"A caution!" Peter hissed into his phone. "The tribunal gave me a caution!" From the other side of the city, Elizabeth's gentle laugh reached him through his mobile.
"Hon, it's ok." She said comfortingly. Her voice rang out in the confines of the lift – a sonorous lullaby. Peter was in the cramped silver elevator alone, on the way to the White Collar Division. He had his wife on speaker phone.
"I've been at the company 12 years, El, and I've had nothing but an exemplary record. Then Neal sodding Caffrey shows up…" Peter slumped against the side of the lift with an exasperated sigh. He was literally fuming. A caution! He hadn't done anything wrong!
"Then Neal shows up and it all goes out the window." Elizabeth finished his sentence soothingly. "Yes, dear, I know." Peter huffed at her words.
"Actually, it was Neal who went out the window." He muttered, thinking of the chase at Merrinote: the shattered glass, the long fall and Neal left swearing in a recycling bin.
"I wouldn't worry about it, honey." It was almost as if El could sense his spiralling frustration. Her voice dropped an octave, becoming even more consoling. "It could have been a lot worse. You could have lost your job." As always, her words calmed him and Peter smiled just a little. But then the lift pinged and the smile vanished. He was nearly at his floor and the last thing he needed right now was to face the office with a caution hanging over his head.
"Peter, hon, I know you're upset and... angry, but really, it's just a caution." Peter nodded bitterly, momentarily forgetting that El wasn't actually in the room with him.
"Yes." He said, after a pause. "I suppose you're right."
"Don't worry about it. One caution doesn't matter in the slightest. You're still my sexy, gorgeous, special agent husb-" The doors of the lift beeped stridently, causing Peter to jump with fright. They had reached his floor already? "And tonight, we'll f-" El was still talking, her voice, amplified through the speaker phone, rang out all around him. The doors slid open, revealing Jones standing in front of the lift. Peter swore, shouted a quick goodbye at El and hurriedly hung up before Jones could overhear anything more.
"Hey boss." Jones seemed oddly subdued. His hands twisted together, interlocking in complex knots before falling apart in an endless cycle. He was obviously nervous.
"Jones?" Peter asked. He stepped out of the lift, his embarrassment at whatever Jones had been unfortunate enough to overhear momentarily forgotten. "What's up?"
"Caffrey." Jones said simply. The single word was enough to make the blood freeze in Peter's veins. "He escaped."
30 minutes earlier...
Neal sat in Peter's office, twirling around on the agent's high-backed swivel chair and making paper cranes out of the yellow forms that sat on Peter's desk. He hoped that the forms weren't important. If there was one thing that Neal had learnt over the years, it was that the paper-crane process was irreversible. Once a crane, always a crane. Neal shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts and studied his surroundings instead.
The White Collar Division was eerily silent. Peter had left half an hour ago to get a "real" cup of coffee after the stress of his tribunal, and Hughes had retreated to the confines of his own office. Jones sat behind his desk, typing a frantic report whilst Agent Wesley fribbled away at his tie absent-mindedly. His eyes stared vacantly into the distance, giving his face a ghostly appearance. Everyone else had gone home for the day. Neal spun around on the chair and gazed out the window. As the sky darkened, the city lit up like a Christmas tree, all yellow lights and buttery mist. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, the way he always did when he was thinking. Night was falling and he had no idea what was going to happen to him next. He couldn't exactly spend the night at the office, and the only option left was some sort of holding cell. At the thought, a wave of anger and frustration reared up within him. Anger at being arrested in the first place. Anger at Peter. Anger at the FBI. Neal smiled bitterly and turned 180 degrees until he was back, facing Peter's desk. Peter's computer stood with its standby screen rotating peacefully. A small box blinked into existence when Neal wiggled the mouse. Password?
