Chapter 12: Slip Slidin' Away

Federal Building. February 25, 2005. Friday afternoon.

"Did I enter The Twilight Zone?" When Neal arrived back at the office from lunch, he discovered Sara had already arrived and was standing with Peter in the bullpen. He glanced down at his watch. One o'clock. Was this really Sara? Thirty minutes early?

"Don't worry. I'll probably never be early again, although it may be worth it for the shock value alone," she said with a laugh. "I had an appointment canceled on me at the last moment. Since I was in your area, I decided to take the chance you'd be free."

"How much longer will you be in New York?" Peter asked as they walked upstairs to the conference room.

"One more week and then my work will be done. Sterling-Bosch is considering implementing a new procedure where we'll make greater use of local authenticators—at least in the States—and establish regional hubs on the east and west coasts. We're grateful that Weatherby's is not canceling its policy with us."

Neal held the door open for her. "I'm sure your bosses appreciate your negotiating skills."

"I hope not too much. I'm eager to get back to field work." Her face grew more serious as she took a seat at the conference room table. "I assume you've heard about the arrest of the Sterling-Bosch investigator."

Peter nodded. "What did you find out?"

"That he was working for a group called Ydrus. You probably know who they are, but it was a new group to me. An Interpol bulletin was circulated among all the employees. The investigator admitted he paid off the authenticator of the Corot forgery at their request." Sara shook her head as she paused for a moment. "It's shocking that Ydrus was able to infiltrate our organization without raising any flags. I'm glad he was discovered before further damage was done."

She'd be even more shocked if she knew she'd been under suspicion, Neal thought. Would she ever find out?

"Where does the case stand with the man who tried to pass off the forgery?"

"He goes on trial next month," Peter replied. "He still refuses to admit to anything regarding Ydrus. With the attempted murder charges hanging over him, the fact that he's not attempting to plea bargain is revealing."

"We suspect an arrangement with Ydrus, where they may have guaranteed his family's well-being in exchange for his silence," Neal added.

Peter nodded. "Or that he's simply too afraid of what they'll do to him or his family if he makes any revelations."

Sara turned to face Neal and slanted her head, a smile quirking her lips. "So to celebrate the capture of their nemesis, James Bond and Tiffany Case are going on a date."

Neal grinned back. "You up for it, Tiffany?"

"Could be fun. I spoke with Fiona about it this morning and she thought it'd be a great way to distract Keller. When she learned the Italian temptress was no longer around, she agreed you needed a substitute. Apparently, she trusts me a lot more."

"But I don't intend to replace one problem with another," Neal cautioned. "We shouldn't overplay it or Keller will think you're my vulnerability and he'll take after you."

"I'd like to see him try," she scoffed. "After two weeks of meetings, I wouldn't mind at all giving my baton a workout."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Neal didn't linger after Sara departed. Peter was giving him a pass to work on his paintings and he jumped on it. Last night he'd painted like one possessed. What would he think of it today? If he didn't like it, was he going to have to scrap it and start all over?

When Travis had first suggested he enter the competition, Neal convinced himself he wasn't expecting to win anything. He wasn't a sci-fi geek. He was entering simply to keep Richard and Aidan company. That delusion was long past. This was his first art competition since high school and, no matter that the supposed goal was to solicit intel about Azathoth, this was his art that was being presented. He didn't care about the prize. He wasn't looking for an internship like Richard. But making a poor showing was simply not an option.

For the past week he'd been talking with Richard and Aidan daily and listening to them panic over the state of their projects. He'd been the calm, reassuring voice of reason. No longer. Had their stress rubbed off on him? Whatever. He might have been a late bloomer, but his panic now threatened to exceed theirs.

As the subway approached the Columbia University station, for just one minute Neal permitted the waves of misery to slosh over him. He was juggling Keller, Columbia, and Tac-Con while trying to keep Fiona safe from Keller. He huffed in frustration, causing the businessman standing next to him on the subway to eye him uneasily. "Sorry," he muttered. Now he was also scaring the subway passengers. He should be committed and placed in a padded cell. But then who would finish his paintings?

