Chapter 5: The Beginning of the End

Dixon sat on the roof of the hotel for an hour. He had to add more sedatives to his co-conspirators, which was easy by just heading down to the pharmacy and getting some sleeping pills. They would be out for at least three more hours. The next step in his operation was to take care of the swat team. With a few, well-placed dispensers, he managed to create a combination of heavy anesthetic and amnesiac into a gas form, and the squad was knocked out cold in their van. Then he went in alone to the building.

In the back, just like Vaughn said, was the air duct entrance they were looking for. Dixon couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that Edward Poole's advice might be wrong. Maybe Sloane wasn't just waiting for him. But Poole was the last person that Dixon had access to that was willing to sell Sloane out, so Dixon had no choice but to hope his partner's manipulation of their common foe was correct. But he had no time to worry about that now. The heat signals being picked up by his thermal goggles were getting closer, and Sloane's DNA reading was within yards of him.

* * *

Marshall was working at his desk when a message popped up on his screen. After he stared at it for a few seconds, he ran to Jack. Completely destroying protocol, Marshall ran down the halls of Langley. "Mr. Bristow!" he screamed. "MR. BRISTOW!"

Jack turned around from a very important meeting to see Marshall run right by him. Once again, head bowed, he grabbed Marshall by the collar. Marshall, with his full momentum, broke from Jack's grip, and fell on the floor. Before he even got up, he started explaining himself.

"Mr. Bristow, something's gone wrong in São Paulo. Our whole team, with one exception has been knocked out. We don't know who's done it, but the only logical explanation is that Sloane knew we were coming."

Jack looked up, with a look of deep horror in his eyes, and said, "How could Sloane know we were going to attack him…"

And then it clicked for him.

"Will. He's not the mole. It wasn't a cover story; it was the truth. But who could have had access to make all that evidence point against him? Marshall, get working on finding that out, I'll go talk to Will."

Jack walked briskly across the main floor of the CIA headquarters, and eventually came to a heavily guarded door. He flashed his ID badge, giving him clearance to the "conversation rooms" below. In cell 47, Jack heard Will cry, "Oh no, oh NO!!!" Jack immediately knew what was happening to him, by the sound of the drills echoing throughout the room. Wills screams of terror erupted through the whole cellblock. Jack reflected on all the people he had made scream like that, the most recent of which had also turned out to give no information.

Sloane sat down while that creepy torture artist lit a torch.

"I want a location!" Sloane screamed.

Getting no response, the flame touched the already diseased man's skin. With terrible cries, eventually a word came out.

"Smila," he said. "Smila?"

Later, when Jack gave it a try, he was much more comforting. After what sounded like an automated sand papering machine was let go from Richter's skin, Jack tried to reason. "It doesn't have to end this way. You could be made very comfortable. All you have to do is give us an address."

"Smila?"

"Yes, it's in the Ukraine. Where in Smila? All we need is an address."

"Smila," he said, with some insane laughter, "Smila is my wife." The laugh soon turned to tears, when he said, "and I love her!"

Now he knew that sometimes there were ways to resist torture, but the best of course is to be innocent, like Will. Jack burst through the door to see Will's face bloodied, his arms strapped to a chair, but his head was down. Lazily, he drooled a pool of blood from his mouth, which splattered across the floor. "Release him," Jack said. "He's innocent." For the second time since Will knew him, Will wanted to hug Jack for all he was worth.

"Thank you," was all Will could say. Then, with a bloody cough, he passed out.

* * *

Dixon's PDA began to beep like crazy, and he knew he was write above Sloane's stationary point. It was most curious, however, that the PDA showed Sloane as right below him, but the heat signals showed someone to the left of the DNA. Regardless, Dixon slammed his foot through the vent, and had his gun facing straight ahead.

He landed facing a wall, which was one of the scariest things he had ever seen.

Rambaldi's sign was painted in blood, albeit dry blood, on the wall he was facing. This symbol nearly made the PDA explode, and Dixon realized. It was Sloane's blood. He turned around with his pistol drawn, to see Irina standing calmly there.

"This woman here depicted will posses unseen marks, signs to show that she is the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury, a burning anger. Unless prevented, this woman will bring forth the greatest power unto utter desolation."

"What is that?" Dixon asked.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are, Marcus?" At first, Dixon thought it came from Irina, but instead it seemed to radiate around the room. "The first and last person to meet me, Milo Rambaldi, in the flesh. Well, almost…" Dixon noticed the voice was deep, and dark. It was then that Dixon saw Sark. He was holding Sloane's unconscious form, whose gut was greatly bandaged. Unlike Irina, Sark was more nervous with the situation. And then a third form came from the shadows. Dixon couldn't see it with the thermal goggles on, but the footsteps resounding everywhere told him he was in someone's presence. It wasn't until the footsteps stopped that Dixon took off his goggles. Staring him right in the face was Anna Espinosa. She opened her mouth, and Rambaldi's voice rang out, "How do I look?" With a maniacal laugh, she kicked Dixon in the chin, and he was knocked out.

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