Chapter 39: Team Building

A/N: Dialog marked with an asterisk ("*") is quoted verbatim from The Mentalist Violets episode script.

Oakland

The murmur of Cho's mother and aunt chatting in Korean triggered boyhood memories. Holiday family gatherings had followed a set pattern, always at their house as befit the oldest male family member. The women congregated in the kitchen, animatedly talking while preparing a feast of traditional Korean food. Cho's father and uncles waited in the living room without much conversation, often playing Godori around a folding card table. The tv was off. American football wasn't popular in Korea and the senior Cho hated baseball which was brought to Korea by missionaries in the early 1900's. Telecasts of traditional sports such as taekwondo or badminton were rare in the US in the 1980's and '90's.

The doorbell halted his musings.

"Rigs, Grace," he greeted, surprised. He patted Taylor's head and ruffled the boy's hair when Ben hugged his waist. The Rigsby family crowded in, pausing in the foyer.

"I baked a cake for your mother," Van Pelt said as the two women bustled out of the kitchen. His aunt did a double-take at Rigsby's height before accepting the cake with a smile.

"Welcome," said Mrs. Cho who startled Cho by accepting a hug from Van Pelt.

"We have to meet the people who bought our house and can't stay," Rigsby explained regretfully, shifting Taylor to his other arm. " But we wanted to add our congratulations, Mrs. Cho."

"Thank you, Wayne. If you not stay, you take food," patting him warmly on the arm.

His mother led Van Pelt and Ben into the kitchen. Cho blinked at the familiarity that had developed between mother and friends during her months of recovery.

Wistfully, "Man, I'd give a lot to have my mom making our favorite dishes." Rigsby's mother had died soon after he graduated from college. At Cho's raised eyebrow, "The relatives came over when my old man was away." Cho knew "away" probably meant in prison or raising hell. "When do you start the new job?"

"Week from now. After I oversee the movers."

"Know anything about it yet?"

Cho motioned him to the couch. He took the easy chair. "I take an agent position in the Frisco office for two months till the team leader retires and I move up. Inherit one newbie and one older guy. One vacancy."

Rigsby sat with Taylor in his lap, letting her play with his keys while they talked. "What about Mancini? He got SA for the whole Sacramento division after Shultz was arrested in the Blake round-up."

Cho nodded. "Meet this week. Clear the air."

Rigsby nodded. "It was rough between the CBI and FBI back–"

"-Wayne, take Ben, please," called Van Pelt as she juggled several foil-covered containers.

Rigsby rose hurriedly. "Hey. Gotta go." He held the door for his wife and son, then hustled the kids into their car seats. Van Pelt stowed the food in a cooler then returned for a goodbye hug with Mrs. Cho. Rigsby waited by the SUV with the kids, cautious in the rough neighborhood.

Min-Ji arrived first. She entered with her own key and momentarily froze when she caught sight of Cho. She gave a terse greeting in Korean with a look that threw daggers and immediately went to the kitchen. Cho noted she sidestepped the traditional honorifics of younger to older, not to mention female to male. Whatever the reason for her attitude, it wasn't personal. He'd only met her once for a few minutes.

Cho's parents were the first from their families to emigrate. After getting established in the US, they sponsored the immigration of his mother's two sisters and one brother. His mother's youngest brother remained in Korea. It was that brother's daughter Min-Ji who his mother was hosting to attend Berkeley.

Two more aunts and a gaggle of cousins arrived shortly after. The second aunt apologized that her husband was too ill to attend. She made a fuss over Cho, chattering excitedly at seeing her nephew for the first time in years. After saying "hi," his much-younger cousins stood around for an awkward moment before escaping to the fenced backyard.

Soon the folding tables set up outside were covered with platters of food, bottles of soda and the ubiquitous tea. His oldest aunt stood and congratulated his mother on her recovery in English. Unlike Cho, younger family members knew only a few Korean words. After a few minutes of polite conversation with his mother, his cousins gathered in a corner of the yard, laughing and kidding each other about school, sports, tv phenoms, boy- and girl-friends. Min-Ji hung nearby, not quite part of the kids or the adults. Cho stood near his mother and aunts, half minding their conversation, half wondering how he'd bridge the age difference and lack of anything in common.

