White Collar Story: Apprehension (part 1)
A new fic, finished at last! :D Man, vacation really threw off my writing groove… but I think I’m finally rolling again!
This one’s sort of written for collarcorner. As I said there, although I had a couple of prompts in mind as I wrote this story, by the time I got to the end I realized that it didn’t quite seem to fit the specifications for any one prompt. So I’ll just say it’s a fill for the general “Lock Picking” “Capture” and “Escape” prompts from the list on round seven.
The original inspiration for this came from a picture that tj_teejay posted at her journal: a can of Caffrey’s beer! Looking at it, I couldn’t help but think that the directions on the side of the can - “Chill Until Blue” - sounded like instructions for a fanfic. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I just had to try my hand at it. *g*
By the way, as an amusing side-note, a bit of googling revealed this rather interesting link: Burke Beverages Inc. If you scroll down a bit, you’ll see that they’re distributors of Caffrey’s beer. Ah, life’s lovely little coincidences... ;D
Anyhow -
Apprehension
“How long ago did you lose him?”
Peter leaned forward, hands coming down hard on Ruiz’s desk. It wasn’t nearly as forceful a move as he’d have liked to make. For Neal’s sake, if nothing else, he couldn’t afford to be cut out of the loop on this one because his judgment was in question.
“It’s not like-”
“How. Long.” Peter ground out, making a supreme effort to keep his temper under control-at least until he got his answers.
Apparently some of the intensity of his feelings bled through anyway. Ruiz actually leaned back a bit in his seat, despite the desk between them.
“Four hours, give or take,” Ruiz admitted.
“What do you mean, ‘give or take’?”
“With the equipment malfunction-it’s hard to tell exactly when things went bad.”
“So when you lost contact with him, instead of getting backup into place you figured it’d be best to leave him alone with a violent mobster who has a thing for taunting the FBI, and just assume he could handle whatever came up.”
“Come on, Burke, we weren’t going to trash the entire op-and any chance at getting anything on Pelagatti in the near future-when we didn’t know anything was wrong beyond interference with the mics. We still don’t.”
“Except ¬¬¬¬Pelagatti has disappeared off our radar, and we haven’t seen or heard anything from Caffrey since. Don’t even try to tell me you’d be so offhand about the danger he could be in if it was one of your agents missing.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. You have to admit, it’s not exactly the same with Caffrey. For all we know he took advantage of the situation to take off. No anklet, out of sight, out of contact…. He could’ve even arranged the interference himself. Or ¬¬Pelagatti could’ve, if Caffrey tipped him off.”
“Caffrey did not run.” His eyes were narrowed, but his tone was perfectly even, restrained.
Ruiz tilted his head to one side, openly skeptical. “You sure about that?”
“Not like this,” Peter asserted. “Not in the middle of an op, not without reason.”
“And what if Pelagatti made him some kind of offer? That’d be a reason right there.”
Peter shook his head firmly. “He wouldn’t make a deal with someone like Pelagatti.”
“No? Not if it got him free and clear of us?” Ruiz sighed, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Look, I get it. Caffrey’s been an asset, you and your team have been working with him closely….” Maybe a little too closely was implied, but remained unspoken. “You’ve done good work with him, I’ll give you that. You’ve got a good thing going, of course you don’t want to think about losing it. But what if he doesn’t think it’s such a good thing he’s got here? We do have to look at all the possibilities.”
“Yeah. We do,” Peter agreed grimly. “But when it’s someone’s life in question? Unless I have good reason to think otherwise, I’d rather assume they’re innocent and in danger and later find out otherwise than assume the worst of them and be proven wrong when it’s too late to help. Whatever you may think of him, we owe Caffrey that much.”
Ruiz raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Look, I never said I was gonna just throw him to the wolves or something. We’re looking for him. But right now I’m kind of preoccupied with the fact that there’s a violent guy out there looking to sell a whole lot of firepower, and because of this situation we don’t know where he is or where the weapons are being kept.”
“And that is why Agent Burke is going to be taking over the search for Caffrey,” Hughes put in, approaching Ruiz’s desk.
Peter felt a surge of relief at his boss’s arrival. This was better than he’d dared hope for when Hughes had assured him that he was “looking into” things, and would handle the situation. Ruiz, on the other hand, looked less than pleased at the development. Hughes held up a hand to forestall any protests.
“The decision’s made. If you want to protest and take this up the chain you can, but at this point it’ll just be wasting valuable time and energy. Your team still has the lead on the Pelagatti case. You will be sharing any information you get with Peter, but your priority is figuring out where those weapons are now. Peter will be focusing on finding Caffrey.” With a wry smile, he added, “Regardless of the cause of his disappearance, Peter’s got a pretty good record when it comes to tracking him down.”
“Okay.” Ruiz shrugged, capitulating. “That’ll free some of my men up to look into other angles, here.”
Somewhat to Peter’s surprise, he seemed inclined to accept the rearrangement of duties, and implied chastisement (whether he’d let Neal escape or be abducted, he had dropped the ball on this), with a measure of grace. Ruiz turned back to Peter.
“I’ll have copies of our files sent up to you ASAP. You know about as much as I do about the actual disappearance, but if you have any questions, just ask.”
Peter nodded sharply. “I will. Thank you.”
As Ruiz turned back to his computer, picking up his phone at the same time, Peter got the impression that he was almost relieved, washing his hands of any responsibility for Caffrey. Or maybe that was just his frustration speaking. In any case it hardly mattered for the moment-at least Peter could do something now.
He turned to head for the elevators, and the White Collar Division. There was a lot of catching up to do, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was little time to do it in.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
He was cold. That was the first thing Neal became aware of. Cold, and sore.
The sore part he could understand. Once it became clear that the game was well and truly up with Pelagatti he hadn’t hesitated to use the activation phrase. When he’d realized that the mics didn’t seem to be working… and that Ruiz didn’t seem in any hurry to decide that he might be in trouble and come running with the cavalry… he’d taken the first opportunity he saw to make a run for it. Pelagatti’s men had not been gentle when they’d caught up and cut that dash short.
So yeah, the soreness wasn’t exactly a surprise. He could count himself lucky that it didn’t seem to be the result of anything worse than bruises.
