As per her instructions, Sydney had been trying to get Sark on his own all day unsuccessfully. Kendall had given permission for her to approach Sark to get the location of Sloane's Rambaldi items, even though he didn't believe the intel her mother had given about averting a Rambaldi apocalypse, and Sydney did not intent to waste the chance.

This morning when she came in, for example, she'd tried walking past his office periodically to check if he were free to talk. Unfortunately for her, he'd spent the entire morning in consultation with the head of SD-6 security, so she'd had to try another tactic.

When the lunch hour had rolled around, Sydney had fixed herself at the end of the briefing table closest to the window. Sark's office was just across the hall and her position provided the perfect vantage point for watching the office doorway. He has to come out eventually, she'd reasoned. Even Sark had to eat.

She'd been wrong on that point. Either Sark wasn't human after all and therefore didn't need lunch, or he'd decided to work through the allotted lunch hour. It would be just like him to annoy me without meaning to, she fumed as she gathered her stuff when Sloane had kicked her out of the room to run a briefing.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in her cubicle, tapping her pen against a stack of papers in an angry rhythm. Eventually Dixon had asked her what was wrong and she'd had to invent some story about a plumber overcharging her to fix her leaking taps. Dixon had passed on the number for his plumber and asked her to stop tapping.

Having given up on making contact with Sark that day, Sydney had almost taken a different route out of the building when she was on her way out. However, when she'd passed Sark's office door, she halted, colliding with Marshall.

"Hello, Agent Bristow," he'd said.

"Hey, Marshall," she'd replied.

"If you're looking for Mr. Sark, I heard him telling Sloane that he was going for a quick coffee at the place across the road."

She could have kissed Marshall- he'd given exactly the opportunity she'd needed. And even better, she and Sark could have their discussion outside of SD-6. She thanked Marshall and headed out quickly.

She had watched him from around the doorway for a while before venturing in. He gave every impression of having settled in for longer than a quick coffee.

Bastard, she thought. Doesn't he know what work hours are?

She ordered a cup of tea and walked over to Sark as if they'd arranged to meet. She slid into the chair facing his and met his eye.

"Sydney," he said in greeting. He folded the newspaper he'd been reading and sat back in his chair, regarding her evenly. His expression was completely impassive.

"I need some information from you," she said by way of greeting.

Sark's left eyebrow slid slowly up his forehead; the only sign he'd heard her.

"I need some intel," she repeated impatiently.

Sark leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. Sydney forced herself to ignore how blue his eyes were or how adorable he looked when he was being arrogant.

"Okay," Sark said, motioning her forward until they were cheek to cheek. "Graffiti is actually a plural noun," he whispered, "graffito is the singular."

Sydney sat back fast, shooting him a filthy glare.

Sark only grinned is response.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she said angrily.

"Then you wanted to know something else?" he asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

"Yes!" she hissed.

"What about this, then. Napoleon's horse was called Marengo."

Sydney exhaled deeply in response, not trusting herself not to strangle him if she moved.

"Or this," Sark said, grinning naughtily. "An Olympic swimming pool has a length of 50 metres and a width of 25. In imperial measurements that's-"

Sydney cut him off. "I don't care what it is. Now, you either tell me what I want to know, or I castrate you in front of a café full of people. Your choice."

Sark leaned forward. "I choose," he began, then paused dramatically, "to tell you…"

"Good," Sydney said.

"That the Great Pyramid of Giza is the only one of the Seven Ancient Wonders still standing."

He sat back in his chair, his grin enormous.

Sydney leaned forward, grabbing his tie and pulling him towards her over the table until they were chin to chin. Their eyes met. There was a pause as they considered each other. Then, against her lips, Sark sighed loudly, rolling his eyes at the same time. The rush of air against her face had caused Sydney to shiver involuntarily.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know, if I know it, but not here."

Their eyes still locked, Sydney considered his words. "Where and when."

"A nightclub I own in Paris," he said slowly, his eyes wandering down to her lips then back up "but I'll give you the address later. I don't trust you not to do something stupid."

Sydney laughed, still holding him close with his tie wrapped around her clenched fist. She'd been about to ease her grip when he issued his conditions.

"I have three stipulations that you'll have to meet before I give you what you want. First," he said, licking his lips and nearly hers, causing another deep shiver, "no weapons."

Sydney didn't a problem with that; she could kick his ass without them and had told him as much, earning her one of his deep laughs.

"If you say so," he said. "Second stipulation- no back up."

Sydney didn't have a problem with that either.

"And third," he said, his tone and voice both lowering, "we pose as a couple."

This Sydney had a problem with.

"We won't be there long enough to need a cover," she protested.

"Well, I want one just to be on the safe side," he returned smoothly.

Sydney thought about it for a moment. "Fine," she said, "I suppose pretending we're an item will be worth it if I get what I want out of the meeting." She knew she sounded spiteful, but she didn't care.

"Pretending we're a couple could have other benefits," Sark replied, his left eyebrow lifting again.

Sydney took advantage of her close proximity to Sark and slapped him hard. "I'll see you later," she'd said, using her tone to indicate just how much she'd look forward to it.

She been about to walk through the door when Sark called to her.

"Sydney,"

She turned around impatiently. "What?"

"St. Ambrose is the patron saint of beekeepers."