"How do you know about Project Christmas?"
"Through you..."
"Through me? What the hell do you mean by that?"
"During my 'alliance' with Sloane, my sole purpose was to keep tabs on you. That included researching your past... Along the way, I stumbled across information about myself and my participation in Project Christmas-"
"What else do you know about me? What else have you 'researched'?"
"Sydney, please don't-"
"I need to know! You owe me this much."
"I owe you nothing!"
"Tell me or I walk. Your choice."
"You've come too far to just leave."
"Tell me- if you know so much about me- do you really believe that?"
The list he ran off monotonously accounted for everything from my favorite food, to every CIA counter mission I've ever attempted, to The Prophecy. It would have been easy to believe that he felt nothing about stealing such details of my life, but for the fact that he refused to look me in the eyes.
The Prophecy... I'd asked him if he'd reported his knowledge of my face- or that of my mother- on the Rambaldi page to Sloane. He told me no, and I believe him though I couldn't get the conversation out of my head as I scaled a rickety ladder outide of an old Russian museum.
'When you reach the roof there'll be a small door that drops down into the attic. It's always been an emergency exit to the roof, but you'll be entering the building through it. Once inside, I'll give you further instructions.'
Sark's instructions replayed in my mind as I took a small vile out of my pack and poured it carefully on the padlock on the door. It hissed and sizzled before crumbling at my feet. Gingerly opening the door, I entered the dark room and descended a handful of stairs until I felt a wooden floor below me. Assessing the room, I noted a door to my left and various wooden chests and boxes strewn about the room.
I hated walking into situations blindly like this, but what Sark had said was true. If I was to be caught, it was safer for both of us that I knew as little as possible. A morbid thought, but it was true none the less.
"Okay, I'm in," I whispered, turning on my comm with one hand as I pulled the door quietly shut with the other. "Now what?"
"Stay where you are. Someone just entered downstairs," he spoke conversationally, as if we were just two friends chatting on the telephone, and my life wasn't in any way endangered by the unknown person now lurking about in the rooms below me. "I'm going to check it out."
"No! Don't bother. I'll get what we need and get out before anyone even knows I'm here. Don't risk giving us both away."
"You should learn to supress your ego, Miss Bristow. It will get you killed sooner or later," the familiar cockyness and mocking tone had weaved itself back into his voice, and I instantly found myself missing the sincere Sark from the car.
"You, of all people, shouldn't be lecturing me about egos!" I whispered harshly into the comm. "Now tell me, what am I retrieving, and where do I find it."
He paused for a moment, and all I could hear was a dull, crackling static in my ear. My heart pounded as various scenarios of Sark being captured and me being stranded raced through my head. After what seemed like an eternity he spoke again, and I couldn't hide the sigh of relief that escaped at the sound of his voice, "Near the west wall there should be a loose floor board. Remove it and retrieve the box underneath, then get out of there quietly."
"That's all I needed to know," I told him, and foolishly turned off the comm before he could argue.
Silently, I padded across the room on hands and knees, listening for footsteps on the staircase behind the wooden door to my left, careful to make no noise as I felt for the loose board. A smile crept on my face when my hand slipped across the loose board, but it didn't last long. A matter of seconds later I heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and my stomach lurched.
"There's someone on the staircase," I flicked my comm back on and whispered to Sark, fighting to keep my voice from shaking, "Is the door on the north wall locked?"
"Yes, no... maybe. Sydney, we've been made! Forget the box, and get out of there."
"No! I can handle one guard."
"Dammit Sydney, get out of there now! The man I saw through the window is Sloane's!!"
There wasn't time to respond, for at that moment the door swung open and I was looking up at a man with a gun, a small metal box tucked guiltly under one arm.
"Through you..."
"Through me? What the hell do you mean by that?"
"During my 'alliance' with Sloane, my sole purpose was to keep tabs on you. That included researching your past... Along the way, I stumbled across information about myself and my participation in Project Christmas-"
"What else do you know about me? What else have you 'researched'?"
"Sydney, please don't-"
"I need to know! You owe me this much."
"I owe you nothing!"
"Tell me or I walk. Your choice."
"You've come too far to just leave."
"Tell me- if you know so much about me- do you really believe that?"
The list he ran off monotonously accounted for everything from my favorite food, to every CIA counter mission I've ever attempted, to The Prophecy. It would have been easy to believe that he felt nothing about stealing such details of my life, but for the fact that he refused to look me in the eyes.
The Prophecy... I'd asked him if he'd reported his knowledge of my face- or that of my mother- on the Rambaldi page to Sloane. He told me no, and I believe him though I couldn't get the conversation out of my head as I scaled a rickety ladder outide of an old Russian museum.
'When you reach the roof there'll be a small door that drops down into the attic. It's always been an emergency exit to the roof, but you'll be entering the building through it. Once inside, I'll give you further instructions.'
Sark's instructions replayed in my mind as I took a small vile out of my pack and poured it carefully on the padlock on the door. It hissed and sizzled before crumbling at my feet. Gingerly opening the door, I entered the dark room and descended a handful of stairs until I felt a wooden floor below me. Assessing the room, I noted a door to my left and various wooden chests and boxes strewn about the room.
I hated walking into situations blindly like this, but what Sark had said was true. If I was to be caught, it was safer for both of us that I knew as little as possible. A morbid thought, but it was true none the less.
"Okay, I'm in," I whispered, turning on my comm with one hand as I pulled the door quietly shut with the other. "Now what?"
"Stay where you are. Someone just entered downstairs," he spoke conversationally, as if we were just two friends chatting on the telephone, and my life wasn't in any way endangered by the unknown person now lurking about in the rooms below me. "I'm going to check it out."
"No! Don't bother. I'll get what we need and get out before anyone even knows I'm here. Don't risk giving us both away."
"You should learn to supress your ego, Miss Bristow. It will get you killed sooner or later," the familiar cockyness and mocking tone had weaved itself back into his voice, and I instantly found myself missing the sincere Sark from the car.
"You, of all people, shouldn't be lecturing me about egos!" I whispered harshly into the comm. "Now tell me, what am I retrieving, and where do I find it."
He paused for a moment, and all I could hear was a dull, crackling static in my ear. My heart pounded as various scenarios of Sark being captured and me being stranded raced through my head. After what seemed like an eternity he spoke again, and I couldn't hide the sigh of relief that escaped at the sound of his voice, "Near the west wall there should be a loose floor board. Remove it and retrieve the box underneath, then get out of there quietly."
"That's all I needed to know," I told him, and foolishly turned off the comm before he could argue.
Silently, I padded across the room on hands and knees, listening for footsteps on the staircase behind the wooden door to my left, careful to make no noise as I felt for the loose board. A smile crept on my face when my hand slipped across the loose board, but it didn't last long. A matter of seconds later I heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase, and my stomach lurched.
"There's someone on the staircase," I flicked my comm back on and whispered to Sark, fighting to keep my voice from shaking, "Is the door on the north wall locked?"
"Yes, no... maybe. Sydney, we've been made! Forget the box, and get out of there."
"No! I can handle one guard."
"Dammit Sydney, get out of there now! The man I saw through the window is Sloane's!!"
There wasn't time to respond, for at that moment the door swung open and I was looking up at a man with a gun, a small metal box tucked guiltly under one arm.
