Chapter Three
Neal woke to a blinding headache, the kind of headache he imagined that one could only get from getting hit upside the head with a baseball bat made of solid gold. He fluttered his eyes open but was forced to weld them shut as the morning sunlight lanced into his head. Gritting his teeth together he struggled for air with shallow labored gasps. It took him a few minutes to realize that the panting was only making matters worse. Forcing himself to relax Neal took a few deep breaths and tried to slow his heart rate so that he could reduce the pounding in his head.
With his eyes still closed he started to try figuring out his environment. The last thing he remember was actually back in his apartment when one of his kidnappers had pressed the cold gun muzzle against his temple. For a brief moment Neal wondered if a gun shot wound to the head was the source of his pain. Reaching up he gingerly looked for a source of gore, however there was no blood. He rubbed his left ankle with his foot and discovered that his tracker was missing.
"That's a mixed blessing." Neal muttered to himself.
The air was clean and scentless, the kind of air that could only be found in newer buildings with filtration systems. Still unable to bear the bright light Neal continued to explore with his other senses. He ran his hands over the surface that he was laying on, high grade Egyptian cotton with a thread count so high that it almost felt like silk. It confused him to be laying in what was an exceptionally comfortable bed. Remembering more and more details of his kidnapping he was a little surprised to not wake up on a concrete floor, or to wake up at all for that matter.
Not really put at ease by his seemingly plush surroundings Neal worked harder on being able to look around. He moaned pitifully against the splitting migraine as he forced himself to sit up and eventually open his eyes. It wasn't as devastatingly bright in the room as he had first thought, after a few seconds of rapid blinking the world came into view. The light source was a large floor to ceiling sheet of glass that acted as a window. It looked out high on a breathtaking vista of New York. He wasn't exactly sure where he was in the vast city, but the landmarks told him that it was somewhere on the outskirts of Midtown Manhattan.
As the effects of the drugs that knocked him out wore off Neal original anxiety turned to confusion. Adjusting to the mid-morning light he found himself in an apartment decorated by someone with extremely expensive taste. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, but what was around were antiques made of solid tiger oak. Next to the bed was a nightstand that held a crystal tumbler with a matching pitcher of ice water that was dripping with condensation onto a silver tray. Cluttering the walls were nearly a dozen framed prints of various famous paintings.
"Wait a minute..."
The painting directly across from the bed caught Neal's full attention. Forgetting his headache he got out of bed and walked over to the painting. Its was Rembrandt's 'The Storm on the Sea of Galilee' originally painted in 1633, and subsequently stolen from the Stewart Gardner Museum never to be seen again. Studying the the painting intently he reached out and gently brushed his fingertips against the oil paint to feel the character of the brush strokes. He stared at the lower right corner and found what he was looking for. There was no doubt in his mind, this was not the original Rembrandt, it was one of his own forgeries.
Neal had only been thirteen when the painting was originally stolen, but since it had never been recovered he took the opportunity when he was in his early twenties to make a copy. It was his first attempt at a Rembrandt and had earned him several million. He'd been surprised with how quickly he'd managed to spend the small fortune.
With his heart suddenly racing Neal started looking at the others. They were all from different artists from different time periods. Van Gogh's 'View of the Sea at Schevenigen', Vermeer's 'The Concert', Vandervekern's 'The Just Judges', Michelangelo's 'Leda and the Swan', the list went on. The one thing they all had in common was that they were paintings that he had copied at one point or another. Before he could check them all for his own hidden signature there was a knock at the door.
"Kidnappers that knock...I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing."
The intruder didn't wait for Neal to invite him in. Neal listened to the beeping of a keypad and the heavy click of the automatic lock. He couldn't identify the lock by its sound, but it was certainly not the kind of bolt that once could purchase at your local Home Depot. Neal glanced up into the corner near the door and noticed the small security camera watching him from inside a small protective glass box. Hiding next to the door to jump whoever stepped through was not going to work.
Trying to act casual Neal took a few steps away from the painting and crossed his arms over his chest. A thin man of Asian decent stepped into the room and smiled brightly at Neal. Neal forced a smile right back at him. The man fit in well with the theme of the place, a hand tailored suit, hundred thousand dollar gold watch, Italian shoes.
