A/N: Welcome back to our take on Michael's time doing twenty missions on three continents with Larry Sizemore, the man that Burners love to hate, who helped Agent Westen to elevate his game and become something the CIA never expected (as James said during the interrogation in 7.07 Psychological Warfare).

As much as we all agree with Sam about Michael's creepy father figure, the Lord of the Undead was key in making our favorite spy who he ultimately became, even if it was to finally learn to do the opposite of him. However at this point in the story, the younger man is still very much under the influence of his mentor.

For those who asked, we will be posting a new chapter of "True Believer" for Christmas and coming very soon, we will be updating an old favorite with a new chapter and loads of expanded content. So, keep an eye out.

()()()()()()()()()

"He was dangerous and I was afraid."

"What were you afraid of?"

"I was afraid I was becoming like him—and I was afraid I was starting to like it."

()()()()()()()()()

St. Peterburg, Russia, March 1994

Looking out over the snow falling slowly on the city outside his hotel room, Larry Sizemore couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. Life was really going exactly the way he wanted it to. Unconscious in the adjourning room, his partner… he no longer thought of Michael Westen as his apprentice or his protégé, but a valued colleague and eventual heir… was slumbering comfortably for a change.

Of course, he might have had something to do with helping that happen…

The younger man needed the rest, as they would be finishing their new mission tomorrow, and Michael hadn't really been able to sleep properly since returning from Pakistan. A little female company to wear him out and little something in his drink to make sure he didn't wake up in the middle of the night was all it had taken.

Larry chuckled lightly. Besides, he needed to ensure his privacy was not disturbed while he was having a business meeting with Evelyn Salt, former KGB agent turned freelance killer, and said summits could sometimes become a bit raucous after the deal was sealed. He was only looking out for the Kid's best interest after all.

Because of the difference in the illumination within the room and without, Agent Sizemore found himself staring at his own visage as his focus shifted from the lights of St. Petersburg. Perhaps it was because he knew what would be there that he thought he saw the fading black eyes, healed split lip, scar bisecting his right eyebrow and the crook in his nose. He had taken quite a beating in Kiev, but it had been worth it in the end.

The Kid had finally gotten it then. After those seven months in Kiev, he'd become an unstoppable sonuvabitch, taking out a six-man GRU unit almost single-handedly. Michael was nearly ready to take it to the next level.

Larry closed the curtains and turned away from the chill coming through the large panes of glass. Finishing off the bottle of locally brewed dark beer which his associate had discovered the day before, the dark-haired man moved to a chair positioned next to an ornate wooden writing desk in the center of the suite. He breathed deeply, feeling his ribs bite at the motion. He had undone some of his recovery going to rescue his partner.

It had taken many long weeks to get from the hospital wing at Ramstad AFB in Germany, recovering from the thrashing he'd been given by a team of ex-Soviet free lancers, to this fine suite at the Grand Hotel Europe in the city once called the "Window to Europe" by its founder Pyotr Alekseyevich. He had truly begun his recovery following minor surgery to correct internal bleeding while he had set out to direct his partner's campaign of mischief and mayhem in the former Soviet Union from his infirmary bed, bypassing his former boss' intentions.

Larry laughed as he sorted through the paperwork on the desk. He had to admit that he enjoyed jousting with Rayna Kopec, constantly thwarting her attempts to discipline Michael and interfere with his training program for the Kid, so much so that he'd seen to it that she was promoted to his old friend Gregor's position. After all, the man had outlived his usefulness and the little woman could be the one sipping on bad coffee at any time she should happen to outlive hers. But her presence gave his operations an air of legitimacy that was convenient.

It had certainly come in handy when the Director of Operations had arrived unannounced and under cover of darkness in his recovery room. That had meant there were things afoot of great import. The only question really had been whether it was Agency's business or the Organization's that would be the topic of conversation.

"Westen?" Meachem had asked as he'd hung up from getting the latest communique on the man's activities.

"The Kid's doing great things," Larry had confirmed, trying not to gloat too much in his superior's presence or let his surprise at the other's arrival show on his face. "With a little direction from his mentor of course…"

"Yes, that is quite a display he's putting on. Moscow doesn't know whether to shit or go blind right about now."

Agent Sizemore had chuckled and then groaned as he wrapped an arm around his taped-up ribs. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Him causing chaos and confusion in Russia and rubbing it in the FSK's collective noses?"

"And he manages it with such style." The older man's brow furrowed as he assessed Larry's condition. "You, on the other hand, almost managed get yourself killed."

"It takes more than some rogue spetsnaz team to take me out of the game," the master assassin countered.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, this is causing us a problem…"

And it could have been a serious situation for him had Mr. Sizemore not had the services of one Michael Westen to offer in his place and the skill to talk the Director into allowing him to use the younger agent as his substitute for a now overdue side job of assassinating a certain Pakistani diplomat to the former Soviet Union.

"If he gets caught, it could not only come back on the Company, but it could expose us as well."

Yes, his old friend had been adamantly opposed at first to the idea of using the younger man on such an assignment. But from Larry's point of view, there was no real downside. True, if Michael was caught, the CIA could have been implicated and the clandestine Organization that Meachem managed from within the Agency might have been exposed. But he was confident the spy he had trained could be trusted to complete the job.

A four-man team of former Russian Special Forces turned mercenaries had already been hired, the ambush location determined, the assets and equipment in place. Mr. Sizemore had worked with Evgeni Kondakova and his compatriots on various side jobs before. All the operation needed was a leader and if Michael thought he was running an ultra-vital NTK mission for flag and country, then he would accomplish the task at hand.

Or die trying as the Russian wet work specialist Westen would be pretending to be.

Fortunately, the Kid was as good as he'd thought, even managing to implicate a couple of former KGB agents that had been on Larry's radar to take out when the CIA master assassin had had time to get around to it and buying himself enough time to stave off his own torture and execution long enough for Papa Bear to come to the rescue. Kondakova had done the right thing by getting in contact with him as soon as the mission had gone sideways, but he had done the wrong thing by letting Michael vary from the established plan and get off track.

Mr Sizemore had very carefully picked out the ambush site on Drosh-Jalalabad Road to hit the convoy carrying Waseem Khan and his party. If it went well, the diplomat would die along with any minor collateral damage and if not, then everyone would die, including the expendable team of merc's if need be. But once on the ground, the former Army Ranger had decided to use his knowledge of the area and his impressive sharp shooting skills to devise a new plan which would minimize bloodshed and center on the target only.

Larry shrugged. It would take some time he supposed before the senior spy would be able to fully wean the younger agent off the concepts he'd learned in the military and down on the Farm. It would be a delicate process teaching Michael to distinguish when an asset went from useful to expendable, like the leader of the mercenary group he'd worked with. Because while his former apprentice might get away with going off script, but the hired help did not… not for long. Kondakova had gotten the 5.45×39mm retirement party he deserved for nearly losing his partner as soon as the wounded Mr Westen had been safely loaded onto the helicopter.

