When the Marshals called and told that Neal's anklet had been cut, Peter Burke was furious. He did understand the kid, but felt disappointed anyway. He didn't even consider other options – Neal had run because he hadn't gotten what he had wanted – that was the best explanation he could come up with. Peter wasn't surprised. Of course, he would love to prove himself wrong but there hadn't been any leads or suggestions of something different. No ransom demands, no gossip on the street, no postcard from Neal (yes, he took this into consideration as well). Mozzie was incommunicado. Traffic cameras and CCTV didn't pick up anything interesting. So everyone – including Peter (or maybe – everyone led by Peter) – assumed that Neal was drinking fancy coffee and flirting with hot chicks in bikinis (or without them) somewhere in the world where US jurisdiction (and extradition law) didn't count…with Mozzie by his side and support from some illegally acquired money. Neal was put on the wanted list as a felon who broke his parole.

Peter went to DC in late June – two weeks after Neal's disappearance (he had had to postpone his transfer due to – damn Neal! – the fact that his CI had vanished and the agent was obliged to tie up some loose ends). Peter then spent the two worst months of his career. No, weather or politicians didn't bother him that much. First, he hated the desk job. Second, he hated telling people about his cooperation (partnership? friendship?) with Neal. Third, he hated even more explaining to people how to handle a CI and how his CI could have run away. So when Hughes' health suddenly deteriorated, Peter decided to come back to NY. He almost kissed his old desk. El decided to stay – but she was looking for some kind of a job opening in NY.

Reese Hughes - his boss and friend died suddenly in late August and Peter got busy with new tasks (and duties). He didn't have time to think of Neal well, he assumed that Neal was happy somewhere outside of NY (and of the country for that matter). Good for you, Neal– he thought often.

The first clue that Peter was wrong came (or more accurately ran) in in late September when Mozzie entered the FBI building in the fact that Mozzie was in obvious distress wasn't so surprising – it seemed his normal fact that Mozzie entered the FBI building was far more surprising – he usually stayed far away from everything that had something to do with law enforcement (including offices and officers as well).

The little man found Peter and read him the riot act.

"Suit, Neal's missing and I don't see any evidence of a search! I have been out of the country on business and when I came back I find out that Neal is gone!"

"Mozzie, we assumed that the two of you ran away after Neal's sentence hadn't been commuted. And there weren't any other leads!"

"Suit, I'm here! He wouldn't go without me! Neal is out there somewhere! What if he's in trouble?!"

Peter didn't have an answer for this. He was afraid that Neal might not only be in trouble, but might not belong anymore among the living. He didn't think that Neal had decided – all of the sudden – to leave his best buddy behind. Peter realized, belatedly, that Neal had some enemies – a lot of them, in fact – and he made more working for the FBI. So the agent decided to look into the case once more – but – as back in June – nothing could be found. Peter was frustrated – he knew that after so many months, his chances of finding Neal were minimal. He bashed himself but it didn't bring him an inch closer to finding Neal.

The second clue that Neal might indeed be somewhere in NY came just after Halloween. Jones' buddy from the harbor called asking for help. They were preparing some cargo for shipping to Europe but the crane must have malfunctioned and one of the containers was dropped. They decided to check all the containers for damage but to keep it quiet as well – the crane's operator at the time of the accident was an illegal immigrant. One of the neighboring containers was damaged enough to see the contents. But when they looked inside there were some paintings instead of the lumber that was supposed to be there. So Peter and Jones went to inspect the discovery, off-the-books.

Inside the container they found a lot of different paintings but they seemed to be linked somehow.

"It's like a collection?" Peter asked.

"No idea." Jones took photographs and sent it to Diana. They decided to start legal work for the warrant to plant GPS trackers on each of the paintings. Peter had a feeling that it had to be linked to Neal – the paintings were beautiful, flawless. They soon found out that they must have been forgeries as well – the paintings made up the panels of the famous Ghent Altarpiece. The originals had been in the process being restored in the Museum of Fine Arts in Ghent since 2012 –panel by panel.

"You think that Neal did it, don't you?" Jones asked.

"Yes. The only thing I don't know is whether it was done voluntarily and he got the paycheck of a lifetime, or under duress. I don't want to keep the container in NY. Let's get in touch with Interpol and prepare a joint operation. The ship leaves in two days so we still have some time. And the destination is Antwerp. We have plenty of time to crack this case and catch these guys."

