"What's going on?" Jack demanded as soon as he arrived.
Sydney's pale face worried him even more than her phone call had. She shifted in the seat next to him. "You know about my last mission? And countermission?"
He nodded. Devlin had told him. "Yes, I know about Schiller and the formula." The idea of micro-encapsulated cytokines that could activate the immunity cells in the respiratory tract was the next step to germ warfare; the possibility of creating immunity in a certain group of people now existed.
"Paul Kelvin is a personal friend." He had asked for him. They had both saved each other's ass over the years. Paul could be depended on to watch his partner's back.
Sydney's smile was strained. "He spoke highly of you, too."
"Sydney, what's going on?" He hated waiting. He wanted the information given to him up front. It was one reason why the investigation was being especially difficult for him. He was a straightforward man who liked straightforward questions and answers.
"Paul's being held by Sloane. He wants information that Paul doesn't have," she told him.
"Damn." His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He forced his hands to relax. He thought about Paul's wife, and he thought about his own responsibility in the death of his friend. Selfishly, he wished it were someone he barely knew. He didn't need the guilt right now, and he couldn't afford to lose many friends.
"Dad, I have the information. I just can't get it to him right now. Sloane's suspicious of me." Sydney's voice cut through his guilt. She had a plan.
"But?" He could hear it in her voice.
"Mom could."
Jack almost shook from the anger that sprang up in him. "Absolutely not! You are not telling that woman that you are a double agent. You cannot trust her!"
Sydney looked out of the car window. He couldn't see her face, and he almost couldn't hear her when she replied, "That's not what I meant."
She looked down at her hands before glancing back at him. Her face was carefully composed. "I was thinking that you could."
***
Laura was picking up her keys off the little posts by the door when it opened and a worn-out version of her husband entered with a sigh. "Don't tell me that I'm finally getting home at a semi-decent hour, and you are the one heading out to work?"
"I'm sorry," she answered as she reached up to kiss him. "They asked if I would mind coming in for an emergency meeting, and I didn't know when you would be home--I'm sorry."
She was incredibly sorry. Not that she had been really offered a choice. Sloane had made it an order. He found her useful in certain situations, and a man refusing to tell what he knew was that kind of situation. He needed her to get Schiller to tell what he knew.
Putting down his briefcase, Jack wrapped his arms around her and held her close. His cologne tickled her nose, and the cotton of his jacket caressed her cheek. The strength in his arms held her up, made her feel stronger. It had been too long since she had been here.
She forced herself to pull away from him, and then she froze in place when she saw his face. "What's wrong?"
He shook his head and walked over to the edge of the sink. He rested his hands there and leaned forward. His head was bowed with a weight she couldn't physically see. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him, trying to give him strength. He rested her forehead on his back. "What's wrong?" she repeated. Sloane could rot in hell. Jack needed her.
He tensed for a moment and then turned in her arms. He hugged her close. "I'm about to lose a close friend tonight," he mumbled into her hair.
She pulled away so she could look into his eyes. "What do you mean? Who?"
"I don't think you've ever met him," he told her, his eyes vacant, his thoughts obviously somewhere else. "Paul Kelvin."
Swallowing the gasp in her throat, she said instead, "The man who saved you in Columbia."
He looked down at her, his eyes sharp and focused. "I told you about Columbia?"
He hadn't. He never told her about any of the dangers he faced, and what happened in that jungle had been a close call--one that still gave her nightmares occasionally. Sloane had especially enjoyed telling her about Jack's run in with K-Directorate there. "Only that you had run into a tight spot, and that he had saved your skin."
Jack's eyebrows lowered, and he nodded. But she could see that he was trying to remember telling her. "Yeah, he did, and now I can't return the favor."
"What's happened?" she asked again as Jack walked towards the wet bar.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey before he answered. "Paul's pretending to be someone he's not. A scientist. A group of people, an enemy, has him and thinks he knows information that he doesn't. A location."
Laura looked down at her black high heels to keep him from seeing her face. She lifted up a foot and looked at one of the heels like she had spotted a smudge on it. Paul Kelvin was pretending to be Schiller; she knew it. That's why he hadn't talked, even though Sloane was willing to give him the money agreed on before hand. Someone had been following Sydney after all.
Rubbing at her heel, she looked up, only to find that Jack was staring into his glass. "And we can't tell him anything. A few words is all we need to tell him. Or even one. Badenweiler."
"Near the Black Forest," she whispered before she thought.
"You were always excellent in geography," Jack said with a feeble grin.
