Chapter 7: On the Town

Sparks Steak House, Midtown Manhattan. December 7, 2004. Tuesday evening.

Peter gazed around the restaurant in contentment. Tonight Peter Burke, aka Peter Morris, was living it up in style at Sparks, one of Manhattan's premier steak houses. Thank God Stratton wasn't a vegetarian.

Sparks had been an institution since 1966 in midtown Manhattan. Some took potshots at its opulent surroundings, lush carpets, and paintings, but Peter wasn't going to be one of them. He relaxed into his chair and prepared to be wined and dined. Tonight he intended to enjoy himself.

Stratton looked up from the voluminous wine menu. How many pages was it? Mozzie would have been buried in it for years. Reminder to self: never take Mozzie to Sparks. "How does a Chateau Margaux 1994 sound?" and Stratton pointed it out on the list.

At $1,099 a bottle, Peter thought it should be drinkable, and assented readily. Stratton had reserved a quiet table in a secluded alcove for them. "Do you come here often?" Peter asked.

Stratton laughed jovially. "Now, don't write me up. I'm not putting this on my expense account. My wife prefers French cuisine, but I say, give a man a decent steak."

"My thoughts exactly. Do you have any children?"

"No, we haven't been that lucky. How about you?" Although the remark was casual, Peter could see him eyeing him expectantly.

"One son—Henry."

"You're a lucky man. Someone to carry on the family name."

"If he lives that long," Peter said, shaking his head gloomily. "He means everything to me, but he can be a challenge. You may be better off with only a wife, someone who can cater to your every whim."

"I wish! Don't get me wrong, I love my wife dearly, but I had no idea how demanding a young wife can be."

"Better a young wife, than a jughead of a boy who's in one scrape after another. Passing on the family name may not be worth it."

Peter continued to lament the kid's shortcomings while the waiter wheeled up the cart of steak cuts for them to make their selections. Neal was right. As Peter lubricated his tongue with expensive wine, the examples of Henry's misdeeds flowed out of his mouth in rapid succession. By the time they'd polished off the lump crabmeat cocktail and Caesar salad, Stratton was matching him with stories, spreading it on with a shovel about his wife.

"You were fortunate you didn't marry a starlet," he told Peter, gesturing with his garlic bread to emphasize the point. "She may not know how to act, but can she ever spend the money. I put the blame squarely on all those star-studded parties she goes to. They fill her head with visions of yachts, skiing in St. Moritz, furs, and jewelry. Last year it was a vacation home in Cannes because"—adopting a falsetto, Stratton whined—"'we can't just stay at a hotel for the film festival.' "

"You could leave her," Peter pointed out. "I can't ditch my son even if I wanted to. Someone needs to create prenatal agreements for kids, so I could get out of my contract to be responsible for him."

"He isn't of legal age yet?"

"Technically he is, but he's such a charmer, I keep forgiving him and giving him another chance." Peter shook his head despondently." I'm too gullible. No sooner do I persuade myself I can reform him than he messes up again."

A discreet waiter refilled their wine glasses and then placed their steaks on the table.

Stratton sliced into his filet. "The two of us have so much in common, we should form a club."

"I agree. How did a couple of brilliant guys like us get saddled with such challenging relatives?"

"And it's not just relatives. Azuma doesn't begin to appreciate us enough. If it weren't for me, half of their mergers and acquisitions wouldn't have gone through. Azuma's success is largely attributable to me, and they probably wouldn't be solvent except for your expertise."

"You're so right," Peter said, clinking glasses with him, "I don't know about you, but I feel sorely undervalued. Last year's bonus was a pittance, a feeble token of what they should have given me."

Stratton sighed expressively. "I'm right there with you. I don't know where they get off making those huge profits and not acknowledging the people who made it happen."

"And yet, here I am forced to report on Kigiku. Leonard, I regret having to do it, but what option do I have?" Peter spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.

Stratton stroked his upper lip. "What if I paid back the money? Could you then overlook it?"

"I'm returning to Los Angeles on Friday evening. Can you get me the funds before then? This filet mignon is truly excellent, by the way. It slices like butter. The amount you siphoned off was over three million dollars. For me to bury what happened would demand a lot of work. But for an extra million I'd be willing to sacrifice the time."

