Chapter 7: A Court Intrigue
White Collar Division. November 19, 2004. Friday afternoon.
"This is disturbing news." Hughes sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. Tapping with a pen on the paper in front of him, he reflected on what Peter had just told him.
On Friday, once Mozzie had finished sweeping his home, Peter asked to meet Hughes in his office. As he went over the revelations of the past day—the bugging of his house, Fowler's offer to Neal—Hughes's normal stone-faced appearance had taken on a noticeably grimmer aspect.
"Fowler claims he acted under the Assistant Director's orders?" Hughes asked.
"That's right, but you and I both know this couldn't have been sanctioned by him."
"I agree. When this first started, I found it difficult to believe there was any hidden agenda. Now the evidence is fast becoming irrefutable."
Peter wasn't about to argue with him. "I had Travis examine the bugs but I doubt anything incriminating will be found."
"The OPR Assistant Director has an impeccable record with over twenty-five years of service. I refuse to believe that he'd authorize the bugs. Was Caffrey able to record the conversation with Fowler?"
"No, unfortunately. A surveillance camera recorded him entering the mansion, but we don't have any other evidence, only Neal's testimony."
"So, there's no proof Fowler made the offer. I agree with Caffrey—if I go to the Assistant Director now, Fowler will deny it and very likely it will reduce our chances of finding out who's responsible. Having someone else assigned to the case at this point may not be all that helpful. What's your recommendation?"
"I'd like to have Agent Wiese look into Fowler. Since she's currently in Washington, D.C. and Fowler works out of that office, she may be able to discover something. My take on Fowler's offer is that it's a sign of desperation. Whoever is behind this realizes the evidence is too unsubstantial to hold, and they're trying to make Neal panic. That means they may make another mistake. Let's play it out a couple more days and see what happens." No need to tell Hughes he'd already contacted Tricia. When Peter had brought her up to speed on what had been happening, she suggested looking into Fowler's record even before he asked her.
Hughes nodded his assent. "Go ahead and contact Wiese, but keep it unofficial for now. How's Caffrey holding up?"
"He's keeping things under control, for now. He has his classes and art to work on. He'll give us a little time." Peter hoped he was being correct in that assertion. Neal still seemed too much like a caged animal. Peter suspected the anklet was sending him over the edge and wasn't convinced that he was thinking all that clearly.
After he left Hughes, Peter went to the lab for an update. Travis had finished his examination of the bugs. "As we suspected, they'd been wiped," he said, "but there was something useful to be gleaned. They're not the make we use in New York. I checked around. It's an advanced model and only the D.C. office is employing it."
"Well, at least that's something." Peter paused and, looking around to make sure no one from OPR was in earshot, added, "Jones and Diana are meeting me for drinks at Foley's Tavern after work. An off-site location seems best for what we plan to discuss. Care to join us?"
Foley's Tavern. November 19, 2004. Friday evening.
Foley's Tavern was a little over a block away from the Federal Building. A casual and comfortable hole in the wall, it was the favorite bar of the White Collar team. Booths lined the side walls for a measure of privacy. Giant TV screens by the bar were a recent addition.
The others had arrived before Peter and already had their drinks. Peter took his beer over to the booth in the back they'd selected and slid in next to Travis. It didn't take long to fill them in on the news. Helping himself to a pretzel, Peter concluded, "So that's where we stand. You're all advised to check your own phones for bugs. Hughes is making discreet inquiries to see if there's any official record of authorized activity at my home, and Tricia is researching Fowler in D.C. For the moment I left the bug on my landline active. It may yet prove useful."
Diana took a sip of her martini. "Since Caffrey didn't take him up on the offer, Fowler could become desperate enough to try something even more reckless. Should we start monitoring Fowler's movements?"
"Too risky," objected Jones. "If we start butting heads with OPR, that won't help anyone, including Caffrey."
"I have to agree," Peter said reluctantly. "As much as I'd like to have him tailed, if Fowler found out, it'd be even harder for us to discover what he's up to. Fowler's no slouch. He's a veteran of over twenty years with the Bureau."
"There's no harm in us visiting Neal, is there?" Travis asked casually.
"On the contrary," Peter said, liking the idea, "we should view it our sworn duty to keep close to him, make sure he keeps out of trouble … and that others aren't bringing trouble to him."
"Idle hands . . . " said Diana. "I'll give him the benefit of my advice this weekend."
"I've already made plans to be at his fencing match with Harvard tomorrow morning," Jones said. "I'm taking my nephew Ethan. He's seven and a Jedi wannabe. He's never seen live fencing and Caffrey had suggested he come. It will be the first time for either of us to visit the Columbia campus."
