Chapter 11: The Card
The Aloha Emporium. Sunday, January 30, 2005.
Neal knew that Mozzie had appropriated space in Billy's basement at the Aloha Emporium for an office, but the word bunker implied he'd moved far beyond that. What invasion was he preparing for?
He followed Mozzie to a backroom. The store was bustling with midday shoppers and the brunch crowd. Billy's waffles with lilikoi butter, a curd made with passion fruit and honey, were justly famous. Sniffing the air, Neal was for a brief moment tempted to hold Mozzie off, but the lure of the bunker couldn't be denied.
Mozzie led the way to a keypad-controlled door that opened onto a narrow staircase used to access the basement. When Mozzie turned on the lights, Neal saw himself in a cavernous empty room. The space was meticulously clean with a smooth concrete floor. One section had been covered with a sparring mat. Neal had long suspected Billy had a martial arts studio in the basement—Mozzie had told him that Billy was a wushu master— but Billy never wanted to talk about it. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors had been installed along one wall. Large wooden cabinets lined the other walls. Neal assumed they contained equipment and weapons.
Mozzie approached one of the cabinets on the far wall that had been equipped with an electronic lock. "Fingerprint enabled?" Neal asked.
He nodded. "Along with a PIN code. I used the highest rating in my Columbia code system, Smew, along with the code for Mudd Hall. In the event of power failure, the lock is intricate enough to foil all miscreants. Bring all your lock picks if you ever need to open it."
Neal made a reverential bow. "Yes, sensei master."
Mozzie gestured for Neal to open the lock. When Neal scanned his fingerprint and keyed in the code, the door opened silently with the light coming on automatically in the space beyond. The cabinet acted as a threshold to a room roughly twelve by eighteen feet. Every available inch on the walls was taken up by shelving units, a built-in desk, and cabinets. Everywhere he looked, he saw books, equipment, and electronics. Three computers were grouped in a row so Mozzie could roll in his office chair from one to the other. A worktable was in the center, piled high with more equipment. A futon was along one wall. Neal smiled when he saw the poster of a UFO with the caption "I want to believe" tacked on the wall. There was even a small kitchenette with a sink, microwave, fridge, and oversized wine rack. A door in the back opened onto a small bathroom.
"The cabinet entrance is reinforced steel under the wooden veneer," Mozzie said proudly. "My bathroom pod arrived last week."
"Is this for when the Hitler clones land?"
"One should always be ready," he replied darkly. "My bunker has backup power and ventilation systems. I plan to install an air purifier and water recycling system. Now, pay attention." He walked over to the bookcase next to the bathroom door and removed a book, revealing a lock behind it. When he twirled the lock, a soft snap was heard. Stepping back, he pulled on the bookcase. It swung on silent hinges to reveal a cavity about four feet high and wide enough for a man to slide through.
Neal peered into the passageway. "This looks like part of the Columbia tunnel system."
Mozzie nodded confirmation. "You are the only one besides me and the Mole who knows of its existence. Billy has seen the room but not this entrance."
"The Mole?"
"He helped with the necessary excavation and installation. The Mole and I go back a long way."
Neal had no idea who the Mole was, but much of Mozzie's life before they met was still a blank.
"You remember that crevice you discovered at the supposed tunnel terminus on 114th Street back in November?" Mozzie said. "I investigated it further over the holidays and discovered an undocumented tunnel extension that extends it for one block south. I can now use the tunnel system from here all the way up to the northern boundary of the campus at 120th Street. This is the refuge of my dreams—my ultimate bolthole."
Mozzie opened a bottle of Pele's Nectar honey wine to toast Neal's indoctrination into the mysteries of the bunker. Neal sat on the futon, while Mozzie took command of the burgundy leather office chair that looked like it belonged on the Enterprise.
"You're going to maintain your other safe houses, right?" Neal asked.
"Of course, but for now my focus will be here. I'm convinced the underground tunnel system still has many secrets to reveal."
"You're following your inner moonlight?"
He nodded. "Allen Ginsberg had it right, and the moonlight is currently leading me to Ydrus."
"What did you learn about them?"
"A contact in Warsaw called me this morning. Originally Ydrus focused on arms smuggling. In the past few years, Ydrus, along with many other groups, expanded its focus to art and antiquities. They operate primarily in Europe. Otto believes they're headquartered somewhere in Eastern Europe. He's heard whispers of two regional heads—one somewhere in the States and one in China—and believes there may be more."
