"All right, you have your assignments. Let's get on it." Peter closed the folder in front of him, probably a little more firmly than he normally would. "Jones, Diana, hang on a minute."

The conference room cleared out as the other agents left, most of them hurrying. It hadn't taken a fully trained agent with years of experience to pick up on the fact that Peter Burke was irritated – and the untouched folder still sitting on the table gave a pretty good clue as to why.

The briefing had been missing a key participant – specifically, the man who was supposed to be going undercover as a potential buyer with the man they suspected of having pilfered a number of rare Persian artifacts over the past few months.

Peter stalked over to the door, pushing it closed as soon as the other agents had cleared the room. As he turned back, he pulled out his phone, scowling at the screen.

"Still no message?" Diana guessed.

"Nothing." Peter pointed at the laptop still open in front of Jones. "I want Caffrey's tracking data since he left the office."

As Jones began pulling up the US Marshals' site, Peter dialed the phone again – and once again, he was listening to Neal's voicemail message. "Caffrey, if you don't return this call in the next five minutes, I swear, you're back in orange when I find you."

Diana and Jones exchanged a glance, clearly uncomfortable, and Peter pretended to not notice.

"I've got the tracking info," Jones said, turning his screen to share it with the others.

They watched as the blinking dot left what was clearly identifiable as the federal building area. After a brief journey, apparently by taxi, given the speed, the dot was then stationary for a while.

"What's in that area?" Peter asked.

Jones zoomed the focus in. "West Village," he said. "Lots of little restaurants and shops." He jotted down the intersection closest to the flashing dot and handed it to Diana.

She had a map program pulled up on her laptop, and quickly found the area. "Looks like the Chantilly café."

"He said he was meeting Sara for lunch," Peter muttered before turning back to Jones. "How long was he there?"

"Sixty-two minutes."

"About right for lunch," Diana offered.

Peter leaned in closer to the screen again. "Then what?"

Jones pulled the focus back out and started the playback again. The dot made a zigzag pattern for a few blocks and then moved rapidly north. Jones fast-forwarded until it stopped and then pulled a close-up of the area. "Harlem. Right around Saint Nicholas Park." Jones tapped a few more keys, bringing the display back to real time. "He's still there."

That didn't make sense… "So he's sitting in a park when he was supposed to be here for a briefing?"

Jones shrugged. "That's what the signal shows."

Peter nodded and headed for his office. "All right, let's go."

Hands on his legs, under his arms, moving…

Neal forced his eyes open, and then wished he hadn't. Everything was blurry, out of focus. Combined with the jostling movement, it made him queasy. He scrunched his eyes shut, waited a moment, and then tried again.

He was being carried by three men, over some uneven ground. There was one man on each of his legs, and another holding him under his shoulders. That wasn't good. Even if he could convince his muscles to respond to his brain – which seemed pretty near impossible at the moment – it would be hard to get away from three men.

Armed men, he corrected, noting the holster bulges on the two men he could see.

He could smell the river – but which river? He shifted his eyes, trying not to move his head. Things were a little blurry still, but that certainly looked like the Madison Avenue bridge to his right. That would place them in Harlem.

How the hell did he wind up in Harlem? The last thing he remembered…

Sara! He'd had lunch with Sara, they were chased. Where was she?

He struggled against the hands holding him, trying to look around. He saw other men off to one side – were they carrying someone?

The man at his shoulders yelled something. Neal couldn't make out the words through the ringing in his head, but he figured there was a good chance it had to do with him being awake. He tried again to pull away, but his movements were sluggish, and he couldn't even get one leg free.

They kept moving forward, and beyond them he saw a boat tied up. But there weren't any piers here…

Then he saw a man approaching, Taser in hand. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't. The electricity arced, he felt the touch against his neck…

And then there was nothing.

Hands on his hips, and a scowl on his face, Peter surveyed the park. "All right, where, Jones?"

"This shows straight ahead, about a hundred yards."

