the water level dropped the ceiling rose up away from him. And turning to his belly, he swam the rest of the way before walking from the water and dropping to his knees on the far side.
###
"There it is!" shouted Deeks, turning the dinghy in toward shore. And not a moment too soon, thought Aram. He hadn't liked the response boat all that much. But clinging to the rope that ringed the 12 foot dinghy as it raced over the waves was another thing altogether. This wasn't something he wanted to repeat. But again, his thoughts returned to Ressler in a cave having his belly sliced open. And compared to that, a little jaunt on a boat across choppy waves wasn't all that bad. Or so he told himself. Through the rain, they made out the beached area as Deeks headed the dinghy into it. And churning through the waves, he ran the small inflatable right out of the water and half up onto the beach.
Safely out of the dinghy and on the beach with the equipment they needed, Shanks then pushed the small inflatable back in to the waves. And with a wave, Deeks gunned the engine and headed out into the bay, turning back toward the lighthouse.
"Let's go!" called Shanks, and as he hoisted the oxygen tanks on his back, Aram set the medical supplies onto his own back. Setting off in the rain they jogged up the wet sand of the beach before running onto the grass under the trees. "Okay, so according to Mr Reddington, we keep going until we're about 50 yards from the gate in the brick wall of the old hospital," panted Aram as he jogged.
"Then we need to hurry. That's quite a way inland," said Shanks, turning back to him as the rainwater ran down him, plastering his dark hair to his face.
Nodding, Aram fell into an easy rhythm beside the medic. As they jogged, Aram was thinking back to his cozy desk at the post office with Samar across from him. After this, he didn't think he'd ever want to set foot out of the war room again. And from now on, whenever Agents Ressler and Keen headed for the elevator and the outside world to face hostiles, he'd have a brand new appreciation for them.
Assuming Agent Ressler lived through this day.
###
Red gathered himself up and left the water behind him, shining the large flashlight above him as he walked barefoot along the sandy tunnel. He knew the way, having come earlier in the day but now it felt further than he remembered. Or perhaps time was more pressing now that this was the real deal and not a practice run.
Water was running down the tunnel walls in spots, slick and shining in his flashlight beam, before collecting and running in a small river toward the water collecting in the lower tunnel. Looking at the sheer quantity of it, he was no longer surprised that the level was rising so quickly.
From the darkness ahead he finally saw what he was looking for. An old metal ladder rising up the tunnel wall and disappearing from sight as it rose to the forest floor. Standing at the base of it, he shone his flashlight up, looking at the round steel trapdoor above. As he began his ascent, he quickly looked at the time. Still daylight and approaching 2:00pm. Climbing to the top of the ladder, he held on with one hand then turned the round handle on the trap door. And standing fully on the steps he pushed the trapdoor open then peered out into the rain, glad for the cover it afforded.
Through the trees he could make out the dark brick wall surrounding the hospital and shook his head at how he'd come full circle in just 12 hours. It felt SO much longer. Laying the trapdoor open fully, he stepped out of the tunnel entrance, coming to stand behind one of the larger trees. Of Aram and the medic, there was no sign. He had confidence they would be here soon though.
His eyes were drawn back to the high wall running through the forest, encircling the old sanatorium. The one difference he noted was that the gate was now closed, its wrought iron gates locking them out, or keeping others in. Off to his right he caught movement, and hunching down he was relieved to see the orange Coast Guard vest of the medic as he ran beside Aram.
They hadn't seen him yet, but he stepped out of the line of the tree now into the open, waving his arm silently toward them. It wouldn't pay to alert hostiles by yelling out. They saw him, and Aram waved back just as silently. He might not be a field agent, but he knew when to keep quiet.
They were a few yards apart when a shot rang out.
"Oh, my God!" Aram suddenly forgot how to be quiet.
Red motioned frantically for them to drop, but they didn't need telling. Hunching down, they took cover under the trees. A look back in the direction the shot had been heard from gave up no clue as to where the gunman was. If they found the trapdoor, the gunman would have access to the tunnel system. Staying put, cursing the fact they were unarmed, Red was studying the trees between him and the two men across from him. If they were quick, they could keep trees between them and the gunman as they made their way to the tunnel entrance.
