Neal did not like the situation at all. Their sold artwork was on the FBI radar. He hurried home where Mozzie was waiting.

"Hey, Moz, did you talk to Rusty?"

"I left word. He hasn't returned," Moz replied. Neal cursed. "Relax. He goes up to the Poconos."

"The FBI knows about the Degas."

"Our Degas?"

"Well, as much as it ever was. We have to find Rusty, make sure he keeps our names out of this."

"Oh, the hypothetical becomes the reality," Mozzie said and got a philosophical look.

"Well, how's this for reality?" Neal burst back, annoyed by his friend's lack of action. "Agent Kramer is in town from D.C., lending Peter a hand."

"Really? What's the éminence grise of the art crimes unit like?"

"Take Peter, add years of experience and less inclination to cut us slack." No inclination at all, Neal guessed. Kramer had looked at him not only as a criminal but as his next trophy. And Kramer being Peter's old mentor, how did the old man look upon Peter's success working with a convict? They had an outstanding score together, he and Peter. Neal's guts told him that this was more than a missing Degas in Kramer's mind.

"My blood just ran cold. Supposedly, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the impressionists."

"Well, he knows enough about our Degas to scare the hell out of me."

"Please tell me he didn't bring his girl Friday with him."

"No, we caught a break. Agent Matthews isn't with him."

"A break, indeed," Moz nodded. "I don't know how you would have gotten out of that."

"Well, let's focus on getting out of this. We need to stop Peter from finding that painting."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Locate the Degas and get it back," Neal replied and looked at the thing on his kitchen table. "Why is there a giant hourglass on my table?"

"Somewhere along the line, I think your motives got blurred. Keeping the treasure here was never part of the long-term plan."

"Moz, this is not—" Neal tried in vain.

"48 hours. In that time, I will do anything you think we need to do in order to leave."

"And when time runs out?"

Mozzie picked up the little hula-girl in plastic from their previous plan.

"Lolana and I are taking the treasure and leaving. Regardless of the list, the Degas, or the FBI. I hope you'll come with us."

"You're giving me an ultimatum."

"Yes, I am." The answer was simple and without excuses. "Stay here with Peter or come with me." Mozzie turned the hourglass. The sand started to pour down. "Choose a side, Neal."

Neal looked at the hourglass. In 48 hours, he would be back in prison if Mozzie hadn't gotten hold of Rusty.

Peter had brought Philip Kramer home for dinner. Of course, his old mentor had seen the photo of him and Neal in tuxedos. El had had it framed and put it on the mantelpiece.

"Yeah, that was an interesting one," El smiled.

"We pulled the wire con on a mob boss," Peter said, not without pride.

"Another average day in the New York White Collar office," Kramer grinned.

"Don't laugh," El said. "It's not far off."

"What happened to the stoic, no-nonsense probie we called The Archeologist?" Kramer asked.

"The Archeologist?" El looked puzzled.

"Yeah, he'd never stop digging."

"I'm still stoic," Peter insisted.

"Well, Neal's loosened you up a little bit," El said. Peter tried to protest, but Kramer said:

"I can see that."

"But in a good way," El said.

"Hey, our closure rate is unprecedented," Peter pointed out.

"They know about you boys in D.C," Kramer informed him, and Peter exchanged a happy look with El. "Lot of water-cooler talk about Gotham City's finest cop and robber." They chuckled. Kramer looked at the photo again. "You took this right here in the kitchen." He seemed surprised that he had the kid visiting.

"Yeah. Yeah. Neal is my C.I. and he's…"

"Yeah, he's also a friend."

Peter heard the rebuke of sorts in the other man's voice.

"I'm— I'm— I'm gonna go put a pot of coffee on," El said, feeling the tension. "And I'll let you guys talk, okay?" She smiled and left.

"You're awful close to the guy you think stole the Degas," his mentor said when they were alone.

"It's that obvious?"

"Well, today, you had a room full of people ready to go after that painting, and you looked at only one man. You think he stole the treasure?"

"I have my suspicions," Peter said. "That's why you're here. I need an outside perspective."

"Hey, before I met you, I had a C.I. who used to throw batting practice for my son's little league team."

This was news to Peter. He never knew that his mentor had been in the same situation as he.

"And now?"

"Now I get the occasional e-mail from prison," Kramer made the story short. "These are short-term relationships, Petey, at best. It's hardwired in their brains."

"You think once a con, always a con?" Peter was convinced that there was no such thing as a 'hardwiring' for committing crimes.

"I think recidivism rates paint a bleak picture. And you have to protect yourself when they fall."

"I know. My career's at risk."

"No, I'm not talking about your job. I'm talking about you. When this happens, you're not slapping cuffs on a criminal. You're taking down a friend. It hurts."

Peter sighed. He could hear that his mentor spoke out of experience. But if one never dared to put faith in someone, if he never dared to be friends with Neal, show him trust, and guide him, there would be no reason to change.

"People can change," he said.

"Pete... you asked me for my help. If Neal is a suspect..."

"He is."

"...then you have to treat him like one."

And knew Kramer was right. But what would he put in motion when he did? What had he put in motion that day on the docks and the fire, when he accused Neal?

For Philip Kramer, the world was black and white, and Peter knew that's why he called him and ask for help. Because Peter was uncertain if he had moved too far into the gray areas, the areas that did not exist in Kramer's world.

But he had also brought in a man who would never be able to see the kid as anything but a criminal.