Back at the office, the next couple of calls that Diana received put her mind slightly at ease. Agents were checking in, confirming their locations, and most were matching up with their logistics on or slightly ahead of schedule.

Focused on monitoring the contact with her fellow agents, and confirming the next steps in their respective itineraries, Diana felt the next hour fly by. While a large part of the day's job was admittedly administrative in nature, as she answered the questions that came in or simply took their updates, she couldn't help but feel she was the glue of the operation, keeping them on their planned timetable.

However, that confidence only lasted until another call came in from the same agent as earlier that morning. The one that had claimed 'nothing' was at his location and had voiced a level of disdain that left her agitated.

"Jeff," she answered the line, speaking his name monotonously. When the number appeared on the caller ID, accompanying the ring, she had recognized the phone number immediately and slightly dreaded the next complaint she felt was impending.

"Diana," came the voice over the line, hoarse and slightly out of breath.

"Jeff?" she asked, shifting her posture. That was not the greeting she had expected. Despite her initial distaste of his callback, she suddenly felt concern at his tone and reacted by sitting up straighter in her chair. This was an entirely different demeanor on the other end of the phone than earlier in the day. "Hey—you sound a little off. Are you okay?"

"The empty lot," he answered, voice still strained. "It wasn't empty. Diana, they knew we were coming."

"What do you mean?" she replied, suddenly feeling a hollow pang of concern. Something wasn't right. There was a strange way to how he spoke. She could hear distant sirens behind him. "What happened? Who's 'they,' Jeff?"

His tone continued to be breathless, like he had just run a long distance. "There was a package. There was a note."

"Jeff." She spoke his name firmly. "You're gonna need to be a little more detailed than that." Her alarm at this strange conversation was slightly eclipsed by frustration at the brief and vague responses that gave her little information. She needed to get a handle on what was going on. "What package? What note?"

As he started to answer, the sound of sirens grew stronger in the background. "A bomb, Diana."

"What?" she replied, tone rising in surprise. She glanced up and noticed a couple other agents had turned their heads towards her in confusion at her exclamation. She ignored them and forced her exterior demeanor to remain calm.

The sirens in the background of the call continued to grow louder.

"Jeff," she said, a little curtly. "I need you to give a little more detail here. What do you mean, a bomb?"

"It…. It w-went off before I could f-finish reading the note.." he continued, stuttering the words slightly. His tone sounded distant, like he was distancing himself from the situation or maybe he was in shock.

Her mind focused on the words.

Bomb.

Went off.

Her heart was pounding. "Jeff. Are you okay?" she persisted. The sirens sounded impossibly louder. While feeling anxious for answers, she was also suddenly less worried about the message and more concerned about his well-being. "Jeff? Are you okay? Talk to me."

"The note… It said they knew…" Jeff trailed off and groaned slightly.

"Jeff," she repeated his name, because she wasn't quite sure what to ask. "They knew what? What is going on? You said there as a bomb. Are you okay?"

"They knew we were coming…"

"Who?" she persisted.

No response came over the line. Instead there was the sound of rustling and some other voices. Diana frowned further, feeling helpless. She kept the phone to her ear. "Hello?" she persisted. "Jeff?" His words continued to echo in her mind. Bomb. "Hello?" she said again. She realized the sirens in the background had quieted or passed.

"Hello?" suddenly came a response over the line.

It was a new voice on the other end of the phone and this caught Diana slight off guard. She hesitated but then responded quickly, her training kicking in. "This is Diana Berrigan, FBI," she said, voice calm and firm. "Who is this? The man I was just speaking to is a federal agent, and —"

"This is Ethan Pascal. I'm a paramedic," the man responded. "The man you were speaking to – he's injured. We're responding to a 911 call from this location and—"

"Injured how? How bad?" Jeff's voice had been different, as though he was in shock, but not once had he mentioned being injured. Her pulse picked up yet again in pace.

"That's what we're here to assess. I'm going to pass you off to someone who will take your information so we can provide you an update once we get him to the hospital…"

During the first few minutes of the helicopter ride, Peter tried to zone out the conversation between his CI and their pilot. The two were acting as though they were old buddies and neither was short for words. The pilot was currently relaying a story from years ago that involved an exotic location and lots of promiscuous women, and Neal was either truly enthralled or an excellent actor. Either was a true possibility. Preceding this, Neal had been full of his own stories and the pilot had shown similar enthusiasm for his accounts.

Peter busied himself by reviewing the folder he'd brought with him, stocked with details of their destination and other findings on the case. Their destination was a remote one. Not much was anticipated to be there in terms of volume, but what was there was a key focus: a hidden bunker that was expected to contain some critical records and possibly some more clues. He focused on this while the loud humming noises of the helicopter's engines and rotor blades were dulled by the wired headphones he wore.

