A/N: Brief definitions – raven and swallow – agents (male and female, respectively) employed to seduce people for intelligence.  I've used the terms imprecisely in the fic, but the general direction is clear.

Chapter 2

"You?"  Sydney became aware that her mouth was still open and quickly closed it, but continued to look at her father curiously.  It was highly unusual for him to take a field assignment.  "What's your cover?"

"Professor of Biogenetics.  Dr. Frederick Bartholomew."  A headshot appeared on the screen.  "Dr. Bartholomew was planning to attend a conference in Prague; I'll be attending in his place.  While the good doctor has a worldwide reputation, he does not have a worldwide acquaintance.  He is shy and reclusive; the majority of his communications to date have been published papers.  With a little bit of luck, I'll avoid anyone that knows him personally."

"Jack, Vaughn's got the right build.  Wouldn't it be better to send him?" piped up Weiss. 

"Bartholomew's in his mid-50's."

Weiss shrugged.  "Makeup."

Jack's eyes flickered briefly.  "For this particular mission, I'm afraid facial makeup will be insufficient.  The field agent will need to have the body of someone in his mid-50's."

Sydney's brow wrinkled in confusion, but any hope that Jack had had that the heart of the mission would elude her was eliminated when Marshall elbowed Sydney in the side and leant over, saying in a stage whisper, "Raven."

"What?" she spluttered.

What? Richards spluttered.  A *raven* mission?  But surely he was too old to…was that what Devlin had been talking about?

"Now that I have everyone's undivided attention," said Jack acidly.  "Perhaps I could continue?  Without interruption?"  And indeed, thought Jack looking around the room, he had never received such avid attention from all participants.

He pressed yet another button, and a woman's picture filled the screen.  "Countess Margit Schoenfeld, widow of the late Count Schoenfeld, and owner of the villa."  Long blond hair cascaded in waves around a face that would not have shamed a Vogue model.  And could not be older than 35.

"That's your *target*?" asked Weiss in awe. 

"And I am hers."

"No offense, Jack, but I think you got the better end of the deal."

Jack gave Weiss a withering look.  "The Countess has developed an unusual hobby on behalf of the Covenant.  With her former husband's wealth, she anonymously sponsors scientific conferences in Prague, primarily in the genetics area.  She then targets the most prominent of those scientists attending and extracts classified information of use to the Covenant."

"Extracts?" asked Sydney, her mouth dry.

"She's a swallow, Sydney," said Jack softly.  "The extraction takes place back at her villa."  He held up his hand to forestall the question he saw forming as understanding washed over Sydney's features.  "Later," he said firmly.

Sydney looked troubled, but said nothing.

"I will attend the conference.  We project that the Countess will initiate contact, with the objective of obtaining information regarding management of viruses on a large scale, an area in which Bartholomew is an expert.  I will…cooperate.  Once inside the villa, I will access the safe and make a copy of the virus, then escape.  Questions?"  The room was silent. 

Dixon cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Jack.  Marshall, you have some OpTech for this mission?"

"Uh, yes, yes I do."  Marshall stood up and picked up the glasses.  "These glasses look like ordinary glasses, right?"  He put them on.   "Well, maybe not the height of fashion, but then it's unlikely that Dr. Bartholomew would need the height of fashion, right?  But they look good on me, don't they?"  He beamed as he looked around the room, inviting people to comment.

Richards rolled his eyes.  "Flinkman displayed the proposed OpTech equipment for the team."

Sydney patted Marshall on the arm.  "They look great, Marshall."

"Marshall?" prompted Dixon.

"Oh.  Oh yeah.  The glasses contain a hidden camera and microphone so that anything the wearer hears or sees will be visible to the support team at Base.  Once the safe is opened, Agent Bristow just needs to page through the information.  We'll pick it up off the video transmission."  Marshall beamed at his audience and removed the glasses.  "Plus the arms of the glasses contain tiny speakers that, when placed against the bone behind the ear, will conduct sound to the wearer, allowing the team to communicate back.  Because," he paused, suddenly unnerved, "b-because an e-earpiece might be n-noticeable.  U-up close."  He placed the glasses in front of Jack and sat down quickly, not meeting his eyes.

