Chapter 5: Neal and the Death Star

Was it any wonder Neal dreamed of Star Wars that night? He wished he could remember the details. Peter and El were in it, wearing Han and Leia costumes. Satchmo was Chewbacca. And everyone was using lightsabers to fight off stormtroopers.

Noelle would probably give the dream a deeper meaning. She'd say it indicated he'd been psyching himself out over being essentially flawed like Luke did when he discovered his father was Darth Vader. And she'd probably be right. This wasn't the first time. He'd freaked out when he discovered his dad was a dirty cop. As a result, he'd nearly drowned. Luckily this time, he had a crew of lightsaber-wielding supporters to back him up.

Neal smiled as he jogged downstairs. This was one dream he'd keep to himself, but he'd never look at Peter and Elizabeth the same way. He'd dreaded this weekend all week, fearing the sample exams would reveal how deficient his knowledge was. Instead, thanks to them, he was starting to see glimmers of hope.

Even when Peter slipped into the breakfast conversation that the subject of the bonus round would be chemistry, Neal kept a confident smile on his face. The Death Star had met its match.

#

El was delighted by Neal's choice of Thai food for their evening meal, even if Peter did groan at the addition of marinated lemon-grass tofu. When Peter left to pick up the order, she and Neal stayed behind to set the table.

"There's no way I could have passed that test," Neal said. "Much as I appreciate being able to select the restaurant, I don't feel like I earned it."

"You should," she retorted. "The decision was unanimous. Yes, you made some mistakes on the written exam, but you dazzled us with the oral part. When you explained the importance of chemistry to understanding paint pigments, your score rocketed to the top."

Neal didn't blush often, but he did at her words. "Now if I can just get Columbia to feel that way."

"You will," she assured him. "The examining panel knows you're not applying to grad school in chemistry. When you speak about art, your passion shines through. That's what they want to hear."

Neal picked up the stack of napkins and sat at the table. "The written exams don't give you much leeway." He began folding the napkins into shapes. El didn't realize he knew origami. She sat down to watch as he made lotus flowers out of simple paper napkins.

"Then you'll just have to demonstrate your creativity in the orals. Luckily for you, each subject has an oral component." She picked up a napkin and started trying to copy him. "Could you teach me how to make flowers like that? I'd love to do something similar for our catering."

He grinned. "Origami boot camp? I'd welcome it. I should have a lot of time on my hands after next week."

"Then I'll help you fill it up. I'd also like to bring my assistant Yvonne." Neal seemed excited about the idea. She knew she was. Hopefully it would also serve as a pleasant distraction from the wait to find out about the test results. She went to the silverware drawer. "Do you want silverware or chopsticks?"

"Chopsticks for me, please."

"For us, too?"

His eyes widened. "That's part of the prize?"

"Of course. You won it fair and square."

"I expect Peter would rather not use chopsticks."

"And you'd rather not study chemistry," she countered. "I'll get out chopsticks for all of us."

She noticed his eyes drift over to the textbooks. His time to study them had been limited since they'd focused on exam preparation. But Peter would take him back to June's after an early dinner. He'd have the evening to prepare for the first round of tests.

He noticed her watching him and gave an embarrassed wince. "I should have made origami butterflies. I can feel them gathering."

"That's a good thing," she assured him. "They'll give you that extra push of adrenaline to power through."

"I hope so." He took a breath. "Life comes down to a few moments. The next three days are one of them."

#

As far as Peter was concerned, Operation Boot Camp was a triumphant success. A bonus was how enjoyable it had been for all of them. Neal had been eloquent in expressing his appreciation. To all appearances, he was himself once more.

During the drive back to June's, Peter addressed the lone outstanding issue. He hoped Neal would be receptive to the advice. "You could have saved yourself a lot of grief by letting me know what was going on at the outset. When I told you I had your back, those weren't just empty words. I meant them. And I know Noelle feels the same way."

"I know—I should have told you. I kept hearing voices in my head telling me that you can't bypass attending college and have any chance of being admitted to grad school. That's not the way the world works."

Peter didn't have an answer to that, mainly because he felt the same way.

