(26 months post-The Telling)
One month to go, Irina told herself. One month and she'd go get Jack and Sydney. In the meantime - well, she wasn't going to make it easy for Sloane. Irina allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she surveyed her borrowed force, secreted in the shadows surrounding an apparently abandoned warehouse in Luxembourg, poised to execute its mission. This would be perfect. Shut down Sloane's finance center, disrupt his flow of funds, throw him off-balance. It would drive him crazy. She laughed softly to herself. Jack too. She hadn't seen him for several months and she missed him.
Timing was a key part of the mission plan, the only element she had not reviewed in detail with her second-in-command. Having herself set up 4 different bases for Sloane in the few months they had worked together, she knew he was boringly predictable about security. Silent alarms on the perimeter, hired guns as a buffer, and a well defined escape route for the key assets of the operation. If, by chance, Sloane or Jack was present, she'd need to create enough time for them to escape.
"Move out," she ordered crisply. As always, she led the advance team. And 'accidentally' triggered a silent alarm as they infiltrated the bottom level of the base. Now came the tedious part, she sighed to herself. Ordering people to surrender, reading them their rights. Working with the CIA had a number of downsides.
**
Jack flipped through the finance reports, lost in thought. He had recognized the interior of the building as soon as he had walked in. This was it, then. It would be here. "Mr. Bristow, if I could have your attention," said Sloane's finance head, with a pained expression on his face. "I'm really very concerned about our newest cell. They don't appear to have the controls in place to - "
Jack pulled himself together and looked up in feigned irritation. "Grenis, it's your job to make sure that the funds flow isn't traceable. We established the Rio cell because your other laundering sites had exceeded their capacity. Do I need to do your job for you?" Jack finished, throwing in just the right shade of menace.
"N-no," stammered Grenis, "it's just that -," he paused as his Security head rapidly entered the room.
"Sir, I have reports of hostile infiltration in the basement."
"What's the size of the team?" replied Grenis, paling.
"Small, but they appear to be heavily armed. Security protocol is for us to evacuate Mr. Bristow by helicopter. Standing orders from Sloane."
The moment of truth, thought Jack. Free will. He could still choose to go. "I'm staying."
**
Jack crouched behind an overturned desk, gun in hand, bullets flying over his head. Years of experience allowed him to dispassionately evaluate his position. They were outnumbered, outflanked, and had apparently been outwitted. Having made his decision to stay, there would be no opportunity for second-guessing. There was only one way this would end.
He started as he heard the sickening thud of a bullet hitting flesh near him. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Grenis had taken a fatal shot to the head. He was alone now.
"Drop your weapons and surrender," he heard in a familiar bored voice. "You're surrounded."
Horror lanced through Jack as he lay behind the desk. Irina? It was going to be *Irina* that killed him? No! he begged silently. Not this, too. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He couldn't let her do that. He must let her do that. Free will. Fate. His head spun.
"Put down your weapons and walk out slowly, hands behind your head. It's now or never." Irina's voice was irritated now.
Now or never, thought Jack in desperation. Now. It had to be now. "Go to hell," he shouted with sudden inspiration. Irina would hear his voice, wouldn't pull her trigger. But, Jack thought as he surged around the desk, gun in hand and firing high, her backup would.
And indeed Irina's backup, although he too recognized the voice, had no such qualms. Jack watched, almost in slow motion, as Dixon raised his gun and, face implacable, fired.
Searing pain burned through Jack's body as he spun and fell to the ground. He felt a burst of warmth and looked down to see bright red blood gushing out of his chest. Must have nicked an artery, Jack thought hazily to himself, futilely groping to put pressure on it to stem the bleeding. He watched with resignation as blood streamed through his fingers. He had done his best; he had no more to give. He heard shouts around him, and running feet, before being swallowed by darkness.
**
Jack's eyes fluttered open. Where was he? He leaned forward anxiously to get a better look, but everything was spinning. He was supposed to be dead.
A man bent over him. Jack tried to focus.
"Jack, it's Arvin. You're going to be fine."
Sloane. Jack closed his eyes. That was it, then. He must be in Hell.