"Thank you, Marshall," said Dixon grimly.  "Jack, your plane leaves in 12 hours.  You have a great deal of material to absorb; I recommend you get started right away.  Vaughn and Weiss, you'll be on comms at the support base.  We'll have a local team standing by in the event Jack needs backup.  Sydney, I need you to work on analyzing some new intelligence we've received on Covenant activity in Asia.  That is all.  Dismissed."

Richards watched the meeting breakup, and prepared to switch to the feed from the glasses.  He paused as Sydney approached Dixon.

"Dixon, I'm not working on this mission at all?" asked Sydney.

"No.  The Asian analysis is a priority."

"But - ,"

"No buts, Sydney.  I'm expecting a report on my desk in 36 hours."

**

Jack knocked at the door to Dixon's office.  "A word, Marcus."

Dixon waved him in warily.  "Come in, Jack.  Thank you for taking the assignment."

"I'm not doing it for you, as you well know," said Jack pointedly, taking a seat.

"I know."  Dixon gave him an appraising look.  "We both know that Sydney is the only operative we have that would have been capable enough to attempt the hostile entrance."

"Yes."

Richards blinked.  He had taken the assignment to protect his daughter?  Had Devlin known he would do that after reviewing the mission? 

"What would you have done in my position?"

Jack's eyes were hard.  "The same thing," he said flatly.  "It doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No."

Both men sat in silence for a moment.  "I came," sighed Jack, "to thank you for not assigning Sydney to the support team."

"I wouldn't want to traumatize her," said Dixon gravely.  "There are some illusions that a child should never have to part with."

"Storks?"

"Precisely," responded Dixon, with a ghost of a smile.  "Good luck, Jack."

**

"You should have more than enough time," observed Vaughn confidently.  Vaughn, Weiss, and Jack sat together, surrounded by maps, conference agendas, photos of the key players, and a detailed background file on Bartholomew.  Vaughn and Weiss were attempting to pick holes in the operational plan, a standard pre-mission check prescribed by the CIA.  Jack was attempting to keep his temper.  "The conference lasts 5 days."

"And four nights," pointed out Weiss.  He let out a yelp as Vaughn's foot connected with his shin under the table.  "What?  All the critical undercover work will happen at night." 

Richards groaned.  Idiot.  He backspaced to erase Weiss' comment.

Vaughn and Jack stared at him in silence.  Weiss looked momentarily baffled, then reddened.  "Sorry."

"Despite his lamentable phrasing, Agent Weiss is correct.  Unless you wish to learn more about biogenetics than you ever cared to, I recommend the two of you concentrate your staffing on the evening hours."

"And the backup team?" asked Vaughn.

"Have them on a 6pm to 6am shift.  Not that they'll be able to do much once I'm inside."

"Will you be armed?"  

Jack shook his head.  "Inconsistent with the cover.  And," he added reluctantly, "no place to conceal."

"What do you mean, no -," A second swift kick under the table halted Weiss' question.

"You might as well stop, Vaughn.  Kicking won't make him any smarter."  Jack turned to Weiss.  "It may come as news to you, Agent Weiss, but one typically does not have all his clothes on following a seduction."

"I knew that!" Weiss protested.  "But surely you won't really be -," he paused, taking in Vaughn's pained expression.

"Agent Vaughn?  Perhaps you could step your colleague through this?  One syllable words might be best."

Vaughn shifted uncomfortably.  "Exit strategy, Weiss.  There's only one way out – the way he comes in.  He'll need to," he looked over at Jack, who nodded, "wake up in the Countess' bed the next morning.  She'll escort him out."

"You're not doing a grab and run?  But I just assumed you'd be waiting until the two of you were alone and knocking her out.  That means…,"

"Yes," agreed Jack, face impassive.  "It's the full monty."