When Neal arrived at his studio, he found Richard already working next door. Neal called out a greeting but didn't stop to talk. Hanging up his jacket, he refused to look at the seascape on the easel until he'd changed. Slipping into jeans and a t-shirt enabled him to shed his work skin and emerge an artist. The jeans were comfortable, the paint blotches all familiar friends. He gathered up all extraneous thoughts, locked them in the broom closet of his mind, and turned to face the seascape.

He must have spent fifteen minutes studying it from every angle, and at the end, if a small smile broke out, it was justified. He wasn't going to touch a brush to it.

But that still left the attack by tentacle-face. That painting was not nearly where it should be. Neal took a deep breath and got to work

Sometime, maybe three hours later, he paused to come up for air. He still had a way to go but the end was in sight. Richard poked his head in. "I'm making a coffee run. You want anything?"

Neal gratefully accepted and a few minutes later they were perched on stools in his studio, comparing notes about the next day's schedule. Neal's was much lighter than Richard's. All he had to do was stand around and answer questions from judges and convention visitors. For Richard, it was far more intense.

"Saturday's the worst," Richard said, making a face. "In the morning our sculptures are reviewed. In the afternoon we're presented with two challenges. The first one is to sculpt a creature based on their specifications. We'll have an hour to finish."

"Clever. It's a good way of confirming you're the one who sculpted the presentation pieces."

He nodded. "That's part of it but mainly it's to see how we work under pressure. The second challenge is not mandatory unless you're interested in competing for the internship position at Scima Gameworks. For that we have to prepare a set design on a subject of their choosing." He took a deep breath. "It's going to be a long day."

"When are Mozzie and Janet arriving?"

"They're going to meet me in the SFX lab at Prentis early tomorrow morning for me to apply their makeup. Did you hear Mozzie's setting up a display on the yellow-faced bee next to Aidan's presentation table?"

"Figures. But it's a smart strategy. I wouldn't be surprised if the judges give Aidan extra points for the conservation message. Who could resist Mozzie as Quark?"

"Or Janet as a Dabo girl?" Richard chuckled. "Mozzie came by to discuss his makeup yesterday. Spent the entire time quoting the Rules of Acquisition to me. I'd say he's already gotten into character."

"You're transforming Jones into a Klingon. Has anyone else from White Collar approached you?"

"Diana contacted me. Christie wants to go as Jadzea Dax. She'll be at Tac-Con with Diana on Sunday. Diana said they'd be there for moral support during the judging announcements."

Christie's character wasn't ringing a bell. It sounded vaguely familiar but Neal had to ask Richard about it.

"She was in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Not a very complicated makeup fortunately. All she needs are spots. Janet's providing the uniform."

"How about Diana? Who's she going as?"

"Can't you guess?"

Neal thought a moment. It seemed obvious to him and Richard's expression told him he was right. "Anyone else ask you? Peter?"

He grinned. "Sorry. Artist client privilege. You don't have clearance."

"You can't keep a secret. It is Peter, isn't it?"

Richard backed out of the studio, throwing him the X sign with his hands. "You, I don't fear. I'm leaving before I get into trouble. Besides, don't you need to get back to your painting?"

Jacob Javits Convention Center. February 26, 2005. Saturday morning.

"Just like old times." Neal perched on a stool next to Peter. "You and me back at a convention. How does it feel?"

"Hey, I'm not wearing a costume. I'm looking forward to this. If El didn't have a wedding to oversee, she'd be here too. She said to break a leg or whatever it is artists are supposed to do."

"Break a paintbrush? I hope she's serving honey wine at the reception."

"Several cases." Peter scanned the room reserved for the painting competition. He was already familiar with the building layout from the gaming convention in the fall, and in many respects the two conventions seemed similar. Hordes of fans in costumes. Gaming rooms. Cavernous vendor hall. Press rooms. But Tac-Con emphasized the film industry with promotional areas set up for all the major franchises. Interviews and press conferences with celebrities were scheduled for both days of the event.

