Chapter 4: The Great Houdini
August 28, 2004. Saturday morning.
As Peter walked along the Hudson River embankment, his eyes focused only on the shoreline, ignoring the rescue boats in the water, the helicopters in the air. It had been an hour since he watched the van plunge into the river, but the last communications kept replaying in an endless loop in his mind—Neal's pleas to slow down, the screeching of the tires, the thunderous boom of impact, the shattering of glass, the screams, the rush of the water before all went silent. Where was he?
Within minutes a police patrol boat had been on the scene. Divers were helicoptered in shortly afterwards. Peter had gotten on the phone to the Bureau requesting extra personnel.
The van had been almost halfway to New Jersey when it crashed, and as a result searches were being conducted on both sides of the river. A half-hour into the operation scuba divers reached the van. They found one body—Harper's. The driver's side had been smashed by the crash with the tractor-trailer, with Harper pinned inside the wreckage. He was most likely killed instantly. No sign of Neal.
While patrol boats scanned the heavily wooded New Jersey side, Peter and the rest of the team members along with NYPD officers searched the Manhattan shoreline. The current was treacherous, so if Neal had tried to swim to safety, it was not a simple matter to figure out where he would have come on shore. Complicating the search were the dense rushes and reeds which lined the river. At the end of a long growing season they towered five feet high in places. A body could easily be hidden. No, not a body, Peter corrected himself, Neal.
Peter was one of the team slowly and methodically combing the river embankment around Fort Washington Park. The wind had picked up, making it difficult to use binoculars. The bulrushes waved and tossed. The river itself was choppy. The first reports from the New Jersey side were coming back—all negative.
His phone rang. It was Tricia. Harper's body had been brought to the surface.
Was that something in the reeds? Heart pounding, Peter raced to the area, only to find a black trash bag. Where was he, damn it? Surely he would have been found by now.
A short distance ahead, he caught sight of another dark object. Probably just another trash bag. As Peter approached, the shape, partially obscured by bulrushes, started to look tantalizingly familiar. Was it . . .? Breaking into a run, Peter forced his way through the vegetation to Neal.
He was sprawled face down in the reeds some three feet away from the water. Peter scrambled down the slope, the tension about finding him now replaced by a mounting fear over what condition he was in.
Neal was lying motionless. Peter crouched down beside him and put a hand to his neck, sagging in exhausted relief when he found a pulse. "You're gonna give me a heart attack, kid—you gotta stop doing this," he muttered, resting his hand lightly on Neal's shoulder while taking several deep breaths to get his emotions back in control.
Pausing to give a quick call to Tricia to alert the others and dispatch the EMTs, Peter then slowly rolled Neal over on his back.
Eyes still closed, Neal groaned at the movement.
"Easy, there," Peter said as he took off his jacket and put it under his head. "You're safe now. It's Peter. Neal, can you hear me? Open your eyes."
Neal blinked slowly, grimacing. "Peter . . . ? What . . . ?" His words were slurred, his eyes not tracking.
"The EMTs are on their way. You're going to be fine. Don't try to move. Just lie quietly."
Peter took out a handkerchief and gently wiped some of the muddy smears off his face. Neal was a mess—his hair plastered down with mud and water, his clothes ripped in several places. Probable concussion. No telling what else, but he didn't want to risk checking him out. The medics would soon be here.
Neal's eyes wandered, squinting groggily at his surroundings, and then returned to Peter. "You . . . found me."
"Better believe it." Peter waited till Neal focused on him. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Harper?"
Peter shook his head and said quietly, "Didn't make it."
Neal nodded jerkily and struggled to sit up.
"Hey, no need for that. Let's wait for the medics." Putting a hand on his shoulder, Peter gently pressed him back.
Ignoring him, Neal continued to struggle and with an unsteady hand fumbled with his jacket's zipper.
"Neal, talk to me. Does your chest hurt?"
"Help . . . unzip . . . . "
Neal was growing increasingly agitated, so to calm him Peter unzipped his jacket. "There. Feeling better now?"
Hearing a car pull up on the roadside, Peter stood up briefly to wave. Jones started clambering down the slope.
Neal was reaching with his hand into his jacket and as Peter crouched back down to help, pulled out a nylon pouch. Handing it to Peter, he gave an exhausted smile. "Got it."
Peter stared at him in astonishment. "You managed to hold on to this? What am I saying—of course, you did."
Jones had made his way down to them and reported, "Tricia and the EMTs are right behind me. Should be here any minute." Looking down at Neal he smiled broadly. "So this is where you've been hiding! You gotta stop making it so difficult. This isn't Tuesday, you know."
