El had arranged monthly parking at a garage near the Rosslyn metro station, and they took the train in together to the Federal Triangle stop. She walked him to the steps leading into the Department of Justice building, and Peter promised to try and be free for lunch as she kissed him goodbye.

He stood on the steps, watching her walk away toward the Mall, and then he turned and walked inside. It was still a little early for his meeting with Bancroft, but maybe Assistant Directors liked to start their days before they were expected, especially if they'd just been out of the country.

And speaking of expecting…

Peter definitely hadn't expected to almost literally run into Phillip Kramer. He managed to slip into a side corridor as the other agent stalked purposefully toward the door and went outside.

Their parting after Neal's truncated commutation hearing had been… painful. Kramer had fumed and fussed and thrown all sorts of accusations in Peter's face – things that Peter certainly never would have expected his mentor to say.

So much for his speech to Neal about knowing that his mentor would always have his back…

And, of course, Kramer had been responsible for sending Kyle Collins after Neal.

He hadn't really heard much about Kramer or the Art Crimes unit since then. Nor had he sought out contact with his erstwhile friend. But something about the other agent's demeanor now raised his curiosity.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed that he had a little time, and so he followed. Kramer didn't seem to be paying much attention as he walked, his bearing making other people step aside and clear the way for him. Still, it didn't pay to press his luck too much, so he made sure to stay well back, and keep as many people as possible in between them.

His precautions were apparently unnecessary. Kramer's stride never wavered, and he continued down 10th Street, across Constitution, and then angled west to go around the Natural History museum.

Peter stopped at the intersection, looking at his watch, and then at the disappearing form of the Art Crimes head. As much as something seemed off, he didn't have time to continue his surveillance and get to his meeting. And right now, Bancroft seemed his best bet to get help in finding Neal.

There was no one waiting in the studio when he got there, and he hadn't been given any clue what his next assignment was, so Neal spent some time wandering around the larger room. He'd only had time for a quick perusal before, and there were pieces he longed to spend some time studying.

He finally found a van Dyck that particularly caught his eye – Amor and Psyche. The baroque style was one he'd never done much with, so it would be something to work on until he got his new task.

Or until he made his escape.

"Peter! It's good to see you, although the circumstances could be better."

Peter reached out to shake the proffered hand. "You too, sir. And yes, the circumstances are a bit unusual."

Bancroft gave that a wry smile as he sat down behind his desk. "Isn't that par for the course with Caffrey?"

Peter had to nod as he took the chair Bancroft indicated. "There is that," he agreed.

"But from what Reese said, you don't believe he ran."

"No sir," and there was no hesitation in Peter's answer. "Neal did not run. He was taken against his will."

Bancroft nodded. "All right, tell me what you know."

"All right, let's see what you've got."

Garrett Fowler got to his feet, opening the folder in front of him as Phillip Kramer strode into the room. "It's here," he said, handing the top sheet over.

Kramer's eyes skimmed over the information. "You're sure, Fowler?"

"It's been confirmed," Garrett replied. This was one of the few times he could actually be himself, without the 'Aaron Burgess' façade.

"Well, this certainly provides the final piece we needed," Kramer said, looking supremely pleased.

"Anything else you need from me?" Garrett asked.

Fowler shook his head. "Not right now," he said, gathering up the folder. "We have the perfect man in place to take it from here."

Fowler watched as Kramer left the room with his prize. And he was pretty sure he'd gotten a glimpse of that 'perfect man' for the job last night…

"Hamilton Farms." Bancroft scribbled the name down on a notepad, brow furrowed.

"The name means something to you?" Peter asked, trying to keep his hopes from rising unrealistically.

The older agent shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. Something seems familiar, but I can't quite place it."

"We haven't found anything on it," Peter admitted. "Except a family farm out in Scottsbluff, Nebraska. They also run a petting zoo."

"Not likely to be involved in this, I take it."

Peter shook his head. "No."

Bancroft looked down at his notes, then turned to his computer. He made a few clicks, typed something, and then got to his feet. "Come on. There's one agent who's been here longer than dirt, and he's made a study of all things DC. Let's go have a chat."

