Round two
Neal left the agency with a paper in his hand. A paper that saved Kathy's life. And his, at least temporarily. He had sent a message to Mozzie. But only Mozzie would have any chance to see it for the call for help that it was. And from there to get it to Peter… Well, he knew Mozzie. When it came to contacting FBI, it might take some time.
"That's my boy," Wilkes said when Neal gave him the paper. He checked its contents. "Kathy's children thank you. Ready for round two?"
"I don't think I'm up for round two."
"That'd be an ill-advised life choice," he got as a reply from a face that could be carved in stone.
"Why? You'll kill me?"
"Don't test me, Neal."
"Tell Jim to put that red dot on my head and pull the trigger if you don't think I'm serious."
"It's like I'm talking Mandarin," Wilkes complained. "How about I kick things off by killing my sweet little hostage?"
"I'm starting to wonder if you even have Lindsay," Neal provoked.
Wilkes considered, looked over Neal's shoulder and made a gesture with his thumb. Neal turned his head and wondered if the last thing he would see was a red dot from a laser sight, blinding him. But no Jimmy as on the roof-top any longer.
"Why don't we take a break, let you think about this? Last thing I want you to do is… drag your heels."
Neal did not trust that smile at all. The van returned and stopped beside him. The door to the cargo opened.
"Please," Wilkes gestured. "Get in."
Neal did without fuss. Still, Wilkes shoved him towards the wall. Neal sat down.
"Where we going?"
"You talk too much," his kidnapper replied and gestured to the goon in the van. "Tase this man again."
It was nothing Neal wanted to experience again.
"That's really not nec—" The taser met his arm. He had a vague idea that he had screamed before he passed out.
Peter's colleagues had insisted on him getting some sleep during the night and now he was glad that they had. He stood in the conference room with every man and woman available, working on any clue they had found on Wilkes. They had even found that his grandmother was alive and lived in Wyoming. When Lauren had called, claiming she was an old classmate and she worked for the upcoming reunion party, the old woman had no idea where 'little Ryan' was.
Rice returned to the office.
"I've got BOLOs out on your van description," he told her. "N.Y.P.D. is canvassing the area where Neal was taken."
"We just found this in Gless' mail," she said and held up a CD. "It was sent before Caffrey was taken."
Peter hurried to put it into a CD player and turned the TV on.
The image of a brick wall and a girl holding yesterday's newspaper filled the image. The girl was Lindsay.
"Hi, Daddy, I'm okay, but you need to do what they ask. Now. Or I won't be okay. I love you."
And the film was over.
"All right, everybody, watch it again," Peter said. "Anything jumps out at you, call it."
"Hi, Daddy." The message started over.
Peter watched the brick wall, listened for sounds in the background.
"Place is falling where it stands," Jones noted beside him. "Crack along the wall. Funky windows."
"Pre-Civil War construction," Peter realized. That narrowed it down.
"You hear that?" Rice asked.
"Foghorn?" Peter wondered. "No, tugboat horn. Let's get it isolated," he told one of the agents. "We know she's by the water."
"There are more than 500 miles of waterfront in the New York area," Rice pointed out.
Peter addressed the room.
"I want search teams on the ground now. Everybody sweeping and canvassing any waterfront structure with cracked walls or funky windows."
Behind him, Lindsay's message still ran and the agents filed out.
"…Now. Or I won't be okay. I love you."
His phone rang. When he saw who was calling he smiled and walked towards his office.
"Hey, hon."
"Okay, you need to come home," El said firmly. "We have a visitor."
"I'm sorry, but I'm right in the middle of something now," he replied, still smiling. Speaking to El was such a relief from the stress.
"I think your 'something' is connected to the someone who showed up at our door."
That was cryptic. Had Neal turned up at his home? But then why did she not say so?
"What? Who's there?"
"Mozzie. And he's pretty worked up."
"That's his normal state," Peter sighed and sat down on the window sill. He had no time for that weird little man right now.
"I think it's important," El insisted.
"If it's important, tell him to come to the office."
"Mozzie in the FBI headquarters?"
From the background, he heard a very distinct 'Ha!'
"Yeah, he's not going," El concluded.
"Honey, I don't have time."
"It's about Neal." Mozzie had information about Neal?
"I'm on my way."
Neal was pulled out of the van with a hood over his head. Inside, the hood was pulled off and Neal saw that the man holding him was a big guy who did not say a word. They walked into a shabby room, like a basement. Neal had barely time to realize that there was a girl sitting there before the big man threw him to the floor, Neal hitting his head into the wall.
"Hey, you okay?" the girl asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Didn't even hurt," he sat up. "Lindsay?"
"Yeah. Who are you?"
For once Neal felt like a knight in shiny armor and not a criminal.
"My name is Neal Caffrey," he said and lowered his voice. "I'm with the FBI. I'm here to help you."
"Really?" she asked. "Who's gonna help you?"
No, he was no knight. He was con-man, for once trying to do the right thing.
"I'll admit, not the greatest rescue," Neal said.
"But the FBI knows we're here, right?"
"No, but the best agent the bureau has got is looking for us."
"Really?"
"Yes, trust me. If there's anyone in the world who can find me, it's him."
Because Neal was a criminal and Peter spent years searching for him and arrested him twice. If someone was a knight in all this, it was Peter.
He glanced at the big man who had sat down by a table, eating noodles.
