Chapter 4

Sara stood on her balcony, arms wrapped around herself, breathing in the coolness of the nighttime air. She looked up at the sky; she was sure the stars were twinkling; too bad she couldn't see them beyond Manhattan's ever present city glow.

Frustration seemed to emanate from every pore of her body. Running her hands through her hair, she turned and went back into her apartment. She slammed the sliding glass door closed with enough force to make her hope, belatedly, that the glass wouldn't break.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her slim shoulders and made an effort to shake off the fog that seemed to envelope her since her return from the upstate prison. She picked up the half-finished scotch she poured herself earlier, looked dishearteningly at the now lukewarm liquor and dumped it down the kitchen drain. She took the untouched cartons of Chinese carryout and put them in the refrigerator. She still needed to eat something, she thought, but nothing appealed to her. Looking around the kitchen, her eyes focused on a small ceramic jar shoved far back on the kitchen counter. Smiling, Sara removed the lid and took one, no, two would be better, chocolate chip cookies and headed back into her living room.

Seating herself on the sofa, Sara nibbled at the first cookie, trying to determine her next course of action. So Neal was doing penance, fine. Let him feel as guilty as he wanted; the experience could only do him good. Still, there was something wrong with the whole situation. She would just have to figure out what it was.

Taking a larger bite of cookie, she reached for her phone to call – who? Peter would be at home now but Sara was hesitant to call him there and intrude on his time with his wife, not after all that had happened to them. She scrolled down her received calls, looking for the number Mozzie had called from. But why should she call him, she pondered. He didn't seem to know anything more than she did.

Tossing her phone aside, Sara pulled open her laptop. She paused for a moment, considering the advisability of using proprietary Sterling-Bosch software for personal research. It was a very brief pause. A few short minutes and one chocolate chip cookie later, she had the information she needed.

She retrieved her phone, but nearly dropped it again when it sprang to life in her hand. Once again, it was a number she didn't recognize.

"It's okay, Mozzie, I'm working on it," she answered confidently. "Let me tell you what I found."

"Ms. Ellis?" an unknown voice questioned.

"Who is this?" she responded with some irritation.

"It's Detective Wilson, ma'am," the young man reminded her. "From NYPD Robbery. I went with you to the prison today," he continued, when it appeared she had no idea who he was.

"Yes, Detective. I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. I wasn't expecting you to call." To be perfectly honest, Sara was dumbfounded to be talking to him at all. "Is there something you need to know?" she asked.

"No, ma'am. But I think there's something you need to know."

ooOoo

Neal surveyed the credit transactions room with a certain amount of satisfaction. Breaking a finger wasn't his first choice of how to get assigned here, but it had certainly done the trick. The rest of the detail was already at work; they made him take a test first to prove he was smart enough to do the job. Ego had him missing just enough of the questions so he wouldn't seem too much smarter than the other inmates.

Caffrey spent the first few minutes under the careful scrutiny of a guard, acquainting himself with the procedure. It was simple enough. A merchant request for funds came to his terminal, he determined the customer had the money to cover the transaction and issued the authorization to the merchant. His work was a little slower than usual, since he was short two fingers, but within the first quarter hour his babysitter was convinced he could handle it, and the guard wandered away.

It proved to be pretty boring work, though probably not any worse than a normal mortgage fraud case. None of the transactions on his terminal seemed the least bit out of line, so he tried to see the terminals around him. His terminal was at the end of a long bank of work stations, so he could only catch glimpses of the inmates next to and in front of him. He'd have to figure out a way to get closer to some of the other stations, but he wasn't ready for that yet.

After a four-hour shift, all Neal had to show for it was a sore back and an atrophied brain. He was reminded again of the benefits of being a thief and a conman. At least he got to use his brain, all of it. As he and the inmates were escorted back to their cell block, Neal realized he was going to have to get more information. Maybe he could talk to Desmond during their time in the prison yard. The other man had talked about the dangers of working up here; Neal needed to find out what they were.

ooOoo

When Peter stepped through the doors of the White Collar Division a little before 9 a.m., he was startled to find Sara Ellis pouring herself a cup of coffee in the small kitchen area. He didn't know what bothered him most, the fact that she was in the office again, that she was here before he was, or that she'd made herself at home.

"Good morning, Sara," he said brightly. "What brings you out so early?"

