Party

As Peter had expected, Elisabeth was thrilled. First thing next morning Peter brought Elisabeth and Neal to the FBI storage of confiscated items. El was as a child at Christmas.

"Wow, Royal Ossetra Caviar. Ah! This is gonna be perfect!" she mused. "Ooh! Neal, I just found Springbank."

"Whiskey, perfect," Neal agreed. "I got a Garioch Scotch over here."

"Sixty-five?"

"No, fifty-eight."

"Oh, grab the case," she commanded. Peter sighed. It was like two kids in a toy store and it would mean paperwork for him.

"All right. Come on, we gotta itemize all this."

"Twelve bottles of Scotch," Neal said as he placed the box on the trolley.

"Thirty-six tins of Ossetra," Elisabeth informed the storage-guy.

"Booze and fish eggs, you got that?" Peter asked and the guy nodded. Then he saw Neal holding a watch against his wrist.

"Wow, drop the watch, Convict. We're not on a shopping spree."

"No, it wasn't for me, it was for you."

Nice try, Peter thought but took the watch when Neal handed it over.

"Oh, thank you. There's nothing wrong with my old watch." But he could not resist the temptation to try the gold watch on.

"Honey, actually that looks great on you." El sounded impressed. Peter looked at the two watches beside each other. Like beer and an exclusive white wine, side by side.

"A little out of my price range." He liked beer and was not much for pricey items just for show off.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying the good things in life," Neal told him.

"Then why do they always seem to end up in here?" Peter took the watch off and replaced it in the box with other watches.

"Okay. So we've got the alcohol and the food covered," Elisabeth concluded. "Now we just need the venue."

Peter grinned.

"Don't worry, I got that covered." He did. But why did Elisabeth and Neal exchanged looks? It had not been that hard to find a place for a party?

"It's a loft. Seized in a DEA bust. 1 500 square feet, service elevator," Peter showed Neal a photo "It's perfect."

Neal stared at the photo of a small, dull room. Was Peter serious? Had he no idea that this was the worst possible choice for a party?

"Is that a chalk outline?" Gee, had someone got killed there too?

"I'm sure they've cleaned up by now," Peter dismissed the issue. "It has everything you need."

"Yeah, if five drunk frat buddies show up."

"Aren't you supposed to be lining up supermodels?"

Neal's phone pinged. He grinned and looked at the display.

"Ah. Sixty-four and counting."

"Oh, Neal Caffrey throws a party and sixty-four supermodels show up," Peter muttered. Neal kind of enjoyed his handler's tone of envy.

"No, sorry. My mistake. My mistake." He saw Peter ready to gloat. Not this time though. "Sixty-five actually. These two are twins." The phone pinged again.

"Is that another one of your supermodels?"

Neal looked at the message.

"No. It's just a friend." Neal read the message again to be sure. "He's got a place we can use."

"You think your friend's place is better than mine?"

Anything was better, but oh yes, it was. He smiled at Peter, saying 'you're gonna love his'.

"Call Elisabeth and get your guys over there." Peter gave him a look. "The party is tonight and we are short on time. Trust me on this Peter."

When Peter stood with Neal on the roof-top garden, which not only had a grand view but also was bigger than the loft he had found he could do little but stare. Neal smiled pleased, but Peter could not blame him. This was a spectacular place.

"Okay. It's better than mine" Peter had no problem admitting. "Yeah. Okay. It's a lot better than mine."

"Honey, I'm really impressed with this place. I could have a state dinner up here," Elisabeth mused. "How did you pull that off?" Peter cringed at the question.

"He has a source," Neal told her. "But good luck trying to pry it out of him."

"Oh, sounds like fun." His wife laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll work on him later."

"She'll work on you later," Neal informed him with one of his dashing smiles. Peter just shook his head and focused on the work.

"Okay, guys, I got 20 minutes to get fiber optics in play. I want a camera on every entrance and exit, starting with that one there." Peter pointed and got the team moving. "Right away. Let's go."

Neal watched the men and women in FBI-windbreakers hide cables in the flowerpots. Then he saw a woman in a glittering dress watching the view by the end of the patio. He walked over.

