White Collar Fic: Conspiracies: Revelations (Part II)
Title: Conspiracies: Revelations (Part II)
Author: sheenianni
Artist: aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART II
The surface under his cheek felt oddly cold. His eyelids were impossibly heavy. Slowly regaining consciousness, Neal tried to open his eyes.
What…? Where…?
“Mr. Caffrey. Welcome back to the world of the living.”
Neal quickly shut his eyes as he was hit by the harshness of artificial light. He took a short break before he tried again, lifting up his head and pulling himself up in the process. He finally managed to get a view of the room.
Everything felt off, like the whole world was somehow submerged underwater. He felt dizzy, his surroundings coming off as one big blur. The realization hit him as he scratched the side of his thigh and found a needle mark.
“You drugged me!”
“It was necessary for transporting you here. The effects should wear off in a few hours.”
The shapes in front of Neal started coming into focus. He was sitting on a cot of some sort, with his feet dangling down. There was a man in a chair opposite him - the one who had spoken. Neal tried to shrink back when he was hit by a wave of nausea. His companion had apparently foreseen the issue and handed him a bowl.
“Wow, you’re really good at this post-kidnapping thing,” stated Neal dryly a few moments later after he cleaned his face with a silently provided damp cloth.
“We do try,” replied his companion with the same sarcastic humor.
“You have a lot of experience, then?” asked Neal lightly.
The CIA agent chuckled. “Now come on, Neal, that would be telling.”
Blond, blue eyes.… With his senses coming back to him, Neal finally recognized him as the leader of the team that had almost tracked them down once. “We’ve met before.… You actually found us once. Your team is good at tracking people.”
“Better than the US Marshals, though not as good as Peter Burke, it would seem. You led us on quite a chase, Mr. Caffrey,” replied the agent in a friendly tone.
“I do try.”
The agent laughed. “See? I love your sense of humor. There’s no reason why we can’t talk like civilized people.”
Neal blinked, then blinked again. When did the cloth and the bowl disappear?
“Neal?”
“So, you kidnapped me. Now what?” How much time has passed? He was off his game.
The agent nodded. “You don’t have to be here for long. Tell us where Paul Handerson is, and you can go back to your life, forget that this all ever happened.”
“Who’s Paul Handerson?”
“You’re seriously going to go with that? Come on, Neal. Where is your friend? Where is Mozzie?”
“Go to hell.”
The CIA agent cleared his throat and smiled. “I see you’re not exactly yourself yet. We’ll talk again in a while.” He stood and picked up the chair, closing the door behind himself as he left.
He wanted to sleep ... just.…
No! Neal forced himself to keep his eyes open. This was his chance to find a way out.
He looked around the room. It was small - just his bed, a curtain covering a break in the wall and the door. Neal carefully stood up and went to check the curtain and discovered a small bathroom; just the toilet and a sink. And then there was nothing else - no items, no additional furniture, nothing. Also, everything except the floor was strangely white. Whiiiite. Hmm.
What did … oh. Escape.
First things first, Neal turned on the faucet in the bathroom and was pleased to find it functioning. He repeatedly washed his face and hair with cold water and then drank some too, until he regained some semblance of a clear mind. Finally, maybe fifteen minutes later, he was ready to explore his cell.
The door had a round knob and a lock that seemed to open to a card or a key. Belatedly, Neal remembered to check his clothes. He was still wearing the undershirt from before (dirty and slightly torn, without any hidden tools), but someone had tended to his scrapes - they had even put a bandage on his ankle. The jacket he had bought for a few bucks was gone. Glancing at his trousers, Neal smiled when he saw that they had let him keep the old pair. Not that he was particularly fond of them (especially now, after they’d been through a rooftop fall and a crazy chase), but as most pieces that had originally come from Byron, they had a lock pick sewn inside them. However, his joy faded when he checked the hiding place and realized that his captors had carefully cut the stitches and removed his escape tools, probably when he had been out unconscious.
Damn.
There had to be a way out, thought Neal determinedly. However, after thirty futile minutes with the room occasionally swirling around him, he had to admit that he wasn’t going to find it; not until the drug effects faded a little. At least he wasn’t singing again.…
He would find a way out. It was only a matter of time.
Since his ankle had started hurting again, Neal sat back on the bed. Soon, he lay down and fell asleep.
* * *
Lying in the hospital bed, Peter decided that the worst thing about having a concussion was how it messed up his perception and put him into a weird dull state where everything seemed to be blocked by an invisible fog.
On some level, he was agitated, almost bursting with energy as he wanted to get out of the hospital bed and investigate the car crash and Neal’s escape. Another, not entirely conscious part of him just wanted to close his eyes, sleep and wait it out until his world finally stilled and the fog dissipated.
His team was already on the crash. According to Jones, they were now pulling records from traffic cams in an effort to determine the identity of the other driver and to find out where Neal might have headed. So far, they had found out that the other car had been stolen, which might explain why the driver had escaped from the scene so fast. Unfortunately neither the place of the accident nor its immediate vicinity was covered by any CCTV; nevertheless, Peter didn’t doubt that Jones and Diana would be able to find a lead, either from the more remote cams or from talking to possible witnesses. However, that didn’t make being stuck in a hospital any less annoying.
Frustrated, Peter reached for his phone to call Diana for an update when suddenly, the door to his room opened and Elizabeth entered.
El’s face was tightened with tension - tension that immediately turned to relief as she spotted him and swiftly walked to his bed. “Peter! How are you?”
Peter smiled and reached for her hand. “Hey, hon. I’m okay.”
El pulled close a nearby chair and sat down. “The doctor told me that they were only keeping you here for observation.… How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been stomped over by a herd of elephants.… My head’s a bit hazy, I have some lovely new stitches and a couple bruises, but otherwise I’m good. How did you know I was here?”
“Diana called me. Peter, what happened?”
Peter grimaced. “Well, we tracked down Neal as I had predicted. Then other people arrived on the scene, everything became classified - and suddenly there was a car crash.”
Elizabeth blinked. “What? Honey, you’re not making any sense.”
It took a while before Peter retold the events of his day. When he finished, El just shook her head and chuckled. “You know, I always worry about you being hurt on a case.… It never occurred to me that you could be in just a regular random accident.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. He hesitated. “I don’t think…”
Elizabeth frowned when Peter stopped. “What? What did you want to say?”
“I … nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Elizabeth gave him a dubious look.
Peter cleared his throat and then changed the subject.
He and El talked for another twenty minutes before a doctor came in and checked on him. After some discussion, the doctor agreed to release Peter, provided that someone would keep an eye on him for the rest of the day.
As El drove them home, Peter thought back to the crash, silently wondering whether his team’s investigation would bring any results.
Everything that day had happened so fast. He had tracked Neal down to his apartment and come there with a warrant to arrest him, only to be told an unbelievable story and then watch in shock as Neal jumped out through a closed window. Then the arrival of the CIA agents, Caffrey’s recapture, arguing with the CIA and finally the crash.…
Neal had disappeared again. For an accident, the crash that had been awfully convenient.
