ANGEL

Chapter 8

"The very first con I ran. I got sick as a dog. I mean it was really bad. It lasted for days... cramps, cold sweats. All that adrenaline, anxiety...and shame, I felt like I'd been run over by a Mack truck. I was a thief." He took a sip of coffee.

"It took a long time to perfect the Neal Caffrey you first met."

"Go on," Peter said quietly.

"When you strip yourself of everything and everyone, and you have nothing to lose but the game; the game becomes your life. I poured everything into it. I lost myself, until I met her."

"Kate."

"Yeah, she made me want to change. She made me want to believe in something bigger than myself. I thought I could go back. But I couldn't, I dragged her into this mess. Put her life at risk."

"You sound like you don't believe it's possible."

"No more lies, Peter. I don't know. I met you, Elizabeth, June... Sarah. I thought, maybe this time. Maybe I could do it, belong to something again, belong to somebody." He looked away.

"Neal, I want to help you, but it's hard watching someone you care about destroy them self. It scares me." Peter leaned back in his chair and looked out into the city. He had wounds of his own.

"I can't imagine what drove you to give up everything and everyone. I would be nothing without the people in my life. I couldn't breathe when Keller took Elizabeth, a world without her in it..." He hesitated to go on.

"I'm so sorry, Peter."

"You didn't take her Neal. But truth be told, the thought of losing her and losing you too, it kinda tipped me over the edge. I was wrong letting you go back to prison. I was angry, I felt rejected."

"But Peter."

"Let me finish. No more lies. It wasn't just the job and our deal. I wanted you to choose me and it hurt when I thought you wanted out. It was the only way I thought I could hold you. I can't let that happen again. Jesus, Neal. I never meant for any of this to happen to you."

"I know, Peter. But you need to be aware of something. Maybe all I am now, is all I'll ever be. It's easy to default to what I know best...if that answer is yes. Conning for me is like an alcoholic's secret bottle or a junkie's hidden stash. I know it's there if I need it. I may not need it today. I may not need it tomorrow..." his eyes glistened as he looked at the man across from him.

"OK, Peter breathed out. Then we take it one step, one day at a time, together. And today we concentrate on getting Snow. Let's get to that hearing."

WCWCWC

"Boss, I think you want to see this, Diana entered the conference room.

"What do you have?"

"We ran all of the video of the day Deputy Roark was killed. We think we have Ambrose here on the surveillance monitors. Here you see this man enter at eight am, but we never see him leave."

"So he was here the entire time," Neal said flatly.

"Yeah, we think he was here the entire time. There is nothing that shows him leaving the building. The last shot we have is this one with him and Roark in the garage."

"So where was he all this time?" Jones added.

"Good question. We don't know. But he had a lot of time to familiarize himself with this building. So we have every entrance and exit monitored now. Cameras installed in the garage. We know he is well organized."

"That's what worrying me. Peter. I'm just not sure about the plan to draw him out by going ahead with the hearing. There are too many loose ends."

"Look it, Snow is targeting anyone he thinks is a threat to you, especially to your freedom. If we go ahead with the hearing, which could place you back in prison. It's bound to bring him out."

"We know he's been tracking you, and he has the money to access all the resources he needs, Diana added. We will be ready for him boss."

WCWCWCWC

They waited all through the morning and all through the afternoon. Each and everyone vigilant and hyper aware of times passage. They drank coffee, lots of coffee.

Snow didn't come

Diana and Jones ran through video feeds. They didn't speak, just waited and wondered. Peter and Hall huddled with Bureau staff sorting through reports. All united in a common frustration and grim anticipation.

Snow didn't come.

Neal was standing facing the window. The sun was starting to go down. The sky was awash in shades of pink and flashes of gold...the room was quiet. He took in the silence and closed his eyes.

"Caffrey, can I have a word?" Hall entered the office and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Sure," Neal nodded.

"You have a lot of friends here. Agents Burke, Hughes and the rest of your team just attested to your professionalism and the help you've brought in solving cases. Said you might be the best CI the White Collar Division ever had. They went to the wall for you in there."

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"I know this past month has been an ordeal, took a lot out of you." He looked in Neal's eyes.

"You going to tell me what this is about or do I have to guess?"

"I'm not here to judge you. Nobody wants to crucify you over this. Burke will be in here any minute to tell you, your parole stays intact. The hearing is done."

"But?"

"I need to know what you learned about Snow."

