Day 5 - Apartment at the corner of 3rd and 46th, 8:00 am
Peter knocked twice to inform about his arrival, then used the key Neal had given him after he had changed the lock on the safe-house door.
It had taken some restraint, but Peter had finally convinced himself that he absolutely didn't want to know who this flat belonged to, how they had managed to get access and what could possibly be hidden in the closets. His many years working with Neal had made him quite good at that game. He mostly tried not to think about it unless he was ready to have his conscience disturb him. It was far too late to go back now. He felt like he was going further and further away on a catwalk while knowing perfectly well that there was only a void on the other side. He had decided he would wonder about the fall later… or maybe never.
The apartment was silent. A lamp was casting a shadow in the living room. Papers were lying on every available surface and there; crashed on the couch, was Neal softly snoring, a piece of paper under his face.
Peter got closer and put a hand his shoulder, shaking him lightly.
"Neal, wake-up."
The ex-CI jumped up, a wave of terror crossing his eyes before he recognized Peter.
"Scare a guy, why don't you," he complained rubbing his hands over his face.
"I knocked, but you didn't hear it apparently," Peter explained. "You do know there is a comfortably looking bed in the bedroom?"
Neal groaned. "Damn jetlag…"
He raised and moved on slightly wobbling feet to the bathroom. "Make yourself useful, start the coffee," he said.
Peter watched him walk away; an amused smile on his lips. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times Neal hadn't been sharp and dressed to the nines. Even when he showed up unexpectedly for breakfast, Neal always looked ready to leave for a black tie event, even in one of Byron's gowns.
Neal came back a few minutes later, hair combed and his face still fresh from water. He hadn't shaved, but the light shadow, now dotted with more grey hair than in the past, could not hide the bluish mark on his chin. Peter frowned realizing Neal had obviously been hit; but then he bit his lip to stop a laugh when he guessed who had thrown the punch.
Neal winced and took a hand to his still smarting jaw. For a guy who was a non-violent, Mozzie clearly knew how to use his fists. He raised his arms in defeat.
"Yes, I know. I deserve it," he admitted.
"Could have been worse," Peter commented, still fighting his laugh.
"You haven't seen my ribs," Neal mumbled.
The front door opened and both men turned in surprise. John stood in the entrance, holding a box.
"This place is like Grand Central Station." Neal remarked.
"John, perfect timing. Coffee is just ready."
John handed the box to Neal. "Good. I brought donuts."
Neal made a face of distaste and Peter gave John a knowing look. Watching the exchange, Neal wondered once again what had happened between the two of them since they had crossed paths again.
Sitting around the table, coffee and donuts handy, John and Peter listened to Neal as he explained what he had found out.
John watched him fascinated. He had witnessed the young man's intelligence in the past, but the way he could see links where no one would have even looked was the blinding proof of a genius brain. He wondered for a moment what a team comprised of Finch, Root and Neal could achieve - once they found common ground given their very different methods.
As he listened to Neal expose the facts, Peter felt a wave of nostalgia engulf him. He had almost forgotten how smart Neal was. More than once, after his disappearance, while listening to his teams and their lack of progress, he had berated himself for idealizing Neal's intelligence. Now that he was witnessing it once again, he realized that his memories had actually underestimated it.
"And so, in light of all that, here is my theory," Neal stated after taking a sip of coffee. He cast a glance at the donuts; he was hungry but the sole idea of eating those greasy pastries…
"The theft was commissioned, which seems undeniable; pieces that were much more valuable, such as the Titian painting or the Michelangelo drawings were untouched. Then for some mysterious reason I haven't been able to figure out yet, the patron vanished. Our thieves found themselves with paintings impossible to fence. I'm guessing, with no payment by their patron, they shared the loot. I also believe the team, I'm thinking two people, had inside help. If I could stretch my assumption, I'd even say it was someone from the FBI…"
"I knew it!" Peter interrupted, hitting the table with his hand. "They were always one step forward."
Neal hesitated before carrying on. "The method used for the heist bears a characteristic signature…"
"You did tell me you used to sign your forgeries," Peter commented.
"Copies," Neal automatically corrected, lost in thought.
