Chapter 2: Wicked Game

Neal was able to secure an appointment with Jacob for the following afternoon. He was glad Peter went along. When he began incorporating the symptoms of schizophrenia, he didn't want Peter to freak out. Confusion, paranoia, withdrawal, and jumpiness were all key indicators. He intended to only give the occasional troubling hint that something was amiss. He hoped it wouldn't be necessary to act full-blown psychotic.

From his standpoint, the visit with Jacob was a success, but Peter wanted more. His concern was that Penfold would subject Neal to another virtual reality session, and there was little in the way of reassurance that the doctor could provide. Neal didn't expect he could do anything in advance to mitigate its effects, and that was the case. When Jacob said that Neal's previous experience, as well as earlier flashback episodes, made him more susceptible to the technique, Peter's face grew grim. Neal's confident words that he'd simply have to ensure that there were no recurrences were dismissed out of hand.

Neal wasn't worried. After having been the plaything of a goddess, anything else seemed quite manageable.

By the end of the appointment, it was close to the end of the day and Peter dropped him off at Columbia University. The faint strains of an aria from Don Giovanni could be heard as Neal approached his studio door, indicating he'd have company while he painted.

Inside, Mozzie was sitting at his worktable. While he wrote on a yellow legal pad, he hummed to the music. "I'll be with you in a minute," he muttered.

Neal hung up his jacket and stripped off his shirt. He kept a supply of t-shirts and old jeans for painting. He could live without his worktable. Mozzie no longer dropped into the loft as often, but recently had grown enamored with the ambiance of his art studio. He claimed sitting among the unfinished paintings helped him strategize.

Neal didn't mind his presence as long as Mozzie didn't draw him into whatever project he was working on. Neal's focus was on his painting of the Rhone in Geneva.

"There. Finished."

"Finished what?" Neal said absently, more interested in the Rhone.

"Outlining the plot for Yellowface, the Masked Avenger. Hotaru is anxious to receive my script."

Aidan had gotten the welcome news last week that a video he'd made of the adventures of an endangered Hawaiian yellow-faced bee had been picked up by Hotaru, a Japanese anime studio. They intended to produce a cartoon series based on his adventures. Next year the bee would be buzzing into Japanese homes via TV Tokyo, and Aidan would likely be receiving royalties for a long time to come.

The company had also taken a gamble on a novice scriptwriter—Mozzie. They signed him up to devise plots for the first several episodes. Mozzie was fluent in Japanese. No translations would be needed.

"I'll be out of your hair soon," Mozzie added. "Henry's coming over this evening. I'll meet him at Aidan's studio. We're starting the second round of camera work."

Aidan was making a short feature for a cinematography course, and Henry was the lead actor. The film, called Pirates from Beyond, had also been used for the con to take down Vincent Adler. The first scenes were set in a U-boat with Henry, Neal, and Sara the actors. The only live actors for the second part were Henry, El, and Mozzie with the rest to be supplied by CGI.

"Henry warned us he may not be available for long," Mozzie added, snapping his notebook shut. "Until something breaks with the Mansfelds, he's coming here every evening."

"Will El be here as well?"

"She'll start tomorrow." Mozzie frowned. "I should have had her sign an exclusive contract. She's warned me she'll be available for only a couple of hours. Aidan and I have to work around her schedule. She's also in rehearsals for Bell, Book, and Candle with her community theater. That opens at the end of the month."

"It'd be difficult to sign her up for an exclusive since she's acting pro bono," Neal pointed out.

"Not for a master negotiator, but we'll figure something out. As a last resort, I'll hire her for an event." He gave a short snicker. "Only later will she discover that I hired her to rehearse."

"Have you thought about including Eric in the script?"

Mozzie removed his glasses to wipe them with his handkerchief. "There's a role which would be quite suitable, but Henry continues to resist. Eventually, of course, Eric will hear about the project. Henry fails to appreciate that the longer he postpones telling him, the harder it will be. What happens when the film is premiered? Won't Henry want him to be present at the red carpet event?"

Ignoring the remoteness of a student project ever receiving opening-night treatment, Neal gave a shallow sigh—just enough to express displeasure without overly dramatizing the effect. "Henry's making the same mistakes I did. It's a shame he doesn't have the benefit of a mentor to guide him in the course of love."

"Like I did you?" Mozzie stroked his chin thoughtfully "You think he needs my services?"

