The sparks and bubbles of her champagne swirled in the slim glass, twisted
and meshed by the light of the candles surrounding her. The silkiness of
the way the liquid slithered down her throat and settled softly in her
belly reminded her of what victory felt like. Celebration. Yearning.
Discovery.
She was the first to know, the first to confirm. It all played into her plan. All in due time, she had said. All in due time.
Sighing, Irina swallowed a taste of her drink before setting it down on her nightstand. She lifted the precious document and perused the material again.
The second prophecy.
The CIA, SD-6, and even the pitiful remnant of FTL that no longer existed as a potential threat couldn't even fathom the existence of a second Rambaldi prophecy. She possessed it.
She also intended to use it fully to her advantage.
The Chosen Ones, he had called them.
The Condemned Ones, she thought of them.
Between the sketches of Sydney and Vaughn were two strands of DNA forming one and leading to the following statement.
These pictured here are the solitary hope against the evil in the Woman. A fifth element that binds these closer than blood or life can contain and overcome the Woman's purpose. This element can also bring destruction if the innocent result is used to initiate the module's power supply, increasing its power three-fold. These two will cross paths, and must entwine their lives to reverse the process of evil for only what they create can determine the future of this Woman and the world.
That last half had only been translated three nights before. when she had altered her original plan because of it.
There would be child, Irina frowned. And that child. must die.
{~}
Chosen Ones. What did that mean? Sydney silently asked as she raised her face to gaze at his. And the inquiry was forgotten.
God, he was whole. He was alive. Beaten, exhausted, but alive. There was blood throbbing in his veins, life pulsing through his system, and love exploding in his being.
She kissed his bruised cheek lightly, lifted a delicate hand and smoothed his brow. Her eyes searched his, no words spoken, none needed.
The agents behind the two-way glass intently studied their instruments, their surveillance system, and finally, one pushed a button and the blinds shut and obscured their view of the couple and the room. Another agent turned off the power of the monitor displaying them.
Her father, standing in the midst of the hushed activity, stood silent. His phone beeped once, and he barely glanced at the caller. He answered briskly. A message was sent, he was informed, then the caller hung up.
For once, a sense of urgency didn't consume him. The need to know what important intel had arrived, what piece of the puzzle had been discovered didn't have him itching to reach for a computer and discern its meaning.
So, he stood, silently contemplating and recounting the meeting with Irina and the success and or failure of the mission.
Eric, fatigued from the rush, lay on a cot in a corner of the room. He had seen what had passed between Sydney and Vaughn, and he nearly cringed with pain. Guilt, it seemed, never rested and was never satisfied. He owed them this reunion, but neither deserved the anguish.
Restless, he flopped onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head. Would it be enough to wish them the best? Hope it all worked out? That this damned life of theirs wouldn't kill them all? He couldn't ask them for their trust, not even if they still gave it to him - they didn't know the full truth yet anyway.
Redemption, he thought grimly, was something extremely difficult to attain when you couldn't forgive yourself.
Behind the glass window, between the walls, the pair was motionless.
The room was silent and for a moment, it seemed that time had frozen. The world beyond them was imaginary, terror unknown, their lives, the lies - all some kind of silly game or joke they played pretend with. This. this was real. This was everything.
They were everything.
He framed her face between his hands and just looked at her. Intense heat glowed in his eyes, and she met them with equal fire. The gash that was above her brow was stitched, healing remarkably well in the short timeframe though still grotesquely incongruous with the rest of her alabaster face. Her lips were slightly apart, her breath still, her heart thundering.
His was steady, his concentration unwavering, as if trying to memorize each inch of her face. She slid her hands up his chest and locked them behind his neck.
Vaughn brought his head down to hers, held her face gently and let his lips brush hers in a light kiss. He pressed his lips to hers again, and let his fingers travel just below her ears where her head and neck bent upwards toward him and held her there.
The earth spun then, stopped for a second, and exploded simultaneously. Taste, touch, and heart blended into one spectacular energy, passing from one to the other with equal ardor and fervor. Silence was interrupted with small gasps, whispered endearments, and the sound of an occasional car passing by. The moon waned, winked, and disappeared as the two became one and the night surrendered to the sun's first light.
