Over the years, Erik had actually become somewhat fond of bird watching.

He lounged back against the deck of the boat, resting his binoculars against his stomach and tilted his head into the warmth of the afternoon sun. Spring had come to DC early and it made camping out on the river much more enjoyable.

He watched a kingfisher flit among the reeds close to the bank lazily, pushing his sunglasses up more securely. He hated winter, and some days in December he'd come close to telling Shaw to fuck himself and buggering off to the house in Argentina until the country thawed. He never would have, of course, but it entertained him on the icy days when he sat crouched in the icy mud, imagining the man's face in the moment Erik stick his middle finger under his nose and packed his speedo and sunscreen and just run off.

Spring had finally sprung, as the Americans were fond of saying, and Erik had broken out his proper bird-watching paraphernalia, pressed kaki shorts, complete with matching vest which made him feel like an asshole, a New Jersey Devils cap, and a sturdy black backpack holding his binoculars, field text and notebook filled with his scribblings about the local avian population.

Only a man as crazy as Sebastian Shaw would require a military code that used breeds of birds as symbols.

The river which he was currently floating on was a gentle, meandering thing with a convenient path that took him right passed the backyards of a few of America's top government personalities. From there it was a breeze for Erik to memorize their schedules, then slip into their private residences to take a peek into their briefcases and desk drawers.

He jotted a note about the minister of defense's top-secret missile plans by transcribing a detailed description of the nesting habits of the common swallow. Using the river as well as some night time excursions into a few of the city's embassies, Erik had compiled quite an extensive collection of useful and very top secret points of interest for Shaw to exploit to his heart's content.

His stay in DC was coming to a close, but that didn't mean that Erik couldn't enjoy the city's sights while he could. He took it easy for the rest of the week, biding his time with only a couple low-risk infiltrations, and generally just taking a breather until his departure.

It was a good thing that he did savour the down time when he did because the very day he left the city, all hell broke loose.

They'd already been underway for a good chunk of time, and it wasn't long until they would reach New York. From there, Erik would receive a new passport from his New York connection and fly back to the USSR to deliver his findings.

But a couple hours out, they made a routine stop to load new passengers, and with them, about a dozen police officers. The people in his compartment began to murmur.

Erik stood as casually as he could and slipped into the bathroom. Behind him, he heard he officers calling out for tickets.

He stayed calm of course; there was no sense in panicking, that wouldn't help his situation. He allowed himself a moment to get a firm grip on his composure and assessed his predicament.

There was no guarantee that they were even looking for him. His papers, though fake, had been printed by the best forger in Shaw's employ, and would likely stand up to all but the most thorough scrutiny. But Erik had stayed alive for as long as he had by listening to his instincts, and his instincts were telling him to get the hell off this train.

It took all of his control to bend the small metal window frame outward without making a ridiculous amount of noise. As it was, Erik winced at the shrill protest of the wall bending to form a hole large enough for him to squeeze out of.

Once he'd maneuvered out the ragged wound in the train's side, Erik plastered his body to the side and hung on with every ounce of his power as the wind tore at him. It seemed to be doing its darnest to dislodge him. The forest sped by in a blur, making Erik's stomach curl in rebellion.

Hopefully, he cast his senses out, trying to find some point of metal to latch on to that might be able to make the inevitably painful fall slightly less so. But anything that he felt, bits of ore in rocks and such, whipped by much to fast to fix on.

He did feel one thing that stood out, a massive, hulking structure in the distance. It was only partially made of metal, a building of some sort most likely, but there were enough steel in it for Erik to sense over quite a large distance. It was the only substantial source of metal that was within his range though, and it was growing farther as the train sped on.

Nothing else for it then, Erik loosened his grip on the metal of the train and pushed off, praying furtively that he not hit a tree or split open on a rock.

He did manage to slow himself down somewhat, the train tracks behind him and the minerals in the ground providing enough substance that in his desperation he was able to at least control his fall into a patch of relatively soft ferns.

That wasn't to say that it didn't hurt. Like a bitch. And that the contact with the ground didn't jar his head badly enough to send the world into a spiral. He had just enough sense and energy left to drag himself away from the tracks before blacking out completely in a pool of his own vomit.

Hmm, Erik puking at the end of chapters seems to be a reoccurring theme...