The following day Peter was met with the info he had hoped for. It was time to go out into the field and find Adler. He called SWAT to get a team out and every agent he could get hold of.
They all met at Brooklyn Navy Yard. Jones handed out maps to everyone.
"We've narrowed it down to these 15 warehouses," Peter told them. "We're going in one by one till we find that sub. Now, remember, Adler's men are armed, so eyes and ears. Let's get to work." The people chattered. Soon it was only the kid left, standing by SWAT's van. "Adler's not getting away, Neal. I won't let him."
"I know."
Peter hoped that the kid trusted him enough to stay put. This was the work for fully trained agents, and the FBI was responsible for Neal's safety. Peter gave him a nod and hurried away to catch up with his own team.
The first warehouse did not ring a bell at all for Peter. But he had not seen the outside. They got inside and as he had suspected, it was not the right one. They did their job probably, though and made sure they had not missed a vast sub by mistake. Better to do it right the first time than miss Adler.
They gathered outside to take on the next.
Then there was an explosion. Black smoke rose to the sky a few rooftops away.
"Boss?" Diana asked.
"Where the hell's Neal?" Peter asked. He had no time to check the kid's anklet. "Come on!" They started running in the direction of the smoke.
As they ran, there was another explosion.
"Any more people on site yet?" Peter asked.
"Fire department's 15 minutes away!" Jones answered without even catching a breath. They split up to cover more ground. Peter pushed himself harder. If Neal were involved, it would be dangerous for him. He turned a corner and saw Neal and Adler, Adler pointing a gun at Neal, back to him.
"You won't get away with this," Adler said. "Goodbye, Neal."
Peter did not think. He took aim and fired. He may not be the fastest runner, but he was a good shot, even under stress and high pulse. Adler remained standing for a second before he went down.
Neal was pale and frightened. His eyes turned to Peter.
Peter walked up to the fallen Adler and pushed the man's gun away with his foot. There was blood from his chest.
"He would have killed me," Neal said, getting his bearings again. Yeah, Peter nodded to himself. He left the kid alone, and it almost got him killed. Why? Why had he moved away from the vans? Why had there been an explosion?
"What did he mean, 'you won't get away with this'?"
"I don't know." A whisper from a stressed and panicked man.
"I'm glad you're all right."
"You okay, Neal?" Jones asked, joined by Diana.
"Yeah."
"Come on. We'll get you back." Diana patted his arm. They guided him towards one of the cars.
Peter holstered his gun. What had happened here? What had Adler meant? He looked at the burning warehouse.
A piece of burning debris floated passed him and landed on the ground. He watched it. It was part of a painting. A painting he knew. He had seen that in Neal's apartment.
Neal's painting in the explosion?
Peter saw the pieces falling together in a pattern he did not like. He felt cheated. Neal had stolen the art somehow and replaced it with his own, making the explosion look like it took the actual art.
He had made the biggest con of his life, holding on to arts for millions that no one was looking for.
It matched what Adler had said. No surprise that the man had been angry.
"Damn it, Neal," Peter whispered. He marched after the trio. "Neal!" The kid stopped and turned. Peter waved for him to come and he did. "You did this," he hissed, working hard to behave civilly. "The fire, all of it. You did it."
"Peter, those were masterpieces. I would never burn them. You know that."
A classic Neal loophole. Telling the truth but about something else.
"No. But you'd steal them."
"You don't know what you're talking about." The kid turned to leave, but no, he would not wiggle himself out of this. Peter grabbed his arm.
"That long con on Adler, it finally paid off, didn't it?" Peter was not discreet anymore, and he knew it. He knew Jones and Diana could hear. But he did not care. The man in front of him stole right under his very nose and had the guts to play innocent. "You saw your chance, and then you took it. I don't know how. I don't know what game you are playing."
"I have no idea, Peter. I'm not lying to you now. I didn't steal the art."
"I think you did."
Neal glared back at him with eyes he had never seen before.
"Then prove it." A hiss as cold as ice. A tone for an enemy. "Prove it."
Then the man turned and walked away, leaving them all behind. Peter watched him go. That man had been at his home eating dinner as late as yesterday. His wife had made him cornish hens. And El had told Sara you could trust Neal on the things that mattered.
He once told Neal that he trusted the kid with his life but not with his wallet. Had he forgotten that the man was a thief and a con man? Had he come too close to the man to see him for what he was?
"Let's get to work!" Peter said, dismissing the agents. Neal knew all he could do was wait, knowing the FBI was good at what they were doing.
