Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. Saturday night. January 10, 2004.
When the kitchen timer beeped, Elizabeth Burke pulled the layers of an Italian cream cake out of the oven. She would let them cool overnight and make the icing tomorrow on Peter's birthday. She made sure the cakes were safely out of reach — it was amazing the places their puppy Satchmo could climb if they weren't careful about where they left chairs — and returned to the living room where Peter was frowning at the Agatha Christie mystery they'd paused when the timer went off.
Peter had a routine for his birthdays, including a morning run, lingering over the New York Times crossword, bagels from his favorite deli, and watching a mystery with frequent pauses to discuss the clues and the detective's approach.
Usually between the bagels and the movie, Peter went to work and applied his puzzle-solving brain to FBI cases, but with his birthday falling on Sunday this year, that wasn't going to be an option. When he'd declined El's offer to get tickets to a basketball game or a show, saying he "just wanted to kick back and relax" she'd decided to visit their local video rental store to pick out a bunch of mysteries to keep them occupied this weekend.
The choices had been limited. Thursday night's snowstorm had sent people to the store in droves, and most of the videos hadn't been returned yet when she stopped by this morning. She'd found a collection of films featuring detective Hercule Poirot, and they'd seemed like the perfect compromise. Peter would enjoy the mysteries, and she'd enjoy the period costumes and settings.
His frown had her second-guessing her selection. She sat down on the sofa beside him and picked up the remote, her finger hovering over the eject button. "We don't have to keep watching if you don't like it."
He blinked and focused on her. "Sorry, hon. I'm just distracted."
El leaned back into the sofa and studied him. "Usually you get this way when a case isn't coming together, but you're not working a case now. You wrapped up your last one Thursday and spent Friday on the paperwork."
Now a shadow of a smile emerged on Peter's face. "I'm that predictable?"
"We've been married four years. I like to think I'm an observant spouse. I just wish…" She shook her head.
"What?"
"I don't want to complain this weekend when we're supposed to be celebrating your birthday."
"Maybe my birthday wish is to learn what would make you happier," Peter suggested.
She chose her words carefully. "I wish you'd confide in me more. About things that bother you. Stuff at work, cases, anything. You don't have to shield me." Before he could protest she rushed to say, "Not the confidential parts. I understand there are things that can't be made public about your cases, but it's normal to complain about your colleagues and so forth. It seemed like we'd had a breakthrough over New Year's. You told me the story about Neal rescuing a cat while undercover…" She trailed off when Peter frowned again. "It's something about Neal, isn't it? He's what's distracting you tonight. Can you tell me about it?"
"This calls for a beer. Do you want one?" When El declined, Peter strode to the kitchen and returned with one bottle of beer, which he placed on a table beside the sofa. He remained standing, looking too wound up to sit. "All of that stuff Wednesday night… it got into my head on Thursday."
El nodded. On Wednesday night Neal Caffrey and his cousin Henry Winslow stayed over. Henry conducted some kind of psychological experiment. Peter and Neal had known he was doing it, but from what El could glean, the experiment wasn't exactly what Henry had led them to believe.
For a month now — ever since Peter had recruited Neal and gotten him immunity for his crimes in return for a confession — Neal had jokingly referred to Peter as Dad. It was clear from the start that it was more than a joke. Neal wanted and needed a father figure. Peter fit what the young man had been yearning for, and was flattered to be chosen for the role. Henry raised the question of whether Peter also thought of Neal as a son, and by the end of the experiment they all knew that he did. When they went to work Thursday morning, they'd all had a happy glow and El felt like both young men had joined the Burke family.
When Peter got home Thursday night it was late and he was exhausted. He'd explained that Henry had broken his arm, leading to a detour to a hospital. El accepted that explanation for the end of the happy glow, but now she wondered what else had happened. She watched Peter expectantly, hoping he'd finally confide in her.
He was pacing the room, his jeans and beige, long-sleeve knit shirt hugging his lean form. He wasn't an athlete anymore, but he took pride in staying in shape. At the center of the room he paused, hands on his hips, and El could imagine him standing in a conference room at work, ready to give his team an overview of a new case. She sat at attention, picturing herself as one of the agents at the table.