The elite operative chuckled again before his mood momentarily turned pensive. Thinking about the injuries his associate had accumulated during his time with the Pakistanis had enraged him when he'd seen them enumerated on the medical reports, but clearly the Kid had retained the presence of mind to finish the mission.

Another side benefit, and this was truly no small thing to Mr. Sizemore's way of thinking, was that Michael had finally fully realized who had his best interests at heart and who he could count on in this crazy world they inhabited. The smile slowly returned to the older man's face. Yes, his heir would be ready soon enough to embrace the other side of the business. It would just take a few more dirty jobs, just a little more field work…

And contemplating the best way to begin the final phase of bring his colleague fully onboard with his role in the Organization and reviewing his mission briefs from the Agency consumed all of Larry Sizemore's thoughts while awaiting the arrival of his freelance business associate and guest for the evening.

()()()()()

Even as a little girl, Natasha Chenkov was determined to do things her own way, which as a child taken and raised as part of a GRU unit presented a particularly thorny test. But with the classic Russian ability to circumvent authority to meet her own needs, the young woman had managed to not only succeed, but beat them at their own game, such that even her enemies came away with a more than grudging respect for her.

Assuming she let them live…

But Evelyn Salt as she was now known loved a challenge. She lived on an adrenaline-laced knife's edge and people with the skills to survive an encounter with her intrigued the Amazonian assassin. It was what had prompted her to call in the location of the wounded American agent she had followed, after burning down the dacha of a certain KGB colonel she had been protecting, instead of finishing off the man in danger of bleeding out in a garage apartment sequestered in one of the dirtiest raisons in all of Moscow.

While the man she would later learn was Larry's then-partner did not survive their attempt to extract the Soviet official from under her watchful eye, the man himself had managed to get away. That he'd had the stamina to make the trip and the intestinal fortitude to perform surgery on himself piqued her curiosity and over the years she had enjoyed their cat and mouse game of attempted assassination almost as much as their later amorous encounters. Larry's next co-worker had been a hapless pawn in that game, but rumor had it the CIA's premiere wet work specialist had done better than get a new sidekick this time and again she was intrigued.

She was a brunette today because that's what her next job called for. So, flipping her now mahogany hair out of her face, she knelt down to pick the lock to the adjoining room next to that of the man she was coming to see. Part tactics and part pure mischief, Evelyn had decided she wanted an up-close look at Larry's apparently adopted son for herself without her some-time business associate and bed mate's scrutiny or supervision.

Slipping silently into the darkened space, she eased the ornate wooden barrier closed behind her before stealing stealthily towards the inert figure on the bed. Peering at the light emanating from under the door to the adjacent suite, Evelyn calculated she could risk turning on the bedside lamp without attracting undue attention. The tall woman rose up from her crouch and flicked the switch, filling the opulent room with a glow.

My, my, my, what have we here…?

The dark-haired man on the mattress was a fine specimen of masculinity and interesting as well, she decided.

Evelyn observed with great curiosity not only the older scars that spoke of encounters with sharp objects and bullets, but the clearly more recent markings that told a tale of violence and containment. She risked a feather light touch to his shoulder and smiled wolfishly when the unconscious man remained exactly that. That Larry had probably helped ensure his compatriot didn't disturb their business meeting pleased her on many levels.

Encouraged but still cautious, the brunette brushed her long flowing hair back over her shoulder again as she bent down and pulled the sheet away from his nearly naked form, pouting at the sight of the blue boxers blocking her full view. The ex-GRU agent examined the shallow cuts that decorated his lower limbs along with the faint indentations of chains which still remained on his muscular frame with a practiced eye.

Now emboldened by her success, the freelance killer touched his shoulder again, gently turning him off his side and onto his back. Then Evelyn noted other things besides his injuries… the way his long lashes feathered over his closed eyes, the enticing way his parted lips offered a glimpse of white teeth and pink tongue… running a fingertip delicately over the healing abrasions on his wrists, she allowed her hand to drift across to his side and then on to the wisps of hair that went from the bottom of his navel before disappearing into the top of his—

"Hands off, Evelyn…" came the soft but serious warning from the doorway behind her.

She turned to face him with a smirk and a saucy toss of her head. "Just looking…" she proclaimed.

Larry was at her side lightning fast without seeming to hurry at all. She really did admire that in him. "A little more than looking," he countered, catching her wrist in a tight grasp. "And the Kid here needs his sleep."

"Ummm, yes, it seems he's had some very interesting extra-curricular activities lately. Did he manage to get into trouble while you were laid up?" She turned her free hand to running a sharp nail over the nearly healed cut in the older man's right eyebrow.

"The baby bird has to leave the nest some time…" Larry answered while grabbing her other wrist, the pressure on her forearms becoming slightly painful.

"Poor baby bird, looks like it was a long way down out of the treetop."

He chuckled and it had a nasty edge. "Yeah, well, this business isn't for pussies, you know."

"Just certain pussies," she snarked back, laughing at her own bad joke. "So, are we conducting business first or are we getting straight down to business?"

Despite the grip he had on her, Evelyn put her hands on his healing ribs and squeezed back, delighting in the slight grunt she'd forced from his lungs and making him step away from her. She grinned wickedly as the CIA master assassin reached over after freeing her hands to turn off the bedside light.

"The Kid's better off in the dark for now," Larry said as he opened the door, the light from the suite casting his silhouette over her face. "And all our business can be conducted in the other room."

()()()()()()()()()

Larry awoke later than he had intended, having added to his current injuries some scratches, some bite marks, although nowhere immediately apparent because Evelyn was good that way, and a slightly strained wrist.

But however far behind his own schedule he was, Agent Sizemore was still up before Michael. Taking his time showering and dressing before ordering breakfast, the older man settled into a chair by the window which looked out over the snow-covered cityscape to read the local paper, getting up to speed on today's havoc being created by the third Goodwill Games coming to town… Of course, one had to read between the lines to do so…

Deciphering useful intelligence while reading Russian newspapers was a challenge he did enjoy… not quite up there with discovering a new undetectable poison of course… and it was a welcome break from reviewing the mission intelligence while waiting for his partner to wake up or the food to arrive, whichever came first.

Slipping the hotel employee the right amount of rubles as befitted his current cover as an oil company executive after the man had set up their morning meals, Larry was saved the trouble of going after his colleague when he heard the shower start in their adjoining en-suite. Not feeling inclined to eat his eggs and kolbasa cold, the senior spy was polishing off his share of the syrniki when Michael finally shuffled out into their sitting room, his still-wet hair combed straight back and his undershirt sticking to his ever so slightly damp skin.

"You look like you could use some of the Ice Queen's private stash," Larry remarked, looking up from the papers he was reading and running a critical eye over his somewhat disheveled associate. He wondered briefly if Ms Salt had somehow managed to sneak back into the young man's suite in the early morning hours, but then dismissed the thought. "But since we're supposed to be from Moscow, you'll have to make do with Mother Russia's finest. Of course, you'll have to drink three cups of Russian Caravan to equal what she swills down in one mug of her joe."