"No one's as skillful as you when it comes to romance," Neal said, ladling out the honey in big dollops.

"It would have to be without his knowledge."

"Of course."

"I'll see what I can do." He zipped his notebook inside his backpack. "Your Mata Hari will be relieved to see me go. She's probably keeping a close watch on the door. She dropped in a half hour before you arrived. I told her she wouldn't have long to wait. We had a pleasant chat."

"I'm sure you did," Neal said, removing Mozzie's CD from the player. "Did she ask you about your courses?" Bianka had met Mozzie. He'd introduced himself as Norman Latsky and told her he was enrolled in the film program. They assumed Bianka knew who he really was. Mozzie liked to think Rolf was salivating at the prospect of him joining Neal to work for Ydrus.

Mozzie nodded. "She tried to view my notes, but her knowledge of Japanese appears quite limited. Will you need a save?"

"That won't be necessary. Christie's provided one."

Mozzie's prediction proved accurate. Less than two minutes after he left, Bianka knocked on Neal's door, inviting him to her studio.

"At my place, we won't be as likely to be disturbed," she said. "Your friends seem to drop in all the time. Besides, my studio's much more comfortable." She'd equipped it with several puffy floor cushions.

Neal held her in his arms as they sprawled on the cushions and bemoaned the restrictions imposed on them by their doctors.

Bianka snuggled against his chest. "A month seems like forever. How will we get through it?"

He played with a lock of her blonde hair. "We can fantasize about the celebration when the quarantine is lifted."

She stroked his chin. "You're worth the wait."

He leaned down as if to kiss her then clamped a hand over his mouth with a groan. "I'm going to have to wear a mask to remind myself."

"You need to focus on getting your strength back." She smiled impishly. "You'll need it once that month is over. And, looking on the bright side, we can still see each other."

"And you can help me on my next workshop." In place of teacher's assistant duties, Neal was conducting a series of workshops on the painting techniques of old masters. Bianka's knowledge of art history was rock-solid, and she appeared genuinely enthusiastic about the workshops. "I've selected one of the Italian Baroque artists."

"Sherkov will appreciate you selecting someone from his course. Who did you pick?"

He leaned back and studied her a moment. "Gentileschi comes to mind. Should I focus on Sleeping Venus?" His choice was one Bianka should like. Artemisia Gentileschi was the foremost female artist of the seventeenth century and a master of classical realism, a technique Bianka also excelled at. The overt eroticism of the painting where Venus appeared to be basking in afterglow should also appeal to her.

She slid her hand underneath his t-shirt. "If I were conducting a workshop, I'd select Caravaggio. You remind me of his painting of St. John the Baptist—the one where he's depicted as a young sensual man. His lack of clothes makes him a worthy partner to Gentileschi's Venus, although he's not as handsome as you. You would have to be my model."

"I'll be thinking of you when I paint the Venus."

"Why merely think about it? Let's do it! We should draw each other in their poses. Simply because we can't kiss doesn't mean we have to deny ourselves every pleasure."

#

When Henry exited the elevator on the White Collar floor, he headed straight for Neal's niche in the lab. Neal had left a message earlier in the day that Travis had a present waiting for him. Travis was White Collar's tech expert. Any present would likely involve electronic wizardry.

Not only were Neal and Travis in the lab but the rest of the team as well. Peter, Jones, Neal, and Diana were gathered around a worktable, looking at Travis like he was Bill Nye the Science Guy. Henry rolled over a spare chair and prepared himself to be amazed. "Is this going to be a gift exchange? Neal didn't give me time to buy anything for you."

"You're going to use this baby to bring me my gifts," Travis said with a smile. He held up a BlackBerry. "I have one of these for each of you."

Not to insult the guy—Travis was a good friend—but Henry wasn't impressed. The 8700 series was the latest BlackBerry product. Win-Win had issued them to its employees a month ago. Neal had mentioned the FBI was beginning to distribute them as well.

Neal was sitting back with a half-smile on his face. His art authentication niche was next to Travis's workstation. Did he know of secret goodies hidden inside the package?

"One of the key challenges we face with Ydrus," Travis said, "is our inability to pinpoint their headquarters."

Pinpoint? They didn't even know what hemisphere it was in.

"Interpol speculates that they started in Eastern Europe," Peter confirmed, "but there's no indication they're still there."

