Chapter 12: Queen's Gambit
White Collar Division. November 22, 2004. Monday afternoon.
"How much do we know about André Renard?" Peter asked.
It was late afternoon. Jones had joined him in his office. Tramonte had not left his hotel all day. A man had been photographed arriving at Tramonte's hotel at two o'clock. The bug they'd placed at the reception desk picked up that he'd inquired about Tramonte's room number, and facial recognition software had been able to identify him.
"Cat burglar. Not well known here but Interpol has a thick file about him." Jones scanned through his printout. "Art, jewelry heists mainly. Nothing violent. He lived in Geneva between 1985 and 2004. Arrived in New York only a few months ago."
"Is there any connection between him and Tramonte?"
"Nothing has turned up, but Tramonte was also in Geneva for two years beginning in 1987. It's possible the two met then. The guy's supposedly an expert fencer.''
Peter raised a brow. "Are we talking blades or goods?"
Jones grinned. "Blades. I checked with the Chelsea Fencing Club where Neal hangs out as Gary Rydell, and Renard's a member."
What was Neal up to? He'd given tantalizing clues over lunch but Peter still knew none of the details. Was Renard his contact at the club? If so, was he now working with Neal or against him?
After Jones left, Peter checked Neal's tracking data. Still at Prentis. Peter chuckled. That tracking anklet had its advantages. He could easily get used to being able to find out where Neal was all the time. Picking up his phone, Peter placed the call. When Neal answered, he got straight to the point. "Do you trust a man named André Renard?"
There was silence on the other end. Peter could hear the wheels in Neal's mind turning, debating how to handle this. "Yes, I do," he finally said.
"You may be interested to learn he met with Tramonte this afternoon, or perhaps you already know this."
"Don't worry about André. He's the fencer I told you about and a friend."
"Just so you know, we're keeping Tramonte under close surveillance tonight."
"Thank you, Peter. That's very reassuring."
Peter sighed when he hung up the phone. He was glad one of them was feeling reassured. Would it be too much to ask for Neal fill him in on why? If this mess ever got resolved, he planned to sit Neal down and have a long discussion about the need to communicate what the hell was going on. Vague references to movies were simply not cutting it.
Peter got up from his desk in frustration and stood looking out the window, his hands on his hips. It hadn't been that long ago—only last summer when Neal was flying around the country looking for Henry and Henry's father—that Peter had insisted on phone check-ins at six- and sometimes three-hour intervals. Now he'd basically signed off on Neal going rogue.
For the past several days, Peter had reined in his desire to supervise Neal more closely by lecturing himself that the unusual circumstances required the change. He'd told himself that if he pushed harder, he'd drive Neal away. But now Neal was clearly alerting Peter that the hour was at hand for whatever scheme he'd cooked up to be put in motion. The fact that Peter knew next to nothing about it was making the situation intolerable.
Peter rubbed the side of his neck. It wasn't simply that he was concerned about Neal being foolhardy, which he undoubtedly was. The plain and simple truth was that he, Special Agent "By the Book" Peter Burke, wanted to be a part of that cockeyed scheme right beside him.
At six o'clock as Peter was preparing to leave, Diana poked her head in. "Got a call from Jones, boss. He took over surveillance from Travis on Tramonte. One guess who just paid Tramonte a visit."
"Fowler."
"You got it."
Peter's eyes narrowed. What was Fowler up to now? Was this a result of Renard's visit? Fowler had been taken off the case. Was he so desperate, he was going to take extreme measures? Reaching for his phone, Peter called Neal to warn him.
Burke residence. November 22, 2004. Monday evening.
Monday night football was on the TV and the Jets were winning, but Peter ignored the action on the field. He'd brought home a stack of files and was working at the dining room table. His laptop with Neal's tracker information was at his right-hand side. Just as well El had to work that night. He didn't like keeping secrets from her, but he couldn't bring her in on what might be going down tonight. Diana had joined Jones in conducting surveillance on Tramonte. Travis was scheduled to relieve them at midnight.
A bone-chilling, steady rain had settled in and was expected to last throughout the evening. Would the weather be a factor in whatever Neal was planning? Peter had checked the TV listings when he got home and wasn't surprised that he didn't find To Catch a Thief scheduled. To see that, he needed to watch his laptop.
