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sheenianniOTitle: Conspiracies: Revelations (Part III)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheenianni
Artist:aragarna
Fandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
PART III
When Neal woke up, everything felt heavy. Trying to move, he gasped in pain. His stomach, his arms, his legs, every inch of his body hurt. The memories hit him like a truck, and for a moment Neal wished he was still out of it, rather than facing reality.
“They thought about tying you to the bed. I thought that was an overreaction. I had expected you to try this sooner or later.”
Glancing at the person on a chair next to him, Neal felt a strange déjà vu when he realized it was the blond agent who had welcomed him to the CIA facility. “What do you mean? … Who are you?”
“I spent the last month studying everything there was on “Neal Caffrey” and Paul Handerson. I have to say, I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t tried to escape.”
“I wouldn’t want to let you down, then,” snapped Neal.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” said the agent softly. “As for who I am, you can call me Davis for now.”
“Wow, telling me your name? I guess I should be honored.” Neal tried to keep his hands from shaking.
Davis sighed. “Neal, believe it or not, I’m not your enemy here.”
“You tasered me,” said Neal stiffly.
“And by doing that, I saved you from a worse injury,” said the agent reasonably.
Looking away, Neal’s mind recalled the past two days.…
Under a mixture of threats and bribery, Neal had “told” the CIA where to find Moz. He then pretended to cooperate when they asked him questions about their time on the run. The CIA already knew some, so he had to be extremely careful when bending the truth, choosing what to reveal and which information to keep to himself. Luckily, Neal had plenty of experience from his scuffles with law enforcement, his trial and his verbal sparring with Peter Burke. However, while neither of his interrogators possessed Peter’s deep intelligence, they were still capable enough to keep Neal on his toes, struggling to appear just the right amount of reluctantly cooperative while avoiding the possibility of more violence. Despite his best efforts, he had ended up revealing several pieces of information that – while minor – could still end up being useful to his captors.
Neal’s gamble had paid off a short time later.
The moment the questioning ended, they had given him some food. Then, obviously pleased with his seeming compliance, the CIA had allowed him to leave his cell, bringing him to a lounge with several sofas, a TV, a small bookshelf and a view of the garden. They brought him lunch a few hours later, and when he asked, someone from the staff even got him a sketch pad and some pencils, so he spent his day in the lounge, reading, drawing, watching TV and simply being bored.
However, Neal had no illusions about his situation. While his focus seemed to be on a book, the TV or his sketch, his mind was furiously working. He was still the CIA’s prisoner – they put a hood over his head on the way from his room, locked him in the lounge and searched him as he was leaving – and although they had lost some of their interest in him, he knew he was probably being watched. In an ideal situation, he would have waited a few days or weeks until the CIA let their guard down and gathered information in the meantime; however, in this case, he simply didn’t have that luxury of time.
The second day they brought him to the lounge, Neal knew he had to act.
He had already determined yesterday that the windows to the garden were locked and the glass wouldn’t be broken without some serious tools, which would take time and definitely attract attention. Since he didn’t have any pins to pick the locks, the only way out led through the electronic door which required a key card.
His moment came an hour after he had finished his lunch. When the door opened to a man who came to pick up his tray, Neal quickly rose from his seat. “Here you go,” he said with a smile, bringing the tray to him. However, as he was giving the tray to the man, he let go too soon and the tray slipped, a plastic bowl and a fork falling to the ground.
“Watch it!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Neal apologized. “Let me help–”
“Hey! I can handle this,” snapped the man, watching Neal with a sharp and distrustful look.
“Okay, no problem,” said Neal, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. Still wary, the man picked up the fallen dishes and then left, the door automatically closing behind him as he stepped outside. Neal waited a minute before rushing to the door, opening it and taking off the label that he had stripped away from the back of his new sketchbook. Closing the door, he stepped into a corridor, wondering how much time he had before someone checked the camera in the lounge and noticed his absence.
Though he had never seen the area, he tried to recall what he remembered from being led through here earlier. He walked quickly, painfully aware that his casual clothing likely made him stand out in his surrounding. Two times, he had to hastily duck behind a corner when he spotted an agent nearby, and silently hated the fact that he was still completely clueless about the general layout of the CIA base.
Finally, he lucked out when he found a changing room.
He put on a set of clothes that the cleaning staff wore there; the trousers were a bit too short and he still had his own shoes, but it was the best he could assemble on short notice. Wishing he had a way to cover his face or a card to attach to his jacket, he left the room again. With some luck, he would run into someone, steal his card, then log into one of the computers and find a way out.…
A minute later, the shriek of an alarm broke the silence of the corridors.
Then several of the doors opened and the agents ran out. Acting as surprised as anyone, Neal tried to take advantage of the confusion. For a few moments, his plan worked, until.…
“There! Caffrey!”
When he realized his cover was blown, he tried to run.
Then someone stepped into his path. Neal barely dodged the punch to his face when a sharp kick hit his leg. He stumbled back and tried to protect himself, but his assailant was unstoppable. One painful blow after another, he kept hitting – Neal’s arm. His stomach. His knee. His side. His shoulder. His stomach again.
“Enough!!!”
The barrage stopped. Curled on the floor, Neal tried to rise to his knees.
Then he saw a man raise a taser, and he felt a short wave of horrible pain before falling down as his consciousness mercifully slipped away.…
Back in the present, Neal stared at the CIA agent. “If you expect me to be grateful for tasering me.…”
“Of course not.” The agent – ‘Davis’ – shook his head. “I admire your resourcefulness. Really, I do. But the sooner you realize you don’t have a choice here, the easier it will be for you.” He stood up. “A doctor checked you over while you were out. You have some heavy bruising and he will want to check you again to make sure there aren’t any internal injuries before he proclaims you ready for the next level of interrogation.… Think about it, Neal.”
‘There’s nothing to think about,’ Neal wanted to say, but didn’t. He glanced around the infirmary and watched as Davis exchanged place with Adams and another agent.
