Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA and Jeff Eastin. Inspiration and elements of the story came from Jedi Sapphire. That said, all the character from the Major Thefts Unit belong to me. I hope you enjoy them.
A/N: Many thanks to all of my reviewers from the previous chapter. I appreciate your support and comments and hope you enjoy this next segment.
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Sunday night, Silvers Residence
Upon seeing the caller ID, Frank stepped into another room so that his wife wouldn't hear. "Anything?" he asked, after accepting the call.
"Nothing, sir," the voice on the other end replied. "He took a nice stroll around the village after the probies took him for dinner. He's back in his hotel room, now, and there are no signs of stirring."
Frank asked hopefully, "You're sure he didn't notice you following him, Roger?"
"Negative, sir. He didn't change his pace during the entire evening, and there were no signs of nervousness or anxiety."
The chief agent of the major thefts division sighed. "All right. Thanks, Roger. I appreciate it. You can head home, now."
"Yes." A pause. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking… why am I tailing Agent Bateman."
"My gut is telling me that there's something off. He's hiding something."
"But Agent Bancroft didn't say anything," Roger pointed out.
"No," Frank said slowly. "No, he didn't, but he definitely knows something is wrong. I can't believe that that encounter was supposed to be normal." Thoughtful silence. "I'm willing to trust Bancroft's judgment for now, but I want an eye kept on him while he's with my people. Will you—"
"He won't leave my sight, tomorrow," Agent North vowed.
"Good man," Frank affirmed. "I'll see you in the morning, Roger?"
"Yes, sir. And pass along my regards to the wife."
"Will do."
Frank clicked the phone shut, and returned to his bedroom.
Barely an hour before, a street in the West Village
"I can't," a suited man was stressing into his phone. "They have a tail on me."
Whatever the other end of the phone was saying halted the man. "Just because I'm with the FBI doesn't mean I can't spot someone following me everywhere I go!" His voice rose at the last words, and, as if remembering where he was, he peered around down the street to make sure he wasn't overheard. He lowered it as he continued, "Anyway, the one they've put on me is good. I went for dinner with the probies and they never realized he was there!"
The man began walking again, every few moments glancing surreptitiously behind him to see if his follower was still there.
"I don't know." The man was sarcastic. "Maybe the meeting with Bancroft made him suspicious. Maybe working with those blue collar, criminal idiots has robbed him of any form of common sense. Does it matter?"
The man's next answer was flat. "If he thought I was an imposter, he would have arrested me instead of having one of his agents leech onto me."
He was shaking his head. "I don't have to keep it up forever. Agent 'Bateman'," he emphasized the name, "is on a flight back to Chicago tomorrow night. It's just one more day, and then I'm back in White Collar like nothing happened."
Blue eyes rolled. "No. I'm not overcompensating for a severe case of boredom. And it's not impulsiveness. When have you ever known me to be reckless?" A beat. "Don't answer that. Just stop arguing and stick to the plan."
A pause, and scoffing, "Oh please. Don't act the white collar criminal on me. I know you've pulled plenty of home jobs in your time—hold on, I'm getting another call—It's Elizabeth." The man's voice held a note of surprise that quickly turned into exasperation at the person on the other side. "No, I'm not going to say hi for you. Yes, I know it's late. Thank you for the update. You know how I depend on you to be my eyes and ears to the outside world. Yes, well, I would be at home, wouldn't I, if I didn't have a tail on me!"
Then the man was appeasing, "Sorry. You're right. That was uncalled for."
The man turned onto a main road and stuck a hand out to hail a cab. "I'm going to head to the hotel. I'll head back as soon my shadow decides to call it a night."
He opened the door to the cab that pulled up. "He won't sit the night. He doesn't have the gear for that. And if he does, I'll find a way to slip him. You just focus on getting those apartments ready for tomorrow."
With that, the suited man slid into the cab and was off.
Six hours earlier, FBI Major Thefts Unit
Bateman spent the morning session finishing the security assessments of the floor plan power point from the night before. Though his evaluations were no less imaginative than the night before, Frank's team had learned their lessons, and were listening instead of arguing.
For the most part.
"Oh, come on," one of the probies was scoffing as soon as the last slide came up. "People don't actually use the sewers for escape routes. Not in real life."
"He couldn't even get to it, anyway," somebody added. "He'd be ten stories off the ground. And unless you think he would jump out the window, somehow use the shop awning to break his fall—"
"Excellent. You're finally starting to think like a proper criminal," Bateman said cheerfully.
