Chapter 4: Runaround
June's mansion. February 8, 2006. Wednesday afternoon.
"Thanks for coming early," Diana said, addressing the group assembled around June's dining table. For the moment, the Arkham Round Table meeting was restricted to women only with June, El, and Tricia all in attendance.
Mozzie and Henry had been ordered under pain of excommunication to not arrive before two o'clock. Diana used June's amazing chief Emil as the excuse. He was preparing a high tea feast to welcome Henry's first official participation in the writing group and it wouldn't be ready till then. Grilled salmon and mushroom stuffed potatoes that made her feel like she'd been transported to gourmet heaven were both on the menu. There would be chocolate cake in Henry's honor and also lemon-rosemary scones.
"I didn't want to start Henry's first meeting on a contentious note," Diana added. "He might assume I was holding a grudge because of his secret machinations last fall. As for Mozzie"—Diana paused to vent the sigh which demanded to be released—"he's hopeless on the topic."
"You're talking about the romance angle in the stories," Tricia said with a knowing nod.
"That's right. It's threatening to get out of hand. Many could easily say it already has." She kept her eyes fixed on Tricia but noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the uneasy eye exchange between El and June. "We could justify the romance between Neal and Sara as it was used to highlight Neal's alien nature and the pernicious effects of the Ymar. I went along—reluctantly—with the fluffy bits in Sands of Abydos. You caught me in a weak moment with that story."
"Plus the Mansfelds had been captured," June pointed out. "You hadn't decided if you wanted to continue writing the series. Ending on a happy note for the protagonist was fitting."
Diana observed El's reluctance to voice an opinion. She was probably feeling guilty. She knew what Diana was going to bring up. She should be grateful that Diana was sparing her the men's participation.
"But now Rolf's injected himself back into our lives—and our stories," Diana reminded them, not that there was any chance they'd forgotten. "As Tricia has already pointed out so ably, the stories are back to being a psychological tool. I'm not saying that I'm opposed to romantic threads, but we can't lose sight of our purpose. What I propose is that before any new thread is introduced, it needs to be justified before the entire round table and subjected to an analysis of its relevance."
"Arkham Elizabeth could have a miscarriage," El volunteered, and damn if it didn't look like she was suggesting one for herself. What kind of ogre did she think Diana was? El was probably already researching baby clothes of the '70s.
"There's no need for that," Diana said hastily. "Although you may wish to consult with my co-writer about his ideas."
"It's Mozzie's romance that's the issue, isn't it?" June asked.
"In spades," she confirmed gloomily. "I tried to point out what a hornet's nest he'd cause. As it is, I'm getting requests from readers who're shipping various combinations of characters. But nobody—and I mean nobody—ships Mozzie and Lavinia. With Valentine's Day coming up, I know what Mozzie's going to propose and I want us to be united against it."
"Perhaps his girlfriend Janet can help," Tricia suggested. "Surely she's not interested in seeing Mozzie in love with an alien."
"You'd be surprised," Diana said darkly. "Janet's in my martial arts class. When I spoke to her about it, she deluged me with ideas based on the bizarre mating practices of sea creatures and insects. Not helpful." Diana started snickering despite herself. "Although the one about the female praying mantis biting the head off of her mate has a certain appeal."
"The issue may not be brought up," El said hastily. Did she think Diana had saved the idea for future use? "Don't we have a far more serious topic to consider? Namely, what is our new strategy against the Mansfelds? Last year, our goal was to make the brothers feel sympathetic toward Neal and Peter."
"And we were successful," Tricia said. "Particularly with Klaus. As for Rolf, the time for the reverse Stockholm syndrome is over. His desire for revenge is a poison that could be eating him up inside." She shook her head. "The threat from Rolf continues to be real despite his incarceration. Does he have a secret safe house we don't know about? What motivates him to commit crimes? What has he done with his loot as Mozzie would put it? I'll feel a lot more comfortable once I know the answers to those questions."
"Plus we need to factor in an unknown accomplice," Diana said. "If Rolf commissioned Wilkes to procure the Vermeer, someone had to hep him."