While the headphones were successful at alleviating the mechanical noise, it concurrently augmented the conversation between the other two aboard. He was an unwilling, disinterested third wheel in their discussion whether he liked it or not.

He was doing his best to zone them out.

It wasn't until Neal literally jabbed him in the side with his elbow that he brought his attention back to them.

The jab slightly startled him, and he turned his head and glared, finding in return a casual expression on Neal's face. Peter raised his eyebrows, silently questioning the blue orbs that looked back at him, and lowered the folder he'd been reading through.

Neal rolled his eyes at Peter, clearly not taking the slightly irritable response personally. He then leaned over, reaching to pull the closest earphone of Peter's headset away from his ear. "Go to Channel 2," he said loudly.

"What?" Peter responded. With the headset pulled away, the sound of the engines and rotor blade were deafeningly loud.

"Go to Channel 2," Neal repeated as loudly as he could. He moved his hand to gently allow the headphone to slide back into place over his handler's ear and then pulled his hand away, continuing to look at Peter expectantly while he waited.

A little disgruntled, but registering the request, Peter raised his own hand to his headset, finding the dial on the side that allowed for channel selection. He turned it in reverse, in his head counting down to the second channel from the fifth they'd been using with Ed.

He got to Channel 2 and dropped his hand to his side. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Now it's just us," Neal remarked, shooting the older man a quick grin, like he was proud of what he had arranged.

Unimpressed at the clear sound of Neal's voice through his headset, Peter simply sighed. "Just us?" he repeated.

"Yeah, Ed said he'll just come over to this channel if he needs to tell us anything," Neal persisted. "He sensed you weren't really into his story. I also thought you might want to talk about the case." Neal shifted in his seat, seatbelt resisting the movement, tight across his chest. "You were also starting to get that look on your face that you get whenever you have a headache. Were we right?"

"How would you know what I look like when I have a headache?" Peter frowned, unable to recall any sort of complaint of that kind he ever would have made to Neal. He couldn't deny at the moment he was without headache….

"Were we right?" Neal repeated, appearing eager for Peter to agree with him.

"Definitely not wrong…" Peter glanced towards the pilot, but could only see the back of the man's head from this vantage point. He briefly looked out the front windshield of the helicopter, watching the elevated altitude versus earlier. He noticed it was now slightly raining, but without thinking much of it turned back to Neal. "By the way… You two certainly hit it off. New friend?"

"It's always wise to have the pilot on your side," Neal answered simply, shrugging slightly.

"I don't really think pilots take 'sides,' Neal," Peter responded candidly.

Neal looked skeptical. "Why not? Everyone take sides."

"Not necessarily. Certain professions call for objectivity, Neal."

Neal smirked. "Oh yeah? Like law enforcement?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Right…" Neal's voice was laced with skepticism. "Objectivity."

Peter eyed his CI, slightly curious at the sarcasm of his comment, but then glanced in the direction of the pilot again. He considered calling out the cynicism and getting behind the meaning of it, but decided to overlook it for the time being. He supposed it wasn't completely surprising Neal didn't exactly trust law enforcement. They could work on that. But not now. "So what about the case did you want to talk about?" he responded instead.

"That's just what I told Ed to get him on a different channel."

It was Peter's turn to roll his eyes.

"I mean, what more is there to talk about, Peter? There's not much more to discuss until we get there," Neal replied, a little dismissively. "Which should be relatively soon. But I did want to ask you about the comment you made before," he smoothly began to change the topic. "About the books. About protocol. I know you were kind of just making a point, but do they exist?"

"Yes, Neal." Peter smirked. "Of course they exist. You think our procedures and protocols just exist in thin air?"

"And do the books go into investigative techniques too?"

Peter's gaze became more curious. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering. Could be an interesting read. Now that we're working together."

"Interesting because you genuinely want to learn about it, or because you want to learn how to circumvent it?"

Neal's lips split into a grin. "Peter…"

"I'm serious, Neal." Peter shook his head slightly. There was some static over the line. "You want to learn, or you have an ulterior motive?"

"It's learning either way, isn't it?" Neal interjected, continuing to smile.

"I'm happy to give you tools to learn…" Peter continued, bracing himself as the helicopter hit a little turbulence. "It's the ulterior motive I'm worried about."

"C'mon, Peter. You don't have to always be suspicious."

"I'm not always suspicious. It's just sometimes you give me reasons to be."