"Thursday afternoon we ran a sting to catch a crew of thieves who were selling pharmaceuticals on the black market. I took the role of an executive at the pharmaceutical company. We caught the thieves red-handed at the pick-up location. We had the crew, the goods, and the bank account they used. Agent Wiese and I had cuffed two suspects. Neal and his cousin were in another room, recording everything. They were supposed to stay put and observe. After our New Year's Eve case landed Neal in the hospital, I wanted to ease him into undercover work by showing him how it's supposed to be done."
El refrained from saying that it wasn't Neal's fault he'd been hospitalized. He was supposed to fake an asthma attack, and an agent had sabotaged the inhaler Neal used. When Peter got home after that incident he'd been so angry he hadn't been able to keep it to himself, and he'd told her that Agent Kimberly Rice put a substance in the inhaler that made Neal's throat swell shut, ensuring he gave a convincing performance of someone who couldn't breathe.
Now El nodded sympathetically. "What happened?"
"There was a third suspect I hadn't noticed. Neal ran onto the scene and jumped into the truck as the guy was making his getaway with the stolen goods." Finally Peter sat down beside her. "They were armed, El. Neal knew that both of the guys we arrested had guns on them, so it was a good bet the driver was armed, too. And sure enough, when we tracked them down, the guy grabbed Neal and held a gun to his head."
El gasped.
"Neal distracted him, and Henry and I disarmed him. Looking back, I can see it was great teamwork, but I couldn't appreciate it at the time. Once it was over, I lost it. I couldn't handle the thought of Neal continuing to put himself in that kind of situation, and I took Neal's badge and…" Peter exhaled shakily. "And I said he should be fired."
"Oh, no." She knew how much Peter wanted to turn Neal's life around. Would he really give up on him so easily? El frowned as she thought back. "But Friday morning, you drove to Riverside Drive to pick up Neal and take him to work. That wasn't just to pack up his desk, was it?"
Peter took a swig from his beer. "Did I tell you about Thomas Gardiner?" When El shook her head, he continued, "He's a legend at the FBI. I met him when I was first assigned to the Manhattan office, but less than a year later he…" He paused and looked away a moment. "He retired. He teaches law at Yale now."
Retired likely implied injured. It was one of her deepest fears about Peter's work, but she wouldn't dwell on it in the middle of the story he was sharing. "Did you talk to Thomas about what happened?"
"Yeah, he was there. He lives in the neighborhood where the sting happened, and we stashed the executive I was impersonating at the Gardiners' home during the op. Thomas convinced me that I'd overreacted." Peter met El's eyes. "He helped me understand what it's like for you, being an FBI spouse. If I've ever brushed off your concerns for my safety, I apologize. I promise you, hon, I take every precaution and I don't jump into a dangerous situation if there's an alternative that's safer. Thomas helped me realize that if I want to keep Neal safe, I need to keep him on my team and lead by example. I've reminded Neal that he has people who care about him who'd be devastated if he were seriously hurt, and I'll keep reminding him of it until it sinks in."
El placed a hand on Peter's arm. "I'm glad. I want you both thinking of the people who worry about you."
He hugged her. When he pulled away he said, "I'm still concerned about Neal, though. He's had some crappy father figures in the past who would have bailed on him when things got rough. With his flight instinct, I can picture him deciding that he should leave before I give up on him. How do I convince him to stay and put down roots, so he's less tempted to run each time we clash?"
"Hmmm." El leaned against her husband as she thought. There were more questions she wanted to cover, like how in all of Thursday's events had Henry broken his am, but she didn't want to distract her husband from this newfound openness. "Oh." She sat up straight and looked at Peter. "Henry has a masters in psychology, and he knows Neal better than anyone. Why don't you ask him for advice?"
Neal's loft.
Henry glanced at the number on his caller ID and made a point of grunting when he reached for the phone.
"I keep telling you to take a pain pill," Neal complained. "Where'd you leave them?"
"Downstairs," Henry answered, adding a brusqueness to his voice that could be mistaken for pain. "Hello," he said into the phone as Neal jogged downstairs. Since the pills were actually in Henry's suitcase here in the loft, Neal should be gone long enough for this conversation to be private.
He listened to Peter's concerns, smiling all the while. Peter's worries meant that Henry's conclusions about him were solid. Neal had finally found a worthy father figure. So worthy in fact, that Henry didn't even have to think up an excuse to call him, because he'd already figured out that he needed Henry's advice.
