Wherever You Happen to Be: Chapter 2
For Chapter 1, click HERE
Kramer had watched Peter go inside the building to testify before turning back to face Caffrey. He had looked at the young man in front of him and felt two distinct things-the thrill of victory and the bitter taste of betrayal. He had gained his man and his point, but lost the admiration and regard of his former mentee. It galled, that after everything he had done for Peter, Peter seemed willing to cut him out rather than admit his C.I. was doing an end- run on him that he was too blind to see. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caffrey, standing without apparent discomfort between two burley Marshalls, making what passed for small talk between hunters and hunted. One of the men-not one of the ones holding him-had smiled at something Neal said, and the other guards' relaxed stances and amused faces told Kramer that the Caffrey charm was evidently on display. That would have to stop. He had hoped to cow Neal, hoped to subdue him with the over-the-top escort, but-as usual-Neal had somehow managed to turn his adversaries into allies. Kramer had frowned, making sure he caught the eyes of the Marshalls, who’d straightened and dashed the smiles from their faces.
Caffrey’s eyes on Kramer had been composed, however, and his smile had lingered, even when they’d taken him away.
***
Had the outcome not been moot, waiting for the Panel’s decision would have been excruciating. El had paced and chewed the end of her thumb. Peter paced and swore. Neal had been whisked away, and Peter did not know whether or not Neal knew or cared any longer what the Board had to say. As soon as his testimony was done, Peter had been on the phone, all but shouting more than once, but there was nothing conclusive to tell, nothing conclusive to know. Kramer’s drummed-up charges were apparently going to be allowed to stick, and Peter’s own claims to Neal as his current handler had apparently been over-ridden under whatever authority Kramer had dredged up.
Useless at work after Peter’s call, El had finally left. She had gone to Peter’s office, but his nervous energy was unsettling, and her phone battery had gone down. She went home, plugged in the phone and found no less than 27 text messages waiting for her, 15 of them from Mozzie. This from being down less than an hour and a half. She thought of the uneaten cakes awaiting them in the dining room and couldn’t bear to look at either of them. She wondered again which one would be appropriate and whether or not Neal would get to eat any of either of them. From what Peter had finally dragged out of Bruce, cake seemed the least of Neal’s worries, and El knew that Peter’s worries were going to be off the chart, and soon. Her own worries for the man she loved, and the young man he mentored were eating at her even now.
Peter had long known that Phil Kramer didn’t like losing. It had been one of the things Peter had admired about him-his doggedness when in pursuit of the truth. He wondered now about his perception of Kramer as a harbinger of justice. There had been a time when Peter had idolized him, impressed by his experience and skill, but had that admiration blinded him to what the man really was? Or had Phil changed, hardened? Peter hadn’t known about Phil’s experience with his own C.I., and wondered guiltily if knowing about it would have made him think twice about bringing him in to help with Neal. When he’d asked him to come, he had wanted Kramer’s help to prove Neal’s guilt. He had wanted to find Neal guilty, wanted to haul him to justice…. He remembered saying something to Neal, something about being careful what he wished for… Bile rose in his throat, and the taste of ashes. He had done this, he had brought Kramer in, and now Neal….
Neal was in Kramer’s clutches, and getting him out didn’t look to be a quick fix.
***
“This is a catastrophe!” Mozzie cried. He paced back and forth in June’s dining room, gesticulating wildly. June perched on one of the ornate chairs and fretted, but gracefully. Mozzie’s fretting was anything but graceful, and he patted his sweating brow with one of June’s fine linen napkins and hummed snatches from Tosca in a vain effort to calm himself.
“Just wait and see what the Board says,” June said, but there was a tremor in her upper lip that belied her sangfroid. “We’ve all done what we could-now we just have to wait and see what the Board says.”
“Wait? Wait?! Why, even now, Neal could be on his way to DC with a sack over his face, never to be seen again!”
June knew all too well that that scenario, however aggrandized in Mozzie’s mind, might actually be close to the truth. Elizabeth had told them that Peter had been unable to punch through the red tape, even with help from friends higher up. Neal had been taken into custody and was presently under Kramer’s personal supervision. The Panel had not yet returned a verdict, but Diana had managed to find out that their decision had been put on hold, pending the outcome of Kramer’s newest charges. “Hurry up and wait” had turned into “hurry up and stew” and there was no telling when a resolution might be reached.
