Late update but not my fault: site was down and I was having a fit! May have more errors than usual since I didn't get my re-read edit time in yesterday. Forgive me, please.

Also,, one more 'Neal-less' chapter, but we will learn his fate in Chapter seven. Have Faith. :)

Chapter Six

When exhaustion began to hamper their ability to think clearly, the team reluctantly agreed to head home for a few hours rest. Peter opted to crash on the sofa in the break room; partially because he wanted to be close if something happened and partially because it felt wrong to go home and sleep in his bed when Neal was out there in trouble.

There wasn't much sleep for Peter. He tossed and turned when he did manage sleep it was pierced by nightmares. He was relieved when it was finally early enough to get up and start the coffee. He kept a go bag in his office, so he shaved in the bathroom, combed his hair and changed his shirt.

Peter was already on his third cup of coffee when the rest of the team, still looking bleary-eyed and weary, arrived at 7:45 am. The agents who had been monitoring the situation all night had left; there had been no developments. Where ever he was, it wasn't out in the open; out in the cold. That was something; Peter told himself. But the fact was that Neal was still missing.

Jones had come into his office to let him know that everything was in place to track the money from the briefcase. The serial numbers had been uploaded to all financial institutes, and the minute the money was deposited, they would be alerted. They finished their briefing and walked out on the catwalk just in time to see McNeely and Reese enter the doors at the far end of the room.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jones said beneath his breath. "What are they doing here?"

"If everything were on the up and up," he answered, "they would be trying to determine what Neal was doing behind that warehouse that would warrant such desperate actions as shooting at the NYPD."

"But things aren't on the up and up," Jones replied, "So why are they really here?"

"To make a good show of doing their job," Peter replied confidently, "and to make sure we buy their story about what happened last night."

"So how are we going to play this?" Jones asked as the men made their way through the office towards the stairs that lead to where he and Peter were standing.

"They think Neal was down there on his own time to buy a stolen painting from Garrison; we go along with the assumption that it might be true."

"So we let them think Neal Caffrey might be tempted to commit a crime if an opportunity too good to pass up presented itself?" In spite of the seriousness of the situation, there was amusement in Jones' voice.

Peter looked at him. "That shouldn't be too hard to do, should it?"

"Well, it's quite a stretch," Jones chuckled, "but I will do my best."

"You know what Neal says, the best lies have an element of truth."

"Agent Burke," McNeely said as he approached Peter, "I guess you know by now that your missing CI is my missing suspect." He nodded to the man with him. "This is my partner, Daniel Reese. Daniel, this is Peter Burke."

Peter returned the gesture by introducing Jones. Hands were shook all around before Peter responded to McNeely's opening statement.

"Yes, I was notified last night that you had positively identified him." He paused. "I have to admit I was a little surprised you hadn't already; you met him a couple years ago. The same time you met me, in fact."

Peter knew that McNeely hadn't been happy when Peter had contacted the NYPD. Just as he had known they would, the NYPD had forwarded Neal's photo to McNeely, forcing him to make an ID. The suspect being identified as an asset of the FBI had caused stern warnings to go out to the rank and file, making Neal much safer, and McNeely, Reese, and Garrison less so. They had Neal rather not be taken alive. Alive, he would have a story to tell. Dead, only their story would matter.

"I might not have placed you right away, either, in the dark shooting at me," he replied easily. "Any idea what he was doing down in that area?"

Having a very good idea, Peter lied. "No, he didn't have clearance to be there. You said you found him while responding to a report of a suspicious person. What exactly was he doing?"

"He was loitering around the back side of one of the warehouses, possibly waiting to meet someone. When we approached and identified ourselves, he freaked out and started shooting."

"That doesn't sound like Caffrey," Peter said before he could stop himself. The lack of sleep and caffeine made him less adept at holding his tongue than usual. And even usual, he wasn't that good at it. "He's not the freakout and shoot kind. I've never known him to carry a gun."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Agent Burke," Reese chimed in, "but he was definitely carrying one last night."

"We're just trying to find out why he was down there," McNeely inserted, "I suppose you do random drug testing on your informants," McNeely looked at Peter questioningly. "Any chance he was down there trying to score?"

Possession of a firearm, firing on officers and now drug use. McNeely would say anything to discredit Neal. And of course, Peter had to go along with it.

"He's never had a problem with drugs," Peter replied, then paused as if a thought had occurred to him, "but he does show a penchant for brokering deals. It's possible he was down there doing a little business of his own."

"Knowing Caffrey it probably involved a stolen piece of art," Jones disapproving tone was quite convincing. "I've always thought he was dabbling in illegal activities. How else could he afford that wardrobe of his? Certainly not on what he gets from being a CI."

"That sounds reasonable," McNeely encouraged. Jones had scored with the stolen art comment. "That area is a hotbed of criminal activity; we've had our eyes on it for some time." McNeely continued. "It's a haven for drug trafficking and money laundering. A good place for business of that kind."

Peter had to bite his tongue at that; the man was providing protection for the very crimes he was describing. "Regardless of Caffrey's extracurricular activities, the bureau needs his testimony," Peter insisted. "We need to find him. Alive." He paused, "How bad was he hit?"

"I aimed center mass," McNeely shrugged, "if it hadn't been for the rain, we could have probably tracked him by the blood trail." McNeely shook his head. "Must not have hit anything vital or he wouldn't have gotten far." He paused, "I still can't believe he got away from us." Those words were the most sincere that he had spoken since he had arrived. "He has to have help from someone. Any known associates? Anywhere he would run?"

Jones took that one. "No," he shook his head, "but I'm working on possibles. Speaking of which," he glanced at Peter, "I need to get back to my desk, sir, in case something comes up." Peter knew exactly what Jones was hoping would come up; a ping on those serial numbers. The banks had opened half an hour ago. Peter nodded and Jones made his exit.

"He didn't go home," Peter continued, "We sent agents there immediately." It was true; Peter had sent agents to June's early in the evening to keep the NYPD from storming the house in search of Neal. His preemptive move had worked; the closest the NYPD had come to her house was the surveillance car across the street.

"I know," McNeely admitted, "We've had plain clothes on the place in case he returned, but I didn't think he would." He looked at Peter "He knows the gig is up; he's can't come back from this."

"I hate it's come to this," Peter sighed, feigning disappointment. "I know he sometimes pushes boundaries, but he's done a good job; we've done good." The fact that Peter believe the last part of that statement lent credence to his words.

He could see a glint of victory in McNeely's eyes. The man had come to cast a disparaging light on Neal Caffrey, and Peter and Jones had allowed him to think they shared his dim view of the man. The more confident McNeely became that he was in the clear, the more likely he was to make a mistake.

"You've had a good run with Caffrey," McNeely agreed "Closed a lot of cases. But I'm afraid the run is over."

"I know," Peter agreed. "If we do find him, his days of being a CI are over," Peter said, "The Bureau will terminate the agreement. After his testimony is finished up, he'll be sent back to prison."

"It's a shame, really," McNeely said, his sympathetic tone turning Peter's stomach "You gave him a chance, Agent Burke, and he blew it. An informant for the FBI sent back to prison." He shook his head with mock sadness. "He won't have a snowballs chance in hell in there."