Wiping the smile from his face so his pleasure wouldn't be reflected in his voice, Henry said, "The best thing you can do is to remain a presence in Neal's life, and not just at work. Reinforce that your friendship is important and that it extends beyond the job. And I've got the perfect way to start. Are you free tomorrow morning?"
After he outlined his plan and ended the call, Henry opened his suitcase and pulled out the pill bottle. Then he stood at the top of the stairs and yelled, "Found 'em!"
He frowned at the bottle. This type of drug made him loopy, and he'd avoided taking it once he'd gotten back from the hospital, but it would be worth the sacrifice to take another dose in the morning. Tomorrow he'd be too out of it to drive, and Neal would be grateful for Peter's help.
What more could Peter ask for on his birthday, than a chance to save the day?
Penn Station, NYC. Sunday morning. January 11, 2004.
Neal carried both suitcases into the train station, while his cousin trailed behind with his left arm in a cast and sling. Henry had a laptop case over his right arm, and his ticket in his hand. They both wore jeans, Henry's in classic blue, combined with a red cotton shirt and a brown bomber jacket draped over his shoulders. Neal went for a monochromatic look, with a black turtleneck under a black wool jacket.
"Pain pills are with your laptop, right?" Neal asked.
"Yeah, I got 'em." Henry scowled. "But they make me sleepy."
Neal placed the luggage on the floor when they reached the line to check in. "It's okay. Your mom's picking you up when you get to Baltimore. If you're too tired to drive, it won't matter."
"I don't like this. You taking care of me. It's supposed to be the other way 'round."
"We look after each other. This time it's my turn." Neal shoved the luggage forward a few feet as the line moved.
"Peter'll look out for you while I'm healing. I wasn't sure if I liked him at first, but I've decided he's one of the good guys."
"Uh-huh." Neal shoved the luggage again. The pain medication didn't just make Henry sleepy. He was loopy, too. Good thing Peter had volunteered to help.
"We gotta be nice to Peter today."
"Yeah, I'll be sure to thank him for taking care of your rental car."
"I could have flown back," Henry grumbled.
"And you'd have been jostled boarding and deplaning and throughout the flight. I checked last night and there weren't any first class upgrades left. In business class on the train you'll be more comfortable." Even on the train, there would be jostling to endure. Neal was grateful Henry had given in gracefully, more or less, to the suggestion to take a pain pill this morning after toughing it out yesterday. The fact that Henry had been in pain last night was probably why he'd been receptive when Peter called to see if they needed any help.
They reached the front of the line and checked Henry's luggage. Neal hung around the station for another half hour, until the train arrived.
"Remember, you gotta be nice to Peter," Henry said as he stood up.
"Yeah, you already told me. Got your ticket?"
Henry pulled the ticket out of his laptop case. "You aren't listening. We didn't get him a card, so you gotta be nice to him. Does he like cake? Maybe you can have a slice."
Neal walked beside Henry to the doorway leading to the trains. "What are you talking about?"
"It's his birthday."
"Wait. What?"
Henry joined the line to board the train, while Neal stared after him.
###
After dropping off Henry's car at one of the rental agency's Manhattan locations, Peter hailed a cab. On the drive he wondered what he was getting into. By calling last night and showing up this morning, Peter had made the point that he was someone who wanted to help and could be relied on to deliver that help outside of business hours. But that wasn't enough for Henry. He wanted Peter to do more, and had been annoyingly vague about what was supposed to happen next.
El had promised she had plenty to keep her busy, with a cake to frost and a lasagna to bake for tonight, and said she didn't mind if Peter spent a few hours of his birthday with Neal. Not that Neal knew today's significance. Peter had made it clear when he'd joined the Manhattan office that he didn't like having a fuss made over his birthday. Therefore Hughes and his assistant didn't order a cake or pass around a card to sign or give any other clues to the team.
As the cab parked in front of the Ellingtons' mansion, Peter paid the driver and slid out of the back seat. He stood on the sidewalk and weighed his choices. Walking a block to where he'd parked his car and driving home would be the easy way out. Going inside the mansion was what Henry wanted him to do, but that would feel awkward. Neal wouldn't be back yet from Penn Station, because he was waiting with a conveniently loopy Henry who needed to be watched until safely onboard the train. So Peter was supposed to intrude on June and Byron, two people he barely knew?
