Weiss flipped the channel on the television yet again.  He hated waiting.  Not liking what he saw, he changed it again, much to Jack's dismay.

"Would you just land on something and keep it there?"

Weiss set the remote on the table.  "Sorry."

Jack took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.  He'd never been good at waiting and, apparently, he still wasn't.  He was about to say something when the ringing of the phone had them both jumping to answer it.

Weiss got there first.  "Yes?"  A few seconds later, he handed the phone to Jack.  "Devlin would like to speak with you."

Jack took the phone, a sense of dread settling over him.  "Yes, Ben."

Two minutes later Jack disconnected the call.  He returned the phone to Weiss.  "Pack your bags."

"Huh?"

"We need to go to London."

"Why?"

"Sydney and Vaughn uncovered evidence that Mr. Tippin has been in London the entire time."

"How do we know the intel's reliable?"

"We don't, but we know he isn't in Madrid.  And apparently, he isn't in Paris either."

Weiss walked over to the closet, withdrawing his suitcase.  "When do we leave?"

********

"Mr. Tippin, how are you feeling?" the aging doctor asked as he walked in the room.

"Fuzzy," Will answered as he rubbed his temple.  "But the allergies aren't bothering me anymore.  Thanks."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," the doctor teased, a slow smile on his face.

"Yeah, I'm really glad you were on that flight.  I mean, I know the CIA's got a lot on their minds, but why on earth did they need to send all those cats overseas anyway?"

"CIA?"  The doctor blinked.  "You're right, we here at the CIA have a lot to oversee right now.  But about the cats . . . well, those cats were being used for research," he finished.  "Medical research."

"Oh.  Well, I guess that's important," Will conceded, even as he inwardly shivered.  Medical research—isn't that inhumane or something?  But at least he was feeling better.  The pain was almost gone, and he felt the most normal that he had since leaving the safe house in L.A.

"Speaking of medicine," the doctor drawled, "I brought one last dose up here for you to take—pill form this time—"

"Good," Will said, wincing at the thought of another needle puncturing his skin.

"—and a snack.  You need to take this with food so it doesn't upset your stomach," the doctor finished.

"Thanks," Will said as he gratefully accepted the sandwich and Coke.  He placed the pill in his mouth and took a gulp of Coke, swallowing quickly.

"Yuck!" he said as he stuffed a large bit of his sandwich in his mouth.

"What?"

"That—that tasted terrible!"

"Oh, that's right, you've never been to London before, have you?  The Coke products have vegetable juice in them, producing a slightly different taste than what you're used to in the U.S."

"Slightly different my ass," Will muttered.  "Oh, well.  Thanks for the sandwich."

"You're welcome."  He walked to the door and stopped.

"I almost forgot.  We still need to get your statement.  We'll be leaving in about twenty minutes to go to our offices.  Is that enough time for you?"

"Sure," Will answered.  "I'd like to get this show on the road myself."

The doctor smiled.  "So would we."  He quietly closed the door behind him.

Sark looked up from his newspaper.  "Well?"

"Tippin will be ready to go in twenty," he answered in his normal voice.

"Good.  And the toxin?"

"He was so busy focusing on the different-tasting Coke that he didn't even notice the sandwich had a slightly metallic taste to it."  The doctor grinned.  "It's almost too easy."

********

I am really beginning to hate planes...  Sticking his bag in one of the overhead compartments, Weiss settled back into the chair he'd occupied on the flight over. 

Fifteen minutes later, he looked out the window as the plane lifted off the ground.  Within minutes, they were flying over the city heading north.

He looked over at Jack, who was busy looking at the pictures that had arrived just as they'd checked out of the hotel.  "Anything interesting?"

Jack looked at the last picture before returning them to the envelope.  "Just two men who somewhat resemble Sark and Will Tippin."

Weiss nodded.  So it had been a wild goose chase after all.  "Just exactly how long is this flight?" Weiss asked as he shifted in his seat.

"About two and a half hours."

"Great..."  He started looking for the pillow he'd stuffed under the seat when they'd arrived.  He felt the edge of it and started to yank it forward, tugging on it.

Jack watched, amused.  "What are you doing?"

"It's stuck," Weiss answered as he slid from the seat and looked underneath the see what the pillow was caught on.  One good tug, and Weiss found himself looking up at the ceiling.

Jack chuckled silently, picking up the paper before Weiss saw it.  When he didn't hear Weiss move, he put the paper back down.  "Are you alright?" he asked, going over to help Weiss to his feet.

Eric didn't respond.  He didn't even hear Jack's question.  His attention was completely focused on the box that had fallen from underneath his seat when he'd finally freed the pillow.

Tentatively reaching out, he pulled it closer, noticing that his name, not his alias, was printed neatly on the plain brown paper.

Jack reached out and picked up the box.  "What's this?"

"I don't know," Weiss answered as he stood up.  Taking the box from Jack, he sat back down, turning it over carefully.  Lifting it back up, he was confused by the weight, or lack thereof.

He took a deep breath and then began to unwrap the box.

"Do you think that's wise?"

Weiss looked up.  "There's only one way we'll find out what's inside."

True...  "Before you finish unwrapping that, do you mind if I take a look?"

Weiss handed him the box.  "Be my guest."

