Chapter 4: Skyscape
Friday evening wouldn't be a date night with Sara, but Neal was still able to take a break from the con. Keiko had invited Bianka to go to an art exhibition with her, leaving Neal free to join Aidan and Henry for pizza. The two of them had rearranged their work schedule to spend the afternoon filming scenes for Pirates from Beyond in Aidan's temporary soundstage in Prentis Hall. He'd converted an empty classroom into a set for green-screen filming. His studio was only a few doors down the hall, which facilitated transporting his gear.
Mozzie's script started with a World War II adventure and ended up on a distant planet. The off-world components were the only ones remaining to be filmed. Neal and Sara had already finished their part, having been sent back to Earth by the friendly aliens. Henry's destiny was far more glamorous. He would be endowed with superpowers and return to Earth as a crime-fighting emissary of the aliens. It was a fitting role for a man who'd been given a secret superhero identity by Angela when they were kids.
The pizza had already been delivered from the local Flying Saucer pizzeria when Neal arrived. Aidan kept a mini-fridge in his studio stocked with beer and sparkling water. Just like at work, Neal's date the previous evening was the hot topic of conversation. There was nothing like modeling in the nude to capture someone's attention.
"You were copying the pose of an Italian Baroque artist," Aidan said, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "John the Baptist as I recall."
"Presumably not after you were decapitated," Henry said.
"Bianka was probably too busy focusing on something else to pay much attention to his neck," Aidan said, giving Neal a knowing look. "I've seen that painting."
Henry stared at him. "You weren't posing like Michelangelo's David, I hope?" He turned to Aidan before Neal had a chance to respond. "Let me see a picture of that painting."
"My junk was draped in a cloth," Neal pointed out. "The pose was less revealing than if I'd worn a Speedo."
"Yeah, but Bianka's cloth was non-existent," Aidan retorted. "That Gentileschi didn't leave anything to the imagination." He swiveled the display for Henry to view the images.
Neal shrugged. "I gave her every opportunity to opt out, but she insisted. Bianka had posed for art classes in Hungary. In the end, we wound up in a much better place. It's hard to describe"—he chuckled ruefully—"bonding through nakedness?" He twisted the cap off a bottle of sparkling water and helped himself to a slice of a new variety of pizza—poison ivy. Made with spinach, goat cheese, and pesto, the name called to him. Sara feared Bianka was a black widow spider. He suspected poison ivy was more her style. "How did the filming go?"
"Good," Aidan said between bites. "Next week I'll work with Elizabeth and Mozzie."
"Won't they be in the same scenes?"
"Yeah, but I'm filming them separately. Good thing, since Henry won't be here next week."
"Where are you going?" Neal asked.
"Win-Win's negotiating with the Brits for them to use our facial recognition software at their airports. I'll be gone for the week."
Neal suspected there was more to it than facial software. "Do you have any other activities planned?"
Henry shrugged. "We found a lead on a series of workshops being given by the Royal Herpetological Society at the Chester Zoo." He reached for another slice of pizza. "There's one scheduled in python husbandry."
Aidan broke into a grin. "You think your mysterious Python will be there."
"And I hope it won't be a wild mongoose chase," Henry said. "Travis told us you'd helped on the development of the sig-zapper, Aidan. I can't wait to test it on her."
"I've already captured Bianka's signature," Neal said.
Aidan rolled his eyes. "You two and your fatal attractions . . ."
Neal huffed. "Let's hope it doesn't go that far. We can't wait to resume our normal lives."
"And loves?" Aidan asked, raising a brow. "The only scene remaining for Henry to film is a romantic moment. It's a small part, perfect for Eric, but who knows if I'll be able to use him or have to recruit someone else."
"Don't look at me like that," Henry growled. "I already told you not to count on me for any filming after today."
"I need to have all the footage shot by the first week in November in order to have the film ready by the end of the semester," Aidan warned.
"Then you might as well write out his part," Henry said stubbornly. "Eric's leaving in late October for Guatemala. He'll be gone a week. There won't be time."