"Nice manners," he told the man. "You know, you should chew your food."
"It's pretty foul, right?" Lindsay giggled in a low voice.
"Yeah."
"He burps when he swallows."
"Nice."
Chinese takeaway and a gun on the table. Neal was certain which one of those he hated most.
"Did you say your name was Neal Caffrey?" Lindsay said. By the look, she knew she had a clue who he was.
"Yeah. And I think you've heard that name before."
"But you said you worked with the FBI."
"I do," Neal assured her and decided to be honest with her. "Now, I do. When I forged your father's bonds, I didn't."
"No offense, but how come you're here, and how can you work with the FBI if you're a criminal?"
Neal moved from the floor to the window sill instead. It was more comfortable.
"It's a long story. But I serve what remains of my sentence with a tracking anklet working for the FBI. Wilkes cut my anklet, so I know they are looking for me."
Speak of the trolls and they appear, Neal thought as Wilkes and a number of goons walked into the room.
"So you've met Lindsay. Now are you gonna join me for round two or does it get ugly?"
"What's round two?" Neal wanted to know.
"Why would I want to ruin the surprise? In or out?"
Neal rose and saw Linday's eyes on him. He hoped to be her knight in shiny armor after all.
"Let's get this over with."
He got the black hood pulled over this head again and they walked out to the van. Inside it was pulled off. Neal had no wish to be tased again so he kept his mouth shut and did not ask any questions.
"I spent a great deal of money making sure Mr. Loze's limo gets quietly sidetracked," Wilkes told him after a while.
"Let me guess," Neal said, "I'm his new driver."
"He'll be carrying a titanium briefcase. Your job is to take it."
"Any suggestions on how I do that?"
Wilkes picked up a gun from a bag.
"Come on, man, you know I don't like guns," Neal objected. As if to please him, Wilkes took out the clip and removed the bullets one by one spraying the floor with them. Then he put the clip back and handed it to Neal.
"I really don't like unloaded guns," Neal muttered. He did not like violence and threatening someone with a gun could cause exactly that. If it was a threat without a substance he put himself in greater danger than the one he pointed it at. Nevertheless, he hid it inside his belt.
"Be at this address by four and our business is complete," Wilkes said and handed him a note. "I tell you where I'm keeping the girl and we go our separate ways. But be a minute late or call your fed friends and I make a call. And Lindsay… Well, you know what happens to Lindsay."
"You're not gonna stick around for the show?"
"On this one… I'll keep my distance."
Neal grabbed the driver's uniform cap Wilkes handed him.
Interesting. So who was the guy he was about to pick up? He got the feeling that Wilkes wanted to avoid more than the security cameras. Neal had lost time of how much time had passed. Was it possible that Mozzie had reached out to Peter?
The road home felt like an eternity for Peter. If Neal had no way to contact him directly he would, of course, send a message to the short guy. Just the fact that the fellow had contacted his wife to get that message through said a lot.
"Honey?" he called out when he burst through the door.
"In here."
He rushed into the living-room where El and the short guy were sitting drinking tea by each end of the table.
"Mozzie still won't tell me what he does for a living," his wife said. "Do you know?"
"I know enough not to ask. Why are you here?"
"I received this," Neal's friend said and pushed his phone across the table. Peter looked at the display.
"'Elite Voyages. Come frolic with us,'" he read. Commercial?
"Look at the e-mail address."
"Dante Haversham."
"Remember the alias I gave when Neal introduced us?" Mozzie asked. "See, some things do have secret meanings."
"I believe you on this one," El said. "Is Neal okay?"
"I don't know. That's a distress signal."
Peter had already understood that. He dialed Jones' number.
"It's Jones," the young agent answered. "Found anything Peter?"
"Yeah, I want you to check out Elite Voyages for me. Check anything that has happened there since Caffrey disappeared."
"Will do."
"Thanks. See you soon."
Peter hung up.
"So you've lost Neal." It was not a question from the short guy. "And he didn't run, because then he wouldn't have sent me that signal."
"I know he didn't run," Peter assured him.
"But you lost him. That means that he is kidnapped, or else he would just have called."
"I can't tell you anything, Haversham," Peter said, already on his way out. "But rest assured I didn't put Neal in that situation. Thank you for dropping by."
Peter had to fight to keep the speed limits on his way back to the office. He rushed inside as he had into his house. In the conference room, Peter saw Neal's image on the TV-screen.
"Any luck on the tip?"
"Three hours ago, Caffrey goes into Elite Voyages asking for the itinerary of a Thomas Loze," Rice told him. She was efficient, Peter noted.
"Do we know him?"
"Pulled a file from Interpol. Turns out that Loze happens to be a favorite alias of Edward Reilly."
Rice handed him a photo. She did not seem to know that name, but Peter did.
"Edward Reilly," he sighed. "The hits keep coming. He's the go-to guy when VIP criminals want something valuable moved. Hand-delivers everything, which is all the guarantee anyone needs. He's dangerous. My guess, Wilkes is snooping around Reilly's itinerary because he's planning a surprise for him."
"Wilkes is planning a rip-off," Rice agreed.
"Using Neal as the face of his whole show," Peter realized.
A man came in and handed Rice a paper.
"Reilly's on a flight from Sydney," she read. "Touches down in an hour."
"And we'll be there to meet him," Peter said.
