Notes: Although this story is part of a series, it can stand on its own. In the pre-series Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen, Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession and help in recovering stolen items, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant. Readers new to this AU may wish to refer to the notes at the end of this chapter for additional background information. The Dreamer takes place in the winter of 2005. Neal is working as a consultant at the White Collar Division of the FBI and starting his second semester at Columbia University for a dual master's in art.
Chapter 1: A New Year
Burke Residence, Brooklyn. January 16, 2005. Sunday afternoon.
"After last term, I expect this semester to be a sleeper."
Neal wiped his hands on a towel and looked over at Peter and Elizabeth with a raised brow, daring them to say otherwise. The three of them were standing in El's newly remodeled kitchen. Peter and El had taken advantage of the last weekend before the start of Neal's classes to invite Neal over to celebrate the beginning of his second semester at Columbia University. Classes were due to begin on Tuesday.
Peter snorted. "I wish." He half-expected to see goons and cutthroats peeking out from behind Neal's apron. Neal's mischievous blue eyes smiling at him did nothing to reassure him about the semester coming up.
In the fall, despite an assortment of robberies, kidnappings, and hostage situations in addition to the routine fraud and embezzlement cases, Neal had somehow managed to attend classes, write papers, and prepare for his upcoming art exhibition in May. His pursuit of a dual master's in art history and visual arts had resulted in unexpected side benefits, enabling several cases to be solved in a series of surprising twists that no one could have predicted. But the past term had also held far too many gut-churning moments. Peter didn't expect the second semester to be any different.
The kitchen remodeling project had finally been completed in December. El and Neal had often talked about cooking together, and this Sunday provided the perfect opportunity. Outside, snow was falling, but the house was filled with warmth and merriment. A hockey game was on the TV, but no one was paying any attention to it. When Peter was a child, his mom used to celebrate the start of a new semester with spaghetti and meatballs. She always baked a cake so the boys could blow out the candles to bring them good luck. Today they were going upscale with Neal in charge of the coq au vin. No cake with candles but there would still be fireworks since El was preparing crêpes Suzette. Peter was given the onerous task of chief taster.
Initially Peter had attempted to watch the game while eavesdropping on the constant stream of chatter going on in the kitchen, but he quickly abandoned hockey and headed for the kitchen—he was missing out on too much of the gossip. This was the first chance for the three of them to be together since Hawaii when all the Burkes and Caffreys had gathered for the marriage of Neal's aunt Noelle to Peter's brother Joe.
El stood at the stove making crêpes, but they weren't the only items being grilled. "So fill me in on the good stuff, like what's happening with Fiona? Are Aidan and Keiko still dating? Details please."
Neal grinned as he reduced the fire under the coq au vin simmering on the stove. "You want the scoop? Okay, here goes. Answer to Question Number One: Yes, Fiona and I are still seeing each other. Yes to Question Number Two: Aidan and Keiko are still together." He dipped a spoon into the pan to taste the sauce.
"Isn't that my job?" Peter protested. "It smells delicious. When can we eat?"
"Maybe another thirty minutes." Neal said. "That reminds me, I need to check on the French bread in the oven."
"All these aromas are torturing me," Peter moaned.
"Here, munch on a carrot stick," El said heartlessly. "Or would you rather a celery stick?"
"I'd rather be dipping hot French bread into coq au vin," Peter muttered, rummaging in the drawer for a spoon. Going over to the stove, he dipped it into the pan.
"Careful, it's hot," Neal warned as Peter closed his eyes in pleasure while licking the spoon.
"What's the news about Angela?" El asked. Neal's cousin was scheduled to start classes at Columbia this semester. She'd graduated from the University of Washington in December and had been accepted into Columbia's PhD program for ethnomusicology. "Is she settling in okay?"
"Seems to be. She was lucky to find university housing. She's sharing an apartment on West 120th Street, not far from my studio." Neal lowered the oven temperature. "Columbia's quite a change from what Angela's used to in Seattle. I think she's feeling a little out of place. I told her she should come to our band rehearsal. That will start up again next week."
