One week and 6 days before he was supposed to willingly turn himself in to
his own death, Sark was driving at dangerously high speeds along the
California coastline in his Black Porsche. It wouldn't matter if he
careened off the edge anyways, Fate had already marked down his doom.
Unless. . . . . . . .
Unless he could attempt the impossible.
There. Up ahead he saw it. The lookout point that he had picked out in his Thomas guide some two hours earlier. The most random spot he could think of to make a cell phone call on the untraceable cell phone he had bought on the street on the way here.
Once again, he was thanking his lucky stars for having so many connections in the espionage world.
His foot slammed on the brake, sending the Porsche into a fishtail that stopped a mere 6 inches from the guardrail at the lookout. Sark smiled in spite of himself, and exited the car. As soon as the dust cleared, he could hear the gulls, calling out across the clear blue water, could smell the salty sweet in the air.
From memory he dialed the number. Let it ring six times before a gruff deep voice answered-
"Smith's Auto Body."
"Dr. Smith. It has been awhile, hasn't it?" Sark knew that he needed not introduce himself. The man would remember.
"What do you want?"
"It seems I remember you owing me a favor. I've decided to cash in on it."
"When are you coming by?" He said, exasperated after a moment.
Sark knew he wouldn't be able to say no.
"I'll be dropping off my car at about three tomorrow." Professional habit made him not speak of matters over the phone. Despite the untraceable signal, he was ever wary of the people listening. It would be better to explain the problem face to face anyways. Smith was the only surgeon who could be trusted to do this; Sark didn't want to screw up his chance.
Smith did not give an answer to Sark's statement.
"Hello?" Sark called into the speaker, immediately apprehensive.
"Hello?" he tried again. A faint beeping noise sounded behind him, and his instincts kicked in.
He ducked down just in time to see a shard of black metal go flying over his head. He felt himself go flying over the edge of the guardrail, as the blast hit his body full on. In the nick f time he reached out and grasped the edge of the guardrail, bloodying his knuckles and sending his body crashing into the side of the cliff in the process. But at least he wasn't dead.
Looking down, he saw the cell phone shrinking down into oblivion before it came to a splashing end in the water below.
He winced as he used his tattered arm to pull himself back up onto the road.
There sat the remnants of his Black Porsche, now a twisted, smoking ball of metal. He could read Irina's message loud and clear, as if she had been standing right behind him whispering it his ear in that dangerously quiet way of hers.
You Fool.
Smith is dead.
Did you really think that it could be that simple?
Did you really think we wouldn't bug you as well?
Try it again and it won't just be your car that explodes.
You complete idiot.
Sark winced as he stood up; he could almost feel the bruises forming. Discarding his tattered jacket and shattered sunglasses, he unbuttoned his shirt and surveyed the damage. He was lucky. Nothing had bled. However, he could already start to make out the purple splotches forming on the chiseled muscles of his abdomen and back. He tensed them, and felt pangs of soreness shoot through his body.
However, there was nothing he could do for himself at the present, so he gritted his teeth, quietly limped over to the side of the road. He thought for a moment, and decided to just leave his shirt halfway unbuttoned. The heat was becoming unbearable anyways, and his shaky fingers would most likely stumble on the buttons. Sark hated seeing signs of his own weakness.
Searching for the gun in the back of his pants, he immediately felt better to touch the cold steel and still know of its presence. Having it with him always gave him some measure of security, no matter the situation.
Leaning against the guardrail, he quietly waited for a car to come.
**************
Sydney Bristow sped along the highway at a rate quite a bit higher than the speed limit on a coastline highway, in an attempt to run away from the problems chasing her. Ironic was the soft jazz piano playing in her CD player as she revved the engine louder. She careened around the curves, daring her car to fly off one of them. How simple it would be if I ended it that way, she thought for a moment.
She wasn't supposed to be doing this anymore. But instead, her mother had abandoned her again, leaving a void much bigger than the previous one, and in response her father had become glacial again, when he had just begun to defrost. Worst though, was the fact that Vaughn was keeping secrets form her, and the one person whom she thought she would always trust was becoming suspicious in her eyes, despite how she tried to stifle her feelings.
Syd jacked the air conditioning to high, even though she knew it would do no good. She had a sinking feeling that her body temperature was only partially due to the heat outside, and more so to her stress level.
She could feel the beads of sweat forming at the base of her neck, trickling down the gully along the center line of her back, leaving a tickling sensation where they had been. The heat she was feeling, whether real or imaginary, was definitely beating her down.