He didn’t know what the CIA had in the works to break him, but he knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant. As he watched the hostile surroundings, Neal was hoping that Mozzie had been smart enough to leave the country – and he was deeply grateful that he didn’t know the name of Mozzie’s current alias.
* * *
After a long hard day at the office, Peter had been profusely relieved when he finally got back to Brooklyn.
“Honey, I’m home. Hey, buddy,” he laughed when Satchmo greeted him happily, wiggling his tail and giving him an excited bark.
“Peter? I think you need to meet someone.”
Elizabeth’s voice sounded strange. Peter frowned. All his senses on alert, he entered the living room. “Hon, what…?” He stilled. Here, on his couch, a mere four feet away from El, was a short bald man with thick glasses whom Peter recognized from an FBI file. “You!” Peter breathed, his hand reaching for his gun. “Get away from my wife!”
“Peter?” Elizabeth stood up and walked to his side.
The man stared at him, eyes wide with fear. He swallowed before speaking. “You must be Peter Burke, then.”
“And you’re Mozzie Haversham, Neal’s new partner in crime. What the hell are you doing in my house? No, forget that. You’re under arrest for–”
“Wait! Sui– err, Peter. Please, don’t do that.”
Still clutching his handcuffs, Peter kept glaring at the thief in his living room. “Why are you here, Haversham?”
“Neal’s in trouble,” said Haversham. “I can’t handle it alone – I tried. Neal said that – I couldn’t find you at first, and then Hale said I was crazy, but June thought you might be able to help, so I came anyway. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I saw another option.”
“Well, at least that is clear,” stated Peter, his anger slowly giving in to puzzlement. What was the deal with this guy, and what did he mean about June and ‘Hale’? “So tell me, how do you know Neal and why did the two of you rob a museum?”
“Whoa, slow down. We didn’t do that,” said the man with a frown.
“Of course you didn’t.” At least here, he was on a familiar ground. “Okay, I get it. You’re in a mess, you need someone to bail you out.… Well, tell Neal that if he wants my help, then he can turn himself in to me and I’ll see what I can do. You don’t come to my house and you sure as hell don’t send a middleman– ”
“Is that what you think this is?” exclaimed Haversham. “You think I’d come here begging for your help when you sent him to jail six years ago?”
“Look–”
“He was kidnapped! I heard him on the phone, they.…” He sighed. “Somehow, they found us. They took him to get to me.”
“What do you mean, to get to you? What is going on here?”
Haversham hesitated before shaking his head. “What’s the use? You won’t believe me anyway.”
“Well, he definitely won’t believe you if you don’t talk to him.” Elizabeth spoke up unexpectedly. “Besides, don’t underestimate my husband. You’d be surprised what he’s willing to believe, especially when it comes to Neal Caffrey.”
Peter looked at her. “Hon–”
“No, Peter.” El paused. “You brought this to our lives, so we’re going to see it through, whatever it is. And when we’re done, I don’t want to hear that name again.”
Staring into her eyes, Peter realized that she was dead serious.
Six years ago, chasing Neal Caffrey had almost broken his marriage. It had taken four months of counseling and a two-week vacation to fix the damage that his obsession had done to them. And right at that moment, Peter realized that El was more important to him than whatever mystery that Neal had become wrapped in.
“I can give the case to someone else,” he said quietly. “If you want me to drop this–”
“Agent Burke – Neal is my best friend,” said Haversham with a hint of desperation. “Mrs. Burke – Elizabeth.…”
“Leave her out of this,” snapped Peter immediately.
“Hon, I love you, but you don’t have to defend me.” Elizabeth paused, giving their ‘guest’ a speculative look. “You said you needed to talk to my husband. Why Peter?”
Haversham sighed. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t!” he said when Peter was about to interrupt. “It’s just – Neal said I should trust you. And I don’t know if he was right or not, but … even if you’re not working with the CIA, it doesn’t matter if you turn me in or just chuck me out. It means that I’ve failed.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“All right, I’m willing to listen,” said Peter at last.
Elizabeth stood up. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
* * *
A CIA conspiracy. Secret labs with forbidden research. Mad scientists, kidnapping and brain manipulation. In short, it was one of the most fantastical stories Peter had ever heard.
“Well?” demanded Haversham – or Handerson? – at last. “Do you believe me?”
“Not a word,” replied Peter dryly.
“Right, of course you don’t,” exclaimed their companion and shot up on his feet. “Now I know why Neal called you ‘the Suit’.” He shook his head. “This was a mistake.”
The Suit? Well, he supposed there were worse names. “You don’t have one shred of evidence,” Peter pointed out calmly.
“No evidence? What about Neal, huh? That’s right, he’s missing! There’s your damn evidence!”
“Not everything is a conspiracy,” replied Peter. “For example, a much simpler explanation is that you’re in contact with Neal and he asked you to do this to throw me off his trail. Or, maybe you did something to him and you’re trying to cover your tracks. Hell, maybe you came here just for the kick of messing with the FBI. I don’t even know if you are who you claim to be.”
“What, you want to see my birth certificate now?” said Haversham sarcastically.
Peter shook his head. “As if Neal couldn’t have forged anything he needed.”
“Fine, then ask me a question from biology, chemistry, medicine – anything you want.”
“Wouldn’t mean anything except that you were an ‘A’ student in high school.” Peter paused. “Fine, you said you taught at a university? Prove it.” He stood up and went to retrieve his laptop. “There. You say you’re a teacher, then turn on your university website and log in.”
Haversham shook his head. “I can’t. If the CIA discovers that I’ve accessed my account, they’ll immediately know I was here.”
“Well, then we can look up your name at the university and–”
“No, you can’t! They’ll know!” Frustrated, Haversham stood up. “What do you think they’ll do to Neal once they don’t need him, huh? You think that they’ll just let him go after they kidnapped him?”
“There’s no evidence that Neal was even taken,” said Peter reasonably, his own doubts momentarily pushed aside.