Peter smiled to himself. Trust Jones to bring up Tuesday Tails, the team's custom of tailing Neal over the lunch hour on Tuesdays to refine their skills. Jones had made it his personal mission to beat Neal at it and so far hadn't succeeded. His lightheartedness was good for Neal now, and he appeared to be focusing better.
Neal squinted blearily at Jones, "You were . . . looking for me?"
"Damn straight. Me, Diana, Tricia, the whole team—"
Neal interrupted in disbelief, "How many?"
"Counting White Collar, NYPD, choppers, boats . . . all of them, I think," Peter replied.
"Huh." Neal looked so flummoxed at the news, Peter was sorely tempted to ruffle his hair and stopped himself just in time.
Standing up, Jones waved to Tricia who along with an ambulance had pulled up next to his car. She and two medics carrying a gurney climbed down the slope.
While the medics checking his vitals, Tricia smiled down at Neal and said, "You gave us quite a scare. You know that, right?" She added quietly, "Peter, if you want to go back with Neal, we can take care of things here."
"Thanks, Tricia." Giving the pouch to her, Peter said. "Keep this very safe."
As the medics applied a neck brace and strapped him onto the gurney, Neal pleaded with Peter, "No hospital . . . Peter . . . please."
Peter shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. Humor me on this. Anyone who takes a swan dive off the George Washington Bridge wins a deluxe ride to the nearest hospital. But I'll be there with you and I promise you won't stay there any longer than necessary."
Putting a hand on Neal's shoulder, Tricia leant down and whispered, "Don't worry, Houdini, I'm willing to bet, you'll be making an escape from there in no time."
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NY Presbyterian Hospital was only a short distance away. Once they'd arrived and Neal had been whisked off to be examined, Peter kept himself busy making phone calls—back to the Bureau, NYPD, and Elizabeth. El offered to join him at the hospital, but he advised holding off until he heard back from the doctors.
The van had not been brought up to the surface yet, but was being searched by police divers. Very little of use had been found.
Jones, on the other hand, had more positive news. "That was some pouch Neal gave you," he said. "I've never seen anything like the construction. It was triple-lined and had a zipper that must have been made by NASA. We opened it and it wasn't even damp inside!"
Peter chuckled. "My money's on Mozzie."
"Yeah, well maybe we should have him make us some. Inside was the hen with the stand, as well as the papers Harper had talked about. They're being analyzed now."
"Family of Neal Caffrey?" the receptionist called out.
"Talk with you later, Jones. I'm being paged."
"Let us know about Neal."
"I'll do that." Peter went up to the desk. "I'm Neal's supervisor. I have his emergency medical authorization."
A doctor signaled to Peter from behind the desk. "Please follow me. I'm Dr. Liu and have been attending Mr. Caffrey. He's been asking for you, and with the medication in his system, that's a wise idea. He may not remember very much."
As they walked down the corridor Peter asked, "How is he?"
"Mr. Caffrey was an extremely lucky man. For anyone to survive a crash with a tractor-trailer and then a plunge into the river is truly remarkable. But he didn't escape unscathed. He has bruised ribs as well as chest contusions. He also suffered a concussion. Fortunately his lungs are clear, but I'd still like him to be on a course of antibiotics. The Hudson River can have some nasty microorganisms."
The doctor, a slim Asian woman, showed Peter into a small ER examining room. Neal was lying propped up with pillows on a gurney that had been partially raised, an IV attached to his left hand, and a neck brace by his side. He was conscious, but his eyes were unfocused. When Peter arrived he gave him a sloppy grin. "Hey, buddy."
"Hey, yourself. Good to see you looking so bright-eyed." Peter lied with a smile.
"Mr. Caffrey, did you slip out of your neck brace again?" Dr. Liu exclaimed. She strapped it back on and, looking rather frazzled, explained to Peter, "This is the third time I've had to do this."
"Not my fault, 'm a Houdini." Neal smiled blissfully. "Can I leave now?"
"Oh, I don't think we're quite ready for that," Dr. Liu admonished. "I'd like to run a CT scan and a few more tests. But if everything checks out, you could leave later this afternoon, but only if there is someone to closely monitor you for the next forty-eight hours."
"Not a problem," Peter said as he watched Neal eye the door speculatively. That was a no-brainer. Neal's cousin Henry had warned Peter about Neal's fondness for playing the Hospital Game, a variation on hide-and-seek which he'd refined into a game of strategy with the complexity of three-dimensional chess, and he had no intention of chasing a concussed Neal through the thirty-plus floors of NY Presbyterian Hospital.