Without answering, Michael turned to the ornate samovar on the other table, pouring himself a cup of strong black tea before dropping a sugar cube into it. He then dropped himself heavily into the chair facing his colleague with a deep sigh and reached out for one of the cottage cheese dumplings, dipping it in the nearby sour cream before chewing slowly on the tasty Russian breakfast item. He would have preferred a yogurt, but the protein content of the dumpling and the tang of the aged dairy product was an acceptable substitute.

"So, the Ice Queen came through?" He eyed the open folder and the papers in the older man's hands as he finished off his first syrniki and then reached for another.

Agent Sizemore couldn't help but smile at the comment. There was a time when his younger compatriot would have flinched at his use of such derogatory terms for the Station Chief that Agent Westen had once worked with, never mind Michael himself actually using any of those nicknames. It didn't matter whether it was due to the after effects of the little something he'd added to his comrade's Stoli last night or just the Kid coming around to his way of thinking; it pleased Larry to no end to hear the phrase come out of his partner's mouth.

"Yes, the little woman has confirmed that the Russians have done their homework and what we need is most likely sitting on the desk of some mid-level FSK stiff who's dreaming of what's for lunch besides vodka," Larry answered his colleague's question and then chuckled, a wide grin crossing his face as the other man swayed slightly by the samovar. "Speaking of which, you look like you could use a little hair of dog this morning."

Having finished off the last of the dumplings, Michael poked at his lukewarm dish of eggs over-easy studded with the Russian breakfast sausage of choice and tried to decide if his queasy stomach would tolerate the meal. He had drunk his fair share of the Stolichnaya, but not enough to deserve the hangover he was currently suffering from. He quickly consumed his potent cup of tea and got up slowly to get another.

"Yeah, maybe," he mumbled as he added two cubes of sugar to the white porcelain cup in the hopes the sugar rush would help clear his head. Besides the fog between his ears, there was this strange dream he couldn't shake, which had felt very real, the sensation of a woman's hands on his body still lingering even as he stood there pouring out more of the hot liquid. He'd sent the escort on her way before he'd passed out, hadn't he?

Having spent the last few weeks cementing their covers as a couple of powerful business men from Moscow, a high-profile legend that their boss had been not so pleased about, making their contacts with local assets and covertly collected all the on-the-ground intelligence they'd requested to go with the intel they had smuggled in with them from Tbilisi, they were now ready to secure the list of possible dissatisfied Chechens working in the government departments in Grozny, Chechnya, people potentially willing to ally themselves with the US when, not if, the expected conflict should break out between the two countries.

After the drones back at their office had the chance to whittle it down, then they would be the ones to do their own slicing and dicing until they found someone happy to take some help from the USG. From the CIA point of view, it was a relatively low risk assignment given Larry's expertise in all things Russian and certainly as compared to what they had been up to prior, posing as father and son arms dealers in Kiev taking over the trade routes of various low and mid-level merchants and then taking out a spetsnaz team by themselves.

Now all that remained was to devise with a workable plan to accomplish their assignment. Larry handed the folder over to the younger man as he returned to his high-backed chair. He did admire Michael's ability to make sense out of seemingly unrelated information and to think outside of the box, he thought as he watched the other spy start to flip through the mission brief, though that use of initiative had gotten him in trouble recently.

Despite what it had cost him physically and financially to rescue his partner from the Khans, it had been worth it in Mr. Sizemore's eyes. His heir continued to line up with his way of thinking and now followed his lead with far fewer questions. A little more guidance, a few more missions together and he would be able to put that soft-hearted Saint Michael side of his personality to rest for good and a pure predator would be left in its place.

With that happy thought in mind, the older man left the dark-haired agent to study the intel while he placed the breakfast dishes on the cart, knowing that food would lose its appeal once Michael focused on the task at hand, though he left the loaf of fresh black bread on the table within easy reach of the other operative.

Michael frowned as he re-read their instructions and the purview they were under no conditions to step over due to the number of diplomats, businessmen and other trades that had flocked to St. Petersburg in advance of the Goodwill Games. The faux-Olympics themselves did not start until July, but an event of that size and complexity required a lot of infrastructure and security in place in advance of the actual athletic contests.

That meant lots of local contractors and foreign sponsors looking to capitalize on new business opportunities and plenty of people to vet… and Russian intelligence was not now what Soviet security had once been…

"They want us to do this very quietly…" he said at length. When he'd been sent on his bad will tour by Langley, the idea had been to make as big a splash as possible. That was not the case this time. "And I don't think breaking into an FSK office is going to end up being exactly low key. We've kicked the hornet's nest already."

"Yeah, you did a great job with that, Kid. I was proud of ya. Of course, you were getting some expert advice at the time. You just keep following my lead and there won't be any more little snafu's along the way, right?"

The younger man deliberately ignored Mr Sizemore's rhetorical question, though he did absently rub at the healed scars on his left wrist where Pakistani chains had made permanent marks in his skin with his equally abused right hand before reaching for his not-as-caffeinated-as-he-would-have-liked beverage again.

"I know there's computer records of that research somewhere…" Michael continued, following a generous sip from the steaming cup. "Copies would have gone out to more than one department..." The elite operative paused as the spark began to form into a coherent plan. All it really needed was for one of them to get the little people in the room looking one way while the other one snuck in and got the intel required.

"Their systems are a lot like ours… maybe even a little less secure… If we had the address number on the file we're looking for, how long do you think we'd need to find it, assuming we could access their mainframe?"

"Ten minutes, maybe... if all the Den Mother's intel is good... What are you thinking, Kid?"

If you need to get into a secure area, the best approach is to give yourself a good reason to be there. Why go to all the trouble of sneaking past guards when you can spin a tale and get to walk through the front door?

"There are federal offices all over the city; most of them are being overrun with all foreign companies and local contractors showing up in preparation for the games. That's a lot of baksheesh being spread around."

Larry laughed. "You planning on paying off some greedy commissar into giving us access to their computers? The way they stick their hands out over here, I don't think we have enough in the expense budget to pull that one off. I can just see the little woman's face when we turn those receipts in."

Bureaucrats live for respect. East of the Balkans, that usually means a bribe. Go a little lower on the totem pole and fear of pissing off somebody important works just as well with less drain on the expense account…

"No, more like we target some small overworked department in one of those offices…" He paused and bit down on his upper lip as he ran through his burgeoning strategy, looking for potential holes before he explained it to his far more experienced partner. Last time he had flexed his muscles in the planning department, he had ended up hanging in chains upside down in a Pakistani torture chamber. If Larry hadn't come for him and gotten him out of there when he did… The younger spy did not want to finish that thought.

"You wanna set off the alarms with maybe a little explosion or two and we slip past the security in all the confusion, then grab somebody and convince them to be cooperative?" the senior agent prompted as the his colleague was taking too long to complete his sentence.

"Not exactly," Michael countered, though that MO certainly fit the way he and Larry had been working recently. Taking out rival arms merchants or impressing a group of genocidal maniacs was not done subtly. Their mandate from the people sitting on the sidelines was to make sure they didn't disturb the peace this time. "When you were a kid, did you and your friends ever go inside a store and a few of you raise hell, you know, knock things off shelves, get into fights, so someone else could fill their pockets while no one's looking?"

