Neal had never been at Jones' home before, and it was not without curiosity that he stepped down the stairs, passed the gate, and into one of those New York City basement apartments.

They were there because of a 911 call from a neighbor, though, and from Jones himself directly to Peter. Neal looked around, and the place was a mess. He pulled his gloves on.

"Either you forgot to clean up for company," he told Jones, "or that was quite a fight."

"Tell me about it." He held an icebag to his neck. "Guy was trained in Kali. Definitely a professional. I was able to get a shot off that hit him in the right shoulder."

"Your attacker's a ghost," Peter said, leaning with his equally gloved hands towards the counter. "NYPD's got cruisers and choppers searching the area. No trace."

"What was he after?" Neal asked.

"That." Jones pointed at the counter.

"Guy breaks into an apartment to steal a postcard?" Peter asked. The NYPD had already put it into an evidence bag. It said: 'Clinton, it's been a while. Let's talk soon. - Jimmy'. "Jimmy a friend of yours?"

"Yeah, Jimmy Wilson. Old buddy from Annapolis."

"Cryptic postcards from old friends mean trouble," Neal sighed and remembered that chess move he had got from Keller. "In my experience."

"Last I heard, he worked for Barrett-Dunne security," Jones said, and Peter sighed. Neal had heard of them.

"Private military for hire?"

"Yeah. It's postmarked Pretoria, South Africa."

"That's a long way from home." Peter nodded. "May I?" He gestured for the postcard in Peter's hand.

"Yeah."

Elephants on the other side. Normal tourist postcard. He held it up against the light. Under the stamp was a black square.

"There's something under the stamp. Do we have tweezers or—"

"Yep," Peter said, turning towards one of the CGI boxes. "Tweezers."

"Thank you."

Neal pulled the postcard out of the evidence bag. He put the tweezers by the corner of the stamp to see if he could pull it loose. It came loose with ease. Overall, it was only firmly clued at the top. And there it was. A black square.

"Yeah. It's a microdot."

"Old-school," Peter said.

"Yeah, but all you need is a film camera and a pair of scissors."

"Break-ins, mercenaries, secret messages." Jones did not seem pleased.

"Just another day, huh?" That was what he thought life as an agent was as a kid.

"Welcome to life outside the van," Peter said.

"You've been no help at all," Jones said and hung up at the same time as Peter heard the great news on his end.

"I'll be up in a few minutes," he said and ended the call. "Lab's finished enhancing the microdot," he told the kid and Jones. "They're sending it over."

"Barrett-Dunne confirmed Jimmy's an employee but won't say where he's stationed," Jones said. "Or in what capacity."

"All right," Neal said. "What else do we know about this private-mercenary outfit?"

They started to walk back to the office.

"They make Blackwater look like a YouTube cat video."

"They've been linked with rogue kill teams, death squads," Peter filled in.

"Sounds like a fun group of guys," the kid said.

"Doesn't make any sense. Jimmy's one of the good guys."

Peter had no business prying in his group's private life. He had what the Bureau had to have on every one of their employees. When it came to Jones, he knew little more than what the file said. Jones did not talk about his life outside work.

"What's the story with the two of you?" Peter asked.

"Oh, we met at the Academy. He was like a brother to me."

"A brother you haven't talked to in five years?"

Jones shrugged.

"Well, we served our tours together. He stayed in the military. I went on to Harvard Law."

"Well, whatever trouble he's in, maybe his wife can shed some light," Peter said.

"Isabelle? She's here?"

"Yeah. She came in this morning. She's upstairs, giving Diana a statement." Peter watched Jones' eyes lose their focus. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. No problem at all."

When they got up to the first floor, they were met by Diana and a dashingly, good-looking woman.

"Peter," Diana said. "This is Isabelle Wilson."

But the woman did not look at him. She looked at Jones.

"Isabelle," Jones said.

"Hi."

"It's, uh...it's good… it's good to see you." They shook hands.

"Yeah, you too." She smiled, and it looked genuine but still awkward.

Then they hugged. Like friends, but still not.

Peter glanced at Neal, and the kid returned the look. Jones and Isabelle had a past; that was one thing that was certain. And now she was missing Jimmy's wife.

"Uh..." Jones took a step away. "Uh, so, um, anything from Jimmy?"

"I told agent Berrigan everything I know. And if it turns out he's fine, I'm gonna kill him."

Jones chuckled.

"I take it you two have met," Peter joined the conversation.

"C.J. and I were a little bit almost married once. It's kind of a..."

"Long story?" Neal filled in.

"Did she just call him C.J.?" Diana mumbled with a giggle.

"Mm-hmm," the kid responded, all smiles.

"Isabelle, this is, uh..."

"Agent Peter Burke," Peter said when he realized Jones had lost his name. They shook hands.

"Peter Burke, yes," Jones said, "and, uh, Neal Caffrey."

"Hi. Agent Burke's C.I." Neal said, shaking her hand. "Not to be confused with his C.J."

"No." Jones almost giggled.

"Ignore him," Peter told her. "Thank you for coming in, Ms. Wilson."

"No problem."

"So, uh, I'll walk you out, okay?" Jones walked with her to the elevator. Peter noted she was not too eager to leave. They talked, and she smiled a lot. When the elevator came, he waved at her before the door closed.

"Two months ago," Diana started, showing the image of Jimmy on the screen in the conference room, "Barrett-Dunne dispatched Jimmy to shore up security at a palladium mine they own and operate in Pretoria, South Africa."

"Neal?" Neal looked up at Peter.

"I've never been near that mine."

"No, could you highlight the finer points of palladium, please?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Palladium is used in cell phones, computers, auto parts. It's also 20 times the value of silver and not a bad name for a London theater."

"Jimmy was sent there by a man known to Isabelle as Striker," Peter said.

"She met him once, briefly, but didn't get his real name," Diana added.

"Apparently, this Striker was bragging about securing contracts in India and China. We've requested Barrett-Dunne's employee files and photos."

"But they're not cooperating," Jones said. "Surprise, surprise."

"In Isabelle's last conversation with him," Diana continued, "Jimmy believed the company was keeping a close watch."

"Monitoring his personal calls," Neal said, reading from the file, "his outgoing mail."

"Explains the microdot," Jones said. "That was the only way he had to get information out."

"Speaking of microdots," Peter said. "Jones?"

"This is what our technicians extracted." Jones changed the image of the screen. Neal saw a 3D drawing of what could be a mine, and considering where Jimmy was supposed to be…

"It's a schematic of the palladium mine."

"Yep," Jones agreed. "And this is a schematic of the same mine filed with the Department of Mineral Resources six days ago." He added another similar image.

"Notice anything different?" Peter asked.

"There's an entire annex that isn't on the official map," Diana saw.

"If Jimmy's pointing us there..." Neal figured Jimmy was in great danger.

"Then someone at Barrett-Dunne, possibly Striker, is going to great lengths to stop him," Peter finished his thought.

"Our best chance at finding Jimmy is to figure out what Striker's up to," Jones suggested.

"I want a team looking into the mine," Peter said. "Jones, dig up what we can on Barrett-Dunne. We need an in."

"Anything I can do?" Neal asked.

"Stay close."

He was about to make a joke about that was what he was always doing, his anklet and all, but people started to get moving. He rose to get back at his desk. He noted that Diana remained where she was. And when he walked out of the room, Peter took the chair next to her.