“At least they haven’t come for Neal’s things,” June said soothingly.
Mozzie stopped his frenetic pacing, his face breaking into a cautious smile. “They haven’t!” he cried. “That-that has to be good-right?”
But they were wrong.
***
New York to DC is a blink in an airplane-actually going through the airport usually took longer-but Kramer hadn’t been willing to chance taking Neal through a crowded airport, even with a cadre of Marshalls. Kramer frowned as he followed the brown-shirted officers down the long passageway, his gut churning. He had thought the escort would help him control Neal-a show of force that commanded respect-but Caffrey had been the poster boy for compliance since he’d arrived on the steps. He had followed all directions, answered all questions, put his hands out for the cuffs without a tremor or a hard look. His docility made Kramer look weak in contrast. Even the Marshalls, who knew Caffrey by reputation, seemed to feel that they were there more for show than necessity.
Kramer seethed, but he knew they were wrong. While he hadn’t wanted to take Neal through the airport-way too much potential for a seasoned runner like Caffrey-he was still aware that hopping trains was nothing knew, whether you were hopping on or hopping off. Once they got settled in DC, Kramer would be in his own comfort zone, and Caffrey would be out of his. He felt certain that, with a little time to explain things to Caffrey, he could convince him of the futility of running. And once they were in DC, Kramer had no doubt-no doubt at all-that he could bend this brilliant, talented young man to his will.
He settled his bulk into a seat facing Caffrey and Neal looked up from the magazine he’d been perusing. They’d taken Neal’s wallet, phone and watch and cleaned out his pockets. Sympathetic to his boredom, one of the Marshalls-Evan, by name-had bought him a travel magazine to pass the time. Neal had accepted it without irony and was now thumbing through the glossy pages.
“Planning a trip?” Kramer asked, indicating the periodical. His voice was warm, almost friendly.
“Taking one,” Neal said easily. He put the magazine aside and looked at Kramer without flinching. Kramer returned the look.
“You’ll like DC,” Kramer said at last.
“Oh, I don’t know. I love the hustle and bustle of New York,” Neal said, and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Plenty of bustle in DC,” Kramer said mildly. “But maybe not as much…hustle,” he added. Neal looked away rather than let Kramer see the flash of fury in his eyes. He said nothing, waiting Kramer out, and eventually the older man spoke again. “This is for the best,” Kramer said. “You’ll see. You’ll get to work on exciting cases, bring all of that talent to bear.”
“I think my record proves that I was using my talents pretty effectively in the White Collar Division,” Neal said, trying to remain civil.
“You mean Peter’s record, don’t you?” Kramer said, his eyebrows climbing. “Your record…well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it?” Neal turned back and looked at him, and the hardness of those eyes made him swallow. Kramer might look like a soft man, but he wasn’t-he used the illusion of softness to draw people in, to disarm their defenses. Neal knew what he was looking at when he saw it, and what he saw was very, very good. “You and Peter certainly closed a lot of cases together,” he said. “You seem to work awfully well as a team.”
“We did. We do,” Neal managed. Panic was making him stupid. He needed to reach this man, needed to figure out what made him tick so he could use it for his own benefit. Thinking like an agent wasn’t helping him now-he needed to think like a con. “We…Peter knows so much about…justice. About how it’s supposed to work.”
“And you think what happened in all those cases you worked was justified? You’re satisfied with the outcomes of all those cases?”
Neal thought about Keller and tried not to squirm. “It’s not for me to say, Sir,” Neal said, using the honorific carefully. “Our goal was always to get the best possible outcome.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Kramer. He smiled and Neal felt like an ice cube was sliding slowly down his spine. “That means we-you and I-have some common ground.” The way he said it made Neal feel like the ground had gone spongy underneath his feet.
“I don’t-”
“We both want what’s best for Peter, don’t we? Neither of us wants to see his career take a…bad turn. I know you appreciate all he’s done for you….”
Neal swallowed, trying to sort through this minefield of a conversation. “I want what’s best for Peter,” Neal said finally.
Kramer reached out and patted him fondly, like a faithful dog. “Good boy,” said Kramer, then got up and strolled toward the front of the train, leaving Neal alone with his thoughts and the Marshalls.
***
Burke’s 7 had reformed, with June taking over Neal’s role, and the group of them taking over the Burke’s kitchen.