They'd gotten an early start to the day with Peter showing up at Neal's studio at seven. When they set up his paintings, only a few other artists had arrived. Now the room was filled with forty artists and their works. Most of them, like Neal, had elected to enter two paintings. The doors opened to the public at nine.

"The judges could show up any time now." Neal paused to study his paintings nervously. "I'm told there will be some surprise famous names among the judges."

He'd taken the documentary paintings he'd made for White Collar and recreated them as works of art. It was a profoundly disturbing vision he portrayed. This was no optimistic Utopian world but the horrific stuff of nightmares. The paint itself appeared to pulsate with evil. In his seascape, the starfish monster and lesser creatures writhed out of the sea as if they'd break free from the surface of the canvas. In his second painting, Neal was shown with his back to the observer so he couldn't be recognized. The tentacle-faced assailant was illuminated as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the chamber.

Would Azathoth be at the convention? How would they know if he were? During the kidnapping, the only time they'd heard someone speak was after the starfish had been projected on their cell wall. It was impossible to know if that had actually been the voice of Azathoth.

Peter considered it highly remote that anything useful about Azathoth would come out of Tac-Con, and frankly that was fine with him. Neal and his friends had worked so hard on getting their pieces ready, he hoped nothing would interfere. Originally he'd naively counted on Tac-Con being a good way to reduce stress. That was before he realized how tense Richard, Aidan, and Neal had become over their exhibition pieces.

At the moment, Neal was giving an excellent imitation of the Siamese cat Peter's mom had when he was a child. That cat used to prowl around the house like a tightly coiled spring and would propel himself without warning onto a bookcase or a person's back depending on his mood. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not much. I talked with Aidan shortly before I left my studio. He was planning to work through the night, making last-minute adjustments. He tried to persuade me to record more dialogue. You'd be proud of me. I talked him down."

"Hey, I'm proud of you no matter what. This is just an art show, right? One of many."

"Yeah, right," Neal winced. "Let's change the subject before I get more stressed. Henry called last night."

"Had he learned anything about Fowler?"

"No, he'd talked with Travis and wanted to congratulate me on the art crimes task force. Henry's confident that Win-Win's CEO will agree to partner with us on a trial project. Henry's keen to help market the product to museums when you're ready."

"He must be excited to become involved in an area that you're so passionate about."

Neal nodded as he checked the doors for any sign of the judges. "I think so. Henry's appreciation of fine art is in the cellar, but he'll shine at working with us on security."

"We're the honey."

Neal shot him a quizzical look. "Yeah, I guess. Rather a strange way of putting it."

"El calls Henry a honey bear. She says the lure of working with us acts like honey to a bear."

"It may help keep him out of trouble."

"And he can help keep you out of trouble."

"Or we'll be double the trouble for you."

"Now, you've got me stressed." But it was worth it. Thinking about Henry was helping Neal relax.

"If you want to make a run for some coffee, this would be a good time," Neal said. "I'll be fine here and I tanked up before we left. No food or drinks allowed in the hall, remember."

Peter suspected Neal wanted some alone time to collect his thoughts before the judges arrived so he took off on a mission to find coffee. Looking at his map, he found the food court was called the Galactic Cantina. In the line at the coffee bar, he spotted a familiar Vulcan. Richard had done Travis proud. He made an amazing Spock. He had the uniform, the ears, the subtle tint to the skin, even his eyebrows had been given a slant.

Travis waved him over. "Have you seen Jones and Diana?"

"Not yet. They told me they'd arrive around ten."

"We got to Columbia at four this morning. The SFX lab was a scene of chaos. All the students in Richard's class were there making transformations. They even put me to work. We had to leave at seven, but Angela was still there applying makeup."

"And I thought Neal had it rough. Neal told me you spoke with Henry about the software."

