Chapter Seventeen
Sydney sat in the warm circle of Vaughn's arms, not speaking, her jaw set in a hard line. They'd been in the air for a long time, long enough for her to guess that they were no longer in the United States. In the window- less cargo bay, there was no way to find out which direction they were going in, and not knowing was making her seethe. Vaughn seemed to sense that and he hadn't said a word since she told him the voice that had spoken to them was her mother, but she could feel the tenseness in his arms. Her hand was clamped down on his forearm, knuckles white.
The plane dipped slightly and Sydney felt her ears pop. She knew from experience that they were beginning their descent. It felt like hours, but finally, they felt the hard bump that told them that they had landed. In unison, she and Vaughn got to their feet, weapons in their hand.
"It's cold," Vaughn said, his breath coming out in a visible cloud as he spoke.
Sydney pointed her at the cockpit door, while he aimed his at the cargo door. When the plane came to a full stop, the cockpit door opened and Irina Derevko, a.k.a Laura Bristow, stepped through, her eyebrow arched as she stared down the barrel of her daughter's gun.
"It would be foolish of you to shoot now," she said, though she didn't make a single move towards them. "I'm here to help you."
"Right. Just like you helped us in Taipei," Sydney spat angrily.
"I let you go, didn't I?"
"You almost killed him. I'll never forgive you for that."
"Ah, yes. Your handler.and your lover now, I would guess. Well, I'm making up for it, Darling. I'm saving your life."
Sydney snorted in disbelief, her gun not wavering. "Where are we?"
Irina straightened the fur collar of her coat. "Where else would I take you? I always wanted to take you back to my motherland, Darling, though not this part of it. Welcome to Siberia."
"Where's my mother?" Vaughn demanded.
"If you two would put your weapons down and follow me, I will explain everything in the cabin."
Despite her outrage at what was happening to them, Sydney lowered her gun, but didn't holster it. Vaughn did the same. Irina nodded at that, and walked past them, followed closely by a bearded man neither Sydney nor Vaughn recognized. He didn't look at them, simply walking past them and opening the door for Irina. She stared to go down the walkway, when she realized they weren't following. Turning her head, she tossed them a small smile and gestured for them to follow. Sydney exchanged a glance with Vaughn. He took her hand in his and led the way.
The cold air hit them like a slap in the face. Their lack of warm clothing became painfully apparent and it took all Sydney had to not run to the SUV waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. What little baggage they had was being loaded in the back. It was mercifully warm in the car and they stopped shivering before they made it to the edge of the tarmac. Irina was behind the wheel, the bearded man at her side.
They were in the middle of nowhere, the tarmac the only sign of civilization in the vast snow-covered landscape they found themselves in. Her hand still in Vaughn's, Sydney squeezed hard as they drove further away from the plane they had landed in. If Irina was lying, which her daughter wouldn't have put past her, they didn't have a chance in hell in surviving this. He squeezed back, his thoughts going in the same direction as hers.
"I am not going to hurt you, Sydney," Irina said, her eyes meeting Sydney's in the rearview mirror.
"It's a little too late for that, isn't it?" was the reply, dripping with scorn.
Irina's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. They drove in a tense silence for nearly an hour before Irina stopped the car. They were far from everything else, in the middle of the flat, forbidding tundra. Irina's companion got out of the car and as if on cue, a small hatch popped up from the ground. It opened to reveal a staircase. He turned and opened Sydney's door. Glaring at him, Sydney ran into the hatch, her ears telling her Vaughn was right at her heels. They couldn't risk being out in the cold for too long.
The staircase led to a large room warmed by a single fireplace in the center of the room. Sydney wondered where the smoke was expelled as it was a dead giveaway to anyone who cared that there was a hideaway under all the ice and rock. For all intents and purposes, they were in a sitting room, comfortable and expensively decorated. A soft burgundy couch with two flanking hunter green armchairs was at the far end of the room and a small bar sat in the corner near them. There were three doors against one wall and Sydney was certain there was a hidden doorway somewhere. She went to stand by the fire, turning her back to it to face their would-be rescuers.
