The Extortionist

When the infamous Extortionist hits NYC, Peter's got his hands full – between leading the investigation no man has completed, protecting his pregnant wife from a kidnapper gunning for her, and keeping Neal under control. Can he keep the inevitable from happening, or will he end up enlisting Neal and Mozzie in a quest to retrieve what has been taken from him?

Chapter XIV

This chapter is dedicated to my one and only 50th reviewer, MarJan53. There's a note for you at the bottom :)

"Alright," Peter began, walking behind Neal and into his particular room in June's unbelievably-large estate. He stepped past his company and made a beeline to the dining table, upon which he hoisted his briefcase and cracked it open. "What are we looking for?"

"Clues," Neal answered, closing the door behind him. He elaborated with his steps toward the table. "In the notes, maybe. Phone calls, emails, stuff like that. Anything that could point us toward their location or something alike."

Peter looked up at him momentarily, eyebrows raised. "Why?"

Neal blinked at him. "To find her?" Keep it together, Peter.

He seemed confused at his response, staring at him for a moment, before shaking his head. "No... I mean, why would he leave any kind of clue?" he asked, straightening up in his stance. "From what I've gathered, I assumed he didn't want to be caught."

"Not at first," Neal corrected him and turned on his heel, in search of three drinks – enough for all of them. Over his shoulder, he continued, "From what's been passed around in his mention, he's playing a different kind of game these past years. He's easily bored, and, unless I'm mistaken..." He returned to the table, setting the refreshments on the table. "...he's looking for a challenger."

Peter squinted at Neal, watching him place the drinks on the table. "You're serious?"

Neal nodded quickly as he pulled a chair out for himself, falling into it. "This is all a game to him, Peter. I wouldn't put a single thing past him."

"Neither would I, at this point," Peter muttered, settling into his own seat. "So, what are we looking through?"

"The clues," Neal replied, leaning back in his chair.

"But we've already figured those out," Peter pointed out obviously, though he still rifled through the case for what Neal requested.

"Technically, you have," Neal inhaled, leaning over to peek into the case. "One face of them, maybe. You'd be surprised how many different answers there are to one riddle, if you put it in perspective."

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes when they came across one of the all-too-poetic notes amidst the clutter of papers he'd hastily shoveled into his case. "I can see he has a tendency toward wordplay."

Neal shrugged it off. "Anyone can make a riddle. It's only a distorted description of something that should be clear. The difficult thing is actually making sense."

Peter nodded his silent agreement, though much more focused on the table before him. He'd soon enough found both clues, each written out in different handwriting – he made one out to be Jones's, as he recognized the swooping letters after years of working together – along with the notes on his vehicular history and the originally-planned highway blockades. That should be all they needed, if they knew what they were doing. He just hoped the did make something out of all this. He couldn't imagine how devastating it would be to later look back and realize that what would've given them everything they needed was right in front of them the whole time, never noticed, never considered...

He glanced up at Neal curiously, thoughts leading him down an entirely different trail. "Neal?"

Neal met Peter's eyes. "What?"

"Why did you get three drinks?"

Neal didn't get a chance to answer him, as the door instead burst open to punctuate the question. "I know I'm late!" a familiar voice called out from behind, causing them both to turn their heads instantly. "I ran into this woman; I wasn't sure where we met at first, but she kept screaming at me; calling me Michael..."

Mozzie's voice trailed off at the sight of the two men staring at him, as if he'd intruded on a private affair when he'd only gone where he'd been invited. He swallowed, hand freezing on the doorknob. "It's a long story."

"Not long enough for you to be here," Peter stated briskly, distaste showing through accidentally. Mozzie took offense.

"Actually, Suit," he countered, stepping into the room swiftly. "I was invited."

Peter didn't seem to understand, and let out a flat "What?", less of a question than observed.

Neal took this opportunity to stand up and moved between the two of them, unsure of where they stood with each other on a personal level. He didn't label Peter as most likely to hold a grudge, but then, he'd never factored in this kind of passive-aggressive stress mode the man had adopted under the dire circumstances. It was better not to take the chance.

