Chapter 16: You Drive Me Crazy

Metropolitan Museum of Art. March 1, 2005. Tuesday evening.

He knew it was too good to be true.

As he ran to the service entrance, Peter blasted himself for not having escorted the gurney to the ambulance. His pounding footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor, reinforcing the drumbeat in his head. Henry had called, warning him that Keller had been in Argentina. This had all been a setup. Neal said he was worried about a double-cross. Adler. It had to be Adler. Peter was the one who said all roads curved back to Adler. Why hadn't he stuck to Neal like glue? Was he already on his way to Argentina?

When Peter exited the museum, he saw two squad cars already at the entrance with an ambulance rolling to a halt beside them. Christie was crouched beside one of the medics. The other medic was talking to an NYPD detective.

Diana darted forward to greet him. "I just spoke with Christie. She said they wheeled Neal up to the ambulance, not suspecting anything was wrong. When they opened the back door, two armed gunmen were waiting for them with semi-automatics. They ordered the medics to wheel Neal inside and then forced the medics and Christie into the van parked alongside. One of the medics resisted their orders and was shot. The rest were tied up—an NYPD detective discovered them."

Peter quickly surveyed the scene. "The gunmen must have been hiding in that van when the ambulance initially pulled up. Was Christie injured?"

Diana shook her head. "No, she knew better than to resist. NYPD's in pursuit and choppers should be in the air any moment now. Badillo is feeding them the GPS coordinates from Neal's watch. They can't get far."

"You're riding with me." Peter's car was parked near the service entrance and within minutes they'd joined in the chase. The ambulance had a substantial lead. Even at the breakneck speed Peter was driving, he wasn't going to be able to catch up.

Diana called out updates every few seconds. "A chopper is tailing it . . . The ambulance is on Harlem River Drive and 130th Street." She glanced over at Peter. "You think this was Adler's work, don't you?"

Peter nodded. "We know he tried to recruit Neal last spring. That frame attempt by Fowler was most likely an attempt to get him to quit the FBI and join them. Keller was in Argentina. He may have made a bargain to not only steal the Egyptian artifacts, but deliver Neal as well."

"What about Azathoth?" She clutched the arm rest as Peter swerved sharply onto the expressway.

"Not his pattern." He swore as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a truck veering into his lane.

"But it's possible," she persisted.

Diana was right. Had the movie scam been a warning? That short story had been about a church. Was Neal being taken to a church? There were thousands of churches in Manhattan.

"They got 'em!" Diana yelled triumphantly. "Take the exit at 155th Street."

When Peter screeched to a halt on a side street off the expressway, the ambulance was already surrounded by several squad cars and an additional ambulance. Reinforcements were pouring in, all under the glare of chopper searchlights. Peter ran over to the hijacked ambulance while Diana checked in with the police.

Neal was still lying strapped to the gurney. His eyes were open but unfocused. His face had started to regain a little color.

"How is he?" Peter demanded of the medic who was working on him.

"Vitals are good," she reported. "Looks like he was given a sedative. We've already been in contact with Dr. Vintner. She explained about the medication in his system."

Neal was blinking his eyes at Peter, squinting as if he were trying to focus. "That you, Butch?" His voice was rough and slurred, but he managed a weak smile.

Peter bent down low so Neal could see him more easily and grasped his forearm. "You better believe it, Sundance. What do you think you were doing, riding off without me?"

He closed his eyes. "Knew you'd bring the posse," he mumbled, his voice trailing off.

"He's going to be all right, sir," the medic said. "We need you to step aside so we can get him into the ambulance."

"I'm riding with you, and that's not up for discussion."

She shot him a quick glance. "Understood, sir."

While they wheeled Neal onto the waiting ambulance, Diana pulled him aside. "I'll drive your car back to the Bureau, boss."

Peter nodded his thanks and handed her the keys.

"One of the kidnappers—the driver—was shot," she said. "The other is uninjured and is being read his rights. He doesn't appear to speak English."

