elrhiarhodan

Chapter Four - In the Darkest Night, There's a Light Beyond

“Peter, you’ll be giving a lecture at Quantico at the end of May.” One afternoon in the middle of April, Hughes walks into his office and unceremoniously gives him the news. It’s been six months since Neal left, a little less than four months since the last postcard from him arrived, letting the office know he was going to be spending some time in an ashram in India, and would be out of touch for a while.

“Me? Why?”

“Apparently your 93% closure rate is unparalleled anywhere in the Bureau and the instructors think you’d be an inspiration to the newest class of trainees.”

“Isn’t this a little last-minute? I thought the graduating lecture series would be set up months in advance.” Peter remembers his own last weeks at Quantico, cramming for exams, finishing his thesis, attending lectures given by the best of the best field agents in the country.

“They need a fill-in for Bill Carmody, he was supposed to do a talk on his successful hostage recovery rate, but he had a heart attack last week. They asked all the division heads for recommendations, and I put your name in.”

Peter looks at his old friend with narrowed eyes. Reese could be a tricky bastard, but there’s no reason why he’d lie about something like this.

“What am I supposed to talk about?”

Hughes smiles, a scary sight. “Based on my recommendations, the instructors pulled a selection of your cases, and you’ll build a lecture around them. Your syllabus should be in your inbox as we speak.”

Peter couldn’t resist checking, and sure enough, there are several emails from Quantico, all with the subject matter “Winning the War on White Collar Crime - Success Stories from the New York Field Office.”

“Did you also suggest the title for the lecture?” Peter’s voice was dry. He knows a set-up when he sees one.

Hughes’ lips twitch. “Maybe. It’s time you got a little positive recognition for your work.”

“It’s not just me; I have an excellent team.” Peter’s reply is automatic and he winces. One of the key members of that team and the reason for his astronomical closure rate is no longer at the Bureau. “I’d like to take Jones and Diana with me. It’s important for the trainees to understand the importance of teamwork and shared recognition.”

Hughes considers Peter’s request. “Good idea. I’ll put in travel requests for the three of you.”

As soon as Hughes leaves, Peter opens the email marked “syllabus,” and groans. Most of the cases listed are from the last four years. In fact, it looks like the Burke/Caffrey greatest hits list. The Dutchman, Govat and the data chip smuggled in the evening gown, the stolen Iraqi antiquities, several boiler room scams, the Architect, the college professor who was running a ring of art thieves, the crooked politician with the prostitute ring, a bunch of art forgery cases, the Gless kidnapping, even though that technically wasn’t a white collar crime. He looks through the list again and something strikes him. None of the cases listed have any ties to Fowler, Mentor or even tangentially to the music box. The theft from Le Joyau Precieux is not on the list, nor is the Sullivan mortgage scam.

He’s also intrigued to see that with the exception of the Dutchman, cases where he enlisted Mozzie’s help are missing.

Nah. Just an interesting coincidence. Peter calls in Jones and Diana and tells them that they’ve got five weeks to write up a three-hour lecture on a dozen of the listed cases, and to pull in a few that aren’t on the syllabus. Teamwork’s all well and good, but there is a reason for having subordinates.

Two weeks later, they turn in a rough first draft, and Peter’s annoyed, to put it mildly.

“What is this?” He tosses the notes on his desk in disgust.

Clinton and Diana look at each other and back at Peter. Diana answers for them. “It’s the lecture you asked for.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “And those who say that a degree from Harvard isn’t what it used to be are apparently right. This is appalling. Especially from my two best agents.” Peter glares at them.

Jones clears his throat. “Maybe if you could be more specific, sir.”

“It seems that these cases were resolved without some of the key players. Or should I say, without a key player. Neal Caffrey. Remember him? The guy wore vintage suits, a hat, and sat at the first desk for four years.”

Neither Diana nor Jones would meet Peter’s eyes, but Diana answered. “We thought that it would be better off not to mention him. Neal wasn’t an agent and he went rogue so many times that it could set a bad example for the trainees.”

Peter sighed. It was a good excuse, but it was still an excuse. The two of them are looking out for him. They knew he missed Neal. Little did they know how much…

“Considering that one of the core themes of the lecture is about the effective use of CI’s, the lack of any reference to the department’s best asset is going to be strange. Go back, redo this. Neal was part of the team and he made very important contributions. Don’t overplay his role, but you don’t have to minimize it either. I want to see your next draft the day after tomorrow.”

