Chapter 10: Operation Avalanche

Federal Building. January 28, 2005. Friday afternoon.

"You want to take down Rinaldi at the Lynx Mountain Resort? Bring me a plan that's legal."

After Peter issued the challenge, Jones, Diana, Neal, and Travis moved into the conference room to take him up on it. Peter had a full afternoon of meetings scheduled or he would have been brainstorming with them. He'd put Jones in charge. He had a brilliant group to work with and that might be his greatest hurdle. Creativity they had in abundance, but practicality? Peter was counting on Jones to keep everyone firmly grounded in the land of the possible.

When Peter sneaked a look through the glass wall of the conference room, Neal and Diana were in a heated discussion, waving their hands around as if they were speaking Italian. Peter couldn't tell if they were challenging each other to a duel or simply excited. Jones seemed to be having a tough time getting a word in, but he was trying. Travis appeared to ignore them, his eyes fixed on his laptop display as he typed. What Peter saw made him excited to hear what they'd propose.

Promptly at the prearranged time of three o'clock, he knocked on the door. "You ready for me?" He received his answer from the satisfied looks on their faces.

"The breakthrough came when Travis found the serpent symbol from that scrap of paper Mozzie discovered in the Rinaldi mansion," Jones said. "It's listed in an Interpol database."

Travis, his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers in front of his face. "The symbol is part of the emblem for a criminal organization known as Ydrus." He displayed the full emblem on the wall monitor. It resembled a winged serpent. "Very little is known about the group. Reports first surfaced two years ago. Interpol believes Ydrus is linked to crimes throughout the world, but much of their information is pure speculation. The most solid evidence connects them to art thefts in Europe. They first came to Interpol's attention for arms smuggling. Ydrus is also connected to terrorist activities, particularly in Eastern Europe."

"I filed a request for additional information, and was immediately bumped up the ladder," Jones said. "This is the first physical evidence of them operating in North America, although they've been suspected of having a presence here. Interpol has been relying on informants who were supplying third-hand accounts, and they've been unable to verify the accuracy of the reports."

"Any thoughts as to why Rinaldi would be involved with an organization like Ydrus?" Peter asked.

"My bet's on money laundering," Neal said. "Real estate development's a great tool and Rinaldi's one the largest players in the space."

"By linking Rinaldi to Ydrus we can apply for a warrant under the Patriot Act," Jones said. "We can take advantage of Section 213—the delayed search warrant notification—and inform Rinaldi after obtaining the evidence. We'll need to have the legal department weigh in, but I believe our request will be granted."

Peter nodded his approval, confident that if it sounded acceptable to Jones, the legal department wouldn't pose any major hurdles. Turning to Neal, he asked, "Have you heard of Ydrus?"

Neal shook his head. "It's a new one to me. It's believed to have originated in Europe, but they're doing an excellent job of keeping in the shadows."

"You'll contact our shadow dweller about them?"

Neal broke into a smile. "I'll give him a call after the meeting."

Diana passed Peter a sheet of paper. "With the legal justification resolved, we proceeded to work on the plan. This summarizes the strategy for Operation Avalanche."

Peter frowned as he scanned the paper. "Are you trying to jinx it by calling it avalanche?"

"That's what I said," Neal agreed. "We should have named it 'Milk Run.' "

"Avalanche is much more appropriate for how we'll run the op." Jones rebuffed. The former Navy officer, stood by the whiteboard to sketch the outline of what they'd developed. "Our best opportunity to access Rinaldi's computer will most likely be in their hotel suite. If we consider the computer to be the supply ship, then its convoy is represented by the people residing in the suite. We have Rinaldi, his wife, his daughter, and two bodyguards, all of whom will have to be drawn out for Operation Avalanche to succeed. Rinaldi is the flagship, with the bodyguards represented by destroyers. Lily and Mandy are cruisers."

Diana groaned. "Is the Navy terminology absolutely necessary?"

"I'm with Diana," Peter said firmly. "Stick to FBI lingo, Commander Jones."

"And I was so looking forward to being a PT boat," Neal said in an undertone to Travis.

Travis nodded glumly. "My plans to be a nuclear attack submarine just got torpedoed."

Peter glared at Jones. "You see what you started?"

"Hear me out," Jones insisted. "You'll find the plan much easier to digest if you think in terms of battle maneuvers."

"He could be right," Neal seconded. "The best strategist I know uses Monopoly to visualize the sequence of events."

Travis gave a snort of laughter which he tried to fake—unsuccessfully—as a coughing fit. Even Peter had to smile at the thought of Jones imitating Mozzie in anything. Raising his hand as a signal of the white flag, Peter said, "Ignore my objection. I placed you in charge. Carry on, Commander."