Cold, though, that was kind of weird. It’d been a warm day, really warm, and even overenthusiastic air conditioning couldn’t explain….
He dragged open his eyelids to see… white, lots of white, and metal. His breath frosted in little puffs in front of his face. Not good.
He tried to straighten, shifting himself further up the wall he was slumped against. It wasn’t so easy with his hands secured behind him, but he managed to maneuver himself into a more upright sitting position. A glance around confirmed his suspicion-he was in some kind of walk-in freezer.
Very much not good.
At least the place wasn’t small enough that running out of air was an imminent concern, though it wasn’t huge either. He couldn’t see the door from where he sat.
So. Time to figure out how much trouble he was in. He cautiously felt along the handcuffs restraining his wrists, testing them. Seemed to be perfectly ordinary, a common model…. He flinched, pulling his fingers back hastily when they came into contact with the pipe the handcuffs’ chain was looped around. It wasn’t just cold-it was painfully so. It felt like his hands would’ve been burned with it, had they remained in contact more than an instant. He flexed his fingers cautiously.
Well, it told him one useful thing, at least. The handcuffs themselves were cool, but hardly frozen, nothing compared to that pipe. He couldn’t have been left here too long ago, then. Whether they actually intended to leave him here for any length of time, or as a method of execution-or were possibly just keeping him out of sight for a little while, and softening him up for potential interrogation later-was another question entirely.
Whatever the case might be, he didn’t intend to meet his fate helpless and chained to a pipe. He twisted his left wrist to reach for the bobby pin concealed in his right cuff, praying they hadn’t discovered it. No-there it was, still safely tucked into its spot at the hem. One lucky break, at least.
They’d obviously searched him while he was out: his shirt and jacket were tugged all askew, and he could feel that the ear piece was missing, as was his cell phone and, of course, the wire that’d been taped to his chest. Maybe the fact that they hadn’t taken the time to properly rearrange his clothes was less creepy than the alternative, but he wished they’d had the decency to at least re-button his shirt. His tie was tugged loose, the top half of his shirt hanging open, and his chest was freezing. His suit was nice, very nice, but it offered limited enough protection from the cold as it was.
Neal hunched his shoulders, drawing his knees up close in front of him. Huddling as best he could to preserve warmth, he set to work, pulling apart the edges of the fabric and working the pin out from between the stitching. It was just possible they hadn’t found the handcuff key concealed in his left shoe either, but he doubted it-and, restrained as he was, the contortions necessary to find out didn’t seem worthwhile.
Inserting the pin, he worked at the cuff lock patiently. Normally undoing this kind of cuff would be a moment’s work for him, but already he could feel his fingers growing clumsy with the cold. He hissed, wincing every time one of his hands accidentally brushed against the metal pipe, cursing when one such fumble made him drop the pin. It took him much longer than he’d have liked to find it and get it back into position again.
When the left cuff popped open it was with a great sense of relief that he shifted his arms around to the front, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his hands together to restore some circulation. He might not have been stuck like that very long, but it’d certainly been more than long enough for him. He took the time to button up his shirt (very thankful that they hadn’t taken the fastest route to getting it open, at least-the buttons were still attached) and tug his jacket more closely around him before going at the second cuff.
It was much easier, and faster, working in front. Tossing the handcuffs carelessly into the corner, he pocketed the pin as he stood. He finished rearranging his rumpled clothing, buttoning his suit jacket as well, as he surveyed the room. It was surprisingly empty, the shelves bare. No meat, food, anything one might expect to see in this kind of freezer. Just some unmarked boxes stacked on pallets in the middle of the room.
Naturally, the first order of business was checking out the door. He was disappointed, though not particularly surprised, when neither the latch nor the emergency release responded. No access to the hinges from inside… he might’ve been able to dismantle the inner part of the handle, if he had anything vaguely resembling the proper tools. He didn’t.
He considered banging on the door and shouting for help in the hopes that someone might hear and get him out, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. If anyone was around to hear, chances were it was going to be one of Pelagatti’s men. If they did plan to get him out of here eventually to question him, or worse, he didn’t fancy drawing that attention any sooner than was necessary. If they weren’t planning to let him out-well, they weren’t likely to change their minds just because he asked nicely.
Wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth, he turned slowly, considering his options. There weren’t many. Might as well have a look at what was in those boxes, he decided. Unlikely as it was, they seemed to be the only place in here that might conceal anything potentially useful.
His fingers slipped several times, as he fumbled at the packing tape on one of the top boxes. Pulling back the flaps, he discovered… plants. More specifically, bags of tightly-packed leaves. Was that… marijuana?
Lovely. Might as well check a couple more boxes to be sure, but considering their identical appearance he suspected they all contained the same. Wonderful. Very useful that would be. If he could find some way to start a fire, he could smoke himself into a nice high-it might not get him out of here, but at least he’d die happy, right?
With a disgusted sigh, he turned to make a circuit of the room, studying the walls. Surely there had to be some kind of weakness, something here to exploit. There was just no way he was going to die like this.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The case files were maddeningly unhelpful. Not that Peter had exactly expected anything to jump up and down shouting “Here! This is where I’d bring an abducted FBI consultant!”-nice as that would have been. But with all their combing through the files, anxiously balancing haste with thoroughness, they’d all hoped for a little more than what they had. Namely: exactly nothing.
He’d had some familiarity with the generalities of the case Ruiz had been working. Given the man’s outspoken distaste for Neal, Peter would hardly have given in easily to the idea of his “borrowing” Neal for this exchange without some idea of what it’d involve.
It was blatantly obvious that ¬¬Donato Pelagatti was bad news. If the weapons shipment currently in his possession hit the streets of New York it would make for some even worse news. What had Peter especially concerned at the moment, though, was the man’s personal reputation for violence-and his penchant for rubbing the FBI’s collective faces in their inability to actually hit him with anything that’d stick.
This was not the sort of thing he’d have chosen to send Neal into. Neal was-not helpless, certainly, not inexperienced, but… not equipped or trained to handle that. Unfortunately, he did fit the picture of Pelagatti’s ideal business partner (suave, classy, well able to brush aside the fact that this business deal was about something as crass as weapons and pretend they were all very civil and refined here) and was far better prepared to win Pelagatti over with casual discussion of his two real passions-art, and history-than Ruiz’s more experienced and highly trained agents. Peter had been forced to admit, to himself if no one else, that yes, Neal could probably pull off the deal with greater surety than anyone else they had to hand.
