Notes: Although this story is part of a series, it can stand on its own. In the pre-series Caffrey Conversation AU, which was created by Penna Nomen, Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession and help in recovering stolen items, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant. Readers new to this AU may wish to refer to the notes at the end of this chapter for additional background information. The Mirror takes place in February 2005. Neal is working as a consultant at the White Collar Division of the FBI while going part-time to Columbia University for a dual master's in art.

Chapter 1: Under the Microscope

Federal Building. February 10, 2005. Thursday morning.

"Did you bring it?" Diana asked Neal.

He nodded. "I left it at my desk. Where's Peter?" The morning briefing was scheduled to start. Jones, Diana, and Travis were already present in the conference room when Neal arrived.

"He called in," Jones said. "His meeting with Hughes is running late." Travis, White Collar's electronics expert, had pulled up a circuitry diagram to study on his laptop. Neal flipped open his notepad. If Peter were delayed very long, there was always doodling.

"Diana, what's the name of that restaurant you like so much on East 46th Street?" Jones asked.

"Vitae. It's Christie's favorite restaurant."

"Any chance they'd have a table free for Valentine's Day?"

She gave a laugh. "You must be kidding. That's only a few days away."

Jones groaned. "I shouldn't have waited so long to make reservations. Now Helen's favorite restaurant is full and I've struck out at all my backup choices as well."

"You could cook," Neal suggested.

"No, you could cook," Jones retorted. "Have you ever heard me mention cooking anything? There's a reason for that. Somehow I don't think slapping a frozen pizza in the oven would win me many points with Helen. Maybe Delmonico's has a table free. What do you have planned for Fiona, Caffrey?"

Before Neal could reply, Peter walked into the room, cutting short any more talk of Valentine's Day activities. Judging by the somber expression on his face, Peter was in no mood for jokes. "Sorry for the delay," he said. "Hughes had received news about Azathoth."

So that was the reason. The cybercriminal—nicknamed Azathoth because of his fascination with the world of Cthulhu Mythos created by the horror author H.P. Lovecraft—had been on their hit list since they'd first encountered his malware last fall. Their pursuit had turned personal when he kidnapped Peter and Neal last October and followed it up in January with a malicious hoax on Peter. His behavior verged on the criminally insane.

Peter took a seat and connected his laptop to the projector. "As you no doubt recall, the first known museum security system to be hacked by Azathoth's malware was the Prague National Gallery in February of last year. The Czech police detective in charge of that investigation has just been found dead." He paused for a moment to let the news sink in. "The malware used to attack the security program had only been identified last month. After its activation for the robbery, it disguised itself and entered a dormant state. The assumption is that it had been left in place in order to be reactivated by Azathoth at some future time."

"Any indication that Azathoth was responsible for the death of the agent?" Jones asked.

"The bizarre nature of the crime points in his direction," he confirmed. "The detective's body was discovered at the Prague Aquapalace. When the building crew arrived in the morning to perform maintenance on the indoor pool, they discovered his corpse floating on his back with a latex octopus glued onto his face." Peter pulled up a photo of the crime scene and displayed it on the wall screen. "The detective had been struck on the head. Apparently the octopus was glued on while he was unconscious. Death was caused by suffocation, the octopus having effectively prevented any air from entering his lungs. The swimming pool played no role in his death except to serve as a stage prop."

"That octopus looks like a cruel parody of the giant one they display next to the pool," Travis commented, pointing to a large octopus sculpture next to a lighthouse among the pool decorations.

Peter nodded in agreement. "The octopus that was used in the crime is being analyzed to determine the exact composition. This is the first death we've heard of which is associated with Azathoth."

"Another tentacle-face? What's with the fascination this guy has for tentacles?" Neal muttered. When they'd been kidnapped, a man in a tentacle-faced costume had attacked him.

Diana shrugged. "He probably appropriated them from Lovecraft. The author referred to many of the deities in the Cthulhu Mythos as having multiple limbs or being starfish-shaped. We know Azathoth's already claimed Lovecraft's glowing branch symbol for his malware and that house of horror where he held you and Peter captive was filled with imagery taken from the author's work. Sounds to me like he did the same thing here. One of Lovecraft's main deities, Cthulhu, is described as having the head of an octopus and living in an underwater city."

"We'd already planned to make Azathoth a higher priority this week," Peter said. "After this incident, that's a certainty. I've talked with Tricia. She'll meet with us tomorrow morning." Peter had requested Agent Tricia Wiese be assigned to act as behavior analyst for Azathoth, and approval had come through last week. When Neal started working at White Collar, Tricia had been a member of Peter's team. The fact that she was already familiar with the case made her help with Azathoth all the more desirable. Peter added, "She'll want status reports from all of you on your work." He turned to Travis. "Aidan's still coming in this afternoon, right?"