Last semester Fiona had started a Celtic fusion band on campus. They met on Sunday evenings. The band was composed of six of their friends at grad school plus Travis from White Collar who had joined them in November. Some of the musicians like Neal and Fiona were already skilled, but a few of the members were beginners. Peter had to smile when he heard Neal talk about the adjustment problems Angela might face. Last fall Neal had been the one feeling strange to be on campus, and now he was acting like an old hand at it.
El added another crêpe to her growing stack on the counter. "At the Thanksgiving party, I talked with Michael, your enthusiastic if struggling tambourinist. He's from Seattle isn't he? I believe he mentioned his undergraduate degree is from the University of Washington."
"That's right. Henry may be a help, too. He's promised to be better about keeping in touch with both her and me. Apparently he's still riding a guilt trip, from, as he puts it, abandoning us to the wolves last fall when he was in India."
Under normal circumstances, Peter would have simply been glad to hear Neal talk about his cousins, but the present situation was hardly normal. Now, he was forced to evaluate every bit of information Neal provided about Henry to see what bearing it had on the search for Garrett Fowler, an FBI agent who last fall had attempted to frame Neal with the theft of a pair of diamond earrings from the FBI vault. That Henry had injected himself into the search for Fowler might still prove beneficial, but at the moment it was causing Peter one gigantic headache. After having been discovered to be making inquiries about Fowler, Henry had claimed he'd dropped the case and had asked Peter not to mention it to Neal. But it wasn't like Henry to give up so quickly. He'd pursued other cases for years on his own. Yet one more reason Peter predicted the semester ahead would not be the sleeper Neal confidently asserted.
Peter eyed the tray of raw veggies El had placed on the counter and helped himself with what he hoped was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm to a carrot stick. "How's Henry enjoying his new role at work?"
"With the facial recognition project? He likes it. They're targeting airport security. They have big dreams to market it internationally. Henry mentioned he'll soon start consultations with enforcement authorities at several sites. He hopes to set up a test project within the next month."
El turned the burner off and placed the pan in the sink. "Perhaps he can combine some of those trips with his new volunteer work, the global education through music initiative. I talked with Henry about that in Hawaii. He was enthusiastic to get started."
"The headquarters for the initiative is here in New York, in the United Nations complex. Henry can keep tabs on us and check in with them at the same time. Henry's eager to do field work. He's even trying to learn a little Spanish. Up to now he's never shown any interest in learning a foreign language." Neal took off his apron. "You know I was concerned last December how Henry would make the adjustment back to a normal job after everything that went on last summer. Would he be too bored? It looks like he's had no problem finding new outlets."
Peter mustered up a smile. If Neal only knew. Henry had never mentioned knowing about Fowler's connection to Vincent Adler or that they were both hiding out in Argentina. But hearing about Henry's travel plans had to make Peter wonder. Was Henry foolhardy enough to go to Argentina on his own?
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Dinner was finally served and, no surprise, Neal's coq au vin fully lived up to Peter's expectations. Over dinner El asked, "What classes will you be taking this term?"
Neal refilled her glass with wine. "Seminars on abstract expressionism and Italian Renaissance painters. Sherkov, my advisor, is teaching the latter. Then there's this other course I signed up for in a weak moment . . ." Neal winced. "Not sure how long I'll last in it."
Peter paused in sopping up sauce with a slice of French bread. "You can't stop there. What gives?"
"It all started innocently enough. Richard, Aidan and I were celebrating the end of the first semester and completion of our papers at the Roaring Lion Pub. It was getting late, and we weren't feeling any pain. Richard came up with the bright idea that we should each take a course out of our comfort zone during the second semester, assuming we survived the first one."
Aidan and Richard were also part-time grad students and on Neal's fencing team. "Nothing wrong with that," El said. "College is supposed to be a broadening experience. You should take advantage of it to expand your horizons. "
"Well, we decided to add a twist. We made a pact to pick courses for each other. At the time, it sounded like a good idea. By light of day, I'm not so sure."