Peter had learned long ago to trust his gut. Now his instincts were screaming at him that something wasn’t adding up. However, he knew he was missing pieces of the puzzle. He wanted to go back to the office, but the doctor had made him swear not to overexert himself and whenever he started questioning the necessity of this advice, his concussion would let itself be known by a new wave of nausea. Besides - looking at El, Peter thought of the fear that he had spotted on her face earlier, and knew that this evening belonged to her. She needed him to be home, needed to know that he was safe.
Maybe Jones and Diana would find some lead. For the moment, Peter closed his eyes and let himself rest while Elizabeth drove the Taurus back to Brooklyn.
* * *
Mozzie remembered how, at the beginning of this whole thing when they had been staying at Neal’s storage unit, he had considered their living arrangements to be the proof of how bad their situation had gotten. Now, several weeks afterwards, he figured out that Neal’s storage unit had actually been a rather luxurious accommodation.
He stared at his new place with a mix of dismay and determination.
Having little experience in the area, Mozzie had been surprised how easy it had been to purchase his own storage room at auction. He paid for the place with some of the “emergency” cash that Neal had left for him a couple weeks ago; then scribbled down a barely legible fake name on the paper that provided him with ownership - and that was it. By the time the ink on the lease had barely dried he was already moving his things in and setting himself up for a long stay.
The room was cold and half-filled with furniture. The carpet rolled in the corner stank and seemed to be rotting. The sole window was half covered with paint-stained newspaper and the metal bed looked like something stolen from a nineteenth century mental institution.
At least there were no menacing bars on the window. “Or, as they say, ‘a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.’”
He had water, electricity and wi-fi. The storage unit was quite large and the purchase untraceable to his real identity. Mozzie could already see how it would become the perfect base for “Operation Rescue Neal”.
He wanted to sleep in a nice comfortable hotel. He wanted to go back to his job as a researcher. He wanted to go home and watch the first three sequels of Tiles of Fire. Instead, he was stuck in a storage room that was probably infested by rat poop and an unknown number of germs and bacteria.
“Oh damn it. Neal, how did you ever make this work?”
Not unexpectedly, his absent friend didn’t give Mozzie any answers.
Well, first things first.
Most of the furniture would have to go. Then lots of sweeping, lots of cleaning and about five liters of non-allergenic detergent. Cleaning the window before putting up some blinds to replace the newspapers, buying a decent heating unit, refurbishing the room and finally installing cameras for the outside. Simple as a piece of gluten-free cake.
“Achoo!”
Actually the cameras would have to be put up first. Then a visit to a hardware store to buy a dust mask and to a pharmacy for his allergy meds before he tried to make the storage room habitable. After he set himself up, he would then figure out a way to contact June and Hale without revealing himself to the CIA. His decision made, Mozzie locked the door to his storage room and went to look for his supplies.
If only he had agreed to Neal’s plan for faking his death and giving him a new identity.…
Mozzie pushed away his doubts. He could handle this. Neal needed him to.
If Mozzie’s efforts failed, hopefully “the Suit” would know what to do next. He was probably one of Neal’s old associates, skilled in the cloak and dagger games that were still novel to Moz. Yet, think all he might, Mozzie couldn’t figure out who of the people from Neal’s old life he would trust so much. From what Neal had told him, ever since the brief but disastrous partnership with Matthew Keller, his friend had mostly worked alone. Could it be Hale, the gentleman fence who had taken Neal under his wing when he had first arrived in New York? It didn’t feel right, but Mozzie couldn’t think of another man that would be so important in Neal’s past.…
Unless “the Suit” was a she? Alexandra Hunter might theoretically fit the profile … although Moz didn’t think that Neal trusted her that much. But then before the CIA interfered, he and Neal had barely been in contact for several years, so his perceptions might be inaccurate.
It was the perfect irony that the event that had forced him out of his home had also led to the strengthening of his and Neal’s friendship. Mozzie would almost be thankful, except for the fact that right now, the CIA was probably torturing Neal for information on him.
He had to find the Suit and rescue Neal before it was too late.
* * *
“Excuse me? Madam! Madam, are you Mrs. June Ellington?”
The fake hair and mustache itched. While Mozzie had enough experience lecturing at conferences, wearing a suit still made him feel vaguely uncomfortable and long for the familiarity of his old lab coat. To add to his misery, he had a small cage with a rat inside on the ground in front of him as a part of his cover. Sitting in the waiting room in front of the groomer and vet’s office, Mozzie kept nervously glancing around. Surrounded by several people with their pets, he felt like a sitting duck, just waiting for the CIA to show up and snatch him away.
But comfortable or not, he was on a mission. The moment he spotted his contact, he hurried to intercept her. “I need to talk to you.”
June Ellington frowned at him. “Do I know you?”
Mozzie faltered. “I’m … err … I’m from - the charity! Yes! I need to talk to you immediately.”
“Is that so?” June’s pug growled at Mozzie before barking once.
Suddenly, the vet’s door opened and a young woman walked out. “Mr. Newton?” she asked to the waiting room. Nobody moved. “Sir…? Mr. Newton?”
Right! That was his alias. “Just a second!”
The vet frowned at him. “Sir, this is a veterinary practice, not a chat room.… Is that your rat?”
“What?” Mozzie turned around to where the woman was looking. The rat cage had somehow turned on its side, with the rat running around in circles. “Oh. Of course. Pardon me.” He picked up the cage before turning to where June had been standing … except she was already walking through the groomer’s door. “Hey-!”
The door behind June closed before Mozzie could stop it.
He had found her and then he lost her. Neal needed him and he blew it. He was a failure.
“Mr. Newton, are you coming in or not?”
The veterinarian’s voice broke Mozzie from his musings. “I-” He was about to excuse himself and deciding to just wait here until June came out again, when he looked around and realized that the people around were staring at him.
He had already caused something of a small spectacle here. If he refused to go in and waited for June…. He couldn’t call more attention to himself. But if he were to help Neal, he needed to talk to June….
“Of course,” replied Mozzie dejectedly and picked up the damn cage.
He would find another opportunity to contact Mrs. Ellington. Mozzie refused to acknowledge any other option.
Even as he entered the vet’s office, he was already considering a new plan.
* * *
“So, Mr. Newton. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so urgent that you needed to speak with me?”
Turning around, Mozzie’s tense face transformed into a relieved smile. “Mrs. Ellington!”
By the time he left the vet’s office, he had managed to calm down and collect his thoughts. Maybe June would still be there at the groomer with Bugsy. Maybe, she would wait for him. If not, there had to be other ways to contact her without attracting attention. Still, Mozzie couldn’t deny his relief when he found her waiting for him just around the corner from the groomer’s office.
“Hmm. May I look at your pet?”
“What?” Mozzie faltered before it hit him. “Oh, you mean the rat! That’s not really my pet. I mean….”
June tilted her head questioningly.
And now he was embarrassing himself. “His name is Paracelsus. I just bought it today because….” Mozzie faltered. Could he tell her he bought the rat as an excuse to meet her here? The veterinarian had already given him a lecture about proper animal care; he really didn’t need another one now. “Well, I bought it.” He cleared his throat, sneaked a glance around and lowered his voice. “Anyway, I needed to talk to you about our mutual friend.”
