Vaughn stirred, the cramp in his neck becoming bothersome. Still half-asleep, he tried to find the pillow to stick it back under his head, but something wasn't right. He opened his eyes, blinking several times as the confusion cleared. Not at home... on a plane... can't move my arm...
Why can't I move my arm? he wondered as he looked to his right and found the cause. Curled up in the seat, leaning against him was Sydney. He studied her for a minute before being distracted by the flight attendant's announcement that they would be landing soon. He refocused his attention on a sleeping Sydney, watching as a tear slipped from beneath her closed eyes.
Vaughn reached out to wipe it away before pulling his hand back as he remembered her earlier words, his anger and hurt returning full-force. Carefully, he pushed her away, the movement waking her.
"Huh? What?" Sydney mumbled tiredly as she snuggled a bit closer.
Vaughn leaned forward causing Sydney to fall behind him. While Sydney righted herself, he turned towards the window and finally found his pillow wedged between the seat and the side of the plane. "They just announced that we'll be landing soon."
His voice told Sydney all she needed to know. "Right. Sorry," she stated, rubbing her eyes before quickly gathering up her pillow and blanket.
Vaughn watched as she hurried back to her original seat. Running a hand through his hair, he tossed the pillow and blanket aside and followed her, embarrassed by his own actions.
Settling next to her, he was surprised when she shrank away from him. He let out an exasperated sigh. "Listen," he started before being interrupted by the attendant's list of landing preparations.
Fumbling around, he reached for the seat belt, his hand accidentally brushing Sydney's. She pulled her hand back quickly as if she'd been burned. "Sorry," she stated flatly.
Again, Vaughn sighed. Given what's happened, maybe it would have been better to travel with Jack, he thought as he felt the plane begin its descent.
Moments later, they were on the ground. After a stop at Customs, they made their way through Orly to the baggage claim area. Vaughn watched as Sydney stood at the opposite end of the carousel, waiting for her bag to appear.
She was still waiting when he retrieved his and moved over to where she stood. Sydney could sense he was about to say something and was relieved when her suitcase finally materialized before he had the chance.
"Is this one yours?" Vaughn asked, stepping next to her as Sydney prepared to grab it off the conveyor belt.
"Yes," she replied. She grabbed the handle awkwardly, succeeding in pulling it from the carousel, only to have it land on its side.
Sydney leaned over to right the case, surprised when Vaughn tried to do it for her. She pushed his outstretched hand away. "I've got it."
"You sure?" he asked. "I can get it if you want."
"I'm sure," she snapped, pulling the handle up and heading towards the exit.
Vaughn stood motionless, staring after her rapidly disappearing form. He shook his head as he grabbed his own bag and hurried after her.
********
Vaughn got out of the cab and walked into the reception area of the hotel. He and Sydney hadn't spoken a word to each other since they'd left the airport.
He watched as she came through the door, her shock at the opulence of the hotel matching his own. Vaughn turned his attention to the desk clerk. "Bonjour. Nous avons réservés."
"Nom?"
"Sebastien Harcourt et Meghan Stratford."
"Ah. Monsieur Harcourt. Mademoiselle Stratford. Oui," the clerk said hesitantly.
"Est-ce qu'il y a un problème?" Vaughn asked impatiently.
"Possibly," the clerk explained in French. "We have two couples who are traveling together who were forced to stay an extra two days. When I checked the register, your reservations had not yet been made, so they were told it would not be a problem."
"So, you don't have rooms for us?"
"I'm afraid that we only have one room available at the moment. It is one of our Junior Suites. Of course, since this is our mistake, you will be given the room for the rate of one of the rooms you had booked."
Vaughn leaned in closer, lowering his voice so that Sydney couldn't hear him. "You're certain you don't have two rooms?"
"Yes. If you'd like to call another hotel to see if they would have suitable accommodations..."
He was too tired to deal with this. They'd just have to find a way to deal with this... problem. "No, we'll take the room."
The clerk smiled. "Good," he stated enthusiastically. Passing Vaughn a card to fill out, he called for a bell boy. "Chambre 25," he ordered.
Vaughn looked up. "We can manage, if that's alright."
The desk clerk nodded, dismissing the young man. Taking the registration card back from Vaughn, he started to hand him two key cards, but pulled them back just as Vaughn was about to take them.
"Is something wrong?" Vaughn asked, his outstretched hand still waiting for the cards.
"We know why you are here M. Harcourt."
Vaughn paled. "Excuse me?"
"The article. I'm just worried that this little problem with the reservation might appear in Mlle. Stratford's article."