Neither body stirred for hours long past morning.
{~}
Devlin and Jack, both with heavy red-rimmed eyes, stared at the message analysis had delivered them.
News of the second prophecy jarred them. First, both had rejected the possibility, then balked at the proof.
Letting his head fall back onto his chair, Devlin gulped hard. It seemed that not only were agent-relationships doomed, they could also be meant to be. even if it was for an age-old prophecy in order to prevent the havoc one could bring.
"They have to know," Jack tossed the papers back onto the desk.
Devlin nodded.
"She knew this. It's the reason she released both him and me without a qualm. She needs this prophecy to be fulfilled."
"The child." Devlin replied, turning away from Jack. He stared blankly out his window to the skyline buildings of downtown Los Angeles in the vicinity. "The unborn, nonexistent child."
"Why would she attempt to eliminate the very thing she needed?"
Devlin shrugged. Who could explain things anymore?
There were too many questions. and there were circumstances to consider.
Suddenly inspired, Devlin reached for the papers again. "If there is no child, the module cannot work."
"No." Jack pulled out his copy as well. "According to the prophecy, if there is no child, there is no hope. Line four states, 'These two will cross paths, and must entwine their lives to reverse the process of evil for only what they create can determine the future of this Woman and the world'. The module might work, but the child gives it solid power."
"So they must be together, they must love each other, and they must procreate." Devlin concluded ruefully.
Meeting the eyes of his friend, Jack nodded. "This could take another year or two alone to accomplish."
"It gives Irina time to build and perfect her module," Devlin added.
"In the meantime, this prophecy is something we have to keep SD-6 from knowing." He paused, thinking. "Her pregnancy is going to be a difficult thing to explain to Sloane. Should we pull Vaughn out of office and put him in field training, posing as a civilian? Weiss can handle the operations."
Sighing deeply, Devlin held out a hand for the proposal Jack had already prepared, but he hadn't looked at closely. "It's detailed in here?" he asked.
Jack nodded once, and flipped the proposal to the approval page. Devlin scribbled his name at the bottom, handed the folder back and didn't release them.
Catching his eye, Devlin spoke with sincerity and years of loyalty and friendship.
"I wish this didn't have to be this way."
Unable to respond, Jack briskly nodded and cleared his throat. He exited the office and called Sloane to report in. His life as a double continued while he placed the rest of his priorities in the carefully guarded shelter of his mind, to be examined later, when he was alone and it was late. and he could feel again.
{~}
She woke up groggy, emerging from a deep, sweet dream in which she floated upon light holding Vaughn's hand. She inhaled, reached out and stretched, groaning with the languid pleasure of it. Her leg extended between his, and Vaughn gripped her around the waist tighter, pulling her in closer.
She turned to him, tucked one hand beneath her cheek, and watched him. Feeling her presence, he peeked through one eye and saw her.
Cheeks slightly rosy, hair gloriously disheveled, and eyes bright, Sydney smiled. Vaughn returned the smile, leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose lightly. It was a new morning, and somehow, the world was still a hundred miles away from this space, this room, this moment.
And it all flooded back in a rush.
He jerked upright in bed, the linen falling from his chest, piling at his waist, and leaving Sydney to yank it up to cover herself.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Do you remember what's happened in the last few days?"
"Yes," her eyes darkened dangerously. "But you're alive. You're here. That's what matters."
"And we're in a CIA safehouse, with guards behind that wall, who are watching and waiting for us." Scrubbing one hand vigorously over his face and muffling a groan, Vaughn reached for his boxers and hopped out of bed. "We have to talk."
Hours later, Sydney was silent, the room was filled with tension thick enough to suffocate them, and Vaughn was confronted with a plethora of developments.
Across the table sat a stern-faced Jack, and an ill-looking Weiss. Papers were scattered, littering the table's surface like a fury of typeface and print. Identities, one after another, lay open and exposed in the light of the room. Pick, choose, this is who you are, they seemed to scream. We tell you who you are, and now, you're a civilian. a government-owned civilian.
