Peter stepped out of the Archives building, grateful to get some fresh air. It was probably his imagination – the rooms were spotless and climate controlled – but it seemed like he could smell and feel the musty history.

Maybe he just needed answers faster than he was finding them.

Paula Mundy did, indeed, have a wealth of information about the history of the Capital city. Unfortunately, her personal knowledge didn't include anything about hidden chambers underneath the Smithsonian.

But…

She didn't discount the possibility out of hand. There were legends, rumors, and a whole roomful of old texts about the 19th century that had just recently been unearthed – almost literally. Someone had apparently moved a large cache of books and documents out of the city when it appeared that Confederate troops might actually gain control of Washington, and possibly burn the city. The collection had been taken to a farm in the Maryland countryside, secreted in an airtight root cellar that was, in turn, hidden inside a barn. Unfortunately, the enterprising soul who had thought to hide the documents was killed on the way back to the city – spooked horse, not even war-related – and he died without leaving any notes on where he had left the cache. It had only recently been discovered by a descendent of the original farm owner when the barn was being renovated into an antique mall.

According to Paula, it was the treasure trove of the century.

Having seen the U-boat treasure, Peter might have argued – but these documents stood a better chance of giving him needed answers than any gold or artwork.

Paula was arranging access to the room for Peter and a guest after lunch. And, as much as he questioned his sanity, Peter knew who that 'guest' should be. If there was anyone who could speed read through the documents and help ferret out any helpful information, it was Mozzie.

He sighed, and reached for his phone.

Neal didn't have much time to ponder the meaning of Fowler's visit. It wasn't long before his door opened again with an 'invitation' to lunch.

Since the message was delivered by two men with guns, he kind of figured it was more of a command performance.

He was taken to a room he hadn't seen before. Rich wood paneling covered the walls, which also featured a number of large, finely crafted bookcases. Several over-stuffed chairs were set around the room, and a large oak desk, with intricate carvings on the front panel, stood at the far end. All in all, it looked like a proper library for a country estate.

The only thing marring the overall impression was the obviously electric fireplace.

Right, underground, no chimney for a real fireplace…

And there was one more thing not quite right about the room – Phillip Kramer was sitting behind the desk.

"Have a seat, Neal."

Neal sat down in the indicated chair, curious to know what Kramer's play was now. The agent had gotten to his feet, and was making a show of pouring brandy into two snifters, so Neal took advantage of the distraction to look around.

On first glance, he didn't see anything useful. There certainly wasn't a sign pointing to a secret passage back to the real world or anything as helpful as that. But then he spotted something on the end table nearest the desk, and he leaned forward for a better look.

"The Mosconi Codex" Kramer confirmed, handing over a glass. "But then, I imagine you recognize the work."

"I might," Neal agreed. "So you're the mysterious owner of the Codex?"

"Well, the Group owns it." Kramer seated himself behind the desk again. "Though, of course, when it was loaned to the Gershon Museum, Chapter 13 wasn't a screed about ancient alien invasions."

Neal just shrugged – he wasn't going to debate Mozzie's theories. "The original provided for good reading."

"I'm sure. A shame that the pages were destroyed."

"Accidents happen."

Kramer raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose they do. Fortunately, we had copies made of the entire book before sending it to New York." He paused, one of his oily smiles appearing. "Perhaps we'll make that one of your projects, to recreate the missing pages."

Neal hoped his smile looked just as phony. "I can't wait."

Kramer just nodded and sipped his brandy. "Well, first things first. What's your impression of the Smithsonian job?"

"I just started looking at it."

"Yes, yes, I know. But surely you have some ideas."

"A job like this is going to take some careful planning," Neal warned.

Kramer's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be stalling now, would you, Neal?"

Neal set his glass down and leaned forward. "There's a reason that I was only convicted on one bond forgery charge, Kramer. I'm careful."

For a long moment the agent didn't reply. But then he finally nodded and reached over to touch a button by the phone. "Let's have lunch. I've taken the liberty of having some food from Ristorante Tosca brought in. Then perhaps I can help with your planning."

Yeah, that was about as likely to happen as the ceiling suddenly opening so that he could fly out… But Neal kept a smile on his face, and kept his mouth shut.

"Wow."

Despite his private vow to keep his excitement contained, Mozzie couldn't help himself. The sheer sight of all of the old books and documents was enough to break his restraint.

