"I'm getting too old for blue hair," Will muttered as he opened the car
door.
Sydney walked around the car and patted his leather-covered back. "You look great. Francie would love to see you in that outfit."
Will winced, thinking of his earlier argument with his wife. The costumes, the weird wigs, were all a part of that other life she hated. "Actually, I think she'd use these chains to hang me with." He fingered the metal accessories as the walked through the throng of people surrounding the hot nightclub. The pounding music was making his teeth ache.
Sydney flashed a grin in his direction. "Those chains aren't big enough to get around your neck. You're safe."
"There are other parts from which a man can be hung," he answered as he studied the guards. He wrapped his arm around Syd and drew her close, trying to look like a man out with his girlfriend.
Sydney leaned into him, and he knew that she was doing the same thing he was--trying to decide which guard to approach. He saw her eyes rest on the one on the right, the same one he thought would be their best bet. That man had an air about him that spoke of an intelligence--a knowledge--that the others simply didn't have.
"I'm sorry that I showed up at your place," she whispered, even though the crowd and music would have drowned out a normal conversation. She wrapped her arm around him. It always amazed him how easily she could play the clingy ditzy girlfriend.
"I know," he told her, squeezing her elbow. "But you didn't have anywhere else to go." He leaned in, pretending to kiss her. He laid his forehead on hers. "I told Francie about Berlin."
She tensed up in his arms. "What?" She pulled away, looked around and remembered her cover and forced a grin on her lips. "Why?"
"Because she asked," he told her. "And I couldn't lie. It's strange. I never thought how hard it was for you to answer all my questions back then. How hard it is to admit all the truths you want to forget."
"Francie must be devastated." She laid her head on his shoulder. He knew tears were in her eyes. "My mother hurts everyone I love, even from the grave."
"It's not your fault," he told her as he wrapped his arms around her again. "We're going to get them back. Khasinau expects you to follow his orders; he wasn't expecting you to track him down."
Sydney nodded. "I'm just hoping he doesn't still have someone inside the CIA." The analysts all believed that Khasinau was weak, that this was a last ditch effort to get revenge. But, as he had learned in this business, there were always surprises.
He watched as her fist clenched. "We are going to get them back," she declared as she pulled away from him and started strutting towards the front of the line. She was using that walk, the one he used to think of as the NotSydney one. He'd been a part of her spying life almost a year before he realized that the sexy siren walk was as much a part of her as her relaxed stroll.
"I'm sorry, Miss--" The man on the right had his hand on Sydney's arm, and Will resisted the urge to hit him. She could take care of herself.
"I need to see Mr. D'Anglis," she said with a sexy grin. Even with that smile, she managed to sound like a princess talking to a peasant.
The man laughed. "I'm afraid that Mr. D'Anglis is too busy--"
Sydney took a step forward and pressed her body next to his. The smirk on his face said it was a ploy he was used to, but that knowing grin disappeared when she whispered, "Then maybe I should have asked to speak to Mr. Sark instead."
He nodded and turned to the other two guards. "I need to show these people in; I'll be right back." Will almost felt like laughing at the look of shock on the men's faces.
Two other guards started walking beside them as soon as they made their way through the door. The man from outside kept in front of them, whispering into his label mic the entire time. They worked there way through the moving mass of people. Will watched them and wondered if any of them knew the joy of staying home.
He shook his head at the thought, wondering when he had gotten to be so old. Then, he thought of playing with Johnny on the floor, making tractor noises while his son supplied the oinking of the pigs. Francie had been sitting on the couch, a book lying in her lap, smiling as she watched them. Yeah, he might be old, but staying home was a joy he was tired of giving up.
They walked into a room and the sound of the music became muted. Sark sat at the head of the table, and various men and women sat around him. Sark looked older, of course. Will didn't know why he hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't seen him since their last encounter; the day "The Man's" organization and SD-6 had fallen in one giant swoop. The Alliance had followed the next year.
Sark grinned when he saw them. "Leave us alone," he ordered. Sark's lackeys looked at one another, but stood up and followed orders. The smiling blonde-haired man, their old enemy, stood and walked over towards them. "As lovely as always," he said as he kissed Sydney's cheek.
He rubbed his forehead when he turned to look at Will. The scar was barely noticeable, but Will remembered watching the blood gush from that cut. "I never thanked you for this, did I, Mr. Tippin?"