“What about the little guy?”

“Havisham? You can leave him out. He’s never had an official status as a CI, and I don’t think he’d appreciate being the subject of a talk at Suit Training Central.”

The agents chuckled as they depart, and Peter has a quiet laugh himself. Suit Training Central. Something about this talk finally feels right. The nightmares have stopped. Maybe it was time to actively start looking for Neal.

Peter wonders, not so idly, what he would say to Neal if he saw him now. He’ll have to apologize, of course. His stomach still twists at the memory of what he said to Neal, and a weak wave of anger rises up. Anger at himself, mostly, but he still has some for Neal for leaving. Elizabeth, despite her collusion, is blameless in his eyes.

He’s reminded of an old saying of his father’s, “never assume, you make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.” And that is exactly what he did. He assumed. Neal never said anything about staying, and in retrospect, it was almost ludicrous to think that he would stay. Peter wonders what that letter said, but it’s too late for that. Too late for a lot of things.

He swings his chair around and stares out at the darkening city skyline and allows himself to daydream …

The case is complex, a year-long series of thefts involving antique silverware. There have been a dozen break-ins, all executed when the owners were out of town, which suggests an inside job if they had all been using the same alarm service. This time was different; there is a home owner’s dead body to deal with. The coroner’s office was just finishing up with the crime scene when Jones comes up to him and whispers frantically in his ear.

“You won’t believe who’s here!”

Peter looks at his agent, who is as excited as a boy waiting to see Santa Claus.

“Since I’m not the Amazing Kreskin and can’t read minds, maybe you’d like to tell me?

“It’s Caffrey. Neal. He’s here.”

Peter can’t for the life of him imagine why Neal would be at his crime scene.

Jones hands him a business card.

Neal Caffrey
Asset Recovery Agent
Under Exclusive Contract to Sterling - Bosche, Ltd.

“Looks like Caffrey’s managed to land on the right side after all.”

“Yes, Jones, I certainly have.” Neal’s voice is filled with cheerful bonhomie.

“Hello, Neal.” Peter’s voice is quiet. “Good to see you.”

The light from Neal’s smile leeches out of his eyes, but there’s nothing in his tone to betray any ill feelings. “Peter, it’s good to see you, too.”

“What brings you here?”

“I am representing my client’s interests. This is the fourth time one of their policy holders has been hit and they are a trifle concerned. They asked me to liaise directly with the FBI and shadow the case until it’s solved.”

Peter can’t stop the curl of happiness that building under his heart, until he sees Neal’s expression. There’s a coldness there, like nothing he’s seen on Neal’s face before. Peter tries to ignore it. “Let me walk you through this, I’d like to get your opinion.”

It doesn’t take long before they fall back into the old rhythm. Neal makes a few suggestions that should have been obvious, and Jones runs to check them out. Diana hovers in the background, her eyes going back and forth from Peter to Neal and back to Peter, like they are a human ping-pong match. Peter catches her eye and dismisses her with a sharp nod. Suddenly, it’s just the two of them at a crime scene.

Probably not the best place to apologize.

He reaches to put a hand to the small of Neal’s back, to guide him out of the room. Neal steps deftly out of Peter’s reach and heads outside. The sunshine gilds Neal’s hair and Peter’s shocked to see a few strands of gray at the temples. Has that much time passed?

“How have you been?” His voice is low, intense.

“I’ve been fine. How are you?” The tenor of Neal’s voice suggests that he couldn’t care less about the answer.

“Good, and El’s good to.”

“Please give her my regards.” There’s no warmth or affection there, either.

“Listen, Neal. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was wrong, I was cruel and you didn’t deserve it.” Peter can’t imagine hating himself anymore than he does at that moment. This apology is so long overdue, it’s almost meaningless.

“Forget about it, Peter. I have.”

“I can’t, Neal.”

Neal turns and faces him directly. “Look, Peter - it was for the best. I needed to leave; to make a clean break. You just made it easier for all of us.” A genuine smile finally reaches Neal’s eyes. “And I’ve proved you wrong. You’re gut’s not infallible after all. I’m a solid citizen, with a respectable and productive life.”

