PART FOUR: Faults and Flaws

Vaughn's Point of View

"Yeah, I can hear you."

I wince as static fills the transmission, building up to a feedback signal so high-pitched Im forced to rip the earpiece out. "Ouch, ouch, ouch."

"Okay?" Sydney looks at me from across the hotel room, wide-eyed. Dressed in a long dress of blue silk, patterned with gold Japanese designs and the collar high at the neck in a stylised Japanese way, she is half-hidden by shadows.

"What's wrong with these stupid mikes?" Prying the thing off my ear and examining it for damage.

"I don't know. Maybe they're picking up stray radio signals."

"Im not going in with faulty equipment."

Testily, she replies "We've already lost Fochette twice. Im not doing it again."

"Fine. I'll have to keep the volume down low, or someone will hear it. We'll have to be careful. This needs to go without a hitch." I can't see anything wrong with it. It's a standard-issue piece of equipment, small, lightweight, practically invisible. Maybe it was damaged on the flight over.

"I know." Irritation fills her voice, and I know Im pissing her off. Truth is, Im enjoying it a little - Sydney has a lot of sides to her, and each side shows at different times. And because an angry Sydney tends to make me feel less like Im about to walk into something unprepared.

I gingerly slip the earpiece back into my ear. "Are you ready?"

"Are you?" She shoots back, challenging.

Tucking my shirt in a pulling on my jacket, I nod. She checks her reflection in the mirror one last time and sashays out into the hallway. Yes, sashays - the only real option with a dress cut like that. A beautiful dress - and Sydney can make a plastic raincoat look sexy - but no match for the black one. Not even in the same league. Though with her hair caught up like that, and the dark eyeliner accentuating her eyes, she still looks incredibly ...

Cutting my own wandering thoughts off before they can stray any further, I motion for her to leave and lock the hotel door behind me. We head for the elevator. I'd contacted Dixon and he'd given us the operating procedure. Fochette is being careful - he's changed the meeting point and time five times today. However, we were able to secure rooms in the hotel which is opposite the place where Fochette is scheduled to meet with his Covenant contact, tonight at nine o'clock. There's a launch party being held at the conference centre across the road, a marketing thing for a new software product. Lots of international clients so that Fochette won't stand out in the crowd - and neither will whoever he's meeting.

Which makes our job all that much harder.

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"Is your earpiece working?" Sydney murmurs as we enter the conference centre. There's a security guard at the door, but he lets us through without asking any questions. Once inside, it's clear why Fochette picked this place. A lot of people, bustle, confusion. The indistinct yet noisy sound of a lot of people speaking a lot of different languages in the one area.

"It'll do."

It's a large room, wide, open, with a high ceiling. An indoor fountain, some weird postmodern monstrosity, trickles water over curved slabs of stone in the centre of the room. Waiters move past with tall, slender glasses of champaign, as well as cups of tea. I take neither. Sydney takes tea.

Scanning the crowd for Fochette is going to be a hell of a lot harder than we thought, I realise. There's only two of us. "We should probably split up."

Sydney nods, cursorily, then without another word vanishes into the crowd.

I head the opposite way, weaving towards the north side of the room. Making it look as if Im merely looking for the bathroom, I smile at a few people and wonder who's responsible for the decor in this place - I move behind a screen of some horribly large potted plants with huge glossy leaves that look like they're carnivorous.

"Any sign of him?" I say into the air.

"No." Sydney replies, distractedly. Whistles and crackling sounds distort her voice oddly.

I turn and move back through the crowd, cutting across towards the fountain. Most people seem to be gathered there in the centre. I catch a glimpse of midnight blue silk and find myself following Sydney with my eyes as she moves opposite me, beyond a screen of strangers, smiling politely but looking pale and wan.

I don't really have any way of gauging how much worse I've made things between us, or whether anything has improved. I no longer know how to make sense of this situation - and I certainly don't know what to do about it. Im willing to admit that Im well and truly lost. Maybe there's nothing that can be done about it. One of those things that should just be let go of. And I know that I can't do that, either.

I think that when we get back to the hotel Im going to call Weiss. Screw the time difference. I need to talk to someone, and though my friend will only just remind me that men don't talk about this stuff over the phone, let alone at four in the morning or whatever the hell time it is in Los Angeles, they go out for cheap beer and play a few rounds of pool, at least his jokes will make it seem like it's not so bad. For a while.

I tear my gaze away from Sydney, and my eyes flicker to a single face - a familiar face. It's Fochette.

"Syd, I've got him. By the fountain. He's talking to someone -" I surreptitiously move closer. "I don't recognise him." Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, fairly young. Business suit and tie. "It might be his contact. If they move out of this room we get them both into custody. Don't move otherwise, we can't afford to scare them off."

"I know the mission, Vaughn." she hisses, and I wince at the electronic shriek that follows her voice.

I take a glass of champagne, giving me an excuse to take a seat on one of the lounges nearby. I keep an eye on Fochette. There's no way he's going anywhere while I have any say in the matter.

"Im behind him." Sydney says.

I take a sip of champagne.

"So," she goes on. "How you doin'?"

I lower my head to hide my grin, even though there's this horrible lump in my throat, the type that appears right before you're about to start choking out tears. "Oh, you know." I say in a constricted voice. "I was thinking about buying a new car."

"Really?"

"Nah. I just want the free champagne they give you when you go to the right dealer. It's a helluva lot better than this rubbish."

"You should try the tea. It's good for your heart."

"My heart? No, unless it contains a miracle cure for headaches, Im not interested. My earpiece is still acting up and it hurts." And my headache just got worse. Fochette and the young businessman stand up. They shake hands, then separate.

