Town car. Thursday morning. February 26, 2004.

"I'm real sorry, Mr. Halden," said the driver as they pulled away from the Highbury Manhattan location. "We're gonna be a little late getting there. All the rain made a sinkhole open up this morning along the main road into Enscombe. It brought down a bunch of trees, and the road's closed till a crew can clean it up. There's another route to that part of Kings Point, but it's gonna add another thirty minutes. You wanna stop for coffee or anything 'fore we head out?"

"No, that's fine. I'm not in a hurry," said Neal. But that was a lie. He was already feeling the rush of a heist or undercover assignment. The adrenaline was hitting him, and now he had an even longer wait before he could actually do anything. Because the driver was inclined to chat, Neal asked him questions about Highbury and Enscombe, but didn't learn anything useful. As they took the bridge leading to Long Island, Neal looked out the window on the off chance of catching a glimpse of Graham Winslow's sailboat. The Executive Decision had been loaded with monitoring equipment, and Graham, Henry and Peter were on their way to the Kings Point coastline. This far away they wouldn't hear anything from the transmitter in Neal's watch but they'd pick up the feed once Neal reached the estate.

Jones and Tricia had spent the night at the bed and breakfast next to Enscombe. Tricia was posing as an avid birdwatcher, and her cover was looking for a Northern Shrike recently spotted near the Enscombe property line. Jones would be fishing near Enscombe's dock. Tricia had gotten the better deal. She actually loved birds. Jones was a confirmed urbanite who hated fishing.

As a Highbury member, George Knightley had spent the night at Enscombe. And Mozzie had stayed at his Long Island safe house, preparing for his second day on the job as Dante the bartender.

Shortly after the time the Bureau expected Neal to arrive at Enscombe, Neal's phone vibrated. He wasn't surprised to see it was Peter calling. "Hey, buddy, what's up?" Neal answered.

"We're not getting a signal from your watch. Is anything wrong?"

"No problem. We're running about thirty minutes late, so I have time to talk."

"I see. Well on our side, all of the players are in place. And I need to warn you, Jones saw Kate. He thinks he dodged her before she noticed him, but she also stayed at the B&B. Did you know she'd be there?"

Neal glanced at the driver. He assumed the man knew nothing about what was going on at Highbury, but wasn't going to take the chance of saying anything he wouldn't want repeated to the staff at Enscombe. "She's persistent. I assume she's been in touch with our mutual friend."

"Why would Mozzie tell her the timing of the op?"

"He probably thought it was safe. He called me yesterday with some interesting details."

"She told him the model of the safe so you could bring the right equipment for breaking in?"

"That's right. He believes in being prepared. He'll have everything we need."

"Okay. Mozzie's bringing the equipment. Text me when you arrive and we'll check for a signal from your watch." Peter paused. "Neal, be careful. Don't take any unnecessary risks. Say the panic phrase if anything seems wrong, and we'll get you out of there."

"Everything's under control," Neal said before he hung up. Then he frowned. That's exactly what Henry had said last night when Neal asked what was bothering him. Neal had been too wrapped up in his own issues to remember that when Henry said that, it meant he was making things up as he went along. After this op was over, Neal would get his cousin to tell him what was wrong.

###

Built in the 1920s, the main building at Enscombe was an ornate structure with classic art deco touches. Neal would have loved to spend all day exploring, but he had a safe to break into. On his arrival he'd been greeted by Jane Fairfax, a woman of Vietnamese descent who appeared to be in her mid-thirties and who wore the standard dark suit and pale blue shirt of Highbury employees. Jane had planned to give Nick Halden a tour of the estate, but within minutes she was confronted by Dante the bartender, who carried a binder stuffed with more pages than it was designed to hold.

"As the representative of the food and beverage staff," Mozzie was saying, "I'm presenting our manifesto. There are a number of workplace conditions we need to discuss, not to mention a restructuring of wages and there's the matter of an event I've scheduled for tomorrow."

"What event?" Jane looked on in dismay as Mozzie opened the binder and pointed to a paragraph. "A picket? What are you picketing for?"

"The basic rights of the serving class have been ignored for far too long. We can't let another day go by without taking a stand."

"Serving class?" she repeated.