Vaughn wanted to strangle the clerk. "I guarantee, it will not even be mentioned."
The desk clerk let out a relieved sigh. "Oh thank you. I just want to assure you that things like this never happen here." Finally handing the cards to Vaughn, he added, "I hope you and Mademoiselle Stratford enjoy your stay."
"Thank you," Vaughn answered tightly. He picked up his suitcase and walked over to where Sydney had decided to sit down. "Meghan?"
Sydney looked up. "Yes?"
"Are you ready?"
She rose and followed Vaughn up two flights of steps. When they reached the room, she looked up and down the hall. "Where's my room?"
Vaughn passed the card through the reader. "Here," he answered, holding the door open for her.
She entered the suite and walked around, once again surprised by the extravagance. "Are you sure this is the right hotel?" she asked, turning back to see Vaughn setting his suitcase in the closet. "Wait a minute, I thought you said this was my room."
"Yes, I'm sure it's the right hotel. And yes, it's your room."
"Then what are you doing?"
Vaughn took a deep breath. "I'll explain in a minute," he said as he swept the room for bugs.
Sydney watched and waited until he completed the sweep. "Well?"
"The room's clean."
"Wonderful, but that wasn't what I was talking about."
"I know." He went over and sat down on the sofa.
"What the hell is going on?" Sydney asked angrily.
"They only had one room. This is it."
Sydney sat down heavily in a chair across from Vaughn. "One room?"
"Yes, but listen, this isn't going to be a problem."
She wanted to laugh. "Really? How do you figure that?"
"We don't have a choice here, Syd. There was a screw-up with our reservations. In order to make up for the hotel's mistake, they gave us this suite."
"Ok, fine, but Vaughn..."
Vaughn ignored her protests and got up from the couch, walking over to his suitcase. Opening it, he pulled the phone out. "I need to call Devlin."
Sydney got up as well. When she reached Vaughn, she grabbed the phone from him hand. At his angry glare, she simply stated, "Ignoring what started this isn't going to help. We need to talk. Now."
Vaughn leaned against the door to the closet. "Syd, I don't want to fight with you. Really I don't. I am sorry about what I said on the plane last night, but right now, I just want to call Devlin so we can find out what we are supposed to do. Okay?"
"So, just because you say you're sorry, I'm supposed to just accept it and that's it?"
"Syd..."
"No! Damn it, Vaughn! I tried apologizing last night. Honestly, I didn't mean what I said. But then this morning, before I could say anything, you just cut me off. And now, here you are, telling me that you're sorry. And just because you said it, I'm supposed to go, okay, everything's fine?"
Vaughn banged his head against the closet door a couple of times in frustration. "Jesus, Syd. What do you want me to say?"
She looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. "I know I hurt you with what I said, but it was an accident. What you said wasn't. It was cold and harsh and you said it to hurt me. And then when you woke me up..."
"When I woke you up what?"
Sydney handed him the phone. "Never mind. You're right, you should call Devlin." She walked over to the window, rubbing her arms vigorously, trying to drive away the chill that had settled over her. In the background she could hear Vaughn telling Devlin that they'd checked in. After a moment's silence, Vaughn began speaking again and then disconnected the call.
"So what's the plan?" she asked, still staring out the window.
"Devlin wants us to check out Khasinau's club tonight after it gets dark," he responded tiredly.
"Well, at least we don't have to worry about it being open. Not after what happened Friday night." She closed her eyes, remembering the stunned look on Will's face.
Vaughn walked over and joined Sydney in front of the window, checking his watch. 4 p.m. "We'll leave around 9."
"Okay," she agreed quietly, her mind preoccupied by thoughts of what had happened to Will.
"Good, now why don't we get some sleep?"
Sydney continued to stare out the window as various scenarios played out in her mind, each more horrific than the last.
"Sydney?" Vaughn asked, her silence worrying him. When she still didn't answer, he gently nudged her shoulder. "Syd?"
She jumped. "What?"
"I said maybe we should get some sleep." He wasn't going to ask if she was okay. He could see that she wasn't. And he didn't know how to fix it.
"You know, I don't think I'll be able to sleep right away, so I'm going to take a shower. But you should go ahead and sleep."
Vaughn nodded, walking over to the couch.
She saw where he was going and blocked his path. "Bed," she said simply as she turned him, pushing him towards the bed.
"Sydney, this is ridiculous," he objected. "I'll take the couch."
"Lie down," she ordered.
"Syd..."
