Chapter 11: A Charmed Life
La Grenouille French Restaurant. Wednesday evening.
"I've enjoyed our reunion," Raquel said, sliding closer to Neal on the banquette. "You should visit me in Venice. We'll explore its treasures together."
For the past couple of hours Neal and Raquel had feasted on delicacies prepared by La Grenouille's master chef. Neal hadn't visited the restaurant since his days with Adler, and it brought back memories of being there with Kate. He could see her now, smiling at him from across the room. At the time, the French-speaking waiters and the luxurious setting, with its fresh flowers and oil paintings in gilt frames on brocade-covered walls, had reminded him of Paris. Now he felt like he'd been thrown back into a fairy tale.
The discreet tuxedo-clad waiter placed Grand Marnier soufflés in front of them and refilled their porcelain coffee cups. Raquel had worn a black silk crepe dress which gave a new definition to the meaning of the word provocative. They were sitting side by side on a banquette upholstered in crimson velvet. When the waiter left, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Keller might still be observing us, you know."
"You saw him too?"
"Outside the restaurant? Oh yes. How appropriate that it's so frigid outside. I hope he freezes into a block of ice."
"A Keller ice sculpture," he said with a laugh as he picked up a fork. "We should stay here as long as possible."
Raquel ran a finger up his arm. "But afterward, of course, we'll return to my suite. You still need to steal the ring, and I won't make it easy."
"Is that so?" They'd spent the first hour on safe topics, discussing Egyptian amulets and the latest tomb discoveries, but for the past several minutes Raquel had become decidedly more amorous. The soft lighting of the restaurant cast everyone in a romantic glow and evidently she wasn't immune to its effect. A few years ago in Berlin, he would have been ecstatic over her attention, but not now.
"So who is she?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't play the innocent with me, Neal Caffrey. I'm fully aware of how alluring I am, but you're resisting. Who stole your heart?"
"Now, Raquel, I never ask about your lovers."
"Well, whoever she is, she's very lucky." Raquel sighed as she looked at him. "Such a waste of a golden opportunity. She'd never know."
Neal shook his head and smiled. "I would."
"In that case, I have a Senet board in my suite. A lovely item I collected in Boston earlier this week. Playing the Ancient Egyptian game won't be as pleasurable as what I had originally planned but if you insist . . ."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Neal arrived back from Raquel's at close to three in the morning. June had gone to bed hours ago. He longed to also, but first he had a call to make.
"Allo, Neal is that you?"
"I'm glad I caught you, Chantal. I tried earlier and you were out. Your answering machine isn't working, by the way."
"It's broken, hélas, and I haven't had the time to have it repaired. I can't talk long. I'm in the midst of preparing the cassoulet for the day, and my sous-chef's at home sick. I could use your knife skill."
Neal could picture her standing in the kitchen of her bistro, surrounded by gleaming copper pots and molds. "I wish I could help too."
"Have you decided what to do about the Braque painting?"
"No, I'm still working on that. This is about a different matter. I wanted to warn you about someone who may approach you, seeking information about me. His name is Garrett Fowler. He traveled to Paris under the alias of Russell Thompson." Neal described his appearance and Chantal promised to let him know if she heard anything. It was unlikely that Fowler's flight to Paris had anything to do with Neal, but Chantal was the only connection he had there. Her marriage to Klaus Mansfeld was no secret. It was possible Adler had learned about it and would try to use Chantal as a means to get to him.
Federal Building. February 24, 2005. Thursday morning.
Peter looked at his watch. Nine thirty and he still hadn't shown up. Neal had promised to come in today to make a report before meeting Keller. Peter was just on the point of calling him when he finally made an appearance.
When Peter called him into him into his office, Neal sat down in a chair with less than his normal grace. "Sorry I'm late."
"Did the evening with Raquel go okay?"
"Yeah. I just overslept. Keller was lurking around the restaurant and followed us to the hotel. I needed to maintain the illusion of the grand seduction. We played Senet in her room for several hours."
Peter eyed him warily. "That's not a version of the Kama Sutra, is it?"
Neal broke out in a tired grin. "Hardly! It's a board game from Ancient Egypt. I should get a set for Mozzie."
"Only you would use a pastime from Ancient Egypt as an excuse for being late," Peter said with a chuckle. "What time did you get home?"
