Chapter 18 A Call for Help

Sinclair guest house, Connecticut. January 8, 2004 – Thursday morning.

While they listened to the arrest on the surveillance equipment, Thomas Gardiner warned Neal and Henry, "I hear another set of footsteps. There's a third man."

"Denny, a driver, and someone else to help load the truck," Neal guessed. "Peter got Denny, and Tricia got the guy loading the truck. The driver could still get away with the stolen goods."

"That's the bulk of their evidence. Can we warn Peter?" Henry asked.

"This equipment is one-way," Thomas said, standing up. "We have to go out there."

Neal grabbed his coat and made a run for it, almost knocking over Henry, who stayed to guide Thomas to the front door. Seeing the silhouette of a man already in the driver's seat, Neal sprinted past the FBI agents and opened the passenger door to the truck as the driver started the engine. The driver, a burly, bald guy with prison tattoos, pulled out a gun. "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

Neal jumped into the passenger seat and closed the door. "The name's Neal. I work for Wickham. He sent me to keep an eye on things, because he thought there was something suspicious about this set up."

"He got that right." The driver put the truck into gear. Looking in the side view mirror, Neal could see Peter and Henry struggling to restrain Denny; the man must have used the commotion caused by the truck starting as a cover to run away. Tricia yelled at the driver to stop and ran after the truck, but they were already speeding down the road. The driver put his gun into a holster. "Don't try anything."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Neal pulled on a seatbelt. "What do I call you?"

"Lucas."

"Thanks for the lift, Lucas."

"I'm not making any extra stops for you," Lucas warned.

"That's fine. I don't have any place I have to be, other than away from the Feds. Mind if I make a call?" Neal reached for a phone, but Lucas went for his gun again.

"Yeah, I mind. Keep your hands where I can see 'em. No calling or texting anyone while you're in the truck."

Neal kept Lucas calm by staying still and quiet. He paid careful attention to their route, and hoped he was right about what Henry and Win-Win could do.

###

"He's armed," Peter said as he and Henry dragged a struggling Denny back toward the house. "Both of these guys had weapons, so we have to assume the driver does, too. And Neal jumps into the truck with an armed man! What the hell is he thinking?"

"He's thinking someone has to make sure the driver doesn't get away with most of your evidence." Henry helped Peter give Denny a final shove into the garage. Tricia's prisoner was already in the garage, and she had locked the house-to-garage door before calling the local police for back-up. Henry saw a chisel and with it tore the garage door opening mechanism from the wall, breaking the wires so the prisoners couldn't control the overhead garage door from inside.

Peter nodded in approval, and used the remote to close the overhead door, locking the prisoners in. Tricia could handle them on her own until the cops arrived to pick them up, but the truck was already out of sight. "Damn it to hell! They could be headed anywhere. I'll have to call the local authorities and put out a BOLO on the truck. Did any of you get the license plate number?"

Tricia had the first letters, and Peter called in the request to be on the lookout for a white box truck with plates starting BRI. He saw Henry pull out a cell phone, and hoped for a moment that Neal had called his cousin with a location, but Henry wasn't talking to anyone. Instead he frowned at the phone, and then stared down the road. As soon as Peter finished his call, Henry said, "I need to use your phone."

"What's wrong with your phone?" Peter asked.

"Mine is apparently in the truck. Neal managed to swap our phones on his way out of the house. I don't have the code to unlock his, so I need to make a call from your phone."

Peter handed it over. "Why would he do that? What does your phone have that his doesn't?"

"GPS tracking," Henry said as he dialed a number.

"What's your protégé done?" Thomas asked, and Peter walked over to the retired agent to describe Neal's latest stunt. "Three weeks at the FBI!" Peter fumed. "He's supposed to be here to watch and learn."

"I understand your point of view, of course," Thomas said. "But you must admit, working for the FBI tends to appeal to a certain type. In the end, you want people who will take initiative, who can quickly evaluate a situation and jump into action. It's hard for them to turn off those traits temporarily while they're still in training." Thomas chuckled. "And I can tell from the tension in your arm that don't want to hear it yet. Fair enough. Who is Henry talking to?"

"He works for Winston-Winslow. I assume he's asking them to track Neal using the GPS in the cell phone he took with him."

"Clever. Well, let's listen in, then."

They walked closer to Henry, and heard him saying, "Yes, on my authorization. I'll take full responsibility. Track the phone registered to me, and give me directions from the location of the phone I'm calling from. We'll be following. You have this phone in the system already. Robert tracked it this morning." A pause. "Charge it to the same account Robert uses when he tracks me... No, I'm not answering another question until you have a fix on my phone." Henry caught Peter's eye and gestured toward the car. "Are you ready? They should be seconds away from a direction."

