Chapter 8: Signals from Beyond

Federal Building. January 26, 2005. Wednesday morning.

Peter didn't have high hopes at the start of the daily briefing. They'd been forced to park the surveillance van at such a distance from the mansion that gathering any useful intel was highly unlikely. Peter had originally planned to use the briefing to exhort the team to come up with another solution.

As it turned out, Neal and Travis beat him to the punch.

Neal reported on their discovery that Maggie Feng had been hired to prepare the floral arrangements for the daughter's eighteenth birthday. "She's providing the flowers for several rooms in the house as well as individual bouquets for the guests. It's the largest commission she's ever landed."

"Maggie won't mind using FBI agents for help?" Jones asked.

"She wasn't thrilled about it," Neal admitted. "After all, her reputation is on the line. The Rinaldi mansion is smack in the middle of Long Island's Gold Coast, and Maggie's been told the guests are a who's who of the local society crowd. She hopes this will pave her way into the market. Steve from the Emporium is her assistant. I asked her if we could supply any helpers, and she's agreed to one 'non-trainable' as driver."

"I've already claimed that job," Travis interjected.

"In addition, she can use three more, provided they pass muster. She's already agreed to Mozzie."

"You gotta be kidding," Peter said.

"You haven't seen Mozzie around flowers," Neal said, maintaining a straight face. "He has a delicate touch. Maggie's also willing to have me along. I've helped her with arrangements before. There's room for one more. Does anyone here have a hidden flair for flowers?"

Eyes turned to Diana, who immediately held up a cautionary hand. "Not me. Plants die when I get near them."

Jones rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. Peter looked at him, astonished. "Jones, is there something you haven't told us?"

"My aunt has a garden shop," he confessed. "When I was a kid, I used to earn extra money by helping out. I could probably fake it for Friday."

The plan they'd devised sounded simple enough on the surface. While helping to decorate the house, they would conduct an extensive reconnaissance.

Travis detailed how he and Mozzie planned to plant bugs in the flower arrangements. "He and I are meeting tomorrow to go over the details. The main concern is if the house is already outfitted with wireless detection finders. Given the level of precautions Rinaldi takes, I expect that to be the case. Each area will need to be scanned before deployment." Peter was surprised to see Travis so comfortable with the thought of working with Mozzie. Had the two of them bonded at the SETI meeting?

Diana echoed the concern he was feeling. "I've never met this guy, but if what I've heard is correct, are you sure he can be trusted?"

"For this kind of job, he'll be fine," Neal assured her.

She didn't look convinced but didn't press him on it. "While you boys were out playing with flowers, Jones and I have made progress on the Rinaldi home front. Max Rinaldi has been away at a convention in Las Vegas. He's due back in town tomorrow, just in time for the birthday bash. Yesterday, Jones and I pretended to be a couple moving to the neighborhood and talked with a neighbor who was out getting her mail."

"We learned that Rinaldi dotes on his daughter," Diana said. "He reportedly caters to her every whim. Relations with his wife aren't as smooth."

"Maybe the neighbor simply doesn't like them," Jones added, "but she claimed Lily was bored and hinted at scandals."

Peter made a note. They might be able to exploit that weakness. "What about Rinaldi? Does he play around too?"

"We're looking into it," Jones said. "This is his second marriage. We haven't found any documented infidelity, but he's often away from home on business trips. There's plenty of opportunity for someone with a wandering eye. We'll do more digging."

"Make that a priority," Peter said. "Does anyone have any other suggestions?"

"I'd like to make one for Friday," Travis said. "I know we don't normally adopt disguises, but Neal has one available and I think we should take advantage of it." Travis passed around a photo and explained how Richard had created the look for his class.

When Diana handed him the photo, Peter studied the blond, long-haired beach bum. "This looks like ... who was the fellow in Shanghai Noon?"

Neal's eyes widened. "You saw Shanghai Noon?"

Embarrassed, Peter muttered. "There was no game on. It was late at night."

"So, was it the western setting or the martial arts that you enjoyed most? Because I thought it was a trailblazer in its—"

"Focus, dude," Peter rumbled.

"Richard's transformation is impressive," Jones said, chuckling. "You do look like Owen Wilson in the photo. Can you talk like him too?"

"Don't encourage him, Jones," Peter interrupted. "But I like Travis's idea. Neal may need to go in again and this keeps our options open. How about you, Jones? Want a disguise?"

