White Collar Fic: Conspiracies (Part III)
Title: Conspiracies - Part III
Author’s Name: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Part I - On LJ | On DW
___________________________________
PART III
Rubbing his forehead, Peter took another look at the papers scattered on the kitchen table. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Honey? What’s wrong?”
Stifling a yawn, Peter leaned back fully into Elizabeth’s touch and for a moment simply enjoyed her hands rubbing his shoulders. “Hey hon.”
Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, Elizabeth sat down on the chair next to him. “You’re up late again,” she said with a hint of gentle rebuke.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just…” Peter sighed. “It’s this case. I’m trying to make a sense of it, but - it doesn’t hold up together. There’s something I’m missing.”
El looked over his shoulder. It was only thanks to the fact that he knew her so well that Peter noticed her stiffen. “Neal Caffrey. I see.”
“El -”
“Peter, you made me a promise.”
Peter closed his eyes and then opened them again. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll just -”
“Is there a dead body?” asked El firmly.
“No.”
“Has anybody been kidnapped?”
“No,” answered Peter truthfully.
“Then leave it. It’s almost past eleven. Let’s go to bed.”
Peter looked at his wife. Finally, his smile became less strained and his expression cleared. “You’re right. I’ll put these away -”
“Bed. Now.”
Peter cast one last tense look at his files. Then, almost despite himself, he chuckled. “All right, you win.”
“Smart man,” murmured El and she pressed her hot lips against his neck.
El was right. There were other things to… explore.
The case could wait until tomorrow.
* * *
The next morning, Peter was in an unusually good mood, despite not expecting any new progress on learning Caffrey’s whereabouts. That was why he was genuinely surprised when Diana came to his office just an hour before noon.
“Peter. There is something you need to see.”
“What…?”
“It’s about Caffrey.”
Peter sprang up to his feet.
“Jones’s CI from the Finnegan case contacted him this morning,” explained Diana on their way to the conference room. “It seems that he has some information about Neal’s associate.”
Peter almost skipped a step. “What?” he asked when he found his balance again. “Neal doesn’t have any associates.”
Diana grimaced. “Apparently, he does now.” She opened the door to the conference room and stepped inside. Wordlessly, Peter followed. Jones was already there, standing by the table, surrounded by six or seven piles of files arranged in not so neat columns.
“Hey Peter,” Jones lifted his head as he heard the newcomers.
“Jones.” Peter looked around over the mess. “What is all this?”
Jones shook his head. “It’s weird. There’s never been a word of Caffrey having a partner. I skimmed through maybe a third of these to check -”
“And? Did you find anything?” Despite his initial skepticism, Peter was now becoming intrigued.
“Nada. There’s nothing that would point to him having a long term associate. But you’re the ultimate Caffrey expert, you would know.”
“Not necessarily,” murmured Peter thoughtfully.
He more felt than saw Jones and Diana exchanging a look, but his attention was already fully focused on the files in front of him - at least by appearance. In fact, Peter’s mind was running fast, mulling over possibilities and explanations.
“It’s more than possible that this is a new development,” he said aloud while trying to remember all the old cases involving Neal.
A partner. Was that it? His gut had been telling that something about the chase had changed. Although it had only been two weeks since the break-in at MoMA, Peter would have still expected a message from Neal by now. A note in his mail box. A mysterious delivery. Hell, maybe even a limerick appearing at his desk.
Finding a partner would certainly explain why the ever-present taunting had suddenly stopped.
The development could potentially be worrisome. Neal had always been non-violent and - despite his numerous crimes - had maintained a certain level of morals. However, there was no guarantee that the (rumored) new partner had the same code of honor… in which case, things could get ugly.
Peter cleared his throat. “All right. Jones, what did they tell you about this associate?”
“Not much yet. You know that we have spread the word between our CIs, asking if anyone had any information. When Wilson contacted me this morning, he wanted to meet in person. I’m meeting him at our usual café this afternoon. Thought you might want to come.”
“You bet I want to come.”
Jones smiled. “I thought you might say that.”
They briefly discussed the details of the meeting and reviewed some information about Neal’s first crime spree. Then they split and went back to other cases.
* * *
The meeting with Damien Wilson didn’t start out too well.
The CI was apparently rattled at meeting with two FBI agents in contrast to meeting simply with Jones, despite the fact that he had agreed to it beforehand. However, in the end he calmed down, and when he brought up the subject of Caffrey himself, Peter knew that they were finally getting somewhere.
“I live in Manhattan,” Wilson had said. “Sometimes, I go to the same park as Caffrey. I haven’t seen him there lately. However, the last two months before that, he’s repeatedly met there with another guy.”
“Was there anything unusual about him?” asked Peter.
“No, not really…”
“What did he look like?” inquired Jones.
Wilson appeared to be in thought. “He was a short guy… a bit chubby,” he said at last. “Maybe a bit older than Caffrey… not as well-dressed as him, though. I think he wore glasses. Caffrey kept calling him “Mozzie”.”
“Mozzie?” asked Peter incredulously.
“That’s it.”
Peter and Jones exchanged a look.
“Meeting with someone in the park isn’t a crime,” said Peter slowly. “Why do you think that this “Mozzie” is Caffrey’s new partner?”
“Well, I’ve never seen that guy there except when he was with Caffrey… I suppose I can’t be sure though. It wasn’t like I cared that much about them.”
“So you don’t actually know anything,” stated Jones flatly.
Peter shot him a warning glance, although he could barely hide his disappointment himself. Most likely, this was another dead end. However, it was possible that the CI still had some knowledge that would be relevant to the case. It wouldn’t do to shut him up by questioning his information.
“We’ve never heard of this “Mozzie” before,” said Peter carefully. “Do you know what he does for a living or where we could find him?”
“Sorry,” said Wilson with a shrug. “For what I know, he could be a high-school teacher, or he could be a fence or a forger. I do know that he seemed pretty chummy with Caffrey, so when you put the word out that you were looking for information, I thought that it might be interesting. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”
Peter fought the urge to sigh in frustration. “It’s all right. We appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Wilson. He made a pause. “If it helps, I remember that three weeks ago, I overheard them talking about San Francisco. But I suppose that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
Silence.