"Boss, if Caffrey is among them…"

"He will get what he deserves."

"What if he isn't?"

Peter didn't want to think about this possibility. Of course, he didn't want to put his CI back in prison, but he didn't like the alternative either. The job seemed to be done – it meant that Neal wasn't needed anymore. Peter didn't want to think about this. He just hoped that the thugs had some other forgeries in mind as well. Truth be told – he didn't believe that Caffrey had done it voluntarily – that he had joined some kind of a gang to perform the forgery of his life. And left Mozzie outside this madness…

Within a day an expert from Belgium flew in and confirmed that the paintings were forgeries.

"Sir, someone must have kept up with the changes during the renovation. The restoration of the Ghent Altarpiece was started in 2012, and it's exactly as it looks now," she told Peter.

"The artists who did the job are very skilled – it's almost impossible to tell that it's a forgery."

"Artists? You think that they're more than one?"

"Yes. We would have to do some more tests to confirm it but my guess would be that there were two of them. The majority of the work is done by one person – but some panels must have been painted a bit earlier. The second painter is more talented – that's why – probably he or she was chosen to paint the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb. But you have to know what to look for. Sir, I've studied this painting for over 25 years now. It's so good that my less experienced colleagues wouldn't be able to recognize that it's a forgery. And once the restoration process is complete, it probably wouldn't be looked at closely enough to detect that it's a forgery for many years".

"So this is a perfect time for a theft?"

"Yes – we have to transport the panels, put them back in the cathedral when we are done. And soon they will be moved once again – all of them to the Museum, put on display – there will be a huge ceremony including the Royal Family, and then – moved back to the cathedral." Peter nodded.

"How long it would take to paint such a masterpiece?"

"My guess – a couple of years."

"Is it doable in 4-5 months?"

"If you work 16-18 hours a day – maybe. Hard to say. But if it were done so quickly, that might explain the one big mistake that the second artist made – in 1934 two panels were stolen and one of them was never recovered. So it was replaced after World War II – but the forger aged it in the same manner as the rest. This one is the easiest to distinguish. But still – no one will check this for years!"

"Thank you for your expertise. I hope you understand that this is confidential – we want to catch those responsible for the forgery."

"Of course. I brought all the information you asked for – a list of our employees, frequent museum visitors, a list of supplies that someone might have used."

Peter and his team - along with Interpol and help from their Belgian colleagues -were preparing a trap to bring down the criminals. Of course, there were still so many blank spots – who, why and when. They suspected that there must have been a buyer who ordered the forgery and – probably – supplied some money as well beforehand. It looked like someone had planned it for some time. And Peter would bet any amount of money that Neal was caught – somehow – in the middle.

The third clue came (or actually was sent) to the FBI's NY office general e-mail a few days after the discovery of the painting. Dr Susan Li from one of the NY's hospitals explained that one of her patients – a Caucasian male, in late twenties – early thirties, dark hair, skinny – was talking about Peter and the FBI. He said something what had sounded like "I didn't run." The patient was brought in by the NYPD – he wasn't too coherent and right now unconscious and in critical condition and without ID or anything that could help identifying him (apart from a photo which has to be pried from his palm – but it was crumpled beyond recognition – the colors faded, the shapes were unrecognizable). Dr Li knew that the e-mail had been a long shot but she was out of other options. Peter heard some interns talking about it and wondering what to do. His heart skipped a beat and he was on his way to the hospital in no time.

He called Diana from the car. "Diana, I might have found Neal. As soon as I confirm, get his medical file transferred to the hospital – I 'll send you details soon."

"Boss, is he all right?"

"No. I'll call you as soon as I know something. Call NYPD and ask them about the John Doe they brought to Bellevue almost a week ago."

"On it. Let us know asap."

"I will. Try to reach Mozzie."

"Ok."

A week earlier

"Frank, the girl's probably at home. Do you think we really have to enter this God-forgotten place? There will be rats…" Tommy – a rookie cop – told his TO. But Sgt Frank Michels, a seasoned NYPD cop, wasn't satisfied with his partner's trepidation. They parked their car in a neighborhood of warehouses, run-down buildings and what seems to be abandoned houses.