John chuckled. Two days in New York and Neal was already reverting to his old habits. A copy was not a forgery, hence not a crime.
"It bears the signs Gordon Taylor's jobs do."
"Taylor, the thief of the baseball?" Peter interrupted.
Neal nodded and carried on.
"Although, he was a bit young at the time. He can hardly be expected to be behind such a heist when he was barely twenty… Or maybe… your dead body is behind it." Neal frowned deep in thought. "That would hold… I always wondered who trained Gordon. It could have been Reginald Anderson."
"James Highsmith," John corrected.
Neal went on. "Which would explain why we found the painting at his place. It was his share."
"What about the other paintings?" Peter asked.
His hunger overcoming his tastes, Neal took a donut and bit into it. He winced in disgust while munching.
"How can you eat this stuff? No wonder the police aren't brighter; your brains are drowned in grease," he commented.
Peter shot him a dark stare and Neal quickly moved on, "Although, in your case, the good cooking of your wife makes up for it."
Once again admiring Neal's talent for manipulation, John summed up the case.
"So, Highsmith gets an order and teams up with Taylor, his new pupil. They rob the museum but their patron disappears. They find themselves with unfenceable paintings and the FBI chasing them, but thanks to a mole they manage to vanish; never to be found again."
"Yes, that's about it. Although, maybe not Taylor himself. I'm finding it hard to believe that he committed such a heist and never bragged about it. We enjoy the fame from our best cases," Neal added with a guilty smile.
"The newspapers are going to love it," Peter mumbled. "I can already picture the headlines: '25 years later the thieves keep mocking the FBI'."
"Peter, you were right. Only a thief can find a thief," John said turning to Neal.
"Et tu?" Neal exclaimed.
John fought a smile. "I'm taking you to Anderson's apartment. I want you to have a look. I'm sure you'll see things differently."
"Good idea," Peter approved.
Day 5 – FBI, Peter Burke's office, 11:00 am
Peter put down his notes for the meeting and turned to the window.
The team meeting had just ended and he felt like they hadn't made any progress. Neal had achieved more in one single evening than the whole FBI team in charge. And Peter was now faced with the fact that he had a bit too much information to reveal and no sources he could disclose.
He was rather satisfied his instinct had been right about the mole. But the question still remained. Where was he? What had happened to him? Could he still be active? Did he know the investigation was reopened? Was that mysterious informant going to resurface again and try to sabotage the investigation or had he disappeared too?
He had presented his theories, Neal's ones actually, in the meeting. He had insisted on the mole aspect. He might have hinted that they had serious leads about his identity. It had two advantages. The first was to boost the team who hated being betrayed by one of their own. The agents would do their best to find the traitor among them.
The second advantage was to scare the mole and maybe have him slip-up. Of course, this only worked if the mole was still in the FBI.
He couldn't help a smile thinking about Kramer's face. He had been quite surprised by the last leads and had warmly congratulated Peter and the team for their work. It wasn't his prerogative, but having a Washington top agent approve the work was good for morale.
He still didn't understand why Kramer had come to New York to join this investigation, especially to work with him when they had parted in less than friendly ways. They did say time cured all wrongs. And if they managed to close this case, the medals would rain down. Which was always nice. He should probably accept that Kramer had got over they mutual aversion and was trying to rebuild the team they had been in their younger years. Maybe he should forgive too. Of course, with Neal around, the circumstances didn't help.
He was about to tackle the reports he had to sign when his phone rang.
"John?"
Day 5 – Earlier, Hell's Kitchen, Reginald Anderson/James Highsmith's apartment
John and Neal had been exploring Reginald Anderson's apartment for a while. After having made sure no one was staking out the place, John had discreetly gotten the ex-thief inside, ducking under the yellow tape.
Neal had given a wide berth to the blood stain on the floor then had started checking the room in detail. He stopped and looked hard at the empty safe.
"Nothing interesting in the safe," John informed him.
"Then why would you need a safe…" Neal mumbled. He ran his fingers inside checking for a trigger mechanism that would open a door, but it was just a plain safe.
The drawers and sides of furniture hadn't revealed anything either. It was starting to become more than a bit frustrating.