"Around two thirty."
"And then you went to bed."
Neal raised an eyebrow. "Trying to set a curfew on me? That's not going to work. I'll get caught up on sleep after the job's done."
"The job's not going to get done if you crash from exhaustion."
Neal waved off his warning. "I had a phone call to make first—to Chantal. I keep wondering what Fowler's doing in Paris. Is he still there? It may have no connection to me, but I wanted to alert her just in case. If she hears anything, she'll let me know."
"Good. Hughes contacted Interpol about Fowler yesterday." Peter was glad he was taking precautions, but was he now going to stress about Chantal too? "I told Jones about Henry's discovery. He agrees that Fowler's most likely conducting research for Adler and this has no connection to you. When are you meeting Keller?"
"Noon in Grand Central Station."
Peter was going to ask for details but was interrupted by Jones appearing at the door. "I have news on the Dutchman front. Looks like someone's nibbling at our bait."
Peter beckoned Jones in. "Why do you say that?"
"I heard from one of the fences Neal put us on to. Operates in London. Says he may have located the painting. He's going to send me further instructions next week."
The news from Jones acted like a jolt of double-espresso on Neal. He sat up straighter, his face looking more alert. It was becoming increasingly clear he was living off adrenaline at this point. That might help with his meeting with Keller, but Peter was going to have to find a way for him to get more rest before he burned out. Accomplishing that with Tac-Con looming this weekend was going to be a difficult challenge.
Oyster Bar, Grand Central Station. February 24, 2005. Thursday midday.
Neal left for his meeting with Keller, still excited about the news on Hagen. Would it be possible to get the Dutchman and Keller in one week? As long as Keller was arrested, he'd be satisfied. There'd be other opportunities for the Dutchman if the sting blew up. But Keller? Failure was not an option.
Neal had suggested they meet at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central. At midday it would be filled with customers and the din would provide Keller a comfort level to discuss business without fear of being overheard. Neal had worked with Travis to add an amplifier to his watch to record their conversation. Travis said he'd be able to filter out the background noise in the lab.
When Neal arrived, Keller had already grabbed a table and ordered a beer. Neal took the chair across from him. When the waiter came over, he ordered a glass of Sauvignon blanc, and they both requested plates of Blue Point oysters.
"So, Caff, how long you gonna keep me waiting?"
"You got my check?"
Keller handed it to him. "Cashier's check like you requested and I must say I was a little hurt by your lack of trust."
"Yeah, right." Neal inspected the check. "Pleasure doing business with you." He placed it in his wallet and passed him the box with the ring.
Keller opened the box and gave it a glance. "Any problem getting it from Raquel?"
"Nah, I waited till she was asleep." Neal said with a carefully executed smirk. "Had my fun and then claimed my prize."
"That's my boy," Keller said approvingly.
"Learned from the master," Neal said, tossing him a slight nod.
"I'll examine it later. It better be genuine," he warned. Neal wasn't worried. That ring would stand up to any scrutiny. Keller raised his glass to him. "Welcome back, partner."
Neal raised his own. "The future."
"What's the status on the Met?"
"My contact will load and verify the program on Monday. We make the hit Tuesday night."
Keller grimaced as if he'd just gotten a gigantic toothache. "Why so long? I'd like to get this done tomorrow."
"Can't be helped. The software update's not completed yet." Neal paused while the waiter placed their orders in front of them. "Besides I have other plans on the weekend. I'm exhibiting at a sci-fi convention. It's for a university project."
Keller snorted. "Are you nuts?"
"Part of a course assignment," he said, shrugging. "Getting that degree going's to be worth it. The access and contacts I'm building for New York museums will be unparalleled."
"So you really are going to make the museums your playground? You weren't just BS-ing me?"
"Steal what I want and then be on the FBI team which conducts the investigation—it doesn't get sweeter than that."
Keller considered him for a moment. "I knew you had potential, but this? Not too shabby."
Neal brushed off his acknowledgment. "New York's just the beginning." He reached for the hot sauce. "You contacted the buyer?"
Keller nodded. "He's already put down a deposit."
"Would he be interested in more?"
"What do you mean?"
Neal kept him waiting while he downed an oyster. "As long as I'm in the museum, why just steal the mirror?" He leaned forward and pointed his fork at Keller. "Those pectorals, the vulture pendant. I could take them too."