Peter looks at the man he once called friend and partner, and then called worthless. Neal did look good and truly happy. “You don’t know how delighted I am to hear that. Want to go for a drink and tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself? Or better, why not come for dinner? El would be so thrilled to see you.”

Neal shakes his head. “Afraid that won’t be possible. I’m meeting Sara in about an hour; we’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Sara?” That curl of joy vanishes.

“Yeah, Sara Ellis. Soon to be Sara Caffrey. We’re getting married next month.”

Peter’s congratulations are stuck in the back of his throat. “Ummm - that’s the last thing I expected to hear.”

Neal laughs and it’s genuine. “Yeah - I didn’t expect it either...but what do you know? Her missing Raphael turned up in China, of all places. She came over and apologized to me, one thing lead to another. A job offer, a few dates. With that unfinished business cleared away, we discovered how much we actually enjoyed each other’s company. I proposed just before Christmas, and she accepted.”

Peter stood there, certain that his jaw had hit the pavement.

“Look, I’d invite you and Elizabeth to the wedding, but we’re getting married in Venice. It’s a small ceremony, close friends and family only. But if we have a party, I’ll call you. Maybe Elizabeth would be interested in planning it.”

Peter just nods, cut to the quick by the comment, “close friends and family only.”

“I’ll follow up with Jones - but I’d bet a bottle of ’82 Bordeaux that it’s the house plant service that’s your common factor. Every other crime scene had the same arrangement of bromeliads.”

Peter shakes the hand that Neal holds out.

“Take care of yourself, Peter. My best to Elizabeth.”

Peter stands on the sidewalk, watching as Neal gets into a Mercedes coupe and drives off.

“Peter? Peter? Is everything all right?”

It’s Elizabeth. He’s forgotten that she was coming over and they are going to go to dinner. He scrubs a hand over his face, surprised at the wetness he finds there. You are such an idiot, tearing up over your own daydreams

“Sorry, I had something in my eye. My eyes.” He can tell that Elizabeth doesn’t believe a word of it, but thankfully, she doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to go out, or would you rather just head home?”

Peter wants to cringe at the concern in her voice. “No, let’s go to dinner. We really haven’t been out together that much lately.”

Over dinner, he tells El about the lecture he’ll giving at Quantico. She’s surprised that he hasn’t mentioned it before.

Peter sighs. “I was very conflicted about it. But something happened today. Something that made me realize what an idiot I’ve been.”

El’s look is pure puzzlement.

“The lecture notes that Jones and Diana prepared for me, they excised all references to Neal.”

Her eyes widened at Peter’s unprompted and voluntary use of Neal’s name.

“I’ve spent the past six months trying to pretend that Neal Caffrey never existed. I tried to deny everything that happened in the last four years. All because my feelings were hurt.”

“Peter, it was more than a case of ‘hurt feelings.’ What Neal did to you was wrong.” El clenches her napkin. She still hasn’t forgiven herself for her own role in the events that led to that disastrous confrontation.

“No, El. What he did wasn’t wrong - maybe he could have been more upfront about his plans, but he’s entitled to an independent life. He made no promises, I assumed. I only hope he can forgive me.” Peter thinks that if he tells himself that often enough, he’ll begin to believe it.

They’re quiet, each lost in thought. Elizabeth finally breaks the silence. “He was afraid.”

It’s Peter’s turn to be startled. “What do you mean, afraid. Of what?”

El doesn’t respond, but Peter can read her silence.

“Of me? Why?”

“He was afraid you’d be able to convince him to stay, that you’d change his mind. He didn’t want to go, but he felt that he needed to. He did need to.”

Peter plays some of that scene back over in his head, and then recalls the overwrought conversation they had in the airplane hanger three winters ago. “Oh.”

“Honey, ‘oh’ is right.”

“But I don’t understand why he felt he had to go. I keep trying to come up with a reason that makes sense. But nothing does.”

El reaches across the table and lays a hand over Peter’s. “I know why.”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then finally. “Tell me.”

Elizabeth chooses her words carefully. “Neal’s made a lot of mistakes in his life. He believes that every time he tries to do the right thing, it ends up being disastrously, spectacularly wrong.”

Peter interrupts. “But these last few years, he’s done so well.”

