Hey guys! Kind of a filler chapter, but necessary to keep the ball rolling. Hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated :)

5. The Sicilian

The earpiece made the inside of Ressler's ear itch. The wool ball cap hid the technology out of site and, looking around, the agent hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into the pocket of the old, dirty windbreaker he had on. The white adidas he wore were grunged to a dull brown and his jeans were nothing special.

Ressler couldn't help but crinkle his nose and squint against the brininess of the sea as he walked across the slick wood of the wharf. To his left were the fish stands, some closed up for the night, others still open, illuminated by bare bulbed lights that made the ice sparkle. Smoke from the vendors' cigarettes mingled with the cloud of their breath in the cool spring night. Two Portuguese men chattered to each other as they sat behind their fish, every now and then standing up to scoop more ice over their catch from earlier that evening.

Boats bobbed in their docks to Donald's right, the hatches shut tight and portholes dark. The nets hung dripping with sea water and green strands of seaweed were draped limply on the rope. The moon cast its fractured light over the gently lapping water as it undulated under the wood of the dock, meeting with the cement of the pier. He felt the weight of the gun on his hip and for a moment, he worried if it was noticeable. Once he remembered the baggy, cheap clothing he wore, Ressler cast the thought aside.

He couldn't risk looking up. Looming above the whole ramshackle was the walls of a sardine packaging company, the factory windows faded from use, but behind them, Ressler knew the steady eyes of several back up snipers watched his every move. Several other agents were sitting slumped in alleys, looking like wandering drunks while they were actually listening very carefully to Donald's breathing as the earpiece picked up all the sounds around him.

As he walked, he went over the plan.

Find the Sicilian, Orazio Santo, they had picked up his name through some searches …big tattoo of a compass on his neck, echoed Red's words in Don's head.

Donald was to play the part of the scum desperate for work in order to approach him. The second he got Santo out in the open, away from his stand and any weapons hidden beneath, Ressler would arrest him, the seven other hidden agents flooding the area as cover once the call was made.

If it was even here and Red wasn't lying,Don thought bitterly, his eyebrows furrowing with stubbornness. He trusted Reddington about as far as he could throw him. Actually…maybe a little less than that.

Donald Ressler couldn't understand how in the world Agent Keen and Cooper were so quick to trust Raymond Reddington. Don had studied him for years, built cases, sat stooped over his profile and files late into the night. Ressler knew what went on in that man's head even better than Red himself, and yet the people back at the taskforce leapt on his every word like kids in a gossip ring. How the hell was Reddington even allowed to walk around without FBI surveillance 24/7? He waltzed in after years of being on the run, said some names, then waltzed back out, only to come and go as he pleased.

It irked Ressler to no end.

"On your right, black beard, 5'10", heavy build, matches description," came a quiet voice in Ressler's ear. One of his above eyes had caught sight of the man he was supposed to talk to. Glancing to the right, Ressler saw a man stooped over a blue plastic cooler, the rope of his fishing boat wrapped tightly around the wooden post that jutted up from the dock. A wool cap was pulled down over Santo's head, the blackness of straggled beard shot through with a few streaks of grey. Thick fingers were buried into the ice of the cooler, filling over a pile of anchovies and other small silver fish. He was wearing a worn red and black flannel jacket, corduroy pants, and tan work boots.

Ressler was relieved Orazio Santo was away from the few other fish stands, he had no idea about the people around him, watching him with only minor interest. Santos was out of earshot, so Ressler murmured very quietly, "Going in, making arrest."

"Affirmative. Cover advancing," was the answer.

Reaching for the gun on his hip, Don Ressler pulled it while walking quickly forward, his eyes down the sight as seven other agents emerged from the shadows, guns also drawn, several tactical rifles trained on Orazio from above.

"Orazio Santo, you're under arrest for illegal weapons trafficking and conspiracy," Ressler barked, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Santo turned abruptly, standing up so quickly the plastic cooler toppled over, scattering ice and fish down the dock.

Santo jerked to his right, as if to run, but Ressler bellowed at him so abruptly to stop, the man decided that to escape would only result in getting shot.

"Turn away from me and put your hands behind your back, palms facing upwards," Agent Ressler ordered, the barrel of his gun trained on the black and red fabric that covered Santo's chest. Santo was cooperative and, but the cover of his fellow agents, Don had a cold pair of handcuffs secured around his wrists. The faded black ink of the compass was noticeable behind Orazio's neck, the north arrow pointing upwards towards the wool of the hat.

"Come on, Santo…we have a few questions for you," Ressler muttered, taking hold of the Sicilian's arm and tugging him back the way they came.


"Lord, it's been years," Reddington mused, rocking back on his heels and clasping his hands behind his back. He blinked and narrowed his eyes as he watched through the one-way mirror as Ressler sat with his back to the glass, the hooded eyes of Orazio Santo gazing down at the metal of the desk, his hands cuffed to the metal bar that jetted out from the tabletop. "Last time I saw Santo he was pointing one of his guns between my eyes. Accused me of stealing one of his bottles of wine."

Cooper's strong brows furrowed and they looked like two caterpillars. "So you've done business with him?"

"Once. Dembe needed a few things, and Santo was the man to go to," Reddington answered flippantly, shifting his weight and spinning his fedora in his hand mindlessly. Elizabeth watched the motion, silent from her spot near the door.

"And you're positive he's working with Knapp?" Cooper asked, turning away from the two-way mirror and facing Raymond fully.

