AUTHOR NOTES:
For obvious reasons, the details mentioned in the following chapters will not be 100% accurate. No matter how much I enjoy including researched material into the story... it isn't gonna happen here. Most descriptions are used for visual purposes only.
In other words, unless you enjoy having SWAT kicking in your door, no one in their right mind is going to Google how to properly construct a bomb then share those details in a fictional story.
Well, not until you're on the New York Times Bestseller list, anyway.
LIZZINGTON
"Harold, we brought you a gift." Red called out from the open elevator, his hand waving to the young man beside Daniel.
McSha nodded cordially, then resumed his perusal of his new surroundings. His eyes wandered to Samar Navabi's backside as the woman entered the all male revue on her way to her desk.
"I also got you a bottle of Alberta Premium Rye Whiskey. Red assures me it's very good. I was going to do the bacon thing," Liz wrinkled her nose, "but this carried better."
"Did we bypass customs?" Harold asked innocently, taking the offered bottle.
"Well... yeah." Francis Holbrook thought that a rather stupid question. "A penny saved is a penny spent." He reminded everyone around him.
Giving the boy a queer look, Cooper refocused his attention. "I suppose we should show our guest to his new lodgings?" Harold motioned for his men to approach. Ressler's scowl was a dark one.
"What's his beef?" Francis had noted the guy's surly mood.
"You could have let us in on the bust." Ressler wasn't shy about airing his grievances.
"We decided against taking Huey, Dewey, and Louie along." Facing Cooper, Red smiled to lessen the barb. "For obvious reasons."
"What reasons?" Ressler snapped.
"Well, truthfully," Red lied artfully, "everything came together so quickly, we had to make a decision to go or stay or miss our window of opportunity."
"What a bunch of bullshit." Ressler shook a woeful head. "We're ready to go at a moment's notice and you know it."
"The jet wasn't big enough?" Red tried for tact, his face innocence in itself. "Oh, Harold. Let me introduce," he pulled the two men forward, "Michael Fairfax...Eric Harper."
Harold had heard of Eric Harper. "How many did you kill on this little jaunt?" He eyed the man dubiously.
Harper glanced at Fairfax, shrugging aimless shoulders, not understanding where all the animosity was coming from.
"None." Red checked with his contemporaries. "That we know of, anyway." He drew in a cleansing breath. "I know, I'm as disappointed as you. I feel as though I'm slipping, Harold." He managed a concerned expression. "But that was the whole point, wasn't it? Which is the real reason we didn't take the three stooges here." He crooked his head to his meaning.
Moore's expression said it all, but for once, he kept his mouth shut. Wilson smiled rather ingratiatingly, lowering his head for a beat. Ressler's interest was for his newly acquired prisoner.
"I like your carbhat." McSha made mention, singling out Ressler's sedate navy-blue tie with its geometrical design.
"My...what?" Ressler scowled.
"Your tie, man." McSha motioned again. "I like it. It suits ya."
Ressler narrowed his eyes, looking for some hidden insult, but McSha kept a perfectly straight face.
"We have a room set up." Harold motioned the way. "I'm assuming you will want one of your people in when we interrogate?"
"It probably would be best." Red motioned Samar forward. The woman waited by her desk for the transactions to take place.
"Why Navabi?" Harold put a staying hand out. He had wanted another male in the room.
"Just for the record," McSha piped in, "I am present, and can hear everything you're saying."
"Who would you rather question you, Harold?" Red asked, ignoring McSha's commentary. "A beautiful woman or these idiots? Besides, she has a way about her that makes a man want to talk...about a lot of interesting things. We don't want to bore her. We need to keep her focused on us."
"What I am, chopped liver?" Liz offered over a disgruntled face which made Red grin.
"You're married... and very much off-limits." McSha stated the important fact in passing before giving Navabi a charming wink of his eye.
Ressler rolled his eyes but accepted his fate. "We don't have all the time in the world here, people."
"He's right." McSha made mention. "I could talk to her all day...and far into the night."
Samar smiled, lowering her head.
Ressler roughly moved the man along.
"Watch the rough stuff." McSha took exception. "I'm here by choice, may I remind you lot."
Red noted the statement but remained moot. Gesturing Samar to go first, he followed close behind her.
"I never expected you to turn traitor, Reddington." McSha laughed as he walked in, motioning to his newfound surroundings. "It saddens the heart."
"Really, because it clearly states on my wanted poster that I'm wanted for being a traitor." The man reminded, throwing his fedora on the long conference table. "That should have been a clue."
"Who exactly did you turn coat against?" McSha seemed interested. "Your government, was it? How can that be held against any man? In another time, we'd be called patriots."
"Those times are gone, sadly." Red smiled over at Samar, offering her a seat.
"Where are m' manners?" McSha arose hastily, clearly intending to help the woman seat herself.
Ressler pushed the guy back down. "She can sit down by herself."
"Well, so much for American chivalry, hum?" McSha checked with Red, who grinned for his wit. "I tried m' best, darlin." The man apologized in his own way. "What a waste, really. A lovely woman like you, having to deal with such crass people."
"True, but we are ever so pleased that she is on our side." Red sat down, pulling his vest into shape, offering over a sedate smile.
Samar grinned, actually pleased by the compliment. Some wouldn't have seen it as such, but she knew you had to have brass to survive in Reddington's world, and if he thought she had what it took, it was a nice pat on the back.
"Thank you, Reddington." Samar smiled at the man.
"Now, as to why we are here." Red knew, just as McSha, that they were being recorded and observed from a two-way mirror on the far wall. He got matters back on track. "What are you doing, Sean? Or what have you done to have brought us to such a point in life?"
"I told you, man, I cannot break a confidentiality." The younger man seemed sincere. "If I did, I'd be no better than Leo Sumners."
"Ahh, yes." Red chuckled amiably. "I believe Leo ended up as the cornerstone of City National Bank on Park Avenue, if I'm not mistaken."
The man leaned to confide in Samar. "Leo would sell out his mother if the circumstances called for it. As a matter of record. It was, in reality, his mother who actually sold him out. She was friends," Red air-quoted the noun, "with the man her son double crossed in order to save his hide. Kinda backfired on old Leo, there. Talk about a dysfunctional family."
"God rest his worthless soul." McSha crossed himself, his expression properly contrite for the dearly departed, then turned his head and spat.
Red shrugged and turned his attention back to Sean. "I didn't ask for a name. Only a target."
