Neal looked at the gun aimed at his chest, not moving a muscle.
Peter looked at Neal, the gun in his hand remaining steady where he held it out in front of him.
Then his finger pulled the trigger.
Neal staggered as the shot rang out, clutching his chest. He tripped over his own feet and fell backwards, crashing into the river below.
As his body disappeared below the surface, Peter lowered the gun, watching.
-)()(-
48 hours earlier...
"Hey, I don't like this any more than you do," Neal said with one of his most innocent shrugs. "But this guy is slick. There's no way you can get any proof just by being his buddy."
Peter sighed. "I know. But, Neal, this isn't going undercover for you. He already knows who you are. And, may I remind you, he hates your guts."
"I'm fully aware of that," Neal said, leaning back in his chair. He offered no more arguments, knowing full well it was Peter's decision and not his.
Peter thought about it and realized that Neal was right. He hadn't been able to uncover any evidence that their suspect, Wayne Sharpe, had murdered a young woman after she had accidentally discovered his illegal arms deal operation. Peter had gone undercover instead of Neal when it came to light that Neal had "allegedly" had a run in with the man before. Needless to say, there had been a con and Neal had sincerely pissed off an already temperamental arms dealer.
After a week of undercover work as Sharpe's new friend, Peter hadn't found anything. Which was where Neal pitched his crazy idea.
If they made Sharpe reveal anything, like say, his murderous tendencies, they had him. They just needed to provoke him enough to mess up. Neal had offered to to the provoking, under the guise of pulling another con. Peter didn't like it. He'd never let his CI do anything this dangerous before.
"Do you have a better idea?" Neal asked when Peter's silence stretched on and the conference room grew too quiet.
"No," Peter grumbled reluctantly. "Fine. But if we do this, we're doing it my way. Nothing stupid, understand?"
Neal grinned. "Nothing stupid." That grin was a lie, as how could it not be? He always did something stupid. But then again, it usually got them results so Peter probably wouldn't call him on it.
"Alright, let's figure out how to safely piss off an arms dealer with anger issues."
-)()(-
The next day, around noon, Neal walked right into the building, wearing one of his nice suits and, of course, his hat. His pace was quick, but not hurried, and he gave a wink to the receptionist as he passed by. The elevator took him as far at the fortieth floor. Sharpe's office was on forty-five.
A little work on the control panel with his tie bar bypassed the security and as easy as that, Neal stepped off and walked down the hall.
He didn't bother knocking. Instead, he waltzed right in and glanced at Peter briefly before turning his attention to Sharpe.
The man, at first, didn't seem to recognize him, but then Neal smiled at him, showing perfectly white teeth. "Wayne."
"Caffrey," Sharpe growled, though he didn't quite manage to hide his shock.
"Nice to see you too," Neal smirked. "Love what you've done with the place."
"You realize I'm gonna kill you," Sharpe snarled, "You stole—"
"Yes, yes," Neal said, waving a hand dismissively. "But that's in the past. I thought we could start new."
"Oh, so you've come to return the twenty million you stole from me?" Sharpe inquired.
"Oh heavens no, that's all gone," Neal said flippantly, "Actually, I came to ask you if you'd like to peaceably hand over another thirty."
Sharpe actually laughed and glanced over at Peter. "Can you believe this, Charlie? He must be stupid or desperate." Returning his gaze to Neal, he huffed. "In what universe do I not shoot you right where you stand?"
"This one, if I'm correct," Neal said. "Because if you do, my friends at the FBI will find out about your little business here. I've got powerful friends too, you know. If they don't hear from me every day, they send everything to the feds, and I don't think you want that, do you?"
"You've got nothing," Sharpe sneered.
"Are you willing to bet on that?" Neal returned, "Because if you put thirty million on the table right now, I'll just take it and go. No harm done. If not..." He tilted his head a bit. "I'll give you two days to think it over."
As he turned and walked out of the room, he paused to give Peter a smirk and then he was gone.
Peter glanced at Sharpe, playing concern when he asked, "What are you gonna do?"
"He's not taking my money again," Sharpe said firmly, just as they had predicted he'd react. Stubborn. "Let me handle it, Charlie. You can go home."
-)()(-
That night, Neal headed over to Peter's. Elizabeth had made dinner, and it was better than sitting in the conference room going over the case. There was nothing they could do until Sharpe made a move anyway.
They hadn't even finished eating when Peter's phone rang and he glanced at the number before signaling them to be quiet. "Wayne," he answered, "What's up?"
He stood and walked out onto the porch, leaving Neal and Elizabeth to glance at each other curiously. When Peter returned, Neal asked, "What'd he say?"