“I don’t understand,” El said, handing Peter a sandwich. He stared at it, started to hand it back and then bit into it savagely. Diana spoke while Peter chewed.
“Bruce said that Kramer pulled some strings and had Neal’s deal transferred to him. Neal’s on his way to DC.”
Peter swallowed. “He’s not flying. We checked all the airports. They must be driving,” Peter said.
“Train, actually,” Jones said, coming in from the other room where he’d been on the phone. He’d called a girl he’d dated a few times, one who had seemed to want to date him again, and she’d come through at the promise of dinner. A nice dinner. “Tanya-that is, my contact works for the Marshall’s office, and she said that there were six train tickets purchased earlier-”
“Train tickets-damn!” said Peter. “I should have expected Kramer to pull a fast one.”
“You should know,” said Mozzie pointedly. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, pouting, but at least he was there. Diana shot him a dark look but El patted him as she handed him a sandwich, too.
“But I still don’t understand how Kramer can override Peter’s agreement,” El said. “Peter signed papers saying that Neal was in his custody, and that he’d be responsible for Neal’s behavior. How can Kramer just-”
“He pulled rank,” said Jones.
“He did an end run,” said Diana shortly. “He’s got somebody’s ear.”
“Not the body part I was thinking,” June muttered. “They didn’t even let Neal get his things.”
“Well, maybe he’s not going to be staying long,” Sara said, leaning elegantly against the kitchen island. She’d come when Peter had called, bristling with indignation and worry. “That could be a good thing, right?” No one answered, but the varying looks of disgust and anger convinced her that it was wishful thinking. “But…but how will Neal…he doesn’t even have any clothes.”
“Kramer will take care of that,” Peter muttered. Eventually all eyes turned to him, waiting for him to explain. He sighed, then took in a deep breath, trying to loosen his chest enough to talk without shouting. “Kramer will take care of everything. He’ll find a place, plop Neal into it and control everything until Neal knuckles under and does what he says.”
They stared at him.
“Honey, what do you-?”
“I’ve seen him do it before. We had a co-conspirator who agreed to turn on his buddies, so we put him in protective custody. Kramer put him in a safe house and controlled everything that came in and went out-kept the guy in a bubble until the trial to make sure he didn’t make contact with the outside world, and no one made contact with him.”
“But…Neal isn’t under protective custody,” June finally objected. “He’s working for the FBI.”
“True,” said Peter, “but he is under Kramer’s control. Remember those forms I had to sign, June, so Neal could stay with you?”
“Yes, but what-?”
“Pretty much, what you get and what you do are up to your custodial officer. Since we’re responsible, we get a say in practically everything, if we choose to exercise it. I’ve seen agents who were real sticklers about mail, former contacts, phone calls-you name it. If they thought the contact would be harmful to their C.I., they nixed it.”
On his perch on the stool, Mozzie swallowed. He hadn’t realized, exactly, that Peter could have ordered Neal not to have contact with him (not that it would have made any difference). The fact that he hadn’t done that made Mozzie both grateful and ashamed, and his expression (as well as his heart) softened a little in response.
“So, you’re saying Kramer could keep us from calling Neal?” Sara asked.
“We know his phone’s been off since Peter went in to testify,” Diana said.
“Everybody knows not to send, um, anything by text or email, right?” Peter said, but quite unnecessarily. They all nodded. “We have to assume that Kramer is going to monitor everything.”
“Wait, wait,” Elizabeth said. “Are you actually telling me that we won’t be able to contact Neal?”
“It looks that way.”
“Well, Neal can contact us then,” said June, “when he gets his new number.”
Peter’s look was answer enough, and El put a hand to her throat involuntarily. “You mean…you mean he might keep Neal from contacting us, too?”
“It’s…I’ve known cases, but that was where there was misconduct between the Agent and the C.I.”
“Would Kramer consider-” June began, but Clinton broke in.
“No-he means misconduct. Not, um….” The big agent faltered before June’s clear-eyed gaze.
“Oh,” she said. “So there isn’t a precedent for…this sort of thing.”
Peter huffed out an exasperated breath. “What does that mean-” he began, then stopped and took another big, calming breath. “Right now,” he said carefully, “Kramer hasn’t actually said that we-that I’ve done anything wrong.”
“He’s sure as hell implied a lot,” Diana muttered.