"Peter," Neal exhaled, stepping next to the two men where they faced off between the door and the table, certain not to meet the other in either place. "I asked him to come. He's our best chance at finding her."

"He was our best chance at losing her, too."

Peter's eyes were locked on the short man that incited such an intense controversy of relief and displeasure, to know both that they would have the best man for the job and that the best man was the man who got them into the situation in the first place. Neal could see in his eyes the strong consideration to pummel the smaller man, and added what he knew would change his mind.

"We're giving El all we've got," he said quietly, looking him in the eyes, "right?"

That backed him in a corner, so that he simply couldn't say no. With a sigh, he turned to Mozzie. "Fine, okay. Get over here." He motioned toward the table, upon which Mozzie approached, taking care not to get in Peter's space on his way.

Neal returned to his seat, along with Mozzie, so that they all sat in a triangle at the table. Peter didn't wait for any conversation before pulling a packed file out of his briefcase, including the notes, plans, and lists that were kept with the FBI alone. Neal's eyes widened. "Peter, that's the case file."

"Twenty points to the kid in the fedora," Peter mumbled without even looking up.

Neal brushed the comment off and kept going. "I didn't know you could possess a file copy on a case you aren't working."

Peter took a single second to look up at Neal, and left him with a questionable answer. "You can't."

Neal and Mozzie looked as if Peter had just admitted to murder – not that they hadn't done things alike in their lifetimes. Even then, no one expected such a thing from Special Agent Peter Burke, rule-follower extraordinaire, Mr. No-Grey-Areas. They were dumbstruck.

Peter caught their silence and immediately looked up at them. "Don't look at me like that. I can stand a little blemish on my record," he pointed out seriously, not giving them any credit for gaping at him. "...unlike some of us here."

That shut them up.

He accepted the wordless response and slid the file across the table, landing in front of Mozzie. "Here," he said calmly, inhaling as he watched the smaller man eye the pages. "Tell me what you see."

Mozzie shook his head and responded, "Nothing good." His eyes trailed the papers up and down, flipping each page faster than the last, until Peter doubted he had enough time to properly read them. Once he'd reached the final page, he glanced up at his companions; only Peter, actually. He didn't say anything about the file immediately, but instead, "You're holding something back."

Neal raised an eyebrow and shifted his gaze to Peter, who, apparently, was caught. Mozzie really must have known his stuff to know something was missing without even seeing it taken.

Peter hesitated for a moment, weighing his options, before removing two folded pieces of notebook paper from his briefcase – which confused Neal. That didn't look like something worth hiding, as it wasn't a certain federal document or even anything personal... just paper. Moreover, how had Mozzie so easily anticipated its removal from his view, mere offhanded scribbles on a notebook sheet?

What was revealed to be on the papers proved more important than he'd imagined, however, as Mozzie then verbalized their contents. "'Betwixt the two trees, a shattered glass gleams; the streets abuzz with her yellow enemies.'"

Neal nodded as the eloquent threat he'd heard before was now reiterated for them. "El's clue. What do you make of it?"

Mozzie paused for a moment, as if to consider his answering that. He didn't quite know what to make of it – straightforward, blatant, physical clues. There was no emotional play, no point made or agenda shoved down the throats of all aware. This wasn't like him.

To make sense of it all, he gave up on the second clue and turned to the first; that of the mayor's wife. A square faded with time and space, lights shine down from a high place; people's lives surround it and it haunts her...

There lay a few key references he sought; firstly, the emotional standpoint. He was tugging at her fear of the public with his mention of surrounding lives and haunting thoughts, meaning the game wasn't too entirely changed. At the same time, however, he found the physical clues quite unnerving. He clearly spoke of Times Square, while Mozzie certainly had not been aware of her living there, and combining with Elizabeth's pointed references to both her bee sting allergy (as she'd informed him while they worked together) and the actual trees and glass he'd spotted outside of her shop – as he was quite the observer, compared to the others – the notes appeared less and less subtle with each word read. What was the catch? Where was the trick?

