From the confines of the duct system, to the messy crash landing in the kitchen, to now a desperate blind run down a hallway. It wasn't an ideal sequence of events to find an escape route, but Neal had no other choice. He simply ran.
He was fairly certain at this point that he was still in the same building, the hotel, and knew he had to find a way out. It was a naive wish to hope that the ductwork would have led him to another location. All signs pointed to the hotel. The carpet that lined the floor of this hall, now a blur as he ran, was suspiciously similar to what he had noticed below Samantha when she hoisted the paintings one by one into the ceiling to him and Dean. The color was different, but the obnoxious pattern of diamond and octagon shapes in alternating directions was unmistakable.
Knowing what building he was in wasn't that helpful. Sure, it narrowed down location, but what could he do with that? He couldn't even tell anyone that needed to know where he was. And he didn't know the place at all so it didn't help with a route. There were no floor plans to rely on to help him. He was on his own.
Similar to his detour from Dean in the ducts, he continued to resist looking backwards as he ran. Certainly the angry mob in the kitchen would be no deterrent for Dean if the man wanted to remain on his trail. It also crossed his mind that the kitchen staff might be calling security, or even the police, to report on his intrusion.
He wasn't going to wait around or delay his exit to chance either of those possibilities.
He had to find an exit.
Or he had to find help. But the people he could trust were limited.
He had to find a phone, he decided. Any phone.
Suddenly, that was the current priority.
The hall ahead of him suddenly offered a right turn, and he took it without a second thought, wishing he had any sort of understanding of the layout of this building. At least taking a turn meant he was no longer within direct view of Dean, if the man was close behind, or the kitchen staff if they were reporting where he had headed.
From this hall, then what? He didn't know.
Suddenly as he continued to run, Neal's thoughts abruptly shifted to Peter.
Was it possible that his handler could be in the building? Earlier, he had specifically asked Samantha whether Peter was there beyond the walls of her staged art showing. It had been organized by the Bureau after all. Her response began to seem promising but was quickly interrupted by Dean, and her expression after that had been too hard to read.
But there was a possibility.
What had happened since Dean and Neal left her? How much more time had been granted to Samantha in that room? Certainly not much judging by Dean's constant reiteration of their tight timeline.
They would find her soon. And surely when they did find her, Peter would be on scene. He had to be. This was his case, after all.
That would be a chance to find him.
Before he jumped too far ahead, Neal reminded himself that it was also risky to assume that he should find Peter.
Neal had no idea what else had happened since he'd been abducted by Dean... He didn't know what his handler was thinking right now. What if Peter had a completely different understanding of the events that had transpired?
Neal felt his anxiety surge again.
Peter could be planning a different end to all of this. From a stolen federal vehicle, to an art heist, to … how many anklets had he been through at this point?
He needed a phone. Where was a damn phone?
He continued down the hallway, becoming slightly out of breath. He changed his pace, taking long and fast strides rather than running. In addition to his own fatigue, he was determined not to attract unwanted attention if someone saw him. The image of a crazed man racing down the hallway was probably slightly suspicious after all.
The floor of the hotel he was on appeared not to be a main floor for guests. Since leaving the kitchen, the only doors he passed seemed to be utility related. And every one that he tried was locked. He had nothing on him to even attempt to pick a lock either.
He had to get to another floor.
When he suddenly came across an 'Exit' sign leading to a stairwell, he immediately pushed through the doors to enter it. Deciding without much thought to go up rather than down, he took the concrete stairs up a flight, feet pounding against each one.
On the next floor, the label to the door was "3" and he realized he had never even bothered to check what the previous floor was labeled. Had it been 2? It must have been, but it was too late now to confirm. He had to keep moving.
He exited that door, stumbling out into another hallway. Same carpet and wallpaper. But this looked more like a typical hotel guest floor. There was door after door of solid wood, all numbered and with the distinctive card access panels beside the doorknobs.
This was as good a floor as any, and he continued down it with haste.
He realized with frustration that within each and every room he passed that there was certainly a phone available. But there was no way for him to access those rooms. He had nothing on him but fatigue and empty pockets.
Door after door after door. He was ready to try to punch through one of them.