"That's our title. Food Servers and Beverage Servers. Clearly a reference to our diminished status as compared to the lords and masters of this estate. You should really think about joining us. You'll see here," Mozzie flipped through the binder to another page, "I've shown how underrepresented women are among management. If you could confirm your salary, I think I could prove you're subject to a glass ceiling."

"Hey, Nick, is that you?" called out George Knightley, who conveniently happened to be walking by.

"George! Good to see you. I didn't know you'd joined Highbury," said Neal. "Jane was going to give me a tour, but she needs to deal with an issue here."

"Good morning, Ms. Fairfax," George said. "I don't mind showing Nick around."

"Oh no, I'm really supposed to –" she started, only to be interrupted by Mozzie.

"We're also going to stage a walkout this afternoon."

"What? No! You can't walk out."

"Don't worry, ma'am," George said. "I'm ex-military, and reconnaissance is still in the back of my mind when I visit new locations. I remember my way around this place, and I won't let Nick get lost. How about I bring him back to the dining room for lunch?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Neal. "Looks like it'll be raining again soon. Let's show you the outside spaces before it starts to pour." They abandoned Jane to Mozzie.

###

Neal had already memorized the layout of the grounds from yesterday's briefing, but now he took in the details that hadn't been mentioned. Six-foot hedges provided privacy and blocked the view of less picturesque aspects of the estate such as garages and a garden shed. Looking up, he could see a helicopter sitting on the flat roof of the nearest garage. "Wait. Let me text Tricia and tell her I found the bird she was looking for."

George chuckled. "They use it for bringing in VIPs, and sometimes they'll give guests aerial tours of the city. Or so they said. I think it's mostly for show. Agent Wiese said the B&B staff told her not to worry about the chopper spooking the wildlife because it's so rarely used. Fuel for those isn't exactly cheap. Here we go." He stepped through a break between the hedges. "Back door to the suite. Your friend said he unlocked it for you and left what you need inside. I'll stand watch."

Mozzie had indeed left all the equipment Neal needed. The safe was high quality, but not a match for his skills. In a matter of minutes the door swung open, and Neal reached inside for the contents. "It looks like passports," he said into his watch as he swept the documents into a bag Mozzie had provided.

"Uh, Neal?" he heard George say.

Neal closed the door to the safe, and turned around to grab his supplies. He could be out of here in seconds if necessary.

"Someone wants to talk to you," George continued.

"Hello, Neal," said Kate as she entered the suite.

"You need any help?" George asked.

"No, I've got it," Neal said, and George went back outside, leaving the door ajar.

Neal finished gathering the supplies into the pack Mozzie had provided. It didn't take long. He'd learned to keep his jobs neat and orderly so that erasing signs of his presence could happen quickly. "You always had great timing. Have a seat."

Kate settled into a wingback chair facing the fireplace, and Neal took a matching chair after turning on a nearby Tiffany lamp. The suite was dark and dramatic, with deep brown wood floors, heavy burgundy silk curtains with blackout linings, and coordinating burgundy and blue bedding and upholstery. Persian rugs with the same colors helped muffle sound within the room. Side tables, bureaus and a massive wardrobe were probably original to the house, wood pieces painted black with deco styling.

The medium green slacks and sweater Kate wore weren't her best color, but would blend well with the extensive hedges nearby and the forested landscape at the edges of the property. Neal had seen a lot of evergreens on the drive, and the scents of spruce and juniper had been pervasive on the walk to the master suite's entrance.

Neal pulled a passport out of the bag at random, opening it to see a familiar face from Adler's inner retinue. Gil Goddard, but with a new name. The next passport was also for Gil, with yet another alias, and the next he checked was for Kate. "These are excellent work."

"The best money can buy. Vincent left a message for a few of us that we received after he disappeared. If we kept the Feds from finding him and his money, then within a year he'd give us the key to joining him."

"What was the key he promised? It wasn't a key to the safe."

"In a way it was." Kate handed Neal a folded piece of paper she'd had in her pocket. "The day before I contacted you, the man you know as Gil Goddard received this."

Neal unfolded it to find an Atlantic bond – the supposedly unforgeable bond that he had forged when he was twenty one.

"You were intended to be the key, Neal. This was supposed to be leverage. Of course Vincent had no idea you'd end up making a deal with the Feds and getting immunity for this."

"How did he even know about it?"

