Chapter 6: Behind the Mask

Columbia University, January 23, 2005. Sunday afternoon.

"Welcome to Prentis," Neal said as he greeted Angela at the door. The building was a converted milk bottling plant north of the main campus, surrounded by auto-repair shops and tenements. It housed an eclectic mixture of art studios and workshops, the computer music center, and random antiquated machinery. "With your goth makeup, you should fit right in."

Angela's eyes widened as she walked through the graffiti-decorated corridors. She'd dressed appropriately in black leggings, suede boots, and an oversized Burgundy-red tunic. "This is a far cry from Dodge Hall where the Music Department's located. It has grunge written all over it. Do you wish your studio were here?"

"Watson's more convenient, but between the band rehearsals, Aidan's studio, and the metal workshop, Prentis feels like my annex."

They stopped at Aidan's studio to drop off her dulcimer then Neal led her down to the basement where a workroom had been set up for the special effects class. Masks, molds, prosthetic supplies, and paints were squeezed in among the massive piping system which was a relic of the bottling plant era. Newly installed lights made the mildew stains on the blackened walls even more obvious.

"I feel like I'm on the set of a horror film," Angela said, clambering over the pipes to get a closer look at the walls. "If I'd known about this course, I would have signed up for it."

"Me too, but the spaces were snapped up immediately. Richard was lucky to get in, not that he's feeling that way at the moment." Richard and Aidan were already waiting for them in the workshop, and Neal made the introductions. If Angela had any concerns about being accepted, they were quickly laid to rest by the enthusiasm of their greeting.

"The course is an introduction to special effects makeup and basic prosthetics design," Richard explained, handing her an apron. "Our first assignment is to create a theatrical makeup, including a simple prosthetic, of a famous actor. We'll then have to demonstrate our technique in class by performing a makeup on each other. I've already prepared the prosthetic, but where I'm lost is applying the makeup."

"I've loved makeup since I was a toddler and discovered my mom's supplies," Angela said. "I was making horror makeup when I was three with some very creative applications of lipstick on my face, not to mention the walls. What you have here looks like a dream playground to me."

Richard took her around to the various stations, explaining the equipment he had to work with. It was easy to understand Angela's fascination. Wigs, makeup supplies, and dummies filled the shelves alongside mold-making paraphernalia. Their group wasn't alone in the workshop. Some of the other students were also working on their creations. One guy appeared to be preparing a Phyllis Diller mask. Another was working on what could only be considered a nightmarish version of Lon Chaney as Frankenstein.

"Which actor did you select for me?" Neal asked Richard. "Are you going to turn me into a monster too?"

"Given the obscene tan you came back with from Hawaii, I thought this would be appropriate," Richard said, showing him a photo.

"You sure about this?" Neal asked, not thrilled with the choice. "I was thinking of someone like Ryan Gosling or Bradley Cooper."

When Neal passed Aidan the photo, he burst out laughing. "That's a keeper."

"It's you, only better," Angela agreed enthusiastically. "You better work on your accent while we apply the makeup."

"But I'm only here for the trial run," Neal protested. "Richard will reapply the makeup during class on one of the other students."

"Yeah, but I also need to take a photo of you to exhibit," Richard pointed out. He held up a prosthesis. "You like the nose?"

"You're putting that on me? It's huge."

Richard eyed it dubiously. "Most of it will blend in, I think."

"I'll go check out the wigs," Aidan said.

"Hey, you have to promise no dyes or scalpel jobs on my hair," Neal pleaded, watching with a growing sense of foreboding as Richard rolled over a cart filled with makeup and implements of unknown purpose.

"Relax." Angela slapped him on the back and shoved him onto a stool. "Come into Richard's parlor." She unfolded a couple of sheets and covered him so securely he began to wonder if she planned to make a mummy out of him. It was not reassuring when she explained, "The sheets will keep the blood off your clothes."

Aidan had pulled up a stool opposite Neal's and was watching the proceedings with great interest. "Did remember to bring your textbook?"

"It's in my backpack. Let me know what you think. Ow! That's my nose you're yanking, not the prosthesis." Neal sighed. He was going to be in for a long session.