San Francisco. The city where Neal had robbed MoMA. Suddenly, Wilson’s intelligence began to look much more relevant.
“Do you remember what they talked about?” asked Jones.
“Could you sit down with our sketch artist?” said Peter at the same moment.
Their eyes met again, but this time, there was a sense of grim satisfaction.
They would question Wilson, find out everything he knew. And then they would check out Caffrey’s partner.
If this was truly a good lead, then they’d just gotten much closer to catching Neal.
Peter couldn’t wait to check it out.
* * *
With furrowed brow, Peter stared at the mere two sheets of paper that came out of the printer.
Name: Unknown
Surname: Unknown
Nicknames/ Aliases: ‘MOZZIE’, possibly also known as ‘Haversham’
Date of Birth: Unknown, estimated age 30-40
Place of Birth: Unknown
Level of Education: Unknown
Nationality: Unknown (suspected American)
Address: Unknown
Occupation: Unknown
Peter skimmed through the form, skipping many cells that were empty or filled with the unhelpful “Unknown”. Finally he found a bit of information:
Criminal Activity:
Implicated in several cases of petty theft, suspected of larceny, forgery and selling stolen property. Suspect’s involvement in the Emerson heist (case n. 45798/2006) has never been confirmed.
The only other thing in the file that was of any value was a photograph of the suspect.
Going through the file once again without discovering anything new, Peter sighed in frustration. This was not what he had hoped to find. The information in the file - if it could even be called that - was so sparse that it was practically worthless.
Following the case number, Peter pulled the file on the Emerson heist, which had occurred six years ago in a small town in Ohio. However, as soon as he read through it, he was disappointed again. The case was so low-profile that he doubted the agent in charge even remembered it anymore. He wrote her an email just in case, but he doubted that anything would come out of it.
Which left him with a photo, some hearsay from a CI and a few “suspected” and “maybes”.
Peter stared at the picture of “Mozzie - Haversham”.
As Wilson had said, Mozzie was a bit on the chubby side - at least as far as he could tell from the photo, which certainly wasn’t of the best quality. He was bald and he wore huge glasses. He didn’t seem truly dangerous - and the file didn’t indicate any violence - but Peter knew well enough that appearances could be deceiving.
The best case scenario was that the man was just another con man or a fence. Still, it bothered Peter that he didn’t know where this guy came from. Once again, he was forced to acknowledge that for all the things he knew about “Neal Caffrey”, he knew next to nothing about his past.
Still, the information wasn’t completely useless. At least now they knew that Caffrey might be traveling with someone else. Of course, that also meant that Neal’s crime potential might have just grown to an unknown level.
He needed to talk to June Ellington again - and to that fence, Hale. Also, he needed to check with Nicolas Herbert, Neal’s previous employer with the security company. Peter grimaced. June was an elegant, graceful lady who masterfully avoided giving him any answers and somehow always worded her replies in such a way that he couldn’t accuse her of being purposefully unhelpful. Hale had flat out told him that he hadn’t been in contact with Neal for the last two years; although Peter knew for a fact that it was a lie, he couldn’t disprove it. And Mr. Herbert was annoyed and embarrassed about everything “Caffrey”, so getting an answer from him was worse than pulling teeth.
Nothing like new challenges, thought Peter and began to make plans for the rest of his day.
* * *
“The day has come! I am finally going to see one of your crime lairs,” stated Mozzie sarcastically.
“It’s not a crime-lair, it’s a storage unit,” replied Neal dryly. “And this isn’t a tour. We’re just here to pick up some stuff and then we’re gone.”
He hoped that the FBI didn’t know about this place. Although he had checked it out before he dared to approach the place, there was always a certain possibility that he might have missed something. If getting caught had taught him anything, it was that the other ten thousand times didn’t matter - what counted was the one time when he made a mistake. Neal wasn’t going to let that happen again.
Apparently, Mozzie had noticed some of his mood, because his sarcasm had evaporated and was replaced by grim determination. Good. They really couldn’t afford another fiasco like their narrow escape from the hotel three days ago…
Evading the mysterious man who knew his name had been much harder than Neal would have expected. In the end, he lost him, but not before doubling back twice, taking several unexpected turns, disappearing into a shopping center, changing clothes and finally slipping out through a back door in a nearby pet shop. At that point, Neal’s suspicion that he was dealing with a professional had turned into dead certainty.
When he was absolutely sure that he had shaken off his pursuer, he took a moment to catch his breath and think. How the hell did they keep finding him? Neal shook his head and started walking as fast as possible without attracting attention. However it happened, it was clear that his and Mozzie’s presence in the town was no longer a secret. Once again they had to move, and fast.
He moved to dial Moz before he paused. Unless they discovered how the CIA kept finding them, no place would be safe for them - but he still had no idea where he had made a mistake. On an impulse, he lifted a random phone - and dialed one of the few people he knew he could trust.
Hale’s first words were a bit put out at having to burn the number.
His second were relief and joy at hearing from Neal again.
His third were: “Hey kid, if you want to fence that Mondrian, you know that I’ll give you the best percentage.”
“What Mondrian?” Neal had asked.
Then Hale explained, and finally it all clicked.
A painting had been stolen from MoMA in San Francisco, and for some reason, everyone believed that Neal was behind it.
“A bit sloppy from what I’ve heard, but who am I to criticize,” said Hale good-naturedly. “I thought you were out of business though. I have to say, I’m bit hurt that I had to learn it from the rumor grapevine. Why didn’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”
“I didn’t steal any Mondrian,” said Neal in dismay.
Hale immediately turned serious. “The FBI thinks you did. You know that they put a warrant out for you.”
Neal froze.
“Hale… When did it happen? The robbery,” he added to clarify. “When did it happen?”
“Ten days ago, but why -”
“I’ll call later,” interrupted him Neal. “Thanks, Hale.”
“Anytime, son.”
Almost on autopilot, Neal dumped the stolen phone into the nearest trash can.
They had framed him. Somehow, the CIA had framed him and put the FBI on his back.
Damn!
He pulled out his own cell and dialed Mozzie’s number while he started to run towards the hotel. Finally, Moz picked up.
