Jack reported to work at the Ops Center the next day, ignoring the surreptitious glances and subtle expressions of sympathy he encountered. He found a renewed sense of purpose in the building, a commitment to tracking down Sloane and bringing him to justice. Great, he thought caustically. When Dixon stopped by his office, Jack didn't have the heart to brush him off. He had, after all, been Sydney's partner.
"Agent Bristow, I just wanted to say how very sorry I am about your loss. Sydney was a remarkable person, a remarkable agent, a -," Dixon paused, momentarily overcome, then recovered, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "We will find Sloane, sir. Maybe not this week, maybe not this month. But no one in this office will rest until we do. And then he'll pay for what he has done. I. promise. you."
Looking into Dixon's eyes, Jack felt his heart sink. First Diane, and now Sydney. "Thank you, Dixon. No one wants to capture Sloane more than I do," he said with feeling. He shook Dixon's outstretched hand and then, ushering him out of the office, closed the door and sighed. It didn't take much effort to imagine Dixon's reaction to Jack's upcoming career shift.
**
Jack and Sloane had discussed his exit strategy at length. Jack had wanted to just disappear.
"That's fine, Jack. Why don't you go ahead and report here the day after the funeral?" responded Sloane neutrally.
Jack had looked at Sloane in surprise and relief. He wasn't going to be forced into burning his bridges in some spectacular fashion on the way out? How unusually considerate of Sloane.
"Actually, Jack," continued Sloane, as if reading Jack's mind, "I have something planned for the Ops Center anyway. Something that will give us a couple of months of breathing room.
Jack felt his stomach churn in alarm. "And what," he asked casually, "would that be, Arvin?"
Sloane smiled. "Allison downloaded the Ops Center blueprints off of Tippin's account. The ventilation shafts are surprisingly vulnerable. I've got a team scheduled to load them up with enough explosive to flatten the Ops Center and everyone in it. Unless," he said, his eyes glittering, "you have an alternative, Jack?"
Jack stood stock still, not a muscle moving in his face. So that's how it would be. Free will again, he thought to himself enraged. Jack could take down the Ops Center – or Sloane would. His way. Damn Sloane for manipulating him into this. He wouldn't just be burning his bridges – he'd be obliterating them.
"Yes, I have an alternative," said Jack through clenched teeth after a moment. "Almost as devastating, with the added benefit of thoroughly demoralizing the team." But they'd be alive, Jack added to himself.
"Excellent, Jack," purred Sloane. "I knew I could count on you."
**
Jack looked around his office. He had, of course, had the ventilation shaft security upgraded the minute he had walked in the door. What was he now, a triple agent? He was losing track. Stop stalling, Jack thought grimly to himself. He opened up the door to his office and leant out. "Marshall?" he called. "Could you step in here a minute?"
Marshall came in diffidently. "Yes sir?" Jack winced inwardly as he surveyed Marshall's eager-to-please attitude. It was like kicking a puppy. "Sir, Agent Bristow, I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to speak to you in person yesterday. Your daughter…your daughter…" Jack watched, stunned, as Marshall stopped, seemingly at a loss for words. Awkwardly, Jack reached out and patted him on the shoulder.
"Sydney was fond of you, too," said Jack gently. And would hate her father even more for what he was about to do, he thought savagely to himself.
"Marshall, I have a problem that I need you to work on, in confidence. You know that we've been having problems with systems intrusions?" Jack asked. Marshall nodded.
"Frankly," Jack lowered his voice conspiratorially, "we suspect someone internally. A mole. We have intel that there will be another system intrusion in 36 hours. When that happens, I'd like the hacker to see our system, but one made of completely false data. Scrambled names and numbers, mixed up pictures, maps that lead to nowhere. Could you create something like that?"
Marshall glowed with pride. "Sure I could. Piece of cake. Only problem is finding a spot to store the real data in the meantime."
"How much storage do you need?"
Marshall paused to consider. "If I compress the data – about a gig."
"Why don't you download it onto my PC, then," said Jack smoothly. "We'll take it offline. That way you can work in my office unobserved and we'll know it will be safe."
"Won't the rest of the people working here notice? I mean, when they start seeing the fake data? You can't do anything here without the system."
"Fortunately, we're expecting the hacker to try to enter in the middle of the night. My plan is for it to be all over by the next morning."
36 hours later, Jack gave the word to Marshall to move the real data off the system and replace it with the fake data. The next morning, Marshall came in early, to move the data back. There was yellow tape across Jack's office door.
"What's that?" he asked, gesturing at the tape to a security guard.
"Oh, there was a small electrical fire in Agent Bristow's office last night. We caught it before it got out of control," the guard said reassuringly.
Marshall's hands started shaking as he moved towards the door. "Hey, you can't go in there!" said the guard.
Showing surprising resolve, Marshall shouldered him aside and opened the door. The electrical fire had been in Jack's computer. Numbly Marshall surveyed the blackened shell of what had recently been the sole residence of all the Task Force's reports, leads, email records, maps, photos…any data at all relating to Sloane or Rambaldi. It would take months to recreate, if it could be recreated at all.
Marshall stumbled blindly back to his desk. Propped up against his computer screen was an envelope, with his name on it, written in Jack's distinctive scrawl. He fumbled as he opened it.
Marshall –
You'll need this. I'm sorry.
Jack Bristow.
Attached to the note was a memo detailing Jack's orders to Marshall, with Jack's signature at the bottom. Marshall crumpled the letter and began to sob.