A/N: I apologize for the chapter being several days late. The story concludes next week.

Chapter 10

A deafening barrage of noise bounced and echoed off the containment area walls. Hastily covering his ears for protection, Mozzie leaped from the chair to the floor. He appeared to shrink down within himself, huddling close to the ground. Peering down the hall, he noted his companion didn't have the luxury of minimizing the booming klaxon.

Agent Burke stood unmoving, clutching his carbon steel weapon, poised to attack and overpower the first man through the door. Mozzie quickly bit his lower lip, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He didn't really believe their ruse would be successful. It seemed his tombstone wouldn't contain the epitaph he so desired. A lump of dread formed in his chest.

"Hoka hey. It's a good day to die," he whispered to himself repeatedly, attempting to stir himself to action with the old Teton Lakota battle cry.

The scam artist knew he should be rushing to join Peter, standing with him united, shoulder to, well … elbow, but he couldn't seem to make his limbs move forward.

Within seconds both men heard a "swoosh …"

Potassium-based aerosol discharged from several generators scattered around the room, creating a fog of very fine suspended particles within the air. An ideal tool for computer rooms, designed to protect equipment and data, the mist quickly spread out, infiltrating the most hard-to-reach areas. Due to its small mass and stability of the active compounds, the particles remained suspended in the large room, designed to eliminate the possibility of fire re-ignition.

Peter, deafened by the din and assaulted with blinding propellant gas and powder, struggled to maintain his balance and remain ready to strike the first man through the entryway. Eyes partially shut, he glimpsed the door forced violently open.

Swinging at a shadow, Peter felt the impact but failed to retain hold of his weapon; swearing at his useless hands, he threw his body at the intruder, knocking them both to the ground. As they rolled violently back and forth, the agent heard an animated shout, vaguely sensing another person had rushed up behind him.

"Tenno Haika! Banzai!"

Peter instantly recognized that voice.

"Stay behind me, Mozzie," shouted Peter.

"Hold him, Suit," came the next words. "I'm going to jam the door shut and I think this guy dropped a gun. I'm going to find it."

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Neal had spent the early morning hours on a wild-goose chase, investigating Stanley Lowden's Brooklyn office.

Surreptitiously slipping into the facility, he found no evidence of illicit activities. Rushing past refurbished computers and equipment, he bypassed colorful signs pitching super deals, equipment recycling, asset recovery and friendly service! Amidst all this advertising and slick merchandise Neal had failed to uncover his missing friends.

With heightened trepidation, the conman roared off to northwest Queens, spewing exhaust fumes behind him, making his way quickly to 47th Street; the area Devlin and associates had vaguely identified as Lowden's secondary business establishment. Neal jammed on the brakes, parked on the street and cut the ignition. Climbing out of June's car, he scanned the area.

They're here … they have to be.

Come on Peter! Which building is it? Send me some signal; I need your help. I know you and Moz are in terrible danger.

If Peter had somehow sensed his partner's heartfelt plea, he was unable to respond. The street appeared quiet and serene.

Devlin's vague reference to a covert Astoria warehouse left Neal anxiously wandering the pavement looking for any anomaly that would offer a clue to Peter and Mozzie's whereabouts. The street contained industrial space, offering numerous commercial properties and retail buildings.

Neal was aware the White Collar unit was vigorously pursuing their own leads. Diana questioned David Lowden in prison, Jones had re-interrogated McDowell, and Hughes himself was leading the investigation to locate the whereabouts of Two-Fingers and Stanley Lowden. It was just a matter of time before something broke open.

Although several agents had eventually been sent to join him in canvassing the vicinity of 47th Street, Neal moved further away down the street, putting distance between himself and law enforcement. He had always worked best without constraints, legal or otherwise; that is until Peter made him compromise his modus operandi.

As the hours ticked away, he moved from one warehouse vicinity and office building to another. It wasn't until late morning that the young felon finally caught a break.

Several men standing in the alley by a nondescript storehouse appeared to be taking a cigarette break. Two of them looked familiar to Neal, reminding him of some low-brow criminals the office had arrested in past fraud violations. He caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Come on! Let's head back. The boss wants those computers loaded."