"We need to talk, Peter."

"Why am I not surprised?" he said to himself. To Sara he said "Just give me a few minutes to get settled and then we can talk."

"It's important."

"I'm sure that it is, but you need to give me five minutes."

"Peter . . ."

"Five minutes." Peter insisted, going up the stairs and into his office.

He did a quick check of his voice mail and his email; there were no messages from the prison in either. A furtive call down to Diana confirmed that she hadn't heard from either the prison or the warden. Pleased that nothing was wrong on that front, he grabbed his mug and went back down to fill it. He invited Sara to join him in his office.

Once they were both settled, Peter smiled a noncommittal smile that would have made Caffrey proud and asked Sara what she needed to talk about.

"Neal's in trouble," she stated without preamble.

"Sara, he's fine. I haven't heard anything from the prison. If there were a problem, they would have contacted me."

"Peter, I went to the prison yesterday."

"You did what?" The woman never ceased to amaze him. "You could blow his cover!"

"I had a cover story. I'm still trying to find that Raphael." Her smile was smug. "I even brought an NYPD detective with me."

Peter looked at her, encouraging her to continue and marveling at her nerve. And her ingenuity.

"Peter, he's hurt."

The coffee cup stopped halfway to Peter's lips.

"What?"

"One of his fingers is dislocated, another has a fracture."

"I wasn't notified." Anger and concern fought for supremacy on Peter's face. Anger won the battle. "Do you know how it happened?"

"Neal said he tripped in the machine shop." Neither Peter nor Sara believed Neal Caffrey tripped.

Peter reached for his phone to call the prison.

"Wait!" Sara reached out her hand to stop him before he could make the call. "You need to see this." She pulled a thumb drive out of her bag and handed it to him.

Peter spent the next few minutes staring at his monitor, paging through the information on the drive, his face a mixture of emotions, chief of which was fury.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. "How did you get it? Is it admissible as evidence?"

Sara looked away from the penetrating brown stare. "No. I started with a program Sterling-Bosch uses, um," she paused uncomfortably, "then I called Mozzie." She gave him a self-conscious look.

"Mozzie!" Irritation replaced the fury reflected in Agent Burke's face. "Why is it always Mozzie?" he asked rhetorically.

"Because he finds information like this," Sara answered. "Now what?"

Peter moved to the edge of the stairs. "Jones! Diana!" he summoned with an imperious two-finger point.

The two agents joined him and Sara in the conference room.

"I need you to verify, legally, the information on this drive." He handed the item to Jones.

"Boss, what's going on?" Diana asked in some confusion.

"If this information is true," he began.

"It is," Sara supplied.

"If it's true, it looks like our helpful warden is part of the scam. So is the mob."

"And he's the one who's supposed to look out for Neal while he's working undercover," Jones concluded.

"Sara said Neal's already had one 'accident,' so you can see how well that's working out." Peter said.

"So, I guess we have to pull him out," Diana sounded disappointed. Sara looked at the other woman with disbelief.

"You want to leave him there?" she asked incredulously.

"No! But if we just yank him out, the warden's going to know we're on to him. And if the mob is involved, this is big."

"Is there a way we can get him out without tipping our hand?" Jones asked as he went through the financial information Sara had provided.

"First verify that information," Peter ordered. "Then let's see what we can work out."

ooOoo

Neal was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to get to talk to Desmond. Apparently he had a certain standing in the inmate hierarchy, an honorable man among the thieves. If he wanted to talk to someone alone, he talked to someone alone. Even better, since Desmond stood up for Neal during the altercation in the machine shop, Neal was being afforded a little protection.

The two men sat together in the day room, ostensibly playing poker for commissary tokens. Rudy, an older man Neal remembered from his last stay, and a youngish man with the unlikely name of Zeus, sat watching the action and discouraging other inmates from getting too close.

"You really are pretty stupid for a smart guy," Desmond said conversationally as he considered the cards in his hand.

"What are you talking about?" Neal asked, throwing two tokens in the pot.

"You're working up there with that credit card stuff." He threw two cards away and took two more. "I'll see you," he said, tossing two of his tokens on the table.

"What am I supposed to do?" Neal held up his injured hand. "I'm a little limited right now. I go into the machine shop to work like this, I risk dismemberment. I'm really kind of attached to my fingers."