"Yeah, we're going to discuss it further tomorrow. Do you need my help with any of the party arrangements?"

"I may need to call on you tomorrow during the day, but otherwise we're good. El and Angela worked out the schedule yesterday."

When Peter returned to the competition hall, Neal was perched on a stool, looking dazed. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just Alan Lee, the concept artist for The Lord of the Rings," he said in a hushed voice, "commenting on my paintings. I wish you could have been here. I couldn't believe he'd find anything to like in what I'd done. They're so alien to his style."

Peter was present for the next judge—one of the artists for Farscape. By late morning, the judges had all been by. The final one was Doug Chiang who had done much of the production design for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones. Peter was amused to hear how Neal had caught the sci-fi wave. Anyone would have thought he lived and breathed science fiction. During his interview with Chiang, Mr. Italian Renaissance was talking about a career in the movies. Art authentication might have to take a back seat.

After Chiang left, Peter asked, "Should I warn Sherkov you're changing career paths?"

He laughed. "Just embracing the moment."

"That was the last judge. The pressure's off now, right?"

Neal nodded. "My fate's in their hands. I can relax."

"Why don't you take a break and go have lunch? I'll stand watch over your paintings." Peter was glad Neal took him up on the offer. He had an ulterior motive and wanted Neal refreshed and alert for what was coming up.

When Neal returned, he urged Peter to take his own lunch break but that wasn't in the cards. "You said you were going to use this opportunity to update me on your museum plans. How about now?"

Neal hesitated. "Are you sure it's wise? In public? It may be better to wait. How about Sunday night after the convention?"

Peter groaned inwardly. He could guarantee that Neal's reluctance to talk about it wasn't because of security concerns. "We'll both sit facing the doors. If Keller comes in, we'll switch topics. The noise in the hall is so loud, no one can overhear us. You've put this off long enough."

After a few stabs at dissuading him, Neal conceded. "Our goal is to capture Keller in the act of trying to steal Tutankhamun's treasure. Simple, right?"

Peter eyed him warily. Neal had now succeeded in convincing him that it was going to be anything but easy. What had the kid concocted? "That's right. Straightforward op. Once you and Keller are in the exhibit hall and the sirens sound, we move in and make the arrests. We'll have a video camera to observe your actions. No drama."

"Keller will be charged with attempted robbery. Realistically, how much time he will serve?"

Peter thought a moment. "You believe he'll be carrying a firearm, so it will be robbery in the second degree. We can make a case of his suspected other crimes. We may be able to get the maximum fifteen years, but realistically it's likely to be less. "

"Keller has ample reserves to hire the best lawyer. He'll be a model prisoner. Out maybe in five or six years?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, that's likely."

"And when he comes out, what happens? He'll be out for revenge. He will have had several years to let his resentment fester. He'll be a far more dangerous criminal when he comes out than when he entered."

"What are you suggesting? That we call it off? It sounds like you're saying we'd be better off to."

"No, this is the best chance we have to arrest him and maybe the only one for a long time. We have to milk it for all it's worth."

"Okay, chess master, what game plan are you proposing?"

"We convince him that he needs to confess to a lot more than just the heist at the Met. In order to keep himself from being incarcerated for maybe thirty years or more, he'll have to make a plea bargain, and that will give us the ammunition we need to control him in the future."

"I know I'm not going to like this, but what's your strategy to get him to confess to more crimes?"

"He kills me."

Peter was prepared for something like this and bit back on the sarcastic retort for the moment. Let him dig himself out of his own grave.

"Obviously I don't want him to actually kill me, but just think he killed me."

"Thank you for that, Neal. And how do you plan to accomplish this charade?"

"When you charge in to make the arrests. I'll flee with Keller to another part of the Egyptian wing, the Temple of Dendur. That's a large gallery which doesn't contain fragile artifacts. Once there I'll struggle with Keller for his gun. I will have loaded his gun with blanks."

"When?"

