Chapter 8: Penthouse Treasures
Monday was a waiting game for the search warrant that never came. Neal chafed at the thought of what Longthorpe could be destroying. More than ever he wished he could implement the plan he and Mozzie had devised. Percy needed a workout. The last time Neal had seen Mozzie's rat at Sal's, it was obvious he was being fed too much. The rat was in danger of becoming a blimp.
Normally, Neal would have pressed Peter to approve his plan. But Azathoth's manipulations had quashed that. If Neal messed up, not only would his career be in jeopardy, but Peter's as well. So no Percy.
But it wouldn't be easy. He was already feeling leashed, just like that lion. Was that what Azathoth intended?
Midday arrived and still no search warrant. Neal regretted he'd brown-bagged his lunch. No excuse to take a walk. But if he left, the warrant was bound to arrive and he wouldn't be there to accompany the team.
He sighed and headed for the breakroom. No one else was there when he arrived. Just him and the bare white walls. Why hadn't Peter let him paint a mural yet? What kind of mural would he paint? He took his bag out of the fridge and sat at the table, staring at the wall gloomily. A surrealist fantasy or something abstract? A trompe l'oeil of open safes filled with treasure?
"Why are you staring at the wall?" Peter asked, walking in and going to the fridge.
"Just planning my mural."
"You should make it an exercise in strategic thinking," Jones suggested, joining them. Peter tossed him his lunch bag. It was required that all bags be marked with names after that regrettable incident when Hughes had taken Peter's deviled ham sandwich by mistake.
Jones's arrival allowed Neal to bug him with entreaties to speed things up.
"We're working with a limited group of Justice Department officials for warrants because of the heightened confidentiality restrictions," Jones said. "This time we're suffering the consequences. The official in charge of the review process is in the hospital undergoing a hip replacement. Obtaining the proper clearance from a backup official is taking longer than we anticipated."
Neal added an extra dose of pitiful overtones to his moan. "Longthorpe could be destroying evidence while we sit on our hands. He has to know that Hagen's been captured."
Peter shot him a quick look. "Don't go lone wolf on this, Neal."
"I'm not," he quickly assured him. "The Bureau's procedural manual is my guide in all things."
"Now I know you're planning something."
Neal sighed. "I wasn't joking."
"Well, you don't have to look so miserable about it. Jones, do you have a time estimate for the warrant?"
"I was assured we'd get it early tomorrow morning."
Peter nodded. "We'll use that for our timetable and tentatively schedule the operation for tomorrow morning."
Sterling-Bosch Headquarters. Monday afternoon.
The speaker glanced at his watch. "It's three o'clock. Let's take a break. We'll start up again at three-thirty."
Bryan McKenzie put down his pen and stretched his arms in front of him, flexing his fingers. "Finally. After hours of sitting through revenue analysis, I'm going to stretch my legs. I may be a little late. I need to make a call to the San Francisco office."
His colleague shrugged. "Don't rush back. The first session went on so long, everyone will take their time. Bring me back a decent cup of coffee when you return."
Bryan smiled easily. "My pleasure." He stood up and joined the throng leaving the conference room.
The elevator was full so he opted for the stairs. The stairwell was empty. No one to notice him fly down the steps two at a time. If anyone entered, he'd claim he was sneaking in some cardio. When he arrived at the lobby, Bryan slowed down to a stroll. Once out of the building, he sped up his pace to the Carlton Hotel at the end of the block. Not for the first time, he savored the convenience of the Sterling-Bosch corporate hotel rooms. It was as if Sterling-Bosch was not only sanctioning but facilitating his actions.
He knew from the start that Sara was a long shot. If he could have reeled her in, she would have been quite the prize. And he would have succeeded if it hadn't been for Caffrey. But no matter. Ydrus had paid generously for his efforts. Bryan hadn't needed their counsel to realize he should have a contingency plan in place. Now his diligence was paying off. Eliminate Sara and Caffrey in one perfectly timed strike.
The poison was procured, the needle obtained, the card was ready. He'd placed the order online to the chocolate house the previous afternoon. Last winter when he'd copied Sara's credit card information, he'd considered it a pro forma move—insurance against any eventuality. He hadn't expected to collect on the policy so soon, but he was ready.
