Sark. Here. What now?
As he enters the room, she hops down off the work table and walks to the window, careful to curtain her face with her long, ropey hair extensions. They are the second floor of the Spanish villa, too high to jump. She could turn her com back on, but then what? Vaughn and Weiss are waiting in the van, but they don't have enough back-up to take the place safely.
"Pleasure to meet you finally, Mr. Sark," Walker oozes behind her, his Cockney accent seeming all the rougher in contrast to Sark's boarding school tone.
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Walker," Sark dithers, "And who might your lovely associate be?"
Shitshitshit.
"This is one of my team," Walker's voice is clearly pointed in her direction now, "My security expert—Julia, come over here, will you love?"
Slowly, sullenly, she turns around and walks over to them.
"Mr. Sark, this is Julia Thorne," Walker says proudly.
"Well," Sark can barely conceal his smirk, looking her up and down, "I would've come sooner if I'd known my job was going to be in such… capable hands. Good to see you, Julia."
"Sark," she says, shortly. She crosses her arms over her chest in a way that she hopes hides her assets from his prying gaze. Walker looks between the two of them, amused as well.
"What—you know 'im, Jules?" Walker is smiling, but she can detect some uncertainty in his tone. He is threatened by Sark, and what he might know about her.
"We've had the pleasure of working together before," Sark covers smoothly. "It was a lifetime ago—Moscow, Paldisky, Tokyo… Paris? Anywhere I'm forgetting?"
"Mexico," she says, dryly. "That wasn't that long ago… I'm surprised you forgot so soon."
"Very true, how could I forget," Sark mutters, looking again at her outfit. "Mr. Walker—where are the rest of your team? Surely you and Ms. Thorne don't intend to break into the biolab on your own?"
"No, course not," Walker says gruffly, "Let me go fetch the rest of the fellas."
He leaves them and Sark's smirk turns into a full-on leer. "So, tell me, Julia, how is that you know Mr. Simon Walker?"
She knows by his smirk that he's onto her, and that she has no memory of Simon from before two days ago, when the CIA learned of his team's work.
"None of your business," she snaps.
"I'm afraid it is very much my business," he says, advancing on her. She backs up, but the table is behind her, against her lower back. "If you have a history with the gentleman who is in my employ, I think I have a right to know about it." He places one hand on the edge of the table on either side of her hips, trapping her close to him. She is all too aware of the faint smell of his aftershave as he leans into her space to whisper in her ear, "I don't know if you were fucking him or not, and I don't know where you've been, but you need to play along if you want to stop the Covenant."
"What?" she whispers furiously, "Play along with what?"
There are rapid footfalls, belonging to several men, just outside the door, and as the door swings fully open, Sark leans further down and kisses her hard on the span between her neck and her shoulder. She gasps a little as she feels his sharp, even teeth graze her skin, but her hands go automatically to his chest to push him away.
"Um, hmm," she hears Walker clear his throat behind them, "How about you meet the rest of the team?"
Sark stands up straight, and she can feel their eyes on her as he saunters slowly towards the little group. Javier already mistrusts her. What did he mean, play along? Is she supposed to pretend she was his lover? How will that help the situation? Maybe she'd best go with it, though. The Covenant did take his money; unbelievable that they didn't know he was due to inherit those funds from his father.
The introductions are made, and Javier eyes her suspiciously as he and Russett slink back out of the room.
"So, might I prevail upon you for a drink," Sark asks, prolonging her agony, "I'm sure Julia wouldn't mind."
Walker raises his eyebrows even further, and they're practically in his hair, which is mussed and black as a pond under a sheet of ice. "I suppose not, if you don't mind, love," he seems off-kilter now, much less assured than he was when he was grabbing her ass like it was prime real estate. Sark's insinuation that they know each other has clearly thrown him for a loop.
Languid, she twirls her finger in her hair, and says, "I guess not. For old times' sake. Do you have any Chateau Petruse?"
"A Petruse?" Walker gives a short, brittle-sounding laugh, "You always did have expensive tastes. Let me go see what's in the cellar."