"And our efforts to track cell phone transmissions have been fruitless," Jones added. "Even though we knew Kramer was the informant we were never able to trace calls back to the source."

Henry had talked with his grandfather's wife Julia about the issue. She was an expert on data mining and had introduced him to the cellular facts of life. In theory, each cell phone was capable of being tracked, but the immensity of data combined with router firewalls made success a rare achievement.

"It's not unlike the effort to detect sentient life in the universe," Travis said, "and that's what gave me the idea for this."

"You mean your work on the SETI committee is finally bearing fruit?" Diana joshed. "Or is this a sneaky way to finagle our help on the search for extraterrestrial life? Don't tell me we'll all walk around with antennas on our heads."

While the others snickered, Peter raised a cautionary hand. "Before you start writing a new series of stories about White Collar in Outer Space, let Travis finish."

"Actually that's one series where I wouldn't mind a speaking part," Travis said, arching his eyebrows in a credible imitation of Mr. Spock.

It hadn't escaped Henry's attention that although Travis was a character in Diana's Arkham Files stories, he'd yet to utter a word. It had teasing potential once Henry acknowledged that he read the adventures, but that secret was still in the closet.

"With this gadget, you may think you've achieved futuristic abilities," Travis continued. "It captures the signature of any cell phone within fifteen feet. The distance can be adjusted. If you're in a public area such as a restaurant with multiple phones, you may wish to restrict the distance. Although the keyboard and display appear to be a standard BlackBerry, their functionality is quite different."

Neal studied the one in his hand. "What do you mean by signature?"

Travis pursed his lips for a moment. He was probably trying to dumb down the explanation to their level. "Each phone has a unique identifier code, somewhat analogous to a chemical element. Spectral analysis allows us to identify chemical elements in space. Similarly, once we've identified a cell phone signature, we can perform data analysis to identify its location."

"We've already been able to use GPS," Jones pointed out, "but it has limited ability."

"We've been stymied by all the background noise," Travis confirmed.

"Like background radiation in outer space," Peter said. "That's the SETI connection you referenced."

"Exactly. Julia Winslow would be happy to explain in detail the technical challenges, but the basic problem is that there's too much background noise. I've discovered a way to cut through it. It works on the principle of the power of two." He turned to Neal. "If I use this device to capture the signature on your phone and then duplicate the procedure on Peter's phone, I'll be able to identify the locations for the two of you anywhere in the world."

"Or, more to the point," Henry said, "if Neal uses it on Bianka's phone, and we're then able to obtain the signature of another Ydrus agent, such as the woman she's friends with—"

"—and that person called her from Ydrus headquarters," Neal said, interrupting him, "we'll be able to determine its location."

"That's right," Travis said. "Neal, next time you see Bianka, carry this in your pocket. You won't have to do anything. As long as her phone is on, the sig-zapper will capture her code." He turned to the others. "We haven't been able to bug her apartment because of the detector she's using. Since this signal mimics a cell phone, it won't trigger an alarm."

"We'll still need to identify a second phone," Jones cautioned.

"He had to leave something for us to do," Neal said. "Among the known players we have Rolf, Klaus, Python, Marta Kolar, and her husband Jacek."

Marta and Jacek were the Mansfelds' tech team. Marta had escaped from prison last month. Jacek's location hadn't been reported on since the beginning of the year. Henry decided to toss his personal choice into the ring. "Python could be our best candidate. We found her before through her interest in snakes. We may be able to trap her that way again. My team at Win-Win is scouring the planet for suitable venues which may pique her interest."

"More likely Rolf or Klaus will contact Neal or me," Peter said. "That should happen once mention is made of the Vermeer painting. We know the Mansfelds value Neal's university connections. With Kramer out of the picture, they no longer have a mole at the Bureau. They may hope to have me replace him. My gut's telling me it won't be long for us to hear from one of them." He nodded with satisfaction, holding up the sig-zapper. "With this in our arsenal, we'll be ready."

Before Henry left, he asked Neal if he was seeing Bianka that evening.

He shook his head. "Aidan's called fencing practice since we're competing this weekend. Wednesday I'll spend all day at Columbia. My next date with Bianka is Thursday evening."

"Will you need a rescue call?"

"It shouldn't be necessary. We'll be working on art."

