Chapter 3: James Bonds

Federal Building. Thursday, December 2, 2004.

After lunch, it was nose to the grindstone for Neal Caffrey, investment analyst-in-training. First Peter grilled him with questions on financial modeling techniques. Then Jones reviewed the thrilling world of PowerPoint pitches. Finally, Peter pronounced himself satisfied with Neal's mastery of the black magic of stock investing. Neal knew as long as he viewed it as a high-stakes poker game he'd be fine.

"When do I get my diploma for having survived stock analyst boot camp?" Neal asked, powering off his laptop. "I think I'll start a wall for all my boot camp achievements."

"You get that Columbia diploma, and I'll help you build the wall," Peter said as he stacked up the training materials. "I heard back from Mr. Nakahara. He's arranged for you to start tomorrow. Your workstation is next to one of the suspects, Shogo Awaji. Nakahara has designated the other, Hiroki Bando, to be your onboarding host. What's your plan to gain their confidence?"

"Nick's a social animal. From the way Shogo and Hiroki were downing their martinis, I'm sure they are too. I'll invite them to join me for drinks where I'll insinuate that Nick's gambling debts have become an issue. If I play it right, they'll invite me to join their crew."

"Stick with intel gathering," Peter warned. "Don't make any grandstand plays."

"Speaking of which, I'll need a healthy bankroll."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "How healthy are we talking about?"

"Twenty grand should do it," Neal said casually. If he started with an outrageously high number, the final compromise should be adequate.

"Not happening," Peter said firmly. "I could never get approval. Why do you need so much?"

"For Nick to appear like an easy mark, he'll have to throw money around to grease the wheels."

"How about five grand?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Please. Are you trying to sabotage me? Ten grand is the bare minimum."

"Will we lose much of it?"

"Not if I can help it."

"I'll see what we can come up with." Peter checked his watch. "What's on your schedule for this afternoon?"

Neal grinned. "Practicing my James Bond technique with my new snooper pen."

#

Learning how to work the snooper-pen camera that Travis had developed was trivial. Aiming it correctly, however, was a different matter. Neal's first attempts were unusable. After practicing in the lab, he took it on a road trip around the bullpen. That was much more entertaining. He had a grand excuse to pester agents. While chatting with them, he'd take surreptitious photos of their monitors and papers. When he was shooed away from one, he'd hit another target.

Back at the lab, he and Travis went over the results. "Not bad," Travis said. "If you hold the pen closer to the object, the resolution will be better. When I get back from Organized Crime, let's work on it some more."

The Organized Crime Unit was three floors below theirs. Neal knew a few of their agents but hadn't worked with them. Mainly he saw them in the elevator. "Are you assisting on a case?"

"I modified some surveillance equipment for them. Would you like a break? I could use a hand with the boxes."

"Sure. And it will give me another opportunity to practice with the pen. I need fresh subjects."

The floor layout for Organized Crime was similar to that of White Collar with the lab off a short corridor from the elevator bank. As soon as they arrived, one of the techs grabbed Travis for help with a malfunctioning device. Travis's shrug alerted Neal that this was one of those so-called quick consults that could last for an hour or more.

Neal took a few pics in the lab but opted out of mingling in the Organized Crime bullpen. They probably wouldn't be as tolerant of him spying on them. Deciding to return to White Collar, he headed for the elevators. While waiting for one to arrive, he perused the bulletin board. There was the typical assortment of official announcements, reminders, and miscellaneous flyers.

"What are you doing here, Caffrey? Your master let you off your leash?"

Neal spun around to see Agent Joseph Ruiz approaching him. Jones had pointed him out once, but Neal had never talked with him. Evidently, he wasn't a fan.

Ruiz looked to be in his late thirties with slicked-back hair and a strong Brooklyn accent. He reminded Neal of a character in the musical Grease. The way he was acting, he was ready to rumble. "You casing our floor?" Ruiz demanded.

Neal filed away his snarky retort for later. On Ruiz's turf, it wouldn't be wise to add fuel to the flames. "I helped an agent deliver equipment to your lab. I'm leaving now."

