Authors Note 1: This story is An AU set in a world were the cold war never ended and there are no vampires (but it's not all human either). Buffy is a spy working for the CIA. This story is partially an homage to Alias(with Buffyverse charichters. . .And Daniel Jackson from stargate SG:1), although the over arching plot is mine.

Authors Note 2: This has now all been betad, by the incredible life saving BeraMoon

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to someone else. I

Buffy POV:

I entered the Belfast hotel, with a sway in my mini skirt covered hips. A little too mini for my taste. But to pass as a billionaire's trophy wife, I could hardly dress like a prude, could I?

I approached the concierge's gold plated desk, humming a pop hit and swinging my Lois Vitton purse.

"Hello, can help you?" The concierge said.

"Yes" I said in my best southern accent, "I feel like such an idiot. But I left my keys in my room, before I went out to the park. And now I'm locked out. Is there any way I could get a replacement key?"

The concierge gulped, and shifted nervously in his shoes. "No I am sorry, it's against policy". He paused then noticing my downcast expression, he offered a plausible solution "Innless you happen to have your passport on you/"

I blushed (deliberately of course), then in a voice that was getting steadily more southern by the moment I said "No, but my husband might actually be in, he planed to nap this afternoon. I guess I could phone him. He's just been so tired lately, I would hate to wake him up"

I sighed heavily as the concierge looked at me, closer; he seemed to genuinely want to help me. That should make my job all the more easier, and get him fired. "No I guess I could phone him".

The concierge nodded "which room are you in?"

"815, my husbands name Is Steven Moss"

The concierge stopped short. The name Steven Moss tended to have that effect on people. Moss is a billionaire who runs the largest technological innovation firm in the world. He is young, charismatic, and as I mentioned before wealthy. In short he was not the kind of guy you wanted to wake up from a nap.

"Perhaps I can make an exception, for you Mrs Moss. Just this once"

I smiled, a genuine smile, as I accepted the keys that the concierge handed me.

I blew a kiss at the already blushing concierge as I stepped on to the elevator.

Seventeen floors, and five steps later, I found myself staring at the door to suite 415. I knocked just to make sure Moss wasn't actually talking a nap. When no one answered I used the key card to enter.

The suite was richly decorated. Layers of velvet, and red were thrown over each other.

I did a brief search of the rooms, looking for the disk that held the plans, or a safe that held the disk that held the plans.

Nothing dramatic happened: no ninja's jumped out of the closet (much to my dismay – I was really hoping I would have to fight), and the room was annoying free of secrets.

So I had to resort to a more thorough search, I tapped on all the walls, dumped out all the drawers and then began looking behind the paintings.

Apparently Moss was a traditionalist, because behind painting No. 3 there was a safe. I reached down into my Lois Vitton purse and fished out a small item that was roughly the size of a pill. Although this, I would not like to swallow. I stuck the "pill" (which in actually was plastique) to the safe door, and took one step back.

I should have taken three, because when the plastique blew: half the wall went along with the safes lock.

I was covered in dust and plaster from the explosion. I was about to dust myself off when the alarm went.

Within seconds I could here guard's footsteps in the hall. Great! I opened up the damaged safe grabbed the diskette, and ran for the door.

Too late for that. Three armed muscular guards were standing in front of it. The guards I could have taken, but guns? I am not a miracle child (or even a child anymore for that matter).

Instead I ran for the balcony, the guard's bullets missed me, but that didn't seem to matter. From the balconies there was no were else to go.

I turned back to see five guards. Wow, so that cut down my options to none.

I looked around one last time hoping to find an answer, when I noticed that one window over there was another balconies. Albeit it was a four foot long jump Away.

Oh what the hell. It wasn't as if I had another options. I jumped

And cleared the distance easily, I scrambled over the ledge, and ran to the other end of this balcony.

When I reached the other end, I saw that the next balconies were a fifteen-foot jump. I was good but not that good.

That's when I looked down and saw the pool, instead of cement.

Although the pool was still four floors away. But water had to be softer then cement right? So I jumped, straitening out into a dive as I fell, and then plunged into the wet deep.

I swam to the other end of the pool, and climbed out dripping wet, my barely there clothes now even less there, I ran toward the van.

Twenty minutes later, a safe distance (hopefully) from the hotel, I handed my partner and getaway driver Willow the diskette.

She popped the diskette into her laptop as I tried to comb through my hair.

"Shit"

It wasn't like willow to swear, so I looked up at the screen, were instead of weapons plan the following message was displayed

"Sorry, the weapons plan you are looking for is no longer here. We apologize for the in convince. Yours Truly- The International Nomads."

"The I.N. " I spat out the name. The International nomads better known, as the I.N. was an espionage organization that was not affiliated with any country. We did know were the funding came from, and we did not know what the I.N.'s goals were.

But the C.I.A. Was well aware that they were a threat, they had cost us too much lately, for us to remain naive. This was the third time they had gotten there first in this month alone, and we were no closer to discovering more about them.