1
"There has to be another way."
Pausing briefly, sparing a glance at the young man behind him, he smiled that little smile he knew a lesser man would have found uncomfortable.
"I'm afraid there isn't. Review the options yourself. It simply has to be done this way."
Biting his tongue, hard enough to draw blood, he found himself alone in the blink of an eye. He really should have killed Sloane when he'd had the chance. As it was he wasn't sure if he was going to survive the upcoming 24 hours.
Dropping the file onto the desk, the cover still closed, he didn't bother reviewing a damn thing. For now his options were limited, stuck under Sloane's thumb as he was left him with few choices. Deliberately taking slow steps towards the door, there were still a few choices he held near and dear. Smirking at no one in particular he caught a glimpse at the lovely Miss Bristow as she made her way into the conference room. Yes, he still had a few options left.
Each step was careful, not to fast not to eager. Appearances were everything, catching the eye of several oblivious co-workers she returned their smiles with as much sincerity as she could muster. Some days the walls of SD-6 truly felt like they would bend and break under the lies harbored within them.
En route to the conference room, she felt Dixon fall into step beside her. The pacing of her stride hitched briefly to accommodate for his longer steps.
"I hear Sark's back."
Puzzled, she glanced over at her partner and wondered why she hadn't been told sooner.
"Really? I hadn't heard. Something must be up."
Not bothering to hide his disgust Dixon ushered his comment in with a snort.
"There usually is when that little..."
Coughing loudly, she covered her mouth as Marshall brushed past them, noting Dixon's slightly abashed face.
"...pipsqueak shows up."
Not bothering to conceal her smile, she wondered at Dixon's contempt for the man. She supposed most of his dislike came at the age with which he had joined their ranks rather than the affiliation with certain former employers. People and politics were a tricky thing, even in the espionage community.
Having reached the entrance to the conference room, she allowed the smile to fade and the mask to slip into face as she entered the door held open for her.
The players had gathered and she took a moment to assess their positions on the board. Marshall was huddled over a key board, typing frantically. The insensible words streaming from his mouth, she supposed, had more to do with her Father bearing down over his shoulder than whatever was projected on the monitor.
Sloane was engaged with Dixon at the head of the table. Avoiding that little conversation with eyes and ears, she made her way to rescue Marshall from her Father, when the meeting was suddenly called to order.
"I thank you all for coming on such short notice."
On cue everyone took the seat nearest them. Jack sat with Marshall to Sloane's right, Dixon, ever eager, took a chair at Sloane's left. Figuring distance was best, she chose the farthest seat which happened to be at the opposite end of the table, directly in his line of sight.
To late to change seats, she found a very interesting piece of wall just over his right shoulder and willed her mind not to melt as he began to drone on. Had he always been so in love with the sound of his own voice?
"We received Intel approximately 60 minutes ago that one..."
The soft swish of the doors to her left quieted the small man standing before them, and all eyes turned to the figure entering.
Hello. As any woman would when a good looking man entered the room she sat up straighter and automatically sucked in her tummy.
"Ah, Mr. Sark. So good of you to join us."
Sark? Huh. There was no way, then her eyes focused on the man, and her breath came out in a choked sob. Luckily no one noticed, since she had thought to hide the reaction behind her raised hand.
He nodded briefly to the occupants of the room and slid into the seat next to the suddenly pale Miss Bristow.
"I apologize for my tardy arrival."
Funny, he didn't sound sorry, and once again she choked on her treacherous lungs. Even well established criminals didn't like Sloane. Well, this criminal. The same one who'd walked into the SD-6 conference room wearing blue jeans and black t-shirt.
Wishing for a moment she carried that kind of clout, she tried to picture reactions to her arrival in such casual attire. Swallowing the laughter that was threatening to spill over, her lips pressed into a hard line, she pulled her thoughts off of Sark's clothes and onto his hair. Did she mention he was sporting a new hair cut?
Vaguely he heard Sloane begin the briefing again, but all his attention was focused on the female next to him. He wondered if she were ill. Her breathing had become labored and her skin had sunk into a deeper shade of pale. Eyebrows knitting together at the slight concern he felt for her well being he pulled his attention from her and back towards the head of the room.
"As I was saying Intel had been forwarded to us by Mr. Sark that one Butler Lostner is in the vicinity."
Butler who? Her brain was having a hard time catching the words flying at her. Emotionally, she was still reeling from seeing Sark and briefly, really for only a split second, thinking how good he looked.
There was no denying he was good looking, it was a fact. Thinking that he looked like some hot frat guy on campus was a whole other thing entirely. Besides it wasn't her fault. Picking up the pen, which had been left carefully along side lined paper for notes, she began tapping SOS furiously. The clothes, the hair, they were so un-Sark and that had temporarily stunned her into making insane observations.
That sounded reasonable enough to her.
SOS? It wasn't until her fourth cycle that he felt sure that was what she was saying. Feeling the urge to kick her under the table, he stilled his limbs by digging his fingers into the scarred flesh above his knee. Madness had descended over them all today.
