Chapter 9

FRANCE

The whirl and bleep of machinery roused Yelena; she awoke groggy and did not feel at all rested or rejuvenated after her impromptu sleep. Her eyelids felt heavy and they started to droop of their own accord seconds after they opened, and she fought stay awake, she lifted her hands to rub her temples. Out of the corner of her eyes her blurred vision caught sight of a needle piercing the skin of her hand, the tubing wound around and up; an IV line. She realised an oxygen mask was around her mouth, and yanked it off. Yelena was jolted to her senses fully as the memory of what had happened returned to her; Stefan…Katya…her sister has shot her! And then had seemingly saved her life. A complicated lady was Yeketerina Derevko.

She was unable to remember what had happened after she had asked Katya for help; unconsciousness had claimed her. Yelena had been afraid to die, not being ready for the end. She wondered if Irina had felt the same before her death. The sadness was washed aside by thoughts of her niece. Yelena had no way of knowing how long she had been in this hospital – in whichever country – therefore Sydney and her own mother would be wondering just where she was.

RUSSIA

I Brown hair…like me.

And brown eyes.

Dimples?

Sisters or brothers? I don't think so.

Pets? I think I had a fish.

Where did they work? Something to do with airplanes. And…I don't know…teaching?

I liked the park.

Name: Lauren or Lisa…L something.

My dad…Began with a J or A.

Surname? Something with a W.

I remember Christmas!

I got a bike. It was blue.

Can't forget my name: Sydney…a Derevko, like my mother.

Did I like school? I remember an old lady with glasses. She was nice.

We had a red car. And a black one.

I think my mother liked books.

A hotel…something wrong with the house. Smoke?

Why am I forgetting? I don't want to forget. I miss them so much and I don't even know their names anymore.

Photos of my mother were taken down and my grandmother and aunt won't tell me anything. Secrets all the time!

Laura and Jacob! But Jacob doesn't sound quite right. I have to remember them!

Sydney Derevko – Still forgetful.

"Why am I in here?" there was fear in Sydney's voice as she watched with panic and suspicion the man that stood in front of her. It kind of felt like de ja vu; as if she had been in this position before. Maybe she had, it wasn't like she could trust her memory anymore.

Sydney was sat on a hard steel chair, it was very uncomfortable and she wriggled around trying to become more comfy. She heard the faint 'ding' of a bell and she found herself becoming still and quiet, "Your name," the man before her boomed, his voice echoing in the mostly empty room. "Is Natasha Espinosa…you lived in America with your mother and sister; Svetlana and Anna Espinosa until you were six. You returned to Russia. What is you name?"

There were parallels with her own life but something was still terribly wrong. It was lies; but he was confusing her. Memories were surfacing, but they weren't real. IWhat is my name? I can barely remember/I Her internal voice screamed out. "My name is…its Sydney. She looked up at the man; adamant as she replied with more surety. "My name is Sydney." He wheeled around and a resounding slap cut through the silence that came after her response. Instinctively Sydney jumped; he had slammed his flat palm against the glass of a two-way mirror. It could just as easily have been her; her heart thumped. "Why are you doing this?" she cried out in desperation; her need for answers making her insubordinate.

Her pleas were promptly ignored. The door slammed shut and she was left alone.

2 HOURS LATER

"What is your name?" the man was calm, pleasant and smiling. It struck her absently how unnatural it looked on him. "Who is your family?"

The words tumbled out automatically, as if they had been instilled into her until the answers were perfected. Programmed. Like a machine. "My name is Natasha Espinosa; I never knew my father. My half sister Anna and I moved to Russia when I was a little girl…" 'Natasha' smiled. "Can I go home now, please, Sir?"

He smiled with pride. "Of course. Very good, Miss Espinosa." It was all in a good days work.

