White Collar Fic: Conspiracies: Revelations (Part V)
Title: Conspiracies: Revelations (Part V)
Author: sheenianni
Artist: aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART V
A beautiful sunny day, 1992, St. Louis. Sitting on the grass under a tree in the middle of the school yard, sixteen-year-old Paul Handerson was playing with his Rubik’s cube, quickly turning it over in his hands until all of the six faces were back to their original colors. Checking his wristwatch, Paul frowned - he had yet to beat his last week’s record of fifty four seconds. Realizing that there were still fifteen minutes of lunch break left, he set the cube aside and opened his school bag, pulling out an old, battered volume of Hamlet. He found the place where he had stopped before (Polonius had recently left to plan the meeting between Hamlet and poor Ophelia, while Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were philosophically bantering) and opened the book with a content feeling. However, he had barely started reading when suddenly a shadow obscured his view and Paul found himself staring at a very familiar pair of boots.
“Hey, boys. Look who’s hiding here!”
As Einstein had stated, great spirits had often encountered violent opposition from weak minds. Standing up, Paul stared into the faces of Josh Posner and his gang. “Hello, Josh. What a surprise.”
Moving fast, Josh plucked the book out of Paul’s hands. “‘What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel!’ - what’s this crap, Handerson? You a fag or something?” Carelessly turning the book over in his hands, he ripped out a few random pages. Then he threw the book on the ground and stepped on it before kicking it aside.
Paul glared before reaching for the script and collecting the missing pages. “It’s called classic literature, Posner. Then again, I’m not surprised someone with the IQ of a cockroach doesn’t know that.”
He managed to avoid the first punch before one of Josh’s lackeys hit him in the stomach. “You were saying, Handerson?”
Mozzie gasped.
“Hey, look!” exclaimed another of Josh’s bullies and picked up Paul’s Rubik’s cube. “It’s the stupid puzzle that he always carries around! Hey fag, want your cube back?”
“Give it there.”
Josh chuckled. “I don’t think so. I think we’ll teach you another lesson in respect.”
The six bullies were bigger and stronger than him. Mozzie was smart enough to know that a direct confrontation could only end badly for him. He put on a big smile and looked somewhere behind Josh’s shoulder. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rowland.”
Predictably, Josh and his gang turned around to face their math teacher. When they realized their error, Mozzie had already grabbed his things and was sprinting away.
“You!” exclaimed Josh and his gang gave chase, but Mozzie was smart enough to run in the direction where the teachers could see them from the windows of their offices.
Josh gave him one last glare before deliberately showing him his Rubik’s cube and then burying it deep in his pocket. Realizing that they were risking being spotted, the bullies then turned around and went to pick on other kids in the more remote part of the schoolyard.
Sitting on a nearby bench, Paul let out a breath of relief before frowning and then putting on a blank mask.
Unknowingly, Josh had just stolen one of his most prized possessions from him. Paul was fond of his Hamlet book and he had other things and trinkets that he cherished, but the Rubik’s cube held a very special place in his heart because of its origins.
Growing up in the orphanage, Mozzie had learned soon enough that when push came to shove, he would always be on his own. When the Handersons adopted him, he had suddenly gained two people just to himself, plus a bunch of “aunts”, “uncles” and “cousins”. However, though he had come to love his new family with all his heart, he never really felt like he fit in with them.
He could talk to his new mom about physics and complicated mathematical equations, but when he started relating them to psychology and began drawing obscure historical references, she would stare at him in confusion. When the local bully bothered his cousin on the playground, Paul conned the older boy into leaving them alone, but his cousin didn’t understand and acted hurt by Paul’s seeming lack of caring. When he overheard his dad talking about his colleague being deceived by a completely obvious scam, Paul thought of the plans he had had as “the Dentist” and wisely kept his mouth shut.
He desperately wanted to blend in, and so he had learned not to speak of conspiracy theories; had pretended to enjoy the same comedies as his Dad, had even picked a favorite baseball team and went to matches with his uncle, even though the screaming crowds made him uncomfortable. Because he had to play the part - nothing was easy or unconditional, the least of all his family’s acceptance, and he just wanted to be good enough, normal enough, and belong.
Until his new Dad sat him down, gave him the Rubik’s cube and explained in not so many words that he didn’t have to put on an act to be worthy of their love.
The memory filled Paul with determination. One way or another, he would outsmart Josh and his bullies and get his cube back. And then he would find a way to stop them from terrorizing the kids.
The break was about to end soon, so he might as well get back to class. With a grimace, Paul stood up and collected his bag. He was just about to start walking to the school entrance when he noticed a kid running his way.
“Hey, you! Wait!”
Frowning, Paul was about to walk away when he suddenly stilled, noticing the item in the kid’s hands.
“This is yours, right?” asked the unknown boy and handed Paul his Rubik’s cube.
Paul stared.
“My name’s Danny Brooks. I’m in the seventh grade,” said the kid with a sunny smile. “Are you new here? I noticed you asking the teacher about the library.…”
“Paul Handerson,” replied Paul automatically. He looked at the Rubik’s cube in his hands before staring back at the kid. “How did you get this?” he asked in disbelief.
“Nicked it from Josh Posner,” said Danny cheerfully.
What? “But he had it in his pocket!”
Danny shrugged. “Posner’s a moron,” he said dismissively. He frowned. “You might want to go. Class is about to start in five minutes.”
Staring at Danny, Paul began to reevaluate his initially dismissive opinion of the other boy.
The kid couldn’t have been older than twelve years at most. With his thick brown hair, big blue eyes and angelic face, he looked like innocence personified. And yet his eyes were hiding a spark of mischief and intelligence that had Paul intrigued. Not to mention that he wanted to know how Danny had taken his cube back from Josh.…
“Um, right.… Hey, thanks for getting my cube back.” He wanted to stay and talk to the boy, but he really had to go to class.… “See you around, Danny.”