"Is that so?"
"With the software I'm installing, I'll be able to disable the security for the entire exhibition. The only limit is how much I can carry out." Neal paused to wince. "Too bad about the golden shrine. It's at least as valuable as the mirror—maybe more— but I can't manage it on my own."
"Don't be so hasty," Keller chided him. He stroked his upper lip as he glanced around the room. "What if I joined you? We could make a much larger haul."
"I work alone now," Neal said shortly. "Not interested."
"Not even for all the extra millions? Let me approach my buyers. If I can get firm commitments for the haul, I say we go for it. What do you say? You and me together?"
"Fifty-fifty?"
He nodded. "Even split."
"I want the buyers' names."
"Sure, in return for the details of your software."
Neal smiled at him wolfishly. "We're going to make a good team."
"Old times. What makes this work is we're two of a kind. We know how each other works and when we're being played."
"Zero trust and total confidence," Neal said, raising his glass to him.
"You scratch my back, I scratch yours." Keller scooped an oyster out of its shell and paused, eyeing him speculatively. "You interested in an easy five million of scratch?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Braque's Violin and Candlestick. I can take it off your hands. I have a buyer who'll pay top dollar for it."
"What are you talking about? I don't have any Braques."
He shrugged. "That's not what my sources say."
"Your sources are wrong."
"Is that a fact? Too bad. That painting's been missing for decades. If you can find it, let me know."
How did Keller know about the Braque? Neal was positive he hadn't mentioned it to him. Had Klaus approached Keller to fence it after Neal left Europe? Neal longed to ask Keller where he'd gotten his information, but if he displayed any interest, it would tip off his hand.
Neal continued to weigh the possibilities during the taxi ride back to the Federal Building. When he arrived, he didn't go inside but opted to make a detour to a drugstore where he called Mozzie. "Has Gordon Taylor ever mentioned Keller to you?" he asked.
"No, why?"
Neal explained what Keller said about the painting.
"What is it about that Braque?" Mozzie asked. "Is there a revival of interest in cubism?"
"Or a collector who's fixated on the cubists? I don't know."
"You don't think this has anything to do with Fowler being in Paris? Does Adler know about your connection with Klaus Mansfeld?"
"I've been wondering about that," Neal admitted. "Jones thinks Fowler's conducting research on Nazis. I never talked about Klaus to Adler." He wished he were more certain. Peter had made sure that there was only the bare minimum of information about Klaus in his file, but he'd been forced to include the fact that Neal was acquainted with him. Fowler had access to his file when he worked with OPR. He could have mentioned it to Adler. But why would Adler be interested in the Braque? Was it somehow connected to Nazi looted art?
When they stole the painting, Klaus believed it was only a copy. The theft had been a training exercise for Neal. The family who owned it lived in Oberammergau, Germany where Klaus's family owned a ski chalet. Supposedly Klaus's family knew them well and Klaus had seen the painting often as a child. The family considered it a copy and that's why Klaus had selected it. He knew the family wouldn't go to the bother of reporting a stolen copy.
When Neal discovered the painting was genuine, they hid it till Klaus could decide what to do with it. Klaus had researched the painting and learned it had been sold to the family in the 1930s. Even though they believed it was a copy, they were fond of it and had held on to it through the years. There didn't appear to be any connection to the plundering that took place during the war. Why the painting was currently commanding so much attention was an intriguing puzzle, but for now Adler, Nazis, and the Braque would have to be shelved while he finished the chess game with Keller.
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His call to Mozzie completed, Neal returned to White Collar where he gave his watch to Travis to have the conversation downloaded. Then he went upstairs to report to Peter. "Keller's contacting his buyers about the additional artifacts. He knows I'll be at Tac-Con on the weekend and we won't pull the heist in any case till next week."
"How did he react when he heard about Tac-Con?"
"He bought my story. He's salivating at the future prospects I'll be able to provide him."
"You're going to wear a spot on my door if you keep leaning against it like that," Peter complained. "Sit down. Breathe when you get a chance."
Neal dropped into a chair. "I told Keller to plan on Tuesday night for the heist. I dangled the lure of stealing the shrine, the ivory-paneled box, and extra jewelry from the exhibit and he bought it just as we expected. Counting up all his future loot should keep him occupied over the weekend."