"What courses did you choose?" Peter asked.
"You know Aidan—anything earlier than 1990 is considered prehistoric in his world of digital media. So Richard and I made him sign up for a survey of Japanese painting. It focuses on the period from 700 to 1800. Keiko's ecstatic about it. Wants to teach him Japanese."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Peter commented. "A chance to study with one's girlfriend should never be knocked. What's Richard taking?"
"Special Effects Makeup and Prosthetic Design. It's being taught as an experimental course by the film school. I'd picked out French Impressionists, but Travis suggested this one instead. You may remember that he's been trying to persuade Richard to submit a sculpture for the upcoming sci-fi convention, Tac-Con. The course itself sounds fascinating. I wish I'd signed up for it too, but it's now oversubscribed."
"Do you know the dates for the convention yet?" Travis was the electronics specialist at White Collar, but Peter knew his passion for electronics had met its match with sci-fi. Hopefully there wouldn't be an urgent case around then, as he'd undoubtedly be requesting time off.
Neal lifted his glass to Peter. "Interested in going, are you? The last weekend in February. Plenty of time to plan. We could make it a team-building event, wear costumes—"
Peter held up a warning hand. "Oh no, no costumes for me. That gaming convention we went to last fall was the last one I ever intend to participate in."
"Never say never," Neal chided him.
El, ever the empathetic wife, must have noticed the steam escaping from Peter's ears at the mention of costumes and helped him out by changing the topic. "I noticed you haven't mentioned your own course yet."
Neal's expression turned gloomy. "I think they ganged up on me. Would you believe, Fundamentals of Computational Art Design? I looked over the syllabus, and it says no knowledge of programming is required. But I have a bad feeling. It's being taught by the computer science department instead of the art department. Not a good sign." Neal turned to El. "But enough about me—what about you? Are you going to be too busy with Burke Premiere Events to do anything else?"
"No fears about that. At the community theater, we're starting rehearsals for a new play, Bus Stop. The action takes place in a diner during a snowstorm. I'm playing the part of Cherie who dreams of becoming a nightclub singer."
"Do you know who your love interest is going to be and should I start to worry?" asked Peter as he poured the last remnants of the wine into his glass.
"Yes, I know, and no, you have no reason to be concerned, that is as long as you don't ignore me for the FBI all the time."
"Big talk coming from a woman who will be abandoning me in a few weeks," Peter countered.
"What's up with that?" Neal asked.
"El and two of her college roommates are taking a long weekend to go to the Lynx Mountain Resort."
Neal gave a soft whistle. "I've heard of that place. High-end luxury all the way. You'll be hobnobbing with the rich and famous. I didn't know you skied."
"I don't," El said. "I don't even ice skate although Peter has been promising me for years he'd teach me." She paused to toss Peter a reproachful glance. "Maybe this will be the year? Lisa and Sylvia both ski. For me the resort is going to be a weekend of pampering and spa treatments. There's a piano bar that's supposed to be excellent. I could use it as research for my role as Cherie. Lisa signed the papers on a painful divorce last month, and we decided to take this trip to help her transition into her new life. We're going during their Winter Festival weekend and they have special events planned. Sylvia is a travel agent and was able to get us a special rate."
"So while I take care of Satchmo and shovel snow, El will be at a glamorous resort, with ski instructors in Nordic sweaters cozying up to her, asking her out for fondue. . . ."
"You could always plant a bug if you're worried," Neal suggested.
"Shhh . . . don't give away all my plans."
"All right, you two. I just want you to behave yourselves when I'm gone." El gave them the stern look she usually reserved for Satchmo. "No emergency calls from the hospital. Is that too much to ask?"