Neal bit his lip as he stared at the word. The temptation to hack the computer was overwhelming. Peter's computer could contain anything, from files on his friends to information about his future to the crazy conspiracy theories Mozzie was always harping on about. Neal didn't hesitate for long. Shooting a furtive look over one shoulder, he hunkered down behind the desktop and allowed his fingers to dance over the keyboard. He got the password on the third try. Shame on you, Peter. Neal thought grimly, as adrenaline pulsed through his veins. Next time, pick something a tad more secure than 'Satchmo123'. Now that he was in the agent's computer, Neal felt the familiar high that came with doing something he wasn't supposed to. A slow smile crept onto his face. His spidery fingers tapped away, flying so fast over the keys his eyes were unable to follow them. Encryptions and firewalls vanished beneath the onslaught. Files popped up on the dashboard, then disappeared, one after the other. Neal scan read each and every one before dismissing it, his blue eyes flickering as he absorbed the new information. Hacking was a rush. Hacking a Fed's computer… well. That was an even bigger rush.
A file swam to the surface. Something about the officious layout made Neal pause in his efforts for a moment. He stopped searching to read the document in full.
It was about him.
Neal's heart jumped painfully in his chest. His fingers slowly fell away from the keyboard as he read the words on the page. The file was a series of reports about Datum815, the microchip that Keller had stolen. The microchip that contained the blueprints for the new hundred dollar bill. The microchip the feds were desperate to find. Now, Neal saw why the FBI was so convinced that the chip was in his possession. The file contained DNA reports. Fingerprints found at the scene of the crime. Fingerprints that had been matched to him.
Neal stopped reading. He was shocked by what he had just seen. No wonder the feds thought he had the microchip – the evidence they had amassed was damning. Neal felt sweat break out on his palms. The file had clearly stated that Datum815 had the power to topple the global economy if it fell into the wrong hands. And the feds thought that he had it! Neal's chest swelled as he breathed fast and shallow, in and out, in and out. He had told Jones that he didn't have the microchip. The denial pulsed through his veins even now. Why didn't they believe him? The world swam before his eyes. He felt dizzy. Hot. Too hot. The walls of the office were closing in on him, choking, suffocating. He had to get out. Neal shut down all the files and erased his presence from Peter's computer before staggering to his feet. He stumbled out of Peter's office and into the main area of the White Collar Division. He was about to enter Jones' line of vision when he stopped himself. He could barely walk in a straight line. The shock had obviously done a number on him, and he knew that escape would be impossible in his current state. Neal forced himself to take deep breaths and think. He had to escape. The mantra swirled through his mind on a loop. Escape looked easy, but despite the near empty office, he knew that he couldn't just waltz out. There were security guards downstairs and personnel that could be summoned at the push of a button. And Jones wasn't to be underestimated. Neal had seen the big guy in action and he was not someone he wanted to tangle with. Neal backed up into Peter's office once more. He would give himself a few minutes to recover. And then he would make a plan.
Neal left Peter's office with a confident swagger and trotted up to Agent Wesley.
"Caffrey?" Wesley looked puzzled. "What are you doing? I thought Peter… uh, that is, Agent Burke, told you to stay in his office." Neal nodded reassuringly. He tried to radiate a sense of control and calm.
"Yes, that's right." He smiled - a blinding flash of white, white teeth. "But I need to go to the toilet. That is allowed, right?" Neal added an uncertain tremor to his voice and tried to look contrite. Wesley laughed jovially.
"Of course you can! But I'm afraid I'll have to escort you there. Wouldn't want you running off, now would we?" Neal chuckled along with the agent. Everything was going exactly to plan. "This way…" Wesley motioned something at Jones before striding off in the direction of the lift. Neal followed. He played up his limp as he walked, trying to give Wesley the impression that the ankle he had sprained during his arrest was giving him trouble. It wasn't a complete lie. His foot was in plaster, and though he had ditched the crutches he still wasn't half as agile as he had been before the injury. That would hinder his escape for sure, but he knew that he could still succeed. He had a plan and, so far, it was working. Wesley noticed his limp and slowed the pace slightly. Perfect. Neal thought. He needed Wesley to underestimate him if this was going to work.
They got into the lift together and Wesley pressed the button for the floor below. Neal waited until the tall man had his back turned. Then he took a deep breath and launched himself at the agent. The pair of them went down in a tangle of limbs and curses. Neal managed to grab the agent's gun a few seconds into the tussle and waved it in Wesley's face. The man went deathly still.
"Caffrey – you wouldn't."
