Ressler couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. After washing the blood off his throbbing knuckles, he hastily checked the drawers and cabinet for any medicine he could find - and found nothing. Taking a deep breath he opened the bathroom door. There was no one in sight.
He was feeling a little warm, almost feverish, as if his internal temperature regulator was broken. After dropping his suit jacket on a couch he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. Rolling up his shirt sleeves as he walked to the cockpit, he found the room empty and then looked down at the front deck. There they were. Red sitting with Berlin at a table …like old friends… Berlin's men and Dembe were standing off to the side, out of earshot from the two seated men.
Feeling drained and more than a little foolish but with his panic under control for now, he dropped down the stairs and walked onto the front deck. Red spotted him immediately, said something to Berlin then rose to meet the agent. Ressler stopped and regarded him silently as he approached.
"Feeling better, Donald?" He cocked his head to the side, looking curiously at the agent. Ressler said nothing, clenched his teeth and looked away momentarily. No. But I'm not going to attack your... friend... over there again.
He finally found his voice and turned back to Red. "You wanna tell me what the HELL is going on here?" he hissed, his voice low.
Red looked back toward Berlin, with a look of mistrust and resignation rolled into one. "He's here because I asked him to be. It seems whatever disagreement he and I may have, we each share something greater. Someone who is apparently pulling both our strings."
The thought of anyone pulling Red's strings made Ressler scoff and he looked at the man, shaking his head.
"And whoever is at the bottom of this is pulling those strings tight enough to set Berlin onto my ex wife, and previously onto your task force. Meera died because of 'misinformation' that Berlin was given. We are allied - for the moment - to try and ascertain where that misinformation is coming from."
Ressler ingested that information. It actually sounded plausible. But then scowled when he realized that only the last year of his life with Number 4 as a 'partner' would make ANY of this sound plausible. Seriously, I really want my old life back.
In SO many ways...
"Why out here?" Ressler waved his hand, looking at the expanse of ocean. His stomach roiled as he looked over the side of rail at the deep water and he quickly returned his gaze to Red.
"We needed somewhere to meet that was off the grid. This seems to fit the bill perfectly, wouldn't you say?" he asked, moving his head slightly to the side as he eyed Ressler. "And I'm sure you are wondering why you are here."
Ressler stared at him. Of COURSE I'm wondering that.
"In order to track down who is threatening Berlin and I, he needs the same thing I did when I came knocking at your door a year ago. He needs allies. WE need allies - specifically from your side of the fence. And for now," he moved his head a little, smiling, "well, for now this seems to suit both of us. That could change any time. But for now - today - here we are."
Just like that?! Team members killed or maimed, but now it's just business?!
"What makes you think I won't just turn him in, and forego whatever little arrangements you two have made?" asked Ressler, leaning in and keeping his voice low, looking beyond Red and focusing on Berlin. He shoved his hand in his right pocket automatically, and if Red saw the moment of panic in Ressler's eyes for that split second, he didn't acknowledge it.
"Donald, you really need to stop thinking like a Fed and start thinking like a criminal. I have just handed you the best lead yet you have on this man. He in turn could give up so much more if he had new Federal friends."
"And Cooper knows nothing of this, right? Why involve only me?" asked Ressler, turning back to face Red.
"Because you're the best man for the job. Dear old Harold would have gathered all the King's horses and all the King's men in order to capture Berlin if he'd known. He would never have agreed to a clandestine meeting on the high sea. Nor would he ever have agreed to sending his lead agent in alone. Well, alone with ME." Red smiled, satisfied that he'd summed it all up nicely. "Yes, this is better," he confirmed, nodding.
Better? This is better?!
"The best man for the job? Why, because I owe you? Because you helped me hunt down Tanida and gave me his head in a box? Because you saved my life?" Ressler kept his voice even, but his insides were churning.
"Twice. I saved your life twice. Well, three times if you count your blood transfusion on our rain soaked mountain, but who's counting. But as much as it may surprise you, no, none of that is why you are here. I needed you here because Cooper wasn't there when Meera died. You were. You have seen first hand how powerful this unknown nemesis is. You have seen the results of his... handiwork."
Ressler stared at the man. What the hell?! So the only qualification I have for this job is that I had my bloodied hands shoved around Meera's throat?! He looked away, then back at Red as he continued.
"But actually, the main reason is far more transparent. Berlin asked for you." Red regarded him calmly as Ressler clenched his teeth at that. "Then why 'Donald from the State Dept'? Berlin knows I'm FBI," he said, grimacing as he described himself.
"Oh, that was done for your benefit, not Berlin's. I needed you to freely give up your sidearm and Donald the FBI agent would never have done that."
It was so simple. And Red had been right. He'd done it immediately to 'get in character'. He shook his head now, clearing it so he could now focus on his 'other problem'. He sighed heavily. "So how long is this going to take?"
"However long it takes, Donald," said Red cheerfully.
Ressler was trying not to sound antzy. And failing miserably. "One hour, two? How long?" He swallowed, glancing at the churning ocean below him again.
Red looked at him, tilting his head, then nodding in understanding. "Don't worry, Donald, we'll have you back on terra firma soon enough."
