December arrived, and with it the first snow. Holiday decorations were everywhere, whichever holiday you were looking for - Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, or just Christmakwanzahanukkah. Store windows were plastered with signs for special sales and lowest prices of the season.
Neal and June issued invitations to a New Year's Eve party at her home. To those who voiced surprise – mainly Peter – Neal simply explained that no, he hadn't given up on a solution to his dilemma. He still hoped to be working as a consultant come January, just as he was now. But if nothing changed… well, he was going out with a bang.
Normally crowded anyway, the city teemed now with even more people. City dwellers ventured out more often to shop, to see the lights, or to enjoy one of the myriad of holiday activities available. Commuters stayed in town longer in the evenings for the same reasons. And tourists flocked in, wanting to experience the holiday season in the city that never slept. From the ice rink at Rockefeller Center, to the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall, to the Grinch at an off-Broadway stage, there was something for everyone.
Yes, they all came to New York City.
The first sign of trouble came that Wednesday morning, a little over a week before Christmas. Peter had picked Neal up and everything seemed normal until they stepped out of the elevator on the 21st floor.
The bullpen area was filled with people – more than would normally be there. Peter recognized some of them from other units, while some faces weren't familiar at all.
Neal nudged his arm, pointing up to the top of the stairs. "Isn't that the guy from Counter Terrorism who's talking to Hughes?"
"Yeah, Tony Lake."
Just then Peter heard his name and looked up to find he was the subject of the dreaded double finger point by Hughes. "Oh, this can't be good," he muttered, starting for the stairs.
Neal headed for his desk, only to hear his name called – and find the fingers pointed at him too. Right, definitely not good.
They met in the conference room – Hughes, Lake, Peter, Neal, and a few other department heads and agents. Most of the crowd was left milling about downstairs.
"We may have a situation," Hughes started. "I think most of you know Tony Lake from Counter Terrorism."
Lake stepped forward, nodding to those around the table. At a guess, Neal figured he was a little older than Peter, somewhat shorter but broader in the shoulder. Blond hair, maybe going a little gray at the temples. Green eyes that looked tired behind wire rimmed glasses.
"I got a communiqué from Homeland early this morning," Lake began. "The NSA had been picking up some chatter about a new plot focusing on New York, but there were no details. Then late last night a tip came in that these two men have been seen in New York." He clicked a remote and photos appeared on the screen. "Mark is passing out hard copies of the report with more background, but suffice it to say these men have known, strong ties to Al Qaeda. If they're here, something is going on."
"No clue about the target?" someone asked.
Lake shook his head. "None. And a lot of potential targets."
"Even more so with all of the holiday events," Peter said.
Hughes stepped up again. "This is why everyone has been called in. From here on, this takes priority over everything else. You're all on Counter Terrorism duty as of right now, and until we either find these guys, or disprove the threat. Cancel any other meetings or follow up you may have on other cases."
"What do we tell those people?" an agent asked.
"Tell them you're looking into leads," Lake suggested.
"Hell, tell them you're sick," Hughes added. "If anyone pushes back, refer them to me. We just need to keep the terror aspect contained." He held up the packet of information that had been passed out. "Everyone downstairs is getting this too, right after we break. Read it, talk to your teams, then hit the streets. Use every source you possibly can. There's a cover story about an armored car robbery in there for you to use." He turned and looked at Neal. "Caffrey, I know you have some street sources we don't."
"Not exactly terror experts," Neal said. "But I'll contact whoever I can."
Hughes nodded and then continued. "We've had drills for this, people, and we knew it was only a matter of time before they tried to hit New York again. But this time, we're going to stop them, even if we have to turn over every brick and stone in the city. Someone has seen these guys. Someone has sold them materials, or rented them a vehicle, or given them shelter. Now, I'll be coordinating information here, so anything you find, pass it through me. Lake will be over at One Police Plaza as liaison with the NYPD. The governor is activating the National Guard, and we have extra Coast Guard reinforcements around the harbor areas. By this afternoon we'll have more agents on the ground from DC. I want these guys, and I want them fast."