He went to the painting room, noting the opening in the closet.
"Did you find the secret door?" Neal asked.
"Once I realized there was footage missing from the place," John explained.
They were now in the room that would hopefully reveal something: Anderson's, aka Highsmith's, studio. Following the FBI's request, everything had been left as found, except for the Rembrandt painting.
Neal started exploring the room while John remained by the door, watching the young man move around. He went straight to some places to explore them with great care, almost as if he knew where to look. John's theory was proved when Neal slipped his hand under a shelf and came back with a box.
"You have a special training on where to hide stuff in painting studios?" John asked with a smile.
"Artists have often been persecuted in the past. Their vision of the world often rubbed people the wrong way; therefore they became masters of concealment." He put the box on the table. "Remind me to show you the hidden stuff in the Mona Lisa painting some day; you'll never look at a painting the same way again."
The box didn't reveal anything interesting. With a shrug, Neal started his search again. This time he checked the sculptures, one by one, shaking them, turning them. Nothing.
Had John been wrong? His instinct was screaming that there were secrets to be found here.
Yet, they had gone over most of the available space. Putting the last sculpture down, Neal checked the table. His gloved hand ran over the wood, trying to detect a flow that would mark a hiding. And again nothing.
The two sides were bare of anything. Neal watched John with a disgruntled look.
"I guess we were wrong," he said. "There is nothing in this place.
"Let's check the other side of the table," John offered while pulling on the workbench to remove it from the wall.
"Nothing and nothing," Neal grumbled softly.
He moved to the wall facing the table. He didn't like failure, but he had to admit it, Highsmith was brighter than him.
Back against the wall, he slipped down to the floor, watching John who was now striking the walls to check for a noise difference. His eyes fell on the legs of the workbench.
The wood was carved, which was surprising as the top was just a panel. More surprising, one of the legs had a slight color difference, as if the wood wasn't the original one.
He rose up quickly and started checking the leg. There was a clear mark between two parts.
"John, I think I found something," Neal said.
When John crouched by his side, he pushed on the mark. A small trap opened. Neal pulled it and a smile lit up his face: the leg was hollow. John answered with a smile of his own and slipped his fingers inside, retrieving an envelope.
He was about to open it, when John's phone buzzed. A text from Finch.
## Kramer - call me back, urgent ##
John placed a call first.
"Peter, could you meet us at Anderson's place soon?" he asked
"I could be there in twenty minutes, less if urgent." After all what good was a blue light if you didn't use it?
"We found an envelope very cleverly hidden," John explained. "I thought you would like to be there when we open it."
Neal was quivering in anticipation by his side, but John wanted Peter present.
"I need to make a call. Do not open the envelope Neal," John ordered. "I'll be right back."
Neal made a face, then turned to watch a painting so he wouldn't be tempted.
Shaking his head in amusement, John moved to the other room and touched his ear.
"I'm listening, Finch."
"I think we have a problem, Mr. Reese," Finch announced. "Agent Kramer is getting more and more curious."
"Finch, what's going on?"
"I just saw agent Kramer close by Mr. Caffrey's container."
"What? How?" John exclaimed, then moved further way. He didn't want Neal to hear this, and knowing the man he was probably paying attention, although admittedly more out of habit than real interest.
"I'm going over his phone. It seems you are not the only one to spy on your co-workers. He has a GPS app tracking agent Burke's phone. He probably noticed the agent going there too often."
"Did he find anything?"
"He noticed the container, but lucky for us, employees from the storage company came to work on the neighboring container."
John breathed in relief. "Is he still around?"
"No, he just left. But he will probably be back."
"Finch, we need to empty that thing. Can you send a truck and a couple of trustworthy men?"
The familiar click of the keyboard was his only answer.
"What does Kramer want?" he wondered out loud.
"It would seem he is keeping a close watch on Mr. Burke. He knows the agent has used unorthodox methods in the past. Kramer probably hopes to be around if Burke finds a conclusive lead. Being present would put him in the spot light."
"If we crack this case, the whole team will benefit from the success."
"Or else," Finch carried on, "he was less professional reasons, and he is not there to help solve the case."