The chocolate house guaranteed delivery the following morning. Bryan had stayed at the hotel so frequently he knew the routine. As he walked through the front doors, he pictured the deliveryman taking the package to the concierge desk. The concierge would have called Sara's room to leave a message and placed the package in the pickup area.
Now it was a simple matter of calling the concierge away from her desk. Bryan walked to the telephone bank and placed the call. He'd researched the hotel manager already and rehearsed his accent, his inflections. Imitating his voice was trivial. As expected, as soon as she got the request to assist one of the guests in the penthouse, the concierge scurried off to the elevator.
Bryan slipped behind her desk and retrieved the package. He was prepared to claim he was picking it up for Sara if anyone stopped him but no one did. The final touch. Bryan took out a note he'd forged in Sara's handwriting that she'd picked up the package. He placed it in the center of the concierge desk.
Bryan's heart beat faster as he took the elevator up to his room. To set the plan in motion was exhilarating. He'd have to ask Ydrus for more demanding assignments. Soon he could tell Python herself about his accomplishment.
He checked his watch. Seventeen minutes had elapsed. No time to waste. He retrieved his supplies from the hidden compartment in his suitcase and injected the chocolates. The supplies he'd dispose of in a trashcan on the way back to the office.
Bryan placed the chocolate box and cellophane wrapping into a cardboard box and sealed it. On his way out of the hotel, he stopped off at the concierge desk and left it for the Ydrus operative. The man had promised to pick it up before five o'clock. He guaranteed the chocolate box would be resealed perfectly. No one would suspect it'd been tampered with. Bryan had already made the arrangements to retrieve the box on Friday.
Bryan reviewed his outline mentally as he walked back to Sterling-Bosch. It was ironclad. He'd been meticulous in the preparation. For a brief moment, he felt a twinge of regret about Sara. They would have made an unbeatable team. But there would be other opportunities ahead for him. Python had already hinted of a new partner. For Sara, there were no other chances. She'd arrived at the end of the line.
#
Neal opted to call Chantal in the morning from his loft before leaving for work. It was early afternoon in Paris. He hoped to find her taking a break before the evening crowd. It was not a call he was looking forward to. Would she resent his questions?
Apparently not. Chantal was quite willing to discuss what had happened.
"Klaus told you I wanted to retire from safecracking and start a family, no? For many months beforehand, I'd considered leaving the business and going legit as you Americans would say. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think part of the reason I delayed was because you were there. I enjoyed our friendship, and you brought out the best in Klaus. After you left . . ." She paused and Neal could picture her making a Gallic shrug. "There was no longer any reason to delay. Klaus didn't attempt to save our marriage. Now I wonder if he ever loved me."
"I regret having to dredge up painful memories."
"I've already made peace with them. You asked if he was close with anyone and I'm afraid I really couldn't say. He traveled extensively that final year, as you know. I rarely knew why. I assumed some of the trips were for the family business. He maintained the front of working at his father's investment firm and advising wealthy clients. He didn't ask me to assist with jobs after you left but our relations were so poor, I'm sure he didn't trust me. Very possibly he was working with others, but I wouldn't know who they were."
"Did you ever hear him mention the words Ydrus or Python?" Neal spelled them out for her.
"What is an Ydrus? Is it a snake like the python?"
"In a sense. It's a criminal group which started in Eastern Europe."
"No, I can't remember he did, but I will share this with you." She took a sip of a beverage. "I believe there was someone else—a woman. I think that's why he didn't try harder to save our marriage."
The more Chantal talked about Klaus, the more Neal realized how little he'd known his true nature back then. It was a humbling feeling. "What led you to believe he was seeing someone else?"
"Oh, he was very clever. He never dropped any references or called out her name in his sleep. But once when he returned from a trip and hadn't unpacked his suitcase, I opened it to remove his shirts for the dry cleaner. There was a lingering fragrance of Shalimar. I suspect that was why he didn't fight me on the divorce. He gave me a handsome settlement. Perhaps some would blame me for accepting his money, but I believe I'd earned it."