Once dinner was finished and the food polished off to the point that the plates hardly needed to be washed, they made quick work of clearing the table. El asked Peter and Neal to dim the lights and return to their seats. The tapers on the dining room table were still lit. El brought in a copper skillet of crêpes and set them aflame. Once the flames died, she dished out the crêpes while Peter went over to the sideboard and poured them three glasses of brandy.
Peter raised his glass and made a toast. "To victories at White Collar, Columbia, and Burke Premiere Events!"
White Collar Division. January 18, 2005. Tuesday morning.
A new semester might be starting at Columbia, but at White Collar it was business as usual. Neal was expecting a routine day when he arrived at work on Tuesday. Last week he'd assisted on solving a public housing bid-rigging conspiracy. His assignment had been to prepare research on the suspects, and today's enthralling challenge was to write up his notes. Jones was leading the investigation. He had a meticulous attention to detail that must make him the dream of prosecuting attorneys. His new girlfriend was in the D.A.'s office. No wonder she was attracted to him.
Jones didn't show up for the regular morning briefing. Neal noted his absence with surprise since he'd been in the bullpen when Neal had arrived. It was a small group in attendance. Besides Neal, only Peter, Travis, and Diana were present. For routine briefings Peter usually didn't drag Travis out of the lab. Neal eyed Peter, suspicious that something was up, but he gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary. His announcements were all bland vanilla, leaving Neal puzzled why he'd even bothered to call a meeting.
Jones finally arrived as Peter was wrapping up his comments. Acknowledging Jones with a nod, Peter explained he'd been away researching a lead which surfaced this morning and he'd let Jones go into the details.
"This concerns Azathoth." That was unexpected. After going so long without any leads about the cybercriminal who'd kidnapped Peter and him in October, Neal had resigned himself to wait till Azathoth made another move. Last month he and Peter had discovered an origami ornament on the Christmas tree at the Museum of Natural History which bore the design of a glowing branch, the symbol used on Azathoth's museum security malware. At the time Neal had been sure that Azathoth was teasing them with a message he was going to make another grandstand play, but so far nothing had happened. They'd been carefully monitoring museums for any robbery attempt which made use of his malware, but the only known instance since December was in Budapest in January when the Fine Arts Museum was robbed of several nineteenth century works.
In the fall the glowing branch malware had been implicated in robbery attempts at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, and the Museum of Natural History. So far the identity of the cybercriminal responsible for the malware was unknown. The only real clue they had to go on was his fascination for H.P. Lovecraft, the horror fiction writer. The glowing branch symbol which the criminal had appropriated had been designed by Lovecraft as part of the fictional universe he'd created for his stories. Mozzie had given the criminal the nickname of Azathoth, a Lovecraft deity. After the initial discovery in New York, Interpol had also been researching past museum robberies. Up to now the only incident uncovered was in July of 2004 when the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam was hit.
Jones started off by summarizing the status of the case. "As you know, our efforts since the kidnapping have had few positive results. The owner of the bait shack where Neal and Peter were seized was unaware that it had been appropriated. As for the house where they were held captive, it'd been empty for decades. Eight years ago it'd been inherited by a plastic surgeon in Montreal by the name of Gilbert Bergeron. We considered him to be our best lead, mainly because he was our only one. The only data about him that raised a flag was his receipt of a large payment from an Austrian biotech company, Maier Bioscience, in November of 2004. The surgeon's refusal to give us any specifics about the payment raised a warning flag, but it could easily be legit. He claimed he was doing research on a new product and had signed a confidentiality agreement. He'd also received several payments from the same company in 2000."
"Did Interpol ever find out anything about the payment?" Diana asked, tapping impatiently with her pen.
"No, it's been stymied by the strict privacy laws in place," Jones replied. "We placed an alert on Maier Bioscience to be notified of any activity it conducts in the States. This weekend a possible lead surfaced. An apartment in Queens had been leased out for a year by a company that specializes in providing temporary housing for business clientele. They'd brokered the lease for Maier. I questioned a representative of the housing company this morning who supplied these additional details. Maier had contracted them to lease the apartment last August. They'd said they expected the apartment to be used by various employees on a short-term basis."
