A/N: I've uploaded 2 chapters today, January 31st. Please read the last chapter before this one.


Chapter 24: A Trickster

September 2003

Moscow, Russia

Anton Petrov appeared as frail as he'd remembered from their last encounter. Only this time he knew the end was near. Maybe one more year at most, but he knew this would be his last autumn. The old man started coughing again. Anton sipped at the water as he held the glass in his hands. As Anton collapsed back onto the couch, the front door opened to reveal a tall muscular man with short medium length hair and a beard.

He knew the man had done some serious prison time several years ago and it showed on his face and the way he carried himself. Ivan Petrov had once been a spy handler at one time. Very intelligent, but also damaged beyond repair from the man coughing on the couch with blood staining his dry lips.

Ivan stopped in the living room and stared down at him before glancing at his father on the couch.

He placed the water glass back on the table as he looked up to Ivan. As Ivan stood there staring, his mind drifted back to seven years ago.

A train rushed by the windows as he stood in the middle of the rundown flat. The paint was peeling off the walls and it had a musty smell of a room not cleaned in quite a while. It was where they met to brief and debrief over assignments.

Handing him a cup of hot something that resembled coffee, Ivan nearly snared at him as he asked, "What are you doing back here, Josef? Last we spoke, you said you had enough of spy business. You were out."

"And seeing how I was never tracked down and killed for my abandonment...I know you're not a stukach."

Ivan regarded him sternly, appearing insulted by the implication of being thought of as a snitch, before smiling and laughing. He stepped over to him and pulled him into a nearly painful hug. "Always telling jokes," he told him as he eased his grip on him before he leaned down and kissed him.

He returned the kiss whole-heartedly.

Pulling back, Ivan ended the kiss as he asked, "Do you need place to stay?"

"I appreciate it. Thanks," he said once he was released. He sat down on the sofa and nearly sank to the floor.

Ivan pulled a wooden chair over from the kitchen and straddle it. He waited for Ivan to take a drink of the "coffee" before doing the same. It burned and had a faint taste of Vodka. He'd never known a drink to hurt his body as much as the one he'd just coughed down his throat. But he took another sip anyway and it went down a little easier, if only for the fact his throat now felt numb.

"You looking for job? My father once said to very wealthy American man, "it always about money.""

He knew a lot about the Petrovs'. Ivan's father Anton had once worked with Oskar Mueller and the CIA on the Prophet Five Project. Anton had been banished from the United States and then betrayed by Russia after the end of the Cold War. He had turned into a violent alcoholic who took his anger and frustration out on his only child.

They had met when Ivan, at the age of thirty, had gotten involved with the Russian equivalent of Project Christmas and had been assigned his handler. When he turned sixteen, he celebrated by having Ivan teach him how to pleasure a man. Now, Ivan was no longer his handler but still a good friend. Since they were in the spy game, they both bought and sold research, secrets, information, weapons and weapons designs. Equal opportunist to all things illegal.

However, he wasn't there for a job. He had been telling the truth, he was out. He wanted to be out, but all he knew was the spy game. It was how he worked, all he knew, and all he was and would ever be, that was until he learned about what Anton had done for Prophet Five.

Shaking his head, he said, "I know your father's been known to…" This was hard to get through, to get out. The ramifications. How it could all go wrong. But, he saw no other way. "I want to forget."

Ivan stared at him. He looked him over and then said, "Forget…? Everything?"

Giving a nod, he rubbed his face as he said, "Your father can do it-"

"I know what my father can do, Josef."

'"I'm done," he said as he stared over at him. "This is the only way to ensure it. Tell everyone I died, I don't care. I thought I could just...go off on my own, but...I can't sleep. All I want to do is another job. It's all I know. If my memories are repressed, then I can move on. I know he can do that with memories... It's my only chance at freedom. Free from all this. Ivan, I'll pay you. Please."

Ivan's eyes sparked up then. A cold draft blew in from the closed window, and he knew that with the Petrov's it really did all come down to money. He looked around the flat and knew Ivan was in need but would never admit it.

He considered that before offering up a deal. "I have money saved. I haven't really spent anything I've made. Twenty percent of what I have is yours."

That got his attention. Ivan laughed again but it was humorless. He considered that for a very long moment as he finished off the drink. Sliding his middle finger into the hole of the grip, he palmed the cup in his hand, concealing it as if readying himself to smash it into someone's skull. "It not simple procedure. There could be complications. You could wake up one day with all your memories returned. It happened before."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

He smiled as he shook his head, "How much twenty percent?"

"One point two million dollars."

Ivan nearly gapped at him in shock.

He rubbed at his head as it started to hurt. The consequences of his actions, and the reason he had no other choice, but it still ached at his head. He had to do this.

"Six million," Ivan finally said. "Twenty percent of six million is what you'll pay me. I should've taken you for half."

He smiled and laughed. "But you won't, and I can't. The rest I have to have. You gotta spend money to make money. And, I'm going to need money to start a new life." He clutched his bag that was next to him tighter.

Ivan started twirling the cup around his finger, catching it every time it came back around before twirling it again. "We got deal."

Ryan Robert Ferro, aka "Josef", lifted his eyes to Ivan's and gave a nod before taking another drink. "Thank you."

Ivan smiled a little as he said, "Welcome back, my Josef. Been long time."

Will Tippin, aka Josef, aka Ryan Robert Ferro, stood as he regarded his friend. Even though Ivan was now forty years old, and looking older due to life and hardship, he still felt an ache in his chest for the man. "It has. I've been talking with your father. He says you're having trouble finding work. Maybe I can help with that."

"My father very sick man. We can talk over drink, yes? When was last time you had good Russian Vodka?"

He thought about that before telling him, "Uh, when was the last time I was in Russia?"

Ivan smiled and grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Too long, my friend. Papa, papa," he said as he released him and peered down at Anton. The television was on and Anton was fixated on the program being shown. "Josef and I going out to drink. Do you need anything?"

Anton barely looked away as he shook his head. Then he held out his hand to him as he gestured for him to come closer.

Will took Anton's hand in his as he knelt down beside the old man. "It was good seeing you again."

Anton smiled a little, coughed and wheezed, and then smiled again. It was hard to witness the deterioration of any human being, but more so for this man. Once, in what felt like another lifetime ago, this man, along with Ivan, had helped to save his life. Seeing him like that was all the more reason for him to push forward and continue on. There was still so much to do.

Pulling his arm up, he watched as Anton removed the watch off his right wrist. He opened his palm and placed the watch in his hand. Will realized what he was doing and said, "No, I can't take this."

Anton ignored him as he gestured for him to lean in closer. When he leaned down, he had to strain to hear the words coming out of his mouth. "...cteha." Ctecha? Wall? Then he heard him say, "You find Mikhail there."

Will gave a nod as he stood. Looking at the watch in his hand, he turned it over and read the inscription before sliding it onto his left wrist. As he and Ivan left the small flat, he asked Ivan, "Do you know of a place called the wall? Cteha?"

Ivan laughed and slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Great place for bottle. First one on me."

Will figured that meant he'd have to buy the second. A light snow was starting to fall as a strong, crisp autumn wind, called buran, whipped around the street as they stepped outside. Ivan seemed to not realize the cold having been used to it. He, however, buttoned up his coat and pulled a wool cap over his head. Neither spoke a word as they lumbered along the street toward the subway and then across town. Since he didn't know where he was going, he followed Ivan through the maze of streets until neon lit up the sidewalks. The word CTEHA was lit up in red and he spotted it half a block away.

It was a small little establishment and it was very busy; patrons packed the single bar that ran along the left side. The few tables on the right were taken. Standing room only. Ivan got the first bottle of Vodka like he'd promised. They toasted then drank the first glass. He wasn't much of a drinker of vodka but he could hold his own. By the third drink, two seats at the bar were vacated by two men so they sat down.

Will kept his eyes on the men as they walked away. He'd noticed both were carrying guns under their jackets. One of the men headed out the door at the back of the building while the other man entered the office that was opposite the kitchen. He must have been one of Mikhail's bodyguards.

Returning his attention back to his drink, he stared down at it as he contemplated how to pursue. Ivan filled his fourth and then started to finally slow down. Instead of downing it like all the others, Ivan took a sip, leaned on the bar, and gave him a look. He leaned on the bar and gave him a look back, causing Ivan to smile.

Smiling back at his friend, he asked, "What?"

"What? My father changed you into new man. Seven years you live new life as journalist in Los Angeles. Now...you show up in Russia like it never happened."

Will sighed and looked at the bar and then toward the office that was opposite the kitchen. "There was a complication." He wasn't going to tell Ivan about Jack.

Ivan laughed and poured another drink. "Complication. I heard about your complication from your sister."

"My sister. You have no idea how it felt to believe that you had a sister only to realize you never did. That she was an asset. You put her in place to reaffirm my false memories and to make me believe I was Will Tippin. Was she also there to keep tabs on me? It seemed like the only thing we ever talked about was money. She kept wanting more to do more and more things and buy more and more stuff. It was horrible. All she gave me was a headache. I don't know where you found her-"

"She good at her job. She kept your cover preserved. I was worried about you. Putting someone who knew truth in your life ensured if something were to happen, I would be notified. Stop complaining. She helped you when you needed help. What else for her to do?"

"Anything besides giving me a headache. Where is she now? Still in America?"

"No. She came back home. Amy very talented asset. She's IT technician." Ivan went quiet as he took a drink then looked at him. "That man-" He didn't have to say who. There was only one man. He poured another drink and stared at him. "He made you want to remember?"

Will smiled slightly as he finished his drink. "He, uh...he did, but it was my choice. He's shown me what love truly is," he said as he shook his head. Even though there was an ache in his chest still for Ivan, there was a hole in his heart now with a different name written on it. Jack Bristow. "He's in trouble, Ivan...That's why I'm here. I have to help him. I need your help."

Ivan nodded. "To find happiness and love in life not easy. For you to find both...I share in your happiness, Josef. I will help you and your love."

He smiled over at Ivan as he told him, "Thank you."

"Any other complications?"

"Julian Sark."

Ivan turned to him and said, "He knows your history."

"That's another reason why I'm here," he said as he pulled money out of his pocket and threw some down for the second bottle. He handed the rest over to Ivan. "Wait until I'm inside the office before doing anything."

Ivan took the cash and asked, "What will I be doing?"

"Saving my ass like always." Will patted Ivan on the shoulder as he left him at the bar and headed toward the back of the bar.

He acted as if he was going to the bathroom that was further down the hallway but stopped just short of it and leaned against the wall right next to the office door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two magnets and stuck one to the doorframe and the other onto the office door, making sure that both south poles of the magnets were directed at each other, that way when the door opens and then tries to close the two magnets would push each other apart, preventing the door from closing all the way. Then he walked further down the hall and rested against the wall by the restroom as if he were waiting.

It wasn't long, only a couple of minutes, until the office door opened and the bodyguard who had entered the office earlier left it. The bodyguard didn't acknowledge him as he hurried out the back door. As soon as the bodyguard had exited the building, he turned and went back down the hall to the office door and pushed it open.

The owner of the bar stared up at him in shock and confusion from behind his desk, but he noticed the moment of the right hand. Instinctively, the hand had reached under the desk. The man with curly dark hair and brown eyes carefully watched as he moved into the room and pulled out a chair.

Sitting down across from the former spy and current Senior Intelligence Officer for all the Project Christmas agents, minus him and a few others who'd gone rogue. Will didn't smile as he said, "Hello Mikhail, it's been a long time."

Mikhail Andropov was shocked to see him, as anyone would who believed him to be dead. "How're you-"

"The how's and why's don't matter. It's what I have for you that should be your only concern," he said as he reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it onto the desk as he told him, "We have an important matter to discuss."

"What's this?" Mikhail asked as he picked up the thick envelope.

He watched as Mikhail opened it with a half smirk on his face. "Several truths you've been after," he simply told him as the door banged open.

The bodyguard from earlier rushed in with a gun trained on his head. The movement of Mikhail's right hand under the desk had been to activate a silent alarm. A moment later Ivan stepped inside, blocking the entryway and startling the bodyguard. Ivan reached out and grabbed the guard's arm and slammed him back into the wall. Will didn't bother to get up to help; Ivan could take care of himself.

Mikhail stared at the two struggling men for a moment before calling out, "Nikolai!" He held up his hand, indicating for Nikolai to stop.

Nikolai let go of Ivan as Ivan did the same, but they continued to stare at one another, the urge to kill the other too strong to just let go. Leaning back in the chair, Mikhail opened the pages of paper and began reading.

After he was done skimming through it all, he tossed the papers on the desk and asked him with a measured voice to not betray his anger, "How much?"

He nearly laughed. Shaking his head, he answered, "I don't want your money, Mikhail. I want to talk with her."

Mikhail sighed and rubbed his head. "She's not for me to give away."