Vaughn's head was spinning with new information, his mind reeling backwards from his roller-coaster occupation, and the events preceding this meeting.
This wasn't your typical briefing. There were no tidy black folders with laminated charts, graphs, and photographs. There were no hole-punched, neatly typed objective layouts, detailed mission instructions violated with hand-written notes and bold highlighters. Instead, there were stapled 5- cent copies of a rough mission objective in Jack's precise scrawl. There were proposals, details and rough guidelines typed hurriedly with typographical spelling errors and minor grammatical mistakes.
The plan was simple but deadly and dangerous. It altered everything they knew and changed the very essence of their original missions.
All for a single prophecy and one man.
Vaughn would be completely remade into someone else. "Deep-cover, long term operations" were the key words on the sheet before him. He would live, breathe, eat, sleep, and be an entirely different person. His name would be changed, his hair color manipulated, and he would wear cosmetic color contacts daily. He only had to choose any one of the passports, complete with social security number cards and birth certificates that were before him.
Eying his choices, he noticed he would also be changing ethnicities. He sighed deeply and flipped through the pile, tossing them into two different piles: ones he would consider, and those that were out of the question.
Names, histories, lives, occupations - he would have to relearn everything, be strictly ingrained in the story of this made up character and conform himself to it. As a child, it would be like playing pretend. Now, it was a burden to pretend.
"I don't know," Vaughn looked up.
Between clenched teeth, Jack said, "Pick one. If you can't decide, I'll made the decision for you."
Sydney watched her father. He was tired, she knew. Beaten and worn from lack of sleep and worry. His eyes were red-rimmed and she had caught him stifling a yawn once or twice.
"Here," Vaughn tossed the identity papers and description at him. "Mr. Anthony Luther, 29-year-old international financial banker for the United Bank of China."
"No," Sydney objected. "I won't date a banker. Plus, you don't want a profession too close to mine."
Vaughn tossed it aside and read the next identity below that one. "Mr. Nicholas Varanelli, 30-year-old high school english teacher at Martin Luther King High School."
He looked up and caught Jack's eye. "I really have to teach?"
"Only four classes during the day, morning until noon, and the entire time, someone else will be taking care of what material you will lecture on, what you'll test on, and will correct the papers and exams. You'll simply be the figure they assume is their teacher, but you will simply be a stand- in."
"Will I have access to the mission at all times?"
"Yes, you will wear a pager and carry a cell phone. Your computer will constantly be online, ready to receive any intel we get. Your teacher's aide will be agent Matthew Chavez and he will keep surveillance over the computer and other technicalities. If, at any time, you must leave on a mission, Agent Chavez will replace you as a 'substitute teacher'." Jack paused. "This is a long-term, deep-cover mission. Your life depends on the success of this plan, as does Sydney's. Your story is simple: You meet Sydney in a class you both are enrolled in at the university. You are both in graduate studies, and find you have lots in common during the class and multiple class projects and study sessions in which you choose to work together."
Jack went on.
"As time passes, Sydney will interject your name, Nicholas Varanelli, in casual conversation, thus making you known and suspect to surveillance by SD-6. Vaughn, you will change residences permanently, you will be given an entirely new history, background, and so forth. All records will be manipulated to allow for this, and you will play Sydney's love interest. Any questions?"
"Just one." Sydney sat up. "Why the sudden changes? Why are we completely deviating from the original plan? Why not just get into Irina's lair and bust this module and be done with it?"
Sighing heavily, Jack told them of the second prophecy, carefully detailing the circumstances of it, and pulling out the copy of the sketch.
Speechless and overcome, Vaughn, Sydney, and Weiss all sat motionless, staring at the paper that sat amidst them. The lone thought that ran through all their minds was one of distinct trepidation. A child, The Redeemer to come, bourn of Sydney and Vaughn and yet to come.
{~}
Two months later, Sydney collapsed onto the toilet seat in her bathroom. A green plus sign greeted her cheerily as she stared at the indicator.
Pregnant.
Tears welled up, spilled and cascaded as she wrapped her arms around her stomach and cried for her child and its fate.