“The CIA is here,” he said. “I think they just found us.”
“Shit!”
‘Too late,’ thought Neal with dread - until Mozzie asked him to guide him through his getaway.
They reunited at the hotel’s backyard, filled with garbage containers and other trash. Following Neal’s instructions, Moz came stumbling down the fire escape, breathing heavily. Noticing Neal, Mozzie halted, his eyes widening in fear… until comprehension and relief set in instead.
“The diversion… worked, I think,” he panted, almost falling down as he lost his step on the last few stairs. Neal caught him and gave Mozzie’s trembling arm a quick small squeeze, but they had no time to waste.
“We need to get out of here,” he said crisply.
“Our things…”
“Forget them.” The material value didn’t matter. The possibility that the CIA might find some clues in their room was worrisome, but they couldn’t do anything about that. “That alley there. Follow me.”
They sprinted maybe sixty yards across the street.
“Stop,” half-called Neal, trying to stay inconspicuous while attracting Mozzie’s attention. He pointed to a narrow gap between the houses, barely three feet wide. Out of breath, Mozzie just wordlessly nodded and then went through as Neal pushed him to go first. Just as Neal followed him inside, he saw the door to the fire escape to open again and a group of four suited men came out.
Their leader was a tall man with dirty blond hair. He calmly ran his gaze over the space outside before suddenly locking his eyes with Neal. The icy blue orbs spoke of ruthlessness, determination and deep intelligence. Given how fast he got there, the man must have seen through Neal’s diversion with the window in less than a minute. Neal felt a shiver run down his spine as a realization struck him that he had just met his equal.
Unlike in action movies, the agent didn’t bother with an evil smile, and without any delays pointed his team in Neal and Mozzie’s direction. His efficiency woke up Neal as well and he quickly followed Moz down the narrow path.
He knew they would get away this time. He had done his job and made sure to memorize all their escape paths so that he could recite them in his sleep. Thanks to the long stairs and the distance, they had maybe ninety seconds of a head start - and that was enough to make an escape.
Next time though…
Next time they might not be so lucky.
But that was three days ago. Neal shook his head to chase away the memory and focused on the presence. He picked the lock to the storage unit, careful not to leave any prints. Putting on his ever-present white gloves, he opened the door. When there were no sirens nor flashlights, he nodded at Mozzie that it was safe to follow him inside.
“Why are we doing this in the middle of the day again?” asked Moz.
“Because during the day, we’re just two men taking something out of their storage unit. At night, we become suspicious. Now come. And don’t touch the doorknob or the stuff inside,” said Neal as an afterthought. If the FBI somehow found this place or got a warrant, the last thing he wanted were Mozzie’s prints near the stolen paintings and other art.
When Neal closed the door behind them, they became surrounded by complete dark. Then Neal turned on the switch.
Mozzie stilled. “Wow. Oh. … Interesting.”
The room was small, more like a closet than anything else. It held six paintings and several boxes.
Neal grinned boyishly at Mozzie’s spontaneous words. “You like what you see?”
Mozzie hesitated. “‘The aim of life is appreciation’,” he spoke at last. “‘There is no sense in not appreciating things; and there is no sense in more of them if you have less appreciation for them.’ ”
A pause.
“Okay, I have no idea what that meant,” said Neal.
“It means… I don’t know what to say, Neal.”
Was that good or bad?
“All right,” replied Neal with a carefree smile. “Well, give me just a moment -”
“You could have at least warned me. I didn’t expect to come here and find the frigging “Girl with a Pearl Earring” leaning against the wall!”
Ah, so that’s what this was about. “Okay, that one’s actually a forgery.”
“A con that didn’t work out?” asked Mozzie.
Neal smiled. “No, no plans like that… I guess you could say that one was just for fun. And it’s not really good anyway. The brushwork’s off, and I didn’t have the right light, so the blue is a shade too light… it was one of my firsts,” he explained. “Still, it has a certain… sentimental value.”
“I see.” Mozzie paused. “It’s like me keeping those old photos of the bacteria from my first year at the Institute.”
“You mean those three violet blotches that you keep showing every poor soul who visits your place?” asked Neal teasingly.
“Whoa, you’re the one to talk, Mr. “I-robbed-a-Guggenheim-to-impress-a-girl” - who, if I remember well, then took off with both the painting and her old girlfriend.”
Neal groaned. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Mozzie smiled. “Maybe… eventually… If you stop insulting my photo.”
“Great. Fantastic. Why did I even tell you about that one?”
“I don’t know… Oh, I got it - because you couldn’t resist my great ‘natural charm’?”
“Yeah, right. Try again.”
Mozzie turned more serious. “Okay. It probably had something to do with bottled up emotions, sharing our old woes…”
“Speaking of bottles, don’t forget the whiskey.”
“I would never forget the whiskey. You know, now that I remember, that evening was really -”
“Creepy? Mushy?”
“Touching,” corrected him Moz sharply. “And emotional. It was a moment of sharing between friends. You don’t get to slight that, Neal. ”
Clearing his throat, Neal awkwardly patted Mozzie’s arm. “Right. Now let’s get to business.”
Checking the boxes, he confirmed that they haven’t been tampered with, then he rearranged them until he finally got to the one at the bottom. Crouching down and opening the box, he revealed a small leather bag full of cash and a purse that held a small stack of ATM cards.
“Sweet fancy Moses.”
“It’s about a hundred K in cash, plus maybe half of that on the cards,” replied Neal to Mozzie’s strangled exclamation. Then he zipped the bag back closed, rearranged the boxes back into their place and stood up. “Looks like we just got the resources for our trip to Phoenix. Let’s go.”
They locked the door again. It was ten minutes to the place where their cab was waiting for them. As they started to walk back, Mozzie was unusually quiet.
“I think we need to get a car,” spoke up Neal a moment later. “At this point, I don’t trust the airports, and even buses or trains might be risky. As much as it pains me, the highway is probably our best bet. Which means that I’ll need your help.”
Silence.
“Is ‘get’ a car a euphemism for ‘borrow without asking’?” inquired Mozzie at last. “Because I don’t think I’m quite that far yet in the Stealing 101 course.”
