Chapter 11: The Card
The Aloha Emporium. January 30, 2005. Sunday.
Neal was flabbergasted when Mozzie offered to show him his bunker. He'd known Mozzie was using a space in Billy's basement at the Aloha Emporium to serve as an office, but the word bunker implied he'd moved far beyond that. What invasion was he preparing for?
He followed Mozzie downstairs. The store was bustling with midday shoppers and the brunch crowd. Billy's waffles with lilikoi butter, a curd made with passion fruit and honey, were justly famous. Sniffing the air, Neal was for a brief moment tempted to hold Mozzie off, but the lure of the bunker was too powerful to be resisted.
Mozzie led the way to a keypad-controlled door at the back of the store. Behind the door was a narrow staircase which was used to access the basement. When Mozzie turned on the lights, Neal saw himself in a cavernous empty room. The space was meticulously clean with a smooth concrete floor. One section had been covered with a sparring mat. So he was right. Neal had long suspected Billy had a martial arts studio in the basement—Mozzie had told Neal that Billy was a wushu master— but Billy had never wanted to talk about it. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors had been installed along one wall. Large wooden cabinets lined the other walls. Neal assumed they contained equipment and weapons.
Mozzie approached one of the cabinets on the far wall which had been equipped with an electronic lock. "Fingerprint enabled?" Neal asked.
He nodded. "Along with a PIN code. I used the highest rating in my Columbia code system, Smew, along with the code for Mudd Hall. In the event of power failure, the lock is intricate enough to foil all miscreants. Bring all your lock picks if you ever need to open it."
Neal made a reverential bow. "Yes, sensei master."
Mozzie made a gesture for Neal to open the lock. When Neal scanned his fingerprint and keyed in the code, the door opened silently with a light coming on automatically in the space behind. The cabinet acted as a threshold to a room roughly twelve by eighteen feet. Every available inch on the walls was taken up by shelving units, a built-in desk, and cabinets. Books, equipment, and electronics were everywhere. Three computers were grouped in a row so Mozzie could roll in his office chair from one to the other. An immense worktable was in the center, piled high with more equipment, and a futon was along one wall. Neal smiled when he saw the poster of a UFO with the caption "I want to believe" tacked on the wall. There was even a small kitchenette with sink, microwave, fridge, and oversized wine rack. A door in the back opened into a small bathroom.
"The cabinet entrance is reinforced steel under the wooden veneer," Mozzie said proudly. "My bathroom pod arrived last week."
"Is this for when the Nazi clones land?"
"One should always be ready," he replied darkly. "My bunker has its own backup power and ventilation systems. I plan to install an air purifier and water recycling system. Now, pay attention." He walked over to the bookcase next to the bathroom door and removed a book, revealing a lock behind it. When he twirled the lock, a soft snap was heard. Stepping back, he pulled on the bookcase which swung on silent hinges to reveal a cavity beyond, about four feet high and wide enough for a man to slide through.
Neal peered into the passageway. "This looks like part of the Columbia tunnel system."
Mozzie's eyes glittered as he nodded confirmation. "You are the only one besides me and the Mole who knows of its existence. Billy has seen the room but not this."
"The Mole?"
"He helped with the necessary excavation and installation. The Mole and I go back a long ways."
Neal had no idea who the Mole was, but much of Mozzie's life before they met was still a blank.
"You remember that crevice you discovered at the supposed tunnel terminus on 114th Street back in November? I investigated it further over the holidays and discovered an undocumented tunnel extension that runs for one block south. I can now use the tunnel system from here all the way up to the northern boundary of the campus at 120th Street." Mozzie's eyes shone with an eerie light. "This is the refuge of my dreams—my ultimate bolthole."
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"But you're still going to maintain your other safe houses, right?" Mozzie had opened a bottle of Pele's Nectar honey wine to toast Neal's indoctrination into the mysteries of the bunker. Neal was sitting on the futon. Mozzie sat opposite him in a Burgundy leather office chair which looked like it belonged on the Enterprise. Was Mozzie channeling Jean-Luc Picard?
"Of course, but for now my focus will be here. I'm convinced the underground tunnel system still has many secrets to reveal."
"Following your inner moonlight?"
