After waiting for the guard to turn the corner, Sydney crept down the hall and entered the library cautiously. It was large and lavishly decorated, with more paintings on the walls between the many bookshelves and several marble statues of varying sizes strategically placed on columns and shelves.
The safe was behind a rather gaudy modernist painting of the Eiffel Tower, done in shades of oranges, reds and purples. Marshall's device worked perfectly -- giving her 36873768 -- and within moments she had the safe open. Inside, there were a few bundles of euro notes, several folded sheafs of paper, a large metal box -- and an intricately carved wooden box about the size of a deck of cards.
She pulled out the last item and opened it. Inside was the medallion, resting on a burgundy velvet pillow. She zipped it into the inside pocket of her purse and then reached for Marshall's forgery.
"Turn around slowly and put your hands in the air." The voice behind her was cold and calm.
"Hang tight, Syd." Dixon's voice came through her earpiece. "I'll see what I can do."
Heart sinking, she complied with the voice. Henri Sanguinet stood before her, a sneer on his face and a gun pointed steadily at her chest.
"Arvin's agents are certainly getting more attractive, I'll give him that. Although not more effective. Or are you one of Alain's?"
"I don't know who you're talking about," Sydney said.
"Of course not," Sanguinet replied in a manner which clearly indicated that he wasn't buying her disavowal for a second. "I'm sure you picked up that code descrambler at the local shopping center."
"You'd be surprised what a girl looking for a quick score can get her hands on these days."
"So you're just after money, is that it?"
"Is there anything else worth going after?"
He eyed her up and down, and the lascivious look in his eyes made her sick to her stomach. "I can think of a few other things that are equally worthwhile." She forced a come-hither look onto her face. If she could get close enough to him to grab the gun....
"Of course, I have no need to resort to Ôgoing after' young women who try to rob me and then lie to me. Delectable though they may be. So before I terminate them for incompetence, I believe my guards can do me one more service." Gun still trained on her, he moved toward the desk. Sydney could tell that he was about to press a small button on the corner, one which would doubtless summon any number of reinforcements. She knew that she had to get out before they arrived, or she wouldn't get out at all.
C'mon, Dixon, she prayed.
Suddenly, a piercing alarm shattered the tense silence in the library. Sanguinet's gaze flickered slightly toward the door. It was all the opening she was likely to get, and she seized it. With a swift kick, she sent the gun flying out of his hand and across the room. He snarled a curse and grabbed her by the arm, twisting it sharply behind her. Thank God the adrenalin dulled the pain that shot down her arm. She snapped her head back and connected solidly with his nose. His grip on her arm slackened as he cried out, and she jerked it free before turning to launch a punch at his jaw. He recovered quickly, though, and deflected her fist with his arm. He countered with a punch that she couldn't quite avoid all the way; her ears rung for a moment from the blow to the side of her head.
He grabbed her by the hair, trying to pull her head back sharply. She twisted free of the wig with satisfaction, spinning and planting a forceful knee to his groin. Damned if she'd play fair. As he hunched over, she grabbed one of the marble statues and brought it down on the back of his neck with all her might. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.
A quick glance around the room revealed nothing readily available to tie him up with. She grabbed her purse and hurried from the room.
* * * * *
Vaughn glanced at his watch. Something was wrong. Sydney should have been back by now. He had lost Anna in the crowd almost immediately, thanks to Monique's leech-like advances. He had, however, been able to keep an eye on Dixon. He figured -- hoped -- that as long as Dixon didn't make a move, that meant that Sydney was fine. But the retrieval was definitely taking longer than it should have.
Abruptly, Dixon put down his wine glass and walked quickly toward one of the doors. Not quickly enough to stand out in the crowd, but definitely quickly enough to set off alarm bells in Vaughn's mind.
He interrupted Monique in the middle of some giggly story about ... something. "I have to call my wife," he stated forcefully and took off across the room without a backward glance. Hopefully that would take care of her.
Dixon slipped into a hallway, and Vaughn followed at a discreet distance, ducking into a recessed doorway when Dixon glanced back. Dixon moved a bench from against the wall into the center of the hallway, then climbed on top of it and pulled something from his pocket, holding it up to a barely noticeable round object on the ceiling. Vaughn grinned briefly and was reentering the ballroom by the time that the alarm pierced the din of the party. "FIRE!" he yelled. "The house is on fire! Everybody get out!"
Immediately the room was a mass of people shouting and running in all directions. He ducked back into the hall.
