Chapter 1 - Heat

"Unseasonably warm doesn't even begin to describe this," Sydney Bristow muttered, scolding the weatherman on her Land Rover's radio. She reached down and turned up the fan on her overmatched air conditioner before smoothly flicking her turn signal and flipping into another lane. Her eyes turned to the rearview mirror, scanning the traffic behind her. No tails, but her forehead was glistening with sweat again. She reached up and wiped it off before shimmying the SUV through another lane change.

The heat matched her mood. The Land Rover's backseat held the suitcase for yet another last-minute mission, her head was throbbing with the promise that it was only going to get worse, and she was 15 minutes late for a meeting.

After another, more subtle, check of the mirror, she cranked a quick left-hand turn into a cluster of abandoned-looking warehouses. The turn always scared her, because if she had missed the tail at this point, her cover was essentially blown. As a rule, she thought, college students don't frequent abandoned warehouses unless they're planning a rave. And I think security section knows that I'm not one to frequent raves unless it's part of the job.

Another damn rave. She imagined music with a beat the same pace as the pounding in her head and another absurdly skimpy outfit as she stepped out of the car into the heat. And if it was this hot in Los Angeles, it could only be worse in Brazil. Damn it. She knew it would be no cooler in the warehouse, and that the strange scents some of the boxes had been emitting lately could only be worse in the raging heat.

Normally, the worried expression on Michael Vaughn's face would have been enough to make her melt, at least a little. But she was beyond melting on this day.

He was standing in the middle of their usual meeting place, a chain-link-fenced area, dressed in shirtsleeves and a thin layer of sweat. He looked only slightly more collected than her, asking, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Her voice was rushed. She felt rushed, and had all day. "My class ran late, and I had to pack, and then I hit rush hour."

"Sounds like it's not okay."

"Well aren't you Mr. Perceptive?" She regretted the words instantly, running a hand through her hair — soaked at the roots — before continuing. "Sorry. It's just that it's like 900 degrees out there, I'm so exhausted I feel like I'm going to fall over, and I've got a paper due in three days that I haven't even started yet. Not to mention this absolutely absurd mission."

"It's not absurd, Sydney. If Trevor Walsh does somehow have even trace amounts of the smallpox virus -- "

She waved her hands to halt his words, his understanding tone. "-- Walsh does not have the smallpox virus. How could he possibly have gotten it? There's no way. No. This is just another mission to make my life miserable. And to make matters worse, I've got to do this solo, because Dixon's daughter is sick."

"That's why I wanted to meet with you before you left," Vaughn said, handing her a small plastic bag. It held a tiny radio earpiece and microphone. "We'll handle coms for you."

"You?" It wasn't even a full question, but they both knew the understated meaning. She wanted his voice in her ear.

"Yeah." The corners of his mouth twitched enough to hint of a smile before he continued. "You'll swap the vials at the airport with this man." He held up a picture. "He'll be wearing a New York Yankees ball cap."

She nodded, staring at the CIA agent's mug shot until she had his face frozen in her memory. "This guy's mansion is in a pretty remote spot. Are you sure the radio will work?"

"The tech guys assured me that they did a link from a spot not too far from there five years ago," he said. "And they assure me that this equipment is 'way trickier' than what they had then."

She smiled slightly and then crinkled her nose. "There could be smallpox breeding in here for all we know. What is that smell?"

"I'm sure it's just another part of the giant conspiracy to make your life miserable," he said. It had started as a wisecrack retort, but they both grew silent with the realization that he wasn't that far from the truth.

She sighed and turned to leave. "I'd better get going unless I want to add a missed flight to this classic day. Talk to you in a little bit."

"Be careful," he called after her, lifting his hand to wipe the sweat from his own brow.