Welcome back all! Thanks to all that reviewed/alerted/favorite the story – it's real nice for an author to see it.
Next part in a week as usual!
Disclaimer: Not mine of course, Jeff Eastin's, WC Writers and USA Network. I'm just borrowing them for fun.
My amazing beta is Mam711 – without her the story would have more holes than Swiss cheese… which is good for cheese not for a story
WCWCWCWCWC"No, Neal you can't do the analysis by yourself; we have a lab full of people to do it." The agent and his consultant were coming back from the cellar. In Neal's hand was one of the paintings.
"But Peter..." Neal started to protest.
"O mój Boże! Czy to jest Cybis?" a young voice interrupted Neal. Peter and Neal looked in its direction, and spotted a twenty-something blond man accompanied by another man. The young man hurried over to look closer at the painting in Neal's hand. He reached out to grab the frame, but it was removed from his reach.
"I'm sorry and who are you?" Peter asked curiously.
"My apologies. I am owner, Hubert Dudek." He extended his hand to shake with Peter. "The painting - it is Cybis, right? My uncle told me about his collection, but I thought it was stolen long time ago."
"Stolen?" three voices asked at the same time.
"Yes, yes. Years ago, I was small boy, but Uncle Mateusz was devastated. Every time he visited us, he would talk about paintings, sometimes he would bring photos too." Dudek was obviously excited. "Can I see paintings now? Are they all there? There were twelve in my uncle's collection; it would be fantastic to have them back."
"Neal, show the painting to Mr. Dudek." Peter looked at Neal , sending an additional message with his eyes: keep him occupied for a moment but keep away from the other paintings. Neal nodded lightly and directed the young man's attention to the painting instead of his partner.
"Detective...?" Peter started asking the second man that had come with Dudek.
"Parker."
"Detective Parker, were your techs able to confirm that the tunnel and house cellar connection was closed shut? How come the thief or whoever entered the tunnel got to the cellar?"
"Correct, we found welding equipment in the tunnel; the doors were welded before, so yes, completely impossible to enter the tunnel from the cellar and back without some heavy work," Parker confirmed.
"Thanks, the FBI will be taking over the investigation. The paintings need to be checked for authenticity and we'll need to check the insurance claims, seems to me it's some kind of scam. Is the house fully checked and we can get at it?"
"Yeah, sure." He waved his hand and walked away in the direction of his partner.
Peter followed his movement with narrowed eyes; the detective pair was a strange one. Walczak gave him chills and Parker gave the impression that he didn't care about the case at all. He shook his head; maybe he was overreacting.
"Peter! Hubert was just telling me about his uncle, fascinating person. Did you know he smuggled the paintings out of Poland just after martial law was declared?" Neal's eyes shone brightly.
"Of course..." Peter just rolled his eyes. "Mr. Dudek, you mentioned that your uncle had photos of his collection; could you please bring them to us? And any documentation regarding the paintings' ownership and insurance?" he asked politely.
"Yes, one moment; there is whole album dedicated to this collection." He hesitated for a moment. "Agent Burke, about this smuggling, it ... it's ... it was only way to get the paintings out of country at the time ... and ... my uncle, he was owner already. He really was." The young man was looking at him with the most earnest expression he'd ever seen. He sighed internally; there was no good way to say it.
"Mr. Dudek, I'm sorry but whether the paintings were smuggled out of Poland or not, and whether your uncle was the owner or not, it will all be found out during the investigation. Most probably if the paintings were stolen from him here in the US, and he took the insurance claim, the paintings now belong to the insurance company. Now please bring the documents." Being a bearer of bad news always sucked. The man's face fell from its previous enthusiasm to disappointment. He rushed to the house, returning a few minutes later with a photo album and a stuffed folder.
"Thank you; we'll give them back as soon as possible." He handed Dudek his card. "Please stay in contact and don't leave the city till we clear this up."
"Hmm, how long will that be? My visa expires in two weeks and I have to be able to come back here."
