Chapter 3: Under the Sea

Chesapeake Correctional Facility. Friday, June 30, 2006.

"She's lying," Henry said firmly.

"That's also Tricia's assessment," Peter said. "But it will be difficult to prove. Langton's a pro."

He and Henry had driven to the Chesapeake Correctional Facility in Maryland to interview Klaus. They were now cooling their heels on an uncomfortable metal bench as they waited for the prisoner to be brought into the interrogation room. During the drive to Maryland, Tricia phoned in a report, updating them about the results of her questioning.

"Langton is going before a judge this afternoon," Peter said. "We'll make our best case against bail, but the judge will likely deny the request. The evidence we have to present is simply too skimpy to combat Langton's upstanding profile."

Henry frowned. "It could be weeks before her computer files are decrypted."

"Hey, don't sell Travis short. He's honed his expertise on the previous languages used in the malware. Langton may have even used one of the languages he's familiar with." Peter paused when a prison guard approached them.

"Mansfeld's ready for you," the guard said, nodding toward the grey steel door across the hallway. "You have twenty minutes."

Peter was determined to make the minutes count. The last time they'd had much contact with Klaus was when they'd rescued Neal from the castle in Hungary. Klaus had saved Neal's life back then. They were gambling on him feeling the same way now, but it was a long shot to think he'd know something relevant to the case.

Klaus was clad in an orange jumpsuit. His hair was a little longer than the last time Peter saw him and he'd lost most of his tan, but his manner was calm and confident as he rose from the chair. "Visitors are a rare treat for me." He extended his hand and Peter shook it as did Henry. His gray eyes swept over their faces. "I'm fairly confident this isn't a social call." Klaus's English carried a British accent along with a slight German inflection to some of the words.

"Neal needs your help," Peter said bluntly. "We suspect Rolf of having ordered Penfold to plant an additional trigger. Now Neal is missing and we fear his mental state has been compromised."

Klaus's face registered shocked surprise, but how genuine was it? At this point, Peter was desperate enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he was glad Henry was along. Peter would take the lead in the interrogation. Henry's primary job was to assess Klaus's reactions.

"Please take a seat and tell me what you know about the circumstances." Klaus manifested the assurance of a power broker in his private office, but along with that was what Peter believed—hoped—was a genuine look of concern.

Klaus listened intently while Peter described the psychosis exhibited by Victor Liu. "We fear something similar was done to Neal with octopuses substituted for spiders," Peter concluded. "In Hungary, you'd told us you worried Penfold would try to manipulate Neal."

"It didn't do any good," Klaus said bitterly. "Penfold got off with a slap on the wrist."

"Did you hear he escaped?"

His eyes widened. "No, I wasn't informed. And you think he performed a second procedure on Neal?"

"We do," Henry confirmed. "Would he have had any opportunity in Hungary?"

"I don't think so," Klaus said slowly, his gaze directed inward. "I'd secured Anya's agreement for a postponement."

"How about when Neal first arrived?" Peter demanded. "Were you with him on the plane to Hungary? Did you monitor his room at night?"

"I wasn't in New York when Neal was seized," Klaus said. "I was notified when he arrived at Ydrus Headquarters but didn't see him till the next day. I was told he was sleeping off the sedative which had been administered."

"Then it was possible," Henry insisted, his eyes boring into him. "Neal could have arrived a day or two earlier than what you were told. Plenty of time to brainwash him without your knowledge."

"The type of psychosis you described isn't something I was aware could be induced," Klaus said. "I never would have agreed to it."

"How about Rolf?" Peter challenged.

Klaus's mouth opened as if to answer then he closed it once more. His silence answered Peter's question. Klaus's face was somber as Peter described the call Neal had received and what was waiting for him at the art gallery.

"Was the octopus maroon-red with tentacles extending roughly twenty feet?" Klaus asked.

"Yes," Peter confirmed. "Are you familiar with it?"

