Allies, Part 1
At last, another White Collar story! This one was written for alone_dreaming, for the collarcorner ficathon. Many thanks to swanpride, who helped me track down a plot bunny when they were being elusive. I hope that the end result is enjoyable! ^.^
(Set somewhere loosely in late season 1/early season 2. Because I haven't seen any S3 yet. /is behind)
Allies
Peter fiddled with the radio dial, trying to find something worth listening to. He finally landed on a weather forecast. It’d do. Leaning back in the seat, he rested one arm on the steering wheel.
So much for “Just a couple of minutes-five, max.” Neal had been in there just shy of ten minutes now. He’d hoped to discuss some aspects of their current case over lunch-he suspected the CEO’s son was involved, but all their leads were running into dead ends. Sometimes a change of scenery while going over the facts was enough to knock something loose.
Neal had been all for the idea (especially since Peter invariably wound up being the one to pay for these working lunches), the one catch being that he “really needed” to stop by The Greatest Cake, preferably today. Something to do with the manager having questions for him, color samples, wanting him to look things over in person before giving the go-ahead…. It wasn’t supposed to take long, but as the bakery was several miles outside his radius-though not far at all from the FBI building-the obvious solution was to use his lunch break for the errand.
Neal was, of course, perfectly entitled to the break-both in the sense of having earned it, and as part of his contract as an FBI employee. And Peter could hardly complain of his making use of it in that way. After all, this was Neal showing an interest in running a perfectly legal and aboveboard business. (And it actually was that, a fact Peter had checked out for himself. Multiple times.) Peter might occasionally wonder at his motives in keeping the bakery, now that it had served its original-not so legitimate-purpose, but it was really his duty to encourage any interests likely to further Neal’s rehabilitation. After all, Neal would eventually have to start thinking about what he’d do with his life once his sentence was up. Even if he couldn’t imagine the man being content making a profession out of running a bakery, not long-term, it was a step in the right direction, anyway.
Seeing as the place was less than five minutes away by car, Peter had suggested a compromise: a quick stop at the bakery first, then lunch. It’d eat up part of his break as well, but he considered that a small price to pay.
Now, however, his stomach was threatening to start gnawing on his backbone, and he was seriously thinking about going in to retrieve Neal. How much could there be to discuss about decorating plans or advertisements or whatever it was, anyway?
He checked the clock again. Two minutes, if Neal wasn’t out in two minutes he was going in after him.
He’d been peripherally aware of the sound of approaching sirens-a common enough noise in the city that it hadn’t fully registered in his conscious mind, seeing as he was already parked and wouldn’t need to pull over to get out of their way. As they neared, however, the commotion drew his attention. He flicked off the radio. Almost immediately there was a shriek of skidding tires, culminating in the metallic crunch of a car impacting something-it sounded like a block or so ahead of where he was parked, near as he could tell.
Peter sat a moment in indecision, debating whether he should go and see if there was anything he could do. Considering there were, by the sound, at least two police cars at the scene already, chances were he’d only be in the way. Then again….
When the first gunshot rang out, he had the door open and was stepping out of the car, hand reaching for his holster, before he even made the conscious decision to react. No sooner did he set foot on the sidewalk than he caught sight of a man running flat-out toward him. There weren’t many pedestrians nearby, but even if there had been it would have been easy to make him for the one the police were after-if not by the wild expression of panic and anger, then certainly by the handgun he held.
The man met Peter’s eyes, and his expression hardened. Peter drew his own gun, bringing it to bear on the man.
“FBI,” he announced. “Stop where you are and drop your weapon.”
The man slowed, hesitated. Peter continued to stare him down, unwavering. Several police officers were coming up from behind the man, but Peter didn’t dare spare any attention for their approach. Silently, he willed the man to just give in, not to turn this into a shootout. A few seconds more and he’d be surrounded, nowhere left to go.
Nowhere, that is, except through the doorway two steps to his left.
There was no chance to anticipate and prevent the action. By the time Peter had registered his decision to bolt, the man was already inside the bakery.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Neal was deep in debate with Michael, the bakery’s manager, over the psychology of color when he heard Peter’s voice from outside. A glance toward the clock on the wall informed him that he’d overstayed his promised five minutes. Peter would be getting impatient-and Neal couldn’t really blame him, considering.
But an instant afterward he realized that what he’d heard had not been a “Peter getting bored and annoyed” tone, but a decided “Agent Burke, official FBI business” one. He didn’t catch what Peter had actually said, but Neal was pretty sure he wouldn’t go all FBI agent on him over five minutes’ delay. Which meant something had happened, something serious, and he needed to-
-stay right where he was and try not to look threatening, apparently. Because suddenly he had a good guess as to who had made Peter so upset, though he still had no idea what, exactly, had happened. And he couldn’t do much about it, because the man was now inside the bakery, wildly waving a gun around.
“Everyone just stay where you are! And put your hands where I can see them!”
The man was breathing fast and hard, as if he’d been running. His clothes were disheveled, one of his shirtsleeves torn slightly, halfway down the arm. He looked-panicky, more than anything. Never a good emotion to see on the only guy with a gun. Neal doubted this was a pre-planned holdup. No, whatever had happened to bring things to this point, this guy’s day had spun out of control, and now they were all going along for the ride.
Obediently holding very still, his hands in the air, Neal darted a quick look around the room, to make sure no one else looked ready to do anything stupid. Michael, standing next to him, was tense, but Neal didn’t think he was likely to act hastily. He had initiative, and confidence, but he was steady, and not one to easily panic.
There were only three customers inside at the moment-two women and a man. Still more than Neal would have liked, under the circumstances, but not as bad as it could have been. For the moment all of them seemed too stunned to do anything. How they’d react once their situation sank in remained to be seen, but at least no one was going to make the guy reflexively shoot them in these first precarious moments before he decided how he was going to play things. He was scared, yes, but they didn’t know yet whether that would result in quick capitulation to end the stand-off-or twitchy trigger-happiness.
Neal risked taking his attention off his immediate surroundings long enough to glance out the window. Peter was there, cautious, looking for an opening-there was no good angle for him to shoot at the intruder, not without risking hitting someone else. He met Neal’s eyes in a moment of silent communication, and Neal nodded, just slightly, and shifted, intending to draw the intruder’s attention to himself long enough for Peter to get to the shop’s door and have a chance at a proper shot.
Unfortunately, in that instant when their attention was focused on each other, they missed the intruder’s moment of decision. In a swift movement, the man stepped forward to grab the person nearest him-the younger of the two women. Holding her tightly in front of himself as both shield and leverage, he held his gun close to her head.
After one brief cry of surprise and terror, the woman squeezed her eyes shut, rigid and still in the man’s grip. The man surveyed the scene with renewed confidence, bolstered by the greater sense of control in keeping a living shield between himself and the law enforcement officers outside. He shifted toward one side of the room, the woman stumbling as she moved with him, until he had both the door to the street and the rest of the room’s occupants safely in sight.
“You two, over there with the others,” he looked toward Neal and Michael, gesturing them with a jerk of his head in the direction of the remaining two customers. His attention darted back and forth between them and the door as Michael fumbled at the latch to the gate separating the area behind the counter from the front. Seeing the gunman’s patience wearing thin, Neal reached over to slide the bolt himself. He let Michael precede him, meeting his eyes as he passed and offering a short nod of understanding and encouragement. The moment was brief, no time for real communication, but what he saw in that glance worried him. He had taken Michael’s behavior for the clumsiness of haste and nervousness-but that wasn’t all that he had seen in his eyes. He was angry too. That could be good, if it focused him and gave him a bit of extra courage. Or… it could be a problem.
Neal eyed Michael’s back warily as he followed him toward the other hostages. Just what they needed-another potential loose cannon. Without any inkling of what the manager was thinking, he could only hope he wouldn’t actually do anything stupid.
Whatever might be going on in his head, Michael’s outward reaction, at least, was controlled again by the time Neal got another look at his face. A fact for which he had even more cause to be grateful a moment later.