"And what do I get out of it if I tell you?" Sean was, above all, a businessman. "I am paid a hefty sum for my work. Generally speaking, if I renege on my end, I usually have to pay fifty percent of that back. My name is tarnished. My reputation shredded. You know the score. You can imagine, were I to rat..."
"I do." Red nodded his understanding. "My dear Agent Navabi, what do you have to offer my good friend, here?"
Sean perked up immediately. "Yes, lovely woman. What do you have to offer me?"
"Not that." Samar lifted a frosty brow.
McSha quelled his disappointment. "Too bad."
"I can offer you a reduced sentence." Which seemed lame, even to the woman. "Which is bullshit to a man like you. Were you aware, though, my organization is constantly in need of men with your special qualifications?" She motioned between Red and McSha. "If it wasn't for brilliant hackers, serial killers and explosive experts such as yourself... we would never get anything accomplished."
"True." McSha nodded thoughtfully. "True."
"Where do I fit in with that lot, exactly?" Red wanted it explained.
"Such organizations have even been known to set up a helpful employee in a very comfortable atmosphere which is conducive to better work-related results." She put some cream on those S'mores. "All at the taxpayers' expense, of course."
"Well, if one evens it out though, it isn't much per person, correct?" McSha didn't like to take advantage of people, after all.
"Hardly noticeable." Samar waved any such issue aside. "Pennies to the pound. Add to that, one will have personal trainers, private pools, cable and HBO. None of which I have, come to think of it." Her brow furrowed prettily.
"You would have were you connected with me." McSha held his grin. "Just sayin'."
"Look, Sean," Red said, "I'll be up-front here. We know you've bought up the excess supply of the product you use in your...workplace. That gives concern on an entire global level. How many people are we talking here that you have put into extreme danger and for what? We need answers."
"Not me, lad." Sean could and would say that much. "I saved a lot of people. And you're right about that global thing." He shut the hell up.
"Not you?" Red was quick to zero in on the information.
"Not me."
"Then...who?" Ressler snapped, his patience waning for the unnecessary delays. "Stop coddling this asshole. Let me have him for ten minutes...alone."
"I would kill ya in five, lad." McSha grinned up at his antagonist.
"Stop." Samar warned Ressler more than McSha. "You said you couldn't tell us who. Can you tell us where?"
"I hate to refuse you anything, lass." McSha seemed torn. He ran his hands over his face, sighing heavily. "Ask me questions...some I might be able to answer, for God's sake." It was his turn to snap. "I want to help, I do!" He was growing agitated.
Red quieted, allowing his brain to work.
Out of the silence, the young Irishman began a very subdued version of 'Fly Me to the Moon'.
Red was annoyed at first because it interrupted his thought process, but then the incident seemed so out of turn, he had to seek the other man out, but Sean instantly stopped humming.
Samar was looking at the man in the same vein Red had. Ressler's expression was more along the lines of, he wanted the guy dead.
"So, you limited the amount of supply to this anonymous threat." Red wanted it clear in his mind.
McSha seemed happy with that one.
Everyone went back to silent contemplation.
McSha began a drumming motion on the table with his fingers, breaking out into a rhythmic version of 'Big Ole Jet Airliner.'
"Would you like me to gag your ass?" Ressler asked as pleasantly as he was going to get this afternoon. "Keep your hands down by your sides! Or the cuffs go on!"
McSha chuckled his disbelief, shaking a woeful head. He sat back, sighing more than heavily. He held up a pacifying hand.
"Are there multiple targets?" Samar grabbed at straws.
McSha thought it through. "Logic alone would answer that question, love."
"How many?" Red asked quietly. "More than ten?"
"No." McSha breathed a sigh of relief. "There were, but thanks to my intervention..."
"Are these targets designed to hurt," Samar tried again, "...anyone in particular?"
"Everyone in particular." McSha seemed inclined to reply to Samar more than the males and his expression softened when it fell on the woman, who was clearly distressed by what might be.
"Is there a reason behind the..." she halted her narrative to not offend since he was being so cooperative. "Is there a reason?" Why it mattered, Samar didn't know, but...it did.
"Greed..." Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Pride, mayhap." He shifted his eyes to Reddington. "On the other hand, he could be acting out of grief."
Falling silent, Red mulled over the words until something clicked in his mind.
Sensing Reddington understood the subtle hint, or at least sensed there was one, McSha smiled. "Why do men do anything?"
Nodding slowly, Red ruminated on the clue given. "...Yeah."
"Are we dealing with an organization?" Ressler came up with something productive, so much so...
Sean answered. "No."
"This... individual." Red sat forward. "Is he young?"
"He's an impetuous lad," McSha knew well enough. "Though, his belief system was formed from the older generation, I believe."
Piecing together the information handed him, Red fell silent, idly rubbing his fingers along his brow.
"Would this person show up on our databases?" Ressler was a good agent in spite of himself at times.
"He's new on the scene." Sean doubted the guy was stupid enough to have left anything behind on his jobs. "I cannot be certain, of course. But m' guess is...no. If he is, it was for a petty crime and unworthy of being noted."
"Do you know him personally?" Samar wondered.
"I do not, lass."
Samar sat back. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee or..."
Ressler sent her a look, but that was all he did, to Red's relief.
"I would now." Sean sent over a charming smile of gratitude. "Would y' be having one of those delicious Coca-Cola's layin' about anywhere?"
Red knew people were scrambling to get just that item.
"I think we can dig up one of those." Samar nodded graciously.
Ressler and Red exchanged enigmatical looks, both men keeping their thoughts to themselves.
LIZZINGTON
Anton Richter did not even bother to hide his presence. He worked diligently on the connecting terminals of the explosive device, carefully attaching the initiator to the primary power source.
"Hey, Scooter Pie, whatcha doing there?" A portly gentleman had watched the tall Russian for some few minutes now, his curiosity aroused enough to finally approach.
Anton glanced up from his busy work. "Wiring an explosive device." His quick sense of humor came to the fore, but at the other man's subdued scowl. "I'm reinforcing this section of the power grid." He showed his pass.
"Ah." The guy nodded amiably, not even bothering to really check the photo credentials. "Thought it was something like that. These lights are always giving us hell. Especially in a storm."
"I can imagine." Anton went back to his business. "Well, after this, you shouldn't have that trouble anymore."
"Good to hear." Jim Anders had worked at Houston Hobby for years now. He pretty well knew all the ins and outs of the operational part of the international airport. He was head of maintenance, but his people only dealt with things on the actual airplanes. "Putting in a new electrical box there?"