Travis nodded. "He'll bring the contract with him."

"What does Tricia think of us employing a friend of Neal's from Columbia?" Jones asked. "You gotta admit, his company isn't the standard type of outfit the FBI deals with."

"That's precisely why Tricia likes the idea," Peter replied. "He should be off Azathoth's radar, and if he can deliver the antivirus program he's scoped out for us, we'll be able to render Azathoth's malware impotent."

From talk of Azathoth the meeting moved to updates on the other cases the agents were working on. Neal got the impression Peter was trying to clear the books to focus on the hot topics. And of course the other major pot-boiler was the man Peter had nicknamed the Dutchman.

Earlier this week they'd identified him as Curtis Hagen, and ever since then they'd been trying to track him down. But, just like his namesake, the man had once again seemingly disappeared into the fog. In the previous case, Hagen had been identified as the probable forger of a Corot painting, but forging a painting wasn't a crime in itself. To be prosecuted, he needed to be caught in the act of selling a forgery or committing a robbery. The team was pinning its hopes on making a case by tying the Dutchman to the theft of Raphael's painting, St. George and the Dragon. The painting had been stolen the previous summer from the National Gallery of Art in D.C.

"All we have so far to connect Hagen to the Raphael is one shredded photo of the painting," Diana pointed out. "There's nothing incriminating about that."

"You're right," Peter acknowledged, "but it's suggestive." He turned to Neal, "If you were Hagen, why would you have shredded the photo?"

Neal considered for a moment. "Before answering your question, we need to return to the circumstances of the original theft. A famous painting like St. George and the Dragon isn't as lucrative as you might think. It can be difficult to find a buyer. Often a theft such as this one is a commission job. A thief wants sufficient incentive before shouldering the risk. But if that were the case, there'd be no reason for Hagen to shred a photo of it now. The painting had been stolen from the museum in August. He'd already have his money and not be interested in it. So that's the first question. If it wasn't a commission, why did he do it?"

"For the thrill?" Jones asked.

"Not likely," Neal said. "Hagen's been in the business too long. Typically those doing it for the thrill are young and just starting out, not someone like Hagen." No one picked up on that comment, for which Neal was grateful. He'd done his share of robberies for stupid reasons, like trying to impress a girl, and appreciated not being reminded of it. "The second question is why didn't Hagen replace the Raphael with a forgery? If he had, the theft might still be undetected. Hagen's an excellent forger. The painting's small enough to be easily replaced. Why didn't he?"

"You're the expert. You tell us," Peter challenged.

"One possibility is that there wasn't enough time. He was taking advantage of a sudden opportunity which presented itself. Maybe he detected a weakness in the security system or there was some lapse in protocol. It could have been as simple as one less guard than normal. The guard may have had a sick child at home. Hagen was there, saw the opportunity, and seized it. Some of the best crimes, hypothetically speaking of course, occur that way. They're not planned in advance."

"Let's run with that," Peter said. "Hagen stole the painting but he was acting on his own. Maybe it was a last minute decision. He didn't have a commission. What happens next? He has the painting and wants to get as much as he can for it. Would he use a fence to sell it?"

"Possibly," Neal said, "but that's less lucrative than you might think. On the black market he's not going to get very much for it. But what if he had several Raphaels? Then it begins to look much more attractive."

"What do you mean?" Jones demanded. "He stole other paintings by Raphael?"

Neal shook his head. "No. Remember Hagen's primarily a forger. So he'll focus on what he does best. Forge the Raphael. Make multiple copies. If he's smart and discrete, he could sell several as originals—a dozen, perhaps even more. It takes time to find the buyers, of course, but the market is large. Crime syndicates are buying up art as investments. Wealthy individuals who are not particularly knowledgeable about art present easy targets. Particularly in South America and Asia, the number of potential buyers is staggering. Hagen would need to handle it carefully and not flood the market. But he could potentially sell the same painting for years. And now that he has the original to use as a model, his own forgeries could potentially be so accurate, they'd be difficult to distinguish from the original."

"And that would explain why he didn't replace the original," Travis noted. "He wanted the theft to be discovered so that the world knows there's a missing Raphael which can be purchased."

"Exactly," Neal confirmed.

"That shredded photo we found could have been included in correspondence to a potential buyer," Diana added. "Plus, under this scenario, it wouldn't even be necessary for Hagen to have stolen the original. He could simply be taking advantage of someone else's robbery to market his own copies."