He nodded. "Allen Ginsberg had it right."
Neal took a sip of wine. "What did you learn about Ydrus?"
"A contact in Warsaw called me this morning. Originally Ydrus focused on arms smuggling which must be why I hadn't heard of it. Weapons of mass insanity have no interest to me. They're the manifestation of inferior minds. In the past few years, though, Ydrus, along with so many others, has expanded its focus to art and antiquities. They operate primarily in Europe. Otto believes they're headquartered somewhere in Eastern Europe. He's heard whispers of two regional heads—one somewhere in the States and one in China—and believes there may be more."
"Did Otto know anything about their terrorist activities?"
"Not enough to form a pattern. They've been linked to assassinations, both of government officials and business leaders. Apparently they have a branch which operates a lucrative murder-for-hire operation." Mozzie got up to refill their glasses. When he settled back in his chair, he clasped his hands in front of him and studied Neal for a moment. "Have you decided whether to accept Sherkov's offer and apply for the PhD program?"
"Not yet. I still have lots of questions. For one, I don't know how realistic it is to attempt with a full-time job. I plan to talk with Michael. He's in his second year of the program, but he only works part time at Manhattan Geeks."
"You should go for it," Mozzie said decisively. "Think of the opportunities."
Neal cocked a brow. "And what opportunities are you referring to?"
"It all boils down to access." Mozzie rocked slowly in his chair. Was the chair giving him a slight British accent like Picard? He definitely made much more of a commanding presence. "The key is to pick the right specialty, for instance, Renaissance and Baroque Art. You could then travel throughout Europe in the name of research. Columbia has one of the most prestigious art history departments in the world. The museums of the world would now be your playground. Unexhibited collections of the world's greatest museums, the Vatican Secret Archives, the private repository at the Louvre"—He snapped his fingers—"All yours for the asking … and taking. The Vatican Library alone could provide—"
Neal interrupted hastily before he got any further carried away. "That life is behind me. If I go for a PhD, it's not going to be to plunder the world's art museums."
Mozzie sighed. "Not even a little?" At Neal's stern headshake, he continued, "Even with your newfound scruples, you have to admit that the knowledge you could acquire and the manuscripts which you could consult could lead to untold riches." He leaned forward and tapped Neal on his knee. "Access and opportunity. Think about it … ah, you can't fool me. I see that gleam in your eyes."
Neal checked the half-smile in the making. "It's easy enough for you to say. You're not the one taking courses and writing papers."
He dismissed his objections with a wave of his hand. "Your coursework won't be that much more than what you've already agreed to do for your master's. And as for the research part, PhD candidates spend years working on their dissertation. You could probably drag it out as long as you liked. I checked Columbia's website. It's quite common to take seven years to complete the requirements. Surely that would give you enough time, and you always have the option of pulling out if you change your mind. You could quit after getting your master's. And if that doesn't persuade you, I know you've learned to appreciate the value of multiple rabbit holes. Pursuing a PhD would open new doors to explore when the wind changes."
Mozzie went on for several more minutes, before Neal called a time out. This was one decision he didn't want to be rushed into making while sitting in a bunker. Besides, Fiona would be arriving before long and he didn't fancy spending the afternoon looking like surfer-dude.
Mozzie returned upstairs with him. He'd prepared a list of ideas for the Honey Wine for Lovers label that he wanted to discuss. Neal listened politely, but he'd already gotten his inspiration last night. This was one label he was going to particularly enjoy painting.
Burke residence, Brooklyn. Sunday afternoon
"I may be a little stiff tomorrow, but it was worth it." El hugged Peter one more time when they walked into the house. "This has been the perfect morning. You made me pancakes. You gave me my first ice skating lesson. We even shopped for clothes." El sighed with contentment. "Why don't we do this every Sunday?"
Peter hung up his coat. "We may have to leave out the clothes shopping in the future, but you were a star on ice."
"All those dance lessons weren't in vain, after all." El twirled around the floor. "You were a wonderful teacher. Very patient. I'm ready to take to the ice at Lynx Mountain. Now all I need do is sign up with their new ace ski instructor."