“Then why hasn’t he contacted me yet?”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“No way,” said Haversham with vehemence. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“He left behind empty handcuffs and fled the scene of the crash,” said Peter, thinking aloud. “All of the CIA agents from our car were still there; they couldn’t have done it. Caffrey left on his own.”
“What are you talking about? What car crash?”
* * *
“You found him. You caught him and then turned him in to them,” said Mozzie in horrified realization. The events of the day of Neal’s disappearance suddenly became clear.
According to Burke’s explanation, he had led the CIA to Neal and then let them take him. Suit, thought Mozzie viciously, mentally pronouncing Neal’s nickname as an insult. He had wasted over a week searching for a ghost, when he should have been focusing on finding Neal. He had been a fool when he thought that he could trust the man.
“I didn’t – that’s not what happened,” objected the FBI agent.
“You let them take him,” accused him Mozzie angrily, finding an outlet for his own guilt.
“I didn’t let them do anything,” the Suit exclaimed. “I was going with them – why am I even arguing with you? I still don’t even know if you’re who you claim to be.”
“Right, keep to that reasoning. Stick your head in the sand– ”
“Then let’s find out.”
Surprised by the interruption, both Mozzie and the Suit looked at Elizabeth.
“Hon…?”
Mrs. Suit cleared her throat. “You, Mister.…”
“Paul Handerson. Call me Paul or Mozzie.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Right. You said you’re a scientist and a teacher. That means you probably lectured at conferences, right?”
Mozzie frowned. “You don’t understand. If your IP address is monitored, you can’t search for my name–”
“We don’t have to,” said Burke in realization. “If there are photos – El, you’re a genius. Tell me some of the conferences you attended.”
Reluctantly, Mozzie nodded. “I had a lecture in Toronto about three months ago.…”
* * *
Five websites later, Peter was finally convinced.
He knew that Neal was capable of creating a thorough alias. However, the man across from him didn’t seem like being very good at lying to someone’s face. Either that or “Mozzie” was far better at deception than Peter suspected. But Peter didn’t think so.
“Well, you are who you said you are.” He paused. “About the rest of your story–”
“It isn’t a story,” said Mozzie resignedly. “Neal’s–”
“I understand that he could be in danger.” Troubled, Peter’s mind started picturing various distressing scenarios. While he strongly believed in the system, he knew that even people in authority sometimes crossed the line, and the CIA wasn’t known for treating suspects with kid gloves. If they did have Neal.…
If they had Neal, then they had lied to him. They might have just withheld information from him … or they might have actually staged the car crash. Unlikely as it sounded, he couldn’t discard that option anymore in light of Mozzie’s testimony.
“I need something more,” said Peter at last.
“I come to you for help and that’s all you say?” exclaimed Mozzie.
“I can’t go accusing the CIA of kidnapping based on a hunch and the word of someone who refuses to come forward,” replied Peter reasonably. “I have to investigate this.”
“Investigate?!”
Peter sighed. “There’s a procedure–”
“Screw procedure,” interrupted him Mozzie forcefully.
“What do you want me to say, Mozzie?” asked Peter at last.
“I want you to say that you’ll find him! I want you to help me bring him back in one piece.”
“He will,” Elizabeth spoke up again.
Surprised, Peter looked at her. “What? El, I don’t–”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Elizabeth asked seriously.
“Err.…”
“Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we?”
Wordlessly, Peter followed his wife, leaving Mozzie unattended in his living room with Satchmo. Once they were alone, he gave El an apologetic smile. “Hon, I’m sorry–”
“You have to do something, Peter,” said Elizabeth forcefully.
Peter blinked. “What do you mean?”
“This Mozzie – hon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a university teacher who’s trying to take on the CIA. He’s going to get hurt.”
“I’m still not entirely sure I even believe his story,” opposed Peter.
“Well, I believe him. I think you should help him.”
“El, it’s not that simple–”
“Why not?”
“I– ” Peter huffed, then released a frustrated breath. “Why do you care so much anyway? I thought you didn’t like Neal.”
“It’s not about him.… Have you seen how scared Mozzie is? He wants his friend back, to keep him safe. Wouldn’t you have done the same in his place?”
Peter hesitated before voicing his fear. “What about you? Honey, I don’t want this to hurt you. To hurt us.”
“It won’t,” said Elizabeth strongly. “Not unless we let it.”
Peter wished he had his wife’s confidence.
But if Paul or “Mozzie” was telling the truth, if the CIA was using innocent people as test subjects, then they needed to be stopped. And if they had Caffrey … well, Peter had few qualms in putting someone in prison if that was what the law demanded, but he also believed that even suspects should be protected by the law.
Peter exhaled. “All right, I’ll check his story, then I’ll see what I can do. And I promise you that no matter what happens, I won’t shut you out again.”
“I love you,” said El before placing a kiss on Peter’s cheek. Then she smiled. “Well, I guess we’ve already let our guest waiting for long enough, don’t you think?”
However, when they came back, the living room was empty, the only things waiting there were a note and a cell phone.
‘Preset n. 2, every day at 7 a.m. and 8 p.m. Call me when you believe me.’
Peter swiftly walked to the door to look outside, but the street was empty, their guest probably long gone.
“Now what?” asked Elizabeth.
Peter exhaled. “Now, I’m going to get some evidence.”
* * *
Cold. Harsh artificial light. Silence.
Suppressing the sob that threatened to break through his throat, Neal hugged his arms even closer to himself.
He was naked, and he hadn’t slept in what felt like days. His feet were killing him from standing up too long. He was locked in a tall, narrow metal box that functioned like some sort of freezer.
