He raises the binoculars to his eyes, and focuses the eyepiece as he scans the room beyond the wide windows. Target acquired. There, sitting just to the right of the kitchen. What a terrible table.

Colonel John Casey has an incredible memory, his mind honed to a deadly edge through his years of training. He takes mental notes, ones he does not need to write down, as he assesses the full situation.

Subject appears nervous. Checking the time and the entrance to the restaurant at approximately thirty second intervals. Visible moisture on forehead, trembling hands. Cannot hold water glass without shaking. Casey shakes his head. Get it together. What has you so nervous?

Well, it's his job to find out. And he will. The Colonel always gets his man.

The secondary target enters the restaurant, then, and the primary target brightens so much it's almost pathetic. Strike that, it is pathetic. Grow a pair, Casey thinks. If I were in the same situation...

But Casey had been in the same situation, approximately twenty-five years ago. The only difference - other than the fact that Casey was never that much of a pansy - was that he had never been observed.

The subjects order wine and appetizers. Casey settles in for a long wait. He has not yet activated the bug in the restaurant - he will only do so if things seem to go south. Though waiting, he remains intensely alert for every expression, every gesture, which is why he is not aware of another presence until he feels cold steel against his temple. "Colonel," a husky female voice whispers.

"Traitor," he returns, unmoving. He doesn't believe Mary Bartowski will hurt him, not after the events of Thanksgiving, but he doesn't trust her the way her son does. Moron.

"I won't try to convince you of my intentions yet again, it's pointless," she says. He notices - it's hard not to - that she keeps the gun trained on him. She gestures with her other hand toward the window. "What are your intentions tonight?"

"Just simple surveillance. Not that it's your business, Frost."

"Simple surveillance?" She focuses on the inside of the restaurant again, where the two subjects are now holding hands across the table, giving each other the most disgusting gooey-eyed gaze.

"It's my duty."

"Certainly not as a spy." She lowers the gun. She must have decided that he was not a threat.

Casey grunts, but he does not lower his guard. She's here for a reason. "As a father, it is."

"Hmm," Frost says. "I'm not sure your targets would agree."

The two spies watch the targets, Morgan Grimes and Alex McHugh, share a plate of pasta as if they were in a Disney movie. It turns his stomach. He shifts and looks at Frost instead, full in the face. "What do you want?" he growls.

Her eyes narrow and her lips twist. "Information, Colonel Casey. I need to know my son's whereabouts, and I don't have time to break the CIA's new encryption."

Casey's eyebrows rise. "And you think I'm just going to... give it to you?"

She taps the gun in her gloved palm. "Oh, I think you will."

"Heh." His laugh is humorless. "Do your worst."

"Very well." She lifts the gun and aims it at the windows, toward his daughter and Grimes.

Casey springs to action, chopping downward with his fist to knock the gun from her hand. She dodges, spinning away, but he is already diving for her legs to throw off her aim. Then, without him understanding how it happens, he finds himself on his back, pinned to the ground.

"Now, Colonel Casey. Let's try this again. Where is my son?"

He grunts stubbornly.

"Get up," she orders, and gestures with her weapon toward the windows. "You see that?"

He picks himself up and does as she asks. Inside, Alex is lifting a diamond pendant and chain from a jewelry box, her face lit up with delight. She presses Grimes into a joyful hug and kiss. So that's the big deal Grimes was babbling about today. Thank God. If Grimes had caught proposal fever like he suspects Bartowski has, Casey would have had to take serious countermeasures.

"I want to give a gift to my son," she says, and he can hear a tender note break up her usual icy tone.

"Ever thought of using FedEx?"

"It's not the kind of gift you send through the mail."

He turns toward her, searching her expression. If she's telling the truth, and the gift is what he thinks it is... He relents. He isn't made of stone, especially where family is concerned. "It wouldn't have done you any good to hack the CIA database anyway. Their location isn't classified."

"They? He is with Agent Walker, then?"

Casey nods. When isn't he with her? "They drove to Monterrey for the weekend."

She finally drops the gun to her side, satisfied with his answer. "Do you know which hotel?"

He doesn't know, but it wouldn't take a tech genius to find it out. He shakes his head. "I'm not his secretary."

"Fair enough." She directs his attention to the restaurant scene again. Grimes is placing the pendant around Alex's neck. "It's okay to worry about her, Colonel, but don't let it interfere with her living her own life. That's the best father you can be to her."

"I don't think I should be taking parenting advice from—" He tries to glance at her sideways, but she's already gone. He chuckles to himself. Frost may be a terrible mother, but she's a damn fine spy.