Chapter 5: Project Enlightenment
"Surely they sell pickles in Florence," Peter grumbled, taking another glug of coffee.
"Of course they do," El said soothingly. "By the time we've finished breakfast, the shops should be open. Sara and I will pick up all the necessary ingredients."
She was glad they could joke about the famous Burke pickle juice remedy for hangovers. Given the ordeal they'd experienced, both men were in surprisingly good shape. They'd suffered some bruises and scrapes from the plunge down the hillside, but nothing that required a hospital stay. It could have easily been so much worse.
For once, she hadn't been by herself, stressing about what her husband had gotten into. Sara was with her and they'd forged a closer bond through mutual comforting as they waited for the police to go to the scene of the accident. When the men hadn't shown up at six o'clock as they'd promised, El only waited a half hour before calling Claudia. It had been a nerve-wracking ordeal till they heard from Neal.
She and Sara met the men at the hospital where they were both given exams. Claudia was present to take their statements. The euphoria provided by the grappa quickly wore off. Both men were cold, bruised, and grumpy. Neal's head injury, although painful, was minor. After a CT scan, he was released with the standard cautionary page of symptoms to watch out for. Sara pounced on the list in full Nurse-Nightingale mode. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes in the morning, she'd probably monitored him throughout the night.
It was a great feeling to know that El now had someone with whom she could share nursemaid responsibilities. Peter was always cranky after drinking too much. Even the enticing breakfast buffet hadn't done much to improve his mood.
Neal, on the other hand, appeared to be in a blissful glow as Sara waited on him, tempting him with Italian pastries.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," a familiar voice said. El turned to smile a greeting at Claudia. Up to yesterday, she hadn't met her. Now she was a reassuring friend.
Neal got up and greeted her with quick kisses on the cheek. El admired how adept he was. He'd been wise to advise Peter not to attempt the Italian greeting.
"Please join us for breakfast," he said, signaling to the waiter to bring over coffee while Peter retrieved another chair.
"Thank you," she said. "I've already eaten but I never say no to coffee. I'm leaving in a couple of hours and wanted to give you an update before I go." She paused while the waiter served her. "You both look well. I hope that's not simply a façade."
"We've both recovered thanks to your efficiency," Peter said. "The police arrived by the time Neal started to complain of the cold."
"Peter was too wasted on grappa to notice the frigid temperatures," Neal added. "The Mafia didn't realize they were being kind."
Claudia smiled at their banter. "We were able to locate the men who captured you based on your excellent descriptions. Although they haven't acknowledged any connection to Nardone, they have prior arrests and are suspected members of the Mafia. The attack was more sophisticated than you might have imagined. The car had been rented to Neal Caffrey."
Sara looked at Neal, dismay in her eyes. "They know your real name?"
"It's not a surprise," he said, giving her a sympathetic wince. "We suspected that Rolf Mansfeld may have bragged about the new person on his crew while keeping his own identity a secret. That stopover in Parma was planned with the assumption I was being tracked."
"I've informed Nardone that he will be viewed as an accomplice in any attempts to harm you and Peter," Claudia said. "He assured me that he knew nothing about the action. Nardone is smart. Now that he's on notice, I don't believe any further attempt will be made, but we would be glad to provide you with protection during the remainder of your stay."
"That won't be necessary," Peter said. "We'll be careful. We're leaving for Venice this evening and will keep your office informed of our itinerary."
"Have you found out anything more about the Dante manuscript?" Neal asked.
She nodded. "Although it's not an original, it is an extremely valuable copy. It was created in the fourteenth century not long after Dante wrote the Divine Comedy. It had been stolen two years ago from the Bodleian Library in Oxford. We've already contacted them about it."
After Claudia left, Sara asked, "How concerned should I be that the Mafia is aware who Neal is?" El observed that she addressed her question to Peter. She probably thought that Neal would attempt to paint a less troubling picture.
"I'm not happy about it either," Peter said, "but we expected it. Neal's skills are well-known, particularly in Europe. That's partly why the sting succeeded."
"Peter, you and El should know that Sara is aware of the Anastasia con," Neal said quietly. "She knows my family secrets. The present situation is simply an extension of that con. Rolf wanted to recruit me. We're acting as if he had."
El noticed Neal's eyes flicking to his surroundings as he talked. They were alone in their section with no one around to overhear. Neal and Sara were ready to come out in the open about their relationship, but the cons Neal and Peter were in would continue, and that meant she and Sara would also be part of them.
When she and Peter were alone in their room, El asked him, "Neal's identity is known. How about yours?"
"We think Steinar Wolff is still a mystery. On the dark web, Jones uses Rolf's handle for transactions. The fact that the four of us are on vacation together could simply indicate how well Neal has conned us into believing that he's reformed. Rolf was declared dead several years ago. Most likely, none of his clients know who he really is."
"But you don't intend to continue this indefinitely, do you?"
He wrapped his arms around her. "No. We've already taken care of two of the names on the list. We can't overplay it without it becoming obvious what we're doing. In the meantime, I intend to give Steinar a vacation starting now. Sound good?"
She kissed him. "It does. I hope it lasts."
Over the Atlantic. Friday, December 30, 2005.
Eric clinked his glass of beer against Henry's. "Do you always fly first class?"
Henry shrugged. "Sure, whenever it's available. I might as well put those frequent-flyer miles to good use."
For a guy who'd grown up in a modest blue-collar household, this was a heady lifestyle. Henry teased him he better get used to it. They'd boarded their flight that evening and would arrive in Venice midday on the thirtieth of December. The tickets they'd won as part of the prize package were in the economy cabin, but Henry quickly upgraded them. One of the many privileges of flying first class was that Henry didn't incur any penalties for changing their flights to Mumbai. They'd now leave from Venice for India on the second of January.
There was no need to upgrade the hotel. They'd been booked into the Hotel Danieli, a luxurious palace on the waterfront which dated back to the fourteenth century. It was as if the people who'd selected it knew Henry liked to be on the water.
When Eric showed Henry the location on the map and took him on a virtual tour of the hotel appointments, Henry joked the experience would be good preparation for assuming their roles of Italian princes for the costume ball. As part of the package, Eric had received a gift certificate for two costumes at a local supplier. They'd been able to order their outfits in advance and were told the clothes would be waiting for them in their room.
Henry was gazing out the airplane window. Hopefully he wasn't wishing he was flying to Cairo instead. At first, Eric couldn't understand why Henry had latched onto that idea, but then he figured it out. In the latest Arkham Files story, Neal and Sara had spent New Year's Eve by the pyramids. Despite his claim he didn't read the works, Henry had apparently wanted to copy the story.
Henry had made a promise to be more open with Eric whenever he wasn't restricted by business confidentiality. Eric didn't expect a miraculous transformation. He realized he'd need to give Henry nudges, and this was one of those times. Henry prided himself on his analytical ability, but Eric was also no slouch in that department. He'd been waiting for the right moment. It was here.
"So, how long have you and El been conspiring on Diana's stories?" Eric asked, keeping his voice nonchalant.
Henry turned to stare at him. "You knew?"
He smiled. "It wasn't difficult to figure out. I've been reading them all along. When you were introduced as a character but you continued to claim you weren't reading them, I knew you were blowing smoke. The only plausible reason was that you were hiding an ulterior motive, and this seemed the most likely."
Henry winced. "I need to hire you for Win-Win. How'd you guess about El?"
"You once told me how she helped you on a prank you pulled on Neal. You needed someone in the writing group. She was the most likely choice." Eric gazed up at the bulkhead. "Then there was the time last week you murmured Sara's name in your sleep."
Henry groaned.
Eric smiled. "I hope you were dreaming of a scheme and I don't have a rival to contend with."
"I think that was my conscience wanting me to tell you what's been going on." Henry paused for a moment. "I've been holding off because I'd hoped to have the situation resolved by now. But the solution appears to be more complicated than I realized."
"I'm not going anywhere for several hours, and I've already seen the in-flight movie. You want to tell me about it?"
And Henry did. Eric was dumbfounded to hear that he had been working on the scheme for close to two years—going back to the time when Sara was a member of Henry's team in Baltimore. The first missteps had been caused when she switched jobs, and ever since then, there had been one roadblock after another.
"First Neal was recovering from Rolf's mind games, then he was immersed in the U-boat con with no opportunity to date," Henry explained. "I took advantage of Sara being a member of the con to set up romantic moments guaranteed to spark flames, but nothing took. They made a joke out of everything." He took a swig of beer. "All those dates in Arkham Files? Neal stole my ideas and used them for Alex."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Positive. I wasn't devious enough at the beginning. After I arranged for both of them to work at the shelter for runaway kids, he realized what I was up to. Afterward, any time he was thrown together with Sara, he probably figured I was the cause whether or not it was true."
