Chapter 2: Belie
Part B

Copenhagen

"The office building is basically straight forward," Vaughn had explained earlier that morning. "Twenty-seven floors, the law offices are on the 17th. There's access from the elevator and the set of stairs across from the elevator shaft, as well as a loading elevator across the floor, on the eastern side."

It sounded straight forward when on paper, Sydney mused, standing in the main stairwell. The camera took another sweep of the area, then stopped, mid-motion as a voice buzzed in her ear: "All clear."

What would a mission be without those guardians sitting out in the van, their fingers clicking endlessly on keys, safeguarding her life from afar with technology and misdirection? She smiled up at the camera, knowing Vaughn would see her. He did. His soft laughter reached her even as she opened the door to the 17th floor.

"Once on the 17th floor, you'll have to find your way to Jenson's office, which is in the back of the larger office. That's where it gets harder," he'd continued. That morning, the sun highlighted his almost auburn hair. "No doubt everyone knows everyone else in the office, which means you're going to have to get in and out fast without many questions asked."

Sydney brushed imaginary wrinkles out of the skirt of her sharp designer suit and checked her hair in the doors to the elevator. Perfect, as always. Head held up high, she pushed open one of the glass doors to the law offices and approached the front desk. There was a young, pretty woman sitting behind the tall, curved desk showing off the newest of European design, a headset on as she fielded and filtered incoming calls. As Sydney approached, she looked up and smiled cordially.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you?" she asked promptly. Sydney held the briefcase at her side tightly, hoping everything would work out fine, as always.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Jenson."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Jenson is not here at the moment. Are you sure you have an appointment?"

It was time for Sydney to take her acting up a notch, and she brought a hand up to the side of her face, which showed an expression close to surprise. She looked up to the clock in the corner, noting the time. Sark was sure to show up soon, unless he'd already acted. But this was the only time window!

"I must have set my watch wrong!" she exclaimed in English. "You know how it is, when you get off an airplane, sometimes you just set the new time an hour off or so!" The woman smiled, a large, fake smile. She'd heard all this before, from countless professionals. How could they be so successful and make these kinds of mistakes?

"It's alright, ma'am," she responded in accented English, her eyes drifting down to the phone on her desk. Lights were blinking madly, reminding her of her other receptionist responsibilities. Sydney rubbed her forehead, keeping up with the charade.

"Do you think it would be possible for me to use the washroom?" she asked suddenly. The receptionist nodded distractedly, pointing at some place behind her as she clicked to answer an incoming call. Her greeting was lost on Sydney as she headed towards the washroom.

"Jenson's office is in the rear - he's a partner, so it shouldn't be hard to find it," Vaughn's words came back to her now. "They're rather larger and somewhat obtrusive."

"You sound like you've seen one up close," she'd retorted.

"Summer internship. Hated it."

A smile spread across her face as she remembered their breakfast and its accompanying banter. It always came like that, the information about Vaughn and his past, in short blurbs here and there sprinkled throughout their mission/counter-mission discussions. A summer internship in a law office meant he must have been in law school, or at least pre-law. And had disliked it, which surprised her, since he always seemed to go by the book and follow the rules. So what did he major in? She made a mental note to ask him about that when she returned.

The office was somewhat lighter than she would have surmised, concluding most were in court or deliberations behind heavy conference room doors. Her eyes scanned the nameplates, noting her location as she passed the bathrooms, searching for Jenson's office. She found it halfway down the back hallway, away from the noise and congestion of the main office space. White walls greeted her as she looked back and forth before opening the door to the office. Once inside, she clicked it closed.

"Now, you'll be carrying this briefcase, but it's a special one for a special lady," Marshall explained. "Have you ever seen that movie the Thomas Crowne Affair? It's a great movie, well, smart and full of - "

"Marshall."

"Right. Anyway, you take the painting off the wall, like this," and he'd mimed taking the painting off the wall. "And put it in the briefcase. The painting will be fine, but you'll, umm, snap the frame" The rest of his speech slipped her mind as she heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled and the shift of someone moving.

"Ahh, Miss Bristow, a little late, but that's fine." Sark was sitting on Jenson's black leather couch to her left, his gun raised and pointed at her. Her earpiece crackled to life.

"Be careful, Syd," Vaughn's voice came through clear. Leave it to him to say something like that instead of advice on how to get out of this situation (as Dixon most certainly would have). But what else could he say? They knew from the moment they got on the plane late last night he would be here - and had included it in their plan from the beginning. As she'd walked down the hallway, she'd taken the transmitter Marshall had given her during op tech from its case and put it on her finger. A simple touch and it would be on him. Sark must have noticed her gaze shift and smirked.

"Is that Agent Vaughn? I'm sure he's sitting outside in a van somewhere while you're up here," Sark commented, standing. The gun never wavered from its aim on her, even as he walked towards her. "'Take out your earpiece."

"What?"

"Take it out, Agent Bristow," he repeated. She hesitated yet obliged, holding it out to him in the palm of her hand. He took it and dropped it to the ground before smashing it. She could just imagine Vaughn sitting out there, throwing the headphones down on the desk before him, ears ringing from the momentary burst of sound. Of course, he'd start worrying then, his eyes glued to the monitors before him, scanning for any sign of her safe exit.

"Now we can talk freely," he smiled at her.

"I don't talk very freely when there's a gun pointed at my head," Sydney quipped.

"Understandable, Agent Bristow, but you must understand my position. If I lower my gun, what's to keep you from attacking me?"

She considered this for a moment. "Why did you want to see me?" she asked.

"It's been awhile, don't you think?" he retorted. She snorted, eyeing the painting just over his shoulder, above the couch. He followed her gaze.

