"All right, people, listen up." Peter stepped up to the front of the room and rapped his knuckles on the table for attention. "We have nearly two dozen witness statements about the Medicare fraud going on at Medical Now. The US Attorney's office has issued warrants to search the premises, and arrest doctors Bolen and Yates." He slid the paperwork across to Jones. "You and Diana will take a team and serve these warrants at the clinic."

Jones picked up the documents and nodded. "Right."

"The search warrant lays out what we're looking for. But mostly we want evidence of any other parties involved in the fraud," Peter continued, glancing at some notes. "The preliminary estimate is that this little operation alone has bilked Medicare for nearly twenty million dollars."

"What about the counterfeiting?" Diana asked. "Any leads on where that's being done yet?"

"A few possibilities, but nothing definitive. I'll be coordinating with Treasury to secure warrants and search the properties we've identified." Peter pointed at the warrants. "The location of the printing operation is also covered in there, so any evidence you find, you call me right away." He looked around at the group of agents gathered. "You all have your assignments. If you're going to the clinic, meet up with Jones and Barrigan down in the garage. If you're on the counterfeiting detail, hang loose. The first warrants should be coming through any time now. We'll start sending teams out soon. Questions?" He looked around the room, but no hands were raised. "All right, everyone stay safe, and let's get this done."

The room began to clear, and Peter paused to gather up his files. He turned to head for his office, but stopped when he saw Neal standing by the door. "You have a question?"

Neal nodded, stepping back into the room. "I don't have an assignment," he said. "I'd like to go with Jones and Diana."

Peter shook his head. "No, I want you here. Treasury may have more questions."

"I've already told them everything I know – several times."

"And maybe they'll want to hear it again."

"I can help review the records…"

"I said no. You're staying here," Peter said, his tone allowing for no further argument. He picked up the files and walked into his office, closing the door behind him…

And leaving Neal standing alone in the conference room.


Rearrange all his paperclips – check. Add some rubber bands to his ball – check. Clean every speck of dust off of his computer monitor – check. Turn every spare piece of paper into origami – check. Sketch the pair of birds nesting on the ledge outside the corner windows – check. Drink more bad coffee than could ever be healthy – check.

Neal sighed and turned his eyes to the upper level again. Hughes was still in his office, talking to some of the Treasury agents. A few of the other agents from other agencies were gathered in the conference room. And Peter…

Peter was alone in his office, talking on the phone.

Yeah, this had been an exciting day… and it was only a little after one in the afternoon.

There weren't even enough agents left to make it worthwhile volunteering to go get coffee again. Granted, he could go for himself, but it looked better to be magnanimous.

No, everyone pretty much had an assignment – except him.

Maybe he should go have some lunch – alone. He might even have time to stop by the warehouse…

No, better to stay away for a bit. Too many visits would look suspicious if – when – Peter looked at his tracking data.

Too bad he didn't dare do research on the art here at the office. There was still so much history to find. He wanted to know where each piece had come from. But it would be too easy for someone to track his search history here - and too obvious if he tried to hide it. And his thumbs got sore trying to do a lot of searching using the tiny keyboard on his phone.

The last couple of junior agents headed toward the elevators, apparently off to lunch. The Treasury agents from the conference room followed, and Neal suppressed a smile. He was picturing the men in black stuffed into a bobsled, speeding down a snow-covered mountain…

He waited until the agents were safely in the elevator and on their way downstairs before he got up from his desk, stretched, and reached for his hat. He was just starting to put the fedora on his head when Peter's office door flew open and the agent came hurrying out, pulling his suit coat on as he did.

Peter leaned into Hughes' open office door, exchanged a few words, and then stopped at the top of the steps, staring at the empty bullpen. His eyes finally reached where Neal was standing, and then he started down the stairs, hurrying toward the doors.

"Caffrey, you're with me," he said, not breaking stride.

Neal couldn't quite hide his surprise. "Really?" But Peter didn't stop to answer or explain, so Neal flipped his hat onto his head and hurried out into the elevator lobby.

There were already a couple of agents in the car when the doors opened, so they rode down to the garage in silence. Peter strode off ahead when they reached the lower level, while Neal waited for the others to vacate the car before he could get out. By the time he got to the car, Peter had already started the engine, and Neal scrambled to get his seatbelt fastened as the agent pulled out of the parking space much faster than normal.

"So, where are we going?"

