Once out of the vehicle, the stranger had directed them to walk ahead of him, indicating an undefined destination with an outstretched arm and a pointed finger.
"Go," was all he said, loud and authoritarian.
Vague, to say the least.
"Where are we going?" Peter posed the question once again, voice calm. The question, a valid one, was met only with a flashlight pointed in the same ambiguous direction ahead of them.
"Go," the man repeated.
And so they went.
The rain had at least subsided. The air was filled with an earthy, organic smell. Neal felt it was the only favorable thing going for them. However, despite nature's small grace, at the same time it was now getting noticeably darker, which was even less desirable than the rain. Getting wet was a small price to pay versus losing visibility. Darkness eliminated most optionality. Darkness made it unlikely help would come, despite Peter's earlier claims, and it made their unknown surroundings even more mysterious.
Mysterious to Neal and Peter, these were surroundings the stranger seemed to know well regardless of weather. He didn't second-guess their direction.
"Walk faster," he told them.
Neal was cold, wet, and despite wanting to deny it, nervous. This wasn't what he had ever envisioned when they embarked on this journey. No possibilities he had invented in speaking with Mozzie about the case had even come close to this. To think he'd been excited to come on this trip with Peter, illusions of a helicopter journey and a remote destination – a far cry from a day of paperwork.
He'd probably take paperwork over this current situation.
He was also a little perturbed by Peter's apparent tactic to just go along with their new acquaintance (or potentially old acquaintance, in Peter's case.) He wasn't convinced that was the right approach, but admitted there also wasn't much room to negotiate.
He knew compliance probably wasn't the only part of Peter's plan, but that avoiding conflict and running out the clock until support arrived were probably Peter's main contributing factors. While he contemplated what Peter's thought process could be, he also couldn't help but feel concerned that Peter's concussion was somehow impacting his ability to make a rationale decision on how they should act.
An hour ago, Peter was still exhibiting signs of extreme fatigue. While he now appeared more alert and more engaged, Neal found himself hypersensitive to Peter's mannerisms. As they walked, he analyzed the other man with side-glances. Was his gait steady? If it wasn't, was it due to the terrain or something else? Was he thinking straight?
"Peter," he said, a loud whisper a few minutes into their walk.
Peter barely turned his head but glanced his way as they walked. "What?"
"How's your vision?" Neal asked.
"Fine, Neal," Peter responded, somewhat gruffly.
"It's normal?"
"I'm fine," Peter told him.
Neal sighed, not completely comforted by the response.
After walking a couple more minutes silently, in a direction within the trees and thick bushes that seemed to offer nothing but the same scenery as far as they could see, Neal felt restless.
As he scrutinized their direction, wanting to ensure he could keep track of the location of the aircraft behind them, he admittedly could not confirm whether this was the direction he had run earlier. Was this north? West? South? He had no idea.
Where was this guy taking them? And for what?
Distractedly, his hand went towards his waistband, where his severed anklet was tucked away, hidden below his loose shirt. He felt the bulk of the equipment briefly and, reassured it was still there, dropped his hand to his side.
Was anyone monitoring it? Seeing their coordinates change?
Did they think he was running?
Would they speculate, given the apparent 'suspicion' around the last anklet?
He craned his neck to look behind them, taking in again the appearance of the hooded man, his face still shadowed, leaving more to the imagination than to the eye. The flashlight remained on, the hood remained up, and visibility of the man's face was still limited.
"Hey!" Neal called back to the stranger, who lagged them by several feet. The man was close enough to avoid them getting a head start but not far enough to let them lose sight that a gun was casually pointed at them. "What's your name?"
"Neal," Peter warned, voice low but terse enough to be admonishing. His head now turned fully towards Neal this time. "Hey. Don't."
Hearing the tone of his handler, Neal now turned back towards him, putting his back once again to the stranger as they continued to walk. "Don't you want to know his name?" he whispered back to Peter unrelentingly.
"My name?" the stranger called back. "Ask your friend! He knows my name!"
Neal glanced back once more at the dark figure trailing them, narrowing his eyes slightly, and then turned his attention back to Peter. "Do you?" he asked quietly. "Peter, how do you know him?"
"I don't know, Neal," Peter replied. The response was earnest. Their footsteps crunched over wet branches.
"Do you really not know?" Neal persisted. "Or you don't want to tell me?"
"Neal, why wouldn't I want to tell you…" Peter replied, tone exasperated.
"I don't know. Maybe you don't. I don't want you knowing all my acquaintances, and maybe you have some of those too."
"If roles were reversed, and you knew him – would you tell me?" Peter glanced back over at the younger man, giving him a slightly incredulous look.
"If I'm going to be honest, it would depend how I knew him," Neal initially replied, catching the roll of Peter's eyes before he then added, "But yes, I probably would." He paused. "But he's definitely knows you. He knew your name."
"Trust me, I know, Neal," Peter responded. "I just can't place from where I know this guy. I've been racking my brain trying to figure it out. It's driving me crazy."
"What about his voice… Do you recognize it?"
Peter sighed. "Can't say it's making any names jump out at me, Neal."
