Domodedovo International Airport.

"Moscow?" Bex inquires to no one in particular, staring out one of the plane's windows at the large sign. "Why exactly was Russia the choice of experts here at the best facility of all mankind?" she asks, once again to the air surrounding her sweating form. She seems somewhat blown over with stiff sarcasm since our fight. Too overprotective of her emotions and her actions; afraid at any certain moment someone may take her down.

I shrug and stand up from my seat, shooting a questioning look at Grant, who also shrugs. I beckon him over and he approaches slowly.

"It's what your note said," he murmurs almost inaudibly into my ear.

The note. It was practically ripped from my hands the moment I got into the van back in Hawaii, without me even seeing what it said. I tried to ask Lerner, but he was always busy with something else, so I simply pushed it from my many wandering thoughts; I was too preoccupied as it was.

"What did it say, exactly?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Grant looks over his shoulder and mumbles, "Just 'Moscow, Russia' and it had a series of letters and numbers on it. We haven't been able to decipher them just yet, so we're going to split up and make our way to our accommodation. There's a reliable contact there. One who's not lying dead on the floor of his house with a bullet through his brain."

I welcome Grant's sarcasm. It doesn't appear as hostile as Bex's.

I roll my eyes and drag Grant's backpack from the overhead luggage rack. "Fine, but how are eight of us going to get there inconspicuously?"

He grins, his whole tired face lighting up, as he holds up an orange sack. "Ever wanted to be a tourist, Cammie?"

"Ugh."

I must say, the eight of us look ridiculous in tourist-wear. Especially Ann. The moment I think the thought, I push it out because she gives me an icy glare as if she can read my mind. Or at least had her special organisation build her one that's only receptive to my mind waves; I wouldn't put her above doing such a despicable thing.

Because Moscow is so cold, we're all snuggled up into thick, bulky fur jackets, and carrying cameras. Thankfully, due to our assorted beanies, our comms units are hidden even better than having Macey do our hair in strange twisty 'fashionable' styles back at Gallagher - most of which made me look like Princess Leia from Star Wars. I have to remind myself she just loved having us as her own personal Barbie dolls.

From beside the plane door, Lerner, wearing a strange, green-striped coat, calls out, "Okay! We're ready to go. Leave in pairs, and try not to split up. Remain as unnoticeable as you can."

Beside me, Ann digs into my ribs far more sharply than necessary. "Won't be hard for you, Camera."

Before I can launch myself on her, Chris grabs my gloved hand and drags me towards the door. A safe distance away from that creature, I stare her down as she struts, or at least her half-limp version, away to her own partner. That poor, unfortunate soul, I think to myself. We're the second pair to leave. And as I glance behind us as we walk along the jet way, I see Grant looking rather uncomfortable with his partner-arrangement. He and Ann are paired together.

If you've never visited Domodedovo International Airport before, the first thing you would notice is the enormous glass panels that make up the entire building. And then you would realise how busy it is. The noisy tears and laughter of meeting and greeting loved ones presses in on us from all sides as we make our way past the airport officials. We take our time strolling inconspicuously towards the exits and proceed onward to other things.

After presenting our fake passports to a very fat, disgruntled Russian man, and have our bags x-rayed, we stare wide-eyed around at the area, like most other tourists around us. We even take a few photos simply for effect.

Once Chris and I determine that we aren't being tailed, we head away from the bustling area; all the while bantering loudly about places to stay and how cold the weather is in our ridiculous German accents. Meanwhile we're lugging large navy blue suitcases, provided by the Cincta.

As an enormous poster of some Russian supermodel flaunting a skimpy bikini comes into view, Chris stares avidly up at her and I smack him on the head. "Stefan! Ve need to focus!"

He closes his eyes and shakes his head momentarily as if regaining consciousness, before replying, "Ve need to find a taxi."

When he doesn't move, I roll my eyes and grab his arm roughly, dragging him towards the front of the building. "You're an idiot," I mutter quietly into his ear, irritated.

Chris doesn't reply, only smirks to himself and allows me to shove him towards a stationary yellow and white car, with 'Taxi' written in Russian on the side. Swiftly, he opens the car's door and pokes his head inside, discussing a price in the driver's native language.

After a few moments, I hear them come to an agreement, and we dump our suitcases in the boot. I've barely got my left foot inside when the driver floors the accelerator, causing me to jerk backwards and curse in German. (Make sure to always stick your cover, even when it includes spouting profanities at your lowest of volumes.)

Without losing any arms or legs, we arrived at Red Square.

After Chris pays the taxi driver, and we take our luggage out of the boot, he leans close and wraps one arm around my shoulders. "So, where to now?" he asks in my ear, his warm breath making my skin tingle.

I mentally hit myself for feeling like that, and reply, "That's up to you. But we do need somewhere to dump our luggage."

He nods. "I'm on it, Camster."

"You seriously did not just call me that."

"Oh, I think I did."

Contacts are a great thing to have as a spy. In fact, they're essential. Isn't there that saying, 'It's not what you know, it's who you know."

It turns out Chris has heaps of contacts. Even in Moscow, Russia.

"Frederick!" he calls out as we enter a very cozy trinket shop. Little dust-collectors line the walls, looking pristine and inviting. All of them have a small, white sticker prominently announcing their price.

We hear rustling from the back of the shop, and soon a thin, middle-aged man, with a chunk of jet-black hair on his head, appears behind the counter, smiling rosily. "Ahhh, Dimitri! You 'ave returned to dear Moskva!"

