Save Me If You Can

Save Me If You Can Chapter 3

Disclaimer:  All right belong to USA Network, Jeff Easton and Warrior George. I get nothing from this except the joy of playing on your awesome playground.  And now, Chapter 3!

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

It was a penthouse apartment, spacious, meticulously appointed, with a view of New York that was near breathtaking. When Neal stepped off the elevator he knew he was in deep trouble because the 'muscle' who had delivered him remained on the elevator. The doors closed, and down he went. If security wasn't needed, then his host must have been quite certain Neal was not going to pose a threat.

Linus Hauser entered. He was a man who was not only used to the finer things, but one got the feeling that the finer things were created specifically for him. He was elegant, tall, and perhaps a bit too thin. He wore all black, looked perpetually close shaven and camera ready. His public business - a thriving art gallery that catered only to the obscenely rich – had been the perfect front. Hauser's real money had come from the import, export and sale of illegal weapons. Homeland Security, ATF, as well as the FBI, had been chomping at the bit to get their hands on Hauser, but no one had been able to get close enough, until Peter had sent Neal in undercover as a high-end art collector with a disposable income and a secondary interest in grenade launchers and assault rifles. Hauser was arrested and held without bond, yet somehow he had been accidentally released after a highly suspicious "clerical error." By the time the Bureau had caught on to the unfortunate snafu, Hauser was already miles away and deep underground, and would remain at the top of the most wanted list. Why would he come out of hiding now, after two years, and come after Neal?

"Mr. Caffrey," he said as he moved to the bar. "Or are you still going by your alias? Mr. Holden, I believe it was." Hauser poured two glasses of expensive single malt and held one out to Neal. Neal didn't want to take it, but somehow felt as if he never really had a choice.

"That was quite a disappearing act you pulled," said Neal. "What brings you back? A guilty conscience?"

Hauser smiled. It wasn't a happy smile.

"Hardly," he said, and then gestured around the room with his glass-filled hand.

This place," he continued, "is all that remains of my former life. The FBI, fortunately, didn't know about it. I've decided to sell it, find a more humble dwelling. To the simple life." He lifted his glass in a half-hearted toast.

Neal lifted his glass slightly, and made sure to smell the liquor before taking a sip. It warmed his mouth and throat, and felt even warmer when it landed smoothly in his stomach. He raised an eyebrow when he recognized the exceptional quality of the single malt.

"So you spent two years successfully eluding the FBI, only to resurface to sell a piece of real estate? Must be a peach. Or you're reckless."

"I came out of hiding because I've lost everything," Hauser spat, "thanks to you. And Agent Burke, of course. I am a man who has nothing more to lose."

"Don't expect me to feel sorry for you. Your weapons were falling into the hands of terrorists. You deserved to lose every cent."

"I'm not talking about the money. I could care less about the money. I'm talking about my son." Hauser sat in a black leather chair and gestured for Neal to have a seat in the chair facing him.

"Daniel was my life," Hauser lamented. "He was bright and clever, though sometimes he seemed a little too sensitive for this world. I wanted to protect him. I know, what kind of father could I possibly be, fighting to protect my child from the evils of the world while contributing to that evil. It was what I knew. Just as a life of deceit and thievery is what you know, Mr. Caffrey.