Ressler just looked at him silently, clenching his jaw, wanting to strangle the calmness of the man. But as he looked at Red, seeing the understanding look on the criminal, he realized he had the PERFECT alibi here. Until he could get back to his apartment and his spare bottle of pills, he'd be the best version of a seasick sailor he could. Red would never suspect he was ...having a complete meltdown. Good ole' Captain Red would simply think he was seasick.
Brilliant. I really can be amazing.
Red grinned then and slapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts. "And do try and settle down, Donald. You're a little testy today."
###
Ressler was really wondering just how this day could get any worse. He sat down reluctantly across from Berlin, while Red prattled on beside him about some woman he'd met with golden hair and the most delightful eyes. He wasn't listening. All he could see beyond Berlin was the deep, dark water of the ocean. Averting his gaze, he decided to look down at the table, effectively blocking the sight. He was aware of Berlin looking at him and his skin crawled.
"This does not look like the same man who visited me in the hospital, no?" he said, in his clipped English, waving his hand (his real hand, Ressler noticed) toward him.
"Oh, he just doesn't sail very well, and is off his game today," said Red cheerfully. "Isn't that right, Donald?" he smiled, looking sideways at Ressler who simply glared at him in reply. He noticed Ressler's swollen knuckles now, recognizing a fist slammed into a hard, immovable object when he saw one. "And what happened to your hand?"
Ressler glanced down at his right hand, seeing the bruise already forming. "A door bumped it." I don't wish to discuss it.
Red smiled, and shook his head as he eyed the agent. "Here, have a drink. Don't worry, it's just lemon water. It will help settle your stomach," he said, and if Ressler didn't know better, he'd swear there was genuine concern in Red's tone. He nodded to the criminal in silent thanks. He really was starting to feel unwell. The sun was bothering him. He'd never been a fan of hot weather and even sitting under the canopy with the breeze coming off the water, he felt like he was suffocating in the heat.
Red was pouring the drink into Ressler's glass when the yacht suddenly pitched about two feet to the port side before shuddering to a stop. Ressler grabbed the table and stifled a gasp.
I just knew it. We're going to sink.
"Well, that's a little disconcerting." Red calmly put the decanter down and looked to Dembe. But Dembe was already on it, heading up the stairs toward the cockpit. Red swiftly followed to see what was going on, leaving a nervous Ressler sitting alone in the presence of Berlin and his two men.
"It is probably nothing. These boats are not perfect," said Berlin, looking at him in slight amusement. Looking into Berlin's calm eyes and noting the condescending expression, it suddenly made perfect sense how this man and Reddington could be allies.
They're the same damn person. Except Red has two hands.
Ressler suddenly realized he was still gripping the table and slowly let go. As he did so, another shudder ran through the length of the yacht, and he could immediately feel a difference in how she sat in the water. No longer perfectly calm, now she rocked gently on the waves. Ressler's eyes shot up to look at the cockpit as Berlin calmly informed him that it looked like the stabilizers had gone out.
Absolutely fantastic. What the hell else can happen today?
The movement of the yacht was unnerving as he sat there, noticing he was gripping the table again. He rose to his feet, unable to sit this close to the man who had ordered Meera killed. He may not be feeling the urge to choke Berlin any more, but he sure as hell didn't need to sit and socialize with him. He turned from the table, suddenly almost afraid to walk in case something else happened. Like the yacht pitching over on its side - and then sinking, of course. Or splitting in two like the Titanic and spiraling gracefully to the sea floor - with all hands lost, of course. He suddenly shivered, then left Berlin and his two men and went to go see what Red was doing in the cockpit. Climbing the stairs while gripping the railing very hard, he made it to the cockpit and found it empty.
As he approached the seat - Captain Red's chair - he stood and looked down at the panel on the dashboard. Red warning lights were blinking on and off.
Oh, that can't be good...
In the midst of all his concern about the condition of the yacht, feeling it bobbing on the ocean in a most unsettling manner, he had momentarily 'forgotten' his own predicament. Until a pain shot through his stomach like a lance, causing him to double over and gasp as he clutched his middle. Sweat sprang to his forehead and for a second he thought his lunch was finally going to show up. But it passed, the pain receded and he swallowed down the feeling and slowly stood up straight. He looked at his watch. He was only an hour past dose time and already having problems.
He heard steps behind him as Red and Dembe came through the lounge and up to the cockpit. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he turned to face them as they came in. Red did not look happy. In fact, Red looked downright pissed.
"So, what's the verdict?" Ressler asked, dreading the answer. And in one of those rare moments, Red had actually lost all charm and completely ignored his question before heading down the stairs to the front deck. Ressler watched him jog down the stairs, then turned and arched his eyebrows as he looked at Dembe, who was as silent and non-committal as ever.
He didn't think Dembe was going to offer any explanation. But then he spoke softly and calmly. "The hydraulic hoses to the propulsion, steering and stabilizers have been cut."
"Cut?! How?" Ressler's heart jumped.
"We have been sabotaged, Agent Ressler. We are not going anywhere," said Dembe calmly.