Neal continued, "Would you know if you could see him better?"
Peter exhaled, slightly impatiently. "Certainly wouldn't hurt."
Neal glanced behind them again. The hooded man walked in step with them, keeping a consistent distance.
"Turn around!" the stranger shouted at him.
"Neal," Peter warned.
Outvoted, Neal looked straight ahead again and remained silent, continuing to walk in the vague direction they'd been directed. He counted his steps as he internally tried to gauge the man behind them based on the limited details he'd collected so far. While sparse, he carefully inventoried his observations.
As they walked, he grew more impatient.
"We have to do something," he whispered resolutely.
"Neal," Peter repeated, saying his name more firmly as he looked over at him again. "Whatever you're thinking, don't go there. Don't get that look."
"What look?" Neal shot him a defensive glance.
"That look."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, I know that look," Peter replied stiffly. "And all I'm saying is be patient. Don't do anything stupid."
"Like what?" Neal answered, a little defensively. He could feel a few drops of rain as the weather slowly became a bit wetter again. He glared up at the sky through the canopy of trees. "We can't do nothing, Peter. We don't know where he's taking us. We are hostages right now. Don't you get that?"
"I get it," Peter said irritably.
"Then why aren't you doing anything?" Neal responded. "If you're not going to do something, then I will."
"Enough," Peter replied shortly, shaking his head. "Whatever you're thinking about doing, put the breaks on it. Remember what we just talked about earlier this week…? Do not play hero here."
"I'm not playing hero," Neal scoffed.
"I'm not having you in the line of fire again," Peter responded stiffly. "Don't make any moves without clearing them through me. Understand?"
"No moves?" Neal abruptly stopped walking. "You never told me I could walk. Should I walk, Peter?" His tone was thick with sarcasm. "Should I listen to him?"
"Keep moving!" came the immediate shout behind them. "And enough with you two talking!"
Peter grabbed Neal by the arm, yanking him forward to keep moving. "Stop it," he hissed, squeezing his arm tightly. "You know damn well what I meant."
Neal shook his arm and the taut grip of the other man released. He regretted his outburst, but still felt adamant about them approaching the situation differently. "We have to be smart," he told his handler rigidly, arm dropping to his side. He continued to walk, one foot after the other to a destination unknown. "Just following him to God knows where…. It's not a plan, Peter."
"Let it play out, Neal."
"Let it play out? That's it? Listen, you have a concussion. We have no idea where he's taking us."
"I may have hit my head," Peter acknowledged, "but I am fine. And what I say goes. Do not do something stupid."
"Well, if I see an opportunity, we should assess it," Neal replied, almost in a hiss.
"I will assess it," Peter responded back, tone clipped.
"Peter, he caused us to crash," Neal persisted. "I don't know what he has in mind, but I can't imagine it's going to lead to anything good."
"Versus what right now, Neal? You running off somewhere?" Peter shot back.
"There's two of us," Neal said. "Only one of him."
"He's armed."
"So are you!"
"So he shoots you, and I shoot him? That's your plan?"
Neal exhaled, feeling frustrated. He didn't have a good alternative plan. He knew that. But there had to be another course of action than just blindly being told to march somewhere. Once they got to wherever they were headed, it would be an unknown playing field.
"Is it?" Peter persisted.
"No, Peter…"
"Well, trust me, Neal – that's the quick synopsis of what will happen with any 'plan' you might have right now. Just trust me on this."
Neal grunted. But before he could properly respond, they were interrupted by the stranger and received new direction.
"Stop there," came the command from behind them. "Both of you."
Neal first slowed and then stopped. Following suit, Peter stood stationary at his side. Neal glanced over at his handler once, briefly, before turning to face their abductor.
"We're here," the man said, walking slowly towards them, hooded face still shadowed.
Neal slowly looked around. There was nothing significant about where they now stood in the woods versus the terrain they'd been walking through. He shivered, the chill of his wet clothing more obvious now in stillness. "We're where?" he asked skeptically.
"We're here," the man responded.
Neal looked around again skeptically.
"You," the man said, now only a couple feet away and shining the flashlight in Neal's eyes. "You open the door." He shifted the light to Peter. "And you. You give me your gun."
Door? Bewildered by the request, Neal watched the interaction in front of him, wanting to tell Peter not to comply. Wanting to tell him to fight back.
"Don't say you're not armed," the stranger spoke again when Peter didn't respond. "The only reason I didn't take it earlier is because I wanted to see if you'd try anything. That would have been fun for me. But you didn't. And now that option is gone for you. Give me your gun."
"Don't," Neal spoke. "Peter."
"Shut up," the man snapped, not changing the focus of the light, but directing his comments to Neal. "I'm getting tired of you."
Peter was reaching for his holster.
"Peter…" Neal objected, voice softer now.
"It's okay," Peter told him.
It wasn't, Neal thought to himself. It really wasn't. They had to do something.
"That's right," the stranger replied slowly, following the action. "Exactly, Peter…. And don't try anything. I know your safety is on. One move of your finger and— Hey!"
