Chapter Text
The day was long and tiring and Peter was glad to be home. Peter took Neal with him to walk Satchmo, as he was hoping to talk with the teenager not only without any distractions but in a friendly atmosphere as well. The agent wasn't very successful, though. Neal kept saying that Peter didn't have to worry about him getting to the Consulate, that everything was taken care of and that there wouldn't be any issues later. Needless to say that Peter only got more worried after those words but he couldn't do anything at the moment. The only thing that was clear to him was that Neal had too much free time on his hands and Peter was going to make sure the boy's schedule from now on would be even busier. Making this his first priority, Peter finally relaxed and enjoyed the rest of his calm evening.
Falling asleep wasn't a problem for Peter that night but waking up to check who was banging on his door at an ungodly hour proved itself to be an impossible task. Being trained to be prepared for anything, the agent made his way to the door, yawning uncontrollably and trying to convince himself not to throttle whoever that was at the other side of the door. Seeing Mozzie didn't help Peter with his mood. The agent silently pointed to the living room and went to pour himself some tea, hoping and praying that it would turn out to be a good tool in helping him to gain consciousness.
So there they were now. Two men were sitting across each other, staring and not saying anything. Peter was slowly drinking his tea, while Mozzie, probably for the first time in his entire life was struggling to find the right words.
When Peter opened the door, just for a moment Mozzie thought that the agent's face was red as a hot chilli pepper. Was it just Mozzie's mind that was playing tricks on him, or was it the light from a passing car that illuminated Peter's face like that, nobody can tell. The fact was that Mozzie got even more anxious than before. A brainsick idea crawled into his mind. Suit knew. He knew about Adler and about the stolen half of the zibeline.
But instead of yelling or throwing around quiet threats, which Mozzie more than expected from the agent, the latter was peacefully drinking his tea, clearly waiting for Mozzie to start talking. That tactic, in Mozzie's opinion, was rather intimidating, therefore, quite effective.
The short guy took a deep breath and hesitantly took out his stolen treasure from the pocket. He looked at it as if for the last time in his life and put it on the table in front of Peter. The agent seemed not to notice this and continued drinking as if nothing happened. Mozzie decided not to say anything, as staying alive for a few more minutes seemed to be a marvellous idea. Those couple of minutes, however, were agonisingly long and Mozzie sighed with relief when the agent finally took the last sip and put the cup aside.
Peter looked at the half of the zibeline in front of him and closed his eyes, pinching nose in frustration. The existence of this particular object would bring more problems than necessary. The fairy tale about pirate Gerard and his beloved Lady Beauchamp wasn't just a fairy tale after all, so it was possible the treasure wasn't just a figment of the imagination either.
Deciding that all of this could wait until the next morning, Peter looked at the young man, who was not in his best state. Mozzie's coat looked like it had seen better days and his boots were partly covered in mud, which wouldn't be so surprising to see, considering the time of the year, if it had been some other person. But it was Mozzie. Mozzie, who always said that if you look good, you feel good, and if you feel good, you do good. Mozzie, who somehow managed to pull off all of his colourful shirts, no matter how ridiculous the pattern was.
Peter continued watching in silence as Mozzie took off his glasses and absent-mindedly put them on the anything blocking his face, Mozzie looked younger and more… human. Peter smiled discreetly, remembering how Neal once told him the exact same thing, when he saw the agent without his usual work suit. The agent's smile dropped, even before it had time to form when he once again caught the sight of the zibeline.
"When and where?"
If Mozzie was taken by surprise by the sudden question, he didn't show it. He restored his glasses to their rightful place, and answered in a manner which he hoped sounded casual.
"The night we were looking for Neal. Adler's place."
Mozzie was trying not to look Peter in the eyes, but when silence became unbearable, he found the leftovers of his courage and looked up at the agent. Peter was clearly processing given information and was trying to figure out his next move.
"Who else knows about it?" asked Peter and immediately noticed Mozzie's uncomfortable fidgeting. "So Neal knows. Who else, Mozzie?"
"No one." replied Mozzie and after a moment of hesitation decided to come clean about everything. "And maybe Aaa… hmm A…"
"Adler!" roared Peter, forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet, in order not to wake everyone.
"I've been followed for a couple of days. There are only two of them. And the problem is that they are not an easy tail to lose, so it must be serious."
"What else should I know?"
"If I think of something, I'll let you know, Suit." replied Mozzie standing up and dusting off his coat, thus trying to appear his usual self. "You should tidy up this place!"
Mozzie marched through the living room and turned around. With confidence, which Mozzie didn't really feel, he went to the table and stretched his hand with a clear intention of taking back the half of the zibeline. Instead, Peter grabbed the younger man's hand with all his force and dragged him closer, so that the two of them were only inches apart.
"Just to be sure there won't be any incidents," said Peter, taking the zibeline with his free hand. "I'll keep this for the time being. And be assured that I'll also keep an eye on you, Haversham."
With those words Peter let Mozzie go and the con man quickly left the house, quietly closing the door behind him. The agent sat staring at the door for a few minutes and then finally made his way to the bedroom. Sleep was the last thing on his mind, though. The agent tried not to think about Adler, Mozzie, the zibeline and the whole ordeal and the more he tried the less he succeeded. After tossing and turning aimlessly, Peter lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
"Hon?"
"Did I wake you?" asked Peter, turning to face his wife.
"You didn't. Your tossing did." mumbled Elizabeth and sat up. "Peter, what's bothering you so much?"
"Mozzie came."
"Well, that must be a fascinating story then. Let's go down to the kitchen. I want something salty. Do we have any fish left?"
"I think so, hon." replied Peter, following his wife after taking the flashlight from one of the drawers.
"Or maybe some mushrooms… And chocolate…" continued El, putting hands on her stomach and smiling. "Those three can't decide what they want."
Neal was sleeping peacefully until he felt like he was dying of thirst. The teenager stood up from his warm bed and with his eyes still half-closed went downstairs. He stopped on the last step, yawned and peacefully continued on his way. Trying to open his eyes to find the switch and turn on the lights, the boy was stopped by a sudden flash of light, coming from the kitchen. All sleep was gone in less than a second, and jumping instinctively away from the source of light, Neal managed to find the switch.
As the light came to life, scared to death Neal saw Peter and El, who were now squinting their eyes. El had a fork with a mushroom on it and Peter was sitting with a flashlight that was still on. Neal took a few minutes to comprehend what was going on but looking at the Burkes he still couldn't come up with a good explanation.
"What are you doing here?" asked both Peter and Neal in unison.
"I heard you coming and turned on the flashlight, so that you wouldn't fall down." answered Peter not waiting for Neal's reply.
The teenager stared at Peter for a few seconds and then finally remembered why he came down in the first place. Pouring himself some water, he sat between Peter and Elizabeth and unceremoniously yanked the flashlight from Peter's hands.
"Why were you sitting in the dark?"
"We never turn on the lights when going for a snack in the middle of the night." replied El, putting a piece of chocolate in her mouth. "Want some?"
"No, thanks. I just wanted a drink. Still about the lights, though. Why?"
"So that neighbours wouldn't spy on us." said Peter in such a way that Neal couldn't understand if the man was serious or just messing around.
"Who needs you at 3 in the morning?" mumbled Neal and yawned. "Night, guys."
"You sure you don't wanna stay? Then turn off the lights, will you?" said Peter, as Neal stood up and tossed the flashlight back into the agent's hands.
Neal fulfilled the request and went upstairs. He heard how Peter and El continued their quiet conversation and wishing to join them, but deciding against it, walked into his room. He opened the window to let in some air. The wind was quite strong and a few drops of rain fell on Neal's face, making him shut the window almost instantly. The teenager glanced at the door. No, they needed some time for themselves. Neal sat on the bed. The covers felt cold and uncomfortable and the pillow never looked as uninviting as it looked that moment. The rain outside was getting stronger and stronger, and in a matter of minutes it was banging against the window with a magnificent force. Neal lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep that didn't want to leave him at first, now was gone for good. The boy sat up in bed and looked at the window. The lyrics from a song made their way into Neal's head. The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. Suddenly he didn't want to stay alone in a cold bed with pouring rain outside, while Peter and El were sitting in the semi-darkness with their flashlight. He wanted to be with his family. For once he wanted to take part in a conversation and not just be a topic of it. Making his final decision Neal went to the kitchen again.
"Can I join you? I promise not to turn on the lights."
"Of course, sweety. You're just in time. Tea is almost ready." said El, putting a plate full of pickled mushrooms in front of the boy.
Neal sat down and waited for Peter to bring him tea. Soon the agent put the cup in front of Neal and gave him a fork.
"What's that for?" asked Caffrey, looking at Peter in confusion.