Peter negotiated the tight turn toward the exit before answering. "Jones called. They found another address hidden in some documents at the clinic, one we didn't have before. Everyone else is out on assignment…"

"Except the token ex-con who's been twiddling his thumbs all day."

Peter exited the ramp and merged into traffic, hands tight on the wheel. "What is it you think you should be doing?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe something useful."

"Treasury might have needed…"

"Oh, come on. They already had everything I could give them. You just don't trust me to do anything." Neal's voice trailed off as he said the words and he sighed, turning to look out the window.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to trust you with at this point," Peter said, his voice tight.

"I passed your polygraph."

"You've faked that before. With the FAA recording stolen from Sara."

"That was only a voice stress analyzer," Neal pointed out. "Those are easy to fake. Yours was a full polygraph." And fortunately the analyst had only asked if he had stolen the treasure, or arranged to have it stolen, and not if he knew where it was now…

"Polygraphs have been faked before."

"Not by me." Which was true, because he'd never been foolish enough to agree to take one before – and he'd only done this one after being assured it was a limited scope. "And I still have not lied to you," he added softly.

Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, but then bit back the words with a sigh. There was silence for a few tense seconds before he finally spoke. "We have a case to solve. The rest… the rest we'll deal with later."


The building looked like anything but a hotspot of illegal activity when they pulled up in front. In fact, if anything, it looked abandoned. It was an old, brick building, eight stories tall, and it had obviously seen better times. Most of the windows on the lowers floors were broken out, and weeds had overrun the steps.

"Did Jones say how this address came up?" Neal asked as he studied the derelict building.

Peter shook his head. "No, just that it came up in a search of the records, and we didn't have it on our list before."

"So what's the plan?"

"The plan is, I'm going in to check things out. You're staying here in the car."

"Peter…"

"I'm serious, Neal. Hughes told me I couldn't come without taking someone along, and you were the only one available. But you're not going into that building."

"I don't think that's what Hughes had in mind."

"Well, it's what I have in mind." Peter opened his door and started to get out. "I mean it. Stay in the car."

He got out, closing the door behind him, and starting for the building.

Neal could only watch, and fume, as Peter climbed the steps to the entrance, opened the door, and disappeared inside.


The inside of the building was littered with paper and leaves and other debris that had blown in through the broken windows. In places, where the wind came through, it had actually drifted, almost like snow. All in all, it was hard to tell if anyone had been here recently, because the next stiff breeze would rearrange the clutter and hide all traces of human passage.

Peter made his way down the first floor hallway, checking each room. Most of the doors were off their hinges, making that easy.

This probably wasn't the best plan, checking out the building by himself. But he just wasn't ready to be working so closely with Neal. Besides, the consultant wasn't armed, so really, what help would he be if trouble broke out?

Except to be there, a witness just in case trouble did break out…

Yeah, probably not his smartest move, being here alone. But he had committed himself to the path now, so he pressed ahead.

The first floor was empty, so he moved into the stairwell and headed up to the second floor.


Neal stared at the tracking anklet, picturing a pair of scissors in his hand. He could cut it so easily, be gone before anyone even started looking. Because he had aliases Peter and the FBI never found out about, perfect IDs that would stand up to any scrutiny. And now he had quite possibly the world's greatest treasure – ever – at his fingertips…

He sighed, leaning back against the headrest. This was almost as bad as when Kimberly Rice had sent him out to babysit the car during the Wilkes case.

No, actually this was worse. He had no history with Rice. But with Peter…

To make matters worse, the car was getting very stuffy as the sun moved across the sky. The front windows were partially down, so he probably wasn't going to die of heat stroke any time soon, but still, it was getting very uncomfortable.

And really, if Peter wasn't there, how would he know how stuffy the interior of the car was getting…

That left two options. He could hotwire the car, get the engine started, run the air conditioning. Which was probably not a good idea – federal agents probably didn't appreciate their vehicles being treated like that.

So, that left the second option – getting out of the car. After all, his deal didn't include suffocating in a hot car.

He got out, stretching as he closed the door. Since he was out – saving his life, and all – it wouldn't hurt to look around a little.

Wandering down toward the corner, he studied not only the building itself, but also the surrounding area. The nearby lots had already been razed, full of weeds and the remnants of structures that were apparently long gone. One lot on the next block had a fence around it, the wire bent and twisted.

He reached the corner, looking behind the target building. The next street had a few buildings that were apparently still being used. They were in better repair, and a few vehicles were parked nearby.

He started to turn back, and then stopped as something caught his attention. Turning the corner, he walked a little closer.

