Chapter XIV

When Francis Platz, Esquire himself, senior attorney of one of the largest criminal law firms in the country, came down from the 40th floor penthouse of Broadway and Fifth, better known as Platz Plateau, with his hat in his hand and knocked on the door to Hannah Magill's first floor office in the Federal Prosecutor's suite in the Department of Justice Building in Federal Plaza, she looked up from her desk, stacked high with folders and laughed in his face.

"Life imprisonment without possibility of parole. Please Hannah, come on, you're killing me here. Give me a break, for old time sake."

"Francis, this case makes me feel young again."

"They'll plead, all of them to everything."

"But Francis, dear, I haven't had so much fun in my entire life. I haven't slept in weeks getting ready for this trial yet I feel exhilarated. I've still got dozens of crates, not files mind you, but crates of evidence, statements and photographs to go through." She pointed to those self same crates piled up in her office, a guard posted to insure their security, in the case of the people vs. Rufus Gooch aka Count Rudolph Armeni, Matthew Keller and Troy Miller.

"Hmmm," she said looking at the evidence; hand on chin, her fingers tapping against her cheek. "So many charges, so little time and the counts just keep piling up. Should I start with destruction of aircraft, motor vehicles, or related facilities resulting in death, first-degree murder, murder for hire, murder committed at an airport serving international civil aviation, murder with the intent of preventing testimony by a witness, victim, or informant? Decisions, decisions. I could just start with the non-capital offenses, keep those upstanding citizens sweating in prison for a few years while I work my way up. Piracy is nice, so is terrorism, I hear Gitmo is beautiful this time of year. I haven't even sorted through what we'll cede to the state prosecutors up and down the entire east coast, just for now. All those assault charges, burglary, possession of stolen merchandise, sale of stolen merchandise, wow. Oh, and did I mention all the petitions from foreign governments just itching to get their hands on your clients' collective asses. We're going to have a field day in disbursing the money we've taken in criminal forfeitures; there was enough for two entire containers, more than 15 billion dollars and that's before we auction the ship. This may pay for the government health care plan all by itself. You think it's a good time to ask for a raise?"

"You're prime witness won't hold up. You saw what I did to him last time. I'll rip Caffrey to shreds. Before I'm done with him he'll be sobbing on the witness stand and begging to go back to prison himself."

"After what Armeni did to him, Platz, I'm not letting you anywhere near that poor dear boy. I don't have to. I've got signed affidavits indicating that Caffrey had been issued, in essence, a license to kill, sanctioned by the highest authorities. And as for attacks on Caffrey's character, despite what that psychopath Armeni did to him," she threw down photographs of Neal taken at the hospital, and had the satisfaction of seeing Platz look ill, "he still took the high road. He's proven that he's one of the most honorable people I've ever met. So you go ahead. You do your worst because now I have the evidence to put 1000 lethal injections into their arms and I haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet."

"Yeah, the good stuff, like Caffrey butchering Karina Vaslow."

"And of course, you have proof of that."

"Somehow that evidence disappeared."

"How ironic."

"I do have the report made by Caffrey himself."

"Yes, which states Armeni's man Link physically held him immobile and forced his arm down. Considering all the other things Armeni did to him, in public, in front of witnesses who are just begging to be heard for reduced sentences, gee; I wonder who a jury will believe?"

"Okay Hannah, we've both been in this game long enough to know when there's a deal to be made. What do you want?'

"I'll tell you what, you want to make my life easier, then have your clients plead guilty on all counts and we'll just go right on to sentencing with no motions to appeal. I won't even ask them to allocute. That would take at least another decade in court."

"You'll make a recommendation?"

"Sure will, I'll recommend that you take the checks they pay you and get them cashed now because it's going to get pretty difficult for you to collect on the rubber ones once I'm done."

"You're going for the death penalty?" he asked astonished.

"Let me count the ways," she said. "Do let the door hit your ass on the way out."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

If Neal heard the words, "It's going to take time," once more, he'd break into the Museum of Modern Art and spray paint 'They're all forgeries," under each and every painting on the wall and then frame the sadist employed by the hospital who was given the job of physical therapist and who had been twisting his leg into ways it was never meant to bend.

"It's going to take time," and Peter too.

"Don't even think it," said Peter who seemed to be able to read minds much better than the Taurus was able to read traffic as he drove Neal from his therapy session back to his loft. The sessions, leaving Neal sore and exhausted, were given after work so he could go home and rest his leg.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

Peter smirked, "Because I can read it in your face."