Desmond grimaced appreciatively at the pun. "No, you're not stupid," he continued, "so what are you doing here, Caffrey?"

Neal's eyes scanned the room, but Rudy and Zeus were doing their job; nobody appeared to be within earshot. "I'm serving time, just like you," he said cautiously.

Desmond looked Neal up and down consideringly, his cards forgotten. "No you're not. You escaped; Rudy and I watched you leave." He smiled. "But they caught you and brought you back, then that FBI agent springs you again. I heard the rumors. I talked to a few guys you helped get arrested. You're no prisoner. You're a snitch."

Neal looked at the man with carefully concealed astonishment, both impressed and horrified that Desmond had put everything together so accurately.

"Don't look so surprised," Desmond continued. "I done some stupid things, but I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were."

"I'm not gonna turn you in, either, if that's what you're worried about. You're working with the Feds, fine. We all make up for our mistakes in our own ways. If you're trying to stop that operation upstairs, good. I just wanna keep you alive."

"Yeah, I'm working with the Feds."

Neal put his cards on the table, face up; Desmond followed suit, grimacing as Neal smiled and took the pot.

"Listen, I was in there for four hours today," Neal continued. "All they're doing is processing credit card authorizations. What are you so upset about?"

Desmond leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "You work in there for a while, do a good job, and they move you to one of the special terminals. There are some special codes you put in. If you won't do it, one of the guards takes you out for a little talk." Desmond's dark eyes bore into Neal's lighter ones. "One of the guys never came back from that talk. The story was he had a 'cerebral incident' out in the yard. Don't that sound fancy? They beat that poor sucker to death. You gotta know what you're playing with."

Rudy shifted positions abruptly; one of the guards was heading in their direction.

"This has got to be stopped," Neal said in a low, intense voice. "Especially if people are being hurt. I can help stop it."

"Not if they get you first."

The guard, Mantino, looked over Desmond's shoulder. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

"Yeah! This guy cheats!" Desmond jumped up from his seat, Rudy and Zeus flanking him. "Nobody's that lucky," he continued, "this little SOB is too smart for his own good."

Neal remained seated, innocence positively radiating from his face.

"Come on, Caffrey, play time's over. Back to your cell." Mantino grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. "You've only been here five days and you've caused more trouble than three cons put together."

As the guard dragged him back to his cell, Neal looked over his shoulder at Desmond, conveying his thanks. The man had managed to tell him what was happening, warn him, and set him up for one of the "special terminals," all in the space of ten minutes. The guy was smart.

ooOoo

Jones, Diana and Sara sat in the conference room, watching the drama being played out in Reese Hughes's office. Even though from their vantage point the discussion was silent, it was easy to tell from facial expressions and body language that the discussion was heated.

"This isn't good, is it?" Sara asked after five minutes.

"We really have no idea what's going on," Jones said calmly. "There's no need to jump to conclusions."

They watched in silence as Peter raised his hands in the air, then spun away from his superior, running a hand through his hair. Hughes raised a hand, then dropped it.

"No, this isn't good," Diana said.

"It really isn't," Jones concurred.

The office door opened and Hughes stalked out, followed by Peter. They came into the conference room like an impending storm, dark and menacing.

Hughes gave Sara a brief, harsh look as he strode to the head of the conference table. "Ms. Ellis," he said, "I wasn't aware you were working for the FBI." He turned his head toward Peter. "Burke, get the rest of your team up here."

Peter shot Sara a quick, apologetic glance before heading to the railing to summon the rest of his team.

As the rest of the agents settled themselves, Jones posted the information he had gathered, along with the material Sara had provided on the large conference monitor.

"Okay, people, apparently there is a little more to the prison credit card scam then we originally thought." Hughes flicked a careless hand at the monitor. "It has been brought to our attention" his eyes met Sara's briefly, "that Warden Haskly has a personal cash-flow problem and he's using the credit card numbers as a piggy bank. He's also using one of the local families to launder the take." Hughes ran a hand over his mouth. "Blake, let Organized Crime know what's going on."

Agent Blake made a note on his pad.

"The question now is what to do with our man on the inside."

Sara was surprised to hear it was a question. Weren't they going to pull Neal out? She looked at Peter, trying to gauge his thoughts. Catching her look, he gestured with his hand, telling her to keep her thoughts to herself. Since she knew she was lucky to even be included in this meeting, she worked to restrain herself.