Wires, from the building on the next street, leading to the one Peter was in. Providing electricity, unless he was very much mistaken – which wasn't very likely. And there was no reason to run electricity to an abandoned building…

Unless someone had moved in.

Of course, it was possible the wires had been run a long time ago, and were no longer carrying current. And really, he wasn't interested in climbing up to touch one to find out.

No, he'd just go with the assumption that the wires were live – and Peter had walked into way more than the agent had anticipated.


He had cleared three floors and moved to the fourth floor when he heard it. It was a rhythmic sound, definitely not something that occurred in nature.

It reminded him a lot of the printing press Neal had identified by sound during their first case together…

Peter paused at the entrance to the fourth floor corridor, listening. The sound seemed too faint to be coming from this floor, so he slipped back into the stairwell, heading up another floor.


He hadn't quite made it back to the car when the van came into sight, coming toward him, fast. Ducking quickly to one side, Neal hit the ground, sliding behind some weed-covered chunks of concrete.

The van pulled around to the far side of the building and stopped. Three men got out, two of them with visible gun holsters. They pulled some boxes out of the van and then disappeared into a side door.

Yeah, that pretty much killed the theory that nothing was going on here.


He was on the sixth floor when a new sound intruded. The freight elevator down at the other end of the hall started up, the ancient works rumbling to life.

The noise partially masked the rhythmic sound he had been tracking, forcing him to make a quick survey of the rooms on that floor. But everything was still empty.

The light changed at the end of the hall, flickering as the elevator car passed the outer grate, still on its way up.

Peter slipped back into the stairwell and headed to the seventh floor.


It wasn't hard to find the door on the back side of the building, and the biggest challenge with the lock was simply the amount of rust coating the mechanism. Once inside, there was just a short corridor until he reached the main hallway.

He could hear the freight elevator rumbling at one end, though it sounded as if the car was on one of the upper floors. That left the stairwell at the other end as his option.

Neal slipped into the hallway, making his way carefully toward the stairs.


Peter ducked into the closest room as he heard the elevator rumble to a stop on the eighth floor.

He was sure now that the other sound he had been following was, indeed, a printing press. And he had definitely reached the right floor. There seemed to be a large area toward the back of the building where the sound was coming from.

He flattened himself against the wall just inside the door as the inner gate was raised in the elevator. The outer door creaked open and three men came out. They passed by where he was hidden, heading toward the room where he suspected he might find his counterfeiting operation.

Three men arriving now, most likely more already there running the press…

This was more than he should be doing alone, and he knew it. His best move was to get back to the stairway, make his way outside, and call for backup. Hopefully the agents who were raiding the Medical Now clinic were coming free by now and could head this way.

Except he still hadn't actually seen anything he could point to as illegal activity.

The footsteps had faded as Peter moved cautiously out into the hallway again. He'd just take a quick look, and then get out.


Neal ran up another flight of stairs, moving cautiously out into the corridor on the third floor. He could hear the thumping of a press coming from a higher floor, which was probably where Peter was – though he had to check the other floors on the way. But there was no sign of activity here, so he hurried back to the stairwell and continued to climb.


Peter reached the short corridor heading toward the back of the building, stopping at the corner to take a deep breath. He breathed in again, held it, and popped his head quickly around the corner.

Nothing.

He couldn't really hear anything over the sound of what he was positive now was a printing press. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get a warrant based only on that sound.

Keeping his back to the wall, he worked slowly toward the door on one side of the corridor. It was open, so hopefully he could get a quick look and get out again, unseen.


The fourth floor was all quiet and Neal ran back to the stairs, heading up.


Gun ready, Peter crouched down by the door and peeked around the corner. There were some boxes partially obstructing his view, but he shifted slightly and then he saw it. The printing press was running, spitting out bills. Clothesline was strung around the room, with drying notes hung up. Two men were clearing some of the line, packing up bills into a box.

And one of the men turned, spotting him. There was a shout, and the first shot rang out as Peter was bringing his gun to bear…


Neal pushed open the door on the fifth floor and was about to step into the hall when the popping sounds reached his ears.

Gunfire!

He turned back to the stairs, heading up.


Peter returned fire, even as he tried to retreat. The building hadn't been designed to provide cover for a gunfight and, stripped as it was, it was even less welcoming.

He fired off several shots as he ran for the main hall, and then he dove to one side, away from the stairs. For a moment he thought he had made it…

The pain ripped through his leg and he stumbled…