Neal took a backwards step towards the deck of the boat, his hands gently raised in front of him as a show of submissiveness. He hoped to convey that he was no threat, but the white collar criminal waving the gun in his face seemed to have a different idea.
Neal was listening to the man, picking up on the main points he was spewing, while scoping out the surrounding lake and strategizing an exit plan. He took another step towards the deck. They were maybe 50 yards from the shore, and while Neal was no Olympic athlete, he was a good swimmer, and the deep green of the lake would obscure him from view. Neal was pretty sure he could hold his breath most of the way, or at least long enough for Peter and backup to arrive.
He'd said the safe sentence already, but just to be sure, he spoke again.
"Sure wish we could continue this conversation over drinks instead…"
"Shutup! Nick… Nick Holden… thinking you're so smart, so cunning…"
Neal mentally rolled his eyes again. The man was off on his tangent again. The man didn't seem especially imposing—he was thin and.. wiry would have to be the best word. A bundle of nerves. But Neal wasn't about to argue with the gun aimed in his direction, and he sure as hell wasn't going to risk it.
Neal saw Peter arrive just as he had time to register the blast of the gunman's weapon. Neal was quick, though, and dodged the shot- though he tripped over the edge of the boat and splashed into the water. He plummeted into the deep green water.
Peter clenched his teeth as he and Diana sprinted across the doc and onto a speedboat that was occupied by a young father and his son. A wave of his FBI badge had the two scrambling off as he and Diana raced to the boat in the middle of the ocean. The operation was supposed to be simple—Neal was to con his way as Nick Holden into fencing some of Jacob Wilson's stolen art for him. Being the paranoid man that Wilson was, he'd insisted they have their meeting in the middle of a lake so that no outside forces could interrupt.
Hearing Neal mutter something about there being "no need for guns" had catapulted him into action as he and Diana had sprung from the surveillance van, leaving Jones with the task of monitoring. Neal had just uttered the safe word when they'd arrived at the doc, and now that they were getting closer, he had said it again.
Peter and Diana arrived just in time to watch Neal step over the edge of the lake, narrowly avoiding the gun. Damn that kid, he was lucky. If it were anybody else..
Peter snapped himself back to attention. Diana was already on top of Wilson and cuffing him. Peter gave her a glance to see if she was good, but he didn't need to. Diana was tough—she could handle herself in any situation, usually even better than the senior agents.
He made his way over to the edge of the deck of the boat, prepared to hoist Neal up to the boat… but he wasn't there. He should've floated up by now..Peter pushed the thought away as he nervously scanned the lake. Still no Neal.
The water was a bit cooler than he'd have liked, but it sure beat a bullet. And this was pretty much his plan anyhow. Neal felt his feet hit the ground (the water was maybe 30 feet deep), and he pushed his feet off the floor of the lake to go back to the top- no, he didn't. Neal couldn't see due to the murkiness of the water, but he was stuck. With fumbling fingers, he felt his left ankle- his anklet! His anklet was caught on something, probably an old anchor or something that had sunken long ago. Neal felt himself beginning to panic, but he tried to fight it. He fumbled oncemore with the stuck anklet, feeling himself grow a bit lightheaded.