"I'm going to persuade him to give me his gun when we enter the museum. They conduct random security checks at the Met but not of art students. I'll make the switch then. Travis can supply me with bullets that look like Keller's. He uses a Glock 22. I'll use the code we arranged. When we're in the storeroom, I'll make a joke about stealing a painting. If it's a Degas, you'll know I made the switch. If it's Rembrandt, I couldn't make the switch and you'll move in to arrest us while we're still in the exhibit gallery."

"How will you initiate the fight?"

"Do something idiotic, like tell him we should surrender. That should take care of it." Neal took a breath. "Now comes the tricky part."

"Right, 'cause the other stuff is going to be so easy."

Neal raised a hand. "Here me out. I'll have him believe he shot me. I'll use that fake blood bag we used last spring at the airport. You'll arrive on the scene, roll over my lifeless corpse, and let Keller have a good look at me before you drag him off. He's entered the country illegally. You have the right to detain him for a while before he talks with a lawyer. You can use the threat of manslaughter as leverage."

Neal's plan sounded crazy but it could be effective. "Will you wear a bulletproof vest?"

He shook his head. "To sell the con, I need to add some realistic touches, like a gunshot wound. I've already talked with Richard about that. He can prepare a prosthesis. That will help, but to convince Keller I really am dead, I'm going to need to look the part—white, not breathing—and for that there's a drug I can use. It's called tetrodotoxin—"

"Blowfish poison? Did those monsters in your paintings suck out your brain?"

"Shhh. Don't yell. You'll scare the other exhibitors."

Peter lowered his voice while raising the decibel level of his glare. "Do you realize how toxic that is? More toxic than cyanide? The respiratory failure you'd suffer wouldn't just fake your death, it would kill you."

"I've been researching this extensively and in the proper small dose, it won't be fatal. I assume we could arrange to have EMTs present to help out afterward. I'll inject the precise amount needed when we're at the Temple of Dendur. Yes, it would be unpleasant—"

"—Unpleasant?"

"You're yelling again. This is why Mozzie recommended not telling you. He said you'd be much more believable if you didn't know, but I wouldn't do that to you."

"Let me get this straight. You think you're being considerate to let me know in advance that you're going to commit suicide in front me?" Peter stopped himself before letting out the curse that was on his lips and took three deep breaths. "There's no way you're going through with this."

"I have no intention of committing suicide." Neal continued to gaze at him with earnest eyes, as if he were the voice of reason. "Tetrodotoxin is now being used to treat pain. It's not always fatal."

Unbelievable. After all the progress they'd made, how could Neal propose a lunatic scheme like this? And the worst part was that Peter could see how serious he was about it. Sleep deprivation. That must be it. Peter rubbed the kink in his neck which had resurfaced when Neal outlined his plan while he considered how to talk him down. He forced himself to adopt the same low voice Neal used. "I can't believe just when everything's going your way—you're on the Interpol art crimes task force, soon you'll be accepted into Columbia's PhD program—that you're willing to risk it all and try to get yourself killed."

"That's exactly why I have to ensure Keller doesn't escape with a slap on the wrist. Otherwise he'll keep returning, and each time his demands will be worse. Will he go after June or El next time? I can't let this continue, Peter. It's my fault and I've got to fix it."

"Not by killing yourself you're not. Keller's not your responsibility, and you don't get to decide what the best way of dealing with him is. We work as a team or you're not working at all. I should—" Peter bit off his words. With every word he said Neal was looking more stubborn. Blowing up at him would only reinforce his conviction. "Here's what I'll agree to. We get a doctor's opinion—and don't tell me Mozzie has a medical degree from Phoenix University. I want a legitimate expert to weigh in on this. Then and only then will I even consider it."

Neal thought for a moment. "How about Christie? Is she legitimate enough? Diana said she and Christie will both be here tomorrow. We could talk to her then."

"All right, that's acceptable." Peter pulled out his cell phone and called Diana. When Peter explained Neal's idiotic scheme, her exclamation of disbelief was loud enough that Neal could easily hear it, too. She'd said she'd call Christie to start researching it.