"Vacation?" Aidan asked.
"Of a sort. He goes down to Central America annually to help build houses in poor villages. We'll pick up when he gets back."
Neal stayed out of it. He knew there was no point in arguing with Henry when he had that mule-headed look on his face. Neal had asked Mozzie to include the scene for Eric and he held out hope it would work out. Now that the trigger had been played, there was a chance they could have the con wrapped up by the end of the month.
Neal's cell buzzed with an incoming text. It was from his cousin Angela: U alone?
He texted back: No. With Aidan & Henry
Meet me 2MORO 8 Aloha
Angela spent Saturday mornings at the Aloha Emporium, a Hawaiian-themed store and café south of Columbia. She worked there part-time in a dual capacity, helping them make sense of their accounts and managing the organic honey-based cosmetics line. Her boyfriend Michael was busy with Manhattan Geeks on Saturdays so their schedules meshed well.
The Aloha wasn't a bad way to start the day. Neal could load up on Hawaiian donuts and Kona coffee while meeting with her. Since she didn't want to discuss it with others present, there probably was a surprise involved. Perhaps early plans for a Halloween party?
#
"It's up to us to save Henry from himself," Angela declared emphatically.
Neal took a swig of coffee to wash down his donut while mulling over his cousin's latest project. Angela was their youngest cousin, but that didn't stop her from taking command. It had been also been Neal's experience that she was far too fond of the royal "we," something she had in common with Mozzie. In such cases, the wisest policy to avoid unnecessary grief was to go along with any of her schemes at the onset. No matter how many objections he'd raise, she'd always win in the end.
Still, in light of his present complicated circumstances, a little caution was warranted. "What has he done?"
She huffed impatiently. "It's what he hasn't done that's the problem. Guess who was with me yesterday when I texted you?"
Neal took a moment to gaze at his mural of a Hawaiian rainforest on the café wall. The waterfall and orchids were peaceful and serene. The opposite of Angela. "That's not fair. You have to give me a hint. What were you doing?"
"Michael and I were working on props for my next production." For her doctorate in ethnomusicology, Angela was specializing in adapting folk music for outreach education. Her latest effort was based on an African folktale of a tortoise and a lizard. "Eric was helping us."
Angela was lucky to have his assistance. Eric was a skilled carpenter. She'd already put his skills to good use for the Renaissance Festival a few weeks ago.
"I was wildly over-ambitious," Angela admitted. "Eric's been our savior."
"I'm sure he enjoys it. Henry's busy on a case, and Eric may feel at loose ends." No need to mention that it was Neal's case that was causing the long hours. Neal felt guilty enough without Angela dumping on him too.
"And that's precisely the problem," she said adamantly. "Henry's always away. If it's not business, it's some other case he won't talk about. Eric's trying to be understanding but it's tough."
Neal nodded in sympathy. Angela wasn't telling him anything new.
"When we took a break, I got Eric to open up." She pulled her brunette hair back with her hands into a loose ponytail. "Eric's frustration is about to reach the breaking point. He didn't say it in so many words, but I could read between the lines. He doesn't see how there can be a future for them if Henry shuts him out of major chunks of his life. You see more of Henry than I do. Does he realize the risk he's running?"
"I've added my two bits but Henry blows it off."
"That's probably because you're as bad as he is, and he knows it. Your only saving grace is you're not trying to date anyone."
Angela's incorrect assumption was a view apparently shared by all his friends. And it wasn't that they were so wrong. If he and Sara hadn't already begun dating in secret before he found out about Bianka, he would have held off too.
An impish smile crossed her face. "I know you're not normally thrilled with matchmaking, but if the cause is worthy?"
Neal placed his arms on the table and leaned forward to murmur, "What do you have in mind?"
"Step One is to build a dossier on Eric. You have access to the FBI database."
"What do you hope to find?"
"I don't know. Maybe something Henry missed? He's vetted his mom's dates. When Joe began dating Noelle, even though Joe is Peter's brother, that didn't stop Henry from snooping on him. Henry's investigated your ex-girlfriend Fiona and who knows how many others. But"—she paused dramatically—"did he treat Eric the same way?"
"Of course he did," Neal said automatically then paused to consider. Henry met Eric when he was working on a remodeling project for June. "The Vasquez Brothers had been recommended by Peter's brother Joe who'd hired them for numerous projects. Eric is a known architect. Henry might not have bothered."
"We can't be sure," Angela agreed. "Will you do it?"
"Consider it done. Then what?"
"Is there any way you can speed up the case you two are working on?"
"I wish I could. I'll see Bianka tonight for dinner. That may advance the timetable."
"Where are you taking her?"
"She's invited me out and hasn't told me the location yet. She's calling it a celebration for our return to health."
Angela regarded him anxiously. "You're being careful, right?"
"Don't worry. I'll use the GPS tracker on my watch and agents will be following us."
"Good, because I know we don't have a prayer of succeeding with Henry as long as you're on the endangered species list." Angela intended to make a joke of it but her worried look belied it. Neal wished he could reassure her with more information. Rolf and Klaus wanted him alive and well.
He wished wrapping up the con could be as simple as Angela hoped. He and Sara were reduced to texting on burner phones. Both his and Henry's lives were on hold.
#
Bianka continued to be mysterious about their destination on the way to the restaurant. It was only when the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the entrance that Neal realized her choice. "We're going to Skyscape? On a Saturday night? How were you able to swing it?"
"I have my connections," Bianka said, attempting to look mysterious then ruining the effect by breaking into a laugh. "One of the waiters is Hungarian and got me the reservations. I went to school with his sister in Budapest."
The restaurant had only been open for a month. Situated near the Empire State Building, its panoramic views and fusion cuisine had propelled it onto the lists of Manhattan's hottest locations.
"How many floors up is it?" Neal asked, adding a trace of anxiety to his expression as he stared at the top floor of the skyscraper.
"Thirty-nine. We'll have a spectacular view."
His fake acrophobia was about to be put to the test. Had Rolf picked the restaurant or left it up to Bianka? Whoever had planned it, Neal was ready. He'd been rehearsing his moves in the loft for the past week. He remembered vividly the feeling of disorientation and nausea even low heights gave him when he was suffering from PTSD a year ago. Once, when he'd attempted to climb down a column at a videogame convention, he'd almost fallen to his death. As Neal replayed the recollections, it wasn't difficult to recreate a faint tremor in his hands.
He and Bianka had glasses of Chardonnay in the lounge on the rooftop where only glass walls separated them from the open air. Neal chose seats near the bar which was close to the interior of the building, but Bianka couldn't take her eyes off the skyline. He braced himself for the inevitable, and it didn't take long to occur.
"Help me identify the skyscrapers," she said, standing up. "What's that building with the gold pyramid on top?"
She walked over to the wall, and he followed, visibly swallowing down the unease as he inched closer to the edge. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. "That's the New York Life Building." He took a quick sip of wine to calm his nerves but the disorientation was growing worse. Was he actually feeling the symptoms or was he so deep into the con he couldn't tell the difference?
He was saved by the hostess calling their names. Their table was ready. Bianka didn't mention his discomfort, but she must have noticed it.
"I hope you're not afraid of heights," the hostess joked, leading them to a corner table right on the edge. Now Neal would be surrounded by glass walls on two sides. The hostess encouraged him to sit in the chair closest to the wall but he insisted Bianka have the honor.
"You could sit next to me," she suggested.
"I'd rather sit across the table where I can see you better," he said gallantly. And be further from the edge.
They took their seats and the hostess left the wine list for them. He started to pick it up, but she stopped him. "This is my treat. Your credit card's no good." Her hand lingered on his as she took the padded leather folder from him. "I hope we're not rushing it. You look pale."
"I'm fine," he assured her. "It must be the light."
"You look more handsome than ever, but it's a reminder to not overdo it. You fenced this morning and are probably tired. I was sorry I couldn't attend. How did it go?"
As he told her about their victory over Cornell, he kept his eyes locked onto her, demonstrating his fascination with her as well as his reluctance to look at the view. Doc Jacob had warned him of the dangers of immersing himself in the symptoms. Sympathetic PTSD he'd called it. He'd been right, but it was nothing Neal couldn't handle.
Over dinner, Neal steered the subject to art and their love of the old masters. He made a game of it, indulging in which paintings they'd select if they could own any of them.
"Next on my list would be Woman with a Hat by Matisse," Neal said.
Bianka considered for a moment. "I think I'll select . . . Girl with a Pearl Earring. I could stare at her for days on end and never grow tired of her."
Neal seethed inwardly at her choice. Really, Bianka? You had to pick a Vermeer? Slightly obvious. Had they instructed you to slip in a Vermeer reference to gauge my reaction? Who are you getting your marching orders from? Rolf or Klaus? Or are you Python's puppet? He realized he was breathing too fast. Paranoia was easier to sink into than he'd suspected.
"Are you okay?" she asked anxiously.
He rubbed his forehead, not answering. Her choice was more unsettling than he'd anticipated. Was that because of The Astronomer? If so, he should embrace the feeling. It would feed into the symptoms of schizophrenia he wanted to display. "You realize no matter how famous we become, we'll never make much money from our paintings in our lifetimes."
She nodded gloomily. "It doesn't seem fair, but that's the way it's always been. All the artists we mentioned struggled to make ends meet. Many died paupers."
"So many lives ruined . . ." He let his words trail off, hoping she'd pick up the thread. When she teared up, he knew he'd succeeded. "What did I say?" he asked, playing the innocent, and passing her his handkerchief.
She sniffled. "Don't mind me."
"Are you having money problems? Is it doctor bills?" he persisted. "Do you need a loan?"
"It's not your problem. This is supposed to be a celebration." She looked even more miserable. Bianka's acting was better than usual, leading him to suspect she could easily identify with the problem.
He reached for her hand. "Don't you understand? I'm falling for you. Your problems are my problems. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
Her eyes welled with more tears. "You barely know me."
"I know all that matters. Let me help you." Neal gave it all he had, his eyes brimming with moisture too.
She took a ragged breath and a large gulp of the Hungarian wine she'd ordered. "It's my brother Sandor. He's not really my brother but the son of my foster parents."
"But you think of him as your brother?"
She nodded and sniffled again, dabbing her nose. "He's five years older and has always been very protective of me."
Neal stood up and moved his chair closer to hers. The sky was now dark but the sensation of floating among lit buildings was just as difficult to endure. His hand shook as he clasped hers. "What kind of trouble is he in?"
"You'll be horrified. You won't want to have anything to do with me." She looked at him with big eyes. "But there shouldn't be any secrets between us. You said you're falling for me. You may not feel the same way after you hear." She paused and took a shuddering breath. "But I love you too much to deceive you."
"If we love each other, we can get through anything." As he mouthed the cliché phrases, his nausea increased. That should play into his schizophrenia. He hadn't realized his body was going to make it so easy on him.
"Even crimes?" she whispered. "Sandor's gotten himself into a mess of trouble with the Serbian Mafia. It's my fault he got involved with them in the first place and now he's made a mistake in a robbery which resulted in the death of their leader. Gang members are threatening to kill our parents if he doesn't pay them blood money."
"How much?"
"Two million euros." She buried her face in her hands and he wrapped his arm around her back, the picture of the solicitous lover.
"Do your parents know what he's been doing?"
"No, and the knowledge would kill them. They love him so much. I can't destroy their belief in him!"
"Then he'll have to pay the gang off."
"But won't they continue to make demands?"
Neal gave her bonus points for letting him explain the strategy. "Not if he goes into hiding. He'll have to change his identity, but that can be managed without much difficulty. Is he married?"
"No, he's single. How can you be so sure this will work?"
"I've had some experience in changing identities." Neal hesitated. "I've gotten mixed up with some bad groups in the past. I could help."
Her eyes widened. Neal gave her credit for reacting so well, demonstrating by her hesitancy that she wanted to ask him for specifics but didn't dare.