The gunman looked the group over briefly before focusing on Michael. “You. You have a key?” Receiving an affirmative response, he directed, “Go lock the front door, and pull the shades down.”
Michael started quickly toward the door, but the gunman arrested him with a sharp, “Hey!” When Michael turned again, he pinned him with a glare. “No running for it, and no trying to signal the cops. I will shoot her.” He tightened his grip on the woman, shaking her to emphasize the point.
Michael’s eyes widened. “Hey, I get it, man. I’m not trying anything.”
“Then do it. Fast.”
Much to Neal’s relief, Michael refrained from pointing out that he likely would have been done already, had the gunman not felt the need to assert his control. As Michael finished securing the front of the store and rejoined the others, the gunman looked around, nodding as if to reassure himself that everything was going just fine.
“Okay. All of you sit down, right where you are.”
Michael met Neal’s eyes with a questioning look. Neal responded with an almost imperceptible jerk of his chin, setting the example by taking a seat on the floor. It would put them at a disadvantage when it came to making any kind of move against the gunman, but at the same time it was likely to put him that much more at his ease, to have them all in a less threatening, stationary position. And right now Neal was all for being non-threatening. While the outcome of this situation might lie in their actions, Peter would also be doing everything he could from outside. And Neal had read enough FBI handbooks lately to know that the longer a hostage situation could be prolonged in relative stability and non-violence, the greater the chances were of a peaceful resolution.
“Now…” the gunman looked them over again with critical assessment. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Well, at the moment I’m pretty sure that would be you.” Neal gave the man an ingenuous smile.
Judging by the man’s expression, it hadn’t been the right answer.
“You think this is a joke?” he growled. “Don’t make me show you exactly how not funny this is. You work here?”
“I’m the manager,” Michael informed him.
“And I’m the owner,” Neal cut in smoothly, shooting Michael a warning look.
He didn’t like being the center of attention for an angry man with a gun any more than the next person, but someone had to start handling things if there was to be any hope of guiding this guy in a beneficial direction. The sooner someone formed a connection and some basic lines of communication with him, the better.
“You own this place?” The man looked Neal up and down dubiously. “Must be pretty profitable if you can afford clothes like that.”
Neal shrugged amiably. “Let’s just say… it’s not my only source of income. Hey, I’d offer you the money in the register, if that’s what you’re thinking, but we don’t deal in much cash. It’s all about credit cards these days. But then, I don’t think a bit of money is what you really want right now anyway, is it?”
“Not exactly,” the man muttered with a glance toward the front, where the police were no doubt still waiting beyond the flimsy shelter that glass, a locked door, and a few window shades provided. “Is there a back way out of here?”
“Of course. Through the kitchen.” Neal nodded toward the door behind the back counter.
The man glanced at it, before shaking his head. “Police are probably guarding it already.”
“Probably,” Neal agreed, unperturbed. “Might want to lock that door too, if you don’t want them bursting in here.”
Neal felt, but ignored, the disbelieving gazes of his fellow hostages. He had to get the man to start thinking of him as an ally-and, more importantly, to get him into a pattern of following his suggestions.
The gunman looked to Michael once more. “Do it. Leave the door in between open so I can see you all the way. And remember-first sign you’re trying anything and I’ll shoot you in the back. Then I’ll shoot her.”
He pressed the gun tightly against the side of the young woman’s head. A few tears were running down her cheeks now, but Neal was both glad and impressed that she still showed no signs of hysteria-neither of the screaming type, nor the sobbing and pleading type. Neither would have helped calm the situation.
They were all silent and tense as the gunman watched Michael’s progress. Neal was relieved to see that the employees who had been working in the back area earlier seemed to have cleared out when things went south. One less thing to worry about.
By the time Michael returned, Neal had a plan. If something that would require so much improvisation along the way could truly be called a plan. Maybe more of a strategy.
At any rate, the first order of action was to get the girl away from the gunman. She might’ve shown admirable courage up till now, but her restraint didn’t make getting her away from him any less a priority. Doing so might not get her out of danger, exactly, but it would at least relieve the terror of such imminent threat. And it would have the added benefit of freeing anyone who might have the opportunity to act to disarm the gunman, whether that was Peter and the cops from outside, or one of the captives inside the shop.
As the man started looking around again, clearly searching for the next step, Neal kept his attitude as relaxed as possible.
“Why don’t you let her sit down with the rest of us?”
The gunman’s attention snapped back to Neal, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Neal hastened on, shrugging lightly.
“Hey, you don’t have to. But she’s scared, and she’s only going to slow you down. Myself, I’d rather be free to move fast if I saw an opportunity than be dragging someone else around with me. Besides-I know it seems safer to have a human shield, but trust me, it only makes the police twitchy and more eager to take you out. They’re more likely to give you some space if they don’t think anyone’s in immediate danger.”
“Yeah?” the man snorted. “And how do you know so much about how the cops think? You one of them?”
Neal laughed. “Hardly. Just experienced. I’ve had a few less than pleasant run-ins with them myself.” He tugged up his left pant leg to reveal the anklet.
It was something of a calculated risk. He hoped to build some trust and fellow feeling with the gunman-but it might just as easily simply cost him the trust of the other hostages. He’d heard the male customer draw in a sharp breath at sight of the tracking device, so one of them at least knew exactly what it meant. If his ploy meant that they became too suspicious of his motives and refused to back him up at a crucial moment…. But it was worth the risk. And the revelation was, at least, no surprise to Michael, so he could still count on one ally. Probably. Unless Michael did something stupid and got himself… taken out of the equation.
He really wished that Peter was there. There as in right there, with him, not outside, somewhere, unaware of exactly what was happening in the store. And that wish wasn’t just because it’d mean the gunman wouldn’t be the only one in the room with a weapon.
The gunman raised an eyebrow at sight of the anklet. “Looks like the kind of run-in that ends behind bars. And now I’m supposed to take your advice for handling the police?”
Unperturbed by the reaction, Neal kept right on smiling good-naturedly. Just as well to let him keep that sense of superiority. “Some of us have to learn from our own mistakes, but a smart man doesn’t insist on it. Why not pool our experience?”
“Why would you want to help me?”
“I don’t exactly want to get shot-by you, or by the police-now, do I? Seems pretty obvious it’s in my best interests to help you figure out the best way to get out of here. Assuming you don’t want to just take the easy way and give up now, that is.”
“What, your experienced advice is that I should just give up and go to jail?” he snarled with angry sarcasm. “You call that the easy way? No thanks.”
“Well it’d be easier for me than finding a way to get you out of a place surrounded by law enforcement.” Neal grinned. “Relax, I didn’t actually think you’d take that option.”
“But you think you can find a way?” he asked, pacified but still skeptical.
“Hey, I once broke out of a maximum security prison. Compared to that, a bakery should be easy.”
“Maybe, but you got caught again.”
“Like I said-some of us have to learn from our own mistakes.”
One more suspicious look, and the man said, “Alright then. What’s your brilliant idea-” he hesitated, realizing that he didn’t even know his newfound ally’s name.
“Nick. Nick Halden.” He supplied.
It wasn’t likely the man would’ve heard of him by his real name, or know about his current association with the FBI if he had, but better to play it safe at this point. He looked expectantly at the man, inviting a name in return. The gunman scowled.
“Oh come on,” Neal said. “It’s not as if I like talking with the police any more than you do. Besides, if they don’t know who you are already they’ll figure it out soon anyway. It’s not like it’s going to hurt anything.”
“Guess not. Fine. My name’s John Farrel.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance. I’d offer to shake hands, but-” he gestured at the gun and hostage “-yours seem to be occupied. What do you say to getting a hand free first?”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
With an effort of will, Peter restrained himself from pacing as he waited for his team to arrive. He knew the tension radiating from him probably wasn’t much better, but that much he couldn’t help.