The tracker software displayed Neal's location superimposed on a map of Manhattan. It was amazingly precise. Peter could tell that Neal was at Schermerhorn Hall and could have zoomed in on the location within the building. On Monday nights Neal had a seminar on Dutch baroque painting. That lasted till nine o'clock. Peter didn't expect anything to happen till afterwards, but kept an eye on the display just in case. That turned out to be a good thing, because at 8:45 Neal was on the move. Sherkov's seminars usually ran over. Peter had attended one on an earlier case and knew it was Neal's favorite course. For him to leave early, something must be up.
Peter got out his coat and placed it by the door, checking his pockets for phone and car key. He gave up even the pretense of working on his files and watched Neal's monitor with the fascination usually only reserved for the World Series. At 9:00 Neal's signal was right at the edge of his radius which had been marked in a yellow grid overlaid on the map. At 9:05 he moved outside his radius, and Peter picked up the phone.
The marshals were already preparing to head out when Peter got through to them. Neal apparently was in a taxi as his signal was moving rapidly. Just as Peter finished his conversation with the marshals on the landline, Manuel Barrios called him on his cell. Barrios was the OPR agent now in charge of Neal's case and would be coordinating the manhunt. As a result of Hughes's discussion with OPR on Saturday, Peter was to be notified whenever action against Neal was taken. Barrios agreed to rendezvous with Peter in Manhattan. They'd ride together in Barrios's car which had been equipped with the latest GPS tracker navigation display.
As he left the house, Peter muttered, "Hope you enjoyed that, Fowler. I'm counting on that being the last time you ever hear anything on my phone."
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Peter and Barrios followed Neal to Columbus Circle where his signal stalled. After five minutes it started to move again but at a crawl. He must have gotten out of the taxi and was proceeding on foot. Why Columbus Circle? It was a major subway and bus hub. Was Neal going underground? The marshals were drawing closer and had nearly reached his signal when he sped off again. The general direction was toward the southeast but not along the lines of a subway or bus route. He must be in a taxi again. The rain was falling harder now, making driving conditions difficult. The people on the streets were carrying umbrellas and bundled up in winter clothes. It was almost impossible to identify anyone.
Peter's phone rang. It was Jones. "Tramonte left his hotel about ten minutes ago. We're tailing him and will keep you posted."
Barrios chased Neal down Broadway and then up Madison Avenue. At 52nd Street he apparently got out of a taxi again.
"We're almost on top of him. We should be able to see him," Barrios said in frustration. They slowed to a crawl, ignoring the honks of irate taxi drivers. They were accompanied by marshals driving SUVs emblazoned with their seals as well as NYPD patrol cars. Jeez, there must be at least ten vehicles now. As they proceeded up Madison Avenue, Peter kept his eyed glued to the car windows. What was Neal up to? Peter wished he could call him. How the hell could he help him without knowing what the script was?
Jones called back in. "Tramonte's in your area. He's at 55th and Madison Avenue."
Fifteen minutes later they were still playing cat and mouse. Tramonte had exited the cab at the Trump Tower on 56th Street and Fifth Avenue and gone inside.
Then it hit Peter where they were heading: Regnier's. It was located on 57th Street and Fifth Avenue. Sure enough, Neal got as far as Regnier's and stopped. Peter groaned to himself. Was this Neal's idea of a plan? Rob Regnier's and then somehow plant the evidence on Tramonte? What was he thinking?
A minute later Neal's signal dissolved into static. "Damn it!" Barrios shook the display and gave a couple of sharp slaps to the device. "Sometimes these things go on the fritz. Don't tell me it's happening now."
"Equipment malfunction always happens at the worst possible time," Peter commiserated, hiding the smile that wanted to break out. He got on the phone to the marshals to check on their status. "It's not just us. The marshals are having the same issue."
"If he'd cut the anklet, it would still be broadcasting." Barrios scratched his head. "Maybe interference?"
"Let's park by Regnier's," Peter suggested. "I can't believe Caffrey would try to pull a robbery there, but it's the most likely target in the area."
"Good idea. You'd think if he were trying to steal something, he would have cut his anklet first, but you never know. Caffrey's so young . . . the pressure may have gotten to him and he snapped. I've seen it happen before. Some guys can't stand the thought of being monitored and wind up pulling an idiotic prank. There was a fellow I was monitoring a couple of years ago. He took it in his head to visit his girlfriend. The guy was restricted to a narrow area in Queens, and he up and goes to New Jersey." Barrios shook his head. "I found him on the Jersey shore having a picnic with her. Didn't even think he'd done anything wrong. He's back in prison now."
