Peter watched the hands on his watch tick by. He'd been sitting out on the patio, waiting for news from someone about something. He hated being relegated to sitting at his house, especially since he couldn't stand seeing it filled with agents that weren't his team and missing El.
His first instinct when he'd left the Bureau was to go to Neal, to shake a plan out of him and save his wife. Even despite all of the trust issues flying around recently, Peter knew Neal would think of something, that he always did, and that together they'd figure it out and fix everything. That was why they cleared a ninety-three percent conviction rate at the Bureau; because they were two great minds that put plans in action and came out on top.
But now everything was being called into question by everyone: Peter was questioning Neal's loyalties, and Hughes was questioning Peter and Neal's ability to do their jobs, just to name the fore-runners. Peter believed in due process, believed in the system, but waiting while knowing Neal was probably putting something together half-cocked (like usual) and needed his help was killing him. Although, maybe, if Neal did have something, then putting two extra agents on him when he was supposed to get to Keller with none would just make things harder.
Peter was lost, with two many ideas and scenarios running through his head, and the woman who always had the answers was missing- in danger. So he agonizingly sat on his patio and waited.
At 2:05 pm, things had suddenly gotten interesting. Agents listening on their headphones started making calls and acting very busy—which implied something had not gone right down at the docks. Peter tried to pry information out of the worthless agents monitoring his home, but they wouldn't tell him anything without Rice's orders, and the agent wasn't answering her phone. He was thisclose to beating the information out of them when Jones arrived, whispering instructions to the keeper-agents, who nodded and made for the door. His teammate then took Peter's arm and walked him back out to the patio, sitting down across from his boss.
"Hey Peter," he said quietly, nodding in greeting. "Thought you could use a break from the government-issued babysitters."
"Jones," Peter replied gratefully, shifting forward in his seat. "What the hell's going on? What happened down at the docks?"
"FBI set up one of Rice's guys to look like Caffrey to trap Keller, but the guy never showed. And then a warehouse nearby blew up."
"It blew up?" Peter asked in shock.
"Yeah," Jones replied. "Everyone's okay; apparently it was empty."
"Keller never showed," Peter asked, worry etching his features as he replayed Jones' words in his head. "What does that mean?"
Jones put his hand on Peter's arm. "We're not sure yet—everyone's still looking into it."
Just then, Jones' phone buzzed. He checked the screen, then put it on the table, pressing speaker. "Hey Diana; I'm with Peter."
"Diana, tell me you know something," Peter asked his agent.
"We checked surveillance. Got photos of some low-level Russians planting explosives in the warehouse and bomb squad found more in the boat. Rice thinks that they got wind of our meeting with Keller, and Gavrikov couldn't buy any more time."
"His boss got tired of playing nice," Peter summed up.
"We're guessing they're loading up the rest of their transports the same way," she continued. "Neal's probably right that Keller won't try to use them."
"Where is Neal anyways?" Jones asked.
"Rice sent him home before the meet with two agents sitting on him," Peter supplied.
"And he stayed there?" Jones asked skeptically.
"Not quite," Diana's voice responded from the speaker. "I just pulled up his tracker information: twenty minutes ago his GPS signal was suddenly jammed."
"Jammed?" Neal wasn't exactly known for his technical prowess. Usually it made Peter's job easier, restricting the con to either lift the key or cut the anklet. "So we have no idea where he is?"
"We have a two-mile window for his position between 1:50 and 2:05, which kept him in his radius and may explain why it didn't activate," the agent told him. "The signal suddenly cleared up two minutes ago—showed him at June's."
Peter looked up. "The meet wasn't at the docks—we all just assumed that was what Keller meant when he said 'where it all started.' Neal must have gone to wherever Keller really was," he told his team.
"But he still doesn't have the treasure, does he?" Jones said. "What do you think happened?"
Suddenly, Peter's cell phone rang. He checked the screen, not recognizing the number. "Hello?"
"Peter?"
Peter's eyes went wide, and he held the phone in a vice grip. "El?" he asked, his eyes involuntarily tearing up. "El, are you okay?" He pried his own fingers away from the cell, placing it on speaker and setting it next to Jones', where Diana was still on the line.
"Peter—" El's voice was hushed and slightly panicked. "I stole this from one of the guards. The battery's dying, can you trace it?"
"I'm on it," Jones called, running inside to grab a computer from one of the less useful agents.
"Jones is going to trace it, hon, just stay on line. Where are you?"
"We're near a platform—" Peter heard a beep, warning that the line was almost dead. "There's a restricted hallway with some construction guys, and I think [beep] one of the guys holding us may work for them. I think I heard one of them call another Ramsey."
"I'm looking up platforms near construction, boss," Diana's voice called from the other phone.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, terrified of the steady tones that warned of the phone's failure. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay," El said, pausing. "But Brooke, the girl I'm with [beep]—her foot's broken and she's looking pretty bad Peter," Peter heard a soft scoff in the background. "You need to hurry."
"We're going to find you El," he promised his wife. "Jones," he called out, another tone sounding through the receiver. "How are we doing on that trace?"
Jones raised his hand in recognition of the request, fingers flying across the keyboard as he tried to pin down the number's location.
"Peter," came El's voice. "There's three of them, and if Keller doesn't call, they're going to—"
"El? El!" Peter shouted at the now disconnected line, picking it up and putting it to his ear. He paused for a moment, panic threatening to overtake him.
"Tell me we found them," he asked Jones anxiously.
Jones looked up. "We've narrowed it down to a five-mile radius in the financial district," he told him.
"I can do one better," Diana spoke up from the phone. "I've got a Zach Ramsey as a maintenance worker with a stack of priors including Breaking and Entering, Assault, and Aggravated Assault. I'm sending a photo. He's part of a crew working maintenance in three subway terminals near pre-war warehouses as of two weeks ago, two of which have a fountain on the ground level above it."
"That's the same guy that paid off the kid at the Bureau," Peter said, grinning at the mug shot she emailed him. "We've got them."
"What about Keller?" Jones asked.
Peter looked at the feds sitting in his house. "I need to get to Neal."
A/N: so I decided that the Russian mob needed to make another cameo in my story- mostly because I need someone to make violence, and that just never seems to be the FBI...