"In the past, if I failed at something, I didn't have to worry about how it would affect others," Neal added, continuing to look at Riverside Park through the side window. "The routine of going to work—at least that was normal. If you didn't know about Columbia, then that part of my life could continue as if nothing had happened. If I fell short, I wouldn't have had to worry that I'd let you down, too."

Peter checked the rearview mirror and then pulled off to the side of the expressway. "Listen carefully, recruit. The fact you're attempting the exams makes me very proud. You've mastered the equivalent of several semesters-worth of courses in one week. That's a remarkable accomplishment and no one can take that away from you. All the effort you're putting into this demonstrates how far you've come and how right I was to recruit you. If you don't succeed, there are other options you may want to pursue. So, just relax. Take the tests. There's not going to be any adverse impact, and who knows, you might surprise yourself by doing better than you expect."

Neal chuckled. "You make an outstanding drill instructor. You ever need any referrals, you know who to call on." He hesitated, his face turning serious. "Saturday morning, I'd about decided to punt the exams. I was tired of feeling like a mark. If it hadn't been for boot camp, I might have."

"You're the best con artist I know, and you're also the most talented. Just keep telling yourself you are God's gift to Columbia, and you'll do fine."

Neal snorted. "I'll do my best."

Peter reentered traffic. "Will you also promise to not pull an all-nighter?"

Neal smiled. "You have my word. There will be no zombie face plants tomorrow morning."

#

Come Monday, Peter had a full slate of budgetary sessions to attend, but his thoughts kept returning to Neal and how he was faring with the exams. A few interesting leads filtered in on new cases. One, in particular, looked tailor-made for Neal. Peter realized he was already looking forward to him being back at work. And from what Neal had said, he would be as well.

Peter wondered if any of the agents had been ragging Neal for his lack of college education. Neal hadn't mentioned it, but he wouldn't have. He'd make an easy target for the Harvard crew. They probably would have enjoyed joshing him for not even having a high school diploma. When Neal started at the FBI, it had taken a while for the agents to think of Neal as a team member and not a criminal. Peter hadn't thought about the education gap being an issue too.

Early on Thursday morning, Neal appeared at Peter's door, bearing two coffees from the new coffee house which had opened up down the street. "Miss me?"

"The bullpen wasn't the same without you," Peter said in all honesty. "Get in here and tell me how it went."

Neal made a face as he handed Peter a coffee. "In a word, intense. When I arrived at the dean's office, I was escorted to one of the art buildings and dropped off in a small conference room. The written exams lasted for four hours, covering subjects from Ancient Egypt to Abstract Illusionism. The questions were mainly short but there were some longer essays. After a break for lunch, I was taken to a large, airy studio that had been set up with six workstations. Each one had art supplies for a particular medium. The choices were oils, pastels, watercolors, pen-and-ink, charcoal, and clay. I was told to pick three of the media and that I'd have forty minutes to work with each one with a ten-minute break in between, all the while being observed by a panel of three artists who mentor students in the Visual Arts department."

"That sounds like something out of a reality show. Were you expecting that?"

Neal shrugged. "They hadn't given me any advance notice, but it makes sense. If I'd been told to bring in some works I had done, how would they know I hadn't cheated?"

Peter could picture how Neal would have relished the challenge. "What did you decide on?"

"I wound up making a clay sculpture, an oil painting, and a pen-and-ink drawing. Afterward the artists quizzed me about my work. One of them—Myra Stockman—was particularly brutal. She seemed to enjoy impaling me with the toughest questions I'd ever confronted." Neal paused to shudder. "I pity the luckless students she mentors."

"Careful," Peter joked. "That's the kind of statement that could come back to bite you. Sometimes mentors are toughest on those they think have the most potential."

Neal's face lit up. "In that case, she can impale me any day! The art demonstration finished at four. I thought I was done, but I barely had time to bind up my wounds from the impaling when a round table started. That was with three profs from the Art History department. That lasted for two hours. I was on such a high, I could have kept going into the night."

"I'm surprised they didn't accept you on the spot."

"Me too! It would have made my life so much easier. One of the profs was Russian—Ivan Sherkov. He's a specialist in the Renaissance and Baroque periods. When he discovered I speak Russian, he began joking with me in that language about how he looked forward to having me in a class." Neal took a slow sigh, his expression growing serious. "He made me believe I might have a chance."

"Of course, you do," Peter assured him.

Neal shrugged and gave a wince. "You haven't heard about the other days. Tuesday morning was spent on English literature and Italian—okay, not so bad. But the afternoon on metallurgy was definitely not my finest moment. By the time Wednesday rolled around, there wasn't much left to give. French I had covered, but the exams for chemistry and mineralogy were agonizing. I could fake my way through the orals, but not the written. If I'm accepted, it certainly won't be because of how I did on them." He paused for a moment. "On Monday, I felt on top of the world. By the end of Wednesday afternoon, I had fallen into the bowels of Hell. Now, I'm just glad it's over. Believe it or not, I'm looking forward to some mortgage fraud cases at this point."

Peter smiled. "I knew you'd see the light someday. Any idea of how long it will be before you know the results?"

"Hopefully in a week or so."

"The flowers you sent El and the dog biscuits for Satchmo were a nice touch and much appreciated. El's looking forward to the origami boot camp. "

"Hey, it was the least I could do for monopolizing your weekend."

Neal quickly slipped back into the office routine and only mentioned Columbia once again. The following Monday, he asked Peter to write a letter of recommendation. Peter was a little surprised by the timing. Normally letters of recommendation were included in the initial application package. Did Columbia's request indicate Neal was a borderline case, or did they only ask for letters from candidates who'd passed the first round of the review process? Peter sent it to Columbia the next day. The weeks came and went with no further communication from the university. Peter began to suspect that Neal would have to look elsewhere to earn a degree. It was a major disappointment, but Neal knew the odds were stacked against him.

Peter began to cast around for other options. But without a high school diploma, there weren't many available. About the best Neal could hope for was one of the commercial art programs. He could take a high school equivalency test, but that would be a bitter pill to swallow after aiming for grad school.

El suggested they invite Neal to spend Memorial Day with them. By then, he surely would have been notified. Enough time would have passed that he'd be more receptive to other possibilities. Peter liked the idea but it kept slipping his mind to extend the invitation. His plan to talk to Neal on Wednesday was foiled by a full day of court testimony. When he arrived back in the office, it was well past quitting time and the bullpen was already deserted.

Pausing at the door to his office, he scowled at the discouragingly tall stack of files that had somehow materialized on his desk during his absence. If he left without even scanning their contents, he'd probably spend the evening stewing over their possible contents.

Giving a small huff, Peter sat down to sort through the beast and then did a double take.

There really was a beast—a blue origami lion to be precise. The intricately folded paper creation was propped up in front of the folders, hidden from view until Peter sat in his desk chair. Peter happened to know that Columbia's mascot was a blue lion. A grin breaking out, he carefully unfolded the paper to find a message inside.

"Are you and Elizabeth free tomorrow evening? I'd like to bring my experts along to try out a new pizzeria near Columbia. Starting in September, I'll need a supplier for all the exam cramming in my future. The acceptance letter came today!"

#

"You decided to apply for Columbia?" The joyful bubbles in Noelle's voice made Neal think of champagne. "Sweetie, I'm so proud of you." She was the first one he'd called with the news when he returned to the loft.

"I hope they're giving you plenty of time to prepare," she continued.

"The exam period had already been scheduled when I met with the dean. That was a week after you and I saw him. Since I was late to apply, I only had nine days to prepare before submitting to three days of testing."

"How could they have expected that of you?" Her voice expressed the outrage he knew he'd hear. "I assumed you'd have at least a couple of months to prepare."

"So did I, but I didn't have a choice. Five other candidates were applying, and the dean was adamantly opposed to any exceptions." He rushed through her groans. "But that's okay. I passed! I got the acceptance letter today."

"Oh my. That's the sound of me collapsing into a chair. I didn't doubt for a second you'd succeed brilliantly in all your exams given enough time, but the cards were stacked against you. When I didn't hear anything, I assumed you decided not to apply." Her voice contained an unspoken question.

Neal took a sip of a very special Bordeaux he'd been saving for tonight. He still found it difficult to believe he wasn't drinking it to drown his sorrows. He'd requested Columbia send the letter to his work address. He figured opening it at the office would help dampen any screams of frustration. His job would continue. Only Peter would know of his failure.