"Could you meet with him?" she asked.
"What, fly to Hungary?"
"No. He's here in New York."
#
"I'll know more tonight, Peter. Bianka wants me to meet Sandor. She balked at providing any further details at the restaurant. She may be insecure over how to handle the situation given the symptoms I was displaying."
Neal had called while Peter was washing dishes. El was out walking Satchmo after their traditional Sunday morning pancake brunch. He'd expected to hear from Neal and was glad he'd volunteered for KP duty. "It will be another test," he warned.
"I'll be ready. She may want Sandor present so he can verify my deterioration."
Peter could hear faint sounds of traffic in the background. "Are you on the terrace?"
"Yeah, but I'm sitting at the table close to the doors in case anyone is monitoring. I walked to the edge once and looked down briefly."
"Are you experiencing any actual symptoms?" Neal didn't say anything for a moment, making Peter's inner radar blare a warning. "You are, aren't you?"
"Honestly, I don't think so, but Jacob was right. The act of imitating acrophobia makes it seem so real, it's hard to tell the difference."
Neal's attempt to reassure him didn't have the desired effect. "Anything else I should know about?"
Neal exhaled. "Bianka brought up Vermeer and my fake paranoia may have been stronger than I anticipated. But don't blow it out of proportion. This simply means I'm more convincing."
Peter wasn't so sure. Neal's shapeshifting ability carried an inherent risk. He'd be so immersed in the con, he'd have a difficult time pulling himself out of it. "Where are you meeting Sandor?"
"At Bianka's apartment. I'll try to get a sample of his handwriting and use the sig-zapper on his phone."
"I wish we'd been able to bug her place."
"You know we couldn't."
"Yeah, but that doesn't keep me from complaining about it." The first time Neal had gone over, he'd found a bug detector hidden in Bianka's bathroom, disguised in a baby powder canister. "My hunch is they'll ask you to steal something."
"That's what I'm counting on," Neal said, taking a sip of what at this hour was probably coffee. "It will give me a chance to put my nascent schizophrenia on display."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Paranoia about how I'm being constantly monitored at the Bureau. That will also feed into those planted memories resurfacing."
"Call me afterward, okay? No matter how late."
"Okay, Dad," he joked, his tone gently mocking. "You should be happy. With Sandor there, there won't be any time for hanky-panky."
"I'll be happy when Rolf, Klaus, and Python are behind bars," Peter retorted. "You spoke with Henry, I assume, about his news on the serpent front?"
"He told me Friday evening. How could Python resist a workshop on python husbandry!"
Henry's scheme was dangerous. They assumed Python was aware of his identity. Henry intended to approach her, intimating that he was more familiar with her activities than he actually was. He'd be alone, with no backup. Peter had offered to contact John Hobhouse. The leader of the Interpol art crimes task force lived in London. He'd be able to provide support personnel. But Henry rejected the idea, pointing out that any arrest would be premature since they had nothing to book her on.
"You're okay with Henry's ploy?" Peter already knew he couldn't be. As a general rule, Neal was happy when he was the only one in danger.
"We're all putting skin in the game," Neal said quietly. "I should say snakeskin. Henry's taking a huge risk, but you and El are in just as much danger every day. It's just not as obvious."
Peter mulled over his words after their conversation ended. Snakes shedding skins—an apt analogy if they intended to bring down Ydrus and the Mansfelds. Jones and Diana were right. They needed to adopt the same strategy.
When El returned with Satchmo, he told her Neal's news. For a long time, El had wanted to be more involved with his cases. Now that she was a participant in the con, she had her wish. And with that came the unease from knowing about the dangers confronting them.
"What do you think will happen tonight?" she asked, unhooking Satchmo's leash.
"They'll coerce Neal into offering his expertise, either in forgery or burglary. It will be a test to see how effective the virtual reality programming was and also serve as another blackmail tool they can hold over his head if needed."
Notes: Neal's fake PTSD symptoms are becoming disturbingly real. The situation worsens in the next chapter.