Jones proceeded to walk Peter through the op, making ample use of the whiteboard to draw X's for the players—red for the enemy and blue for White Collar— with arrows for their movements. Peter felt his own face dropping lower and lower in inverse proportion to the others looking more hopeful.

Once Jones concluded, Peter scanned the four of them. "So what you're telling me is that you want us to gain access to Rinaldi's computer through the Rinaldi women?"

"Not at all," Jones said. "We've devised a carefully constructed plan to lure Rinaldi away from his computer long enough to enable us to copy his hard drive. The women are simply auxiliary cruisers that will need to be neutralized. They're not the only targets."

"Admit it, Jones," Diana said without the slightest bit of remorse. "The boss is right. We assume our best chance of accessing his computer will be in his hotel suite, and it makes sense to take advantage of the assets we have on hand. We figured one member of the team would strike a responsive chord with Lily."

"We already know that she's a bit of a cougar," Neal said. He paused to look at Peter. "You do know how to flirt, don't you?"

Peter didn't answer but sensed major roadblocks ahead. Luckily, El wasn't around to respond to that loaded question. "How will she get to know us?"

"The hotel reported that Lily has signed up for ski lessons," Diana said. "You're a skier. You could be her instructor. She's signed up for beginner's level, so you're bound to be better than her."

"You really expect me to come on to Lily Rinaldi?"

"Cowboy up, Peter," Neal said sternly. "Weren't you only a few weeks ago complaining that you rarely have the thrill of the glamorous type of undercover work? You had a taste of high living in December. Think of this as another opportunity to gain valuable field experience."

"This is much more your area, Neal," Peter retorted. "What will you be doing all this time?"

"I'll be in the bar."

This was clearly getting out of hand. "Now wait a minute—"

"He's serious," Jones said in unexpected confirmation. "There's a piano bar at the resort. We plan to put Caffrey's singing talents to work. If Lily doesn't respond to you on the ski slope, she may be swayed by Neal crooning at her. Mandy could also be susceptible to Neal's charm. The two of you will be responsible for neutralizing the women."

Peter decided to launch a counterattack. "Jones, you should be the one taking on Lily. We already know she was interested in you. Without the mustache, she may not recognize you."

"We considered that," Diana said. "But Jones's skills at undercover work when it comes to women—how should I put this kindly—suck. I staged an impromptu test this afternoon and he flunked."

Jones shrugged, not appearing upset. "As designated commander of this op, it's my responsibility to allocate available resources in the most appropriate manner. Besides, I'll need to be free to coordinate operations and assist Travis with monitoring Max Rinaldi's meetings."

While Peter supposed he should be flattered that they thought he'd be better than Jones, he wasn't ready to give in. "I'm glad you brought up Rinaldi. Diana, can't you work your magic on him and leave me out of it?"

"I'm already assigned for that, boss." Diana went to the whiteboard and pointed out an X. "This is me. I'm going to be at the resort, posing as a writer. We don't know Rinaldi's schedule yet, but I'll make myself available and see what develops. Rinaldi's profile indicates he may be open to temptation."

Travis added, "In addition to monitoring, Jones and I'll be there offering full support, ready to beam you up at any sign of trouble."

Peter tossed out another red flag. "And how will you persuade the resort to agree?"

"These are insignificant details," Neal said dismissively. "I'll ask Miranda Garza—she's the one who got me gigs over the summer as Neal Legend—to approach the resort for me."

"They'll jump at the chance to have the famous rock star Neal Legend perform at their piano bar," Diana said confidently. "And I'm sure I can convince them to assist the Bureau on a case of international security."

Peter sighed as he sat back in his chair. He'd tossed down the gauntlet, and they'd succeeded. Now how was he going to explain to El that they were going to crash her weekend? By far the best solution would be for her to postpone her plans. It was unfortunate but she'd understand it was the best solution for all involved.

#

El arrived home later than she'd hoped. It had been a frustrating day. She'd spent the entire time trying to please a client for an upcoming wedding reception. No matter what she suggested, the client hated it. She'd repeatedly reminded herself to be patient and keep smiling, but by six o'clock the smile was a sad remnant of the bubbly image she wanted to project. When she embarked on her event-planning business, she'd warned herself to be prepared for unpleasant clients. But she'd been overly confident of her abilities to rise above the grief.

She was in a black mood and she knew it. She might as well go ahead and put a sign around her neck for Peter to approach with caution. Satchmo better not pull any tricks. She was going to put her feet up, relax, and try to chill. For once, she hoped Peter would be late, giving her time to become human again before he arrived. Just once, couldn't he be late when she wanted him to be?

