Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, blah, blah, blah! This has absolutely
nothing to do with the Leann Rimes song, "Life Goes On." Enjoy!
"Wait," Sydney held up her hand, stopping Sloane's explanation. "A mission with Sark? Another mission with Sark?"
Sloane raised an eyebrow; clearly amused that Sydney was so flustered. "Is that all right?" he asked.
"Oh, of course it's all right," she said sarcastically. "How the hell do you expect me to work with someone who I only trust as far as I can throw him?" she asked.
Sloane ignored her. "Prior to contrary belief, the CIA had assumed that due to the corrupted files on the Echelon disk, we wound be unable to access Echelon. We have located a small base in Lagos, Nigeria."
"Where?" Sydney looked confused.
"Nigeria."
"Oh."
"The base once belonged to Gerard Cuvee. You and Mr. Sark will infiltrate the base. He will be disguised as one of Cuvee's more wealthy contacts and you.will play his girlfriend."
Sydney's gum shot out of her mouth and stuck to the wall behind Sloane. He calmly took a Kleenex from his desk and pulled it off. "I draw the line at his girlfriend," said Sydney.
Sloane smiled. "His fiancée, perhaps?" he looked at her curiously.
She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "I thought so," he said when she didn't respond. She stood to leave and he handed her a folder. "Alias, ticket, passport," she nodded in response.
Oh God, she thought, Sark! She rounded the corner and came face to face with the, bloody son of a bitch himself, her mind finished for her.
"Agent Bristow," he said, eyeing the folder and nodding. "We leave tonight at 6:30. I'll pick you up. Where do you live?"
"In a box by the side of the road," she muttered.
"And the address of that box it?" he responded.
"Look, I'm not telling you where I live."
He held up a folder. She squinted to see what was written on the tab. It was her file.
"I'll meet you somewhere," she said quickly, not wanting to take the chance of Will being home.
"With your suitcase?" he asked, flipping her folder open. She watched as he scribbled her address down on a sheet of paper.
"See you tonight," he said with a smile. She gave him a dark look and turned and left.
***
"Syd!" Francie yelled through the closed door. "Some guy is here to pick you up!"
She shook her head and grabbed her bag.
"Bye," she hugged Francie. "Where are you off to again?"
"London," she hated lying to Francie. She followed Sark out the door.
"Be glad Will wasn't home," she said, tossing her suitcase into the trunk. There were two suitcases already in there. "How long are we going for? You look like you packed for a week!"
"We may be there a week," he began, "but one of those is yours. I took the liberty of providing suitable clothing for you on this trip."
"You picked out my clothes?" she shrieked as they got in the car. She regained her composure. "I pick out all my own clothes. I'll be wearing my stuff."
"I take it that you didn't look through the folder that Sloane gave you," he said as they drove.
"No, I didn't get a chance. Why?"
"Well, for the first bit, you come from a very upper-class family."
"Okay."
"And second, you're quiet and reserved."
Sydney snorted. "Yeah right. Like I'm ever going to stick to those rules."
Sark handed her his cell phone. "Call your precious handler and tell him to do some shopping for you." She gave him a weird look. "What?" he asked. "You refuse to wear the outfits that I selected for you, and you haven't even seen them yet. Maybe he can do better."
She shrugged. "Vaughn?" she asked when he answered.
"Syd?" he asked. You're not on your cell phone. I got a different number on my caller id."
"I know. Listen, I have an odd request." Sark snickered as they got on the highway. "I need you to call Francie and have her grab a couple of dresses from her and my closet and bring them to the airport."
Vaughn stayed silent on the other line.
"Vaughn?" she asked when she received no response.
"Dare I ask what this is for?" he asked, sounding amused.
"According to Sark, I'm supposed to be his rich, upper-class girlfriend."
Vaughn choked. "G-girlfriend?"
Sydney laughed. "Here's the best part. I'm supposed to be, and I quote, quiet and reserved."
"I never thought I'd see the day where Sydney Bristow couldn't complete a mission," he joked. "Only now, she can't complete it because she can't be quiet and reserved."
"I hate to break up your lovely conversation," said Sark, "but you're eating up my free night and weekend minutes."
Sydney looked at him and shook her head. "Vaughn, can you do me a favor? Please get Francie for me."
"Sure," he nodded on the other line.
"See you."
"Syd, be careful," warned Vaughn.
"My guardian angel," she smiled. "Always looking out for my best interests," she added before hanging up.
"I didn't imagine that you'd use my cell phone for a chat over tea," he commented sarcastically as she handed him his phone back.
"I'm not about to have my handler do my shopping," she argued. "I just hope that Francie can get there in time," she added.
They pulled into the airport-parking garage.