“Only because he’s been relying on you so heavily. He been looking to you before making any decisions. Everything has been based on ‘WWPD’.”

“WWPD?”

“What Would Peter Do?”

Peter leans back in his chair, unexpectedly delighted. “So I’m his role model?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, honey. Neal was using you as a moral crutch.”

Peter sobers up instantly. “A crutch?”

“He was afraid that he’d never be able to stand on his own and without you, he’d simply fall back into the criminal life, or worse, act without thinking. That unless he was with you, he’d never be able to tell right from wrong. He wants to be something more than the ‘FBI’s poster boy for reformed con artists.’ At least that’s how he put it to me that last morning.”

Peter feels about three inches tall. Everything cruel word he said to him that morning denigrated what Neal was trying to do. While he was thinking about domestic bliss and bathroom expansions, Neal was trying to make a real life choice, to be the person Peter always felt he could be. “I really screwed it up, didn’t I?”

El squeezes his hand. “I don’t think so. Remember that Neal Caffrey is one of the most contrary creatures under the sun. You tell him he can’t do something and he’ll just have to go and prove you wrong.”

Peter sighs. “I hope so, El. I hope so.

Peter doesn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt pulling his best agents off of several active but boring cases (including the massive securities fraud that dropped on them shortly after Neal’s departure) to prepare and polish the Quantico lectures full time. Diana and Jones need to do another two drafts before Peter is satisfied with it. He is going to speak primarily about the proper use and the role of confidential informants in resolving white collar cases, while letting those two handle the war stories.

They spend much of the train ride down to DC practicing, reviewing some key points, anticipating the trainees’ questions and formulating stock answers. The three of them have clear memories of what the last weeks of training are like, and know that the trainees, burned out from almost five months of the intensive physical and mental curriculum, are likely to focus on the more entertaining aspects of their program.

After talking with El that night, Peter starts to reframe the last six months, no - the last year with Caffrey. Neal told El that he was afraid that Peter would always be a moral crutch, and he tries to see why he would think that. What would Peter do? He never explicitly told Neal, “do what I do,” but he had certainly tried to lead by example. He thinks about those dark days when they were catching up to Fowler – when the music box was stolen out of Diana’s home, when Neal almost shot the man he thought had murdered Kate. There was a while when he believed he could never trust Neal again, when he almost hated him. Had Mozzie not been shot and they had to deal with that fallout, he may have ended their deal right then and there and sent Neal back to prison for the remainder of his sentence.

The road back to any semblance of normality between them was hard, but somehow they both pulled through and despite everything, Neal became someone he could trust again. It shocks him to realize that Neal’s “reformation” is not because Neal discovered his own moral compass, but that he borrowed Peter’s. Typical Neal.

He chuckles and Diana looks at him, trying to divine his amusement.

“Just thinking about Caffrey.”

She smiles, and so does Jones. “You haven’t laughed like that since he left.”

“Have I been that bad?”

Jones, realizing that his boss is in a surprisingly expansive mood, jumps in feet first. “You’ve been pretty grim since Neal walked out the door.”

Peter’s lips twitch. “You’ll find my apologies in your annual reviews.”

He tucks his note cards away and encourages the two to do the same. “Anymore prep and we’ll sound like robots.”

They are met in Union Station by a trainee who can barely contain his excitement. He chatters a mile a minute. “You know, when we heard that you were coming – it was like, you know, that we were going to meet Hoover himself.”

“Hoover? J. Edgar?” Peter manages to keep a straight face, Jones bites his lip and Diana covers her mouth to stifle the laugh.

The trainee plows on, completely unaware of the ridiculousness of the comparison. “Yeah – you’ve got the best closure rate in the Bureau, you work the really sexy cases, and you’re the baddest badass motherfu…” The young man finally realizes what he is about to say and turns beet red. “Ummm – you’ve got a rep that you’re a really, really tough guy.”

“Thank you.” Peter wonders where the man got his information from. There are few people who consider White Collar to be “sexy.” The bulk of their work is financial fraud; most would consider Organized Crime or even Counterterrorism to be much more interesting. And a reputation as a badass? He can’t wait to tell Elizabeth, she’s going to hurt herself from laughing so hard, and it’s quite possible with Jones and Diana to share with the office, that he’ll never live it down at work either.