Eric didn't try to conceal his smile. "From what you told me, his suspicions are correct."
Henry acknowledged the accuracy of his comment with a shrug.
"Here's a thought out of left field. Why don't you talk to him about Sara?" Eric suggested. "Go ahead and explain why you think she's perfect for him."
"That would never work," Henry said, looking appalled. "He'd think I was meddling in his love life."
Eric stared at him, exasperated. "And aren't you? The two of you are quite a pair. You're trying to trick him while he's conning you, pretending to be Matthew for your benefit at that Japanese restaurant. You could have spared yourself a lot of grief by simply discussing Sara openly."
Henry grinned. "That's no fun."
Eric rolled his eyes. "We picked the wrong costumes. I should have picked Harlequin, the sly trickster, for you. I used to think that Degas forgery Neal made of Harlequin and Columbine was a perfect expression of Sara and his roles, but perhaps he meant it to be of you because of your efforts with Sara. I suspect we'll see Harlequin and Columbine costumes at the ball. You'll probably think they're Neal and Sara trying to trick you."
Henry's mouth dropped as he stared at him. "You're a genius!" he exclaimed and kissed him on the lips. "Why didn't I think of that earlier? Remind me in the future to use you as a sounding board for all my cons!" He gestured for the airline attendant. "Two glasses of champagne. We're celebrating."
The attendant smiled. "Coming right up, sir."
Eric laughed. "Mind clueing me in on my brilliance?"
"Neal and Sara are Harlequin and Columbine."
"I know that. That's what I just said."
"Hear me out. They've been playing me the entire time, pretending to date others while actually seeing each other. This trip is a setup."
"What?" Now it was Eric's time to have his mouth drop.
"Richard, Travis, and Aidan must be co-conspirators. Neal arranged for you to win the drawing to divert suspicion. He wants us to be at the ball because he and Sara will be there."
Eric frowned. "You've gone off the deep end into certifiable territory. How could Neal afford it? He can't be making that much at the FBI."
"I haven't figured that out yet. Mozzie could be in on it. The guy's made a killing off finder's fees and commissions."
"Assuming for the moment you're right, why would they go to all the effort of having us there for New Year's Eve?"
"Because of Arkham Files. Do you remember what's supposed to take place on that date?"
"You mean the 'Mockingbird' challenge?"
"Exactly," Henry said smugly. "And who came up with the idea in the story?"
Eric thought a moment. "That goes back a long way. Wasn't it Sara? After Neal and Peter came back from Merope, she offered to learn the song as part of a scheme to win him over. Diana published the story right after Neal was kidnapped in California."
Henry nodded, looking pleased. "You have a good memory. El told me that Sara gave the Arkham Round Table the idea. At the time, it seemed like a strange suggestion for Sara to make. But in hindsight, it makes much more sense. I bet it was the start of the con. She may have invented it to give Neal something lighthearted to think about. He was really lost in his head after Rolf tried to brainwash him." Henry snapped his fingers. "Arkham Neal suffered from the same problem in the Egyptian story. That can't be a coincidence. It's as if someone is planting the clues for me to find. That has to be Mozzie."
Could Henry possibly be right? He was having so much fun with the idea, Eric didn't point out any inconstancies. From his standpoint, he'd lucked into a winning situation. Henry was welcoming him as a full-fledged member into his con. If Neal and Sara were actually at the ball, Eric intended to pull Sara aside. They needed to form a strategy on how to maintain their sanity when the cousins devised yet another con.
#
When Neal entered the hotel bar, Peter and Mozzie were already at a table waiting for him. They were staying at the Gritti Palace in Venice, an iconic luxury hotel filled with sumptuous antiques and conveniently located on the Grand Canal. The Longhi Bar was typical of the hotel's opulence with its sculpted mirrors, Murano glass lamps, and magnificent views of the canal. The color scheme was in shades of malachite with comfortable upholstered barrel chairs grouped around ornate gold tables. The setting was Art Nouveau meets Rococo elegance with more than a hint of St. Petersburg refinement.