Strolling around the table, he laughed. "I admit that I wasn't too pleased that night, but I admit that it makes my associates take me more seriously now. I guess I finally looked my age," he said as he sat down. "Please, have a seat."
"You know why we're here." Sydney's voice was ice cold.
Will sat down next to her and wondered it this was going to be easy or hard. They didn't have time for hard, and Sark probably knew that as well as they did. Taking a sip of wine, Sark smiled. "You never knew how to exchange pleasantries, did you? Just like your father that way. I would ask how Jack is doing, but I'm sure you don't know."
Sydney's hands clenched on the table. "Khasinau would have had to have had your help in order to pull this off."
Will almost groaned when he saw Sark's eyes sparkle. "Sydney, please. We all know that the CIA doesn't have the first inkling about Khasinau, that his actions blindsided them. As usual."
He held up a bottle that Will could tell was expensive by its looks alone. "Some wine?"
"No, thank you," Will answered for them both.
Sark topped his own glass. He picked it up and swirled the liquid in it around. He took a sip and then leaned back in his chair. "Yes, Sydney, the old man had to have my help. He doesn't have the power he used to."
"Why would you help him?" Will asked. It was a question that several officers at the CIA had asked. Sark had his own power in the underground world now. They doubted Khasinau had anything to give him that he would want.
"Old loyalty. To him some. To her mostly." He looked down at his wine and then took another sip.
"She's dead." Will looked over at Sydney. Her voice was rock hard, and her eyes were ice chips. She used to cry about it, but apparently the years had numbed any grief she used to feel.
"And you killed her," Sark said. "I remember. Don't you? The shock and the pride warring on her face as the blood poured out of her."
Sydney showed no reaction, and Will barely kept himself from shuddering. He had never forgotten; he doubted anyone in that room that day had or ever would. "So you just wanted to cause Sydney some pain?"
"Of course. I knew Khasinau's plan to make her betray this country would never work. I mean holding her family hostage was brilliant, but she's not one to sit back and not take action. Sydney follows her own path, and she's never worn the strings of a puppetmaster well. Telling him that you would get in touch after you got the documents confused him, made his footing unsure. Disappearing into that crowd was nothing short of brilliant," Sark answered with a grin.
He reached over and picked up a notepad and pen. As he wrote in his usual slow and methodical way, he said, "He never really understood you. Just as he never really understood her. He thought because she took him into her bed that he was important."
Tearing out the page, he tossed it across the table. Will looked down and saw a familiar neat writing. On the paper was an address. He looked up and saw Sark--or D'Anglis--or whatever he was going by these days--staring at them.
"My mother didn't consider people important," Sydney finally said. Her voice echoed with the dull throb of the music.
Sark grinned. "Oh, but she did. You were important. Even you father was. In different ways."
Sydney's knuckles were white, as were the corners of her lips. "No, we weren't."
"Ah, you keep trying to fit round pegs into square holes. You watched Jack's friendship with Will develop and you were jealous. I bet you've even watched him with your little boy and wondered why he gets from Jack what you never could."
Sark stood up. "See, Sydney, you keep expecting your parents to fit into your mold, but they don't. Jack is far more than you've ever gave him credit for, and your mother wasn't only evil."
Sydney stood up and started at him. He put his hand on her cheek. "Of course, having killed her, it must be easier to believe that she never cared, that she never loved you. Matricide must be hard to live with; even I've never committed that crime."
Will resisted the urge to tell him to shut up. Sark was willing to help, and they all knew that this was his price. He was getting his chance to hurt Sydney for what happened, and it was obvious that some of his taunts were hitting home.
"She would expect you and Jack to pay for what you did, but she never would have allowed Khasinau to hurt your father or you. Not really. Some mind games, some physical pain, but no permanent damage. Even in Berlin, she wouldn't let us kill any of you."
Will's stomach twisted at the mention of Berlin. It had been the first time that the CIA had managed to defeat "the man" soundly, so it should have been a mission that brought him a feeling of joy. However, the three of them had barely survived it with their sanity intact.
Sark looked at his watch. "I'm afraid that I'm busy, so if you don't mind, please leave."
Sydney and Will both stood up and turned. "Oh, by the way, Will, I must admit that I'm stunned you came all this way to see me."
Will looked at him without saying a word. "You do realize that without you watching her back, Sydney would not have succeeded that night, that you are just as much to blame as she is in her death?"
Will yanked out his cell phone as he rushed from the room.
*** End 5/?
Next: Francie talks to Grandpa Jack, makes some decisions, and meets Syd's husband.