"Syd, you got the second man?"

"Im on him. Stick to Fochette. We'll see if they meet up." Oddly convoluted whistles die in a crescendo.

Oh, yeah, this is fun. I used to pretend I was a spy when I was little. I think every kid does. I'd seen the movies, I had a plastic toy gun, and I'd sneak around the house. Strange how it was never like that in real life. There was the surge of adrenaline, the excitement, yeah, it can be thrilling. But it's never been fun. Well, it's come close. With Sydney when we broke into the Vatican that time. It was fun at the time. But this, now, this isn't fun at all.

I shadow the man through the crowd. He's getting good at this. He moves frequently, talks briefly to a few people, and constantly scans the crowd. I keep a good distance, let him move. Sure enough, he heads for the hallway that leads out of the room. There are security guards posted there, and it'll be interesting to see how he gets past them.

"Our man has just gone through the security guards. He had a badge that let him through. Im going after him."

"Keep yourself concealed." I say, and Fochette heads the same way. There's a roped off area up ahead. The security guards move to stop him, but he shows some sort of identification and they let him pass. I step up to the guards. One man looks me up and down, and he's wearing some ridiculously professional-looking uniform. Behind him, a woman turns around briefly to face me. Wearing the same uniform, but I can see instantly that she isn't Japanese: small wisps of blond hair trail from under her cap. She's short. Young. And I know that face -

"Sydney," I turn my head aside so that I can speak into the mike without it looking too suspicious. "Sydney, Fochette's girlfriend is here. The young blond woman - she's in a security guards uniform. I don't know ... this might be a trap. Sydney?"

An odd sounding low buzzing noise is all that filters through.

"Sydney?" The blond woman looks nothing like she did the other night at the restaurant, yet I recognise her instantly as the woman who had been leaning on Fochette's arm. She slips away from the barricade, walking unnoticed down the corridor away from me, after the man that Sydney is trailing. "Sydney, respond."

Oh boy, this isn't good. Jogging up to the barricade, I hope the man speaks English. "Im with the CIA. I need to apprehend two men who just walked bast this barrier."

"They had passes." The guard replies. "So I let them through, and a woman in a blue dress. Have I done something wrong?"

"No, no. You're fine. I need to get through - excuse me ..."

The man looks slightly frightened, but his partner nods and lets me through. I've lost time, and lost sight of Fochette around a corner in the hallway. I break into a jog after him.

The corridor ahead of me is empty. Shit, shit, shit. "Sydney, take your suspect into custody now. Get out of there. Can you hear me?"

There's no reply.

"Sydney?"

Passing a door, I open it and check within - a cleaners closet. I cross the hallway to the opposing door - it's locked. "Sydney, if you can hear me, respond."

The next door is open, the lights on. A small entranceway leads to a smaller breifing room, a conference table in the centre. I can't see much else at present, given the angle that Im on - but the sound of someone talking, low and hurriedly, reaches me. To be on the safe side, I draw my gun and hold it loosely in my hand. Keeping close to the wall, I inch up so that I can see around the corner and get a view of the room beyond. Slowly peek around the corner.

Fochette stands there, looking dishevelled, almost flustered. He's back against the wall, hands flat against it, looking wildly around the room. "Alana," he croaks. "What are you doing?"

My gaze sweeps across to the blond woman standing near the window. A gun in her hands, trained on Fochette, unwavering. Whoever she is, she's done this before.

"Put the gun ..." Fochette goes on.

"On your knees!" Alana barks, motioning with the gun. "Now! Where's your contact? I saw you leave the hall with him."

"I don't know where he is!" Fochette wails. "He was supposed to meet me here out here."

She sighs impatiently. "Damn it. This is all going to hell."

And she pulls the trigger.

I try not to flinch, but as Fochette's blood splatters the wall crimson and the body slides lifeless to the floor, I feel the shot as if it hit my own body. I pull back instinctively, flattening myself to the wall. I can hear Alana moving, crossing to where Fochette has fallen. She's talking - she's got a cell phone.

"I've got the disk," she says. "No. No. It's not my fault. He didn't show, and someone interfered - a woman. I don't know who she's with."

My veins suddenly feel like they're pumping liquid nitrogen rather than blood, and the temperature in the room plummets to freezing. Could she have discovered Sydney? She'd just shot Fochette. Was ... could ... no, Sydney cannot be ...

"Yes, of course I'll take the necessary precautions. Don't lecture me about my job. I know. I'll find out. I've got the disk on me. I'll be at the safehouse, but Im not going anywhere until I figure out who these people are and who put them onto me. Don't want to take any chances, am I right?"

Bringing my gun up, I inch back around the corner and scan the room. The blond woman is crouched over the body of Fochette, holding a small black disk in one hand and a cell phone in the other. Her gun rests on the floor beside her.

"I told you - yes, yes. No. I don't have time to look for him. He must have gotten wind of what was going down and done a runner. We'll pick up his trail later - I have to take care of this little matter first. The woman has a partner, and he'll be around here somewhere. I'll be in touch."

She stuffs the phone into her pocket and picks up the gun. I follow her with my eyes as she steps over the still warm corpse and heads towards the back of the room. There's a shape lying there, in the shadows.

I peer intently, trying to make it out, straining my eyes. I don't hear the creak of the door behind me as I should have. There's nothing to warn me until something hard and heavy hits me in the back of the head, slamming me sideways into the wall. And as I lose the short struggle for consciousness, I can still see it in my mind - Sydney's crumpled form, lying prone on the floor, Alana standing over her with a gun in her hand.

And then the shooting starts.

Oh no! Poor Sydney and Vaughn ...

More soonish.