* * * * *
Sydney pulled her hair down as she walked quickly down the hall, shaking out her own -- no doubt horribly flat -- brown tresses. She probably looked like hell, but it was the least of her worries. She needed to get the coin to Vaughn and then get the hell out of here before Sanguinet regained consciousness and sent his goons after her. Hopefully, they would be otherwise occupied for a while. The alarm was still echoing loudly in the hallway, and she could hear excited voices coming from the direction of the ballroom. "Thank you, Dixon," she whispered.
She turned a corner -- and was met immediately by a smirking Anna Espinosa.
"Well, hello again, Sydney. I assume that once again you have something which I need."
Sydney cursed silently and launched a fierce punch at Anna, but Anna was solidly planted and avoided it with ease. She countered with a punch of her own that grazed Sydney's head.
The two of them became a flurry of kicks and feints, punches and counter-punches. As usual, they were evenly matched, neither having a decided advantage. But Sydney knew that she needed to end the fight as quickly as possible; she didn't have time for any prolonged dodge and parry. Recklessly, she aimed a knockout punch to Anna's chin, leaving her body exposed -- and Anna took advantage of it, connecting to Sydney's midsection with a kick that sent her flying backward.
Sydney fell hard to the ground, her purse sailing down her arm and against a pillar. The contents scattered across the floor -- the descrambler, a compact, lipstick ... and the medallion. Sydney gasped for breath that would not come.
"Oops." With a wide smile, Anna scooped up the medallion, blew Sydney a kiss, then turned and ran down the hall.
Sydney's lungs burned, her head spun, and she felt a rising sense of panic. Then, mercifully, just when she thought she was going to suffocate to death, her lungs began to work again. She sucked in air gratefully, greedily, but she couldn't rest. She sat up and opened the purse. Yes, the real medallion was still safely tucked away. After stuffing her other items quickly back into the purse, she stood and moved a bit unsteadily toward the party, which now sounded more like a panic. "I'm fine, Dixon," she muttered. "I'll try to meet you by the front door. We need to get moving."
Before she got more than a few steps, Vaughn rounded a corner from another direction, a frantic look in his eyes. Quickly, she flicked the "off" switch on her transmitter.
"Sy -- Mademoiselle! Are you OK?" he asked, worry as evident in his voice as it was on his face.
"Just need to catch my breath. Two fights in five minutes is a bit much even for me," she said, trying to smile. "And we're secure, I turned off my transmitter."
"Sydney, I am *so* sorry I didn't keep Anna occupied longer. One of the run-ins was with her, wasn't it?"
"It's OK, Vaughn. It would've been long enough if Sanguinet hadn't popped into the library while I was lifting the medallion. I got it, though." She pulled it from her purse and held it out to him. "And Anna got Marshall's fake one."
He shook his head dismissively. "The important thing is that you're OK, Sydney." For a moment, their eyes met and she felt her breath fail her again. Then he pulled the CIA's forgery out of his inside breast pocket, and they exchanged medallions.
"I need to get out of here now," she said, almost regretfully.
"It should be easy to blend into the crowd. It's a madhouse out there."
"I'll see you back in L.A. then," she said. They looked at each other for just a moment longer than necessary. Then they headed back to the ballroom in different directions, into the mass of swarming guests.
* * * * *
"Dixon, let's get out of here," she said in greeting as she finally found him amid the crowd. "Nice diversion, by the way."
"Thank God it worked." They began walking quickly toward the side area where the cars were parked. "Syd, why did you turn off your transmitter?"
"Huh? I didn't. It must have gotten switched off during one of the fights. I hit my head when I fell and --."
She broke off at the sight of Henri Sanguinet and a tall, muscled guard coming out onto the front portico.
"Here, take this." She slipped the CIA's medallion into Dixon's hand. "We're not going to make it out of here by car in this traffic jam. I'll give them the slip and meet you back at the hotel, OK?" Before he could protest, she had started across the lawn toward the other side of the house, trying to blend into the crowd. Sanguinet suddenly pointed in her direction, however, and shouted "La elle est!" He and the guard immediately started after her, dodging in and out of confused guests.
She rounded the corner of the house at a run and then halted, pressing herself against the wall. As the guard appeared beside her, she delivered a sharp spin kick to his midsection and a simultaneous heel of her hand to his face. As he hunched over, she followed with another kick to his chin that sent him reeling backward -- into Sanguinet.