The front door opened, and June stepped outside. "Peter, do you have a moment?" She looked as uneasy as he felt.
"Of course." He climbed the steps up to the door, where a maid stood waiting for his coat. He handed it to her with a thank you, still not used to being in a house with staff for things like that. He wasn't supposed to tip her, was he?
June led the way to the parlor where her husband waited in his wheelchair. Byron looked tired, worn down by the disease that was expected to kill him soon. Beside him was a man Peter didn't know, dressed in green coveralls with Acres HVAC embroidered over the breast pocket. The coveralls were worn, with frayed edges on the cuffs, but they were impeccably clean and pressed, with a precise crease down the front of the legs.
"This is Peter Burke," June announced. "He's the FBI agent we mentioned, the one who gave our tenant Neal a second chance. You'll meet Neal shortly, and he's vouched for Peter." Turning to Peter, June added, "Jeremiah called us yesterday because his brother was roughed up. When we told Neal and Henry what had happened, Henry thought we should ask for your help. We invited Jeremiah here to convince him to talk to you."
Jeremiah stood up. He was about five years younger than Peter, and six inches shorter. "My brother has a record, and the cops in our neighborhood like to hassle him. Byron and June…" He shrugged. "They said you'll listen."
"I'll listen," Peter agreed. "No promises that I can do anything if your brother broke the law or violated his parole."
When they were all seated and drinking the best coffee Peter had ever tasted, Jeremiah kicked off the discussion by explaining that his older brother — Jebediah Acres, known as Jeb — used to be part of a crew with Byron, running cons and thefts. Like Byron, Jeb had been arrested and done time, and then had turned his back on his old life.
Peter's gut told him it hadn't been that simple, and it gave him an uneasy feeling about the challenges that lay ahead for Neal when his old friends came calling. The fact that Jeb had been hurt and Jeremiah was desperate for help meant something had gone wrong, something they hesitated to describe to an FBI agent. Peter hoped he wouldn't end up looking like the bad guy on his birthday, arresting Jeb after the real bad guys had already done a number on him. Sometimes in the black-and-white world of law enforcement, that's how things went. He could put in a good word with the prosecutor though, if Jeb cooperated.
"I own the business," Jeremiah explained, gesturing to the company name on his coveralls. "When no one else would hire an ex-con, Jeb worked for me. He hated asking for help, and didn't really like working on furnaces, but he settled into it. Sometimes he'd hang with friends from the old days, but he promised they were just talking. He doesn't break into places anymore."
"He was never all that good at it, anyway," Byron added. "Couldn't crack a safe or even pick a pocket without getting caught no matter how many times I tried to teach him. But you could trust him. At the end of a heist he'd hide the loot for us and we knew he wouldn't take it and run. The money was always there when the heat was gone and it was time to split it up."
Byron continued talking for a while, introducing a little levity with stories about Jeb, and glancing toward the hallway occasionally. It didn't take an FBI agent to figure out he was stalling until Neal arrived.
Peter let him stall, because he could tell where Jeremiah's story was heading. Jeb's troubles were a cautionary tale for someone tempted to keep his hand in his old life while turning over a new leaf. Neal needed to hear the results of Jeb's actions, and to see how the repercussions impacted Jeb's family.
When Neal arrived, Byron introduced him to Jeremiah while June refilled everyone's coffee. Even though Neal had already heard most of the story last night, it was different witnessing Jeremiah's pain in person. That made it more real, in much the same way that meeting a victim made a bigger impact than reading a case file.
Byron nodded at Peter, who turned to Jeremiah and said, "You think someone tried to force Jeb to reveal where some old loot was hidden."
Jeremiah nodded. "Or not so old. His friends pressured him to hide stuff for 'em. They'd promise him a cut, and he said he wanted to use the money to pay me back." Jeremiah closed his eyes and bowed his head. "He's been doing it for years, and I made it easy for him. My company has keys to lots of buildings in the city. I assigned businesses to him, places I never even visit unless there's an emergency and he's not around." He looked up again. "I wanted him to know I trusted him."
"How'd you find out what he was doing?" Neal asked.