"Heavy duty one." Anton nodded affably. "This one will take anything you throw at it."
"I'm guessin' you're from...overseas. Russia, maybe?" Jim was pretty good at dialects, he thought.
"I am Russian, as a matter of fact. Very good." Anton's accent was pronounced.
"You know, boy...my daddy fought your people in the Big One, til you switched sides, that is." Jim held up the universal sign of peace. "Now, I ain't holding no grudges or nothing, you understand. Just commiseratin' here, right?"
Anton smiled pleasantly for the exchange. "What an awful business that was, da."
"I'm thinking, you must be the third-generation immigrant coming out of that poor, backward country." Jim shook his head sorrowfully, taking a bandana out of his back pocket, wiping the sweat from his face. It was a humid night, after all.
"Only been in this amazing country for a while now. I hope someday to make it my home." The Russian guy lied fluently. He wouldn't be caught dead in this backward, unprogressive nation.
"You are more than welcome here, son." Jim slapped the man on the back. "Don't worry bout all this brouhaha of late what with some saying, America don't want no foreigners and such." He stood up for what was right. "Just ain't true. We believe that anyone needing to start fresh, they got a place here, just like our grandfather's back in the day. If you do it legal like, that is." He amended.
"An admiral outlook." Anton was packing up his duffel bag full of funny looking tools. "One that is very much appreciated by we outsiders, believe me." He raised to his full height, which towered over Jim Anders. "I have another box to install. Then perhaps we can find a quiet spot and discuss your country?"
"Sounds like a plan." Jim nodded graciously. "I'd like that. I would."
Anton smiled, offering his hand. "It is the accepted norm, da?"
Jim took the outstretched palm, his handshake firm. "Come look me up when you're done. Probably be on the tarmac at the far end, down there. We got some trouble with an Airbus' motor not firing like she should. It's probably them damned field rats again, chewing at the damned wires."
"I admire a man that can understand such a technical system."
"Learned planes early on. My dad was a crop duster in the thirties. He shot down some Commies in the War...no offense meant. He took down them Krauts, too. I moved up the line after Viet Nam. I flew some pretty fine machines back in the day. Showed Charlie a thing or two, we did."
"I will wish to hear all about that, rest assured." Anton's smile had kept in place. "I'll look forward to our talk, then?"
"Hell, yeah." Jim spit some tobacco to the pavement. "Don't you be forgettin' me, now." He walked off, waving cheerfully.
Anton nodded, his smile fading quickly enough. "Stupid fucker." He sighed under his breath, heading his steps where they needed to be. There was another terminal which he must address.
Glancing down at his bag, Anton gritted his teeth angrily when he noted he was running short in supply. There was not nearly enough cord to properly cover the space required. No matter. He would collect all he needed and return the next day. All day, he moved around the airport and no one questioned him. Tomorrow would be no different.
Gathering the tools of his trade, he gave Jim a passing look before heading to his vehicle.
"Nice enough guy," Jim Ander's thoughts were on a more pleasant level as he sauntered to his own destination. That Airbus wasn't going to fix itself.
He hoped that Russian guy kept his promise. There was nothing Jim liked better than finding a nice person to share his glory days with.
LIZZINGTON
"You know, Sean." Red kept the conversation flowing. "It's wonderful that you're helping out here. It means a lot to me personally...what with Lizzy being here with me. Her safety is paramount to me, of course." He leaned in, hoping to share the next words only with Sean.
Ressler had stepped to the door to retrieve the Coke, and Samar was summoned on her phone.
Probably Harold having thought of something important they had missed to add to the list of questions being bandied about.
"Not to mention... just between you and me." Red glanced at the rapidly approaching Federal Agent. "Possibly a new baby on the way."
"You don't say, you old dog, you." Sean was more than impressed, but kept his enthusiasm to a degree, sensing the subject was not for publication as yet.
"I need to know Lizzy is safe."
"We haven't come into any sort of territory as yet to put her in danger." Sean was most serious. "I've met this woman..." he trailed off for a long beat. Ressler sat a Coke down before the man. Sean glanced at it absently. "She's...different. With the bluest eyes I've ever encountered." He smiled gently, picking up his drink. "I get what you're saying, at any rate."
"I gotta know," Red amended, "...you'll let me know when or if Elizabeth is in danger."
Sean was clearly torn. "I'm doing me best, Reddington." He sat the Coke aside. "You have to believe that."
Red nodded. "Well, your work speaks for itself. I have to give you props for that Kuala Lumpur thing." He chuckled his amazement. "I was out of contact for a couple weeks back then, looking over a new venture of mine. Dembe and I were back woods for days. We came back into town the very day your little surprise was unleashed."
Sean shifted a worried brow.
"Blew the hair right off my head." Red motioned.
"I cannot take the credit for that." The young man teased in his own way. "Don't be blamin' it on me."
"Like hell, it took weeks for my brows to come back. And this..." Red sighed, running his hand over his head, "I never fully recovered."
Laughing brightly, Sean sobered after a moment. "You were always fair with me...and good to me." He fell silent, contemplating matters. "It's just that word gets out. It always does, one way or another."
"Would that make you a mark, then?" Red asked.
"Ach, I've been a mark for all me days, man." Sean dismissed the statement. "Tis not that." He rubbed his eyes, drawing in an uneven breath. "I have struggled with this dilemma for months now, haven't I though." He sounded tired.
Red let it play out in its own time. Months? My God, had this debacle been in the planning stages for all that time?
"I heard about Carver's attack on your woman." Sean lifted angry eyes. "I should have taken that fucker out m'self years ago."
Red nodded his understanding. "Not doing anything is often the most damaging thing a man can do. My list of should haves are too long to list, Sean."
"Why is she here with you?" There was an edge to the question. "And why are you here, helping out these people...the government?"
Red directed the conversation down another path. "I know how you feel about governments, but this is the best we can do at this stage, Sean. There are some people inside this system that are truly trying to help."
"If you say so, man." Sean wasn't going to buy that one.
"Well, you're right. There are those that aren't trying as well." Red would give that much. "There will always be that type who profit from the misfortune of others. You and I both know it. Here? Now? We just want to stop people from being killed."
The silence was thick. "That is my job." Sean lifted a steady gaze. "I kill people for a living."
"We all do to some extent, but I also know, in your job...you try to minimize that aspect of it all."
Sean went back to trailing his index finger along the edge of the table.
