She slowly lay down in the bed, careful not to disturb her husband. At last he showed signs of a peaceful sleep, she noted as she fought the urge to lean over and kiss him. Could she help it that even after all these years she found him to be so incredibly sexy?
She watched him sleep for several minutes as the events of the last few days rushed through her mind. They had been through so much, both together and separately. Someday soon it would all be over.
Unfortunately, she still wasn't sure which side she was rooting for.
She forced these maudlin thoughts from her mind, focusing on happier times. Their first date, a blind date that wasn't so blind on her part. She had been watching him in D.C. for several weeks before a mutual friend arranged their introduction. It didn't take long to convince him that he was better off with her than without her.
Sometimes she wished she hadn't been so convincing, so enigmatic back then. Because it was only leading to heartbreak now. And no matter what happened, she didn't want that for him. She loved him too much.
She broke herself out of her reverie and glanced at the clock. If she didn't wake him up soon, he would be in a bad mood the rest of the day, angry that he had slept so late. Not that he would take it out on her—he never mistreated her in any way, he loved her too much to behave with such cowardice—but still, she didn't want anything to mar their time together.
She gently shook his arm. "Honey, wake up," she cooed softly. He didn't budge. She shook his arm more forcefully this time. "Sweetie, you've slept long enough. Time to get up," she said cheerfully. Moaning, he turned towards her and opened one eye.
"Emily," he said as he wrapped his arm around her and snuggled closer to her.
Emily Sloane smiled at her husband as she rested her head on his chest.
Maybe she would let him sleep for five more minutes.
********
"Could we just take off already?" Weiss muttered. He impatiently tapped his fingers against the armrest.
Jack placed his cell phone in his pocket. Sark was responsible for Sydney and Vaughn's disappearance—of that he was certain. With Khasinau dead, did this mean that his wife—ex-wife—did it mean Derevko was now in charge?
And if she was in charge, what would she do to her own daughter?
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry for the delay," the captain apologized over the intercom. "We're going to be on the ground for at least another twenty minutes. Feel free to unbuckle your seat belts and move about freely. Since the door is still open, you may still safely use your cell phones. I'll let you know when we will be closing the door, and again, I'm sorry for the delay."
The two agents looked at each other. Cell phones . . .
"When was the last time you used your phone?" Jack demanded.
Weiss looked at him, confused. "Why?"
"Did you use it in Madrid or London?" he pressed.
Weiss shook his head. "I can't get a signal on that phone overseas."
"Did you use the phone in Newark?"
Weiss tapped his fingers again, trying to remember. "I don't think so. After we finally shook off the tail from the airport, Mike and I were only at the safe house for a few minutes before you and I left for Madrid. Why are you asking this, anyway?"
"Check your messages," Jack told him.
"Why?" Weiss challenged.
"Just do it!" he exploded.
"Fine, fine, fine," Weiss muttered under his breath. He retrieved his carry-on and searched through the side pocket. Removing the phone from the bag, he hit the power button.
A few moments later, he turned the phone around. "Are you happy? I have three new voice mails."
"Check them," Jack ordered.
Weiss opened his mouth, then promptly closed it as he began to check his messages.
"First one's from my mom, if you must know," he announced as he half-listened to the message. He quickly deleted it.
"Second one's from my mom, too. You should meet her sometime. I'm sure you'd get along so well," Weiss said sarcastically. "She loves to leave me messages, you love to make sure I check them."
Jack rolled his eyes heavenward. At times like this he was thankful to have a daughter.
"And the third message is from—hang on a sec." Weiss removed the phone from his ear.
"What?"
"I'm starting this message over. I must not have been listening because I swore I heard it say—" Weiss' eyes grew wide.
"Fucking asshole!" he exploded. "Damn fucking bastard asshole! The nerve of him!"
Jack removed the phone from Weiss's hand and replayed the message.
"Message received today at 10:39 a.m.," the mechanical voice said.
"Mr. Weiss, so sorry you missed my call. Just wanted to let you know that I'm about to catch up with your friends and wondered if you had any messages you would like passed on. I do hope they behave themselves. After all, I wouldn't want to give them an injection, would I?" The man laughed on the message. "I will try to reach you and Mr. Bristow later. I must now go revive a certain journalist. Au revoir."
