Yassen snapped his mobile shut and set it down carefully on the desk. He had heard the entire conversation. He sat quietly for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm a headache that no amount of ibuprofen was going to cure. The hotel manager had set the temperature up to an unbearable degree, and Yassen felt stifled in the dry heat of the room. In his line of business, opening a window was not an option and he undid the top buttons of his polo in an attempt to avoid the heat.

It had been a long day.

Yassen Gregorovich had an analytical mind. It seemed slightly ironic that he had survived life as an orphan on the streets of St Petersburg, the homeland of violent gang warfare, murder and bribery alike, only to become a contract killer. It suited him, and Yassen wondered if growing up in Russia's capital of crime had sealed his fate. He had quickly learned to how to work his way out of dangerous situations, skills that he found to be all too useful in his line of work. It had given him quick reflexes, both mentally and physically, and saved his life plenty of times. Now, however, he was beginning to wish he possessed skills more suited to the life of a banker.

He drew a cheap hotel-provided tablet out of the drawer next to him and began to list his options. Seeing them lined up next to each other only made the situation seem more impossible.

Option one was rescuing Jack and Alex and smuggling them out of the country. He had no doubt he'd be able to rescue them, but he began to wonder if that was truly the best option for the two of them. For all he knew, they could not want to be rescued. They obviously didn't like MI6, but being a fugitive wasn't exactly a pleasant solution either.

He could turn himself in. He knew that sacrificing himself for Alex and Jack would mean surrendering to MI6, something he would never do. He'd always looked after himself, and now was no exception. He remembered the conversation he'd had earlier with Jack. It seemed like MI6 had been waiting for him to leave so they could stab him in the back. Hypothetically of course. Yassen wondered what would happen if he did nothing. He highly doubted Blunt would hesitate for a second before killing Jack for the sake of getting what he wanted. Alex was too valuable. There were always plenty of run down boys' homes that would allow Blunt to use Alex whenever he wanted.

Yassen realized that was out of the question. He cared about Jack and Alex far too much to let them die. He crossed the option off his tablet and ended up ripping a hole in the paper. Sighing, he tore the piece off and crumbled it into a ball, pitching it into the trash can against the wall. It bounced off the rim and fell to the floor. Yassen swore in Russian as he leaned over and placed it in the bin. He wondered if he was loosing his touch. He could shoot a penny in half from fifty yards away, but he couldn't manage to fire a paper ball into a trash can.

He should have quit while he was ahead.

He reopened his cell phone. The picture on his mobile was one that Jack had taken a week ago in France and then insisted he set it as his background. He had thought it an awfully childish thing to do, but that was Jack and now he was grateful for it. Reluctantly he began browsing his contacts list, looking for a potentially helpful one. He finally settled on a number and pressed the call button. A voice speaking Japanese answered on the other line.

"Good Evening, Masaki, this is Yassen Gregorovich," Yassen answered him in perfect Japanese. The lesson tapes had paid off, "I'm calling to inquire about the possibility of buying a latex mask..."

---

Alex and Jack were flung carelessly into a cell. Neither of them tried particularly hard to resist. Alex knew from personal experience with MI6 that resisting was no use. He slumped against the cold white cell wall as Jack flopped down on the coverless bed. Alex wondered if the cell was the same one he'd stayed in during his Scorpia mission. It certainly looked the same.

"Shit, Alex, what are we going to do?" Jack pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. Alex gave Jack a small smile as he sat down next to her. He flung an arm around the redheaded American and pulled her in close.

"You would never survive two days as a spy for MI6," Alex shook his head, feeling sorry for his guardian.

"Do you get captured a lot?" Jack tried to sound casual about it, but halfway through she choked on her sentence and Alex prayed she wouldn't begin to cry.

"You have no idea," Alex muttered.

"I'm sure it was never this bad...I mean, for God's sake, I feel like I'm trapped in a tiny white box..and what the hell is that thing? Is that supposed to be a toilet?" Jack pointed to the chemical toilet in the corner and grimaced.

"Jack, you've got to trust me on this one, I've gotten out of much worse," Scorpia, Point Blanc, Stormbreaker...Alex seemed to have awfully bad luck when it came to being captured.

"Are we escaping then?" Alex had to stifle a chuckle. Jack obviously had no idea the amount of surveillance they were under. He knew from previous experience that all of MI6's cells were bugged. There were virtually no cracks or windows, even the light was bolted firmly to the ceiling.

"Yeah, Jack, it doesn't look like there's much of a chance of that," Alex shook his head. Jack ran her fingers through her messy red curls with a sigh, "And even if we did escape, where would we go? MI6 wouldn't let us leave the country and they certainly wouldn't let us return home."

"Geesh, sorry I even mentioned it!" Jack shrugged, "I guess I'm a little inexperienced with this type of stuff."

"Most people are," Alex smirked and Jack chuckled slightly. They quickly stopped when sounds from the outside attracted their attention. The door slowly opened and a man stepped inside. Alex noticed that he wasn't armed. MI6 obviously didn't expect them to make it far, even if they did manage to overpower the guard. The man was holding something in his arms, and for a brief moment Alex remained hopeful that it was food. The man dropped the objects on the floor and Alex's hope was quickly dashed. The guard had brought them books. Paperback ones at that.

