Chapter 6: The Seven-Percent Solution
When Neal returned home at the end of the day, he stopped to talk with June before going upstairs. He found her in the study, editing one of Diana's chapters. Two months ago, June had offered to serve as beta reader for Diana's stories.
"I'm glad you returned when you did," she said. "Diana's written herself into a corner and can't figure out how to resolve her plot. My mind's a blank too."
Neal sat down in the chair next to her desk. "Have you been able to coax Mozzie into helping?"
"No, and that's a discouraging sign. Normally, Mozzie would love working on a plot, but he's still too fixated on his abduction. It worries me that he hasn't returned to his normal self. We played Candy Land this morning, and he didn't even cheat."
Mozzie not cheating? Perhaps he had been abducted after all. Neal did his best to comfort June. He'd hoped that last night's discussion would have been sufficient, but clearly stronger measures were required. "Where is he now?"
"He mentioned going upstairs to your loft. He said it seemed more like home. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not."
"Give me some good news. How is Henry's loft renovation proceeding?"
June had been the one who recommended Henry's architect. Eric had designed the bathroom remodel for Neal's loft last Christmas. "Henry's going for contemporary, clean lines and lots of natural woods. One of the reasons Henry decided on the space was that he can have a deck. It will run the length of the loft. He won't have a view of the water but he can see Brooklyn Bridge."
"I expect Henry will also want to consult with Joe about the project when they're in town for your art exhibition. Besides your Aunt Noelle and Joe, who else is coming for the reception on opening night?"
"My grandparents, Irene and Edmund, are also making the trip. They'll ride up with Noelle and Joe. They'll arrive on Wednesday and return on Saturday."
"I'd like to host a supper after the reception. Chef Emil was complaining to me just yesterday that he was being underutilized. Elizabeth and Peter should join us. Henry, Angela, and Michael. Is there anyone Henry would like to bring?"
Neal smiled. "As a matter of fact, Eric is coming with him to the reception. Be sure to seat Eric next to the grandparents."
June chuckled. "I'm onto your sneaky ways, Neal Caffrey."
Discussing the reception with June was much more pleasant than what Neal feared he'd find upstairs, but after a few minutes, his conscience insisted on no more delays. Mozzie had seen Neal through innumerable crises. It was payback time.
Neal could hear the strains of violin music as he jogged up the stairs. The door to his loft was open.
Mozzie was sitting at the dining table, nodding to the music. An open bottle of Bordeaux and a couple of glasses were on the table. Neal greeted him and tried to engage him in conversation as he hung up his jacket. "That's beautiful music you have on. What is it?"
"Bach's Violin Partita Number 2. Sherlock was very fond of it, I believe." Mozzie stroked his chin and gazed up at the ceiling. "Sherlock and I have much in common, you know. Our extraordinary intellect, of course. Our capacity to derive solutions from the chaos of information around us."
Mozzie was smiling as he spoke. Neal took that as a positive sign, although he had misgivings about Mozzie comparing himself too closely to Sherlock. "Did you have a good day?"
"The best and I have you to thank for it." He stood up, went over to the kitchen counter, and picked up a glass tumbler by the sink. The glass was about a third full with a liquid colored an unusual light blue. Mozzie raised the glass, nodded to him, and drank the entire contents.
"What did you drink?" Neal demanded. No honey wine was blue. What had Mozzie done?
He sprawled in the chair opposite Neal and stretched his legs out. "I never would have thought of it if it hadn't been for you. Yesterday, when you asked if I'd taken a drug, it struck me, you weren't talking about the past but what I should do now—take a drug. And so I did."
"You didn't!" Neal strode over to his friend. "What was in that glass?"
"This will clarify my mind. I, like Sherlock, sometimes need the help of a seven-percent solution."
Neal seized him by the shoulders. "Tell me, you didn't take cocaine." His mind raced. What emergency measures should he take? Call 911, get an ambulance—
Mozzie shook off his hands. "Don't be ridiculous. What I took was much more effective. Sit down, Neal. You're making me nervous."
"I'm making you nervous?" Neal swallowed, trying not to yell at him.