"Is the apartment currently occupied?" Neal asked.
"Doesn't appear to be. It's a furnished one-bedroom in Flushing near Flushing Meadows Park where the Unisphere is. When I talked with the landlord this morning, he said the apartment was vacant and he's given us permission to search it."
Peter outlined the plan. Given Azathoth's past history, he was implementing extra precautions. They'd take the van, with Travis, Neal, and Collins assigned to monitor communications while the others made a preliminary search of the premises. If no booby traps were found, Neal and Travis would then join them in the search.
Neal was disappointed but not surprised by Peter's caution. He'd grown to accept it as one of the disadvantages of being an unarmed consultant rather than an agent. And he had to admit, after being rescued by the van in December, he was tempering his earlier dislike for a vehicle he'd dubbed the cell on wheels.
"What about the Lovecraft angle?" Travis asked. "Has anything come from that yet?"
Jones shook his head. "I'm plugged into several online forums and discussion groups. I even set up my own blog over the holidays. You should check out Scribbles from Shoggoth."
Neal smiled and made a note of it. Jones as a Lovecraft blogger? He'd have to add some choice comments. "Got many followers?"
"Already over five thousand," the proud blogger admitted. He nodded toward Diana. "You gonna tell them about the . . .?"
Diana exhaled noisily, looking none too pleased at his request.
Neal wasn't about to let that rest. "Full disclosure, Diana."
"All right, but no snide comments."
"Such as you would make if we said whatever you're about to reveal?" Neal asked pointedly.
Acknowledging the truth of his statement with a shrug, she said, "I've started writing Lovecraft fanfics. Last month when I was monitoring an American club, I read a blog about it and became intrigued. I read several over the holiday break and decided to give it a whirl myself."
Peter looked at her, puzzled. "Fanfics?"
Unexpectedly, Travis was the one to answer Peter's question. "Fanfiction. It was popularized during the early years of Star Trek. Spockanalia, the first Star Trek fanzine, featured fanfics and popularity has skyrocketed since then."
"There's no charge to post the stories online," Diana said. "The Lovecraft fandom is fairly small—not like Star Trek or Harry Potter, for example—and the probability of acquiring useful intel is low. But who knows? Azathoth may be into fanfiction, perhaps as a source of ideas. I thought I'd start with a few short pieces to build up a following. My intention is to eventually write a story which incorporates elements from the kidnapping and see if anyone takes the bait. Would she be vain enough to comment?"
"She?" Peter asked, startled. "You believe Azathoth's a woman?"
"Simply because the voice you heard in the house of horror was a man's, we shouldn't discount that a woman might have been disguising her voice."
Diana's fanfiction angle was the sort of approach Mozzie would be fascinated by—put out a lure so enticing the mark wouldn't be able to resist. On the ride to Flushing Neal talked with her about the project. Diana had taken writing courses in college. An avid gamer, she was treating the challenge as an elaborate freestyle video game. Peter and Travis joined in the lively conversation. Apparently Travis had read a good deal of Star Trek fanfiction as a boy during the lean years between Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation when the only Star Trek shows on TV were repeats of the original series.
At eleven o'clock Jones parked the van in front of the apartment complex. The eight-story red brick buildings appeared to be well-maintained with small patches of lawn and manicured shrubbery in front. The building they were interested in was on the corner. When Peter, Jones, and Diana entered the building, Neal and Travis put their headphones on. Neal dutifully listened to their communications, but Peter's caution turned out to be unnecessary. The apartment was vacant with no lurking assassins hiding behind the furniture. Within a few minutes Peter gave clearance for Travis and Neal to join them. Travis brought along his electronic snooping equipment. That was Neal's technical term for his devices. Neal brought along his expertise of where he'd hide something, a skill refined by years of collaboration with Mozzie. He was willing to bet he'd find something before Travis's equipment.
As they rode up in the elevator, Travis asked, "What course did the others pick out for you?"