"Visa?" Peter was surprised. No one had mentioned that Mr. Dudek wasn't a citizen. He looked around to find Neal; for sure he knew that already. But Neal was busy, coordinating transport of the paintings to the FBI lab, and from the looks of it also charming his way in with the female technician. His attention wandered back to Dudek.
"Yes, visa, Polish citizens require visa to enter US; only my uncle lived here. Do I need to call the embassy?" Hubert shifted from foot to foot nervously.
"No. Please come to my office the day after tomorrow. I'll arrange a meeting with the immigration office. If we need more time for investigation, and your presence is required, we'll ensure that your visa is valid a little bit longer. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Dudek." He shook his hand and got back into his car. He nodded to Walczak and Parker in goodbye and waved for Neal to get in the car.
Peter sighed, rubbing his hand over his hair. His gut was telling him that something was wrong; he just didn't know what, yet. Neal was quiet, busy with his phone. He frowned. Neal had been behaving unusually while meeting with the detective; he hadn't try to charm her, answered questions straight, and bantered with Peter only twice, ignoring the NYPD altogether both times.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWWCW
Walczak and Parker observed Burke and Caffrey with Dudek. It went almost as planned except for one small detail: the FBI taking over was a calculated risk, the FBI keeping the paintings and not giving them to the insurance company right away - wasn't.
Margaret Walczak was fuming, shooting daggers in the direction of the FBI agent's car; if looks could kill the car would have exploded in flames. A hand on her shoulder brought her back to earth. They had work to do, find a solution to the current situation. Her eyes met her partner's brown ones and she calmed down slightly. No damned FBI agent and his pet convict would destroy her future. The cell in her pocket vibrated.
"Walczak."
"Are the paintings secured?" a male voice asked.
"No, FBI took over as expected, but..." She trailed before continuing. "They won't give them to the insurance company right away."
"Why?"
"Seems he took the insurance claim, but the paintings were hidden just outside his home. FBI suspects fraud."
"I don't care, I want my paintings. You have to take care of it. Understood?" The command was given in an ice-cold voice.
"Understood," she repeated. The call disconnected. Damn.
She looked at her partner again. "Let's go, we have a job to do."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
"Neal... Neal, wake up."
"Go away, Moz," was the muttered response.
"If the Suit works you to exhaustion this whole deal will be finished long before your four years are up."
"Huh?" Neal was obviously still deep in la-la land, head cuddled up in crooked arms, both lying on the table. "What time is it?" He finally looked at Moz, rubbing his eyes.
"Midnight. I'm sure that the bed in that corner is much more comfortable than the table."
"It usually is."
"What was so important I had to get here today?"
Neal dragged fingers through his hair, messing it even more. "Moz, I need a favor."
The small man just raised an eyebrow in question.
"I need you to visit a small town by Leech Lake in Minnesota called Whipholt. Clean out a safety deposit box belonging to one Nolan Johnson. Can you do that this week?" Neal was walking around the table emphasizing each word with hand gestures.
"Why would I do that?" Mozzie wasn't convinced. "Does it have anything to do with Kate?"
"No, Moz, not this time. I need to give back something I took a long time ago. To win some of Peter's trust, to convince him to help me find Kate. He'll be more willing to do that if he believes he can trust me more." Neal pinched his nose; the headache that had followed him the whole day was still there.
"'The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. " He suspended his voice pending the usual chime-in of the name associated with the quote. When it didn't come, he added, "Carl Jung."
He gave Neal a sharp look. "How come you first told Kate the stash was in San Diego, then me it's in Portland, and now you tell me it's in some dead-end place in Minnesota just to please the Suit?" Mozzie crossed his arms and looked at Neal, full of expectation.
Neal just shook his head, took a wine bottle from the rack and poured into two glasses. He handed one to Moz.
"'Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy. And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend.'" Neal toasted and drank a sip.
"Ah, my friend Saadi. Someone was reading again. Very well, I've decided a trip out of the city could do me some good. I can take care of it by the end of this week."
"Thanks, Moz!" Neal toasted to him again and drained the glass; it was a good time to finish the day.