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jebbypalTitle: Forging Allies (2/?)
author: jebbypal
rating: Teen - just in case future chapters get violent
summary: Peter's shot, Elizabeth is missing, and Neal is out of his depth. But he has a favor to call in. Sequel to Forging Contacts
author note: Beta by the inestimablelithiumdoll and mitchy. ***If you have trouble keeping track of the many, many aliases, leave a comment and I'll add a reminder at the beginning of each chapter.
Word count: 2061
Moz waits at the service entrance to the delivery yard for half an hour before they show up. As soon as he sees the tall one, his radar pings. Cheap Hawaiian shirt under a suit jacket that was probably purchased at an outlet mall, really cheap shoes, and a beer gut that’s going to grow an inch (at least) with every year between the date of retirement and when the social security checks start rolling in. The other man isn’t much better – posture and sunglasses still peg him as authority, but the suit he’s wearing is a bit expensive (and fashionable) for most representatives of The Man. Somehow, that only makes Moz more nervous. And the woman, she looks like pure, unadulterated trouble. And that’s just his impression before he gets a look at the luggage they are carrying.
“This is a rescue operation – not the takeover of a small third world nation,” he says as soon as they are close enough to hear him over the sounds of the jets on the neighboring runways. If he’d been smarter, and not met Mrs. Suit, he would have driven away before they got within shooting distance. The things he does for Neal.
“You know women, they always over pack,” the clearly retired-government agent replies. “You are?”
“Your ride,” Moz replies, unhelpfully.
“Caffrey?”
“Still contained on his electronic leash, though the Feebs have decided baby sitters would also be a nice touch since he’s in reach of so many cutting objects at the hospital.” As soon as the shorter, thin one’s eyebrows rise, Moz shakes his head. “No, not hurt. Just concerned about his pet Suit. And it’s not like he can do anything useful with the leash.”
He unlocks the van so they can load the bags (lots of metal clinking in most of them, except for one hard case that the men both let Ms. Trouble handle). “It’s going to sound awfully odd if we call you Ride in public,” says The Man that has fashion taste.
Moz relents, but not completely. “Haversham.”
Ex-fed looks appalled. “That’s an awful alias.”
“I suppose you can do better?”
“Well, I’m here as myself. Mentored your Agent Burke a little back in the day. Sam Axe, retired FBI.” Moz is more than a little proud that he doesn’t crow about pegging him so quickly. Later, he’ll share it with Neal. “That’s Carmichael, and the lady is –“
Trouble interrupts. “Not important right now.”
Moz nods as he drives. “Neal’s going to meet you at his apartment – I do regular sweeps, so no one should be listening. I arranged a spot for you to stay. It’s an empty office space on the third floor of a building, but no foot traffic, or nosy maids poking around your luggage.”
“That’ll be fine,” Carmichael replies. “Do you have any idea who or why?”
Any ideas? Oh let’s see, there’s the rogue FBI agent that likes to randomly bug the Agent Suit’s house, as well as get Neal arrested. Then there’s Kate – Moz figures its even money that Peter has pissed her off royally by tracking her down and then interfering with her designs on Neal (though it’s the first time Moz has ever actually appreciated the help of the federal government). And that’s just assuming that whatever is going on has to do with Neal.
No, Moz has no idea because he has too many, ans so he shakes his head. “Not really. I told Neal it would be better to let the FBI handle it, and then I was busy playing real estate agent and chauffeur for you.” And double and triple checking that he’d have a safe way out, as well as trying to set something up for Neal just in case he wised up and decided to cut the cord to run. Neal’s his best friend, but Moz doesn’t do well with the idea of confinement. Or bullets. Or handcuffs.
“Drop us off at Neal’s then. She’ll help you unload the luggage before she hits the shops.”
Ms. Trouble looks put out. “Honestly, Michael. This was not part of our deal when I came on this ill-advised vacation.”
It’s dark, and about forty degrees outside, but Neal’s still pacing on the roof by the time June shows Carmichael up. He’s been there, well he’s been up here since Jones pulled him out of the hospital, into a car, and delivered him to June with the admonishment to not do anything stupid. Stupid - right. Stupid was not speaking up immediately about what Peter had told him before losing consciousness. Stupid was breaking out of jail when he had four months to go. Stupid is Neal Caffrey’s middle name.