"He's brilliant, determined and mad."

"How mad?"

"As mad as it gets. He's absolutely delusional."

"But you felt something for him, connected with him. I need to know if he got into your head. I need to know you can do what's necessary when the time comes."

"I won't let them down." he said with his best game face. But Neal knew to protect the people he cared about; they would need more than guns and cameras.

Snow didn't come.

"I take it you heard the good news."

"I did. I heard it was mainly due to you guys. Thank you, Peter. You have no idea what this means to me."

"I have some idea," Peter said smiling. It's almost five; it doesn't look like Snow is going to show. Agent Hall and I discussed it. We want to keep the hearing going, pretend you're still in jeopardy."

"OK, if you think so. But I don't know. I just have a bad feeling about this."

"Go home get some sleep. We have details posted at June's."

"What about you?"

"I sent Elizabeth upstate to her parents and there will be a detail on me twenty four seven. We will find him, Neal."

WCWCWCWC

It was midnight, he couldn't sleep. Tension filled the pit of his stomach. Ambrose was not going to stop; he would never give up this easily. If Peter was right and he almost always was when operating on his gut, then Ambrose should have shown today. The files he brought from the office littered his dining table as he poured through them, looking for some clue some detail that would unravel Snow's troubled mind and his deadly obsession with him.

What stood out most, the escalation in violence with each murder. This seemed consistent with the progression of his mania that was well documented in the psychological profile. The psychiatrists tried various anti psychotics starting in childhood. Some so potent it left the young boy barely more than a zombie. It was then he became obsessed with flight. Neal thought, maybe it was a wish to fight against or understand his frozen, straight jacketed body. Many of the birds he dissected were found littered around the mansion, tossed from the roof top in a desperate hope to see if these crippled beings could take flight, his fallen angels. He felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and pity for that young boy, but a chill ran down his spine for the man he'd become.

The one invariable in Snow's MO was the curare. Maybe he was inducing in the victim's the same paralysis he felt as a boy. He was no psychologist, but in his business it was imperative to know what made your opponent tick, what drove them, what motivated them if you were to stay ahead. He had to stay one step ahead now.

He was late getting into the office next morning. It had been difficult getting the detail assigned to him to stop at the local pharmacy. They had been given strict orders by Peter to ensure he came in directly to work. He convinced them, the anxiety was wreaking havoc with his stomach and the medication would make everyone's life more bearable if they got his drift. When he got in, Jones was seated at his desk scanning files. Diana was busy briefing Agent Hall and his team in the conference room. Everything seemed perfectly routine.

"How you holding up?" Jones asked as he walked to his desk.

"Couldn't sleep last night. I went through some of the case files on Snow. I think I got some new information. I want to run it by you guys. Where's Peter?"

"He and Hughes are meeting with brass upstairs. He shouldn't be too long."

Upstairs Conference Room

"That went better than I thought. For a while, I wasn't sure where this was going to end up," Peter breathed out.

"That makes two of us, Caffrey back in prison, you out of a job and me in early retirement was looking like a done deal. But I think they got bigger fish to fry then us now. Peter we've got to find this son of a bitch Snow." Hughes displayed an uncharacteristic vehemence.

"We got a plan. I'm meeting with Hall and the team downstairs in a few minutes."

"Make it a damn good one. I'm going to stay and finish up the paperwork."

Peter headed toward the elevators.

The elevator door ghosted open. Before Peter could react, Ambrose slammed the stun gun into his gut. He felt his insides twist, as he fell forward into Snow's arms. The door closed.

WCWC

Focus, he kept telling himself. Concentrate on the job at hand. He dropped the files from last night onto his desk. He needed caffeine. He opened his desk drawer and he stopped dead. The blood drained from his face as Neal went cold. There it was, a perfect portrait of the angel.

"Where is Peter?" he shouted.

"Upstairs." Jones was on his feet now.

The panic and urgency in Neal's voice grabbed Diana's s attention. She moved toward the two men.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Ambrose. He's here. Right now!"

"Calm down. Neal, talk to me."

"Look, I found this in my drawer," he held the angel in his shaking hands. We're losing time. He was breathing hard. I am telling you he's here. It's the same as when he killed Roark. He was here all the time. This wasn't in my desk when I left last night. He had to place it there after we all left."

"I'm calling Peter," Jones was punching the number into his phone. He's not responding."

