Mousetrap

Chapter 1: A Slight Complication

Neal's office. Winston-Winslow. Tuesday, July 10, 2007.

"Phoenix contacted me."

Neal stared at his cell phone for a second as the familiar adrenaline rush kicked in. When Klaus Mansfeld called him from a burner phone number, he assumed it was to discuss something Klaus didn't want his French handlers to overhear. The subject could have been a personal matter—something related to Neal and Sara's upcoming trip to Paris, for instance. Instead, he'd hit the jackpot.

"I was beginning to wonder if he thought we were too big a risk," Neal admitted.

"I did as well," Klaus said. "Three members of his investment club have been arrested since you went undercover as Francesco. The prudent course would be to steer clear of us."

They'd known it was a high-stakes gamble for Klaus to proclaim that Neal was the heir to Leonardo, a legendary art forger. Working in tandem with a man known only as Phoenix, Leonardo had replaced some of the world's greatest art paintings with his forgeries while selling the originals as investments for future extortion. The known clients were mainly mobsters.

Five months ago, Neal was told that Phoenix would contact him. But the Austrian who transmitted the information was now sitting in prison. Reason enough for Phoenix to avoid dealing with them. Why the change of heart?

"What painting does he want me to forge?" Neal asked.

"He's giving us a choice," Klaus said. "His client wants a Rembrandt. Do you have any suggestions?"

"A candidate comes to mind. Portrait of a Bearded Man." He'd painted a forgery of the work as an assignment for Klaus. It was his last project before the botched Berlin museum heist that caused him to quit Klaus's crew. The forgery was the finest he'd prepared under Klaus's tutelage. He often wondered what had happened to the painting. Would Klaus tell him?

"You're thinking of a forgery that a brilliant apprentice prepared," Klaus said. Neal could hear the smile in his voice. He also appreciated Klaus's choice of words. Even on burner phones, discretion was advised.

"If you believe the forgery would pass muster, I wouldn't need to paint one," Neal said.

"I think you'll find it up to your exacting standards, but there's a slight complication."

* * * * *

At the end of the workday, Peter powered off his computer. Neal had asked him to stop by his office when he was ready to leave. They'd take the express bus home together.

Peter paused to savor the thought. He and Neal were fellow commuters to Uptown Manhattan. It still didn't seem real.

Last week, he and El watched the Independence Day fireworks on their patio in Brooklyn. The next day the packers arrived. On July 6, they moved into their townhouse on 101st Street. Neal and Sara had taken off work to help. Mozzie and Janet were there too. Together they spent the past three days unpacking and stocking up on supplies.

El claimed she felt fine, but no one wanted to take any chances. Her due date was a little over a month away. She teased him that he was more nervous than she was, and she was right.

Mozzie and Janet were being particularly solicitous to ensure she didn't over-exert herself. The man who Peter used to consider the devil on Neal's shoulder had somehow transformed himself into the role of guardian angel.

Neal was slipping on his jacket when Peter arrived. "Ready to head uptown, neighbor?"

"I am," Peter said, studying a blown-up photo of a painting on one of Neal's easels. "Is that a Rembrandt?"