Weiss looked at Jack with pain-stricken eyes. "That message—it came from Zoe's cell phone."
Jack nodded grimly. "Sark has Tippin—and he was on his way to get Sydney and Vaughn."
Weiss blinked. "My cell—it's on L.A. time. So if it was left this morning at 10:39 that means it was," he paused, calculating, "1:39 this afternoon Boston time." He looked at his watch. "Less than an hour ago."
"I was hoping Vaughn would have tried to reach you on your cell," Jack admitted.
"So much for that happening." Weiss stared at the screen of his phone. "Wait—what about your cell? Wouldn't Sydney try to call you on it if she could?"
"There weren't any messages when I turned on the phone."
"What about your house?"
"My house?"
"You do sleep somewhere besides SD-6, don't you?" Weiss looked at him sharply.
Instead of answering him, Jack pulled out his phone and dialed his home number. He quickly accessed his voice mail.
"Francie," he said in a low tone.
"What?" Weiss asked, leaning his head forward.
Jack waved him away and took two steps back, listening. "Francie wants to talk to Sydney about Will. She says it's an emergency." He sighed and quickly dialed a series of numbers.
"And the plot thickens," Weiss intoned as Jack glared at him.
"Hello?" Francie said in a small voice.
"Francie, this is Jack Bristow. I just got your message," he began. "Is something wrong?"
"Can I talk to Sydney? It's . . . personal," she said, hoping her roommate was nearby.
"Sydney's lying down right now. She's had a bit of an upset stomach the last few days—ate something that didn't agree with her. I'd really rather not wake her, if that's okay with you," Jack lied.
"Oh, I hope she remembered to pack some medicine. She mentioned the other day she needed to buy some at the pharmacy," Francie worried aloud.
"Well, I'm sure if she needed it you would be more than willing to slip it into her purse for her," Jack said under his breath. Weiss stared at him as Francie gasped in his ear.
"Um, yeah . . . that. Um, Mr. Bristow, sir, I am so sorry about that. I hope you weren't too offended by the, um, the . . ."
"The present you gave Sydney?" Jack finished sternly. Weiss inwardly chuckled, realizing what Jack was referring to. Poor Francie.
"Yeah. I mean, yes. Sir. Like I was saying—"
"I believe you needed to talk to Sydney? Could I pass on a message?" Jack interrupted.
Weiss choked back his laughter, coughing instead. Jack turned and glared at him.
"Well . . ." Francie trailed off. "I need to talk to her about Will, actually."
"Will? Your reporter friend?" Jack asked as Weiss headed towards the front of the cabin.
"Yeah. One of Will's friends from work is here with me right now, and—this is crazy, you're probably not going to believe me. I mean, I know I didn't believe it when Abby—"
"Francie. Get to the point," Jack interrupted.
"Will wrote a story that is supposed to be published if he's dead. And we don't know if he's alive or not. I haven't heard from him since last weekend, but I think that Sydney said on Sunday morning that she had talked to him, but I'm not really sure now if she said that or not. And now it's Wednesday and we can't find him anywhere—he hasn't been to work and no one's heard from him—his mail hasn't been picked up the last few days, it was all in the mailbox. And we just don't know what to think. What if these SD-whatever people killed him???" Francie paused for oxygen.
"Calm down. No one's heard from Will since last weekend?"
"No. Not work or me or Amy or his parents," Francie said tearfully.
"And you said something about a story?"
Francie gulped. "Yeah. Abby—she's a writer for the Register too—anyway, Will gave her a story in a sealed envelope and said it had to be published if he was killed. And we opened the envelope yesterday."
"And?" Jack pressed.
"There were good-bye letters," she said softly. Jack strained to hear her words. "Inside the envelope was the article . . . and good-bye letters."
"The article, Francie. What did the article say?" Jack asked, his voice rising.
"It said . . . hang on." Papers rustled in the background. "'Last year one of my good friends, Daniel Hecht, was murdered in his apartment. There were no suspects in his murder, no clues at all. The police didn't want to investigate, so I made it my personal mission to find his killer.