The rest of the team looked at him disbelievingly.
"You're insane. Thieves don't do things like that!"
Bateman sniffed disdainfully. "Yes, well, your division has clearly had the misfortune of only dealing with uncreative louts. But if you ever have the opportunity to go up against a truly masterful robber, then expect things like this."
With that he announced: "All right. Lunch break. We'll reconvene in an hour to discuss which of the entrance and exit points we have identified for each building you should focus surveillance on."
Frank's team trailed out of the room, their conversation abuzz with the morning's lesson.
"You're really making an impact on them," Frank told Bateman once the last agent had left. "I heard a couple of them plotting ways to keep you here."
"I'll keep an eye out for kidnapping ploys," Bateman commented lightly, eyes twinkling.
"The window to awning to sewer trick," Frank mentioned, as the two slowly started making their way back to his office for lunch. "Isn't that how Neal Caffrey escaped from that judge's office a couple years back?"
The visiting agent grinned. "You should take your examples from the best. And he is considered by many to be world-class."
"You sound like you admire him," Frank's tone was surprised. FBI Agents didn't often praise their enemies.
"I always appreciate elegant plans," Bateman said knowingly, and Frank had the strangest feeling he was being deflected.
He pushed the door to his office, only to find Bancroft sitting in one of his chairs. The older agent stood at Frank's entrance.
"Agent Silvers. I was wondering if you had—" he broke off upon seeing Bateman. "You?! What are you doing here?"
"I was specifically sent to Major Thefts, sir."
"A good thing, too," Frank inputted. "His lessons have been most informative, and I know the agents are looking forward to the practical sessions tomorrow. Agent Bateman has proven himself quite the expert."
Bancrofts eyes bugged out. "Bateman? Lucas Bateman?"
"I have been told that is my name, sir." Bateman bowed his head slightly, and he looked extremely nervous for all the cheekiness in his response.
Bancrof looked bewildered for a long moment, until finally, he spoke slowly, "Yes. Of course. I apologize, Lucas," he drew out the name, as if unsure of himself, "I didn't recognize you. You've changed since we last saw each other."
"Yes," Bateman replied, and though his laugh seemed forced, his expression had cartwheeled from anxiety to relief to its customary self-confidence, "I decided the beard wasn't a good look for me."
"Indeed," Bancroft said. His words were coming out hesitantly, raising warning flags in Frank, "I would agree." A pause, and the director glanced at Frank from the corner of his eye, "I don't mean to be so surprised. It completely slipped my mind that you were going to be here. I wasn't expecting you till next week, otherwise I would have stopped by sooner. I hope your time here isn't taking you away from," another side glance to Frank, "any other responsibilities you have."
"No, I am not expected anywhere until Tuesday, sir. I doubt anyone would be missing me."
"Good. I would hate for your office to be looking for you." Frank had the strangest sense that there was something else behind those words.
"I don't see that happening," Bateman confirmed meaningfully, and Bancroft nodded.
"Well. I'm happy to get to see you again," an uncomfortable pause, "Lucas. The agents are very lucky to be able to learn from you." Bancroft cleared his throat. "I hope you will stop by my office sometime before you head back to Chicago. I would not want to miss the opportunity to," his eyes flickered again to Frank, "catch up with you."
"It would be a pleasure," Bateman said formally, shaking the chief agent's hand.
Bancroft turned to Frank, "I will talk to you later, Silvers. I, uh, forgot I had another appointment." With that, Bancroft swept out of the office.
There was a escaped breath from Bateman, as if he was holding it, but when the Chicago Agent turned to Frank, there wasn't any indication of unease or awkwardness. "Lunch?" he proposed cheerfully.
The bewildering prickling that had plagued Frank since Bateman's suspicious arrival intensified.
Two days earlier, NY White Collar Office
"It was well done," Neal said warmly, pushing open the glass doors to the bullpen. "Especially for your first field operation."
Matthew Hale, the probationary agent assigned to Neal for the day, beamed. The smile fell off his face, though, when he saw what was waiting for them on the balcony of the pen. There was a two finger point and summon directed at Neal, before Agent Hughes disappeared back into his office.
"He doesn't look happy," Hale commented, looking a little nervous.
Privately, Neal agreed with the assessment. Not wanting to feed the new agent's discomfort, however, he winked, "He's probably just having a difficult time with the crossword. He's a bit obsessive about them."
Neal Caffrey sauntered into the Special Agent in Charge's office to find the man sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, and eyes fixed on the conman.