"You wanna sit, you have to eat." answered Peter.
"Another custom of ours." added El.
Neal atmosphere in the dark kitchen was brighter than any sunny day. The wind outside was furious: it couldn't get inside and enjoy a warm night in a warm company.
"Interesting how your life can change completely in just a few months. Neal, take more mushrooms. Don't sit there like you're a just a guest." said Peter. "A year ago we didn't have kids at all. Now we have four."
"Four?" asked Neal, almost choking on a mushroom he took upon Peter's advice. The idea that Burkes thought of him as if he was their own was still strange to Neal. It wasn't an unpleasant thought in the least, but deep inside Neal was afraid that all of this was just yet another dream and soon he would wake up, feeling as if another part of his soul was broken with no chance to be repaired. The teenager knew that the Burkes were serious in their intentions. He saw the documents, he even signed them! Unfortunately, trust and confidence don't come overnight.
"Yeah, you're right. Five. You, triplets and Satchmo." replied Peter and took a sip from his cup, wondering silently how much liquid can find room in one man, as he was sure he never drank more tea in his life than that day.
"Speaking of changes." said Elizabeth, noticing Neal's strange expression and deciding to turn the conversation into another direction. "I was thinking about how to add some colour to our living room and I have an idea. What if we put Neal's painting on the wall over there." She pointed to an empty space near the bookcase. "I was thinking about the one with our garden on it. What do you think, Neal?"
"I'm not against it. The painting needs a frame, though. I think a transitional frame will be a good choice. You know, the one that blends the elements of the traditional and the contemporary." answered Neal, starting to feel so relaxed, that he didn't even realise he was feeling that way.
"Maybe we can try a multilayered frame composition?" suggested El.
"That could be great! What do you think, Peter?" asked Neal, turning to look at the agent.
"I think a dark brown frame would be nice." said Peter looking as if he put paintings in frames for a living and had at least twenty years of experience doing that.
Neal started laughing. For the first time in a long time it wasn't a strained laugh. He wasn't laughing because he was supposed to do that but because he felt like it. Laughing. Such a small thing that can bring pure happiness, yet it's taken for granted by the most of us…
"Hey, Neal," started Peter, as soon as all of them stopped laughing. "I haven't seen you painting for quite some time. What happened?"
"I think I lost inspiration." confessed the boy. "Usually, the ideas came naturally to me. I never had to think about what I was going to draw, but with everything that was happening, I…" Neal stopped talking for a moment, gathering his mingled thoughts in one piece. "I can't focus. Even when I have a clear vision of what I want to paint, I can't do it. I just sit staring at the blank piece of paper."
"It's all in your head, Neal. You need to clear your mind before you get to work. Visit some new places or maybe try doing something new." advised Elizabeth.
"Like studying history for a change." added Peter, smirking and getting a glare from Neal and a nod of approval from his wife.
After that the conversation drifted from one topic to the other, making Neal forget about everything. No problems, no secrets, no FBI, no school, no treasures… Just Peter, El, some snacks, and Satchmo, who was quietly sleeping under the table, while the weather was trying and failing miserably to dampen the mood. Neal's last thought before he finally got to bed and fell asleep that night, was that he didn't need to go anywhere to find his inspiration. It was always there, he just needed to look closer.
Despite Neal's hopes, morning met him with pouring rain and dark clouds, that looked threateningly heavy. That wasn't a big problem for Neal, though, as he had his own plans for the day and those plans didn't have anything to do with the weather. Neal's expectations were smashed to pieces once again when he came downstairs. Elizabeth informed him that Peter was already gone because of some issues with one of his current cases, but he left Neal a list of tasks. Did this man ever sleep? When did he even have time to make this list, considering that it was still early and Peter spent most of the time in the kitchen last night?
Neal fumed for a bit, looking through the paper, which was written in Peter's neat handwriting. So much for Neal's plans. Neal do this, Neal do that… He finally got some time for himself, and it doesn't matter that getting himself suspended was the way he got his freedom from school.
Thinking and rethinking all of the above, Neal helped El around the house with everything she wasn't able to do in her condition. They talked about everything and nothing, and Neal didn't notice the time when he forgot that he was supposed to be angry with Peter and by helping El completed almost everything that the agent asked him to do. With a clear conscience, the boy successfully ignored the point about homework on Peter's list, and went on with what he planned for himself in the first place: painting. Neal could try and be somebody else, he could go months without touching paint brushes, but he was always getting back to drawing as soon as his hands started shaking and scratching for a pencil. At times Neal thought that it was just a way of staying alive: painting high-quality forgeries meant he was needed in certain circles. At other times, at much brighter and happier times, when he didn't have to think of finding ways of providing for himself, Neal considered it to be a hobby. But right now he thought that it was more than that. It was a drug. A drug, without which Neal couldn't imagine his life.
