Title: "Recoil"
Author: Waterdancer aka AquarianLady
Email: jch114@hotmail.com
Website: none at this time.
Feedback: YES YES YES
Distribution: CD ALL DAY. Anyone else please ask.
Disclaimer: Anything Alias related (Vaughn, Devlin, SD-4,SD-6, Weiss, Donovan the dog) are all the property of ABC and Touchstone Pictures. It is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. Diana Rochelle is mine.
Summary: A woman from Vaughn's past comes back.
Rating: PG-13 for language, and light violence.
Classification: Action/Adventure, Drama, and a dash of Romance.
A/N: Thanks to Robin for the beta and the stalking. Thanks to Hill, Thorne, Diana, Amanda, Rach and others who quietly stalked me for this chapter. Again, thanks to Robin and Thorne, because if you guys hadn't sent security section after me, this would have NEVER gotten written.
***
Sydney walked into the entrance hall of the estate. Gray marble glowed in the soft light of the crystal chandeliers. Gold fixtures lined the walls, and priceless works of art were tastefully shown. Stiff-backed servants in perfectly pressed uniforms--carrying wine and hors d'oeuvres on silver platters--mingled among the guests. No matter how many times Sydney visited wealthy estates during operations, the ornate decorations and surroundings always blew her away.
"Nice estate," she muttered into her comm link.
Dixon chuckled on the other side of the room. "Looking at this place, I just realized that we aren't paid enough. Any sign of Rochelle, yet?"
"Not yet," she replied as her eyes scanned the crowd. Her father's warning played in her head. "Approach with caution."
"Acknowledged. I'm going to check the back hallways with the other team, and we'll meet back up front in ten minutes."
"Copy," she whispered back.
As she walked through the crowd, Sydney continued to look for Diana. There were both male and female guards milling around. "She has many different looks and speaks in different dialects, so you need to be ready for anything," the Vaughn in her memory reminded her. She leaned against a column. She plastered on her "ditzy cheerleader" smile and discreetly glanced around the room, noting the placement of every guard.
Eenie, Meanie, Minie, Mo. Sydney said to herself as she studied every guard. All of them were dressed in standard black-tie attire and looking at every guest in an intimidating manner. Sydney doubted the guards without necks were her, but she had seen stranger disguises. All of the women guards were of similar build. Which one was she? Where was she?
***
From across the room, hidden away by a large marble column, Diana studied a potential threat. The woman had a vague look on her face and her smile was bubbly, but Diana didn't trust that face. The moment she had seen the redhead, the hairs on the back of her neck had lifted.
A few inquiries had revealed that the woman was supposed to be Angelica Cateris, the spoiled daughter of some high-society Frenchman, and sometime art dealer. However, Diana was used to disguises. She had played so many roles in her life that she could smell those like herself. Angelica Cateris was not who she claimed to be.
Watching her, she had noticed her playing with her ear too much. An earpiece. Now, Diana needed to find out who this woman was, who she worked for, and who was on the other side of that comm link.
She glanced around the room but did not see anyone who made her instincts even whimper. He--or she--must be somewhere else looking for her. She might not know for sure where Angelica was from, or who she worked for, but Diana did know Angelica's assignment--her.
Pulling down on her black sheath dress, Diana took a deep breath and started strolling over to where her hunter--and her prey--waited.
***
Sydney looked at her watch; she only had five minutes before meeting Dixon. Dammit, I wonder if the intel was wrong. What if she's already left? She refused to think about the possibility that someone else had gotten to her first. Or what Vaughn would feel about her failing him.
"Usted sabe si usted realmente no quisiera que cualquier persona le notara, usted no debe jugar con su conexión del comm como eso." (You know if you really don't want anyone notice you, you shouldn't play with your comm link like that.)
Sydney spun around, and looked into a pair of startling green eyes. "No sé de lo que usted está hablando." (I don't know what you are talking about.)
Diana leaned closer and whispered, "Oh, but I think you do." Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
Sydney looked around nervously. There was no sign of the Dixon or the other SD-6 team, yet. "Vaugh—Michael sent me."
Diana's eyes widened in surprise. "Michael? How do you know Michael?"
"We work together," Sydney admitted.
Suspicion filled the narrow eyes studying her. "You're CIA."
Sydney looked around again. "Yes, I am," she whispered.
"No," Diana said as she shook her head. "You're too nervous about someone hearing you. I don't believe you."
"I do," Sydney said between gritted teeth. She didn't have time for this, even though she understood Diana's doubts. "It's just--" She glanced over her shoulder again and made a decision. One that could get her killed. She could only hope that Vaughn was right. "I'm a double agent in SD-6. I'm here tonight because they've been chosen by the Alliance to take care of you. Vaughn's my handler; he sent me to give you these instructions for extraction."
Before Sydney could pass her the envelope, one of the guards walked up and asked Diana if everything was okay. Smiling, Diana answered quickly in Spanish. When promoted by Diana, Sydney agreed that everything was okay. The man with no neck managed to nod his head somehow and walk away.
"Why should I believe you?" Diana demanded as she took the envelope and hid it away in secret pocket in her dress.
Sydney struggled to come up with something to make this woman believe. The only thing she could think about was Vaughn in that warehouse, showing her pictures and his concern. "Vaughn's father was CIA, killed in action when Vaughn was eight years old." Sydney knew that reciting straight facts--something they could read in a report--wouldn't help. "He was 'admonished' not to be conspicuously emotional at his father's funeral. When Vaughn worries, he runs his hand through his hair. His forehead wrinkles when he's concerned. And sometimes he seems to have these flashes of insight that are amazing."
