Disclaimer: Not mine.

Eliot was in McRory's when Nate met with their potential client. He sat at the bar nearby, nursing a beer, and pretending to watch whatever game was on.

Vadim Novikoff was completely unremarkable. Brown hair, brown eyes, ordinary clothing, average height, no remarkable features. Everything about him was utterly normal. A little too normal.

Eliot watched from the corner of his eye and the more he watched, the more uncomfortable he became with the man's story. Novikoff seemed genuinely distressed about the situation he'd inadvertently stumbled upon. He was terrified at the consequences of his actions and all but begged for Nate's help. It was an artful representation of a naïve engineer in over his head. Eliot was positive the Russian was lying through his teeth.

He waited for Nate's rejection to the ridiculous proposal.

Nate didn't to say no.

Eliot contemplated addiction-and not the alcoholic kind—and wondered if it was going to get them killed.

This wasn't a normal client. Wasn't a normal job. Wasn't anything they should be mixed up in. Damn it, they weren't secret agents. Missile silos were NOT their area of expertise. That last bomb was an exception. Hardison wouldn't always be that lucky. And he didn't believe in luck anyway. His instincts told him this was a bad idea and those instincts had saved his life too many times for him to ignore. He needed to talk some sense into Nate.


Nate already had another glass of whiskey, half empty, in hand when Eliot arrived.

"What the hell was that, Nate?"

Hardison glanced up from his typing and orange soda. Sophie merely raised an eyebrow. Parker was sitting on the kitchen counter with a spoon of crushed fortune cookies halfway to her mouth.

"We're the mark." Nate grinned.

A bit too manically, Eliot thought. No further explanation was forthcoming. He felt his completely justified irritation rising.

"Let's go steal a missile silo."


Not for the first time, he forced his glare from Nate to the blueprints of the needlessly complicated maze of a building where the missile silo security program was housed. The architect for this building should be shot. It was the least efficient building design he'd ever seen.

He felt his irritation at Nate rising again. Nate's refusal to listen to any of his pointed questions about the issues on this job was infuriating. Was he trying to get them killed? Eliot grudgingly admitted that Nate's plans didn't failed. Not that he'd ever say it out loud. Sometimes they were messy and Eliot ended up busting a lot of heads, but they always came through. Damn him.

He passed the blueprints off to Parker and switched to watching the security camera recordings again, his scowl deepening. The most current week of recordings showed that the guards were noticeably more attentive and aware of their surroundings than the previous week. He had Hardison pull up the last month's worth of security footage to confirm his theory. Someone, knew the security weaknesses and was fixing them, rapidly. Whoever it was, they were working from experience. Great, this just got better and better.

He memorized the faces of each night guard, routes of patrol, how long it took to complete them, and the weapons they carried. He carefully noted the location of daytime security measures, guards' positions, and general staff movement—wait…he rewound the last few minutes.

Eliot paused the recording on the image of a young, brunette female assistant. Glasses perched on the edge of her nose, conservative clothing, and usually carrying folders or coffee, she looked like a harmless, overworked intern.

Or she would have if it wasn't for the six knives (possibly two more depending on the hairdo) and two guns he spotted.

He swore under his breath. What had that woman gotten herself into?

He could practically feel Sophie watching him. He didn't look her way.