Disclaimer: I don't own Alias.

A/N: The song I used in the last chapter was "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Adkins (the original one not the video remix). Sorry, I usually good about mentioning it before the chapter begins.

Chapter 13- Diamonds and electronics and cabins, oh my!

---Sydney's POV---

I opened my mouth and quickly shut it.

"You were not to be found in the possession of any weapons of in contact with any classified information." Sloane reminded me.

But I wasn't in contact with any classified information." I lied. "Weiss retrieved the diamond and then informed me that I might be able to get my job back."

Sloane remained quiet for a moment. "First of all, it's a suspension, you can't 'get your job back,' you simply resume your duties. Secondly, the diamond is classified information."

"He Didn't tell me anything about the diamond, except that he had retrieved it."

"You keep saying that Weiss retrieved the diamond. If that's true, then why did you come in here and announce that you got the diamond back?" Sloane sat back down in his chair. The asshole looked pleased with this.

---Steve's POV---

"She's fighting to keep her job." I greeted Irina.

"What?"

She sat in front of a desk, looking pensive.

"Sloane suspended her." I threw myself down onto one of the beds in the cabin.

"Get off the bed." Irina ordered. "Get up. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Back to LA"

---Samantha's POV---

"You inexperienced, overconfident selfish little-" James Collier stopped mid-rant as we entered the building.

Computers lined the walls. Off to my right in a nice geometric design were cameras of all sorts.

"How may I help you today?" a man whose nametag claimed he was Patrick greeted us. His shaggy blonde hair suggest that maybe he wasn't quite out of high school yet. He towered over me, much to my dismay.

"We'd like to speak to the manager." I crossed my arms. Perhaps I didn't look exactly intimidating in my jean shorts and red tank top. My blonde hair was pulled up into a pony tail.

"Umm.." Patrick looked worried. His voice started to waiver. "Okay. Follow me."

Patrick must have quizzed us about 20 times about what we wanted to discuss with the manager but we weren't budging.

"Sir," James spoke, staring into the man's eyes. "If you do not quit your blabbering, I'll make sure to bring up the possibility of your termination. You get me?"

Decked out in a suit and with this body build, James was, despite his age, extremely intimidating.

"Y-Y-Yes sir." Poor Patrick was struggling to keep a smile on his face.

We passed by all the electronics and through a corridor before coming face to face with a secretary.

"They need to speak with Mr. Black." Patrick informed the secretary. He ran a shaky hand through his tousled blonde hair before scurrying away from us and back into the store.

The secretary, a woman in her mid twenties, glanced at us. Her strawberry blonde hair kept getting in her way as she tried to type up whatever the hell it was she was typing. The lyrics from a John Legend song wafted its way over to us from the computer.

The white walls of this room were decorated with newspaper clippings and pictures of the manager with this employees. Letters from satisfied customers were also framed on these walls. The secretary, whose name I didn't know, continued typing away in a plush chair behind a mahogany desk. It curved around to allow her the surface area of 2 desks with the convenience of it only actually being one. Papers and personal pictures adorned most of the desk.

When a beep resounded fro seemingly nowhere she told us that we could now go in.

The walls of the managers room were a medium shade of blue. More pictures of employees and newspaper cuttings were found adorning the walls. Bookshelves behind the manager's desk were overflowing. 2 fake plants separated the bookshelves from the windows.

"Have a seat." The manager, a man about 50 ordered. His graying hair accented his business suit. Wrinkles were starting to appear around his face. Creases in his forehead, most likely from stress, were also there.

He entwined his fingers together, glancing back from me to James Collier.

"How may I help you?"

I whipped out a pen and pressed down on it. "It's secure."

"My office always is. I'm disappointed in you, Bridget."

"Well, you know what they say. Gotta cover your own ass." I grinned at him.

The man stood up and 'opened the window.' In reality he brought up a retina, finger print, voice analysis, and password prompter. After receiving clearance, we took an elevator to an underground facility.

We passed by a few restaurants and some sleeping areas before we found ourselves in front of an office.

"After you." the man help open the door for me.

The office was an exact replica of the one above ground in the electronics store.

We each took a seat.

"So," I slumped lazily in the chair. "I guess I wait here while you shower me with praise for the diamond."

"Praise?" the man scoffed. "We got the information but we no longer have the diamond."

"What" I sat up little straighter.

"It seems that Blanche lost the diamond. We don't know if we'll need it."

"But we have the information." James reminded him.

"We have the coordinates. Who knows what we'll find there. So, I'm sending you to find out what you can."

He filled out some information on the desk in front of him before stamping something on it. The symbol was an exact replica of the one I had tattooed on my back.

"Is that it?" I asked, already getting up.

"You'll be briefed later on. Yes, that is it." The man shooed us out quickly.

"Like I was saying." James hissed. "I can't believe you lost her!"

"I distinctly remember that she kicked your ass as well," I grinned at him.

"It could be worse. She would have done worse, done more, if she knew."

We headed into an elevator.

"If she knew you were the one she fought that night?" I questioned, pushing the button for our desired floor.

A/N: Questions? Comments? Praise and guilt are the best motivators.