Neal half-grinned. “Interesting question, but no, not this time. If we drove a car that someone recognized stolen, it could raise flags, so we’re going to buy one - something old from a private owner.”
“And you think that I look more like the type who’d buy a used car.”
“Precisely.”
Mozzie frowned. “For the record, I’ll have you know that I had a perfectly good new Nissan Cube. With special alterations!”
“I’m sure it was beautiful,” replied Neal in a perfectly neutral tone.
“It wasn’t just beautiful. It was - a work of art.”
A pause.
“Neal, I think we need to talk,” said Mozzie suddenly.
“Talk? About what?”
Mozzie sighed. “About going to Phoenix.”
* * *
Half an hour later, they were back at their current hideout. They sat around the table when Mozzie started to explain.
“The last time they found us wasn’t an accident. I - Neal, I called my Dad.”
Silence.
“You - called your Dad.”
“Yes I did. I called him from our hotel room.”
“You called your Dad. You called him from the hotel. …Jesus, Moz!”
Mozzie took in a deep breath. “Look Neal, I’m sorry that -”
“No you’re not.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“And what were you gonna say, Moz? That you’re sorry for calling your Dad and getting us exposed? But you’re not, not really.” Neal shook his head in dismay and frustratedly ran his hands through his hair before he sighed. “I get it. I might have done the same in your place.”
Mozzie gave him a feeble smile. “Even if it’s ‘dangerous, and foolish and risky’ -”
“He’s your family. I know how much he means to you.”
Mozzie swallowed. “Thanks, Neal.”
There was a pause.
“You do understand that you can never do it again.”
Another pause.
“No. I’m sorry Neal, but I can’t accept that.”
“You have to,” said Neal. “You have to leave him behind, or you won’t be safe - neither of you will be safe. You can’t contact him again.”
Mozzie took a deep breath. It was time he told Neal about the conclusion that he had reached.
“I’m not going to go to hiding, Neal.”
“What -”
“I’m not going to disappear. I’m not going to fake my death. I’m not going to take a new identity, and I’m not going to hide for the rest of my life. Not - not without at least trying to get it all back.”
This was the first time in years that Mozzie had seen Neal completely speechless.
“You’re thinking of exposing them,” said Neal at last.
“Yes.”
Immediately, Neal shook his head. “That’s not gonna work, Moz. Even if we found out what exactly the CIA is doing - if we could get proof and if we could get it out to the world - they’re not gonna stop. If you expose them, they’ll come after you, then your friends, your family - you’ll make it worse.”
“Neal -”
“Think! Think, Moz - look into the past and tell me I’m wrong.”
Mozzie shook his head. Neal was right about his family - but that wasn’t the only reason why he’d come to this conclusion. “They’re using my research.”
“You can’t be sure -”
“Oh for God’s sake, Neal!” exploded Moz. “I know what I was working on, and I know what I saw in that lab.”
“You didn’t sound so sure about that before,” replied Neal sharply. “Interesting how you’ve changed your mind.”
The words felt like a punch in the gut.
“You - you said you believed me.”
“Moz -”
Surprised by the sudden tears in his eyes, Moz took a step back. “You said you trusted me. I am not making this up, Neal.”
Neal released a weary sigh. “That’s not - look -”
“Torture. Indoctrination. Using my research.” Mozzie’s throat was impossibly dry, but his next words were very clear. “I’m not going to stand back and watch that happen.”
“You’re a scientist, not an ethical board!” Neal shook his head. “This isn’t your fault, Moz. And I’m not gonna let you do this.”
“’The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.’”
“Well if Einstein’s so wise, ask him to rise from the grave and take on the CIA himself.”
“My research, Neal.” Suddenly tired, Mozzie took off his glasses and placed them on the table. “I have to fix this.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I have to try.”
“Moz -”
“Listen, you already did a lot for me,” said Mozzie. “And I know that… that you didn’t sign up for this. You made all these plans to help me, and I just screwed them up. … I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier what I was thinking about. And I’m not asking you to do this with me. … I mean it. This is my responsibility, not yours. I already caused enough problems for you.”
Silence.
Finally, Neal sighed. “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier. I just - I don’t want to see you get yourself killed or locked up for sixty years for espionage.”
Espionage. Right.
Well, how else would you call breaking into a CIA facility?
Mozzie swallowed. “Ah, that… doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Well I wasn’t joking.”
“Neither was I. But I still have to do it.” When Neal started to talk again, Mozzie cut him off. “I get it, it’s a bad idea. … But tell me this. If innocent people were going to get hurt because of you, might die because of you - would you be able to live with yourself if you knew and didn’t try to stop it?”
Silence.
“This is going to end really badly,” stated Neal flatly.
Mozzie sighed. “Yes, that’s a possibility.”
“It’s a stupid move. You know it’s not gonna work out.”
“I know.”
So…
Neal ran both of his hands over his face before he stood up. “You’re really sure about this?”
“I am.”
“Okay. Then I’m with you.”
Yes!
For a second, Mozzie wanted to whoop and do a victory dance. But the utterly grave expression on Neal’s face tampered down all of that feeling.
He patted Neal’s arm. “Thanks, man. … I’ll get us some wine.”
Neal grimaced. “I don’t think that’s gonna be strong enough.”
A moment later, Mozzie returned with a cork-screw, a bottle and two glasses.
“So. What’s your plan?” asked Neal after taking a deep gulp from his glass.
Mozzie bit his lip. “I was… hoping that you would help me with that.”
Humorlessly, Neal chuckled. “Oh. Great.”
Mozzie took a deep breath. “Okay. Obviously, we need to find out what exactly the CIA is up to and get proof. I came across their chemical lab, but the documents I saw indicated that there were other labs with “test subjects”. So, we need to find out where they are, get evidence and then… resolve it.”
“Sounds like a really great plan.”
“Neal, could you please stop being sarcastic?” asked Mozzie in irritation.
Neal took a sip from his glass. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.
“So. How are we gonna find their lab?” asked Moz.
There was a moment of silence.
“I know a girl who can help us,” said Neal at last. Then he smiled. “We’re coming back to New York.”