When Peter rang off, his blood was still boiling. "I'm taking a lunch break now. You stay put."

Neal huffed his frustration. "You know I can't leave. I need to stay with my paintings."

"I wish you cared as much about your life as you do those paintings."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"Then he chewed me out again," Neal concluded, "as if he hadn't yelled enough the first time."

Travis had shown up to see how the competition was going and Neal took the opportunity to fill him in. He figured he better. When Peter returned, he would probably still be furious. Travis looked so much like Spock, it was hard not to think he was telling his tale of woe to a Vulcan. Neal had an almost uncontrollable desire to ask him to perform a Vulcan nerve pinch on someone.

Travis shook his head. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but I'm with Peter on this. I'm no medical expert, but I've read reviews for movies where blowfish poison was used. I remember there was quite a scathing review for Buried Alive II where experts pointed out that the toxin can't be used to fake death. Can't you ask Richard to make a prosthesis that will help sell it?"

"Already did, but if I look the picture of health, Keller's not going to be fooled. I'll work on it some more." Neal wasn't going to give up that easily. He'd wait for Christie. "How's Richard doing?

"The competition is incredibly tough. The entries all look spectacular. Several judges came by this morning, including a surprise celebrity judge— Christopher Heyerdahl. He plays Halling on Stargate Atlantis. I don't know who was more flustered, Richard or me. He was incredibly gracious. Spent several minutes talking with us about making aliens and how artists create the look of the Wraiths. He mentioned he wanted to appear as a Wraith someday.

Travis had also checked in on Aidan who was experiencing new producer angst in the video competition. Travis was more talkative than normal, almost chatty. Neal mainly listened—the reverse of their normal roles. But Travis rambled on without Neal needing to prod him.

He hadn't realized his nerves had gone into overdrive—the chess match with Keller and the competition at Tac-Con were at war in his brain. And now the business about the blowfish toxin. He'd been staggered at how quickly Peter had shot it down. Didn't he realize Neal was only doing it so they could keep Keller locked up? Why didn't Peter understand?

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Peter strode through the vendor hall, not paying any attention to the exhibits. Clearly Neal had gone off the deep end. Had the stresses of the past few weeks combined to zap every rational brain cell in his head? Or was it simply a case of sleep deprivation? Even though he'd told Neal he was going to have lunch, Peter was in no mood to eat, unless it was a jar of antacid pills.

He heard rapid footsteps behind him and glanced back. Jones and Diana were hurrying to catch up.

"Why aren't you at lunch?" she demanded. "You said you were taking a lunch break. We looked for you in the cantina."

"I'll eat later."

"No, you won't. You're eating now," Jones ordered. "Never argue with a Klingon. Mu' chut."

Peter shot him a startled look as Jones shoved him in the direction of the cantina. "What'd you say? Did you sneeze?"

"Mu' chut," he repeated emphatically. "That's not a sneeze. It means 'My word is law.' Travis has been helping me practice Klingon in preparation for my role. I'm particularly fond of that expression."

Jones speaks Klingon? Peter had such a hard time wrapping his head around the notion—let alone the thought of Travis and Jones speaking Klingon together at White Collar—that for a moment the insanity of his wayward consultant took a back seat.

Jones commandeered a table with ease at the bustling cantina. While Diana stood in line for food, they guarded her chair. Jones looked so intimidating, most didn't dare approach. One guy in a Tron costume made a halfhearted attempt until Jones scowled and barked Mej.

"What did you say to him?" Peter muttered under his breath.

He shrugged. "I just told him to leave. My vocabulary's not very extensive yet, but I've found my word is law and leave work for a surprisingly large number of situations."

Diana returned with Jedi burgers, Ferengi fries, and Kuiper belt milk shakes for the three of them. She and Jones steered the conversation away the looming Neal crisis, insisting instead on sharing their impressions of the convention.