"Mr. Caffrey," the man greeted warmly "I am honored to finally meet you."
"Likewise I'm sure...I'm sorry I seem to have forgotten your name."
"Liao Hua."
"Liao Hua...military general from the Han Dynasty."
"Very good, Mr. Caffrey. You know your Chinese history well."
"I'm no expert, just an admire of classic literature: Romance of the Three Kingdoms."
"I am encouraged to find that you are scholarly."
"I've had a lot of time to read."
"A privilege afforded to you by prison time no doubt." Liao smiled. "Take heart in the fact that many great men have been caged for one reason or another. You're a gentleman thief, that's what I like about you. One does not pull ivory from a dog's mouth, men like you know that. Sadly you're a dying breed, Mr. Caffrey."
"As long as it's just my breed dying and not me directly."
"We are all dying." Liao shrugged.
Unsure of what to say next Neal waited patiently for Liao to continue. It was a little disconcerting the way Liao was treating this situation like a casual encounter. Liao stepped closer causing Neal to tense. Liao smiled and turned his attention to the Rembrandt forgery.
"Do you like my collection?"
"They are very nice."
"You are much too modest." Liao chuckled. "All of them are Caffrey Originals...or as 'original' as you get. But I'm sure you've figured that out by now."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Of course not, art theft and forgery isn't part of your official criminal record." Liao nodded in understanding. "I've spent years collecting them. Did you know that some of your known forgeries go for more on the black market than the original works?"
"I had no idea." Neal replied honestly.
"I am a great admirer of your work."
"Is that why I'm here?"
"In a manner of speaking. I have a proposal for you, I want us to be business partners. Maybe even friends."
"Kidnapping me was not a good start to our relationship."
"Don't think of it as a kidnapping, think of it as a rescue. You're one of us, Mr. Caffrey, you do not deserve to be a slave to the F.B.I."
"I'm not a slave."
"Do they pay you for the work you do?"
"No, but..."
"Semantics, Mr. Caffrey." Liao interrupted. "You were little more than a trained hunting dog to them, they just kept your collar around your ankle rather than your throat."
"You seem very interested in my freedom, does that mean that I can walk out that door?"
"Not yet." Liao shook his head. "As with any business partnership I expect to be paid for my efforts."
"Forget it." Neal growled. "Let me go now and I'll think of something to tell the F.B.I that doesn't include this little 'rescue' of yours."
"Hear me out, I can offer you a new life, or rather I can offer you the life you had before prison. You leave now and I doubt the F.B.I is going to have as tempting offer as I have. "
"This isn't the first time I've gone AWOL, I'll think of something."
"That life is gone, Caffrey. You can never go back."
Before Neal could reply Liao reached into his pocket and pulled out a large diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum. Liao tossed the jewelry at Neal who automatically caught it. Looking down at the necklace his blood turned to ice when he recognized it. He had to admit that he was impressed.
"The Sapphire Waterfall..."
"You stole it last night."
"Peter will never believe that."
"I think he will. Once a man is bitten by a snake he will fear even a simple rope that resembles a snake."
"Thank you, Confucius." Neal rolled his eyes.
"Plus, you were a little careless, left some DNA behind."
Neal ground his teeth together in a mix of anger and frustration.
"Even if Agent Burke believes absolutely every word you say to him, do you really think that the higher ups will? Your partnership with Burke isn't entirely up to him. You were skating on thin ice even before this. The evidence that you went on a little crime spree will not be something they can ignore, even if your friend believes you've been framed. The best you can hope for is serving out the rest of your sentence in a twelve by eight box without another four to six years added to it."
Neal stared down at the gem stones in his hand. He wasn't about to admit that Liao had a point, but he did. With this particular piece missing he knew that it was going to be harder to convince even Peter that he was innocent. He had charmed Elizabeth into to helping him convince Peter to take them both to the Metropolitan Art Museum several times. The trips had been innocent, he forged art because he admired it and the Met was out of his two mile reach. However now the time spent with friends would look like just another con.
"I'll give you some time to think about your situation." Liao said gently.
"And what if I say 'no'?"
"Well," Liao smiled mischievously "you know what they say about artists, don't you?"
"Not really."
"Their work is always more valuable...after they're dead."