"I just had an interesting phone call with the lieutenant of the thirty first precinct. He told me that you and Hale are responsible for the arrest of Thornton."
Neal had always been good at reading people. It was an essential skill to excel as a conman.
Agent Hughes was most definitely not happy.
"It's quite exceptional," the suit continued, in a tone suggesting that it really wasn't, "considering I had given strict instructions that this was to be a surveillance exercise only, and that you and Hale were not to leave the van."
"Amazing the things you can accomplish from inside the van, isn't it?" Neal said offhandedly, hoping that Hughes had only received a cursory report.
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." Hughes nodded agreeably. "Would you like to tell me how you did it? While you're at it, you might also explain how you violated four national laws and caused a bank hold up from inside a van."
Ah. So he had heard everything. Well, then.
"Technically," the conman offered, "we didn't actually break any laws—"
"Caffrey!" Hughes exploded.
Neal stepped back, alarmed. "All right! We might have, sort of, left the van."
"Really?" Hughes' tone was laced with sarcasm. "And I suppose Agent Hale suggested that you enter the building to confront Thornton, did he?"
Neal really thought that the agent was over reacting.
So he shrugged, "There might have been a little bit of persuasion." At the glare, he quickly amended, "A lot. A lot of persuasion."
Hughes' glare intensified, and that, more than anything incensed Neal into offering a proper defense. "Listen. We heard Thornton talk about his plan to shift the money today. You know that the FBI hardly ever recovers money once it's sent offshore. If we had waited to make the arrest, that money would have been gone."
"I'm not saying we shouldn't have arrested him." Hughes said calmly. "But storming into the bank to accuse the bank manager of fraud without any sort of proper backup… You're lucky all he did was lock the building down. If he'd had a gun, it could easily have turned into a hostage situation."
Neal looked properly abashed.
"I'm not disagreeing with your result, Caffrey, only with the method. Burke might be able to adapt to your reckless impulsiveness, but I can't have someone in the field that puts his teammates in danger on a whim."
Neal grimaced. "I suppose its desk duty until Peter returns, then."
"Oh no. You like field work, right?" Hughes' smile was almost menacing. "Then I'm going to give you field work. The Major Thefts Unit always needs help chasing after their thieves, and Peter has constantly praised your running skills."
Neal's expression was horrified. "Sir, you can't be—"
"You report there tomorrow. Let Agent Silvers know that I have sent you to help them in whatever capacity they require."
Mozzie was right. FBI Agents were the embodiment of pure evil.
Sunday afternoon, NY Major Thefts Unit
A break during the afternoon lessons found Neal Caffrey in the bathroom splashing his face. This impersonating-an-agent-thing was turning out to be a lot more stressful than he had expected.
His hands gripped the sink, and he looked down. Maybe he should just… a sudden voice startled him out of his reverie.
"Here you are."
Neal spun around, his knees bent and poised to run.
The dark agent merely quirked an eyebrow. "Force of habit?"
Neal straightened up as soon as he recognized his guest. "Agent Bancroft." His tone turned reproachful. "You of all people should know better than to alarm a conman while he's in the middle of an operation. Especially given all the surprises of today."
Bancroft snorted unsympathetically.
"Anything you have to complain about is your damn own fault, Caffrey. What in God's name possessed you to impersonate an agent? If you had wanted to teach security, you could have just told Silvers, and every agent on the East Coast would be lining up to get lessons from the Renaissance Conman."
"Don't blame me," Neal sniffed, hands in the air in the gesture of innocence. "I was only following orders. I certainly didn't expect to come here and get accosted by a bunch of agents telling me I was Bateman."
"—There's this delightful, little, two-letter word in the English language called no. Ever heard of it?—"
"—and I thought it might be a strange FBI custom. I've never pretended to understand your ways, so I assumed—"
"If that's really the best you can come up with, then your talent at conning has clearly been exaggerated." Bancroft sounded more amused than distressed which boded well for Neal. "And as surprising as this is, I'm not here to reprimand you for committing a federal crime."
"You're not?" Neal's blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Bancroft's expression was amused. "No. I expect that this event will simply be highly entertaining. And, as skilled as Lucas is, the agents will learn a lot more from you than him. Speaking of which," he frowned, "you don't know what happened to Lucas?"
Neal shrugged. "Never met the guy."
"So he's not off somewhere pretending to be you?"
"Absolutely not." The forger sounded insulted.
