"Maybe we could still see land if we were on the other side of the boat."
Neal gave that a perfunctory nod, struck by how Sara's voice conveyed both hopefulness, and hopelessness, at the same time. "Yeah, maybe."
He was just considering whether it might be time to get rid of the handcuffs after all when there was the sound of the door being unlocked. A moment later, three men walked in, two of them with guns drawn.
"Good, you're awake. That'll make things easier."
Neal studied the man for a moment, weighing his options. He wasn't really tall, probably a couple of inches under six feet. He wasn't particularly big, either, nor did he appear to be the type who worked out a lot; his tan suit, while well-fitted, didn't show a lot of muscle underneath. And he wore an achingly over-confident smile, which, in Neal's experience, usually meant the person had no real reason to be confident.
Except, of course, in this case, when the man in the tan suit was backed by hired muscle. The other two guys obviously did work out – a lot. Add in the semi-automatics they carried, and the options he and Sara had were rather limited, at least for the moment.
"I'm all for easy," Neal said, trying to keep his tone light, but not overly so. He definitely didn't want these men to think he wasn't taking the situation seriously. "But really, I think you've got the wrong people here. I mean, we were just having lunch."
He got a fist across his jaw for his efforts.
Reeling a bit from the blow, Neal was only vaguely aware of the ropes being removed from his legs. Then he was being pulled to his feet and pushed toward the door. He stumbled into the narrow hall as he heard Sara objecting to the rough treatment behind him.
They went down the hall, up a short flight of steps, and into an open parlor at the back of the boat.
And actually, Neal decided, he needed to amend his idea of the vessel they were on. This was definitely not the fairly small boat he recalled from the river in Harlem. No, he would have to classify this one as a yacht. Absolutely top of the line – under other circumstances, he could quite enjoy a cruise on a vessel like this.
He was pushed down onto a narrow couch along one side wall, and a moment later Sara was deposited next to him. From the fresh trickle of blood at her lip, it looked like she'd fought back a bit.
Really, he'd expect nothing less.
Trying to move as little as possible, he looked around. The three men who had taken them from the cabin were there, two of them with guns drawn again. They were standing around the edges of the room, with one blocking the door to the back deck of the yacht, and another at the doorway to the hall they had just exited. Mr. Tan Suit was lounging against the bar.
Neal's eyes went toward the back of the yacht, hoping to find that Sara was right, and that land was still visible on one side. But all he saw behind them was water – and the setting sun directly to the rear, which meant they were heading pretty much due east.
Now, he didn't know for sure how long they had been unconscious, or how long they had been on this yacht, or how long they had been moving at a fairly high speed. But assuming that they had turned east after clearing the harbors around New York, they must already be past the Hamptons. And what did that leave between them and Europe? Nothing that he could think of, except a lot of water.
A lot of very deep water.
They waited, for what seemed like a long time, though Neal knew it was probably no more than four or five minutes. And then another man came up the stairs from the hallway below. He was stocky, his chest broad, stretching against the tight polo shirt he wore. His dark head was clean-shaven, his biceps bulging under the short sleeves.
Definitely not Cyril Donnelly; the deputy commissioner's photo had been in the paper enough that Neal knew he'd recognize the man. But whoever the newcomer was, he was obviously a rung up from the other men on the power structure, judging by the subtle way the three men deferred to him.
"It's a great day for a little cruise on the open ocean, isn't it."
"I wish you'd called ahead," Neal replied. "We didn't have a chance to pack appropriately."
The man's grin was not encouraging. "Oh, I think you'll find you have everything you need." He reached over to a table on his left and picked something up. "Mr. Caffrey, is it?"
Neal shrugged. "If you have my ID, I guess you know who I am."
"Oh, we do. Quite the interesting history you have. Con man, thief, forger – and now FBI snitch."
"Actually, I prefer consultant. But you seem to know quite a bit about me, and yet I don't even know your name."