FRANCE

Katya's figure blocked the doorway; she watched her sister with a critical eye. Yelena did not like to be judged; especially by someone she had not seen nor spoken to in quite a few years. She had determined that she was still in France – the Doctor that had spoken to her in French was a big tell sign. He had told her that she had been in the hospital for 2 days; she had not shown her concern nor voiced her immediate intent to get out of the hospital and quickly return to Russia; but maybe he was psychic because he had added something to the effect of:

"You will not be leaving for a few days, mademoiselle."

Yelena was hoping she had been delirious because she was certainly not planning on staying, however wonderful she would be treated in this place. Of course, first she had to get past the guard that had been posted at her room – who was suspiciously absent right about now; the Cheshire Cat smile on Katya's face gave her an idea of what had become of him. "You brought me here?" she ventured a guess.

Katya shrugged lazily and sauntered into the room. "No, that was not my doing," she answered and sat down on the side of the bed; she viewed the bleeding equipment; the tubes, IV, the spot where the bullet from her gun had ripped into Yelena's flesh. "I am sorry," it sounded sincere enough, but Katya had always been a masterful liar. Maybe that was also a Derevko family trait.

"Then why?" Yelena asked, she stared her down until, to her surprise, Katya broke eye contact and looked away.

"You were getting too close, questioning our government, their intentions…" she shook her head. "Do not cross them. This, "Katya laid her hand on the blanket that now covered the gunshot wound. "Was a warning. A painful reminder of what can happen. Stick to your day job," she advised before removing her hand and rising. She resumed her position of standing by the door and leant to the side, looking for all the world like she was supposed to be there and had not just knocked out the guard after luring him away and thrown him in a storage cupboard. Katya was interrogating her sister but continued the façade of an idly curious sibling that was just making polite conversation. "So what did you tell agent Bristow?"

A few seconds before the question had been posed Yelena had retrieved a carton of orange juice from the cupboard on her right side and, as she heard Katya she was taking a sip of the sweet liquid. It was fortunate because had she not been drinking, her mouth may have dropped open in surprise. As it was she only sputtered and masked her reaction with a cough.

Katya arched a slender brow and retorted with some measure of amusement. "Perhaps you should stick to water and leave the strong stuff for later," she stepped towards the bed once more and removed the carton from Yelena's grasp. "Now, what did you say to him?"

It was a simple conclusion to make – Katya was referring to the man she had spoken to in Ville France; the mysterious and insistent contact Yelena had known only as Stefan. The supposed Italian was actually Jack Bristow; a dead man. If he was actually alive and not the victim of a car crash 6 years ago, dare she hope Irina was alive too? She must have broken her cover as Laura to tell him the truth. Was that why Sydney had been taken? As punishment? Jack, she realised, must have been monitoring all channels in order to find people that may have information that could help him. No wonder Katya had shot her, she believed Yelena was about to turn over intel to the enemy.

"My patience had limits, Yelena."

Yelena reached out and took back her orange juice. She glared at her sister; it was not hard to feign anger. "I told him nothing; there was no time. You shot me."

Katya smiled and a flicker of relief passed across her face. "That is fortunate for you. Now…remember what I said," she leant down and kissed her sister on the cheek before straightening up and giving a backwards wave as she turned around to leave. "Cease your investigations." Only when the clicking sound of retreating heels could not be heard did Yelena allow herself to relax.

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

The house was shielded by trees and only a little sunlight filtered down to shed light on the two-story timber home. It was surrounded by a high fence, upon which security cameras were mounted. Nobody could gain access to the compound without being noticed, and subsequently shot, if they were lucky. On this day it was quiet, the sound of gushing water from the stream behind the house, and animal life, could be heard. It was a serene spot, secluded, only to be found if somebody knew precisely where it was located. It was ideal.

The sound of a car engine broke the silence, a deer jumped across the road and bounded away into the trees; the car was steered towards the iron double gates, the camera surveiled the driver, who looked out of the window and stared pointedly at it. The gates creaked open; they were only used on occasions such as this. Once they were open wide enough to admit the car entrance, the vehicle passed through and the gates shut again. The road leading to the house was long and, doing 60mph, it took 3 minutes 47 seconds to reach the front door.