"Does Otto know anything about their terrorist activities?"
"Not enough to form a pattern. They've been linked to assassinations—both of government officials and business leaders. They're rumored to have a branch that operates a lucrative murder-for-hire operation." Mozzie got up to refill their glasses. When he settled back in his chair, he clasped his hands in front of him and studied Neal for a moment. "Have you decided whether to accept Sherkov's offer and apply for the PhD program?"
"Not yet. I'm still exploring options. The time commitment is the biggest obstacle."
"You should go for it," Mozzie said decisively. "Think of the opportunities."
"And what opportunities are you referring to?" Neal asked warily.
"It boils down to access." Mozzie rocked slowly in his chair. "The key is to pick the right specialty, for instance, Renaissance and Baroque Art. You could then travel throughout Europe in the name of research. Columbia has one of the most prestigious art history departments in the world. The museums of the world would now be your playground. Unexhibited collections of the world's greatest museums, the Vatican Secret Archives, the private repository at the Louvre"—He snapped his fingers—"All yours for the asking ... and taking. The Vatican Library alone could be an Aladdin's cave of riches."
Neal interrupted hastily before he got any further carried away. "That life is behind me. If I go for a PhD, my purpose won't be to plunder the world's art museums."
Mozzie sighed. "Not even a little?" At Neal's stern headshake, he continued, "Even with your newfound scruples, you have to admit that the knowledge you'd acquire could lead to unimagined treasures." He leaned forward and tapped Neal on his knee. "Access and opportunity. Think about it. You can't fool me. I see that gleam in your eyes."
Neal checked the half-smile in the making. "It's easy for you to say. You're not the one taking courses and writing papers."
Mozzie dismissed his objections with a wave of his hand. "Your coursework won't be that much more than what you've already agreed to do for your master's. As for the research part, PhD candidates spend years working on their dissertations. You could probably drag it out for a decade. Plus, you always have the option of pulling out if you change your mind. You could quit after getting your master's. And if that argument doesn't persuade you, I know you've learned to appreciate the value of multiple rabbit holes. Pursuing a PhD would open new doors to open should the wind change direction."
Mozzie went on for several more minutes before Neal called a time-out. This was one decision he didn't want to make while sitting in a bunker. Besides, Fiona would be arriving at June's before long.
Mozzie went upstairs with him. He'd prepared a list of ideas for the Honey Wine for Lovers label that he wanted to discuss. Neal listened politely, but he'd already gotten his inspiration last night. This was one label he would particularly enjoy painting.
#
"I may be a little stiff tomorrow, but it was worth it." El hugged Peter when they stepped inside the house. "This has been the perfect morning. You made me pancakes. You gave me my first ice-skating lesson. We even shopped for clothes." El sighed with contentment. "Why don't we do this every Sunday?"
"We may have to leave out the clothes shopping in the future, but you were a star on the ice."
"All those dance lessons weren't in vain, after all." She gave a twirl in the entry. "You were a wonderful teacher. I'm ready for the skating rink at Lynx Mountain. Now all I need do is sign up with their new ace ski instructor."
"Nothing doing," Peter said firmly. "You have to promise me you'll stay far away from the ski area. I'd be so distracted— wishing you were the one I was teaching rather than Lily—that I'd blow my assignment."
"I'll take that under advisement. If you'd let me go ahead and buy those ski clothes we found for you, I'd be much more receptive to your suggestion."
"Before any clothes buying occurs, I need to check how much is left in the budget for reimbursements. This op is going to be expensive enough without new wardrobes." He picked up the newspaper from the coffee table. "No more clothes talk. I'm going to read the paper, work the crossword, and watch hockey. That's my idea of the perfect afternoon ... as long as you're here with me, that is."
"You do have a way with words," she said, tossing him a kiss. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like a beer?"
"Please." Peter dropped onto the couch with the paper. He'd barely had time to read the news section before they left, but El had already sorted out the ads. He pulled out the sports section and thumbed through the pages to the hockey scores. A postcard insert dropped out. Peter picked it up to throw it away. When he glanced at the card to see what it was advertising, his stomach twisted with abrupt nausea. He stared with disbelief at the photo on the card.
"Peter, what is it?" El's voice came from behind him. She sat down next to him on the couch and placed a hand on his arm.