"When are you giving him the specifics of the heist?"
"Monday. Last minute is the best. Less chance for him to attempt to tweak anything." Neal was glad Peter didn't press for details. He knew he couldn't avoid it much longer, but he hoped to postpone the discussion till Tac-Con. In a public venue Peter might not blow up as much.
"From White Collar's standpoint, this should be a simple takedown. After our experience at the Met last September, we're already familiar with the museum layout and have been planning our staging areas. I'll meet with the team this afternoon. No need for you to be present for that."
"Oh, you'll like this." Neal pulled out the cashier's check and tossed it over to Peter. "After reimbursing Mozzie for the stone and gold, there will still be a healthy sum left."
"Seed money for future ops? This will make Hughes happy. I have some good news for you, too."
"Did Hobhouse call?"
"No, not Hobhouse, but R.W. Bosch. The lead Sterling-Bosch investigator in France has confessed to taking a bribe from Ydrus. When the authenticator in Dijon was murdered, that evidently scared him into confessing. He was arrested yesterday and is still being questioned. He's already admitted to paying the authenticator off. Claims it was the first time."
"Did he know about our investigation into Max Rinaldi?"
Peter nodded. "I'd asked Sara to check into whether Rinaldi had any previous history with Sterling-Bosch. As lead investigator he would have been consulted. So far he's denying that he informed Ydrus about Rinaldi, but since he was paid off by them to bribe the authenticator, the smoking gun argument will be hard to refute."
"So the cloud is lifted off Sara?"
"I thought you'd be pleased," Peter said, smiling. "In light of this I think we should consider bringing her in on this case."
"In what capacity?"
"You need a real Tiffany," Peter said bluntly. "Call it added insurance. You're trying to make Keller believe you're just like him, so now that Raquel's leaving, you need another woman on your arm."
Neal hesitated. "I don't want to expose Sara to a risk . . ."
"Sara can manage just fine. Look, you've been inventing stories about you and Tiffany for months to protect Fiona. This is simply an extension of it. Sara's a friend of Fiona. I'm sure she'll be happy to play along. I'll call her this afternoon. "
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Peter shrugged. "Maybe. What are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"I'm going back to Columbia to paint. The past few days I haven't had any time to work on my art for the convention. I also have a seminar tonight."
"Aren't you leaving something out?"
Neal hesitated, running through the list of activities in his mind. "What did I forget?"
Peter sighed, shaking his head, and began humming.
Startled, Neal stared at him. "You never hum. What's that song?"
Peter simply rolled his eyes and kept at it. Now he was even louder. This was becoming annoying.
Suddenly it dawned. Even Peter's out-of-tune rendition was unmistakable. Neal groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Seriously? 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'? I knew I shouldn't have told you about Klaus's nickname."
"Well, get some sleep if you don't want to keep hearing it. Go home. No need for you to come in tomorrow morning. I'll set up an appointment with Sara for the afternoon. I don't want to see a strung-out zombie tomorrow."
It was tempting to blow off Peter's concerns, but he couldn't deny he'd been running on fumes all morning. And a second humming performance was out of the question. Would songs from The Lion King be next? Or The Jungle Book? "Bare Necessities"? Neal chuckled sheepishly as he looked over at Peter watching him with a smug smile on his face. He'd handed Peter the ultimate weapon, and Peter was clearly aware of it.
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So when the tsunami struck, could he blame Peter? Or perhaps it was that infernal song which played in a continuous loop all the way home until he collapsed in bed. Whatever the cause, after a few hours of sleep and a dash to a seminar which the professor insisted on prolonging for an extra half-hour, it was well past nine o'clock before Neal had a chance to paint.
The first waves of panic sloshed over his feet as he sprinted to his studio. He only had two nights to finish his paintings. The schedule he'd constructed a couple of weeks ago had been ripped to shreds by burgeoning meetings and the ring forgery.
As he headed down the corridor at Watson Hall to his studio, he heard a muffled curse coming out of Richard's studio next door. Neal paused to look inside. "What happened?"
Neal might be dripping in panic, but Richard was already drenched. He was staring despondently at one of his sculptures for the competition. "It's all wrong. What a load of crap. I should start over."
