Author's Note: Thanks for all the feedback, it's really great. I reassure you, the plot is coming.
*
I was doing what I do best- running down hallways trying to escape from blundering security guards. The only thing missing was techno music. Anyway, while I ran I thanked God, Allah and any other religious icon I could think of for making it that whenever someone hires security guards they don't run intelligence tests. I ducked into a broom closet, and the security team ran right on past me. I sighed in relief, and then backed out of the closet. I looked around quickly, and then dashed to the front door. I was nearly home free when one of the guards kindly turned around, spotted me and yelled loudly. I sighed irritably. More running. This time I kicked of my expensive shoes (with only the slightest regret…okay, I was pissed they had to go), and ripped the skirt of my dress. See what I mean- it's good to wear expensive clothes and not have to worry about taking care of them. I then proceeded to run.
My bare feet pounded on the cobblestone road, and my silk stockings were now nothing but tatters. I was going to kill Dixon- he could have parked the van just a little bit closer to the house, but nooooo. He had to make me run through half a dozen streets, barefoot, on a European winter's night. And, to make things worse, it had started to rain. My hair had fallen out of its delicate bun and was hanging in wet strands. Okay, not hanging, more like slapping me repeatedly in the face. I was not pleased, and decided to inform Dixon. I think that may have been what inspired him to drive to me. I know, I should be thankful he came to get me at all, but did he really have to drive through a puddle so big it should be classified as a lake? And aim just so that it hit me right in the face? Fortunately for him, he had enough self-preservation not to laugh at me.
*
I guess you'd think that'd be the end of my mission. And you'd be right…if it was any other agent. But not me, not Agent Sydney Bristow, SD-6. Also known as Special Agent Sydney Bristow, CIA. Nope, I was one of only two agents in SD-6 who gets the joy of being a double agent. The other agent just happens to be my father, Jack Bristow. Yeah, I know, strange coincidence, huh. Well, it gets worse. My mother just happens to be none other than a secret agent herself. Unfortunately for her, it was for the wrong side. Yep, my darling mother, Laura Bristow, was KGB operative Irina Derevko. So I guess lying about what you do for a living runs in my family. I lie to my friends, and I even lie to my partner. I trust Dixon with my life, but not with my secrets. He (hopefully) has no idea that I'm a double agent. And I'd like to keep it that way. So making the switch between documents so the CIA can have the originals is slightly difficult.
I normally do the switch at a public place, with my CIA handler Michael Vaughn. I don't really understand him- one minute he's all serious, the next he's breaking rules to help me. He's not a field agent, so he shouldn't be the one I perform the swap with, yet somehow he manages to get away with it. Another thing I don't understand- he knows intimate details about me, he knows almost my whole life. And I know barely anything about him. Oh, yeah, I know basic stuff- he has a dog, likes hockey. Oh, and that my mother killed his father. That's about it. So I am supposed to trust someone I know hardly anything about. I wonder whose bright idea that was. Anyway, back to the switch. We had decided on something basic, not to complicated. During the stopover I would buy a hot dog from a vendor (who just happened to be Vaughn.) The fake papers would be in the bag the food comes in. Anyway, I eat the hotdog, and then go to the bathroom on the plane. While in there, I remove the fake papers and replace them with real papers. Then I throw away the bag in the paper towel dispenser, where another CIA agent will retrieve it. Sounds pretty easy, right? WRONG.
Well, our plane was late, so I was already behind for the switch. Then Dixon didn't really want to let me get a hot dog. He was worried we'd miss our flight, and it took even more time to convince him that we wouldn't. So I was able to buy my hot dog…except Vaughn was nowhere to be seen. A dark haired, serious looking man manned the only hot dog stand there. I decided to take a chance, and went over to him.
"I'll have a hot dog with mustard," I ordered in a southern drawl. The man gave the slightest of nods and started to make my hot dog. When he handed me the food, he discreetly showed me his CIA badge. I sighed in relief, gave a brief nod of understanding and walked off. At least I had a vague semblance of an idea what was going on. I had no idea where Vaughn was, but I'd get it out of him later. I walked back to Dixon, munching happily on my hot dog. Damn I was hungry. I gave him a big, mustard-y smile.
"This is good," I said through the food in my mouth. He grimaced at me. However, before I could gross him out any further our plane was paged. I stuffed the rest of the food in my mouth, scrunched the wrapper up and stuffed it into my bag. Then we boarded our flight.
*
I can't really blame what happened next on other people. It was my fault. I fell asleep on the plane. It was only when we were just about to land that I woke up, and I was slightly panicked. So I ran to the toilet without any explanation to Dixon. I could only hope that the switch was recoverable. I ducked into the ladies room, pulled the fake papers out of my bag and stuffed them into the bin. Then I splashed some water on my face, took a deep breath and came out again. I sat down and looked around nervously to see if the other agent was coming. There she was, walking up the aisle. I breathed a sigh of relief…too soon. The flight attendant asked her to take her seat, as we were about to begin our descent. I was totally freaking at this point, but the lady just took it in her stride. She sat back down and waited patiently. I had to hand it to her; she didn't look the least put out. Well, what's done is done, there was no use wondering about it now. I guessed that the other agent would get the papers somehow, and tried not to worry. After all, can't have me coming home from a bank trip to San Francisco looking stressed.