For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sam reluctantly agrees to protection, headed by Jack Bristow and Eric Weiss. Both Seaborns are on short fuses, one due to sleep depravation and the other to anxiety over the campaign, the family, and the agency he perceives is the threat. The D.C. crew prepare for an evening of socializing with the Intelligence society.
"Wait, wait, wait," said Charlie, waving his hand in front of him. "She asked you if you were Superman under that Clark Kent suit?" Bartlet, his body man Charlie Young, Leo and Josh sat in the back of the Presidential limousine and discussing the events of the afternoon.
"Yeah... So?" asked Josh.
"And you told her to wait while you found a phone booth?" continued the young man.
"What does that have to do with, y'know, anything?"
Charlie started laughing, and the vicious laughing disease infected the President as well.
"I still don't see how this is funny."
"Is the Clark Kent suit your regular Tuesday suit?" Charlie asked, ribbing the Deputy Chief of Staff over a former crush.
"And how is your continued quest to win back the heart of the fair Zoey?" asked Josh, turning the conversation around soundly.
Charlie cleared his throat. "I love Zoey. It's only a matter of time before she realizes that pompous Frenchmen make lousy long-term prospects."
"Because you're the one she's meant to be with?" asked Josh.
"Josh, I'm going to stop you right there, because, as much as I dislike Jean-Paul Au Bon Pain, I would rather not think about my daughter's relationships."
"But, mine are fair game, sir?" Josh asked the President.
Bartlet nodded. "Yours don't involve any of my female relatives and are much more entertaining than Charlie's."
"More entertaining? How so?" he asked, leaning back against the limousine seat.
"Well, there was Mandy... How you ever got along with that firebrand is beyond me. Then there was something about the regular Tuesday suit and our pollster..." Bartlet, while he spoke, noticed that Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Then there was the former head of the Women's Leadership Conference... and now a CIA agent."
"I'm not in a relationship with Sam's cousin."
"But you want to be," said Charlie quickly.
"Look, Sam asked me to watch out for her, that's all I want to do."
"How close of a watch?" asked Charlie, grinning.
Josh licked his lips. "Charlie, what would you say if Leo asked you to keep an eye on Mallory, just in case?"
"I'd do what I could to help," he said seriously.
"Right. So... Why is me telling that to Sam any different than if Leo asked you?"
"Because you offered to show her what was under your Clark Kent suit," said Charlie, his grin returning.
"If anything, she was being snippy and I was snippy right back," insisted Josh.
Charlie shook his head. "It was snippy flirting. That's the only kind of flirting you know how to do."
"And that's worse than declaring your undying love for the President's daughter and vowing to get her back?" Josh asked.
"We weren't going to touch that subject," reminded Bartlet.
"Sorry, sir, I was trying to make a point."
"Josh, I think you've made your point a little too clearly," commented Leo. His deputy looked at him curiously. "You're vehemently protesting the fact that you flirted with a pretty albeit emotionally upset woman who happens to be related to your best friend."
"No, I was trying to help my best friend's cousin because my best friend asked me to. Don't you three think we should be focusing on the terrorist threat at hand? Y'know, the fact that somebody's out to get Sam?"
"How 'bout the fact that the members of the Congressional Intelligence Committees don't know what's going on yet and we don't want them to," said Leo. "And the fact that they're all going to be in attendance at this little soiree."
He sighed slightly. "Yeah."
"Speaking of which," said Charlie. "We just pulled up."
~~~
Crystal stood in the women's room at the sink in front of the mirrors. She held bobby pins between her teeth, trying to get her hair back up into something fancy for the party. While she didn't actually sleep, she did manage to lie down on the couch in Conrad's office for a few hours and that prompted a new hairstyle. She'd also changed from her business suit to an evening gown. It was a simple, no-frills sheath dress in a deep cobalt blue color. One of the thin spaghetti straps decided it liked sliding off her shoulder when she would lower her arm to retrieve another pin. She sighed slightly, deeply. She'd layered on concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She'd also gone through half a bottle of eye drops trying to return her eyes to their natural white instead of her anxiety-ridden red.
She glanced over when someone entered. It was Sydney, in a pale pink gown, strapless. Her hair was pulled back with a few stray tendrils framing her pretty face. She smiled a little and moved to stand beside Crystal, checking her lipstick in the mirror.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Crystal said after she removed the last of the bobby pins from her mouth.
"There's no need to apologize."
"I'm just... I haven't slept. And I know it's starting to grate on me, it's gotta be grating on everybody else. Normally I can just push past it but I can't this time. It's all my fault. I lived."
"That's not what we think."
Crystal looked at her. She pondered something to say for a solid three minutes, while Sydney waited. She finally shook her head. "I can't think to say anything." She closed her eyes, exhaling. "I just... want to make it through tonight."
"Why don't you go home?"