“No problem,” said Danny happily. “See you!”
Paul watched the kid run away in a different direction before starting to chat with a group of friends. With one last glance, he observed how Danny easily inserted himself into the group, animatedly telling a story and waving his hands around. With a small smile, Paul wondered whether they would get a chance to talk again at some point. Maybe.…
Then he turned away and started walking. He had to hurry or he would be late to Advanced Physics-
Riiing!!!
Waking up, Mozzie turned off the alarm clock before sitting up in his bed. He collected his glasses from his nightstand and then checked the cameras surveying the area outside his storage unit, feeling a grim relief when he realized that his hiding place remained undiscovered. He then got dressed before walking to the “kitchen area” of his room and putting on a kettle to make tea.
While he made himself a sandwich and waited for the water to boil, Mozzie allowed himself to think of his dream. Recalling the first time he had met Neal, he realized that he was smiling, the memories of the simpler times acting like a soothing balm for their current hardships.
Their friendship was an oddity started by pure chance. With no shared classes nor clubs, there was no reason why a sixteen-year-old teenager should want to hang out with a kid that was four years younger than him. But somehow they had met again and started talking, and then they joined forces to stop Josh Posner from picking on other kids, and soon, Paul found himself growing exceedingly protective and fond of Danny. In a way, Danny acted as a connection to Paul’s past in Detroit. Paul would never tell his parents about his plans to con the Detroit mob, but he could tell Danny who grinned back at him - and though Paul wouldn’t have taken such a risk anymore, a part of him still felt a bit smug that he had almost managed to con DeLuca while he was still a pre-pubescent kid.
Breaking free from his memories, Mozzie shook his head. They had had so many plans then… Neal was going to be a cop and fight injustice while Mozzie was already thinking of a career in science, and the two of them were going to change the world.
They had been naive and stupid.
Fixing his tea, Mozzie then took a bite of his toast while considering his plans for the day.
Ever since he had talked to Peter Burke a week ago, he had been working hard on gathering even the slightest scraps of information about the CIA and their black sites, barely catching a bit of sleep every now and then. Knowledge is power, and so Mozzie spent hours in various libraries and even more time perusing the Internet while occasionally meeting with suspicious individual and making shady contacts with people he would have widely avoided just a couple months ago. Luckily, the years in science had honed Paul’s researching skills, so he instinctively knew which information was valid and which to discard, was able to spot discrepancies in stories of conspiracy theorists and notice leads that might be promising. Thus, slowly, one tiny piece after another, Mozzie was beginning to gain insight into the CIA.
But he hadn’t yet learned anything that would help him find Neal, not to mention plan his rescue.
He had hoped he might hear from the Suit to tell him that he had changed his mind, but apparently Burke still didn’t believe him or simply didn’t care. Like so many times in his past, Mozzie was once again on his own.
He would find Neal, and then the CIA better dread his ire. He ignored the little voice in his head that was whispering that it might already be too late.
Neal had come to his rescue without a hint of hesitation. Now it was up to Mozzie to do the same.
* * *
Peter knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that the CIA was extremely unwilling to relinquish any information. Futile as his efforts might be, he had still filed a request to get files on the CIA agents that had been involved in Neal’s arrest and the subsequent car crash. Now, a week later, the information had finally come through… a single file on Edgar Greeves, the leader of their operation and the man who had given Peter first aid at the scene of the accident.
As he kept reading, Peter felt his anger rising until he finally closed the document in frustration.
The file had more blacked out spaces than actual text. There was nothing on Greeves’s skills or specialization, nothing on his current or past operations, nothing that would tell Peter where he was stationed or whether he could be the man behind Neal’s kidnapping. It was clear that the CIA had given him the barest minimum without actually revealing anything relevant, and by pretending to humor Peter’s request, they had effectively ensured that he couldn’t accuse them of not cooperating with the FBI.
Smart bastards.
He had tried to do things by the book and had gotten stonewalled at every turn. It was time to become a bit more creative.
He needed to know what he was up against.
Which was why later that evening, Peter found himself standing in front of his boss’s apartment, even as a part of him wondered whether what he was about to do would cost him his job - or a friend.
“Peter,” said Reese Hughes surprisedly after opening the door. “Is anything wrong? What brings you here?”
“Good evening, Reese.” Peter cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you.…”
Hughes frowned. “Is this work related?”
Peter hesitated. “It’s about the Caffrey case.”
Wordlessly, Hughes pulled the door wide open and motioned for Peter to come in.
They settled in Hughes’s kitchen, and Peter gratefully accepted a bottle of beer from his boss before sitting on one of the chairs. Then Hughes opened his own bottle and took the place opposite him.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Hughes finally spoke. “So, the Caffrey case. What did you want to talk about?”
Peter took a deep breath before looking into his boss’s eyes. “There was a rumor a while back that you used to work with the NSA.”
Hughes’s eyebrows shot up. “I never knew that you believed in rumors.”
“So they’re not true?”
Hughes paused. “Supposed I spent two years working for the agency. How is that relevant?”
“I think - I know - that the CIA is hiding something when it comes to Caffrey.”
“I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case. The CIA has never been known for their sharing nature,” said Hughes.
“What if it’s more than that?” said Peter. “And why are they even interested in Neal?”
“Peter, listen-”
“Why did you leave the NSA, Reese?”
Peter almost winced at the seeming accusation in his own words. That would be the moment when he committed career suicide.
Instead of looking offended, Reese tilted his head in question. “What exactly are you asking, Peter?” he asked curiously.
“There have always been conspiracy theories,” said Peter carefully. “Most of them are crazy, but every once in a while, you have to wonder.”