Neal was insulted. It had taken a while for him to deal with the slowly healing burn scars on his face, but thanks to a friend of Hughes he'd been able to accept himself and look at himself in the mirror again without flashbacks. He'd been practicing his expressions and was sure he'd even gotten his blood flow to his cheeks under control.

They rode in silence for a while. No Neal thought, Can't be anything illegal. Darn. Forgery is out, vandalism, out, breaking and entering, out. Pulling a prank used to be a whole lot easier. Maybe I can have a van filled with thyme delivered to the sadist. She'll have all the thyme she could possibly take. Neal pondered that, tossed it around a bit as he stretched out his leg as much as it was possible in the car.

When Peter had dosed the water he'd given Neal with a powerful pain killer, he hadn't anticipated that Neal would be shot in the leg and do any acrobatics in elevator shafts and cargo holds of cruise liners.

Because Neal hadn't felt pain, he'd overstressed his leg, causing the bullet to bore in deeper and do a lot of muscle damage. Neal had been assured he'd heal but, it was going to take time. He'd only just, finally been able to get rid of the crutches but he still needed to use a cane, a stylish ebony one with a silver handle gifted him by June, but a cane, non-the-less.

"Neal, I've got to ask you a question but if you don't want to answer it, it's okay."

"That's ominous."

"Well, it's a difficult question to ask and I'm sure it will be even more difficult to answer."

Neal braced himself, "Okay."

"Do you want to appear to make a penalty impact statement?"

Neal knew exactly what Peter was talking about. He didn't have to think about it very long. "No."

"Okay."

Peter counted down two minutes.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"Only if you want to tell me."

After a few more blocks Neal spoke. "Do I want them dead? I certainly wouldn't mourn them, I may even dance on their graves. Do I want them to suffer? Yes, I want them to suffer as much as they've hurt me and Kate and Karina, everyone they hurt on that ship and all their victims. That could start to happen in prison but they'll break out, Peter. There's always a way. Even if they didn't Keller managed to have Kate killed when he was still in. Armeni's reach can be very long and Miller, Miller has helped at least a dozen unfit tyrants into power through assassinations and coups. There's someone out there with the power and the means to spring him if they need him, and they probably will. I don't know the solution. If I had one, I'd voice it. But that's not your real question, is it?

Peter quickly looked from the road to him. "No."

"I'm not going to seek revenge."

"You'll be okay with whatever the courts decide?"

"Are you going to trust me that I'm not lying?"

"If, despite what happened to Kate and you, you tell me you'll leave it to the judge and jury no matter what they decide, yes, I will trust you."

"Then yes. I'll leave it to the judge. Besides, it wasn't Keller or Miller or Armeni who started this whole thing. They were all nothing but pawns. They were selling their services but they were pawns none the less. I want to find out who set this whole chain of events in motion," and I won't be able to do that if all my leads get lethal injections.

"We'll get the evidence, Neal, I promise you that."

Neal was a little uncomfortable with how Peter said that. He knew that Peter knew something that he wasn't telling him. But Neal was not a hypocrite. There were things he didn't tell Peter either. Yet Neal trusted Peter and it seemed he'd finally begun to earn Peter's trust, not in all things, but in more than he sometimes felt he deserved. He was surprised to find how important that was. Peter's trust was more valuable to him than any painting, any jewel, much harder to obtain and infinitely harder to safeguard, but he was determined to do everything he could to keep it.

"Speaking of evidence, what ever happened to the file against Alfred Haldon?" Neal asked.

"Don't know. The Regnum Atros was searched from stem to stern and it was not found."

"You know, I wish that we had found it and have done with it. If forensic analysis could prove it was faked then I wouldn't have to worry about someone trying to hold it over my head someday. If they couldn't, well, at least that would put an end to it as well. Right now all I know is that it's out there and there are people who will want to use it against me."

Both men were silent for a while as Peter maneuvered through the midtown evening rush hour traffic. Peter knew that it was more than likely that someone would try to use that evidence at some point against his friend, but at least it would not be today.

"So what is your plan, to frame the therapist for some ridiculous prank?"

Neal gave Peter a sharp look, "How'd you know?"

"And me too, I suppose?"

"Peter," Neal shook his head in wonderment. "You're getting down right scary."