"He knew you had secrets. Nick Halden had an impeccable ID but virtually no background. After you and I got involved, Vincent gave me something to put in your drink one night. While you slept it off, I searched your whole apartment for anything to tell us who you really were. The only thing I found were the bonds. He discovered that a Neal Caffrey was wanted for forging them, and the sketch of the forger looked a lot like you. Vincent thought Gil could use the information to obtain your help someday, since it became clear you had a number of potentially useful skills. But it's better this way. I don't want to blackmail a friend. I'd rather let you know what's going on, and ask for your help. I'm sorry I had to mislead you to get to this point."

Neal had many questions for Kate, and not nearly enough time to ask them. "You and me... was any of it real?"

Kate leaned forward. "Of course it was. I liked you, Neal. I still do. But I can't be who you want me to be. You have a romanticized image of me that I can't live up to. In the long run we both would have resented each other over that."

"And you like Adler more."

"I owe him more than I can ever repay. Vincent helped me at a time when I was desperate. He didn't gain anything from it, and he still helped me."

"He gained your loyalty." Neal let his eyes take in her luminous face one last time, memorizing her as if she were a subject for a painting who couldn't sit for him. "You were his Daisy."

"Not in the most literal Great Gatsby sense. I wasn't his mistress. But we did meet in secret here to make plans." She paused. "Neal, have you decided which side you're on?"

"In other words, who's going to get these passports?"

"Please, Neal. You have to give them to me. Don't turn your back on what we had. It wasn't everything you dreamed it was, but it wasn't all a lie, either."

Neal shook his head. "You owe Adler, but I owe Peter. I can't do that to him."

"Peter?"

"My boss at the FBI. But he's more than a boss. He's a friend, a mentor... He's what Adler pretended to be, but he's real."

"You were both pretending." Kate stood up. "It's not as black and white as Vincent versus the Bureau. Vincent couldn't have gotten away and gone undetected all of this time without their assistance. The only way he knows who betrayed him and who didn't is because his contacts in the Bureau told him."

"I'm not naïve, Kate. I know all about dirty cops. When I looked at the case files it was obvious Adler had gotten to at least one agent."

"They won't thank you for pointing it out. You know what happens to whistle-blowers. They'll hate you for it. Then where will you be? Wouldn't you rather join us now, than wait to be kicked out by your so-called friends at the Bureau and then beg us to let you in?"

Neal remained relaxed in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, clearly not planning to jump up and restrain her. The bag of passports was in his hand. "It wouldn't exactly be freely joining you, though, would it? You think I didn't notice the gun at the small of your back? You're not going to believe any assurances I give you at gunpoint."

"This isn't how I wanted it to be." Kate reached behind her back, but before she could get to the gun, Agent Tricia Wiese twisted her arm.

"Good, because that's not how it's going to be this time." Tricia had Kate cuffed in seconds. "Thanks for the heads up about the gun, Neal. I'll take the passports." After he handed them over, Tricia followed him outside, leaving Kate locked in the master suite. "We'll leave her here for now. Leading a handcuffed suspect away would raise too much attention."

Neal looked back at the suite with regret. But he did Kate one last favor, and didn't tell anyone that she would be out of those cuffs and out of the room within minutes. She couldn't crack safes yet, but she had learned a lot from him.

"Hey, Neal?"

It was Tricia, and Neal gathered from her tone that he'd missed something. Not good. Peter would be stressing over Neal letting Kate get to him, wondering if she'd made him doubt the FBI and his role with them. "Sorry. What?"

"I just wanted to tell you: Good job. I know it hasn't been easy, but most of us do think of you as part of the team now. If Peter were here, I'm sure he'd say, 'Go get 'em, slugger.'"

Neal shook his head. "I'm pretty sure if Peter were here he'd be swearing a blue streak. He's not a big fan of Kate."

"You're not rattled, though, are you? I'm a little surprised, given everything I'd heard about your relationship with Kate. A lot of agents would be off their game right now."

"One thing I learned in my former career is that you have to live in the moment during a heist."

"We prefer the term case or assignment. But I understand not dwelling on things you can't change in the middle of an op. Good luck." Tricia patted him on the shoulder and then headed back toward the B&B.

Keeping busy helped Neal get past the conversation with Kate for now. As George brought the tour inside the main building, Neal paid close attention to the routes to and from Frank Churchill's office. The office was at the back of the building, with French doors leading to a patio. From there it would be easy to head into the gardens, or even to the garages if for some reason Neal had a need to steal a car and make a run for it.