"Spanish?"

Diana shook her head doubtfully. "I couldn't identify it, but it sounded more like a Slavic language to me."

Federal Building. March 2, 2005. Wednesday afternoon.

"At this rate, I'm going to have to call on Neal's grandfather, the ambassador," Tricia admitted as she sat down in Peter's office. "Adler I was prepared for, but an international incident? That was not on the list of possible outcomes we'd considered. Jones and I've just spent the past hour talking with the State Department."

It was midday by the time Peter arrived at the office. He'd stayed with Neal in the hospital until he was released in the early morning and then driven him home. Neal had gone immediately to bed with June promising to keep a careful watch on him. Afterward Peter headed for Brooklyn with the intention of catching a little rest. Jones was well equipped to lead operations in his absence. Peter was able to get in a couple of hours of sleep before the pace of fast-breaking developments made him abandon any further efforts as a lost cause.

"How's Neal?" Tricia asked.

"Exhausted but otherwise okay. He's resting at home. The gunmen had injected him with a mild sedative but he didn't suffer any ill effects from it except additional drowsiness. Perhaps I should thank them. Sleep is what he needs more than anything else. I plan to visit him after work. So where do we stand?"

"Since I talked with you last, we've been able to identify the two kidnappers through their fingerprints. They're Russian nationals—work for Rosgor, the Russian mining company."

"Rosgor?" Why did that company sound familiar? Peter sat back to consider. "That's the company Yuri Bolotnov works for, isn't it?" Bolotnov was the man who'd commissioned the theft of Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings in the fall. Could he have been Keller's buyer?

She nodded. "Bolotnov apparently is not only interested in the French royal jewels but also treasures of the Egyptian pharaohs. Keller insists Bolotnov commissioned him to steal the artifacts. Keller was wearing a communicator-watch similar to Neal's, and these two goons were listening in. The original plan was that they were there to assist with the transport of the treasure and also verify that Bolotnov wouldn't lose out on his treasure like last time."

"Neal had told Keller they'd wheel the custodian carts with the artifacts to the service entrance, and Keller was to drive the van to Teterboro Airport."

"What Keller didn't tell Neal was that Neal was supposed to go along with the treasure. Once the artifacts were safely stowed in the van, the gunmen were under orders to seize Neal and take him to Moscow. Keller was planning to go with them."

Peter felt his jaw drop. "Take Neal to Moscow?"

"That's right. According to Keller, Bolotnov was obsessed with the idea of having Neal work for the Russian mafia in Europe. This was their method of conducting a job recruitment." When Peter rolled his eyes, Tricia added, "I know. I had the same reaction, but we have to recognize that Neal's skills make him a very desired commodity in certain quarters. It's something we need to be more mindful of in the future."

"Still they must have overheard us talking about Neal's condition. We had Keller convinced Neal would likely not live. When they saw him being wheeled out on the gurney, surely they realized they couldn't take him on a plane?"

Tricia shrugged. "The gunmen panicked when they heard Neal had been shot. Their English is very limited and supposedly they didn't understand how badly he'd been injured. They were trying to reach Bolotnov for instructions but couldn't get through to him. They didn't dream we could track them so easily with Neal's watch and in the heat of the chase didn't have time to consider how they were going to be able to keep a mortally wounded man alive."

"We hoped that the con would convince Keller to make a plea bargain, but he's coughing up so much more than we expected. Was this simply because he was afraid he'd be charged with manslaughter?"

Neal's loft. Wednesday afternoon.

"Good question," Neal said, sitting down at the dining table in his loft. "That's exactly what I want to know, too."

Peter had left work in the late afternoon to visit Neal. June greeted him at the door with the welcome news that Neal had spent most of the day sleeping. When Peter mounted the stairs to the loft, Neal was standing at the entrance, looking rested and alert—probably more so than Peter did at this point.

Neal's reaction was the same as his had been when Tricia brought him up to speed.

