Chapter Four

"Señor Michelena," Nathan Clay extended his hand, his smile easy, "I thank you so very much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."

"Anything I can do for a friend of Señor Keller, I am pleased to do," he let go of Neal's hand and motioned for him to take a seat. Being considered a friend of Matthew Keller was distasteful to Neal, but it was a necessary evil. His motto for this trip to South America was By Any Means Necessary. He had been living by a new set of rules for a long time and now he was actively breaking most of them. He was sitting on a patio overlooking rather impressive gardens. Arturo Michelena may be a small fish in the Cordero world, but his pond appeared rather large to Neal.

"You have a difficulty that you need my assistance with?" Michelena began as he waved his consent to the domestic servant that was hovering near the patio doors with drinks. She nodded at his gesture and came quickly, setting out glasses and a pitcher filled with a dark liquid.

"Chicha Morada," Michelena volunteered, pouring first Neal a glass and then himself. "This drink dates back to before even the Inca's, Señor Clay. It is made from blue corn and spices."

"I do have a small problem," Neal took a sip of the dark blue beverage. There was a distinct cinnamon flavor, as well as a hint of pineapple. He allowed himself to sound almost embarrassed. "The location I normally use for storage purposes is currently inaccessible."

Michelena listened as his dark eyes met Neal's. "Inaccessible? And why is that?"

"It has been compromised by its proximity to a gasoline smuggling operation," Neal continued. "The entire area is under surveillance."

Michelena sighed heavily, "Yes, the authorities both here and in Colombia have stepped up efforts to stop the petrol smuggling." He took a drink of his chicha. "They have even started using armed helicopters on each side of the border. It is a serious problem."

"It certainly is causing me a serious problem," Neal admitted, "I need a secure storage location for a couple of weeks."

"Two weeks?" Michelena looked at him curiously, "Such a short time. Then what?"

Neal shrugged, "Sixteen days, actually. Then the items will be on their way to New York. I have buyers there, eagerly waiting to take them off my hands."

"Not wishing to insult you, Señor Clay," Michelena began, "But given your association with Señor Keller, and your wish to avoid the scrutiny of the Venezuelan authorities," he paused, "I assume the items you are seeking to store will not be leaving Venezuela by legal routes?"

"The provenance of the items in my possession are a bit… unclear," Neal admitted with a smile, "and therefore I will be using an alternate, less restrictive, transportation."

"Your alternate transportation," Neal could see Michelena's mind connecting the dots, "To New York, you say, and it is very reliable?"

"Of course," Neal snorted, "In my line of work, it has to be." He allowed himself to look impatiently at his host, "Transportation isn't my problem, Señor Michelena, short term, secure storage is. Can you help me or not?"

Michelena studied him a moment, non-pulsed by his directness. "I am sure I could find you storage space here, but," He paused, "I have a friend that might have an even better option for you."

"I would be most grateful," Neal responded, "And I am willing to compensate your friend generously for his assistance. He can name his price," he smiled, "within reason, of course."

"I think you will find his terms very acceptable," Michelena said, "Somewhat of an exchange, you see. He also has a product that needs transport from Venezuela to New York, and like you, recent developments have caused him difficulty. He needs reliable transportation."

"And he has a secure location for storage?" Neal did his best to convey his amazment at such an unforeseen turn of events.

"Very secure," Michelena assured him. "It's a fortress, really."

"Excellent," Neal smiled his best smile, "If his location meets my needs, and he is willing to provide storage, I will am sure we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement."

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"I meet with Cordero tomorrow," Neal said to Mozzie, sinking into the soft sofa. He was tired and needed a good night's sleep before tomorrow. Four nights and less than ten hours total of sleep was starting to take its toll.

He knew that as soon as he had left, Michelena had called Cordero. Cordero would be more than cautious; in addition to being an international drug dealer, he was hiding a kidnapped Federal agent in his fortress. Cordero would have checked up on Nathan Clay before the four p.m. meeting and any slip, any indication that Nathan Clay was anyone other than who he claimed to be or was there for anything other than a storage location, would end badly.

"Everything is ready," Mozzie replied. "I have all transport details." He looked at Neal, "It wasn't easy, you know, I haven't worked in this part of the world before. I had to call in more of our favors than I like to on any one con."

"This isn't a con, Moz," Neal's protest was stronger, his voice sharper, than he had intended it to be. He hadn't run even a small con in over two years. Like an alcoholic, he knew that even one drink would eventually lead into a downward spiral; one small con would do the same. "It's a rescue mission. It's to save Peter and get him home to his family."

"It's still a con," Mozzie insisted, the edginess of Neal's tone not lost on him. Nathan Clay may occasionally dabble in questionable art deals, but he didn't work as a confidence man. That had been Neal Caffrey, and as his friend Nathan insisted when Mozzie presented him with an opportunity for an easy score, Neal Caffrey was dead. "You've conned Michelena," Mozzie reminded him "you plan to con Cordero, and then to top it off, you plan to con the Venezuelan authorities."

"To save Peter," Neal repeated but Mozzie's eyes were fixed on his, forcing him to relent. "Okay, it's a con," Neal admitted, "But it's the only way to save him. And if it takes every favor we've ever collected, so be it. I won't need them anyway." His look was almost pleading. "I am out, Mozzie, I told you; I am not that person anymore."

Mozzie knew that wasn't true, and the almost desperate tone in Neal's voice told him that he didn't believe it either. But he wanted to; he had worked very hard to be Nathan Clay. Nathan Clay didn't form attachments that could be used against him; he didn't take chances that could impact the new life he had managed to construct. Even Mozzie had felt the distance that his friend now put between them. He studied Neal closely and finally knew the truth: being Neal Caffrey frightened him. Neal Caffrey cared about people and that made him vulnerable. Neal Caffrey, with all his skills at stuffing his feelings and hiding his emotions, could be hurt.

"Neal-" Mozzie began. He rarely slipped, but now he did. Neal corrected him.

"Nathan." Neal said quietly.

"I know you're Nathan Clay," Mozzie stated firmly, "But for this to work, you need to be Neal Caffrey." He didn't mention the fact that his friend had already changed into Neal Caffrey; it had happened the moment Elizabeth Burke arrived and told him Peter was in trouble. Neal shook his head firmly.

"No, Neal Caffrey is a thing of the past, Mozzie; I am doing this as Nathan Clay." He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Even my passport says so."

Seeing no use in arguing with denial, Mozzie sighed. "Well, a rose by any other name and all that, I suppose."