"He would still be bearing a grudge…" John concluded.
"Quite possibly."
"I don't get it. Neal is supposed to be dead. I mean, it's not as if he could manage to have him transferred to his own service."
"Since he cannot benefit from Mr. Caffrey's expertise, he makes sure Burke goes down."
"Obviously, if he gets inside the container, Peter's career is over. And most likely his freedom. He would need to give quite complicated explanations…"
"A team with the truck should arrive in half an hour, Mr. Reese."
"You own a moving company too?" John teased, astounded once more by the speed at which Finch had answered his request.
"Access isn't as easy as it used to be, but I still know who to reach out to."
A moving company, and most probably quite a few containers of his own. After all, John mused, Finch already lived a hidden life well before Samaritan had them scurrying away.
"Mr. Reece, you won't need to go yourself. Miss Groves has offered to supervise the operation. She told me she needed some fresh air. Quite honestly, I think she is rather curious as to what is inside the container."
"She'll be disappointed. She won't find weapons," John mumbled.
Day 5 - Hell's Kitchen, Reginald Anderson's apartment, 12h00
After ending his call with Finch, John went back to the painting room. Neal was holding the envelope.
"Neal," John barked.
Neal dropped it as if it had burned his fingers.
"I didn't open it, I swear!" he exclaimed stepping back.
John fought a grin and tried to keep a straight face. "You wouldn't want me to tie you up, right?"
"Someday, you'll have to explain to me where that love for tying people up comes from," Neal shot back.
The ghost of an amused smile graced John's lips.
Neal turned back to the workbench and started to rummage through the tools; he needed to keep his hands busy.
Fortunately Peter arrived before John had to put his threat into action. He gave the envelope to Peter, letting him open it.
Peter turned the envelope upside down over the table. A letter and a small key fell out.
Not bothering to ask, Neal took the letter, unfolded it and started reading.
'My name is James Highsmith.
History will only remember me as a thief, member of the English gang and head of a few select heists.
I consider myself an artist. My love for painting has very often led me to borrow some art. It was only the testimony of the admiration of a less talented artist.
That love has allowed me to live quite comfortably even after I abandoned my career as a thief. Some may say that I was even then not exactly on an honest path, but life would be pretty dull without the rush of danger…
This letter is both my will and the proof that my love for art surpasses everything. That is the sole reason that has led me to leave this letter.
Yet, I couldn't make things too easy. Congratulations to whoever found this document; I'm pretty sure he's had his own stuff to hide.
If you found the letter, you of course also found the Rembrandt painting. You know where it comes from, so I'm proud to inform you that you have finally found the perpetrator of the "heist of the century", as it's been known over the years. Don't bother looking for my accomplices. There were only two of us. My partner has been dead for several years now. If he deserves punishment, I believe it will be a higher authority that will decide upon his fate.
This theft, as were many others, was to order. Another art lover wanted a very specific selection of paintings.
Henri Krulwart gave the order but didn't fulfil his side of the contract. At the time, it was quite the setback. No payment despite an important investment, no way to fence the art. Knowing they were stored in crates, away from the admiration of men, has always been one of the biggest regrets of my life.
I am an artist. I love art. Paintings such as those cannot be kept away for eternity. I have decided to give them back.
A last riddle for the brilliant mind who found this document: the location of the paintings.
930 LWFSI XYWJJY GWTTPQDS SD 11211
Not so easy? I have all confidence in your capabilities.
The end is near for me. I hope I will be remembered as an art lover and as an artist and that God's justice will forgive me for what human justice will never forget.
James Highsmith'
The three men remained silent after reading the letter.
Neal's fingers danced over the paper as he read the text for himself this time around. Peter and John exchanged a glance. This letter was exactly the kind of thing that Neal could write some forty years in the future. If anyone could understand Highsmith, it was him.