Jeremiah's voice was rough now, and full of emotion. "Found him unconscious in the alley behind our office yesterday afternoon. Someone'd beaten him up bad. He came 'round before the ambulance got there and confessed. Told me where he kept the list of what he hid and the hiding places." Tears had gathered in Jeremiah's eyes. "He's not gonna make it. The doctors say they can't fix the damage, and he won't last more than a few days. He's scared that people will come after me and my family. That they'll hurt us, too, to find out where he hid their loot."
"Must be tempting to take it and run," Byron said. "With everything he hid, you could set your family up for life someplace else. Jeb suggested it, didn't he?"
"Yeah. He knew I couldn't do it, though. That's not the example I'm setting for my kids."
"You could recover the loot yourself, leave it someplace, and call the cops with an anonymous tip?" Neal suggested. Peter supposed it was a good sign that Neal's thought was to turn over the loot, even if the method wasn't what the Bureau would sanction.
"That's what I had in mind when I called Byron for help. I didn't know…" Jeremiah looked regretfully at the wheelchair.
"I'm not up to that kind of thing anymore," Byron said.
Peter saw the smile tugging at Neal's lips and asked him, "You think you could have gotten away with it?"
Neal nodded. "If Henry hadn't been slowed down with the broken arm, we could have pulled it off together. It was tempting to partner with someone else, but I didn't want to leave Henry alone. He was in a lot of pain last night."
"He wasn't in any pain," Peter said, as the scope of Henry's plan became clear to him. Crafty devil, manipulating them all behind the scenes.
"What?" Neal still didn't know he'd been conned by his cousin.
"He was faking it, to keep you out of this. To make sure you didn't jump into a course of action that could get you arrested. Tell me something. When you considered who you could partner with for this, did my name even cross your mind?"
"Yeah, for a moment maybe, but I didn't see how that could work."
"Challenge issued and accepted," Peter replied. "I'm going to show you how to save the day without breaking the law."
Hospital.
"My plan wasn't exactly illegal," Neal had protested.
"Breaking and entering," Peter countered.
"Jeremiah has the keys."
"Permission to use those keys extends to his employees, which you are not. And you'd be tampering with evidence."
Their debate ended when Peter parked at the hospital, where they took an official statement from Jebediah Acres. Jeb admitted to using buildings belonging to his brother's clients to store loot from several crimes over the years, and said five caches still remained hidden.
Peter handed a camera to Neal, to document Jeb's injuries. Neal guessed it was Peter's goal to impress on him how dangerous it was to stay involved with his old partners in crime. It was certainly sobering, especially when he recognized the name of the person who'd beaten Jeb. "Yeah, Wilkes is bad news," Neal said as he handed the camera back to Peter. "He's certainly capable of double-crossing his partners for their take, and of hurting other people in the process."
"Chances are he's already collected the jewels Jeb hid for his crew, but I've got the police checking it out, and they're on the lookout for Wilkes," Peter said. "That leaves four more locations for us to check, and we're doing this by the book."
Going by the book meant a long lunch break while they waited for approval to collect the loot. Peter filled in his boss and then called members of his team to help. Clinton Jones, Tricia Wiese, and Jorge Badillo contacted the owners of the buildings to get their permission for a team to enter their premises.
Neal recommended bringing a reporter along. It would look impressive for the FBI to be seen recovering stolen goods from multiple major thefts, and more importantly it would quickly get the word out to the public that the goods were in the hands of the Feds. That way the Acres family should be safe from criminals desperate to collect their loot when word of Jeb's impending death spread.
Peter embraced the idea, and consulted with Hughes on which reporter would be best. They settled on Fayza Al-Razi, an up-and-coming crime reporter at a local television station. She and a cameraman met them at the first location. As both Peter and Neal intended to continue undercover work, neither of them went on camera. Instead they invited Tricia Wiese to act as the face of the FBI.
Following the instructions in Jeb's log of hiding places, Tricia led them to the roof of a hotel. Jeremiah pried open one of the massive air-conditioning units. He noted that the unit wasn't connected to the wiring, and then lifted out part of the mechanism. Wearing latex gloves, Tricia retrieved what looked like a tool box, and opened it to reveal gold Krugerrands as the news team watched.