"I'll see you there," Travis added. "I also told Neal I was coming."
"That sounds much more interesting than the chores I'd lined up," Diana said. "Count me in. Travis, can I catch a ride with you? You're more familiar with the campus than I am."
"He'll have quite a booster club. I'll be there too," Peter said. His burner phone buzzed. "Hey, Neal, I'm at Foley's. Making plans for your match." As Peter listened to what Neal had to say, the others grew quiet. Everyone was waiting for him to explain what was going on. He wished he knew himself. With what had become his standard sign-off to not do anything stupid, Peter switched off the phone and told them, "Tramonte was spotted outside Neal's place this afternoon."
"You're kidding. Tramonte's casing June's place?" asked Diana incredulously. "Why would he be doing that?"
"Maybe he thinks Neal has the earrings and wants to steal them back," suggested Jones.
"But how would he know Neal was suspected of taking the earrings?" Travis challenged. "To my knowledge, no one outside the FBI knows about Neal's involvement unless Neal told them. Hardly likely."
Peter scanned the group, more than ever glad he had absolute confidence in them. "Tramonte had to have heard it from someone, and I can guarantee it wasn't Neal. From the beginning Neal and I've believed Tramonte may have been responsible for the theft. But if he'd stolen the earrings why would he hang around Neal's place? The only way this makes any sense at all is if Tramonte's acting under orders from someone. And I only have one name on my list."
Prentis Hall, Columbia University. November 19, 2004. Friday evening.
"I present to you … Athos. What he lacks in swordsmanship, he more than makes up for in subterfuge." As Neal introduced the others, Mozzie took off his hat with a theatrical flourish and made a deep bow.
Neal had arranged to meet with Richard and Aidan at Aidan's studio in Prentis Hall. Because of its location in a depressed area of West Harlem, the building had higher security than most of the other university halls. Even so, Neal was taking no chances. A wireless detection finder had become a standard item in his backpack these days.
It was amusing to watch their reaction to Mozzie. They were almost as curious about him as Mozzie was about them. Mozzie had insisted on wearing a long curly-haired wig and an extraordinary hat for the occasion. The brim was wide enough to achieve musketeer status and made it very difficult for Neal to keep a straight face whenever he looked at him.
Mozzie smiled benignly at Richard and Aidan. "Fellow mousquetaires, this morning I spotted a ruffian scouting d'Artagnan's lodgings whom we believe to be an agent sent by Richelieu. In order to restore his honor, Neal may need to go off grid and naturally called on me as his trusted advisor in all matters to lend assistance. Aidan—or do you prefer your nom de guerre of Aramis? I'm told you have an idea on how to broadcast a signal that would duplicate the signal emitted from his tracking anklet."
"That's right," Aidan said, tearing his eyes off Mozzie's wig. "I borrowed some equipment from where I work to obtain the signal parameters. I also brought along testing devices."
Aidan had already laid out his equipment on the worktable. Mozzie scrutinized them, rubbing his hands together. "I haven't seen these particular models before. They look state of the art. Permit me to ask, where do you work?"
"At a cybersecurity company."
"Oh really?" Mozzie's eyes lit up. "How convenient. And you're able to borrow equipment? We must talk at further length. I need your schedule. Do you like wine? Fortunately, I came supplied." Mozzie pulled out a bottle from a large gym bag he'd brought along. Turning to Richard, he asked, "And where do you work, may I ask?"
"Nothing as helpful, I'm afraid. I'm an analyst at a brokerage firm."
"Tut-tut, brokerage firms can also prove extremely useful. Perhaps not for the immediate task at hand, but I've been contemplating a small but extremely lucrative transactions—"
"Athos … " Neal warned in a low voice, shaking his head.
Mozzie continued without missing a beat, "But we'll discuss that further at another time … What I propose for the moment is that after obtaining the parameters of d'Artagnan's tracker, we build a test device, using this anklet I procured." Mozzie pulled out of his bag a second tracking anklet, similar in make to Neal's.
Aidan moved closer to examine the anklet. "How were you able to acquire this?"
Mozzie shrugged. "This trinket? The merest sample of what I'm capable, mon ami." Mozzie pulled a stool over. "Okay, d'Artagnan, foot up."
Neal obligingly kept his foot on the stool while Aidan and Mozzie passed devices over it.
While they worked, Neal said to Richard, "It was a day off for me. I wound up spending most of it underground." Richard was nearly as keen on the tunnels as he was. Together they'd already explored all the main routes and some of the less accessible ones.
