25 BLUEBELLS

PREVIOUSLY: Emile Zantele wants his Rembrandt back. Neal had stolen it in a type of bait-and-switch. He had it in his possession when a certain FBI agent brought him in for questioning. Neal's solution was to "hide" the painting among other works of art at the newly formed Art Crimes Unit of the FBI in New York. BUT others wanted the painting and the man that forged a remarkable copy of it. Neal ends up being taken to Northern Ireland, apparently to estranged family. Then lands himself in an Irish Detention Centre (jail). A cryptic text brings Peter, Diana and Jones to Ireland to "rescue" Neal. Neal however isn't quite ready to be rescued and needs to tie up some loose ends. One of those loose ends happens to be the man that kidnapped him—Agent Bob Roberts. Now Neal has taken everyone trekking across Northern Ireland and Peter is looking for answers. Answers about the stolen art. Answers about Neal's hidden past.

Peter has been interviewing Agent Roberts in a centuries-old cottage tucked into the woods. A cottage that belongs to a woman from Neal's past.

Enjoy

O O O

Aisling finally insisted that Roberts needed to take a break and get something to eat.

She looked at Peter disapprovingly. "An' when di' y' eat las' yourself?

"I ... uh..."

"Go. Y'r tea's set out."

She served Roberts his food in the snug so he could keep his leg propped up. She reassured Peter that he could continue talking after they ate their tea.

Peter was surprised how quickly he complied with the woman in front of him. The effervescent, youthful disposition of the young lady he'd met several hours ago cleverly disguised a very confident, self-assured young woman. He still didn't know her connection to Neal but he had a distinct feeling she'd be an incredibly positive influence in his life. Someone who wouldn't let him get away with a damn thing, while still somehow letting him be himself. Peter smiled; he pictured El's amusement with him, suggesting that he was starting to sound like he was screening potential girlfriends for Neal. He tsked at himself and turned to join everyone at the table in the large kitchen.

Neal watched him, appraising his mood, trying to discern what information Roberts had imparted from Peter's facial expressions. Peter's face remained neutral, while actually more verging on pleasant, which only succeeded in wrenching Neal's guts further.

Peter caught Jones' eye and indicated to Neal with a slight tip of his head. Before Jones could respond with his own slight nod back, Neal grumbled, "I didn't move. I'm right here." He waved a hand at Peter.

Peter raised an eyebrow at his friend's annoyance, "Could've locked you in the cellar."

"There isn't one."

"I'd have found something."

"Thoughtful."

Peter pursed his lips into a thoughtful smirk.

Neal blinked up at Peter, his own eyes twinkling with a casual smile, when the realization hit as to how he had missed the verbal sparring with Peter.

Peter, ever the gentleman, stepped to the end of the table and pulled a chair out for Aisling, then sat himself next to Neal. He bumped Neal's knee and gave the slightest of glances towards Aisling but received only an impish facial shrug from Neal.

The dinner Aisling had prepared, with the assistance of a couple of FBI agents and one CI, melted into a friendly conversation about the area, the cottage and Aisling's ability to transform fresh country food into a delectable, sumptuous feast. Peter prodded Neal a couple of more times but only got a soft 'no' shake of his head.

Eventually, the table was cleared and the suggestion made to get comfy in the living room around the small fire cheerfully crackling away in the hearth. Peter informed them that he still had more questions for Agent Roberts. He wasn't sure how long he'd be but Neal could stay right where he was seated. Peter was positive they hadn't eaten anything sour but Neal's expression certainly suggested otherwise. Aisling immediately picked up on the concerted twist to Neal's face.

"Agent Burke?"

"Peter."

"Peter, th'n. If I promise ta return 'im righ'ta this spot ..." She coyly patted Neal's shoulders. "... c'ud I take 'im f'r a walk ... roun' my garden?"

Peter tried. He really did, but darn it, with her tone and words, she'd stung Neal, while flirting with him and taunting Peter all at the same time. Peter managed a nod 'yes' with his effort to keep the grin from exploding off his face. This feisty young woman was rubbing off on him.

Peter headed back into the small cozy room, the snug, with Roberts.

