White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 3

Are we partners?

"She's Interpol," Peter told El as they walked with their sandwiches.

"Oh, do you think Neal knows?" she asked.

"Well, he spent six hours alone with her in a room. He knows." Why else had Meilin taken him there? Why else had she broken the kid's watch and Neal presumed he did not know? It made sense that she had done that, being Interpol. She had told Neal, alright.

"Maybe he was keeping his cover," his wife proposed. He glanced at her. Was she serious? She giggled.

"Okay. He knows."

"He's playing me!" This was serious and he wanted her to understand. This was in a way worse than when the kid stole the painting.

"Well, there's really only one reason why he would keep something from you," she pointed out.

"Just one?" He could think of several. After all, he was a federal agent, while Neal was a convicted felon risking going back to prison every day. He stopped. Of course. And he had himself to blame on that one because he had told Neal to let go and denied him help.

"Kate."

Elisabeth nodded.

"What are you gonna do?"

"An agent is missing," Peter sighed. "I don't have time for this now. Either Neal plays my game or he goes back to prison." It was the way it had to be.

"Why don't you confront him?" El suggested. "Tell him that you know."

Wise words. And he would have if an agent's life was not at stake.

When Peter was back from lunch they drove down to the warehouse where Meilin was supposed to have her part-time work. It was a concrete building in a shabby area right by the railroad in Wakefield. Peter yanked both doors. They were locked.

Peter pointed at one of them.

"Pick that for me."

It was something in Peter's voice that made Neal suspicious. His handler had promised him not to try to set him up for old crimes; That he did not seek to put him in trouble. This though, felt like a test, somehow.

"Don't we need a warrant?"

"Oh, look at you. Law-abiding citizen all of a sudden," his handler sneered. "I got goosebumps. Agent Costa already filed for one."

Neal remained with his hands in his pockets. Peter was up to something and he felt no need to be part of it.

"I don't have my tools," he pointed out to Peter. It was the truth.

"Well, I got mine," he got as a reply and Peter held out a black, professional Southord-case. Neal opened it. He found Peter oddly hard to read today. Especially now. He had no arguments against doing as Peter told him. He took a rake with several little waves on it and placed it in the lock. Then he pulled out one of the tension tools and hooked it in the lock. It was an easy job. He felt the pins one by one getting in place. The lock gave away and the door slid open.

He scanned inside. Row after row with high storage shelves. There did not seem to be an alarm system. Peter walked passed him and Neal followed. He pushed the door closed.

"I think I just saw the Ark of the Covenant back there," he joked as he caught up with Peter.

"If my face melts, let me know."

Was that a painting? Neal leaned closer.

"Neal," Peter called his attention. Neal saw his handler squat and point. He squatted beside him. Marks on the floor, scuff marks from shoes most likely.