* * * *
Jack wondered, not for the first time, why he had agreed to this. The answer, he concluded once again, was that he had no other options. The Agency had no better operatives that weren't too emotionally involved to be completely professional in this endeavor. Although he knew that Agents Vaughn and Dixon were both skilled in their fields, neither was currently at his peak performance and Jack wasn't entirely convinced that either of them could find and retrieve his daughter without getting themselves - or Sydney - killed in the process. He had even less confidence in more unfamiliar agents.
Though he still had reservations about Sark as well, questions about his competency were not among them. The boy's calls in the field would not be clouded by any irrational sentimentality or slowed by hesitation over moral concerns. If Sark had decided that finding Sydney was in his own best interest, Jack had no doubts that he would approach the project with his usual ruthless efficiency. The trick, Jack knew, would be to maintain his infamously tenuous and transient fealty.
"What do you need?" he had asked.
"What can I have?" the boy had replied with a grin. He had then shrugged philosophically at Jack's unamused stare and tried again. "I've been incommunicado for eight months. I'll need to reestablish a presence in certain circles. I need information. Give me something I can 'market'... unless you want me to find that on my own as well." Jack had given him another stony look. "Fine," Sark continued, his tone ever so slightly aggrieved though Jack had seen the flicker of amusement. "I'll use my own resources. But I'll need to confirm that my intel is still current."
"Anything you offer will have to be approved first."
"Of course."
Which had led them here. A small army of men ranged around the terminal where Sark sat, fingers flying deftly over the keyboard. Marshall hovered over one shoulder, his expression periodically alternating between interest, awe, and horror, as he attempted to verify that Sark never exceeded the restrictions that had been placed upon his computer access. Jack stood at the boy's other shoulder, following the progress. Personally he thought that Kendall's insistence on a contingent of fully armed guards was a little excessive. Far from intimidating Sark, as the director had surely intended, Jack was aware that he found the unnecessary show of force more than a bit comical.
There had been another conversation.
"What do you want?" he had asked this time.
"I want my life back."
"Realistically."
The boy had stood quite still, gazing at a spot somewhere above Jack's head for a moment before replying. "You know it doesn't matter to me who I work for, and just between the two of us, it really doesn't matter what I'm paid. I'm not in this game for the money or the politics or even the rush. I do it because it's the only thing in the world that I know how to do and I'm good at it. Just let me do it. Let me work for you and I'll do whatever you need."
Jack had studied him thoughtfully through the glass, hearing the seamless blend of truth and lies and trying to separate them. "We've already given you the same deal we offered Derevko - your life for your cooperation..."
"That's not what I'm proposing."
He had almost laughed aloud as he realized what the boy was requesting. "The CIA isn't quite as... flexible as SD-6 was. We're not in the habit of recruiting the opposition as field agents. Not without reliable leverage. You've flipped on every business associate you've ever had. We have absolutely no guarantee that you wouldn't do the same thing to us at the first opportunity and every reason to believe that you would."
"You could trust me."
Jack did laugh then. Sark permitted himself a wry grin.
"No," Jack had said, shaking his head slowly. "You know we can't. We have nothing to assure your allegiance once you're outside these walls. Your word, unfortunately, is rather less than sufficient."
"What would it take?"
"It can't be done."
"One way or another," the boy had said. "Everything can be done."
* * * *
"I just want to go on record as stating that I think this is a bad idea."
"I'll add your name to the list, Agent Vaughn," Kendall said dryly. Both of their voices crackled over the earpiece Jack wore. He could hear their annoyance despite the thousands of miles between them.
"I don't think they like me very much," Sark grinned at Jack across the airplane's cargo bay.
"You are a singularly unpopular person," he agreed. The boy was clearly enjoying his first foray out of confinement in over nine months, but Jack wasn't sure yet whether or not to be alarmed by Sark's annoyingly cheerful attitude. He hadn't been able to determine if the sunny manner was simply unaffected pleasure at finally being able to do something active or if it was a sign of optimism at his first chance of escape in the better part of a year.
Jack's personal estimate of attempted flight was relatively low. Kendall had agreed with his assessment that most traditional methods of tagging Sark would ultimately be a waste of taxpayers' money. Judging by SD-6's spectacular lack of success in the endeavor, even passive tracking devices would probably be untenable. With Marshall's considerable help, however, they had come up with a potentially viable scheme.
"Completely organic," Marshall had explained. "Virtually undetectable. And could you maybe not mention to him that I had anything to do with this?"
It consisted of a harmlessly biodegradable capsule designed to dissolve in thirty-six hours. Unless it was removed within that timeframe, a lethal dose of poison would be released when the capsule breached. Sark had been rendered unconscious for the injection, making it impossible for him to know where it lay and ensuring that even should he escape from under Jack's watchful eye it was highly unlikely that he would be able to locate the capsule before it killed him.