With the distraction on the gun, Neal had taken the option to run. In the moment all eyes were on Peter's holster, he darted away.
He made it about ten feet before the stranger's gun went off, firing towards him.
It missed but Neal swore he could feel the bullet breeze past his ear. Within seconds his ear was ringing.
"Neal!" Peter shouted. The yell was less angry and more alarmed, loud and emphatic.
Neal froze, despite his instinct to keep running. He felt the flashlight on him and also sensed the aim of the gun from the shadows. That invisible target on his head made him shiver.
Where would he have run to?
He didn't know.
But it was an option. He wanted options.
"That was a warning shot," the stranger told him rigidly, walking towards him with slow but wide strides. "I didn't miss that shot by the way. You move an inch further and you'll be missing an ear. Then, it'll be a kneecap. And Peter," he tilted his head briefly towards the other man. "I hear you even reach for your gun while I'm dealing with him, and that's it for both of you." He turned back to Neal. "I'll give you another chance, but then you're done. You understand me?"
Still frozen, Neal nodded, heart pounding. He heard a bird in the distance chirping.
"Say it," the man directly. He stopped walking, and now stood between Neal and Peter, gun focused on Neal.
"I understand," Neal spoke, voice monotone. In his mind he played out a heroic plan where he made a glorious dash forward, apprehending the man after a quick tussle during which he swiftly stole his gun, guaranteeing their safety. But the reality was while he could attempt a move like that, it wasn't likely to be successful. He'd just failed once again. He hated guns.
The standoff continued.
"Peter," the stranger said stiffly. "Get your man in line."
A few seconds passed, and then Peter spoke, voice slightly hoarse. "Neal," he said, voice stiff but not unkind. "Just come here. Don't run."
Neal breathed in and out, trying to steady his pulse while he debated if there was any other move to play. He could still run, but it seemed futile. Maybe he shouldn't have stopped.
"Neal," Peter repeated. "Now."
"Do it before I prove my first shot missed on purpose," the stranger barked, losing patience. "And you," he directed his next words to Peter, briefly shining the light his direction before focusing it back on Neal. "Gun, now. And get him moving!"
"Neal," Peter repeated. "Come here."
Slowly, Neal forced his feet, which felt glued to the ground, to take a step forward. He slowly moved towards Peter, inch by inch, each step causing him greater apprehension. He watched in the meantime as his handler yet again complied with this armed outsider, handing over his service weapon without question.
The man tucked the weapon away, likely into his waistband but the obscured lighting with the flashlight made it hard to see.
Neal acknowledged Peter hadn't had a choice, but still felt chagrined. They had just lost the one advantage they barely had.
At that point, he reached Peter's side, steadying himself as he prepared for Peter to admonish him, or even smack him (after all he'd just done exactly what Peter had said not to do only minutes before) but instead the man seemed stoic. Neal took a deep breath and exhaled at the lack of reproach. He didn't know if it made him feel any better.
He felt an urge to check whether his anklet was still hidden and secure on his waist but didn't want to given any hint of hiding something, so he kept his hands at his sides.
Instead of checking, he just settled in at Peter's side. When he got close enough, he felt Peter's hand press gently against the small of his back, pressing the wet shirt against his skin. He stiffened slightly at the first contact, bracing himself and then relaxed.
Then the flashlight was again in his face.
"The door," the man told him, repeating earlier words that hadn't made sense to Neal. "Open it."
Neal looked around them again, still seeing nothing remarkable. Even despite the dim lighting of dusk, he could see leaves, branches, trees, but nothing else. "What door?"
"Not so observant, are you?" the stranger replied, chuckling slightly.
Neal bristled at the comment and the laugh. He was observant. There was just nothing to observe here. As though sensing his displeasure and impending response, Peter's fingers tapped on his back, as though to remind him not to do anything rash again. "I don't see a door," he admitted, speaking with blunt honesty instead, holding back on the sarcasm at the tip of his tongue.
The flashlight shifted to Peter. "Do you see a door?" the man asked.
Peter cleared his throat. "I don't," he acknowledged.
The man laughed again. "And you both call yourself investigators. FBI even." He walked a couple feet away and shined his flashlight on the ground in front of him. He tapped his foot on the space, the sound resounding with a solid thump, a sound that didn't match the forested floor below them. "Look closer."
Neal stared at where the man indicated but stayed stationary.
"Look closer," the man repeated. "And open it."
Neal swallowed. He felt Peter's hand drop off his back. Taking that as a sign, he moved forward slowly, approaching the man and the alleged door.
Again his mind imagined a scenario where he got the upper hand. Where he feigned crouching to examine the so-called door before tackling the man, overcoming him and getting a hand on both of the guns. It played out clear as day in his head. Peter would later recount how Neal had saved the day.
But he didn't risk erring again. Instead he reached where the man stood, and as the stranger took a step back, he crouched down and pushed some of the leaves away. Sure enough, beneath the forest camouflage there was a wooden board.
There was a door.
Another swipe at the leaves revealed a metal handle.
A door in the middle of no where.
"Open it," the stranger directed.
With another deep breath, Neal reached for the handle.