"Did you . . .?"
"Yep. Wanna check it out?"
Aidan looked up. "What are you two talking about?"
"Tunnels, Columbia's underground labyrinth. I discovered one of the rumored tunnels."
"You should have told me," Richard complained. "I would have taken the day off."
"I couldn't risk it. I was going through areas of high security and had to be careful not to trip any alarms. My goal was to make a systematic exploration and build a map. In the process I discovered the tunnel. The entrance I found is very difficult to access, but once I was in it, I found another way in that isn't as heavily guarded. The tunnel has significant potential as a pirates' cave but needs further investigation."
"Count me in," Richard said enthusiastically. "Did you bring the headlamps?"
"Already equipped," Neal said, nodding over to his backpack. "Along with pickaxes and a few other tools that may come in handy."
"Are you sure you don't want to wait?" Mozzie asked plaintively. "This should only take us a couple hours."
"We need to first check it out for safety before taking you there, Athos," Neal said. "We can't risk the most valuable member of our crew to unknown dangers."
"A wise precaution," Mozzie said, appearing mollified. "Those pools of stagnant water could harbor vicious bacteria going back to the nineteenth century. Check for bubonic plague and cholera in particular. Do you have mold detectors with you? Oh, and be sure to take face masks. And maybe blowtorches. They would likely be your most effective defense if you encounter a rat reservoir."
"Rat reservoir?" Richard asked, his eyes widening.
"Infestations of hundreds, perhaps thousands of rats, have been found recently in Harlem," Mozzie explained, warming up to his topic. "The warm, damp conditions in the tunnels provide ideal incubation for any number of diseases and malign influences. And then there are the apparitions and other denizens of subterranean regions. Noxious influences wh—"
Neal held up a hand. "Enough, Athos. Porthos and I'll be careful. Once we've checked it out and found the terminus, we'll take you and Aramis down."
As Neal and Richard left, Mozzie tossed out his final words, "Don't forget to hang garlic around your neck. Also, no harm in taking salt along to ward off any demons."
"What tree did you find him hiding behind?" Richard asked as they left the building.
Blue Gym, Columbia University. November 20, 2004. Saturday morning.
College club fencing matches weren't normally a big draw, but this one with archrival Harvard was an exception. Aidan had warned Neal to expect a crowd since Harvard had a large alumni fan base residing in New York City. Still it was a shock to see the fans already arriving and taking their seats in the chairs set up around the fencing strip. Standing room only for fencing?
Neal had arrived early to dress and prepare his gear. The shin guards he was wearing combined with Mozzie's custom socks made it virtually impossible to detect his anklet. The socks provided enough padding around the anklet so that its outline wasn't visible. Getting used to the feel had taken a little time, but Neal had been practicing with his gear all week and by now barely noticed them.
When he saw Jones and Ethan arrive in the gym, Neal waved them over. They must have already gone shopping because Ethan was proudly sporting a Columbia blue fencing t-shirt. Jones was wearing a crimson Harvard Law t-shirt. Watching them approach hand in hand, Neal couldn't resist a smile at the tiny slip of a boy with Jones. Ethan was wide-eyed with excitement and skipping along to Jones's broad strides.
Neal crouched to shake Ethan's hand and thank him for coming.
The little boy looked awe-struck. Taking in his white fencing clothes and the face mask Neal was holding, he asked in a hushed voice, "Are you a stormtrooper?"
Guffawing, Jones said, "Nah, he's on our side, kiddo. He's one of the good guys!"
"Clever of you to recognize our disguise," Neal said admiringly, "but these outfits alone won't ward off Darth Vader. We'll use our blades for that. Everyone knows the Harvard fencers are minions for the Evil Empire."
"Now, wait a minute. Ethan, don't listen to him," Jones said, putting his hands over Ethan's ears. "It's a good thing you have your names on the back of your jackets or we wouldn't know which stormtrooper to cheer on."
Travis and Diana entered the gym and joined them. "Looking cool, Caffrey." Diana said. "Peter will be here shortly. We saw him in the garage. He was trying to find a parking space."
Neal hadn't known Diana was coming too. This was becoming quite a reunion. "I didn't realize all of White Collar would be here. I would have set up a reserved seating area."
"Don't let it go to your head, but the bullpen has been deadly dull without you there," Diana said. "I'm counting on you to liven up my weekend."
Neal hadn't seen the others since Tuesday and despite Peter's reassurance had wondered whether they had crossed him off as a criminal. It was touching to see this display of support.