"Mozzie's suggestion that Rolf could be involved with the Pod also shouldn't be discounted," Tricia cautioned. "A ring of hackers who target video game producers with ransomware demands fits Rolf's profile. Under the circumstances, the best policy is for us to go ahead and assume that the unknown associate is real." She turned to Diana. "For Arkham Files, this will mean a new strategy where we'll seek to cause dissension between the two. If Rolf believes he's been relegated to a secondary role while his associate grabs the limelight, his wounded ego may cause him to make mistakes."
"What code word will we use to designate the associate?" June asked.
"Mozzie suggested the Outer God most closely linked to Lovecraft, namely Cthulhu." Diana sat back to observe their reactions.
El grimaced. "Must we?"
Tricia shrugged helplessly. Smart woman, she knew it was already a fait accompli. "We've been calling Rolf Azathoth for over a year," Tricia said. "Thinking of his hypothetical partner as Cthulhu may spark story ideas. Undoubtedly it already has for Mozzie."
"And there he is now," Diana murmured, spotting him through the beveled-glass doors which separated the dining room from the hallway. "Ladies, I'm counting on your support."
"What did I miss?" Mozzie asked inquisitively as he walked in carrying a wine box.
"Nothing important," El assured him. "Just girl talk."
"That's my favorite kind! You must fill me in." He set the box down on the table. "I brought along a case of my special vintage Honey Wine for Lovers to enjoy with Emil's excellent feast. There's an ample supply so you can all take a bottle home to your sweethearts. The wine will put us in the appropriate mood for story plotting!"
#
Neal had come home on the early side to work on the paintings. The Round Table was still meeting behind closed doors when he arrived. By the time Henry showed up, he was ready for a break.
"Man, what a tough crowd," Henry said, dropping onto the sofa.
Neal placed his paintbrush on the palette. "You're complaining because they didn't let you run the show? It's only your first session. In a few weeks, they'll be putty in your hands."
Henry smiled as if he was already planning on it. "Actually they were very accommodating to most of my ideas. It was only when I mentioned Eric, that I hit a stone wall."
"Since when is Eric in Arkham Files?"
"Based on their reaction, not for a while. It seemed like a reasonable idea. Angela was the one who dreamed it up. She said that since the stories worked out so well for you and Sara, Eric should be included too." Henry smiled. "He's excited about the idea."
"Go ahead and admit it. You are, too."
"Well, yeah, especially since love is in the air in Arkham, as Mozzie describes it. But, sheesh, Diana refused to even discuss the concept. It made me wonder if she and Christie have hit a rough patch."
"For what little my opinion is worth, and believe me, it's not much with that group, I'll second the idea of Eric's inclusion. Mozzie's a co-writer. I bet he'll figure out a way to insert him, although Eric may need to acquire a few alien characteristics."
"I'm already braced for it." Henry stood up and approached the easels. "I hate to tell you but your paintings don't look anything like the original."
"That's because I'm building up colors," Neal explained patiently. "Come back on Friday or better yet, Saturday morning. That's my target date to have them ready for aging." He stood back to study the canvases.
"Why are you frowning?"
"Soon I'll have to start adding the crap inflicted by shoddy restorers. I'd love to be able to paint her like she might have originally looked." He turned to Henry. "And maybe I will someday. It could be a great subject for a workshop."
"You've really been enjoying those master classes, haven't you?"
Neal nodded. "Sherkov's given me carte blanche to choose the artists. The papers I have to write aren't nearly as much fun."
"Tomorrow's your day at Columbia. Can you punt your classes to work on the forgeries?"
"Not during the day. In addition to the seminars, I'm scheduled to meet with Sherkov. He'll have my hide if I don't show up." Neal grimaced as he remembered he still hadn't prepared for the meeting. "He wants an update on my progress in picking a dissertation topic."
"Let me guess. There hasn't been any?"
"It's that obvious? I'm going to try to divert him onto my master's thesis, not that it's much further along, but at least I have a subject."