"You can call me Gavin, if that helps."
Neal nodded, opting for a small, relieved smile. "It does. Because, Gavin, I think there's been some big mistake here, and I hope we can fix it."
"Oh, there's been a mistake, all right," Gavin agreed – but Neal found the man's slick smile anything but reassuring. "But before we get to that, can you explain why a big-time FBI consultant wasn't carrying a cell phone? We didn't find one."
The lie rolled easily off of Neal's tongue. "I was surprised by Sara's call, and I left in a hurry. I was halfway to the restaurant before I realized I didn't have it."
"Hmmmmm." Gavin stared straight at him for a long moment, as if weighing that statement. And then he turned to Sara. "And then we have the lovely Ms. Ellis. I imagine you know why you're here."
"Actually, I have no idea," she replied, and Neal was impressed by the steadiness in her voice. "I'm an insurance investigator. I can't imagine what you want with me."
"Maybe you just need a little help with your imagination then." The smile disappeared from Gavin's face and he pulled a chair up, sitting right in front of Sara, his face inches from hers. "Where is it?"
Now there was a slight tremor in her voice as she answered. "What is it you want?"
"Oh, I think you know what we want." Gavin's finger trailed down her cheek as he spoke, and Neal could see her shiver.
"I don't," Sara insisted.
"All right, I'll play the game, for now. See, there was this guy, Benji Bartoli. Now Benji, he had a habit of acquiring things that weren't his. One thing in particular is real important to this story. See, Benji stole this piece of art – some stupid little miniature painting. Piece of crap, if you ask me, and I couldn't care less about it. Except, you see, the guy Benji sold it to had stolen something too, and he hid it behind that miniature. Now that's what I'm interested in."
Sara leaned back away from Gavin, just a bit, before answering. "My company had received credible information about a piece that we insured. Not enough to take to the police or the FBI, but enough for me to go in and check it out. I was just recovering our client's property."
"Yeah, except your client's property included something that shouldn't have been there."
"I don't know anything about…"
Gavin's fist slammed down on the table, making both it and Sara jump. "No, see, I think you do. And either you or pretty boy here will tell me what I want to know."
Neal hit the floor, hard, and he couldn't stifle a groan. With his hands still cuffed behind him, it hadn't been possible to break the fall at all.
He was just working his way to a seated position when Sara was shoved into the room. She fell, knocking him back down, and he felt the air leave his lungs as her elbow slammed into his already-sore ribs.
After that, he was only vaguely aware of hands pulling him up, putting him back onto the same chair as before. And then he felt the ropes binding his legs again. To his left, Sara was receiving the same treatment.
Finally, the men left the cabin, pulling the door closed with a loud bang. Or maybe it just seemed loud because of the other pounding in his head…
"Sara?"
It took a moment before she lifted her head, and when she did, the bruises along her cheek were vivid against her otherwise fair skin. "I don't think I can hold out much longer," she said, nearly whispering.
"Yeah, I know."
"If we tell them about the card…"
"Sara, if they just wanted the information, why bring us out here to deep water?"
"Yeah, that's not a very good sign, is it?"
"Not likely."
"Do you think Peter's found anything?"
"I'm sure they have my phone by now – that was probably one of the first things they looked for, after the anklet."
"But I don't think there's anything in those files to help him find us."
"No, I think we're on our own for that."
"Any ideas?"
"Well, how good a swimmer are you?"
"Your plan is to swim all the way back to New York?"
"Well, no. I saw two emergency life raft bins out on the back deck. Hopefully they're not empty."
"So we sneak out and steal one of those?"
"That's the basic plan, yes." Neal twisted his hands behind his back until he could work one of his cufflinks free. Byron had designed some magnificent tools into his accessories. "They said we'll have one more chance to talk in the morning, so hopefully most of these guys will be trying to get some sleep."
