Disclaimer: Me not own!

A/N: Hi again. Sorry I took a bit long updating. I've been rushing about like a mad thing trying to finish course work and study for tests, then my internet messed up (it wasn't good). But hopefully I'll be quicker in future. Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: bessi, Crystal Raven, kt, Beth, jorja and Shelly. Please keep them coming. Well anyway, R&R and ENJOY!! - Bex

'He that raises a large family does, indeed, while he lives to observe them, stand a broader mark for sorrow; but then he stands a broader mark for pleasure too.' - Benjamin Franklin

~*~*~*~*~

Sydney and Vaughn left the hotel; once again with their arms linked to keep up the façades that were Paul and Lara Murdock's lives. She led him along the streets; the bitter Russian wind danced around them and they wrapped their coats tighter around their bodies to keep it out. Local people hurried past them, solely bent on getting on with their day-to-day business of their lives. She took a sudden left, leading them down a back alley and stopped outside a building on the corner. Vaughn read the sign about the door: 'Trojka'. The black painted framing around the windows had been chipped in places and began to fade into grey. Windows had been frosted over by the cold - only letting the dim light from inside escape.

"Here we are," Sydney announced. "Shall we go in?"

He followed her inside without a response. Inside 'Trojka' was as impressive as the outside. There was a cosy and warming feeling to the restaurant filled with small wooden table and chairs. On the far wall stood a large fireplace ablaze with a log fire. A woman in her early 20s walked over to greet the new arrivals. Her uniform was a fitted red shirt and knee- length black skirt. She had jet-black hair, which was worn loose and fell just past her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes inspected them both; her lips turned up in a welcoming smile.

She spoke to them in Russian, her tone friendly and professional. Vaughn was grateful that 'Lara' had been born in Russia - living there until she was 7 - there for spoke the native language fluently.

The woman gave her and nod and indicated with her arm for them to follow her to their table. She led them to a two-seat table in the corner; the dining space was very intimate. They sat down whilst she handed them a menu each, lit the candle on the table, and then left them to decided.

Vaughn stared at Sydney as she studied her menu, pretending to be oblivious to his watchful eyes.

"Honey," He said with false affection to gain her attention. She looked up from her menu and Vaughn let Paul fade away.

"Why are we here?" He hissed in a hushed voice.

"Darling," She smiled teasingly, enjoying his impatient nature, "You have to try a traditional Russian dish. Let me order for us both."

She called the waitress back over and ordered something in Russian. The food - which turned out to be beef stroganoff and very good at that - came soon afterwards. During the meal Vaughn kept trying to get more information from Sydney, but every attempted he made was respond by Sydney steering the conversation back onto subjects 'couples' would discuss over diner.

His patience had been worn very thin by the end of the meal. He couldn't help but glare slightly at her as she paid for the meal. The waitress look down at the bill and her eyes narrowed. She though a cautious look at the smiling Sydney and Vaughn, then hurried behind the counter. Vaughn watched as she talked to another man behind it: showing him the bill and every-so- often throwing suspicious looking in their direction. The man behind the counter picked up the phone and talked to someone on the other end whilst glaring at the couple. He slammed down the phone and marched over before Vaughn could ask Sydney what was going on.

"Come with me," He ordered in a quite tone.

Sydney stood up - her smile not once leaving her lips - and Vaughn followed suit. The man led them behind the counter and into a back room, with their waitress following. When their were safely out of sight of the other customers, he pulled a gun from his jacket.

"Standing against the wall. Facing it," He barked.

They did as they were told and the waitress frisked them. She shook her head at the man when she found nothing.

"Turn around," He demanded and they co-operated. He walked behind them and jabbed Vaughn back with the gun. "Walk forward to the lift."

He marched the pair into the lift. Vaughn tried to catch her eye to see if he could get an explanation, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. They arrived at a small corridor leading to a single door.

"Walk to the door," He ordered.

He rapped on the door and a raspy voice answered with in. He opened it and indicated with the gun for them to enter. Sydney walked in first, followed by Vaughn and lastly the man.

They were now a small office. It was cluttered; every surface with covered with strange object, books or papers. An antic desk stood in the middle of the mess with an old man sitting in the chair behind it. Silver curls of hair fell around his face weathered by wrinkles and his watchful sapphire eyes. Smoke curled from his pipe and he inhaled it thoughtfully as he examined them. He stroked his long grey bread with a shrivelled hand.

After a minute he spoke to the man who'd brought them in. The old man addressed him as Miroslav; speaking to him in Russia, but all the time his gaze was fixed on Vaughn and Sydney. When the man had finished, Miroslav looked hesitantly at the duo then slowly left. "You enter my restaurant as strangers, but know I am here. You know who I am. And you know the password that allows you to be brought here, which so few know. So I can't help but think that under the face I see before me is one I recognise," He stated softy, his voice roughened from years of smoking. "And I am guessing that person would be Sydney Bristow."

"You are correct," Sydney responded.

The old man smiled brightly and she returned it.

"Sit down my child. Sit down," He insisted. "Do you want a drink?"