"So, what's the story," she asked Irina. "Where's Mrs. Vaughn?"
"Safe," Irina answered, pouring three glasses of brandy. "She's no longer at the safehouse in Montana, but she's safe where she is."
"If you know where she is, she's not safe," Vaughn retorted, his brow furrowed.
"I beg to differ."
"What the hell is going on?" Sydney said loudly, her temper getting the better of her. "I'm so sick of your games. Just this once, I want a straight answer!"
Sighing, Irina picked up one glass and sat down on the couch. Her bearded companion had disappeared somewhere, Sydney noted, but she didn't care at that moment. There were other things to worry about for now. She watched as Irina took a sip of her drink and she saw then how weary she looked. But Sydney hardened her heart. Vaughn's mother was in the clutches of this woman.and so were they.
"I've known Geneviève a long time," Irina began, surprising her guests. "Before either of you were born. We were old classmates in Paris and she never knew I was Russian. I was originally supposed to go undercover in Paris, so I knew enough to blend in, and she had no reason to suspect otherwise. You both know that those plans changed and I was assigned to the United States later on. Nevertheless, Geneviève and I remained good friends, keeping in contact because a spy always needs contacts. She never knew I lived a mere ten minute drive away from her, but I kept tabs on her. I learned she married a CIA agent like I did, and had a son."
"If she'd known what you really were, she would have hunted you down and killed you," Vaughn said mercilessly, his face hard.
"I don't doubt that. But I did what I had to do not because I'm a cold- hearted murderer out for blood." She drained her glass. "Your father was a double agent, Mr. Vaughn. He was siphoning information to the KGB and I was his handler. Life is funny, isn't it?"
"You're lying," Vaughn exclaimed, his face white. "My father was not a traitor! I read his diaries, I know what he did at the CIA."
"Oh, but he was a traitor. His information was always good and for a time, we thought we'd hit a goldmine. And that diary? It was a plant. I actually wrote parts of it. Let me see if I can remember." She stood and picked up one of the other glasses she poured. "'Kessler talks a lot, but does nothing. I feel like I'm being told to jump into a lake with my hands and feet tied together.' How's that?"
Vaughn walked up to her and took the glass from her hand, tossing back the brandy in one gulp. He'd read his father's diaries again in the time he'd been home, its passages coming back to him quickly. The words she'd spoken were familiar to him. He put his gun down on the bar and he balled his hands into fists, every muscle in his body tense. Sydney felt like her feet were rooted to the spot as she watched Vaughn collapse on the couch, his expression a study in disappointment, misery, and shock. He covered his face with his hands, unable to digest what he was hearing. Irina sat in an armchair, her eyes on him.
"He was another disenchanted CIA officer and perhaps part of the reason for his actions was because of malice, but I can't read minds. He knew he was betraying his country, but he believed he was doing it for a good reason. He never told me what that reason was, but from the conversations we'd shared, I got that read on him.
"In the end, he turned on us. He was going to destroy the information web we'd set up in the Agency by telling his superiors what they'd done. We couldn't allow that to happen, so I was ordered to destroy the web I had so painstakingly created. I think he'd known it was going to happen because he told me before I shot him that he had written down all that he knew and it would all be known should anything happen to his family. I didn't tell him that I had already retrieved his papers, but my orders didn't include wiping out his family, so I spared them.You."
"Jesus," Vaughn muttered. "Jesus Christ."
"I went to the funeral," Irina went on. "I let your mother cry on my shoulder. You don't remember because you were so young and dealing with your own pain. From then on, I spoke to Geneviève at least once a month from wherever I was, even after I left Sydney and Jack. Imagine my surprise when you two grew up to become entangled in all this, together. I thought it might have been fate, that our sins would be cleansed through you two.
"Then, all this happened.there was no way that this was going to end happily. I stepped in and told Geneviève to call me at the first sign of danger. I'd told her a long time ago that I was an agent at the Deuxième, the French version of the CIA, and she didn't hesitate to pick up the phone when you were sent to Montana. She contacted me again the night Weiss called you, even though I already knew what had happened. Nikolai was already there at the house and he brought you two to me."
