* * * *
It was late when Jack heard the faint clatter of keys on the kitchen countertop and his daughter moving quietly through the house. She stood hesitantly at the edge of the living room before finally crossing to sit in her customary chair. She eyed Jack speculatively but said nothing for some time.
"I hate him," she said at last, without any particular passion. It was an admission in a tired tone, reminiscent of another weary observation Jack had heard nearly two years ago. "But I understand him."
She'd always been good at adapting, he thought. He watched her pick at the piping on the chair's armrest and could see a hint of remorse in her eyes. It was a small indication that she almost regretted her hasty exit from the restaurant. She still had questions and knew that her mother would probably have had more answers than Jack did.
"Mom really did a number on him, didn't she?" Sydney said. "Raising him… letting him be raised the way he was, to turn out the way he is." Her tone wasn't quite sympathetic, but it was softer than he would have expected. Then again, her own childhood had been less than ideal. "How did you find out?"
"Marshall discovered it in the Stuttgart database and brought it to me."
"And you confronted Sark about it," she continued for him when he didn't go on. "Why did you do that?"
Jack doubted she'd be able to understand his primary motivation. Parenthood was outside her experience, still. "I wanted to know if Irina had told him," he said instead.
Sydney smiled faintly at his hedged answer. "You know she didn't. If he'd known earlier he would have been even cockier around us. He would have loved knowing something like that when we didn't and he'd have been even more of a smug bastard - so to speak - than he was."
"Probably."
"So I'm guessing this isn't exactly common knowledge at the Agency?"
"No."
She laughed then and he was surprised to hear genuine amusement in it. "Wouldn't Kendall have a stroke if he found out? He'd probably fire both of us just on general principles. It really would be the last straw for the amazing Bristow spy family." She chuckled again at the thought of the director's apoplectic reaction.
Then she shook her head, shifting focus, and became more serious. "What do you see when you look at him?" There was a curious note to her voice, as if she wasn't quite certain that she wanted to know but still felt compelled to ask. "You spent over a year with him after you learned who he was. Did it make him seem… different?"
"No," he said eventually. "And yes." As he studied her earnest expression he decided to try being as honest as he could. "When he first appeared on our radar, almost four years ago, analysts in both the CIA and SD-6 started trying to dissect him. For him to be so young and yet as high in The Man's organization as he was, it was suspected that he'd been trained for his position from a relatively early age. While it was clear that his technical education had been extensive, it was equally clear that his ethical instruction had been severely neglected," he continued, ignoring Sydney's snort at the minor understatement. "They had created an essentially amoral operative, one who would base all his decisions in the field on expediency, not ethics. Professionally, I was impressed… and intrigued. He is, after all, the unintentional byproduct of Project Christmas corrupted and carried to the extreme."
He paused then, unable to look directly at his daughter. He didn't know if she had ever taken her knowledge of his involvement in that operation to its logical conclusion. He didn't know if she had ever confronted the fact that so much of what had happened in the past few years could be traced not only to her mother's treacherous actions but to his own research gone disastrously awry.
"You're not the one who did this to him, Dad," Sydney said quietly.
"No," he shook his head. "Maybe not directly, but I did make it possible."
"So that's what you see in him? Your own guilt?" Her tone was more inquisitive than accusatory.
"Perhaps," he said slowly. "But that's not all. I still see potential in him too. That's something I don't think I saw - or ever looked for - until I knew who he was. He's not inherently evil, Sydney."
"I know what amoral means, Dad," she said with an attempt at a wry smile. "He doesn't have any idea what good is either - or he doesn't care. He just does whatever anybody bigger and stronger tells him to do, regardless of whether it's right or wrong."
"Yes. One thing that he particularly excels at is following orders and he will do almost anything to please his superiors - no matter who they might be."
"And if that superior were you instead of Mom?" she asked.
"Then I think that he has the potential to be a different person."
"You really think it's not too late to change him?"
"He's my son," he said, meeting her gaze openly at last. "Just as much as you are my daughter. I have to believe that there is still something worth saving in him."
She looked away from him, gnawing her lower lip as she retreated into uneasy contemplation of his words. He wondered whether she would be able to absorb these revelations as well as she had so many others. Finally she looked up at him again, a resigned expression on her tired face.
"I'm not calling him Stephen."
* * * *
Knowing how impatient Sydney was for any activity, Irina quickly passed along the rest of the information that Sark had accumulated while tracking her. Much of it Jack had already seen in Hong Kong; some had been added in recent months.
"You've seen him lately?" he had asked over the encrypted cell-phone.
"Not since he left," she had replied. "But I've spoken with him."