"Kid, stop whining. The dispatcher didn't call off the search. If it were for your child, you'd be looking everywhere. And if you sincerely want to survive your probation, you will listen to me and we will enter this abandoned building, do the search – by the book. Are we clear here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Her chances drop dramatically ever hour. And it's already November. Hard to survive the night on the streets without proper clothing."

All available resources were on the search for five-year-old Annie who had gone missing in the early morning when her mom had left her on the pavement just outside their house to go back inside to retrieve her cell phone. It had been over six hours now. The days were short in November in New York so everyone was trying to do their best to return the child to the devastated parents.

Frank questioned his partner about how the building search should be done and had him repeat what to do until the TO was sure that he would come back alive.

The building consisted of two floors with a basement. The door was open, windows boarded up, a single bulb was hanging from the ceiling in a room which probably a long time ago had been a place full of life. Now it was just damp, unkempt and unfriendly looking. And it smelled – something burnt – not a cake, rather oil? paint? some chemicals? The ground floor was dirty and provided no clue about the whereabouts of the missing child. The police officers cautiously climbed up the stairs. The corridor was as dirty as the ground floor. They searched room by room but found nothing. The scenery changed – the rooms were cleaner, a lot of lamps, some paint stains. Even something that seemed to be a functional bathroom and a dirty mattress on the floor. But no girl.

"Frank, I told you – we won't find her here! Let's go and grab a coffee!"

"Kid, there is still a basement to search."

Frank's partner just groaned. They descended the stairs slowly, step by step. The basement was as dirty as the ground floor. There were some boxes, rubbish lying around and prevailing dampness and stuffiness so typical for close spaces. The windows were covered by blinds. The cops lit the room with their torches.

Frank saw him first.

"Oh, my God. Tommy call for a bus and backup. Now!" Frank ran and knelt down next to the man who was lying on the ground shackled (the cop soon learnt that the shackles were welded – probably to avoid picking up locks) to the wall. He was skinny, naked up to the waist and barefoot. Colorful bruises and lacerations decorated his torso and back. The beating must have occurred recently – all the injuries looked fresh. His breathing was shallow and he was shaking.

"Sir, can you hear my? My name is Frank and I'm here to help you." The police officer checked the man's pulse. It was irregular but seems to be strong enough. The man was lying on his side and Frank didn't want to risk moving him. The man didn't respond.

"The bus will be here in 5-10 minutes. I can go back to the car and bring some blankets. Would you be ok on your own?"

"Ok. Call for the firefighters – we 'll need bolt cutters." Tommy nodded and radioed his partner's request. He was soon back with two blankets. They covered the man but didn't risk doing anything else. The medics arrived shortly afterwards – and with the help from the firefighters they cut the shackles and loaded the man into the ambulance.

All of them – mostly seasoned first-responders who dealt with many horrible situations every day – were shocked. It looked like someone had beaten the man and left him to die in here. A slow, painful death. Unspeakable cruelty… The CSIs didn't find much useful evidence – they took samples of the paint, photographed the scene. But there wasn't much else they could do.

The man woke up in the ambulance – he was terrified, not too coherent and couldn't answer any questions – the medics weren't sure if it was because of neurological damage or the psychological trauma. He kept trying to say something but was unable to make himself clear. The pattern was repeated in the ER. Dr Li, who was in charge of the patient's assessment, tried her best to understand him.

"Sir, I will remove the oxygen mask for a moment. Could you tell me your name?"

"e't'er' a'l p't'er'"

Dr Li tried to read his lips and also noted blood-shot eyes. He tried to squirm against too bright lights. She made a mental note to check it later. More life-threatening issues took precedence over this one. She tried to recognize what he wanted to convey.

"Peter? Your name is Peter?" The man tried to shake his head.

"Did Peter do this to you?" Another shake.

"Is Peter a friend?" A slight nod. Good,she thought.

"Can you tell me Peter's surname?"

"e'll h'm I d'n't run."

"Shall I tell him that you didn't run?" Another nod.

"Sir, his surname?"

"F'I."

"Could you repeat? The first letter is F, the last is I. What's in the middle?"

"B". The man pronounced the letter clearly but then he lost consciousness.

"FBI?" The assistant nodded, surprised.

"Ok, as soon as we have him stabilized, I will try to find his friend."

The man was ushered to emergency surgery soon afterwards. He had internal bleeding (slow, but still had lost a lot of blood). After the surgery, he was transferred to SICU and listed as critical. Dr Li and her staff were shocked by the man's condition and tried to bring him some relief. But the rest was out of their hands.

