Title: For Love of Country
Author: DOKChairman
Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to Counteragent is fair game.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately for my bank account, J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC own Alias. I own nothing so don't sue me.
Author's Note: I'm sure most of you have forgotten this story. I can't say I blame you seeing how I forgot about it too. Oh well. Its here now, so I expect lots of feedback. Do you hear me people? Lots, copious, even oodles of feedback better come to me. I went through more than five rewrites during the writing process of this chapter so I hope you like it.
Dedication: To the usual peeps. Heeehe, I used peeps! It seems so wrong coming from a white boy from the suburbs. Jada and Angela, you guys rock!
"I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country." - Nathan Hale
Jack Bristow could hear him from all the way down the hall. The anguished screams reverberated down the hall and saturated the air with their dour foreboding. Jack paused, stopping his determined pace. He didn't know if he could do this.
If it had been any other person, Jack knew that he would be able to separate his feelings from his actions. But this was someone he knew. Someone he saw almost everyday. This was someone he knew his daughter cared very much for. This was not a stranger. This was Michael Vaughn.
Another scream, painful in its intensity, shook Jack out of his stupor. He resumed his carefully controlled pace. Not too fast, not too slow; just the right pace for someone who didn't care what was going on less than thirty feet away from him. Jack Bristow couldn't care.
Jack reached the door to the interrogation room and heard muffled voices coming from inside. He took a deep breath before grasping the handle of the door. Jack turned the handle and opened the door with a confident, fluid motion. He was not prepared for what he saw.
The first thing he noticed was the smell. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and burnt flesh. Jack stepped inside and he was assaulted by a new smell. The smell of urine and sweat. Jack almost gagged, the smell was so thick.
Jack closed the door behind him and finally forced his eyes to settle on the last thing he wanted to see.
He was lying limply in his specially modified dentist-like chair. Straps were pulled tightly across his chest, his wrists, and his thighs. Even in the dim light, Jack could see the angry red marks the straps caused as they cut into his naked skin.
Jack stepped closer. A single light lit the room, hovering over Vaughn's body in a sickly putrid yellow. Jack's face contorted itself into its stony visage and he studied Vaughn's form with an indifferent eye.
Vaughn's eyes were half shut, but his eyes were clearly bloodshot and unfocused. Jack wasn't surprised. He knew from what Sloane had told him that Vaughn had been pumped so full of drugs that he probably didn't even know his own name. His skin was a pallid color, clammy and covered in angry black bruises.
Several cuts lacerated his body. Some were deep, but most were shallow. Meant to cause intense pain without doing serious damage to the body. His abdomen was a deeply dark purplish color, no doubt the result of several broken ribs.
Jack was nearly overcome with disgust when he saw the glaringly red burn marks on his chest. Jack could only assume that was where they had attached the electrodes to his skin. Little round circles, about the size of a silver dollar, pockmarked Vaughn's chest.
Jack had to turn away before he let his emotions get the best of him. He turned his back to Vaughn and fixed the room's only other occupant with a stony stare. His eyes carefully took in the tall, slightly balding man, who was just packing up the machine used to electrocute Vaughn.
Jack addressed him tersely, "Progress?"
The man shook his head negatively. "No. He has built up a tolerance to the chemicals and any further use of the electrodes will likely kill him."
Jack took in the information with a slight nod. "I've been asked to attempt my own methods of...interrogation. Sloane wants you to report to him and fully debrief him on Agent Vaughn's present level of cooperation."
The man adjusted his thin wire frame glasses and mumbled a response. Jack ignored him; he was already running through scenarios in his head on how he was going to handle the situation. The man finally finished packing up his machine and silently left the room. Jack was finally alone with Vaughn.
Despite the foulness of the air, Jack breathed in deeply. He composed himself and walked over to Vaughn, leaning over his body. That was when he heard the barely audible singing.
Jack leaned closer, almost pressing his ear up against Vaughn's mouth. The words came out of Vaughn's mouth, breathless and hoarse. "37 bottles of beer on the wall, 37 bottles of beer. Take one down-" Vaughn paused and gulped shallowly. "-pass it around. 36 bottles of beer on the wall." Vaughn continued singing, gradually counting down to the song's inevitable end.
Jack leaned back away from Vaughn, and this time he didn't stop the look of pity that crossed his face. He was actually quite impressed. Vaughn was using a counter-interrogation tactic that all agents were taught as they went through psychological conditioning. The object was to find something simple and easy to remember, preferably a song or phrase, and constantly repeat it in your mind. The belief was that as long as your mind was occupied else where, you would be less inclined to succumb to the interrogator.
Jack hated to break Vaughn out of what was probably his comfort zone, but he needed to get started before those watching began to get suspicious. Jack removed his jacket, placing it neatly over a metal chair, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He briefly readjusted his shoulder holster so as to allow more freedom of movement.
He resumed his place standing over Vaughn and contemplated on how to make Vaughn aware of his presence without Vaughn inadvertently letting slip that they knew each other. Vaughn was obviously not in his right mind and Jack could not depend on him to maintain protocol.
Fortunately, the situation was taken out of Jack's hands. Lunging forward against his restraints, Vaughn suddenly came to full awareness. Jack saw his eyes wildly scan the room until they settled on him. Vaughn's eyes widened in disbelief and then he collapsed back down onto his chair. He sighed loudly and croaked out, "Go away! I already told you I don't know anything!"
Jack responded gruffly, "We both know that's not true Agent Vaughn. We know that you are an agent for the CIA. We know that you were witnissed leaving the scene of a recent SD-6 operation in which two of the members of our Security Section were killed. And we know that you are in contact with someone who may be a mole in this organization."
Vaughn groaned. "I don't know anything! How many times do I have to tell you people that? I don't even know what SD-6 is!"
Without warning, Jack punched Vaughn in his left kidney. A whoosh of air escaped Vaughn's mouth and he let out a sickly groan. "I'll ask again Agent Vaughn. Who is the mole and how do you contact them?"
Vaughn's reply was barely audible, "I-I-I don't know."
Jack sighed and this time punched Vaughn in the face. Vaughn's head snapped to the right and he moaned pathetically. Jack grabbed Vaughn's bruised chin with his left hand and turned Vaughn's head so that he could look into his eyes.
In that moment Jack tried to convey how sorry he was for doing this. He pleaded with his eyes to endure, to not give up. He had lasted almost six days. He could last more. He had to. To tell SD-6 what he knew would give up Sydney and Jack knew neither man wanted that.
Whether or not Vaughn understood his silent plead, his eyes closed tightly and his whole body deflated. Jack instantly grew apprehensive. It was almost like he was giving up...
Vaughn's eyes opened and in a brief moment of total clarity he whispered, "I can't do this anymore. Its too hard. I-I just can't...do this anymore." Vaughn's voice was flat and tired.
Then Vaughn opened his mouth but no sound came out. Jack leaned closer, like before, and placed his ear near Vaughn's mouth. Vaughn spoke so softly, so resigned that Jack knew there was no way the recording devices could pick up anything. "I can't go on Jack. I-I want you to...kill me. Please Jack, just kill me."
P.S. I know I originally said that this would only be three chapters but I decided to add one more. I thought the story would be better served if I split this chapter and chapter 3 apart. Next chapter will be the introspective piece as we get inside Vaughn's mind and find out what makes him tick. Besides wanting to jump Sydney's bones of course. Not that I blame him. Not at all.