His father had been the one to teach him that particular ploy, though he and Andre and his friend's gang had certainly used those lessons to their advantage over the years, running amok and getting banned from most of the local mom and pop shops and a few of the bigger chain stores like Kmart. It started at a young age with tantrums and mischief and then graduated to harassment and picking fights, all so Frank Westen could pick up items at a five-finger discount, the worst being the time he'd thrown himself onto the floor in the middle of a Mr. GoodWrench auto shop, drooling and shaking all so his dad could steal a pack of spark plugs.

"You wanna run a distraction play with less fireworks…? Sure," Larry answered with a half-smile and a shrug, wondering where the Kid was going with the uncharacteristic trip down memory lane. The kind of disruption Mr Sizemore was involved in during his youth did not revolve around stealing candy and gum. By the time he was working with his own mentor, he'd already moved past involuntary manslaughter to straight up homicide for hire. "You want to fake a seizure in some federal building while I sneak into a back room and steal the intel?"

"Uh, no…" Michael hid his surprise at the older man's comment that came so close to the truth. "We go in as a couple of demanding diplomats. While one of us raises enough hell, the other can slip into the back and get the file from the database." He picked up another file, combing through the known specs on FSK computers.

"That's a risky plan. I like it," the senior agent concluded. "With a few minor changes, I think we can make it work..." Despite what his compatriot had suggested, some explosive charges hidden outside if things went wrong still might be useful. After all, bombs didn't necessarily have to go off to be useful as a diversion. He watched as the younger man rummaged through a different folder containing intercepted Russian intelligence communiques before cross-referencing his find with a hand-labeled diagram of the city center.

"So, which department were you thinking of hitting?"

"How about the Committee for External Relations and Tourism…?"

Larry nearly choked on his own mouthful of tea and then that coughing turned into laughing at the sheer nerve of the Kid's plan. "You want us to walk straight into Vladimir Putin's lair, one of the top spies in the old KGB, and steal from him?" Putin had been one of his regular adversaries back in the day. There was even a chance he might get recognized if he put in appearance at the retired Lt Colonel's new base of operations.

"That's what makes it the perfect target. Putin's bound to still be connected, so it's guaranteed their systems can access the FSK databases and besides, no one's going to expect it." Michael reasoned, trying to down play the drawbacks of his daring plan while highlighting the rewards. "Sure, there'll be some operatives there, but they'll be watching out for other spies coming in from outside the country. Most of the people in that building are just office drones. We just need to find some understaffed office already overwhelmed by the Games."

Now that he was over the initial shock of the Kid's plan, Agent Sizemore leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling as his mind assessed the risks to himself and then the mission. Kopec would have a fit if she knew what they were thinking of doing… that in and of itself made it an idea worth entertaining. The thought of another round of matching wits with Vlad was also interesting, although not his primary motivator in this instance.

His younger colleague shrugged. "From what all the latest intelligence is saying about Putin, he's too busy taking kickbacks from all the corporations who want to do business here now that trade's opening up."

"So, we'd need a fat stack of rubles for a Plan B just in case fear of the gulag doesn't work…" he mused.

"We go in around lunch time, find someone in an office alone and come in as a couple of diplomats kicking up a fuss about some missing documents, a lost visa or an invitation to some trade fair…" Michael continued.

"And once they go running off to get their supervisor, we have the place to ourselves…" Larry finished.

It was a bold idea, walking into Putin's domain and stealing valuable intel from right under his nose. The senior spy chuckled again. "Okay, Kid, so who's important enough they can't afford to piss them off right now?"

"Russia is pretty tight with Bulgaria… They'd want to make sure there was nothing that would keep those pipelines from going through… I picked up a lot of the language back in Skopje. It's practically the same as the local tongue since Macedonia was once a Bulgarian territory, but I've never had to use it yet."

"Bulgaria's too dependent on all that free Ruskie gas running through those pipelines to raise a stink. They know their place. We need somebody friendly, useful, not too threatening, but arrogant enough to demand-"

"Wait a minute…" Michael shuffled through several folders until he found the one he was looking for. "Australia has been in talks with Moscow about a new process to take high yield uranium and convert it into low yield. It's something the Russians agreed to do with their nuclear stockpiles and in return our side promised to buy twelve billion worth of low enriched uranium over the next twenty years... We could use that. They definitely wouldn't want to make them mad and they always expect Westerners to be arrogant assholes anyway."

"That's a great idea, Kid. How's your Aussie accent?"

"G'day, mate, care to throw another shrimp on the bar-bee?"

"Jeez, if that's the best you can do, we might as well forget it now."

The dark-haired agent bit his top lip while he thought about it. "If you go in first and explain the problem and I call you raising hell… the accent won't have to be perfect over the phone. Then I can come in as the lead diplomat and run our target off to get his supervisor while you get what we need from the computer."

"Oh, so you're the head honcho now?"

"Unless you want to try to do an Australian accent…?"

Larry laughed. "No, Kid, there's a reason I stuck to Eastern Europe. Let's see what the hotel's got for reference material." The older man went to the phone to request a movie while Michael searched his recollection for a film that was on the fringes of his memory. Outside of Star Wars, he wasn't much on popular entertainment.

"Ask if they have Crocodile Dundee," he requested, heading to the samovar for his third cup of strong black brew, the haze in his brain starting to clear now that he'd had some caffeine and carbohydrates in his system.

"Since when do you know anything about movies?" Mr Sizemore queried as he hung up after asking for the tape to be delivered to the pair of oil company executives in the Deluxe Arts Square View Suite. As far as he knew, Michael wasted only enough time on popular culture to ensure his covers IDs were solid as it should be.

"Down time between missions wasn't always about 4-10-4," Michael replied, remembering being drug to the Buckhead Cinema Draft House for a showing of that particular Paul Hogan picture with a group of his fellow Rangers back in the day, mostly at Shane's insistence, but since he could eat and have a brew at the same time…

"Okay, Kid, you sharpen your accent while I go scout our location. If we time this right, we can show up right before our target-to-be starts getting itchy to head out for obed and it takes forever to round up a supervisor."

His associate polished off the black bread and ordered more tea and some blinis while Larry went into the other room to change. The younger man grinned at the sight of his partner emerging from his bedroom wearing the obligatory Adidas track suit with the traditional overcoat worn to withstand the Russian winters.

"What, kid? When in Moscow after all…" The older spy laughed. "Get ahold of the little people while you're waiting and see if you can scare up some PVV-4… 5A would be better and some detonators. We might still need to have a little something handy just in case. A couple more PSS's wouldn't hurt either," Agent Sizemore declared before slipping out of the room before the valet could return and check out his change of attire.

()()()()()()()()

Upon leaving Café Pyshechnaya with two hot coffees in hand, Larry found the breeze was still brisk but not as overwhelming as when the American undercover operative had exited the Grand European and had made his way through Mikhaylovsky Square and across three city blocks and the waters spanned by the Italian Bridge on foot earlier that morning.