* * *
Part IV - On LJ | On DW
Author’s Name: sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Part I - On LJ | On DW
___________________________________
PART III
Rubbing his forehead, Peter took another look at the papers scattered on the kitchen table. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Honey? What’s wrong?”
Stifling a yawn, Peter leaned back fully into Elizabeth’s touch and for a moment simply enjoyed her hands rubbing his shoulders. “Hey hon.”
Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, Elizabeth sat down on the chair next to him. “You’re up late again,” she said with a hint of gentle rebuke.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just…” Peter sighed. “It’s this case. I’m trying to make a sense of it, but - it doesn’t hold up together. There’s something I’m missing.”
El looked over his shoulder. It was only thanks to the fact that he knew her so well that Peter noticed her stiffen. “Neal Caffrey. I see.”
“El -”
“Peter, you made me a promise.”
Peter closed his eyes and then opened them again. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll just -”
“Is there a dead body?” asked El firmly.
“No.”
“Has anybody been kidnapped?”
“No,” answered Peter truthfully.
“Then leave it. It’s almost past eleven. Let’s go to bed.”
Peter looked at his wife. Finally, his smile became less strained and his expression cleared. “You’re right. I’ll put these away -”
“Bed. Now.”
Peter cast one last tense look at his files. Then, almost despite himself, he chuckled. “All right, you win.”
“Smart man,” murmured El and she pressed her hot lips against his neck.
El was right. There were other things to… explore.
The case could wait until tomorrow.
* * *
The next morning, Peter was in an unusually good mood, despite not expecting any new progress on learning Caffrey’s whereabouts. That was why he was genuinely surprised when Diana came to his office just an hour before noon.
“Peter. There is something you need to see.”
“What…?”
“It’s about Caffrey.”
Peter sprang up to his feet.
“Jones’s CI from the Finnegan case contacted him this morning,” explained Diana on their way to the conference room. “It seems that he has some information about Neal’s associate.”
Peter almost skipped a step. “What?” he asked when he found his balance again. “Neal doesn’t have any associates.”
Diana grimaced. “Apparently, he does now.” She opened the door to the conference room and stepped inside. Wordlessly, Peter followed. Jones was already there, standing by the table, surrounded by six or seven piles of files arranged in not so neat columns.
“Hey Peter,” Jones lifted his head as he heard the newcomers.
“Jones.” Peter looked around over the mess. “What is all this?”
Jones shook his head. “It’s weird. There’s never been a word of Caffrey having a partner. I skimmed through maybe a third of these to check -”
“And? Did you find anything?” Despite his initial skepticism, Peter was now becoming intrigued.
“Nada. There’s nothing that would point to him having a long term associate. But you’re the ultimate Caffrey expert, you would know.”
“Not necessarily,” murmured Peter thoughtfully.
He more felt than saw Jones and Diana exchanging a look, but his attention was already fully focused on the files in front of him - at least by appearance. In fact, Peter’s mind was running fast, mulling over possibilities and explanations.
“It’s more than possible that this is a new development,” he said aloud while trying to remember all the old cases involving Neal.
A partner. Was that it? His gut had been telling that something about the chase had changed. Although it had only been two weeks since the break-in at MoMA, Peter would have still expected a message from Neal by now. A note in his mail box. A mysterious delivery. Hell, maybe even a limerick appearing at his desk.
Finding a partner would certainly explain why the ever-present taunting had suddenly stopped.
The development could potentially be worrisome. Neal had always been non-violent and - despite his numerous crimes - had maintained a certain level of morals. However, there was no guarantee that the (rumored) new partner had the same code of honor… in which case, things could get ugly.
Peter cleared his throat. “All right. Jones, what did they tell you about this associate?”
“Not much yet. You know that we have spread the word between our CIs, asking if anyone had any information. When Wilson contacted me this morning, he wanted to meet in person. I’m meeting him at our usual café this afternoon. Thought you might want to come.”
“You bet I want to come.”
Jones smiled. “I thought you might say that.”
They briefly discussed the details of the meeting and reviewed some information about Neal’s first crime spree. Then they split and went back to other cases.
* * *
The meeting with Damien Wilson didn’t start out too well.
The CI was apparently rattled at meeting with two FBI agents in contrast to meeting simply with Jones, despite the fact that he had agreed to it beforehand. However, in the end he calmed down, and when he brought up the subject of Caffrey himself, Peter knew that they were finally getting somewhere.
“I live in Manhattan,” Wilson had said. “Sometimes, I go to the same park as Caffrey. I haven’t seen him there lately. However, the last two months before that, he’s repeatedly met there with another guy.”
“Was there anything unusual about him?” asked Peter.
“No, not really…”
“What did he look like?” inquired Jones.
Wilson appeared to be in thought. “He was a short guy… a bit chubby,” he said at last. “Maybe a bit older than Caffrey… not as well-dressed as him, though. I think he wore glasses. Caffrey kept calling him “Mozzie”.”
“Mozzie?” asked Peter incredulously.
“That’s it.”
Peter and Jones exchanged a look.
“Meeting with someone in the park isn’t a crime,” said Peter slowly. “Why do you think that this “Mozzie” is Caffrey’s new partner?”
“Well, I’ve never seen that guy there except when he was with Caffrey… I suppose I can’t be sure though. It wasn’t like I cared that much about them.”
“So you don’t actually know anything,” stated Jones flatly.
Peter shot him a warning glance, although he could barely hide his disappointment himself. Most likely, this was another dead end. However, it was possible that the CI still had some knowledge that would be relevant to the case. It wouldn’t do to shut him up by questioning his information.
“We’ve never heard of this “Mozzie” before,” said Peter carefully. “Do you know what he does for a living or where we could find him?”
“Sorry,” said Wilson with a shrug. “For what I know, he could be a high-school teacher, or he could be a fence or a forger. I do know that he seemed pretty chummy with Caffrey, so when you put the word out that you were looking for information, I thought that it might be interesting. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”
Peter fought the urge to sigh in frustration. “It’s all right. We appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Wilson. He made a pause. “If it helps, I remember that three weeks ago, I overheard them talking about San Francisco. But I suppose that doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
Silence.