Sydney felt like the room was spinning around her, but she couldn't move. She only stared at Irina, then at Vaughn, not sure she could believe was she was hearing, but could not find any other reason for Irina to tell such an outlandish story. From Vaughn's reaction to hearing a line from his father's diary, that much was true. They were still alive, so killing them wasn't part of Irina's plan.
"It's hard to believe, I know," Irina said, her tone gentle. "But it's the truth. Possibly the first truthful thing either of you have heard in quite some time."
"Why couldn't you just have left us all alone?" Vaughn said, turning empty eyes to the woman sitting near him, her face an echo of another face that he loved so much that he would sacrifice his life for hers without another thought. He couldn't even describe the hurt he felt, the confusion. His and Sydney's lives had been intertwined from the beginning and marked with so much strife-all because of this one woman who had done her job too well. He wanted to run out into the cold Siberian night and give up. For too long he'd been fighting. Weariness settled on his soul and his shoulders slumped with defeat. He couldn't look at either of them.
"Vaughn?" Sydney said quietly.
He didn't respond and silence cut like a knife.
Irina stood. "I have to leave now," she said. "I will be back in two days with news. The two doors on the left are bedrooms, and the other door is a bathroom. There is enough here to sustain you until my return."
"Can you get word to Dad?" Sydney asked, her voice flat.
"Yes. Take care of him, Darling."
As Irina walked past her, Sydney grabbed her arm. "Don't call me Darling," she snarled.
Irina didn't respond, merely wrenching her arm from Sydney's grasp and going up the stairs. When Sydney heard the trapdoor close, she took a step towards Vaughn.
"Vaughn," she said again.
"Just leave me alone for a little while," he said hoarsely, staring at the empty brandy glass in front of him.
Lips set in a straight line, Sydney nodded. She opened the door to one of the bedrooms, when she turned back around to go to the bar. She picked up the brandy snifter and she set it in front of him. Then, she disappeared behind a closed door, succumbing to the tears she had been fighting.
On the couch, Vaughn picked up the snifter and filled his glass to the brim.
Sydney sat in the warm circle of Vaughn's arms, not speaking, her jaw set in a hard line. They'd been in the air for a long time, long enough for her to guess that they were no longer in the United States. In the window- less cargo bay, there was no way to find out which direction they were going in, and not knowing was making her seethe. Vaughn seemed to sense that and he hadn't said a word since she told him the voice that had spoken to them was her mother, but she could feel the tenseness in his arms. Her hand was clamped down on his forearm, knuckles white.
The plane dipped slightly and Sydney felt her ears pop. She knew from experience that they were beginning their descent. It felt like hours, but finally, they felt the hard bump that told them that they had landed. In unison, she and Vaughn got to their feet, weapons in their hand.
"It's cold," Vaughn said, his breath coming out in a visible cloud as he spoke.
Sydney pointed her at the cockpit door, while he aimed his at the cargo door. When the plane came to a full stop, the cockpit door opened and Irina Derevko, a.k.a Laura Bristow, stepped through, her eyebrow arched as she stared down the barrel of her daughter's gun.
"It would be foolish of you to shoot now," she said, though she didn't make a single move towards them. "I'm here to help you."
"Right. Just like you helped us in Taipei," Sydney spat angrily.
"I let you go, didn't I?"
"You almost killed him. I'll never forgive you for that."
"Ah, yes. Your handler.and your lover now, I would guess. Well, I'm making up for it, Darling. I'm saving your life."
Sydney snorted in disbelief, her gun not wavering. "Where are we?"
Irina straightened the fur collar of her coat. "Where else would I take you? I always wanted to take you back to my motherland, Darling, though not this part of it. Welcome to Siberia."
"Where's my mother?" Vaughn demanded.
"If you two would put your weapons down and follow me, I will explain everything in the cabin."
Despite her outrage at what was happening to them, Sydney lowered her gun, but didn't holster it. Vaughn did the same. Irina nodded at that, and walked past them, followed closely by a bearded man neither Sydney nor Vaughn recognized. He didn't look at them, simply walking past them and opening the door for Irina. She stared to go down the walkway, when she realized they weren't following. Turning her head, she tossed them a small smile and gestured for them to follow. Sydney exchanged a glance with Vaughn. He took her hand in his and led the way.
