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For disclaimers, etc. please see A/N at the front of the story.
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Jack Bristow's watch read 8:41 a.m. as he slowly put his car into park. Looking around one final time for a tail and finding none, he finally reached for his briefcase and exited the car.
Analysis of the cassette had taken far longer than he had anticipated, even with his standard browbeating. Three hours' work to get less than twenty minutes of audio analyzed. Jack sighed. With all the advances in technology, it seemed as if the technicians were still painstakingly slow with their work. If this hadn't been so urgent, he would have been tempted to have another brief section analyzed as well . . . but that was not meant to be. Jack would just have to see that Mr. Tippin was rescued so he could give him a lecture on the proper manner in which to treat Sydney.
Speaking of Sydney . . . . Jack noticed that Sydney's car was parked outside, as was Agent Vaughn's. He was impressed that Vaughn was keeping his word, probably breaking the news to Sydney right now.
Jack's jaw tightened. Or maybe . . . he pushed the thought aside. Surely, not when one of Sydney's closest friends was missing, they wouldn't . . . or would they? They're professionals, he reminded himself, even as he mentally recounted more than one instance where their behavior had been anything but. And the look on Vaughn's face a few hours earlier had been anything but professional after hearing Tippin's declaration of love. He grimaced and his stride lengthened as he soundlessly walked towards the entrance.
Walking through the door undetected was not a problem, nor was his short walk to the metal link fence. The sight that met his eyes, however, caused him to tighten his hands into fists so tight that he was certain he would be bleeding soon on the warehouse floor.
There was his daughter, in the arms of a man who was traveling up her upper body until they were face-to-face. "Thank you," was brokenly whispered from his lips as she wiped the tears from his face.
Jack's hand was millimeters from the chain link fence when he heard Weiss ask, "Mike, where do you keep the Kleenex in this joint?"
Jack blinked. Agent Weiss? What was he doing, enjoying the show? As Jack stared, he realized that it was Weiss who had been in his daughter's arms, not Agent Vaughn.
Pierson, he realized. She was comforting him about Pierson. Why did that make him feel such a sense of relief? He watched as Vaughn appeared from the shadows. "This is the best I've got," he said, indicating what appeared to be a napkin.
"You mean after all the stuff you two have been through here you don't even keep a box of Kleenex here?" Weiss asked, trying to make a joke. No one laughed.
To cover the awkward moment, Weiss stood and blew his nose--loudly--with the napkin that was offered. Jack focused his attention on the remaining two agents, engrossed in a conversation that he was unable to hear.
As Weiss blew his nose one last time for good measure, Sydney and Vaughn's voices hit a crescendo over the dull roar and traveled to Jack's ears.
"You want to pull in who?" Sydney practically screamed.
"You heard me the first time," Vaughn answered, trying to stay calm.
"What the hell are you thinking, bringing him into this? It will accomplish nothing. The only thing he'll do is try to keep us apart!" she retorted loudly as Weiss stopped and stared.
Realizing what she said, she backtracked. "I mean he'll try to keep us from working together. He'll have us in Barnett's office faster than you can say 'protocol.' Don't you see that?" she finished weakly.
Jack's heart slammed in his chest as he realized who they were referring to. Is it any surprise that she feels this way? You did this to her!
"He is an outstanding agent, one of the best the L.A. bureau has ever seen, and he will be a part of this search and rescue, Sydney." Vaughn's tone was firm, authoritative.
"Outstanding, huh?" she shot back.
"Yes," he answered her, staring into her eyes.
"Brilliant?"
"Yes."
Sydney smiled for a moment, and Jack could see that Vaughn relaxed. Hell, a blind person would have noticed the way Vaughn visibly relaxed. Watch out, he thought to himself, she's going for the kill now.
"Then why did this allegedly brilliant man bring a civilian into a deep-cover operation in the first place? If it weren't for my father and his damn judgment calls, Will would never have gotten into this mess!"
Funny. Part of him was dying on the inside, and yet another part was strangely proud. That was his girl, showing up the big boys. Jack shook his head. This was what a lifetime of lies did to you. They left you unable to have even one normal conversation with your daughter, to share one meal with her for the first time in years. They left you helpless as you watched your daughter rise above the ashes of her dead fiancé and join yet another agency you wished she had never heard of. But when did it all begin? When did the lies overshadow everything else?
"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." The verse, long dormant in the recesses of his brain from his childhood years in Sunday school, haunted him as he spent a year contemplating the shambles of his life. In Jack's opinion, the apostle couldn't have been more wrong if he tried. For it was only when Jack learned the truth of his . . . wife --he hated that term now--that the lies took over a man who had once been content in life.
Jack broke out of his reverie as the shouting escalated just a few feet away. If the intel is any indication, there will be plenty of time for this introspection later. Pushing thoughts of his past aside, he forcefully pushed the gate open and marched into the interior room. Sydney and Vaughn were still arguing, oblivious to his presence. At least Weiss had been trained in the importance of observation skills when working for the CIA; he noticed him instantly, and more importantly, tried to interrupt the duel as it continued in front of him.