[STORAGE ROOM SECRETS CONCLUDED. LOOK FOR THE SEQUEL COMING SOON! - THINK OF STORAGE ROOM SECRETS AS PART ONE OKAY? MORE TO COME! THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.]
She was the first to know, the first to confirm. It all played into her plan. All in due time, she had said. All in due time.
Sighing, Irina swallowed a taste of her drink before setting it down on her nightstand. She lifted the precious document and perused the material again.
The second prophecy.
The CIA, SD-6, and even the pitiful remnant of FTL that no longer existed as a potential threat couldn't even fathom the existence of a second Rambaldi prophecy. She possessed it.
She also intended to use it fully to her advantage.
The Chosen Ones, he had called them.
The Condemned Ones, she thought of them.
Between the sketches of Sydney and Vaughn were two strands of DNA forming one and leading to the following statement.
These pictured here are the solitary hope against the evil in the Woman. A fifth element that binds these closer than blood or life can contain and overcome the Woman's purpose. This element can also bring destruction if the innocent result is used to initiate the module's power supply, increasing its power three-fold. These two will cross paths, and must entwine their lives to reverse the process of evil for only what they create can determine the future of this Woman and the world.
That last half had only been translated three nights before. when she had altered her original plan because of it.
There would be child, Irina frowned. And that child. must die.
{~}
Chosen Ones. What did that mean? Sydney silently asked as she raised her face to gaze at his. And the inquiry was forgotten.
God, he was whole. He was alive. Beaten, exhausted, but alive. There was blood throbbing in his veins, life pulsing through his system, and love exploding in his being.
She kissed his bruised cheek lightly, lifted a delicate hand and smoothed his brow. Her eyes searched his, no words spoken, none needed.
The agents behind the two-way glass intently studied their instruments, their surveillance system, and finally, one pushed a button and the blinds shut and obscured their view of the couple and the room. Another agent turned off the power of the monitor displaying them.
Her father, standing in the midst of the hushed activity, stood silent. His phone beeped once, and he barely glanced at the caller. He answered briskly. A message was sent, he was informed, then the caller hung up.
For once, a sense of urgency didn't consume him. The need to know what important intel had arrived, what piece of the puzzle had been discovered didn't have him itching to reach for a computer and discern its meaning.
So, he stood, silently contemplating and recounting the meeting with Irina and the success and or failure of the mission.
Eric, fatigued from the rush, lay on a cot in a corner of the room. He had seen what had passed between Sydney and Vaughn, and he nearly cringed with pain. Guilt, it seemed, never rested and was never satisfied. He owed them this reunion, but neither deserved the anguish.
Restless, he flopped onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head. Would it be enough to wish them the best? Hope it all worked out? That this damned life of theirs wouldn't kill them all? He couldn't ask them for their trust, not even if they still gave it to him - they didn't know the full truth yet anyway.
Redemption, he thought grimly, was something extremely difficult to attain when you couldn't forgive yourself.
Behind the glass window, between the walls, the pair was motionless.
The room was silent and for a moment, it seemed that time had frozen. The world beyond them was imaginary, terror unknown, their lives, the lies - all some kind of silly game or joke they played pretend with. This. this was real. This was everything.
They were everything.
He framed her face between his hands and just looked at her. Intense heat glowed in his eyes, and she met them with equal fire. The gash that was above her brow was stitched, healing remarkably well in the short timeframe though still grotesquely incongruous with the rest of her alabaster face. Her lips were slightly apart, her breath still, her heart thundering.
His was steady, his concentration unwavering, as if trying to memorize each inch of her face. She slid her hands up his chest and locked them behind his neck.
Vaughn brought his head down to hers, held her face gently and let his lips brush hers in a light kiss. He pressed his lips to hers again, and let his fingers travel just below her ears where her head and neck bent upwards toward him and held her there.
The earth spun then, stopped for a second, and exploded simultaneously. Taste, touch, and heart blended into one spectacular energy, passing from one to the other with equal ardor and fervor. Silence was interrupted with small gasps, whispered endearments, and the sound of an occasional car passing by. The moon waned, winked, and disappeared as the two became one and the night surrendered to the sun's first light.
Neither body stirred for hours long past morning.