Moving away from the coffee shop on Bolshaya Konyushennaya Street, one of the few Soviet-era establishments that was still thriving under the new normal in the Motherland, the senior spy walked at a pace guaranteed to blend in with the relatively sparse mid-morning foot traffic heading out towards their various destinations. While the day was overcast and gray with tiny swirls of snowflakes swept up in the wind and his external expression matched the gloom of the city street, inside he was quite the opposite.

Arkady Sergeiovich Solokov, son of a long-time Soviet military commander until his father's dismissal as part of the Mattias Rust affair a few years back, was one of his oldest assets in terms of personal longevity and usefulness. Fifteen years his senior more or less, Solokov had been a fountain of information for decades before Larry's unceremonious banishment to Bolivia and the man always spent his mornings inhabiting his favorite place. Now back in his favorite city as well, the agent/assassin was multi-tasking once again, getting the information he needed to complete the milk run the Company had sent him on while simultaneously re-establishing his network of contacts within the former Soviet Union and all on an Agency expense account.

He'd spent twenty years as a damned successful Cold Warrior in this country until an ill-fated run-in with Natasha Chenkov had nearly cost him his career and almost his life. Now not quite six years later, he had made a business partner instead of a deadly adversary out of Evelyn Salt as she now called herself and had finally succeeded in the one area of his life that had been a source of continual frustration until now.

When you think the world is about to hand you everything you want on a silver platter, that's usually when it back-hands you instead. As the international wet work specialist continued to shadow his target, the words of his long-gone mentor came back to Larry while he considered how close he was to obtaining his ultimate goal.

Brick Breeland had been the closest thing he'd had as an actual partner in decades at the time. The man was good and they had worked well together… but he'd gotten himself killed by a naked woman with his own gun. So, in the end, he wasn't the one. Eric Stratton had been a necessary evil and had fulfilled his purpose.

But Michael Westen… the Kid was going to be more than just his protégé. The younger man was destined to be his heir. Just as the mysterious Shadow had trained him and then turned over his empire to him before disappearing, Larry Sizemore now at long last had someone worthy of working by his side permanently.

Keep your eyes open and your guard up, but don't forget to enjoy the ride…

Stay focused on where you're headed, but have fun along the way…

Always play the long game, Kid. It'll never fail ya…

Words he'd done his best to live by and now all the time he'd invested in Michael Westen was about to pay off.

Putting thoughts of his own teacher to the back of his brain, the dark haired man turned his attention to his objective: a harried looking blonde with her hands full, a box containing what he presumed were hot beverages and snacks. With all the Western dignitaries in town to discuss arrangements for the Goodwill Games, his source had put him onto a promising opening with the potential to ensure there was only one person guarding the computer he needed access to in the Office of External Trade.

All he had to do was wait for the substance slipped into her beverage to take effect.

The proprietor of the coffee shop had not only pointed out the administrative assistant who worked in the office that Larry was interested in infiltrating, but his asset had been cooperative enough to add something into her drink which the American operative had provided which would make the little lady very sick very shortly.

Maintaining his distance while tracking his target, which was easier since he knew her ultimate destination, Agent Sizemore kept his expression as grim as the weather despite his delight at catching such a lucky break so early on the execution of the operation. After all, to smile with no reason is a sign of a fool, as the Russian viewpoint on such matters went and there was no need to catch the interest of random passersby while he waited off to the side at the bus stop as the blonde continued to balance the box on her knees on the bench.

Sitting close behind her as the large vehicle rumbled over the bridges that crossed the Moyka River and the Reka Neva that Larry could hear her pained moans and observe her swiping at her face; he wondered if she would make it back to the office at all before the drugs did their magic. But the woman was apparently made of sterner stuff and exited the bus with only a slight hesitation in her step.

He continued to tail his target at a distance while looking for a vantage point to conduct surveillance without calling attention to himself in the process. The wind bit at his legs through the track suit just below the heavy woolen coat which was covered in specks of water in the form of melted snow. But none of that mattered. He was on the hunt and things were going exactly the way he wanted. The spy dug into his pocket for his cell.

Time to bring Michael up to speed…

()()()()()()()

To say he was startled when the phone began to ring was an understatement. Finally shaking off the fog that had clouded his head all morning, Agent Westen had either stored or destroyed the intel they'd reviewed for their mission brief and then sent away the breakfast dishes as well. Their local asset had been quick to deliver the additional silenced handguns that had been in the hands of KGB Spetsnaz since its creation in 1980 and a little something else that Michael had thought to add to the shopping list at the last minute.

The most dangerous time in any operation is when everything is about to come together. You don't know whether you're going to get a pat on the back or a bullet to the back of the head. Of course, there's not much you can do but act like everything is fine.

However, while he had obtained some explosives from their support group, it was a very small quantity.

"I tell ya, Kid, I'm a fine wine. I just get better with age…"

Michael was surprised to hear Larry's jovial mood over the phone, which was good as he had some bad news to deliver and it always helped if the senior associate in their working relationship was in a good mood when such ill tidings had to be delivered. On the other hand, Agent Sizemore was supposed to return to their hotel, so the fact that he had been calling instead of walking through the door meant something had changed.

"Well, what d'ya come with while ya were on walkabout?" he asked.

"Keep working on it, Kid. Keep working." He could hear Larry's sigh through the garbled signal.

"No worries, mate. Bloody annoying accent, anyway…"

"Let's just hope you don't run into anyone who's really from the land down under before we get outta town. Okay, what did you find out about that little diversion I requested?" the older man inquired.

"You were saying something about success?" the younger man had prompted, steering the topic back towards his colleague's scouting trip and the reason for his unusual phone call.

"I'll tell you all about it when you get here. I'm walking between a café and an ATM on Mendeleyevskaya Liniya. There's a bus stop just down the street. Pick me up. You need to pack up and pay the bill on the double, Kid."

Since he had already begun prepping for departure, Agent Westen packed up the room in record time, only pausing to finish off connecting the detonators to the explosive charges the dour Russian had delivered.

As he navigated the narrow streets of St Petersburg, the American operative tried to piece together what his partner was likely up to. The fact that Agent Sizemore had requested additional firearms and explosives hadn't concerned him. It was practically standard operating procedure for the two of them, particularly after their days in Kiev posing as ruthless father and son arms dealers taking over the trade routes of one Mitar Savic.

The snow flurries were easing up as the day began to brightened, making the task of spotting the other man on the street a little less difficult. His colleague was very good at blending in with a crowd, particularly in Russia.

Since he'd gone on a scouting mission, it was likely the senior spy had spotted an opening in their target's defenses that he'd felt was immediately exploitable and was eager proceed instead of wasting time sneaking around as he often said about extended surveillance. Agent Sizemore seemed to have an uncanny instinct for knowing when to hold back and when to move with devastating force, though admittedly the older man did tend to err on the side of deliberate destruction, preferring that any evidence of his activities vanished too.

By the time he had picked up Larry from his observation post, Michael had worked out how he was going to break the news to his partner that they hadn't gotten quite what his associate had asked for when he'd left.