"Cough up four million?" Stratton swallowed and took a quick sip of water. "Surely it wouldn't take that much time."

"With the extra scrutiny and oversight now demanded, that's the minimum I could manage it for," Peter said ruthlessly. "You're asking me to break the law. I could be sent to prison if this was discovered."

"When did you say you'd need it?" Stratton asked in a strangled voice.

"No later than noon on Friday," Peter repeated firmly. "Any later and I'll have no choice but to file my report."

Stratton put a hand to his brow, wiping off the sheen of sweat that had suddenly appeared. "There's no way I could get the money together in time."

"There's always a way. Think, man. Your career's on the line. If you're so lacking in imagination that you can't think of a way, I can't help you. But I sense greatness in you. You're a man of vision. Together we could make this a long-term partnership."

"Perhaps." Stratton smoothed his hair back. "Would you consider payment in Samurai bonds? As you know, they're highly liquid."

Peter considered the offer as he slowly buttered a roll. "They're not as liquid as cash ... You're positive you can have them available?"

"I'll have them for you by nine o'clock in the morning on Friday."

Peter smiled. "I believe this calls for more wine."

#

A week ago Neal had been at the Plaza Hotel to attend a gala. Now he was back, but this time he was leading his date to a more intimate venue—the Rose Club. And his date? An elegantly attired chanteuse by the name of June Ellington.

"What memories this brings back." June's eyes were dancing as she gazed around the jazz lounge. "I haven't been here for years."

"Then it's way past due," Neal said as they made their way to the hostess, "and I'm glad I'm the one who can rectify it."

The walls of the Rose Club were paneled in walnut burl with thick Persian rugs covering the floor. Club chairs upholstered in dark claret velvet were grouped around Edwardian cocktail tables. Neal had reserved a corner table near the stage for them. He took June by the arm when the hostess escorted them to their seats. As they sat down, the jazz trio started to play "Fly Me to the Moon." He couldn't have asked for a better song to start their evening.

For their night on the town, June had chosen a sophisticated ensemble in navy silk. Neal was wearing Byron's black velvet smoking jacket with a dark burgundy shirt.

"I'm glad I insisted you wear his jacket," June said. "It makes me think Byron's here with us."

"I like to think he is, too."

"I haven't been here since they renamed it. It used to be called the Persian Room. I sang here several times in the early '60s. The Persian Room was the premier nightclub in New York. All the most famous performers used to come here—Carol Lawrence, Patti Page, Andy Williams—"

"June Ellington," Neal interjected.

She smiled mischievously. "It's much more refined now than it was back then."

"You need to fill me in on those stories," he said as the waitress brought them their cocktails.

"Where should I start? Perhaps the time Cary Grant marched on stage when Carol Lawrence was performing and swept her off her feet ..."

Neal was entranced to hear June's anecdotes of the Rat Pack and the biggest names of show business. She seemed to know them all.

"A toast," Neal said, raising his glass. "Here's to this evening and being here with you."

June raised her martini glass. "About a year ago you moved in with Byron and me, and now I wonder how I'd manage if you weren't there."

He clinked glasses with her. "Does that include Mozzie dropping in all hours of the day and night?"

"Definitely!" she acknowledged with a laugh. "Tell me more about Janet. Does she play poker by any chance?"

Neal tried to picture Janet playing poker and failed. "Candy Land may be more her style. She might even make costumes for the three of you to wear."

The evening passed much too quickly as they reminisced over events of the past year and their plans for Christmas. Neal realized with a start he'd yet to ask her to dance. "Is there any song you'd like to request?" he asked.

"Why don't you pick one for me?"

"That's an easy choice." Neal wrote down his selection on a piece of paper and handed it to the waitress. Before long, the strains of the Frank Sinatra classic "Young at Heart" started, and Neal took June's hand to lead her onto the dance floor.

#

When Wednesday morning rolled around, Neal was back at work, immersed in his role of Nick Halden— an up-and-coming investment analyst whose promising career path was being paved over with PowerPoint presentations. Neal suppressed his sigh as he tackled the eighth revision to a presentation he thought he'd seen the last of yesterday. This morning he'd also learned a new thrill: preparing a pitch book for an IPO. He hoped to copy and paste his way out of that one.

