The coffee Neal drank in the morning wasn't enough to quell the exhaustion that set in as soon as Mozzie left. He stretched out on the couch, intending to take a short nap. When the ringing of his cell phone roused him from sleep, he was dismayed to see it was already late afternoon.
He reached for the phone, hoping it wasn't Mozzie with breaking news from the "Save Our Marsh" battleground. Thankfully, Richard's name was on the phone display. He was a fellow grad student at Columbia.
"Travis and I are leaving for the meeting. You're on the way. Would you like a ride?"
"What meeting?" Neal asked before the significance dawned on him and he sank back into the cushions. Crap.
Richard snorted his disbelief. "Surely you didn't forget. Renaissance festival ring a bell?"
"You just saved my hide. It completely slipped my mind." Angela was helping coordinate the music, dance, and science exhibits. She'd given him his marching orders earlier in the week.
"You were painting?"
Richard's studio was next to his. He knew how Neal tuned out the rest of the world when absorbed in a project. Could he blame his forgetfulness on the Marquesa? At least this time when he woke up, he wasn't working on her portrait.
"Relax. You have plenty of time," Richard added, thankfully not waiting for his reply.
Neal could hear Travis in the background, saying it'd take them thirty minutes to reach June's place from their apartment in the Village.
Angela was already upset at Henry for being away on a business trip. She accused him of deliberately planning to be gone during her hour of need. Her assertion was plainly ridiculous. Henry was the biggest ham of all the cousins. He would have loved participating in the LARP. The opposing leaders were each named Henry. He would have wanted to play both parts.
This was Columbia University's first year to hold a Renaissance festival. The history, English, art, science, and music departments had all planned events. For over twenty years, a one-day medieval festival had been held on a Saturday in late September in Fort Tryon Park, just south of Mozzie and Janet's beloved Inwood Hill Park. The location was ideal since the Cloisters dominated the hillside setting. Columbia had persuaded the festival organizers to leave their props in place for an extra day. The food and market vendors were happy to have the additional sales.
The LARP component was particularly popular with students. The much-anticipated battle was scheduled to be the opening event so that afterward everyone could relax and enjoy the rest of the festival.
From Neal's perspective, one of the best parts was that Sara would be there. Angela had roped in all the participants in her martial arts class to help out. Janet, who was a costume designer, was designated the official costume consultant. The other women—Sara, Keiko, Diana, and Maggie—would be performing Renaissance dances along with members of the dance department. Neal and Sara were already plotting ways to sneak away from the others to meet.
They'd initially agreed to date in secret to avoid the well-meaning but misguided matchmaking attempts of certain friends who were a little too nosy about their private lives. They dubbed their strategy the Clueless con and had given themselves the aliases of Matthew and Alicia which they could use as code words for themselves. Peter and Henry knew Neal dated a woman named Alicia, but they didn't realize she was Sara.
Was it overly complicated? Of course. But that made it even more intriguing. He and Sara both wore disguises when they went out. So far no one knew the truth, and they were determined to keep it that way.
Hiding their relationship became even more essential when a fellow student at Columbia was discovered to be an agent for the international criminal organization Ydrus. Bianka had a studio close to Neal's in Watson Hall. She'd been making a play for him, and now he was supposed to con her that he was falling in love with her. Clueless con or not, his dates with Sara would have to be concealed until the op against Ydrus was concluded.
* * * * *
By the time Neal, Richard, and Travis arrived at the designated room in the basement of the student center, Angela was already passing out instructions. The space was sorted into sections with signs proclaiming the various specialties. Neal saw Sara talking to Keiko and the other dancers.
Aidan was in the science section and waved them over.
"Has Angela given you your assignment?" Neal asked.
"I'm trying to keep a low profile," Aidan muttered, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. He was safe for the moment as Angela had gone over to speak with the dancers. "I'll participate in the battle and that's it. What are your assignments?"
"Neal and I will be wandering minstrels," Richard said. "Strumming a guitar sounded like the least amount of work."