The older women chatted in Korean, knowing the youngsters couldn't understand as they expressed hopes and fears about their kids. Other than Cho, there were only two adult children. Jade lived on the East coast with her kids. The other, Jun, was out of the picture while he served in the military. Of the cousins living at home, the oldest girl, Su, had a gang tattoo behind her ear that she tried to hide with her hair. Her mother knew Su flirted with a gang member and worried what would happen when she graduated from high school. The girl railed against the traditional path of wife and mother, but saw no better options around her. Considering her tough demeanor Cho thought it could go either way. Lee was a high school sophomore. The test scores that proved he was plenty smart contrasted wildly with his grades. His t-shirt and the ball he toyed with revealed Lee's real passion – soccer. Lee's mother said he only passed his courses to qualify for the school soccer team where he was a star. The others were pre-teens.

Later, when he sat in the shade of a tree eating dessert, Cho realized with a shock that all his cousins – not just Min-Ji - carefully skirted his chair, wary and maybe even afraid. Memory flashed back to his father, sitting silent and severe in the living room, forbidding and unapproachable. Hm. Would-be gang girl might be leery of an FBI agent. And why would a wannabe soccer star think he has anything in common with a guy who wears a suit and works for a regular paycheck? Lee peeled off from the group and went inside. Cho followed a moment later.

"Hi."

The teen looked up, "Um, your mom said I could watch."

"Sure." Cho sat nearby, watching his cousin as much as the game. After awhile, "Your mom says you're good."

With a flash of surprise and pleasure, "She does? Yeah. Our team is 10-and-0 so far this season."

"Gonna do something with it?"

Determined, "Wanna go pro."

"Think you've got a chance?"

Relaxing as they talked about soccer, "Scouts say so. –Ma's against it."

"Was baseball for me. My father hated it. Blew out my ACL. Moot."

"Tough break."

"No guarantees. One bad injury and it's over."

Frowning, "Yeah, well it's my life. What I want."

"Why not give yourself more choices? Play soccer in college, then go pro if you can. If not or you get injured, you've got a back up."

"Not into schoolwork."

"Too hard?"

"What? No!"

"If you can get the grades, I'll help you deal with college applications and soccer scouts."

Lee snorted, "From Texas?"

"Based here now." Cho rose, said, "Think about it," and left. It was a start.

A while later Cho noticed Su standing alone as the others kicked around the soccer ball. Cho drifted over to stand nearby.

"Hey."

Su looked around and eased a step farther away. "Hey."

"You graduate soon. Plans?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just wondering."

Curtly, "Don't know. Not a lotta opportunity around here, y'know?"

"Why limit yourself to 'around here'?"

Bristling, "Easy for a guy. You became a cop. And now you're a big FBI agent."

Cho swigged soda from the bottle. "I was a gangbanger. Stupidest thing I ever did. Joined the military to get out, get away."

She turned to face him, eyes wide. "No shit!" After a moment, "Sorry."

"What do you want to do?"

She looked away. "Dunno. Don't want the whole wife and mother thing. Least not yet. Can't see scraping by as a store clerk or something." She added with feigned indifference, "Be nice to see the world, do something that matters. And that pays enough for a decent life."

"Cop? Military? College?"

"Pfft. More school? No interest, no money. That just pushes it down the road. Jun says the military isn't exactly female-friendly. –Cops, too."

"My boss was a woman. Also some agents. They got crap but succeeded anyhow."

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy to make excuses. Come up with ideas and I'll help." Cho allowed himself the barest of smiles, "I know something about police and military."

She looked at him hard, stance relaxed. "Maybe I will." As he walked away, she called, "Cho – thanks."

FBI, Austin, Monday

The black arm advanced with a soft tick second-by-second, 3,600 per hour, 86,400 per day, 31,536,000 per year. Over four-hundred million seconds had elapsed since his wife and child were slaughtered and Jane marveled at everything that had transpired since–

"-Mr. Jane!"

He looked up at the seminar speaker: Middle aged male, ramrod straight, unimaginative, self-important. "Yes?" The other attendees milled around talking or queued up outside the restrooms during the ten minute break.

