Chapter 6: Overindulging

Sinclair estate, Connecticut. December 31, 2003 – Wednesday night.

It went against Neal's instincts to say the panic phrase when he saw Marie holding a gun, but Peter had insisted. Neal intentionally said it in a way that could cause confusion, hoping to buy more time before the FBI came crashing in.

Neal didn't know what Marie wanted to accomplish by returning with a gun. He didn't think she knew, either. Realistically, she couldn't hold Collins at gunpoint all night, and couldn't shoot him without dozens of people hearing.

The obvious response, given his recent fake asthma attack, was to pretend the shock and fear of being held at gunpoint was making him hyperventilate. He breathed heavily and staggered in her direction, placing his palms on a table near her as if to support himself.

"Stop that!" she insisted.

"He can't, you silly woman," Collins said. "You're making him relapse."

"Then make him stop. Do whatever you did before."

With Marie focused on Collins, Neal slipped closer to her, and pulled away the gun. She didn't hold it in a very firm grip, making it almost as easy as lifting a wallet. He stepped out of her reach before she even registered what had happened. Neal, on the other hand, did have a firm grip, and a professional cop stance that Ellen had taught him years ago. He pointed the gun at Marie and said, "Put your hands up, Marie. It's over."

"What? Ouch!" Marie winced as Collins stuck a needle in her arm.

"Sedative," Collins said. "I'd prepared it in case of a relapse."

Marie soon started swaying, and Collins pushed her toward a chair where she collapsed. Meanwhile, Neal removed the cartridge from the gun, placed both pieces on the table, and then whispered into the watch, "I'd like to return that book. I won't be needing it."

"Now what?" asked Collins when he had Marie settled.

"Peggy will be back any minute. I want her take on this. It might be as simple as strolling out of here, saying goodnight, and going home." Neal wanted to wash away the feel and smell of the gun on his hands, but needed to stay in the library. He distracted himself by walking along the bookshelves and stopped in front of a group of particularly old books. "The great irony is that Benny isn't as broke as he thinks. Most the books here at the end are rare, first editions, in excellent condition for their age. There's a Paradise Lost by Milton that's worth about twenty-five grand. No one seems to realize what he has in here."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I dabble. I know a few rare book dealers."

"From what you said earlier, I thought you were a cop, but you don't sound like one. What are you?"

"You know the saying, set a thief to catch a thief. The FBI had suspicions about Sinclair and L&B, and sent in an expert to find the truth." He extended his hand and shook Collins'. "I'm Neal Caffrey."

"Neal Caffrey," Collins repeated. "You know, this whole evening has become a bit surreal. Guns, thieves. I suppose this is all normal for you?"

"All in a day's work, yes. The whole nine-to-five thing didn't really work for me. That's why..." Neal heard the door open. "Peggy! And Thomas, too. Perfect. We need your advice."

"Charles, should you be standing?" Peggy asked.

"You don't have to call me Charles anymore. Collins knows I'm really Neal Caffrey. And I'm fine, now."

Peggy looked doubtful. "Humor me, and sit down while you fill us in."

Neal did as directed, while wishing Peggy were less perceptive. He'd rather have Peter and the team thinking he was fine, and in control. Which he was. But if they overheard something that gave them doubts, they might barge in and ruin everything he was trying to accomplish. Plus, if the team decided they had to come to his rescue on his first assignment, they'd never let him forget it.

After Neal explained the situation, Collins and Peggy used velvet curtain ties to tie up Marie. Neal sacrificed his royal blue silk pocket square to gag her. They stashed her in an adjacent room, still groggy but likely to become alert soon. They hid the gun behind a set of the rare books in Benny's collection.

"It would be different if you or I were active agents," Thomas told Neal. "We could flash a badge and say Marie was under arrest and we could hold Benny for questioning. But neither of us has that authority. We need an exit strategy that doesn't make Benny suspicious. Otherwise he has a chance to destroy any evidence before the FBI arrives with a warrant. His finding Marie tied and gagged would be a big red flag, but if we set her free she'll tell him something's up."

"What if we say I'm still not feeling well, we leave early, and hope they don't find Marie for a while? I got a text from Peter that they may have a warrant soon."

"Risky," said Peggy. "Leaving a New Year's party before midnight will definitely be noticed. And Marie makes a point of saying goodbye to each guest at her parties. People will wonder why she isn't here, and Benny will insist we stay until he finds her, because he knows she hates missing people on their way out."

"And then we have to deal with the issue of Collins," Neal said. "We can't leave you here. When Marie is found, she's going to claim you attacked her. For all we know, Benny might decide to pick up where she left off, with a gun. Even if Marie stays hidden, Benny will insist that Bethanne needs you to stay. We need a clean way out that takes you with us, and doesn't alert Benny to the fact that the Feds are onto him." He pulled the inhaler out of his pocket. "There's only one way I know to do that. Peggy, what's the 911 response time in this neighborhood?"

"About three minutes," she said.

Neal sighed. He dreaded this. "At least I know what to expect this time."

"Actually, the effect of that kind of drug reaction is cumulative," said Collins. "Each exposure is progressively worse. Expect to take longer to recover."

"Great. I'm looking forward to round two."

Peggy stood. "There's a landline in the living room, near the fireplace. I'll make the call from there. That will alert the household of our urgent need to leave the party, and cause enough chaos they shouldn't realize Marie is missing. I'll try to convince everyone you need space, but eventually they'll want to see your condition for themselves, especially Benny. Wait to use the inhaler until someone opens the library door. That way the EMTs will arrive in time to help you through most of it." She left to make the call.

Neal sent a text message, letting Henry know he was all right. The hospital would call Henry as Neal's emergency contact, and he didn't want anyone to panic.

Thomas directed Collins to untie Marie. "It will be too suspicious if someone finds her like that, and you know people will be looking for her as midnight nears. Sedate her again. And spill your drink on her, leaving the empty glass on the floor beside her. Our best hope is that people will think she overindulged and passed out. Then they'll be less likely to believe any story she tells about what happened to her." While Collins followed orders, Thomas told Neal to lie down again on the sofa. "Inhaler at the ready."

"Yeah." Neal's breath sped up at the thought of what he was about to do.

"Try to be calm, Neal," Thomas said. "I can't see you, but I can sense the panic. Think about something else. How long have you worked for the FBI?"

"Two weeks."

"And you're already in the field doing undercover work?"

"It's my first field assignment."

"That's..." Thomas laughed. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't funny for you. But I've been where they are, the team monitoring you, I mean. We practically chewed our nails off when someone went undercover the first time. With everything that happened tonight, I have to wonder if they've chewed their fingers off. They'll want to assign you to desk work for a month while they recover."

"That's not fair," Neal protested. "I did everything they wanted. And then some."

"The FBI doesn't always appreciate and then some, I'm sorry to say. And I suspect that you did what they wanted, but in your own way, rather than theirs."

"I don't even know what their way is, yet."

"There's the challenge. The old guard is too accustomed to how things are done to realize that it needs to be explained to anyone. The new guys learn by breaking expectations. Then they're told what they did wrong. Or, rarely, the old guard adjusts their thinking about how things should work."

"You're exaggerating about a month of desk duty, right? Please tell me Peter wouldn't do that to me."

Thomas stood, and using his cane found his way to the sofa. He perched next to Neal's feet. "I need to look as if I'm fretting over your latest attack. As soon as you use the inhaler, reach out for my hand. It will lend me a Florence Nightingale air." He leaned forward slightly and placed a hand on the back of the sofa, where it would be easy to grab. It was a concerned pose. It reminded Neal again of how much undercover work had in common with a con. "As for what Peter will do, I can't say. He was very new to the Bureau when I retired. I didn't get a sense of what kind of leader he would become."

"Can you tell me what Peter was like as a new agent? Preferably something I could use to remind him of what it's like to be new when he goes into lecture mode."

"Blackmail material, you mean?" Thomas thought for a moment. "I remember hearing about the first time Peter went undercover. The senior agents gave him a panic phrase. That's all they told him, 'Here's your panic phrase.' Well, in the middle of the assignment... I think he was making contact with members of a money laundering scheme... Whatever it was, rivals showed up, heavily armed. We hadn't been aware of a turf war that was brewing. Both sides started shooting at each other. Peter dove for cover, and got out safely on this own. In the debriefing he asked why no backup arrived. After all, he had mentioned the guns, and the sound of gunfire was rather obvious. The team told him, 'You didn't say the panic phrase.' And Peter said, 'Of course not, I didn't panic. But I would have liked some help.'"

Neal chuckled. "That's –"

"Footsteps," Thomas interrupted. "It's time."

Neal used the inhaler right before the library doors opened. As Collins had warned, it was even worse than before. All he could keep track of was squeezing someone's hand. At some point it changed from Thomas to Collins, and per the plan he refused to let go, and Collins got into the ambulance with him. But it was hard to keep track of anything around him because the whole world had run out of air. And his lungs did not work, at all. It was like they were frozen. No, it was like they were set in concrete. Frozen lungs could thaw, but it didn't feel like he would ever draw another breath no matter what the temperature.

The EMTs were detached strangers. Collins was only along for the ride, and wasn't someone Neal trusted. It made the ambulance a lonely place. For the first time all night, he wanted Peter to come to the rescue. If he could have spoken, he would have said the panic phrase.