**742 Main St., Los Angeles, May 14th, 1976 5:00 A.M.**

The alarm clock rang out at 5:00 in the morning. Groggily, a man rolled out of bed. Roughly six feet tall, this person walked around the bed and went to his wife's side. With a kiss on her cheek, she woke up. Staring at his chest and boxers, she smiled. "Good morning," she said with a wink.

"I've got work today. I'll be home late, probably. But next weekend, I swear. I'll take you to that restaurant you want." William begged with his wife, Nicole, but she would have none of it. She turned around, her face down in the pillow, and covered her head with the covers. Looking at the clock, and realizing time was of the essence, he head for the shower. By 5:30, he was dressed in a suit, writing something down in his diary.

"I can't believe you want me to do this- it's hard enough lying to my family about what I have to do, but now you want me to go off to Russia? I can't take down Derevko, 8 others have tried, and I have to stare at the stars representing them every day I enter this building. They've failed, and that's not my priority right now! I'm not about to be number 9, I have a family to take care of, I have thousands of reasons not to go on your wild goose chase."

~ My thoughts towards Director O'Quinn

When he had finished the entry, he looked up. Staring back at him was a 7-year-old boy, who was woken by the shower running. "Hey, Dad! Only girls keep diaries!" he said. The man laughed, and sent him away. What a terrible way to spend a Saturday morning…

**CIA Headquarters, Los Angeles, May 14th, 1976 6:30 A.M.**

"Your plane leaves in an hour, Vaughn. If I were you, I'd get over there pretty quick. It's a commercial flight, so if you're late you've screwed this whole operation." Director O'Quinn boomed at a briefing.

"I, I… I can't believe you want me to do this!" William screamed. "This is nuts! There is absolutely no way you can want me to chase after this Russian assassin! Take a look over there!" he said, pointing out the window to a broken man at a computer. He was just staring at the screen, fighting hard to hold back tears. "And she didn't even physically hurt him! She put him through 6 months of solitary confinement, she is a goddamn master of deception! I refuse to go on your wild goose chase."

"Vaughn!"

William snapped out of his trance he was in. "Yes, I'm going. Don't worry."

**Somewhere over the Atlantic, May 14th, 1976 7:42**

"This is your captain speaking," a husky male voice came over the intercom. "Flight 4747 headed for Siberia. We will take off in five minutes, so I'd suggest that you begin to buckle up, sit back, and relax, and enjoy your flight." With a little beep, the captain signed off. William looked up from his magazine, and observed his surroundings. He was in an aisle seat, next to a surprisingly young man, who looked vaguely familiar. As if he were an old colleague… "No," he muttered to himself. "Nobody knew about that."

An attractive young stewardess with surprisingly beautiful black hair came over to him. Even though he knew that it was a stewardesses job to keep the passengers happy, he couldn't help but think that this one's smile was extra-large. "Would you like anything to drink, sir?"

"Yes," he said. "A sprite would be just fine."

"Yes, sir," she said, pulling a glass out from under the cart, and pouring his drink. He thanked her as he put the drink down on the tray in front of him, and then she continued on. If he had paid more attention, he might have noticed that she didn't serve any other customers. Or stay on the plane for very long, but rather got off through the baggage loading area.

Tired, William took his first sip into the glass. It felt cool running down his parched throat, and he drank the full eight ounces in one gulp. It wasn't until after it had cleared his throat that it started to burn. He gagged, and coughed out a little, plastic star. He flipped it over, and there, written in pen, was a number nine.

"Damn you!" he said, and collapsed on his tray.

Alexander Khasinou stood up from next to him, checked his pulse, and left the plane too.