The cold air hit them like a slap in the face. Their lack of warm clothing became painfully apparent and it took all Sydney had to not run to the SUV waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. What little baggage they had was being loaded in the back. It was mercifully warm in the car and they stopped shivering before they made it to the edge of the tarmac. Irina was behind the wheel, the bearded man at her side.
They were in the middle of nowhere, the tarmac the only sign of civilization in the vast snow-covered landscape they found themselves in. Her hand still in Vaughn's, Sydney squeezed hard as they drove further away from the plane they had landed in. If Irina was lying, which her daughter wouldn't have put past her, they didn't have a chance in hell in surviving this. He squeezed back, his thoughts going in the same direction as hers.
"I am not going to hurt you, Sydney," Irina said, her eyes meeting Sydney's in the rearview mirror.
"It's a little too late for that, isn't it?" was the reply, dripping with scorn.
Irina's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. They drove in a tense silence for nearly an hour before Irina stopped the car. They were far from everything else, in the middle of the flat, forbidding tundra. Irina's companion got out of the car and as if on cue, a small hatch popped up from the ground. It opened to reveal a staircase. He turned and opened Sydney's door. Glaring at him, Sydney ran into the hatch, her ears telling her Vaughn was right at her heels. They couldn't risk being out in the cold for too long.
The staircase led to a large room warmed by a single fireplace in the center of the room. Sydney wondered where the smoke was expelled as it was a dead giveaway to anyone who cared that there was a hideaway under all the ice and rock. For all intents and purposes, they were in a sitting room, comfortable and expensively decorated. A soft burgundy couch with two flanking hunter green armchairs was at the far end of the room and a small bar sat in the corner near them. There were three doors against one wall and Sydney was certain there was a hidden doorway somewhere. She went to stand by the fire, turning her back to it to face their would-be rescuers.
"So, what's the story," she asked Irina. "Where's Mrs. Vaughn?"
"Safe," Irina answered, pouring three glasses of brandy. "She's no longer at the safehouse in Montana, but she's safe where she is."
"If you know where she is, she's not safe," Vaughn retorted, his brow furrowed.
"I beg to differ."
"What the hell is going on?" Sydney said loudly, her temper getting the better of her. "I'm so sick of your games. Just this once, I want a straight answer!"
Sighing, Irina picked up one glass and sat down on the couch. Her bearded companion had disappeared somewhere, Sydney noted, but she didn't care at that moment. There were other things to worry about for now. She watched as Irina took a sip of her drink and she saw then how weary she looked. But Sydney hardened her heart. Vaughn's mother was in the clutches of this woman.and so were they.
"I've known Geneviève a long time," Irina began, surprising her guests. "Before either of you were born. We were old classmates in Paris and she never knew I was Russian. I was originally supposed to go undercover in Paris, so I knew enough to blend in, and she had no reason to suspect otherwise. You both know that those plans changed and I was assigned to the United States later on. Nevertheless, Geneviève and I remained good friends, keeping in contact because a spy always needs contacts. She never knew I lived a mere ten minute drive away from her, but I kept tabs on her. I learned she married a CIA agent like I did, and had a son."
"If she'd known what you really were, she would have hunted you down and killed you," Vaughn said mercilessly, his face hard.
"I don't doubt that. But I did what I had to do not because I'm a cold- hearted murderer out for blood." She drained her glass. "Your father was a double agent, Mr. Vaughn. He was siphoning information to the KGB and I was his handler. Life is funny, isn't it?"
"You're lying," Vaughn exclaimed, his face white. "My father was not a traitor! I read his diaries, I know what he did at the CIA."
"Oh, but he was a traitor. His information was always good and for a time, we thought we'd hit a goldmine. And that diary? It was a plant. I actually wrote parts of it. Let me see if I can remember." She stood and picked up one of the other glasses she poured. "'Kessler talks a lot, but does nothing. I feel like I'm being told to jump into a lake with my hands and feet tied together.' How's that?"