By the time they reach the FBI Academy on the Quantico facility, Peter’s ears are ringing and he’s got a headache from trying to follow the driver’s enthusiastic conversation. He is surprised to be greeted by Michael Stokes, his counterpart from the SoCal office, and a former Quantico classmate. Stokes, to Peter and his team’s infinite gratitude, dismisses the chatty trainee, and greets them warmly.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Mike.” He claps a hand on a beefy arm and gets drawn into a manly hug. Peter introduces Jones and Diana

“Yeah, they tapped me for a field counselor this training session. It’s a nice break from the routine. And keeping up with the trainees has put me back in fighting shape.” Mike slaps lightly at a gut that’s spent a bit too long behind a desk.

“Too much mortgage fraud can rot your brain.”

“Exactly. But that’s not something you worry about. Been following your career the past few years. Seems that every time I turn around, one of your cases is written up in the Journal.” He turns to the younger agents. “What’s it like working with Big Bad Peter Burke?”

Peter groans at the old nickname and Clinton and Diana look at him in near disbelief. Diana, thankfully remembers that she’s the daughter of a diplomat. “Peter’s a good boss – it’s an honor to work for him.”

Mike chuckles. “Good answer, good answer. Peter’s trained you well.”

Diana rolls her eyes.

After promising to meet Mike for dinner, they settle into the instructors’ quarters, and thankfully no one has to share a room. The evening is convivial. Peter knows the other field counselor by reputation, and they are soon joined by a few of the resident instructors from the Training Division. Diana, as the most recent Academy graduate, is subject to some gentle ribbing about the august company she’s keeping, but she holds her own.

It’s inevitable that the discussion turns to Neal. The resident instructors are particularly interested in what it was like to work day by day with a convicted felon. Peter demurs, claiming that he doesn’t want to steal his own thunder, but he slyly mentions the skit that his senior aides performed at Caffrey’s farewell party. It doesn’t take much convincing to get the pair of them to recreate it. The result is funnier than the original performance, for a multitude of reasons, the least of which is that Jones and Diana are a bit drunk and Diana needs to substitute the infamous black trilby with a navy FBI ball cap.

They eventually excuse themselves and head to back to their rooms – the lecture is set to begin at 9 am, and none of them want to appear less than perfect for their waiting students.

Peter starts off with a bang, surprisingly comfortable in the teaching/lecturing role. He speaks for nearly an hour and turns the podium over to Jones, who entertains the class with the case of the college professor who was replicating famous criminal MOs and using his students as the actual thieves. This is a particularly amusing matter to relate, since it had given nearly his whole team the opportunity to go undercover.

Peter looks out at the auditorium filled with fresh, eager faces and something catches his eyes. Up in the back row, there is a trainee, male, mid-30’s, with dark hair and fair skin. The lighting and distance makes it impossible to see the color of his eyes, but there’s something about the set of his shoulders, the way he’s leaning back in his seat. Neal?

They pause for a brief break and a number of eager trainees rush the podium. By the time Peter finishes answering questions, he’s completely lost track of the man he thinks may be Neal.

The next session goes well, and after Diana gives her portion, there is a formal Q&A. Peter’s not surprised that many of the questions are about Neal. Like the instructors last night, the trainees are curious about what it was to work with a convicted felon.

“Neal Caffrey seems like he was quite integral to your operation. How have you replaced him?”

Peter thinks for a moment. “Mr. Caffrey was unique, his contributions will be hard, if not impossible to duplicate. But the Division uses a number of CIs and we will acquire more assets as needed.”

There are a few questions about the cases that Jones and Diana presented and Peter uses the lull to scan the audience. He sees no one that looks like the man he thought could be Neal. It must have been his imagination. He has no reason to think that Neal would be at the FBI Academy, it isn’t as if he could become an agent. Then his attention is caught when someone asks about the sting they ran on the corrupt politician. The trainee uses the phrase “bad cop - good criminal” and Diana, who had presented the case, is confused and looks at Peter.

He answers the question himself, but something niggles at him. He forgets about it with next question, which spooks him. “If Neal Caffrey were arrested again, would you offer him the same deal?”

“No.” He gives no further explanation, and the instructors take that as a signal that the lecture is over.