I make a mental note to notice how he has a thick Russian accent, and rolls his 'R's.

With a small glance at me, Chris replies in Russian. "Yes, I have, and I need a small favor." The man has an amused smile of his face as he replies in Russian, "Don't you always, Dimitri?"

Once we've finally got away from the thick-haired man and have dumped our luggage safely with him, we wind our way through busy streets towards a train station.

Chris swiped a city map from somewhere and studies it intently while I keep a wide eye out for any sign of trouble or tails. So it's a while before I notice that Chris has the note I found back at the hut in Hawaii.

"What are you doing?" I inquire out the corner of my mouth, still looking all around the bustling station like any normal, dumb-struck tourist.

"I just had a thought…" he mutters, tracing the page with one long finger.

Sighing in exasperation, I reply, "Well…? What is this brilliant idea?"

Finally, he looks away from the map and directly into my eyes with his own dark-blue ones. The intensity makes me shiver, but I don't break the gaze. "You see these numbers on the letter you found? Well, don't they look like Area and Grid References? The note says 'Moscow, Russia' but that doesn't narrow the search down very much, so whoever wrote it probably put more exact references on there so we could find the building far more quickly.

I'm kind of shocked by his cleverness. I wouldn't have thought of that – well, I might have, but since the note was ripped from my hands pretty much as soon as I showed anyone, I didn't have much time to study it. "That's so… that's genius, Chris!"

But he places a finger over my lips to silence my loud voice. I blush at my stupidity, but then realize that he hasn't taken his finger away.

Both of our gazes slide down to his finger – my own eyes with that so attractive cross-eyed look about them and his, an emotion I can't quite distinguish.

I barely register that he removes his finger because of the fact that he's leaning closer. I eventually come to my senses and tilt my head as our lips connect. One of his hands takes my own and squeezes it gently, while the other one moves to the side of my neck.

His touch sends tingles through my body; it's amazing.

But then someone else's touch jumps into my mind, causing me to jolt away from Chris, breathing heavily. I rest my head in my hands and fight internally over the dark-blue eyes of the guy next to me and the mysterious, dark-eyed guy I haven't seen in so long. Suddenly a distinct wave of sadness washes over me.

"Are you okay?" Chris sounds worried. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," I reply quietly, "it's all good."

I busy myself in gathering up all the maps and the all-important note so that I don't have to look into Chris's confused and hurt eyes again.

Realizing our train has arrived, I stand up, slinging the small backpack we kept over my shoulder and walk towards the opening doors. A disruption off to the right of me stops me from actually boarding the train.

A familiar dark-skinned woman is arguing with someone who's just out of sight because a bunch of Japanese tourists stand in the way.

Something in my stomach clenches as I realize the dark-skinned woman is Bex. As the tourists move out of the way and onto the train, my heart flips over and over as I recognize the guy she's arguing with.

It's Zach.

I'm way too stunned to shake Chris's hand off my own. I feel even fainter as a black-haired guy holding a petite, blonde girl's hand join the arguing pair - Jonas and Liz. Chris, not having met my former friends, pulls me gently onto the train as the calm, female, Russian voice comes on over the PA, telling all passengers this is the last call.

As I'm pulled through the metal doors, Zach turns his head and catches sight of me. His mouth forms a small, almost indistinguishable, 'o'. He nudges Bex, but by this time, the doors have slid shut. When the train begins to rumble – signaling movement - I press my face up against the window, my breath fogging the glass.

The train rolls past the staring group of four and they notice me in the window. Bex frowns, biting her lips if she knows how much trouble she's going to be in when I see her again.

So that's what she's been using the phones for!

Although Chris is smart, he seems kind of unaware that my mind is about to explode from sheer confusion, pain, and a million other unexplainable emotions. He just continues to bend over the maps and the note, muttering to himself.

I stare out at the city buildings – covered in snow – and the dangerous-looking streets, frowning at nothing in particular.

"I've got it!" cries Chris after around ten minutes.

I whip my head around to look at him, astonished. "Yeah? Where's this building, then?"

He names an address, excitedly telling me how it's only been there for six years. "It's a rather low-key Russian bank called 'the Royal Russian Network'."

Nodding slowly, I turn back to the window. Through the reflection, I see him frown. "What's wrong, Cammie?" A slight twinge of guilt runs through my jumpy system, but I shrug and don't answer him. I'm still mad that he hasn't noticed before now. He's meant to be a good friend! "Nothing."

With a small laugh, he says, "My…my older b-brother told me once that when a girl says 'nothing' it usually means everything." His sarcasm and somewhat playful tone make me a tiny bit more interested than before.

Confused at his hesitation of mentioning an older brother, I scoot back around to face him again. "I saw them. I saw Bex with them."

"Them?"

"Liz, Jonas…Zach."

"Oh." He's always seemed tense whenever someone brings up Zach's name.

Our conversation is brought to a halt as the train screeches to a stop, jerking about uncomfortably. Chris shoves everything into the backpack and takes up my hand again. "Let's go find this building, and then we'll talk, okay?"

I present to you the very first beta-ed chapter! Now you will see the quality improve. I hope, anyway.

Yeah, kill me. It's another filler - but do you know how many tests I've had lately?

The vet is just too cruel to me.

So, review please! And, yeah. Enjoy life. And such things.

~Jen