“And?” Reese’s voice was completely neutral.
“A source told me that the CIA used our investigation into Caffrey to abduct him.”
“Peter, that’s-”
“ - crazy, I know.” Peter paused. “The CIA showed up at the scene just moments after we found Caffrey. For almost three weeks, I’ve been trying to get them to talk to me about the case, but they didn’t even bother to contact me back in person. You were the one who taught me that when suspects hide something, it’s usually because they’re guilty.”
“Maybe. The CIA is an intelligence agency. You going to explain how they went from ‘secretive’ to suspects?”
Peter hesitated. “I have a source.”
“A source. Is it someone you trust?”
“Maybe.”
Hughes gave him a grave look. “Peter….”
“The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on here, Reese.” Peter hesitated. “All those rumors about these agencies - are any of them true?”
“Possibly,” Hughes acknowledged. “On occasion, I didn’t care for NSA methods. You have to understand though, I didn’t leave because I didn’t believe in what we were doing there.… You’re my best agent, Peter, and Caffrey or no Caffrey, I know you’re smart enough not to trifle with the CIA based on a hunch. Even so, be very careful before you do something you can’t take back.”
“I understand, sir.”
There was a moment of silence.
Peter bit his lip. “So what do I need to know?”
* * *
Hurts.
Blinking slowly, Neal tried to get used to the harsh light. At last, he managed to keep his eyes open for long enough to check his surroundings. He was in the infirmary again, he was tied to the bed and his whole body was hurting from the electric shock that he had given himself a few hours before. Looking at his hands, Neal winced at the red blisters that marked the place where his fingers had touched the wires. But he had been expecting that when he had hatched the plan that had been both crazy and desperate.
Lifting as far as he could under the restraints, Neal glanced around to see whether he was alone. If there was anyone present, then he had electrocuted himself for nothing. But this time luck was with him, because apart from him, the infirmary was completely empty. Apparently the CIA believed the restraints would be enough to hold him.
The only way out of his cell had been through the door, and the CIA had been kind enough to open it for him.
Well, time to take advantage of that.
He soon found a way to slip the restraints. With some effort, Neal pulled himself up and pushed his feet off the bed. His whole body felt like jelly, his hands were tingling and he was dizzy, but somehow he managed to stand up. He stared at the single camera in the upper corner of the room and quickly calculated the blind spots. If they were watching right now, then he would find out in a couple of minutes, but even Big Brother had to sleep every once in a while … right?
Time to get moving.
There was a doctor’s coat hanging by the entrance to the infirmary. Neal was still wearing his slippers, but maybe he would get lucky and nobody would notice that…. He put on the lab coat and then moved to open the door.
‘Adams is a psychopath. He will kill you.’
Trembling, Neal’s hand stopped just an inch above the door handle. The mad dash of courage that had come over him after he had discovered Davis’s deception had left as fast as it had appeared.
‘They’ll tie you to the board again.’
He had to do this. He had to.…
‘They’ll torture you. They’ll drown you again. They’ll-’
No, think.
He could not get caught again.
Taking a deep breath, Neal forced down his rising panic. In the corner of the infirmary, well within the camera’s blind spot, was a working, turned-on computer. If he could hack into it, he might be able to figure out how to get out of here…. The computer was password protected. After some nine or ten random tries, Neal finally gave up. He shakily ran his hands through his hair. He needed an idea and he needed it yesterday.
He noticed several paperclips on the computer desk. Collecting a few, Neal quickly unbent them into a straight shape. The desk had several drawers, all without locks except for the upper one. The lower three drawers held stack of papers, some syringes and needles, some bandages and a box of cotton. Moving on to the upper drawer, Neal pulled out his makeshift lock pick. He forced his hands to keep steady as he learned the lock before applying the right pressure-
The drawer opened. And inside - Neal quickly rummaged through the drawer before drawing in a sharp breath. A cellphone! What he could do with that-
Then his glee died away. Had the CIA left it here as bait? Could he take that risk? Could he not take it?
Making a quick decision, Neal grabbed a pen and a random piece of paper and started drawing. Soon, he had a complicated, seemingly abstract picture. Once he finished, he took a photo of the drawing and sent it to a well-remembered number before crumbling the paper and burying it in the nearby trash can. He was reasonably certain that the program Sally had installed in Mozzie’s phone would stop the CIA from tracking down his message at that end.
‘Captured/compromised. Old identities burned!!! They’re still looking for you.’
Sending the message, Neal allowed himself a grim smile. When he and Moz had developed these codes as kids during their “spy games”, he had never known how useful they would become one day.
He was putting the phone back into the drawer when it started ringing. For a moment, Neal felt torn. Then he declined the call, erased the history of outgoing messages and incoming calls and stuck the cell back into the drawer. He waited for a minute and then breathed out in relief when Mozzie didn’t try again.
Neal hurriedly relocked the drawer with the paperclips before burying the paperclips in the trash can. It had been maybe ten minutes since he had woken up and he was still no closer to finding a way out. His heart pounding, he indecisively stared at the door. If they caught him-
He had to risk it.
With a shaking hand, he opened the infirmary door. He made it to the first corner before he ran into Greeves and Adams.
“And where do you think you’re going, Caffrey?” asked Greeves flatly.
Neal froze.
“I- n-nowhere. I-”
“I see you’re back on your feet. Good. We have plans for today.”
“Plans?! What plans?!”
“Oh, we can’t spoil the surprise,” said Adams with a chuckle. “Now move before I make you.”
Obeying the agent’s orders, Neal hated himself for his hesitation and cowardice.
He should have escaped when he had the chance.