How many conspiracy theories might be proved with all of the heretofore unstudied information…

The Suit had already settled in at a table, sorting a stack of records. And Mozzie had to admit, after his initial suspicion about Neal's disappearance, the man had come around, and seemed to be sincerely doing everything he could to solve the puzzle.

If anything suggested otherwise, Mozzie certainly wouldn't hesitate to remind him.

He set his messenger bag down, and hung his jacket over the back of a chair. Finding Neal was, of course, the first priority. But if he just happened to come across other useful information… well, there were definitely advantages to having an eidetic memory.

Just as he sat down, one of his phones buzzed with an incoming message. The Suit looked up, scowling at the intrusion, but Mozzie ignored him. The tone was from his secret third phone, the one that only two people knew the number for. Either Neal had broken free from his captors, which was a definite possibility given the younger man's history…

Or Sally had found something.

The door closed behind him, and Neal heard the lock being engaged. But he stood still for a long moment, thinking.

The lunch with Kramer had been unsettling, to say the least. It was too bad, because he probably would have enjoyed the Ristorante Tosca cuisine without the company.

He'd have to check out the restaurant when he got free…

Kramer had become more and more insistent that the Smithsonian job had to be completed soon, probably within the next week. He hadn't been willing to say why the timing was so important. And really, in his position as a captive, Neal supposed it didn't matter.

What mattered was what he was going to do next.

He started a pot of coffee brewing and then went to shower and change clothes. Even though all the scrubs were the same color and style, it still seemed better – he could practically feel Kramer-slime on him.

The coffee was ready by the time he was done so he poured a cup and went to sit down at the desk. But he didn't go right back to studying the building plans.

It had really seemed like he and Fowler were connecting that morning, and that the ex-agent was sympathetic to his plight. Unfortunately, they'd been interrupted before Fowler could answer whether he was willing to aid in an escape plan.

Neal sipped at his coffee – sad that he was getting used to the Styrofoam cups – and contemplated the earlier encounter. If Fowler was willing to help, that would certainly improve the odds of getting out. But that raised the question of how to get another meeting with him. Fowler had initiated the first encounter, would he try again? And if not, what would be a plausible reason for Neal to use to request a meeting?

Beyond that, of course, was the question of whether he should even try to meet with Fowler again. That moment of hesitation, when Fowler had seemed ready to help, was brief. If the Gewalt Group was holding something over the other man – say, they had come into possession of the blackmail tape Adler had used – Fowler could just as easily rat him out as help.

Which left Neal back with the option of trying to implement his own escape. He had the beginnings of a plan, just nothing that he felt comfortable with – yet. But Kramer's tight timetable for the diamond theft wasn't leaving him many choices. If he didn't get out soon, he was going to be forced to go through with the museum heist.

So, try to set up a meeting with Fowler and hope for some help, or rely on his own resources…

There were a lot of things to consider. And, in the meantime, Kramer was going to expect updates on the museum plan. With a resigned sigh, he powered on the computer and pulled up the first set of blueprints.

"Suit!"

Peter sighed and looked up from the 1842 tax records in front of him. "You haven't even looked at anything yet," he started.

"No, look!"

Peter looked at the screen of the phone Mozzie shoved in front of him, reading the message…

And then reading it again.

And he couldn't quite suppress the shudder he felt at the sight of the name in the text. "Terrance Pratt?"

Mozzie nodded, either not picking up on Peter's unease or, more likely not caring in his excited state. "Sal… my source finally cracked the walls around that Hamilton Farms credit card. It traces back through a series of shell corporations, and one of them is a company Pratt used to launder some of his hush money."

Peter was reaching for his own phone. "What's the shell company's name? I'll get Diana on it."

"PKCH, Inc."

"So, P for Pratt. Who are the others?"

Mozzie shook his head. "Still shrouded in a cloud of bureaucratic web."

"All right, give me Sally's number. She and Diana…"

"Lady Suit? My source…"

"Damnit, Mozzie!" Peter slammed his free hand on the table. "I know your source is still Sally, and I'm grateful she's helping. All I want is to find Neal. Isn't that what you want too?"

It looked like it took some effort, but Mozzie finally nodded. "Of course."

"Then let's get two brilliant women working together on this," Peter urged.

"Sally isn't fond of working with the authorities."

"She'll make an exception for you," Peter insisted. "And don't forget, it was Diana who found the antidote when you were poisoned."

"I know." Mozzie sighed and turned his attention back to his phone. "I'll ask Sally for a safe number."

