Chapter 6

"Agent Burke just activated his emergency GPS, Mr. Reese."

Reese was out the door faster than Finch could finish his name. "Can you stop the data from being transferred back to FBI headquarters?"

"I certainly can." Two taps and the bleeping stopped. "I hope you not going to play hero, Mr. Reese."

"Don't worry, Finch, " said Reese, driving down the direction from which the GPS signal was last seen. "I think I know how this is going to play out. While I don't like it any more than you do, the last thing we need is to have a flock of FBI agents on our heels."

"And how will it play out, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked, wary.

"The Irish have gotten to Agent Burke. Either holding him hostage, or, more likely, to prevent him from impeding with Caffery's heist plans." Reese stepped on the oil, his voice tense. "Today's not going to be a trial run, Finch. They are going to take the painting, and leave Caffery behind."

"Wait, Neal!" Mozzie called out suddenly, urgent.

Neal halted at the door. "Yeah?"

"Something's not right." Mozzie's gaze was fixed on the monitor, his face an eerie shade of blue under the screen light. "There's... there's far more outgoing data than there should be on this building's connection."

Neal frowned. "What does that mean? Someone's uploading a lot of content?"

"Someone... from somewhere," Mozzie said, slowly. His eyes turned towards his phone on the desk, and back at the computer. "Oh. Oh no."

"Mr. Reese, Mr. Caffery and his friend have just found out about our little spying venture."

"I hope your argument of 'surveillance is a way to keep your tenants safe' holds up in court, Finch."

"That's not all, Mr. Reese," Finch went on unabashed, his voice urgent. "I was able to get a look at Mr. Haversham's impressive data analysis app before they went off the grid. That is far more outgoing data than there should be."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we were not the only people keeping tabs on them, Mr. Reese."

Reese frowned. "Proving my working theory."

"They've vacated the building, and I'm guessing they are headed for the museum." The tapping stopped on the other end. "I won't be surprised if they meet some unfriendly face there."

Reese pulled out his gun as he swerved to the alley where Peter Burke was last seen. "Fieldwork time, Finch. You need to stop Caffery before he allows the Irish free reign in that museum."

"Already on it, Mr. Reese."

Neal ran down the steps of the apartment, breathless. "Stick to the plan, Mozz, we don't have much time."

"How?" Mozzie threw out the sim card in their phones, dumped the takeout by the trash, and followed Neal down the street. "If they were listening in, they'd know that we don't plan to play nice."

"Yeah, well, neither do they." Neal glanced at his friend, "It's time to run ahead, Mozz. I say we bring Peter in on this."

"What? Wait, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, but I don't have a choice." Neal fumbled for his phone, looking slightly panicked. "You know how this debt thing works. If I don't give them what they need, they will come after me and Peter anyway, and I won't let them do anything to Peter, I won't." He waited for the agent to pick up, and upon seeing Mozzie's inquisitive face, added, "At least not before I let him know what I got him into this time. Damn it, he's not picking up."

For a few minutes they waited around the street corner to hail a cab.

"Now what?" Mozzie asked, in alarm, "I need time to prepare if I'm going to work with you on the inside. "

"Yeah. You do that." Neal glanced back at his phone, which remained ominously silent. "Can you secure us an escape route?"

"Have I ever done anything less?" Mozzie said, then, in a more reassuring tone, "Yes. Though I can't imagine what the Suit will say, once he finds out that you have, once again, committed felony in an attempt to save him."

Neal gave him a pleading look. "Not now, Mozz."

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Where are you going to deliver the painting to? FBI evidence lockup?"

Neal snorted. "A good place as any." He looked down at his phone again, still showing no sign of action. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really, really hope Peter catches me in time."

Peter woke with a headache. Not unlike the one he had in his junior year in college, in fact, though the taste in his mouth was not of a hangover, but blood.

He blinked against the ground, remembering what had happened, and why he was there. Then his pulse quickened. Neal. This has got something to do with Neal.

Realising that no one noticed he was awake, Peter laid completely still, straining his ears to pick up information around him. The room smelled stuffy, and his ears rang with a piercing noise, probably an aftermath of being knocked out cold, but he was able to make out some part of the conversation that went on near the door.

"Caffery.. museum... has help... plans to screw us..."

"No he won't... boss said no trace... time he paid debt... just let him do dirty work... switch out painting when he delivers... make sure he has the accident after conviction. You hear?"

Peter's blood suddenly ran cold. Head thumping in pain, he squeezed his eyes shut, hard. The pieces were coming together now, and he wished fervently, wistfully, that for once Neal had told him about the truth upfront, but no, knowing that man, he never does. So the message wasn't just a taunt, it was a debt to be paid. And Caffery was so naive as to think as long as he got what the Irish wanted, they'd kiss goodbye and part ways after that? No. No. This could not be happening. They were planning to use Neal all along, and once they'd extracted the paintings from Neal, they'd put back a fake one, and arrange for an 'accident' after Neal was convicted of the theft, alone. No.

Holding in a deep breath, Peter flexed his fingers tentatively, and realised that they weren't bound. Heart thumping wildly against his ribs, he raised himself, as soundlessly as possible, and reached for his leg, where a hidden handgun was holstered.

"Hey! What do you think -"

There were a scuffle of noises, a couple of quick gunshots, and on the verge of panic the moment seemed like a blur. Peter rolled away from where he was lying swiftly, pulling out the gun and pointing at the first person he could see standing in front of him. "Don't move, or I'll shoot."

It turned out, the first person he saw was also the last person standing in the room.

