"I got here as soon as I could," Wilson said the second he stepped out of the elevator.
"Maggie's in the conference room," Peter told him, "giving a statement to one of my agents."
"Thought her name was Rocker."
"It's her nickname."
"Using a nickname was smart," the kid said as they moved to the conference room. "Makes it harder for the Burmese to decode."
"Unfortunately, not hard enough," Peter sighed as they took the steps up from the bullpen and walked into the room where Maggie, waiting, thumbing on a laptop. "Miss Sheldon, would you mind telling Mr. Wilson from the State Department what you told us?"
The girl nodded.
"Maggie, I'm Chris' dad."
"The Mr. Wilson?" she asked with something that Peter associated with respect or at least positive association. Wilson nodded. "Someone broke into my place this morning while I was out."
"The Burmese got to her first," Neal told Wilson.
"You know what they were looking for?" Peter asked.
"They stole my external hard drive, but I keep a backup flash drive of my cut footage on me," she said and opened her colorful backpack. "Chris was in Burma getting information about the rebel movement."
She pushed the flash drive into her laptop.
"Chris was?" Wilson asked, frowning. "Why?"
"He's doing a documentary about the democracy of the region," she said. "Well, this came in last week."
They gathered around her computer.
She started the movie. There was Chris and a local guy, as close buddies.
"I should have gotten Tonkyo drunk before," Chris said to the camera. "He admitted to having cousins in the KNLA. There's a secret camp near the Indian border. We're going there now before he sobers up. I'll drop this in the snail toss on the way, all right? I love you."
"What's the KNLA?" Peter asked.
"The KNLA is a rebel group," Wilson said.
"The Burmese government has been trying to shut them down for decades," Rocker said.
"The Burmese officials must have found out he was filming, pinned the ruby theft on him as a cover-up."
"I wish I'd known," Wilson said, digging a hole of self-pity. "I should have known."
"Chris is bullheaded," Maggie returned. "He likes to do everything on his own."
"Yeah, but I could have helped him with safer access. This is all my fault."
"Chris doesn't blame you for anything." The young woman looked at Wilson, who chuckled with a sigh, wanting to believe her. "I think you should see this."
She opened another film from her drive.
There was Chris again, sitting in a tent, with the same T-shirt he had on the video they got from the Burmese.
"Progress is...slow on this remote plateau, but a wise man once said, 'slow progress is lasting progress.' Wait a minute. My dad said that. I'm quoting my dad." The young man chuckled. "Kind of cool." Then artillery fire was heard, and a nearby explosion. "I got to go. I love you."
"That rocket attack resulted in over half a dozen civilian casualties and was documented by the Red Cross and Physicians Without Borders," Maggie told them.
"We can use that to establish Chris' whereabouts at the time of the theft," the kid said.
"Yes, we can," Peter agreed. Finally something positive. Jones came in. "Jones, anything?"
"Yeah, a bank ATM cam shows diplomatic plates arriving and then leaving the front of miss Sheldon's building several minutes later."
Peter hated lies and he hated when people hid behind diplomatic immunity. That was not why they had a diplomatic system and common rules of conduct.
"I think we should go pay our friend the Burmese ambassador a little visit," he told his pet convict.
To Neal's pleasure, Peter brought out the red, flashing light, and drove in right in front of the diplomatic car that stopped outside the embassy. Another FBI car blocked at the other end. It was a pity the diplomatic car was not leaving but had just arrived.
Neal got out, and from their targeted car stepped miss Suu Ram out.
"Hello again," he grinned.
"Mr. Caffrey. Agent Burke. How can I help you?"
"This car was spotted at the scene of a crime."
"Another parking violation. I will speak to my driver."
Neal studied her. She looked honest.
"It's a little more serious than that," he said. "Someone broke into an apartment in Brooklyn."
"I'd like my agent to search the vehicle," Peter said. Suu Ram shrugged.
"Please."
"Would it be all right if we searched you, as well?" Peter asked.
She smiled at looked Neal right in the eye.
"I wouldn't mind at all."
"They don't let me do the searches," Neal said.
"Shame," she laughed. A female agent raised Suu Ram's arms.
"May I hold your bag?" Neal offered as the agents made a pat-down.
"No. It's a diplomatic pouch." It was so stamped on it with big letters. She took her job seriously. Or, she knew what it contained.
"Turn around, please," the agent said and searched her personal handbag.
Peter pulled him aside.
"We need to get a look inside that bag."
"Yeah."
Then ambassador Than Kyi marched out with a few goons.
"What's going on here?"
"I have evidence linking this vehicle to a crime I'm investigating," Peter said. "So far, your staff's been very cooperative." He pointed at the bag Ram held. "A search of that pouch would completely exonerate any of them from connection to this crime."
"International law states that the pouch is part of Burmese soil."
"I take it that's a no?" Neal guessed.
"We're unable to assist you further," the ambassador said with a slippery smile. "You can take it up with the State Department, of course."
"Of course," Peter agreed.
"Suu Ram," Kyi called her and she handed over the pouch to the ambassador as they walked inside the embassy.
"See you, Suu," Neal said with a smile. Peter sighed beside him.
"Maybe we can get the State Department to file a grievance, delay Chris' sentencing somehow."
"You really think that'll help?" he asked his handler. If so, Peter was naive.
"No. No, I don't."
Neal's phone made a ping. He took it out and read the message, frowning. He did not see that coming. But he was determined to get Chris off the hook.
"All right, look, I know this isn't a good time, but I got to run," he told Peter.
"Fine."
"Really?" Did he not need an explanation?
"Go," Peter confirmed, heading towards the car. "I'm not in the mood, anyway. I'll see you later."
"Okay."
