Wow- I can't believe that I've written 22 chapters on this story. When I started out, I had planned to have two chapters, three tops. Funny how things work out. Well, here's the resolution to the cliffhanger… with it's own complications worked in. As always, reviews are appreciated!
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Chapter 22
"What the Hell are you doing here?" I asked, my voice harsh with confusion and anger. I couldn't think of a single reason for my father to come bursting into the safehouse like he had. The other men in the room moved to surround us, their stances casual but intimidating.
"There's no time for that now, Sydney," my father said, his face tense, his voice firm. "We have to get you out of here. They know that you're here."
I remained frozen, my brain refusing to process the information through my shock.
"Who?" I asked finally.
"Sloane's men," he said, sending a cold glance at Vaughn, which confused me even more.
"They couldn't have tracked us" I said, more to myself than to my father. My mind was finally beginning to process what little information I had. "I made sure that we weren't followed." In fact, I had taken extra precautions, instructing the cab driver to spend extra time driving down the side streets and back alleys of Istanbul, so that I could be sure nothing appeared suspicious.
"We don't know," my father replied. "But we intercepted a transmission from an SD-6 communications devise—from Sloane to his operatives. He instructed them to move in on you—today."
I didn't know what to say. It was impossible. Sloane hadn't acted suspicious of me in the last few months. In fact, he had seemed almost proud—proud of my hard work, proud of my devotion to SD-6. Why would he suddenly send a tem to bring me in. And even if he had—if he had been hiding his suspicions, our covers were good. The safehouse was secure. We hadn't made any calls or transmissions since we left the loft apartment on the other side of the city. There was no way that Sloane's men could have found us.
Unless, somewhere along the way, we had missed something.
"Come on," my dad said, grabbing my forearm with his gloved hand and pulling me towards the door.
I resisted, pulling my arm away and raising my eyes to meet his. I studied his face, trying to uncover whatever it was that he wasn't telling me.
Something was missing.
Something else was going on.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him, the suspicion in my voice barely concealed.
"I told you," he said. "I'm here to—"
I cut him off. "Not here," I said, gesturing to the room. "Istanbul. What are you doing in Istanbul?"
He frowned, and I could tell that he was debating how to answer the question. Eventually, he sighed in frustration. "I flew in yesterday. I've been conducting surveillance on your hotel. Making sure that no one suspicious found their way inside."
I studied his face again, and from the tenseness of his jaw—the urgency and self-consciousness in his eyes, I knew that he was telling the truth. He had come to protect me. The thought was strangely comforting.
I nodded, turning back to Vaughn, who had been observing the situation in silence, his brow furrowed in concern.
"I guess we have to cut our stay short," I said to Vaughn, accepting that, in this circumstance at least, my father was right. As I reached out my hand to Vaughn, several of the other men moved to surround him, blocking him from my reach. I jerked my hand back, turning to send my father a confused look. "Dad?" I asked, my voice rising. "What the Hell is going on?"
My dad looked away, as if hoping he wouldn't have to explain why three armed men had just moved in to restrain Vaughn.
"We don't have time right now, Sydney," he said tersely. I continued to stare at him until he spoke again. "We're temporarily separating you and Agent Vaughn."
"Why?" I practically shouted. My eyes shifted from my father to the group of men standing around Vaughn in stony silence. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"
My dad glanced around the room nervously. "Sydney. We need to—"
I cut him off again. "I'll be damned if I move an inch until you tell me what is going on!"
My father hesitated, before his eyes rose to meet mine. "The CIA has reason to believe that Agent Vaughn has become a security risk."
My heart froze in my chest at the words. It couldn't be. It was impossible.
"What?" I snapped. My dad reached for my arm again, but I jerked away. "Don't touch me!" I shouted, backing away. "This is insane!"
My father glared at me. "We can discuss this later. You're being irrational, and we don't have time for it. We need to get out of here. Now."