"He's decided what he's going to do then. He's found his corner of the market."
"So it would seem."
"And that is…?"
There had been an almost imperceptible pause before she answered. "Whatever he's working on is low-profile and high-tech. Industrial espionage is a distinct possibility."
"Substantial profits, minimal risk, no partners."
She must have heard something in his tone for her response had been tinged with amusement. He had almost been able to visualize her smile. "You know what he's doing; you know where he is."
"I know where he's been," he had admitted. "There were operations in Toronto and Basel recently that have had his stamp on them."
She hadn't asked what he had recognized; he hadn't offered to explain.
"He'll be in touch with you," she had said instead.
"What makes you so confident of that?"
This time he had heard her soft, low laugh. "I've been part of his life for nearly as long as he can remember. He is accustomed to me; I'm familiar to him, but you… You're a novelty, and I think he seems to be quite taken with the concept of having a father. You intrigue him, Jack. Sooner or later, his curiosity will get the better of him."
He hadn't asked why she believed this; she hadn't offered to explain.
* * * *
Their first joint-intelligence operation proved to be of little informative value - but seeing Sydney come to life once in the field again had been priceless. It had also been a shock for Jack to realize just how much being tied to a desk at the Agency was killing her. There was a startling difference between the pale young woman who had been drifting further and further away from him and the vibrant one who had charmed her way into the Frankfurt facility to steal a glimpse at their research. She was still glowing happily even days later - even after they'd determined that the files she had downloaded gave them little more than a few tantalizing yet disconnected hints. It had been the first thing that she'd done outside of a psychiatrist's office to help investigate what had happened to her.
Despite the fact that there seemed nothing further to be gained from the files, Sydney continued to pore over them. After the first week Jack was beginning to grow slightly concerned at the obsessive nature of her study, but her smiles - brighter than they'd been in months - alleviated some of his apprehension. When Kendall assigned him to oversee a mission in Mumbai, he left for India with only minor misgivings. His sense of unease was heightened, however, upon his return three days later.
Sydney continued to smile brightly, but there was a different - almost mischievous - quality to it now. Jack couldn't decide whether to interpret her new attitude as another step in her recovery, or as a sign of something more troubling. Reports from her doctors indicated that new patterns seemed to be developing in her psychological evaluations - greater openness in some areas, unexpected evasiveness in others.
He was certain that she was hiding something from him, but he couldn't determine precisely what it was. He had thought at first that she was still scrutinizing the Frankfurt reports but soon realized that the computer files she closed whenever he approached her working at home didn't look like anything he had ever seen before. Speculating about the possible source of those unfamiliar documents merely fueled his trepidation.
He was somewhat relieved when she sat down across from him in the living room one evening but didn't pick up one of her usual books. She was ready to talk.
"There was a dummy file in the download," she said. "It was designed to delete itself from the server after twenty-four hours but remain on any copy made. It was a message. From Sark - wanting to arrange a meeting."
"Why?" he asked when she didn't continue.
"It didn't say. Just had a time and place." Anyone else would have believed the lie, but Jack was beginning to know his daughter better than he ever had before.
"Have you decided whether or not you want to go?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"When is it? Where?"
"New Orleans." She looked away. "Last week."
* * * *
It was late when Jack heard the faint clatter of keys on the kitchen countertop and his daughter moving quietly through the house. She stood hesitantly at the edge of the living room before finally crossing to sit in her customary chair. She eyed Jack speculatively but said nothing for some time.
"I hate him," she said at last, without any particular passion. It was an admission in a tired tone, reminiscent of another weary observation Jack had heard nearly two years ago. "But I understand him."
She'd always been good at adapting, he thought. He watched her pick at the piping on the chair's armrest and could see a hint of remorse in her eyes. It was a small indication that she almost regretted her hasty exit from the restaurant. She still had questions and knew that her mother would probably have had more answers than Jack did.
"Mom really did a number on him, didn't she?" Sydney said. "Raising him… letting him be raised the way he was, to turn out the way he is." Her tone wasn't quite sympathetic, but it was softer than he would have expected. Then again, her own childhood had been less than ideal. "How did you find out?"
"Marshall discovered it in the Stuttgart database and brought it to me."
"And you confronted Sark about it," she continued for him when he didn't go on. "Why did you do that?"
Jack doubted she'd be able to understand his primary motivation. Parenthood was outside her experience, still. "I wanted to know if Irina had told him," he said instead.
Sydney smiled faintly at his hedged answer. "You know she didn't. If he'd known earlier he would have been even cockier around us. He would have loved knowing something like that when we didn't and he'd have been even more of a smug bastard - so to speak - than he was."
"Probably."