Fayza gave her cameraman a high-five. "We're going to be the lead story tonight!" she declared. "Let's get going. I want to hit all four locations and edit the footage before the five o'clock news."
Carmen Fuentes, head of the FBI's New York Evidence Response Team unit, gave instructions to two of her team members. They would document exactly what was found and where, and then take the gold back to the Federal Building, where they would look for prints on the gold pieces. That would help them corroborate the names Jeb had listed as the members of the crew who planned to retrieve the gold when they were released from prison for stealing it.
In the second location, Tricia led the way to the basement of an apartment building, where she unlocked a utility room. Directing her flashlight at a furnace that groaned like an otherworldly creature, they saw a metal box welded to the back. Jeremiah used his tools to open the box, revealing a cache of stunning diamonds. Two more of Carmen's team members took possession of the box and started to process the scene.
Before leaving for the third location, Tricia pulled Peter aside, out of earshot of the news team. "Do you remember the manhunt after the Federal Reserve heist a few months ago?"
His eyes widened. "You think that money is what's waiting for us at the next location?"
"Everything in Jeb's notes fits. The amount of money, the timing of when he hid it. He named David Lawrence as the person who owns this stash, and he was our prime suspect. This isn't like the rest of the loot. It's bulky, and we'll need an armored truck to transport it."
"Good point. Let's make that our last destination. Call Hughes about the truck. I'll get Jones and Badillo to meet us. They helped with the paperwork; seems only fair they should get to enjoy part of the treasure hunt."
Tricia's eyes were shining. She bit her lip and then asked, "Would it be okay to bring my sons? They never get to see me work, and this… this is going to be spectacular."
Peter thought it over. "I guess it's safe enough for civilians. David Lawrence fled the country months ago, and doesn't know where the money is hidden."
Tricia checked her notes. "Actually, Lawrence does know. He insisted on it, and since he didn't have a crew to split the money among, Jeb went along with it. But you're right, Lawrence can't get here to stop us, and I can't imagine he trusted anyone else with the location of the cash."
"Fayza," Peter called out as the reporter and her crew loaded their equipment into the news van. "Change in plans. Our next stop is the warehouse on the river, and we'll end in Chelsea."
"Sure." She walked over. "With the footage I'm getting this afternoon, I'm willing to be flexible."
"One other thing," Peter said. "We're inviting some people to join us in Chelsea. They were affected by the guy who stole the loot hidden there, and we'd like them to see it recovered. We don't want them on camera."
Fayza pursed her lips. "I hate losing reaction shots, but let's face it, in this case the money shot is, well, the money. I'm okay with it."
After Fayza walked away, Neal asked Tricia, "How was your family affected by Lawrence?"
"I worked unbelievable overtime searching for him and the money he stole. Celebrating with my family that he'll never see that money again, that's payback."
Peter nodded. "Speaking of which, I need to call El. She deserves payback, too." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
When they entered the warehouse on the river, Tricia looked around and groaned. "I thought there'd be a staircase, or a ladder. The container is on the third rafter." She pointed with her flashlight, the light barely making a dent in the darkness so far above.
"Is it welded to the rafter?" Neal asked.
"No. The container is small enough that it rests on one of the purlins. Jeb called it a Z-section in his notes."
Jeremiah nodded. "This way." He adjusted the angle of the flashlight. "Fourth one."
The warehouse was used to store auto parts, and the shelves were strong and steady to bear the weight. "Do you have extra gloves?" Neal asked, and Tricia handed him a set of latex gloves. He pulled them on, and put his outdoor gloves over them to protect them from getting torn. Looking at Fayza he said, "I'll pull up the hood on my jacket. Try to avoid recording my face, okay?"
She nodded and then Neal stepped onto the first shelf under the point where the third rafter met the fourth purlin.
"What are you doing?" Peter called out.
Neal kept scaling the shelves, with the news crew shining a light on him. He pulled himself onto the top shelf and stood up. The cameraman's light moved to illuminate a gray tube about the length of a roll of wrapping paper but wider, resting on the steel purlin. Neal put his winter gloves in his jacket pockets, ready to make his grab for the tube. Standing on tiptoes, he reached up. With one hand he held the purlin, and with the other he reached for the tube. It started to fall and he leaned over to catch it, hanging from the purlin by one hand as his feet left the shelf. With the tube secure, he let go of the purlin, landing on the top shelf. He slid the tube down the back of his jacket to hold it in place and climbed back down.
