An hour later, an agent walked into the White Collar office with a box.

"I'm looking for Neal Caffrey," he said.

"That's me," Neal answered from the desk, eying the agent up and down, trying to figure out what he had missed. The box was delivered to his desk.

"Then, this is for you. Have a nice day." And the agent was gone. Neal rose and looked down into the box. Clothes? Peter came down from his office.

"Undercover outfit, courtesy of the FBI. Hope they fit. Go change now. We're short on time."

Neal walked to the nearest bathroom and changed. Apart from the shoes, everything fit. So this was Mr. Black, he figured. When he returned to his desk, Peter and Diana waited for him.

"Will you do the honors?" Peter asked Diana and handed her the thumbdrive-look-alike that he knew was the key to his anklet. He sat down and swung the foot up on the desk.

"Canadian authorities have detained Mr. Black in Toronto," his handler briefed him, "but left his name on the flight manifest to JFK."

"As far as Halbridge is concerned, Black lands in an hour," Diana said as she removed the anklet and placed it on the desk.

"We've duplicated his wardrobe and every item he had on him. Diesel jacket, leather wallet, and copy of..." Peter's hand hovered over a huge book beside the wallet on his desk.

"Atlas Shrugged," Neal mused. He had read the 1200 page long novel in prison. "Mr. Black's a lone wolf." A chocolate bar was also on his desk. "Mitternacht süss?"

"German chocolate," Diana explained.

"Not a fan of the bittersweet," he sighed at pocketed it.

"From the airport, you'll take a cab to fort green," Peter instructed. "You'll wait there for a car will pick you up."

"The location's open," Diana said. "We'll be back eight blocks. We can't get closer without risking our cover."

Peter took his wrist and pointed at the watch.

"GPS tracker and voice transmitter in the watch. We'll be behind you. As soon as you see those bonds, we move in on him."

"What's the activation phrase?"

"You'll say, 'long flight', and we'll be there," Peter assured him.

"' Long flight,'" Neal repeated. "Should I be getting a recovery fee? Because Sara gets two percent. I feel like I'm doing the heavy lifting."

Peter picked up the brick of a book and slapped it into his hands.

"Move."

Peter followed Neal's tracker as Diana drove to the van. When they got there, Neal had reached the airport, and when his flight had arrived, he left in a cab to the pickup point as instructed. It was dark by now.

"I'm standing alone by a waste treatment plant," they heard Neal's voice over the speaker.

"Sexy," Peter muttered. "We got him?"

"GPS signal is locked," Jones said.

"Car coming," Neal reported.

"Here we go." He sat down and grabbed a headset.

"Black limo. Arriving from the South."

Then they heard the sounds of car doors opening, steps, car doors closing.

"Everything is as you requested," a new voice said. "Your gloves, your briefcase."

Then the sound turned into a buzz. There should have been the sound from the engine, at least.

"What happened?"

"We lost the signal," Jones said, working on the equipment.

"No GPS, no audio," Diana concluded.

"What do you mean? Did he do that or did we?" Every time the kid was off anklet, Peter was worried. Not that his pet convict would run, but that either he would get the unjustified blame for a technical failure or that he would use them.

"Neither," Diana said. "Looks like someone's jamming it."

Minutes passed. In a car, Neal could soon be pretty much anywhere in fifteen minutes.

"We still don't have a visual," Jones sighed, working on getting access to cameras and agents on the ground.

"Get eyes on him," Peter said. Neal's safety was his responsibility. "Neal said he arrived from the South. Let's use that. Call NYPD," he told Diana. See if we can rush in one of their helicopters."

Both the agent got to work.

"Okay," Jones used the radio. "Get a visual on the black limo. Halbridge's office is in midtown, and he lives on the Upper West Side."

"Send a team to both," Peter commanded.

"NYPD can get a chopper in the air in five minutes," Diana reported. "Otherwise, we're flying blind."

"Great," Peter sighed. "They've got a head start, and we are looking for a black limo somewhere in Brooklyn."

Five minutes and they got reports that the helicopter was in the air. Ten minutes later and they had followed a black limo to a restaurant where four people got off. Still no sound from the kid, so they sent the chopper to search for another limo.