"Hello. You are definitely in the right place." She turned and was just as stunning from this side as the other side had promised. "You're also a little early."

"And you must be Neal Caffrey," she stated with certainty.

"I am. Would you mind waiting inside for a little bit?"

"Actually, I think I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Let me escort you downstairs at least." He made yet another effort to get her out of there.

"You know, I gotta say, I expected a little more. I mean, you're charming enough, but…" Something did not make sense of her behavior.

"Who invited you again?"

"The agency." She smiled and Neal felt foolish. He knew FBI agents could be young and charming.

"I thought you were a model."

"I thought you were supposed to be one of the smart ones." She held out her badge to him.

"Neal, this is Agent Lauren Cruz" Peter introduced them. "I just had her transferred over. She's gonna be keeping an eye on you tonight."

And of course, he would not walk around without a chaperone. Even if they knew where he was they could not tell what he did without seeing him. Neal looked her up and down.

"So where do you keep your gun?"

She gave him a look as if he was an idiot. Well, he had not made a good first impression anyway. And she seemed to have as much confidence in charming people as he had. Two of that kind charming each other was doomed to fail.

Peter sat in the van with Jones watching the glamorous party on the roof-top far above them.

"Damn, Caffrey knows how to throw a party," Jones sighed. Lots and lots of beautiful women making every heterosexual man feel like he was in heaven. And here they were, in the van. "Hey, hey, hey, Agent Burke!"

"What?"

"Hey, is that Miss March?" He pointed at one of the women on the screen.

"Jones, pull it together," Peter rebuked him. Then he looked closer. "Sports Illustrated, not Playboy." Jones took several photos of the woman on the screen with his phone. Peter was glad he had not put Jones to keep an eye on Neal. He would have had his eyes on everything but the young convict.

Neal mingled with Tara. She wore a beautiful dress showing off her lovely legs. Her hair was stunning. She looked unhappy though. Not strange considering the murderer she feared could be among them.

"Doing okay?" Neal asked. "Come on. You're the most beautiful girl here. I want to see your smile." She smiled. It was fake but she was used enough to cameras to make it look good.

"Neal, straight ahead," Peter spoke in his ear-piece. "Red shirt, dark jacket. Seems pretty jumpy for a guy to be at a party filled with models." Neal saw who he meant. The man seemed to scan for someone and it was not for the stunning women nearby.

"So let's mingle," he told Tara and guided her towards the man Peter pointed out. He stood by the bar and Neal picked up a drink to Tara and him. He caught the man's attention.

"Excuse me. Hi," he began, casual. "I saw you looking around. Can I help you find someone? I know almost everybody here except for you, mister...?"

"Dmitri." The man held out his hand and Neal shook it.

"Dmitri," Neal repeated for those in the van. It was easier to remember for himself, too.

"I'm just admiring the view," the man smiled.

"Beautiful crowd, right?" Neal agreed. Dmitri's eyes took Tara in.

"Quite stunning." A phone rang. "Excuse me." Dmitri fished out his phone and walked away. Neal looked at Tara. She shook her head.

"No dice, Peter. Not our voice."

"All right," Peter replied. Neal saw Tara staring at Dmitri.

"Wait. He's speaking Hebrew."

"What's he saying?" Neal did not turn to look.

"He's saying, 'I'm waiting. Where are you?' Ghovat is here." Her eyes darted around, frightened. "He's watching him. Ghovat's here."

"Peter, he's here. He's watching Dmitri right now."

"I got it," Peter acknowledged from the van. Neal met Lauren's eyes and a plan shaped in his head. They moved closer to each other.

"Back me up," she told the agent. "I need you to flirt."

"What?" she hissed and glared at him.

"You're charming enough, right?" Neal assured her. "That guy right there." He guided her in the right direction. Lauren walked towards Dmitri while Neal checked if it was okay for Tara to leave her side for a moment.

"Hi. Sorry," Lauren beamed at Dmitri. "You look really familiar." Neal saw she caught Dmitri's attention and bumped into him as he passed him. He excused himself and continued stroll. Dmitri had not noticed Neal's hand in his pocket for the second it took him to take his phone. A few steps away he turned and showed Lauren that he had the phone.

