Author's Notes: Reviews, again, rock. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have
some really great stuff planned for the mission, but I know I am being evil
by spacing it out! I hope you enjoy this read!
Disclaimer: J.J. Abrams and his lovely associates are the true creators of
these characters, not I.
I headed downstairs being accompanied by two very bulky guards. Normally guards don't scare me that much because I give them a good punch or kick in the face and knock them out. These guys though, they have to be like Sark's biggest. He must be doing it to intimidate me. I had put on the clothes he instructed me too and held the box with all the other items. At the bottom of the steps, a smaller man stood.
"Mr. Sark has informed me that I should take your belongings," the peewee man said.
"Yes, here you are," I say as I pass him the box. He then scurries of to knows where.
"Mr. Sark wants you to meet him at the plane," goon #1 tells me.
"Alright," I reply. Keep it short and sweet with these guys.
We headed out back and from what I could tell, this was a very large, and nice, apartment. It was probably Sark's own apartment or something to that effect. They escorted me to a black sedan (of course black) in the back. The car ride was very short. On the way there, I saw a sign that said "Best Dolls in all of Austria" in front of one store in German. So, by my greats powers of deduction, it was determined I was indeed in Austria. Simple enough.
We arrived at the airstrip and the two goons escort me to and on to the plane. It was a smaller jet, probably Sark's personal aircraft to avoid any risks. It was very nice. My guess, it used to be my mother's, but he got possession of it with her organization. I went toward the back and sat down in the only other available seat, right next to Sark.
"How are we doing, Ms. Bristow?" he asks in his cocky voice.
"Oh fine, how about you?" I reply to him in the same tone.
"Excellent. Now, I hope you enjoy your flight here. Probably better service than you get running around on missions for SD-6 or the CIA, right?"
"That seems to be the case, I see." Good job Sydney, remark back to him in the same way.
"While we have the time, I thought I would take the opportunity to go over the mission specks," he informs me.
"Sounds like the best bet, but as soon as we're done, I'd like to get a little shut-eye, if you know what I mean."
"Of course," he replies. He then whips out his laptop and pulls down a table from the wall in front of us. He places it onto the table and opens a few diagrams and files. I will admit, Sark was organized. He did know what he was doing. He put the laptop in front of the both of us.
"We will be going in as Natalie and Antony Franco. In short, the party is to recognize the 25th wedding anniversary of Mark and Jenny North. We will be the great cousins of Jenny who she has never met. Just follow my lead and it would be best if you just nodded and smiled."
"You have no faith in me? I have done these things before, you know," I tell him.
"Don't worry, Ms. Bristow, I'm fully aware of your capabilities when it comes to these sorts of things. I don't want you to screw this up for me." Harsh words there, weren't they?
"I'll try not to, too often," I reply.
"That would be best. Anyway, when we get into the party we will have to make it out to the patio, which from my intel will be closed off, so we'll have to do some interesting work there."
"And let's define 'interesting work', I'm a little shaky on that topic," I say.
"We'll wing it," he replies.
"Ooh, I don't know about that," I wittily reply.
"Anyway, the key is located in the back yard shed in a small vault that was recently installed. I have all the necessary tools to get it open."
"What? A little C4?" I ask.
"Nice try, Ms. Bristow, but no," he says.
"And while we're on the subject, why do you insist on calling me 'Ms. Bristow' in this tone that makes it sound derogatory?" I demand of him.
"I figure it would keep our acquaintances more formal," he says.
"Hmm. very interesting. And also, we all know you as Sark. What's your real name anyway?" I ask him. It was getting good. I was pulling out the punches like a punching bag.
"I don't see why that is relevant, Ms. Bristow."
"You know my first name, it's not like it's classified information or anything. What, you afraid if people can put a real name to your face that you might feel bad about killing them?" I tell him.
"It's not that. I'm sick of this, so I am going to get a drink," he tells me.
Man, Sark was getting all defensive on the name thing. That only means one thing. I must bug him consistently about it this whole time. He got up from his chair and went to the bar. He poured two drinks and tried to hand me one.
"Oh no you didn't, Sark. I'm not drinking anything you give me," I say.
"It's just a little glass of water, I thought you might like it. You seem a little..tense."
"Yes, and how do I not know that you didn't spike it with some drug to make me crazy or something. I can get my own water, thank you," I reply.
"Fine then."
"Good."
And that was it. We both sat in our chairs, he leaned in the opposite direction and did some typing on his laptop. If I was being super spy, I would have looked to see what he was writing. But at this point, I needed a nap so I leaned to the window and dazed off. Dealing with Sark is certainly stressful.
