The Mirror

Chapter 9: Cat Burglar

Sunday, February 20, 2005.

Light rain was falling as Neal headed for Columbia University to rendezvous with Mozzie. He took advantage of the university tunnels to eliminate any chance of Keller tailing him.

When Neal emerged on West 118th Street, Mozzie was waiting for him in a battered Jeep he'd appropriated from a friend. Mozzie pointed out the mud splatters on the SUV with the pride of a Boy Scout showing off his merit badges. He'd deliberately driven through marshes the previous day to acquire the coating—supposedly an identifying mark of a birder's vehicle. Neal found it hard to be enthusiastic about driving around in a car he wouldn't normally be caught dead in, but Mozzie's two-day surveillance had also resulted in the confirmation they needed. The Huber estate on Long Island was currently vacant with only one guard posted at the entrance gate.

Mozzie took advantage of the drive to Brooklyn to complain to Neal yet again about Peter's participation in the heist. "Will he be able to look like a birder? He's had no training. I can't teach him all the subtleties of Snow Bunting identification while making my own observations."

"You don't have to worry. Peter assured me that Tricia would coach him." Mozzie was upset at having a suit participate in a heist, and nothing Neal could say would mollify him. It would be a long and painful drive to the Hamptons.

Late in the day on Friday, Jones had received reluctant approval for a delayed search warrant, but Hughes had warned Peter of the shakiness of their legal justification. They had permission to copy Huber's hard drive but any evidence would most likely not be allowed in a court case. If the concern over a possible FBI mole weren't so high, Hughes never would have agreed.

When they arrived at Peter's house, Neal got out to help Peter stow his gear among the heaps of maps, bird guides, binoculars, lap rugs, coolers, and other items Mozzie had stuffed into the cargo area. The lead birder sulked behind the wheel and now Neal had a second unhappy participant to placate.

"You're not letting Mozzie drive, are you?" Peter eyed the SUV dubiously. "Where'd he steal this? The junkyard? Does Mozzie even have a license?"

"Quiet, Suit," Mozzie yelled from the front seat. "I'm the head ornithologist. You're just my assistant. Neal, sit in the back with him. Keep him occupied and don't let him do any backseat driving."

"Where did you acquire all this stuff?" Peter demanded, surveying the contents in the back.

"I have my sources," Mozzie replied smugly. "Proper preparation is key for any successful job." He was dressed in a turtleneck, flannel shirt, sweater, and heavy khaki pants. The clothes made him almost as round as a turtle. In the cargo space, Mozzie had stowed dingy parkas for the three of them. "Janet provided vital assistance," he added. "She prevailed on several birder friends to loan us some of their equipment."

The Hamptons were about a three-hour drive from Peter's house. Neal had not slept well the night before. He'd kept up the charade with Raquel, having drinks with her in the lounge at her hotel and then going out to dinner. When he returned home, he called Fiona. She wasn't as upset as he'd feared. She accepted his apology and told him Sara had helped her laugh about it. But was she just saying that? Had Keller seen her? She threw him for a loop when she asked him if he planned to make any trips on a submarine. Where did that come from? He looked out the side window and didn't attempt to follow Peter and Mozzie's bickering. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and dreary.

Peter nudged him. "You okay? You're not normally this quiet."

"He's been like that ever since I picked him up," Mozzie said. "That dark cloud over his head is worse than what's outside. Do something with him."