Chapter 24: Kidnapped

When Neal left police headquarters to pick up coffee at the café on the corner, he intended to make himself an easy target. Henry had been snatched. Adler would want him next. Here I am. Come and get me.

And that's what they did. He'd only strolled a few paces along the street when a panel van rolled to a stop next to him. Adler was no fool. He likely assumed Neal would make himself available and had positioned the van near the entrance.

Two men jumped out and muscled him into the vehicle. Neal didn't attempt to resist. He'd already clicked his pen and watch to transmission mode before he left the building. The pen was clamped to an inner pocket. No chance of it falling out.

Unfortunately Travis wouldn't be able to track him for long. When the wheelman merged into traffic, one of the abductors ordered Neal to strip. The man had a swarthy complexion and spoke in heavily accented English.

Neal was given a set of faded blue coveralls to put on. All his belongings, shoes and socks included, were placed in a trash bag. A hood was slipped over his head while his hands were zip-tied behind his back. One of the gunmen ordered the driver to stop. Neal heard the sound of a door opening and the bag being lifted off the floor. He assumed its destination was the trash bin. He'd expected this and had worn old clothes, but still . . . He liked those shoes. He hoped they'd be recovered.

He was strapped into a seat and ordered not to move. Neal had a trick of telling himself the story of To Catch a Thief as a means of tracking time. He knew the approximate number of minutes needed to describe each scene. The movie was a hundred minutes long. He'd just gotten to the scene of John and Francie swimming in the ocean when the van stopped. That meant roughly forty-five minutes had elapsed. The last part of the drive was at high speed. They had to be well outside the city limits by now.

They weren't taking any chances with him. He was gripped on both sides by strong hands as he was guided out of the van. A gun was kept pressed against his back. Their concern was unnecessary. He had no intention of escaping.

A rap on wood then the faint snap of a bolt being released. The slight creak of an opening door. Neal was shoved inside before his hood was ripped off. Blinking his eyes at the unaccustomed brightness, he was greeted by the sight of Vincent Adler standing in front of him. Wearing a gray dress shirt and impeccably tailored black wool pants, Adler strode forward, a congenial smile on his face.

"Neal, it's been too long."

"I'd shake hands but—" Neal shrugged and glanced behind his shoulder.

"Gentlemen, untie him."

One of the guards took out a pocket knife from his jacket. Neal didn't make any smartass remarks. Those cords were tight. It would have been easy to slash his wrists instead of the plastic. But Vincent wasn't interested in maiming him, not yet anyway. Two quick slices and his hands were free.

Neal rubbed his wrists to restore circulation. "Much better, thanks."

"Take a seat, I insist," Adler said, gesturing to an upholstered armchair. "You must forgive the cavalier manner of my invitation."

"I quite understand," Neal murmured, prepared to be magnanimous. They were in the modest living room of a house, likely a vacation rental. The lack of personal touches such as photos was revealing.

A glass of cognac was on an end table beside a couch covered in a worn floral print. An open bottle of Courvoisier VSOP was next to it. Adler poured a second glass. "The surroundings are simpler than I would like, but this is only a rest stop."

Neal shrugged. "The exigencies of field camps."

"Exactly. I've been keeping up with your activities. You've been quite busy lately."

Neal didn't reply and took a small sip of the cognac. It didn't taste doctored, but the complex blend could easily disguise it. "I hear you've become interested in art acquisitions," he said, deflecting. "The Braque you purchased is a fine painting."

Adler smiled tolerantly. "You should be pleased with the fee you received for selling it. I hope you invested the money wisely."

"I learned from the best. I've made it a practice to avoid Ponzi schemes."

"Ah, we shouldn't let the past interfere with our present negotiations."

"What kind of negotiating do you have in mind? I hear you've lost one of your employees. Are you interested in recruiting me?"

"Fowler was a good man, but I have a new prospect whose potential could be even higher." Adler reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and made a few taps. He held it for Neal to view the image on the display—Henry. He appeared uninjured. He was facing the camera and had his expressionless stone-mask face on. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on when Neal and Peter left to see Marcel. The photo must have been taken shortly after he was picked up. All Neal could see of the background was a white wall.

Neal hardened his jaw. Adler wanted a shocked reaction and that's what he gave him. He let his concern register on his face. "May I speak with him?"

"He's currently en route to his new home, but I'll let you talk to him later. That is, as long as our new partnership proceeds as I hope it will. He hasn't been harmed and will be treated well. That will have to suffice for now. Perhaps you'd care to explain what happened on Friday evening."

Neal shrugged, not overplaying his worry for Henry. They'd already agreed that he and Henry were to act cocky and unfazed by minor glitches such as kidnappings. "Garrett Fowler and Joseph Ruiz were arrested."

"What happened to the art? Did you find the U-boat?"

"The time for pipedreams is over. There never was a U-boat." He didn't expect Adler to believe him right away. For his entire life, he'd believed in the lie Bergmann had invented for his soldiers. Others must have also told him that the U-boat didn't exist.

"But the message on the painting?" Adler persisted.