"Don't touch it!" he ordered, dropping the card as if it were a snake poised to bite him. He grabbed his cell phone, punched the speed dial for Neal, and waited impatiently. Damn it, Neal, answer the phone.
El, her face bleached of color, put a hand to her mouth as she stared at the card lying on the cocktail table.
Peter sought to reassure her. "This has to be a cruel hoax. Try not to let it get to you." Neal still wasn't answering. It was just past two o'clock. Where would he be? At home? At Columbia? Peter dialed June. No answer there either.
El reached for her cell phone. "I'll call Mozzie."
Peter turned on his computer. He didn't have Fiona's number. Why hadn't he obtained it? If she only had a cell phone, she wouldn't be in the FBI database.
El looked up. "Mozzie's not answering either."
"Travis mentioned he has a high-priority number for Mozzie." Peter called Travis's cell. Finally, someone who believes in answering the phone. Peter briefly explained the situation.
"I'll try to reach him and get back to you," Travis promised. "Richard's here. He may know where Neal is." After Travis hung up, Peter pored over the database records but couldn't find a listing for Fiona.
Travis called back a couple of minutes later. He'd been able to contact Mozzie who said he'd been with Neal till about 12:30. Neal mentioned he was going back to June's to practice songs for his piano bar act.
"I just tried her," El said. "There's still no answer."
"I heard Elizabeth," Travis said. "Do you want me to go to June's?"
Peter started for his gun safe. "I'm going there now. You're on my way. I'll pick you up."
#
"That was fantastic." Fiona clapped her appreciation. "Too bad Neal can't take you to Lynx Mountain, June. The people would line up for hours in advance to hear you."
"We weren't bad, were we?" Neal said, smiling at her. They'd just sung "One for My Baby," a Frank Sinatra classic.
"I can't remember when I've had such fun," June said. "We need to get together to sing more often." She held out an arm and beckoned Fiona over. "You should join us."
"What would be a good trio?" Fiona asked.
"Let's do 'Fever,' " Neal suggested. "We could set the lounge on fire with that number."
"I love that song," Fiona said excitedly. "Madonna's version was good but nobody can top Peggy Lee."
June slipped an arm around her waist. "I knew you were a kindred spirit."
"But an ignorant one," Fiona said with a laugh. "Do you happen to have the lyrics?"
"I'm sure I do." June went over to the music cabinet and began rummaging through the drawers.
"Michael Bublé featured it on a new album," Neal said. "It'd go very well with my Rat Pack persona."
"I found it!" June said triumphantly. "Let's turn up the heat and make this place sizzle."
#
When Peter pulled up outside Travis's apartment in the Village, Travis was already waiting for him on the street. Peter had tried to reach Neal several times on the drive over but he still wasn't answering.
During the drive to June's, Travis repeatedly called Neal and June's phones but both continued to roll over to their voicemail. Wisely, he didn't comment about Peter's breakneck speed. "Should I call up reinforcements?" he asked instead.
"Not till we know what the situation is," Peter replied. "June's place isn't far from the 24th Precinct station. They can respond quickly if necessary."
Travis studied the card which was now encased in a plastic sleeve. "Your reaction is understandable. The graphics work is very realistic."
"We know Azathoth's an expert at special effects. This isn't a surprise."
Peter parked illegally in front of June's mansion. Given that June wasn't answering her phone, Peter saw no reason to announce their arrival by ringing the doorbell. He used his key to unlock the door. He and Travis slipped inside, weapons drawn. Someone was playing a piano. He recognized the song. Was it a recording or live? Another one of Azathoth's tricks? Signaling Travis to accompany him, Peter crept up to the music room and charged inside.
Neal was playing the piano and belting out "Fever" with June and Fiona. At the sight of Peter and Travis, he stopped mid-chord. All three of them froze. His eyes flitting to Peter's gun, Neal asked, "What's this about?" Fiona drew close to him, her face white as a sheet.
Quickly putting his piece away, Peter growled, "What's wrong with you? Don't you ever answer your phone?" He passed a hand over his hair, a flood of emotions running through him. Relief that Neal was unharmed was quickly swamped by anger at Azathoth for having staged the hoax.
Travis tried to defuse the situation. He reintroduced himself to June, explaining that a threat had been received without going into any of the details. Fiona still appeared shaken, but June took it in stride.
"Fiona, let's go into the kitchen and make a pot of tea," she suggested. "The men can manage without us. Neal, you may wish to use my office."
"Thanks, June." He led the way to the study, closing the door behind them.
