A huge "muchas gracias" to everyone who has commented! We appreciate it. But if you want to see more in the next few days . . . you know what you need to do. g And trust me, you want to see the next part. eg
Thanks as always to our betas! For disclaimers, etc., see the A/N at the beginning.
~~~~~~~~
"You don't mean--?"
"I'm going to kill him!"
"Sark?!?"
Jack looked at the three agents and nodded. "Yes, it appears that Mr. Sark is our abductor and murderer. Further analysis confirmed our suspicions."
"Is that the end of the tape?" Vaughn asked as the tape remained silent.
"Well," Jack began, before another click could be heard. He reached for the stop button, but Sydney pushed his hand away.
"Hey, Parker! Whatcha doin', sleeping on the job?" a lilting voice asked on the tape. Weiss and Vaughn gasped.
Zoe.
"Anyway, I just came back because I left my car keys in here on the table . . . Parker? Parker?" The voice was frantic now. "Parker! Wake up! What's wrong with you? Where's Johansson?"
The sound of something falling could be heard. "Analysis indicates Pierson--Zoe--tried to resuscitate Parker," Jack said, continuing his role of narrator of this nightmare.
"Come on, Parker, come on!" Zoe urged. "One, two, three . . . " a rush of air was heard. "Parker, you are not going to die on me! Come on, one, two, three . . . ." Another rush of air.
"Oh, God, Parker, who did this to you?" she said sadly. "What kind of monster found his way here after I left--? Oh, God," Zoe gasped.
Weiss cringed.
"Are they still here?" she whispered in the stillness.
Click.
Jack stared at Weiss, trying to gauge his emotional stability. "There's more," he said slowly. "But since it's not pertinent to the investigation, I think we should move on to the intel I have received. Apparently Sark--"
"What do you mean, there's more?" Weiss asked angrily. "Do you have her whole damn murder on tape?"
"Eric, I really don't think you want to know the answer to that question," Vaughn interjected as he released his hold of Sydney's hand and stood in front of his friend.
"Dammit, yes, I do!" Weiss screamed. "It's sick, I know, but I have to know. My imagination's been killing me the last few hours, how he did it. Please," he turned to Jack, "just get it over with. Finish the tape."
Jack surveyed the scene before him, unsure of himself for the first time since he got pulled out of bed in the middle of the night. He finally turned to Sydney, whose eyes shone with tears. She looked at him and nodded.
"All right," he said gruffly. He moved in front of the machine, his finger poised over the fast forward button, hoping to go past the worst part.
"I said play the damn tape," Weiss said as he shoved Jack's hand away from the machine. He pushed play and Jack moved to sit down where Vaughn had sat minutes earlier beside Sydney. Vaughn stood next to Weiss, prepared to catch him if he passed out from whatever was still on the tape.
Ten minutes later, Vaughn was praying that the tape would run out, that the microphone would go dead--anything. Anything but more of this gruesome tale.
Jack glanced at Weiss, concerned for the young agent. He knew what it was like to lose the woman you loved, to have her ripped away from you. But at least this woman wasn't a traitor, he mentally retorted. But did that matter when the police showed up at your doorstep? Weren't you still dying on the inside at her funeral, even when you knew who she was? he mentally argued.
Jack let out a deep breath he didn't even know he was holding. This isn't about you, this is about Tippin. And Weiss. And Pierson. Not you. Jack turned his attention back to the tape recorder, the wheels of the cassette slowly turning.
Or is this about you too? he wondered.
Jack tuned back in as the drama slowly unfolded.
"No, please, not a needle," Zoe begged.
"She's terrified of needles," Weiss cried out in the warehouse. The tears that had been building began to fall. "Oh, Zoe . . . ."
"No, please don't, no, no," Zoe trailed off, then let out a blood-curdling scream as several men laughed.
A scuffle could be heard in the background, then Sark yelled, "Let her go. She won't go far."
This time, the tape clicked off on its own.
********
He had wanted to listen to the tape.
Insisted on it.
Now he wished he'd taken Jack's advice.
Because now he felt like purging himself of anything that might be left in his stomach from last night's quick run for a burger and fries. Now he realized that it was better not to know exactly what had transpired in the safe house before he got there. Now he realized that ignorance could be bliss.
Instead he had the truth. The miserable, painful truth.
And it was killing him.
The other occupants of the warehouse were not faring much better than him. Vaughn had more wrinkles in his forehead than Weiss had ever seen before, even on the most stressful days as Sydney's handler. At some point while they were listening to the tape, Sydney had unconsciously grabbed Jack's hand and was now clutching it as if it were a life preserver that would bring her back to shore. Jack stared straight ahead, his eyes devoid of emotion, yet gripping his daughter's hand for the first time in God-knows how long. His eyes blinked, betraying his emotions for a second, and Weiss understood. That could have been Sydney.