Everyone took that as a sign to leave, and the conference room quickly emptied. Neal followed Peter back to the agent's office, where Jones and Diana were already waiting, looking at the reports that they had just been given.
"This is for real?" Diana asked as they walked in.
Peter sat down behind his desk and nodded. "Apparently so."
"But there's nothing in here about what the target is," Jones pointed out.
"They don't know," Peter confirmed. "Just some general chatter, and two known terrorists rumored to be in town."
Diana shook her head and looked back down at the folder. "Where do we even start?"
"We're going to go through everything in this file," Peter said, opening his copy. "Then we hit the streets. Jones, you stick with Neal. He's going to work his sources."
The younger agent nodded. "Right."
"Diana, you and I will start with all of the sources we can come up with," Peter continued. "They could be using banks, pawn shops, car services – the types of businesses we deal with all the time."
"I haven't been in on any of those terrorism drills Hughes mentioned," Neal said. "Anything I should know?"
"All hands on deck," Diana said.
"And look under every rock," Jones added.
Peter nodded. "That's pretty much it. Each unit has its assigned areas to investigate. That's what Diana and I will be working on. When you and Jones finish up on your end, let me know and I'll keep you busy."
"Doesn't seem like that's going to be a problem for a while," Neal said softly, opening his folder.
"Moz, this is important."
The shorter man muttered a distinct "hmmmmph" but didn't turn around. He sat with his back to the table, arms folded across his chest.
"Moz?"
"Your message said to meet you. There was no mention of a junior Suit."
"Look, we really don't have time for this," Jones said.
"I know." Neal stepped in front of his friend and leaned down, eye to eye. "This is really important, Moz."
Mozzie finally sighed and turned partially toward the table. "It had better be."
Neal pushed the photos toward him. "We need to find these men."
"So now I'm the missing persons bureau? I thought the Suits had one of those."
"Would it help if I left?" Jones asked.
"No," Neal said quickly. "That won't be necessary." He pulled a chair around so he was sitting in front of Mozzie. "Moz?"
Mozzie sighed theatrically and finally looked at the photos. "All right, what's so important about these two?"
"There was an armored car robbery…" Jones started.
"No, no robbery," Neal said. "Moz, these two have ties to Al Qaeda, and they might be here in New York, planning something."
"That's not the cover story," Jones warned.
"I know. But we need to find them."
Mozzie finally looked interested. "You said might be planning something. The Suits don't know for sure?"
"No, we don't," Jones admitted.
"The FBI and the police are checking official avenues," Neal said. "Hotels, car services, things like that. But no one knows the unofficial sources like you."
"True," Mozzie replied. "But I'm still not…"
"Moz, think about all the people in the city," Neal urged, his voice quiet but forceful.
For a long moment no one spoke. "Fine, I'll make some inquiries."
"Thanks, Moz."
Neal and Jones made a few other stops as well, tapping into other acquaintances he thought might be helpful. None of them were in the 'trusted' category like Mozzie, so they didn't get the real story behind the search. But promises of cash rewards seemed to be an appropriate motivator.
With the more unofficial resources in play, Neal and Jones met up with Peter and Diana for a late lunch, and to get a further assignment. Peter turned over the next page of the official leads that the FBI had assigned for investigation, and the two younger men took their leave.
It made Neal feel good to be included as one of the team on something like this – not that he was happy about a terror threat in the city, but this wasn't exactly in his area of expertise. Normally, he would have been shunted to one side while the agents conducted official inquiries. But this really was all hands on deck and, fortunately, Jones didn't seem to mind the new partnership arrangement.
Along with hundreds of other agents and police officers, they knocked on doors and asked questions until late in the evening. The next morning, with no real leads reported, they hit the streets again.
To the consternation of some – but to no surprise to those who knew the parties involved – it was the 'unofficial' sources who came up with the first leads. One of Mozzie's many contacts found an off the record chop shop that specialized in obtaining specific vehicles to order – when someone requested something, someone was sent out to find and steal the vehicle in question. Then it was either scrubbed and sold whole to the buyer, or chopped up for parts.
The rumor was that a man matching one of the suspects' descriptions had requested a Dodge Sprinter, which had been delivered on Tuesday.