“He’s like that,” Peter said, realizing with a pang that it was true. Underlying his concern about Neal was watching one of his heroes crumble before his eyes. It was a double whammy, a double loss, but he needed to concentrate on the side of things he could fix.
“So, Suit-um, Peter…are you saying that Kramer threatened you? And Neal is in his custody? Under his thumb?”
Silence was more eloquent than anything Peter could have said.
***
Four walls, a bed. An electric burner. An ugly lamp. Neal lay on the hard bed with his shoes off in the only clothes he had and wondered what the Board had said. He had not been allowed to go back to hear the decision, and the lines he'd prepared, had been preparing all week, regardless of the outcome, rattled around in his head like loose change. Would the Board members know he hadn’t been permitted to come back for their verdict? If they didn’t, would it count against him? If someone told them he’d been taken into custody, it wasn’t exactly going to help. Neal sighed and stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Dusty, he told himself sharply. The room was dusty as well as ugly. Never con a con man, Neal thought dismally, and tried to calm his nerves.
Was he free? Or would he be, if they could sort this out? He wondered what Peter was doing, wondered if Peter even knew where he was. He wondered what Mozzie was doing, if he’d run when Kramer had lowered the boom. He wondered what Sara would think, and if she would miss him. Things had gotten on a pretty good footing between them, but…. He exhaled loudly and heaved himself off the bed. He was in DC being held captive against his will-more or less-and he was worried about his love life? Why the hell couldn’t he think? What was the matter with him?
Adrenaline. He was o’d-ing on adrenaline, practically climbing out of his skin, and he could not think, could not plan what to do. He had spent the last few weeks shoring up his support network, reminding himself of all people he cared about, all the people who cared about him, all the things he had going for him in New York, and the sudden loss of everything-everything-was making him dizzy, drunk with sorrow and loss. He paced the small room, trying not to pant, and the four walls pressed close.
He put his palms together, biting his thumbs, then raked his hands through his hair, reminding himself to breathe, to relax. Think. He needed to think.
At the train station, Kramer had put Neal into a taxi, climbed in after him and sent the Marshalls on their way. The message had been clear-Kramer was no longer worried about him fleeing. He was counting on the fact that his insinuations, his threats against Peter, were going to do the job for him without the need of muscle. While his own predicament was dire, Neal couldn’t help but admire the skill with which Kramer had closed the trap, pulled the noose tight around his neck.
Yesterday, victory had been snatched out of the jaws of defeat. Peter, Mozzie, Sara…Ellen-they had all helped, and yesterday he had gone to bed free in spirit if not in body. Today, all of that was gone, wiped out by the blind, blunt will of Agent Kramer, who wanted to own him.
There was a noise in the hall and Neal stopped suddenly, watching the knob. Sure enough the doorknob began to turn and he had only enough time to smooth his hair and slip to stand in front of one of the two cupboard doors. He had it open and was surveying the contents when Kramer opened the door without knocking.
“A few things for tomorrow,” Kramer said. He had a cheap suit in a plastic hanging bag and a couple of bags from a drug-store chain. He walked in without apologizing, crossing uncomfortably close to where Neal stood in the kitchenette and peered over Neal’s shoulder into the cabinet. The cabinet held instant oatmeal, some processed cereal, a box of saltines and a can of tuna-in short, nothing edible. There was a small tin of cheap coffee and some powdered creamer, which Neal looked at with distaste.
“You’ll be fine,” Kramer said, although Neal had not complained. “We have coffee at the office, too.”
He hung the hanger in the small closet and unpacked the other articles onto the bed. There were some cheap cotton boxers and some dress socks, bargain shampoo and toothpaste and a blue toothbrush. Neal looked over the contents without expression from where he stood, and watched as Kramer took the plastic wrappers off of everything, including the suit, and stuffed them into one of the plastic bags.
“That should get you started.”
Neal said nothing, but his eyes bored into the back of Kramer’s head until the older man turned to look at him. The intensity of Neal’s gaze seemed to discomfit him a little, but only a little, and he gave a little half-smile and started for the door.
“I’ll pick you up around 7:00, Neal,” Kramer said. “Don’t want to be late for your first day.”
Neal held his tongue until Kramer was almost out the door.
“This won’t stand,” said Neal. “You can’t keep me here forever.”