"Go ahead," said Sark. "Open the suitcase. See if you can find something that suits you."
She daringly opened it and saw clothes that she definitely wasn't used to: skirts of all things. She pulled out a long white skirt and a pale pink blouse and held them up. "Not bad," she commented.
"When we get inside, change clothes. Leave your hair the way it is, don't put on a wig or anything," he said.
She nodded and grabbed one of the suitcases. He grabbed the other two.
She quickly changed clothes and fixed her hair a bit. "How are we flying?" she asked, sneaking up on him.
He jumped a little bit and she laughed. "My private jet, what else?" he asked with a smirk. He looked her over. "You look the part, now let's just see if you can act like it. I've got fifty bucks on that you can't."
"Deal. If I can pull this off for the whole time that we're in.wherever we're headed, some city in Nigeria, then you owe me fifty bucks."
"Lagos," he corrected her.
"Whatever," she said sarcastically.
"Oh, and by the way, your friend Francie found me, or rather I found her. The dresses are in your suitcase, he said, unzipping it so that she could set the clothes that she had changed out of into it.
They boarded the plane and she sat as far away from him as humanly possible, entertaining herself with a game of solitaire on her laptop and her CD player. She looked up occasionally and saw him staring at her, but thought nothing of it, really. He tapped her on the shoulder about two hours later.
"You may as well get into character," he said as she gave him a dirty look from interrupting her. He saw the look on her face and smirked, "I'm so terribly sorry to have interrupted your fascinating game," he said, looking at how she was about to lose on a game of Free Cell. "Put your nine of hearts there," he pointed to the screen. She gave him another dirty look and put her headphone back on, but took his advice and moved the card.
"How about a "Thank you, Sark?" That would be nice," he said. She leaned back to where he was leaning on the seat.
"Don't you have something to do, someone to assassinate, somewhere?" she asked, annoyed.
"Nah," he loved seeing her worked up over nothing. "I can't very well assassinate someone from up here. Sure, I could send out someone to do it, but it's just the thrill of being there when you." he trailed off, seeing the disgusted look on her face. He shrugged and headed back to his seat on the other end of the plane.
She decided to leaf through the folder that Sloane had given her. Ellyn Anderson, born and raised in London, she read to herself. Great, she thought, here comes the accent. Met Sark a year ago when he was on business in London, he brought her back to the US with him and she's lived here ever since, she continued reading until it hit her- what was she supposed to call him. She couldn't call him Sark, obviously, but still.it was kind of embarrassing. How was she supposed to do this, go up to him and ask, "So, what should I call you?" She almost laughed at the thought until she noticed that he was no longer sitting where he had been at the front of the plane.
She looked up and saw him standing behind her, leaning on the seat again, looking over her shoulder. "What do you want?" she asked, taking off her headphones again.
"I just find it amusing that you pick the hours before we land and execute this mission that you read the information that you were given this afternoon."
"You would," she retorted.
"I have a feeling that I know what you're thinking."
"Do you now? You read minds? Wow, a serial-killing fortune teller, I don't think that I've met one of those before," she said sarcastically.
He looked at her one eyebrow raised, clearly not amused. "You're so funny," he said sarcastically. Here we go again, he thought. Here comes the verbal battle. "You're wondering what to call me." Why don't we just reveal everything about us, huh? His mind said.
She looked at him a little funny, but then he saw a faint nod.
"Just call me by my real name, Andrew," he said.
Her mouth nearly dropped open. "Andrew?" she asked. The heartless monster who had tortured Will had a first name?
"It surprises you, doesn't it?" he asked.
She looked at him coldly and he smirked in response. "We will be landing within the hour. Be ready."
She went back to flipping through the folder. She saw her picture, digitally edited to make her hair seem lighter. The only thing that slightly depressed her was that she still looked like Sydney Bristow.
They landed and true to her word, she followed him silently off the plane. She tucked a piece of hair behind her hair as she uncertainly followed him toward the limo that was waiting for them.
They heard a faint ringing sound coming from one of their bags. Sydney dug through her small carry-on bag and retrieved her cell phone just as Sark found his.
"It's mine," she said and answered it. "Hello?"
"Hey," Vaughn's voice came over the other line.
"Hi!" she smiled. Vaughn always cheered her up.
"How bad is it so far?"
"I spent the plane ride sleeping, and then reading over the information that Sloane gave me."
"Sounds interesting," he said sarcastically.
"Oh, I agree."
"He hasn't done anything to you, has he?" Vaughn sounded worried.
"No, DAD," she smiled. Vaughn was genuinely worried about her and she liked it.
"Good," he smiled, relieved. "The Echelon software is hidden inside. Break away from Sark and Cuvee and hunt it down, and then replace the disks."
