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"Remind me why Caffery isn't helping," sighed Jones.
"They're worried he'll be impressed by these thieves and want to run with them," Peter answered, a bit peeved himself that some of the higher ups still believed that Neal couldn't perform the simplest of tasks without attempting to run or do something illegal. Not that he'd trust Neal in an art museum, but he honestly thought that the ex con-man could help speed the interrogation process along—he could be quite menacing when the mood took him. Also, the belief that Neal would run with this particular band of thieves was highly unlikely. Along with the missing paintings, there were four dead guards found at the scene of the crime.
"Agent Burke," said Agent Cruz in an official voice, followed closely by a worried man in a suit, "This is The Museum of Ancient Antiquities' Art Director."
"I am so relieved that you vill help us get the Irises and the Midnight Moon back," said the Art Director in a heavy Austrian accent, firmly shaking Peter's extended hand. "You have no idea the bad publicity ve'd get if vord got out."
"We'll do what we can," Peter reassured the Art Director as he took in the Austrian's obviously expensive and well-tailored suit. Maybe him and Neal could compare notes later. The thought brought a slight smirk to Peter's face as he began the mini-interrogation. "So did anything unusual happen that night?"
"Vell…" the Art Director began with a slight frown, "I don't think anything out of the ordinary happened. I locked up and said good-bye to Harold – " he broke off with a choked voice. Harold was one of the four dead security guards. Lauren patted his shoulder comfortingly.
"Any suspicious looking visitors?" Jones questioned after a moment.
The Art Director shook his head. "No."
"How about-" began Cruz as the lights started to flicker ominously before they went out completely. The rest of the agents all started murmuring to each other at once. Some were wondering if the maintenance people accidentally cut a power line while installing the FBI's new security system. Most caffeine-deprived agents muttered amongst themselves about how they would die of shock if maintenance actually did their job. Peter shook his head as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He took a moment to reach forward to reassure the Art Director everything was under control.
~O~
In the file room, Neal peered around the darkened room with sinking despair. How on earth was he supposed to find all of the mortgage fraud case files now? Just as he began to curse his luck underneath his breath, the lights came back to life. Huh. Just a technical malfunction… he thought absently as he continued to shuffle half-heartedly through the shelves in search for the mortgage frauds. There was a reason Neal would prefer for the tax payers' money not to go to waste. If only he could find a clerk… HA! There you are. His smile of triumphant was short lived once he noticed the size of the box. He groaned audibly. So it's going to be one of those days… he thought as he picked up the box and headed back to his desk.
~O~
Peter sighed in relief as the lights flickered back on. He'd have to get someone to check on the lighting. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure that the emergency lighting was supposed to come on in cases like that, but the FBI had been having a lot of technical malfunctions due to the new security system being installed. He'd send an agent to check on maintenance anyway just in case. Peter drew a breath to order Jones to take the Art Director to see if he would recognize Thomas Holdings—the American Arnold Schwarzenegger if he remembered correctly—when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Peter's instinct had him reaching for his gun just to grab…nothing.
"Looking for this?" taunted the Art Director. Peter looked up and blinked in surprised. The Art Director was against a wall, holding Peter's gun straight at the rightful owner.
"You don't want to do that," Jones warned as every FBI agent whipped out their guns in about three seconds top.
"Oh, but I think I do," he said, glancing at the guns trained on him in disdain. The audible click of a gun echoed in the office. Peter's eyes bulged as he slowly glanced to the side. He bit back a gasp in surprise. Behind several FBI agents were masked gunmen, each holding at least two machine guns trained on the Federal Agents. How the hell did they get in here?
"Now, I vould think that the reasonable thing to do here vould be for you to surrender," the 'Art Director' said smugly. Peter gave an indecipherable nod to the agents; there was no other option they could take without the result being a bloodbath. The agents slowly put their hands up peacefully as the gunmen yanked their guns out of their hands and started to roughlyshove the FBI agents into a somewhat organized clump in the center of the room.
"Do you have the Director?" the fake Art Director and obvious mastermind behind this whole plan asked two other approaching gunmen. God, how many henchmen does he have? Peter thought somewhat despairingly. He did a quick head count on the gunmen and counted…twenty gunmen. How did he sneak in twenty of his henchmen without the security or one of the hundreds of FBI agents spotting them? Either he's the next criminal Einstein or the FBI is vulnerable because of the security changing. Neither reason was that pleasant.
"Yeah, boss," one of the henchmen answered.
"Good…put him vith the others," the leader ordered with a dismissal wave of his hand. The henchmen grinned at each other as they pushed Hughes to the floor with a hard smack. Many agents winced in sympathy. Hughes grunted in pain as he landed right next to Peter.
"You okay?" Peter asked Hughes.
"Fine, Burke," Hughes snapped. He then looked somewhat guilty for his little outburst. "Just trying to figure out how they snuck in here." Peter nodded in understanding. He stared curiously at the boss, who was currently instructing henchmen to search through each of the desks probably to make sure there wasn't any equipment that could potentially harm their little set-up. The boss was depressingly thorough. Then a sudden realization struck Peter.
"Damn it!" Peter muttered underneath his breath. Several agents around Peter looked at him questioningly. "Hughes, Caffery is still getting the mortgage fraud files!" An FBI agent snorted.
"Probably was behind the whole thing," said the snorter. Jones glared at the agent before smacking him on the back of the head.
"Shut it, Clark!" Jones whisper-shouted at him.
"He's a criminal," Agent Clark stated, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. "He can't be trusted."
"Neal isn't behind this," Peter said with conviction. The other agents gave him a doubtful look. He decided to ignore them.
"You sure about that, Burke?" Hughes asked.
"Neal doesn't like guns," Peter said simply.
"Well then where is he?" hissed Clark. Almost as in answer to the agent's question Neal waltzed around the corner with his usual charming mask fixed firmly on his face. He stopped in shock at the scene in front of him. Of course, who wouldn't be astonished to find experienced FBI agents taken hostage in a supposedly secure headquarters? Move, Neal, move! Peter urged silently, hoping that Neal would somehow pick up on his mental vibes. No luck.
"Boss there's one more!" yelled one of the henchman.
"Vell, vat are you vaiting for?" shouted the boss from across the room, his back facing Neal. "Put him vith the others!"
Peter watched as Neal was brutally shoved from behind by one of the henchman and landed with a thud between Peter and Jones.
Neal looked up at Peter and said with a slight smirk, "I suppose you're going to say something along the lines of 'cowboy up' aren't you?"
End of Ch. 2!
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