"Jones, what floor are they on?" Neal yelled as he ran to the elevator bank. Shit! They aren't working," he caught his breath.

"OK, shut this place down, Diana ordered. He could be anywhere in this building. Fan out, we search every floor now!"

Agent Hall had joined them now. "He won't get away, this place is sealed tight." He started for the stairway , Neal was close behind.

"Look Caffrey, I know you want to help; but leave this to the trained professionals. Stay back, stay here. We will bring him back."

Ambrose had Peter. He knew it. He could feel it. Shivers ran down his spine. Had Ambrose gotten into his head? He had to think, he couldn't let panic swallow him whole. Where would he go, what would he do? He remembered Ambrose's first kill, the fallen angels...

He took off running.

WCWCWC

It required considerable effort but Ambrose was strong. He deposited Peter's limp body into a crumpled heap on the concrete roof top. Then he emptied the contents of the satchel he'd left there earlier. First the nylon ropes, mallet and three steel pins. He had to work quickly before Burke gained consciousness. He stripped him of his clothes and weapon, arranging them into a neat pile in the corner. First he bound his ankles together. Then hammered the steel pin into the ground, with another length of rope he secured Peter's ankles to the pin. Next he spread both arms out, perpendicular to his body. He tied each wrist securing them to the metal pins. Then Ambrose looked down at his work with a savage satisfaction, he had formed a perfect cross, a perfect crucifixion.

Peter was beginning to stir. He lifted his head. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard. He tried to struggle against the ropes binding him, but the harder he pulled the more the ropes tightened. He fought against his creeping fear, he fought to stay calm. The sun was bright in the afternoon sky, too bright.

"Snow, whatever you have planned it's not going to work out for you."

"Most of them pleaded and screamed. At least it seemed that way to me, but they really couldn't speak. You're going to die, Agent Burke."

"You think murder is going to place you on the side of the angels?"

"Why do you try to hold him, no cage of yours will ever keep him. Soon he will be free." He opened his satchel and removed his instruments.

WCWC

Neal was taking the stairs two at a time. His heart was filling his chest, his legs cramping. He kept climbing. He couldn't let himself imagine what would happen if he failed. He reached the top floor, drew in a deep breath and pushed the steel door open. Glancing around wildly, he finally saw Peter spread eagle a few feet away. His heart nearly stopped. A sense of imminent danger seized him as he spun around to find Ambrose.

"What did you do to him?" he gasped.

"Hello Neal, you made good time," he looked over to Peter.

Neal moved toward Snow, when his foot caught in the pile of clothing. He stumbled as Ambrose took his arm.

"Forgive me," Ambrose jammed the needle into Neal's outstretched arm.

"Neal!" Peter screamed his head keening forward.

"Ambrose, please. You're wrong. "Don't do this. Peter would never do anything to hurt me. You're sick. You need help. You have to listen to me...let him...let him go..."

Ambrose gently eased Neal down next to the pile of clothes at his feet, placed his back against the concrete wall. Everything was moving in slow motion, distant and surreal. He knew there was something he urgently had to do, before he couldn't move at all. He pushed the small injectable concealed in the palm of his hand into his outstretched leg. Neostigmine, the antidote to curare poisoning. God, please let this work he prayed, as his body went still.

Peter knew he had to keep Snow talking, it was his only chance. He knew they would be looking for him and Neal. Neal's anklet was active. It was a matter of time now, time they didn't have.

"So before I die, humor me. Why did you choose Neal?"

"He chose me?"

"Oh right. Let's see, he came to you when you were nine. Problem with that Ambrose, Neal wasn't born when you were nine years old. But then again when you're nuts, a little thing like time is irrelevant."

"You will never understand him. He is beyond your comprehension. It has been preordained by God. His greatness will redeem us. His will."

"If he is as powerful as you say. Why paralyze him? Why drug him?" If you are who you say you are, should you not bow before him?"

Ambrose could hear the sound rumble through his brain, it was deafening. It was just as it was when he was a boy. The great swooping wings, the earth moving beneath his feet. He turned to the sky, narrowing his eyes against the sun.

Peter could see Neal slumped against the far wall. For an instant, the briefest moment he thought he saw his foot jerk slightly. He wasn't completely paralyzed; somehow he was fighting the effects of the drug. He had to give him time. Displaying a bravery he didn't feel, he called out to Ambrose.

"You are the one that wants to hold him, not God."