Neal lifted the pencil from the paper, staring down at the drawing. It wasn't like the sketch was anything other than a way to kill some time, but it was still a little unnerving how much Psyche's face had turned into something – someone – more familiar.

He wondered again if Peter was looking for him – and if so, was it as a fugitive or as a kidnapping victim…

He tore the page off, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the trash. It wouldn't do to let Kramer see that moment of weakness.

Before he could start over, he heard the door to the outer room open, and a moment later Kramer and one of his guards came in.

Kramer motioned for the other man to stay back by the door, and then the agent walked closer, leaning in to study the van Dyck. "Keeping busy, Neal?"

"Always good to study the masters."

"Yes, I suppose it would be." Kramer straightened up and then seated himself at the work table, gesturing for Neal to join him. "How was your night?"

"Shanelle was excellent company," Neal replied, dropping into the other chair. "Very… stimulating."

"Intellectually, of course."

Neal grinned. "Of course!"

He had to force himself to keep the grin in place; Kramer's answering smile was so oily he felt sick. "Well, keep up the good work, and she can visit regularly."

"You haven't given me much of a choice," Neal pointed out, doing his best to sound sincere.

Apparently it worked because Kramer nodded and moved on, sliding a folder across the table. "Your next assignment will be a little different."

Neal opened the folder, skimming the first page. "The National Museum of Natural History?"

Kramer nodded and leaned forward, obviously excited. "We have confirmation that the State department has moved the blue diamond to the secured storage area in the building."

"And you still want the diamond."

"As I told you, it means…"

"Power, I remember," Neal said.

"Well, you are a smart man, Neal," Kramer said, the oily smile back in place. "And I know you'll be able to come up with a plan to get the diamond."

"Why don't you just have the diamond delivered to the FBI," Neal suggested. "You can come up with some way to make it related to a case."

"Oh, but the disappearance of the diamond can't tie back to me in any way."

"Find others to do the dirty work, keep your own hands clean."

Kramer's smile disappeared. "You're a very talented thief, Neal. But don't assume that your talent alone will protect you from consequences if you try to cross me."

Neal forced a smile back on his face. "I wouldn't dream of it." Amazing how lying to some FBI agents came as normal as breathing…

Kramer didn't look fully convinced, but he leaned over and tapped the file. "All of the basics are in the file. And I've had detailed floor plans and security diagrams delivered to the computer in your quarters, along with a printer, should you need it. There are some hard copy materials as well. Study the blueprints, come up with a plan, and we'll discuss what you need. The guard will see you back to your quarters so you can begin work."

"Breaking into the Smithsonian isn't going to be easy."

"Come now, Neal, you've done it before."

"Not according to any jury."

"Even so, I have all the confidence in the world that you can do this now," Kramer said. He started for the door, then paused, laying a not-so-friendly hand on Neal's shoulder. "You do not want to let me down."

The second meeting turned out to be with Walt Furlong. Peter hadn't seen or spoken with the DC agent since the best practices conference in New York almost a year before.

Fortunately, Furlong didn't hold a grudge over Neal swiping his credentials for the identity theft panel. In fact, he had been very impressed by Neal's daring diversion in the parking garage that helped eliminate the threat to Drugov and the development of the next-generation combat vest.

When there isn't trust, there's always faith…

Peter had to acknowledge that he'd lost faith in Neal for a while recently; with the benefit of hindsight, he could even acknowledge that he'd been wrong to do so.

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to tell Neal that – soon.

Furlong did, indeed, turn out to have some information on Hamilton Farms. The name had come up during an extensive investigation into an international money laundering case a few years ago. While actual facts were hard to come by, strong rumor held that Hamilton Farms had been created in the mid-nineteenth century by Alexander Hamilton – not the first Secretary of the Treasury for the fledgling United States, but a distant relative. The entire history, however, was shrouded in mystery. And the case investigation had gone cold.

Leaving the DC agent to pull the old case information, and to run it against the updated databases of today, Peter headed for the National Archives. Walt hadn't personally known of any secret chambers under the Smithsonian, but he was acquainted with an archivist who was considered the expert on the history of the Capital city. And a quick phone call secured Peter a meeting with her.

