Perhaps it was for the best, Sloane mused to himself. He was standing in his new headquarters, surveying with satisfaction the hive of activity as his operatives swarmed to make it functional. His sources had reported that Bristow had been led away from the Hong Kong hospital in handcuffs; after two years Jack was in so deep that the CIA would probably just throw away the key. He would not pose a viable threat
Sloane chuckled to himself. Jack probably wouldn't even talk. On his best days Jack had difficulty answering a question directly. In this case, being cross-examined by his peers in an environment where anything he said would be self-incriminating, it was a safe bet that his interrogators would be pulling their hair out before long.
Sloane looked up as the on-duty technician for Il Dire cleared his throat. "We're ready, sir. Il Dire has been recalibrated to your brain signature." Sloane nodded.
As Sloane entered the room where Il Dire was now housed following their hasty relocation several days ago, he felt the familiar surge of exultation. He, and only he, had been able to understand Rambaldi's vision, harness his power. It had been Jack who had used Il Dire for the past 2 years, but no one in Sloane's organization was indispensable. He, Sloane, would now be the one to see the future and guide his organization to its ultimate objective. And they were so close.
Sloane lay down on the table, fidgeting impatiently while the technician connected the leads.
"Three months," he instructed and relaxed. Where would he be in 3 months, what would his organization have achieved? He waited in anticipation, but nothing happened. All he could see was darkness. "I'm ready," he prompted the technician irritably.
The technician looked puzzled. "You're not seeing anything, sir?"
Sloane gave him a look of contempt.
The technician gulped. "Apparently not. Let me just check with one of the scientists." He left the room and returned shortly with Sloane's senior researcher.
"Mr. Sloane, we've checked all the settings and the calibration. As far as we can tell, Il Dire appears to be functioning properly."
"I am seeing *nothing*," snapped Sloane. "Clearly it's not operating properly. Perhaps you need to increase the signal strength."
The scientist looked worried. "I'm not sure that's wise. Give us a little while to run some diagnostics and we'll try again tomorrow."
**
Jack was ushered in shackles to his first interrogation. He had not expected it to be pleasant; he was not disappointed. The atmosphere was hostile, the tone of the questions antagonistic.
Full cooperation, Jack thought to himself with a sigh. He had had more than his share of interrogations over the past 35 years; his skills at resisting questioning were well honed. All his instincts screamed for him to stonewall. Just on principle.
Idly Jack wondered if Irina, who had so happily volunteered him for this, had every fully cooperated with an interrogation in her life. He snorted.
"Something amusing you, Mr. Bristow? Care to share it with the rest of us?"
And so it began. Gritting his teeth, Jack answered every question patiently, no matter how stupid. He answered every question calmly, no matter what the implied insult. And he answered every question at least 3 times, as his interrogators seemed to believe he had short-term memory issues. Perhaps he did have a short-term memory issue, Jack mused to himself. How many times today had he had to remind himself that the prize was worth it?
As the first day's session came to a close, the lead interrogator glanced contemptuously at Jack. "Is there anything else you'd like to add, Mr. Bristow?"
"Today is September 22nd?" asked Jack evenly.
An audible snicker could be heard at the back of the room. "Yes" replied the agent. "Is there anything else *of substance* that you'd care to add?"
"Well, yes," said Jack casually. "Tomorrow at 10am a signal will be received on the Op Tech server upstairs. You'll find that it's a locational beacon that will indicate Arvin Sloane's current position. Follow it and you will find Sloane. He will not offer any resistance."
The room had suddenly become very quiet. "Oh," Jack added, "you'll also be receiving information detailing the location and identity of every individual within Sloane's organization. Jack looked at the agent and said dismissively, "You may want to staff up."
The lead agent gaped at him. "You have the audacity to tell me what to do?"
Jack shrugged. "It's up to you. I've just given you advance intel, in front of," he scanned the room, "15 witnesses, on videotape. Feel free to ignore it."
The agent glowered at Jack. "Take him back to his cell," he snapped.
**
Jack lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. It was almost time. He closed his eyes and, unbidden, the visions played out before his eyes as they had so many times over the past 1-1/2 years.
Sloane was his.