"I'd seen a photo of a similar sculpture on Rolf's desk in Hungary. That was in . . ." His words trailing off, he gazed absently at the bare grey prison wall for a moment. "In September of last year," he added. "It was not long before Neal was abducted. At the time, I thought Rolf was considering purchasing it for himself."

That tied in with the explanation provided by the sculptor when Peter questioned him over the phone. The man had received an offer from an anonymous buyer in October. Half the price had been paid to him with the rest to be paid at the time the octopus was shipped. In January, the sculptor was contacted by the purchaser's agent with a check for the outstanding amount and a request to delay delivery of the piece. He agreed to hold onto it for a future showing at the same art gallery where it had been originally scheduled to be displayed. It seemed like a strange request, but since it would provide the sculptor additional publicity and he'd already been paid in full, he agreed to go along.

A month ago, the sculptor was contacted once more by the agent. He was told that arrangements had already been made with the gallery and that he should ship the piece to them. So far the Bureau had been unable to locate the buyer's agent. The phone number had been deactivated, and the Swiss bank account used for the transactions was closed.

"We believe that sculpture along with the phone call acted as triggers," Peter said. "I'd like you to listen to the recording. Let us know if it means anything to you."

Henry switched on the recorder. Klaus listened to it intently and then asked for it to be replayed.

Afterward he said, "The instrument is a shakuhachi, a Japanese bamboo flute. Rolf liked to listen to shakuhachi music when he wrote code. I teased him about it. To me, it resembled Lovecraft's description of a wooden pipe."

"How long has Rolf been interested in Lovecraft?" Henry asked.

"For as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, he gave me a collection of Lovecraft's short stories. At first, I didn't care for them, but they grew on me." He winced. "We used to act out some of the stories where I'd play the hapless human and he was the scary monster."

Henry choked off a curse. "Nice brother."

Klaus shrugged. "Some kids play gangster games or vampire adventures. At the time, it seemed harmless, but in retrospect . . . " His words trailed off as he fell silent for a moment. "And now Neal is missing."

"We think Rolf arranged for him to be taken somewhere," Peter said. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"

"I'd like to help but Rolf never told me about another abduction attempt."

"I figure he's probably in Manhattan," Henry said. "Rolf wouldn't do something so dramatic without making plans to flaunt it in our faces. Assume for the moment that Neal is somewhere in the city. Did Rolf ever mention any location that might be suitable?"

Klaus was silent, his jaw hardening. Up to now, the snippets of information about Rolf had only been circumstantial. Rolf's fondness for Japanese flute music was hardly compelling evidence. Even the octopus wasn't a direct link. In Hungary, Klaus had protected Neal from Anya, but now they were asking him to betray his brother. Henry believed Klaus would make the right decision, but Peter's doubts were rising in a flood, and by the length of time Klaus was taking, he was fully aware of the consequences.

The façade of self-assurance had vanished from Klaus's face. "I'm ashamed for my role in the brainwashing Neal underwent in California," he said. "That's why I did my best to prevent anything similar happening in Hungary. When Rolf and I first discussed the script for the procedure in California—this was over a year ago, at the time I honestly believed it would be in Neal's best interest." He paused, his face flushing. "There's no need for you to pile invective on my deeds. I've done it enough to myself. Rolf and I discussed various locations to leave items. That baroque lion brooch was one. The other was a ring Neal had made for me, a copy of an ancient Egyptian ring."

"The carnelian cat at Riverside Church?" Peter asked.

He nodded. "It was to be a symbol of him joining my crew once more. Rolf liked to pick dramatic locations with hidden meanings."

"I thought you were the one interested in gargoyles," Henry said.

"Rolf was even more so. He even gave me a gargoyle chess set. When Neal was a member of my crew, I was fascinated by the creatures." Klaus gave a small shrug. "I've lost interest in them now. Along with the church and that apartment building in Morningside Heights where you found the baroque lion, we'd also considered an apartment building in Chelsea. Neal's fencing club was in the same neighborhood. London Terrace is one of the largest apartment complexes in Manhattan. Rolf was especially intrigued by it. He'd considered commenting to an Arkham Files story which referenced fencing. I remember him mentioning that the network of buildings was so large a person could easily be lost inside."

