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Chapter Nineteen

Elliott took his coffee from the young lady behind the café counter and moved to the low bar against the wall to add his customary two cremes and two sugars. His time in Philadelphia, only supposed to have been a trip down and back, had turned instead into a two day event. Fortunately there was no one waiting for him at home and he always had a go bag in the trunk in case something unexpected occurred. And the unexpected had occurred.

The plan that had been put in place to track the shipments had worked perfectly. Information had been gathered, photos taken, and routes documented in three separate states. Dozens of agencies had been working round the clock to process all the information that was streaming in, hundreds of man hours invested in creating the net that would, in time, close in on one of the biggest drug operations on the East Coast. Even if the Philadelphia excursion were a bust, the operation was success; setting the stage for the biggest win of his career.

But due to the events at the Gallery, the Philadelphia excursion had been anything but a bust. It was providing information on a whole different level; an inside source. He would have never thought, when he gave the word to storm the gallery, that it would be a move forward and not a step back. Elliot, not wishing to truncate the operation unless absolutely necessary, had ignored Agent Burke urgings to move in sooner. He had waited for Clay to give the signal. However, if he hadn't stalled and had gone in when Burke told him to Clay would have walked out of the gallery on his own steam on not been rolled out on a gurney. His delay in taking action said something unflattering about his character; Clay's lack of delay in taking action said a lot about his. Elliot hadn't had time to read through any files about Neal Caffrey but the brief summation he had read in his personnel file didn't do him justice, nor did the tidbits of additional information Agent Singleton had given him. Going to Venezuela to save the life of a friend was one thing; taking a bullet for a total stranger was something else altogether.

The Task Force needed Nathan Clay to sign his statement and Elliot wanted an excuse to see him anyway, so he volunteered to handle that detail before he returned to New York. After checking out of the hotel Saturday morning, Elliot grabbed breakfast and visited the hospital. As he proceeded through the lobby on the way to the elevators, he saw Agent Burke. Burke, looking a little worse for the wear, was on his way to get coffee. Elliot wasn't surprised by his haggard appearance; the man had been at the hospital, around the clock, for the past two days. Elliot had logged a lot of hours as well, but he'd at least rented a room and got some sleep at night. Elliot doubted the coffee would do much to help the sleep deprived look in the older man's face. After their initial greetings, Elliott accompanied him to the coffee bar in the lobby and picked up a cup of his own. It also gave him a chance to talk to Burke alone.

"How's Clay?" Elliott asked. "Is he up to signing some paperwork for me?"

"He's doing good, it's just going to take time for him to heal," Burke replied. "What kind of paperwork do you have for him?"

"I need him to sign his statement," Elliot took the top off this coffee cup and added sugar and creamer. "You know, the one that was taken regarding his involvement in the events at the Lucian Gallery two nights ago?" He replaced the top, pressing it down to seal it. "I took the liberty of typing it out for him but I need his signature to file it."

"I see," Burke seemed amused. "So exactly how did Mr. Clay explain what he was doing at the gallery during a drug deal?"

"Strictly a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time," Elliot said matter-of-factly. "He's looking for investment property in Philadelphia and knew the gallery was on the market. He was on his way to dinner, saw there were people in the gallery, and thought he'd pop in and check out the space."

"That's pretty lame," Burke responded. "I wouldn't buy that story if he were my suspect."

"Well, he isn't your suspect, and we don't have to sell the story, Agent Burke, we just need it in the file. If anyone gets curious as to why Clay wasn't charged, we can tell them we investigated and cleared him." He explained. "The statement is his explanation, and when we checked into his background, there was nothing to tie him to Cordero or any criminal activities." He smiled. "Nathan Clay is as clean and upstanding as they come."

"How did you justify the raid on the gallery?" Burke asked. "What's the story for that?"

"Edwin Thomas." Elliot forgot that Burke knew virtually nothing about the case. At Burke's blank look, he expanded. "He is a person of interest to the Philadelphia Task Force; they already had surveillance on him. They got a tip from one of their undercover operatives that something might be happening, and they followed up on it."

