White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 14

Until we have that list

Neal was not sure why he had lied to Mozzie about the manifest. It would make life more complicated, but he knew it meant that he could remain in New York for yet some time, and that was his most imminent goal.

He also needed to ease Mozzie's eagerness to sell some of the treasure, so now he sat with the webcam checking the item on the list to know what was possible to sell. He realized that the painting his friend had been close to selling was on the list.

"Moz, thank God you didn't sell it," he mumbled. The door opened. "Hey," he said to Moz and pushed the copy of the manifest under a notepad.

"They know about the treasure," Moz said with a grim face. "They're on to us."

"What are you talking about?" Neal stared. "What happened?"

The morning's newspaper was dropped on the table, and he read the big headlines of Globe, a paper he had put no trust in in the first place.

"'Ghost ship found with Hitler clones'," he read aloud and sent Mozzie a look.

"'And priceless art,'" Mozzie added. "Our priceless art."

"Ooh, ooh," Neal frowned with a grin. "They're also on to a vegan vampire ravaging community gardens." He pointed further down on the page. "Look, there's no need to hit the panic button."

"Neal, this is where our treasure has reached what Malcolm Gladwell would call a tipping point."

"Forensics doesn't talk, nor does Peter."

"Yeah, but the Suit and his suit cohorts brought in D.C. Art Crimes, one of whom was willing to spill the nazi beans in a hotel bar."

"She thought I was Interpol."

"My point exactly."

"I get it, Moz. Secrets can't be kept forever. But no one can trace this to us."

"Except Hale, who I've already lined up to fence the Degas," he pointed out. "Oh, and Sara, the half-suit who suddenly broke things off."

"I'm gonna see her today. I'll find out what she knows." Neal was pretty sure she had figured it out somehow, but still Peter had not came with his cuffs so Sara was probably not the issue Moz saw.

"Skip it!" Mozzie yelled. "Let's just go. Vámonos."

"We don't have the means."

"We will, if we sell the Degas." And of all things, the Degas was on the list.

"No!" Neal made it clear. "That is too high-profile."

"The FBI only has a partial list. The odds are miniscule that the Degas is even on it."

"But if it is and we sell it—"

"We'll be long gone before anyone can say 'Degas away with it.'"

"And wherever we go, I am telling you, the FBI, Peter, will not stop until they find us!" It did not matter if they sold anything or not, really. If he fled, he would be caught and spend the rest of his days in prison. "We can't leave until we have that list. All right?"

If they were going to sell, it could not be from the list, and he wanted to be a free man before they left. It would take two more years, but it was worth it. It was his life. Mozzie's stakes were not as high as his.

He showed Mozzie the paper.

"And headlines like this are a bad reason to do something hasty."

Neal knew where to find Sara. He waited for her as she came walking down the sidewalk. She saw him, and she was not happy to. It hurt, but he had more vital things to worry about.

"Much as I'd love a candy-apple set of lock picks," he said, holding a case. "I thought you might want this back."

"Thank you." She took it from his hand. "I'd love to catch up, but I'm late for a meeting."

She continued to walk. Neal caught up with her, walking beside her.

"Was it the passports?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Then what was it? I know you, Sara. You wouldn't have cut out like that unless you had a reason to."

"Okay, fine. It was the passports. You had brilliantly forged I.D.s, and it dawned on me you're a con man. Are you happy?"

"No," he said, grabbing her elbow and stopping her. "I want the truth."

She looked around.

"Neal," she almost whispered. "I saw the treasure. I saw it on your laptop. You hid it from me. You hid it from Peter, and you're hiding it from the FBI. And now you're here to find out if I'm gonna keep my mouth shut." Now, she was not whispering any longer.

"It's not as cold as that."

"Really? Then what is it? Now, you owe me the truth. Were you gonna say goodbye to me?"

"No." The simple answer hurt, he saw that. But she had asked for the truth. She turned to leave. "Sara."

"What?!"

"Would you have come with me?"

"Would I have come with you? How would that have worked?"

"We'd just go."

"The whole world at our feet?" she asked, mocking. Neal saw Peter park further down the street. Peter? Here, now?

"I came so close to asking you," he said.

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Well, then, there's your answer."

"Sara," Peter greeted her. "This explains why Neal isn't picking up his phone."

"Well..." Sara exchanged a glance with him. "I would hate to keep Neal from his crime-solving duties."

"Take care, Sara," Neal said. She gave him a little nod.

"It's good to see you, Peter."

"You too."

Neal watched her leave, what she had said in fresh memory.

"You've come to collect me in person," Neal said, jamming his hands in his pockets, feeling he should expect the worst. "I'm hesitant to ask, but why?"

"We got word on Matthew Keller."

He stared at Peter. Matthew Keller? What he had expected was not worse enough.