"Computational art," Neal said with a groan. "I had to sacrifice a course on Matisse at the altar of broadening experiences."
Travis pursed his lips. "You get no sympathy from me. Sounds like a dream course. They were kind."
Neal slanted a skeptical glance at him. "Dream or nightmare? I'd say it's still in doubt. That was a great course you picked out for Richard. I was going to suggest French Impressionists, but this was much more creative. I wish I'd been able to sign up for it too."
"Richard has real potential as a creature sculptor. His early efforts for the convention blew me away. He could have a future as a concept artist if he wished. I thought the course would be a good way to introduce him to the world of special effects."
"You could be right. Professor Stockman raved over his creature sculptures. He'd never gotten her to praise any of his abstracts. He's now considering revamping his works for the exhibition to include more figures. Don't expect any Klingons, though."
"He can make those for me." Travis added with a grin, "And if he can make me a pair of decent Vulcan ears in the process, I won't complain."
When they entered the apartment, the others had already been sweeping the place for several minutes. Travis set up his equipment to snoop for bugs and any other electronics. Neal wandered around, tapping on the steam radiators, looking behind pictures, checking out the ceilings. Diana was going through the books in the bookcase, Peter had taken charge of the bedroom, and Jones was searching the kitchen.
"Has anyone ever stayed here since it was leased to the company?" Neal asked.
"The superintendent believes that there have been at least a few, but it's hard to know for sure as records weren't kept."
Neal stood in the center of the living room, scanning all four walls. What did Mozzie say? Be one with the apartment. Commune with its soul, its qi. Where does it tell you to hide something? Of course, Mozzie did that by sitting cross-legged in the center of the room and putting himself into a trance. Neal was already getting enough quizzical looks simply from standing like a slowly revolving statue.
All the spots that the living room was telling him to check had already been examined. Neal moved into the kitchen to repeat his reconnaissance. Maybe if he hummed softly a Tibetan drone, he could achieve Mozzie's state of nirvana.
Diana shot him an exasperated look. "Caffrey, focus!"
Neal closed his eyes. "Quiet, that's what I'm doing." Neal opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the refrigerator.
"Got a hunger pang?" Jones challenged.
"We need to pull out the refrigerator," Neal said.
Raising a brow, Jones dragged the refrigerator away from the wall, uncovering a horde of startled roaches who'd taken up residence among the dust bunnies. It was an old, heavy unit. Peter came into the kitchen from the bedroom and helped Jones muscle the fridge farther into the room. Neal squirmed between the counter and the fridge to examine the back surface. "Gotcha," he muttered happily.
Diana craned her neck to see. "What'd you find?"
"A mailbox," Neal said, putting on a pair of gloves. He reached inside a vinyl pouch which had been taped to the metal back cover of the refrigerator and extracted a USB drive. "Wonder what the mailman brought?"
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
After the discovery of the hidden flash drive, the team renewed its efforts to uncover further evidence, but it was as if the place had been sanitized. By the time they left, Neal was satisfied that even Mozzie wouldn't have found anything else incriminating.
Upon arriving back at the Bureau, Travis carried the drive off to the lab for analysis, something Neal had every intention of watching over his shoulder. That got nowhere. When Neal started for the lab, Peter blocked his way. "Don't you have your own work to do?" he said in a tone that brooked no discussion of the answer.
Right. Fat chance of that happening.
No reasonable person could expect him to focus on the public housing bid-rigging conspiracy. Not when inside the lab Travis was quite possibly unlocking the mystery to Azathoth's identity. Correction—Peter would expect it.
Neal actually made an attempt. He pulled out his notes from the drawer, but he had to confess that he'd done more twirling with his pen than typing on the keyboard. It didn't help when he saw Travis, carrying a laptop, enter the bullpen. Giving him a nod in passing, Travis didn't stop to talk or even toss out a hint as he headed for the stairs going to Peter's office. Neal spent the next few minutes predicting what was going on from Travis's facial expression. Not an easy feat. Travis liked to be as inscrutable as his hero, Spock, and he was almost as good at it. A short while later when Travis came back downstairs, Neal got up to intercept him.
