Chapter 5: Outside the Box
The Bunker, Aloha Emporium. April 21, 2005. Thursday.
"Which airline flies to Roswell? I must leave for New Mexico immediately."
Neal sighed. Enough with the space aliens.
Janet had called Neal at work in the afternoon with an appeal for help. Mozzie insisted on returning to his bunker. Janet argued it was much too soon but was unable to control him. Although physically he'd recovered, his memory still hadn't returned. Faced with an increasingly agitated abductee, Neal made a hasty call to Billy at the Emporium. When Billy declared he'd be happy to keep an eye on their problem child, the crisis appeared to be resolved. Mozzie was overjoyed at the news and Neal promised to stop by and see him after work.
When Neal had entered the bunker, Mozzie was staring intently at a webpage displayed on his computer monitor.
"Look at this!" Mozzie jabbed with his index finger at a paragraph on the screen. "He's had remarkable success after only one session."
"Who? What kind of session?" Neal studied the webpage. The banner title was "Third Contacts and You."
"It's the only way!" Mozzie spun around in his chair, his eyes red-rimmed from excessive monitor staring. "I haven't been able to access my memories from the abduction yet. There's a shaman in Roswell who's brought forth repressed memories by the skillful use of peyote. The truth is out there. I have to know."
Neal stared at him with dismay. "Not by going to Roswell. You may be blocking the memories because you're focusing on them too much." Neal reached over and closed the browser. "Come and sit with me while I have my dinner. Have a glass of honey wine." He didn't wait for an answer but went over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle, choosing the health blend. He spun Mozzie in his chair to face the worktable and shoved him next to it.
Neal took a seat on the other side of the table. "Henry was in the office today." Mozzie still wasn't focusing. His eyes already drifted back to the computer. "We discussed Nazis and looted masterpieces all morning." That did the trick. Mozzie snapped to attention, his eyes brightening. "Peter had asked me on Monday what I knew about the Braque painting, and I told him."
"Not that you stole it!"
"You know I can't do that. I simply talked about the painting itself. He asked about the painting's history, and I feigned ignorance. Little did I suspect that I actually was ignorant." Neal paused. Despite everything that had happened, it still hurt to admit it. "Klaus played me."
"What?"
"You heard me the first time."
Mozzie shook his head. "That's not possible. You aren't thinking clearly."
This coming from a man who thought little green men had abducted him? "You better reserve your opinion till you hear what happened. I never told you how we stole the Braque. I'd only been working with Klaus for a couple of weeks. He decided we should steal a painting together as a training exercise. Klaus told me he knew a family who had an excellent copy of a Braque hanging in their house. They were friends of his parents. Klaus himself had visited their house several times. The family was quite proud of its acquisition and bragged about what an excellent reproduction it was. Since it was a copy, he figured the family wouldn't bother reporting the theft, and he was right."
"So you didn't realize you were stealing an original?"
"That's right. The house was in Oberammergau, Germany. Klaus's family owned a ski chalet there. We visited the place in the summer when no one was there. As far as I know, the theft was never reported to the police."
Mozzie nodded. "The family probably assumed it was a teenage prank."
"Most likely. Klaus took possession of the painting afterward. He had me working on so many projects, I didn't think more about it. Then a month or two later he requested I prepare a copy to practice cubist techniques. Once I started studying it, I became convinced that what we had was an original Braque. I asked Klaus about it, explaining my reasons, and he agreed."
"Let me get this straight—the family in Germany bought an original which had been sold as a copy?" Mozzie shook his head in disbelief.
Neal shrugged. "It's happened before. With so many excellent forgeries out there, in cases of murky provenance, it's understandable how it could have been mislabeled." He put his glass down and studied his fingers. He almost could see the paint stains from when he'd been working on the Braque copy, the sunlight filtering in through the Geneva studio skylight.
"What did Klaus do?"
"First he checked on the history of the painting with his parents. His mother had admired the painting and remembered the couple saying they'd purchased it from a dealer in Munich who specialized in fine reproductions. This was in the 1970s. Klaus went to Munich and found the dealer. According to the dealer's records, he'd purchased the painting from a German count who'd claimed to have bought it in the 1930s. Klaus didn't know at what time it was mislabeled a reproduction. What Klaus told me is a plausible story but it's also a lie."
"You're sure?"