Then the miracle occurred. He danced to celebration music playing in his head all the way home. He even got some of his fellow subway commuters to join in.

"You might not have doubted my chances, but I did," he told Noelle. "Especially after I got a look at the textbooks." He heard someone tap an iambic knock then open the door. Neal waved Mozzie to a seat and gestured toward the bottle for him to help himself. "But I remembered someone saying I was God's gift to Columbia. Your faith in me helped me to power through when I was tempted to give up."

"Were you worried I'd try to intervene?"

"You would have been upset," he deflected. "I was too. But they had every right to demand the exceptional for what I was trying to obtain."

"And you proved how exceptional you are. What were the exams like?"

Neal enjoyed watching Mozzie's expression as he described the subject matter. He'd yet to tell him anything about Columbia. Mozzie was mouthing questions at a furious rate, all of which he ignored.

"Who else knows?" Noelle asked.

"So far only you, Peter, and Elizabeth. They hosted a boot camp for me the final weekend before the exams. Thanks to them, my head was in the right space. Henry and my grandparents are on my list to call next."

"Good luck with catching Henry. You'll probably have to leave a message. All my calls have rolled over to his voicemail. Dor and Dressa will be over the moon when they hear. Dressa will probably break out in song."

"And I'll be singing with her," he told Noelle. "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" was currently playing in his head.

"Thank you again for believing in me," he added, his voice growing unexpectedly rough. Probably fatigue. He'd been on edge for weeks while waiting for the word to come down. "Your confidence inspired me to attempt something which I didn't think I could do."

"Sweetie, in the past few months since we've become reacquainted, I've come to realize there's nothing you can't do if you set your mind to it."

Neal chuckled. "Here's one. Teach chemistry."

By the time he ended the call, Mozzie had moved his chair close to Neal's position on the couch. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "I thought I'd have to wrestle the phone from you, and I easily could have."

"I'm sure that's right, but knowing what an expert puzzle solver you are, I assume you figured out what happened. What do you think?"

"About going to Columbia?" He smiled "I predict under my tutelage you'll be an exceptional scholar. Do you plan to actually attend the classes?"

"Of course, I do."

"You say that now, but we'll see. I gather Noelle finessed a way around your lack of a high school diploma. Going in as a freshman may prove more challenging than you realize."

"It could be," Neal agreed. "But I'm not. I've been accepted into the master's program for both art history and the visual arts."

Mozzie's eyes widened. "Two masters? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You always manage to surpass my expectations. Now, tell me how you hacked the exams."

"I didn't," Neal huffed. "I studied my tail off to take them, and I didn't cheat."

Mozzie sat back, shaking his head skeptically. "Metallurgy? Mineralogy? Chemistry? Have your fun. If you don't want to admit how you conned Columbia, I understand. You'll eventually relent. When did you prepare for the tests?"

"While you were in France working for Gordon Taylor."

Mozzie winced. "Ah yes, you couldn't call me for help. Gordon still insists on confiscating all cell phones." He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin on his propped-up fist. "You know what this means?"

"I thought I did."

"Exactly. I'll start working on my aliases immediately." Mozzie pondered a moment in an excellent imitation of Rodin's sculpture of The Thinker—a sign he knew a bronze cast of the sculpture was on the Columbia campus? "I've long wanted to be an astrophysicist. Now's my chance. Perhaps a doctorate in it. World Literature, of course. For that, I'll be a visiting professor from Oxford."

Columbia didn't realize they were getting a package deal. Not that Neal expected Mozzie would attend any of the classes. But there'd be at least one friendly face on campus.

Neal took a moment to let that sink in. Come September, he'd be a grad student, and it wouldn't be a con!

Notes: Neal's flying high at being accepted into the master's program at Columbia University. Once he returns to earth, he'll be confronted by what may be an even more daunting challenge. How will he be able to afford the high cost of tuition? That's just one of the subjects covered in the next Caffrey Conversation story, Caffrey Disclosure by Penna Nomen. Another one is why Henry is so hard to reach. Her story begins a couple of weeks after the conclusion of Complications. My next Caffrey Conversation story is The Golden Hen when Neal's plan to keep Columbia separate from work comes to a quick end.