“You know what I don’t miss the most: winter. Global warming will do us all a favor if it eliminates it entirely,” a large, booming voice announces, pulling Neal out of his self-recrimination. “Mind if we take this inside? We didn’t exactly have the time to find layers when we packed,” Carmichael’s friend explains.
“Sure, of course. Thanks for coming.” Neal leads them inside and to his room apartment. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“I’ll consider kissing you if you have beer in that fridge,” the friend replies as he makes a bee-line for the appliance. “Oh, Mikey, you’re in luck. He’s got some yogurt.”
“That’s Sam Axe, we’ve done some work together, and he used to work for the bureau,” Carmichael explains.
Numbly, Neal nods, still standing in the center of the room.
“Just sit down and start from the beginning. We’re going to do everything we can to help, I promise.” Part of Neal’s brain catches the qualification, but the rest responds to Carmichael’s tone and he does as he’s told. “Start with the case you were working on.”
“Bond forgeries by a local group. The leader was an out of work investment banker who apparently found someone with decent computer graphics skills. They’d bilked some retirees, folks investing in bonds to give grandkids, that sort of thing. But some of the backers had ties to the local Russian mob. I’d gotten in as an investor representing a group that wanted a stable place to park money, but needing to meet the organizers before any cash changed hands. It went –“
As soon as the gun was pulled, Neal knew the operation was blown. But with eight perps in the room, he was going to have a tough time talking his way out of this. “There’s no need to get testy. I just want to examine the documents in better lighting,” he’d said. Loudly, to make sure his mic picked up the code word. His normal smooth charm was gone, destroyed by the vibe coming off the suspects.
“Sideways. It happens to the best of us, kid,” Axe says, prompting Neal to pick the story up where he’d left off.
“They came in fast after that. I just did my best to get out of the way. Not a scratch on me, so I succeeded in that. I saw Peter go down. The rest of the agents were busy so I went to him. He told me that they had Elle, but he wasn’t conscious long enough to tell me anything else.”
“Have you been able to contact her?”
Neal shakes his head. As soon as the ambulance was loaded, he’d started calling. Suddenly he realizes that Hughes, Peter’s boss, would have been doing the same. “The FBI wouldn’t have been able to reach her either. They should be looking for her already, right?”
“Probably. Don’t worry – it’s a good thing,” Carmichael says. Neal watches Sam leave the room, already pulling out his cell phone. “Do you have any idea who would take her?”
Neal scrubs his hands through his hair. A reason someone would take Elizabeth? Neal supposes someone might hate Peter enough to do that, though he hopes not. If they took her to get back at Peter, they wouldn’t get her back, or at least not whole. Being an FBI agent, it’s not like Peter has anything to give anyone. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure Peter has enemies. People he’s put away and all. Recently we’d had some trouble with a dirty agent, but he’s backed off recently.”
Carmichael passes him a notepad. “Make a list of anyone that you know. We’ll let the FBI and Sam handle past cases. Is there any chance this isn’t because of Peter?”
“You mean did Elle have any enemies? That’s insane.” That’s beyond insane. Elle having enemies would be like Moz falling in love with Cruz. Cats and dogs marrying.
“Or you?”
Neal’s gut churns again. “I don’t know.”
Michael’s struck by how much Neal Caffrey has changed since the favor in Paris. Same charming good looks, the hair a little bit longer, and a few crinkles in the skin that in forty years might give the hint of a wrinkle, but underneath that… He wonders if it was prison that taught the younger man that things don’t always turn out right, or if it’s just the weight of current circumstances. Or maybe he’d just been so distracted with the necessity of leaving Paris that he’d let Neal con him (just a little bit) into thinking the he was consumed by a devil-may-care attitude.
Walking into the apartment, Michael continues to assess Caffrey. Smooth enough to convince a well-to-do, older female retiree to let him board, even with a tracking anklet and pet FBI agent in tow. Must have Sam look into June’s past, just in case. After several years in prison, he’s certain that Neal appreciates the access to the roof (even more so if he has any cat burgling tendencies), and the bay of windows near the bedroom area of the apartment keep the small room from feeling cramped or cell-like.