"You're presumably here because you need this information. Yet you're wasting your time and mine by not paying attenti–"

Jane reeled off verbatim, "'The agent in charge leads the planned field operation. He – or she – authorizes ad hoc changes necessitated by unexpected events, including requisitioning personnel and equipment from local law enforcement authorities.' Then you called a ten minute break. Did I miss something?" Jane squinted up at him from his position slouched in his chair.

Frostily, "The majority of attendees are new to the Bureau. More seasoned personnel–" the 'like you' was implied, "shouldn't have to be here at all."

Jane smiled lazily. "Oh, I couldn't agree more. I'm here because I'm required to be by a boss overly fond of rules. And authority." Jane politely covered a yawn. "And while my time is being wasted, you have to be here for the others – unless you think your seminar is worthless to them, too." The man flushed, pivoted, and stalked away.

Lisbon caught the tail end of the exchange when she returned from the restroom. She sighed. "Jane, must you bait him for doing his job? He's gonna complain."

"He's an officious twit who called me out for being bored by his droning lecture. I'm disturbing no one, just not bothering to fake interest." He rose gracefully. "I want it to get back to Pike, remember?"

Her only response was another sigh. This is worse than the CBI. There, everyone knew Jane was outrageous. Now, he seems normal and they're shocked he doesn't act like an agent...

By morning's end Lisbon had joined Jane in counting down the seconds. As he warned after Markham's arrest, Pike had forced them to attend this seminar on ops and requisition procedures. Attention drifting, she wondered at Jane's comment on the drive over. Is Pike really in over his head? Hiding behind rules? –God help me, was I ever that rigid?

Jane nudged her and whispered, "Nope. Despite keeping up appearances, you always were a bit subversive." She flicked his arm, shushing him as the seminar blessedly ground its way to the end.

Jane gratefully stood, stretched and unabashedly yawned. "Finally! The bullpen's exciting by comparison."

"Except we have a team building seminar after lunch. You'd know if you read your e-mails."

Jane groaned and yawned again. "No doubt some half-baked psychological tripe. Can't we just ditch this–"

"No. Hard to team build if half the team's missing."

"Who?"

"Us, Wylie, Fischer and Tork."

"Tork," he muttered distastefully. "Pike's really pushing for him to get the job."

They dutifully spent the afternoon on exercises to build a team that almost no one wanted built. Jane went through the motions without even pretending sincerity. Tork's hostility and distrust were barely hidden under a professional veneer. Lisbon participated honestly if unenthusiastically. Fischer participated but seemed more interested in what she could figure out about Lisbon and Jane than in team-building. Wylie was all wide-eyed, earnest confusion at the glaring failure of the exercises to build much of anything. It was a relief when the day ended, releasing them all from the pointless for-show activity.

FBI, Austin, Tuesday

Lisbon arrived on time and stowed her purse in her desk. Though they'd driven in together, Jane still hadn't appeared at his couch twenty minutes later. She decided to get coffee and see what was keeping him. She found him sipping tea while leaning against the corridor wall just outside the break room, intently observing Abbott through the glass wall of his office.

"Thought maybe you went on an emergency tea run," she teased.

"Shh," he said absently, attention rapt upon Abbott and his visitor. "Lip reading," he explained. A few minutes later the meeting ended and Abbott's guest left. They strolled back to the bullpen. Lisbon plopped down and swivelled her chair to face Jane's couch. "What was so interesting?"

After checking that no one could overhear, "According to Lira, Abbott's visitor was Bill Peterson, regional head of the DEA."

"So?"

"Reasonable he'd stop by after we solved the murders of five DEA agents. What doesn't make sense is Abbott's reaction." She waited, eyebrows raised. "Abbott's tense, anxious. Afraid of him."

"Abbott doesn't scare easy."

"Why it's noteworthy."

The staffer who delivered mail inside the FBI building was on their floor. He exchanged a few words with Wylie then pushed his mail cart over near Lisbon and Jane. "Letter for Patrick Jane." Jane raised his hand. "Where's your in-box?"

Jane held out his hand. The carrier gave him the letter, grumbling about how everyone was supposed to have an in-box. Jane opened the cream colored, rag stock envelope and stopped dead.

"Jane?" Lisbon called quietly. "What is it?"