"No! Vaughn is not a security risk. He is not a traitor." I turned to Vaughn, hoping to find some reassurance in his eyes. My body went cold, though, when his eyes met mine. The look on his face was anything but reassuring. He wasn't scared. There was no look of surprise or shock in his eyes.
He was quiet. Confused. Thoughtful. As if he was remembering something important. Or putting the last piece of a puzzle into place. It was a look that I recognized, but in this particular situation, it wasn't the look I had expected to see.
And it definitely wasn't making me feel any better.
"Vaughn?" I asked, my voice begging him to say he was innocent…to say anything to reassure me. But what he said did nothing of the sort.
"Syd, maybe you'd better do what they say." He frowned. "I think I might know what's going on."
I stared at him, my eyes wide. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Two of the men moved next to me, one of them placing a hand lightly but forcefully on my arm. I didn't resist, and began moving backwards toward the door, my eyes never leaving Vaughn.
I didn't know what to do.
Just as I walked through the doorway, my father turned to face me.
"I'll be in touch," he said stiffly, before turning back into the room and shutting the door behind him.
* * * * *
Within an hour, I was on a plane to Los Angeles, two disguised guards seated on either side of me.
Frowning in concentration, I tried to piece together the day's events. But I realized that I didn't know anything. I didn't have a single clue as to why my father had shown up so suddenly.
I didn't know who to trust.
I didn't know what to do.
But, as I stared past the guard on my left and out the scratched, foggy airplane window, I realized that there was one thing that I did know with complete certainty.
Vaughn was not a traitor.
That was the one thing that he would never do.
He wouldn't do it to his country.
He wouldn't do it to his father's memory.
And he wouldn't do it to me.
I didn't know what had led the CIA to suspect him of leaking information, but the second my plane landed, I was going to do my damnedest to find out.
* * * * *
Well, guys, I hope you liked it… kind of a plot twist, I know. But it will all work out. Is Vaughn a traitor? Is he leaking information to SD-6? I have a feeling that most of you already know the answer to this. I would tell you right now, but I've got to keep a little suspense in the story. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any fun! Please review!!
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Chapter 22
"What the Hell are you doing here?" I asked, my voice harsh with confusion and anger. I couldn't think of a single reason for my father to come bursting into the safehouse like he had. The other men in the room moved to surround us, their stances casual but intimidating.
"There's no time for that now, Sydney," my father said, his face tense, his voice firm. "We have to get you out of here. They know that you're here."
I remained frozen, my brain refusing to process the information through my shock.
"Who?" I asked finally.
"Sloane's men," he said, sending a cold glance at Vaughn, which confused me even more.
"They couldn't have tracked us" I said, more to myself than to my father. My mind was finally beginning to process what little information I had. "I made sure that we weren't followed." In fact, I had taken extra precautions, instructing the cab driver to spend extra time driving down the side streets and back alleys of Istanbul, so that I could be sure nothing appeared suspicious.
"We don't know," my father replied. "But we intercepted a transmission from an SD-6 communications devise—from Sloane to his operatives. He instructed them to move in on you—today."
I didn't know what to say. It was impossible. Sloane hadn't acted suspicious of me in the last few months. In fact, he had seemed almost proud—proud of my hard work, proud of my devotion to SD-6. Why would he suddenly send a tem to bring me in. And even if he had—if he had been hiding his suspicions, our covers were good. The safehouse was secure. We hadn't made any calls or transmissions since we left the loft apartment on the other side of the city. There was no way that Sloane's men could have found us.
Unless, somewhere along the way, we had missed something.
"Come on," my dad said, grabbing my forearm with his gloved hand and pulling me towards the door.
I resisted, pulling my arm away and raising my eyes to meet his. I studied his face, trying to uncover whatever it was that he wasn't telling me.
Something was missing.
Something else was going on.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him, the suspicion in my voice barely concealed.
