Original subtitles

Hear that?

Hear what?

Idiots. There's nobody.

Thank God, man.

Where is he?

- What? I don't... - Reddington! Where is he?

Stop. Put down the gun.

You run the network, Joubert. If Reddington was smuggled out of Paris, you'd know.

- Smuggled? - Who got him out?

- Reddington's impossible to track, a ghost. - What about the strike team?

What strike team?

Hey, hey. If Reddington was in France, I would know. And I would tell you. I would.

Take this phone. Call me if you hear something.

What do you mean, "smuggled out of Paris"?

Is Reddington in trouble? Is he? What happened to Reddington?!

Where...? Where am I?

What happened?

Mr Reddington, please, be calm. You are in a hospital. You're in Paris.

I can't feel anything.

Why can't I move?

Why can't I feel anything?

Do you recall the incident?

How about the rescue?

I'm sure you have many questions

and a great many police waiting to speak with you.

But my only job is to care for your physical health.

And I'm concerned you may also have cognitive damage.

So I need you to tell me what, if anything, you remember about the incident.

Do you know who did this to you?

Katarina.

I don't.

Police had a local gang under surveillance when they saw you being pulled from a van.

- They caught them, the people who did this? - Inspectors intervened, but they got away.

You'd been drugged and beaten within an inch of your life.

Why can't I feel my legs?

Look, the people who did this to you, they shattered your spine.

L2, three and four.

Now, the neurosurgeons performed an emergency surgery, a laminectomy.

They removed the shattered bone, fused your spine.

But I can't walk.

Tell me when you feel this.

There.

I can't walk?

There are tests to perform, work to be done.

But time will be the only real judge of what functions you will eventually recover.

Why am I in this thing?

Patients living with the challenges of immobility...

So I'm paralysed.

- People in your condition... - I'm paralysed.

You're immobile.

And while you are immobile,

you're prone to both pulmonary complications and pressure-related injuries.

By moving you up and down,

this will help you avoid an embolism and pressure ulcers.

Will I ever walk again?

Mr Reddington, you're lucky to be alive.

I ran background checks on all the applicants.

Yeah? Who was your top choice? "Mrs Doubtfire," right?

Would be, if she weren't three months behind on her rent.

- What about "Hand That Rocks the Cradle"? - Two stints in rehab.

- The "manny"? - Seventeen unpaid parking tickets.

- Well, I have more than that. - One scofflaw in the family is enough.

Are they all bad?

Bad? No. Just not good enough to be Agnes's nanny.

Is it just me, or does it seem like everyone has a skeleton in the closet?

You know, after Samar left,

I spent six months drowning my sorrows in kielbasa and Ingmar Bergman movies.

Then Ressler insisted I sign on to a dating app.

When I refused, he signed up for me.

I swear, he is more of a yenta than my own yenta.

First three names he swipes right on, their background checks:

Bankruptcy, credit card fraud

and a restraining order for slashing their ex-boyfriend's tyres.

Now we are both eating Polish sausage and playing chess with death.

Well, I need to keep looking.

Mrs Williams is helping me out as a favour. I need someone who's permanent.

- This is Keen. - Elizabeth.

Raymond's gone.

- Gone where? - Taken.

- Tell me what you know. - We came to Paris.

- When? - Six days ago, for a meeting.

- With who? - Someone, I don't know. Someone he trusted.

How do you know you can trust him if you don't know who he is?

Because he insisted on going alone.

He went without you?

- Why would he do that? - I don't know.

He's in trouble, Elizabeth.

I need your help to get him out of it.

Who's there?

I was beginning to think that you didn't exist.

And yet, voilà, here you are.

René Oban, chief inspector, DGSI.

I've been hunting you for years.

This must be very exciting for you.

It was.

Like chasing an illusion.

Reality is...

much less interesting.

Welcome to yours.

A Frenchman who states the obvious. How unusual.

Like a Swiss who argues.

Or an Italian who doesn't.

I have been hunting you...

and Katarina Rostova.

- Fun. - We know that she is in Paris.

At the risk of stating the obvious,

it cannot be a coincidence that you are here as well.

202-555-0100.

Tell me about Rostova.

Call the number.

We know about the Townsend Directive.

We know that it is a standing order

to kill Rostova and that it is very much in play.

I want you to tell me who is coming for her and where she is,

so I can get to her before they do.

She has some intel that I want,

and obviously I cannot get it from her if she's dead.

You said you prefer illusion to reality.

More than you can possibly imagine.

I may have seemed like an illusion.

But she is one.

Someone you can never find.

202-555-0100.

