Chapter 5

"I like Tuesday," said Mozzie, pushing the door open. "The security in this building is so sophisticated, it's almost absurd. Clearly the landlord is almost as paranoid as I am."

"Wow. Coming from you, that is high praise indeed, Mozz." Neal studied the spacious room, taking in the decor, looking bemused. It had a huge workspace in the middle, with several glass bubbles around it, caved in the middle, no doubt as seats. "Very futuristic."

"As I said, the building's security system is something of its own." Mozzie flipped on the lights and gestured for Neal to sit down in one of the bubbles, "When I refitted the room for our purposes, I found that there were hidden parameters coded into the connections in the building, which I was able to tweak to get us the fastest internet and telecom connection available in a thirty block radius. It's literally like stepping into the future."

"Excellent place to start our research, then."

"Mmm." Mozzie put his laptop down on the workspace. "I always thought I'd use Tuesday as a remote headquarter for some cyber stunt we need to pull in Europe, or something, so I didn't think to stock it with regular comforts. Did you bring takeaway, Neal?"

"Chinese as you requested." Neal grinned and put down a huge bag of food next on the table. "Enough to last three days - though I didn't know you were into leftovers, Mozz."

"I'm not," Mozzie gave him a pointed look, "When you leave in the evening, you are going to put the rest in the trash, making it look like this house is occupied with more people than there actually is."

"Oh. Good thinking." Neal watched as Mozzie opened up the laptop, began typing, and leaned forward. "Can you find out anything about my mystery guest last night? Tall man in a suit. I overheard Jones talking on the phone, it sounded like this phrase actually means something."

Mozzie nodded absently. "I'll ask around for you. But I have to say, as far as superhero pseudonyms go, Suitman isn't very impressive."

"Says the Dentist of Detroit."

"Hey! I told you I was fourteen when I came up with that name. Not quit mentioning it."

Back in the library, Reese watched with unmasked concern as Finch stared at the monitor intently, tapping on the keyboard with a renewed fervour, expression bordering on glee.

"Fell into our lap! Mr. Reese, will you look at that!" Finch sounded excited, like the proverbial kid on Christmas morning. "Mr. Paranoid Havisham may have refitted the room and reinstalled everything, but since it is my building, and my network..." A few more triumphant taps later, and a live, coloured video feed complete with a remote accessed computer screen pull up on the monitor. "Aha."

Reese edged closer. "I'm not sure whether I should be impressed, or worried, Finch."

"I know what you are thinking, Mr. Reese," said Finch, plainly. "Would you believe me if I said there are no cameras or bugs in your loft?"

"If you want to check up on me, all you have to do is call and ask," said Reese, his tone light, though his face remained unreadable.

Finch paused, looked up into Reese's eyes, his expression surprisingly earnest.

"I keep access to the security systems of all my buildings, because all my buildings could potentially be my safe houses. Your loft is yours. I won't use it, intrude upon it, or spy on it without your expressed permission. You can rest easy at night, Mr. Reese."

Reese's face softened. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Finch returned to what he was doing, and suddenly looked sheepish. "I should let you know, though, that as always, I have a contingency plan. But that's all it is," he added quickly, "a contingency. I really hope I won't have to use it, so do look after yourself, Mr. Reese."

Reese flickered his gaze away from the man, smiling slightly. "I'll definitely rest easy at night, then, knowing you have a contingency plan for me."

"I owe you a debt, Mr. Reese." Finch's kept his back to Reese, his expression hidden, his voice soft. "I'd prefer if the need to repay in exact terms never arises, but if anything were to happen to you, I will decode and turn over the world byte by byte to find you."

Then, as if startled by his own words, Finch half-turned to meet Reese's stunned eyes. "It may not sound like much, not like the slash and burn all heroes do in their movies, but it will take well over a person's lifetime to run over all the data in the world, and if that's what it will take, then so be it."

Reese simply stared at him.

"Now you can see why I would prefer that not to happen," said Finch, his voice having a strangely detached quality, unable to remove his gaze from the other man's face. "So please hear me when I say, take care of yourself, Mr. Reese."

The moment of silence stretched out for so long that Finch wondered absently whether both of them had stopped breathing. Finally, after a long, uncertain and agonising minute, Reese's face softened, his eyes fluttered close, and looked as if he was trying to conceal a phantom source of pain.

"Finch." Reese's voice sounded contrite, all usual trace of mischief and coy gone. "I - "

Finch continued to regard him in vague alarm, looking like he's uncertain how they got to this point and wary of what the next words held for him in store, but the man didn't finish his sentence. Instead, Reese opened his eyes again, stared at Finch long and hard, with a look so fierce and intense, Finch felt his whole body ablaze.