"I told you," he said. "I'm here to—"
I cut him off. "Not here," I said, gesturing to the room. "Istanbul. What are you doing in Istanbul?"
He frowned, and I could tell that he was debating how to answer the question. Eventually, he sighed in frustration. "I flew in yesterday. I've been conducting surveillance on your hotel. Making sure that no one suspicious found their way inside."
I studied his face again, and from the tenseness of his jaw—the urgency and self-consciousness in his eyes, I knew that he was telling the truth. He had come to protect me. The thought was strangely comforting.
I nodded, turning back to Vaughn, who had been observing the situation in silence, his brow furrowed in concern.
"I guess we have to cut our stay short," I said to Vaughn, accepting that, in this circumstance at least, my father was right. As I reached out my hand to Vaughn, several of the other men moved to surround him, blocking him from my reach. I jerked my hand back, turning to send my father a confused look. "Dad?" I asked, my voice rising. "What the Hell is going on?"
My dad looked away, as if hoping he wouldn't have to explain why three armed men had just moved in to restrain Vaughn.
"We don't have time right now, Sydney," he said tersely. I continued to stare at him until he spoke again. "We're temporarily separating you and Agent Vaughn."
"Why?" I practically shouted. My eyes shifted from my father to the group of men standing around Vaughn in stony silence. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"
My dad glanced around the room nervously. "Sydney. We need to—"
I cut him off again. "I'll be damned if I move an inch until you tell me what is going on!"
My father hesitated, before his eyes rose to meet mine. "The CIA has reason to believe that Agent Vaughn has become a security risk."
My heart froze in my chest at the words. It couldn't be. It was impossible.
"What?" I snapped. My dad reached for my arm again, but I jerked away. "Don't touch me!" I shouted, backing away. "This is insane!"
My father glared at me. "We can discuss this later. You're being irrational, and we don't have time for it. We need to get out of here. Now."
"No! Vaughn is not a security risk. He is not a traitor." I turned to Vaughn, hoping to find some reassurance in his eyes. My body went cold, though, when his eyes met mine. The look on his face was anything but reassuring. He wasn't scared. There was no look of surprise or shock in his eyes.
He was quiet. Confused. Thoughtful. As if he was remembering something important. Or putting the last piece of a puzzle into place. It was a look that I recognized, but in this particular situation, it wasn't the look I had expected to see.
And it definitely wasn't making me feel any better.
"Vaughn?" I asked, my voice begging him to say he was innocent…to say anything to reassure me. But what he said did nothing of the sort.
"Syd, maybe you'd better do what they say." He frowned. "I think I might know what's going on."
I stared at him, my eyes wide. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Two of the men moved next to me, one of them placing a hand lightly but forcefully on my arm. I didn't resist, and began moving backwards toward the door, my eyes never leaving Vaughn.
I didn't know what to do.
Just as I walked through the doorway, my father turned to face me.
"I'll be in touch," he said stiffly, before turning back into the room and shutting the door behind him.
* * * * *
Within an hour, I was on a plane to Los Angeles, two disguised guards seated on either side of me.
Frowning in concentration, I tried to piece together the day's events. But I realized that I didn't know anything. I didn't have a single clue as to why my father had shown up so suddenly.
I didn't know who to trust.
I didn't know what to do.
But, as I stared past the guard on my left and out the scratched, foggy airplane window, I realized that there was one thing that I did know with complete certainty.
Vaughn was not a traitor.
That was the one thing that he would never do.
He wouldn't do it to his country.
He wouldn't do it to his father's memory.
And he wouldn't do it to me.
I didn't know what had led the CIA to suspect him of leaking information, but the second my plane landed, I was going to do my damnedest to find out.
* * * * *
Well, guys, I hope you liked it… kind of a plot twist, I know. But it will all work out. Is Vaughn a traitor? Is he leaking information to SD-6? I have a feeling that most of you already know the answer to this. I would tell you right now, but I've got to keep a little suspense in the story. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any fun! Please review!!