Shanks had the same idea. Dragging Aram with him, he pulled the agent to the next large tree, moving closer to Red. Another shot rang out, hitting the tree they had just left. Now Red had a bearing on where the muzzle flash was. About 25 yards off to his left, between him and the brick wall. Motioning to Aram and Shanks, they again hopped to the next tree. This time no shot rang out. Apparently their gunman was conserving bullets.
"Come on!" hissed Red, as they edged closer to him. Pointing to the trapdoor with a down motion, they understood. They were close to the tunnel entrance.
But so was the gunman. As the next shot rang out, he was now about 10 yards closer. Shanks saw it at the same time Red did, and looking to Aram, they nodded to each other and ran, zig zagging as they did so, avoiding the next shot that rang out, splintering the tree near them. Running for the tunnel entrance, Shanks quickly dropped inside, the two oxygen tanks giving him some trouble as he maneuvered himself into the entrance. Aram followed as his eyes widened at what was approaching.
The gunman was running for them. For the trapdoor.
"Get in!" yelled Red at Aram as the agent suddenly raced down the ladder. Dropping in behind him, Red reached for the round handle and dragged it off the forest floor. Another shot rang out, much closer now. It hit the trapdoor right beside Red's hand, the ricochet off the bullet coming back and striking his hand. As the metal trapdoor thudded to the forest floor, his hand flinched off the handle and he lost his footing. Almost falling down the ladder he managed to grab a step and keep himself from falling to the tunnel floor.
But he could no longer go back up and close the trapdoor.
"Go!" he called down to the other two as he descended, "Get the tanks on while you run!"
Their only option was to outrun the gunman and get underwater. He would not be able to follow them for long under there. Retrieving his flashlight quickly from where he'd dropped it, Red flew down the tunnel after the medic and Aram.
"Oh, God. Oh, God," panted Aram, as Shanks held onto his arm, setting the tank and pushing the mouthpiece of Aram's oxygen tank to him. There was no time. Trying to remember what Shanks had explained about the snorkel equipment, all he remembered was 'breathe through your mouth'. He felt that should have been followed by 'and kiss your ass goodbye' in their current situation.
Red ran behind them as the gunman climbed down the ladder. Shanks had his own mouthpiece in now and had Red's tank loose, ready to give it to him. The water was ahead, lit up in the beam of Red's flashlight that careened wildly before them as he ran.
Aram stopped at the water's edge. His mouthpiece in his hand. "Oh, dear God."
"Go! Go!" Red yelled, gaining on Shanks now who ran back a few steps to give him his tank. Throwing the strap over his shoulder and getting his mouthpiece ready, Red yelled to Aram. "Get in there!"
"You have seen Poseidon Adventure, right?" was the last thing Aram said before Red collided with him, pushing him into the water and forcing him under as soon as the water was deep enough.
###
In the cave, Ressler thought he might be feeling a little bit better. Resting must have helped, just like Red had told him to do. But he wasn't sure he'd give the criminal the satisfaction of letting him know that. He looked to Liz, leaning back on the chair beside the cot.
"Why don't you get more comfortable on the couch over there?" he asked her, but she just smiled. "I'm fine," and realizing what she'd said, she added, "to quote a friend of mine."
From the couch, Conrad laid his sketchbook down, and looked at his watch. It was time to get the remote doctor set up. Heading to his computer, he typed in the connection details and password that Samar had given them to get two way camera access between them and the doctor.
Behind him, Liz did now make her way to the couch, but only to look at the sketchpad Conrad had left there. She picked it up and from the cot, Ressler saw her smile at the drawing and as he watched her, seeing her face light up as she brought the sketchpad over to him, he had to smile too.
Coming to sit back on her chair, she gave him the sketch pad. As he looked at the drawing, again marveling at the skill, he didn't really look at his part of the drawing. His eyes were drawn to Liz. Conrad had captured her beautifully. And just as he'd done for his own drawing, had left off the bruises and scrapes from her face, leaving her skin flawless as usual. But what struck him was that he had no idea that he and Liz looked like that when they were close together, talking, smiling, being there for each other. So in tune and in sync. Like a couple. Conrad had seen it and captured it, and that was what Liz had liked in it too, he realized.
