PART IV

When Neal and Moz came to the meeting point in Central Park, Sally was already there, sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper. When she noticed them, her eyes stilled for a moment on Mozzie. Then she gave them a subtle nod, stood up and left the newspaper abandoned on the bench.

Mozzie was ready to follow her as she walked out, but Neal stopped him: "Wait."

Mozzie raised his eyebrows. "Wasn't that your contact?"

"Yes."

"But… she's – leaving? Why didn't you…" Mozzie paused. "Oh. The newspaper. She left you a clue."

Neal smiled. "See? I'll make a criminal out of you yet."

"Oh great," said Mozzie sarcastically. Then he nodded to the abandoned bench. "Well then… my feet are tired. Why don't we sit down for a while?"

He headed to the bench before Neal could stop him. With mild amusement, Neal observed how Moz cast a careful look around before picking up the newspaper. For a moment, it looked like he was not sure what to do with it – he turned it around in his hands and looked down at his clothes, filling Neal's mind with a brief disturbing image of Mozzie trying to hide the paper under his shirt – but then he opened the paper and apparently immediately became engrossed in one of their articles.

Neal sat down next to him. "You know, people generally don't become so interested in an article until they've read a few words."

Mozzie tensed, then he dropped his super-interested face and turned the page around. "Stop trying to distract me."

"Try the crossword section," advised Neal.

Casting another glance around, Mozzie slowly flipped the pages until he finally found the place.

The crossword was filled out.

"Is there a message somewhere?" asked Moz. "Wait, I got it. … She used a pencil to solve it and then she rewrote it in pen… but she intentionally misspelled some words... and wrote the message backwards," he finished a few seconds later. "'One hour, Greenhill Street'. … The Greenhill Street?"

Neal almost gaped at Mozzie's speed. But then Moz had always been good with codes.

He stood up. "I know where she means. Let's go."

o - o - o

Although the address was familiar, Neal wouldn't have found the place had he not been there with Sally once before. However, this way he simply came to the familiar door and rang the bell. A few moments later, a boy in his late twenties opened the door and let them inside.

The place that Sally chose for a meeting was a small club that resembled a mix of a library, tearoom and playroom. There were several wooden desks with chairs that might have been painted by the owner himself a long time ago; then shelves lined with old books and records, stacks of newspapers and magazines, game boards for chess and Parcheesi, decks of cards, boxes with puzzles, and finally posters on the walls that depicted superheroes and spaceships.

The club wasn't private per say, but few people actually knew about it. It was owned by a group of friends, and according to what Sally told Neal, it was often quite full during the evenings. However, right now the place was completely vacated, except for the man who let them inside and Sally. The latter was already sitting behind one of the tables, sipping tea from a big mug and working on a Sudoku.

"Hey," Neal greeted her with a smile as he sat down on the opposite chair. Mozzie took the place next to him.

"You know, I was actually half-hoping that you wouldn't show up," said Sally, still seemingly focused on her Sudoku.

"Ouch. How can you say that?"

"You bring trouble even on your best day. At a time like this, the sensible thing would be to stay the hell away."

"Don't tell me you started living the sensible life now," smirked Neal.

"Well since I'm here, that should answer your question." Quickly filling out the last four squares in her grid, Sally turned to Moz. "So you're Neal's friend, the biologist."

Mozzie cleared his throat. "As Cousteau said, I am but a curious man looking through a keyhole of nature."

Sally raised her eyebrows.

Mozzie blushed. "That means yes. Yes, I'm a biologist. Or at least I was before… well, before this whole thing went down."

Sally nodded. "I understand. … I'm Sally."

"Mozzie," he introduced himself by his nickname.

There was a moment of silence.

"I'll get us something to drink," said Neal at last and rose up, going to the next room where the local bartender had his station.

When he returned ten minutes later with two mugs of tea, it seemed that Sally and Moz had engaged in an animated conversation about corruption, corporations and pharmaceutical companies.

"These things are growing like monsters," commented Sally.