"Oh no you're not. You have to promise me you'll stay far away from the ski area. I'd be so distracted— wishing you were the one I was teaching rather than Lily—that I'd blow my assignment."
"I'll take that under advisement. If you'd let me go ahead and buy those ski clothes we found for you, I'd be much more receptive to your suggestion."
"Before any clothes buying occurs, I need to check how much is left in the budget for reimbursements. This op is going to be expensive enough without new wardrobes." Peter walked over to the dining room table and picked up the newspaper. "No more clothes talk. I'm going to sit down, read the paper, work the crossword, and watch hockey. That's my idea of the perfect afternoon, as long as you're here with me, that is."
"You do have a way with words, sir," El said as she tossed him a kiss. "I'm going to make some tea. Like a beer?"
"Please," Peter said, settling down on the couch with the paper. He'd barely had time to read the news section before they left, but El had already sorted out the ads. He pulled out the sports section and thumbed through the pages to the hockey scores. A postcard dropped out. Sneaky ads. They toss them in everywhere. Peter picked it up to throw it away. When he glanced at the card to see what it was advertising, his stomach twisted with abrupt nausea. Paralyzed, he stared with disbelief at the photo on the card.
"Peter, what is it?" El's voice came from behind him. She sat down next to him on the couch and put a hand on his arm.
"Don't touch it," he ordered, dropping it as if it were a snake poised to bite him. He grabbed the phone, punched the speed dial for Neal, and waited impatiently. Damn it, Neal, answer the phone.
El, her face bleached of color, put a hand to her mouth as she stared at the card lying on the cocktail table. Peter sought to reassure her. "This has to be a cruel hoax. Try not to let it get to you." Neal still wasn't answering. Think, man. Where would he be? Peter looked at his watch: two o'clock. At home? At Columbia? Peter dialed June. No answer there either.
El reached for her cell phone. "I'll call Mozzie."
Peter turned on his computer. He didn't have Fiona's number. Why didn't he? He should have. If she only had a cell phone, she wouldn't be in the FBI database.
El looked up. "Mozzie's not answering either."
"Travis mentioned he has a number for Mozzie." Peter called Travis's cell. Finally. Someone who believes in answering the phone. Peter briefly explained the situation.
"I'll try to reach him and get back to you," Travis promised. "Richard's here. He may know where Neal is." After Travis hung up, Peter pored over the database records but couldn't find a listing for Fiona.
Travis called back a minute later. He'd been able to contact Mozzie who said he'd been with Neal till about 12:30. Neal had mentioned he was going back to June's to practice songs for his piano bar act.
"I just tried June again," El said. "Still no answer."
"I heard Elizabeth," Travis said. "You want me to go to June's?"
Peter stood up as he talked and walked into the den to open his gun safe. "I'm heading there now. You're on my way. I'll pick you up."
June's mansion. Sunday afternoon.
"That was fantastic." Fiona clapped her appreciation. "Too bad Neal can't take you to Lynx Mountain, June. The people would be lining up for hours in advance to hear you."
"We weren't bad, were we?" Neal said with a grin. They had just sung "One for My Baby," a Frank Sinatra classic.
"I can't remember when I've had such fun," June said. "We need to get together to sing more often." She held out an arm and beckoned Fiona over. "You should join us in one."
"What would be a good trio?" Fiona asked.
"Let's do 'Fever,' " Neal suggested. "I'm feeling the sparks from you two babes standing next to me."
"I love that song," Fiona said excitedly. "Madonna's version was good but nobody can top Peggy Lee."
June put an arm around her. "I knew you were a kindred spirit."
"But an ignorant one," Fiona said with a laugh. "Do you happen to have the lyrics?"
"I must have." June walked over to her music cabinet and started rummaging through the drawers.
"Michael Bublé featured it on a new album," Neal said. "It'd go very well with my Rat Pack persona."
"Found it!" June said triumphantly. "Let's turn up the heat and make this place sizzle."
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When Peter pulled up outside Travis's apartment in the Village, Travis was already waiting for him on the street. Peter had tried to reach Neal several times on the drive over but he still wasn't answering.
During the drive to June's, Travis repeatedly called Neal and June's phones but both continued to roll over to their voicemail. Wisely, he made no comment about Peter's breakneck speed. "Should I call up reinforcements?"