"Keller told us that last year he'd stolen a shipment of gold bullion from the Russia mafia. They caught him and gave him a choice: return the gold or be killed. He eventually made a bargain with Bolotnov to steal the mirror and you, too. But, not surprisingly, Bolotnov's level of trust in him was zero. Keller was wearing a watch. He was in effect their puppet. Now Keller's been singing like a canary on steroids."

"And so it's not my supposed injury but the Russians which are causing his new eagerness to be pals with us?"

"I'm sure the injury is a factor, but the Russians are applying the most leverage. They're denying his story. They want him extradited to Russia for the theft of the gold, and he's terrified of being sent to some gulag where he'll be tortured or killed. The Russian government is claiming Bolotnov never talked with Keller, and that the two kidnappers were acting on their own for reasons unknown. The Russian authorities claim they were victimized as much as we were."

Neal snorted. "And they expect us to believe that?"

"Apparently so. Jones and Tricia have been consulting with the State Department. They speculate one of the reasons that Russia is insisting on Keller is that they want to maintain good relations with Egypt. To have Russian nationals involved in the theft of priceless Egyptian relics is counterproductive to say the least."

"What did the gunmen say?"

"The one is still in the hospital and unable to be questioned. The other was at first uncooperative, demanding that he be allowed to speak with the consulate. A Russian representative came by this morning and spoke with both him and us. He's taking the tack that the guy is a hoodlum and can't be believed. The Russians are pressing for the gunmen and Keller to be returned to Russia for prosecution. After the representative left, Tricia questioned the gunman further. He's now singing another tune. Doesn't want to be extradited and agrees with Keller that Bolotnov ordered you to be kidnapped. According to him, Keller had convinced Bolotnov that he could control you and that once you were in Russia they'd break you down till you'd be willing to do whatever they wanted."

"Use KGB tactics on me?" Neal asked, his eyes widening.

Peter shrugged. "You may have done too good a selling job about your expertise at pulling heists and long cons. In any case, Keller's made a pact with the devil and now has no means to pay up."

"We learned from the past case that Bolotnov is in tight with the government."

Peter nodded. "The State Department feels the Russians will never allow Bolotnov to be extradited to the U.S. for trial. But we'll still have achieved a victory. He's been so tightly linked to crimes and to Keller that he'll be unable to travel overseas. Interpol will be keeping a close watch on all his movements."

Neal got up to get a glass of water. It reminded Peter he'd only been released from the hospital a few hours earlier. "Am I wearing you out?"

"Are you kidding? This is the best medicine I could possibly have."

"The State Department is vowing to hold the Russians' feet to the fire over this. Bolotnov is going to have to keep himself lily-pure to stay out of prison. I have some confidence that he won't be in a position to ever attempt anything similar again."

Neal brought back two glasses of water and handed one to Peter. "Has Keller mentioned anything about Adler?"

"No. Tricia asked him about the trip. He claimed he was there for pleasure, but she'll keep working on him. Keller's afraid that we'll agree to have him extradited to Russia for prosecution of the gold theft and that the Russian mafia will take revenge on him wherever he is. Tricia's pushing the case we have against him—including attempted manslaughter for shooting you—and Keller's already confessed to enough crimes to keep him locked away for fifty years. Tricia has been threatening him with Barksdale Supermax if he doesn't cooperate."

"Barksdale?" Neal chuckled. "Jones told me about that place. Keller wouldn't approve of the accommodations."

"Exactly," Peter said, suppressing a yawn, but not quickly enough to hide it from Neal.

"Why don't you head on home? You didn't get any sleep last night and you've hardly seen El the past few days."

"You'll be okay?"

"Yeah, go on. June's having her chef prepare me a tray. I'll probably crash after you leave. I can catch up on the case tomorrow."

Peter stood up. "I assume you called Henry."

Neal chuckled. "He told me what a hard time he gave you last night. Asked me to relay his apologies. He thought you'd probably heard more than enough from him already."