"Exactly!" agreed Moz, right before Neal sat down and passed him his cup of tea.

"There you go."

Mozzie mutedly nodded in thanks. Apparently, the conversation had died with Neal's arrival.

"Right." Neal cleared his throat. "Look… I think it's time we talked about why we're here."

Mozzie glanced at him before he looked at Sally in a silent question.

"Fine with me," said Sally.

"Okay," said Mozzie. He took off his glasses and cleared them before turned back to Sally. "Just so we're clear – how much did Neal actually tell you?"

"The "secret group" is after you," said Sally. "You need my skills to get some intelligence about them. What I don't get is why the sudden interest?"

Mozzie stared at the board of the desk. When he looked up, his sight was clouded. "I used to work on a project that was connected to "Them"," he admitted. "Only back then, I didn't actually know that "They" were using the knowledge for – certain wrongdoings. I didn't even know that "They" were involved at all. But then one day, I came across… something, and I discovered what "They" were up to. But then "They" found out that – "

"Enough. Please."

Mozzie and Sally both looked at Neal.

"Sorry Moz, but…" Neal already felt a beginning of a headache. He turned to Sally. "Look, if we talk in codes, we'll still be there by midnight. So tell me, is it safe here to speak openly, or do we need to move elsewhere?"

Mozzie scowled. Sally looked thoughtful, then she bit her lip. "I'll talk to Dave – the man at the bar," she explained. "He's a friend… if I ask him, I think he can lock the place down and give us an hour of privacy. It's not like there are any guests right now."

"Won't he mind?" asked Mozzie at the same moment when Neal said, "Won't he get suspicious?"

"Let me deal with that," said Sally.

Ten minutes later, "Dave" lent his keys to the club to Sally and left. They were alone.

"All right. So what is the deal with the CIA?"

Mozzie and Neal exchanged a look.

"It's kind of a long story…"

o - o - o

"So… you need me to somehow break into the CIA files to find out the location of a specific lab," said Sally some time later.

A pause.

"Yes…" said Mozzie hesitantly.

"That's insane."

Neal grimaced. "More like desperate."

Sally sighed. "Look, I sympathize with your cause. But you don't know the project's name. You don't even know where to start."

"A-actually, that we might know," Mozzie interceded. "From what I gathered, it looks like the CIA was using my university as one of their research centers. Could you access the data through that link?"

Sally hesitated. "Maybe," she said at last. "It's possible. I can look into it."

"I can tell you about it," blurted Mozzie. He blushed when Sally looked at him. "I mean… I have perfect recall. I can tell you about the university. And the documents I saw. And… whatever you need."

"I don't think –"

"I want to help," interrupted her Mozzie. "I won't get in your way. I can… make you coffee, or whatever – I won't get in the way. But this is my problem. I need to do something."

Neal observed the conversation in silence.

For a moment, Sally and Mozzie stared at each other. Sally seemed to be in the middle of making a decision. At last she nodded. "Very well. But I'll need my equipment. You'll have to go to my place."

Her place?

Neal grinned. "Wait, so the only thing I needed to get invited over to your place was to have the CIA after me?"

"You are not invited," replied Sally sweetly. "Just your friend."

"But –"

"I like you, Neal, but I sure as hell don't trust you."

"If something happens –"

"I'll contact you," interrupted him Sally. "But if you want my help, it will be on my terms."

Mozzie glanced at Neal. He liked Sally at first glance, but he didn't know her like Neal did. Was she trustworthy?

Neal seemed to think it over before he turned back to their companion. "All right, as you wish."

Sally smiled and turned to Moz. "Good. Why don't we start right away?"

o - o - o

As he was making dinner in their temporary apartment, Neal let out a sigh.

It had been two days since they had made contact with Sally. Apparently, she and Moz were still muddling through the vast records of Mozzie's university. They had to be careful, Mozzie had relayed; leaving any trail could be disastrous at this point. Although he understood the reasoning, Neal was still getting impatient for a breakthrough – and at the same time, he was dreading it.

If they found the evidence – what were they going to do?

