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Chapter Text

     It was 9 AM, and the entire White Collar team had been assembled in the conference room on the 21^st floor of the FBI building. The space was standing room only at this point, and all the agents knew that something big was in the works. Peter Burke stood at the front of the gathering, and beside him was a petite blonde woman in her forties. At precisely 9:01, Peter introduced the, as yet, unidentified guest as Avery Ryan, the distinguished Deputy Director of the FBI’s Cyber Crimes Division. Although the heart of that division was located in Washington DC, the task force was mobile, going wherever the crimes took them.

     The Internet Age had ushered in a new breed of criminal—“Black Hats” or “Crackers”—that used their genius expertise to gain access to the private Internet sites of the naïve and unwary, as well as supposedly more savvy and secure networks. Of course, these intrusions were never benign, and the clever invaders used the information that they harvested for their own gain. The Cyber Crimes Division, created in 2002, filled the need to fight the good fight against these malicious, unscrupulous lawbreakers. It was part of a national task force in liaison with the CIA, the DOD, Homeland Security, and NSA. Agent Ryan, after she was given the floor, started her sober lecture with some very disturbing information.

     “Ladies and gentleman, let me first begin by offering you some facts and statistics. In 2015, there were more than 61,000 cyber attacks and security breaches across the entire realm of the federal government. Of course, you and the average citizen have become aware of the massive invasion by Chinese hackers that put more than four million federal workers at risk in “The Office of Personnel Management” as well as the “Department of the Interior.”

     However, that is only the most recent invasion. In past years, hackers have managed to get into the White House and State Department so that the email system had to be shut down for days. They breached the firewalls of the Pentagon in 2011 and stole 24,000 files. They accessed the United States Energy grid more than seventy-nine times in 2015, and likewise gleaned sensitive information from the Army Corps of Engineers’ files regarding the integrity of our nation’s dams.

     The FBI utilizes secure virus protection, firewalls, Intrusive Detection Systems, and audit trails with logs to protect against malware, viruses, trojans and worms, but, unfortunately, nothing is ultimately impenetrable. Sometimes Cyber Crime finds itself playing catch-up. The Black Hats develop a new tool, and we have to come up with new technology to combat it.

     Now, this whole boring and bland lecture is leading up to my informing you that the FBI has been hacked. We in Cyber are diligently investigating the how and the what, but right now, it does not appear that any files have been corrupted or stolen. It seems that our unsub was just taking a look around and meandering through our cyberspace. Of course, we can’t be 100% sure of anything yet, so I am ordering each of you to change your sign-in ID as well as your password, and, of course, it goes without saying, that those must not be shared with anyone.”

     The serious federal agent concluded with an abrupt, “Thank you, everyone, for your attention in this very grave matter.”

     Neal was really glad that this whole little powwow was short and sweet. Of course, he was familiar with the basics of the information highway and all the mishaps that could occur on that road. But, really, he was more of a sentimental Renaissance man who loved the classics and the gentler, less complicated times when the arts were embraced rather than the latest micro-technology. That was Mozzie’s bailiwick, and more power to him. Therefore, he was baffled when Peter blocked his exit from the room.

     Suddenly, two US Marshals emerged from the connecting door to Peter’s office and joined the Cyber Crimes Director. They stood shoulder to shoulder and eyed Neal suspiciously. Neal put on his most innocent expression and looked to Peter for enlightenment. It was not long in coming.

     “Neal,” Peter said with an edge to his voice, “put your foot up on the chair and let the Marshals check your anklet.”

     “Peter, what’s going on?” Neal asked in puzzlement.

     “Just do it, Neal,” Peter said harshly.

     So, Neal complied, pulling up his suit pant leg so that the black anklet was visible with its vivid little green LCD. The two Marshals quickly stepped forward, disabled it, and removed it from Neal’s leg. They then re-engaged the two ends and placed the piece of equipment on the conference table. The duo took thin wire probes from their pockets that they tenaciously manipulated, poking Neal’s fashion accessory this way and that. They followed all of this up with several calls to the monitoring service for verification.

     Finally, one of the Marshals gave them the news. “The anklet is activated and should be working. However, the monitoring service is not picking up any signal at this time. Last night, there were very brief periods of dropped signals, but they attributed that to a glitch and were not too concerned when it would suddenly come back on line. However, now the anklet is sending nothing at all to the homing channel.”

     Neal suddenly felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach, and crossed his arms across his chest defensively. He just knew that Peter would jump to conclusions as he had in the past. This was the fractured fable of Agent Fowler all over again.

     “Neal, have you or Mozzie done anything to compromise your anklet?” Peter got right to the point.

     Neal was not going to plead his case or beg for Peter’s trust—been there and done that before to no avail. Therefore, he simply eyed Peter defiantly and answered with just one word, “No.”