One month to go, Irina told herself. One month and she'd go get Jack and Sydney. In the meantime - well, she wasn't going to make it easy for Sloane. Irina allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she surveyed her borrowed force, secreted in the shadows surrounding an apparently abandoned warehouse in Luxembourg, poised to execute its mission. This would be perfect. Shut down Sloane's finance center, disrupt his flow of funds, throw him off-balance. It would drive him crazy. She laughed softly to herself. Jack too. She hadn't seen him for several months and she missed him.
Timing was a key part of the mission plan, the only element she had not reviewed in detail with her second-in-command. Having herself set up 4 different bases for Sloane in the few months they had worked together, she knew he was boringly predictable about security. Silent alarms on the perimeter, hired guns as a buffer, and a well defined escape route for the key assets of the operation. If, by chance, Sloane or Jack was present, she'd need to create enough time for them to escape.
"Move out," she ordered crisply. As always, she led the advance team. And 'accidentally' triggered a silent alarm as they infiltrated the bottom level of the base. Now came the tedious part, she sighed to herself. Ordering people to surrender, reading them their rights. Working with the CIA had a number of downsides.
**
Jack flipped through the finance reports, lost in thought. He had recognized the interior of the building as soon as he had walked in. This was it, then. It would be here. "Mr. Bristow, if I could have your attention," said Sloane's finance head, with a pained expression on his face. "I'm really very concerned about our newest cell. They don't appear to have the controls in place to - "
Jack pulled himself together and looked up in feigned irritation. "Grenis, it's your job to make sure that the funds flow isn't traceable. We established the Rio cell because your other laundering sites had exceeded their capacity. Do I need to do your job for you?" Jack finished, throwing in just the right shade of menace.
"N-no," stammered Grenis, "it's just that -," he paused as his Security head rapidly entered the room.
"Sir, I have reports of hostile infiltration in the basement."
"What's the size of the team?" replied Grenis, paling.
"Small, but they appear to be heavily armed. Security protocol is for us to evacuate Mr. Bristow by helicopter. Standing orders from Sloane."
The moment of truth, thought Jack. Free will. He could still choose to go. "I'm staying."
**
Jack crouched behind an overturned desk, gun in hand, bullets flying over his head. Years of experience allowed him to dispassionately evaluate his position. They were outnumbered, outflanked, and had apparently been outwitted. Having made his decision to stay, there would be no opportunity for second-guessing. There was only one way this would end.
He started as he heard the sickening thud of a bullet hitting flesh near him. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Grenis had taken a fatal shot to the head. He was alone now.
"Drop your weapons and surrender," he heard in a familiar bored voice. "You're surrounded."
Horror lanced through Jack as he lay behind the desk. Irina? It was going to be *Irina* that killed him? No! he begged silently. Not this, too. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He couldn't let her do that. He must let her do that. Free will. Fate. His head spun.
"Put down your weapons and walk out slowly, hands behind your head. It's now or never." Irina's voice was irritated now.
Now or never, thought Jack in desperation. Now. It had to be now. "Go to hell," he shouted with sudden inspiration. Irina would hear his voice, wouldn't pull her trigger. But, Jack thought as he surged around the desk, gun in hand and firing high, her backup would.
And indeed Irina's backup, although he too recognized the voice, had no such qualms. Jack watched, almost in slow motion, as Dixon raised his gun and, face implacable, fired.
Searing pain burned through Jack's body as he spun and fell to the ground. He felt a burst of warmth and looked down to see bright red blood gushing out of his chest. Must have nicked an artery, Jack thought hazily to himself, futilely groping to put pressure on it to stem the bleeding. He watched with resignation as blood streamed through his fingers. He had done his best; he had no more to give. He heard shouts around him, and running feet, before being swallowed by darkness.
**
Jack's eyes fluttered open. Where was he? He leaned forward anxiously to get a better look, but everything was spinning. He was supposed to be dead.
A man bent over him. Jack tried to focus.
"Jack, it's Arvin. You're going to be fine."
Sloane. Jack closed his eyes. That was it, then. He must be in Hell.