The agreement Zantele and Roberts had made was for delivering the artist behind the forged Rembrandt to Foley's organization. The 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' had once been in Foley's possession. Several other stolen works of art, which included the works from the Gardner Art heist, were apparently still in Foley's possession. This Ryan fellow had apparently brought most of the deal into existence. He had a remarkable amount of information about the Rembrandt, its forgeries and the two men, Caffrey and a Hollings fellow, who had run the scam around the forgeries. Ryan had convinced Foley to have new forgeries created to bolster their need for funds in the organization, an organization that Roberts figured was part of the Irish Mob. Ryan insisted on having the best, and as the best involved 'their' Rembrandt, in one sweep they could acquire the artist and the stolen painting.

Roberts figured into the deal due to old connections from two prior legitimate, FBI-sanctioned attempts to recover the stolen artwork. He had worked undercover and his contacts knew he had both buyers, as well as access to canvas and board necessary to replicate the forgeries with a high degree of 'authenticity.' He was in. When the artist was confirmed as Caffrey, he played both sides. He convinced the Marshals to replace Caffrey's anklet with the modified version containing a small voice transmitter, several months before Zantele picked Caffrey up.

They actually hadn't anticipate Ruiz's Organized Crime involvement. Zantele was cautious; unfortunately he was also 'ambitious' and had caught Major Crimes' attention enough for them to start monitoring his activities full scale. Most of Zantele's plans, designed by Foley or Ryan, had already been put into play, so it was a matter of following through with a tweak here and there.

Caffrey himself then became the biggest obstacle. Roberts was certain with his history and profile he'd run, and not to Burke. No, Roberts had truly expected Caffrey to go straight to the original painting and use it to bargain with Zantele for his life. When Caffrey ran to Burke, Roberts' only choice was to place himself as close to Burke and Caffrey as possible, while still keeping his cover with Zantele intact. Zantele had the contact with Foley and Ryan. Roberts didn't even have a hint as to where they were heading.

Now they had spent over three weeks at Foley's. Ryan after their meeting apparently left to tie up some loose ends. Foley was still gracious but with little conversation. Neal was nowhere to be seen again.

"I'd been given a little more free rein, often being left without guards. Trenton—Trenton vanished. And Zantele had become highly agitated when Trenton disappeared.

"Zantele's questions as to Trenton's whereabouts were met with a blunt, 'He was told he'd be looked after and he was.'

"Then he was told, 'He's your man, you look for him.'

"Zantele nearly lost the last remnants of any composure he had remaining. 'How the hell was he supposed to look for Trenton, when he couldn't leave the estate?'

"Zantele had wandered around the estate until it appeared his armed escort lost him. Zantele showed up in one of the soundproof interior rooms, somehow not by accident. The room contained numerous pieces of art which were being carefully packaged by Caffrey. Caffrey's momentary surprise at Zantele's entry provided enough time for Zantele to drive Caffrey backwards into several wooden crates. The painting Neal held only hindered him further, as he tried to juggle it and keep his feet firmly planted."

Roberts stopped.

He sighed and dropped his head. "It was so close, Peter, so close... I got there as Zantele drove a foot into Caffrey's ribs several times, then brought his foot down onto Neal's left hand. I heard Neal yelp with pain and coil into a ball, clutching his hand and gasping for breath. Zantele was screaming at him about all the things he'd cost him and he was about to pay for it all. And something about plug horses."

Roberts squinted his eyes trying to fathom that one for a moment.

"Neal was between us when Zantele pulled a gun, some old antique pistol that must have come from one of Foley's collections. He brandished it at Neal, telling him he'd make sure it was a slow agonizing death. I tried to talk him down but Neal held his full ire. He told me every painful breath Neal was about to take was going to put a smile on his face. I got close but he aimed the firearm before I could tackle him. I ended up between them as he pulled the trigger. The black powder filled my lungs, stung my eyes. My ears were ringing. I thought for sure I'd got him killed. Killed because of my stupidity."

Roberts breathed with an unsteady heaviness. He slumped into his chair, eyes averted, his hands trembling. Haggard, with the stubble and worn shirt adding years and the impression of defeat. He started when Peter dropped a hand onto his knee.

"But you took the bullet, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Roberts sighed with a glum shrug. "I'm pretty sure it's imbedded in the bone. Hurts like hell."

Roberts fixed his attention on some abstract, unfocused point. Peter waited for him to return from whatever tormented place he'd disappeared to in his head. Peter watched the man's jaw clenching and the muscles twitching spasmodically around his eyes. He finally brought his attention back to Peter.

"He saved me, you know?"

Roberts found that point again, then gave a huffing sigh, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to find the memories.

