Chapter Four

Equipment

If Peter was going to form a crew, he knew just where to start. Afternoon light spilled through his living room window as Jones and Diana sat on the couch while he got them each a bottle of beer. There was a lot to discuss, after all, they might as well be comfortable. Jones, especially, given the way he fidgeted and fretted while they waited. Diana had mentioned that the man had been looking for answers recently; he was smart, of course he'd notice something was up sooner or later.

"Thanks, Peter," Diana said as Peter handed her a beer.

He offered one out to Jones. "Oh, I'm fine," he dismissed, on edge. Peter sat it in front of him anyway.

"You're gonna need it," Diana assured him.

"Thanks for coming, Jones," Peter said.

"Of course." Peter took a seat across from them. "I don't know why you kept me out of the loop in the first place."

Peter sighed, leaning on his knees. "To protect you."

"To protect me?" he repeated, incredulous, glancing between them. "From who?" Peter launched into the story of Kyle's disappearance, the man with the ring, Fowler, Larssen, and the man behind it all, all in pursuit of- "A music box?" Peter nodded slowly. "Open it up, it plays a little tune, ballerina goes around on top."

"Something like that," Diana agreed.

"This one's a little more special," Peter amended.

Jones scoffed, seeming at a loss. "It damn well better be."

While Peter was busy bringing Diana and Jones up to speed, he enlisted Nora to try and bring Spencer in. His skills and resources, Peter had insisted, would be useful for their con since they were operating without the FBI's help. Spencer agreed to meet her easily enough.

They walked side-by-side through the crowded streets while Nora explained the situation, explaining how it all tied back to stealing the tape from his apartment a few months before. "Julian Larssen's hurt a lot of people in my life," she said, very serious. "Now Peter could lose his job, and every case he's solved could be in jeopardy."

Spencer's brow furrowed, hands tucked in his pockets. "Why didn't Peter just tell me?

She shrugged. "He's not a complainer."

"Okay, what is this about?" he demanded, coming to a stop.

Nora ran a hand through her hair. "That's kind of a long story. The gist of it: someone is after an antique amber music that disappeared from the Amber Room during World War II. It belonged to Catherine the Great."

"But I thought you stole it," he accused. Nora found she wasn't entirely too surprised to find he'd heard that rumor; Spencer was nothing if not thorough.

"So did a lot of people."

He arched an eyebrow. "It's worth a lot of money, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But more importantly, it contains a code. We're not sure what the code is for yet. Larssen nearly murdered my friend for that code, though, and now he's going after Peter."

Spencer considered it for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck roughly. "So you need me to help you take down Larssen?"

"You don't have to go anywhere near this," she assured him, not quite sure how dirty he was willing to get his hands to help her or Peter. "Our FBI access has been cut off. We need some equipment."

"Oh, so it's just my equipment you need to take down a murderer and save Peter's career," he laughed.

"Yeah, and…" She flashed a charming smile, batting her eyelashes a little, "I'll owe you one."

He didn't look too phased. "My equipment goes where I go."

"Does that mean you're in?"

He laughed again, leaning in to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't support my wife?" She tried to ignore the soft flutter in her stomach. "I'm in, darling." He turned to leave, and she smirked after him, not-so-subtly checking him out as he retreated into the crowd.

She called Peter to let him know that she'd gotten Spencer on board, equipment and all, which brought their crew up to five. They'd already had the broad strokes of the plan worked out, between the two of them, and she texted Spencer the details of the resources they needed him to provide. Nora had just poured herself a glass of wine, dusk settled over the city, when Spencer showed up at her door, the aforementioned equipment in tow.

He set up at her table, she provided him with the interrogation recordings provided by Diana, and he got to work. He worked mostly in silence, going back and forth between his laptop, and a large notepad propped up on an easel. After pouring him a glass of his own, she idled around, watching him work.

He noticed, of course, they way she stared as he typed, and after a while shot her an irritated look. "What?" he huffed.

"Why are you helping us?" she wondered softly, voicing the thought that had been on her mind since they'd spoken earlier. He didn't have anything to gain from it, really.

He smirked, cocky and a little lopsided. "I like having Nora Caffrey owe me one." She arched an eyebrow, not really buying it. "You're fun to work with. I like getting inside your head."

She sat down at the table, leaning her chin on a hand. "So, I'm research?"