"You're not appreciating what I'm offering you. That's my fault. I should've made it clear how potentially fatal of a situation this was from the start." Leaning forward onto the desk, he told him, "I'm not offering you that information. You've already read it. What I'm offering you is your life. If you don't deliver her to me, I will kill you. Right here, right now." He didn't smile or even bat an eye as he stared at the man. "Is she worth your life, Mikhail?"

Mikhail huffed out a laugh as he said, "You'll do no such thing."

"You may have forgotten who I am and what I'm capable of, but I remember. I'm not a man who makes mistakes. Don't be a man who does."

Mikhail swallowed hard as he eyed him a long moment. Fear setting in but also a decision. Looking at Nikolai, he gave a jerk of his head as he told him, "Leave us."

Will glanced at Ivan and gave a nod. He returned his attention back to Mikhail as he heard the door shut, leaving them alone.

Ten minutes later, they finally left the bar and he gave Ivan another hug before telling him, "My father gave you his watch. He considers you family."

He looked at the watch on his wrist and asked, "Why didn't he give it to you?"

Ivan didn't answer the question as he gripped his shoulder. "It so good to see you again. Be safe."

As Ivan walked back to his father's flat, Will headed to the nearest subway. It took two transfers to get him to the Sokolniki District. It was busy out on the streets even at the late hour. Trolley buses, cars, taxis, and Trams hooked to lines going every which way above his head sparked as the buses sped by him on the tracks in the street as he entered Sokolniki Square.

Towering up in front of him, and over most of the other buildings in the area, was the twenty-story high hotel that'd been under construction the last time he'd been in Moscow. Directly across from it was the shopping center that was equal in height but wider as it encircled the marketplace below.

In the hotel there was a room booked for him under the name Josef Basov. Staring up at the hotel, he walked across the street but didn't go inside as he started down the sidewalk, heading away as he kept his head down. A few blocks down the street he made a left down a thin one-way road between grey walls made of both limestone and sheet metal. On one side rusty old barbed wire still protruded from the top of the limestone walls as tall trees blocked the view into the yards and back lots.

At the end of the road appeared a grey and beige building of an industrial business. He continued down the street as it opened to another building, taller with glass windows and peeling white and grey paint, and more limestone. There was nothing around but bleak industrial buildings and fenced in parking lots. Once he passed under a metal circular tube that ran above his head from one building to another, he knew he was getting close.

A low one-story building appeared to his right. It was a long stretch of beige and metal garage doors every few feet with scattered windows all the way down. The entry doors were carved into the metal garage doors and some sat high up off the ground so trucks could back into them for unloading. Bay doors had numbers painted on the sides and nothing else.

He went to the second garage door down and opened the windowless door and stepped inside. It was freezing cold. No heat unless you applied it to your own unit. He stared down the long hall that ran between the storage units and waited as he listened. After a moment of not hearing anything, he continued down the hallway. The lights were dimmed but it was enough for him to see. He could've turned on the lights but didn't want to make his presence known. He made a turn at one of the intersections of hallways and went to the very last unit on the right.

His unit had no key lock like all the others. Instead, it had been equipped with a biometric pad and keycode lock display that was hidden behind a removable panel in the wall. He entered the code he hadn't used in over eight years and then pressed his hand to the pad and waited. Did it even still work?

He heard the door unlock as the display lit up green. He took one last look down the hall, making sure he was alone, before entering the unit. Turning on the light, his eyes took in the lab equipment, supply refrigerators, and the storage cabinets along the back wall. A layer of dust was over everything and some of the light bulbs fizzled and died out.

He grabbed a bag off the chair and went to a cabinet. There were five storage units belonging to Ryan Robert Ferro in various parts of the world. There was one in North America, Germany, the UK, France, Italy, and this one in Russia. All were basically equipped with mostly the same supplies or necessities, like currency, fake IDs and passports, clothes, and equipment and weapons.

He skimmed over the IDs and looked over the weapons and shook his head. This had once been his life. From his first official assignment in 1988 until 1996, this was how he lived and survived. Now he was back to surviving.

He filled the bag with some files he would need, cash, a couple of prepaid cell phones, guns, and fake IDs. In his pocket was a key to a locker at the Sokolniki train station. Going to a storage cabinet, he removed a single container with a biometric lock and placed it in the bag. Then he turned out the lights and locked up, knowing that he may not be back for a long time.

Two days later, he was sitting at a bar in the hotel with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. He'd just gotten the call. She'd be at the bar CTEHA in an hour. He let out a sigh, closed the phone, and then pocketed it inside his jacket pocket. Looking up at a television in the corner behind the bar, he stared at the hockey game being broadcasted as he sipped the beer and let his mind drift to a real memory of his past.

He adjusted the bowtie again out of nervous habit. It was tight against his neck, making him feel like it was going to strangle him to death. God, he hated ties.

"Stop messing with it." Turning his head, he smiled at Allison Doren as she held out a drink. "I know you're not much of a drinker, but I figured you could use it."

"How so?" he asked as he took the glass of something alcoholic and took a sip.

He never did like the taste. Occasionally he'd have a beer or two, but usually only with Allison when they were finally given a chance to have fun. She gave him a look as if it was pretty obvious. He guessed it was; he hadn't moved away from the wall since he'd arrived. Looking toward the table, he saw several civilians he "worked with" and looked away.

"Your friends-" she went to say.

"Targets," he corrected.

Allison smiled. "Your targets are worried about you."

He took another sip of the drink as he spotted a man over Allison's shoulder. Julian Sark was walking their way. "Not my problem."

"I think it is since your assignment hinges on your ability to be a "friend"."

"There you are," Sark said as he eased up beside Allison and wrapped his arm around her waist. Some might think it was a sign of protection, he knew it was one of ownership. Julian Sark believed he owned her now that they were together. So much so that he could order her around. "Allie, sweetie," he said, "be a dear and get me a refill." He handed her his glass and she accepted it and gave him one last look before walking away.

He watched as she walked away and felt Sark's eyes on him, burning into his skull. His hand on his shoulder was light, and friendly, until he squeezed it hard enough to make him clench his jaw. He looked at the hand and then up into Sark's face. The blue eyes, that cocky grin, and the smell of alcohol. He hated him. He reminded him of his father. And his foster father.

Sark looked him over before saying, "You know, Ryan, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to steal my woman away from me." He then smiled as he laughed a little, saying, "She told me about you." He glanced toward where Allison was standing against the bar, getting him a refill on his drink. "I think it's a good thing. She needs another, uh...lady friend to keep her company while I'm away."

His hand clenched so hard he felt his nails dig into his skin. He shoved his fisted hand into his pants pocket as he finished off the drink. He fiddled with the glass as he visualized breaking it against the wall and using the sharp end to cut Sark's throat. He wondered if Sark knew the kind of violence that ached inside of him to be unleashed, if he would continue to degrade him the way he did? Probably. Julian was an idiot.

Allison, with a smile on her face, walked around Sark and handed him the glass as she kissed his cheek. Sark looked between the two of them then gave her a kiss before reminding her that she was going home with him tonight. He actually told her that as he touched her very inappropriately in a public place before walking away. If looks could kill, Sark would've collapsed to the floor as she glared at his back.

"Sorry, he can be such a man." She turned back to him and smiled. "I shouldn't say that, should I? You're a man and you're nothing like him." She must have seen something in him that caused her concern because she suddenly asked, "Are you okay? Did he say anything-"

"You told him I was gay?"

She gapped for a moment then recovered before taking a moment. He wasn't sure if she was trying to figure out a lie or not, but then she just said, "Yes. It was the only way to get him off my back about us being friendly. He's possessive. I'm sorry if I overstepped-"

"No, no, it's okay. I don't care what he thinks." He looked at her and smiled softly. "And, you're not entirely wrong." He did like men, but he also liked women. He'd never actually fallen in love with anyone before despite having dated. He didn't think it was possible. "The way he acts with you is what really bothers me. Do you want me to handle him?"

Allison looked amused as she pointed over her shoulder. "You think you can take Sark? Oh, honey, he's the ruthless one."

He actually laughed at that. "Believe me, I can take men like him down without ever throwing a single punch. That's not how I operate."

"Then how do you operate?" she asked.

Reaching up, he touched his finger to his head as he told her, "I'll outsmart him."

She actually laughed at him as she hooked her arm into his and led him away from the wall. "No offense, but you're the biggest geek I know. Having said that, there's absolutely nothing you could do to Julian. He's untouchable." He shook his head at the absurd thought. No one was untouchable. "And speaking of dates and men...Him." She stopped walking and turned around to face him. Allison was gesturing with her head, looking like she had some strange tick as she said, "3 o'clock, at the bar."

He frowned at her in confusion before looking to his direct right. Seated at the bar he saw a young American military officer. He was in conversation with the bartender and dressed in his formal attire. Medals were pinned to his chest. Tall, dark, and handsome..."Wait, are you trying to set me up?"

"Yes," she quickly said as she pushed him closer toward the Airman. "He's single. Fighter pilot. Stationed here last week on two-year orders."

"How'd you know all this?" he whispered because he was getting extremely close to an empty seat two down from the Airman.

Allison nearly pushed him down into the chair and glared at him, "You're kidding, right? I know everything around here. I actually talk to people." He felt the jab as if she'd actually smacked him and looked at the bar as he sighed. She was right. He didn't mingle very well. His social networking skills were virtually non-existent. "You need to work on being charming if you want to be truly effective at your job. Buy him a drink. Be nice. You might actually have a good night. Oh, and try not to be, y'know, you."

"Was that meant to be a pep talk? And do I look like I'm twenty-one?"

She just rolled her eyes. "With that scruff on your face and the fact that your ID says you're twenty-one, you'll be fine. Now, pretend this is a training exercise, and tonight, he's your assignment," she told him and then walked away, leaving him alone at the bar.

He showed his ID that belonged to "Robert Atkins", who was a new hire with a civilian contractor company that worked on the Pensacola Naval Base in Florida. They were currently attending an annual holiday party. Their mission was to infiltrate the Naval Base, gather as much intel as possible over the course of six months, and then extract themselves before anyone got suspicious. It sounded easy, simple, but it wasn't. It was hard work getting people to unknowingly betray their country and divulge secrets.

He ordered a beer with a please and thank you as he tried to relax. He drank nearly half of it as he studied the pilot for a while. He didn't look to be having a good time. He sat alone at the end of the bar and watched a group of men and women dance happily a few feet away. There was a look of dejection and longing on his dark face. In a way he reminded him of himself. Awkward and out of place.

Once the person who'd been sitting next to him got up, he tossed money on the counter and waved the bartender over. When the bartender was close enough, he told him, "See that guy down there."

The bartender looked to where he was pointing. "Oh, you mean Mister Stick Up His Ass? What about him?"

He felt his jaw tense at the description the bartender had for the guy as he told him, "I want to buy him a drink."

The bartender shrugged as he got the preferred beer of choice for the guy. "Word of advice, he's difficult. I'm not," the way he said that, and the smile on his face, made him want to reach over and pound the man's face into the counter.

He felt insulted at the assumption that all he cared about was a quickie. His hand gripped the bottle harder as he told him, "Get me another drink, after you get him his."

He left out the please and thank you this time. He watched as the bartender placed the bottle in front of the man while he pointed down the bar at him. The guy looked down the bar at him, surprised at first before confusion sparked his eyes. He waited until the guy raised the bottle to him as a thanks before smiling slightly.

"Good luck," the bartender told him as he placed the bottle in front of him. "If you change your mind-"

"I won't," he shot back as he glared at the guy. He grabbed the bottle and moved away. Ryan eased his way toward the end of the bar and sat down right beside the guy who somehow managed to look even more rejected despite the fact he'd just accepted a drink from a stranger. Leaning onto the bar beside him, he glanced over to the two men dancing with a couple of women and asked, "Friends of yours?"

That startled the guy as he looked over at the group and then back at him, as he answered, "Yeah, yes, they're my friends." He quickly recovered and then seemed to come to a conclusion, and more resignation as he told him, "Sorry, but, they're not into sharing."

Now it was his turn to be confused. That actually made him laugh. "I-I uh, I wasn't...Um, I was only asking because you keep watching them. I thought that, I don't know, maybe one of them was your girlfriend...or, boyfriend. I didn't want you to get into any trouble."

"Oh," he said as he looked away in embarrassment before trying to explain it away. "I thought you were trying to use me to get to one of them."

He shook his head as he asked, "Why would you think that?"

He gave a shrug, took a drink, and then told him, "I don't get hit on often at these things. Okay, hardly ever."

He raised his eyes at that in surprise, "You're kidding, right?" he asked. Realizing his statement, he quickly tried to play it off, and failing miserably, as he stammered out, "Uh, what I meant was, is that you're...uh..." when his mind went blank and his cheeks reddened, the guy chuckled and looked away. Yea, okay, he really sucked at pickup lines.