The boss came by at ten and requested Neal work on yet another PowerPoint. What was he—the king of PowerPoints now? Neal's claim of not having the bandwidth— and he mentally gave himself points for using the banking lingo for time—because he was working on the IPO pitch fell on deaf ears. Neal glumly twirled his pencil in one hand while propping his chin on another.

Next to him, Vijay leaned toward him. "Thanks for the cartoon. I pinned it to my monitor. Your cartoons of the trading room are fantastic. You should publish a collection. I bet analysts would snatch them up like parathas fresh off the griddle."

"I'm glad you liked it. I wish I had the time to draw more."

"What are you working on?"

"A cost analysis for the pitch book," Neal said mournfully. "I'm having a tough time getting the numbers to reconcile."

"Perhaps I could help?"

"It wouldn't be too much trouble?"

"Not at all. I've already finished my revision. Let me take a look at it." Vijay rolled his chair over to Neal's station.

"Okay if I grab a cup of coffee? I'll bring you one back too."

"Of course, go right ahead."

Neal quickly ducked out only to be stopped by Hiroki. "Very smooth, Nick."

Neal shrugged. "A good division of labor."

"Care for a friendly wager?"

"Since when have I turned down one of those?"

"Okay, smart boy. See Roberto over there? I want you to distract him while I remove his backpack. I'll bring it back in a few minutes. If you want to win the bet, Roberto can't realize I took it. Think you can manage it?"

Neal looked over at Roberto. His station was at the end of the row. His backpack was lying on the floor next to his desk.

"What are we playing for?"

"Lunch at Vitae."

"You're on. You want me to do it now?"

"Sure. Any problem with that?"

"None at all." Neal tossed him a confident smile. Hiroki wanted to test his ability. Smart move. He was going to like what he saw.

#

Peter was due to give a briefing on the Azuma case on Wednesday morning. He directed Melody to block out the morning for a meeting with the IRS in case anyone inquired about his absence from the bank. In addition to Hughes, Jones, Travis, and Diana, Agent Joseph Ruiz was also sitting in. Hughes had ordered the operation to be run jointly with Organized Crime because of the Yakuza connection. Peter had only met Ruiz casually. He'd recently been promoted to Acting Special Agent in Charge of Organized Crime and had a good reputation.

Peter summarized the results of his Tuesday dinner with Stratton. Based on what he'd learned and Neal's report from his Tuesday lunch, they were certain the robbery would take place during the upcoming holiday party on Thursday.

"What do we know about the extent of Yakuza involvement?" Hughes asked.

"The poker club at the Golden Lotus has been rumored to have ties to the Yakuza," Ruiz said, "but we didn't have any complaints to justify an investigation. Based on Caffrey's experience at the club, we plan to conduct a follow-up as soon as the op is concluded. The drawings he provided of the tattoos add weight to our suspicions. One of the symbols on" —Ruiz glanced down at his notes—"Hiroki's tattoo appears to be the emblem of the Yamaguchi-gumi Yakuza group."

"We've researched the backgrounds of the suspects," Jones said. "Nothing we've been able to dig up on Stratton shows any links to the Yakuza. He never lived in Japan. His entire professional career has been in finance. As for the other two, their backgrounds have several parallels. Both were schooled in the States but spent extensive periods back in Japan. They attended the same private boarding schools. They have wealthy parents but are estranged from their families."

"They may have been recruited by the Yakuza in Japan," Diana added. "Some aspects of Yakuza culture go back to the days of the samurai and shogun. The Yakuza emphasis on ritual and ceremonies could hold a strong appeal to someone who thinks of himself as a misfit."

"We haven't had a prior instance of Yakuza infiltration at this level in a financial institution," Ruiz said. "This could be a breakthrough in our efforts to combat their influence."

"Do we know how they plan to commit the robbery?" Hughes asked.

Peter pulled up a floor plan of the vault floor on his laptop and projected it onto the wall screen. "The vault is one floor below the main floor. Access is regulated through a security keypad in the elevator. We assume Stratton will have arranged for Hiroki and Shogo to have the code."