"Besides the Conrad factor?"
Sydney realized her faux pas and nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm an expected guest." She placed the last bobby pin in her hair. "Just like you. We've made the A-list of spies. There are times when I don't know a good thing or a bad thing."
"What happened to your glasses?" she asked, noticing Crystal's wire framed spectacles were missing.
"I put contacts in figuring it could explain away what little redness I have left."
"If it's any consolation... I know how much it hurts to know somebody you love is a target."
Crystal looked at her. "I know you know. We all know. We've all had it happen. You, me, your father, Agent Vaughn... You know what I pray every night before I go to bed?" she asked, gathering her things back up.
"What's that?"
"That one day, this job is obsolete. That human intelligence isn't going to be necessary." She smiled a little. "I'm still waiting on that day."
"Me, too."
"I realize we got off to a bumpy start, and I apologize for that, Agent Bristow."
"Call me Sydney."
Crystal glanced up at her, zipping up hair and makeup kit. "Crys."
~~~
"Is there a reason we walked six miles? I mean, honestly?" asked Weiss as he collapsed into a chair at the campaign headquarters.
"Scott thinks it makes me look like a regular person," said Sam, pulling three bottles of water out of the little campaign fridge and handing him one.
"It also makes you an easily-hit target," commented Jack as he uncapped his bottle.
"Well, I can either tell Scott that I can't be doing that and give him the reason why, or I can tell him, not give him a reason, and he can tell me to take a hike, literally, so... It's up to you guys. You're the experts."
Weiss and Jack exchanged glances. "Are there any more walking jaunts on your schedule in the next few days?" asked Jack.
Sam picked up a binder from a messy desk and started flipping through it. "Doesn't look like it, but sometimes there are things added at the last minute."
"We're just going to have to prevent that," said Weiss.
"I'll tell Scott to cut the walking tours. I think he wanted them so I can look young and athletic and... Whatever." He flopped into a chair, putting the notebook back on the desk. "If you guys try to tell him, he'll start off on this tangent about how the DNC put him here and he's the one who has to make the calls and..." He sighed. "This is not at all what I thought this campaign would be."
"I would hope you didn't actually add being targeted by an international terrorist on your list of things to make a dream campaign," said Weiss.
Sam actually smiled, shaking his head. "No, it's just... I don't know. For starters, I didn't even think I'd be here, running right now. Horton Wilde was supposed to lose. A Democratic Candidate hasn't won in this district in... a long time. And yet..."
"Here you are," said Weiss.
Sam nodded. He decided to change the subject. "What's going on in Washington tonight?"
"The CIA is continuing with its planned dinner while most agents worry with your problem," said Jack.
"The CIA has dinners?" Weiss asked, looking up at Jack.
"Oh, sure. All the agencies have them, usually. At least one," said Sam before taking a long swig of his water.
"How come we've never been to one of the dinners?" asked Weiss.
When Jack didn't say anything, Sam spoke up. "Looks like you're the odd one out, Agent Weiss."
"Well... darn."
"Getting back to the security issue, Mr. Seaborn... how trustworthy is Scott Holcomb?" asked Jack.
Sam shrugged. "I hadn't really heard of him before, but he's supposedly this rising star of the Democratic Party, one of the best at campaigning... although I must say that has yet to be seen."
"What has he done before this?" asked Jack.
Sam shrugged.
"I want our people to look him up," Jack said, looking at Weiss, who pulled out a palm pilot and made a note.
"You think he's... in on this?" asked Sam incredulously.
"I want to make sure he's not."
"The Director said this guy's only known Crystal's been alive for three days. This campaign has been decidedly longer than three days. There's no way he could've swapped him in mid-stream; we would've noticed."
"What if it's like... like that movie? Face/Off?" suggested Weiss.
"He could've surgically altered my campaign manager in the past three days? He arrived in Washington this morning. That's a little extreme, don't you think?" asked Sam.
"It's a thought," Weiss said.
"You guys are from L.A.," said Sam. "That's movie magic, that's not real."
"Never underestimate a terrorist threat, Mr. Seaborn," Jack said ominously.
~~~
"Can I get a Scotch, please?" Josh asked, appearing at the bar. The bartender nodded and started to pour the drink as Josh glanced around. His eyes landed on Vaughn. "You're the guy from this morning?"
Vaughn looked up. "Yeah."
"You're uh..." He drifted off, not remembering the name.
"Vaughn. Michael Vaughn."
Josh held out his hand, and Vaughn shook it. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
"How long have you worked with the Agency?" he asked, finally getting his Scotch.
"A while."
Josh nodded. "Know that feeling."
Vaughn smiled.
"What's it like?"
"I'm sorry?"
"CIA."
"Like any other job."
"Ah'kay..." he said skeptically.
"Only with guns and danger and intrigue."
