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”Parker, watch yourself,” Eliot said. ”The Panthers are supposed to be the greatest thieves in the world.”
Parker couldn’t help rolling her eyes, even as her deft fingers continued manipulating the safe’s tumblers. “Archie used to run the Panthers, Eliot. He said they were a bunch of pretentious assholes. Only he was more…British…about it.”
”How come you never joined?” Hardison asked. That got a smile out of Parker. He wasn’t the first who’d asked her, but somehow the question meant more coming from him.
“Archie wanted my reputation to work for me instead of me having to work for it,” Parker said. “Or something like that.” Whatever his intention, she’d never missed the professional recognition that accompanied acceptance into the elite organization. Eventually she came to enjoy the incredulous looks from people when they discovered she had bypassed such a prominent stepping stone in a thief’s career.
”I’ve got eyes on Woodford,” Hardison said, just as the safe’s lock finally bent to her will. ”Thirty seconds max to set the hook and get clear.”
Thirty seconds – more than enough time to do what she needed to do and get clear. Parker began swapping the jewels in the safe for the ones Hardison had rigged with tiny GPS trackers. The plan was simple enough – they would track Woodford until he disposed of the jewels, then turn the whole mess over to Interpol and the FBI. ”Nobody profited more in the aftermath of the 2008 crash than the organization of thieves known as the Pink Panthers,” had been Hardison’s assessment when they decided to take on the challenge.
Cut the head off the snake, she thought, remembering Eliot’s blunt explanation of the plan.
”Problem,” she heard the hitter say, almost as if he knew she’d been thinking about him. ”That’s not Woodford.”
Not Woodford? Parker wondered, but she forced herself to stay on task. The entire plan had been predicated on Woodford being the one to take the heist himself. The head of the Panthers took few enough jobs these days – if they lost him here, Parker knew it could be months, if not years, before they had another chance to go after him.
”Running facial recognition,” Hardison reported, his voice tinged with the hint of distraction he got whenever he was doing something technical.
”Forget it,” Eliot said. ”Get out of there Parker – if the FBI isn’t on site, they’re going to be here soon.”
Parker was already halfway to the return duct she’d used to access the office, but Eliot’s comment brought her up short. “FBI? Why?”
***************************************
Neal knew he was driving Peter to distraction, but he couldn’t deny the rush he was getting working with the likes of Woodford, Goncharov and Regatti – the Holy Trinity of the art theft world. Even knowing that Woodford – still smarting from the embarrassment of Neal’s “audition” – was likely waiting for him to trip and fall flat on his face only made the experience that much sweeter.
Okay true, there was the small matter of Keller and the fact that he was still upright, breathing and not behind bars, but times like this he could let himself pretend. Ten million in uncut sparklers. Woodford hadn’t been forthcoming as to the why of this particular job, but whatever his ultimate reason Neal was finding himself hard pressed to care. The safe was nicely challenging, but not outside his ability to conquer. Against all odds he’d even managed to convince Peter to let the diamonds pass into the Panthers’ hands… “all for the greater good”.
“Did you ever talk to somebody about what Eliot did to you?”
The question was perfectly timed, just as the last pin dropped and he levered the door open. Neal was so startled by the interruption that he ended up on his ass on the floor. A moment later a slender woman with a blond ponytail appeared, looking down at him. “He wanted me to ask.” Without waiting for him to answer, she extended a hand. Feeling thick and stupid, Neal grabbed it and let her help him back to his feet.
“You work with Eliot Spencer?” he asked. Not for the first time he wondered what sort of karmic issue had bound him to a man who solved problems with his fists – an enforcer who had served some of the worst men the world had to offer over the course of his life.
The woman cocked her head as though she was listening to something Neal couldn’t hear. “I am not going to tell him that – that’s just mean.” Belatedly Neal remembered that the crew Eliot was currently working with used high-tech communicators as a means of staying in touch with each other while on a job. After a moment she huffed out a sharp breath, clearly annoyed. “Oh, all right. Jeez.” Blue eyes focused on him again. “Eliot says stop asking questions you know the answer to because you’re smarter than that. He also says that you need to get away from the Panthers and let us finish our work.” She extended her hand again – this time clearly in greeting. “I’m Parker.”
Definitely feeling unsteady now, Neal took the woman’s hand and shook it dutifully. A beat later than he should have, name and setting collided with each other in his brain and he gasped.
“Yes, I’m that Parker,” she said, rolling her eyes and gesturing for him to get over his burst of fanboy glee. “Focus! You. Need. To. Get. Out. Of. Our. Way.”
Trying desperately to recover some of the smooth charm that was supposed to be his calling card, Neal shook his head. “I can’t. Look, if you work with Eliot you know I’m a confidential informant with the FBI’s White Collar Division. This…” He gestured around them, “…this is all part of an operation to bring down the Pink Panthers.” He paused then, the obvious question finally occurring to him.
Parker scowled at him. “Please – I’m not that lame.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she was silent for a long moment – obviously listening to her teammates. “Fine – here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, focusing on Neal again with an intensity that made him take an involuntary step back. “You’re going to continue with your little plan right now. Don’t let the FBI take custody of those diamonds – Hardison did a lot of work fitting them with GPS trackers so we can find Woodford when we need to.” Her attention shifted again briefly. “I got it,” she growled, rolling her eyes at whomever had been speaking.
To Neal she said, “Tell your handler whatever you need to. If he’s worth even half his paycheck he’ll figure out how to get hold of us. If we don’t hear from him in the next forty-eight hours, we’re proceeding with our plan and if you get run over in the process, so be it.”
