For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously, on the West Wing/Alias: Sydney scrambles to find any connection between Iggy and SD-6/CIA operations. Marshall informs her that there's no way to backtrack the e-mails after twenty years, but they have a list of agents from the eighties, and whittles down the file by initials until there are only thirty-five possible agents. Sydney puts together that Iggy is actually Ian, who's a mole for SD-6 in the CIA. Upon learning his last name, she tries to call Crystal for a little assistance only to learn she's overseas but will be arriving in California the next day on her flight home. Josh has to jump through hoops in order to figure out what the National Security money is for, and it's for the expensive Alliance operation. All the while in the past, Crystal and Ian make a deal after she comes home from her Italy trip early and both wind up scaring each other-she finishes school in August, they'll go to California together. Crystal, when Ian's away, lets curiosity get the better of her and opens a package addressed to him only to learn it's an audio tape with "SD-6" printed on it. Ian gets a call from Sloane for Crystal's CIA stats.

But you swore to yourself a long time ago There were some things that people Never needed to know This is one that you keep That you bury so deep No one can tear it out

Los Angeles, California

Sixteen years, ten months ago

Morning

Arvin Sloane sat at his desk in his office, flipping through a file folder. When he happened upon a headshot, he removed it from the file, looking at the dark haired young woman, with green eyes and glasses.

He was looking at Crystal Seaborn.

His door opened, and Jack Bristow appeared. "Good, Jack. I'm glad you came. We may have a new prospect but I'm still wondering about our inside man."

"I was worried when you said he was our man in the CIA. He's a bit of a maverick, a bit unstable."

"He's our kind of guy," insisted Sloane. "And his characteristics make him obvious for the suspect and therefore the CIA will say he's too easy a target."

"Then, why are we considering changing our inside source?"

"Because," Sloane said. "If he doesn't get her, he won't come either." He slid the picture of Crystal cross the desk to Jack. "She's the type of person we need. She's athletic, from an aristocratic background. She made a solid split from her family when she joined the CIA with no ties to others except... Ian Guthrie. We eliminate him once she's on our side and we step in as her new family. The kinder, gentler CIA."

"What are his chances of bringing her in?"

"At this point... Slim. He's stalling till August. What do you think about the girl?" Sloane asked, offering him the file.

Jack took it, sitting down and examining her career highlights and background. "Her father and uncle are prominent attorneys, her father in D.C., her uncle in Orange County."

"Your point?"

"Seems like she spent an awful lot of time at her uncle's."

"She spent an awful lot of time with her father as well, but she's had no contact with him since her high school graduation."

"I don't know. I think that if we start recruiting heavily from the CIA they're going to figure out where we are."

"I'm not talking about recruiting heavily. The occasional agent is who I'm after. She slipped past Project Christmas, but she'd be perfect. She needs a little work on some of her languages, but if she does get her psychology degree from GWU, I think we need her."

Jack nodded slowly.

Washington D.C.

Yesterday

Afternoon

Josh came back from the mess after lunch and stopped by Donna's desk. "Did I get a courier visit while I was gone?"

"Courier? No..."

"No package?"

She shook her head.

"Great," he said, sighing. "Call out front and see if anybody's been by, would you?"

Donna picked up the phone, having a quick conversation with a security agent at the gate while Josh leaned against the glass partition that separated her office from the hallway. "Nothing? All right, thanks."

Before she could tell him the news, he was already headed down the hall. He'd heard quite enough.

"Josh?"

He held a hand up, to indicate he'd heard, and had heard quite enough. He stopped at Margaret's desk. "He in?"

"He's with Nancy McNally right now."

"Know if they're talking about the budget?"

"No... why?"

"Because I'm getting really tired of the run-around."

"On the budget?"

"Yeah. And matters of national security. I'm less than pleased with our intelligence people at the moment."

"I thought you were in love with an intelligence person."

Josh had started to form the next part of his rant but that comment stopped him dead in his tracks. "We're just sorta... not exactly in a relationship. Exactly."

"Right."

"She's got nothing to do with this, she's leaps and bounds above my current beef with the intelligence community."

"All right."

"Who told you I was in love with her?"

"No one told me."

"Then how did you..."

"I see the way you look at her."

"I... Care about her..." He struggled to get the words out.

"I'm not the one you should be telling that to," she said with a knowing look.