"Sorry, I'm under orders," Travis said. "I'm sure Peter will let you know before much longer."
Neal sighed and headed to the break room for a refill of coffee. Was Peter doing this deliberately to force him to write up his notes? He might as well put his theory to the test.
He worked on the documentation for Jones while keeping a watchful eye on Peter's office. When Hughes joined Peter, Neal abandoned his document as a lost cause and pulled out a sheet of paper to draw on. He'd nearly completed an elaborate sketch of a New York version of Waiting for Godot with two men at the subway station waiting for the train which never came when he was finally summoned out of purgatory.
Neal was surprised that Peter called him into the conference room rather than his office. When he walked in, Peter was hooking up his laptop to a projector. No one else was present.
Peter's face looked unusually somber. Neal dismissed any thought of joshing him about the length of time it'd taken and quietly took a seat beside him. "Bad, huh?"
"Evidence is never bad, but judge for yourself," Peter said cryptically. "I have a copy of the entire contents of the drive." He began flashing images on the wall monitor.
Neal sat in silence, studying the images, as one photo after another of him and Peter appeared on the monitor. They'd been timestamped with the earliest ones taken on the day they'd discovered the Galileo manuscript forgery at the Museum of Natural History. The first photo was a close-up of Neal examining an enlarged image of the Galileo manuscript which had been displayed on a poster in the exhibition hall. Peter had been photographed in front of his house, arriving at work, and walking on the street. June's mansion was included in the photos with shots of Neal at Columbia and around the Federal Building. Even Family Day at Columbia had been chronicled with photos of him and Peter walking with El and Neal's aunt Noelle. From the content of the photos, it appeared that he and Peter had been equally targeted.
Neal tried to maintain his objectivity. He was no novice at being under surveillance. He'd seen the photos the FBI had taken of him before he joined them. But viewing these produced a different emotion. It wasn't just him being watched, it was Peter, Elizabeth, Noelle, their friends.
Peter turned to face Neal. "The last one was taken the afternoon we visited Mozzie before going out to Long Island on October 27."
"Were there any documents on the drive?"
Peter nodded. "In addition to the photos, there was a detailed timeline of our movements beginning the day after we discovered the manuscript and ending on the day we were kidnapped." Peter displayed the timeline but didn't elaborate on the details. Neal could tell at a glance how thorough it had been. Propelling the discussion forward, Peter said, "This is the first solid lead we've had and we're going to take advantage of it. There's no question now that Maier Bioscience has a connection to Azathoth. Hughes will contact Canadian authorities to renew their research into the doctor and is also going to notify Interpol about Maier."
Neal forced himself to be equally dispassionate. "Azathoth must have had a camera in place at the museum from the beginning. He probably only retained the photos of us."
"Makes sense." Peter pulled up a spreadsheet and displayed it on the monitor. "This is the timeline we've established so far for North America. On September 24 you discovered the glowing branch symbol on a program designed to override the security software at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We next found it on a similar program that had been used to hack the security at the Brooklyn Museum on October 11. On October 20 we found the same symbol on the Galileo manuscript forgery. The only instance we've had in the States since the Galileo manuscript was taken was when we discovered it on the origami tree at the American Museum of Natural History on December 12. It's possible that was a parting gesture and that Azathoth is no longer operating in North America."
"But the origami tree— that symbol was a personal message to us. What signal was he sending?" Neal could hear his voice growing more emotional and quickly ratcheted in down. "In Budapest, was there any indication that enforcement agents were also being stalked?"
"Not to my knowledge, but we'll share what we learned with Interpol. As far as the origami tree …" Peter paused and took a moment to continue. "We discussed at the time, that Azathoth could simply have been thumbing his nose at us."
"Yeah, or it could have been his way of saying en garde, alerting us that he intended to launch a new attack."
