Caffrey Conversation

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

St. Louis. Thursday, December 4, 2003.

It was almost 2:30am when Peter returned to the hotel room. He tried to be quiet, but probably didn't need to bother. Neal was in bed, asleep. The note on the nightstand said he'd taken the medicine at a quarter to 1:00. As much as Peter itched to tuck away that note as a handwriting sample for future reference, he left it alone. He double-checked that the medicine bottle's seal had been broken, and that the bottle wasn't completely full.

He missed talking to Elizabeth. No matter how many times he told her not to wait up, she always stayed awake until he got home from a planned confrontation with the bad guys. This time he'd texted her as soon as they had Villiers in cuffs, to let her know the op was over and he was safe.

He set the alarm clock and was about to slip into bed himself when he remembered the doctor's orders. Peter placed a hand on his roommate's forehead again, and chuckled when the kid grumbled in his sleep. Still running a temperature, but lower than the last time he'd checked.

"No," he protested when Peter pulled his hand away.

"What?" Peter asked, not sure if the kid was dreaming or really reacting to his presence.

"Cold." He rolled over onto his side and curled into himself for warmth. "It's too cold."

Peter turned on a lamp, and with the added light he could see his roommate was shivering. He found an extra blanket in the closet and placed it over the young man. Soon the shivering ceased, and Neal relaxed into a deep sleep.

Thinking that he could finally get some sleep himself, Peter jumped when the phone the con man had left on the desk started to vibrate. Neal remained completely out of it, not making a move or a sound in response. Looking at the display, Peter recognized the New York number of the person who had called when Neal was in the shower. The phone indicated that the caller had tried earlier and gone unanswered.

Who was this person who had learned of Townsend's arrest? Why had he asked if Neal had been given any mind-controlling substances?

Impulsiveness was Neal's trait, not Peter's. But an FBI agent learned that sometimes you had mere seconds to make major decisions in a case. The caller had some sort of working relationship with Neal, and Peter had the impression they had known each other for a while. This was a rare opportunity to get insight into Neal's life from the perspective of what Peter could only call the competition. It could make a difference in the Caffrey Conversation, which seemed tantalizingly close now. Peter picked up the phone and took the call, going on the offensive. "We need to talk about Neal."

"Who is this?" It was a man's voice, older than Neal, closer to Peter's age.

"Peter Burke."

"Special Agent Peter Burke, of the FBI?"

"That's right."

"I think I have the wrong number."

"No, you don't. You have Neal's number, and I have Neal."

"What have you done with him? I swear, if he's in one of your secret government labs--"

"The FBI doesn't have secret government labs."

"Oh, right. And next you're going to tell me that the U.S. Marshals weren't established to guard alien prisoners who crash landed here over the years. Or that the supposed moon landing wasn't a cover for a visit by more aliens who were the real occupants of what we're told was the returning capsule."

"No, I'm not going to tell you any of those things," Peter said, "because they have nothing to do with Neal. And I haven't done anything to him."

"Then give him the phone and let me talk to him."