"What about some facial hair or a mustache?" Neal asked. "That can work wonders in changing an appearance." At the mention of mustache, Peter's warning bell dinged, but Neal didn't appear to be teasing him about his own disastrous attempt to grow a mustache. Hopefully, no one had told him about it.

"A wig too," Diana suggested. "Make it a short Afro."

Jones swiped his buzz cut with a hand. "I could give it a try, but Richard won't have the time to work on both Neal and me before we need to leave."

"Janet told me she's willing to help on any project," Neal said. "She enjoyed working with us so much for the gaming convention last October that I think she's adopted White Collar as her pet charity."

"Just what I need," Peter said with a sigh.

"Costumes are your destiny," Neal said airily. "You might as well stop fighting it. Just wait till she transforms you into a Viking, and then you'll change your tune."

Sterling-Bosch Headquarters, London.

Sara looked up from her keyboard to check the view from her window. It was almost four o'clock and the glass was still being pelted by raindrops. She looked down gloomily at her new peacock-blue patent Kate Spade heels. She should have known better than to wear them today. Well, there was no help for it. She would have to keep working at the office till the rain stopped, no matter how long it took. She wrote herself a reminder to pick up a pair of running shoes—preferably in fuchsia or turquoise—to leave in the office for occasions such as this and resumed working her way through the deluge of emails that had accumulated during her absence.

She'd arrived back in London the day before and was still feeling the effects of jet lag. She'd soothed the powers that be at Weatherby's till her jaw ached. Honestly, she didn't blame them. To have the mistake pointed out by a member of an art class was embarrassing, to say the least. It had been quite a challenge to invent excuses for something she found indefensible. She didn't find it much of a consolation that artworks were constantly being reauthenticated, and that the number of forgeries being displayed at museums for decades—sometimes centuries—was staggering. Neal was right. The Sterling-Bosch authenticator should have realized the Corot was a forgery.

A brief knock was quickly followed by the door opening and Bryan walking in. "Welcome back! I heard you'd been through the wars with this one." He was holding two cups of coffee. Sara recognized the cups. They were from her favorite coffee bar. He pulled up the extra chair in her tiny office and put the coffee on the desk. "I thought you could use a pick-me-up."

Sara removed the lid and the heavenly aroma of macadamia nut coffee wafted up. "You're a lifesaver," she said with a grateful smile. "You went out in the rain for me?"

"For you, no sacrifice is too great. And there's more." Bryan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bag of biscotti, and not just any biscotti, but chocolate and pistachio biscotti from Mario's Café. Bryan knew how to spoil a girl.

He'd been in Paris when the news broke about the Corot forgery. Sara had talked with him on the phone shortly afterward, but this was their first chance to discuss it in depth. They went over the findings together. Somehow, munching biscotti dipped in coffee made the events of the past week seem not quite as bleak.

"Neal was impressive," she said. "I knew he was an artist and studying for his master's, but I'd no idea of his level of expertise. It's no wonder the FBI hired him to be a consultant."

"He's very young to have accumulated so much knowledge," Bryan remarked thoughtfully. "While you were away, I looked into the authenticator for the painting. The work was done by one of our experts in France. He's affiliated with the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Dijon. He's worked on several authentications for us. Since I was already in Paris, I went to see him. As you can imagine, he was mortified and abject in his apologies for not having known the history of that colorman's stamp. The man has done excellent work for us up to now. But in light of this, I doubt we'll ever use his services again."

"Do you think we should reevaluate the other work he's done for us? An investigation of his background may be called for."

"I'm glad to see we're on the same wavelength. I'm heading back for Paris at the end of the week and will see that it's done correctly." Bryan propped his elbows on her desk and leaned forward, his expression turning distinctly un-businesslike. "I missed you. Paris was a dull place without you. I kept thinking about New Year's when you were there with me."

Sara smiled. "I'll never forget that either." Over the Christmas holiday, Bryan had surprised her with a last-minute trip to Paris. Their suite had a panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower. They'd celebrated New Year's with Dom Perignon while watching the fireworks display from the balcony of their suite. She found out later they'd been lucky. Fireworks at the Eiffel Tower were not an annual tradition. That New Year's, there were fireworks both outside and inside the hotel suite. It was as if Bryan was trying to erase the memory of the Fourth of July fireworks she'd seen in Baltimore when she was with Neal on Graham Winslow's sailboat. No, that wasn't fair. Bryan was simply trying to give her the experience of a lifetime. She'd been the one comparing the fireworks. Dom Perignon and the Eiffel Tower versus a picnic on a sailboat—it should have been a no-brainer.