"I'll call the office and tell them that I can't make it." She would sneak out tonight while Jack was asleep; she had done it before.
Setting down his glass, Jack walked over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "No, no, go to your meeting. I'm just going to be staring at the phone waiting for a call I don't want to answer."
Laura swallowed as tears welled in her eyes. "Okay." She wanted to tell him that she would make sure he didn't get that phone call, that she would repay her debt. But she couldn't. Instead, she kissed him and walked out the door.
***
Vaughn could smell the alcohol on Jack's breath. He wanted to mention it, but he didn't know what to say. "Jack--"
The door to the limo opened and a pale, shaken Paul Kelvin fell into the back seat. The agents who had escorted him strolled away from the car. "Hey, I earned some nice transportation this time, huh?" His grin was strained.
"Devlin thought that you had earned it," Jack replied as the driver pressed the gas pedal. Vaughn knew that Jack had insisted on it.
"Better than the rusted out Pinto they sent for me last time," Paul joked. "But, really, I'd just like some pain killers and a cast. Maybe some sleep."
Vaughn noticed then that he was holding his arm strangely. "What happened to it?"
"They broke it to get me to tell them about Badenweiler."
Flinching, Vaughn wondered how Paul had known. Before he could ask him, Jack answered. "Sydney told me about her conversation with Schiller. I told Laura that I was worried about a friend--Paul Kelvin--who was pretending to be someone he wasn't. That we couldn't get the location of a place he needed to know--Badenweiler--to him." Jack looked at both of his companions. "Sydney had an idea that if her mother knew, she might do something to save Paul."
"She was right," Paul told him through gritted teeth. They had just hit a pothole.
"I know," Jack replied. He didn't sound happy about it. Pointing towards Paul's collar, he said, "I recognized the shade of lipstick."
As Vaughn realized that it was possible for him to actually hate Laura Bristow more than he already did, he watched Paul squirm. "She walked in wearing this latex dress and a blonde wig. I've seen pictures of her for years, but I wouldn't have known it was her if--"
"You hadn't already been ordered to pay attention for her," Jack finished. "Report any information that you found on her."
Licking his lips, Paul nodded. "She came in and, uh, started trying to a, uh, seduce me for the information. When she started to, uh, kiss my neck, she whispered 'Badenweiler' in my ear. Then, she told me that she was my friend, and that I needed to resist more to make it seem believable." Paul stared over at Jack. "I didn't know what to think, so I kept my mouth shut."
He lifted up his arm. "Then, suddenly she became the bad cop. She slapped me and told me that I should have agreed to do it the easy way. Before I even knew what was happening, I could hear my wrist breaking and my own voice screaming 'Badenweiler'."
The noise of the tires gliding over the asphalt and the hum of the engine were the only sounds in the limo for several minutes. Vaughn wanted to say something, but he didn't have a clue as to what he should say. He looked over at Paul and saw the same conflict on the older man's face. Jack looked straight ahead.
His friend finally broke the strained silence. "She tortured you." Jack's voice was flat. Emotionless. He stared over at Paul's arm. "We live in a strange world. I'm sitting here wishing that you had told me that my wife fucked you for the information."
The bleakness in Jack's eyes made Vaughn want to shiver. "Would you help Paul out of the car, Michael?"
Vaughn looked up and realized they were sitting in front of a CIA-sponsored hospital. "Of course," he said as he grabbed for the door handle. He wanted to get out of this car and never get back in it again.
***
His daughter was staring at the headstone like it could give her answers. He stood behind her, blocking the heavy winds that had been making her hair fly about her face. "I just heard about Badenweiler. I'm sorry."
She reached out and began tracing Danny's name. "I should have known. I should have stopped it."
He squatted down behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "There was no way for you to know."
He thought about the first time he had seen someone from the Agency die. He had been young then, just eighteen. If he let himself think about it, he could still hear the sound of the helicopters blades turning, could feel the force of the air they moved. One minute the man had been welcoming him to hell on earth, telling him where he needed to go, and the next the man's lifeless body was slumping into him. There had been no time to react to the sight; bullets had filled the air from both sides. But the look on the man's face as the bullet exited his skull was something Jack had never forgotten.
Just as Sydney would never forget Badenweiler.
"I wanted to tell Dixon."
"Vaughn told me."
"I hate lying to him. I hate the fact that he thinks he's working for the good guys when he's not." Sydney's hand trailed through the grass. "I hate it."
Jack squeezed her shoulders harder. "I know. Sydney, I'm so sorry."
She turned around and hugged him. "It's not your fault. I've made my choices, and now I have to learn to live with them."