Free fall
When he was back in his cell Neal got his back with paper strips. He asked for a notepad and a glue stick and got it. He sat down by the minimal desk and looked at the pile of unsorted strips, all looking the same. It felt hopeless before he even started. But his chance to stay out of prison was in those strips. And it was not like he had anything else to do until the trial.
He was only allowed to leave the cell for an hour every day. It was not like solitary, he still had an ordinary cell with a full view out to the corridor through bars. But the warden was not sure if it was safe for Neal to be out among the others since he had aided the FBI and a few of those he had caught was in there. Neal figured it would fall back on the warden if he appeared in court with bruises. So for the time being Neal was confined to his cell.
He grabbed two strips. They did not match. He changed one and continued until he found a match. Soon he could pick out those to the left of the paper because of OPR's logo in the top corner. The headline was also the same on every sheet.
As he matched strips he glued them onto the papers in the pad.
And the more he glued, the more intrigued he got. As well as worried. This was more than someone setting him up to not get the blame. But he did not quite get what and why. Yet. But Peter Burke was involved. As a target.
Two days after Mozzie's and Peter's visits it was time to go to trial. He had talked to Mozzie on the phone and the friend had turned out to be an excellent lawyer. Now he met up in the visitor's room again with the suit Neal had asked for. He changed his orange jumpsuit to something more comfortable and in better colors.
"Bakery?" he asked Mozzie and he adjusted his tie and watched himself in the little mirror Moz held.
"Done."
"Construction?"
"Finished."
"How's air conditioning in the judge's office?"
"Hm, broke down this morning," Mozzie said and did not reveal with a muscle that he knew exactly why.
Neal grinned.
"All right. Let's go to court."
He told the visitor's guard that he was ready and two marshals appeared with a set of chains for the transportation. He saw Mozzie shiver and sweat at the sight of them.
"Take it easy, Moz. They're not for you."
"I am aware of that. But they still represent a symbol of humiliation and oppression, even without someone actually wearing them."
Neal held out his arms and let the marshals to a pat-down on him. It was of no use to say that they already searched every inch of the suit when Mozzie brought it in.
"Can you take the chain inside of the jacket, please?" he said in his most honest voice. "I don't want to wrinkle the suit."
To the marshals' credit, they listened. They did not pull the cuffs tighter than necessary either. They even checked with him that nothing was too tight. He swallowed his jokes and smiled friendly and thanked them for asking. Humble and docile he had learned was a functional approach to guards as well as marshals.
They took him to the waiting van in the sally port. Mozzie, as his lawyer, joined them on the ride into New York City.
"Remember that we're not going to the courthouse but to Judge Hickman's office," Mozzie said.
"I know, sir," the driver replied.
"Good. I keep an eye on you, you know."
The driver gave him a look in the mirror.
"Moz… Relax."
"Is it his first case?" one of the escorts asked Neal.
"Just because I suffer from claustrophobia it doesn't make it my first case, young man," Mozzie snapped back. "I also suffer from motion sickness. Do you have a paper bag?"
Neal smiled.
"It is his first case," he told the escort.
"Neal!" Moz protested.
The marshal sighed.
"Well, good luck."
Neal had through his lawyer let the court know that he was about to confess but that he would name people involved that were important people, people publicly known, and that he would prefer to do so for the judge only at this stage. It was nothing strange about that and there were no legal grounds to stop it. Neal Caffrey was known to be non-violent, the judge's office was considered secure up on the fourth floor.
Neal was taken there by the marshals, his chains were removed and the judge gestured for him to take a seat across the table. Everybody except for him and the judge began to leave the room.
"Bailiff, would you open the window?" Judge Hickman called out and the bailiff walked to the window. "Oh, the heat is stifling in here. Unfortunately, the air conditioning is not working today."
Yes, the room was hot alright and the open window did miracles.
"Thank you. Please, wait outside," he told the bailiff and then turned to Neal. "Per your request, Mr. Caffrey the chambers have been cleared."
"Thank you."
"In accordance with that agreement, you're prepared to give a full confession?"
"I am, Your Honor. I'll admit I've done a lot of things in my life I'm not proud of," Neal began. It sounded good, but… He paused. "No. No, that's not true. I'm proud of most of them. But what I'm about to do today, this is gonna be good."
He beamed to the warm and sweaty judge across the desk.
"I confess I did not steal the diamond necklace from Le Joyau Precieux."
The judge frowned.
"I cleared these chambers because you claimed to have sensitive information vital to this case. If you didn't steal the diamond, then who did?"
"I'll let you know."
He winked at the judge and rose from the comfortable armchair.
