![]() |
|
CREDIT DAUPHINE
Marshall cornered her as soon as she walked into SD-6 - the last person she wanted to see at that point, until she heard what he had to say. "Miss Bristow? Are you busy now, because we need to go over the op-tech for your trip to Berlin and you are not going to believe this cell phone I made to crack the safe, I mean like, wow, because I didn't think the infrared in was going to work, and then there was the magnet to work around, and it's all encrypted " "Marshall?" She had spoken his name several times already, but it often took this long to get Marshall to focus. "Where did you say I was going again?" "Berlin, Miss Bristow. You're going after The Man, and his base is in a museum in the Kulturforum district, and the security is really tight, which is why you're going to need the cell phone, because in addition to cracking the safe, it will override the security cameras." He held up the phone, looking pleased. "I know it's just black right now, but if you tell me what color dress you're going to wear, I can put a different cover on it, you know, so you can match and everything." She gave him as much smile as she could muster. "Good work, Marshall." The fact that he seemed to glow from her praise, she thought, might have actually been the most positive thing about her day. He responded with a quiet "Thank you, Miss Bristow," as she turned to start the short walk to Sloane's office. If Will worked for The Man, she thought, this was her best lead to find him. And that was the only thing she wanted right now to find him, make him explain to her just how he could betray her trust all these years. Find an answer to one of the questions pummeling her mind and perhaps it would ease the pain of the others. Sloane was sitting quietly at his desk, staring into space something he had been doing frequently as of late as she walked into his office. "Hello, Sydney. What can I do for you?" "Marshall told me about Berlin. I was just wondering when Dixon and I are leaving. I'd like to go as soon as possible I've got an exam next week I need to study for." "Sydney, you and Dixon aren't going to Berlin. We're sending Davis and Herrington. I know we've been working you awfully hard lately and I thought you could use a break." Sloane spread a slow smile across his face, one that was supposed to be kind and caring, she thought, but translated into creepy instead. "No!" A little strong, that, and she backpedaled. "I mean, I really don't mind another mission, and you know how important it is for me to find Khasinau. To find my mom." "Sydney, I understand that." He gave her the smile again. "But you look exhausted. I couldn't possibly send you out into the field in this condition." "Are you sure?" He nodded, and Sydney knew she couldn't push the subject any further. "In that case maybe I will take some time off, to study. If that's okay?" "Of course." She barely avoided the urge to sprint out of his office.
* * *
He respected Marcus Dixon. Collected and well beyond competent, Dixon was an agent who did his job without asking any questions or requiring any intervention. That - as far as Sloane was concerned was the way an agent should operate, and so it surprised him to when he looked up from his desk to see Dixon standing in his doorway. "I'm sorry, sir. Do you have a moment?" His voice was quiet, expression almost mournful. He was holding a manila envelope in his hand. "Of course, Dixon. Have a seat." Sloane gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and had a feeling he was not going to like the contents of the envelope. Dixon sat slowly, then handed him the envelope, everything about the motion hesitant. He remained silent as Sloane opened the flap and slid the contents out, thinking that his instinct had been right. "I didn't want to believe it. But she's been acting very suspiciously lately. So I followed her, to this hotel outside San Francisco " Pictures. First Sydney Bristow, entering a hotel room. " and she went in. I thought , I guess I hoped, that maybe she was having an affair, but she wasn't in the room long enough. And then the guy " Now a tear-stricken Sydney leaving the room. " the guy in the pictures left about a half hour after her." The next picture showed a disturbingly familiar face a man Sloane recognized instantly. He swallowed this realization, kept it down, and stayed impassive for Dixon. A long pause, as he stared at the photographs, just to be sure, and to formulate what he needed to say next. "I want to thank you for bringing what you felt was suspicious activity by one of our agents to my attention, Marcus. I am well aware of Sydney's presence at the hotel; she is working on a classified operation and I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that." An effective speech, he thought, because Dixon nodded. Looked relieved as he stood and exited the office. And as far as Dixon was concerned, the situation was under control. Sloane knew that couldn't be further from the truth. He also knew he needed to find Jack Bristow immediately.