"Look, not to sound like an asshole or anything, and I really appreciate the drink, but I'm not interested-"

"I'm, um, Robert."

He twisted his head around as he stared at him in confusion. "What?"

He pushed his nervousness down long enough to say again, and smoother, "My name, it's Robert," he said as he offered his hand.

"Richards-" the guy caught himself and then told him simply as he shook his hand, "Anthony Richards."

He chuckled slightly as he leaned a little more forward, getting into Anthony's personal space. "I have to tell you Anthony that I don't do this often. In fact, I don't think I've ever hit on anybody in my life. How'm I doing?"

Anthony smiled and seemed to relax a little. He gave a nod and actually smiled. It was nice. "Safe to say, I'm not creeped out, so, pretty good." He turned to fully face him now; it seemed to finally dawn on him that maybe he found someone he could just talk to without any expectations. "You're a civilian."

He looked at the counter and said into his drink, "That a bad thing?"

"No," Anthony said with a smirk. "It's not a bad thing."

"Thank you, at least I know I'm not out of the running so soon," he said before taking a drink. "I heard that you're a fighter pilot. Is that why you're in Pensacola?"

His smile widened as he told him, "Flight training. The first thing I ever loved was flying. Best feeling in the world is being at 50,000 feet going over two thousand miles per hour." He seemed to realize what he was saying and laughed a little, "I'm boring you."

He smiled as he shook his head. "You're not. If you want to know what boring is, I could tell you about my job. Believe me, being a research assistant isn't very interesting."

"You don't know me well enough to know what I consider interesting."

He smiled at Anthony as he took a sip of the beer. He looked him over, up and all the way down; it couldn't be helped. Anthony did interest him now. Once their eyes met, he saw clear intent in his eyes as well before he looked away. Anthony's earlier dejection was giving way to desperation.

He noticed a ring on his finger but it wasn't a wedding ring, but a "Brass Rat". Anthony was a graduate of M.I.T.. "Interesting ring," he said as he pointed to it. "M.I.T. grad?"

Anthony looked pleased as he smiled. "That's right. Top of my class."

He was expecting him to elaborate or maybe go into what he'd majored in, but he went quiet as he focused on something far off in his head. "Let me guess...Aerospace Engineering."

The look of genuine surprise crossed Anthony's face as he looked over at him. "How-?"

He shrugged as he told him, "You're a pilot, it only makes sense. Do you want to someday be an astronaut?"

"Isn't that everyone's dream, to go to outer space?"

"There are some who might challenge you on that, but yeah, I certainly wouldn't mind it."

"It's all about taking advantage of opportunities and having an experience. Life wouldn't be worth living if you didn't do much of it...Living, I mean. I don't want to waste my opportunities."

He studied Anthony for a long moment as he felt those words hit him. He took a drink of beer and sat it down as he debated on what to say next.

When he finally worked it out in his head, he went to speak when he heard Anthony say, "I'm not having sex with you."

He laughed as he said, "That's a relief, takes all the stress off of me asking you to walk me home."

Anthony downed his beer and turned in his seat to face him. "You walked here?"

"I live less than a quarter mile from the base," he said as he slid off the seat. "It's not a far walk."

Anthony watched him for a long moment, debating something in his head again. "I drove. C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

The ride turned out to be on the back of a motorcycle. A brand new 1992 Suzuki GSX-R 1100 according to Anthony. He told him all about the bike and ensured him that he was a safe driver before handing him the helmet and told him to get on. Once he wrapped his arms around Anthony's body to hold on for dear life, they took off like a rocket. At first, he was terrified and then elated. It was exhilarating.

Anthony pulled up into his driveway and rode it up all the way to the carport to drop him off. As he handed the helmet back to him, he asked, "Can I ask you something, Robert? How'd you really feel about what I said, that I wasn't going to sleep with you?"

He was taken back by that question, but he realized from his look that it could've been what's been on Anthony's mind that caused him such deep reflection. Looking him in the eyes, he gave him his honest answer, "The bartender told me not to buy you a drink, that you were difficult. I bought you a drink anyway. So, in all honesty, I thought you were worth the effort."

Anthony studied him with a seriousness he hadn't seen in a man's eyes before in his life. He was genuinely interested in him.

Smiling back, he said, "Thank you, Anthony. I've never been on a motorcycle before. It was...Thank you."

Anthony stared at him a second longer before saying, "Fuck it." He got off the bike, grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him.

He stood stunned for a moment after Anthony backed away. "Why'd-"

"Saw an opportunity," he said as he let him go. "Didn't want to waste it. And call me Tony, all my friends do."

"Want to come inside, Tony," he asked as he moved back toward the door to the house that he shared with Allison and Sark. His handler, Ivan, had shown him a few things that he wanted desperately to try out on Anthony. "We don't have to have sex... unless you want to."

Anthony looked around a moment, thinking, before following him inside.

Will heard shouting and looked up to see a group of drunken men cheering; a hockey team had scored. He checked the time, finished his beer, and then left the hotel bar.


CTEHA

"Dobryj ve?er, Allison."

Allison Doren smiled up at the man, Mikhail, who greeted her and used her foot to scoot the chair out from underneath the table. She'd been on her way back to her flat when he called with an invitation. When she arrived at the small bar that was tucked away a half mile from Moscow, Nikolai had a table set with a hot meal and a glass of vodka that was light on the ice. It was early morning and the bar was closed.

Dawn was barely breaking through the windows as she got comfortable in the wooden chair. After the greeting, Mikhail leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head; a gesture that should have been familiar but, because of her programming, felt foreign. She watched as he sat then clasped his hands together on top of the table and rubbed the knuckles on his left hand. It was a habit of his that she'd picked up on years ago. He was nervous.

Mikhail Andropov had once been a KGB field agent. Once upon a time he had also been Matthew Harrington. Her biological parents had died when she was a child and she'd been given to Matthew and his wife, Juliana, to be raised in Los Angeles. They "fostered" children, but unlike other foster parents, all the children that the "Harrington's" fostered were candidates for Project Christmas.

After the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War, they all returned to Russia, and while Juliana decided to really retire from working, Mikhail opened a bar. The bar was also where he directed assignments for all of the "Project Christmas" agents now as a Senior Intelligence Officer. They held no official affiliation with any government agency. Their only affiliation, and loyalty, was to each other. They were all hired out to various groups or governments or individuals, sometimes the mission was a solo assignment but others required two or three agents for the job. She was currently working solo missions. Being a gun-for-hire wasn't the safest career choice, but it paid and it was all she knew.

After taking another sip of the vodka, she asked, "Is this really a social call or do you have a job?"

"Can't I ask how you are first?"

"Not dead." He winced at that answer because she knew what he saw on her face.

The bruises and cuts from a meeting that turned violent. Her hip still itched from the bullet that grazed her flesh. His look wasn't one of disappointment at her brush-off. His brown eyes were so full of understanding that he didn't even challenge her on it.

"Still as stubborn as ever, just like your mother."

"She's not my mother." She looked away and took a sip of the vodka so not to see the shift in his eyes. Now he was disappointed.

"When will you forgive her? You've forgiven me."

"You didn't disown me."

"It wasn't a disownment," he stressed as he lowered his voice and leaned on the table. "She's proud of her service to her country and doesn't understand why-"

"I no longer want to be a robotic slave? Besides, she cut her ties with me a long time ago. You didn't. It's that simple."

When Allison was twelve years old she, and all the other foster children, had been sent to Russia to complete their training. She still remembered the "training" and "procedures" used on them to mold them into assassins, pretenders, deep cover spies, and sleeper agents. Procedures she still dealt with today. They had been "programmed" with false memories, mind manipulation, and "cured" of empathy.

She decided she had had enough and wanted to break out of the "programming". She wanted to remember who she was before, her life before because if there was one thing she could save, her sanity would have to be it. Mikhail's been helping her to sort through her disjointed memories for the last few years. That was why he didn't get upset or angry. He was willing to help her and she was eternally grateful. Her "mother", on the other hand, wasn't willing. She said that empathy made an assassin weak. Made them prone to making mistakes.

Her sudden irritability made her impatient to leave as she got right down to it. "Give me the information already so I can go."

Mikhail gestured for Nikolai to bring him a drink. He didn't answer her until he was nursing his own glass. Unlike her, he preferred beer in his old age. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. She knew it held money and information. Both were valuable. "We have acquired intel that one of our former handlers has aligned himself with an American."

"Who?"

"Ivan Petrov."

"And the American?"

"Someone we both know." That caught her interest, but she didn't push it. If he wanted to tell her more, he would've; he didn't. Whoever this mystery person was, he wanted her to find out for herself. Mikhail tapped the envelope on top of the table. She could tell something was bothering him. "I heard about the CIAs attempt on your life." He stared at her with anger. She didn't look away as he asked the question, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She pushed her drink away as she steadied herself; she was done. "There was nothing to tell."

"I'm your-"

"Father? Handler? Why do you feel the need to remind me of that every time we meet?" Standing up, she waited by the side of the table as she held out her hand, "Their agent didn't succeed. I'm still here."

"Yes, you are, and it's the fact that you are here that worries me. They wouldn't have come after you if you weren't someone they considered a threat. They won't stop."

"Thanks for the drink," she told him instead of answering as she started to walk away.

"Allie." She stopped but didn't turn around. No one had called her by that name in years. She turned, grabbed the envelope out of his raised hand, and went to walk away when he told her, "Don't go making enemies of us now. I'd hate to see something happen to you."

She wanted to tell him that she had no intention of betraying him. However, she also couldn't predict the future. Bridges could be burned. Enemies could become friends, and friends could become enemies. It was that simple and that quick. What she did know was that there was already bad blood in the water. There always was; and it was overflowing.

Leaving the bar, she tied the belt to her overcoat as she crossed the street. Newly fallen snow covered all the surfaces, making the street light up in the night. The subway wasn't too far of a walk and she didn't mind as it gave her time to think.

It wasn't long, almost immediately, that she noticed the tail.

He tried to mask it as he kept his head low and eyes mostly on the ground as he walked. His pace was slower but his steps matched hers to reduce sound. Glancing behind her, at an ad in the window of a local bakery, she caught sight of his breath in the night air. It was uneven. Hurried then unnaturally slow, like he was catching himself and trying to slow his breathing but in fact was holding it longer than a normal person would. It was too dark along the street to catch sight of who it was other than a man.

He wore a cap pulled down over his eyes and a wool coat that was buttoned tightly around his body. A dark shoulder bag hung off his left shoulder as he kept his hands in his coat pockets. Turning back to the front, she never changed her pace as she continued down the sidewalk, letting her arms sway as she neared a dark narrow side street. If he wanted to grab her then she would give him the perfect opportunity as she turned down the street. She'd gone this way before as it was a shortcut so it wouldn't set him off that something wasn't right if he'd been following her for a few days.

He could've been FSB or maybe CIA, or some other agent with some other dark and mysterious government agency. Or, he could've been an independent contractor like herself who'd been paid to take her out. His steps followed hers along the narrow street, clicking with her heels. He had to have known she knew he was there.

Whoever he was he knew her reputation. He knew she was the one who went by "Black Widow''; she was a seductress and assassinator of her lovers, so what was he doing? That got her thinking that maybe he was drawing her into a trap. There could be another. And that would've been smart. Two or three guys against one woman. Either way, she'd win the fight but a one-on-one was downright idiotic.

She spotted a door to a coffee shop at the corner of the building and decided to take the lead in this little dance. Opening the door to the shop, she stepped inside and kept her hand on the door as she closed it but didn't release the handle. He could either come in or walk by the door. If he started to come in, she'd pull the door open quickly, knocking him off balance to get the upper hand. If he walked by, she'd come up behind him and pull her gun. Peering through the glass in the door, she saw him hesitate his steps but continued by the door. She eased the door open and slipped back outside. As she closed the door, she pulled her gun and jabbed it into his back.

He froze. She dug the gun in deeper as she kept a distance. "Move. Between the buildings."

He didn't question it as he walked in front of her and rounded the corner. It was a thin pathway that led between the buildings. There would be little room to maneuver if a fight broke out, but she knew how to use the walls and small space to her advantage. Plus, she had the gun. There wasn't too much light; only a couple of street lamps lined the pathway and they were dim.

"You know the game well." She reached up and grabbed the back of his coat collar to stop his movements. "I know it better. Back to the wall," she ordered.

"I never could keep up with you," he said with a shaky voice. She couldn't tell if it was from actual fear or from the cold. "At least I'm no longer pulling your hair and kicking at your shins to get your attention."

He turned and she got her first full look at the man who'd been following her and gasped. Ryan Robert Ferro. It can't be, she thought, he was..."I thought you were dead." She didn't give him time to answer as she shoved the gun up under his chin, making the back of his head impact the wall. He groaned and closed his eyes at the pain as she asked, "How'd you find me?"

"Mikhail."

