Henry Saltzman sighed, took another sip from his drink and turned to the Sports page. Irritably, he tapped a finger on the invitation he had set on the bar. He had a few hours to kill before the party and had decided to spend it at the hotel bar. He didn't want to wander around a city he didn't know on New Year's Eve and was sick of being cooped up in his hotel room.

"Mr Saltzman?" a polite voice made him glance up from the paper. Henry noted the bellhop uniform before the envelope was shoved under his nose. "Telegram for you, sir."

"Thank… you?" he replied uncertainly as he took the envelope. He reached into his jacket pocket to find something to tip the man with, but when he looked back up no one was there. It was as if the man had faded into thin air. With a mental shrug, he turned his attention to the telegram. A moment later he leaped from his stool and rushed for a cab to drive him to the airport.

Spy ducked into a service elevator and decloaked. Quickly shedding the bellhop jacket and hat, he tucked the stolen invitation into his pocket. By now the man would be rushing home to see his wife, who, according to the telegram, was in the hospital after a tragic house fire. The woman had only survived due to their dog who nobly sacrificed himself to save her from the burning rubble of what had been their home. By the time the man got home to his healthy wife, their very-much-alive dog and intact home, the party would be over. It would be a shame he couldn't make it, the event was the social highlight of the season, if not the year. Anyone who was anyone would be there. But at least his invitation wouldn't go to waste.

The masquerade was just coming to life as the Spy strolled into the ball room. He surveyed the layout of the room, adjusting his bowtie and domino mask. The band was lively, the champagne was cold, the dress code black tie masquerade. In his element, Spy smiled to himself, straightening his boutonnière, careful of the micro camera hidden in it.

He had not been certain what he would find at the address he found months ago in the enemy Spy's belongings. A secret pay off, a liaison, a briefing, a high stakes baccarat game perhaps. But it hadn't taken him half an hour in the city to hear all about the New Year's Ball hosted by an eccentric writer, it was the most anticipated social event of the decade in one of the most fashionable hotels in the city. Exclusive, invitation only, just the sort of place he would expect to find the RED Spy.

Most people had taken the masquerade to heart, wearing bright glittering masks, representations of animals they wanted to be like, carnival masks probably imported from Italy or classic domino masks. No one took any notice of Spy, elegant and statuesque in his well tailored tux he looked like he belonged here, and with his simple mask he didn't look ostentatious enough to draw attention. The RED Spy could be anyone at all.

But what business did the other Spy have at this event? A meet up? A heist? Even if his target had no ulterior motive for being here, this was a welcome change of scenery. Champagne was rare, even nonexistent in Tuefort, good music and charming company even more unlikely. Here was a room filled with business men, politicians, literati, movie stars, lower nobility; even in masks the identities of these people were obvious. Civilized people. Sane people. People who knew what napkins were for and didn't chew with their mouths open. People who bathed regularly. He was fairly certain no one in this room pissed in jars. Tonight the damn gravel pits and all the imbeciles were far away. He could ring in the new year as it was meant to be, in a refined crowd, with good drink, and hopefully getting the upper hand on an opponent.

Taking a champagne glass from a passing serving tray, he sipped it and glanced around the sea of masks. He would be getting the upper hand, if he ever managed to find the RED Spy in this crowd. Surreptitiously, he checked his cigarette case, the disguise was working and everyone at the party would see him as an older, well groomed gentleman. Satisfied, he slipped the cigarette case back into his pocket. He'd had to ask his own team's Engineer to fix the damage the damn cowboy had done to his equipment on Christmas. Said damage had been difficult to explain away but everything seemed to be working again.

Walking through the crowd, he looked for any sign of his target taking in snippets of conversation, listening for anything that could be useful.

"Do you really think we might make it to the moon?"

"Better us than those kangaroo-punchers-"

"-so the role needs to go to-"

"-Robert has got a bill in the works that should be quite-"

"-Oh, Audrey doesn't need to know about us-"

"-worth it's weight in Austrailium -"

Spy took a hors-d'oeuvre from a passing tray and made his way to the bar. He leaned against the bar briefly catching the eye of another party guest. Turning away he sipped his champagne and tried to eliminate who in the crowd would likely not be his target. He was sure no matter what the RED Spy's reasons he would not be the elderly dowager in the back corner, the owlish looking man with the coke bottle glasses sitting awkwardly at a table looking lost, or a member of the wait staff. It was also highly unlikely he was the host, the fussy man who was fluttering around the room greeting the more important guests and simpering for their approval. RED Spy seemed to have too much pride for that. He hadn't quite ruled out the enemy Spy disguising himself as a woman if he had need to, Spy himself had been in such situations. It was part of the job. That narrowed the search down, if only by a few.

