I won't be able to post tomorrow so I am posting this today. The next post will be on Sunday.

Chapter III

Peter held the glass door to the FBI offices open for Neal noting the rigid control he was exercising over his expression. Butter would not melt in the con man's mouth as he heard the news in the elevator that Troy Miller was out on bail. Neal calmly and quietly went to his desk in the bullpen, unusually busy for this time of day, and threw his hat down on the desk with only the slightest bit of force, knocking some slips of paper onto the floor and turned to his computer, looking for all the world like he was deep into his work.

Thinking of how he was going to keep Neal out of getting himself into some serious trouble, Peter startled when Agent Clinton Jones stopped from him from going to his office with a touch to his arm. "Hughes said he signed for a T level security clearance package for you and he's keeping it in his office safe. He said you're to come find him as soon as you get in."

Peter started off to find Hughes when he felt Neal following him and swiftly turned around. "No."

Neal almost bumped into him, "What?" Neal said loudly his eyes wide with false innocence.

Everyone in the area slowed down what they were doing at Neal's raised voice. Some looked up at what was going on, others, just passed by their attention focused on their own tasks.

"Neal its T level security clearance, that means not you," Peter said poking Neal in the chest with each word.

Neal blanked for a moment, a flush of humiliation washing through him at the public reprimand, but then smiled genially. "Oh, yeah, okay, sure, I know my place," he laughed.

"I wish," Peter looked at the ceiling as he rushed off, climbing the stairs to Hughes office two at a time.

"He can't tell anyone Neal, even Hughes, don't take it personally."

Jones was getting far too perceptive, but he was only half right, Neal wasn't taking it personally, he agreed that Peter should not trust him, it would be stupid to do so. He pretty much proved to himself that he wasn't worthy of the trust of anyone especially the only person he ever trusted. He had brought it on himself, he'd have to live with it, but it was a bitter pill.

"So tell me, how'd firearms training go?" asked Jones, talking a seat on the corner of Neal's desk.

Neal briefly debated what he should tell Jones, how he could use any misinformation. But then he heard Peter's voice drifting down from the open door of Hughes office. If the members of the team thought he was proficient, it could cost them their lives. "I provided the morning comedy routine. I dropped the gun and couldn't hit the target." He waited for the ribbing he was sure would come.

But that was not Clinton Jones style. He just chuckled, "That's nothing. I almost broke my finger the first time I loaded a gun. Got it caught in the action and that's supposed to be impossible. Wow did that hurt. That was after I tried to put the clip in backwards and dropped all the bullets. They wouldn't let me near the firing range again until I repeated all the class work. If all you did is drop it, you're ahead of the game."

Neal smiled at that and plopped back down in his chair, not noticing the slip of paper on the floor.

"Hey, Neal," Jones picked it up and handed it to him. "Somebody must have left this phone message for you when you were out. If it's one of your super model friends, let me know if she has a sister."

"Will do," Neal chuckled and read the note.

"Please come home when you get this, June."

In the year he'd been renting the loft from June, she'd never left him a message. The casualness of the words did not belay the urgency for Neal. He was out the door before Jones could suggest he tell Peter he was going.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After Peter signed the security receipt for the package for Hughes, he checked in with office security for the day's key card for the specially insulated room which could not be bugged and which had an isolated computer that was offline and used strictly for viewing high security documents.

When he opened the package there was a sealed business envelope, which when he opened it he found held nothing more than a thumb drive and a letter from Special Agent Diana Berrigan.

"Hi Boss,

Please excuse the cloak and dagger but I didn't want to take any chances. I've only got some of the files decrypted but I had to get this information to you quickly because word is Fowler left for New York an hour ago. I don't know of any reason he'd have to go except Project Mentor and when you read this. you'll see the need for the urgency and security.

The thumb drive has all the documents which will back up what I'm summarizing here.

PM is the baby of Dwight McMurphy, the Tephlon spymaster. It's legitimate, but it's all on paper, a lot of plans, a lot of unallocated funds and one 'asset', Neal. It looks like its sole purpose is to maneuver Neal into doing all of McMurphy unapproved suicidal and illegal ops. McMurphy coerced Fowler to use Kate to manipulate Neal into breaking out of prison. They wanted him on the run, afraid to trust anyone but Kate. That way Kate would emotionally isolate Neal and Fowler would control him through her.

But they had not planned on your friendship with Neal, you capturing him so quickly and then making that deal. They tried again with the Le Joyau Precieux's pink diamond, McMurphy was one of the few brass that knew of it, but that didn't work. The music box was and is the next attempt.