Dr Li decided to e-mail her request to the FBI – she was too busy to deal with possible red-tape on the phone to find the one right Peter who would make something out of the words – I didn't run.She didn't expect that someone would come.

So after almost a week, she was surprised when an agent – Peter Burke came and looked for her. The man survived the whole week – and his chances were rising every day. He had graduated to 'serious' some time ago.

"Dr Li, I'm Agent Burke with the FBI. Probably the man you've been treating is Neal Caffrey – my consultant who went missing in June. How is he? I'm his medical proxy. Can I see him?"

"Yes, but be prepared – he doesn't look good. He's on a ventilator. You will notice many wires and tubes – please keep in mind that they are there to help him not to do harm."

When they entered the patient's room, Peter sighed and confirmed that – the man lying supine in the bed was – indeed – Neal Caffrey. It was hard to recognize him – he was thinner, paler and looking much younger and very fragile. There was always a lot of life in Neal – now he was so still.

Dr Li must have understood that Neal was more than a CI to the agent so she tried to assure him.

"Agent Burke, he is still critical but I'm a bit more optimistic about his chances to make a full recovery. It will take time but he is young and was in good health. Stay positive."

"Could you – Peter had to clear his throat – tell me more about his injuries?"

"Several broken or cracked ribs, concussion, lacerations on the back and torso, vivid bruising. Internal bleeding to the abdominal captivity, bruised liver and kidneys. Some respiratory problems and some minor contusions as well. Agent Burke, I don't know how to tell you – but from what I was told Mr Caffrey was beaten and left for certain death – he was found by coincidence only because a child was missing."

Peter didn't know what to think. Neal was beaten at the end of the job – that was obvious. The question remained – was he played by his co-workers in the end or from the beginning.

"Doctor, did you find anything that might suggest trauma prior to the beating?" Dr Li was slightly surprised.

"Why are you asking?"

"Doctor, we have to know if he was taken or ran away. It would change his legal status."

"Well, he had a broken left leg – several fractures in fact. From different times – from couple months old to couple weeks old. Some healed nicely, some didn't – they would require medical attention – surgery as soon as possible - but we have to wait until Mr Caffrey is a bit stronger. He is malnourished – it seems like he got just bare minimum to survive. He had ophthalmia and a stress fracture of one of his right wrist bones – about two weeks old, not treated. And some inflammation in ligaments and muscles on his lower right arm along with blisters on the palm."

"Is it possible that his injuries to the right hand and eyes came from some extensive work – like painting too much for long hours?"

"Well, it's possible. He had some paint on him as well. Agent, whatever he did, it seems like he was doing it for very long hours and for some time now."

"Ok. I will send one of my agent to stay 24/7 with Neal. He is in protective custody from now on – whoever did this is still at large. Please keep Neal's name out of the database."

"Not a problem. I will give you list of attending personnel and tell them to wear their identification tags."

"When are you going to remove the vent? I don't want to speed anything but…"

"You need his statement. I got it. But you will have to wait – if nothing changes, maybe at the beginning of the next week. You have to understand that Mr Caffrey is heavily medicated – we put him under so his body has a better chance to heal and he is not fighting the ventilator – but even without the sedatives, he will be in and out for a while. I wouldn't expect much information for the next 7 to 10 days."

"Damn it. Ok. His health is the top priority right now." Peter thanked the doctor and then called Jones and put him in charge of Neal's protection detail. Peter needed to do something active to keep from thinking about what had happened. He had thought that Neal was free and happy, and now he knew that the opposite was true.

"How is he?" Jones asked answering the phone.

"It was pretty touch and go for a while, but it seems more likely now that he'll survive. It will be a while until he's back on his feet. And he won't be able to give us a statement for another week or two." Peter heard Jones taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"Boss, I got in touch with the NY officers who found Neal. They are still pretty shocked – and one of them is a cop 15 years on the job. I have the address if you want to take a look. Diana can wait for you there. They will also send us any evidence they gathered."

"Ok."

The drive was quite a long one even though the traffic wasn't heavy. Peter didn't want to think what Neal must have been put through. Instead he focused on the clues, evidence. And then he saw it.

"Only Neal!"

Diana looked at him in disbelief.

"Boss?"

"Diana, get Mozzie here!"