"Okay," she replied.
"Did you ever get the clothes from Francie?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"We're arriving," Sark said as the car slowed.
"Vaughn, I have to go," she said quickly. "We're here."
"Be careful," he warned.
"You told me this already." She smiled. "See you," she added and hung up.
"You ready?" asked Sark.
Sydney nodded and quietly allowed Sark to help her out of the car.
Sark and Sydney stood in front of Cuvee.
"Mr. Sark," he nodded, shaking his hand. "Who might this be?" he asked, looking at Sydney. Sark noticed a thought cross his face and he looked at her.
Sydney saw the same look and a thought of worry shot through her mind. Did he recognize her from Kashmir? Did he, she shuddered at the thought, involuntarily shivering, even though it was a perfectly warm night out, notice the resemblance between her and Irina Derevko?
"Ellyn Anderson," said Sark smoothly. He noticed her shiver and put his arm around her. "Are you cold, dear?" he asked.
She almost made a face at him, but remembered that Cuvee was watching their every move.
"No," she replied in her British accent, fighting off the urge to pull his arm from her shoulder (and maybe out of its socket) and wipe that smirk off his face. Or a fake smile, her mind added. She didn't know which one. "I'm fine," she replied.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet the girlfriend of Mr. Sark," said Cuvee.
She looked at the floor and smiled shyly as Cuvee took her hand and kissed it. She shivered involuntarily again and Sark pulled her tighter to him.
"It's a pleasure," she said quietly, her eyes still to the floor.
"Come along, Ellyn," Sark spoke to her like you would a small child. She nodded as he excused them and led her into the hotel.
She sank onto the- single bed to her horror, and stared out the glass sliding door leading to the balcony.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he offered, and she shook her head.
"You're leading the mission. You don't- or should I say, shouldn't have to sleep on the floor." She dug through her suitcase and pulled out another small bag. She pulled out an air mattress, a small one, but an air mattress nonetheless.
"Why didn't you tell me that you had brought an air mattress?"
She returned his smirky smile and said, "Of course I wouldn't tell you. I'd rather torture you with the thought of sleeping on the floor."
Here we go again, she thought. Another verbal argument.
Someone knocked on the door and they jumped. Sark stood and answered it. Sydney fell backwards against the pillows on the bed and started flipping channels.
"Mr. Cuvee wants to see you," she heard a man say to Sark.
"I'll be down in a minute. Is he here?"
"We will take you by car to Mr. Cuvee." Sark nodded.
"Ellyn," he said to Sydney who glanced up briefly. "I have to go see Mr. Cuvee and discuss some things." He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Stay here or else," then turned and left.
She sighed in response and as soon as he left, she jumped up and ran for her suitcase. She dug through and pulled out her black pants and shirt. She also grabbed her bulletproof vest, just in case and pulled her hair back into a ponytail after she searched the room for a camera. She didn't find one and quickly changed. She grabbed her backpack that she had hidden and grabbed her com-link.
"Vaughn," she gasped as she hooked the rope to the balcony and slid down the three stories to the ground, her feet helping by pushing down the brick wall.
She undid the rope and dashed behind a bush, hiding in the shadows. She saw Sark get into the car. There was a white truck sitting behind it. She waited for the car to pull away and lifted up the back door of the truck and climbed in.
She sat in the shadows, thinking until Vaughn's voice came clearly into her ear.
"Sydney?" he asked.
"Vaughn!" the truck came to a complete stop and she heard the power go off. She pulled the door back up and quickly took out the driver, who had come around to unload the truck.
She saw Sark get out of the car and ducked behind the truck. She threw another one of Marshall's exploding toys, this time disguised as a cell phone, layered with C-4 at the car and entered the pass-code on a keypad disguised as an automatic car opener on her key ring and detonated it. It exploded in flames as Sark and the guard dashed frantically toward the building, dodging the flaming remains shooting from where the car used to be.
She slipped a sweater over her black shirt, still hidden in the shadows and casually strolled into the building.
"Can I help you?" asked the girl sitting at the front desk. She had a bit of a French accent and Sydney decided to go on a whim and said, " Hi, I'm Christi." she paused, trying to come up with a last name, "Anderson," she finished lamely. So what if I'm uncreative today? She thought. "I'm here for the meeting about the." she paused again.
"Tax raises," said Vaughn.
"Tax raises," she said, continuing in French.
"Down the hall, to you left," the girl replied, also in French.
"Two points to Sydney Bristow," Vaughn said in her ear. She smiled. "My guardian angel, always protecting me."
She headed for the stairs and flew to the third floor.
"It's room 312," said Vaughn. "Dig through the black case in the corner."