#

After an hour of work, Neal was growing restless. Angela had made Richard start with several different basic looks, each of which needed to be applied, photographed, and then removed. Her thoroughness was undoubtedly a godsend for Richard but not for him.

Aidan was doing his best to distract Neal by talking about his course, although Neal easily could have thought of several much more entertaining pastimes.

"I'm impressed by your book, but I can see why you're having issues," Aidan said. "This is much more advanced than what I'd expect to be covered in an introductory course. And it doesn't make any sense that your professor started with fractals. That's the most difficult concept in the book. Maybe he's trying to weed out the weaker students?"

Neal raised his hand under the sheet. "That's me."

"Stop squirming," Angela complained. "You turned Richard's shadow into a scar."

"Just make me Scarface and have done with it," Neal said with a groan.

Aidan looked up and a grin spread over his face. "Maybe you should switch to Freddy Krueger?"

Richard stepped back and squinted at Neal in an alarming manner. "Your eyebrows are crooked. I need to fix that."

Neal made a grab for the mirror, but Angela was too fast for him and shoved him back on the stool. "Aidan, keep on distracting our victim—sorry, I meant model, of course."

On the plus side," Aidan said, "if you survive fractals, the rest won't be so bad. Interpolating color palettes, the art of programming beautifully, animated brushes—this is great stuff. There are self-study questions for each chapter. I'll ask the questions for the first chapter and you give me the answers."

"Fire when ready." Or just aim the cannon directly at his heart and shoot him. Aidan would get the same number of correct answers either way.

After another hour, Neal felt slightly better about his course if not about his appearance. They weren't letting him look in a mirror yet. After several false starts, Richard had finally applied the nose to his satisfaction without any major bloodletting. He was making the final adjustments to the makeup under Angela's watchful eye. Aidan had pounded fractal theory into Neal until his head spun and he'd hoisted the white flag of surrender.

"Mozzie had an interesting proposition for me last night," Aidan remarked.

"Define interesting," Richard said, staring fixedly at Neal's chin while stirring some goop in a bowl. Neal watched uneasily as he blended in a tangerine-tinted slime concoction and then smeared some of it on his cheeks. Was this going to stain his skin? He was already starting to itch.

"I was telling him about my videos, and he wants me to make one to promote the plight of the yellow-faced bee."

Richard laughed. "He talked with me for a half-hour on that too. Where does he come up with all that stuff?"

"What did you tell him?" Neal asked Aidan.

"How could I resist? AFO, remember? Athos may be calling himself Mozzie now but he's still a brother. I enjoy working with him. Besides, I'm taking a course on animation this term. If I work it right, my project for him can count as the short I need to prepare for the course. I was stuck for a topic, and the yellow-faced bee will do as well as any."

"Have you ever made an animation before?" Angela asked as she combed out the wig. Aidan had found one in the right shade but it needed to be restyled. Goldilocks was not the look Richard was aiming for.

"No, this is a first. In my videos, I've always used photography or computer-generated graphics. This is different. I'm supposed to use animated figures."

"Make a cartoon? You?" Richard scoffed. "This I have to see." Neal shared Richard's skepticism. Aidan excelled at mashing video and sound effects, but he wasn't an artist in the traditional sense. The only figures Neal had ever seen him draw had been of the stick variety.

"I was hoping my AFO brothers would help with that part," Aidan admitted, looking hopefully at them.

"You're coaching me on fractals. I owe you," Neal said. The wig was now on his head and for the past several minutes both Angela and Richard had been taking turns trimming it to the desired shaggy dog effect. Blowing the hair out of his eyes, Neal asked, "Aren't you guys done yet?"

"What do you think, Angela?" Richard asked.

She stepped back and then circled Neal, viewing him from all sides. Finally nodding her approval, she gave Richard a high-five. "Yep, he's baked to perfection."

Richard handed Neal a mirror. "Behold the new you."

Neal broke out in a grin as he looked at his face from different angles. Trying out his new raspy accent, he drawled, "Dude, I'm digging it."

Aidan grinned. "Where's your surfboard?" Do you have a Hawaiian shirt for the photo?"

Neal heard footsteps on the stairs and turned around to see Travis approaching them. "I thought I'd find you down here."

"Perfect timing." Neal pulled off the sheet covering his jeans and t-shirt and stood up, striking a pose. "Hang ten, bro."

Travis approached with a straight face and scrutinized him from all sides. "Totally rad! I never would have thought Neal could look like Owen Wilson, but you nailed it."

Richard said happily, "We did, didn't we, thanks to Angela."

"Any time," she said. "I haven't had so much fun messing with makeup since I turned Henry into a vampire for Halloween."

"We have time for a break before band rehearsal," Neal said. "Angela hasn't been introduced to the fine cuisine of the Roaring Lion Pub. Should I take off the makeup or leave it on?"

Richard shot him a horrified look. "You can't take it off! Not before I photograph you. Stay put, and whatever you do, don't sneeze!"

"You should leave it on for band rehearsal," Travis said. "Fiona has to see the new you. Be prepared, though. She may prefer this to your normal look and then what will you do?"

#

The band rehearsal went smoothly, given that it was the first time the group had gotten together since the Christmas break. Afterward, Neal walked Angela back to her apartment on West 120th Street. They were too late for the college shuttle. She could have taken a taxi but she liked the idea of walking. Angela was slowly learning her way around the neighborhood. Neal had indicated the safe routes as well as the ones which should only be taken in the company of several linebackers.

"Could you believe Fiona's reaction when we walked in together, arm in arm?" Angela said with a laugh. "She actually believed me for a minute when I said you were my boyfriend from California, my very own surfer-dude. You know, the way she kept giving you the eye during rehearsal, you may want to wear your Owen Wilson look on a date sometime."

"I wasn't the only one getting looks. Michael seemed relieved to find out I wasn't your boy toy, after all."

"It's hardly a compliment when I was the only unattached woman there," Angela protested but looking very pleased. "Michael was being kind. I appreciated his efforts to make me feel at ease."

Interesting. Angela let slip a softer side when she talked about Michael. "So what did you think of the band? Quite a change after Urban Legend."

"I was pleasantly surprised," Angela said. "What I liked was that everyone was simply enjoying getting together to make music. There was no thought of playing what an audience wanted to hear, or, horrors, making money at it."

"Your dulcimer fit right in."

"I felt like a kid with a xylophone. And then when Michael started serenading me with his tin whistle—"

"—You call those ear-piercing shrieks a serenade? Remind me to bring earplugs next time."

"I thought he was doing it deliberately so I wouldn't feel nervous."

Neal snorted. "Yeah, right."

Angela grinned. "Okay, so now I was the one being kind. Michael invited me out for pizza next Friday. He'd asked what I missed about Seattle, and I mentioned the Flying Saucer Pizza Company—I'm addicted to their Picard pizza with beer bread—and he said a branch had just opened near campus."

"Um-hum. That's as good a pick-up line as any, I guess."

She punched him lightly in the side. "No wisecracks. So, what's the scoop on Michael? I need details."

"He's a year ahead of me He's in the PhD program for art history and works for Manhattan Geeks to help pay the bills. He'd never played an instrument before joining our band."

"You're kidding! I'm impressed."

"When he's not practicing his virtuoso tambourine technique, he's into rowing." Neal slanted a glance over at her. "Are you thinking of making music together?"

Angela shrugged. "Maybe. Since I don't have a surfer-dude, I gotta console myself with someone." They stopped at the traffic light on Broadway and West 120th Street. Angela shivered as a blast of cold air hit her. "This is punishment for deserting Seattle. A friend wrote me they were having their mildest winter in years. Henry has the right idea to escape to Ecuador. Do you know where he'll be?"

Neal told her about his conversation on Friday night. "He's meeting his contact in Quito and then they're heading to some remote village. He warned me he won't have cell phone coverage and to try to keep out of trouble while he's gone."

She shook her head. "Typical. I wonder how much longer he's going to continue to play the big brother role?"

"If last summer is any indication, it could take a while. You know Henry doesn't stop something once he gets started. You may have to get married and have kids of your own, and even then, he won't give up. Besides, it's not that bad having someone look out for you, is it?"

"You're right. I'd probably miss it, as long as he doesn't try to boss me around. Mercifully, he's been restraining himself so far." When they turned onto 120th Street, Angela added, "I shouldn't give him a hard time. He came up with a great suggestion when I was moaning to him about next summer's fieldwork. I'm supposed to give my advisor a proposal by the end of the month. I know it's my fault for starting midyear. I feel like I'm a semester behind and I've barely started. Anyway, Henry had the perfect solution."

"Chalk one up for Henry. What did he suggest?"

"That I look into GEMI, the group he's volunteering for. They have education through music projects not only overseas but in the States. I could latch onto one of them, and, voilà, fieldwork problem solved."

"They might even have a project in the Appalachians close to some of our relatives."

"I'd love that and the location will be a hit with Mom," Angela said. "She sends me weekly bulletins about the crime rate in New York City, not that where she lives in D.C. is any safer. The idea of doing fieldwork in rural America rather than the urban jungle should please her."

"Just don't let her watch Deliverance," Neal teased.

"Definitely not! The other point in the Appalachians' favor is that living expenses should be low. I thought I'd built up a comfortable cushion for New York, but even with the help on housing, I'm going through my funds a lot faster than I'd anticipated. I'm thinking of getting a part-time job. You don't happen to know of anything?"

Angela had a minor in business. She was a pilot so her math skills should be reasonable. Could she be the answer to the prayers of not only Richard but also a certain bee lover?

"What are you thinking?" she asked inquisitively.

"I know of someone who needs help with bookkeeping. He owns a Hawaiian-themed store and café just south of Columbia. The working conditions are excellent. You could probably finagle free meals. I've heard he plans to launch a line of cosmetics. You could get in on the ground floor and help the business grow."

Angela stopped walking to stare at him. "It sounds wonderful." She eyed him suspiciously. "Too wonderful. What's the catch?"

"No catch. You like colorful characters, don't you?" Neal filled her in on his idea and promised to contact Billy the next day. Angela was excited about the prospect, telling him she'd meet with Billy whenever he could fit her in.

After leaving her at the door to her apartment building, Neal walked back to June's. The day had been a success. No more need to be concerned about Angela, and Richard had taken a quantum leap in his makeup skills. Aside from masquerading as Henry occasionally, Neal had never gone in for disguises. The way he'd been transformed into a completely different identity gave him pause. Who was behind Azathoth's mask? Were they ever going to be able to strip it away?

#

Come Monday morning, Neal was ready to rip off another mask—the Dutchman's. Thoughts about which paintings D.C. had sent caused him to wake up before the alarm. The Dutchman must have sailed his ghost ship into his dreams.

It was Peter's fault for having given the Dutchman such an evocative nickname. Now Neal was a prisoner to that ship too. He'd been amused to hear that Peter thought he might have been the Dutchman. And flattered. Now he wanted to hand Peter the solution on a silver platter.

As promised, the shipment from D.C. was waiting for him. Neal signed the works out of the evidence vault and stacked them on a cart to take back to his niche. He felt like a kid at Christmas making off with his loot. He'd already cleaned off his worktable, but before unwrapping his packages, he had one task to perform.

Neal opened his briefcase and took out the watercolor of the ship he'd finished over the weekend. It was based on the sketch he'd made at the Friday meeting. He used magnets to hang the Dutchman next to his Raphael drawing. For the moment the Dutchman was only emerging from the fog in his watercolor, but he was determined to change that.

Taking inventory, Neal had two paintings to examine as well as three examples of bond forgeries. Putting the bonds aside, he carefully uncrated the paintings. The first one was The Witches' Sabbath by Goya. A small painting, it had been stolen from the Frick Collection in 2001 and replaced with this forgery. It was only after the original had been discovered in a warehouse that the forgery was unmasked.

The second was Salome by Titian. The original, along with several other paintings, had been stolen in 2003 from the truck transporting them from the Fine Arts Museum in San Francisco to the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. The forgery had been turned into the museum for the reward by an art dealer who claimed to have purchased it from an Italian immigrant. Later two of the other stolen paintings were discovered and Salome was with them. The forgery had been discovered when the painting was re-authenticated.

Neal began with the Titian, one of the artists he was studying for Sherkov's course. Given the amount of time he planned to spend on the painting, he should consider writing about it for his final paper.