"'What I found took me into a world I thought only existed in comic books and movies—somehow I found myself in the world of U.S. intelligence agencies, including a rogue agency called SD-6.'" Francie paused. "And then it goes into more detail about this SD-7."
"Six," Jack heard a British voice correct her.
"Oops. SD—what did you say? Four?"
"Six!" the other person screamed in frustration.
"Yeah. SD-6. Thanks, Abby. Anyway, it talks about them, but nothing too specific. Oh, and he says he was kidnapped and told to get off the story. I can't believe that he was kidnapped and never told me. I thought he trusted me," Francie finished mournfully. Jack could hear her sobbing and Abby's feeble attempts at comfort.
"Will is your friend. I'm sure—I'm sure he did what he did to protect you," Jack said as Weiss gestured to him.
"They're ready to shut the door," Weiss whispered. "You've gotta get off the phone."
Jack nodded. "Francie, I need to go check on Sydney—I think I hear her calling me. One of us will contact you shortly."
"Ok-k-kay," Francie cried. "Tell her I hope she feels better soon."
"I will. And Francie?"
"Mmhmmm?"
"Don't tell anyone else about this article."
"But shouldn't I tell—"
"There's no need to worry Will's family at this point. You and—Abby, was it?—need to wait. Tell no one. And it would be best if you two stayed together. Can she spend the rest of the day with you?"
"Well, she needs to head into work . . . why?"
"Tell her to work from your apartment. Anything she needs to turn into her editor, do it by e-mail. Don't leave the apartment until you hear from me," Jack commanded.
Francie remained silent on the other end of the line. "Francie. Did you hear me? You and Abby must stay inside for the time being. Is that understood?"
Jack waited for forty-five slow seconds before he finally heard a response.
"Okay. But you promise not to forget about us? You promise to actually give Syd the message?"
"You'll be hearing from one of us soon. I promise," he vowed.
"All right. I'll talk to you or Syd later, Mr. Bristow."
"Good-bye, Francie. Be careful," he admonished.
"'Bye."
Jack clicked the "off" button on the phone. "We can leave now," he announced as he returned to his seat and buckled the safety belt.
Weiss shook his head as he watched the pilot scurry back to the front. Nothing like an order from Jack Bristow to snap everyone into action.
"Why Francie and not Sydney?" he blurted out.
Jack turned to Weiss as he sat in the seat next to him. "What do you mean?"
"You told Francie to be careful. Why don't you ever say that to Sydney?" Weiss asked.
"Sydney knows how to protect herself. It's those who don't have her training who can end up—"
"Like Zoe?" Weiss asked, balling his hands into fists.
"I was going to say, 'in trouble.' But yes. Like Zoe," Jack said as he faced forward.
"Gentlemen, we have sunny skies for our next leg of the flight. We should arrive at LAX in approximately six hours," the pilot announced as the plane roared to life.
********
The lithe, raven-haired woman yawned from her hiding place as the plane made its ascent into the air. Finally. It was almost time to put her plan into action. Although the layover had certainly been interesting.
Jack and Francie. Innocent Francie, so worried about her friend, and Jack. Jack had actually appeared to have a heart, concerned for both Francie and his daughter. Oh, to be tapping that phone call. She shook her head. Even if she had been, her equipment was still in London. And she knew she wouldn't be returning for her things anytime soon. Not if her plan worked.
And it would work.
Step one had been straightforward—deposit Tippin on board Sydney and Agent Vaughn's plane. This had been done easily—almost too easily, she conceded as she recalled Jack's conversation with Weiss. That bastard kid at Gatwick thought he could double-cross her . . . she smirked. He could easily be terminated from his job.
Step two would happen within the next six hours. She had contemplated this scenario so many times, never knowing which setting she would finally choose. Flying the friendly skies wasn't her first choice, but there were far more undesirable alternatives. And it did leave her with a captive audience . . .
She stood up, stretching her long legs, and grinned. Step two couldn't happen soon enough.
It was definitely time for some husband and wife bonding.
tbc