Chapter 8

Reese crept up to Neal. "Hi," he said breathily, in an attempt to look familiar and friendly.

Neal turned, gasped in surprise, and quickly pulled him into an embrace. Reese froze for a brief second, before forcing him into patting the man's back.

"You are not my type," said Neal in his ear, all smiles.

Making a mental note to kill Finch later, Reese replied sarcastically, "you are not my type either."

When they pulled apart, they both appeared to be delighted in finding each other. As they exchanged 'how-are-you's and 'it's-been-too-long's, Reese thought he heard Finch sigh in his ear.

"This is painful." Finch said. Then after a deliberate pause, "The switchboard firewall is so complicated."

Reese grinned. There was no such thing as a too complicated firewall for Finch.

"So, what do you want to do now?" said Neal brightly. "I hear they have an early work of Francis Bacon here. I'm excited."

Reese mmmed his consent, surreptitiously scoping out the security guards and the camera angles.

"They are in the southeast corner, the part that's being renovated. Disused bathroom." Neal pointed at one of the paintings and whispered, looking for all his part, commenting on the brushstrokes. "Two guards and a mob leader. One left to prepare for pickup, two alleys down."

Reese gave a curt nod as acknowledgement. He had no doubt that Finch was able to disable the museum's alarm systems, however sophisticated they may be, but Finch had no control over humans. The guards that hovered near the exists, blowing out candles and turning on the lights, calling for the couples to draw their evening to a close - they had done nothing to warrant a bullet in their knee. He hoped against hope that the White Collar agents had their own back up plan.

Neal slid his arms into Reese's, which got his attention. All smiles again, Neal asked, "How's our friend -" he mouthed the word 'Peter' - "Morris?"

"He's fine," Reese said. Then, tilting his head sideways just a touch mischievously, "He's not too pleased that we are going out, though."

"Oh?" Neal's eyebrows arched. Reese did not need to search the man's face to find that he was heartened with the news. He was, however, beginning to feel a little idiotic as he realised he was close to playing cupid.

As if able to read his mind, Neal said, somewhat inconsequentially, "Your friend is impressive."

It was Reese's turn to eye him in interest. "How so?"

"He knows how to bat his eyelashes." Neal made a demonstration by spelling out 'HE CARES'.

Reese nearly laughed. "He does."

Moving along with a demising crowd, Neal leaned closer, and whispered, "It's one thing to keep someone out of the loop in order to protect him, it's quite another to deliberately invite him in the loop, so you can face something together."

"Oh really?" Reese found himself wondering what Finch's expression would be on the other end of the line.

"Yeah." Neal said, his face soft and gaze intent, though Reese knew that Neal was not looking at him. "It takes more courage, and more trust." Neal dropped his gaze to the ground. "I may have a thing or two to learn from you."

As the line stayed silent in his ear, Reese wondered whether Finch was hearing this, and whether he was thinking the same thing.

"Stranger things have happened under my watch, Mr. Suit." Mozzie said as soon as he picked up the phone. "Why is Neal flirting with a stranger, and where are you?"

Peter bit back a laugh. "It's a long story. Right now, we need your help." He gestured for the remaining agents and detectives to blend in the crowd at the different exits, and went in himself. "What was your original role in the plan?"

"I'm the escape route," said Mozzie.

"Well, now I'm the escape route," Peter quickly told him of the plan change. "I need you to make sure that the switch doesn't happen, so they don't strike before we do."

"On it, Suit."

Finch eyed the guard warily. "Can I at least get some water? I am doing hard work over here."

The guard grunted. "Drink from the tap."

"The amount of chlorine in bathroom taps can make you ill, you know," said Finch in distaste. "Is this how the Irish treat their business partners?"

Their gruff leader waved for the guard to get a drink. "No playing foul, geek."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Finch cheerily. He dialled Neal's number. "I just saw the front door security take an early night on the surveillance camera. You are down to six guards in the museum, two on each exit."

"I see." Neal sounded calm, prepared, ready to strike. Finch couldn't help but note an uncanny similarity between him and Reese, immediately before the action. "And the alarms?"

"To be shut with a single tap, on your command."

"Excellent. We just need the last few bystanders to clear before we begin."

Finch tapped on the keyboard and brought up the security feeds in the exhibition hall. Without night imaging technology, the images were grainy and unclear, though the sight of Detective Carter and Fusco appearing arm in arm was not a sight to be missed, by even the most short-sighted.

The gruff man looked up from clearing his gun. "What?"

"Nothing," Finch quickly hid his expression of amazement. Another couple appeared on screen, hand in hand. Finch guessed they were FBI agents. "We may have a few witnesses."

"Good," said the man in malicious delight. "Makes conviction that much easier."

Finch gave him a dirty look and returned to the screen. "Ah! Agent Burke is here."

The mob leader didn't look the least bit affected. "Right on time for the show." He stood up, came over to where Finch was sitting, and unexpectedly punched a grubby finger into the keyboard.

The call immediately ended.

"I suppose you are wondering why we let an FBI agent run around in our operation," said the man smoothly, as Finch looked up, startled. Leaning over the laptop and closing in the gap, Finch could nearly feel the man's breath on his face, and he positively recoiled.

"Because you threatened him that you'd kill me, if he didn't comply?" Finch tried to keep his voice steady.

The man laughed. "Naive, Americans." He pulled back and began toying with his gun again. "When my friends met with Agent Burke earlier this evening, we gave him a tiny gift." He patted his shirt pocket and squeezed his fingers together. "Tiny-tismal. If Agent Burke doesn't play nice, then one press of the button -" He gestured towards the phone again, "And it goes, bang." Animated hands making an exploding gesture. "Not too big! No." The man's face was full of malicious glee, "It'd look like a gunshot wound. Straight to the chest." He cocked his head, staring at Finch, mirthful. "It's a shame that he won't live long enough to get to arrest Caffery himself. A real shame. Yeah. He's just fodder."