Neal stared at him, horrified. "You can't! There's no time. What's wrong with it?"
"It doesn't look right. The expression's asinine. Those limbs look grotesque. I was supposed to create an alien lifeform, not a monstrosity." Richard was perched dejectedly on a stool, looking as freaked out as Neal had ever seen him. An intervention was plainly called for before he did something crazy like smash it.
"It's perfect. Leave it alone, man. You're obsessing too much. I've been there. I've spent months on a painting, tweaking it forever, but at some point you need to recognize when it's finished and stop."
Richard put his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands as he continued to stare at his sculpture. "I'm starting to see it in my dreams. I know I'm obsessing too much, but I can't stop. I shouldn't have let myself get so excited about the prize." He groaned. "That dream of working at Scima Gameworks and quitting my job. What was I thinking? I should go back to my abstracts. Mindless constructs. That's what I need."
"No you don't. If you don't win, so what? You can still network at Tac-Con, make contacts, and learn about other companies. You're exhausted. You're not thinking straight. Between the video and your sculptures, you've been going at it too hard."
"Takes one to know one," Richard said, giving a tired chuckle. "Remember our original acronym—SAS? That's us. Did Peter ever guess it?"
"Somnambulant Artists Society? Nah. He was so smug at figuring out that AFO stood for All For One, he may have forgotten about it."
"God, we're in bad straits." Richard shook his head and pointed to a stack of drawings. "See those? Requests for makeup for Tac-Con. I might as well catch what little shuteye I can for the next two nights here at the studio. You survived sleeping here in the fall. How bad can it be?"
"Bad, trust me. I tried sleeping in my studio, but didn't last long on a concrete floor. Crashed in the lounge, but the custodians clean it at night. You'd be lucky to get more than a couple of hours of sleep."
Richard went over to his guitar which was propped in the corner and began strumming it. "I've been stressing so much, even my music's morose these days. Are you familiar with 'Slip Slidin Away' by Paul Simon? Where you have a dream and just when you get close enough to touch it, it vanishes before your eyes? That's what I feel is happening to me. Now the song has latched itself to my brain and won't let go."
Neal nodded. A song getting stuck in your head? Yeah, he could relate and Richard was echoing his own sentiments. When Richard began playing, the words came back to him. The last time he'd sung it, he'd been maybe twelve. No matter—he was belting it out now. Neal made a quick trip to his studio to retrieve his guitar and they jammed on the song, first singing Paul Simon's lyrics then making up their own. They alternated stanzas about their art and their lives, giving in to their frustrations.
When Richard sang:
"I know a sculptor. Who longed to succeed.
He put his soul into his clay, and then smashed it up so no one could see."
Neal came back at him with:
"I know a painter. Who lost his way.
He put his brush down, ripped his canvas up, caught the nearest moonbeam, and floated away."
"What is this? The Gloom and Doom Society?"
Neal turned his head to see Travis at the entrance. "Hey, a little respect, please. Can't you see we're wallowing?"
Travis chuckled and joined them on the floor. "Any particular reason?"
"Take your pick," Richard said with a wave of his hand. "I wouldn't want to play favorites."
"I'm glad you showed up," Neal added. "You better take him home, someplace far away from his sculptures. I just rescued him from demolishing one."
Travis's eyebrows ascended to his hairline. "You wouldn't have."
Richard made a face as he shrugged. "A brief moment of insanity. Neal talked me down."
"That's what happens when you're short on sleep."
"Travis, how'd you know you needed to help with an intervention?" Neal asked.
"Random luck," he replied. "I had a SETI meeting to attend on campus."
"I hope you're not investigating alien slime mold in the tunnels?" Neal asked.
"No, that one I'm leaving to Mozzie. I'm not sure he'd trust anyone with his data anyway." He got up off the ground. "I'm done. Tomorrow's a work day and I'm dragging Richard away before he gets second thoughts about his sculptures."
While Richard stowed his guitar, Travis added, "Neal, you should call it a night too. You want a lift home?"
"Thanks, but I haven't even started painting yet. I still have hours to go." Travis pursed his lips giving him a frown. "Now, don't start on me. Peter said I don't have to go in tomorrow morning. I'll catch up on sleep later tonight."
"Don't get any crazy ideas about destroying your art," Travis warned. "Take a lesson from Richard and give us a call if you need an intervention."