They heard Conrad talking, and turned to the computer to see him conversing with a man in his 40's. The doctor who would oversee the surgery. Sobering, Ressler and Liz looked to each other.
"He's awake, yes. Let me see if I can get him over here for you," said Conrad, turning toward them.
"I believe my presence is required," Ressler whispered to Liz, as he dropped his legs over the edge of the cot and slowly sat up. Getting his bearings, he then moved to the edge of the bed and stood as Conrad came and assisted him. Making his way to the computer, he sat down as the doctor introduced himself.
"Agent Ressler, may I call you Don? Doctor Jeff Fielding. Pleased to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were different. I understand you're a little under the weather."
The man had a way of understating the obvious, thought Ressler as he sat before him, flushed and in pain. "You could say that, yes," he replied.
Behind them, as Ressler spoke with Dr Fielding, Liz watched as Conrad pulled the cot away from the wall, positioning it near the computer. The cot would soon become the operating table. It was real. This was going to happen. And suddenly all Liz wanted to do was tell them not to do it. That they'd wait it out. But she couldn't tell them that. It was in motion now. Her partner was doing this because she had told him she wanted him to. Turning away as tears fell, listening to him talk to the doctor and explain his symptoms and how he was doing, all she wanted was for him not to have to go through this.
###
Swimming frantically through the tunnel, helping Aram with his mouthpiece as he did so, Red was waiting for their pursuer to turn back. He hadn't so far, and the tunnel was still descending. They weren't half way yet, and he wasn't sure how much more water was still ahead of them as the level kept steadily rising with the rain. A bullet whizzed by them, sounding hollow and sluggish in the water. Aram stared at him beside him, and again, Red pulled the agent forward.
As Aram swam, he didn't think he'd ever been so afraid in all his life. This was so much worse than when Anslo Garrick took the post office. They'd been able to breathe then. They hadn't been surrounded by murky water and swimming in a claustrophobic tube of rain water. With bullets flying by. Well, there had been bullets, but this. This was terrifying.
Another bullet whizzed by and a cloud of blood suddenly appeared in the water to Red's left. Where the medic was. Turning quickly, Red reached for the man, letting go of Aram in the process.
As the bullet hit Shanks his mouthpiece dropped from his mouth as he instinctively cried out. The bullet had caught his outstretched hand as he swam, tearing through it as the water filled with blood around him. He could still swim with his left, but his right hand was all but useless.
As another bullet flew by them, Red recoiled then reached for Shanks again. Picking up the mouthpiece he quickly placed it in the medic's mouth. He couldn't do anything else but drag him along. Turning, relieved to see that Aram was still beside him to his right, the tunnel ascending slightly now. They were past the half way mark and from the lack of bullets he now had to ascertain that their gunman had turned back with his lungs bursting, unable to pursue them any longer.
Seeing the medic shot had done two things to Aram. One, scared him to the point he just wanted to close his eyes and will himself somewhere else. Anywhere but here. And two, on opening his eyes he had swam under Reddington and come up on the other side of Shanks to help haul him along. And swimming through the water, glancing across to Red as they helped the medic, his mind was racing. He was in the field. He was helping a shot comrade. Helping Mr Reddington. And suddenly all he could think of as he swam was, 'Aram Mojtabai, 007.'
The water level was dropping now, as their feet found the bottom of the tunnel. Still swimming they went a few feet further until they were able to stand with the water at their waists. Retrieving the flashlight that was tied to his belt, Red stopped and shone the light on the medic's hand as he held it. It was a clean wound, as far as gunshots went. A through and through, entering the back of his hand and exiting through his palm near his index finger.
Dropping their snorkel mouthpieces from their mouths, they stood in the water and looked at the medic's hand dripping blood into the water.
"Well, this changes things," said Red.
Aram's brain finally caught up. "Oh, my God. Who's going to do the surgery?!"
"I've still got one hand," said Shanks unsteadily as they walked from the water.
"And Conrad has two," said Red.