As he left the Justice building and headed toward 9th Street and the Archives, Peter paused, looking across the Mall. The Castle was clearly visible, rising above the surrounding buildings, and standing out with its red brick. It all looked so benign, especially with hundreds of people crossing the Mall in front. But he couldn't help wondering what secrets it might be hiding.

Hopefully, the archivist, Paula Mundy, might be able to shed some light on that.

Mozzie sighed and closed down another search session, letting the automatic erasure program remove all traces of his presence. Sally had hooked him up with an acquaintance in DC, and Giles had all of the makings of a great hacker – paranoia fueled by suspicion of everything related to The Man, an unquenchable thirst to always know more, a laissez-faire attitude about whether the means of attaining that knowledge were actually legal, and an impressive set of computer skills. Another few years of seasoning, and he might come close to Sally's prowess.

Not that Mozzie considered himself biased in any way, of course.

Unfortunately, not even Giles had been able to uncover any useful information about Hamilton Farms. Oh, they'd found some historical mentions in obscure publications. But nothing of any current value.

Giles had left to pick up some beer and pizza; from what Mozzie could tell, the young hacker practically lived on the two substances. His inquiry about the possibility of wine on the premises had been met with a blank stare.

But, Giles' pursuit of food had left Mozzie alone in the house, and the security precautions the youngster had installed were definitely up to par. He pulled out his most secure cell phone and settled on the couch to make a call to Sally. Maybe she'd had some progress.

The corridor was empty as Fowler turned the corner and headed toward the suite. Of course, the hallway was covered by several cameras, and he knew that the video feed was closely monitored. With Caffrey's reputation, it didn't pay to take one's eyes off of him for too long, even if there wasn't a handle on the inside of the door.

Besides, the Group considered Caffrey to be a valuable asset. In the unlikely event of a major fire or some other catastrophe, someone would be tasked to get that asset out safely – all the while maintaining control of him, of course. In fact, Fowler had just gotten himself assigned to that duty during his shifts.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain to himself, he felt a sort of responsibility toward the other man. Maybe it was because Caffrey had, quite literally, held Fowler's life in his hands. To this day, he wasn't quite sure if he'd really wanted to die when he encouraged the younger man to pull the trigger in that Russian museum.

Maybe it would have made things easier all around.

But Caffrey hadn't fired another round beyond the warning shot, and had, in fact, surrendered the gun to Burke. They had all walked out of that room alive.

Though Fowler wasn't sure he'd really understood what the concept of 'alive' really meant since Sandra died.

He stopped in front of the door, knocked once to announce his presence, and then unlocked the door.

Caffrey looked up from the desk as he walked in. "Hello, Fowler. I figured I'd see you again."

"Just can't seem to get away from you, Caffrey." He left the door open a couple of inches; it would be embarrassing to have to call someone to come and let him out. And it wasn't like Caffrey would get very far even if he somehow made it out the door.

Caffrey got to his feet, stretching. "How'd you wind up here?" he asked, moving to clear some papers from the chair across from him.

"My options were a little limited after the music box," Fowler replied, watching the other man closely for a reaction. But Caffrey didn't even blink, so he sat down and continued. "The Bureau kind of frowned on some of my activities."

"Like making up Project Mentor for OPR?"

"Yeah, like that. And then, well, after the whole Russian Museum thing, and finding out that Vincent Adler was the man pulling the strings, the walls closed in a little tighter. My aliases were burned, and I was pretty much at the end of my rope."

Caffrey gave that a sad smile. "Adler had a way of doing that to a lot of people."

"So I heard," Fowler said. "Anyway, long story short, about three months later I got an invitation and a ticket to DC, with an offer of a security job."

Caffrey snorted a quick laugh. "Security? So you're in charge of keeping me here?"

"We're kind of compartmentalized. I didn't even know you were here until last night."

"Great." Caffrey headed for the kitchen. "Glass of wine?"

The offer caught Fowler by surprise. "Sure." He waited as Neal poured two glasses. "How did you wind up here?"

Neal handed over one of the glasses and went back to sit at the desk. "Me? I was kidnapped by three men from a public park in Manhattan, drugged, and dragged here. Apparently Kramer and his cronies have quite a list of tasks for me."