* * *
Once again, Peter found himself in his living room with Paul Handerson, aka “Mozzie”, but this time, El was absent and couldn’t play mediator. If not for their shared concern for Neal, Peter suspected that their awkward conversation would have ended in a fiasco just minutes after he had invited Mozzie in his house. Even now, the tension between them was almost palpable, and Peter wondered why he had thought that this was such a good idea.
“They have him. I don’t know where, but I know they’re holding him somewhere.… Something’s wrong, Suit - Peter. He should have escaped by now - he always does. I can’t let them hurt him because of me.”
Peter nodded. “I agree.”
Mozzie’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“Something’s going on, and Neal is right in the middle of it. I’m going to find out exactly who’s behind this, and once I do, they’re going to be sorry.”
“Good.”
Mozzie’s words sounded sincere, and yet.…
‘Are you behind this?’ wondered Peter as he stared at Mozzie who was once again occupying his couch. By now, he was mostly inclined to believe his strange guest … but Hughes had been right in reminding him to approach this with skepticism. ‘Be absolutely sure this is what you want before you risk getting burned over Caffrey.’
“I’ve been trying to find where they’re holding him,” continued Mozzie obliviously.
“And? You got something?”
“Nada. Nothing yet.” Mozzie paused before pulling out a sketchbook and a pen. “Look, if you can’t do anything track Neal’s message….”
Peter shook his head. “If it’s as heavily encrypted as you said, I’d have to take it to the specialists in Cybercrime. I can’t do that without rising red flags.”
Mozzie sighed. “Well, here goes that. Anyway, my source placed Neal’s message within a five hundred miles radius from New York, so I’ve been checking for rumors about military bases, abandoned facilities or map anomalies in that area. So far, I have twenty-eight possible locations, but there’s nothing that would suggest that any of them really belong to the CIA. And of course, that’s supposing we’re right and they’re holding Neal somewhere close. They could have moved him to the other side of the country or even to a different continent.”
“This is getting nowhere,” said Peter in frustration.
“Not nowhere….” Mozzie hesitated. “It’s taking too long. Can you check my list with FBI resources?”
Peter shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. Besides, you were worried about raising suspicion….”
“I know! … But we have to do something.”
Peter stopped himself from snapping that Mozzie had already said that four times before.
“Do you drink beer?” he asked suddenly.
Mozzie frowned. “Actually, I’m more of a wine person-”
“Not tonight. I’ll get us something to drink.” Rising from his armchair, Peter left Mozzie in the living room and went to the kitchen. He made a show of grabbing two bottles, an opener and some glasses. In fact, he just needed a moment to be alone and think.
In two days, it would be three weeks since Neal’s disappearance. However, instead of getting closer to finding him, they were going in circles. Their search for the CIA base was getting them nowhere.
They were going about this the wrong way.
Just barely, Peter managed to contain the rush of excitement before he returned to the living room. “We need to get the CIA to come to us.”
Mozzie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Peter sat down. “I need you to tell me about your friendship with Neal.”
“What? I mean, what then?”
Peter smiled. “Then, I’ll call the CIA and tell them that Neal Caffrey has an associate by the name of Paul Handerson.”
Mozzie stiffened. “You cannot be serious.”
With a small smile, Peter launched into an explanation of his plan.
* * *
There was a room right next to the infirmary that Neal had never visited before.
“Greeves doesn’t think you’re broken enough.”
“Davis.”
“Neal.”
Greeves and Adams had left a few minutes ago. When the door opened to reveal Davis, Neal had half expected him to continue the charade from before. Instead, Davis’s charming mask was replaced by a demeanor of calm ruthlessness that scared Neal more than Adams and Greeves combined.
Davis shook his head. “Your actions in the infirmary don’t even qualify as an escape attempt. For someone who evaded half the world’s police agencies, that was really pitiful. Why didn’t you call Mozzie, Neal?”
“I knew you might be watching.”
”Broken, but still smart. Good.” Davis paused. “Greeves is wrong. We could keep torturing you for a few more days, but you’re too loyal to your friend. We’ll be just wasting out time and by the time you finally talked, the information wouldn’t be relevant anyway.”
Despite himself, Neal smiled. “Really? That sounds like you find yourself in a tight spot.”
“On the contrary,” answered Davis lightly. “See, after Paul Handerson invented a way to slowly rebuild the human brain, we have improved and expanded his research.”
“You found new ways to hurt people through their brain.”
“So Handerson confided in you after all?” Davis shook his head. “You’re correct that we can do that, but ultimately pain is just a tool. We would also like to develop a way for a quick and effective interrogation, but what we really want is the capability to remold and reshape a human mind.”
“That’s sci-fi. You’re crazy.”
Davis smiled. “Well, we’ve done some tests, but we’ve mostly been working with homeless people and those from the bottom of society. If we’re going to be using this methodology against enemy spies, we need to be absolutely sure that it works. Really, it’s a stroke of luck that we have you.”
“What….”
Davis opened the door again and two doctors stepped in. “Today, you’re going to become a new test subject for our experiments.”
Not a chance in hell.
But even as Neal tried to launch himself at Davis, he knew that his effort would be in vain.
He really should have escaped while he had the chance.…
* * *
That night, back at his place, Mozzie had to admit that the last time, he had severely underestimated Peter Burke. He was beginning to see why Neal had told him to trust this man.
Firstly, Peter was turning out to be far more inventive that Mozzie had initially thought. However, it was his calm confidence and his determination to find out the truth that finally won over Mozzie’s respect. Still, that didn’t mean that he was going to follow him blindly. Peter’s plan was good - with a bit of luck, it might even work - but Mozzie had a few ideas of his own, and he would not stay sitting by the sidelines.
He had to call June and discuss the situation with her. And then it was time to visit Sally again and hope that she didn’t skin him alive. He had a long night ahead of him.
Taking a deep breath, Mozzie dialed June’s number and waited for her to pick up.