For the moment, the thing occupying Neal's mind though was solving the encrypted text. John, also an encryption specialist, was already reviewing the different codes that could apply. Finding the key was always the problem. There were so many different systems…
Leaving the letter and key to Peter so he could add them to the file, John and Neal took a picture of the letter to work on the location. Peter was wondering how he was going to explain how he had gotten his hands on the document. He was more than happy for the progress, explaining it was going to be more complicated. Of course, it just made sense with Neal around. And to make things worse, John was no easier to explain within the legal framework. If he had to work with these two many more times, he wouldn't have to worry about his hair going grey, he was more likely to lose it all!
Peter and John's phones buzzed at the same time.
## Meet me in meeting room at 1:30 pm. Kramer ##
It came as a surprise. Glancing at his watch, John figured that they could grab a quick lunch before answering this intriguing summon.
Kramer was probably moving forward, John mused. Not knowing what he had in store, John decided not to talk about the container. No need to remind them about that danger over their heads.
Day 5 - FBI, meeting room, 1:30 pm
When John and Peter pushed the meeting room door open Kramer was already waiting for them.
"Hi Philip. Why the summons?" Peter asked. "You made a breakthrough? I haven't…"
Kramer interrupted him dryly. "No, that's not what I want to talk to you about. I'm worried about another topic, something about you, Peter," Kramer explained.
"You lost me. I thought the investigation was our only concern. That's what you used to tell me back in the day, if I remember right," Peter answered. "And why ask detective Riley to be present if it is a personal subject?" he asked.
"I may be needing a witness," Kramer explained.
"A witness? What for?" Peter wondered, tensing slightly.
John listened in silence. He was sure now Kramer was going to mention the container.
"I'm still willing to give you some leniency, that's why I kept this meeting in close committee, with only one witness. Would you explain what is stored in the container you have in Brooklyn?" Kramer asked.
"What container?" Peter countered.
"Oh please, Peter. You know perfectly well what I am talking about, since you've visited that container at least twenty five times in the last few months." Kramer bent over hands on the table, in a well-known intimidation stance. "I am waiting for your answer."
Noting the tactic, Peter kept calm and even took the time to sit comfortably.
"And how would you know that Philip? Spying on me now? I would have thought the investigation kept you busy," Peter answer with a confidence John could only admire.
"Oh, I get it!" Peter exclaimed. "You think I'm the mole in the FBI, the one that helped the robbers back then?" Peter asked astounded. When he had launched the theory, he hadn't expected to have it backfire. It would have been funny apart from the fact that Kramer knew about the container. That could prove dangerous.
"It has crossed my mind seeing as you kept working on the case even after it was closed. I've been thinking about it since you told us your theory about the mole yesterday. The way you invested yourself in the investigation, that willingness to carry on working on the file." Kramer gave him a fake smile. "What if it was just a front? Or more precisely you trying to make sure all the loose ends were secure? Your frequent visits to that container have me wondering. What if the paintings have been there all the time? It could be that you were getting ready to have them moved. I mean, it was brilliant to suggest a mole so that no one would suspect you."
"You are so wrong, Philip," Peter said, quickly thinking how he could keep Kramer away from the place.
A visit to the container would mean the end of his career, of his time with Neal Jr and Elizabeth. He wouldn't go down for the robbery but there were enough incriminating things in there to send him to jail for some time. Damn you Neal, he thought. You're really reaching from beyond the fake grave!
"What's your game?" Peter asked. "And out of curiosity, how do you know about those alleged visits?"
"Tracking your phone GPS has proven quite interesting, Peter," Kramer answered proudly.
"This is new. Washington's director spying on the NY White Collar ASAC during a case related to the biggest heist in history. I do hope you have an authorization, Philip, or I'll file a formal complaint."
"Stop wasting my time!" Kramer interrupted him. "I know you are hiding something in there and it would save us time and money if you would willingly open it for us. After all, if as you say, you have nothing to hide and you only keep your grand-mother's old furniture in there, then we'll be all satisfied. I'll even apologize," Kramer added with a smug smile.
Peter was starting to run out of excuses. He couldn't understand Kramer's position. Did he still hold a grudge about Neal? But after all the CI was "dead"…
A voice interrupted his musing.
"Gentlemen, why don't we pay a visit to that container?" the third attendee to the meeting, who had been silent so far, asked. "It would seem the best course of action at this point."
"See Peter, detective Riley agrees with me," Kramer added.