Sydney walked around the car and patted his leather-covered back. "You look great. Francie would love to see you in that outfit."
Will winced, thinking of his earlier argument with his wife. The costumes, the weird wigs, were all a part of that other life she hated. "Actually, I think she'd use these chains to hang me with." He fingered the metal accessories as the walked through the throng of people surrounding the hot nightclub. The pounding music was making his teeth ache.
Sydney flashed a grin in his direction. "Those chains aren't big enough to get around your neck. You're safe."
"There are other parts from which a man can be hung," he answered as he studied the guards. He wrapped his arm around Syd and drew her close, trying to look like a man out with his girlfriend.
Sydney leaned into him, and he knew that she was doing the same thing he was--trying to decide which guard to approach. He saw her eyes rest on the one on the right, the same one he thought would be their best bet. That man had an air about him that spoke of an intelligence--a knowledge--that the others simply didn't have.
"I'm sorry that I showed up at your place," she whispered, even though the crowd and music would have drowned out a normal conversation. She wrapped her arm around him. It always amazed him how easily she could play the clingy ditzy girlfriend.
"I know," he told her, squeezing her elbow. "But you didn't have anywhere else to go." He leaned in, pretending to kiss her. He laid his forehead on hers. "I told Francie about Berlin."
She tensed up in his arms. "What?" She pulled away, looked around and remembered her cover and forced a grin on her lips. "Why?"
"Because she asked," he told her. "And I couldn't lie. It's strange. I never thought how hard it was for you to answer all my questions back then. How hard it is to admit all the truths you want to forget."
"Francie must be devastated." She laid her head on his shoulder. He knew tears were in her eyes. "My mother hurts everyone I love, even from the grave."
"It's not your fault," he told her as he wrapped his arms around her again. "We're going to get them back. Khasinau expects you to follow his orders; he wasn't expecting you to track him down."
Sydney nodded. "I'm just hoping he doesn't still have someone inside the CIA." The analysts all believed that Khasinau was weak, that this was a last ditch effort to get revenge. But, as he had learned in this business, there were always surprises.
He watched as her fist clenched. "We are going to get them back," she declared as she pulled away from him and started strutting towards the front of the line. She was using that walk, the one he used to think of as the NotSydney one. He'd been a part of her spying life almost a year before he realized that the sexy siren walk was as much a part of her as her relaxed stroll.
"I'm sorry, Miss--" The man on the right had his hand on Sydney's arm, and Will resisted the urge to hit him. She could take care of herself.
"I need to see Mr. D'Anglis," she said with a sexy grin. Even with that smile, she managed to sound like a princess talking to a peasant.
The man laughed. "I'm afraid that Mr. D'Anglis is too busy--"
Sydney took a step forward and pressed her body next to his. The smirk on his face said it was a ploy he was used to, but that knowing grin disappeared when she whispered, "Then maybe I should have asked to speak to Mr. Sark instead."
He nodded and turned to the other two guards. "I need to show these people in; I'll be right back." Will almost felt like laughing at the look of shock on the men's faces.
Two other guards started walking beside them as soon as they made their way through the door. The man from outside kept in front of them, whispering into his label mic the entire time. They worked there way through the moving mass of people. Will watched them and wondered if any of them knew the joy of staying home.
He shook his head at the thought, wondering when he had gotten to be so old. Then, he thought of playing with Johnny on the floor, making tractor noises while his son supplied the oinking of the pigs. Francie had been sitting on the couch, a book lying in her lap, smiling as she watched them. Yeah, he might be old, but staying home was a joy he was tired of giving up.
They walked into a room and the sound of the music became muted. Sark sat at the head of the table, and various men and women sat around him. Sark looked older, of course. Will didn't know why he hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't seen him since their last encounter; the day "The Man's" organization and SD-6 had fallen in one giant swoop. The Alliance had followed the next year.
Sark grinned when he saw them. "Leave us alone," he ordered. Sark's lackeys looked at one another, but stood up and followed orders. The smiling blonde-haired man, their old enemy, stood and walked over towards them. "As lovely as always," he said as he kissed Sydney's cheek.
He rubbed his forehead when he turned to look at Will. The scar was barely noticeable, but Will remembered watching the blood gush from that cut. "I never thanked you for this, did I, Mr. Tippin?"
Strolling around the table, he laughed. "I admit that I wasn't too pleased that night, but I admit that it makes my associates take me more seriously now. I guess I finally looked my age," he said as he sat down. "Please, have a seat."