San Francisco. The city where Neal had robbed MoMA. Suddenly, Wilson’s intelligence began to look much more relevant.
“Do you remember what they talked about?” asked Jones.
“Could you sit down with our sketch artist?” said Peter at the same moment.
Their eyes met again, but this time, there was a sense of grim satisfaction.
They would question Wilson, find out everything he knew. And then they would check out Caffrey’s partner.
If this was truly a good lead, then they’d just gotten much closer to catching Neal.
Peter couldn’t wait to check it out.
* * *
With furrowed brow, Peter stared at the mere two sheets of paper that came out of the printer.
Name: Unknown
Surname: Unknown
Nicknames/ Aliases: ‘MOZZIE’, possibly also known as ‘Haversham’
Date of Birth: Unknown, estimated age 30-40
Place of Birth: Unknown
Level of Education: Unknown
Nationality: Unknown (suspected American)
Address: Unknown
Occupation: Unknown
Peter skimmed through the form, skipping many cells that were empty or filled with the unhelpful “Unknown”. Finally he found a bit of information:
Criminal Activity:
Implicated in several cases of petty theft, suspected of larceny, forgery and selling stolen property. Suspect’s involvement in the Emerson heist (case n. 45798/2006) has never been confirmed.
The only other thing in the file that was of any value was a photograph of the suspect.
Going through the file once again without discovering anything new, Peter sighed in frustration. This was not what he had hoped to find. The information in the file - if it could even be called that - was so sparse that it was practically worthless.
Following the case number, Peter pulled the file on the Emerson heist, which had occurred six years ago in a small town in Ohio. However, as soon as he read through it, he was disappointed again. The case was so low-profile that he doubted the agent in charge even remembered it anymore. He wrote her an email just in case, but he doubted that anything would come out of it.
Which left him with a photo, some hearsay from a CI and a few “suspected” and “maybes”.
Peter stared at the picture of “Mozzie - Haversham”.
As Wilson had said, Mozzie was a bit on the chubby side - at least as far as he could tell from the photo, which certainly wasn’t of the best quality. He was bald and he wore huge glasses. He didn’t seem truly dangerous - and the file didn’t indicate any violence - but Peter knew well enough that appearances could be deceiving.
The best case scenario was that the man was just another con man or a fence. Still, it bothered Peter that he didn’t know where this guy came from. Once again, he was forced to acknowledge that for all the things he knew about “Neal Caffrey”, he knew next to nothing about his past.
Still, the information wasn’t completely useless. At least now they knew that Caffrey might be traveling with someone else. Of course, that also meant that Neal’s crime potential might have just grown to an unknown level.
He needed to talk to June Ellington again - and to that fence, Hale. Also, he needed to check with Nicolas Herbert, Neal’s previous employer with the security company. Peter grimaced. June was an elegant, graceful lady who masterfully avoided giving him any answers and somehow always worded her replies in such a way that he couldn’t accuse her of being purposefully unhelpful. Hale had flat out told him that he hadn’t been in contact with Neal for the last two years; although Peter knew for a fact that it was a lie, he couldn’t disprove it. And Mr. Herbert was annoyed and embarrassed about everything “Caffrey”, so getting an answer from him was worse than pulling teeth.
Nothing like new challenges, thought Peter and began to make plans for the rest of his day.
* * *
“The day has come! I am finally going to see one of your crime lairs,” stated Mozzie sarcastically.
“It’s not a crime-lair, it’s a storage unit,” replied Neal dryly. “And this isn’t a tour. We’re just here to pick up some stuff and then we’re gone.”
He hoped that the FBI didn’t know about this place. Although he had checked it out before he dared to approach the place, there was always a certain possibility that he might have missed something. If getting caught had taught him anything, it was that the other ten thousand times didn’t matter - what counted was the one time when he made a mistake. Neal wasn’t going to let that happen again.
Apparently, Mozzie had noticed some of his mood, because his sarcasm had evaporated and was replaced by grim determination. Good. They really couldn’t afford another fiasco like their narrow escape from the hotel three days ago…
Evading the mysterious man who knew his name had been much harder than Neal would have expected. In the end, he lost him, but not before doubling back twice, taking several unexpected turns, disappearing into a shopping center, changing clothes and finally slipping out through a back door in a nearby pet shop. At that point, Neal’s suspicion that he was dealing with a professional had turned into dead certainty.
When he was absolutely sure that he had shaken off his pursuer, he took a moment to catch his breath and think. How the hell did they keep finding him? Neal shook his head and started walking as fast as possible without attracting attention. However it happened, it was clear that his and Mozzie’s presence in the town was no longer a secret. Once again they had to move, and fast.
He moved to dial Moz before he paused. Unless they discovered how the CIA kept finding them, no place would be safe for them - but he still had no idea where he had made a mistake. On an impulse, he lifted a random phone - and dialed one of the few people he knew he could trust.
Hale’s first words were a bit put out at having to burn the number.
His second were relief and joy at hearing from Neal again.
His third were: “Hey kid, if you want to fence that Mondrian, you know that I’ll give you the best percentage.”
“What Mondrian?” Neal had asked.
Then Hale explained, and finally it all clicked.
A painting had been stolen from MoMA in San Francisco, and for some reason, everyone believed that Neal was behind it.
“A bit sloppy from what I’ve heard, but who am I to criticize,” said Hale good-naturedly. “I thought you were out of business though. I have to say, I’m bit hurt that I had to learn it from the rumor grapevine. Why didn’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”
“I didn’t steal any Mondrian,” said Neal in dismay.
Hale immediately turned serious. “The FBI thinks you did. You know that they put a warrant out for you.”
Neal froze.
“Hale… When did it happen? The robbery,” he added to clarify. “When did it happen?”
“Ten days ago, but why -”
“I’ll call later,” interrupted him Neal. “Thanks, Hale.”
“Anytime, son.”
Almost on autopilot, Neal dumped the stolen phone into the nearest trash can.
They had framed him. Somehow, the CIA had framed him and put the FBI on his back.
Damn!
He pulled out his own cell and dialed Mozzie’s number while he started to run towards the hotel. Finally, Moz picked up.