**********************************
Aside from the obvious, the thing Peter Burke hated most about dealing with gray hat vigilantes like Nathan Ford and his crew was that it took an ungodly long time to reach out to them. First he had to call Sara Ellis. Sara wasn’t able to give him Nate Ford’s current contact information, but she did put him in touch with a James Sterling, who bounced him to a Maggie Collins, who – after asking him an uncomfortable number of questions – promised to pass his message along to Ford and if Nate wanted to talk to him, he would contact Peter himself.
Then, after three hours being bounced around who knew how many time zones, all he received for his troubles was a text message telling him to meet the next morning at Neal’s apartment. “I’ve told you everything, Peter,” Neal swore when he called his CI. “If they’re planning on meeting here, they didn’t ask me first.”
The two of them spent a little bit of time brainstorming about what Ford’s crew might be up to beyond the information Parker had given Neal. “And you believe it was her?” Peter asked, grinning at the awe-struck tone that kept creeping into Neal’s voice every time the thief’s name was mentioned.
“Well there aren’t any pictures,” Neal admitted, “but that’s not the kind of thing you claim unless you can back it up.”
“You do know she’s insane, right?” Peter asked – letting more than a touch of fatherly concern leak into his voice. “All the reports say so.”
Neal was farther gone than he expected. “Eccentric, sure. Fearless – definitely. Some of the heists she’s pulled you have to be. Insane? Not sure I’d go there.”
Peter decided to let the matter drop. Neal had endured him geeking out about baseball players and jazz musicians – he supposed he could tolerate a little fanboy action over a girl so far out of Neal’s league she might as well have been a fairy.
It was a mark of how much his life had changed since Neal entered it that it didn’t occur to Peter until he was about to knock on Neal’s apartment door how many cases he could have closed in one shot just by showing up with an arrest warrant and a SWAT team.
Which would end up losing us this advantage over the Panthers, he was forced to acknowledge. Neal on the inside was good – a better break than he had a right to hope for. The assistance of a crew like Nate Ford’s was a bonus he wasn’t about to squander unless they left him with no other choice.
The look on Neal’s face when he opened the door was not sufficient preparation for the insanity that had been unleashed in the confined space. Mozzie was engaged in a spirited debate over…something…with a blond haired girl and a tall, handsome young black man. Eliot Spencer was standing off to one side – clearly trying to stay out of the mess, but unable to keep from interjecting his own opinions into the discussion every few minutes or so.
“Breakfast?” Neal asked, taking Peter by the arm and guiding him to the table. “They treated.”
Eliot caught his eye. “Figured it was the least we could do, dropping in on you guys last minute.”
The others quickly noticed that their ranks had abruptly increased by one. Peter was especially unnerved by the raking glance Parker gave him by way of introduction. “You’re right,” she said, leaning in closer to Mozzie. “I bet he even smells suit-y.”
Smiling in spite of the implied aspersions on his personal hygiene, Peter willingly helped himself to a plate of food while Eliot tried to bring his wayward teammates into line.
“The smart thing for everybody would be for you people to get out of our way, and we’ll call you when it’s over,” Parker said, gesturing at Peter. “But, everybody’s already told me that’s not going to happen because Neal over there needs to bring the FBI this win in order to get his sentence commuted. I get that, and I’m as much a fan of keeping the good bad guys out of prison as the next thief.”
“We’re willing to pull back and let you guys take point,” Eliot interjected. “Give you limited access to our tech and our resources with the understanding that if we smell this thing about to go south, we’re going to take over again.” He glanced at Neal. “That’s likely going to mean burning you right out of the picture, man. I’ll try and give you a heads up that it’s coming, but no promises. These guys are too important.”
Peter could tell Neal and Mozzie were expecting him to argue, but they were getting a lot of concessions up front. He had no trouble listening to threats he was confident would never be an issue. Still have the full might and weight of the good guys on my side, he thought, finishing off a delicious cruller as talk turned to brainstorming specifics on how they were going to proceed. Eliot Spencer could make all the threats he wanted – if he was going to end up losing the Panthers anyway, Peter had no problem taking in somebody on the level of Parker to make up the difference.
********************************
Ten minutes into the entirely unorthodox “briefing”, Eliot had made up his mind. Bumping shoulders lightly with Hardison, he began slowly working his way around the table until he was standing next to Caffrey – who was watching Parker with an unfortunately love-struck expression on his face.
“You don’t want to chase that,” he murmured. Across the table, Hardison had invited Peter to look more closely at something on his tablet. Startled, Neal turned towards Eliot. “Girl’s not only crazy, she’s very taken.” He tipped his head towards the balcony. “Walk with me.”
He noted with relief that it was the first time in their weirdly long history together that Caffrey didn’t hesitate to go with him. Granted he still had friends within calling reach, one of them with a gun and a badge, but the scars Neal carried from Eliot were old and deep and not rooted in any kind of logical response.
“You look good,” Eliot said as they reached the balcony railing – New York spread below them.
Pausing for a moment to let the breeze play across his skin, Neal nodded. “Things feel like they’re finally starting to come together. This thing with the Panthers…” His voice trailed off, almost as though he couldn’t process how big the stage was he was playing on. “FBI’s agreed that if Peter and I bring them down, they’ll cut me loose.”
There it is. He’d been sensing a new strength in Caffrey, something less willing to sit back and allow his destiny to be determined by other people. “You believe them this time?” he asked.
Neal gave a small, “what’re you gonna do?” shrug.
Sizing him up one last time, Eliot held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
Raising an eyebrow, Neal nevertheless did as he was told. Entering his own number into the device, Eliot said “Now obviously if Burke asks you about this it’s so you and I can continue working through our issues with each other. The truth,” and here he looked up making sure he had Caffrey’s full attention, “is that this is me repeating the offer I made to you before. You want a foolproof, guaranteed way out, you call me. I will see you safely into the wind.”