Two other agents about the size of linebackers joined Ruiz. Neal usually didn't mind when others stood near him, but these guys were uncomfortably in his face.

Ruiz grabbed Neal's lapel and smoothed it down. Neal could smell his breath mint, a sickly-sweet peppermint. "A word of advice before you leave. Garrett Fowler is a friend of ours. We worked closely together when he was with Violent Crimes. And I take it as a personal affront what you did to him."

Cutting short Neal's protest, he added, "He was a good agent whose reputation was trashed by your lies and distortions. I don't know how you did it, but one thing I do know—you're a criminal and don't belong here. White Collar seriously messed up when they brought you in. The next time you step a millimeter over the line, I'll slam you so fast you won't know what hit you."

As Ruiz spoke, the others formed a tight circle around Neal. One of them shoved him against the wall.

"Ready to leave, Neal?" Travis asked, calling out from the lab door entrance. He strode swiftly towards them. At his approach, the agents stepped back.

"Yeah, let's go." Neal pushed the elevator button.

"I was welcoming Caffrey to Organized Crime," Ruiz said. "Isn't that so, Neal?"

"Sure, thanks for the intro. I look forward to the tour of your valuables that you promised me," Neal said with a cheerful grin.

Fortunately, the elevator arrived before Ruiz could fire back. Once they were inside, Travis asked, "What was that about?"

Neal shrugged. "They're friends of Fowler. I don't think I'll receive any Christmas cards from them."

"Did they threaten you?"

"They're just grade-school bullies," Neal deflected. "Forget it."

Travis wasn't convinced. "From what I could see, it looked like harassment. You should report it or at least inform Peter."

Neal shook his head. "If I make an issue out of it, that will make it worse. This reminded me of when I was a kid and was given a hard time because I wanted to paint rather than play football. Ruiz still has some growing up to do." Neal was comfortable that Travis understood where he was coming from. Travis had once shared his own experience with bullies in high school.

"Be careful not to provoke them. Don't wander around Organized Crime after dark."

"Agreed."

"Did you record it on your pen?"

"Of course."

#

Peter paused reviewing the report Agent Tricia Wiese had sent him and rubbed his forehead. Tricia had been on a training assignment with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico for the past several weeks. While there, she'd assisted OPR with the investigation into Fowler. Should he go ahead and discuss the findings with Neal or wait till after the mission? Peter walked over to the glass wall overlooking the bullpen and chuckled. Neal was still practicing with his snooper pen but everyone was on to him. Whenever he approached, they struck an outrageous pose.

This was Neal's first undercover assignment since Fowler attempted to frame him. He'd been cleared only a little over a week ago and was still riding a high from a successful con where he'd essentially gone rogue to clear his name. He was by far the most suitable person for the present op, but would he take the proper precautions? Was he ready to follow someone else's script or would his self-confidence lead him to take unacceptable risks? And how would Tricia's findings fit into the equation?

Peter stood outside his office and gave the double finger-point for Neal to join him in his office. Gesturing for Neal to take a seat, he asked, "So, you feel ready to take on Azuma Bank?"

"Macros: check. Spreadsheets: check. Data analysis: check." Neal glibly ticked off his accomplishments on his fingers. "Bring on Wall Street."

"Remember, you're back in the FBI now. Follow procedures. No wandering off script."

"Got it." Neal's expression grew serious. "You don't have to worry. I'll play by the rules."

"Good, I'm holding you to that." Peter paused and tapped a closed folder in front of him. "I have some news for you on a different front. I received a report from Tricia this afternoon."

At those words, Neal's relaxed sprawl transformed into full alert. "Has Fowler been found?"

Peter shook his head. "Not yet, but now we know where he went. Once Tramonte was arrested with the earrings, Fowler used an alias to rent a car. This was shortly after midnight the same night. It took old-fashioned legwork to trace his route. He'd taken a taxi to Times Square, paying cash, and then walked a few blocks to the Port Authority Bus Terminal where he rented a car and drove to LaGuardia Airport. At first, it was assumed he'd taken a flight under a different alias. Agents combed through all the flight records to verify passenger identities. When nothing turned up, they suspected he'd taken the shuttle to JFK or Newark and we went through the same procedure at both the other airports. That's why it's taken this long."