"Mike, I really don't think this is a good time for this," he shouted over the din.
"Later, Eric," Vaughn bit back, running his fingers through his hair. "Syd, for the millionth time, could you just listen for ten damn seconds? It's going to happen, whether you like it or not."
"Like hell it is!" she roared, pushing a finger against his chest. Was it his imagination, or did Vaughn seem to twitch when she touched him? Jack wondered. His eyes narrowed. If that man so much as lays a hand on her . . . .
"Sydney, why don't we all sit down, relax for a minute, and then calmly discuss this?" Weiss pleaded.
"Weiss, I know you've had a rough night, but just stay the hell out of this, okay? You have no idea who you're talking about. This is a guy who can alternately kill a man with his bare hands and yet still have time to torment civilians like Will! He is not going anywhere near another man in my life!" Sydney spat out, the venom in her voice quieting the two agents before her.
"Speaking of the men in your life," Weiss muttered as Vaughn looked at him, a mixture of confusion and shock on his face. Weiss nodded his head in the direction of the gate, and Vaughn turned, his mouth dropping open. Sydney was oblivious to the scene before her, still muttering about the incompetence of the Central Intelligence Agency.
"Hello, Sydney," came a low, gravelly voice from the shadows. She turned around slowly, her surprised look mirroring Vaughn's.
As her mouth hung open, Jack stepped out of the shadows and merely smiled. "Daddy's home."
********
"Mind over matter, man, mind over matter!" he muttered to himself. "Mind over ma--aah, aah, achoo!" Will bellowed, stepping on a cat as he groped for the Kleenex box. "Central Intelligence Agency my ass," he said as he flopped back in his seat, a puff of cat hair irritating his already red eyes. "Only the U.S. government would put me on a plane filled with cats when I'm severely allergic. Damn government."
Will tried to read the time from the clock on the other side of the cabin, but it was no use. His allergic reaction was causing his eyes to swell and impair his vision. Reluctantly, he raised his left arm, complete with the lone black cat, to his face so he could read the time. Almost nine a.m. Wait a sec, he corrected himself, that's L.A. time. So it's . . . . Will stopped. How was he supposed to know what time zone he was in anyway? Think, Will, think. We're obviously not flying back over the U.S., because there's no way it has that much water. So that means we're over the Atlantic. And since the ocean is pretty wide . . . don't go there, Will, do NOT go there. You can make it. You are bigger and smarter than these damn cats, and you are not going to let them be the death of you. Even if they make you want to . . . Achoo! Achoo! ACHOO!!!
Did I finally hit that inner circle of hell for reporters who go too far? You know, I really should have paid attention that time Syd was explaining Dante--
"Mr. Tippin?" British Dude said, walking through the curtain that separated the cabin into two parts. "Is something wrong?"
Don't be sarcastic, don't be sarcastic. He's CIA, he's been trained in how to kill people like you. Remember what Jack did to you? And he's your best friend's father. "Um," Will began, trying to find the right words, "I have this little allergy to cats. I guess that's not in my file, huh?" He tried to laugh it off, but it turned into another sneeze instead.
"Well, we most certainly apologize," British Dude said smoothly as he eyed the cabin. "We are most fortunate, however, that one of our passengers is a physician. Have a seat, and I'll see if he can examine you."
Will was impressed when British Dude returned with a balding man who carried a black bag, just like doctors did on those old television shows he watched late at night when his dreams of Sydney got too vivid for comfort. "What seems to be the problem?" the doctor boomed as he pulled out his stethoscope.
"In a nutshell? I'm allergic to cats, and . . . ." he trailed off as he sneezed again, jerking his head towards the menagerie of cats in the cabin.
"Oh, no!" the doctor drawled. For the first time, Will noticed his slight southern accent. Strangely, in the midst of all of this craziness, he felt comforted by the older man with the wrinkled face; he reminded Will of his grandfather. "Young man, I have just the thing to give you. It's an antihistamine, so it should ease up your reaction to these cats, which, by the way, sir," he continued, turning to British Dude, "need to be removed from this part of the cabin to ensure that his breathing doesn't get affected at this altitude." British Dude nodded slightly, then turned to call for someone to remove the cats. What's he gonna do, throw them out the window? Will wondered. Never mind. I don't think I want to know.
"Don't you worry," the doctor said as he filled a syringe and wiped off Will's arm with rubbing alcohol. "This should take your mind off your allergies in no time at all."
********
"Dad!" Sydney blurted out. "What are you doing here?"
"Sydney, if you're memory is that troubled, maybe you should consider stepping down at the agency," Jack retorted. As she stared at him, he held up his briefcase. "Audio finally came back from Analysis."
"That's great," Vaughn said sincerely, hoping to deflect attention away from what had just transpired. "Did you uncover anything?"