Elliot had been surprised that Burke hadn't asked more questions over the course of the past two days, especially concerning a potential case against his kidnappers. Elliot had expected, once Clay was out of danger, for Burke to show up at Taskforce headquarters, wanting a chance to crack them himself. But it hadn't happened. In fact, it had been the polar opposite. Burke had expressed little interest in how the things were developing, what information was being garnered or what deals were being made. He hadn't called Elliot for a progress report even once. The only time Elliot had spoken with him was when he called Burke for status updates on Clay. Burke would ask then about the progress, but it seemed more a customary inquiry than actual interest. Agent Burke's attention had been focused on the well-being of Clay to the exclusion of everything else.

"Then he's really in the clear, isn't he?" Burke asked.

"Yes, completely in the clear," he motioned to the café tables near the large window. The view was the front parking level and provided nothing of interest to watch. But at least, it allowed some natural light into the otherwise artificial space. "Can we sit a minute before going up?"

He guessed the tone of his voice alerted Burke that he had something to discuss that he didn't want to discuss upstairs; Burke nodded and led the way.

"It's been a productive day and a half," Elliot said, taking a seat, "we've already got some good intel and expect that to only increase. I've shared some of that with you already but there is some other information that has surfaced that I thought you'd want to know about."

"Okay." Burke's tone was curious as he followed suit, took a seat, and waited for more. Elliot guessed Burke thought it had to do with his kidnapping; but it did not.

"Do you remember that thing that went down here last week, that all the chatter was about?" Elliott could tell by the narrowing of Burke's eyes that he was no longer curious but marginally concerned. He sat his coffee on the table; his eyes never leaving Elliott's face.

"Yes, what about it?" Elliott wondered if Burke already knew what he was about to tell him. He knows how I am, Clay had stated.

"Javier Mendez-the man Clay took the bullet for-told us it started with a very hush-hush, high-end auction."

"An auction?" The auction was news to Agent Burke. He might have suspected Clay had been involved in whatever had happened, but he apparently didn't know exactly what it was. As a man of many talents, Clay could have been responsible for almost anything. "Well, I'll be damned," Burke said almost under his breath.

"It was put on by Cordero and some other allied South American families. Art was bought and sold, and the auction setup was also used to move money into accounts as a part of the payoffs the task force got wind of."

"Other than buying some allegiance, any idea who was paid off and why?"

"Bribery can be used for two very different reasons." Elliott supplied.

Agent Burke, an experienced SAC of White Collar Division of the FBI, picked up immediately. "To keep mouths shut or to open them."

"Exactly," Elliott responded. "We think that is how Cordero set up the trap for Mendez to walk into during Clay's drop-off-he paid the right people on both sides of the fence."

"We weren't the only one's running covert operations." Burke mused.

"No, we weren't," Elliott agreed. "You know, getting back to the auction," he paused. "that clears up something that I had been wondering about."

"And what was that?"

"I had a hard time understanding why Cordero's people would recruit a Gallery Owner to do a drug run," Elliott continued, "But it makes sense now; he didn't recruit a gallery owner to run drugs, he recruited a Gallery Owner to run an auction."

Running an auction, Elliott was sure, was one of Nathan Clay's areas of expertise.

"Any idea what items were auctioned?" Burke inquired. "Was the art stolen?"

Elliott shook his head. "No details. Task Force is looking into it as well as the FCC. Mendez says the word on the inside was that transactions were in excess of fifty million dollars." He studied Agent Burke. "Was Nathan Clay in Philadelphia last week?" He knew he had been but was curious as to what Burke would say.

"Doesn't matter if he were," he replied. "or if he was involved in the auction. His agreement for immunity covers any activities associated with Cordero from the time he left Paris two weeks ago."

Elliott laughed; Friend obviously trumped Agent where Nathan Clay was concerned, and he had expected nothing less. He knew the truth about their relationship; who Nathan Clay had been. Burke had risked his career for the man, and Clay had risked his life for his friend; their devotion to one another was unquestionable. Career Criminal and Federal agent. Right or wrong, Elliot respected, even envied, their friendship. "You don't have to worry; nothing so far connects him to it and even if it did, as you said, he has immunity." He stood up. "Plus, he's the boy wonder of the DEA right now; everyone wants to shake his hand for what he's done, not arrest him." He stood up. "Ready to go up?"