Sydney flung open the door. "What case?" she scanned the room quickly.
"It's not there?"
"No," she replied. She started digging through the cabinet. "Found it!" she shuffled the bag and pulled out a disk. "Lecheno," she said to Vaughn.
"Is that a word?" asked Vaughn.
"Echelon!" she exclaimed, figuring out the code and putting the disk inside her backpack.
"What are you doing?" asked a guard when she exited the room and started walking back down the hallway.
"I was.looking for the bathroom," lied Sydney. She kept her eyes low and turned away. She whipped back around and threw a punch. She kicked and punched and finally, knocked the guard out. She bolted back to the stairs and ran into Sark.
He roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against a wall.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, yanking her into a nearby room.
"What do you think?" she asked coldly.
"I could turn you in to Cuvee, you know," he said just as coldly.
"No you couldn't. You need your precious girlfriend."
Sark grabbed her backpack from her and dug through it, pulling out her clothes from before that she had hastily stuffed in there. "Put these back on after I leave," he commanded. He continued searching through the backpack. He pulled out her black disk, the Echelon disk. He waved it in her face. "What might this be?" he asked with a smirk.
"I have no idea," she lied.
"Hmm," he fingered the disk. "Lehceno.34752." He shrugged and pocketed the disk. "Get changed. You're here because you got scared when the hotel owner walked in on you unexpectedly, all right?"
She nodded, hoping that he wouldn't figure out the code: Echelon. She quickly changed and hid her black clothing deep in the bag. She shook out her hair and opened the door. Sark was waiting for her.
"Let's go," he said. He led her up to where he and Cuvee were meeting. She quietly took a seat next to him.
"Miss Anderson," Cuvee nodded in approval.
"Sydney!" Vaughn hissed in her ear. He had been silent the entire time. "You have to get out of there! We just got word of a bomb set to go off in the building at 10:30 your time, tonight!"
Sydney's eyes widened as she heard this and she quickly excused herself for some fresh air and pulled out her cell phone.
"This is Mountaineer, I need to speak with Agent Kendall," she said, repeating her voice code and Kendall came on the line.
"Agent Bristow?" he asked.
"Kendall." she started.
"Agent Vaughn contacted you, I presume?"
"Yes, the bomb?"
"You need to leave now. Meet outside the hotel. Someone will be there to pull you out."
She headed down the street and got ready to flag a taxi, but remembered that.
"Kendall, Sark has the Echelon disk."
"Then get it back."
"How?"
"You're the trained field agent out there, Miss Bristow."
She turned to head back inside after hanging up with Kendall and saw Sark come flying out.
"Duck!" he yelled, pushing her into a nearby ditch just as the building exploded into flames.
Sydney rubbed her ankle. She had fallen on it when Sark had pushed her into the ditch.
"Are you okay?" he asked, gently moving her hair out of her face where she was bent over, moving the sock down her ankle where she could clearly see that it was already beginning to swell.
"Yeah, I'll survive," she tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to stand. She fell back into a heap on the ground. Sark offered her his hand, but she shook her head and tried standing again. She leaned against the dirt wall encasing them and gingerly put weight on her ankle, wincing as she did so.
"Sydney, you're not all right," Sark said, trying to get her to lean on him. "Give me your hand," he said.
She shook her head again, "Sark, I'm fine."
He dug through his small black bag that he had brought with and pulled out a rope. "I can climb out without this. It's not that high and I'm used to it. Tie the rope to your waist and I'll pull you out when I get up." She shook her head. "No. I can climb up by myself."
"You're acting like a stubborn two-year-old here!"
"No I'm not," she started climbing, but when she went to take the second step on her right ankle, she fell back down into a heap. Sark bent down as she rubbed her ankle again and tied the rope around her waist, regardless of whether she wanted it there or not. He took the other end and quickly climbed out of the ditch.
"Sydney," he called down. "I'm going to pull you out. If you can, help me with your good ankle." She looked up and nodded, biting back a tear. She was afraid she had broken it from trying to climb out. He pulled her out, with her occasional help from her left ankle, pushing against the side of the ditch. He took her hand and helped her stand on her good leg.
"Come on," he said, putting an arm around her to help her walk. He dialed a number on his cell phone and ordered someone to bring the car around. A black car appeared and he helped her inside.
"I'll be fine," she protested the whole way back to the hotel.
"No you won't. We have the Echelon disk. I had someone go and pack our bags. They're in the trunk and we're flying home, on my personal plane. We have to get you to a hospital."
"I'm fine!" she protested again. He helped her though the airport and carried her onto the plane. She fought him off for a minute but gave up and leaned against him.