"Eventually, yes," he answered in a short voice. Jack rested the briefcase on the table, shoving aside crumpled napkins and an open bottle of aspirin. He removed the tape player and placed a cassette in the slot.
"Well?" Sydney prompted.
Jack stared at her for an instant, then turned to face Weiss. "Agent Weiss, I heard about Pierson . . . Zoe. I'm sorry."
"Th-thank you," Weiss stuttered as Jack faced the briefcase once more. Did he just apologize? Weiss mouthed to Vaughn.
I think so, Vaughn mouthed back, a surprised expression on his face.
"After listening to all of Cassette 1 and the majority of Cassette 2, a disturbance was recorded which Agent Vaughn and I presumed was Mr. Tippin's abduction," Jack began. "However, the audio was not functioning properly at this stage, so I took the cassette to headquarters for further analysis. What we found was . . . disturbing. You may not want to hear parts of this," he said as he looked at both Sydney and Weiss.
"Who?" the two chorused.
Jack paused, weighing his words. "Both of you will find parts of this painful to listen to. I suggest you step outside when I ask."
The warehouse was silent for a few moments, then Jack spoke again. "To give everyone a frame of reference, the enhanced audio begins just before you left the safe house, Sydney."
"Oh," she answered in a hollow voice. Please don't let the "I love you" be on there, she pleaded silently.
Jack pushed play as the three remaining CIA agents leaned forwards, grasping for clues.
"You'll be safe here, I promise," Sydney heard herself say on the tape to Will. "And if you need anything, there are . . . agents watching behind the mirror." What a joke, she thought. "You'll be safe here."
The cassette made a noise, clicking off, then turned back on as Will's voice came through loud and clear. "Hey, guys. Is there a food situation? Is there any chance I can get something to eat? Like a burger or something? I'm easy."
Sydney smiled. It was just so . . . Will. He sounded fine, not like a man who was about to be . . . about to be . . . .
She jumped as the tape loudly clicked. "Analysis went ahead and enhanced this section of the tape, even though it was unnecessary," Jack growled as the theme from Jaws could be heard.
Vaughn winced. It sounded even worse at this volume, although it did cause Weiss to crack a smile for about two seconds when he realized what Will was doing.
The four CIA agents heard another clicking noise, followed by a rap on a door. "Oh, yeah. Thirty minutes or less," they heard Will say. The amplified audio then indicated a door opening, followed by a gun shot. Sydney gasped at the sound as Vaughn reached for her hand, Jack's eyes narrowing as he took in their intertwined fingers.
Jack abruptly hit the pause button on the tape player. "Sydney, Mr. Weiss. I suggest you leave the room. Now," he said in a commanding voice.
"Dad, you just let me hear what sounds like Will being shot. What could be worse than that?" Sydney questioned.
"Sydney, could you for once in your life just do as you are told? Walk away now; spare yourself some grief. And take Mr. Weiss with you."
Sydney looked back at Weiss, who shook his head. She faced her father once more and told him, "We're not going anywhere."
"Syd," Vaughn groaned as he reached with his free hand for the aspirin bottle, only to find it empty. "Damn," he muttered, noticing a few spilled capsules lying on the floor.
"Mr. Weiss, I urge you to reconsider," Jack said haltingly. He walked towards him, crushing the capsules with his shoes, and Vaughn cursed. "You don't know what is coming," Jack warned.
Realization was not long in coming. "I have to stay," he said softly. "I just have to."
Understanding that further argument was pointless, Jack reluctantly relented. "Thanks to the widespread microphones and the fact that the door separating the CIA agents from Mr. Tippin was open, we were able to recover a good deal of audio. Once again, if anyone needs to leave . . . ." he trailed off and pushed play.
" . . . or less." A gunshot. This time the tape continued. As the agents listened to a series of noises, Jack narrated. "Analysis believes that the perpetrator is dragging Will at this point through the safe house door." He paused, then continued. "In a moment, you will hear the perpetrator speak. I will wait until after you have heard the voice before telling you who Analysis suspects."
Vaughn, Weiss, and Sydney stared at each other, holding their breaths. This was it--this would determine who they were looking for.
Suddenly there was a tapping noise, as if someone was ensuring that the microphone still worked. Sick bastard, Vaughn thought. He wants us to know who he is.
The irony, the three agents would remember later, was not the voice that broke the silence, but the words he used, words that continued to haunt them. How had he known?
"Joey's Pizza."
********
Thousands of miles a way, a certain young reporter slumped in his seat as a calico cat walked across his face.
"Excellent work," a man with a British accent could be heard saying. "Your choice of accents was inspired."
"Well," a second man drawled, "it just goes to show how important research is!" The man laughed a cold, sinister laugh. "I couldn't believe how easily he bought it," he continued with a sneer, all traces of the Southern accent gone. "He really is a fool!"
"And he's in our possession now," the first man said, a hint of a smile coming through in his voice. He chuckled. "Let the games begin."
********