"Yeah, I'm ready" Burke said, "but for goodness sake, don't make that boy wonder remark where he can hear it; he's too sure of himself for his own good as it is."

"I won't," Elliott replied, "But I really am curious about one thing."

"Just one?" Burke chuckled, getting to his feet. "And what's that?"

"What exactly is the commissions on a fifty million dollar auction?"

WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Nathan Clay was sitting on the edge of the bed when Elliot entered with Agent Burke. His outfit was not his usual stylish apparel, but it wasn't hospital issue, either. He wasn't connected to any of the machines in the room, but he still had an IV port attached to the inside of he left elbow. He was pale and in need of a shower, but still looked much better than he had the last time Elliot had spoken to him. He still remembered the way his heart had sunk at the sight of Clay, lying still in the floor of the gallery.

Elliot detected the briefest look of disappointment on Clay's face when he and Agent Burke entered the room, but it quickly disappeared. His smile of greeting seemed relaxed but there was a sheen of sweat on his pale face, and his right leg was bouncing restlessly. Clay must have caught his gaze on the offending limb because the leg stilled immediately, his eyes never leaving Elliot's face and his smile never wavering.

"Agent Elliot," he greeted. "Peter tells me things turned out okay in spite of the little deviation from the plan."

"Yes, they have." Elliot proceeded to give a brief rundown on how things had shaped up over the past forty hours. Javier Mendez had knowledge about the Burke kidnapping as well as many other crimes. "He held a high position in the organization and is willing to provide information to us in exchange for protection," he paused. "He's asked about you several times. He's still in a state of disbelief that you took a bullet for him."

The pleased look that had settled on Clay's face during the discourse faded somewhat at the mention of his actions regarding Mendez. "I only meant to push him out of the way," he clarified quietly. "Taking a bullet for him wasn't my intention."

"Either way, you did, and he's grateful." Clay self-effacement was somewhat unexpected: he'd thought there would have been a least some savoring of his heroic moment. Instead, the topic seemed to make him uncomfortable. Elliot moved on to his reason for the visit. "Are you up to signing some paperwork or do you want me to catch up with you on Monday?" He glanced at Agent Burke. "If you'll be at the Waldorf, I can just stop by…."

"He'll be at my house," Burke interceded. "He's staying with us for-"

"a few days," Clay finished a quick look in his friends direction. His eyes came back to Elliot. "But I can sign now. What exactly am I signing?"

"Your statement," Elliot removed a file from his case, opened it and handed it to Clay. "You were questioned about your involvement in the incident at the gallery as soon as you regained consciousness, and this is your official statement." Clay looked over the typed statement, and when he finished, he looked up with a skeptical look on his face. "Wrong place, wrong time? That's never worked for me before. Will anyone actually believe that?"

"I told him I wouldn't," Burke commented with a smile, "But he said it doesn't matter. No one is looking to poke holes in your story; they just need one on file to close your part in the case."

"Have a pen?" Elliot provided him one. Clay pulled the table closer, placed the statement on in. Signing, however, presented a problem. The attempt to move the right arm across his body brought a wince of pain to his face. After a brief hesitation, he put the pen in his left hand and signed. "Is that all you need?"

"Yeah," Elliot was surprised at how good the signature looked. Anything he wrote with his left hand would be illegible, "for now. We'll need to follow up with the team once we're back in New York, you know, put your Terms of Service to rest. But this takes care of the taskforce's paperwork." Elliot had noticed the tremor in Clay's hand as he signed the statement and handed back the pen. Now sweat beads were beginning to visibly form on his forehead. "Are you alright?" Elliot asked. "You aren't looking too good."

"I'm fine." It was clearly not true, but the question had brought slight color to his pale face. "I'm just ready to get out of here. Peter," he said, "Can you see what's holding things up?" His tone was impatient. "They said an hour ago they were starting my discharge."

Agent Burke responded by pointing at one of the several information sheets on the wall. "Discharge Procedures," he began, "Skip down to the third bullet: Please be patient during the discharge process. The staff is preparing orders, discharge instructions and arranging for prescriptions and follow-up appointments. The process can take several hours."