Several of the marshals' SUVs had pulled up alongside them outside Regnier's. Peter checked with Regnier's alarm service, and there was no sign of an intruder. Police cars cruised the surrounding area as officials coordinated a blanket coverage. Every few minutes the signal would come back on only to dissolve into static a minute or so later. The signal was coming from an area about two city blocks in diameter. With the high density of shops and hotels, it was impossible to cover all the likely locations.
Barrios asked Peter to check with Travis about the tracker signal. "Sounds like the chip is malfunctioning," Travis said. "Could be a loose connection."
It was now 11:00. Despite the massive manhunt, Neal had not been captured. In the meantime, Jones had bad news. They'd lost Tramonte. He must have exited Trump Tower without being spotted.
"Caffrey's on the move!" Barrios yelled. "Heading west on 55th Street." Sirens blared as all units followed.
"Not again! Signal's out." Barrios glared at the static on the screen when they turned onto Ninth Avenue. "Haven't they heard of quality control? Has no one tested these things?"
Peter checked in with Jones. Tramonte's trail had gone cold. The units were scattering once more as they tried to locate Neal. Fifteen minutes later the signal blinked back on.
"Give me that location again," Barrios requested as he picked up speed.
"West 25th Street between Ninth and Tenth Avenues."
"What's there?"
Peter checked his laptop. "Warehouses. A few tenements."
"At least the signal's steady now. We should be able to wrap this up quickly." Barrios glanced over at Peter. "I'm sorry about Caffrey. Who knows what's going on in his head?"
"Such a waste. Caffrey had such potential, and he's throwing it all away." Neal, you better not be throwing it all away, Peter thought with a sigh. The way he'd led them to Regnier's, the hints about the ring and the movie, it was increasingly clear that Neal had stolen the ring and devised a con to plant it on Tramonte. It was a desperate gamble. Assuming they did manage to recover the ring, had Neal left any evidence behind at Regnier's? What were the odds he wasn't thinking straight and had snapped like the felon Barrios had mentioned? Neal's nightmare might just have gotten worse and Peter's too.
At 11:30 they pulled up in front of a building on West 25th Street and conferred with the marshals on the takedown. They agreed that Barrios and Peter would go in first while the marshals would keep watch that no one left the premises. Neal's monitor continued to broadcast steadily from one of the apartments in the five-story high building. The signal was coming from the back, either on the fourth or fifth floor.
Peter scanned the list of tenants on the building. Some offices. Most were residences. He stopped at the name of an apartment on the 5th floor. "Let's start with 509," he said. "According to the map, it's at the back. We can work our way down from there."
Barrios read the name on the plate. "Robie, huh. Okay."
Taking the elevator to the fifth floor, Peter steered Barrios back to apartment 509. The signal was steadily growing in intensity. By the time they were outside 509, it was clear they'd found Neal. Barrios reported to the marshals below and waited for several to join them before knocking on the door. When there was no answer, they quickly broke through and stormed the apartment. The front room was empty and they raced to the bedroom where they could hear the sounds of someone frantically trying to open a window.
"Hands up, Caff—" Barrios paused in shock and added, "You're not Caffrey."
"Hands up, Tramonte," Peter finished triumphantly. Tramonte was standing by one of the windows. The shade had been raised to reveal the window had a tight grill. Escape would have been impossible. While the Marshals handcuffed Tramonte and read him his rights, Peter walked over to an opened wall safe. The examination didn't take long since it was empty.
Tramonte protested, making wild gestures. Peter shrugged to his outrage. "Exigent circumstances. We're in pursuit of a fugitive and that gives us full rights, plus you were caught in the act of breaking and entering. I know for a fact your name isn't Robie."
All this time the monitor signal was still broadcasting. Ignoring Tramonte's curses, the marshals searched him. He wasn't wearing a monitor. His cell phone was examined but it wasn't the source of the signal. A jewel box was discovered in his jacket pocket. Peter went over to his raincoat which was lying on a chair and put on his latex gloves. "Here's something interesting," he said, pulling out a cell phone from one of its pockets.
Tramonte stared at it as the marshals tested it. "That's not mine. I never saw it before."
"That's what's transmitting the signal!" Barrios exclaimed. He turned off the phone. "Look, the signal's now disappeared and it's displaying from a different location, just west of Columbia University." Barrios zoomed in on the reading. "It's at Watson Hall. Tramonte's phone must have been canceling out Caffrey's signal. I've never seen that happen before."
Peter retrieved the jewel box Barrios had secreted inside his jacket. The box was made of red tooled leather and had the distinctive monogram of Regnier's Jewelers on the lid. Peter raised the lid. "Well, look at this," he said, holding up a brilliant diamond ring. "This is the Marie Antoinette diamond if I'm not mistaken."
