"How in the heck did they spot us?" demanded a very perplexed Weiss. Already three

police cars were following them.

Eric sped up in an attempt to lose the three tails. Unfortunately, two more cars joined the

procession. Six streets and two alleys later, Weiss made a decision.

"We can't outrun them in this. We're going to have to split up."

Nadia nodded in agreement. "Sydney, Eric and I will head west, you take Sark and go east.

Keep the painting with you. We'll meet at the extraction point in six hours." She quickly

repeated the plan over her com. Dixon and the others agreed to keep a surveillance on the

Louvre in hopes of espying Espinosa.

With a last turn of the wheel, Weiss pulled onto a broad street and slammed on the brakes.

The van squealed to a grinding halt. The four people flew out of the van and slipped away

into the darkness of the starless night.

Sydney stopped running in order to catch her breath. Sark was but a moment behind. He

slowed and followed her lead. They both were breathing hard and sweating profusely.

"I think," Sydney gasped, "we've lost them."

They both collapsed against the side of a building. Sark leaned his head back and half-

closed his eyes.

"After fifteen miles of running, I would hope so."

Silence prevailed and the only thing to be heard was their ragged breathing.

After a few minutes, Sydney stood up and said, "There's a safe house a few miles from

here. We'll take cover there until it's time to meet at the extraction point."

Sark nodded and stood up, but before he could move any further, a figure pinned him to the

wall while another figure tackled Sydney. Faster than lightning, they both had their

attackers on the ground moaning, when another wave struck. This time there were three

thugs for them each. As valiantly as they fought, sheer numbers overcame their efforts.

Both were held in place.

"It seems you have something of mine, Sydney," came a woman's voice from the shadows.

Sydney knew that voice. Anna Espinosa. No sooner had the thought come to her mind,

when the woman herself stepped into the faint morning light.

"I would be most pleased if you would hand over the painting, now."

"I would, but I just can't. Neither my arms nor my hands seem to be functional right now."

If looks could kill, Anna would have been frozen solid.

Espinosa chillingly smiled back. "I guess I'll just have to take it."

She moved closer, but just before capturing the Mona Lisa from Sydney's person, Anna

noticed Sark. Her fingers outstretched in mid-air, she stopped to examine the lean curly-

headed blonde.

"Sark?" The imposing woman moved toward him.

He nodded in greeting. "Anna."

"You two know each other?" Sydney asked incredulously.

Anna gave her a critical once over. "This your new girlfriend, Sark? I would have thought

you had better taste." Her hand moved as if to caress his face, but ceased halfway.

"I supposed it doesn't matter anyway." She walked over and plucked the protective case

from under Sydney's arm. "I have what I want." Pointing to two of her hired help, she said,

"You. Kill them." With that, Anna Espinosa was gone.

The thugs forced them both to kneel and put pistols to the back of their heads. Sydney

looked at Sark, down to her knees, then back up. His eyes flickered with understanding.

"Say goodbye," one of the thugs growled.

With lightning reflexes, the two spies moved in unison, swinging their legs around and

knocking the two men to the ground. Grabbing the dropped guns, Sydney and Sark took off

running down the alley.

Rounding the corner, they ran headlong into a third man, who appeared to be guarding the

alley entrance. Sydney attempted to kick the gun from his hand, but he blocked it with his

arm. The thug didn't even take the time to aim after that, he simply pulled the trigger.

Time slowed to a crawl for the spy duo. The man's index finger began to bend slowly,

ready to finish the deadly task. As the younger Bristow struggled to remove herself from

death's path, Sark jumped in front of her and emptied the chamber of his gun into the

shooter. The dying man staggered backwards, shooting bullets wildy at random. Unluckily,

a rogue bullet found it's mark and pierced Sark's flesh. The momentum of the projectile

pushed him backwards into Sydney and they both fell to the cement floor. A rivulet of

blood ran down the length of his arm and began to fall in small droplets from the tips of his

fingers.