Act III.
Outside, the storm is raging.
The wind is furious as it hurls the rain through the windows, harasses the trees, assaulting the parked van just across the street. Thunders are rolling, bolts splitting the sky with one blinding flash after another, and the city cowers under their wreath.
Inside, it is theatrical.
"Mr. Lenart," June exclaims, rushing to her feet as a hand flies to her chest, "what are you doing?"
Benjamin Lenart doesn't even blink.
The man is standing to his full height, in the middle of the room, his long arm stretched forward with a revolver in his grip.
"Mrs. Fey, how long have you known this man?"
"I've known Mr. Wright for two years," June replies, voice slightly shrill as she clutches at the collar of her blouse. "Mr. Lenart, please - put that gun away - you'll give me a heart-attack!"
Lenart throws her a sideways glance, tilts the tip of the gun and gestures at Neal. "This man isn't who he says he is," he explains. "His name is Neal Caffrey. He's a felon, a thief." He spits the word out. "He's conned one of my former clients; got away with family heirlooms worth over a hundred million. He caused a successful businessman to go bankrupt - this man," he assorts loudly, "should be dead."
It is clear that whatever he's talking about, it is personal, but he makes no attempt to further explain.
"It's always good to hear I've made such an impression," Neal counters warily, eyeing the gun as he speaks. "It's a shame you failed to do the same."
"You give yourself too much credit." Lenart glares at him, strengthening his hold on the gun. "Obviously you don't have as perfect recall as you thought."
The operation is quickly crumbling; Lenart was supposed to be a mere fence, there would be smuggled items, Neal would verify them and the FBI would make the bust. It should have been clean and simple; instead, June and Neal are stuck with Lenart, who has a gun, and apparently a vendetta against Neal. Now, it is up to June to save the operation, and possibly, Neal and herself, too.
She takes a breath and turns to Neal. "So it is true?" She sounds shocked, standing behind the desk. "You're – is Mr. Lenart telling the truth?"
Neal simply lifts and drops his shoulders.
"My goodness."
Lowering herself back on the chair, June rests her chin on her hand, clasping fingers over her mouth. Inwardly she is trembling, trying to suppress the screeching in her mind that says she's much too old for this. Outward, she's as stiff as a rock.
A moment later, she seems to pull herself together, and looks at Lenart with an unsure frown.
"What will you do? Surely you won't—you're not- "
Lenart shakes his head. "Mrs. Fey, I did not come here with the intention to use a gun."
"That's good to know," Neal murmurs. Lenart ignores it, but his eyes narrow.
"I've heard you were in town, Caffrey," he says suddenly. "Word is that you've flipped to the other side; cut a deal with the feds. Not even an honorable thief, are you?"
"The feds?" June echoes, eyes enlarging as she turns to Neal, "I've known you for two years- how would I not know?"
"That's kind of the point of an undercover operation," Neal deadpans, rolling his eyes elaborately. "I've been onto you ever since the Bureau tracked Tajli's ruby neckpiece to your private collection."
June looks simply too angry to find an answer to that. Throwing daggers at him, she pushes herself to her feet, and turns fiercely to Lenart.
"Alright, Mr. Lenart," she says resolutely, "what are you planning to do? I certainly do not want to be involved in this; I think you should-"
"What we do is that we go on with our business," Lenart cuts in. He doesn't spare much attention to June, but remains fixed on Neal. "I saw the van outside," he declares. "You've bugged the place as well?"
"Impressed?" Neal asks drily. Lenart shrugs.
"No."
"Bugged – you've set me up?"
June looks scandalized, but Lenart is obviously amused.
"Thinking you'd kill two birds with one stone, were you," he asks Neal smugly. "I have to admit, it's pretty funny that I get to be the one who walks away with a bag full of cash and Neal Caffrey as my hostage. I'd say it's turning out to be a very good day."
Listening to Lenart's little victory speech, June is meandering around the desk, the coffee table and the armchairs, one hand over her mouth, a mask of shock and thoughtfulness on her face. Then, she stops in mid-stride and turns to Lenart as though having decided he is the lesser evil in the room.
"What business are you talking about?" she asks abruptly, referring to the last thing Lenart's said to her. "You've brought me forgeries; what do you expect me to buy?"
"The real pieces, of course." Lenart tilts his chin towards the desk. "There's a second partition in the briefcase. Open it."
"You're saying they bugged the place – you're saying the feds are outside! I am not buying anything from you."
For a moment, silence falls.
Windowpanes shake and rattle in the wind; the steady beat of raindrop on the windowpane strains the atmosphere like war drums. Temperature seems to drop as Lenart slowly turns his head, and throws June a icy glare.
"I told you I didn't have the intention to use a gun," he inserts quietly. "Don't assume that I can'tif I have to."
Swallowing, June grips the back of an armchair with a shaking hand.
"You will leave with Caffrey and my money, and I will be left for the FBI to arrest."
"I'm an honorable man," Lenart puts emotionlessly. "I could have forced you to give me the money without giving you anything in return."
"Instead you're leaving her with proof of illegal transaction?"
Lenart frowns at Neal. "What is it to you? If anything, you should be grateful. Your friends won't be returning empty-handed."
Neal simply looks at him. "You have a warped mind, don't you?"
Gunshot pierces through the room.
June cries out, Neal flinches as the cushion on the antique chair beside him jumps and explodes into feathers.
"Be quiet ,Caffrey."