The hours passed quickly as Neal moved from one test to another. The background chatter around him barely registered. When he was focused on a painting it was easy to filter out distractions. Travis, who sat next to him, offered to bring him a coffee. Neal barely noticed it when he returned. He hoped he'd thanked him. When he got around to taking a sip, it was already cold.

The Titian was a seductive masterpiece. Salome was depicted as the ideal of female beauty at the time. The opalescence of her skin on the original was striking. The forger had not been as successful. Salome was holding the head of John the Baptist on a platter. Neal smiled. Symbolic of the Dutchman perhaps? He wished he could make his own forgery of the painting. His would be so much better. Neal brought himself up short, and shaking his head to dispel those wayward thoughts from another time, began analyzing the pigments.

Sometime later, Peter's voice coming from behind him made him jump. "The bullpen was so quiet, I figured you had to be here," he said.

Neal looked up from the microscope, happy to refocus his eyes. Peter was inspecting the paintings. "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take?"

Neal shrugged. "Days, weeks? I've already searched for a hidden signature but haven't found anything. It figures he wouldn't have been that obvious. I'll keep drilling down. Something's bound to pop up."

"Don't forget to pace yourself," Peter admonished. "The Dutchman can be demonic in the way he sucks up time." He rolled over a chair to sit next to Neal at the worktable. "I like visiting you here. Your niche has a good vibe." He pointed to the Raphael. "You've added some new drawings, but I like this one in particular. When'd you draw it?"

"A few years ago." Neal hoped Peter wouldn't probe further. He'd made it during the first heady months of his romance with Kate and Peter might get the wrong idea that he was still obsessing over her. Back then, he was considering stealing a Raphael for her and replacing it with a forgery. If he hadn't met Peter in Saint Louis, he would have gone ahead. He had zero regrets that he hadn't stolen the painting, but the drawing was one of his favorites and a reminder of how close he'd come to falling over the edge.

Peter pointed to the watercolor of the ship. "And that's the Dutchman?"

Neal nodded. "He's staying up there till we have him."

"And after we've caught him, you're going to give me that watercolor for my office, right?"

"I'll add your name to it," Neal agreed happily.

Peter nodded toward the slides he'd prepared. "So, explain what you're analyzing."

"It's pretty technical. You sure you want to know?"

"Hey, I'm a technical kind of guy." Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Technical called a halt. "I'll leave you to it. Jones and Diana are researching the man who offered the painting up for auction. They'll present their findings at the afternoon briefing." Peter stood up and took a few steps then turned back. "I forgot to ask. Did you notice anyone tailing you yesterday or today?"

"No. How about you?"

Peter shook his head. "But I'm not dismissing your suspicions. Don't let your guard down and don't get so engrossed in this you forget to eat." He glanced at his watch. "I'm due at a meeting or we could grab a bite together."

"Just as well. I brown-bagged it."

After Peter left, Neal continued to work for another hour. When he hit a good breakpoint, he was surprised to see it was already one o'clock. He'd made plans for lunch. Time to get started.

Yesterday evening during the SFX session, Aidan's questions were a wake-up call. The tutoring he'd provided demonstrated how underprepared Neal was for the course. As he saw it, there were only two choices. He could somehow survive the course, or admit to his friends—and Peter—he couldn't handle it and drop it. For graduation purposes that would be the safest route, but it would also label him a failure. He'd decided to give himself one week to prove to himself that he could do it. And if that meant tooling during the lunch hour, so be it. It was déjà vu from his studying for the Columbia entrance exams but this time was different. His plan was much better.

Neal headed to the breakroom to retrieve his lunch bag. His destination was Storeroom 51. Peter had told him about this room last spring. It was a small windowless room off a back corridor that agents used to crash when they needed a break. It was minimally furnished with a desk, a chair, and a sofa. Blankets and a pillow were stored in a filing cabinet. Any agent could claim it and put the Occupied sign on the door.

Travis came out of the lab as Neal walked past with his book and lunch. Falling in step with him, he said, "I recognize your book from last night. Aidan showed it to me at band rehearsal to get my opinion. It's more technical than I would have expected for an introductory course. You get stuck, give me a shout."

"Thanks. Right now, I don't even know the correct questions to ask. I'll hit you up later."