"I would." Neal cocked the gun. He had no intention of shooting Wesley, but he couldn't exactly tell him that. "I want you to listen very carefully, Mr Wesley. When the lift stops, I want you to get out. Don't sound the alarm. And please, don't tell anyone what has just happened." Wesley nodded dully. The shock was clear in his eyes. The lift doors opened silently and Wesley stepped out.
"Caffrey, you're making a huge mistake. If you escape, Peter will find you. And you know it." Neal shrugged and gestured for the agent to leave. Wesley turned tail and hurried off.
Neal knew that he was going to sound the alarm and he didn't care. His plan was simple. Wesley would alert everyone to the fact that he was escaping. The building would go into lockdown. The doors would be sealed, the lifts would close down and a group of guards would gather on the ground floor, ready to grab him. Meanwhile, Neal would be in the one place they would never suspect. The White Collar Division, headquarters of the very people in charge of hunting him down. He smiled to himself, pleased that he had made it this far, and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The lifts wouldn't have been shut down yet – he was fairly confident that he had enough time to make it back to White Collar. The lift hummed gently as it wound its way up to the floor above. By the time he got there, Neal hoped that the place would be empty. Jones would have run downstairs to help with his capture, and Hughes, if he was still in his office, would be easy enough to dodge. The more Neal thought about it, the more confident he was that his plan was going to work.
Crunch.
The lift suddenly stopped with a jerky movement that threw Neal off his feet. He landed heavily on the carpeted floor and cursed vehemently. Wesley had more brains than Neal had given him credit for – he must have shut down the lifts the second he had had the chance. Neal was trapped. Stuck between floors. A sitting duck, ready to be picked off whenever they felt like powering up the lifts again. Neal could see it now: the lift's controls being overridden, the doors opening. Him inside the metal container, helpless. Jones would rush in. Peter would look disappointed. And Neal would go to prison. No more random psychiatrist visits for him. No offers of a deal if he revealed the location of a microchip he fervently claimed not to have.
Neal shook his head. He wasn't going to let that happen. Gritting his teeth, he clambered to his feet and stretched upwards. His reaching hands found the maintenance hatch set in the roof of the lift. He jumped into the air and slammed it hard with the flat of his palms. He landed awkwardly – making the lift wobble and sending waves of pain up through the cast on his ankle, but it was worth it. The hatch swung open. Neal pulled himself up and through before carefully placing the hatch back into position. He was in the lift shaft, an inky space coated in brick dust. The air smelt like oil and the only illumination came from the doors set in the wall above him. They were the doors that lead to White Collar: when the lift stopped in front of them, they would open automatically. Neal stood up. He was now on the roof of the lift he had been trapped in, and because he had been halfway between floors when the lift had stopped, he could just reach the doors that were above his head. His fingers searched the walls of the shaft and found the emergency override button. He pressed it and the doors glided open. Neal sighed in relief – amazed that that had worked. Brushing the dust off his shirt, Neal hauled himself up through the doors and entered the fifth floor lobby.
Jones was the first to see him. The burly agent climbed to his feet. He didn't look very surprised to see Neal crawling through a lift shaft with cobwebs glittering in his hair.
"Caffrey!" Jones called. Neal didn't answer. He kept walking forwards, heading towards Peter's office. "Where are you going?" Jones pressed. He started walking towards Neal, trying to corner him, trap him against a wall. Neal backed away. "Caffrey!" Jones shouted. From somewhere deep in the building, alarms were beginning to sound, loud and incessant. Neal broke into a run. Jones swore and pounded after him, forcing Neal to spin around and head back in the direction of Peter's office. "Neal!" Jones sounded desperate. Hughes was out of his office now, staring wide eyed as Neal sprinted past him. He jabbed at an alarm set in the wall beside him. Its peal joined the shrieks of the others.
"Jones – stop him!" Jones lunged forward, but Neal easily pranced out of his reach. He was on the stairs at this point, about to dive into Peter's office. Jones stopped dead. He knew what Neal was going to do.
"CAFFREY!" His voice was hoarse. "NO!" Neal looked back at the agent. Then he crossed the floor of Peter's office and, in the space of a heartbeat, was by the window. He pushed it open. And stepped out.
Hey guys :) Now that everyone's back at school, I'm going to try to get back in the swing of things and update this story every Saturday. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts :D