The Mirror

Chapter 8: Lurking Crocodiles

On Friday afternoon Neal worked at his desk in the bullpen rather than in the lab. He wanted to be present when John Hobhouse arrived. Peter and Hughes had gone downstairs to meet him for lunch so this was Neal's first opportunity to see him in person. How closely would he resemble his photo in the Interpol file?

Every time the elevator door dinged, Neal turned his head to look. After several false starts, Hobhouse at last made an appearance. About four inches shorter than Peter, his dark hair was lightly salted with gray and on the long side. Well-tailored suit. Savile Row? He reminded Neal of some museum curators he knew. When Hobhouse entered the bullpen, he was holding a conversation with Hughes and Peter. They didn't stop at his desk but headed straight upstairs. That wasn't a surprise, but if ever there was a time Neal wished he'd planted a bug in the conference room, this was it.

He twirled a pen impatiently as he waited for the call that might not come. He'd already alerted Fiona and Angela about the watches Travis was preparing for them. Once Peter signed off, an FBI courier would deliver them. There was nothing more he could do on that front. He'd cleaned out his email. No need to review his notes on Azathoth. They were already hermetically sealed in his brain.

Initially, he hadn't expected to be so excited about Hobhouse's visit, but he was starting to realize how much he missed going overseas. While he waited, Neal braced himself for Hobhouse not being interested. He'd been accepted so well by the White Collar team, it was easy to forget that in the eyes of many others he was still a con artist, a thief, and a forger. The prevailing wisdom was once a con, always a con. Klaus, Adler, Keller—they all believed that. Several in the FBI felt the same. Kramer probably did too. Peter and the other members of the team were an exception. Could he convince Hobhouse? Would he even have the chance to?

He got out a pad of paper and began sketching to calm his nerves. The Tower of London seemed fitting. Once over drinks at the Carlton Cannes, he and Keller had talked about making off with the Crown Jewels. Keller was going to disguise himself as a Yeoman Warder. Neal smiled as inspiration struck. He'd sketch Keller as a Beefeater at the Tower of London, holding a massive axe. The next scene would show three burly warders slapping irons on him to drag him off to the tower. Neal had just gotten started on the second image when he got a call from Peter to join them. "Your day's coming, Keller," he muttered and slipped the sketches inside his desk.

Before heading upstairs, Neal took a moment to collect himself. Hobhouse had already spent a couple of hours with Peter and Hughes. He'd reviewed Neal's file and probably had already formed an opinion of him. Peter had said to be honest and straightforward. If Hobhouse weren't interested in him, it wasn't that big a deal. He still had White Collar. He still had Columbia. No need for Interpol too. Right.

When Neal entered the conference room, Peter made the introductions. It was just the three of them. Hughes had already returned to his office.

Hobhouse rose to shake his hand. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person. As I explained to Peter, your activities over the past year with both the Leopard and Azathoth have made your case files must-reads for my new role."

They sat at one end of the conference table and proceeded to review the history of Azathoth. Undoubtedly, Hobhouse had already discussed it at length with Peter and Hughes but Neal assumed he was taking advantage of the opportunity to judge Neal's presentation skills. All the practice he'd obtained at Columbia stood him in good stead. Soon the three of them broadened the discussion to international art crimes in general and specifically the increased attention being given by organized crime.

Neal knew that Hobhouse's wife had been an art professor. He was glad to see Hobhouse could also hold his own in a discussion of art. Hobhouse was in no hurry to move the meeting along. When the conversation diverged to contemporary British artists, Peter was left on the sidelines.