"We can work with that," Peter said. "Jones, I want you and Diana to develop a strategy. Create a buyer who matches the profile of someone Hagen would target. Build up a background able to withstand careful scrutiny. Travis, you set the protocol for monitoring communications and inquiries about art acquisitions. I also want you to work with Neal on how best to put out feelers that our buyer wants to invest in a Raphael. If this sting is going to work, it's going to have to pass muster with the black market."

At the conclusion of the meeting, Diana walked down to the bullpen with Neal. He retrieved the gift package from his desk and placed it in front of her. "As requested, two bottles of honey wine." Yes, Neal Caffrey—the FBI's ace consultant for the White Collar task force—was now a wine merchant as well.

She nodded with satisfaction. "Thanks. Christie's cooking tonight. I told her I'd bring something special to have with dinner."

It was hard to believe that Mozzie's new business was less than two months old. When he first mentioned to Neal that he was going into the Hawaiian organic honey business with his friend Billy Feng, owner of the Aloha Emporium, Neal had scoffed. Then, when Mozzie explained that he'd also use the honey to blend a gourmet line of honey wines, it made more sense. But even Mozzie couldn't have predicted that his honey wines would become so popular. He'd at first planned to market them online, but the demand in New York, and particularly around Columbia University where the Emporium was located, had been so overwhelming that Mozzie had tabled any notions of expansion till they had more personnel.

Neal felt he could claim some of the credit for the venture's success. After all, he'd helped Mozzie refine the blends of chardonnay, flower extracts, and honey used in the various wines. For this Valentine's Day wine, called Honey Wine for Lovers, they'd added essence of perfumed passion flower. Neal had also designed the label—a Puckish Cupid with bow and arrow in a moonlit Hawaiian landscape. He'd used a style reminiscent of Gauguin for the labels and had enjoyed adding the ghost of Mozzie's expression to Cupid's mischievous face.

Wine merchant chores accomplished, Neal headed for the lab. Travis had already rolled his chair over to his niche, a corner of the lab which Neal had appropriated for his workstation. The space wasn't large, but had ample storage, essential for his authentication and art supplies. Together they worked on identifying the key words that Travis could use to act as filters and compiling a list of websites and publications that would need to be monitored.

When midday rolled around, they were ready to call timeout. Both of them had brown-bagged it for lunch. When they arrived in the breakroom, Peter was already sitting at the table with a sandwich. Neal pulled out his chicken wrap from the fridge. Travis had also brought a wrap. "What kind did you bring?" Neal asked him.

"Richard calls this my Elvis sandwich – peanut butter, banana, and tempeh bacon," he said, taking a seat at the table.

Peter looked at Travis in surprise. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

"Your assumption is correct," Travis said calmly, giving an excellent Spock inflection to his voice. It almost sounded like he should have added "captain" at the end.

When Travis didn't appear inclined to offer any further explanation, Peter persisted. "Then explain the bacon."

"Tempeh bacon is made from soy beans. Some people call it fakin' bacon. You should try it."

Peter dismissed the offer with a wave of the hand. "No thanks. I'm happy to stick with my deviled ham." He slanted a glance at Neal. "I saw that smile."

"Just admiring your predictability."

Travis's cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display and answered. "Hey, Mozzie."

Peter shot a questioning look at Neal who simply shrugged. Mozzie and Travis had struck up their friendship last month when Travis invited him to a SETI meeting. Since then they'd bonded over electronics. Neal suspected Mozzie was calling to wheedle a consult on some device he was using. Travis listened without making many comments, his expression growing more perplexed the more he listened. When he turned off his phone, Neal asked him what it was about, half-dreading the answer.

"I'm not sure if it was a good idea to include Mozzie on the SETI steering committee. When I invited him last month, it seemed to work out, but now I have my doubts." Travis glanced over at Neal. "You did warn me."

"You're investigating radio signals, aren't you?" Peter asked.

"Correct. We prepare the initial analysis of data sent in by volunteers and then transmit them to Berkeley. Mozzie had some novel ideas on how to filter the results. One of the main challenges is to identify which anomalies are most likely not to be random noise. His contributions have been excellent, but researching possible signals from alien worlds may be too impressionable a field of study for him."

"What's he done now?" Neal asked uneasily.

Travis raised a brow. "Discovered evidence of extraterrestrials here in New York, in fact on the Columbia University campus."

Neal groaned. He should have realized this was coming. Mozzie's obsession with space aliens was equal if not greater than his fascination with Nazi clones.

"You two worked with him on the Azathoth case. How did you keep him focused?" Travis asked.