"Not till we know what the situation is," Peter replied. "June's place isn't far from the 24th Precinct station. They can respond quickly if necessary."
He'd taken the card along and reached into his jacket to hand it to Travis, who studied it carefully through the plastic sleeve. "I can understand your reaction. The graphics work is excellent."
"We know Azathoth's an expert at special effects. This isn't a surprise."
Peter parked illegally in front of June's mansion. Given that June wasn't answering her phone, Peter saw no reason to announce their arrival by ringing the doorbell. Using his key to unlock the door, he signaled Travis and they slipped inside, weapons drawn. Someone was playing a piano. What was the song? "Fever?" Was it a recording or live? Another one of Azathoth's tricks? Motioning to Travis to accompany him, Peter crept up to the music room and charged inside.
Neal was playing the piano and belting out the song with June and Fiona who were standing beside him. At the sight of Peter and Travis, he stopped mid-chord as all three of them froze. His eyes flitting to Peter's gun, Neal asked, "What's this all about?" Fiona had drawn close to him, white as a sheet. Neal stood up and put an arm around her protectively.
Quickly putting his piece away, Peter growled, "What's wrong with you? Don't you ever answer your phone?" He passed a hand over his hair, a flood of emotions running through him—overwhelming relief that Neal was unharmed mixed with exasperation that neither he nor June answered their phones, blinding rage at Azathoth for having staged the hoax, and anger at himself for letting Azathoth get to him.
Travis tried to defuse the situation. He reintroduced himself to June, explaining about how a threat had been received without going into any of the details. Fiona still appeared shaken, but June took it in stride.
Putting an arm around Fiona, June said, "Let's you and I go into the kitchen and make a pot of tea. The men can manage without us." Turning to Neal, she suggested they use the study.
Neal nodded and led the way to the small study off the music room, closing the double doors behind them.
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"I can see why you had the reaction you did. The image certainly looks genuine." Neal put the card down on the table. It appeared to be from one of the Lovecraft card games. On one side it featured a tentacle-faced monster, with the caption of Cthulhu, Lord of R'lyeh. The text on the card read: Ability: Invulnerable. Action: Force opponent to sacrifice a character. On the reverse side of the card a man was lying face up in a pool of blood with a massive wound to the chest. His forehead had been branded with the sign of the glowing branch. Neal had to admit, it was an eerily exact likeness of himself. "Azathoth must be getting bored. He misses having us to torment."
"I'm going to head for the office," Peter said. "Based on our last experience, I don't expect to find any clues as to who may have planted this in my newspaper, but maybe we'll catch a break. Someone may have seen something."
"I'll come in with you," Neal offered. He felt partially responsible for having put Peter and El through this. He'd been an unknowing accessory to Azathoth's plot and that was going to haunt him for a while.
"I've already offered," Travis said. "There's not much for you to do now . . . except erase the score of messages on your phone."
"Yeah, about that . . . June hates to be interrupted when she's singing and had turned off the ringer on her phone. I left my cell upstairs. We would've checked in a few minutes." His voice trailed off. Peter had called El as soon as they'd entered the study and Neal had spoken with her too, but that didn't seem adequate for what she'd gone through.
Peter fixed his eyes on him. "You're never doing that again, right? I don't care who you're with or what you're in the midst of doing, that phone stays with you, on and fully charged. Make a replacement battery standard equipment. Got it?"
"Got it." No way was Neal going to argue with Peter now, no matter how draconian the measure. They discussed having Neal move to a safe house, but given that no actual threat had been made, decided against it.
"You should call Mozzie. Tell him everything's okay," Travis said. "I called him to see if he knew where you were. I didn't mention any specifics, but he must be wondering. I don't want him thinking you were abducted by extraterrestrials."
Neal appreciated Travis's attempt to lighten the mood. He could tell Peter was still seething. Neal went ahead and told them what Mozzie had learned about Ydrus.
"I haven't seen any reports about a branch in the States," Peter said. "We need to follow up on that with the Counterterrorism Division."