"That's the tedious part of being an FBI agent I'd rather avoid."

"You need to thank those agents for their perseverance. Eventually they discovered he rented a second car at Newark Airport and drove to the Ottawa International Airport."

"This is much more elaborate than I would have expected. What was his destination?"

"Buenos Aires."

Neal frowned. "So he was working for Adler."

"The probability is high," Peter acknowledged. "Local officials are trying to trace his movements from the airport after he arrived in Buenos Aires."

"Adler was our lead suspect," Neal said. "Now that it's confirmed, I suppose I should feel some satisfaction, but the fact that Fowler's out of our reach makes it a hollow victory."

"My working theory is that Adler tried to drive a wedge between you and the FBI so he could recruit you again. He probably thought framing you for the theft would disillusion you so much that you'd either quit or be forced to leave."

Neal nodded. "Not a bad plan. It almost worked. But I never would go back to work for him. Last spring when I saw Kate, she said Adler was planning something big. She tried to get me to agree to join them. When that didn't work, Adler must have decided to try this. But I still don't understand why he'd go to this much trouble for me."

"Your skills are well-known, and he's had the chance to experience them for himself. You told me that Adler acted as a father figure for a while. He could want you back in his family."

"Maybe, but he never struck me as the sentimental type. He had no trouble in giving me the shaft during the Ponzi scheme he ran. Is Wilhelm Salvage still being monitored?"

Wilhelm Salvage was a company operating off the East Coast. Its specialties were sunken ships and dropped cargo. Last spring it had been investigated because of possible connections to Vincent Adler. Adler's father had immigrated to the States from Germany shortly after World War II and had spent most of his career working at a company that built submarine parts. Jones had researched Adler's background and raised the possibility of Adler being aware of a sunken U-boat filled with looted assets. His theory had sounded implausible at the time—Peter had wondered if Jones's addiction to video gaming wasn't leaking into his work—but it was hard to think of any other reason why someone like Adler would be interested in Wilhelm Salvage. "It is," Peter said, "but there's been no report of suspicious activity."

"Jones thought Adler needed my help but there are many excellent safecrackers he could hire. I'm not an expert on looted Nazi art and I'm no Indiana Jones."

Peter sought to lighten the mood. "Maybe Adler's confused. Indy wore a fedora too."

Neal grimaced. "His was a little too beaten up for my taste. Although, I suppose I could get a whip, start practicing ..." He cocked an eyebrow at Peter.

Peter gave an inner sigh. This conversation was going adrift. Hadn't he just told himself Neal needed to show more control? No more talk about Indy. "There's something about you that Adler wants. Figuring out what that is will be our next step. At least he's not trying to kill you. Possibly he'll give up and start pursuing someone else for whatever he has in mind, but I'm not counting on it."

Neal nodded, flipping a pen through his fingers as he looked out the window. "I suppose he may want me because he's comfortable with the way I work, but that seems a stretch. If I think of anything else, I'll get back to you."

"At least you don't have to worry about your mom and Ellen in WITSEC. The frame attempt doesn't appear to have anything to do with your father."

"Yeah, there's that." Neal didn't appear to draw any comfort from the thought.

"You needed to know, but I don't want you to be distracted when you're undercover. Will this be a problem?"

"No," said Neal. "It gives a little closure to what went on. It's easier to move forward, knowing why Fowler acted as he did."

"Good, that's what I'd hoped." Peter placed Tricia's folder in the top drawer of his desk. "Have you heard anything from your cousin Henry? This is his first week back at work, right?"

Neal nodded. "He called me Tuesday evening. He'd mentioned over Thanksgiving that he was looking forward to getting back to the daily grind. He meets with Allen Winston this week to determine how best to reintegrate into Winston-Winslow. It may not be easy. He's been on a leave of absence off and on for nearly nine months."

"Henry will make a quick study of it. Has he already started?"