#
When Neal arrived at work he shared the information with Peter and Tricia. Neal wasn't surprised that there was another woman. Klaus prided himself on being a strategic thief. If he thought a woman would assist in obtaining his objective, he would have pursued her. He might have been seeking another safecracker to replace Chantal. In any case, the report was over two years old. What were the odds Klaus had maintained a relationship with her, and she felt strongly enough about him to now seek revenge? In Neal's view, so low as to not be worth considering.
Especially when there was something far more interesting to focus on. Jones's estimate of the warrant's arrival turned out to be accurate. Mozzie's backup plan with his rat wouldn't be necessary, after all.
At 10:30 a.m. the White Collar team was assembled in front of 32 Vanderbilt Plaza. The business magnate wasn't at home. The surveillance team reported he'd left at 8:45 a.m. to attend a Chamber of Commerce meeting which was scheduled to last several hours. Peter, Jones, and Diana would conduct the raid. They were taking no chances and had backup personnel in the unlikely event they encountered any opposition.
Neal didn't have to wait long in the van before Peter called him up. Meeting Neal at the door to the penthouse, he said, "One guard and a housekeeper. They offered no resistance. The guard called Longthorpe. I expect we'll see him shortly."
Neal walked into the palatial living room of the penthouse. Should Longthorpe be called Goldfinger? Everywhere he looked he saw gold. The Louis XV salon chairs had gold gilt frames, the marble columns topped with gold Corinthian capitals, the crystal chandeliers . . . It was over-the-top French Rococo meets New York nouveau riche, with none of the delicate refinement of the true Rococo. The ostentatious splendor left him wanting to scrape off gold dust from his jacket.
But what immediately drew his attention were the murals. On the walls, on the ceilings, they were even in the bedrooms. They were all executed in the style of Lemoyne. Longthorpe must fancy himself another Louis XV. The mural in the dining room was unfinished. Neal studied it at length. Peter came up to ask him about it.
"It has Hagen's brushwork technique. I wonder if he's the artist. That would explain why Hagen spent so much time in New York. Longthorpe probably was paying him handsomely for the project."
"From what Hagen said, I don't think he liked Longthorpe very much," Peter commented. "Is this a case of an abused artist taking revenge on his patron?"
Neal shrugged. "It's happened before. Many artists had love-hate relationships with their patrons. Michelangelo flew into rages against Pope Julius II. I don't understand why Hagen didn't admit it. He spilled the beans on Longthorpe. Why not confess he was painting murals for him?"
"Perhaps he considered the murals beneath him? If he dislikes Longthorpe, he may have wanted to disavow them."
Peter left to check on the other team members and Neal resumed his survey of the penthouse. Longthorpe's palace in the sky took up the entire top floor of the building and had five bedrooms. Somewhere there had to be at least one safe.
Neal searched all the obvious locations: bedrooms, behind paintings, in closets, and under carpeting, but came up blank. With the elimination of the standard locations, the fun began. He wished Mozzie could have been there to join in. It was inconceivable Longthorpe didn't have a safe. If he'd been smart, he would have installed a safe in an obvious location and placed a few items inside as a decoy. A man who engaged in such grandiose gestures in his interior decorating wouldn't have settled for something tiny. Longthorpe was the U.S. head of Ydrus. He'd want something befitting of his status.
Neal strode into the study where Travis was working on Longthorpe's computer. This was one room that had a more restrained use of gold. The walls were paneled in walnut. The ceiling was painted with a sky mural. One wall had floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Neal examined them closely and found what he was looking for. The seam had been well concealed. He'd give the carpenters points for excellent construction, but they hadn't fooled him. Neal started pulling the books out of the bookcase.
Travis looked up. "You think he's hiding something in the books?"
"No. They're just ornaments. This is what we want." He pointed to the electronic lock and opened his bag for Gert. Turning it on, he placed it next to the lock.
Travis approached, his nose twitching with curiosity. "Where'd you get that?"
Neal smiled as he finessed the settings. Gert was about the size of a thin paperback and equipped with multiple dials. Some of the dials were meant to foil any unauthorized use. It really had been Mozzie's finest invention. "This is a Mozzie original. And sorry, that's all I can tell you. You'll have to ask him about it."
Travis winced. "I already know how successful I'll be."
Neal entered the code and pulled on the bookcase. It opened up to reveal the room inside. Travis stared at it, wide-eyed. "Wait for Peter. He'll want to go in with us."
