A/N: I should have remembered to say this sooner, but I want to thank kusa23 and krocla, the beta readers who have been helping me with this fic.

Chapter 4: Tuesday afternoon at the FBI

Peter stood with Neal, Sara, and Diana in the FBI bullpen, staring up through the glass walls of the conference room.

Timothy Harris-Young sat at the table, shoulders hunched slightly. His eyes darted around the room, and he occasionally glanced over his shoulder to where Jones stood guard by the windows. As they watched, Timmy picked up his Mets cap off the table and started bending the brim back and forth, back and forth.

Diana grinned. "You think we've let him stew long enough?"

"I do," replied Peter, before heading up the stairs, carrying the printed phone log, yet again wrapped around the evidence bag holding Timmy's phone.

"Do you think he'll talk?" asked Sara. "If Peter can get Harris-Young to tell him where the thieves are, we could have this case wrapped up by the end of the day."

"Please!" Diana scoffed. "Peter'll get him to talk."

"Of course," Neal teased, "if Timmy is really a criminal mastermind, he'll play it cool…"

Peter closed the door of the conference room and addressed Mr. Harris-Young. "I asked you yesterday if there was anything else I should know. I think you forgot to mention a few things." Peter turned on the video screen to reveal two pictures—the young blonde woman texting on the park bench, and Timmy, just outside the door of the museum, waving.

"I- I'm sorry!" Timmy blurted out. "I should have told you-" then he stopped.

"Should have told me what?" Peter asked, voice carefully neutral.

Timmy hunched his shoulders a little more. "I know I shouldn't've been texting at work, but Stacy, my girlfriend-" Timmy glanced up at the video screen, "she only had a half-hour break for lunch, and then the stupid van was late so I couldn't eat with her." Timmy turned and said over his shoulder to Jones, "We were gonna have a picnic in the park."

Timmy twisted back towards Peter and continued plaintively, "But then she had to go back to work, and I wasn't even gonna get to see her. I just opened the door to wave to her before she left. And then I saw those guys on bikes. I didn't know they were gonna rob the museum. I'm sorry…" By this time, Timmy was hunched over again, clutching his baseball cap with both hands.

Peter digested this information dump for a moment, then pulled out the evidence bag containing Timmy's phone as he asked, "If she's your girlfriend, why is she texting you from a burner phone?"

"Hey, my phone!" exclaimed Timmy happily, then, "Wait, what?"

Peter laid down the phone log and pointed out the burner phone number on the first page.

"Oh, that. Stacy lost her phone over the weekend. She ordered a new one online, but she just bought a cheap pre-paid one to use 'til it arrived." Timmy shrugged. "It didn't seem worth programming the number in, just for a couple days. I knew who it was."

"And you didn't mention any of this before because…?" asked Jones drily.

Timmy twisted around in his seat towards Jones again. "I didn't want to lose my job!" He turned back around, and with his eyes fixed on the baseball cap in his hands, he mumbled, "Texting at work is sort of against the rules."

Peter and Jones made eye contact over Timmy's head, and Peter scrubbed one hand over his face and asked Timmy in a warning voice, "Is there anything else we should know?"

"Well, this isn't the first time, I, y'know, I mean…" Timmy took a deep breath (which Peter thought must be hard for someone who was hunched over as much as Timmy was), and confessed cautiously, "Whenever Stacy drops by and I don't have time for a break, I always at least poke my head out a door to wave at her." And then, in an accelerating stream, "And I've let Stacy into the museum after hours a couple times. She likes to sketch with nobody else around. And, um, sometimes we, um, well, there's this janitor's closet that's not on any of the security cameras…"

"Stop!" Peter held up one hand to halt Mr. Harris-Young's torrent of too-much-information, and then motioned for Jones to join him outside the room. He waved for the rest of the team to join them, too.

Neal, Sara, and Diana had watched Timmy spilling his guts to Peter, and while Neal had commented, "That doesn't look like 'playing it cool' to me", Sara and Diana were hopeful that this might mean a break in the case. At the top of the stairs Diana asked, "Did you get him, Boss?"

