The Blacklist - Tenth Season

The Chechens? Seriously, Nigel.

Of all the gangsters you could be wrapped up with,

you choose the criminal organization

that scares the living wits out of every other criminal organization?

Relax, all right? I-- I know what I'm doing.

Remember Moscow?

Two dozen Russian Mafia bosses

meet with a handful of rising Chechen gang members

to broker peace over dinner.

No weapons allowed.

By dessert, all the Russians were dead,

slaughtered with their own cutlery.

Maybe the Russians shouldn't have picked a steakhouse

for the meetup.

This isn't funny, Nige.

We're meant to be agency partners.

Look, I don't know how it works at MI6,

but if my gaffer at the CIA heard even one whisper

about your other...

entanglements--

And how exactly would that happen, partner?

Word always gets around, Nigel.

Secrets never stay secret.

You better hope that's not true.

Get up, you're going home.

We're one step closer to getting our man.

Nice work, Officer Sutton.

Wouldn't want to do it with anyone else...

Agent Malik.

What are you doing in there?

Mm.

Herbie! Hello! What are you doing here?

I just came from watching

Holly's band play a gig downtown.

She killed it, as usual.

There were even some reviewers there. One from Punk Planet,

and I think she said someone from Rolling Stone.

- Impressive. - Totally.

But I-- I thought I would check in on you

while Holly was putting Sue to bed at the hotel.

I'll meet up with her later for some room service,

maybe some kissing.

Are you wearing eyeliner?

Yeah, it's, um, de rigeur in the hard-core Klezmer scene.

Ah. I'm sure I wouldn't know.

Anyway, how is your little

Reddington Rear Window stakeout going?

Far as I can tell,

he's been inside for the last two and a half days.

I keep watching his shadow walking back and forth

across the windows.

Well, at least we know where he is.

That's not nothing.

Oh, before I go,

I wanted to update you on the DNA research

I've been doing since, you know, you found out

that you and Meera Malik

aren't biologically related.

Did you find a match for my profile?

Unfortunately, nothing pinged

in any of the law-enforcement databases

that I have access to.

Even now, after I've had time to... digest the revelation,

Meera still feels like my mother.

I mean... look at me.

I followed her footsteps into a career in intelligence.

Why wouldn't she tell me where I came from?

Now it feels like I'm never gonna get any answers

to any of it.

Have you thought about asking Raymond for help?

Knowing what I know about Red,

I'd bet he knew Meera better

than she knew he knew.

When I started on this task force,

the first thing Agent Ressler warned me

was not to get in debt to Reddington.

It feels like a slippery slope

I'm not sure I want to start sliding down.

Well, all I know is that Red has been a huge help to me.

On a lot of things.

I should get back to the hotel.

I don't want Holly to just fall asleep with Sue.

Well, good luck with the kissing.

I'll be here...

with my binoculars and BO.

Yeah, you might want to crack a window.

Bye.

Anything back from Senator Panabaker

about Task Force 836?

The Senator still isn't returning, sir.

- I'll try her office again. - No, no. Don't bother.

Panabaker's stonewalling. Let's go around her.

Reach out and schedule an appointment

with Senator Dorf on the Appropriations Committee.

Tell his aide it's a matter of some urgency.

No task force should be operating

with seemingly zero checks and balances.

Where are you?

Senator Dorf wasn't in. They're going to call back,

but they have nothing open for at least a month.

Let's do some research into Clayton Dorf.

Maybe there's another way to court his favor.

Any security breaches I should know about?

You almost gave me a heart attack.

I thought you were in there. Where'd you come from?

For you.

Carrot-apple-ginger. Extra ginger.

I'm just back from Aguascalientes, Mexico.

But the lights were going on and off.

I saw shadows.

Oh, that's just a part-time employee of mine.

What's with the antlers?

Why don't you join me inside?

I'll whip up a little something for you to eat,

and I'll tell you all about them.

So, thanks to our exchange the other day,

we finally secured an address for that sleazebag Minkov.

He hasn't just been funding the Tamil Tigers.

It looks like a second temple bombing

is being planned in a couple weeks.

I feel like our next step should be--

I'm not here to talk about next steps, Meera.

Damn it. They got to you, didn't they?

I warned you that you were playing with fire, Nigel.

Score one for Agent Malik.

Maybe when you take a break from gloating,

you can hear me out.

I need a favor.

I just--

I need some money to cover what I can't.

$100,000.

I don't have that kind of money.

But you can get it.

You're smart and resourceful.

You see something you want,

you find a way to take it. Am I right?

I can't believe you're doing this.

I wish I could find another way to get the money, but...

I've exhausted all the means available to me.

My director at MI6 didn't entirely buy the story

I fed him about how I got injured.

Now he's asking questions,

watching my every move like I'm a bleeding cricket match.

I need your help to get the Chechens off my back so this all goes away.

I'm-- I'm not gonna lose my job,

my house, my family over a few bad calls, Meera.

Sort of the way you wouldn't want your bad calls

affecting your job and family security, either.

Because that...

That'd be a real shame at this stage in your career.

How soon do you need the money?

Forty-eight hours.

I'll be in touch.

Shh. Siya.

Oh, Mommy's sweet Siya.

Hi, baby.

It's okay. Hi.

That was the best frittata I've ever tasted,

and you made it with a hot plate and a toaster oven.

Yes, well, thank you, but you're only saying that

because it's the first real meal you've had in a couple of days.

Maybe.

So why are you toting around an enormous set of--

Well, I guess they're actually horns.

They're bull horns. Not just any bull.

Those belong to the legendary Islero.

The Miura bull that killed Manolete.

I'm not familiar.

The matador? Manolete?

Perhaps the most mesmerizing bullfighter of all time?

Sober in approach, if not in life,

the man was a long-faced,

heavy-hearted hero for the ages.

What draws a person

to such an incredibly dangerous pursuit?

You're no stranger to dangerous living, Agent Malik.

Perhaps, but you'll not see me dancing with a murderous,

500-kilo beast, poking it with sharp sticks.

Manolete was a stoic guardian of tradition in the bullring.

His father had been a matador.

His uncle.

A month before he died,

Manolete told an interviewer,

"They're asking for more than I can give.

Always more and more."

He longed to retire from the ring.

But he returned.

He went again to do the thing

that he did better than anyone.

And in the instant

that he killed Islero,

balancing on his toes,

arching up and over the hot,

steaming breath of ferocious death,

the surgically precise plunge of his blade to the hilt,

in that instant...

Islero thrust his massive head

just centimeters to the right and gored him.

The closer a matador fights to the horns,

the closer he is to his grave.