"I wish I could join you," Aidan said wistfully. "But I can't stroll around a Renaissance festival with a synthesizer strapped to my neck."
"You can hang out with me," Travis offered. "The physics and astronomy departments are collaborating on the science tent. We'll have exhibits on Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Da Vinci."
"Will you include any armillary spheres?" a familiar alto voice asked. Neal turned around to see Diana and Christie approaching them. Renaissance astronomy was featured in the stories Diana was writing. Travis, as her technical advisor, had given himself a crash course on the subject.
"Of course," Travis assured her. "The astronomy department has a collection of antique instruments. We'll bring along a couple of examples and display photos of the others."
"Angela signed me up to dance," Diana said, "but I'm going to switch. After the battle, some of the larpers will hold demonstrations of Renaissance fighting techniques. We'll have a variety of weapons including crossbows, staffs, war hammers, and swords."
"You're speaking my language," Aidan declared, his face lighting up. "I'll help with the swords." He and Diana took off shortly afterward to join the larpers in another room. Richard and Travis drifted off to speak with Angela.
"Do you have an assignment?" Neal asked Christie.
"Travis suggested I help out in the Renaissance medical tent. The pre-med students are preparing graphics on surgery during the period. It may be one of the most popular exhibits." Christie paused to chuckle. "The kids will think we're staging an early Halloween horror show." She added in a lower tone, "Any additional symptoms I should be aware of?"
Neal shook his head. In the din of excited chatter, no one was paying attention to their conversation. "No new ones, but the old ones are becoming more intense." He described his night of painting with the Marquesa.
She winced sympathetically. "I can see my recommendation for you to get more rest will be even more of a challenge. I don't advise sleep meds, given your other symptoms. The side effects could cause issues."
"No drugs," Neal agreed firmly. "I don't want to risk it."
"Have you spoken with Peter about the test results?"
"Not yet. I didn't want to put a damper on his weekend. Tomorrow will be soon enough."
"I understand, but he needs to be told."
That was the downside of having Diana's partner as his doctor. If he didn't comply, Diana would be on his case too, and he already had enough misery in his life.
"I met Chloe last week when Diana dragged me to her kung fu practice," Christie said. "I don't usually get up that early on a Saturday morning unless I'm on call. Chloe and I talked afterward about your case."
"I can imagine what you think about me relying on an herbal potion for a cure."
"Then I might surprise you. Did you know Chloe's Wicca coven has their station next to the medical tent?" When Neal started to laugh, she added, "Please don't start with the witch doctor jokes! I'm sure I'll hear plenty next weekend. But the idea is accurate. In the Early Renaissance, many witches were revered like we value homeopaths. There was a distinction between good witches— the wise women they were called—who used plants for healing and witches who employed witchcraft to harm others. It was only during the reign of Elizabeth that witches began to be persecuted."
"When did you become so knowledgeable about witches?" he asked, surprised.
"It was your case," she admitted. "I admit that when you first told me about your experience in the witch house in Connecticut, I was concerned you were losing your hold on reality. But Peter confirmed what you'd seen. Chloe's been quite an education about witches. She also assured me there won't be any malicious ones at the Wicca tent."
"That's a comfort." Should he now call Chloe a good witch? Would Dean clobber him if he did?
The preparations continued into the evening with only a quick break to fetch sandwiches from the eatery on the ground floor. It was past eight o'clock before Angela declared herself satisfied.
Richard and Travis were still meeting with the larpers when Neal was ready to leave. It was a beautiful night with mild temperatures—perfect for a walk. All he needed was the right companion.
"Going my way?" he asked Sara, already knowing the answer. Sara was subletting a friend's apartment on West 111th, only a few blocks north of June's mansion.
"Do we dare risk it?" she murmured in an undertone.
He scanned the surroundings. "No sign of Bianka. Henry's not in town. Let's scram."
"If we duck through Barnard College to Riverside Drive, Alicia and Matthew should be free from peeping Toms."