Still, he’d have protested much more forcefully if Neal himself hadn’t surprised him by being amenable to the plan. No, he hadn’t much liked the danger involved, but… it was important, and time was of the essence. (The fact that Ruiz was actually coming and asking for his help might or might not have played a tiny part in Neal’s willingness. Being magnanimous and co-operating here would pretty much eliminate any right he might have to gripe about Neal’s undeserved freedom for a while to come.) Given Neal’s lack of protest, word from on high was that he was going, regardless of Peter’s happiness or unhappiness with the idea-this one was just too critical.
So Peter had let it go, let Neal go, though he hadn’t entirely let go of his worries on the subject. Worries which were, apparently, entirely justified. He should’ve known better than to trust Ruiz with Neal’s safety. Had known better.
All the logical lectures he might give himself-Neal was a big boy, he could take care of himself, he’d gotten involved with dangerous people of his own free will in the past and gotten himself back out again, he was smart, resourceful-none of it outweighed the fact that this should not have happened. However capable Neal might be, while he worked with the FBI his options were limited, held back as he was from resources and tactics he might otherwise make use of when headed into known danger. If they were going to put him into a situation like this, then they owed it to him to get him safely back out again. And they hadn’t.
Yet. They hadn’t done it yet. But they were going to. If Peter could just find something, anything to act on, some direction to look in. For the moment it seemed Neal could be almost anywhere.
Peter jumped when his phone rang. For a moment his heart leapt with the irrational hope that it might be Neal, calling to complain about being forced to rescue himself. It wasn’t. It was Ruiz. Peter forced himself not to be too disappointed-after all, if he was calling, there must be news. And any news was better than nothing at all.
Well, almost any news.
But just as his wilder hopes had proven groundless, so did his fears, for the moment at least. No, Ruiz was not calling to inform him that Caffrey had been found, dead or otherwise. Pelagatti, on the other hand, had been found. No, he wasn’t in custody, but for the time being that was for the best. While he was free there was a better chance he might lead them to the guns-or Neal.
“Where is Pelagatti?” he demanded.
“At a bar over on 3rd Street.” Ruiz informed him. “The guys we’ve got sitting on the place now say he seems to be alone. Neither of the goons we saw with him earlier are around. Hang on.” There were muffled sounds, as if Ruiz was talking with someone. Then his voice came through clearly again. “Okay, it looks like one of the bodyguards is hanging out by Pelagatti’s car around back. The other’s still unaccounted for.”
“I’m going to go talk with him.”
“Who, the bodyguard?” Ruiz sounded incredulous.
“No. Pelagatti.”
“Pelagatti? Burke, are you insane? You do that and he’ll know we’re on his tail. It’ll blow any chance we’ve got here. I’ve got one of my undercover guys going into the bar in a couple of minutes. He’ll be able to see and hear anything going on.”
“We don’t have time to just sit and wait and hope he does something eventually!”
Peter knew Ruiz thought he was just being impulsive, knew he was going to have trouble explaining his gut instinct that this was what they needed to do, their best bet at getting something to break. If this situation turned into a staring contest with Pelagatti, waiting to see who would blink first, they could be waiting a very long time indeed. But if they did something unexpected, something that would surprise him and maybe catch his interest….
“Peter…” Ruiz’s tone was almost gentle. “We don’t even know that Caffrey is still alive. It’s entirely possible that-” He must’ve sensed the anger in Peter’s sharp inhale, because he broke off, switching tracks. “We can’t scare Pelagatti off. If we do, he may just go to ground and lay low until things blow over. If he does that, we might never find out what happened.”
“I know, I know he might.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “But going after him in the classic FBI style has been getting us nowhere. We do know that he loves a good chance to thumb his nose at us. If we break the routine, catch him off guard… I think he’s not going to be able to resist the urge to taunt us. It’s entirely possible he’ll let a little more slip than he means to in the process.”
“I don’t know….”
Ruiz sighed, clearly dubious. But at least he wasn’t dismissing the idea outright. Peter latched on to the hope that wavering in resolve presented.
“Look, you wanted Caffrey because he knows this kind of guy, knows how to get on their good side and draw them out, right?”
“You saying you’ve been hanging around him too long and now you’re starting to think like him?” Ruiz asked wryly.
“What I’m saying… is that I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of how Caffrey might play him, and I think I can nudge him into getting overconfident.”
“I swear, Burke, if you let him get to you and do something stupid…”
“I won’t,” Peter assured him. “I’m not going to confront him, or interrogate him, or anything like that. I’m just… going to talk to him, and give him a chance to talk to me.”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Peter gave Donato Pelagatti a casual nod, sliding onto the barstool next to his. Pelagatti gave him an assessing glance in return.
“Really, doesn’t the FBI have anything better to do than harass innocent, law-abiding citizens?”
He actually sounded more amused and smug than annoyed. Peter decided to leave the “law-abiding” part alone for the moment.
“Who says I’m FBI?”
“Oh please, it’s written all over you. Besides, there’s the fact that you walked in here and ordered that.”
Pelagatti nodded toward the beer that the bartender was sliding toward Peter. This place was known for drinks with considerably higher price tags and older dates on the bottles. And yeah, maybe he should’ve ordered something a little more interesting, but at the moment he was reluctant enough to trust his judgment without adding anything with higher alcohol content to his system.
“Maybe four o’clock’s just a little too early in the day for some people to start with the hard stuff,” Peter countered wryly.
“Still on duty, hmm?” Pelagatti gave him a look of mock commiseration. “So what’s the special occasion? This morning you send your errand boy to have a chat with me, and now it’s the big boys coming out to play. What’ve I done to merit all the special attention?”
Peter’s first thought was to feign confusion, deny that Neal had any connection with the FBI. If Pelagatti was in any doubt, if there was a chance that he was just fishing for information…. But no. Wherever Pelagatti had obtained the information, he could see in the man’s eyes that Neal’s connection with the FBI was a done deal. If the man was fishing for anything, he was only curious as to how much the FBI actually had on him. His mind was on the potential weapons case-or any number of other currently unproven charges he was suspected of-not on one missing FBI consultant.
