Chapter 15

"Irina, my dear, welcome back. Did you obtain the services of Dr. Randolph?"

"Yes, Arvin," she smiled. "He's making a 'house call' now. We should have the database match in the next 24 hours."

"Excellent. I'm anxious to bring this phase to a close."

"I'll go work on identifying a new operations base. It will not have escaped the CIA's notice that a genetics expert is missing. I'm sure they're going to come looking for him."

"I don't think that that will be necessary," replied Sloane casually. "The Joint Task Force is a little preoccupied right now."

Irina looked at him enquiringly.

"You will be shocked, Irina, *shocked* to learn that Jack Bristow stole the flower's genetic code and passed it on to me. At least the FBI were," said Sloane dryly. "Jack's on his way to prison now. With his past history, he'll be there a while. He's not likely to create any future problems."

Irina's mouth went dry, but 35 years of experience allowed her to respond without tremor, "Brilliant plan, Arvin."

"Yes, I believe it solves a number of problems for us," said Arvin pensively. Including the distraction Bristow might represent to Irina, he thought to himself. "And there's a pleasing symmetry about having him finish his career in prison, I think. A sort of early retirement program," he finished snidely.

Fingers curling into fists behind her back, Irina replied evenly, "I think I'll go check on our geneticist, then." She turned on her heel and rapidly departed, afraid she would murder Sloane with her bare hands.

Once outside his office, Irina leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Jack.

**

The prison bus rumbled along the bumpy rural road. Head down, Jack did not notice the signs of spring in the fields that spread out on either side of them. He was exhausted. He had been interrogated twice by the FBI during the night. Not that it had been a particularly enjoyable experience for them, either, as he had not responded to any of their questions. Watched by cameras, he had been afraid to fall asleep when they had left, fearful of what he might say during one of his nightmares.

The bus finally pulled into the yard, and 11 men in handcuffs shuffled out. Each, in turn, was ushered into a small room to be searched one more time and to change into a prison jumpsuit under the watchful eye of a prison guard, then sent out with escort to the cellblock.

Jack watched wearily as the line moved slowly. He remembered this from last time. Most of what you did in prison was wait. Wait for breakfast. Wait for work detail. Wait for visitors. Wait to fall asleep. Wait for morning.

The door opened and he slowly made his way into the changing room, and waited for the guard to unlock his handcuffs.

"Here," said the guard gruffly, as he handed Jack his jumpsuit. "Get moving."

The guard turned in surprise as a second door opened, and the warden entered followed by 3 men in suits.

"Johnson."

"Sir?"

"I need you to accompany Mr. Williams to Cellblock C immediately. We have reason to believe that one of our new arrivals has information on a terrorist cell that we urgently need."

"Let me finish with this prisoner, sir, and I'll escort him up immediately."

"I've already requested a replacement for you. I'll remain here to keep an eye on the prisoner until your replacement arrives."

"Yes, sir."

Jack watched in silence as the guard and Williams left the room, then raised an eyebrow at one of the men accompanying the warden.

"Cutting it a little close, sir," he said to Devlin.

Devlin shrugged apologetically. "More realistic this way." He scanned Jack, noting his rumpled appearance and the fatigue in his eyes. "We're getting a little old for this, Jack," he said, with a trace of a smile on his lips. He turned to the man next to him - in his early 50's, a little over 6 feet tall, with graying hair - and said, "OK, Jamieson. A week at the outside. Sorry about the food."

Jamieson stepped forward and took the jumpsuit from Jack and started to rapidly change. "Won't the FBI pick up the switch as soon as they start to question him?" asked Jack.

The warden smiled. "He won't be available for a little while." Grabbing Jamieson by the arm, he dragged him to the door and leaned out. "This one was busy mouthing off. Give him a week's solitary so he can learn some manners," he said, shoving Jamieson out the door.

"Thanks, Dave. Love to Thelma," said Devlin, shaking the warden's hand.

"No problem, Ben. Happy to help."

**

"Irina?"

"Jack? Where are you?" Irina slumped with relief into her chair, phone to her ear.

"Officially, I now reside at San Quentin. Unofficially, I suddenly have a lot of free time on my hands. Want to go out on a date?"