Peter walked down on Mott Street to the federal building there.
"Judge Hickman's office?" he asked an official outside.
"Fourth floor."
"Thank you."
Something was not right. Neal had never confessed to anything. Why do it now? And why make sure that the arraignment was moved? Peter stopped dead and stared at the orange awning in front of him at the ground floor of the office building he was about to enter. It was a bakery: The Greatest Cake. And the sign said 'Grand Opening'.
"Bakery. The son of a bitch bought that bakery," he mumbled.
He had not time to think why, before he heard a distant call for a bailiff and he looked up from where the voice came from. Then he saw a man climb out a window on the fourth floor, stand on the ledge and jump. He knew instantly that it was Neal. The man landed on the awning, which was supported in every end as if prepared for the very purpose, which it without a doubt was. He swung down on the sidewalk and they faced each other.
If they had been closer, Peter would probably have reached out to grab him, but as it were they were too far apart and Peter too stunned to say or do anything.
Neal smiled and shrugged apologetically as if to say 'sorry, I can't stay', then turned and ran with long, vigorous steps across the street where he jumped into a maroon van which stood with its side door open, waiting for him.
The official Peter had asked for directions ran passed him and called into the radio that somebody jumped out and into a van.
The door closed and the van took off.
"He's not in the van," Peter said to himself. He realized he was smiling.
Then he saw the bakery's name on the awning again. The Greatest Cake... The Great Escape. He grinned even more.
Peter stood on the spot where the van had been parked. There was a manhole right there. The lid was on, but Peter was confident Neal was down there somewhere. Jones was the first to turn up.
"Get to the city planner's office," he told him. "Find out where these tunnels lead."
Jones nodded and left.
"Burke!"
He turned and saw Fowler and Hughes exit a car and walk toward him.
"Caffrey escaped?" Hughes asked, baffled.
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "He did a four-story swan dive onto that awning of the bakery." He gestured towards it.
"Who approved moving the arraignment?" Peter was more than irritated.
"Marshals guaranteed the security," Fowler said.
"Never assume anything with Neal. Been working my ass keeping this kid on the straight and narrow. He's been helping us win cases. Until you came along."
Neal may not be innocent as he claimed, but without OPR he would not have the kid on the run at least. Now he might face lifetime instead of some years added due to the theft.
"Don't put this on me—" Fowler began but Peter interrupted not interested in what this clown might have to say. It did not take many seconds of immature argumentation before Hughes stepped in between them.
"Hey, hey, gentlemen. Hey, let's focus on the problem here. What do we know?"
Peter saw Lauren hurrying towards them.
"We stopped the van?" he asked.
"The only person in the van was the driver. He claims he was hired through an Internet posting. Five hundred bucks to pick up the van, park at this spot."
"Van has floor panel that was removable?"
"How did you know?"
"Caffrey wasn't in there for more than a few seconds." He turned to Hughes and Fowler. "He's gone underground."
"Can we track his anklet?" Lauren asked.
"They removed it." He sent Fowler a glare. "When we arrested him."
"Okay," Hughes sighed. "Burke, find him. Again."
"I'm not comfortable with Agent Burke running this op—"
"I don't care whether you're comfortable or not," Hughes bit back. "Burke knows Caffrey better than anyone. Now get to work."
He and Lauren left and Peter glanced at Fowler who turned back to him.
"All right, Burke. What's your plan?"
He did indeed an effort to cooperate. But Peter did not want him near Neal again. If the kid would have any chance Peter had to find him, and do so before anybody else.
"Set up roadblocks," he told Fowler. "Put up wanted posters."
That would keep him busy and out of the way. He had to fight to keep a straight face though. Roadblocks and wanted posters had never been a problem for Neal Caffrey.
Neal was once again glad for his excellent memory. He had changed clothes and now it was time for the next phase of his plan. He placed a quarter in the pay phone and buttoned a number he would not have had if had not been for Elizabeth's phone ringing once when Neal was over and he saw the display.
"This is Yvonne," a voice answered.
"Can I speak to Elizabeth Burke, please?"
A baffled silence and some mumbling, 'It's for you.', 'On your personal phone?'
"Burke Premiere Events. This is Elizabeth."
"Sorry to bother you at work," he began.
"Neal?" He heard her call out to the others that she would catch up with them.
"How did you get this number? Stupid question. Half of the law enforcement in North America's looking for you, including my husband."
"He'll find me soon enough. I need your help."
"Neal, I—"
"Please, hear me out first? Please?"
There was silence in the other end, but she had not hung up.
"Okay, I'm listening."