"Yeah," one of the other men responded. "He's nervous about the feds; it's not the day to push our luck."

Shuffling their feet and taking the last drag of their cigarette butts before throwing them to the ground, the group headed back inside their building. Neal quickly followed behind.

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"You're putting that goon in one of our cells?"asked Mozzie. His countenance and clothes were covered with fine particles of the aerosol agent that was swirling around gracefully in the air. "It's poetic justice, I say."

The little guy stood guard near the barred storage door. His hand held tightly to the pistol Lowden's stooge had dropped during Peter's assault.

"Too bad the first one through the door wasn't Bailey. You could seek some comeuppance, Suit."

"I don't work that way, Mozzie. I thought you knew that by now," replied Peter, as he finished shoving the scoundrel into the storage cage he himself had just previously occupied.

"Ah! I get it. Prosecution is the best revenge. You suits are all the same. Is it the water you were forced to drink at Quantico?"

The slightest hint of a smile was on the corner of Peter lips. With dry aerosol clinging to his hair and suit, he ignored Mozzie's jibe, stepping forward to meet his dutiful assistant.

"Revenge is for the weak," he told Mozzie. "Crimes should be avenged, justice provides the punishment."

Mozzie wished he believed in justice. He had seen little of it in his youth, only that which Mr. Jeffries, his mentor, had provided. He decided, however, that now wasn't the time to debate the point further.

The agent frowned thoughtfully, understanding the smaller man's unspoken message.

"Thanks for holding the weapon," Peter added after a pause. "We should be able to hold them off long enough for the fire department to respond. With the system activation relaying an alarm, I bet Lowden and crew will be hightailing it out of here."

His words were no sooner spoken when a loud disturbance was heard from outside. Sirens, shouts, and scuffling ensued followed by a heavy pounding outside their entranceway.

"Peter," yelled a familiar voice. "Can you open the door." Shots were fired as Peter heard Hughes' distinctive bellow.

"Caffrey! Get away from that door."

Mozzie pushed past Peter, nearly knocking him into the wall. He quickly turned the lock and flung open the reinforced door. "Neal … Neal. Tell the cavalry not to shoot. We're got it covered."

"Stop!" commanded Peter.

He reached out and tried to grab Mozzie by the collar. His useless hands failed to hold him. Fortunately, they were both stopped in their tracks by an exuberant Neal Caffrey, slipping into the doorway, gawking at their appearance and encasing first one, then the other in an exuberant bear hug.

Stepping into the outer hallway, they spied city firemen with rescue equipment, numerous FBI agents and several of Lowden's men in handcuffs. Law enforcement was represented by not only the Manhattan agents but several BQRA officials, including Lattimore and Bronson.

"Are you both alright?" asked Neal as Hughes, Jones and Diana quickly approached. "You're covered in—"

"Potassium propellant," Mozzie responded in that grumbly tone of his, letting out a long-suffering sigh."Everyone took their sweet time coming to our rescue. Neal was probably kept out of the loop."

As he brushed past Diana, he paused for only a moment. "Take care of the Suit; he's hurt," he whispered in her ear, handing her the gun and quickly slipping away without a backward glance.

"Peter?" asked Hughes. "Are you injured?"

"Just lost sensation in my hands," answered Peter. "I'll be fine. How did you track us here?"

Hughes glanced over at Neal. "We were following several leads when Caffrey called in that he traced you to this warehouse. He was in the building when the alarm went off; we responded the same time as the fire department. We held back the firemen while we rounded up some of Lowden's men. Stanley got away, but we'll track him down."

Peter looked over at Neal. "You traced me to this warehouse."His eyes lighted with interest. "I have to hear all about this—"

"He can tell you all about it on the way to the hospital. Peter, I want you checked out," interrupted Hughes.

"Good plan," responded Neal with a grin. "And you can call Elizabeth on my cell phone."

Peter nodded quickly, inwardly relieved the ordeal was over.