"Amanda, what's the news?"

Amanda Callaway sunk down into a chair across the desk from Phillip Kramer, reaching for the mug of coffee he slid across to her. "The State Department has reached out to the Indian government about the diamond."

"Not unexpected," Kramer replied, leaning back in his chair. "Though unfortunate. Have they determined that it's to be repatriated?"

"No one's saying exactly that – yet. The rumor is that State is going to request some concessions on Pakistan first."

"What's the timeframe for a decision?"

Callaway made a dismissive gesture. "You know diplomats. They haven't even mentioned that the item in question is the Eye of Sita yet. This still has to move up through several levels."

"But the process has started."

She nodded. "It has. How long will it take Caffrey to come up with a plan for the museum?"

"Oh, I'm sure he probably already has a pretty good idea of what it will take. But he'll stall, and won't admit it."

"Then we need to encourage him."

Kramer nodded and smiled. "We do indeed, Amanda, we do indeed. Perhaps another visit with Shanelle is in order. And then I'll have a little chat with Neal in the morning."

Shanelle's appearance at his door was a surprise, to say the least.

But Neal considered himself nothing if not adaptable, and over the years he'd gotten pretty good at covering his surprise at the twists and turns of his life. He welcomed her in, and kept her plied with wine as he busied himself in the kitchen fixing dinner. Fortunately, he had some excellent quality salmon filets on hand, courtesy of the delivery service that afternoon. A potato gratin, and some asparagus with butter, lemon, and garlic, and dinner service was complete.

They talked about everything, and yet nothing important. But it passed some time, and didn't require a lot of concentration.

Which was fine, because a good portion of his mind was occupied with wondering why he was getting this unrequested visit, and what it meant for his timetable.

Paula Mundy had pulled some strings – some more strings – and gotten them an extension on the research room. But the security team at the Archives wouldn't agree to having visitors staying overnight, no matter how many times Peter flashed his badge.

Even with Mozzie speed-reading his way through the documents, the afternoon hadn't left them enough time to get through all of the newly discovered material. And Paula had brought in some of the regular collection which might have some bearing on their research.

They'd be meeting again in the morning to continue looking. Between the Archives, and the work Sally and Diana were doing, Peter was cautiously optimistic that they might find a clue.

In the meantime, Mozzie disappeared as soon as they exited the building, and Peter knew better than to ask where the other man was going. As for himself, he was going to go home to his wife and his dog…

And later, after El went to bed, maybe he'd spend some time on his laptop. The internet was awash with conspiracy theories concerning Washington, DC, but maybe some of them were based in truth.

By the time Shanelle was escorted out in the morning, Neal had made a decision about his next step. He was just asking the guard to request a meeting with Kramer when the agent showed up at his door.

"Well, it was fortuitous I was coming to see you anyway, Neal."

"Apparently." Neal stepped back, letting the other man in.

"I just wanted to see what update on the planning you might have."

"I haven't gotten much farther," Neal replied. "I had company last night."

Kramer's oily grin was back. "Pleasant company, I hope."

"Extremely. But it would have seemed rude to ignore her in favor of research."

"Of course. Well, perhaps you'll have some progress to report today."

"That's actually why I wanted to see you. I'd like to work in the studio instead of here."

Kramer's eyes narrowed, apparently suspicious. "The computer is here."

Neal was ready for that objection. "I've done all of the research I can there, and printed out what I need. The studio has a lot more flat work space, and that's what's important right now."

Kramer was silent for a moment, his eyes focused on the piles of documents on the desk and spreading out onto the chairs, and then he finally nodded. "All right. I'll send someone with a cart to help move everything."

"Thank you, sir."

"But I'll expect you to have at least the basics of a plan, and the list of materials you'll need, by tomorrow. Time is of the essence."

"I'll do my best, sir."

The answer must have been satisfactory because Kramer nodded and headed for the door. Neal watched him leave and then started to gather up some of the materials.

What kind of pressure was driving this tight timeline for the theft…

Whatever it was, it also meant that his own timeline – escape or steal – was being escalated too.

Peter was back outside the Archives building before eight o'clock the next morning. And, in a sure sign of how his world had changed over the last few years, he wasn't even surprised to see Mozzie appear from behind the bushes at the corner of the structure.

It didn't take more than a few words to share that neither of them had received any news of progress overnight.

And so, when Paula showed up at the top of the hour to let them in, they headed back to 'their' archive room, ready to dig into the old records again.