El opened the door and was stunned by what she found. Peter had put on an album of soft jazz, one of her favorites. There were lit tapers on the table. Low flames were dancing in the fireplace. Her heart leaped to her throat. Had she forgotten their anniversary? No, that'd been in November. What had happened in January? Was this the anniversary of their first date or the first time they made love? El panicked. She was the one who always remembered these events, not Peter.

Peter greeted her at the door. "Hi, hon. Hard day? You look a little frazzled. Let me take your coat."

While he hung it up, she collapsed on the couch, racking her brain for what had happened on January 28. Peter was wearing her favorite sweater, a soft black cashmere pullover. God, he looked sexy.

Peter sat down next to her and handed her a glass of wine. "Neck massage?"

"How did you know I had a miserable day?" El sighed in pleasure as Peter's strong fingers eased stiff muscles.

He chuckled. "Something told me you weren't going to want to cook. I stopped off for Chinese takeout on the way home. I picked up your favorites: crab puffs and lemon chicken."

"That sounds heavenly. I'm so sorry that I didn't get you anything, but my mind's a blank. What occasion are we celebrating?"

He kissed her cheek. "No occasion. Can't a man take a moment to show his wife how much she means to him?"

El sat upright and shook off his hands. "Now I know something is up. What's going on?"

#

El was still laughing as they finished the last of the lemon chicken. "You're going to be James Bond seducing the villain's wife, and I get to spy on you? Life doesn't get better than this."

He shook his head firmly. "There will be no seduction, no James Bond. I may need to distract her long enough to gain access to Rinaldi's computer. That's it. I'll keep her occupied on the ski slopes and let Neal or Travis slip in. There will be no hand-holding. No flirting. No innuendos. God, no innuendos."

"You better not let yourself be aced out by Neal," El said, ignoring his explanation. "You're my hunk, my man. Do us proud, Peter."

He groaned and went to the refrigerator for another beer. "We still have to get the legal department to sign off on this. Hughes may not approve."

"That sounds like wishful thinking to me," El said, setting down her chopsticks. "You've been wanting to indict Rinaldi for years. Now's your chance."

"But I thought you'd be upset at us for crashing your vacation." As Peter removed her plate, he tried his final pitch. "You'll have to promise me to stay far away."

She quickly blasted that trial balloon to smithereens. "Can't I fight over you?"

"Absolutely not." He'd hoped that El would pick up on the need for her to reschedule her trip. That she didn't want to was understandable, but for him to remain in character, he'd have to focus. Man, was he going to have to focus. And now El insisted on tutoring him in the art of seduction. The worst part of it was that he only had himself to blame. He was the one who'd told the team to think out of the box. In his zeal to take down Rinaldi and the Dutchman, he'd committed the cardinal sin. He'd allowed the team to pull a Caffrey on him. Now he'd have to deal with the consequences.

"So what does she look like? Do you have a photo?"

"Oh, she's very ordinary. Some might call her plain."

"Peter, hand over the picture." There was no denying El when she adopted that tone. Peter went to his laptop and pulled up the photo.

Her eyes widened as she scrutinized it. "You didn't tell me she used to work at Hooters. Let me see her husband."

Once she'd seen the photos, Peter's doom was sealed. He might as well call it for what it was: blackmail. It would now cost him several ice-skating lessons—not that he minded that at all. He'd wanted to teach her for years but never seemed to have the time. But the rest of the stuff—shopping for "sexy ski outfits," lessons in flirtation ... it was going to be a long week.

#

When Peter returned from walking Satchmo, El was upstairs taking a bath. Taking his coat off, Peter glanced at his watch. It wasn't very late. Besides, Neal stayed up till all hours. He sat down on the couch and reached for the phone. As he started to tap the speed dial, he hesitated. It was Friday night. Neal was probably on a date. He shouldn't intrude. But everyone called him at all hours of the day and night. At the worst Neal would give him the brush-off. When Neal answered the phone, he heard music in the background. It sounded like a string quartet. "Is this a good time to talk? I'm not interrupting anything?"

The sound became quieter. Neal must have lowered the volume. "Please interrupt. I've studied enough for one night. How'd it go?"

Relieved that he'd found Neal alone, Peter rehashed his discussion with El. "I was hoping she'd offer to reschedule."

"You just don't want her to be a witness."

"Well, yeah, that's obvious. Would you like Fiona to watch you flirt with another woman?"

"I see your point. But, Peter, it's not like she'll be standing next to you. Have you looked at the layout? The resort is immense. You may not even see each other."

