-Exposure-

"Hello, Love. It has been far too long. How is my favorite blonde?"

"I'm fine." Lauren replied, a little too harshly.

"For someone as highly trained in espionage as are you, I would have imagined that you could have pulled that off with more aplomb. What's the matter," Sark asked, his tone turning caustic, "marital troubles?" When Lauren failed to respond he continued to jeer, "Don't worry, Love. You may not be able to get the dog in the divorce, but I'm sure you will at least have visitation rights. I know a good lawyer." Even over the phone, it was evident that he was pleased with himself.

Lauren refused to be provoked. "Bristow is getting too close. My mission depends on my husband confiding in me – which he hasn't been doing since she came back."

"Don't let it happen," he offered simply.

"I can't compete with what they have."

"That may be true, but you do have one advantage," he announced with condescending superiority.

"And what is that?" she snapped.

"You are his wife."

Lauren's face reddened with anger as she struggled to maintain control, "While you are doling out the advice, Julian, you might want to save some for yourself. You've been made. They know where you are and they are coming for you."

"When?"

"I don't know exactly, some time tomorrow evening."

"Well, find out exactly," was the clipped response. "These are things I need to know."

""

After a fruitless hour of surveillance and two slices of pizza too many, Vaughn threw his napkin down in frustration.

"Why would she lie to me?" he fumed.

"Maybe something came up?" Weiss offered.

Vaughn shook his head. "Lauren said she had to be here in five minutes," he pointed out. "We left about a minute after she did. We would have seen her."

Weiss thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, "Well, I don't know what to tell you." He gestured at his watch, "But I do know that we have to get back to work."

Vaughn, his jaw clenched tightly, nodded slowly and stood to leave. Far from pacified, he followed Weiss out the door and back to the JTF building. He would have to figure this out later.

""

That evening Vaughn returned home prepared to do battle with his wife. So when he opened the door to the smell of food warming in the oven and found the dining room table basked in the glow of candlelight and adorned with flowers he was understandably surprised.

"Hello, Darling," Lauren cooed as she relieved him of his jacket and briefcase. "I took the liberty of preparing dinner. It should be ready any moment. Why don't you sit down at the table and I'll get us some wine?" She continued to prattle on about their upcoming meal as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Vaughn stared after her in confusion. What the hell had happened? Last night Lauren had stormed out on him, this morning she could not stand to be in the same room with him, and now she's suddenly Holly Housewife? Had he missed a step?

"Here we are," she said in a sing-song voice as she placed the food on the table. "Chicken parmesan and spaghetti, with extra oranges on the salad, just how you like it. Sit." She pulled out his chair and gestured for him to be seated.

Vaughn, for his part, couldn't make heads or tails of this sudden change in disposition. Was she not mad at him anymore? No, he had given her no reason to forgive him, and she had shown no signs of willingness to discuss the issue. And what about lunch? Why had she lied to him? Something definitely was not right.

Deciding to test the bounds of her new Stepford Wife act, he inquired casually, "How was Il Faro?"

She smiled brightly, not missing a beat. "It was lovely. That's actually why I decided on Italian tonight. I just love their marinara sauce, and I ended up talking to the waiter and finagling the recipe. I couldn't wait to try it out."

He struggled to keep the skepticism from showing on his face. Not only was she lying, she was making up unnecessary details.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and gave his wife a brief smile. It was certainly going to be an interesting evening. The question was: who was the cat and who was the mouse?

""

"What time is your flight tomorrow, dear?" she asked absently as they stood together over the sink, drying the dishes from the meal.

"We leave at eight."

"Perfect," she clapped her hands together, "That gives me just enough time to make you breakfast."

She grabbed her purse and was already moving toward the door. "I'm just going to run to the store and pick up some eggs. We ran out yesterday."

"I'll go," Vaughn offered.

"Oh no," she insisted, "You stay here, Michael. I won't be long."

"Don't be silly. You went to all the trouble of cooking dinner. The least I can do is run to the store," he persisted, not sure why either of them was pressing the point.

"No," Lauren said firmly, "I'll do it."