He couldn’t rest. If he tried, they would know and drench him with ice water again, making the cold even worse. His teeth chattering, Neal tried to think of heat … the hot Egyptian sun of Cairo … the warm beaches of Florida … the beautiful, burning fireplace at June’s.…
He was in June’s bedroom, sitting on her beautiful warm couch in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a huge soft blanket. June was there, with her arm around his shoulders, and she placed a cup of hot chocolate into his shivering hands. “Drink, Neal,” said Ellen from the place opposite him – June smiled, and Ellen smiled, and Mozzie and Peter smiled as the fire burned–
His eyes snapping open, Neal barely managed to stay standing, swaying on his feet as his concentration lapsed. No matter the fatigue, he had to stay upright to get through this. Once again, he focused on the walls of the freezer … there were scratches that he didn’t remember making. Perhaps they had been left there by someone else.…
It must have been hours already.… How long were they going to keep him there?!
In a burst of rage, he slammed his palms against the door. Again. Again. Again–
The door was yanked open. Neal had barely a second to enjoy the sudden rush of warm air before getting splashed with another bucket of cold water. He yelped before crouching and curling on the floor.
“Get up.”
“Please,” he begged hoarsely.
“Get up. I won’t say it again.”
Stubborn, Neal remained unmoving in the corner of his box.
The next bucket of cold water was poured directly over his head and back. Someone roughly pulled him on his feet. Fighting blindly, Neal suddenly stilled when he felt the taser pressed directly to his skin, the sick feeling combined with exhaustion causing him to nearly tear up. “Please.…”
Adams snorted impatiently. “Enough of the drama, Caffrey. Where is Paul Handerson?”
Neal remained silent. With a growl, Adams pushed him back into the box.
“Wait –!”
The door was shut closed again.
With his hair dripping with water, the cold was so much worse.
It had been five days since his escape attempt. Five days. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
But he couldn’t give them Moz. He had to stay strong if he were to survive this. He had to.
Once again, Neal desperately trailed his fingers all over the surface of the box. He didn’t care anymore that the camera was watching him. There had to be a way out, there just had to be one.…
France had been spectacular. The warm sun, the sea.… No, no sea. Neal violently shuddered at the image of water. The balcony, then. Lovely view and lots of flirting with Alex.… Neal momentarily smiled at the thought of Alex in bikini. They would never work out as a couple, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun in the meantime.…
He wanted to sleep. He wanted to die.…
A new violent shiver and then Neal started coughing.
The door got yanked open.
“No!” It couldn’t be, not yet! He pressed his back against the wall in fear when he saw Adams with another bucket.…
“Have you gone crazy?”
Eyes wide, Neal stared at the new arrival. With a glare, Adams placed the bucket back on the floor. “This interrogation isn’t over yet. We need that information.”
“And the guidelines are there for a reason. He won’t tell you anything if he dies from pneumonia,” opposed Davis before looking at Neal. “Damn it, Caffrey. You look like crap.”
“T-tell me something I d-don’t know.”
“Shit.” Davis shook his head. “I’ll be right back.”
Waiting for the other agent’s return, Adams and Neal stared at each other in tense silence.
A few moments later, Davis arrived with a fluffy bath sheet and some clothes. “Here. Dry yourself up.”
Accepting the towel, Neal quickly did as he was told. Afterwards, he started putting on the white clothes the CIA agent offered him, but momentarily stopped after putting on the shirt. “Where’s the underwear?”
“Do you really think you’ll need it here, Caffrey?” Adams snickered.
His heart pounding, Neal wordlessly looked at Davis for support.
“Put your clothes on. You need to get warm.”
It wasn’t as if the CIA wasn’t already controlling his every move. Swallowing the new humiliation, Neal put on the trousers and slippers, but he shied back when he saw the familiar black hood. “Where are you taking me?”
“That depends on you,” said Davis calmly. “You know what you have to do.”
Neal started shaking. “I won’t tell you.… I don’t know. I don’t know!”
They pulled the hood over his head and pushed him to start walking.
“Where are we going?” he tried again, but the hood muffled his voice.
He couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t handle another round of torture!
For Moz. Moz was his best friend. Mozzie was.…Mozzie.…
He would not give them the satisfaction.
When they stopped, he tensed up as he waited for the hood to be removed. He felt the familiar pull and then blinked to find himself … back in his cell.
The door closed behind him before he managed to shake off the disorientation.
The artificial light was almost as harsh as the one in the box, but there weren’t any CIA agents watching him. Tentatively, Neal took a few hesitant steps to his bed.
He was hungry and thirsty, but it all paled in view of the bone-deep exhaustion. His head was pounding, his whole body was shaking with small tremors and his muscles exploding in random spasms. Barely trusting his senses, Neal shakily ran his hand over his cot before sitting down.
It was there.
Uttering a hysterical chuckle, Neal collapsed on the cot, desperate to catch a moment of sleep before they woke him up again–
Then the door to his cell opened again and Neal almost burst out in tears.
“You bastards. What now?” he spat angrily at the CIA Agent.
“I brought you some meds and tea,” said Davis, holding a cup and several pills.
“I’m not taking them.”
“You can take them willingly, or we can drag you to the infirmary where we’ll force feed them to you or even inject them.” The agent paused. “We’re not trying to drug you. Now, take the pills, Neal.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Davis stared at him. “Take the pills, Neal,” he repeated slowly.
Taking a deep breath, Neal stood up and started reaching forward as if to accept the cup. Then he knocked it out of the agent’s hand and tried to punch him in the face.
Not even breaking a sweat, Davis intercepted his clumsy attempt and twisted his arm behind his back. “That was enough,” he said softly. “I like your spirit, but I can’t have you falling sick on me, so take those pills or I will drag you to the infirmary. And stop struggling before you hurt your shoulder.”
They may have been harmless, they may have been mind drugs or they may have been poisonous. Either way, Neal knew he didn’t have a choice. He nodded in submission and waited for Davis to let go.
Shakily, he took the pills from the CIA agent and then sat on the bed until Davis brought him a cup filled with water. He put the pills in his mouth, took the cup and swallowed. Davis gave him a satisfied nod, took the cup and left.
Sitting still, Neal waited for several moments before lying down on the bed. Making sure his face was hidden from possible cameras, he silently spit out the pills and hid them under the sheets, planning to flush them down the toilet in a few hours.
Then he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep.