"Adler's not getting away, Neal," Peter said, lingering. "I won't let him."
"I know." He trusted Peter and everybody else. Adler was still around, and they would get him. Peter gave him a nod and hurried away.
Neal knew it would be hard for him to stand there. But he would not do anything that would risk the operation.
He heard the clang of a bell. A bell that sounded familiar. It clung again. A bell on a weather buoy. He walked down to the water and looked towards Manhattan and the Williamsburg Bridge. There was the weather buoy clanging.
He turned.
And there was a rundown warehouse right by the river.
It could not be it. The team had picked the most likely out of the fifteen first. Neal was not even sure if this was one of the fifteen.
He walked to one of the rusty doors and yanked it. Locked. Or stuck. He glanced through the dirty window without seeing anything.
He should call Peter anyway, just in case.
"You always were persistent, Neal." Adler's voice. He turned, and there he stood with two goons. "One of the many qualities I admire about you."
Too late to call Peter.
"FBI's closing in, Adler."
"I know. There's an 18-wheeler just inside there, loaded with a collection of art more valuable than life. You help me get past the FBI perimeter, half of it's yours."
Adler was desperate. Always something.
"Wow. Sounds like a really good deal. You must think I'm an idiot."
"I think you're an opportunist."
"You took everything from me."
"Only after you tried to do the same to me. All's fair in love and war." He tried to take Adler's money but had not killed anyone, Adler had.
"Tell me why Kate had to die. If you want my help now, tell me."
Adler considered for a second.
"The explosives on the plane were her idea," he said. "You parachute out over the ocean, the plane explodes, you live happily ever after. But then she called, said Burke had just arrived. Then, as now, he threatened to ruin everything."
"So you blew up the plane early." Adler had killed Kate. Now he knew. And he also knew that he would do what he could to get this man in prison for the rest of his life.
"I could have waited another 30 seconds, and you'd be dead, too."
"Am I supposed to be grateful?"
"You were as close to a son as I ever had."
"No." Neal shook his head. There had never been a father-son relationship between them. And fathers do not kill their son's loved ones. He had looked at Adler as a mentor and regretted every second of it. "I'm nothing like you!"
"There's nothing sadder than a con man conning himself. Come on, Neal. Let's stop hurting the people we love. Let's bring this thing full circle. You and me. Just like old times."
So convincing, so illusive. A con man at his best.
"Go to hell."
As if the words he had spoken was a spell something exploded. Neal saw Adler and his goons were just as startled as he. And it was the warehouse burning.
"Tell me you got the TNT out!" Neal yelled.
"Something must have sparked," Adler mumbled, dazed. "Old wiring."
"The art is gonna burn! Come on!" This got the other three going. Adler got a key out and got the padlock open. Neal pushed the door aside and they all stared into a burning inferno.
It was too late.
And with the extra oxygen, they just added, the fire swelled.
"Get down!" someone yelled. Maybe it was he. All he knew was that he must get away from the building. Another explosion pushed him to the ground.
Neal looked around. The other three were also down. He stared at the warehouse. It was a fire in every window. There had been two explosions. He got to his feet and felt like crying. All that incredible art, lost. It was such a waste! All because some old TNT was not being shown enough respect.
Adler woke up.
"No, no!" Neal had to stop him from rushing into the building. "Out of my way!"
"It's too late, Vincent. It's too late. It's gone." He got through, and Adler took a few steps away, letting the situation land. Adler pulled a gun from one of his still knocked-out goons.
He pointed it at Neal.
"You did this!"
"No." He had seen that look in Adler's eyes before. He knew that trigger would be pulled, and he would die for this man's hand.
"I took from you. Now you take from me."
"No. I would never burn that art. You know that." He did not want to die. Not here, not now, and not by Vincent Adler. Adler knew the FBI was around. He would not hesitate.
"You won't get away with this. Goodbye, Neal."
There was a gunshot.
Neal thought it would hurt, but he felt nothing.
They stared at each other as if neither of them could get what was happening.
Then Adler fell to the ground.
Behind him was Peter, aiming his gun at where Adler had been. Peter lowered his weapon, and Neal's eyes turned to the dead man on the ground. Vincent Adler was dead. And he was alive.
He did not know if he had ever been so close and sure of his own death.
Peter jugged up to him and kicked the gun away from the dead man's hand.
"He would have killed me."
All because he had not called Peter when he thought he had located the warehouse. Peter would scold him for that, and he would take it because Peter would be right. He should have called.