He handed it to her. No return address. Other than a folded Washington Post newspaper article, the enclosed card was blank except for an elegant, handwritten "B" at bottom right. Jane said, "Read the article." The short article reported the fatal car crash of a prominent FBI attorney working in DC.

Lisbon handed it back. Neutrally, "Don't know the name."

Quietly, "Bret did more than ID the Blake operative."

"This is – was – the high up Blake mole?" Jane nodded. "A-n-d, you don't think it was an accident."

"No."

"You didn't know Stiles would do this, right?"

Jane breathed in and exhaled slowly. "No. Must have had his own reasons." Jane tossed the missive in the trash and reseated himself heavily on the couch. He cleared his throat. "That was the last loose thread. Solve whatever it is from his past and Abbott can move up."

Lisbon shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "We should do something. Even if he was Blake, that crash was probably murder."

Jane spread his hands. "Based on what?"

Lisbon grimaced. "True. Nothing but speculation."

~.~.~.~

The morning calm ended with invasion, theft, and murder at the Hennigan Gallery. Abbott convened a meeting in the fishbowl with Pike's art squad and Tork's team plus Fischer.

"Pike, you start."

"Art theft used to be sneaky – quiet, under cover of darkness. This is the same, dangerous MO we've seen for six jobs from Phoenix to Dallas in the past two years. Sudden daytime break-in, often with a vehicle. First murder, though."

Fischer asked, "What's the value of the stolen goods?

Grimly, "One-hundred million plus for the six jobs."

Tork, "What've we got to go on?"

"A partial print from a glove found outside after a heist with this MO." He brought up a photo on the room monitor. "Aaron Pulaski's print. He did time at Folsom Prison for armed robbery and battery. Was the prison's middle weight boxing champ."

Lisbon spoke up, "But you can't make a strong connection to the actual crimes – just the glove found nearby?"

Pike nodded. "That's right. We tried, but not enough to even get a warrant."

Abbott asked, "What's your plan?"

"Tail Pulaski till he makes contact with the gang leader."

Jane thought aloud, "Just six heists in 24 months. You could be waiting a long time."

"We might," Pike acknowledged. "Had to drop the tail last time to work other cases."

Abbott spoke again, "Yet you want do it again. Why?"

"The gang just did this job. They have to get paid, which means someone somewhere has to make contact. Pulaski hangs out at the 6th street bar. It's our best bet."

Jane asked, "What if I could bring them to us?"

Pike frowned. "I don't want to lose this opportunity and have to wait for another heist."

Abbott gathered his paperwork together. "Your case, your call, Pike. Tork, your group plus Fischer will provide assistance as needed. Pike's acting SA while I'm out for the rest of the week. Get to work, agents." He left.

The others stirred. Jane cocked his head and said, "I can wrap this up in a week."

Pike's reply was loud in the sudden silence, "We'll do it my way."

Jane gave a mocking salute and sauntered out.

The art squad handled day and evening surveillance. Tork had Lisbon and Fischer cover the midnight-to-dawn shift while he, Wylie and Jane worked and quickly solved another case. They learned Pulaski's routine, including his habit of bedding a different hooker every day or two.

FBI, Austin, Monday

The art squad and Tork's group was back in the conference room. Jane sat closest to the door between Wylie and Lisbon. Incongruously, there was a pile of store shopping bags in the nearest corner.

Abbott, "It's been a week. Progress?"

"I've had Pulaski under 24-hour surveillance, but nothing yet. He has no job, no visible means of support. But we haven't uncovered links to anyone remotely be connected to art theft."

"Financial records, electronic sweeps of his phone calls?"

Pike exhaled in frustration. "Nothing revealing. Big payoffs from the heists must be in accounts we haven't ID'd yet. His calls are all from burner phones. Even when we've picked out his calls, there's nothing incriminating."

Wylie nodded confirmation. "Burner phones, so no account names. And if he is talking to the thieves, they're using code words."

Abbott, "Any of the stolen art surface?"

Evanson from the art squad replied, "Not yet. They're sitting on it or selling it privately."

Leaning back in his chair Jane drawled, "I said I could wrap it up in a week if–"

Pike interrupted, "And I decided to follow standard FBI methods which–"

"–Which haven't gotten you anywhere in two years." Jane countered.

Abbott rumbled mildly, "Why won't Jane's idea work, Pike?"