"Mrs Jones thought you might need something to pass the time." The man spoke gruffly and Alex jumped up in excitement. The man immediately tensed until he saw who Alex was.

"Cub, what the hell are you doing here?" He spat, looking questioningly at Jack.

"Wolf, you're back from Baghdad!" Alex grinned cheekily, remembering his not so friendly companion from SAS training.

"I, uh, see you got my 'get well' card then," Wolf stuttered, obviously embarrassed. He quickly recovered and explained, "They shipped me back for a month after I was injured. Called it a 'recovery period' or something like that. Basically an excuse for the government to set me up with crap jobs while I wait to be sent back to the front."

"Who is this, Alex?" Jack walked over and offered the SAS solider a hand. He looked slightly confused, but he still hesitantly shook it.

"This, Jack, is the personable, handsome leader of K Unit who made my life a living hell during SAS training." Alex flung an arm around the irritable Wolf who still seemed slightly taken aback

"Get your hands off me, you rotten little Double O Nothing," Wolf yanked Alex's arm away from him, "What type of shit have you got yourself into this time? No wait, let me guess. Classified."

"I guess," Alex shrugged, "So what are you doing here? Are you supposed to make me feel better about this whole situation? Or is it just guard duty...which, by the way, you're doing a very bad job of." Alex jerked his thumb in the direction of the wide open door. Wolf swore and slammed the door shut behind him, locking them all inside the cell.

"Do you have a key?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I do! I'm not an idiot, it's in my..." Wolf stopped himself just in time and glared at the American, "I'm not falling for that...don't even think about trying anything stupid. This place is a fortress." Alex sighed, and went back to sulking on the cot. He suddenly felt very tired and very hungry. The thought of SAS training usually gave him both of those sensations, but the fact that he was locked in a cell made them even worse. Wolf noticed Alex's expression and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Well, I'm...I guess I'd better be leaving then...I'm not supposed to chat up the prisoners," Wolf coughed. Jack and Alex stood looking at him, confused as to why he wasn't leaving.

"The last part was a joke..." He trailed off miserably, turning around in a huff and leaving them alone in the cell. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know, he's a perfect ray of sunshine." Alex noticed her expression.

"I'll say...god, it seems like all these MI6 nuts are searching for a personality." Jack leaned back against the wall. Alex nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, and I don't think they're going to find one," He added. Jack walked over to the pile of books curiously and nudged one with her toe. Alex looked at her in puzzlement, "What are you doing? Did you think it was going to explode or something?"

Jack shrugged.

"Do you think paper has any nutritional value?" She asked. It was Alex's turn to shrug.

"Probably not. When I was at Malagasto they told us to drink our own urine if we were ever stranded somewhere without water. You can stay alive for weeks," Alex offered. Jack's face screwed up into a grimace at the thought and she looked like she was about to be sick.

"I hope Yassen gets here soon..." She trailed off miserably.

"Yeah, so do I." Alex sighed. Jacked picked up the first book and flipped through it, occasionally stopping to skim a page here and there. Judging by her expressions, Alex guessed the book wasn't particularly fitted to Jack's tastes in literature.

"Oh my god, this book is horrible...something about feminism and Mr Rochester...holy smokes, a woman just jumped off a building with her head on fire!" Jack exclaimed. Alex rolled his eyes, snatching the book away from her.

"It's Jane Eyre, that's why it's horrible," Alex explained. Jack slumped down onto the cot next to him.

"Even though I'm trapped in a stark white cell, bored out of my mind, and half starved to death, I still don't think I could find that book interesting!" Jack commented. Alex ignored her and instead bent over a piece of paper that had slid out of the Charlotte Bronte book when Jack tossed it. It was scrawled on what looked like paper from a hotel tablet (it had a Comfort Inn logo on the top of the sheet) and had obviously been written extremely quickly.

"What's that?" Jack asked, craning her neck to see what Alex was holding.

"On of the pages ripped out of the book when you threw it," He gave her a meaningful look and she pursed her lips together to indicate she got his message. Jack read the note eagerly, but was obviously disappointed when all it said was 'dinner with Julia at seven'.

"Well it's no use to us!" She exclaimed. Alex quickly hushed her by putting a finger to his lips. He wasn't willing to give up yet. Standing on the cot, he held the page up to the light. The message that shone through had been written in lemon juice (obviously an impromptu on Yassen's part) and it showed up as a discolorment on the paper. Still, if MI6 had found the page they would have been unable to notice the message without light shining through it, and the note would have hopefully been discarded without much thought.

Alex read the note silently to himself, and Jack hopped up beside him to read it as well. After he was done, he shoved the paper back into the book, making sure to place it with the other books under the cot. It was going to be a very long night.

---

A/N: Julia is in fact a Julia Rothman reference...I couldn't think of another name to use. Someone recommended throwing in K Unit a while back, so I settled for Wolf. A little side note, this chapter is named after my favorite Rolling Stones' song. A special thanks to Sarubby who reviewed like a mad woman and to Halfmoonglasses for the latex mask idea, both were much appreciated! :D