The Dream
Chapter 17: Painful Secrets
A/N: This starts out a little slow, but there's some action at the end. Hopefully this chapter's not as crappy as the last few have been. Please review and let me know if I can do anything to make this better.
Cairo
Sydney and Dixon walked slowly up to the tall iron gate. Everything was still. The dust hung thickly, menacingly in the air.
A tall figure approached from the other side of the gate. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a faded scar on his forehead. Sydney quickly recognized him as the man she had thought was Vaughn last time she had been in Cairo.
"Are you here for the conference?" he asked in halting, accented English.
"Only if they will be serving refreshments," Sydney answered, reciting the coded response.
Satisfied with her answer, the man nodded and moved to open the gate. "You," he said, pointing a dirty finger at Sydney, "may come in. But he cannot."
"Those were not the terms agreed upon," Dixon stated angrily.
The man gave Dixon an icy stare and stood firmly in the doorway. He then turned his gaze to Sydney. "You come in alone, or no one comes in at all."
"We understand," Sydney replied, looking Dixon straight in the eye. He gave her a small nod and put his hand up to his ear, signaling her to turn on her com. She nodded in reply, and as Dixon walked away, she followed the guard to the house.
The guard opened the door and led her into a hall lavishly decorated with elegant statues and vases that were far different from any she would have expected Fahim to have. As she was taking in the beauty of the front hall, the guard stopped abruptly, and she almost plowed into his back.
He gave her an evil stare and held out his hand to her. "Give me your communications device."
Sydney looked at him questioningly and his eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than slits. "If you wish to go any further, give me your SD-6 communications device."
She silently complied and handed him the device. He placed it, almost delicately, on the floor, and then stomped on it with such anger and force that Sydney jumped. Without any further conversation, he led her to a door at the far end of the hall, opened it, and motioned for her to go inside. She obeyed and walked in. The guard remained outside and slammed the door behind her.
"Ah, Sydney Bristow."
Sydney raised her eyebrows slightly. She hadn't thought that he would know her name, but she didn't let that faze her, at least not outwardly.
"Fahim," she responded coolly, turning toward the cold, familiar voice.
Fahim made his way toward her, and she took those few seconds to quickly scan the room. It was an office of some kind, decorated just as richly and with the same taste as the hall.
When Fahim was almost next to her, he extended his hand. Remembering the last time his hand had touched her, Sydney shuddered inwardly as she reluctantly offered him her hand in return. He took it and brought it up to his mouth, letting his slimy lips slither over her soft skin and leaving them there for a few moments longer than she thought necessary.
He finally released her hand, letting his fingers linger for a moment on hers. She fought the impulse to wipe the back of her hand on her pants, her shirt, the floor, anything that would erase the feel of his greasy fingers, his filthy lips.
"Please, do sit down," he offered, gesturing toward a chair across from the desk. She acquiesced, and he sat in the chair behind the desk, moving a vase to one side so he could see her clearly.
His speech, his manner, the room, all clashed with his outward appearance. He was dressed in a pair of dirty pants and a stained white T-shirt. The dust from the streets clung to his boots, and even his face and hair. Outside in the markets of Cairo, he would look just like anyone else, but in here, he was different. The speech of his guard had been slow and with a heavy Arabic accent, but Fahim's English flowed smoothly, naturally, with a hint of a British accent, if any accent at all.
He looked dirty, tired, stupid, but she knew it was only an act. And that's bothered her, kept her on alert. That's what scared her.
"I have heard quite a bit about you," Fahim continued. "And I must say, I am impressed."
"Really?" Sydney asked, not sure where this conversation was going. Couldn't he just give her the information she came for and be done with it?
"You have many special talents, my dear. A quick thinker, a skilled fighter," he paused and then continued in Arabic, "And a master of many tongues."
"As, I'm sure, are you," Sydney answered him in French. Two could play at this game.
"Brava, Miss Bristow. Well done," Fahim said with a smile as he clapped his hands. He continued in English, "French is such a beautiful language, is it not? And your voice adds such music to it. Speak again, my sweet; I could listen all day to the sound of your voice."
Sydney stared at him coldly. What was up with this guy? "I believe you have some information that I might be interested in."
"Very well," Fahim said with a sigh, shifting in his seat to take something out of the desk. "Business first, pleasantries later."
He placed a rolled up paper on the desk and Sydney watched as he proceeded to unroll it. Whatever was on that paper could be her key to freedom, to life, to love. She tried to see what it was, but the antiques and knick-knacks on the desk were blocking her view. She waited patiently; not wanting to appear too interested in whatever it was Fahim had.
