White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 13

Jimmy Wilson

Neal had never been at Jones' home before, and it was not without curiosity that he stepped down the stairs, passed the gate, and into one of those New York City basement apartments.

They were there because of a 911 call from a neighbor, though, and from Jones himself directly to Peter. Neal looked around, and the place was a mess. He pulled his gloves on.

"Either you forgot to clean up for company," he told Jones, "or that was quite a fight."

"Tell me about it." He held an icebag to his neck. "Guy was trained in Kali. Definitely a professional. I was able to get a shot off that hit him in the right shoulder."

"Your attacker's a ghost," Peter said, leaning with his equally gloved hands towards the counter. "NYPD's got cruisers and choppers searching the area. No trace."

"What was he after?" Neal asked.

"That." Jones pointed at the counter.

"Guy breaks into an apartment to steal a postcard?" Peter asked. The NYPD had already put it into an evidence bag. It said: 'Clinton, it's been a while. Let's talk soon. - Jimmy'. "Jimmy a friend of yours?"

"Yeah, Jimmy Wilson. Old buddy from Annapolis."

"Cryptic postcards from old friends mean trouble," Neal sighed and remembered that chess move he had got from Keller. "In my experience."

"Last I heard, he worked for Barrett-Dunne security," Jones said, and Peter sighed. Neal had heard of them.

"Private military for hire?"

"Yeah. It's postmarked Pretoria, South Africa."

"That's a long way from home." Peter nodded. "May I?" He gestured for the postcard in Peter's hand.

"Yeah."

Elephants on the other side. Normal tourist postcard. He held it up against the light. Under the stamp was a black square.

"There's something under the stamp. Do we have tweezers or—"

"Yep," Peter said, turning towards one of the CGI boxes. "Tweezers."

"Thank you."

Neal pulled the postcard out of the evidence bag. He put the tweezers by the corner of the stamp to see if he could pull it loose. It came loose with ease. Overall, it was only firmly clued at the top. And there it was. A black square.

"Yeah. It's a microdot."

"Old-school," Peter said.

"Yeah, but all you need is a film camera and a pair of scissors."

"Break-ins, mercenaries, secret messages." Jones did not seem pleased.

"Just another day, huh?" That was what he thought life as an agent was as a kid.

"Welcome to life outside the van," Peter said.

"You've been no help at all," Jones said and hung up at the same time as Peter heard the great news on his end.

"I'll be up in a few minutes," he said and ended the call. "Lab's finished enhancing the microdot," he told the kid and Jones. "They're sending it over."

"Barrett-Dunne confirmed Jimmy's an employee but won't say where he's stationed," Jones said. "Or in what capacity."

"All right," Neal said. "What else do we know about this private-mercenary outfit?"

They started to walk back to the office.

"They make Blackwater look like a YouTube cat video."

"They've been linked with rogue kill teams, death squads," Peter filled in.