The four CIA agents sat silently in the warehouse, each lost in thought, for several minutes when suddenly the door to the warehouse clicked. Jack cleared his throat and turned to face them. "I suggest you pull yourselves together," Jack advised. "We have company."
"Good morning, Jack," Devlin said as he walked into the interior of the warehouse with Davenport. "Ah. Vaughn, Weiss, Bristow," he nodded. "Thank you for meeting here on such short notice."
"I didn't know there was a meeting," Weiss muttered to Vaughn, who nodded slightly in agreement.
"Has everyone listened to the tape, Jack?" Davenport asked.
"We reviewed the pertinent parts," was his cryptic response. Jack never made anything easy.
"Our intel indicates that Sark and his team boarded a private plane at LAX bound for Newark. We suspect they will try to leave the country from there."
"Did they have Will?" Sydney asked anxiously.
"It's hard to tell. It was a group of men, although there was one who seems to match Will's description," Devlin answered.
"Before we continue, you need to know that what is discussed here does not leave this warehouse. No one else at the agency can know about this," Davenport said gravely. "We obviously have a mole; otherwise the safe house would not have been compromised. For your safety and for the safety of the agency, we have to keep this quiet. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Vaughn and Sydney answered in unison. Weiss just nodded, afraid that his voice would crack if he attempted speech. Jack apparently was so invincible he did not need to voice his agreement; Davenport merely continued.
"We have arranged for all four of you to fly to Newark on a search and rescue mission," Davenport continued. "From Newark you will be escorted to a safe house and informed of any new intel we have on their whereabouts. You will all have new passports to take with you, should you need to travel overseas."
"Where are the passports?" Jack asked.
"We're still finishing them up," Devlin answered. "Someone will need to come pick them up in an hour or so. We have created a new alias for each of you, so Sark and his team will be unable to track you using any of your other aliases. Any questions?"
"What color do I have to dye my hair this time?" Sydney asked quietly. To most, it would have been more of a joke than a question; unfortunately, in her world of espionage it was crucial.
"No hair dye this time, Agent Bristow," Davenport said crisply.
"Good."
"Will we be traveling together or separately?" Jack asked.
"For now, you're all on the same flight but sitting in different sections. I was able to get two seats together, so I took the liberty of booking them for you, Jack, and Sydney. I thought that was wise," Devlin replied, Jack nodding his assent.
"When does the flight leave?" Vaughn wanted to know.
"Not until two o'clock. It was the best we could do on such short notice," Devlin apologized. "But it is a direct flight, so you should be there by seven."
"Which is eleven Eastern time," Weiss muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Sark's not gonna hang around waiting for us to catch up."
"As I said, it's the best we can do. Sark potentially has a twelve hour lead on us already; waiting a few more hours for a plane will not destroy us," Devlin pointed out. "Besides, there are some loose ends that must be tied up before you leave. Jack, have you given any thought to what you're going to tell Sloane?"
"I have an idea," Jack said, still holding Sydney's hand. "But it's a collaborative effort."
"What is it, Dad?" Sydney asked.
Jack looked at her. She nodded.
"I'm going to use Sloane's . . . 'concern' . . . against him," Jack stated matter-of-factly. "It appears that a certain high-ranking SD-6 agent and his rising talent daughter need to get away from it all."
Sydney blinked. It was so simple, especially coming from Jack Bristow's twisted mind. But that, she realized, was the brilliance behind the plan. No one at SD-6 would suspect otherwise.
Especially Arvin Sloane.
********
"Do you need anything, Emily?"
Emily looked up, seeing her husband standing in the doorway. Flashing him a weak, but happy, smile, she shook her head. "No. I think I can manage putting a few things back into a bag. Do you want to see if you can find Dr. Levin so I can get out of here?"
Sloane smiled at his wife. "Certainly. You're sure you don't need any help?"
"Arvin, stop hovering." Emily let her head drop. She hadn't meant to snap at him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"I know," he replied quietly. "But you're sure you don't need some help? It probably isn't wise to overdo it."
"I'm not completely incapacitated, you know. And I don't think this," she indicated the clothes she was putting in her overnight case, "would qualify as 'over-doing it'. Now go find the doctor so I can go home."
Sloane nodded and turned to leave, surprised when the door opened into him. He took a step back as the door pushed against him and was shocked when he saw the man who was now standing before him.
"Arvin."
"Gabriel," Sloane stated as he reached out to shake his hand.
Gabriel Trudeau grasped Sloane's hand, before turning to Emily. "Emily. I heard the great news. When do you get to go home?"
"As soon as Arvin leaves me long enough to go find the doctor."
Trudeau looked guilty. "Well, his searching for your doctor might have to wait a moment, I'm afraid. I need to speak with him."
Emily smiled. "Just don't keep him long. I want to get out of here," she replied eagerly.