#
"I understand why you stormed in. The image certainly looks genuine." Neal placed the card back on the desk. It appeared to be from one of the Lovecraft card games. On one side it featured a tentacle-faced monster, with the caption of Cthulhu, Lord of R'lyeh. The text on the card read: Ability: Invulnerable. Action: Force opponent to sacrifice a character. On the reverse side of the card, a man was lying face up in a pool of blood with a massive wound to the chest. His forehead had been branded with the sign of the glowing branch. Neal had to admit, it was an eerily exact likeness of himself.
"I'm going to the office," Peter said. "Based on our last experience, I don't expect to find any clues as to who may have planted this in my newspaper, but maybe we'll catch a break. Someone may have seen something."
"I'll come in with you," Neal offered. He felt partially responsible for having put Peter and El through the wringer. He'd been an unknowing accessory to Azathoth's plot and for him, that was the most unsettling aspect of the hoax.
"I've already offered," Travis said. "There's not much for you to do now ... except delete the score of messages in your voicemail."
Neal winced. "June hates to be interrupted when she's singing and had turned off the ringer on her phone. I left my cell upstairs. We would have checked in a few minutes." Peter had called El and Neal had spoken with her too, but that was hardly adequate for what she'd gone through.
Peter fixed his eyes on him. "You're never doing that again, right? I don't care who you're with or what you're doing, that phone stays with you, on and fully charged. Make a replacement battery standard equipment. Got it?"
"Got it." No way was Neal going to argue with Peter now, no matter how draconian the measure. They'd discussed having Neal move to a safe house, but given that no actual threat had been made, decided against it.
"You should call Mozzie. Tell him everything's okay," Travis said. "I called him to see if he knew where you were. I didn't mention any specifics, but he must be wondering. I don't want him thinking you were abducted by extraterrestrials."
Neal appreciated Travis's attempt to lighten the mood. Peter was still seething. Neal took the opportunity to update them on what Mozzie had learned about Ydrus.
"I haven't seen any reports about a branch in the States," Peter said. "We need to follow up on that with the Counterterrorism Division."
On their way out, Peter and Travis stopped to say goodbye to Fiona and June. They were having tea in the breakfast room. June had put out a plate of sugar cookies. Peter offered a gracious apology for startling them, and June responded in kind for not answering her phone. The color had returned to Fiona's face, but there was a wariness about her smile to Peter that would take more than a sugar cookie to dispel.
After escorting Peter and Travis to the front door, Neal returned to June and Fiona. He wasn't normally a tea drinker, but to keep Fiona company he poured himself a cup.
"Do you need to go to the office?" Fiona asked.
"No, tomorrow will be soon enough." The silence was awkward. Neal didn't want to go into the particulars of the threat and for once was at a loss for words.
June rose from her chair. "I don't think we'll feel like singing anymore. I'm going to take my tea and put the music away. You two stay put." As she left, she murmured in Neal's ear a request to fill her in later.
He waited to apologize till June had left. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
"It's not your fault," she said. "I shouldn't have gotten so unnerved. It's just ... seeing them burst in like that with their guns pointed at us." She winced. "I've never been around guns. My family doesn't have a country estate. No one in my family hunts. I avoid violent movies."
"I don't like guns either," Neal said. "I don't carry one."
"But you're the exception at the Bureau, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, I am."
"In the U.K., our police constables don't carry firearms. I've made jokes about you being a secret agent, but I never thought your work was that dangerous. You told me about cases involving copyright infringements, mortgage frauds, and forgeries. I suppose I was being naive, but they didn't sound life-threatening."
"They're not usually," Neal hastened to reassure her.
Her face achingly serious, she said, "The threat must have been horrific for Peter to act the way he did. Why are you being targeted? Who would do such a thing?"
"A madman," Neal said, bitterness seeping into his voice. What could he possibly say that would reassure her? "It's like a malicious hack attack. The guy who did this is more bluster than anything else."
Fiona's eyes were wide with concern. "I assume you're taking precautions. Do you need a bodyguard?"
"We're being careful," he assured her. They continued to talk for several minutes but he didn't know if he'd succeeded in reassuring her. He was convinced their lives weren't in danger because Azathoth was deriving too much pleasure in tormenting them, but he couldn't go into the details with her.