He hoped the meeting he was called to would lead to something he would not have to hide from Peter. On the other hand, then Wilson would have texted Peter and not him. He had an aggravating feeling that the hunch he had had when they first met Wilson would now prove true.
Wilson had asked specifically for the two of them, knowing that he was a convict on a leach.
The man sat on the bench he had sat on a few days ago when he had called to the first meeting. He rose when Neal approached.
"You were a little cryptic on the phone." To say the least. Just a meeting point.
"Phones can be tapped. Look, I can tell you think I haven't been the best father."
True, but who has he to judge when he had so few facts?
"I'm not a dad. I don't know what it's like."
"There are a million things I'd do differently if I could. And I can't help but think that Chris went over there because of me."
"Or because he wants to be like you." But Wilson had not likely called him to this meeting to discuss parenthood.
"You can help me make it right for my son."
"What are you asking?"
"If that hard drive leaves this country, there's no way they're letting him go, and any chance I have of getting to know my son again is gone." He was a man was used to hide his feelings, but the desperation shone through. Wilson was also a man who did not cut corners and he always stuck to the law. Hence his high position.
"The drive's inside the Burmese embassy." Most likely it had been in that pouch Suu had refused to let go of.
"I know who you are, Mr. Caffrey," Wilson said. It was not a threat. It was a workaround for things the man could not say.
"You want me to steal it back," Neal translated.
Wilson nodded.
Neal did not want to risk getting to rot in a Burmese prison. One of the reasons he never went for rubies there himself. But there were other ways to get that hard drive. He smiled.
"We're doing everything we can," Peter told Wilson on the phone. He waved Diana inside. "I'll keep you in the loop." He hung up. It felt hopeless.
"Wilson?" Diana asked.
"Yeah."
"How's he holding up?" She sat down.
"Well, as best as he can. Any leads from your Washington contacts?"
"Oh, it's a delicate situation. Our people are talking to their people."
"Is that Diplo-speak for 'stop beating a dead horse'?" Peter asked. Diana chuckled.
"Yeah."
"And this is what your father chooses to do for a living?"
"It has its perks."
"Yeah, I've seen what diplomats do with parking tickets." Diana grinned to that. Peter frowned, thinking. "Does your father know Wilson?"
"I don't think so."
"Does Wilson have any other connection to the Bureau?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Something's been bugging me since the beginning. Why did Wilson choose us?"
Diana leaned her head to the side, thinking.
"Because you're the best," she said, "and Caffrey's..." She fell silent.
The pieces fell into place.
"Yeah, he's Caffrey," Peter agreed. "From the get-go, Wilson wanted to work outside the box."
"You think he'd be willing to go off-reservation to save his son."
"What father wouldn't? Wilson wanted Neal from the beginning." He had only been the necessary dummy to make it look formal. "Pull Neal's tracking detail for the last 36 hours. You know, suddenly, I'm very curious to know where he's been." Diana was already on her way.
Ten minutes later Peter stared at the screen and saw that Neal had, from where they left each other at the embassy, walked straight to the spot where they had met Wilson for their first meeting. The kid had got some form of message and asked if he could leave. Peter had been too upset to care or have a cryptic answer from his pet convict.
"You think Caffrey is up to something," Diana asked. No, she did not ask, Peter realized. He nodded.
He checked the timeline.
"Neal's at home now."
"You're gonna pay him a visit, boss?"
He rose.
"Yeah."
He took the car.
Once there he stopped outside the door, listening. There were voices on the other side.
He knocked.
He could swear he heard someone stop by the door on the other side, waiting. Then the door opened.
"Peter," Neal smiled at him. "Hey."
"Neal," Peter greeted him in return and passed him into the apartment. And of course, there he was. "Mozzie." He stood with his hand inside his jacket and from its inside, smoke was pouring out. And Peter who thought he had seen everything. "What're you doing?"
"Discussing Hegel and his rational realism. You?"
"Casual stroll. You're smoking." And still, Mozzie kept his face, even in the absurdity of it all.
"It's a smoking jacket." Funny but Peter was not in the mood to laugh.
"Give us a moment?"
"I will. Because the fresh air sounds exhilarating." Mozzie left out on the patio with whatever smoking machine he had under his clothing.
Peter turned to the kid.
"You met with Wilson yesterday. Neal, whatever he's asking you to do..."
"He's got nowhere else to turn," the kid answered and Peter felt a cold lump building inside.
"Oh, God, Neal. Don't do it."
"Look, Wilson's trying to make good with his son, and I can help him. The system failed him."
Peter stared at the naive young man who somehow managed to tell himself that he was doing the right thing.
"You're rationalizing, and you know it," Peter huffed. "Nothing gives him or you or anyone the right to go around the law."
"It's his son," Neal shot back. "That gives him the right."
"I don't agree with that."
"It's what a father should do."
So, this had something to do with Neal's dead father. Wilson had found the right chord to strike, probably without knowing it.
"All right, look... Obviously, there's more to the story with your dad. I don't know how badly it messed with your head—"
"You're right," the kid snapped back, cold as ice. "You don't." Peter watched the reaction with surprise. "If this were your son... Or my son... I know what you would do."
Neal was probably right, Peter knew that. And that was the reason why he wanted to stop the kid because he was the closest thing to a son he ever had.
"One wrong move inside the Burmese consulate, and they will extradite you. You'll end up in a Kabaw prison." Peter wanted to hug Neal and keep him safe, but that was not an option. "I can't protect you."
"I'm not asking you to."
Peter exhaled. Neal was not his son. He was a criminal he had no other ties to than being the kid's handler. He could cuff him and bring him back to prison right then, ending it all, and Neal would be safe.
But that would most likely mean that Chris stayed in a Burmese prison for good. Neal was good at what he did and he had a good heart. This was a choice Neal had to do as the adult he was.
"Okay."
He walked to the door and left.
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