Chapter 9
I smiled at him. I kept telling myself to calm down. I thought on the SD-6 mission where I met Dempsey for the first time Sark had told me he'd only known him for a short period of time… months I thought he'd said. Obviously, I didn't remember correctly.
"Yes, Charles Dempsey." I smiled and shifted. "Why?"
Sark nodded. I had never seen the look on his face before. Total bewilderment. He nodded, looked at me, and nodded again. I could feel my stomach beginning to tighten.
"Mr. Sark?" He said nothing.
"Miss Bristow," the words were thick with thought and he was struggling to expel them correctly. "I have a theory about you, and I feel as if I need to share it with you at this time." I nodded my consent for him continue. "Over the past few days we have been working very closely looking for a manuscript that was written by Milo Rambaldi… and while we just met I have noticed slight gleams in your eye, hints or recognition from you. And I believe you have seen the same from me… that is why you decided not to recommend Mr. Dempsey earlier. You were afraid that I was here too, under similar circumstances as you."
I stared at him. Glimpses of recognition? What the hell was he talking about? I assumed that he was the same slick, slimy man that constantly made passes at me, trying to get me into bed with him… suddenly, I knew it wasn't him trying to persuade me silently to sleep with him, but rather to decide if I knew him too.
"Do you know why this happened?"
He shook his head and stood, hands on his hips. "No. But I think that the manuscript will help us get home."
I nodded this time. "Does James know?"
"What?"
"That I'm here too."
"No. I think it's best he doesn't." He sat on the corner of my bed like he had done it a million times and smiled sadly at me. "I know that we have a hard past, and that things didn't end well, but for the time being I think it would be best if we decided to put what happened behind us."
"What do you mean?" I wanted to know what he was talking about, but I was afraid of knowing too much.
"Syd."
"Don't call me that, Mr. Sark. We may be working together, but that does not make us friends."
"Damnit, Sydney! That is the problem. That's why it didn't work. Don't pretend like nothing happened, alright? I'm still dealing with it myself." He stood and stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind him. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I turned my movie back on, and settled back with my now-cold popcorn.
We walked down the streets of London, tuning corner after corner, passing all sorts of clothing stores. I had no idea where Sark was going, but I knew for a fact that he had a plan. He slowed outside of a shop, and above the door hung a sleek sign that read simply "Ozwald Boateng." I looked up at the sign, and raised an eyebrow.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Designer, Sydney." He smiled a crooked smirk, "We are going shopping."
"Uh huh."
James put an arm around my shoulder, "He's vain, but we love him."
As we walked into the store, Sark turned into a kid in a candy store. He pulled shirts, pants, jackets and tie from the rack, piling them onto my arms, and almost ran for the fitting rooms. He would try on an outfit, then come out and model the clothing. We separated it into two piles: take, and don't take. The "take" pile greatly out weighed the "don't take" pile.
He came out of the fitting room, dressed in a green suit, and spun around for me to decide.
"I don't think so." I said, and he nodded and walked back into his fitting room.
Have you ever seen the movies where the annoying blonde girlfriend takes her reluctant boyfriend to the mall on a shopping spree? I felt like I was in the middle of one of those movies, and he was the blonde girlfriend. I must admit, while Julian Sark is hard to work with, conceited, and a general bastard, he is a well adjusted man who knows himself very well. I respect him very much.
"Alright," he finally said, "I'm done." He paid for the clothing (a grand total of 4,000 dollars) and looked at me. "Sydney, I do believe that we are going to have to do something about your attire."
I looked down at my clothing, and back at him. I knew that my clothes weren't as expensive as his, or as new, but I didn't really see any big problems with them.
"Why?"
"Sydney, if you are going to travel with me you are going to have to look the part."
"Excuse me?" I was beginning to get offended. I didn't see any problem with my choice of style. Every thought I had previously conceived about him being a "good guy" or a "decent man" went out the window. "I have to play a part to be seen with you?"
"That's not what I meant--"
"I don't give a damn about what you meant, Sark."
"Sydney…" he trailed off now, like he knew that no matter what he could say would be wrong. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
I stood glaring at him. I knew that I overacted… just like I always do with Julian Sark. He just made me so… so angry! He was trying to be helpful and nice to me, and I reacted like a little child. I turned from him, and walked out onto the street. I stood there, wrapping my arms around myself, shivering, and wanting to go back inside and get my coat, but too ashamed to go back into the store.
The men walked back onto the street, arms laden with bags, and neither of them talking. I tried my best to smile, and push back the need to slap Sark.
"My offer is still open," he said to me as we walked down the street.
Really, I didn't want to let him buy me clothes, but I had nothing to wear but the outfit I currently had on. Also, who knew how long we would be together like this, it could take months to get home, years perhaps. And I hoped to no end that it wouldn't last more than a few months.
I nodded my head, "Alright." I said.
I felt a strange déjà vu. Somehow, this all seemed familiar to me. I knew it was absurd to think that Sark had ever bought me anything before. I looked over at him, there was something about his face that seemed contented, like it was a regular occurrence… being together as friends out for a day.
Still, even though he had done nothing to disserve it, I couldn't trust him. All my memories of him told me to believe nothing he said, to take everything he did with a grain of sand. I sighed as we walked.
I knew that this was ridiculous. Running around the world on a wild goose chase with Sark. I should go back to the CIA, tell them what happened, and work with them to get me back. But I had a plan. I didn't know why, but I knew that it was the only way to get home… and maybe the only way to remember.