She pressed the gun harder into his neck, almost making it impossible for him to talk. She still couldn't believe it was him. Was he there to kill her? There were so many possibilities and not a single one she liked.

"Relax," he gritted out. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then what'd you want?"

Swallowing hard against the gun barrel, he told her, "At the moment, I want you to remove the gun, Allison."

She flinched at the use of her name and eyed him while she considered her options. For a moment, she was reminded of their first meeting all those years ago in Los Angeles at the Harrison foster home. The awkward little boy who never spoke a word to anyone.

She looked him in the eyes as she lowered the gun, but only to her waist as she kept it pointed at his chest. "Let's go somewhere quiet."

"Thought you'd never ask," he said as he lowered his arms.

She hooked her left arm around his right, like they were some love-crossed couple, and then jabbed the gun into his right side as she tucked her right arm between their bodies. They didn't talk the entire way and she wasn't too surprised. Whatever he had to tell her it could wait until they were off the street. She guided him to a rundown apartment building on the out-skits of Moscow. The building was under renovation and currently empty. A train roared by not too far, causing the walls and windows to rattle. That was probably the reason the building was falling apart. It shook every time a train passed.

Once inside and the door shut, she got her first good look at the man she had first met twenty years ago. In a way he appeared exactly the same. Glasses, adorable smile, and soft blue eyes. But he was now a man, with a beard, and seven years ago was the last time she'd seen this man alive.

She could see how timid he was with his shy soft smile and the way he held his arms close to his body, his shoulders hunching forward. His awkward body angled around the room as he stepped away from her, keeping a distance.

"You bring all your old friends here at gunpoint?"

"Good of a place as any to catch up on old times," she told him as she kept the gun pointed at him.

He appeared helpless and unassuming. That was the kicker. His appearance was misleading and highly disarming. A fragile looking mild-mannered of a man who used his forefinger to push up his eyeglasses. It was a gentle awkwardness that made a person feel a little uncomfortable yet safe. In fact, she bet a lot of people felt safe when looking at Ryan Robert Ferro. However, she knew that under that "flinching at wind" exterior was something else entirely.

When he spoke again, it was no longer a sarcastic teasing but a hesitant softness that could put an assassin at ease, but she knew it could change in an instant. "I'm here to help you. In return, I'll need your assistance."

That stunned her for a moment. He was there to help her? But how? Why? Mikhail? She thought of the envelope in her coat pocket and wondered if this had something to do with her new assignment. Was Ryan the American? She kept the gun aimed at him as she used her free hand to pull out the envelope containing her new assignment.

There was a wooden workable in the middle of the room with pencil marks and mathematical problems written over it. The workers and contractors who were renovating the building used it to measure and cut their wooden planks. Handing the envelope out toward him, she said, "Open it," before tossing it on the workbench.

He stepped over and picked it up and did as he was told. Once he pulled out the sheet of paper, leaving the other contents in the envelope, he put them both down on the workbench and then stepped away.

She stepped over and picked up the piece of paper and took a look at the names. She shook her head and said, "I've been ordered to kill you." She tossed the paper on the workbench and gripped the gun with both hands. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

He stared at her a long moment; seemingly uncertain of what to say next. He gave a weak nod then said, "If you didn't want to hear what I have to say, I'd be dead already."

"You're assuming a hell of a lot for a dead man."

He smiled a little as he said, "Okay, how about the fact that you're for sale. I'll pay you more." He dropped his left shoulder, letting the bag he'd been carrying slide down his arm. Tossing it to the workbench, he stepped away from it as he told her, "Have a look." He lifted his hands and continued to step away until he was against the wall. "Please," he added as if he'd forgotten his manners.

She didn't even look at the bag. Keeping her gun trained on him, she let the silence stretch on until he started talking again. It really was the way his blue eyes looked that made her uneasy. They were steely and unemotional. Dangerous.

"Who I'm going after are people responsible for a lot of death and destruction. What I want from them is something that a lot of people are looking for and they will stop at nothing to get their hands on it. They'll kill for it." He stared right at her as he said, "They want to use it to create a weapon of mass destruction, and I can't let that happen. I need your assistance," he stressed. "As for why, I know I can trust you to do the right thing despite the fact you were given an order to put a bullet in my head."

"Why on earth should I help you," she asked unwavering.

"Then don't think of it as you helping me, but you would be helping me to stop the end the world."

"End the world for what?"

"Everything," he said matter-of-factly.

She almost laughed at the absurdity. "You're kidding? This coming from a cold-hearted killer? You're saving the world?"

He looked away, almost ashamed of that fact. Almost, she thought. "Objectives have changed."

"Say I agree-"

"You want to talk, lower the gun, please." He looked at the gun and back into her eyes. "I said please."

She hesitated for a moment but eventually dropped her arms to her sides and pocketed the gun inside her coat. "Happy?"

He smiled slightly as he stepped a little closer to her, never taking his eyes off her as he unzipped the bag. Then he took a step back and gestured to the bag.

Peering inside, she spotted a burner phone, a couple bundles of cash, two envelopes of paper files and a thick binder along with a container with a biometric lock, a change of clothes, and a passport. She took out the passport and flipped it open. It was a picture of Ryan but the name wasn't his. "Josef Basov." She looked up at him and studied his eyes as a small smirk appeared on his face. "I can't believe you still have this."

He tilted his head slightly as he told her, "It's still good. Got me into the country."

Tossing it into the bag, she picked up the file folders and saw what was written on one of the covers. "Is this what I think it is, Ryan? Misawa Air Force Base. You still have these?"

"They're my insurance policy."

"Right...And is this the weapon of mass destruction, or what causes the end of the world you were talking about?"

Will regarded her a long moment before answering, "Both. Are we talking business now?"

She returned the files to the bag then picked up one of the wads of cash. "Is this my payment? No offense, but this couldn't buy an hour of my time."

"That's my money, Miss Doren, please, put it back."

The sudden change in his demeanor and way of speaking took her by surprise. He still sounded like Ryan, looked like him, but there was something different about him. The way he carried himself, the body language, it had changed in an instant.

She dropped the money back into the bag as he stepped closer. Her hand hung loose at her side, ready to pull the gun if needed. He reached into the bag and retrieved the burner phone.

"Your payment will only be distributed to you once I get an agreement." He paused as he looked directly into her eyes as he handed the phone out for her to take. "This phone represents that agreement. If you take this phone, you're agreeing that whatever it is that I require of you, you do it. However, if you take this phone and decide not to answer it when called upon, I promise you that you will live to regret it."

That was an interesting way of stating a threat. It wasn't a threat of death, but of living in regret. Was that a threat to someone else's life? She shook herself out of that thought as she made her decision. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she took the phone. She felt something taped to the back of it and when she flipped it over she saw a key.

As she removed the key from the phone, he told her, "There are three different sets of numbers programmed into the phone. Two are in the contacts. One phone number is mine, the other number is to a train station. In the messages you'll find a five-digit code. The key will open a locker located at the train station, and the code will open the lockbox that's inside the locker. Everything in it is yours, and it'll buy more than just an hour."

"I swear, if you screw me on this-"

"I assure you I'm not in the business of cheating a woman who could decapitate me with a butter knife." There was no indication of harm in his eyes. In fact, there was no emotion at all. His stoicism rivaled her own. "I do ask one more thing of you. That you don't divulge that I'm alive to anyone. You had a meeting with Josef Basov tonight."

"That might be hard seeing how I've been contracted to kill you. Mikhail knows you're alive."

He nodded as he stepped closer to her. "And you will see to it he is punished for his indiscretion, now won't you?"

"Why would I?"

He looked her in the eyes as he said, "It's your death he wants." He was quiet a moment before telling her, "He knows, Allison. He knows that you were working as a double agent for the Alliance. And since you're leaving me alive, and I'm not going to kill you...he'll be coming for you."

She froze at those words. Mikhail knows? How? She didn't know, but she also thought it absurd that Mikhail would think that Ryan would be able to kill her. "He thought you would kill me? Would you have?"

He looked away before saying, "Self-preservation is a killer instinct." The way he looked at her made her shiver. She was reminded once again who she was dealing with.

Ryan Robert Ferro was never solely one man. He was many men in one. She remembered how it felt to be controlled. Programmed. This man had things done to him that turned him from that scared little boy into a man with two faces, one of which being a cold-hearted killer.

"Be careful." The way he said that made her almost believe him. As he backed away, he told her, "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Doren. We'll be in touch."

We? She wondered about that as she watched him grab the bag and shouldered it before heading to the door. "Ryan." He stopped at the door and turned to face her. "I'm glad you're not dead."

She didn't know why she said it but it was the truth. Despite everything, how dangerous he could be, there was something about him that made her like him still. It was the other face he had, the other Ryan.

He looked her over, like he was truly seeing her for the first time as a slow smile edged up from the side of his mouth. And in that moment, he actually looked like her old friend.

He turned and left, leaving her standing there wondering about what exactly happened to him all those years ago.


Two Weeks Later

October 2003

Novosinkovo, Moscow Oblast, Russia

Allison stepped off the motorcycle and stared up toward the industrial building that had once been active during the Soviet Union. The manufacturing building that had once produced tanks and bombs was now a rundown rusted shell of a building. Windows were broken, graffiti covered much of the brick and metal walls that had deteriorated over decades of inactivity, and the railroad that ran alongside it hadn't had any train come through since the end of the Cold War. There was nothing around, not even a single tree, for miles.

In the doorway of the building she spotted a shadow that moved before stepping out into the sunlight. It was Will, whom she still believed to be her friend Ryan. He wore a green utility jacket that he stuffed his hands in as he walked out to greet her.

Will looked the motorcycle over and asked, "You drive this in the snow?"

She gestured to the building, "You stay in a rusted icebox when it's three degrees outside?"

He looked back at the building and smirked. "It's actually quite warm inside. C'mon, I'll give you the tour."

As she entered through the door, she immediately walked into a tunnel. It had been manually constructed from metal and plastic tubing and PVC fabric. "You constructed a shelter inside the building."

"Told you it was warm." He led her to an open area that was being run solely on generators. There were a couple of heaters, tables covered with laptops and maps of the area, weapons and electronic equipment, and a young girl with purple hair getting herself a cup of coffee.

"Who's the girl?"

"Oh, hi," she said as her eyes lit up at seeing her. "Wow, you're...not what I was expecting. I mean, uh-" she stopped herself as she suddenly said, "My name's Svetlana, but I go by Amy." She offered her the cup of coffee as she said, "Here, this is for you, Miss...?" she asked as she gave her a glowing grin.

"Not interested." She did take the cup though, leaving Amy alone at the coffee table. Turning to Will, who had stopped at one of the tables with an actual map covering it, said, "Tell your sidekick to put her tongue back in her mouth before I cut it off."

Will chuckled and looked over his shoulder at Amy and asked, "Are you ready? Wait," he looked around and asked, "Where's Ivan?"

"He, uh...stepped out," she said as she gestured over her shoulder toward the far exit at the back of the room.

He eyed the girl as he asked, "Stepped out for what?"

She shrugged as she told him, "I don't know. Go out and ask him."

It'd been a long time since she'd seen this side of Ryan. He was annoyed, but also amused. He looked cute. She shook her head of that sudden thought and pushed it away. This was work. She was working.

Amy stared at him a moment before saying, "I can go find him."

"Don't bother. Are you ready?"

"Give me a minute," she said as she went back to getting another cup of the coffee.

Allison pulled out a chair and sat down as she watched as a suddenly tired looking Ryan Robert Ferro shuffled around the tables to pull out a chair. He sat across from her at the table and put his head in his hand. "This your bat cave?"

He looked at her and gave a small, soft smile as Amy handed over a cup full of coffee for him to take. He took the cup as he told her, "Amy, tell Miss Doren why she's here."

Amy sat down in front of the laptop and pulled out an energy drink from the bag at her feet. She looked at her and smiled. "I hate coffee. I really was getting it just for you." She started typing on the laptop as her attention was now solely on what she was doing. "We tracked our target to a hospital. The only one out here in the middle of deserted farmland Russia. It's about eight kilometers to our West."

Allison looked over at him and noticed he was no longer paying attention. He was resting his head in his hand while rubbing his fingers through his hair. He was so young, only twenty-eight, but he, like many of them associated with Project Christmas, had already lived a lifetime. Several lifetimes, in fact.

"We need help getting access not only to the secured security system but into the hospital itself, and then extracted out. That's where we need your assistance."

"To get you out?" she asked.

"To help get us, me and you, in, around, and out," Will finally said as he looked up from the cup of coffee he'd been staring into as he rubbed his beard. "Amy can hack the security, but only from a closer distance, about...What'd you say?"

"I'll have to be within a hundred yards or inside the building, both will be impossible," Amy said. "There's nothing around except open fields and it's guarded. They also don't allow any outside electronics into the building. They do extensive body searches. That means no one can take a cell phone or laptop inside that building that would allow me to hack their system."

