Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.

Fly, Fly Away

Chapter 2

"You remember that Amelia Heiress case?" Peter asks one day, as Neal is finishing up the paperwork for the Roland case. Neal does, although he would rather not. First the manifest and now this loose end. It seems obvious now that Adler wanted the radio to find the sub, although they still have no idea how he did it.

"Yeah, I remember. Something turn up?" he asks casually. This could be bad. He knows Peter had agents check the radio thief's MO against Adler's known associates. They didn't come up with anyone, which means Amelia's still out there and who knows how much she knows.

"She struck again, or so it seems. Broke into a mansion in the Hamptons. This time she took 2 million in bearer bonds."

The Hamptons, that is Neal's kind of field trip. However, the one bright spot in this mess fades away when Peter announces that the local PD has brought the evidence to the FBI.

"Are we sure this is the same suspect?" Neal asks after an hour of examining the files. "The museum break-in was a solo job, here we have two suspects on the security camera at the back door. The museum job was clean, no evidence. These two thieves were spotted by a neighbor who called the police. The only thing they have in common is that the thieves came and went by plane and not even the same kind of plane!" He gestures towards the pontoons planes moored at the marina the thieves were tracked to.

"He has a point boss," Diana admits. "A lot of people can fly a plane."

"Not a lot of people break into the vacation home of an assistant US attorney," Peter counters. "Not a lot of people can crack that Amsec model safe in less than five minutes."

"No one can crack that safe in five minutes," Neal counters, a point he's made twice in the past hour.

"Just because you can't…" Peter needles, for the third time.

"I mean it. It's impossible," Neal insists. "It has to be an inside job." Neal cues up security footage from the back door. "Look at how the male suspect cracks the alarm system. He hooks that cable to the keypad, it flashes some numbers. But then he punches the numbers in manually."

"I looks like he's brute-forcing the password with his phone," Jones catches on, "but it might just be a show to cover the fact that he knows the pass code."

"Look at US attorney Well's family," Peter directs Diana.

"He has a daughter, age fifteen. She does not have a pilot's license." Diana adds. "There's also a nephew, Simon Allen. His father, Fredrick Allen worked at Lehman Brothers. The SEC would like to talk to him about some insider trading allegations, but he's been living in the Caribbean since 2008."

"He and his assistant US attorney brother in law are not on speaking terms," Peter adds.

"According to Wells," Jones throws in.

"What do we know about the son?" Peter redirects them.

"Finance major at Columbia. Nice off-campus apartment and a very good internship with JP Morgan for a kid who's going to be a sophomore in the fall." Diana pulls up the kids Facebook page, "Oh, and look, he used his uncle's house to throw a party a few weeks ago."

"Alright, Diana, I want you to look into everyone who was at that party," Peter starts throwing out orders. "Neal and I are going to talk to the kid. Jones, track down the plane. This could still be connected to the Amelia case.

They find Simon Allen outside JP Morgan's massive office complex.

"I think I'll wait in the car," Neal suggests. "Just in case."

"Fine, fine," Peter agrees.

He watches from the window as Peter approaches the kid. It's obvious that the young man is in a hurry, not eager to talk. Neal thinks there might be something evasive in his body language at one point, but it's hard to tell from a distance.

"Anything useful?" he asks when Peter returns.

"He knew the security pass code, everyone did. Claimed he didn't even know his uncle had a safe at the vacation house."

"And the night of the break-in, he was at a party?" Neal asks, recalling the police report.

"Yeah, but he gave me the exact same three friends he gave the police," Peter says. "You'd think more than three people would have seen him at a party."

"So he got his friends to alibi him and tried to make it look like a break-in, because his dad's running out of money in the Caribbean?" Neal asks. "Still doesn't explain the safe."

"I think we should see where this kid goes after work."

Diana calls while they grab lunch across the street. "I may have found a girl," she says over the phone. "There was one girl in all this party photos who wasn't tagged, didn't have a Facebook page. I chatted with a few kids from the party.

"Chatted?" Peter asks.

"Face book message. These kids don't actually talk on their phones. Ashley and Blair ID'd the mystery girl as Olivia Lawson. No one there really knew her. Ashley thought she was a friend of Brooke's from NYU, Brooke through she was a friend of Blair's, and so on."

"And NYU?" Neal asks.

