OK, I know I've only recently started another Person of Interest Crossover but the idea for this one came to me last night and when I sat down, it practically wrote itself. For followers of Tangled Webs I promise I won't forget it.

Usual disclaimers apply in that I don't own anything relating to either P.O.I. or White Collar.

Please let me know what you think.

Art of Interest

Chapter 1

Metropolitan Museum of Art

"This is a great day for the Museum, Annie." Museum director Elliot Schultz could barely contain his excitement as he watched the two security guards manhandle the crate into the centre of the room.

Head of Special Exhibitions, Annette Fauberg, was calmer but her body language showed her tension as she nodded her agreement. "The first time Van Gogh's 'Self Portrait with Dark Felt Hat' has been exhibited outside of Europe. It was a great coup persuading the Van Gogh Museum to lend it to us for this exhibition of his work. I can't wait to open the crate, to touch it, to study the brushstrokes, the use of colour and shadow up close."

Schultz chuckled. "Always the art historian, eh? Me; as Director I also have to think of the footfall its display will bring through the exhibition. The publicity has already seen a massive increase in pre-opening ticket sales."

The security guards had placed the crate gently down on the floor and one made his way towards them carrying a clipboard.

"One crate, please sign here to confirm delivery." He thrust the clipboard towards them. He sounded bored. This was all in a day's work to him.

"Just let me open the crate and check the painting hasn't been damaged first, OK?" Schultz displayed the claw hammer he had been holding to the guard, who shrugged and stood back. Closely followed by Annette Fauberg, he strode across the room and knelt down, using the claw to lever the nails securing the crate loose. He finally ripped the side free, spilling straw onto the pristine floor of the gallery. Dropping the hammer he used both hands to clear the remainder of the packing material out. "Ah, here we go..." He suddenly rocked back on his heels, his body stiffening in shock as he stared into the crate.

Annette Fauberg leaned over to see what was wrong and her face turned white. "Oh, my God!" She said. She turned to the guards. "This is the wrong crate. It must be!" With a sinking feeling she knew she was clutching at straws. Given the contents of the crate the chance that this was nothing more than an administrative error was miniscule.

The guard with the clipboard checked the invoice. "One crate for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, invoice number 354675/13" He read, then pointed to the side of the crate where, prominently displayed on a sticker, was the number 354675/13. "This is the crate we was told to deliver here. If there's been a screw up, it ain't down to us, lady."

Annette turned to look back into the crate again. Nestled inside, still partially covered in straw was a square of hardboard with a cheap print of Van Gogh's portrait of himself wearing a dark felt hat carelessly tacked on to it.

Museum Director Schultz turned his head away from the crate. "Call 911." He croaked. "No-one leaves until the police get here."

FBI Headquarters, White Collar Crimes Division.

The team assembled in the conference room as Unit Head, Special Agent Peter Burke began the briefing. He clicked the remote and a picture appeared on the screen behind him. "'Self Portrait with Dark Felt Hat' by Vincent Van Gogh. Stolen sometime within the last seventy two hours." He began.

His Confidential Informant, Neal Caffrey looked up. "Wasn't it being lent to the Metropolitan Museum of Art as the centrepiece of their Van Gogh retrospective?" he asked.

Peter nodded. "The Dutch confirm that they packed it for shipment three days ago. It was transported to a privately chartered jet under tight security and loaded on board. After passing through customs at J.F.K., it was picked up by a private security truck and delivered to the Museum. Only when they opened it," Peter reached under the table and lifted up Exhibit A for the team to see, "they found this." The team studied the print tacked to the hardboard. "Needless to say," Peter continued, "there are no prints. Anyway, back to the Metropolitan, once the Director and Head of Special Exhibitions had finished having kittens, they called the NYPD, and they, realising the international repercussions, couldn't wait to pass it on to us. Neal, tell us about this picture."

Neal studied the ceiling as he replied. "Oil on Canvas, measuring 161/4 inches by 123/4 inches. Painted in 1886, just after he arrived in Paris. It's one of his earliest self portraits."

"What's it worth?" Agent Clinton Jones asked.

Neal shrugged. "Difficult to say at the moment. There hasn't been a Van Gogh sold publically since the late 1990's. That one fetched $71.5 million dollars, adjusted for inflation that would be over $100 million today."

The conference room was suddenly full of surprised and appreciative whistles.

Peter took command again. "O.K., people lets concentrate on the job." He looked towards his Confidential Informant again. "Where would you fence it?" He asked.

Neal laughed. "I wouldn't. It's hotter than special chilli sauce. My guess, Peter, is that it's either been stolen to order by an obsessive collector, in which case it will never be heard from again, or it's being held for ransom. In that case, either the Museum or the Insurance Company will shortly be approached with an offer, if they haven't already."

Agent Dianna Berrigan looked up from her notes. "Do we know how it was stolen?" She asked.

Peter shook his head.

"So, who had the opportunity?" She persisted.

Peter pursed his lips. "From the moment it was crated, there were always at least two people with it at all times. They are all suspects. $70 million dollars can go a long way, even split among several people but, and here's the kicker, only a very small group of people knew exactly what was in that particular crate."

Neal shook his head. "It won't wash, Peter." He said. "The Metropolitan has been pushing the publicity on this heavily. You don't have to be Einstein to figure out what a crate being sent from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam to the Metropolitan in New York is likely to contain."

"Ah, that's where we caught a break." Peter replied. "Five crates were actually sent out using different routes and different carriers. Only the small group I mentioned earlier knew which one was the McCoy and which were decoys."

"And who's in this group?" Clinton Jones asked.

"In the Netherlands, only the Director of the Van Gogh Museum and his P.A. They crated up the five containers. Here in the U.S., the Director and Head of Special Exhibitions at the Metropolitan, and the partners of the Company insuring the painting during transit and while it was on loan." He looked down at his notes. "Universal Heritage Insurance."

