He slumped to the floor. Hurriedly she grabbed a handful of unidentifiable grime and ran it
through his curly locks and over his face. Taking out her knife, she used the toothed edge
to cut ragged holes in his prison coveralls. More dirt followed soon after. Without
warning, Sark's body involuntarily shivered. Los Angeles nights were chilly during the
month of December. Sydney could feel his warm skin through his shirt as she dragged him
across the alley and laid him against a dumpster. She covered him with all the trash and
garbage she could find. Her foot accidentally kicked a hidden stack of mostly empty beer
bottles over with a loud CRASH! Crap. Being the queen of improvisation, Sydney grabbed
an unbroken bottle with some liquid still in it and doused Sark with the remaining
contents.. Out on the road, a vehicle could be heard racing away while a voice shouted,
"They went this way! Through the alley!" With amazing agility, Sydney scrambled into the
dumpster and shut the lid with not a second to spare.
Men rushed down the alley, pointing their guns this way and that.
"There's somebody over here!" cried one of the younger soldiers. The captain of the guard
rushed over to look.
"It's just a tramp." He leaned down and sniffed. "A drunk tramp at that. Watch this." The
leader delivered a swift kick to the small of Sark's back. A low groan reached the men's
ears as they laughed at his misery.
"Alright, men, keep searching. They can't have gone far. Rigby, take a look in that
dumpster!"
A broad, heavily-muscled man lifted one of the lids just enough to peep in. The smell that
permeated the air made his stomach lurch.
"Sir, I think something died in there!"
The captain wasn't about to sample anything that smelled of rotting flesh, not even oxygen.
He took a few steps farther from the dumpster.
"Probably a dead rat. Continue on."
When the last shuffling of feet could no longer be heard, Sydney peeked out of the large
receptacle. Seeing the coast was clear, she jumped out and bent over,promptly donating
her supper to the rats. Putting a shaky hand to her mouth, the young spy attempted to calm
her raging heaves. A minute later, two shadowy figures, one physically supporting the
other, exited the alleyway.
Breathing heavily into the handset of the pay phone, she considered her choices, came up
with one decision, and dialed the number.
"Bristow."
"Dad, it's me."
"Sydney, where are you?
"I have Sark and we're headed to Baldur's Gate."
"We're on our way. ETA twenty minutes."
Baldur's Gate was the codename for a disco club nearby. Good spies always hid things in
plain site. Now they were going to hide in plain site. Well, at least in public. As Sydney
opened the side door, Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive blasted through her ear drums. How
fitting. Towing the still-sluggish and shackled Sark along, the exhausted woman dropped
them both into chairs in the darkest corner of the flashing room. Strange, the ball was
slowly dropping. Oh yes, it was New Year's eve, wasn't it? A disco New Year's eve party.
There wasn't any place she'd rather be.
People avoided them like the plague. Sydney attributed it to the extreme stench that
seemingly rolled off her. Sark merely reeked of alcohol, though he looked much the worse
for wear. A few minutes later Nadia walked through the doorway. As they carried Sark
outside, Nadia asked her sister, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
The door of the nondescript van opened just as they reached it.
"What is that awful smell? And what in the world did you do to Sark?" asked Weiss.
Sydney leaned back in her seat as she went on to explain the events of the evening..
"Oh, and Marshall, I don't think this wetsuit is completely waterproof."
"It should be. I tested it completely before the mission."
"Ketchup must not be made of water then. At least, I think it's ketchup."
Everyone but Dixon stared at her in horror. She laughed.
"Guys, it's ok," Sydney looked over and grinned at Nadia, "At least we didn't have to crawl
through those sewer pipes."