"Have a drink. It will calm you for what's ahead." Mozzie reached for the open bottle of Bordeaux and poured him a glass.
"Why couldn't you have stuck with wine?" Neal moaned.
"Because wine wasn't what I needed. Now, no more interruptions. We don't have much time. Have you ever heard of the Cinderella drug?"
"You mean Goodnight, Cinderella? The drug used by girls in South America to scam their johns?"
"That's right. There are many varieties to the cocktail which can be altered to provide the desired effect. I've been conducting extensive research on the subject."
So he was right. Mozzie had been experimenting with drugs. "Tell me you haven't been testing them on yourself."
Mozzie didn't reply directly. "There's one variety, which I henceforth will call my Seven-Percent Solution that I believe will allow me to access my repressed memories of the abduction. Sherlock would have approved my methods while being jealous that I have so many more choices available to me. You remember the drug Flashback you were given a year ago at the estate on Long Island?"
Neal's heart sank through his stomach. "The one I nearly died from? It rings a bell."
"While I was doing surveillance, I helped myself to a few boxes. I realized they would come in handy and through careful experimentation I've achieved the perfect blend. I wouldn't be surprised if the aliens used something similar on me. In a few minutes, I will enter an altered state, and you must probe my memory for what occurred during my abduction."
"Can't I call the medics instead?"
"No," he insisted. "Neal, you must trust me. I, like Sherlock, will be fine. You will serve as my Watson, transcribing my thoughts and recording them for the final solution. In approximately sixty to seventy minutes, I will fall asleep. Since I won't remember what I said, you must record everything as you skillfully ask the correct questions to elicit the maximum information. It rests on your shoulders to draw out what the aliens' master plan . . . ooh, I'm feeling giddy . . ."
Neal viewed him with alarm. Mozzie was swaying back and forth in his chair, his eyes like saucers. He guided his friend over to the couch and helped him lie down. Retrieving pillows from the bed, Neal propped his head up. Should he go along? If Mozzie were right, he could at least find out what drug combination he'd taken, and then they'd have a serious talk about drug experimentation. The trouble was, he'd thought they'd already had one. Neal had never felt so over his head.
How was he supposed to draw him out? Mozzie and he had watched an old X-Files episode where Scully accessed Mulder's repressed memories. Was that what Mozzie wanted? Neal was supposed to be Scully, not Watson? Last spring when he'd been given the overdose of Flashback, Noelle had helped him retrieve his memories of what happened when Vance had injured him. But Neal was so out of it at the time, his recollection of how she'd guided the process was too sketchy to be helpful.
Neal took a quick glug of wine. The saving grace in this idiotic maneuver was that Mozzie most likely didn't have any traumatic incident to remember. Neal could play back the recording and prove Mozzie hadn't been abducted.
Neal retrieved a flash voice recorder from his desk. Adopting what he hoped was a dispassionate, soothing tone, he asked, "Do you remember last Friday night?"
"Yes," Mozzie's reply was delivered without any inflection.
"What did you do?"
"I worked in my bunker, researching the effect of ingesting slime mold. I began with peach mold. When mixed with gamma hydroxybutyrate, it produces a most unusual effect. I felt my senses widen, my powers increased. I shed my clothes. I was free."
While Mozzie gave painfully precise details, Neal sighed with disappointment. Mozzie had mentioned GHB to Neal before, praising its use for insomnia and narcolepsy. He also admitted its use as a stimulant, calling it lollipops. Who knows what the effect would be if he ingested it with tunnel slime? Did Neal really need to listen to him describe his actions while under the influence? He was going to burn the recording after making Mozzie listen to it.
He attempted to move Mozzie along. "You were supposed to meet Janet on Saturday morning. Why didn't you?"
"I meant to. I couldn't. I was walking on the street when someone grabbed me from behind."
Neal stared at him. He didn't mention taking any drugs on Saturday morning. Neal pressed him about his condition before he left for the walk, and he sounded fine. He'd taken breakfast at the Emporium, confirming Billy's report. Had Mozzie really been abducted?