"Any time you guys want to break that safe distance you're maintaining, I'd appreciate it," Neal's voice broke the silence.

"He's back up," Jones dived to get the volume up.

"Have I mentioned how long my flight was? Lawrence of Arabia long."

"He's giving us the takedown signal." Had it not been for years of training and experience, Peter would have panicked. "Where is he?" They were probably too far away to get there in an instant.

"GPS is coming up." Diana seemed to wish that banging on the keyboard would help, but she knew it was just to wait.

"I hope you guys are close," the voice returned as a whisper. "'cause I think I'm supposed to kill somebody."

"Did he say 'Kill somebody'?" Peter asked. The kid had been thinking all along that Mr. Black was not a currier.

"I'm walking into a house with a loaded gun. Please, stop me," Neal pleaded. "My driver has a gun, also. If I don't do this, he might, so I'm going to go through with this until you get here." Peter knew Neal would not kill someone, but they both knew the awful dilemma he put himself into. Convicted felon pointing a loaded gun at someone. And this someone might be armed too.

"Found him," Diana called out. "8602 2nd Street, park slope."

"Get a team there now! Who lives there?" Jones keyed, and Peter saw the result. "God."

"Black limo," Neal mumbled. "Arriving from the South."

The driver stepped out, walked around the car, and opened the door for him to the back seat. Neal eyed the driver and saw the good man had a gun in a shoulder holster. He got inside, and the door closed. The driver picked up his phone on his way back to his seat.

"Got Mr. Black. I'll confirm when the job is complete." Neal frowned. It did not sound like he was about to get a bunch of bonds. The driver took his seat and looked at Neal in the back mirror.

"Everything is as you requested," he said. "Your gloves, your briefcase." Neal glanced at the seat beside him and saw a pair of black gloves and a black briefcase. The driver got the car moving.

He took the items in his lap. Nothing seemed strange about the gloves. Thin, from the gentleman's store. He put them aside and focused on the briefcase. He snapped the locks open and lifted the lid.

The inside was filled with foam rubber and in compartments were the parts of a gun.

Reality hit him like a sledgehammer. He had had doubts about Halbridge using a currier, yes, but no one had thought of him to hire an assassin.

"Is everything in order?" the driver asked. "That is the correct gun?"

"Yeah."

They would not get their hands on the samurai bonds tonight. Maybe never. He had to abort this, or someone was about to die. Sara would hate him, but Peter would be on his side, of that he was sure.

"Sure was a long flight."

"What was that, sir?"

Neal scratched his shoulder, bringing the watch and the mike closer to this mouth.

"I said, 'It sure was a long flight.'"

No car stopped before them, no meeting NYPD car turned and followed. Had Peter not heard? Or was he too impatient? On the other hand, no one thought he was in any danger.

"Ruger Mark II with tactical solutions receiver. Red dot holographic sight. Good." Now they must understand he did not have a pile of bonds in his lap.

"As you requested," the driver answered.

"Couldn't carry this with me on my long flight, could I?"

"Everything else is in place."

"That's fantastic." Peter did not hear. He was on his own. Neal was a criminal but hated guns and everything they stood for. On top of that, he was a convicted felon that the FBI just lost on the radar. The next time they saw him, he was likely armed. It could mean he would be back in prison tomorrow.

He put the gloves on and put the gun together.

"Everything all right, Mr. Black?"

He put the briefcase away and put the silencer on.

"How much farther?"

"We're close."

Yeah, but how far away was Peter? Five minutes later, the driver stopped in an area that was quite alike where Peter lived.

"Target's on the first floor. I'm here if there's any resistance."

"Stay here." Neal jammed the gun inside the waist of his pants. "Keep the engine running." He stepped out of the car and scanned the sidewalk. "Any time you guys want to break that safe distance you're maintaining, I'd appreciate it," he mumbled and began to walk towards the address. "Have I mentioned how long my flight was? Lawrence of Arabia long. I hope you guys are close 'cause I think I'm supposed to kill somebody." He walked up the stairs towards the front door. "I'm walking into a house with a loaded gun. Please, stop me." Anything that could explain where he was and why. He did not want to die, and he did not want to go back to prison because some email's code was not cracked. "My driver has a gun, also. If I don't do this, he might, so I'm going to go through with this until you get here."