“Excuse me?”
“When you met him, you were … oh, forget it.” Mozzie sighed. “Neal is in trouble. I need your help.”
Mrs. Ellington stiffened. “What do you mean? How do you know him?”
“We’ve been friends since high school,” replied Mozzie quietly. “I called him a few weeks ago-”
June’s eyes widened. “Wait - short, spectacled - you’re Paul.” Mozzie tensed. “I’m sorry, I should have known,” said June, shaking her head before smiling at him.
“Mrs. Ellington-”
“Call me June, dear.”
Mozzie cleared his throat. “Okay, June-”
“There’s a small café on the next floor.” She checked her watch. “Bugsy will be with the groomer for a while. In the meantime, we have plenty of time to catch up over a delicious espresso. Although I suspect your companion here might not be so welcome at the café.”
“My companion?”
“May I?” Gently, she took the cage from Mozzie’s hand before walking back to the vet’s office and knocking at the door. A moment later, the door opened and the veterinary assistant walked out. June smiled at her. “Excuse me dear, could I leave my friend’s rat here for an hour or so? You’d be doing me a real favor.”
The assistant smiled at her. “Mrs. Ellington? Of course.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much!”
Mozzie just stared.
Coming back to him, June cleared her throat and smiled at him in a way that reminded Mozzie of a shark. “Now, Paul, let us find a place where we can talk.…”
* * *
Back at his storage unit several hours later, Mozzie was thinking of the past afternoon and contemplating what he had learned from June Ellington.
The moment she realized who he was, she had taken over completely. She had led the way to the café, then watched him sharply as he ordered his mint tea while she settled on an espresso. For the next ten minutes, she bombarded him with seemingly random questions about Neal and their friendship, and then when Mozzie finally gave up his meager attempts to keep up with her and felt ready to dissolve into a puddle at the floor, she suddenly stopped, changing her expression to warm and caring and apologized for her suspicion.
When she finally heard the whole quietly retold story, her lips tightened in anger. ‘I’ve been out of the game for almost thirty years.… I’ll see what I can do.’
She could have eaten him alive, realized Mozzie in retrospect, and he shuddered when he imagined how the meeting would have gone if he weren’t on Neal’s side. He was barely managing with June as an ally; he definitely didn’t want her as his enemy.
During the hour they had spent in the café, she had taught him more about cons, ruses and disguises than Neal had in their four weeks together on the run. If Mozzie thought that Neal was sometimes harsh in his criticism, June was even more blunt and direct. If he was going to take on the CIA, then his stuttering, stumbling-around attempts would just not do. ‘Neal is like a son to me, Paul. You can’t let his sacrifice be in vain.’ Wordlessly, Paul nodded. He knew all about families that weren’t tied by blood.
According to June Ellington, if Mozzie was hell-bent on rescuing Neal, then he better do it right.
For all the advice June had given him, she hadn’t been able to shed much light on the identity of “the Suit”. ‘Neal never told me,’ she had said, sounding troubled. Together, they went over the names that Mozzie had been considering over the last few days.
Not Neal’s lawyer, apparently - they hadn’t been in contact since Neal’s trial. When Mozzie reluctantly mentioned the security firm Neal had worked for, June just snorted and shook her head. Neal’s boss had never been particularly trusting of him, and while Neal had made a few friends there, none of these relationships went beyond a casual acquaintance. Maybe a CEO or someone from one of those corporate companies that Neal had consulted for? Again, June just shook her head with a small frown. If Neal had made any friends there, she didn’t know of them.
Well, not unless he counted another interesting bit of information.…
“I wonder.…” June murmured before falling silent. “You said Neal had mentioned ‘Peter’ on the phone call to you?”
How was that relevant? “What do you know?” asked Mozzie curiously.
June hesitated. “The only person that comes to mind is Peter Burke, the FBI agent that caught Neal before.”
“The FBI was tracking us too,” shared Mozzie, the wheels in his head already turning. “Neal said that he had been framed to set them on our trail. Are you saying that this ‘Peter’ character could be involved somehow?”
“Peter Burke, involved in this kind of conspiracy?” June paused, obviously troubled. “I don’t think.… I don’t know.”
“Who is he?”
“Has Neal never told you about his relationship with Peter?”
“Relationship? … Oh. OH!! You mean, the two of them actually.…”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood me,” interrupted June with a small chuckle. Then she turned serious. “Peter Burke was Neal’s case agent. From the very beginning, Neal had always been somewhat fascinated by him. Supposedly, the feeling was mutual. Neal used to send him messages - once, he even had a pizza delivered to the van in which Peter was sitting with his team.…”
“I’ve heard that story,” said Mozzie as a sudden memory flashed through his head.
June sighed. “Indeed.… Eventually, Peter used these clues against Neal, leading to his capture. Yet despite their history, the two have remained on friendly terms with each other.”
“Wait, are you suggesting that the man Neal told me to trust …”
“… could be Peter Burke, the man who sent him to prison?” June paused. “It does seem strange, doesn’t it?”
“What is his role in all this, then?” pressed Mozzie.
June shook her head. “I’m sorry, Paul. I truly don’t know.”
Meaning, they were back to square one.
Or maybe not. “June … do you know how I could find Hale?”
* * *
Frustrated, Peter tossed away the file that contained the information on the crash that had occurred nearly a week ago.
Except for his concussion, his own injuries had been merely superficial, and he hadn’t wasted any time in getting back to his office. Yet even now in the middle of the investigation, he couldn’t find anything that would shed some light on what exactly had happened. Nothing on the CCTV footage from the surrounding streets, nothing suspicious about the owner of the stolen car; in fact, everything was pointing to the fact that the car accident had been just that - an accident. Yet Peter’s gut was screaming at him that something wasn’t adding up, that there was more to the story than what he knew.
Could Neal have organized the accident?
No, that didn’t make sense. A car crash had the potential to physically hurt or kill, and Peter couldn’t see Neal taking that risk without a damn good reason. Besides, when would Neal have had the chance to set this up? No, Neal might have taken advantage of the crash, but he couldn’t have been the mastermind behind it.
What were the other options?
Was it possible that the crash had been organized by the CIA?
Peter barely had time to form the thought before he scoffed at its ludicrousness. Why would the CIA stage a crash that allowed Neal to escape when they had been so determined to catch him? Unless, Neal was somehow connected to them.… Reminding himself that this was the real world and not a spy novel, Peter promptly discarded that thought.
Which left.…
The reason why the CIA had gotten involved in the first place. Supposedly, Neal had been involved with some people that were endangering national security. Peter had initially discarded the CIA’s claims, but what if they were true? Or, was it possible that Neal’s partnership with “Haversham” had come to an abrupt, violent end?
It made sense. Which meant that Peter didn’t have enough information. He needed to talk to the CIA agents again.
* * *
Neal had to give the CIA one thing - they knew what they were doing when it came to security.
As he had suspected, his room was a cell in all but name. The moment he woke up again, the drugs finally out of his system, he started examining his surroundings, searching for a weak spot that he might have missed before. In the end though, it became clear that the only way out was through the door, which had an electronic lock and opened from the outside. That didn’t mean that Neal didn’t have a couple ideas, but at this point they were only half-formed observations, certainly not anything that gave him even moderate chances at a successful escape.
