"You're already out of time."
Neal felt the blood drain from his face at the sound of the voice behind him, but he didn't turn. Frozen in place, he remained facing Peter, feeling his heart pound. As he paused, silent and feeling further nerves fray, he realized he wasn't sure if his heart had ever stopped pounding from his futile run through the woods a short while earlier.
Though he felt an instinctive desire to turn and get a better look at this other man behind him, to put a visual on whoever this was, he instilled self-restraint. Instead of turning, he locked his eyes on Peter's. Peter's face was illuminated by the spotlight of the flashlight held by the new arrival.
However, Peter's eyes lingered on Neal's only for a moment, and Neal struggled to make out any sort of message there before Peter's attention looked up past him to the figure in the doorway. Neal knew it was important that they communicate, but realized his handler could probably barely see him with the beam of the light in his eyes.
Neal's uneasiness was now mixed with frustration. He had failed to get his message across in time to Peter before his clock ran out and the stranger intervened. Because of that, he had failed to get a game plan aligned, and now he didn't really have a read on what to do next in this situation.
Neal didn't have much time to dwell on his failures. Though he wasn't facing the man, he soon became the object of his first line of discussion. He saw the focus of the flashlight's beam shift off of Peter, and he could sense that he was now in the spotlight.
"You. That wasn't the plan we talked about," came the irritated, husky voice. The voice was too close for comfort, causing the hair to rise on the back of Neal's neck. As the man finished the statement, he accompanied it with a jab to Neal's shoulder blade.
Neal tried to stop the instinctive flinch from the unexpected contact and was only partially successful. "I told him to come," he readily lied. Without any other obvious plan, he knew telling people what they wanted to hear was usually the safest tactic. "We were just going to leave."
"Bullshit," responded the man.
Neal was about to respond again, whether to have Peter support his ficticious claim or to try to appease the other man in some other way he wasn't sure, but could barely open his mouth to form a first word before the light shifted and something struck him in the side of the head.
Caught off guard, he hissed at the explosion of pain in his temple and the ringing in his ear. His hand rose to the area of impact, and he now turned, trying to get a better view of his assailant. The now all too familiar blinding light of the flashlight, refocused on him, caused him to wince further.
"Hey!" Peter interjected at the same time, raising his voice. "There's no need for that."
The flashlight's attention turned back to Peter.
"We were about to come out to meet you," Peter continued, reinforcing Neal's fabrication.
"Oh yeah? Were you, Peter?" came the skeptical response of the stranger.
Despite the dim lighting, Neal was now able to get a better view of his assailant. The man was big, just as Neal had sensed from their earlier interaction, but the hood of the rain jacket he wore mostly shadowed his facial features. Water dripped down from the top of his head to his broad shoulders, trickling across the slick, shiny fabric of the jacket. In his one hand was the now infamous flashlight, but in the other was a revolver. Neal debated as his head throbbed which one of the items had most likely struck him.
He brought his hand down from his temple and looked at his fingertips. There was a small tinge of blood.
"Yes. We were. You can put your weapon away," Peter spoke calmly but with a firm tone.
Neal tilted his head just slightly, not wanting to turn his back again on the stranger, but wanting to get a vantage point of Peter as well. Peter hadn't withdrawn his own gun. He hadn't even alluded to being armed.
His handler's focus seemed to be locked on the other man. He didn't for even a brief moment make eye contact with Neal.
Neal tried to interpret Peter's expression. Was there any sense of recognition as he looked at the stranger? Did this person really know Peter? And if so, how? He certainly knew his name… But what else? Peter's expression gave no indication. Neal wanted to ask, but was pretty certain that speaking at that moment would be ill-advised.
He again cursed his inability to get through to Peter before the situation had turned into this.
Neal's mind continued to calculate options. Usually he knew what the other party wanted. This time, not even knowing the identity of this other man, it was unusual territory. He contemplated what angle to take while the conversation continued between the other two men.
"Put my weapon away? And why would I do that?" the man responded. "And give you the upper hand? Those days are over, Peter."
"You know me," Peter responded. He stated it factually. "How?"
There it is, Neal thought. Peter didn't recognize him. But then again, he thought as he focused his attention back towards the other man again, it was next to impossible to make out the man's face in the shadows of the hood… And the voice– would that be easily recognizable out of context?
The man chuckled. "So you don't remember me?" he asked. "I wondered if you would... Pity. We'll simply have to get reacquainted." The man then shifted his stance, leaning in a bit further though the doorway of the vehicle and looking towards the front of the helicopter.
He craned his neck, holding up the flashlight at an angle to illuminate the pilot, taking the focus off of Peter and Neal momentarily. He whistled as he took in the sight. "So he didn't make it, huh? Must have been a rough landing…"
Neal felt a jab at his side. Startled, he jolted slightly, despite immediately recognizing the source as Peter's hand. He turned his head to Peter again, and saw the man discretely gesturing him to move closer.