Human lives were cheap to Pelagatti-at least any other than his own. So long as he didn’t personally pull any triggers or land any blows, he was confident in his ability to slide out of any case they might attempt to make against him. In the past, good lawyers had always seen to it that that confidence was justified. This time…. If Neal didn’t get out of this alright, Peter would personally see to it that Pelagatti saw justice for it, if he had to make it a life’s work.
“It’s interesting you should mention that particular ‘errand boy,’” Peter said mildly. “As such an upstanding citizen, you might like to know that we have reason to believe you were the last person he spoke with before going missing earlier today.”
“Is that so?” Pelagatti tilted his head, his face carefully arranged in an expression of mildly interested sympathy. It might almost have been convincing, if it weren’t for the little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“It is. And, like any concerned citizen, I figured you’d want to give us any information you might have, anything that might help us find him.”
“Of course, of course.” Pelagatti nodded agreeably. “Anything I can do to help.”
This was it-the moment when he’d find out whether Pelagatti was so busy enjoying thoughts of his own cleverness and untouchable position that he’d miscalculate. He’d just have to be careful not to actually accuse Pelagatti of anything. Peter didn’t need hard and fast evidence he could bring to court, here. That could come later. For now, all he needed was a hint to show him where to start. He steeled himself to carry off the mockery of an interview with a co-operating witness.
“Well, maybe we can start with the obvious. He didn’t happen to give you any idea of where he might be going when he left you, did he?”
“Now let me think…” Pelagatti tilted his head. “Nope, I’m afraid not. You’d probably know more of his plans for the day than I do.”
“What about his behavior?” Peter asked. “Did anything there strike you as odd? Anything particular he might’ve been worried or upset about?”
“No, not at all… he was quite cool and collected, actually, when I saw him.”
I’ll just bet he was, Peter thought fiercely. But what he said was, “You’re sure? Nothing at all?”
“Very sure. If I may ask-are you quite sure he’s actually missing? He can’t have been gone very long. Isn’t it possible that he’s just… tied up with business? Or maybe things just got a little too hot for him, and he decided to lay low until things cooled off a little.” Pelagatti’s eyebrows rose. “I hear it can be a dangerous business, working for the FBI.”
“Yeah, it can be,” Peter agreed flatly. “Though not as dangerous as some I could name.”
“True. I hear commercial fishermen have it particularly bad. But then, the food industry in general tends to be challenging. Did you know meat packing is considered by some to be the most dangerous job in America? A shame, really, the things that happen in some of those places.” Pelagatti shook his head. “But-a man has to make a living somehow. What can you do?” He shrugged philosophically.
“Some days, not much.”
“But others, more than enough. Such is life.” Pelagatti shrugged again. Then as if shaking off an overly contemplative mood he added with brisk cheerfulness. “I do hope you find your missing man soon. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“So am I. Thanks for your time.” Peter rose, nodding. He didn’t offer to shake the man’s hand.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Neal wasn’t very good at resigning himself… to much of anything, really. Giving up on what he wanted was just admitting a lack of creativity. There was always another option, another angle to try, something. He tended to stick out a risky play long after others would have given it up as a lost cause, and it seemed as often as not that inclination paid off. When he gave in and “settled” it was only with the hope and expectation of gaining something better from it later. He didn’t always get what he wanted, of course, but when that happened it was never for lack of properly investigating all the possibilities.
At the moment, what he wanted was to get out of here. Preferably immediately, but failing that he’d go with “alive, no permanent damage.” And really, compared to some of the other things he’d really, really wanted over the course of his life, it hardly seemed too much to ask.
Unfortunately, this time around it wasn’t looking so good for getting what he wanted. At least not through his own efforts.
He’d examined every inch of the walls-and the ceiling, and even the floor, as much as he could get to it. It’d told him that the freezer seemed to be fairly old, might not be as efficient as the newer models, but that was about it. While it might mean he would freeze to death slightly more slowly than he would have otherwise, it wasn’t particularly helpful in the long run.
The one really useful thing he’d discovered had been the thermal blanket underneath one of the pallets-the kind one might cover frozen goods with to keep them from thawing too quickly during transportation from one cold storage to another. It was small, thin, worn, stained. In that moment it looked like nothing short of a miraculous gift from above.
His hands and feet had gone beyond the first pricking of cold to hurting fiercely. Now they were starting to ease back into a more comfortable numbness. He would’ve been relieved, if he hadn’t known it was a bad sign. He was shivering, violently now, his teeth clicking together with every breath-which was annoying, but relatively speaking a good sign. It was when that stopped that things would get really bad.
Undecided which was the best way to conserve heat, he’d alternated between huddling with the scanty blanket wrapped around him, trying to keep as much of himself covered as possible, and pacing the room, stamping his feet and rubbing his arms to keep the blood flowing. Over and over he made the circuit of the room-studying the walls now in a vain attempt to give his mind something else to work on, rather than any actual hope of discovering something.
He kept coming back to the door. It was the only spot that presented a real hope of being dismantled from the inside. Except that it didn’t, really, and continuing to work at it was only making his fingers get colder faster. At this point he wasn’t sure he could get them to co-operate enough to manage it, even if he’d had exactly the right tools.
Eventually, he’d risked the consequences, shouting and pounding at the door, throwing himself against it with all the strength he had left. If they were planning on taking him out of here in any useful condition, they were seriously overestimating the human body’s ability to withstand cold. And he was certainly not above begging if it meant saving his life.
It hadn’t done any good, though. No one had come. He hadn’t heard so much as a noise from outside.
“C’mon, Peter, hurry up and find me already,” he mumbled, through lips made uncooperative with the cold. The words had sounded slurred, even to his own ears.
It struck him as odd, suddenly, that since waking up it had never once occurred to him to hope that Ruiz might show up with a rescue party. Logically, that was the most likely way for him to get out of this. But somehow at the back of his mind, unacknowledged until now, there’d been lurking the assumption that Peter would be looking for him. That Peter would find him-as he always seemed to, whether or not Neal wanted to be found.
Right now, though? He really, really wanted to be found. He’d give just about anything to see Peter come through that door. Or Ruiz, even. Either one. He wasn’t in any position to be picky. His money was still on Peter, though. Even if the conviction was just irrationality brought on by hypothermia.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Continued in Part 2.