"Michael was groaning about his dissertation when we worked on Angela's props last night. He was surprised you have to write a master's thesis. He said most doctoral candidates aren't required to. The master's requirements are rolled into the PhD work."
Michael was a year ahead of Neal in the art history program. He was doing it the standard way with no second master's, and no full-time job to perform on the side.
"Sherkov had to convince the department to waive some of the requirements for me to be entered into the program," Neal explained. "You no doubt remember the small matter of my not having graduated from high school. If I survive till May those two master's diplomas will finally put that issue to rest."
"Not to mention earning you the blowout celebration party I will be in charge of," Henry said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you with your Vermeer girlfriend. Don't stress about the other stuff. There will be plenty of time for that later. And remember to get some sleep."
Neal chuckled ruefully. "You're starting to sound a lot like Peter."
"You've got it backward, kiddo. My brilliance is rubbing off on him. You helped me get my master's. Now I'm returning the favor."
#
Henry's pep talk had a positive effect. Neal settled in to paint with renewed determination. He even managed to grab a couple of hours of sleep. The following day, he conned his way through the meeting with Sherkov, leaving the impression that he was actively exploring several options. His advisor was sufficiently satisfied to not press for details. There was the small matter of a mandatory written report due in two weeks which would analyze those so-far imaginary options, but he wasn't going to hassle his head about that quite yet.
By the time, Neal returned to the office on Friday, he felt like the hump was over. Two Vermeers in six days—yes, he was White Collar's overachiever even if hardly anyone would ever know about it. Peter had ordered him to work reduced hours this week, claiming that for anyone monitoring him, it would reinforce his image as a slacker. Even for Neal, it was hard to believe it wasn't true when his only assignment at work was to report to Storeroom 51.
Before heading to the sleep cave, he dropped by his desk to check emails. He had to check himself from stopping at the breakroom for a mug of the Bureau's custom swill. Peter would pounce on it, and, frankly, he'd drunk so much last night that his stomach churned its disapproval at the mere thought.
The bullpen was quieter than normal. Both Jones and Diana were out, perhaps monitoring Alex. Neal hadn't heard anything from her in a couple of days. Was that a good sign? She knew she was being followed but Alex's skill at eluding tails was almost on a par with his.
Neal opened the Interpol art crimes bulletin and began skimming the contents . . .
The sound of footsteps made his eyes snap open.
"Sorry to wake you," Peter said.
"I wasn't asleep," Neal protested. "Just—"
"—pondering the meaning of life? Um-hm. Normally I'd order you to Storeroom 51, but Tricia's asked to meet with us in my office. Think you can stay awake for a few minutes? She's on her way."
Neal had no trouble focusing on the discussion when he heard the subject—the two paintings of his that had sold at an art gallery the previous month.
"I don't want you to think there's anything illicit about the sale," Tricia cautioned. "But because of the Mansfelds' interest in your art, extra scrutiny is warranted."
"Especially since both subjects were connected to them," Peter added.
"But that's not necessarily significant," Neal objected. "I was supposed to draw on personal experiences for the exhibition, and the brothers were a big factor in my life that year."
"It's simply one data point among many which need to be considered," Tricia said calmly.
Neal took a breath and nodded. His nerves were more frayed than he'd realized. Lack of sleep did that. He vowed to not ring any more alarm bells. Peter had enough concerns without him piling on.
"We know either Rolf or Klaus visited your first-year exhibition," Tricia continued. "Personally, my money's on Klaus. He'd already visited you at your studio where you discussed your paintings. You explained how the two of you connected on the purely artistic plane, separate from thoughts of heists."
"Tricia, you'd already looked into the sales," Peter pointed out. "Has something new popped up?"
She nodded. "After the sale of the second painting, I decided to order a more extensive investigation. I repeat that there's nothing underhanded about the transactions. The corporations which bought the works did so upon the advice of their art consultant. I think it's a simple coincidence that the art consultants they employ are from the same firm. Interpol confirmed that they're one of the top ten corporate art firms with clients all over the world."