"A bag was placed over my head. I was hustled into a vehicle. By the sound of the engine, I deduced it was a van." Mozzie paused for a moment, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. "Likely a chemical in the bag knocked me out. The next thing I knew there was no engine noise. Instead of lying on a metal floor, I felt the contours of a dental exam chair around me. It felt like pebbled vinyl, no, Naugahyde." He sniffed the air. "The smell of disinfectant . . . and perspiration . . . and garlic. Someone had been eating Indian food. I could detect a whiff of curry. Lamb vindaloo."
"Was the hood still over your head?"
"No. I remember lying there for several minutes, my eyes closed. A murmur of voices. They were speaking too low for me to overhear. Really quite rude. I chanced a look through squinted eyelids and saw . . . " Mozzie sat upright on the couch. "I saw Garrett Fowler standing in front of me."
Neal's Loft. Saturday morning.
"That's right, Mozz. If you don't believe me, listen to the recording. It was Fowler who kidnapped you, not space aliens."
Neal refilled their mugs with coffee. He'd gotten an hour's worth of recording before Mozzie collapsed and fell asleep. Neal covered him with blankets and kept watch during the night. He was uncertain what kind of side effect he should look for, but Mozzie didn't have the sweats, fever, and nausea that Neal had experienced when he was drugged in December. Instead Mozzie slept like a baby, well, a snoring baby.
When Mozzie finally awoke after a fifteen-hour sleep, he seemed back to his old self. He demanded his shower cap and Neal's bathroom for his morning ablutions. While he showered and changed, Neal headed out to acquire the Crenshaw melon which Mozzie the Diva insisted upon for breakfast. It took Neal several stops at produce markets before he was able to find one.
Over a breakfast of French toast, Neal explained what Mozzie had divulged during his Cinderella-induced trance. Mozzie's memory was slowly resurfacing, but it was still spotty.
Mozzie pointed his French toast-laden fork at him. "You mock me for my drug experiments, but thanks to them, I'd built up a tolerance. Last month when I heard of Bolotnov's plans to brainwash you in Moscow to work for the Russian Mafia, I knew I needed to prepare for something similar happening to me. Fowler and his minions thought I'd passed out. They didn't realize I was eavesdropping on their conversation. When Fowler injected me with the drug, I was able to play the part of someone under the influence in a display of thespian virtuosity worthy of Olivier."
Neal huffed as he contemplated him. "I grant you it was helpful this time, but you still need to promise me no more drug experiments."
"You're lecturing me? Aren't you the one who last month was quite willing to take pufferfish poison?"
Neal winced. Mozzie would bring that up. "And I now realize I was an idiot to contemplate something so foolhardy."
"At the time you thought the end justified it. The risk I took was far less than what you were contemplating, and it was worth it. All Fowler wanted to know was if you had the Braque painting or knew where it was. I was able to convince him that Klaus had sold it while you were in New York. I even overheard Fowler boasting about the skill of his interrogation technique. Adler will no longer bother us now that he thinks we don't know anything about it."
"But afterward . . . the risk you took. That could have been a lethal dose."
Mozzie shrugged. "It worked, didn't it? I couldn't take the chance that they'd inject me with an additional dose and I might reveal secrets. By faking that I was woozier than I actually was, they left me alone. That allowed me to inject myself with a dose sufficient to cause unconsciousness."
"You're sure you simply don't remember?"
"Not with the dose I took. The drug was marked sodium pentothal," Mozzie added, looking as if that explained everything. When Neal didn't respond, he added, "After all the research I've conducted, I'm an expert on the precise amount required to achieve the desired reaction."
"Did you know you'd suffer amnesia as a consequence?"
"That was an unexpected wrinkle, I admit. No doubt a result of the first drug they gave me. Still, we now have a breather. Time for you to recover the painting and for us to discover exactly why Adler is so interested in it."
"And for that, I'll need to have you at your best. No more drugs, please."
He hesitated for a moment. "Very well, if it means that much to you. I'll agree to no more experiments with slime mold. It was causing unpleasant interactions with my digestive system. I'd noticed quite startling results in the bathroom—"
"We're eating, Mozz. Let's leave the graphic descriptions for later, okay?"
"Very well, but I make no promises if I get bored."
"Will you at least warn me next time?"