"What do we do?" Neal mouthed silently. He knew there were probably only a few seconds of the stranger's distraction that they had for this exchange. When Peter's response was just an insistent look and another hand gesture, Neal silently shifted over a few inches closer to Peter, feeling his heavy, wet clothing tug on him in resistance.
"Holy shit, he's not just dead," the other man commented, shining the light at yet another angle into the front of the helicopter. "Look at that…" Despite the meaning of the statement, his tone was one more of amusement. He let out a laugh. "He lost his face as well as his life I guess."
Neal grimaced at the comment. The stranger seemed fascinated with the grotesque view of the pilot.
Peter looked past Neal briefly, confirming the stranger's continued distraction. He then refocused on Neal and locked eye contact. With this attention confirmed, he gestured downward, towards Neal's feet.
Neal looked down, following Peter's direction. At first he was a little confused, but then spotted the discarded anklet on the floor. He looked back up.
Peter leaned in closer to him. "Take it with you," he said, talking just barely audible for Neal to hear. He repeated, "Take it."
Neal frowned at the statement. He glanced over at the stranger, who was commenting yet again on the gruesome image in the pilot's seat, before giving Peter a look. He whispered back, "Take it with me where?"
"Pick it up before he sees," Peter responded quietly. "Now."
Neal sent another cautious look towards the stranger, confirming the window, and then quickly leaned forward to reach down and grab the anklet. It only took a second, and he had then had it tucked into his waistband, out of sight, movement undetected by their new arrival.
Peter gave him an approving nod, silent.
Neal was about to discretely ask Peter what else the plan entailed but within seconds the window was over. Neal winced as the flashlight turned back to them, focusing on his face. Turning his head, he raised his hand to his brow, trying to shield himself while still keeping an eye on the other man.
"You didn't mention the condition of the pilot," the man told him, his voice once again coming from a place of darkness behind the flashlight. He still hadn't seen his face. "You said there were three of you."
"There were three of us," Neal replied. It wasn't a lie.
"He's dead," came the response, sounding irritated. "Did you not notice?"
Neal frowned into the bright light and responded, "Does it matter? Did you know him too?" At his response, he felt Peter's fingers jab into his ribs. He knew what it meant: shut up.
The flashlight height shifted, and if a light could be more threatening, it felt that way. Neal wasn't sure if the change in stance was in reaction to his response or something else. He couldn't read the other person when he couldn't even see them.
"What's your name?" Peter asked.
"Well, wouldn't that be too easy…" the other man responded, shifting the light to Peter. "To be honest, I'm not real fond of reintroducing myself. So I'm going to have to let you figure that out on your own, Peter. It's a shame you don't remember. It really hasn't been that many years…"
Years, Neal noted mentally. Like that was any sort of clue.
"Alright, that's enough chitchat. Time to go," the man directed, without otherwise waiting for a response on Peter's recollection of him.
Neal was about to ask 'where' they were going when, although expecting his comment, he felt Peter's hand touch his arm. Acknowledging the direction, he stayed quiet.
"So where are we going?" Peter asked, voicing Neal's silent question. His voice revealed no objection or reaction to the concept of going somewhere. Not a hint of confrontation. Simply a question. His voice was strangely calmer than usual, in Neal's own opinion. Neal noted for the record that he would have gone for the same tone if given the chance.
"You'll find out when we get there," the man replied.
"That's fine. But I don't think I need to remind you that the FBI has our location," Peter stated. "They're on their way to us now."
"Are they?" The man laughed after asking the question. "Was it the FBI that just did that pathetic flyover? The one your friend here ran after it as though they'd spot him? Fat chance… Come on… You think they'll find you tonight? I wouldn't be so sure of that. It's only getting darker. I know your radio is down, and I also know you have no signal here. How exactly are they contacting you?"
The man's knowledge of their situation unnerved Neal.
"We were on a schedule," Peter continued. His tone remained nonchalant. "With specific coordinates. They know where the helicopter is."
"Well, then the FBI's going to have a little bit of a mystery on their hands when you're not actually here, huh?" the man replied. "So much for coordinates. Let's go. Don't make me repeat myself."
Neal glanced from the man, the dark figure behind the ominous beam of light, back to Peter. Questions were going through his mind. On where they were going, but also the man's intel. How had he known they would be coming here, and how did he know about their radio being out of commission?
"Hey, don't look at him," the man directed, voice rising. "Let's go," he barked. "Now."
"It's fine," Peter spoke, clearing his throat. "Let's go, Neal."
"Neal," the man repeated. "Is that your name? Well, Neal, listen to your friend. Let's go."
With that, the man backed away from the doorway, disappearing into the darkness, presumably to allow them to leave.
Neal quickly sent Peter a look. "You told him my name," he hissed.
"You want to use a fake one?" Peter shot back in a whisper. "Would that help?"
Neal narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Just go. It's fine."
"Fine?"
"Yes, they'll find us," Peter said, with a surprising amount of certainty in his tone. "We have no choice right now."
"You have a gun too," Neal reminded.
Peter tilted his head, and gave him a look. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Neal."
The man reappeared in the doorway, flashlight pointed at them once again. "I said, let's go."