Everything Old is New Again

By Ldynwaitin

Chapter Six

The Burke Gut

Peter sat down hard in his chair. Lifting his coffee cup, he took a long drink. He closed his eyes and waited for the caffeine to kick in. It was Thursday, almost twenty-four hours since he last saw Neal. In that time, they still had no idea what happened in the tent. They stopped and interviewed everyone close to the tent. But the interviews were not complete. They were unable to question people that had already left the fair. The ones they did speak to said they did not see anyone leaving the second tent. Even the cameras the agents wore were useless. The crowds were too heavy to see anything clear.

Once he heard Neal was missing, Kramer didn't waste any time. Peter received a call last night from Hughes telling him that Kramer was driving to New York. A call that came right after he told Mozzie that Neal was missing. He could hear the distress in his voice. Mozzie insisted that Neal would never go anywhere without telling him first. He told him that he would keep his ear on the ground and let him know if he heard anything about Neal.

When he was called into an early morning meeting with Hughes, Peter saw Kramer in the conference room huddled with Sullivan. Sullivan was now wearing a bandage on his nose. Peter was sure that was thanks to Neal. In the meeting with Hughes, he tore into Peter that Kramer was right about Neal. With Kramer here, he couldn't say anything to Hughes about his suspicions with Sullivan until he had solid evidence. When the meeting was over, Hughes didn't say if, but when they found Neal, he was going back to Washington with Kramer, permanently.

As a friend, he found it difficult to hear Hughes talk about Neal as if he was property to be given to someone. But that is how the government thought of him. He was essentially a ward of the state. While Neal was out of prison he was under their supervision. For now, Peter was still his handler. But that could change fast. He had to work quick on finding out what Sullivan's role was in Neal's disappearance.

Hearing a knock on his door he saw Diana and Jones. He sat his coffee cup on his desk. "Got anything for me?"

Glancing back to make sure Kramer or Sullivan wasn't watching, Jones and Diana entered his office. Closing the door, they sat close to him.

"I managed to get in contact with some old friends in Washington," Diana said. "They gave me some interesting water cooler gossip."

"That's usually the best," Peter said. "What did they say?"

"They said Sullivan never took a vacation in his life. But about nine months ago he began burning up his vacation days. And when he was there, he wasn't concentrating on his job. There was a rumor that he was at first angry about the early retirement. But that quickly changed. One of my contacts said he seemed happy about it, bragged that he was looking forward to taking it easy."

Peter shook his head. "That doesn't sound like the Sullivan I knew. He said the job was his life. That they would have to pry his gun from his cold dead fingers before he would retire."

"That's what the word is, boss," Diana said.

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "So, the key here is something that occurred nine months ago. What happened to make him change so drastically?"

"Well," Jones said. "I've always found money will do that to a person."

"I can't believe that he would be on the take."

"Even the best have fallen," Diana said.

"Jones, do you have the DNA results with Neal's hat yet?" Peter asked Clinton.

"I'll know tomorrow. They put a rush on the DNA analysis."

"We need to be the ones to find Neal first. As you saw, Kramer is here. If he finds him, Neal's going to be spending the rest of his life in Washington working for Kramer and whoever succeeds him. I can't let that happen. He'd be better off back in prison."

Peter absently rubbed his chin in thought. "Neal wouldn't leave so close to Ellen's death. He was so focused on finding her killer and searching for Sam. He wouldn't jeopardize that by doing something so stupid."

Looking to his right, he saw Kramer was now in the conference room alone. He remembered Neal's painting was still sitting in the room. He quickly stood up. "Keep digging, we need to work fast, guys. Find me something. I'm going to have a talk with Kramer."

Peter took in a deep breath, he had avoided talking to Kramer. Their last conversation didn't end well. Steeling himself, he headed towards the conference room.

Peter slowly walked into the room. Kramer was standing in front of Neal's painting holding an eye loop on the canvas. He moved it around as he examined it closely.

"I was impressed with the Degas, but this, Peter." Kramer stood up, he solemnly looked at Peter. The last time Peter saw him was when he had several Marshal's in tow ready to arrest Neal. But they were both professionals, he was glad Kramer was willing to speak to him. Glad because he needed to get a feel of what Kramer was up to.

"I've never seen a painting so precise, so exact, so perfect. If it wasn't for his signature at the bottom, I'd swear this was the original Vermeer." Turning, he looked at the painting, "The old master's paintings has always been a passion of mine." Shaking his head in wonder he whispered, "Breathtaking."