But Peter just shook his head. "I don't think Mr. Harris-Young is our inside man. He seems to be on a roll, though, trying to break every security regulation the Channing Museum has, but I don't think he's doing it to any greater purpose."

Jones snorted a laugh, "Other than getting a little action with his girlfriend, that is."

After Peter related Timmy's 'confession', Sara wasn't quite ready to give up on her theory. "He opened the door! He signaled the lookout," she insisted again. Then she glanced back at the kid through the conference room walls, and her shoulders slumped a little. "Is there any chance he's faking it? Acting like an idiot so we don't suspect him?"

"I really don't think so," said Peter.

"Just an idiot." Diana shook her head. The evidence really had made Timmy look guilty, but the thing about having theories is that sometimes you're gonna be wrong. So Diana took a deep breath, let it out, and moved on. But she couldn't help expressing her disapproval. "This kid was compromising their security every time he turned around."

Disapproval was clearly not on Neal's mind, as his eyes had grown brighter during Peter's recounting of Timmy's actions. "What a resource. Do you know if he has a regular work schedule?"

"Neal, don't even think about it," warned Peter.

Neal grinned at Peter, "What I meant was, if Timmy is such a habitual rule-breaker, the other guards must know about it. Maybe we should find out who assigned him to guard duty yesterday."

"You think someone was counting on him to open that door?" asked Diana.

"Maybe."

"It's worth checking into." Peter thought a moment, then, "Jones?"

"Yeah?"

Peter nodded towards Timmy, visible through the glass walls of the conference room. "Cut him loose. But keep an eye on him. And find out who set the guard schedule yesterday."

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As Jones escorted Mr. Harris-Young out of the FBI office, Sara grimaced and muttered, "And there goes our best lead."

"But not our only lead," Peter rebuked mildly. "And look, here comes another one now."

Just passing Jones and Mr. Harris-Young on her way into the White Collar offices was a woman of about Peter's age, wearing a conservative suit, but with a distinctly purple streak running through her short dark hair.

At the top of the stairs she greeted, "Peter!" and, with a nod to the rest of the group, "Peter's team."

"Connie," Peter smiled his welcome, "what brings you upstairs to White Collar? And," Peter teased, "if you're up here, who's keeping the tech department from running wild?"

Connie quirked a grin, and the two of them chuckled at this apparently-inside-joke.

Then Connie dropped the grin and she held up two files folders—one thin and one much thicker. "I wanted to bring these up here myself."

"What have we got?" asked Peter, matching her serious tone.

Connie handed Peter the thinner file, and as he flipped it open to see a picture of the young blonde woman from the park, Connie explained. "Stacy Collins. Her picture's in our system from the drivers license database. No criminal record."

Peter nodded. "That fits." And he handed the file over to Jones, who had just rejoined them.

Then Connie extended the thicker file to Peter, but held onto it for a moment until Peter looked up and made eye contact. "Your businessman is Alexei Vladov."

As Peter's eyes widened in recognition, she grinned again, and released her hold on the file. "I thought you'd like that," she said, then turned to go.

"Well," breathed Peter, "now we're getting somewhere."

Sara and Diana spoke up simultaneously, their demands of "What's-?" and "Who is-?" tumbling over each other. A brief pause, and Diana continued, "Who's Alexei Vladov? Is he one of the-"

Peter nodded. "The youngest brother of Dmitri Vladov," Peter explained, "who is the head of the Vladov Shipping Company."

"So, what do they ship?" asked Sara. "And why are they in the FBI database?"

"Officially, they made their fortune on import/export. Russian foods, spices, furniture. American clothing and electronics. But, the real money comes from smuggling..." Peter shook his head. "Anything and everything you can't move legally, mixed in with their regular shipments. The FBI's been looking into them, but they're good. We don't have anything concrete enough to move on…" Peter's eyes narrowed. "Yet."