Josh smiled. "I'm sure." He took a sip of his drink. "Have you seen Crystal?"
"Not in about two hours. She was supposed to be sleeping as I understand it."
"Did she?"
Vaughn shrugged.
"Are you and Agent Bristow an item?" Josh asked, watching as Vaughn took a sip of his own drink.
He swallowed it and coolly looked at the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. "I was her handler when she was a double agent in the Alliance."
"There's nothing else?"
"No," he lied. "We work together; we have a professional relationship."
"I see. Sorry for jumping to conclusions."
"It's all right."
"Ever been to one of these parties?" asked Josh, glancing around the room.
"Can't say that I have, no."
"Some pointers?" offered Josh.
"Please."
"Keep moving. Less of a chance you'll get bogged down in a conversation you don't want to be in. If that fails, it never hurts to have one of those pagers where, if you push one button, it goes off. Great excuses to slip away and regroup."
"What about a cell phone?"
"So long as you can be casual about it," he said with a nod.
"Thanks for the tip."
He nodded. "Might want to share it with your partner," he said, gesturing in the direction of Sydney, who had just entered with Crystal.
Vaughn started to take a step towards her then stopped and glanced back at Josh. "Ask her to dance."
"I'm sorry?"
"Crystal. You should ask her to dance."
"Thanks, Agent Vaughn."
Vaughn nodded and continued on towards Sydney as Josh downed the rest of his Scotch in one gulp.
"Another, Mr. Lyman?" asked the bartender.
Josh shook his head. "No, thanks." He mingled his way through the party, chatting briefly with the leading experts in the field of espionage and intelligence when he saw Crystal. She'd gotten terribly stuck in a conversation and it seemed as though she couldn't get out of it. Her olive green eyes were glazing over and her head was tilted slightly to one side as a rather longwinded Senator spoke to her about things she obviously wasn't at all interested in or paying attention to. He gently placed his hand on her lower back, causing her to jump. He smiled slightly at her, placing his free hand on her wrist, then looked at Senator Osborne. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Senator, but I do believe that Director Conrad said he was looking for you."
"Oh, very well," said the older gentleman, wandering away.
She exhaled, watching the Senator go. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Anytime," he murmured.
She closed her eyes. His hands were warm, comforting. His voice was soothing. She was so tired and was absolutely ready to fall asleep standing in her three-inch heels right there.
"Would you care to dance?" he asked.
She opened her eyes slowly. "Very well."
Josh turned her around and pulled her gently into his arms. There wasn't music so much as so much as the din of the people around them carrying on conversations and they weren't exactly performing steps but rather were just in each other's arms. Josh held her hand against his chest and smiled slightly when her head found its way to his shoulder. The very tip of her nose brushed past his neck. She inhaled deeply, getting a delicious whiff of his spicy cologne.
He pulled her tenderly closer, his thumb gently stroking her back through the thin fabric of her dress. He closed his own eyes, just for a moment, ignoring the fact that they were at a pompous dinner party with boring people. For the moment, he was going to hold a beautiful woman against him and focus on the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, and the evenness of her breathing.
Across the room, Vaughn handed Sydney a champagne flute he'd snagged from a passing server. Taking a sip, she watched the lone dancing pair near the opposite wall.
"Think it's a lack of sleep?" Vaughn asked.
"I know it is."
"Is she going to be okay?"
She shrugged. "Have we heard anything from the team with the laser microphones?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm trying to keep an eye on the Director, though. I figure someone will come in and whisper something to him and he'll slip away and that'll mean... that something's going on at the very least."
She took another sip of her drink. "Dad called me earlier."
"What's going on over there?"
"Apparently her cousin doesn't appreciate her line of work."
"This job seems to be a family thing. Your parents, my father..."
She nodded.
"How's he adjusting, by the way?"
"Sam?"
He smiled. "Your father to being a campaign 'volunteer'?"
"He says it's a little stressful. There are a lot of people, a hectic schedule..."
"I can only imagine."
"Weiss is having the same kinds of... adventures." She smiled.
"Oh?"
"Apparently there's a lot of walking involved in a campaign."
"I see."
"They're looking into a few things on their end."
"Any real potentials?"
She shrugged. "We'll find out."
"In the meantime..."
"Hm?"
"Would you care to dance?"
She smiled. "Sure."
Vaughn pulled Sydney into his arms and kept seemingly the same beat as Josh and Crystal, which perplexed the CIA Director, who was watching from across the room. "Is there something in the water?"
Leo looked at him, unsure of the cause of his question. "Come again?"
Conrad nodded to the dancing couples. "I don't hear music... do you hear music?"
"Perhaps you should invest in a DJ next time," said the White House Chief of Staff.
"Here's my question, though: are the members of the intel committees going to think our top agents are crazy?" he asked, sipping his drink.
"Just fun-depraved," said Bartlet. "Y'know, Rob, we have bands at our get-togethers."
"We'll allocate some funds for music next time," Conrad assured him.
"Plus..." started Bartlet. "They probably need a little escape."
"Well... I think little is going to be the operative word," Conrad said, spying his assistant Helen, approaching them. She handed him a slip of paper, which he read. "Get Bristow and Vaughn."
"What about Seaborn?"
He shook his head, handing the slip to the President. "I don't want her in on this yet."
Helen nodded, crossing the room to retrieve the California agents as Bartlet read the paper.
"This isn't good, is it?" Bartlet asked, looking up at Conrad.
"No, sir. If you'll excuse me?"
Bartlet returned the paper. "Of course."
Conrad met Vaughn and Sydney at the door, and the three slipped out and started for his office. "There's been a development," Conrad said.
"Sir?" asked Sydney.
"We've got audio from the hotel where our double is holed up. It's being transferred to my office right now."
"Any clue what it's about?" Vaughn asked.
"No... but I have a bad feeling about it," Conrad said as he opened the door to his office and charged inside. Pulling up his computer, he selected the transferred file.
There was a slight humming sound, and then a voice. "There's been a change in plan. A new mark. We leave tonight," said a voice.
"What about the original one?" asked another.
There was silence for a moment before the first voice spoke again. "This is to bring the first mark to us. Pack up. We're moving in fifteen."
The audio feed ended there. Conrad exhaled. "Call your father, Agent Bristow. We'll forward this to him."
"If they're leaving from one of the nearby airports, won't we be able to catch them?" asked Vaughn. "There are, what, three... and with the national increase in security, shouldn't we be able to stop them?"
"I want Jack to know Sam's now the primary target. We're bugging the SUV at the hotel, hopefully we'll be able to track the double to his boss."
Sydney nodded. "What about Agent Seaborn?"
"I'm not sure I want her to know," admitted the Director. "At least not yet."
"Our absence will be suspicious in the ballroom, though," said Vaughn.
Conrad nodded. "Agent Bristow, call Jack, bring him up to speed. Agent Vaughn, head back to the party; we'll be there soon."
The two agents acknowledged Conrad and split. Conrad picked up his phone, sitting down at his desk. After dialing, he encrypted and sent the audio surveillance to California. He called his counterpart at the FBI, informing him of what was going on and getting permission to access information at all the airports, getting flight data from all airlines as well as assurances that airport security would detain anyone meeting the description of the Jordan group.
He hung up and stood, straightening his tie to return to the party when his phone rang. "Yes?" he answered.
It was Helen. "Sir, can you hold for Agent Sinclair?"
Conrad had a sinking feeling; Sinclair was leading the surveillance on the double. "Put him through."
"Director..."
"What's going on?"
"They took a cab."
"And?"
"And we lost them in traffic. We had two teams and four cars and..."
"How hard is it to track six people in D.C.?"
"Sir--"
"It's our own Goddamn backyard!"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Find them," seethed Conrad.
"Yes, sir."
Conrad slammed the phone down and sighed. He had to go face government leaders and one of his own agents and pretend that nothing was wrong. It was going to be a fun night.
He snagged a champagne flute the moment he returned to the ballroom. He needed a drink. Glancing around, he spotted Sydney and Vaughn in a conversation with the House's Intelligence Committee chairman. Bartlet and Leo were having a hushed conversation by themselves. Charlie and Josh were at the bar, waiting on drinks.
He didn't see Crystal.
At all.
His eyes flashed panic-stricken for a fleeting moment before he stealthily crossed the room to Josh and Charlie. "Josh," he said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Director?"
"Where's Crystal?" he asked, sipping his champagne casually.
"She stepped out on a smoke break," answered Josh.
"Crystal doesn't smoke."
"What?" asked Josh, looking up at Conrad.
"She doesn't smoke," Conrad repeated, having a feeling the night was only going to get worse, not better. He took one more sip of his drink and sat it on the bar before heading out again, with Josh on his heels this time.
"What's going on?" asked Josh.
"An intelligence nightmare." Spotting a member of CIA security, Conrad flagged him over and took his radio. "Front gate, this is DCI."
"What can I do for you, sir?" came the radio's reply.
"I need a quiet gate lock-down. No one in or out until we can account for an agent. I need to know how many cars have left in the past twenty minutes and who was in them. Transfer the information to my office ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
"If she left, so help me God," grumbled Conrad before depressing the talk button again. "Attention all Security. If you see Agent Crystal Seaborn--five-seven, brown, green, one twenty, last seen in a blue evening gown, escort her to DCI's office immediately. Repeat, we've got an agent MIA on the Farm."
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
Jack hung up and looked at Weiss. "Change in plan."
"Our guy's now Enemy Number One?"
Jack nodded. "To draw out Agent Seaborn."
Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sam reluctantly agrees to protection, headed by Jack Bristow and Eric Weiss. Both Seaborns are on short fuses, one due to sleep depravation and the other to anxiety over the campaign, the family, and the agency he perceives is the threat. The D.C. crew prepare for an evening of socializing with the Intelligence society.
"Wait, wait, wait," said Charlie, waving his hand in front of him. "She asked you if you were Superman under that Clark Kent suit?" Bartlet, his body man Charlie Young, Leo and Josh sat in the back of the Presidential limousine and discussing the events of the afternoon.
"Yeah... So?" asked Josh.
"And you told her to wait while you found a phone booth?" continued the young man.
"What does that have to do with, y'know, anything?"
Charlie started laughing, and the vicious laughing disease infected the President as well.
"I still don't see how this is funny."
"Is the Clark Kent suit your regular Tuesday suit?" Charlie asked, ribbing the Deputy Chief of Staff over a former crush.
"And how is your continued quest to win back the heart of the fair Zoey?" asked Josh, turning the conversation around soundly.
Charlie cleared his throat. "I love Zoey. It's only a matter of time before she realizes that pompous Frenchmen make lousy long-term prospects."
"Because you're the one she's meant to be with?" asked Josh.
"Josh, I'm going to stop you right there, because, as much as I dislike Jean-Paul Au Bon Pain, I would rather not think about my daughter's relationships."
"But, mine are fair game, sir?" Josh asked the President.
Bartlet nodded. "Yours don't involve any of my female relatives and are much more entertaining than Charlie's."
"More entertaining? How so?" he asked, leaning back against the limousine seat.
"Well, there was Mandy... How you ever got along with that firebrand is beyond me. Then there was something about the regular Tuesday suit and our pollster..." Bartlet, while he spoke, noticed that Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Then there was the former head of the Women's Leadership Conference... and now a CIA agent."
"I'm not in a relationship with Sam's cousin."
"But you want to be," said Charlie quickly.
"Look, Sam asked me to watch out for her, that's all I want to do."
"How close of a watch?" asked Charlie, grinning.
Josh licked his lips. "Charlie, what would you say if Leo asked you to keep an eye on Mallory, just in case?"
"I'd do what I could to help," he said seriously.
"Right. So... Why is me telling that to Sam any different than if Leo asked you?"
"Because you offered to show her what was under your Clark Kent suit," said Charlie, his grin returning.
"If anything, she was being snippy and I was snippy right back," insisted Josh.
Charlie shook his head. "It was snippy flirting. That's the only kind of flirting you know how to do."
"And that's worse than declaring your undying love for the President's daughter and vowing to get her back?" Josh asked.
"We weren't going to touch that subject," reminded Bartlet.
"Sorry, sir, I was trying to make a point."
"Josh, I think you've made your point a little too clearly," commented Leo. His deputy looked at him curiously. "You're vehemently protesting the fact that you flirted with a pretty albeit emotionally upset woman who happens to be related to your best friend."
"No, I was trying to help my best friend's cousin because my best friend asked me to. Don't you three think we should be focusing on the terrorist threat at hand? Y'know, the fact that somebody's out to get Sam?"
"How 'bout the fact that the members of the Congressional Intelligence Committees don't know what's going on yet and we don't want them to," said Leo. "And the fact that they're all going to be in attendance at this little soiree."
He sighed slightly. "Yeah."
"Speaking of which," said Charlie. "We just pulled up."
~~~
Crystal stood in the women's room at the sink in front of the mirrors. She held bobby pins between her teeth, trying to get her hair back up into something fancy for the party. While she didn't actually sleep, she did manage to lie down on the couch in Conrad's office for a few hours and that prompted a new hairstyle. She'd also changed from her business suit to an evening gown. It was a simple, no-frills sheath dress in a deep cobalt blue color. One of the thin spaghetti straps decided it liked sliding off her shoulder when she would lower her arm to retrieve another pin. She sighed slightly, deeply. She'd layered on concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She'd also gone through half a bottle of eye drops trying to return her eyes to their natural white instead of her anxiety-ridden red.
She glanced over when someone entered. It was Sydney, in a pale pink gown, strapless. Her hair was pulled back with a few stray tendrils framing her pretty face. She smiled a little and moved to stand beside Crystal, checking her lipstick in the mirror.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Crystal said after she removed the last of the bobby pins from her mouth.
"There's no need to apologize."
"I'm just... I haven't slept. And I know it's starting to grate on me, it's gotta be grating on everybody else. Normally I can just push past it but I can't this time. It's all my fault. I lived."
"That's not what we think."
Crystal looked at her. She pondered something to say for a solid three minutes, while Sydney waited. She finally shook her head. "I can't think to say anything." She closed her eyes, exhaling. "I just... want to make it through tonight."
"Why don't you go home?"