"This is a hospital we're talking about," Allison said as she looked over at him.

"That's what it says," he told her, "but we believe it's a front for a medical research facility specializing in classified government experimentation."

"And, as I was saying," Amy said, "I can't access their systems."

"You'll need a router relay," she said as she looked over at Amy.

Amy beamed at her as she said, "Exactly. I like you. I like her," she said to him before continuing, "Which you will have on your person. Once you get inside the building, all you have to do is hide it so it doesn't get found, turn it on and I'm in."

"How exactly am I going to smuggle in a router?"

Amy looked to Will and said, "That's your department."

Will took a sip of the coffee as he leaned back in the chair. Looking at her with his piercing blue eyes that appeared darker with the circles under them, he said, "You're going in the night before."

Allison smiled as she shook her head. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

"Most everything."

"How do you plan on getting out? You plan on making a scene?"

"Ivan's my scene. He's, well...He's Ivan."

Allison shook her head at him and finally asked, "You told me what I'm doing but not why I'm doing it. Am I running this blind, or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

He glanced at Amy before telling her, "This research that they're conducting, we believe it's the Holy Grail for those scientists in the hospital. They're trying to recreate a formula they don't properly understand. They're killing people, Allison, and they have to be stopped."

"How'd you know what they're doing? Are you even certain that's what they're actually doing inside that hospital?"

"The labs are housed on the fourth floor, and it is so secure that you need voice print, fingerprint, and a keycard just to get on the single elevator that takes you directly to, and only to, the fourth floor. There are also cameras overseeing the four main entrances and loading docks. The emergency exits are the only doors not covered by a camera because they can only be opened from the inside."

She regarded him a long moment before saying, "You've either been inside already or you have someone on the inside."

Will huffed out a laugh as he stood, taking along the empty cup. "It's on the schematics of the electrical layout when they remodeled the building six months ago."

Amy smiled as he said, "That was my doing, thank you very much. We couldn't get a blueprint of the hospital's layout, but I was able to obtain the electrical-"

"I got it," Allison said as she held up her hand to calm the girl down. Turning to face him, she asked, "Say you're right, what's your role in all this?"

He poured himself another cup of coffee then sat on top of the table as he took a sip. His exhaustion was suddenly too obvious to ignore.

"Have you slept?"

He rubbed his eyes and said, "Too busy to sleep. I'll be fine." He took another drink and then told her, "Josef Basov."

Allison wrinkled her head in confusion as she told him, "Your Russian alias?"

"Josef Basov has a deportation warrant out on him as we speak. The police will get a tip on his whereabouts. I'll be driving a stolen car; they'll pull me over and during the arrest, I'll ensure that I'm injured-"

"With the only hospital in sight being-"

"Novosinkovo," she finished for Amy as she leaned back in the chair.

He took another drink of the coffee before he continued, "You're already in the hospital and the router is already in place with Amy taking care of the cameras. There will be guards outside my room-"

"I'll take care of them," she said. "Then what?" Amy handed over an ID for her and she took it. She looked at the ID and then glared up at her, saying, "Did you take my picture of me without my permission?"

"Sorry," Amy said as she picked up the energy drink and chugged it down.

"I'm Nadine Shostakova, Assistant Director of the Ministry of Health and Social Development. Impressive," she said as Amy handed her another ID and she saw it was for Ryan. "And you're Ruslan Zurabov, Assistant to the Deputy Chairman of the Committee for Health Protection." Allison put the ID's down and gave him a knowing look as she said, "We're going to demand that we inspect the entire hospital to ensure the protocols and policies are being followed. They can't refuse because if they do, they'll stop receiving government funding."

"There is a pre-scheduled meeting for the day after tomorrow to give a tour to Ruslan Zurabov and AD Shostakova."

"Then why not just show up as Nadine and Ruslan? Say we're a day early-"

Will sighed and said, "The guards at the entrance will not only check the ID's, but they'll call the Ministry to verify. We have to bypass the guards at the entrance or else we'll be dead in the water. Once inside the hospital, it'll be easier to convince anyone who wants to question us that we have already been cleared by gate security. Besides, it's common practice for top officials to make surprise visits in the hope to catch everyone off guard."

"So they can't hide anything, like fourth floor experimentations." Allison picked up the ID's again and studied them. They were good forgeries. "Nice job, girl," she said to Amy.

"Uh, thanks but I didn't make those. All I did was add your face to the one for Nadine."

"I made them," Ivan said as he entered the room. He stopped at the table and gave her a nod. "Allison."

Allison stared at him and tensed. She never did like Ivan Petrov. There was a reason he was no longer a handler. "Ivan," she shot back as she looked at Will. "Why'd you bring him in on this?"

He glanced up at Ivan and then looked at her as he explained, "I'm not denying that he isn't dangerous, but no more than any one of us. He's our mechanic, explosive ordnance expert, and engineer. He keeps his head down, does his job. You leave him alone and he'll leave you alone."

She gave a nod but it didn't settle the unease in her gut. She hated the man. "What about you? What'd you do now as a specialty?

Will downed the rest of the coffee and put the cup down as he glared at her. "Me. I'm the architect."

"He's the man with the plan, lady," Amy said before ducking behind the laptop when she shot her a look.

"Okay, seriously, who is this girl?" Allison asked as she gestured to Amy.

"Amy's our IT expert and a valuable asset. She's like a sister to me. That's all you need to know," he told her.

"Uh-huh," she shot him a look as she stood. He didn't flinch as she got into his personal space. Leaning in, she said, "This little girl may think this is all fun and games, but me and you both know how dangerous you really are."

"Are you still sore about Japan? That was seven years ago."

She glared at him as she stepped closer, right up against him. She was so close that she could see the specks of green in his blue eyes. He didn't move back, in fact, he leaned into her as his eyes suddenly looked down, over her body. "I'm just warning you now that if I think for a moment it's going sideways-"

"You're out." Will blinked as he looked back up into her eyes. She swallowed hard at his look. He really was dangerous. Dangerous to her. "You answered my call, you're here. I won't make you do something you don't want to do. All I ask is that you don't jeopardize what I'm doing now that you know what it is."

Allison shook her head. "I'm not walking away. All I'm saying is if it comes down to it, I won't risk my life to save yours." And she meant it even though her body leaned into him a little bit more.

"Believe me when I tell you, my life isn't something you ever have to worry about."

"You say that like you're not worried-"

"I am," he said softly as he looked her over again, this time with a serious intent in his eyes. "I'm always worried. I'm worried about you. You don't need them, not any of them, especially not Julian Sark. Are you still with him?"

She wanted to hit him and she hated the feeling that was twisting inside her stomach. His eyes, him, so close. They always had a connection; she remembered now. He had always liked her.

"Have you two, you know...done it?"

Her head swung so hard over her shoulder it hurt as she glared at Amy. "Excuse me?"

Amy gulped hard but said, "The tension is hot between you two. Were you like an item?"

She heard Will laugh as he stood up. She had to back away so he didn't walk right into her body. "Don't kill her. She's just a kid."

A little while later, as they were going over the plan again but this time more in depth, Allison heard the door open and then close again. She looked up and saw Ivan re-enter the building. She watched as Amy went off across the room to where a van was parked and Ivan was waiting. They both got into the back and disappeared.

"You trust him?"

Will sat back down beside her and told her, "I do. You don't?"

She went back to studying the blueprints of the hospital. "No." His eyes were on her, she could feel it.

He reached over and touched her hand, telling her, "I never thought I'd work with you again."

It took a lot of strength to pull her hand away. "If I'm going in under the cover of darkness, I would like to get in a power nap before I have to head out."

He showed her to a room on the second floor with a couple of cots. "Have mine," he told her as he picked up a bag off the top of one and tossed it into a corner. "Would you like for me to prepare anything for you-"

"Ryan," she said as she sat on the bed and peered up at him. He looked awkward standing in front of her so she patted the spot next to her and waited until he sat down. After a moment's hesitation, she said, "Be straight with me." Looking over at him, she watched as he stared at the floor. "I know there's something you're not telling me."

Looking over at her, he sighed and with a soft smile said, "Thank you for coming."

"Don't think nothing of it. I still hate your guts. And you did threaten me."

He huffed out a laugh and went to stand.

"I still want an answer."

He stood there for a very long moment. Finally, he said, "It was my fault. I didn't know it at the time...Didn't realize the far-reaching complications. Never took any of it into account-"

"What're you talking about?"

Running a hand through his hair again, a gesture she remembered being a nervous tick, he sighed heavily as he closed his eyes. "I, uh...I did something-"

"Will," Amy called out. "Hey, Will, Ivan needs-" she stopped inside the door as she spotted the two of them and immediately backed away. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"I'll be right there," he told Amy before looking down at her.

"Will?"

"A uh, another one of my aliases," he told her.

Allison knew that she'd lost him the moment Amy showed up. Sure enough, he left without saying another word, leaving her wondering if she'd made the right decision. It was interesting that they were working together. With one call she could put an end to all of this. Instead, she laid awake for a while, staring at the ceiling.

Ryan was considered an enemy. Yet, she wanted to see this through if only to find out what it was he was after. Was he working for himself or someone else? And what had he done?

There were so many questions and she had no answers. She almost slipped into her Black Widow skill set and seduced him. Ryan had liked her for a very long time; he still liked her. It wouldn't have taken much, just a kiss, a little nudge in the right direction, and-...She felt an ache fill her gut at the thought of them together. It brought a warmth she didn't realize she was missing until that very moment. Julian would kill her if he knew that she was still crushing on Ryan.

She finally closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

The next day everything had gone according to plan. She had successfully infiltrated the hospital the night before. Josef Basov had been detained by the authorities and during the confrontation, he'd been injured to the point of needing medical attention. She was surprised by his quick recovery, but he had brushed it off by telling her that he'd faked the severity of the injury. Allison was good at spotting lies, and knew he was lying, but he was relatively okay as they made their way around the hospital.

They were being escorted by the Medical Director and his assistant. When they approached the elevator that was secured by the voice print, keycard access, and biometric lock, Will-who was now under the alias of Ruslan Zurabov-stopped and pointed to it, asking in Russian, "Where does this go?"

Doctor Popovich answered as he said, "To our private research-"

"There is nothing private in this hospital," Will stressed as he stepped over to the elevator. "We are to inspect all floors-"

"Best if we don't. We have highly sensitive materials-"

"It's best if we don't?!" he barked, causing her to tense-up in anticipation. She'd noticed that the others had tensed; they were all in shock and fear. "You don't have the authority to tell me what is and isn't best, Doctor Popovich. I am your superior. You will address me as such!"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Zurabov."

"You know what this inspection means for your hospital, your staff and the patients you treat. You want to keep your job, keep this hospital up and running, then I suggest you open this elevator so that myself and the Minister of Health's assistant can ensure you get properly funded. I'm under the impression you want to keep your position."

Allison was amazed at seeing the Medical Director of the hospital, a man who was twice the size of Will and also his senior in years, belittled into someone who appeared not only uncertain of his stature but also his duties.

Doctor Popovich stammered and gasped as he pulled out his keycard and opened the elevator for them as he spoke his name into the reader.

As he went to step inside with them, Will stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Nadine and I will go alone the rest of the way. That's also my right. I never requested an escort especially one as incompetent as you, Doctor," he mocked the man's title as the elevator's door closed.

She let out a breath and looked up into the corner and saw a camera. "You really are a piece of work."

Will huffed at her as he adjusted his tie using the reflection in the door. "You should have seen me a few years ago."

The elevator door opened and he walked off in front of her. Allison stepped onto the fourth floor and followed behind him, contemplating ways to slowly kill him. Even though she really liked Ryan, she hadn't done as he asked and killed Mikhail. She wanted to, but then she thought better of it.

She found out that the reason Mikhail knew she had been a double agent for the Alliance was because of him. Ryan had sold her out to get her on his side. She shouldn't have been surprised, he was who he was after all.

That was why, after this mission was over and she found out what he was after, she was going to complete her assignment by killing him.

They came upon a door and it opened to reveal a vastly open floor with machines and computers and tubes. A lot of test tubes, and jars, and hyperbaric chambers. Her stomach turned as she spotted people in the chambers. However, the "patients" weren't receiving any known therapies she knew were associated with the use of the chambers. They were being injected with something else entirely. Whatever it was, it wasn't medicine.

"What the hell is this place?" she asked as she stared around in disbelief.

Will stopped in front of her and looked around as he said, "These people are all suffering from ARS, Acute Radiation Syndrome, excessively high amounts of ionizing radiation over a short period of time. The rapid cellular degradation is caused by the injections."

"Why?" Allison spotted the substance that was flowing through the IV lines and confirmed that it wasn't saline, but a blue substance. It was glowing. "How'd we stop it?"

"We don't. What I mean is, you don't. I'll stay. You need to leave."