"Can you tell me when this shit will happen? How much time do we have to stop it?" Red grasped at information...any. "Can we stop it?"
"That I don't know." Sean didn't. "I did what I could, limiting the bastard's supply and all. I know he's going to hit things, and I know he wanted to make a bigger splash."
"Why?" Red snapped. "Money?"
"Well, yes, I suppose...but more so, he wants to take m' place." Sean smiled listlessly. "And he's good enough to do it, maybe."
"Give me the fucking name, Sean." Red pleaded, unashamedly.
The younger man closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'll never work again, if I do. And I have a family as well. A large one that I support for the most part."
"I'll take care of your family...I'll give you any job you want, man."
Sean scowled darkly. "We McShas', we dinna take charity...but..." He tightened his mouth. "Give me a minute to think, can't ya. It's all confused now in m' brain."
"You came to me at that damned campsite, Sean. You didn't have to. Why did you?" Red asked, his nerves on tenterhooks.
"Ya would've gotten me the next morning."
"Would we? You walked right through an entire Canadian police action. You took us completely by surprise."
Sean chuckled at that.
"I think you had a reason to come out," Red sensed well enough. "I'm asking, what was it?"
The man fell silent, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. "I knew it was you. I knew you would understand. I knew I could trust...you."
"You can trust me." Red's eyes were saying so much more than his lips.
"Sorry to interrupt?" Samar grimaced, for she sensed this was just not the time, but she had also been holding the phone for some few minutes now. "The Director needs to speak with you."
Red dropped his head, his mood lowering.
"It's okay." Sean motioned. "I need a few minutes."
Red arose, sending Samar an unpleasant stare. The woman drew in a breath. She had been caught between a rock and a hard place.
LIZZINGTON
"What?" Red spread his hands plaintively. "You interrupt now?"
"We've been listening out here." Liz motioned him over hurriedly. "Francis and I think we are onto something."
"He kept humming shit." Francis had passed the ear phones back and forth to the woman throughout the conversation inside the room.
"I heard." Red snapped. "It's just what he does. He's always got his mind on fifty things at onc–"
"No, there was a theme." Liz snapped right back, checking Francis' notes.
"Lizzy figured it out." Francis didn't look all that convinced, though.
"Fly Me to the Moon..." Liz showed Red Francis' handwriting on the notepad. "Leaving on a Jet Plane."
Hanging his head, Red nodded, remembering what he heard McSha hum inside that room.
"I'm thinking, Space Mountain...Disneyland." Francis had it figured out too.
"Or..." Liz gave the guy an incredulous look, "airports! You little idiot?"
Francis blinked vacantly.
Red looked at his wife in a new light. "Well...shit." He whispered his awe. "That would make perfect sense."
"Space Mountain?"
"...No, Francis." Red managed between gritted teeth. "Airports. The fucker is going to hit airports."
"Why would he do that?" Was Francis' question, a puzzled look on the guy's handsome face.
"Why would he not? Maximum damage! Maximum media reporting." Liz hit Francis' shoulder... hard.
"Ouch." The guy frowned hard at her.
"Did you get anything?" Liz asked hopefully. With Red sitting right there with McSha, maybe he picked up more?
"He confirmed the bomber is on the young side, and his services were hired." Red murmured, unsure he wished to share the information as yet. "He also intimated whoever contracted the bombing is older, and is possibly acting out of grief."
"It's more than we had to go on." Liz bolstered Red's spirits.
"If I could have a few minutes alone to confirm this with..." Red turned, glancing at the two-way mirror, then scowled. "...What are those two idiots doing in there?" He sprinted, hurrying back to the room.
The interrogation was underway when Red entered. Samar shook a weary head when her brown eyes fell upon Red's blue questioning ones.
"What the hell's going on in here?" Red demanded an answer from Ressler, who was pretty much the only one he trusted to actually have an answer.
Ressler looked sheepishly about, but he felt he had to defend his peers. "You weren't getting anywhere, Reddington. Maybe this calls for professional–"
"Where are you going to find those?" Red snipped angrily. "Not among you three idiots."
"You're just in time, lad...this one here, with the weird suit on, he was going to shine a bright light in me eyes." Sean motioned to Wilson, who actually chuckled at the retort. "And this one... did y' mother pick out that shirt for ya?"
Moore raised his hand to back-slap the Irishman, but Sean was a street fighter, his instincts honed by many years in the Irish Underground Party. He lifted effortlessly, blocking the intent, countering with a strong right hook under Moore's left eye.
The man went down, sprawling on the floor of the room. Sean stood over him, his expression a bemused one.
"Gonna beat you with a rubber hose, was he?" Red relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing.
"Kinky." Sean lifted approving brows. "Why didn't ya say as much, man? I would have helped you in your endeavors."
Moore sat slowly, nursing his eye. "If I had my way, I'd take you out back and put a bullet in your worthless hide."
"That's the only way you'd win in a fight, lad." Sean sighed heavily. "Do you think that wee badge protects you from all evil? Or a good right punch?" He paused, then smirked. "It doesn't." He sought Red's amused gaze. "Do you think he watches COPS at night when he's all alone in his mother's basement?"
Red chuckled, wondering what Harold Cooper was thinking about his agent's behavior on the other side of that mirror along about now.
"Well?" Moore demanded something be done. "He just struck a Federal Officer. Isn't anyone going to do something?"
"What the hell do you want from us, man?" Ressler was embarrassed for the bastard. "You started it."
"I'm going to buy him a good lunch." Red decided. "After we discuss something of interest." He seated himself, folding his hands before him. "Sean, are the targets... airports?"
The Irishman thumbed his nose, winking. "Praise be to the Lord...yes! What genius figured it out finally! I'll kiss him right on the mouth. Point him out, then!"
"No, you won't, because it was my wife that deciphered your rather cryptic clues." Red tilted his head, his expression benign.
"Let me get this straight." Ressler wasn't sure he was following the course of events. "If we guess the answer to a question, it isn't you ratting anyone out but you won't give it over just because it's the right thing to do?"
"There ya have it." Sean was pleased someone finally got it. "It's the Irish way and a good way it tis now, for the most part."
"It's stupid." Ressler disagreed.
"Perhaps to someone from the Colonies." Sean shifted a superior stare.
"We're not 'the Colonies' any longer. We won that war," Ressler snapped.
"Not according to the British." Sean knew better. "Oh, I think ya did fine, I do." He assured. "But had France not helped out, you'd all still be flying the Union Jack, I'm thinking."