Fowler pointed at a set of blueprints on the desk. "Like cracking the Smithsonian?" Caffrey just lifted an eyebrow, so he continued. "One of my assignments was to find out where the diamond wound up."

"The Museum of Natural History."

"Kramer said he had just the man to do the job. And I'd just seen you."

"So two plus two…"

Fowler nodded. "Yeah, I added it up and got you."

"Just like you got me four years ago," Caffrey said softly.

"I guess that did put a lot of things in motion."

"You could say that. If you hadn't gotten Kate…" Caffrey paused, then continued. "Or did Kate get you?"

It was Fowler's turn to pause. "Did you love her?" he finally asked, evading the actual question.

"With all my heart."

"Then does it really matter now?"

Caffrey slowly shook his head. "No," he admitted, the single word barely a whisper. "I suppose it doesn't."

"For the record, the plan was never for you to break out."

"Then what was the plan?"

"You'd spend those four months pining for her, trying to reach out to people you knew to find her, except she was well hidden. And when you did get out, you'd be desperate."

"That's when you'd step in to save the day?"

"Well, in the original plan, you'd never have known I existed. I would have sent someone in with an offer."

"He'd tell me where to find Kate, in exchange for the music box."

"Exactly."

"Except I never had the music box."

"Everyone, including Kate, thought you did."

"I went after it once, but the plan fell through."

Fowler sipped at his wine, buying a few seconds. "The theft from the Amalienborg Palace seemed so smooth and sophisticated, which fit your reputation. The Copenhagen police had no leads at all."

"You'd probably find that it was an inside job set up by someone in the Danish or Italian diplomatic corps, maybe both."

"Maybe so. But at the time, all indicators pointed toward you."

"So Kate hides away, and I get desperate." Caffrey paused, shaking his head. "Not a bad plan, until I colored outside the lines and escaped."

"For the record, no one thought you could do that, certainly not in the short time period you had left."

"I'd had over three years to work out a plan."

Fowler couldn't hide his surprise. "So you'd always planned to escape?"

Caffrey shook his head. "No, I never actually figured on putting the plan into motion. But I had a lot of long nights to think about things."

"Well, your escape certainly screwed up my original strategy."

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't apologize."

"Noted."

"So why did you try to set me up for the pink diamond heist?"

"It should be obvious," Fowler said. "Once Burke got you out on your probation deal, we lost leverage over you."

"And if I was back in prison, your leverage would reappear."

"Exactly. Let you stew for a while, and then we'd offer you a new deal. Except this time I'd be the knight riding in on the white horse, not Burke."

"Operation Mentor."

"Your freedom, and Kate, for the music box."

Caffrey leaned back in his chair, the glass of wine held in both hands. "Everything that's happened over the last four years…" His voice trailed off, as if uncertain how to go on.

There was silence between them, both men covering by sipping at the wine. Fowler finally cleared his throat. "What I told you and Burke, that day in his office, that was the truth. I loved my wife so much…"

"You'd do anything for her."

"I would. I did."

"You killed the man who murdered her."

Fowler nodded, swallowing against the painful lump that had formed in his throat. "I was a good agent before that."

Caffrey nodded. "I know." He reached over, tapping the museum blueprints. "I don't want to do this. Can you help me get out?"

Fowler sucked in a deep breath; it wasn't an unexpected question, but he had no idea how to answer it.

He was saved from needing to reply when the door opened behind him and one of the uniformed security men came in. "Mr. Trebor wants to see you."

Fowler drained his glass and got to his feet. "Good luck, Caffrey," he said, not even really sure what he meant. Good luck getting out of here, or good luck with the heist…

But no one kept Trebor, the head of security waiting, so he walked out of the door and started off down the corridor. And there was more than a little temptation to just keep on walking right out of the underground lair.

You'd do anything for her…

He couldn't shake the memory of Caffrey saying those words, or how close to his heart those words hit. And that made him think about what Caffrey had done for the love of Kate Moreau.

Maybe he and Caffrey weren't so very different after all.

And maybe he'd stick around the Group just a little longer…