"Ryan-" she looked over and saw him take vials of the blue liquid out from a refrigeration unit and deposit them into a container. It was in the cylinder with the biometric lock.

Will pocketed the container and as he turned toward her, he said, "You need to go."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing. "I'm not going to leave you. We had a plan."

"I wasn't expecting this," he said as he gestured around. "Their research is beyond stage one. This is...this is human trials. You have to trust me. You can't be in here when-" Suddenly an alarm sounded, making her cover her ears at the blaring noise.

"They've sounded the alarm. It's Ivan, he's-"

She saw the doors open as two armed guards rushed in with guns. Allison pushed him away, behind a hyperbaric chamber as she pulled her gun. Getting behind another chamber, she took cover from the rapid firing of the guards rifles. They had better artillery and more bullets in their high capacity magazines, but she was a better shot.

As they sprayed their bullets over the entirety of the room without any regard to the test subjects or the lab equipment, she took aim at a tank along the wall beside them. Hyperbaric chambers needed gas and oxygen. All she needed was a spark.

"You blow that tank, we all die," Will yelled at her.

"You got a better plan?"

"Yeah," he said as he looked over at her. "Ivan's going to blow the entire East wing of the hospital; given the secure position and re-enforcement of this room, we'll be untouched...mostly."

"Ryan, you bastard-"

He grabbed her and pulled her away, toward the back of the room as an explosion ripped through the building.

Allison didn't remember much after that except how it all went to Hell. Everything was destroyed. The guards had been thrown through walls and laid in heaps of broken bones and blood.

The damage was extensive as no floor was without carnage. When it was all over, when the debris and dust settled, she heard screaming as people pleaded for help under fallen debris. All cries she couldn't answer.

Will picked up her gun that she'd dropped. He looked at it for a split second then turned and shot her in the chest. He stared down at her and then turned and walked away.

As she watched him walk away, and while her life slowly drained from her body, she realized her mistake in trusting someone so dangerous. She'd forgotten. Ryan had no friends.

Where she was a seductress, he brought a man with two faces.

He was a trickster.

Allison Georgia Doren was the Black Widow.

Ryan Robert Ferro was the Prometheus.


Present Time

Undisclosed Location

The room he'd awoken in was small with no furniture and smelt like body odor, mold, and blood. His head was buzzing slightly from a headache. The bright lights in the room made him flinch in pain as he rubbed his tired eyes. As the cool air blew through the vents, he tried to huddle in tighter around his body to stop the chill that raced up his spine and down his arms. He was cold but mostly, he was alone.

He has successfully gotten Sydney out of the back of the van after taking care of the two guards. He could have gotten himself. He could have jumped and made sure Sydney was safe. He could have reunited with Jack.

It had been hours. According to his watch, he'd been in that room for nearly ten hours. It was an hour to midnight. And he hadn't been given anything to eat or drink. They wanted to break him down before questioning him.

The door to the tiny room as two men rushed in to grab him. He uselessly fought against the hands and arms as a black bag was pulled over his head and he was taken from the room. His feet stumbled across the floor as he was carried by the two men, one on either side. The black bag over his head made it hard to breathe and he couldn't see a thing, but he could hear grunting as the men heaved him up staircases and down hallways. Long, big hallways from the echoing of their shoes. It was an open area. Warehouse?

A door opened and he was shoved down into a chair, the bag removed and then they left him alone. He was in an interrogation style room. No windows, one door, a table and two chairs. He could hear the air from a vent but couldn't see the walls or ceiling. There was a single light above the table but it did little to brighten the room.

Will was normally a quiet, unassuming, and an all-around good person. That was what he had to be. It was how he needed to be in order to pass himself as a normal functional person in society. It all came down to what he could control. Everything was measured, calculated, and deliberate from the twitch in his hand to the flickering of his eyes and the pattern of speech.

Whatever he needed to do to accomplish his goal, it all came down to the details.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He had to stay calm. As he evened out his breathing, he could hear a hum from an air vent but little else. He didn't relax though; he couldn't. This wasn't a time to relax. No innocent man would. He allowed the tremor in his hand to quicken slightly before making a fist, trying to make it stop while he continued to count the seconds in his head.

One hundred and eighty seconds after he was left alone, the door opened. Letting out a startled breath, he opened his eyes and peered up at the man from behind his glasses. He was tall with a square jaw, brown eyes, short black hair, and wore a black suit and white shirt. It was the mystery man from the Seine River in Paris.

McKenas Cole. A once ally and partner to the now deceased Irina Derevkov. Cole and Sark were working together.

"What-uh, wha-I mean, who are you?" Will stammered out as he stared over at the man. "Why am I here? Where-?" The man didn't say a word as he sat staring at him. It was a little unnerving, but it was what he'd expected. So, he played along. He kept talking. "Look, um...I don't know what's going on and whoever you think I am, or whatever you think I've done, I can tell you with absolute certainty..." his breath was labored, and hard to push out as he finished, "I am not the one you want."

The interruption of his speech was deliberate. Like a tick he couldn't stop. Along with the tremor in his hand and the blinking of his eyes. Practiced. Mastered. It was unsettling, yet, disarming. He was scared. Honestly, truly, and completely.

"That's funny. For a man so convinced that he isn't who I want, you don't know who that is. So, from where I'm sitting, you're exactly who I want."

He stared in disbelief at him and then looked at his hands and then at his watch. It was an hour before midnight. He let out a breath, frustrated and aspirated, as he looked up and around the room again. He didn't let his eyes focus or settle on one thing; panicked. He looked panicked, uncertain, and desperate in finding the answer he needed to get out of the room.

He went to push up his glasses that slid down his nose. "I'm not. I don't have-" he pushed the glasses up and sat up slightly straighter in the chair before finishing, "There's nothing I can tell you."

The man looked at him for a brief moment and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Me? My name? You took my wallet." When he received no answer, he said, "Jonah. Jonah Grayson," Will said. Then, as an after-thought, went to offer his hand to shake. The handcuffs caught on the table and he awkwardly dropped the hand to the table.

"You know who I am?"

Will shook his head.

"You can call me The Man."

He stared at him as pain filled his head as he swallowed around the anger in his throat.

"You okay?"

He tried for a tight smile as he said, "I, uh...My head. I'm still dizzy. Can, I uh-...Can I get a glass of water?

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Grayson."

He stared over at Cole in confusion. The thought of someone being interested in him, in his life, was startling. Or at least that's what he was meant to convey. "You, uh...you-you want to know about me? I'm-I...um...just a journalist. I'm working on a cover story. That's why I was on-"

"You think this is a game?"

"What? No! Not at all. Look..." he closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to calm his nervousness. "You're an American. So, this is, has to be the Embassy, right? You're with the CIA? Is that it? Just...tell me what I need to tell you. Ask a question. Ask me anything! I just..." he sighed. "Why are you treating me like I'm a terrorist? Can I, uh, can I get a phone call and a lawyer? Or is this...you know...Patriot Act...bullshit!" He let out a breath after that brief moment of anger and shook his head in frustration. "Sorry. I didn't...I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

McKenas Cole eyed him with an unamused death glare, which was impressive. "Let me enlighten you, Mr. Grayson, about the delicacy of the situation. Lives are at stake. Your life is currently one of them. You have no idea how close you are to having a very bad night. I'm here to prevent that from happening. And all the intel I've received is pointing to you as being the one that can help me ensure that those people whose lives are at stake, including yours, have a very good night. Do you understand?"

"No," he said as he glared back at the man. "But, I do understand that, uh...either way, my night will be very bad whether I answer your questions or not."

"You do have answers that you're not telling me."

"I never said that," he shot back. "I said...I said ask a question. Right? That's what, yeah, that's what I said. So, maybe you should ask me something, so, so, yeah, just ask me something so I can answer it." His voice was measured, tired, and very scattered to reflect the scattering of his panicked mind.

"I hate games. And if you thought you were going to sit here and toy with me, you have another thing coming. Like I said, lives are at stake, and I will find out what I need to know by any means necessary."

Just then he heard the door open and looked over to see another man enter. He also wore a spook suit and had a faintly amused smile on his face. He recognized him from the intel he'd gathered. It was also a former SD-6 agent named Neil Preston. Preston sat a paper cup in front of him and Will saw it was water.

"Th-thanks," he said as he grabbed it with both hands and took a sip.

Preston leaned down and whispered something into Cole's ear. Then, leaning on the table, he told him, "You're dead, Mr. Grayson."

He blinked back in confusion and shook his head slightly. "I don't-...What? I'm here. Aren't I? Unless this is a dream. Wha-what you mean I'm dead?"

Preston smiled slightly as he explained, "Jonah Grayson died in 1979. And your history goes back only five years. That's it. Just enough to give yourself a work history."

Will flexed his hand and jaw as he looked between the two people in the room. "I can explain."

"Please do," Cole said as he sat back and crossed his arms.

"Yes, the, uh...the name Jonah Grayson isn't..." he took another sip of the water and then put it on the table. "Well, it is my name, but, it's not, uh, not my given name."

"We know that much," Preston said, "and that's not an explanation."

"If you'll let me finish," he said as he glared at Preston. "I changed it, my name, five years ago. I had..." he searched around for the right word and settled on "a problem. It wasn't anything criminal," he assured them before saying, "I just, um, I just had someone to-to get away from. Look, again, I'm not...I don't-" he sighed in frustration in not being able to articulate what he wanted as he slapped the table. "You said that, that lives are at stake, so...time is not on our side here...I-I uh, I don't even, uh...I don't know why I'm even here. Why am I here?"

"You made a mistake," Cole shot back. "We found that mistake, tracked you down, and then dragged your sorry ass back here. Remember that?"

Will nodded as he pushed up his glasses again. "Yeah. I remember your Men-in-Black busting through my door and setting off concussion grenades. What I want to know is by whose authority am I being detained. Answer me that. Who are you? I know you're not MI6 or London police. Who are you affiliated with? Homeland? FBI? CIA?" he asked. "I know it wasn't the Russians who-"

"I don't answer to you," Cole said as he pulled out his Russian file. "Thanks to Renée, we now have your file. Fourteen years, going all the way back to 1988. American authorities spent a decade of tracking and investigations, and all the authorities ever came away with were a few smudged fingerprints, grainy pictures, and a slew of aliases, like the one you used for the job to become a journalist."

The only picture he saw of himself in the file had been when he was a child. So not to blow his cover as an adult, they never updated the photographs. Pointing at the file, Will told Cole, "That's not me. Renée is lying to you. I'm just a reporter."

Preston chimed in as he said, "It's all very remarkable. Not just the extent of your privacy and invincibility, but all the destruction you caused. And let's not forget the deaths."

"Deaths! What?! I'm not a murderer," he protested.

Cole stared at him and looked up at Preston. "What'd you think?"

"I think I've seen better performances."

Will tried to calm his breathing; it was labored and heavy to push in and out as he asked, "Am I under arrest? I think that, um, that if I'm not under arrest then, then, you have to let me go. I can leave."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Why not? If I'm not under arrest-"

"I have the right to hold you here whether you're under arrest or not. What was it you said? The Patriot Act bullshit? I can hold you here because this file is on a spy. A terrorist. An assassin. I think you are that man."

Will swallowed hard and shook his head. "This is...this is messed up. I don't know what...Tell me what I need to say. What, uh, what do I need to say, just tell me, so I can leave."

"Mr. Grayson-"

"I'm not the guy," he snapped in anger as he hit the table and stared up at McKenas Cole. "I'm, uh, I'm s-sorry. I-" There was a very long moment of silence as everyone took a moment to let him calm down.

"What is your objective with Jack Bristow?"

Leaning his head into his hands he sighed in annoyance. "I don't, I don't know what you're talking about."

"An assassination?" Preston asked. "Information gathering? What was it, Josef?"

Shaking his head in his hands, Will asked, "Who?"

"That's the name you go by, isn't it? Josef Basov. It's a pseudonym," Cole said. "A Russian name taken on to hide your true identity. Interesting fact though, you're not Russian. No, see, we've known for a while now that Josef Basov is actually an American who, in 1992, along with a group of other operatives, infiltrated a military facility in Pensacola, Florida. They stole classified information, research, equipment, and weapons. That same Josef Basov used aliases as he continued to spy on, infiltrate, and sabotage various agencies and facilities around the United States and the world for the next four years. Then for seven years, he's quiet. Disappeared. Until he shows up again, this time as Will Tippin." Cole leaned on the table as he said, "Aliases like Robert Atkins, Joseph Douglas, Timothy Wolff, Joshua Nichols, Robert Pavlovich, Will Tippin, and Jonah Grayson."

Will looked down at his watch again to check the time. Preston grabbed his hand and gripped it hard as he tried to pull his hand back.

Looking at the watch, Preston said, "Looks expensive. How does a writer for a newspaper afford such an expensive watch?"