After she left, Neal explained the situation to June and then returned to the loft. His thoughts spun in circles. Was there some other message in the card Azathoth sent? The title on the card was Lord of R'lyeh and it depicted Cthulhu, a tentacle-faced god created by Lovecraft. There was plenty of information about R'lyeh on the Internet. It was a sunken city in the South Pacific where Cthulhu was imprisoned. Neal had been stocking up on winter gear for Lynx Mountain. Should he get out his swim trunks instead?
After wasting time on fruitless research with his speculations growing steadily crazier, Neal headed for his studio at Columbia to paint. The band session wasn't scheduled to start for a few hours, and painting was the best way he knew to calm his mind.
An hour into painting, his cell phone rang. Neal whipped out his phone, paintbrush still in hand. He breathed easier when he saw Travis's name displayed.
"Richard and I are leaving now for Columbia. Can we give you a lift?"
"Thanks, but I'm already at my studio."
"You should know that Richard was here when Peter called. He knows what happened. He suggested an emergency meeting is called for, and I agree."
"Why? Did you find out something at the Bureau?"
"No, but it's time to bring the musketeers into the loop. Richard already spoke with Aidan. We can meet at his studio at Prentis and go to the band session afterward. We'll pick you up at your studio in thirty minutes."
"That's not necessary. I'll meet you there."
"Hey, it's cold outside and Prentis is a long walk away." Travis was an immovable force and there was no reason to reject the offer. Neal understood where Richard and Travis were coming from. If he'd heard about this happening to one of them, he would have acted the same way. But the last thing he wanted was for Richard and Aidan to get involved with Azathoth. He wasn't worried about himself, but they didn't have any experience in dealing with criminals.
#
By the time everyone had gathered in Aidan's studio, Neal had resigned himself to giving a brief account of the museum malware, his and Peter's abduction, the origami at the Museum of Natural History, the flash drive data, and the current hoax. He left out any mention of Klaus and the undercover role Neal had played. More than anything else, his friends focused on the abduction.
"So those bruises you had on your throat at Halloween were from Azathoth?" Richard asked.
Neal nodded. "He'd constructed a house of horror. It had many similarities to a survival video game."
"I'd like to see the paintings you made of the experience," Aidan said.
Neal wasn't sure how he felt about that. It had been painful enough reliving the moments with El and Mozzie. On the other hand, his friends might be more objective about it.
Travis passed around copies he'd made of Azathoth's symbol and the card Peter had received. Neal was relieved to see Travis had only copied the side of the card that showed Cthulhu. "This is the glowing branch Neal mentioned. Azathoth uses it on his malware and also as a signature. Aidan, you work with cybersecurity threats all the time. Have you ever seen anything like this?"
"Not offhand, but I'll check around at work." He folded up his copy and placed it in his shirt pocket.
Richard gave a wry smile when he saw the symbol. "When I was a kid, I was into Lovecraft big time. Do you remember Alone in the Dark?"
"The name sounds familiar," Neal said. "Was it a board game?"
"Video game," he corrected. "I can still remember the excitement I felt when I got it for my twelfth birthday. It featured a haunted house in Louisiana, combining elements of Edgar Allen Poe and Lovecraft. Man, I wanted to explore the real thing." He chuckled. "I used to prowl through the Garden District in New Orleans, looking for the house. I finally found a mansion that I was sure was the inspiration."
"We should hook you up with Jones and Diana," Travis said. "They're our gamers in White Collar and have researched practically every Lovecraft game ever made. They looked into Alone in the Dark to see if any of the scenes in Azathoth's house were taken from it. They weren't, but he may have gotten his initial inspiration from it." Travis proceeded to explain the various approaches Diana and Jones had taken.
"Is anyone working on the software angle?" Aidan asked. "It seems to me that would be the most effective solution."
"You mean, write antivirus software to fight the malware?" Travis asked.
Aidan nodded. "Or something much more powerful. Take that malware and make it serve your own purposes. It could be your best weapon ever and possibly could lead you back to the source."
"Hack the hacker?" Travis's eyes lit up at the thought, and Neal was charged as well. If they could turn Azathoth's malware against him and launch a sneak attack, victory could be theirs.
#
Monday morning Peter arrived early at White Collar. He planned to take advantage of the absence of distractions to reassess.
Originally the team had intended to spend the day finalizing plans for Operation Avalanche. El was coming in for lunch. She wanted to take him shopping for his ski instructor wardrobe. Peter had hoped to spend the afternoon with instructional videos for beginning skiers as preparation for the lessons he'd give Lily. Neal would be bouncing ideas around like they were rubber band balls.