"You might say he was a little upset," Peter acknowledged. "But then so was I. Did you speak with Fiona?"

He nodded. "We talked in the morning then she brought lunch over."

"You're having no shortage of visitors. That's good." That was one of the many points Henry had stressed on the phone. Neal appeared fine and seemed more relaxed than he'd been for weeks, but Henry had warned he'd tend to retreat in a shell after the con. Acting like Keller for so long was going to require special handling to get over. "You mentioned coming in tomorrow. I think that's a good idea."

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I thought you might object."

"No, but you're on reduced hours for the rest of the week. Half-days, ten to two sound acceptable?"

"More than acceptable. Thanks, Peter."

"And I expect you to use that extra time to catch up on your sleep. I don't want any Grand Canyon yawns at the office."

"Like you're doing right now?"

Peter laughed in acknowledgment. "I'm going to work fewer hours myself. We both have comp time owed to us. I assume you're going to class tomorrow evening but how about Friday evening? Are you and Fiona going out?"

"No. She has to work that night, so we're getting together on Saturday."

"Then Friday night you'll come to our place for dinner."

"That sounds like an order."

"You might as well consider it as one from my commander-in-chief. El already has an idea in mind, and I know you don't want to disappoint her."

"Never," he said with a smile. "Tell El I'll be there."

Peter nodded with satisfaction. Mission accomplished.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

After Peter left, Neal retrieved a couple of pillows from the bed to toss on the couch. He flopped out and crossed his arms behind his head, trying to sort out the events of the previous night. Keller's new openness could pose an unforeseen problem. Neal needed to devise a game plan to deal with it but he didn't like the obvious answer. When Mozzie showed up after dinner, Neal still hadn't arrived at a better solution.

"Keller and the Russians . . . I can't say I'm surprised." Mozzie walked into the kitchenette to retrieve the corkscrew. "Keller wrote his own ending years ago. It's catching up with him now." He poured out two glasses and gave one to Neal. "This has twice the recuperative power of pinecone ginger."

"I'm not sick," Neal protested.

"Perhaps not, but you've had an interesting couple of weeks. Call it preventative medicine. That's why I'm drinking it." He pulled up a chair and sat opposite Neal. "You always felt that Keller would double-cross you."

He nodded. "I suspected he'd try to cut me out, but I'd hoped his greed for future heists would hold it in abeyance."

"You had no way of knowing he was also being coerced."

Neal swirled the wine in the glass. Peter's words about Keller remaining in prison were reassuring . . . as long as he didn't escape. Nothing in what happened last night would have been a red flag that the long con Neal boasted of wasn't real. And the fact he hadn't faked his death could be played to his advantage now. Keller could think he'd staged a miraculous recovery . . . the honey wine cure.

Mozzie roused him from his musings. "So, Keller hasn't said anything about Adler?"

"Not yet."

"The pant suit is a skilled questioner. She may succeed. Keller could have seen Adler on an unrelated matter, but we've already mentioned the possibility that Adler asked him about the Braque painting. How are you going to handle it if Keller brings it up?"

"I've been working for the past two hours on that." Neal admitted, setting the glass down. The wine was making him queasy. "It depends on what he says." Not for the first time Neal wished that he'd never heard about the sudden interest in the painting. He'd made a personal pledge to never lie to Peter. Staying out of prison and keeping his word could be a challenge.

"Have you thought of any reason why Adler would want Violin and Candlestick?"

Neal shook his head. "The offer is for far more than the painting's worth. Perhaps he intends to use it to frame me. He may have some information or evidence that he could blackmail me with."

"You could make a preemptive strike. Tell the suit about the painting before Keller says anything."

"I can't ask him to go against his beliefs. My immunity was only granted for the crimes I'd confessed to. Peter would be obligated to report the theft to Interpol. You saw what it was like when the Bureau suspected me of having stolen Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings. They immediately leaped to the conclusion I'd done it. Interpol would be no different. They'd demand I'd be extradited to Germany for prosecution."