Looking off into the distance, Sydney noticed a cloud of smoke rising up from some unknown location around the next curve. Though she knew it was most likely a burned out engine, she still sped up, weary of and threats. The spy world had made her suspicious of anything out of the ordinary.
She took the curve so fast she left skid marks on the road. Taking a fleeting glance out of the corner of her eye- she glanced at the source of the smoke.
Immediately slammed on the brakes.
It was no burned out engine. A twisted, distorted lump of metal, which Sydney guessed had at one time been a car, was smoking off to the side of the road, bits of it still on fire. And sitting some ten feet to the side of the wreckage sat the unlikely owner, somebody Sydney would never had expected to see.
Sark was leaning nonchalantly against the guardrail, seemingly unperturbed by the smoldering wreckage to the side of him. When he saw Sydney stop, he smiled for a moment, a fake smile (Sydney could tell), and began walking over to the car. Thank God for tinted windows, Syd thought.
This is the ticket we need to get to Irina-she thought to herself. She refused to call her "Mother" anymore.
The second Sark opened the door he knew the game. In one fluid motion he removed the gun from his pants, and cocked it at her head.
"Well, this is an ironic end to my day." He said sarcastically. She could feel the anger seething from him. He was slipping today, Syd could tell. Sark usually kept his emotions in check.
"Hands off the wheel." Syd obeyed, wishing to herself that she had not put her gun in the glove compartment today. She didn't want to be left on the Carmel coast without a car in this heat. Sark came around to her side of the car and was about to force her out, when he looked down at his hands.
Sydney could see his knuckles, white and bleeding, his hands shaking while gripping the gun. She knew what he was thinking. There was no way he could drive.
I might just get out of this yet, Syd thought.
"You drive." he said after a painful second, and found his way into the front seat. "Drive until I tell you to stop, then let me out and keep going. Any false moves and I won't hesitate to shoot you."
"You're not, under any circumstances, to drive towards the CIA headquarters. I won't end up in that glass cell of yours until I decide to put myself there." Sydney declined the idea of asking about his weird comments.
"Fine. Buckle up."
She purposefully floored it before he had his seatbelt on, just to spite him. His head crashed into the headrest as she took off. It would be easy to later on make a sudden stop, send the gun flying out of his weak hands. But not yet. Not til they were closer to civilization.
"Jesus Christ, You drive fast." he said once he had finally gotten comfortable. He leaned back against the door, facing Sydney, his feet resting on the center console.
"If you don't like it, you can find some other car to hijack. I would be happy to toss you out." she said. "While in motion." she added, as an afterthought.
"If you didn't want a passenger, why did you stop to pick me up in the first place?" The coy smirk was beginning to appear on his face once more.
"I picked you up solely for the intent of putting you in a cell, Sark." she said bluntly.
"Tsk tsk, Sydney. I thought you were going to be rid of the spy game once SD-6 was out of the way."
"What would you know about my goals?"
"I had a hunch."
Sydney didn't say anything.
"And I'm guessing that I was right, wasn't I?"
The car accelerated.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Sydney still said nothing, concentrating on the road. She was afraid of how right he was, how he knew exactly how to get a rise out of her. How angry he always made her feel. How the moment he started asking her questions, she knew she would start to feel emotions exploding in the pit of her stomach, traveling, leaving sensations as they flowed up her throat, twinging her voice until she couldn't help but burst out. And that she would give in and say-
"Sark, do you have nothing better to do than harass me? Why me? What sadistic pleasure do you get from annoying me that you can't find by just shooting someone, or whatever it is that you do for fun? Just get on with your stupid little Rambaldi hunt and quit butting into my life!" Sydney swerved the car, narrowly missing the guardrail. Sark pretended not to notice.
"Sydney, could we just pretend for once that not everything is about you? That maybe, I didn't want to be stuck on the side of the road either?" Sark said, mock patronizing. But Sydney wasn't listening. She was driving faster and faster, going further off on her soapbox. She had just found the perfect source to vent her mood upon.
"Why couldn't you and Sloane have just butted out of my life? My mother would still be here . . . . . I would get out of this business . . . . . . My dad wouldn't have gone off the deep end again . . . . . . . It could have been SIMPLE!! But you" --swerve around another curve, sending Sark flying against the door-"You had to go and COMPLICATE things! Why couldn't you-"
"Oh, shove it Sydney!" Sark burst out, cutting her off.
"Life will never be simple. Get over it!"
"I CAN'T!"