You haven't taken the painting yet," she observed, trying to piece this all together in her mind. He laughed at her, and relaxed his gun-holding hand just a bit, enough to show his amusement with the situation. Sydney knew he had control of it all, and had grabbed control as soon as those pictures from his hotel had ended up in Kendall's hands. But why? There were other, easier ways of getting her attention, or meeting up with her. So why now, with this painting, in this office? What had they missed?

"Are you so sure about that? Who says I didn't already switch it with a fake?" he raised.

Sydney swept the room with her eyes, taking in the hugely overpriced European furniture, the lack of personality yet bragging that went on inside here, showing those who entered how successful he was. There was nowhere for Sark to hide the real painting, and she didn't see a single fleck of dust out of place. He hadn't switched them, not yet. He was waiting for her. Her previous conclusion ran through her head, but Vaughn's simple statement came back to haunt her. There was no room for error, and they couldn't afford to loose it even if it were a fake.

It certainly was ugly.

Sark tucked his gun away and stood casually across from her. "I didn't, not yet. And, judging by how long Mr. Jenson's cases usually go, I'd say we have about 20 minutes before he returns."

"What do you want?" Sydney grumbled, crossing her arms. She moved a finger on her right hand, her eyes on Sark to see if he noticed. He didn't, and she inched closer and closer to her gun concealed on her left hip.

"Your mother was curious as to how you're doing, a motherly concern I don't much approve of. Yet here I am, checking up on you for her," he stated, rolling his bright blue eyes as he concluded his mini-explanation. Sydney raised her eyebrows, almost laughing. Her mother had sent him to check up on her in the middle of a mission? Was she trying to get her only daughter killed? Probably, Sydney thought, her fingers finally encircling the handle to her gun. She moved a bit for a tighter grip, then waited. Timing was everything in this game.

"You can tell her I'm fine," she said simply, angry.

"She also asked me to remind you that you will see what she is truly up to in time," he continued despite her response. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a painting to steal."

Sydney chose that movement to uncross her arms, her gun securely in her right hand. She held it out, pointing it at him. He paused mid-movement, cursing his own stupidity in his mind. She had the upper hand now, and she wasn't about to give it back to him. They stood in a standoff until the phone rang on the desk. Taking advantage of the silence being broken, Sark kicked up, his leg rounding in an arch to knock the gun from her hands. It clattered to the floor after bouncing off the front side of the desk. He came up to punch, but was blocked as she kicked out and hit him in the knee. As she blocked, the transmitter moved on to the back of his hand, adhering to it as it was supposed to. He went down, giving her a window to grab the gun, but he pulled her leg and she ended up diving for it, somersaulting to grab the gun. She ended up leaning against the desk, holding her gun with both hands pointed at Sark, who was down on one knee. The phone rang again, then clicked into voicemail.

"Don't make me shoot you," she breathed. He smirked.

"Your mother wouldn't be very happy with you if you did that."

"Like I care," she said, standing by using the desk to help her up. Why did she always end up fighting in high heels? With the gun still pointed at him, she crossed to the couch and grabbed the painting with one hand. Sark found his footing and stood, but didn't move.

The phone rang again. This time, it clicked onto speaker.

"Are you there yet? If you aren't, grab the background information as well, we might need it in here," the person said promptly. Sydney and Sark looked to each other, knowing their timetable had just shortened considerably. It was as if they came to some kind of silent agreement, knowing the first priority was to get the painting out of there before they both were found. He moved and grabbed her discarded briefcase and threw it over to her. She caught it and promptly opened it, wincing slightly as she closed the painting inside, the wooden frame splintering inside. She looked up at the wall quickly, noticing how the paint wasn't even discolored, the painting was truly a new acquisition. But there was something on the wall behind where it had been, something small and -

"There's no time! We have to get out of here!" Sark cried, beckoning her to get out of there. She whirled around and straightened her suit before leaving the office, a smile on her face as Sark walked slightly in front of her. A few people gave them a second glance, but not enough for them to say something. As she passed the receptionist, she muttered a thank you, and made a note to her that she would come back later, when the real appointment was to take place.

Then she was out the door.

Sark stood in front of her expectantly, the elevator's down call button glowing. She stood across from him, wondering how she was going to get out of the building with the painting still in her possession.

"You're going to give me that painting, Agent Bristow," he commented nonchalantly, the elevator ringing, announcing its arrival. They stood across from each other once again as the doors opened and -

"Hi there."

It was Vaughn, standing in the elevator with his gun drawn and pointed at Sark. He glanced over at Sydney, motioning for her to join him. This was one of the times she was reminded that he had, at one time, been in the field and not stuck behind that desk in his moderately sized office. Of course, most action heroes didn't arrive in disheveled outfits from the day before, the wrinkles large and apparent.

Sydney joined him in the elevator; standing at his side as the doors slid close, Sark's surprised expression was the last thing she saw before they were alone. She let out a breath she'd been holding in, her posture slouching as she relaxed. Vaughn looked over to her as he slid his gun back into its holster. She couldn't read his expression, but she had no time to dwell on that as he jumped up to open the escape hatch on the elevator's ceiling.

"He's running down the stairs as we speak, Syd. We've got to get behind him," he said, holding out his hands to give her a boost. She nodded, pushing emotion from her mind as she jumped up through it. Once atop, he jumped up and grabbed the edges, managing to pull himself up next to her. The door was slammed close just as the elevator came to a stop on a lower floor. They took advantage of the long stop to manually open the doors to the floor above it and hop through before the elevator started descending again. Thankfully, that floor's lobby was deserted.

They stood there, Sydney with her hand on Vaughn's arm, breathing heavily. He turned to her and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Don't do that again," he told her. She frowned and he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't know what was happening. Don't do that again."