I would tell all about my shopping trip with the boys, but when I thought that I was harsh about Sark's clothing I had no idea how bad he could be. Had I not known better, I would have expected him to become a fashion designer.
He was a killer shopping buddy. I will never go with him again. It shall not happen if I have any say at all. He spent the better part of three hours looking over each item, examining the fit, the cut, and the color. I thought he was going to kill me at one point for suggesting a yellow blouse. I saw a side of Sark that I didn't know existed… a part I was better off not knowing.
After we ended the spree, we headed back to the hotel to talk out direction.
"What about Dempsey?" I asked. "Why not contact him?"
"I don't think that would be a wise thing to do, Sydney."
"Why?"
"It seems to me that he never gave information away freely. Something was always taken in return."
James sat quietly through the conversation, listening to what we were saying, thinking. It was only now that he spoke up, "What if I knew a way to get him to give us what we need without anything required in return?"
Sark and I both looked at him. "How?" We said in unison.
"Blackmail." I eyed Sark. "It might be clichéd, and we've probably done it a million times before, but what if we were to play the 'whore' card?"
"He's not married." I said.
James smiled. "Not any more," he said. I thought his voice sounded slimy. "He has a daughter. She's 17 years old, and means the world to Mr. Dempsey. And, I happen to know that this promiscuous little angel is applying to a very nice, very conservative college… and some telling photographs would hinder her acceptance…"
We both looked at Sark. It was a genius plan.
"I'm sorry, I can't." Sark crossed his arms in front of this chest, and leaned further back into the chair. "And furthermore, I won't."
We both looked at him for a moment, I was puzzled. "Why?"
"I have strict rules, and she is under age."
England. Beautiful country. One of my favorites. And the home country of the Dempsey family. Charles and his lovely daughter Daphne.
We had intel that told us she liked men who looked like Mr. Sark. Handsome, slender, blonde hair, blue eyes. Unfortunately for Mr. Sark, he preferred women who didn't look like Daphne Dempsey.
She had short red hair and freckles, a bright smile, and large chest. She was average size overall, and cute. Not beautiful, not attractive even, but cute.
I almost felt sorry for Sark at this time. He grumbled from the hotel to the concert hall.
"Julian Sark, grow up." I finally said, "Think of it this way, she's a full 20 in our time. Just slightly younger than you. Quit complaining. We need this to work, we need to get home."
James had stayed at the hotel, Julian and I were to make our way into the hall, as excited siblings. He refused to go alone.
Inside the building, everyone dressed in furs and other luxury fabrics waiting to be seated for the Beethoven concert to begin, we started our search for Daphne. I was the first to spot her. I whispered to him, pointing in her direction, and made an excuse to leave my "brother" after I knew she had eyed him. I watched Sark's shoulders slump slightly as I walked toward the restroom. Not able to resist, I hid behind a shrub and watched…
She sauntered over to Julian, who had a plastic grin wiped across his face, trying his best to eye her the same as she was eyeing him.
I couldn't hear any of what they were saying, but I could see her cozy up to him, whispering in his ear, and running his hands across his chest. I could see him smile, and pull his cell phone out of his pocket, and soon mine rang.
"Hello?"
"Julia?"
"What is it, Julian?"
"Would you mind terribably if I left early? I believe I just remembered a prior engagement."
"Julian, you promised no interruptions this time!" I whined in case Daphne could overhear.
"I'm sorry, Julia. Next time, yes? Call mother and tell her I might not be home tonight."
"Fine." I closed the phone and slipped it back into my purse. All I could do now was wait.
I watched them walk out of the concert hall, and down the street, until I dared not follow them any more for fear of Daphne seeing me. I gave James a call, and in minutes he was picking me up.
Early the next morning, I heard a rattling from the room next to mine and knew that Sark was home from his night with Daphne. Oh how much I was looking forward to going through the pictures he took… and how much I knew he wasn't looking forward to sharing.
I pulled myself from the bed, and wrapped a bathrobe around myself before venturing out into the sitting room.
Our suite consisted of three bathrooms, a sitting room, and three bedrooms… all on Julian Sark's tab. I settled into the overstuffed couch, and coffee in hand waited for Julian to emerge from his room.
An hour or so later he immerged looking like death himself, and totally defeated.
"So," I began, "how was the big night?"
"Shut up." He slumped down into a chair, and rested his head in his hands. "I have a new found respect for female field agents."
I smiled and nodded. It wasn't very often that a male agent had the privilege of wooing and screwing, and those who hadn't done it handed the task off like butter. However, I knew that from now on, Julian Sark wouldn't give it away as easily.
"Really? And how was your night, Julian Sark?"
He glared at me. He really hated me at this moment. I could feel it. I could feel death rays being shot at me.
"Where's James?"
"Sleeping."
"I'm taking a hot shower."
Julian stood and walked toward his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt, and turned and glared at me one last time.
At that moment I saw a flash. Sark holding me, laughing, a playful glare, and the steam of the shower.
"Sydney, are you alright?"
"Huh? Um… yeah. I'm fine." I smiled at him, and he closed the door.
I looked around the hotel room, and sighed. Was that real? I had no idea. I hoped to God it wasn't, because in that flash I felt the most overwhelming peace I had ever felt… and I was afraid of this feeling… it scared me to death.
I sat in my chair and looked at Sark's door. What had happened in my missing years? Unless that was all a strange fantasy, it must have been time from when I was missing… but… with Julian?