Neal rolled his eyes again. "Okay, Peter. Forget it. I won't ask to learn about FBI protocol."

A brief moment of silence passed. Peter watched the light rain through the front glass of the helicopter and again questioned his approach as well as what the hell was going on in Neal's mind. Maybe it hadn't been fair to be skeptical of Neal's inquiry. "Well, what do you want to know?" he asked, taking a different tactic.

Neal's response was after a deliberate pause and a glance out his own window, as though he was truly thinking about it. "I don't know what I don't know," he admitted slowly. He then turned back to Peter. "And I don't mean that facetiously."

"Was actually thinking that it came out more clichéd than facetious," Peter responded slowly, unable to avoid the tease.

"I mean it, Peter. You and I have been working together for a little while now," Neal continued, "and don't you realize that I defer to you for most of the procedural stuff when it comes to cases?"

At that statement, Peter chuckled, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?" he asked with a chuckle. "You do?"

Neal's brow furrowed, bristling at the sarcastic response. "Peter, I do."

"Maybe when you choose to listen you do."

"Peter, really," Neal insisted. "I'm being serious here."

"I am too. You defer to me on procedure? We'd have a lot less problems if you actually did defer to me on procedure, Neal. Procedure is the one thing you don't yet seem to have a knack for."

Neal tilted his head, gazing at Peter with a frown. "C'mon… That's not fair."

"C'mon?" Peter raised his eyebrows. "You realize that listening to me is actually part of procedure, right? You want some examples? You want to talk about a couple days ago? Remember that?"

Neal flashed back to what had happened, and the follow-ups thereafter, and then shook his head. "Maybe I didn't that one time."

"Yeah. That one time..." Peter echoed.

Neal opened his mouth to respond, but a new voice joined the channel. "Ten minutes, gentlemen," came Ed's voice, smooth and calm over the line. "Should be a smooth landing despite the overcast showers that hit us. Wanted to give you a quick update."

Peter met Neal's eye. How did they know when Ed was or wasn't on the same channel? Who's to say he hadn't been listening the whole time? Not that anything comprising had been said…

"Roger that," Neal responded, seemingly unperturbed by the thought. He continued to look at Peter. "That was quick."

Peter didn't respond.

"Like I said," Ed replied, "it's a short trip." There was a little static over the line. "Alright, going back to my main channel. You know where to find me."

After a pause, Neal said, "Peter, I don't want to talk about a couple days ago. It's a bad example, because in the end, we got the guy in custody and that's all that –"

"Neal, how do you know he's not still listening?" Peter asked, shaking his head slightly.

Neal looked slightly exasperated and frowned. He then said, "Ed, are you there?"

There was silence. Then static. Then silence.

"See?" Neal replied.

"Why would he answer that?" Peter challenged. "Not that I care…" he continued.

"He's not listening, Peter."

"Fine. He's not." Peter wasn't convinced but also didn't care. If Neal didn't mind an audience, Peter wouldn't push the topic.

"Peter, back to what I was saying. On protocol." Neal sighed. "I'm serious about reading the books. I have no ulterior motive, just an innocent –"

"Innocent?" Peter scoffed under his breath.

"Innocent," Neal stressed the word, "curiosity about the system and the way it works. And what I should probably know about it."

"By 'the system' I assume you mean the legal system, Neal."

"The one and only," Neal affirmed with a charming smile. "The backbone of this country."

"Don't be a smartass."

Neal chuckled slightly at the comment and then continued. "I feel like if can get into the psychology of FBI, Peter, than I could really be more constructive during our cases."

"Right…. Well, our psychology is pretty simple, Neal. We follow the law, we find the bad guys, and that's accompanied by securing enough supporting evidence to prosecute."

"The FBI doesn't prosecute. But thanks for the oversimplification, Peter."

The comment made Peter smile. He nudged Neal with his elbow. "True. We don't prosecute," he confirmed. "I'm impressed you know that."

"Despite what your folder on me says, I'm not stupid."

"Far from it," Peter responded. He nudged him again. "And you know my folder on you doesn't say that. It actually describes you as quite intelligent… Doing stupid things and being stupid are two different things."

Neal shifted in his seat in response, slightly away from the other man, as though uncomfortable. It was unclear whether it was due to Peter's comments or some other cause.

"Seatbelts." Ed's voice was suddenly loud and direct over their headsets. "Sorry, guys, but I might have been mistaken about the smooth landing. Wind's picking up a bit from the east."

Peter observed Neal a few seconds longer, watching the man's hands drop go to the buckles of his seatbelt, his chin and gaze dropping as well, as though following that instruction was a welcome distraction.

Peter sighed and checked his own seatbelt.

