Before we can all go, "Who the hell cares about a cell phone and a ring?" we go to a mini-flashback wherein Marshall's demonstrating that the ring is actually some sort of cardiac event recorder. Yeah, it's stupid. Anyway, the vault where the Rambaldi documents are has a biometric code lock or something, and the only way to open it is with Khasinau's heartbeat. Or something. So, like, Syd has to get close to Khasinau while she's performing and record Khasinau's heartbeat with the ring, which will then transmit the heartbeat to the receiver, which is actually contained within Dixon's cell phone, allowing Dixon access to the vault. Okay, there is not enough vodka in the world to help me swallow this crap.
Right. Inside the club, Sark's sitting at a table up front. He orders a very snazzy bottle of wine and two glasses. Meanwhile, somewhere else in the City of Light, Spy Daddy and Willage pull up in a car. Before Willage can exit, Spy Daddy pulls out a vial of something and tells Willage to drink it. Willage is all, is it tequila? Cuz I could really use a hefty shot right about now. Spy Daddy's all, no, you pussy. It's a time-release methamphetamine, and it'll help counteract the effects of sodium pentathol. Willage is all, you just happen to have that on you? What're you, a SPY or something?
Willage drinks it down. Spy Daddy wants to make sure he's got his story straight. Willage is all, they're gonna kill me, aren't they? Spy Daddy's all, dude, if they wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead already. "I wouldn't let you do this if I thought the odds were in favor of your murder," snipes Spy Daddy. Willage is all, thanks, dude. That's a HUGE comfort to me. Willage gets out of the car in front of a silk-screened picture of the Eiffel Tower, you know, just in case we FORGOT THAT THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN PARIS.
Back in the club, Khasinau arrives at Sark's table. They hug and take a seat. Khasinau asks to see the ampoule. Sark produces it. Khasinau wants to head to his office. In a mini-flashback, Sloane's telling Sark that he has to keep Khasinau at the table. Back at the club, the waiter arrives with the snazzy bottle of wine and two glasses. This pleases Khasinau, who declares that a little celebration is in order.
A tinkling piano announces the arrival of Lypsinka Light. Now, either Jennifer Garner can really sing, or the crafty sound fellows have mixed and re-mixed her voice enough times that it just sounds like she can really sing. Of course, it doesn't really matter if she can or can't because, in all honesty, we're far too distracted by the black satin bustier and tremendous cleavage that our little Spy Barbie's sporting to notice whether or not she sounds like Elaine Stritch on acid.