Finch stared back at him, at a loss for words.

Reese fought hard against his instinct to look at the FBI agent, who was hovering near the entrance of the exhibition, talking casually with a security guard. It never occurred to him why the mobsters left Peter lying on the ground, waiting for him to recover, but now it made sense - they had already planted the threat, and simply needed the man to wake so they could actually threaten him.

"Are you OK?" Neal was eyeing him intently.

Taking a deep breath, Reese grabbed Neal's hand. With an iron grip that looked like a loving caress, he held Neal firm, and tapped in the centre of his palm.

CODE - BLACK - PETER

Neal's eyes widened by a fraction and his breath caught. Slightly panicked, he stared at Reese, eyes pleading.

"Remote controlled," Reese said simply, "My friend will take care of it. Keep Burke out of the delivery - they plan to knock him out and leave him here at the crime scene."

"So it'd look like I shot him while I was after the painting," said Neal, catching up quickly. "God, they don't know me at all."

Reese glanced at him. "Aversion to firearms?"

"Aversion to violence in general," said Neal. He hesitated. "Thanks."

Reese made no reply.

More and more lights came on as candles were blown out. The guards were calling the events to a close, and out of the corner of his eye, Reese saw a night janitor pushing past slowly, and picking up trash on his way. Neal's suddenly straightened up, looking like he was ready to pounce.

"Who wants leftover wine and cheese?" The janitor called, beckoning the remaining security guards closer. "Grab 'em before I dump 'em." When nobody moved, he rolled his eyes and grabbed a bite for himself. "Fine, I'll just help myself. It's not like I can afford to buy such good wine with my pitiful pay. Such a waste, I say!"

Tentatively, guards came together and reached out for the leftover nibbles. At first, some of them remained watchful at the couples that hang back, but soon they were conversing with each other, exchanging customer stories, and complaining about their rate of pay.

"To temporary workers of New York!" the janitor toasted. "May our minimum wage rise threefold in five years!"

"Hear, hear," the guards muttered, and all drank.

There was a moment of watchful, worried silence.

"It's late," the janitor yawned. "Come on, finish up guys. I need to clean the whole damn thing before I can go home and hit the bed."

Some of the guards reached for a second helping, but they soon realised their hands were shaking, and their eyes fogged up. "Wh-"

One by one, they slumped against the table, and onto the floor. "Call - the - police," the last of them slurred, his eyes unfocused at the direction of the two stunned couples left in the hall. "Call - the -"

And they fell asleep.

The janitor lowered his glass. "Well?" he pointedly looked at Neal, and then at Jones and Diana, still arm in arm, pretending to be a newly wed. "What are you waiting for?"

Holding up his phone, Neal spared one last glance to Peter, hoping to convey some meaning in his desperate eyes. "Now."

Nothing happened.

Then, Neal extended his hand inside the 'please do not cross' line, and still, nothing happened.

"You have a 90 second window before the emergency alarm gets triggered," said Finch, on speaker. The room was so silent that everyone heard him.

"I need a hand here," said Neal, attempting to pull the painting off the wall.

Agent Jones and Diana leapt to action first, with Detective Carter and Fusco quickly following suit.

"I cannot believe I am helping Caffery remove a multi-million dollar painting from the wall," said Jones, amidst Neal's 'careful! careful now!' warnings.

"Hey, I find this exciting," said Fusco, grinning. "Beats grimy HR work any day."

"I'm not sure my hands are trained to deal with expensive inanimate objects," said Carter, though she too looked a little flustered. "Does this happen often in White Collar? Cos I may have underestimated your department."

Jones snorted. "No, this only happens under Caffery."

"Why are we helping Caffery carry out a heist anyway?" Diana asked, though she never stopped what she was doing. "Isn't it better just to round up the bad guys and be done with it?"

"It's complicated," said Neal breathlessly. "Long story short, they will not stop coming after me or Peter until I deliver them this particular object, or make this object so undesirable for them that they will stop asking for it."

"And where is Peter?" Jones asked, peering around.

Neal looked up. Both Peter and Reese were nowhere to be found.

"Boss, something's not right."

The guard came back with water, phone in hand.

"I tried calling the lads, but they aren't answering."

"Not even O'Brien?" The gruff man stood up, gripping his gun. "Call again."

Finch rested his hands tentatively on the keyboard, holding his breath.

"Still no answer."

The gruff man turned abruptly and snarled. "I warned you lot. I was polite."

Finch's eyes widened in alarm, and his face turned pale.

"Go find Caffery in the hall and bring him," the man ordered, staring at Finch with malicious intent. "Leave the geek to me."

The guard nodded and took off without comment.

"How quickly can you adapt to the dark, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked suddenly, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

A split second of confusion from his captor was all the time he needed for Reese's answer to come back. "Quickly enough."

"Take care, Mr. Reese."

As the other man raised his gun, Finch hit a final enter on the keyboard, and the world went dark.

"What just happened?"

"Power cut. Why is there a power cut?"

"Was this part of the plan, Caffery?"

"No. God, Peter has a bomb on him."

"Peter has what?"

"Oh boy. I knew this would turn into a Homicide investigation sooner or later."

"Shush! Neal, what the hell is happening?"

"I don't know. They want us both dead. Stay here. I'm going to find Peter."

A resounding gunshot echoed somewhere not too far, and they all fell silent.