Henry eyed Peter, giving a slight nod.

"Did Rolf mention any other location?" Peter asked even as he wanted to pull out his phone immediately to relay the news.

"No. That's the only place I know of to try." Klaus hesitated for a moment. "You may be asking yourselves if I'm sending you on a wild goose chase, but I honestly believe that's your best option. I don't think Rolf would kill Neal, but I don't trust Penfold. Please hurry . . . and let me know if you find him."

#

Neal could see the entrance to the vortex looming in front of him. A large maroon tentacle lashed out from the rift, lassoed his legs, and dragged him forward. Neal clawed at the slimy suckers as another tentacle lunged for his neck.

Suddenly he was seized from behind. A massive jaw latched onto his waist and yanked him in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the large tailfin of a shark.

"No need to fear me, kiddo. Don't you recognize me? I'm Bruce."

Neal stared at him, shocked. Somehow he was hearing the shark in his head. The tentacle around his neck tightened its grip, choking him. He couldn't draw in any air, not that there was any to breathe. This was the ocean, after all.

"Pearl told me you needed my help. We'll rescue you."

"A little late," Neal thought. "Go save yourself."

"Hey, you're supposed to be a shapeshifter. Work your magic!"

The waters around him dissolved into blackness. Neal felt himself being pulled inexorably forward.

"Quick, before it's too late!" Bruce bellowed in his head. "Change yourself into Nemo! You can do this. If you're his size, you can slip away from the tentacles. Do it now!"

A clownfish? The tentacles squeezed harder, crushing bones. Neal's world dissolved into pain. He was going to die anyway. Might as well die as a clownfish. He closed his eyes and focused on the image of Nemo.

"That's it. Keep at it! You're almost there!"

Bruce kept urging him on . . . Gradually the pressure lessened. He could breathe again! With a flick of his orange-and-white tailfin, Neal slipped free.

"Thattaboy!" Bruce chortled. "Follow me!"

For the first time, Neal noticed Anchor and Chum were with Bruce. The monster's tentacles were all around him, but Neal slipped through a gap to flee deeper into the ocean.

#

It was nearly midnight by the time the taxi dropped Sara off, but June greeted her at the front door as soon as she rang the bell. Sara had been working in Germany when she heard about Neal's abduction. She'd managed to coax a colleague into replacing her on the case so she could fly to New York.

June clung to Sara for a moment. "I'm so glad you could come."

Sara took a breath, relaxing into June's embrace before stepping back. The relief she felt at being there made her tense nerves ease up just a fraction. "Nothing could have kept me away." She wheeled her suitcase inside the foyer. "I spoke with Peter while I was waiting for my bag. He was about to head home. You heard that he and Henry had visited Klaus in prison?"

"Elizabeth told me when I spoke with her this afternoon. From your look, I can tell they haven't found anything so far."

Sara shook her head. "Tomorrow morning, Diana and I will be one of the teams searching London Terrace. Agents are continuing to interview possible witnesses and taxi cab drivers." Sara tried to make her voice as confident as possible for both their sakes.

June didn't contradict her, but her silence indicated she knew how slim the odds were. "You must be exhausted. Would you like to go upstairs? We can use the elevator for your suitcase."

"I slept on the plane," she said. An exaggeration of the fitful doze she had. "I'm wide awake now." That at least was the truth. She didn't think she could sleep till Neal was found.

"Then you need a nightcap, and I do too," June declared.

They went into the living room where over sherry Sara provided additional details about the case. "Peter heard from Tricia. The woman they believe is Cthulhu was freed on bail. The judge was lenient, setting the bond at $500,000, and the suspect was out by nine o'clock in the evening."

June groaned. "I bet she'll jump bail."

Sara nodded gloomily. "That amount of bond isn't much of a deterrent. But the news isn't all bad. The judge agreed to let the Bureau retain her electronics. They've already been shipped to New York."

June raised her sherry glass. "Then we'll drink to Travis making quick work of deciphering the files."

