Chapter 2: Samurai Bonds

Neal's loft. November 30, 2004. Tuesday evening.

By the time Neal let himself into the mansion, it was almost midnight. Most of the downstairs lights had already been turned off. The frosted glass globe of the brass lamp on the entry table was still on to welcome him home. Neal placed the keys to the Jaguar on a porcelain dish next to the lamp and headed upstairs.

When he entered the loft, the only light came from the full moon shining in through the skylight. A shadowy figure was sitting with his back to the door, a wine glass beside him. Without turning his head, he said, "I've been expecting you, Mr. Bond."

"Why are you sitting in the dark, Mozz? You're not pulling an Ernst Blofeld, are you?" Neal turned on a floor lamp by the couch. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon from France. Have you already finished your job with Gordon Taylor?"

Mozzie rotated his chair to face Neal. "My part's done. It all went remarkably smoothly. Gordon runs a well-oiled machine."

"How did it go with André?" André was an old friend, a burglar Neal knew from his years in Geneva. Mozzie had smoothed the way for André to join Gordon's crew in appreciation for his assistance with the con that cleared Neal's name at the FBI.

"Gordon and André hit it off like they were long-lost relatives. When I left, Gordon was teaching André pool in exchange for fencing lessons. And, I might add, that my own luster was significantly burnished in the process." Mozzie reached for the bottle of wine on the table. "May I pour you a glass of your wine?"

Neal raised a cautioning hand and yawned. "After the number of martinis I had, I'll pass. Workday tomorrow."

Mozzie eyed him pityingly. "Yes, you're back to being a member of the downtrodden masses. June told me where you were when I arrived. I find the fact that you attended 'An Evening with Genji' quite amusing."

"Why is that?" Neal asked as he took off his jacket and tie.

"You, floating among the clouds of the New York aristocracy ... You don't think you had a distinct resemblance to the night's honoree?"

"Not that much," Neal protested, not liking the comparison. "I've never heard of any nobles among my ancestors, and my record as a lover is definitely not on a level with Genji's."

"You've merely misplaced your affections. You've let yourself be seduced by a succession of Mata Haris."

Neal winced. Mozzie had never been a member of Kate's fan club, but she was no Mata Hari. Although ... in light of her actions last spring, he'd have to admit there was a kernel of truth in the comparison.

"You should let me instruct you in the fine art of courtship," Mozzie continued. Neal spun around to stare at him. Mozzie didn't have the slightest hint of a smile. How much wine had he drunk? "The fair Fiona is a much worthier pursuit. Beauty, brains, and a musical soul. Of course, her naiveté concerning the forces around her is an issue but I'll happily offer my services to instruct her. I could act as Professor Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle, Pygmalion to her Galatea."

"Fiona may not be ready for your revelations. Let's hold off bursting her bubble." Mozzie had never even met Fiona. His knowledge of her was solely based on what snippets he'd gleaned from Neal plus a few photos. And Neal was happy to keep it that way. Fiona knew virtually nothing about his life before Columbia. She'd met El and Peter, but that was different. They were part of what Neal liked to think of as his life in the light. He had every intention of keeping her away from his life in the shadows. That included Mozzie and everything associated with his con artist past. "In any case, Fiona and I are just good friends."

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Neal, please. Are you still using that trite expression?"

"Do you prefer amis-amants? But it's not what you think. Fiona's in the same boat as me. She's getting over someone else. We decided to hang out together. I don't know that our relationship will ever go much further."

Mozzie eyed him skeptically. "You're not sure if you're soulmates? Do you know what your problem with women is?"

"I didn't think I had one. Enlighten me, Dr. Phil." He dropped into a chair and yawned. This could take a while.

Mozzie pointed at him accusingly. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. Like a medieval knight wearing the ribbon of his beloved strumpet, you're only too eager to offer your heart to any minx who catches your eye."

"Now you're talking nonsense," Neal protested. "I don't do that."

"Oh really? Need I point out Sara? She strolls into your life, crumples up your tender emotions, spits on them, and tosses them away. Then she sashays off to break someone else's heart."

"It was hardly like that. Sara's no minx. In fact, she was at the gala tonight. I enjoyed talking with her. No crumpled feelings, no angst. We're fine. Besides, what happened with Sara was not her fault. I didn't let her know how I felt about her."

"Who was she with?"

"Bryan McKenzie."

"Ah yes, her next victim. You probably found her more irresistible than ever."

"No, I didn't," Neal objected, glaring at him.

Mozzie, however, was not to be stopped. "Now that Sara's unattainable, you're no doubt more than ever attracted to her. The pattern is clear. You fall for Kate, who's in love with Adler. Next, you yearn for Sara who's also involved with someone else. You're conflicted by your feelings for Fiona. Perhaps you're in love with both Sara and Fiona while still being in love with Kate." Mozzie peered at him over his glasses. "Yes, your resemblance to Genji, in love with multiple women, is becoming more and more apparent."

Neal grimaced. It was late. He was tired and not feeling in love with anyone, particularly Mozzie, at the moment. "Shouldn't you focus on your own love life, Mozz? I'll somehow manage to stagger along without you."

Mozzie ignored his comments. "You need to be a Don Juan, not a Genji. Love them and leave them. Never stay too long with one. Never get tied down." He wagged his forefinger at Neal. "And above all else, never give your heart to any of them."

"Can we change the subject, please?"

"But your love life is so fascinating," he pleaded. "Especially in comparison to mine."

"Here's another topic for you—Samurai bonds. What do you know about them?"

"Apt name," Mozzie said thoughtfully. "Yen-denominated bonds. Can be quite valuable. I prefer Krugerrands. They're much more liquid. Why your interest?"

"Something I overheard. It could be nothing." Reflecting on the conversation, Neal was beginning to have doubts. At the time he was sure about what he heard, but how could they have been serious?

Mozzie got up from the table. "Let me know if the nothing turns into something lucrative. I must leave. I need to prepare for my next trip."

"You're taking off again? What's the destination this time?"

"Hawaii."

"Hawaii?" Neal repeated in surprise. "Is Gordon expanding his operations?"

"No, Billy and I are." Billy Feng was a retired cat burglar who owned a Hawaiian-themed store and café near Columbia University. His daughter Maggie was a florist and helped out at the emporium.

"But Billy already has a thriving business and his relatives in Hawaii supply him with whatever goods he needs," Neal pointed out.

"Exactly." Mozzie beamed as if all had been made clear. "The market for Hawaiian products in New York is ravenous and growing by the day. Think of New York as a hungry bear and I'm going to supply the honey."

"And your honey will be ...?"

"Honey, of course. Raw organic, made by bees feasting on Hawaiian flowers honey. A nephew of Billy's has gone into the bee-keeping business on his farm south of the Pu'u O Umi Natural Area Reserve on the island of Hawaii. He produces exquisite raw organic honey from Hawaiian nectar sources. I plan to be a silent partner in his business."

"You, a silent partner? Now who's deluding himself?"

Mozzie continued unabated. "I should thank you because it was through you that my path was revealed."

"And how did you reach that conclusion?"

"If you hadn't asked me to look into Apian wheels last October, I might never have had the idea."

Neal must have looked as puzzled as he felt, because Mozzie added, "Those early calculators were named after Petrus Apianus, who Latinized his name from Bienewitz. Biene means bee in German. If ever there was an omen that my destiny lay in bees, that was it. Oh, and did I mention we'll be using our honey to produce wines? They'll be sophisticated blends of the finest varietals, herbs, spices, and honey to seduce the palate with a perfume of mesmerizing potency."

Neal shook his head wearily. "It's always about the wine, isn't it?"

