Red chuckled softly as the lock on the apartment door yielded easily. He didn't have many opportunities to use his tradecraft these days but when he did, he felt a certain rush of pride that his skills were still there. Red scanned the apartment as he closed the door quietly behind him. It was as he expected. Tidy, uncluttered, basic. Nothing ostentatious. Just like its owner. Red slipped into the bedroom and opened the drawer of the bedside table. He only had to shuffle the contents slightly before he found what he was looking for. He reached in and pulled out the gun and slipped it in his pocket. He quickly surveyed the remaining drawers in the room enough to satisfy himself that there weren't any more weapons concealed beneath their contents. Back in the living room, Red's eye fell on a bottle of whiskey and a couple of lowball glasses on the built-in bookcase and his mouth quirked into a faint smile. He poured himself a generous sample of the whiskey and smacked his lips appreciatively. Glass in hand, he licked the fingers of his other hand before he reached into the lamp shade of the single lamp illuminating the room and unscrewed the bulb just enough to plunge the room into darkness. Red took another sip of the whiskey before he removed his gun from its rear holster. Whiskey in one hand, gun in the other, Red sat down in an armchair facing the door to await his prey.

Donald Ressler unlocked the door to his apartment and reached for the light switch next to the door. He cursed under his breath as nothing happened when he flipped the switch. He could have sworn he had left a lamp on in the living room. He stepped into the living room and froze as he heard the tell-tale click of a gun a split second before he felt the barrel press against his side.

"Hands in the air, Donald. Don't do anything rash," a familiar voice intoned in his ear.

Ressler felt a chill run down his spine and his heart begin to pound as the hairs on his arms stood at attention.

"Reddington? What the hell are you doing breaking into my apartment?" Ressler growled with more bravado than he felt as he lifted his hands reluctantly into the air. He momentarily considered drawing his own weapon but quickly dismissed the thought. If Reddington had come to kill him, he'd be dead before he ever got his gun out of its holster. If he hadn't, there was no point in inviting a bullet.

"I think you know why," Red replied smoothly as he took Ressler's gun and slid a hand in Ressler's pocket to remove his cell phone. "Have a seat, Donald. We have much to discuss." Red prodded Ressler lightly with the barrel of his gun towards the couch. Ressler complied. What choice did he have, really?

Moments later, Ressler blinked owlishly as Red tightened the light bulb and the room was once more bathed in light. Ressler's eyes narrowed as he immediately took note of the partially consumed glass of whiskey Red had left on the end table. Red chuckled as he followed Ressler's gaze.

"You have admirable taste in whiskey, Donald," he remarked. Red walked over to the bookcase, refilled his glass and poured a second glass all while keeping his eyes and his gun carefully trained on Ressler. He knew the younger man might be foolish enough to attempt a move.

Ressler scowled. They both knew the source of that whiskey. Ressler had swiped it from Red's apartment many months back. Ressler reluctantly accepted the glass Red offered him. He knows, Ressler thought. But how much does he know? His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to send a signal to Liz.

"I know what you're thinking, Donald," Red continued conversationally as he resumed his position in the arm chair facing him. "Let me assure you, I know everything about what you and Elizabeth have been up to."

Everything? Ressler met the criminal's piercing gaze and then lowered his eyes as he took sip of the whiskey. His throat burned pleasantly as the whiskey slid down. Maybe he's bluffing, he thought.

"So if you know everything, why are you here?" Ressler asked as he took another sip of the whiskey in an effort to appear calm.

Red smiled slowly but then leaned forward with a deadly serious expression. "Your clumsy detective work has stirred up some previously still waters. You're going to help me calm them. Drink up Donald, we've got work to do."

Just as Red spoke, Ressler suddenly felt dizzy and he blinked as his vision clouded. Moments later, he barely felt the glass of whiskey slip from his hand as the room faded to black.

"Are you sure about this Raymond? What if he does not cooperate?" Dembe stood in the doorway of Ressler's bedroom with his arms folded as he watched Red rummage through Ressler's drawers and closet as he packed an overnight bag.

"He'll cooperate once I explain to him why he needs to." Luckily, the agent was as organized as Red had expected and it wasn't much of a challenge to find the necessary articles of clothing.

"Elizabeth won't like this. You should be telling her the story, not him."

Red glanced over at Dembe and exhaled loudly. "And I will. I told you I would and I mean that. But we need him first and he won't do what I ask unless I give him a good reason why."

"And if he does not cooperate even after you tell him? What then?"

Red sighed. "He'll cooperate. When it comes to Elizabeth, Donald's fairly predictable."

Red stepped into the bathroom and grabbed Ressler's razor and toothbrush. He scanned the medicine chest quickly as he packed and was relieved to see no sign of opiates. He'd believed the man to be drug-free for the last several years and so far, all the evidence confirmed it.

Bag in hand, Red returned to the living room and stood with Dembe as they stared at Ressler's prone body on the couch. Red clapped Dembe on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I think you're going to have to manage this one. Are you ready?"

Dembe wordlessly stepped forward and lifted Ressler over his shoulder with only a slight grunt. With a passing glance around the apartment, Red turned off the lights and used Ressler's keys to lock the door.