Chapter 25: Sunrise in Bavaria

A rooster crowing in the dawn light heralded the promise of a spectacular morning. Neal strode quickly along the cobblestone lane toward the field. He could already see the painting in his mind—a flock of blackbirds flying low over a wheat field. The sun would be a shimmering luminescence at the fringe of a heavy cloud bank. He paused briefly to marvel at the parish church once more. Why had Auvers-sur-Oise been blessed with such extraordinary scenes? It was as if God had willed the village to be designed for artists.

"Bonjour, Neal."

He spun around to see who'd called out to him. The straw hat he wore didn't prevent the sun from streaming into his eyes and he squinted to distinguish the woman's features. Her silk dress was much more elegant than the garb of the local village women. She carried a parasol that cast her face into shadows, but her blonde hair shone like spun gold. And that contralto voice. He was sure he knew it. "Forgive me, but have we met?"

She gave a soft chuckle. "Many times, chéri. What do you plan to paint today?"

He approached her, still puzzling over her name, but she soon distracted him with questions about his art. As they walked down the path to the field, she asked if she could watch him at work.

"Only if you'll allow me to include you in the painting."

When she smiled, he recognized her. Astrena. When had she arrived? The last time he'd seen her was in Paris.

Before he could ask, she suggested a pose for herself. He'd never painted a nude in the field, but the idea was an intriguing one. Her dress draped over a fence . . .

"Neal, wake up. Can you hear me?"

"Not now," he mumbled. The vision was blurring. He must capture it before it vanished. Where were his paints? Astrena! Come back!

A hand on his shoulder. The voice more insistent. "Neal, open your eyes."

"You don't understand. The light will be wrong if I don't start—"

"Neal, it's me. It's Kate."

His eyes jerked open. A woman's face swam blurrily over him. Astrena? She was blonde. But her face looked different. Eyes the color of sapphire. "Who . . .?"

She leaned closer to him. "Don't you recognize me?" She gazed at him anxiously. "Don't let the blonde hair fool you. I'm Kate."

Why was Kate in Auvers-sur-Oise? His head throbbed painfully. Had he fallen asleep in the field? Where was Astrena? He closed his eyes again.

"How is he?" That was a man's voice. Someone Neal had known in another lifetime. But who?

"He's still out of it. He's hallucinating," Kate said. She sounded upset. "You told me that was a truth serum. All it did was knock him out." Neal felt a cool hand on his forehead. Gentle fingers stroked his brow. "He's running a fever."

"You worry too much. He'll be fine." Finally he recognized the voice. Vincent Adler. "We still have two hours before we arrive in Oberammergau. This should do the trick."

Neal heard a rustling sound and the rip of paper being torn. He gasped at the acrid smell of ammonia and sneezed. His nose stung. His eyes watering, he squeezed them tightly closed. Were smelling salts really necessary? He waited a minute before cracking his lids open. This time the world was marginally more in focus.

"Feeling better?" Kate asked. "Do you recognize me now?"

"When did you become a blonde?"

"We're all wearing disguises," Adler said. "You, too."

Neal glanced down. He was wearing the same workman's coveralls they'd given him earlier. He was lying on a padded quilt inside a small truck equipped to be a mover's van. He could feel hair on his neck. Whatever wig they'd slapped on was a long one. He wondered vaguely what he looked like.

Kate's blonde wig was shoulder length. Adler sported a mustache. "Is this the way you treat your new business partner?" Neal mumbled. "Where's the trust?"

"Until you've proven yourself, there is none. For your sake as well as your cousin's, you better be telling the truth."

Adler strode to the front of the truck which had been outfitted with a couple of captain's chairs facing the back. In the other chair was one of the guards from the house where he'd met with Adler. Two men rode in the front cab. He could only see the backs of their heads.

Kate was still crouched beside him. "Would you like some water?" He could barely hear her over the noise of the engine.

His thoughts were disjointed and muzzy. Had he been dreaming that he was Van Gogh? What was it Astrena called him? Neal or Vincent? Could she read his thoughts?

Kate cupped his chin in her hand, forcing him to pay attention. "You need to drink. You'll feel better afterward." She put an arm around him and helped him prop himself against the side of the van.

While she opened a water bottle, Neal gazed down at his manacled hands. Not a speck of paint on them.

He took a small sip when she held the bottle to his lips, but the water made him nauseous. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the side panel. Was he ill because of the drug or his dream? His feet were also manacled together. Electronic locks. No chance of picking them.

Was this a good time for the Way of the Orchid? Billy was a firm believer in the art of faking—not just death but injuries. Neal's lessons at the Aloha Emporium seemed a distant memory now. The way he felt, he didn't need to fake it. His dizziness wasn't going away. He ached like he was in the grips of a nasty bout of the flu.

He opened his eyes to find Kate watching him with concern. "What did you give me?"

"Some preparation Vincent got. You weren't supposed to lose consciousness, but you've been out for over twelve hours."

"You're looking good. He treating you okay?"

She nodded. "And he will you, too, once we have the art." She brought her face close to his. Her eyes were even more beautiful than he remembered. "Vincent says you know where the paintings are," she whispered. "Is that true?"

He nodded. "Even Raphael's Portrait of a Young Man. Finally I'll be able to give you that Raphael original."

She gave a small smile. "When I heard about St. George and the Dragon being stolen, I wondered if you'd done it."

"Considered it," he admitted. "Someone else beat me to it. We're going to Oberammergau?"

She nodded. "You still have time to recover."

He shut his eyes. He heard Kate get up and walk to the front. She was talking with Vincent but their voices were pitched too low for him to catch anything but a few words. The field was beckoning to him. Astrena was asking why he hadn't started painting . . .

#

"Here we are—birding once more." Mozzie raised his mug of coffee to Peter. "Your skills under my tutelage will soon surpass Tricia's."

Peter's previous birdwatching experience had been on Long Island when he and Mozzie ostensibly searched for Snow Buntings while being lookouts for Neal. Should he be pleased that he'd now graduated to Bluethroats and Stonechats? Mozzie had lectured on the subject for thirty minutes on the one in a million chance some passerby would ask what birds they'd seen. Peter fully intended to let Mozzie do all the talking.

Travis was sprawled on the grass, wisely ignoring Birdman. He'd returned a few minutes earlier from a foraging mission, bearing pastries from the local bakery as well as coffee, cheese, and a loaf of bread. They'd staked out a position on the country lane near a small thicket of trees.

There'd been no sign of Neal so far. Mozzie believed that Adler would make the trip to Oberammergau by car. At some point, he would have acquired a truck large enough to hold the art Neal was promising to locate. Given the distance between Oberammergau and Paris, most likely Adler would arrive sometime in the morning.

Jones had phoned in a report from Albania. Late yesterday evening, a car had arrived at the estate, and the team had been able to catch a glimpse of Henry being led inside. They'd counted six people present, including a woman who appeared to be a cook. There had been no sightings of Adler or Kate. In addition to Jones and Diana, Sofia and Radha were being assisted by Win-Win's Greek partner and several of his fellow detectives. More than enough people to raid the premises. But plans would have to remain on hold until they could rescue Henry without endangering Neal.

Travis screwed his spotting scope onto a tripod and aimed it at a patch of woodlands next to the road, a likely spot for birds as well as any cars coming from town.

"Have I explained the mating rituals of the Siberian Bluethroat?" Mozzie asked.

"Please don't." Peter knew his request would be ignored but he had to try. His mustache itched. He longed to yank it off. Had Tom Selleck been as miserable as he was? Travis looked much more comfortable in his Viking disguise. Mozzie was wearing a frizzled gray Afro and hadn't shaved for days. Birds could nest in his hair. The Siberian Bluethroat no doubt would love it.

"The male sings from an exposed perch to tempt the shy, secretive female," Mozzie continued, undeterred. "While he serenades, he performs acrobatic dances in the air, a technique I've also often found conducive to success."

Travis snorted, not lifting his head from the scope. "Since when do you fly in the air?"

"Master Billy Feng has taught me leaps that would astonish and amaze you. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"What a shame we have to maintain our birdwatcher cover," Peter said. "That thrill will have to be postponed."

"Ah yes. Never mind. That gives me more time to describe the copulation practices. It's a little-known—"

"A car's coming!" Travis interrupted excitedly.

Peter whipped out his binoculars and surveyed the gray Volvo sedan as Travis photographed the license plate. "Two men inside. Neither one looks like Neal."

"That's not the car the family left in," Mozzie said. "This could be an advance team which was sent to case the premises. Adler must have a truck for the paintings. He's probably keeping Neal on ice till then. Unless . . ."

"Unless what?" Peter demanded when Mozzie fell silent.

"Did the Geigners rent out their chalet? That could present an intriguing challenge."

#

Neal was roused from sleep when the truck lurched to one side. He lay still, keeping his eyes closed.

"You worry too much. He's probably just allergic to the drug." The snarky voice was unmistakable. Vincent Adler.

"Neal never mentioned any allergies to me. He's running a fever. It could be the flu." Kate sounded genuinely concerned. "We should stop at a clinic to have him checked out."

Had he caught a bug? Given the choices, that wasn't a bad outcome. Then that dream about Auvers-sur-Oise could have been fever-induced. The link to Astrena was at the back of his mind and manifested itself in a dream. An eminently rational explanation. So why didn't he believe that was all it was?