"Just make sure you don't forget where you've put it," the boy had said just before they knocked him out. He had shown no fear then and showed no worry now. For all he knew, the capsule and its deadly contents could be entirely hypothetical, but Jack doubted that he would be willing to risk it. Sark was not a gambler. Which was fortunate because the capsule was all too real, even if it did have a slightly longer lifespan than he had been told. There had been a minor concern over migration; they had wanted to make sure there would be time to find the capsule in the off chance that it managed to shift within his body during the mission.
The mission. Sark's first opportunity to reestablish his credibility among the world's shadier intelligence elite. The boy was nothing if not ambitious, Jack had concluded. Before his capture last spring he had been sitting on some rather innovative new pharmaceutical formulae which could have commanded top dollar on an open market. Now for it to be of any value the primary research, nine months further developed, needed to be destroyed, leveling the playing field once more. The CIA had reluctantly decided that the drugs in question were of merely academic value - and more importantly, not of American manufacture. An operation to eradicate the original research lab and its findings had been approved and carried out. The next phase of Sark's plan involved the marketing of the again invaluable data. He had finally been given leave to make the final exchange in person since the buyer had refused to deal with anyone else.
"Remember," Jack cautioned him once again as they crossed the Atlantic. "That thirty-six hours is an estimate. The capsule has never been field-tested and no one knows exactly how long it will take to remove. We'll have a twelve hour window in Geneva to meet the contact and make the deal."
"I think I'll manage."
"You will do this by the book, Baby Bear," Kendall crackled over the satellite link again. "If that poison doesn't work fast enough, remember that he does have full permission to shoot you if he thinks it's necessary."
Sark merely rolled his eyes at the disembodied voice. "Could we have chosen a more ridiculous code name?" he wondered aloud, ignoring the threats.
"If you prefer," Jack said. "We could go back to the original suggestion - Goldilocks."
"And you people call yourselves professionals? I really don't think I'd blame Sydney if it turns out that she left all of this voluntarily. Don't tell me that hasn't occurred to you," Sark continued as spluttering filled their earpieces. "Sydney hated this job. It cost her so much and gained her so little. You don't think that the perceived loss of both Tippin and Calfo couldn't have pushed her just one shove too far? That she didn't want out, away from all of this? Away from all of you?"
"Shut up," Jack told him. He didn't raise his voice, but the threat in his eyes was considerably more potent - and immediate - than Kendall's had been. Sark subsided. The rest of the flight was spent in silence.
* * * *
Jack wondered, not for the first time, why he had agreed to this. The answer, he concluded once again, was that he had no other options. The Agency had no better operatives that weren't too emotionally involved to be completely professional in this endeavor. Although he knew that Agents Vaughn and Dixon were both skilled in their fields, neither was currently at his peak performance and Jack wasn't entirely convinced that either of them could find and retrieve his daughter without getting themselves - or Sydney - killed in the process. He had even less confidence in more unfamiliar agents.
Though he still had reservations about Sark as well, questions about his competency were not among them. The boy's calls in the field would not be clouded by any irrational sentimentality or slowed by hesitation over moral concerns. If Sark had decided that finding Sydney was in his own best interest, Jack had no doubts that he would approach the project with his usual ruthless efficiency. The trick, Jack knew, would be to maintain his infamously tenuous and transient fealty.
"What do you need?" he had asked.
"What can I have?" the boy had replied with a grin. He had then shrugged philosophically at Jack's unamused stare and tried again. "I've been incommunicado for eight months. I'll need to reestablish a presence in certain circles. I need information. Give me something I can 'market'... unless you want me to find that on my own as well." Jack had given him another stony look. "Fine," Sark continued, his tone ever so slightly aggrieved though Jack had seen the flicker of amusement. "I'll use my own resources. But I'll need to confirm that my intel is still current."
"Anything you offer will have to be approved first."
"Of course."
Which had led them here. A small army of men ranged around the terminal where Sark sat, fingers flying deftly over the keyboard. Marshall hovered over one shoulder, his expression periodically alternating between interest, awe, and horror, as he attempted to verify that Sark never exceeded the restrictions that had been placed upon his computer access. Jack stood at the boy's other shoulder, following the progress. Personally he thought that Kendall's insistence on a contingent of fully armed guards was a little excessive. Far from intimidating Sark, as the director had surely intended, Jack was aware that he found the unnecessary show of force more than a bit comical.
There had been another conversation.
"What do you want?" he had asked this time.
"I want my life back."
"Realistically."
The boy had stood quite still, gazing at a spot somewhere above Jack's head for a moment before replying. "You know it doesn't matter to me who I work for, and just between the two of us, it really doesn't matter what I'm paid. I'm not in this game for the money or the politics or even the rush. I do it because it's the only thing in the world that I know how to do and I'm good at it. Just let me do it. Let me work for you and I'll do whatever you need."