"The puzzle Azathoth used was so complex to solve, it was never an issue," Peter said. "You may be able to use his newfound discoveries and channel them into a useful direction. Mozzie's an incredibly hard worker if he's inspired. It's all a matter of channeling him onto the right path."

Neal chuckled. "High praise, coming from a suit."

"True enough, but I've come to appreciate his unique skill set."

While they'd been talking, Travis had been listening carefully as he munched on his Elvis wrap. Swallowing a bite, he said, "Peter, you're into astronomy, too. Neal told me about the telescope you built. Any chance you'd like to attend our meetings?"

Shaking his head, Peter gave a laugh. "Oh sure, then you'd delegate me to be in charge of Mozzie. I'm not that much of a sucker."

Travis was not easily dissuaded. "Hear me out. This may be right up your alley. The professor who heads our SETI group, Daniel Leavitt, is also in charge of the astronomy public viewing nights. Once a month the public's invited to free observing sessions at the observatory on top of Pupin Hall. It's good outreach to the community. Leavitt would like to broaden it to include classes on telescope-making. He hopes to get something started on Saturday afternoons and is targeting kids. You'd be a natural with your knowledge of telescopes."

Peter hesitated before replying. "The idea has promise, but you better count me out. I'm no good with kids."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're doing a great job with the one sitting next to you," Travis deadpanned. "He was just a juvenile delinquent till you took him on."

Two could play this game. "Yeah, Peter. You need to cut me some slack and work on someone else for a change."

Peter snorted. "You don't think you present me with enough challenges, so I need to add to them?"

Plainly, Peter was intrigued by the idea despite his protests. Neal hoped it would work out. He could picture Peter with a group of eager-faced kids surrounding him as he introduced them to the stars. "You could combine the workshops with coming to my fencing matches. The gym is close to Pupin Hall."

"I'd planned to meet with Aidan some of the time at Columbia to save him the trek of coming down to the Federal Building," Travis added. "We could schedule the occasional update on Saturday."

Laughing, Peter held up a hand. "I'm sensing a conspiracy, but you're making good arguments. I'll think it over." He glanced down at his watch. "Aidan's coming in at two o'clock, right?"

"Yeah, I talked with him about it yesterday after fencing practice," Neal said. "He'd spoken with his lawyer and received his approval to proceed." No need to tell Peter which lawyer Aidan was using.

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

After lunch, Peter reviewed the summary information Travis had prepared about Aidan. Hughes had scheduled a meeting with Peter for one o'clock and the project would most likely be on the agenda. Peter first met Aidan at Family Day in Columbia when Neal introduced him as a fellow visual arts grad student. Peter didn't find out about Aidan's day job as a programmer for a cybersecurity firm until much later. Last week Travis suggested using his expertise in the battle against Azathoth, and today Aidan was scheduled to bring in his contract. Normally the process would have taken much longer, but mounting concern over Azathoth had given Hughes the leverage he needed to fast-track it.

Travis had prepared a thorough evaluation of both Aidan and his company as part of the vetting process, but Peter suspected the main reason he was recommending Aidan was left out of the report. In November when Garrett Fowler tried to frame Neal for the theft of a pair of diamond earrings from the FBI vault, OPR had mandated Neal wear a tracking anklet. The only one at the FBI with any knowledge of the con Neal had been able to finesse to apprehend the real thief was Travis. Even Peter's understanding was murky and unconfirmed. Peter believed Travis had worked with Aidan and Mozzie to hack Neal's anklet and in the process acquired a first-hand demonstration of Aidan's abilities. This was one instance where Peter would forever ignore the means used to achieve the goal. The correct thief was apprehended and that was what mattered.

When Peter met Hughes at his office, though, Aidan was not the top item on the agenda. Instead Hughes provided more information about the murder in Prague. "Interpol sent us a second bulletin about the detective," Hughes said, his craggy face looking more creased than usual. "Apparently he'd been missing for days. He'd scheduled vacation time with his family, so his absence at work wasn't questioned. After his body was found, his wife was contacted at the Czech ski resort where she was staying with their children. She informed them her husband had been called away to go back to work five days earlier. Czech authorities are attempting to trace that call now."

"Have they discovered any other connection to Lovecraft?"

Hughes nodded. "The previous week the detective had received in the mail a deck of playing cards to a Lovecraft game." Hughes looked at his notes. "Call of Cthulhu is the name of it. How the hell do you pronounce that anyway?"

Peter chuckled in sympathy. "The unexpected challenges to our jobs. Jones researched it. Supposedly you leave out a lot of the letters and say klul–lu. It's suspected that Lovecraft's spelling was one of the oddball jokes he liked to play. Azathoth's own sick tricks may be a distorted reflection of that personality trait." He paused for a moment. "That card Azathoth sent me last month with the image of Neal on it? It was from the same card game."