"I didn't steal it," Tramonte hissed. "Caffrey stole it."
"Shut it, Tramonte. I don't see Caffrey here. There's just you and the ring." Peter examined the case closely. Remembering Neal's words, he pressed along the bottom lining. When he pressed the back left corner, the pad loosened, revealing a pool of sparkling diamonds inside. Barrios and Tramonte both stared wide-eyed at the discovery. A grin breaking out on his face, Peter held up the pair of Marie Antoinette earrings to the others.
Tramonte's look of stunned amazement was almost comical.
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It was 1 a.m. by the time the marshals regrouped at Watson Hall. When they knocked on Neal's studio door, he was painting. Clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Neal stared at the assembly of officials in front of him. "What's this all about?"
Neal had been working on a painting Peter hadn't seen before, a fanciful depiction of bicycles floating among the clouds in the sky over Manhattan.
Barrios walked up to Neal and introduced himself. "I apologize for the intrusion at this late hour, Mr. Caffrey, but your tracker may be malfunctioning. We need to verify it's working properly."
"Please call me Neal. Not a problem." Neal put his paintbrush aside and, hoisting his foot on the rung of a stool, rolled up the leg of his sweat pants. "Have at it, guys."
While the marshals checked his anklet monitor, Peter said, "You might be interested to know that Tramonte was apprehended this evening with the Marie Antoinette ring from Regnier's exhibition in his possession. The jewel case was found to also contain the Marie Antoinette earrings."
"Really?" Looking flabbergasted at the news, Neal broke out in a smile wide enough to split his face.
"Yes, I thought that would please you," Peter said with a chuckle. "And here's the funny thing. It appears that Tramonte's cell phone was transmitting the same signal as your monitor. In fact it was blocking us from receiving your signal."
"I didn't think that was possible."
"Neither did we."
The marshals finished their inspection. "All appears in order here. It's working perfectly," one of them said. "There's no evidence it's been tampered with."
Pulling out a notebook, Barrios said, "For the record, could you please go over your activities this evening."
"Sure. I attended my seminar on Dutch Baroque Art from seven to a little after nine. Afterward, I returned to my studio and have been painting ever since. Got wrapped up in my work. Didn't realize it was so late."
"Any witnesses?"
"All the participants in the seminar can confirm my presence there. As far as my being at the studio, Richard Carlisle, who has the studio next door, should be able to vouch for my being here up to around 11:30 or so. I think I heard him leave around then." Neal paused and pulled out a sketch pad from a drawer. "But there's something else you should know that may be relevant. I noticed I was being followed when I went from my studio to my class at Schermerhorn Hall. Short guy, swarthy complexion. Last I saw him he was lingering in the student lounge. He was gone when I left. I made a sketch of him." Neal ripped out a sheet of paper from his sketch pad and handed it to Barrios.
Barrios and Peter looked at the drawing. "I don't recognize him," Barrios said as Peter also shook his head, "but I'm glad you're so observant. We'll try to match it at the Bureau." Closing his notebook, Barrios added, "I believe we're done. Thank you for your cooperation, Neal. I'd rather not go into the situation now, but we'll be in contact tomorrow."
"I'd like to stay and speak with my consultant," Peter said and waited until the officials left before saying anything further. Neal began cleaning his brushes, slanting him a nervous glance. Peter went outside and checked the corridor. Having verified everyone had left, he returned to the studio and closed the door. "Did you steal the ring?"
"It's a remarkable ring, isn't it? I knew you'd like it."
"Neal . . ." Peter warned in a low growl.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, not batting an eyelash. "I've just been here painting."
Peter stepped closer. "You gonna make me shake it out of you?"
Neal's face dissolved into a big smile. "Had ya going for a minute, didn't I! No, I didn't steal the ring. I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, it's a forgery."
Shaking his head at him, Peter crushed Neal in a hug that Mama Bear El would have been proud of. "Was that the arts and crafts you were talking about on the weekend?"
Neal shrugged happily. "What was Tramonte's reaction?"
"Probably for the best I don't know Italian. Let's just leave it that he wasn't pleased. The Robie name on the apartment was a nice touch."
"I thought you'd like that." Neal perched on a stool, a look of mischief in his eyes. "Cary Grant would have been a little too obvious." Barefoot, in his t-shirt and sweats, he looked all of eighteen at a stretch. "Can you stay? We need to strategize our next steps."