Neal stood back and let Peter have the honor of entering first. He and Travis followed. The room was narrow and compact. A computer workstation and printer were on a long table which served as a desk. Travis immediately sat down and set to work. But Neal's attention was drawn to the large wall safe. The door was six feet tall and three feet wide.
"Can you open it?" Peter demanded.
"State of the art, reinforced titanium. Six-cylinder. Probably three false gates. I'll need a few minutes."
Peter smiled as Neal got out his stethoscope. "The doctor, I take it, is in the house?"
"Yes, and he's ready to perform surgery."
As Neal worked, he heard muffled voices. Longthorpe must have arrived. At first, his voice was barely audible, but it quickly turned loud and venomous. He'd probably caught sight of the open door in the bookcase. Neal could hear Jones and Diana ordering him to take a seat in the living room. So far no one had found anything to use against Longthorpe. Travis was copying his computer files, but Neal was counting on the safe to provide the evidence they needed.
When Neal pulled open the safe door, Peter was standing beside him. Inside were several shelves filled with documents, jewelry boxes, and cash, but what immediately caught Neal's attention was one item by itself on the middle shelf.
Peter leaned forward to take a closer look. "It's the Raphael drawing!"
Travis came over to watch as Neal carefully slid his hands under Head of a Young Apostle and pulled it out of the safe. "You think it's genuine?"
Neal laid the drawing on the desk and pulled out his jeweler's loupe. He'd never examined it but he'd seen the original of the Raphael drawing which was displayed in his niche at the lab. "It will need to be analyzed, but my instinct is telling me yes."
#
Sara breathed a small sigh of relief as she turned off the projector in the conference room. Her presentation had gone surprisingly well.
She considered procedural reviews a necessary evil best performed by someone else. When Mr. Bosch requested she lead a discussion of the new authentication procedures, she bribed herself by shopping for a new dress for the occasion. The presentation had gone so smoothly she promised herself to make that a tradition for all similar events.
Now she felt like celebrating. A few agents were going to a nearby bar. They'd asked her to come along and normally she would have. One slight problem. They'd also asked Bryan, and that made it decidedly awkward.
She'd heard that he arrived in town over the weekend. They had a couple of chance encounters in the hallways. He was playing it cool—well, frigid was a better term—but to his credit, he was civil. When she broke up with him the weekend before, his aloof politeness was hard to take. It would have been so much easier if he'd been more emotional. Lord knows she was. She'd been agonizing over the decision for weeks, and what would be the best way to soften the blow. She shouldn't have bothered.
How could she have ever fallen for someone who was such a cold fish? It was humbling and humiliating. Afterward, she vented to Fiona for an hour on the phone about it. She needed to send Fiona a thank you gift for being so understanding.
Sara looked at her watch. Four o'clock. Probably too late to call Fiona. She'd call her the next day to report on her new formula for how to succeed in presentations.
Sara decided to splurge on room service. She'd order something extravagant off the menu and binge-watch the American TV programs she'd been missing out on. Her work for the day was done. She knew Bryan was slated to lead a discussion with senior investigators on mentoring junior employees. It was probably still going on. If she left now, she could avoid another awkward encounter.
The Monday morning session had been painful enough. A colleague had suggested they go out to dinner on Friday. Bryan was standing next to her. She was glad she could beg off, using Neal's reception as an excuse.
Sara closed the doors of the now empty conference room and started down the hallway when she heard voices and rapid footsteps. That sounded like Peter. Why would he be here? Her eyes widened as she saw him advance in rapid strides toward the conference room where Bryan was holding his seminar. Mr. Bosch was accompanying him as well as Jones, Diana, and one other agent she didn't recognize. Peter's eyes flicked over Sara as they passed but he gave no other acknowledgment of her. Mr. Bosch opened the conference room doors and they walked inside. Sara and a few other colleagues stood in the hallway, exchanging confused looks.
She could hear Bryan speaking when the doors were opened but then dead silence. Peter's voice resounded through the room as he placed Bryan under arrest for conspiracy in larceny and fraud. The fifteen or so people sitting around the table watched in shocked silence as Bryan was led out in handcuffs. Peter and the other agents walked out with them, closing the doors behind them. Mr. Bosch remained behind, probably to address what had happened.
