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Peter held the phone receiver in his hand, determined to end this dangerous plan before it took root and grew. Matthew Keller was now in league with the Pink Panthers and all a worried husband could envision was that little weasel’s part in El’s abduction not very long ago. Keller was supposed to be languishing for the next twenty years in a Russian prison, but like the despicable, wily creature he was, he had somehow finagled his way back into the thick of crime once again.
Peter definitely wanted to err on the side of caution; that’s why he intended to place that phone call to the higher ups in the Bureau who had initially green-lighted this dangerous undertaking. He wanted to make them aware that he and Neal were bowing out of the drama. However, the lone obstacle in his path at this very minute was Neal, standing firm and resolute, with a finger on the disconnect button of the phone.
This wasn’t the first time Peter found himself going head-to-head with his CI, but this standoff seemed outside the norm. When Peter looked across the expanse of his desk, it was like he was seeing Neal in a new light—not as a hardheaded kid, not as a slick young con man, not even as the usually submissive but cocky partner acquiescing to an FBI agent’s dictates. No, this time Peter found himself facing someone very different, a person not into misdirection, lying, or manipulating. This was someone taking an unequivocal “I’m not backing down” stance.
Peter didn’t understand how he hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe when you’re around someone day after day, you don’t notice the subtle changes. You take for granted that everything will remain the same. But at this moment, the individual Peter found staring back at him seemed foreign and unfamiliar. Somehow, when Peter was looking away, a boy had grown up and matured into a man, and that man was determined to earn his freedom from the Bureau’s tyranny. For Neal, it was no longer a “ride or die” mentality where partners worked together espousing loyalty to each other or to an ideal. Neal had found himself duped too many times to be a true believer. For him, this was a personal matter that would define the rest of his life, so danger be damned.
Peter’s epiphany was a reality check, and it taught him a hard lesson. He was forced to admit that maybe he was the foolish one for cavalierly imbuing Neal with a Peter Pan persona—a kid who refused to grow up. That had been an easier concept to abide than what Peter was seeing in front of him right now—a single-minded adult driven by a purpose. All at once, Peter found himself rethinking the past years. A much wiser man now realized that the last decade of their interactions could be viewed as a type of learning curve, not for Neal, but rather for his complacent handler. A paroled felon had somehow become the teacher rather than the pupil, and in his march to maturity Neal had taught Peter so very many things.
Along the way in that subtle education, Peter had learned the nuts and bolts of a criminal’s milieu, like how Neal pumped up the muscles and blood vessels in his wrists in order to slip out of handcuffs. Peter had also paid close attention as the proficient felon often used something as innocuous as a paper clip to unlock doors and other things. He had watched a talented artisan create remarkable fabrications, like an enormous pigeon blood ruby, and, unbelievably, even a fossilized dinosaur egg. Duplicating expensive liquor had been child’s play. A Federal agent was now wise to the illicit practice of flooding the oversees market with copies of a stolen painting to make the original harder to trace. That resulted in Peter’s practice of employing an ultraviolet light to find a hidden signature on Neal’s forgeries. Another chapter in that book of knowledge was how to gift a first-class plane ticket to some stranger at the airport to make it seem as if a criminal had fled the country. That trick had tripped Peter up many times in the past.
Over the days of their time together, Peter came to know the man behind the façade. He had watched Neal instantly connect with women and children, and on the flip side of the coin, make insistent interrogators and diligent profilers slink away in frustration. Peter had seen the con man beat polygraphs, although he hadn’t yet figured out how and his CI hadn’t shared. Peter discovered that a smile could hide deceit as cleverly as it hid a broken heart. But in times of fraternal cooperation, it had been very real watching Neal paint fantastic forgeries after cleverly matching antique pigments and aging canvasses. And awe was the word that came to mind when Neal wielded a chisel to sculpt marble into an exquisite replica of the real thing. Because a cooperative con man had been willing to enlighten his handler, Peter had gained almost an encyclopedic knowledge of criminal expertise never taught at Quantico.
But to be quite honest, there had been other less tangible lessons in Peter’s continuing curriculums. He had learned that being right was not always as fulfilling as he had expected. He had figured out that overlooking the small stuff sometimes led to bigger, more complicated issues down the road. He had internalized the concept that anger was cathartic only in the moment, and foisting his responsibilities off on someone else had consequences. He had realized that forgiveness was worth more than a fortune of gold, and the payoff was more precious. He had learned the meaning of unconditional trust and respect, and he had been surprised to discover that fond camaraderie and even love were possible.
Weeks later, Peter would reminisce and think of all the milestones on that instructive learning curve. It was humbling to realize there was still another lesson to be learned—perhaps the hardest concept of all. A man overwhelmed with sorrow had to learn how to grieve for a valued teacher who had paid the ultimate price for his freedom.