The half-smile bloomed into a real one. “We’ll see,” said Kramer, and pulled the door shut after him. For Chapter 3, click HERE
Kramer had watched Peter go inside the building to testify before turning back to face Caffrey. He had looked at the young man in front of him and felt two distinct things-the thrill of victory and the bitter taste of betrayal. He had gained his man and his point, but lost the admiration and regard of his former mentee. It galled, that after everything he had done for Peter, Peter seemed willing to cut him out rather than admit his C.I. was doing an end- run on him that he was too blind to see. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Caffrey, standing without apparent discomfort between two burley Marshalls, making what passed for small talk between hunters and hunted. One of the men-not one of the ones holding him-had smiled at something Neal said, and the other guards' relaxed stances and amused faces told Kramer that the Caffrey charm was evidently on display. That would have to stop. He had hoped to cow Neal, hoped to subdue him with the over-the-top escort, but-as usual-Neal had somehow managed to turn his adversaries into allies. Kramer had frowned, making sure he caught the eyes of the Marshalls, who’d straightened and dashed the smiles from their faces.
Caffrey’s eyes on Kramer had been composed, however, and his smile had lingered, even when they’d taken him away.
***
Had the outcome not been moot, waiting for the Panel’s decision would have been excruciating. El had paced and chewed the end of her thumb. Peter paced and swore. Neal had been whisked away, and Peter did not know whether or not Neal knew or cared any longer what the Board had to say. As soon as his testimony was done, Peter had been on the phone, all but shouting more than once, but there was nothing conclusive to tell, nothing conclusive to know. Kramer’s drummed-up charges were apparently going to be allowed to stick, and Peter’s own claims to Neal as his current handler had apparently been over-ridden under whatever authority Kramer had dredged up.
Useless at work after Peter’s call, El had finally left. She had gone to Peter’s office, but his nervous energy was unsettling, and her phone battery had gone down. She went home, plugged in the phone and found no less than 27 text messages waiting for her, 15 of them from Mozzie. This from being down less than an hour and a half. She thought of the uneaten cakes awaiting them in the dining room and couldn’t bear to look at either of them. She wondered again which one would be appropriate and whether or not Neal would get to eat any of either of them. From what Peter had finally dragged out of Bruce, cake seemed the least of Neal’s worries, and El knew that Peter’s worries were going to be off the chart, and soon. Her own worries for the man she loved, and the young man he mentored were eating at her even now.
Peter had long known that Phil Kramer didn’t like losing. It had been one of the things Peter had admired about him-his doggedness when in pursuit of the truth. He wondered now about his perception of Kramer as a harbinger of justice. There had been a time when Peter had idolized him, impressed by his experience and skill, but had that admiration blinded him to what the man really was? Or had Phil changed, hardened? Peter hadn’t known about Phil’s experience with his own C.I., and wondered guiltily if knowing about it would have made him think twice about bringing him in to help with Neal. When he’d asked him to come, he had wanted Kramer’s help to prove Neal’s guilt. He had wanted to find Neal guilty, wanted to haul him to justice…. He remembered saying something to Neal, something about being careful what he wished for… Bile rose in his throat, and the taste of ashes. He had done this, he had brought Kramer in, and now Neal….
Neal was in Kramer’s clutches, and getting him out didn’t look to be a quick fix.
***
“This is a catastrophe!” Mozzie cried. He paced back and forth in June’s dining room, gesticulating wildly. June perched on one of the ornate chairs and fretted, but gracefully. Mozzie’s fretting was anything but graceful, and he patted his sweating brow with one of June’s fine linen napkins and hummed snatches from Tosca in a vain effort to calm himself.
“Just wait and see what the Board says,” June said, but there was a tremor in her upper lip that belied her sangfroid. “We’ve all done what we could-now we just have to wait and see what the Board says.”
“Wait? Wait?! Why, even now, Neal could be on his way to DC with a sack over his face, never to be seen again!”
June knew all too well that that scenario, however aggrandized in Mozzie’s mind, might actually be close to the truth. Elizabeth had told them that Peter had been unable to punch through the red tape, even with help from friends higher up. Neal had been taken into custody and was presently under Kramer’s personal supervision. The Panel had not yet returned a verdict, but Diana had managed to find out that their decision had been put on hold, pending the outcome of Kramer’s newest charges. “Hurry up and wait” had turned into “hurry up and stew” and there was no telling when a resolution might be reached.
