Arthur and Ariadne were on a plane to New York. In the last week they had successfully finished the extraction job on the Ontarian mistress, collected the money from the politician in Detroit and arranged for a month long stay in New York City to relax, and sniff out new work. Also in the last week they had learned new things, in bits and pieces, about Saito's death.

The suicide had been confirmed, although based on several interviews with the company's higher ups, it seemed not everyone had written out foul play. The company's stocks had taken a very hard hit, more dramatic than the analysts had expected, and it was making Saito's death a fairly big deal in the financial world. Family and friends apparently couldn't understand; he hadn't mentioned his depression to any of them.

Ariadne felt guilty. She did not know why, but some part of her felt entirely responsible for Saito's suicide. And she still couldn't tell Arthur what she knew about it without betraying Cobb. As they sat together in the stuffy cabin she felt as though she couldn't sit still, and while Arthur slept dreamlessly she fiddled endlessly with her totem, staring out the window or at the real time map above displaying how far they were from JFK.

Suddenly a noise pierced the hushed air of the cabin: the sharp and stern ring of Arthur's cell phone. Ariadne glanced around nervously as the point man continued to sleep through the unbearable ruckus his pants were making. She slunk down in agonizing embarrassment as the phone rang three, four, five times before stopping. Relieved, she straightened up slightly, but before she could even relax her shoulders the phone began ringing again.

In desperation, she reached her hand awkwardly into Arthur's pants pocket and pulled out the phone, prepared to turn it off, until she saw who was calling.

"Eames?" She hissed into the phone urgently. "What is it?" She could feel the eyes of everyone in the cabin boring into her.

"Who's this?" Eames' familiar brogue crackled loudly through the receiver.

"It's Ariadne," she said, desperate to end the conversation. "We're on a plane right now, I really-"

"You're with Arthur?" He seemed to be yelling unnecessarily loudly. A stewardess was making her way down the aisle.

"Yes! What is it?"

"Where are you two headed, love?"

Ariadne couldn't take it. Crouched low, she inched out of her seat and crept to one of the vacant lavatories, closing the folded door with a snap. The noise in the bathroom was deafening, and she had to stick her finger in her open ear to hear Eames despite his shouting.

"We're going to New York, Eames," she said as loudly as she dared and with no small amount of frustration in her voice. "Why are you calling?"

"I need to meet up with Arthur," Eames replied. "And if you're with him well, all's the better I suppose."

"Why do you need to meet up?" She and Arthur hadn't seen Eames, or anyone else from the inception job since they had all landed in LA over a year ago. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not me, no," he said. "I appreciate your concern though dear. No, but there is trouble brewing and I think we may be the ones to stop it."

Ariadne clutched the phone to her head with both hands, trying desperately to hear though the connection was terrible and the noise from the plane drowned almost everything out.

"I'm going to meet you there in New York as soon as I can," Eames was shouting. "How long are you staying there?"

"A month, maybe more," she replied.

"Good, don't take any jobs until I get there. And Ariadne, dearest?"

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't ask this of anyone but you love, you're so kind; do you think you could wire some money? Only I haven't enough for a bus let alone a plane ticket."

Ariadne rolled her eyes, repositioning herself as she crouched on the toilet lid.

"Fine, but for your own sake I hope this trouble is worth our while."

"You'd best get off the phone now darling, it's terribly rude to talk on the plane." With that he hung up.