"Caffrey. Neal ... he saved me... I remember hands pulling at me, Caffrey telling me to get up, to move, to keep moving. We were out of the house and into the woods before I even realized I'd been shot. He wrapped my leg before he looked after his own hand—the two small fingers were at odd angles. I was sure his ribs were cracked but you'd never know it, other than the occasional gasp and an arm wrapped around them. He never once complained. Never once accused me of anything. He had ... He had no reason to save me."

Roberts look abashed. Then a near-whimsical smile spread across his face.

"Sly fox him. He'd got a cache in the woods in a ram-shackled old shed. Food, water, clothing, med kit ... and hidden under some brush, a satchel wrapped in a tarp. He wouldn't let me near the damn thing. I'm betting he had the Gardner art in it... Anyway, we headed deeper into the woods. The man's near relentless once he gets going."

Peter couldn't deny that one; good or bad, Neal was persistent to a fault once he'd chosen a path.

"When I slowed him down, he just grabbed onto me and took my weight.

"I asked him 'Why?'

"'Why what?' he says.

"'Why help me? I got you here.'

"'Yep.'

"Yep is all he says. Yep. What is yep supposed to mean?"

"That's Neal, Bob. I'm not sure anyone should try and walk in the recesses of his mind. If it's not a labyrinth of Escher's with tessellations and stellated ico..." Peter waved off Roberts' quizzical look. "Sorry, go on."

"Maybe a Möbius Strip or two?"

Peter humphed with a broad smile. "Definitely. Explains the infinite persistence."

"Peter... I really don't know how I can possibly make amends for getting him into this."

"Ummm." Peter huffed and took a long moment before answering. He'd been pissed at Roberts to start with and wanted nothing more than to drive a fist into his face. Roberts' misguided—although illegal and entirely unethical—attempt to resolve the Gardner heist slowly swung Peter's opinion. When his protection of Neal emerged throughout his narration, Peter was swayed; he'd leave the man's face intact.

"... I think in the long run, it's best you were involved... At least ... well, at least he had one person around who wasn't trying to put a bullet in him."

"Yeah, right. His uncle seemed pretty protective at first. I asked him what happened between them, when we were trudging through the woods. I got a cold stare and a nonchalant shrug, and a faster pace that was agony. We didn't stop until he sat me down along a old wooden fence. He seemed like he knew exactly where he was going until we stopped. He walked ahead, then turned us back a few yards. He cleared some heavy growth away from the fence and helped me over. We struggled through some underbrush and suddenly we're on an old pathway through the woods. Bluebells everywhere, light streaming through tall oaks and beech. He gave me shit when I tried picking one of the bluebells. Said they were protected. Caffrey steals millions of dollars worth of artwork and chastises me for trying to pick a little blue flower. Go figure."

Peter's smile twinkled up to his eyes. Go figure indeed. Neal had an exit strategy, likely had the art, managed to rescue Roberts in the process, found a hidden pathway in the woods, and, in the middle of it all, stops to lecture Roberts on endangered wildflower species.

"When I started to ask another question, he told me, 'One left.'

"I told him 'tha' wasn't fair, 'cause he never gave me any answers.'

"He says, 'One question. Never agreed to answer any of them.'

"I agree to 'only one more if he'd answer it.'"

"You asked for the answer to be the truth, right?"

"Uh, no, should I?"

"Oh, yeah. Anyway."

"He agreed. I was surprised; I guess now maybe I shouldn't have been. Guess I wasn't thinking of him as a con artist anymore."

That one stung Peter. Roberts hadn't meant it to, but it stung. Peter always thought of Neal as a con artist. A very talented, intelligent con man, but nonetheless a con. He couldn't dislodge the profile around Neal. The three years of chasing him, a friendly arrest, a harebrained escape, another arrest, a couple more quirky escapes and arrests, imbedded the image of Neal as a con deep into Peter's psyche.

"Would you believe, the first thing that pops in my head is Zantele wiping Caffrey's face in the plane?

"I asked him 'why that upset him over Zantele backhanding him?'

"He glared at me for a long moment, huffed and told me 'it was personal.'

"I told him 'I didn't mean to pry. I just didn't understand.'

"He laughed and told me 'I was dense' and said 'it wasn't personal between him and Zantele. It was a personal thing to do. Something that implied closeness. Getting smacked in the face didn't.'