"Not with my luck. Simply knowing El may see me is going to throw me off my game. You're not laughing, are you?"

"Nah, frog in my throat." Neal cleared his throat again. "I called Miranda Garza. She's still technically the agent for Urban Legend since Mozzie retired from the role. She's going to call the resort tomorrow. I checked with Mozzie about Ydrus. He hadn't heard of the group and was annoyed they'd slipped under his radar."

Peter chuckled. "He's been too distracted by honey and the birds and the bees. Will he look into them?"

"You bet. He considers it a point of honor to redeem himself for his failure to recognize the symbol."

"El wants to join us for the op planning on Monday." Surely Neal would sympathize with him and realize how impractical it was.

"Great idea. I was planning to call her for tips, but now I can ask her at work."

With a mounting sense of foreboding, Peter asked, "What kind of tips?"

"Diana and I've been strategizing the nature of training required for a delicate op like Avalanche. She believes you may need a little assistance in some areas. Perhaps a small amount of coaching."

Peter's groan was loud enough that El called from the top of the stairs. "Everything okay?"

"Tell her everything's just fi-ne" was Neal's oh-so-helpful contribution as Peter called out he'd be up shortly.

"Don't you need training too?" he grumbled.

"Already taken care of. Fiona's coming over for dinner tomorrow."

#

"I'm floating on a cloud after your soufflé." Fiona set down her fork with a gratifying sigh of pleasure. "And your beef roulades ... did you hear my purrs of contentment? I'm amazed that you could prepare a gourmet feast in such a tiny kitchen."

Neal poured Fiona another glass of wine. "The secret is not to make large quantities. You'll never see me hosting a dinner party for eight here." The dinner had gone remarkably well. He'd been concerned about the orange soufflé, but even that went off without a hitch.

Fiona took her glass and walked over to the patio doors. Neal joined her.

"Such an amazing view," she said. "I wish we could sit on the terrace, but as windy as it is, we'd freeze."

"We can do the next best thing." Neal moved two chairs in front of the patio doors. He slipped a CD of Frank Sinatra music into the stereo system and then dropped into the chair next to her. Together they gazed out at the city lights while sipping their wine.

"That's a great music choice," Fiona said. "I haven't listened to Frank Sinatra in a long time, and it's refreshing. You should croon some Frank Sinatra tunes when you sing at the resort."

"June helped me rehearse several numbers this morning. She's sorry she missed meeting you tonight, by the way. She'd already arranged to go to the opera with a friend."

"I'm sorry too. I hope I can hear her sing someday."

"Would you like to come over tomorrow? We're going to have another rehearsal. I'd love to have your critical ear present, and the rest of you as well."

Fiona laughed. "I'd like that very much. I'll play the part of the woman you're trying to impress and let you know which song sets me on fire."

"I'm looking forward to your decision."

Fiona didn't reply but began swaying to the music. "What's this song? It makes me want to dance."

"The Way You Look Tonight." Neal put down his glass. "Care to dance?"

Fiona gave him a warm smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

As they danced, Neal started singing softly to her along with old Blue Eyes. She relaxed in his arms. Her hair smelled of lavender and rosemary. Her lips were soft and inviting.

#

"Neal, we should—"

"Mozzie!"

"Why's it so dark in here?"

"Get out!"

"There's no need to be rude. Who's that giggling?"

"Get out now!" The light streaming in from the hallway was extinguished as Mozzie slammed the door behind him.

Fiona's giggles dissolved into laughter. "Who's Mozzie?"

Neal groaned. "An unwelcome visitor at the moment."

She nuzzled his neck. "Don't worry about it. After years in university housing, nothing fazes me. Let's get dressed. He's probably moping outside the door."

Five minutes later, Neal opened the door, still feeling grumpy. "What happened to your iambic pentameter knock?"

Mozzie was standing impatiently by the door. "I had matters of vital interest to discuss and couldn't wait. Haven't you heard of putting a sock on your doorknob?" As he walked in, his eyes swept over Neal. "You really should take a comb to your hair." Mozzie then proceeded to peer at Fiona as if she were a previously unrecorded species of bird. Fiona was sitting nonchalantly, if somewhat breathlessly, on the couch. "Hello, who do we have here? What fair maiden is gracing Neal's domicile?" He went over and kissed her hand while murmuring, "You missed a couple of buttons."

Fiona laughed and patted the cushion next to her for him to sit down. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Fiona. Neal, do we have any wine left?"

Neal brought glasses over for Fiona and Mozzie the Moocher. "Mozzie is an old friend"—he paused and glared pointedly at him—"who sometimes gets carried away and forgets what time it is." He sat back in a chair, swirling his wine while listening to him chatter with Fiona.