Then, he finally came across someone.
It was a hotel employee; an older woman who presumably was providing some sort of room or cleaning services. He based this off of the cart she pushed. It seemed to be well stocked with towels, cleaning supplies, and other related items.
The person was heading in his direction as he came upon her, and she immediately took notice of him.
His initial enthusiasm at seeing a person suddenly dulled. It was easy to see that the woman was looking at him with a bit of confusion and uncertainty, and as he discreetly glanced down at himself, he could see why. His overall appearance was disheveled, particularly his clothing, which was clearly discolored from what he would refer to from now on as the 'kitchen incident'.
He was absolutely certain he didn't resemble an average hotel guest. But he had no choice but to try to act like one.
As he neared the woman with a more casual gait, he plastered what usually was a charming smile on his face. Certainly his smile should still work. If it didn't, then he really didn't have any resources left.
"Hi there," he greeted.
The cart stopped. She stood behind it almost like a shield. "Can I help you?" she asked. She still seemed uncertain of him, almost frightened. Her voice was tentative.
"Uh, actually yes," Neal said slowly. "Would you be able to tell me if there was a phone nearby that I could use?"
"A phone." She looked at him curiously. "There would be a phone in your room," she stated. The implied question underlying the statement was obvious. Did he belong here.
"Right, the room," Neal acknowledged. He planned his next words carefully.
She frowned. "Are you one of our guests?"
"Yeah," he chuckled, continuing to smile. "You see, here's the thing… There's a phone in the room, yes, but my wife's using it at the moment," he explained, the lie coming easily. "Some issue with her mother…And..." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Let me tell you, there is always some kind of issue with them. So I, uh, you know… Had to get out of there for a little bit." He clicked his tongue. "So I'm looking for another phone."
The woman pursed her lips, eyeing him with a look of scrutiny. She looked him up and down.
"I thought maybe there was a business center?" Neal continued hopefully before she could have too much time to consider his story. "Or somewhere else that guests could use computers or phones?"
She paused briefly, but then responded with a nod. Slowly, she followed that with saying, "There is a business center. On the fifth floor."
"Fifth floor. Perfect, thank you," he replied.
"You'll need your room key card to get in," she advised him.
"Of course," he replied, internally cursing at that additional detail but not letting his smile falter for a moment. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
He started to move forward and was in the midst of passing her and the cart when she cleared her throat loudly. He paused and cautiously turned to view her again. He noticed her raised eyebrow.
He gave her a questioning look. This time the smile faltered. He was tired.
"The elevator's in the other direction," she told him, pointing down the hall. She then added, "So are the stairs…"
"Right," he replied, chuckling. "Of course." He played it off casually and began to turn back.
"Mm-hm…" she mused cynically.
"Thanks again," he said.
He quickly walked away, muttering under his breath. He moved down the hall as swiftly as he could while retaining some semblance of normalcy. He couldn't allow himself to appear panicked. He was absolutely certain that the woman was suspicious of him, and almost surprised she hadn't asked him where his cell phone was or something similar to challenge him further. He had been expecting that question, and had already been prepping a response.
Her distrustful expression replayed in his head, and he cursed. But he had no time to worry about it now.
He found the elevator and pressed the button to call for it. Then pressed it again. And again. Finally it arrived.
His ride to the fifth floor was alone, which he was thankful for. After this last encounter, he realized not being seen was probably of the essence.
He was equally appreciative when upon exiting the elevator he could see a clearly marked sign offering directions to hotel amenities. Rooms with odd numbers this way, even numbers that way. Ice machine this way. And business center that way.
Business center. Finally progress…
When was the last time he was even in a business center? He didn't know, and he didn't care. He just followed the direction of that arrow.
When he found it, it looked promising. Behind glass walls, he saw a row of six computers with a phone placed in between each one. The room was empty except for one person: in the corner sitting at one of the computers was a young curly haired boy probably around ten years old. He was playing some sort of game and seemed very focused, leaning forward to intently view the screen.
Neal reached for the handle of the door to get into the room.
Locked.
Of course.
Key card access. Just like she said.
With a sigh, Neal rapped his knuckles against the glass, eyeing the back of the boy's head to gauge his reaction.