Glancing back to the bar his eyes again met the man at the bar. Seeing he had Spy's attention again the man slid down the bar to him.

"Good evening," the man smiled, his teeth bright beneath his sequined orange fox mask.

"Good evening," he returned the greeting and took another sip from his drink.

"This is quite a party, New York hasn't seen anything like this in a while. Good way to start the year with a bang."

"My thoughts exactly." Spy said quietly, noting with interest that the man was leaning closer to him as he talked. They were almost elbow to elbow.

"I expected some of my friends to be here but seems they didn't get invited. So it looks like I'm here, by myself." He tilted his head with a smile meeting Spy's eyes again. "How about you? You know anyone here?"

The man's intention was clear if yet unspoken. He looked at the him appraisingly, the man's jaw line under the mask was strong, under that mask he was likely handsome and his well cut suit highlighted the svelte figure underneath. At another time perhaps… when he didn't have a mission. Taking the man up on his offer would limit his movements. He was trying to stay inconspicuous and two men on the dance floor would attract attention.

"Sorry," he apologized, and meant it, "You're not my type," he lied. The man looked slightly crestfallen as he left, but the night was still young and the crowd seemed decadent enough, he probably wouldn't be alone for long. Spy finished his glass watching the slim figure disappear into the crowd with more than a hint of regret. But he was working and wouldn't allow himself to be distracted or to attract attention. Only tempted to.

He left his empty glass behind and walked from the bar Making his way through the crowd, he surveyed more party goers. In passing he ruled out the annoyed movie star fuming in the corner, the nosy reporter skulking around, cultivating any interesting tidbit of gossip, and the loud, noisy drunk dancing haphazardly on the dance floor as possible identities the RED Spy would take. Taking another glass from a passing tray, he noted a few men in simple black tuxes and masks working their way through the crowd. They, like him, were trying not to attract too much attention; probably hotel security looking for party crashers. They shouldn't pose a threat to him. Not too much of one at least. He kept an eye on them, in the unlikely event he got caught his cloak wouldn't be too useful in this setting.

The drunk was swiftly collected by one of the security guards before he could do too much damage but the rest were still on the search for anyone without an invitation.

There was a ripple in the crowd as a late arriving opera diva, her escort and her lap dog arrived. Too flashy, too many ostrich feathers, it seemed unlikely RED Spy would be any of them.

"Thank you, darlin'" a nearby woman's dulcet drawl made him turn his head. He looked over to the nearby tables to see a voluptuous blonde woman in a golden cat mask taking a champagne flute and hors d'oeuvre from a waiter. He recognized that quaint Texan accent easily by now. What was someone from that bloated cow pasture doing at this party? She sat alone, sipping her drink and irritably tapping a well manicured nail of the other hand on the table. He watched her for a moment as she set her glass down to pull a cigarette case out of her handbag. He took the opportunity, he slipping into the empty chair next to her and offering his lighter. "Allow me, signora."

The woman momentarily blinked surprised but reflexively holding out her cigarette for him to light. "Well, thank yah," she put the cigarette to her lips and leaned closer until the end caught light. "You're too kind," leaning back, she exhaled the smoke into a cloud around her.

"Anything for a beautiful lady," he insisted, pulling a cigarette out of his own case and lighting it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a member of the hotel staff still trawling the room.

"Do ah… know you?" she asked, her red mouth forming a delicate frown. But her tone was one of intrigue rather than concern.

"Oh! No!" he held his hands up ,"Forgive, Signora, I merely saw a lovely lady sitting by herself on New Year's and thought that such a magnificent creature shouldn't be alone. Unless," he sheepishly added "she wishes to be."

"Alone? Ah ain-" the woman let her words trail off, eyes narrowing at a group of men two tables away wrapped up in a heated debate. She pursed her red lips, for a moment a perfect portrait of a woman scorned, "Ah suppose I am alone. Or… I was." she purred, deliberately leaning closer to him, her neck line slipping to display a generous amount of cleavage. "Ah didn' catch yer name, sugah."

