Saturday evening. June 26, 2004.

Peter spoke with Tricia, with agents in Seattle, and even – much to his surprise – with Henry before he finally got through to Neal. The kid was at the Seattle Bureau offices, filling the local agents in on what had happened. Peter was online, reading their updates to the case files, and getting increasingly concerned.

By the time Yoshida put Neal on the phone, Peter had a long list of questions, ranging from "What's this about you getting hurt?" to "What the hell were you thinking?" to "How did Robert get away?" to "How did Henry get your phone?"

Neal's answers were calm and brief, and at first Peter was impressed by his professionalism. But soon he was worried. Was the kid in shock or something? Why was he acting so distant? What had happened to the Neal who was confiding in him this morning?

When Yoshida took the phone back, he reiterated what Neal had said. His injuries were bumps and bruises, nothing a hot shower and a few rounds of over-the-counter pain meds couldn't handle. An agent was going to take Neal back to his hotel, where he could follow that recommended regimen and get some rest. The agent would keep watch at the hotel until the family checked out the next morning, making sure Robert didn't show up to cause trouble.

When Peter hung up, El asked him what was wrong. "I wish I knew," he told her. "Remember after he left on Father's Day, you asked if we were pushing him too fast into being like a member of the family?"

El sat beside him at the dining room table. "You said if he needed distance, you'd let him have it."

"I didn't expect anything so extreme. And then he bounces back and forth. Sometimes it seems like he resents having to work with me. Then this morning he seemed pleased to confide in me. Tonight it was like talking to a stranger."

"What happened tonight?"

"He took a foolish risk, caught up with both Robert and Henry, sustained what everyone tells me are minor injuries, and then both of our Winslow fugitives got away."

El took his hand. "He must be upset. You can't expect him to be acting normally right now. He's probably hiding under a mask of calm while he works through everything that happened tonight."

"I know. I just... My gut tells me there's more going on with him."

"What are you most afraid of?"

"When things went sour with Robert in 2001 and Neal decided to rebel, he turned to a life of crime – something Robert would have disapproved of. If he's rebelling now –"

"Rebelling against you?"

"Against me or the authority of the FBI, or both. If that's what's happening, what form is that rebellion going to take? He could get into trouble far beyond anything I can help him get out of."

"Is there anything you can do to watch out for him, to stop him before things go too far?"

"There are ways to monitor him." Peter couldn't go into the details. The NSA's data was top secret.

"I can't imagine he'll like that."

"No, he won't. But keeping him safe is more important."

###

Neal was surprised to see his Aunt Paige in the lobby when he got back to the hotel. He did his best to hide his limp as he walked over to her. But based on past experience, he assumed she wouldn't notice his awkward gait, not to mention the ripped and bloodied slacks, or the fact that he'd exchanged a suit jacket and tie for a black T-shirt.

He'd used his personal phone to confirm that Angela was safely back in her University District apartment. She said she'd had only a few minutes to talk to Henry, and had learned nothing of his plans.

Now he approached Angela's mother with care. He assumed she knew nothing of what had happened with Robert tonight, and didn't want to worry her. He went for a carefree grin and asked, "Waiting up for me?"

She nodded. "I don't sleep much these days, so I volunteered."

Neal's eyes widened. He'd been kidding. He couldn't remember the last time someone had waited up for him. His mom's drinking usually put her to sleep soon after dinner, and she had remained unaware of her son's coming and going at night. "All present and accounted for," he said. "I'm here, and Angela's safe and sound in her apartment."

She nodded vaguely, and Neal was going to suggest they go up to their rooms when she said, "They told me you looked like my husband. They thought it might bother me, but it doesn't. They don't realize that I see David everywhere. It's rather comforting to have him see me back."

Neal perched on the arm of a chair across from her. "A friend of mine died a few months ago. Sometimes when I'm in a room I associate with Byron, I almost hear his voice."

"Do you remember your Uncle David?"

Neal shook his head. "I'm sorry. I was too young when we left. I don't remember either of you."

"His middle name was George, too."

Neal had used his middle name as an alias several times. He'd never paid attention to the fact that his uncle shared the name. "Was I named for him?"

"I believe it's Irene's father's name. Neal was Edmund's father. But the truth is, your parents were huge Star Wars fans. I always thought they had George Lucas in mind when they named you."

She had an infectious grin, and Neal couldn't help grinning back. "Where did Grace come from?" he asked, referring to Angela's middle name.

"Did you know I was an aeronautics engineer when I met David? He was a fighter pilot, of course. Both of us were into planes and flying. It surprised him that I was sharp as a whip, but scattered. Ditzy was his word for it. When he annoyed me, I called him George. And he started calling me Gracie."

Neal had to smile at her sharp as a whip, which seemed to combine smart as a whip and sharp as a knife. "George Burns and Gracie Allen? That's where you got Grace?"

Paige laughed. "You actually know who they are? Somehow it led to David and me reenacting old comedy routines at family gatherings. That's how I got over my fear of the illustrious Caffreys, by making them laugh."

"You were afraid of them?"

"Especially the twins. I was terrified of getting them mixed up. The first time I met them was a few days after your christening. David was supposed to attend, to be your godfather, but a storm delayed our flight. That whole trip, I could never keep track of which of his sisters was your mother and which one was Henry's mom. They looked and sounded exactly alike."