Instead, he was absolutely certain that if only he could have recreated the scene the way he imagined it, it would have been the finest work he'd ever painted. Even now as the memory faded, he itched to have brushes in hand. He'd squeeze some viridian green onto his palette . . .

His eyes snapped open with the acrid tang of ammonia assaulting his nostrils. "Enough with the smelling salts," he grumbled.

"Then stay awake," Vincent ordered. His bedside manner needed work.

Neal slowly took stock of his surroundings. He was still lying on his bed of moving quilts. He felt shaky but the nausea had abated. The truck had stopped. Kate was crouched next to him, still wearing her blonde wig. If he'd felt better, he would have appreciated her gauze peasant blouse and skintight jeans. As it was, he was simply relieved to see a sympathetic smile, even if it was fake.

She unscrewed the cap from a bottle of mineral water and offered it to him. "You must be thirsty."

He nodded. Propping himself up against the back of the truck, he took cautious sips.

"We've arrived at Oberammergau," Adler said. "Where now?"

"First I need to speak with Henry."

"Nice try but I have a healthy respect for the cons you two run. Anything you say could be a coded message."

Sick or not, he wasn't budging. The effect was somewhat marred by not being able to cross his arms, but Neal's lips were zipped.

Vincent held out for a minute before giving in. "I'm willing to compromise. You better be as well." He jerked his head to one of the guards. "Roll up the door."

The rear door was already cracked. The guard raised it enough so Neal could see they were at a gas station. In the distance, he could hear birds singing. A breeze brought in welcome fresh air.

"You'll note it's early morning." Adler held his watch in front of Neal's face. It indicated 8:15. "I invited Henry to my villa midday yesterday." Adler went to his laptop which lay open on his chair. Bringing it over to Neal, he let him watch what appeared to be a live feed. It showed Henry in swim trunks, stretched out on a lounger in a swimming pool. He was reading a newspaper, with a drink of some sort in the cup holder beside him. The sun was low in the sky behind him. It could have been sunset but more likely it was early morning. There wouldn't have been time to stage it yesterday. Vincent spoke into a microphone. "Have him wave."

Neal heard a man's voice giving Henry the instructions. Henry said something, but Adler quickly muted the sound. Neal could see Henry wave at him. That would have to suffice. Just Neal's luck. Henry got to lounge in a swimming pool while he was confined to a smelly moving van.

"Stop procrastinating," Adler snapped. "Give us the address. There's a bakery next to the gas station. You and Kate can have a delicious meal while we check it out."

Did they have a car following them? That would have been smart, and there was nothing wrong with Adler's brain. He wouldn't drive a moving van to case out a location. He'd probably been riding with Kate in the air-conditioned luxury of a car for most of the trip, only entering the van to check on Neal.

"Bergmann's son owns a chalet west of town," Neal said.

At the mention of Bergmann, Adler's gaze sharpened. Now that he thought he was so close to the treasure, his obsession was dictating even more of his actions. Neal could take advantage of that.

"The chalet once belonged to Bergmann's wife. Nina was listed as one of the casualties from the bombing of Munich, but in reality she'd assumed another identity. That letter Bergmann wrote in Argentina probably never would have reached her even if he'd sent it." It wasn't necessary to give Adler the details, but they helped establish Neal's willingness to join Vincent's crew. "Nina is now deceased, but her son continues to use the house as a holiday retreat."

"How did you know about the painting?" Vincent demanded.

Neal had no intention of telling him about Klaus. "I was passing through town. I was bored. The chalet was there. I hit pay dirt."

Adler retrieved a map and Neal indicated the route that he needed to take. "Tell your driver to look for Feuchtenrainweg. That's a two-lane road you'll reach just after you cross a narrow creek called Enge Laine. The chalet will be on your left. It's the first chalet after you pass a monastery." Neal wrote down the address for him.

"Neal gave you what he needed," Kate said. "Some of the guards will stay with us. You should remove the manacles. He's probably lost circulation in his legs, and he'll need to be able to walk when we're at the chalet. "

She continued to hover close to Neal. Was she playing good cop?

"Very well." Adler gestured to one of the guards. "Release him." He turned to Neal. "You say you're eager to become a member of my team. Now's your time to prove it. My men are under orders to shoot you if you make any false move. Don't worry. They'll start with your left arm so you'll still be able to retrieve the directions. It's nothing personal. Simply a prudent business precaution."

Neal rubbed his wrists when the guard he'd decided to nickname Boris took the manacles off. He was built like a wrestler with the droopy eyes of a bloodhound. He had an anxious look about him as if he was trying to curry favor with Vincent. The other two were worse. Hellhounds by the looks of them.