Although the gunman inside was NYPD’s perp, the officers at the scene had gracefully agreed to let the FBI take the lead in handling the situation. Under the circumstances, it only made sense. Where it might take an hour or more to assemble a SWAT team and get their negotiator on scene, the FBI had the personnel and equipment just minutes away. In a volatile situation like this one every minute was of the essence, and the NYPD officers were too professional to let pride or territoriality take precedence over the safety of the hostages.
Right now those minutes seemed to crawl by with agonizing slowness. Logically, he knew it would take a little time to get everything, and everyone, assembled. The inner voice that was shouting that it was taking too long, that they should be here by now, had nothing to do with rational logistics and time sense and everything to do with worry and helplessness.
They hadn’t heard any shots fired since the perp had entered the building, which was a good sign. Chances were good that at this point everyone inside was still alright. But with the shades drawn and no way to actually see what was going on, imagination had far too much room to roam free.
“Hey, you okay?”
Peter started. He hadn’t even heard Captain Daher’s approach. Now the man was looking at him in puzzlement and mild concern. So that would be a yes, then: he did look as tense as he felt. And he was going to have to give the man an explanation, before he started wondering whether Agent Burke was really fit to call any shots around here.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter assured him. “It’s just that my partner’s in there.”
“Your partner?” Daher’s eyebrows rose. “That changes things a bit, doesn’t it…. I thought it was just civilians. He armed?”
Peter gave a huff that was too lacking in amusement to be called a laugh. “No. Definitely not. He’s a… civilian consultant. Not armed, and not trained for-this.” He waved a hand to encompass the building in front of them, and the situation in general.
Daher grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, man. Bad enough seeing one of your friends in danger. It’s worse when you know they’re in way over their head.”
“Yeah,” Peter said softly. Then, straightening, he forced himself to set aside the anxiety. It wouldn’t help now. “I wouldn’t be too sure about his being in over his head, though. He may not have the training, but Caffrey’s pretty used to working under pressure.” And if that wasn’t the understatement of the year…. He smiled slightly. “If anyone can help talk this guy down, he can.”
“Caffrey?” Daher asked, startled. “Neal Caffrey? You’re that Agent Burke?”
“Yes, I am that Agent Burke,” Peter confirmed. He was trying for wry humor, but inwardly he braced himself, wondering if it was going to be an issue. FBI agents weren’t the only LEOs who sometimes took issue with Caffrey and the unorthodox deal he’d worked out.
Apparently his tone came across as a little more confrontational than he’d intended, because Daher raised his hands, saying in a conciliatory tone, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t know that I would’ve taken the risk you did, getting him that work release, but then I don’t know him like you do-and I think at this point your record speaks for itself. You’ve cleared some pretty high-profile cases.”
Relaxing, Peter agreed gruffly, “Caffrey’s done good work with us.”
Daher nodded, not inclined to challenge the assertion. “You trust him, then?”
“On a normal basis? Not as far as I can throw him.” Peter chuckled. “But where people’s lives are concerned? Yes, I do. If he can do anything to help us and keep the people in there safe, he will. I’d lay good money he’s got some kind of plan for handling this guy in the works already. Though whether it’s insane or brilliant may be another story altogether.”
Daher grinned, shaking his head at the odd confidence, but before he could formulate a response they both turned as FBI vehicles pulled up to the perimeter set up by the officers. The doors began opening almost before they came to a halt, agents stepping out and immediately into action in the organized chaos typical of this phase in a standoff.
Peter saw Jones and Diana coming out of one of the vans, looking around. He raised a hand and Jones, who had turned in the right direction to see the signal, tapped Diana on the arm to draw her attention. The two of them headed toward him.
“Neal’s inside?” Diana asked, as they approached.
“Where else would he be?” Peter confirmed with thin humor.
“And here he was just complaining that no one seemed to be committing any interesting crimes lately,” Jones remarked. “If it wasn’t for the gun involved, I’d wonder if he might’ve orchestrated this himself just to make lunch break more interesting.”
Daher stiffened at the suggestion. “You think that’s a possibility we should be looking into?”
“No,” came the nearly simultaneous response from the agents.
Trading a wry look with the others, Peter clarified, “I wouldn’t put him above arranging for a bit of excitement, but this is definitely not his style.”
Daher nodded, accepting the verdict for the time being. “Has your negotiator arrived yet?”
“That should be her now.” Diana nodded at the car just pulling up behind the vans.
Such was indeed the case. Peter vaguely recognized the woman who stepped out of the car, though he hadn’t had much personal interaction with her-negotiators weren’t often called for in the course of White Collar cases. After a glance around to get her bearings, the woman asked a passing agent to point out the agent in charge of the scene. Since they had by now approached close enough for conversation, Peter saved the man the trouble.
“That would be me.” Peter put out a hand. “Agent Peter Burke. You’re the assigned negotiator?”
She nodded, shaking his hand. “Agent Hannah Acken. I hear the subject’s been in there about fifteen minutes now?”
Peter checked his watch, hardly able to believe that it’d only been that long. “Just short of that,” he confirmed
“Mmm, long enough for the initial panic to die down and his situation to sink in. What can you tell me about what happened?”
“I only came in at the tail end of the chase,” Peter told her. “Captain Daher. would probably be the best one to explain what set things off.”
“Started off as a routine domestic disturbance call.” Daher grimaced. “Well, as routine as these things come, anyway, but the guy flipped out when we arrived at his house. Fired a couple shots at us, then jumped in his car and wouldn’t stop until he crashed about a block from here. He took off on foot after that, and ran until Agent Burke confronted him, just in front of the building. When he realized he was surrounded he dodged into the bakery for cover-probably just looking for another way out to begin with, but he ended up with a room full of hostages instead. We’re still not sure what pushed him over the edge, but I’ve got a couple of officers talking with his girlfriend now, trying to get a better picture of what was going on.”
“Do we know his name yet?” she asked.
“John Farrel.” Daher informed her. “He’s had a few minor run-ins with the law before, but never done any jail time. No outstanding warrants, but given his reaction when we showed up we’re looking more closely into anything he might’ve been involved in.”
Acken nodded thoughtfully. “Injuries?”
“None that we’re aware of. There haven’t been any shots fired since he went inside the building, but last we saw he was using one of the hostages as a human shield.”
“How many hostages are there?”
Peter stepped in, since he was the only one to get a good look inside the bakery before the shades were pulled. “Five hostages, three men two women. All of the employees who were in the back at the time were able to get out safely, but the manager, Michael Sutter, was in the front, along with three customers… and the bakery’s owner, Neal Caffrey.” Seeing her eyebrows rise, he added, “Yes, that Neal Caffrey.”
“Huh, didn’t know he’d kept the bakery after the stunt from the judge’s chambers. Interesting. He does toss a bit of a wild card into the mix, doesn’t he?” She smiled slightly, before switching back to all-business. “Has there been any contact with Farrel yet?”
Daher shook his head. “No, nothing. And with the shades shut we don’t know exactly where they’re all located in the building. There’s limited space for him to work with, though. The bakery doesn’t have any direct access to the shops on either side, or to the floor above. Just two doors, front and back, and they’re both locked from the inside now.”
“So at this point it looks like he’s opting for waiting and planning over a sudden rush to make a break for it,” Acken mused. “Do we know what the layout of the bakery is like?”
“I’ve got a general idea, but the agents in the mobile command center should be getting the blueprints for the specifics.” Peter looked to Jones for confirmation, adding, “Or better yet-do we know if there are any security cameras we can access?”
“Working on it,” Jones told him. “They should have the blueprint any time now, but last I heard any kind of live feed from inside wasn’t looking promising.”
“There’s a vest and radio earpiece for you in the van as well,” Diana reminded Peter. Then, turning slightly to include Daher in the report more directly, “We’ve patched into the same channel NYPD is using.”
