The Cabin
"I'll surrender but Kate goes free - she had nothing to do with any of this," whispered the tired voice in Burke's ear. "It was me totally. Let Kate go. Promise me."
FBI Special Agent, Peter Burke, sighed deeply as mixed feelings of exhilaration and sadness swept over him. He studied the small picturesque wooden cabin in the distance, with its' cute little overhang porch, corrugated rusty tin roof, and long silver wind chimes playing softly in the slight morning breeze lazily blowing through the narrow hollow of the Pocono Mountains. The cabin, hugged closely by tall pine and oak trees, looked deceptively peaceful as faint yellow light shined through the diamond-shaped beveled windows, and a slight wisp of fog-colored smoke wove its way skyward through the tops of the emerald forest in which the cabin was protectively nestled as though in the arms of a loving mother.
What couldn't be seen as easily were the dozen or so FBI, NYPD officers and U.S. Marshals surrounding the cabin, most of them hidden by last summer's fading hollyhocks and fragrant juniper bushes. Burke knew his team was growing weary and he himself was looking forward eagerly to going home to his wife, Elizabeth, eating a hot meal, and throwing himself into bed after two days with no sleep. A three-year chase was coming to an end but he was too exhausted to rejoice.
Neal Caffrey, bond forger, and con artist extraordinaire was playing his last card. He'd been a noble adversary and Burke felt a tinge of nostalgia that it was all coming to a close.
"I have no authority to make promises," said Burke into his cell phone, well aware Caffrey knew he was in no position to ask for any. "But I'll do what I can," he added, unnecessarily. A prey as challenging as Neal Caffrey deserved some small consideration in his mind and if the FBI agent could do this for him, it would be little enough. Kate Moreau was never the main target although Burke suspected she influenced Caffrey more than the young man realized.
There was a long silence on the phone and for a moment Burke wondered if the connection was severed. In the years he'd chased Caffrey, Burke took heart from the fact the young con artist never seemed reckless or sloppy; his every action deliberate and well thought-out. The FBI agent hoped that wouldn't change now - at checkmate.
"Alright," the voice drawled in his ear. "But come alone. Just you." Then, Caffrey added a belated, "please," which for some odd reason, tore at the agent's heartstrings. Burke was well-aware of Caffrey and Moreau's deep bond and he knew the young con artist was in agony at this moment at the certainty of their separation minutes away. Peter could not imagine how he would feel if he knew he was soon to be separated from his Elizabeth - for who knew how many years. He couldn't think about that now and put the thought quickly away.
Burke glanced over at Hughes, crouched stiffly a yard to the left. The old man nodded his head slightly, giving permission. During his long FBI career, patience was his greatest ally, and if they could end this with no shots fired, it would look good in his final report. Burke shivered momentarily, despite his bullet-proof vest, as he tore off his dusty suit jacket in the cold crisp autumn air and he slipped out of his gun harness, handing it to his aide, Jones, who was standing beside him. Quickly Burke stuffed his arms back in his jacket, feeling strange without his gun tucked under his left arm. It wasn't the first time he'd walked unarmed into a stand-off situation, but his heart pounded in his chest. You never knew what you would confront once you walked through that door, and he desperately hoped he knew Caffrey as well as he thought he did. The young man did not like guns, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be aiming one at the FBI agent very shortly.
With deliberation, Burke walked up the little moss-covered cobblestoned pathway, crisp fall leaves crunching under his shoes, now unfortunately damp (probably ruined) and caked with drying mud. This really was the cutest cabin, he thought to himself, trying to slow down his heart rate. It'd make a great get-away for Elizabeth and himself as he wondered who owned it and if it was available for rent. Burke reached the porch and slowly climbed up the three high stone steps and then found himself standing before the carved front door with its inset of stained glass showing a sleek Canadian goose in flight. The handle on the door was made from elk antler and the horsehair mat said "Welcome" in bright red letters on a background of hunter green. Now what? He listened for any sounds coming from the cabin but all was eerily quiet. A good sign? A bad sign? Burke didn't know. Caffrey was a smart young man - but smart young men did stupid things when they were cornered.
Lacking any other option he could think of, Burke knocked politely on the front door. Anyone home? He thought to himself, trying to stifle the giggles which occasionally came over him in times like this. Concentrate, Burke, he told himself sternly. One lapse in concentration could mean catastrophe.
"Come in," a male voice called. Burke felt oddly like the country preacher, from his childhood, arriving for Sunday dinner. With both hands, the agent pushed the heavy door open, grateful for his bullet-proof vest, aware it was small help if a bullet was aimed at his head. The door creaked open, a pleasant whiff of - bacon? hit his nostrils. Sure enough, a square wooden table with a blue-checked cloth was set with two place settings of fine Danish china; Burke recognized the pattern immediately as it was sitting in his kitchen cabinet at home. Sterling silver cutlery was placed beside each plate and rested on thick linen napkins folded three times over. A platter of still-crackling bacon was on the table as well as a plate of steaming buttermilk biscuits and a white/red speckled pot of what Burke assumed was coffee stood nearby along with other assorted paraphernalia - including a wine bottle? What - no eggs? Burke asked himself and then quickly put the thought out of his mind.
