Chapter Thirty-One: Negotiations

"Sark," Sydney gasped, gripping the phone. As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she wished she hadn't said it; Michael's face darkened instantly. "Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Now, Sydney, is than any way to greet a former lover?" Sark's voice was positively gleeful. "If you'll remember correctly, it wasn't so long ago that you and I--"

"What the hell do you want, Sark?" Sydney demanded. She watched her son begin to stir; she would have liked to leave the room so as not to disturb him and Emily, but she suspected that Michael wouldn't have liked it very much if she did so.

Sark sighed as if disappointed that she wouldn't play along. "I told you, Sydney," he said, voice irritatingly calm. "I think you and I can help each other."

"I can't imagine with what," Sydney said, perching on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sure you can," Sark said. "Just use a little imagination."

Sydney sat silent for a long moment, fuming.

"Oh, you're no fun, darling," Sark said with another disappointed sigh. "All right, then. I'll cut to the chase."

"I'd love it if you would," Sydney said tersely. She watched as Michael rose from the bed and began to pace.

"Well, love, I'm assuming that your running off the way you did means that you have no interest in running the Organization."

"You assume correctly." By this point, Sydney was gripping the phone so hard her knuckles were turning white.

"Well, as you know, I'm very much interested in doing so, but I've done something that might not make your darling mother too happy with me."

A million possibilities ran through Sydney's mind. Had he pissed off one of her mother's contacts? Killed a valuable asset? "What have you done?"

"Hang up the phone," Michael said, pausing in front of her. "Damn it, Sydney, hang up."

"Is that Michael?" Sark asked, sounding absolutely delighted. "I have to give you credit, Sydney. You must be quite good to have convinced him to take you back after the things you and I have done."

"You know how good I am," Sydney said haughtily. Michael looked nearly ready to rip someone's head off.

"That's right, I do." Sark's voice was low, seductive, and Sydney's eyes closed for a moment, remembering all the time she'd spent with him over the past six months. It hadn't been so bad, for the most part. She'd always felt so deliciously wicked when she was with him, and for a time, she'd enjoyed feeling that way. "We really were glorious together, Sydney."

"We were," Sydney said softly. She'd meant what she'd told her mother, Michael, everyone who'd asked-- Sark had been exactly what she'd needed to become the leader of the Organization she'd wanted to be.

Then she looked up into Michael's green eyes, so full of pain she wanted to cry, and she realized that what she'd needed then and what she needed now were definitely two different things.

"So-- what did you do to piss off my mother?" she managed to ask.

"Well, you see, Sydney, I let Jack Bristow free. Not free, exactly, but into my custody."

Sydney's eyes popped. "Why would you have done a thing like that?"

"I'm getting to that." Sark's voice was so irritatingly smug that Sydney would have liked to reach into the phone and strangle him. "I need your help, Sydney. I want to take over the Organization, but I hate to admit, I'm not ready to. I was out of the inner circle for so long that I'm afraid I don't know nearly as much about Irina's contacts and dealings as you do."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have pissed her off before you had a chance to find out what you needed to know."

"I probably shouldn't have," Sark agreed. "But I don't want her help, Sydney dear. I want yours."

"And why would I want to help you?"

"Oh, yes, that," Sark said, his tone almost dismissive. "Irina has operatives looking for you, Sydney. They know where you were three hours ago. I can't say how long it'll take them to catch up to you if you keep moving, but I do know that if I let Jack Bristow know, let him free, he'll catch up to you in no time and take you into CIA custody."

Sydney's eyes filled up with tears. How the hell had she put herself in his position. "What do you want me to do?" She wouldn't look at Michael. She had a feeling that the look in his eyes would have done her in.

"I want you and Michael to meet with me, and brief me on everything you know about the Organization. Contacts, operatives--"

"I don't know every last detail of the Organization's dealings off the top of my head, Sark."

"Oh, I'm sure you know more than you think you do." Now Sark's voice was more than vaguely threatening.

"And-- what will you do after you have the information you need?" Sydney asked.

"I'll see that you and your family are set up somewhere that Jack Bristow and the CIA can never get to you, on the condition that you never come back and try to take over the Organization."

"Believe me, taking over the Organization is the last thing I want to do," Sydney said with a sigh. "But wait a second. What about my mother?"

There was a long pause on Sark's end of the line. "Let's just say that it won't be long before your mother won't be a threat to either one of us."

Almost in spite of herself, Sydney felt her blood run cold. "And my father?" she whispered. "What will you do with him after I've done what you asked?"

Another long pause from Sark. "Well, that'll be up to you, Sydney dear. I think you and I can both agree that letting him free wouldn't be beneficial to either one of us."

Now it was Sydney's turn to be silent as she let his words sink in.

"Poor Sydney," Sark said, his voice suddenly soft, comforting. "I've given you a lot to think about, haven't I, darling?"

"Yes." The tears that she had managed to hold back suddenly spilled over, and she dared a glance at Michael. He was looking at her as if torn, as if not sure whether to comfort her or to tell her to get the hell out of his life.

"I'll tell you what," Sark told her. "I'll call you back in an hour with instructions on where to meet me. I'm sure the right thing to do will be clear to you by then."

He hung up before she had a chance to argue.