Peter stared at John. How could he be so calm about this? He knew what the container contained. This felt like betrayal. He didn't know much about the man and so far had trusted him because of the past. What was his play? Peter felt a shiver go through his body. John wouldn't go so far as killing Kramer in cold blood? During their first "case" together there had been some weird disappearances…
He nodded stiffly. "Seeing as everybody seems to agree, let's go."
Kramer was out of the door so fast, eager to bring his colleague down, that he didn't hear John whispering to Peter, "Trust me, Peter."
Day 5 - Neal's container 2:30 pm
Traffic had delayed them on the way to Brooklyn, but Peter was now facing his destiny. He had taken the key out and was about to show Kramer a full life of crime, Neal's life. How would he justify that? How could he explain he had found this place but had never deemed it useful to report it? How to explain to Elizabeth, Diana, Jones? He had been lying to them for months. He couldn't see any way out of this.
Pushing past him to get in in a rush, Kramer entered the container leaving the door wide open.
Peter didn't look, waiting for the sentence.
The bewildered look on Kramer's face would have been funny if the situation wasn't so tense.
John bit back a chuckle. Apparently Root hadn't been satisfied with just emptying the container; she had filled it with junk coming straight from the backyard of an elderly great-aunt.
Kramer's wrath bounced off the walls.
"What kind of joke is this? This stuff is worthless!"
He invaded Peter's personal space.
"Look at me, Peter, and tell me you have been coming here dozens of times only to watch stuff that belongs in a landfill!" he yelled, his face red.
Peter, evidently also surprised by the contents, didn't utter a word.
"Answer, Burke!" Kramer spat, almost touching the agent.
Much to John surprise, Peter managed to get all self-righteous before answering. His admiration for the agent increased another notch.
"Here's the proof that your allegations were wrong. A mole, capable of stealing such priceless work of art? Philip, how could you think that? Have you lost all confidence in me? You trained me, you know my professionalism," Peter answered very calmly, his voice even carrying a touch of wounded feelings.
"Right, as if I'm that gullible. Where's the camera? You saw me coming and had everything moved, right?" Kramer asked, still pissed off. "Yes, that's it, you left the office around eleven this morning," he said frowning.
"Stop, Philip, you're being ridiculous," Peter said. "Be logical, think about it. How could have I moved a full container in under two hours? You want to get back at me so bad you're not thinking straight."
Kramer grabbed Peter's shirt in a fist. "Spill it, Burke. Tell me what was in the container."
He felt a hand on his forearm.
"Let him go now before you do something you'll regret," John advised in a neutral voice.
Kramer measured his opponent but the look in the eyes told him he didn't have the upper hand. He let go of his former partner and left the container with a last threat. "This isn't over, Burke. You hear? I will get you!"
Peter allowed himself a moment to recover then, turned to John, who was as calm as ever.
"I guess I owe you some thanks."
"No problem," John answered, brushing it away, as if he hadn't done anything in particular.
"You just saved my career, my credibility and Neal's new life. I cannot just forget about it," Peter said. "How did you know Kramer was spying me? And how did you manage to take care of this? You have been with me or Neal the whole time. Are you some kind of magician?" he added with a light smile, amused now that the tension was over.
"No magic, for sure. Just an efficient moving team."
"How did you even know the place was compromised?"
Joh turned around and pointed to the camera. Peter paled, he had forgotten about it.
"It means Kramer can get to the recordings. We only postponed this. He will come back to me when he sees the crew…" Peter was starting to panic again.
"Peter, easy, breathe," John suggested with a hint of a smile. "You and Neal's secret are perfectly safe."
"You seem to always be a step ahead; not to mention having access to unlimited means. How do you manage that?" Peter asked.
"Peter, for your own sake, it is better that you don't know about some things. Your friend, or should I say ex-friend, is not going to drop this. If he manages to get you to take a lie detector test then it is better that you really don't know anything. I won't insult your intelligence by thinking you didn't understand I'm not exactly who I pretend to be. Let's say we are even; to each own his secrets."
"Huh, right, of course," Peter answered disconcerted.
"Detective" Riley was really something…
TBC…