Chapter 3: Etiquette Lessons

White Collar Division, New York. December 31, 2003 – Wednesday morning.

"The situation is more complicated than we originally thought," Hughes said when he addressed the team. "Agent Rice exaggerated the content of the note from Collins. It did not explicitly ask for help or indicate a threat to his family. It only said, 'I'm doing this for my son' which does not provide conclusive evidence that he's being coerced or held against his will. If we want a warrant to extract him and to search for evidence of a kidnapping and other crimes, we need more to go on. Caffrey, when you talk to him, get him to say he needs our help. Got that?"

"Yes, sir. Um. Even if he doesn't?" Not getting an answer, Neal elaborated, "Do you want me to trick him into saying he needs help, even if he doesn't want it?"

Agent Rice nearly exploded. "Of course he needs our help!"

"Settle down, Rice," Hughes said. "Yes, Caffrey, if at all possible we want to record Collins saying he's there against his will and wants help, because we want a warrant to search that house. Wiese, please fill the team in on what you discussed with Thomas Gardiner yesterday."

Tricia plugged the projector into her laptop, and displayed a photo of a massive home. It was almost as large as June's mansion, but not nearly as tasteful. "Benny Sinclair comes from money, but seventeen years ago he put everything he had into real estate. He purchased four lots in an area outside of New Haven."

She projected another image, showing the Sinclair home as a massive island, surrounded by more moderate colonial-style homes. "Each lot in this neighborhood is an acre. He tore down the four homes that came on those acre lots and built what the neighbors refer to as 'the monstrosity.' He continued to invest nearly every dollar he earned into the property, adding pools, a tennis court, and so forth. Then five years ago, to become a full partner in L&B, he needed to invest in the company. The only asset he had was the house. The company now owns the title, and lets him live in it rent-free as part of his benefits. If he ever leaves the company, or if it folds, he loses his home."

"You think that's his motive?" Peter asked.

"Yes. L&B has been struggling recently. We believe Benny is playing outside the lines to keep their doors open. He took a leave of absence after Bethanne's diagnosis, but if we're right, he must plan to continue his illegal activities. Now he needs L&B to stay in business for his health insurance, too. He can't afford to pay for a lung transplant or expensive experimental treatments. We're certain that if we can get a warrant to search the house, we'll find evidence of illegal business practices."

"Why don't I slip into his home office while I'm there and look for what you need?" Neal asked. "With a house full of people, it wouldn't be hard. I could grab the evidence and bring it out with me."

"No, Caffrey," Hughes said. "These are not exigent circumstances."

"What are exigent circumstances?"

"We'll get Peter to explain that to you later. The point is, we don't have a warrant. Without a warrant, you're just a party crasher investigating the possibility of a kidnapping. Taking any property out of the house would be theft. It's inadmissible."

"Unless we arrest you," said Rice. "If you're arrested as a burglar, anything on you is evidence, and we can use it."

"Isn't that what we want?" Neal asked. "Arrest me, get the evidence, drop the charges."

"It doesn't work like that," said Peter. "If we drop charges against an employee of the FBI, it's obvious it was a set up and we were gaming the system. Anyway, Sinclair would press charges. If you steal anything from his home, you can count on going to prison. Stick with the plan, and be a model guest."

They were really taking the fun out of it, but Neal knew better than to say that out loud.

Tricia projected another photo, this one showing a collection of handguns. "Here's another reason to be a model guest," she said. "Thomas mentioned that Benny collects guns and goes to target practice regularly. We checked, and found that he's licensed to own five fire arms and has filed this photo and serial numbers with his insurance company."

"And that brings us to the panic phrase," Peter said. "Neal, if you're ever in danger on this assignment, you're going to say 'by the book' and we'll get you out of there. I want you to promise, if you see Sinclair or anyone with a gun, you'll use the panic phrase."

It sounded as convoluted as Mozzie's revered The mockingbird sings at midnight. "Why the cloak and dagger? I can just say, 'why do you have that gun' or 'please don't shoot me.' That seems much simpler than trying to work a specific phrase into the conversation."

"Protocol is that we don't automatically jump in unless you use the panic phrase. A seasoned agent will let us know things have escalated by mentioning a gun, but might want us to stay back while he works the situation if he thinks he can handle it alone. In that case, we would wait until he signals that he needs help. But you are not a seasoned agent. I expect you to give us the panic phrase immediately if someone threatens you with a weapon. So if you see a gun, you say 'by the book' and we send help."

"Will you be outside in one of those municipal vans?"

"Not this time," Rice said. "Too conspicuous in that setting. We'll set up shop in the Gardiners' home. It's nearby, and has a line of sight to the Sinclair home so we can monitor people coming and going from the party. All right, everyone, that's it. My team, meet at my office in an hour. We'll go through the checklist to make sure we have all the equipment we need, and will proceed to the Gardiner residence in my car. Burke will be taking his team up."

"My team, at my office in an hour," Peter said. As everyone filed out of the conference room, Peter said, "Neal, one more thing."

"What's up?"

"I know I said I'd fully support your involvement in this case."

"Yes, you did." And Neal had every intention of holding him to that promise.

