A/N thanks for the reviews and support. This has been one hell of a ride. I hope you all enjoyed it. I look forward to seeing everyone back for the sequel. It's name is Under the azure sky.

white tiger freak: Thanks for your review my friend. Things will be revealed in this chapter. Peter and Mozzie were the first to find out.

white collar black wolf: Thanks for your review my friend. Glad you enjoyed it.

Peter's POV

Once they got out of the tunnel he called Elizabeth. When she picked up she had a cheerful tone, "Peter are you coming home early?"

He looked to Mozzie who mouthed June. All he could do was nod. If this truly was something Neal left behind then everyone needed to see it.

He replied as calmly as he could, "El I need you to meet me at June's. It's important."

She said sounding resigned, "I will have to bring Neal with me. The babysitter won't be here until tomorrow."

So the babysitter had already gone home. He wondered if his own son would turn out like him or his namesake. Neal Burke was born last year. After years of trying he and El finally had their own child. They named him Neal in honor of their fallen friend.

He said, "Okay. Please just come. I'm calling Jones and Diana too."

Elizabeth asked suddenly worried, "Is everything okay? What's going on Peter?"

"I'll explain when everyone gets there. Just meet us at June's."

The next two phone calls went easier. Jones and Diana rarely questioned him on such things. When they did it was with a good reason. They didn't have one this time.

An hour later everyone sat in June's apartment. June had joined them at the mention that it was something from Neal. To his surprise Panov had joined them. Jones had called the doctor. In the end Peter agreed. Panov had just as much of a reason to be here as the rest of them.

The laptop according to Mozzie was a standard. One that anyone could buy. Without starting it up Mozzie couldn't tell them much. So once everyone was settled he started up the computer.

It started up regularly but instead of taking them to the start screen. It was a password screen. Why? Neal wasn't one to make his passwords easy. Jones had tried to get into his work computer once. It took all day for IT to put it back to normal.

The background picture caught his eye. It was that of fire. There was only one person Peter knew that had died by fire in Neal's life. Kate Monreu. So he gave it a shot.

To everyone's surprise and relief the password was accepted. Again however instead of a start screen they were taken else. This time to a video.

Everyone held their breath as Peter clicked on it. A familiar black haired man appeared on the screen. Neal Caffery it seemed had left the a message. Peter's trained eyes noticed things though. Neal's chest was covered in bandages. His eyes were blue grey. A sign that Delta was just beneath the surface. Then his eyes found the time stamp and his heart stopped.

The date was two weeks after his death. What the hell? Neal was capable of a lot of things but this? There was no way.

Neal began to speak, "Congratualtions Mozzie and Peter. I knew if anyone was going to try my puzzle it would be the two of you. Or just Mozzie depending. This computer is self updating from my safe house computer. Everyone else should be getting their alerts or packages if it has been three years. If it hasn't yet been three years since my death then this will continue to update. First thing you should know is that I'm alive. I'm sorry I'm not there to tell you myself. It was too dangerous to alert you in normal ways."

For a moment Neal's attention was drawn to something off screen. A frown marred the man's features. Whatever it was he didn't like it.

He continued finally, "Seems I'm being called away. Peter no matter what you hear I'm still the same man you took from jail. The same lost person that was looking for a purpose. The only reason why I left was because there was a threat to your lives. To protect those I care about I will what is necessary. Even if it means becoming something I'm not. See you next week ."

Neal was alive. Not only that but he ensured that Peter would find out one way or another. Why? Why would Neal leave them? Threats to his life happened daily. He was an FBI agent for God's sake.

He asked looking at the doctor, "What do you think, Panov?"

The hazel eyed doctor took a moment to reply, "It is definitely, Neal in that video. Not Delta. There is only one person I can think of that Neal would go to. Especially if he thought everyone's lives were on the line. Alex Conklin."

That made sense. From what Peter had seen Alexander Conklin was a trusted friend of Neal's. If anyone could pull this off it would be the older man.