Looking beyond the finely set table, Burke's eyes adjusted to the darkness and on a soft leather couch against the wall he saw two figures tightly holding each other as though on a sinking ship. Neal Caffrey looked as exhausted as Peter Burke felt. His thick tousled hair was greasy and although his eyes shone black, Burke knew they were the lightest shade of pure blue, quite striking. He was indeed a handsome man even though there were nice dark circles under his eyes now. The young woman he clutched in his arms was, if not equally attractive, still very beautiful and her long hair covered them both like a protective veil. She wore a close fitting long-sleeved white blouse open at the neck to the top of her generous breasts and a long scored blue denim skirt which reached to her ankles. Black boots peered out from under her skirt and the right heel was tapping the floor nervously
"Breakfast?" offered Caffrey, bravely attempting a smile it was obvious his heart wasn't in. His young face was somber and his jaw trembled slightly as he fought to control his emotions. His arms held onto the young woman like he would never let her go. He wore dirty torn blue jeans and his long feet were bare as they rested on the inlaid oak floor. Only a thin white t-shirt covered his upper torso and Burke could see the fine definition of muscle underneath.
"Thanks - I'd like to," said Burke with an easy grin. "But - no time." Caffrey nodded. His hard-won smile was beginning to crack at the edges and intuitively Burke recognized he needed to do something quick; he didn't want to drag a weeping Caffrey out of the cabin - to the jeers of the lawmen outside. "However, I will have some coffee," the FBI agent continued pleasantly, picking up a tin cup from the table and filling it with the deliciously smelling brew, still piping hot.
"Cream?" he queried, glancing over at Kate, who pointed to the small lime green refrigerator in the corner. Burke turned and walked the few steps, his back to the couple. If they were going to shoot him, they'd done so by now, he figured. Adding a splash of half and half to his coffee, he took a cautious sip. Wow! Where'd Caffrey get this stuff anyhow? It was the best coffee he'd ever tasted.
Returning, Burke pulled out one of the old slatted chairs with its crocheted brown seat cushion and sat down, the laden table behind him. "Are you armed?" the agent asked cheerfully as though asking if Caffrey had a cup of sugar he might borrow.
Caffrey shook his head 'no' adding "You know I don't like guns – but then, you know everything about me, right?"
Burke shook his head regretfully. Indeed not, he thought to himself. I don't know why a brilliant young man ends up in an isolated cabin in the woods surrounded by a dozen law enforcement officers when he could easily have had his pick of careers and be living a life of luxury anywhere in the world. This wasn't how arrests usually went down and the pseudo hospitality of the young couple had briefly thrown him off his game. Caffrey was staring at him intently and Burke was struck by how much more stunning he was in person than in his surveillance photos. He could easily be a high-paid model or even an actor. Kate too was beautiful, although somewhat younger, and she clung to Neal, her round face alternating between expressions of bewilderment and defiance.
"What now?" prompted Caffrey as though reading Burke's thoughts, his voice strained. He clutched Kate tighter. "I told you - Kate had nothing to do with any of this. I don't care what you do with me - but Kate goes free - right?" It was more a plea than a question. It might have held more sway with Burke had he not known it was a lie. Kate herself was no angel and her criminal record reached back long before her association with Caffrey. Burke didn't know what part she played in Caffrey's cons, but innocent she wasn't. However, he knew better than to debate the point here. He'd once been involved in a similar "easy" surrender that ended with four agents dead. Stick to the basics, Peter - he reminded himself.
"I have no authority to make deals," repeated Burke. He knew Caffrey would see through any lie; the con man's gift was to discern the truth even though he himself seldom employed it. Caffrey threw his head back in frustration and uttered a groan as his face grew darker and his eyes began to dart about the small cabin searching for an escape route he knew did not exist. "However, I'll put in a good word with the District Attorney; we're on the same softball team - he's a good friend." Burke added, words which seemed to calm Caffrey and he relaxed his grip on Kate's arm and she scooted away slightly. The small movement was not lost on Burke who sensed Kate was further along in acceptance of the situation than Caffrey.
"Cross your heart promise?" prompted Caffrey, dredging up a childhood phrase Burke hadn't heard in years.
"Yes - cross my heart," reiterated Burke, neglecting to add the second part of that promise. He felt no animosity towards this young man; but only regret such brilliance was wasted. What a great FBI agent he would've made! Briefly the agent's mind drifted to the team they might have been, Caffrey's intellect and his own experience and determination. Too bad the young man made such poor life choices. Regardless of what deal was made with the DA, prison was a certainty and it would be a harrowing place for a man like Caffrey who'd need every wit he possessed to survive.
"OK," Caffrey announced with all the solemnity of a judge, "I trust you." He said it with such dignity, Burke forced himself to keep from grinning. The FBI agent knew he should get up now and handcuff the young couple and call his agents in to take them away. But damn, this coffee was good and he wanted to finish it. So the three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, each with their own thoughts and by time Burke put the empty cup back on the table, Caffrey was noticeably more relaxed and he'd loosened his grip on Kate who'd moved to the other side of the sofa.