"So what airports, Sean?" Red waved the issue aside. "Where do we start?"
"What airports do ya think, Red?" He seemed very interested in the answer.
"Dembe is flying out tonight to London," Red played the game, "then he will meet up with Silas who is on his way back, or will be soon...from Russia."
McSha quieted. "No, that isn't what Dembe or Silas should be doing, not at all."
Red nodded. "So London and Moscow?"
"Two down, eight to go." Sean sat, stretching his back. "Not a bad start to a shitty day, hum?"
"I'm thinking, if I were this person." Ressler got in on it, musing aloud. "I would hit Dulles International."
"Then you think like an explosive expert, don't ya." Sean approved.
"That's three." Wilson pulled up a chair at the table. "Okay...JFK in New York, O'Hare in Chicago... LAX and maybe Miami International?"
"JFK and O'Hare." Sean drawled. "Perhaps Miami."
"Not LAX?" Red was shocked.
"There's a reason for that." Sean knew. He knew the Russian would be making his escape through that route sooner or later.
"So, five named?" Ressler grabbed a notepad, jotting them down.
"How about Houston Hobby?" Red knew Danny would want to know about that one.
Sean hesitated. "I haven't heard anything, but it just seems that it would be feasible to hit it, though, from my point of view."
"Why not the larger one?" Ressler was confused. "George Bush International?"
"I would keep a path open to go home." Sean had before, after all. "I would already have it booked, under an assumed name, of course. And I prefer the larger, more traveled venues. One can get lost in the crowd easier."
"...Charles De Gaulle in France?" Wilson raised a pen in the air.
"Six." Sean smiled slowly. "Very good, gentlemen... and lady."
"Haneda in Japan." Red always enjoyed his time in that country.
McSha remained silent.
"Galeão out of Rio de Janerio." Ressler tried another.
Moore had picked himself up, and was brooding over in the corner, dabbing his eye with a handkerchief full of ice.
McSha remained silent.
"Hong Kong." Red snapped his fingers.
Sean smiled over at him.
"Seven." Ressler's nerves were tightly wound.
"Toronto Pearson." Samar had just flown into that one, so it was fresh on her mind.
Sean pulled a sad face, pursing his lips her way.
"Rome Fiumicino." Red held his breath. Antonio was aware of all this shit coming down and would keep his people away from...
"That is all I know." Sean held up his hands. "You have a starting point. Tis better than you had, yes?"
"But so many." Ressler ran his hands through his hair. "Do you know where this shit will start? Who will be hit first?"
"We can take it from here." Red decided. "Get Aram on this. Danny can help. We'll alert the authorities at the airlines for all the good it will do."
"The news will be coming from the FBI." Wilson shifted hopeful eyes. "Surely they'll take the warning seriously."
"That remains to be seen." Sean didn't hold out that much hope, obviously. "I tried in m' early years to alert the Brits to a possible military coup during the troubles. They ignored me." The man seemed bothered by the tale. "I was tryin' to save m' brother and his friends."
Red knew the tale, lowering his head. "A lot of men died that didn't have to. They should have listened, Sean. Not your fault."
"Then whose fault is it?" McSha wanted to know. "Those in charge never listen until it's too late." There was bitterness in the man's tone and manner. "Never. Why do y' think I did not bother with them this time?"
The statement met with stony silence.
"Well, we have to try." Wilson was the voice of reason. He arose. "And you're right. We now have a starting point."
The people filed out of the room one by one, each to their own thoughts.
Red held back, crossing to Sean McSha. "Do you know where this guy is, Sean?"
The Irishman shook his head. "We don't move in the same circles." He grinned, but it did not reach his eyes.
"You look tired." Red had long since noted, seeing through the man's forced good humor. "Why don't you come home with me and Lizzy? At least you can be comfortable while we try to solve this conundrum."
"I don't believe I have any say in the matter." That teasing quality was back in McSha's eyes.
"I believe you do." Red knew he could convince Cooper, as the Irish Guy had cooperated as much as he could in the circumstances. And too, Red would tell Harold that, in a private setting, where McSha would feel more comfortable, he might give over the explosive expert's name.
"Come on... let's see what I can do to dispel your apprehensions."
Sean laughed, following willingly. "Well, I'm not holdin' me breath."
They walked into a lively debate in the bullpen of the Blacksite location. "Why airports do you think?" Aram asked the question on everyone's mind.
"Why not airplanes?" Wilson shrugged absently, looking over his notes. He had been listening on the other side of the mirror as well, along with his contemporaries.
"What's the difference?" Moore wanted to know.
"You want to say that to someone who's lost a loved one?" Liz snapped her irritation.
"The way people treated by the TSA today," Francis shared his thoughts, "You have to feel like a terrorist, and all you did was bring shampoo from home. They are not winning friends and influencing enemies, folks."
"What can one expect with the government in charge of the operation." McSha grinned at those gathered. "Government is another word for Cluster Fuck, pardon m' language, ladies."
"A normal person would enjoy being treated a little better by someone we pay to Lord it over us." Francis nodded his agreement. "They wouldn't have a job if we didn't take vacations and the like." He reminded. "And then the fucking plane goes down with my family on board and all they can say is...sorry, we don't know where we went wrong there, buckaroo. Just live with the grief and pain." He scoffed his disgust. "And don't forget...we'll charge you for excess luggage next time you fly with us."
"No peanuts for you!" McSha chimed in, a fake smile plastered on his face.
"So, you think that's it? Someone hired this guy to get payback for a death in their family?" Moore didn't buy it. "How many airports have to pay the price for one life...or a couple?"
"If it were my family, I'd want revenge." Francis knew. He also knew he would get it somehow, some way.
"Yes, well. You're not a normal person, either. Are you?" Moore brought out that point. "Normal people don't go around hiring psychos to blow up airports."
"Let's not bandy that word about so freely, lad." McSha shifted a cool gaze. "You dumb fuck."
"No, I hear him." Ressler nodded slowly. "With all that the TSA misses, I'd be more than pissed if someone I loved died because of their oversight."
"So, why not the corporate offices? Why the airport?" Wilson asked.
"Two birds with one stone." Danny came around, following the train of thought presented.
"If an airport blows," Liz pointed out, "besides causing extreme damage to the building and possibly planes. Public panic intensifies."
"The airlines would suffer extreme loss in profit." Mark nodded. "Hurt them where they feel it."
"Would you fly?" Michael asked the men questioning the theory.
"And could you anyway? Considering the airport is probably leveled." Harper pointed out.