Neal nodded. "When Peter asked me to research the painting's provenance, I felt like a fool for not having done so earlier. Before World War II, the painting was part of the collection of Paul Rosenberg. It was seized by the Nazis and disappeared from the Jeu de Paume during the war. It's currently listed as lost."
Mozzie got up and topped off their glasses with more wine. "You're being too harsh about Klaus's actions. Did he know about your views on Nazis and looted art?"
"We'd discussed it earlier," Neal admitted. "Over cognac one evening he'd speculated about where the missing art might be. He was highly amused at how I could draw the line at not profiting off the Nazis when I had no problem about stealing from anyone else. And now we'd stolen one of the paintings looted by the Nazis. He must have known about it. I had no difficulty in tracing its history. He undoubtedly checked the same sources. I trusted Klaus completely in those days and never doubted he was telling me the truth."
"I'm sorry but I have to agree with Klaus on this one. Your scruples have an annoying habit of rising to the surface at inconvenient times. The deed had been done. Klaus decided to keep the provenance a secret from you. He knew you would have insisted it be returned, just like you are now."
This was not turning out as he intended. Mozzie's defense of Klaus was disquieting. What would he say if he ever found out how Neal had been instrumental in exposing Klaus? "What we need to focus on is why Adler wants the painting, not why Klaus lied." Neal explained the morning's discussion. "The team is actively working now with Henry on trying to figure out the answer to that question. U-boat theory, fractal antennas, they're all fair game."
He beamed. "Excellent. Be sure to give me all their theories. One of their ideas may spark something for me. What are they saying about the equations?"
"That they may be connected to a fractal antenna. Peter mentioned how the painting looks like a puzzle. He's convinced it contains clues. Perhaps invisible ink."
"And how do you want to play it?"
"Now, more than ever I can't be discovered to have stolen the Braque. It's not just any painting. I'd be tarred along with the original looters. Nor can I let it be found. Then Adler would have it stolen and we might never know the solution to the mystery. We need to recover the painting ourselves and figure out its secret."
"Then what?"
"Then . . . If it leads to a cache of Nazi art, I'll sneak the painting back in with the others to be found. Or, once Adler is captured, I'll provide anonymous information where it can be located."
Mozzie gazed at him for a long moment then sighed. "Okay. We'll do it your way. Perhaps there will be a finder's fee for the Braque. I could be the one providing the tip to the authorities?"
Neal smiled. "An excellent idea. Go ahead and look into the situation for finder's fees on plundered art. We should be able to make that work."
"Any chance you could go to Paris now to retrieve the painting?"
"Not with my art exhibition coming up and final papers due shortly afterward."
Mozzie cocked his head. "I could go in your place?" he offered, looking like the impish Mozzie of old.
"I'm afraid not. Its location is too inaccessible. Besides, you've never been good with heights."
"You're right," he said glumly. "It's a pity. Still, there's the page of equations. Perhaps it will provide a clue."
"I've written Fiona. I'll leave for Paris immediately after exams. In any case, with the Longthorpe investigation starting, I can't just—
"Wait! What about Longthorpe?"
"He's the other reason I wanted to talk to you. Tricia Wiese was brought in to use her interrogation wizardry on Hagen." Once Tricia was transferred into the Behavior Analysis Unit, she quickly gained a reputation as one of the Bureau's top interrogators in addition to being an expert profiler. She was proving it once more with the Dutchman. "The Raphael painting and the bond would be sufficient to send Hagen to prison for several years, but they weren't much of a bargaining chip by themselves. When Hagen got into bed with Ydrus, he handed Tricia the weapon she needed to use against him."
Mozzie nodded in agreement. "Gentlemen art thieves have no business associating with terrorists but Hagen's no gentleman. Hale told me, he'd cheated friends of his on previous transactions."
"Then you won't mind hearing that Hagen's facing the threat of being locked up for a decade or more. What concerns him more than a prison term is that Ydrus will infiltrate the prison and kill him. He's trying to plea-bargain a new identity."
"What's he offering?"
"In exchange for a new identity and protection in a federal facility, he's agreed to make a full confession."
"Did he confess to stealing St. George and the Dragon?"
"No, and that's created a new puzzle. Hagen admits to having stolen several other paintings. It wouldn't have cost him anything to confess to the theft of the Raphael, but he insists he didn't do it. He also doesn't know who stole the Raphael drawing. He claims he was commissioned to paint forgeries, and his boss is none other than the head of U.S. operations for Ydrus—Duncan Longthorpe."
"Not the Duncan Longthorpe— billionaire business magnate and philanthropist?"
Neal nodded. "The very same. The news broke late this afternoon as I was preparing to leave. Hagen also confirmed the existence of two informants—one within the FBI and the other inside Sterling-Bosch."
"Names?"
"Only their code names. So far Hagen hasn't coughed up any details about the FBI mole. He said the Sterling-Bosch mole has been in place for several years."
"So that clears Sara."
"Right. The Sterling-Bosch mole contacted Longthorpe about our con at the Lynx Mountain Resort, and Longthorpe called Hagen to warn him. We assume Longthorpe was also the one who contacted Rinaldi. We knew he'd received a phone call just before abducting Peter and me." Neal stood up. "I need to head on to class now. Are you going to be okay? You know June's offer for you to stay in one of her guest rooms still stands. You'd be close to your bunker."
Mozzie hesitated, obviously wavering. "My work is here," he protested half-heartedly.
Neal pressed home his advantage. "I'll stop by after class and we'll go home together. You'll still be able to work here during the day." He'd take his friend's silence as acceptance of the offer. This appeared to be as good a time as any to ask the question which had been bothering Neal for days. "Those chemicals in your cabinet . . . were you experimenting with drugs?"
"A seven-percent solution?" Mozzie shook his head. "No, I wasn't. Those chemicals were for my slime research."
Neal believed him, but he was definitely high on something at Grand Central Station. What was it?
#
At work the next day, the celebratory mood from capturing Hagen was set aside as the team switched gears to investigate Longthorpe. By mid-morning Jones and Diana had finished collecting their preliminary information and were ready to brief the others.
"Hagen may have fingered him," Diana said, as she flashed Longthorpe's picture on the projection screen, "but we have nothing, and I mean zilch, to charge him with. Hagen hasn't provided any evidence. It's all hearsay from a criminal."
"But it may be enough for a warrant," Jones added. "We've applied for one. But Longthorpe has powerful friends among elected officials, not just on the local level but state and federal as well. We'll need to proceed carefully."
"Hughes is handling the application himself," Peter said. "We conducted the raid on Hagen as a stealth operation. Only a few know he was arrested. He's being held under an assumed name at the correctional center. Unless the warehouse was under surveillance at the time of the arrest, Longthorpe shouldn't know."
Neal studied the image. It was one of the standard shots Longthorpe used for publicity. Longthorpe was fifty-two. He had the look of a wheeler-dealer with a smile that Neal recognized. The smile of a swindler who always had a con going on in the back of his head. He looked like a guy who wouldn't get his own hands dirty but would have no qualms about ordering others to for him. Slimy like a snake with nothing sticking to him. For an organization whose code names were python species, he was a natural.
The briefing moved on to a hashing out of surveillance and monitoring details. Jones had already initiated the search warrant process. Hughes had implemented a streamlined process for warrant applications that bypassed the normal routes. Access to the information was tightly controlled and registered, so if any additional leaks occurred, in theory, they could be traced back to the source. As Travis discussed the types of wiretaps they'd use, Neal's mind wandered. He began doodling as he thought about possibilities. Nothing was popping up, but he knew it was there.
"Care to join us?" Peter asked pointedly. "What can possibly be more fascinating than determining the locations for video surveillance?"
Neal stifled the quip on his lips threatening to escape. "We're missing a piece."
"What piece?" Diana demanded impatiently. "Stop speaking in riddles."
"Hagen's operation must have been going on for a few weeks at least. Why did he choose New York of all places to counterfeit bonds? Hagen generally works in Europe. What drew him back to New York?"
"We assumed he was here to plan a theft at one of the museums," Jones said. "He was spotted at the Met."
"Yeah, but so far he hasn't admitted to planning any heist. It may have been random good luck that surveillance picked him up at the Met. Has Tricia asked him why he set up shop here?"
"She has," Peter confirmed. "Grilled him on the subject. He claims that he was originally ordered here to work on a job but he doesn't know what the job was about. He was later told by Longthorpe that he'd been replaced by someone else."
"Do we have any information about Longthorpe's home?" Neal asked.
"He lives in a penthouse on top of 32 Vanderbilt Plaza," Diana said, "I haven't been able to find any photographs of the penthouse. Longthorpe only schedules interviews in his office."
"I need to see inside that penthouse," Neal said.
"You'll have to wait for the warrant," Peter replied.
He groaned. "How long will that take?"
"One or two days at a minimum," Jones warned.
"Idle your engines, Neal," Peter added. "It can't be helped."
From Peter's look, Neal knew he wouldn't be able to get him to budge. He channeled his frustration into doodling options.
At the end of the meeting, Peter cornered Neal and delivered a variant of his standard lecture on the importance of paying attention at meetings. He still hadn't grasped the fact that by doodling, Neal was able to stay awake through the most boring discussion.
"What were you doodling anyway? Dropping in by parachute? Pulling a James Bond stunt?" Peter's expression turned stern. "Tell me you're not planning to go rogue on us. There will be no parachuting in."
"What about a zip-line?"
#
As expected, Peter didn't sanction Neal spending his Friday afternoon researching a sneak attack into Longthorpe's penthouse, but he offered something else as a consolation prize. Sara had contacted him earlier that morning and asked to speak with both of them. She indicated she had an update about the Ydrus mole. Although the thefts of the Raphael paintings were being handled by D.C. Art Crimes, they weren't involved with the investigation into who was leaking intel to Ydrus. Hughes and Bosch were making sure that information was shared with very few.
Neal hadn't seen Sara since she arrived in New York and was waiting for her at the elevator bank. He pointed at his watch. "Late again? I hold my fake girlfriends to a high standard, you know."
"Aren't you the complacent one?" she said with a smile. "It's been over a month since our fake date. How do you know you haven't been replaced?" They kept up their teasing as they walked through the bullpen. "Any daring feats I should know about?"
He shrugged dismissively. "Same old, same old. If you don't count the swamp witch and vampire nest, it's been deadly dull."
She raised her eyebrows. "Is that so? Gee, I didn't read about any vampires in The New York Times."
"That's not a surprise. I like to keep a low profile on all my encounters with demons of the night."
Diana was scribbling on a notepad when they walked past her on their way upstairs. "Keep talking, you two," she urged. "This makes useful resource material. I'd forgotten about that fake date you went on."
Sara turned to Neal with a puzzled look. "Care to fill me in on the joke?"
"Didn't I mention it? Diana's writing Lovecraft fanfiction these days, and she's basing her characters on the people she admires most at White Collar. I, of course, am the hero. Peter has second billing, and for some unfathomable reason, she even decided to make you the template of one of the characters."
"Keep it up, Caffrey," Diana urged, not showing her usual disdain for his jibes. "Everything you say will come back to haunt you."
Sara tossed her hair off her shoulder. "I hope you've made me a woman of mystery and intrigue?"
"How about investigative reporter?" Diana explained Sara's part in the first story.
"I'm flattered you included me, but it doesn't seem like a very big role, not befitting of my potential," Sara commented.
"Just wait till the second story," Diana assured her. "You'll be giving Neal fits."
"Wait a minute," Neal protested. "I haven't heard about that. I may need to exercise my rights of censorship."
Diana snorted. "As I've repeatedly explained, you have no rights." She turned to Sara, "Do you sing?"
Sara's eyes widened. "You must be kidding? You were there at the party after the sci-fi convention. You didn't hear me sing, did you?"
Diana shook her head regretfully. "Too bad. It would have made a great scene. Arkham Neal sings. He accompanies himself on an acoustic guitar. Neal, do you have any singers you'd like to suggest?"
Neal considered for a moment. "Paul McCartney, James Taylor, Paul Simon—you want more?"
"Maybe later. This gives me a start."
"Peter will sing too, right?'
"No, Peter's not." The man in question had descended the steps and couldn't resist throwing in his two cents.
Diana sighed regretfully. "Sorry, boss, but you may be overruled. Your wife encouraged me to have you sing, and you know how much I value her opinion."
Sara glanced around at them suspiciously. "April Fools' Day is long past. You three aren't playing me, I hope."
"You can ask Peter if you don't believe me," Neal replied. "Now, every day when I wake up I give thanks for Detective Diana Briscoe having my back."
"If only!" Diana said, rolling her eyes. "I should have your character echo those words. Maybe they'll rub off on you."
"Peter, is Diana being paid to write the stories?" Sara asked as they mounted the stairs to the conference room.
He nodded. "Hughes himself has approved it. Didn't Neal tell you that at White Collar we specialize in outside-the-box solutions?"
Once they entered the conference room, the conversation quickly turned to business.
Sara placed her briefcase on the table and pulled out a folder, handing both Peter and Neal a sheet of paper. "We've compiled a list of the Sterling-Bosch employees who had access to the records of the Raphael drawing. There are twenty-five names altogether." She pulled out a second sheet of paper. "This is the list of everyone who knew you were investigating Rinaldi. We're working on the assumption that whoever leaked the information about the Raphael drawing also informed Rinaldi at the ski resort. We already know of one employee who'd been paid off by Ydrus but he continues to insist that he hadn't heard of Rinaldi and we're inclined to believe him. He's a young employee and not a very good actor. He's been cooperating with Interpol on how he was initially approached by Ydrus and how he communicated with them."
Peter scanned the second sheet of paper. "And the names at the bottom? Are these the employees who appear on both lists?"
She nodded. "They're our lead candidates. They're all in town for the quarterly review and are being subjected to tightened scrutiny." She turned to Neal. "Comments?"
Neal raised a brow. "About Bryan being on the list? That must be awkward."
She made a face. "It's caused me to review all our past conversations and activities. When I saw his name I offered to recuse myself, but Mr. Bosch wants me to stay on. He's aware of our present strained relationship, and realizes that I'll probably be harder on him than on anyone else on the list."
"It could have been worse. At least you didn't accept his proposal."
"Wouldn't that have been a mess? Although next week won't be a picnic. We'll inevitably be bumping into each other at the meetings, and I won't be able to escape at the hotel either. Sterling-Bosch uses the Carlton Hotel just down the block from our offices. They have rooms they permanently lease for out-of-town employees, and naturally they're all on the same floor. With my luck, Bryan will have the room next to me. I'll see him at the elevator, in the coffee shop . . . Have I mentioned I've sworn never to engage in another office romance?"
"Next time go for a British lord," Neal advised. "They're much safer."
She smiled. "Good advice. Perhaps Fiona knows one or two she could recommend."
"I'll run a check on these names," Peter said. "Any Ydrus mole is undoubtedly hiding payments, but foreign governments are being much more open these days about granting us access to financial transactions."
"I assume you've interrogated Hagen about the drawing?" Sara asked.
"We have," Peter confirmed, "and he claims to know nothing about the theft. He also swears he wasn't the one who stole the Raphael painting. In general, Hagen's been cooperating. Yesterday afternoon, he confirmed that an Ydrus mole is still active within Sterling-Bosch, so your suspicions about a second informant are correct, assuming Hagen's telling the truth. And it's hard to see why he would lie about something like this."
After the meeting ended, Neal accompanied Sara to the elevator bank. He hadn't talked with her since she broke up with Bryan and debated what to say. He'd never liked the guy and now had even less reason to. But Sara once thought she was in love with him. "About Bryan, I'm sorry."
She raised a brow, "Seriously? You're sorry about Sighin' Bryan?"
He chuckled. "Okay, maybe not, but I am sorry for what you had to go through."
"Thanks. I suppose it's inevitable to have disasters in the love department. When I have one, it's king-sized." She pushed the elevator button. "Fiona told me about a brilliant new artist who'll be exhibiting at Columbia next week."
"That would be yours truly, unless, of course, she was referring to Richard or Aidan."
"The way she was gushing, it could only be you. She's asked me to go to the exhibition and take careful note of everyone oohing and aahing over your paintings. Apparently she feels you might not do justice to all the praise that will be heaped upon you."
"Would you like to come to the reception on Friday night? Besides Peter and El, Henry will also attend, along with Noelle, Angela, and Michael. Richard and Aidan will appreciate having an additional friendly face."
"Thanks. I'd enjoy that. It will also give me less of a chance to bump into Bryan . . . I assume you're not inviting him, too?"
"Darn. No more tickets left. What a shame." The elevator dinged its arrival. "Keep out of trouble, fake girlfriend."
"You too. A good fake boyfriend's hard to find."
Notes: Was Neal teasing Sara about vampires and a swamp witch? The answer lies in Whispers in the Night, a Crossed Lines story. Although Neal and Peter had agreed not to discuss the events which took place at work, a little harmless banter doesn't count, right? So far, Neal hasn't brought in any of the photos. Meanwhile, on the Arkham Files front, Diana is currently working on the next Arkham Files story, "The Locked Room." It's a safe bet that a fake date will be included. The Arkham Round Table is the subject of this week's blog post.