However, before he had the time to elaborate on these thoughts, the door to his room opened and two CIA agents walked in. Neal recognized the first as Agent Greeves; the second was someone he hadn’t met before, a sort of intelligent thug that reminded Neal of Ryan Wilkes.
“Neal Caffrey. I see you’ve had the time to check your accommodation,” said Greeves in place of a greeting.
Neal shrugged. “I’ve stayed at worse places.”
“Perhaps.” Greeves paused. “You know why you’re here.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Wilkes-lookalike gave him a glare. “Cut the crap, Caffrey. Where is Paul Handerson?”
“Who?”
“Professor Paul Handerson, also known as Mozzie Haversham, Jack Specter and Bill Ryan. You made him these aliases,” stated Greeves flatly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wordlessly, Greeves pulled out a stack of photos. Staring at one picture of himself and Mozzie after another, Neal knew the gig was up.
“Who is he to you anyway?” asked Wilkes-lookalike with a frown.
Silence.
“He stayed with you at the same apartment. When did you last speak to him?”
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” said ‘Wilkes’.
“Really? I think you’ve watched too many movies,” replied Neal with a snort.
He barely saw the agent move when his stomach exploded in pain and he doubled over. Blinking away tears, Neal tried to catch his breath. He started lifting his head when a second punch caught him in the jaw and he flew back, his head hitting the wall.
“That’s enough for now, Adams.”
Adams. That must be the Wilkes-lookalike guy.
Half-crumbled on the floor, Neal pulled himself up, all the time watching the agents. “‘Guess that was supposed to be the hard way.”
Greeves wasn’t amused. “Where is Paul Handerson?”
Neal swallowed. “Go to hell.”
He expected an attack this time and tried to defend himself. Five seconds later, he was shrieking in pain, then cradling his wrist to his chest when Adams finally let go.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” said Greeves. “Give us Handerson and we will make it worth your while.”
“What?”
“Now, you’re paying attention. We have a proposition for you.…”
* * *
Neal Caffrey was a white collar criminal, a thief and con man with no history of violence. The CIA acknowledged that and acted accordingly.
They explained that they only needed to talk to Mozzie, but if Neal agreed to help them, the benefits would be enough to soothe Neal’s conscience. They could make his FBI problem go away, explained Greeves, or even give him a brand new identity that nobody would be able to relate to the “old” Neal Caffrey. The CIA would take him under their wing, guaranteeing a de facto immunity for both his past and future pursuits as long as they didn’t interfere with national security. To show their appreciation, they would also reward him substantially for his help. While Greeves explained the advantages of cooperation, Adams just stood there, a silent but very strong reminder of how things could get ugly unless Neal gave them what they wanted.
“Two million,” interrupted Neal suddenly.
Greeves stopped his monologue and blinked. “You agree to my proposal.”
“Not so fast.” Neal paused. “I have my own demands. I won’t tell you a thing until we have an agreement.”
They negotiated and haggled for almost half an hour. After the CIA had sworn not to harm Moz, Neal had finally given them an account number of his choice. He then waited until the CIA paid the agreed “deposit” before sharing the information.
“If we got separated, the back-up plan was that we would meet in Houston. From there, a boat was arranged to take us to Puerto Rico.”
“How and when?”
Neal paused. “I want your word that you’ll clear my name with the FBI.”
“Stop procrastinating, Caffrey,” snapped Adams.
“It will be done,” promised agent Greeves with a serious nod.
“There’s a man at the port called Jesse who owns a cargo ship. Sometimes he smuggles people out of the country for the right price. Mozzie will probably be contacting him over the next few days.”
Greeves gave him a pleased smile. “Good. Where can we find this ‘Jesse’? What does he look like?”
“I think his boat has some sort of a Greek name ... under a Liberian flag, if I remember correctly?” answered Neal.
“‘Greek name with Liberian flag’? Come on, Caffrey, you can give us more than that. After all, you’ve already made a lot of money from this.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” replied Neal with a glare.
“If it makes you feel better, we could always resort to less civilized methods,” said Greeves. Adams took a step forward
Neal gulped. “If you give me a pen, I can try to draw a map of the marina.…”
* * *
‘Trust the Suit.’
Standing at a street in the suburbs of Brooklyn, Mozzie felt a shiver run over his spine. Swallowing deeply, he quickly ran over the list of advice that June had given him before discarding most of it. Best case scenario, he was going to meet this “Burke Suit” - and despite what Hale had said, Mozzie still wasn’t sure that the “Suit” wasn’t working with the CIA. Worst case scenario, he would end up at a police station or in a hospital - and that was supposing the Suit didn’t shoot him on sight.
Then again, “common sense is merely a collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen”.
With confidence he didn’t feel, Mozzie approached the Burkes’ house and started checking the usual locations. The doormat, the flower pots.… With a grim smile, Mozzie pulled out a small key. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside while quickly opening a bag of dog treats and tossing it a few feet away. If the Burkes’ dog was a nasty vicious thing or even a particularly enthusiastic guard, this had the potential to turn very ugly really fast.
As expected, Mozzie barely had the time to close the door when he was greeted by a short bark of a Labrador. Barely breathing, he pressed his back against the door. The dog was sitting in front of him, his head slightly tilted.
“Nice doggy,” said Mozzie nervously. “Very nice doggy.…”
“Woof!”
“We’re friends, right?” Mozzie swallowed. “See? I brought you treats. Oh, no, you-”
He barely had time for a horrified shriek as the dog’s paws hit his chest. However, when the attack wasn’t followed by the sharp pain of the dog’s teeth, Mozzie slowly opened his eyes. The dog licked his face, then barked happily before losing interest in Moz and going to collect the treats on the floor.
Waiting a few moments, Mozzie was finally beginning to believe that the dog had lost his interest in him. Leaning away from the door, he was about to walk in when he was stopped by a sharp female voice upstairs.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Oh no. “Mrs. Suit?”
“Satchmo, yuck!” With a glare, Elizabeth Burke started descending the stairs. “What did you give him? If you tried to drug my dog-”
“I didn’t! It’s just dog treats, from the pet shop,” Mozzie defended himself. “Mrs. Burke-”
“How did you get in? I warn you, my husband-”
“I’m sorry! You had the key under your flower pot, so.…” Mozzie paused. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Burke. I should have just rung the bell.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened the tiniest degree. “Look, I think you better explain yourself before I call 911.”
Mozzie sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.…”
“Then it’s a good thing that I happen to have a lot of time.”
* * *
He was playing for time, thought Neal as they brought him back to his cell. His drawing was somewhat vague, yet convincing enough that the CIA took it at face value. With some luck, it would take them a few days until they realized that his information was completely fabricated. Who knew, there might even be living a guy named Jesse living somewhere in the Houston port.…
With a barely hidden grin, Neal thought Mozzie would appreciate the story of how he had conned the CIA into donating $200,000 for a charity for Detroit’s unprivileged children. Of course, that would only happen if he managed to get out of the CIA facility.
With his captors distracted, he reckoned he had maybe a day or two to execute an escape.