"Which one is it?" Neal asked.
"Fuchspartners," she said. "It's headquartered in Frankfurt, Germany."
"What is it, Neal?" Peter asked. "Do you recognize the name?"
Neal nodded. "Tricia's information is correct. I'm staggered to think that I was on their recommended list."
Tricia smiled and turned to Peter. "You're probably aware that the gallery where Neal's works are being sold is owned by his art advisor's partner. The gallery was cited as an excellent source for new artists with investment potential."
"Frankfurt . . ." Peter drummed his fingers on the table and turned to Neal. "Isn't that where the Mansfeld parents live?"
"Yeah, and that's not the only connection. Klaus had mentioned Siegfried Fuchs to me. He's one of the partners of the firm. Siegfried and Klaus attended university together. They share a love of art as well as frustration over not being artists themselves. Klaus once made a joke that they channeled that frustration into lucrative professions. When I was working for him, he remained in contact with Siegfried. Supposedly Siegfried didn't suspect that Klaus was a thief."
"That's certainly plausible," Tricia agreed. "Klaus was maintaining his cover as an investment advisor for his family's company back then. There would have been no reason for Fuchs to suspect anything was amiss. At my request, Interpol researched Fuchspartners"—she glanced at Neal—"discreetly. I'm sure the firm was unaware of it."
That was reassuring. The last thing Neal needed was to have his reputation as an artist tainted by rumors of him being engaged in anything illegal.
"The firm has a stellar reputation and nothing was found to diminish it," Tricia said.
"Has Fuchs reached out to Klaus in prison?" Peter asked.
"Not in the States, but he visited him in the Hungarian prison," she said and turned to Neal. "No one's accused Fuchs of suspicious behavior but I'd like your take on the nature of his relationship with Klaus."
Neal took a moment to consider, forcing himself to view it objectively. "It must have been a shock for Siegfried to learn of Klaus's crimes. The nature of Klaus's supposed death at the Met Museum was kept confidential for a long time, and then to find out Klaus was the Leopard . . ." Neal tried to think how he would have reacted in similar circumstances. "If their friendship was strong enough, it could have survived. In that case, Klaus may occasionally advise Siegfried on purchases. Perhaps Siegfried is encouraging it as a means of rehabilitation."
Tricia nodded. "That's my assessment as well. Based on Klaus's conduct toward you in Hungary, he appeared to be experiencing a great deal of remorse for what he and his brother put you through. Under the circumstances, it's understandable that he might recommend your art to FuchsPartners."
Neal winced. "I don't know how I should feel about that. Should I send him a thank you?"
"I'd hold off on that for the moment," Peter said, smiling sympathetically.
"Has Klaus reached out to you?" Tricia asked.
"No, and I haven't to him," Neal said.
"I'd like to recommend you consider it," she said.
Peter shot her a dismayed look. "Is that really advisable?"
"I know it's risky," she said. "But if Klaus genuinely regrets his actions, he may be able to assist us with Rolf. At the moment Rolf is a far greater danger. I don't think we should leave any avenue unexplored."
#
Forget sleep. Tricia's proposal was a jolt of triple espresso. Although Neal went to Storeroom 51, he knew his brain would stay in overdrive.
The small storage space was furnished with a couch and an old metal desk. There were pillows and blankets in the storage cabinet and not much else. There were no windows so the room was pitch black when the lights were extinguished. Some wag had plugged a blue dragon nightlight into a wall outlet. He wouldn't be at all surprised if that had been Diana's contribution.
A small whiteboard was attached to the door where agents could scribble reserved times. Peter had written in Neal's name for the rest of the week. By Monday, hopefully he wouldn't need it.
Neal retrieved the pillows and placed them on the couch. Toeing off his loafers, he flopped onto the cushions and gazed absently at the acoustic panels in the ceiling. He'd already been thinking about writing Klaus, but he hadn't planned anything definite. He agreed with Tricia that if Klaus had recommended his art to Siegfried, his intent wasn't malicious. There was nothing he could have gained from it.