Neal and Jones met Peter and Diana at the garage – along with a sizeable SWAT unit from the NYPD. The sheer force of numbers kept the bloodshed to a minimum when entry was made, because the operators were well armed and ready to fight. But offers of immunity and reduced sentences worked, and the agents wound up with a confirmation on the identity of one of the suspected terrorists, as well as the color, license plate and VIN of the Sprinter.
The plate was probably no good – it was a pretty sure bet that the plates had already been switched. But it went into the official APB anyway. The VIN might be useful – if they could find the van.
Unfortunately, the combination van-truck was one of the most popular vehicles for delivery services, so there were a lot of possibilities on the street that needed to be checked. And under the circumstances, with a potential bomb in the suspect vehicle, they couldn't just boldly pull over every Sprinter seen. Plainclothes teams were assigned to follow any vehicles sighted to try and identify the owners, and verify the drivers.
A call went out to law enforcement and military sources for bomb-sniffing dogs. And a portable radiation detector was brought in and set to patrolling the streets of the city; everyone hoped it wasn't necessary, but no one really knew what the threat would truly turn out to be.
Again, they worked late into the night, but the right Sprinter eluded them.
Until Friday morning…
It was getting old, this driving up and down street after street, looking for Sprinters. Jones and Neal had quickly figured out that to stay sharp they needed to trade off jobs now and then. They had just switched back, with Jones driving again, when Neal's phone warbled.
He fished it out of his jacket pocket. "Moz?" There was silence for a long moment as he listened. "They're sure? OK, yeah, I understand. What? Right. Probably a good idea. Thanks, Mozzie."
He was dialing again as he turned to Jones. "Head for Fifth Avenue," he said, putting the phone to his ear. "Peter, one of Mozzie's contacts just came through. He says there's a Sprinter parked near Rockefeller Center, and the driver who got out matches the description of one of the suspects. No, he didn't get a plate number, but it's near a newsstand on 50th. Right, we're heading that way now."
"Oh, man, Rockefeller Center?" Jones shook his head slowly. "The Christmas tree, the skating rink, the Gardens, all those shops."
"Yeah, lots of people – lots of potential victims," Neal said softly. "We're meeting Peter and Diana on the 49th street side. He's calling in reinforcements."
"Oh, man." Jones' hands tightened on the wheel as he maneuvered through the traffic. A few shortcuts brought them out to one of the city's most recognizable areas in about ten minutes.
They arrived just as Peter and Diana were pulling up from the other direction. Jones and Neal slipped into the back seat of the other car as soon as it was stopped.
"How positive was the ID on the driver?" Peter asked without preamble.
"Mozzie said his source was pretty sure."
"Who's the contact?"
The seriousness of the situation was evident when Neal didn't even hesitate before giving up the identity. "The newsstand vendor. I don't know his name."
"All right, let's take a walk." They all got out and started toward Fifth Avenue. The sidewalks were crowded with people taking advantage of the nearby shopping opportunities, their arms laden with packages.
At the next corner they paused, and Peter pointed toward the newsstand on the opposite side. "Diana, Jones, you talk to the vendor." The two agents nodded and moved off quickly, and Peter turned to Neal. "Let's see if we can get eyes on the van."
They walked down the street, eyes on the vehicles around them. And then halfway down the block…
"There," Neal said, pointing to a cross street – with a gray Sprinter parked illegally close to the corner.
Pewter nodded. "Let's get a little closer."
Neal reached out, grabbing his arm. "Peter, we don't know what might be in there."
"We don't even know if it's the right van," Peter countered. Just then his phone rang. "Yeah, Diana. He's sure? Uh huh. All right, wait there until we get some backup here." He turned back to Neal. "The newsstand guy is sure about the driver," he said.
"So what now? If it's a bomb…"
Peter was already calling someone else. "Reese, we may have found the van. Right, just off of 50th across from Rockefeller Center. Yeah, I know. There are a lot of people here. I agree, trying to evacuate could lead to them setting a bomb off – if that's what it is. Right, if you could get someone with one of the dogs over here. Uh huh. Yeah, the radiation sniffer too. We can set up on the other side, 49th."