This one’s sort of written for collarcorner. As I said there, although I had a couple of prompts in mind as I wrote this story, by the time I got to the end I realized that it didn’t quite seem to fit the specifications for any one prompt. So I’ll just say it’s a fill for the general “Lock Picking” “Capture” and “Escape” prompts from the list on round seven.
The original inspiration for this came from a picture that tj_teejay posted at her journal: a can of Caffrey’s beer! Looking at it, I couldn’t help but think that the directions on the side of the can - “Chill Until Blue” - sounded like instructions for a fanfic. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I just had to try my hand at it. *g*
By the way, as an amusing side-note, a bit of googling revealed this rather interesting link: Burke Beverages Inc. If you scroll down a bit, you’ll see that they’re distributors of Caffrey’s beer. Ah, life’s lovely little coincidences... ;D
Anyhow -
Apprehension
“How long ago did you lose him?”
Peter leaned forward, hands coming down hard on Ruiz’s desk. It wasn’t nearly as forceful a move as he’d have liked to make. For Neal’s sake, if nothing else, he couldn’t afford to be cut out of the loop on this one because his judgment was in question.
“It’s not like-”
“How. Long.” Peter ground out, making a supreme effort to keep his temper under control-at least until he got his answers.
Apparently some of the intensity of his feelings bled through anyway. Ruiz actually leaned back a bit in his seat, despite the desk between them.
“Four hours, give or take,” Ruiz admitted.
“What do you mean, ‘give or take’?”
“With the equipment malfunction-it’s hard to tell exactly when things went bad.”
“So when you lost contact with him, instead of getting backup into place you figured it’d be best to leave him alone with a violent mobster who has a thing for taunting the FBI, and just assume he could handle whatever came up.”
“Come on, Burke, we weren’t going to trash the entire op-and any chance at getting anything on Pelagatti in the near future-when we didn’t know anything was wrong beyond interference with the mics. We still don’t.”
“Except ¬¬¬¬Pelagatti has disappeared off our radar, and we haven’t seen or heard anything from Caffrey since. Don’t even try to tell me you’d be so offhand about the danger he could be in if it was one of your agents missing.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. You have to admit, it’s not exactly the same with Caffrey. For all we know he took advantage of the situation to take off. No anklet, out of sight, out of contact…. He could’ve even arranged the interference himself. Or ¬¬Pelagatti could’ve, if Caffrey tipped him off.”
“Caffrey did not run.” His eyes were narrowed, but his tone was perfectly even, restrained.
Ruiz tilted his head to one side, openly skeptical. “You sure about that?”
“Not like this,” Peter asserted. “Not in the middle of an op, not without reason.”
“And what if Pelagatti made him some kind of offer? That’d be a reason right there.”
Peter shook his head firmly. “He wouldn’t make a deal with someone like Pelagatti.”
“No? Not if it got him free and clear of us?” Ruiz sighed, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Look, I get it. Caffrey’s been an asset, you and your team have been working with him closely….” Maybe a little too closely was implied, but remained unspoken. “You’ve done good work with him, I’ll give you that. You’ve got a good thing going, of course you don’t want to think about losing it. But what if he doesn’t think it’s such a good thing he’s got here? We do have to look at all the possibilities.”
“Yeah. We do,” Peter agreed grimly. “But when it’s someone’s life in question? Unless I have good reason to think otherwise, I’d rather assume they’re innocent and in danger and later find out otherwise than assume the worst of them and be proven wrong when it’s too late to help. Whatever you may think of him, we owe Caffrey that much.”
Ruiz raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Look, I never said I was gonna just throw him to the wolves or something. We’re looking for him. But right now I’m kind of preoccupied with the fact that there’s a violent guy out there looking to sell a whole lot of firepower, and because of this situation we don’t know where he is or where the weapons are being kept.”
“And that is why Agent Burke is going to be taking over the search for Caffrey,” Hughes put in, approaching Ruiz’s desk.
Peter felt a surge of relief at his boss’s arrival. This was better than he’d dared hope for when Hughes had assured him that he was “looking into” things, and would handle the situation. Ruiz, on the other hand, looked less than pleased at the development. Hughes held up a hand to forestall any protests.
“The decision’s made. If you want to protest and take this up the chain you can, but at this point it’ll just be wasting valuable time and energy. Your team still has the lead on the Pelagatti case. You will be sharing any information you get with Peter, but your priority is figuring out where those weapons are now. Peter will be focusing on finding Caffrey.” With a wry smile, he added, “Regardless of the cause of his disappearance, Peter’s got a pretty good record when it comes to tracking him down.”
“Okay.” Ruiz shrugged, capitulating. “That’ll free some of my men up to look into other angles, here.”
Somewhat to Peter’s surprise, he seemed inclined to accept the rearrangement of duties, and implied chastisement (whether he’d let Neal escape or be abducted, he had dropped the ball on this), with a measure of grace. Ruiz turned back to Peter.
“I’ll have copies of our files sent up to you ASAP. You know about as much as I do about the actual disappearance, but if you have any questions, just ask.”
Peter nodded sharply. “I will. Thank you.”
As Ruiz turned back to his computer, picking up his phone at the same time, Peter got the impression that he was almost relieved, washing his hands of any responsibility for Caffrey. Or maybe that was just his frustration speaking. In any case it hardly mattered for the moment-at least Peter could do something now.
He turned to head for the elevators, and the White Collar Division. There was a lot of catching up to do, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was little time to do it in.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
He was cold. That was the first thing Neal became aware of. Cold, and sore.
The sore part he could understand. Once it became clear that the game was well and truly up with Pelagatti he hadn’t hesitated to use the activation phrase. When he’d realized that the mics didn’t seem to be working… and that Ruiz didn’t seem in any hurry to decide that he might be in trouble and come running with the cavalry… he’d taken the first opportunity he saw to make a run for it. Pelagatti’s men had not been gentle when they’d caught up and cut that dash short.
So yeah, the soreness wasn’t exactly a surprise. He could count himself lucky that it didn’t seem to be the result of anything worse than bruises.
Cold, though, that was kind of weird. It’d been a warm day, really warm, and even overenthusiastic air conditioning couldn’t explain….