After they left, Neal got to work. In retrospect it might not have been his brightest idea to work on paintings of monsters late at night. Tentacle-face was bad enough, but that seascape … As Neal became more absorbed by the painting, he felt like he was swimming in the ocean along with the emerging monstrosities that were coming to life under his brush. In the end, he was painting as one possessed.
When he put away his brushes, he was too exhausted to evaluate what he'd done. Was it any good? He'd have to wait till tomorrow to make that determination, but the painting continued to haunt him as he walked home. When he crashed on his bed, sleep wouldn't come. No more late nights painting monsters, he vowed. He had no desire to become Neal Carter of the Arkham Files.
At eight o'clock he gave up any further rest as a lost cause, slipped on a robe, and made a pot of coffee. It was too cold to sit outside on the terrace so he settled in to read the newspaper at his table. He was halfway done when Peter called.
"Hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I was already up. Being lazy on your orders, though."
"Need a little something to blow away from the cobwebs?"
"You're not going to hum again, are you?" Neal asked warily.
"Not quite," he said, chuckling. "I heard from John Hobhouse this morning." Neal sat upright, banging his knee against the table. "What was that noise?"
"Ignore it," Neal said, rubbing his kneecap. "What did he say?"
"I'm going to need a new business card."
"You were picked? Congratulations!"
"Well, I could say the same to you. He's requested you too, that is if you're interested."
Neal was too excited to speak for a moment.
"I'm guessing that's a yes?"
"You already told him, didn't you?"
"Guilty as charged. I assumed I knew what your answer would be."
"What about Kramer?"
"He didn't make the cut."
Neal had expected their best shot would be if Hobhouse decided to appoint three from the Bureau. That Hobhouse didn't go for the obvious choice bode well for the future. "What happens now?"
"Don't start packing your bags just yet. John said it will take a few weeks to make all the appointments. Eventually he plans to schedule a face-to-face meeting."
"Any idea of where?"
"John's going to keep his office in London, so I suspect that's the most likely location. All right, I can see your grin from here. Better make sure your passport's in order."
"Already checked, Peter."
"Good. We're going to have a briefing on Karl Huber this morning. If you're no longer jumping around, you might like to join us. I know I said you didn't need to come in till the afternoon, but . . ."
"You couldn't keep me away." After he hung up, Neal sat back in his chair, still not believing it. He'd once been accused by a federal marshal of leading a charmed life. At the time, he'd thought that was about the polar opposite of what his experiences had been like, but perhaps there was some truth in it after all.
Neal made quick work of getting dressed and arrived at the Bureau in record time. The monsters of the previous night had been obliterated by Peter's news.
"About time, Caffrey," Diana mocked when he came in. "What makes you think you're entitled to sleep in?"
"Stupid of me, wasn't it?"
"Now that you've arrived, we can finally start the meeting. I'll let the others know. The briefing begins in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."
"Bossy much? Just remember, you can't order me around like you can Neal Carter in your stories."
"In your dreams, Caffrey,'' she jeered as she headed off to inform the others.
Neal tossed his fedora on the bust of Socrates on his desk and sat down for a quick check of his email before heading upstairs. Travis and Jones arrived at the conference room right after him, followed shortly by Peter. Surprisingly Diana was nowhere to be seen. What was the deal about lecturing him not to be late? He asked Jones about it, and he said she'd been delayed by a phone call.
Peter made use of the time to discuss Tac-Con. Since someone was required to stay with the competition pieces at all times, the competitors had to prevail on friends and family to help out. Peter was going to assist Neal with his paintings while Jones and Diana worked the hall for news on anything related to Cthulhu Mythos or Lovecraft. Travis was going to be busy helping Richard.
Jones had just projected a floorplan of the convention center onto the wall monitor when Diana finally showed up. She was carrying a large bag which Neal knew well. "The French Café Gourmand? They have the best croissants in town. Do I smell almond croissants?"
"Yes you do," she replied. "A little celebration is in order. I didn't realize their line would be so long." She turned to Travis and nodded. "Hit it."
Travis grinned and tapped a key on his laptop. To the strains of "La Mer," Diana passed out French roast coffee and croissants.
"This is much appreciated, Diana, but you do realize Neal and I aren't going anywhere," Peter said between bites. "We'll be handling most everything via teleconferencing and emails."