Now they had Azathoth to contend with.
Pulling out a pad of paper, Peter jotted down his notes for the upcoming briefing with Hughes. He'd alerted him yesterday on the incident and had requested a meeting at eight. Afterward, he'd address the issue at the team meeting. Their efforts to combat Azathoth up to now had been woefully inadequate. As Peter went through the options, he knew he needed another person at the meeting. He glanced at his watch. Tricia was probably still on the subway and could talk.
#
When Neal arrived at work, he looked for Peter in hopes of speaking with him before the briefing. He started upstairs but then saw him in Hughes's office. They were probably reviewing the incident.
Neal returned to the bullpen and sat down at his desk to wait. Several bulletins had come in over the weekend. ICOM, the International Council of Museums, had sponsored a symposium in Brussels about the increase of art crimes throughout the world. The attendees included representatives from Interpol and the FBI. Art crimes were now recognized as the third-largest source of criminal income with only drugs and the illegal weapons trade ranked higher. He could have told them that years ago.
With only a handful of agents investigating art crimes and little to no coordination between the museums, there was a growing sense of panic in the art world. Art authentication was becoming more valued as the sums of money paid for artworks skyrocketed. Provenance was the new buzzword. Neal sat back, tapping his pen on the surface of the desk. He'd save this bulletin in his growing folder, code name NYAC. It stood for the New York regional office for Art Crimes, an entity that so far existed only in his imagination. The FBI had seen the wisdom of regional Behavioral Analysis Units. They should do the same with Art Crimes.
He heard a door open upstairs. Peter stood on the balcony and was already giving him the double finger point. He looked nearly as grim as yesterday.
When Neal entered Peter's office, he asked, "How's El?"
Peter shrugged. "She's okay. After all, she's not a novice. She told me when she saw the paintings you'd made of our experiences she knew Azathoth wouldn't leave us alone. I feel like he's out there laughing at us right now," he added bitterly.
"Words can't express how sorry I am that—"
"I understand why you didn't have your cell with you," Peter interrupted. "How's Fiona? We gave her quite a scare."
"She was pretty shaken up," Neal admitted. "I dislike guns, but I don't fear them. For Fiona it's different. Her life's always been safe and secure. I don't know that she's ever felt that she was in danger ... until yesterday."
"I was afraid of that," Peter said with a groan. "I regret like hell that I was the cause."
"You weren't. Azathoth was. That hoax wasn't just on you, El, and me but also on her and June. I explained the nature of the threat to June so she can be better prepared if he tries something again."
"Anything I can do to help with Fiona? I could explain or El could. She'd be a lot better at it than me."
Neal didn't answer Peter. Instinctively he wanted to shield Fiona from his life at the Bureau, not have her share it. She shouldn't have to learn how to cope with danger.
Peter interrupted his musings. "I gather you haven't told Fiona much about your work here. It might be easier on you both if you did."
Neal fought to stay sitting when his instinct was to stand up and pace. "But what if it stresses her out too much? Yesterday, I had no choice. But if she hadn't been there, I wouldn't have told her. Why put her through that? After all, you hide things from El, and she's your wife. You didn't share the details about our ordeal in October till I had her and Mozzie over to see the paintings I'd made. And you haven't told her about Azathoth having stalked us in October. I'm not saying that's wrong. You're trying to protect her. But she's your wife. Fiona is just my girlfriend. Is wanting to shield her from ugliness wrong?"
Peter shook his head. "No, but the situation with El is different. It's seldom I hide things from her." He stopped and considered for a moment. "All I'm saying is that you could try to be a little more open. If Fiona only knows about your life as a grad student, that's not a very complete picture."
Neal stood up to leave. "I'll think about it." But he doubted he'd act on it. Disclosing one secret could be a slippery slope that he wasn't prepared for.
Peter walked with him to the door, briefly clasping his shoulder. "Fiona might surprise you. She could be tougher than you think. You'll never know if you have a chance together unless you let her into your world."
Notes: The Allen Ginsberg quote Neal refers to is one of Mozzie's favorites: "Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness." Mozzie's made it his guiding principle. The Secret Archives at the Vatican Library are real. I've been unable to confirm the private repository at the Louvre which Mozzie refers to.
Neal and June's duet, "One for My Baby," was the song Neal and June sang in the season two episode "Countermeasures."