Bryan brought her back to the present. "How about us going out to dinner tonight? We could catch up."

"It's tempting but I'm afraid I wouldn't be good company. Can I take a rain check? And in light of what's going on outside, that seems an appropriate term."

Bryan shook his head disapprovingly. "You shouldn't have to cook. I could pick up something and come to your place. I could give you a massage afterward? I'm told I'm very good."

Bryan's massages were not just good, they were too good. "I'm sorry but I really am drained."

"I guess I can wait till tomorrow."

"I'm looking forward to it." Sara held the smile till he left her office but it was almost a relief to see him go. At least he hadn't brought up the topic she was dreading. Bryan had been giving far too many hints not to guess what he had in mind, and that was one complication she didn't need in her life right now.

#

Midday on Wednesday, Neal pulled his sandwich out of the fridge in the breakroom, refilled his coffee mug, and headed for Storeroom 51. For the past few days, he'd shared his lunch breaks with his new best friend, his textbook on computational art. Spending his life buried in textbooks had not been part of his master plan. And Sherkov wanted him to go for his doctorate? Why was he even considering it?

When he got to the room, he found a sticky note posted on the door, saying Go away. Neal shrugged. Not a surprise that the room had already been claimed. He'd been lucky it hadn't happened more often.

He retraced his steps and entered a small conference room close to the elevators. That room also held memories. He'd camped out there to study for his entrance exams to Columbia. That was before Peter had filled him in on the glories of Storeroom 51. The conference room was more spacious than the storeroom. It had windows and better ambiance for daydreaming. Determined not to fall into that trap, Neal sat with his back to the windows, got out his sandwich, and started reading: The statistical self-similarity of the stochastic pattern can be expressed through iterated function systems ...

#

Peter walked down the corridor, on the lookout for his consultant. Neal wasn't at his desk or lab niche. Peter could have simply called him on his cell phone, but he needed to stretch his legs. He spotted Neal through the glass doorway of the second conference room he'd passed. He was reading what looked like a textbook, his chin resting on a propped-up hand. He had a notepad beside him and appeared to be making random doodles while reading.

Peter stuck his head in. "You mind an interruption?"

Neal looked up, a smile of relief spreading over his face. "Thank you for providing one."

"I assume that's your computational art textbook." Peter sat down across from Neal at the table. "Did you decide if you'll drop the course?"

He winced as he spread his hands. "I've invested too much into it to quit now."

Peter nodded with satisfaction. "Good for you. You're not taking the easy way out."

He smiled sheepishly. "Surprising, isn't it? Aidan and Travis appear to have made my survival their mission in life. I can't give up on them."

"Travis is the reason I was looking for you. He threw me a curve ball when he included Mozzie in the plans. Is that really necessary?"

"We have a very limited window. I won't have the time to conduct a thorough search of both the upstairs and downstairs. And you know Jones isn't the best at avoiding detection while sneaking through rooms."

"Will Mozzie object to being frisked afterward?"

"Maybe not ... as long as it's not by a suit. I'm confident he'll be on his best behavior. He doesn't want to damage Maggie's reputation, and I'll verify nothing leaps into his pockets without him being aware of it."

"I'd appreciate it. I have to admit it was a little disconcerting to hear Travis casually mention that he and Mozzie would prepare the bugs together. How'd that happen?"

Neal shook his head. "You got me. I called Travis over when Maggie mentioned Lily Rinaldi and Mozzie came with him. They'd just spent several minutes discussing radio astronomy. When I had to leave for my class, Travis was asking Maggie about the possibility of using bugs in her arrangements. He and Mozzie must have cemented their new alliance over surveillance electronics." Neal gathered up his book and coffee mug and stood to leave. "Mozzie and the Space Suit ... it takes a little getting used to."

Peter rose and opened the door. "Is that what Mozzie calls him?"

Neal nodded. "Travis considers it a badge of honor. He told me this morning that Mozzie was quite entertaining at the SETI meeting."

As they walked back to the bullpen, Peter asked, "Is the working group aware of his—how should I put it—nonconformist views?"

"I warned Travis. But according to him, Mozzie is by no means the first SETI participant to bring his personal obsessions to the table. And he does have expertise in communications signals. If anyone can spot an extraterrestrial in our midst, my money's on Mozz."