But there was no response. In fact, there was no indication that he even heard the knocking.
Neal sighed and repeated the gesture but harder. His knuckles hurt from the impact. From his side of the wall, the knock was fairly loud against the glass. It had to be similar from the other side.
This time, the boy slowly turned from the computer to look behind him, spotting Neal at the door and making brief eye contact. At least the walls to the room were glass, so contact could be confirmed. However, Neal needed more than just contact. He needed entry. And this wasn't it. The boy turned right back to the computer again.
"Geez," Neal muttered, feeling frustrated. He knocked on the window again, even harder. This time when the boy looked his way, Neal gestured emphatically at the door.
The boy's eyes glanced back at his computer, then to Neal again. He looked a bit concerned.
Neal forced a friendly smile and pointed again at the door again. "Come on, kid…" he muttered through his teeth.
Slowly the kid pushed his chair back and began to very unwillingly walk over to the door. He reached for the knob and turned it, starting to pull it open very gradually.
The minute lock clicked open, Neal grabbed the door handle from his own side, keen to prevent it from closing again if the boy changed his mind.
"Thank you," he told the kid with persistent smile. "I forgot my key."
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the boy told him matter-of-factly. He then wrinkled his nose and looked at Neal with some disgust and surprise. "Hey, why do you smell like vinegar?"
"Long story," Neal responded.
The kid looked a bit doubtful.
"You're not supposed to talk to me," Neal told him. "Remember?"
The kid made a face, wrinkling his nose, but Neal didn't have to say anything more because the kid was already headed back to the computer at the end of the row.
Neal exhaled, dropping his facade of a smile and quickly moved into the room, letting the door shut behind him. He spotted the nearest phone, which was beside the first computer in the row. He rushed forward to it and dropped himself into the office chair, realizing as he did so that it had been a long time since he'd had a chance to just sit down.
He reached for the phone and lifted it from its base. Receiver to his ear, he quickly dialed a number from memory.
Holding his breath with anticipation, he was met with an angry beeping dial tone.
He cursed and then glanced up in time to catch the kid sending a look his way. The kid met his eye only for a couple seconds before quickly turning back to his computer game. Low volume but uptempo music began to play from the kid's computer, as though the game was now resumed.
Neal's fingers pressed down on the phone base to reset the call, and as he did so he noticed the instructions written on a label printed note on the device. Dial 9 for external calls.
"Nine," Neal read, stressing the word sarcastically as he redialed once again.
This time the phone began to ring on the other end.
One ring...
Two...
Neal shifted in the chair, feeling nervous.
Third ring. And finally the fourth. Then voicemail. Of course not a real voicemail. Just a beep that reflected it was time to leave a message.
Neal sighed as the tone sounded and then spoke urgently into the phone, tone low enough that maybe the kid wouldn't hear him. "It's me, Moz," he said bluntly into the headset. He repeated, "It's me. I'm giving it a minute and then calling back from the same number." He paused and then added, "You better answer. I need you to answer."
The he hung up the phone, looking at it imploringly as if the inanimate object could somehow help him or understand his peril.
Dammit, Mozzie, he thought. His friend would never pick up an unknown number, and he knew that, but it was still frustrating to call and not get through after all this. He didn't have the time to wait.
He glanced around the room impatiently, glancing over at the distracted kid, and then suddenly located a clock on the wall. Tapping his foot with restlessness, he watched as the second hand dragged itself around the circumference of the clock. It was the slowest clock he had ever seen.
As soon as it had gone three hundred and sixty degrees, Neal turned back to the phone and reached for it once again.
Mozzie was deeply concentrated on his thoughts and nearly as deep into the firewall of the downtown hotel's security system when his cell phone began to ring on the table beside him.
He looked away from his computer over at the device, adjusting his glasses to eye the caller ID on the screen carefully.
The number, a local one marked with a 212 area code, was not one he knew. He watched it ring for a moment, suspicious, but then turned back to his task at hand.