"Any news on the Lovecraft front?" Peter asked

"A few interesting whispers," Diana said, reaching for a fry. "Speculation about a new video game which could be coming out. Fifth or sixth hand rumors that Scima Gameworks may be developing something. There's even buzz about a possible movie or TV series. The Cthulhu Mythos fans are a devoted group."

"Diana and I've been trying to get names of any geeks or hackers who are fanatics. We've added several to our list to be researched."

When Jones took a slurp of his milkshake, Peter couldn't resist chuckling. "Aren't you supposed to be drinking bloodwine?"

"Saving that for happy hour. Sounds like you may need a stop at the bar today too."

"Neal threw me for a loop," Peter acknowledged with a groan. "The problem is he made a reasonable case for tricking Keller, but the method he chose is insane."

"Christie hopes to find a viable alternative," Diana said. "I called Travis to fill him in. He's with Neal now. We figured he'd need someone to talk to."

Peter took a deep breath. "Good idea. I did come down pretty hard on him, but how could he have expected anything else when he advocated something so suicidal?"

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

When Peter returned to the competition room, the crowd had increased. No sign of a Vulcan. Travis must have already left. Neal was perched on a stool next to his paintings talking with a man. Peter could only see the visitor's back, but he was startled by Neal's face. Dismissive and ice-hard. What had the guy done to tick him off?

As Peter approached, the man turned around and walked away. As he made his way through the throng, he vanished right in front of Peter's eyes. Matthew Keller. No wonder Neal gave him high marks. This was the closest Peter had ever been to him and he was struck by how ordinary he looked. A man who could blend in anywhere.

"Did you see him?" Neal asked in a low voice when Peter drew near.

Peter nodded. "What did he have to say?"

"Made the usual snarky comments about my paintings. He's been in contact with his buyers and has commitments to buy the entire shipment. I recorded it on my watch."

Peter called the others to alert them of Keller's presence. Maybe one of them would be able to spot the man and track him down, but after Peter's own experience he didn't view it as likely. Neal's expression had melted only slightly by the end of his calls. Peter made a vow to not make any more references to the toxin. He'd laid down the groundwork for the intervention tomorrow with Christie. They still had time to talk Neal down.

For the rest of the afternoon Peter stuck to safe topics—the other paintings being exhibited, Richard and Aidan's competitions, the vendor booths. He even brought up the costumes he'd seen, making himself an easy target for teasing. The afternoon passed quickly. Peter enjoyed talking with the visitors, too. He made a few notes of titles of upcoming books and movies.

Late in the day, a man approached them who didn't look like an ordinary fan. Instead of jeans and running shoes, he wore a black turtleneck and black dress pants with expensive Italian loafers. Appeared to be around fifty. Was he another judge? Peter thought everyone had already been by.

"Alistair Chapman, Scima Workshop, a pleasure," he said, shaking Neal's hand. He spoke with a British accent, the cultivated voice of a man of authority. He reminded Peter of a youngish Anthony Hopkins. "You have an elegant technique. Tell me about your background."

Neal mentioned briefly his studies at Columbia. His words had been carefully rehearsed with Tricia.

"How did you get your inspiration for"—he stopped to peer at the card for Neal's painting of the seascape—"Emergence?"

Neal launched into his description of the painting. "The name of the monster is Azathoth, a creation by H.P. Lovecraft, a writer of horror fiction."

"I'm familiar with Lovecraft. Azathoth is one of the chief deities of the Cthulhu Mythos, is he not?"

Peter took closer note. Chapman even knew how to pronounce Cthulhu.

"That's right. Lovecraft describes him as an 'amorphous blight of nethermost confusion.' "

"Scima is involved in talks about a possible movie project. I've been researching various characters to cast as a villain. Azathoth was mentioned to me as a possibility. Some have called him the creator of all the others—the equivalent of Lucifer. Would you agree?"

Neal nodded. "That's why I pictured him coming out of the ocean. The other creatures are his spawn that are still in the midst of coalescing. I picture Azathoth as the embodiment of evil with the capacity to distort reality and mold it according to his own vision."