"But before you officially joined the FBI, you said something to me about guns."

"Yeah, I said I don't like them. I'm not going to take one into the party, if that's what you're getting at."

"Have you thought this through? What are you going to do if Sinclair gets suspicious and grabs a gun?"

"Peter, in my, um, former profession, armed guards were a fact of life. You know from my track record that it didn't exactly hinder me. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. There's nothing to worry about."

"It's my job to worry about you. Just don't do anything stupid."

"You are such a Dad," Neal said, shaking his head as he strolled out of the conference room.

###

They took Peter's car to New Haven. Peter drove, of course, with Tricia in front. Jones and Neal were in back. At first Peter was pleased that Neal wasn't up front, fiddling with the radio and complaining about his driving. Instead Neal remained silent, and that might have worried Peter a little. As a result, Peter may have taken the exit from the highway a little more sharply than he needed to, in order to elicit a reaction. Tricia and Jones held on and yelled at Peter to slow it down. Neal yelled something, too, but Peter couldn't make out a word of it.

"What did you say, Caffrey?" Jones asked.

Again, Peter couldn't understand a thing Neal said.

"You know you're speaking French, don't you?" Jones said.

"It's easier," Neal replied, in English this time, but with an accent they would hear the rest of the day.

If Peter had any doubts that Neal could convince Marie Sinclair he was French, those doubts vanished after arriving at the Gardiners' home. Peggy Gardiner, Guillaume D'Arcy and Neal Caffrey were speaking French at about ninety miles an hour when Peggy finally laughed and said in English, "I would never have guessed you're an American." The two young men continued conversing a little longer, until a dejected Guillaume left the room.

"What's up with him?" Jones asked.

"He didn't mind missing a party with two professors, because he thought he could find a New Year's party with drunk sorority girls on campus," Neal said.

"It's still winter break, isn't it?"

"Yes. The sorority girls are doing their drinking elsewhere."

As the agents set up their monitoring equipment and verified that they were getting sound from the watch they gave Neal, Peter noticed that Neal frequently defaulted to French when asked a question. Each time, the FBI team stared at him until he translated.

"Don't any of your team speak French?" Peter asked Agent Rice.

"No, that's the point of borrowing Neal."

"But how are we supposed to monitor the conversations we're hearing when it's in French?"

Silence.

"Use Guillaume," Neal suggested. "He can translate for you. He was excited about being around an FBI operation."

Peter wasn't thrilled about relying on a kid they'd only just met, but didn't have much choice. "Remember, the panic phrase is by the book. This far away from the house, our response time is going to be several minutes. As soon as you get a hint of danger, you need to give us the phrase. Otherwise we might not get there in time."

Neal nodded, but Peter could tell that his consultant didn't believe he'd need to use the panic phrase.

"Humor me," Peter said, and he thought about how Neal might try to bend the rules. "Tell us how by the book sounds in French, in case you're stuck in a situation where it would seem odd to start speaking English."

Neal rolled his eyes, clearly unhappy at losing that loophole, but he taught them to recognize the translated phrase.

###

As Peggy drove to the party, Thomas described the layout of the house to help orient Neal. The couple were both familiar with the ground floor, and had a general idea of where things were located on the second floor. Neither of them had been to the top floor.

"Did Peggy tell you about Marie?" Thomas asked.

Before Neal could answer, Peggy said, "Of course I didn't."

"Well, don't you think he should know?"

"He's going to guess her secret almost as soon as he meets her, dear. You know it's best if he finds out for himself. Otherwise she'll know we told."

"Life in the 'burbs is much more complex than I ever guessed when I lived in New York," Thomas told Neal. "What isn't a secret is that Marie worked for the first Mrs. Sinclair. It was becoming stylish, around the time Bethanne was born, to hire a European au pair. The Sinclairs were divorced after Bethanne turned five. Some people say Francine Sinclair had an affair. Others say Marie convinced Benny there had been an affair. Either way, Marie and Benny were married very soon afterward and had their first child very soon after that. Their daughter Katy is nine, and they have another daughter, seven-year-old Lily. The thing to keep in mind is that Marie has Benny wrapped around her finger. If Marie likes you, Benny likes you. If you want freedom to roam the house and talk to Dr. Collins, you want Marie to like you."

Within moments of meeting Marie, Neal guessed her secret. She was no more French than he was. She had a good vocabulary and a decent accent, but she also had the pause. It was obvious she was translating what she heard into English, and then translating an English response back into French, because she couldn't think in French. They spent a few minutes with a group of French speakers, before Marie said, "Voulez-vous un verre de vin, Charles?"

She led Neal to the massive living area, where a bar had been set up, but paused in an unoccupied corner of the room. Her burgundy gown gleamed in the light from the cozy fireplace, and brought out red highlights in her deep brown hair. "You've guessed my secret by now. I'm not French."

"Why do you pretend to be?"

"At first it was to get a job. No one wanted to hire a history major. But demand for French au pairs was skyrocketing. It was just going to be a few years, until I finished college. I didn't count on falling in love with Benny. His wife had betrayed him, you see, and he kept saying he loved how open and honest I was. I couldn't tell him I'd been fibbing about being French."