"What will Caffrey's role be?" Hughes asked.

"We believe they plan to use him as a diversion for the guard," Peter said. "You can see his station here on the map." Peter indicated the position with a laser pointer. "Hiroki and Shogo could either access the vault floor via the elevator or use the emergency stairs located between the guard station and the vault. Probably they'll have Neal take the elevator. It has a camera but they won't be concerned about him being recorded. The guard will spot Neal who may act under the influence or simply claim that he got lost. While he distracts the guard, the others steal the bonds."

"During the past heists, the thieves wore masks," Travis said. "The heists were only discovered after a review of the surveillance footage."

"Neal will attempt to get them to describe in advance what they're planning and record it as evidence," Peter said. "We want them to think they've gotten away with it. We don't simply want to capture them but also implicate Stratton. Jones and Diana will be undercover: Jones at the bar and Diana as a waitress. Travis will coordinate surveillance with Agent Badillo in the van. We don't have to worry about the suspects getting away with the bonds. The numbers will have all been written down and will be non-negotiable. Once Stratton hands me the bonds the next morning, our case against them will be airtight."

"But what if Hiroki and Shogo aren't satisfied with just the bonds?" Ruiz objected. "All the securities and cash in the vault will be ripe for the picking."

"In the previous robberies, only the Samurai bonds were stolen," Diana noted.

"I disagree that the main objective is Stratton," Ruiz persisted. "He's a small fish compared to Hiroki and Shogo. They're the ones with the Yakuza connection. Our top priority needs to be stopping the Yakuza from making any inroads into the banking system."

"What do you propose?" Hughes asked.

Ruiz borrowed Peter's laser pointer. "The corridor leading from the guard's desk to the vault has three file rooms off it. These are limited-access rooms. They're used for wills, trusts, and confidential documents. We'll set up a camera in the vault which can be monitored from one of the rooms where a team of Organized Crime agents will be in position. Once the two suspects have entered the vault and opened the container holding the bonds, we move in and take them down."

"But won't the suspects hear you when you come out of your hiding place?" Peter asked. "They could flee, or if they're armed, the situation could quickly escalate into a shootout."

Ruiz looked skeptical. "Have you seen the size of the bank's vault room? It's immense— larger than your bullpen. The Samurai bonds are stored on a back wall behind an array of safety deposit boxes. If we mount a camera there and wait till they remove the bonds, they won't have a chance of discovering us. But if it makes you more comfortable, we could simply close the vault door on them and wait till you've moved your team into position before making the arrests."

"What if one of them is stationed outside the vault?"

"We can mount a camera here," and Ruiz indicated the position next to the stairwell. "That will give an overview of the corridor going into the vault. If one of them does keep a lookout outside the vault, we'll alert the reinforcements to move in. They can access the floor from the elevator which is far enough away that the suspects won't spot them until it's too late."

Hughes turned to Peter. "If the arrests are made that evening, could you make it work with Stratton?"

"Stratton won't be able to supply the bonds. He may be desperate enough that we can squeeze a confession out of him," Peter replied. "It's hard to predict what he will do. It will be more straightforward if he has the bonds."

"On the other hand," Ruiz said, "we can't rule out the possibility that Stratton is also a member of the Yakuza. If we let the other suspects run free, he could flee too. For all we know, this may be the last heist they're planning and they're all going to take off."

Hughes listened to both sides of the argument without giving a hint about which one he favored. At the end of the meeting, he said, "I'll let you know my decision this afternoon."

Peter went to his office for a quick check of his email before heading back to Azuma. Or so he'd intended, but his computer had other ideas. Even though he'd checked his mail before leaving for work, his inbox was once again stuffed with a new collection of requests. Some of the emails required detailed, immediate responses. His "quick check" rapidly turned into an hour of prolonged writing.

While he was replying to one message, an email came in from Tricia, asking him to give her a call when it was convenient. She knew he was working undercover that week and wouldn't expect him to be in the office. Had she heard something more about Fowler? Peter reached for the phone.

Tricia answered it on the second ring. It was a relief to hear she was calling about Fowler and not because Henry was causing problems. "We heard back from Argentina. The local police were able to trace Fowler to a hotel in Buenos Aires where he'd stayed on the night of the twenty-fifth of November. The plane from Ottawa had arrived at three o'clock after a stopover in Miami."