     Agent Ryan gave a slight nod of her head, and the Marshals produced an identical tracking device that they then attached to Neal’s ankle. One of the Marshals, phone in hand, stepped out of the room. He returned after just moments and informed those present that the new anklet was operational and sending a strong signal.

     “Thank you, gentleman,” Agent Ryan said as the Marshals prepared to exit. Next, she looked at Neal.

     “Sit down, Mr. Caffrey.”

     When Neal just stood rooted in place, she added, “Please.”

     Grudgingly, Neal pulled out a chair across from this lady who had a soft but commanding voice. He would hear what she had in mind, but he just knew that it wouldn’t be good.

     “Neal,” she began in a schoolteacher’s voice, “what I did not share with the other agents is that the intruder who hacked the FBI system spent a lot of time perusing anything and everything that pertained to you.”

     Neal was waiting for the trap to be sprung, so he was not about to make it easy for her.

     “Well, if you think that it was me doing the cyber breaking and entering, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Trust me when I say that I am already well aware of everything that is in my FBI file. It was all aired in court, chapter and verse, several years ago at my trial.”

     Agent Ryan donned a non-adversarial expression. She had a doctorate in behavioral psychology as well as cybersecurity, and had quickly honed in on the hostility radiating from the young man across from her. She would make it a point to get his handler to fill her in on this CI’s history. She would bet that it was anything but simple. However, right now, she needed his cooperation.

     “I’m not accusing you of anything, Neal. I am just puzzled by this sudden interest in you by an unknown person or persons after almost three years in the FBI’s employ. Do you have any idea who would want to check you out so thoroughly?”

     “Not a clue,” Neal said breezily. “My life is an open book.” He just knew that Peter was rolling his eyes.

     “Well, I just want to alert you so that you are forewarned if anyone seems out of kilter in your orbit of acquaintances or while on the job. Please let me know if, at any time, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I have taken the precaution of having the Marshals assign another anklet to you under a false name. That pseudonym will not be entered into any database. It will be old school, as in written down somewhere. They have reassured me that the anklet that you are now wearing is transmitting clearly, and they have installed an app on Agent Burke’s phone so that he can monitor it as well.”

     She then handed Peter and Neal her card, and stepped from the room. Neal stood as she left, and when he and Peter were alone, the silence was thick with innuendo. It was Peter who breached the gap.

     “Neal, I want you to go home and stay in your loft for the next few days.”

     Huffing out a breath, the young man glared at his handler. “So, I’m now under house arrest? You’re putting me in moth balls again just like you did after David Siegel was killed, Peter, whether I deserve it or not!”

     Before Peter could respond, Neal threw up his hands in frustration and turned on his heel. He stopped only long enough to grab his fedora before he was through the glass doors and furiously jabbing the elevator button.

     Peter was frustrated, too, because he didn’t know what to think. Neal was a genius in his own right, but his endeavors were more in the creative vein. Now Mozzie, and his odd female friend, Sally, were another whole kettle of fish. They would possess the know-how to pull this off. Talking to Mozzie should be the next step, but finding him would be an exercise in futility. He could ask Neal to make the meet happen, but right now, he doubted that Neal would cooperate.

     Suddenly, Peter’s softer side kicked in. He certainly could understand Neal’s perspective. The one time that any anklet tampering had been done, a rogue faction in the FBI was responsible. And hadn’t that ended really peachy! Neal was never the same after Kate died because a little piece of him had burned to ashes as well.

     Peter stewed all day about the dilemma, and after work, appeared at Neal’s loft bearing gifts as a peace offering. Neal had managed to get his emotions under control as well, and after a brief hesitation, welcomed Peter inside his new holding cell with the fantastic view of the New York skyline. Of course, Peter had brought beer, but surprisingly, the wine was decent enough.

     “Listen, Neal,” Peter began the conversation, “we need to talk this thing out between us. There’s been a lot of turbulent water under the bridge in our relationship, so can you try to understand my suspicion? I know that you are disgruntled by the Justice Department’s broken promises. I can almost sympathize if you decided to take matters into your own hands to secure your freedom anyway that you could. But I swear to you that I am doing everything in my power to rectify the situation through the proper channels.”

     Neal snorted and shook his head. “Sorry, Peter, but I don’t share your blind faith in ‘the system.’ That ship has sailed.”

      Peter looked down briefly and then tried a different tactic. “Neal, you once told me that you would never lie to me. Does that promise still stand?”

     Neal let out a long sigh. “Peter, I have never lied to you, and I’m not about to set a precedent now. I did nothing to my anklet, and have no knowledge of who did. So, don’t start grilling me about Mozzie!”

     “Have you actually asked him, Neal?” Peter wanted to know.

     “No, but I will,” Neal answered.