"The sadistic cruelty of that photo …" Hughes shook his head. "I don't need to tell you that you and Neal need to be on a heightened state of alert after what happened in Prague."

"But as a practical matter what can we do?" Peter asked, not caring if Hughes saw his frustration. "We can't walk around with an armed escort. Who knows how long that would need to be maintained? The FBI doesn't have the resources. Out best tactic is to track him down and expose him before he commits any more crimes."

"I hear you, Peter, and I freely admit the traditional methods the Bureau uses to hunt down a criminal have been ineffective against Azathoth. That's why when you requested your team be allowed to research Lovecraft fan groups in connection to him I sanctioned it despite my own misgivings."

"I remember it well," Peter said. Tamping down Hughes's scorn for the tactic had been a major challenge.

"Aside from the glowing branch symbol being used on the malware, there was initially little connection to Lovecraft. But your experiences when you were kidnapped showed the accuracy of your assessment, and it's the best angle we have. How long have Jones and Berrigan been at it now?"

"About two months. It's too early to evaluate how successful they'll be, but it's not taking up much of their time. In fact both work on their projects mainly in off hours."

Hughes grunted as he tapped with his pen on the folder. "And now I've signed off on allowing a hacker to access FBI files." Hughes meant that as an insult, but Aidan probably would consider it a badge of honor.

"Aidan is hardly your standard hacker," Peter countered. "When we vetted his company, Root32, we were impressed by the record they've accumulated in such a short period of time. The company was started by five MIT computer science grad students eight years ago. Aidan's been with them for three years. Their reputation among their peers in cybersecurity is excellent. And perhaps equally important, the fee they're charging us falls within our budget. If we'd gone to one of the major players in the field, with the budget we have, we would have been laughed out of their office."

Hughes acknowledged Peter's remarks with a wave of his hand. "I don't dispute anything you say. The fee they're charging is low enough that it allowed me to cut through much of the red tape that would typically be required."

Peter nodded in agreement. "By using Aidan's company, a relative unknown, the risk of discovery will be much less and the time, not to mention money, we're saving by being able to circumvent the standard bidding process puts us months ahead of where we'd be otherwise."

"But for you to pursue the Azathoth case, we have to fight a battle on two fronts, and you know it. D.C. Art Crimes is only allowing us to have the case because of your personal association but they're not thrilled about it. I talked with Kramer last week, and it was plain he's looking for any excuse to take it over."

Hughes wasn't telling Peter anything he didn't already know. Azathoth was too high a profile for Kramer not to want the case. "The situation with Azathoth is not that dissimilar to what we have with Adler. They're both international in scope, and we're limited as to what we can do."

"Don't remind me." The Adler case was a sore subject with Hughes. When Adler fled to Argentina after the debacle over the Ponzi scheme, it had rankled Hughes deeply to have the man slip through their fingers. Fowler now was in Argentina too, the presumption being he'd been working for Adler when he attempted to frame Neal. As long as they remained in Argentina, they were out of the FBI's jurisdiction.

Hughes sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "No second thoughts about Aidan Phillips working on the case?"

"None," Peter said confidently. "I've gotten to know Aidan personally since he's a close friend of Neal's. He may seem unorthodox to the Bureau, but that's part of his strength. A hacker to beat Azathoth at his own game is exactly what we need."

WCWCWCWCWCWCWC

"Welcome to White Collar," Neal said when he greeted Aidan at the elevator bank. This was Aidan's first visit and he surveyed the bullpen with obvious curiosity. His attire of hoodie and jeans was probably not going to win him any praise from Hughes, but for a cybersecurity expert, it seemed fitting.

Neal provided a quick tour of the bullpen before Peter gave them the double finger point to head upstairs. Aidan nudged Neal as he muttered, "I was waiting for that. Your description was on the money. The stern look. The two fingers. I need to practice that. It could come in handy."

Travis was already in the conference room when they arrived. When he greeted Aidan, Peter asked him if he had any questions about the contract. "I know the legalese can seem daunting. I believe this is your first time to work for the federal government on a project."

"You got that right. We had our lawyers review it and then I brought in a top legal eagle to examine it."

Travis eyed him expectantly. Giving him a grin, Aidan said, "Yep, it's been vetted by the Mozz himself."

"And you still signed it?" Peter asked. "I'm surprised he didn't add ten codicils in Latin."