"Several hours? I'm not waiting hours." Irritation crept into Clay's voice. "They need to get in here and get this thing out or…" He paused as he seemed to debate pulling it out himself, but since his right arm wouldn't cooperate, it wasn't an option. That he'd considered it spoke to his level of frustration. "I'll leave with it in."

Agent Burke moved closer, a concerned look on his face as Clay's frustration, as well as his voice level, rose higher. "Impatient much?"

The question, asked in a calm way, had the same effect on Clay. "Sorry." His voice volume lowered but still held an edge. "I just don't like being cooped up; it's getting on my nerves." The grimace on his face as he shifted positions indicated that pain, and not just impatience, might be a contributing factor to his irritability.

"Have you had your pain medication?" Agent Burke had come to the same conclusion. He glanced at his watch. "It was due at eleven. Did they bring it?"

"They brought it," Clay's eyes fell to the bedside table. A small white paper cup sat there. Burke followed his gaze, and so did Elliot. Inside was a large oblong white tablet.

"You didn't take it," Burke didn't seem surprised, but his stare demanded an explanation.

"I planned to take it, eventually," Clay insisted, "I just want to stretch it as far as I can," Clay justified. "See how long I can go between doses." He dropped his voice. "I don't like taking it, Peter."

"I know you don't," Burke's tone was understanding, "and hopefully you won't need it long. But right now, you still do." He picked up the cup and handed it to Clay. There was a hint of defiance in Clay's eye's although the sweat on his forehead testified to the fact that Burke was speaking the truth. When he didn't reach out to take the cup, Burke continued. "You made it five and a half hours this time," Burke reminded him. "Next time, you can make it six."

After only a second or two of hesitation, Clay relented and took the proffered cup. Elliot guessed it was the mind clouding effects that Clay didn't like; he was one who would value his ability to think clearly over all other skills. The doubtful look he sent in Elliot's direction told him he especially didn't want clouded senses with a stranger in the room. Elliot took the cue.

"I need to get this back to the Task Force," He said, picking up the statement from the table, "and then head toward home myself." He opened his case and tucked the folder safely away. "I'm glad you're doing well, Mr. Clay. I will be in touch with you both later next week." He nodded at Burke, but before he exited, turned back Clay, who still held the paper cup containing his medication in his hand. He wasn't about to take it until Elliot was gone. "There's one more thing you can help me with," he said. "I have a hypothetical question for you, something I'm curious about and think you can probably answer for me."

"Okay," Clay answered hesitantly. "What is your hypothetical question?"

"I'm sure this is well within your area of expertise," he began with a mirthful look at Agent Burke. "What is the going rate to run an auction?" Clay's lack of reaction was impressive; especially since he was in pain and not at the top of his game. "I mean a high-end one with lots of international bidders?"

"What kind of items are to be offered in this hypothetical auction?" His innocent, just trying to help look would have convinced anyone who didn't already know better. "Property, collectibles….?"

"Art," Elliot answered in amusement. "And not are to be auctioned, but were auctioned. Here. A week ago." Elliot knew by the look in the blue eyes that Clay knew that he knew, and it wasn't a look of concern or fear. Clay might not have relished the role of hero earlier, but this he seemed to enjoy.

"So, not hypothetical at all," He replied, eyes twinkling. "It depends. Sometimes it's a flat fee and other times, a percentage of the appraised value of the items offered. Then of course," The mischief in his eyes was joined by an equally mischievous smile. Elliot was happy that he, in his own way, had provided Clay with some pain relief via distraction. "if you want your auctioneer to be motivated to drive the selling prices higher, a percentage of the auction's revenue on top of their fee usually does the trick."

"I see." There was little question as to which of the options had been true in this case. "What if the auction pulled in say, fifty million dollars or so," Elliot said. "What would an auctioneer clear on something like that?"

"Hypothetically," Clay stressed the word, "It's hard to say. There's a lot of factors to take into consideration, but it would likely be quite a sum."

"Enough to build an impressive expense account, I'd imagine?" Burke's question sounded serious but his expression was anything but. He looked like he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Clay didn't even try; his smile was immediate. "Absolutely." Whatever the inside joke was, Elliot wasn't privy to it.