"Can I see your sword?" Ethan asked.
"Sure, actually I have three: foil, épée, and sabre." Neal got out an épée from the rack. "See the wires running down the blade? They send a signal when I land a touch. You'll hear a sound and a green light comes on."
"Will you compete with all three swords?" Travis asked.
"Yes, our club's a little short of members, and all of us are competing in multiple bouts."
Aidan and Richard came over and Neal made the introductions. "Aidan's our team captain. Richard's a fencer-in-training. He just started this week so won't compete. Aidan, could you explain how the competition works? There's something I need to get from the back."
When he got to the locker room, Neal retrieved a blue foam fencing sword he'd bought for Ethan. On the way back, he checked out the incoming spectators to see if Peter had arrived. No sign of Peter, but who was that hanging around in the back?
Neal quickly ducked behind a door, his heart racing. What was Tramonte doing here? He hadn't come to watch the fencing, that was certain. Running through the possibilities, Neal stopped at one particularly troubling reason. Peering through the slit in the door, he saw Tramonte disappear down a side corridor leading to another section of the gym, adding weight to his suspicions. Good thing they'd made contingency plans. This was a call to action for the musketeers.
When Neal got back to the others, the competition was about to begin. Ethan saw him coming with the sword and ran up to greet him. "Is that your sword?" he asked, reaching for it.
Ignoring Diana's snicker, Neal said gravely, "No, this is a special sword designed just for you."
"And in Columbia blue, no less," Jones said, nodding his approval. "Nice touch, Caffrey. Here, Ethan, you better let me take charge of that. We need to take our seats."
Ethan, it was plain, had other ideas, and as they walked to the gallery Neal could see him swinging it wildly.
Aidan walked up. "Maybe you should have waited till after the competition to give it to him?"
Neal quickly turned serious. "Where's Richard? We need to talk."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Jeez, who would have thought it would have been that tough to find a parking space on a Saturday morning? I'm going to be late for the match. Peter charged through the corridors of the gym like he was hot on the trail a bank robber. Fortunately, despite his fears, he arrived before the match had started.
The fencers were clustered at opposite ends of the competition strip, talking among themselves and their coaches. He saw Neal standing with Aidan and Richard, deep in conversation. Neal hadn't appeared to notice his arrival. Peter was glad he'd met Aidan and Richard on Family Day so he knew who they were.
Catching sight of Jones, Diana, and Travis in the spectator gallery, Peter waved back. Luckily, they'd saved him a seat. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Travis, you must have gotten the last parking place. I had to find another garage." Looking over at Ethan, he added, "Who's this fierce swordsman? Aren't you supposed to be over with the teams?"
Ethan had been brandishing his sword with ferocious determination, but became bashful when Peter spoke to him and clung to Jones.
Jones made the introductions. "Caffrey gave Ethan the sword before you arrived. He instantly achieved hero status."
Peter gave Ethan a knowing grin, "Neal's pretty cool, isn't he?"
Ethan nodded. Putting his hand to his mouth, he added in a loud whisper, "He's one of the good stormtroopers. Neal told me Harvard's the bad stormtroopers. They're the Evil Empire!"
Chuckling, Jones said, "I heard that, Ethan. Just remember we're not all evil at Harvard. Here, you better let me take charge of your sword during the match. I wouldn't want you to give Columbia an unfair advantage."
Peter saw Neal scanning their group and waved to him. Neal gave him a questioning look and jerked his head to the right. Peter turned to see what he was pointing at. Garrett Fowler? At a fencing match? And he wasn't alone. Two other OPR agents were with him as well. They'd all taken their seats in the back of the gallery.
Diana noticed them too. "What are they doing here, boss?" she asked worriedly.
"Nothing good," Peter muttered. He got up and strode over to where Fowler was sitting. "What's this about? Are you a fencing fan?"
"We got a tip that Caffrey may be hiding the earrings in the gym locker," Fowler said. "We have to check it out."
Peter could feel his anger rising and fought to keep it under control. "I don't expect you have a warrant?"
Fowler, disgruntled, shook his head.
Peter wasn't sure reasoning with him would do any good but had to try. "Let him fence. He's not going anywhere. After the match I'll go with you, all right?"
Surprisingly Fowler agreed without making it an issue. "Caffrey can fence as long as he remains in view. If he leaves the competition area at any time, we move in immediately. You can come with us, but no interference, Burke. OPR's in charge."
