The funeral was held on a cold, gray, windswept day. The attendance was better than expected. While he had few close friends, the number of people who had trusted and admired Jack Bristow was large. They had chosen to remember the man that he was, rather than the man he had become in the last months of his life.

The minister of their local church had been pressed into service for a man he had seen few times, if at all, over his 30 years of tenure. His stock words of condolence had meant little to those gathered. But Sydney, who spoke without notes and from her heart, moved many to tears as she spoke passionately about her father the patriot, her father her friend.

While officially listed as death from accidental causes, it was widely assumed that Jack Bristow had taken his own life, dying of a broken heart. No one spoke of it to Sydney, but she could see it in their eyes. Vaughn stayed close by her during the ceremony, and Sydney was touched by the support she received from her close friends. After the ceremony they had all returned to her apartment, and toasted Jack, to the extent possible in a non-CIA gathering, until 2 in the morning.

***

Irina had acquired the second artifact as promised. When she had presented it to Sloane, he had held it tenderly, gently caressing it.

"We are very close, Irina. Understanding Rambaldi's work is like a jigsaw puzzle - at the beginning it's impossible to imagine the individual components, let alone the full picture. As you get towards the end - each additional piece provides incrementally more understanding, until, finally, it all becomes clear."

Irina watched him as the fanatical gleam flickered in his eyes. "Arvin," she purred, "those final pieces. If we pool what we know, we may be able to access the final keys to this puzzle."

He studied her carefully. She was showing promise. The ruthlessness with which she had dispatched Bristow, her ingenuity in obtaining the artifacts, her raw ambition. Perhaps -

"Very well, my dear."

**

The hood was removed from Irina's head and she blinked, adjusting to the artificial light. They appeared to be in an underground facility. Sloane was being scanned by a biometric sensor; when the scan was complete a massive metal door opened upwards, giving them access to the vault. She could see temperature and humidity sensors carefully controlling the environment, preserving the artifacts. Security cameras and electronic sensors ringed the area. She could hear the whoosh of the ventilation fans as oxygen was added to the nitrogen atmosphere used to maintain the artifacts in their original state. Carefully laid out and labeled on shelves were more than 50 Rambaldi artifacts. A separate section housed the manuscripts.

Irina stared, suddenly filled with longing. Arvin must have spent a lifetime collecting these all in one place. She yearned to stay and examine each one, attempting to understand Rambaldi's vision. The genius of an inventor 500 years before. She had come so close to solving the puzzle on her own, but with these.she spotted an oddly shaped object on the opposite wall and walked towards it, as if drawn by an unseen force. She felt a surge of satisfaction. She had always suspected a piece like this must exist. She reached out and explored it gently, pausing only when she heard movement behind her.

She turned and saw Sloane watching her. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said. She saw with revulsion that he was regarding her as a kindred spirit. She realized, with revulsion, that at that moment she was. Mesmerized by the mystery and the power. Obsessed by the greater meaning. She shook herself and her mind cleared. It was just a room with antiques.

She studied the objects carefully. Sloane's jigsaw - what was he missing? She scanned the room slowly, pacing back and forth, deep in thought. After several minutes, she wheeled back to Sloane.

"You're missing 3 pieces."

Sloane breathed in sharply. "How do you know that?"

Irina spent the next 20 minutes with Sloane, relaying out his collection. With the items repositioned, it was clear where gaps existed.

"This piece." She pointed to a gap. "The rafir spoke of a piece like this in his collection. He wasn't sure of the provenance, but the way he described it - it must be this piece."

"Get it," said Sloane.