"It was a gift."

"From who?" Cole asked.

Will looked Preston then at him as he answered, "A friend."

"Does this friend have a name?"

"Most friends do." He glanced at Cole then looked at the watch as he said, "On the back is an inscription, that, um...I would say fits this moment perfectly. It says, what's written is, "Between the devil and the deep blue sea, come hell or high water." It's a, um, an idiom meaning a dilemma; one has to choose between two undesirable situations, much like the, uh, the saying of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, but...the two options are, considerably far worse."

Cole sat staring at him for a very long moment. It stretched like a noose tightening around his neck. He could feel the tension. Then, he smiled and said, "Your watch is an Invicta Russian Diver 1959. Now why would you have a watch that's associated with the Russian Naval Fleet, Mr. Grayson? Or should I call you Josef? Or Mr. Tippin? That's it. That's what I'm going to call you because he is who I want to speak with. Mr. Tippin, aka Jonah Grayson, is the one galivanting around the globe with Jack Bristow."

Preston let go of his hand as he asked, "One last time before this gets bloody. What's your objective?"

Will shook his head. If he wanted Will Tippin. He would give McKenas Cole Will Tippin. He was also over playing ignorant to these allegations. It was time to move this along. It was getting closer to midnight and he wanted to know what these agents actually knew. "Have you ever watched a movie and realized once it was over that what the characters were talking about had absolutely nothing to do with the plot? Nothing they said drove the storyline anywhere. It was all mindless talking."

"I don't watch movies," Cole told him. "And you're dodging the question."

He gaped at him as he said, "You don't watch movies? Not a single movie?"

"I am a very important man. I have a lot to do and the time that I have to indulge in life's pleasures, I'm not spending it in front of a television screen or in a movie theater. Besides, I don't have the time."

"Even galivanting around the globe Jack Bristow still makes time to watch movies, and he's one of the busiest people on the planet."

"That's Jack Bristow. I'm not Jack Bristow."

Will shook his head at him and said, "You don't know what you're missing. Apparently watching a movie, or doing other mindless tasks, can ignite creative thinking and inspire an idea that can be considerably beneficial in your line of work. Take Jack for example. He told me that one time he was watching Planet of the Apes and had an epiphany on how to conduct an extraction of a deep cover operative. If he hadn't been watching that movie, then his mind never would have thought of it."

Cole stared at him for a long moment and then said, "How did watching Planet of the Apes make him think of extracting anyone from anywhere?"

"I don't know. He explained it to me as a right brain, left brain thing. One works on the problem while the other goes on autopilot while watching a movie. I have no idea, but it's what happened."

"Planet of the Apes?" Cole said again in disbelief.

"You've never seen it, so why is that so hard to believe?"

"I've seen Planet of the Apes."

"So you lied to me about not watching movies?" Will asked. "Who does that?"

Cole shook his head and said, "I've seen the classics. I had a childhood. I can see maybe if it was The Great Escape or Papillon, hell even The Poseidon Adventure, but you're telling me it was the Planet of the Apes?"

"I don't know why it was, but that's what I'm telling you."

"Can we please get back to the interrogation," Preston said as he looked between the both of them.

He looked up at Preston and said, "Hey, I'm nervous, okay. I talk about movies when I'm nervous. Maybe if he wouldn't insist on calling me Will Tippin, we could discuss something else. I still don't know what you want from me."

Cole stared over at him as he leaned on the table. "Fine. You want to play this game, let's play. Let's talk to Josef now. I want to hear from him."

Thank God, he was done with this Will/Jonah persona anyway; it was exhausting. Letting out a breath, he leaned back in the chair and eyed The Man. The tremor in his hand disappeared. Nervous blinking, gone. Will took the eyeglasses off and placed them in front of him on the table.

"What is your objective?" Preston asked again.

He rubbed at his nose as he thought about it for a moment before giving a deliberate answer to their only question. "Liberation. Something a company man like you would never understand," he said as he looked up Preston. "All you know is the protection of your bosses and whatever government agency you work for and not the loyalties or the morality of the people-"

"There's Josef." McKenas Cole smirked as he closed the file. Leaning back in the chair, he looked him in the eyes as he said, "You are no liberator. You're an assassin. A spy."

Josef was exactly what Cole had said; the name was a pseudonym for a persona. Josef Basov was a cover, a mask that was slipped on to hide behind. And no one liked to hide more than he did. No one knew his real name except for those who had gone through the program Project Christmas.

Everyone else knew him as Josef, or Will, or Jonah, or whatever. The persona that went with the name Josef was a man who was only interested in one thing: the cause. Whatever form it took, whatever it entailed, Josef was only concerned with how to get it done; whether it be in the form of a revolution, liberation, or pure destruction. He's been called many things over the years: terrorist, assassin, anarchist, radical, criminal, arsonist, spy, and traitor. But along with those names he's also been called a loyalist, patriot, comrade, and a hero. It all depended on who was doing the name-calling.

"You are good, I give you that," Cole said as he considered him a moment. "If I didn't know any better, I would've bought the innocent journalist act. Your speech, and nervous ticks and tremor, along with the fear in your eyes. Anyone else would've been sold with that performance."

"It is effective when needed."

"Years of practice, I assume."

Will smiled in agreement. There was a smugness in McKenas Cole's smile that hid something. Knowledge. "You don't assume, you know. Tell me, Man, what game are you playing?" he asked as he leaned on the table.

Preston disappeared further in the dark room. A moment later he rolled out a TV strapped to a cart that also held an old VCR player.

"I see your government has scaled back your black budget. Gotta resort to 1980's A/V equipment. Are you still using rotary phones?"

Cole chuckled as Preston inserted a VHS tape into the VCR. There was also a thin file sitting on top of the VCR. That file was handed to Cole.

"Only thing we have that can play this antique," Preston said as he grabbed the remote control.

Tapping the file on the desk, Cole told him, "We didn't need this Russian to know who you are. Your friend Julian Sark told us all about you, but there is one thing you don't know. It's about Jack Bristow and what he did to you." He held up the other file, saying "This file is the one the CIA had on you. The one Jack Bristow created. We have more than enough to put you in one of our facilities for a very long time, Jonah Will Josef Jingleheimer Schmidt, or whatever it is you want to be called."

"Currently, it's Josef, but," Will shrugged, "it doesn't really matter."

Cole leaned on the table as he told him, "Project Christmas was, in essence, America's own adaptation of the Sleeper Agent program which was led by CIA officer Jonathan "Jack" Bristow, but I know you already know that. The head psychologist, the one who administered therapy for the subjects, was a man named Yuri Drenkov. Drenkov had defected to the U.S. from the Soviet Union in the early '70's to work for the US government. Where the Russians had many successful subjects to come out of their program, the U.S. government shut it down before it ever got off the ground. However, there were a few American children who were trained. One was his own daughter, Sydney Bristow. Another was a girl named Allison Doren, and the third was a boy. You," he said as he looked at him. "You were born Ryan Robert Ferro, but that's not who you are now, is it? You were made into something else. Something quite different. They made you into this Josef, didn't they?"

There was no need for him to say anything; he would listen, let them speak, waste time, and then they'd see exactly who he was.

He stared at the table as he waited for the two people in the room to inform him of his life. How his father abandoned, his mother died, and he was used by a CIA agent as a test subject for a government black ops program to become an assassin. It pained him to hear those words coming from McKenas Cole's mouth about Jack, but he had to remind himself of the Cold War. Of the type of man Jack was then and who he was now. Jack had been a company man. A CIA agent who did his duty without worrying about the moral consequences or ramifications. He was only doing his job. It wasn't personal.

He'd gotten to know the real Jack Bristow and knew his heart. Jack didn't fear him and because of that, he stopped fearing himself. Jack saw who he was underneath everything and bought out the best in him. He nurtured his gifts, and who he was, and let him be himself without fear or judgement. If that wasn't love, then he didn't know what was.

"Now we'll go to the videotape," he heard McKenas Cole say.

He sighed in irritation and looked to the television as it turned on to show a grainy recorded video in what appeared to be a military facility lab. He made out the words "Property of the U.S. Government" printed on several pieces of equipment. He immediately recognized the three people who'd walked into the frame; it was himself, Doctor Drenkov, and Jack Bristow. The date of the recording was displayed in the bottom right hand corner. June 11th, 1981.

"You were the only candidate to go through Phase 2 before the program was shut down. Agent Bristow thought the training and therapy would help you. Young children are impressionable and their minds can easily be broken, yet resilient enough to mend the fractures. Phase 2 laid out a plan to manipulate thoughts with phrases as triggers implanted in the subject's subconscious. To ensure the project was a success, the candidates had to, when activated, commit their first assassination. A child had to go from an innocent average kid to a cold-blooded murderer."

He glared over at Cole before looking back to the TV screen. He watched as a person, with a bag over their head, was brought into the room. He looked away as he felt his anger twitch at his hands and fill his chest. His head was starting to hurt. He didn't see what happened, but he could hear.

There were instructions given by Jack in his stoic calm voice. And at six years old, he was given a gun with a single bullet in it.

There had been no hesitation as he squeezed the trigger and heard a 'click'. Will closed his eyes and shook his head. The man with the bag over his head wasn't killed. It had been a test, but at the time he didn't know that. He still pulled the trigger with the intent of killing a man.

Cole then told him, "A success. All the government's men were successfully able to put your mind back together again afterwards. Agent Jack Bristow had created a successful sleeper agent. The government-Agent Bristow-supplied you a trigger in your head. Then he sent you away. How was foster care, Josef?"

Will leaned back in the chair, trying to ease the anger as he remembered his first foster father. "A boy was bullied, threatened, and beaten by a drunk," he said, distancing himself from the boy he'd once been.

"Agent Bristow thought he found in you his perfect weapon. A sleeper agent that would only be activated by a trigger that only he could activate. But, something went wrong. What happened? Did you remember the training? Remember the memory or the phrase that was the trigger that you needed? It wasn't out of self-defense that you murdered your foster father at seven years old, Josef, but a well-crafted manipulation by the United States government to create an assassin."

He leaned forward on the table as he fought to stay in control of himself. This was maddening to listen to. It was a lot to take in, especially since he knew the person he'd become after that day.

However, Cole was wrong about one thing. Josef wasn't what Jack had created. Josef was a fa?ade. A mask to hide behind.

Cole leaned on the table, getting closer to him, and asked in a softer voice like this was some talk between two friends. "What happened? Was Agent Bristow incompetant? Was he wrong in your abilities?"

Will huffed out a laugh. Cole either didn't understand or he chose to ignore the truth. There was no becoming someone else; the killer inside him had already existed. Names were just names, but a personality never went away and it didn't change. Jack taught him that. At his core, fundamentally, he was who he was.

"You said it yourself, Jack thought he found his perfect weapon. What he didn't factor in was the defiance. The government wanted property. Someone they could own and control. No one owns me."

"So, you murdered your foster father and ran away? To where? This is where we are confused. How did you get from Maryland out to Los Angeles, California? And how did you end up in a foster home with Matthew and Juliana Harrington as your foster parents? They were KGB agents living in America."

Will felt his jaw twitch as he spat out, "You're a little bitch, you know that?" Cole stared at him as he leaned back in the chair, startled by his sudden change. "And stupid if you can't comprehend a simple equation. Agent Bristow was married to a KGB spy, you dumbass."

Cole nearly smiled as he shook his head, "Of course. Irina Derevkov. She knew what Jack was doing. She knew about you, and would have wanted to make sure you ended up a Russian agent. She took you and sent you to the Harrington's. Then what happened, Josef?"

Will studied him as he continued to stare at him. This pathetic little boy thought he could abduct him and he would just let him degrade him like that? He didn't know who he was dealing with. "I'm not going to tell you a damn thing, boy. What is this anyway? You think you're going to get me to turn on Jack, or to say something stupid, because you think you know me, or him?" He nearly snarled at him as he said, "You're an imbecile."

Cole was silent for a moment. He stared at him as he stared right back. "You're a distraction. That's your role right now, isn't it? The sudden combativeness, but it's all a diversion."

Will scuffed as he glared at him, "Boy, who the hell do you think you are?"

Cole glared hard at him as he said, "Call me boy one more time." He continued to glare at him, clearly he'd gotten to Cole, which was exactly what he was going for. He stood and circled the table.

He watched Cole with his eyes as he walked by him and felt his presence behind him as he stopped walking.

"You still haven't answered my question. What is your objective with Bristow? What are you after?"

"That's none of your damn business...boy."

Cole grabbed him by the back of his hand and slammed his face into the table. He felt his nose bust on impact and grabbed his nose as it started bleeding. He also grabbed his eyeglasses and broke a temple off and shoved it under his right sleeve.

Then, he started laughing. "Do that again and I might have to kiss you."