"An equitable solution, one that even Sherlock might approve."
It had been a close call. Mozzie didn't know the exact location of the Braque, but he could have told Fowler that Neal knew where it was. Why was Adler so certain Neal had the Braque? Keller might have told him when he was in Argentina in December, but that raised the question of how Keller knew. Only Klaus, Neal, and Chantal had known about the theft. Chantal had been the first one to tell Neal that someone wanted to buy it. She wouldn't have acted that way if she'd told Adler. Besides, Neal trusted her. Klaus must have told someone before he died. Had Klaus worked with Adler?
Now Neal had the additional problem of Fowler. He'd managed to sneak into New York and kidnap Mozzie without any alarms being raised. Fowler was on the federal and international watch lists. How had he done it? Did he have an accomplice within the system? If Adler worked with Ydrus, was Fowler being helped by an FBI informant? Had Fowler left New York or was he still here? The questions swirled in Neal's mind throughout breakfast.
He longed to tell Peter. But how could he explain the kidnapping without revealing his knowledge of the Braque? Neal's relatives were coming to town next week to attend the opening reception to the art exhibition, not to see him slapped with an arrest warrant from Interpol. The time was long past when he could tell Peter about the Braque. He'd have to handle it himself.
Mozzie joined him in washing dishes after breakfast. "Are you going to be okay here?" Neal asked.
"I'll be fine. Janet's coming over this morning. There's no telescope workshop today and I promised June I'd help her with Diana's chapter. Now that my mental block is gone, I'll work on getting rid of Diana's. You have your fencing competition—the final one of the season. You should go."
#
"His amnesia was caused by experimenting with drugs?" Aidan shook his head as he retrieved his fencing jacket from his locker.
Neal had told Richard and Aidan about Mozzie while they changed in the locker room at the gym. He and Mozzie had agreed to pass off his disappearance as an innocent mishap. "That's right. You both know how fascinated he's been with tunnel slime. He decided to make a guinea pig of himself by ingesting some of the stuff with a few other ingredients he's refused to name. They resulted in giving him temporary amnesia. He's promised me he won't try anything like that again."
"It's a miracle he didn't come down with something far worse," Richard commented. "I remember when we first discussed the tunnels with him and he was terrified of catching bubonic plague from underground rat reservoirs. He needs to get some of that fear back. Should we plant a few rats?"
Neal smiled. Someday he'd have to introduce Aidan and Richard to Mozzie's pet rat, Percy.
"Is Mozzie coming to the fencing match?" Aidan asked
"No. He's resting at June's. That's just as well. We've got a full crowd already. Henry, Angela, Travis, and Keiko will all be here."
"Good strategy," Richard remarked. "We won't have room for any Harvard fans."
Aidan looked over at Richard as he zipped up his jacket. "Last time we met Harvard, you'd just begun and weren't competing. You should be proud of how much you've improved."
"But back then we were the Three Musketeers, saving the honor of a queen, rescuing her diamond earrings. Will we ever have another adventure like that?"
Neal grinned. "Fancy being a swashbuckler again?" When Fowler had tried to frame him, he'd had his doubts about the wisdom of bringing in Richard and Aidan on his con, but he couldn't have done it without them. Not only were they instrumental to its success but they turned a stressful situation into an adventure of the Musketeers. They used the names of the Musketeers as aliases—Richard was Porthos, Aidan was Aramis. Fowler was given the code name of Richelieu. Those aliases could come in handy again someday. Neal nodded toward Richard's locker. "I see you still have your voodoo doll for good luck."
"How about you?" Richard asked. "Fiona's no longer here to bestow a token of her favor. What's a knight to do?"
"She called me yesterday to wish me luck," Neal replied, "and I'm wearing her amulet, so I figure Harvard doesn't stand a chance."
"What amulet's this?" Aidan asked.
"This spring she gave Neal a Celtic good luck amulet," Richard said as Neal showed Aidan the pewter charm around his neck. "It's a triquetra knot."