He’d be interested to know how much of the contents belong to its occupant rather than its owner though. Obviously, the easel and painting supplies came with Caffrey, but it’s difficult to place the rest.
“I don’t know,” Neal replies to Michael’s question, but something in his tone makes him wonder if Neal doesn’t have a suspicion that this may tie back to him after all. Still, there are plenty of angles to look into right now. Pushing Neal might distract them with an impossible list of suspects given Caffrey’s career choices and history of separating rich suckers from their hard-earned cash. Not that Michael sees any problem with that in principle.
He looks up when Sam re-enters the room, followed by the genteel June carrying a platter of coffee and biscuits. One plate has already been prepared and includes a bagel stuffed with cream cheese, which she promptly puts down in front of Neal, and delivers her orders with a glance before exiting as quietly as she entered. Michael reassesses some of his opinions about her – very few people would restrain themselves from inquiring into the business of their distraught boarder, especially when two strangers show up.
“Called the home phone, her cell, and got into Burke’s voicemail as well. If this is a kidnapping, they made damn sure that no one except Burke would be looking. She’s left a message that she’s out of town on cruise with her mother. No one will be surprised that they can’t contact her, or that she’s not at Burke’s bedside.” Sam explains as soon as June has closed the door. “Oh, hobnobs! Your June is a real gem. Also, the number that called Peter right before the incident was a burn phone – untraceable. No evidence of any other contact yet.”
Fi’s never going to believe that Sam just poured beer on an oatmeal tea cookie.
“I should listen to the message – Elle, she’s smart. If these people gave her a chance to leave a message, she would have tried to tell Peter something.”
Michael nods. “We should also visit their home. You might notice something out of place that’ll give us a lead – if you can come?”
Neal nods. “Going there isn’t a problem, but I’ll call Agent Jones to tell him that I’m going to walk the dog.
Getting up, Michael picks up the makeup kit that Moz gave him when they were dropped off. “I’d better put on Carmichael before we go, just in case.”
author: jebbypal
rating: Teen - just in case future chapters get violent
summary: Peter's shot, Elizabeth is missing, and Neal is out of his depth. But he has a favor to call in. Sequel to Forging Contacts
author note: Beta by the inestimable
lithiumdoll and mitchy. ***If you have trouble keeping track of the many, many aliases, leave a comment and I'll add a reminder at the beginning of each chapter. Word count: 2061
Moz waits at the service entrance to the delivery yard for half an hour before they show up. As soon as he sees the tall one, his radar pings. Cheap Hawaiian shirt under a suit jacket that was probably purchased at an outlet mall, really cheap shoes, and a beer gut that’s going to grow an inch (at least) with every year between the date of retirement and when the social security checks start rolling in. The other man isn’t much better – posture and sunglasses still peg him as authority, but the suit he’s wearing is a bit expensive (and fashionable) for most representatives of The Man. Somehow, that only makes Moz more nervous. And the woman, she looks like pure, unadulterated trouble. And that’s just his impression before he gets a look at the luggage they are carrying.
“This is a rescue operation – not the takeover of a small third world nation,” he says as soon as they are close enough to hear him over the sounds of the jets on the neighboring runways. If he’d been smarter, and not met Mrs. Suit, he would have driven away before they got within shooting distance. The things he does for Neal.
“You know women, they always over pack,” the clearly retired-government agent replies. “You are?”
“Your ride,” Moz replies, unhelpfully.
“Caffrey?”
“Still contained on his electronic leash, though the Feebs have decided baby sitters would also be a nice touch since he’s in reach of so many cutting objects at the hospital.” As soon as the shorter, thin one’s eyebrows rise, Moz shakes his head. “No, not hurt. Just concerned about his pet Suit. And it’s not like he can do anything useful with the leash.”
He unlocks the van so they can load the bags (lots of metal clinking in most of them, except for one hard case that the men both let Ms. Trouble handle). “It’s going to sound awfully odd if we call you Ride in public,” says The Man that has fashion taste.
Moz relents, but not completely. “Haversham.”