Was the gesture made to help ease Klaus's conscience? Artists who could afford it used agents. Should Neal now consider Klaus his agent? Those two paintings were the first sales he'd made under his own name. Neal could still taste the joy he'd felt at the news. Although he'd sold one of the paintings at last year's exhibition, it didn't count since Eric had bought it for Henry's new loft.
Even if Klaus had put in a plug for Neal, the corporations made the final decision. Nothing had tainted the sales. Klaus knew how difficult it was for a new artist to gain recognition, and Neal was grateful for the gesture. Peter should be too. It could be viewed as Klaus's way of encouraging Neal to stay legit.
Peter was undoubtedly stewing over the hidden pitfalls and what complications might surface if Neal reached out to Klaus. Once this op was over, Neal wanted to discuss it with Sara for her perspective. The buzzing of a cell phone made him think Sara had psychically heard his wish and was calling him. Then he realized it was the burner phone—the one Alex used. She wouldn't call him at work unless it was urgent.
He let it ring several times before answering. As he spoke into the phone, he opened the door and then closed it. "Something come up?"
"Can you talk?" Alex asked.
"Yeah, I moved into an empty interrogation room when you rang."
"That's appropriate. What kind of scam are you running?" Her voice bristled with anger. "If you think you can get away with playing me, you've—"
"Calm down. I'm sticking my neck out to help you. What makes you think otherwise?"
"What else am I supposed to believe when your girlfriend is in town?"
"What are you talking about?" Neal said, adding a frustrated huff.
"Don't play the innocent with me. Sara Ellis, who else? And don't try to deny it. Raquel filled me in on all the sordid details."
Neal flashed back to his conversations with Raquel in Venice at the beginning of the year. Raquel knew he was seeing Sara, but she assumed Neal had been ordered to date her by Steinar Wolff, Peter's undercover alias. Raquel readily believed Neal was using Sara to learn about her company's clients. That meant Alex was making a calculated move to throw him off his game. "If you got your information from Raquel, you know that I've been playing Sara, not you," he retorted. "How do you think I found out about Sterling-Bosch being on your trail?"
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you would string along an insurance agent?"
"Wouldn't you if they could provide you access to wealthy clients?"
"This isn't the Neal Caffrey I know," she insisted.
"I have a different handler these days. I've been forced to adjust." He added a note of bitterness to his voice and ran his hand through his hair for good measure, knowing Alex would hear it.
"So it's true what Raquel said?"
"Yes, it's true." Not a lie. The word it could refer to anything.
"How long have you been seeing her?"
"We worked on a joint op last spring and again in the fall." He had no idea how much Raquel knew about their dating history, but he and Sara had faked a dating relationship in September. "It's been so profitable, I've been keeping it up despite her living in London."
"It couldn't have been easy. Surely she knows of your reputation with the FBI and Interpol." The angry tone had faded. Neal breathed easier.
"It hasn't been, and there's still a lot of mistrust. What can I say? She likes bad boys." He took a moment to let his words sink in. "Alex, you're my friend. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you." And he was absolutely sincere about that.
"You can't blame a girl for being a little paranoid."
"If you were worried about my dates with Sara, why did you approach me?"
She exhaled. "When I talked with Raquel, it was so obvious that you were conning Sara. Raquel's convinced that Steinar ordered you to keep her close."
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" Neal said sympathetically. That was the conclusion he and Henry were aiming for during the U-boat con. He hadn't realized it had worked so well.
"Exactly. When I heard about Ellis being in town, I leaped to the wrong conclusion. When your life is filled with cons, it's hard not to believe everything is."
"I know." Deceiving Alex was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He told himself it was for Alex's best interest too, but that didn't make it any easier.
After Alex ended the call, Neal contacted Sara and Peter. How had Alex known Sara was in town? Possibly she'd spied on Sterling-Bosch, but none of the monitoring teams had reported her being close to their office. Had someone tipped her off? Like Wilkes? Alex claimed she hadn't told him about Neal, but was she telling the truth?