- Not interested in talking to your lawyer. - You must not be interested in talking to me

because you can't do one without the other.

What's his name?

Marvin Gerard.

Sounds French.

What's the status?

Reddington is being interrogated as we speak.

Annapolis knows we're coming?

Yes, everything is on schedule.

So, Joubert, problem?

Well, one of Reddington's men found me.

- That was to be expected. - He shot two of my men.

He'll shoot more unless you tell him where Reddington's being held.

No, no. I would never do that. Ever.

I think that you should know that they are close.

And they are getting closer.

Thank you, Joubert.

For your concern and kindness.

How I wish we lived in a world where kindness wasn't a liability.

I have intel on Keen, should I act on it?

Not yet. I'm hoping we won't have to.

Clean this up and meet me in Annapolis.

- And, Berdy? - Yes, boss?

Say a kind word over his grave.

Yes, the Raymond Reddington.

Positively ID'd in Paris.

I talked to Morgan, hasn't heard from him. Can you reach out to Chuck?

Okay, so I reviewed all the CCTV footage

from the Paris neighbourhoods that Dembe thought Mr Reddington might have gone to.

Nothing.

Wherever he went, he didn't want to be seen.

French police are on Line 1.

I'm on with French police.

The secret police. They called the 0100 number.

- I didn't know we had an 0100 number. - We don't.

I'll have to call you back.

Harold Cooper.

Yes, this is René Oban with the DGSI, calling for Marvin Gerard.

He's not available right now.

He will be when you tell him I have Raymond Reddington in custody.

Inspector Oban,

this is the assistant director of the FBI, Harold Cooper.

We have arrested Marvin Gerard and have a tap on his lines,

in the hopes that we might find Reddington.

Apparently we have.

- Is any of this true? - No, but he doesn't know that.

If you have Reddington, we need to meet. If you have him, I'll need verification.

Yes, understood.

But since I'm in Paris and you are in Washington,

might I suggest a meeting at our embassy, between you and our attaché?

Fine. Make the arrangements.

You're quite lucky, tapping the number Reddington gave me to call.

- Luck had nothing to do with it. - No, I don't suppose it did.

- Think he suspects? - Suspects what? What was all that?

0100 is a dedicated line.

A way for Reddington to let us know if he's been arrested.

He demands to speak to his lawyer and we pretend like we just arrested him.

This Inspector Oban, I want a rundown on him.

Hang on, hang on.

Mr Reddington goes 30 years without getting caught,

now he's been caught twice within the last year.

He wasn't caught last year.

Wasn't caught? He was nearly executed.

He was arrested.

- But he wasn't caught. - What's the difference?

I turned him in.

- You what? - Why would you do that?

So he couldn't get in the way of me trying to find his real identity.

- Whose real identity? - Reddington's.

Wait.

What? And you knew about this?

Yeah. And I promised Reddington I'd keep it to myself.

- They deserve to know. - Know what?

That the real Raymond Reddington died in 1991.

And the man you know as Reddington was once a KGB agent named Ilya Koslov.

That's impossible. I knew Reddington, I served with him.

It's a long story.

- I'll tell it to you after we get him back. - Reddington, who you say is dead.

It doesn't matter who he was. I thought it did, but it doesn't.

And once you hear the story, I don't think it'll matter to you.

The only thing that matters is that Reddington...

our Reddington... is in French custody,

and we have to get him back.

Ressler, Aram, run a check on this René Oban.

Keen, circle back to Dembe, press him on who Reddington may have been meeting with.

I'll reach out to Main Justice and explain the situation.

- Which one? - The one about getting him back.

Once we do that, we can figure out the rest.

Or try to.

Director Cooper, Patrick Briaux, Homeland Security attaché.

Where we going?

To have a private conversation.

You know we can't do that in the embassy,

since all the listening devices were installed by your government.

I share your desire for caution.

Mine concerns René Oban.

He was with the DGSI until three years ago. After that, there's no record of him.

Does the FBI have a record of you after six years ago?

If they do, I couldn't find it.

Fair enough. But before I say anything, I need proof that you have him.

He was picked up near the Seine, badly beaten and unable to walk.

We expect your full cooperation in returning him to our custody.

You're a mystery,

an agent who doesn't exist.

Yet, when we call Reddington's lawyer, you pick up and demand his return.

I wonder,

is that because he's your fugitive or because you work for him?

- A friend in high places. - Do you have Reddington or not?

This photo tells me nothing.

I have Cooper. Put him on.

Nothing will come from this.

Yes?

Thirty years ago, Raymond Reddington heard classified testimony

in connection with a U.S. intelligence officer killed in Kuwait.