With his back to the camera, Neal freed the tube from his jacket and handed it to Tricia. She popped one of the ends open and looked inside. "We're not in Kansas anymore." She tilted the tube and two sparkly, ruby slippers slid out. "I'd read that a pair of shoes used in filming The Wizard of Oz were stolen from a museum recently." She held the shoes up in her latex-gloved hands for the cameraman and answered questions from Fayza before turning the shoes over to another member of Carmen's team.
On their way out, Tricia shook her head and Neal asked, "Something wrong?"
"I kept wondering what Judy Garland's shoe size was."
"Tempted to try them on?"
She nodded.
"What's the big deal? Back when Peter recruited me, I offered to help find a stolen Aston Martin from the Bond movies if I could drive it afterward. He wouldn't go for it."
"We're professionals. We're not supposed to play with evidence." But she smiled as she said it.
On the drive to the final location, Neal admitted, "Taking the legal route was more fun than I expected."
Peter looked satisfied. "And we make a good team. The way you clambered up to that hiding spot still has me scratching my head. Where did you learn to do that?"
"A few escapades in Europe," Neal said. "Someone I worked with liked to approach things from above and to hide things up high."
"You didn't say much about Europe in your confession. Is that going to come back to bite us?"
Us. Neal liked the sound of that. "Not as long as our jurisdiction remains limited to the States. Speaking of ancient history, I'm glad I could come along for your birthday adventure."
"Hey, I'm not ancient!" Peter paused. "How'd you know it was my birthday? I thought I'd managed to keep that a secret."
"It's one of the details I came across when I learned you were leading the team looking for me. 'Know your enemy,' as Mozzie would say. He loves quoting The Art of War. And with that advice in mind, I did some research."
"You did the research, or Henry?"
"I may have asked Henry to use his Win-Win resources on my behalf occasionally. With everything going on the last few days it slipped my mind, but he reminded me at the train station. If you're right about him faking the pain last night, I gotta think this was part of his plan. He'd love the idea of sending us on a treasure hunt, especially on your birthday."
"A little father-figure and son bonding time?" Peter pulled into a parking space. "I hope you're enjoying the treasure hunt as much as I am, but don't forget the lesson from this morning. You've got some dangerous people in your past, and the best way to stay safe from them is to work with me, not against me. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it."
With that out of the way, Peter smiled again. "El's going to love hearing about the ruby slippers. She'll enjoy that more than finding the gold."
Neal laughed. "We're both mentally spinning the stories we're going to tell about this. I'm planning to make Henry regret that he didn't stick around another day to help out."
At the Chelsea Fencing Club, Jeremiah, Peter, Tricia, Carmen, and Neal were joined by Jones, Badillo, Trica's sons, and El. The room where the club members socialized was half the size of a basketball court, with wide windows and a high ceiling over a hardwood floor.
Not wanting to interrupt the proceedings, Neal didn't mention that he'd fenced here a few times under his Gary Rydell alias. In fact, he'd practiced with David Lawrence a few times, and was a little miffed that Lawrence hadn't invited him to join the Federal Reserve heist.
He looked at the foils and sabres and wondered if he could find time to practice again. Working a legitimate job and preparing for the Masterson con didn't leave much time for hobbies. Maybe he could come back here in the summer.
As everyone gathered, Fayza interviewed Jeremiah, who gave an emotional statement about his brother. "I wish he'd confided in me. We could have found an answer. I know we could have. There's only one way out for him now. At least before he dies he'll know that the people who did this to him will pay. They'll never see the loot they made him hide, and the FBI knows who they are. I hope they rot in jail, every last one of them."
Neal flinched at those words. He rarely thought of his own crimes as hurting anyone, and assumed his victims didn't take the losses personally. Most had insurance and could simply buy a new toy or piece of artwork to replace what he'd taken, assuming they even noticed the loss. In many instances he'd left magnificent forgeries. Did any of his victims or former partners in crime feel Jeremiah's level of anger toward him? It was disconcerting to consider.
Tricia took the spotlight next, describing to Fayza what they believed was hidden behind two of the vents in this room. They'd looked with binoculars and had seen the distinctive green of American currency behind those vents, proving that Lawrence hadn't already returned to recover his loot.