They were simply two friends walking home together till they reached Riverside Park. The moon was bright in the sky, providing ideal conditions for a romantic stroll.
"I wish you weren't taking Bianka to the festival," Sara said as he slipped an arm around her waist.
"I do too. I wouldn't have invited her, but she asked me."
Neal had taken Bianka out the previous evening. They'd gone to a romantic French restaurant. Afterward, she'd invited him to her apartment. Whenever he went on a date with Bianka he wore an FBI-issue watch. One of the buttons on the side sent a direct signal to the techs in the lab, who then relayed it to whoever his designated save was. This time it was Jones who called, supposedly needing Neal for a surveillance assignment.
Bianka was growing more amorous each day. Neal's challenge to act infatuated without crossing the Rubicon was becoming increasingly difficult. Luckily for him, Bianka had been afflicted by one illness after another. She was Hungarian. Perhaps she had no resistance to New York bugs. And not just bugs. A couple of weeks ago, she'd been the victim of a mugging that landed her in the hospital.
For a criminal agent who was supposed to be seducing him, Bianka was having miserable luck and he was grateful. He also found it hard not to feel sorry for her. She claimed to be twenty-three but she seemed younger. Neal wondered if he was her first mark. He hoped she decided her illnesses were an omen to choose another career path.
He and Sara stopped to sit on a bench and gaze over the river. He should tell her about the test results—the reason why he wouldn't go into battle with the larpers—but there'd be plenty of time later.
Aar-ooooooooooh!
Sara pulled back. "What was that? A wolf?"
"In New York City?" Neal shook his head. "I've only heard wolves howl in the movies, but this didn't sound like one. It was more ... strident."
"It's not a coyote. I'm familiar with their yips and yowls. What else could it be?"
They listened intently for several minutes. The howl had been faint. Impossible to tell which direction it came from.
They weren't the only ones who heard it. Others in the park were also commenting on the strange noise.
Neal and Sara resumed their walk. Lingering in the park no longer seemed like a good idea. When they crossed Riverside Drive to head towards Sara's apartment, once more they heard a distant cry.
Aar-ooooooooooh!
* * * * *
Neal liked to hit the breakroom early on Monday mornings. His objective wasn't the muddy swill the ancient coffee maker brewed, but something much more refined—the gossip from the previous weekend. Today did not disappoint.
Jones and Travis were discussing Sunday's festival rehearsal when he arrived.
"You like playing strategy games," Travis pointed out, bravely filling his mug with the turbid brew. "You're a natural for larping."
Jones didn't appear convinced as he ripped open a bag of sweetener. "Not at the crack of dawn I'm not. All my gaming's late at night. Next Saturday Helen and I are going to a play next Saturday. Come Sunday, I'll want to sleep in."
"Bring her along. She'll love it. All women love to wear costumes," Travis asserted confidently then turned to Neal. "Don't they?"
"I haven't met any who don't." Travis might not be a font of knowledge on women but on this occasion, he was onto something. Last autumn, when team members ran a sting at a gaming convention, Tricia and Diana had been among the most enthusiastic participants. Tricia was no longer at White Collar since she'd moved to the Behavior Analysis Unit, but the last time Neal visited her office, he noticed she'd framed the photo of herself as Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and had it proudly displayed in her bookcase. A real shame Peter hadn't done the same with his Julius Caesar photo.
Neal estimated the odds of Travis being able to convince Jones weren't in his favor, but Travis showed admirable persistence. When he switched tactics and mentioned how impressed Helen would be to see her boyfriend outfitted as a warrior, Neal sensed a wavering in Jones's stance.
At that key moment, Diana passed by and beckoned Neal over with a gesture. "How are we wasting time today?" she asked.
When Neal explained, she promptly joined in.
"You should come," she declared. "I'll be there. It's up to us to knock some Bureau discipline into those college kids. Janet's arranged for a bargain package rate with a costume supplier. Consider it a Bureau recruitment effort." She launched into a vivid and undoubtedly highly exaggerated description of the upcoming battle.