Sara lifted her glass too. "And we have something else to be grateful for. The phone companies are now required to release their records for the security guards in contact with Rolf."

Someone had to be transferring directives from Rolf to his outside partners, not just Cthulhu but Penfold as well. But knowing who it was might not necessarily help them find Neal. Sara twisted the ring on her hand, willing it to make a connection with Neal. How she longed for the kind of telepathy that existed in Arkham Files.

"May I see your ring?" June asked.

Sara held out her hand, relieved to see that it wasn't shaking. "Neal made it."

"He told me." June clasped her hand. Her fingers felt warm and comforting. "It's beautiful. It evokes the Renaissance but is contemporary at the same time." She smiled. "How typical of Neal to blend the two periods." She bent down to study the ring more closely. "The diamond has a hint of green. Is that an effect of the mount?"

"No, he selected a green diamond," Sara said. "It's a reminder of celaenite, the diamond-like stone in Arkham Files." Her eyes welled with tears. "Both of us owe so much to the stories your writing group has written about us."

June took the sherry glass from Sara then wrapped her arms around her. "Neal's all right. The celaenite in that ring is protecting him as well."

Sara would have had an easier time believing it if her timing had been better. She'd spoken with Mozzie before leaving London. He said he'd return to New York with the surprise on Sunday. Would it be too late?

#

Neal eyed the pile of rocks warily. "I can't hide there."

"Sure you can. You're just a clownfish now, kiddo. You'll fit fine." Bruce gave him a little shove. "Go on. You don't want to be caught by Cthulhu, do you?"

Anything but that. Neal felt his breath being squeezed out once more. The suckers on the monster's tentacles clung to his body. They burnt his skin like acid—

"Stop that!" Bruce ordered. "Anchor and Chum will patrol in front. Pearl's gone to fetch Marlin."

"Don't let Marlin come!" Neal pleaded. "Cthulhu will capture him too."

"Nah, by the time Marlin arrives, I'll have sent that monstrosity packing. Just go into the cave. I know it looks dark, but once you're inside, you'll be able to see just fine." Bruce grinned, exposing his razor-sharp teeth. "You won't be alone either. Someone's already in there waiting for you. Don't you want to find out who?"

Bruce nudged him against the rock face with his nose till Neal slipped inside the crevice.

He gasped when he was inside. The small chamber was lit by scallop shells in pastel hues. They lined the walls, emitting a soft glow. The floor was made of soft white sand interlaced with colorful pebbles.

Bright eyes and a long snout peeked out from behind a rock.

"Shellie, is that you?" Neal asked, swimming closer.

"Of course, it's me!" Shellie gave a soft whinny. "You don't think I'd let you be alone. The time we need to hide will pass quickly. We can tell stories or draw pictures."

Neal looked at the bright pebbles strewn on the sand. "We could use these to make a mosaic. I've never made a mosaic."

"Let's make it together!"

A bright purple head peered into the cave. "Are you having a party? I hope I'm invited!"

"Neal, you know Gurgle, don't you?"

"We're good friends," Neal said, smiling at the royal gramma fish.

Gurgle began industriously sweeping the walls with his tail fin. "I'll have this chamber sparkling in a jiff. Have you opened the wine yet?"

Neal scanned the rocky walls. "Do we have wine here?"

Shellie whinnied a laugh. "Didn't you know this is a wine cave? We can stay here as long as we like!"

"Best to wait at least a year," Gurgle advised. "Marlin will need that long simply to decontaminate the ocean from Cthulhu's trash." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I hear there's an army of squid coming to help Bruce and his pals. They're going to cast Cthulhu out of the ocean. He's giving all our friends with tentacles a bad name, and it has to stop."

#

Henry glanced at the door. "This marks the 212th apartment we've checked. How many apartments did you say were in London Terrace?"

Peter exhaled. "Over 1,700." He'd never appreciated the size of the complex before. Even with NYPD assistance, they so far had only covered a third of the fourteen buildings. He'd met Henry early in the morning. Diana and Sara were searching a different section of the complex.