Bolstered by the opportunity for action, Peter smiled grimly. “Right, I’ll get those and we can take a look at what we’re dealing with. Then what do you say we open up some communication?”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
“So-Laura, right?” Neal asked the younger woman. “You’re here for a wedding shower cake?”
She looked startled, but nodded. He could well imagine that just now talk of cakes and parties must seem ridiculously trivial and distant, but at the moment everyone could use the reminder of life outside the current crisis. And even more important-anything that would serve to bring home to Farrel the fact that these were all real people with real lives, and not just pawns to use or discard, was a very good thing indeed.
Currently, Farrel was near the windows, trying to get a look outside without exposing himself to potential snipers. He seemed to be ignoring them, but Neal knew he was listening, if only because he shot annoyed, suspicious looks in their direction whenever he heard someone move. As long as they kept from shifting around too much, however, he didn’t seem to mind their talking amongst themselves for the time being.
Neal smiled at her. “So when’s the big day?”
“The party’s in two weeks, but the wedding’s not for another month.” Whether or not the conversation was having any effect on Farrel, the familiar ground did indeed seem to be making Laura more relaxed.
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Oh!” She smiled. “Thank you, but I’m not the one getting married. It’s my sister, actually.”
The older woman, Laura’s mother, Karen, he had gathered earlier, leaned forward. “Denise has big dreams for everything to do with the wedding, but her work schedule’s been so crazy that she’s hardly had the time to get to bakeries when they’re open, so the two of us have been making the rounds to check things out for her. This is actually our second time here. I was so relieved when she finally decided which bakery she wanted to go with…. I was about ready to bake the cake myself if we didn’t find someplace she was happy with soon-and considering the limitations of my cooking skills, I’m not so sure her fiancé’s family would still have been on speaking terms with us after the wedding if it had come to that.”
Neal chuckled. “Well, I’m glad we could prevent that catastrophe at least. I hope Michael’s been taking good care of you?”
“Oh yes, he’s been very helpful.”
Laura turned to smile at the man in question, and Neal grinned when Michael actually blushed. Well, that was one mystery solved, at least. The pretty, unmarried sister, who was grateful to his very helpful manager, and had proven quite receptive to his attention, if her look was any indication… Yes, that’d be more than enough to trigger his innate chivalry, and would account for the tension and anger Neal had noted in Michael earlier when she was being threatened.
When faced with a threat to both themselves and strangers, most people’s natural response was to be most focused on their own safety, not inclined initially to focus on or see others as individuals-unless another person in danger called forth particular protective instincts… or wasn’t a complete stranger after all. It hadn’t occurred to him earlier that Michael’s reaction might have been specifically for her sake, and some of Neal’s own tension eased at the removal of one unknown from the equation.
“Well, we do pride ourselves on our customer service here.” He nodded at the tastefully printed ‘Customer Satisfaction Policy’ hanging on the wall, then tilted his head. “Of course, I realize that not everyone enjoys quite this much excitement when they visit a bakery.” Straightening up and putting on his most officious Corporate Catchphrase tone, he informed her seriously, “In the name of making this the best experience for you that we possibly can, we here at the Greatest Cake bakery would be happy to offer you a 40% discount off your order, to compensate you for your trouble and inconvenience.”
“Seriously?” Laura’s eyebrows rose.
“Of course,” Neal assured her. “It’s company policy.”
Karen smothered a laugh, darting a nervous look in Farrel’s direction. “Your company has an official ‘customers held hostage at gunpoint’ policy?”
“It does now. Somewhere between ‘acts of God’ and ‘our employees messed up’ on the ‘things that may make customers unhappy’ scale.”
“Wait until Denise hears.” Karen shook her head. “Given my reputation for doing anything to get the best possible price, she’ll probably think I arranged the whole thing myself just to get a good deal.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Neal declared. “I happen to love a good deal myself.”
“That what landed you in prison? You get yourself a little too good a deal going?”
The male customer, who had been quiet up till now, growled the accusation quietly to keep from drawing Farrel’s attention, but the glare he leveled at Neal suggested he’d been bottling up his reaction ever since Neal made his little revelation. Neal had, to some extent, been preparing for such a confrontation at some point, and was prepared to meet it. Better it should come now than later.
Before he could speak, however, Karen put her foot down, meeting the man glare for glare.
“I don’t know about you Mr.-“
“-Mehdall,” the man put in.
“Mr. Mehdall,” she continued, “but I for one don’t particularly care about Mr. Halden’s past at the moment. All I know is how grateful I am for what he just did for Laura-and that’s all the proof of his character that I need.”
“Yeah, sure, he stuck his neck out. And that’s great, it was brave and all. But he’s also got himself in good with this guy,” Mehdall darted a glance in Farrel’s direction, still restraining his voice to an intense whisper. “He’s helping him. How do we even know this whole thing isn’t something he and his buddy planned to get money or something? Isn’t that what hostage takers usually do-get everyone where they want them, and then start making demands?” He looked back to Neal at the end, turning the question into a direct accusation.
“Look, you can believe whatever you want about me. If you’re determined to be suspicious of me, I doubt anything I can say will convince you otherwise. All I ask is that you stop and think before you do anything hasty, because that will get people killed. I just want everyone to make it out of this, okay?”
No time to make sure the message had been received and accepted-Farrel was turning from the window and heading back toward them, looking distinctly unhappy. Neal raised his voice slightly, into a more normal, audible range.
“And right now, the best way to get out of this is to help. Isn’t that right?” He looked up at Farrel, expression perfectly open and innocent.
“Yeah,” Farrel muttered. “So why don’t you knock off all the talking and start doing some of that planning you promised me. There’ve gotta be dozens of police, and they’ve already got the FBI out there. What’s the next step? What do I do now?”
Well, the good news was that Farrel wasn’t just susceptible to suggestion, he was already entrenched in the mindset of looking to Neal for guidance. The bad news was… he wasn’t quite sure what the next step should be.
He was no cop-seeing Farrel “brought to justice” wasn’t a big priority for him. Although he didn’t exactly like the guy (he didn’t like most people who went around threatening to shoot people, really), and certainly wouldn’t mind seeing him arrested, he’d also be perfectly willing to help him escape if that meant everyone could walk away from this.
The problem was, he didn’t know how to manage it. Yet. He was an expert at improvising on the fly, and some of what he considered his best cons had been made up on the spot when an opportunity-or danger-presented itself. But for most of his more challenging exploits he’d had days at least, if not weeks, to prepare and research beforehand. It didn’t mean it was impossible, it just meant he had to bluff for a while. And that was something he was definitely good at.
“The next step-”
The phone rang. All eyes turned toward where it sat, on the counter at the back of the shop.
“-would be to answer that,” he finished, as matter-of-fact as if it had sprung to life at his cue. And really, it might as well have.
Farrel didn’t quite see it that way, though. “Are you kidding? It’s probably the cops.”
“Probably,” Neal agreed. “Which is exactly why it’s a good idea to answer it. They’ll start getting restless soon, and if they don’t get some confirmation that everyone’s still alive in here they might decide to risk it and storm the building. You’ve got to stall for some time to work out your plans. Besides, if you don’t talk to them, how’re you going to tell them your demands?”
“What demands?” Farrel’s voice was rising along with his frustration.
Neal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Oh, he took Farrel seriously. To do otherwise would be more than foolhardy. Even so, it was more than a little surreal when a situation actually devolved to the point where he had to give an armed thug advice on how to handle a hostage situation.
“What’s the point of holding hostages if you don’t have any demands?” Despite his intentions, some hint of his irritation must have crept into his tone-and it only caused Farrel’s anxiety to escalate.
“All I want is to get out of here without getting shot or going to jail!” Farrel all but shouted.
Neal raised his hands in a calming gesture, trying to pull the conversation back from dangerous territory.
“So tell them that.” he urged in as reasonable a tone as he could manage.
“You tell them.” Farrel gestured him toward the phone.
Neal really wished he would quit using the hand with the gun whenever he felt the need to point at someone. Standing, he headed for the back of the room, trying to balance prompt compliance with not making any moves that might be seen as threatening.
