Free Me If You Can
Chapter 10
By
Lacadiva
Rating: PG-13/R for violence. Disclaimer: All rights belong to he mighty, mighty Jeff Eastin and the awesome White Collar gang. But come on, only six episodes, guys? Torture.
Summary: Post-Judgment Day – a different take. Peter doesn't signal Neal, and Neal is arrested and faces life – or death – in prison. What kind of a dangerous game is Kramer playing? And if Neal plays along, will Peter be able to free him from his deal with the devil before Kramer gets Neal killed?
ALSO: So sorry for the character name snafu…I meant to name the young female agent Brigit, but in earlier chapters I called her Denise…same name as the DoC Doctor in the first two or three chapters! Yikes! I was suffering through some hard times in the early days of this story – two deaths and a job loss. Confusing times, indeed. So from here on out, Agent Spears is Brigit. Dr. Runyon is Denise. I'll go back and fix the earlier chapters later. Please note that I'm taking a few liberties just for the sake of storytelling. So if there are glaring inaccuracies, please forgive and indulge me. It's all for fun anyway, right? Hope you'll kindly review.
~WC~
By 9:30 am, both men had consumed large quantities of black coffee and two orders each of the diner's signature never-ending pancakes soaked in melted butter, dusted with white sugar and piled high with fresh berries, with rashers of extra crispy bacon on the side.
By 10:00, Neal had the skeleton of plan formalizing in his quick mind.
"So, you've heard my story," Kramer said, smiling an oily smile. "Tell me you're not intrigued."
"That would be lying," Neal confessed. "But what you're asking…"
"Certainly it's not too much for the great Neal Caffrey?"
Neal felt a stab at his ego. He didn't like that Kramer knew exactly what to say to get a strong reaction. If Neal were a foolish man, he would have put aside his determination to bring Kramer to justice and joined forces with him…shake hands with the devil. But Neal knew were just some people you can't trust. He smiled at the irony of the thought.
On the other hand, a score like Kramer was talking about came along maybe once in the life of a dedicated thief. He thought he'd reached the pinnacle of his own career with Adler's stolen Nazi treasure. But this…this was the stuff of myth and legend.
And as always, there was a curse attached.
"You want me to steal the Capaldi diamond? The third largest rough gem-quality diamond known to man. You know it's worth a little over $300 million on the black market."
"That's the one." Kramer wiped his thin mouth and tossed the berry-stained napkin upon his plate. "Countries have almost gone to war over that diamond, and many a life has been lost."
"That's because it's cursed."
"You don't believe all that superstitious hogwash, do you?"
"Not really. But he deaths associated with the diamond were real," he said, recalling the oft-told story of a few of the more hapless thieves who actually had a chance to wrap their rapacious hands around the diamond, and had died violently shortly thereafter.
One suffered a ridiculously fatal fall from a Parisian museum rooftop while on a job. This resulted in his violent decapitation on a rope harness. His head fell into the lap of a French movie star's model-date as they drove by in a convertible.
Another expired from an accidental, self-inflicted bullet wound to the head while cleaning a pilfered 18th century flintlock blunderbuss.
Yet another, and the most horrific death of all, as far as Neal was concerned – involved the former holder of the diamond being swallowed up by a massive, 30-foot sinkhole while hiding out from Interpol in a third world country. It wasn't the fall that killed him, though he did suffer a broken back that made crawling out of the hole impossible. It was the rats – hundreds of rats – that feasted on his flesh while all he could do was lay there and scream.
Neal shuddered at the images in his head.
"Those men were idiots," said Kramer. "You ever wonder why the most rare and expensive things in the world always seem to come with some kind of supposed curse attached to it?"
"Money corrupts. Three hundred million alters people. Turns friends into enemies..."
"…and enemies into friends…" Kramer said pointedly.
He sat forward and laced his fingers on the old style Formica tabletop.
"Trust me, my boy. That so-called curse is just a little negative P.R., used to weed out the fools, the easily duped, the less than committed and the cowards. The weak ones who are too afraid to test fate or challenge destiny. The true curse is that when some men are called to greatness, they'd rather play World of Warcraft. Theysettle for the ersatz victory of a high score. But not me. Not us. I'm pretty sure we draw water from the same well, Neal. Which brings me back to my initial inquiry. Are you in or out?"
Kramer's eyes burned with a brightness that Neal had only ever associated in men on a slow train to madness.
So he stalled by signaling a young Waitress to refill his coffee cup. She came quickly to the table, a lithe vision with a tight up-do and a throwback pink uniform, carrying an ancient glass coffee pot. She refilled both mugs fast without spilling a single drop, and placed the handwritten check on the table.
"Whenever you're ready, gentlemen," she said with a Southern Virginia lilt in her voice and hurried off to her next table.