Pike took a breath but didn't answer. Lisbon had a moment of deja vu. Just like Bosco. Won't even listen before deep sixing it. The silence weighed heavily.

Abbott, "Jane, what is your idea?"

"My plan is a little more elaborate, but much more entertaining.* First we rope him in with some flash. Then we steer him towards a couple of good inside men, a face. We're going to need some art for the gaff, and then a good false blow off."*

Pike frowned. "See? What does that even mean?"

Amused, "I'm sure Mr. Jane will enlighten us." Fully facing Jane, "Won't you?" The 'put-up-or-shut-up' challenge was plain.

Jane smiled, "First a question, Abbott. You could fake a good boxing brawl, right?"

"How did you– Yes, I could," he answered with a frown.

Wider smile, "Great, great. You'd need an opponent..." He made a show of scrutinizing Tork and each man in the art squad, rejecting them one by one while regretfully shaking his head. He snapped his fingers. "Cho! He'll be in town for the movers. He can do it." Jane rose, gaze steady on Abbott's face, "Right now, I have to meet with Bill Peterson's man about using a house the DEA seized from a drug lord. But," he raised his hand to forestall objections, "Wylie will ably brief you all from my notes." He ducked out before anyone could say anything.

Abbott exhaled slowly, obviously setting aside his irritation. Expressionless, "Wylie?"

Wylie took a deep breath, coloring a little with all eyes upon him. "We want the leader of the gang, the one who shot John Hennigan. To find him, we need to gain the trust of Pulaski. So, we know he likes to spend time at his favorite bar. That's where we rope him. We need to plant some bugs and cameras in the bar–"*

"-Why?" asked Tork.

"So I can monitor it from here."* Glancing at Abbott, "You're our roper.* Jane said you'd know about boxing–"

"I never mentioned it before but, yes, I do."

"So does Pulaski. That's a good place to start."* Uncertainly, "I've got some tips for you if you, uh..."* He rushed on at Abbott's frown, "-But you probably know what you are doing."* Wylie gave one of the shopping bags to Abbott. "Jane said you'll need these." Abbott pulled out some clothes. "–So uh, I guess Cho will be the 'muscle'* – your opponent."

Abbott, "If he's available."

Wylie shrugged uncomfortably, "Jane kinda said he would be. You and Cho need to work out the, uh, the choreography." Abbott nodded for him to go on.

"Lisbon is playing the inside man – uh, woman – the inside woman with Jane. He wants you to wear this."* Lisbon held up a dress from the bag Wylie gave her. She blinked – her turn for combined amusement and annoyance. She said nothing, already knowing the broad outlines of his plan from Jane.

Fischer glanced at the sexy, expensive dress and grinned, "Yowza!"

Wylie handed a bag to Fischer. "This is for you."*

"Oh." Fischer's dress was a sleek, tight leopard-print sheath. Although Lisbon's dress was sexy, Fischer's dress was unabashedly provocative, arousing.

Wylie continued from his notes. "You're the 'face.' Once Pulaski is at the party,"* the art squad exchanged glances and a muttered 'party?' "you lure him into the bedroom. Uh, Jane's got some ideas."*

Thoroughly amused, "Yeah, thanks. I think I've got it under control," dismissed Fischer. Wylie blushed a deeper red.

Wylie swallowed. "Then Jane and Lisbon take over."*

Abbott, "And then what happens?"*

"Uh – 'And then the fun really starts.' That's a direct quote."*

Abbott straightened his papers and tapped the file folder on the table. "Agents, we'll give it a try. Jane will either succeed or go down in flames, won't he?" The group filed out, art squad agents talking heatedly among themselves. Tork said nothing as he stomped off to get lunch.

Jane hadn't returned when Lisbon bumped into Pike in the break room later. She nodded. "Pike."

The dark, handsome senior agent turned a warm gaze on her, "Yes?"

"I, uh, that is Jane and I will need to go through the recovered art you have in storage for the operation. Maybe later today?"

Neutrally, "All right. Give me a call."

She hesitated then added, "Jane's approach is definitely...different, but his schemes usually work out."

His lips tightened. "You have more confidence than I do."

She nodded, stirring her coffee. "It took a lot of years."

"I bet."