This should be interesting.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Continued in part two.
(Set somewhere loosely in late season 1/early season 2. Because I haven't seen any S3 yet. /is behind)
Allies
Peter fiddled with the radio dial, trying to find something worth listening to. He finally landed on a weather forecast. It’d do. Leaning back in the seat, he rested one arm on the steering wheel.
So much for “Just a couple of minutes-five, max.” Neal had been in there just shy of ten minutes now. He’d hoped to discuss some aspects of their current case over lunch-he suspected the CEO’s son was involved, but all their leads were running into dead ends. Sometimes a change of scenery while going over the facts was enough to knock something loose.
Neal had been all for the idea (especially since Peter invariably wound up being the one to pay for these working lunches), the one catch being that he “really needed” to stop by The Greatest Cake, preferably today. Something to do with the manager having questions for him, color samples, wanting him to look things over in person before giving the go-ahead…. It wasn’t supposed to take long, but as the bakery was several miles outside his radius-though not far at all from the FBI building-the obvious solution was to use his lunch break for the errand.
Neal was, of course, perfectly entitled to the break-both in the sense of having earned it, and as part of his contract as an FBI employee. And Peter could hardly complain of his making use of it in that way. After all, this was Neal showing an interest in running a perfectly legal and aboveboard business. (And it actually was that, a fact Peter had checked out for himself. Multiple times.) Peter might occasionally wonder at his motives in keeping the bakery, now that it had served its original-not so legitimate-purpose, but it was really his duty to encourage any interests likely to further Neal’s rehabilitation. After all, Neal would eventually have to start thinking about what he’d do with his life once his sentence was up. Even if he couldn’t imagine the man being content making a profession out of running a bakery, not long-term, it was a step in the right direction, anyway.
Seeing as the place was less than five minutes away by car, Peter had suggested a compromise: a quick stop at the bakery first, then lunch. It’d eat up part of his break as well, but he considered that a small price to pay.
Now, however, his stomach was threatening to start gnawing on his backbone, and he was seriously thinking about going in to retrieve Neal. How much could there be to discuss about decorating plans or advertisements or whatever it was, anyway?
He checked the clock again. Two minutes, if Neal wasn’t out in two minutes he was going in after him.
He’d been peripherally aware of the sound of approaching sirens-a common enough noise in the city that it hadn’t fully registered in his conscious mind, seeing as he was already parked and wouldn’t need to pull over to get out of their way. As they neared, however, the commotion drew his attention. He flicked off the radio. Almost immediately there was a shriek of skidding tires, culminating in the metallic crunch of a car impacting something-it sounded like a block or so ahead of where he was parked, near as he could tell.
Peter sat a moment in indecision, debating whether he should go and see if there was anything he could do. Considering there were, by the sound, at least two police cars at the scene already, chances were he’d only be in the way. Then again….
When the first gunshot rang out, he had the door open and was stepping out of the car, hand reaching for his holster, before he even made the conscious decision to react. No sooner did he set foot on the sidewalk than he caught sight of a man running flat-out toward him. There weren’t many pedestrians nearby, but even if there had been it would have been easy to make him for the one the police were after-if not by the wild expression of panic and anger, then certainly by the handgun he held.
The man met Peter’s eyes, and his expression hardened. Peter drew his own gun, bringing it to bear on the man.
“FBI,” he announced. “Stop where you are and drop your weapon.”
The man slowed, hesitated. Peter continued to stare him down, unwavering. Several police officers were coming up from behind the man, but Peter didn’t dare spare any attention for their approach. Silently, he willed the man to just give in, not to turn this into a shootout. A few seconds more and he’d be surrounded, nowhere left to go.
Nowhere, that is, except through the doorway two steps to his left.
There was no chance to anticipate and prevent the action. By the time Peter had registered his decision to bolt, the man was already inside the bakery.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Neal was deep in debate with Michael, the bakery’s manager, over the psychology of color when he heard Peter’s voice from outside. A glance toward the clock on the wall informed him that he’d overstayed his promised five minutes. Peter would be getting impatient-and Neal couldn’t really blame him, considering.
But an instant afterward he realized that what he’d heard had not been a “Peter getting bored and annoyed” tone, but a decided “Agent Burke, official FBI business” one. He didn’t catch what Peter had actually said, but Neal was pretty sure he wouldn’t go all FBI agent on him over five minutes’ delay. Which meant something had happened, something serious, and he needed to-
-stay right where he was and try not to look threatening, apparently. Because suddenly he had a good guess as to who had made Peter so upset, though he still had no idea what, exactly, had happened. And he couldn’t do much about it, because the man was now inside the bakery, wildly waving a gun around.
“Everyone just stay where you are! And put your hands where I can see them!”
The man was breathing fast and hard, as if he’d been running. His clothes were disheveled, one of his shirtsleeves torn slightly, halfway down the arm. He looked-panicky, more than anything. Never a good emotion to see on the only guy with a gun. Neal doubted this was a pre-planned holdup. No, whatever had happened to bring things to this point, this guy’s day had spun out of control, and now they were all going along for the ride.
Obediently holding very still, his hands in the air, Neal darted a quick look around the room, to make sure no one else looked ready to do anything stupid. Michael, standing next to him, was tense, but Neal didn’t think he was likely to act hastily. He had initiative, and confidence, but he was steady, and not one to easily panic.
There were only three customers inside at the moment-two women and a man. Still more than Neal would have liked, under the circumstances, but not as bad as it could have been. For the moment all of them seemed too stunned to do anything. How they’d react once their situation sank in remained to be seen, but at least no one was going to make the guy reflexively shoot them in these first precarious moments before he decided how he was going to play things. He was scared, yes, but they didn’t know yet whether that would result in quick capitulation to end the stand-off-or twitchy trigger-happiness.
Neal risked taking his attention off his immediate surroundings long enough to glance out the window. Peter was there, cautious, looking for an opening-there was no good angle for him to shoot at the intruder, not without risking hitting someone else. He met Neal’s eyes in a moment of silent communication, and Neal nodded, just slightly, and shifted, intending to draw the intruder’s attention to himself long enough for Peter to get to the shop’s door and have a chance at a proper shot.
Unfortunately, in that instant when their attention was focused on each other, they missed the intruder’s moment of decision. In a swift movement, the man stepped forward to grab the person nearest him-the younger of the two women. Holding her tightly in front of himself as both shield and leverage, he held his gun close to her head.
After one brief cry of surprise and terror, the woman squeezed her eyes shut, rigid and still in the man’s grip. The man surveyed the scene with renewed confidence, bolstered by the greater sense of control in keeping a living shield between himself and the law enforcement officers outside. He shifted toward one side of the room, the woman stumbling as she moved with him, until he had both the door to the street and the rest of the room’s occupants safely in sight.
“You two, over there with the others,” he looked toward Neal and Michael, gesturing them with a jerk of his head in the direction of the remaining two customers. His attention darted back and forth between them and the door as Michael fumbled at the latch to the gate separating the area behind the counter from the front. Seeing the gunman’s patience wearing thin, Neal reached over to slide the bolt himself. He let Michael precede him, meeting his eyes as he passed and offering a short nod of understanding and encouragement. The moment was brief, no time for real communication, but what he saw in that glance worried him. He had taken Michael’s behavior for the clumsiness of haste and nervousness-but that wasn’t all that he had seen in his eyes. He was angry too. That could be good, if it focused him and gave him a bit of extra courage. Or… it could be a problem.
Neal eyed Michael’s back warily as he followed him toward the other hostages. Just what they needed-another potential loose cannon. Without any inkling of what the manager was thinking, he could only hope he wouldn’t actually do anything stupid.
Whatever might be going on in his head, Michael’s outward reaction, at least, was controlled again by the time Neal got another look at his face. A fact for which he had even more cause to be grateful a moment later.