Peter returned home a bit early that day. Coming into the house and kissing his wife, he looked at the stairs as if deciding whether he should go up or not.
"Did he at least do something from my list?" asked the agent, loosening the tie, before taking it off completely.
"Well, Neal helped me a lot with the household chores." started Elizabeth, massaging Peter's tensed shoulders.
"I sense a 'but' coming." sighed the agent, turning to look at his wife.
"He didn't even consider looking at his textbooks. Look at the bright side, hon. We have already started making some progress. Change needs time. We can't push Neal too hard."
"But we can't just stay in one place and pretend that everything is perfect. You are right, though. We are already making some progress." replied Peter. "So, how much time do we have before dinner?"
"About an hour. Will that be enough?" asked El. Getting a nod from Peter, she smiled and headed towards the living room. "Remember what we talked about, Peter!"
The agent didn't respond verbally, taking instead a small package, which he left on the table and headed to Neal's room. The man knocked gently and let himself in, upon hearing the invitation. Neal didn't even turn around, but continued working on his sketch.
Peter sat quietly for a few minutes, waiting for Neal to start the conversation himself, but when it became evident that the boy was too absorbed in his work, the older man decided to get everything in his own hands.
"Don't you want to ask what I've got here?"
That question effectively made Neal turn around. Peter smirked at Neal's confused and guilty expression and handed him the package.
"Got this on my way home. I don't know if they are any good but the shop assistant told me it was the best paint set they had, so…"
Peter stopped talking, noticing that once again he was being ignored. This time, however, Neal had a good reason for doing that. Caffrey was smiling, at first just staring at the box of paints and then turning it in every imaginable direction, and then at last opening it and examining the colours.
"It's just what I needed! Thanks, Peter!"
Peter didn't realise that a smile got on his face as well. He didn't correct Neal on the use of his name. Getting Neal to trust them was a hard work, but they were making progress: the Burkes had a plan of their own. The agent let himself tell the teenager a small lie. He knew exactly which paint set he needed to buy, as Elizabeth showed it to him earlier. But making it look like he spent a lot of time choosing the set was a better way to get Neal to open up more quickly.
Neal looked at the smiling agent and all of a sudden felt guilty about not doing his homework. Peter thought about him, while Neal just ignored the agent's task.
"So, buddy, what have you been up to all day?" asked Peter, as if he didn't know anything. He really hoped that Neal wouldn't lie.
To Peter's relief, Neal told him the whole truth. Well, almost the whole truth. The teenager said that he just didn't have enough time to start on his homework, leaving out the fact that he spent that time on his newest sketch.
"It's your lucky day!" said Peter in reply to Neal's confession. "We have plenty of time before dinner. I'll help you. Where's your history book?"
"Um, it's ok, Pe… Dad." mumbled Neal. "I can do it myself."
"Nah, it's not a problem for me. Bring the book, Neal."
"Nobody in my class does homework with their parents!" grumbled the boy, nevertheless, standing up and retrieving the book, before handing it to Peter with such a sad face, that the agent almost changed his mind about the whole idea. 'Almost' being the key word here.
"That's because nobody in your class has such an amazing father!" retorted Peter, getting comfortable in an armchair across from Neal, who sat on the bed.
The agent opened the book and was immediately met by a picture of a girl, that looked suspiciously like Kate. The drawing was made in pencil with the exception of the eyes, which Neal, and Peter didn't doubt for a second that it was Neal's doing, drew with a pen. The man shook his head and turned the page, only to find another picture of Kate. Peter flipped through the book. Almost every page was covered in small drawings and caricatures. On a few pages Peter even found himself. Miniature Burke was standing with hands on his hips and smoke was coming out of his ears.
Neal sighed. He forgot about the drawings in the book and now Peter saw everything. A few more seconds and a real smoke would be coming out of the man's ears.
"Well, I see that you have already got acquainted with the pages of this book, now it's time to get to know the content."
Neal let out the breath he didn't even notice he was holding when Peter said that and relaxed, preparing for a nice chat with the man he was starting to consider his father. A few minutes later, though, the boy understood that there wouldn't be any nice chats after all.