When he remained standing, she kicked his feet out from under him, pushing him backwards as he fell. "I'll take the couch. The way your feet were dangling over the edge a few minutes ago, there's no way you'll get any sleep. If you don't sleep, I won't sleep."
Vaughn started to sit up and was promptly pushed back down. "Vaughn, please. I don't want to fight anymore. Would you please just lie down? I'll take the couch."
Vaughn started to sit up again. When he saw that Sydney intended to push him back down again, he held his hand up. "I was going to take off my shoes."
Sydney stepped back. "Sorry."
"I know."
Sydney smiled sadly before turning to retrieve a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from her suitcase. "When I get out of the shower," she started, turning back to see him stretching out on the bed, "if I find you on that couch, I'll..."
"You'll what?" he asked, trying very hard to keep his eyes open.
"I don't know," she finally replied. "But I can guarantee you won't like it."
Vaughn smiled. He couldn't help himself. He leaned over and set the alarm for 7:30. "I'm not going anywhere," he said as he laid back on the bed before continuing, "but would you promise me something?"
Sydney regarded him cautiously. "What?"
"That you'll try to get some sleep after your shower."
"I promise," she answered, heading into the bathroom.
********
Thirty minutes later, Sydney emerged from the bathroom. She looked over at Vaughn, who was already asleep, a pillow clutched to his chest. She was about to get the other pillow from the bed when she noticed that Vaughn had already placed a pillow and blanket on the couch for her.
She sat down, pulling the blanket around her shoulders and leaned back, her eyes closed. After five minutes, she decided to lie down, thinking that maybe that would help her drift off.
By six p.m., she knew there was no hope of getting any sleep. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Will sitting on the couch in the safe house in L.A. Had he really thanked her for saving his life? She wondered what he was thinking now.
Sydney got up from the couch and walked over to her suitcase. She unzipped it slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. With each pull on the zipper, she looked over at the bed where Vaughn was sleeping to make sure the noise hadn't disturbed him. She didn't need him waking up now.
Finally she had the case opened enough to retrieve a pair of jeans, a dark sweater, and her tennis shoes. Slipping quietly back into the bathroom, she changed quickly.
She opened the door slowly, creeping past the bed. She dropped the clothes she'd been wearing on top of the case and went back by the bed, carefully picking up the alarm clock and resetting the alarm. Moving to the desk, she jotted down a quick note, telling Vaughn not to worry, that she hadn't been able to sleep and that she'd gone downstairs to get something to eat.
Placing the note by the lamp on the desk, she grabbed her card key and quietly left the room. In just a couple of minutes, she found herself out in front of the hotel. She hailed a cab, giving the driver an address a block away from Khasinau's club.
********
Knock, knock. "Good evening, Nicholas," Jack said formally. He indicated the briefcase in his hand. "Are you free to discuss business now?"
Right on time. "Sure, Ian," Weiss said dully as he entered his hotel room. He locked and bolted the door.
"Ja--Ian, there's no one else in here," he said as he mouthed "No bugs."
"It never hurts to double check," Ian responded as he swept the room. A few minutes later he nodded. His expression grew grave.
"My sources know nothing of Tippin's whereabouts." Jack sighed. "We may be at a dead end."
"What?" Weiss was outraged. "You mean we flew all this way for nothing?"
"I certainly hope not. I'm still waiting for a call from L.A.," Jack answered. "Hopefully something's turned up there."
"Maybe Mike and Sydney are getting lucky in Paris," Weiss suggested as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Maybe what?" Jack asked, fighting for control.
"I said maybe Mike and Sydney are finding something in Paris," Weiss said. Jack continued to stare at him. "What? What did I say?"
"Nothing," Jack finally dismissed what Weiss had unintentionally implied. He didn't mean it. It was just an inappropriate word choice from a distraught, jet-lagged man. Inappropriate. Inappropriate words. Inappropriate actions . . . I'll kill him. If he so much as considers trying anything . . . they'll never find a body. A slight smile crept onto his face.
"Nothing at all. Anyway, as I was saying, maybe Devlin or Davenport will have learned something new to aid us in our search--" Jack was interrupted by the ringing phone.
"Hello?" Weiss answered. Davenport.
"Really? Where? Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir, nothing yet. Anything from Vaughn? Not yet. Okay. Oh, I see. All right then. Yes, sir, will do. Good-bye." Weiss returned the receiver to its proper place and faced Jack.
"Well?"
"Some of our agents spotted men matching Sark and Tippin's descriptions earlier at the airport. Looks like this is where they are," Weiss said, the anger evident in his voice. "Someone overheard them mention they had plans at Calle Huertas tonight."