What am I doing? She asked herself. I'm letting Sark carry me onto a plane, and.she refused to think the final three words, I'm enjoying it, she finally finished. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Wait," Sydney held up her hand, stopping Sloane's explanation. "A mission with Sark? Another mission with Sark?"
Sloane raised an eyebrow; clearly amused that Sydney was so flustered. "Is that all right?" he asked.
"Oh, of course it's all right," she said sarcastically. "How the hell do you expect me to work with someone who I only trust as far as I can throw him?" she asked.
Sloane ignored her. "Prior to contrary belief, the CIA had assumed that due to the corrupted files on the Echelon disk, we wound be unable to access Echelon. We have located a small base in Lagos, Nigeria."
"Where?" Sydney looked confused.
"Nigeria."
"Oh."
"The base once belonged to Gerard Cuvee. You and Mr. Sark will infiltrate the base. He will be disguised as one of Cuvee's more wealthy contacts and you.will play his girlfriend."
Sydney's gum shot out of her mouth and stuck to the wall behind Sloane. He calmly took a Kleenex from his desk and pulled it off. "I draw the line at his girlfriend," said Sydney.
Sloane smiled. "His fiancée, perhaps?" he looked at her curiously.
She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "I thought so," he said when she didn't respond. She stood to leave and he handed her a folder. "Alias, ticket, passport," she nodded in response.
Oh God, she thought, Sark! She rounded the corner and came face to face with the, bloody son of a bitch himself, her mind finished for her.
"Agent Bristow," he said, eyeing the folder and nodding. "We leave tonight at 6:30. I'll pick you up. Where do you live?"
"In a box by the side of the road," she muttered.
"And the address of that box it?" he responded.
"Look, I'm not telling you where I live."
He held up a folder. She squinted to see what was written on the tab. It was her file.
"I'll meet you somewhere," she said quickly, not wanting to take the chance of Will being home.
"With your suitcase?" he asked, flipping her folder open. She watched as he scribbled her address down on a sheet of paper.
"See you tonight," he said with a smile. She gave him a dark look and turned and left.
***
"Syd!" Francie yelled through the closed door. "Some guy is here to pick you up!"
She shook her head and grabbed her bag.
"Bye," she hugged Francie. "Where are you off to again?"
"London," she hated lying to Francie. She followed Sark out the door.
"Be glad Will wasn't home," she said, tossing her suitcase into the trunk. There were two suitcases already in there. "How long are we going for? You look like you packed for a week!"
"We may be there a week," he began, "but one of those is yours. I took the liberty of providing suitable clothing for you on this trip."
"You picked out my clothes?" she shrieked as they got in the car. She regained her composure. "I pick out all my own clothes. I'll be wearing my stuff."
"I take it that you didn't look through the folder that Sloane gave you," he said as they drove.
"No, I didn't get a chance. Why?"
"Well, for the first bit, you come from a very upper-class family."
"Okay."
"And second, you're quiet and reserved."
Sydney snorted. "Yeah right. Like I'm ever going to stick to those rules."
Sark handed her his cell phone. "Call your precious handler and tell him to do some shopping for you." She gave him a weird look. "What?" he asked. "You refuse to wear the outfits that I selected for you, and you haven't even seen them yet. Maybe he can do better."
She shrugged. "Vaughn?" she asked when he answered.
"Syd?" he asked. You're not on your cell phone. I got a different number on my caller id."
"I know. Listen, I have an odd request." Sark snickered as they got on the highway. "I need you to call Francie and have her grab a couple of dresses from her and my closet and bring them to the airport."
Vaughn stayed silent on the other line.
"Vaughn?" she asked when she received no response.
"Dare I ask what this is for?" he asked, sounding amused.
"According to Sark, I'm supposed to be his rich, upper-class girlfriend."
Vaughn choked. "G-girlfriend?"
Sydney laughed. "Here's the best part. I'm supposed to be, and I quote, quiet and reserved."
"I never thought I'd see the day where Sydney Bristow couldn't complete a mission," he joked. "Only now, she can't complete it because she can't be quiet and reserved."
"I hate to break up your lovely conversation," said Sark, "but you're eating up my free night and weekend minutes."
Sydney looked at him and shook her head. "Vaughn, can you do me a favor? Please get Francie for me."
"Sure," he nodded on the other line.
"See you."
"Syd, be careful," warned Vaughn.
"My guardian angel," she smiled. "Always looking out for my best interests," she added before hanging up.
"I didn't imagine that you'd use my cell phone for a chat over tea," he commented sarcastically as she handed him his phone back.
"I'm not about to have my handler do my shopping," she argued. "I just hope that Francie can get there in time," she added.
They pulled into the airport-parking garage.
"Go ahead," said Sark. "Open the suitcase. See if you can find something that suits you."