Pursing his lips, he gave Peter an intensely serious look. "Sullivan told me how you dropped the ball, Peter. He's very upset with you, and I don't blame him. This incident is going to make us look bad back in Washington. I gave Sullivan explicit orders to keep an eye on Caffery, and apparently you told him to stay away from him."

There it was, Sullivan was already driving a wedge between Kramer and him. "Not exactly my words," he countered.

"Regardless, in the end we still have a dangerous conman on the run."

Peter stepped into the room. "Phillip, you're wrong, Neal did not bolt. Not after the tragedy that just happened to him. The woman that helped bring him up was murdered. He wouldn't go without finding out who killed her. There's something else going on here."

Kramer took in a deep breath. "Pete, I know you like the kid. Heck, when I first met him, I liked him too. Still do, but he's a born criminal. He's never going to change. He's one of the best con artists out there. That's what makes him such a valuable asset to the bureau. That's why this special project of yours was given the green light.

But I really thought you'd be able to handle him, that you were stronger, not fall under his spell. I'm afraid that he's got you fooled just like his other marks. Don't you see, I'm protecting you and your career, Peter. I'm not going to let him drag you down with him. Once we find him, I guarantee he's coming back with me, and there is nothing you or Neal Caffrey can say or do that is going to change my mind."

They had this argument before. But Kramer was no longer his boss. He used to be afraid of him, but now he needed to stand up to him. "You know, Phillip, you're right, I do like Neal. I like him for the right reasons. He's smart, savvy, and as you said, one of the best conmen in the business. But I also saw good in him. You okayed him to be in my custody because of his experience and 'savvy'. But since he started in the program something happened, he changed. That goodness I saw in him blossomed. He no longer just looks out for himself, but for others.

I've seen him risk his life to help solve cases. You know that we have the highest closer rate in the agency. It's because he's good at what he does and I'm good in knowing how to use that. In the beginning he did try to run, I admit that. But that thought began to die when he realized he had friends, that he had a home here. He had a meaning to his life, to use what he knows to help others. Something that had been missing. He realized that he didn't have to run anymore."

"He ran to the island," Kramer said.

Peter's eyes narrowed, "That ones on me. When I saw you were ready to slap him in irons because of your vendetta against him, I signaled him to go. I knew I would pay a price later, and I did. But when I found him on that island, he agreed to help me catch Mcleish because he wanted to come back. He could have run again, he had the chance, but he didn't. He helped me get Mcleish even with the knowledge that when he came back, he would be working for the government again, with the anklet. He came back because he had a home and family here. That has to count for something.

Phillip, he changed because of the way I treat him. He works hard with me because I don't think of him as a hardened criminal, but a partner. I put my trust in him, and he trusts me. Yes, sometimes he does do the wrong thing, but deep inside he feels that he's doing it for the right reasons. He's never done anything that would harm someone. I'll say it again, you got it all wrong, I didn't change, it was him that changed. Our partnership is the best in the bureau. And as his partner I guarantee that when we do find him, we'll find out that he did not run."

Kramer frowned, "Peter, I can see why you care for him. A good partner should. But don't you see, he's blinded you. He's not your partner, he's a criminal informant and you're his handler. You're on opposite sides. Look, let's settle this once and for all. When we catch him, and we find out that he did run, he goes with me to Washington. No arguments. I want you to agree not to see or speak to him again. Deal?"

Kramer stuck his hand out. When Peter worked for him, they used to bet on cases. Usually Peter was right, but occasionally Kramer would be right. Peter didn't hesitate, for he knew about the blood on Neal's hat. He also knew that Neal wouldn't turn his back on all that they've done.

"And when you find out that he didn't run, then you're going to back off. He's my CI and I'm his handler. He's staying here."

"Not going to happen, but I agree."

"Then it's a deal." Taking Kramer's hand Peter shook it strongly. "Phillip, I know I'm right, my gut is telling me there is much more to this."

Kramer fondly smiled, "The Burke gut, I'd forgotten about that." Kramer pointed to Neal's painting. "When I go back to Washington with Caffery, I'm bringing that painting with me. We can use it to train new agents on what a good forgery looks like." Shaking his head, he said, "Stunning, the man that did that painting has an old master's soul. It's too bad it ended up in a con man. Now if you'll excuse me, Sullivan and I have a fugitive to catch."

