CHAPTER FOUR – FOUND

Jack Bristow was seated at a small table in the corner of a basement ristorante near the old city walls in Florence.  A bottle of the house red sat on the table in front of him, untouched.  Jack knew better than to drink in the middle of the day, now – even if everyone around him was partaking in the expected siesta.

The files in front of him were filled with information he had poured over dozens of times.  After the CIA had let Vaughn go deep cover, he realized that finding Sydney was no longer their priority.  Jack had "retired" and continued his search – alone.

Jack had refused to believe that the body the CIA retrieved was his daughter – locket or no locket.  Death by unidentifiable body was simply too easy to fake – as his irritatingly-alive wife was proof.  But, he also realized that tracking Sydney, herself, was not a fruitful endeavor, so he turned all his attentions to Sloane.

He thought about attempting to discover Irina, but she had vanished as thoroughly as Sydney, following her Spiderman antics that night in Mexico City.  Sloane, however, kept popping his head up every chance he got.  Still intent on the idea of a partnership, Arvin kept up regular, although vague, contact with Jack. 

So, Jack followed him all over the world.  Jack's information always allowed him to arrive in time to witness the destruction that inevitably followed in Sloane's wake, but he never seemed to be able to catch up or get ahead.  It was a frustrating feeling to which Jack was never able to adjust. 

Jack was supposed to meet a contact this evening with new intel.  In the mean time, he sat, empty gaze set upon the pages before him.  By four in the afternoon, nearly everyone around him had returned to their jobs.  He left enough Euros on the table to more than cover his meal and walked out into the bright, sunlit street.

He turned to his left and walked through the crumbling city gates.  Jack sighed heavily as he looked at the long flight of stairs up the hill.  His age had begun to catch up with him lately.  He wasn't sure if it was because he had spent more time on planes than working out, or if it was something more… mental.  Either way, he began to climb.

Ten minutes later Jack stood still at the top of the stairs, catching his breath.  He still had time to kill before he needed to meet his contact, so he walked over to the piazza, taking in the city view.  The sun was just starting to set, and it cast a shadow over the buildings across the river. 

At the sound of laughter he turned and noticed a group of teenagers lounging on the steps beneath the replica of Michelangelo's David.  One of the boys had a guitar and was fumbling with the chords to some song.  How on earth did he lug that thing up this hill?  They were loud and dressed in grungy jeans.  Americans…

Jack had nearly ceased being an American in all his travels.  He had given up his apartment in L.A. almost a year and a half before.  He slept mostly on planes and only went back to the states when he had information indicating Sloane was there, which wasn't often. 

Another burst of laughter from the young group prompted Jack to remember his daughter at that age.  Sydney was away at boarding school nearly all the time, and when she was home, he wasn't.  Did she ever get to study abroad?  Jack searched his memory, and came up lacking. 

Even though they had gotten closer in the months preceding her disappearance, there was so much of her life he had missed… so much he didn't know.  He had to find her.

Checking his watch, Jack realized it was time to move.  He walked back past the stairs and continued on the sidewalk up the side of the sloping mountain. 

San Miniato al Monte… his favorite church in Florence, if Jack had ever thought enough about it.  There's something to be said for a Saint who gets decapitated, picks up his own head, and walks all the way back up this incredibly steep hill - before they built the stairs - just to spite his murderers.  As Jack neared the entrance, he could hear the monks chanting their evening vespers.  He stepped into the cool, dark basilica and made his way to the fifth pew from the back.

He didn't have to wait long.  After a couple minutes, a man clothed in white robes sat down next to him.

"Am I interrupting your prayers, my son?"

"I've always found it interesting that priests feel comfortable calling every man 'son.'  Particularly men who are at least twice their age," Jack replied.

The priest smiled softly, with a small nod of his head.  "My contact has found something we thought would interest you."

"Sydney!  You found my daughter?"

"No," the priest replied, passing Jack a manila envelope, "Unfortunately not.  However, this may be just as important."

Jack opened the envelope and pulled out several 8x10 color photographs.

"Yesterday morning, Arvin Sloane was discovered in a villa being renovated near Fiesole.  He had been shot multiple times.  He is dead."

Jack shook his head, taking in the bloody sight in the photos.  No doubt, that was Arvin Sloane, looking very, very deceased.

"Do we know what happened?  Who killed him?" Jack inquired.

"Nothing is certain, but we found a gun with prints.  Jack…" the priest looked up toward the massive mosaic of Christ in front of them.

"Jack… the prints belonged to Sydney."

-------

Sydney was emerging from her hazy sleep.  She could feel herself being carried.  She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt unbelievably heavy.

Finally, she felt a hard surface underneath her.  She forced her eyes open and looked directly into the face of her kidnapper.  He was an Asian man she didn't recognize, but considering her missing two years of memory, he could easily have been either an enemy or a friend.

Sydney managed to mumble a question, "What do you want with me?"

The man looked down at her, clearly shocked that she was awake.  He left her in the corner of the small, empty room and moved toward the door.  He surprised Sydney by replying to her inquiry in perfect English.

"I honestly do not know.  I was only told that we wanted you found."

Sydney winced as the heavy metal door slammed and the deadbolt slid into place.

-------