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Chapter 1: Motel thoughts

Irina sat cross-legged on the worn brown couch, slightly patched and frayed with age. It, along with the rest of the room's décor, conveyed a cheap, worn, and distant atmosphere, one that might be expected from a motel of it's caliber. She had been in better, that was for sure, but she had also been in worse. Besides, the woman knew she had not come to this old, semi-abandoned and all but empty building in the middle of no where for it's aesthetic pleasure. No, she was here to meet with Jack, and being that she was, last time she had bothered to check, number six on the CIA's most wanted list, anything more out and in the open would be a considerable threat to her health.

Her eyes closed, breathing slow, Irina still has a distinct sense of her surroundings. This, a form of meditation that could be used as a substitute for sleep, was a method she had mastered long ago. It gave the body needed rest, albeit not as well as a night in a warm, comfortable bed, while allowing the person to stay aware of their surroundings. She had used it before, most recently while in CIA custody, locked in a glass cell with cameras locked on her, at all times of night and day. They wondered, she knew, how she could so calmly spend day after day in such a cell, a cold steel mattress, tiny barred window, and white walls, with nothing to do but count the tiles on the ceiling and floor, and read the one book she was allowed to have. Separated from the world by two gates and several armed and well trained guards.

Why she had not seemed bothered, trapped, how she managed to keep her composure at all times. A mystery to them. Such treatment, though by American standards acceptably humane, was still unbearable to most. Those who had spent any amount of time in similar conditions would know.

A small, almost unnoticeable smile spread across her features whenever the thought would enter her mind. They had never been in Kashmir she knew, never had a taste of Soviet re-acquaintance policies and prison terms, as Irina had. This was nothing compared to what Irina had endured, nothing compared to the excruciating pain, both physical and mental, that she had felt there. It was not a fight for survival, one where body, mind and soul could be lost. Irina had taught herself the meditation techniques then, in Kashmir, and had used them when necessary ever since. She had learned a lot there, she knew, and lost even more.

Irina slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the old clock on the wall, slightly surprised that such a thing was still functioning. About half an hour left, she knew, until he would arrive. She had come early, to catch up on rest and because she had wanted to see the premises ahead of time. Not that she didn't trust Jack; In another situation he might have betrayed her, might have given her back to the CIA. Not now though, not where Sydney was concerned. A small sigh, eyelids snapped shut again. Half an hour, wondering thoughts.