"He stayed only the one night?"

"That's correct. The hotel personnel were questioned, and the doorman remembered that a private car picked up Fowler the next morning. He couldn't provide many details about the car. He thought it might have been black." Tricia gave a small huff. "That's not going to get us very far, but at least the hotel could confirm Fowler's identification."

Peter jotted down notes as he listened. "Anything more on Henry?"

"No, that was a stroke of luck we were able to discover his involvement in the first place. When the FBI agent interviewed a ticketing officer at Newark, she told him that someone else had been making inquiries and provided a detailed description. The agent had also worked on the missing persons case last summer and was familiar with Henry. He returned with a photo and the officer confirmed his identification."

"I called Henry on Sunday. He confirmed that he hadn't mentioned it to Neal. No one at Win-Win knows about it either. Henry claims that he's no longer investigating the case."

"Did you believe him?" Tricia asked bluntly.

Peter took a long breath. "For the moment, yes. How could he travel to Argentina without it being an official case? I was able to extract a promise from him to let us know if he picks it up again. I threatened to tell Neal if he doesn't cooperate."

Tricia gave a soft chuckle. "That's the best and probably only leverage we have. Did Henry mention anything to you about Adler?"

"It didn't come up. He also didn't reference Buenos Aires. I don't believe Neal's talked to him about the case for the very reason we discussed. He doesn't want Henry to get involved with Adler." Peter noticed Travis in the corridor outside his office. When he saw Peter was on the phone, he didn't linger.

"The agents on the Fowler case all have Henry's photo now and are aware of his interest. I'm to be kept informed of any news."

It was reassuring that Tricia was so familiar with how Henry operated. Peter would like to think that Henry had learned a valuable lesson from the events over the summer, and he now realized that going rogue was unacceptable. But until Henry proved himself, Peter would continue to label him a loose cannon.

Tricia continued as if she'd heard his thoughts. "I know it's hard to maintain your objectivity in this situation, but I can't help wishing Henry would involve Win-Win in the case. As it stands now, Fowler and Adler are outside our jurisdiction and we have to rely on the Argentinian authorities and Interpol. Win-Win's resources are considerable, and their international presence could be invaluable."

"I agree. My concern, though, is whether Henry could act as a team player. How do you feel?"

The sound of her chair creaking came through the phone. Tricia took her time to answer. "I'd like to think so," she said finally, "but that's yet to be demonstrated."

"You're coming back next week, aren't you? Henry may give you an opportunity to put those newly honed analysis skills to work."

"About that." Tricia paused for a long moment and when she came back, her voice projected an unexpected hesitancy. "Did you hear regional behavioral analysis groups are being set up as part of the reorganization enacted after the September 11 attacks?"

"I did. I noticed New York's rollout will start in January."

"My former mentor at Quantico has recommended me for the team. Peter, I have to say it's tempting. I haven't made my final decision yet, but I'm inclined to accept it."

Peter gave a slow exhale. He was glad she couldn't see his expression. He should be happy for her. She was overdue for advancement, and her new role should guarantee her promotion to senior special agent within the year. Tricia had been interested in profiling since her days in Quantico. To have her former mentor at Quantico recommend her for the Behavioral Analysis team in New York was a high compliment. "Putting aside my personal feelings, this is a great opportunity for you," he said. "You're a natural in the area. Just over the past year alone, your assistance with Kate Moreau, and Robert Winslow had demonstrated the skilled analysis you bring to criminal profiling. But please tell me that we'll be able to continue to consult with you on cases."

The call ended with Tricia's assurance she wouldn't be a stranger, but afterward Peter set aside any thought of working on his email as he considered what the change would mean to his team. With her transfer, Jones was the natural candidate for second-in-command. He'd already demonstrated an aptitude for the role and had displayed good leadership potential. Peter made a mental note to begin providing him with more command opportunities.

Tricia's news wasn't a shock. If the Behavioral Analysis Unit hadn't been in Quantico, she probably would have asked for a transfer long ago. Peter suspected her reluctance to relocate was because of her husband Mitch who was a professor of anthropology at NYU. Tricia had once mentioned that NYU had one of the best anthropology departments in the States. It couldn't be easy for a professor to relocate to a different university.