"For those of you who don't know the name, you may recognize his handle. Butler Lostner is also known as 'the Vagrant.'"
A vague memory shimmered on the edge of her mind. Something to do with hacking government servers. Unfortunately her pen had rolled off the table after a particularly distressful pattern and as her eyes followed its descent, a bare arm caught her eye. A tan, bare arm, peppered with fine, golden hairs.
Her collective spy skills were no use against the choking cough that erupted from her kips. She caught the tail end of her Father's disapproving glare as she reigned in her absurd thoughts. God, if he only knew.
"There is no recorded evidence this man exists. All we have is a name. No pictures, no fingerprints. He has systematically erased himself."
"Then how can we be sure this is the right man?"
Dixon raised a valid point, and just as she was about to voice her own concerns, a voice next to her had her mouth snapping shut.
"Two years ago I had dealings with the man known as 'the Vagrant.' His loud and rather inappropriate comments earned him two rather identifying marks.
Looking over at him, she tried to imagine just what it could have taken to the offend Julian Sark of all people.
"One here." A long finger drew a line from left ear to chin.
"Which I have already confirmed. And another here." Said finger tapped just over the right clavicle.
"The mission is simple."
All eyes swung back to Sloane who had risen for the occasion, she nearly rolled her eyes at his love of the dramatic.
"Confirm the existence of the second mark. If confirmation is made then we want photos, fingerprints and voice analyses."
Great, all this for a simple recon mission. Well, she'd been through worse.
"What's our in."
Noting Marshall's nervous smile and the sudden shifting of air next to her, she knew any answer would not be good. Waiting for Marshall to compose himself to begin speaking, she was surprised when it was Sark who began to speak.
"It seems the dear Mr. Lostner is booked into the same hotel as I am. A chance encounter in the lobby alerted me to his presence."
Curling her toes in an attempt not to drown in the blind jealousy that snuck up on her. How nice it must be to be spending the week lounging around a hotel. Directing her question at him this time, she couldn't quite keep the sentiment from her voice.
"He didn't recognize you?"
Well now. Engaging him in full view of everyone. He delighted at this turn of events. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, he slid on his Sydney smirk, for he knew it would get quietly and quickly under her skin.
"No. He was quite drunk and otherwise occupied."
Oh, the urge to smack the smirk off his face was strong. Very strong. The complete confidence with which he spoke only further infuriated her. Stepping up, when she should have back down, she made a show of glancing at the mother of pearl timepiece on her wrist before continuing.
"At this hour?"
They were staring each other down, ignoring all other occupants of the room. He couldn't have asked for a more pleasant turn of events.
"The party, it seems, never stops in Las Vegas."
Vegas. The name conjured up bright lights and long legs. She loved Vegas. Before she could blurt out a retort, Marshall's sputtering tore her eyes from the blue that held her.
"Right, well, from the information uh...Mr. Sark gave us and what I could retrieve from hotel records. A Thomas Franklin has booked a 7pm wedding."
Wedding? They were going to crash a wedding. That seemed low even for SD-6.
"We're crashing a wedding?"
The blatant displeasure in her voice garnered her several harsh looks, but she evenly ignored them. Just because she had to play, didn't mean she had to be nice.
"Not exactly. See the hotel specializes in private ceremonies. Security is tighter there than at most government run facilities."
When silence filled the air, words continued tumbling from his mouth.
"The vows are exchanged here."
Projected on the large monitor, adorning the wall, was perhaps the gaudiest chapel she had ever seen. Where exactly was Sark staying in Vegas?
"Um, they decorate to taste and I think this one was for a Liberace fan some months ago. At least that's what their online ads said. Anyway I digress. After the "I Do's" the wedding party is lead through here..."
A red light appeared from a pen he'd picked up from the table, and she wondered briefly if the pen that was currently on the floor next to her did that? The red dot pointed to a satin covered entry way past the altar.
"And into one of 3 reception rooms. Very exclusive. Very expensive."
With a simple clearing of the throat Sloane wrested back control of the room.
"Sydney and Sark will make contact in the reception hall."
The confusion must have been apparent on her face, because even Marshall had caught on and was now fumbling to find words to explain.
"Yeah, you're booked for an 8pm ceremony."
Oh, ceremony...CEREMONY!! This must be some kind of joke. One glance at his face and she felt her stomach drop. There was no way in hell her first trip down the aisle would be with Sark.
He was counting off the seconds until her tirade began. Not that he was thrilled with the process but he'd rather loud and memorable protests came from someone other than himself.
Opening her mouth to begin a potentially violent protest, she was cut off by her Father of all people.
"You two will review OP Tech with Marshall. What isn't ready yet will be delivered in time to your hotel. Dixon you will begin analyzing data as soon as it comes in."
A deep breath and she geared up again to protest, only to have Sloane interrupt. Would no one hear her today?
"Sarks' jet is waiting, so I want you two in the air within the hour. That's all."