* * *
Part III - On LJ | On DW
Author: sheenianni
Artist: aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART II
The surface under his cheek felt oddly cold. His eyelids were impossibly heavy. Slowly regaining consciousness, Neal tried to open his eyes.
What…? Where…?
“Mr. Caffrey. Welcome back to the world of the living.”
Neal quickly shut his eyes as he was hit by the harshness of artificial light. He took a short break before he tried again, lifting up his head and pulling himself up in the process. He finally managed to get a view of the room.
Everything felt off, like the whole world was somehow submerged underwater. He felt dizzy, his surroundings coming off as one big blur. The realization hit him as he scratched the side of his thigh and found a needle mark.
“You drugged me!”
“It was necessary for transporting you here. The effects should wear off in a few hours.”
The shapes in front of Neal started coming into focus. He was sitting on a cot of some sort, with his feet dangling down. There was a man in a chair opposite him - the one who had spoken. Neal tried to shrink back when he was hit by a wave of nausea. His companion had apparently foreseen the issue and handed him a bowl.
“Wow, you’re really good at this post-kidnapping thing,” stated Neal dryly a few moments later after he cleaned his face with a silently provided damp cloth.
“We do try,” replied his companion with the same sarcastic humor.
“You have a lot of experience, then?” asked Neal lightly.
The CIA agent chuckled. “Now come on, Neal, that would be telling.”
Blond, blue eyes.… With his senses coming back to him, Neal finally recognized him as the leader of the team that had almost tracked them down once. “We’ve met before.… You actually found us once. Your team is good at tracking people.”
“Better than the US Marshals, though not as good as Peter Burke, it would seem. You led us on quite a chase, Mr. Caffrey,” replied the agent in a friendly tone.
“I do try.”
The agent laughed. “See? I love your sense of humor. There’s no reason why we can’t talk like civilized people.”
Neal blinked, then blinked again. When did the cloth and the bowl disappear?
“Neal?”
“So, you kidnapped me. Now what?” How much time has passed? He was off his game.
The agent nodded. “You don’t have to be here for long. Tell us where Paul Handerson is, and you can go back to your life, forget that this all ever happened.”
“Who’s Paul Handerson?”
“You’re seriously going to go with that? Come on, Neal. Where is your friend? Where is Mozzie?”
“Go to hell.”
The CIA agent cleared his throat and smiled. “I see you’re not exactly yourself yet. We’ll talk again in a while.” He stood and picked up the chair, closing the door behind himself as he left.
He wanted to sleep ... just.…
No! Neal forced himself to keep his eyes open. This was his chance to find a way out.
He looked around the room. It was small - just his bed, a curtain covering a break in the wall and the door. Neal carefully stood up and went to check the curtain and discovered a small bathroom; just the toilet and a sink. And then there was nothing else - no items, no additional furniture, nothing. Also, everything except the floor was strangely white. Whiiiite. Hmm.
What did … oh. Escape.
First things first, Neal turned on the faucet in the bathroom and was pleased to find it functioning. He repeatedly washed his face and hair with cold water and then drank some too, until he regained some semblance of a clear mind. Finally, maybe fifteen minutes later, he was ready to explore his cell.
The door had a round knob and a lock that seemed to open to a card or a key. Belatedly, Neal remembered to check his clothes. He was still wearing the undershirt from before (dirty and slightly torn, without any hidden tools), but someone had tended to his scrapes - they had even put a bandage on his ankle. The jacket he had bought for a few bucks was gone. Glancing at his trousers, Neal smiled when he saw that they had let him keep the old pair. Not that he was particularly fond of them (especially now, after they’d been through a rooftop fall and a crazy chase), but as most pieces that had originally come from Byron, they had a lock pick sewn inside them. However, his joy faded when he checked the hiding place and realized that his captors had carefully cut the stitches and removed his escape tools, probably when he had been out unconscious.
Damn.
There had to be a way out, thought Neal determinedly. However, after thirty futile minutes with the room occasionally swirling around him, he had to admit that he wasn’t going to find it; not until the drug effects faded a little. At least he wasn’t singing again.…
He would find a way out. It was only a matter of time.
Since his ankle had started hurting again, Neal sat back on the bed. Soon, he lay down and fell asleep.
* * *
Lying in the hospital bed, Peter decided that the worst thing about having a concussion was how it messed up his perception and put him into a weird dull state where everything seemed to be blocked by an invisible fog.
On some level, he was agitated, almost bursting with energy as he wanted to get out of the hospital bed and investigate the car crash and Neal’s escape. Another, not entirely conscious part of him just wanted to close his eyes, sleep and wait it out until his world finally stilled and the fog dissipated.
His team was already on the crash. According to Jones, they were now pulling records from traffic cams in an effort to determine the identity of the other driver and to find out where Neal might have headed. So far, they had found out that the other car had been stolen, which might explain why the driver had escaped from the scene so fast. Unfortunately neither the place of the accident nor its immediate vicinity was covered by any CCTV; nevertheless, Peter didn’t doubt that Jones and Diana would be able to find a lead, either from the more remote cams or from talking to possible witnesses. However, that didn’t make being stuck in a hospital any less annoying.
Frustrated, Peter reached for his phone to call Diana for an update when suddenly, the door to his room opened and Elizabeth entered.
El’s face was tightened with tension - tension that immediately turned to relief as she spotted him and swiftly walked to his bed. “Peter! How are you?”
Peter smiled and reached for her hand. “Hey, hon. I’m okay.”
El pulled close a nearby chair and sat down. “The doctor told me that they were only keeping you here for observation.… How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been stomped over by a herd of elephants.… My head’s a bit hazy, I have some lovely new stitches and a couple bruises, but otherwise I’m good. How did you know I was here?”
“Diana called me. Peter, what happened?”
Peter grimaced. “Well, we tracked down Neal as I had predicted. Then other people arrived on the scene, everything became classified - and suddenly there was a car crash.”
Elizabeth blinked. “What? Honey, you’re not making any sense.”
It took a while before Peter retold the events of his day. When he finished, El just shook her head and chuckled. “You know, I always worry about you being hurt on a case.… It never occurred to me that you could be in just a regular random accident.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. He hesitated. “I don’t think…”
Elizabeth frowned when Peter stopped. “What? What did you want to say?”
“I … nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Elizabeth gave him a dubious look.
Peter cleared his throat and then changed the subject.
He and El talked for another twenty minutes before a doctor came in and checked on him. After some discussion, the doctor agreed to release Peter, provided that someone would keep an eye on him for the rest of the day.
As El drove them home, Peter thought back to the crash, silently wondering whether his team’s investigation would bring any results.
Everything that day had happened so fast. He had tracked Neal down to his apartment and come there with a warrant to arrest him, only to be told an unbelievable story and then watch in shock as Neal jumped out through a closed window. Then the arrival of the CIA agents, Caffrey’s recapture, arguing with the CIA and finally the crash.…
Neal had disappeared again. For an accident, the crash that had been awfully convenient.