"No, it's always about the bee. Our world depends upon them. They're essential pollinators. Without pollination, there'd be no strawberries, no almonds, and yes, no wine. Now, thanks to my refined palate and Billy's connections, I expect to have our business abuzz in a matter of weeks. We'll leave for Hawaii shortly."

"This may be a rather expensive undertaking," Neal pointed out.

"I can afford it. Between the finder fees I've collected and my services for Gordon Taylor, I can pursue other interests. Your bank account would be much more comfortable if you'd listen to my advice."

Neal shook his head firmly. "Not happening. After the scrutiny the marshals gave me this summer about my lifestyle, I don't want to give them any more ammunition."

"You could always use me as your banker. We could keep it off the books. Trust me, they'd never know. The Genji lifestyle requires deep pockets."

"I'm not living like Genji."

"And that brings up the real question: why not?"

Federal Building. The next morning.

"What you heard could simply have been drunken daydreams," Peter said, not persuaded by Neal's interpretation. "You told me there were several glasses on the side table."

When Neal came to his office, Peter fully expected him to launch into a description of the previous evening's festivities. Instead, Neal was convinced that he'd overheard plans for a bond heist. Only Neal could go to a gala and come back with a case.

Neal shook his head emphatically. "I considered that but the more I thought about it, the more I realized my first impression was correct. You know what Samurai bonds are, right?"

"I've heard of them. Bonds issued in Tokyo by non-Japanese entities. But you're asking me to believe those guys were openly discussing stealing a shipment of bonds at the gala."

"They were in an alcove. I was the only one in the vicinity, and I was standing behind the screens. If they noticed me, they probably wouldn't think I speak Japanese."

"Wait a minute—you speak Japanese?" That wasn't in Neal's file. It seemed with every case, Peter discovered a skill he hadn't previously mentioned. How long would this go on? "When did you learn Japanese?"

"My mother learned it as a child when her father was serving in Tokyo. She gave me a few lessons ... it's a long story." Neal got up from the chair and paced impatiently. "Peter, we don't have time for this. We need to investigate the bonds. The way they were speaking, the heist will take place in a few days."

Peter exhaled slowly. He was by no means convinced but Neal's instincts in previous cases had been sound. "You say Mr. Nakahara is a senior vice president at the bank. Give him a call. Tell him what you told me and we'll proceed based on his reaction. Go ahead and use my phone, and put him on speaker." Peter wanted to judge for himself whether Nakahara felt further investigation was warranted.

Neal dialed the number of the bank and after a few redirects was able to connect. Once Nakahara got on the line, things went downhill. Peter gave Neal points for trying to keep the conversation in English, but Nakahara kept reverting to Japanese.

At the end of the call, Peter needed to ask, "What just happened?"

"He's coming over to meet with us at eleven. He's taking the threat seriously. He said the bank has had other Samurai bond shipments stolen." Neal eyed him expectantly.

"You've convinced me. Since you're so savvy on the Japanese, anything I should know in dealing with Nakahara?"

"I'm glad you asked. The Japanese place a high value on the observance of proper etiquette." Neal sat back and studied him. "How's your bow? You should practice with me first. Then after you bow to my satisfaction, we should have you do a dress rehearsal downstairs in the bullpen. I wouldn't want you to have stage fright and clutch at the key moment."

Peter groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have asked. Out of here. I have work to do before he comes, and you do too, judging by the stack on your desk."

#

The meeting with Nakahara went much better than Peter had feared. Apparently it was easier for him to speak English in person than on the phone. He'd brought over his laptop which contained the files on the Azuma Bank employees.

While Neal combed through the personnel lists to identify the two men he'd seen, Nakahara explained the history of the Samurai bond thefts. Two other branch banks had been hit over the past nine months: one in Sydney and one in Rome. In both cases, the thieves were able to gain access to the bank vaults and escape with the bonds without a trace of evidence being left behind. The thefts had only been discovered when routine inventories were made. The amount stolen was considerable—over sixteen million dollars.