"Besides the Conrad factor?"
Sydney realized her faux pas and nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm an expected guest." She placed the last bobby pin in her hair. "Just like you. We've made the A-list of spies. There are times when I don't know a good thing or a bad thing."
"What happened to your glasses?" she asked, noticing Crystal's wire framed spectacles were missing.
"I put contacts in figuring it could explain away what little redness I have left."
"If it's any consolation... I know how much it hurts to know somebody you love is a target."
Crystal looked at her. "I know you know. We all know. We've all had it happen. You, me, your father, Agent Vaughn... You know what I pray every night before I go to bed?" she asked, gathering her things back up.
"What's that?"
"That one day, this job is obsolete. That human intelligence isn't going to be necessary." She smiled a little. "I'm still waiting on that day."
"Me, too."
"I realize we got off to a bumpy start, and I apologize for that, Agent Bristow."
"Call me Sydney."
Crystal glanced up at her, zipping up hair and makeup kit. "Crys."
~~~
"Is there a reason we walked six miles? I mean, honestly?" asked Weiss as he collapsed into a chair at the campaign headquarters.
"Scott thinks it makes me look like a regular person," said Sam, pulling three bottles of water out of the little campaign fridge and handing him one.
"It also makes you an easily-hit target," commented Jack as he uncapped his bottle.
"Well, I can either tell Scott that I can't be doing that and give him the reason why, or I can tell him, not give him a reason, and he can tell me to take a hike, literally, so... It's up to you guys. You're the experts."
Weiss and Jack exchanged glances. "Are there any more walking jaunts on your schedule in the next few days?" asked Jack.
Sam picked up a binder from a messy desk and started flipping through it. "Doesn't look like it, but sometimes there are things added at the last minute."
"We're just going to have to prevent that," said Weiss.
"I'll tell Scott to cut the walking tours. I think he wanted them so I can look young and athletic and... Whatever." He flopped into a chair, putting the notebook back on the desk. "If you guys try to tell him, he'll start off on this tangent about how the DNC put him here and he's the one who has to make the calls and..." He sighed. "This is not at all what I thought this campaign would be."
"I would hope you didn't actually add being targeted by an international terrorist on your list of things to make a dream campaign," said Weiss.
Sam actually smiled, shaking his head. "No, it's just... I don't know. For starters, I didn't even think I'd be here, running right now. Horton Wilde was supposed to lose. A Democratic Candidate hasn't won in this district in... a long time. And yet..."
"Here you are," said Weiss.
Sam nodded. He decided to change the subject. "What's going on in Washington tonight?"
"The CIA is continuing with its planned dinner while most agents worry with your problem," said Jack.
"The CIA has dinners?" Weiss asked, looking up at Jack.
"Oh, sure. All the agencies have them, usually. At least one," said Sam before taking a long swig of his water.
"How come we've never been to one of the dinners?" asked Weiss.
When Jack didn't say anything, Sam spoke up. "Looks like you're the odd one out, Agent Weiss."
"Well... darn."
"Getting back to the security issue, Mr. Seaborn... how trustworthy is Scott Holcomb?" asked Jack.
Sam shrugged. "I hadn't really heard of him before, but he's supposedly this rising star of the Democratic Party, one of the best at campaigning... although I must say that has yet to be seen."
"What has he done before this?" asked Jack.
Sam shrugged.
"I want our people to look him up," Jack said, looking at Weiss, who pulled out a palm pilot and made a note.
"You think he's... in on this?" asked Sam incredulously.
"I want to make sure he's not."
"The Director said this guy's only known Crystal's been alive for three days. This campaign has been decidedly longer than three days. There's no way he could've swapped him in mid-stream; we would've noticed."
"What if it's like... like that movie? Face/Off?" suggested Weiss.
"He could've surgically altered my campaign manager in the past three days? He arrived in Washington this morning. That's a little extreme, don't you think?" asked Sam.
"It's a thought," Weiss said.
"You guys are from L.A.," said Sam. "That's movie magic, that's not real."
"Never underestimate a terrorist threat, Mr. Seaborn," Jack said ominously.
~~~
"Can I get a Scotch, please?" Josh asked, appearing at the bar. The bartender nodded and started to pour the drink as Josh glanced around. His eyes landed on Vaughn. "You're the guy from this morning?"
Vaughn looked up. "Yeah."
"You're uh..." He drifted off, not remembering the name.
"Vaughn. Michael Vaughn."
Josh held out his hand, and Vaughn shook it. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
"How long have you worked with the Agency?" he asked, finally getting his Scotch.
"A while."
Josh nodded. "Know that feeling."
Vaughn smiled.
"What's it like?"
"I'm sorry?"
"CIA."
"Like any other job."
"Ah'kay..." he said skeptically.
"Only with guns and danger and intrigue."