Neal dialed the number from the latest caller. A phone rang in the crowd. He looked around and saw a man pick up the ringing phone from his pocket.

"There he is."

"I got it," he heard Peter's voice in his ear. "I got it." Seconds later two agents rammed the man with the phone down on the ground, forcing his hands behind his back.

"Get off me!" he protested. "This is madness!"

"The voice," Tara said beside him. "It's not him."

"Peter," Neal called. "We got the wrong guy." Damn! He scanned the crowd but what was there to see? People were looking at the commotion, many moving away from it. The Ghost had outsmarted them and they had just exposed they had set a trap.

At home, he threw off his suit jacket and scanned out over Manhattan. He did not like to fail. And in his position, it could mean he could get back inside. The party had been his idea and FBI had paid money for it.

He realized Mozzie had appeared behind him.

"Any luck getting this thing off me?" he asked indicating his anklet. The annoying thing that made him so imprisoned. More than he had thought it would.

"I'm working on it," Mozzie replied. "You're lucky. They have you on a two-mile tether. That's a lot in New York. Remember Jimmy Dimako? The feds had his anklet set at twenty-two feet. He had to take a shower with one foot out of the tub."

"That's not true."

"Okay, maybe thirty feet. But you have it better."

That was true. The FBI had been generous and he was sure it was Peter's doing.

"Two miles isn't enough, Moz. I need to find Kate." Neal walked back inside. "The man with the ring was with Kate in California. Tell me what he wants from her." He slammed the photo of Kate with the male hand on her shoulder down on the table. The ring on the man's finger shone like a beacon in Neal's eyes. "Because he didn't find what he was looking for in San Diego."

"How do you know what he was looking for?"

"Because I told Kate I kept everything, the money, the bonds, the art, all of it, in San Diego."

"Well, clearly that's not the truth because you told me it was all hidden in Portland, isn't it?" Mozzie gazed at him "Isn't it?"

Neal suspected he looked guilty all over his face.

"Oh, there's nothing hidden in either place, is there? It's a test. You told her San Diego, you told me Portland. Then whichever rock gets overturned, you know who betrayed you." Mozzie was upset and Neal could not blame him.

"Look, I just needed to know what I already knew." Though he had not known at the time he told Mozzie Portland, but that was beyond the point.

"What? That you can trust me?!"

"Moz...

"That I'm the one who's been there through all of it? But Kate's the one who kicked over your rock."

"Kate didn't betray me! He forced her to." Of that he was certain. Mozzie, who never let Kate into his private sphere, seemed less convinced.

"Then why didn't Kate try to warn you when she came to say goodbye to you in prison?"

"I think she might have, but I was too stupid to see it." Neal picked up a written paper from the table and handed it to Mozzie. "Here."

"'Weep for me, my love.'" Mozzie read. "'I'll miss you more-' What is this?"

"It's an old love letter. It doesn't mean anything." He took the letter back and folded it so the text that could be read was 'We are being watched.' "The FBI was closing in on us. We started taking precautions. Started passing codes."

"That could be cracked by anyone who's ever seen the back of MAD Magazine." Neal glared at Mozzie.

"Okay, you asked me why I don't tell you certain things. It's that attitude." Like he had never told him about the birthday cards to Peter and his admiration for the man chasing him. For Mozzie, Agent Peter Burke was just another FBI agent who for some unknown reason agreed to keep Neal close by with an anklet.

"I'm trying to be supportive," Moz insisted.

"Look, this was an early attempt," Neal defended the pathetic code. "Okay? We got more sophisticated as the feds closed in."

"So, you think when Kate came to say goodbye to you in prison she left you a code?"

"Look, I need to see that security tape." But how? Where was it stored? At the prison? Ironic if he had to break into a prison to get it.

"Your friend at the FBI has access," Mozzie pointed out. "He's seen it."

"Yeah. He's not just gonna hand it over." Why would Peter let him see it? He was a convict, not to be trusted.

"You... could ask."

Neal stared at Mozzie. Did he just say that he should ask Peter, instead of them finding the tape through other channels? Well, why not? Sometimes the easy way worked.