"The good news is that this new information puts us in a better position to take down a major operation," Hughes continued. "We don't know what Caffrey's situation is right now . . ."

"There's already been an accident!" Sara blurted out, drawing the senior agent's attention back to her.

"Accidents happen in prisons, Ms. Ellis, as I'm sure Caffrey can tell you. He did spend a healthy amount of time there before he volunteered to go in for this assignment."

The reprimand was subtle, but it was there. She was there at Hughes indulgence, she better keep her mouth shut.

"I believe," Hughes forged on, "that Caffrey can handle himself. The question is whether he still has value as an undercover agent, since it appears the warden is part of the problem. Burke, what is your view?"

Sara was certain she knew what Peter would say; his answer sent her into shock.

"I'd like to leave him in, if possible. We have a chance to take down something big, here. Caffrey's skills are legend, and I agree he can take care of himself for the short term." Sara thought of the injured hand and cringed inwardly. "What we need to do is contact him and get him this new information." Peter looked around the room. "Ideas, anyone?" he asked.

Silence greeted him.

"We can't just go in and talk to him." Blake made it a statement, rather than a question.

"I'm sure everybody inside knows he's worked for the FBI. Any sign of us now and they'll know he's an informant." Peter looked over at Hughes, still standing at the head of the table.

"When you have it figured out, let me know." Hughes stalked back to his office.

"Anyone?" Peter asked again.

Free of Reese Hughes's forbidding presence, Sara offered a suggestion. "I can go back again. It was pretty obvious I wasn't happy with the results of our last interview."

Peter looked at the woman, and feeling a certain sympathy toward her, didn't make the remark that was on the tip of his tongue. Obviously the NYPD detective had seen through Sara's cover story, figuring her interest in Caffrey was personal, not professional. Peter was certain at least some of the guards had it figured out as well. That could put both Neal and Sara at risk.

"Not this time, Sara." Peter said gently.

Sara was about to object when Agent Blake looked up. "What about his attorney?"

"What about him?" Peter asked shortly. If Peter was unsure of his feelings toward Neal since El's kidnapping, he was even more uncertain of how to deal with Mozzie. It had been Mozzie who stole the treasure to begin with, causing the domino effect of disasters that followed. It also had been a shaken and contrite Mozzie who was instrumental in getting his wife back. Until he could figure it out, Peter had been trying to avoid the little man altogether.

"He can meet with his attorney in private. No one can listen in or question anything they say to one another." Blake looked up innocently. "It's the perfect solution."

"He's right," Sara added, "Mozzie would be perfect."

Jones and Diana watched as Blake's eyes widened in comprehension. He was the only person in the room unaware of just who Caffrey's lawyer was.

Silence filled the conference room. Finally, Peter sighed in exasperation.

"Fine. We need to call Mozzie in. Sara, you're friends with him; you make the call.

ooOoo

Neal stood in his cell, waiting to join the other inmates being herded up to the credit card room. He was surprised to see Mantino unlock the door; he'd been hoping for guard who didn't hate his guts. Well, he had been complaining about the lack of challenge in his job – let's see how far he could get with the man.

"Good morning," Neal said brightly.

There was no response from the guard. No surprise there, he'd just try again.

"I'm really enjoying the new duty," he went on companionably.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying your stay," was the response from Mantino. That and a sharp shove in the center of Neal's back as he joined the row of inmates heading upstairs.

As the row of orange clad men moved slowly up the stairs and down the hallway, Neal made sure he stayed abreast of Mantino, chattering away.

"The only problem is, the whole procedure is a little boring." Neal leaned in toward the guard and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "All those bank accounts, all the money those people are spending. It would be so easy to just skim a little extra."

Mantino grabbed Neal's arm and pulled him out of line, flattening him against the opposite wall. Whether by accident or design, the injured hand made forceful contact with the wall. Neal's face paled slightly from the pain, but he just smiled at the guard.

"Caffrey," Mantino growled menacingly, "you are a particular pain in my ass. If I had my way, I'd just pound your head into the wall and be done with you." Neal didn't doubt the veracity of that statement. "I'm stuck with you, though," he continued, "because of your Fed buddies. I know why you're here, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for you. You're a snitch, and nobody likes a snitch."