It raised the question of whether Lawrence had influenced Wilkes. Convince a criminal with anger issues to kill the one person who knows where your loot is hidden? Neal's hands curled into fists.
Tricia handed a remote to Fayza. "The thief who hid his money here had a strong sense of drama. This will redirect the airflow to those blocked vents and shower us with money. Care to do the honors?"
A delighted Fayza pressed the button. The vents were only loosely attached, and blew out into the room as sixty million dollars filled the air like confetti over a parade. El and Tricia's kids squealed, as did Fayza, who laughed and applauded in front of the camera.
El took Peter's hand and squeezed it. "Thanks, hon. It's fantastic to witness this part of your work in person."
He beamed at her and said, "Let's call my folks, and tell them to record the news tonight. Even if I'm not shown, they can know it's my case."
"Who says you can't be in the picture?" El tugged at his hand. "C'mon. It's still raining money, and we'll be a blur between the bills if we run. Race you!" She winked at Neal.
Neal ran after them, jumping on a pile that had accumulated on the floor and letting his momentum carry him as if he were surfing. Tricia's kids followed, and Badillo lay on the floor making the equivalent of snow angels in the carpet of money. Jones had left to bring in bags for carrying the cash out to the armored truck, and he gawked at the antics of his coworkers while the news team packed up and left to meet their deadline. "What's going on?" he asked, as Tricia threw money at him. "There could be fingerprints on that."
"Nope," she said. "Jeb said in his notes that Lawrence always handled the money with gloves, but he did help set up the ventilation bypass with his bare hands. Turns out Jeb thought Lawrence was a jerk and made sure he left evidence in case he tried to pull a double-cross." She waved to Carmen, who was examining the vents that had fallen to the floor. "How's it looking, Carmen?" she asked.
Carmen waved back. "Multiple full and partial prints. We'll nail this guy."
While Carmen completed her work, everyone else stuffed cash into the bags Jones had brought. The agents told stories about old FBI cases and unusual places where loot had been found.
"You're quiet," El said to Neal.
"Don't want to incriminate myself," he quipped as he gathered money into stacks around him. He paused and met her eyes. "But I'm giving a lot of thought to incriminating other people — like the guy who stole this money, and the one who hurt Jeb. When we're done here, I'll tell Peter what I know about them."
"Good," El said. "It's the right thing to do, and it'll make Peter proud."
"Seems like the least I can do, for his birthday. I'd forgotten about it. Didn't even get him a card." Neal shrugged. "I don't really do birthdays, you know? Henry always plans something for mine, so I try to top that when his birthday rolls around, but that's it."
El stuffed another handful of cash into a bag. "There might be something else you could do. I noticed you have a lovely singing voice."
Neal shrugged.
"There's a big slice of homemade Italian cream cake waiting for you at the house if you'll lead this group in singing the birthday song for Peter."
"I assumed Peter's the type who hates that. He didn't let on about his birthday at the office."
"True. He'll squirm and complain and be uncomfortable, but a part of him will be pleased, especially if you initiate it."
Neal nodded and carried a bag of cash to where Jones was collecting them, and he spoke to everyone except Peter on his way back to El. With his accomplices lined up, he belted out the first line. "Happy birthday to you!"
Peter glared at Neal as everyone else joined in for the next line.
El went solo for "Happy birthday, dear Peter!"
They all added their voices for the final line. Tricia's boys yelled and cheered, and the adults applauded.
"Thank you, Neal," El said. A moment later she frowned.
"What's wrong?" Neal asked her.
"How will we ever top this next year?"
A/N: I wouldn't be surprised to learn serious protocols were broken by bringing civilians to the reveal of the last hiding place. I hope you'll forgive me in the name of birthday fluff. Also, the ruby slippers were really stolen from a museum after this story takes place, but they were simply too good to pass up.
You may have recognized references to White Collar episode On Guard, which featured thief David Lawrence and the cash he hid at the fencing club. Wilkes appeared in the episode Front Man. I also reference the Judgment Day episode where Neal carries and bobbles a tube containing a priceless painting. There are a few Easter eggs pointing forward to Silbrith's stories, where she describes Neal's adventures in Europe and his comfort (and occasional discomfort) with heights.