White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 9

A 237-carat pigeon blood

It was a sunny day as so often in New York it seemed. Maybe Peter's company made every day one with good weather. They had had an hour's walk from the FBI building to the United Nations Plaza where they passed the long line of flags of the members of the United Nations.

"Coming here always reminds me I should travel," Peter said with a content smile on his face.

Neal glanced at his friend. Peter was a man who seemed quite happy to be at home.

"I tried to get you to go to France."

"No, you fled to France."

"Nitpicking." What was fleeing and what was just a change of location for fun? More often than not Neal found that labels often merged together.

"You had quite a run there for a while," Peter continued. "The Riviera, Copenhagen."

They had had their night of sharing memories. As long as it was him and Peter he knew he could speak freely about those things. It made things easier.

Neal watched a beautiful girl walk past them.

"I should've sent postcards."

"No, I had Interpol warrants. Just as good. 'Neal's robbing a palace. Wish you were here.'"

"Good times," Neal grinned. "Where would you go? Anywhere in the world?"

"Sweden," Peter answered without blinking. "I like vikings... A sword in my hand, a good ship under my feet."

Neal hoped that Peter knew that he was over a thousand years late for that. But that did not stop the answer from being interesting from another point of view. He grinned, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"Pillage and plunder," he said. "I knew that under that lawman exterior beats the heart of a thief."

"Well, maybe I just like hats with horns," Peter returned as a bad excuse. Neal smiled. The helmets had not really had horns either. It was probably for the best of Peter never went to Sweden. "That's our guy," the Agent said as he watched a man with a file under his arm, rise from a bench and walk towards them. "Undersecretary of Asian Affairs."

Neal watched the gray suit, a man probably ten years older than Peter.

"He asked for us?"

"Yep." Peter seemed proud, with every right, but Neal had a sense that this would be something out of the ordinary. Something even fishy, maybe.

"What does the State Department want with the FBI?"

Peter just shrugged.

"Let's ask him." Peter walked to meet him and Neal followed.

"Agent Burke?" the man asked as they approached. Peter nodded and the man extended his hand. "Adam Wilson." They shook hands and then Wilson's focus turned to Peter's sidekick. "And you must be Neal Caffrey." They shook hands. "Thanks for coming."

A man in his position who specifically asked for the two of them, was fully aware that he was a convict on a leach, Neal thought. And may even see it as an opportunity.

"It's not often I get a request from the U.N. ambassador's office," Peter said. "How can we help?"

Wilson handed him the file he had.

"His name is Christopher Harlowe. He's an American college student being held in Kabaw prison in Burma."

They looked at the two photos in the file. One of them was the Burmese idea of a mugshot.

"Why?"

"He's accused of smuggling a ruby out of the country," Wilson said, hands deep into his pockets. Neal whistled.