"Oh forgive me," he chuckled, "I am Lorenzo Auditore."

"Pamela Riggs," the woman extended her delicate hand.

"Piacere,"he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss on the back of it. The woman giggled girlishly and reluctantly extricated her hand from his.

"Yah ain't a local boy, are yah, Mister Auditoree?" she asked coyly.

"I am from Verona." he answered easily.

"Verona…yah mean Verona, Italy?" her eyes widened, he noted that behind the mask her eyes were a dazzling blue.

"Si," he answered, his smile widening at her awed expression,"I'm here, as you say, on business."

"Must be some mighty important business that brings yah all the way out here!"

He laughed warmly but offered no further details. She didn't seem to want any.

"Ah suppose I'm sort of here on business mahself," she said with a shrug of one smooth bare shoulder. "Ah came here with my boss from Waco." she nodded to the table of frenzied discussion and flicked some ash from her cigarette. "We're in the oil business."

"Waco?" he asked feigning ignorance as she fidgeted with her mask.

"Waco, Texas," she clarified, finally pulling the mask off altogether. "Don' suppose anyone will mind too much, silly thing's driving me crazy." As she readjusted her hair, Spy took in her heart shaped face, as pleasing to the eye as her curves.

"You are from Texas?"

"Yes…. you ever been to Texas, Mister Auditoree?"

Texas. The land of mad men, ridiculous made up sports and cow pastures as far as the eye could see. "I've never been. But I have seen all the cowboy films!" he added with an innocent smile.

She giggled again, wrinkling her delicate nose, "Well sugah, Ah hate to disappoint yah but Texas ain't quite like the movies."

"Few things are." he agreed with a shrug.

"Ah've always wanted to go to Italy, see Rome"

"Maybe you will someday."

"If ah do, maybe you could… show me around." she suggested batting her eyes at him.

"It would be an honor," he replied silkily.

"Yah got any family back home?" she asked moving her chair closer.

"Oh yes," he lied glibly, "Five brothers and sisters. I am the oldest."

"So tell me, Lorenzo," Pamela asked, uncrossing her shapely legs. "Is there a Mrs. Auditoree?"

"I'm not married," his lips quirked up in a smile as he felt the brush of her high heeled foot against his leg. He flicked some ash off his cigarette and glanced down at his watch. It was a quarter past eleven; he was supposed to be looking for the enemy Spy and still had no idea where he was. He certainly wasn't going to find the man sitting here.

"Signora Riggs," he stood up, bowing slightly to her and offering his hand, "Would you care to dance?"

"Why, Mister Auditoree, I would love to!"

They joined the crowd of couples dancing, just another pair ready to ring in the new year. Glancing around the room while they danced Spy noted the hotel security seemed to have finished their jobs and disappeared. One less concern. Now, if only he could find the person he came here to find.

The pair made their way around the dance floor, the music slowing, taking on a sweet sentimental note as the hour of midnight drew closer. He made idle mindless chatter with the girl as she held him close, warm cheek against his shoulder, and he looked over her shoulder at the party guests around them. He was beginning to doubt he'd ever find the RED Spy in this crowd.

Finally, just as he was about concede this night to failure, a spot of red flashed in the corner of his eye. Spinning his partner around abruptly, he got a clear view of a couple on the other side of the dance floor. There at last was the RED Spy - wearing his normal red balaclava with a painted carnival mask over it. His hands held protectively onto his slender dancing partner in a simple, elegant blue dress. There was a familiarity,an intimacy between the couple that suggested this was more than a simple fling. The woman smiled as the man whispered something in her ear. She adjusted her mask, briefly revealing her face. Spy nearly froze in mid step as he placed her from photos in his dossier files.

He had hoped to catch the RED Spy in a compromising situation- something he could use as leverage against him, but this was unexpected. This was even better than he had hoped for. It had never occurred to him the man would be courting the mother of an enemy team mate. And there really was no doubt who the woman was, the family resemblance was quite strong. He chuckled to himself as he imagined what sort of reaction Scout would have if he heard his mother was dating the enemy Spy.

"What's so funny?" his own partner asked raising her head, her hand tightening on his shoulder.

"Nothing - Tesoro," he answered automatically, watching, tracking every movement of his objective. He needed to get pictures of this. He needed proof.