"They're not answering," Diana said, voice impatient.

Jones' eyes slowly cast over his coworker's desk in front of him, at all the papers, and the discarded coffee cup he had delivered earlier, now empty and toppled over on its side. "That doesn't mean anything, Diana. He could be busy."

"I don't know," she stated, brow furrowed. She was clearly agitated. "I just feel like something's not right… First what happened with Jeff, and now Peter's not answering his phone."

"Don't make assumptions, Diana. He's probably just in the air," Jones responded. "I'm sure it's fine."

"Then why do I feel like it might not be? I'm just not so sure… I think Jeff's right. I have a feeling we've been set up," Diana replied. She briefly ran a hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes. "I think we need to get the original suspect back in a room and start asking him some questions. He sent us to all these places…"

"Diana… Really? Set up?"

"Really," she responded, a little exasperatedly. "Even Peter said it himself… This guy was handing out information like crazy. I had a bad feeling. I have a bad feeling. It was a little too easy, getting all these locations. Now—"

"Diana," Jones interrupted. "C'mon."

She stared at him, jaw set. "We need to follow our instinct, Clinton. That's always Peter's main advice."

"True," he admitted. "But don't worry about Peter. I'm sure he's fine."

"My instinct says there's a chance otherwise."

The phone on the desk of Diana rang, and her head turned towards it instinctively. Before the second ring was complete, she already had the receiver at her ear. "This is Diana." She forced her tone to be calm and unnerved.

"Hey, it's Beth," came the voice over the line. "Just letting you know I arrived."

Diana exhaled. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. The other woman's voice calmed her slightly. "Okay. Thanks, Beth. That's good and you're right on time. Anything yet to note?"

"No, I'm about forty miles from the actual site. I'm picking up the car in a few minutes."

"Thanks. Keep me posted."

"Will do," Beth responded.

The line disconnected and Diana hung up. She ignored the fact Jones was staring at her with a 'See?' expression on his face, and then immediately picked up the receiver again and redialed Peter. It again went to voicemail.

"Shit," she said.

Jones shook his head. "Stop… Don't panic…"

"I'm not," she said, a little defensively. "Jeff just has me a little… nervous."

"It's fine," Jones persisted. "And Jeff will be okay. I'll call the hospital back in a little bit to check-in. I'm sure it's an isolated incident, and we're going to find out what happened. It won't impact the others." He paused. "Did you try Caffrey?"

"What do you mean?"

"You called his cell too?"

"No, just Peter's."

"So try him too. And if he doesn't answer, then we'll try again a little later…" Jones replied with an unaffected shrug. "It'll work out, Diana."

Peter had just tightened his own seatbelt, heeding Ed's warning, when the helicopter started on its descent. To Ed's earlier warning, there was now a bit more turbulence. Peter actively tried to ignore it, but couldn't help but notice the rain seemed a little heavier. He glanced down at his watch.

Neal had been quiet the last couple of minutes since Ed's comments. The conversation of protocol seemed to have dissipated. Peter wondered if it would present itself again at some point. He didn't mind the questions, so long as they were earnest. But he couldn't help but wonder if Neal's curiosity was more for his own self-interested research rather than education.

"About what you said this morning…" Neal suddenly spoke again, voice low and only audible to Peter through his headset. "You said you didn't know, but… do you?"

Peter frowned. "Do I know what?" he asked, drawing a blank. "What'd I say?"

"The anklet," Neal replied, tone just slightly impatient as though he felt the topic should have been obvious and at the forefront of Peter's memory. "You know I didn't touch it."

The conversation from that morning came back to Peter. About the suspicion regarding the anklet being tampered with.

While Peter received plenty of defensive comments from Neal, this was one of the rare instances of defense that wasn't instigated or immediately following an accusation. He realized that in itself, and the fact Neal was even revisiting this particular topic, hinted at a rare show of insecurity from his young, usually overconfident partner.

He wondered if that's what he had wanted to find out about in the books.

He also knew he wasn't going to learn that from the books. Their situation wasn't exactly textbook.

Peter didn't answer for a moment. "Listen," he then said over the headset, response calm. "We'll figure it out."

"Easy for you to say," Neal replied.

"I mean it."

"You'd at least tell them I didn't touch it, right?"

"You didn't," Peter agreed. "Your cohorts, I don't know. I can't tell them anything with absolute certainty. You stop doing stupid stuff with him, and maybe I'd have a different opinion."

"I'm not stupid," Neal answered stiffly.

Peter exhaled in exasperation. "I never said that. Like I told you ten minutes ago, doing stupid things and being stupid are two different things. I know you heard and understood the distinction."

