Chapter 3

'Who Did It?'

Neal Caffrey sat at a bar with three women around him. He was entertaining them with a story of an adventure in Spain when his phone rang. Looking down at it, he groaned.

"Excuse me ladies, but I have to take this." He said with a charming smile, "Just order another round of drinks, on me of course." He quickly walked out, flipping the phone open as he did so.

"What's up Moz?" He asked, standing outside on the sidewalk.

"We're gonna have to do it tonight." Mozzie's excited voice came through the phone.

"What? Why? And how am I gonna get in? It's closed!" Neal replied, irritated.

"Listen, I'm not going to explain the details over a phone line that's probably insecure. Just come back to the room and I'll tell you everything." Mozzie said, then immediately hung up. Neal shook his head at the paranoid little man, then hailed a taxi, casting a regretful look through the window at the three women at the bar. They'd have to pay for themselves now.

Later that Night...

Neal slipped into the museum through the janitor's door, dressed in maintenance man's clothes with a baseball cap pulled down low.

"This is never going to work." He mumbled, knowing the the speaker in his collar would pick up his words and send them straight to Mozzie.

"Sure it will. It's as easy as quantum theory." Mozzie replied confidently. Neal grinned.

"I never was too good at school." He said, grabbing a cleaning cart.

"Shut up and hurry! You have twenty minutes to get in and out." Mozzie warned. Neal rolled his eyes and continued walking. He was stopped by a different janitor as he went through a break room.

"Hey, who are you?" The man asked suspiciously. Neal smiled confidently and held out one hand.

"Name's Nate Weston. I'm the new night janitor. Mr. Gauis thought you could use some help around here." He said smoothly. The man nodded slowly and took Neal's hand.

"Heath Turk." He said. Neal nodded.

"Well, I've gotta get going. Lots of bathrooms." He said, then walked out into the museum's lobby. Now all he had to do was manuver around hundreds of security cameras, figure out how to get the painting down without triggering an alarm, and get out of the building with it. He grinned. Piece of cake.

Small Cafe, U.S.A.

Peter Burke looked across the table at his wife, Elizabeth and grinned. She smiled back.

"What are you thinking about honey?" She asked. He leaned his elbow on the table.

"About how beautiful you are." He replied. She smiled and started to reply, but the shrill ring of his phone interrupted. He glanced down at it, then looked at her apollegetically.

"I'm sorry..." He started, but she waved her hand at him.

"Don't worry. We'll finish this conversation later." She said. He pointed his finger at her.

"I'll hold you to that." He said, then flipped open his phone. "Hey Jones, what's going on?" He waited a few moments, then jumped up from the table.

"He what? I'll be there in a few." He said, then kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. "I'll see you later hon." He said, then all but ran to his car. She watched him go, then shook her head and hailed the waiter.

Back at the office, Peter looked at the picture from the crime scene in Rome and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Neal had really outdone himself this time. In place of the Rembrandt was a picture of the FBI logo. Tell them I said Hi! was written beneath it. Nothing about it told who had done it, except for Peter's instincts. Peter sighed and put the pictures down on his desk.

"Go dig up anything you can on this." He ordered Jones, who handed him a folder.

"Already did. This is a record of anything and everything I could find." He said confidently. Peter took it and started flipping through it, taking a sip of the horrid coffee as he did so.

"This is interesting." He said, stopping at the maintenance man's statement. "He said the man introduced himself as Nate Weston." Snapping the folder closed, he tossed it on his desk. "Let's see if we can pick anything up on Nate Weston. There's probably nothing there, but it's worth a shot." He said confidently. Diana walked in just then.

"Here's the info on Nate Weston." She said, holding out another folder. Peter grinned at her.

"Thank you very much." He said, then started to flip through that one as well. After a few moments, he glanced up, a look of shock on his face.

"This is very interesting." He said. "His brother is Michael Weston."

"Whose that?" Jones asked.

"He's the best of the best." Peter replied distractedly, he was already reading the file again.

"Is he in the white collar unit?" Jones asked. Diana shook her head.

"No. He's a spy. And a good one. I heard he was burned a while back though." She replied. Peter nodded, then held up a hand.

"It appears that Nate Weston has gambling debts." He said, then snapped it closed. "Let's pay him a visit."