"Speak for yourself, Peter," Neal retorted, gesturing with a piece of croissant. "I intend to avail myself of every opportunity to go overseas." He looked around the table. "Did I mention that Interpol was headquartered in Lyon, the capital of gastronomy for France, and indeed the world?"
"Why yes, you did," Diana said. "Several times, in fact."
While the croissants were being consumed to the last crumb, Peter directed Jones to update the others on the journal.
"The translation team issued a preliminary report on the evidence collected from the Huber estate," he said. "The journal was a World War II diary of a man named Franz Huber, Karl Huber's father. Franz was a squad leader in the SS during the war. For much of the time he was stationed in Paris where he was assigned to the ERR."
"I'm not familiar with that group," Travis commented.
"Reichsleiter Rosenberg Taskforce," Neal supplied. "It was the Nazi organization responsible for confiscating art and cultural property."
Jones nodded. "The diary appears to have lost about half of its pages, and what remains are for the years 1941 and 1942. We're working with Interpol to send copies of the pages to the appropriate agencies for further analysis." He turned to Peter. "Hobhouse has been expediting the transfer. From what we've learned so far, Huber was involved with the art stored at the Jeu de Paume museum in Paris, the main repository for plundered art in France."
"Any mention of shipments to U-boats?" Peter asked.
Jones shook his head. "No, and no mention of Adler's father, Wilhelm Adler. The translation folks tell us they didn't find anything dramatic, like, for instance, details of a transfer of art or a secret depository."
"And that shipping manifest . . . any further information on that?" Neal asked.
"You were right," Diana said. "All the paintings on the list were seized by the Nazis and stored in the Jeu de Paume during the war. They're all still missing. It's tempting to think that the manifest was a list of art being shipped to another location, but it may have simply been a draft and action wasn't taken."
"But Huber clearly felt it was valuable," Neal pointed out. "Why else would he preserve it so carefully?"
"As to the page of equations, I've been looking into that," Travis said. "They represent dampened diffusion wave patterns."
"The mathematics behind many fractals," Neal explained to Diana with a knowing nod.
Travis gave him a startled look. "Your computational design course is more advanced than I realized. Would you like to continue?"
Neal dismissed his suggestion with a wave of his hand. "No, carry on. You're doing great."
"As I'm sure Neal will agree, the equations don't relate to one specific fractal algorithm."
"There's nothing in the journal that talks about the equations," Jones added. "Could Huber have been taking a course and this was an assignment?"
"If so, it would have had to be an advanced one," Travis said. "The science of fractals was just getting started back then. Diana's suggestion that Huber was a mathematician before he was drafted seems the best explanation."
"We still haven't been able to confirm it," Jones noted. "I've put in a request to the German authorities for more information about him."
"What about the contents of the hard drive?" Peter asked Jones.
"Neal was able to copy the entire set of data files from his C drive. We finished examining them. They are predominantly records for his company, Argos Shipping, as well as some personal financial records."
"Anything about Ydrus?" Peter asked hopefully.
Jones shook his head regretfully. "Huber's more careful than Rinaldi was. Very little mention of Ydrus and what's there is too cryptic to be much help. Fortunately we'd already analyzed the data from Rinaldi's laptop or we might have missed the references. There were some emails to numbered addresses similar to what Rinaldi had on his computer. We haven't been able to trace any of those addresses, by the way. I even contacted Win-Win for help and so far they're not having any better luck. We also found the same python codes which Rinaldi used. We'd already identified Python, Savu and Ringed from Rinaldi's files. In addition Huber has references to Royal, Reticulated, Rock, and Rough-scaled. Impossible to know what their roles are. We're building up a file though of all the messages with code words and hope to eventually crack them."
"Anything to connect Huber to Adler?" Peter asked hopefully.
"Unfortunately not," Jones said. "It's possible one of the code words refers to Adler, but there's nothing to establish the link."
Peter turned to Travis. "How is the work on the antivirus software proceeding?"