* * *
Jack was agitated beyond agitated, in fact but it should have all been internal. No nervousness showing, no tension apparent nothing to show the world that he had called his daughter three times in the last six hours and received no response. That her handler had, according to a friend at the CIA, decided to take a little vacation time. That the CIA still had not recovered Will Tippin's body. Which made for three missing people two of them likely in search of the other one. She had been foolish to go to Vaughn, he thought, however trustworthy she thought he was. Someone at the CIA had compromised the safehouse, and as far as he was concerned, that made everyone at the CIA untrustworthy. Especially, he thought, when she could have gone to him. He did not allow himself to wonder why she hadn't. Instead, he walked through SD-6 headquarters stone-faced, searching for an empty room a place to think, to be alone. Successful, finally, in an abandoned office, and he sat and tried to guess where his daughter could have gone. He was not alone for long, his silent reverie interrupted when Arvin Sloane slipped into the room, a manila envelope in his hand. The door clicked shut behind him. "Jack, I've been looking for you. We need to talk." And then he reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a pricey-looking pen, and pulled at the tip until it emitted a quiet beep. He looked up at Jack, expression an insidious sort of clever. "What? You don't think I know what you've been doing with these, Jack? I know more than you think I know." He paused, let that rattle through the air for a few moments. "For example, Jack, I know right now that you have no idea where Sydney is. I do, Jack Berlin. But we have greater concerns right now." Sloane tilted the envelope, let the contents spill out onto the desk. Pictures, he thought, staring at them. Pictures that would get his daughter killed, if she hadn't been already. They threw him, but not so much that he couldn't maintain his composure internal and external. There was an age-old explanation for why two attractive young people would be leaving a hotel room, he thought, and he would run with that, and it would work. It had to. "I assume this man is Sydney's CIA handler?" Jack's expression held, but his internal composure was gone. They were skipping steps here, he thought. There should have been more suspicion, fewer matter-of-fact statements of her "betrayal" of SD-6. "Jack, I know you and Sydney work for the CIA." Perhaps his expression had been slipping, he thought. And besides, there was no point in holding it with that fact out. He tried instead to quell the dread rising in him. "I know, Jack, because I also work for the CIA." That was not where he had expected this to go. Not at all. He wanted time to formulate a better question, but knew there wasnt any. "How long?" "Since the very beginning, Jack. The CIA wanted to place someone who could eventually rise to the top of the Alliance, make it crumble from within. And I am almost there. I have not broken cover in almost 20 years, but I need to tell you this." Sloane pointed to the third picture in the pile. "This man is not who Sydney thinks he is. I did not know the details of her case. I would have told you long ago if I had. This is Michael Vaughn, yes?" Jack nodded slightly. "He is a mole for The Man. Sydney went to Berlin to try to find Khasinau, Jack, and if she is with this Vaughn if she trusts him it will get her killed. You have to stop her." Sloane's tale had been bizarre but believable up until that revelation. But now Jack found himself doubting the entire story, wondering just what Sloane's true agenda was. Where his allegiances really were. "What makes you possibly think I could trust you, after everything you've done?" "You can't afford not to trust me, Jack. Your daughter would be dead by now dead a thousand times over, Jack if you couldn't trust me." Sloane glanced at his watch, and Jack knew they had to be running out of time. "I'll give you as much time as you need to go to Berlin, but I want you to stop by my office give me 20 minutes first. I'll give you something that may help. And one more thing, Jack " Beep. He entered Sloane's office 20 minutes later, nothing on his face, or Sloane's, to indicate that the earlier revelations had occurred. "Jack," Sloane said, proffering a file folder. "I was wondering if you might take a look at this, when you get a chance. I don't want Metzger to ruin our operation." Jack walked up to the desk and took the file, labeled "Lukas Metzger." Metzger, he knew, was a K-Directorate operative based in Berlin. He spoke, voice even and terse "I'll look into it" before giving Sloane a brief nod and spinning on his foot to exit. Fortunately, there were no distractions during the walk to his car, but it was long enough as it was curiosity draining his patience. Still, he waited until he was safely inside the car, door shut and parking garage checked carefully for activity. Then, and only then, did he flip open the folder. The first two pages were part of Metzger's file standard intelligence and their relatively banal appearance made the third even more shocking. A large, glossy black-and-white photograph, it showed a man, shot point-blank in the forehead. There were two more photographs after it same man, same gunshot wound, different angles and then a terse note from Sloane. "By my best estimate, Michael Vaughn was recruited by Khasinau's organization at 17 or 18, with the purpose of placing him as a mole in the CIA. I am sorry to have to tell you this way, but you should know that Irina Derevko also works in Khasinau's organization, and the younger Vaughn does not believe that she killed his father. Instead, he believes his father was recruited by Khasinau and has been involved in a deep-cover mission since Derevko helped to fake his death. Obviously, these photographs prove otherwise, and I imagine they would go a long way in convincing Mr. Vaughn to switch his allegiances." He flipped back to the photographs more evidence of his wife's handiwork one last time, wondering if Sydney had already discovered now any of the truths he had just learned. Then he snapped the folder shut, put the car in drive, his mind already on the mission ahead of him.
* * *
Will thought he had been locked in the tiny room for at least three days now, although he had no real way to gauge the passing of time. No windows, and it was a bit musty, so he assumed he was in the basement of somewhere. Where, was the real question, though, and he had no answer to that. He hadn't been beaten since he had arrived here, and they fed him twice a day boredom was currently his greatest aggravation. So when he heard voices approaching in the hallway outside, he stood, walked to the door and pressed his ear against it, hoping to glean some sort of knowledge about his situation, the woman's plans for him. He had nicknamed her R.B. Russian Bitch in his mind, and it was her voice he heard most frequently, but he had not seen her since the first day. This time, he thought, she seemed downright pleasant. "I am so glad you were able to make it for my opening," R.B. said. "It's good to see you again, and I hate to talk about business tonight, but I must ask you how things are progressing." She paused, and then Will heard a male voice respond. "They're, ah, not progressing very well. Sydney, well, she's not going to be easy to turn. She's " That name sharpened his attention even more, and he pressed closer to the door. How, he wondered, could this man, and R.B., possibly know Sydney? And was she in danger? " you have already told me she is very headstrong. It was evident even when she was a child. But I am tired of hearing about my daughter second-hand. I want her here, do you understand that?" Daughter, the next word that jumped out at Will, and he thought for a moment that it had to all be a bizarre coincidence. Sydney's mother had died when she was young, and certainly couldn't be R.B. But how many Sydneys could there be in whatever it was he was mixed up in? And after Paris, he had to admit to himself that that he wasnt sure he knew anything at all about Sydneys secret life. There was silence for a moment, and then R.B. spoke again. "You have my permission to do whatever it takes to get my daughter on my side. Have I made myself clear?" There was a long pause before the man spoke again. "I understand," was all he said. Will sat, then, on the floor they hadn't provided him anything beyond a blanket for comfort and tried to make sense of what he had just heard. But it made no sense nothing lately had and the only thing he felt with any certainty was a deep sense of dread for his friend. |
![]() |
>> Next Chapter o Chapter 1 o Chapter 2 o Chapter 3 o Chapter 4 o Chapter 5 o Chapter 6 o Chapter 7 o Chapter 8 o Chapter 9 |