Studying history with Peter was such a tedious task, that Neal swore he would pay more attention at the lesson, if that meant he wouldn't have to listen to Peter read the same paragraph for three times in a row. Sitting at the dinner table and half-listening to Peter and El talk, Neal thought about how amazing it would be if Beauchamp was his history teacher. The teenager smiled to himself, remembering that he still had Beauchamp's card somewhere.
Two weeks flew by, during which Peter got more concerns and troubling thoughts. Firstly there was Neal, who was worried sick about going back to school and facing his so-called friends. During the entire weekend, the teenager walked around constantly sighing and to any of Peter's or El's questions answered that he was totally fine, which unnerved Peter to end. As it turned out later not only Peter wasn't thrilled with Neal's current mood. Even Elizabeth snapped at the boy a couple of times. That didn't bring any positive results, though, and looking at his pregnant wife, Peter remembered that he wanted to fix the leaking sink and spent the whole Sunday in the bathroom, successfully avoiding both Neal with his mood swings and a bad-tempered Elizabeth.
There was also another thing, or rather person, that was bugging the agent. Beauchamp. A couple of days ago, he went to Switzerland. Jones checked the information and confirmed that this trip didn't have anything to do with Beauchamp's job and agent Burke had a gut feeling that soon enough they would be facing the mystery of the zibeline once again. And he wasn't disappointed.
Everyone in the office stopped whatever they were doing and stared as Beachamp gracefully ascended the stairs, taking off his walnut-cloured coat. The man walked into agent Burke's office, while the rest of the agents were left with wishes to be there as well, instead of working on their own cases. Every person knew that Burke was working with something unusual and that this case would bring him recognition. Nevertheless, not even a single person gave a thought to the fact how much time and nerves were spent on that case, which is probably the most humane thing to do. We always tend to think about other people's success, all the while forgetting about the price they have to pay for that.
"I have to admit, Switzerland is an amazing country, agent Burke!" exclaimed Beauchamp as he sat down. "Have you ever been there?"
"Unfortunately, I didn't have such an opportunity." replied Peter, closing the door and getting to his own place. It was only past lunchtime, but the agent was already feeling exhausted. With Neal going back to school things got even more complicated. Peter saw that his boy was having trouble at school but he couldn't do anything about it, not until Neal would ask for his help.
"After we find the treasure, you should definitely make time in your busy schedule for a trip to this country! Its history is fascinating!"
Peter raised his eyebrows at the pronouncement about the treasure, as he still wasn't convinced that it truly existed. Beauchamp only smiled and shifted in his chair to get more comfortable.
"I should probably start from the beginning, Agent Burke. Do you remember those numbers that were carved on the inside of the fan? Just before you showed them to me, I was looking through some old documents, including my grandfather's will. Among other things he left me there was his safety-deposit box in UBS. Despite the fact that I had all the papers and the key, I never had a chance to see what was there. You see, the key was not enough. To open the box I needed a code, which, you could tell, was missing."
"So when you saw the numbers on the fan, you assumed they were the missing code?"
"Exactly. My grandfather never did anything without a reason, so I had to try out a new theory."
"By the looks of it, your trip was quite successful, Mr Beauchamp."
"Indeed it was." answered the man and retrieved a carefully wrapped package from his bag.
Peter even leaned over the table a little to get a closer look at the object, which Beauchamp was slowly retrieving from a special case. Inside there was a simple brown notebook. The agent glanced at the professor, who was smiling, like he just solved one of the world's greatest mysteries. Peter looked at the notebook again, but he still didn't notice anything particularly unusual about it.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Mr Beauchamp, but I don't see…"
"It's Béatrice's diary." said Beauchamp with triumph. "Technically, it's one of the many notebooks that was inside the safety-deposit box. But this one," here Beauchamp gently poked the notebook with his finger, "will lead us to the treasure."
"And you're so sure because…" Peter stopped in mid-sentence, waiting for the reply from a smiling Beauchamp, who kept silent for a few moments.
The moment Beauchamp was about to begin his explanation, the door burst open and Neal, with a few agents in tow, who were clearly trying to stop the teenager from entering the office, stumbled inside.
"Hey, Dad! I need to talk to you about… Oh, good afternoon, Mr Beauchamp!"