"What did he mean, 'you won't get away with this'?" Peter asked.
Adler had accused him for the explosion? Adler knew he loved art too much to harm it. He had risked his life to open that sub because of the hope for the treasure. What had been going on in Adler's mind?
"I don't know."
"I'm glad you're all right."
"You okay, Neal?" Jones asked, coming up from behind.
"Yeah."
"Come on," Diana said on his other side. "We'll get you back."
Yeah, he wanted away from all this. It was all nothing but an enormous tragedy. The fantastic treasure was gone. And he almost died.
He walked towards the car with Diana and Jones. Then:
"Neal!" He stopped, and Peter waved for him to come. Neal walked back. "You did this," Peter hissed. His whole posture was angry. "The fire, all of it. You did it."
Neal had yet to learn what Peter had gotten it from. The idea was so absurd.
"Peter, those were masterpieces. I would never burn them. You know that."
"No. But you'd steal them."
Something must have snapped in Peter's mind. When and how would he have stolen them? And how come they then blew up? Adler's reaction confirmed that the art was in the burning building.
"You don't know what you're talking about." He turned towards the car but was stopped by Peter.
"That long con on Adler, it finally paid off, didn't it? You saw your chance, and then you took it. I don't know how. I don't know what game you are playing."
"I have no idea, Peter. I'm not lying to you now. I didn't steal the art."
"I think you did."
Peter thought he was lying. Never in their whole relationship had he lied. He had never given Peter any reason not to trust him when it came to that. And still, out of the blue, without any reason whatsoever, Peter thought he was lying.
Neal felt something die inside him. All the hopes and dreams of everyday life, with a wife and a home. No one would ever trust a con man. He would never be anything else. Not even to Peter.
"Then prove it," he snapped back at Peter. "Prove it."
Neal did not get far before Diana and Jones caught up with him with the car.
"Neal, get in," she said.
"I want to walk," he said, trying not to sound unfriendly. "Just leave me alone."
"We can't, Neal. You're out of your radius. Let us drive you home."
Neal stopped and cursed for himself. He had no right to object. He was a prison inmate, nothing more. A con man that could not be trusted. Not even to walk home.
He got into the backseat and slammed the door shut.
Diana got the car rolling again.
"What was that all about?" she asked. He did not want to talk about it. "Neal?"
"I have the right to remain silent."
"I'm asking as your colleague, Neal."
"How am I even supposed to have time to steal the art?" he blurted, frustrated. "Peter was there with me all my waking hours since we found it! He drove me home." He was about to say that he had an anklet, but that was not true. Not today and not yesterday. Adler had it removed. Even so, there still was no time! Going back at night to get all that art out without any form of planning was insane. Jones and Diana did not say anything. "I didn't steal the art," he muttered. "But I wish I had because it would still be around, not burnt to ashes."
Diana and Jones let him off by June's.
"Thanks for the ride."
He walked upstairs to his apartment.
On the table was something he had not placed there. An envelope with a key on top of it. He opened the envelope and pulled out a card. It was an address: "77850 GANESVOORT ST, UNIT A, NEW YORK, NY." Under it was written with the same typewriter: "YOU'LL THANK ME".
Neal guessed this was something from Mozzie. He checked the address. It was within his radius. More than so, it was on his way to the FBI office. Mozzie knew he was on an anklet, and whatever he had come up with now, it would be safe to visit even with someone watching his moves. As it were, no one was.
He walked there casually and opened the door to unit A. It was a warehouse, and it seemed empty. But at the far end, there was a dim light. He walked towards it and saw that space was cornered off with black cloth. A simple and effective camouflage.
He found the opening where the light seeped out.
There were crates inside.
Crates marked with the Nazi swastika.
Artifacts were unpacked and placed on the crates.
Neal stared at it all. The art had survived, and he should be pleased. But he had just been accused of stealing it and denied that he had! How would he explain this to Peter? Peter would never believe him!
But why would he tell?
All of it would only send him to prison for the wrong reasons.
He had tried. He had tried so hard. And yet Peter had proved to him that nothing had changed. All his sweet words, and still all he could see was a con man. Because that was what he was. All he had ever been good at.
He was good at it.
And now he was standing among the greatest of treasures.
He took it in. This was an opportunity.
With a deep breath of pleasure, he turned, found his way out, and continued his stroll.
That treasure was his future. He would escape. Take his time to do it properly. Get to a place out of Peter's reach.
Peter had made it clear that New York held no future for him.