Peter shook his head. "He's smarter than we thought. He knows you don't have anything on him. He just asked me to come with him tomorrow to give you the thirty million."
"He's planning to kill me," Neal guessed, brow furrowed in thought. "If I don't show up, he'll just come after me anyway. He might go after June or Mozzie." He sighed, shaking his head. "I should have known he'd be this thorough. I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Peter assured him, more as an afterthought than an actual attempt at convincing him. "We need to figure out how to get that evidence before then or we're done. I'll have to pull my cover."
Neal played with this fork, frowning in thought as he rested his chin on the other hand. "Well..." But he left the sentence unfinished. He had nothing.
Peter sent him home, planning to pull the plug on the operation in the morning if neither of them came up with an idea. It didn't look like this one was salvageable, which happened sometimes, even for them. They had a high closure rate, but it wasn't perfect.
Morning came and Peter reluctantly headed in to the office, ready to tell Hughes that the Sharpe case was a no go. However, when he checked his phone on the way up to the twenty-first floor, he saw that he had a message. It was from Neal.
'Keep your cover. Meet is at noon. Trust me.'
And didn't that just sound suspicious. Peter hoped Neal had a plan in there somewhere.
Not ten minutes after he'd gotten the text, he got a call from Sharpe, giving him a time and a place where they would meet with Neal. Noon, down by the water near one of Sharpe's warehouses. They'd never been able to connect him to it, though, and they had a pretty good idea of what he stored in there. Peter at once felt hopeful. Whatever Neal had in mind, he was pretty sure there was a reason they were having the meet there. He wondered how Caffrey had managed it, then decided he didn't want to know.
Noon came. Peter rode with Sharpe to the warehouse, near the bridge that crossed the river. Under the bridge, he could already see Neal, waiting.
Wordlessly, Sharpe got out of the car and walked down, Peter trailing behind. He caught Neal's eye but saw nothing useful. No hint at what was going to happen.
"So, you've had time to consider," Neal said in way of greeting, nodding at Sharpe.
"I have," the man replied.
Neal tilted his head. "I don't see a briefcase. Is my money in the car?"
"You won't be leaving here with anything," Sharpe snapped. "I did a little digging and you, Neal Caffrey, have nothing. Believe me, I'm thorough. So you can spare me the bluffing and the lies. I won't be tricked by you twice."
Peter noticed Sharpe's gun and he saw the man reaching for it. Neal saw it too.
"I wouldn't do that."
As if on cue, there was a ringing sound and Sharpe paused, not reaching for the gun anymore but for the phone in his pocket. He only had to glance at the ID before glancing at Peter.
"Charlie, keep an eye on him. This will only take a moment." He answered the call and walked off, leaving their sight. Peter watched him go, then looked back at Neal, ready for an explanation and already irritated that he'd come this far without one.
What he saw was Neal pulling a gun from his belt.
"Whoa, hey!" Peter said, "What are you doing? I thought you hated guns."
"It's loaded with blanks," Neal assured him. "Don't worry. Now that call will only distract him for a few minutes, so listen. You take this—" He shoved the gun into Peter's hand. "—and shoot me. I've got everything after that taken care of. Sharpe needs to trust you enough to show you that warehouse and when he does, you take him down."
Peter looked at him, blinking as he took in all the words. He glanced behind Neal at the water, seeing how this could work. "How long can you hold your breath?" he asked.
"A while," Neal replied, glancing over Peter's shoulder.
"Who is he on the phone with?" Peter asked.
"One of his biggest customers and also an... enemy of a friend. I fed him some information that would warrant a call to Sharpe and the timing couldn't have been better. Now are you gonna shoot me or not?"
"What do I say? You tried to run for it?"
"You're creative, I trust you."
Peter nodded, raising the gun to aim at Neal, which felt all wrong and he hated the feeling it gave him. He'd be flashing back on this one for weeks, he was sure. Neal gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod and Peter tightened his finger on the trigger.
He flinched, it was so real. Neal's tumble back into the water, his body disappearing into the murkiness of the river.
Sharpe came running, eyes wide. "Charlie!" he called. His eyes quickly took in the scene and he shot Peter an almost angry look.
"He tried to run," Peter said, staring into the water, but there was no sign of Neal.
"So you shot him," Sharpe said, and it was hard to tell if he was upset or impressed so Peter shrugged. "I figured we were gonna kill him anyway."
He wondered how long Neal would stay under or how he'd even know when they left.
Sharpe suddenly grinned, putting an arm over his shoulder. "I knew I liked you." Thankfully, he didn't stay to even make sure Neal was really dead, and together they walked back up to the car. Peter glanced back only once, but the water was smooth and still.