Any further thoughts were interrupted by the video playing again. The time stamp was a week later. Neal's torso was no longer hidden by bandages. They could see the stitches and the wounds for they were worth. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Neal's wounds were large. The one from Keller was obviously still painful. There were only scars left from his rescue mission. They were jagged and obvious.

Neal began in a low voice, "I'm not supposed to tell you guys this. Alex would kill me if he knew. I can count on one hand the people outside of this house that know what I'm about to tell you. As you have probably already guessed I'm going after Carlos the Jackel. He threatened each of your lives. I knew that I couldn't protect you from such a threat. Even with the help of the CIA. So I devised a plan to go after him. The first step was making Delta disappear. Which of course meant Neal and Richard Grayson. Last week we were working on a new identity. By now word should be getting out of a new assassin in China. Someone who has never been seen. All that's left at his crimes is a black bandana. My new identity is Jason Bourne."

Everyone in the room paled. Panov began to pace. They had all heard of the assassin for hire. Three years ago he appeared in China. It was said he would kill anyone for the right price. It didn't take long for the killer to move onto Europe. There he repeatedly challenged the Jackel. One thing had remained constant. No one could get an accurate description on the man.

Peter had been asked to join the task force to hunt for him. At the time he had declined because he had a baby on the way. Now he realized how grateful he was not to be hunting Neal again.

Neal continued, "Despite what you may think I have not actually killed anyone. When my wounds are healed I will going out myself. For right now they are just planting the seeds. I am simply taking credit. This is all for one goal. To lure out the Jackel. As you go through this diary I will tell you things. I ask that you keep an open mind. There is only going to be one death by my hand. That will be the Jackel. Peter I miss you and El a lot. The faster this is done. The faster I can come home. Caffery out."

Peter paused it. They all needed time to process this.

Bruce's POV

After getting to the Bat cave he took his cowl off. Tonight had been fairly quiet. All the major villains were in Arkham. The rest were hiding out. Part of him was grateful. The other part wished there was some kind of distraction going on.

It was three years to the day when Dick had died. Alfred was waiting for him when he got out of the Bat mobile. There was a sense of sadness that each of them carried now. It had not faded at all in the three years. Before when Dick had disappeared they at least knew he was still alive. That was no longer the case. It effected all of them.

Alfred handed him a cup of coffee and said, "Drink this Master Bruce. It has been a long night."

He took it with a soft, "Thank you Alfred. I don't think anyone will be sleeping tonight."

Then he moved to the computer. When he signed on it didn't bring up the file he had been looking at. Instead it brought up a video. Great maybe there was a villain in town.

This was the last thing he needed. The Justice League were trying to track a fairly new criminal. He was based in Europe but they had been asked to help by Interpol. If Carlos the Jackel wasn't enough now they had a new contender to deal with. Jason Bourne the chameleon. No one could agree on what he looked like. All the reports were different. It was said that if you paid enough he would kill whoever you wanted.

Despite his and the other heroes best efforts they had nothing. Not a single bit of information on the man. No one could tell them anything consistent about the killer. It was more frustrating than dealing with the Joker.

A face appeared on the screen that made Bruce's heart stop. It was Dick. By the looks of things this video was made just before he was killed. Then he saw the time stamp. That wasn't possible! By the time stamp it was two weeks after Dick had died. His eyes were blue with just a hint of grey. A sign that the killer was just below the surface.

Dick said rubbing at one of his wounds, "Out of all the messages this is the hardest to record. The others were easier. I knew they wouldn't hunt me down. Part of me knew that when I agreed to do this that eventually the Justice League would be called. There was just no helping it. When the police whether local or international get in over their heads they call you guys. I guess I should start with this. Bruce I'm alive."

Bruce could only state dumbfounded at the screen. His oldest son was alive. By the sounds of it he had returned to being a criminal. The part about the Justice League screamed it. What was Dick doing that would require their interference? That was the question.

