Lights out
Neal loved working with clay. It was a material that shaped to his will, just as paint, but in three dimensions. He studied the photos of the original statue that he now did his best to make a copy of: Fancelli's statue of Vulcano. The original had its known position in the gardens of Palaco Pitti, where the Grand Duke of Tuscany lived.
He could never claim it to be the original, made in stone no less, but most artist working in stone make one statue in clay first. This to test the concept, see if it worked, before doing it in the unforgiving and costly material as marble. These clay versions were usually destroyed. Those which survived were attractive on the market.
He had of course picked that particular statue because it served his purpose. As he worked with the figure he became to admire Fancelli. Vulcano was standing on one knee with a sledge hammer resting in one hand, hanging as if it weighted nothing. The pose was material-efficient, and, gee, Fancelli knew who to do muscles.
When he was working on Vulcano's fingers Alex entered.
She stopped in the doorway and stared with a sly smile. At first Neal thought it was the statue, but then he remembered that he worked just in a pair of pants.
"Your day went well?" he asked.
Alex grinned and closed the door behind her.
"You'd be amazed the kinds of places a duke gets you access to."
"Thought you were just using him for a plus-one."
"No harm in having fun while I'm at it."
They shared a smile. She approached.
"Wow, your gift to the Italians?"
"It's Fancelli's study, Statua di Vulcano."
She watched the photos and his work.
"This is beautiful," she said with an awe that pleased him more than he let her know. "Looks like the real thing."
"Don't let it fool you," he grinned.
"I won't." She watched him. "There's something we've been avoiding. It's time to talk about it."
He put his tools away.
"All right. Look, I know you and I have a complicated relationship—"
"I mean this," she indicated his anklet with her foot. "If you can't get it off, then none of this will matter. Everything we're doing—"
"It'll happen," he assured her. "Get you a glass of wine?"
"Okay."
He washed his hands and put on a T-shirt.
"Maybe I have my glass of wine with your guy here instead," Alex complained.
"This is business, remember?"
He pulled out a bottle from the rack. An Italian wine, naturally. He poured in two glasses and handed one to her. They sat down on the sofa together.
"So how are you going to get your anklet off?"
"Trust me."
"I want to know."
"Alright, I have a contact, Garrett Fowler, who will deactivate it."
"Fowler?" Alex gave him a skeptical look. "I think I've heard his name before. He sat you up, right?"
"Right."
"And you trust that he'll deactivate it? Why?"
"For the same reason he set me up."
"Money," Alex said with a smile, making her own conclusions.
Neal enjoyed his wine and watched his statue.
"You remember the last time we were this close to getting the box?" Alex asked.
"Copenhagen," Neal answered at once. "Sneaking into the Amalienborg Palace, hanging out with the royal family."
"I have a scar from the jump off the gatehouse," Alex pointed at her arm and the face became serious.
There were more to this than a scar. He had not been there when she got the wound. When he heard about it he was already on his way back to the States.
"Healed nicely."
"You didn't visit me in the hospital."
"You didn't visit me in prison."
"Burned that bridge in Copenhagen."
"You cut me out—"
"We cut each other out," Alex pointed out, ending the discussion about blame. "That's…"
"Who we are," Neal finished. That was why he kept loving Kate and never could trust Alex.
They sat in silence.
"It's not a game this time," Neal told her. Last time it had been for fun, for the challenge.
"Come on," Alex leaned closer. "I know you're gonna take the box. I know this is about Kate."
She was right and he fought the idea of admitting it. Alex was not one who… He stared.
"Alex, look…"
"Don't lie to me," Alex complained. "It's humiliating for both of us."
"No. No, look," he pointed at the anklet on his outstretched leg. "This light's never been off before."
"Fowler came through?"
"I think we're in play."
Peter had had lunch with Jones and they were leaving towards the car.
"I think my phone is tapped, by they way," Jones said when they were out of the restaurant.
"Think your phone is being tapped?"
"Been on the other side enough to recognize clicks."
"That's not good. Lauren?"
"Same. Now Fowler's back. You think there's a connection?"
Peter was prepared to make a bet on it.
They got inside the car. They barely had time to put their seatbelt on before the phone rang. It was El and Peter took in on speakerphone.
"Hey, El. What's up?"
"Honey, I need you."
Peter frowned. That was not like her.
"What's the matter?"
"They're tearing apart my office."
"Who?"
"The FBI. Please. Please don't touch that."
"El, did—" But the line was cut. He looked at Jones. "She say FBI?"
"Yeah," he confirmed.
Peter switched on the GPS and asked for the fastest route. Once there both he and Jones walked into El's nice little store.
"Honey. What's going—?" He did not need to ask. They searched the place. "Who's in charge here?"