Peter's thoughts kept returning to Klaus. During the interview, he'd seemed genuine, but as the search continued, Peter's doubts increased.

Henry scanned a printout. "There's no telephone associated with this apartment. The person renting it out must rely on their cell phone."

"It's ten o'clock in the morning. They should be awake even if it is a Saturday." Peter knocked on the door. After a minute of waiting, he rapped again. When he announced himself and ordered anyone inside to open up, he was greeted by silence. Henry was already pulling out the master key. Peter prepared himself to face yet one more irate tenant who'd been working the night shift.

He took the key from Henry and inserted it into the lock. The door opened but only enough to reveal that a swing door guard had been installed.

"Great," muttered Henry. "The tenant's probably on the phone now, alerting the police to a break-in."

Peter barked out a repeat performance of the standard FBI warning, but when that didn't elicit a response, he called for backup. The latched door proved that someone was inside. If they had to break down the guard, the tenant would be responsible for the repairs.

Henry was peering through the narrow opening, using Travis's version of an endoscope. The narrow flexible tube attached to his cell phone and rendered a view of the room's interior. The miniature camera at the end of the tube could be rotated for wide-angle views.

"Check this out," Henry murmured. "Does that look like a man's head to you?"

Peter studied the image. The room was dark, making identification uncertain. "It could be hair. The color looks like Neal's."

"Neal!" Henry hissed. "Is that you?"

They watched the image intently for any sign of movement, but the object remained still. Maybe it wasn't a head, but Peter couldn't figure out what else it would be. A cat would have reacted to their voices.

"Neal, it's Peter. Open the door!"

Henry rammed the door with his shoulder in a futile effort while Peter texted a message to NYPD.

Peter gripped Henry's arm to restrain him from a second attempt. "With that door guard in place, we'll need specialized gear. The cops are on their way."

"Wait, it looks like he's moved. I can't see him." Henry placed his mouth close to the gap in the doorway. "Neal, it's Henry," he shouted. "Open up! We're here to rescue you."

"We may have been mistaken," Peter said in a low voice.

Henry ignored him. "Neal, it's Bruce! I'm here to help."

Peter shot him a puzzled look even as the head popped back into view.

"Bruce?" a quavering voice asked.

Henry broke into a wide smile. "That's right kiddo. Marlin's here as well. You're safe now. You can open the door."

The only Marlin Peter knew was in Finding Nemo. "Bridges," he called out, using Neal's safe word as a wave of relief swept over him. They'd found him. That feeling quickly turned to fear, though, when Neal didn't acknowledge them.

Peter took a breath to keep his voice measured. "Neal, we need you to unlatch the door." He paused at the sound of running footsteps. The cops had arrived, carrying axes and crowbars.

Henry eyed them nervously. "Tell them to hold off," he whispered to Peter. "Neal could be sent into a tailspin if he thinks he's being threatened."

"Do you know what the significance of Finding Nemo is?" Peter whispered back.

"Neal has been channeling characters from the movie to counteract his sensitivity to tentacles. I think he may be stuck in the memories."

Peter nodded, remembering how Neal had relived childhood experiences when under the influence of the Flashback drug. Noelle had helped him navigate his way through them. Something similar could be going on now.

While he stepped down the hallway to make the request, Henry maintained a cheerful banter. "Hey, Nemo, don't you want to see us? Shellie, Anchor, Chum—the gang's all here."

After an agonizing wait for any response, Neal began to crawl forward on the floor. They could now see him through the gap. He hadn't shaved in days. He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn on Wednesday.

"That's it," Peter coaxed. "Just a little bit further."

"I can't . . ." Neal rasped, his voice so rough it hurt Peter's to hear it.

"Hold onto the doorknob," Peter said. "You're almost there."

Neal's breaths were coming out in sobs as he hauled himself up.

"Just swing the latch," Henry urged. "We'll do the rest. I'm going to close the door so it will be easier to manage. You can do it, kiddo."