As if in response, the woman pressed closer. He bit the inside of his lip as he felt curve of the woman's breasts rub against him, drawing his eye irresistibly to her lovely expanse of cleavage between them. His charming company was starting to be an interference. He'd have to get these pictures taken quickly before he forgot his mission altogether. Gently, he guided his dance partner closer to the target for a better picture. Now if only he could pry the girl off of him long enough to get the photos.

Waiters came around offering trays of champagne to the guests. Midnight was fast approaching and could not be faced with an empty glass. Keeping a cautious eye on his targets, he quickly shrugged out of Pamela's arms and took two glasses from a passing server.

Passing a glass to the girl with a smile he took a sip of his own, slipping his free hand into his jacket pocket where the cameras shutter release was. Leaning away from his partner he glanced past her to see the RED Spy and his paramour leaning closely together still dancing. He snapped a few pictures as he sipped his champagne.

The crowd excitedly started counting down.

"FIVE!"

Spy glanced quickly from the stage back to the RED Spy with his arm around the woman's waist. With a squeeze of a button his camera recorded the moment on film.

"FOUR!" he slipped an arm around Pamela, the woman exuberantly leaning into him.

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

The room erupted with cheers as the band began a lively rendition of Aud Lang Syne. Spy leaned down and kissed her. He was about to pull away but she gripped his lapel tightly, a smile playing on those red lips her hand moving towards his face. To remove his mask. Gently batting her hand away, he untied it himself to reveal his face. Pleased with the illusion, she kissed him again. This time with an undeniable heated insistence. His pulse quickened as the woman pressed closer to him, her hands finding their way past his jacket, tugging on his tie. Her eager kisses made him promises he fully intended to hold her to.

"Order us a bottle of wine for my room, darlin'."

The room was dim, lit only by the city lights that streamed in through the half drawn curtains. It was that ugly time of night when it was too late to bother with sleep and too early to be properly awake. This was normally a time Spy slept through unless he had business that called for otherwise. And yet, here he was resentfully awake.

His evening, all things considered, had been a success. The party had been more civilized than his usual surroundings and the job had been more challenging than outsmarting a group of half-mad imbeciles on a battlefield. Not only that, but he had finally learned the true manner of the RED Spy's trips, and the identity of his paramour. Valuable information he could find good uses for. An excellent start to the new year. He should be pleased with himself. But he wasn't.

The girl turned over in her sleep, muttering something softly. His gaze turned to her and his eyes slowly traced the curves of her body, apparent even obscured by the blankets. That was something else Tuefort didn't offer him. There was plenty of sand, plenty of explosions, plenty of idiots but no suitable bed partners. The girl, her name had currently slipped his memory, stirred again. She was attractive enough, but something about her grated him. Lately, he'd been restless, some craving or other had been bothering him. He had hoped the sex would get it out of his system, it had been far too long since he'd slept with anyone. But it seemed he was still unsatisfied. The girl's attributes, charming as they had been during the party, had worn thin and now he was tired of her.

Sitting up, carefully so not to awaken his bed partner, he reached for his cigarette case and lighter. As an afterthought he picked up the ash tray as well. Fluidly he lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke with a sigh before settling back down on the pillows. He folded his arms out behind his head and glared in near accusation at the ceiling, trying to relax enough to doze for at least a little while.

The Frenchman puffed irritably on his cigarette, unable to clear his head. Despite his successful trip he felt he was missing something. But what? He went over all the possible options in his head, nothing had been forgotten or over looked. All his tracks had been covered, all his false names unnoticed. The night had gone off without a hitch. And he ended the night in arms of a beautiful woman. What more could he want? Sleep was going to elude him, he might as well get back to work. Grudgingly, he began picking his clothes up from where they had been thrown on the floor as they had made their way to the bed earlier. He redressed in the dark, a skill acquired from years of practice. Pulling his jacket on, he quietly picked up his cigarette case and lighter from the night table, cast one last cursory glance around the room. Certain that he had left no trace but the fading scent of cigarette smoke, he slipped out the door to the hotel corridor. The girl slept on none the wiser to his leaving.

A shower and fresh clothes had done a bit to lift restless Spy's spirits. And the contents of that roll of film would do more to lighten his mood. Taking his tuxedo jacket from the back of the chair where he had left it, he began unpinning the miniature camera and shutter release from his suit. The camera, when removed from his jacket was the size of a walnut. But tiny as it was it had been one of his most expensive purchases from SpyCo to date. He had taken to wearing it fairly regularly, though whether it was preparedness to take a picture at a moment's notice or simply to justify the amount of money he'd spent on said tool, he wasn't going to admit to himself.

