Chapter Twenty-Two: The Plan

To Jack's surprise, his mother didn't get angry at his outburst, nor did she break down crying at the news of what had happened to her little girl. Instead, she simply sank down on the living room couch, looking dazed but nothing more. "Jack, what time did you last see Emily?"

Of course, Jack thought bitterly. She was a spy. She was trained to think on her feet, not let her emotions get involved.

"Uh--" They weren't going to be happy about this one. "Around eleven, I guess."

"Jack!" Oops. Jack had never seen his father so angry. "It's three a.m., you couldn't have--"

"He was angry, Michael," Sydney interrupted, eerily calm. "And anyway, it wouldn't have done for him to barge into the restaurant and create a huge scene. It's best if we keep this quiet, not get the local authorities involved."

"What do you propose we do then, Sydney?"

Jack looked back and forth between his parents, amazed. He'd been prepared to make them feel absolutely wretched for withholding information about their pasts from him, to demand answers. It seemed, though, that he wouldn't get the answers he craved even then.

"Jack," Sydney told him, with the calm precision of a drill sergeant. "Call the airport. Find out where all the flights that left between eleven p.m. and now are headed."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack responded, but he was too dazed and impressed to move until he heard the rest of her strategy.

"Michael," Sydney continued. "There's a chance they might still be on the island. You should probably--"

"I'll look around, see what I can find out," he promised. "Where was the last place you saw them, Jack?"

"The-- ah-- the White Sands Hotel," Jack said, still having trouble believing that this was really happening, and happening like this.

"And you actually saw your grandmother leave with Emily?"

Jack's head was spinning. "I saw them leave the room. I don't know if they left the hotel or not. They were staying on the tenth floor."

"They-- who else was with your grandmother, Jack?" Michael asked, brow knitted in concern.

"I-- uh--" Jack suddenly felt idiotic, unprepared. He'd been so ready to demand answers from his parents, to make them understand what a mistake it had been to hide their pasts from him, that he felt like he hadn't remembered to keep track of nearly enough important details. "Someone called Sark."

His parents exchanged a glance, one Jack found impossible to read.

"And Sloane. Arvin Sloane."

Jack's mother gasped, and his father let out a curse he had never heard leave the man's mouth.

"I'm going to go see what I can find out," Michael resolved, green eyes full of fire. "Jack, after you call the airlines, I'm going to need you to tell your mother everything you know. No leaving out details because you think she'll get angry, or because you're trying to get back at us for not sharing enough about ourselves with you."

"Okay, Dad." Jack felt the anger rise up in the pit of his stomach all over again. Of course he would tell his mother everything. He'd never do anything to endanger his sister's life.

Except deep down, he feared he already had. He feared that by not running to the restaurant and telling his parents everything the minute his grandmother had left, he had put his sister in danger. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

"I'm going to start at the hotel," Michael told his wife, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "I'll have my cell with me, and I'll call if I find out anything. Get in touch with me if Jack tells you anything you think might help me, okay?"

"Of course." Jack watched as his mother squeezed his father's hand, eyes full of warmth and determination. "Be careful."

"You, too."

And just like that, Jack's father was gone, and Jack was left staring at his mother.

"Call the airport from the phone in the kitchen," she instructed him. "I'll be here, on my cell phone. Getting in touch with my father."