There's more. McMurphy gave the music box to Count Rudolph Armeni, yes, master of the floating mansion, the Regnum Atrus. Armeni needed it for a political coup but policies changed before he could use it. McMurphy wants it back but Armeni has another buyer and so McMurphy wants to use Neal to get the music box for him and he's not too picky about how that happens.

I'll get more info to you as we get it.

Good luck, and keep safe, and keep Neal safe until I get there.

Best,

Diana

P.S. Congratulate me, my transfer papers came through.

Peter put down the letter and scanned the documents. What he read made him wish he'd never caught Neal in the first place. Neal was a convicted felon; he deserved punishment for the crimes he'd commented and a lot more than the four years he'd gotten for the one act of forgery they'd been able to prove. But there was no way he deserved this. There was an extensive psychological profile of Neal with detailed instructions on how to manipulate him, or more to the point, how to break him. There were dozens of pages of planned, nearly impossible suicidal operations, each one building on top of the previous one designed to make McMurphy a much more powerful man than he already was. Each one would necessitate Neal perform some 'sanctioned' deed, which could be un-sanctioned and McMurphy's whim. The operations would pull Neal deeper and deeper into isolation and fear until he would be totally dependent on McMurphy. Neal would be free of the tracker but imprisoned in every other way outside of walls.

By the end of the afternoon, Peter had a clearer picture of how Neal's life had been orchestrated from the time he had first gotten noticed by McMurphy, about a year after Peter started tracking him. If Peter had not caught Neal, he might have had a chance but once he was in prison, McMurphy arranged incidents, nothing overt, but just enough pressure at the right time and place to the point that when Kate said goodbye, a lesser man might have committed suicide. Psychologically, Neal's only option was to escape.

Kate was no innocent in all this, thinking she could play the player. That had just worked in McMurphy's favor. Yet she had no idea who'd she'd been dealing with and had gotten in way over her head.

Now another plot was in the works with Neal the primary player. In order to keep all of them safe, Peter had to come up with a way to help Neal without telling him why because of the security level. He already knew that was going to be a near impossible task. Securing the letter and the thumb drive, Peter walked into the bullpen only to see that Neal was not there.

Not wanting to trust phones considering how often his seemed to get bugged at the mere thought of Fowler, he ran up to his office to check Neal's tracker on his computer. He just hoped that he could get to Neal before it was too late.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Of all the people Neal did not expect to see when he entered June's Riverside Drive mansion, OPR Agent Garret Fowler was probably at the top of the list.

He was there with just one other agent, both sitting with June at her dining room table, sipping coffee and nibbling on cookies and actually discussing the weather as Neal slowly walked down the ornate entry way to the rear of the house. "Caffery," Fowler called out jovially as if he had spotted a long lost friend. He got up, walked over and put his arm around Neal's shoulders, squeezing just hard enough for it to be painful. "Glad you could get here so soon. We need to talk."

"Garret Fowler," he smiled his widest grin, "as I live and breath. I take it you're here to see that I don't do either for too much longer?" Neal said as he shook loose of the grip.

"Now, is that anyway to talk?"

Neal shot him a dirty look before rushing over to where June was sitting and crouched down so that he was at eye level, taking her cold hands in his, "June, are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm fine, dear," she said in her normal voice but whispered, "now that you're here," June smiled weakly.

There were few things that could rattle June, but Neal could tell by her eyes that this unexpected visit was one of them. Whatever Fowler did or said to Neal's benefactress to upset her, Neal would find a way to make him pay. He stood, up, smiling again, "We can talk upstairs," he said and led the men to his loft apartment.

Once Neal opened the door Fowler followed by his 'friend' walked in and wasted no time in walking around, picking up books, shuffling papers, snooping around, making messes where before there was order.

Neal gently closed the door, took off his hat and hung it on the rack, walked around the agents as they riffled through his artwork and supplies, poured himself some juice from his refrigerator, and plopped down on his couch as he if were alone.

"Just make yourselves at home," he said slipping off his shoes, grabbing the remote, putting his feet up on his coffee table and switching the television to a game, something he could easily pretend to watch while keeping all his other senses trained on Fowler.

He saw Fowler and his friend exchange glances and with a nod the friend walked over to Neal pulled a folder from where he'd held it under his coat and tipped its contents on Neal's coffee table, dozens of glossy eight by tens of Neal and visitors to his home.

Neal his expression remaining friendly and unaffected, bent over the photographs, spreading them out on the table.

