The drive to Neal's house was silent and tense. Nervous glances passed between the agents… Peter's quick briefing on the contents of the memory card and identity of the murdered young woman as they dashed to the car had set everyone on edge. Neal's cut anklet did not bode well for his safety, in anyone's mind. Nor did the open door that swung listlessly in its hinges when they arrived. The plump maid bound, motionless and limp in the chair confirmed Peter's fears. Her pulse racing and her pupils blown from whatever drug they gave her, she was not going to be helpful as a witness… at least not for a while.
The tracker, cut with a surgically smooth incision, lay on the floor beside a cracked cell phone. The house was eerily silent.
"Check every room." Peter instructed quietly. He doubted they would find anything else. Clearly this was the site of the abduction. He flinched, glancing around a moment before he knelt beside the phone. Pulling on gloves, he picked up the device…
"Tell me you left me something, Neal." The phone was turned off, the screen badly cracked. Hesitantly Peter turned it on… "Of course it's locked." He sighed. He passed it to Diana who extended an evidence bag.
"I'll get IT to crack it as fast as possible."
"Faster if you can." He frowned, glancing at the maid, now unbound and lain carefully on the couch "How is she?"
"She seems stable…but she is completely out, the EMTs are on their way…"
"Good. Get someone to accompany her to the hospital. Tell them to be gentle but we are going to need her statement as soon as possible."
"Will do Boss." She smiled grimly as Jones and two other agents came down the stairs.
"Nothing up there, except what looks like half of Caffrey's lunch and a rumpled bed." The younger man shook his head "We'll dust for prints of course but Peter…" he hesitated and the older agent knew he wasn't going to like what he said next. "The little boy is gone too." Peter nodded in acknowledgement, rubbing his eyes to cover his sudden spike of fear.
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Waking to find himself tossed into a room alone and unbound was strangely unsettling, Neal decided, through the pounding in his head. It implied there was no chance of him escaping… that these men believed him utterly helpless. Of course they didn't know Neal Caffrey, he reminded himself encouragingly. They did seem familiar with his doppelgänger and he wondered briefly what skills they had in common. For instance could Michael Scotts pick a lock in eight point two seconds? Could he convince a captor with a gun that he was on his side and trustworthy in less than five minutes?
He frowned… those skills were of course completely useless in this room. There was no lock or hinges on this side of the door… nor was there anyone to con. He was in fact quite effectively stuck…he shivered. The room was cold and he realized, as his mind cleared, he was stripped of his jacket, tie and dress shirt. Leaving only his slacks and undershirt… a glance at his feet was unnecessary… he could feel the cold rough cement against his bare feet.
Pushing himself up, he took inventory of his situation… whatever drug they gave him left his stomach decidedly queasy, or maybe that was the kick to the side of his head. His hands shook slightly, he glared at them as though his look could steady them. In the corner he glimpsed an obscured security camera. His gaze traveled reluctantly to the center of the room… to a chair. A smooth straight backed wooden chair. Big and sturdy in Adirondack style, the antique piece had been bolted to the floor and equipped with heavy leather straps on the armrests, legs and back. He walked slowly closer… to study the chair more closely. His queasy stomach almost rebelled. Though it had clearly been wiped off… blood still lingered, crusted thick, dry and dark in the crevices of the wood. He shuttered internally, before slumping wearily down by the wall.
The silence of the room began to be oppressive. He wondered how long he had been locked in here. He wondered if the team was having any luck finding him. He wondered if Olivia was ok, he desperately hoped they hadn't hurt her… or William. The thought of the toddler brought him back to his feet. His throat tightened at the image of that baby left alone in that big house… but the alternatives were worse. He swallowed back the contents of his stomach as the horrific possibility crossed his mind that they might have killed the little boy. Time seemed to stop…his watch was gone, he noticed, so were his phone and the anklet. How many hours had he spent alone in this bare concrete dungeon?
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It took six hours and nine calls to Mozzie to convince the abnormally paranoid man to venture out of his safe house to unlock Neal's damaged phone. The little man blanched, and still patently refused to help when first presented with the device and Peter's request. Once persuaded that Neal was in danger… the agent's mention of the memory card set him off like a fire under his backside… he deftly entered his friend's password.
When the phone was unlocked it only took two minutes to find what the agent was looking for, a video… more than a minute of recording… mostly black except for an approximately five second pan around the room, giving brief glimpses of three sturdy looking armed men and Olivia gagged but conscious . Voices filtered through the darkness and a rather ominous thud. Peter strained to hear the words. He caught bits and pieces, something about the card, and hid it somewhere else. Then Peter smiled as someone called out "Franks, help me with him, he's heavier than he looks... Hamlin make sure the woman forgets we were here." The video ended with a familiar ring tone and the rustling of fabric. Peter sighed, he had two partial names and hopefully IT could get him a decent still of each man.
"You did good kid" he muttered "now it's our turn." He looked at the man beside him "Thanks Haversham."
"Just bring him home" the little guy muttered fiercely.
"I'll do my best." He tried not to think about Amelia Woodbridge lying battered and lifeless on the dock yesterday, as he hurried back to his car. Instead he called the office "Diana… I've got video of Neal's abductors, I'm bringing it in now… I need it cleaned up ASAP."
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When the door swung silently open Neal looked up curiously. Anything, even the pain he knew was coming would be better than sitting here in this eternal quiet. Sounds flowed through the door… sound proof room, that didn't bode well for his future. The same three men stepped into the room. The mountain of muscle waved the other two forward and Neal found himself held firmly between them.
"Wait… Wait! Can't we talk about this?" Neal had to try "I think this is all a big misunderstanding." The man grunted. Cocking his head to side Neal tried to appeal to the men holding him, but they didn't even meet his eyes, just gazed at him in cold distain. He braced himself as the big man drew back his fist.
