Month 3 - Propaganda

The reports started coming in a month ago from all over. First there was the bank robbery in Ireland. A small team invaded the national bank and cut off all security cameras and alarms. They used tranquilizer darts, but a security guard still died. The bank manager described the leader of the team as being a young, blond man with an English accent.

Next came the murder of the wife of the French ambassador to Canada. The last time she was seen alive, she was dancing with a young blond man at a private dinner function that she had attended with her husband. Later, none of the guests could identify the man except for one of them that mentioned that he walked with a small limp. The wife was found in her hotel bedroom, alone, strangled to death.

Reporters in Sudan described the burning of a village in the heart of the desert. This village was supposed to hold the sacred remains of one of their gods. The village was burned to a crisp and all the invalids or elderly villagers that couldn't get away burned down with their huts. The sacred remains were apparently the only things that the gang was after. An old blind man was the only survivor of the horror, and he spoke with tremors in his voice about the English man that had killed his family.

On and on the reports came. Some more outlandish than the others, but all hinting at the same thing. Sark was back in business, and he was back with a bloody vengeance. His previous crimes paled compared to the new ones that were coming in every day.

…

I take a deep breath as I exit the elevator to the SD-6 offices. It is just another day for me.

That's all it can be. I've stopped trying to feel.

First the doubts, then the nightmares, then the gruesome reports of his crimes.

I just try not to feel anymore.

Of course none of the reports I have received about Sark came from SD-6, and I have to wonder what Sloane thinks about all this…unless of course Sloane ordered Sark to commit them. If that was the case, that would certainly explain his good mood lately.

Dixon isn't at his desk as I walk by, but there is a note on mine telling me to go to the briefing room. I check my watch to make sure that I'm not late, but as I enter the room it is obvious that the meeting has already started. I force myself to nod cordially to Sloane before looking around the room.

Then I notice that the speaker has stopped talking and that everyone is looking at me.

And the speaker is Sark; in all his fine glory. And I forget that I promised myself not to feel anymore.

"Good morning Agent Bristow. So good of you to join us." His face is cold and sharp. His suit is impeccable. The veneer of his mask is securely in place. His eyes look like the eyes of a killer.

It was all just in my head. It had to be.

I can feel my lips pressing tightly together, but I force myself to nod slowly in apology for my tardiness and take my usual seat.

Sark continues speaking, but I'm not really paying attention. My mind is in a whirlwind. I was not expecting to have to confront him so soon.

I catch fragments of his speech. He is going into great detail about the mines in Argentina. He has assets in place looking for something. Sloane seems very pleased. Dixon looks like he's swallowed a bad pill, but he always looks like that when he has to interact with Sark. Marshall just looks at him with fear and awe all in one.

I try to force myself to bring some order into my disheveled thoughts, but I have to settle for clenching my fists so that my hands don't tremble.

How could I have been so gullible?

How can part of me still want to believe him?

Finally Sloane stands to adjourn the meeting. I stand quickly so that I can escape without having to talk to him, but it seems like fate is just not on my side.

"Sydney I'd like you to stay behind for a moment and brief Sark on what we know about the Henderson case so far. He will be working on it as well." Sloane smiles his patronizing smile at me, and I can feel my stomach bottoming out.

No, not here.

Everyone files out of the room, and I try not to look at Sark.

I can't scream at him here. That would definitely blow my cover.

Sloane shuts the door behind him, and I have no choice but to look at the only man left in the room.

And I really wish I could scream at him.

As the door shuts softly behind us, I can see his face change ever so subtly. The tension in his face lessens, and the glare in his eyes changes to one of perception. I couldn't tell anyone exactly how, but it seemed like in the space a few seconds, Sark's face has changed from one of ruthlessness to humanity, and he never moved a muscle.

He almost looks like the person I imagined him to be…

How dare he be the person standing in front of me and the person I'm scared he might be.

"It's safe to talk here for a few moments."

But I can't stop the words from rushing out of my mouth. I know my face is twisted in anger. "You son of a –" but I stop myself. I also can't help but wonder if the fact that I stopped myself means that he has already won. "How could you do all of those things?"

It takes no more than a millisecond but the mask is back in place. "What are you talking about Sydney?"

"The bank robbery, the murder of the ambassador's wife, the village outside Sudan. The bombing of a school yard in Germany. How could you do all of those things. How could you lie to me…"

Sark looks at me coldly. "I didn't lie to you."

"There's no proof. The CIA thinks that I am crazy."

"You told the CIA?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? If we're fighting on the same side why wouldn't I tell them?"

Sark turns away and is quiet for a moment. Finally he turns back to me, his voice betraying his anger. "Well that certainly explains a lot. The CIA tried to verify my story."

I shrug. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything," he responds tightly. "I told you that only two people know of my cover. Well there is a reason for that Sydney, one which I thought you could appreciate. The more important an asset is, the less people know about it. There are moles everywhere. Your CIA triggered this propaganda campaign against me."

"What are you talking about? The CIA wouldn't make up these stories; they got them from a variety of sources."

"The stories aren't made up; the incidences actually occurred. But they must have been set up by my enemies and employers. Obviously someone that the CIA talked to, spoke to someone who had a vested interest in my loyalties. They want the world to think I committed all those acts because they want to scare MI6 into acting. If they can get a reaction out of them, then it confirms that I am in their employment."

"So the dead bank guard…"

He looks at me coldly and shakes his head.

"…and the burned village…"

"Why would I burn a village?"

"…and the ambassador's wife…"

Sark stares directly at me. "No her I did kill. She was selling information to the Argentineans about the mining project. She was spying on her husband who financed part of the deal. She found out about my interest in it and decided to see if there was anything else that I knew. She just didn't count on me seeing her pull out her gun from under her dress."

I stare at him openly, shock plainly visible on my face.

"I can't make you believe me Sydney. Either you do or you don't."

"Ah—" I can't make my mouth form the words that it needs to. Is it possible? Can he really be telling me the truth or is this just part of his elaborate set of lies? And does it matter? He still has more blood on his hands.

I just don't know what to think anymore.

Finally my mind decides on asking the only thing that it can. "What were you doing in her hotel room, watching under her dress?"

He smirks at me slightly, though the anger is still visible in his eyes. I curse myself for giving my feelings away so easily. "Did you also tell the CIA about our little tryst?" he asks coldly.

I respond in kind by narrowing my eyes at him. "No. Some things are none of their business."

"Hmph." He looks away for a second before facing me again. "I have to agree.  But tell me Sydney, when did you stop trusting yourself?"

If I'm really honest with myself I'd say about two years ago when I started this whole life. When I realized that I'd been lied to so completely.

"You trust your body to get you out of tight physical jams with opponents twice your size, you trust your mind to out think your enemies and solve life and death puzzles and yet you don't trust your heart, which is the only reason why you should be doing any of this in the first place. You are an enigma Sydney."

I turn away. There's so much to say, but I can say none of it. I don't need to remember my nightmares from last night because now they are flashing before my eyes.

The blood, the fire, the dark, the pain - they all really happened.

I turn back and look at Sark. There are no bruises on his face, but I can see slight circles under his eyes. His jaw is set tightly, but his eyes are trying to see into my very soul.

Finally he steps back and gathers his papers. When he gives me one last look before opening the door, I can tell he's become a killer once again.

I'm the enigma? I think to myself as I watch him exit the room.