- What was the soldier's name? - Daniel Hutton.

- So it is you. - Were you expecting someone else?

I wasn't sure. Now I am.

- Is it true, about your injuries? - It is.

But I've been paralysed before.

The spine of a blowfish pierced my wetsuit off...

- Satisfied? - Not remotely.

An extradition request will be made within the hour.

Cheer up. I'm a man of my word.

You did as I asked, so I'll tell you what you're dying to know.

About Rostova?

The blowfish.

I was stung off Pitcairn Island during a brief assignation I had

with a rapturous descendant of Fletcher Christian.

Nobody sees him unless I say so.

Doctors included.

Okay, I'm clear.

Jiro wants to know if you want him to intercede with the extradition.

Tell his people to hold.

- Is this the Cooper file? - It is.

But Werner says it's a work in progress. The DOJ files are difficult to access.

Okay. How's our patient?

He's stable, respiratory rate and O2 saturation are good.

Last dose was at 10.

- What are the levels? - He's fine above L2.

- Is our client here? - Yes.

Dose him again.

Cooper made contact.

And?

Still a mystery. As is whether he has a connection to Reddington.

It's a work in progress.

- And Reddington? - Still thinks he's in Paris.

If he's waiting for the extradition order, he's gonna be less inclined to talk.

- Then use that to your advantage. - How?

We're up against a clock.

We need a plan B. It won't take them long to find out what's happening here.

Yes, well, if you're any good at your job, this will all be done by the time they do.

Good news.

I'm told you're going to get into a chair soon.

Right now I'm less concerned with what I can't feel than by what I can:

An insufferable itch on my cheek that I'm unable to scratch.

Would you be so kind, Nicola?

Tell me where.

The right cheek.

Yeah, that's right, a little higher.

Oh, no, a little higher, and then almost...

I don't know whether to be impressed or disgusted.

It appears your American friends,

they are more fond of you than I had anticipated.

They have asked my government to consider extradition proceedings.

Sadly for you, that will not be considered by the French government unless I sign off.

And...

I will not consider that until after you have told me about Katarina Rostova.

We need to change his dressing to avoid infection.

Well, you see. Another incentive for you to tell me what I want to know: sepsis.

Could you give us a moment and wait outside?

I may not have told you what you want, but I told you all you need:

You'll never find Rostova.

Yes, yes, yes, because she's an illusion.

What does that mean?

She's a figment...

of the collective imagination.

I don't believe you.

In fact, I am thinking that she did this to you.

Did she?

Why are you protecting her?

Some people in this world are soul mates.

Katarina Rostova and I shared one.

Betraying her would be like...

betraying myself.

What have you found?

Reddington's in French custody. Cooper's working on extradition.

We'll get him back?

Well, we hope so. But his physical condition...

- What about it? - It's not good.

Tell me.

Let me get this straight, Raymond Reddington is your father.

The real one.

But he's dead because you shot and killed him.

When I was 4, yeah.

And after he dies, your mother, Katarina Rostova,

puts you in foster care and escapes from the KGB, FBI and the Cabal,

with the help of her oldest friend, Ilya Koslov,

who nips and tucks his way into becoming Mr Reddington,

in order to access the millions that the real Reddington didn't even know he had,

in order to finance her disappearance.

Is that it?

Pretty much.

You're definitely gonna need therapy. And now that you've told me, so am I.

I just got off the phone with Panabaker.

The French are denying everything.

But you went to the embassy and spoke to the attaché.

Maybe they'll wait until they can bleed Reddington of all the intel they can,

- then hand him over. - Whatever their motivation,

the French know this is a priority for us,

and they will use that to their advantage in negotiating extradition.

But the attaché, Briaux, you said he was cooperative.

He was. Which is why I'm going back to the embassy, personally,

to deliver the extradition paperwork.

Mila, my dear, you are a sight for sore eyes.

You did not eat a bite.

My God, no.

Eating even a swallow of that gruel with all the bread and cheese,

chocolate and wine on the other side of these walls?

That's more torture than a man can brave.

At least you'll be able to get out of this bed.

My chariot arrives.

Mr Reddington, let's get you moving around, shall we?

I've been on the run half my life.

I suppose now I'll be on a walk.

Or a roll.

You're a very dark man.

Yes, well, walking or rolling,

I intend to show my gratitude

by sharing with you the finest night of drinking and dining

one can possibly imagine.

- Are you comfortable? - Quite.

That ought to keep me from running.

- Harold Cooper, FBI, to see Patrick Briaux. - Go right ahead.

Monsieur Briaux, Harold Cooper to see you, sir.

Mr Cooper.