She swallowed, "The art squad couldn't be used because Pulaski may have noticed your men tailing him."

Puzzled, "So?"

Awkwardly, "Well, so it wasn't just a put-down. There's a pay-off for putting up with it all."

Pike sipped his coffee and took a moment to reply. "Teresa, I appreciate your comments. But Jane elbowed his way into my case, my area of specialty to propose some half-assed scam. I'm putting up with it because Abbott isn't giving me a choice. –You're a helluva agent and I really don't know how you stand this crap." He nodded. "Nice talkin' to you," and left.

Jane appeared at Lisbon's desk hours later, startling her.

"Dammit, Jane! Stop creeping up on me."

He handed her a take-out gourmet coffee. "No creeping. Carpeting."

She glared but was mollified by the heavenly scent when she removed the lid. "I told Pike we'd stop by later to ID the art we need. I need to call before quitting time."

They made their way to the locked storage room in the FBI basement level. Pike unlocked the door and flicked the light switch. Jane slowly turned in a circle, a delighted smile gracing his face. Lisbon and Pike walked down the several aisles of shelving. Lisbon marveled at the sheer quantity, as well as occasionally noticing paintings and sculptures and objets d'art for which she actually knew the artist. Pike described a few pieces in detail that she found interesting.

"Pike, this is just what I need. What do we have to do to use it for the operation?"

The momentary frown vanished as Pike turned to talk with him. "These are all stolen pieces. We keep some recovered art in hopes more will surface from various heists. We can use anything here, so long as it's accounted for and not damaged."

Jane looked at him intently, "I'll need several that art thieves would readily recognize as stolen. A few need to be expensive – hundred thou or more." Pike walked around, showing Jane paintings and objects that might meet his requirements. Jane asked questions, surprising Pike with his knowledge several times. In turn, Jane drank down every fact and perspective Pike shared. Lisbon stood back, a slight smile on her face. Despite Pike's irritation and notwithstanding Jane's antipathy and scheme to get free of the FBI, both men genuinely respected knowledge. Lisbon knew Jane would extract every iota of Pike's knowledge about the items to be used. She swallowed at the sobering thought, Of course, it'd be really bad news if Jane gets something wrong around the leader. Not just thieves, killers.

Pike got off on his floor leaving Lisbon and Jane to ride up to theirs.

Quitting time, Lisbon gathered her things from her desk. She asked, "What'd you find when you were out?" as they walked toward the elevator.

Enthusiastically, "Great house. Beautiful, modern. –We're in the wrong business, Lisbon," thinking of the drug trade that bought such a place.

She eyed him curiously, "Your Malibu house was all that and more. You want another?"

Jane waited till the elevator doors closed ensuring their privacy. "It's pretty, but cold. I'm thinking of something more homey for us – a home, not a showplace."

Her heart gave a glad thump at the "us." "Homey's good. I'm not much for the grand image."

"So it shall be." His answer was rewarded by her wide smile.

Lisbon's night-shift surveillance had disrupted their morning routine and they'd driven in separately. Neither noticed Pike watching them as they drove off.

At home, Lisbon used the connecting door to join him in his apartment. They busied themselves warming leftovers for dinner.

"Tell me more about what you found."

"Told you. Perfect house for the con. Striking, expensive. It looks like a place an art lover – art thief – would live in."

"A-n-d?"

He tipped his head. "One of Peterson's agents took me around to places the DEA had seized. This was the best. I was hoping to spend time with Peterson himself, but no such luck."

"You were reading Abbott in the fishbowl."

He nodded as he put their plates on the table. "Confirmation. Abbott reacted and not in a positive way."

"Abbott won't talk about anything bad in his past. If you can't pump Peterson–"

He smiled. "Fortunately, the agent was quite garrulous. Abbott worked for Peterson early in his career as a border agent. Nothing solid, but plenty of hints that there were some tough situations. Fertile ground for more digging."

"How?"

"Want to search newspapers and law enforcement publications for anything Abbott might have been involved with back then."

Her forehead wrinkled in distress. "Jane, you can't have Wylie investigating his SA!"

Soothingly, "Of course not. But Grace can."

"Okay. Oh – and what's this about Cho helping with this op?"