"Thank you," said Reese finally, soft, barely above a whisper.

Detective Carter cooed. "Come on doggy, here doggy doggy doggy..."

Across her desk, Fusco snorted. "Yeah. Tried that, didn't work."

"Better than your Learning Dutch for Dummies book," she said, not missing a beat. "Besides, our friends entrusted him to me. "

"Oh, so we are competing now, are we?" Fusco shot back. "Cos I'm not doing any more dirty work for them, you tell him that. I nearly got my eyes punched out the other day sitting in that bar."

Carter gave him an amused glance. "It looks good on you, that black eye."

Fusco pulled a sarcastic grimace. "Yeah. Sure." He pointed his chin towards her direction. "Looks like our little buddy still ain't happy."

Beside the desk, Bear crawled into a furry ball and eyed them with a mix of disinterest and vague alarm.

Carter sighed. "Great. Even the dog isn't happy without our funny friend with the glasses."

Fusco was about to offer his Dutch for Dummies book again when the phone rang.

"Yeah, Detective Carter."

A man answered on the other end of the line, with a warm, authoritative voice that Carter instinctively picked up as one of their own. "Hello. This is FBI Agent Peter Burke, White Collar division, Manhattan."

Carter dropped the ball she was baiting Bear with, and straightened up, frowning slightly. "How may I help you, agent?"

"Well, one of my colleague called earlier about a Man in a Suit, Agent Jones," The man on the other of the line sounded a little hesitant, "Do you remember?"

"Yes," Carter replied, suspicious. "We get a lot of queries about this Man in a Suit, Agent Burke."

"Right." There was a slight, worried pause. "What can you tell me about him?"

She spared a look at Fusco, who was attempting to lure Bear to the his end of the desk, only to have Bear gnaw at his shoes, annoyed.

"I can tell you", Carter said slowly, "that he is probably not interested in White Collar crimes."

"Humph." Agent Burke sounded bemused. "You mustn't rob us the opportunity at something exciting, Detective."

Carter sighed. "Look. This Man in a Suit, did he show up around one of your suspects, at potential crime scenes, et cetra et cetra?"

The man on the other end sounded surprised. "Er - you tell me."

Carter rubbed her eyebrows, making a mental note to call Reese and update him later. "All I'm saying is, and I'm saying this as one law enforcement officer to another - if he shows up around one of your suspects, you have to be careful."

"Because he could muddle the waters?"

"Because White Collar shouldn't get mixed with Homicide," Carter said, trying to sound ominous.

Immediately she could sense the other man tense up. "You think he's a potential suspect?"

"No." Carter was weary of these kind of conversations she had to deal with on a semi-regular basis. "He's trouble alright, but he is not necessarily the source of trouble. His prints and descriptions do show up in multiple crime scenes, but usually, when we catch the perpetrator in the end, it's not him."

The other agent sounded perplexed. "So he just has an unusual knack of turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"You could say that." Carter had a sneaky suspicion that Reese probably turned up at the right place at all the right times, but she knew better than to voice her working theories. "All I know is, whoever he's seen or involved with, usually ends up under my jurisdiction. If you know what I mean."

An ominous silence hang on the line. After a few moments, Agent Burke said, "Thank you, Detective, that will be all."

"Right. I really hope we don't have to work together any time soon," she joked half-heartedly. "Take care now."

Putting down the phone, Carter met Fusco's questioning glance with a grim nod, and went to retrieve her mobile.

"Six security cameras, infra red censors, weight trigged alarm system." Mozzie hummed as he skimmed the security footage and system planning charts, "Pretty standard stuff, except for the bit where all the cameras are pointed at our desired object, and any attempt to block or disable them will trigger automatic silent alarm."

"Very niche." Neal poured over the building blueprints, looking contemplative. "Are these alarms equipped with night vision?"

"No... I don't think so." Mozzie quickly brought up alternative security arrangements for the evening. "But, what self-respecting museum doesn't have laser-triggered alarm system after dark?"

"After dark..." Neal's head snapped up. "What day is it today, Mozz?"

"Thursday," said Mozzie, nonplussed.

Neal grabbed the laptop and hit a string of search query into the browser. "New York Museum of Art... after dark. Aha!"

He swung the laptop around, and a large advertisement appeared in front of Mozzie's eyes.

"Every Thursday this month, the NYMA will host a 'Love Trail After Dark' event, for couples and art lovers... find your heart's piece under candlelight and with wine... Oh Neal, this actually sounds fantastic."

"Right?" Neal drummed his fingers on the table, eyes lit with excitement.

"Yeah. If I had anyone to go with," said Mozzie wistfully. "Can we return to the more pressing task at hand?"