Peter nodded. "Thomas, I'll leave you here with Agent Wiese."

The retired agent tightened his grip on Peter's arm. "I think I can be of more help with you."

Peter wanted to argue, but he wanted to get on the way even more. He guided Thomas to the backseat of the car, while Henry got into the front passenger seat. "They're heading northeast on I-95," Henry said as Peter started the car.

For a quarter of an hour, they drove in silence only interrupted when Henry had an update on direction. The truck had moved to another, smaller highway, but they could go faster if they stayed on the interstate. Eventually, when they had made up enough ground, Henry advised Peter to take an exit and follow a road that led toward the coastline.

Henry's conversation with the person providing directions had been terse, filled mostly with "Thanks, Raul" or "Got it." But suddenly he sat up straight and said, "Yes, Mr. Winston. It's a family matter. I have reason to believe that a friend is in serious danger." Henry glanced at Peter and sighed. "Yes, sir. The FBI is involved. And with all due respect, I'm not going let some ridiculous feud that started before I was even born prevent me from accepting their help. If collaborating with Agent Burke increases the odds of success, then that's what I need to do." There was a pause. "Yes, sir, you can tell the board I said that." Another pause, and under his breath Henry told Peter, "Take the next right." Back into the phone he said, "Yes, I can confirm that I've not been coerced by the FBI or any other entity. We're almost there. If you have any other questions, we can talk when I'm back in the office on Monday." Henry closed the phone and returned it to Peter. "They've stopped near the docks, a few blocks ahead." A moment later, Henry pointed to the right. "That's it!"

"I see it." Peter glimpsed the white truck. He parked behind a building, and with Thomas agreeing to stay in the car and call the cops for backup, Peter and Henry crept around the building to watch the driver pull the first boxes out of the truck and hand them to Neal to carry into a dilapidated warehouse. The driver wore a brace that seemed to indicate a bad back. That's why he had stayed with the truck instead of loading boxes at the guest house. A bulge under the driver's jacket indicated he was armed. "I don't have a second set of cuffs with me," he told Henry. "Can you look for rope or anything we can use to restrain him?"

Henry nodded and made his way around the back of the building. Peter went around the front, moving toward the main entrance of the warehouse. He pulled out his gun and chose his moment, when Neal was inside the building, and the driver was grabbing another box from the truck. He aimed his gun at the driver and stepped forward. Any second the driver would look in his direction. Before Peter could announce he was with the FBI, something caught the driver's attention from inside the building. "Hey! I said no calls or texts!" the man yelled. As he turned around, he saw Peter and ran inside.

Peter swore as he followed, hoping there was cover inside the warehouse to offer Neal some protection. No such luck. The place was mostly empty other than the few boxes that had been moved from the truck to a set of pallets on the ground. The driver stood behind Neal, holding a gun to his head.

"Listen, Lucas, I just wanted to talk to my girlfriend," Neal said. "The call didn't even go through. Cell coverage here sucks."

Peter appreciated that Neal had provided the driver's name. Still holding his gun but pointing it at the ground, Peter showed his badge and said, "Lucas, I'm with the FBI, and I'm not alone. Put down the gun, and this will go much better for you. No one has to get hurt."

"I'm not going back to prison!" Lucas yelled. Even though it was freezing outside, the man was sweating. This wasn't someone thinking clearly, making it a nightmare negotiation scenario.

"You don't have to go to prison," Peter said as calmly as he could. "You let this guy go, tell me about Denny's black market operations, and we can get you a deal. Maybe a little community service, huh?"

For a moment, Peter thought Lucas would go for it. He'd lowered his gun a couple of inches, but then they heard the sirens of the approaching police. Lucas raised the weapon again and tightened his arm around Neal's throat.

Neal gasped. "Please. Jacket pocket. Inhaler." He winked at Peter.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Henry. He'd slipped through a back entrance, and was removing his tie.

"What?" Lucas clearly didn't follow.

"I think he has asthma," Peter said. "Can you let him use his inhaler?"

"Shit. He could be going for a gun. I ain't lettin' him move." But Lucas' attention waivered. He wasn't aiming the gun directly at Neal anymore. Neal gasped again and reached for his throat, but one hand kept moving upward and grabbed Lucas' wrist, pointing the gun up toward the ceiling. Before Lucas could compensate, Peter and Henry rushed forward. Peter got the gun away, and Neal helped Henry restrain Lucas. They used Henry's tie to bind the man's wrists until the cops arrived with their handcuffs.

###

After a lot of flashing of Peter's badge and a brief statement to the police, the local authorities took Lucas away. Peter, Thomas, Henry and Neal stood in the warehouse.