"So, they get back at the airlines by killing a bunch of innocent people. Yes, that makes a whole lot of sense." Moore took a couple of aspirin, downing a bottle of water.
"It doesn't make sense to blow up a hospital or university full of innocent people. But it's done these days." Red reminded. "Grief is a tricky thing. Maybe this guy is acting for himself or someone hired his ass...does it matter? Who died? How many? How important were they to either the person hiring this shit or the person perpetrating it."
He had everyone's attention, even Moore's. "He's not thinking rationally, maybe. He's hurting too badly. Too caught up in his own pain for any sort of logic or sense to prevail."
"But haven't terrorists moved on from airports after 9/11," Wilson tried to be the voice of reason, "too much security."
"Uh, Jinnah or Bacha Kahn airports anyone?" Mark ticked off on his fingers.
"Who said it was a terrorist anyway?" Harper was confused. "You guys just came to the conclusion that this was a personal job." He had been listening to McSha in that small, suffocating room, just like everyone else. "One guy. Making a name for himself."
"Whoever this is, was hired." Red glanced at McSha for confirmation, which was given.
"But is he operating through his own will and this person set off a chance of revenge," McSha said, "or was the money simply too good to pass up?" He had no idea. "I can't answer that as yet. Even knowing what I know."
"You probably could." Moore stated quietly. "You just refuse."
McSha cut the man a stare. "I know a lot. And none of it's stopped what's going to happen. Do you think you are any better at putting a halt to this guy's plans than I? I don't think it can be stopped now. It's gone too far."
"We can't think like that," Harper snarked. "There are kids on those planes, in the airports...how the hell do we live with ourselves if we don't at least try?"
"We will." Red held up a staying hand. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. How could it be this late already? It felt as if they had just arrived, but it was hours later. "We're just tired. Let's regroup and start fresh in the morning, or better still..." he checked with Lizzy, "maybe we can have some kind of think session at the house tonight."
All present nodded agreeably before going to gather their things.
"Harold, tell the airlines they have to shut down." Red urged.
"Red, we don't know when or even if this will happen." Cooper reasoned. "Even by order of the FBI or any other agency, without a credible threat, they won't shut down. The money loss alone would stagger the industry." The man shook a woeful head. "If we ordered them to cease operation and nothing happened, who would foot the bill for the thousands of lawsuits for the loss of unused vacation flights, employees of the airlines not receiving their wages...rental car companies would..."
"Then get it on the news." Liz suggested. "Let people make up their own minds about taking the chance to fly."
"And cause a panic? The government won't go for it. As you've all said, they're supposed to make the public feel safe, not scare them with a bomb threat they can't find or control." The agitation in Cooper's voice increased. "Nor is this just about the United States. We don't police the entire world, you know."
"Who the hell cares about what anyone feels as long as they aren't dead. This isn't going to be a few hundred people, Cooper. This is going to be thousands." Red could see the horror of the future. "You think there won't be panic, then? You think that people across the world won't turn on their governments for having not warned them, because this will leak. It always does."
"Was that a threat?"
Red laughed humorlessly. "Who leaked the news about Lizzy's attack? Because it wasn't me."
Harold's eyes widened slightly.
"You've already lost control of this situation and it hasn't even begun yet," Red warned. "Forget about corporations, money, and lost wages. Think about the thousands of people who will die. One person...one! Has turned this entire organization upside down in a short amount of time, his reasoning doesn't factor into it. What do you think the thousands who lose family members will do?"
"Red, I agree with you. Don't think I'm not on board with you." Harold could see the big picture, but he could also see the obstacles in his path. "You hate bureaucratic bullshit. Well, that's what I'm wading through. Until I give the Upper Echelon a credible threat and the evidence to back it up..."
"You tell them when you finally get that evidence," Red grabbed his wife, and hat, heading for the door, "it'll be too fucking late...and their precious asses will already be on the chopping block."
LIZZINGTON
Ushering Lizzy to the car, Red removed his phone, dialing it absently. "Sean...you want to ride back here with us or.."
"I'll bother Dembe." The man seemed more chipper once out of the Blacksite. Harold hadn't said anything when Red indicated the Irishman should precede him out the door, so... "We'll sing some ole songs from Éire. He has a fine baritone and I'm a tenor. You and your Misses will be entertained...or you'll call the police. Whichever."
Red grinned, allowing the man to go his own way.
"Who are you calling?" Liz asked as Red opened her door. "The airports?" She was concerned.
"Silas," Red gestured for her to get in, "I gotta catch him before he leaves." He closed her door, making his way to his side of the vehicle. Joe was there to open the door for him. He glanced at the man. "Heard anything from him?" He held up the phone, motioning his head.
"Maybe he's resting." Joe sent Liz a playful stare.
The phone clicked, and Red returned his interest immediately. "Silas..." He slid into the back seat absently. "We got a problem."
"You got that right!" Silas bitched.
"What the hell's your problem?" Red scowled at the tone and instant animosity.
"Your little friend, Vitsin, sent us his calling card earlier." Silas snapped.
"Vitsin?" Red frowned over to Elizabeth, who was just as confused as he. "Why do you think–"
"Saw a couple of his henchmen at the bar," Silas growled. "Wasn't until I was on the receiving end of their Vektor that I made the connection who they might just possibly be."
"Son of a bitch..." Red muttered tightly. "Your little jaunt to Russia was seriously ill timed." He groused quietly.
"You fucking think!" Silas grumbled.
"Who's Vitsin?" Liz asked, having heard snippets of the conversation.
Lifting a hand for Lizzy to wait a moment, Red rubbed his already aching temples.
"I can understand your arrival in Russia would seem suspicious," Red granted, "but surely my absence has been noted in light of–"
"The fact you should be on your honeymoon," Silas snapped his ire, "with... Masha Rostova, daughter of Katarina fucking Rostava... double-agent spy extraordinaire!"
"...Yes." Red sighed wearily, then smiled as Lizzy's fingers casually wrapped about his. "Are you alright? The others, they're okay?" He asked. Lifting Lizzy's hand, he placed his mouth to her soft flesh, lost in thought.
"Yeah," Silas muttered, "we're fine. The car, on the other hand..."
Red breathed easier, knowing that at least.
"All I know is," Silas scratched his scruffy jaw, "we gotta get the hell out of here."
Removing his lips from Lizzy's hand, Red scowled. "No," he vetoed the idea outright. "No, you have to stay there."
"Excuse the fuck out of me?" Silas dared the man to repeat himself.