Since he'd lived at June's, Neal could count the number of guests he'd had on one hand and scanning the photos, he was grateful that none of the visitors had been of the intimate variety yet it was obvious someone had gotten their jollies watching him.

He leaned back, feigning a yawn, "I really have to remember to put drapes up on that window," he said gesturing towards the French doors leading out to the terrace.

Fowler came and stood over him. "It wouldn't matter. Our equipment can penetrate most types."

Neal picked up one picture of himself, completely in the buff, taken at night. The fact that pictures had been taken of him and his visitors in his home without his knowledge made him feel creepy but this made him feel violated.

"Hm," he took the nude picture of himself and moved it back and forth to catch the different angles of light from outside, then walked over to his mirror in his bedroom and twisted around as if to check out his own ass comparing it to the picture, "do I look fat to you?" he asked Fowler's henchman.

"You know walking around naked where people can see you is against the law," said Fowler.

Neal did a double take. "So is voyeurism."

"I just want you to feel safe and secure, Neal. I thought that knowing that you are constantly under surveillance, for your own protection of course would ensure that. We don't want what happened to Kate to happen to you."

Neal struggled to keep his game face on when all he wanted to do was slam his fist into Fowler's mouth. "And of course, a peeping tom stationed in a building two blocks away has already proved to be real helpful when a killer was already waiting for me in the room," Neal threw down a photo of Pierce Spellman waiting for him, sitting at his kitchen table with a gun in plain sight.

Fowler just shrugged, his smirk intensifying. "I've got a mission for you, one I think you'll like."

Neal dumped the picture back on the coffee table and reseated himself on his couch. "I'm working with Special Agent Burke at White Collar. I know I made that clear when you last tried to manipulate me into working for you."

"I think you have that wrong, Neal. You work for me and are only on loan to White Collar until or unless we need your services," Fowler took a seat in one of the chairs facing Neal.

"No, the way I remember it, I'd spent a month in the hospital recovering from your last op and then was unknowingly dangled as bait and experienced a lovely night being tortured because of your next failed op. You blamed me and were going to send me back to prison when I pulled your chestnuts out of the fire. Then you offered me a real job with OPR. I think I said go to hell, or maybe, yes, I remember, when prosciutto can be caught with butterfly nets. Yes, that was it but go to hell works just as well."

"You gave me the music box. You accepted the deal I made with Kate. You're working for me."

"I quit."

"Then we'll give you a ride back to prison."

"That threat's getting kind of old Fowler. You want to send me back; do it. I'd probably last no more than a day but I'd prefer a shiv in the back to getting killed working for you. It might take longer but the end result would be the same and probably a whole lot less painful."

"Relax, Neal. I swear, it won't be as bad as last time. You won't be bait; it's just an simple undercover op, more like a con than anything else, right up your alley."

"If it's so simple, use one of your own agents."

"It requires the special Neal Caffrey touch."

Neal grinned, "Appealing to my vanity, Fowler. You know I love flattery," Neal dropped the smile, "but I love my life more, No."

"It will only take you a week and then I promise, we won't bother you again."

"Neal knew the only way to get them to leave was to listen to what they wanted. "Does Peter know about this?"

"Burke isn't a part of this but I'm sure you'll accept this errand I've got for you."

"Why is that?"

"Because we're sending you after the man who ordered Kate's death."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Mozzie huffed in exhaustion as he plopped down on Neal's couch and carefully set down a recyclable shopping bag on the coffee table. It was filled with every DVD he could find featuring a butler, man servant, gentleman's gentlemen, general factotum and estate manager, however one called it.

Mozzie called it "a domestic slave of the imperialistic elite."

"You've got them?" Neal said, anxiously pulling the disks out of the bag. "Mozzie, The Addams Family?" he said in exasperation as he held up the complete set of the TV series.

"What? Lurch was an exceptional butler and totally under appreciated. Besides, you never told me why you want them so I got an assortment. I've got all the Batman movies, 'A Family Affair,' 'Tomb Raider,' seven seasons of 'Magnum P.I.,' Higgins was always my favorite character, ' Upstairs, Downstairs,' 'the Admirable Crichton,' 'Mr. Belvedere,' 'Soap,' 'Benson' and even 'Remains of the Day'. I couldn't find 'Dying to Please' but that has a woman butler, most unusual even in this day and age.

"Let's start with Batman. I've always liked Alfred," Neal frowned in concentration as he fiddled with the DVD with nervous fingers, taking an unusually long time to set the disk ready to play.

"Not surprising," said Moz as he watched Neal with concern.