The truth was that after thinking it over from different angles – he still had no idea.

Staring out of the window at the familiar skyline, he wished that Mozzie had been willing to go with their initial plan. Neal used to love New York, the city that never slept; for all his ties to it, the city always made him feel strangely liberated. But now he felt restless, tied down, trapped. He couldn't contact any of his people in case that they were being watched. He couldn't go back to his job, and he couldn't come within a hundred feet of any museum or gallery. He wished he could drop by at Hale's or return to his place at June's. But for Mozzie's sake, he had to be careful.

Mozzie.

Neal still wasn't sure where Sally had her place. He trusted her – or as much as you could trust a hacker who nicknamed herself "the Vulture" – but he wasn't sure that she truly understood the dangers outside of her virtual world. And every day, Moz came to her place when she called him; traveling on his own, vulnerable, unprotected. If anything happened…

Calm down, it will be fine.

Will it?

Neal stared at the Chrysler building in the horizon and wished that he was back in the time when his only concern was for himself.

A beeping of the oven told him that the dinner was done.

Neal hoped that Mozzie would be home soon.

o - o - o

Peter didn't even try to hide his smile as he came out of the interrogation room and met with his team.

"Well, it looks like Chang is willing to give us all the information on his partner in exchange for a deal."

Diana smiled. "Good job, boss."

Peter cleared his throat. "All right, listen up! Great job, everyone. Jones, Diana, I trust you can wrap it up here?"

"You in a hurry for your date with Elizabeth?" grinned Jones.

"Yes, and don't call me unless there's a dead body," replied Peter.

Diana and Jones exchanged a look. "Got it. Enjoy your dinner, boss."

Peter smiled again. "I fully intend to."

Collecting things into his briefcase, Peter then took the elevator and headed to the parking garage. It had been a good day, he thought contently. The only thing missing from perfection was the fact that they hadn't found any new lead on Neal and his friend. What were they doing now?

Oh damn - he was doing it again.

He would not obsess about Neal, especially not now. As Peter started his car, he thought about El and the fact that they were finally going to have that dinner that he had promised her. With a bit of guilt, he realized that it had been way too long since they last went out together. Although both Peter and El had busy careers, the last few weeks had been mostly on him.

Peter was surprised when he realized just how much he was looking forward to this dinner. Right there and then, he decided that job or no job, he needed to spend more time with El.

They would find a way to make it work out. They always did.

Peter smiled.

o - o - o

"Well, that's it."

"You mean…"

"That's all I can get from the university," said Sally.

"Oh." Feeling numb, Mozzie stared at the computer screen. "Well, thanks for trying."

"Don't worry, I'm not done yet," said Sally resolutely. "But I figured that this is as good time as any to take a break."

"Sure. Whatever you need."

Stretching her shoulders, Sally stood up and left the room, leaving Mozzie alone still staring at the screen.

So… this was it.

He had been right, thought Moz mirthlessly, that much Sally had been able to tell him. According to her, someone had repeatedly accessed his research – and they had done a hell of a job to cover their tracks. However, when Sally had tried to follow the trail, she had hit a dead end. As she commented, 'whoever was behind that knew exactly what they were doing.'

He had been right, but he was just as helpless as before when it came to proving it.

He was still deep in thoughts when his cell-phone beeped. He looked at it and discovered a new text.

Hey. Care for something 2 drink?

Staring at Sally's message, Mozzie slowly grinned. The first time she had done this, his reaction had been one of alarm and paranoia, thinking that they had been found. Sally's lair was a large loft apartment with open space and newspaper-covered walls; why text him when she could just as easily call him and he would have heard her? But that had been three days ago – and since then, Mozzie had gotten used to her quirk.

"Coming," he called and turned around. Then he followed Sally into the kitchen. "Hey, I…" Suddenly, his breath got caught in his throat.

Sally was barefoot, dressed only in a tank top and shorts. She was faced away from him, rummaging through the drawers around the kitchen counter before she opened the fridge and crouched down by it. "So, orange juice? Tomato? Cranberry?" She paused for a moment before she stood up and turned around. "Or if you're not too thirsty, we could have a real drink."

When Mozzie remained silent, Sally looked his way. "Hey! Earth to Mozzie. What do you want to drink?"

"Oh.! Right, the drink! Umm… yeah." Shaking his head to stop staring at Sally's perfect profile, Moz cleared his throat. "The orange juice would be perfect, thanks."

Sally smiled. "Cool."

She poured them both a glass and gracefully took the bar-chair by the kitchen counter. Self-consciously, Mozzie climbed the chair next to her, his feet awkwardly dangling in the air. For a while, they sipped the juice in silence.

"So, where do we go from now?" asked Mozzie at last.

"We'll see. I have a couple ideas," said Sally with a shrug. She reached for more of the juice when she winced and tensed. "Ouch."

"What?" asked Moz.

Sally sighed. "I think I've been sitting in front of the screen for too long. My back and shoulders are all stiff."

"Oh." Mozzie tilted his head. "Well, I could try to… help with that."

Sally stared at him across the counter. Then she smiled. "Are you offering to give me a massage?"

That was exactly what he had been thinking. And the way she said it… but was he deluding himself?

"Umm. Maybe? I could try… I don't know if I'm any good, but–"

Suddenly his phone beeped. Mozzie jerked in surprise before he realized that Sally had texted him again. He hadn't even noticed that she held the phone in her hand hanging freely by her side.

"Uh…"

Offer accepted.

He grinned. "Right. I'll do my best."

He started climbing down the chair when he realized that Sally was still typing.

Meet me in my bedroom?

Mozzie stilled.

Did she really just…

"Wow. That is… If-if I understand this right…"

Sally lifted an eyebrow at Mozzie's stammering. "Is that a yes?"

She did mean it.

"That is – yes! I mean… I mean if you're sure?"

Sally smiled. "I'll be waiting."

o - o - o

"Finally!" Neal exhaled in relief when Mozzie closed the door to their apartment. "It's almost midnight. Where the hell have you been?" Although he had known that Mozzie was with Sally, he had spent the last two hours imagining all the ways things could have gone wrong.

Mozzie had been randomly recognized. Mozzie and Sally had attracted the CIA's attention and had been dragged away. Mozzie had been run over by a random cab or killed in a street mugging.

Now who was getting paranoid here.

"I got delayed at Sally's place," replied Moz after he took off his jacket and left it at the coat-rack. "Anyway. Do you want the good news first or the bad news?"

"The bad news?"

"We'll have to hack the CIA database," said Mozzie.

"Damn it." Neal ran a hand through his hair. "I was really hoping that Sally would find a way to avoid that."

"Well you did initially contact her with that idea," Mozzie pointed out.

"True. But I hoped that she'd find a way that wouldn't make it necessary. … This is bad, Moz."

"Yeah, I figured that, Neal."

Neal paused. "You know, I've been thinking… there is one other way. It would be risky, but… if I went to your university and poked around –"

"We're too late," interrupted him Moz. "According to Sally, the CIA have erased all traces of their presence there. There's nothing there now."

"Damn it."

Neal dropped himself into an armchair and buried his face in his hands.

Mozzie sat down opposite him. "Hey man, it's not so bad. I mean, Sally and a computer – she is awesome. We'll find a way."

Neal raised his head. "Yeah, when you still don't know even where to look?"

"We do now." Mozzie gave him a triumphant smile. "We got some names."

Neal looked at him in surprise. "You… what?"

"A few of the people at the university apparently knew what was going on. We found out through the emails. It's not much, but…"

"But it's something factual."

For a moment, Neal and Mozzie remained in thoughtful silence.

"They probably used code-names for them," stated Neal at lost.

"Probably. But…"

"But it's a start," said Neal.

Mozzie smiled. "Exactly. It's a start."

o - o - o

The next few days went by fast, and before long, Neal realized that it had already been a week since they came to New York. However, they still didn't know the location of the CIA laboratory, although Mozzie had assured him that he and Sally were making good progress.

