VIENNA, AUSTRIA

Leo finished the last chords of Radioactive and enjoyed the look the girl who had stopped to listen gave him. He gave her a dazzling smile and thanked her when she let a couple of coins clatter into the empty guitar case at his feet before she continued down the street. He looked after her for a second, then he bent down and scooped up today's earnings to make room for his beloved instrument. It was getting chilly, and he had enough for today anyway. Besides, technically he should be at home studying, but being a street musician was simply too much fun – and a nice source of additional income for his student life. He was already close to being broke again, and the month was barely half over. He had just shouldered the case when out of nowhere a man materialised in front of him. Automatically Leo took a step back.

"Not bad," the man said. His German sounded foreign, but he couldn't quite place the accent.

"Thanks," Leo replied pleasantly and started towards the escalator that lead down to the underground. To his slight bemusement, the man followed him.

"Would you be interested in making some money?"

Leo eyed him doubtfully. The man had black hair, was middle-aged and slightly smaller than him, and was wearing a light coat. He sounded friendly, as if they were sharing some secret, and there was something boyish in his features. Still, Leo wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I'm good, thanks," he said.

"One hundred bucks."

Leo stopped short. "Why would you give me one hundred bucks?"

"I need a delivery to be made, only I can't do it myself."

The street artist frowned. "No, thanks. I don't want anything to do with any weird shit."

"Two hundred. Cash."

Leo's eyes grew wide at the bank notes the guy suddenly held out to him, he couldn't help it. He sure could use two hundred euros. "A delivery you say?"

The man grinned winningly, and pulled a big envelope out from under his coat. Leo could see he was wearing a black suit and tie under it. "It's very simple."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Skye took her time getting ready. Which meant she needed fifteen instead of the standard ten minutes. She didn't know how Benji could just... stop being a secret agent. Maybe it was because he hadn't been in the field as long as she had. But somehow she doubted that. She was trying, she really was, but when she had a last look in the mirror, Skye realised that she just couldn't shake it off. The strategically placed curl that covered a non-existent plug in her ear. The fact that she did not require a bag because this was one of her IMF-issue dresses and had all sorts of invisible pockets. The strap around her thigh, hidden under the loose fabric. She sighed, and left the ensuite of their hotel room.

Benji was straightening his bow tie in front of the small mirror on the wall. He looked striking in his tuxedo. When he saw her reflection, he turned around.

Aware of his attention, Skye turned on the spot to showcase her deep-red floor-length dress from all angles. A thin white border mimicked a belt around her waist.

"You look amazing," Benji said once he found his voice. It had been a while since they had dressed up together.

"You cleaned up nicely yourself," she said and smiled at him. She stepped closer and touched his lapel to brush away some dust that wasn't there.

His hands landed on her hips, were the red fabric hugged her curves before flaring out into a loose skirt. He trailed his fingers over its smooth texture, and suddenly didn't care anymore about being on time, or making it for the opera at all.

"Benji..." she warned.

"Mh?" he asked innocently.

"Come on, it's time," Skye said gently.

He made a disappointed sound, prompting her to laugh.

"I'm not gonna listen to you complaining how we almost got to see Turandot for the rest of my life," she chuckled. "You got the tickets?"

Benji smiled back and nodded. She was right, and after the show they would have all the time in the world before they had to return to D.C. That still seemed very far away. He was in high spirits.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

A smile crept on Benji's face once they were on the tube towards Karlsplatz. "I just realised we could have taken a taxi."

"Paper trail," Skye reminded him gently.

Benji shrugged. "So what?"

Skye blinked. "Right..."

"This is it."

They left the underground, dressed up as they were among the other passengers. Benji was in a splendid mood and couldn't stop smiling. It felt good to be somewhere else, to dress up a little, almost like back in the field on some mi-

Someone ran straight into Benji, pressing a large-format envelope into his hands. He flinched under the unexpected contact and tumbled against Skye. The whole thing happened so fast that the Brit couldn't see the face of the guy, hidden under the hood of a sweatshirt-jacket as it was. He barely registered that he was carrying a guitar case. It was out of sheer reflex that he held on to the envelope.