"So, what was so earth-shatteringly important that you needed to break into my apartment at midnight?" Neal said calmly, showing remarkable restraint.

"Oh, that." Mozzie gave a small, high-pitched laugh. "It was about our video."

"Yellowface?" Fiona's face lit up. "Isn't it exciting!"

"Don't egg him on," Neal cautioned. "You'll regret it."

Fiona wasn't inclined to listen to his sage words of advice. Mozzie ignored him too, focusing on Fiona instead. "I've hit a snag with the screenplay. As Neal undoubtedly told you, we're using this to promote the plight of the yellow-faced bee. For it to appeal to the greatest number of viewers, I decided we need two female roles. We already have plans for the queen, of course, but I'm considering including another, perhaps a flower. Someone for girls to relate to and boys to adore. You have a lovely voice. Would you like to audition for the part?"

Fiona adopted a serious expression. "I'm honored you'd consider me, but wouldn't my British accent seem a little out of place for a Hawaiian flower? Perhaps Angela would be better suited."

"She's already slated to be queen. She lends an excellent imperious tone to her lines."

"How about Keiko? Her soft voice would be ideal for a flower, perhaps an orchid. And you'd win extra points with Aidan for including her."

They then moved into an animated discussion of the soundtrack. Richard and Fiona had been collaborating to arrange music for all the band members. It was no minor challenge to blend the sound of a tin whistle with guitar, violin, dulcimer, drums, and synthesizer. Mozzie was in his element as a music critic.

Feeding off Fiona's encouragement, Mozzie grew ever more expansive. When she complimented him on his script, he acknowledged her praise, saying, "Like the stars, I shine most brilliantly when the sun is not present to obscure my radiance."

Ah yes, Mozzie, kinsman to the stars. Neal had been a fool not to have realized that earlier. He had a brief vision of Mozzie as an impish Puck riding on top of a yellow-faced bee over a Hawaiian forest, the scene suffused with moonlight. He'd never painted Mozzie as he would have been horrified at having his likeness displayed. Perhaps it was time. He could obscure his face.

"Time speeds too quickly in such delightful company," Mozzie said, rousing Neal from his thoughts. With a final au revoir, he vanished into the shadows from whence he came.

"What an extraordinary man," Fiona said.

"Yes, isn't he? A man of many faces." Neal turned to her. "Could you picture him as Puck?"

"Is that what you were thinking about? I could tell you were focused on something other than the video."

"In a way, they might be related."

"Mozzie, a shrewd and knavish sprite? I don't know him well enough to pass judgment. Shakespeare's Puck inspired night terrors and described himself as a 'merry wanderer of the night.' You may be onto something." Fiona gestured for him to sit next to her on the couch. "Now, where were we?"

The Aloha Emporium. January 30, 2005. Sunday morning.

"That's the last of them." Steve set the final orchid down on Maggie's worktable in front of Neal. Neal had accompanied Maggie and Steve to the Rinaldi mansion. They'd been given a one-hour window to retrieve the orchids while the Rinaldis were at brunch. Neal had put on his Owen Wilson makeup one final time. By now, he'd done it often enough that he didn't need Richard's help.

Mozzie was waiting for their return at the Emporium. He joined Neal in the delicate art of removing the bugs from the orchids. Steve returned downstairs to help with the brunch crowd. As each bug was removed, Neal cataloged it and placed it in the container Travis had provided.

"Is all that inventorying really necessary?" Mozzie whined. "Travis surely won't mind if one or two are missing. These bugs are superior quality to what I can acquire. I know he'd want me to keep one as a token of appreciation."

Mozzie had already collected a fee for his help, paid in cash of course, and Neal had lingering resentment for his knavish friend after last night's misadventure. "In that case, you should ask for one the next time you see him."

Mozzie glared at him. "You know, sometimes you're starting to sound like a suit, yourself."

That was about as stinging a rebuke as Mozzie had ever used on him and Neal hurriedly apologized.

"That's all right," Mozzie said, appearing mollified. "It's understandable you'd be a bit miffed about last night." He paused, his tweezers in mid-air. "It wasn't my intent to intrude upon your nocturnal interlude."

"No harm done. Fiona was amused by it. She's coming over this afternoon to help me rehearse my piano bar numbers." Neal checked off the final bug and placed the container in his backpack.

Mozzie stood up. "Do you have a few minutes to spare? While you were at the Rinaldis this morning, I heard back from a contact about that mysterious serpent you're interested in. We can discuss it in my new bunker. I think you'll find both revealing."

Mozzie has a bunker?