"That was amazing!" Neal said, still feeling the effects of an adrenaline rush. His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. Peter had to be impressed this time; they got the bad guy and there wasn't a resulting hospital trip to add paperwork. Neal had even used his FBI training on faking an asthma attack; that had to get him extra points. "We should grab dinner someplace and celebrate. There must be some great seafood places around here."

"Neal," Henry said in a warning tone, shaking his head and looking at Peter.

Neal looked at Peter's thunderous face. "C'mon, Peter. We won. We caught the bad guys. It's our first field operation together, and we were awesome."

"Do you have your consultant's badge with you?" Peter asked in a voice devoid of emotion.

"Yeah." Neal slid the badge out of a jacket pocket. "Should I have shown it to the cops? It seemed like seeing your badge did the trick."

Peter snatched the badge out of Neal's hand. "Neal, you are suspended until further notice. And frankly, I'm going to recommend you be fired."

Neal backed away a step, feeling as if he'd been punched. "What?"

"Peter, calm down. Don't do something you're going to regret," Henry said.

"You're too reckless to make this work. I gave you this job to keep you out of prison. But I'd rather see you in prison than dead." Peter paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if combating a headache. "I need to call in my report. Thomas, let me take you back to the car."

###

Peter called in his report from his car, with Thomas listening from the passenger seat. When he ended the call, he was tempted to bang his head against the steering wheel. He wasn't normally given to bouts of violent anger, but Neal seriously pushed his buttons.

"You didn't mention suspending Neal in your report," Thomas noted. The man had a serenity that Peter normally admired, but at the moment he wanted space. If it weren't getting dark, he'd go back outside and take a long walk. When Peter didn't respond, Thomas said, "Agent Wiese mentioned that Neal was a criminal until very recently. Why did you recruit him?"

Good question, Peter thought. "He's smart. Brilliant, really. And once I got to know him, I realized he was already one of the good guys, who got stuck on the wrong side of the law." He sighed, aware that he sounded dejected. "It seemed such a waste, trying to catch him to send him to prison. He was one of the rare felons that I honestly believed could be reformed."

"But now you're going to give up on him? I'm surprised. You must have realized that the transition from his old life to being an FBI employee would be rocky."

"I could handle rocky. But it's too dangerous. He's too impulsive. Too impetuous. He's going to keep putting himself in danger. Kicking him out of the Bureau is the only way to make him stop."

"Peter, you sound like almost every FBI agent's spouse or parent I've ever spoken to. Peggy said very similar things to me, followed by a big I told you so after I lost my sight. But I don't regret having been an agent, and I hope the Bureau didn't regret hiring me. I like to think I accomplished a lot of good in my years."

"It's different with Neal. He isn't... I can't..." He couldn't handle a reenactment of that photo of Neal lying in a pool of blood.

"You mentioned you'd rather see him in prison. I assume you mean you'd rather see him go back to being a criminal, knowing that eventually he's likely to be apprehended and convicted."

"That's right," Peter said.

"But that entails a series of crimes in the meantime. What kind of crimes did he commit?"

"Cons, frauds, forgeries, burglaries and thefts."

"Anything dangerous?"

Several past conversations with Neal came to mind. Neal saying he had plenty of experience with armed guards. Neal in St. Louis scoffing about the danger of leaping between rooftops in Paris. Leaving the FBI was not going to make Neal safer. As things stood now, at least Peter could keep an eye on him. Intellectually he knew Thomas had a point, but emotions were still running strong. "It's like being asked if I want to keep him around and watch him being gunned down, or let him go and hear about it after the fact."

"If you keep him around, you have the opportunity to train him and influence him. And you know that a man who has something to live for tends to be more cautious. But someone who thinks he's already lost everything will throw caution to the wind."

Peter winced, remembering Neal's expression when Peter said he should be fired. And he remembered Henry's warning from a week ago, that if Neal felt betrayed by the FBI he'd go on a crime spree like Peter had never seen. How could Neal not feel betrayed? Peter had threatened to rip away some of the things Neal had been most excited about: a legitimate job with the FBI, and a relationship with a stable father figure.

"It's obvious from what he's said to me, and how he said it," Thomas continued, "that Neal thinks the world of you. I don't think I'd be overstating it to call it hero-worship. I think you'll find he'll be willing to try things, or to stop doing things, to make you happy. But he can only do that if you tell him what you need him to do. If really want to reform him, tell him what behavior you want to change, rather than banishing him."

Peter kept replaying the way Neal had stepped back when Peter said he wanted to fire him. It looked as if he'd been hit or expected to be hit... Peter felt ashamed. Someone who'd been abused as a child deserved better treatment from a would-be father figure. "Thomas, I don't think I'm hero material. Maybe I should find him another mentor, someone who'll be more patient with him."