"He just took her in the middle of Times Square..." Mozzie muttered to himself, astounded. It didn't make sense. It was simply impossible.

"She wasn't in Times Square."

The shortest of the three turned up to face the voice; Neal's, to be precise. "What?"

Neal shook his head and reached a hand over to point at the clue. "That's what he wanted us to think. The square was an old area they moved into last year; lanterns were the lights." There was the twist.

Peter jumped in while the air was dead, turning the attention to the other clue. "He knew we were pushing Diana... somehow. He doubled the reference with a more obvious area she always passes on her way to work, so that's where we were when he took her."

"Perhaps there is more to these than meets the eye," Mozzie offered, eyes traveling upward to the rest of the table. "These clues are priceless sources of evidence, Suit. I suggest you don't try to maintain such a tight grip on control, if you want this process to play out smoothly."

Neal froze. Uh-oh...

He'd known from the instant it was said that Peter would be angered, and surely enough, he was. He didn't show it at first, but replied, "Considering I'm the only person certified to investigate this case, I'd say it's best that I am in control."

"Now, Suit..."

"You know what, Moz?" Neal cut him off, grabbing his attention. "Maybe it's best we keep things on a mutual level of-"

Peter raised a hand to stop Neal, having his own bite to provide. "Hold on, Neal. Let's hear him out," he offered, turning to face Mozzie. "Go on; tell us how he did it. I mean, it's best to consult the man with most experience, right?"

"Peter-"

"I use my knowledge for good!" Mozzie demanded, offended at the call he'd made. His past may have been a blurry topic, but it certainly wasn't something he'd like held against him.

Peter's voice fell an octave with the words out of his mouth next. "It wasn't good enough to keep history from repeating itself again."

"Okay, you guys..."

Mozzie scoffed. "For a man who wants all hands on deck, you're certainly picky. I'm not sure you have a lot of options right now, Suit!"

"I don't need you to tell me what I already know!" Peter snapped, rising from his seat at the table.

"But you need me to explain what you know!" Mozzie countered as he stood, picking up the note and waving it in Peter's face. "Without me, this means nothing!"

Peter flew off the handle. "Alright, wise one! What does it mean?"

"It means that El could be hurt any minute now, and you two are just counting the seconds off your fingers!"

That clearly caught their attention, as they finally managed to keep quiet to realize that the other hadn't spoken again, but their observer had. They both turned to Neal, who was so suddenly on his feet with an exasperated expression visibly taking over his face. He was already sick of the two arguing, and had a feeling it would have continued into the evening had he not taken charge. He wasn't sure interrupting would calm the tension either, but it was better than simply watching.

"I don't care what is going on between you two," Neal stated in frustration, glancing between the two quickly. He settled his gaze on Peter and began, "Yes, it's partially Mozzie's fault that El is where she is..."

"Partially?" Peter echoed incredulously.

"...but if you want to find El before she's seriously hurt, you've got to get over it and work with what we've got!" Neal demanded, not giving him a chance to butt in. "You can't put her at risk like that."

"And Mozzie!" He spun around to the other equally-immature man and read him due riot act. "Whether you like it or not, you owe it to Peter to help us fix what we all broke. You don't get to do this 'one-foot-in, one-foot-out' dance. It's not fair to anyone." His voice fell a few notes, until it was nearly silent. "Are you in or not?"

Mozzie huffed. "Of course, I'm in."

Upon hearing the answer he was waiting for, he fell back into his seat and pointed at the note on the table. "Then tell us what you know."

"Okay," Mozzie relented, sitting down in time with Peter. He grabbed the note from Neal and set it next to the one he'd held in his hand, comparing the two. After doing so, he looked up at the other two and said quietly, "Everything we need is right here."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "In the notes?"