"Peter?"
"Hughes is getting some help in here," he said. "And you're right, we're not going any closer. That's for the experts. We'll just watch until they get here."
If this was the right van, they had to assume it was being watched. Two plainclothes officers walked the bomb-sniffing dogs along the sidewalk, making a turn that took them right next to the Sprinter.
Both dogs reacted strongly, indicating explosives.
Fortunately, the radiation sniffer showed no signs of radioactive material when it was driven slowly by.
Another van rolled by, a special x-ray device inside. It captured what was inside the boxed rear portion, sending grainy photos back to the command van that had taken up station on the other side of Rockefeller Center. Bomb experts studied what they could see, trying to determine what type of device it was, and if it could be disarmed. They looked for a timer, or other means of setting off the explosives.
Uniformed officers made sweeps of the area, but only a few, just to show a presence. The majority in uniform were kept away lest their being there should spook the bomb's makers.
In pairs and small groups, agents in plain clothes made their way into the area, waiting for assignments.
They had commandeered an empty storefront as a command center and a cross section of the responding agencies was represented there now. FBI agents maintained surveillance from the van parked out front and on monitors hastily set up inside. Drones with cameras and heat-seeking abilities flew overhead.
"You're sure?" Hughes asked.
The bomb disposal expert nodded. "As sure as we can be under the circumstances. There's no sign of a timer. That means if they want this thing to go off, someone has to be in the area to do it."
"So does that mean a cell phone? Or some other kind of detonator?"
"Not enough detail to say."
Hughes sighed and turned to the SWAT team leader. "Can we jam frequencies in the area?"
The officer shook his head. "We'd need a better idea what we're looking at. I mean, yes, we can jam frequencies – but what frequencies? If it's set off by a phone we can cut service to the local towers – but that won't help if it's a satellite phone. And if it's some other kind of detonator? There are just too many possibilities. Hell, it could be something as simple as a garage door opener, or as complicated as a custom design."
"I'd suggest at least cutting the cell towers," Lake said. "We can move in some ConEd trucks, make it look like there are some phone and power issues in the area."
"We're sure that one of these guys isn't just in the back of the truck with his finger on the switch?" someone asked.
"Nothing on the x-ray, and no body heat signature on the scans from the drone."
"Did this newsstand guy have any idea where the suspect went after parking the truck?" Hughes asked.
Diana shook her head. "He only noticed the guy because the truck parked too close to the corner. And then the driver got out in a hurry and walked down 50th until he got lost in the crowd."
"No one has mentioned seeing the second man yet," Peter pointed out. Counter terrorism wasn't exactly his area of primary expertise, but it was his team that had actually located the vehicle, so they had been invited to stay.
"What's the best guess on a range for detonating this thing?" Lake asked.
"We can't tell for certain," one of the bomb experts said. "But most remote units need to be triggered from a distance of no more than two to three blocks. Of course, if it is a cell phone detonator, the distance could be increased."
"So theoretically, the second guy could be sitting in Jersey and make a call from there," someone observed.
"True," the bomb expert agreed.
"Any estimates on the size of the blast if this thing goes off?" Lake asked quietly.
There was a pause before the bomb squad leader answered. "From what we can see, there's a lot of explosive in there. And a lot of what looks to be shrapnel – nails and the like. It's basically a big pipe bomb. The blast itself would probably take out part of the block – and the nails…"
Eyes turned to the surveillance monitors, which showed people gathered around the huge Christmas tree at the center, ice skating on the popular rink, wandering through the Gardens, carrying their shopping treasures…
"We can't evacuate the area quickly or quietly," Hughes said softly, the burden of being the one who had to make the decisions evident on his face. "All right, get the utility trucks here, and let's cut the cell service. That's one thing we can do. And if it turns out we need to clear the area, cutting the power might be one way to make people leave." He turned to the SWAT leader again. "When does the other drone get here?"
"Should be any time now."