"Hullo, agent," said the person in a breathy voice.

Peter blinked twice to clear the fog in front of his eyes, and saw to his surprise, a man in a suit.

"You." His brain chose this moment to remind him of Carter's remark again, and Peter stared at Reese, unable to determine whether he should be relieved or alarmed. "How did you know I was here?"

"No time for that now, agent," said Reese, pulling him up to shaky feet. "How are you feeling? Up for some action?"

Peter shook out his limbs and searched the premise for his other gun. "I see you've taken care of the action in this room already, agent."

Reese smiled humourlessly, not bothering to correct him. "Your friend Caffery needs help. I daresay he will see some action of his own soon."

Peter turned sharply. "Neal? "

Reese nodded. "He's going after the painting, today. Right now."

Peter cursed under his breath. "Never, never in our entire time working together has he ever tried to warn me, before pulling a stunt like this." He found his handgun and stuffed it back to his pockets, sounding extremely irritated. "The guy has no manners."

Reese watched him with a bemused expression. "Ex-con and FBI agent partnership don't go well?"

Peter gave him an annoyed look, not bothering to ask where he got his information. "Oh, it goes well alright. It's just a bit... unconventional, for my liking."

It was not in Reese's nature to meddle in other people's personal lives, but just this one time, he relented. "Caffery is doing this to protect you. The Irish threatened to kill you if he didn't deliver what they wanted."

Peter only looked surprised for a second, before his face melted in fond exasperation. "I knew it! Always the lone hero. Well, not this time."

Together, they rushed down the stairs, out of the building, and into the wakeful New York night.

Neal held his breath while he pretended to be enjoying an early work of William Sadler. He bid Mozzie goodbye half an hour ago, still unable to get through to Peter, and the growing unease at the pit of stomach was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Standing among a crowd mostly made of couples, he found the romantic atmosphere rather morose, as he stood and waited for his rescue.

His rescue.

Neal shook his head slightly, chasing that phrase out of his head. It was not the first time his past came back to bite on his ass, and as always, he got himself into this predicament, and he will get himself - and Peter also - out of it.

Standing with his face hidden in shadows of the flickering candle light, Neal could not help but feel a pang in his chest, wishing, wistfully, that his partner was here.

"Mr. Caffery."

A soft voice said beside him, pulling him out of his reverie. Startled, Neal turned around to see an impeccably dressed man with Tintin-esque haircut and glasses. Before he could reply, the other man spoke again.

"I know what you are planning to do, but the Irish are one step ahead of you, so don't do it."

The man's lips had barely moved, and he looked like he was simply admiring a particularly dark and ominous piece of landscape work. The words took two seconds to register in Neal's brain, and Neal had to force his face into a blank. "I think you have the wrong person."

The other man was undeterred. "My friend is with Agent Burke at the moment, and they are on their way here. I have just been informed that the Irish is planning a switch when you deliver the painting, have you convicted for the theft, and arrange an accident to happen afterwards. Please, Mr. Caffery." The man's eyes were earnest, though his expression was eerily dark in the shadows, "Let me help."

Neal swallowed. "You have Peter?"

"No, the Irish had Peter." The man grabbed a glass of wine on a waiter that passed by, and pretended to take a sip. His eyes never left Neal's face. "My friend, the man in a suit, as you will probably remember, helped him, and they are on their way here."

Neal studied the man's face intently for a moment, and in a split-second decision, nodded. "Alright. How can you help?"

"Well, I was thinking - "

The sentence was cut short, just as Neal froze. Something cold and uncannily like a gun was being pushed into his back, and judging by a sidelong glance at the other man's suddenly expressionless face, they were both in the same situation.

"Now, lads," a voice purred in his ear. "If you'll follow me, this evening is about to get interesting."

"Did Neal tell you about his plans?" Peter asked tensely, straightening his jacket. "What are we going to do once we get to the museum?"

"You are going to stop Caffery from committing a felony." Reese gave him a dark look. "I will stop Caffery from getting killed."

Peter laughed nervously. "I'm not sure I entrust you with such a monumental task, yet," he said, checking out the rear end mirror. "Remind me why I must work with you?"

"Because I just botched a significant part of their plan," said Reese, his voice low. "Caffery's friends never intended for either of you to live."

"Why am I not finding it hard to believe?" said Peter dryly. Then, after a moment of awkward pause, "Thanks."

Reese shot him an amused glance. "I would switch jobs with you, but I don't know how to prevent an art heist."

Peter laughed again. With more humour, this time. "Then I'd say you've come to the right guy."

Reese slowed down at a red light, and suddenly frowned.

"What? What is it?" Peter said, picking up the tension immediately.

"They got to our friends before us," Reese replied, his voice quietly dangerous.

"Friends?" Peter undid his seatbelt as Reese sped through the crossing again, ready to pounce once the car stopped. "You have a friend with Neal in there?"

"Someone I care about." Reese glanced at him briefly. "I wouldn't usually ask, but, just in case my hands get full, I need you to keep him safe too."

"From committing a felony, or getting killed?"

"Both. Though I'd say staying alive is the primary objective of everyone in there tonight."

Reese skidded to a stop. In front of them, the museum stood in a shade of changing light, soft and unknowing. He ran two steps up the porch, and paused: "How well can you deal with a fight over jurisdiction with NYPD?"

Peter didn't miss a beat. "Undesirable, but not impossible." A second of hesitation. "Best to keep off the books, though."

Exchanging a brief look of understanding, both men pulled out their phones, and dialled for their respective backups.