The guard's dead weight carried both men to the ground. Sanguinet's gun flew out of his hand and across the grass. She turned and began to run -- only to see two more guards rapidly approaching in front of her. One of them was shouting into a walkie-talkie, clearly calling for reinforcements.
As her eyes darted around, her mind instantly calculating the best avenue for escape, she heard the noise of a motorcycle approaching rapidly from the side. It screeched to a halt mere feet from her.
"Sydney!" She whirled around, hoping it was Dixon, and was shocked to see that it was Vaughn astride the motorcycle. "Come on!" Without a second thought, she ran the few steps between them and jumped on behind him, flinging her arms around his waist. He sent the bike into motion with a roar almost before she had gotten seated. It was not a millisecond too soon, as she felt a bullet whiz past her ear.
They sped around to the front of the house, sending already panicked guests scattering out of their way. She held on tight, trusting him to get them safely away.
He maneuvered the motorcycle expertly through the people that were still milling about the front grounds or hurrying toward their cars, and they sped down the driveway. Thankfully -- and miraculously -- Sanguinet hadn't ordered the front gates closed. Or perhaps the fleeing guests hadn't allowed his orders to be carried out. They dodged around and past the cars that crowded the exit, and then they were speeding down the road from the Sanguinet estate, passing every car they met.
They had gone only a couple of miles before Sydney looked back and saw a single headlight about 300 yards behind them, closing in on them despite their speed. She leaned her mouth against his ear and warned, "We've got a tail. Another bike."
He nodded in acknowledgement and increased their speed. She lay her head against his back, turning it so that she could see behind them. The other motorcycle was no longer gaining on them. The light grew no bigger -- but no smaller, either.
Perversely, it had started to rain. Not hard, thankfully, but more than enough to leave them soaked after only a few minutes. They drove for miles, on major roads and winding lanes, Vaughn taking sharp turns and ignoring speed limits as they left Rouen's outskirts behind them. The light behind them gradually grew farther away and then disappeared altogether. Still they drove. Once, he went off the road altogether and cut across a large, open field on a narrow dirt path that intersected a small paved road; she had no idea how he had spotted it. In fact, strangely, she almost got the impression that he knew where he was going, though she found it incredible that he would know this small farming village that they were now in.
Just when she was about to indicate to him that she thought they had safely given their pursuers the slip, he pulled into the dirt driveway of a rambling, white farmhouse, brought the motorcycle to a halt and shut off the engine.
The safe was behind a rather gaudy modernist painting of the Eiffel Tower, done in shades of oranges, reds and purples. Marshall's device worked perfectly -- giving her 36873768 -- and within moments she had the safe open. Inside, there were a few bundles of euro notes, several folded sheafs of paper, a large metal box -- and an intricately carved wooden box about the size of a deck of cards.
She pulled out the last item and opened it. Inside was the medallion, resting on a burgundy velvet pillow. She zipped it into the inside pocket of her purse and then reached for Marshall's forgery.
"Turn around slowly and put your hands in the air." The voice behind her was cold and calm.
"Hang tight, Syd." Dixon's voice came through her earpiece. "I'll see what I can do."
Heart sinking, she complied with the voice. Henri Sanguinet stood before her, a sneer on his face and a gun pointed steadily at her chest.
"Arvin's agents are certainly getting more attractive, I'll give him that. Although not more effective. Or are you one of Alain's?"
"I don't know who you're talking about," Sydney said.
"Of course not," Sanguinet replied in a manner which clearly indicated that he wasn't buying her disavowal for a second. "I'm sure you picked up that code descrambler at the local shopping center."
"You'd be surprised what a girl looking for a quick score can get her hands on these days."
"So you're just after money, is that it?"
"Is there anything else worth going after?"
He eyed her up and down, and the lascivious look in his eyes made her sick to her stomach. "I can think of a few other things that are equally worthwhile." She forced a come-hither look onto her face. If she could get close enough to him to grab the gun....
"Of course, I have no need to resort to Ôgoing after' young women who try to rob me and then lie to me. Delectable though they may be. So before I terminate them for incompetence, I believe my guards can do me one more service." Gun still trained on her, he moved toward the desk. Sydney could tell that he was about to press a small button on the corner, one which would doubtless summon any number of reinforcements. She knew that she had to get out before they arrived, or she wouldn't get out at all.
C'mon, Dixon, she prayed.