"Yes, in the notes," he bit back, harsh tone warned by Neal's sparring eyes. Mozzie diminished his tone and returned his focus to the work at hand. "If there's one thing I know about this guy, though overshadowed by the wonder of his identity, it's that he does not mince words. Ever," he clarified, eyes stony.

He continued, "I noticed that this year's hints were almost-completely restricted to physical mentions, and I was recalled to a few years back, in a similar situation." He turned the notes around to face them and studied them. "I have a hunch that the many landmarks referenced were hinting at a much deeper revelation... one that could possibly disclose the current location of the Extortionist, and El."

Intrigued, Peter sat up. "How would we find it?"

"I imagine," Mozzie inhaled, refocusing on the notes and pulling out a pen. "that if we compare Mrs. Mayor's clue to Mrs. Suit's, we might be able to deduce a common key that could lead us to the second location. Something small, something similar..."

"You think he'd play that card again?" Neal questioned, squinting.

"No one on the outside ever made sense of it." Mozzie shrugged. "I don't see why not."

Peter glanced at his watch briefly before nodding. "Well, we've got twenty-three hours. Let's make them count."

Much time passed, and the two women, after wistfully speaking about their work, husbands, and lives for as long as they had the words, were reduced to exchanging gardening tips. Elizabeth was not extremely interested by the conversation, but it was better to have her only companion speaking rather than rocking back and forth wordlessly on the floor. She had given her plenty of helpful ideas, and kept her mind off her current situation, the handcuffs threatening to embed themselves in her skin, and mostly of all, her husband. For the first time that day, she actually felt like the wife of a handsome FBI agent rather than the victim of a kidnapping.

But fleeting as that notion was, the two women were soon interrupted by the door opening and a man in jean overalls stumbled in, carrying two bowls precariously in his bony hands. El recognized him as the face she'd been met with at the door, hours before. If the man with the wiry gray mustache was the custodian of the large establishment, she felt supremely piteous to him; it must have been quite the dreary job to clean after this Extortionist's victims day and night. However, although contrary to her empathetic nature, she couldn't feel too sorry for anyone involved in the abductions of innocent human beings, including herself.

Elizabeth and Katrina stopped talking and looked up at the man standing before them, holding out the bowls. He looked as if he expected them to take the dishes from him, still extending his hands to them. El stared up at him, wondering if he really didn't get it or if he was simply teasing them. He didn't appear sinister.

She slowly turned to her right, exposing her cuffed hands to the man. His eyebrows shot up, realization dawning on him. He was all nervous chuckles as he set the bowls on the floor before them and stuck his hands in his pockets, searching them for what was later revealed to be a key. When it was in his hand, he looked down at the ladies, puffed up his scrawny chest, and ordered, "Stand up if you wanna eat."

Elizabeth looked over at Katrina, who was dread with fright; oddly, as the man didn't seem the least bit intimidating, try as he may. "Seems like a fair trade," she jested, kneeling up on one leg and rising onto the other with only a small amount of effort. Attempting to cajole Katrina out of her easily-mortified state, she cooperated fully with Mustache and was soon released from her cuffs. She exhaled in relief of her temporary-emancipation and nudged Katrina, encouraging her to mimic her actions. Although sparing a look of agitation and a moment of hesitation, she finally stood and turned her back to the custodian, who soon thereafter freed her of her bonds.

Mustache handed them their bowls and held up their handcuffs. "These go back on the moment you finish."

The two men that had originally blocked the door now stood behind him, crossing their arms. "Any funny business will be punished and regretted."

The older man looked between the two younger and imitated their poses, crossing his arms in an attempt to look larger. "Yeah. No funny business."