"Want some popcorn while we watch?" Neal asked moving to the microwave.

"Sure," Mozzie had seen Neal through a lot of cons, heists and gigs. He'd been eager, determined and focused, but always filled with joy at a new challenge to test himself against. But Neal had never been grim and certainly not secretive. He had never gotten Mozzie involved in anything, even in a peripheral manner, like fetching movies, without first giving him a full briefing and the opportunity to back out. 'Get me every DVD with a butler you can think of,' with no further explanation did not qualify as normal Neal behavior.

"Neal, what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing!" Neal sounded affronted, a sure tell as he put drummed his fingers waiting for the popcorn to pop.

"Neal, I'm not the suit so stop treating me like him. What's going on?"

"What makes you think anything's going on?

"Because you're answering a question with a question."

"I just want to see some movies about butlers," Neal was in full defensive mode. He dumped the popcorn in a bowl and came back and sat next to Moz on the couch.

"Planning a career move?"

Neal did not answer immediately, meaning he hadn't even thought his cover story out. This was bad. "June asked me to interview some applicants for the position."

"Ah, hah. There is something going on. June has had the same housekeeper for years and when I suggested a butler she said she wouldn't know what to do with one."

Neal smiled but it was still a facade. "Okay, Moz, you've got me, it's for a job," he leaned back and relaxed against the couch, "let's just watch the movie. I know it's better than 'Tiles of Fire.'"

It was a nice try at distraction, insulting one of Moz' favorite movie series. It didn't work. Neal didn't call it a heist, or a con, an op, a case or an investigation, but a job; this was bad. "Is the suit involved?"

"No, why, are you jealous?" Neal never was so childish as to play Peter against Moz and for him to do so now rang every alarm bell Moz had.

"Neal, tell me what's going on," Mozzie's voice was rising in exasperation.

Neal looked at him with a full innocent expression on his face yet at the look Moz gave him he finally dropped the pretense. "It's too dangerous."

Moz eyes widened and his voice rose into the higher octaves. "Fencing and hiding your stolen goods isn't dangerous? Conning psycho murders who kill people with their bare hands for fun isn't dangerous? Hiding out from mobsters who want to get even isn't dangerous? Doing favors for you for your F.B.I. masters isn't dangerous?"

"Please Moz, I've got to do this on my own."

"Neal,"

"Moz."

Neal was not stupid. Neal was protective of his friends. But Neal had lost a lot in the past months. If Moz didn't know any better, Neal sounded like he didn't expect this job to end well. So why do it? And then he saw his face staring up at him from the coffee table.

Picking up pictures of himself, Peter and Elizabeth Burke, Alex and two women he didn't know, one with a gun, as well as a few of June, her granddaughters and her housekeeper, Mozzie knew there was just one person who would be doing this.

"Fowler's got his clutches into you, hasn't he?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Moz." He got up and walked over to the French Doors looking out at the city.

"Neal, please, we'll run. I'll help you. You know I will. He'll never be able to find you."

Neal's shoulders slumped, his head hanging and shaking for a moment, "There's no place he won't find me," he hopelessly muttered only just loud enough that Mozzie heard him. But then Neal straightened and squared his shoulders again and looked at his friend. "Moz, it's not that, really. This job I have to do and I have to do it alone. You can't be a part of it."

"Do you have any back up?"

"Fowler said, yes."

"And you trust him?"

"No but it doesn't matter this time."

"Why?"

Neal looked down. Mozzie knew that classic tell and that Neal was so upset he couldn't even control it. He was going to lie but hadn't come up with one that he thought Mozzie would accept. This was bad. Mozzie felt sick with realization. "No, Neal, I don't care what it is, it's not worth it."

"It's worth it to me."

"I never thought I'd say this but I'm calling the suit."

"Mozzie, please, you can't do that. He can't know."

"Why?"

"Because he'll try to stop me."

"No, he won't but he will help you." Both men turned towards the door startled to see Peter, standing there, his long tan trench coat settling around him looking to Mozzie for all the world like every super hero savior there was, just landed from his flight over to save the day.

"I never thought I'd be grateful to see an F.B.I. agent at the door," Mozzie said at Peter's unexpected appearance.

"What do you know?" asked Neal, looking a bit relieved despite himself.

"I know what they want you to do. I know why they want you to do it alone. I can't stop you from going and I won't waste my time trying. But at least I can transfer this operation to the auspices of my team and make sure it's a legal op and properly run with support and backup and an exit strategy so that just maybe we can get you back alive."