Peter had learned long ago to trust his gut. Now his instincts were screaming at him that something wasn’t adding up. However, he knew he was missing pieces of the puzzle. He wanted to go back to the office, but the doctor had made him swear not to overexert himself and whenever he started questioning the necessity of this advice, his concussion would let itself be known by a new wave of nausea. Besides - looking at El, Peter thought of the fear that he had spotted on her face earlier, and knew that this evening belonged to her. She needed him to be home, needed to know that he was safe.
Maybe Jones and Diana would find some lead. For the moment, Peter closed his eyes and let himself rest while Elizabeth drove the Taurus back to Brooklyn.
* * *
Mozzie remembered how, at the beginning of this whole thing when they had been staying at Neal’s storage unit, he had considered their living arrangements to be the proof of how bad their situation had gotten. Now, several weeks afterwards, he figured out that Neal’s storage unit had actually been a rather luxurious accommodation.
He stared at his new place with a mix of dismay and determination.
Having little experience in the area, Mozzie had been surprised how easy it had been to purchase his own storage room at auction. He paid for the place with some of the “emergency” cash that Neal had left for him a couple weeks ago; then scribbled down a barely legible fake name on the paper that provided him with ownership - and that was it. By the time the ink on the lease had barely dried he was already moving his things in and setting himself up for a long stay.
The room was cold and half-filled with furniture. The carpet rolled in the corner stank and seemed to be rotting. The sole window was half covered with paint-stained newspaper and the metal bed looked like something stolen from a nineteenth century mental institution.
At least there were no menacing bars on the window. “Or, as they say, ‘a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.’”
He had water, electricity and wi-fi. The storage unit was quite large and the purchase untraceable to his real identity. Mozzie could already see how it would become the perfect base for “Operation Rescue Neal”.
He wanted to sleep in a nice comfortable hotel. He wanted to go back to his job as a researcher. He wanted to go home and watch the first three sequels of Tiles of Fire. Instead, he was stuck in a storage room that was probably infested by rat poop and an unknown number of germs and bacteria.
“Oh damn it. Neal, how did you ever make this work?”
Not unexpectedly, his absent friend didn’t give Mozzie any answers.
Well, first things first.
Most of the furniture would have to go. Then lots of sweeping, lots of cleaning and about five liters of non-allergenic detergent. Cleaning the window before putting up some blinds to replace the newspapers, buying a decent heating unit, refurbishing the room and finally installing cameras for the outside. Simple as a piece of gluten-free cake.
“Achoo!”
Actually the cameras would have to be put up first. Then a visit to a hardware store to buy a dust mask and to a pharmacy for his allergy meds before he tried to make the storage room habitable. After he set himself up, he would then figure out a way to contact June and Hale without revealing himself to the CIA. His decision made, Mozzie locked the door to his storage room and went to look for his supplies.
If only he had agreed to Neal’s plan for faking his death and giving him a new identity.…
Mozzie pushed away his doubts. He could handle this. Neal needed him to.
If Mozzie’s efforts failed, hopefully “the Suit” would know what to do next. He was probably one of Neal’s old associates, skilled in the cloak and dagger games that were still novel to Moz. Yet, think all he might, Mozzie couldn’t figure out who of the people from Neal’s old life he would trust so much. From what Neal had told him, ever since the brief but disastrous partnership with Matthew Keller, his friend had mostly worked alone. Could it be Hale, the gentleman fence who had taken Neal under his wing when he had first arrived in New York? It didn’t feel right, but Mozzie couldn’t think of another man that would be so important in Neal’s past.…
Unless “the Suit” was a she? Alexandra Hunter might theoretically fit the profile … although Moz didn’t think that Neal trusted her that much. But then before the CIA interfered, he and Neal had barely been in contact for several years, so his perceptions might be inaccurate.
It was the perfect irony that the event that had forced him out of his home had also led to the strengthening of his and Neal’s friendship. Mozzie would almost be thankful, except for the fact that right now, the CIA was probably torturing Neal for information on him.
He had to find the Suit and rescue Neal before it was too late.
* * *
“Excuse me? Madam! Madam, are you Mrs. June Ellington?”
The fake hair and mustache itched. While Mozzie had enough experience lecturing at conferences, wearing a suit still made him feel vaguely uncomfortable and long for the familiarity of his old lab coat. To add to his misery, he had a small cage with a rat inside on the ground in front of him as a part of his cover. Sitting in the waiting room in front of the groomer and vet’s office, Mozzie kept nervously glancing around. Surrounded by several people with their pets, he felt like a sitting duck, just waiting for the CIA to show up and snatch him away.
But comfortable or not, he was on a mission. The moment he spotted his contact, he hurried to intercept her. “I need to talk to you.”
June Ellington frowned at him. “Do I know you?”
Mozzie faltered. “I’m … err … I’m from - the charity! Yes! I need to talk to you immediately.”
“Is that so?” June’s pug growled at Mozzie before barking once.
Suddenly, the vet’s door opened and a young woman walked out. “Mr. Newton?” she asked to the waiting room. Nobody moved. “Sir…? Mr. Newton?”
Right! That was his alias. “Just a second!”
The vet frowned at him. “Sir, this is a veterinary practice, not a chat room.… Is that your rat?”
“What?” Mozzie turned around to where the woman was looking. The rat cage had somehow turned on its side, with the rat running around in circles. “Oh. Of course. Pardon me.” He picked up the cage before turning to where June had been standing … except she was already walking through the groomer’s door. “Hey-!”
The door behind June closed before Mozzie could stop it.
He had found her and then he lost her. Neal needed him and he blew it. He was a failure.
“Mr. Newton, are you coming in or not?”
The veterinarian’s voice broke Mozzie from his musings. “I-” He was about to excuse himself and deciding to just wait here until June came out again, when he looked around and realized that the people around were staring at him.
He had already caused something of a small spectacle here. If he refused to go in and waited for June…. He couldn’t call more attention to himself. But if he were to help Neal, he needed to talk to June….
“Of course,” replied Mozzie dejectedly and picked up the damn cage.
He would find another opportunity to contact Mrs. Ellington. Mozzie refused to acknowledge any other option.
Even as he entered the vet’s office, he was already considering a new plan.
* * *
“So, Mr. Newton. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I couldn’t help but wonder what was so urgent that you needed to speak with me?”
Turning around, Mozzie’s tense face transformed into a relieved smile. “Mrs. Ellington!”
By the time he left the vet’s office, he had managed to calm down and collect his thoughts. Maybe June would still be there at the groomer with Bugsy. Maybe, she would wait for him. If not, there had to be other ways to contact her without attracting attention. Still, Mozzie couldn’t deny his relief when he found her waiting for him just around the corner from the groomer’s office.
“Hmm. May I look at your pet?”
“What?” Mozzie faltered before it hit him. “Oh, you mean the rat! That’s not really my pet. I mean….”
June tilted her head questioningly.
And now he was embarrassing himself. “His name is Paracelsus. I just bought it today because….” Mozzie faltered. Could he tell her he bought the rat as an excuse to meet her here? The veterinarian had already given him a lecture about proper animal care; he really didn’t need another one now. “Well, I bought it.” He cleared his throat, sneaked a glance around and lowered his voice. “Anyway, I needed to talk to you about our mutual friend.”
“Excuse me?”
