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“I thought you said you weren’t gonna play this game with me again.”
“Well, I changed my mind. After seeing your so-called drawing, I decided to teach you the proper way to play this game. So now, it's my turn to draw.”
“I still stand my ground that my sketch is perfectly fine. You’re just mad because you couldn’t guess what it is.”
“Right. How about you show that to Elizabeth? If she knows it’s a Ken doll, I’ll admit you won that round wholeheartedly.”
“El will have the answer in less than a minute.”
“We’ll see about that.”
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“Still not finished? It’s been like twenty minutes already.”
“Patience, Peter.”
“Why are you taking so long? It’s not like you’re forging a masterpiece or something.”
“Give me a few more minutes, would you? Fine art can’t be rushed.”
“Neal, I doubt a sketch for a simple drawing and guessing game can be called art.”
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“Here. Make your guess.”
“Wow, this is beautiful...but Neal, what am I looking at?”
“The whole point of this game, Peter, is you guessing what I sketched, not me telling you the answer.”
“Don’t repeat what I said. And you’re supposed sketch something simple, not a whole landscape!”
“Says who?”
“Says...fine, fine. I have a whole night to solve this.”
“I figure you'd welcome a challenge.”
“I suppose it's a place that I'm guessing then?”
“Correct. Now where exactly?”
“Let’s see...trees, hills, sea...You're sure I know where this is?”
“Yes, Peter.”
“So I've been there before.”
“That I can neither confirm nor deny. But since you’ve so generously given me a hint—though completely useless—on the previous round, I’m gonna give you one as well: look closer.”
“Closer. Hmm...ahhhh. I think I know the answer, Neal.”
“Already? Let's hear it then.”
“It’s Cerro Ancón in Panama City.”
“Dingdingding. Very good, Peter! I didn’t expect you to figure it out that fast. How’d you know?”
“Well, I recognized this four-story mansion hidden in the shadows of the clouds. It was the main stage where some conman slash art thief I used to be chasing after faked his own death back in 2004.”
“Who? I don't think I'm following, Peter.”
“Uh-huh. Let me help you refresh your memory then. The said conman got made while he was trying to steal a million-dollar vase from the four-story mansion of a rich local family. He escaped to the rooftop with the vase in his hands, but slipped and dropped to the ground with his face going down first. The vase shattered into pieces. And his face was completely unrecognizable.”
“Oh. What a tragedy.”
“A day later, I landed in Panama City to identify the body. But the coroner told me they had mistaken the body as a victim of another crime, and they had already cremated it. So in the end, all I got were a death certificate issued by the coroner and the broken pieces of the vase. Ring any bell?”
“The story sounds vaguely familiar.”
“You think?”
“I may or may not have heard it somewhere.”
"Then three weeks later, the FBI got leads that the same vase had resurfaced on the black market. Turned out that was the real vase and the one sitting in our evidence locker was a fake all along. We questioned the buyer about the guy who sold him the piece. And I'm sure you know this already: the physical description he gave us matched perfectly with the supposedly dead conman.”
“Wow. This guy, whoever he is, must be really smart and resourceful. I’d very much like to meet him.”
“Neal.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you do.”
“So did you ever believe he was really dead?”
“To tell you the truth, I did at first…stop smirking, Neal.”
“I'm not smirking.”
“Alright. He did fool me, but only for a day. When I arrived the morgue and found out the body has conveniently disappeared, I knew there must be more to the story.”
“Peter Burke's gut detector?”
“Yeah, something like that. However, the higher-ups refused to reopen the case based on a hunch. They were so eager to believe the criminal they'd been after for years was gone. By the time I collected enough evidence to prove that he was still alive—”
“The real vase turned up.”
“And you know the rest already.”
“So you're saying he conned the whole FBI for nearly a month.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Caffrey. Don't look so smug.”
“What? I'm just glad the talented man didn't die young.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, now back to the guessing game. I won this round, right?”
“You did. Congrats!”
“Great!”
“And, Peter?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you cry for me on your flight to Panama?”
THE END