He was in a fire—his hair was scorching, his face was scorching, his limbs were burning off. Then he was frozen, immobilized. Meanwhile, dozens of images flashed through his mind—riding bicycles with Amy as a child, arguing with his parents that he wanted to study journalism, promising to go with Francie to that new club. But mostly, his thoughts were of his investigation—Danny's murder, the mysterious Kate Jones, the even more mysterious Eloise Kurtz, Jack Bristow, British Dude, and Sydney.
Sydney . . . . "I'm going to die," he murmured. Instantly there were cool hands on his forehead, wiping his brow, lessening the scorching feeling which had returned.
"You're not going to die," a woman's voice said softly as she caressed his face. "Not if I have anything to do with it."
Will slowly opened his eyes and peered at the face before him. It couldn't be . . . but it was.
"Sydney!" he gasped as he tried to raise himself to a sitting position. "How did you get here?"
Sydney only smiled. "Don't worry about that," she said as she pushed him back down onto the bed.
Don't go there, Will. This is neither the time nor the place for that.
"We need to focus on you for now. Go on, go back to sleep," she soothed.
Will nodded and returned to his fitful dreams. He had been asleep for about fifteen minutes when the doctor returned.
"I didn't expect you to still be here," he said, the surprise evident in his voice.
"Just checking out the competition," she said ruefully.
"Competition? But Tippin doesn't compare—"
"Oh, not like that," she laughed. "But he does know Sydney more than I do." She sat at the edge of the bed for another minute, lost in thought. Suddenly she stood and turned to face the doctor, her face now hardened into the expression he was familiar with. "But not for long."
********
"Your wife?" Weiss asked incredulously.
Jack got up, removing the tape from the VCR. "Yes."
"But why? Why would she do that?"
"Mr. Weiss, I don't know, but I intend to find out," he answered as he searched for the phone. Calling Devlin's number, he only had to wait through two rings before it was picked up.
"Yes?"
"Ben, it's Jack."
"Have you found something?"
"Actually, I think something found us," Jack answered cryptically.
"Care to explain?"
Jack did, including the information about Laura being involved. "How many people know about this, Ben?"
Devlin was silent for a moment. "About what?"
"About what we are doing. About our covers. How many?"
There was silence from the other end. Finally, Devlin answered. "Ten. The four of you, Davenport, myself, and four agents who analyzed the audio and created your new identities."
"One of those ten people is the mole. We need to find out which one."
"I'll start looking into it."
"What would you like us to do here?"
"At this point, until I know something more, I want you to stay put. If you get any other packages, I want to know about it. Immediately.
"Fine." Jack paused. "Have you heard anything from Paris?"
"Vaughn called in last night after they checked out Khasinau's club."
"Did they find anything?"
"Yes, a piece of paper listing an address and a time. They should be checking it out now."
"Well, hopefully, they won't just be chasing shadows," Jack mumbled, more to himself than Devlin.
"Jack, Davenport just came in. I'll talk with you later."
Jack turned off the phone, handing it to Weiss. "Did Mike and Sydney turn up anything in Paris?" Weiss asked.
"Yes. Devlin expected a report from them soon."
"So what are we supposed to do in the mean time?"
Jack took a seat next to the couch. "We wait."
********
"I think we should split up. Do you want the gardens or the building?" Vaughn asked when they approached the entrance to the Musée Rodin.
Sydney had noticed how anxious he'd been ever since they'd left the hotel. She'd even asked him what was wrong a couple of times, but he'd just stated that everything was fine and changed the subject.
She had to wonder if he was just uncomfortable around her, but none of his actions since they'd awakened that morning had given credence to that theory.
Sydney smiled as she remembered how it had felt waking up in his arms earlier that morning. More importantly, she remembered how unwilling he was to let her get out of bed.
Sydney slowly opened her eyes. The room was still dark, but she could tell it was no longer night. She started to get out of bed only to find herself being pulled back.
"Not yet."
She glanced over her shoulder. His eyes were still closed, but a sweet little smile graced his features. Looking over his shoulder, she spied the clock.