"We give them a chance to nod off…"
"Then we make our way to the back, grab one of the rafts, and go into the water." The slim probe folded out easily, and he worked the end into the keyhole on the cuffs. His wrists were raw from pulling against the cuffs, and it took a couple of extra tries because of the blood. But it wasn't really very long until the first lock opened; with his hands in front of him, the second cuff was opened even faster. Then it took a couple of minutes to deal with the knots on the ropes binding his legs, but he was soon free.
He knelt behind Sara next, opening the handcuffs binding her. Together they got the ropes off of her legs. And then Sara's head dropped softly onto his shoulder, and he reached one hand up, carding his fingers in her hair as he held her close.
"I'm so sorry I dragged you into this," she whispered.
"Hey, we're not done yet." And hopefully that sounded more confident than he actually felt. They were in the middle of the fricking ocean, after all…
"Yeah." Sara pulled back a little, looking up into his eyes. "And if anyone can get us out of this, it's you. This should be nothing compared to a maximum security prison."
"True. But there's a whole lot of ocean out there." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. "Let's give them just a little more time to settle in for the night."
"What if they decide to check on us one more time?"
Neal got to his feet, picked up the chair he had been tied to, and wedged it under the door handle. "That should buy us a little time anyway." He opened the wardrobe next, and pulled out two of the four life vests stored inside. Nothing else in the wardrobe seemed helpful so he moved on. "I'll get this window unlocked so we're ready," he said, handing one of the vests to Sara. "We'll wind up in the water one way or another, even if there is a raft."
Sara took the vest, nodding her understanding. "Sounds like… fun."
Neal took care of the flimsy lock on the window; obviously, the designers hadn't really expected anyone to try and break out of the cabin. Then he grabbed his vest and sat on the floor under the window, reaching for Sara's hand. He guided her down next to him, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. And we'll teach these guys not to mess with the team of Ellis and Caffrey."
Now if only he could convince himself that this plan would – could – work…
It was almost ten o'clock before Peter finally admitted defeat for the day, turned off his office lights, and headed home.
They still only had bits and pieces of what might, or might not, have happened with Neal and Sara. The photos definitely showed that they had, indeed, met at the café, and the staff said they'd eaten lunch. Nothing unusual yet.
But what happened after that was still a puzzle missing several pieces.
The tech guys had promised they'd have the contents of Neal's phone available by morning, so maybe there would be a clue or two there. And that would pretty much double what they knew, because they had precious little other information.
Someone from Sterling Bosch had finally admitted that Sara had not shown up when expected, and that she seemed to be unreachable. Her current and recent case files had been promised by morning.
With both Sara and Neal missing, Peter had to admit that his first assumption – that Neal had run out of fear over what might happen at next week's hearing – might have been a bit hasty. Even if Neal had decided to go on the run, it didn't seem like him to drag Sara along.
Unless, of course, she had been a willing participant in his plan.
But as far as Peter knew, the two of them really were no longer a couple. In fact, Neal had seemed genuinely puzzled about the reason for the lunch call when Peter had asked.
Jones, Diana, and some of the junior agents had been pouring over the White Collar unit's cases for the last six months, looking for anything out of the ordinary. But the thing was, even with the U-boat treasure secret in the background, Neal's work had been stellar. The only case they could find where his cover had been broken was with Raquel Laroque, when Keller had interrupted the operation. Raquel was still locked up, and definitely seemed far more upset with Keller than with Neal. As evidenced by that kiss she'd laid on Neal in the interrogation area – definitely a first for a suspect in Peter's experience.
They'd continue looking into the FBI cases in the morning, see if something came up.
And maybe there would be something in Sara's cases.
Neal as an innocent bystander, caught up in some plot against Sara? That almost seemed too hard to believe…
Well, he wasn't going to find the answers tonight. He had to admit, he couldn't even focus on the files in front of him any longer. So for now, it was time to get home to Elizabeth. He could pick up the chase again the next day.