"He recommended them," Aidan admitted, "but I thought it was overkill. That does bring up one question I have, though. Mozzie is intrigued at what we're planning. I assume there won't be any problem if I consult with him. I understand that no specifics of the case can be discussed, but Mozzie has some interesting theories about encryption which could prove helpful."

Neal liked the way Aidan was dealing with Peter. He had a brash self-confidence that Hughes might find abrasive but Peter had been worn down enough by Neal's own impudence that he'd built up a certain tolerance. Aidan's idea to bring in Mozzie as an advisor was an excellent one and Neal was eager to reinforce the argument.

Peter eyed the two of them. "I assume Mozzie's participation is strictly advisory. He couldn't have any access to the data. Any payments will be the responsibility of Root32."

Peter's mention of payments was a curveball Aidan hadn't expected, and he looked questioningly at Neal.

Neal shrugged. "He doesn't work for free."

"But if I throw in some consults on the evidence for extraterrestrials that he's found at Columbia, he'll probably be quite reasonable," Travis added.

Aidan's eyes widened. "Talk with me later," he muttered to Travis.

"What's your time estimate for the project?" Peter asked.

"I hope to have a prototype ready in two months," Aidan said. "The reason Azathoth's malware has been so difficult to detect is that he's making use of quantum cryptography for communications with the infected computers. The signals are impossible to track by standard methods. I made that discovery when I performed the initial analysis of the program used at the Met in the September robbery attempt. I had only two examples to work with, but the program had been transformed from the Met robbery to the one in the Brooklyn Museum. Azathoth is also using quantum cryptographic protocol to obscure the malware itself. In other words, each instance looks totally different. Simply because you understand how the malware worked at the Met doesn't mean you'll know how it worked in Brooklyn, or for that matter any other museum in the future."

"But we've made progress in detecting the malware after the robbery," Peter countered.

"You're right," Travis confirmed. "Lately it appears that Azathoth puts all his resources into obscuring the malware before the fact. Once he's implemented it, he's no longer interested in hiding it. He wants to take a victory lap."

"In the ideal countermeasure, what capabilities do you want it to have?" Aidan asked.

"Identify the malware when it's infiltrated the security program," Peter said.

"Not only that. Identify the source of the malware," Travis added.

"The malware is harmless until it's activated. But once it's activated, security personnel should receive an alert." Neal said. "The source of the signal that activates the malware should also be identified."

"Is all that going to be possible?" Peter demanded.

"We should be able to achieve that," Aidan said with the same easy confidence that he displayed when he said he could hack Neal's anklet. The slight grin he tossed Neal indicated he hadn't forgotten that moment either.

Aloha Emporium. February 10, 2005. Thursday evening.

At the end of the work day at the Bureau, Neal took the subway to Columbia to resume his life as Columbia grad student and now space alien investigator. Mozzie hadn't been satisfied with telling Travis about his discovery. He also called Neal, commanding him to meet him in his bunker. Neal had once teased Peter about the location of a Men in Black floor at the Bureau. He hadn't realized it would be next door to Columbia.

The Aloha Emporium where Mozzie had his bunker was only a block south of the main campus. Since he'd become immersed in his persona of honey merchant, he spent most of his time at the Emporium. Last month he'd constructed a bunker—a hidden refuge which was entered through a storage cabinet in Billy's basement.

When Neal opened the door, he set off the bamboo wind chimes, but their tinkling was almost drowned out by the din of the shoppers. The approach of Valentine's Day apparently was good for business. Neal stopped off in the café in the back of the store to grab a rice bowl before heading down to the bunker. He could eat his dinner while listening to Mozzie's latest looming apocalypse.

His cousin Angela was sitting at one of the café tables with an open laptop in front of her. Angela was in the graduate ethnomusicology program at Columbia. She'd been hired by Billy to help with the books and had quickly expanded her role to be in charge of the honey-based skin care line.

Neal placed his order for a teriyaki rice bowl at the counter and went over to talk to her. "Is all this business for Valentine's Day?" he asked.

She nodded. "We can't keep the Valentine's wine in stock. I attribute much of its success to the label you designed. Who could resist your Cupid?"

He sat down next to her. "I have to confess it's my favorite label to date."

"Does Mozzie know he was the inspiration?"

"He hasn't said anything, although he did remark on how handsome the Cupid was."

She laughed. "He knows, all right. We're due to receive another shipment tomorrow morning. It was going to be a promotion only for Valentine's Day, but we've been receiving requests to carry it year-round. And we're nearly sold out of honey lip gloss. Hawaii better start growing more passion flower to keep up with the demand."

"Has Michael given you any hints on what he's planning?"