Relating all he knew about McSha and the possible threat, Red felt his blood pressure spike the longer he went on.
"It's not like we're flying coach here, Red." Silas bitched.
"Yes," Red knew as much, "but if the actual airport is the target..."
"We're caught in the crosshairs either way." Silas understood the parameters set.
"Look, you're not alone there." Red reminded. "Until we can get you out, I'll get Mikhail and Alexei's teams there to watch your back."
"We don't need no damned team to watch our backs..." Silas snapped at the turn of events. "But send them anyway. Just don't let on we actually need the fuckers or anything."
"Is he resting?" Liz nervously rubbed Red's hand, anxiously waiting out the news.
"Yeah...between dodging semi-automatic gunfire. He's resting just fine." Silas answered dutifully. "Tell her thanks for asking."
"He's really glad you're taking an interest, baby." Red paraphrased. "I know you're anxious to come home, Silas. I'm sorry this cropped up at this time."
"Yeah, well..." The man's temper cooled. "I'm talking to her when we get the chance and...it's not so bad, ya know?"
"I'm glad to hear it." Red was, his smile genuine. "She loves S'mores, just saying. And she took to camping like an old pro."
"Camping, huh," Silas mused quietly. "I like to rough it in the wilds."
"I know you do." Red held his smile in this instance. "Maybe you could ask her out into the woods when you get back."
"That just sounded creepy as hell." Silas remarked in passing.
Red grimaced. "It did, didn't it...didn't mean it to."
Silas chuckled finally. "It was your delivery."
Red drew in a cleansing breath. "I'll work on it." He thought maybe he should. "I'll keep you apprised of any developments over here. Keep your head low. If there's any more trouble, you call."
"Yes, mother." Silas grinned. "And I promise on Granny's soul...I don't have any girls in my bedroom."
"You better not." Red snipped. "I'll let a certain brunette Agent know about it if so..."
"You fucking rat." The guard laughed; his humor good now. "You would too. I know some things I could tell your little sidekick beside you, so...think twice before you do anything rash."
"We understand each other then." Red smiled pleasantly over at Lizzy, who smiled back trustingly.
"Hey...where is she tonight, you know?"
Red hesitated. He saw Samar and Francis get into the same car once outside the Blacksite. "...I think Francis is treating her to dinner. It was a long, shitty day all around for everyone. She probably will enjoy a quiet evening out."
"I'll do something for the kid when I get back. He's keeping her occupied for me." Silas nodded thoughtfully. "I worry about her being alone so much."
"Don't." Red made a promise to himself to speak to Francis as soon as humanly possible. "We'll keep her safe and happy until you get home."
"Thanks, Red...really." Silas appreciated the gesture. "Means a lot."
"Take care of yourself, asshole." Red stated off-handedly. "See you soon." He hung up.
Lizzy cut those blue eyes his way. "He didn't really say what you said he said...did he?"
"No, baby." Red admitted as he cuddled Lizzy to his side. "He was his old bitchy self, which is actually a good sign, right? He's feeling better."
"I don't see how he can, what with not getting any proper rest," Liz warned pseudo-sternly. "Can't you do something about that, Red? I mean...you're his boss, aren't you?"
"You would think so, considering I'm paying him." Red muttered under his breath before smiling at the woman beside him.
"No, baby." Red admitted freely. "I'm his friend and he's...Silas. We're just going to have to live with the reality."
She sat back, sighing heavily. "Well, I don't like it one bit, is all I'm saying." she set her mouth. "Red? Do you know... did he get me anything?"
Red cut his eyes her way. "Oh, hell yes." He put his heart and soul into that little fib. He immediately started texting the asshole guard on the matter. "He got you something so good, sweetheart. You'll love what he got you...promise!"
From the front seat, came a rather lilting version of...'Danny Boy'.
"Let's just sit here and listen to the songs." Red didn't see any way out of that one. "You want to do the high part?"
Liz giggled then sat up, grasping the seat, joining in the frivolity. Red chuckled, relaxing back finally, the stress easing a tad. She really had a lovely voice. Not as good as Dembe's, granted...but who did.
LIZZINGTON
Returning to the house, Michael pulled Red aside, alerting him they were returning home, much to Red's consternation.
"Normally, I would stay, but the children..." Michael trailed away.
"Of course," Red nodded his understanding. If they were unable to avert the tragedy before them, Red wouldn't wish to be away from his children, either.
"I know of a private airport we can use." Michael smiled his assurances.
"You'll call when you land?" Red shook the man's hand.
"Cross my heart," Michael did just that, "hope to..." he broke off, chuckling. "Well, you know what I mean."
Securing Susan and Michael a ride with David to the airport, Red and the others hit the phones.
Reaching out to contacts across the globe, the grapevine lit up like a Christmas tree as warnings went out to everyone to stay away from the airports until further notice.
Liz hung up the phone, stretching her neck as she listened to Red on his call.
"Petra, you tell your boy that if he loses his job, I will personally either find him another or keep him in wages until he's found another position." Red assured. "You both mean a great deal to me. I wish for you to be safe. So, just... avoid the airport at all costs." He listened for a long beat, satisfied the threat was being taken seriously. "Thank you for trusting me. I'll call again soon."
Hanging up the phone, Red rubbed a rough hand across his scalp.
"Take a break, Red." Liz hit enter on the message Red asked she send out on the system his geeks had designed for the underground network.
"There are so many people to call, to warn..." Red dropped his face into his hands, sighing tiredly.
"What did you tell me the other day?" She reached, rubbing a gentle caress across his head. "You can't save the world in one day, and certainly not without rest and sustenance."
"Lizzy... I'm not doing enough." He grated irritably. "I should be calling the television stations, newspapers, swarming the net."
"Even if you did, do you think anyone would take you seriously?" The woman was having trouble getting her own friends to do so. "You might after you tell them who you are, but then what? Everyone will blame the messenger, and I'm not gonna let that happen to us."
"They already think I'm a traitor." He spread his hands.
"But not a mass murderer!" She snapped. "No! You are not doing that."
"It might save lives, Lizzy." He didn't want to fight about it, though. His head was aching already.
"Maybe, except ours."
"Excuse me?"
"You think warning a few people is going to do anything? Because it won't." Liz predicted. "People will blow it off and go on their vacations they've been saving for all their lives and get blown up for our troubles...and theirs. Then their families will start hunting us."
"Me, you mean," he corrected. "I'll be the target."