Cole was annoyed as he walked around to face him. "Your objective has changed. All your missions before were always on military installations or universities that had been conducting research and development for the United States Government, or other government agencies, as well as critical infrastructures. Pensacola, Florida in 1992. Philadelphia and Ann Arbor in '93 and then the University of Houston in '94. The blackout of '95 in Virginia and then again in Washington D.C. that were followed by breaches of security into sensitive encrypted files of multiple agencies including the NSA, CIA, and FBI." He sat on the edge of the table, grabbed the file, and flipped it open. He pulled out a picture and put it on the table in front of him. "Then the Naval Air Facility in Misawa, Japan in 1996. The last mission before you fell off the radar. Presumed dead."

If McKenas Cole wanted the man behind the curtain who was truly responsible for all this, by all means let him deal with this bullshit. It wasn't easy to bring the man back out of hiding. He liked to hide, to stay hidden in the shadows, and to watch. It took a moment, but eventually he was able to coax the culprit of those attacks on U.S. soil out into the light.

Ryan Robert Ferro.

He reached up and rubbed at his sore eyes and wiped the blood from his nose. His head felt like he'd been forced out of a deep sleep it was pounding so hard. His neck hurt, hands felt cold as he rubbed over the tense muscles under his skin.

McKenas Cole was saying, "That's why we're baffled by your recent targets over the last year and a half with Jack Bristow. A nuclear facility in San Pedro, Mexico. Stealing a highly classified nuclear weapon in North Africa. The infiltration of a Cold War bunker in Hamburg which was a nuclear radiation research facility.

"The release of radiation is irreversible," Preston said, interrupting Cole. "We all know what happened in Chernobyl so I don't need to explain to you what could've happened."

"And a hospital in Russia," Cole continued.

They didn't look amused, which was good because he agreed that this wasn't funny. He rubbed his head and tried to stop the laughter but couldn't.

"Care to share with the class what it is you find so funny?" Cole asked in annoyance.

He looked up at The Man, who wasn't really The Man at all, and shook his head. "We both know that the bunker wasn't actually a nuclear research facility and the hospital was more than a hospital." His voice was calmer, very matter-of-fact. "They were fronts, covers, to hide what they actually were: secret facilities conducting specialized radiation research for the Prophet Five Project."

McKenas Cole stared at him. He was clearly astounded that he'd known the true nature of the buildings and the research being conducted. If Cole knew what he really was, what he was really up against, he wouldn't be in a concrete room in the middle of one of Prophet Five's black sites. He would be in a cage somewhere with a lot of guards.

After checking the time, he said, "But that wasn't why I was laughing."

"Then why were you?"

"This is all pointless. Do you know why I'm here?"

"You're here because you made a mistake," McKenas stressed.

"Me? I made a mistake?" Will asked in disbelief. "I have rules to avoid mistakes. The question you should be asking...The question, Mr. McKenas Cole, is why was there a mistake to begin with? Why would I break one of my rules to expose myself to you now?" he said while he sat up and stared up at him.

At the use of his first name, McKenas looked to Preston and then back at him as he said in confirmation, "You know who I am."

"One of my rules is to identify all of my enemies. And now that I am with Jack, all of his enemies as well."

"From where I'm sitting, you have no rules-"

"You're wrong," he told him as his demeanor changed. The rage that burned just below the surface threatened to overtake him as he stared McKenas down. "I have so many rules that it'll be wise for you to appreciate my restraint. Trust me when I say that you wouldn't want to know what this world would look like if I didn't follow rules." He let that resonate with the Prophet Five agent before saying, "I regret the deaths I have caused, but because of what we're doing, hundreds, if not thousands of innocent lives have been saved from ill-advised research and development into un-Godly experimentations. You should be thanking me. But I know the reason why you're not, Mr. McKenas Cole."

McKenas stared back at him as he said, "You're no different from any other idealistic extremist-"

"Apparently you haven't been paying attention-"

"-and you want a thank you?"

Will felt his jaw flex. "You can sit there and pretend that you are the good guys. I know the truth of what you're doing. I know who you are, but you have no idea who I am or what I am capable of. Jack Bristow knew exactly what he was doing. He is an extremely competent man. He understood me better than I understood myself. He implanted a trigger in my mind, but it wasn't to control me. He wanted to release me. I'm not just a pretender, Cole, and I don't make mistakes. I'm here, now, because this is exactly where I wanted to be-"

Will jumped out of the chair and rammed the broken temple of the eyeglasses into Preston's left eye as he moved around his back. As Preston screamed out in pain, he held him against him as a human shield as he grabbed the gun off his right hip.

McKenas Cole had gone for his gun and shot Preston twice in the chest as Will pulled the gun up and shot into the darkness that Cole stepped back into. He didn't hear anything, not a sound as another shot rang out on his right. He aimed toward the direction, hesitated as he moved the gun back to the left and fired.

He heard a scream of pain and fired again, lower, and saw Cole fall forward into the light. Will let Preston's body drop to the floor and then stepped over it to take the gun out of Cole's hand as he groaned out in pain. Cole wasn't dead yet, but he was dying. He stuffed the gun into his waistband and then grabbed the chair and jammed it under the doorknob as he heard someone outside.

He went to the air vent and saw it was too small for him to fit through, so he used the gun to shoot out the light as the door busted open. He shot the first agent through the door easily enough. The second agent in the doorway got off a couple of shots before he fired back, double tapping him in the chest.

Will waited a moment and listened. He didn't hear anything. As he left the room, he realized he was in a warehouse and he heard a noise in the distance. It was coming from up above. A helicopter.

If they all arrived in a helicopter then having only four agents there was possible. Still, he had to be certain. He quickly swept the main floor of the warehouse and discovered more than discarded equipment and old crates. There were new boxes and crates, all full of the vials of the same blue liquid he'd acquired from the hospital in Russia. In some of the crates were weapons.

There was no one else in the warehouse. It was time to get the hell out of there.

Time ticked by in silence as he made the landing to the roof's access door. Will stepped onto the landing and checked the time as he ran his finger over the crown of the button on the side of the watch. When the second hand landed at twelve, midnight, he popped the crown and twisted the button out until it was completely removed from the casing of the watch.

A green light blinked from the end of the removed button as he dropped it down the stairs behind him. Pushing open the door to the roof, he took off running toward the helicopter.

Once inside, he aimed the gun at the pilot as he told him, "Get us out of here. Now."

The pilot didn't even question him as he did as he was told. Will strapped himself into the empty cockpit seat as he felt it lift up off the building at the exact moment he heard a whistling sound in the air before the heat of fire. A cruise missile blew right by them and hit the building. It didn't immediately explode, and for a moment he thought it was a dud, until he saw the building shake as if struck by an earthquake. He heard the explosion as the walls blew out.

The helicopter rattled and shook, pitched to the side as the pilot fought desperately to fly it away from the flames. The glass in the windows of the helicopter shattered as the hull felt as if it was going to break apart. He was knocked back into the seat as debris flew all around, hitting and knocking the helicopter into a spin. It twirled and dipped but held itself together as the pilot regained control.

Then, the unimaginable happened. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The fireball, and what seemed like all the air around them, were sucked back into the building. The pilot fought control of the helicopter as it started to spin backwards as it was being pulled toward the building. He didn't know what the pilot did but he managed to break free of the pull seconds before a blue light burst into the sky.

He watched as the building imploded back into itself.

"What the hell was that?" the pilot said as they flew up high above where the building used to be.

Will sat in silence as he looked at the crater of debris on the ground. That's all that was left. A crater. In. The. Ground. "That cruise missile had been confiscated by me and my partner when we were in North Africa. It had been modified using a specialized radiation that was developed by Prophet Five. OMNIFAM. The SVR modified it with a counteractive agent. If we hadn't switched out the payload, we'd be dead right now."

The pilot stared at him and then said, "You're certifiable, you know that?"

"I've been told."

The pilot looked him over and said, "You don't need that gun. I have no loyalties. Where to?"

Will stared at the pilot as he lowered the gun. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. "There's a boat."

"A boat."

"Yeah. Once I find out the coordinates, I'll give it to you. First, I need to borrow your phone."


Thirty Nautical Miles Off the Coast of the UK

Will spotted the 37 foot sailboat using a pair of night vision goggles Stephan, the pilot, had given him. He directed it down close enough to where he could make a safe jump into the ocean water and handed the goggles back to Stephan.

Nearly a minute later he hit the cold water and nearly forgot how to breathe before twisting his body around and shooting up toward the surface. As he broke through the water and breathed in air, he heard laughter. Turning around, he saw the lights of the Rendezvous and swam toward it as a life persevere was thrown at him. He wrapped his arms around it and was pulled up to the side and grabbed and lifted up onto the deck.

Breathing heavily and shaking from the cold, he saw Ivan smiling down at him. "Vodka? It'll warm you up."

He didn't doubt that for a second. Rolling onto his side, he breathed out and pushed up off the deck and grabbed the bottle that was offered and took a drink. He had to get below deck and out of the wet close. As he went down below, he spotted Amy on the couch, typing away on her laptop.

"How did it go?" Ivan asked as he came down behind him.

"You tell me," he said as he pulled off his soaking wet coat and tossed it into the bathroom.

"Okay, your CIA friends not very smart. Everyone is still alive and happy reunion between Jack and his daughter."

Will huffed out a laugh as he walked to the front cabin. "That's great news." He spotted Vaughn on the bed with his chest wrapped in bandages as he slept. "Has he woken up yet?"

"No," Ivan shouted from the other room.

He quickly yanked all the wet clothes off and changed. Pulling on a sweater, one of Jack's, he went back into the living quarters and looked around. "Jack?"

"He found the Thames Prison he was looking for. Then Sark showed up," Amy said as she looked up from the laptop. "That Rachel woman didn't like it very much. She's a natural with a M4 rifle. You don't have to worry about Julian Sark anymore."

Will looked at her and then over at Ivan. His friend, his former handler, was in the galley cooking something on the stove that smelled suspiciously like shchi, specifically kislye shchi. "Are you making kislye?"

"Yes." Ivan took a drink of the vodka while he stirred the pot and then handed it toward him. "Take another drink. You still look cold."

Will stared at him and then walked over and took the bottle from him as he took a sip.

"What did those Prophet Five agents want from you?"

He shook his head, saying, "They wanted to know what me and Jack were up to. And I think they were trying to make sure that I was actually the Prometheus they needed. Other than that, I think they were buying time. They didn't really ask me anything. Best part, I got to not only destroy a warehouse full of their supply, but all the records they had on me. Everything's gone. The CIA file, videotape, and my Russia file." He took another sip and handed it back to Ivan.

"The missile worked?"

"Katya and the SVR will be happy to know that they were successful in creating a counteragent to Substance 33. There was no radiation leakage. It was all contained in the...implosion that created the crater."

Ivan raised the bottle and took a drink. "I can drink to that."

"Drink to what?"

They all turned to see Vaughn standing in the doorway. He looked pale and dried blood had stained through the bandages, but he was alive. And walking already. It had only been a little over fifteen hours since he'd been shot twice in the chest.

"We may have a way to stop all this. A counteragent that the SVR has been working on. It's a long story."

Vaughn looked at Amy and Ivan and then at him as he asked, "What happened? Where am I?"

"We're um, on Jack's boat," he told him. "This is Ivan and that's Amy. They're um…"

"Family. We all family here," Ivan said before taking a taste test of the Russian soup. "Sit down, Agent Vaughn."

Vaughn eyed the Russian but sat down across from Amy and closed his eyes as his face rinsed in pain. "Who shot me?"

Will grabbed a bottle of pain pills and antibiotics along with a water bottle as he walked over to Vaughn and handed them to him. "I did. I'm sorry; it was the only way I could think of to make sure you weren't taken. I didn't know if I would have another chance to keep you safe."

He stared up at him as he took the pill bottles and water. "So you shot me? Sydney?"

"No, she's fine. She's with Jack now."

Vaughn seemed to relax finally and closed his eyes. "She's with Jack. They're okay."

He watched him and realized that Vaughn did actually care about Jack. He hadn't been so sure if he was only doing this because Sydney was his girlfriend, but his obvious relief that Jack was okay was genuine. "I have to tell you about Renée , I was right to be suspicious. She's a double agent with Prophet Five. But, more good news, she's on our side. Her father not really being her father helped her realize she was wrong in trusting them. She's our in. I know it. She'll let us know where to find them once she's able to."

Ivan walked over and handed them both bowls of the soup before going back into the galley. Will folded up the top of the table in front of him and placed the bowl down.

"What'd we do now?" Vaughn asked.

Will stirred the Russian soup around in the bowl as he said, "Now, I'm eating."

Vaughn hesitated before he started to eat as well.

He looked over at Amy and motioned to her that he wanted a phone. She tossed him a cell phone and he handed it to Vaughn. "Here. Call her."

Vaughn took the phone with a smile and dialed a number. He put it to his ear and after a moment he heard him say, "Sydney."

TBC…