     “After you find out, would you share that information with me?”

     When Neal looked askance at his handler, Peter continued, “Look, Buddy, if it wasn’t Mozzie, then that is really worrisome. Somebody is interested in you for some reason, and the possibilities are endless. It could be someone from your past, or any one of a number of criminals that you have helped put away since you have been working for the FBI. They could be plotting to abduct you, Neal, and without a tracking device, we may not be able to save you. That’s why I don’t want you alone on the street or at risk during an op.”

     “Peter, if somebody wanted to snatch me, all they would have to do is cut the anklet and toss it. Why go to all this trouble?” Neal answered in a logical voice.

     Peter admitted that Neal had a point, but that did not stop him from fretting. Peter left after finishing his current bottle of beer. He hoped that the tensions between them had eased just a bit.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Although Neal didn’t want to admit it, Peter had a point, too. It was spooky to think that someone was cyber-stalking him for whatever reason. To put one suspicion to rest, he texted Mozzie the next evening and asked him to come by. A few hours later, Mozzie sauntered in and made a beeline for Neal’s wine rack.

     “So, why the summons, mon frère? Are you just lonely now that you are in solitary once more, or are my services needed?”

     “Mozzie, cut the sarcasm,” Neal quipped. “I just want to know if you had anything to do with this latest anklet drama. I can appreciate the attempt, if it was you, but I do need to know if that’s the case.”

     “Neal, you told me to cease and desist after the last time, so that little Mr. Wizard science fair project has been put on the back burner. It wasn’t me going all ‘Inquiring Minds Want To Know’ into the FBI’s files. There would be no need. I already know your entire life history, warts and all.”

     However, Mozzie’s help was needed the next day when Neal received a mysterious note. The cream-colored envelope had been postmarked the day before in a Manhattan post office, but had no return address. Neal’s name was written in precise block letters, as was the short message inside.

Your story rivaled that of Paris and Helen of Troy.

Now be free to find love once again.

     “Interesting,” Mozzie mused out loud. “What is the subtext of a literary allusion to tragic star-crossed lovers in Greek mythology? It doesn’t come across as a threat; it actually sounds a bit wistful. Somehow, I don’t see a crime boss or someone of Keller’s ilk expressing themselves this way. I am going to go out on a limb here, and make a wild conjecture. Dare I say that the sentiment seems feminine in nature? Any long-lost loves in your past that might want to re-kindle a spark with a handsome Trojan prince? Could this be an olive branch from Alex? The last that we knew, she was living on an obscure Greek Isle.”

     Neal was loathe to accept this characterization. “If I remember correctly, in Homer’s Iliad, Paris had a pretty face but no guts in battle. And, let us not forget, he gets killed during the Trojan War. Your assumptions are not making me feel reassured, Moz. I need to figure out if this is an obtuse threat or just a puzzle of some sort.”

     “Well, Neal, you may not be a fighter, but you are a lover—so if the shoe fits ….”

     “Let’s get back to the mystery, Mozzie,” Neal pleaded. “I doubt Alex is behind this. If she wanted to confront me, she wouldn’t have any qualms about waltzing through my door. But after the way that we left things, I sincerely can’t see her wanting to help me.”

     Mozzie conceded Neal’s conclusion, and the pair bandied about numerous scenarios, although none of them rang true, and some even bordered on absurdity.

     “Are you going to tell The Suit about your little billet-doux?” Mozzie teased after they had exhausted all possibilities.

     “No. It’s too embarrassing. But I will text him to let him know that your hands are lily white and that you had nothing to do with this hacking.”

     Mozzie eventually left and Neal attempted to sleep, but his mind continued to try to make sense of a riddle that became more complex two days later when it was heralded by a call from Peter. His handler was apprehensive, telling Neal that Agent Ryan’s team had noted more sleuthing through Neal’s files, even though new fail-proof methods had been installed on the FBI’s server.

     “Maybe I should put a detail outside of June’s house,” Peter declared.

     “Peter, poking around in my history doesn’t sound like a threat to me,” Neal proclaimed. “It might set off alarms bells in your suspicious mind, but I can’t keep worrying about ‘what ifs.’ I have to start living my life again at some point so that I can make more interesting history for my fan club to read.”

     “Neal, you shouldn’t be so cavalier about this. You need to take it seriously.”

     And so Neal did the next day when another anonymous letter arrived with another short message.

I arranged your freedom.

Why haven’t you taken wing?

     “Okay, Moz, now I’m getting wigged out,” Neal admitted.

     “I think that we need to get a dialogue going,” Mozzie suggested. “I can post something on the dark web in those chat rooms where hackers congregate. I’ll post it on a number of bulletin boards and see if we get a response. I’ll use my laptop, just in case Big Brother is monitoring yours. Now—what to dangle as bait? We need to keep it in character, obscure but germane—at least to your stalker.”