"Stand up, my dear. Get a closer look."
Sydney stood and walked over to the desk. She gasped slightly as she recognized what Fahim had. Resting her hands on the desk, she leaned in for a closer look, ignoring the feel of Fahim's eyes following her every move and his hot breath on her skin.
It was a map.
"I believe…"
A map of SD-6.
"…this is familiar to…"
With every space, every name filled in.
"…you. Perhaps your…"
It was a completed copy of the one that…
"…Agent Vaughn has shown you one similar to it?"
Sydney's eyes shot up. She didn't try to hide her surprise as she slowly backed away from the desk, bumping and then falling into the chair. She jumped up again, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.
"How do you know…" she began in a low voice.
"Sit down, my dear," Fahim interrupted her. "Make yourself comfortable."
Without really thinking, Sydney obeyed, sinking slowly into the chair, eyes still trained on Fahim.
"How do I know about him, you ask? How do you know about you?" he paused and smiled at her. "Do you remember our last meeting?"
Sydney nodded and Fahim continued.
"You visited my little pottery stand. My cover, as you know, for my weapons business. There are no secrets between us, as you will soon find out…"
No secrets? Sydney quickly glanced down at her watch. But did he know…
"Pay attention, my dear. I believe you will find this interesting…I found you quite…charming. I was disappointed that I did not have what you were looking for, so I sent one of my men after you to ask you what it was you really wanted. You were such a pretty little girl, and I wanted to please you. Imagine my amusement when my man returned battered and bloody. You were no ordinary little girl; you were strong, you were a fighter. I find that attractive in a woman." He paused and his lips curled upward in sly grin.
"That is when I knew I wanted you; you were just what I was looking for. So I did some research, my dear, to find something you wanted. I tracked you. I found a source that kept me updated on your activities, until about a week ago, when an unfortunate accident led to his demise. Automobiles can be such tricky things, can they not?"
Sydney let out a small sigh. A week ago. Thank God; he didn't know.
"Well, I found out all about you and the twisted horror you call life. Some girls would want diamonds or jewels, but not you. You want a little something called SD-6 destroyed. And I," he said, putting a finger on the map, "have just the thing to help you."
The room was silent for a moment. Everything had a price. Sydney was waiting for Fahim to name his.
"I've heard of your work; seen the little shows you've put on," Fahim finally continued. "And I must say, I was quite impressed." He stood up and walked around the desk, standing directly in front of her. "It would please me to no extent if you would put on a little show for me…With more action and less clothing of course."
He reached down and ran a greasy hand slowly up Sydney's arm. She felt her skin crawl and a chill run down her spine.
Dammit.
It had taken a few minutes, but Vaughn had finally recovered from trying to breathe in his coffee. He had sent a spray of the dark liquid flying across the room when Fahim had mentioned his name, soaking his shirt and a good part of the pink hotel carpet.
Now, he was listening intently to every word that Fahim was saying, absorbing the information like a sponge. He had breathed a sigh of relief along with Sydney when he had discovered that Fahim did not know that he was listening to their conversation.
Vaughn turned up the volume and Fahim's voice filled the room.
"…if you would put on a little show like that for me. With more action and less clothing of course."
That bastard!
Sydney flung Fahim's arm away from her and jumped up from the chair. "Don't you…"
"Come now, Sydney," Fahim interrupted, taking a step closer to her. "You have nothing to lose, unless of course, you're a virgin. But I believe Agent Vaughn at least would have taken care of that."
Sydney's eyes glowed with anger and she felt her ears burning. It embarrassed her that Vaughn was listening to this.
She crossed her arms and took another step back. "You're not getting anything from me."
"Maybe you haven't had enough of these little games, hmmm? There is no point in resisting, my dear, because I always get what I want."
"Screw you," Sydney spat at him, the anger boiling within her.
"In good time, my sweet. In good time."
Vaughn's fists were clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was ready to crush the speakers, to rid the room of that bastard's voice, but he knew that wouldn't help.
Fahim's voice projected from the speakers again, as Vaughn sat listening, helpless.
"Let's see, my sweet. What game should we play? Something that will get the blood pumping…Ah, I have it. You are an accomplished fighter. I believe I would find a little scuffle enjoyable. We could consider this a foreplay of sorts…"
Foreplay? What the hell!
"…No, no, my dear," Fahim laughed. "Not yet. I am not quite ready. You see, you are more skilled than I, and I believe that it is only fair that we are evenly matched in this, don't you?"