"Here's the deal, Kid. I got the opportunity to slip a little something into the drink order for the External Trade office. Good news is they should be very short-handed very soon," his colleague advised as he slipped into the passenger seat of the black AztoVAZ Lada they'd been provided by the Company.

He swiped the accumulated snowflakes off the shoulder and sleeves of his heavy overcoat before continuing.

"The bad news is they've installed a metal detector at the entrance since we last got a copy of the blueprints. I guess I should have expected the Den Mother to make a mess of things. So, while I love packing a PSS when sneaking into a building, we'll have to leave them in the car and plant a few diversions elsewhere."

"Yeah… about that, Lare… They shorted us on the plastic. He said that he couldn't get that much-"

"Are we letting a glorified courier run our op now, Michael?" Larry's eyes narrowed. "You sure you're not bullshitting me because the bitch was raising hell about us making sure this went down quietly?"

"Actually I'm more worried about how many uniformed armed guards I spotted patrolling the outside of the building on the way over. If we get seen planting them, all hell will be raised before we even get started."

"And what happens if we're discovered and we end up having to fight our way out? How does having a back-up plan sound now, Michael?"

The younger man reached down into the foot well and lifted his right trouser leg. Straightening up, he waved a sharp looking knife in Agent Sizemore's direction. "Ceramic knives, I have one for you too. They should get through the metal detectors. I thought we might need them."

Larry nodded. The Kid was always thinking ahead, though he still hadn't quite learned to think big enough.

"I do love watching you work with a blade, but I still prefer to have something more than a knife when the guards inside with automatic weapons show up… No, we will plant the bombs. We can always send in a clean-up team to collect them if we don't need them."

Michael was about to argue that one of those bombs could be found at any moment by one of the many waste management operatives out working to keep the streets clean and tidy for the Games, then he stopped. He was still having nightmares about the last time he changed up one of Larry's plans. He swallowed down his misgivings and nodded. "Fine, we plant the bombs."

He chewed his lip for a moment. "I noticed there's a parking garage behind the building. I set these up to look like the ones we used when we took down that last arms dealer before the Makarkin's went out of business." He pointed to the case on the floor at Larry's feet. "If I plant them on a couple of cars, preferably somebody important if I can figure that out, they'll be investigating a gun runner turf war instead of looking for us."

Larry bared his teeth in a dazzling smile. So for all his hand-wringing, the Kid had done as he was told and had worked out the best strategy for a Plan B on the fly. He took the blade from Michael's hand and slipped it into his coat pocket. He would find somewhere better to hide it once out of the confines of the car.

"I'll scout inside. You plant the devices and I will expect your call at– " He glanced at his watch. "One sharp."

()()()()()

Most of the people who work in a government office are just municipal drones enjoying a cushy job. But the head of a major department in the Motherland, that guy's almost always a spy or connected to one.

Joseph Vissarionovich sat at his desk staring morosely across to where up to an hour ago had been sitting one of the main reasons he got up in the morning. Valentina Istomina, tall, blonde, blue eyed Valentina, or Miss Istomina as he called her to her face, was several years older than himself and the administrative assistant for their joint supervisor, Mr. Nikolayevich, who'd only hired him because the man had served with Joseph's father.

Sighing heavily, Joseph picked up the now empty coffee cup sitting beside his computer screen. She was tasked with bringing a hot beverage and a pastry in for Mr. Nikolayevich every morning and every morning since he had started in his present position, she had brought in one for him too. He had purposefully started arriving early to make sure he was there at his desk ready to thank her for thinking of him. This was his first job and his father had made multiple threats should he fail to perform it adequately, so he was grateful for her kindness.

It was such a shame that the beautiful Valentina had had to rush home early today. She had looked so pale this morning. He had wanted to ask her if he could escort her home –

"Mr. Vissarionich…." Joseph was startled out of his thoughts and jumped to his feet as Mr Nikolayevich's voice sounded from behind him when the man exited his office.

"Sir!" He snapped to attention, knocking the now thankfully empty cup over.

"I am going to lunch. You will be alone. As you might have seen, Miss Istomina will not be back today. I expect you to carry on with your work as if one of us were here to supervise you. Pavel has been asking how you are doing at your new job. I want to give your Papa …a very good report when I see him at club tomorrow. "

"Yes sir." The young man almost barked the words out as answering his former commanding officer during his term of Universal Military Obligation. He had found his time in the military extremely difficult.

"Joseph, you are not on parade ground any longer." Mr. Nikolayevich smiled. "Just do your job and have report I requested an hour ago on my desk when I get back."

"Yes sir, when– " Joseph halted his words as his boss slammed the department door behind him on his way out.

Sitting back down at his desk, he dropped the cup into the waste bin by his foot and began tapping away on the keyboard before him. Mr. Nikolayevich was in many ways, no doubt due to his prior military career, a stickler for formalities; however, Joseph had noticed that the strict half an hour allocated to himself and the wonderful Ms Istomina did not apply to the man in charge, who was known at times to take nearly a whole two hours.

Joseph began to rapidly type, his fingers flying over the keyboard. It would just be his luck that his boss would decide on this of all days when they were short staffed to come back early.

As such, he didn't bother to turn his gaze towards the door when it opened again, expecting it was Mr. Nikolayevich returning for his reading glasses, which the man frequently left behind.

"Are you sleeping on the job?"

Joseph looked up from his computer screen, his eyes going wide as he stared at the tall man with stern features staring back at him.

"What's your name?" the newcomer demanded.

"Joseph… Joseph Vissarionovich."

"Well, Joseph Vissarionovich, I am Mikhail Razin, senior attaché to the Australian embassy. I need to you to pay attention. This is very important. You need to find out what happened to the ambassador's tickets for the Farming Trade exhibition taking place tomorrow and you need to find out now."

"Tickets…? To a Farm Exhibition….?" Joseph frowned. "This is the Office of External Trade, sir."

"Yes, I know that." The older man looked at him as if he was a fool. "Where is your supervisor? Mr. Nikolayevich?" he demanded as he read the man's name off of the office door.

"He's at lunch, sir. Y-you, you want the Agriculture Department…. " Joseph stuttered and then came to a stop as the words dried up in his throat under the withering glare of those intense blue eyes.

"This is External Trade, yes? We want to trade with the Australians, yes? They have uranium we need, yes?"

"uh… yes?" Joseph echoed.

"You have a computer in front of you, yes? Well, if you don't want to be responsible for insulting the Australian ambassador, you will get on that computer and find out what happened to their tickets. The Ambassador has a huge delegation with him and if you don't think this is– " He stopped talking as his phone began to ring.

Holding up a hand, gesturing for the younger man to keep quiet, Mikhail Razin answered the call.

"Yes sir, how are you?"

"Where the hell are you?" a brash voice barked out in English, loud enough to be heard through the phone speaker, causing the receiver to wince and roll his eyes. "The ambassador is as mad as a cut snake!"

"I am trying, sir, but somebody in this department doesn't want to be helpful."

Mikhail glared over at the young clerk. "I said someone doesn't want to be helpful," he repeated in Russian.

"I am looking now." Joseph gulped and closed the files he had been working on to begin his search.