A minute after she left Vaughn slumped heavily onto the couch. Was it his imagination, or was she a little too insistent that she be the one to go? And why was she making him breakfast? She didn't normally do that before trips. Understanding struck like a bolt of lightning. She's cheating on me! That explained everything! Suddenly her overreaction to him spending time with Sydney and lying about where she was going made sense. And the newly adopted saccharine disposition and attempts at being the perfect wife – she was feeling guilty! How had he not realized this before? Michael Vaughn, CIA operative, did not even know that his wife was having an affair!

"Ugh!" he groaned in frustration. "I'm such an idiot!"

On impulse, Vaughn crossed to the kitchen and peered into the garbage under the sink. All that he could see were the remains of the dinner Lauren had prepared that evening. Unwilling to give up his query, he slipped on his shoes and went outside to the trash. Throwing open the lid, he grabbed the bag on top and slit open the side, spilling the contents. Sure enough, he found a carton of eggs that was still half full. Vaughn checked the expiration date. Two weeks from today.

""

"So she had been planning all evening to leave?" Weiss asked.

"To go on some late night rendezvous with a freckled faced produce clerk, I'm sure. She was gone forty minutes. I asked her what took so long and she said she had to 'wait for them to restock.'"

"Oo," Weiss winced. "And not even a good bluff. Kinda makes you feel like a putz for not noticing earlier, huh?"

"I feel so stupid," Vaughn shook his head ruefully as he looked out the plane's small window.

"The signs were all there. It's typical cheating behavior." Weiss spoke with authority.

"Seriously?"

"Yup," he nodded, "I've seen it all before."

Vaughn stared at him for a moment before his eyes got wide, "Really? You've been cheated on? The Eric Weiss has been the unwitting victim of infidelity?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, not personally. But, you know, those girls on TV…" Weiss looked up as the bathroom door opened and Sydney emerged. "Yeah, those, uh… girls on Miss America and stuff. They just seem so… lucky." He trailed off uncertainly, looking to Vaughn for help.

"Lucky? Why is Miss America lucky?" Sydney asked as she slid into the seat across from Weiss.

The two exchanged glances and then Weiss cleared his throat nervously, "Oh, you know... Free swimsuits."

Vaughn stifled a laugh.

Sydney, obviously confused by the snippet of conversation, opened her mouth to question further, but Vaughn beat her to it.

"Well, Eric," Vaughn looked insufferably smug as he explained judiciously, "I just don't think you should let price be an issue. If that's the Speedo you want, then that's the Speedo you should get."

""

Sydney and Vaughn approached the insertion point and ­­­­­­­­­­crouched low, cautiously making their way to the perimeter fence.

Vaughn nodded and Sydney put a hand to her earpiece, "Banana Hammock, this is Mountaineer, do you copy?"

"I refuse to respond to that call sign," Weiss grumbled. "If we're going to change it, we're changing it to Rambo or something. Incredible Hulk, maybe."

Both Vaughn and Sydney smiled as she continued, "We're in position."

Weiss began typing on the laptop as he spoke, "Roger that, Mountaineer. Give me two seconds." He initiated the uplink and prepped Marshall's Midnight. "Alright, we're good to go. Three, two, one."

All around them lights flickered and blacked out. The few lights that remained were extinguished in the seconds that followed.

"Do we have visual?"

"Copy that, Boy Scout. Satellite uplink successful."

"Alright," Sydney said as she started toward the building, "We're moving in." She and Vaughn were fifty yards from the entrance when they heard Weiss yell, "Wait!"

Grabbing Sydney, he shoved her down behind him as he made himself as small as possible against the fence. "What is it, Weiss?" Vaughn whispered into the comm.

"Something's not right. The only people I can see on the screen are the two of you. There's no one in the building."

"What?" Vaughn asked quickly, his eyes still scanning the surrounding area. "I thought there was supposed to be a security team. Not even a dog?"

"No," Weiss answered. "No dogs."

"Well, let's go find out what's going on," Sydney said as she resumed her advance toward the building.

"Wait, Syd," Vaughn pulled her back. "We can't just go in there."

"Maybe they knew we were coming," Weiss offered. "Maybe they cleaned out…" He was interrupted by a loud boom followed by a crackling in his earpiece. Then static.

"Guys?!" Weiss shouted, "Come in! Mountaineer, Boy Scout, do you copy?"

"We're alright, Eric." Vaughn responded as he stood and helped pull Sydney to her feet. She brushed the debris off her clothing as she spoke, "The warehouse… it just exploded."