Chapter 16: Toxic

Lynx Mountain Resort. February 6, 2005.

The team met in the staff cafeteria on Sunday morning for a final review over breakfast. The blizzard had slackened off, and Neal hoped they'd experienced their last power outage. Several times during the night the lights went out. For once he was glad they didn't have windows in their room. The howling of the gale force winds was muffled to a low roar in the basement. "Do you have connectivity yet?" he asked Diana. "I still can't get a signal on my cell phone."

"Me neither," she replied.

"The transmission towers were all knocked out by the blizzard," Travis said. "I haven't been able to find out how much damage they suffered, but I suspect it will be Monday at the earliest before coverage resumes."

"The storm was much stronger than predicted," Peter said. "But as long as continue to have power, we should be able to proceed with our plans."

"I'll call on the hotel phone, "Diana offered. "I can tell the guard I happened upon Lily and she requested I call him. That should work just as well."

"Foosball won't be affected," Jones said. "Rocko is meeting me at 2:00 for our game."

"You'll be at the dance clinic at 1:30, right?" Neal asked Travis. "I'll leave at 1:45 and head for Diana's suite to wait for the guards to leave."

Travis nodded resignedly. He appeared to have come to terms with dancing with Mandy, the Orion animal woman. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small USB drive, and handed it to Neal. "Once you plug the drive into Rinaldi's laptop, the program will decrypt his password and proceed to copy his data files. Copying the files should take no longer than fifteen minutes." He pointed to a row of tiny LED lights on the drive. "When all the lights are green, you can safely remove the drive."

"I told Lily that I'd meet her at 2:00," Peter said. "I expect a lot of people will use the spa and Jacuzzi because of the storm. It will take her a while to realize I'm not there. We should be done before she gives up on me."

"Once I've called Lamar, I could go down to the spa and keep her occupied," Diana offered.

"Good. That will give us a safety margin in case we run into any problem with copying the files. Max is meeting El at the ski clinic at 1:00. I talked with the instructor. His lesson will run for two hours with only short breaks so we have ample coverage there." Peter scanned the team. "Once the files are copied, there will be no need to stick around. Jones, you're in charge of logistics. Will we have any problem with the roads?"

"I talked with the resort personnel. They'll begin plowing the main road this morning. They expect that by this afternoon it will be open for vehicles with tire chains. They warned me, though, that the wind is supposed to pick up again in the afternoon, and conditions will still be treacherous."

"El and her friends were originally planning to leave tomorrow," Peter said. "I'm going to try to persuade her to extend her stay to allow more time for the roads to clear."

Bryan McKenzie's townhouse. London.

When Sara awoke on Sunday morning, Bryan was still asleep. She rolled over to look at the clock. Only 8:00—still early. The bed was bathed in pale gray light coming in through the half-open window shutters. She took a moment to study Bryan's face on the pillow. It was rare she saw him look so peaceful. His tousled hair made him appear younger than his years.

The silk sheets rustled softly as she slipped out of bed. The flat felt frigid. Reaching for her lightweight kimono on the chair, she wished she'd brought something warmer. She padded quietly into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker, closing the bedroom door behind her so the sound wouldn't disturb Bryan. He'd only arrived back yesterday afternoon from Tokyo. He'd probably continue to sleep for hours. Once the coffee was ready, Sara poured a cup and took it with her to the living room. Bryan's flat overlooked the Thames but the view this morning was dreary. A light rain was falling. The raindrops formed small rivulets as they trickled down the glass.

She pulled out a cashmere throw from a chest and took it over to the couch along with her coffee. Folding her legs underneath her, she covered her lap with the throw. As she sipped her coffee, her eyes flitted over the room. Large contemporary oil paintings in bold colors were juxtaposed with steel-framed Italian contemporary furniture in white and black. The flat looked like Bryan—modern, masculine, and confident. No wishy-washy pastels for him, he'd told her. Everything was contemporary except for a large mirror in an Empire gold frame over the fireplace mantle. It reminded her of Napoleon. She'd told Bryan that, and he admitted that was one reason he chose it. He liked to think he was a man of destiny like Napoleon.