He looked round his team. "The Dutch police are covering what happened in Amsterdam but we get jurisdiction from the time it was loaded on to the private jet onwards. Dianna, I want you to lead on interviewing the jet and its crew, Clinton, the security guards. Neal and I are going to the Museum and then on to speak to the partners at Universal Heritage."

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Director Schultz and Annette Fauberg stood amid the ruins of five packing cases in the storage room in the bowels of the museum.

"I suppose you've checked the other crates just in case there was a mistake?" Peter asked; looking around him as Neal bent down to examine the crate closest to him.

"Of course we checked the other crates. We tore all five apart. Look around you! That was the first thing the police suggested." Director Schultz snarled, the bald spot on his head shone with perspiration and his jowls wobbled over his creased suit. "What kind of question is that? When the cops handed this over to the F.B.I., I thought we would be getting a somewhat higher standard of investigative technique."

Neal looked up. "What were in the dummy crates?" He asked.

"Blank canvas stretched over a frame so the weight felt the same." Annette Fauberg replied. She had found time to put on some make-up so her plain but kindly face showed no signs of the strain she was under. She pointed towards one wall, where the canvasses leant. "They're all stacked up over there." Neal went to examine them.

"O.K. so, I understand that, as far as the museum here is concerned the two of you were the only people to know which of the crates held the real Van Gogh…"

"What are suggesting Agent, that one of us stole the painting?" Schultz looked close to exploding.

Peter held up his hands in a peace gesture. "I'm just confirming the facts I was given, Director." He responded. "Now, I want you both to think hard. Is there any way someone else could have found out which of the crates held the real painting? Could you have left the documentation out someplace where, say a personal assistant or museum worker could have seen it? It's easily done. For instance, you're checking the manifest, you get a call and someone comes in when you're distracted. Can you remember anything like that happening?"

Schultz and Fauberg's eyes focussed inwards for several seconds but, finally, both shook their heads.

"O.K. What about members of your family, boyfriends, girlfriends, just friends, could you have let something slip to them?"

Annette Fauberg was the first to shake her head. "I have few friends, Agent Burke. Most of them I've known since college. I trust them implicitly. We've talked about the exhibition, of course, but even so, I knew how important security was and I am absolutely certain I never mentioned anything that would compromise the shipment."

"And my wife and I live alone since the kids left home. She's not interested in art and we never discuss it." Director Schultz added.

Peter sighed. Well at least the suspect pool wasn't growing, he consoled himself; and that focussed suspicion on the small group officially in the know. "Who came up with the idea of the decoy crates?" He asked out loud.

"The Insurance Company." Director Schultz responded. "They said they had used it successfully before."

"Are they your regular insurers?" Neal asked.

"They're one of several we go to for quotes but, as they were sponsoring this particular exhibition, they gave us a particularly good deal." Annette Fauberg replied. She held out a pamphlet, which she had been clutching and Neal took it.

"The Genius of Van Gogh." He read and, underneath, in smaller lettering, "Sponsored by Universal Heritage Insurance." He studied the cover design, "This is very nice, a little different from the standard representations of the artist's best known works you usually get." He noted.

Annette nodded. "It was done by a friend of mine, Grace Hendricks. She's a very talented illustrator.

Universal Heritage Insurance

The two men sitting at the head of the table rose as Peter and Neal were shown into the luxurious conference room. Peter and Neal walked to meet them, their feet sinking into the deep pile carpet.

"Why don't we have a conference room like this?" Neal asked under his breath.

"Be grateful for what ours doesn't have, like bars on the windows and doors." Peter replied, equally softly. He smiled as he reached the head of the table and held out his hand. "Special Agent Peter Burke and my associate Neal Caffrey. Thank you for seeing us." He said.

"Considering that we're hoping you can save the company a $100 million pay out, it was the least we could do." A tall grey haired man, with the healthy tan of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors, responded. "I'm Stamford Gates and this is Thomas Ischon." His handshake was firm and dry.

Thomas Ischon, whose dark hair was beginning to recede at the front, also shook hands. His grip was not as strong but did not display any signs of undue strain or guilt. "Sit down." He invited their guests. "Do you want anything to drink, coffee, tea?" When Peter and Neal shook their heads, he continued. "We'll just wait for Harold to arrive and then you can ask us whatever you want."

"Harold?" Peter asked.

"Harold Wren, our other partner." Gates answered.

"I see; I wasn't aware there was a third partner. All the paperwork relating to the policy insuring the Van Gogh is in your names."

Ischon chuckled. "That's Harold for you. He's the shy, retiring sort."

Gates gave his partner a look. "Harold was involved in a serious accident a couple of years ago." He explained. "He wasn't expected to live, much less regain the use of his legs. He proved the doctors wrong on both counts but, ever since then, he's semi-retired from active involvement in the company. He comes into the office once or twice a week and is involved in all major decisions on corporate strategy but keeps away from the day to day stuff."

"Was he involved in the decision to insure the Van Gogh?" Peter asked.

"He pushed for us to sponsor the show, insuring the painting followed on logically from that." Inschon said.

Neal opened his mouth to say something when the sound of uneven footsteps approaching down the uncarpeted corridor interrupted him. The door swung open to reveal a well dressed man of about 5 foot 9 inches in height, his brown hair grew down the side of his face in unfashionable sideburns. He stood in the doorway and surveyed the room through thick rimmed glasses, turning his body to take it all in. Apparently satisfied, he limped forward, his posture unnaturally upright and held out his hand.

"I'm Harold Wren." He said. "Not so much a sleeping partner, more a cat-napping one."

T.B.C.