"Okay, sign me up," Jones finally agreed, realizing further resistance was futile. "How about Peter? Have you convinced him as well?"
Travis grimaced. "I've been working on him, but he's a hard sell. Most of the kids at the workshop plan to attend the festival with their parents. They've been asking whose side he'll be on during the battle reenactment. I detected a slight chink in his armor, but it may not be enough."
Peter, along with Travis and Mozzie, volunteered at a series of telescope classes that the university offered for children. Peter shouldn't be so hard-headed, but there was an obvious reason why.
"He'll be there," Diana predicted. "Last Tuesday after the Arkham Round Table session, I talked with Elizabeth about the festival. She mentioned wanting to attend. A couple of well-placed words and the boss's defenses will crumble."
"Careful," Neal said, lowering his voice. "Your mark's heading this way."
"Is the morning briefing being conducted in the breakroom?" Peter asked, his hands on his hips. "What news bulletin did I miss out on?"
"Identification fraud," Diana said brazenly. "Jones and I were previewing our comments. Criminal chicanery, fraud, deception—we're on it, day and night."
"I've been urging them to plan an undercover op," Neal added, stoking the fire. "Masking their identities to explore the realm of the criminal."
Peter flicked them a wary glance, but let it pass. Neal was glad to see Travis didn't bring up the festival. With El on board, there was no need. Peter might not realize it, but he was already signed up.
Meanwhile Diana was true to her word. When the team met in the upstairs conference room, she and Jones spent most of the briefing discussing the upswing in identity fraud cases in the metropolitan area.
"We suspect a coordinated operation," Jones said. "Perhaps a hacker cell set up somewhere in the city."
"Have you discussed it with Aidan?" Peter asked. When Aidan wasn't larping, leading their fencing team, or working on his master's in visual arts, he was a programmer for a small cybersecurity firm. He'd already consulted with White Collar on a number of cases and was their go-to contact when they needed cybersecurity expertise.
"I suggested Jones come to Columbia with me on Tuesday after work," Travis said. "Aidan's office is close to the campus. We can meet with him before the SETI meeting starts."
"I plan to go along, Boss," Diana added. "The LARP committee is holding a planning session that evening. Did you hear that Jones will be larping? New recruits are welcome at any time."
Peter cast them a suspicious look, including Neal in his hawk-eyed scrutiny. For once, Neal's innocent rejoinder was completely justified.
* * * * *
Once the briefing was concluded, Neal followed Peter to his office. He'd postponed the news long enough.
"If you're coming to recruit me for the festival," Peter said, closing his office door behind them, "you're outta luck. I will not wear some silly costume."
"I had nothing to do with their comments," Neal protested. "You've made your irrational beliefs crystal-clear."
"A likely story. Your fingerprints are all over this. Still, the thought of charging into battle with you does have a certain appeal. Which side will you be on?"
"I'm with the royalists, but"—he hesitated for only a second—"I won't be fighting. Doctor's orders. After beating a drum with the other minstrels to send the troops off to battle, I'll watch from the sidelines."
Damn. Peter's expression immediately turned somber. This was what Neal dreaded. That look of sympathy. Knowing he'd be doing the same if the roles were reversed didn't help.
"You heard back from Christie?"
"Yeah. There's a problem with some of my white blood cells. My eosinophils are much higher than they should be, indicating something's not right. Like maybe a goddess in my dreams." Neal explained the episode with the Marquesa on Saturday night.
Peter's frown deepened to encompass his entire face. "What does Christie say?"
"If I weren't displaying curse symptoms, she'd call it hypereosinophilic syndrome."
He grimaced. "That's a mouthful. You better write it down for me. Is it as bad as it sounds?"
"Just about," Neal admitted, picking up a pen from Peter's desk and jotting down the term on a notepad. "Christie checked the medical records of the Connecticut artist Scott Pembroke. He had the same anomaly although it's unclear if it was the cause of death."
"Is the condition treatable?"