- What can I do for you? - Patrick Briaux?

Yes. Something wrong?

- Keen. - Elizabeth, it's me.

- Did you talk to Briaux? - Yes.

I'm with him now.

We have a situation.

I got something. Take a look at this.

So these are the surveillance feeds from inside the embassy,

which show Briaux waiting in line to request a visa application.

But once he gets it, he leaves.

Never filled it out.

He was lingering outside, chatting up the guards, waiting for you to arrive.

I'll issue a BOLO. Circulate the image with MPD and surrounding jurisdictions.

The real Briaux insists that Reddington is not in French custody

and regrets the misunderstanding.

If Reddington isn't being held by the French police, who is holding him?

Maybe the person he met with. You have no idea who that was?

I only know it was someone Raymond felt safe with.

And Raymond never feels safe with anyone.

Whoever it was must have known we were in the dark

and reached out anyway, had Briaux come to meet you.

- Why? What were they hoping to gain? - Maybe confirmation that he's our informant.

He has a lot of enemies. One of them may suspect he's working with us.

If that's the truth, we may have just signed Reddington's death warrant.

Briaux, or whatever his name actually is, he's our only lead. Let's find him.

What the...?

Liam.

Hey, the hell's this?

Something's wrong with the picture.

Do me a favour, get Colton.

I'm on it.

Good evening, Mr Reddington. Time to change your dressing.

Yes. Mila, please, do come in.

Let me ask you something. Do I frighten you, Mila?

With all the police and the guards?

The handcuffs?

No. To me, you seem like...

I don't know the word. You seem like a nice man.

I'm glad.

Would you mind turning up the music? I love this song.

Mila, please, just a little more.

I remember hearing this wafting across the courtyard

and through the window of my apartment on Rue Jacob.

It could have been my mother. She loved this record.

Unless you want whatever is in here, I suggest you be still.

- Please... - Who are you working for?

- A woman, I don't know her name. - Katarina?

- Maybe. She's Russian. - And the beating?

- Please, I'm begging you. - Tell me about the beating.

It was a story.

Like Inspector Oban and the doctor.

They'll be here any moment.

I can't hear anything with the music, and I've got no video.

- There was no surgery. - No.

- And we're not in Paris. - No.

Then why the chair? Why can't I feel my legs?

Answer me.

The surgical drain in your back,

it's not to collect fluids, it's an epidural.

When we change your dressing, we're pushing sensory and motor blockades,

tetracaine and bupivacaine.

What happens if I don't get the scheduled dose?

If you don't, then...

you walk.

Signal looks fine. It might be the camera, some glitch.

Whatever's happening, it's no accident. Get in there.

You make a sound, I'll kill you.

What's going on?

Finished changing his dressing.

Just trying to make him comfortable.

Did you need something?

They're requesting you in 305 for a discharge.

Can you ask Celeste?

I'm going to be a few moments.

I'm sorry.

My French is really only good enough for restaurants and little old ladies.

Do you speak English?

Some. Yes.

Lovely. In that case, may I ask a favour?

Inspector Oban,

the one with the crooked little grin,

would you please tell him I'd like to speak with him?

There's an important matter I'd like to discuss.

She killed her father.

I can't imagine the burden that carries.

If we tell Justice who Mr Reddington really is...

will they shut us down?

Rather than stay in business with a KGB agent? I would.

MPD just found Briaux's visa application in the trash outside the embassy.

- They lifted a print. - Tell me we have an ID.

Briaux's real name is Michael Hansen.

Lives off Vermont and North Crescent.

High-end grifter who stings anyone from Vegas big shots to tech VCs.

And gullible FBI agents.

He's one of the best.

Which means that whoever has Reddington is even better.

As soon as we pull a warrant, we get Hansen to tell us who that is.

- How long will that take? - An hour. Maybe less.

Definitely less.

- Guessing he's not waiting for a warrant. - No, he isn't. Neither am I.

I understand crossing lines for your father.

But now, who are you crossing the line for?

A man I've grown to like.

FBI!

Where's Reddington?!

I don't know!

Then you're gonna tell us who does.

- Louis T. Steinhil? - That's what they call him.

That name's, what, an alias?

It's an anagram.

The letters spell "The Illusionist."

How does he operate?

I get a call, a character to create,

a script to follow, and a boatload of money.

You do what he says, no questions asked?

In my world, everyone wants to work with Steinhil.

The man has an incredible reputation.

Tell us about it...

this reputation.

The thieves who set fire to the Vassa Museum and took three Dutch masters?

They weren't thieves, and they didn't steal the paintings.

They worked for Steinhil, who posed as a fireman,

cleared the building and took the masterpieces himself.