He was so close… He felt it would only be a matter of time until he had eyes on every inch of the hotel, including the ability to access recorded footage… And audio…
He knew Peter was working his own internal 'procedure' to find Neal, but that would take paperwork, time, and red tape. Mozzie had seen how cornered Peter was working from the confines of his home, and he was confident he could get closer to Neal working on his own. Plus, if he found Neal, there was a better chance of keeping him out of cuffs.
He set his fingers back on his keyboard, just as next to him his phone now buzzed and chimed with the alert of a voicemail. He sighed.
Curious, he reached for the phone, flipping it open to access the messages.
One message, same number… He pressed the key to play the recording.
"It's me," came the familiar voice over the phone. In an instant, Mozzie was alert and sat straight up in his chair, listening intently to his friend's voice. He was relieved to hear that voice. Neal, he thought. Where are you?
He immediately regretted not picking up. Of course he should be going against his normal rules in a scenario like this. Anyone could be trying to call him, including Neal, and time was of the essence. But old habits died hard.
"I need you to answer," Neal's voice stated firmly, but there was an imploring tone behind the words. It wasn't often Neal sounded desperate, but this was getting close.
Mozzie disconnected the voicemail and immediately tried to call the number back.
The phone clicked after one ring, and a message started to play. A welcome message for reaching the hotel. The same hotel he'd been earlier. "If you know your party's four digit extension, please enter it now followed by pound…" the voice stated over the line in the prerecording. "For reservations, press 1. For concierge, press 2. Otherwise press 3 or wait on the line to be transferred to the front desk."
Mozzie ended the call and looked at his phone intently.
"Come on, Neal…." he urged his missing friend out loud, as though he could somehow channel the message to reach him.
He glanced only briefly at his previous work, the code on the laptop screen blinking at him steadily. Suddenly, and unbelievable to a moment ago, that work seemed like a lower priority.
Then, as though on cue, the phone began to ring again from the same number.
This time Mozzie answered on one ring.
"Neal," he spoke into the phone. He then nearly held his breath, almost expecting it to be a trick. What if it wasn't Neal? What if it was a setup.
His worry didn't last long – he recognized the audible sigh of relief on the other end of the line immediately. "Moz…" came Neal's voice. "Thank God you answered."
"You're still at the hotel," Mozzie stated factually. "Are you okay?"
Neal exhaled again, sounding exhausted. "I don't know. It's a long story."
"What—"
"Actually, write this down for me," Neal interjected with a tone of urgency before Mozzie could say anything further. His voice was more like a forced whisper now, as though he couldn't freely speak."Before I forget. You ready?"
"Write what down?" Mozzie asked with a frown as he began to scan his desk for a pen and a paper. "Why are you whispering?" He had so many questions, but clearly he wasn't going to be able to ask them first. He spotted a notepad on the corner of his desk and reached for it. Before even confirming he was indeed ready, Neal was already dictating a combination of letters and numbers. "Neal. Slow down."
Barely slower, Neal repeated the combination. It was obvious that he was in a rush to say this and a lot more. "Got it?"
"Yes," Mozzie affirmed as he wrote the final number on the page. He stared at what he had written with a frown, trying to decipher it. "License plate?"
"Yes. New York plates. If you could give that to Peter – see if they can run it. It's what Dean was driving last."
Mozzie stared at the plate number and then repeated, "Peter?" with a slight frown. "You didn't call him first?" he asked. He felt a little surprised at the realization.
There wasn't a response right away.
"Neal?" Moz persisted.
"At least I knew whose side you'd be on," Neal replied dismissively. Then without a further pause, he continued, tone still soft as though he was trying not to be overheard. "Any minute now this guy is going to find me, Moz. I need to get out of here."
"You need to be careful," Mozzie responded earnestly. He was on his feet now as he spoke, walking across the room, trying to think strategically. To know how to help Neal, he needed more information first. "I don't know where you are in that hotel, but you can't be seen, mon frère," he said. "You need to know that they're all looking for you. And not in a good way."
"The Marshals?"
"More than that, Neal..."
"They think I did it," Neal said bluntly. His voice was emotionless. "The art, setup, the car, and…. and whatever else there is."
Mozzie let out a deep breath. "Whatever else is a lot. Let's just say it's a big priority of more than a few agencies right now to find you. You need to think before you act."