* * *
Part VI - On LJ | On DW
Author: sheenianni
Artist: aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART V
A beautiful sunny day, 1992, St. Louis. Sitting on the grass under a tree in the middle of the school yard, sixteen-year-old Paul Handerson was playing with his Rubik’s cube, quickly turning it over in his hands until all of the six faces were back to their original colors. Checking his wristwatch, Paul frowned - he had yet to beat his last week’s record of fifty four seconds. Realizing that there were still fifteen minutes of lunch break left, he set the cube aside and opened his school bag, pulling out an old, battered volume of Hamlet. He found the place where he had stopped before (Polonius had recently left to plan the meeting between Hamlet and poor Ophelia, while Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were philosophically bantering) and opened the book with a content feeling. However, he had barely started reading when suddenly a shadow obscured his view and Paul found himself staring at a very familiar pair of boots.
“Hey, boys. Look who’s hiding here!”
As Einstein had stated, great spirits had often encountered violent opposition from weak minds. Standing up, Paul stared into the faces of Josh Posner and his gang. “Hello, Josh. What a surprise.”
Moving fast, Josh plucked the book out of Paul’s hands. “‘What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel!’ - what’s this crap, Handerson? You a fag or something?” Carelessly turning the book over in his hands, he ripped out a few random pages. Then he threw the book on the ground and stepped on it before kicking it aside.
Paul glared before reaching for the script and collecting the missing pages. “It’s called classic literature, Posner. Then again, I’m not surprised someone with the IQ of a cockroach doesn’t know that.”
He managed to avoid the first punch before one of Josh’s lackeys hit him in the stomach. “You were saying, Handerson?”
Mozzie gasped.
“Hey, look!” exclaimed another of Josh’s bullies and picked up Paul’s Rubik’s cube. “It’s the stupid puzzle that he always carries around! Hey fag, want your cube back?”
“Give it there.”
Josh chuckled. “I don’t think so. I think we’ll teach you another lesson in respect.”
The six bullies were bigger and stronger than him. Mozzie was smart enough to know that a direct confrontation could only end badly for him. He put on a big smile and looked somewhere behind Josh’s shoulder. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rowland.”
Predictably, Josh and his gang turned around to face their math teacher. When they realized their error, Mozzie had already grabbed his things and was sprinting away.
“You!” exclaimed Josh and his gang gave chase, but Mozzie was smart enough to run in the direction where the teachers could see them from the windows of their offices.
Josh gave him one last glare before deliberately showing him his Rubik’s cube and then burying it deep in his pocket. Realizing that they were risking being spotted, the bullies then turned around and went to pick on other kids in the more remote part of the schoolyard.
Sitting on a nearby bench, Paul let out a breath of relief before frowning and then putting on a blank mask.
Unknowingly, Josh had just stolen one of his most prized possessions from him. Paul was fond of his Hamlet book and he had other things and trinkets that he cherished, but the Rubik’s cube held a very special place in his heart because of its origins.
Growing up in the orphanage, Mozzie had learned soon enough that when push came to shove, he would always be on his own. When the Handersons adopted him, he had suddenly gained two people just to himself, plus a bunch of “aunts”, “uncles” and “cousins”. However, though he had come to love his new family with all his heart, he never really felt like he fit in with them.
He could talk to his new mom about physics and complicated mathematical equations, but when he started relating them to psychology and began drawing obscure historical references, she would stare at him in confusion. When the local bully bothered his cousin on the playground, Paul conned the older boy into leaving them alone, but his cousin didn’t understand and acted hurt by Paul’s seeming lack of caring. When he overheard his dad talking about his colleague being deceived by a completely obvious scam, Paul thought of the plans he had had as “the Dentist” and wisely kept his mouth shut.
He desperately wanted to blend in, and so he had learned not to speak of conspiracy theories; had pretended to enjoy the same comedies as his Dad, had even picked a favorite baseball team and went to matches with his uncle, even though the screaming crowds made him uncomfortable. Because he had to play the part - nothing was easy or unconditional, the least of all his family’s acceptance, and he just wanted to be good enough, normal enough, and belong.
Until his new Dad sat him down, gave him the Rubik’s cube and explained in not so many words that he didn’t have to put on an act to be worthy of their love.
The memory filled Paul with determination. One way or another, he would outsmart Josh and his bullies and get his cube back. And then he would find a way to stop them from terrorizing the kids.
The break was about to end soon, so he might as well get back to class. With a grimace, Paul stood up and collected his bag. He was just about to start walking to the school entrance when he noticed a kid running his way.
“Hey, you! Wait!”
Frowning, Paul was about to walk away when he suddenly stilled, noticing the item in the kid’s hands.
“This is yours, right?” asked the unknown boy and handed Paul his Rubik’s cube.
Paul stared.
“My name’s Danny Brooks. I’m in the seventh grade,” said the kid with a sunny smile. “Are you new here? I noticed you asking the teacher about the library.…”
“Paul Handerson,” replied Paul automatically. He looked at the Rubik’s cube in his hands before staring back at the kid. “How did you get this?” he asked in disbelief.
“Nicked it from Josh Posner,” said Danny cheerfully.
What? “But he had it in his pocket!”
Danny shrugged. “Posner’s a moron,” he said dismissively. He frowned. “You might want to go. Class is about to start in five minutes.”
Staring at Danny, Paul began to reevaluate his initially dismissive opinion of the other boy.
The kid couldn’t have been older than twelve years at most. With his thick brown hair, big blue eyes and angelic face, he looked like innocence personified. And yet his eyes were hiding a spark of mischief and intelligence that had Paul intrigued. Not to mention that he wanted to know how Danny had taken his cube back from Josh.…
“Um, right.… Hey, thanks for getting my cube back.” He wanted to stay and talk to the boy, but he really had to go to class.… “See you around, Danny.”