Josh smiled. "I'm sure." He took a sip of his drink. "Have you seen Crystal?"
"Not in about two hours. She was supposed to be sleeping as I understand it."
"Did she?"
Vaughn shrugged.
"Are you and Agent Bristow an item?" Josh asked, watching as Vaughn took a sip of his own drink.
He swallowed it and coolly looked at the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. "I was her handler when she was a double agent in the Alliance."
"There's nothing else?"
"No," he lied. "We work together; we have a professional relationship."
"I see. Sorry for jumping to conclusions."
"It's all right."
"Ever been to one of these parties?" asked Josh, glancing around the room.
"Can't say that I have, no."
"Some pointers?" offered Josh.
"Please."
"Keep moving. Less of a chance you'll get bogged down in a conversation you don't want to be in. If that fails, it never hurts to have one of those pagers where, if you push one button, it goes off. Great excuses to slip away and regroup."
"What about a cell phone?"
"So long as you can be casual about it," he said with a nod.
"Thanks for the tip."
He nodded. "Might want to share it with your partner," he said, gesturing in the direction of Sydney, who had just entered with Crystal.
Vaughn started to take a step towards her then stopped and glanced back at Josh. "Ask her to dance."
"I'm sorry?"
"Crystal. You should ask her to dance."
"Thanks, Agent Vaughn."
Vaughn nodded and continued on towards Sydney as Josh downed the rest of his Scotch in one gulp.
"Another, Mr. Lyman?" asked the bartender.
Josh shook his head. "No, thanks." He mingled his way through the party, chatting briefly with the leading experts in the field of espionage and intelligence when he saw Crystal. She'd gotten terribly stuck in a conversation and it seemed as though she couldn't get out of it. Her olive green eyes were glazing over and her head was tilted slightly to one side as a rather longwinded Senator spoke to her about things she obviously wasn't at all interested in or paying attention to. He gently placed his hand on her lower back, causing her to jump. He smiled slightly at her, placing his free hand on her wrist, then looked at Senator Osborne. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Senator, but I do believe that Director Conrad said he was looking for you."
"Oh, very well," said the older gentleman, wandering away.
She exhaled, watching the Senator go. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Anytime," he murmured.
She closed her eyes. His hands were warm, comforting. His voice was soothing. She was so tired and was absolutely ready to fall asleep standing in her three-inch heels right there.
"Would you care to dance?" he asked.
She opened her eyes slowly. "Very well."
Josh turned her around and pulled her gently into his arms. There wasn't music so much as so much as the din of the people around them carrying on conversations and they weren't exactly performing steps but rather were just in each other's arms. Josh held her hand against his chest and smiled slightly when her head found its way to his shoulder. The very tip of her nose brushed past his neck. She inhaled deeply, getting a delicious whiff of his spicy cologne.
He pulled her tenderly closer, his thumb gently stroking her back through the thin fabric of her dress. He closed his own eyes, just for a moment, ignoring the fact that they were at a pompous dinner party with boring people. For the moment, he was going to hold a beautiful woman against him and focus on the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, and the evenness of her breathing.
Across the room, Vaughn handed Sydney a champagne flute he'd snagged from a passing server. Taking a sip, she watched the lone dancing pair near the opposite wall.
"Think it's a lack of sleep?" Vaughn asked.
"I know it is."
"Is she going to be okay?"
She shrugged. "Have we heard anything from the team with the laser microphones?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm trying to keep an eye on the Director, though. I figure someone will come in and whisper something to him and he'll slip away and that'll mean... that something's going on at the very least."
She took another sip of her drink. "Dad called me earlier."
"What's going on over there?"
"Apparently her cousin doesn't appreciate her line of work."
"This job seems to be a family thing. Your parents, my father..."
She nodded.
"How's he adjusting, by the way?"
"Sam?"
He smiled. "Your father to being a campaign 'volunteer'?"
"He says it's a little stressful. There are a lot of people, a hectic schedule..."
"I can only imagine."
"Weiss is having the same kinds of... adventures." She smiled.
"Oh?"
"Apparently there's a lot of walking involved in a campaign."
"I see."
"They're looking into a few things on their end."
"Any real potentials?"
She shrugged. "We'll find out."
"In the meantime..."
"Hm?"
"Would you care to dance?"
She smiled. "Sure."
Vaughn pulled Sydney into his arms and kept seemingly the same beat as Josh and Crystal, which perplexed the CIA Director, who was watching from across the room. "Is there something in the water?"
Leo looked at him, unsure of the cause of his question. "Come again?"
Conrad nodded to the dancing couples. "I don't hear music... do you hear music?"
"Perhaps you should invest in a DJ next time," said the White House Chief of Staff.
"Here's my question, though: are the members of the intel committees going to think our top agents are crazy?" he asked, sipping his drink.