"Already checked. He'll be in town Friday to oversee his move. He's technically still on vacation from the Austin office. Said he'd be happy to mock up a brawl with Abbott." With a mischievous smile, "He'll probably enjoy it."

Slowly, "Jane, I know your plan is to annoy everyone till they let you out of your agreement–"

Motioning with a forkful of food, "-No, just modifying it."

"–but Pike's not a jerk, not incompetent."

Jane leaned back and cocked his head. "Never said he is. Cold feet?"

She sighed. "I hate the public humiliation. Even Tork."

Coolly, "As with any good con, I'm just letting them do it to themselves. Pike and Tork are the ones unwilling to listen to better ideas."

"Jane, it took me years to get used to–"

"-I don't expect them to take my word. We rounded up the Blake leaders. We were right about Markham. They know your team closed every case for ten years!"

"But–"

He leaned forward. Intensely, "Teresa, I've never been able to color inside the lines. I can't not see things, can't un-read people. I might be able to manage four more years under Abbott. He's smart and is beginning to come around. Pike doesn't have the imagination. Tork is even worse."

"How much longer do you think?"

"Soon as I find out about Abbott and solve that problem." At her raised eyebrows, "Weeks, not months."

"Okay."

Sex that night was tinged with desperation for her and extra intensity for him.

Austin, Friday

They chose Friday night for the operation, when a bar fight and party were ordinary occurrences that helped humanity blow off stress from the workweek. Fortunately, Jane deemed the existing furnishings useable for the operation. The artwork had been delivered and staged days ago. Everything in the house had to be consistent with the residence of high-end art thieves since the slightest doubt in Pulaski's mind would undermine the operation or worse. Already early evening, Jane was at the party house checking last details. Supplies – everything from refrigerated, frozen and canned food, to cookware, to paper products, to laundry detergent, to towels and bedding, to spare clothes, to toiletries had been delivered to convincingly stage the house. Two dozen agents were carefully selected by Jane to pose as party goers. Others were assigned to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

Abbott and Cho had left for the bar in separate cars. Abbott didn't mind in the least driving the flashy, high octane muscle car required for his role.

Pike uneasily wandered around the 5th floor where the team was getting ready. Neither Lisbon nor Fischer was willing to dress at the house where there were cameras all over. Their work clothes wouldn't suit the image anyhow should Pulaski somehow discover them.

Pike caught sight of Lisbon first. He couldn't suppress a smile of appreciation. "You look great, Lisbon."

She grimaced a little. "Uh, thanks. These heels are killing me, and I didn't dare eat dinner or I wouldn't be able to breathe in this dress." She wriggled, trying to get the dress to lie more comfortably. Pike blinked and swallowed.

Pike shook his head. "It's for a good cause." His eyes trailed her as she made her way to her desk.

He turned his head at the soft click of the women's room door as Fischer emerged. He blinked again. His reaction was different, but no less powerful. He'd never suspected Fischer could look like sex incarnate. The leopard print dress clung perfectly. He wondered for a moment how Jane knew that. "Looking good, Fischer."

"Thanks," she smiled. Her smile was definitely not regulation FBI professional. Pike blinked and walked toward Wylie's desk before his reaction would embarrass himself. Wylie was checking out the video and audio from the cameras placed at the 6th street bar and at the party house.

"Wylie, I'm going to raid the vending machines. Want anything?"

"A Coke and an apple," he replied distractedly.

When Pike returned, the IT specialist was working on a computer at another desk, trying to work out a problem with the audio and video feed from the party house. As Pike set down Wylie's Coke and apple, his attention was caught by Lisbon and Jane at the house. No audio but the video was perfect. Pike wrinkled his nose at the foppish scarf Jane wore till he was again captivated by the very attractive Agent Lisbon. He straightened and frowned. Jane had his arm around her waist, facing her only centimeters apart. She frowned while speaking to Jane, then pushed away with both hands against his chest. A moment of tension. Jane let her go, hands half-raised. She disappeared from view. Jane exhaled deeply and walked off.

"Anything?" Wylie asked, startling Pike from the little on-screen drama.

"Uh. No, no."

Wylie entered a few keystrokes and sound suddenly was added to the pictures. "Got it!" Wylie grinned up at Pike. "All set. Let the con – um, operation begin."