“No problem,” said Danny happily. “See you!”
Paul watched the kid run away in a different direction before starting to chat with a group of friends. With one last glance, he observed how Danny easily inserted himself into the group, animatedly telling a story and waving his hands around. With a small smile, Paul wondered whether they would get a chance to talk again at some point. Maybe.…
Then he turned away and started walking. He had to hurry or he would be late to Advanced Physics-
Riiing!!!
Waking up, Mozzie turned off the alarm clock before sitting up in his bed. He collected his glasses from his nightstand and then checked the cameras surveying the area outside his storage unit, feeling a grim relief when he realized that his hiding place remained undiscovered. He then got dressed before walking to the “kitchen area” of his room and putting on a kettle to make tea.
While he made himself a sandwich and waited for the water to boil, Mozzie allowed himself to think of his dream. Recalling the first time he had met Neal, he realized that he was smiling, the memories of the simpler times acting like a soothing balm for their current hardships.
Their friendship was an oddity started by pure chance. With no shared classes nor clubs, there was no reason why a sixteen-year-old teenager should want to hang out with a kid that was four years younger than him. But somehow they had met again and started talking, and then they joined forces to stop Josh Posner from picking on other kids, and soon, Paul found himself growing exceedingly protective and fond of Danny. In a way, Danny acted as a connection to Paul’s past in Detroit. Paul would never tell his parents about his plans to con the Detroit mob, but he could tell Danny who grinned back at him - and though Paul wouldn’t have taken such a risk anymore, a part of him still felt a bit smug that he had almost managed to con DeLuca while he was still a pre-pubescent kid.
Breaking free from his memories, Mozzie shook his head. They had had so many plans then… Neal was going to be a cop and fight injustice while Mozzie was already thinking of a career in science, and the two of them were going to change the world.
They had been naive and stupid.
Fixing his tea, Mozzie then took a bite of his toast while considering his plans for the day.
Ever since he had talked to Peter Burke a week ago, he had been working hard on gathering even the slightest scraps of information about the CIA and their black sites, barely catching a bit of sleep every now and then. Knowledge is power, and so Mozzie spent hours in various libraries and even more time perusing the Internet while occasionally meeting with suspicious individual and making shady contacts with people he would have widely avoided just a couple months ago. Luckily, the years in science had honed Paul’s researching skills, so he instinctively knew which information was valid and which to discard, was able to spot discrepancies in stories of conspiracy theorists and notice leads that might be promising. Thus, slowly, one tiny piece after another, Mozzie was beginning to gain insight into the CIA.
But he hadn’t yet learned anything that would help him find Neal, not to mention plan his rescue.
He had hoped he might hear from the Suit to tell him that he had changed his mind, but apparently Burke still didn’t believe him or simply didn’t care. Like so many times in his past, Mozzie was once again on his own.
He would find Neal, and then the CIA better dread his ire. He ignored the little voice in his head that was whispering that it might already be too late.
Neal had come to his rescue without a hint of hesitation. Now it was up to Mozzie to do the same.
* * *
Peter knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that the CIA was extremely unwilling to relinquish any information. Futile as his efforts might be, he had still filed a request to get files on the CIA agents that had been involved in Neal’s arrest and the subsequent car crash. Now, a week later, the information had finally come through… a single file on Edgar Greeves, the leader of their operation and the man who had given Peter first aid at the scene of the accident.
As he kept reading, Peter felt his anger rising until he finally closed the document in frustration.
The file had more blacked out spaces than actual text. There was nothing on Greeves’s skills or specialization, nothing on his current or past operations, nothing that would tell Peter where he was stationed or whether he could be the man behind Neal’s kidnapping. It was clear that the CIA had given him the barest minimum without actually revealing anything relevant, and by pretending to humor Peter’s request, they had effectively ensured that he couldn’t accuse them of not cooperating with the FBI.
Smart bastards.
He had tried to do things by the book and had gotten stonewalled at every turn. It was time to become a bit more creative.
He needed to know what he was up against.
Which was why later that evening, Peter found himself standing in front of his boss’s apartment, even as a part of him wondered whether what he was about to do would cost him his job - or a friend.
“Peter,” said Reese Hughes surprisedly after opening the door. “Is anything wrong? What brings you here?”
“Good evening, Reese.” Peter cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you.…”
Hughes frowned. “Is this work related?”
Peter hesitated. “It’s about the Caffrey case.”
Wordlessly, Hughes pulled the door wide open and motioned for Peter to come in.
They settled in Hughes’s kitchen, and Peter gratefully accepted a bottle of beer from his boss before sitting on one of the chairs. Then Hughes opened his own bottle and took the place opposite him.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Hughes finally spoke. “So, the Caffrey case. What did you want to talk about?”
Peter took a deep breath before looking into his boss’s eyes. “There was a rumor a while back that you used to work with the NSA.”
Hughes’s eyebrows shot up. “I never knew that you believed in rumors.”
“So they’re not true?”
Hughes paused. “Supposed I spent two years working for the agency. How is that relevant?”
“I think - I know - that the CIA is hiding something when it comes to Caffrey.”
“I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the case. The CIA has never been known for their sharing nature,” said Hughes.
“What if it’s more than that?” said Peter. “And why are they even interested in Neal?”
“Peter, listen-”
“Why did you leave the NSA, Reese?”
Peter almost winced at the seeming accusation in his own words. That would be the moment when he committed career suicide.
Instead of looking offended, Reese tilted his head in question. “What exactly are you asking, Peter?” he asked curiously.
“There have always been conspiracy theories,” said Peter carefully. “Most of them are crazy, but every once in a while, you have to wonder.”
“And?” Reese’s voice was completely neutral.