Thomas considered that a moment. "Tell me, when Neal jumped into the truck with Lucas this afternoon, did it occur to you that Neal might be in collusion with Lucas? Or that he might planning to convince Lucas to take him on as a partner to sell the stolen goods?"

"No! Of course not."

"How many agents can you think of who would trust a confessed thief to that extent after less than a month of working together?"

"None," Peter admitted.

"I think you've made more progress than you realize." Thomas chuckled. "And speaking as a man who's raised a couple of sons and has several nephews who thought an FBI agent was the coolest uncle ever, I can tell you the hero-worship phase doesn't last very long in a young man. He'll recognize that you're human soon enough, and after a brief period of disillusionment you'll move onto equal footing as friends. That's the phase that can last a lifetime, if you're lucky."

Peter could imagine that type of scenario when a barely-eighteen-year-old Neal was found by his cousin. Henry probably wasn't exaggerating by much when he said Neal had idolized him. And now, years later, they were clearly close friends. It really could work the way Thomas described.

But there was an intermediate step first, one that Peter never enjoyed. He needed to apologize.

"What do you think Neal will –" Thomas started to ask, but was interrupted when Peter's cell phone buzzed.

Peter recognized the number. "Sorry," he said to Thomas, and greeted Hughes.

"Is Henry Winslow still with you?" Hughes asked.

"He's in the vicinity, but not in listening range." Peter knew Hughes was probably calling with information about Winston-Winslow, and he wanted to hear it, but his gut was telling him to keep this call short. Neal had a flight instinct, and their confrontation of a few minutes ago had to be triggering that instinct. Peter didn't think Neal had any means to run at the moment, but the kid was clever and inventive, and so was his cousin. Peter's instincts had him opening the car door and stepping outside to make sure they were still in the warehouse. "Damn," he said automatically, as the wind hit him. The temperature had dropped, and he hadn't noticed the snow starting to fall while he'd been in the car.

"Something wrong?" Hughes asked.

"The weather's getting worse than I realized. We need to head back to New York soon, while the roads are still clear."

"I won't keep you long," Hughes promised. "Obviously a company as large as Win-Win can't be entirely shrouded in secrecy. I have contacts who should be able to provide some insight into the company. But as soon as I mentioned Henry Winslow, they either shut up or refused to answer my calls. Then Allen Winston contacted me late this afternoon, and I've been working to confirm his story ever since."

"Did it pan out?"

"So far I've confirmed Allen is the current CEO of Win-Win. And he told me he expects Henry to take on that role eventually."

"What about Henry's father, Robert?"

"Allen says the other Winslows and Winstons are bright enough to keep the company going, but Henry is the only one who also has the creativity of the founders. And the board believes they need that trait to expand and thrive. One particularly convincing point is that Henry's grandfather waited to retire until Henry had been with the company for six months."

"He wanted to be certain Henry could fit in, and do the job," Peter guessed.

"That's how I read it," Hughes agreed. "Allen said Henry isn't convinced yet, but he's gradually taking on more responsibility and feeling more protective of the employees. Allen was certain that in a few years Henry will agree he's the best person for the job. I certainly can't confirm that kind of speculation, but they are very protective of him. Allen was too smart to make any explicit threats, but he made it clear that they'll take action if any harm comes to Henry while he's in our midst."

The heir apparent of Win-Win had spent last night at his house. Peter could hardly believe it. And yet, he could see Henry as a CEO one day. Henry did have a protective streak, a natural sense of leadership, and had settled into a serious and business-like demeanor when he told – not asked – Win-Win to track Neal by GPS. An east wind blew directly into Peter's face and slowed his progress as he walked toward the backdoor of the warehouse. "Any advice for dealing with him?" he asked Hughes.

"You're in a unique position, Peter. Henry Winslow seems willing to disregard decades of hostility between Win-Win and the FBI, because of your willingness to take a risk on his cousin. Any influence you can wield to keep Henry on track at Win-Win and favorable toward the FBI could have major repercussions in years to come. I can't tell you what it could mean to have access to their resources."

"But no pressure," Peter said in as sardonic a tone as he could muster in the freezing wind.

"Do what you can," Hughes said, "and let me know how the Bureau can help."

Peter ended the call, pocketed his phone, and pulled on his gloves. He felt as if he were arming himself for a battle. He was thinking more clearly now, and he knew what to expect: Neal would be planning to go on the run, and Henry would offer to quit his job to aid and abet him. Reese Hughes and Allen Winston were not going to be happy unless Peter cleaned up this mess.

When Peter reached the warehouse, it was deserted. He hadn't seen signs of anyone around the back, and he walked through the building to the front entrance. When he opened it and looked outside, he saw footprints in the snow leading toward the truck. He'd taken a few steps in that direction when he heard Henry yelling.