A small explosion emitted from under the hood, and Syd's convertible suddenly went into a tailspin before skidding to a stop. She had overheated the engine.
Unless he could attempt the impossible.
There. Up ahead he saw it. The lookout point that he had picked out in his Thomas guide some two hours earlier. The most random spot he could think of to make a cell phone call on the untraceable cell phone he had bought on the street on the way here.
Once again, he was thanking his lucky stars for having so many connections in the espionage world.
His foot slammed on the brake, sending the Porsche into a fishtail that stopped a mere 6 inches from the guardrail at the lookout. Sark smiled in spite of himself, and exited the car. As soon as the dust cleared, he could hear the gulls, calling out across the clear blue water, could smell the salty sweet in the air.
From memory he dialed the number. Let it ring six times before a gruff deep voice answered-
"Smith's Auto Body."
"Dr. Smith. It has been awhile, hasn't it?" Sark knew that he needed not introduce himself. The man would remember.
"What do you want?"
"It seems I remember you owing me a favor. I've decided to cash in on it."
"When are you coming by?" He said, exasperated after a moment.
Sark knew he wouldn't be able to say no.
"I'll be dropping off my car at about three tomorrow." Professional habit made him not speak of matters over the phone. Despite the untraceable signal, he was ever wary of the people listening. It would be better to explain the problem face to face anyways. Smith was the only surgeon who could be trusted to do this; Sark didn't want to screw up his chance.
Smith did not give an answer to Sark's statement.
"Hello?" Sark called into the speaker, immediately apprehensive.
"Hello?" he tried again. A faint beeping noise sounded behind him, and his instincts kicked in.
He ducked down just in time to see a shard of black metal go flying over his head. He felt himself go flying over the edge of the guardrail, as the blast hit his body full on. In the nick f time he reached out and grasped the edge of the guardrail, bloodying his knuckles and sending his body crashing into the side of the cliff in the process. But at least he wasn't dead.
Looking down, he saw the cell phone shrinking down into oblivion before it came to a splashing end in the water below.
He winced as he used his tattered arm to pull himself back up onto the road.
There sat the remnants of his Black Porsche, now a twisted, smoking ball of metal. He could read Irina's message loud and clear, as if she had been standing right behind him whispering it his ear in that dangerously quiet way of hers.
You Fool.
Smith is dead.
Did you really think that it could be that simple?
Did you really think we wouldn't bug you as well?
Try it again and it won't just be your car that explodes.
You complete idiot.
Sark winced as he stood up; he could almost feel the bruises forming. Discarding his tattered jacket and shattered sunglasses, he unbuttoned his shirt and surveyed the damage. He was lucky. Nothing had bled. However, he could already start to make out the purple splotches forming on the chiseled muscles of his abdomen and back. He tensed them, and felt pangs of soreness shoot through his body.
However, there was nothing he could do for himself at the present, so he gritted his teeth, quietly limped over to the side of the road. He thought for a moment, and decided to just leave his shirt halfway unbuttoned. The heat was becoming unbearable anyways, and his shaky fingers would most likely stumble on the buttons. Sark hated seeing signs of his own weakness.
Searching for the gun in the back of his pants, he immediately felt better to touch the cold steel and still know of its presence. Having it with him always gave him some measure of security, no matter the situation.
Leaning against the guardrail, he quietly waited for a car to come.
**************
Sydney Bristow sped along the highway at a rate quite a bit higher than the speed limit on a coastline highway, in an attempt to run away from the problems chasing her. Ironic was the soft jazz piano playing in her CD player as she revved the engine louder. She careened around the curves, daring her car to fly off one of them. How simple it would be if I ended it that way, she thought for a moment.
She wasn't supposed to be doing this anymore. But instead, her mother had abandoned her again, leaving a void much bigger than the previous one, and in response her father had become glacial again, when he had just begun to defrost. Worst though, was the fact that Vaughn was keeping secrets form her, and the one person whom she thought she would always trust was becoming suspicious in her eyes, despite how she tried to stifle her feelings.
Syd jacked the air conditioning to high, even though she knew it would do no good. She had a sinking feeling that her body temperature was only partially due to the heat outside, and more so to her stress level.
She could feel the beads of sweat forming at the base of her neck, trickling down the gully along the center line of her back, leaving a tickling sensation where they had been. The heat she was feeling, whether real or imaginary, was definitely beating her down.