Fiona had given it to him during the party after the sci-fi convention. Diana had been there. Was that where she got the idea of giving his character in Arkham Files an amulet? Neal's amulet had kept him safe from Keller and being kidnapped to Moscow. Would Neal Carter's amulet keep him equally safe from the priest in the yellow silk mask? And was that priest in the yellow silk mask based on Yellowface, the crime-fighting bee superhero who starred in Aidan's video? Neal suspected he'd have better luck getting those questions answered than discovering the whereabouts of Fowler.
#
The amulet and voodoo doll must have worked their magic as the fencing competition was a triumphant success. Even Richard beat his opponent. They'd celebrated with their supporters at the Roaring Lion pub afterward. Neal was glad Henry joined them. Until his office was set up, he didn't know many people in New York. Both Angela and Neal were working hard to make sure he felt welcome.
After lunch, Neal and Henry accompanied Angela down Broadway Avenue to her apartment. "Could you scrounge one more ticket for your reception?" Henry asked.
Neal looked at him, surprised. "No problem. Who else wants to come?"
"I'd mentioned the exhibition to Eric and he'd like to see your art."
Angela grinned. "Why sure, bring him along. That will give Noelle and Dressa a chance to check him out, and they won't focus so much on Michael."
Henry grimaced. "Don't get sassy. You better not sic my mother and grandmother on Eric. That kind of ganging up earns you a foul. Besides, what makes you think we're dating?"
"Why aren't you? I've met him. He's a hunk."
Neal snickered as Henry said, "Hey, give me a break. It's purely business. He's the architect for my loft and Win-Win's new office space. Eric's into modern art. Knows much more about it than I do, which is zilch as Neal so often reminds me."
Angela nudged Neal. "Methinks he doth protest too much."
Neal chuckled. "Yeah. The old 'we're just friends' line—I know it well."
Henry glared at them. "I begin to detect advantages to living in another city. You want to change the subject before I call the movers?"
"Gladly," Angela said. "We need to discuss the relatives' schedule. And stop rolling your eyes, you two. This is a big deal. Noelle, Dor, and Dressa all attended Columbia but they know little about the liberal arts and fine arts programs. I'm giving them the grand tour of the facilities on Friday. Who else is available?"
Neal shook his head. "Count me out. I've already asked for the day off but I'll need to spend the day in the museum installing my paintings."
She crinkled her nose at him but finally acquiesced. "All right, Henry will help me, and that's the full day, Henry."
"Columbia's not that large. Why do you need so much time?"
"It will be midmorning before we get started, and you know how many questions the grandparents like to ply us with. I want to give them a demo of the recording studio, maybe sit in on some lectures. Michael can show them around the art history facility. Noelle saw it on Family Day last fall but the others haven't. The rest of Friday is taken up with Neal's reception and June's supper afterward. That takes care of Friday but we still have Thursday night to plan."
Neal shook his head. "I have a class. It's computational art. The last one before the final exam. I can't miss it."
She scowled. "You're not making this easy."
"Wednesday night I'm free for dinner. Would you like to go to La Palette? Jacques has remodeled the wine cellar as a private room. I could reserve it for us."
She beamed. "That's perfect. Dressa mentioned she wanted me to pick a place where you'd like to go. After all, this is your event."
"Yeah, enjoy the glory, kiddo," Henry added. "I'll have my celebration when the new Win-Win office opens." He turned to Angela. "What's on tap for Thursday?"
"That's the day Noelle and Joe will spend with you going over your plans for the loft and office. I'm taking the grandparents shopping."
"I saw Sara today at work," Neal said. "She's coming to the reception."
"Has she set a wedding date?" Henry asked.
Neal shook his head. "Hardly. She turned down Bryan's proposal."
Henry stared at him. "What? She rejected Sighin' Bryan?"
"Sighin' Bryan?" Angela interjected. "Is that what she called him?"
Henry laughed. "Not exactly. That was Neal's term for him because Sara used to sigh so much about him."
#
After saying goodbye to Angela and Henry, Neal spent the afternoon painting before returning home. He took a break mid-afternoon to call June. She reported that Janet had come over for lunch and had spent a couple of hours with Mozzie, but his frustration over the blanks in his memory was beginning to resurface.