"Without question, Harold."

"So how do we get him to talk?"

"I don't believe that's my job," Red replied, checking a back molar with his tongue and blinking. "Seems like Donald's giving it the old college try."

"He's been in there for two hours now," Harold Cooper said, stepping back to the mirror.

Elizabeth watched as Ressler leaned forward across the table, pointing and seething, his words brought low. Reddington had provided them with a photograph of Alexander Knapp, and Ressler had it on the table directly in front of Orazio.

"You know who he is, I can see it in your eyes," Ressler growled, standing up and walking to the side of the table, looming over the hunched form of Santo. He stared at the tattoo, the ink faded and smudged, probably done badly in the first place. "Why protect him? He's just a business investment."

Santos finally looked up, his hooded eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted in a sneer. "I do not sell out my clients."

"So you do know Knapp?" Ressler badgered, slamming his hand down on the photograph. He ignored the way it made his palm sting.

Something flashed behind Orazio's eyes.

"Are you protecting him out of fear? Will he come after you? We can protect you, Santo."

"By throwing me in your jails?" Santo retorted, his spell of silence shattered. His voice was sharp, rough like gravel. "You don't think he has people in every institution across the United States? You'd have to kill me!"

"What did he mean? That he has people in the jails?" Elizabeth asked, saying something for the first time.

Red turned and glanced at her, liking the way her hair looked pulled back from her face in a ponytail.

"Rumor has it that Knapp has been smuggling people in for so long he has one or two working in every prison, making sure that old business deals and clients didn't turn sour, didn't betray him to any authorities."

"He operates with fear," Lizzie mused, watching Ressler continue to badger Santo and seeing how agitated the Sicilian was getting.

Reddington was watching her, savoring the light that shone in her eyes when she was getting inside someone's head. He watched as she left herself, floated through the glass, and started to dig through Orazio's thoughts, his mannerism's betraying him, the look of fear as easily read as a children's book.

"What are you thinking, Lizzie?" Reddington asked, dipping his head towards her. He stopped twirling his hat and held it still.

"Knapp operates under fear, that means that he must have the people or the resources to carry out specific warnings to keep his people loyal. He has a communication system, a networking tree in order to let others know about what he's capable of," her eyes narrowed as she worked out the puzzle, the clues starting to line up and her psychological training walking her through step by step. "To do this he needs techies. Hackers, networkers, IT guys."

She turned to Cooper, the glare of an idea apparent in her face. "Have them search Santo's house. Bring Aram with. Grab computers, phones, tablets, anything you can get. Don't leave the house with them; Santo could have a magnetic ring on one of the doors, a wireless security system that'll wipe the hard drive once it comes into contact with the computer. Look for encrypted emails or texts, they might be disguised as spam, maybe even viruses."

Cooper, very impressed with his agent, nodded and tapped on the glass gently with his knuckle. Hearing the noise, Ressler muttered one last thing to Santo under his breath before he left the table and slipped through the door.

"What?" Don asked, his eyes darting from Harold, to Red, then Lizzie. It was obvious the thrill of interrogation was affecting him, Lizzie noticed how his hand shook slightly.

"Lizzie was just able to gather some profiling information on Knapp. I'll fill you in, I want you leading the search on Santo's apartment. Are you good? Do you need some rest?" Agent Cooper asked.

"No, I'm fine," Ressler said, sniffing and putting his hands on his hips as the thrill wore off. "Just give me a cup of coffee and I'm good." Ressler then gave Cooper a nod and headed back out into the taskforce operating floor, the door clicking silently shut behind him. Lizzie turned and watched Orazio sit slumped in the chair, his eyes drilling into the stainless steel tabletop.

"Right. Agent Keen," Harold said, turning to Elizabeth. "I'm going to call you when Aram finds something useful." He glanced at Reddington, who smiled. "In the meantime-"

"Actually, Harold, I was wondering if I could borrow Mrs. Keen for the evening," Reddington, the Mrs. sounding more like a jeer than a word. Liz's eyes couldn't help but narrow. "You see I have a possible link with Knapp and I need a woman's assistance."

Cooper's eyes narrowed. He and Elizabeth interjected at the same time.

"What?"

Reddington blinked, "Was I unclear?"

"You mean we're spending the resources digging through some smuggler's computer when you already have an in with Knapp?" Cooper did not look amused at all. "Why wouldn't you tell us this before?"

"Harold Cooper, I do not tell you how to run this task force, you do not tell me how to operate outside of the law."

"I just don't understand why we had to go through all this trouble if you already had your foot in the door. Ressler could've been killed out there on those docks."

"Oh come on, Harold…you had a team of fifteen agents helping, including snipers. And besides, I figured you'd be thanking me, Orazio is quite the big wig in Knapp's operating system. He doesn't get weapons from just anyone," Raymond replied, his eyebrows raised. "And, if you were listening, I said I had a possible link. I need Lizzie here to help me find that out." Reddington cocked his head to the side, his words a little bit lower than what he usually used when speaking with Harold Cooper.

At first, Cooper silent, yet the man's eyes were still dark as they watched the criminal clasp his hands behind his back.

"You'll have to ask her then," was the only thing Cooper could respond with before he turned and left the rooms, leaving Raymond and Agent Keen alone, save for Santo as he sat in the small interrogation room through he two-way mirror. She was not amused as she looked at the all-knowing little grin that lilted lazily on Raymond's lips.

"I'll pick you up at nine tonight. Wear something nice."