( 9 months post-The Telling)
It was, Jack mused with more perspective the next morning, as if he had been told he had cancer. 17 months to live. He was not afraid of dying; with hindsight he knew that he had positively courted death a number of times over the past 20 years. There hadn't been much to lose then, and there was even less to lose now. If his death somehow triggered events that allowed Sydney to recover - well, many parents he knew would make the same decision.
And of course, the certain knowledge that this nightmare could end - would end - was a relief. Sydney's recovery was now within his control.
It was just that he had 17 months to live, but couldn't spend the time putting his affairs in order, or visiting with family and friends, or traveling to the places he'd always wanted to see. He couldn't even put a gun in his mouth.
He had to spend his last 17 months protecting Sloane and his operation.
A gun in the mouth would have been preferable.
**
Something was different. Sloane could not put his finger on it, but Jack was different. Focused. Driven. Perhaps giving him broader authority had been good for him. Certainly, things were now running much more smoothly.
And Sloane was gratified to see that Phase 2 of his Jack Bristow plan was on track. Jack's tolerance for mistakes, never high at the best of times, had most recently gone to zero; he was now spending almost half of each day on Il Dire, checking and double-checking his strategies to ensure they were perfect. Il Dire's infallibility was a siren's song irresistible to a strategist like Jack.
Sloane had known that using Sydney's illness as a stick would only work for so long; he was counting on Il Dire becoming Jack's carrot. Just a little bit more time, he thought pensively. He felt a small prickling of conscience, which was promptly squashed.
**
Jack picked at his plate of Peking duck. Today's visit with Sydney had been difficult. She was stable but progress had halted. Being with her today had forcibly reminded him of his failures that had put her in this position. Project Christmas. His withdrawal from her as she grew up. His association with Sloane. His inability to identify Francie as the mole.
Failure to anticipate. Failure to see all the options. Blindness to the treachery around him.
Il Dire could have prevented it all.
Jack looked back on his earlier days, when he had thought himself the omniscient tactician, with scorn. All that time wasted on contingency plans in case something went wrong. Having to depend on the reactions of field operatives to improvise a new solution on the spot. How much more could he have achieved by simply being right all the time?
The strategies required to ensure that he and Sydney arrived at that one point in the future together, and Sloane's world came crashing down shortly afterwards, were by far the most complex and wide-ranging he had ever developed. No opportunity for error.
He could hardly wait to get back.
**
Jack's headset crashed to the table. It had happened again.
"You didn't see this coming?" Sloane demanded.
Jack shook his head with fury. "No. The main CIA force reacted exactly as we expected, securing the perimeter and trying to protect the bystanders. Then a rogue team appeared and made a beeline for the device. If it had been live, instead of a dummy...," he shook his head again, this time in amazement. "The only thing that would have been left would have been a crater."
"Dammit, Jack, this is the 3rd operation in 3 months that's failed. You had better-,"
"Sir, we've got the satellite feed coming in now," said a technician, interrupting.
Sloane and Jack huddled over the computer screen, trying to understand what had gone wrong. Jack pointed. "There. That's the team. Standard CIA protocol should have them over here," he gestured. "Instead, they -,"
"Wait a minute." Sloane looked closer. "Zoom in on that team." He waited while the technician complied. "Now on their team leader," he said, pointing. Again, the technician obliged.
Jack sucked his breath in, but said nothing. Sloane was not as reticent. "Wouldn't you know it," he said acidly. "My radar has a blind spot. You've *never* been able to predict that woman." He turned to Jack and snarled, "Give me a strategy that takes her out." He turned on his heel and left the room.
It was, Jack mused with more perspective the next morning, as if he had been told he had cancer. 17 months to live. He was not afraid of dying; with hindsight he knew that he had positively courted death a number of times over the past 20 years. There hadn't been much to lose then, and there was even less to lose now. If his death somehow triggered events that allowed Sydney to recover - well, many parents he knew would make the same decision.
And of course, the certain knowledge that this nightmare could end - would end - was a relief. Sydney's recovery was now within his control.
It was just that he had 17 months to live, but couldn't spend the time putting his affairs in order, or visiting with family and friends, or traveling to the places he'd always wanted to see. He couldn't even put a gun in his mouth.
He had to spend his last 17 months protecting Sloane and his operation.
A gun in the mouth would have been preferable.
**
Something was different. Sloane could not put his finger on it, but Jack was different. Focused. Driven. Perhaps giving him broader authority had been good for him. Certainly, things were now running much more smoothly.
And Sloane was gratified to see that Phase 2 of his Jack Bristow plan was on track. Jack's tolerance for mistakes, never high at the best of times, had most recently gone to zero; he was now spending almost half of each day on Il Dire, checking and double-checking his strategies to ensure they were perfect. Il Dire's infallibility was a siren's song irresistible to a strategist like Jack.
Sloane had known that using Sydney's illness as a stick would only work for so long; he was counting on Il Dire becoming Jack's carrot. Just a little bit more time, he thought pensively. He felt a small prickling of conscience, which was promptly squashed.
**
Jack picked at his plate of Peking duck. Today's visit with Sydney had been difficult. She was stable but progress had halted. Being with her today had forcibly reminded him of his failures that had put her in this position. Project Christmas. His withdrawal from her as she grew up. His association with Sloane. His inability to identify Francie as the mole.
Failure to anticipate. Failure to see all the options. Blindness to the treachery around him.
Il Dire could have prevented it all.
Jack looked back on his earlier days, when he had thought himself the omniscient tactician, with scorn. All that time wasted on contingency plans in case something went wrong. Having to depend on the reactions of field operatives to improvise a new solution on the spot. How much more could he have achieved by simply being right all the time?
The strategies required to ensure that he and Sydney arrived at that one point in the future together, and Sloane's world came crashing down shortly afterwards, were by far the most complex and wide-ranging he had ever developed. No opportunity for error.
He could hardly wait to get back.
**
Jack's headset crashed to the table. It had happened again.
"You didn't see this coming?" Sloane demanded.
Jack shook his head with fury. "No. The main CIA force reacted exactly as we expected, securing the perimeter and trying to protect the bystanders. Then a rogue team appeared and made a beeline for the device. If it had been live, instead of a dummy...," he shook his head again, this time in amazement. "The only thing that would have been left would have been a crater."
"Dammit, Jack, this is the 3rd operation in 3 months that's failed. You had better-,"
"Sir, we've got the satellite feed coming in now," said a technician, interrupting.
Sloane and Jack huddled over the computer screen, trying to understand what had gone wrong. Jack pointed. "There. That's the team. Standard CIA protocol should have them over here," he gestured. "Instead, they -,"
"Wait a minute." Sloane looked closer. "Zoom in on that team." He waited while the technician complied. "Now on their team leader," he said, pointing. Again, the technician obliged.
Jack sucked his breath in, but said nothing. Sloane was not as reticent. "Wouldn't you know it," he said acidly. "My radar has a blind spot. You've *never* been able to predict that woman." He turned to Jack and snarled, "Give me a strategy that takes her out." He turned on his heel and left the room.