He certainly seemed to be. He told her that the luxurious flat was indicative of what she could look forward to with Sterling-Bosch. The commissions she'd make from property recoveries would enable her to live a similarly extravagant lifestyle.

Her thoughts wandered back to the previous evening. Bryan had been gone for several days—first to the continent and then to Japan. They had an early supper at one of London's most exclusive French restaurants and then attended a performance by the Royal Ballet. Afterward, over drinks in Piccadilly, it happened—what she'd been dreading for the past month. He proposed.

Sara reached for the Cartier's jewel box. It was still on the end table where she'd left it last night. Bryan had bought the ring when he was in Paris the previous week. The box was open. The diamond sparkled with a flame that Bryan said was a tenth of the flame he had burning in his heart for her.

So why wasn't she on fire too? Instead, her head was pounding from a headache that she hadn't been able to shake even in sleep. She'd hoped the caffeine would help but the coffee was making her queasy.

This is what she'd hoped for, wasn't it? Bryan represented stability and strength. He promised her his commitment was absolute and unwavering. Theirs would be a life of international travel filled with adventure. That was exactly what she'd dreamed of.

Sara let out a slow exhale and looked gloomily into her cup. Maybe tea instead? She headed back into the kitchen. She rinsed the cup in the sink, filled it with water, and placed it in the microwave. What was wrong with her? She was usually so decisive. Now she couldn't even figure out what she wanted to drink.

Bryan appeared hurt when she'd asked for some time to think over his proposal. That wasn't the response he'd expected. But she couldn't deny that over the past month her feelings toward him were becoming ambivalent just as his were heating up. Ever since their New Year's trip to Paris, her emotions had become muddled.

She returned to the couch with her tea and settled under the throw. Many women waited before accepting a proposal. It was obvious that she wasn't ready to make a decision. It wouldn't be fair to Bryan.

The door to the bedroom opened and Bryan strolled out. He smiled at her on the couch. "You're wrapped in a cocoon. You do know I have heat and you're allowed to turn the thermostat up?" He went over to the thermostat and adjusted it. Returning to her, he glanced over at the ring on the end table and sat down next to her. "Put that ring on and my love will keep you warm."

"About that ..." Sara's voice sounded disgustingly weak to her ears. "You promised last night to give me as much time as I needed."

He made an impatient gesture. "I know, but you can't blame a guy for giving a little helpful nudge. This is where you belong, Sara. We're meant for each other."

Sara didn't answer and he went into the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. When he returned, he appeared to understand she didn't want to talk about it. Perhaps it was because she'd closed the lid on the box. Bryan was disconcertingly adept at reading her, and the signals she was sending were clear.

The atmosphere became less tense as they chatted about work. Here Sara was on much more comfortable ground and quickly regained her equilibrium. Last night they'd promised each other to take a day off from work, but both of them were passionate about their jobs.

"How's the Corot case progressing?" he asked. He'd been dismissive of the case when they'd talked earlier, considering it an insignificant mistake. No one had lost any money over the transaction. A slight embarrassment to Sterling-Bosch but easily excused. Given the number of Corot forgeries, an occasional mistake was inevitable.

"Weatherby's has plans to reevaluate their authentication procedures. They've asked for me to be part of the panel and also become their rep with Sterling-Bosch."

Bryan eyed her thoughtfully. "Impressive, but I'm not thrilled about you spending more time in New York. I'd intended to include you in more of my cases." He gave her a quick smile. "But it's a good career move for you. I'll simply have to start accepting more New York cases myself. Your connections with the FBI could prove useful."

Sara nodded. "I have my prior work at Winston-Winslow to thank for that. It was through them that I first met Peter Burke."

"Caffrey's cousin is working again with Winston-Winslow, isn't he?"

"That's right. I heard Henry's on the facial recognition software team."

"From what you told me, before long he may be CEO. Not shabby at all." Bryan got up and walked over to look out the windows, his expression inscrutable. Sara sipped her tea and paid him little heed. Mentioning Win-Win brought back unbidden memories of that July 4th caper when she and Neal had visited Henry's office at Win-Win.