She daringly opened it and saw clothes that she definitely wasn't used to: skirts of all things. She pulled out a long white skirt and a pale pink blouse and held them up. "Not bad," she commented.
"When we get inside, change clothes. Leave your hair the way it is, don't put on a wig or anything," he said.
She nodded and grabbed one of the suitcases. He grabbed the other two.
She quickly changed clothes and fixed her hair a bit. "How are we flying?" she asked, sneaking up on him.
He jumped a little bit and she laughed. "My private jet, what else?" he asked with a smirk. He looked her over. "You look the part, now let's just see if you can act like it. I've got fifty bucks on that you can't."
"Deal. If I can pull this off for the whole time that we're in.wherever we're headed, some city in Nigeria, then you owe me fifty bucks."
"Lagos," he corrected her.
"Whatever," she said sarcastically.
"Oh, and by the way, your friend Francie found me, or rather I found her. The dresses are in your suitcase, he said, unzipping it so that she could set the clothes that she had changed out of into it.
They boarded the plane and she sat as far away from him as humanly possible, entertaining herself with a game of solitaire on her laptop and her CD player. She looked up occasionally and saw him staring at her, but thought nothing of it, really. He tapped her on the shoulder about two hours later.
"You may as well get into character," he said as she gave him a dirty look from interrupting her. He saw the look on her face and smirked, "I'm so terribly sorry to have interrupted your fascinating game," he said, looking at how she was about to lose on a game of Free Cell. "Put your nine of hearts there," he pointed to the screen. She gave him another dirty look and put her headphone back on, but took his advice and moved the card.
"How about a "Thank you, Sark?" That would be nice," he said. She leaned back to where he was leaning on the seat.
"Don't you have something to do, someone to assassinate, somewhere?" she asked, annoyed.
"Nah," he loved seeing her worked up over nothing. "I can't very well assassinate someone from up here. Sure, I could send out someone to do it, but it's just the thrill of being there when you." he trailed off, seeing the disgusted look on her face. He shrugged and headed back to his seat on the other end of the plane.
She decided to leaf through the folder that Sloane had given her. Ellyn Anderson, born and raised in London, she read to herself. Great, she thought, here comes the accent. Met Sark a year ago when he was on business in London, he brought her back to the US with him and she's lived here ever since, she continued reading until it hit her- what was she supposed to call him. She couldn't call him Sark, obviously, but still.it was kind of embarrassing. How was she supposed to do this, go up to him and ask, "So, what should I call you?" She almost laughed at the thought until she noticed that he was no longer sitting where he had been at the front of the plane.
She looked up and saw him standing behind her, leaning on the seat again, looking over her shoulder. "What do you want?" she asked, taking off her headphones again.
"I just find it amusing that you pick the hours before we land and execute this mission that you read the information that you were given this afternoon."
"You would," she retorted.
"I have a feeling that I know what you're thinking."
"Do you now? You read minds? Wow, a serial-killing fortune teller, I don't think that I've met one of those before," she said sarcastically.
He looked at her one eyebrow raised, clearly not amused. "You're so funny," he said sarcastically. Here we go again, he thought. Here comes the verbal battle. "You're wondering what to call me." Why don't we just reveal everything about us, huh? His mind said.
She looked at him a little funny, but then he saw a faint nod.
"Just call me by my real name, Andrew," he said.
Her mouth nearly dropped open. "Andrew?" she asked. The heartless monster who had tortured Will had a first name?
"It surprises you, doesn't it?" he asked.
She looked at him coldly and he smirked in response. "We will be landing within the hour. Be ready."
She went back to flipping through the folder. She saw her picture, digitally edited to make her hair seem lighter. The only thing that slightly depressed her was that she still looked like Sydney Bristow.
They landed and true to her word, she followed him silently off the plane. She tucked a piece of hair behind her hair as she uncertainly followed him toward the limo that was waiting for them.
They heard a faint ringing sound coming from one of their bags. Sydney dug through her small carry-on bag and retrieved her cell phone just as Sark found his.
"It's mine," she said and answered it. "Hello?"
"Hey," Vaughn's voice came over the other line.
"Hi!" she smiled. Vaughn always cheered her up.
"How bad is it so far?"
"I spent the plane ride sleeping, and then reading over the information that Sloane gave me."
"Sounds interesting," he said sarcastically.
"Oh, I agree."
"He hasn't done anything to you, has he?" Vaughn sounded worried.
"No, DAD," she smiled. Vaughn was genuinely worried about her and she liked it.
"Good," he smiled, relieved. "The Echelon software is hidden inside. Break away from Sark and Cuvee and hunt it down, and then replace the disks."
"Okay," she replied.
