White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 11

Adler makes a call

"A sunken u-boat? What could be better than this?" Mozzie was all over the place with excitement. He sat with his homemade fractal antenna by Neal's kitchen table. Neal had been surprised that Peter asked if his 'short friend' could help them. This was an official FBI case. Neal hoped it was because Peter saw the talent in his friend.

"What do you think's in it?" Peter asked. Wrong person to ask, Neal thought and gestured to Peter to stop. Too late.

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it? Plutonium would be an educated guess. You know they had the bomb years before we did."

"Guess I missed that chapter in world history."

"Yeah, of course you did. It could also contain Hitler clones."

Peter stared at Moz and then at Neal.

"Is he serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes." That was one of the annoying things; a brilliant mind did not mean that you did not believe in odd things. "Mozzie, the antenna?"

"Hold on. It's got to warm up. Another possibility—"

"Let it be a surprise," Peter said, raising his hand. Mozzie's shoulders slumped, and he put on his headset.

"The Chrysler Building," Peter said, changing the subject to what was on his easel. "That's new."

"Almost finished." It was, for once, something that he had painted almost out of his own head. He had been inspired by the fun of painting an Art Deco building in Art Deco style. Others had done it, too, but this time he did not make a replica.

"Painting it for your girlfriend?"

Neal stared at Peter and his smug smile.

"Are you nine?" he asked in return. Peter shrugged. "I'm keeping up my technique. It calms the nerves."

"You must paint a lot, then."

"I've filled a whole storage room." What he did not spend on food from his meager salary from the FBI, he spent on paint and canvases. But he did not want his own painting on the walls. Besides, there were not enough walls.

"Ah!" Mozzie called out when there was a sound from the radio. Then it died. "No."

They sighed and leaned back in their chairs.

"How close do we have to be for this thing to work?" Peter asked.

"Oh, the S.O.S. signal on the u-boat was designed to go into a passive mode, which means we'd have to be right on top of it in order to detect it," Mozzie said, taking his headset off.

"I don't relish hauling you and that thing up and down the eastern seaboard," Peter said. "If Alex knows as much as we think she does about this thing, could she help us narrow down our search area?"

"It's worth a shot. I haven't gotten through on her number, but I'll try again." Neal rose from the table and dialed again. He listened to the signals going through. That she would answer was a long shot. Even if she had said she would.

There was a click at the other end.

"Alex?"

"Hello, Neal." Not Alex. He turned to Peter.

"Adler." Peter was on his feet.

"After all this time, you recognized my voice," Adler said. "I'm flattered."

"Where's Alex?"

"The lady doesn't want to be disturbed."

"I know about the u-boat."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't. Call off your dog. Let it go."

So Adler wanted him for something. Neal glanced at Peter. He would not go behind his back again.

"I can't do that."

"After all you've lost. First Kate, now Alex. Why keep doing this to yourself?"

"I'm not gonna stop, Vincent."

"Neither am I."

And the call ended.

"A sunken u-boat? What could be better than this?" Neal's short friend giggled.

"What do you think's in it?" Peter asked. Maybe a guy from another planet like Mozzie had some valuable insights. Neal gestured for him not to go down that track.

"Ah, that is the question, isn't it?" Mozzie said. "Plutonium would be an educated guess. You know they had the bomb years before we did."

"Guess I missed that chapter in world history." Peter sighed. Another planet, for sure.

"Yeah, of course you did. It could also contain Hitler clones."

"Is he serious?" Peter asked Neal. It was not possible that someone with such a smart brain could be so stupid. It was not logical.

"Unfortunately, yes. Mozzie, the antenna?"

"Hold on. It's got to warm up. Another possibility—"

"Let it be a surprise," Peter stopped, and Mozzie swallowed, probably unwillingly, his next idea. Peter's eyes fell on a painting on Neal's easel. He made an effort to keep an eye on what his art forger painted. Not that he thought that Neal would be sloppy enough to leave anything vital out in the open, but because Neal should know that he was watched.

"The Chrysler Building. That's new." It had colors all over the place. He referred Neal's Monet. Which artist had painted this originally? He was not familiar with the modern ones.

"Almost finished."

"Painting it for your girlfriend?" Peter pried.

"Are you nine?" Neal returned. Peter moved uncomfortably. If he had Neal's talent, he would paint for El. What was so juvenile in that? "I'm keeping up my technique. It calms the nerves."

"You must paint a lot, then," Peter muttered.

"I've filled a whole storage room." The kid sat down beside him.

"Ah!" There was a sound from the radio. At least, that was what Peter thought it was. "No."

"How close do we have to be for this thing to work?" Peter asked.

"Oh, the S.O.S. signal on the u-boat was designed to go into a passive mode, which means we'd have to be right on top of it in order to detect it," Mozzie said.

"I don't relish hauling you and that thing up and down the eastern seaboard," Peter said. That would be to obvious for anyone watching for the same thing. "If Alex knows as much as we think she does about this thing, could she help us narrow down our search area?" he asked Neal.

"It's worth a shot. I haven't gotten through on her number, but I'll try again."

The kid rose with his phone and paced the room.

"Alex?"

Peter's attention turned towards the call.

"Adler." Peter was on his feet and met the kid's eyes. They looked haunted. "Where's Alex?"

Peter could not hear what was said at the other end, only that someone was talking.

"I know about the u-boat."

Neal watched Peter when the voice at the other end silenced like he was making up his mind.

"I can't do that."

Was that about not leaving him behind? Peter asked himself. It was probably just wishful thinking.

"I'm not gonna stop, Vincent."

The kid's arm dropped. He was pale as a ghost.

"He has Alex." He took a deep breath. "We're doing this your way, Peter. Your way. I promise."

Peter smiled.

"I'm glad to hear it."