The gunman looked the group over briefly before focusing on Michael. “You. You have a key?” Receiving an affirmative response, he directed, “Go lock the front door, and pull the shades down.”
Michael started quickly toward the door, but the gunman arrested him with a sharp, “Hey!” When Michael turned again, he pinned him with a glare. “No running for it, and no trying to signal the cops. I will shoot her.” He tightened his grip on the woman, shaking her to emphasize the point.
Michael’s eyes widened. “Hey, I get it, man. I’m not trying anything.”
“Then do it. Fast.”
Much to Neal’s relief, Michael refrained from pointing out that he likely would have been done already, had the gunman not felt the need to assert his control. As Michael finished securing the front of the store and rejoined the others, the gunman looked around, nodding as if to reassure himself that everything was going just fine.
“Okay. All of you sit down, right where you are.”
Michael met Neal’s eyes with a questioning look. Neal responded with an almost imperceptible jerk of his chin, setting the example by taking a seat on the floor. It would put them at a disadvantage when it came to making any kind of move against the gunman, but at the same time it was likely to put him that much more at his ease, to have them all in a less threatening, stationary position. And right now Neal was all for being non-threatening. While the outcome of this situation might lie in their actions, Peter would also be doing everything he could from outside. And Neal had read enough FBI handbooks lately to know that the longer a hostage situation could be prolonged in relative stability and non-violence, the greater the chances were of a peaceful resolution.
“Now…” the gunman looked them over again with critical assessment. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Well, at the moment I’m pretty sure that would be you.” Neal gave the man an ingenuous smile.
Judging by the man’s expression, it hadn’t been the right answer.
“You think this is a joke?” he growled. “Don’t make me show you exactly how not funny this is. You work here?”
“I’m the manager,” Michael informed him.
“And I’m the owner,” Neal cut in smoothly, shooting Michael a warning look.
He didn’t like being the center of attention for an angry man with a gun any more than the next person, but someone had to start handling things if there was to be any hope of guiding this guy in a beneficial direction. The sooner someone formed a connection and some basic lines of communication with him, the better.
“You own this place?” The man looked Neal up and down dubiously. “Must be pretty profitable if you can afford clothes like that.”
Neal shrugged amiably. “Let’s just say… it’s not my only source of income. Hey, I’d offer you the money in the register, if that’s what you’re thinking, but we don’t deal in much cash. It’s all about credit cards these days. But then, I don’t think a bit of money is what you really want right now anyway, is it?”
“Not exactly,” the man muttered with a glance toward the front, where the police were no doubt still waiting beyond the flimsy shelter that glass, a locked door, and a few window shades provided. “Is there a back way out of here?”
“Of course. Through the kitchen.” Neal nodded toward the door behind the back counter.
The man glanced at it, before shaking his head. “Police are probably guarding it already.”
“Probably,” Neal agreed, unperturbed. “Might want to lock that door too, if you don’t want them bursting in here.”
Neal felt, but ignored, the disbelieving gazes of his fellow hostages. He had to get the man to start thinking of him as an ally-and, more importantly, to get him into a pattern of following his suggestions.
The gunman looked to Michael once more. “Do it. Leave the door in between open so I can see you all the way. And remember-first sign you’re trying anything and I’ll shoot you in the back. Then I’ll shoot her.”
He pressed the gun tightly against the side of the young woman’s head. A few tears were running down her cheeks now, but Neal was both glad and impressed that she still showed no signs of hysteria-neither of the screaming type, nor the sobbing and pleading type. Neither would have helped calm the situation.
They were all silent and tense as the gunman watched Michael’s progress. Neal was relieved to see that the employees who had been working in the back area earlier seemed to have cleared out when things went south. One less thing to worry about.
By the time Michael returned, Neal had a plan. If something that would require so much improvisation along the way could truly be called a plan. Maybe more of a strategy.
At any rate, the first order of action was to get the girl away from the gunman. She might’ve shown admirable courage up till now, but her restraint didn’t make getting her away from him any less a priority. Doing so might not get her out of danger, exactly, but it would at least relieve the terror of such imminent threat. And it would have the added benefit of freeing anyone who might have the opportunity to act to disarm the gunman, whether that was Peter and the cops from outside, or one of the captives inside the shop.
As the man started looking around again, clearly searching for the next step, Neal kept his attitude as relaxed as possible.
“Why don’t you let her sit down with the rest of us?”
The gunman’s attention snapped back to Neal, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Neal hastened on, shrugging lightly.
“Hey, you don’t have to. But she’s scared, and she’s only going to slow you down. Myself, I’d rather be free to move fast if I saw an opportunity than be dragging someone else around with me. Besides-I know it seems safer to have a human shield, but trust me, it only makes the police twitchy and more eager to take you out. They’re more likely to give you some space if they don’t think anyone’s in immediate danger.”
“Yeah?” the man snorted. “And how do you know so much about how the cops think? You one of them?”
Neal laughed. “Hardly. Just experienced. I’ve had a few less than pleasant run-ins with them myself.” He tugged up his left pant leg to reveal the anklet.
It was something of a calculated risk. He hoped to build some trust and fellow feeling with the gunman-but it might just as easily simply cost him the trust of the other hostages. He’d heard the male customer draw in a sharp breath at sight of the tracking device, so one of them at least knew exactly what it meant. If his ploy meant that they became too suspicious of his motives and refused to back him up at a crucial moment…. But it was worth the risk. And the revelation was, at least, no surprise to Michael, so he could still count on one ally. Probably. Unless Michael did something stupid and got himself… taken out of the equation.
He really wished that Peter was there. There as in right there, with him, not outside, somewhere, unaware of exactly what was happening in the store. And that wish wasn’t just because it’d mean the gunman wouldn’t be the only one in the room with a weapon.
The gunman raised an eyebrow at sight of the anklet. “Looks like the kind of run-in that ends behind bars. And now I’m supposed to take your advice for handling the police?”
Unperturbed by the reaction, Neal kept right on smiling good-naturedly. Just as well to let him keep that sense of superiority. “Some of us have to learn from our own mistakes, but a smart man doesn’t insist on it. Why not pool our experience?”
“Why would you want to help me?”
“I don’t exactly want to get shot-by you, or by the police-now, do I? Seems pretty obvious it’s in my best interests to help you figure out the best way to get out of here. Assuming you don’t want to just take the easy way and give up now, that is.”
“What, your experienced advice is that I should just give up and go to jail?” he snarled with angry sarcasm. “You call that the easy way? No thanks.”
“Well it’d be easier for me than finding a way to get you out of a place surrounded by law enforcement.” Neal grinned. “Relax, I didn’t actually think you’d take that option.”
“But you think you can find a way?” he asked, pacified but still skeptical.
“Hey, I once broke out of a maximum security prison. Compared to that, a bakery should be easy.”
“Maybe, but you got caught again.”
“Like I said-some of us have to learn from our own mistakes.”
One more suspicious look, and the man said, “Alright then. What’s your brilliant idea-” he hesitated, realizing that he didn’t even know his newfound ally’s name.
“Nick. Nick Halden.” He supplied.
It wasn’t likely the man would’ve heard of him by his real name, or know about his current association with the FBI if he had, but better to play it safe at this point. He looked expectantly at the man, inviting a name in return. The gunman scowled.
“Oh come on,” Neal said. “It’s not as if I like talking with the police any more than you do. Besides, if they don’t know who you are already they’ll figure it out soon anyway. It’s not like it’s going to hurt anything.”
“Guess not. Fine. My name’s John Farrel.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance. I’d offer to shake hands, but-” he gestured at the gun and hostage “-yours seem to be occupied. What do you say to getting a hand free first?”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
With an effort of will, Peter restrained himself from pacing as he waited for his team to arrive. He knew the tension radiating from him probably wasn’t much better, but that much he couldn’t help.
Although the gunman inside was NYPD’s perp, the officers at the scene had gracefully agreed to let the FBI take the lead in handling the situation. Under the circumstances, it only made sense. Where it might take an hour or more to assemble a SWAT team and get their negotiator on scene, the FBI had the personnel and equipment just minutes away. In a volatile situation like this one every minute was of the essence, and the NYPD officers were too professional to let pride or territoriality take precedence over the safety of the hostages.
Right now those minutes seemed to crawl by with agonizing slowness. Logically, he knew it would take a little time to get everything, and everyone, assembled. The inner voice that was shouting that it was taking too long, that they should be here by now, had nothing to do with rational logistics and time sense and everything to do with worry and helplessness.
They hadn’t heard any shots fired since the perp had entered the building, which was a good sign. Chances were good that at this point everyone inside was still alright. But with the shades drawn and no way to actually see what was going on, imagination had far too much room to roam free.
“Hey, you okay?”
Peter started. He hadn’t even heard Captain Daher’s approach. Now the man was looking at him in puzzlement and mild concern. So that would be a yes, then: he did look as tense as he felt. And he was going to have to give the man an explanation, before he started wondering whether Agent Burke was really fit to call any shots around here.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter assured him. “It’s just that my partner’s in there.”
“Your partner?” Daher’s eyebrows rose. “That changes things a bit, doesn’t it…. I thought it was just civilians. He armed?”
Peter gave a huff that was too lacking in amusement to be called a laugh. “No. Definitely not. He’s a… civilian consultant. Not armed, and not trained for-this.” He waved a hand to encompass the building in front of them, and the situation in general.
Daher grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, man. Bad enough seeing one of your friends in danger. It’s worse when you know they’re in way over their head.”
“Yeah,” Peter said softly. Then, straightening, he forced himself to set aside the anxiety. It wouldn’t help now. “I wouldn’t be too sure about his being in over his head, though. He may not have the training, but Caffrey’s pretty used to working under pressure.” And if that wasn’t the understatement of the year…. He smiled slightly. “If anyone can help talk this guy down, he can.”
“Caffrey?” Daher asked, startled. “Neal Caffrey? You’re that Agent Burke?”
“Yes, I am that Agent Burke,” Peter confirmed. He was trying for wry humor, but inwardly he braced himself, wondering if it was going to be an issue. FBI agents weren’t the only LEOs who sometimes took issue with Caffrey and the unorthodox deal he’d worked out.
Apparently his tone came across as a little more confrontational than he’d intended, because Daher raised his hands, saying in a conciliatory tone, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t know that I would’ve taken the risk you did, getting him that work release, but then I don’t know him like you do-and I think at this point your record speaks for itself. You’ve cleared some pretty high-profile cases.”
Relaxing, Peter agreed gruffly, “Caffrey’s done good work with us.”
Daher nodded, not inclined to challenge the assertion. “You trust him, then?”
“On a normal basis? Not as far as I can throw him.” Peter chuckled. “But where people’s lives are concerned? Yes, I do. If he can do anything to help us and keep the people in there safe, he will. I’d lay good money he’s got some kind of plan for handling this guy in the works already. Though whether it’s insane or brilliant may be another story altogether.”
Daher grinned, shaking his head at the odd confidence, but before he could formulate a response they both turned as FBI vehicles pulled up to the perimeter set up by the officers. The doors began opening almost before they came to a halt, agents stepping out and immediately into action in the organized chaos typical of this phase in a standoff.
Peter saw Jones and Diana coming out of one of the vans, looking around. He raised a hand and Jones, who had turned in the right direction to see the signal, tapped Diana on the arm to draw her attention. The two of them headed toward him.
“Neal’s inside?” Diana asked, as they approached.
“Where else would he be?” Peter confirmed with thin humor.
“And here he was just complaining that no one seemed to be committing any interesting crimes lately,” Jones remarked. “If it wasn’t for the gun involved, I’d wonder if he might’ve orchestrated this himself just to make lunch break more interesting.”
Daher stiffened at the suggestion. “You think that’s a possibility we should be looking into?”
“No,” came the nearly simultaneous response from the agents.
Trading a wry look with the others, Peter clarified, “I wouldn’t put him above arranging for a bit of excitement, but this is definitely not his style.”
Daher nodded, accepting the verdict for the time being. “Has your negotiator arrived yet?”
“That should be her now.” Diana nodded at the car just pulling up behind the vans.
Such was indeed the case. Peter vaguely recognized the woman who stepped out of the car, though he hadn’t had much personal interaction with her-negotiators weren’t often called for in the course of White Collar cases. After a glance around to get her bearings, the woman asked a passing agent to point out the agent in charge of the scene. Since they had by now approached close enough for conversation, Peter saved the man the trouble.
“That would be me.” Peter put out a hand. “Agent Peter Burke. You’re the assigned negotiator?”
She nodded, shaking his hand. “Agent Hannah Acken. I hear the subject’s been in there about fifteen minutes now?”
Peter checked his watch, hardly able to believe that it’d only been that long. “Just short of that,” he confirmed
“Mmm, long enough for the initial panic to die down and his situation to sink in. What can you tell me about what happened?”
“I only came in at the tail end of the chase,” Peter told her. “Captain Daher. would probably be the best one to explain what set things off.”
“Started off as a routine domestic disturbance call.” Daher grimaced. “Well, as routine as these things come, anyway, but the guy flipped out when we arrived at his house. Fired a couple shots at us, then jumped in his car and wouldn’t stop until he crashed about a block from here. He took off on foot after that, and ran until Agent Burke confronted him, just in front of the building. When he realized he was surrounded he dodged into the bakery for cover-probably just looking for another way out to begin with, but he ended up with a room full of hostages instead. We’re still not sure what pushed him over the edge, but I’ve got a couple of officers talking with his girlfriend now, trying to get a better picture of what was going on.”
“Do we know his name yet?” she asked.
“John Farrel.” Daher informed her. “He’s had a few minor run-ins with the law before, but never done any jail time. No outstanding warrants, but given his reaction when we showed up we’re looking more closely into anything he might’ve been involved in.”
Acken nodded thoughtfully. “Injuries?”
“None that we’re aware of. There haven’t been any shots fired since he went inside the building, but last we saw he was using one of the hostages as a human shield.”
“How many hostages are there?”
Peter stepped in, since he was the only one to get a good look inside the bakery before the shades were pulled. “Five hostages, three men two women. All of the employees who were in the back at the time were able to get out safely, but the manager, Michael Sutter, was in the front, along with three customers… and the bakery’s owner, Neal Caffrey.” Seeing her eyebrows rise, he added, “Yes, that Neal Caffrey.”
“Huh, didn’t know he’d kept the bakery after the stunt from the judge’s chambers. Interesting. He does toss a bit of a wild card into the mix, doesn’t he?” She smiled slightly, before switching back to all-business. “Has there been any contact with Farrel yet?”
Daher shook his head. “No, nothing. And with the shades shut we don’t know exactly where they’re all located in the building. There’s limited space for him to work with, though. The bakery doesn’t have any direct access to the shops on either side, or to the floor above. Just two doors, front and back, and they’re both locked from the inside now.”
“So at this point it looks like he’s opting for waiting and planning over a sudden rush to make a break for it,” Acken mused. “Do we know what the layout of the bakery is like?”
“I’ve got a general idea, but the agents in the mobile command center should be getting the blueprints for the specifics.” Peter looked to Jones for confirmation, adding, “Or better yet-do we know if there are any security cameras we can access?”
“Working on it,” Jones told him. “They should have the blueprint any time now, but last I heard any kind of live feed from inside wasn’t looking promising.”
“There’s a vest and radio earpiece for you in the van as well,” Diana reminded Peter. Then, turning slightly to include Daher in the report more directly, “We’ve patched into the same channel NYPD is using.”
Bolstered by the opportunity for action, Peter smiled grimly. “Right, I’ll get those and we can take a look at what we’re dealing with. Then what do you say we open up some communication?”
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
“So-Laura, right?” Neal asked the younger woman. “You’re here for a wedding shower cake?”