#

After work, Neal headed to his studio at Columbia. Aidan had called for a meeting with him, Richard, and Mozzie for later that evening. It was the first time for the four of them to meet as a group since the con to take down Fowler in November. They now had a new mission. No diamonds to recover this time, but you could say their objective was even higher. Instead of helping a queen, they were going to the rescue of an endangered bee. They'd selected Watson Hall for their first session since both Neal and Richard had their studios there and it was close to a tunnel entrance for Mozzie.

Neal intended to make use of the time before the meeting to work on his paintings for the sci-fi convention. He'd decided to adopt Travis's suggestion of using his paintings of Azathoth's house as a launching point. The elaborate staging of the house where they'd been held resembled a movie set. It was conceivable that Azathoth himself had a connection to the film industry. If so, would he attend the convention? What would his reaction be if he saw Neal's paintings?

Neal's studio was adjacent to Richard's and as he walked past, he glanced through the open doorway. Richard had piled a large mound of clay on his worktable and was molding it into a rough shape. Another sculpture was on the far end of the table. When Richard spotted him, he called him in.

"What do you think of my latest creature?" he asked, gesturing to the finished sculpture.

Neal studied the bizarre shape in front of him. "Definitely not of this world."

Richard took a breath. "Then I've succeeded. I haven't decided whether to enter one or two creatures in the competition at Tac-Con. I not only have to sculpt it but give it a name and describe its habitat and life history. It's not mandatory, but I'm also going to paint a backdrop of its world."

"What do you call this fellow? It looks a little like a lumbering bear to me."

"Apt description. I drew my inspiration from tiny creatures called tardigrades that live in the water. Some call them waterbears."

"But this isn't so tiny." Richard's sculpture was about three feet long, and its tubular mouth made it look like it was ready to suck humans, not microorganisms. Richard had managed to give it an expression that was menacing and oddly wistful at the same time. It looked like it was apologizing for what it was about to do.

Richard tilted his head as he examined it. "Maybe it eats tribbles. I'll have to ask Travis how to say Tribble-eater in Vulcan."

"What's the other creature you're sculpting?"

"This is the concept." Richard handed him a sketchpad. His drawing showed the creature from several perspectives. It appeared to be a wafer-thin kite with eyes in the center. "I'd seen a photo of baby stingrays and they inspired me to make something that lives in a low-gravity world where creatures float in the atmosphere almost like kites. But sculpting something so thin presents a real challenge." He glanced over at Neal. "I'm glad to hear Travis persuaded you to enter the painting competition. We can stress together. Do you already have a concept?"

Neal described what he had in mind and then left Richard to his creatures. Richard was so much further along than he was. That stress Richard had talked about was already hitting him.

He'd barely roughed out the designs when Mozzie and Aidan arrived for the meeting. Mozzie had transformed himself into his vision of a film director for the occasion, complete with French beret, turtleneck, and long flowing scarf. All he needed was a beard to look like Francis Ford Coppola. He'd also acquired a director's clapboard. It was already marked with YFB Scene 1, Take 1.

Aidan didn't appear thrilled with the clapboard. "Happy to have you on board, Mozz, but remember there's only one director for this video, and that's me. This is my course and my grade that's on the line."

Mozzie exhaled. "Duly noted. Do you want my clapboard?"

"No, you can keep it. You can be in charge of clapboards for this video."

"And the megaphone?" he asked hopefully.

"You can keep it as long as you don't use it," Aidan huffed.

"So, what's your plan, Herr Direktor?" Mozzie asked. Neal was glad to see he'd taken the hint and stopped pressing. Undoubtedly, a director's chair would have been the next item on his list.

"For my animation course, I need to pull together a fifteen-minute short on any subject."

"A public service short is bound to win you points for your civic-mindedness," Richard noted.

"Not to mention, Keiko thinks it's cool I'm working with insects," Aidan said. "She was entranced with Janet's designs and suggested we consult with Janet for colors and design options."

"I assume you've confirmed you're allowed to have others assist you?" Neal asked.

"That was the first thing I checked. Team efforts are encouraged as long as the actual animation is mine. Several others are also coercing their friends to help." Aidan turned to Neal and Richard. "Can I count on you two for the artwork? Once you've prepared the designs, then I'll digitize them for the animation."

"Neal and I've already discussed it," Richard said. "I'll design the characters—"

"—and I'll prepare the backgrounds," Neal added.