"All right, we know that most of these jihadists like to watch their work, and don't mind dying," Hughes continued. "So I'm betting that whoever is supposed to detonate this thing isn't in Jersey, he's right here, close to the bomb. We'll use the drones to scan the crowds. Until then, Tony, get some agents wandering through the area, see if we can get lucky and get eyes on one or both of these guys. But they're to identify and observe only, not approach, Just report back."
Lake nodded in agreement. "Understood." He pointed over to one side where a large map of the area had been laid out. "Anyone who's available, over here. Let's figure out a pattern."
At Peter's nod, Jones and Diana headed over to join the search part. Neal started to go too, but Peter stopped him.
"What? Peter, I'm available."
"Available, yes. But you're not a trained agent." Peter held up a hand, cutting off the younger man's protest. "Neal, you've done good work. I know it was leads from you and Mozzie that got us here, and I'll make sure Hughes and Lake and whoever else know that too. But like you said the other day, you haven't been through the drills on this, and you're not armed."
"It's my city too, Peter," Neal said softly. "I need to do something."
"Then use your eye for detail and help with the surveillance," Hughes said as he joined them. "I can use both of you at the monitors."
Neal still looked disappointed, but he nodded in agreement and followed Peter over to the bank of monitors. A couple of new screens flickered to life as the second drone came online. Two technicians sat nearby, directing the small craft with joysticks as they began making passes over the crowds in the area.
Peter and Neal each pulled a chair up close to the monitors and began their task.
The call came in at 11:45, forwarded by the city's 9-1-1 service. Hughes took the call on the command center phone, and almost immediately he was gesturing for quiet and putting the call on speaker.
"Could you repeat that?" Hughes asked. "There was static on the line."
"I said that I have a bomb in New York . I will cause it to explode if you do not do exactly what I say."
Peter whispered quickly to the nearest technician to record the call, and then he ran outside, followed closely by Neal.
"We need to find Lake," Peter said, scanning the area as he pulled out his cell phone. "We have contact, so he can't cut the cell coverage."
"Up there," Neal said, pointing. "Didn't they say they'd bring in a ConEd truck?"
"Yeah, they did. Let's go."
Years of emergency preparation kicked in, and things moved fast. A hostage negotiator was brought in to assist Hughes in dealing with the terrorist's demands - which now included the release of all 'freedom fighters' being held at the Guantanamo base, as well as those who had been convicted in various state and federal courts and were currently incarcerated around the country. There was also mention of some fifty million dollars and a plane.
While Hughes kept the man talking, offering vague assurances on the demands, the technicians set about tracking the call. And it turned out the caller was close – in the Channel Gardens, near the skating rink.
The good news was that they could block off one end of the Gardens and keep more people from entering the area. Some of the nearby buildings were evacuated through back doors as well, with a cover story of a gas leak in the area.
But if they tried to evacuate the whole area, they were warned that the bomb would be set off with no further warning. The caller also claimed to be wearing a suicide vest, which would cause additional harm to those in the area.
Plainclothes agents and police officers filed into the area, gently steering people away from the Gardens. Others walked through, looking for the caller. In short order they had two possible suspects located, both of whom were busy on cell phones, and both of whom bore a resemblance to one of the photos. But then one of the men hung up and welcomed a woman with a smile and a kiss as they moved off toward some shops.
That left one – and soon the drone was hovering overhead, sending video images to the monitors in the command center.
Hughes was still on the phone, trying to negotiate. He'd concede a point, then bargain for time on the next. All the while, hoping that his team could solve the problem – preferably without blowing up a major attraction and all of the people gathered there.
Peter was back in front of the monitors, with Lake taking the other open position. Neal had been relegated to looking over the agents' shoulders. Actually, looking over Peter's shoulder; Lake had suggested, loudly, that unqualified, non-agents should excuse themselves from the command center. But Peter had told him Neal was staying, and Lake made no further objections – other than to tell him to stand and watch, and keep quiet.
There was something about the activity on the monitors though…
"Hey.."
Lake turned and glared. "I told you to keep quiet."
Neal met the glare with a steady gaze of his own, and a small shrug. "Well, I just thought you might like to know where the detonator is."