“When you met him, you were … oh, forget it.” Mozzie sighed. “Neal is in trouble. I need your help.”
Mrs. Ellington stiffened. “What do you mean? How do you know him?”
“We’ve been friends since high school,” replied Mozzie quietly. “I called him a few weeks ago-”
June’s eyes widened. “Wait - short, spectacled - you’re Paul.” Mozzie tensed. “I’m sorry, I should have known,” said June, shaking her head before smiling at him.
“Mrs. Ellington-”
“Call me June, dear.”
Mozzie cleared his throat. “Okay, June-”
“There’s a small café on the next floor.” She checked her watch. “Bugsy will be with the groomer for a while. In the meantime, we have plenty of time to catch up over a delicious espresso. Although I suspect your companion here might not be so welcome at the café.”
“My companion?”
“May I?” Gently, she took the cage from Mozzie’s hand before walking back to the vet’s office and knocking at the door. A moment later, the door opened and the veterinary assistant walked out. June smiled at her. “Excuse me dear, could I leave my friend’s rat here for an hour or so? You’d be doing me a real favor.”
The assistant smiled at her. “Mrs. Ellington? Of course.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much!”
Mozzie just stared.
Coming back to him, June cleared her throat and smiled at him in a way that reminded Mozzie of a shark. “Now, Paul, let us find a place where we can talk.…”
* * *
Back at his storage unit several hours later, Mozzie was thinking of the past afternoon and contemplating what he had learned from June Ellington.
The moment she realized who he was, she had taken over completely. She had led the way to the café, then watched him sharply as he ordered his mint tea while she settled on an espresso. For the next ten minutes, she bombarded him with seemingly random questions about Neal and their friendship, and then when Mozzie finally gave up his meager attempts to keep up with her and felt ready to dissolve into a puddle at the floor, she suddenly stopped, changing her expression to warm and caring and apologized for her suspicion.
When she finally heard the whole quietly retold story, her lips tightened in anger. ‘I’ve been out of the game for almost thirty years.… I’ll see what I can do.’
She could have eaten him alive, realized Mozzie in retrospect, and he shuddered when he imagined how the meeting would have gone if he weren’t on Neal’s side. He was barely managing with June as an ally; he definitely didn’t want her as his enemy.
During the hour they had spent in the café, she had taught him more about cons, ruses and disguises than Neal had in their four weeks together on the run. If Mozzie thought that Neal was sometimes harsh in his criticism, June was even more blunt and direct. If he was going to take on the CIA, then his stuttering, stumbling-around attempts would just not do. ‘Neal is like a son to me, Paul. You can’t let his sacrifice be in vain.’ Wordlessly, Paul nodded. He knew all about families that weren’t tied by blood.
According to June Ellington, if Mozzie was hell-bent on rescuing Neal, then he better do it right.
For all the advice June had given him, she hadn’t been able to shed much light on the identity of “the Suit”. ‘Neal never told me,’ she had said, sounding troubled. Together, they went over the names that Mozzie had been considering over the last few days.
Not Neal’s lawyer, apparently - they hadn’t been in contact since Neal’s trial. When Mozzie reluctantly mentioned the security firm Neal had worked for, June just snorted and shook her head. Neal’s boss had never been particularly trusting of him, and while Neal had made a few friends there, none of these relationships went beyond a casual acquaintance. Maybe a CEO or someone from one of those corporate companies that Neal had consulted for? Again, June just shook her head with a small frown. If Neal had made any friends there, she didn’t know of them.
Well, not unless he counted another interesting bit of information.…
“I wonder.…” June murmured before falling silent. “You said Neal had mentioned ‘Peter’ on the phone call to you?”
How was that relevant? “What do you know?” asked Mozzie curiously.
June hesitated. “The only person that comes to mind is Peter Burke, the FBI agent that caught Neal before.”
“The FBI was tracking us too,” shared Mozzie, the wheels in his head already turning. “Neal said that he had been framed to set them on our trail. Are you saying that this ‘Peter’ character could be involved somehow?”
“Peter Burke, involved in this kind of conspiracy?” June paused, obviously troubled. “I don’t think.… I don’t know.”
“Who is he?”
“Has Neal never told you about his relationship with Peter?”
“Relationship? … Oh. OH!! You mean, the two of them actually.…”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood me,” interrupted June with a small chuckle. Then she turned serious. “Peter Burke was Neal’s case agent. From the very beginning, Neal had always been somewhat fascinated by him. Supposedly, the feeling was mutual. Neal used to send him messages - once, he even had a pizza delivered to the van in which Peter was sitting with his team.…”
“I’ve heard that story,” said Mozzie as a sudden memory flashed through his head.
June sighed. “Indeed.… Eventually, Peter used these clues against Neal, leading to his capture. Yet despite their history, the two have remained on friendly terms with each other.”
“Wait, are you suggesting that the man Neal told me to trust …”
“… could be Peter Burke, the man who sent him to prison?” June paused. “It does seem strange, doesn’t it?”
“What is his role in all this, then?” pressed Mozzie.
June shook her head. “I’m sorry, Paul. I truly don’t know.”
Meaning, they were back to square one.
Or maybe not. “June … do you know how I could find Hale?”
* * *
Frustrated, Peter tossed away the file that contained the information on the crash that had occurred nearly a week ago.
Except for his concussion, his own injuries had been merely superficial, and he hadn’t wasted any time in getting back to his office. Yet even now in the middle of the investigation, he couldn’t find anything that would shed some light on what exactly had happened. Nothing on the CCTV footage from the surrounding streets, nothing suspicious about the owner of the stolen car; in fact, everything was pointing to the fact that the car accident had been just that - an accident. Yet Peter’s gut was screaming at him that something wasn’t adding up, that there was more to the story than what he knew.
Could Neal have organized the accident?
No, that didn’t make sense. A car crash had the potential to physically hurt or kill, and Peter couldn’t see Neal taking that risk without a damn good reason. Besides, when would Neal have had the chance to set this up? No, Neal might have taken advantage of the crash, but he couldn’t have been the mastermind behind it.
What were the other options?
Was it possible that the crash had been organized by the CIA?
Peter barely had time to form the thought before he scoffed at its ludicrousness. Why would the CIA stage a crash that allowed Neal to escape when they had been so determined to catch him? Unless, Neal was somehow connected to them.… Reminding himself that this was the real world and not a spy novel, Peter promptly discarded that thought.
Which left.…
The reason why the CIA had gotten involved in the first place. Supposedly, Neal had been involved with some people that were endangering national security. Peter had initially discarded the CIA’s claims, but what if they were true? Or, was it possible that Neal’s partnership with “Haversham” had come to an abrupt, violent end?
It made sense. Which meant that Peter didn’t have enough information. He needed to talk to the CIA agents again.
* * *
Neal had to give the CIA one thing - they knew what they were doing when it came to security.
As he had suspected, his room was a cell in all but name. The moment he woke up again, the drugs finally out of his system, he started examining his surroundings, searching for a weak spot that he might have missed before. In the end though, it became clear that the only way out was through the door, which had an electronic lock and opened from the outside. That didn’t mean that Neal didn’t have a couple ideas, but at this point they were only half-formed observations, certainly not anything that gave him even moderate chances at a successful escape.