"Could you also help me convince him not to slip out of his neck brace again?" Dr. Liu asked.
Laying a hand on Neal's shoulder, Peter said, "All right, now behave yourself and don't give the doctor any more grief or the deal's off and you'll be stuck in the hospital. I'm going to run by the office and then go by your place to pick up some clothes. I'll be back shortly. I fully expect that you will be present and accounted for. Got it? And enjoy those good drugs while they last."
That last piece of advice was probably not necessary, as Neal's eyes were sliding shut while Peter talked.
"Don't worry," Dr. Liu said. "We'll take excellent care of him and will make sure he and his neck brace don't wander off."
After giving her his contact information, Peter headed for the Federal Building to catch up on developments. It would take days before the van could be hoisted to the surface, but it had already been thoroughly searched. Nothing relevant to the Trifonov murder had been found. The only evidence was what had been provided by Neal.
Jones showed him the pouch. An intricate zipper mechanism, the likes of which Peter had never seen, had kept the contents dry. The papers were still being analyzed, but the preliminary findings were that they were notes in Russian.
Peter sent his team home, while he collected the reams of forms that were going to be necessary to submit after the morning's events. He then stopped off at Neal's loft. When he called El at the hospital, she'd been the one to suggest bringing Neal to their place to recuperate, and he hoped it wasn't going to be too much of a challenge talking Neal into it. When he discovered June was out of town visiting a daughter, he knew there was no other viable option.
It was after four by the time Peter returned to the hospital. He was taken back to a small room and told Dr. Liu would see him shortly.
Neal was resting when Peter entered. He appeared to be asleep but opened his eyes when he heard footsteps. "Come to extract me, I hope?"
"How are you feeling?" Peter asked, pleased to find him so lucid.
"Been better." Neal admitted and winced as he tried to raise himself.
"I see the neck brace is off," Peter said as he helped him prop himself up on the pillows. "I hope they removed it, not you?"
"Neck brace? Did I have one?" Neal asked, puzzled. "Wait—Sonya, does she know?"
Peter nodded. "Called her from the office. You might say she was excited . . . started speaking in Russian. Took her a while to realize I wasn't following what she was saying." Peter chuckled at the memory. "She asked me to express her gratitude to her 'knight in shining armor.' She said you were her, I think this is right, ritsar? Something like that."
"Never been called that before," Neal said, surprised. "Ritsar, huh?"
"I like it. Has a nice ring to it. Oh, and the hen's in lockdown. Not flying off anywhere."
Dr. Liu entered the room, chart in hand. "Agent Burke, I'm glad to see you're back."
"I see the neck brace is off. I hope you did that," Peter asked with an uneasy glance at his Houdini on the bed.
"Yes, fortunately for both our sakes, it's no longer needed. We've completed our tests, and the results have all been very encouraging. However, the basic facts of his concussion and contusions are still the same. If you're able to vouch for him being monitored, Mr. Caffrey can be released now."
Peter nodded, "He'll be staying with my wife and me." Ignoring Neal's frown, he continued, "I assume you have his medication instructions and what to watch out for?"
"Yes," she replied as she handed him a sheaf of papers. "Everything is written down as well as instructions for a follow-up appointment. Mr. Caffrey will have dizzy spells and possibly nausea for a few days. This is natural under the circumstances and not something to be unduly concerned about. In addition he's going to need to take it easy to give his ribs time to heal. That could take a few weeks. He can take his prescription meds starting at 10 p.m. tonight." Turning to Neal, she added, "Get some rest, Mr. Caffrey, and try to avoid falling off bridges. An orderly will come by shortly with a wheelchair to take you out."
After the doctor left, Neal struggled to sit up and Peter came over to help. "Ready to get out of that fetching blue polka dot hospital gown?"
"Yes, please. It makes my head worse just to look at it." Neal grimaced as he slowly got out of his gown. His chest was a mass of bruises. Wincing, Peter was glad he'd brought loose clothes.
"Did you get these from the crash with the truck or from the river?" he asked as he helped him change.
"Mainly from the crash, I think. I guess I was lucky the van had airbags. It was in such bad shape, I was sure they wouldn't work. In the end, Harper's bag helped me more than it helped him." With a groan, Neal sank back into the pillows. "Who would have thought getting dressed would be such an ordeal," he said despondently.
"Lucky for you the dress code at my house is strictly casual. I don't think you're going to miss your suits for a while."
"About that, Peter—I'll be fine at my place. I don't want to impose on you and Elizabeth."
"She was the one who insisted," Peter interrupted. "Not open for discussion. Besides, June's away and your only other option is to stay here."