Peter didn't see anything straight ahead except a dense copse of trees and bushes, but he started forward anyway. Maybe there was something on the other side. But as they reached the area, Jones stopped him.

"We're almost right on top of the signal."

Diana shrugged and pushed her way into the brush. After setting aside the laptop, Jones followed. Peter tried skirting the trees, still thinking there might be an explanation on the other side, but the thicket was larger than it had appeared from a distance.

"Got it!"

Peter turned just as Diana appeared from the brush, holding the tracking anklet over her head.

"It doesn't look like it's been tampered with," she said, examining the band.

Peter shook his head slowly. "He got another key somehow."

"But why would he run now?" Jones asked. "I mean, if he stayed before, when he could have left with the treasure, why now?"

"Because he knows about the hearing next week," Peter replied, reaching for his phone. "He's probably afraid they'll send him back to prison. Jones, call the marshals, tell them to put out an alert."

Jones didn't look convinced, but he pulled out his phone and stepped away to make the call.

"Diana, head over to the café. See if anyone remembers seeing him, and if anything out of the ordinary happened. Oh, and get someone to check his phone, see if it's still on."

"Caffrey's a little too smart for that."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Peter replied, starting to punch in a number. "I'm going to call Sara and see if she was ever really meeting him…"

When he came to this time, he immediately wished he hadn't. His head felt like it was about to explode. The light was way too bright, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut again. His whole body ached like he had never experienced before. And if ever he had taken a whole bag of cotton balls and stuffed them in his mouth, he figured it would have to feel like what he was getting now when he tried to swallow.

Memories of how the day had gone came back, and with them a renewed sense of urgency. Neal forced his eyes open, fought against the nausea that the light caused. While his blurred vision cleared, he used his other senses. He was sitting up this time, on what felt like a hard-backed chair. His hands were restrained behind the chair back, but it still felt like regular handcuffs; good, he could work with that when the time came. And the bindings holding his ankles tight to the chair legs felt like rope, which would be much easier to deal with than several other options.

But first he needed to assess his surroundings. After all, if there were three armed thugs behind him, just itching to shoot, it wouldn't really make sense to give away the fact that he could get out of the cuffs.

Very carefully, just in case those armed men were behind him, he lifted his head. There were two narrow bunks in front of him, one over the other. And even though it really didn't seem germane to his current predicament, he couldn't help but cringe a little at the horrid green paisley print on the bed covers.

Turning his head slowly to the right, he saw a double-doored cabinet, probably a wardrobe of some sort. And another door, rounded around the edges – kind of what he'd expect on a boat. Which made sense, as memories of what he'd seen before being tased the last time.

And now that he thought about the boat, there did seem to be a rocking motion to the room…

Okay, a boat, and this was one of the cabins. As small as it was, it still seemed large for the boat Neal remembered seeing. Of course, he'd been unconscious again after that brief peek, so for all he knew this could have been the third or fourth vessel.

There was no sign of any armed guard behind him, so Neal took a chance and raised his head all the way, turning to his left.

Sara!

She was secured to a chair just like he was, with the same combination of handcuffs and rope. The sleeve of her blouse was ripped, and there were stains on her jeans, as if she'd been dragged across the grass. A trickle of blood had dried on her right temple. Just beyond her chair there was a window, but the curtains were pulled across it so he couldn't see anything.

Turning just a little farther, he could see a desk and a narrow couch behind him, but they were alone in the room. "Sara?" He got no answer so he pulled against his bonds, forcing the chair to move a little closer to her. "Sara!"

This time he at least got a moan in return, so he jerked his chair a little closer until he could touch her shoulder with his. "Sara?"

The slight jostling seemed to register as she moaned again, and then her eyes popped open. For a long moment her eyes seemed unfocused, just as his had been, but then she turned toward him. "Neal?"

"Yeah. Are you all right?"

Sara drew in a deep breath as she appeared to be taking inventory. "I think so, yeah. Do you know where we are?"