She gave him a Cheshire cat grin. "What makes you think he's doing anything? We've only been dating a few weeks."

"Uh-huh. Remember, he's in my contemporary art seminar. I've been the lucky one who has to listen to him rhapsodize over you. Lately, he's been asking me about your favorite foods. You know, it'd be a big help if you'd provide reference materials for me so I wouldn't lead him astray."

"Okay, he's invited me over for dinner. Says he has something special in mind. I told him I'd bring the wine . . . and be wearing pomegranate passion flower lip gloss."

Neal chuckled and left to pick up his order at the counter. He then headed down the narrow flight of stairs to the basement. Much of the basement was devoted to a martial arts training area with floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall and large wooden cabinets lining the other walls. Billy was an expert in martial arts—a fact few knew—but then much about Billy was mysterious.

Neal strode across the basement to the far wall of cabinets. Making a final check that no one was around, he pressed his thumb to the scanner, entered the access code on the door, and opened it. This was the entrance to Mozzie's bunker, a combination office and safe refuge in case of impending nuclear disaster or a wide-ranging host of other catastrophes. It was not only Mozzie's work area but also served as emergency living quarters. He had a futon for sleeping, a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom. It was equipped with water reserves, backup power generator, and an air filtration system designed by NASA. One of the best aspects of it was that it opened in the back to a long-forgotten side branch of the Columbia tunnel system. Mozzie could use it to traverse the Columbia University campus underground, exiting at any of a number of points. It was the most secure of any of his safe houses to date.

Mozzie barely looked up when Neal entered. He was working at his computer which had been connected to a microscope. Waving him an invitation to sit down, he muttered something unintelligible. Esperanto for aliens? Neal sat on the futon and started on his rice bowl. He noticed Mozzie had an open bottle of wine on the table and helped himself. Decent Bordeaux. He was glad to see Mozzie didn't only drink honey wine now.

Mozzie scribbled some notes in a small notepad that bristled like a porcupine with stickies and torn-off bits of paper. He then spun around in his chair to face Neal. "I knew you'd arrived when you were on the stairs."

"Surveillance camera?"

Mozzie nodded. "The low light image sensor allows me to identify images in the darkest of conditions. If the intruder is unknown or hostile, I have an inner steel door that I can trigger to reinforce the first one."

"I assume you have the same security system in place for the tunnel entrance."

"Naturally. I can even trigger the inner doors remotely. Some might scoff at my precautions."

"Not me," Neal said hastily.

"Obviously, not you." Although his trust was touching, Neal was not particularly flattered to be considered as paranoid as Mozzie. "And, given the nature of what I'm going to reveal, extra security is warranted." With that, Mozzie flipped a switch on a control box next to him and Neal heard the steel doors descend with the rapidity of a guillotine.

"Come, take a look." Mozzie pulled up an image on his monitor. Neal got up and stood behind him. "This displays the contents of the slide under the microscope. What does it tell you?"

Neal studied the network of golden ochre threads on the monitor. "It's fractal. Organic I'm guessing. Algae perhaps?"

"Very good." Mozzie nodded approvingly. "Your course on computational art is paying dividends. A month ago you wouldn't have known what a fractal was and now you can identify one."

Now that was flattering. Just call him Neal Caffrey, fractal whiz. Given all the grief that course was costing him to simply stay afloat, Mozzie's words were particularly gratifying.

"Observe." Mozzie replaced the image with a second one of polygonal shapes. "What can you tell me about this one?"

"It looks a little like the honeycomb fractal we saw at Janet's exhibition in January."

"That's because it's the same one." Mozzie got up and poured himself a glass of wine. The light in the bunker was dim and it was making his glasses cast strange shadows on his face. It was getting spooky.

"That slime under the microscope is no ordinary slime. I discovered it along one of the old brick walls in the tunnel system. Its fractal pattern is totally unlike any other slime fractal I've analyzed, and believe me when I say I've examined thousands."

"I believe you."

Mozzie continued unabated. "When I analyzed the fractal it became clear, that the mathematics are identical to the honeycomb fractal." Mozzie stared bug-eyed at him for his reaction, but Neal was less than shattered by his revelation.

"So?"

"This is extraordinary! Mimicry of a honeycomb fractal in a slime fractal demands an intelligence far superior to ours. There can only be one reasonable solution. I postulate that this slime contains coded messages of extraterrestrial beings. I intend to bring my documentation to the next SETI meeting."