Bryan broke through her reflections when he returned to sit down next to her. "There's something I should mention since you'll be working more frequently in New York. I've known for a while, but I hadn't brought it up because it really wasn't my business." He paused as if to gather his thoughts.

Bryan had an unusually serious expression on his face, and it was surprising to see him hesitate. He was always so confident. This wasn't like him.

"You have the right, obviously, to be friends with whoever you wish. But I don't want to see you get hurt."

"What are you talking about?" Sara asked. "You're making me nervous."

"This may not be a pleasant topic, but for your own sake, you need to know. You'd be well advised to be very circumspect around Neal Caffrey."

"Neal?" she blurted out in astonishment.

"He's not to be trusted." Bryan clasped her hand. "He could destroy your career and ruin your reputation if you're not careful."

She shook off his hand, her confusion turning into anger. "Now you're being ridiculous. Are you jealous of Neal? You've no reason to be. I've already explained we're just friends." She'd worried about Bryan being too controlling. Here was another example of it.

Bryan dismissed her protest with a wave. "I know that. I'm saying this out of concern for you, not because I feel threatened by him." He paused and took a sip of coffee before proceeding. "Has he ever talked to you about his activities before he joined the FBI?"

"Sure," Sara replied automatically.

"Think about it. What specifically did he say?"

Where was Bryan going with his questions? "Neal lived in Europe when he was young. I remember him mentioning his mom. I've met some of his relatives—his cousin and his aunt. What else should I know?"

Bryan exhaled. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. Believe me, this is for your protection or I wouldn't mention it. When I first met Caffrey, his name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. Then, when we were in New York last December, I met with the head of Regnier's Jewelers to review their security measures."

"I remember." Sterling-Bosch provided the insurance for Regnier's. A couple of months ago, a pair of diamond earrings once owned by Marie Antoinette and now the property of the Smithsonian had been stolen in transit to Regnier's for an exhibit. Regnier's wouldn't have been liable, but it was rumored that thieves were eyeing a diamond ring included in the exhibit.

"When I spoke with the owner, he shared troubling details. You know that the earrings were stolen from the FBI vault?"

"Yes, I was with you for the initial discussion. I thought it was shocking, but since they were recovered, I didn't pursue it."

"In a later discussion, I found out that the chief suspect in the case was Caffrey."

"Are you sure about that?"

"There's no question. I dug deeper and through a contact learned he'd been placed on suspension with a tracking monitor to prevent escape. Although he was later cleared, it was obvious the FBI believed him to be capable of committing the crime."

Sara's head reeled. "That appears draconian when they hadn't arrested him. Why would they have gone to such lengths?"

He paused and gave her an odd look. "Don't get mad, but I investigated him."

Sara stared at him, dumbfounded.

He flushed. "I knew Caffrey was trouble, but he's so charming I didn't think you'd believe me unless I had proof. Before he started working with the FBI, Caffrey was suspected of a long list of forgeries, thefts, burglaries, and frauds. He was never charged but is well known to Interpol as well as the FBI. Many of his suspected crimes were in Europe."

Sara was stunned. Could this be the same person she thought she knew?

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but this is the truth," Bryan said. "Caffrey confessed to a list of crimes in order to acquire immunity from prosecution. He probably only confessed to a small fraction of his illegal activities. My source said that Burke was taken in by him. And now that Caffrey's aunt is married to Burke's brother, it's no wonder he's lost his objectivity. Caffrey has the reputation of being an expert con artist. He fooled them all. My suspicion is he's running a long con and gaining inside knowledge of the FBI as preparation for a spectacular heist in the future."

How could she have been so wrong about Neal? Sara thought back to the discussions she'd had with him. She hadn't paid much attention at the time, but it was curious he avoided talking about his life before the FBI. They saw each other often last summer, but she couldn't recall him ever talking about his childhood. They volunteered with teens at a shelter, and it would have been natural to refer to his high school years. Henry and his mother Noelle—even the former CEO of Win-Win and his wife—all apparently cared about him. How could this be reconciled? Was Neal lacking a moral compass? A charming but essentially flawed misfit with no sense of right and wrong?