"He still does that?"
Sydney saw some tension from Diana's shoulders, but she was certain that the other woman trusted her completely. "Yes, he does."
Diana opened the back of the walkie-talkie she was holding, and took out a computer disk. She studied the computer disk for several moments before she handed it to Sydney. " A lot of people died for this disk. Make sure that you get this back to the CIA."
Sydney heard Dixon speaking in her earpiece. "I will," she promised, understanding. "But you've got to go. They're coming."
Diana nodded and began to walk away. Sydney met with Dixon and asked if they had found her. She spotted Diana studying her from across the room, but neither Dixon nor the other team noticed her before she slipped from the room.
****
I can't believe it! I'm going home! Diana walked quickly through her crowd, careful not to bring attention to herself. She had noticed Diego leaving the party earlier, and that was a concern since she had no idea where he was. As long as I can make it out of here unnoticed, I should be fine.
As she reached her room, she took off her blonde wig and let her dark hair fall to her shoulders. Closing the door behind her, she walked over to her mirror and took out her contacts. When she looked up at the mirror again, her hazel eyes were blinking back at her. Grabbing her black pants and top from her bed, she quickly changed out of her dress, and placed the envelope in her bag. She slipped a small knife into a sheath in her wristband. Picking up her bag, she started to walk out the door.
"Diego!" she gasped as she opened the door, dropping her bag to the floor. He stood there with his gun trained at her head, but it was the grin on his face that made her want to shiver.
***
"Sydney, have you spotted Rochelle?" Dixon asked as he walked over to her.
They had continued to mill about the party looking for Diana. Sydney had suggested it in an effort to give Diana more time to escape. She looked up at him and replied, "No, there was no sign of her. Maybe she was learned of us coming, and she left."
Dixon looked through the crowd again. "Perhaps." He pressed on his earpiece. "Copy that."
"We've got her," he told to Sydney as he motioned to the other agents in the crowd and started to walk through the crowd.
"Dixon! Wait a minute." She ran to catch up with him. "What's going on?"
"There is an SD-6 informant here. He's the one that told us she was here in the first place. Now, he's managed to capture her in her room."
"Why wasn't I told about this?" No, No, No.
"I only found out myself a few minutes ago," he said quietly as he continued through the ballroom.
***
"Diego, what are you doing?" Diana asked as he pushed her back into her room and kicked the door shut behind him.
"Put your hands up," he replied as he picked up her bag.
Diana looked around the room, looking for a means of to escape. "Marta Diaz, hmm?" he taunted, never letting his aim waver.
"That's right. I'm Marta Diaz," she said as she held her hands up, "I just like to change my hair color every now and then. You know, it's a woman's prerogative." She smiled at the weak joke.
He looked her over with a satisfied look on his face. "When I first heard about Rio, I was surprised that you got away from SD-4."
A chill went through her body. How did he know about SD-4? "I—I don't know what you're talking about." She crossed her arms in front of her, laying each hand over her wrists. She began to carefully push her fingers underneath the wristband. I need to get out of here.
"I think you do, Diana. You are Diana Rochelle, right?" he asked, leering at her. She glared at him from her position near the bed. "No need to answer. I already know who you are," he continued. "SD-6 paid a pretty penny to get your exact location, and I was more than happy to oblige." He looked down at his watch and walked over to her. "They should be here momentarily; we should get comfortable."
"You son of a bitch," she mumbled. "They'll kill me."
"That's precisely the point, dear Diana," he responded, still leering at her. "You die, and I get paid for it. It's a win-lose situation. You lose, of course."
"Of course," she replied mockingly.
Diana studied his wrist. It was shaking with the weight of the gun as if he didn't know how to handle it or her. If I hit the right nerve in his wrist, he'll drop the gun.
She pulled the knife out slowly from her wristband. "Diego, if you let me go, I can pay you more. I work for the CIA. They'll pay you well for helping me escape." She had dealt with his type before. People who put monetary value on lives were very easy to manipulate, especially when offered more money.
"Please, Diego," she pleaded.
He walked over to her and ran his stubby hand across her collarbone. He smelled like bad liquor and sweat. She wanted to throw up. "I can think of plenty of ways that you can pay me," he said getting much closer than she anticipated. He cupped her breast and leaned in to kiss her.
She pulled out her knife and stabbed him in his arm. Dropping her knife to the floor, she hit him with a right hook. Warm blood splattered across her shirt. "Bitch!" he shouted as he fell to the floor, dropping his gun.
"Diego, dear Diego. You should've taken my offer--at least you'd still have use of your arm."
She bent over, picked up his gun, and aimed it at his head. "Do you realize that I could kill you and not feel any remorse?" She fired a shot, intentionally missing his head by an inch.
He started coughing, "You crazy bitch!" She closed her eyes and fired again, this time hitting him in the leg. She looked at him again and smiled. "Awh. You're still here, Diego."
"Tell you what?" She put the gun in her belt loop and bent down next to him. "I'll let you live, but you have to give your friends with SD-6 a message."
She picked up her knife and traced his jawbone. "Do we have an understanding?" He glared at her from his prone position. She pressed the knife harder into his jawbone, pricking his skin. He started to writhe from the pain.
"Let's try this again, Diego. Do we have an understanding?" He nodded profusely. "Good. It's a simple message really. Just tell them that I'll be waiting for them." She punched him again, knocking him unconscious. She searched him and found a set of keys. "Thanks, Diego," she mumbled.
She picked up her bag and walked over to the door quietly. Looking out both ways, she raced down the hallway towards the garage.