"Sara will be down in a few minutes," Neal said. "When I left, she was conspiring with Janet on details for tomorrow night."
"Does Sara know about the paintings?" Peter asked.
"Not yet." Neal paused while the tuxedo-clad waiter took his drink order. Neal selected an espresso. Peter was also drinking coffee. Mozzie had ordered one of the Longhi's signature drinks, a Spritz. While the women were out shopping, Neal had taken Peter and Mozzie to see a painting he'd discovered in the Galleria dell'Accademia. It was an obscure work by the 19th-century Venetian artist Giacomo Favretto. The model in the painting appeared to be the witch Alcy Lancaster.
Peter exhaled. "I hadn't told El about the paintings you'd discovered earlier in the month which also included Alcy. It looks like the Clueless con isn't the only secret we should out."
"Tonight at dinner will be soon enough," Mozzie said. "Janet is touchy when it comes to witches. Simply because of a few bad eggs, we shouldn't condemn them all."
And she wasn't the only one. Now that Mozzie was a member of her Wicca coven, it was a sensitive subject for both of them. "And we have no evidence that Alcy's here now," Neal pointed out. "Or should I call her Astrena?"
"Let's stick with Alcy," Peter advised. "For all we know, she's one of Astrena's evil sisters. But there's no urgency. That's a nineteenth-century painting, not a recent photograph. The last sighting of Alcy was in Connecticut. When we get back, we'll alert the Winchesters."
Mozzie coughed. "About that . . . I already took care of it." When Peter turned to stare at him, he shrugged. "Just a little preventative measure. I don't want anything to spoil tomorrow night."
"Mozzie, I'm touched," Neal said.
"You'll be reassured to know there have been no reports of either Astrena or Alcy, but Dean did have news. He and Sam have been trying to locate the sword of Saint Mercurius, the sword which can supposedly kill the sisters. The Italian hunter who's been helping them is named Paolo. He has an idea where it might be—"
"Stop right there," Peter ordered. "You didn't reach out to them. They contacted you."
Mozzie knitted his eyebrows together. "Always so suspicious! For your information, I was the one who initiated the call."
"What about?" Neal asked. It couldn't have been just about the painting.
He took a slow breath. "I'd asked Luchino about the saint. This shouldn't be a surprise. You already knew I'd promised to help in the search. Luchino mentioned that there were a few Coptic monasteries scattered about Italy. Some of their archives have been incorporated into Catholic monasteries. A careful perusal might turn something up. Reason enough to prolong my stay in Italy. Neal might like to as well. His classes don't resume for another two weeks."
"But his work at the Bureau does, as does mine," Peter declared. "If you want to meet with the hunter, I can't stop you, but I won't join you in tramping through the countryside to look for an ancient sword."
"Were you able to reach Paolo?" Neal asked.
Mozzie shook his head. "He's not answering his phone and hasn't responded to my texts."
"He's probably away celebrating the winter holiday," Peter said. "And that's what we're supposed to be doing too. There'll be no more talk of hunters or witches."
Neal didn't say anything. He hoped Peter was right, but when one fought monsters for a living, there could be a hundred reasons why a hunter didn't answer and most of them weren't good.
"We have a more urgent matter to discuss," Peter said. "Is there any chance we'll bump into Henry and Eric tonight? Their plane touched down a few hours ago. The Clueless con has a little over twenty-four hours to run. Let's not blow it at the end."
Neal grinned at him, delighted to have him fully on board. To have his friends participate in what had been a secret con for months was the best possible wrap-up.
"Rest easy, Suit," Mozzie assured him. "Alas, I don't have a Candy Land board to demonstrate, but the players will not meet. The Club del Doge in our hotel is justly famous for its gastronomic elegance, and we will be dining there with Henry and Eric on New Year's Day. Tonight we're going to a place you may find more your style. It's a favorite restaurant of locals in a back alley away from the areas favored by tourists. There we can plot in secret."
"How did you find it?" Peter asked.
"You remember Raquel Laroque?" Neal asked. "She lives in Venice. She recommended it."
Peter arched an eyebrow. "What have you told Sara about Raquel?"
"Sara's known about Raquel for a while. She's even seen her from afar."
"That's right. She saw you at the Met when you and Raquel were conning Keller."
Neal nodded. "Sara was with Fiona when they chanced upon me kissing her. She's not likely to forget the incident."