If Mozzie kept that up, Peter wouldn't be the only one carrying antacids around. Would Mozzie imitate his newfound role model and, like Sherlock, resort to drugs again? Was Neal doomed to another night of a Cinderella-based rant? Faced with that thought, was it any wonder his painting session was a wasted effort? Neal called it quits at four and reviewed his options while cleaning up. There was nothing Mozzie could do about the Braque painting till Neal retrieved it. The Dutchman had sailed into port and was awaiting arraignment. Azathoth hadn't sent any other riddles. That left only one possibility.
Neal stopped off for Chinese takeout on the way home. When he arrived at June's, she was working on Diana's story in the living room. Mozzie was sitting beside her in a chair, a pen grasped loosely in his hand and a bare notepad on his lap. When June greeted him, Mozzie didn't even look up.
"The game's afoot, Mozz," Neal called out. "I need your assistance." He waved the takeout bag enticingly.
Mozzie heaved a sigh. "Don't waste your time on me." He glanced up despondently. "That's from the Hunan Pavilion." His face brightened. "That can only mean one thing."
Neal nodded, arching his eyebrows knowingly.
"And what meaning is that?" June asked, injecting an extra dose of excitement into her voice.
"Neal knows I require Chinese food for strategizing. It makes me one with Sun Tzu, the famous Chinese war strategist."
She laughed. "Say no more. You boys have fun."
Mozzie peppered Neal with questions while they went upstairs, but Neal prolonged the suspense until they were in the loft. While Mozzie opened the takeout containers, Neal got out the plates and wine glasses. "You remember I told you about Duncan Longthorpe? I may need a way to gain access to his penthouse."
Mozzie strode over to the bookcase and retrieved the Monopoly board. Placing the board on the table, he sorted through the tokens. "Is this with or without suit participation?"
"Better make it without. They don't know about it yet." Neal retrieved a bottle of honey wine from the fridge and filled their glasses.
"I like it already."
Neal chuckled. "I thought you would. They're trying to obtain a search warrant, but if they fail, I want to have a backup plan in place." He powered on his laptop and browsed to the New York City Department of Buildings website. "The city should be commended for making building blueprints available on their website."
Mozzie pulled the laptop over and entered his user name and password.
"Do they still know you as Marvin Goldblum?"
"Yes, Marvin's record as a city building inspector is outstanding. He won employee of the month in March." Mozzie pulled up the blueprint for 32 Vanderbilt Plaza. Helping himself to a generous amount of General Tso's chicken, he ate while studying the blueprint.
"We don't have much time to prepare," Neal warned. "Tuesday morning is our best opportunity. Longthorpe is scheduled to attend a Chamber of Commerce symposium that day."
"What is it you're looking for?"
"I want to copy his hard drive and find out what else he has."
"In other words, go on a treasure hunt?"
Neal shrugged. "It's a penthouse. It could be an Aladdin's cave."
Mozzie fingered the Monopoly automobile token. "I haven't run the Kansas City Mudslide in a while. That could be productive."
"But the jackhammer may pose a problem. How about a Wally Burns?"
"With my rat as the distraction? One rat set loose in the lobby could provide just the amount of chaos we need and Percy could use an outing. The fresh air would do him good. Fresh air . . ." Mozzie's voice trailed off as he gazed wide-eyed into space, his mouth dropping open.
"Are you okay?" Was Mozzie suffering a delayed side effect to the Cinderella drug? Neal waved a hand in front of his face.
Mozzie slammed his hand down on the table so hard that the dishes rattled. "I remembered! I found the solution to Azathoth's riddle!"
Notes: The Cinderella drug is a nod to the season 5 canon episode "Controlling Interest." Neal's experiences with the drug Flashback were described in Caffrey Flashback by Penna Nomen. The first fencing match with Harvard was in The Queen's Jewels. In that same story, Neal introduced Mozzie to the university tunnel network. Neal compares Mozzie's recovery to the time he was drugged in An Evening with Genji. The attempt by the Russian mafia to kidnap Neal was in The Mirror.
Diana is playing it close to the vest about whether the priest in the yellow silk mask in Arkham Files was inspired by the crime-fighting bee Yellowface, but she admitted Fiona gave her the idea for Neal's amulet.