"Something like that," he laughed. You're still trying to find the Raphael, aren't you? He cleared his throat and looked back at his computer screen. "From Larssen's interrogation, there are ninety-nine words we can use." She scooted in closer to take a look over his shoulder. "If we stick to these, the computer converts them to Larssen's voice. Watch." He leaned in over the mic and read, "Not over the phone. Too dangerous." He played it back, and Larssen's voice greeted them. The end, however, made an awful screech. He tried again, clipping the S on 'dangerous' a little, and when it played again, it was a perfect recreation of Larssen's voice.

"Fancy," Nora muttered, taking a drink. Silence fell over them, for a moment, and they shared a look that Nora couldn't quite place. The fluttering in her stomach was back, and she wondered if Spencer was feeling something similar. "I owe you one."

"I know." The corner of his lips quirked up then. "Do you wanna prank call Peter?"

"Absolutely."

About half an hour after their hilarious prank call, Nora and Spencer showed up at Peter's house. He glared at the pair of them, unsure which was the mastermind, though his usual barb about locking Nora back up fell flat considering he lacked the authority to actually do that. Diana and Jones were already at the table, drinks in hand while they waited.

"Little guy's not coming?" Jones wondered, taking a swig of his beer.

"I sent my best operative to get him," Peter assured him. A moment later, a clatter from the back patio drew their attention as El wheeled Mozzie in.

"I know you're all surprised to see me." No one responded, avoiding eye contact, and his face fell. "Not one of you is surprised to see me?" he huffed, indignant.

El laughed. "Amateur." She leaned down and pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

"Nicely played, Mrs. Suit."

She rubbed his shoulder lightly for a moment. "Good luck with your little con," she told them, sounding like a mom encouraging a group of kids working on a science fair project.

"It's not a con," Peter amended as she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Well, technically it is a con," Nora argued.

"It's a sting."

"Yeah, but sting's another word for-" He shut her up with an icy glare. "Okay, let's start the sting."

Peter drew in a deep breath and turned to address the four of them at the table. "Let me start by saying we have limited resources and no other backup. The six of us are all we have."

"Burke's Six," Nora mused. "I like it." Mozzie grinned, looking a little bit like a kid in a candy store.

"I appreciate you guys being here," Peter continued with a small swell in his chest. "Alright, here's the deal. Larssen is using Prince Bilal as a smuggler." He gestured to a white board with photos taped to the top. It was bedecked with lines made to mimic a section of streets and cluttered with whatever kitchen magnets El had been able to scrounge together to represent the pieces of their team. "We are gonna spook Bilal into contacting Larssen."

"And Larssen's going to tell Bilal to make a delivery to us," Nora added.

"How is that?" Jones wondered.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked," she said with a smirk. She and Peter referred to the white board, picking up pieces and moving them as demonstration as she explained the sting. "Every day, Bilal takes a regular route from his apartment to the yacht club. Diana, you're gonna flash your badge and scare him into making a call to Larssen."

"I can scare him."

Nora blinked. "I know. You're gonna do it in front of this phone booth."

Peter took over. "Jones, you'll install a transmitter which will reroute any call that he makes to us."

"Yeah, but nobody uses payphones in New York anymore," Jones noted.

Nora nodded. "Agreed. Mozzie, do you still have your cell phone scrambler?"

"Russian surplus with a two-block radius," he confirmed. "But it's cumbersome. Plus, it needs to be hidden in something that's motorized with a power source." He paused a moment before realizing that his electric wheelchair fit the bill. "That's where I come in."

"Very good, Ironside," Peter joked.

"Thank you."

"We knock out his cell," Diana recapped, "force him to make the call on our payphone. But he's gonna know it's not Larssen on the other end."

"That's where Spencer comes in," Peter explained. "We're using his voice modulation software."

"Oh, that stuff never works," Mozzie huffed.

Spencer flashed a grin over at Mozzie. "Well, the software that's legal in the US doesn't." Mozzie looked impressed, glancing up at Nora - who, unless Peter was going crazy, looked quite smitten - and Peter pretended he didn't hear that confession.

"Once we catch Bilal smuggling red-handed," Peter continued, "we flip him on Larssen."

"Wait, wait, wait," Mozzie interrupted once again. "A true con gets you everything you want. Suit, once this is all finished, we may have Larssen, but you're still framed for planting the gun."

Peter shared a look with Nora. That was a concern, yes, but Peter had the impression that they would be able to solve one problem with another. "One con at a time."