Ex-fed looks appalled. “That’s an awful alias.”
“I suppose you can do better?”
“Well, I’m here as myself. Mentored your Agent Burke a little back in the day. Sam Axe, retired FBI.” Moz is more than a little proud that he doesn’t crow about pegging him so quickly. Later, he’ll share it with Neal. “That’s Carmichael, and the lady is –“
Trouble interrupts. “Not important right now.”
Moz nods as he drives. “Neal’s going to meet you at his apartment – I do regular sweeps, so no one should be listening. I arranged a spot for you to stay. It’s an empty office space on the third floor of a building, but no foot traffic, or nosy maids poking around your luggage.”
“That’ll be fine,” Carmichael replies. “Do you have any idea who or why?”
Any ideas? Oh let’s see, there’s the rogue FBI agent that likes to randomly bug the Agent Suit’s house, as well as get Neal arrested. Then there’s Kate – Moz figures its even money that Peter has pissed her off royally by tracking her down and then interfering with her designs on Neal (though it’s the first time Moz has ever actually appreciated the help of the federal government). And that’s just assuming that whatever is going on has to do with Neal.
No, Moz has no idea because he has too many, ans so he shakes his head. “Not really. I told Neal it would be better to let the FBI handle it, and then I was busy playing real estate agent and chauffeur for you.” And double and triple checking that he’d have a safe way out, as well as trying to set something up for Neal just in case he wised up and decided to cut the cord to run. Neal’s his best friend, but Moz doesn’t do well with the idea of confinement. Or bullets. Or handcuffs.
“Drop us off at Neal’s then. She’ll help you unload the luggage before she hits the shops.”
Ms. Trouble looks put out. “Honestly, Michael. This was not part of our deal when I came on this ill-advised vacation.”
It’s dark, and about forty degrees outside, but Neal’s still pacing on the roof by the time June shows Carmichael up. He’s been there, well he’s been up here since Jones pulled him out of the hospital, into a car, and delivered him to June with the admonishment to not do anything stupid. Stupid - right. Stupid was not speaking up immediately about what Peter had told him before losing consciousness. Stupid was breaking out of jail when he had four months to go. Stupid is Neal Caffrey’s middle name.
“You know what I don’t miss the most: winter. Global warming will do us all a favor if it eliminates it entirely,” a large, booming voice announces, pulling Neal out of his self-recrimination. “Mind if we take this inside? We didn’t exactly have the time to find layers when we packed,” Carmichael’s friend explains.
“Sure, of course. Thanks for coming.” Neal leads them inside and to his room apartment. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“I’ll consider kissing you if you have beer in that fridge,” the friend replies as he makes a bee-line for the appliance. “Oh, Mikey, you’re in luck. He’s got some yogurt.”
“That’s Sam Axe, we’ve done some work together, and he used to work for the bureau,” Carmichael explains.
Numbly, Neal nods, still standing in the center of the room.
“Just sit down and start from the beginning. We’re going to do everything we can to help, I promise.” Part of Neal’s brain catches the qualification, but the rest responds to Carmichael’s tone and he does as he’s told. “Start with the case you were working on.”
“Bond forgeries by a local group. The leader was an out of work investment banker who apparently found someone with decent computer graphics skills. They’d bilked some retirees, folks investing in bonds to give grandkids, that sort of thing. But some of the backers had ties to the local Russian mob. I’d gotten in as an investor representing a group that wanted a stable place to park money, but needing to meet the organizers before any cash changed hands. It went –“
As soon as the gun was pulled, Neal knew the operation was blown. But with eight perps in the room, he was going to have a tough time talking his way out of this. “There’s no need to get testy. I just want to examine the documents in better lighting,” he’d said. Loudly, to make sure his mic picked up the code word. His normal smooth charm was gone, destroyed by the vibe coming off the suspects.
“Sideways. It happens to the best of us, kid,” Axe says, prompting Neal to pick the story up where he’d left off.
“They came in fast after that. I just did my best to get out of the way. Not a scratch on me, so I succeeded in that. I saw Peter go down. The rest of the agents were busy so I went to him. He told me that they had Elle, but he wasn’t conscious long enough to tell me anything else.”