Peter pulled up the extra stool. "So you've decided to include me? Am I now a member of your crew?" It was impossible not to grin back at Neal. Peter felt like he should be in a t-shirt and sweats too. The stress that had been etched in Neal's face at lunch had evaporated and taken Peter's along with it.
"You always were, but it may not have been as obvious."
Peter nodded in acknowledgment. He'd save the teasing for later. Neal wasn't home free by a long shot. "Tell me about the ring. How do you propose handling that?"
"You received the signal at Regnier's, right?"
"Yes, it looked like you'd been there about an hour."
"Any chance you'll be in charge of Tramonte's interrogation?"
"There's a good likelihood both Barrios and I will be. Tramonte's being held in isolation for now. He has no way to communicate with Fowler."
"That's good. About the ring . . . you need to understand that Tramonte believes it was stolen from Regnier's this evening."
"Can you fill me in on why he would think that?"
"Hmm." Neal propped an elbow on the work table and rested his chin on his hand. "I can think of a few possibilities. The first one involves André Renard, the fellow who was seen visiting Tramonte Monday afternoon. André is a good friend of Gary Rydell's. Gary might have given him the idea to tell Tramonte that a certain Neal Caffrey intended to steal the ring and place it in that safe. André may have let Tramonte in on it to help find a buyer." Neal hesitated. "But there's a problem with this scenario. It involves André in the case and he'd wind up in the official record."
Peter nodded. "Yes, I can understand where there would be valid reasons to keep both Gary and André off the books. Also, that scenario doesn't explain the forgery or the tracker route that was documented." Peter looked up at the ceiling as if he were pondering hypotheticals. "Here's another scenario that makes more sense. The person you saw tailing you was Tramonte's accomplice. He met up with Tramonte at Regnier's and for some reason passed him the phone. That would account for the signal pattern we observed." He turned to Neal. "How does that sound to you?"
Neal beamed. "Exactly what I was thinking. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the person tailing me was a known member of the Sicilian Mafia. He may have been aiding Tramonte all along."
"But once Regnier's verifies that the ring they have is genuine, and the one in our possession is a forgery, any explanation on what Tramonte is doing with a forgery?"
"Suppose the sketch I gave Barrios is identified to be of a known jewel thief, somebody like Paolo Vitale, for instance. Paolo is a jewel thief who operates in Italy. He might have sneaked into the country. Tramonte could have commissioned him to steal the ring. Paolo was to replace the ring at Regnier's with a forgery. Their plan was to smuggle both the ring and the earrings out of the States and sell them to Bolotnov."
Peter propped up his own elbows on the table. "Interesting theory. Fowler may have supplied Tramonte with your tracking information. One of them duplicated the signal and Vitale was to use the phone to frame you for the robbery. They wanted the robbery to be discovered and you arrested for it."
Neal nodded in agreement. "Fowler was probably paying them off to frame me. Tramonte was undoubtedly licking his lips at the prospect of being paid both by Fowler for the frame and then by Bolotnov for the jewels. But something went wrong. Perhaps the security at Regnier's proved to be too difficult and Paolo couldn't make the switch. So he decided to double-cross Tramonte by passing off the forgery as the genuine ring and planting the phone on him. He may have been worried that otherwise Tramonte would try to frame him for the botched job. I wouldn't be surprised if under those circumstances Vitale's already fled the country. He would have been paid handsomely for his part in the deal and may have decided to cut his losses, making Tramonte the fall guy. Of course, you realize Tramonte will deny all this."
"Naturally, and it will get him nowhere." Peter stroked his chin. "Carefully worded questioning might lead Tramonte to the erroneous conclusion that guards had been killed during the robbery and he would be charged with murder in addition to armed robbery."
"Yes, I can see how that might happen. If Tramonte believed he was being arrested for murder, he could be more forthcoming."
"His only hope is to make a deal by providing evidence against Fowler." Peter stretched his arms out. "I like this scenario much better than the first one. Plugs in a lot of holes. It's the one I'll use tomorrow, but I appreciate your sharing the first one with me."
The relief was evident in Neal's face. "I was hoping you'd see it that way."
Peter glanced over at Neal's gym bags. "With Tramonte locked up, there's no reason not to move back to the loft now. Like a ride back?"
Neal looked hesitant. "It's late. You don't mind the detour?"
"Hey, for this, I can miss a little sleep."
Neal grinned. "I can be ready in five minutes!"