"What? Mozz." Neal tapped at the security arrangement that they were viewing with his finger. "Look closely. The museum employed three extra security temps this month, but they work only one day in a week. It must be because of this event! In order to accommodate the extra guests after dark, the laser system is turned off, so are the alarm systems in the cameras. They have to reply on extra manpower to look after the pieces."

"Oh." Mozzie eyed the advertisement again in interest. "And as we all know, humans are prone to error, unlike machines."

Neal grinned. "I think I'm going to find myself a date for tonight."

"You are not going to take me?" Mozzie said in mock hurt.

Neal grimaced apologetically. "No offence, Mozz, but I really don't think we'd make a convincing couple."

Mozzie sighed. "Never the glorious work for the short man with little hair. Don't worry, I know my place. I'll be - wait for it - " he flapped his hands about in a dramatic drum-roll way, "- the night janitor."

"Sorry, Mozz."

"Sure. Like you mean it."

Neal rubbed his nose awkwardly. "How long have we got to get things together?"

"Event starts at 8pm. So a little over two hours." Mozzie patted himself down and threw out some fake IDs, keys, and various tools of the trade. "I'd ask if it were possible for you to get a date in such a short time, but I won't insult you. Anyone particular in your mind?"

Neal opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something, then thought better of it. "No. Not yet. I can always take June, though, she could use some time away from the house."

"Mmm." Mozzie gave him an all-knowing glance. "Go. Glam up for your date. I'll wait for you on the inside."

Neal reached the door, hesitated, then turned back. "It's just a trial run, Mozz. We need to have Peter involved if we are going to make it right next week."

Mozzie nodded, unflustered. "We'll extend an olive branch to our Irish friends, show them that we have every intention of paying the debt. Then we will tell them to come and collect said debt next week *at the museum*, by which time..."

"Yeah." Neal nodded, a half frown on his face. "Maybe it's the idea of being forced into it, but I don't like this, Mozz."

"As the Chinese proverb goes, don't pick a day, make a day." Mozzie grabbed for the takeout, keeping his tone light. "Today's a good day to check out some Francis Bacon as any."

"The Chinese also say cross the bridge when you come to it, right?"

"Precisely." Mozzie looked up from his Kung-Po chicken, eyes with stern concern. "The trick is to keep one foot in front of the other, while keeping the mind three hundred yards ahead, Neal."

Neal grinned. "And we've never been anything but."

Peter turned over a corner, scanning the pedestrian traffic absent-mindedly. The working part of his brain was replaying the conversation he had with Detective Carter earlier - how the Man in a Suit signalled trouble, though he may not necessarily be a source of trouble - and the ominous feeling those words left hanging in the air. Was Neal in trouble (again)? Or better yet, what trouble was he in this time?

After that phone call, he had asked Diana to call in favours with her former Interpol friends, to find out more about Neal's past run-ins with the Irish, and whether any Irish people of suspicious element entered the country recently. The answer was somewhat surprising: it seemed Neal had previously gotten into trouble in London, so much trouble, that, he temporarily disappeared off the grid, emerging in a ferry port in Dublin three days later.

The surveillance footage had shown Neal being escorted away by an Irish man Interpol identified as one of the mob leaders, and Neal looked pretty worse for wear on the tape, but he didn't look like he was in forced custody. Record also show that Neal was back in the States within two days, clearly without much deter from his Irish friends. So why is the Irish mob coming back to look for him now?

A couple on the sidewalk arguing got his attention. Upon a closer look, Peter realised that they were the exact couple he saw in the restaurant, with the Irish tattoo, tailing Neal and deflecting all his questions. Peter slowed down his car.

Suddenly the woman started to run, and the man, shouting something indistinctive, took off behind her. Peter instinctively followed them, turned around another corner, and saw, to his horror, that the man and pulled out a gun.

"Stop!" Peter jumped out of his car and locked his gun as quickly as humanly possible, and pointed at the man. "FBI! Drop your weapon!"

The man fired a shot; it rang throughout the alley. The woman disappeared into one of the buildings, then two more shots came from the windows above. The man retaliated twice, and quickly followed into one of the building too, leaving the door ajar. Footsteps, muffled cries and more gunshots.

Peter pointed his gun around tentatively, his mind racing. What is this, a mob shoot out? He remembered Carter's comment about how Homicide and White Collar shouldn't mix, and frowned. Something in his gut was heavy, not right...

He was about to reach his phone for backup, when something cold and heavy knocked into the back of his head. Realising, too late, that it was a trap, Peter cursed himself as he pressed hard on his phone. Then his world turned dark, and he fell to the ground.