One tense moment later, they heard the sound of the bar swinging back. A detective was on his cell phone, notifying the command center that they'd found him.

Henry cautiously opened the door. Neal was crawling away.

"It's all right," Peter said in his most soothing voice. "You're safe now."

Neal stared at them with fear in his eyes. "Who are you?"

#

Sara looked up at the soft knock on Neal's hospital room door. She slipped out of the chair and tiptoed over to see who it was. Neal was asleep. Peter and Henry had gone down to the cafeteria to catch a bite to eat.

June was at the door. The lights had been dimmed but she would still be able to see Neal's drawn face.

Sara raised a finger to her lips and nodded to the hallway.

"Any change?" June asked anxiously once Sara had closed the door.

"No, he still hasn't regained his memory. Jacob Nussbaum was by an hour ago. He said we should feel encouraged that Neal isn't agitated. But June, he's lost to us. He doesn't respond to questions. In fact, he doesn't talk at all. He doesn't appear to know who we are." Sara paused. She could see Neal's bewildered face in front of her. He'd shown no sign of recognition, not even when she'd stroked his cheek. When she showed him the ring he'd given her a week ago, his only reaction was a look of confusion.

"Yet he responded to Henry's voice," June prompted hopefully.

"But not since. I'm afraid we were being overly optimistic to think he come out of it so quickly." Sara didn't want to leave the hallway but there was a bench next to Neal's room where she and June could sit down. Neal had been brought to New York-Presbyterian from London Terrace in an ambulance. Physically, he'd escaped with minimal injuries. He was suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. The doctors didn't believe he'd eaten or drunk anything since he'd been captured. He'd been placed on IVs to restore his fluids but otherwise given no medication. There was no sign of drugs in his system.

Christie Vintner—Neal's doctor and Diana's girlfriend—had been by to see him as well. Her assurance that he wasn't suffering from physical issues was not very comforting given his emotional state.

Despite a thorough search of the apartment, no clues had surfaced. The studio had windows overlooking 24th Street. The apartment was on the seventh floor. Escape through the windows was impossible. The door guard was a sophisticated piece of electronics. It was equipped with a miniature motor allowing it to be controlled remotely. Whoever had placed Neal in the studio could have operated the latch after the door was closed. What if Neal hadn't been found? Was Alice Langton supposed to come for him? Had Rolf intended to let him waste away and die?

Alice Langton's research on memory function could have provided material assistance to Penfold. Tricia believed Langton was genuinely appalled at Penfold's mind-control efforts, but she'd be unlikely to help them. She'd skipped bail during the night and her whereabouts were currently unknown.

"What did Jacob have to say about Henry's theory?" June asked.

"That Neal is using Finding Nemo as a shield? Jacob hopes that's the case. It also gives him a lead on how to reach him. Neal had spoken to Henry the day before the abduction and explained that in the fantasy he'd created, he turned Henry into Bruce the Shark. They'd joked about Neal using Bruce as a safe word."

June gave a small smile. "The fact that Neal responded to Henry is a hopeful sign."

"That's what we're all clinging to," Sara admitted. "I also knew Neal was trying to reduce his queasiness over octopuses by referencing the movie. I'd selected Shellie to be my character. When we were on vacation in Nebraska, Neal was sure he'd overcome his sensitivity."

"Penfold must have somehow embedded a phobia."

Sara nodded. "Neal was fighting off the effects without realizing he was being manipulated. Jacob thinks Neal's efforts saved him from falling into extreme paranoia. He's hopeful that the defense mechanism Neal built up protected him from severe damage." Sara blinked back the tears starting to form. "Jacob also warned us that the longer Neal hides behind his barricade, the harder it will be to bring him out of it."

Notes: Klaus was instrumental in Neal's rescue but can he be trusted? He may have acted out of genuine concern. There also could be an element of self-interest. Perhaps he realized that Rolf was an albatross around his neck. By assisting the team, he may eventually be able to get a reduced sentence. Or does he have something even sneakier in mind? I'd love to hear your thoughts about what kind of future you'd like Klaus to have.