When he returned to his seat, Peter told Travis and Diana what Fowler had said. He was already regretting that they'd held off reporting Fowler to OPR. As it was, Fowler was still the lead investigator and Peter's options were limited. At least Fowler had agreed to hold off till after the competition. And that was surprising in itself. Why hadn't he gone ahead? What game was he playing?
Peter watched Neal and the other members of his team going over their last-minute strategy as he prepared for his own upcoming bout with Fowler. His accusation that Neal was hiding the earrings in his locker was nonsense. Even if Neal had stolen them, he wouldn't have hidden them in such an obvious place. But for the moment, aside from monitoring Fowler's movements, there was nothing anyone could do till after the match.
Neal had now taken his place on the fencing strip. Peter had never seen him fence before, and he forced himself to not think about what would happen afterwards but concentrate only on the match. Neal had to do the same and the least he could was lend his moral support.
Travis got out a video camera and made it ready. "Badillo wanted to come, but he had to work," Travis explained. "I told him I'd take videos of Neal's bouts."
The order for fencing was first épée, followed by foil, and then sabre. It was fascinating to see how electronic the competition was. "What are they doing now?" Peter asked Travis who was sitting next to him.
"The fencers are plugging in their body wires. Aidan showed us how the blades themselves are wired and send a signal when a touch is landed."
The events moved very quickly. Practice strips had been set up in a separate area where fencers could warm up between bouts. Columbia and Harvard were neck and neck after the épée and foil competitions. Neal and Aidan had done well, but some of the other members of their club were not as strong.
Jones leaned over to Peter. "Aidan told me that the final sabre bout is what everyone is particularly excited to see. Neal will be fencing a Harvard grad student who was ranked among the top in the country when he fenced collegiately. Neal thinks he has a slim chance."
The sabre competition would start in a few minutes. Peter saw Neal on the practice strip with Richard. Why was he warming up with Richard? Richard was a beginner and certainly presented no challenge. Even Peter could tell he was simply parrying Neal's thrusts and awkwardly at that. Did Neal not want to give any hints of what his plans were to the opposing team? Peter looked around for Aidan but couldn't find him.
When Neal and the Harvard fencer stepped onto the fencing strip, maybe it was his imagination but the spectators seemed to lean forward even more, their anticipation crackling with electricity as if they were wired too. The Harvard fencer was taller and heavier than Neal. He looked formidable. But fencing's a sport more of agility than strength. As the players saluted each other before putting on their masks, Peter was struck by the intensity of Neal's gaze. Gone was the cocky, smart-aleck charmer. Neal had transformed into someone dangerous.
The bout was a close one with points seesawing back and forth, as the fencers lunged at each other up and down the strip. They moved so fast, touches were scored before Peter was even aware one had landed. The audience appeared to be familiar with how fencing bouts were conducted, bursting out in cheers and applause every time a touch was landed only to fall back into hushed silence with the next lunge. Peter found himself on the edge of the seat as he focused on the rapid lunging, but it was frustrating to follow. Half the time he couldn't tell who'd made the touch till the score was updated on the electronic display.
When the closing bell sounded, the score was 15-13, with Neal coming out on top. When he scored the final touch, the Columbia crowd went wild, and Peter with the other White Collar team members rose to their feet cheering along with everyone else. Flushed and sweaty, Neal took off his mask and broke out in a wide smile as he shook hands with his opponent and then bowed to the crowd. The ecstatic Columbia fencers jubilantly rushed him and spectators poured out of their seats to congratulate all the players. Ethan was jumping up and down on his seat to go see Neal.
But Peter transferred his gaze to Fowler. He and his agents had also risen and were heading toward Neal. Exchanging quick nods, Peter along with Travis and Diana, intercepted them before they could reach him.
Giving Peter a cheeky smile which seemed expressly designed to aggravate him, Fowler said, "Caffrey had his moment. We let him fence. But it ends now. Sorry, Burke, looks like your boy's guilty after all."
"Give him a little time with his team," Peter urged. "Then we'll conduct the investigation jointly. But unless something's found, there no need to make a big production out of this. Neal hasn't been charged with any crime and is innocent in the eyes of the law." He looked over at Neal who was watching them, his face grown tense, and gave him a quick nod.
"Five minutes, but then no more stalling," Fowler said. "If he doesn't let us examine his locker, you know what the consequences will be."
Notes: If you'd like to see what a real sabre bout is like, I've pinned a video as well as other visuals to The Queen's Jewels' board of our Pinterest Caffrey Conversation site. Please join me next week for Chapter 8: Plan of Campaign when Fowler confronts Neal and the plan of the musketeers is revealed.