On their way out, Peter and Travis stopped to say goodbye to Fiona and June. They found them having tea in the breakfast room. June had also put out a plate of sugar cookies. Peter offered a gracious apology for breaking in on the rehearsal and June responded in kind for not answering her phone. The color had returned to Fiona's face, but there was a wariness about her smile to Peter that was going to take more than a sugar cookie to dispel.
After escorting Peter and Travis to the front door, Neal returned to June and Fiona and sat down at the table with them. He wasn't normally a tea drinker, but to keep Fiona company he poured himself a cup.
"Do you need to go in?" Fiona asked.
"No, tomorrow will be soon enough." The silence was awkward but Neal didn't want to go into the particulars of the threat and for once was at a loss for words.
June rose from her chair. "I don't think we'll feel like singing anymore today. I'm going to take my tea and put the music away. You two stay put." As she left, she murmured in Neal's ear for him to fill her in later.
"Fiona, I'm sorry about what happened."
"You don't need to apologize," she said. "I shouldn't have gotten so unnerved. It's just . . . seeing them burst in like that . . . their guns pointing at us." She winced. "I've never been around guns. I'm not a member of the foxhunt crowd. My family doesn't have a country estate. I don't even like watching violent movies."
"I don't like guns either," Neal said. "I don't carry one."
"But you're the exception, aren't you?" she asked.
Neal acknowledged reality with a nod.
"In the U.K. our police constables don't carry firearms. I've made jokes about you being a secret agent, but I never thought your work was that dangerous. You told me about copyright infringements, mortgage frauds, forgeries. I suppose I was being naive, but they didn't sound life-threatening."
"They're not, usually," Neal hastened to reassure her. "This is very rare."
Her face achingly serious, she said, "That threat must have been horrific for Peter to act the way he did. Why are you being targeted? Who would do such a thing?"
"A madman," Neal said, his bitterness leaking into his voice. What could he possibly say that would reassure her? How could he erase the memory of what had happened? "It's like a malicious hack attack. The guy who did this is more bluster than real threat. We tangled with him before. He's trying to yank our chains."
Fiona's eyes were wide with concern. "I assume you're taking precautions. Don't you need a bodyguard?"
"We're being careful," he assured her. They continued to talk for several minutes but he didn't know if he'd succeeded in reassuring her. He was convinced their lives weren't in danger because Azathoth was deriving too much pleasure in tormenting them, but Fiona wasn't buying that argument.
After she left, Neal explained the situation to June and then returned to the loft. He sat at his dining table, his thoughts spinning in circles. He might as well have gone in with Peter and Travis. Was there some other message in the card Azathoth sent? He'd taken a photo of the card before Peter left and searched for it on the internet. The title on the card was Lord of R'lyeh and it depicted a tentacle-faced creature. R'lyeh was easy to research. A sunken city in the South Pacific, it was a prison for Cthulhu, one of Lovecraft's deities who just happened to be a tentacle-faced monster. What? Was Azathoth threatening to transport him to the South Pacific? Neal had been planning on getting out winter gear for Lynx Mountain. Should he get out his swim trunks instead?
After an hour of fruitless research with his speculations growing steadily crazier, Neal gave it up and headed for his studio at Columbia to paint. The band session wasn't scheduled to start for a few hours, and painting was the best way he knew to calm his mind. Once his thoughts stilled, inspiration might strike.
An hour into painting, his cell phone rang. Neal put down his paintbrush and retrieved his phone from his jacket. Travis was calling. "Richard and I are leaving now for Columbia. Can we give you a lift?"
"Thanks, man, but I'm already at my studio."
"Richard was here when Peter called and knows what happened. He suggested an emergency meeting is called for, and I agree."
"Why? Did you find out something at the Bureau?"
"No, but a little advance preparedness never hurt. Richard already spoke with Aidan. We can meet at his studio at Prentis and go to the band session afterward. We'll pick you up at your studio in thirty minutes."
"Not necessary. I'll meet you there."
"Hey, it's cold outside. Might as well take us up on the offer." Travis was an immovable force, and Neal had no choice but to accept. He could understand where Richard and Travis were coming from. If he'd been the one hearing about this happening to one of them, he would have acted the same way. But the last thing he wanted was for them to get involved with Azathoth. He couldn't take the risk. He wasn't worried about himself, but they didn't have any experience in dealing with someone like Azathoth. They needed to stay out of it.