“At least they haven’t come for Neal’s things,” June said soothingly.
Mozzie stopped his frenetic pacing, his face breaking into a cautious smile. “They haven’t!” he cried. “That-that has to be good-right?”
But they were wrong.
***
New York to DC is a blink in an airplane-actually going through the airport usually took longer-but Kramer hadn’t been willing to chance taking Neal through a crowded airport, even with a cadre of Marshalls. Kramer frowned as he followed the brown-shirted officers down the long passageway, his gut churning. He had thought the escort would help him control Neal-a show of force that commanded respect-but Caffrey had been the poster boy for compliance since he’d arrived on the steps. He had followed all directions, answered all questions, put his hands out for the cuffs without a tremor or a hard look. His docility made Kramer look weak in contrast. Even the Marshalls, who knew Caffrey by reputation, seemed to feel that they were there more for show than necessity.
Kramer seethed, but he knew they were wrong. While he hadn’t wanted to take Neal through the airport-way too much potential for a seasoned runner like Caffrey-he was still aware that hopping trains was nothing knew, whether you were hopping on or hopping off. Once they got settled in DC, Kramer would be in his own comfort zone, and Caffrey would be out of his. He felt certain that, with a little time to explain things to Caffrey, he could convince him of the futility of running. And once they were in DC, Kramer had no doubt-no doubt at all-that he could bend this brilliant, talented young man to his will.
He settled his bulk into a seat facing Caffrey and Neal looked up from the magazine he’d been perusing. They’d taken Neal’s wallet, phone and watch and cleaned out his pockets. Sympathetic to his boredom, one of the Marshalls-Evan, by name-had bought him a travel magazine to pass the time. Neal had accepted it without irony and was now thumbing through the glossy pages.
“Planning a trip?” Kramer asked, indicating the periodical. His voice was warm, almost friendly.
“Taking one,” Neal said easily. He put the magazine aside and looked at Kramer without flinching. Kramer returned the look.
“You’ll like DC,” Kramer said at last.
“Oh, I don’t know. I love the hustle and bustle of New York,” Neal said, and smiled. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Plenty of bustle in DC,” Kramer said mildly. “But maybe not as much…hustle,” he added. Neal looked away rather than let Kramer see the flash of fury in his eyes. He said nothing, waiting Kramer out, and eventually the older man spoke again. “This is for the best,” Kramer said. “You’ll see. You’ll get to work on exciting cases, bring all of that talent to bear.”
“I think my record proves that I was using my talents pretty effectively in the White Collar Division,” Neal said, trying to remain civil.
“You mean Peter’s record, don’t you?” Kramer said, his eyebrows climbing. “Your record…well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it?” Neal turned back and looked at him, and the hardness of those eyes made him swallow. Kramer might look like a soft man, but he wasn’t-he used the illusion of softness to draw people in, to disarm their defenses. Neal knew what he was looking at when he saw it, and what he saw was very, very good. “You and Peter certainly closed a lot of cases together,” he said. “You seem to work awfully well as a team.”
“We did. We do,” Neal managed. Panic was making him stupid. He needed to reach this man, needed to figure out what made him tick so he could use it for his own benefit. Thinking like an agent wasn’t helping him now-he needed to think like a con. “We…Peter knows so much about…justice. About how it’s supposed to work.”
“And you think what happened in all those cases you worked was justified? You’re satisfied with the outcomes of all those cases?”
Neal thought about Keller and tried not to squirm. “It’s not for me to say, Sir,” Neal said, using the honorific carefully. “Our goal was always to get the best possible outcome.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Kramer. He smiled and Neal felt like an ice cube was sliding slowly down his spine. “That means we-you and I-have some common ground.” The way he said it made Neal feel like the ground had gone spongy underneath his feet.
“I don’t-”
“We both want what’s best for Peter, don’t we? Neither of us wants to see his career take a…bad turn. I know you appreciate all he’s done for you….”
Neal swallowed, trying to sort through this minefield of a conversation. “I want what’s best for Peter,” Neal said finally.
Kramer reached out and patted him fondly, like a faithful dog. “Good boy,” said Kramer, then got up and strolled toward the front of the train, leaving Neal alone with his thoughts and the Marshalls.
***
Burke’s 7 had reformed, with June taking over Neal’s role, and the group of them taking over the Burke’s kitchen.