"Hm," Bancroft mused. "I hope nothing's wrong. Maybe I should check in with the Chicago office to make sure…" He snapped out of the reverie. "Oh, yes, before I forget. Silvers mentioned something about a practical session tomorrow."
Neal broke out into a gleeful grin, which, more than anything else, evoked some uneasy in the older agent. "Nothing can quite prepare you for stopping a home robbery than actually stopping a home robbery. So I'm going to break into a couple of apartments, and your team can try their hand at catching me. It'll be completely safe—"
"Stop," Bancroft held up a hand. "I have been told by Agent Hughes of your immense capacity to cause unimaginable chaos that leads to broken limbs and injuries among even the most competent of agents. We are not going to try that, here."
"Agent Hughes embellishes," Neal dismissed. "We won't even be play acting violent break-ins."
"All the same, I'd rather not have to return you to Burke with a bullet in your leg because an overexcited resident or police officer shot you when you mock-broke into an apartment." Bancroft almost sounded regretful. "On the other hand, you may feel free to break into unoccupied spaces as you please."
"Are you," Neal sounded surprised. "Are you afraid of Peter?"
Bancroft looked stern. "Of course not. I've just noticed that he is unfortunately rather fond of you, and I would prefer to not get on his bad side." The older agent winked, and Neal broke into a grin.
"I think I can work with that, sir."
"Excellent. Was there anything else?"
"Just a question, sir. Why?"
Bancroft's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I had such a good time misleading agents with you last time that I couldn't pass off the opportunity for a repeat."
Both the men were laughing as they exited the bathroom.
Sunday night, Neal's Apartment
Neal was not surprised, upon his return home, to find Mozzie sitting at the kitchen table.
He only hoped that the bottle of wine he had brought was enough of an offering to appease his bald mentor.
"Peace, Moz" he soothed, pulling out the bottle. "I'm sorry for getting you involved."
Mozzie's snort told him what the conman thought of his apology.
"I am sorry. I didn't expect it would get this out of hand—"
"—No. You didn't. You never do." Mozzie snatched the bottle from Neal's fingers.
Neal held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "What do you want me to do?"
"Stop. Make Bateman disappear, and pretend it never happened!"
"What, claim that he had a family emergency in Chicago? That's a great plan."
"You could tell them the truth."
Neal was incredulous. "Oh, yes, that'll go well. Hello room of people who have sworn to uphold the laws of this valiant nation. I've just spent the past two days impersonating a Federal Agent. Which, in case you were wondering, is a class three federal offense. I'm actually Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire, and—"
"All right." Mozzie snapped. "It was just a suggestion. The sarcasm is completely unnecessary. Far be it from me to tell the legendary Neal Caffrey what he should do."
"No, the only way I see this ending well is to continue with our plan. After tomorrow, it'll all be over." Mozzie's expression showed a clear lack of confidence in Neal's words, but the dark haired criminal informant continued assuredly. "After all, what could possibly go wrong?"
Over an hour earlier, Burke Townhouse
Elizabeth wandered into the family room to see Peter hastily drop her cellphone onto the couch. She raised an eyebrow at his guilty expression.
He defended himself immediately, "It's not like Neal picked up his phone, anyway. I suppose," he added, glowering, "he's under oath not to."
Elizabeth nodded, not even trying to keep the amusement off her face. "I made him promise," she said sweetly.
"I married a very devious woman," he mumbled to himself, wrapping an arm around her as she curled into his side on the couch. "It's almost criminal."
"So says the man who stole my phone to make a secret phone call."
He flushed, a little.
"You miss the office," she stated matter-of-factly.
He looked guilty. "I like being here with you more," he offered earnestly.
"You think it's boring."
"Of course not!" He protested.
She shook her head. "It's ok that you are devoted to your work, hon. I knew that when I married you, and it's part of the reason I love you. So," she said, turning to him from her seat, "tomorrow, you're going back to the office."
"Hughes won't let me."
Elizabeth's expression was one of entertainment. "Hon, do you really think either Reece or I expected you to last the week? I know the man I married."
"And I married the most perfect woman in the world," he said, gazing at her with pure adoration.
She snuggled deeper into his side. "But you are bored—"
"Oh. Words can't even describe." he assured immediately, the admittance clearly giving him relief, and the promise of the next day evoking contentment.
To Be Continued…
Please review. I appreciate all comments, criticisms, and concerns intended to improve my writing.
Stay tuned for the final chapter!
Cheers,
The Third Marauder
