Neal walked into the elevator back at the FBI and pressed the 21-button when a woman called out:

"Excuse me! Hold the elevator, please!" Neal put his arm out, keeping the door open. A woman rushed in. "Thank you."

Neal's heart sank. As if he was not in enough trouble already. Agent Melissa Andrews from D.C. Art Crimes. She stared at him.

"Chris. Chris Gates."

"Agent Matthews."

"Please. You can call me Melissa after last time."

"Sorry. Melissa. How are you?"

"I'm good," she nodded, smiling.

"Good."

"I didn't know they'd pulled in Interpol for this."

"Well, here I am."

"On your way to see Agent Burke?"

"Yes. Yes."

"We'll go together."

The door closed.

"Fan... tastic."

There was no way this was going to hold. Tell her the truth? She would tell Kramer. He had to lie to her again.

"I assume you're here about the Degas?" he asked.

"I only know what Kramer tells me."

"Can I trust you?"

"What's wrong?"

"Melissa... Can I trust you?"

"Try me."

"What I am about to say... Damn it. You're not authorized."

"Authorized for what?"

"It doesn't matter. There's no time. There is a mole in the White Collar division here in New York."

"What?" She seemed to think he was pulling her leg.

"We intercepted an unidentified transmission from this office. Someone here is trying to make a play for the sub's stolen art."

"And they've sent Interpol in to investigate?" She did not seem convinced, and Neal had no idea if it was likely or not, but it did not matter. He had to appear as if it was totally in order.

"Yes. I'm on a special assignment. No one here can be trusted. As far as this office is concerned, I'm a recovery consultant on loan to the Bureau."

"But the night we had drinks…"

"I was careless, all right? I let my cover slip. I'm sorry I got you mixed up in this."

"Chris…"

"Call me Neal. Please. I definitely don't regret the drinks, though."

She did not reply, and when the door opened, she walked straight ahead. Neal followed and was not sure if she would play his game or not. Well, he had found no better option.

Peter met them right inside the doors to the White Collar office.

"Agent Matthews. Thanks for making the trip," he greeted her.

"Of course. That's the job," she said. "I have everything that Agent Kramer requested."

"Great. I see you've met Neal."

"Yeah," the kid nodded.

"Yes, Neal and I had a very interesting conversation on the ride up."

"He's always good for that," he smiled at her and turned to the kid. "You were right. The numbers on Rusty's cell gave us a lead."

"Glad I could help."

"Agent Kramer's in the conference room. Come on up."

Behind his back he heard Neal say:

"I owe you another Martini."

Peter frowned but didn't stop. He might jump to conclusions with nothing on his feet, but a line Neal could have said to someone else could also have been to Agent Matthews, which meant that they had met before.

Peter focused on the task at hand, and the three of them entered the conference room. Neal and Matthews found themselves accessible seats.

"It looks like Rusty deleted several numbers from his phone before Neal found it," Peter said.

"Unfortunately, we don't know who he bought the Degas from," Kramer continued.

"But if we find it," the kid said, "we'll have leverage to make him tell us where he got it."

"Yep," Kramer agreed.

"The good news is, we think we know who he sold it to." Peter picked up the remote and turned the TV on. "There were several calls placed to this man."

"That's Elliott Richmond," Diana told the assembled. "He's a black-market arms trafficker. Rumor is he made a fortune moving M240s."

"A fortune he spends on art," Peter said. "He's got a soft spot for impressionists. Art is currency for guys like this. Over the past decade, a majority of black-market dealers stopped trading in cash."

"Too easy to trace, too unwieldy," Kramer said. "Instead of carrying duffel bags with millions in bank notes—"

"It's easier to trade a single piece of art worth the same amount."

"Neal, rumor is you've had some experience in this payment process."

"Well, details are sensitive, but the thief in mind allegedly traded a Manet for a batch of stolen identities. It was a tough assignment." He said the last to Agent Matthews.

"Assignment?" Peter asked. Never had the kid seemed so eager to not talk about what he allegedly had done in the past. Was he somehow ashamed in front of a DC female agent, when he wasn't for anybody else?

"Yeah, the Wesley Godfrey cover was blown. What's our angle on Richmond?"

"Richmond keeps a penthouse at 75 Wall. He doesn't own any other property in the city, and he loves to look at his art, so it's a good bet this is where he's keeping the Degas."

"We've already set up a buy with him," Kramer said. "Melissa, if you'd be so kind." Matthews rose and put her attaché case on the table. "Two years ago, I recovered this while working a case in Germany."

She opened it and Diana was on her feet.

"Whoa! This is an MP5K modified to shoot through a briefcase." She looked like a child on Christmas.

"Very rare," Kramer said. "Civilians can't get their hands on them."

"We've told Richmond that if he likes what he sees, I can get him a couple hundred. That should be enough to negotiate for a Degas."

"You're going in?" Neal asked.

"I'm gonna pose as the seller, and Diana will be my backup."

"Diana?"

"You hate guns, and as we can all see, Diana..."

"Kind of love 'em," Diana filled in, grinning from ear to ear.

"So I'm sitting this one out?"

"Not exactly," Kramer said. "You'll be in the van. With me."

Peter was not sure why he got a chill along his spine. Neal was the one who should be worried, and he just looked bored.

"No objections?" Peter asked.

"If a big shot agrees to sit in a van, who am I to object?" He leaned back in his chair. "I thought one of the perks to being a boss was to not have to do time in the van."

"Oh, the perk is that you have a choice," Kramer said with his wide and chilly grin. "And now I think I'll have an interesting company."