“A source told me that the CIA used our investigation into Caffrey to abduct him.”
“Peter, that’s-”
“ - crazy, I know.” Peter paused. “The CIA showed up at the scene just moments after we found Caffrey. For almost three weeks, I’ve been trying to get them to talk to me about the case, but they didn’t even bother to contact me back in person. You were the one who taught me that when suspects hide something, it’s usually because they’re guilty.”
“Maybe. The CIA is an intelligence agency. You going to explain how they went from ‘secretive’ to suspects?”
Peter hesitated. “I have a source.”
“A source. Is it someone you trust?”
“Maybe.”
Hughes gave him a grave look. “Peter….”
“The truth is, I don’t know what’s going on here, Reese.” Peter hesitated. “All those rumors about these agencies - are any of them true?”
“Possibly,” Hughes acknowledged. “On occasion, I didn’t care for NSA methods. You have to understand though, I didn’t leave because I didn’t believe in what we were doing there.… You’re my best agent, Peter, and Caffrey or no Caffrey, I know you’re smart enough not to trifle with the CIA based on a hunch. Even so, be very careful before you do something you can’t take back.”
“I understand, sir.”
There was a moment of silence.
Peter bit his lip. “So what do I need to know?”
* * *
Hurts.
Blinking slowly, Neal tried to get used to the harsh light. At last, he managed to keep his eyes open for long enough to check his surroundings. He was in the infirmary again, he was tied to the bed and his whole body was hurting from the electric shock that he had given himself a few hours before. Looking at his hands, Neal winced at the red blisters that marked the place where his fingers had touched the wires. But he had been expecting that when he had hatched the plan that had been both crazy and desperate.
Lifting as far as he could under the restraints, Neal glanced around to see whether he was alone. If there was anyone present, then he had electrocuted himself for nothing. But this time luck was with him, because apart from him, the infirmary was completely empty. Apparently the CIA believed the restraints would be enough to hold him.
The only way out of his cell had been through the door, and the CIA had been kind enough to open it for him.
Well, time to take advantage of that.
He soon found a way to slip the restraints. With some effort, Neal pulled himself up and pushed his feet off the bed. His whole body felt like jelly, his hands were tingling and he was dizzy, but somehow he managed to stand up. He stared at the single camera in the upper corner of the room and quickly calculated the blind spots. If they were watching right now, then he would find out in a couple of minutes, but even Big Brother had to sleep every once in a while … right?
Time to get moving.
There was a doctor’s coat hanging by the entrance to the infirmary. Neal was still wearing his slippers, but maybe he would get lucky and nobody would notice that…. He put on the lab coat and then moved to open the door.
‘Adams is a psychopath. He will kill you.’
Trembling, Neal’s hand stopped just an inch above the door handle. The mad dash of courage that had come over him after he had discovered Davis’s deception had left as fast as it had appeared.
‘They’ll tie you to the board again.’
He had to do this. He had to.…
‘They’ll torture you. They’ll drown you again. They’ll-’
No, think.
He could not get caught again.
Taking a deep breath, Neal forced down his rising panic. In the corner of the infirmary, well within the camera’s blind spot, was a working, turned-on computer. If he could hack into it, he might be able to figure out how to get out of here…. The computer was password protected. After some nine or ten random tries, Neal finally gave up. He shakily ran his hands through his hair. He needed an idea and he needed it yesterday.
He noticed several paperclips on the computer desk. Collecting a few, Neal quickly unbent them into a straight shape. The desk had several drawers, all without locks except for the upper one. The lower three drawers held stack of papers, some syringes and needles, some bandages and a box of cotton. Moving on to the upper drawer, Neal pulled out his makeshift lock pick. He forced his hands to keep steady as he learned the lock before applying the right pressure-
The drawer opened. And inside - Neal quickly rummaged through the drawer before drawing in a sharp breath. A cellphone! What he could do with that-
Then his glee died away. Had the CIA left it here as bait? Could he take that risk? Could he not take it?
Making a quick decision, Neal grabbed a pen and a random piece of paper and started drawing. Soon, he had a complicated, seemingly abstract picture. Once he finished, he took a photo of the drawing and sent it to a well-remembered number before crumbling the paper and burying it in the nearby trash can. He was reasonably certain that the program Sally had installed in Mozzie’s phone would stop the CIA from tracking down his message at that end.
‘Captured/compromised. Old identities burned!!! They’re still looking for you.’
Sending the message, Neal allowed himself a grim smile. When he and Moz had developed these codes as kids during their “spy games”, he had never known how useful they would become one day.
He was putting the phone back into the drawer when it started ringing. For a moment, Neal felt torn. Then he declined the call, erased the history of outgoing messages and incoming calls and stuck the cell back into the drawer. He waited for a minute and then breathed out in relief when Mozzie didn’t try again.
Neal hurriedly relocked the drawer with the paperclips before burying the paperclips in the trash can. It had been maybe ten minutes since he had woken up and he was still no closer to finding a way out. His heart pounding, he indecisively stared at the door. If they caught him-
He had to risk it.
With a shaking hand, he opened the infirmary door. He made it to the first corner before he ran into Greeves and Adams.
“And where do you think you’re going, Caffrey?” asked Greeves flatly.
Neal froze.
“I- n-nowhere. I-”
“I see you’re back on your feet. Good. We have plans for today.”
“Plans?! What plans?!”
“Oh, we can’t spoil the surprise,” said Adams with a chuckle. “Now move before I make you.”
Obeying the agent’s orders, Neal hated himself for his hesitation and cowardice.
He should have escaped when he had the chance.
* * *
Once again, Peter found himself in his living room with Paul Handerson, aka “Mozzie”, but this time, El was absent and couldn’t play mediator. If not for their shared concern for Neal, Peter suspected that their awkward conversation would have ended in a fiasco just minutes after he had invited Mozzie in his house. Even now, the tension between them was almost palpable, and Peter wondered why he had thought that this was such a good idea.