The assignment sounded perfect for her, but he'd miss working with her on a daily basis. Tricia said she hoped to be called in to support White Collar whenever they needed a profiler and he was going to hold her to that. What with Fowler, Adler, Azathoth, and now Henry, if he had his way, she could consult full-time for White Collar.

Peter looked up to see Travis was once again standing outside his door. Peter waved him inside.

"Take a seat, Travis. Something on your mind?"

Getting Travis to speak up could be a challenge. It was like he was calculating all the cosmic ramifications of each word in advance. After a long moment, Peter gave him a nudge. "Yes?"

Once he started talking, he was blunt enough. "I don't have a good feeling about Ruiz participating in this op."

"Why's that?"

"I may be speaking out of turn, but in light of what happened on Thursday I have my concerns."

Travis acted as if Peter knew what he was talking about, but Peter was clueless. "What happened on Thursday?"

"Neal had a run-in with Ruiz in the afternoon. I'd hoped he'd told you about it."

Peter could feel his stomach start to churn. "No specifics," he said. "How was Ruiz involved?"

"From what I saw, he was the ringleader, but I only witnessed the tail end. Ruiz and a couple of other agents from Organized Crime were in Neal's face. Giving him a hard time over what happened with Fowler. I advised Neal to report it. He resisted—said he didn't want it to get blown out of proportion. But now, having Ruiz and his agents down there with Neal on the vault floor ..." Travis shrugged.

Peter considered Travis's revelation. "Ruiz has a good track record at the FBI. He's Acting Special Agent in Charge and I'm sure he doesn't want to blow his chances for promotion. I'm inclined to believe like Neal that Ruiz is all bluster. When it comes down to it, I don't believe he'll let personal feelings interfere with his professional judgment. But after what happened with Fowler during the last case, I'm not going to take that for granted."

After Travis left, Peter considered how best to handle it. If he spoke to Ruiz, it would serve to reinforce the ridiculous notion that Neal was Peter's pet and keep the wound festering. Picking up the phone, he called Hughes.

"That's a nasty business with Ruiz," Hughes said. "That sort of attitude needs to be stamped out. I made a promise to Caffrey after the incident with Fowler that I wouldn't tolerate any more abuses and I meant it. I'll speak with Ruiz."

"I thought it was important you understood the situation, but we have to be careful not to make it worse," Peter cautioned.

"I need to let him know in any case about my decision, Peter. I'll handle it."

#

Later that afternoon Hughes called Ruiz to his office. Hughes didn't mince words. "In this case, I prefer erring on the side of caution. Go ahead and make plans to position your agents in the side room. We'll arrange with Nakahara to grant you access and allow you to set up the necessary camera feeds. White Collar will handle the undercover work at the event. Agent Jones will serve as the liaison for the two groups."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir. I believe this has the greatest chance for success."

"Good. You have an excellent reputation. I reviewed your record." Hughes tapped with a pen on a closed folder in front of him. "The Organized Crime Unit doesn't have any consultants working with them so some of your agents may not be familiar with working with consultants in the field. You no doubt plan to remind your agents that Caffrey will be unarmed. As a consultant for the FBI, his safety is a paramount concern in any operation."

"Since he'll be with the guard in the front while we're handling the suspects in the vault, that shouldn't be an issue."

"Good. See that it's not." Hughes paused and scrutinized Ruiz long enough that he began to squirm. "I'd hate to have your record blemished by any unfortunate occurrence. Are we clear on that?"

Ruiz nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

Notes: Peter can rest easy about Tricia. In her new role as profiler, she'll continue to be actively involved with his cases. But it was high time for her to have an office of her own.

Diahann Carroll, the actress who played June Ellington in the TV series, appeared often at the Rose Club—or Persian Room as it was then known—in the 1960s. At that time the Persian Room was considered to be the most prestigious of all of New York's nightclubs. I've pinned a couple of publicity photos from her Persian Room performances on the Evening with Genji board at our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site. There are also a couple of examples of investment analyst cartoons like Neal drew for Vijay.