"Did you ever get the clothes from Francie?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"We're arriving," Sark said as the car slowed.
"Vaughn, I have to go," she said quickly. "We're here."
"Be careful," he warned.
"You told me this already." She smiled. "See you," she added and hung up.
"You ready?" asked Sark.
Sydney nodded and quietly allowed Sark to help her out of the car.
Sark and Sydney stood in front of Cuvee.
"Mr. Sark," he nodded, shaking his hand. "Who might this be?" he asked, looking at Sydney. Sark noticed a thought cross his face and he looked at her.
Sydney saw the same look and a thought of worry shot through her mind. Did he recognize her from Kashmir? Did he, she shuddered at the thought, involuntarily shivering, even though it was a perfectly warm night out, notice the resemblance between her and Irina Derevko?
"Ellyn Anderson," said Sark smoothly. He noticed her shiver and put his arm around her. "Are you cold, dear?" he asked.
She almost made a face at him, but remembered that Cuvee was watching their every move.
"No," she replied in her British accent, fighting off the urge to pull his arm from her shoulder (and maybe out of its socket) and wipe that smirk off his face. Or a fake smile, her mind added. She didn't know which one. "I'm fine," she replied.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet the girlfriend of Mr. Sark," said Cuvee.
She looked at the floor and smiled shyly as Cuvee took her hand and kissed it. She shivered involuntarily again and Sark pulled her tighter to him.
"It's a pleasure," she said quietly, her eyes still to the floor.
"Come along, Ellyn," Sark spoke to her like you would a small child. She nodded as he excused them and led her into the hotel.
She sank onto the- single bed to her horror, and stared out the glass sliding door leading to the balcony.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he offered, and she shook her head.
"You're leading the mission. You don't- or should I say, shouldn't have to sleep on the floor." She dug through her suitcase and pulled out another small bag. She pulled out an air mattress, a small one, but an air mattress nonetheless.
"Why didn't you tell me that you had brought an air mattress?"
She returned his smirky smile and said, "Of course I wouldn't tell you. I'd rather torture you with the thought of sleeping on the floor."
Here we go again, she thought. Another verbal argument.
Someone knocked on the door and they jumped. Sark stood and answered it. Sydney fell backwards against the pillows on the bed and started flipping channels.
"Mr. Cuvee wants to see you," she heard a man say to Sark.
"I'll be down in a minute. Is he here?"
"We will take you by car to Mr. Cuvee." Sark nodded.
"Ellyn," he said to Sydney who glanced up briefly. "I have to go see Mr. Cuvee and discuss some things." He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Stay here or else," then turned and left.
She sighed in response and as soon as he left, she jumped up and ran for her suitcase. She dug through and pulled out her black pants and shirt. She also grabbed her bulletproof vest, just in case and pulled her hair back into a ponytail after she searched the room for a camera. She didn't find one and quickly changed. She grabbed her backpack that she had hidden and grabbed her com-link.
"Vaughn," she gasped as she hooked the rope to the balcony and slid down the three stories to the ground, her feet helping by pushing down the brick wall.
She undid the rope and dashed behind a bush, hiding in the shadows. She saw Sark get into the car. There was a white truck sitting behind it. She waited for the car to pull away and lifted up the back door of the truck and climbed in.
She sat in the shadows, thinking until Vaughn's voice came clearly into her ear.
"Sydney?" he asked.
"Vaughn!" the truck came to a complete stop and she heard the power go off. She pulled the door back up and quickly took out the driver, who had come around to unload the truck.
She saw Sark get out of the car and ducked behind the truck. She threw another one of Marshall's exploding toys, this time disguised as a cell phone, layered with C-4 at the car and entered the pass-code on a keypad disguised as an automatic car opener on her key ring and detonated it. It exploded in flames as Sark and the guard dashed frantically toward the building, dodging the flaming remains shooting from where the car used to be.
She slipped a sweater over her black shirt, still hidden in the shadows and casually strolled into the building.
"Can I help you?" asked the girl sitting at the front desk. She had a bit of a French accent and Sydney decided to go on a whim and said, " Hi, I'm Christi." she paused, trying to come up with a last name, "Anderson," she finished lamely. So what if I'm uncreative today? She thought. "I'm here for the meeting about the." she paused again.
"Tax raises," said Vaughn.
"Tax raises," she said, continuing in French.
"Down the hall, to you left," the girl replied, also in French.
"Two points to Sydney Bristow," Vaughn said in her ear. She smiled. "My guardian angel, always protecting me."
She headed for the stairs and flew to the third floor.
"It's room 312," said Vaughn. "Dig through the black case in the corner."
Sydney flung open the door. "What case?" she scanned the room quickly.
"It's not there?"