Bruce could see the guilt on his son's face as he continued, "I should give you some backgrounf first. As you know Carlos had come after me in New York. He wanted to recruit me. When I told him no he threatened the lives of everyone I care about. When Gordon was kidnapped I knew I could no longer ignore the threat. That if I wanted to protect my family I would have to go after Carlos myself. I could not do that while worrying about my family and, as long as I lived Carlos would never stop hunting you. I knew that Keller would try again. We have a history. It was just a matter of when."

His son paused. Bruce could see the sadness intertwining with the guilt.

When he continued Bruce understood why, "I have taken up a new name since my death. The vidoes to come will explain more. You should know now what you are dealing with. Who you have been chasing for nearly three years. The name that was chosen to hunt down the Jackel was Jason Bourne."

No one's POV

The trawler plunged into the angry swells of the dark, furious sea like an awkward animal trying desperately to break out of an impenetrable swamp. The waves rose to goliathan heights, crashing into the hull with the power of raw tonnage; the white sprays caught in the night sky cascaded downward over the deck under the force of the night wind. Everywhere there were the sounds of inanimate pain, wood straining against wood, ropes twisting, stretched to the breaking point. The animal was dying.

Two abrupt explosions pierced the sounds of the sea and the wind and the vessel's pain. They came from the dimly lit cabin that rose and fell with its host body. A man lunged out of the door grasping the railing with one hand, holding his stomach with the other. A second man followed, the pursuit cautious, his intent violent.

He stood bracing himself in the cabin door; he raised a gun and fired again. And again. The man at the railing whipped both his hands up to his head, arching backward under the impact of the fourth bullet. The trawler's bow dipped suddenly into the valley of two giant waves, lifting the wounded man off his feet; he twisted to his left, unable to take his hands away from his head. The boat surged upward, bow and midships more out of the water than in it, sweeping the figure in the doorway back into the cabin; a fifth gunshot fired wildly.

The wounded man screamed, his hands now lashing out at anything he could grasp, his eyes blinded by blood and the unceasing spray of the sea. There was nothing he could grab, so he grabbed at nothing; his legs buckled as his body lurched forward. The boat rolled violently leeward and the man whose skull was ripped open plunged over the side into the madness of the darkness below. He felt rushing cold water envelop him, swallowing him, sucking him under, and twisting him in circles, then propelling him up to the surface—only to gasp a single breath of air.

A gasp and he was under again. And there was heat, a strange moist heat at his temple that seared through the freezing water that kept swallowing him, a fire where no fire should burn. There was ice, too; an icelike throbbing in his stomach and his legs and his chest, oddly warmed by the cold sea around him.

He felt these things, acknowledging his own panic as he felt them. He could see his own body turning and twisting, arms and feet working frantically against the pressures of the whirlpool. He could feel, think, see, perceive panic and struggle—yet strangely there was peace. It was the calm of the observer, the uninvolved observer, separated from the events, knowing of them but not essentially involved. Then another form of panic spread through him, surging through the heat and the ice and the uninvolved recognition.

He could not submit to peace! Not yet! It would happen any second now; he was not sure what it was, but it would happen. He had to be there! He kicked furiously, clawing at the heavy walls of water above, his chest burning. He broke surface, thrashing to stay on top of the black swells. Climb up! Climb up! A monstrous rolling wave accommodated; he was on the crest, surrounded by pockets of foam and darkness. Nothing. Turn! Turn! It happened. The explosion was massive; he could hear it through the clashing waters and the wind, the sight and the sound somehow his doorway to peace.

The sky lit up like a fiery diadem and within that crown of fire, objects of all shapes and sizes were blown through the light into the outer shadows. He had won. Whatever it was, he had won. Suddenly he was plummeting downward again, into an abyss again. He could feel the rushing waters crash over his shoulders, cooling the white-hot heat at his temple, warming the ice-cold incisions in his stomach and his legs and.… His chest. His chest was in agony! He had been struck—the blow crushing, the impact sudden and intolerable.

It happened again! Let me alone. Give me peace. And again! And he clawed again, and kicked again … until he felt it. A thick, oily object that moved only with the movements of the sea. He could not tell what it was, but it was there and he could feel it, hold it. Hold it! It will ride you to peace. To the silence of darkness … and peace.