Neal looked up from the laptop and reported, "I found them. Hiroki Bando and Shogo Awaji. They're associate investment analysts. Both are around thirty years old. They've been with the bank seven years."

Neal returned the laptop to Nakahara who studied their files. "Their job histories with the bank are without blemish," he commented. "They received excellent reviews from their supervisors. If they're involved, they've brought dishonor on themselves and Japan." Nakahara continued to examine their files and frowned. "But there's a problem. They aren't listed as having been in Sydney and Rome when those robberies were committed. However, it's possible they were on vacation during those times and could have traveled there on their own. When I get back to the office I'll have their personnel records sent to you."

"Neal, are you sure of your identification?" Peter asked.

"I'm positive," said Neal. "They're the ones."

Peter turned to Nakahara. "It sounds like there are more people involved than just these two. To obtain evidence, I'd like to place one of our agents undercover. Will you be able to make the necessary arrangements?"

"That won't be a problem," he replied. "I can provide the appropriate clearance. Based on what Mr. Caffrey said, we'll need to move quickly to prevent the robbery. It's being planned for next week, is that correct?"

"That's right," Neal said.

"I'll meet with my team and get back to you this afternoon," Peter promised.

#

At the afternoon meeting when Peter brought Jones and Diana into the loop, Neal was surprised he didn't immediately announce his decision about who was going in. After all, it was obvious who was the best qualified. Peter made the process so much more drawn out than it needed to be.

Keeping his cards close to his vest, Peter said, "We need someone young who'll be able to establish a rapport with the two suspects, someone who understands the world of investment banking." He turned to Jones. "How are your trader skills?"

"Beginners level, I'm afraid," Jones admitted. "I've done a little investing for myself, but nothing on the scale these guys do."

Peter ignored Neal's efforts to grab his attention and swiveled to face Diana, "Do you think you could handle it, Diana?"

She shook her head regretfully. "Sorry, this one is totally outside my experience."

"I would do it," Peter said, "but my age will be a factor. I don't know that I'll be able to gain their confidence. Perhaps one of the agents in another division."

Frustrated at Peter's obtuseness, Neal finally broke in. "Aren't you ignoring the clear choice?"

"Oh, really?" Peter eyed him skeptically. "This isn't a clandestine meeting with a thief or card shark. When did you become an expert on stock analysis?"

"I can fake it. I'm the only one who knows Japanese, and you know I'm the best person to gain their confidence."

"Have you ever built a financial model?" Peter challenged. "I don't recall you mentioning a mastery of macros. Or is that another of your hidden talents?"

"It's all a shell game," Neal dismissed. "Making a pitch is an aspect of the fine art of persuasion. The rest is unimportant."

Jones came to his support. "We could probably cram enough into his head to pass muster, Peter. I can help him with his macros. And Neal's right, he could sell anything."

"Richard's a stock analyst," Neal added. "I can ask him to give me some tips."

Peter sat back, looking unconvinced, as Neal smiled at him hopefully.

"But won't they recognize you?" Diana asked. "After all, they saw you at the gala."

"They saw Nick Halden," Neal corrected. "Rich playboy, gambler, always on the lookout for a good time. I just transferred from the Los Angeles branch. I'm friends with the boss's daughter and don't speak Japanese."

"All right," Peter said, finally acknowledging the inevitable. "You'll start on Friday." Fixing him with a stern look, he added, "But that means tomorrow you're having a crash course on investment banking."

"Stock analyst boot camp?" Neal said. "Sign me up!"

#

Peter had taken his words far too literally.

Neal set down his pen and stretched his back as he examined the mountain of manuals, papers, and diagrams spread out in front of him. When he'd arrived at work that morning, Peter had shepherded him into one of the smaller conference rooms. It had already been stocked with financial instruments of torture. Peter had left him with a stack of assignments and the admonition that only upon satisfactory completion of them would he be allowed to go undercover.

His one "break" had been provided by Jones who made a riveting presentation on Excel macros.