"No," she replied. She started digging through the cabinet. "Found it!" she shuffled the bag and pulled out a disk. "Lecheno," she said to Vaughn.
"Is that a word?" asked Vaughn.
"Echelon!" she exclaimed, figuring out the code and putting the disk inside her backpack.
"What are you doing?" asked a guard when she exited the room and started walking back down the hallway.
"I was.looking for the bathroom," lied Sydney. She kept her eyes low and turned away. She whipped back around and threw a punch. She kicked and punched and finally, knocked the guard out. She bolted back to the stairs and ran into Sark.
He roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against a wall.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, yanking her into a nearby room.
"What do you think?" she asked coldly.
"I could turn you in to Cuvee, you know," he said just as coldly.
"No you couldn't. You need your precious girlfriend."
Sark grabbed her backpack from her and dug through it, pulling out her clothes from before that she had hastily stuffed in there. "Put these back on after I leave," he commanded. He continued searching through the backpack. He pulled out her black disk, the Echelon disk. He waved it in her face. "What might this be?" he asked with a smirk.
"I have no idea," she lied.
"Hmm," he fingered the disk. "Lehceno.34752." He shrugged and pocketed the disk. "Get changed. You're here because you got scared when the hotel owner walked in on you unexpectedly, all right?"
She nodded, hoping that he wouldn't figure out the code: Echelon. She quickly changed and hid her black clothing deep in the bag. She shook out her hair and opened the door. Sark was waiting for her.
"Let's go," he said. He led her up to where he and Cuvee were meeting. She quietly took a seat next to him.
"Miss Anderson," Cuvee nodded in approval.
"Sydney!" Vaughn hissed in her ear. He had been silent the entire time. "You have to get out of there! We just got word of a bomb set to go off in the building at 10:30 your time, tonight!"
Sydney's eyes widened as she heard this and she quickly excused herself for some fresh air and pulled out her cell phone.
"This is Mountaineer, I need to speak with Agent Kendall," she said, repeating her voice code and Kendall came on the line.
"Agent Bristow?" he asked.
"Kendall." she started.
"Agent Vaughn contacted you, I presume?"
"Yes, the bomb?"
"You need to leave now. Meet outside the hotel. Someone will be there to pull you out."
She headed down the street and got ready to flag a taxi, but remembered that.
"Kendall, Sark has the Echelon disk."
"Then get it back."
"How?"
"You're the trained field agent out there, Miss Bristow."
She turned to head back inside after hanging up with Kendall and saw Sark come flying out.
"Duck!" he yelled, pushing her into a nearby ditch just as the building exploded into flames.
Sydney rubbed her ankle. She had fallen on it when Sark had pushed her into the ditch.
"Are you okay?" he asked, gently moving her hair out of her face where she was bent over, moving the sock down her ankle where she could clearly see that it was already beginning to swell.
"Yeah, I'll survive," she tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to stand. She fell back into a heap on the ground. Sark offered her his hand, but she shook her head and tried standing again. She leaned against the dirt wall encasing them and gingerly put weight on her ankle, wincing as she did so.
"Sydney, you're not all right," Sark said, trying to get her to lean on him. "Give me your hand," he said.
She shook her head again, "Sark, I'm fine."
He dug through his small black bag that he had brought with and pulled out a rope. "I can climb out without this. It's not that high and I'm used to it. Tie the rope to your waist and I'll pull you out when I get up." She shook her head. "No. I can climb up by myself."
"You're acting like a stubborn two-year-old here!"
"No I'm not," she started climbing, but when she went to take the second step on her right ankle, she fell back down into a heap. Sark bent down as she rubbed her ankle again and tied the rope around her waist, regardless of whether she wanted it there or not. He took the other end and quickly climbed out of the ditch.
"Sydney," he called down. "I'm going to pull you out. If you can, help me with your good ankle." She looked up and nodded, biting back a tear. She was afraid she had broken it from trying to climb out. He pulled her out, with her occasional help from her left ankle, pushing against the side of the ditch. He took her hand and helped her stand on her good leg.
"Come on," he said, putting an arm around her to help her walk. He dialed a number on his cell phone and ordered someone to bring the car around. A black car appeared and he helped her inside.
"I'll be fine," she protested the whole way back to the hotel.
"No you won't. We have the Echelon disk. I had someone go and pack our bags. They're in the trunk and we're flying home, on my personal plane. We have to get you to a hospital."
"I'm fine!" she protested again. He helped her though the airport and carried her onto the plane. She fought him off for a minute but gave up and leaned against him.
What am I doing? She asked herself. I'm letting Sark carry me onto a plane, and.she refused to think the final three words, I'm enjoying it, she finally finished. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder.