"You're more intelligent than the FBI gives you credit for Mr. Caffrey."
Peter's heart stopped. Both Diana and Jones had gone pale and silent as they listened carefully to the receiver. Diana's hand whipped out, grabbing her radio in an instant.
"All units go! Caffrey's cover has been blown! We need all units into action! Suspect may be armed!" She shouted into the radio.
"Let's go! NOW!" Peter shouted, grabbing the earpiece receiver so he could hear Neal. He released his gun from its holster as he, Diana and Jones jumped out of the van and took off running towards Neal.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Neal said calmly.
"Now who's playing games, Neal? I know who you are and why you're here. I always have. Just like I know your FBI friends are about to storm this building."
"SHIT!" Peter yelled, running faster towards the building. Agents were all around them now, surrounding the building.
"Then why did you let me get this far?"
"I wanted to see The Great Neal Caffrey, the conman who got caught and turned against his own kind. It's kind of sad really. A shame to waste so much talent. You could have been great again, you know. If you hadn't sided with Peter Burke." There was a clicking sound that was all too familiar to Peter.
"You know, I really don't like guns."
"God DAMMIT! Secure the building NOW! Jones! Diana! Neal's on the third floor!" Peter burst through the doors to the building with Diana and Jones right behind him.
"I am sorry about this, Neal. Truly."
"Just tell me how you did it. How did you manage to switch out the paintings without anyone knowing? And why did you have to kill everyone in the museum?!" Neal's voice was strained, desperate.
"You're stalling, but alright. You deserve to know after figuring it out. The curator was working for me. I had him switch out the paintings the night before, after everyone was gone. He placed them behind the frames of the paintings I stole. The next morning before the museum opened, I came to collect my pieces, and the rest I believe you know."
"You shot everyone in order to cover your tracks. You couldn't just kill the curator or it would have obviously look like an inside job, so you killed every innocent person in the building as well, you son of a bitch!"
"Neal!" Peter shouted, running up the next flight of stairs. Two floors away.
"Ah, insulting the man pointing a gun at your chest is not the best plan, Neal. But yes, I did. I am surprised you figured it out without the help of your FBI friends. They should be arriving any minute now, so I really must go. I would hate to get caught now."
"Wait! Stop! Don't—"
The sound of a gunshot cracked sharply across the receiver and echoed through the staircase. Peter faltered a step.
"NEAL!"