I'm telling you, the Illusionist is everywhere and nowhere.

- A fireman, a casino boss... - A French cop.

Sure, if the illusion calls for it, yeah.

It was just a job. I don't know who he is or what he's done with Reddington.

You said he pays well.

- Very. - How?

Cash? Wire transfer?

- You asked to see me? - Yes, I did.

There's something you should know.

It's an urgent but...

private matter.

Leave us.

Clear the hall.

What are you doing?

Please, take off your coat, have a seat.

Something's wrong. Tell Colton we got an emergency.

We lost the feed again.

The keys.

I asked you here, Inspector Oban, or whoever you are,

to tell you how much I admire your plan.

And I do. Or I did.

The paralytic agent, that was your pitfall.

The medications wear off when not administered every four hours.

I'm overdue for my next dose, so...

The next time you want to convince me I've broken my spine,

you damn well better break my spine.

Put that down. Don't touch me.

It's either a bullet in the head or a needle in the arm. I'd take the needle.

- What is it? - Ketamine.

The same tonic used to knock me out on the street.

For a man your height and weight, 150 milligrams should do the trick

and give you the most wonderful dreams.

Or it might kill you.

I'm pretty sure it's the dreams,

but I'm no doctor and you're no cop.

Either way, I suppose pharma karma's a bitch.

He has a gun.

Where are we?

Hansen couldn't lead us to the Illusionist, but there's a chance his money can.

Aram's tracing it now.

And I'm hunting for child care.

Turns out Steinhil isn't the only one who isn't who he appears to be.

I'm beginning to think no one is.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.

Why didn't you?

So I was able to trace the payment Hansen received to an account in Paris.

The account's in the name of a shell corporation,

so the ID trail's a dead end, but...

And I am 74 percent confident there's something to this.

...I found several other payments out of the Paris account,

one of which was used to rent a small warehouse in Annapolis.

- So? - So three other payments were made

to rent medical equipment that, according to the rental company,

- were sent to that warehouse. - That's where they're holding Reddington?

I know we think he's in Paris, but maybe that's just another illusion.

Get Ressler. Tell him we may have located Reddington.

Copy.

I do have an answer to your question, by the way.

When this is over, I look forward to hearing it.

Aram, text me that address

- and notify the FBI in Annapolis. - What about local authorities?

I don't want to scramble units that might expose Reddington

- until we know what we're dealing with. - Understood. Address is on its way.

Stop! Stop!

Don't move!

Drop the gun! Turn around. Hands on the wall.

Good to see you again, Raymond.

Get him in the van.

We're too late.

What happened?

Nurse says he got to one of the contingency weapons.

- Our exposure? - We found it on him.

No calls went out, but we're taking precautions.

What about the Elizabeth Keen intel? Is it solid?

- Hundred percent. - Give it to the Movers, just in case.

He's coming to.

Dose him again.

The nurse, the one who let this happen,

bring her to me.

- We know you all work for Steinhil. - What we want to know is who he worked for.

The employer. We want a name.

We know the hospital is fake.

- We assume the injuries were too. - So?

- So Reddington isn't paralysed. - He's been on the run 30 years.

If we made him think he couldn't run anymore...

- She thought he'd talk. - She?

- I don't have a name. - A description, then.

Nobody knows who she is.

You know what she wanted Reddington to talk about.

- Yes. - Which was what?

Not what. Who.

- Some woman. - Do you know her name?

I know she's dangerous. A Russian.

A Russian.

A Russian.

Katarina Rostova.

This is...

who my mother is to me.

An aura that surrounds me.

For better or for worse, I don't know.

They're in there asking them about her.

Whoever took him, it's because of her.

He'll be okay.

You don't know that.

Apparently, Reddington died 30 years ago.

He rose from the grave once. I'm pretty sure he will again.

I didn't tell you because you're honest.

You'd want to report Reddington's misrepresentation to Main Justice.

And I don't think you should.

What makes you say that?

Because he's not my father.

I don't understand.

When I thought he was my father,

I hated him for abandoning me.

I thought he shirked responsibility.

But now I know he takes it on,

even when he doesn't have to.

I was nobody to him.

The illegitimate daughter of a childhood friend.

And he devoted half his life to me.

Do you know anyone else who does that?

Because I don't.

Feeling okay?

I'll be fine.

I don't like this, Raymond.

The whole ordeal pains me.

Surely you understand that.

I went to great lengths to pretend to hurt you.

We're past that now, Raymond.

This is very real.

I can assure you

that before we're finished,

you're going to tell me everything I want to know.

Miss?

Shall we begin?