"You don't by chance live in a loft, do you?"

Neal looked surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Are you familiar with 'The Haunter of the Dark'?" At Neal's nod, Chapman turned toward Peter. "It's a short story by Lovecraft in which the protagonist is an artist. He lives in a loft and paints surreal fantastic paintings such as these. He's also a writer, as I recall. The story was suggested as a possible movie plot." He gazed back at Neal and smiled. "I'm sure you have no need to fear your fate will be like his. Did you base your other painting on Lovecraft as well?"

Neal nodded. "I was inspired by Lovecraft's description of Cthulhu."

"Tentacle-faced monsters are a favorite device in horror and science-fiction. Yours seems reminiscent of one I've seen elsewhere." Chapman stepped back to study the painting, considered for several moments and then shook his head. "Can't place it. That room, the furnishings, they all seem rather familiar. In my work, I see so much art, it's hard to keep them straight."

"If you remember, please let me know. I'm trying to get a toehold as a concept artist. I wouldn't want to be accused of ripping off someone's idea." Neal gave him one of his Columbia University business cards he'd prepared.

"I will." He handed Neal his card. "Good luck with the competition. Your talent is clear. If you're ever in London, look us up. I'll arrange for you to have a tour." Chapman then continued to stroll around the hall, talking to the other contestants.

Neal looked over at Peter. "What do you think?"

"That I'd like to know more about Chapman. What happened to the artist in the short story he mentioned?"

"June recently read the story and told me about it. She was also struck by the common elements—art, writing, the loft. You could even say the artist was acting like an investigator. He'd heard about an old abandoned church that was supposedly haunted by something evil. In his explorations of the church, he unwittingly set a demon loose which terrorized the city at night. The artist was found later in his loft, dead, staring with horror at the church through his window." Neal spoke the words calmly, but that's not how Peter felt at hearing them. "Were we just visited by Azathoth?"

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

Peter called Jones, Travis, and Diana to meet him outside the competition hall to discuss the incident.

"We mentioned the rumors of a Lovecraft movie at lunch," Jones commented, "but to pick 'The Haunter of the Dark'? The similarities to Neal are disturbing."

"But what are we saying?" Diana challenged. "According to his card, Chapman's a creative director. He's not responsible for selecting which movie is made. Scima would have been approached by a film studio. I agree it sounds suspicious, but I can't believe a film studio like, for instance, Paramount Pictures is in league with Azathoth."

"We shouldn't make any assumptions at this point," Peter cautioned. "Chapman's story needs to be thoroughly investigated. I'm going to contact Hobhouse this evening and ask him to look into it. We need to know which studio Scima is working with on the project."

"Do you think the cybercriminal knows we call him Azathoth?" Travis asked.

"Good question," Peter replied. "Mozzie had nicknamed him Azathoth early in our investigation of the Galileo forgery back in October. From the photos on the flash drive we found last month, we know we were under surveillance at that time. Neal or I may have used the word when we were discussing the case. Then, in the house where we were held, we must have used his name several times. I would assume he does know by now."

Jones grimaced. "And no doubt, revels in it. Why did the little guy have to call our cybercriminal the chief baddie among all of Lovecraft's monsters?"


Notes: Next week in Chapter 13: Intervention, Christie joins the team for breakfast in the cantina. Their prime directive? Convince Neal there was a better way to defeat Keller than risking his life with a deadly toxin.

A special shout-out to Cimmer for the suggestion that Jones speak Klingon. He and Travis have been practicing for the past few weeks in preparation. Christopher Heyerdahl heard about Cimmer being a fan of Stargate Atlantis and insisted on dropping in.

Penna Nomen has written about sharing original characters for our blog in a post called "Sharing an OC: For the Birds." I simply can't thank Penna enough for all her support and encouragement during what turned out to be a difficult week for me emotionally. Penna, you're the best!

Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website