{~}
Devlin and Jack, both with heavy red-rimmed eyes, stared at the message analysis had delivered them.
News of the second prophecy jarred them. First, both had rejected the possibility, then balked at the proof.
Letting his head fall back onto his chair, Devlin gulped hard. It seemed that not only were agent-relationships doomed, they could also be meant to be. even if it was for an age-old prophecy in order to prevent the havoc one could bring.
"They have to know," Jack tossed the papers back onto the desk.
Devlin nodded.
"She knew this. It's the reason she released both him and me without a qualm. She needs this prophecy to be fulfilled."
"The child." Devlin replied, turning away from Jack. He stared blankly out his window to the skyline buildings of downtown Los Angeles in the vicinity. "The unborn, nonexistent child."
"Why would she attempt to eliminate the very thing she needed?"
Devlin shrugged. Who could explain things anymore?
There were too many questions. and there were circumstances to consider.
Suddenly inspired, Devlin reached for the papers again. "If there is no child, the module cannot work."
"No." Jack pulled out his copy as well. "According to the prophecy, if there is no child, there is no hope. Line four states, 'These two will cross paths, and must entwine their lives to reverse the process of evil for only what they create can determine the future of this Woman and the world'. The module might work, but the child gives it solid power."
"So they must be together, they must love each other, and they must procreate." Devlin concluded ruefully.
Meeting the eyes of his friend, Jack nodded. "This could take another year or two alone to accomplish."
"It gives Irina time to build and perfect her module," Devlin added.
"In the meantime, this prophecy is something we have to keep SD-6 from knowing." He paused, thinking. "Her pregnancy is going to be a difficult thing to explain to Sloane. Should we pull Vaughn out of office and put him in field training, posing as a civilian? Weiss can handle the operations."
Sighing deeply, Devlin held out a hand for the proposal Jack had already prepared, but he hadn't looked at closely. "It's detailed in here?" he asked.
Jack nodded once, and flipped the proposal to the approval page. Devlin scribbled his name at the bottom, handed the folder back and didn't release them.
Catching his eye, Devlin spoke with sincerity and years of loyalty and friendship.
"I wish this didn't have to be this way."
Unable to respond, Jack briskly nodded and cleared his throat. He exited the office and called Sloane to report in. His life as a double continued while he placed the rest of his priorities in the carefully guarded shelter of his mind, to be examined later, when he was alone and it was late. and he could feel again.
{~}
She woke up groggy, emerging from a deep, sweet dream in which she floated upon light holding Vaughn's hand. She inhaled, reached out and stretched, groaning with the languid pleasure of it. Her leg extended between his, and Vaughn gripped her around the waist tighter, pulling her in closer.
She turned to him, tucked one hand beneath her cheek, and watched him. Feeling her presence, he peeked through one eye and saw her.
Cheeks slightly rosy, hair gloriously disheveled, and eyes bright, Sydney smiled. Vaughn returned the smile, leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose lightly. It was a new morning, and somehow, the world was still a hundred miles away from this space, this room, this moment.
And it all flooded back in a rush.
He jerked upright in bed, the linen falling from his chest, piling at his waist, and leaving Sydney to yank it up to cover herself.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Do you remember what's happened in the last few days?"
"Yes," her eyes darkened dangerously. "But you're alive. You're here. That's what matters."
"And we're in a CIA safehouse, with guards behind that wall, who are watching and waiting for us." Scrubbing one hand vigorously over his face and muffling a groan, Vaughn reached for his boxers and hopped out of bed. "We have to talk."
Hours later, Sydney was silent, the room was filled with tension thick enough to suffocate them, and Vaughn was confronted with a plethora of developments.
Across the table sat a stern-faced Jack, and an ill-looking Weiss. Papers were scattered, littering the table's surface like a fury of typeface and print. Identities, one after another, lay open and exposed in the light of the room. Pick, choose, this is who you are, they seemed to scream. We tell you who you are, and now, you're a civilian. a government-owned civilian.
Vaughn's head was spinning with new information, his mind reeling backwards from his roller-coaster occupation, and the events preceding this meeting.