"Just fun-depraved," said Bartlet. "Y'know, Rob, we have bands at our get-togethers."
"We'll allocate some funds for music next time," Conrad assured him.
"Plus..." started Bartlet. "They probably need a little escape."
"Well... I think little is going to be the operative word," Conrad said, spying his assistant Helen, approaching them. She handed him a slip of paper, which he read. "Get Bristow and Vaughn."
"What about Seaborn?"
He shook his head, handing the slip to the President. "I don't want her in on this yet."
Helen nodded, crossing the room to retrieve the California agents as Bartlet read the paper.
"This isn't good, is it?" Bartlet asked, looking up at Conrad.
"No, sir. If you'll excuse me?"
Bartlet returned the paper. "Of course."
Conrad met Vaughn and Sydney at the door, and the three slipped out and started for his office. "There's been a development," Conrad said.
"Sir?" asked Sydney.
"We've got audio from the hotel where our double is holed up. It's being transferred to my office right now."
"Any clue what it's about?" Vaughn asked.
"No... but I have a bad feeling about it," Conrad said as he opened the door to his office and charged inside. Pulling up his computer, he selected the transferred file.
There was a slight humming sound, and then a voice. "There's been a change in plan. A new mark. We leave tonight," said a voice.
"What about the original one?" asked another.
There was silence for a moment before the first voice spoke again. "This is to bring the first mark to us. Pack up. We're moving in fifteen."
The audio feed ended there. Conrad exhaled. "Call your father, Agent Bristow. We'll forward this to him."
"If they're leaving from one of the nearby airports, won't we be able to catch them?" asked Vaughn. "There are, what, three... and with the national increase in security, shouldn't we be able to stop them?"
"I want Jack to know Sam's now the primary target. We're bugging the SUV at the hotel, hopefully we'll be able to track the double to his boss."
Sydney nodded. "What about Agent Seaborn?"
"I'm not sure I want her to know," admitted the Director. "At least not yet."
"Our absence will be suspicious in the ballroom, though," said Vaughn.
Conrad nodded. "Agent Bristow, call Jack, bring him up to speed. Agent Vaughn, head back to the party; we'll be there soon."
The two agents acknowledged Conrad and split. Conrad picked up his phone, sitting down at his desk. After dialing, he encrypted and sent the audio surveillance to California. He called his counterpart at the FBI, informing him of what was going on and getting permission to access information at all the airports, getting flight data from all airlines as well as assurances that airport security would detain anyone meeting the description of the Jordan group.
He hung up and stood, straightening his tie to return to the party when his phone rang. "Yes?" he answered.
It was Helen. "Sir, can you hold for Agent Sinclair?"
Conrad had a sinking feeling; Sinclair was leading the surveillance on the double. "Put him through."
"Director..."
"What's going on?"
"They took a cab."
"And?"
"And we lost them in traffic. We had two teams and four cars and..."
"How hard is it to track six people in D.C.?"
"Sir--"
"It's our own Goddamn backyard!"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Find them," seethed Conrad.
"Yes, sir."
Conrad slammed the phone down and sighed. He had to go face government leaders and one of his own agents and pretend that nothing was wrong. It was going to be a fun night.
He snagged a champagne flute the moment he returned to the ballroom. He needed a drink. Glancing around, he spotted Sydney and Vaughn in a conversation with the House's Intelligence Committee chairman. Bartlet and Leo were having a hushed conversation by themselves. Charlie and Josh were at the bar, waiting on drinks.
He didn't see Crystal.
At all.
His eyes flashed panic-stricken for a fleeting moment before he stealthily crossed the room to Josh and Charlie. "Josh," he said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Director?"
"Where's Crystal?" he asked, sipping his champagne casually.
"She stepped out on a smoke break," answered Josh.
"Crystal doesn't smoke."
"What?" asked Josh, looking up at Conrad.
"She doesn't smoke," Conrad repeated, having a feeling the night was only going to get worse, not better. He took one more sip of his drink and sat it on the bar before heading out again, with Josh on his heels this time.
"What's going on?" asked Josh.
"An intelligence nightmare." Spotting a member of CIA security, Conrad flagged him over and took his radio. "Front gate, this is DCI."
"What can I do for you, sir?" came the radio's reply.
"I need a quiet gate lock-down. No one in or out until we can account for an agent. I need to know how many cars have left in the past twenty minutes and who was in them. Transfer the information to my office ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
"If she left, so help me God," grumbled Conrad before depressing the talk button again. "Attention all Security. If you see Agent Crystal Seaborn--five-seven, brown, green, one twenty, last seen in a blue evening gown, escort her to DCI's office immediately. Repeat, we've got an agent MIA on the Farm."
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
Jack hung up and looked at Weiss. "Change in plan."
"Our guy's now Enemy Number One?"
Jack nodded. "To draw out Agent Seaborn."