"I did warn you at the time the suit couldn't protect you."

"You were right. In the case of those earrings I was innocent. I'm not in this one," Neal stopped to take a breath, but the bitterness didn't go away. What happened last November still rankled. "Regrets don't count for much—maybe a reduced prison sentence if I'm lucky. In the aftermath of the earrings, I swore I'd never be sent to prison, and I intend to keep that vow. Besides, I don't even know if the painting's still where we left it. Klaus could have sold it. I'd be confessing to a crime without any reason to."

"You could say Klaus stole it, but that wouldn't help you."

"Telling the truth does me no favors here. The fact I know about the painting's theft and know where it's hidden—assuming it's still there—makes me as guilty as Klaus. This could all be moot in any case. We have no knowledge that Keller and Adler discussed the painting, and even if Adler is behind the inquiries, he can't be certain that I was involved. This may all just be stirring up the leaves to see what's underneath."

"You're right. Fowler's business in Europe probably has no connection to you." Mozzie's tone spoke more clearly than his words. He didn't believe it, and neither did Neal.

Burke residence, Brooklyn. March 4, 2005. Friday evening.

By the time Friday rolled around, Peter was ready to celebrate. The case against Keller was proceeding on track. White Collar was back to its normal routine and so was Neal. Peter had kept him busy preparing a shopping list for authentication equipment now that White Collar would be spending more resources on art crimes. It was the best activity he could think of to get him focused on the future rather than obsessing about the demons of his past.

El had suggested a cheese fondue for Friday night. She'd put Neal in charge of making it while she prepared the Caesar salad. Peter was acting as sommelier.

When they'd all gathered at the dining room table, Peter raised his glass. "Here's to Keller's new address. He's behind bars where he belongs."

"I'll drink to that," Neal said, clinking glasses. He turned to El. "Did you know Keller was transferred today to the Allenwood High-security Penitentiary?"

"Good," she replied, nodding with satisfaction. "We can resume our normal lives."

Peter dipped his fork into the fondue and blew on a cube of cheese-soaked bread. "John Hobhouse called this morning. He hopes to have his team fully staffed in a few weeks. It goes without saying he was impressed with the Keller takedown. Not that Neal needs it, but his star is burnished even more."

"Yours, too," Neal said, raising his glass to him. "Thanks to you, I'm not in Moscow tonight, drinking whatever brainwashing drug they were going to use on me. By the way, Mozzie's taken it upon himself to research the possibilities. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have told him what they were planning."

"He wouldn't actually conduct experiments on himself, would he?" El asked warily.

"I hope not, but with Mozzie it's hard to tell where truth ends and dreams begin."

Not wanting to even speculate on the nature of Mozzie's dreams, Peter brought the conversation back to the new task force, a far safer topic. "Hobhouse also asked about Aidan's software. He hopes to persuade the London museums to sign up for the program."

"Now that Tac-Con is over, Aidan will have more time to devote to it," Neal said, "but even during the final pre-convention frenzy, he managed to stay on schedule. Travis said they hope to have a beta version up in April."

"Have Aidan and Richard come down to earth after their successes at Tac-Con?" El asked.

"Not yet. They're still walking around with spacey grins on their faces. Richard starts this weekend at Scima. He met with Ian Forster, the head of Scima Gameworks, yesterday."

"Was he the one who made the presentation at the awards ceremony?" Peter asked.

He nodded. "Forster's already mentioned that he'd like to extend the three-month internship to six months and is dangling a future offer for full-time employment if all goes well. Richard's going to talk to his current employer about taking a leave of absence so he can work at Scima full time."

"What about Fiona?" El asked. "Has she heard about Paris?"

"Not yet. She thinks she'll hear next week."

"Do I need to replenish my supply of antacids?" Peter asked, helping himself to more salad. "Are you going to continue to stress about her if she goes to Paris?"

Neal shrugged. "I probably should buy you a couple of extra boxes."

El shook her head disapprovingly. "Keller's locked up now. You have no cause to be concerned."