Lake seemed perplexed, but Peter jumped in. "What did you see?"
Neal leaned in toward the closest technician. "Can you play back the last few minutes? Fast forward is fine."
The video was coming in on several feeds, so the technician nodded, reset his display to a few minutes earlier, and started it forward. Peter leaned closer and, despite his objections to Neal being there, so did Lake.
"I've been watching him, each time he mentions blowing up the truck," Neal said, leaning over their shoulders. "There!" he said pointing. "His hand brushes the right-hand pocket of his jacket."
Peter grinned knowingly. "That's his tell," he said softly.
"His tell?" Lake asked.
"Just like playing poker with someone," Peter said. "You watch to see if the other guy has a nervous tic or something that gives away when he's bluffing."
"This guy definitely has a tic," Neal agreed. "And if the detonator is in his pocket, I can get it."
"And just how would you do that?" Lake asked.
Neal grinned. "The same way I got these," he said, producing three wallets.
Lake and the technician were patting their pockets while Peter just shook his head. "I know you can do that, and I still never catch it." He reclaimed his wallet.
"I know," Neal replied, looking very pleased.
"A wallet's a little different than taking a detonator from a terrorist," Lake pointed out, grabbing his wallet back.
Neal handed the last wallet back to the technician as he shook his head. "Not really."
"We were distracted," the technician pointed out.
"I can distract him too," Neal said. "Look, it's worth a try, isn't it? There's a lot of explosive and shrapnel in that truck."
"He'd still have the suicide vest."
"But that would hurt a lot fewer people if it went off. And if I get the detonator, you can clear people out quickly, maybe even get a sniper in."
"You'd be right in the line of the blast if he sets the vest off," Peter pointed out.
"Have you got a better option?" Neal asked quietly. "I know the risks, Peter, and I'm willing to do this. Like I said, it's my city too."
"All right, say we do this," Lake said. "What would you need?"
"Well, to start with, some peppermint schnapps…"
Neal fastened the combat vest that Peter had insisted on, and then took his shirt back from the agent and put it on again. The vest made the shirt kind of tight, but he managed to get the buttons done up. His tailored suit coat didn't leave room to hide the vest, but Peter's was enough looser, without being obviously not his, and it would work. His tie went back on as well, but loose, which helped hide the slight bulge of the vest under his shirt.
The surveillance van parked outside yielded the monitoring equipment they needed. A tie pin contained a tiny camera and microphone, backed up by a watch that recorded everything. A tiny ear piece gave Neal the ability to hear instructions from the command center.
As a final touch, Neal took the schnapps that a junior agent had been sent out to find. He took a swig, swished it in his mouth like mouthwash, and then spit it out on the side of the street. He poured a little more of the liquid into the street as well, leaving a bottle about half full – as though he had been drinking for a while.
Slipping the bottle into one of his suit coat pockets, Neal let his body go slack. He stumbled a few steps, finally bumping into Peter. "Hey, buddy," he said, his voice slurred. "Where's that Statue of [hic] Liberty from here?"
Peter smiled and pushed him back. "Yeah, very good, you're drunk." He paused, staring at Neal. "All right, what did you take?"
Neal straightened up, grinning. "Just your keys… your badge… your money clip." He handed each item over as he spoke.
"You're incorrigible," Peter said, though there was something akin to pride in his voice as he said it. "Any questions about the plan?" he asked, all business now.
"No, I got it. Once I have the detonator I'll sing Joy to the World."
"You could just say it."
"No, singing is better," Neal insisted. "More in keeping with my cover. Like you said, he'll still have the vest."
"Right, sing away." Peter hesitated a moment and then unsnapped his shoulder holster, pulling out his gun. "Put this in the other pocket," he said.
"Peter…"
"I know you don't like guns, Neal, and I respect that. But like you just said, he'll still have the vest."
"You'll have snipers."
"You might be in the way. It's the only way you're going, Neal."
Neal sighed and took the gun. He checked the safety and then slipped it into his pocket. "I'll take it, but we really shouldn't count on me shooting anyone."
"Noted." Peter looked inside, getting a thumbs up gesture from Lake. "He's still in place."