"Sometimes," Neal said, determined not to show any cracks in his demeanor. "In Scott's case, the doctors tried the various recommended drug therapies and none of them worked."
Peter took a slow breath. "What are the symptoms of the syndrome? Include the worst-case scenario."
"Weight loss, fatigue, fever, confusion, and coma are all possible. The condition can lead to major organ failure. Christie said Scott's heart was compromised. I'm only beginning to show symptoms. There's still plenty of time. Between Chloe, Peony, and Christie, I'm confident they'll find something."
"Right." Peter fell quiet. He wasn't the type to pace, but he stood up to stare out the window. Neal knew he wasn't focusing on the nearby skyscrapers. He looked the way Neal felt when Christie gave him the news.
"I spoke with Sam," Neal added. "He and Dean are coming to town."
"How's Sam?"
"He's not getting up in the middle of the night to paint—in fact, he doesn't remember anything about his dreams—but he wakes up exhausted. Christie's offered to examine him. On the good news front—"
"Man, we could use some of that," Peter said, forcing a smile.
"And I have it in spades," Neal confirmed, trying to keep the conversation upbeat. "The book Chloe was looking for arrived. You should have been present at the festival rehearsal last night. Hearing her chat with Christie about potions and the efficacy of botanical extracts makes a cure sound within her grasp."
"Chloe and Christie, the double threat." His smile was more genuine. "Your cases may lead to a new branch of medicine. What other restrictions has Christie placed on you?"
"Not any, really. I can still fence and run. She's leaving it up to me. If I have the energy, I can continue my normal activities." He didn't think it was necessary to mention Christie had limited the amount of fencing he could do.
Peter returned to his desk and sat down. "You should postpone dating Bianka. It's too risky."
"It will be a greater risk if we stop," Neal objected. "I'm not an invalid, and I'm not at the point of collapse. Christie nixed the combat out of an abundance of caution, but she didn't say anything about flirting. Let me concentrate on my job. It will all work out." Okay, maybe he was being a tad overly optimistic, but Neal needed Peter to be positive.
The plain truth was that his situation was precarious no matter what they decided. Ydrus had several weapons at their disposal. If he stopped seeing Bianka, they might decide to abduct him instead.
Peter studied him for a moment, his lips tightening, then exhaled. "Mononucleosis, that's what you have."
"No, I don't. Christie already tested me."
Peter smiled. "Bianka doesn't know that. I had it in college. I remember all too well how sick I was. That will at least keep you from having to be physical with her. You can show off your con artistry. Act heartbroken at not being able to"—Peter stumbled—"you know."
"Have sex with her?" Neal supplied helpfully.
"Exactly. You haven't, have you?"
"Relax. We haven't done the dirty. Between all the illnesses she's come down with and her recent mugging, I haven't needed to use my emergency rescues very often. Mono's a good idea, though. Bianka's been so sick that it would be natural for me to be solicitous. I had a mild case when I was a teenager. I can fake the symptoms."
"Do it," Peter ordered. He looked relieved at the thought and Neal was happy to go along.
"I'll hold off for now, but keep it in reserve. How's that?"
"Acceptable." Stretching out his arms, Peter pressed the palms of his hands on the desk. "All right. We'll continue the battle against the Mansfelds. Unlike Shrewsbury, this is a battle of wits, and I like our odds. You were supposed to prepare that forgery of the Renoir. I bet you haven't had a chance to start it."
"Not yet," Neal admitted. "Renoir will be a pleasant change after Goya."
"Good. Focus on that. Remember our agreement. This is an FBI-sanctioned project. You're to adjust your hours at the office accordingly. If you paint for two hours in the evening, you'll reduce the amount of time at the office. Understood?"
"Got it."
"You're on the honor system. I trust you to live up to our agreement ... and keep me informed of any updates on your situation. Does Henry know?"
"Not yet. He'll return from Asia in a couple of weeks. There's no need to tell him now."
Peter frowned but didn't argue the point. He couldn't escape the logic of Neal's argument. All Henry could do was worry, and there was already enough of that.