Neal was starting to understand what his uncle had seen in Paige. She had a different, delightful perspective that took him off guard and provided an unexpected respite from the storm of anger and fear he'd been internalizing after everything went wrong tonight. "They loved you, didn't they?"

"Yes. For all your grandfather's bluster, they are nice people. Their patience with me this last year has been astounding. They're grieving for David, too, I know. And they're coping with it much better than I am."

Thinking back to some of his conversations with Noelle he said, "People grieve differently. You can't really compare or judge how it hits them."

"All the time you spent away, and you still retained that Caffrey kindness." She stood. "We should go upstairs. I can't imagine what got your clothing in such a state, but I'm sure you want to clean up." As they waited for the elevator she asked, "Have you found Henry yet? Noelle has been so worried."

"What?" The elevator dinged and they stepped inside. "How did you know I'm looking for him?"

"Your hair," Paige said as Neal pushed the button for their floor. "You style it like David's. I noticed that at dinner. But now it's all Henry-like. And you're walking more like him now. Why else would you impersonate him? Does Angela know? I won't mention it if it's supposed to be a secret."

"Sharp as a whip," Neal muttered. "Uncle David was right. Let's make it our secret for now. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up."

###

Neal had dreaded the 3am Pacific Time check in, but when the time came he needed to get up anyway for more pain medication, and walking around the room kept his bruised knees from stiffening up. "How are things in Maine?" he asked Tricia.

"Not as exciting as on your side of the country. Peter sent a long email with the updates."

"Then you have all the latest information. Once I finished talking to Peter, I came back to my hotel and I've been here ever since."

"Have you thought of anything else, now that you've had a chance to reflect on what happened?"

Neal looked out the window, and the lights of the ships reminded him of something he had left out of his conversation with the Seattle agents. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Henry is hiding out on boats on a regular basis. Renting them maybe, or borrowing ones that belong to his Winslow family members without their knowledge. That gets him around without the checks and security you get at airports or other modes of travel. No expense of hotel rooms. If the boats are stocked with food, he can avoid using a credit card to buy meals at restaurants or grocery stories."

"That's good. Do you think Robert is doing the same thing?"

"Robert can't stand boats. He's the only Winslow who gets seasick." Neal closed the curtains and sat on the bed. "Did they get a good description of the guy who helped Robert escape?"

"Unfortunately, no. The only person who saw his face was the agent he hit. The agent has a concussion and can't remember what happened."

"Traffic cams?" Neal suggested hopefully.

"The images are grainy. Those cameras are used to monitor cars, not people. All we've got is a white man, upper twenties to thirty, with dark hair."

That wasn't much to go on. One possibility had come to mind, and Neal had to think about whether he could share that suspicion with the FBI. There were questions he couldn't answer about this suspect, not before clearing it with Henry. He'd promised on more than one occasion that he wouldn't tell anyone.

"That reminds me," Tricia was saying, "in your report you said Henry told you that Robert had been spotted outside the restaurant. But we don't have any record of a call or text to your phone before you left the restaurant."

"He texted Angela. Probably realized my phone was being monitored."

"And how did he know Robert was spotted? It seems unlikely he could have picked him out with binoculars, as far away as his boat must have been. And if he was watching the traffic cam feeds, it's a lot of videos to be monitoring and as I told you, the image quality leaves a lot to be desired."

"I have a working theory," Neal said. "Henry knew where the birthday party was planned. He couldn't join us but would have wanted to see us. What if he had someone plant a few cameras, high quality ones, at the restaurant and along the route we walked from the hotel? They could serve double duty, bringing him a view of us while also monitoring around us for Robert."

"I suppose the cameras are gone by now?"

"Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to check. Maybe someone who works at the restaurant noticed and can give a description of the person who installed them."

There was a pause and the sound of a pen on paper. Tricia was taking notes. Then she asked, "Why didn't you mention this to the Seattle Bureau last night?"

"I didn't think of it until I got back here and had a chance to unwind."

"You could have called them."

"I fell asleep, okay? By the time the pain meds kicked in and I relaxed enough to think clearly about everything, I thought I'd just close my eyes for a moment. Next thing I knew the alarm clock was reminding me about our check in."

"Your report mentioned, and I quote, 'an altercation with a pile of bricks.' Sounds painful."

"That sounds like Henry's report, the one he gave when they thought he was me. But yeah, it was painful. Not as painful as both Robert and Henry getting away, though. I'd face all the bricks in the world if I could change how things ended." He yawned.

"It wasn't your fault, Neal. You did everything you could."

"Mm-hmm." The painkillers were kicking in. Maybe he shouldn't have settled on the bed.

Tricia chuckled. "The check in times work well for me in Maine, but not so much for you on the West Coast. Are you asleep?"

"Just about."

"Get some rest, then. You deserve it. And try to stay out of trouble. Peter's worried enough as it is."

"Mm-hmm. 'Night." Neal ended the call and fell asleep, dreaming about boats and guns and bricks and father figures, both good and bad. He woke with an idea of who might be Henry's accomplice, but it was so outrageous he didn't mention it in his next check in with Tricia. This was something he'd have to research when he returned to New York.