Neal believed Mozzie's current fascination with slime was brought on by the lack of other brain-stimulating topics. Now that the honey business was going so well, it was no longer an intellectual challenge but a mere business matter, which simply wasn't adequate to keep his overheated brain cells engaged. Perhaps consulting on Aidan's program would do the trick. If it didn't, this could go on a while. But as Mozzie sat before him, his eyes wide with excitement, Neal didn't have the heart to puncture his balloon in one stroke. A slow release of air would be the kindest solution. "Have you considered there may be other reasons for the fractal similarity?"

"Of course, but I've discarded all the others as being impossible. In the words of Sherlock Holmes, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' "

"But if the slime was left by extraterrestrials, they would be long gone, right? Those brick-lined tunnels date back to the mid-1800s."

"But they could have assimilated into the population. They could have cloned their appearance to look like anyone, like you, like me, like bees . . . Of course!" Mozzie jumped up and shook Neal by the shoulders. "You're brilliant! They're disguising their intelligence within bees. I should have realized it. The fractal nature of honeycombs. The fractal organization to their behavior . . . there can be only one solution. The truth is out there, and thanks to you, I've found it. I must start writing up my notes for SETI. The next step will be decoding the hidden message in the slime fractal. What does it say?"

"Good question." Neal glanced at his watch. His evening class was about to start, but he couldn't leave his friend in this state. "I hope this won't keep you from planning your Valentine's Day celebration for Janet." Last month Mozzie had started dating Janet Dodson, a costume designer with a passion for entomology and a flamboyant personality.

"What? Oh, not to worry. That's well in hand." With one last longing look at the monitor display, Mozzie pulled his eyes away from fractals as he focused on the other overwhelming issue in his life.

"What are you planning?"

"The chocolate dragonflies and butterflies are being prepared right now. I ordered them from Neuhaus. I wasn't satisfied with the filling, but after the tenth tasting, I believe we're getting there."

"Can't go wrong with chocolates."

"Or flowers. Maggie's flying in special flowers for the bouquet." Maggie was Billy's daughter. She was a florist, specializing in orchids and Hawaiian tropicals which were grown in greenhouses over the store.

Neal nodding reassuringly. "Chocolate and flowers, they're bound to impress her."

"That's just the start. Then there's the catered meal. Chef Jacques of La Palette is preparing that, which reminds me I must confirm the pâté with him—I'm thinking pistachio." Mozzie got out a second notebook and scribbled a note. "Janet's been preoccupied with the new production of The Glass Menagerie. While she's out, I'm going to prepare her apartment. "

"Prepare?" Neal echoed warily. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing much. Miniature firefly lights strung throughout the apartment. Then there's the perfume—I had to prepare that myself. I couldn't believe Chanel wasn't interested in working with my blends. It's as if they'd never heard of using insect pheromones. Incredible." After heaving a sigh at the vagaries of the French perfume industry, Mozzie continued on a happier note. "Fortunately the film arrived on time. Mating Rituals in the Insect World." Was that a snicker?

"Perhaps you should save some of this for her birthday?"

"Birthday?" He smacked his head. "I don't know when her birthday is!"

Neal glanced at his watch. He needed to leave for his seminar, but his maneuver had born the desired result. Mozzie was now so absorbed in affairs of the heart that the looming threat of space alien sleeper cells had taken a back burner. Neal stood up to leave.

"Wait. I have something for you." Mozzie reached into a drawer and pulled out a manila folder.

Neal took the folder and opened it, grinning when he saw the contents. "I know she'll appreciate this. Thoughtful of you."

He shrugged. "The least I could do. This should be enough to get her started. Do you have time to discuss it?"

"Not tonight. This is my computational art class, and I can't miss it. You know I'm hanging on by a thread."

"That's the class on fractals." Mozzie flipped the switch to raise the steel door leading to the basement and dismissed him with a gesture worthy of an imperial potentate. "You may go. Fractals are your destiny."

Fractals? Really?

Notes: Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit The Mirror board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site where both Penna Nomen and I pin illustrations for our stories. Next week in Chapter 2: Mind Games, Neal receives a call from Paris and the spotlight is shown once more on Nazi ruins in Argentina. You'll also find out what was in Mozzie's folder.

Many thanks to Penna for providing outstanding beta and muse services for The Mirror. She and I share a blog called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation where we post about our stories and writing adventures. We also have summaries for all the Caffrey Conversation stories on the blog.

White Collar and its characters are not mine, alas. Any depictions of real institutions and locations are not necessarily true or accurate.

Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers: Our 'verse differs from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle met Peter's older brother Joe, an architect, in the spring of 2004 and they were wed during the Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Angela entered a PhD program at Columbia University in January of this year. Working with the White Collar team are two additional non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Find photos of the entire cast on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site. Find more information about Caffrey Conversation on our blog.