"We need to get up."
"Meghan?" he called.
"Hmm?" she sighed. "Sorry, what?" she asked, shaken from her reverie.
Vaughn looked at her, wondering if her injury the night before might not have been worse than they first thought. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I'm fine. What were you saying?"
Vaughn wasn't quite convinced. "Do you want the museum or the gardens?"
"You know, I think I'll take the museum. Might as well look at some of my favorite pieces of art while watching for," she paused briefly, leaning closer as she whispered, "him."
Vaughn let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Okay. But whatever you do, you don't go off alone. Stay with a group."
She smiled. She really must have scared him last night. "I promise," she said. "Be careful," she added. She squeezed his hand once and smiled at him before she turned to enter the museum.
"You too," he answered quietly as he headed for the gardens.
********
Vaughn checked his watch once again as he continued to wander around the gardens. It was now 2:15 and there had been no sign of Khasinau, or even Sark for that matter.
I knew this was too easy, he thought as he passed "The Thinker" for the third time. He walked over to the cafeteria and ordered a bottle of water, although the Heineken had been very tempting.
He drank it quickly and resumed his "tour". While he wandered around, he noticed how little things had changed since he'd been there last. Had it really been twenty-five years? he wondered as he strolled down one of the paths again.
Turning the corner, he saw a man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, leading a young boy up towards the museum. When he got close enough to hear them, he wanted to laugh at the boy's objections to being taken to a museum.
He watched as they walked on, trying not to laugh as the boy's obvious displeasure with the situation became even clearer. At least I wasn't like that, he remembered as he followed yet another path.
"Papa, what are we doing?" the child had asked as they walked through the garden on their way to the building.
"You know, Michael." At his blank expression, William had crouched beside his eight year old son. "We're looking for a present for your mother."
The boy's face lit up. "Oh, for her birthday. But why here?" he asked earnestly.
William stood up, taking his son's hand and entering the museum. "Because we are looking for something special."
"Why?"
William ran a hand through the child's hair. Always a question. Never satisfied with a simple yes, no, or because. "It will be her thirtieth birthday. We want it to be a special one, don't we?" He watched as his son agreed. "Ok, so we need a special, no, an extraordinary present to celebrate this special birthday."
"Oh," Michael replied as he followed his father through the first floor of the museum. When they went into the final room on that floor, eight year old Michael stood completely still.
He let go of his father's hand and moved slowly around the giant sculpture. He made a complete circle and stopped in front, his head cocked to one side, staring at it. Studying it.
"Michael?" William asked.
"Papa, I'd like to buy this for mom."
William burst out laughing. He ignored the stares of the others in the room, but when he looked down at his son, he immediately stopped laughing. "Michael, we can't buy that. We can only look at it."
"But why not?" The little boy didn't understand why he couldn't give this to his mother.
"This sculpture, it's to be admired only. If you really want to get this for her, why don't we go see if they have a copy in the shop. Okay?"
"Will it be as big as this one?"
"No," he laughed. "Why?" he asked, wondering why Michael had asked.
"Because that won't fit in the living room," the boy replied seriously as they walked to the boutique.
Five minutes later a dejected Michael was told that the last copy of "The Kiss" had been sold the previous day. William leaned down. "Do you see anything else?"
"No," the boy answered, pouting.
"Michael, they don't have any more copies right now. Why don't we find something else."
Michael stuck out his lower lip sullenly. "I don't want anything else."
William hated when his son's stubborn streak reared its ugly head. He sighed. "Why do you want this one so badly?"
The little boy looked up into his father's eyes. "It's just like you and mom."
Michael had watched his father go back to the counter and heard him ask the clerk when they would have more. Then he saw his father pull out some money. A minute later his father came back, handing him the receipt. "I'll bring it home with me two days before your mom's birthday. Okay?"
Michael threw his hands around his father's neck. "Oh thank you, papa!" he said excitedly.