"Monday was his first day."

"How'd it go?"

Neal shrugged. "I guess okay. We didn't talk long as I was racing to get ready for the gala, but he sounded fine." A look of amusement crossed his face. "I think he was calling simply to touch base. At Thanksgiving, I'd given him a hard time for not letting us know what he was up to. "

"I'm sure his mother Noelle threw in her two cents on the need to communicate."

"How about El? Is she nervous about Saturday?" El's community theater had been working on an Agatha Christie play, The Hollow. Opening night was only two days away. Neal planned to attend it with Peter.

"Immersed in her part, that's for sure. All week she's been muttering her lines. When she prepares dinner, over dishes ... A couple of nights ago, she talked in her sleep." Peter chuckled at the memory. "It was a surreal experience to be awakened by someone saying, 'If I can't have you, no one shall!' "

"Is she practicing with Satchmo? He'd make a great Inspector."

"I'll have to suggest that. Are you ready to star in your own production of Wall Street?"

Neal grinned as he got up. "Greed is good, Peter."

"You sound way too comfortable when you say that. Don't let the role seduce you."

Peter maintained his smile until Neal left the office, but once the door was closed he pulled out Tricia's report once more. Had he made the right decision in not telling Neal that Henry was investigating Fowler? Tricia reported that Henry was identified by a ticket agent at LaGuardia who'd remembered speaking with him on Tuesday evening. From what Neal said, he was unaware Henry was in town. Peter was confident that Neal wouldn't conceal something like that from him. There was no reason to, and Neal would be worried about keeping Henry safe.

So whatever Henry was up to, he was hiding it from Neal. Peter got up and went over to the window. He could hear Henry's grandfather, Graham Winslow, grumbling about Henry being a young whippersnapper in his head.

Neal had told Henry about Fowler over Thanksgiving. Peter suspected Henry wasn't only keeping Neal in the dark. Win-Win probably didn't know anything about it either. Henry had spent several years on a secret agenda to expose a corrupt music house. Had he embarked on the same course with Fowler?

Peter couldn't prevent Henry from researching Fowler, but he could try to keep Neal out of it. He was about to go undercover. The last thing he needed was to hear what Henry was up to. Henry's actions could easily plunge Neal into another round of hidden agendas and dangerous schemes similar to what had gone on last summer—not something anyone wanted. Henry knew that if Neal found out, he'd want to be included. That's why he hadn't told him.

Peter wanted to give Henry the chance to explain himself before taking any steps. Conceivably, Henry hadn't discovered where Fowler went and had dropped the matter. Perhaps his work would keep him too busy to pursue his inquiries. But Peter's gut was telling him otherwise. He'd just got Neal back on track. Now he'd have to figure out how to do the same with Henry.

#

"You must be Nick Halden. I'm Hiroki Bando. I've been designated your sponsor. Welcome to Azuma Manhattan."

And with that Neal was greeted into corporate America. On Friday morning, Hiroki was waiting for him when he arrived at the seventeenth floor of Azuma Bank. Hiroki was only slightly shorter than Neal. His long hair was swept back behind his ears. Hiroki had the lean, hungry look of a predator about him. He wouldn't be easy to charm.

Hiroki led him down the corridor to the trading room. "How are you adjusting to New York? Quite a change from Los Angeles, I imagine."

"I was glad to leave. L.A. is a little too sedate for my taste."

"I hear you. You'll find all the action you want here." Pausing at the entrance to the trading room, he added, "When I saw your photo, I thought you looked familiar. Now I remember. Weren't you at the gala on Tuesday?"

"That's right," Neal said easily. "Were you there? I don't recall seeing you."

"Not the usual method of onboarding," Hiroki said, not answering his question. "How'd that happen?"

"I know Mr. Nakahara's daughter Keiko. We attended UCLA together. She gave me a couple of tickets to welcome me to New York."

"Nothing like connections with the boss's daughter to smooth your way," Hiroki commented. "It didn't take you long to hook up with someone. Who was that blonde you were with?"