"I promise. Arvin, shall we?" he asked as he waited for Sloane to precede him from the room.
Arvin walked over to his wife's bed. Leaning over slightly, he gently kissed her. "I'll be back in a few minutes. If you need anything..."
"Arvin..."
Sloane placed his fingers over her lips, silencing her. "If you need anything, please call for a nurse. Promise me, Emily."
"Will it get me out of here sooner?" she asked playfully.
"Yes."
"Then I promise. If I need any help, I'll ask for it. Now go."
Sloane relented and finally followed Trudeau silently from the room. Walking down the hall, he wasn't surprised to find he was being led to the conference room.
He waited only until Trudeau had taken a seat before he asked the question that had been bothering him from the moment the door had hit him as it abruptly opened. "What is this about, Gabriel?"
"I'm sorry to come here with this news, Arvin. Alain would have preferred to do this himself, but he was unavoidably detained in Lisbon."
Sloane shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What news?"
"As you might have guessed, we've been informed of the change in Emily's condition. Unfortunately, this changes things."
"Changes what?"
"Arvin, please. Understand that we know what Emily's remission means to you both. But she still has knowledge of SD-6. The agreement was that the Alliance would allow Emily to live for whatever time remained before the cancer took her life. With her cancer entering remission, we can't allow her to live."
"And if I refuse to let you kill her?"
"I think you know the futility of that position. As it stands, the other members of the Alliance have agreed to give you one week to decide what you wish to do. To decide where your allegiance lies."
"One week to decide something that you have already decided? My, how generous of you," Sloane replied sarcastically.
"Arvin, you know the rules. You followed them when Agent Bristow made the mistake of telling her fiancé. Your wife is no different."
"She is my wife. And that does make a difference," he argued.
"It is of no concern of ours. You know what you must do. You have one week," Trudeau stated as he stood to leave. Reaching the door he turned back to look at Sloane. "Don't disappoint us."
Sloane watched Trudeau leave. He hadn't been totally surprised by an Alliance member's arrival, but he wished it hadn't been so soon. He got up from the chair, feeling suddenly tired. Turning off the lights as he exited the room, he went in search of Dr. Levin.
********
Vaughn closed his front door and leaned against it. What a morning. He felt like a lifetime had passed since he had crawled out of bed to answer Weiss's middle of the night call.
He hadn't wanted to leave Eric alone, but they needed to split up to get everything accomplished before their plane took off. After dropping him off at Zoe's to pick up his car, Vaughn drove home, the sunlight hurting his eyes as he walked up the stairs to his apartment.
Stuffing his keys in his pocket, he walked to the bedroom and opened the closet door. He grabbed a handful of clothes and tossed them on the bed. He was returning to the closet when the phone rang.
There were two calls he was expecting. And as much as he needed to talk to Jack Bristow to set their plan in motion, he was hoping it was the other call.
"Hello?" Vaughn grabbed the receiver as he pulled his suitcase out of the closet.
"Well, it was nice to hear your voice on my answering machine for a change," a woman retorted on the other end of the line.
Vaughn broke out into a smile. "Hey, Mom. Thanks for calling me back so soon," he said. "Where were you?"
"Can't a grown woman have a life?" Marie Vaughn teased, then relented. "Mass, of course. Don't you remember what day of the week it is anymore, Michael?"
"Oh, that's right, it's still Sunday," Vaughn muttered to himself.
"Still Sunday? Has it been that bad already?" she asked, amused.
"You don't even want to know. Look, Mom, can I ask you something?" Vaughn said, returning to the reason for the call.
"As in, 'can I beg for a favor?'"
"Um, yeah," Vaughn admitted. "I've gotta leave in a few hours on a business trip. Could you keep your favorite grandchild at your place for a few days?" He unzipped the suitcase and peered inside. That's where my lucky shirt is!
"Stop referring to Donovan as my favorite grandchild," Marie chided. "He is a dog, not a human being. I'm still waiting on those real, human grandchildren, you know."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, wishing he hadn't brought up such a sore spot between them. And here comes the lecture . . . .
"I don't understand why you can't meet a nice lady. It's not like you live in the middle of nowhere, dear. After all, I'm not getting any younger, and I want to be able to enjoy my grandchildren."
"I know, Mom, I know," he said, grabbing socks and throwing them into the suitcase. "But for now, can you watch Donovan for a few days?"
Marie sighed. "I suppose," she said finally. "Where are you going?"
"New York. Just some routine business," he lied.
"Okay, but be careful. I don't want you to get hurt because of your job," she said as a worried tone entered her voice.
"Mom, don't worry. I'll be fine," Vaughn insisted, hoping he was telling the truth.
"All right," Marie acquiesced. "There is at least one good thing about this trip though."
"What?"
"Maybe you'll meet someone."
********