"All right, send him in."
FBI Agent Robert Kendall hung up the phone and sighed. It had been a long day, to say the least; and his secretary had just informed him that he had a visitor – and it was the last person in the world Kendall felt like seeing at this particular moment. He was getting too old for this. Retirement was only a few years away . . .
Jack Bristow strode into the office a moment later. He was pretty much what Kendall would have expected: He was tall, with graying hair, alert brown eyes, and a steady gaze. His daughter Sydney certainly took after him, Kendall thought.
"Mr. Bristow."
They shook hands, and Jack declined Kendall's offer to have a seat. "I'll not be here long. I'm just here to tell you that I've sent Sydney to Mount Sabaccio. She will be there in about twelve hours. She has a sat phone with her. She will call Washington, and you can have a team pick her up."
"Would you care to explain why you did that?"
Kendall's tone was almost patronizing, and Jack wondered if Sydney had found it as annoying as he did. "Do I really have to spell it out for you? In that ridiculous prophecy you're so worried about, Rambaldi says that the woman he's talking about will never have been to Mount Sabaccio. My sending Sydney there proves that she is not that woman, and you will have to stop persecuting her. Now does that clear things up?"
You don't think your actions this afternoon were a bit extreme?"
"Extreme?" Jack felt his jaw tighten. "How about what you did to Sydney? And what did you think I would do – stand around wringing my hands while you assaulted my daughter?"
"I think you're exaggerating, Mr. Bristow."
"Am I? Then explain to me why Sydney nearly drowned herself rather than to be recaptured. Just what did you people do to her, anyway?"
"We were conducting an investigation into a potential national security threat. I assure you that your daughter would not have been harmed. Our actions were entirely appropriate."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes, and I'm sure that the good people of Salem, Massachusetts in 1692 thought their actions were 'entirely appropriate' also. This is that same kind of insanity, and I'm putting a stop to it." Jack stared at Kendall coldly. "You will have a team pick up Sydney and bring her back here, and I will be waiting to take her home. Now do you think you can handle that?"
"Mr. Bristow, I'm sure you will understand when I tell you that our investigation of this matter is still underway – "
"It's over where Sydney is concerned," Jack snapped. "She is not the woman you're looking for. Once she is back here, you will stay well away from her. If you don't, I will get her a lawyer, and I will have this whole sorry mess splattered all over the media within 24 hours. It won't matter by then, because her cover at SD-6 will be blown; and both of us will have to enter the witness protection program, like it or not. You people have jeopardized a longstanding CIA investigation of SD-6, and endangered both of our lives. You already have mud all over your faces over this – do you really want it to become public?"
Kendall sighed. "Of course you're right. We will have to shift the focus of our investigation away from your daughter. But when she returns, I would at least like to meet with her long enough to apologize."
"So write her a letter and send her some flowers. But if you ever go near her again, the next time you see me I'll be on CNN. And then I will find you and kick your butt from here all the way back to Nazi Germany." With that, Jack turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Feeling a bit dazed, Kendall shook his head, sat down at his desk, and picked up the phone. "Sally, get me Washington."
He was getting too old for this. Retirement was only a few years away . . .