"All right, let's do this…"
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…"
They sat in the command center, watching as a staggering, singing drunk approached their suspect.
"With every Christmas card I write…"
The man was ranting on the speakers, extolling the virtues of Mohammed and jihad. His concentration on detailing his manifesto was complete enough that he seemed oblivious of the other man in the area until there was literally a collision between the two.
"Oh, sorry, sorry," Neal said, brushing at some imaginary dirt on the other man's jacket.
The terrorist seemed to recoil at the smell of the alcohol on Neal's breath. "Infidel," he muttered, the sound caught perfectly by the microphone Neal wore. He pushed the drunk away and fumbled with his cell phone again.
"Did he get it?" Lake asked anxiously, as they watched Neal stagger on his way.
"Joy to the world…"
Peter let out the breath he had been holding and smiled. "He got it."
Lake reached for the radio issuing orders. Armored agents from the Emergency Response Team and officers from SWAT moved in, quickly herding people out of the area. Gas leak…
In the command center, they watched and listened carefully. The terrorist made another mention of the truck bomb, his hand went to his pocket…
He looked around frantically, as if expecting to see the detonator on the ground near him. And then he screamed a curse into the phone, and his hand moved under his jacket…
Peter reached for the microphone. "Neal, run!"
"Neal, run!"
He ran, but there wasn't enough time. The blast from the vest caught him in the middle of the back, sending him sprawling on the cold ground. Instinct made him throw his arms up, covering his head and neck, as the world seemed to rip around him.
Peter ran out of the command center, across the road, into the Gardens. There were other footsteps behind him, but he didn't wait or even turn to see who was there.
In the Gardens, a smoke cloud rose from where the terrorist had been standing; there was no trace of the man left. Debris was scattered around the area, littering the blast radius. And near the edge of that radius…
"Neal!" Peter dropped to his knees next to the body. The back of his jacket was shredded, and there were some bloody cuts on the younger man's forearms and hands. But was he…
Neal groaned and rolled over onto his back. "Peter?"
"Hey, buddy," Peter said, grabbing the other man's hand. "Are you all right?" He reached over, brushing some blood away from Neal's eyes.
Neal didn't reply for a moment, almost as though he was doing his own internal inventory. "I don't think anything's broken," he finally said. "My head feels like a truck ran over it though."
"I think you hit your head when you fell."
"I didn't exactly fall, Peter, I was blown up!"
"Blown down, more like," Peter countered, finally able to smile. If Neal was feeling well enough to argue, that was a good sign.
"Yeah, maybe that," Neal agreed. He tried to sit up, but Peter stopped him.
"No, just stay down. The medics are on the way. Let them check you out."
Neal nodded slowly and then reached into his pocket, pulling out the detonator. "I think this is what you wanted."
"Yeah, good job," Peter said, taking the box. Medics came running up, and he got to his feet, giving them room to work. "Good job."
"Look at you, lying down on the job," Diana teased as she walked into the hospital room.
"Hey, I'm being held hostage!" Neal protested, holding up his arm with several wires and an IV tube attached.
"Live with it, Caffrey," Peter said.
"You could give me your gun again," Neal suggested. "I could make a break…"
Peter grinned. "Since when did you need a gun for that?"
"True," Neal said. "Look, I'm feeling fine. So can't I…"
"No, you can't," Peter said firmly. "You heard the doctors just fine. They want to keep you overnight for observation."
"Peter…"
"No."
"Hey, just so long as you're out for tomorrow night, right?" Jones said. "I mean, we've been practicing."
"What's tomorrow night?" Peter asked.
"I sort of haven't had a chance to ask Peter," Neal admitted. "The last couple of days have been kind of busy."
"We were talking about going back to that wine bar near me," Diana explained.
"It's open mic night again," Jones added.
"But outside of Neal's radius," Diana finished.
Peter looked over at his agents, and down at Neal. "Well, after what you did today, I'd probably be strung up if I said no."
"You should come, Peter," Jones said. "Bring Elizabeth."
"Gayle is coming," Neal said.
"Yeah, you can go," Peter said. "And I'll ask El."