“Have you been able to contact her?”
Neal shakes his head. As soon as the ambulance was loaded, he’d started calling. Suddenly he realizes that Hughes, Peter’s boss, would have been doing the same. “The FBI wouldn’t have been able to reach her either. They should be looking for her already, right?”
“Probably. Don’t worry – it’s a good thing,” Carmichael says. Neal watches Sam leave the room, already pulling out his cell phone. “Do you have any idea who would take her?”
Neal scrubs his hands through his hair. A reason someone would take Elizabeth? Neal supposes someone might hate Peter enough to do that, though he hopes not. If they took her to get back at Peter, they wouldn’t get her back, or at least not whole. Being an FBI agent, it’s not like Peter has anything to give anyone. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m sure Peter has enemies. People he’s put away and all. Recently we’d had some trouble with a dirty agent, but he’s backed off recently.”
Carmichael passes him a notepad. “Make a list of anyone that you know. We’ll let the FBI and Sam handle past cases. Is there any chance this isn’t because of Peter?”
“You mean did Elle have any enemies? That’s insane.” That’s beyond insane. Elle having enemies would be like Moz falling in love with Cruz. Cats and dogs marrying.
“Or you?”
Neal’s gut churns again. “I don’t know.”
Michael’s struck by how much Neal Caffrey has changed since the favor in Paris. Same charming good looks, the hair a little bit longer, and a few crinkles in the skin that in forty years might give the hint of a wrinkle, but underneath that… He wonders if it was prison that taught the younger man that things don’t always turn out right, or if it’s just the weight of current circumstances. Or maybe he’d just been so distracted with the necessity of leaving Paris that he’d let Neal con him (just a little bit) into thinking the he was consumed by a devil-may-care attitude.
Walking into the apartment, Michael continues to assess Caffrey. Smooth enough to convince a well-to-do, older female retiree to let him board, even with a tracking anklet and pet FBI agent in tow. Must have Sam look into June’s past, just in case. After several years in prison, he’s certain that Neal appreciates the access to the roof (even more so if he has any cat burgling tendencies), and the bay of windows near the bedroom area of the apartment keep the small room from feeling cramped or cell-like.
He’d be interested to know how much of the contents belong to its occupant rather than its owner though. Obviously, the easel and painting supplies came with Caffrey, but it’s difficult to place the rest.
“I don’t know,” Neal replies to Michael’s question, but something in his tone makes him wonder if Neal doesn’t have a suspicion that this may tie back to him after all. Still, there are plenty of angles to look into right now. Pushing Neal might distract them with an impossible list of suspects given Caffrey’s career choices and history of separating rich suckers from their hard-earned cash. Not that Michael sees any problem with that in principle.
He looks up when Sam re-enters the room, followed by the genteel June carrying a platter of coffee and biscuits. One plate has already been prepared and includes a bagel stuffed with cream cheese, which she promptly puts down in front of Neal, and delivers her orders with a glance before exiting as quietly as she entered. Michael reassesses some of his opinions about her – very few people would restrain themselves from inquiring into the business of their distraught boarder, especially when two strangers show up.
“Called the home phone, her cell, and got into Burke’s voicemail as well. If this is a kidnapping, they made damn sure that no one except Burke would be looking. She’s left a message that she’s out of town on cruise with her mother. No one will be surprised that they can’t contact her, or that she’s not at Burke’s bedside.” Sam explains as soon as June has closed the door. “Oh, hobnobs! Your June is a real gem. Also, the number that called Peter right before the incident was a burn phone – untraceable. No evidence of any other contact yet.”
Fi’s never going to believe that Sam just poured beer on an oatmeal tea cookie.
“I should listen to the message – Elle, she’s smart. If these people gave her a chance to leave a message, she would have tried to tell Peter something.”
Michael nods. “We should also visit their home. You might notice something out of place that’ll give us a lead – if you can come?”
Neal nods. “Going there isn’t a problem, but I’ll call Agent Jones to tell him that I’m going to walk the dog.
Getting up, Michael picks up the makeup kit that Moz gave him when they were dropped off. “I’d better put on Carmichael before we go, just in case.”