Josh sighed slightly as the door to Leo's office opened, and the Chief of Staff was guiding Nancy McNally, the National Security Advisor out of the room.

"Josh," she said.

"Dr. McNally." He nodded. "Ma'am, you wouldn't know anything about more appropriations for national security, would you?"

She tilted her head to one side. "You're offering us more money?"

"Congressman Wick is."

"We'll take every penny you'll give us."

"I think it's for the CIA, although... I'm beginning to wonder about it."

"Have you talked to Robby?" she asked, referring to the DCI.

"Twice. He said he was going to forward me some information and... That was hours ago."

"Can't help you," she said, shaking her head.

"Thank you, ma'am."

She offered a smile, and said her last goodbyes to Leo before continuing on her way.

"Still nothing?" Leo asked.

"Nada. I think I've been snookered by the CIA director."

"Well, he used to be a field operative," Leo said, retreating into his office.

Josh followed. "I don't know who else to call. I've talked with their accountants, their money people... Nobody's saying anything."

"You don't have an agent you're friendly with?"

"Yeah, she's overseas..."

Leo looked at his deputy. "Sam's cousin."

"She'll be back tomorrow, though."

"When's your dinner with the Congressional Democratic Caucus?"

"Tonight. Caviling over chicken, I think."

"Bring it up at dinner, see what you can shake out of the Leadership."

"Amy wanted me to bring it up at dinner..."

"Well, now I do."

"Are you two in cahoots or something?"

"Please," Leo said, sitting down at his desk.

Josh sighed. "All right."

Moscow, Soviet Union

Sixteen years, ten months ago

Night

Ian pulled on his leather jacket. "You'll be all right?" he asked, looking at Crystal.

She was settled at the small desk with her Psychology book. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm starved; go get dinner. I need brain food."

"I'm going," he said with a smile, kissing the top of her head. "Keep studying." Making sure she was still engrossed in her book, he picked up a briefcase silently.

"I hate summer terms..."

"Be back soon," he said, grabbing his keys and heading for the door to the small apartment they'd taken up residency in for the mission.

"You'd better!"

Ian smiled, and locked her in before heading down the stairs and out into the dark night. He was off to get dinner, but he was also out to pick up a little something for Sloane. He walked to a nearby restaurant. The establishment was dimly lit and smoky. After ordering food to go, he made his way to the bar. Perching on a stool, and waited for a tender to approach him.

"What can I get you?" asked the bartender in Russian.

Ian eyed him. The bartender was tall, burly. Not a man to be trifled with. "Vodka. A man's drink."

"You can handle it?" asked the bartender, waiting for the appropriate response.

"And anything you throw at me; I'm from Leningrad."

The bartender nodded. "Why don't you come with me?"

Ian eased off the stool and followed the bartender through the kitchen and through another door to another room. It was cushier, more comfortable than the main restaurant. Obviously whoever had the room made up had plenty of hard currency.

A man who could make deals.

At least, a beautiful woman who sat on the couch, her long brown hair down around her shoulders. "Well, hello again," she said in English.

Ian nodded, setting the briefcase on the table in front of her. "Compliments of Arvin Sloane with best wishes."

Irina Derevko eyed the case and then cast a quick glance at one of her associates, who crossed to the case to examine it. Another crossed to Ian, patting him down.

Ian was unarmed and the case was open, revealing crisp American hundred dollar bills. "One million, hard currency," Ian said.

She smiled slightly, and nodded to another associate, who handed him two brown paper bags. "Your dinner, and your relic."

Los Angeles, California

Today

Morning

Crystal adjusted the strap of her carryon as she walked towards the door at LAX. She was tired, and she was looking forward to sleeping in her own bed that night. But first? Maybe some coffee. What she wasn't expecting, however, was to see a familiar face near the door.

"Sydney?"

Sydney smiled, crossing towards Crystal. "How are you?"

Crystal hugged her, rather in a daze. "Exhausted, how are you?"

"Not too bad," she said, returning the embrace. "I heard from Melissa that you had a pretty heinous layover and figured I'd take you out for coffee?"

"Oh, you are a mind reader."

Sydney smiled. "C'mon. I'm parked near by. How was the flight?"

"Long."

"I'm sure," she said as the two headed out into the California sunshine. "Good to see your arm is back in full working order," Sydney commented, watching Crystal swap from regular glasses to sunglasses.

"It was a scratch," she said with a smile.

"Good you can smile about it, too," Sydney noticed, sliding her sunglasses on.

"Well, y'know. What doesn't kill you..."

"How is, uh... Sandman?" Sydney asked with a smile, unlocking her car doors.

Crystal smirked, looking at the younger woman. "How's Boy Scout?"

"He's fine."

"So's Sandman."

"Wonderful," Sydney said as the two climbed in.

"It'll be so nice to be home," she said.

"It always is," Sydney said.

"And... It was really great to see you at the airport," she said as she buckled up. "I usually don't get the welcome wagon."

"I do what I can," smiled Sydney.

"I appreciate it," Crystal said. "And ooh... Leg room."

Sydney laughed.

The two continued polite chatter on the drive to Sydney's place, but once they were inside, situated and with coffee, the tone of the conversation changed. "Crys, I was wondering if I could ask you something..."

"Ask me anything."

"Our current assignment is trying to reach Sloane from a different tack."

"How so?" Crystal asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"We're analyzing pretty much everything SD-6 did while he was in charge."

"You're miracle workers, then?" Crystal asked with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah, they seem think so," smiled Sydney. "But, in all seriousness... There's this guy who Sloane was sending e-mails to. I'm not sure who he is, and I can't seem to access anything on him. I've talked with Dad, and he's shot me down but there's something that just... I think I'm onto something."

"What are you onto?"

"I think there was a mole that SD-6 put into the CIA."

"Really?" Crystal asked, intrigued.

"The way Dad reacts when I say this guy's name... I know he's somebody, he just won't tell me."

"Who is it?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me. We're getting more into your area of time, I think, 1986."

"Yeah..."

"His e-mail address was Iggy."

Crystal smiled. "I don't know an Iggy."

"But I think his real name," Sydney continued, "was Ian Guthrie."

Crystal's smile faded. "What?" she asked quietly.

"We decrypted all these e-mails Sloane sent to 'Iggy' and the name we came up with was Ian Guthrie."

"No," Crystal said, shaking her head. "That's not possible."

"Who is he?"

"He's dead," Crystal said. "It's not him."

"Was he dead in 1986?"

"That's the year he died."

"So this could be him."

Crystal shook her head. "No.

"Who is he?" Sydney repeated.

Crystal set her coffee down and stood. "I'm sorry, Sydney, I need to go."

"Crys--" Sydney was in shock, unaware of what had just happened, but by the time she thought to reach the door and go after her, the other agent had disappeared.

Moscow, Soviet Union

Sixteen years, ten months ago

Night

Ian stood in the center of the room, holding the two bags. "May I speak to you alone?" he asked, looking at Irina.

"Why?"

"I only need a moment of your time."

Irina glanced at her men and nodded. They quietly filed out. "Make it quick."

"I need your help."

"You do? Or Sloane does?"

"I do," he said, setting the bags on the table. "Sloane's got me in a position... I don't even know how I got here. But he's trying to get me to recruit a CIA agent to SD-6. This agent... I have a personal connection to her, and I know she'll never make it in SD-6 but she'll never make it in the CIA without me."

"What does this have to do with me?" Irina asked, fighting a sigh. "It's not my problem."

"I want to make a deal with you."

"A deal?"

"In case I die. In case Sloane kills me, I want you to protect Crystal from Sloane."

"Crystal's this... agent?" Off Ian's nod, she continued. "How do you suggest I protect this woman? And what do you have to bargain with? You're a middle man, a pawn of Arvin Sloane's."

"As of now, the Rambaldi artifact is in my possession, not Sloane's. And the one million dollars is in your possession, not his. If I give you back the artifact, you can auction it off to the highest bidder, someone who's more interested in it than Sloane. For that, I want you to protect Crystal Seaborn's life."

Irina shook her head. "No."

"All she has is me and a vague idea of protecting freedom at home. That's it. She's barely twenty-three. If Sloane gets a hold of her, that's it. He'll pervert her whole mindset."

"This life isn't for the innocent," warned Irina.

"You have a twelve year old daughter..."

"So I'm to feel sorry for your twenty-three year old lover? How do you know about my family?"

"I've worked with your husband, I've been at your house."

"I have no husband."

"Jack Bristow... and your daughter. Sydney."

Irina stood, crossing to him slowly. "Hear me now, Ian. Tell Arvin that any other deals he wants made, he has to come deal with me directly." She picked the brown bag with the artifact from the table. "Leave. Now."

Washington D.C.

Yesterday

Night

Josh was really starting to wonder about his rotten luck.

He was beginning to ponder if the White House was cursed. He'd been shot. The White House had been shot at... They lost the Vice President. They lost Sam. Sam lost his election. Sam was targeted by an international terrorist organization. One of the President's daughters had been kidnapped. He'd served under a Republican president for a few days...

And now he was in hell at a Democratic Caucus dinner, discussing everything except what he wanted to discuss. When the conversation veered towards health care, he found his spot to jump in.

"The First Lady's a little miffed at House Democrats in regards to health care at the moment," Josh said.

"Why's that?" asked a Congressman.

"Congressman Wick took the money she'd lobbied for children's health issues and spirited it to national security for reasons... nobody can ascertain."

"Well, you should take it up with Congressman Wick."

"I tried. He directed me to DCI Conrad and I'm getting rather tired of the run-around."

"Josh, it's a trifling amount of money."

"Congressman, the First Lady's Chief of Staff is breathing down my neck."

"You're taking orders from the First Lady's Chief of Staff?"

"That's really not the issue here. The issue is avoiding the Chief Economist all together. We didn't even get a head's up, a friendly phone call."

"We can't tell you everything that we discuss in conference, Josh."

"This wasn't just casually tossed around in conference, this was written and proposed and cut money from children's health issues," Josh said, shaking his head. "What's going on, guys?"

"Take it up with Wick, or with Conrad," said a Congressman definitively.

Los Angeles, California

Sixteen years, ten months ago

Morning

Crystal looked at the building with a frown. "A bank?"

"C'mon," said Ian. "Hazard pay. Gotta invest somewhere."

"I've never heard of Credit Dauphine. First American, sure, but..."

"They're the best," he said, leading her in. "An off-shoot from a Swiss bank."

She looked at him sideways. "All right..."

"C'mon, I'll open an account, it'll take twenty, thirty minutes tops."

"Ian--"

"For when we move out here, gotta have a bank account. Your graduation date will be here before you know it. Let's go ahead and have a nest egg."

"All right," she said with a sigh.

"There's my girl," he said as they entered the lobby. "Just have a seat." He watched as she sat and approached the desk. "I have an appointment with Mr. Sloane..." he said, his voice down. He pulled out his wallet, showing identification. "Ian Guthrie."

The woman behind the desk nodded. "If you'll come with me, sir?"

Ian was led through the back of the bank front, to an elevator. Stepping inside, he passed the security check and walked through the office.

Sloane was waiting by his office door, watching Ian cross the floor. "So nice to see you," he said.

The younger man nodded. "Sir."

"Come in," Sloane said, welcoming Ian into his office. "You've come to me empty handed. I'm not sure I like that."

"I got jumped. The Man took the money. There was no artifact in Moscow."

"You got... jumped?" Sloane asked, his face hardening.

"I'm not invincible, Sloane. Sometimes I get jumped."

"I had everything worked out, I personally made the deal with the Man, what happened?"

"Must've gotten spooked."

"How?"

"I don't know how, Sloane, sometimes stuff just happens. I can't control everything in the field."

"You should be able to."

"I'm not perfect. None of us are. There's no way any of us can *possibly* control every single detail that happens in the field. Missions get compromised, it can happen a thousand different ways."

"The latest stats you provided from the CIA say she's perfect. But I'm beginning to wonder why we even have *you*."

"You can't have her," seethed Ian through clenched teeth.

"I can't?" asked Sloane, arching an eyebrow.

"Not until August," he amended.

Sloane said nothing; he merely turned on a television set in his office. On screen, Crystal sat in the bank lobby. Turning up the volume, the two watched as a bank employee approached her.

He was a tall, young black man. "Has someone been by to help you, miss?"

Crystal looked up at him. "Oh, no, I'm just waiting."

"You sure?" he asked.

She smiled, seeing his nametag. "Yeah, Mr. Dixon. I'm just here with a guy opening an account."

You don't want to lose a friendship There's nothing that you have to hide And a little dirt Couldn't hurt no one anyway

Stay tuned...

Lines from the next installment:

She reached the central most room and opened the door... finding nothing but a storage closet.

Crystal frantically radioed Ian. "We've got bad intel, abort. We need to abort now."

Her radio crackled to life. "Not yet."