Peter stopped to speak with her while the others led Bryan off. "Is there some place we can talk?" he asked. His brown eyes were looking at her with sympathy.
She nodded mutely and led him to a huddle room down the corridor. Fortunately no one was using it.
Sara's thoughts were in turmoil. Yes, Bryan had been on the list of names with knowledge both of Rinaldi and the Raphael drawing. Still . . . She'd almost accepted his proposal. She believed she knew who he was, what kind of man he was. Apparently, she didn't know him at all.
They both sat down at the round table in the huddle room.
"Bryan's the mole?" she asked. Dumb question, but she needed to hear him confirm it.
He nodded. "The evidence all points to him. We recovered the Raphael drawing this morning."
"You did?" she blurted. "Where?"
"In a safe in the penthouse of Duncan Longthorpe."
"Duncan Longthorpe, the business magnate?"
"That's right," Peter said, "and also the presumptive leader of U.S. operations for Ydrus. We raided his home this morning and found a secret room. It contained not only the safe with the drawing inside but also the computer he used for Ydrus operations. Bryan was named in the files. He'd been supplying Ydrus with information about Sterling-Bosch clients and their valuables." He paused. "Sara, I have to ask some questions of a personal nature. I assume I can count on your cooperation."
"Of course," she said automatically, her mind still in shock.
"Did Bryan ever ask you about Max Rinaldi? The period in question is January 21 through February 6."
Sara pulled out her cell phone to reference her calendar. "I met with your team on January 21 and returned to New York on January 25. Bryan was traveling as I recall. He and I discussed the Corot forgery but not Rinaldi. I only found out about Rinaldi when you and I talked on the phone on February 1. Bryan was out of town then. I saw him on the following Saturday, February 5." She stopped, her thoughts going back to that weekend. The details returned in stark and painful detail. "I can tell you almost everything that occurred. Bryan took me out to dinner on Saturday evening and he proposed."
"Did you give him an answer?"
"No. I told him I needed time to think it over. I stayed overnight in his flat but the Corot case didn't come up." She hesitated, chewing her lip. "I assume you don't need non-relevant details?"
"No diagrams, please," Peter said with a sympathetic smile. "We can skip to the next morning."
Sara considered for a moment. "We discussed my assignment with Weatherby's review panel and how I'd be in New York for three weeks. That's when he told me about Neal's history and warned me to be circumspect around him. At first, I thought Bryan was simply jealous but then he told me about the Interpol files . . . I can remember how upset I was that Neal wasn't who I thought he was . . . God." She rested her head on her propped-up hand, too staggered to continue. She'd done it again. First she'd berated herself for being deceived by Neal. Now she'd completely misjudged Bryan.
"Sara?" Peter prompted. "Do you remember discussing the case with Bryan?"
She forced herself to focus. "We started to talk about work. I thought at the time that Bryan was simply being considerate. He must have noticed how much his revelation upset me. I'm fairly sure I asked him if he'd heard of Max Rinaldi. You remember, you'd asked me to check on Rinaldi."
"I know. I'm not blaming you. Bryan was a senior investigator. It would have been natural to consult with him. What happened afterward?"
"I got dressed and we had breakfast. Then I returned to my flat."
"So, to confirm, Bryan was aware that Max Rinaldi was a suspect on Sunday morning."
"Yes, but I knew nothing about the Lynx Resort."
Peter asked her if she knew anything else that might be relevant to the investigation, but she didn't. He must have realized she was still having a hard time processing what had occurred because he left shortly afterward, asking her to contact him if she remembered anything else.
When Peter left, Sara remained in the huddle room. As she analyzed her emotions, she was humbled that she hadn't identified Bryan as the mole. Outrage and humiliation were both seething inside her. But sympathy for Bryan? Grief over his arrest? Hardly. It staggered her how fast her feelings for him had shriveled away and died. Had she ever been in love with him? How could she have been? He was a stranger. The man she thought she knew didn't exist.
Notes: Some of you may think Sara should have realized about Bryan earlier. The older, canon version of Sara probably would have. But Sara in our AU is younger and less experienced.