"If you're a target, I'm a target." She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression set. "We're a package these days, remember?"
"I think you're exaggerating the issue somewhat, but I get your drift." He settled a bit. "It's enough that my work touches you...I don't want this dynamic between us as well. The thought terrifies me, in truth."
"It should." Liz allowed her head of steam to die a natural death, now that she had his attention.
"We're doing what is humanly possible, Red. We can only do what we can do."
Red nodded absently. "I just keep thinking...there has to be a way to stop this fucker. There has to be, but why won't it come to me!"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to sacrifice what we've built up here." Liz looked around their home. "It may be selfish, but I couldn't stand to lose you now. I just couldn't."
"And the people that this thing will hit will feel the same about their loved ones, baby."
She closed her eyes. "Don't." She pleaded. "It's hard enough to keep the doubts away."
"I know." He leaned, kissing her neckline lovingly. "I'm sorry, honey. Enough for tonight, right?"
"You say that, but you can't shut down your mind, can you?" She murmured.
Red knew she was right. There was no winning in this situation. If he called anonymously, no one would take him seriously. If anything, he'd get a blurb on page twenty in a section no one ever read. On the off-chance he provided his name, blame would fall on him when the shit hit the proverbial fan.
"Don't do it, Red. Please..."
He may burn in hell for choosing Lizzy over so many, but he just couldn't do it. If it were just him, he'd take whatever was thrown at him. But Elizabeth? No, this was not going to touch her.
Gathering her against him, Red lowered his mouth to Lizzy's gentle pout. "I won't, I promise."
"Besides, what if the information is wrong?"
"You and I both know...it isn't." Red dashed that hope.
"What is that Director guy doing?" Francis strolled into the room, licking a cone piled high with ice cream and sprinkles. "Anyone know? The FBI stepping up in any capacity?"
Liz glanced at the oddity; her brow furrowed. "Where did you..."
"Nora..." Francis shrugged as though the answer was an obvious one.
"They're doing shit as far as I know." Red suspected even if the Powers That Be decided on some form of tactic, it would be far too late to implement. "...Francis, I need to speak to you about something. Just let me clear some crap off my plate here first, okay? Don't go until we speak."
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here tonight."
"...And how is Samar doing?" Red asked.
"She's here." The kid motioned to the interior of the house. "She didn't want to be alone, I don't think."
"Who does." Liz asked fretfully.
"We should all get some rest." Red thought it would be a wise route to take along about now.
"Maybe we could call the actual airlines which run out of those airports..." Francis stopped on his way out the door, a notion hitting.
"To what ends? You think they don't run on the all-important dollar?" Red laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Just like the airports?"
A general consensus seemed to favor that conclusion. "Then what can we do?" Francis wasn't one to give up so easily, Red knew.
"If we could just get a thread of evidence to present our case." Red shook his head. "Damn! Why doesn't God step in here? What's he doing? Sitting on the side-lines like the damned government?"
"Red, stop." Liz whispered incredulously. "He will help, but he only works in his own time."
"Well, he better do something, and fast, is all I'm saying."
Liz fell quiet. "Maybe he might, if someone actually asked for his help?"
Red chuckled mirthlessly. "He and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, I don't think."
Liz lifted lost eyes Francis' way, disappointed her attempt at optimism fell flat.
Sighing internally for Red's unintentional blunder, Francis offered the woman a warm smile. Thankfully, Lizzy understood the pressure Red was under and didn't take his jest personally.
"Hey, I don't think he knows me either, Lizzy, but hell, I'll give it a shot." Francis offered, shrugging aimlessly. "What do we have to lose?"
If nothing else, maybe Red could use the quiet to decompress. If Lizzy happened to say a prayer in that time, and it made her feel better... what did it hurt?
"You two go ahead." Red rubbed his eyes. "I'm going to sit here a while and see if anything comes to me."
Liz nodded dejectedly. She hated to see Red so lost. It was so seldom that it happened, after all.
Francis offered his hand. "I hear tell, you have to find a quiet spot so he can hear over all the people going to hell down here. Am I right?"
Liz smiled, taking his hand. "I'm thinking...the garden."
"While we're out there, can I ask him to help me with my allergies?"
"Stop being flippant." Liz scowled up at the man.
"Yeah. Okay." Francis stopped. "I didn't mean any disrespect."
"He knows that." Liz lead the way with but one last glance to Red Reddington. The man sat, shoulders hunched, demeanor desolate. He knew people were going to die just as he knew...he could do nothing at this point to stop the slaughter of the innocent.
"He's going to take it hard, Lizzy." Francis could sense the turmoil and strife in the woman. "He feels responsible, even though he isn't. You know how he works."
She had always known Red to be passionate about their cases, but it wasn't until recently she realized just how affected he was by them. Though it hurt to know he was so troubled, she hoped the love and compassion she felt for him eased the pain even a little. Sometimes, knowing you weren't alone... it was everything.
"It's not his fault greed is more important than human lives. He's told the people who can actually do something about the situation." She stopped just outside the windows of the room Red occupied, her gaze a loving one. "Why can't he see that?"
"Logically, he does, but it doesn't detract from what he feels." Francis stated. "No one is listening, and it's just something he can't accept. That no one gives a shit...no one."
"Maybe they will next time." Liz closed her eyes, then sighed more than heavily.
"You aren't that insensitive." Francis knew. "You're hurting just like he is."
"Like we all are, Francis." She touched his cheek. "Maybe I'm just resigning myself to the fact people are incredibly stupid. And apparently, you can't fix stupid, no matter how much you wish it were different."
"Silas would say... Francis alone is proof of that." The kid did a remarkable impression of the surly guard, which made Liz's smile genuine.
"You aren't stupid." She grinned his way. "You're merely deranged."
"We got a job to do, sister..." Francis pulled her along to a suitable spot among the lovely flowers and gently swaying trees. A warm breeze was filtering up from the Potomac tonight.
"Let's get to it. You're going to have to lead the way, though. I'll sit quietly and try not to draw too much attention to myself."
"Probably a good idea." Liz agreed. She glanced at the night sky, lifting her eyes heavenward. "Well, here goes..." She hadn't done this in a while either, she was ashamed to admit.
LIZZINGTON
Author Notes:
Well, it's not the best chapter I've ever done, but we're kind of getting back into the swing of things, I hope.
I plan to finish Better Off Dead and hope to post the rest soon, I just thought I should go ahead and get the FP update posted first. :)
If there are any errors, sorry! Thanks for your patience!