However, before he had the time to elaborate on these thoughts, the door to his room opened and two CIA agents walked in. Neal recognized the first as Agent Greeves; the second was someone he hadn’t met before, a sort of intelligent thug that reminded Neal of Ryan Wilkes.
“Neal Caffrey. I see you’ve had the time to check your accommodation,” said Greeves in place of a greeting.
Neal shrugged. “I’ve stayed at worse places.”
“Perhaps.” Greeves paused. “You know why you’re here.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Wilkes-lookalike gave him a glare. “Cut the crap, Caffrey. Where is Paul Handerson?”
“Who?”
“Professor Paul Handerson, also known as Mozzie Haversham, Jack Specter and Bill Ryan. You made him these aliases,” stated Greeves flatly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wordlessly, Greeves pulled out a stack of photos. Staring at one picture of himself and Mozzie after another, Neal knew the gig was up.
“Who is he to you anyway?” asked Wilkes-lookalike with a frown.
Silence.
“He stayed with you at the same apartment. When did you last speak to him?”
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” said ‘Wilkes’.
“Really? I think you’ve watched too many movies,” replied Neal with a snort.
He barely saw the agent move when his stomach exploded in pain and he doubled over. Blinking away tears, Neal tried to catch his breath. He started lifting his head when a second punch caught him in the jaw and he flew back, his head hitting the wall.
“That’s enough for now, Adams.”
Adams. That must be the Wilkes-lookalike guy.
Half-crumbled on the floor, Neal pulled himself up, all the time watching the agents. “‘Guess that was supposed to be the hard way.”
Greeves wasn’t amused. “Where is Paul Handerson?”
Neal swallowed. “Go to hell.”
He expected an attack this time and tried to defend himself. Five seconds later, he was shrieking in pain, then cradling his wrist to his chest when Adams finally let go.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” said Greeves. “Give us Handerson and we will make it worth your while.”
“What?”
“Now, you’re paying attention. We have a proposition for you.…”
* * *
Neal Caffrey was a white collar criminal, a thief and con man with no history of violence. The CIA acknowledged that and acted accordingly.
They explained that they only needed to talk to Mozzie, but if Neal agreed to help them, the benefits would be enough to soothe Neal’s conscience. They could make his FBI problem go away, explained Greeves, or even give him a brand new identity that nobody would be able to relate to the “old” Neal Caffrey. The CIA would take him under their wing, guaranteeing a de facto immunity for both his past and future pursuits as long as they didn’t interfere with national security. To show their appreciation, they would also reward him substantially for his help. While Greeves explained the advantages of cooperation, Adams just stood there, a silent but very strong reminder of how things could get ugly unless Neal gave them what they wanted.
“Two million,” interrupted Neal suddenly.
Greeves stopped his monologue and blinked. “You agree to my proposal.”
“Not so fast.” Neal paused. “I have my own demands. I won’t tell you a thing until we have an agreement.”
They negotiated and haggled for almost half an hour. After the CIA had sworn not to harm Moz, Neal had finally given them an account number of his choice. He then waited until the CIA paid the agreed “deposit” before sharing the information.
“If we got separated, the back-up plan was that we would meet in Houston. From there, a boat was arranged to take us to Puerto Rico.”
“How and when?”
Neal paused. “I want your word that you’ll clear my name with the FBI.”
“Stop procrastinating, Caffrey,” snapped Adams.
“It will be done,” promised agent Greeves with a serious nod.
“There’s a man at the port called Jesse who owns a cargo ship. Sometimes he smuggles people out of the country for the right price. Mozzie will probably be contacting him over the next few days.”
Greeves gave him a pleased smile. “Good. Where can we find this ‘Jesse’? What does he look like?”
“I think his boat has some sort of a Greek name ... under a Liberian flag, if I remember correctly?” answered Neal.
“‘Greek name with Liberian flag’? Come on, Caffrey, you can give us more than that. After all, you’ve already made a lot of money from this.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” replied Neal with a glare.
“If it makes you feel better, we could always resort to less civilized methods,” said Greeves. Adams took a step forward
Neal gulped. “If you give me a pen, I can try to draw a map of the marina.…”
* * *
‘Trust the Suit.’
Standing at a street in the suburbs of Brooklyn, Mozzie felt a shiver run over his spine. Swallowing deeply, he quickly ran over the list of advice that June had given him before discarding most of it. Best case scenario, he was going to meet this “Burke Suit” - and despite what Hale had said, Mozzie still wasn’t sure that the “Suit” wasn’t working with the CIA. Worst case scenario, he would end up at a police station or in a hospital - and that was supposing the Suit didn’t shoot him on sight.
Then again, “common sense is merely a collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen”.
With confidence he didn’t feel, Mozzie approached the Burkes’ house and started checking the usual locations. The doormat, the flower pots.… With a grim smile, Mozzie pulled out a small key. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside while quickly opening a bag of dog treats and tossing it a few feet away. If the Burkes’ dog was a nasty vicious thing or even a particularly enthusiastic guard, this had the potential to turn very ugly really fast.
As expected, Mozzie barely had the time to close the door when he was greeted by a short bark of a Labrador. Barely breathing, he pressed his back against the door. The dog was sitting in front of him, his head slightly tilted.
“Nice doggy,” said Mozzie nervously. “Very nice doggy.…”
“Woof!”
“We’re friends, right?” Mozzie swallowed. “See? I brought you treats. Oh, no, you-”
He barely had time for a horrified shriek as the dog’s paws hit his chest. However, when the attack wasn’t followed by the sharp pain of the dog’s teeth, Mozzie slowly opened his eyes. The dog licked his face, then barked happily before losing interest in Moz and going to collect the treats on the floor.
Waiting a few moments, Mozzie was finally beginning to believe that the dog had lost his interest in him. Leaning away from the door, he was about to walk in when he was stopped by a sharp female voice upstairs.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
Oh no. “Mrs. Suit?”
“Satchmo, yuck!” With a glare, Elizabeth Burke started descending the stairs. “What did you give him? If you tried to drug my dog-”
“I didn’t! It’s just dog treats, from the pet shop,” Mozzie defended himself. “Mrs. Burke-”
“How did you get in? I warn you, my husband-”
“I’m sorry! You had the key under your flower pot, so.…” Mozzie paused. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Burke. I should have just rung the bell.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened the tiniest degree. “Look, I think you better explain yourself before I call 911.”
Mozzie sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.…”
“Then it’s a good thing that I happen to have a lot of time.”
* * *
He was playing for time, thought Neal as they brought him back to his cell. His drawing was somewhat vague, yet convincing enough that the CIA took it at face value. With some luck, it would take them a few days until they realized that his information was completely fabricated. Who knew, there might even be living a guy named Jesse living somewhere in the Houston port.…
With a barely hidden grin, Neal thought Mozzie would appreciate the story of how he had conned the CIA into donating $200,000 for a charity for Detroit’s unprivileged children. Of course, that would only happen if he managed to get out of the CIA facility.
With his captors distracted, he reckoned he had maybe a day or two to execute an escape.
* * *
Part III - On LJ | On DW