Peter looked around the small circle of his team members on the landing. "If we can nail them for this, it could open the door to take down their whole operation."

"I like the sound of that," said Diana. "So how do we tie them to the heist?"

"I need you to get me the files on the whole family and known associates. With the best pictures you can get your hands on. Let's figure out who our three thieves are, first," said Peter, nodding through the glass wall at the pictures in the conference room.

"Sure thing, Boss."

Next, Peter asked, "Sara, can you find out if Sterling Bosch has anything on the Vladovs?"

"I-" Sara's phone buzzed again. She glared as she dug for it in her bag, but surprise and concern flitted across her face as she glanced at the caller ID. "-I need to take this." And she ducked into the conference room and shoved the door nearly shut behind her.

Diana and Jones exchanged yet another raised-eyebrows glance, but Peter just turned and asked, "Neal-"

"I know. Talk to my contacts."

As Jones asked, "What do you want me to do, Peter?" Neal heard Sara's raised voice saying, "No!" But her next words were quieter, and muffled by the conference room door.

So while Peter thought for a moment, Neal shifted closer to the not-quite-closed door and with one ear listened to Sara saying, "We had a plan. I won't be ready by Thursday. And Saturday is definitely too late!" while with the other ear he heard Peter tell Jones, "I want you to keep looking for our inside man. I don't want us to get so focused on the Vladovs that we lose sight of other possible leads."

Jones and Diana headed down the stairs, and Neal casually shifted away from the conference room just as its door whipped open, and Sara emerged with a scowl on her face.

She froze for a moment, seeing Peter and Neal looking at her, then she pasted a smile on and continued answering Peter's original question, "I'll contact Sterling Bosch right now and see if they have anything on the Vladovs."

Which left Neal wondering even more who Sara had just been making plans with, if not someone from Sterling Bosch.

Peter just thanked Sara and gave Neal a warning look. And then Sara marched down the stairs, and Peter disappeared into his office with the Vladovs' hefty FBI file. Leaving Neal alone at the top of the stairs.

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As he pulled out his phone to speed-dial Mozzie, Neal watched curiously as Sara flagged down Agent Blake, who happened to be passing by.

Mozzie answered mid-ring, "You got the FBI satellites tuned to my channel again?"

"What?" replied Neal.

"I was just now pulling out my phone to call you," Mozzie accused.

"Mozzie, the FBI isn't watching you with satellites."

"Ah, so you're not denying that they're watching me," countered Mozzie.

"Moz-," But Neal's attention was drawn back down to the bullpen. Blake was giving Sara the universal you go out the door and turn left motion, and Sara turned towards the exit with a nod of thanks. "Wait, you were about to call me? Did you find anything on Sara?"

"Of course."

"And…?" Neal watched Sara push through the glass doors, then he pulled his attention back to what Mozzie was saying.

"She's leaving."

Neal's attention instantly snapped back to Sara, who was just disappearing into the elevator. "What?"

Mozzie continued, "Ms. Ellis will be packing up all her belongings on Friday and will be departing our fair shores as of this weekend."

"She's leaving Sterling Bosch?" Neal was still confused, but at the same time, Sara's half-heard phone conversation began to make more sense.

"No. She's officially being transferred to the main Sterling Bosch offices in London. But really, she's going to be Sterling Bosch's representative to that new European Union Joint Task Force on Art Crime. E-yooj-t-fac." Mozzie sounded it out. "They really need a better acronym if they want to be taken seriously."

"So it's a promotion?" Neal essayed, ignoring Mozzie's linguistic criticism.

"A big one."

"But something's not right," Neal mused. "Why is she so upset?"

"Well," said Mozzie delicately, "from talking to that perky assistant…I didn't exactly get the impression that Ms. Ellis was going to be missed around the office."

"Ouch!" said Neal. "They didn't much care when she 'died', and now they're glad she's leaving?"

"Mmm. Apparently she gave the boss-man a piece of her mind this morning when he tried to take her off this case," Mozzie gossiped. "Ms. Ellis made it abundantly clear that she didn't think any replacement would be as good."

"Which is true," allowed Neal.

"She even went so far as to insist that she'd have this case wrapped up before she left. If he would just leave her alone to do her job."

"That explains…a lot," said Neal, thinking of Sara's uncharacteristic behavior that morning as Mozzie rambled on. Sara was always aggressive in pursuing her cases, but he'd never seen her so focused on speed, at the expense of being thorough.

"Yeah. It's not just the Raphael she's so possessive about." Mozzie picked up steam. "It's all her cases. Given that, you know, it's not really a bad thing that she's going to be out of New York."

Neal, in an apparent non sequitur, asked, "Mozzie, you remember how I got Elizabeth the job catering the Masters Retrospective?"

"Ye-es," said Mozzie, hoping that Neal was changing the subject. "Her career has certainly taken off since then."

"She got arrested by Fowler because of me," Neal explained. "I needed to do something that would make up for that."

"You wanted to make things right with Mrs. Suit before…" Here Mozzie paused. "Before you left."

Neal sighed. "I thought I had plenty of time to figure out how to pay Sara back. For the tape. I didn't consider that she might be leaving."

After an awkward pause, in which Mozzie considered all the things he might say about the inadvisability of feeling gratitude toward someone who wants to see you arrested, he just suggested hopefully, "Maybe you could just throw her a going-away party?"

Neal's continued silence made clear his thoughts on that suggestion.

"So, um," Mozzie asked, "what were you calling me about?"

"What can you tell me about the Vladov family?"

"Well, if you want to move something to or from Russia, they're the people to talk to," said Mozzie with renewed enthusiasm. "But they don't like dealing with outsiders—they're a tight-knit group-" Mozzie interrupted himself, "-Oh. They were behind the heist?"

"Looks like," replied Neal. "So why haven't I ever heard of them before?"

"Well, you never were much interested in the guns n drugs crowd," said Mozzie. "And, to be honest, their crimes always seemed a bit…pedestrian…before. But they've gotten more adventurous in the last year," said Mozzie approvingly. "That museum heist had style."

"Yeah, but it's a big step from drug smuggling to museum heists. They must have some contacts in the art crime community…or prior experience…"

"I can find that out. I know some people who might have dirt on the Vladov family-"

"Moz," interrupted Neal, seeing Diana coming back into the bullpen, "I've gotta go. Thanks for the intel."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything else."

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Eyeing the stack of files Diana was carrying, Neal commented, "That was fast."

"I just went downstairs and…borrowed 'em," explained Diana. "By the time Organized Crime notices they're gone, we may well have cracked their case for them."

"Well, then, shall we?" said Neal, and mock-ushered Diana back into the conference room.

Diana set the stack of files on the table, and flipped open the top folder. A nice, clear picture of Dmitri Vladov stared up at them. She pulled the picture out and slapped it up against the white board next to the half-obscured photos of the Lead Thief, and Neal pulled out a second page, featuring shots of Dmitri from either side. After a moment, Diana commented doubtfully, "Looks like the same nose. Maybe."

Neal tilted his head and hmmed as he contemplated the sides of Dmitri's face. "Look at the angle of the jaw. And the ears. It's definitely him."

At Diana's gesture, she and Neal swapped photos, and Diana held the side views up to the white board to compare then. "Attached earlobes. Right ear protruding slightly. The angles of the helix and antihelix look like a match."

"And look," Neal pointed to the pictures of the lead thief's left side, "he's got this little thickening along the rim of his left ear."

"All right!" said Diana as she taped Dmitri's photo up next to the museum heist photos, "Let's do this."

Diana spread the rest of the files out neatly across the table. "We'll start with Dmitri's closest relatives," Diana gestured first to the files nearest to herself, then further down the table as she said, "and work outwards from there."

They rapidly identified the third thief as Gregor Vladov, another of Dmitri's brothers. However, while Diana continued systematically comparing the rest of the family's pictures with that of the second thief, Neal suddenly began flipping open files, seemingly at random.

"Hey! What're you-?" Diana started to ask.

"The museum guards said the second guy was big." Neal continued rifling through folders, then plucked a picture from one. "This is the biggest guy in the whole Vladov clan," Neal looked back down at the personal information in the folder-at-hand, "by a lot."

Neal held the picture of Dmitri's second-cousin-once-removed Mikhael "Miko" Terzov up to the white board, and their eyes darted back and forth between the pictures, lining up features and comparing angles. Until, finally, "Yeah," said Diana. "Ears are a match. Nose looks right, too, and," they both saw it and said, together, "a tiny scar on his chin."

A shared grin and a fist bump celebrated their success, and Neal said lightly, "So, we've got the Vladov Brothers and Cousin Miko."

"Sounds like a good name for a band," joked Diana, as she picked up Dmitri's file and flipped it open.

"Sounds like you may have ID'd our Russian thieves," said Peter approvingly as he walked into the room.

"And what'd'you know," said Diana, looking up from the file, "Dmitri's first job…was as a bike messenger."

Peter held up the even thicker Vladov file that Connie had given him, and nodded. "He's worked the streets, the docks, the front office. Just about every job in the organization as he worked his way up in the ranks.

Peter set the file on the table and, still talking, turned to examine the pictures Diana and Neal had added to the white board, while Diana and Neal moved the rest of the Vladov family folders aside.

"Dmitri Vladov took over the family business when his father died last year, and he's been expanding in new directions ever since. As of right now, most of their profits come courtesy of the Russian black market for prescription drugs."

Peter turned away from the white board with a, "Good work," and continued, "Organized Crime is building a case against them, but they're still one big break away from making their case."

"Maybe we can provide that break," said Sara, who entered the conference room holding a cup of coffee that Neal recognized as coming from the coffee shop around the corner to the left. Which solved the mystery of Blake's directions and left Neal still contemplating the bigger mystery of how to pay her back.

We know about the Vladovs drug smuggling operation," said Peter, "but art crime seems to be a new thing for them. Does Sterling Bosch have anything linking the Vladovs to the art world? Anything that might help us figure out what they've done with the stolen art?"

Sara pursed her lips slightly. "We don't have them tied to any art-related crimes, either. The only thing I found in the Sterling Bosch database is this-" Sara pulled out her phone again, and opened up an email attachment she'd just had her secretary send her, "after his father died, Dmitri Vladov arranged for a portrait of his father to be painted by a man named Kalen Andrews."

Neal twitched slightly. "Oh, yeah?" he questioned, leaning towards Sara. "What did it look like?"

After a beat, Sara angled her phone towards Neal.

"Hmm." Neal sounded disappointed. "Surprisingly normal."

Peter and Diana, now curious, leaned over to see a picture of a man, clearly an older relative of their four thieves. "So?" asked Diana. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Sara and Neal exchange a wary glance.

"Well," Neal started, "Andrews is known for modern art, primarily abstract. He uses symbolism to highlight the contradictions inherent in modern life…"

Sara interrupted, "Family portraits aren't exactly his area of expertise."

"So either Vladov has got some secret connection to Andrews," said Diana, at which Sara shrugged, "or he's really clueless about art."

"We'll add him to the list of people we're trying to connect to the Vladovs," said Peter.

"Yeah, well, if Vladov's not a closet Vermeer fan," asked Diana, "then what's a Russian drug smuggler actually want with a couple of Dutch masterpieces, anyways?"

"Maybe it's like the Samurai bonds," suggested Neal. "Paintings are a nice compact way to carry a lot of money. He may just be using the paintings as currency, as part of his plan to expand the family business."

"Well, we've got customs clamped down," said Peter. "He won't be able to get them out of the country."

"And if he tries to move them in New York, we'll hear about it," added Neal.

"So basically we've back to square one," said Diana. "We need to figure out where he's hiding the paintings."

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As everyone digested this for a moment, all eyes swung back to Peter at the head of the table.

"We've got a list of Vladov properties—homes, businesses, warehouses—scattered over the five boroughs and the Jersey coast," said Peter, pulling a sheet of paper out of the Vladov file. "But we're going to need more than just probable cause to search any of them."

"What!" said Sara. "Why?"

"At this point, the Vladovs expect the FBI to be poking around," explained Peter, laying the list down on the table. "But if we serve a warrant, and don't find what we're looking for, they might decide we're too close, and the time has come to cut their losses and destroy the evidence."

Neal and Sara both flinched at this, though Sara tried to cover up her reaction by reaching for the list of Vladov properties.

"And not just for our case," realized Diana. "We could be jeopardizing Organized Crime's case, too. In fact, if Hughes got wind of our current suspects, I'm guessing he'd take all this," Diana waved her arm around to encompass the files on the table and the matching pictures on the white board, "and hand it right back to Organized Crime to help make their case."

"Which is exactly why I'd like to have something a little more concrete before I take this to Hughes," said Peter.

There was a moment of quiet, as everybody tried to think of ways to solidify their case. None of them wanted to see the case handed over to Organized Crime, but to keep that from happening, they needed a better idea of where the Vladovs were hiding the art.

"Wait, Peter?" Sara had skimmed down the list of Vladov properties while Diana was talking, then had picked up her phone and starting searching through her Sterling Bosch files again.

"This address?" She slid the list back over to Peter, pointed out an entry near the bottom of the page, and turned her phone so Peter could read the file for himself. "It's Kalen Andrews' gallery."

"Which opened six months ago." Neal made the connection. "Right after Andrews finished the portrait of Vladov Senior."

Peter looked up from Sara's phone, and tapped his finger on the property list. A grin began to appear on Peter's face. "So there is more of a connection between them."

"And the gallery is a public place," said Sara, with a matching grin. "We don't need a warrant to go there."

"No, we don't," Peter agreed, looking down at the property list again, and mentally calculating. "And look, it's less than a mile from here. So, Neal, you know this guy's work. What can you tell us about the gallery? Is there a back room, or something, where the paintings could be hidden?"

"Or," chimed in Diana, "a cluttered area where they could tuck a Vermeer behind a stack of canvases and nobody'd notice for a couple weeks?"

"I, ah, may not be the best person to ask about that," said Neal breezily, sliding the nearest Vladov folder over, flipping it open, and pretending to engrossed.

"Neal." Peter put his hands on his hips.

Neal sat up very straight, and smiled helpfully. "Yes, Peter?"

"Neal, did you-" Peter couldn't keep his mind from jumping to conclusions, but he did manage to stop his mouth from asking Neal, in the presence of witnesses, if he'd stolen or forged anything on the walls of Andrews' gallery.

Sara, with no such qualms, jumped right to asking, "Did you hide something there? My Raphael, perhaps?"

"No!" said Neal. "It's just," he shrugged, fidgeting with the pages of Alexei Vladov's dossier, "I haven't been there. Yet."

"What," Diana joked, "an artist you like, a gallery within your radius, and you expect us to believe you haven't gone?"

"It's four years within my radius," Neal snapped, before renewing his fake fascination with the dossier. "I was trying to save some things…" he shrugged, "for later."

Peter and Diana had the grace to look abashed at this.

"All right," said Peter awkwardly. "All right. Well," Peter hitched out his arm to look at his watch, "the gallery's about to close for the day. But first thing tomorrow we'll go check it out."

Neal heard his partner's slight emphasis on the word we, took it for the apology it was meant to be, and perked right back up again.

Sara, oblivious to this little interplay, said, "I'm coming, too."

Peter drew breath to disagree, but Neal, still trying to solve his mystery, said, "The more, the merrier."

Peter blinked, surprised and not a little suspicious, but he just admonished Sara, "All right. Meet us here tomorrow morning. And don't be late!"