What was with Neal? That smile he quirked was a signal that not all was what it seemed. Did it have something to do with the fencing or Bianka? Was there some inside joke at play? Neal was called away before Henry could question him further, but Henry tabled the remark for further research.

#

Neal had been sorely tempted to tease Henry that he was seeing Alicia that night, but Henry knew he wouldn't engage in casual dating during an undercover op. Henry would suspect something far more nefarious and launch himself into Shawn, the Superhero Protector of the Family in the wink of an eye. So Neal spiced up Henry's speculation by referring to the projected modeling session with Bianka. No lies. He simply blew a little mysterious smoke.

Aidan had called fencing practice but it wasn't for tonight. And Neal was seeing Alicia, but this was no casual date. Today was Sara's birthday, and this evening they'd celebrate it in style even though they'd have to wear wigs. He'd made reservations at a Thai restaurant that had recently opened on the Upper West Side. It was one they'd discovered together, and Chiang Mai Garden had quickly ridden to the top of her list of favorite restaurants.

At the end of dinner, they returned to her apartment. Sara paused, key in hand, before unlocking the door. "I hope you don't have to rush off. Bianka's not expecting you, is she?"

He arched his eyebrows in horror at the notion. "See another woman on your birthday? Impossible. I have the lights set in the loft and am all yours. The one restriction is that tomorrow I'll need to be seen leaving from June's for Columbia."

She nodded her understanding. Neal was working on the assumption that he was being monitored. Whenever he came over to see her, he left from campus in disguise, wearing a dark blond wig. It was streaked with highlights which made him look like a surfer dude. She also wore a blonde curly-haired mop of a wig whenever they went out.

He slapped a mocking smile on his face. "So, are you going to let me in or did you decide you've had enough of me?"

Sara opened the door wide. "The evening's just getting started," she said in a sultry whisper.

When they parted to catch their breath, he said. "I do have one request."

"What's that?"

"Much as I like your blonde wig, I'd rather see you looking like yourself."

"I'll have it off in a jiff if you'll do the same."

His wig was gone by the time they entered her bedroom. Neal stood beside her while she fluffed out her hair. "Much better," he said approvingly and reached into his jacket pocket. "I didn't want to give your gift to Alicia."

"I thought dinner was my present."

He frowned. "That was just the warm-up." He handed her a small pouch fashioned from scarlet velvet with gold drawstring cords.

Sara opened the pouch and pulled out a gold chain. Dangling from it was a stylized bird in gold wrapped around a faceted fiery-red gem. "It's stunning!" she exclaimed, holding it up to the light.

Not as much as she was. He hoped he could always make her eyes sparkle like they were now. "In Diana's stories, I call you a mockingbird. I thought you'd like a remembrance of our Arkham adventures."

After a timeout sufficiently long for her to express her thanks with her lips and Neal to respond with equal ardor, Sara asked, "Where did you find such an unusual design?"

"I cast it myself," he said.

"You make jewelry? And you've been hiding it from me?"

"Not anymore! This pendant comes with a secret from my closet. Klaus taught me how to cast gold. He had me practice by forging ancient Egyptian rings. It's a skill that I now use for the Bureau. But this isn't a forgery," he hastened to add. "I wanted you to have something I'd designed."

She scrutinized the bird closer. There was a hint of Egyptian detailing in the incised lines of the wings even though the design was contemporary. The color of the stone was as deep red as a ruby but with a subtle orange cast.

"The stone's an imperial topaz," Neal said. "I couldn't afford a ruby and I wanted it to be genuine. We're no longer in the fake friend zone. That includes no fake stones."

Sara took his hand and placed it on her heart. He did the same with her hand. Then there was the trifling matter of clothes. But they were easily cast aside.

Sometime later, they propped themselves up on pillows. Sara was snuggled in the crook of his arm. "I wish we could continue seeing each other," she said, drawing lazy circles with her finger on his chest.

"I do too, but starting tomorrow, I'll have to live the symptoms of burgeoning schizophrenia twenty-four seven. I don't want you to have to witness my descent into paranoia."

"Have you warned the team?"

He nodded. "I've already begun adding some of the physical signs."

"I noticed the hitch in your walk. It was so slight, many wouldn't have noticed."

"That's from the gun wound I received in the virtual reality program. The symptoms need to become second nature." This would be their last date till the op was concluded. As if he needed more motivation to get the Mansfelds out of his life.


Notes: In the next chapter Neal receives a long-awaited special delivery.