The zodiac from the freighter was, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing Neal had ever seen.
The pilot capably steered the craft up next to the raft with no more than the slightest of bumps. Hands reached over, securing the raft to the rescue craft, helping Sara and Neal on board.
Neal collapsed onto the floor of the boat, watching idly as the crew emptied the raft of all of its contents. Maybe they thought some of it was personal property that would be needed, or maybe they were looking to sell the gear on eBay.
He didn't care.
As one of the crew literally pulled the plug on the raft, the zodiac turned back toward its parent ship. Behind them, the raft was left to deflate, and ultimately sink.
That probably wasn't very green… but he couldn't muster the strength to really care.
It might not have done any good to ask questions anyway. The crew was talking, all of it in a language he didn't understand. From the look on her face, it didn't seem that Sara spoke the language either. But Neal was pretty well versed in other means of communication – like body language – and there was nothing threatening about these men. So he relaxed, and watched the freighter loom ever larger as they approached.
They reached the ship, the crew quickly attached the cables, and the zodiac was winched back on board.
Quite a crowd had gathered – probably pretty much all of the crew, Neal guessed. There was a lot more talking, and he could pick out what seemed to be a few different languages, but still none he recognized.
A large man, with dark hair and a bushy mustache, stepped to the front. From the way the others reacted, Neal guessed this was the ship's captain. He tried greetings in a few of the languages he did know, finally getting a positive response to French.
The captain smiled, a big, toothy grin. "Français?"
Neal nodded. "Oui, je parle français."
The other man turned, giving some rapid-fire orders to the crew behind him. One of the men nodded and headed off. The captain turned back to his guests with a smile and the nearly universal hand gesture for 'wait.'
As they waited, Sara leaned in. "If you want to give them a different name, I'll back you."
"What do you mean?"
"Neal, if you really think they'll put you back in prison next week, this is your chance. We don't have any ID. Give them a different name and I'll… I'll tell everyone that Neal Caffrey went overboard and that was the last I saw of him."
For a moment, it was tempting. He could be Victor Moreau. One call to June and she'd find the passport in his room, get it to him. If they weren't already heading for Canada , they must be close…
But then he shook his head, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. "Thank you," he whispered. "But I'm done running, Sara."
She just nodded and leaned in against his chest.
Two men came hurrying up just then. One was the crew member who had run off to follow the captain's orders. The other was wearing a food-spattered apron…
The cook?
Yes, the freighter's cook spoke French – and quite passably, as it turned out. He introduced himself, and the captain, and explained that they were on a Liberian-registered vessel, currently contracted for a haul from Helsinki, Finland to Portland, Maine. And who were their guests?
Neal smiled and extended his hand. "Mon nom est Neal Caffrey. C'est Sara Ellis," he said. "Merci de nous trouver."
Thank you, indeed, for finding us…
The warrant finally came through, and one of Dave Shattuck's people had picked it up and delivered it to the precinct in Yonkers . Peter was there now, watching as a small forensics team swarmed over the green van.
But it wasn't hard to tell that they weren't finding much. Nothing was being bagged, no one was holding anything up to the light to examine closer…
His phone rang, distracting him from those thoughts. "Diana, what's… They what… When… Right, I know where it is. I'll see you there."
He leaned against the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor. Legs up, he laid his arms over his knees and lowered his head, taking a deep breath.
"Peter?"
Peter looked up into the concerned face of his friend, managing a smile. "They found them, Dave. Caffrey and Sara Ellis."
"Where?"
"Apparently, adrift at sea."
"That's gotta be some story. They're all right?"
"Yeah. The Coast Guard sent a chopper, and they're coming in to the Staten Island station."
Shattuck reached a hand down, pulling Peter to his feet. "Go. I've got things covered here – not that I think they're going to find anything."
"Thanks, Dave."
"Sure. I'll let you know if I get anything. And I want to hear the whole lost at sea story from you!"
Peter just nodded. "I'm looking forward to that one myself!"
They were almost home.
After explaining who they were, and why they had been in the water, the captain had had Neal and Sara escorted to the radio room. Actually, it turned out to be little more than a radio closet, so Sara had waited outside while Neal went in. With help from their translator-cook, the radio operator had contacted the Coast Guard. The service had dispatched a fast cutter out from Portland to meet them.
While they waited, the crew of the freighter had offered them a marvelous gift – showers. It didn't matter that the enclosure was tiny, or the water pressure minimal. Just being able to wash off all of the sea salt and sweat had made Neal feel nearly human again. He'd found a set of clothing waiting for him when he got out the shower. Well-worn, but clean, his weren't a bad fit. Sara's, on the other hand…
Well, it was gracious of the smallest crew member to have given them to her. She just happened to look like she was about to disappear into them.
Their translator had turned out to be a decent cook as well. He had laid out a spread of fresh bread, cheese, soup, and pie. Both Neal and Sara had eaten sparingly, though Neal had hastened to assure the cook that the food was excellent. After two days of nothing but seaweed, it just didn't seem wise to push things too much. But when the coffee came…
Neal truly almost hugged the man. It might not have been Italian roast, but ambrosia served by the ancient gods couldn't have tasted so sweet.
Finally, showered, clothed, and fed, they were led back up onto the deck. The speedy cutter could be seen approaching, and they were soon on board.
Now, the lights of the city twinkled below them, almost as if the helicopter was flying upside down, and they were looking at the stars in the sky.
The Coast Guard craft swung back to the east, and then southward again, as they approached the Staten Island station. Neal leaned forward, watching as they crossed over Brooklyn, looking at Manhattan just beyond. Beside him, he could feel the gentle pressure of Sara's hand in his.
Well, more accurately, he could feel the gentle pressure of Sara's hand against the bandages on his.