Neal groaned. Why didn't they believe him, when he said he could just wing it? He heard approaching footsteps and quickly buried himself in a thrilling account of stock market investment tools.

Peter entered the room and sat down beside him. "Time for a progress report. How are you coming on your assignments?"

"You're enjoying this far too much, Peter. I mastered enough in the first hour. The rest of this is merely for extra credit."

"Then you're ready for your pop quiz." Peter picked up the performance ratio worksheet Neal had filled out and scanned his answers.

"Maybe after lunch," Neal suggested. "Richard's coming by at noon. Over Chinese takeout, he'll entertain me with the death-defying tale of a day in the life of an investment analyst."

"That does sound gripping. Mind if I join in? Tell you what, I'll supply the takeout." He put the sheet down without comment. Apparently, Neal's answers hadn't raised any red flags.

Neal retrieved the menu from Federal Plaza Restaurant from a folder, sensing a welcome distraction. "I know how much you enjoy mu shu pork. Richard likes shrimp. Let's go with the Szechuan shrimp with chili, and —"

"I'm commandeering this," Peter said, snatching the menu away. "You get back to work. You have an hour to finish at least one other assignment." He slipped the menu into his jacket pocket and headed for the door.

Neal called out to his retreating back. "Travis is also joining us. Be sure to order enough for—"

"Focus, Caffrey."

#

"So, I'd just finished making the changes to our pitch, when a colleague dumped another stack of rewrites on my desk. Mind you, we were due to make the presentation in five minutes. I finished them with no time to spare and raced to the printer which of course picked that moment to jam. I realize this isn't as hair-raising as your life, but if you're looking for frustration and pain, nothing beats the life of a lowly investment analyst." Richard helped himself to more shrimp out of the container. "Excellent choice, by the way," he added.

Peter had called a timeout to Neal's studies at noon when Richard arrived. Peter had seen Richard several times, but always at Columbia where Richard's studio was next to Neal's. This was Peter's first time to meet his business persona, or at least Richard's interpretation of one. Neal didn't know if he even owned a tie. And his usual day-old scruff now looked like the two or three-day variety. Neal made a note to check with Nakahara about the dress code for the bank. If Richard were typical, he should have stopped shaving yesterday.

"How do you think our analyst-in-training will do?" Peter asked him.

"He'll make a killing," Richard said confidently. "Neal, when are you going in?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'll stand ready. With your luck, you'll probably bring on a Santa Claus rally in the market."

Slanting a glance at Peter, Neal asked, "I'm assuming it wouldn't be allowed for me to invest a little on the side?"

"You better believe it," Peter warned, pointing at him with his chopstick. "I don't want to be investigating Nick Halden for insider trading."

"You're taking away all my fun," Neal grumbled.

"Here's a toy you can play with," Travis said, removing a pen from his pocket. Travis was White Collar's answer to James Bond's Q in MI6. He'd met Richard a couple of weeks ago during the Marie Antoinette con. Now they were dating. Neal liked to think he'd had a role in it. Each of them had come to him separately, asking if the other was seeing anyone and he delivered glowing reports about both of them.

"That looks remarkably like the dog whistle you supplied me with a couple of months ago," Neal said, putting down his rice bowl to examine it.

"It does, doesn't it?" Travis acknowledged with a grin. "I find ballpoint pens to be remarkably adaptable."

"There's a miniature camera inside with 4 GB of internal memory," Travis continued. "It records video and audio. Push the clip once to start and push it again to stop. The battery will last for three hours without recharging. "

"Is this the lens?" Neal asked, pointing to a tiny dot above the clip.

"Yes. If Peter allows you to escape from investment analyst hell, we'll practice with it in the lab. It will take a little getting used to."

"You guys have so much more fun than where I work," Richard lamented.

"Don't let this fool you," Neal replied. "The amount of mind-numbing paperwork around here is enough—Peter, what are you writing down?"

"Simply making notes for your next performance review," he said calmly.