"He turned around and started along the path, then turned back to me. That really sort-of-soft sunlight, broken by the high branches of trees not yet in full leaf lit his face. The massive oaks of the forest we were in seemed to stand like sentinels around him with the bluebells bouncing at his feet in the light breeze. Damn! How does a guy disheveled by a trek through the woods, with cracked ribs, broken fingers and multiple bruises across his face, manage to convey a self-assured sense of calm and appear like some folklore hero in complete command of the life around him. He just needed a bow and sword."

"Nah, No bow. No sword. Neal veers away from anything to do with violence. Try a sorcerer's wand." Peter poked a finger into Roberts' leg, the good one. "He seems to have cast a spell over you."

"Funny, Burke," Roberts grumbled. "The man saved my life. I'm sure of that. His family wouldn't have left me kicking around after everything that went down. I wouldn't call being indebted anything magical."

"No? Anyway, go on."

"We walked through the day and into the night, until I collapsed. I can't believe I stayed upright as long as I had; I think it was Caffrey's sheer willpower that had kept me going. As soon as the adrenaline rush subsided the shock took over. I remember an unnerving sense of loss. So many things in life I should have done. Lots of regrets. I must have been delusional, or maybe it was Caffrey; either way I remember talking about odd things. Pigeons and manuscripts. Awnings and manholes. Flying through the air on banners. Orange, lots of orange. A silk scarf that kept slipping away. And what must be a recurring nightmare of being chased. I guess that fits, only ... Only he told me about a dragon with massive wings encompassing him, capturing him and locking him away in a glass tower."

Roberts stopped and screwed his face into a knot.

"No. Nope. I think he was just trying to come up with tales, anything to keep my focus, to keep me calm. He gave me some more meds from his kit and bundled me up in a small tarp... He described a knight, George; it was like the dragon and knight were one and the same... It was hazy. Next thing I knew I'm here, with no idea how I got here. Caffrey shrugged when I asked. A couple days later he says he's gotta look after things, get us out quietly. Told me to trust him and sit tight. Like I was going anywhere. The bullet might have been a low caliber but with our hasty escape my recuperating was going to be rough. Plus I was a rogue FBI agent, so no one to call for back-up and hard to explain to anyone what was going on. Unlike Caffrey, I didn't have alternate escape routes. That's it. End of my involvement."

"George and the Dragon," Peter finally remarked absently.

"Sorry?"

"Raphael's St. George and the Dragon. Neal's rumored to have it in his possession."

"I didn't know it was stolen."

"Part of Neal's brilliance. Take something, replace something. Often years before anyone realizes, then the trail's cold and it never makes the news, too embarrassing for the owner. Those jobs aren't for cash. It's the thrill. The thrill of executing a perfect heist and then possessing a piece of work from one of the masters."

"Umm. Well, I'm certain he's in possession of some, if not all, of the Gardner art."

"You didn't ask?"

"Didn't want him to go to ground."

"You never thought to call me?"

"I did. I finally admitted to myself Caffrey wasn't coming back. I called for you a couple of days ago. Your office said you were on assignment and couldn't be reached."

"You figure Neal ran." It was more rhetorical than question.

"No. No. I ... I really thought they'd caught up with him. That he was dead. He asked me to trust him. I did. Why wouldn't I?"

Peter nodded. Why not? Countless reasons. But the more Peter knew Neal personally, the more Peter came to terms with Neal's skewed reality. Peter smiled to himself as an unusual sense of pride washed over him. Neal's integrity, even if misplaced at times, was one of the reasons Peter placed more and more trust in Neal. Faith in his friend and partner.

Peter stood and stretched, his back snapping in a disgruntled protest at having been stooped forward intently listening to Roberts for far too long.

"I'll go find our hostess and get some travel arrangements set."

"Peter?" Roberts took a deep breath. "I know my return isn't going to go well... I'd ... I'd like to thank you now. Caffrey thinks very highly of you. He was insistent you'd do what you could for me. I know my career's shot. Pension's long gone. But more ... more than anything ... I'd just like not to feel ... not to feel entirely alone."

Roberts' self-deprecating, anguished appeal brought a nod from Peter. He turned and left the man wallowing in his own thoughts. A career spent on one case, filled with repeat failures, had driven him past a point of no return. He wanted to recover the Gardner art and was willing to sacrifice everything and everyone to accomplish that task. With Caffrey it had turned to a dilemma for Roberts. Caffrey was merely a means to an end, until he realized Caffrey was ultimately one of the good guys.