As he was staring at the calendar one day, it occurred to Neal that tomorrow was June's charity event, an art auction for the American Kidney Association. Nearly three months ago, he had helped June find the place and talked to the event planner with her, making sure that everything would run smoothly. While June might not have really needed his assistance, she had allowed it, and Neal had really appreciated the opportunity. It involved art, it enabled him to repay June a bit for her everyday kindness and friendship, it was for a good cause – and the planning had been a lot of fun. Neal had been genuinely looking forward to accompanying June to the auction.

Except now that wasn't possible.

June had put a lot of effort into the fundraiser. Hopefully the evening would go well, without any hitches. Then Neal thought of June – of course it would go well. June was a force to be reckoned with, as anyone who might mistake her smooth manners for weakness realized sooner or later.

He had made June a promise that he was about to break. For a moment, Neal truly wished that he could go, and if this had been just about him, he would have found a way one way or another. But he had to think about Moz and even Sally. Alerting the FBI to their presence in New York could only lead to a disaster.

Even though he couldn't come to the auction, Neal wanted to let June know that he was okay, give her a sign that he didn't forget about her. He would have to stay inconspicuous, but there had to be a way. June was a smart woman, she could figure out whatever code or message he sent her.

Then he got just the right idea.

Flowers – elegant, classic and simple. They would raise no suspicion and only June would know what was going on.

Nothing could go wrong with it.

o - o - o

While Sally was asleep, Mozzie shifted in the bed, careful not to pull the sheet off her as he picked up his clothes from the floor. When he was mostly dressed, he stood up and quietly made his way to the kitchen. The pot of tea was still on the counter where they had left it. Mozzie poured himself a cup and then sat down by the table.

And wondered what the hell he was doing here.

Everything had been different a month ago. He had been busy with getting the approval for the next stage of their testing. He had been worried about trying to persuade his boss to possibly approach another department for cooperation. He had been both nervous and excited about the celebration party for their extremely promising results, because even years later, he still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that unlike high school, he wasn't that odd kid anymore and his team actually accepted him. He had been planning to arrange for a weekend with his dad. Finally, he had been thinking about asking out Martha, the cute receptionist that he had met a few times when he had been to the hospital to discuss his project with the medical teams.

It had been a perfectly ordinary life, with boring rules and taxes and daily routine. It was the kind of life that had seemed like a Holy Grail once – a myth, a legend, something unattainable to the little kid in the orphanage who secretly hoped that one day his parents would come and take him home. To the outside world, Mozzie had officially given up on that dream once he had turned six years old; he had given up on it after being framed for the theft in his first foster family; had given up on it after being beaten down in the streets of Detroit – until Mr. Jeffries introduced him to the Handersons. Then over the years, the dream somehow had become reality.

Now it was all gone, and Mozzie couldn't even begin to grasp how he felt about that anymore.

He wanted his life back, of course. That was the right answer anyway.

He had never thought that he would be in a relationship with an FBI-wanted hacker. And he hadn't been this close to Neal in years.

He didn't even know Sally's real name, although she knew his.

Even if the CIA eventually left him alone, he couldn't just step back into his old shoes. He could not pretend that nothing happened.

Could he?

Was he Paul Handerson? Was he Mozzie? Either way, he certainly knew how to pick the right time for existential doubts, thought Moz sarcastically.

Maybe, as the Bard himself once said, 'all the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players'.

"Well, now I feel truly flattered. Did you really ditch me just to stare at an empty tea mug?"

Mozzie looked up at Sally in the doorway. "Of course not! I –" He paused. "Oh. You're kidding."

Sally gave him a small smile. "Am I?"

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence awkward yet not really uncomfortable.

"I think –"

"You know –"

They both stopped mid-sentence. Then they chuckled.

Finally, it was Sally who spoke. "All right! Let's get back to work."

Mozzie left his cup on the kitchen counter and followed her to her computers.

o - o - o

The "art auction" had been going on for only an hour or so, yet Peter was already hard-pressed to keep a pleasant-slash-interested expression and play the part of a good escort.