     Creasing his brow, Mozzie ventured, “How about this—‘Paris has become Prometheus.’

     In Greek mythology, Prometheus was one of the original Titans and also a blatant thief. He stole fire from Mount Olympus and gave it to mankind, and was punished for this act by Zeus, who chained him to a rock on a tall mountain for all eternity. Actually, the way the story goes, Prometheus’ liver was devoured everyday by birds of prey, but we don’t really have to take the metaphor that far.”

     Neal retorted, “Well, if anybody’s liver is at risk, it’s probably yours from your excessive love of wine, Dionysus.”

     So Mozzie threw out his line, and he and Neal waited for a nibble of interest. It didn’t take long. Paris/Prometheus got an extremely terse response of just one character—“?”

     Mozzie quickly typed, “Not proper venue for chat.”

     The anonymous response was “OTR.”

     Neal just looked baffled, so Mozzie explained. “OTR stands for ‘off the record,’ and is a plug-in for the Pidgin instant messenger. It’s a way to have encrypted private instant message conversations online. It uses end-to-end encryption so your network provider, government, and even the instant-messaging service itself cannot see the content of your messages. In theory, it was set up to prevent intelligence agencies from monitoring your Internet usage.

     OTR also provides authentication, so you have some guarantee you are talking to the actual person. Even if their account was compromised and someone else attempted to talk to you with their screen name, you would see an error because the encryption information would not match. While OTR probably isn’t perfect, it can add some additional privacy if you need to talk about sensitive matters online.”

     Then, with a look of awe, Mozzie concluded his esoteric lecture. “I must say, Neal, that I am truly impressed with your little pen pal.”

     “Yeah,” Neal agreed. “This is light years beyond lemon juice and a candle.”

     Mozzie bobbed his head in agreement. “And it just so happens that I am paranoid enough to have this software already installed on this laptop. However, I’ll need another backup computer to try to ferret out the origin of the incoming messages. I’ll have to put her off for now.” Mozzie seemed to have already assured himself that the other person was of the female persuasion.

     “Will proceed. Talk later after install,” was Mozzie’s response to his newest techie-playmate.

     “Okay, Neal, I’m going to write down the step-by-step instructions for entering the covert site. Burn this paper after you memorize them. Give me at least thirty minutes to get to Sally’s place and remotely connect to this laptop. Sally’s equipment is awesome, and probably could give NSA a run for their money. Keep your stalker on line for as long as possible until Sally and I can pin down her location.”

     The little bald man then scurried from the room leaving Neal staring at the sheet of paper in his hand. Maybe there was something to be said for paranoia. As instructed, a half hour later, Neal logged onto OTR. His user name was "Prometheus" and his avatar was a flaming torch.

     As if waiting patiently in cyberspace, a little square popped up with "Nemesis," the winged Greek goddess of "retribution and indignation" as the avatar.

     The depiction immediately demanded, “what happened?”

     Prometheus typed in, “new chain”

     Nemesis—“don’t see”

     Prometheus—“off the grid”

     Nemesis—“didn’t see that coming”

     Prometheus—“why stalking?”

     Nemesis—“just so sad. u didn’t deserve!”

     Prometheus—“made things complicated”

     Nemesis—“Really sorry  :’-( ” 

     Prometheus—“can we meet?”

     Nemesis—“no. scared you are mad”  

     Prometheus—“not mad. curious”

     Nemesis—“maybe”

     Then, as abruptly as Nemesis had appeared, her avatar winked out.

     Forty-five minutes later, Mozzie came barreling through the door of Neal’s loft. He looked euphoric.

     “Did you pinpoint the source?” Neal wanted to know.

     “Well, Sally and I made some partial headway, but you didn’t keep the chat going long enough for us to be more conclusive.”

     “She, if it is a she, logged off rather abruptly,” Neal said as an excuse.

     “Where has the old Caffrey charm gone, Neal? You need to get down hot and heavy and keep her attention,” Mozzie chided.

     Neal gave his friend the stink-eye and pushed, “So, tell me, what did you find out?”

     “Well, your little sycophant is located at New York University in Greenwich Village, and most likely is a student. What do you think of them apples, mon frère?”

     “It makes me think that I am supremely technologically challenged and old,” Neal admitted. “You really think some kid is responsible for this stupendous hack that has all the federal super geeks scrambling?”

     “I think she is a amazing prodigy, and I would love to meet her and talk shop,” Mozzie proclaimed. “You’ve got to encourage this relationship, Neal.”

     “What I have to do is extricate myself from this misguided attempt to make my life better,” Neal said adamantly.

     “Neal ……,” Mozzie wheedled. “You just can’t ignore her. She might get desperate. Remember that movie ‘Misery’ starring James Caan and Kathy Bates? He was an author and she was a psychotic fan who kept him tied to a bed and eventually broke both of his feet with a sledgehammer when he disappointed her.”

     “Thank you, Moz, for that vivid and gruesome vision! Now, good night,” Neal said as he herded the little bald man out the door.

Chapter Text

     Peter called Neal everyday to reassure himself that his CI was still in one piece.

     “Anything happening, Neal; anyone deliver any threats?”

     “No one has threatened me, Peter. However, I am going stir crazy just sitting around all day in my loft.”

     “Well, you could be staring at ..…”

     “Don’t say it,” Neal cut him off. “That lame old line is stale and insulting. C’mon, Peter, let me come back to work.”

     Peter suddenly felt bad for his friend, and, against his better judgment, finally caved.

     “Okay, here’s the compromise, Neal. You can come back to the office starting tomorrow, but I will pick you up in the morning and take you home at night. You will stay in the office all day—no outside investigations. Deal?”

     “As long as you don’t stick me with a stack of mortgage fraud cases, I might take you up on it.”

     “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Neal,” Peter said succinctly.

     Before the call was ended, Neal made one last hesitant request.

     “Peter, do you think that I could keep this unregistered anklet for a while longer? It would make me feel less exposed if it’s not in the system.”

     “Sure, Neal,” Peter answered, gratified that the con man was not as blasé as he claimed about a possible threat to his well-being.

~~~~~~~~~~

     For the next week, Peter ferried his charge back and forth to the Federal Building. Cyber Crimes kept him informed that there had been no more forays into Neal’s file nor any others in the FBI database. Hopefully, their new security measures were keeping out the intruder. Neal seemed relaxed and unworried, but Peter remained vigilant. He still sensed that there was a danger looming over Neal. He even went so far as to ask his CI pointblank.

     “Neal, tell me the truth. Has anyone been threatening you in any way, shape, or form? Is some guy holding something over your head, or making you do something that you shouldn’t?”

     The CI looked his handler in the eye and replied calmly, “Peter, there is no guy threatening me or exhorting me to do anything nefarious.”

     Why couldn’t Peter get that apprehensive feeling out of his gut? He began making surprise visits to Neal’s loft in the evenings and weekends. The con man was always alone, except on the occasional night that Mozzie was camped out, wineglass in hand.

     “Mozzie, long time, no see,” Peter said airily. “What have you been up to lately?”

     “Don’t try giving me the third degree, Suit!”

     “Well, can I just ask if you know anything about Neal’s little cyber-stalker problem?”

     “Now why would you automatically try to connect me to that?” Mozzie demanded.

     Peter sighed. “You have been hanging out with Neal too long, Mozzie. When you answer a question with a question, it makes me suspicious.”

     Mozzie just snorted, raised his nose haughtily, and left the loft in a huff.

     Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Neal cut him off. “Yes, Peter, it was something that you said that set him off. Happy now?”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Peter continued to worry about Neal’s safety, and stuck to his precautions. For the following week, the two partners still shared a ride each morning and each evening. The routine was mundane, as was the workday, and everything seemed normal. Finally, Peter began to feel less antsy because the recent baffling incident seemed to have blown over.

     That Friday evening, Neal had changed into more comfortable clothes after the workweek ended. He didn’t have the inclination to ask Peter’s permission to go out to the gym or to a café for dinner. He knew that he would just get an attitude if Peter said no. Since things seemed to have simmered down a bit between them, Neal did not want to roil the pot again. Opening a good bottle of Bordeaux, he decided that he would start a new canvas, and began setting up his easel and assembling his paints. He had not even begun with the first brushstroke when he heard the trill of an incoming message on Mozzie’s laptop. Using the proper protocol, he logged in with a sense of trepidation. This couldn’t be good.

     Nemesis: “u r back 2 work again”

     Prometheus: “?”

     Nemesis: “hacked bluetooth burke’s car. goes to ya home 2x day”

     Prometheus: “please stop”

     Nemesis: “Y? r u mad????”

     Prometheus: “no, just worried, dangerous 4 u”

     Nemesis: “no worry  ;-)”

     Then, without warning, Nemesis’ avatar abruptly disappeared just as it had during their first communication. It seemed as if this anonymous, possibly female, person was afraid of reaching out and saying too much. Neal was still disturbed that she was stalking him, as well as disgusted with himself for adopting those abbreviated, disjointed messaging shortcuts. He was really in big trouble if he ultimately began adding those ridiculous little emogees! Although the con man sensed that Nemesis had no malicious intent, it was still disconcerting, nonetheless. It was bad enough that the Feds knew his every move 24/7! Of course, he was not about to open his mouth about this to Peter.

     When Neal arrived home on Monday evening, Mozzie was already seated at his table and wore a smug Cheshire cat smile. Now, that was really creepy, too!

     “The cavalry came through, mon frère,” the little bald man exclaimed. “Sally’s system pinged when Friday night’s IM session began, and she was able to get an accurate fix. I did some stalking of my own this morning, and voila! Meet your latest fan, Neal,” Mozzie said as he pushed a glossy photograph under Neal’s nose.

     The picture was obviously shot from a distance, but with enhancement by Mozzie, was amazingly clear. Neal looked at a solitary young woman, heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, moving towards the camera. She had an unkempt halo of dark frizzy hair, and large, black-rimmed, bottle-bottom thick glasses. It was apparent that she was slightly overweight, with her extra large sweatpants and hoody flapping around her sloppily. Her mouth was turned down at the corners, and her expression could be misconstrued as someone on their way to the gallows. She definitely looked alone and miserable, so unlike the beautiful “sylphid” creature represented by her avatar.

     “Her name is Zoe Preston,” Mozzie filled in the particulars. “She’s a nineteen year old from Omaha, Nebraska attending New York University on a full scholarship. She has a genius IQ and is majoring in computer engineering, with a minor in cybersecurity. She is a loner, does not belong to a sorority or any clubs, and has no roommates or any friends on campus. She is almost a hermit, only venturing out to attend classes when she can’t monitor the lectures on-line. Sally used a back door application to trek through everything on her computer, and claims that the girl is obsessed with classical literature, Greek mythology included, with a smattering of archaic romance novels. This chick actually downloaded things like Wuthering Heights and The Scarlett Letter,” Mozzie shuddered.

     Neal sat back and took stock of the situation. He stared at the girl’s picture and murmured to her image, “Well, my brilliant, little stalker, you may be a misanthrope who distains scrutiny, but you have certainly bought yourself a boat-load of unexpected attention when you got involved with the Feds.”

     But then Neal being Neal, he also felt his heart going out to this young person who obviously was a square peg and who, most likely, had simply given up in a quest to find out where she did fit in. Apparently, Zoe believed that a bygone era was a more comfortable niche for her, eschewing the challenging social uncertainties of the 21^st century. It was probably easier for her to identify with the tragic fictional characters in the literature that she favored. And how very lonely it must be to have to look for stimulation on the faceless Web, and to have no one with whom you could share anything. Now Neal found himself worrying about her situation instead of his own.

     “So,” Mozzie demanded, “what are you going to do?”

     “What can I do, Moz?” Yes, that certainly was the question to which Neal had no solution.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Finally, during the third quiet workweek that brought no new cyber attacks regarding Neal, Peter felt secure enough to take his CI to lunch outside of the FBI’s walls. They sat at a table in the courtyard of a small bistro, and Neal reveled in being part of the New York City pulse of humanity once again. He dragged this welcomed field trip out for as long as Peter tolerated his dallying, but eventually left the table to walk beside his handler to the sidewalk.

     Being a con man meant that you had to have a heightened perception of your surroundings at all times. That sixth sense was sometimes the only thing that saved you from being arrested by the cops or beaten by your adversaries. So, Neal definitely noticed the young, dowdy girl who also rose from a nearby table that held only a half-empty glass of iced tea. She glanced up quickly as the two partners passed, and her eyes locked onto Neal’s. The girl saw the recognition there, and suddenly, in sheer panic, she turned and tried to flee. Without looking, she stepped off the curb onto a busy New York street with cars and taxis barreling down on her.

     With reflexes born out of desperation, Neal dove towards the terrified girl, mercifully snagging a backpack strap and hauling her towards his chest out of harm’s way. A din of angry car horns drowned out her surprised exclamation as she suddenly found herself engulfed in Neal’s arms.

     “Hello, Zoe,” Neal whispered softly in her ear, causing the girl’s eyes to widen owlishly behind her glasses.

     Peter was but two steps behind, and asked worriedly, “Are you okay, Miss?’

     “Yes, yes, I’m okay,” Zoe mumbled as she looked uncertainly at Neal. “I just feel really stupid right now. That was a dumb thing that I did, and I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

     “Oh, it was no trouble,” Neal said easily. “Rescuing damsels in distress is what we do. It’s just all in a day’s work, especially for my boss here, Peter Burke.”

     As Neal expected, Peter stuck out his hand and introduced himself properly, as did a reluctant Zoe. Neal did the same, but really could not help himself as he held his stalker’s hand.

     “Somehow I think this was meant to be because I feel that we already share a connection,” he claimed with a soft smile.    

     Later, as they walked along, Peter couldn’t help himself from snarking, “Neal, don’t you ever turn off the old Caffrey charm? You really flustered that poor, distracted girl, and your shtick bordered on smarmy, even for you!”

     Neal simply ignored a perplexed Peter, and headed to the car, determined not to glance behind him. He could only hope that Peter’s presence had put the fear of God into the girl, and would stymie any future desires to hack the FBI’s cyber-space. This encounter had also succeeded in putting an actual face to her intimidating federal mark, and perhaps she would now heed the tacit warning that Neal had provided.

~~~~~~~~~~

     That night Neal heard a timid knock on his door. When he opened it, he found an obviously nervous Zoe on the threshold.

     “After today, I guess it’s pointless to hide behind my avatar since you’ve seen the real me,” she said miserably. “How long have you known?”

     “Awhile,” Neal acknowledged as he led her gently into the room and settled her onto the couch.

     “What’s really important, however, is the fact that, if I can find you, then so can the FBI. You need to stop, Zoe, for your own safety. The FBI is part of an interdepartmental task force that includes Homeland Security and the CIA, so if they glom onto you, they could arrest you as a domestic terrorist threat. That would be such a waste of your talent and a life that’s just beginning.”

     Zoe looked like a frightened lost child as she pled her case. “But I didn’t hurt anything in their files; I was just looking around. I get bored easily, so I frequently set a new challenge for myself. I just have to prove that I can do something, but I never create any havoc or harm anyone while I’m doing it.”

     “Well, you caused a fair bit of mayhem when you tampered with my anklet,” Neal reminded her.

     Zoe was suddenly embarrassed. “I read all the entries in your file after I saw your photos—you’re very handsome, you know, so it was hard for me to picture someone on the FBI’s Most Wanted list looking like that.” 

     Neal tried not to wince, and noted that a blush had crept up the girl’s cheeks. That admission certainly was not easy for her, but she soldiered on, nonetheless.

     “What happened to you was so tragic and unfair, Neal. You deserved to have a ‘happily ever after’ with Kate Moreau. Instead, the FBI reneged on their promise and repaid you by putting you back in chains. I just thought that you deserved your freedom, and I wanted to be the one to make it happen,” she concluded forlornly.

     Zoe,” Neal began quietly, “we can’t always bend and shape the path that our lives, or the lives of others, take. Our journey will always be a mystery until we travel that road and see where it leads. Along the way, we have to learn to adapt and accept certain things that may not be exactly what we want for ourselves. The trick is to hang in there and not give up while there is still a tomorrow on the horizon. I want you to picture your future and not risk it by poking the FBI with sticks. If you are caught, they will turn your existence inside out so that you hardly recognize your life anymore. I want you to have a future. Do not let anyone take that from you, Zoe, because that would be a true tragedy. Please promise me that you will stop.”

     “I will,” Neal heard the despondent girl murmur. “I promise that I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     As time passed, Zoe seemed to be upholding her vow, but she certainly didn’t disappear from Neal’s life. Little gifts of imported coffee, Swiss hand-rolled chocolate truffles, or old copies of classic books from second-hand shops were left on June’s doorstep bearing his name. Neal used the OTR messaging chat to let her know that these gestures were not necessary, but it made no difference. However, one night, she must have been doing some soul searching and actually showed up at his loft looking crestfallen.

     “I’m a real pain, aren’t I, Neal? I just wanted to tell you in person that I am sorry, and that I’ll stop bothering you. I just don’t know how to interact with people, and I usually wind up doing the pushy thing and irritating them.”

     Neal sighed, drew her into his loft, introduced her to Mozzie, and ordered pizza for everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Two weeks later, Deputy Director Avery Ryan was back in New York City. She corralled Neal and took him to the conference room for a private chat.

     “Neal, it seems as if we have blocked any more incursions into the FBI files, including yours. I haven’t heard from you, so I am assuming that you haven’t noticed any incidences in your life that seem off or out of the ordinary.”

     “No, nothing at all. Everything is fine and as it should be,” Neal assured her.

     Director Ryan was an astute profiler and sensed that Neal’s confident demeanor could be a smokescreen. However, she had no evidence of anything that would point the finger at him for any wrongdoing. She dismissed him with a smile, and was surprised when he hesitated before going out the door.

     “Director Ryan, may I ask a favor of you,” he inquired earnestly as he turned at the last minute, suddenly making her very alert.

     “What would that be, Neal?” she asked blandly.

     “Well, I happen to know this young transplant from the Midwest—Omaha—to be precise. It’s her first year here all alone in New York City. She’s a student at a local university, and really has not traveled hardly anywhere in her nineteen years. She especially wants to see Washington DC; it’s on her bucket list while she is on the East coast. I know that your home office is in DC, so I was wondering, if Zoe traveled down there, could you maybe have someone arrange a tour of your facilities for her? Maybe she could sandwich it in between the Smithsonian and the National monuments. She may even have a bit of an interest in computers, for all I know.”