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On the drive to Prentis Hall, Richard and Travis had continued to argue that, like it or not, his closest friends needed to know what was going on. By the time everyone had gathered in Aidan's studio, Neal had resigned himself to laying it all out—the malware, the Halloween abduction, the origami at the Museum of Natural History, the flash drive data, and the current hoax.
"So those bruises you had on your throat at Halloween, those were from Azathoth?" Richard asked.
Neal nodded. "Yeah, his personal version of a house of horror."
"I noticed you gave me an odd look when I asked if goblins had attacked you on Halloween."
Neal shrugged. "You can count me out of any Halloween haunted house visits in the future."
"I'd like to see the paintings you made of the experience sometime," Aidan commented.
Neal wasn't sure how he felt about that. It had been painful enough reliving the moments with El and Mozzie. On the other hand, his friends might be more objective about it.
Travis passed around copies he'd made of Azathoth's symbol and the card Peter had received. Neal was relieved to see Travis had only copied the side of the card that showed Cthulhu. "This is the glowing branch Neal was talking about. Azathoth uses it on his malware and also as a signature. Aidan, you work with cybersecurity threats all the time. Have you ever seen anything like this?"
Aidan folded up his copy and placed it in his shirt pocket. "Not offhand, but I'll check around at work."
Richard gave a wry smile when he saw the symbol. "When I was a kid, I was into Lovecraft big time. Do you remember Alone in the Dark?"
"The name sounds familiar," Neal said. "Was it a board game?"
"Video game," he corrected. "I can still remember my excitement at getting it for my twelfth birthday. It combined Edgar Allen Poe and Lovecraft elements in a haunted house in Louisiana. Man, I wanted to explore the real thing." Richard chucked. "I used to prowl through the Garden District in New Orleans, looking for it. Finally found a mansion that I was sure was the inspiration for the game. The game won awards at the time for best graphics and most original game."
"I didn't know you were into gaming," Aidan said.
"Yeah, there was a group of us who hung out together and liked to sketch out our own ideas for games. I used to freak my art teachers out with my visions."
"We're going to have to hook you up with Jones and Diana," Travis said. "They're our gamers in White Collar and have gotten heavily into Lovecraft games. They looked into Alone in the Dark to see if any of the scenes in Azathoth's house were taken from it, and they weren't, but he may have gotten his initial inspiration from it." Travis went on to explain the approaches Diana and Jones were taking.
"Is anyone working on the software angle?" Aidan asked. "It seems to me that would be the most effective solution."
"You mean, write antivirus software to fight it?" Travis asked.
Aidan nodded. "Or something much more powerful. Take that malware and make it serve your own purposes. It could be your best weapon ever and if done right, could lead you back to the source."
"Hack the hacker?" Travis's eyes lit up at the thought and Neal knew his had too. If they could turn Azathoth's malware against him and launch a sneak attack, victory could be theirs.
White Collar Division. January 31, 2005. Monday morning.
Monday morning Peter arrived early at White Collar. No one else was there yet. Good. He needed time to reassess. Originally the team was scheduled to finalize the plans for Operation Avalanche. El had said she'd come in for lunch and help him shop for his ski instructor wardrobe. Peter had hoped to spend the afternoon with instructional videos for beginning skiers in order to gain tips on how he should conduct the lessons with Lily. Neal would have been bouncing ideas around like they were rubber band balls.
Now they had Azathoth to contend with.
Pulling out a pad of paper, Peter jotted down his notes for the upcoming briefing with Hughes. He'd alerted Hughes yesterday on the incident and had requested a meeting at eight. Afterward, he'd address the issue at the team meeting. Their efforts to combat Azathoth up to now had been woefully inadequate. As Peter went through the options, he knew he needed another person at the meeting. He glanced at his watch. She was probably still on the subway and could talk.
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When Neal arrived at work on Monday, he looked for Peter in hopes of speaking with him before the team meeting. He'd talked with El the afternoon before but didn't know if one apology was going to be enough. He started upstairs but then saw Peter was meeting with Hughes in his office, probably about what happened yesterday.
