Earlier that morning

The engine of the transport plane hummed loudly in the background, making conversation difficult. Jack impatiently glanced at his watch. This mission could not be over fast enough. Thrown together in too much haste, too many people involved, too many details left unverified, fundamentally flawed in design. Jack had argued vehemently against proceeding based on the one unconfirmed piece of intel the CIA had received, but had been overruled. Jack grimaced to himself. Overruled was putting it mildly. He had been so strident in his objections to the mission that Kendall had finally lost it.

"That's about enough, Agent Bristow," Kendall had snapped. "Your assignment at SD-6 gave you a great deal of autonomy. You appear to have forgotten that we don't vote on our missions here. The mission stands. Either you do this or Sydney will." The two men had glared at each other, Kendall with irritation that his authority was being challenged, Jack with outrage that Kendall would even suggest assigning Sydney in his place.

The plan called for Irina to be freed, again, from her cell, to help him gain access to a purported Rambaldi artifact. The CIA was desperate to capture Sloane and hoped to use the new artifact for bait.

The most infuriating part of this assignment, Jack reflected, had been briefing Irina. She had immediately pointed out the problems in the mission to him. The same problems that he had pointed out to Kendall, he thought with exasperation. Through gritted teeth, he had had to explain to her why it was such a good idea. The look she had given him had spoken volumes. "This isn't your plan, is it?" she probed, with a penetrating look. Goaded, he had answered her with a glare.

"What if I refuse?"

"You'll be in violation of your immunity agreement," he had shot back, tired of fencing with her, "and all the attendant complications that might represent." She had glowered at him. They both knew that "attendant complications" translated to prosecution for murder and treason.

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Irina. He hated her for what she had done to him 20 years ago. It was only a matter of time before she betrayed him - them, he amended quickly - again. The torture was in the waiting, because with each additional conversation, touch, or look, memories stirred, memories which he had successfully suppressed, with considerable effort, years before. And the torture was in the watching, he sighed to himself. Because as he watched her every move, looking for the betrayal, he also saw her intelligence, her beauty, her courage. Maintaining his resistance to her was taking increasing effort. It had been hard enough visiting her every couple of days while she had been in her cell. The thought of working with her closely over the next 24 hours left him exhausted.

Now she sat across from him on the plane, readying her cover documents and her gear. She was looking thoughtful. He recognized that expression and it made him nervous. He fingered his watch, which was once again linked to the C-4 necklace she was wearing. He had a healthy respect for her strategic abilities. He hoped she wouldn't try anything.