     Director Ryan took in Neal’s hopeful expression, and knew there was more to this than met the eye.

     “How about I talk with Agent Burke first, and I’ll let you know before I leave for the day.”

     “Sure,” Neal said with a smile.

     Before Ryan left the FBI building, she stopped into Peter’s office and related Neal’s strange request.

     “Oh, yeah,” Peter said thoughtfully, “Zoe Preston, the shy college student. Neal saved her from becoming a traffic statistic when she tried jaywalking in the big city. She seems to have developed a bit of a crush on her hero. That’s certainly not unusual with my CI. Women who encounter Neal fall like ten pins in a bowling alley. Anyway, Neal claims that she has taken it into her head to send him little gifts, and I think that he is embarrassed by her attention. He’s made it his mission to broaden her horizons and to encourage her to make friends who are her own age.”

     “So, you have checked her out?” Avery wanted to know.

     “Yeah,” Peter reassured her, “she’s an A student at New York University with absolutely no social life outside of her books. She’s harmless.”

~~~~~~~~~~

    That evening, Neal once more accessed OTR and asked Zoe to come to his loft. When she arrived, he produced a round-trip Amtrak train ticket for Friday morning, leaving New York Penn Station for a later arrival in the nation’s capitol. A handwritten note from Deputy Director Ryan accompanied the ticket, affording Zoe a 2 PM pass that would pave the way for a private tour of the FBI’s Cyber Crimes massive headquarters. Neal’s intention for his actions was two-fold. Perhaps, Zoe would be intimidated by the immense techno-power located there, and would cease to be tempted into hacking Goliath. Or, another possibility would be sparking her interest to one day seek a position within the echelons of what Zoe might consider Mecca.

     “I can’t go, Neal; I just can’t,” Zoe objected, a stricken look on her face.

     “Why not?” Neal asked.

     “I’m not sure that I could go all that way by myself,” she wailed.

     “Zoe,” Neal said patiently, “you traveled all the way from Omaha all by yourself. Surely, you’ve got the guts to take a little 200-mile train ride. You’ll have the opportunity to see, up close and personal, what most people will never get to see. Come on, Nemesis, do it for me.”

     In the end, Zoe nervously agreed, and Neal was like an expectant father, pacing the floor awaiting her call when she returned late Friday night. To his delighted surprise, she actually showed up at his door in person.

     “Neal,” she enthused, “it was fantastic, so really, really awesome! I never dreamed that I would see so much advanced technology in one place! And it’s all at their fingertips!”

     Neal reveled in her excited exuberance; each uttered sentence was punctuated with over-the-top exclamation points.

     “And all the people who work there are sooo nice. Some of them aren’t much older than me. Director Ryan has started a program called ‘hack for good,’ and it includes young Black Hats who have pledged to work for the FBI instead of doing jail time. It’s sorta like your deal, I guess. But there is this one guy—he’s a White Hat hacker, and always has been. His name is Daniel Krumitz, but his friends just call him Krummy. Here, look, I took a selfie of the two of us.”

     Neal found himself staring at a happily grinning Zoe alongside of a tall, obese, heavily bearded young man with glasses.

     “Neal, Krummy is so smart, but he doesn’t act like a geek. He’s actually very soft-spoken, a bit shy like me, and he never wants to hog the spotlight. He would never take any credit away from his fellow hackers. They all work as a team, and Director Ryan depends on them. It’s just so fantastic!”

     The Daniel Krumitz accolades continued for the greater part of an hour. Neal could only smile fondly at Zoe, a suddenly beautiful butterfly that had finally escaped her self-imposed chrysalis. Although he was happy for her, he was also cautious. Maybe he ought to ask Peter to check out this Krumitz dude, just to be sure that he was the paragon of virtue that Zoe thought he was. On second thought, maybe Mozzie’s Sally would be a safer way to go. Yeah, maybe he would just do that!

~~~~~~~~~~

     It was now several months later, and Neal only heard from Zoe sporadically. When she did call, she always seemed upbeat, and informed Neal that she Skyped every night with “Krummy.” Neal was okay with that since Sally had combed through every nook and cranny of the guy’s life, and he appeared to be the real deal. Over the summer, Zoe told Neal that she had decided to re-locate. She had applied to George Washington University in Washington DC, and, of course, her application had quickly been accepted.

     “Thank you, Neal,” she said shyly on her last visit to his loft, “you gave me the courage to live my life.”

     Mozzie stood by impassively, watching the touching little scene and the girl’s exit. Like it or not, he, too, had come to have an attachment for this quirky and vulnerable young woman.    

     “So, Neal, how does it feel to be Professor Henry Higgins shaping your Eliza Doolittle?”

     “Well, Moz, ‘Pygmalion’ certainly was a Greek classic!”