The orderly's arrival forestalled any further arguments. Neal got to his feet unsteadily and immediately started to list to one side. Peter and the orderly grabbed his arms to prevent him toppling over.
"Give me a minute till the room stops being so spinny," he muttered, taking deep breaths.
"Now you see why I didn't think tackling four flights of stairs with a concussion was a good idea," Peter said firmly. "You're staying with us till the world stops being so 'spinny'. And no charging off to fight dragons anytime soon either."
The drive to Brooklyn passed quickly as Neal fell asleep almost as soon as they left, not waking even when Peter stopped to get his prescriptions filled. As Peter drove along DeKalb Avenue, he woke up and looked around in confusion. "Where are we?"
"Almost home. Good nap? "
"This isn't Riverside Drive."
"Nope, you're staying with El and me, remember?"
Leaning his head back against the headrest, Neal closed his eyes again wearily. "Sorry, forgot . . . muddled."
"Don't worry about it. All part of the 'fun' of having a concussion. How you feeling?"
"Peachy, just peachy," Neal said with a groan.
"We're almost there, sunshine."
Fortunately a parking space was available right in front of his house. "Don't try to get out just yet. Let me help," Peter warned.
"Not fighting you on that."
El came out to greet them and assist. "Sweetie, you look exhausted. I've got everything ready for you upstairs. Do you need to rest before tackling the stairs?"
Neal started to shake his head and then quickly stopped, giving a hiss. "Thanks, but if I stop, I may not be able to get up. Better keep moving."
"Good idea," Peter encouraged. "Bed is where you belong."
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"What a day!" Peter sighed wearily as he flopped onto the couch.
El brought him a beer and curled up next to him. "Neal doing okay upstairs?"
"I barely got him to bed, before he fell asleep. I don't think we'll be hearing anything from him for a while."
"I was looking over his paperwork while you were upstairs. Hopefully he can sleep till it's time for his meds. He's probably not feeling like eating anyway. But how about you? You must be starving. I have lasagna," she added enticingly. "I wasn't planning on serving it to Neal—it would have been too heavy—but I'm guessing you could manage it?"
"You got that right. You'll be happy to hear that my stomach's not feeling one bit queasy. I'll even be a martyr and eat for Neal too."
With a laugh, El got busy in the kitchen while he relaxed. A short time later, over lasagna and hot Italian bread, Peter filled her in on the day's events.
"I can only imagine how you must have felt when you saw the van plunge into the water," El said as she dished out a generous portion for him.
"That sight is seared into my brain," Peter said. "I don't know if I'll ever get over it. When I found him face down in the reeds, honestly, I was petrified he was dead. You go into these ops preparing all you can, trying to plan for every contingency, and then events intrude, making a shambles of it all."
"You couldn't have anticipated those fire trucks. If it hadn't been for them, all probably would have gone according to your plan."
"Maybe, but with Neal, the plan has a nasty habit of getting tossed out right at the critical moment."
El laid a hand on Peter's arm and squeezed it. "The important thing is that Neal made it out safely. You found him."
"You know what the team's calling him now? The Great Houdini. As if he weren't reckless enough. How am I gonna rein him in now?"
"You'll think of a way," she said calmly, "but from what you told me, it doesn't sound like Neal had any choice. And if he didn't have all those daredevil skills, I don't want to think about what would have happened. Why don't you put off for another day figuring out how to manage your Houdini? Nothing's going to happen now—he's safely tucked in bed. After dinner let's just relax, maybe watch a movie?"
Peter put his arm around her. "That's the best offer I've heard. You can even pick out a chick flick, as long as ice cream comes with it."
"You got it, mister."
Stretched out on the couch with Elizabeth beside him, Peter felt the tension which had been gnawing at him all day slowly dissipate. He hadn't watched Sleepless in Seattle in ages. Tom Hanks wasn't bad . . . Meg Ryan was cute . . . Was that Satchmo snoring? Relaxing . . . music . . . .
Peter was jolted awake by a loud thud and cry. "What was that?"
Satchmo had jumped up and was barking.
El said worriedly, "It came from upstairs. It must be Neal."
"I'll go check." Now fully awake, Peter sprinted upstairs.
Notes: Thanks for reading and for your comments! I'll post the final chapter on Thanksgiving morning. Special thanks to my wonderful beta and mentor Penna Nomen for her many helpful suggestions, including how Neal would react to a neck brace. If you'd like to read more about the Hospital Game, Henry's warning to Peter can be found in Penna's story By the Book.
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals: The Golden Hen board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website