"And Peter?" Neal asked. His tone was uneasy. "Does he think I did all this too?"
"Actually, no," Mozzie responded. "He's actually on your side, Neal. But his hands are a bit tied right now."
"Tied how? And how do you know?" as Neal asked, Mozzie could visualize his confused expression.
"I actually just saw him…" Mozzie replied.
"You?"
"Me. In the den of the Feds once again. I know. I surprise even myself sometimes. This isn't going to become a habit though, Neal, trust me," he replied dryly. "The Suit's not as bad as I first thought, but—"
"That's fine, Mozzie. Fine. But what do I do now?" Neal urged, cutting off the soliloquy. "I need a plan, and I'm running on empty."
"I'm thinking, Neal," Mozzie sighed. "You said this guy was going to find you… You mean Dean? How probable is that?"
"I don't know the exact probability, Moz. I can only guess he's looking for me," Neal responded without hiding his bitterness. "After all, I've kind of compromised his plan…."
"Is he in the hotel too?"
"I don't know." Neal sounded frustrated. He made another murmured response that was was undecipherable. He then said, "I need to get out of here. Quickly."
"Smart over quick, Neal."
"I know. I just can't stay where I am for long, Moz..."
"Yeah, well, I just don't want you walking right into custody, Neal… They're going to be all over the hotel. After the whole Samantha thing..."
There was a pause. "Where's Samantha?" Neal asked slowly, voice uncertain.
"Hospital. At least she was." Mozzie was somewhat dismissive in his response.
"Is she okay?"
"Really?" Mozzie scoffed. "Trust me, Neal, that's the least of your concerns," he continued dryly. "After all, she's framing you."
Before Neal could respond, suddenly Mozzie had an idea. "I've got it!" he proclaimed.
"Got what?"
"A plan. I'm booking you a room," Mozzie told him. He started to walk back to his desk.
"What?" Neal replied, sounded befuddled. "Mozzie, what are you talking about?"
"It's like hiding in plain sight," Mozzie answered, picking up momentum with enthusiasm for his plan. "I was in their system a minute ago. This should be easy." He sat down at his desk and while balancing the phone against his temple and shoulder he reached for the keyboard. "You know, they really need a better cyber security consult, because this firewall is so amateur..."
"Mozzie…" Neal replied.
"Here we go…" Mozzie tapped at the keys on his screen. "Do you want a king sized bed or –"
"Moz, you're not listening to me," Neal objected more forcefully. "I want to get out of the hotel."
Mozzie sighed, pausing his fingers on the keyboard. "I know. But this is safer, Neal."
"Safer until when?" Neal persisted. His voice rose a bit. "I don't want to just hide out here forever."
"Just a little while, Neal," Mozzie persisted. "Until we can set the facts straight. I can meet you there. Seriously, I can have this set up in—"
"Oh shit," Neal suddenly exclaimed.
Mozzie made a face, pausing. "You're being a little dramatic, Neal—"
"Moz. I've got to go," Neal said quickly.
"What?"
The line clicked.
"Neal?" Mozzie asked. "Hey, Neal, are you still there?"
The response from the other side of the line was dial tone. "Shit," Mozzie said himself.
Caught off guard, Neal stared at the three men that stood in the doorway of the business center. Two were obviously hotel employees, designated by the name tags they wore on the lapel of their matching polo shirts, coordinated with dark colored slacks. They each also wore a small walkie-talkie type device on their belt. The third man was dressed more casually in t-shirt that had a university logo branded on the front and jeans.
"Is this him?" that man asked.
Neal realized the question was directed to the other corner of the room. Where the kid was sitting at the computer. He turned to view that kid and found him staring at them wide-eyed in fascination at the scene unfolding. He also noticed that the music from the computer was no longer playing. When had that stopped?
In response to the question, the kid nodded, chin bobbing up and down.
Neal frowned, baffled at this evolution, and then turned back to the three men. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"My son," the t-shirt clad man began, crossing his arms over his chest, "sent me an email about a strange man that was in here with him, and said he was making him nervous."
