White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 1

Fleeing suspect

Warrant Law was the kind of read Neal enjoyed. Most people wanted novels and beautiful language. It had its charm. But legal texts were more of a challenge. It was correct, boring and written to make sure there were no loopholes. But there was always loopholes.

As he read he became more and more aware of the anklet and reminded who he was: a prison inmate. Now lying on an expensive coach in silk pajama pants, but still a felon with limited options where to go.

When he saw June's car keys on a table an idea formed in his head. He put the book about warrant law aside, got to his feet and grabbed the keys.

"June?" he called out. She appeared in the doorway. "Can I borrow your car?"

June looked him up and down.

"I'm sure wherever you're going you ain't leaving in your pajamas."

Neal smiled. He was being impulsive again.

"I was more thinking of early tomorrow."

"Sure thing, darling."

"Thanks."

Peter woke up to his phone ringing.

"Yeah?" he answered and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. It was a US Marshal calling, telling him Neal Caffrey was outside his radius, moving fast. "Damn."

"What's going on?" El wanted to know.

"He ran." Peter was already out of bed. Damn, damn, damn, he repeated in his mind. He smacked his laptop open and logged in to see Neal's tracking data himself. He was outside his radius alright. By the speed, he was likely in a car. He got his clothes on and called Jones at the same time.

Down in his car, he boosted off with a vain hope to get to him first before the rest of the team and before the Marshal's had their team going.

"I don't care" he yelled at Jones on the phone. "Wake them up if you have to. I want every single agent—" His phone beeped. "Hold on I got another call." He switched to the new incoming call.

"He's moving to the marina district," the woman at US Marshal's tracking anklet unit told him.

"The Marina?" Why? Peter blinked and wondered if he was still groggy from sleeping. Manhattan was an island. There were just so many places you could go if you wanted to leave and the Marina was nobody's first choice. And he still had his anklet on... It was easy to cut. Why had Neal not cut it once he left his radius?

Neal drove the car down to the docks and stopped outside of Hagen's warehouse. He got out with a system camera in his hands and began to take photos. The men guarding the front of the warehouse reacted at once.

"What is this?"

"Hey!"

"Hi there." Neal smiled back to them and waved.

"Hey. Hey. What are you doing? You can't be here."

"Oh. I'm taking a photography class over at the Annex," Neal explained, innocent as an angel. The camera was ripped out of his hands. "And pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure-fire A." Two men grabbed him and forced his hands up on his back.

"You must be doing some kind of surveillance." They searched him as amateurs. "He's no cop. Alright, take him in." They brought him inside the warehouse. It looked exactly as he figured it would. The printing press was running. There were the piles of books and a guy getting the empty sheets out. Neal observed everything.

"Jimmy, go get Hagen," the guy who took his camera called.

In the middle of the hall was an office built as a glass cube. They shoved him inside and closed the door.