Jack almost felt a sense of foreboding as he neared the cottage, always did, and he doubted that would change anytime soon. His feelings did not show, his face was impassive, a smile only breaking his hard demeanor when he watched his daughter. BTheir/B daughter, but he need only remember that small detail a few times out of the year. It had been agreed upon, these visits, 6 years ago when he had helped her to escape the United States, when she had told him the terrible truth. Since then so much had changed, abd not all of that had to do with Irina, surprisingly. Some lies had been developed by Arvin Sloane.

Nadia touched his arm to get his waning attention and Jack returned to the here and now. "Daddy, we're here," she told him and then let herself out. Her small feet crunched the gravel underfoot as she jumped from car to ground. Jack exited, and took a cursory glance of the area. It had not changed that much; there were a few more flowers tracing the edge of the cottage, the hedges had been trimmed. Irina did not strike him as the gardening type. He took out the cases as Nadia ran to the door and knocked, announcing their arrival by shouting at the top of her voice. "We're back!" Her happiness was obvious.

The door was opened a few seconds later and Nadia disappeared inside. It had become a ritual; Irina and Nadia's ritual. The little girl would call to her mother, who would be waiting just inside the door. Nadia would then run inside and fling her small arms around Irina's neck; her mother would pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. A story would be read and Nadia, tired after the long journey, would fall asleep halfway through; blissfully unaware of her parents giving each other the silent treatment. In the morning Nadia would shout for her mother to finish the story and once that ritual was completed they would sit down to breakfast.

It sickened Jack that sometimes he watched the mother-daughter bonding with fondness; Irina was not part of the family, she was just a woman that had way with making his child happy. If she couldn't help him in his investigation then he would not even be here.

Half an hour passed before Irina emerged from Nadia's room, she closed the door and he heard her feet padding softly through the corridor to the kitchen where he waited. The fading sunlight shone through the window behind him, the warm light bathing Irina in a soft amber glow; almost ethereal, despite who she was and what she had done. Jack looked away and stood, by now he knew the layout of the kitchen and where everything was, and he moved to the oven to take out the dinner that was waiting for them. They did have to eat, after all. As he walked to and fro, gathering cutlery and dishing the food onto plates, the silence dragged on. It was stifling, uncomfortable; and what they were used to. Domestic bliss? Not likely.

"Nadia told me that when she grows older she will become an agent and find Sydney," Irina announced in the still kitchen.

They had made no secret of the fact that there was another daughter; there was a mutual agreement that should know of her big sisters existence. Nadia knew that Sydney was missing, that bad people had taken her that her mother had to stay hidden whilst she searched for her so that the 'bad people' did not know of the investigation. They explained it in simple terms so as not to frighten her and make sure that Nadia understood what the situation was. They let her know that she was safe and eventually Sydney would be too. Nadia accepted this and asked questions only when he curiosity struck.

"Did you put that idea into her head?"

Jack set down the knives and forks on the side counter. "Don't be ridiculous, of course I didn't," he snapped indignantly. He never wanted Nadia to become involved in that area of his or Irina's life. It was too dangerous. Nadia had a vague idea of what he did; he was a good guy. But she knew nothing of agents, spies or the CIA; that part was kept from her. It was work and Nadia was to be kept away from that.

"The idea had to have come from someone," Irina answered calmly. Maybe she was just jumping to conclusions. But after Sydney…they could never be too careful ever again.

Jack paled. He turned around slowly; his gaze lingered on the corridor leading to Nadia's room. "Nadia is watched nearly 24 hours a day for this reason; there is no way anybody --."

Irina interrupted quietly. "You believed that once before, Jack." Sometimes work and family did become one. "There is always a way, I am evidence of that, as are the people that took Sydney."

He slammed his palms flat on the breakfast table where Irina was seated; the vase in the centre jumped with the force, his wife didn't move, merely closed her eyes and shook her head. "Don't you dare talk about her."