"Friend of a friend. Nice, isn't she?" Despite the martinis, Hiroki had been remarkably observant that night. It was a valuable lesson to be careful around him.

Neal's desk was in the analyst section, toward the back of the large trading room. The traders and market-makers took up most of the space. As he scanned the four monitors in front of him and the array of electronic equipment and display boards on the walls, he couldn't help thinking about all the havoc he could create on Wall Street with a few clicks of his keys. This was power, and it was mesmerizing.

Orientation meetings took up most of the morning, but at eleven, a welcoming coffee gave him a chance to mingle with the other analysts. The trading floor was a melting pot of ethnicities. They were a friendly group. Nick Halden was in his element, making friends and exchanging trading room banter.

Shogo had been away from his desk when Neal arrived, but he introduced himself at the coffee. Shogo looked as young as Neal although he was several years older. On the surface, he didn't appear to be much of a threat. If Hiroki was a panther, Shogo was his cub. Neal suspected he went along with whatever Hiroki told him to do. Shogo's workstation was to the right of Neal's. Sitting on Neal's left was Vijay Khan, a friendly South Asian. Of everyone there, he was the most welcoming. He also seemed very capable. Vijay could prove useful.

Neal took advantage of the lunch break to take a walk. He called in a report to Peter from a coffee shop. "I spent most of the morning in orientation, but I'm making contacts. I'm working on revisions for a presentation to a client. No fire drills so far."

"Fire drills?"

"Gotta talk the talk, Peter. Emergency presentations. Richard gave me a glossary of lingo—bake-offs, beauty pageants, low-hanging fruit—I got 'em all covered."

Peter chuckled. "Adding Gordon Gekko to your list of aliases, are you? Any progress with the suspects?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact. Hiroki asked me about the gala. He's impressed I know the boss's daughter and has decided I'm a person worth cultivating. I've been invited to happy hour with him and Shogo. I intend to take advantage of that."

"I want a report of what you find out."

"It may be very late," Neal warned.

"Not a problem. Call me afterward. And be careful with those martinis."

"Don't worry, Peter. You called me James Bonds, remember? They're talking my language."

#

Peter only had Satchmo's company for most of the evening since El was at the final rehearsal before tomorrow's premiere performance. Even so, she returned home before he'd heard from Neal.

"How'd the dress rehearsal go?" he asked, meeting her at the door.

"I guess okay, but it took forever," El said, hanging up her coat. "There were several scenes that were not coming together like we wanted. Our nerves are all starting to show. Still, if we're nervous now, perhaps that means we're getting them out of the way and we'll be fine tomorrow." She reached down to stroke Satchmo who was rubbing a welcome against her legs.

"That's always been my experience," Peter assured her. "Worrying about an upcoming op is the worst. Once the curtain rises, you'll be in full control, and you'll love the adulation of the audience. Would you like a nightcap to calm those pre-performance jitters?"

"Please, a glass of wine would be heavenly." El curled up on the couch. She plumped a couple of cushions and placed them behind her back.

When Peter returned with her drink and a beer for him, he sat next to her. "Neal will meet us here. He and I will go to the theater together. What time will you need to be there?"

"Five o'clock. We'll have one final rehearsal in the afternoon and then I'll have a couple of hours off before I need to get back. Will you be working tomorrow?"

The ringing of their phone interrupted her. "That's probably Neal," Peter said. "I told him to give me a call when he got back." He picked up the receiver.

"Hey, Peter, my man!"

Peter grinned when he heard Neal's voice. Covering the mouthpiece, he whispered to El, "Neal's happy hour must have left him feeling very happy."

Her eyes sparkling mischievously, El pressed the speaker button as Peter replied, "Hey, yourself. Are you home?"

"Yep. Found it on the first try," Neal reported gleefully.

"I'm proud of you," Peter said solemnly as El put a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. "Did you have a good time at happy hour?"

"The best. Shogo 'sisted on picking up the tab. Peter, we drank a lot of martinis."

"I'll make a note of that."

"Okay, see ya."

"Wait a minute. Do you have anything else to report?"

