Chapter 3: Postcards
Neal didn't tell Sara about his upcoming session with Bianka. It wasn't unusual for art students to model for each other since hiring a professional was expensive. But what were the odds Bianka would be satisfied with merely drawing him? And he'd have to pretend to be equally amorous. He estimated there was a small chance it was a bluff. Did she suspect he was conning her and want to put it to the test? He couldn't picture Bianka being that devious, but it was the sort of maneuver Rolf would have had no qualms about implementing.
He got through his classes without incident. Professor Myra Stockman dropped in to discuss his paintings in the evening, giving him an unexpected save from playing the flirtation game. After she left, Neal told Bianka he was heading home to rest. Her sympathy was understandable. Bianka was no stranger to the intense cross-examinations Myra conducted with her students. But Neal detected a hint of relief in her expression as well. It made him suspect she was as eager as him to draw the con to an end.
When he awoke the next morning, Neal wondered if there hadn't been an additional reason for Bianka's relief. During the night, someone had slipped an envelope under his patio door. Had Bianka paid him a late-night call?
He didn't attempt to open the envelope, but his adrenaline went into overdrive. It might look like an ordinary white envelope with his name typed on it, but he saw a gun with a pulled trigger.
The envelope was fairly thick, appearing to contain multiple sheets of paper of varying sizes, and Neal already knew there'd be a photo of a certain artwork inside.
Before leaving for the office, he called Peter. By the time he arrived at work, the team was already assembled in the lab, ready to ferret out every bit of intel. Neal had worn gloves to pick up the envelope. The only prints on it would likely have been left by his enemies. Jones and Diana took charge of the envelope while Travis claimed ownership of the feeds from the multiple surveillance cameras which were installed both outside and inside the loft.
"We're reaping the benefits of Mozzie's paranoia," Peter remarked.
"I've already thanked him," Neal said. "Let's hope the cams captured the messenger."
Mozzie had installed additional surveillance equipment at June's mansion in May after Bryan McKenzie attempted to poison Neal. Recently, he'd performed the same service for Peter, Jones, Diana, Travis, and Henry.
"No fingerprints on the envelope," Diana announced. "Disappointing but not a surprise."
"We'll test the seal for DNA residue," Jones added. "We may get a lucky break." He carefully slit the top of the envelope and one by one extracted a series of clippings with a pair of tweezers. Travis stopped his work to observe the proceedings.
The first item Jones pulled out was a photo of a painting. Neal recognized it at once. "That's The Fortune Teller by Caravaggio. May I?" Jones handed him the tweezers and Neal examined the back of the image. "It looks like it was cut out from a catalog, possibly one of the Louvre's."
Peter studied the image. "We discussed this painting during our visit there. You and El teased me about it."
Neal nodded, not saying anything. That was the same trip they'd tried to see The Astronomer only to discover it was not being exhibited. They later learned that it had been stolen from the Louvre's off-site storage facility, possibly during the same week. Ydrus, perhaps Klaus himself at times, must have been monitoring him throughout his visit to Paris.
Jones extracted the next sheet of paper and unfolded it to reveal an article about The Astronomer which had been published in a French fine arts journal. Accompanying the article was a photo of the painting.
The trigger had finally been pulled. Did he feel anything different?
Diana gave him a sharp look. "Are you seeing any of those fake memories?"
He gave her a reassuring smile. "All I'm feeling is relief that they finally put the painting in play."
The final item in the envelope was a newspaper clipping. The article was from The New York Times, dated November 14, 2004. It was a report of the theft of a piece of jewelry from the Smithsonian's collection—Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings. Adler had taken advantage of the theft and attempted to have Neal framed for the crime.
The message blared loud and clear for everyone to hear. It had happened before. It was about to happen again.
Bianka was confirmed to be the messenger. One of the cameras had caught a dark hooded figure climbing over the wall and crossing the terrace. Her face was in the shadows and unidentifiable. But she hadn't worn a mask. And the feed from another camera mounted inside the patio door had captured her when she knelt to slide the envelope under the door.
It was the first concrete evidence they had of Bianka's involvement with Ydrus. The moment seemed anticlimactic. They'd known of her complicity since August. It made Neal more curious than ever about her connection to Ydrus. Was she Python's sister? How much did she know about Ydrus?
Jones broke into his thoughts. "You know what this means. Heightened security protocol starts immediately." Peter had assigned Jones and Diana the task of designing the measures and they'd all been briefed. For Neal and Peter, it meant every time they left a location, they were to report in. Their itineraries for all trips were to be communicated to Travis's team. Neal, Henry, and Peter had GPS watches with recording capability. Their cell phones had also been reconfigured. Whenever Neal was with Bianka, he'd need to transmit an hourly safe signal.
"I already called Henry," Neal said. "I assumed The Astronomer would be in the envelope. I'll give him the full report when we're done here."
"How about June?" Diana asked.
"She's currently visiting her daughter. She plans to be gone for a week."
"You should call her and alert her of the situation," Peter said. "Where does her daughter live?"
"In Chicago."