The next few minutes were agony. Each blow followed by the same two questions. "Where is the card?" And "who has it now?" Since he actually didn't know the answer to either question he said nothing. He glared at the man but it was an empty gesture and he knew it.
Through the haze of pain that enveloped him he felt his body forcibly moved to the dreaded chair in the center of the room. The straps were pulled tight around his wrists and ankles. His finally found the strength to fight back as the leather band was wrapped around his chest but he knew it was too late… whatever was coming, he was already completely defenseless.
Waiting for the sadist with a knife or a hot poker that he assumed came next, he was surprised when the men turned to leave.
"Maybe he'll be more willing to cooperate when we come back." was the last thing he heard before the heavy door slammed shut, leaving him alone in that silent room again. Neal was never a fan of silence.
He reluctantly took stock of his injuries. His chest ached and throbbed, he hoped nothing was broken, but he doubted he was that lucky given the muscles the big man had. Quickly running his tongue over his teeth he was pleasantly surprised to find none of them were knocked loose though the taste of blood filled his mouth. His right cheek burned with deep throbbing pain in the bone and he felt blood running from it in a continual slow flow. He determined his right eye wouldn't open fully and opening his mouth was torture. His arms felt bruised where strong hands gripped them too tightly as well.
Pulling against the straps was pointless but he couldn't help trying. The room abruptly fell absolutely dark.
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He almost didn't look at it when it was delivered. Amelia Woodbridge's autopsy report was not high on the list of things Peter wanted to see eighteen hours after his friend was taken by the same people, but a moment after tossing it aside, the agent picked the file up again. There might be a clue… something to prevent Neal from ending up the same way. Half way to his eyebrows in medical jargon, he didn't hear Jones and Diana enter the room until the younger man cleared his throat. Peter glanced up and with a sigh he lay the folder aside.
"Tell me you have something." He ran his hand across his eyes and through his hair wearily.
"Rodney Franks and David Hamelin" she passed the files to him with a small triumphant grin. "We are still working on an ID for the third guy, he seems to be calling the shots but these two work for James Dennison."
"What have you got on Dennison?"
"He runs a pretty large organization that deals strictly in information… any kind of information. It's an incredibly lucrative business… even legitimate companies use his services sometimes to get information on competitors and employees… but his specialty has always been the dangerous kind. Where to acquire weapons…when a shipment of drugs is scheduled… vulnerabilities in security systems. That card… right up his alley. He would auction something like that off to the highest bidder and never give it a second thought."
"Any idea who the buyer is?"
"No sir, but I think this was still in Dennison's hands when Agent Woodbridge acquired it."
"How do you think he came by it?"
"We're still working on that… it's a pretty detailed plan, it's possible he stole or bought it from someone intending to enact it."
"So you think he is the man behind all of this?"
"I do, we've never known how he gets the information he sells Boss, but it's been suspected for a while that it sometimes isn't pretty."
"Pull everything we've got on him, properties, holdings, employees and keep looking for the name of this guy… he's got some pull in Dennison's organization, obviously."
"Will do Boss," she hesitated "My dad is pulling in some favors from his friends at the state department…to get information on Michael Scotts, I've been stone walled at every turn but I'm hopeful he will be able to get us something on the man these people think Caffrey is."
"Good, let me know what he gets." She nodded in response.
"Peter" Jones began "I have the toxicology report on Olivia Dominguez"
"What did they find?
"They aren't sure what it is exactly, a cocktail of designer drugs but whatever it is, it's meant to ensure she never remembers the last six or seven hours prior to losing consciousness"
"D*** IT!" he threw his hands in the air in frustration "We needed her to remember… Who knows what she overheard."
"Yeah… they could have told her anything… the doctor said the drug blocked the information from making it to long term memory… she will never recall it."
"Thanks." He sighed. "Ok let's focus on what we do have. Get bolos out on Franks and Hamelin… I'll let the little guy know who to keep an ear out for."
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Squeezing his eyes closed didn't completely shut out the glare of the flashing lights… and oh how Neal wished he could cover his ears to muffle the blaring music, if you could call that noise music. Though he doubted that even Mozart would have sounded like music at this volume. It rattled the concrete walls, shaking the solid steal door in its frame. His ear drums felt like they were bleeding . He tried to focus on anything other than the pounding rhythm and strobing light but after three rounds with the big man's fists, thinking about his throbbing ribs and head wasn't much of an improvement. He tried to ignore his feet and forearms entirely, but the burning was getting harder to push out of his mind, just the memory of the flame moving back and forth over his soles and wrists was agony. He focused on the cold that seeped into his bones… the goose bumps pulled his skin so tight he could barely move and his teeth chattered involuntarily despite his efforts to appear unconcerned.
He had lost all track of how long he had been awake, but he was pretty sure that without whatever drug they injected regularly into his system was, that caused his heart to race and his mind to swirl busily, he would have long since passed out… and he wished desperately that he could.
He had maintained he knew nothing about the card until the last round. The drugs and the flame licking hungrily at his flesh had pulled the information from him that he already passed the device to his boss. He blanched, recalling that. They immediately wanted to know his boss's name. Neal sighed and dropped his head back against the chair in utter exhaustion. He knew it was a mistake… that they would come if he even appeared to be dozing, but he just couldn't help it. Though he didn't move he tried to mentally brace himself for another round. He would not tell them… could not tell them who his boss was. He swallowed roughly, muscles tensing involuntarily as he just made out the sound of the door opening over the cacophony.
The sudden silence made his stomach lurch, footsteps echoing to loud in his ringing ears.