She looked startled, but nodded. He could well imagine that just now talk of cakes and parties must seem ridiculously trivial and distant, but at the moment everyone could use the reminder of life outside the current crisis. And even more important-anything that would serve to bring home to Farrel the fact that these were all real people with real lives, and not just pawns to use or discard, was a very good thing indeed.
Currently, Farrel was near the windows, trying to get a look outside without exposing himself to potential snipers. He seemed to be ignoring them, but Neal knew he was listening, if only because he shot annoyed, suspicious looks in their direction whenever he heard someone move. As long as they kept from shifting around too much, however, he didn’t seem to mind their talking amongst themselves for the time being.
Neal smiled at her. “So when’s the big day?”
“The party’s in two weeks, but the wedding’s not for another month.” Whether or not the conversation was having any effect on Farrel, the familiar ground did indeed seem to be making Laura more relaxed.
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Oh!” She smiled. “Thank you, but I’m not the one getting married. It’s my sister, actually.”
The older woman, Laura’s mother, Karen, he had gathered earlier, leaned forward. “Denise has big dreams for everything to do with the wedding, but her work schedule’s been so crazy that she’s hardly had the time to get to bakeries when they’re open, so the two of us have been making the rounds to check things out for her. This is actually our second time here. I was so relieved when she finally decided which bakery she wanted to go with…. I was about ready to bake the cake myself if we didn’t find someplace she was happy with soon-and considering the limitations of my cooking skills, I’m not so sure her fiancé’s family would still have been on speaking terms with us after the wedding if it had come to that.”
Neal chuckled. “Well, I’m glad we could prevent that catastrophe at least. I hope Michael’s been taking good care of you?”
“Oh yes, he’s been very helpful.”
Laura turned to smile at the man in question, and Neal grinned when Michael actually blushed. Well, that was one mystery solved, at least. The pretty, unmarried sister, who was grateful to his very helpful manager, and had proven quite receptive to his attention, if her look was any indication… Yes, that’d be more than enough to trigger his innate chivalry, and would account for the tension and anger Neal had noted in Michael earlier when she was being threatened.
When faced with a threat to both themselves and strangers, most people’s natural response was to be most focused on their own safety, not inclined initially to focus on or see others as individuals-unless another person in danger called forth particular protective instincts… or wasn’t a complete stranger after all. It hadn’t occurred to him earlier that Michael’s reaction might have been specifically for her sake, and some of Neal’s own tension eased at the removal of one unknown from the equation.
“Well, we do pride ourselves on our customer service here.” He nodded at the tastefully printed ‘Customer Satisfaction Policy’ hanging on the wall, then tilted his head. “Of course, I realize that not everyone enjoys quite this much excitement when they visit a bakery.” Straightening up and putting on his most officious Corporate Catchphrase tone, he informed her seriously, “In the name of making this the best experience for you that we possibly can, we here at the Greatest Cake bakery would be happy to offer you a 40% discount off your order, to compensate you for your trouble and inconvenience.”
“Seriously?” Laura’s eyebrows rose.
“Of course,” Neal assured her. “It’s company policy.”
Karen smothered a laugh, darting a nervous look in Farrel’s direction. “Your company has an official ‘customers held hostage at gunpoint’ policy?”
“It does now. Somewhere between ‘acts of God’ and ‘our employees messed up’ on the ‘things that may make customers unhappy’ scale.”
“Wait until Denise hears.” Karen shook her head. “Given my reputation for doing anything to get the best possible price, she’ll probably think I arranged the whole thing myself just to get a good deal.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Neal declared. “I happen to love a good deal myself.”
“That what landed you in prison? You get yourself a little too good a deal going?”
The male customer, who had been quiet up till now, growled the accusation quietly to keep from drawing Farrel’s attention, but the glare he leveled at Neal suggested he’d been bottling up his reaction ever since Neal made his little revelation. Neal had, to some extent, been preparing for such a confrontation at some point, and was prepared to meet it. Better it should come now than later.
Before he could speak, however, Karen put her foot down, meeting the man glare for glare.
“I don’t know about you Mr.-“
“-Mehdall,” the man put in.
“Mr. Mehdall,” she continued, “but I for one don’t particularly care about Mr. Halden’s past at the moment. All I know is how grateful I am for what he just did for Laura-and that’s all the proof of his character that I need.”
“Yeah, sure, he stuck his neck out. And that’s great, it was brave and all. But he’s also got himself in good with this guy,” Mehdall darted a glance in Farrel’s direction, still restraining his voice to an intense whisper. “He’s helping him. How do we even know this whole thing isn’t something he and his buddy planned to get money or something? Isn’t that what hostage takers usually do-get everyone where they want them, and then start making demands?” He looked back to Neal at the end, turning the question into a direct accusation.
“Look, you can believe whatever you want about me. If you’re determined to be suspicious of me, I doubt anything I can say will convince you otherwise. All I ask is that you stop and think before you do anything hasty, because that will get people killed. I just want everyone to make it out of this, okay?”
No time to make sure the message had been received and accepted-Farrel was turning from the window and heading back toward them, looking distinctly unhappy. Neal raised his voice slightly, into a more normal, audible range.
“And right now, the best way to get out of this is to help. Isn’t that right?” He looked up at Farrel, expression perfectly open and innocent.
“Yeah,” Farrel muttered. “So why don’t you knock off all the talking and start doing some of that planning you promised me. There’ve gotta be dozens of police, and they’ve already got the FBI out there. What’s the next step? What do I do now?”
Well, the good news was that Farrel wasn’t just susceptible to suggestion, he was already entrenched in the mindset of looking to Neal for guidance. The bad news was… he wasn’t quite sure what the next step should be.
He was no cop-seeing Farrel “brought to justice” wasn’t a big priority for him. Although he didn’t exactly like the guy (he didn’t like most people who went around threatening to shoot people, really), and certainly wouldn’t mind seeing him arrested, he’d also be perfectly willing to help him escape if that meant everyone could walk away from this.
The problem was, he didn’t know how to manage it. Yet. He was an expert at improvising on the fly, and some of what he considered his best cons had been made up on the spot when an opportunity-or danger-presented itself. But for most of his more challenging exploits he’d had days at least, if not weeks, to prepare and research beforehand. It didn’t mean it was impossible, it just meant he had to bluff for a while. And that was something he was definitely good at.
“The next step-”
The phone rang. All eyes turned toward where it sat, on the counter at the back of the shop.
“-would be to answer that,” he finished, as matter-of-fact as if it had sprung to life at his cue. And really, it might as well have.
Farrel didn’t quite see it that way, though. “Are you kidding? It’s probably the cops.”
“Probably,” Neal agreed. “Which is exactly why it’s a good idea to answer it. They’ll start getting restless soon, and if they don’t get some confirmation that everyone’s still alive in here they might decide to risk it and storm the building. You’ve got to stall for some time to work out your plans. Besides, if you don’t talk to them, how’re you going to tell them your demands?”
“What demands?” Farrel’s voice was rising along with his frustration.
Neal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Oh, he took Farrel seriously. To do otherwise would be more than foolhardy. Even so, it was more than a little surreal when a situation actually devolved to the point where he had to give an armed thug advice on how to handle a hostage situation.
“What’s the point of holding hostages if you don’t have any demands?” Despite his intentions, some hint of his irritation must have crept into his tone-and it only caused Farrel’s anxiety to escalate.
“All I want is to get out of here without getting shot or going to jail!” Farrel all but shouted.
Neal raised his hands in a calming gesture, trying to pull the conversation back from dangerous territory.
“So tell them that.” he urged in as reasonable a tone as he could manage.
“You tell them.” Farrel gestured him toward the phone.
Neal really wished he would quit using the hand with the gun whenever he felt the need to point at someone. Standing, he headed for the back of the room, trying to balance prompt compliance with not making any moves that might be seen as threatening.
This should be interesting.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Continued in part two.