Bryan broke into her musings. "I suspect Caffrey's taking advantage of his new situation to commit even more brazen acts. He's suspected of having been involved with the theft of a Raphael painting in Washington, D.C. last summer. He needs to be investigated, but Burke is protecting him from prosecution. Eventually it will come out. Burke may be blind to the evidence, but others aren't."

Last summer seemed a lifetime ago. Neal was investigating Henry's disappearance. She'd helped him sneak into Henry's office in Baltimore over the Fourth of July. They'd had a picnic ... He'd teased her about stealing a Raphael painting to pay for Columbia. Had he actually done it? Columbia was terribly expensive. He had a Raphael drawing at his workspace at the FBI ... Would he have been so reckless to display a drawing if he'd stolen the Raphael? Neal was cocky, but he wouldn't have gone that far.

Bryan was talking to her. Sara forced herself to listen.

"I said, the Corot," Bryan repeated patiently. "Does the FBI have any leads on who painted the forgery?"

Sara shook her head. "No, but there may be a connection to someone named Max Rinaldi, a real estate developer. Have you heard of him?"

"Rinaldi ... I don't think so, but I'll look him up in my records."

Bryan continued to talk about work, but she tuned him out. She had no appetite for the breakfast he fixed for them. He wanted to take her shopping, but she begged off, claiming a sick headache which was certainly true. He didn't insist but appeared concerned.

After getting dressed, Sara returned to her tiny flat in Cambridge Heath. The furnished studio had been provided by Sterling-Bosch. It was almost as anonymous as a motel room. She hoped its neutrality would provide solidity to a world that had become quicksand under her feet. During her first months in London, Bryan's flat had been a welcome vision of her future life. In comparison, her flat was dull and depressing. Instead of a view of the Thames, she had a view of a brick building identical to hers. But now, humble as it was, it was a welcome refuge.

Sara made herself another cup of tea. Her headache simply wasn't going away. She changed out of her silk dress and put on a set of flannel pajamas that a friend had given her as a gag gift when she heard she was moving to London. They were turquoise with large pink flowers. She'd thought at the time they looked like old-fashioned chintz. The pants were a little long, but the flannel was soft and warm.

She glanced at her watch. It was still early in New York. Not that there was anyone to call. Unbidden, the image of Neal sitting across from her at the tapas restaurant crept into her head and wouldn't leave. How could the Neal she knew as her friend be the same person Bryan had described? Had it all been a lie? One long con like he said?

And so what if it were? It wasn't like they were that close. Just friends. She should be excited at the possibility of helping to catch the thief who stole the Raphael, not saddened that she might have to investigate a friend.

Sara glanced around the room, her eyes resting on Gracie. The plush giraffe was perched on top of the couch— about the only personal touch she'd added to the furnishings. Gracie had belonged to Emily and was one of the few reminders Sara had of her missing sister. She remembered her sister giving her the giraffe shortly before she left.

Sara brought her tea over to the couch and plopped next to Gracie. She'd never missed her sister more than right now. Emily would know what to do. With a sigh, Sara put Gracie on her lap. "Why don't I simply go ahead and accept Bryan's proposal? He won't abandon me. He tells me the truth even when I don't want to hear it."

"Damn, damn, damn." This wasn't like her. She prided herself on her self-confidence. She knew what she wanted and went after it. And now that she had it in front of her, how could she turn her back to it? But she'd been wrong about Neal. Was she now wrong about Bryan as well?

If Gracie had any advice, she was keeping it to herself.

With a small huff, she headed for the hall closet and pulled out her cello. She'd confided in Neal that playing it made her feel closer to Emily. She was surprised she confided in him—she couldn't remember having mentioned it to anyone else. After all, it was a little embarrassing. But Neal hadn't laughed at her. He seemed to understand. At least that's what she'd thought.

She took the cello out of its case—God, how long had it been since she'd played it? She plucked the strings to test the tuning. As bad as she feared. That at least she could fix. She rummaged in a drawer for her tuner and got to work. Tuning the cello gave her the most satisfaction she'd had all morning.

After Emily ran away, her mom suggested she play "For Emily Whenever I May Find Her" by Simon and Garfunkel. The song was almost unbearably sad, but it had been cathartic. That was the song she played now. She actually got halfway through before she had to stop. She wasn't about to ruin the finish on the cello by crying on it.

Sara retreated to the stiff, uncomfortable couch. Tucking her legs underneath her, she hugged Gracie. She prided herself on not giving in to tears. Yet another delusion that was being swept away.

Ski Barn, Lynx Mountain Resort. Sunday afternoon.

Shortly before one o'clock, El entered the ski barn. It was already packed with skiers, frustrated that they couldn't be on the slopes. The large space was partitioned into several sections of artificial slopes with varying degrees of difficulty and specialized equipment. Most of the individual training stations were already occupied. Clumps of skiers were gathered around their instructors.

"Hi, gorgeous." Max Rinaldi was waiting near the entrance to the ski barn. He walked up to her with a broad smile on his face. El recognized his parka from the ski boutique at the resort. Did he go shopping just for her?

She greeted him enthusiastically. "I hope I don't bore you. As I explained, I'm an absolute beginner. I've never even put on ski boots."

"Stick with me, sweetheart, and you'll be skiing with the pros in no time." Max put an arm around her and guided her to the ski equipment. Good thing Peter wasn't around. El could just imagine his reaction. She smiled winningly at Max, as he helped her pick out rental boots. She'd cast herself as an Audrey Hepburn ingénue with the steel fiber of Angelina Jolie. She hoped this would be the first of many starring roles.

#

Peter performed a mental check and nodded with satisfaction. This was the way a well-planned op was supposed to run. Everyone was in position, and all assignments were running smoothly. They'd adjusted with ease to the lack of cell phones. Soon Neal would copy the hard drive and they'd have the necessary evidence to arrest Max Rinaldi.

Peter had remained outside the spa area until he caught sight of Lily entering the premises. He then ducked out to join Neal in Diana's suite. From there it would be a short walk to the Rinaldi suite. Her door was ajar so they could spot the guard when he left the suite.

Neal told him that Rocko had left five minutes before Peter arrived. At 2:01 p.m. Lamar, clad in a heavy jacket, headed for the elevator. They estimated it would take him at least twenty minutes before he realized Diana's call was bogus and then another ten minutes to return to the suite. Travis had scouted the resort and picked the most remote location he could find that still sounded reasonable for Lily to have her supposed fall.

As soon as they heard Lamar enter the elevator, Neal and Peter moved into position outside the Rinaldi door. Peter nodded to Neal to unlock it. Peter felt like a cat burglar himself, as he watched Neal deftly open the door to the suite. The plan was for Peter to stand just inside the entrance while Neal copied the hard drive. When they entered the suite, Neal went to the bedroom door and unlocked it. Within a minute of entering the suite, he'd started work on copying the files. They'd earlier decided to communicate only with hand signals in case Rinaldi was using bugs.

#

El glanced at her watch: 2:04. The ski lesson had been going on for an hour. Peter and Neal should be in Rinaldi's suite by now. Max had been mounting a full-scale charm offensive. After they picked out their equipment, they'd had time to chat before the instructor showed up. Max entertained her with more stories of his travels. She played up her limited travel experience, gazing in wide-eyed admiration at him as he related his adventures. Then she slipped in her master's touch about loving to dance. That had the desired effect of leading him to ask her about the ballet. She could tell he was on the verge of asking her out to a ballet performance. It made her wish Peter had an interest in ballet.

Max was easy to flirt with. He was a natural storyteller. Not surprisingly, all his stories showed him off to his best advantage.

The instructor had called a short break and they were discussing going for hot chocolate when an employee approached Max. The hotel desk was calling him on the house phone.