He repeatedly reminded himself that this was for a good cause. He nodded and laughed at all the right places as he and Elizabeth carried out another meaningless conversation with a group of rich people that he had never seen before in his life. Following the example of the others, he spent a few seconds staring at the finger paintings made by sick kids and then ignored them for discussions about movie stars and politics. Eventually though, Peter decided that he truly needed a break.

"You're absolutely right, Amanda. Will you excuse me for a moment?" he said to El and the group potential contributors and slipped to the restroom.

Once inside, Peter pressed his palms against the sink and released a breath of relief.

After calming down, he took care of the business and washed his hands. With a bit of a guilty feeling, he took out his smart phone to check the current score of the Yankee game that was still being played. Peter smiled when he realized that his team seemed to be winning, and silently mourned the fact that he was there on this event instead of at home, watching the game on TV. Then he sighed and went to once again rejoin the auction.

Right across the hall, Elizabeth was involved in an animated discussion with some potential contributors. As he observed her from afar, Peter felt the negative emotions slip away and slowly formed a smile. El looked truly gorgeous tonight in her sleek, fashionable dress, high heels, pulled-up hair and bright shining smile. Peter could tell that El was enjoying herself, navigating the sea of higher class society in a graceful manner that had always evaded him, and for a moment, Peter just watched her talking to various people and admired how she seemingly always found a common topic with them, always appeared to be interested even though she must have inevitably been bored at times, always found a way to make them feel special.

Then suddenly, Elizabeth looked his way. She smiled, excused herself and walked across the hall to meet Peter in front of some of the children's paintings.

"Hey hon," she greeted him. "So, who's winning the match?"

"What?" Peter was startled that she had seen right through him. "El, I didn't –"

Elizabeth gave him a knowing look. "Honey, how long have we been married?"

"But I –" Peter sighed. "Twelve years," he answered dutifully. "And all right, you know me, I was checking the score. I'm sorry hon –"

"Well who's winning then?"

Peter stilled. Then he grinned at El's bossy tone and retold her what little he had learned from his smart phone.

"I'm recording it… we could watch it later if you wanted."

"You mean, just the two of us, a couple beers, Satchmo at our feet –"

"Exactly."

El smiled. "Sounds great."

Peter could never understand how in the world had he gotten so lucky that he had married this woman.

El lightly squeezed his hand. "Now come on, let's mingle."

Together, they circled the room and stopped in front of some of the paintings. They read the text on the information boards to learn a bit more about the charity and stopped for a while at the buffet table.

"I'm so glad you went with me, Peter," said El at last. "You know I love organizing these things. But it's so nice sometimes to just be there as an observer and not to have to handle everything… to watch how the competition works, relax, have fun…"

Peter smiled. "I understand."

"Look," said Elizabeth suddenly. "There's June Ellington. Let's go say hi."

"Hon, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe you should go without me –"

"Nonsense! She'll be happy to see you. Besides, June's a professional. Now come on!"

Peter silently debated the merits of talking El out of her idea. He had met June at a few events before and they had been on semi-friendly terms – that is, until recently, when he had started investigating Neal again. He was sure that June would be less than pleased with his presence here. In the end though, his desire to please El and admittedly also his curiosity won over his doubts.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Their conversation turned out to be short, polite and perfectly non-informative. El and June had barely exchanged some pleasantries and talked a bit about the charity when they were interrupted by the head of the security.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Ellington. I need to talk to you for a moment."

"It seems like I have to go," said June with a smile. "Elizabeth, Agent Burke – I hope to see you later."

"Of course," replied El.

They watched as June and the man walked away. Peter could distantly hear June ask a question and receiving a short answer before they continued on in silence.

"Well!" exclaimed El suddenly. "How about we –"

"Hold on, hon," interrupted her Peter suddenly.

June and the security leader were walking out of the room. June Ellington, a known friend of Neal Caffrey…

'He wouldn't,' thought Peter. And yet his gut was screaming at him that this was important.