He dragged open his eyelids to see… white, lots of white, and metal. His breath frosted in little puffs in front of his face. Not good.
He tried to straighten, shifting himself further up the wall he was slumped against. It wasn’t so easy with his hands secured behind him, but he managed to maneuver himself into a more upright sitting position. A glance around confirmed his suspicion-he was in some kind of walk-in freezer.
Very much not good.
At least the place wasn’t small enough that running out of air was an imminent concern, though it wasn’t huge either. He couldn’t see the door from where he sat.
So. Time to figure out how much trouble he was in. He cautiously felt along the handcuffs restraining his wrists, testing them. Seemed to be perfectly ordinary, a common model…. He flinched, pulling his fingers back hastily when they came into contact with the pipe the handcuffs’ chain was looped around. It wasn’t just cold-it was painfully so. It felt like his hands would’ve been burned with it, had they remained in contact more than an instant. He flexed his fingers cautiously.
Well, it told him one useful thing, at least. The handcuffs themselves were cool, but hardly frozen, nothing compared to that pipe. He couldn’t have been left here too long ago, then. Whether they actually intended to leave him here for any length of time, or as a method of execution-or were possibly just keeping him out of sight for a little while, and softening him up for potential interrogation later-was another question entirely.
Whatever the case might be, he didn’t intend to meet his fate helpless and chained to a pipe. He twisted his left wrist to reach for the bobby pin concealed in his right cuff, praying they hadn’t discovered it. No-there it was, still safely tucked into its spot at the hem. One lucky break, at least.
They’d obviously searched him while he was out: his shirt and jacket were tugged all askew, and he could feel that the ear piece was missing, as was his cell phone and, of course, the wire that’d been taped to his chest. Maybe the fact that they hadn’t taken the time to properly rearrange his clothes was less creepy than the alternative, but he wished they’d had the decency to at least re-button his shirt. His tie was tugged loose, the top half of his shirt hanging open, and his chest was freezing. His suit was nice, very nice, but it offered limited enough protection from the cold as it was.
Neal hunched his shoulders, drawing his knees up close in front of him. Huddling as best he could to preserve warmth, he set to work, pulling apart the edges of the fabric and working the pin out from between the stitching. It was just possible they hadn’t found the handcuff key concealed in his left shoe either, but he doubted it-and, restrained as he was, the contortions necessary to find out didn’t seem worthwhile.
Inserting the pin, he worked at the cuff lock patiently. Normally undoing this kind of cuff would be a moment’s work for him, but already he could feel his fingers growing clumsy with the cold. He hissed, wincing every time one of his hands accidentally brushed against the metal pipe, cursing when one such fumble made him drop the pin. It took him much longer than he’d have liked to find it and get it back into position again.
When the left cuff popped open it was with a great sense of relief that he shifted his arms around to the front, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his hands together to restore some circulation. He might not have been stuck like that very long, but it’d certainly been more than long enough for him. He took the time to button up his shirt (very thankful that they hadn’t taken the fastest route to getting it open, at least-the buttons were still attached) and tug his jacket more closely around him before going at the second cuff.
It was much easier, and faster, working in front. Tossing the handcuffs carelessly into the corner, he pocketed the pin as he stood. He finished rearranging his rumpled clothing, buttoning his suit jacket as well, as he surveyed the room. It was surprisingly empty, the shelves bare. No meat, food, anything one might expect to see in this kind of freezer. Just some unmarked boxes stacked on pallets in the middle of the room.
Naturally, the first order of business was checking out the door. He was disappointed, though not particularly surprised, when neither the latch nor the emergency release responded. No access to the hinges from inside… he might’ve been able to dismantle the inner part of the handle, if he had anything vaguely resembling the proper tools. He didn’t.
He considered banging on the door and shouting for help in the hopes that someone might hear and get him out, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. If anyone was around to hear, chances were it was going to be one of Pelagatti’s men. If they did plan to get him out of here eventually to question him, or worse, he didn’t fancy drawing that attention any sooner than was necessary. If they weren’t planning to let him out-well, they weren’t likely to change their minds just because he asked nicely.
Wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth, he turned slowly, considering his options. There weren’t many. Might as well have a look at what was in those boxes, he decided. Unlikely as it was, they seemed to be the only place in here that might conceal anything potentially useful.
His fingers slipped several times, as he fumbled at the packing tape on one of the top boxes. Pulling back the flaps, he discovered… plants. More specifically, bags of tightly-packed leaves. Was that… marijuana?
Lovely. Might as well check a couple more boxes to be sure, but considering their identical appearance he suspected they all contained the same. Wonderful. Very useful that would be. If he could find some way to start a fire, he could smoke himself into a nice high-it might not get him out of here, but at least he’d die happy, right?
With a disgusted sigh, he turned to make a circuit of the room, studying the walls. Surely there had to be some kind of weakness, something here to exploit. There was just no way he was going to die like this.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The case files were maddeningly unhelpful. Not that Peter had exactly expected anything to jump up and down shouting “Here! This is where I’d bring an abducted FBI consultant!”-nice as that would have been. But with all their combing through the files, anxiously balancing haste with thoroughness, they’d all hoped for a little more than what they had. Namely: exactly nothing.
He’d had some familiarity with the generalities of the case Ruiz had been working. Given the man’s outspoken distaste for Neal, Peter would hardly have given in easily to the idea of his “borrowing” Neal for this exchange without some idea of what it’d involve.
It was blatantly obvious that ¬¬Donato Pelagatti was bad news. If the weapons shipment currently in his possession hit the streets of New York it would make for some even worse news. What had Peter especially concerned at the moment, though, was the man’s personal reputation for violence-and his penchant for rubbing the FBI’s collective faces in their inability to actually hit him with anything that’d stick.
This was not the sort of thing he’d have chosen to send Neal into. Neal was-not helpless, certainly, not inexperienced, but… not equipped or trained to handle that. Unfortunately, he did fit the picture of Pelagatti’s ideal business partner (suave, classy, well able to brush aside the fact that this business deal was about something as crass as weapons and pretend they were all very civil and refined here) and was far better prepared to win Pelagatti over with casual discussion of his two real passions-art, and history-than Ruiz’s more experienced and highly trained agents. Peter had been forced to admit, to himself if no one else, that yes, Neal could probably pull off the deal with greater surety than anyone else they had to hand.