"He is looking now. Tell the ambassador there's no need for his son to come here. I have this under control. "

There was a brief moment of silence. "It's too late for that. He's already in the bloody building. If you don't have those tickets in your grimy mitts by the time he gets there, it'll be your job, mate!"

The call ended abruptly and Mr. Razin turned back to the harried young man, berating him in his mother tongue. "Did you hear that? The ambassador's son is going to be here any minute! You have no idea who you're dealing with, what I've been dealing with since I was assigned to this idiot. Do you want to cost me my job?"

But before he could answer, there was another interruption and both men turned to the figure standing in the doorway to the office. "Haven't you got them yet?" the dark haired man in the smart suit demanded in a weirdly accented English, striding into the room as if he were in charge and second to only Boris Yeltsin himself.

Joseph looked up at Mikhail. His understanding the words of the latest stranger was clearly very poor, as his command of English was shaky under the best of circumstances despite working in a liaison office.

"No, Sir. I am waiting for this man to trace the tickets."

The confused clerk now found himself under the unfriendly gaze of the two men.

"Did you tell him who those tickets are for?" The foreign man poked the older one in the chest. "Did you tell him who my dad is?"

"No, Sir," the man calling himself Razin answered, but then turned his glittering blue eyes onto the perspiring young man sitting at his computer. "He has been most unhelpful."

"Well, tell him, Mate... What are you waiting for?"

The scowl on the Russian attaché grew larger as the arrogant foreigner shoved him in the back.

"This is the son of the Australian's Ambassador," Razin directed his comment to Joseph in his native language, who had up until this point had looked hopelessly lost, but very aware he was in over his head. "An ambassador who if you pay any attention to current events is the man who is going to turn our high grade Uranium into low grade as our beloved leader signed a treaty with the UN. This is the madman that I am trying to pacify and you are not helping me, Joseph. Do you understand what we are dealing with now? How important this is?"

"My dad is fit to spit, mate!" the younger of the two interrupted, glaring over the other man's shoulder.

"And the ambassador's family, as well as owning the largest uranium mine, I am told also owns one of the largest sheep farms in the country," Mikhail continued in Russian. "You need to help me find these tickets now!"

"I'm not seeing this drongo doing anything to get those tickets. Do you understand me, cobber?"

"Patience, patience, my friend," Razin said over his shoulder in English, before turning back to Joseph. "Now, don't you think given the risks involved in insulting the Australians, the risk to world peace, the risk your supervisor will find out what's happened or the risk to your own life if I lose my job over your incompetence – "

"No – no, let me look." Joseph began to tapping away on his keyboard, while fully aware that the two foreigners were watching his every move. Then he slowly looked up and gulped. "I cannot find any tickets issued for an Agricultural show tomorrow."

"What did he say?" the ambassador's son snapped, his unfriendly eyes conveying his anger very effectively.

"He cannot find the tickets," the older man confirmed in English, before switching back to Joseph's lingua franca. "Don't you understand what is going to happen to both of us if you don't find those tickets now?"

"He can't find the bloody tickets?" The Australian's eyes went wide as his face flushed with fury. He began patting down his clothes, his hand coming out holding a phone. "I'm going to call my dad right now."

"He is going to call the ambassador!" Razin translated into Russian. "You better do something."

"Me?" Joseph yelped, his panic reaching palpable levels as he started to shake.

"Yes quickly, your incompetence is going to cause a full blown diplomatic incident. Not to mention what I'm-"

"I'll, I'll – " Joseph froze. He wished more than anything that Valentina was here to act as a shield against the wild Australian and his frightening guardian. Her English was so much better and she could charm any man who set foot in the doorway. She would have known what to do. "Please stop," he begged.

He got to his feet and rushed around the desk, his hand landing on the Australian's arm. He covered the phone's keypad and then turned to the older man. "I will go and get my boss, Mr. Nikolayevich. He will know what to do. He is a very important man."

"Well, go!" Razin pushed him towards the door. "Go!"

As the door slammed shut, both men paused for brief second, exchanging broad smiles, and then the younger of the duo went to stand guard on the door while Agent Sizemore pulled the 3.5" hard plastic square from a secret pocket and sat down in the recently vacated chair. Removing it from the protective wrapping that ensured a metal detector would not accidently erase its contents, Larry inserted the disk into the slot, grateful his assumption that Putin would have the latest tech had proven correct. It made stealing the intel much easier.

"Let's hope the boss went out for a long lunch." Agent Sizemore's hands flew over the keyboard.

"I think Joseph might have gone to change his pants first. You had him petrified." Michael grinned as he peered down the hallway. "So why'd you change that up, Lare? I thought you said my accent wouldn't fool a dingo."

"You saw him. Kid could barely string two words of English together, never mind notice how bad your accent was. I figured one diplomat trying to control an arrogant entitled idiot was more terrifying than two diplomats."

"He did look like he was going to faint."

"Yeah, good thing he didn't faint on us… Though that might have been easier to clean up after…" Larry laughed and then looked at back at the screen. "Here we go, five more minutes and we should be outta here. Did the Ice Queen send our tickets along with the rest of the gift package?"

"Two seats on a flight from St. Pete to Volgograd and then a connecting flight to Antalya, Turkey... There's a guard looking in our direction." Michael stiffened as he focused on the scene unfolding out in the corridor.

"Talk to me, Kid." Larry bit down on his lower lip as he glared at the computer screen, willing the information he was downloading to finish.

"He has a friend and they're coming this way." Michael leaned down and drew out his ceramic blade. If they had been discovered, there was still a chance if he acted quickly he could take down both men silently.

"Get ready with that detonator… we may have to use that distraction I insisted on after all."

"They'll be here in five – four – " He began counting down.

"Blow the cars, Michael."

"Not yet. – Two– " The younger man let a long exhale and relaxed. "They've gone past… We really should go."

"No." Larry ejected the disk, carefully placing it back into its protective sleeve and then inside the hidden pocket in his heavy overcoat. "Let's wait for our stodge to get back. Remember, the difference between an amateur and a professional is the professional ties up the loose ends. "

Agent Westen looked away from the hall, wondering if his partner was advocating for murdering the clerk.

"We leave now, how long will it be before that kid's boss smells a rat? We need to wait and then we tell him that you've hadda call and the tickets have turned up at the embassy."

"It's your call." Michael shrugged, vaguely relieved that Joseph was going to get a pass today. While he would have done it if he had to, it would have been a little harder to justify. Kinda like shooting fish in a barrel…

"Yes it is... Hey, the Den Mother wanted us to do it quiet, right? So, we need to close the loop. Okay I'm gonna see what else I can find that will be of use to us. You keep an eye out for Comrade Vissarionovich."

The younger man checked his wristwatch. "We can't hang around here all day. We do have a plane to catch."

"Don't think of this as wasted time." The senior spy was now examining the filing cabinets, pulling out documents to photograph before placing them back in their folders. "If you look hard enough you can find intel in the strangest of places."

Agent Sizemore waved a piece of paper at his compatriot. "Did you know the Department of External Trade has had a six man team added to their delegation to Yemen to tour the oil fields?"