Both of them had heavily bandaged hands, actually, courtesy of the furious paddling they'd done. The freighter hadn't had a doctor on board, but one of the crewmen had been trained in first aid. Their blistered and bleeding hands were cleaned and bandaged. Neal's wrists were bandaged too, hiding a layer of antiseptic designed to fight any infection that might have been setting in from those injuries. Sara had a cut by her hairline that had been cleaned and bandaged as well.
There wasn't much to be done for the various bumps and bruises, but even those seemed to feel better now that their ordeal was almost done.
At least, this chapter was almost done.
Jones and Diana waited by the car, watching as the big orange chopper approached. They were far enough back not to feel the full pressure of the rotor downwash, but it still got suddenly windy where they were.
Peter hadn't arrived yet, but he had said he was on the way. No problem, they could handle things.
The problem was, the inter-agency alert on Neal and Sara's names had alerted the police to their imminent arrival as well. Several patrol cars were there, lights flashing. Normally, that would have been fine. But with all of the Donnelly files fresh in mind, it was natural to wonder whether the police were there because of the missing persons case – or because they were part of the deputy commissioner's shadow force.
Neither agent liked the feeling of not knowing the answer to that question.
The helicopter circled, dropped low to the ground, hovered a moment, and then settled directly on the landing target.
An enlisted ground crew member ran forward, sliding chocks under the wheels. Another pulled open the back door.
Neal climbed down, taking a moment to steady himself as his feet touched solid ground for the first time in over two full days. Then he reached back in, offering a hand to Sara as she carefully exited.
They'd only taken a few steps when two men approached, signaling them to stop. "Neal Caffrey?"
It was easy to see the weapon holsters as Neal studied them. For a moment he wondered whether it might have been better to go with 'Vic Moreau' after all, but then he nodded. "Yes."
One of the men flashed a badge. "US Marshals. We have a warrant for your arrest."
It was Sara who spoke up first. "Arrest? For what?"
The second marshal held out a piece of paper. "This is a fugitive warrant filed on Monday."
Neal shook his head slowly and sighed. "Fugitive. That's great." He squeezed Sara's hand and gently held her back when it seemed like she was about to argue.
The first marshal had the handcuffs out. "We need you to come with us now."
Neal could see Jones and Diana hurrying toward them, and he carefully held his hands out, using one to point toward the approaching agents. "Look, just give me a minute, please," he said. "They're FBI agents, and I'm not trying to run."
The marshals didn't look happy, but by this time Jones and Diana had gotten close enough so that their badges were clearly visible. Neal took a couple of steps to meet them, bringing Sara with him.
Diana got there first, by half a step. "Are you two all right?"
"I'll let you know when the world stops rocking," Sara replied.
Neal nodded in agreement. "We've been on the water since Monday afternoon, including most of the last two days on a small survival raft." He looked past them for a moment, studying the police vehicles. "Did you find my phone, and the files?"
Jones nodded. "Yeah, we know about Donnelly. It just didn't help us much trying to find you."
"We kind of figured," Sara said.
"But Donnelly most likely knows by now that we survived," Neal added. "You need to get Sara somewhere safe."
Diana took a quick glance over at the police cars now. "Most of the Bureau's safe houses will be on the inter-agency site – part of our increased cooperation initiative. Donnelly can access it."
Neal nodded. "Sara and I discussed that."
"I have some friends with a place in the Hamptons," Sara explained. "They're out of the country for a few months, and they left me a key. I don't think anyone can connect me to the place."
"Assuming you can get her there safely," Neal added.
"Yeah, we can handle that," Jones said.
The marshals had moved closer, and Neal spared them a quick look before turning back. "There's something else. These guys know who I am, and where I live. June's there…"
"As soon as we can wrap up here, I'll go over there," Diana offered.
"June was planning to visit her son next week anyway. She was just waiting until… after my hearing," Neal said.
Diana laid a hand gently on his arm. "I'll make sure she's all right."
Neal nodded, just as the marshals came up behind him. "Thanks. I'd do it myself, but I seem to be a fugitive."
"Damn." Jones shook his head slowly. "Peter had me call it in on Monday, before we knew what was going on. I guess we never called off the warrant. I'm sorry, Neal."
Before Neal could answer, Diana was flashing her badge up close to the marshals. "Look, the warrant is a mistake. Our boss will be here any time now, and he'll explain it."
"We have our orders," one of the marshals said, even as the other was pulling out his handcuffs. "And a valid warrant. Caffrey will be at the federal holding facility. Your boss can find him there."
Diana started to argue, but Neal waved her off. "It's all right. It's not worth fighting. Just take care of Sara and June."
Sara stepped up, giving the marshals a murderous glare, and then wrapped her arms around him. "No, Neal, it's not right. Not after everything you've been through."
He returned the hug for a moment, eyes closed. "Just take care of yourself, Repo."
"Neal…"
The first cuff clicked as it locked onto his wrist, and he couldn't quite contain the hiss of pain as his arms were pulled back.
"He's hurt!" Sara objected, starting forward.
Neal took half a step, blocking her with his shoulder. "Sara, it's fine."
She took a deep breath, getting control. "I meant what I said, about testifying."
"I know." There was movement from the parking area, and for a moment Neal let himself hope that it was Peter. Instead, three police officers were headed their way. "Jones."
The agent quickly saw what Neal had and he reached for Sara's arm. "Let's go."
Neal watched them go – watched as Sara looked back at him for a long moment before finally turning to face where she was going. "Goodbye, Sara," he whispered.
And then he felt the tug on his arms as the marshals started to leave.
"I'll fill Peter in as soon as he gets here," Diana promised. "He'll take care of this."
Neal just nodded, and then he turned to go with the marshals.
A/N: Apologies if the French is questionable - it's from Google translations!