Chapter Five: Making His Own Game Plan

Jack Bristow slid into the front seat of his car, switching on the listening device. Little Jack Vaughn didn't know it, but a bug had just been dropped into the front pocket of his shirt. Should he find it, he would think it was merely a pen cap; actually, it was capable of picking up any human voice in any room he should enter. Jack knew he couldn't expect to retrieve too much information with the bug. For all he knew, little Jack would change out of his school clothes as soon as he got home and the device would lie abandoned on the laundry room floor. What he hoped, though, was that the boy would keep it on until it was time for him to go to bed, and that he'd spend at least some time that evening in the same room with his parents.

He knew planting the device had been a rather risky measure, but he didn't feel as if he had a choice. He was just hoping to gain some insight into what, precisely, his daughter was doing at the Organization before he decided on his next step. Learning the other team's plays before making his own game plan, if you will.

He started the car and began driving, searching for a deserted road where he could sit and listen all night, if need be, without attracting attention. As he drove, he kept an ear on the noise his listening device was picking up. Nothing spectacular. Little Jack talking to his nanny and his little sister.

"I got sent to the office today," the boy announced. "Mom and Dad have to sign a note. Dad's going to kill me."

Jack smiled as he found a suitable place to park, listening to his grandson describe the prank he had pulled that had gotten him in trouble. The kid sounded like a piece of work.

Entertaining though it was listening to the grandchildren he'd never met tell stories, after awhile he became a little bored. He had been sitting there for more than two hours before he heard a voice that made his ears perk up.

Sydney's.

She entered the living room, or whatever room Jack and Emily were playing in, chatting with the nanny.

"We plan to be gone five days," she was saying.

"It's just such short notice, Mrs. Vaughn," the nanny responded.

"I understand that, Mrs. Simmons, and I apologize." Jack closed his eyes and tried to picture his daughter as she looked right then. He had seen photographs, and he knew she dressed more expensively now, that she was looking-- well, more like her mother each day. The thought didn't make him happy, but he had seen so much of Irina in her even before. "But Michael and I really do need to get away, and you'll be well compensated for your time."

"Oh, I know I will be, Mrs. Vaughn, I just--"

"You and Dad are going on a vacation, Mom?" Jack cut in.

"Yes, darling," Sydney said. "I understand if you need time to think it over, Mrs. Simmons--"

"Can I come?" Jack interrupted.

"No, sweetie, you have school," Sydney told him. "Mrs. Simmons--"

"That's no fair!" Jack Bristow smiled, imagining Sydney's irritation. "You and Dad get to miss work."

"Jack, I promise we'll take you and Emily somewhere this summer, okay?"

"Fine," little Jack grumbled. His grandfather could picture him folding his arms in front of him and pouting. It was what Sydney had always done when she didn't get her way.

"Mrs. Simmons, please think about it," Sydney continued. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know your decision soon. If you can't stay, perhaps my mother can."

Jack winced at the idea of Irina alone with the children. Surely the thought must have disturbed Sydney as well.

"I'll call and let you know tomorrow, Mrs. Vaughn."

"Thank you. I trust Mrs. Patterson was here earlier?" Who was Mrs. Patterson?

"Yes, ma'am. She left dinner warming in the oven." Ah. The housekeeper or cook, apparently.

"Good. And has my husband called?"

"No, ma'am."

"Oh."

Jack frowned. There was disappointment in his daughter's voice, laced with-- what? Worry? Regret? Both?

"Didn't you two drive to work together this morning?" Mrs. Simmons asked.

"Yes, but he had late meetings, so I left him the car and had my mother's driver bring me home." Sydney's voice grew quiet, and Jack's frown deepened. What was going on between Sydney and Michael? He wondered precisely what her reaction had been when Irina had named her as her successor. He had asked his contact, but to no avail: "You know Mrs. Vaughn would never let me attend such an important meeting." He could have done without the sarcastic tone, but what were you going to do?

He heard Sydney dismiss Mrs. Simmons and turn her attention to her son. "How was school today, Jack?"

"I got in trouble. You or Dad have to sign a note."

"Jack! What did you do?"

Jack Bristow rubbed his temples in frustration. Again, this was amusing, but getting him nowhere.

But still he waited. Waited while Sydney called the office to see where Michael was: "Is my husband still in? No? No, he's not answering his cell. Yes, will you tell him to call his wife if you see him?" Waited while Sydney and the children had dinner. Waited while Sydney left the room to draw Emily's bath, leaving him with the sound of whatever horrible sitcom little Jack was watching. He panicked a little then-- what if Jack took a bath, too? Would the listening device be relegated to some clothes hamper? Damn it, he hadn't even heard so much as the word "Organization" in all of his hours of listening.

But he didn't have to worry. Precisely as Sydney brought Emily downstairs, Michael came home.

"Daddy!" the little girl cried. Jack picked up the picture of the family coming home the night before. If little Jack looked just like his father, Emily was her mother.

"Hey, princess." Jack smiled, picturing Michael sweeping the little girl into his arms. "How's daddy's little girl?"

"You usually call if you're going to be so late, Michael." Sydney. Quiet, sad, accusing.

"I know." Michael's voice, not so different. "I'm sorry."

A long silence between the two. Jack only wished he could hear the volumes their eyes must have been speaking to each other.

Finally Michael broke the silence, his voice so low it was barely audible. "So I guess congratulations are in order."

"Michael--"

"Why, Dad?" Little Jack. Of course.

"Your mother didn't tell you?" Jack could picture Michael staring at his wife even while addressing his son. "She's taking over the Organization. Your grandma's retiring."

"Wow, really, Mom?" Jack winced at the excitement in the boy's voice. He instinctively suspected that Michael wanted to do the same thing. "That's great."

"Thank you, darling." Jack hated the tone of his daughter's voice. Drained. Defeated.

"Daddy, will you help me with my puzzle?" Emily asked.

"Have your brother help you, sweetheart." Jack was sure the kids moved to another part of the room then, but luckily he could still pick up Michael and Sydney's voices.

"Michael, about this morning--"

"Don't apologize," Michael said. Such bitterness in his voice. Anger. "You think I'm being naïve about what our future holds. I get that. I got that last night."

"Yes," Sydney admitted. "But the way I threw it in your face this morning was cruel."

"It was," Michael agreed. His voice still held the same quietly contained anger. "But I guess I should be glad you're not humoring me anymore, huh?"

"Michael--"

"Sydney, please, let's not do this now. I'll just say something I'm going to regret."

Jack heard Sydney choke back a sob. "Michael, I love you."

Michael took his time answering. "I love you too, Sydney." The pain in his voice was almost a tangible thing. "I'm just not sure I know who you are anymore."

Jack was glad when Michael turned his attention to getting the children ready for bed. It meant the bug left the room, left Sydney.

It meant Jack didn't have to listen to his daughter cry.