"No thank you," Sydney replied for them both.

"I knew that I would be seeing you again soon," He said as he poured himself a glass of port. "But I hope it would have been under more happier circumstances." He turned to look at her. "My grandson still works at the airport that Irina uses. I'm so sorry Sydney."

Sydney gave his a faint nod. He sat back down and took a sip of his drink, eyeing Vaughn over the top of the glass.

"And you bring a friend with you."

"He's not exactly a friend," She corrected.

"Oh?"

"His name is Michael Vaughn. He works for the CIA."

The old man froze, as an uneasy look covered his face.

"Oh," He murmured after a pause.

"Why does that bother you?" Vaughn asked, finally speaking up.

"Mr Vaughn may I introduce my good friend Leonid Gravril. Though you and the CIA may know him as Leo Gardener," Sydney answered.

It took a couple of seconds for Vaughn to register where he'd heard the name before.

"You mean MI5 agent Leo Gardener? The one who betrayed his country and America during the cold war?" Vaughn questioned in shock.

"The very same," Gravril answered this time. "The one who is still on America and Britain's wanted list for treason and selling secrets to Russia."

"Secrets that led to the death of other MI5 agents, not to mention American," Vaughn stated harshly.

"I'm not proud of that. When I fled here with my family after being discovered, the Russian government wanted to offer me a medal, but I refuse. The rest - I have nothing to be ashamed of."

"You're trying to justify your betrayal?" Vaughn snapped demandingly.

"My betrayal was more justified then the war," Gravril retorted. "The Cold War was based on nothing but prejudice and suspicion. Communists are evil. Russia is evil. My wife was Russian and had the heart of the Saint. And she wasn't, contradicting popular belief, the reason I did it. I start selling intel during the Vietnam War. America leading a witch-hunt that killed and injured millions of civilians in the process. And robbing their own people of their family members killed in pointless warfare. Justify that Mr Vaughn."

The old man's eyes burned with anger. Vaughn remained silent and after a pause, the old man's rage dissolved again. He sipped his drink and turned his attention back to Sydney.

"Why did you bring him here?" He asked her.

"Because I had to. He won't tell anyone about you. I promise Leonid."

He nodded and settled back down.

"I have 6 children, not to mention grandchild and great grandchildren here that need me. I'm not willing to risk loosing them."

"You won't Leonid," Sydney promised again.

"You've already met two of them. The girl was my granddaughter Misha and the man was her father, Miroslav. They live here with my wife Anja and my son's wife Lida. The only family that remains here with me. The rest are spread all over Russia. Useful connections are family," He said half to them and half to himself. "Blood is thicker then water. That's the only reason I every agreed to help you, never Irina."

Confusion took over Vaughn's and he turned to Sydney for an answer. What did he mean about blood being the only reason he helped her?

"Alexander, well Mr Sark as you knew him, was my nephew. Well great nephew to be more correct," Gravril answered for Sydney. "My sister's daughter was his mother. She married an Irish man called Seamus Cassidy. They were killed, officially mind you, by the IRA, but..." His voice trailed off. He took a good sip of his drink then continued, "When the Russian government set up their own 'Project Christmas' they brought him over here without my knowledge and trained him. Afterwards he was sent back and I didn't see him again until two years after Irina employed him. I gave him any information I had. Then Sydney, after she married him."

Vaughn snapped his head around to stare at Sydney. She was married to Sark? Sark - the cruel heart man who killed in cold blood and even tortured her best friend - had been married to her? She avoided his questioning gaze and instead stayed focused on Gravril.

"Leonid, do you know where Yuri Vershinin is?" She asked him.

"Yes. Moved up in the world since you last saw him. Open a Casino here in St Petersburg: 'The Jewel of Russia'. Probably gained the money by selling you out to Irina," He muttered darkly.

"Can you arrange a 'meeting' with him for me?"

He nodded. "That I can do. My nephew, on my wife's side, works there. And I happen to have a copy of the blueprints to the building."

He pulled it out from his draw and handed it to them. They spread it out on the desk and stare at the blueprints.

"Now listen carefully, Vershinin's office is located on the top floor of the Casino. He is there every night. To get there you have to travel on a lift located in the back room, which can only be operated by a special key," He informed them. "Tomorrow night, go to the Casino at 9.30pm and play a game of Vingt et Un. My nephew will write down on a card the code to gain you access to the backrooms. You need to find a way around the security and the CCTV cameras. Make sure you disarm the panic button that Vershinin's has in his office. One of his men in the Casio surveillance room will have the key for the lift. You've got to do all of this to reach him."

Sydney picked up the blueprints and nodded gratefully at the old man.

"Thank you Leonid."

He walked over and hugged her.

"I hope you get them back Sydney. Remember if I get anymore intel then I'll get it to you," He assured her.

He picked up the phone and quickly spoke into it in Russian.

"Miroslav is on his way up to take you back to your hotel," He told them. "Good luck."

A/N: What do you think? Hit that button people, cos that's the only way I'm going to know.