"Very interesting…. But I just spotted our friend and he's on his way back with a rather large companion. I think we're about to meet the big boss."

Moving swiftly, Larry replaced the file and wiped down all the surfaces he had touched before moving to join Michael standing by the missing clerk's desk.

Mr. Nikolayevich entered first, speaking in near perfect English. "Sir, I am so sorry for the incompetence of – "

"No worries, mate," Michael beamed, all signs of his previous bad temper banished. "I gotta call a few minutes ago. Me old man's secretary found the tickets. I'm gonna fire thot bloody Sheila when we get back."

"Found?" The Russian frowned. Though he prided himself on speaking English like a native, he could barely make sense of the garbled accent used by the younger of the strangers.

"It seems that someone in the embassy had misfiled the tickets." Larry informed the man drily in Russian, conveying in a few words and his expression what he thought of the administrative skills of his employers. "An apology is being drafted as we speak."

"Hey Boris, we need to go." The ambassador's son, typical of an arrogant Zapadnik, the supervisor thought, was already at the door obviously uncaring that he had just instigated a major panic and disrupted the head of an important department, causing him to be torn away from his meal.

"As I said you have my apologies, sir. I will be sure to mention to the ambassador your efforts on behalf of- "

"My dad is waiting. Let's go. We're supposed to be at welcoming the Aussie teams in an hour."

"We must go." Mikhail Razin nodded to the two men and turned to follow his charge out into the corridor, leaving the two Russians to stare at their backs.

"You must learn to be more firm, Vissarionovich. You dragged me away – "

Larry hid his smirk at the sound of the lowly clerk being scolded behind a hand covering his fake cough. They had the intelligence they had been sent to get plus a whole lot more that could only help raise their status as a crack team. Stepping out into the chilly afternoon air, the older man jogged down the steps and got in front of his supposed employer. Just in case anyone was watching from one the windows overlooking the street, he held the back door of their ride. After slamming the door closed, Mr Sizemore climbed in behind the wheel.

"So what do you think, Kid? Do we blow those bombs? It would make sure that nobody would be interested in the little guy from external affairs moaning about rude Australians."

"Or we could send the JV team to come back later to collect them." Michael paused. "Or – or maybe we have someone call in a bomb threat. It would have the same effect but less, ah, damage."

Larry mulled the Michael's words over. He would love nothing more than turn Putin's headquarters into a pile of burning rubble. But the Kid did have a point. Their bitch of a boss was always looking for an excuse to split up her most successful team.

"Let the little people handle the clean-up. Less paperwork that way…. After all, we gotta plane to catch."

The senior spy eased their borrowed ride onto the Makarova Embankment that followed the Malaya Neva River around the Vasileostrovsky District, checking for tails or trouble; but apparently they had gotten out clean.

"I think we've earned a little more R&R when we get back while they're going through all this fresh intel we're bringing them. Hopefully the Ice Queen's team doesn't make a complete shit show of it. There's a little place in Tbilisi I've been meaning to show you. They take 'vashe zdorovie' to a whole new level. I'm proud of ya, Kid."

They took a route to the east before turning directly south on the E95, which would take them through the Frunzensky District towards the Pulkovo Airport, after a quick stop at the St Petersburg Airport Taxi service to leave their borrowed ride behind and make a call to their Russian assets about the locals' next assignment.

Larry's jovial mood was infectious. Michael couldn't help the smile that was trying to sneak onto his visage, though he managed to keep his expression appropriately dour in public once they were out of the auto.

They had put one over on Putin in his own backyard. Agent Sizemore naturally shared the glory with his partner for coming up with the plan, horrendous accent and all, and complimented his progress. He reminded his compatriot that he needed to just needed to continue to put what happened in Pakistan behind him. Together they had just taken on the KGB old guard and won the day. Together they were unstoppable sonuvabitches.

()()()()()()

"Those SOB's have done it again…" she whispered as the woman in charge of American intelligence in southwestern Russia flipped through the pages of documents that Larry Sizemore had turned in with a reminder for all the good little boys and girls in the analysis department to make sure to do their jobs.

"Ma'am…?" the bespeckled brunette asked, looking up at her superior standing next to her desk.

"Nothing…" Station Chief Kopec handed the papers that the Terror Twins had retrieved from the Department of External Trade in St Petersburg over to her senior staff analyst. "These are bonus pages, Ms Byrd. Concentrate on getting what we need off the disk first and then let's see what else they've brought us to work with."

"Yes, ma'am…"

Rayna headed back to her office, feeling the need to pace and not wanting to do it publically.

As the blonde circled her desk, her thoughts went in circles as well. Sizemore and Westen had done it again.

They had completed the assignment with no overt collateral damage. The additional intelligence that the senior agent's snooping had produced looked promising indeed, particularly the information on the Russian interest in Yemen. Ms Kopec was sure the disk would reveal exactly what she had sent them to find and probably more. They had done their jobs and both seemed to have physically recovered from their injuries.

Agent Westen in particular appeared to be more confident and less… haunted… for lack of a better term. Whatever he had been through on his last NTK assignment, and she had a fairly good idea of what had caused his visible injuries if not the exact circumstances, the younger man seemed to be on the mend, which had been the secondary purpose of this assignment: to give him something to do to ease him back into field work.

In the process, however, they had also done it again. Just as Westen had callously used and then endangered Vladimir Kozlav when he had used him as a cut out to return the dismantled Russian warhead they'd recovered, taking out the rogue spetsnaz team who had been trying to sell it in the process, they had send valuable assets in St Petersburg to retrieve bombs that should never have been left on Vladimir Putin's backdoor to begin with.

She quickened her pace as she ground her teeth in frustration. Either he didn't know or didn't care that his cover as Oleg Markarkin had been blown to save the last asset he'd endangered and either way, his lack of tactical awareness or his lack of professionalism were deeply disturbing. He was too good an agent for that…

The devices they'd left behind most likely would not have been connected to a gun runner gang war as Westen had indicated in his report; they would have been eventually connected to a man who was not who he'd said he was, which would have led to more questions, questions that could endanger other assets. The former KGB colonel in charge of the Department of External Trade was not stupid, even if the FSK at this point in time was disorganized and a shadow of its former self and the man himself more interested in bribery than espionage.

Eventually the two of them were going to get into trouble they couldn't talk their way out of, which made her wonder exactly who Larry Sizemore was connected to. She knew who he knew at the Agency, but there had to be fairly high level support in upper management and possibly beyond to get away with what they had done when she'd tried to censure them after Kiev. That might need some investigating… quietly of course….

Ms Kopec picked up the nearest stack of paperwork demanding her attention. The job was accomplished and nobody had died, though it had been a very close call with the St Petersburg team. They'd gotten the bombs out, but just barely. Fortunately, it appeared Westen had been correct in his assessment that Mr. Nikolayevich had wanted to cover up his subordinates' incompetence rather than complain about the brazen Australians.

Rayna sighed. She couldn't help the feeling that something was going to go very wrong with those two. But all she could do at this point was continue to tailor their assignments to utilize their talents and minimize trouble.

She just had to hope that was good enough.