742 Main St., Los Angeles, May 14th, 1976 5:00 A.M.

The alarm clock rang out at 5:00 in the morning. Groggily, a man rolled out of bed. Roughly six feet tall, this person walked around the bed and went to his wife's side. With a kiss on her cheek, she woke up. Staring at his chest and boxers, she smiled. "Good morning," she said with a wink. She rolled over to get a better look at her husband, but groaned in pain from a recent bruise on her leg. The groan was quiet, and she did her best to keep her face straight so that she wouldn't be considered "weak"

"I've got work today. I'll be home late, probably. But next weekend, I swear. I'll take you to that restaurant you want." William begged with his wife, Nicole, but she would have none of it. For the last six months, the same promise was stated to her over and over, but still, there was nothing. She couldn't help but think that this time, just maybe, William had gained some credibility. Maybe… She turned around, her face down in the pillow, and covered her head with the covers. Looking at the clock, and realizing time was of the essence, he heads for the shower. By 5:30, he was dressed in a suit. As he brought his jacket out of the closet, a small, brown leather-bound book fell out of the breast pocket. He opened it up to the last page that he had written in. William laughed as he recalled bumping the date up about six months. But the one word he saw that stuck with him was a place: somewhere he hoped he'd never have to go again. He sat down at the table and began reflecting on the operation that had been assigned to him the night before. He began writing something down in his diary.

"I can't believe you want me to do this- it's hard enough lying to my family about what I have to do, but now you want me to go off to Russia? I can't take down Derevko, 8 others have tried, and I have to stare at the stars representing them every day I enter this building. They've failed, and that's not my priority right now! I'm not about to be number 9, I have a family to take care of, I have thousands of reasons not to go on your wild goose chase."

~ My thoughts towards Director O'Quinn

When he had finished the entry, he looked up. Staring back at him was a 7-year-old boy, who was woken by the shower running. A gold pocket watch was jangling happily from his pocket loop. William thought back, bitterly, to the day that the innocent boy got that watch. He began to open his mouth again to tell him one of either of the two secrets he was keeping from his little Mikey, but he was interrupted.

"Hey, Dad! Only girls keep diaries!" he said. The man laughed, and sent him away. What a terrible way to spend a Saturday morning…

The phone rang. Nervously, William stared at it, daring himself to pick it up. Soon enough, he walked over, and answered it.

"Vaughn residence, William speaking."

"No need to get all cute with me, boy. Did you get that last artifact?" The voice was deep and distorted, as if being transferred through a voice box.

"I told, you, sir, I've finished your little quest for Rambaldi. He's just an annoyance in my life, and I've given up. Take another pawn, I'm through."

"Then don't expect to live much longer, Mr. Vaughn."

He listened for the click, knowing that the thread would be all he heard from his master. When it came, he hung up hurriedly, and left the building.

CIA Headquarters, Los Angeles, May 14th, 1976 6:30 A.M.

"Sir, I've got a lead. I know that you have absolutely no reason to trust me, but I know a key player in the search for Rambaldi's puzzle."

Vaughn, hoping his plan would catch, watched O'Quinn's face intently.

"Too bad. Since day one, Rambaldi has just been an annoyance in our lives, isn't that right?" O'Quinn almost smiled, but with a hardened man like himself, it's impossible to tell.

"Anyway, back to the mission at hand: Your plane leaves in an hour, Vaughn. If I were you, I'd get over there pretty quick. It's a commercial flight, so if you're late you've screwed this whole operation." Director O'Quinn boomed at a briefing.

"I, I… I can't believe you want me to do this!" William screamed. "This is nuts! There is absolutely no way you can want me to chase after this Russian assassin! Take a look over there!" he said, pointing out the window to a broken man at a computer. He was just staring at the screen, fighting hard to hold back tears. "And she didn't even physically hurt him! She put him through 6 months of solitary confinement, she is a goddamn master of deception! I refuse to go on your wild goose chase."

"Vaughn!"

William snapped out of his trance he was in. "Yes, I'm going. Don't worry."

As he left the doorway, William turned around and looked O'Quinn in the eye. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" he asked. And in his heart, William knew it was true.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn. That's need to know only."

Will continued leaving, and as soon as he was out of earshot, O'Quinn picked up the phone. The same, distorted voice that called William was on the other line. "He's just left my office, you got your assassin in place?"

"Of course."

Somewhere over the Atlantic, May 14th, 1976 7:42

"This is your captain speaking," a husky male voice came over the intercom. "Flight 4747 headed for Siberia." Will knew what the captain said next, but his constant shuddering from the sound of the word blocked it out. Meanwhile, a small man sat in the row in front of him. He was still very young, celebrating this day as his 7th birthday. His blonde hair and blue eyes wanted nothing more than William dead, and it was all up to him. The captain continued, "We will take off in five minutes, so I'd suggest that you begin to buckle up, sit back, and relax, and enjoy your flight." With a little beep, the captain signed off. William looked up from his magazine, and observed his surroundings. He was in an aisle seat, next to a surprisingly young man, who looked vaguely familiar. As if he were an old colleague… "No," he muttered to himself. "Nobody knew about that." But when the man next to him laughed, he sat up, scared. He knew that laugh, and it struck fear deep into his heart. The laugh was one of pure evil, the same one he had encountered a little over six months ago in that place he never wanted to her again. He began to panic, knowing very well that the man next to him could kill him at any moment. But the detail he was most forgetting, the most important, was what this man meant. For wherever he was, she was sure to follow. But he did his best to keep calm and not panic.

An attractive young stewardess with surprisingly beautiful black hair came over to him. Even though he knew that it was a stewardesses job to keep the passengers happy, he couldn't help but think that this one's smile was extra-large. "Would you like anything to drink, sir?"

"Yes," he said. "A sprite would be just fine."

"Yes, sir," she said, pulling a glass out from under the cart, and pouring his drink. He thanked her as he put the drink down on the tray in front of him, and then she continued on. If he had paid more attention, he might have noticed that she didn't serve any other customers. Or stay on the plane for very long, but rather got off through the baggage loading area. The neglected fact is that at that time, another climbed aboard, dressed in all black. The baggage carriers were dead, and if the man didn't recognize the most dangerous woman in all of Russia at that time, she would be too. He pulled out his sniper rifle and watched William, carefully getting him into the crosshairs…

Tired, William took his first sip into the glass. It felt cool running down his parched throat, and he drank the full eight ounces in one gulp. It wasn't until after it had cleared his throat that it started to burn. He gagged, and coughed out a little, plastic star. He flipped it over, and there, written in pen, was a number nine.

"Damn you!" he said, and collapsed on his tray.

Alexander Khasinou stood up from next to him, checked his pulse, and left the plane too