He gave them a rueful smile. "Keller's not the only one I have to worry about . . . all those French guys with their French accents."

El passed him the bread basket. "I know you're not looking forward to her being gone, and not just because of worrying about the Frenchmen."

Neal hesitated. "What I said was a joke, but honestly, she may be better off in France. Too many fire-breathing dragons in my world. I don't know that I could keep her safe from them all."

Peter winced. El had on more than one occasion voiced her disapproval of Neal being overly protective. She wasn't about to give Neal a pass for that remark. "Answer me this," she challenged. "Why do you keep trying to lock her up in a castle? That may be the last thing she wants."

"I don't think so. She'd like someone who'll be inside the castle with her and eventually the kids. A safe world. That's not my world."

Peter shook his head in frustration. "You're entitled just as much as anyone else to a family and happiness. People get hurt all the time, but that's life. You can't go around distancing yourself from those you care about. It's no way to live."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Neal left shortly after dinner despite their attempts to persuade him to stay and watch a movie. Peter regretted they'd let the conversation take such a serious turn. That hadn't been his intention. El thought it might have been for the best and that he was leaving to think over what they'd said, but Peter had his doubts.

"What movie would you like to watch?" he asked, walking over to the bookcase.

She sat down on the couch and drew her legs up. "How about The Mummy in honor of the case? You realize, I haven't seen the exhibition yet. We should go. You can give me a guided tour and show me all the famous spots. Where Neal kissed Raquel . . . Where Sara calmed Fiona down . . . Where Neal faked his mortal wounding."

"Sara did mention she took Fiona by the mummies to relax. That wouldn't have been my choice."

El plumped a cushion and placed it behind her back. "We should have forced Neal to stay and watch it. The Mummy has a great part for a female adventurer."

"You think he needs a role model?"

She nodded. "I think WITSEC made a more profound impact on him than we first realized. He's still hiding. Only now, it's not to shield himself but to shield others. Neal can't send those he cares about into WITSEC, but by distancing himself from them, he thinks he's keeping them safe." El shook her head. "I can see where he'd disappear into a new identity to protect those he loves."

"You could be right. We just witnessed that. The kid's willing to give up on a future with Fiona because he thinks he's bad for her."

"Fortunately we don't have to worry about him vanishing from our lives. Now that Keller's confessed to so much, Neal can relax. Klaus Mansfeld is dead. Keller's in prison. There may be hope for him and Fiona yet."

La Palette Bistro. March 5, 2005. Saturday evening.

"I can't believe it's really over. We can be out on the town once more." Fiona set down her wine glass and leaned toward him. "I can even reach over and give you a kiss and not care who sees me."

Neal grinned and leaned forward. "Let's test that theory." On a Saturday night every table at La Palette was taken. Neal had considered having her over for dinner in the loft, but he was glad he'd changed his mind. He hoped this would make up for canceling their original plans to come here when Keller appeared on the scene. There was no longer any need to hide the fact they were a couple.

They'd already placed their orders. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up the subject. He'd been thinking about how to handle it ever since the discussion with Peter and El.

"It is over, isn't it?" she asked. "Keller's not going to be released on some technicality?"

"No worries, there. He's agreed to a plea bargain that should keep him locked up for decades."

"Then what is it? You're looking unusually serious for someone who should be celebrating. You weren't injured, were you? You told me the drug wore off the same day."

"And it did," he hastened to assure her.

"Should I take your word on that? No hidden bruises or gaping wounds? I may need to verify that for myself," she added with a mischievous smile.

"Excellent idea. I'm going to hold you to that. Although you shouldn't have worried—not after you gave me that amulet."

"I'm glad it worked so well." She paused for a moment, fingering her wine glass. "You do realize you've been driving me crazy over the past few weeks."

Fiona too? Was this now his theme song? Even El was exasperated with him. "I'm sorry. Is it any comfort that I was driving myself crazy along with everyone else? I hated the thought that I'd put you at risk and freely admit I didn't handle it very well."

