Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to USA and Jeff Eastin.

A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far. I hope you enjoy the final installment.

…

…

…

Chapter Three: Monday

Monday late morning, NY White Collar Office

"Peter," Hughes greeted as Peter stepped up the stairs to the main offices. "I see you couldn't stay away for long."

Peter returned Hughes' smile. "It's good to be back, sir. By the way, where is Neal? I stopped by his place on the way here, but June told me he had already left. Apparently you've been working him long hours the past two days."

"I haven't," Hughes said, eyes glinting. "But it's nice to know Silvers is keeping him busy and out of trouble."

"Silvers?" Realization dawned. "Not Frank Silvers from Major Thefts?"

Hughes nodded. "Caffrey's been with them since Saturday. By the by, Peter, I haven't the faintest idea how you manage to work with him. I'm not saying he's not a valuable asset, but he's reckless, impulsive, absolutely uncontrollable, and I barely lasted three days before I wanted to send him back to Reikers."

Peter grinned, but his eyes were tight. "He is that." A pause. "You haven't, uh, by any chance checked up on Neal since he went over there, have you?"

"Caffrey is perfectly capable of handling himself," Hughes reminded disapprovingly.

"I know," Peter assured. "But I don't know if Major Thefts will be able to handle Neal."

Hughes chuckled at the thought. "I haven't heard anything from them, so they must be managing fine."

Instead of calming Peter, however, Hughes' words worried him. He had worked with Neal long enough to know that silence from the con was rarely ever a good omen.

"You have that look again. Look, if you're worried, why don't you ask Agent Bancroft?" Hughes' boss had just entered the pit. "He's been spending a lot of time with Major Thefts lately."

As if recognizing that he was being summoned, Bancroft made his way into Hughes' office. "Burke," he acknowledged, and he sounded displeased. "I thought you weren't going to be back till tomorrow?"

"The wife sent me back early. Something about my obvious boredom defeating the purpose of the vacation," Peter deadpanned. "Agent Hughes was saying that you've been in Major Thefts recently?"

"I was just on my way there, now," Bancroft confirmed.

"Excellent. I was wondering if you had connected with Neal while you were there?"

"I haven't seen Caffrey," Bancroft said immediately, and, if it were anyone but the staid agent, Peter would swear the too quick answer was suspicious. "Why would I have seen Caffrey?"

Peter was silent. Finally, he asked slowly, "You mean to say that he hasn't spent the last two days with the Major Crimes Unit?"

"Silvers said nothing to me when I met with him yesterday." Peter thought Bancroft looked extremely uneasy.

"Don't be hasty, Peter," Hughes warned quickly, knowing how his agent processed information.

"Yes," Bancroft hastened to agree. "Perhaps Caffrey caught a cold and has been home sick."

"Ridiculous. Neal never calls in sick," Peter scoffed. "Besides, June lectured me this morning for working him too hard. She said that the last two nights he was out till midnight. No." Peter disagreed. "No. It's very obvious what has happened."

"It… is?" Bancroft asked, and had Peter been in any mind to pay attention, the agent's nervousness would have been telling.

"Neal's gotten himself into some kind of trouble again. Or Mozzie…" Peter mused aloud before quickly disabusing himself of that idea. "It's not Mozzie. Neal cares about him too much to not avail himself of Bureau resources. It's definitely about Neal. Maybe an old partner is threatening him into pulling a con? Have we received any intel on Alex Hunter lately?"

Peter was always in his element when it came to conjecturing about what misconduct Neal was currently staging.

"I think you're overreacting." Hughes' interruption was gentle, but firm. "And I can't believe I am the one defending Caffrey, but the kid's been toeing the line for some time, now, and I think this might all be a misunderstanding."

Beside him, Bancroft was nodding insistently.

"Maybe," Peter allowed doubtfully. "Perhaps I should pay Agent Silvers a visit. Just to make sure."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Bancroft hurried to advise. "They've been a bit swamped in Major Thefts and—"

"It'll be quick," Peter dismissed, standing to leave. "Shall we go together?"

Bancroft looked like he would rather do anything else in the world and Peter took a second to wonder if he had done anything to offend the older agent. When Bancroft finally spoke, though, it was a resigned and clipped, "fine."

At the same time, NY Major Thefts Unit

"They've just set up surveillance on the fourth apartment, sir," Roger was reporting. "Bateman is grabbing coffee in a café two blocks away."

"How have we been acquitting ourselves so far?"

"Not very well, unfortunately. They haven't caught sight of him in any of the exercises. And it's not like he's trying to stay under the radar. Last time he slipped out with four chairs and an antique card table."

"A card table?" Frank repeated incredulously. "And none of you noticed him exiting?"

"No sir. Makes one glad that men like him are on our side, doesn't it?"

"Yes, well," Frank harrumphed. "A card table. Really..."

"He's good. I'm tailing him, and I don't even know how he is getting in or out. He slips my surveillance right before he engages in the heist," Roger admitted.

"Does that mean he knows you're watching?"

"I don't think so. I think it's just a safe-practice habit. He gives no indication of being wary of my presence, at any rate."

"Good," Frank grunted, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose he isn't doing anything suspicious?"

"No, sir," Roger almost sounded apologetic. "He's been a model agent all morning."

"Right." A pause. "Right." Another break. "Well, it doesn't seem like there's any purpose in continuing to investigate him. My impression must be incorrect. Why don't you join the probies for the remainder of the exercises? Perhaps with your help we can actually catch this slippery bastard."

"It would be my pleasure."

"Thanks, Roger."

Frank clicked the phone shut. He had been so sure… a tone from the computer gave notice of a new email in his inbox. A glance showed an unread message from . . . He double took. Bateman? What?

His heart pounding, he moved his mouse to click on it.

An hour before, an apartment in Chelsea

"This is a bit Hawkeye of you," a voice broke out as Neal dropped down from a panel in the ceiling. "Personally, I would have gone with a Silver Mouse. It's a much subtler entrance."

Neal took a moment to brush out some wrinkles from his suit. Not that there were many, Mozzie noticed, feeling a twinge of envy at his friend's ability to undergo anything short of a tornado and still come out looking like a model. And Mozzie still wasn't sure about the tornado.

"I would, too. But I'm trying to give our group of agents a fighting chance."

Mozzie's grunt was a clear disapproval.

Neal glanced at the older con. "I'm surprised to see you here. I didn't think you would want to get this close to the action."

"Yes, well," he released a disdainful snort, "they've been doing such an abysmal job that I figure I'll be ok."

"They have been rather pathetic, haven't they?" Neal said gleefully, taking a couple minutes to look around the apartment. "You did a good job, Moz. This one's nice."

The grifter shrugged, "Friend of a friend owed me a favor."

"Still. Upscale, elegant, and classy," Neal grinned appreciatively. "So. What should I take? Maybe if I grab something suitably large, they'll notice my exit." He eyed some of the furniture speculatively.

Mozzie stared at his friend, as if just realizing something. "You're enjoying this!"

"Of course I'm enjoying this," Neal said evenly, testing the weight of the antique card table in the corner. "What do you think?"

"You miss being chased by the Bureau. You miss pulling idiotically reckless stunts intended to grab their attention. I bet," Mozzie accused, "you wish it was Burke outside."

"You have to admit it would be more exhilarating if it were Peter. He was always good at providing a challenge." Neal's tone was wistful, as he hoisted up his take. "Do you think it would be too much if I also took the chairs?"

Mozzie watched him gather his items. "Don't you think this is getting out of hand?" Neal steadfastly ignored him. "There is no way you're coming out of today unharmed. Those suits are going to want your blood."

Finally, Neal faced him, his expression one of a man who had pushed past the edge of reasonable patience. "Why would anyone in Major Thefts want to hurt me, Moz?" No one could pull off utter innocence as well as Neal. "It'll be fine." He could tell Mozzie didn't believe him. "A bottle of wine says that I come out of this unharmed."

The older conman really wanted to say that if he was this tempted to hurt his friend, the agents' feelings could only be worse. Instead, he opened his mouth and pointed out composedly, "You do realize that those won't fit through the ventilation shafts."

As usual, Neal waved off the concerns.

Little over an hour later, NY Major Thefts Unit

It took two reads for Frank to fully comprehend the email.

The moment he did, though, he was scrambling for his phone, his mind a hazy jumble of things he did not care to identify. He was dialing Roger's number, when an unexpected voice at his doorway almost caused him to drop his phone. As it was, the only reason he didn't was the combination of incredibly fast reflexes and luck.

"Burke," he greeted reluctantly, looking up. "Listen, I'm extremely busy right now, and—"

"I'll be quick," Burke interrupted. He looked as displeased as Frank was to be there; it was no secret that the two agents had never particularly gotten along. "We sent a member of our team here to work for a few days. I was wondering if I could see him."

Frank wasn't really paying attention. "I have no idea what you're talking about Burke. Don't blame us because you're not competent enough to keep track of your own people."

He was dialing again, when a second voice broke in. "Is everything all right, Silvers?" This time Frank did drop his phone. His head jerked up to see a concerned Agent Bancroft stepping out from behind the White Collar head agent. "You seem distracted."

There was a clear hierarchy in the FBI. Part of that entailed no questioning of the boss. Or accusing him. Or being even slightly disrespectful. A proper agent would keep his head down and follow whatever plan his supervisor had set him on even if that plan involved bringing in some stranger to teach his agents and probies important field lessons.

Frank had always considered himself a model agent.

"You knew!" Apparently, today was an exception. "You knew he wasn't Bateman. That's why you were so awkward with him the other day, isn't it? And it certainly explains his oddities. They're strange in Chicago, I'll admit, but they can't be that strange—"

"Stop," Bancroft interjected stiffly. "I understand that you take your responsibility over your team seriously, but that is no reason to be automatically suspicious of anyone who comes into contact with them. Just because he comes from a different FBI tradition—"

"I know he's not Bateman!" Frank exploded. Bancroft looked taken aback at the display of anger. "I just got an email from Lucas Bateman. He's recuperating from a dislocated shoulder and apologized for not making it to New York."

"Ok." Bancroft acquiesced a little too easily. "Maybe he's not Agent Bateman from Chicago. Regardless, he had my permission as Division Chief to instruct your team in whatever manner made him most comfortable."

"Sir, I understand your desire to be accommodating, but that is no excuse for condoning deceit. I know liars, sir. I can see it in their faces. I promise you that this agent is concealing something, and until we can get to the bottom of it, I want him far away from my team."

"Your fears are unfounded, Silvers. He has been nothing but honest with me from the beginning, and his security expertise is—"

"There's a lie right there! He calls himself a Security Expert."

"You can't deny that!" Bancroft protested. "Just yesterday you were telling me that his skills were remarkable."

"Maybe you two ought to take a moment—" Peter began, trying to diffuse the situation. Bancroft looked alarmed, as if he had forgotten that the other agent was still there.

"Yes, perhaps we ought to discuss this privately," he hinted heavily, but Frank was too incensed to stop.

"I'll admit that he is good. But it's obvious that he doesn't enjoy security. It's not his passion. But I watched him identify a forged Monet in under a minute. I've never seen anything like it. The DC Art Crimes Unit could hardly do it better…"

Bancroft's immediately schooled his expression.

Burke, on the other hand, looked alarmingly pleased.

"One thing, Silvers. Was he wearing designer suits?" Burke's tone was controlled.

Frank nodded. "Reminded me of Sinatra, to be honest, with those blue eyes."

"I think we ought to drop by your visiting agent, Silvers. I have an idea who he might be."

Privately, Bancroft was certain that it was lucky that the only person who would not be frightened by the glint in Burke's eye was the subject of their conversation.

Twenty minutes later, outside an apartment building in the Upper East Side

"Agent Bateman," Peter began, his eyes agleam, and all the agents suddenly understood why this man boasted a 96% closure rate, "Or the imposter who says he is Agent Bateman…" A bunch of agents made to leave the van, and Peter raised a quick hand to stop them. "This needs to be done carefully. He is talented and experienced. You will not be able to catch him if he runs. Most importantly, we must be careful. If he gets hurt, there will be severe consequences."

Peter was mostly silent as Silvers instructed his men on how best to approach the situation, only adding tidbits of helpful information. Finally, the Major Thefts agents departed, leaving Peter and Bancroft to monitor the progress from the van.

"Consequences?" Bancroft queried.

"Neal still has some friends in the underworld who would have no scruples against doing terrible things to me to revenge him." Peter admitted. "And I don't even want to think about what my wife would do."

Bancroft chuckled. "You know, it's highly unlikely they'll be able to apprehend him."

He sounded almost smug, and Peter looked at his boss's boss askance. "Of course I know that. I spent three years living that. And whose side are you on?"

"Caffrey's, of course. The man's good at what he does, and I don't bet on the losing horse."

Peter was silent for a moment.

"You won't tell him?"

Bancroft grinned mischievously. "Where would the fun in that be?"

Silence descended. Until Peter finally gave voice to the question that had been bubbling this entire time.

"Why'd you let him do it?"

Bancroft looked at him warily. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell Reece." Peter nodded fervently, and Bancroft shrugged. "I got bored."

"Bored?"

"I was a field agent. Now I spend my entire time stuck behind a desk doing routine paper work. Is it really that surprising that I would let Caffrey break the monotony?"

Peter considered that. Still. "So you decided to not only aid one of the world's best conmen in breaking a federal law, but also allow him to train the next generation of our law enforcement because you were bored?"

"There's no need to put it that way." Bancroft sounded disgruntled. "Anyway, what are you going to do when you find him?"

Peter smiled, his visage showing deep amusement. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something… suitable."

Five minutes after, a Penthouse on the Upper East Side

"If you're going to spend your entire time sulking, Moz, you should just go," Neal called out, canvassing the apartment for his next take. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. But Mozzie had been quietly following him since the last house, and Neal knew he was around somewhere, silently watching. "Ok, I apologize for—"

He fell silent, his ears perking up. In a flash, he was climbing out the window, perching precariously atop the ledge, out of sight from the inside of the house. It was just in time, too, because a minute later, footsteps sounded in the room he was just in.

"I don't think he's come in, yet."

"Or if he has, he's already left. This place isn't that big, and there's no sight of him."

Neal recognized two of the probies from Major Thefts. Well, this was a promising development. They hadn't caught him, but they had stormed mid-crime, which at least indicated that they were improving.

"It's fine. We'll find him if we follow Burke's instructions."

Burke? Peter?

What could Peter's instructions be? They both knew that the only time Peter had ever truly caught him was when Neal had stopped running. Maybe it could… actually, Neal had no idea what Peter's plan could be. Aside from using Kate against him, the agent's record when it came to catching Neal was abysmal.

Anyway, why was Peter involved in the first place? He was supposed to be off until tomorrow… unless he had somehow found out what Neal was doing, which, knowing Peter's uncanny fixation on Neal's misdoings, was not unlikely. Belatedly, he wondered what Peter would do if Neal were brought to him as an imposter.

And then he froze.

Of course.

Of course.

Peter was playing on Neal's curiosity. Neal's inability to not try and tempt consequences. He smiled. Well, if that's what Peter wanted, how could he refuse?

Noisily, he swung back into the room. The probies reacted faster than most, but had he been trying, Neal could have escaped the room using two different exits. Instead, he sprinted toward a third. It was not good for a getaway, but they didn't know that.

It meant something to catch Neal Caffrey. It was a feat. A challenge. And Neal was going to do everything in his power to keep that reputation.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still leading them along for a merry ride around the building. He wanted to laugh. He wasn't running more than half speed, but they were still managing to be remarkably incapable.

Finally, tired of their ineptitude, he allowed himself to be backed up into a corner. He took a hasty step away from one probies outstretched hands, only to feel the cold barrel of a gun at his back.

"Don't move." It was Silvers. "If you cooperate, we will be more gentle."

Neal's arms were up in a graceful movement. "I'm unarmed."

"We'll see," Silvers said shortly. He motioned to one of his people to pat Neal down. When they were finally sure it was as he said, they cuffed him. Neal winced as they tightened the metal bands slightly more than necessary. Still, he could have them off in less than a minute if he needed to – his musings were brought short by a movement in the ventilation grate.

He almost snorted. So much for being too Hawkeye.

"You have me," he began, as reasonably as he could. "I'll come quietly. You might want to take the gun from my back—"

"Afraid of guns?"

"I don't like guns."

Silvers sneered. "I think this is good insurance that you'll behave, then."

"Yes, but someone might take from it that you mean to threaten me—"

"—I am threatening you—"

"Yes," Neal accepted patiently, swallowing convulsive laughter, "but one might unfortunately assume that you actually plan to injure me with that—"

"—I'm not against that idea—"

It took all of Neal's not insignificant amount of self control to keep his voice level. "But if, say, someone listening had a bet—"

"Someone? Are you not alone?"

"Do you see anyone else here?"

Silvers looked suspicious. "I don't think you're part of a syndicate or the mob. But maybe—"

"Mobster?" Neal was indignant. "Mobster?!"

"Well, who else—"

"You're not going to believe me even if I do tell you. So, why don't you just take me to Peter, and we can all this sorted," Neal sighed. He could feel the onset of a headache. He also had to start preparing himself for the self-righteous superiority Mozzie was sure to affect over the next couple days.

Same time, FBI Major Thefts van

It was almost a parade standing outside the van, when Bancroft and Peter finally exited. Neal was at the front, his expression incredibly smug for having his hands cuffed rather painfully behind him, two men holding him in a tight grip, and a gun at his back. Silvers stood behind him as the owner of said gun, with the rest of the Major Crime Unit in various positions surrounding the conman to prevent his escape.

For his part, Peter looked entertained.

Bancroft, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow at the histrionic nature of the scene.

"It was the only way to prevent his escape," Silvers muttered defensively. "He almost did, anyway!"

"He's always been a good runner," Peter said, biting back a laugh. He then spoke directly to Neal. "I hope you've been enjoying your time, here. I know it's different from the way you're used to, uh, working security, but I trust you've managed to adapt."

Silvers was startled. "He really is a security expert?"

"Of course! There are few people in the world more capable of assessing security systems than this man. My team has spent years going after his talents. Your agents will not have suffered under his tutelage, I guarantee it." A beat. "And I'm sure there's a good explanation for why he impersonated Bateman."

"They introduced me as Bateman. I was just following their lead," Neal muttered defiantly.

This time Peter couldn't stop the chuckle. "You'll have to excuse him. He has terrible impulse control. One of his worst traits, to tell the truth."

Neal looked absolutely furious.

Peter smiled, trying not to wonder whether he should continue bating his CI. "But, it's good to see you, again, my friend." He stretched out a hand.

Seconds later, Neal was grasping it, the cuffs that had been binding him held loosely in his left hand. There was an unhappy murmur from the other agents at the impressive display of lockpicking.

"And I haven't even introduced you properly. Agent Silvers, this is George O'Neal. He consults with Interpol on museum security in Paris. He returns tomorrow morning, but I'm sure tonight he has nothing he would rather do than share a couple rounds with your team. He's always complaining that the French don't do beer right, so treat him to some good old-fashioned American brew!"

There was wrath in Neal's eyes, as he smiled falsely at Peter's words.

A little while later, NY White Collar Office

They were sitting in Peter's office. The white collar agent was picking at a threat in his suit. His consultant was sporting a rather impressive glare. Bancroft was watching the two looking supremely entertained.

"I'm going to hurt you." Neal finally said.

"No doubt," Peter said lightly.

"No. I am going to hurt you."

"I don't expect any less," Peter was nonchalant.

Neal, apparently, had had enough.

"Beer? Beer?!"

"Is that a problem?" Peter asked innocently.

"I know you like the stuff. I've never pretended to understand why, but I accept it. But to force me to drink it?"

"Do you not like it?" Peter feigned surprise. "Oh, Neal, you should have said something."

Neal looked murderous, and Peter finally dropped the pretense.

"Well, I had to say something."

"Yes. Now, if you wouldn't mind stepping out with me, I have something I'd like to tell you."

"I think I'll stay. El prefers me to remain intact."

Neal growled. Peter laughed, and then decided to push his luck further.

"Forgive me, but aren't you supposed to meet the Major Thefts agents in a few minutes. Didn't you have bar plans for the evening?"

Neal stood up jerkily. "I will hurt you." There was promise in that voice.

Peter grinned condescendingly. "Of course you will. Now, off you go."

He and Bancroft shared a hearty laugh as Neal stalked out of the office.

"You didn't reveal him," pointed out.

Peter smirked. "You're not the only one who gets bored, sir."

"But you know that means that Caffrey still won," Bancroft remarked offhandedly when the amusement fled.

"Won? No. He didn't. He got caught!"

"He let them catch him." Bancroft corrected. "And he still gets to work with them under a false pretense."

Peter stared. "That's ridiculous."

Bancroft shrugged. "If you say so." He stood up. "It's been fun. Let's—"

"—not do this again," Peter finished hastily.

Bancroft looked disappointed but nodded and left.

As Peter watched him go, he insisted to himself, "Absolutely ridiculous."

Fin

A/N: And it's done. I hope you found the story fun, slightly ridiculous, but somewhat realistic. I did my best to stay true to the characters, so I hope that came through.

As always, comments, concerns, and criticisms are welcomed and appreciated. Please Review!

Cheers,

The Third Marauder