~Review, please! It's like presents on Christmas!~ Masquerade
I headed downstairs being accompanied by two very bulky guards. Normally guards don't scare me that much because I give them a good punch or kick in the face and knock them out. These guys though, they have to be like Sark's biggest. He must be doing it to intimidate me. I had put on the clothes he instructed me too and held the box with all the other items. At the bottom of the steps, a smaller man stood.
"Mr. Sark has informed me that I should take your belongings," the peewee man said.
"Yes, here you are," I say as I pass him the box. He then scurries of to knows where.
"Mr. Sark wants you to meet him at the plane," goon #1 tells me.
"Alright," I reply. Keep it short and sweet with these guys.
We headed out back and from what I could tell, this was a very large, and nice, apartment. It was probably Sark's own apartment or something to that effect. They escorted me to a black sedan (of course black) in the back. The car ride was very short. On the way there, I saw a sign that said "Best Dolls in all of Austria" in front of one store in German. So, by my greats powers of deduction, it was determined I was indeed in Austria. Simple enough.
We arrived at the airstrip and the two goons escort me to and on to the plane. It was a smaller jet, probably Sark's personal aircraft to avoid any risks. It was very nice. My guess, it used to be my mother's, but he got possession of it with her organization. I went toward the back and sat down in the only other available seat, right next to Sark.
"How are we doing, Ms. Bristow?" he asks in his cocky voice.
"Oh fine, how about you?" I reply to him in the same tone.
"Excellent. Now, I hope you enjoy your flight here. Probably better service than you get running around on missions for SD-6 or the CIA, right?"
"That seems to be the case, I see." Good job Sydney, remark back to him in the same way.
"While we have the time, I thought I would take the opportunity to go over the mission specks," he informs me.
"Sounds like the best bet, but as soon as we're done, I'd like to get a little shut-eye, if you know what I mean."
"Of course," he replies. He then whips out his laptop and pulls down a table from the wall in front of us. He places it onto the table and opens a few diagrams and files. I will admit, Sark was organized. He did know what he was doing. He put the laptop in front of the both of us.
"We will be going in as Natalie and Antony Franco. In short, the party is to recognize the 25th wedding anniversary of Mark and Jenny North. We will be the great cousins of Jenny who she has never met. Just follow my lead and it would be best if you just nodded and smiled."
"You have no faith in me? I have done these things before, you know," I tell him.
"Don't worry, Ms. Bristow, I'm fully aware of your capabilities when it comes to these sorts of things. I don't want you to screw this up for me." Harsh words there, weren't they?
"I'll try not to, too often," I reply.
"That would be best. Anyway, when we get into the party we will have to make it out to the patio, which from my intel will be closed off, so we'll have to do some interesting work there."
"And let's define 'interesting work', I'm a little shaky on that topic," I say.
"We'll wing it," he replies.
"Ooh, I don't know about that," I wittily reply.
"Anyway, the key is located in the back yard shed in a small vault that was recently installed. I have all the necessary tools to get it open."
"What? A little C4?" I ask.
"Nice try, Ms. Bristow, but no," he says.
"And while we're on the subject, why do you insist on calling me 'Ms. Bristow' in this tone that makes it sound derogatory?" I demand of him.
"I figure it would keep our acquaintances more formal," he says.
"Hmm. very interesting. And also, we all know you as Sark. What's your real name anyway?" I ask him. It was getting good. I was pulling out the punches like a punching bag.
"I don't see why that is relevant, Ms. Bristow."
"You know my first name, it's not like it's classified information or anything. What, you afraid if people can put a real name to your face that you might feel bad about killing them?" I tell him.
"It's not that. I'm sick of this, so I am going to get a drink," he tells me.
Man, Sark was getting all defensive on the name thing. That only means one thing. I must bug him consistently about it this whole time. He got up from his chair and went to the bar. He poured two drinks and tried to hand me one.
"Oh no you didn't, Sark. I'm not drinking anything you give me," I say.
"It's just a little glass of water, I thought you might like it. You seem a little..tense."
"Yes, and how do I not know that you didn't spike it with some drug to make me crazy or something. I can get my own water, thank you," I reply.
"Fine then."
"Good."
And that was it. We both sat in our chairs, he leaned in the opposite direction and did some typing on his laptop. If I was being super spy, I would have looked to see what he was writing. But at this point, I needed a nap so I leaned to the window and dazed off. Dealing with Sark is certainly stressful.
~Review, please! It's like presents on Christmas!~ Masquerade