* * *
Part IV - On LJ | On DW
Author:
sheenianniArtist:
aragarnaFandom: White Collar
Notes: See Prologue
___________________________________
PART III
When Neal woke up, everything felt heavy. Trying to move, he gasped in pain. His stomach, his arms, his legs, every inch of his body hurt. The memories hit him like a truck, and for a moment Neal wished he was still out of it, rather than facing reality.
“They thought about tying you to the bed. I thought that was an overreaction. I had expected you to try this sooner or later.”
Glancing at the person on a chair next to him, Neal felt a strange déjà vu when he realized it was the blond agent who had welcomed him to the CIA facility. “What do you mean? … Who are you?”
“I spent the last month studying everything there was on “Neal Caffrey” and Paul Handerson. I have to say, I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t tried to escape.”
“I wouldn’t want to let you down, then,” snapped Neal.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” said the agent softly. “As for who I am, you can call me Davis for now.”
“Wow, telling me your name? I guess I should be honored.” Neal tried to keep his hands from shaking.
Davis sighed. “Neal, believe it or not, I’m not your enemy here.”
“You tasered me,” said Neal stiffly.
“And by doing that, I saved you from a worse injury,” said the agent reasonably.
Looking away, Neal’s mind recalled the past two days.…
Under a mixture of threats and bribery, Neal had “told” the CIA where to find Moz. He then pretended to cooperate when they asked him questions about their time on the run. The CIA already knew some, so he had to be extremely careful when bending the truth, choosing what to reveal and which information to keep to himself. Luckily, Neal had plenty of experience from his scuffles with law enforcement, his trial and his verbal sparring with Peter Burke. However, while neither of his interrogators possessed Peter’s deep intelligence, they were still capable enough to keep Neal on his toes, struggling to appear just the right amount of reluctantly cooperative while avoiding the possibility of more violence. Despite his best efforts, he had ended up revealing several pieces of information that – while minor – could still end up being useful to his captors.
Neal’s gamble had paid off a short time later.
The moment the questioning ended, they had given him some food. Then, obviously pleased with his seeming compliance, the CIA had allowed him to leave his cell, bringing him to a lounge with several sofas, a TV, a small bookshelf and a view of the garden. They brought him lunch a few hours later, and when he asked, someone from the staff even got him a sketch pad and some pencils, so he spent his day in the lounge, reading, drawing, watching TV and simply being bored.
However, Neal had no illusions about his situation. While his focus seemed to be on a book, the TV or his sketch, his mind was furiously working. He was still the CIA’s prisoner – they put a hood over his head on the way from his room, locked him in the lounge and searched him as he was leaving – and although they had lost some of their interest in him, he knew he was probably being watched. In an ideal situation, he would have waited a few days or weeks until the CIA let their guard down and gathered information in the meantime; however, in this case, he simply didn’t have that luxury of time.
The second day they brought him to the lounge, Neal knew he had to act.
He had already determined yesterday that the windows to the garden were locked and the glass wouldn’t be broken without some serious tools, which would take time and definitely attract attention. Since he didn’t have any pins to pick the locks, the only way out led through the electronic door which required a key card.
His moment came an hour after he had finished his lunch. When the door opened to a man who came to pick up his tray, Neal quickly rose from his seat. “Here you go,” he said with a smile, bringing the tray to him. However, as he was giving the tray to the man, he let go too soon and the tray slipped, a plastic bowl and a fork falling to the ground.
“Watch it!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Neal apologized. “Let me help–”
“Hey! I can handle this,” snapped the man, watching Neal with a sharp and distrustful look.
“Okay, no problem,” said Neal, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. Still wary, the man picked up the fallen dishes and then left, the door automatically closing behind him as he stepped outside. Neal waited a minute before rushing to the door, opening it and taking off the label that he had stripped away from the back of his new sketchbook. Closing the door, he stepped into a corridor, wondering how much time he had before someone checked the camera in the lounge and noticed his absence.
Though he had never seen the area, he tried to recall what he remembered from being led through here earlier. He walked quickly, painfully aware that his casual clothing likely made him stand out in his surrounding. Two times, he had to hastily duck behind a corner when he spotted an agent nearby, and silently hated the fact that he was still completely clueless about the general layout of the CIA base.
Finally, he lucked out when he found a changing room.
He put on a set of clothes that the cleaning staff wore there; the trousers were a bit too short and he still had his own shoes, but it was the best he could assemble on short notice. Wishing he had a way to cover his face or a card to attach to his jacket, he left the room again. With some luck, he would run into someone, steal his card, then log into one of the computers and find a way out.…
A minute later, the shriek of an alarm broke the silence of the corridors.
Then several of the doors opened and the agents ran out. Acting as surprised as anyone, Neal tried to take advantage of the confusion. For a few moments, his plan worked, until.…
“There! Caffrey!”
When he realized his cover was blown, he tried to run.
Then someone stepped into his path. Neal barely dodged the punch to his face when a sharp kick hit his leg. He stumbled back and tried to protect himself, but his assailant was unstoppable. One painful blow after another, he kept hitting – Neal’s arm. His stomach. His knee. His side. His shoulder. His stomach again.
“Enough!!!”
The barrage stopped. Curled on the floor, Neal tried to rise to his knees.
Then he saw a man raise a taser, and he felt a short wave of horrible pain before falling down as his consciousness mercifully slipped away.…
Back in the present, Neal stared at the CIA agent. “If you expect me to be grateful for tasering me.…”
“Of course not.” The agent – ‘Davis’ – shook his head. “I admire your resourcefulness. Really, I do. But the sooner you realize you don’t have a choice here, the easier it will be for you.” He stood up. “A doctor checked you over while you were out. You have some heavy bruising and he will want to check you again to make sure there aren’t any internal injuries before he proclaims you ready for the next level of interrogation.… Think about it, Neal.”
‘There’s nothing to think about,’ Neal wanted to say, but didn’t. He glanced around the infirmary and watched as Davis exchanged place with Adams and another agent.