“I don’t understand,” El said, handing Peter a sandwich. He stared at it, started to hand it back and then bit into it savagely. Diana spoke while Peter chewed.
“Bruce said that Kramer pulled some strings and had Neal’s deal transferred to him. Neal’s on his way to DC.”
Peter swallowed. “He’s not flying. We checked all the airports. They must be driving,” Peter said.
“Train, actually,” Jones said, coming in from the other room where he’d been on the phone. He’d called a girl he’d dated a few times, one who had seemed to want to date him again, and she’d come through at the promise of dinner. A nice dinner. “Tanya-that is, my contact works for the Marshall’s office, and she said that there were six train tickets purchased earlier-”
“Train tickets-damn!” said Peter. “I should have expected Kramer to pull a fast one.”
“You should know,” said Mozzie pointedly. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, pouting, but at least he was there. Diana shot him a dark look but El patted him as she handed him a sandwich, too.
“But I still don’t understand how Kramer can override Peter’s agreement,” El said. “Peter signed papers saying that Neal was in his custody, and that he’d be responsible for Neal’s behavior. How can Kramer just-”
“He pulled rank,” said Jones.
“He did an end run,” said Diana shortly. “He’s got somebody’s ear.”
“Not the body part I was thinking,” June muttered. “They didn’t even let Neal get his things.”
“Well, maybe he’s not going to be staying long,” Sara said, leaning elegantly against the kitchen island. She’d come when Peter had called, bristling with indignation and worry. “That could be a good thing, right?” No one answered, but the varying looks of disgust and anger convinced her that it was wishful thinking. “But…but how will Neal…he doesn’t even have any clothes.”
“Kramer will take care of that,” Peter muttered. Eventually all eyes turned to him, waiting for him to explain. He sighed, then took in a deep breath, trying to loosen his chest enough to talk without shouting. “Kramer will take care of everything. He’ll find a place, plop Neal into it and control everything until Neal knuckles under and does what he says.”
They stared at him.
“Honey, what do you-?”
“I’ve seen him do it before. We had a co-conspirator who agreed to turn on his buddies, so we put him in protective custody. Kramer put him in a safe house and controlled everything that came in and went out-kept the guy in a bubble until the trial to make sure he didn’t make contact with the outside world, and no one made contact with him.”
“But…Neal isn’t under protective custody,” June finally objected. “He’s working for the FBI.”
“True,” said Peter, “but he is under Kramer’s control. Remember those forms I had to sign, June, so Neal could stay with you?”
“Yes, but what-?”
“Pretty much, what you get and what you do are up to your custodial officer. Since we’re responsible, we get a say in practically everything, if we choose to exercise it. I’ve seen agents who were real sticklers about mail, former contacts, phone calls-you name it. If they thought the contact would be harmful to their C.I., they nixed it.”
On his perch on the stool, Mozzie swallowed. He hadn’t realized, exactly, that Peter could have ordered Neal not to have contact with him (not that it would have made any difference). The fact that he hadn’t done that made Mozzie both grateful and ashamed, and his expression (as well as his heart) softened a little in response.
“So, you’re saying Kramer could keep us from calling Neal?” Sara asked.
“We know his phone’s been off since Peter went in to testify,” Diana said.
“Everybody knows not to send, um, anything by text or email, right?” Peter said, but quite unnecessarily. They all nodded. “We have to assume that Kramer is going to monitor everything.”
“Wait, wait,” Elizabeth said. “Are you actually telling me that we won’t be able to contact Neal?”
“It looks that way.”
“Well, Neal can contact us then,” said June, “when he gets his new number.”
Peter’s look was answer enough, and El put a hand to her throat involuntarily. “You mean…you mean he might keep Neal from contacting us, too?”
“It’s…I’ve known cases, but that was where there was misconduct between the Agent and the C.I.”
“Would Kramer consider-” June began, but Clinton broke in.
“No-he means misconduct. Not, um….” The big agent faltered before June’s clear-eyed gaze.
“Oh,” she said. “So there isn’t a precedent for…this sort of thing.”
Peter huffed out an exasperated breath. “What does that mean-” he began, then stopped and took another big, calming breath. “Right now,” he said carefully, “Kramer hasn’t actually said that we-that I’ve done anything wrong.”
“He’s sure as hell implied a lot,” Diana muttered.