"Yeah, well, I don't do stupid things either."

Peter sent him a weary look. "Neal…"

"I always have a reason."

"Of course. Everyone does. Having a reason doesn't mean you've actually considered all aspects of the situation, Neal. It doesn't mean the reason is smart, and it doesn't mean you're right."

There wasn't a response, but Peter could hear Neal's sigh.

At Neal's quietness, Peter said nothing further. He wondered if the reemergence of the topic meant that Neal felt some anxiety over the outcome of the anklet inquiry. Despite Peter's own uncertainty of it, he recognized Neal's response indicated some semblance of conscience. He felt a small sense of victory any time Neal seemed cognizant of and apprehensive of consequences.

"Guys," Ed's voice came over the line. His tone had changed. "Are you sure that the coordinates you were given are right?"

Peter looked ahead to meet the pilot's eyes in the rear view mirror. Ed's brow was creased, and his happy-go-lucky demeanor from earlier seemed absent.

"What do you mean?" Peter responded.

"The helipad," Ed replied. "It's nearly non-existent. I'm not too far out, and I can already tell it's in shambles."

Peter sat up straighter in his seat, straining slightly against the seatbelt that was secured across his shoulders and abdomen. He tried to peer out the windshield for a better vantage point, but even the revised angle didn't offer him much of a view.

"Non-existent?" Neal echoed. "But it is there, right?"

"Barely," Ed answered, an edginess in his voice.

"Well, can you land?" Peter asked.

"Of course I can land," Ed replied. "I can always land." Despite the statement, there was a tentativeness to the answer that made Peter uneasy. "But are you sure this is right? This is the middle of no where, Agents."

Peter didn't correct the plurality of the title this time. "We knew it was the middle of no where," he replied, a little more forcefully than he intended. "That's why we needed youto get here. There's not exactly a parking lot and a welcome map."

"No kidding. But this looks nothing like the description and schematics the Bureau provided," Ed replied. His tone continued to grow more uncertain. The helicopter jolted slightly and then steadied. "This site hasn't been regularly maintained. The report said there'd be a station here. They said—"

"Well, are you sure you're using the coordinates you received?" Peter interjected. He was well aware that despite the doubt he was starting to feel that there was no mistake in what had been provided by the Bureau. And they had specifically gone with this private company for transportation given their acclaimed familiarity with this remote area.

"I've never made a mistake in my coordinates," Ed replied assertively. "Don't know what's here for you guys to investigate, but if you need me to land, then I'm going to land. I'm just saying… This isn't what was described." His hands reached out to flip a series of switches across his dashboard. "I'm flipping back to my headquarter's station for a minute too, fellas. Got to give them an update on the conditions here."

There was static and nothing else over the line.

Peter turned to Neal, who had been quiet during the latter part of the conversation. Neal's brow was furrowed but his focus appeared to be on the pilot.

"Neal?" Peter asked. "What do you think – based on what you know, can he land here?"

Neal looked startled by the question. "What?" He turned his head, meeting Peter's eyes. "Why are you asking me that?"

"The discussion before," Peter replied impatiently. He gestured toward the pilot but then braced himself as they hit more turbulence. "You and him trading stories, and you talking about all the times you—"

"Talking," Neal quickly interjected before the older man could say anything further. "Just talking, Peter." He shook his head. "I have no idea if he can land there."

"Just talking?" As he got the gist of Neal's response, at the admittance of the fabrication of most of the earlier conversations, Peter wasn't sure whether to be angry or impressed. Neal had traded stories with Ed like a seasoned pro. "So those stories earlier…"

"They're just stories," Neal replied. He flinched just noticeably at another jolt of turbulence.

"Sounded pretty believable."

"Yeah, well, after Mozzie left last night I spent most of the evening reading technical aircraft textbooks and technique manuals…"

Peter stared at him in disbelief. "Neal…" he said his name disapprovingly. How did Neal just lie so naturally? And how did he learn so much overnight? But the thought was fleeting as the helicopter jerked left and then right. He could tell they were descending. He glanced out the window and could see the ground, and the trees, getting closer. Raindrops pounded against the exterior of the aircraft.

"Don't say my name like that," Neal retorted, tone defensive. He then offered a shrug of his shoulders. The shrug almost looked defeated. "I didn't lie to you, Peter; I lied to him. But I can't help here. If he says he can land, I'm sure he can—"

Before Neal could finish his sentence, the helicopter's descent suddenly accelerated and the various signals and alerts of Ed's dashboard started to beep in rapid succession, lights blinking. Peter couldn't help but notice most of the lights were red.

Then everything went black.