"Doesn't have an Olivia Lawson that fits her description. I did dig up a police report. Arrest record for dealing drugs, no charges filed. Not much too it."

"Anything else?" Peter asks.

"Brooke thought Olivia was hooking up with Simon. They disappeared to the Master bedroom a couple of times."

"Where the safe is," Neal added. "She could have been cracking the combination by touch. With several hours, that's more than doable."

"Jones, you find anything?" Peter asks.

"Forged registration that traces to a rental, same as before," Jones reports. "I talked to a source who said it's possible to switch the landing gear on a plane like that for pontoons, but it takes about two days."

Peter instructs both Jones and Diana to dig into Simon Allen's phone records and Fredrick Allen's financials to see if anything can tie them to the theft.

Diana emails them the names of the arresting officers and a photo of Olivia. She's brunette, young and dodging away from the camera as if she's trying to get out of the picture. It's not a great shot, but there's something oddly familiar about her.

NYPD dispatch directs them to look for Officer Blythe in a trendy nightclub district near Wall Street, so Peter decides they should look into the arrest report, since Simon isn't leaving JP Morgan for a few hours at least.

"Olivia Lawson, Lawson," Blythe tries to remember. "Oh yeah, that was weird."

"Weird how?" Peter asks.

"Well, it was a scam," she replies.

"A scam?" Neal asks. He has a bad feeling about this.

"Yeah, we picked her up in one of these clubs selling pills. We were doing a sting and she sold me four doses of molly. Only when we get to the precinct, she says the pills aren't molly, they're cornstarch and sugar."

"And she was actually telling the truth?" Peter asks.

"Yeah, we did several field tests," Blythe confirms. "She told me she sold fake drugs who kids who were already too drunk or high to know the difference. We had to cut her loose."

"It's a good con," Neal observes.

"Until she gets a dissatisfied customer, or a real dealer gets territorial," Blythe counters. "I told her she was playing a dangerous game, but she just smirked at me. Kid like that either gets herself in trouble or moves on to some other scam, but what can you do?"

She confirms that the Olivia in the Face book picture is the same girl she arrested and moves on with her beat.

"So, son of a crooked stockbroker falls in with an up and coming thief and con artist?" Peter asks.

"Looks like it."

The stake-out is mostly boring and only slightly informative, in other words, typical. Simon leaves JP Morgan, stops at an ATM and withdraws the daily maximum. They follow him to his mother's house for dinner. When he returns to his apartment, he's carrying a small suitcase.

"He's going to run," Neal argues.

"Maybe. Or maybe he's going to another party in the Hamptons," Peter counters.

"They can't cash the bonds here. Not without us flagging the transaction. Whatever they're planning, we need to flush them out."

"What are you thinking?" Peter asks.

"They're kids. Simon Allen has never done anything like this before. He needs advice. Say, a friend of his father's."

"The assistant US attorney is not going to like this," Peter observes.

The morning after a stake-out dawns all too early, and since Peter decided to let two junior agents take over watching Simon's apartment around midnight, Neal doesn't have a good enough excuse to sleep in. Still, he's pleased to note the brief look of surprise on Peter's face when he arrives at the office ten minutes early. Usually he'd at least try to get away with being ten minutes late after a night like that.

Today, he needs to be here and pitch his plan before Peter and team come up with something else. He needs to take point on this because he has no idea how this connects back to Adler and the treasure and he needs to figure it out before Peter does.

By lunch, he's sold his plan. He's staying on-anklet, he's staying away from Wells, and Peter has reserved the right to pull the plug on this if it doesn't dig up anything in a day or two.

He stops by the loft to pick up some items he needs for his cover. Mozzie is waiting.

"Peter went for it. I'm going undercover, trying to make contact with the thieves."

"I don't like any of this. We still don't know what Adler did with that radio."

"We don't even know Adler got the radio. If this Olivia knows anything about the treasure, I'll know it before the FBI does."

"And then what do you do with her?" Mozzie asks.

"I let her get away, and make it look like it's not my fault," Neal suggests. He'll think of something if the time comes.

"We should be the ones getting away," Mozzie argues.

"Not yet," Neal counters. Mozzie walks over to the window, avoiding the argument they've already had. In agreement on that, if nothing else, Neal leaves for his appointment at JP Morgan.

Peter has a friend at the investment firm that owes him a favor; he looked up the division where Simon Allen is interning and scheduled George Devore for a 4:30 portfolio review.

On the way downstairs from the meeting, Neal makes a detour. He spots the kid leaving and office and catches the same elevator.

"Simon Allen, is that you?" he catches the kid's arm as they leave the elevator. This is not a conversation to have in a crowded box.

"I'm sorry?" the young man replies.

"I'm George Devore; I worked with your father."

"I see," Simon says, tersely.

"How is he?" Neal asks.

"I don't really know. Do you?" Right, this kid is not too fond of his father.

"Sadly, I haven't heard from him. I'm not exactly the safest person for him to call, given our business together."

"Right."

"Look, if there's anything I do to help out, let me know," Neal passes Simon one of George's business cards. He's relieved the kid keeps it, at least, before walking away.

Reluctantly, he calls Peter to report in.

"I can tell you that Simon Allen and his father are not on the best of terms."

"So it's a bust, then?" Peter asks.

"Oh, Peter, give it a day at least. He might not like me yet, but he still might need me."

"Fine, a day. My agents picked up the girl leaving Simon's apartment this afternoon, but they lost her. You don't lose four FBI agents on accident; she's up to something."

"We'll crack this one, Peter. I'm going to see if I can bump into Simon tonight, subtlety."

He loosely follows the kid back to his apartment, hanging back and checking in with the agents watching the place. After a few hours, he's ready to give this up when the kid heads out. He hangs back again until one of the probies confirms he's followed Simon to a bar in the financial district popular with the Wall Street crowd.

Inside the bar, Neal spots Simon with a group of interns and young bankers near the bar and opts for a table in the back. After a half-hour or so, Simon spots him while walking to meet some girls at another table. Neal nods, the kid nods back. Neal waits. This con requires that the mark come to him.

Neal waits it out, chats up a variety of pretty young women and tries to make it look like he's striking out with them instead of brushing them off after a few minutes. Simon's buddies get drunk, but Simon seems pretty sober. Two hours later, the kid finally seats himself at Neal's table.

"What kind of business did you do with my father?" Simon asks.

"I'm in imports and exports." Neal says. "I help people move things in and out of the country smoothly."

"But you aren't in contact with him? He didn't send you here?"

"Our business ended when he left. I've been out of the country myself, Europe. Just got back."

"You didn't just bump into me." Neal has to admit the kid's not an idiot.

"No, I didn't," Neal admits with an easy grin. "I was hoping your father had sorted out his little problem with the SEC and we might catch up. When I found out he was still away, I thought you might need my help."

Simon nods. A few seconds later, one of his drunken friends calls him over. "I'm going to get him a cab," Simon says. Neal's not sure if that's an excuse to go, but he orders another whiskey, having finally finished his first.

When Simon returns, he seems more certain, speaking almost before he's sat down.

"I might need your help, but not for anything to do with my dad. I don't want him to know anything about this."

"Of course," Neal assures.

The kid takes a deep breath. "You can get passports? Quickly?"

"I can. US?"

"Sure, US. What do you need, pictures, ages, names?"

"If you have a name you want to use, or I can give you a name."

"Yeah, maybe that."

"Of course when I helped your father, it was business. You understand that, don't you Simon?"

The kid smiles, relieved that he's found the catch. "I need them in two days, how much?"

"Five thousand dollars."

"Apiece."

"Yes."

"I'll text you the information tonight."

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Allen."

Like stealing candy from a baby, Neal thinks, as he leaves the bar. Or maybe it's more like slipping a baby candy under its mother's nose?

He calls Peter, "Guess who just asked me for two forged passports?"

"It's late Neal," Peter growls, which Neal decides is Peter's way of saying, 'you were right.'

He's barely awake at 1 am when he gets the text from Simon. Well damn. This is not good. Simon Allen wants three passports: one for himself, one for the mysterious Olivia/Amelia and one for Simon's 15-year-old cousin, Lily Wells. Please, let this not be a kidnapping case, Neal thinks as he dials Peter's number.

A/N: For anyone without an encyclopedic knowledge of White Collar, the Roland reference puts this between 3.2 and 3.3. (Me, I looked it up before writing it!) Chapter 3 needs a few revisions, but will be posted sometime tomorrow.