He didn’t know what the CIA had in the works to break him, but he knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant. As he watched the hostile surroundings, Neal was hoping that Mozzie had been smart enough to leave the country – and he was deeply grateful that he didn’t know the name of Mozzie’s current alias.
After a long hard day at the office, Peter had been profusely relieved when he finally got back to Brooklyn.
“Honey, I’m home. Hey, buddy,” he laughed when Satchmo greeted him happily, wiggling his tail and giving him an excited bark.
“Peter? I think you need to meet someone.”
Elizabeth’s voice sounded strange. Peter frowned. All his senses on alert, he entered the living room. “Hon, what…?” He stilled. Here, on his couch, a mere four feet away from El, was a short bald man with thick glasses whom Peter recognized from an FBI file. “You!” Peter breathed, his hand reaching for his gun. “Get away from my wife!”
“Peter?” Elizabeth stood up and walked to his side.
The man stared at him, eyes wide with fear. He swallowed before speaking. “You must be Peter Burke, then.”
“And you’re Mozzie Haversham, Neal’s new partner in crime. What the hell are you doing in my house? No, forget that. You’re under arrest for–”
“Wait! Sui– err, Peter. Please, don’t do that.”
Still clutching his handcuffs, Peter kept glaring at the thief in his living room. “Why are you here, Haversham?”
“Neal’s in trouble,” said Haversham. “I can’t handle it alone – I tried. Neal said that – I couldn’t find you at first, and then Hale said I was crazy, but June thought you might be able to help, so I came anyway. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I saw another option.”
“Well, at least that is clear,” stated Peter, his anger slowly giving in to puzzlement. What was the deal with this guy, and what did he mean about June and ‘Hale’? “So tell me, how do you know Neal and why did the two of you rob a museum?”
“Whoa, slow down. We didn’t do that,” said the man with a frown.
“Of course you didn’t.” At least here, he was on a familiar ground. “Okay, I get it. You’re in a mess, you need someone to bail you out.… Well, tell Neal that if he wants my help, then he can turn himself in to me and I’ll see what I can do. You don’t come to my house and you sure as hell don’t send a middleman– ”
“Is that what you think this is?” exclaimed Haversham. “You think I’d come here begging for your help when you sent him to jail six years ago?”
“Look–”
“He was kidnapped! I heard him on the phone, they.…” He sighed. “Somehow, they found us. They took him to get to me.”
“What do you mean, to get to you? What is going on here?”
Haversham hesitated before shaking his head. “What’s the use? You won’t believe me anyway.”
“Well, he definitely won’t believe you if you don’t talk to him.” Elizabeth spoke up unexpectedly. “Besides, don’t underestimate my husband. You’d be surprised what he’s willing to believe, especially when it comes to Neal Caffrey.”
Peter looked at her. “Hon–”
“No, Peter.” El paused. “You brought this to our lives, so we’re going to see it through, whatever it is. And when we’re done, I don’t want to hear that name again.”
Staring into her eyes, Peter realized that she was dead serious.
Six years ago, chasing Neal Caffrey had almost broken his marriage. It had taken four months of counseling and a two-week vacation to fix the damage that his obsession had done to them. And right at that moment, Peter realized that El was more important to him than whatever mystery that Neal had become wrapped in.
“I can give the case to someone else,” he said quietly. “If you want me to drop this–”
“Agent Burke – Neal is my best friend,” said Haversham with a hint of desperation. “Mrs. Burke – Elizabeth.…”
“Leave her out of this,” snapped Peter immediately.
“Hon, I love you, but you don’t have to defend me.” Elizabeth paused, giving their ‘guest’ a speculative look. “You said you needed to talk to my husband. Why Peter?”
Haversham sighed. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t!” he said when Peter was about to interrupt. “It’s just – Neal said I should trust you. And I don’t know if he was right or not, but … even if you’re not working with the CIA, it doesn’t matter if you turn me in or just chuck me out. It means that I’ve failed.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“All right, I’m willing to listen,” said Peter at last.
Elizabeth stood up. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
A CIA conspiracy. Secret labs with forbidden research. Mad scientists, kidnapping and brain manipulation. In short, it was one of the most fantastical stories Peter had ever heard.
“Well?” demanded Haversham – or Handerson? – at last. “Do you believe me?”
“Not a word,” replied Peter dryly.
“Right, of course you don’t,” exclaimed their companion and shot up on his feet. “Now I know why Neal called you ‘the Suit’.” He shook his head. “This was a mistake.”
The Suit? Well, he supposed there were worse names. “You don’t have one shred of evidence,” Peter pointed out calmly.
“No evidence? What about Neal, huh? That’s right, he’s missing! There’s your damn evidence!”
“Not everything is a conspiracy,” replied Peter. “For example, a much simpler explanation is that you’re in contact with Neal and he asked you to do this to throw me off his trail. Or, maybe you did something to him and you’re trying to cover your tracks. Hell, maybe you came here just for the kick of messing with the FBI. I don’t even know if you are who you claim to be.”
“What, you want to see my birth certificate now?” said Haversham sarcastically.
Peter shook his head. “As if Neal couldn’t have forged anything he needed.”
“Fine, then ask me a question from biology, chemistry, medicine – anything you want.”
“Wouldn’t mean anything except that you were an ‘A’ student in high school.” Peter paused. “Fine, you said you taught at a university? Prove it.” He stood up and went to retrieve his laptop. “There. You say you’re a teacher, then turn on your university website and log in.”
Haversham shook his head. “I can’t. If the CIA discovers that I’ve accessed my account, they’ll immediately know I was here.”
“Well, then we can look up your name at the university and–”
“No, you can’t! They’ll know!” Frustrated, Haversham stood up. “What do you think they’ll do to Neal once they don’t need him, huh? You think that they’ll just let him go after they kidnapped him?”
“There’s no evidence that Neal was even taken,” said Peter reasonably, his own doubts momentarily pushed aside.