"Tell me more," said Neal. "Who am I stealing it from? Where is it?"
"A highly secured of repository of Americana, rare antiquities and objet d'art, with an exclusive Pennsylvania Avenue address."
"A Politician?"
"The Politician. At the very top of the heap, you could say."
"No…" said Neal, sitting back in his booth. Now this was madness. His palms felt uncharacteristically sweaty. His gut clenched, and he felt his breakfast attempt to return.
"You want me to break into the White House?"
Kramer's eyes dulled now, and his chuckle had a slightly diabolical quality to it.
"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have to break in. I can get you in. I have friends in high places. You just need to get out safely with my diamond concealed on your person. The Capaldi Diamond will be on display for three days, and then it's off to The National Museum of London, and from there, who knows."
"You're asking me to steal from the President!"
"I never thought of you as politically minded, Caffrey. I imagine the President is far too busy a man to care about some diamond on display in a corridor. But I am asking you to steal from your country."
"You took an oath to service this country."
"But you didn't. And something tells me that for all your protesting, patriotism isn't really a priority. Face it Neal, you could steal the flag off George Washington's corpse and sleep like a newborn."
"You realize if I get caught…"
"Don't get caught."
"And if I do? I'll spend the rest of my life locked up in something akin to Guantanamo."
"If you get caught, Caffrey, you are completely on your own. I will help build a case against you that is so airtight, no lawyer would want to take it. When they are through with you, it'll be as if you never existed. "
Of course, thought Neal. Of course Kramer wouldn't just throw him under the bus; he'd roll over him a few times.
Kramer stifled a yawn. "Just make sure it doesn't come to that."
The Agent added a generous spoonful of sugar to his coffee.
Neal allowed a bit of a smile to claim his face, despite the roiling in his gut, the temptation to get up and run, and keep running.
"What so funny, Caffrey?"
"Nothing. I'm just imagining," said Neal, "what it would be like to live like a king."
"We could imagine…or we could do it."
Neal nodded again, reaching for his own coffee mug.
"I'm curious," Neal said. "You've got Iraqi gold, enough to live well anywhere in the world. Why risk it all for the Capaldi Diamond?"
Kramer reached for the bill and gave it a quick glance, adding up the dollar figures in head. "Before I tell you…you have to understand…nobody else knows about our little plan. Just you, just me."
"What about your crew? They're bound to suspect something."
"This is so far out of their league. They're satisfied with a mere few million. Blowing a lifetime worth of wealth in a year or two on cars, drugs, and women. They don't understand the sanctity or subtleties of life. This isn't just about greed, my boy. I couldn't care less about who has the most toys. Believe it or not," he said as he tossed three twenties cavalierly on the table, "what I'm doing, I'm not doing for me."
"Then who?"
Something in Kramer's countenance changed. A softer look claimed his face making him, for the moment appear to be a very different man.
"My wife."
"I never heard you or Peter mention a Mrs. Kramer."
"That's because we've been divorced for several years. Her idea, not mine. The life of an agent's wife isn't easy. Check in on Petey in a couple years. If there's a big promotion in his future, chances are a divorce will shortly follow."
Neal shook his head and sat forward. "No, not them. Not Peter and Elizabeth."
"I said the same thing about me and Kathryn. Came home one late night in August of '96 to find all of her things gone, and a note. 'I still love you,' it read, 'and always will. But this is not the life you promised.'"
"Ouch."
"Ouch, indeed. She wanted the moon. But I couldn't deliver. Not on an agent's salary. And I was a different man then."
Regret made Kramer seem vulnerable, older, and nearly defeated, Neal mused.
"She wanted nights in Rio, Monte Carlo and Paris. I worked nights. All the time. She wanted to dance on tropical beaches, feel the ocean waves splashing against her. Fly to Milan to shop or Aspen to ski. I guess the rare Sunday afternoon in bed reading the Washington Post couldn't compare."
"So if you're divorced…?"
"Why try to woo her now?"
Kramer looked at his dry-skinned knuckles and rubbed them thoughtfully.
"I never stopped loving her, Neal. Never got over her. But I'm not trying to woo her. I just want to give her what she always wanted...the life I promised her...or at least a touch of it. She's dying. She's in a cancer research facility outside of the U.S., undergoing experimental treatments. Illegally.
"They gave her six months when she started the treatments. That was nearly six years ago, with her first bout. Now, the cancer is back with a vengeance. Eight weeks is a generous estimate. If it's the last thing I do I want to give her the life she always dreamed of, always deserved, and then some. I want her to die happy. After that, I don't care what happens to me.
"That Iraqi gold was never the real prize. My portion of the take pays all the doctors and nurses to keep her alive, anyway and every way they can. And, it also pay for my little getaway, an eight thousand square foot mansion on an undisclosed island…"
"With no extradition."