Benji looked after the guy, but he was already lost in the crowd. Then he looked at Skye, and the expression in her eyes – apprehensive, expectant, hopeful – was enough. He felt it too. Benji opened the package and looked into the contents of the brown paper envelope. He brought a programme of Turandot to light, followed by a black pair of glasses and two silvery earrings. Without exchanging a word, he gave the earrings to Skye.

Recognising the model she pressed her thumb to the flat surface. Holt, Skye T. flashed over it for a second when the fingerprint registered, and she quickly attached them to her earlobes.

Benji had already put on the glasses which had scanned his retinas in the same scheme of identity confirmation.

"Welcome to Vienna, you two. Miss me?" a very much familiar voice sounded in their ears.

Benji couldn't control himself. "Ethan, where are you? Where the hell have you been?"

Then he immediately interrupted himself. "No, actually, you know what, don't tell me that, because it's just another thing I will have to lie about in my weekly polygraph."

"We have to keep going," Skye murmured and gently nudged his arm, very aware of the fact that they stood in the middle of the platform in not exactly inconspicuous attire, apparently talking to thin air.

Benji went along, trying to absorb some of her calm.

"Everything's going to be fine," Ethan continued. "But make sure you're not being followed."

Benji was struck by a realisation. "I didn't win those opera tickets, did I."

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So where do we meet?" he asked, stepping on the escalator going upwards.

"We don't."

"What do you mean?" Skye asked.

"You have mail," Ethan said instead of a reply, and at the same time their phones emitted soft pings.

Skye reached into the neckline of her dress and retrieved the device. The file they had both received was a sketch of a man wearing glasses with a narrow mouth and narrow eyes.

"Who is he?" Benji asked.

"That's what we're here to find out. What I do know is he's our only possible link to the Syndicate. And I have reason to believe he's going to be here tonight. But I can't find him alone. Are you in?"

"Of course we're in," Skye said at once. "What do you need us to do?"

"Simple: Benji finds him, you tag him, I follow him wherever he goes."

"And after that?" Benji asked.

"After that you're on a plane. Back at work Monday morning, no one is the wiser."

Benji didn't hide his disappointment. "What – that's it?"

"You're in enough danger as it is," Ethan explained calmly. "I didn't want to involve you this much, but I had no choice."

"Well, if you're gonna bring us all this way you could at least give us something a bit more, you know, dramatic."

"Benji, we're trying to keep a low profile," Ethan reminded him.

Skye smiled involuntarily.

"You want drama? Go to the opera."

The Vienna State Opera looked amazing, illuminated by hidden spotlights against the dark sky, dominating the view the pair got as they ascended the final escalator from the underground station. As they crossed the street, they exchanged a fatal glance – and quickly looked away again in order to keep themselves from succumbing to a fit of laughter. This was serious after all. But also very exciting.

A few police cars were parked along the perimeter. People with cameras stood at the ready. Benji noticed someone getting out of a black limousine before they had to proceed through the metal detector. Extra security measures, police, journalists, fancy car – Benji looked again, and it finally clicked. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Yes, I am."

"Am I correct in assuming that is the chancellor of Austria?"

"Yes, you are."

"Did you know he was gonna be here?" Benji went on as they went up the stairs. He offered Skye his arm to look more – well, normal. Just a normal couple on a nice night out to see an opera. Sure.

"No," Ethan said heavily.

"Right, well, we have a European head of state here at the same time as we are looking for a nefarious terrorist, and I am sure the two things are completely unrelated."

"Benji."

"Meanwhile I will try and overlook the fact that you're an international fugitive wanted by the CIA."

"Benji."

"And that this little unsanctioned operation is tantamount to treason."

"Benji."

"Because, as you stated earlier, I will be back on my desk on Monday morning, playing video games, and no one will be any the-"

"Benjamin," Skye interjected pointedly. "We're going to do this."

The message was clear. No one would take this from her, not the chancellor, not the CIA, and no lowly boyfriend either.

"Thank you, Skye," Ethan said. "Just take your position, tell me what you see."

"Copy that," she said.

"Red looks great on you, by the way."

Both she and Benji turned around, scanning the crowd and the gallery above them, but Ethan was nowhere to be seen. Of course not. He had spent the last six months running. Maybe they were a bit rusty after all.