Travis nodded. "I'm going to Columbia tomorrow evening after work. I could give you a lift and we'll go over some of the concepts then."

"Are you meeting Richard?"

"No, our SETI committee meets on Tuesdays. One of the astronomy professors leads it and arranges for meeting space." They stopped at the elevator bank and Travis pushed the Down button. "Do you think Mozzie would like to attend? His obsession with UFO sightings when we talked on Saturday at the exhibition was, in a word, fascinating."

Last week Neal would have said there was zero chance of Mozzie going to a meeting with a suit. But Mozzie had reached a new rapprochement with Travis at the reception. "I bet he would. Would you like me to call him?"

"No need. He gave me his number."

Neal felt his jaw drop. "He what?"

Travis chuckled. "I was as surprised as you. Mozzie said he wanted to be the first one I call when the landing takes place."

#

The afternoon briefing was scheduled for three o'clock. By the satisfied look on Diana's face, she and Jones must have made progress. Neal was glad to see someone had. His own investigation was proceeding at a crawl. Just before the meeting, he'd found one possibility that was tantalizing him to the point of skipping the meeting. If Travis hadn't rousted him, he might have. Peter would have understood. It wasn't his fault, it was the Dutchman's.

Jones gave the status report on their research. "Diana and I combed through Klossner's bank returns and other financial records. Came upon something we think will interest you." He flashed a man's photo on the wall projector screen. Neal wasn't familiar with him, but from the way Peter reacted, he must be a big fish. The man had a broad-shouldered, muscular appearance. He was clean-shaven, bald, probably in his fifties. He had a self-confident smile plastered on his tanned face that made Neal think of Bruce Willis.

"Max Rinaldi," Peter said, letting out a slow exhale.

"That's right, boss," Diana said. "And from the extensive file on him, the department's had a long history with him."

"Longer than the Dutchman," Peter acknowledged. "He's been a suspect in mortgage fraud cases going back for twenty years but he's always eluded us. He lets the bottom feeders on the food chain be charged while he swims away to be a land shark on another transaction. His empire started in New York but has now spread throughout the country."

"He was suspected of involvement in a multi-million-dollar mortgage fraud scheme out of Miami," Jones said. "It made use of straw borrowers, forged statement forms, and wire fraud. It was finally stopped last year. We haven't fully determined how much Rinaldi made from that scheme before it was stopped and never had sufficient evidence to indict him."

"This case could finally bring him to justice," Diana asserted. "A holding company under his umbrella issued a check to Klossner a month ago. We suspect Klossner acted as an agent for Rinaldi."

Neal turned to Jones. "Perhaps we can make a double play out of this—take down both Rinaldi and the Dutchman." He raised his eyebrows and gave Peter a Groucho Marx grin. "Count me in."

"One step at a time," Peter cautioned, but by the way his eyes gleamed, Neal could tell his warning was more pro forma than anything else. He probably didn't want to jinx it.

Neal, however, operated on a different principle: once you know the objective there's always a way to achieve it. "It's good to have goals," he fired back. "What's the profile on Rinaldi?"

Diana displayed a series of photos on the wall monitor. "He has a mansion in Old Westbury on Long Island. Married with one daughter who's a senior in high school. The house is a fortress with high walls surrounding the estate. From the reports of prior investigations, we know he maintains a well-trained security force with trained Dobermans patrolling the property. Penetrating his security measures will be a difficult undertaking."

"During the Miami investigation, we infiltrated his house," Travis said. "The family was away and the place was being rewired for surround sound. I went in with the group. But our efforts didn't result in much. We discovered that Rinaldi keeps his work computer with him. He travels with a laptop that has all his files. His bodyguards protect not only him but also his records."

Peter gestured impatiently. "This time will be different. Jones, Diana, I want you to pull up every scrap of information you can find on the Rinaldis. There has to be a weakness we can exploit. We have extensive files on what doesn't work with Max Rinaldi. Bring me something that does. Stretch your imaginations, people. Go outside the box."

Jones raised a brow. "You're saying we're allowed to pull a Caffrey on this one?"

Peter chuckled. "All options are open for discussion." As Neal shrugged triumphantly, Peter fired off a warning shot. "As long as it's legal. Jones, I'm counting on you to verify that it passes the smell test."