Neal returned to the bullpen and sat down at his desk, keeping an eye on Hughes's door while scanning the bulletins that had come in over the weekend. ICOM, the International Council of Museums, had sponsored a symposium in Brussels about the increase of art crimes throughout the world. The attendees came from all over the world and included representatives from Interpol and the FBI. Art crimes were now recognized as the third largest source of criminal income with only drugs and the illegal weapons trade ranked higher. Finally. He could have told them that years ago.
With only a handful of agents worldwide engaged in investigation of art crimes and little to no coordination between the museums, there was a growing sense of panic in the art world. Art authentication was becoming more valued as the sums of money paid for artworks skyrocketed. Provenance was the new buzz word. Neal sat back, tapping his pen on the surface of the desk. He'd save this bulletin in his growing folder, code name NYAC. It stood for the New York regional office for Art Crimes, an entity which so far existed only in his imagination. The FBI had seen the wisdom of regional Behavioral Analysis Units. They should do the same with Art Crimes.
Neal heard a door open upstairs. Peter had gotten out of his meeting and was already giving him the double finger point. He looked nearly as grim as yesterday. When he entered Peter's office Neal addressed the issue head on. "How's El dealing with it?"
Peter shrugged. "She's okay. El's no novice at this. She told me when she saw the paintings you'd made of our experiences she knew he'd be coming back. The guy obviously is in love with himself and theatrics. He's missed the attention. I feel he's out there laughing at us right now," he added bitterly.
"Peter, words can't—"
He waved his apology aside. "Don't. It's understandable why you didn't have your phone on." He fell silent for a moment. "How's Fiona? We obviously gave her quite a scare."
Neal didn't try to disagree. "She was pretty shaken up. We talked about it after you left. I dislike guns, but I don't fear them. For Fiona it's different. Her life's always been safe and secure. I don't know that she's ever felt she was in danger … until yesterday."
"I was afraid of that," Peter said with a groan. "I regret like hell that I was the one to make her feel that way."
"You weren't. Azathoth was. That hoax wasn't just on you, El, and me but also on her and June. I've filled June in on what's going on so she can be better prepared if he tries something again."
"Anything I can do to help with Fiona? I could explain or El could. She'd be a lot better at it than me."
Neal didn't answer Peter. Instinctively he wanted to shield Fiona from his life at the Bureau, not have her share it. She shouldn't have to learn how to cope with danger.
Peter interrupted his musings. "You don't tell Fiona much about your work here, do you? It might be easier for you both if you did."
Neal fought to stay sitting when his instinct was to stand up and pace. "But what if it stresses her out too much? I had no choice with what happened yesterday, but if she hadn't been there, I wouldn't have told her. Why put her through that? After all, you hide things from El, and she's your wife. You didn't share the details about our ordeal in October till I had her and Mozzie over to see the paintings I'd made. And you haven't told her about Azathoth having stalked us in October. I'm not saying that's wrong. You're trying to protect her. But she's your wife. Fiona is just my girlfriend. Is wanting to shield her from ugliness wrong?"
Peter shook his head. "No, it's not wrong, but the situation with El is different. It's seldom I hide things from her." He stopped and considered for a moment. "Look, all I'm saying is that you could try to be a little more open. If all she knows is your life at Columbia, that's not a very complete picture." Peter got up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Fiona might surprise you. She could be tougher than you think. You're not going to know if you have a chance together unless you let her in to your world."
Notes: The Allen Ginsberg quote Neal refers to is one of Mozzie's favorites: "Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness." Mozzie's made it his guiding principle. The Secret Archives at the Vatican Library are real. I've been unable to confirm the private repository at the Louvre which Mozzie refers to.
Neal and June's duet, "One for My Baby," was the song Neal and June sang in the season two episode Countermeasures. The Dreamer board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site has pins of it and "Fever" as well as an illustration of the card Peter finds in his newspaper.
Thanks to Penna Nomen for the suggestion to have Neal confront Peter about keeping loved ones in the dark. It's a recurring theme that Peter works on making Neal more open, but Peter is also sometimes guilty of hiding things. In canon he generally escaped being called out on it. In next week's chapter, Neal's words cause him to reevaluate.
Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Dreamer board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website