"But after all this time, he still doesn't know?"

"I've never told him, and I don't think he's guessed. He doesn't speak a word of French himself, you see. He's terrible at languages. He collects French-speaking acquaintances to make up for it, and I admit the truth to them and ask for their secrecy. It's a little game, you see. You'll play with me, won't you?" She stroked Neal's arm.

He was soooo happy he hadn't been introduced as William Darcy. "As you wish."

"You're very charming, Charles. And more mature than I expected. When the Gardiners said they were bringing their newest student, I envisioned an eighteen-year-old boy with acne."

It wasn't a bad description of Guillaume. "I'm studying the law. You call it a graduate degree, I believe."

"Yes, of course Thomas would want to sponsor a law student."

They continued chatting until Marie needed to greet more guests. Then Neal finally got a glass of wine, and scoped out the party. There were four members of the catering staff in the dining room, preparing for the meal that would be served soon; more staff would be in the kitchen. He counted forty guests, in addition to the family. He might be older than Marie had expected, but he was clearly the youngest guest. Other than the three daughters, he didn't see anyone under thirty.

So it wasn't a huge surprise that he was seated near the children when dinner was served. Fortunately, Dr. Collins had been assigned the chair next to Bethanne.

Unfortunately, Collins didn't seem particularly interested in conversing with the children, and he counted Charles D'Arcy in that category.

A petite green-eyed blonde in a lilac dress, Bethanne was pale, and coughed occasionally, but didn't look nearly as bad as Neal had expected for someone who needed an organ transplant. But that wasn't his area of expertise. His main basis of comparison was Byron Ellington, who was suffering from a completely different disease.

Neal introduced himself to the people seated around him, and then turned to the oldest daughter. "Et finalement, Bethanne Jane."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, just Bethanne. Bethanne Jane sounds like my parents couldn't agree on a name and said, 'Let's call her Beth and Jane.'"

Next to Bethanne, Katy said, "Ask him. Ask him."

"No, I'm not going to."

"Ask him," Lily said. She and Katy kept chanting it.

"Shut up," said Bethanne. "You're being annoying. They should have gotten you a babysitter. Je suis vraiment désolée, Mr. D'Arcy."

"Charles. S'il vous plaît, appelle moi Charles."

"It's just that they're obsessed with your glasses. The best thing you can do is ignore them. That's what I always do."

That's when Neal's phone started to ring. He had set it on silent, but he knew one person capable of hacking into his phone to override the settings and change the ringtone to one he knew he hadn't purchased. "Désolé." He slipped into the next room to take the call.

"Mozzie, mais à quoi tu penses, là? Je travaille et personne ne dois savoir qui je suis."

"In English, Neal."

"Sorry. Why are you calling me?"

"I did some research on this Bennet Sinclair yesterday, and learned he inherited a set of rare, first edition books."

"I heard he was almost broke. If he had something that valuable, he would have sold it."

"I can't find any record of a sale of the books in question. It's possible he doesn't know their value. That would explain why he doesn't have them listed in his insurance policy. He owns a pristine, first edition Paradise Lost by Milton. Rumor has it there's a code that was included only in the first edition that -"

"That's fascinating. But if you found this information yesterday, why are you calling me about it now?"

"Well, I suspected you wouldn't be willing to acquire the book for me."

"Right."

"And so I talked to another contact, who expressed an interest in making the attempt during the party."

"Now, Mozz?"

"It's ideal timing. With guests and caterers going in and out, the doors won't even be locked. I wasn't going to tell you. You know, in case you felt obliged to tell your new government overlords. It's not like this should interfere with what they're doing. But then I thought you might notice something if you're also skulking around the house. And I decided, as a friend, that you should know, so it doesn't distract you at an untimely moment."

"Great."

"And in return, as a friend, you might look the other way. Or, you know, just stay very focused on your own work."

This raised a complication Neal had never considered when he made his deal with the FBI. Fortunately, he'd been careful to hold the phone in his right hand, since the watch was on his left wrist; they wouldn't have heard Mozzie's side of the conversation. Neal had no idea how much he was obliged to tell the FBI about such things, and could only guess that his original assignment of talking to Collins took precedence over a simple burglary. "I've got to go. Thanks for warning me."

When Neal returned to his seat, the soup bowls were being taken away and replaced with the next course. Bethanne shook her head. "There's no saving you now."

Before Neal could ask what she meant, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to face the two youngest girls. Their pink frocks were so lacy and sweet they could give a person a toothache. They had their mother's dark hair and hazel eyes filled with determination. "Show us," said Lily, as Katy brushed away the hair from Neal's forehead.

"I don't see it," Katy said. Lily pouted.

Neal laughed. Dark hair, the glasses he'd been given, the School for Wizards ring tone. They were looking for a lightning bolt scar. He palmed his napkin ring and made it appear to fall out of thin air, right in front of Lily's face. "They say that sometimes we can't see what is right in front of our noses."

The girls squealed until Bethanne grabbed each of them by an arm and pulled them back to their chairs. "You're nice," she told Neal. "But you're an idiot."