An awkward silence befell the three, causing the two ladies significant discomfort. Not sparing a glance to her stoic companion, Elizabeth turned on her heel, marched over to the table, and halted until she heard footsteps behind her. Katrina had soon followed, not wanting to be alone, as did the custodian. She took a seat and motioned for Mrs. Marx to sit to her left. They both set their bowls on the table and examined their contents: soup. Obviously canned, as a woman who often worked with food could tell, with small chunks that almost resembled food floating around in the broth, but it was food, and El hadn't eaten enough that day to certify being picky. That being said, or rather thought, she didn't hesitate to grab a spoonful. It was only when the spoon had almost entered her mouth, grazing her sore, fleshy lips that she'd torn with nervous teeth prior, that a hideous thought made her stomach turn: who's to say the soup wasn't poisoned? She dropped her spoon, sending it plopping into the watered-down substance with a splash.

El froze as the other two's eyes were suddenly trained on her, both cautiously investigative. She ignored the man staring her down and instead turned her attention to the pale-faced woman beside her. Glancing from her face to the soup pointedly, she tried to make a statement with her eyes she'd rather the custodian wouldn't have picked up on. He had, however, noticed, and stepped closer to her.

Grimacing, he crossed his arms and huffed, "The soup is nice and healthy for you ladies, I'll assure you of that. The boss wants you alive for ransom. He won't kill you."

This would've been reassuring, had he not later added "yet" to his already-questionable sentence.

As Elizabeth worked at clearing the spilled soup from the table, early-kindled desperation began setting in at the mention of ransom. Ransom was the only reason she was alive at the moment; knowledge of this was courtesy to Mustache. The FBI stated they would under no circumstances pay the ransom, as they were sick of playing by the Extortionist's rules and losing bucket-loads of money for the return of shaken, broken people. Would she be killed before Peter could find her? Would she end up one of those broken people? Would she "end up" at all?

There were rare situations in which the FBI did resort to ransom: when one of their own was taken, when a child was kidnapped, when someone of great importance was snatched; but these weren't by criminals established over years of abduction. Elizabeth fit none of these types. Her only hope was that her husband would get angry, like he did whenever either Neal did something stupid or someone he cared about was put in harm's way, and that it would be a force driving enough to pull the whole White Collar division down with him.

But she digressed. Point made, she now returned to tending to her obtrusively demanding stomach.

After downing the thin broth, her throat was no longer dry but the meal had hardly supplied her hunger. Still, she appreciated what she was given and pretended not to be disappointed when the handcuffs reappeared.

Pulled from her chair sharply, her arm was scraped with the sharper end of the cuffs she now donned and she bit back a sharp remark to the custodian solely to set an example for Katrina, the reserved woman who still refused to speak in the company of the older man. Soon she was bound again but revitalized. At least, she wouldn't starve. She wouldn't be killed, yet. Peter was still out there. So there was no need to worry. And she basked in this small hope as her feet paced across the room heavily, not allowing her heart to sink for as long as she could.

Peter would come for her. She'd never doubted him before. She wouldn't start now.

Here we are! Chapter 14, and nearly halfway through the story. The next chapter will have a little more El action, and a LOT of Peter/Neal/Mozzie speculation on the clues and the whereabouts of El and the Extortionist. I think it's kinda funny to see them go back and forth on, well, I'll call it the "Gemini subject." Trust me, that'll make sense later.

AND AS FOR THE 50TH REVIEWER, let's all give a big hand forMarJan53! Thanks for reviewing, and for the birthday wish :) This chapter is dedicated to you and your awesomeness.

So, what's the verdict? Make sure to leave a review and let me know what you think! It's clear that El is being careful around this custodian and his soups. She isn't a fool. And Peter and Mozzie need to get it together if they're gonna get El back! I never really imagined Neal as their mediator, but it worked, so why not?

BY THE WAY: the word is that the cast of White Collar is beginning filming on May 10th! That, plus I found out that instead of having a split season, 10 episodes and 4-5 episodes after a break, this season is going all the way through without a break... which is why they pushed it back to the fall instead of premiering in the summer. Who's excited? ME!

* *-TheSongbird341-* *

DISCLAIMER: I don't own White Collar, but I own everything kidnapping-related that you see :)