“Then why hasn’t he contacted me yet?”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“No way,” said Haversham with vehemence. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“He left behind empty handcuffs and fled the scene of the crash,” said Peter, thinking aloud. “All of the CIA agents from our car were still there; they couldn’t have done it. Caffrey left on his own.”
“What are you talking about? What car crash?”
“You found him. You caught him and then turned him in to them,” said Mozzie in horrified realization. The events of the day of Neal’s disappearance suddenly became clear.
According to Burke’s explanation, he had led the CIA to Neal and then let them take him. Suit, thought Mozzie viciously, mentally pronouncing Neal’s nickname as an insult. He had wasted over a week searching for a ghost, when he should have been focusing on finding Neal. He had been a fool when he thought that he could trust the man.
“I didn’t – that’s not what happened,” objected the FBI agent.
“You let them take him,” accused him Mozzie angrily, finding an outlet for his own guilt.
“I didn’t let them do anything,” the Suit exclaimed. “I was going with them – why am I even arguing with you? I still don’t even know if you’re who you claim to be.”
“Right, keep to that reasoning. Stick your head in the sand– ”
“Then let’s find out.”
Surprised by the interruption, both Mozzie and the Suit looked at Elizabeth.
“Hon…?”
Mrs. Suit cleared her throat. “You, Mister.…”
“Paul Handerson. Call me Paul or Mozzie.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Right. You said you’re a scientist and a teacher. That means you probably lectured at conferences, right?”
Mozzie frowned. “You don’t understand. If your IP address is monitored, you can’t search for my name–”
“We don’t have to,” said Burke in realization. “If there are photos – El, you’re a genius. Tell me some of the conferences you attended.”
Reluctantly, Mozzie nodded. “I had a lecture in Toronto about three months ago.…”
Five websites later, Peter was finally convinced.
He knew that Neal was capable of creating a thorough alias. However, the man across from him didn’t seem like being very good at lying to someone’s face. Either that or “Mozzie” was far better at deception than Peter suspected. But Peter didn’t think so.
“Well, you are who you said you are.” He paused. “About the rest of your story–”
“It isn’t a story,” said Mozzie resignedly. “Neal’s–”
“I understand that he could be in danger.” Troubled, Peter’s mind started picturing various distressing scenarios. While he strongly believed in the system, he knew that even people in authority sometimes crossed the line, and the CIA wasn’t known for treating suspects with kid gloves. If they did have Neal.…
If they had Neal, then they had lied to him. They might have just withheld information from him … or they might have actually staged the car crash. Unlikely as it sounded, he couldn’t discard that option anymore in light of Mozzie’s testimony.
“I need something more,” said Peter at last.
“I come to you for help and that’s all you say?” exclaimed Mozzie.
“I can’t go accusing the CIA of kidnapping based on a hunch and the word of someone who refuses to come forward,” replied Peter reasonably. “I have to investigate this.”
“Investigate?!”
Peter sighed. “There’s a procedure–”
“Screw procedure,” interrupted him Mozzie forcefully.
“What do you want me to say, Mozzie?” asked Peter at last.
“I want you to say that you’ll find him! I want you to help me bring him back in one piece.”
“He will,” Elizabeth spoke up again.
Surprised, Peter looked at her. “What? El, I don’t–”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Elizabeth asked seriously.
“Err.…”
“Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we?”
Wordlessly, Peter followed his wife, leaving Mozzie unattended in his living room with Satchmo. Once they were alone, he gave El an apologetic smile. “Hon, I’m sorry–”
“You have to do something, Peter,” said Elizabeth forcefully.
Peter blinked. “What do you mean?”
“This Mozzie – hon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a university teacher who’s trying to take on the CIA. He’s going to get hurt.”
“I’m still not entirely sure I even believe his story,” opposed Peter.
“Well, I believe him. I think you should help him.”
“El, it’s not that simple–”
“Why not?”
“I– ” Peter huffed, then released a frustrated breath. “Why do you care so much anyway? I thought you didn’t like Neal.”
“It’s not about him.… Have you seen how scared Mozzie is? He wants his friend back, to keep him safe. Wouldn’t you have done the same in his place?”
Peter hesitated before voicing his fear. “What about you? Honey, I don’t want this to hurt you. To hurt us.”
“It won’t,” said Elizabeth strongly. “Not unless we let it.”
Peter wished he had his wife’s confidence.
But if Paul or “Mozzie” was telling the truth, if the CIA was using innocent people as test subjects, then they needed to be stopped. And if they had Caffrey … well, Peter had few qualms in putting someone in prison if that was what the law demanded, but he also believed that even suspects should be protected by the law.
Peter exhaled. “All right, I’ll check his story, then I’ll see what I can do. And I promise you that no matter what happens, I won’t shut you out again.”
“I love you,” said El before placing a kiss on Peter’s cheek. Then she smiled. “Well, I guess we’ve already let our guest waiting for long enough, don’t you think?”
However, when they came back, the living room was empty, the only things waiting there were a note and a cell phone.
‘Preset n. 2, every day at 7 a.m. and 8 p.m. Call me when you believe me.’
Peter swiftly walked to the door to look outside, but the street was empty, their guest probably long gone.
“Now what?” asked Elizabeth.
Peter exhaled. “Now, I’m going to get some evidence.”
Cold. Harsh artificial light. Silence.
Suppressing the sob that threatened to break through his throat, Neal hugged his arms even closer to himself.
He was naked, and he hadn’t slept in what felt like days. His feet were killing him from standing up too long. He was locked in a tall, narrow metal box that functioned like some sort of freezer.
He couldn’t rest. If he tried, they would know and drench him with ice water again, making the cold even worse. His teeth chattering, Neal tried to think of heat … the hot Egyptian sun of Cairo … the warm beaches of Florida … the beautiful, burning fireplace at June’s.…
He was in June’s bedroom, sitting on her beautiful warm couch in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a huge soft blanket. June was there, with her arm around his shoulders, and she placed a cup of hot chocolate into his shivering hands. “Drink, Neal,” said Ellen from the place opposite him – June smiled, and Ellen smiled, and Mozzie and Peter smiled as the fire burned–
His eyes snapping open, Neal barely managed to stay standing, swaying on his feet as his concentration lapsed. No matter the fatigue, he had to stay upright to get through this. Once again, he focused on the walls of the freezer … there were scratches that he didn’t remember making. Perhaps they had been left there by someone else.…
It must have been hours already.… How long were they going to keep him there?!