Vaughn heard a drawer opening and shutting, and then the distinct clink of metal.
"You prefer sword fighting?" Sydney asked coolly.
How she could keep calm throughout this, Vaughn would never know.
"Yes, I do. I was quite good at it in my college days…No, no, my sweet. That's not for you. Kick-boxing is your specialty. I have heard how you excel at it, and would like to see you do it in person. Now, are you ready?"
Vaughn didn't hear Sydney answer. He wished he had a visual of what was happening. Drops of perspiration began to form on his forehead and he hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand.
They had come so far and were so close to being together. He couldn't lose her now.
Sydney stood with her hands ready as Fahim slowly approached with his sword.
"Be forewarned, my dear. I will not go easy on you. I will not kill you, to be sure, but screaming, as you Americans say, turns me on, and if pain is the only way for you to give in to me, so be it."
He advanced menacingly and swung his sword at her. She dodged the blow and delivered a swift kick to his waist.
Her foot connected firmly with his stomach, but he barely flinched. "Watch your aim, my dear. You would not want to spoil the fun for later."
Sydney launched herself at him with all the strength and force that her hatred and anger lent her.
Vaughn sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, not breathing or even blinking. He cringed as he heard her heavy breathing, the sickening smack of skin against skin, and the swooshing of the sword flying through the air.
Sydney was a skilled fighter; he'd seen her in action. Should he try to save her or could she take care of herself?
If he went to her and she didn't need him, he would be jeopardizing everything she had worked so hard for. Dixon and SD-6 were still outside Fahim's compound, patrolling the area.
But if she needed him, and he didn't go…He didn't want to think of what would happen.
Sydney delivered another swift kick to Fahim's head. But he was ready for her. He grabbed her foot and pulled it, sending Sydney flying to the floor with a sickening thud.
Fahim slashed at her with his sword, cutting a deep gash in her right arm. He smiled as he watched the blood gush out of the wound, forming a puddle on the floor.
He brought the tip of the sword in contact with her nose; laughing as her eyes widened and she shook in terror. Then, he brought the sword down and ran it gently across her cheek.
Sydney watched its tip out of the corner of her eye. He ran it across her cheek again, harder this time, drawing blood.
She wasn't putting up with anymore of this. She quickly slid to the side and jumped up, inadvertently giving Fahim time to strike her in the side. She gasped, but would not scream. That was what he wanted.
Her shirt was ripped where the sword had struck her, and sticky with blood. The pain seared through her body, but she ignored it.
With a well-placed kick to the hand, the sword went flying across the room.
"Very good, my dear. Very good," Fahim laughed. "Have you had enough yet?"
Sydney answered him by kicking him swiftly, once in the stomach and then in the head. He reeled backwards, but caught his balance and swung his fist at her.
She tried to move out of the way, but the pain made it difficult and his fist connected squarely with her eye.
Vaughn had jumped up from the bed and was anxiously pacing the room. He heard the smack of Sydney's body hitting the ground.
How long do you listen?
Fahim was laughing. Sydney gasped and softly whimpered.
How do you decide?
Vaughn's ears pricked up at the sound of metal clanging. Thank God.
Then that son of a bitch Fahim was talking and laughing again. "Very good, my dear. Very good. Have you had enough yet?"
Vaughn heard two smacks and Fahim grunt. He held his breath.
Could she handle this by herself? How would he know if she needed him? Should he go to her before she starts screaming, or wait for the screams to start?
Then he heard another sound, another smack, and a small scream.
Too late. They already did.
Sydney let out a small scream, and quickly put a hand over her mouth.
"We've been at this for quite awhile?" Fahim smirked. "Do you need a rest?"
Sparks and colors seemed to fly across the room. Blood was running down her arm, her leg, dripping down her face. Sydney swayed slightly and held out a hand to steady herself. She blinked and shook her head in an effort to clear her vision.
"You look tired, my sweet. I'll help you get to sleep."
With that, Fahim picked up a vase from his desk and walked slowly over to her. He raised it over his head.
Sydney's eyes widened. She tried to move, but her feet were planted firmly to the ground. She weakly raised her hands to try to shield herself.
With a swift crack, Fahim slammed the vase over her head.
It shattered and glass rained down on the floor.
Dazed, Sydney brought a hand up to her head and then held it in front of her face. It was dark and sticky with blood.
She brought her hand down and turned her stunned gaze to Fahim.
Slowly, he went out of focus.
Slowly, everything turned black.
Sydney fell to the floor. Fahim bent over her, running a hand across her cheek.
"Now, my dear, you're mine."