Peter’s grateful that the trainees’ schedule doesn’t permit them to linger. The last question has really thrown him. The thought of Neal, back in prison is disturbing, especially now that he knows how badly Neal wants to stay straight, to stand on his own.

Diana and Clinton use the time at Quantico to do their quarterly weapons recertification, which leaves Peter with a few hours before they need to head back to D.C. Just enough time to do the Yellow Brick Road.

Peter has made it a point to do the challenging course every time he comes down to Quantico; it’s a brutal test of physical stamina that both exhausts and exhilarates him. He’s done it twice with Jones, once with Diana and almost a dozen times with other probies and agents. This would be the first time he’s running it alone since his days as an FBI trainee, and it seems fitting, somehow.

About five minutes into the course, Peter catches a glimpse of another runner through the trees, maybe a minute ahead of him. He doesn’t bother picking up the pace; the sensation of going solo is pleasant. He figures he’ll catch up with the other runner once he hits the first set of traps, but he never does. Through the bear trap and the obstacle courses, the wall climbs, he sees the man ahead of him, but always out of reach. Somewhere along the fourth punishing uphill mile, Peter has convinced himself that the other runner is Neal. He pushes himself to catch up, but when he reaches the top of the last hill, with its infamous twelve-foot tall cargo net, Peter’s all alone, the other runner has disappeared. He stands there, looking at the last obstacle – the combat crawl under barbed wire, through a muddy trench, and shakes his head. In sixteen years, he’s never failed to finish the course and he’ll be damned if he starts now.

Peter’s filthy, covered in mud and sweat soaked, and never so grateful to see Clinton Jones waiting with an off-road vehicle to take him back to quarters.

“Boss, anyone ever tell you you’re more than just a little bit crazy? No one does the Yellow Brick Road by himself.”

The drive back to Union Station is mercifully quiet. The trainee who is driving this time is the strong, silent type and does not pepper his passengers with questions. Peter lets Diana sit up front and spends the forty-minute ride in a semi-doze and thinking about nothing, too exhausted to contemplate the ghost he’s been chasing all day.

The train is pulling out of 30th Street Station in Philadelphia when Peter remembers what bothered him about the next to last question; the one where someone had asked about “bad cop - good criminal.” It hits him that the irreverent name of the scheme Neal laid out to him was never used in the official write up or his notes. It’s certainly not something that a wet-behind-the-ears trainee who’s been stuffed to the gills with law and order would come up with on his own. So how the fuck did he know to ask about it?

Peter’s brain goes in circles, the quiet susurration of the train’s wheels helps him think but doesn’t help him find answers. Diana’s sleeping, Jones is watching a movie on his iPad and he can’t shake the feeling somehow that Neal was there, at Quantico.

It’s well after 11 p.m. when the Acela arrives at Penn Station and Diana and Jones take off. Peter’s got another hour’s travel to Brooklyn. Except that Elizabeth’s waiting for him at when he climbs up from the platform. She’s dressed in a track suit that’s seen better days, her hair’s pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, and the tennis shoes are the ones she wears to take Sachmo out. And Peter thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

He greets her with a passionate kiss. “Have I told you how magnificent you are lately?”

She bops him on the nose with an elegant finger and replies, “All the time, but it certainly bears repeating.”

At this hour, the drive home takes less than twenty minutes, and Peter remembers nothing about it, or about getting home and climbing into bed.

At three a.m.; however, he’s wide awake and his brain is going through an endless loop - the mysterious trainee - “bad cop - good criminal” - the runner on the Yellow Brick Road. Peter lies there until the alarm goes off at six. He kisses El on the shoulder, and she rolls away in sleepy annoyance. By seven, Peter’s out the door and in the office a half-hour later. He starts sorting through the email that accumulated in the day and half he was out, and he opens a message from the Academy, thanking him and his team for their excellent presentations. There’s a link to the course material and Peter idly clicks on the one for the case files, and finds his answer to the question that’s been haunting him. For some reason, Neal’s notes were included in the material provided to the trainees on the Jennings case, and there - plain as day – is the scheme laid out end-to-end, and titled “Bad Cop - Good Criminal.”

Mystery solved, Neal was not at Quantico. And Peter’s unutterably depressed.

Go to Chapter Five