"On a boat of some sort, near as I can tell. Beyond that, I don't know."

"Shit."

"Yeah, that sums it up."

"Neal, I'm sorry. I'd only ever seen one man. If I'd had any idea…"

"Hey, don't worry about that now. Let's just think about a way out of here."

Sara pulled at her hands, the cuffs jingling softly. "I'm afraid I didn't implement your lessons. I had my picks in my purse, but I don't have anything on me."

"Well, I can handle the cuffs," he replied. "I'd just feel better if I knew where we were, or how many people we have to get through to get out of here. Once I tip my hand on opening the cuffs, we may not get another chance. Do you remember anything?"

"Running with you. I tried to use the baton, but there were too many of them. They grabbed me, took my purse, and then the Taser."

"Yeah, that part sounds familiar."

"Wait, what about your anklet? When you don't go back…"

Neal shook his head. "Sorry, they found it. And apparently they have a contact with the marshals' office, because they met up with someone with a key. They drugged me right after that."

"But Peter will be looking."

The hopeful tone in her voice made him smile, just a little. "Oh, yeah. Probably already is. But if we're on a boat somewhere…"

"A lot of water to hide on."

"Yeah. Look, do you think you can scoot your chair toward the window? Maybe you can get the curtains open a little."

Sara nodded and jerked her body to the left. The chair tilted for a moment, then settled back down. She took a deep breath, shifted until she could get her feet planted on the floor, and then tried again. This time the chair moved – only a few inches, but it was a start. A few more tries and she was next to the window. Leaning forward, she grabbed the fabric in her teeth and pulled.

Neal had pulled his chair a little closer too, and now they both stared out the portal…

Which showed them nothing but the deep blue sea and, beyond that the horizon, with the sun settling low in the sky.

Hands on his hips, a scowl on his face, Peter surveyed the evidence laid out before him on the conference room table. The tracker lay front and center, mute testimony to the missing status of a certain consultant.

Blake and Westley were canvassing the area, looking for traffic and other surveillance cameras. But since they had no idea whether they were even looking for a vehicle, much less what kind, the traffic cameras were a long shot. And if they were really looking for one person on foot… well, he wished the junior agents luck.

Diana had a grainy shot from a bank ATM across the street from the Chantilly. The tech guys were working on the image, trying to enhance it, but it certainly appeared to be Neal and Sara. The café staff had made a positive identification. So at least that part of Neal's story had been true…

Beyond that, Sara hadn't returned the message he had left at her office. And a call to the main Sterling Bosch line only got him someone who confirmed that Ms. Ellis was not in her office at the moment. But due to the confidential nature of the company's recovery work, no information could be divulged about any particular work she might have been doing, or where it might have taken her.

Peter looked up as Jones walked in. "Anything?"

The younger agent laid a cell phone down on the table. "Found this in a planter a couple of blocks from the café."

Peter picked up the phone, looking at the icon showing unheard messages – probably all from him. But when he tried to open them, the phone was locked. "Password protected," he sighed, putting it back on the table.

"I'll get it to the tech guys, see if they can get in."

"Good. Let me know."

"Will do."

Peter leaned back in his chair, turning toward the window. "So he left the phone in the Village, and the anklet in Harlem?"

"Someone called in a disturbance right near the café, right around noon. Diana's talking with the locals, trying to see if it's related."

"No cameras, I suppose."

Jones shook his head. "Side streets. Unless there's a home owner with a security system, we've got nothing."

Peter slumped down into a chair, rubbing his temples. "It just doesn't make sense."

"You really think Neal set this up and ran?"

"I don't know. If he's worried about that hearing, maybe."

"Yeah, but Neal's smart, and he knew about the Westmore briefing. If he really had access to a key, why not wait until after work, when no one would know he's gone until tomorrow?"

"Good question. All right, pull the case files for the last couple of months, anything Caffrey's been involved with. Let's start there and see if anything jumps out."