Peter stared at Neal's painting as Kramer left the room. He was right, the painting was beautiful. Neal had a special gift. He nearly jumped when he heard his cellphone buzz. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw a text message that made his heart skip a beat.

Rushing to his room, he grabbed his jacket. He raced down the steps of the balcony to Diana and Jones' desk. "Come on," he whispered to them, "We need to go downstairs."

"Why?" Diana asked.

Peter showed them a message on his cellphone. As they read the message Peter suddenly had a burning feeling on his back. Glancing back, he saw Sullivan was looking at them from the balcony. "Our reservation is ready," Peter loudly said. "Lunch is on me."

Diana and Jones saw Sullivan watching them. They smiled and slowly stood up. "I've never turned down a free lunch yet," Jones said.

"Free lunch," Diana said, "I'm ordering the lobster."

They headed to the elevator. As they waited for the elevator, they saw Sullivan walking down the aisle. Entering the elevator, Peter took in a deep breath as the doors closed. The text message was a possible break in the case, it came from Mozzie.

It said: "I have something to show you from an unknown friend. Neal will be exonerated. Waiting at the corner coffee shop."

Neal wiped the steam from his bathroom mirror. He scratched the stubble on his face. He was thankful that his old room had its own bathroom, but they took everything that he could use to escape. That meant no razors, but they did leave him a plastic comb. Combing his wet hair, he entered his room.

His first night there he barely slept at all. When he did sleep, he dreamed of Peter and a squad of agents crashing through the door. But he would wake up and see his door was still intact. Peintre's home was hidden well. Only a few knew where it was located.

Walking into his room he smelled something. He saw a tray sitting on his dresser. On it was a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and a cup of hot coffee.

As he dressed Neal drank the coffee, but he just didn't have an appetite to eat. He looked at his watch, it was the only personal thing they let him keep. It was almost eight. He stood by the window playing with the ball as he waited for Nolano to fetch him. His head tilted as he heard a robin singing. Peintre used to sit and listen to them sing each morning as they ate breakfast on the patio. It wasn't long before he heard the bolt being pulled and his door open. Neal checked the time, it was exactly eight o'clock. Nolano stood in the doorway.

"It is time, Mr. Caffery."

Neal silently nodded his head and tucked his ball in a pocket. He was so upset with himself. After Peintre died he should have seen this coming. But so much happened to Neal in the year after Peintre died. Catching him off guard, they picked the perfect time to take him. Once again, because of someone from his past his friend's lives were threatened. It seemed to have happened to many times lately. He wondered if his luck had finally run out.

As he left the room, Nolano spied the uneaten breakfast. Closing the door, he led Neal down the hallway towards the stairs. "You did not eat, Mr. Caffery."

"Seems I have lost my appetite," Neal quietly replied.

"I will look for it later then," Nolano said.

Grinning, Neal thought, he may have one friend in a sea of enemies. Neal was not surprised where Nolano took him. Nolano led him to the first floor. He then took him to the back of the house. Opening sliding pocket doors, Neal entered Peintre's old studio. It was a large room. He had it made special. One outside wall was made entirely of double pained glass. The morning sunlight streamed into the room. The temperature and humidity were precisely controlled.

Neal was happy to see that this was one room the siblings did not touch. It almost looked the same as the day he left. Canvas' with half-finished paintings leaned against a wall. Tubes of oil paints sat like little soldiers on wooden shelves. Small glass bottles of different colored pigments waited to be opened. Tall plastic cups held every brush made. He saw well used wooden pallets hanging on the walls. Neal took in a deep breath. It was a smell he never forgot. The scent of wood and linseed oil filled the room.

Albert was standing in the room, he'd never seen him so happy. Neal was glad to see that Lilith was not with him. "I imagine to maintain her youthful looks," Neal said. "Lilith's beauty sleep is lasting longer. So, I probably won't be seeing her until tonight?"

Albert laughed, "I'll have to remember that one. She'll hate it." Albert spun around. "This is now your room, Neal."

Albert happily went to an easel with a stretched blank canvas on it. "This is for your very first painting." He went to another easel, on it was a painting that was covered in linen cloth.

"We needed something to show our potential clients. To let them know what our new artist is capable of producing. Give them an example of what we'll be selling. It's something that you painted." Albert pulled the cloth off.

Neal was surprised to see Entrance of the masked dancers, the Degas that he painted from the Nazi treasure. There it was in all its glory. He now knew who had stolen it from the FBI, it had to have been Sullivan. It suddenly struck him that this was happening and there was nothing he could do to change that, for now.