Vaughn swallowed hard at the memory. That had been such a fun day. It had also been the last time he'd spent the day with his father where it was just the two of them. And his mother never got her present...
"Excuse me, Sir?" someone said from behind him.
Vaughn looked up, startled. "Yes?"
The waiter held out an envelope. "The gentleman at the bar thought you dropped this."
Vaughn took it from the waiter's hand and looked for the man in question. Seeing no one, he turned it over and found his name printed on the front. Well, not technically his, he corrected as he thanked the waiter. Once he was gone, Vaughn opened it, pulling several pictures out.
The first picture he saw had him looking around again for anything unusual. It was one of Will being placed in a car, Sark standing beside him, a sign in the background for Gatwick Airport.
Vaughn shuffled through the next few pictures until he came across one of him kissing Sydney outside the club the night before. As he flipped to the next photo, a close-up, something dropped from the pile onto the ground.
He leaned over and picked up the picture, a Polaroid. He turned it over and an image of Sydney standing in front of "The Kiss" stared back at him. He stuffed them all back inside the envelope as he took off running.
********
Sydney was coming back downstairs when she saw Vaughn come bounding up the stairs from the garden. Hurrying down the remainder of the steps, she walked over to him quickly. "What's wrong?"
Vaughn gasped, trying to catch his breath. "We have to go," he answered after a minute.
"I don't understand."
"It's a set-up." He looked around, pulling Sydney to the side. "Our friend," he began, glancing at her. Her confusion made him clarify his statement. "You know, the one we were supposed to meet here at 2?"
Sydney nodded, finally understanding what he was talking about.
"He never had a meeting here. They just wanted us here." He showed her the envelope and pulled out the Polaroid.
Sydney paled when she looked at the picture.
"Do you remember anyone taking pictures? Maybe what they looked like?" he asked as he led her to the main entrance of the museum, trying hard not to look at the statue behind him.
Sydney thought hard, unable to pick anyone unusual out of the groups that she'd passed in her tour of the museum. There had been a group of school children who'd just groaned when they saw the statue. Then there had been an elderly couple and then a couple of college students. "No."
"You were facing the camera. You don't remember anyone?"
"Wait, there was someone. He took a picture. Then he apologized because the flash had startled me. He sounded Italian."
Vaughn hailed a cab. "Ok, we're going back to the hotel. When we get there, I think we need to call L.A. and let them know about this."
"What else is in there?" Sydney asked, pointing to the envelope.
"More pictures."
"Of?"
"When we get back to the hotel," was all he would say as a cab pulled up.
********
Sydney watched at Vaughn swept the room again. "You already did that," she complained.
Pulling the phone from its hiding place, he quickly dialed Devlin. When Devlin answered, he explained the situation.
"Yes, it was addressed to me. Well not to me, but to Sebastien Harcourt." He listened for a moment before adding, "I realize that, but the pictures clearly show that they are in London. Or at least they were."
He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you want me to call Jack and Weiss?" Another pause. "Okay, I'll make the arrangements. As soon as they've been finalized, then I'll call Madrid."
Again he paused. "Yes, Sir. We'll be there tonight," he replied before disconnecting the call.
"Would you please tell me what's going on? What's this about London?"
Vaughn pulled out the pictures, all of them. He handed her the two of Will first.
She walked over to the couch, dazed. Once seated, she looked at the photos more carefully. It was definitely Will. And he looked horrible. "What have they done to you?" she asked quietly, a tear sliding down her face as her finger traced the outline of Will's face.
Vaughn walked over and sat down next to her. "Sydney, there's more."
She looked up at him as he handed her the other pictures. Fearing what they would reveal, she held them in her hands for several minutes before she finally gathered the strength, the courage, to look at them. When she did, her fear was immediately replaced by shock. "That's why there were no guards inside," she muttered aloud.
"They wanted us to find that note," he added as he reached for the phone book.
"What are you doing?"
"We need to get to London."
"But Vaughn, you said it yourself. We're being set up."
"I know, but someone wants us to go to London. And right now, I don't think we have much of a choice."