An hour? Sark has a jet? Things were happening way too fast. Looking up, she found that Sloane and her Father had already left the room. Frozen, she stared helplessly as Dixon too, disappeared from sight. Only the sounds of shuffling drew her back to her surroundings, Marshall was gathering up his stuff in an attempt to move closer to the only other people left in the room.
"Um, ok. Well this looks like a camera right? Perfect, for you know, 'hello', 'smile,' right...Well it does take his res pictures in full color as well as mpeg captures. The internal memory holds 250 images, but I've tweaked the maximum capacity standards and you should get closer to 300."
Not sure why she'd need to take 300 images of a hellish night with 'him.' She none the less smiled at the enthusiasm Marshall felt over the feat.
Flipping the camera over he pointed to a small, gray button left of the LCD screen.
"But you hit this little sucker and you get a full body scan. Height, weight, surgical scars."
The joke was lost on him, but there was something utterly hopeless about the same that brought a smile to even his jaded lips.
Cutting her eyes away from Marshall, she settled her eyes on his profile. He'd been noticeably silent since their 'debate,' but the light smile on his lips melted away some of her anger.
Once again he felt her eyes on him. Turning to meet the sun, their eyes locked, a soft smile crossed her lips. His experience with her was brief, but he was certain he'd never seen her smile quite like that before.
When had his eyes gotten quite so blue? Humor lightened them to a shade that reminded her of the waters outside Cozumel. Before she could process her response to a simple smile a loud bang jerked her attention back across the table.
"Oops, sorry."
The camera had slipped through nervous hands and landed hard on the table. Having skidded near her, she gently picked It up, offering it back to him.
"Oh no, you keep it. Did I mention the wireless capabilities? You'll be able to send what images you take just by hitting the red button on top there, but don't hit the black one there. See that emits a low dose of radiation that can track a person's movements."
Obviously Marshall had poor recall when it came to his experience with the substance, but by her shifting in the chair, he supposed her recall was 100.
Making note of the two small buttons near the grey one pointed to earlier, she did her best to ignore the memory of what Sloane had done with the very substance enclosed in her palm. She still couldn't believe he had endured a complete transfusion. But then if someone had done that to her, she supposed she would have done the same. Freedom was expensive at times.
Another small gadget appeared before them, distracting him from the memories in her hand. Why were so many hand held electronics white? Made little sense.
"This is your standard cell phone, make and receive calls like normal. But you hit #2 and this baby comes to life. The internal memory will hold an exact replica of the hand holding it. Cleaner, faster way to get the prints you need. Just hit #3 to end the scan and call it in when done."
Impressed again, she smiled warmly. He was certainly the best at what he did.
"These are your itineraries. Since Mr. Sark is already registered as a guest, the decision came down to book the chapel under that name."
The snort that erupted was unplanned and by the look on his face unappreciated, but it couldn't be helped.
"Sorry."
Just knowing that somewhere out in a hotel reservation log the man next to her held a wedding chapel in his name was absolutely hilarious.
"Well then O.K. Good luck."
"Thanks. Marshall."
Rising, she gathered the camera and folder containing her still unknown alias. From the corner of her eye watched him rise and take the phone that was extended to him.
"Thank you."
The sincerity of the remark gave her pause and sent Marshall's nerves into overdrive. Ignoring the falling papers across from her, she took a good look at the man next to her.
Not one to back down, he returned her look, his face a perfect mask of indifference. His eyes however, were full of questions. He continued to surprise her today. Alone now, she seemed at a loss for what to do next. Leaving seemed like a good plan, but his eyes held her still.
"You got a haircut."
'shit.' If she wasn't angry at him, she was annoyingly tongue-tied. The smile he sent her held no trace of mischief and for one blinding instant she was reminded just how young he really was. How young they both were.
"Yes, well. I'd just finished doing that when I glimpsed Lostner in the lobby."
Well that explained the clothes. If he'd left immediately after spotting the man, as she suspected, there would not have been time to change. Fascinated by the way his hand ran over the shorn locks, she caught herself staring.
She did that, she realized, played endlessly with her hair after a cut. As if checking to make sure that pieces were still gone. Startled by the small connection, she looked away.
So what now? There had never been a lack of words between them. A warm silence filled the air between the, and he distractedly picked up the folder on the table.
"I don't suppose you will have time to go home and pack."
Pulling her gaze back his way, she wondered where that question had come from.
"No, but there's no need. I keep essentials here, just in case."
The casual observer would have missed the slight weight shift in his stance. She was never casual though when it came to Sark. Something was making him uncomfortable.
"Well then I would like to offer you a ride to the airport. I have a car waiting to take me and it would seem foolish for you to have to travel separately. Especially now given the circumstances."
As his voice tapered off she allowed a small smile cross her lips. Was Sark rambling? This was insane. Was she so imposing that Irina Derevko's second would be nervous about offering her a ride?
The thought irritated her. No one wanted to be that imposing. So she blamed the irritation, the haircut, the tan arms, anything but the truth for her reply.
"That would be great. Thanks."
He hadn't expected her to accept, much less sound so pleased at the prospect.
"Wonderful."