Peter nodded. "The evidence on the drive confirms what we already knew. Azathoth fixed his attention on us after your discovery of the manuscript forgery. Your name was on the list of origami workshop leaders. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to find out you'd be working on the tree. There's no evidence of either one of us being stalked after October 27, but the lack of evidence doesn't imply we aren't still under surveillance."
Neal couldn't stay seated any longer and got up to pace. The more he thought about that apartment, the less he liked it. Turning abruptly to Peter, he said, "He's toying with us again. This is just like the origami symbol. He left the drive deliberately for us to find. No other evidence in the apartment—it must have been a plant. But what's his motivation? And why was the only information on it about us?"
Peter showed no surprise at his words. He must have been thinking the same thing. "I don't know. Hell, we're not even sure how long the drive has been there. He could have left it shortly after the kidnapping. Maybe he was annoyed we hadn't found it yet and that's why he planted the origami symbol." Peter rubbed the side of his neck, plainly as frustrated as Neal. "We simply don't have enough to go on."
"He could have easily used these photos to make face masks of us."
"You're thinking about when he tried to make you believe you'd shot me, aren't you? No question he had those masks prepared in advance. That house of horror had to take a while to construct, but we've found no one who worked on it. He probably flew in a team of workers and flew them back out immediately afterwards."
"Like a movie set built on location and dismantled afterwards . . ." Neal stopped to stand by the window. Looking down at the street, he wondered if Azathoth were out there somewhere, playing Tuesday Tails with them. He'd invented the game for the White Collar team to refine their tailing skills over the Tuesday lunch hour. Was Azathoth twisting the game to his own rules? Peter came over to stand beside him. "I've gotten too complacent. Here I was—the supposed Tuesday Tails expert—being followed and not even aware of it. I gotta up my game, Peter."
"We both do," Peter said soberly. "But this isn't a game, Neal. Don't treat it that way."
"I won't," Neal assured him. He paused and then asked the question he was sure Peter was asking himself. "Do you think our families are at risk?"
"Honestly, I don't know. He hasn't done anything yet, but that doesn't count for much."
"Are you going to tell El?"
Peter exhaled slowly and shook his head. "I haven't decided. It's a tough call. My gut's telling me that she's not in danger. Look at the way he handled our kidnapping. Even returned my car to Brooklyn."
"Yeah, for a sadistic cybercriminal, he was being extraordinarily thoughtful. Good upbringing? Can we narrow our search to only those with happy childhoods?"
Peter gave a short welcome burst of laughter. "I wish! But look at you. Your childhood had its issues and you're one of the politest guys I know." He paused and laid a hand on Neal's arm. "With no imminent threat, I can't place us under 24-hour surveillance, even if I wanted to and even if you'd allow it."
"No chance," Neal quickly confirmed.
"But . . ." Peter paused to emphasize his point. "You, be careful. Keep alert."
"The same goes for you, partner."
Notes: Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit The Dreamer board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site.
Thanks to Penna, creator of this AU, for acting as beta reader and co-conspirator for this story. In this chapter the idea for Neal to take a course out of his comfort zone was based on her suggestion. She and I share a blog, called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation where we post about our stories and adventures in writing. FanFiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to both our blog and our Pinterest site in my profile.
If you'd like to catch up, the series begins with Caffrey Conversation by Penna Nomen where Peter recruited Neal in 2003. My first story, Complications, describes how Neal was admitted to Columbia. We date all our stories so you can keep track of the order in which events occur.
Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers: Our 'verse differs from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. She met Peter's older brother Joe, an architect, in the spring of 2004 and they were wed during the Christmas holidays shortly before this story. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Henry's grandfather, Graham Winslow, is former CEO of Win-Win. Neal has one other cousin, named Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Angela entered a PhD program at Columbia University in January of this year. You can find the entire cast on the Caffrey Conversation AU board of our Pinterest site.
Disclaimers: White Collar and its characters are not mine. Any depictions of real institutions and locations are not necessarily true or accurate.