What?!
The bottom fell out of Ressler's stomach. He needed to get out of here. Needed to be off this water and back in his apartment. Needed to take his Oxy. Damn! Damn! Damn! With an effort he squashed the rising panic. And as his heart rate slowed again, he suddenly realized the irony of the situation.
My own freakin' stabilizers have been cut too.
As if in confirmation, his stomach cramped up again. He turned away from Dembe, resisting the urge to grab his stomach. As the feeling passed, he looked at Red below the window, who was by now having a very un-Red like heated discussion with Berlin.
He turned back to Dembe. "We seriously can't move? Can't get out of here at all?!"
Dembe just shook his head gently in reply.
Oh my God.
###
His mind reeling, Ressler headed back down to the deck, seeing that Red and Berlin's conversation was apparently done or had reached an impasse. Red saw him, but made no move to come talk to him.
Ressler already had his own plan forming in his mind. Simple. We can go across in the dinghy and hitch a ride back on Berlin's yacht. His fear of what was coming with no pills was causing him to make decisions that he would never normally consider. The choice to get on a boat - alone and unarmed if need be - with a convicted criminal who had killed his work colleague and almost garroted his boss seemed perfectly logical right now.
"All I'm saying is that you need to do some housekeeping amongst your staff. I only have one employee with me here, and he stood right there the entire time we were meeting," Red said to Berlin, calmer now and sitting down at the table.
"Again, as did mine. My men were in sight the entire time," replied Berlin.
Ressler had stood back listening, but now ventured forward to voice his plan. He stopped in his tracks as a sound came across the water. The engines to Berlin's yacht were firing up. As Berlin stood up, motioning to one of his men to radio the yacht, the engines increased in speed and the anchor was lifted.
"I'd say your ride is leaving without you," Red said, looking squarely at the man. "Now do you believe me when I tell you that you have a serious security issue?"
Ressler sprang to the side rail, watching Berlin's yacht. No! I need to get back! And as he watched, the yacht slowly gathered itself up and began to move away. The strong motors churned as it came up to speed now, causing two trails of white water and a large wake as it left.
Ressler's heart sank. The panic that had been under control for a while now reared it's ugly head again. His hand - his painful right hand - reached into his right pocket, willed the pills to be there - to have somehow materialized out of thin air. Of course, they were gone. No, no, no, no, no, no... He dropped his eyes from the sight of the leaving yacht, quickly looking at the deck to steady his stomach.
Berlin was on the radio now, yelling into it in German. Ressler didn't understand what he was saying - but didn't need to - he was making his feelings perfectly clear. There was no reply on the radio, and again Berlin yelled into it. As the silence greeted him again, Berlin gritted his teeth and tossed the radio back to one of his men.
"It appears we are all stuck here," Red told the German, then went and stood by Ressler at the railing, watching the yacht leave.
"Well, Donald, the answer to your question on how long this will take has just been left wide open." As he said it, the yacht lurched on the water as it got hit by the wake from Berlin's yacht. Ressler gasped, closed his eyes against the motion and faint spray of sea water and gripped the railing hard. He suddenly felt Red's hand on his shoulder and glanced sideways at the man.
"Don't worry; I do have resources to get us out of here. Hang tight Agent Ressler. We should be out of here by morning."
Morning?! I need to get out of here NOW! Ressler leaned on the rail, feeling his hands shaking now. Oh my God. It's starting. It's happening.
A thought came to him, borne by his absolute need to get out of here. "The dinghy..." he panted, but didn't even finish the sentence when Red nodded, smiling broadly at him now. "Exactly, Donald."
Red patted Ressler's shoulder then walked back over to Dembe who had silently joined them as Berlin's yacht left. "Dembe, come with me," said Red, and led his employee back toward the engine room.
At the railing, Ressler kept his head bowed, trying to ignore his stomach as the yacht still rolled in the wake from Berlin's yacht. He opened his eyes again and looked up, seeing the sleek yacht much further away now. Why had they left? Why had they left their boss here? Glancing back at Berlin, he again noticed the calm demeanor of the man. Just like Reddington.
But then his stomach rolled again and finally, after threatening for hours, what was left of his lunch came hurtling back up. Leaning over the railing he vomited, now hearing the laughter and snide remarks of Berlin's employees. To his surprise, he heard Berlin bark a sharp order to them and the laughing ceased immediately. Just like Reddington.
His stomach empty now, he stood straight again. He left the railing, walking shakily back up the stairs to the cockpit. He didn't know where to go. But he would need to explore this yacht and get his bearings. Because he needed somewhere to lock himself away for the night - away from prying eyes and laughing employees. He needed to be alone while his body rebelled. He'd been through it before for a few hours. Now he had to face an entire night before they got out of here. Trembling, he reached the cockpit and slumped in Captain Red's chair for a moment, looking at the warning lights blinking on the console before him.
I am so screwed. So, so screwed.
But then, despite his desperate need to be alone overnight with what he knew what was coming, a thought came to mind. Another thing he needed... and he didn't realize how much he needed it till right now.
Liz... I so wish you were here with us. With... me...