He unlatched his suitcase, careful not to set off the tear gas bomb and began pulling out the equipment he would need. A bag of what looked like and were labeled as soaps, aftershaves and colognes, along with what looked like a metal thermos. Everything he would need to develop film while traveling, all designed to look unassuming and unsuspicious.

The small camera was slipped in his pocket and the bag and thermos were taken in the bathroom. He shoved one of the plush hotel towels into the crack in the door and placed the bag and thermos on the counter. Taking the lid off the thermos he twisted it on an unseen seam in the middle and it opened another compartment. He arranged this parts precisely on the counter making notes of their location. With a flick of the light switch the room was pitch black.

Dexterously, Spy removed the camera from his pocket and flicked open the back of it and carefully pulled out the tiny spindle of film. Uncurling the long celluloid strip it into looser coils he dropped it inside the thermos and screwed the whole thing back together. Once the film was in the light tight canister the light was flicked back on. Through the top of the thermos he filled it with tap water, added the contents of a small "shampoo" bottle, put the lid back on the top of it and shook it to mix the chemicals. Now there was little to do but wait. With a sigh he walked back into the hotel suite, lit himself a cigarette and leaned against the doorjamb of the bathroom, exhaling smoke impatiently waiting for the film to develop.

He flicked some ash off his cigarette and looked at his watch, ten more minutes. As enjoyable as the trip had been his holiday was rapidly coming to an end. Too soon he'd have to return back to the desert, back to the base, far away from civilization. Back to the same repetitive conflict, with the same imbeciles and maniacs. Little of challenge or interest to him. Well, besides the pay check. Though the Engineer had provided some entertainment for a time.

He wondered idly what the cowboy had done for the New Year. Probably nothing, if his lack luster celebration of Noel was any indication. He pictured the silly little man in his workshop fuming at his crippled radio and eating out of a tin can. If the man bothered to eat at all. The Frenchman tsked, turning the film canister over in his hands, that was no way for a person to live. What the man needed was for someone to drag him out from his hermitage, away from his machines and drawings and out into the world. Maybe dress him better while they were at it.

He froze; why should it matter to him what the man did? The American was kilometers away, and he had no obligation to him. None whatsoever. The Texan had been, after all, nothing more than a project to pass the time. An opponent in what had turned out to be a deliciously elaborate game. The Texan could starve to death in his little mouse hole and he would not shed any tears or lose any sleep. He would regret only the passing of a challenging opponent, nothing more. Irritably, he thumped the canister on the counter and removed the lid.

Besides, he reminded himself, the game was over. Pouring the developer out of the tank into the sink he refilled it with water, added a few drops from his chemical bag and shook the mixture together. He had no reason to worry about or deal with the man anymore. There hadn't even really been reason to visit the man at Christmas. With or without his help the Engineer seemed to have gotten his head back into his work. Cooking the man a meal had been unnecessary. Frowning, he rapped the tank on the counter. He was allowing himself to get sentimental. That was a dangerous luxury afforded only for widows and orphans. Not men in his line of work. He'd learned that the hard way.

The game with the Texan was through. The tank hit the counter with a loud thunk as he rapped it again. Finished. He had other concerns to deal with. Concerns that didn't involve some silly, trigger happy American. He glanced at his watch and gave the tank one final shake before deciding it was finished.

Smiling to himself, he unscrewed the middle of the tank and pulled the film reel out and un rolling the film he wiped the liquid off with his hands to peer at the negatives. His smile collapsed as he squinted at the images "Quel bordel…" he swore under his breath. The pictures were unusable. "Bordel de merde." Spy ran the narrow film through his fingers desperate to get an image, any image. Something. Every exposure was ruined. Cloudy. Fogged. Frantically, he ran over in his mind the possibilities. What could have gone wrong? The chemicals were fresh, the timing perfect, the film was new. He had just put it in his camera before Christmas….

Christmas. A possibility occurred to him. The camera had been in his jacket that night on the RED base. Had whatever the Texan done to sabotage his equipment ruined his film? It was the only real explanation he could think of.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, Spy let the useless film slide out of his hands and flutter to the ground. He might be through with the cowboy, but it turned out the man had last laugh after all.