Mantino pulled Neal by the arm and shoved him into the work room, then spun on his heel and disappeared back down the hallway, leaving the other man to rub his bruises and make his way unsteadily to his work station.

Okay, so that didn't work so well, Neal thought philosophically as he set to work. He just needed to find another way to get the proof he needed to get the hell out of there.

One boring hour of credit authorizations later, it appeared Neal's luck had changed for the better. He had noticed an empty terminal on the other side of the room but hadn't come up with a way to get himself assigned to it. He was pleasantly surprised when a guard motioned for him to move to that workstation. This terminal worked differently than the one he had been using, he was told. He was instructed to key in a different code than the one he had been using before.

It took him maybe ten authorizations before he saw the skim. Ten dollars over on one transaction, twenty dollars on another. The third transaction went through for the exact amount. There was no pattern; the amounts taken were both small and completely random. It was clever, Neal thought. He wondered vaguely who the hacker was who had designed the program.

He needed some way to record the illicit transactions, he realized. Then he would have the proof they needed and he would be out! Obviously, now was the time to get in touch with the warden.

ooOoo

The door to the warden's office banged open against the wall as Mantino stormed in.

"Are you out of your mind?" He stood, booted toes at the edge of the desk, leaning over the seated man.

"You're forgetting yourself, officer," the warden replied calmly. Only the twitch of his hands, clasped tightly on his desk, gave away his fear of the guard.

"Give it a rest, Haskly." However, Mantino did lower his voice to a more conversational tone. They were already in trouble, he thought. There was no reason to attract unwanted attention.

"Have a seat," the warden suggested.

After he lowered himself into a chair, Mantino continued. "How could you let Caffrey have access to a machine we're using to steal money?"

"Anytime we keep him away from something, he only gets more suspicious. I doubt he was able to uncover any of our appropriations." Apparently Warden Haskly wasn't comfortable with the word steal.

"This isn't Fantasy Island, Haskly." Mantino glared across the desk. "Caffrey's no idiot. It won't take him long to figure out what's going on, then he just has to let his handlers know."

"The only way he can communicate with the FBI is through me," Haskly replied smugly. "Do you think I'm going to tell them?"

"What about his attorney? Or that woman who came to see him?" Mantino jumped up again. "She came with an NYPD detective, for God's sake! I saw him in the break room."

Haskly's head jerked up; his hands twisting nervously on the desk. He hadn't known about the visitors. He stood up, keeping the desk between himself and the angry guard.

"Mantino, I'm trusting you to take care of this situation. Don't come barging in here again until this matter is dealt with."

"Washing your hands of the whole thing, huh? It's probably better that way." Mantino's smile was derisive "Just remember, it was your problems that started this operation."

Mantino walked to the door, then turned to face the warden one more time. "I'll see Caffrey's taken care of, but remember this – if I go down, I'm making sure you go down with me."

ooOoo

Things were definitely looking up, Neal thought happily. He had the information Peter needed to make his case. All he had to do was get in to see the warden. Once that was done he was home free. Oh yes, home and free! Another case closed could only help make things right with Peter. It wouldn't hurt at his probation hearing either.

"Hey, Neal, you got another visitor." Bobby stood looking in at him.

Neal hurried to the door of his cell.

"Who is it, Bobby?"

"You sure are nosey, aren't you?" Bobby asked, smiling as he unlocked the door. "It looks like it really is your lawyer this time. Funny looking little guy with glasses and a bow tie."

Neal stepped out into the hallway, allowing Bobby to take him by the arm. This time it was Mozzie, he thought. He wasn't sure if he was happy or disappointed that Sara hadn't come back.

"Hey, Bobby?" Neal asked suddenly. "Can we make a little detour?"

Bobby stopped and looked at Neal. "You do remember this is prison, don't you? I really can't take you wherever you want to go."

Neal lowered his voice and slowed his steps. "You know why I'm really here, don't you?"

"Yeah," Bobby said slowly. "All the guards do."

"I have some information that I need to get to the warden."

"Okay." Bobby seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Why don't you go talk to your lawyer first," he suggested.

"Moz will be okay waiting for me," Neal explained.

"Moz?" the guard asked, confused.

"My lawyer. It's a long story. Look, now is the perfect time. You came to get me for a visitor; no one's going to know about a quick visit to the warden."

"Are you sure?"

Neal smiled confidently. "Yes. Take me to the warden's office – now."