Slowly Burke rose from his chair and reached back under his coat to pull out his handcuffs. Emily Post never wrote about the etiquette of putting handcuffs on a suspect and Burke was sensitive to the ambiance in the room; he didn't want to startle Caffrey to where he startled and ran. The cuffs sparkled in the dim light of the room as Burke opened them with care and then glanced over at Caffrey who'd also risen from the sofa and was staring at the cuffs warily, resignation on his young face but open uncertainty as well.
"I'll try not to pinch you," Burke offered airily, as though he were administering a flu shot. Reluctantly the young man turned around and put his thin arms behind his back. Burke was good to his word and carefully locked the cuffs on, making sure to get no skin. He sighed in relief at the final click. Three years. It was over. He could take a vacation without thinking about Neal Caffrey. Elizabeth would be over the moon.
After pulling out his two-way radio and summoning the others, he ordered Jones, "pack all this stuff up - trash included," glancing at the empty wine bottle standing incongruently on the table. Burke noticed the bacon - as well as the biscuits - had vanished. "Put his socks and shoes on!" Burke called out to the two U.S. Marshals who were in the process of pushing Caffrey out the front door in his bare feet. The men glanced back in annoyance at the FBI agent but saw the look on his face meant business so they shoved Caffrey into a chair by the table and started searching around the room for his shoes, hoping to find socks as well.
"Where's your coat?" asked Burke of Caffrey, as he pulled out his leather binder to begin taking the notes he would need for his report to Hughes. The young man nodded in the direction of the four-poster bed in the corner covered with a colorful crazy quilt. Jones, following this exchange, retrieved the leather jacket and then pulled Neal to a standing position.
"No funny stuff, okay Caffrey?" said Jones, as Burke tossed him the key to the handcuffs. "Just put the jacket on and I'll put the cuffs back on - OK?" Caffrey mumbled a barely audible "yeah", his thick hair falling over his face, obscuring his downcast eyes. After Caffrey pulled the worn brown leather over his grimy cotton t-shirt, the Marshals produced a pair of scuffed western style boots, size 13, along with a dirty pair of black socks which they tossed at the young man's feet. "Put those on too," Jones ordered, jiggling the cuffs in his hand impatiently as he watched the young con artist they'd chase for so long. Neal sat down again to comply.
Kate was already seated in the backseat of one of the NYPD cars, lights blazing. Her round open face was tear-stained and she kept shaking her straight long hair out of her eyes as she looked forlornly out the car's smudged window. More tears rolled down her face as she saw the U.S. Marshals prodding Caffrey to another NYPD car behind hers. Their eyes met and Caffrey began struggling with the two men on either side, illogically, trying to get to her. "Kate!" he called, desperately, his handsome face screwed painfully up with open longing. "Let me just say good-bye!" he begged, tears beginning to run down his grimy cheeks.
"Put Caffrey in with Moreau," ordered Burke, observing from the porch.
"Sir, that isn't procedure," protested one of the marshals, already annoyed by how long this was taking. Just throw the scumbag in the car and let's get the hell out of here, he thought to himself. He was on overtime and his captain was a stickler for the bottom line; he would be angry this had taken so long.
"I'm senior officer here," Burke pointed out to the fidgeting middle-aged man with the pot belly and acne scarred face. Hughes was on his way back to Manhattan to another case. "Do what I tell you."
The man's dour expression said it all, but he obeyed. With irritation he pulled Caffrey roughly over to the car where Kate waited and yanked the door open, pushing the young man down, forgetting to protect his head from the door jam. Caffrey stumbled into the backseat of the police cruiser, losing his balance, and crumpled on top of Kate. He struggled to right himself, made harder that his hands were restrained behind his back. Gently Kate helped him as best she could with her shoulder and in a moment he was snuggled next to her, their bodies touching, their feet intertwined. Caffrey leaned over and they kissed, a deep lingering passionate kiss that made Burke blush and he looked away.
"Thank you!" Burke called to the acne-faced Marshal, making no effort to keep the sarcasm from his voice. In sotto voice he whispered to Jones, "Get that man's name and number."
Two NYPD officers climbed into the front seat of the patrol car and with a slight wave to Burke, one started the engine while the other picked up the radio. Caffrey turned his head and met Burke's gaze, their eyes locked for a moment before the car drove away down the muddy bumpy washboard road. Burke knew they would meet again at Caffrey's trial and he wondered briefly what would become of him after that. His personal cell phone rang and he saw his home number on the screen. "Hi, Hon," Peter Burke said, a happy smile opening on his face. "Yeah - it's over. It ended peacefully. You won't have to hear about Neal Caffrey any longer!" he teased her playfully. While he knew that wasn't exactly true - there was still a trial to prepare for - this day indeed felt like a milestone. Persistence and experience trumped brilliance and youth - as he always knew it would.