Her expression grew serious. "What if I'm willing to accept the risk? Do you think you're ever going to trust that I won't fall apart when you're involved in something dangerous?"

"It's not a question of trusting you. It's just . . . are you sure that's what you want?"

She put a hand on his arm. "Let's find out. I might just surprise you."

Suddenly the path forward didn't seem that difficult after all as he realized he felt happier than he had in a long time. He took her hand and grasped it tightly. "I am and thank you for not giving up on me. What you see before you is the new, improved Neal Caffrey. I can't talk about everything that's involved with my job, but I promise to share what I can and not just on this case but on the earlier cases."

The smile on her face convinced him he'd made the right decision. "Good, because I have a few questions for you."

Neal sat back in his chair. "Fire away when ready."

"Let's start with something easy . . . like Raquel. Who is she? How long have you known her? And is she going to pop back into your life sometime?"

Burke residence. March 6, 2005. Sunday afternoon.

Peter had executed the plan perfectly. He'd finished the outside chores. There was ample time left to make the popcorn and finish the crossword puzzle before the game started. The New York Rangers were playing the Toronto Maple Leaves, one of the most highly anticipated matches of the season. El was out shopping. Wise woman. She knew he'd be lousy company for the next few hours. Nothing was going to interfere with his afternoon.

When the phone rang, he debated answering it. If this was an emergency which was going to wreck his afternoon, did he really want to know? With a sigh, he acknowledged he did.

"Peter, you got a moment?"

"Sure, what's up?" Peter braced himself for what was coming. Had Azathoth resurfaced? Was Fowler lurking in the bushes outside his house? Or was it some other criminal from Neal's checkered past that Peter didn't know about yet? Peter had half a mind to walk to his gun safe as he talked.

"I thought you'd like to know, I followed your advice."

Peter sank back down in the couch. "You did?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised. It does occasionally happen, you know."

"So, details please."

"I took Fiona to La Palette last night."

Peter nodded. "Excellent choice. Home field advantage. Play from your strength." That was Neal's favorite restaurant and he was a close friend of the chef.

"We talked—really talked. I gave her a high level overview of what happened at the Met—about as much as you told El. I explained who Bolotnov was, even discussed the initial frame attempt in the fall."

"Did you tell her about Azathoth?"

"I did and you know what her reaction was?"

"To suggest you sign you up for more insurance?"

"Very funny. No, she wants to write ballads about our adventures."

"Good one, Fiona," Peter said with a laugh. "I want to hear those songs. So you two are in a good spot now?"

"Yeah, we are. Amazingly she's not ready to dump me." He paused for a moment. "I know you'll find this incredible but she accused me of driving her crazy."

"No! You?"

He chuckled. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

"I'll have to call her up. We can form a mutual support group."

"What can I say? It's a gift."

"One you could work on."

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you miss it?"

"Trust me, I could adjust."

A castle in Hungary. March 6, 2005. Sunday.

"What was he thinking?" She stood up and strode over to the glass patio doors. The view of the wooded hillside blanketed with snow did little to chill her anger. "He's showing off and I don't like it. Explain to me how that stunt at the convention was worth the risk."

He stilled his fingers on the piano keys and walked over to the walnut sideboard. Picking up the crystal decanter, he poured cognac into two cut-glass snifters. "My brother's an expert, darling. You should trust him," he said, handing her a glass. "When I outlined the original concept, I warned you that the type of psychological warfare we were embarking on would be lengthy and at times appear illogical."

She took a sip. "He should be concentrating on our latest targets, not planting ridiculous codes."

"Once the lion cub is working with us, you'll have no more doubts," he pointed out calmly, stroking her back. "In any case, you have no reason to complain at the profit we've made for you. You're letting what happened with the art crimes task force color your thinking."

She acknowledged the truth to his words with a nod. "Kramer bungled that badly. He swore he'd be the one selected. The man may have outlived his usefulness."