"You know why we're here." Sydney's voice was ice cold.
Will sat down next to her and wondered it this was going to be easy or hard. They didn't have time for hard, and Sark probably knew that as well as they did. Taking a sip of wine, Sark smiled. "You never knew how to exchange pleasantries, did you? Just like your father that way. I would ask how Jack is doing, but I'm sure you don't know."
Sydney's hands clenched on the table. "Khasinau would have had to have had your help in order to pull this off."
Will almost groaned when he saw Sark's eyes sparkle. "Sydney, please. We all know that the CIA doesn't have the first inkling about Khasinau, that his actions blindsided them. As usual."
He held up a bottle that Will could tell was expensive by its looks alone. "Some wine?"
"No, thank you," Will answered for them both.
Sark topped his own glass. He picked it up and swirled the liquid in it around. He took a sip and then leaned back in his chair. "Yes, Sydney, the old man had to have my help. He doesn't have the power he used to."
"Why would you help him?" Will asked. It was a question that several officers at the CIA had asked. Sark had his own power in the underground world now. They doubted Khasinau had anything to give him that he would want.
"Old loyalty. To him some. To her mostly." He looked down at his wine and then took another sip.
"She's dead." Will looked over at Sydney. Her voice was rock hard, and her eyes were ice chips. She used to cry about it, but apparently the years had numbed any grief she used to feel.
"And you killed her," Sark said. "I remember. Don't you? The shock and the pride warring on her face as the blood poured out of her."
Sydney showed no reaction, and Will barely kept himself from shuddering. He had never forgotten; he doubted anyone in that room that day had or ever would. "So you just wanted to cause Sydney some pain?"
"Of course. I knew Khasinau's plan to make her betray this country would never work. I mean holding her family hostage was brilliant, but she's not one to sit back and not take action. Sydney follows her own path, and she's never worn the strings of a puppetmaster well. Telling him that you would get in touch after you got the documents confused him, made his footing unsure. Disappearing into that crowd was nothing short of brilliant," Sark answered with a grin.
He reached over and picked up a notepad and pen. As he wrote in his usual slow and methodical way, he said, "He never really understood you. Just as he never really understood her. He thought because she took him into her bed that he was important."
Tearing out the page, he tossed it across the table. Will looked down and saw a familiar neat writing. On the paper was an address. He looked up and saw Sark--or D'Anglis--or whatever he was going by these days--staring at them.
"My mother didn't consider people important," Sydney finally said. Her voice echoed with the dull throb of the music.
Sark grinned. "Oh, but she did. You were important. Even you father was. In different ways."
Sydney's knuckles were white, as were the corners of her lips. "No, we weren't."
"Ah, you keep trying to fit round pegs into square holes. You watched Jack's friendship with Will develop and you were jealous. I bet you've even watched him with your little boy and wondered why he gets from Jack what you never could."
Sark stood up. "See, Sydney, you keep expecting your parents to fit into your mold, but they don't. Jack is far more than you've ever gave him credit for, and your mother wasn't only evil."
Sydney stood up and started at him. He put his hand on her cheek. "Of course, having killed her, it must be easier to believe that she never cared, that she never loved you. Matricide must be hard to live with; even I've never committed that crime."
Will resisted the urge to tell him to shut up. Sark was willing to help, and they all knew that this was his price. He was getting his chance to hurt Sydney for what happened, and it was obvious that some of his taunts were hitting home.
"She would expect you and Jack to pay for what you did, but she never would have allowed Khasinau to hurt your father or you. Not really. Some mind games, some physical pain, but no permanent damage. Even in Berlin, she wouldn't let us kill any of you."
Will's stomach twisted at the mention of Berlin. It had been the first time that the CIA had managed to defeat "the man" soundly, so it should have been a mission that brought him a feeling of joy. However, the three of them had barely survived it with their sanity intact.
Sark looked at his watch. "I'm afraid that I'm busy, so if you don't mind, please leave."
Sydney and Will both stood up and turned. "Oh, by the way, Will, I must admit that I'm stunned you came all this way to see me."
Will looked at him without saying a word. "You do realize that without you watching her back, Sydney would not have succeeded that night, that you are just as much to blame as she is in her death?"
Will yanked out his cell phone as he rushed from the room.
*** End 5/?
Next: Francie talks to Grandpa Jack, makes some decisions, and meets Syd's husband.