“The CIA is here,” he said. “I think they just found us.”
“Shit!”
‘Too late,’ thought Neal with dread - until Mozzie asked him to guide him through his getaway.
They reunited at the hotel’s backyard, filled with garbage containers and other trash. Following Neal’s instructions, Moz came stumbling down the fire escape, breathing heavily. Noticing Neal, Mozzie halted, his eyes widening in fear… until comprehension and relief set in instead.
“The diversion… worked, I think,” he panted, almost falling down as he lost his step on the last few stairs. Neal caught him and gave Mozzie’s trembling arm a quick small squeeze, but they had no time to waste.
“We need to get out of here,” he said crisply.
“Our things…”
“Forget them.” The material value didn’t matter. The possibility that the CIA might find some clues in their room was worrisome, but they couldn’t do anything about that. “That alley there. Follow me.”
They sprinted maybe sixty yards across the street.
“Stop,” half-called Neal, trying to stay inconspicuous while attracting Mozzie’s attention. He pointed to a narrow gap between the houses, barely three feet wide. Out of breath, Mozzie just wordlessly nodded and then went through as Neal pushed him to go first. Just as Neal followed him inside, he saw the door to the fire escape to open again and a group of four suited men came out.
Their leader was a tall man with dirty blond hair. He calmly ran his gaze over the space outside before suddenly locking his eyes with Neal. The icy blue orbs spoke of ruthlessness, determination and deep intelligence. Given how fast he got there, the man must have seen through Neal’s diversion with the window in less than a minute. Neal felt a shiver run down his spine as a realization struck him that he had just met his equal.
Unlike in action movies, the agent didn’t bother with an evil smile, and without any delays pointed his team in Neal and Mozzie’s direction. His efficiency woke up Neal as well and he quickly followed Moz down the narrow path.
He knew they would get away this time. He had done his job and made sure to memorize all their escape paths so that he could recite them in his sleep. Thanks to the long stairs and the distance, they had maybe ninety seconds of a head start - and that was enough to make an escape.
Next time though…
Next time they might not be so lucky.
But that was three days ago. Neal shook his head to chase away the memory and focused on the presence. He picked the lock to the storage unit, careful not to leave any prints. Putting on his ever-present white gloves, he opened the door. When there were no sirens nor flashlights, he nodded at Mozzie that it was safe to follow him inside.
“Why are we doing this in the middle of the day again?” asked Moz.
“Because during the day, we’re just two men taking something out of their storage unit. At night, we become suspicious. Now come. And don’t touch the doorknob or the stuff inside,” said Neal as an afterthought. If the FBI somehow found this place or got a warrant, the last thing he wanted were Mozzie’s prints near the stolen paintings and other art.
When Neal closed the door behind them, they became surrounded by complete dark. Then Neal turned on the switch.
Mozzie stilled. “Wow. Oh. … Interesting.”
The room was small, more like a closet than anything else. It held six paintings and several boxes.
Neal grinned boyishly at Mozzie’s spontaneous words. “You like what you see?”
Mozzie hesitated. “‘The aim of life is appreciation’,” he spoke at last. “‘There is no sense in not appreciating things; and there is no sense in more of them if you have less appreciation for them.’ ”
A pause.
“Okay, I have no idea what that meant,” said Neal.
“It means… I don’t know what to say, Neal.”
Was that good or bad?
“All right,” replied Neal with a carefree smile. “Well, give me just a moment -”
“You could have at least warned me. I didn’t expect to come here and find the frigging “Girl with a Pearl Earring” leaning against the wall!”
Ah, so that’s what this was about. “Okay, that one’s actually a forgery.”
“A con that didn’t work out?” asked Mozzie.
Neal smiled. “No, no plans like that… I guess you could say that one was just for fun. And it’s not really good anyway. The brushwork’s off, and I didn’t have the right light, so the blue is a shade too light… it was one of my firsts,” he explained. “Still, it has a certain… sentimental value.”
“I see.” Mozzie paused. “It’s like me keeping those old photos of the bacteria from my first year at the Institute.”
“You mean those three violet blotches that you keep showing every poor soul who visits your place?” asked Neal teasingly.
“Whoa, you’re the one to talk, Mr. “I-robbed-a-Guggenheim-to-impress-a-girl” - who, if I remember well, then took off with both the painting and her old girlfriend.”
Neal groaned. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Mozzie smiled. “Maybe… eventually… If you stop insulting my photo.”
“Great. Fantastic. Why did I even tell you about that one?”
“I don’t know… Oh, I got it - because you couldn’t resist my great ‘natural charm’?”
“Yeah, right. Try again.”
Mozzie turned more serious. “Okay. It probably had something to do with bottled up emotions, sharing our old woes…”
“Speaking of bottles, don’t forget the whiskey.”
“I would never forget the whiskey. You know, now that I remember, that evening was really -”
“Creepy? Mushy?”
“Touching,” corrected him Moz sharply. “And emotional. It was a moment of sharing between friends. You don’t get to slight that, Neal. ”
Clearing his throat, Neal awkwardly patted Mozzie’s arm. “Right. Now let’s get to business.”
Checking the boxes, he confirmed that they haven’t been tampered with, then he rearranged them until he finally got to the one at the bottom. Crouching down and opening the box, he revealed a small leather bag full of cash and a purse that held a small stack of ATM cards.
“Sweet fancy Moses.”
“It’s about a hundred K in cash, plus maybe half of that on the cards,” replied Neal to Mozzie’s strangled exclamation. Then he zipped the bag back closed, rearranged the boxes back into their place and stood up. “Looks like we just got the resources for our trip to Phoenix. Let’s go.”
They locked the door again. It was ten minutes to the place where their cab was waiting for them. As they started to walk back, Mozzie was unusually quiet.
“I think we need to get a car,” spoke up Neal a moment later. “At this point, I don’t trust the airports, and even buses or trains might be risky. As much as it pains me, the highway is probably our best bet. Which means that I’ll need your help.”
Silence.
“Is ‘get’ a car a euphemism for ‘borrow without asking’?” inquired Mozzie at last. “Because I don’t think I’m quite that far yet in the Stealing 101 course.”