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Neal had insisted on Peter dropping him off at the door to the mansion, saying there'd be less chance of waking June if only one went inside. As Neal closed the car door, Peter asked, "You going anywhere today?"
"No, I'm working on my paper for the Egyptian art seminar."
"It's comforting to hear you're being such a model student. I'll give you a call later on in the morning. Big day coming up."
The mansion was quiet. June must have already gone to bed. Neal gazed at the polished wood paneling of the staircase which was glowing softly in the light of the cut-glass wall sconces and nodded in satisfaction. "Welcome home," he murmured to himself.
Mozzie was waiting for him in the loft and began uncorking a bottle of wine when he entered. "I called June with the news of our success. She'd placed this lovely Volnay at your door as a libation for our celebration."
Neal dumped his gym bags by his bed. On the nightstand was the fedora, just where he'd left it when he moved out of the loft on Saturday. He hoped it'd be a talisman for his return. With a smile, he put it back in the armoire. "June's a treasure. So tell me how it went. Sorry you had such lousy weather to be out."
"I rather enjoyed the rain. It added a film noir quality to the caper. Leading the suits on a chase through Manhattan was surprisingly pleasurable. Unfortunately my Athos hat may not be salvageable, but the rain was our benefactor. A potential flaw in the con had been the need to slip Tramonte the phone without him discovering it before the suits arrived. With the raincoat he wore, that landmine was avoided."
Neal sat down across from him at the table. "When did you put the phone in his pocket?"
"When he entered the building. The suits' timing couldn't have been better. They arrived on the scene just after he'd opened the safe. The video cams I'd installed kept me constantly aware of his progress from my location down the hall. If he'd been ahead of schedule, I was prepared to stall for time by pretending to be an irate neighbor. As it was, when the marshals knocked on the door, he was only able to take a quick look at the ring before stashing the jewel box in his pocket."
"I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling of relief when you alerted me to turn off my jammer." Neal raised his glass to him. "I'd never expected to have to ask you to help me stay with the FBI. I don't know how I can thank you properly for all you've done."
Mozzie smiled at him. "Your new life is not without its rewards. The finder's fees that I've acquired from your association with the suits have been remarkably lucrative. The fee for the Fabergé egg alone was worth it. So let the grand experiment continue a while longer. When you leave, it should be on your terms, not because you're forced out."
Neal held up a flash drive. "I do have this to express my appreciation," and he tossed it to Mozzie.
"Is this what I think it is?"
Neal nodded. "While I was waiting in the tunnels, I made you a map of all the tunnel routes I've found. This is just the beginning. We still have more to explore."
His face registering his approval, Mozzie pocketed the flash drive. "It's my prediction, the adventures of the mousquetaires aren't over."
The way Richard and Aidan had taken to Mozzie, Neal suspected they'd say the same. It might be difficult to keep them apart. Taking a sip of his wine, he asked, "Have you heard anything more from Gordon Taylor?"
"He's very pleased. I'll leave shortly for la belle France with André who will be a consolation prize for my not bringing you. You know Gordon asks about you whenever I see him. I'll have to tell him you're currently booked, right?"
"That's a definite yes." Neal paused and took a breath. He knew he would regret it. "You should know that André has latched on to the idea that Neal and Gary are in love."
"Really? I would have liked to have been there for that discussion."
Neal winced. "Not letting him know who I am has been tough enough. I didn't need this extra complication. Neal and Gary may have to part ways."
"Yes, their passionate love story may be of short duration." Mozzie shook his head sadly. "I was afraid that Gary would be left with a broken heart. Butterflies like Neal don't linger long at one flower before fluttering off. I'll gather a collection of appropriate odes with which to console Gary. Perhaps Keats will be a soothing balm to his wounded soul."
Neal groaned. This would be his penance, and he predicted he would be paying it for a while.
Mozzie grinned. "So, what's next?"
"I'm staying here tomorrow morning while Peter interviews Tramonte." Neal refilled his and Mozzie's glasses. "It's all in Peter's hands now."
Notes: I simply couldn't have managed Neal's master con without the expert assistance of Penna Nomen. She's by far the most valuable member of Neal's crew.
There are many Easter eggs to previous stories and canon episodes in this chapter. To name a couple, in Peter's reflections on Neal going rogue, he compares the present situation to what happened the previous summer in Caffrey Disclosure. Mozzie's reference to Neal being a butterfly comes from the Season One episode, "The Portrait."
Thanks for reading and your comments! I hope you join me next week for Chapter 13: Endgame, when the ball's in Peter's court.