Vaughn walked up to her and took the glass from her hand, tossing back the brandy in one gulp. He'd read his father's diaries again in the time he'd been home, its passages coming back to him quickly. The words she'd spoken were familiar to him. He put his gun down on the bar and he balled his hands into fists, every muscle in his body tense. Sydney felt like her feet were rooted to the spot as she watched Vaughn collapse on the couch, his expression a study in disappointment, misery, and shock. He covered his face with his hands, unable to digest what he was hearing. Irina sat in an armchair, her eyes on him.
"He was another disenchanted CIA officer and perhaps part of the reason for his actions was because of malice, but I can't read minds. He knew he was betraying his country, but he believed he was doing it for a good reason. He never told me what that reason was, but from the conversations we'd shared, I got that read on him.
"In the end, he turned on us. He was going to destroy the information web we'd set up in the Agency by telling his superiors what they'd done. We couldn't allow that to happen, so I was ordered to destroy the web I had so painstakingly created. I think he'd known it was going to happen because he told me before I shot him that he had written down all that he knew and it would all be known should anything happen to his family. I didn't tell him that I had already retrieved his papers, but my orders didn't include wiping out his family, so I spared them.You."
"Jesus," Vaughn muttered. "Jesus Christ."
"I went to the funeral," Irina went on. "I let your mother cry on my shoulder. You don't remember because you were so young and dealing with your own pain. From then on, I spoke to Geneviève at least once a month from wherever I was, even after I left Sydney and Jack. Imagine my surprise when you two grew up to become entangled in all this, together. I thought it might have been fate, that our sins would be cleansed through you two.
"Then, all this happened.there was no way that this was going to end happily. I stepped in and told Geneviève to call me at the first sign of danger. I'd told her a long time ago that I was an agent at the Deuxième, the French version of the CIA, and she didn't hesitate to pick up the phone when you were sent to Montana. She contacted me again the night Weiss called you, even though I already knew what had happened. Nikolai was already there at the house and he brought you two to me."
Sydney felt like the room was spinning around her, but she couldn't move. She only stared at Irina, then at Vaughn, not sure she could believe was she was hearing, but could not find any other reason for Irina to tell such an outlandish story. From Vaughn's reaction to hearing a line from his father's diary, that much was true. They were still alive, so killing them wasn't part of Irina's plan.
"It's hard to believe, I know," Irina said, her tone gentle. "But it's the truth. Possibly the first truthful thing either of you have heard in quite some time."
"Why couldn't you just have left us all alone?" Vaughn said, turning empty eyes to the woman sitting near him, her face an echo of another face that he loved so much that he would sacrifice his life for hers without another thought. He couldn't even describe the hurt he felt, the confusion. His and Sydney's lives had been intertwined from the beginning and marked with so much strife-all because of this one woman who had done her job too well. He wanted to run out into the cold Siberian night and give up. For too long he'd been fighting. Weariness settled on his soul and his shoulders slumped with defeat. He couldn't look at either of them.
"Vaughn?" Sydney said quietly.
He didn't respond and silence cut like a knife.
Irina stood. "I have to leave now," she said. "I will be back in two days with news. The two doors on the left are bedrooms, and the other door is a bathroom. There is enough here to sustain you until my return."
"Can you get word to Dad?" Sydney asked, her voice flat.
"Yes. Take care of him, Darling."
As Irina walked past her, Sydney grabbed her arm. "Don't call me Darling," she snarled.
Irina didn't respond, merely wrenching her arm from Sydney's grasp and going up the stairs. When Sydney heard the trapdoor close, she took a step towards Vaughn.
"Vaughn," she said again.
"Just leave me alone for a little while," he said hoarsely, staring at the empty brandy glass in front of him.
Lips set in a straight line, Sydney nodded. She opened the door to one of the bedrooms, when she turned back around to go to the bar. She picked up the brandy snifter and she set it in front of him. Then, she disappeared behind a closed door, succumbing to the tears she had been fighting.
On the couch, Vaughn picked up the snifter and filled his glass to the brim.