In a burst of rage, he slammed his palms against the door. Again. Again. Again–
The door was yanked open. Neal had barely a second to enjoy the sudden rush of warm air before getting splashed with another bucket of cold water. He yelped before crouching and curling on the floor.
“Get up.”
“Please,” he begged hoarsely.
“Get up. I won’t say it again.”
Stubborn, Neal remained unmoving in the corner of his box.
The next bucket of cold water was poured directly over his head and back. Someone roughly pulled him on his feet. Fighting blindly, Neal suddenly stilled when he felt the taser pressed directly to his skin, the sick feeling combined with exhaustion causing him to nearly tear up. “Please.…”
Adams snorted impatiently. “Enough of the drama, Caffrey. Where is Paul Handerson?”
Neal remained silent. With a growl, Adams pushed him back into the box.
“Wait –!”
The door was shut closed again.
With his hair dripping with water, the cold was so much worse.
It had been five days since his escape attempt. Five days. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
But he couldn’t give them Moz. He had to stay strong if he were to survive this. He had to.
Once again, Neal desperately trailed his fingers all over the surface of the box. He didn’t care anymore that the camera was watching him. There had to be a way out, there just had to be one.…
France had been spectacular. The warm sun, the sea.… No, no sea. Neal violently shuddered at the image of water. The balcony, then. Lovely view and lots of flirting with Alex.… Neal momentarily smiled at the thought of Alex in bikini. They would never work out as a couple, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have some fun in the meantime.…
He wanted to sleep. He wanted to die.…
A new violent shiver and then Neal started coughing.
The door got yanked open.
“No!” It couldn’t be, not yet! He pressed his back against the wall in fear when he saw Adams with another bucket.…
“Have you gone crazy?”
Eyes wide, Neal stared at the new arrival. With a glare, Adams placed the bucket back on the floor. “This interrogation isn’t over yet. We need that information.”
“And the guidelines are there for a reason. He won’t tell you anything if he dies from pneumonia,” opposed Davis before looking at Neal. “Damn it, Caffrey. You look like crap.”
“T-tell me something I d-don’t know.”
“Shit.” Davis shook his head. “I’ll be right back.”
Waiting for the other agent’s return, Adams and Neal stared at each other in tense silence.
A few moments later, Davis arrived with a fluffy bath sheet and some clothes. “Here. Dry yourself up.”
Accepting the towel, Neal quickly did as he was told. Afterwards, he started putting on the white clothes the CIA agent offered him, but momentarily stopped after putting on the shirt. “Where’s the underwear?”
“Do you really think you’ll need it here, Caffrey?” Adams snickered.
His heart pounding, Neal wordlessly looked at Davis for support.
“Put your clothes on. You need to get warm.”
It wasn’t as if the CIA wasn’t already controlling his every move. Swallowing the new humiliation, Neal put on the trousers and slippers, but he shied back when he saw the familiar black hood. “Where are you taking me?”
“That depends on you,” said Davis calmly. “You know what you have to do.”
Neal started shaking. “I won’t tell you.… I don’t know. I don’t know!”
They pulled the hood over his head and pushed him to start walking.
“Where are we going?” he tried again, but the hood muffled his voice.
He couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t handle another round of torture!
For Moz. Moz was his best friend. Mozzie was.…Mozzie.…
He would not give them the satisfaction.
When they stopped, he tensed up as he waited for the hood to be removed. He felt the familiar pull and then blinked to find himself … back in his cell.
The door closed behind him before he managed to shake off the disorientation.
The artificial light was almost as harsh as the one in the box, but there weren’t any CIA agents watching him. Tentatively, Neal took a few hesitant steps to his bed.
He was hungry and thirsty, but it all paled in view of the bone-deep exhaustion. His head was pounding, his whole body was shaking with small tremors and his muscles exploding in random spasms. Barely trusting his senses, Neal shakily ran his hand over his cot before sitting down.
It was there.
Uttering a hysterical chuckle, Neal collapsed on the cot, desperate to catch a moment of sleep before they woke him up again–
Then the door to his cell opened again and Neal almost burst out in tears.
“You bastards. What now?” he spat angrily at the CIA Agent.
“I brought you some meds and tea,” said Davis, holding a cup and several pills.
“I’m not taking them.”
“You can take them willingly, or we can drag you to the infirmary where we’ll force feed them to you or even inject them.” The agent paused. “We’re not trying to drug you. Now, take the pills, Neal.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Davis stared at him. “Take the pills, Neal,” he repeated slowly.
Taking a deep breath, Neal stood up and started reaching forward as if to accept the cup. Then he knocked it out of the agent’s hand and tried to punch him in the face.
Not even breaking a sweat, Davis intercepted his clumsy attempt and twisted his arm behind his back. “That was enough,” he said softly. “I like your spirit, but I can’t have you falling sick on me, so take those pills or I will drag you to the infirmary. And stop struggling before you hurt your shoulder.”
They may have been harmless, they may have been mind drugs or they may have been poisonous. Either way, Neal knew he didn’t have a choice. He nodded in submission and waited for Davis to let go.
Shakily, he took the pills from the CIA agent and then sat on the bed until Davis brought him a cup filled with water. He put the pills in his mouth, took the cup and swallowed. Davis gave him a satisfied nod, took the cup and left.
Sitting still, Neal waited for several moments before lying down on the bed. Making sure his face was hidden from possible cameras, he silently spit out the pills and hid them under the sheets, planning to flush them down the toilet in a few hours.
Then he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep.
Part IV - On LJ | On DW