"I need to check this out," he stated aloud.

Elizabeth frowned. "Peter…? Peter!"

But Peter's attention was fixed on June and her companion, watching as they slipped out and closed the door behind themselves.

"He's there," he said at last.

"What…"

"Neal's there."

"What?! Peter. Not today –"

"I'm sorry hon," said Peter. Abandoning his wife, he swiftly walked across the room to where June Ellington had disappeared. He threw the door open.

"Oh."

"Is there a problem, sir?"

Caffrey wasn't there. Instead, both June and the security chief turned to him, seemingly interrupted in the middle of a discussion.

"Agent Burke. Are you looking for something?" asked June in a polite but dismissive tone. She was holding a vase with a beautiful bouquet.

"No, I – I must have gotten the wrong door. I apologize."

Blushing heavily, Peter closed the door again and turned around, only to come head to head with Elizabeth.

"Peter…?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, El," he said at last.

"I can't do this again," said El slowly. "I won't."

"El, my job –"

"This isn't about you being an agent," interrupted him Elizabeth. "It's about this – this obsessive mindset that you fall into whenever Neal is involved."

"Hon –"

"Four years, Peter! For four years of our marriage you were chasing him. I just – "

"I know." Peter swallowed. "I know. And I'm sorry."

He had known that the last time had been hard on El. But only now did he realize how bad it had probably been.

El sighed. "Just promise me that this won't be like the last time?"

"It won't. I promise."

Suddenly, the door opened again and both June and her head of security walked out.

"Thank you for your help, Martin," said June to the chief. Then she nodded at them. "Agent Burke, Elizabeth. I hope that you are enjoying the evening."

Peter smiled. "We are, thank you."

With one more smile at them, June walked away, the flowers that Peter had seen her with before still in her hands.

Turning back to El, Peter cleared his throat. "Look, how about we call it a night and go home? I mean, we don't have to, but – "

"Now that was one expensive flower," stated Elizabeth suddenly.

Peter frowned. It seemed that El wasn't paying any attention to him. "Sorry?"

Shaking her head, El turned back to him and smiled. "I'm sorry, I was just admiring June's bouquet… from Banchet Flowers, you know. Anyway, what did you say to me?"

"What was special about that flower?" asked Peter.

"It's from Banchet Flowers," repeated El. "They're one of the New York's best florists… pretty expensive though. Those vases are typical for them."

"Wait a second…"

Peter paused. An idea was suddenly forming in his head…

"I need to get a photo of that flower."

o - o - o

When Neal came into his temporary apartment that day, he was in a better mood than he had been for weeks.

According to his source, June's fundraiser yesterday evening had been a huge success; Mozzie insisted that he and Sally were on a brink of a breakthrough, the CIA hadn't found them yet…

And he had made a back-up plan for them if everything went to hell or worse.

For a second, Neal grimaced.

Mozzie wouldn't have liked the back-up plan. He had made them both foolproof identities – using the birth certificates of dead infants, something that he had always abhorred and swore never to do. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, what Moz didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and if this was what it took to keep his friend safe, then Neal would rather pay the price with his conscience than see him hurt.

Tonight, he would tell Mozzie about the location of their "Plan B" kit. Softly humming to himself and putting on an apron, Neal started making dinner.

The sauce was good, decided Neal half an hour later, although it could maybe use a pinch of pepper to highlight the taste. He put the pasta off the stove and started playing with the sauce. He smiled when he heard the sound of the door opening. "Hey, Moz. How did it go tonight?"

He turned around, the cooking spoon half the way to his mouth. Then he froze.

"I guess this makes me 2-0."

"Peter – "

"Hello again, Neal. You're under arrest."

o - o - o

Staring at the blue screen, Mozzie was barely breathing.

At last, he casted a look at Sally. "Do you think…"

"I don't think, I know."

There, in small letters at the bottom of some financial records, was the name that they had been trying to discover for nearly two weeks.

PROJECT LETHE.

Mozzie swallowed.