It was always a touchy subject between them. It was because of the KGB, Irina's comrades, that Sydney was gone. Blame was incredibly easy to place. But, if Jack had not fallen for Irina's charms, Sydney would never have been born and thus would not have been kidnapped. Fate had dealt them a cruel blow.

"BWe/B never talk about her!" she responded with aggravation. "You search for answers and I search for answers and we plan; but we never talk about her! You treat Sydney like a damn mission," her eyes flashed angrily. Irina stood and leant forward on the table. "You are so afraid of remembering our daughter – you distance yourself --," Irina accused. Jack cut her off harshly, his hand swiping the air as if he were keeping back her words. The food was forgotten and growing cold as they argued. He stormed passed her but Irina followed him, undeterred. "I don't stay in this house waiting for your call like one of your contacts, and you will not treat me like some fool that can be ignored." There was so much anger between them, so much left unsaid; they were two volcanoes waiting to erupt and the picture they painted was not pretty.

Jack spun around; conscious of their sleeping daughter. He grabbed Irina by the arm and pulled her into the next room and closed the door behind them, with more force than he originally intended. "You really want to talk about Sydney?" the tone in which he now spoke almost made Irina reconsider the conversation topic. "I am afraid that she is dead," he began with a certain frankness that he had not used around her since their marriage. "That I may never see her again. That in Btheir/B hands…she will turn into Byou/B," he told her; his voice dripping with venom. "But one of the things that helps me better sleep at night is knowing that, whatever happens, it is all your fault."

He had gotten through to her; he saw it in her beautiful brown eyes. In how she swallowed, and didn't speak whilst she maintained her composure. He leaned away from her, and then heard her speak. Irina's voice was cool and distant, her words chosen with care, "And after all of that…you are still ashamed of yourself," she folded her arms, ran the forefinger of her right hand across her lips; she didn't wait for him to enquire as to what she meant. "For wanting me…after everything," Irina took three short steps to get closer to him; her hand reached out to trace the area beneath his eyes. "You face holds back so much Jack, but your eyes…"

He pulled away from her delicate touch and held her outstretched hand to push it away from him. "You don't know me anymore, Irina," Jack growled, with emphasis on her true name. But damn if she couldn't read him like a book.

She smiled. It was so frustrating and unnerving, he felt completely naked in front of her, as if she knew everything about him despite not seeing him for many months. It was a tact he had used before on others, it threw the recipient off balance and had not failed him yet, and here was Irina doing the same thing. "If that is what you need to tell yourself to feel better…" she shrugged and left the room.

And that was that, the end of the conversation. Only it wasn't because Jack did not want Irina to have the parting shot. It was a victory for her and he was not going to allow her that much. How had things shifted so fast? One minute they were sitting down together and the next minute he wanted to strangle her. And now…? Jack followed in Irina's footsteps, stopping her bedroom door from closing as she pushed it shut behind her. She turned around questioningly but he didn't respond. Need overrode logical thought, but then there had been no sense of normalcy between them for 6 years so perhaps this was to be expected, they only had each other a few days out of the year. The distance between them grew each time they met, if not physically or by mileage then emotionally. That was broken as Jack grabbed Irina, his hand moving around her waist and the other through her hair, pulling her towards him. Need and lust driving them onwards.

When they woke their clothes were strewn across the bed and floor, discarded hours before in their pursuit of each other. Irina's arm was lying across his bare chest, their legs criss crossed over each other. This would not become an emotional entanglement; it was… "Recreation, nothing more," Jack said aloud and pushed back the covers to leave her bed.

If the lie had caused her pain he did not notice, did not care to feel any guilt in regards to a traitor. His phone rang before either on of them could speak and he answered it curtly, "Yes?" few people called him by this number, there was no need for formalities.

The accented voice on the other end got straight to business. "The gunshot victim you told me to find…I found her."

Jack allowed a satisfied smile to grace his otherwise emotionless face. "Good, bring her in." He ended the call and turned back to the bed. "I may have fund a lead," and then he left the room.

A few seconds later Nadia called out. "Mommy, come finish the story!" and their little ritual continued whilst Jack made breakfast.