"What about the truck today?" Neal asked. What was it about a little concussion that made the medics pull him away from the scene before he knew what had happened?
"The bomb squad was able to disarm the device," Peter answered. "Once they could get in for some closer x-rays and infrared. They said it wasn't even a very sophisticated device."
"But it had enough explosive punch to do a lot of damage if it had gone off," Diana said.
"Was anyone else hurt when the vest went off?" Neal asked.
"A few minor injuries," Jones replied. "But you were a lot closer than anyone else. Well, except for the guy wearing the vest, of course. Not much left of him."
"What about the second guy?"
"NYPD caught him at Grand Central, trying to get out of town," Peter reported.
Neal leaned back into the pillows. "So it's over?"
Peter considered his answer for a moment. "This round is over," he finally said.
They took over two tables in the back of the room, sliding them together to make one. Diana and Christie, Neal and Gayle, Peter and Elizabeth, Jones and his new girlfriend, Marsha.
With a wink, Jones made sure that Marsha did not sit next to Neal.
Except for a lightly bandaged forearm, a few assorted minor cuts and bruises on his hands, and a butterfly closure on one temple, Neal appeared none the worse for wear after his experiences the day before. He ordered select wines for the group – and a sparkling cider for Elizabeth.
And when the microphone was opened to the audience, he took his place at the piano and warmed up with no apparent problems. He and Jones started in on their first number, a jazz version of the Christmas Song.
Elizabeth leaned close to Peter, whispering in his ear. "Did you know he could do that?"
Peter gave one quick, firm shake of his head. "No." All these years and Neal could still surprise him…
They performed several numbers, holiday and non. Sometimes they both sang, and on others Jones handled the vocals while Neal concentrated on the keyboard.
No one else seemed willing to interrupt the duo, so they completed the set of songs they had practiced. Jones stepped down from the stage and Neal started to get up from the piano – but then he sat down again, his fingers running lightly over the keyboard before a familiar tune came out.
"Somewhere, over the rainbow…"
For most of the audience, it was simply a familiar song, performed well in terms of vocals and keyboard work. But when he got to the end…
"If happy little bluebirds fly, away beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I…"
Only the people at that back table truly understood the wish behind the words.
It was one week before Christmas, and they still had no options to offer Neal – nothing to put him over the rainbow instead of back in prison or on the run.
Neal rolled to one side, pressing up against Gayle's back. He ran his finger down her shoulder, over her ribs, her hip…
Her breath caught, and she rolled to her back, looking into his eyes. "Can't a girl get some rest around here?"
"Do you want me to stop?"
She smiled, reaching a hand behind his neck. "No, not really," she admitted, pulling him close.
He didn't fight it, leaning in to kiss her. "Good, since it's our last night together."
"Neal…"
"Not saying the words doesn't change anything," he said softly.
"I can cancel this trip."
"No, you've had this planned for months, since before we met again." He paused for another kiss before continuing. "You're going to be in Egypt for almost eight months. You need to go back to Wyoming and see your family. That's what people do at Christmas."
"And what do you do at Christmas."
"Peter and Elizabeth have invited me."
"Are you going?"
"Maybe."
"Neal, you can't give up. There's still…"
He kissed her again, stopping the words. "I'm not giving up," he assured her when they came up for a breath. "Just being realistic."
"I'm holding out for a miracle of the season," Gayle said softly. "I'll be expecting a phone call on the first."
"I hope I'll be making one." The words were true and heartfelt, but at this stage he really couldn't let himself believe in them; there had been too many dead ends.
They made love again, silently, desperately, making a memory to sustain both of them.
And he managed to drop her off at the airport the next day, and make it home again, before he broke down and cried.
Peter spent Sunday away from his wife – and the football games, and he missed both. But he had an important task to complete. He put together his own report from Friday, and pulled in every other report he could find that included Neal's contributions. For good measure, he included the hospital notes detailing Neal's injuries, which the other man had turned over without questioning why Peter would want them.
On Monday morning he dropped the whole file on Julie Cole's desk. "If this doesn't help, nothing will," he told her.
After reading it, she agreed.