"Ah! Neal, is it?" asked Beauchamp, standing up and shaking hands with the boy. The memory of one of his most grateful listeners stuck with the man and he was more than excited to see the teenager once again. "Come on in. I'm sure you'll be able to appreciate what I'm about to share more than anybody else." said Beauchamp, putting his hand on Neal's shoulder.
Peter watched Neal closely while the boy was making small talk with Beauchamp. Something was off. Of course Peter was glad to hear Neal call him 'dad' without stumbling on this word but there was something strange about it. Well, he would just have to wait.
"Mr Beauchamp," started Peter. "May I remind you that this is a federal investigation. I'm against allowing a minor to be present."
Neal stared at the agent with eyes of a puppy, who was kicked by his beloved master and sighed with so much sorrow, that almost any human being would give the boy anything he would ask for. Anybody but Peter. Nevertheless, Beauchamp was present, therefore, the agent decided not to sort things out in front of him. Besides, there was nothing to sort out yet. As Beauchamp was insistent about Neal present during their conversation, the teenager was allowed to stay.
"So, from Béatrice's diary I found some rather interesting details about life in the 16th century, but, unfortunately, we do not have the needed amount of time to discuss things that are seemingly irrelevant to our case. So, I'll go straight to the question of where did the treasure, that we are seeking, came from."
"So there is a treasure…" murmured Neal, looking attentively at the storyteller, like a wary dog. And Peter was looking like that at Neal.
"Indeed there is, young man. If you still remember the tragic, yet beautiful story of Gerard and Béatrice's love, you'll be able to recall that the poor man was condemned to the death penalty upon being accused of piracy. According to Béatrice's diary, Gerard told her a lot about his wanderings, including the story of how he unwillingly became a captain of a pirate ship. Dissatisfied and displeased sailors were preparing for the rebellion and Gerard understood that he would either have to take the rebellion into his own hands, thus stopping the bloodshed and madness that was about to happen, or he could stand up to the rest of the sailors and die in the process. Gerard was a man of high principles and morals, but his love for Béatrice was stronger than anything else in this sinful world."
Agent Burke was listening to the story and all the while was watching Neal's reaction carefully. The last time Neal was listening to Beauchamp's story his eyes were glassy and he was obviously imagining everything that was going on in the story, undoubtfully thinking about love and adventures. This time, however, the teenager's eyes were focused and his mind wasn't wandering in the far away seas with the pirates.
"So after the captain was brutally killed and the sailors took over the ship, Gerard was named a new captain. Need I say that the pirate's faith is sad and challenging but our young hero had a great cause and that was the only reason why he continued robbing different vessels. In her diary Béatrice wonders if Gerard had ever killed a man…" Beauchamp stopped and made a dramatic pause. "As a captain, Gerard always had good profits. He was hiding everything, waiting for the day when he would be able to come back to his beloved. And one day, a Spanish ship, loaded with all kinds of valuable jewellery, gold and money got into the hands of Gerard and his crew. After that, the man, who was no longer innocent and naïve, but who was still madly in love, located his beloved and went to the ball to meet Béatrice. And what happened after that we already know."
"Mr Beauchamp," addressed the man Neal. "Last time you also mentioned the map. Does Béatrice write anything about the location of the supposed treasure in her diary?"
"Neal, I think you've heard enough." interrupted Peter and stood up. "Go home and start on your homework."
"But, Daaaad!" whined Neal loudly.
"Stop it." was the answer from the agent, who started dragging the kid out of the office. "I'm glad you stopped by. See you in the evening." With those words Peter closed the door and locked it, leaving Caffrey outside fuming.
Neal didn't have any reason to stay at the office, so he slowly walked back to the elevators, greeting Jones on his way, who returned back from investigating a case. The teenager went outside and looked around. In a few moments he spotted the person he was looking for and headed there.
"So, did you manage to get any information? Why did Beauchamp come to the FBI?"
"Peter threw me out of the office before I could get anything useful. The only thing that is certain is that the treasure really exists and by the looks of it Beauchamp knows where to find it."
"It's still better than nothing."
"I guess so… Moz, we need to be careful. Peter suspects something."
"Don't worry, my friend. I'll take care of everything. But I need to know one thing, Neal. I need to be sure that you won't back away from this. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes, Mozzie. I'm sure."
"Then I'll contact you when the time is right. Take care." answered Mozzie and quickly disappeared.
Mozzie glanced back to make sure Neal wasn't following him. He didn't need the teenager to know what he was planning behind his back: that he was going to meet Adler.