I fortunately never had to escape from an abandoned building after a psycho kidnapped me, so excuse me if everything isn't exactly believable. That being said, I try to be plausible enough.
Chapter 3: Breaking ( not that way )
It took a bit under one hour for Casey to reach Beckman's phone, and for the general to arrange something with the FBI so that Team Castle could get on the investigation about a missing CI, without saying too much to the FBI right away. Except Casey, they were all civilians, now, but they had prior knowledge about the abductor – and the abducted, but Beckman had skillfully avoided that point with the FBI so far – and they had security clearance, should anything arise – because let's be honest, with Larkin involved, the possibility of things going overboard had risen tremendously. Getting Kyle Bancroft, the SAC under whom Larkin had apparently been working – Peter Burke's boss – to agree to their meddling had been slightly more difficult, but as the general had provided a possible identity for their missing CI's abductor...
The point being, when Sarah, Chuck and Casey finally were allowed to enter the federal building – that is, without ruffling any more feathers than necessary – they literally barged in. Because Bancroft might have agreed only a couple of minutes earlier, it meant no one else knew about their special visitors. Especially not the White Collar division.
Chuck would have liked to point out that, surely, Casey's attitude – growling, snarling, and, being, you know, otherwise uncivilized – certainly didn't help in being accepted. The man still didn't view the FBI as a very good agency, to the point it kind of showed on his face.
The FBI agents they crossed path with as they went up to the White Collar division obviously felt the love, and returned the love, tenfold. Probably because they were, kind of, at home, and no one likes to be looked at disdainfully in their own home. Sometimes Chuck wished Casey could choke on a piece of tact hidden in his meal.
Sarah barely glanced at her ominous colleague, held her husband's hand to reassure him that no FBI agents were going to murder them and hide the bodies in the cellar because of Casey's attitude, and smiled apologetically at the miffed agents, who acknowledged her with a stiff nod... and kept well away from the NSA agent. She understood why.
The elevator stopped at the White Collar division's floor, and the three visitors walked out.
"Mr and Mrs Carmichael, Colonel Casey. The search for Caffrey is lead by ASAC Peter Burke, over there. If you'd follow me, I still have to inform them of your... welcome assistance."
Chuck sensed a certain terseness in the voice which had addressed them. He looked for its owner.
Kyle Bancroft, a black, no-nonsense man, was waiting there, looking stern, and not at all impressed by Casey's rough exterior – the inside's rough too, Morgan'd have whispered, had he been there. Good thing Morgan wasn't there, Chuck thought as he refrained a gulp. It wouldn't do to have two tactless people invading the FBI offices when they were nothing more than tolerated guests – thanks for that, Casey. Not that Chuck had considered not having Casey come along. The guy was good for more than brawl, and as long as he didn't shoot Bryce dead, again, on sight...
Right. They were here because of Daryl Riggs, and apparently that included searching for the not-so-dead-again Bryce Larkin. Better get working, then.
Bancroft pushed the glass doors open, and every other agent around turned to watch as their boss' boss entered the offices of the White Collar division. They probably hadn't quite expected to see him – or, at least, not this soon into the search for their missing CI. After a time, if they hadn't gotten a lead, or, worse, if their criminal consultant had been seen doing something illegal, which was obviously not a concern right now – in other words, if things started to become a problem for the Bureau, perhaps... But not yet.
The SAC lead them to a middle-aged man, around Casey's age, who looked busy and stressed, but the bad,-angry-kind of stressed. Sarah couldn't help an internal shudder as she noticed his eerie ressemblance to Kieran Ryker, her former handler... and creepy enemy. Only, Ryker was dead, and there was a stark contrast between the CIA agent and the FBI agent. Despite their looks, their faces looked nothing alike. Even in angered frustration, Burke didn't have that coldness in his eyes.
They did, but didn't look that much alike, she decided. Perhaps a long lost cousin or something, with the odds of genetics kicking in.
"Burke. Visitors for you. With interesting things to say. You should listen to them. And just to warn you, apparently your case is of interest to the NSA. Colonel Casey, here."
With these short, clipped, possibly worrying words, Bancroft left. Burke seemed a bit surprised by the lack of proper eloquence. Sarah hoped Beckman had began searching for an explanation to Bryce's sudden reappearance, because this smelled like a whole bunch of problems to deal with.
Casey, no words lost on courtesy, stepped forward and eyed everyone critically as he informed the FBI agents of what they knew so far... and as such asked for more info on their part too.
"Your CI has probably been taken by Daryl Riggs, a former NSA agent who went rogue a few years ago, and has history with... Caffrey. As your boss said, we have a special interest in getting this traitor back. Anything you want to share?"
A tough-looking, not-impressed woman squinted at the colonel, and Casey returned the glare. She wasn't the former-military one in the team, the colonel could say after a glimpse at the black man standing in the back of the room, his eyes on the screen of a computer despite the new arrivals, but she was the one who'd kick the ass of whoever tried to get one over on her. Perhaps, Casey thought, perhaps these FBI agents weren't so bad.
As far as not-bad a FBI agent could get.
Burke was the one to answer, though.
"See for yourself, Colonel Casey."
And he directed the team to the laptop, for them to see the live video of the abducted Neal Caffrey.
Casey groaned. There was no mistaking the silhouette, even if the looks were widely different.
"Definitely Larkin. Only Larkin gets in trouble like this. Doesn't this guy knows how to stay dead?"
oOo
Neal glared at the locked door, just in case it'd change its state to please him. Which it didn't. He wasn't particularly surprised by that. Things tended to dislike him, today. And people, too. People didn't like him either. Riggs certainly wasn't being a good host. And if the insane rogue captain was saying the truth, if the video of Neal's abduction was really being sent to the FBI, Neal's friends and colleagues might come not to like him either, soon enough.
Well, no point worrying about that now. What he needed to do, was to get himself out of what was, without a doubt, a trap. Riggs couldn't have just decided to handcuff him to a chair and then wait patiently for him to escape – or not, and in this case, Neal'd have probably died of starvation, no, even better, of dehydration, which could, admittedly, be the point of Riggs' little game. For all he knew, the guy had sealed all the ways out, and was dying to see Neal try and get out, only to...
Focus.
Neal looked around one more time. What did he have?
He had a broken cellphone with an earpiece, which Riggs mainly used to taunt him, but that he had still kept, just in case. It could come in handy. Perhaps. One day or another. Preferably Neal'd be out, or even dead, by then. He didn't fancy dying of dehydration. A bullet in the head, on the other hand... Clean, relatively painless, and quick. Unless the shot was wonky, and then it really would be worse than dehydration...
Neal realized he was drifting into his Bryce-state-of-mind, without even meaning to. He wasn't playing it this time. It might not be a good thing. If he let himself be Bryce without being conscious of it, when Bryce was supposed to be only a persona... Neal wasn't sure he wouldn't become Bryce, in a way. He had always been careful to let his darkest alias out of reach, to make Bryce no more than a mask. Because if Bryce actually became a part of Neal... If Bryce's thoughts pattern became natural, then Neal wouldn't be able to go back. He wouldn't be the non-violent conman anymore, but all the way the missing CIA agent who didn't like violence, but used it when necessary... and who couldn't go back to the CIA, because Bryce Larkin wasn't real. And the CIA didn't know that.
But if Bryce became real enough to actually be a part of Neal...
He needed to focus.
He had a cellphone with an earpiece, his clothes but no tools, different pieces of a broken chair, and a camera stalking him from the high corner of the room. He was almost tempted to give a finger to the asshole spying on him, but considering Peter might be watching too... Nah, better not to. Neal'd like to keep his secret identity – since when was he a superhero? – as long as possible.
And Neal Caffrey wouldn't give the finger to his captor, not even in rightful anger.
Now, if he had had his lockpick set, or an usable cellphone with a connecting cable or something, for example, he might have tried working on the digital door, or even on the lock. A lockpick set could prove incredibly useful, even when there was no lock to pick. You just had to know what to do... and have a bit of luck, too.
Unfortunately, Neal didn't even have his lockpick set.
He considered breaking down the door, but it seemed solid, new, and totally unjustified in this derelict building – unless you wished to keep a former CIA agent inside for fun, which, guess what, was exactly what Daryl Riggs was doing now. Moreover, if Neal had brought his cuffed hands back in front of him, which was, he had to admit, a distinct improvement, they were still cuffed. Kicking down the door might ask for more balance than he could provide right now. Shouldering his way out would irremediably end up with him on the floor, too, and getting up wouldn't be pleasant.
Neal cocked his head as he observed the wall, next to the door, carefully. He knocked on it once, twice, thrice, and smiled a bit. Well, so much for added security. Riggs had filled the cracks, but the walls were still the contrary of sturdy, especially partition walls. And this building? It wasn't high class, even before it had been abandoned.
Now, Neal didn't have a hammer to take the wall down, so it'd be a bit more difficult, and perhaps a little painful to bring the damn wall down. But he could do it. Besides, he had a broken chair leg.
Neal considered his options one last time, but staying in this room went with gassing; not in his best interest. He slammed his weight against the wall, which looked fine-ish on this side, but sounded pretty disemboweled on the other side.
He was pleased to hear an ominous crack as he did so, gleefully ignoring the pain he was sure he'd feel by the end of this trial. Alright, gleefully may be a bit exaggerated. Conveniently satisfied, then.
Well, now he just had to... continue. Until a crack appeared, which he could, hopefully, enlarge with the help of his faithful broken chair leg. This was going to be so much fun.
By the end of his ordeal, Neal thouroughly regretted his choice to bring down a wall this fine day. Sure, he had just walked his way through a self-made hole in a wall, next to a reinforced door, out of a slowly gassed room, and he was very glad for it. But his shoulder was killing him, he had at least two splinters in his right hand from the broken chair, and that wasn't even the worst.
The worst came in the form, or rather, in the sound, of growls. Aggressive, harmful growls. Canine growls. The kind of growls you got from large, heavy, muscular, attack-type dogs.
Neal turned around, saw another door, at the end of the corridor he had just found himself in. A door which had just opened, and from which two hostile representants of the canine race were walking out, eyes fixed on the young man. Growling.
"Marvelous."
oOo
Jones glanced from the laptop screen to the confrontation that was happening in the room, insure whether or not it was safe to stop watching Caffrey bringing down a wall with his bare hands – and a broken chair leg, do not forget the broken chair leg. He guessed he'd keep an eye on the video while the others tried to rip each other's head off, because someone had to make sure nothing – worse – happened to their consultant.
For now, Peter, Diana and the newcomers seemed too busy glaring at each other to mind the fact that Caffrey was behaving slightly out of character.
Peter, as a matter of fact, was scoffing at the colonel.
"Bryce Larkin again, uh? I must say, you all seem to know a lot about this alias I've never heard of. Even Rachel Turner knew of him, but unlike you, she seems to think the guy is dead, and definitely can't be Neal, because, you know, Bryce Larkin was apparently a CIA agent, mainly known for having turned traitor right in the middle of Neal's four years in jail. Now, I'd like to know why you all seem adamant that Neal is this guy?"
The colonel was about to retort when his blond colleague tapped him on the shoulder, and gestured to the third person in the team, whose eyelids were suddenly fluttering open for no good reason.
"Chuck?"
The man almost did a double take, coughed, and gave the FBI agents a sorry look.
"Sorry. Just got surprised by the photo of a MI5 agent on the table over there. Hadn't expected another rogue spy in the story. What did she do?"
Peter glanced at Rachel's file, left open on the table, as the visitor had noticed, and sighed.
"She passed herself off as a harmless love interest for Neal, pretended she was kidnapped, and forced him to retrieve a priceless diamond in exchange for a friend's life. Eventually we got her, but after what happened to Neal... I wanted to interrogate her, in case she knew anything; she, at least, doesn't believe her boyfriend could be a rogue CIA agent. She'd probably know, considering her background. So, again, what's the whole insanity about Bryce Larkin and Neal?"
Because, at that point, Peter really had enough. Neal was good at juggling personas, and even personalities and skills when needed, but even he couldn't be in two places at the same time; namely, in a supermax jail, and running around the world doing CIA stuff. Right?
The colonel sneered a bit, turned back to the computer, just in time to see Neal tearing off a partition wall with a broken chair leg, and pointed at the CI.
"Sorry to disappoint, FBI, but this guy is definitely our guy. Neal Caffrey is intelligent, crafty, a good actor, and athletic enough, isn't he? So was Bryce Larkin. And they share the same face. Now, what I'd like to know, is how a KIA agent of the CIA with his star on the wall managed to cheat death a second time to end up as a con artist CI of the FBI, and how the hell no one noticed!"
Before Peter could point out how ridiculous the colonel's words were – seriously, Neal Caffrey, a CIA agent? – the man named "Chuck" pushed himself in between Colonel Casey and the FBI agent, as if expecting bloodshed if he didn't take the conversation over.
"If you'll excuse me, I... Right, so, I'm afraid, Agent Burke, that your Neal Caffrey is but a con... an alias... a fake... I knew Bryce in College, at Stanford, back in 2002. He's from Connecticut. He was recruited by the CIA during college. He was my friend. Perhaps, after he died a second time for his country, he thought he'd had enough. A non-violent conman persona would be another chance at life for him... though I don't know why he didn't just become someone normal."
Peter wasn't convinced, for very good reasons. But he thought he had to answer that last question, at least, even if the theory behind it was completely wrong.
"The adrenaline. But that's not what bothers me with your theory. What bothers me is that I arrested Neal in 2005, and my investigation led me all the way back to 1995, when he was 18 years old. I have actual proofs, and not only uncheckable records, of his existence. Also, I met his father, and I happen to know his official names: Neal Bennett from birth, and in WITSEC, Danny Brooks. Now, I find that a bit too much work, just to convince the FBI of his existence. There are easier ways than to fake an entire history with the Marshals. I'm afraid Neal existed way before Bryce Larkin was created. So, Neal certainly isn't Bryce Larkin, unless you pretend he actually conned the C..."
Peter stopped there, gaze in the void, as he considered. He looked back at the live feed of Neal, who had almost finished his way out. He closed his eyes a moment. Then he looked back at the visitors, almost certain Neal had just gotten himself in a lot of trouble. And the conman wasn't even here.
But for now, Neal had other problems. Peter'd think about his friend's madness once said friend wouldn't be threatened by a madman anymore.
"You know what, he probably did. He probably made Larkin out of scratch, and somehow got himself in the CIA because he was bored or something."
The blond woman in the group chose that moment to intervene, just as the video changed cameras, now showing a corridor, where Neal had ended up, and the sound of growls rose from the laptop.
"Whether he's Bryce or Neal Caffrey isn't the point! We should be trying to find him back!"
Chuck went white, probably as he realized they had forgotten about actually helping Neal; Peter wasn't proud of himself either. The younger man took out his own laptop, and put it next to the computer showing the feeds.
"You're right, Sarah. Do... whatever you can think of. I'll try to hack the site's connection."