"Good. She should stay there until we give the all-clear signal." Peter surveyed the group. "I don't expect we'll need these measures for long. Now that the trigger's been fired, it won't be long before the next move is made, particularly since Neal is showing physical symptoms. Diana, Jones, Travis—you know the risks. If you feel extra protection is warranted for yourselves or those you care about, don't hesitate to speak up."
"I'd like to discuss it with Richard and Aidan," Travis said. "Richard was targeted earlier. He could be again. In Aidan's case, his skill as an expert programmer is no secret. Rolf could have designs on him as well."
Peter nodded in agreement. "Do it."
The assumption was that the next step would be for Rolf and Klaus to contact Neal, possibly through Bianka or in another anonymous message. Warning from a friend—the FBI is coming for you. I can protect you.
In Neal's view, it couldn't come too soon.
#
"You wanted to see me?"
When Travis appeared at the doorway, Peter had the tech expert close the door behind him. "You already know what it's about."
Travis nodded, taking a seat. "What can I do to help?"
"Watch for any unusual behavior. Doc Jacob identified several signs to watch out for." Peter passed him the list. "Neal could appear less engaged. He may seem stressed or jumpy."
Travis winced. "Isn't that natural under the circumstances?"
"It'll be a difficult call," Peter acknowledged. Although Jacob was confident Neal had recovered from the brainwashing, he couldn't guarantee there wouldn't be any effects from the trigger having been played. The virtual-reality program Neal had been subjected to was highly experimental, and there was very little known about repercussions. "What concerns me the most is if Neal's perceptions change."
"If he starts viewing us as the enemy and the Mansfelds as his protectors?"
"Exactly. You weren't mentioned in the virtual reality program. Diana, Jones, and Hughes are most likely the ones who Neal could view as hostile to him. I'm not telling you anything Neal doesn't know. He's promised to keep me posted, but if it's happening subconsciously, he won't be aware of it."
Travis's lips were set in a hard line. "Neal's faking symptoms now. If he experiences the real thing, how will that factor in?"
"I don't know," Peter admitted, "and it's a big concern."
Bianka's movements would be tracked even more carefully from here on out, but they couldn't blanket her with surveillance without alerting the opposition. Inevitably there would still be opportunities for Ydrus to make the next move.
Peter had yet to find a good solution when Neal dropped by later in the day.
"Will you see Bianka tonight?" Peter asked, motioning him to take a seat.
Neal nodded. "We'd already decided to meet. Now it's even more essential."
"Do you have anything planned?"
"We're going to sketch each other."
Peter took a breath. "That doesn't sound so bad—" he stopped when Neal gave him a sly smile "—you'll be wearing clothes, right?"
Neal shrugged. "For artists, nude modeling is not unusual."
"Not even when she's making a play for you?"
He winced. "I admit, there will be extra challenges involved. I think I have a solution. I'll let you know tomorrow."
"Man, are you lucky you don't have a girlfriend or wife."
"Tell me about it. This is one of those work-related secrets which should never be shared."
"Just so you know, I'm putting you down for van duty tomorrow night."
"Not necessary. Keiko volunteered to let me have the evening off."
"You've got Aidan's girlfriend as a member of your support team as well?"
Neal nodded. "She's particularly effective. Shy, sweet Keiko couldn't possibly be involved in anything devious. As a fellow foreign student, Keiko had befriended Bianka before we knew who she was. Her studio is only a couple of doors down from Bianka's. That's paying off now. Keiko invited her to attend an art gallery exhibition with her since Aidan's tied up working on Henry's movie."
#
When Bianka greeted Neal at the door to her apartment wearing a loosely draped short maroon kimono and barefoot, the faint hope that the modeling session was a bluff evaporated.
Bianka lived in university housing. Her tiny studio had room for a bed, a couch, a desk, and not much else. The simple furniture had been supplied by the university. She'd picked up a few pieces at thrift stores.
"Ignore the furnishings. Pretend you're in an Italian palazzo," she said, leading him into the room. She'd placed floor lamps in several locations to spotlight the bed which was draped in an ocean-blue sheet.
"Shall we speak Italian?" he asked her mockingly in Italian.
"I wish!" Bianka said in English. "My Italian is not as good as yours."
"Would you like to learn? It's the language of d'amore."
She stroked his cheek. "I'd love to. Perhaps someday we can live in Italy." She'd opened a bottle of Barolo and had two glasses on the table. "For now we'll have to pretend. Music will help. We're being inspired by the Italian Baroque masters. I thought Monteverdi's L'Orfeo would be appropriate."
The Baroque opera was about the descent of Orpheus to Hades and his search for his dead bride Eurydice. What was Bianka implying by the selection? Was she beginning to have doubts about her role?
Neal adopted a neutral wait-and-see approach. "Excellent choice. I'll pour us some wine." He surreptitiously observed her as she inserted the CD into the player. Her hand trembled slightly. The action was one of the most difficult moves to make natural. Neal was willing to bet it wasn't fake. A couple of months ago when she first came on to him, her actions had been awkward. She'd improved since then, but she wasn't a seasoned con artist. And right now, she was uncomfortable. Was she concerned about what he might try?
Neal was careful to not reveal he'd noticed anything. "I brought along printouts of some of Gentileschi's works. Do you still want to portray Venus? We could pick another painting."
"No, I love your choice. I've already been practicing. I chose the blue sheet on the bed to approximate the color of the backdrop in the painting."
He handed Bianka a glass of wine and she raised it to him. "Afterward, I'll draw you as Saint John, but I'd much rather think of you as Orpheus coming to rescue me."
He clinked glasses with her. "While you sketch me, I'll think of you as my Eurydice. Have you had much experience drawing nudes?"
They sat on the couch, drinking wine and discussing their previous experiences as models. Neal had only been a model for Kate, but Bianka had modeled often during her art classes as an undergrad in Budapest. That answered one question. Her nerves weren't about being nude in front of him but what he might do to her.
"It paid good money," she said, "and at university, I was always looking for ways to pay the bills."
Neal sympathized with how she felt. He'd almost given up on his hope of attending Columbia until Win-Win provided a scholarship.
"How were you able to afford Columbia?" he asked.
Unaccountably Bianka blushed. "I received a scholarship from a wealthy Hungarian alumnus."
His question had caught her off guard, and her reaction was another indication she was a newbie at the game.
When she excused herself to prepare in the bathroom, Neal got out his sketchpad from his backpack. Earlier, he'd debated how much he should come on to her during the session. After witnessing her jitters, he opted against making any moves.
"I'm ready." Bianka stood in the doorway, framed from behind by the bathroom light. Her skin appeared translucent. She was Venus come to life.
"I'd love to draw you standing as you are," he said in all honesty.
"Perhaps another time," she said, her Hungarian accent sounding particularly silky. She no longer appeared nervous. He wondered if she'd taken something or perhaps the wine had succeeded in relaxing her.
Gentileschi had posed Venus with her head reclining on a pillow and her legs twisted to one side. As Neal helped her get into position, he pictured Bianka as someone's sister. She probably had a boyfriend in Budapest. She was purely a model, nothing more. All hormones were relegated to dreaming about Sara. They were not invited to the modeling session.
"This seems rather unfair," she said, a pout on her lips. "I'm nude, and you're dressed. Shouldn't you at least remove your shirt?"
He raised a brow. "Only my shirt?"
She smiled mischievously. "For now."
He'd come prepared and had worn a navy Henley pullover. When he stripped it off, she studied his torso. "On second thought . . ."
He smiled and hovered his hand over his fly.
"No, you better not," she said with a laugh, waiting till the last possible moment. "I'd be so distracted, I wouldn't be able to lie still."
As she continued to joke, she became more at ease. He focused on his drawing. The music played in the background, and she grew silent. After a suitable length of time, he stood up and stretched his back, wincing a little.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Just a little tired."
"It's the aftereffects of mono. You shouldn't push yourself."
"I'll splash a little water on my face and be fine." As he walked to the bathroom he limped, increasing the degree of severity from his previous performances.
#
"And Bianka didn't say anything about your limp?" Peter asked.
"Not a word." Neal handed him a mug of coffee and took a sip of the FBI swill du jour. Peter had called him to his office for a report as soon as he arrived at work.
"She may have thought you were simply tired. After all, you're supposed to be recovering from a severe illness."
"She noticed, all right. She's probably already reported it to her puppetmasters, wherever they are. The modeling went surprisingly well. There was some awkwardness at first, but once we got into drawing, both of us stuck to being professional. There weren't the sexual innuendos you might expect. Despite whatever else she is, Bianka's interest in art is genuine. I'm sure of it."
Peter nodded but didn't look convinced.
"Bianka was initially nervous. I bet she's as relieved as I am to have a medical excuse. After our session, I lingered to talk but pretended to doze off. She sent me home to rest."
Peter eyed him skeptically. "You feel sorry for her."
"Yeah, I do, particularly because of the pose."
When a knock sounded on his door, Peter looked up. "It's Jones. I'll ask him to come back later."
"No reason to. You've already heard the full report."
Peter hesitated then agreed. Neal knew he'd been uncomfortable about what had happened. He was too, but he had to be honest about his take on Bianka's behavior.
"Diana and I've been brainstorming additional security measures to take," Jones said. "We've got a recommendation that could provide not only an extra layer of protection but also new opportunities."
"Go ahead and call Diana in," Peter said. "The conference room's free. We'll meet there."
Diana led off the discussion. "We can't claim ownership of the idea. It's something Tricia dreamed up when we were reviewing the plot of my next Arkham Files story." Agent Tricia Wiese used to be Peter's second-in-command. She'd transferred to the Behavior Analysis Unit nine months ago and was one of the Bureau's top profilers. She'd been working with them on the Mansfeld case from the beginning.
"But you could just as easily say it was Rolf who gave us the idea," Jones added. "He and Klaus have both relied on disguises and false identities. They've had doubles take their place. It's time for us to do the same. We've already experimented with the technique when Richard made up Sara to resemble Kate last month. Now the need is even more critical."
Their idea was a sound one, and Neal saw potential beyond the immediate application. But would the parties agree to it? Richard was on board, but he wasn't the one who'd be difficult to convince.