Peter laughed, "So, come on, what were you planning?"

"What, do you think I'm nuts, I'm not going to tell you," Neal sounded affronted.

"Why not?"

"You'll either try to stop me, arrest me, or send me back to prison or any combination of the above."

"Neal, as long as at it doesn't involve breaking any laws, then I might even help you."

Neal turned to face him, his eyes wide in joy and surprise. "Really? You'll help me?"

"Hey, I'm your friend. I'll do anything I can to help you. I'll even take you back to the fireing range so you can learn how to shoot."

"Peter, you know, I'm not a gun guy."

"So no more trips to the firing range?" Peter said, more relieved than he realized he would be.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stick to imagination to get what I want. It's legal, it's a lot more fun," Neal moaned as he stretched out his leg to stop it from cramping again, " and it doesn't hurt."

"I don't know about that," Peter said, thinking just how dangerous Neal's imagination could be.

"Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Would it break any laws to send the sadist on an all expense paid trip to the past? I mean then she could take all the time she wanted, right?"

Peter did a double take. Only Neal.

"As far as I know, the laws of physics are not included in the federal statutes so no, no laws that I could arrest you for," Peter stared, or glared at Neal for a moment before adding, "yet."

Neal leaned his head back with a big smile on his face, "I wonder what Mozzie thinks about the Fermi Paradox. If he thinks it's actually nothing more than a conspiracy by the military industrial complex and big oil, then I bet we can find a way around that."

Peter's head whipped around so fast to stare at Neal, he nearly swerved the car off the road. Only Neal would try to break the laws of Physics. He'd bet money on it that he would too. "Listen Dr. Beckett, no quantum leaps. Trips to the past would definitely violate you're two mile radius."

"Peter! Watch the road or I'll find a way to go back and replace your driver's license with a forgery, if it isn't already."

Inside, Peter rejoiced, Neal Caffrey was back. "Neal Caffrey time traveler," he shook his head, "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid. Please."

Epilogue:

Mei Lin Wong, Interpol agent, surrounded by security guards carried the Amber Music Box, originally owned by Catherine the Great through the Chinese embassy in Moscow to the office door of her revered uncle, Li Hue Wong, the ambassador of the People's Republic of China to the Russian Federation.

Li smiled at his niece, as she bowed to him before.

"Are you well, uncle?"

"I am well, niece."

She set the ornate box in front of him on his desk.

"You have done very well, child. This will bring great respect to us while causing embarrassment and dissension among the Americans, Italians and Germans. Offering to return a piece of their history to the Russians will earn their respect and gratitude, a valuable bargaining advantage in our new economic negotiations.

"Thank you uncle," Mei Lyn frowned. She had not been blind to the anguish Neal Caffrey had suffered through the entire operation.

"What is it my child?"

"We shamefully used an innocent man to achieve our goal. I fear for his future."

"Caffrey is no innocent," her uncle reproved her.

"Compared to us, uncle, he is."

Her uncle grumbled in disgust. "Did you see those photos, the DVD, the evidence, the way he butchered that young woman?"

"Yes, uncle. I saw, but in China Town I saw his honor, and the love he held for an undeserving woman. On the ship I also saw the horror on his face. I don't believe he is capable of that savagery."

"He is a con man, Mei Lin. I hope he did not con you."

"No uncle. I know exactly what Neal Caffrey is and of what he is capable."

"The other matter?"

"I sent the evidence to our American friend as you instructed."

"Good, that butcher will eventually get what he deserves. It will all work out, getting rid of loose ends while seeing justice done, and advancing our place on the world's chess board."

Minutes later, as she left the office of her uncle Mei Lin felt the vibration of her phone and shuddered when she saw that the call was from Dwight McMurphy.

"Hello Mei Lin,"

"Hello, Dwight."

"We need to talk about Neal."

THE END FOR NOW

Well, the ride on this one is over (or is it?) As so many of you have told me, this was a wee bit intense and I was a tad hard on Neal. A lot of people have asked that I write a "comfort" story considering there was so much hurt in this one. I have started plotting one out and as you've read, already surmised, it involves an old friend of Hughes.

To everyone who's read the story, I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. To everyone whose read and reviewed the story, double thank yous for your time and consideration. To everyone who made this one of their favorite stories, thank you, thank you, thank you.

However my greatest thanks are to those who gave me some valuable constructive criticism. I can't express enough my appreciation for that.