Chapter 2: A Quiet Exchange
Liz's POV: Elizabeth Keen sat in the FBI's war room, staring at a grainy photo of Reddington, her mind racing. Why her? She'd only been a profiler a few years, yet Red had asked for her specifically. "He's playing us," she told Ressler, her voice low, intense, her eyes burning with suspicion. "He's got an angle." Ressler snorted, his frustration raw. "Cooper's eating it up, Liz. Thinks Red's intel is gold." Her fingers tightened around a pen, grounding her. Red's smile haunted her—too knowing, too personal.
Toney hunched over a public library terminal in a dim corner of Washington, D.C., the hum of fluorescent lights blending with the soft patter of rain outside. The library smelled of old books, dust, and faint coffee. His hoodie, damp from last night, clung uncomfortably, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. The InfoGrid System overlaid the screen with data: news feeds, public records, anything tied to Reddington's surrender.
The interface highlighted a video clip from the FBI's lobby, Reddington in a tailored suit, his smile sharp. Toney studied his gestures—a head tilt, a glance at the cameras—each move deliberate. The system flagged them as calculated.
Orlov's POV: In a Syndicate safehouse, Irina Orlov stood before monitors, her handler's voice sharp: "He's in the library. Move." Her Russian accent was clipped as she muttered, "Slippery bastard." Toney's speed at the train station unnerved her—his tech wasn't in their files. Sarah Kline's intel confirmed he was hacking public systems. Curiosity gnawed, but she buried it, sending a coded order to her team, her eyes cold as steel.
Toney's mind churned. He knew Red's surrender was a chess move, the opening of a larger game. The memories—vivid, alien—felt like a TV show burned into his brain. Contacting Red was suicide; Orlov's face was still fresh from the train station.
A flicker on the screen caught his eye—a figure in the news footage, unremarkable but flagged.
Cooper's POV: Harold Cooper stood in the FBI's command center, jaw tight, reviewing Red's file. "This better be worth it," he growled to an aide, his voice gruff, commanding. Red's surrender was a gamble, but Cooper had greenlit the task force, betting on his intel. Doubt crept in—Red's leads were too neat. Sarah Kline typed quietly, her face neutral, sending Toney's location to Orlov. Cooper didn't see it, but the mole's betrayal was rippling through the game.
Toney's jaw tightened. The Syndicate was circling the FBI. He scanned the library—students typing, an old man with a newspaper, a librarian shelving books. No threats, but he felt exposed. He overheard Liz and Ressler nearby. "We're wasting time," Ressler snapped, his voice blunt. Liz's reply was firm: "Red's not the only one playing games."
Toney's fingers flew across the keyboard, the system decrypting data at blinding speed. It pieced together connections: Reddington, the FBI, a new task force, Elizabeth Keen at the center. His heart skipped. Liz. A name he knew too well. The system flagged her image, her face serious, eyes sharp.
The system dug deeper, hitting encrypted files and redacted communications swirling around Red like a digital fog. Toney frowned. This was a multi-layered game, Red playing three boards at once.
Sarah's POV: Sarah Kline's fingers trembled as she sent Orlov another message, confirming Toney's hack into the FBI's channel. The library's Wi-Fi had spiked, a sign of his tech. She glanced at Cooper, barking orders, oblivious to her betrayal. The Syndicate promised her a new life, but fear was constant. If Toney exposed her, or if Ressler's instincts caught her, she was finished. She sent one last update: "Target's moving to coffee shop."
A courier. Someone low-level, carrying data between Red and the task force. The system highlighted Daniel Carter, a junior analyst, young, glasses, unassuming. Toney memorized his face, the system pinging Carter's phone to a coffee shop three blocks away.
Toney slipped out of the library, blending into the lunchtime crowd. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the air heavy with wet asphalt and street food. The system tracked Carter's phone. Toney adjusted his hoodie, nerves taut. Orlov was out there, every move a gamble.
At the coffee shop, Carter sat alone, typing on a laptop, glasses reflecting the screen. Toney took a seat across the room, pretending to read a newspaper. The system flagged the Wi-Fi as a weak point.
Toney triggered the hack, the interface flashing with data from Carter's laptop. His heart raced as the system decrypted files, revealing messages about Red's next move—Zamani's attack. A shadow outside—a man in a black coat—caught his eye.
Toney left a few bills and slipped out the back, the system guiding him through an alley to a crowded street. The air smelled of exhaust and wet garbage, but he moved fast, blending in. Orlov was close, but Toney had Red's intel. He had to survive to use it.