Jack had studied him thoughtfully through the glass, hearing the seamless blend of truth and lies and trying to separate them. "We've already given you the same deal we offered Derevko - your life for your cooperation..."
"That's not what I'm proposing."
He had almost laughed aloud as he realized what the boy was requesting. "The CIA isn't quite as... flexible as SD-6 was. We're not in the habit of recruiting the opposition as field agents. Not without reliable leverage. You've flipped on every business associate you've ever had. We have absolutely no guarantee that you wouldn't do the same thing to us at the first opportunity and every reason to believe that you would."
"You could trust me."
Jack did laugh then. Sark permitted himself a wry grin.
"No," Jack had said, shaking his head slowly. "You know we can't. We have nothing to assure your allegiance once you're outside these walls. Your word, unfortunately, is rather less than sufficient."
"What would it take?"
"It can't be done."
"One way or another," the boy had said. "Everything can be done."
* * * *
"I just want to go on record as stating that I think this is a bad idea."
"I'll add your name to the list, Agent Vaughn," Kendall said dryly. Both of their voices crackled over the earpiece Jack wore. He could hear their annoyance despite the thousands of miles between them.
"I don't think they like me very much," Sark grinned at Jack across the airplane's cargo bay.
"You are a singularly unpopular person," he agreed. The boy was clearly enjoying his first foray out of confinement in over nine months, but Jack wasn't sure yet whether or not to be alarmed by Sark's annoyingly cheerful attitude. He hadn't been able to determine if the sunny manner was simply unaffected pleasure at finally being able to do something active or if it was a sign of optimism at his first chance of escape in the better part of a year.
Jack's personal estimate of attempted flight was relatively low. Kendall had agreed with his assessment that most traditional methods of tagging Sark would ultimately be a waste of taxpayers' money. Judging by SD-6's spectacular lack of success in the endeavor, even passive tracking devices would probably be untenable. With Marshall's considerable help, however, they had come up with a potentially viable scheme.
"Completely organic," Marshall had explained. "Virtually undetectable. And could you maybe not mention to him that I had anything to do with this?"
It consisted of a harmlessly biodegradable capsule designed to dissolve in thirty-six hours. Unless it was removed within that timeframe, a lethal dose of poison would be released when the capsule breached. Sark had been rendered unconscious for the injection, making it impossible for him to know where it lay and ensuring that even should he escape from under Jack's watchful eye it was highly unlikely that he would be able to locate the capsule before it killed him.
"Just make sure you don't forget where you've put it," the boy had said just before they knocked him out. He had shown no fear then and showed no worry now. For all he knew, the capsule and its deadly contents could be entirely hypothetical, but Jack doubted that he would be willing to risk it. Sark was not a gambler. Which was fortunate because the capsule was all too real, even if it did have a slightly longer lifespan than he had been told. There had been a minor concern over migration; they had wanted to make sure there would be time to find the capsule in the off chance that it managed to shift within his body during the mission.
The mission. Sark's first opportunity to reestablish his credibility among the world's shadier intelligence elite. The boy was nothing if not ambitious, Jack had concluded. Before his capture last spring he had been sitting on some rather innovative new pharmaceutical formulae which could have commanded top dollar on an open market. Now for it to be of any value the primary research, nine months further developed, needed to be destroyed, leveling the playing field once more. The CIA had reluctantly decided that the drugs in question were of merely academic value - and more importantly, not of American manufacture. An operation to eradicate the original research lab and its findings had been approved and carried out. The next phase of Sark's plan involved the marketing of the again invaluable data. He had finally been given leave to make the final exchange in person since the buyer had refused to deal with anyone else.
"Remember," Jack cautioned him once again as they crossed the Atlantic. "That thirty-six hours is an estimate. The capsule has never been field-tested and no one knows exactly how long it will take to remove. We'll have a twelve hour window in Geneva to meet the contact and make the deal."
"I think I'll manage."
"You will do this by the book, Baby Bear," Kendall crackled over the satellite link again. "If that poison doesn't work fast enough, remember that he does have full permission to shoot you if he thinks it's necessary."
Sark merely rolled his eyes at the disembodied voice. "Could we have chosen a more ridiculous code name?" he wondered aloud, ignoring the threats.
"If you prefer," Jack said. "We could go back to the original suggestion - Goldilocks."
"And you people call yourselves professionals? I really don't think I'd blame Sydney if it turns out that she left all of this voluntarily. Don't tell me that hasn't occurred to you," Sark continued as spluttering filled their earpieces. "Sydney hated this job. It cost her so much and gained her so little. You don't think that the perceived loss of both Tippin and Calfo couldn't have pushed her just one shove too far? That she didn't want out, away from all of this? Away from all of you?"
"Shut up," Jack told him. He didn't raise his voice, but the threat in his eyes was considerably more potent - and immediate - than Kendall's had been. Sark subsided. The rest of the flight was spent in silence.
* * * *