Things were pulling apart. Ambrose struggled under the weight. Uncertainty, doubt had no place in his universe of belief.

"It's too late for you, Agent Burke. I'll show you God."

Neal tried desperately to move, willing the antidote to circulate faster through his body. He was on fire as the two toxins raged against each other through muscle fiber and nerve endings. He could follow Ambrose with his eyes. He had a scalpel in his hands a medical grade instrument. He was kneeling next to Peter, leaning over him. As he raised the knife, the midday sun glinted off it. Then he heard Peter scream, it pierced him through and through. He felt as if he were in a drowning pool.

Ambrose made the first incision quickly, separating the muscle and tendon in Peter's upper arm. A silent river of red stained the gray concrete. Peter was gasping, sweating and shaking as Ambrose moved to his left. He couldn't fight the screams. The pain was blinding.

Neal felt his arms first as the tingling progressed into his hands. He could spread his fingers. His hand tangled in the pile of clothes and then he saw it. He caught the glint of sun on metal. Peter's gun. He struggled to hold it. It felt heavy in his hand. Then he felt it falling from his grasp, panic was overwhelming him he could barely hold on. The pain was unbearable, but he didn't care. He couldn't drop it, it was their only chance.

He saw the scalpel rise in the air. He steadied himself. He aimed, fired and put a bullet through Ambrose's arm. Confused and shattered, Ambrose looked at him for a long moment, a moment that felt interminable. He was astonished. The sky dimmed as if clouds had momentarily blocked the sun. He looked deeply into Neal's eyes. After a long pause he said.

"In the sight of God, you can't live any other way."

Ambrose stood. Neal watched as he stumbled and staggered toward the ledge. A blinding ray of sunlight flashed across his face. A face lit with joy.

"I forgive you forever, as you forgive me."

"Ambrose! Don't!"

Ambrose Snow turned, arms wide, face turned toward the heavens and jumped. He sailed down to the city below.

"No, no, no..." Neal screamed.

He was weak, his legs trembled, he pushed himself forward. He prayed he wasn't too late, as he reached Peter's still body.

"Please don't die," he remembered saying as a blur of bodies passed him and rushed to his fallen friend.

WCWCWC

"He can have visitors now," the young emergency room doctor said to the group assembled outside Peter's room. Jones looked at Neal who was still somewhat wobbly from the after effect of the drugs.

"No, you guys go in. I'll be there in a minute."

He sat back in his chair and laid his head against the wall. He closed his eyes. He didn't see Agent Hall approach.

"How you feeling Caffrey?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck."

"Well they said, all the drugs should clear your system in the next twenty four hours. That was a hell of a thing you did up there on the roof. You saved Burke's life. How did you come up with that antidote for the curare?"

"You said Snow got into my head. I tried to get into his. I guess it paid off."

"Well, you did good. If you ever want a job in Violent Crimes?"

"Thanks, but I' think I'll stick with White Collar."

"Take care of yourself, Caffrey."

"Hey Neal, Peter's asking for you." Jones stepped into the hall.

"How you holding up," Neal smiled.

"That's my line."

"Looks like somebody's feeling better. The doctor says you should make a full recovery."

"Neal, I want to thank you for what you did. I know it was hard..."

"It's OK, I'm OK."

"I don't feel any sense of regret. Snow caused a lot of pain and destruction."

"I know."

"Hey boss, I'm sorry to interrupt. But NYPD just released their report. I'm not sure you want to hear this."

"What is it, Diana?"

"They couldn't locate a body."

"That's impossible. I saw him go over that roof." Neal's pulse was racing. he was trembling.

"What are you saying?" Peter pulled himself up into a siting position, and looked at Neal in disbelief.

Nobody spoke. The room went silent, just the hum of medical equipment. The thought pounded through Neal's brain. He flew.

WCWCWC

New Jersey Correctional Facility.

A week later.

"Keller, get up. You got a visitor."

"Who is it?"

"Do I look like your event planner?" the guard shrugged.

"Put your hands out. It's an FBI agent. I think his name is Burke. I think that was on the badge he flashed."

"My old friend Peter Burke, about time."

Matthew Keller grinned as he shuffled down the hall, for his meeting.

Ambrose sat patiently, waiting for his visitor.

The end or just the beginning.

Author's note: Thanks so much to all of you for the great reviews and interest in my story. It's been incredibly gratifying and supportive. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. Good reading.