"I met with Aidan yesterday. He's architected a promising design. The sophistication of its protection has been materially aided by suggestions from Mozzie." Travis paused to scan the group. "Remember I asked Aidan to look into Marta and Jacek Kolar, the tech experts Mansfeld employed in New York when Neal was undercover? Aidan has some news about them. In his undergrad days, Aidan had a roommate one year who was Polish. The guy's working back in Poland now and has connections to the Czech dev scene. Aidan warned that his info is fourth or fifth hand, but supposedly Jacek is known in the Czech programming underground for some sophisticated hacker attacks. Based on what his friend found out, Aidan feels it's quite possible he worked on the malware program. His friend is trying to locate some examples of code that Jacek wrote. Programmers sometimes leave tells in their style of programming."
"Like Hagen leaves in his forgeries?" Neal asked.
Travis nodded. "It's similar, but instead of paint pigments and craquelure, we're dealing with programming logic and syntax. It's not as precise as a fingerprint but it can be helpful in establishing the identity of a programmer."
"Does Aidan's friend know if Jacek ever displayed any interest in Lovecraft?" Jones asked.
"Aidan asked but the friend doesn't know anything about that. He'd never heard of Lovecraft so that may not mean much."
Peter's eyes narrowed as he reflected. "Could Jacek be Azathoth? Tricia was speculating that Azathoth was an academic."
Travis steepled his hands as he considered for a moment. "If Jacek's not Azathoth, he could be working for him."
"This is good, Travis," Peter said, nodding in satisfaction. "Did Aidan's friend have any news of Jacek's wife Marta?"
He nodded. "Marta's built quite a reputation as a gaming programmer. She's reportedly doing some cutting-edge work in virtual reality development. Azathoth could have drawn on her gaming expertise. We've discussed how the house where he held you captive had many similarities to a game environment."
"We shouldn't overlook the possibility that Marta's Azathoth," Diana noted.
Diana had mentioned that before. A female Azathoth. Neal hadn't thought it very likely, but was he relying too much on the voice he and Peter had heard when they were kidnapped? The fact it was male meant nothing.
"I also had some conversations with Henry about their facial recognition software," Travis said. "What his company's developing is light years more advanced than what we're using here at the Bureau. I'd like to discuss implementing a beta version here at White Collar."
"With the reduced manpower we have because of budget constraints, the software could be a godsend," Jones added. "Combining it with surveillance cameras would make us much more efficient."
"Go ahead and continue your discussions," Peter said. "Get a price estimate and I'll see what I can do. We don't have much slack in our budget, but I may be able to work something out."
Neal was already ahead of him. "If we presented this to the International Council of Museums, I bet Win-Win would find a ready market. Their product would help local authorities track visits of known art thieves. I'm willing to wager Win-Win would be happy to cut us a sweet deal if they could market the product as being used by the FBI."
"Meaning we'd get the technology without breaking our budget." Travis noted.
"Boss, once we get Win-Win's agreement, you should present this to Hobhouse," Diana suggested. "He'll be convinced more than ever he picked the right people for his task force."
That charmed life was looking brighter than ever with the real possibility of Henry working closely with White Collar not just on Adler but on a permanent basis through the software. But as Neal helped clean up the conference room after the briefing, his thoughts returned to the hyena that was prowling outside in the jungle. Until something was done about him, that charmed life would remain in a holding pattern.
Notes: Shakespeare may have been the first to use the phrase "a charmed life," but I will always associate it with Neal Caffrey, thanks to Penna Nomen. She linked the phrase to Neal in Caffrey Disclosure, Chapter 3. Federal Marshal Annina Brandel wondered how someone of his paygrade could afford the lifestyle he had. At the time Neal was dealing with a lot of issues and thought the phrase not very apt. But he does appear to have the luck of the Irish sometimes, and being selected to the task force may have made a believer out of him.
Neal's going through a lot of stress in The Mirror. Penna's written the perfect antidote for any angst overload. It's called "I love a loopy Neal" and is her latest post on our blog. She also includes a news tidbit about the story she's presently working on.
Many of you may remember the song "La Mer" from the White Collar final episode. My post for the blog is about that song and second chances. The songs mentioned in this chapter as well as visuals have been added to The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site.
Thanks to Penna for providing excellent sounding board/beta services yet again. A special shout-out goes to KeJae. I'd been looking for a way to use "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" and KeJae suggested Peter hum it.
I hope you'll join me at Tac-Con next week in Chapter 12: Slip Slidin' Away. Free admission for everyone!
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