Still, he’d have protested much more forcefully if Neal himself hadn’t surprised him by being amenable to the plan. No, he hadn’t much liked the danger involved, but… it was important, and time was of the essence. (The fact that Ruiz was actually coming and asking for his help might or might not have played a tiny part in Neal’s willingness. Being magnanimous and co-operating here would pretty much eliminate any right he might have to gripe about Neal’s undeserved freedom for a while to come.) Given Neal’s lack of protest, word from on high was that he was going, regardless of Peter’s happiness or unhappiness with the idea-this one was just too critical.
So Peter had let it go, let Neal go, though he hadn’t entirely let go of his worries on the subject. Worries which were, apparently, entirely justified. He should’ve known better than to trust Ruiz with Neal’s safety. Had known better.
All the logical lectures he might give himself-Neal was a big boy, he could take care of himself, he’d gotten involved with dangerous people of his own free will in the past and gotten himself back out again, he was smart, resourceful-none of it outweighed the fact that this should not have happened. However capable Neal might be, while he worked with the FBI his options were limited, held back as he was from resources and tactics he might otherwise make use of when headed into known danger. If they were going to put him into a situation like this, then they owed it to him to get him safely back out again. And they hadn’t.
Yet. They hadn’t done it yet. But they were going to. If Peter could just find something, anything to act on, some direction to look in. For the moment it seemed Neal could be almost anywhere.
Peter jumped when his phone rang. For a moment his heart leapt with the irrational hope that it might be Neal, calling to complain about being forced to rescue himself. It wasn’t. It was Ruiz. Peter forced himself not to be too disappointed-after all, if he was calling, there must be news. And any news was better than nothing at all.
Well, almost any news.
But just as his wilder hopes had proven groundless, so did his fears, for the moment at least. No, Ruiz was not calling to inform him that Caffrey had been found, dead or otherwise. Pelagatti, on the other hand, had been found. No, he wasn’t in custody, but for the time being that was for the best. While he was free there was a better chance he might lead them to the guns-or Neal.
“Where is Pelagatti?” he demanded.
“At a bar over on 3rd Street.” Ruiz informed him. “The guys we’ve got sitting on the place now say he seems to be alone. Neither of the goons we saw with him earlier are around. Hang on.” There were muffled sounds, as if Ruiz was talking with someone. Then his voice came through clearly again. “Okay, it looks like one of the bodyguards is hanging out by Pelagatti’s car around back. The other’s still unaccounted for.”
“I’m going to go talk with him.”
“Who, the bodyguard?” Ruiz sounded incredulous.
“No. Pelagatti.”
“Pelagatti? Burke, are you insane? You do that and he’ll know we’re on his tail. It’ll blow any chance we’ve got here. I’ve got one of my undercover guys going into the bar in a couple of minutes. He’ll be able to see and hear anything going on.”
“We don’t have time to just sit and wait and hope he does something eventually!”
Peter knew Ruiz thought he was just being impulsive, knew he was going to have trouble explaining his gut instinct that this was what they needed to do, their best bet at getting something to break. If this situation turned into a staring contest with Pelagatti, waiting to see who would blink first, they could be waiting a very long time indeed. But if they did something unexpected, something that would surprise him and maybe catch his interest….
“Peter…” Ruiz’s tone was almost gentle. “We don’t even know that Caffrey is still alive. It’s entirely possible that-” He must’ve sensed the anger in Peter’s sharp inhale, because he broke off, switching tracks. “We can’t scare Pelagatti off. If we do, he may just go to ground and lay low until things blow over. If he does that, we might never find out what happened.”
“I know, I know he might.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “But going after him in the classic FBI style has been getting us nowhere. We do know that he loves a good chance to thumb his nose at us. If we break the routine, catch him off guard… I think he’s not going to be able to resist the urge to taunt us. It’s entirely possible he’ll let a little more slip than he means to in the process.”
“I don’t know….”
Ruiz sighed, clearly dubious. But at least he wasn’t dismissing the idea outright. Peter latched on to the hope that wavering in resolve presented.
“Look, you wanted Caffrey because he knows this kind of guy, knows how to get on their good side and draw them out, right?”
“You saying you’ve been hanging around him too long and now you’re starting to think like him?” Ruiz asked wryly.
“What I’m saying… is that I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of how Caffrey might play him, and I think I can nudge him into getting overconfident.”
“I swear, Burke, if you let him get to you and do something stupid…”
“I won’t,” Peter assured him. “I’m not going to confront him, or interrogate him, or anything like that. I’m just… going to talk to him, and give him a chance to talk to me.”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Peter gave Donato Pelagatti a casual nod, sliding onto the barstool next to his. Pelagatti gave him an assessing glance in return.
“Really, doesn’t the FBI have anything better to do than harass innocent, law-abiding citizens?”
He actually sounded more amused and smug than annoyed. Peter decided to leave the “law-abiding” part alone for the moment.
“Who says I’m FBI?”
“Oh please, it’s written all over you. Besides, there’s the fact that you walked in here and ordered that.”
Pelagatti nodded toward the beer that the bartender was sliding toward Peter. This place was known for drinks with considerably higher price tags and older dates on the bottles. And yeah, maybe he should’ve ordered something a little more interesting, but at the moment he was reluctant enough to trust his judgment without adding anything with higher alcohol content to his system.
“Maybe four o’clock’s just a little too early in the day for some people to start with the hard stuff,” Peter countered wryly.
“Still on duty, hmm?” Pelagatti gave him a look of mock commiseration. “So what’s the special occasion? This morning you send your errand boy to have a chat with me, and now it’s the big boys coming out to play. What’ve I done to merit all the special attention?”
Peter’s first thought was to feign confusion, deny that Neal had any connection with the FBI. If Pelagatti was in any doubt, if there was a chance that he was just fishing for information…. But no. Wherever Pelagatti had obtained the information, he could see in the man’s eyes that Neal’s connection with the FBI was a done deal. If the man was fishing for anything, he was only curious as to how much the FBI actually had on him. His mind was on the potential weapons case-or any number of other currently unproven charges he was suspected of-not on one missing FBI consultant.