When he left to answer it, El pulled out her cell phone. Still no signal. She could see through the barn windows that the snow was continuing to fall. When she'd walked over, there had been only light flakes, but it had now intensified. El turned around to see if Max was still talking on the phone. Where was he? El scanned the crowd of skiers but couldn't find him anywhere. Had he gone to the men's room? The team hadn't gone over this. What was she supposed to do now?

#

Neal had been working for about ten minutes. Peter checked his watch at regular intervals. At least it still told time, but it wasn't good for much else. With cell phone coverage gone, the GPS wasn't working and they couldn't contact team members in an emergency. He consoled himself with the thought they still had recording capability. Peter had been standing guard by the front door where he would be unseen if the door opened. While he waited, he practiced his excuse for Lily. He'd say he'd been called away at the last minute to substitute for a ski instructor in the barn. Hopefully she wasn't getting tired of waiting. What if she came back to the suite to change her clothes?

Neal exited the bedroom and gave him a quick thumbs-up, quieting that unsettling thought. Peter waited till Neal was next to him. With a final quick glance to verify they'd left nothing behind, Peter opened the door to leave, only to find their way blocked by Rinaldi and his guards.

"Back in the suite," Rinaldi ordered.

With three guns trained on them, there weren't any viable options. Peter quickly identified themselves as FBI. "We have orders to search your premises according to—"

"Can it," Rinaldi snarled and barked orders to his guards to tie them up. His face was crimson with rage. The veins in his neck bulged out as if they'd break. The guards searched them thoroughly—shoes, pants, shirts. Peter kept waiting for the USB drive to be found, but there was no sign of it. The guards removed their cell phones, watches, two-way radio, and Peter's gun.

Rinaldi scowled when he checked their IDs. Getting in Peter's face, he said, "I knew there was something suspicious about you." He then strode over to Neal and added, "But you, I wouldn't have believed that you were capable of this. Using my daughter?" Rinaldi jerked Neal by the collar of his corduroy shirt and clenched his hand into a fist.

"Boss, we gotta get them outta here without raising suspicion," Lamar cautioned in a low voice.

Rinaldi nodded and, lowering his fist, spat in Neal's face instead. "He dies first," he instructed Lamar roughly. Neal was breathing heavily but his face was an inscrutable mask. As Rinaldi turned around, he spun back to punch Neal hard in the stomach, making him double over. If Rocko hadn't been holding him, he would have fallen to the ground.

Rinaldi barked several quick instructions. The orders were clear. They were to take Peter and Neal up a service road and dispose of them. "Use one of the resort vans," Rinaldi said. "Lamar, you're always bragging about how you can hotwire anything. Now's your chance to prove it."

"Piece of cake," Lamar said. He left them to go into his bedroom and returned with a slim jim.

As the guards started to take them out, Rinaldi stopped them. "You can't leave like that. Too obvious. I have a couple of extra jackets in my closet. Sling them over their shoulders to hide their hands. Just make sure to return them and don't get any blood on them. And be quick about it. There may be more agents around."

Lamar and Rocko quickly hustled them out of the suite and into the service elevator. They rode it down to the garage. With most roads too treacherous to be driven on, the garage was deserted.

Once in the garage, Lamar and Rocko began arguing. "Why should we have to go out in this blizzard?" Rocko complained. "I say, ice 'em here and be done with it."

"We follow orders," Lamar countered. "There may be cameras in the garage. We'd risk a much greater chance of discovery. Rinaldi would have our heads."

Neal glanced over at Peter, an unspoken question in his eyes. Peter weighed the options. He could tear himself free from Rocko's grasp and hope to scramble out of the way, but he wouldn't get very far. The guns had silencers and they wouldn't hesitate to use them. He shook his head slightly.

Lamar chose one of the resort's utility vans. Rocko kept his gun pointed at them while Lamar forced the side door open. Rocko and Lamar made quick work of shoving them inside and binding their ankles together.

As long as they were trussed up like turkeys going to the market, they weren't going to get very far. Peter had teased Neal about being a Houdini. He'd have to use those skills to have any chance of surviving.