"An email?" Neal echoed disbelievingly. He glanced back over at the kid, narrowing his eyes. Traitor, he thought. He'd never even considered the kid to be a threat. What kind of luck was this? He turned back to the three men and offered them an innocent smile. "I'm sorry; I really don't know what you mean," he began. "I was just making a personal call."
"Right…" the man replied. "What kind of call?"
One of the other men – Chuck according to the name tag – cleared his throat. "And it just so happens," he stated, "that we've had a few unusual reports in the last hour… And you," he looked at Neal pointedly, "seem to match the description in each one of them…"
Neal felt his stomach turn. He didn't let his smile falter though. "Well, that's unusual," he told them. "But I assure you, I'm only here to make a phone call. Which I've now completed, so…" he started to get up from his chair, "I'm sure I can be on my way."
Chuck raised his hand, shaking his head. "Not so fast. Are you a guest here?"
"Yes," Neal lied. He stood up to his full height despite the warning.
Chuck's eyebrows rose. "May we see your keycard?"
Neal gave him an incredulous look. "Sorry?"
Chuck continued to study him. "What room are you in?"
"He doesn't have a keycard," the kid chimed in from the other side of the room. "He had me let him in!"
Neal glared. What was with this kid?
The kid's father glared as well. "Jack," he chided, "I told you not to talk to strangers." As the kid looked bashful, he gestured at his son and said, "Let's go. You've had enough computer time as it is. We can let these gentlemen handle this from here."
"What room are you in?" Chuck repeated, giving Neal a suspicious look.
Neal now turned his expression to one that reflected his unamused yet nonchalant reaction to that question. Meanwhile beneath the facade his heartbeat picked up. If only he'd let Mozzie book that room for him a moment ago. Instead he had nothing but his insistence. He looked between Chuck and the other name tag, Greg. "Do you really treat your guests this way?"
"Most of our guests don't give us a reason to," Greg told him edgily with a skeptical look. "Listen, if you don't mind, you're going to need to come with us. I suggest you cooperate."
Next to them, Jack and his father were hurriedly leaving the small business center, the older man's hand gripping his son's shoulder. They both avoided eye contact as they left, the door opening and closing quietly.
"I don't mind at all," Neal told Greg calmly, though his mind was racing. This was unexpected, to say the least, and he didn't have a plan. He hadn't had a plan before this twist. "I'm sure we can clear up this misunderstanding."
At Greg's waist, his walkie-talkie squawked to life, sounding with some garbled message. He hurriedly reached his hand to adjust the volume of the device until it was barely audible, giving Neal a distrustful look at the same time.
Neal refused to show any sign of his nervousness. That would only make him seem more suspicious. He glanced from Greg to Chuck and then back again before gesturing toward the door. "After you."
Greg exited first, and Neal watched him carefully, also eyeing the walkie-talkie which was still making muffled communications.
Chuck followed his colleague, and then purposefully held open the door for Neal, watching him expectantly. It was as though by holding the door he could prevent any attempt at Neal staying behind.
Neal swallowed. Going along with their direction at this point seemed the only choice, and so he slowly took a step towards the doorway in their direction. "Where are we headed?" he asked. "And how long will this take? I do have places to be today, and my wife will kill me if we're late."
"It'll only take a few minutes," Chuck told him crisply. "I'm sure your wife will barely know you've been away."
The skepticism in the tone wasn't lost on Neal, and he began to plan scenarios in his head as they started to walk in the direction of the elevators. He was fairly certain he would be able to outsmart these two with some sort of storyline along the way, but he had to play this game wisely.
But he then soon realized he wasn't going to be able to get far enough into a storyline after all. As they made further progress towards the elevators, Neal looked up ahead of them.
It was then and there he spotted what looked like two uniformed officers down the hall. Waiting for them.
Neal didn't even bother to question if they were there for him or not. He wasn't going to wait around to find out or allow himself to get any closer. Without a moment's notice or a word of warning, he abruptly turned on his heel and began sprinting down the hallway in the other direction.
"Hey!" Greg shouted.
Neal didn't turn to measure their reaction. Time was up. This was four against one.
"He's headed that way!" was the next shout he heard.
And once again he ran as though his life depended on it.
To be continued. Sincerely apologize for the delay in this chapter - next one will be up soon!