-)()(-
Neal felt the surprisingly cold water close over his head and he quickly maneuvered himself deeper, not stopping until he reached the bottom. It wasn't very deep here, but it was deep enough to where he wouldn't be visible from the surface. He never thought he'd actually be grateful for the polluted brownness of the river.
His hand brushed against something metal and he felt around it, guessing it was just a rusty piece of rebar. It was something to hold onto at least, to keep him from floating back up.
He'd planned to stay down as long as he could, no matter if they were gone. He didn't have a way to tell anyway, so what else was he supposed to do? He'd been practicing holding his breath since the whole vault incident a few months back. He was never more glad of such a skill. His best time was a little under two minutes. Hopefully that was enough.
He focused on Peter and not the burning in his lungs beginning to spread. He hoped his plan had worked and that Sharpe had let Peter into that warehouse. He was pretty sure it had. He'd had Mozzie screw with the car when they arrived, so they wouldn't be going anywhere that way.
How long had it been? A minute? He couldn't hear anything but the water lapping at the shore and the low hum of a boat somewhere out further.
He shuddered when his thoughts turned to fish and he prayed that one wouldn't brush up against him. He didn't think he could handle that.
His lungs were really starting to hurt now, but he could take a little more. He didn't fancy coming up for air only to get shot for real, this time by Sharpe. No, he'd hold on a little longer.
His hand tightened around the piece of metal and his jaw clenched as his lungs screamed for air. Just a little longer.
He wished he had a timer. This felt like longer than two minutes. It must be a record. He thought he heard another noise, faint, like splashing. But he couldn't be sure.
As soon as he felt the first tendrils of fuzziness in his head, he let go. No need to pass out now.
The surface was further than he'd thought and by the time he reached it, his hands and feet were going numb. He gasped in a big breath and went under again, but just briefly because strong hands grabbed onto him immediately and he panicked. It hadn't been long enough. The whole thing was blown.
-)()(-
Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph as Sharpe took him inside the warehouse. All was there.
"This is neat," he commented casually, letting the code phrase slip. It was time for the team to move. It happened fast and Peter didn't wait to see Sharpe in cuffs. He ran back down to the bridge and looked around. No Neal. Did that mean he was still under? How long had it been? Two, three minutes? Even for Neal, that was ridiculous.
Peter crouched beside the water, slapping the surface a few times. Neal would hear it if he was down there, right?
A beat passed, then suddenly there was Neal, gasping in precious air before slipping back beneath the surface. Peter grabbed him before he could sink and pulled him free of the water. Neal actually struggled, trying to break free. That is, until Peter snapped, "Stop that! It's me!"
Neal stopped right away, but his eyes remained closed and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he continued to gasp loudly. He went entirely limp, but when Peter asked if he was alright, he gave a thumbs up and even tossed in a little smile.
Jones came jogging over, looking at Neal with some unreadable expression. "Caffrey, you okay?"
Neal sat up, shaking his head and sending water droplets scattering in all directions. "Fine," he panted. "That was a long time."
"It was two minutes and eight seconds," Diana said, close behind Jones. "I timed it."
Neal grinned as Peter pulled him to his feet. "New record." He glanced between the two. "So who won the bet?"
Diana snorted. "There were no bets, Caffrey, this was in the middle of an operation. You think we took the time to make bets on how long you could hold your breath?"
"That's exactly what I think."
Jones cleared his throat. "Yoohoo, bad guy is getting slapped with cuffs. Peter, you wanna...?"
Peter nodded. "Yes, I do. Neal, come on."
Neal made a face. "Yeah, I'm a little soaking wet right now and I don't think I want Sharpe to see me looking like a drowned cat so I think I'm just gonna go home and take a shower, get into some dry clothes."
"Well that's too bad," Peter said, "Because we came here with Sharpe and the team came in the van so no one can drive you home." He could see Neal do the math on walking, which was a no go, so he reluctantly followed Peter back up to the warehouse where Cruz was just putting Sharpe in the back of a squad car.
Neal opened his mouth to speak, but Peter interrupted, "No. You're not getting a ride from the NYPD."
"But—"
"They don't like you."
"I know, but I'm cold," Neal said, putting every ounce of misery in the words as he could muster. It was pitiful.
"Boss, I drove my car," Diana offered, "I can take him home."
Neal perked up and Peter waved them off. "Fine. Get out of here. And Caffrey?"
Neal had been ready to dash towards the car, but he turned, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
"Good job today."
The bright grin that got him almost made Peter smile. Almost.
Further off, he could see Jones handing Cruz a twenty.