The manacles hadn't been that tight, but Neal grimaced as if in pain. He needed to fake weakness. He already had Kate sold. Adler wouldn't be as susceptible, but apparently whatever bug he'd gotten would help. Kate said he had a fever and he did feel a little warm, but he couldn't be too ill. Then again, he hadn't tried to walk.

Adler rolled up the door of the van high enough to exit. Neal could see him enter a gray Volvo parked behind them. There were two men already in the sedan. That left three with Neal and Kate. He was under no delusions about her. He'd caught a glimpse of a small-caliber pistol in her purse. She wouldn't hesitate to use it.

Neal staggered when he stood up, flinging out a hand to hold onto the side of the truck for a few moments to stabilize his wobbly legs, and it wasn't an act. "Sorry," he mumbled to Kate. "Don't know what's wrong."

"You may be allergic to the drug Vincent used. It wasn't supposed to produce the reaction you had, but"—she shrugged helplessly—"it was supplied by the black market."

"And their testing standards may not be up to the FDA's? I'll manage." He glanced over at Boris. "How about an escort to the gas station? I'd like to freshen up before breakfast."

His man Boris grunted a surly acknowledgment. If he wanted to obtain a recommendation as a valet, he'd need to mend his ways. While Neal and Boris took off for the can, Kate went for breakfast supplies. Neal offered to go with her, but Boris's scowl squashed that enticing gambit into smithereens.

Now that Neal was able to move around, he felt more like himself. If he had a fever, it wasn't much of one. But he continued to exaggerate his weakness. Whatever he had—drug reaction, curse, or bug—was a gift he intended to exploit to the fullest. He surprised himself by feeling rather smug about having a psychic connection to a goddess as an option. He wondered how Sam was faring.

Neal could smell the coffee from inside the truck when Kate returned with picnic supplies. She'd bought poppy seed rolls and Tilsit cheese. The bakery had provided butter and marmalade in little containers. It looked like a feast. Neal hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous day, and his appetite returned with the aroma of the coffee.

They made cushions from the moving quilts and Kate spread out another to make a picnic cloth. She handed him his coffee in a paper cup. "You'll have to wait till we arrive home for porcelain," she said regretfully.

"Is that what you normally use now? Only the best of everything?"

She nodded. "Just wait till you see the villa Vincent acquired! It's the life we dreamed out. We've been able to travel throughout Europe incognito. I can attend whichever fashion shows I wish. The finest wines, gourmet foods—this could be your life as well."

"Where is this paradise on earth?"

She smiled mischievously. "You'll find out soon enough." She clasped her hands around her knees and for a moment looked like the Kate of old.

He thought he'd taught her how to be a con artist. Instead she'd played him throughout his time with Adler. First Leila, then Kate. Klaus had been right. Neal had been a fool to wear his heart on his sleeve. Now he was burying it deep—in the deepest darkness of Molasses Swamp. He'd finally seen the light. Charting the course of love was a game of Candy Land. Mozzie would approve.

"I know the coffee's not the finest roast, but it's not bad," she said, regarding him anxiously.

"We can imagine we're drinking it on the Champs-Elysées," he said, raising his cup to her in a mock toast.

"You won't need to pretend much longer." Kate slid next to him, resting her back on the side panel. "We've gone through so much—both of us—to get to where we are today. Vincent stands ready to give us everything we want."

Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed—she looked completely sincere. Was she? She might have constructed a fantasy world where she thought she could hold onto him as well as Adler. He smeared some butter on his roll. It was still warm and smelled delicious. Luckily his stomach agreed.

Boris the Bloodhound was keeping a close watch on them. Kate had brought him breakfast, too. The other guards were outside the van. They could all relax. Neal wasn't going anywhere. He wanted to lead Adler straight to the chalet. Peter and Travis must have joined Mozzie by now and were monitoring the chalet. White Collar and Win-Win agents should be in position to rescue Henry.

She snuggled next to him. "You're being very quiet. Are you feeling any better?"

"The food—and particularly the company—are providing a miracle cure. I was just thinking about the art that will soon be ours."

They spent breakfast speculating over which masterpieces they'd find and what they'd do with them. Kate had convinced Adler to keep the originals while selling the forgeries Neal would make of them. They intended to take advantage of the groundwork Mozzie had done in spreading rumors about the U-boat. With the money, Kate wanted to purchase a villa near Nice and an apartment in Paris. The girl knew how to spend money. By the time Adler returned, she'd already accounted for several million.

"We're in luck," Adler reported. "No one's at home. You assured me you know where the directions to the paintings are. For Henry's sake, you better be right."

Notes: Peter's previous birding adventure with Mozzie was in The Mirror. The painting Neal imagines is based on Van Gogh's Wheat Field with Crows.