"I added that just for you. You wanted a U-boat. I gave you the next best thing. Did you like it?" he added, blinking his eyes innocently.

Adler summoned up a half-smile, the disappointment registering on his face as it started to sink in that he'd been conned. "It was quite impressive. Since the painting's been damaged, I'd like my money back."

"I assumed the payment was reimbursement for the money you made off me from your Ponzi scheme. I'm sure you invested it wisely, and naturally would want me to have the full appreciated value. I'm not the type to hold a grudge. In light of the payment, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones."

"Purely as a business matter, answer me this. If there's no U-boat, why should I keep you and Henry alive?"

"Because there is a stockpile of looted art and I know where it is," Neal said confidently. At that Adler's eyes shone with the fire of an alcoholic who spotted a bottle of liquor within his grasp. "A letter to Bergmann's wife was hidden underneath the canvas of the Braque painting. It gives the directions to the treasure." Neal paused to take a sip of brandy, prolonging Adler's anticipation. "Bergmann invented the U-boat story to deceive the soldiers working for him. A clever ruse, you'll have to admit. Your father fell for it."

"How did you discover the truth?"

"Old-fashioned research. When I discovered Bergmann's letter, I brought Henry in. You also played a part. I might never have found the letter if you hadn't expressed such a desire to own the painting. Henry's job allows him to travel throughout the world. Win-Win is no federal bureaucracy. He's able to pick his destinations, set his agenda. Germany was at the top of his list."

"That trip in June?"

Neal smiled. "We suspected you were monitoring us. Ruiz made a useful funnel for lies and innuendos. Surely there are no hard feelings. You should be flattered. We simply utilized your techniques."

Adler extended his left arm along the back of the couch, seemingly relaxed and confident—the image of a man fully in charge. "When you worked for me before, I knew you had potential. You're proving it now."

"Henry and I are open to partnership opportunities. We recognize your brilliance in finance. With our unique skills, we could make an unbeatable team." Neal was tempted to take another sip of brandy, but he was starting to feel drowsy. He didn't want to go under before he finished laying the groundwork. Instead he rotated the snifter slowly in his hand, prolonging the reveal. "Your hospitality in Argentina was deplorable. I hope you're treating Henry better this time."

"You have my word."

"I'll need much more than that."

"That can be arranged later. You say you know where the treasure is?" Adler leaned forward, a trace of urgency in his voice. Was he concerned that Neal would pass out before disclosing what he knew? But then why would Vincent have drugged him? What if it were a truth serum? The consequences could be catastrophic.

Neal had only one option available but first he needed to salt the mine. "Bergmann wasn't so foolish as to reveal everything in the letter. His wife might have sold the painting, or it could have been destroyed during a bombing run."

Adler raised a brow. "Or some wiseass could have stolen it?"

Neal shrugged. "Anything's possible. Bergmann wisely hid the details in a separate location."

Adler placed his hands on his knees. "Where?"

"Are we partners?"

"Neal, have you grown cynical?"

Vincent was stalling. This wasn't the action of a man who thought Neal would keel over. In that case, he might have miscalculated the dose because Neal was feeling dizzier by the moment.

"You taught me well," Neal said, blinking his eyes as Adler split into two, no three images. "You'll need my help with the art but I won't work without Henry. Harm him, and the deal's off. Do you accept my terms?"

Adler raised his glass. "Let's drink to it, partner."

Neal tried to focus on one of the Adlers now sitting next to him and took a large sip. All he needed to communicate was the location then he could pass out.

"Where is our destination in this treasure hunt?" Adler asked.

"Near Oberammergau in the Bavarian Alps."

"Where exactly?"

That's all you're gonna get. Peter should have had enough time to prepare. No need to conceal his shakiness as he set the glass down on the table. He stared at Adler accusingly and stammered, "What did you—" before crashing sideways onto the floor. Maybe a tad too forcefully?

Adler was calling his name. He heard a loud thrumming sound in his ears before all went black.

#

"You expected both Neal and his cousin to be kidnapped?" Marcel asked incredulously. He sat back in his chair in the small meeting room and looked at Peter as if he was trying to decide whether he should throw him in irons or call for a straitjacket.

Travis arched an eyebrow at Peter, I told you so written plainly on his face. He was familiar with the plan and had voiced strong reservations. Peter could hardly fault him when he felt the same way.

"We already have agents in place in Albania," Peter explained. "We assumed that one of the cousins would be taken there to be used as leverage. The most likely target was Henry. We know Adler's location, but Albania doesn't have extradition treaties with the United States. Financial fraud in the United States doesn't carry much weight with the local authorities. If Adler could be charged with a capital crime, we'd have a stronger case."

"So now you plan to smoke him out and charge him with kidnapping?"

Peter nodded. "And possibly recover some lost masterpieces along the way. We have reason to believe Neal can find evidence of the art's location in Germany. He'll use that as a bargaining chip with Adler."

"Do the Germans know about this?"

Neal could have explained the cousins' wild scheme with a smirk and a deception, but Peter was cringing at having to explain it. Marcel was being remarkably restrained under the circumstances. "We don't have enough details to alert them," he admitted. "We're uncertain of the route and Adler must not suspect that Neal's being monitored."

"I suppose I should be grateful that you've let me in," Marcel said, shaking his head at the foolish Americans. "What do you want me to do?"

"We intend to track Neal's movements. If the plan works, Neal will lead Adler to the art's location which we assume will probably be in eastern France. We'll need your assistance once they cross the border."

Marcel probably suspected their source was the same Resistance contact they'd used earlier, and Peter did nothing to dissuade him. Neal's involvement with the Braque had to remain a secret.

Travis wasn't much more enlightened than Marcel. He believed Isabelle had informed them that Bergmann owned the chalet in Oberammergau. Since none of the team knew about Neal stealing the Braque, it was the only way to make them aware of the location without incriminating him. Lying to the team members was not something Peter had ever contemplated having to do. He was grateful when Mozzie solved the issue. Without being asked, he took it upon himself to tell Travis about Isabelle last week.

Mozzie was now in Oberammergau. Travis had contacted him as soon as they discovered Neal had been abducted. Once Travis and Peter concluded their meeting with Marcel they'd join him at the stakeout. Neal was confident he could convince Adler to take him to the chalet by promising that the directions to the art cache were hidden there. Once they arrived, if Neal couldn't find anything inside, he'd lead Adler to the garden. Mozzie had prepared fake directions and placed them inside a vintage pottery garden gnome he'd purchased in Oberammergau.

Mozzie had written a letter in German, ostensibly from Bergmann to his wife Nina, where he told her about a cave in the French Jura Mountains northwest of Geneva. There were numerous caves in the region and it was conceivable one could have been used by the Resistance. It would then be Peter's task to rescue Neal before Adler realized he was on a wild goose chase.

It was an immense gamble. As of this morning, the chalet was still occupied. Neal intended to take Adler there but how? Peter would have gladly accepted Marcel's offer to go along in the plane and take two of his agents with him, but Mozzie was adamant against any government officials being involved until their return to France.

Instead, their paranoiac crew member had made arrangements with a "friend of a friend" to fly them to Oberammergau. Mozzie had instructed Peter to call André when they were ready to leave. Since André was involved, Peter assumed the pilot was someone in Gordon Taylor's employ—perhaps another instance of the exchange of favors Neal thought so highly of.

Once Peter and Travis collected their luggage, André drove them in his ancient Peugeot to a private airstrip east of Paris.

The pilot was a taciturn fellow who barely spoke English, but Travis seemed satisfied with his skill so Peter calmed his unease at having to rely on Mozzie's extended connections. When they touched down at a small airstrip outside Oberammergau in the early evening, the pilot drove them himself to the surveillance spot.

Mozzie had been keeping nonstop watch of the chalet since Peter reported Neal's abduction. Once in Oberammergau, he'd procured a Volkswagen bus. They would use it to follow Adler and Neal to the next location—either the fake one or the real treasure hoard. Someday Peter intended to ask Mozzie why all the vehicles he used for undercover work looked like they were on their last legs. This one was a little better than most on the inside, but the dark blue exterior was coated with a thick layer of dried mud. How Mozzie had found enough mud to achieve the desired effect on a beautiful fall day in Bavaria escaped Peter, but that was low down on his list of worries.

The target of their surveillance was what to Peter's eyes looked like a typical chalet—white weatherboard construction with wide gables and natural wood balconies. The window boxes were bright with geraniums. Reinhard Geigner, the suspected son of Anton Bergmann, lived there with his wife. He worked as a banker in Hanover. One bit of luck—the Geigners had vacated the chalet earlier that afternoon. Mozzie claimed to have had no hand in their departure, and there was no reason to doubt him. But it was the sort of coincidence that Peter had no faith in. Whatever. It worked to their advantage.

Hidden inside the van was the Braque which Mozzie had smuggled into the country on Saturday. When Travis left to check the chalet, Peter had Mozzie show him where the painting was concealed.

Ever since Neal told Peter about his theft of the Braque, his guilty secret had become Peter's responsibility, too. For months, Diana had been planting hints in her stories that Peter wanted to be recruited by Rolf. The team members assumed Peter was only pretending to be open to the offer. But the Braque demonstrated the razor-thin line he was treading. To protect Neal, he'd been an accomplice in concealing the theft and in smuggling the painting back into France. By his actions, Peter was as guilty as Neal and Mozzie. Returning that painting to the authorities couldn't happen quickly enough, but no matter how it was carried out, a huge degree of risk was involved. It was easier to ignore the Braque when Mozzie had it safely stored away in some secret bolt-hole. Now the Braque was traveling with them. Would it be an albatross around all their necks?

With difficulty, Peter yanked his focus onto the Matisse. Mozzie said he hadn't seen it, claiming he'd been forced to do all his surveillance from the outside. Was Mozzie telling Peter the truth? He said the house was protected with a security system which Neal would have no trouble disarming. How could he have known unless he'd inspected it up close? Wouldn't he have been tempted to reconnoiter?

Peter couldn't act on his suspicions. He and Neal were both dependent on Mozzie's expertise. Any fallout would have to be dealt with at a later time.