Neal half-grinned. “Interesting question, but no, not this time. If we drove a car that someone recognized stolen, it could raise flags, so we’re going to buy one - something old from a private owner.”
“And you think that I look more like the type who’d buy a used car.”
“Precisely.”
Mozzie frowned. “For the record, I’ll have you know that I had a perfectly good new Nissan Cube. With special alterations!”
“I’m sure it was beautiful,” replied Neal in a perfectly neutral tone.
“It wasn’t just beautiful. It was - a work of art.”
A pause.
“Neal, I think we need to talk,” said Mozzie suddenly.
“Talk? About what?”
Mozzie sighed. “About going to Phoenix.”
* * *
Half an hour later, they were back at their current hideout. They sat around the table when Mozzie started to explain.
“The last time they found us wasn’t an accident. I - Neal, I called my Dad.”
Silence.
“You - called your Dad.”
“Yes I did. I called him from our hotel room.”
“You called your Dad. You called him from the hotel. …Jesus, Moz!”
Mozzie took in a deep breath. “Look Neal, I’m sorry that -”
“No you’re not.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“And what were you gonna say, Moz? That you’re sorry for calling your Dad and getting us exposed? But you’re not, not really.” Neal shook his head in dismay and frustratedly ran his hands through his hair before he sighed. “I get it. I might have done the same in your place.”
Mozzie gave him a feeble smile. “Even if it’s ‘dangerous, and foolish and risky’ -”
“He’s your family. I know how much he means to you.”
Mozzie swallowed. “Thanks, Neal.”
There was a pause.
“You do understand that you can never do it again.”
Another pause.
“No. I’m sorry Neal, but I can’t accept that.”
“You have to,” said Neal. “You have to leave him behind, or you won’t be safe - neither of you will be safe. You can’t contact him again.”
Mozzie took a deep breath. It was time he told Neal about the conclusion that he had reached.
“I’m not going to go to hiding, Neal.”
“What -”
“I’m not going to disappear. I’m not going to fake my death. I’m not going to take a new identity, and I’m not going to hide for the rest of my life. Not - not without at least trying to get it all back.”
This was the first time in years that Mozzie had seen Neal completely speechless.
“You’re thinking of exposing them,” said Neal at last.
“Yes.”
Immediately, Neal shook his head. “That’s not gonna work, Moz. Even if we found out what exactly the CIA is doing - if we could get proof and if we could get it out to the world - they’re not gonna stop. If you expose them, they’ll come after you, then your friends, your family - you’ll make it worse.”
“Neal -”
“Think! Think, Moz - look into the past and tell me I’m wrong.”
Mozzie shook his head. Neal was right about his family - but that wasn’t the only reason why he’d come to this conclusion. “They’re using my research.”
“You can’t be sure -”
“Oh for God’s sake, Neal!” exploded Moz. “I know what I was working on, and I know what I saw in that lab.”
“You didn’t sound so sure about that before,” replied Neal sharply. “Interesting how you’ve changed your mind.”
The words felt like a punch in the gut.
“You - you said you believed me.”
“Moz -”
Surprised by the sudden tears in his eyes, Moz took a step back. “You said you trusted me. I am not making this up, Neal.”
Neal released a weary sigh. “That’s not - look -”
“Torture. Indoctrination. Using my research.” Mozzie’s throat was impossibly dry, but his next words were very clear. “I’m not going to stand back and watch that happen.”
“You’re a scientist, not an ethical board!” Neal shook his head. “This isn’t your fault, Moz. And I’m not gonna let you do this.”
“’The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.’”
“Well if Einstein’s so wise, ask him to rise from the grave and take on the CIA himself.”
“My research, Neal.” Suddenly tired, Mozzie took off his glasses and placed them on the table. “I have to fix this.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I have to try.”
“Moz -”
“Listen, you already did a lot for me,” said Mozzie. “And I know that… that you didn’t sign up for this. You made all these plans to help me, and I just screwed them up. … I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier what I was thinking about. And I’m not asking you to do this with me. … I mean it. This is my responsibility, not yours. I already caused enough problems for you.”
Silence.
Finally, Neal sighed. “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier. I just - I don’t want to see you get yourself killed or locked up for sixty years for espionage.”
Espionage. Right.
Well, how else would you call breaking into a CIA facility?
Mozzie swallowed. “Ah, that… doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Well I wasn’t joking.”
“Neither was I. But I still have to do it.” When Neal started to talk again, Mozzie cut him off. “I get it, it’s a bad idea. … But tell me this. If innocent people were going to get hurt because of you, might die because of you - would you be able to live with yourself if you knew and didn’t try to stop it?”
Silence.
“This is going to end really badly,” stated Neal flatly.
Mozzie sighed. “Yes, that’s a possibility.”
“It’s a stupid move. You know it’s not gonna work out.”
“I know.”
So…
Neal ran both of his hands over his face before he stood up. “You’re really sure about this?”
“I am.”
“Okay. Then I’m with you.”
Yes!
For a second, Mozzie wanted to whoop and do a victory dance. But the utterly grave expression on Neal’s face tampered down all of that feeling.
He patted Neal’s arm. “Thanks, man. … I’ll get us some wine.”
Neal grimaced. “I don’t think that’s gonna be strong enough.”
A moment later, Mozzie returned with a cork-screw, a bottle and two glasses.
“So. What’s your plan?” asked Neal after taking a deep gulp from his glass.
Mozzie bit his lip. “I was… hoping that you would help me with that.”
Humorlessly, Neal chuckled. “Oh. Great.”
Mozzie took a deep breath. “Okay. Obviously, we need to find out what exactly the CIA is up to and get proof. I came across their chemical lab, but the documents I saw indicated that there were other labs with “test subjects”. So, we need to find out where they are, get evidence and then… resolve it.”
“Sounds like a really great plan.”
“Neal, could you please stop being sarcastic?” asked Mozzie in irritation.
Neal took a sip from his glass. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.
“So. How are we gonna find their lab?” asked Moz.
There was a moment of silence.
“I know a girl who can help us,” said Neal at last. Then he smiled. “We’re coming back to New York.”
* * *
Part IV - On LJ | On DW