Lightening chooses that moment to flash and temporarily paint everything to silver; June presses her hand over her chest, trying to subdue the violent beating of her heart. She's not even aware that she's nearly crouched behind the furniture as she tries to keep herself together. Lenart turns to her, dead calm.
"Look into the briefcase," he says.
"Alright. Alright," June relents breathlessly, rises, and walks to the desk with shaking legs. "Don't shoot again; please."
"What are you going to do?" Neal asks loudly to Lenart, who hasn't moved an inch from where he's standing. Neal's voice is loud and strong; he looks furious as he glares at Lenart. "The house must be surrounded by now – you'll leave with me, and then what?"
"Why do you care?" Lenart asks, starting to get angry as well, "I'll take you somewhere private; beat the crap out of you, kill you and dump your body in a ditch – anything out of the picture, Caffrey?"
"No; quite the cliché," Neal counters sharply.
"Do not," Lenart warns, "test my limits. You don't know what I'm capable of."
"I – I need help with this."
June's voice trembles as she fumbles with the briefcase to find the hidden partition. (Terror has entrapped her rigidly into the role she's playing; because if she slips and gives Lenart any reason to think she's working with the Bureau, it is both her and Neal's life that's at risk. In a rather twisted way, though, the way her fingers tremble and the booming of her blood-flow in her ears, she isn't actuallyacting much. Her reactions seep into the cover, filling into the cracks instead of shattering it. So far, so good, but all the while, June knows that she's walking on a thin rope.)
"Let me help her," Neal says forcefully to Lenart. "You want this over with, right? Let's speed things up."
Wordlessly, Lenart gives him a tiny nod.
"I will shoot if you try something, and I won't regret if it turns out you weren't."
"Yeah; got it," Neal snaps. Bringing his arms down, he shrugs his shoulders, smoothing his suit jacket, and approaches the desk, the tip of Lenart's gun following his every move. June silently steps aside, and lets him take over the briefcase, but after a second, it seems like she can't help but speak.
"You've been conning me for two years?" she asks quietly, a little shakily.
Neal throws her a sideways glance.
"Once a con, always a con, Mrs. Fey," he replies. There's something appreciative in his eyes as he does.
Neal removes the first partition with the faked items, looks inside the briefcase, and lets out a tiny whistle. June moves closer to look over his shoulder. There, in the second partition, are the items that Peter has shown them the photographs of: two ebony hand-mirrors that belonged to Roxana, Suleiman the Magnificent's infamous queen, and an egg-sized, bejeweled hairpin.
The evidence is in the open; now it's a matter of getting out of this situation without Lenart taking Neal hostage and walking out untouched.
Breathing a wordless exclamation of surprise, June leans forward and takes out one of the mirrors as though it's a delicate bird. It really is a beautiful piece; the calligraphy and the ornaments etched around the mirror are tiny and breathtaking in detail. June lets her admiration show.
"Exquisite, aren't they?" Lenart asks drily. "Roxana's hand-mirrors. That is a treasure."
"That it is," June breathes, looking every bit the wealthy collector that has an item of interest in her hand. After a moment, though, she looks up, her gaze sharp.
"How do I know if these are real?"
Lenart's eyebrows rise dramatically, and he lets out an incredulous chuckle. "Why does it matter?"
"Humor me," June deadpans. She turns to Neal, and frowns at him. "Take a look at these. Tell me if they are fakes as well."
Neal looks confused. "You still trust me to tell you the truth?"
June throws Lenart a distasteful glance. "I don't have any reason to trust you any less than I trust this man."
Raising his eyebrows, Neal lets out a snort, and shakes his head. "You both are twisted," he murmurs. Nevertheless, he picks up the hand mirror, flicks on the desk light, and begins inspecting it.
"Hurry up, Caffrey," Lenart prods impatiently, "this is taking too long."
After a few seconds, Neal straightens, and carefully leaves the mirror back in its niche.
"It's the real deal," he declares.
June keeps herself completely stiff in order to prevent relief from showing, because 'real deal' is the activation phase; if the bug under the mantelpiece is still intact, Peter and his team will be barging in any second.All they need to do is to keep their cover for one more minute, and it'll be over, and June will make sure to never-
"Forty million," Lenart states.
"All of them," June nods.
"Only the mirrors. The emeralds alone on the hairpin are worth fifty."
June's eyes widen a little. "You want ninety million dollars for these pieces?"
"No," Lenart replies, looking surprised, "I want a hundred." His eyes narrow suspiciously as he focuses on June. "You should've had an idea how much these items would be worth."
"I had no idea any of the things that are happening now would, Mr. Lenart," June argues hotly. (This is going south too quick, and she knows in her gut that this is the point where things start to slip, slide down too quickly to be caught hold of again. Peter has better barge in already, because June's not sure how long they can keep this up; Lenart's gun is hovering over both of them.)
"Can we get this over with already?" Neal breaks in impatiently. It does the trick; Lenart directs the gun to him again, cold grey eyes mere slits.
"What are you playing at?" he mutters slowly. He looks from Neal to June, and to June again as the both of them keep their silence. Tension is thick and palpable in the room, the drop of a pin can be heard, and then—
Everything happens at once.
The door of the study blasts in; Lenart's head whips around as footsteps of agents blend with the sound of the storm. Peter's there, and Diana and Jones and other people, everyone's shouting, nonsensical voices as they cross and overlap; there's a bang – a terrible, tearing sound above everything – one of the windowpanes go down, exploding into in a million tiny shards. With the corner of her eye, June sees Neal's arms flail, glass raining down on him, and he topples down and disappears from sight.
Chaos ensues.