“They have him. I don’t know where, but I know they’re holding him somewhere.… Something’s wrong, Suit - Peter. He should have escaped by now - he always does. I can’t let them hurt him because of me.”
Peter nodded. “I agree.”
Mozzie’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“Something’s going on, and Neal is right in the middle of it. I’m going to find out exactly who’s behind this, and once I do, they’re going to be sorry.”
“Good.”
Mozzie’s words sounded sincere, and yet.…
‘Are you behind this?’ wondered Peter as he stared at Mozzie who was once again occupying his couch. By now, he was mostly inclined to believe his strange guest … but Hughes had been right in reminding him to approach this with skepticism. ‘Be absolutely sure this is what you want before you risk getting burned over Caffrey.’
“I’ve been trying to find where they’re holding him,” continued Mozzie obliviously.
“And? You got something?”
“Nada. Nothing yet.” Mozzie paused before pulling out a sketchbook and a pen. “Look, if you can’t do anything track Neal’s message….”
Peter shook his head. “If it’s as heavily encrypted as you said, I’d have to take it to the specialists in Cybercrime. I can’t do that without rising red flags.”
Mozzie sighed. “Well, here goes that. Anyway, my source placed Neal’s message within a five hundred miles radius from New York, so I’ve been checking for rumors about military bases, abandoned facilities or map anomalies in that area. So far, I have twenty-eight possible locations, but there’s nothing that would suggest that any of them really belong to the CIA. And of course, that’s supposing we’re right and they’re holding Neal somewhere close. They could have moved him to the other side of the country or even to a different continent.”
“This is getting nowhere,” said Peter in frustration.
“Not nowhere….” Mozzie hesitated. “It’s taking too long. Can you check my list with FBI resources?”
Peter shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. Besides, you were worried about raising suspicion….”
“I know! … But we have to do something.”
Peter stopped himself from snapping that Mozzie had already said that four times before.
“Do you drink beer?” he asked suddenly.
Mozzie frowned. “Actually, I’m more of a wine person-”
“Not tonight. I’ll get us something to drink.” Rising from his armchair, Peter left Mozzie in the living room and went to the kitchen. He made a show of grabbing two bottles, an opener and some glasses. In fact, he just needed a moment to be alone and think.
In two days, it would be three weeks since Neal’s disappearance. However, instead of getting closer to finding him, they were going in circles. Their search for the CIA base was getting them nowhere.
They were going about this the wrong way.
Just barely, Peter managed to contain the rush of excitement before he returned to the living room. “We need to get the CIA to come to us.”
Mozzie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Peter sat down. “I need you to tell me about your friendship with Neal.”
“What? I mean, what then?”
Peter smiled. “Then, I’ll call the CIA and tell them that Neal Caffrey has an associate by the name of Paul Handerson.”
Mozzie stiffened. “You cannot be serious.”
With a small smile, Peter launched into an explanation of his plan.
* * *
There was a room right next to the infirmary that Neal had never visited before.
“Greeves doesn’t think you’re broken enough.”
“Davis.”
“Neal.”
Greeves and Adams had left a few minutes ago. When the door opened to reveal Davis, Neal had half expected him to continue the charade from before. Instead, Davis’s charming mask was replaced by a demeanor of calm ruthlessness that scared Neal more than Adams and Greeves combined.
Davis shook his head. “Your actions in the infirmary don’t even qualify as an escape attempt. For someone who evaded half the world’s police agencies, that was really pitiful. Why didn’t you call Mozzie, Neal?”
“I knew you might be watching.”
”Broken, but still smart. Good.” Davis paused. “Greeves is wrong. We could keep torturing you for a few more days, but you’re too loyal to your friend. We’ll be just wasting out time and by the time you finally talked, the information wouldn’t be relevant anyway.”
Despite himself, Neal smiled. “Really? That sounds like you find yourself in a tight spot.”
“On the contrary,” answered Davis lightly. “See, after Paul Handerson invented a way to slowly rebuild the human brain, we have improved and expanded his research.”
“You found new ways to hurt people through their brain.”
“So Handerson confided in you after all?” Davis shook his head. “You’re correct that we can do that, but ultimately pain is just a tool. We would also like to develop a way for a quick and effective interrogation, but what we really want is the capability to remold and reshape a human mind.”
“That’s sci-fi. You’re crazy.”
Davis smiled. “Well, we’ve done some tests, but we’ve mostly been working with homeless people and those from the bottom of society. If we’re going to be using this methodology against enemy spies, we need to be absolutely sure that it works. Really, it’s a stroke of luck that we have you.”
“What….”
Davis opened the door again and two doctors stepped in. “Today, you’re going to become a new test subject for our experiments.”
Not a chance in hell.
But even as Neal tried to launch himself at Davis, he knew that his effort would be in vain.
He really should have escaped while he had the chance.…
* * *
That night, back at his place, Mozzie had to admit that the last time, he had severely underestimated Peter Burke. He was beginning to see why Neal had told him to trust this man.
Firstly, Peter was turning out to be far more inventive that Mozzie had initially thought. However, it was his calm confidence and his determination to find out the truth that finally won over Mozzie’s respect. Still, that didn’t mean that he was going to follow him blindly. Peter’s plan was good - with a bit of luck, it might even work - but Mozzie had a few ideas of his own, and he would not stay sitting by the sidelines.
He had to call June and discuss the situation with her. And then it was time to visit Sally again and hope that she didn’t skin him alive. He had a long night ahead of him.
Taking a deep breath, Mozzie dialed June’s number and waited for her to pick up.
* * *
Part VI - On LJ | On DW