This wasn't your typical briefing. There were no tidy black folders with laminated charts, graphs, and photographs. There were no hole-punched, neatly typed objective layouts, detailed mission instructions violated with hand-written notes and bold highlighters. Instead, there were stapled 5- cent copies of a rough mission objective in Jack's precise scrawl. There were proposals, details and rough guidelines typed hurriedly with typographical spelling errors and minor grammatical mistakes.
The plan was simple but deadly and dangerous. It altered everything they knew and changed the very essence of their original missions.
All for a single prophecy and one man.
Vaughn would be completely remade into someone else. "Deep-cover, long term operations" were the key words on the sheet before him. He would live, breathe, eat, sleep, and be an entirely different person. His name would be changed, his hair color manipulated, and he would wear cosmetic color contacts daily. He only had to choose any one of the passports, complete with social security number cards and birth certificates that were before him.
Eying his choices, he noticed he would also be changing ethnicities. He sighed deeply and flipped through the pile, tossing them into two different piles: ones he would consider, and those that were out of the question.
Names, histories, lives, occupations - he would have to relearn everything, be strictly ingrained in the story of this made up character and conform himself to it. As a child, it would be like playing pretend. Now, it was a burden to pretend.
"I don't know," Vaughn looked up.
Between clenched teeth, Jack said, "Pick one. If you can't decide, I'll made the decision for you."
Sydney watched her father. He was tired, she knew. Beaten and worn from lack of sleep and worry. His eyes were red-rimmed and she had caught him stifling a yawn once or twice.
"Here," Vaughn tossed the identity papers and description at him. "Mr. Anthony Luther, 29-year-old international financial banker for the United Bank of China."
"No," Sydney objected. "I won't date a banker. Plus, you don't want a profession too close to mine."
Vaughn tossed it aside and read the next identity below that one. "Mr. Nicholas Varanelli, 30-year-old high school english teacher at Martin Luther King High School."
He looked up and caught Jack's eye. "I really have to teach?"
"Only four classes during the day, morning until noon, and the entire time, someone else will be taking care of what material you will lecture on, what you'll test on, and will correct the papers and exams. You'll simply be the figure they assume is their teacher, but you will simply be a stand- in."
"Will I have access to the mission at all times?"
"Yes, you will wear a pager and carry a cell phone. Your computer will constantly be online, ready to receive any intel we get. Your teacher's aide will be agent Matthew Chavez and he will keep surveillance over the computer and other technicalities. If, at any time, you must leave on a mission, Agent Chavez will replace you as a 'substitute teacher'." Jack paused. "This is a long-term, deep-cover mission. Your life depends on the success of this plan, as does Sydney's. Your story is simple: You meet Sydney in a class you both are enrolled in at the university. You are both in graduate studies, and find you have lots in common during the class and multiple class projects and study sessions in which you choose to work together."
Jack went on.
"As time passes, Sydney will interject your name, Nicholas Varanelli, in casual conversation, thus making you known and suspect to surveillance by SD-6. Vaughn, you will change residences permanently, you will be given an entirely new history, background, and so forth. All records will be manipulated to allow for this, and you will play Sydney's love interest. Any questions?"
"Just one." Sydney sat up. "Why the sudden changes? Why are we completely deviating from the original plan? Why not just get into Irina's lair and bust this module and be done with it?"
Sighing heavily, Jack told them of the second prophecy, carefully detailing the circumstances of it, and pulling out the copy of the sketch.
Speechless and overcome, Vaughn, Sydney, and Weiss all sat motionless, staring at the paper that sat amidst them. The lone thought that ran through all their minds was one of distinct trepidation. A child, The Redeemer to come, bourn of Sydney and Vaughn and yet to come.
{~}
Two months later, Sydney collapsed onto the toilet seat in her bathroom. A green plus sign greeted her cheerily as she stared at the indicator.
Pregnant.
Tears welled up, spilled and cascaded as she wrapped her arms around her stomach and cried for her child and its fate.
[STORAGE ROOM SECRETS CONCLUDED. LOOK FOR THE SEQUEL COMING SOON! - THINK OF STORAGE ROOM SECRETS AS PART ONE OKAY? MORE TO COME! THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.]