"Calle Huertas it is," Jack said with a nod. He glanced at his watch. "We'll meet at the bar in, say, twenty minutes?"
"Twenty minutes," Weiss echoed. "Wait a sec--the bar? Why not the lobby?"
"The bar," Jack said firmly, then left the room.
********
"This is hopeless," Nicholas moaned into his sangria. At Jack's--Ian's--raised eyebrow, he quickly continued. "We're never going to find the appropriate charity for you to invest in," he corrected himself. "We've looked everywhere."
"Nicholas, we left the hotel less than two hours ago," Ian said pointedly. He placed his folded napkin on the table. "It takes time to find the proper . . . charity. We will find it, and when we do, we will make it pay."
The two men sat in silence, gazing at their surroundings from the terrace cafe they were dining at. To passersby it would have appeared that they were tourists who were trying to gain their bearings; in reality, they were looking for signs that a certain reporter and a certain British operative were in their midst. Unfortunately, they were no closer to them than they were in Los Angeles.
Twenty minutes later the two agents were wandering through the busy street as the city came to life.
"Ten o'clock," Jack murmured.
Weiss continued walking, glancing slightly to his left with his peripheral vision. Bingo. There was a group of men cavorting outside a nightclub. The leader of the group had short, blonde hair and was waving them inside.
"Sark," Weiss whispered, unconsciously clenching his fists.
"Self-control," Jack muttered as the two meandered towards the club. "Self-control."
********
The shrill buzzing slowly worked its way into his consciousness. Rolling over, he slapped the snooze on the alarm, grateful for the silence that ensued.
Nine minutes later, he smacked the alarm again. The pattern continued for another half hour, until he finally woke up.
He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness which didn't seem quite right. It shouldn't be this dark at 7:30, he thought as he reached over to switch on the lamp beside the bed. His hand stilled as he caught sight of the clock. 8:45. What the hell?
He quickly turned on the lamp, looking at his watch. The clock wasn't wrong. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood. Rubbing his eyes, he walked over to the couch. How in the world Sydney had slept through the alarm going off for an hour and fifteen minutes was beyond him.
Standing beside the couch, he knew why. She wasn't there. Walking over to the desk, he flipped the switch, knocking over a piece of paper. He picked it up from the floor, immediately recognizing Sydney's handwriting.
He read it quickly, and, at the mention of food, his stomach rumbled. Vaughn chuckled quietly. His reflection stared back at him from the highly polished glass desktop. As good an idea as food was, he decided on a quick shower first. The way he looked now, he wondered if he'd even be served at McDonald's.
He pulled a change of clothes and his razor from his suitcase and headed into the bathroom.
Within fifteen minutes, he was downstairs, scanning the restaurant for Sydney. The hostess appeared. "Are you joining someone?"
"Yes."
"And what is the name of your party?"
"Stratford. Meghan Stratford."
The woman looked through the reservations, finding no one by that name. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a reservation for anyone by that name here. Are you sure she was going to be dining with us this evening?"
He hadn't misread her note. He was quite sure of that. "I thought so. I must be mistaken. Sorry."
The woman dismissed him, acknowledging the next pair of diners. Vaughn heard her repeat her greeting as he walked towards the desk, an uneasy feeling settling over him.
"Ah, M. Harcourt. Is there something I can do for you?"
"By chance, did you see Mlle. Stratford leave just a little bit ago?"
"Oh oui, Monsieur."
"How long ago?"
The clerk looked at the clock behind him. "I believe I saw her leave about three hours ago."
"Three hours?" Vaughn shouted.
The desk clerk shrank back. "Yes. I think it was around six thirty."
Fuck! Sydney, please don't be doing what I think you're doing... Vaughn ran back upstairs to grab his coat. He pulled the phone from the inside pocket and dialed.
A familiar voice answered. "Allo?"
"I need your help."
"Mike? Hey, you in Paris?"
"Yeah. Listen, I can't talk now. You remember that little cafe I like in Montmartre?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Can you meet me there ASAP?"
"What's going on?" René asked cautiously.
"René, I don't have time to explain. Can you meet me?"
"Of course. No problem."
"I need you to bring me a gun."
René hesitated. "Mike..."
"René, it's important. Can you do this?"
"Yeah. Give me, let's say, half an hour."
"Thanks. I owe you."
"When don't you?" René replied before disconnecting the call.
Racing back downstairs, he ignored the questioning looks from staff and guests alike as he ran outside and found a cab.
********