"I need to tell Neal," he said at last.

"Sure," said Sally with a shrug.

With his hands shaking, Mozzie pulled out his phone and dialed Neal's number. The cell phone rang.

… and rang….

…and rang.

"What the…"

'This user has not activated their voicemail yet. Try again later,' said an artificial voice at the other end of the line.

"Of course he hasn't activated his voicemail," exclaimed Mozzie. "It's not like we're trying to be found or something."

Sally stood up and loosely put her arms around Mozzie's shoulders. "Hey. What's going on?"

Moz exhaled. "Neal's not picking up my call."

"Well, he probably just stepped out of the room," said Sally reasonably.

"Yeah. Probably." Mozzie dialed the number again, trying to suppress his irrational feeling of unease.

Sally pressed a small kiss on the side of his neck and then pulled back. "You want some tea?"

"Sure! Great!"

The cellphone rang again…

'This user has not activated their voicemail yet. Try again later.'

"Neal, what the hell –"

For the third time, Mozzie dialed the familiar number.

And finally, Neal picked up.

"Neal!" exclaimed Mozzie. "Thank God – I was getting worried. Why weren't you –"

Mozzie stilled as he heard the sound of something breaking from the other end of the line.

"Neal…?"

Distant cursing. Yelling. Scratching sounds.

"They found me," wheezed Neal weakly. "Peter… I made a mistake…"

Mozzie's insides turned into ice. "What… Who –"

Running footsteps. More yelling. A thud and a yelp. Tires screeching, the sound of a honking car…

"NEAL! What's going on?"

…

"Don't go back."

"Hey, you can't – "

"I'll ditch the phone in a minute. If I don't contact you again in an hour, get out of the country. Tell your companion "first time, park". She'll know what I meant. There's papers, money… enough to get you started."

"I'm not leaving you," said Mozzie resolutely. "If you get caught, I'll find you."

A chuckle. "Good joke, Moz."

"It wasn't a joke, Neal."

Instead of running footsteps, Neal apparently slowed down into quick pace. "Don't be stupid. The CIA will –"

"I don't care! I'm not abandoning you!"

"Moz, listen to me – GET. OUT."

Mozzie took a deep breath. "If you don't tell me how can I help, I'll turn myself over to the CIA."

Silence.

"Trust the Suit then," said Neal at last.

The Suit…?

"Goodbye, Moz."

"What? Neal. NEAL!"

But the phone was dead.

Frantically, Mozzie dialed the number again. And waited.

Defeating silence.

Finally… 'This user has not activated their voicemail yet. Try again later.'

Mozzie dialed the number again.

'This user has not activated their voicemail yet. Try again later.'

Again.

'This user has not activated their voicemail yet. Try again later.'

Again.

Again.

Again…

Finally, someone put a hand on his shoulder.

Looking up, Mozzie saw Sally standing by him again. Judging by her troubled expression, she had overheard at least most of the conversation. Together, they waited in silence.

An hour passed.

Two hours.

At some point, Sally left. When she returned, she placed a cup of tea in front of Moz. He didn't acknowledge her presence even as she gently intertwined her hand in his and squeezed his fingers.

They waited until the evening. Then they waited through the night.

"Moz. He's not going to call."

Silence.

"Moz!"

"Paul."

At last, Mozzie looked at Sally.

"It's already past dawn. He's not going to call, Moz."

Dizzily, Mozzie stood up. "I need to… to…" Sally caught his arm before he stumbled.

"Hey… Easy."

Mozzie closed his eyes and released a haggard breath. When he opened them, he was burning with new resolution. "I assume that you made sure that we couldn't have been electronically tracked…"

"I did."

"Good."

Silence.

"Let's get breakfast," suggested Sally after a while.

"I'm going to find this "Suit"," stated Mozzie. "I'm going to find Neal. And then I'll make them pay."

There was a hesitation before Sally gave him a sharp nod. "I can tell you where to start."

END OF PART ONE

A/N: This story now has a sequel called Conspiracies: Revelations. You can find it on my profile.

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