The Woman in Blue

Chapter 5: Seismic Rumblings

Federal Building. September 23, 2004. Thursday morning.

Peter eyed uneasily the padded envelope waiting for him on the desk. He had arrived early at work that morning, anxious to review the captioned feed of the dinner at La Dordogne from the previous evening. He should be excited about the possibility of finding out new intel on the upcoming heist, and he was. But coupled with that was a mounting concern that Neal was in over his head.

Peter closed his office door, inserted the DVD into his computer, and began watching the video. For the first hour, much of the conversation was on art—various schools, new techniques, new leaders, the East European art climate. There were some heated discussions over different artists, but the elephant in the room that everyone avoided was the heist. To anyone listening in, they were a group of art connoisseurs. Neal asked Marta and Jacek about video gaming. They entered into a highly technical discussion of gaming graphics that Peter would have to ask Jones about. He doubted they said anything relevant to the heist.

More interesting were the teases about Neal's classes. Mansfeld, Marta, and Jacek all piled on the jabs, acting like a bunch of intellectual snobs. Neal wasn't kidding when he said that Mansfeld had given him grief over his lack of a degree. No wonder it was a sensitive subject.

The exchange at the end of the evening though was what was most troubling. It was obvious from the body language that Mansfeld and to a lesser extent Neal had gotten emotional, but the translation was even more alarming. What Mansfeld called Neal and the references to their history would have to be addressed.

Fortunately, Neal had a class that evening. More than ever Peter needed to talk with him. But it was late in the game to have the conversation that should have occurred before Neal went undercover. Damn it, Neal, why didn't you tell me?

Rousing him from his thoughts was the buzz of his cell phone. When he saw it was an unknown number, he wondered if Neal had managed to leave the townhouse and borrowed a phone.

"Peter Burke."

"What have you done, Suit? Where's Neal?"

"Relax, Haversham. Neal's fine," Peter said, attempting to calm him down.

"How do you know that?" Mozzie retorted. "June's staff said they hadn't seen him in days. Is he being held a prisoner? He has rights, you know!"

Tempting as it was to mock Mozzie's paranoia, Peter didn't have time to play games. "Neal's in the middle of an undercover op, and I repeat, he's fine. He mentioned you were out of the country and might call. He told me to tell you brioche."

"That's all very well, but I'm not in the mood for breakfast. What's really going on? As his lawyer, I demand to speak with him and confirm he hasn't been brainwashed."

Peter slowly counted to ten. "That's not going to happen, and the only brainwashing that's going on will be on you if you don't calm down."

He huffed loudly. "Just tell him to be careful, okay? He tends to forget."

"On that we agree. I'll tell him."

* * * * *

Peter met Neal's advisor that evening in Sherkov's office.

Sherkov greeted him warmly. "So, Peter—or should I say Dr. Burkowski?—I hope you enjoyed my class on Monday."

"It was very ... illuminating," Peter replied, feeling like a schoolboy and hoping against hope he wouldn't be grilled on the subject.

"I'm sure." Sherkov's eyes twinkled as if he could read Peter's mind, but mercifully he didn't pursue the subject. "Neal's seminar this evening is on Egyptian art in the eighteenth dynasty. I talked with the professor, Martine Giron. And we thought you would find it more comfortable to wait in another room."