Looking off into the distance, Sydney noticed a cloud of smoke rising up from some unknown location around the next curve. Though she knew it was most likely a burned out engine, she still sped up, weary of and threats. The spy world had made her suspicious of anything out of the ordinary.
She took the curve so fast she left skid marks on the road. Taking a fleeting glance out of the corner of her eye- she glanced at the source of the smoke.
Immediately slammed on the brakes.
It was no burned out engine. A twisted, distorted lump of metal, which Sydney guessed had at one time been a car, was smoking off to the side of the road, bits of it still on fire. And sitting some ten feet to the side of the wreckage sat the unlikely owner, somebody Sydney would never had expected to see.
Sark was leaning nonchalantly against the guardrail, seemingly unperturbed by the smoldering wreckage to the side of him. When he saw Sydney stop, he smiled for a moment, a fake smile (Sydney could tell), and began walking over to the car. Thank God for tinted windows, Syd thought.
This is the ticket we need to get to Irina-she thought to herself. She refused to call her "Mother" anymore.
The second Sark opened the door he knew the game. In one fluid motion he removed the gun from his pants, and cocked it at her head.
"Well, this is an ironic end to my day." He said sarcastically. She could feel the anger seething from him. He was slipping today, Syd could tell. Sark usually kept his emotions in check.
"Hands off the wheel." Syd obeyed, wishing to herself that she had not put her gun in the glove compartment today. She didn't want to be left on the Carmel coast without a car in this heat. Sark came around to her side of the car and was about to force her out, when he looked down at his hands.
Sydney could see his knuckles, white and bleeding, his hands shaking while gripping the gun. She knew what he was thinking. There was no way he could drive.
I might just get out of this yet, Syd thought.
"You drive." he said after a painful second, and found his way into the front seat. "Drive until I tell you to stop, then let me out and keep going. Any false moves and I won't hesitate to shoot you."
"You're not, under any circumstances, to drive towards the CIA headquarters. I won't end up in that glass cell of yours until I decide to put myself there." Sydney declined the idea of asking about his weird comments.
"Fine. Buckle up."
She purposefully floored it before he had his seatbelt on, just to spite him. His head crashed into the headrest as she took off. It would be easy to later on make a sudden stop, send the gun flying out of his weak hands. But not yet. Not til they were closer to civilization.
"Jesus Christ, You drive fast." he said once he had finally gotten comfortable. He leaned back against the door, facing Sydney, his feet resting on the center console.
"If you don't like it, you can find some other car to hijack. I would be happy to toss you out." she said. "While in motion." she added, as an afterthought.
"If you didn't want a passenger, why did you stop to pick me up in the first place?" The coy smirk was beginning to appear on his face once more.
"I picked you up solely for the intent of putting you in a cell, Sark." she said bluntly.
"Tsk tsk, Sydney. I thought you were going to be rid of the spy game once SD-6 was out of the way."
"What would you know about my goals?"
"I had a hunch."
Sydney didn't say anything.
"And I'm guessing that I was right, wasn't I?"
The car accelerated.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Sydney still said nothing, concentrating on the road. She was afraid of how right he was, how he knew exactly how to get a rise out of her. How angry he always made her feel. How the moment he started asking her questions, she knew she would start to feel emotions exploding in the pit of her stomach, traveling, leaving sensations as they flowed up her throat, twinging her voice until she couldn't help but burst out. And that she would give in and say-
"Sark, do you have nothing better to do than harass me? Why me? What sadistic pleasure do you get from annoying me that you can't find by just shooting someone, or whatever it is that you do for fun? Just get on with your stupid little Rambaldi hunt and quit butting into my life!" Sydney swerved the car, narrowly missing the guardrail. Sark pretended not to notice.
"Sydney, could we just pretend for once that not everything is about you? That maybe, I didn't want to be stuck on the side of the road either?" Sark said, mock patronizing. But Sydney wasn't listening. She was driving faster and faster, going further off on her soapbox. She had just found the perfect source to vent her mood upon.
"Why couldn't you and Sloane have just butted out of my life? My mother would still be here . . . . . I would get out of this business . . . . . . My dad wouldn't have gone off the deep end again . . . . . . . It could have been SIMPLE!! But you" --swerve around another curve, sending Sark flying against the door-"You had to go and COMPLICATE things! Why couldn't you-"
"Oh, shove it Sydney!" Sark burst out, cutting her off.
"Life will never be simple. Get over it!"
"I CAN'T!"
A small explosion emitted from under the hood, and Syd's convertible suddenly went into a tailspin before skidding to a stop. She had overheated the engine.