Travis quickly stepped in before fireworks erupted. "This should help relieve the tedium of stock analysis," he said, handing Richard a thick book. "It's the book I was telling you about."

Peter asked to see it. Not a surprise since a Klingon was on the cover. "Is Travis trying to get you interested in sci-fi?" he asked Richard.

"Something much more intense. He wants me to sculpt space aliens."

"The annual sci-fi convention, Tac-Con, will be held in February," Travis said. "It's the largest convention of its type in the world. Several competitions are held in conjunction with the show, including ones for artists. There are contests for space imagery, special effects makeup, and lots more. I'm trying to persuade Richard to enter a sculpture in the alien creations category."

Peter was thumbing through the book with interest. "I've never been but have read about it. It draws some of the most famous luminaries in science fiction. Didn't Arthur Clarke attend one year?"

"He did. Last year was the biggest year ever. Many of the stars of Stargate: Atlantis were there. But the best of all was an appearance by Leonard Nimoy." Travis paused. "I even got to meet him," he added in a hushed voice.

Peter closed the book, visibly impressed. "Were you able to get his autograph?"

"Not just his autograph. He even let me get a photo of the two of us together. He was unbelievably gracious." Travis's face softened. "I'll never forget that moment. Some kids have sports celebrities for heroes. Mine was Spock."

Neal knew Peter was an astronomy geek and into sci-fi himself. With any luck, he could draw out this conversation long enough to make Peter forget all about pop quizzes. "I've heard trekkies are divided into two camps over whether the original Star Trek or Star Trek: The Next Generation was more innovative. What do you think, Peter?"

Fifteen minutes later, the food containers were all empty and Travis and Peter were still debating the finer points of the Borg Collective versus warp drive. Neal's plan had worked better than he'd anticipated. Even Richard was holding his own with comments on the evolution of Klingon design over the various iterations.

"Travis showed me pictures from last year's convention," Richard said. "The costumes on some of the fans were so authentic they looked like they could have walked off a movie set."

"We attended N-Con, the gaming convention, last fall in an operation to recover stolen Roman artifacts," Travis said. "Several of the team members wore costumes. Neal went as Mark Antony. Peter rocked it as Julius Caesar."

"I believe there's a cosplay competition in conjunction with Tac-Con," Richard said, unaware of Peter's incomprehensible aversion to costumes. "It's one of the most popular events. Peter, would you like me to send you the link?"

Entertaining as it was to watch Peter slap that suggestion down, Neal knew they were wandering into dangerous territory. He quickly picked up the book Travis had brought and asked him about it.

"It's a review of space aliens and monsters used in the film industry," Travis said. "It's a great resource."

"I haven't sculpted any space aliens in a long time," Richard said, "but in high school, I made a series of clay busts of Star Wars creatures. They weren't bad."

Neal could feel Peter's eyes bore into him. Peter had gone undercover in a disguise in September that bore an uncanny resemblance to Han Solo's hirsute companion. It'd been a sensitive subject with Peter ever since. The prudent approach would be to ignore Richard's remark, but, realistically, Peter would insist on quizzing Neal anyway. He might as well take his fun while he could. "Was Chewbacca among them?" he asked Richard, keeping a straight face.

"Yeah, I think so."

"I hope you have photos," Neal said. "I could compare it with the one I have of Peter in—"

"I hate to break this up, but it's obvious Neal needs to prepare for a massive amount of exams this afternoon," Peter said hurriedly, shooting him a glare that would freeze a breached warp core.

It was still worth it, Neal thought with a grin as he cleaned up the lunch supplies.

Handing him his container, Travis muttered, "Show me the photo later?"

"It's a deal, as long as I get to see that photo of you and Nimoy."

Notes: Because of his experiences in The Queen's Jewels, Neal's cockiness is currently at a new high which exasperates Peter even as he understands what's behind it. That will change next week. As for Neal's history with Kate, the details are in Caffrey Flashback.