“He’s like that,” Peter said, realizing with a pang that it was true. Underlying his concern about Neal was watching one of his heroes crumble before his eyes. It was a double whammy, a double loss, but he needed to concentrate on the side of things he could fix.
“So, Suit-um, Peter…are you saying that Kramer threatened you? And Neal is in his custody? Under his thumb?”
Silence was more eloquent than anything Peter could have said.
***
Four walls, a bed. An electric burner. An ugly lamp. Neal lay on the hard bed with his shoes off in the only clothes he had and wondered what the Board had said. He had not been allowed to go back to hear the decision, and the lines he'd prepared, had been preparing all week, regardless of the outcome, rattled around in his head like loose change. Would the Board members know he hadn’t been permitted to come back for their verdict? If they didn’t, would it count against him? If someone told them he’d been taken into custody, it wasn’t exactly going to help. Neal sighed and stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Dusty, he told himself sharply. The room was dusty as well as ugly. Never con a con man, Neal thought dismally, and tried to calm his nerves.
Was he free? Or would he be, if they could sort this out? He wondered what Peter was doing, wondered if Peter even knew where he was. He wondered what Mozzie was doing, if he’d run when Kramer had lowered the boom. He wondered what Sara would think, and if she would miss him. Things had gotten on a pretty good footing between them, but…. He exhaled loudly and heaved himself off the bed. He was in DC being held captive against his will-more or less-and he was worried about his love life? Why the hell couldn’t he think? What was the matter with him?
Adrenaline. He was o’d-ing on adrenaline, practically climbing out of his skin, and he could not think, could not plan what to do. He had spent the last few weeks shoring up his support network, reminding himself of all people he cared about, all the people who cared about him, all the things he had going for him in New York, and the sudden loss of everything-everything-was making him dizzy, drunk with sorrow and loss. He paced the small room, trying not to pant, and the four walls pressed close.
He put his palms together, biting his thumbs, then raked his hands through his hair, reminding himself to breathe, to relax. Think. He needed to think.
At the train station, Kramer had put Neal into a taxi, climbed in after him and sent the Marshalls on their way. The message had been clear-Kramer was no longer worried about him fleeing. He was counting on the fact that his insinuations, his threats against Peter, were going to do the job for him without the need of muscle. While his own predicament was dire, Neal couldn’t help but admire the skill with which Kramer had closed the trap, pulled the noose tight around his neck.
Yesterday, victory had been snatched out of the jaws of defeat. Peter, Mozzie, Sara…Ellen-they had all helped, and yesterday he had gone to bed free in spirit if not in body. Today, all of that was gone, wiped out by the blind, blunt will of Agent Kramer, who wanted to own him.
There was a noise in the hall and Neal stopped suddenly, watching the knob. Sure enough the doorknob began to turn and he had only enough time to smooth his hair and slip to stand in front of one of the two cupboard doors. He had it open and was surveying the contents when Kramer opened the door without knocking.
“A few things for tomorrow,” Kramer said. He had a cheap suit in a plastic hanging bag and a couple of bags from a drug-store chain. He walked in without apologizing, crossing uncomfortably close to where Neal stood in the kitchenette and peered over Neal’s shoulder into the cabinet. The cabinet held instant oatmeal, some processed cereal, a box of saltines and a can of tuna-in short, nothing edible. There was a small tin of cheap coffee and some powdered creamer, which Neal looked at with distaste.
“You’ll be fine,” Kramer said, although Neal had not complained. “We have coffee at the office, too.”
He hung the hanger in the small closet and unpacked the other articles onto the bed. There were some cheap cotton boxers and some dress socks, bargain shampoo and toothpaste and a blue toothbrush. Neal looked over the contents without expression from where he stood, and watched as Kramer took the plastic wrappers off of everything, including the suit, and stuffed them into one of the plastic bags.
“That should get you started.”
Neal said nothing, but his eyes bored into the back of Kramer’s head until the older man turned to look at him. The intensity of Neal’s gaze seemed to discomfit him a little, but only a little, and he gave a little half-smile and started for the door.
“I’ll pick you up around 7:00, Neal,” Kramer said. “Don’t want to be late for your first day.”
Neal held his tongue until Kramer was almost out the door.
“This won’t stand,” said Neal. “You can’t keep me here forever.”
The half-smile bloomed into a real one. “We’ll see,” said Kramer, and pulled the door shut after him. For Chapter 3, click HERE