"His heavy-handed tactics got him nowhere, but his very clumsiness may have worked to our advantage. Unwittingly he planted the seeds to make our future position even stronger." He gave a low chuckle. "We should thank him for providing the means of making London a reality. Kramer's performed valuable services for us up to now. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of his assistance with the Raphael painting. I say we give him another chance."

"I'll consider it." She turned to face him and set down her glass. "What about the cub's protector? Have you decided how best to use him?"

"Not yet. Each of the different options has value. The profile we've built up over the past few months indicates several vulnerabilities. How the events play out in Paris will be pivotal in our ultimate decision."

She nodded. "I had my doubts about your strategy on the Braque painting, but it's proceeding exactly as you predicted."

He shrugged. "Another example of Kramer's usefulness. Learning that the Braque hadn't been included in his confession was the key ingredient. The university semester is over in mid-May. We expect the trap to be sprung by the end of June."

"Are the plans ready for next month?"

"Of course. Bryan McKenzie has been keeping us well informed. The acquisition will give us additional leverage for Kramer to use. But the news is not all positive. It doesn't appear that McKenzie will be able to sign up his protégée. He warned our agent that she's not as pliable as he thought."

"That's unfortunate. She would have made an excellent addition. McKenzie's skills are formidable. He may be able to sway her yet."

"Possibly, but I had our agent advise him to prepare contingency plans. As for the target McKenzie supplied us, I've decided to do the job myself."

"Are you sure that's wise? I thought we'd decided on Hagen."

He held off answering for a moment. The sun was sinking behind the hills, casting an orange glow to the woods. In the fields to the west, a flock of geese took flight. "I've grown restless. It's time I cross the pond."

She pulled him toward her and toyed with the buttons of his silk shirt. "I'll miss you, mon chéri."

"And I you"—he pulled her into an embrace—"but the gift I'll bring you will make up for it. After that, a more months and the lion cub will be ours without him even being aware of it."

Notes: Thanks for reading! I hope you got as much pleasure out of The Mirror as I did in writing it. Special thanks and my heartfelt appreciation to the truly amazing Penna Nomen for her stellar achievements as muse, editor, cheerleader, and angst-reliever throughout these 16 chapters.

As we take leave of the team, Neal and Peter are in a good spot, but the bad guys are still out there, plotting. Since their plan will take a little while to hatch, Neal and Peter can relax and enjoy the moment. They may wish to watch "He Drives Me Crazy," which is the name of one of my favorite White Collar fanvids. I've pinned it to The Mirror board of our Pinterest site. There are also pins of that castle in Hungary, but not of the two speakers in the castle, alas.

Keller had a convoluted history with Russians both in canon and in The Mirror. I've written about the Russian angle in our AU for our blog. Penna's written about Henry in a post called "Henry Winslow: Neal Caffrey's Alternate Me."

This chapter was posted on May 25—Geek Pride Day, and Mozzie and Travis wandered into the writer's cave to wish all the geeks out there the best of celebrations. Live Long and Prosper, fellow geeks!

Upcoming Stories: I'm excited to announce that in early June Penna Nomen is going to post a vignette about Neal going on spring break and celebrating his birthday. Mark your calendars—you're in for a special treat. This is the first chapter in a series called Caffrey Vignettes. The title is Spring Break.

Starting on Wednesday, June 8, I'll post the first of Diana's stories, Arkham Files: Visions from Beyond. The story is 6 chapters long with new chapters to be posted weekly.

Once that story is complete, I'll return to the current timeline. My next story is called Whispers in the Night and concerns a weekend in suburban New Jersey that Neal, Peter, and Mozzie will never forget. The action takes place in April, roughly one month after the conclusion of The Mirror, and includes the help of the Winchester brothers from the TV series Supernatural.

After that it's back to the main storyline with Raphael's Dragon when the Dutchman returns and Bryan McKenzie is in town. Azathoth is plotting new mind games and more about the mystery swirling around that Braque painting comes to light.

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website