Suddenly, a piercing alarm shattered the tense silence in the library. Sanguinet's gaze flickered slightly toward the door. It was all the opening she was likely to get, and she seized it. With a swift kick, she sent the gun flying out of his hand and across the room. He snarled a curse and grabbed her by the arm, twisting it sharply behind her. Thank God the adrenalin dulled the pain that shot down her arm. She snapped her head back and connected solidly with his nose. His grip on her arm slackened as he cried out, and she jerked it free before turning to launch a punch at his jaw. He recovered quickly, though, and deflected her fist with his arm. He countered with a punch that she couldn't quite avoid all the way; her ears rung for a moment from the blow to the side of her head.
He grabbed her by the hair, trying to pull her head back sharply. She twisted free of the wig with satisfaction, spinning and planting a forceful knee to his groin. Damned if she'd play fair. As he hunched over, she grabbed one of the marble statues and brought it down on the back of his neck with all her might. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.
A quick glance around the room revealed nothing readily available to tie him up with. She grabbed her purse and hurried from the room.
* * * * *
Vaughn glanced at his watch. Something was wrong. Sydney should have been back by now. He had lost Anna in the crowd almost immediately, thanks to Monique's leech-like advances. He had, however, been able to keep an eye on Dixon. He figured -- hoped -- that as long as Dixon didn't make a move, that meant that Sydney was fine. But the retrieval was definitely taking longer than it should have.
Abruptly, Dixon put down his wine glass and walked quickly toward one of the doors. Not quickly enough to stand out in the crowd, but definitely quickly enough to set off alarm bells in Vaughn's mind.
He interrupted Monique in the middle of some giggly story about ... something. "I have to call my wife," he stated forcefully and took off across the room without a backward glance. Hopefully that would take care of her.
Dixon slipped into a hallway, and Vaughn followed at a discreet distance, ducking into a recessed doorway when Dixon glanced back. Dixon moved a bench from against the wall into the center of the hallway, then climbed on top of it and pulled something from his pocket, holding it up to a barely noticeable round object on the ceiling. Vaughn grinned briefly and was reentering the ballroom by the time that the alarm pierced the din of the party. "FIRE!" he yelled. "The house is on fire! Everybody get out!"
Immediately the room was a mass of people shouting and running in all directions. He ducked back into the hall.
* * * * *
Sydney pulled her hair down as she walked quickly down the hall, shaking out her own -- no doubt horribly flat -- brown tresses. She probably looked like hell, but it was the least of her worries. She needed to get the coin to Vaughn and then get the hell out of here before Sanguinet regained consciousness and sent his goons after her. Hopefully, they would be otherwise occupied for a while. The alarm was still echoing loudly in the hallway, and she could hear excited voices coming from the direction of the ballroom. "Thank you, Dixon," she whispered.
She turned a corner -- and was met immediately by a smirking Anna Espinosa.
"Well, hello again, Sydney. I assume that once again you have something which I need."
Sydney cursed silently and launched a fierce punch at Anna, but Anna was solidly planted and avoided it with ease. She countered with a punch of her own that grazed Sydney's head.
The two of them became a flurry of kicks and feints, punches and counter-punches. As usual, they were evenly matched, neither having a decided advantage. But Sydney knew that she needed to end the fight as quickly as possible; she didn't have time for any prolonged dodge and parry. Recklessly, she aimed a knockout punch to Anna's chin, leaving her body exposed -- and Anna took advantage of it, connecting to Sydney's midsection with a kick that sent her flying backward.
Sydney fell hard to the ground, her purse sailing down her arm and against a pillar. The contents scattered across the floor -- the descrambler, a compact, lipstick ... and the medallion. Sydney gasped for breath that would not come.
"Oops." With a wide smile, Anna scooped up the medallion, blew Sydney a kiss, then turned and ran down the hall.
Sydney's lungs burned, her head spun, and she felt a rising sense of panic. Then, mercifully, just when she thought she was going to suffocate to death, her lungs began to work again. She sucked in air gratefully, greedily, but she couldn't rest. She sat up and opened the purse. Yes, the real medallion was still safely tucked away. After stuffing her other items quickly back into the purse, she stood and moved a bit unsteadily toward the party, which now sounded more like a panic. "I'm fine, Dixon," she muttered. "I'll try to meet you by the front door. We need to get moving."
Before she got more than a few steps, Vaughn rounded a corner from another direction, a frantic look in his eyes. Quickly, she flicked the "off" switch on her transmitter.
"Sy -- Mademoiselle! Are you OK?" he asked, worry as evident in his voice as it was on his face.