"Stay away from my suspect, Burke." Peter turned. Fowler. Of course it was Fowler.
"Your suspect?" Peter marched up to him. "You are way out of bounds here, Fowler."
"Fowler?" El asked. "Wait. You're the man who violated our home?"
His wife gestured a lot when she got angry and now was not the best time.
"Honey, let me talk to him, alright" he tried.
"You almost ruined my husband's career!" she yelled.
"Better calm your wife down," Fowler smirked at him.
What ever Peter tried to say was drowned by an extremely upset Elizabeth Burke.
"I will not calm down!" El objected and placed a hand on the man's chest.
"That's assaulting an agent," the man noted. Peter sighed. If they had a made-up reason for a warrant they now had a valid reason for an arrest.
"You have gotta be kidding me!"
This was getting out of hand. El yelled at Fowler, Fowler smirked and provoked, and Peter felt his patience was running to an end.
"You're under arrest," Fowler said, grinning, and pushed El towards one of his goons.
Then Peter hit Fowler square on the jaw.
It had been more than one if not Jones had been there and pulled him away.
He glared at Fowler who got to his feet and with a smirk spat a little blood. Peter knew he had played him right into his hands. Still it felt good to smack that man in the face. He just wished he could do it again.
"You just got yourself a suspension, Agent Burke." Peter knew, and he was not going to argue. "Jones, right? Take his gun and badge."
"You got your own guys for that. Sir."
"Take his gun and badge," Fowler repeated and without a hint of a smile.
"It's all right, Jones," he assured his best agent and gave Jones his gun and badge. "It was worth it."
But there was a reason Fowler was so pleased. There was a reason why he had provoked all this. And he was pretty sure it had something to do with Neal and that music box. He must have been considered to be a hinder for Neal to do what Fowler wanted him to do. He pretty much wanted to punch Neal in the face too.
But the troubles was not over.
"Honey, Fowler has placed you under arrest, so you follow with them, and don't make a scene, that is just what they want. I'll bail you out as soon as I can, alright."
El was more angry than scared. She nodded.
He left with Jones. He was not sure if he could stand to see his wife cuffed and see the smirk on Fowler's face once more.
"What do we do now?" Jones asked.
"Call Caffrey. Tell him he's got two weeks of house arrest."
"Think he's something to do with this?" Jones asked, surprised.
"Not directly, no. Tell him about what happened."
"Don't we have to have a valid reason for placing him in house arrest?"
"His handler is under suspension," Peter said. "It's reason enough." It was. He remembered the contract. If Neal's handler - he - for any reason was unable to function as his handler, Neal could be placed in house arrest until the situation was solved. It was simply a safety net for both parts, to stay out of prison if Peter got ill, or suspended in this case.
"Are you okay, Peter?" Jones asked, concerned.
"No. No, I'm not okay." He looked the agent in the eye. "But do your job, Jones. This has nothing to do with you, and keep it that way." Jones nodded. "Now I gotta go and bail my wife out."
Elizabeth did not say a word on the way home. Not a single word. When Peter parked the car she flung the door open and rushed out. He hurried to catch up with her has the smashed her feet down all the way up the stairs to their front door. She marched inside.
"Honey, come on," Peter tried. "El. El, can we just—?" Not Peter stopped himself. No questions. "Let's talk about this."
"Is there really anything to talk about?" She threw her keys on their usual spot. "I'm out on bail and you're out of a job."
"No. It's just a two-week suspension." It was not good, but it was no big deal. It could have been worse. He hung away his overcoat.
"I was arrested!"
"I know."
"Handcuffed in front of my clients! I'm lucky if I have a business in two weeks. And now I have to call and explain why $2000 worth of caviar is the property of the U.S. government."
"All right. All right," he grabbed her shoulders, "Come here. Come here. Come on. Come here," he mumbled and pulled her into a big hug. She hugged him back. "I love you, El." He took her face in his hands and looked at her. "I am so sorry."
"Well, don't be sorry. Just— Just get him." She sighed and pulled off her coat.
Peter's phone rang. It was Neal.
"What is it?"
"I just heard," the kid said at the other end.
"Don't."
"I didn't know this would happen, Peter. I didn't know he'd go after you."
"I don't want your apology. For the record, you bought yourself two weeks' house arrest."
"Jones told me."
"Try leaving the apartment, you're done for. So good luck planning your little caper." No way the kid would get a chance getting that box now when he put El's business in danger.
There was a knock on the front door.
"Hold on. I'm not done with you," he said into the phone and walked to the door.
He opened it and stared at Neal who took a step inside.
"About that house arrest thing…"
Peter ended the call.
Neal's phone rang and he saw it was Jones.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Caffrey, Peter asked me to tell you that you've got yourself two weeks of house arrest."