"I'll then convert them into computer-generated imagery," Aidan said, "and Neal, I know you'll appreciate this—I can employ fractal modeling techniques for the CGI to make them more realistic."

Neal groaned. "Again with the fractals?"

"I hereby volunteer to liaise with Janet," Mozzie said. "What's our target audience?"

"Since it's an animation, I think we should aim young," Aidan replied, "but I don't want it to be some cutesy cartoon character flying among the flowers. He needs to be edgy and cool."

"In other words, flamboyant—like me," interjected Mozzie.

Aidan wisely ignored that comment. "I want to make a powerful statement. Conceivably I could include it in the May exhibition."

While the others tossed around ideas, Neal got out a sketchpad and began drawing. His latest creation got the better of him and he broke into a laugh which caused the others to stare at him. "Sorry, but when Mozzie first came to me about the yellow-faced bee, I imagined it starring in horror movies: Godzilla versus the Yellow-faced Bee, Attack of the Killer Yellow-faced Bees, and so on. How about turning him into a superhero? Yellowface, the Masked Avenger?"

"Yes!" said Aidan as Richard broke out in laughter. "Like the Green Hornet but better. Masked crime fighter takes on the forces of evil threatening its habitat."

"We could even put a romantic spin on it," Richard said. "Make the queen a love interest."

Mozzie squinted as he framed an imaginary scene in the air with his hands. "Yes, I can see it— Yellowface, the noble knight defending his queen."

"It'll be like The Three Musketeers, but better," interrupted Aidan. "Yellowface could use his stinger like a sabre. His body would act as the grip and his stinger, the blade." As Aidan described the motions, he began scribbling notes.

"This could go global," Mozzie mused, his face assuming a dreamy expression. "Comic book franchises, lunch boxes, cartoon contracts, movies ..."

"Have you thought about entering it at Tac-Con?" Richard asked Aidan. "They have a special competition for videos."

By his shocked look, he clearly hadn't. "Prepare it in a month? Is that possible?" They got out their calendars to compare schedules. It would be tight, but if they got most of the work done early in the term, they wouldn't have to deal with it during the crunch time for final papers and the May exhibition. Together they hashed out the details and jotted notes about the various components needed—sound effects, music, voicing. Aidan had been experimenting with a digital animation software package that would help speed up the process.

"Who's going to voice Yellowface?" Neal asked.

Richard and Aidan jointly pointed their fingers at him. "You're the romantic knight. You have to be Yellowface."

Neal grinned. Wait till Henry heard he was playing a superhero.

"What about the script?" Mozzie asked impatiently. "Without a script, we're dead in the water."

Dead silence for a moment. "Mozzie, you should give it a whirl," Neal suggested when Aidan still hadn't spoken up. "You're the master at assimilating any personality, whether it's a paper file or a mad scientist. No one could be better than you at envisioning the hopes and the dreams of the yellow-faced bee."

#

The group worked late into the night conceptualizing ideas for the video, but when Thursday morning came, it was time to put Yellowface aside and return to the Dutchman.

Neal planned to spend the morning in the lab, writing up his analysis of the Dutchman's techniques. On the way to the office, he'd stopped off at the Emporium and obtained from Maggie a floor plan of the rooms to be decorated as well as a copy of her master list of the arrangements to be taken over to the Rinaldi house. When Travis saw Neal had a list of plants, he quickly snagged a copy for himself, muttering something about the need to customize bugs. He and Neal were meeting Mozzie and Maggie at the Emporium in the afternoon to finish the surveillance preparations.

Midmorning, Jones, in his role of designated lead for the Friday op, came to the lab to meet with Neal and Travis. Together they reviewed their assignments for the next day. With typical thoroughness, Jones had prepared timelines for Neal and Travis to follow. Neal scanned it and then put it aside. Once the op started, the timeline would become largely irrelevant. As a former Navy man, Jones should understand the need to adjust sails to take advantage of unexpected wind shifts.

"Any questions on tomorrow?" Jones asked.

Neal saluted him. "Only one, Commander. You haven't mentioned when you're seeing Janet. Have you talked with her?"

"Don't worry, Ensign. I've already made the arrangements. She's scheduled an appointment for me with one of her makeup artists. You'll have the opportunity to see the new me when we rendezvous at the Emporium at zero eight hundred sharp."

When Jones left, Neal returned to writing his report. He'd been amused at Jones's smug reaction to being called Commander. Should he tell him Yellowface was in his squadron?