Human lives were cheap to Pelagatti-at least any other than his own. So long as he didn’t personally pull any triggers or land any blows, he was confident in his ability to slide out of any case they might attempt to make against him. In the past, good lawyers had always seen to it that that confidence was justified. This time…. If Neal didn’t get out of this alright, Peter would personally see to it that Pelagatti saw justice for it, if he had to make it a life’s work.
“It’s interesting you should mention that particular ‘errand boy,’” Peter said mildly. “As such an upstanding citizen, you might like to know that we have reason to believe you were the last person he spoke with before going missing earlier today.”
“Is that so?” Pelagatti tilted his head, his face carefully arranged in an expression of mildly interested sympathy. It might almost have been convincing, if it weren’t for the little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“It is. And, like any concerned citizen, I figured you’d want to give us any information you might have, anything that might help us find him.”
“Of course, of course.” Pelagatti nodded agreeably. “Anything I can do to help.”
This was it-the moment when he’d find out whether Pelagatti was so busy enjoying thoughts of his own cleverness and untouchable position that he’d miscalculate. He’d just have to be careful not to actually accuse Pelagatti of anything. Peter didn’t need hard and fast evidence he could bring to court, here. That could come later. For now, all he needed was a hint to show him where to start. He steeled himself to carry off the mockery of an interview with a co-operating witness.
“Well, maybe we can start with the obvious. He didn’t happen to give you any idea of where he might be going when he left you, did he?”
“Now let me think…” Pelagatti tilted his head. “Nope, I’m afraid not. You’d probably know more of his plans for the day than I do.”
“What about his behavior?” Peter asked. “Did anything there strike you as odd? Anything particular he might’ve been worried or upset about?”
“No, not at all… he was quite cool and collected, actually, when I saw him.”
I’ll just bet he was, Peter thought fiercely. But what he said was, “You’re sure? Nothing at all?”
“Very sure. If I may ask-are you quite sure he’s actually missing? He can’t have been gone very long. Isn’t it possible that he’s just… tied up with business? Or maybe things just got a little too hot for him, and he decided to lay low until things cooled off a little.” Pelagatti’s eyebrows rose. “I hear it can be a dangerous business, working for the FBI.”
“Yeah, it can be,” Peter agreed flatly. “Though not as dangerous as some I could name.”
“True. I hear commercial fishermen have it particularly bad. But then, the food industry in general tends to be challenging. Did you know meat packing is considered by some to be the most dangerous job in America? A shame, really, the things that happen in some of those places.” Pelagatti shook his head. “But-a man has to make a living somehow. What can you do?” He shrugged philosophically.
“Some days, not much.”
“But others, more than enough. Such is life.” Pelagatti shrugged again. Then as if shaking off an overly contemplative mood he added with brisk cheerfulness. “I do hope you find your missing man soon. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“So am I. Thanks for your time.” Peter rose, nodding. He didn’t offer to shake the man’s hand.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Neal wasn’t very good at resigning himself… to much of anything, really. Giving up on what he wanted was just admitting a lack of creativity. There was always another option, another angle to try, something. He tended to stick out a risky play long after others would have given it up as a lost cause, and it seemed as often as not that inclination paid off. When he gave in and “settled” it was only with the hope and expectation of gaining something better from it later. He didn’t always get what he wanted, of course, but when that happened it was never for lack of properly investigating all the possibilities.
At the moment, what he wanted was to get out of here. Preferably immediately, but failing that he’d go with “alive, no permanent damage.” And really, compared to some of the other things he’d really, really wanted over the course of his life, it hardly seemed too much to ask.
Unfortunately, this time around it wasn’t looking so good for getting what he wanted. At least not through his own efforts.
He’d examined every inch of the walls-and the ceiling, and even the floor, as much as he could get to it. It’d told him that the freezer seemed to be fairly old, might not be as efficient as the newer models, but that was about it. While it might mean he would freeze to death slightly more slowly than he would have otherwise, it wasn’t particularly helpful in the long run.
The one really useful thing he’d discovered had been the thermal blanket underneath one of the pallets-the kind one might cover frozen goods with to keep them from thawing too quickly during transportation from one cold storage to another. It was small, thin, worn, stained. In that moment it looked like nothing short of a miraculous gift from above.
His hands and feet had gone beyond the first pricking of cold to hurting fiercely. Now they were starting to ease back into a more comfortable numbness. He would’ve been relieved, if he hadn’t known it was a bad sign. He was shivering, violently now, his teeth clicking together with every breath-which was annoying, but relatively speaking a good sign. It was when that stopped that things would get really bad.
Undecided which was the best way to conserve heat, he’d alternated between huddling with the scanty blanket wrapped around him, trying to keep as much of himself covered as possible, and pacing the room, stamping his feet and rubbing his arms to keep the blood flowing. Over and over he made the circuit of the room-studying the walls now in a vain attempt to give his mind something else to work on, rather than any actual hope of discovering something.
He kept coming back to the door. It was the only spot that presented a real hope of being dismantled from the inside. Except that it didn’t, really, and continuing to work at it was only making his fingers get colder faster. At this point he wasn’t sure he could get them to co-operate enough to manage it, even if he’d had exactly the right tools.
Eventually, he’d risked the consequences, shouting and pounding at the door, throwing himself against it with all the strength he had left. If they were planning on taking him out of here in any useful condition, they were seriously overestimating the human body’s ability to withstand cold. And he was certainly not above begging if it meant saving his life.
It hadn’t done any good, though. No one had come. He hadn’t heard so much as a noise from outside.
“C’mon, Peter, hurry up and find me already,” he mumbled, through lips made uncooperative with the cold. The words had sounded slurred, even to his own ears.
It struck him as odd, suddenly, that since waking up it had never once occurred to him to hope that Ruiz might show up with a rescue party. Logically, that was the most likely way for him to get out of this. But somehow at the back of his mind, unacknowledged until now, there’d been lurking the assumption that Peter would be looking for him. That Peter would find him-as he always seemed to, whether or not Neal wanted to be found.
Right now, though? He really, really wanted to be found. He’d give just about anything to see Peter come through that door. Or Ruiz, even. Either one. He wasn’t in any position to be picky. His money was still on Peter, though. Even if the conviction was just irrationality brought on by hypothermia.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Continued in Part 2.