"Oh, yeah. Then we went to a poker club and—" A loud crash interrupted that interesting thought. Fortunately Peter had already put the receiver back on the cradle. After more thuds, Neal came back online. "You still there, Peter?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world. What happened?"

"My chair walked off. But don't worry. I found it." El couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.

"Are you with someone, Peter?" Neal asked accusingly. "El won't like that."

"It's okay, Neal. It's El."

"Hi, El!"

"Hi, Neal. Do you have water?"

"Yep— water, 'lectric'ty, indoor plumbing, the works."

"You should drink a glass of water."

"Okay." More fumbling sounds and footsteps were accompanied by another crash.

Peter was growing concerned. This sounded like more than a few martinis. "Neal, what happened at the poker club?"

"We played poker," he said and added slowly as if Peter was having a hard time following him, "It was a poker club, Peter."

"Got that. Did they give you anything to drink?"

"Very h'spitable ... Lots to drink. Fruity stuff. 'Sisted I have some. Think it may have been 300 proof."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Super-duper. Top of the world."

"You won't tomorrow."

"That's just sad."

"Did you find out anything about the heist?"

"Oh, yeah. That's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm a member of their crew now. We're brothers."

"I bet you are," Peter muttered.

"What'd you say? This phone's not working." Slapping sounds as Neal thwacked the phone against a hard surface.

"I'm here, Neal. Stop thwacking."

"Okie dokie. Found out something else. There's someone else in charge. Mr. Big I call him."

This was important, but in the shape Neal was in, extracting details might be impossible. "We'll discuss this tomorrow morning. You should get some rest. Will you be okay?"

"Of course, I feel fine." Great, now Neal was singing "I Feel Fine" by the Beatles. He'd never shut up now.

"Stop singing," said El firmly. "Go to bed." Satchmo lifted his head at her words and whined as if he was the one being ordered.

"Yep, I have one of those too."

"You need to be in bed," she ordered. "Drink some more water then go to bed, all right?"

More crashes and thuds followed by silence.

"Neal, you there? Neal?" Peter and El exchanged glances. "He hung up on us," Peter said, turning off the speakerphone. "Perhaps I should go over and check on him."

"He may prefer you don't," she cautioned. "Somehow I don't think Neal will want company for a while."

"I dunno, El. He sounded unusually plastered." Neal might simply be drunk, but Peter didn't think so. Someday he'd have to investigate how drunk-to-the-gills Neal differed from loopy-flying-from-the-ceiling Neal. Come to think of it, he'd never seen Neal drunk. Whenever Peter had been around, he'd always exercised restraint. Peter had assumed that since Neal's mom had combatted alcoholism, he was careful to not overindulge.

"You're going to sit here and stew, aren't you?" El asked. At Peter's shrug, she added, "You better go check on him. This is your fault anyway."

"What do you mean? This isn't my fault."

"Really? Who was the one who sent him undercover? Who encouraged him to gain the confidence of those jerks? This has your fingerprints all over it."

"All right." Peter sighed. "I'll get the jar of pickles."

"This is Neal we're talking about. Perhaps you should take an overnight bag." El got up and headed for the kitchen with Peter. "Would you like me to go with you?"

"He won't be thrilled at seeing me. You better stay home and let him keep a shred of dignity. Besides, your premiere is tomorrow. You need your sleep."

"You'll let me know if there's anything seriously wrong?"

"Don't worry, Mama Bear," Peter said, kissing her cheek. "I'll keep you posted. It sounds like I'll need to go into the Bureau tomorrow anyway."

El opened the door of a lower cabinet and pulled out a canvas tote. "You might as well stay with Neal. I won't be good company tomorrow since I'll be practicing my lines all morning. While you get your clothes ready, I'll put together some supplies."

Satchmo followed Peter upstairs and sat at the foot of the bed to watch him pack his overnight bag. "You heard him, Satch. What do you think? Am I overreacting?"

Satchmo slanted his head to one side and looked up at Peter, letting out a low whine. Peter nodded slowly. "My thoughts exactly."

Notes: Henry's previous secret agenda was featured in Caffrey Disclosure.