"Just need to catch my breath. Two fights in five minutes is a bit much even for me," she said, trying to smile. "And we're secure, I turned off my transmitter."
"Sydney, I am *so* sorry I didn't keep Anna occupied longer. One of the run-ins was with her, wasn't it?"
"It's OK, Vaughn. It would've been long enough if Sanguinet hadn't popped into the library while I was lifting the medallion. I got it, though." She pulled it from her purse and held it out to him. "And Anna got Marshall's fake one."
He shook his head dismissively. "The important thing is that you're OK, Sydney." For a moment, their eyes met and she felt her breath fail her again. Then he pulled the CIA's forgery out of his inside breast pocket, and they exchanged medallions.
"I need to get out of here now," she said, almost regretfully.
"It should be easy to blend into the crowd. It's a madhouse out there."
"I'll see you back in L.A. then," she said. They looked at each other for just a moment longer than necessary. Then they headed back to the ballroom in different directions, into the mass of swarming guests.
* * * * *
"Dixon, let's get out of here," she said in greeting as she finally found him amid the crowd. "Nice diversion, by the way."
"Thank God it worked." They began walking quickly toward the side area where the cars were parked. "Syd, why did you turn off your transmitter?"
"Huh? I didn't. It must have gotten switched off during one of the fights. I hit my head when I fell and --."
She broke off at the sight of Henri Sanguinet and a tall, muscled guard coming out onto the front portico.
"Here, take this." She slipped the CIA's medallion into Dixon's hand. "We're not going to make it out of here by car in this traffic jam. I'll give them the slip and meet you back at the hotel, OK?" Before he could protest, she had started across the lawn toward the other side of the house, trying to blend into the crowd. Sanguinet suddenly pointed in her direction, however, and shouted "La elle est!" He and the guard immediately started after her, dodging in and out of confused guests.
She rounded the corner of the house at a run and then halted, pressing herself against the wall. As the guard appeared beside her, she delivered a sharp spin kick to his midsection and a simultaneous heel of her hand to his face. As he hunched over, she followed with another kick to his chin that sent him reeling backward -- into Sanguinet.
The guard's dead weight carried both men to the ground. Sanguinet's gun flew out of his hand and across the grass. She turned and began to run -- only to see two more guards rapidly approaching in front of her. One of them was shouting into a walkie-talkie, clearly calling for reinforcements.
As her eyes darted around, her mind instantly calculating the best avenue for escape, she heard the noise of a motorcycle approaching rapidly from the side. It screeched to a halt mere feet from her.
"Sydney!" She whirled around, hoping it was Dixon, and was shocked to see that it was Vaughn astride the motorcycle. "Come on!" Without a second thought, she ran the few steps between them and jumped on behind him, flinging her arms around his waist. He sent the bike into motion with a roar almost before she had gotten seated. It was not a millisecond too soon, as she felt a bullet whiz past her ear.
They sped around to the front of the house, sending already panicked guests scattering out of their way. She held on tight, trusting him to get them safely away.
He maneuvered the motorcycle expertly through the people that were still milling about the front grounds or hurrying toward their cars, and they sped down the driveway. Thankfully -- and miraculously -- Sanguinet hadn't ordered the front gates closed. Or perhaps the fleeing guests hadn't allowed his orders to be carried out. They dodged around and past the cars that crowded the exit, and then they were speeding down the road from the Sanguinet estate, passing every car they met.
They had gone only a couple of miles before Sydney looked back and saw a single headlight about 300 yards behind them, closing in on them despite their speed. She leaned her mouth against his ear and warned, "We've got a tail. Another bike."
He nodded in acknowledgement and increased their speed. She lay her head against his back, turning it so that she could see behind them. The other motorcycle was no longer gaining on them. The light grew no bigger -- but no smaller, either.
Perversely, it had started to rain. Not hard, thankfully, but more than enough to leave them soaked after only a few minutes. They drove for miles, on major roads and winding lanes, Vaughn taking sharp turns and ignoring speed limits as they left Rouen's outskirts behind them. The light behind them gradually grew farther away and then disappeared altogether. Still they drove. Once, he went off the road altogether and cut across a large, open field on a narrow dirt path that intersected a small paved road; she had no idea how he had spotted it. In fact, strangely, she almost got the impression that he knew where he was going, though she found it incredible that he would know this small farming village that they were now in.
Just when she was about to indicate to him that she thought they had safely given their pursuers the slip, he pulled into the dirt driveway of a rambling, white farmhouse, brought the motorcycle to a halt and shut off the engine.