As they walked toward the dining room, George wore a disarmingly crooked grin. "What's got you so happy?" Neal asked him.

"Oh, just thinking about a conversation I had with your cousin yesterday."

"Are you going to let me in on the joke?"

They stopped at the entrance to the dining room. On a weekday barely a quarter of the tables were in use. They selected a table near a window with a water view. The Executive Decision was reassuringly visible. A waitress stopped by with menus, and then Mozzie asked what they wanted to drink. George asked for water, and Neal ordered Scotch on the rocks. After the waitress took their meal orders, they finally had a chance to talk again.

"You were going to tell me what Henry said," Neal prompted.

George grinned again. "No, I wasn't. But I'll make you a trade. You tell me why an investigation and security firm like Win-Win hires a bunch of psychologists, and I'll tell you why I can't tell you about my conversation with your cousin."

"Your drinks, messieurs." Mozzie delivered their glasses with a flair. Neal hid a grimace at the drink that looked like Scotch but tasted mostly like water. "And to ensure our illustrious hosts smell alcohol on your breath, voila, a Scotch-scented candy for after your meal. The taste is, alas, medicinal."

Neal palmed the candy. "Thanks, Dante. And why does the bartender with an Italian name have a terrible French accent?"

"Because a terrible Italian accent would be unforgivable."

When Mozzie left, Neal resumed his conversation with George. "What's with the lightheartedness in the middle of an op? I figured Mr. Ex-Military would be all laser-focused and serious."

"I will be, when the time comes. But right now I have a different mission. I warned you about caffeine, but adrenaline isn't going to do you any favors, either. The best way to slow you down is to make you laugh."

"I had no idea that's what they taught people in the Navy."

"Don't be ridiculous. They taught me that in medical school. You have to pay big bucks to learn this stuff. Now tell me about Win-Win."

"Do you read mysteries?"

George shrugged. "Sure, when I have time."

"Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett?"

"The masters of the hard-boiled detective genre. It's been a while."

"Win-Win was opened in the 1960s by two former FBI agents who loved those stories. Law enforcement agencies were starting to embrace the idea of criminal profiles, but Win-Win took it further. They remembered the lesson from those classic mysteries: the client always lies. There's usually some secret the client wants to keep hidden. It's important to understand their motives, in order to help them find the answer or solution that will make them satisfied. And a satisfied customer is more likely to pay the bills and bring more business your way. At first Win-Win hired psychologists and made it look like they were the receptionists. But those receptionists were there to measure up the clients and tell the investigators how to handle them. Eventually they started to pair up those investigators and 'receptionists' to analyze clues, witnesses and suspects. The psychologists also handle a lot of the witness and suspect interviews, using their skills to get the most information out of those people."

"That's either twisted or brilliant. I'm not sure which."

"Probably both. Henry's mom was legendary for how she dealt with clients and suspects. And Henry..." Neal glanced at the watch that was transmitting their conversation to Peter, Henry and Graham. He winked at George. "Well, he tries. One of these days he'll get the hang of it. Or if not, they'll move him to management."

George laughed as a waitress delivered their food. When she was gone he said, "Now I almost wish I could tell you everything. Whatever comes of your cousin's career at Win-Win, I have to say I'm impressed by his skills. Yesterday afternoon he asked me what I remembered about the time up until I was drugged. He had me try some deep breathing, made a few comments, asked me a few questions, and next thing I knew, I remembered more." George looked around the room. "When I came here that first time, I was dressed like you, like every man in this room: suit with long sleeve shirt and a tie. In order to give me a shot in my upper arm, they had to devise a way to get me out of most of those clothes without making me suspicious. With Henry's guidance that memory came back to me. Obviously it was something that happened before I was drugged, and they had planted a suggestion that I forget it."

"And you can't tell me how they got your shirt off?"

"Henry and I agreed that the element of surprise is critical. If you know what to expect, you won't be surprised, and that would make them suspicious. So I can't tell you. But I'm really looking forward to watching it happen to someone else."

A/N – Thanks to Silbrith for her work as my location scout. When I told her my needs for the Enscombe estate, she told me the mansion in White Collar episode "Hard Sell" was on Long Island, and that area fit my needs exactly. Learning The Great Gatsby was also set there provided even more inspiration.