"None whatsoever. But before I disappear from the rest of the world, I want to put that diamond in my wife's hand. And I will do anything it takes to make that happen."
Neal thoughtfully twirled the coffee in his cup. "And how does that net us a kingly payday?"
"Don't worry, Caffrey. I just want her to taste a bit of the good life. Once she's gone…"
He stopped a moment, as if emotion had momentarily silenced him.
"Once she's gone, I already have a buyer lined up for the diamond. You and I split the difference, part ways, and live the rest of our lives as you say…like kings. So…are we in or out?"
"When do we start?"
Kramer smiled. "Right now. I have to get back to the office, file a report.. You have to go buy a tux."
~WC~
Shortly after noon, Neal slipped into the front seat of Taxicab number 602.
"I was wondering when I was going to hear from you again," said Reginald with a smile.
He pulled into traffic and scooted a black burner phone across the seat to Neal.
"Been holding onto that for you. You look like you need a talk to somebody."
"You have no idea how true that is."
"You can start with me."
Reginald took the beltway, and stayed on it for a while, traveling in circles, burning gas, but giving Neal a chance to catch him up on the latest developments.
"The White House? THE White House? Not a good idea," he said finally. "Do you know what they'll do to you if you're caught?"
"I don't really have a choice in the matter," said Neal.
"You do…it's just not a good one. So what's the plan?"
"It's time to put the band together."
Reginald smiled. "The band? Sounds like you've been busy making friends and stirring up a little moral support for your cause."
"I have. Two Agents, Spears and Gaines. And a member of Kramer's crew. All of them were pro-Kramer until he gave them sufficient cause not to be. Then, there's Mozzie…and you. If you want in."
"Are you kidding? It isn't every day a man is given a chance to cast his eyes upon something as rare and beautiful as the Capaldi diamond. Cursed though it may be. Of course I'm in."
Neal smiled. He could see flesh building on to his skeletal plan.
"One question, Neal. Knowing your…proclivity toward appropriating shiny things that don't belong to you…are you planning on doing the right thing…or the Caffrey thing?"
"I want to stop Kramer. If the diamond ends up with the Feds, I'll have no regrets."
"And if it ends up with you?"
"One caper at a time," Neal said with a smile.
"I like the way you deflect," Reginald laughed. "All right. Tell me what you need me to do."
"First, I need a safe place to get everyone together."
"Done. My ex-sister-in-law owns a little jazz club in Georgetown. There's a basement nobody uses. She owes me for a little legal mess I cleaned up for her about a year ago. I'm relatively certain it's not the kind of establishment your Agent Kramer would frequent, so we should remain off his radar. Then what?"
"We enjoy a little music. And I teach the first lesson the art of the con."
"Sounds intriguing."
~WC~
Adams Morgan
6:30 pm
"Excuse me, miss?"
Agent Spears was exiting her neighborhood Safeway Food Store, heavy bags in hand, and was about to take the walk down Columbia Road to her apartment. It was dark, and beginning to drizzle. Thunder rumbled in the distance, which did not improve her situation. All she wanted to so was go home, enjoy a long, hot bath and a pint of salted caramel gelato and…
"Excuse me, miss?"
Spears turned and saw a Capital Cab pulling up. The driver was leaning across the passenger side to talk to her through the open window.
"You've got about five seconds before the deluge begins."
"The what?"
Lightning crackled and thunder rumbled. The storm was moving quickly, moving close.
Spears made her way to the cab and climbed into the back, placing her bags on the seat next to her. As soon as she closed the door, rain came down in fast, heavy drops that quickly saturated the streets.
"Thanks. Great timing," she said with a smile.
"That's the job. I think we might have a mutual friend, Agent Spears."
"How do you know my name?" She instantly made note of where exactly her service revolver was, and how soon it would take her to get to it if necessary.
"Wrong question. The right question would be, who's the mutual friend?"
~WC~
Agent Gaines ducked inside a loud, obnoxious sports bar not far from the Takoma Park Metro Station to wait out the storm. It was one of those east coast storms that seemed like it would rain for hours on end, when suddenly it was all over and the sky began to clear. He wasn't much of a drinker, so the beer he'd bought to justify sitting in the bar had gone flat and warm. It was time to go.
He paid and tipped the bartender and headed for the door. Once outside, he noticed a Taxi, right out front. How fortuitous, he told himself and he held up a hand to make sure the driver knew he wished to hire him.
Gaines was quite surprised when he opened the passenger's side door to find Agent Spears was sitting in the back.
"What the heck? Brigit?"
"It's okay. Get in."
"What's this about?"
"Neal Caffrey," said Reginald. "That's what."
End Chapter 10
A short chapter, I apologize, but I'm on the way to finishing this finally. I hope you continue to enjoy it and will make it known if you do. My thanks for your kind patience and attention. Lacadiva.