"What?!" Neal halted in his tracks on the sidewalk. He remembered there had to be a valid reason for it. "Why?"
"Peter is on suspension for two weeks for hitting Fowler on the jaw."
"What? Peter?"
"Yeah. Fowler has just arrested Elizabeth for illegal import and abusing a federal agent."
Neal felt the world sway for a moment. Fowler had been more eager to get the music box than Neal had ever imagined.
"I see," he mumbled.
"So, you're under house arrest until Peter's back, you understand?"
"Yeah, I understand."
"Just stay foot where you are, you hear? Don't leave. Peter has enough on his hands as it is."
Neal looked around on the street. He was far away from his home for any mistakes in geography.
"I get it," he assured Jones. "Have I ever caused you any trouble?"
"Very funny, Caffrey," Jones replied and hung up.
Neal continued to walk but in another direction. He dialed Peter's number.
"What is it?" Peter answered.
"I just heard."
"Don't!"
But Neal had to tell.
"I didn't know this would happen, Peter. I didn't know he'd go after you."
"I don't want your apology," his friend hissed back. "For the record, you bought yourself two weeks' house arrest."
"Jones told me."
"Try leaving the apartment, you're done for. So good luck planning your little caper." So Peter had given him house arrest for that reason. No surprise there. He had not had house arrest when Peter and El went on vacation.
He hurried up the stairs to the front door of the Burke's and knocked.
"Hold on. I'm not done with you," he heard Peter in the other end. Then the door opened and he stepped inside.
"About that house arrest thing…"
Peter's mouth was like a raisin. He ended the call.
Elizabeth marched out from the kitchen into the living-room but not to greet him. Neal saw she as on the phone, upset.
"No, I can assure it was a mistake. I'm not a smuggler." As she listened she seemed to fight tears from coming.
Neal wanted to help her, set everything right, but did not know how.
Peter nodded for him to follow and they walked out to the back of the house. Peter grabbed his coat on his way. They sat down in two garden chairs.
"I never thought he'd come after Elizabeth," Neal said. "You have to believe me.
"I don't care what you thought!" Peter hissed back. "You're helping him destroy everything I've worked for. Everything my wife has worked for."
Neal nodded. It was true.
"He took you out so you couldn't stop me." It was almost admitting to planning a crime but nothing was worth this pain he had caused them. If Peter put him back in prison for this, then so be it. He had to help Peter stop Fowler.
"I know," Peter said. "And I walked right into it."
"Like you said, we all have our weaknesses. He's got mine. He found yours." Neal nodded to Elizabeth walking back and forth on the phone inside. "When this is over, we take him down for good."
Peter glanced at him, not objecting but not agreeing either. Was he not sure he could trust his consultant? Neal sighed and put his left foot on the seat of the chair.
"Look at this." He turned the anklet towards Peter.
"Neal, your light is off."
"Yeah. But according to Jones, the monitoring station says I'm at home."
"Why isn't it transmitting?" Peter asked and Neal just gave him a look. "Fowler. He shut you down so you could steal the box. How did he do that?"
"I don't know."
"I'm almost impressed."
"You're not gonna arrest me?"
"I can't," Peter answered, sounding frustrated. "I don't have a badge."
If that was the only reason, his handler would have called Jones. Peter got his feet walked across the little patio, glanced at his wife.
"All right. Let's say you pull off this heist. You really think he's gonna let you and Kate go?"
"I need to know if she's…" Neal paused. He had seen the look on Peter's face before. And that sigh of his… "You'd do the same for Elizabeth."
Peter looked through the window at her.
"Yeah. After today, I'm not gonna argue that." He looked at Neal. "I'm gonna beat him."
Neal felt his pulse rise as it did at every exciting challenge. And he liked this cunning side of Peter.
"What are you gonna do?"
"Fowler took my badge. I'm gonna take his. He's aiding you in illegal activity."
Neal smiled and shrugged, innocent as ever.
"I'm just doing my part." Then he grew serious again. "They'll be watching you and everyone you work with."
"I know. I'll need help from somebody with FBI access, who Fowler can't link to me. Somebody I can trust."
"You got someone in mind?"
Peter grinned and nodded.
"Who?"
"No. No, the only other person who will know about this is the person whom I hope will help me."
Sounded fair enough.
"Alright, how about me?"
"If I catch you with that box, you're going to prison, you got that? I'm not giving you a slack to catch Fowler."
"It would be no fun if you did," Neal grinned back.
"This is not a game, Neal."
"It is. But with high stakes."
They watched Elizabeth cry on the sofa inside.
"Too high for comfort," Peter muttered.
"Agree to that." And he was not thinking of prison. He promised himself to make it up to Elizabeth somehow.
"Now get out of here. I have to take care of my wife."