Jack handled it cautiously, feeling for any tell-tale wires, or any unusual lumps.  Finding nothing, he held it to his ear.  After a moment, her returned it to Weiss.  "I think it's safe to open."

"Gee, thanks."  He finished removing the paper, warily lifting the flap.  His hands shook as he pulled the crushed pink and white striped bag from within. 

"What is that?"

Weiss didn't answer as he gingerly smoothed out the bag.  Without looking, he had a feeling he knew what he'd find inside.  He reached into the bag, his fingers finding satin and lace.  Weiss dropped the bag and ran for the bathroom, leaving a confused Jack Bristow in his wake.

********

"Change of plans," British Dude crisply told Will as they walked towards the car.  "We must travel to a safe house outside of London.  For your safety—" he coughed "—you must stay hidden in the back seat."

"Do I have to?" Will asked before remembering who he was talking to.

"The back seat under a blanket or the trunk.  It's your choice, Mr. Tippin."

Will sighed.  "The back seat," he conceded reluctantly as he climbed in the back.

"Very good.  Our driver will take you to the safe house.  The doctor and I will be following in this car," he pointed to a car parked several feet away.  "We'll see you there."

The figure under the blanket nodded.

A slight smile teased Sark's lips as the car drove away.  "I told the driver to take the long route.  We should have at least thirty minutes with Khasinau before they arrive.  The medicine should take affect when?"

"Any minute now," the doctor answered.  He began to walk.  "Come on—let's get going."

********

Sydney settled into the seat next to Vaughn.  All the times she traveled between Paris and London recently, this was the first time she'd taken the train under the Channel.  "How long will this take?"

"About three hours."

"So we'll be there about 10:30 p.m., right?"

"Yes."

"And when we get there?"

Vaughn turned so he could look at her.  "When we get there, we check into the hotel."

"Really?" she stated sarcastically.  "I thought we'd just go clubbing."

Vaughn rolled his eyes.  "You know what I mean."

"I know.  Sorry."  Sydney sighed tiredly, rubbing the bump on her forehead.

He looked over at her.  When he saw her massaging her head, he turned to her.  "You okay?"

Sydney stopped, smiling back at him.  "I'm fine.  It's just a little sore.  That's all."

"Okay," he replied, unconvinced.  "Well anyway, when we get there, we'll check into the hotel and let your father and Eric know we've arrived."

"They'll already be there?"

Vaughn glanced at his watch.  If what he'd heard from Devlin had been true, Weiss and Jack should be landing any minute.  "They should be getting ready to land as we speak."

"Did Devlin say if they'd found anything in Madrid?"

"All Devlin would tell me is that they received a package which proved that Sark was the one who kidnapped Will.  Other than that, he didn't say anything."

"Oh.  What do you want to do about the pictures?"

Vaughn pulled the envelope from his bag.  He thumbed through them until he came to the ones he knew Sydney was asking about.  He separated those two from the others.  Keeping them in his hand, he passed the envelope to her.  "We'll show them these," he stated, indicating the ones she now held.  "These two I think we'll just keep to ourselves."

Sydney smiled.  "That's probably for the best," she answered, remembering her father's outburst in L.A.

Vaughn placed them carefully back in his bag, recalling the warning he'd received in Newark.  No, he definitely didn't want Jack to see those...

********

Sark picked up his cell phone.  "Yes."  He listened for a moment, then frowned.  "Again?  Yes, we must make sure never to use these drugs again.  Horrible side effects.  Very well then.  Bring him in."

"Is there a problem?" Khasinau asked his protégé.

"Tippin has an interesting reaction to the drug—namely, he becomes a singing maniac."

"Not again," the doctor said.  "I researched this drug three times.  This shouldn't be happening."

"Mr. Tippin is, as you should know by now, a special case," a new voice pointed out.

The three men turned.  "Irina, so nice for you to finally join us," Khasinau said sarcastically.

"I've been busy," she said as she slipped into her seat.  "Where are we?"

"Waiting for Tippin to arrive so the 'interview' can begin," Sark answered.  He leaned his head towards the door and grimaced.  "Here they come now."

The driver walked in the room followed by a dancing Will.

"It gets worse by the hour," Sark muttered.  He looked at the doctor.  "Go get the others," he ordered.

"Mr. Tippin, we meet again," Sark said loudly.  "I would like you to meet my employer and one of my associates—"

"Sydney!" Will exclaimed, rushing over to Irina.  "Are you okay?" he asked, pulling her into a fierce hug.

"Fine, fine," she said, winking at the others.  "Can you sit down for us?"

"Oh, sure," he replied as he weaved his way to the available seat.

The doctor returned with two men.  "These two officers will be asking you some questions, Will.  Just tell the truth and you'll be fine."

The truth . . .  Will turned to his friend.  She nodded reassuringly.  British Dude, I don't trust.  This "employer" guy, I don't trust.

But for Sydney, I'll tell them everything I know.

Irina cleared her throat.  "While you're answering their questions, I'm going to be in the next room meeting with my boss," she said in a surprisingly sweet voice.  "Is that okay with you?"

Will nodded.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little bit," she said cheerfully as she walked out of the room.  Khasinau followed behind her.

"Please state your name for the record," a man told Will.

The doctor whispered to Sark, "He's under the meds for another hour.  Is that long enough?"

Sark nodded.  "But if he starts singing again, we may kill him sooner."