"So I'm guessing this isn't exactly common knowledge at the Agency?"
"No."
She laughed then and he was surprised to hear genuine amusement in it. "Wouldn't Kendall have a stroke if he found out? He'd probably fire both of us just on general principles. It really would be the last straw for the amazing Bristow spy family." She chuckled again at the thought of the director's apoplectic reaction.
Then she shook her head, shifting focus, and became more serious. "What do you see when you look at him?" There was a curious note to her voice, as if she wasn't quite certain that she wanted to know but still felt compelled to ask. "You spent over a year with him after you learned who he was. Did it make him seem… different?"
"No," he said eventually. "And yes." As he studied her earnest expression he decided to try being as honest as he could. "When he first appeared on our radar, almost four years ago, analysts in both the CIA and SD-6 started trying to dissect him. For him to be so young and yet as high in The Man's organization as he was, it was suspected that he'd been trained for his position from a relatively early age. While it was clear that his technical education had been extensive, it was equally clear that his ethical instruction had been severely neglected," he continued, ignoring Sydney's snort at the minor understatement. "They had created an essentially amoral operative, one who would base all his decisions in the field on expediency, not ethics. Professionally, I was impressed… and intrigued. He is, after all, the unintentional byproduct of Project Christmas corrupted and carried to the extreme."
He paused then, unable to look directly at his daughter. He didn't know if she had ever taken her knowledge of his involvement in that operation to its logical conclusion. He didn't know if she had ever confronted the fact that so much of what had happened in the past few years could be traced not only to her mother's treacherous actions but to his own research gone disastrously awry.
"You're not the one who did this to him, Dad," Sydney said quietly.
"No," he shook his head. "Maybe not directly, but I did make it possible."
"So that's what you see in him? Your own guilt?" Her tone was more inquisitive than accusatory.
"Perhaps," he said slowly. "But that's not all. I still see potential in him too. That's something I don't think I saw - or ever looked for - until I knew who he was. He's not inherently evil, Sydney."
"I know what amoral means, Dad," she said with an attempt at a wry smile. "He doesn't have any idea what good is either - or he doesn't care. He just does whatever anybody bigger and stronger tells him to do, regardless of whether it's right or wrong."
"Yes. One thing that he particularly excels at is following orders and he will do almost anything to please his superiors - no matter who they might be."
"And if that superior were you instead of Mom?" she asked.
"Then I think that he has the potential to be a different person."
"You really think it's not too late to change him?"
"He's my son," he said, meeting her gaze openly at last. "Just as much as you are my daughter. I have to believe that there is still something worth saving in him."
She looked away from him, gnawing her lower lip as she retreated into uneasy contemplation of his words. He wondered whether she would be able to absorb these revelations as well as she had so many others. Finally she looked up at him again, a resigned expression on her tired face.
"I'm not calling him Stephen."
* * * *
Knowing how impatient Sydney was for any activity, Irina quickly passed along the rest of the information that Sark had accumulated while tracking her. Much of it Jack had already seen in Hong Kong; some had been added in recent months.
"You've seen him lately?" he had asked over the encrypted cell-phone.
"Not since he left," she had replied. "But I've spoken with him."
"He's decided what he's going to do then. He's found his corner of the market."
"So it would seem."
"And that is…?"
There had been an almost imperceptible pause before she answered. "Whatever he's working on is low-profile and high-tech. Industrial espionage is a distinct possibility."
"Substantial profits, minimal risk, no partners."
She must have heard something in his tone for her response had been tinged with amusement. He had almost been able to visualize her smile. "You know what he's doing; you know where he is."
"I know where he's been," he had admitted. "There were operations in Toronto and Basel recently that have had his stamp on them."
She hadn't asked what he had recognized; he hadn't offered to explain.
"He'll be in touch with you," she had said instead.
"What makes you so confident of that?"
This time he had heard her soft, low laugh. "I've been part of his life for nearly as long as he can remember. He is accustomed to me; I'm familiar to him, but you… You're a novelty, and I think he seems to be quite taken with the concept of having a father. You intrigue him, Jack. Sooner or later, his curiosity will get the better of him."
He hadn't asked why she believed this; she hadn't offered to explain.
* * * *
Their first joint-intelligence operation proved to be of little informative value - but seeing Sydney come to life once in the field again had been priceless. It had also been a shock for Jack to realize just how much being tied to a desk at the Agency was killing her. There was a startling difference between the pale young woman who had been drifting further and further away from him and the vibrant one who had charmed her way into the Frankfurt facility to steal a glimpse at their research. She was still glowing happily even days later - even after they'd determined that the files she had downloaded gave them little more than a few tantalizing yet disconnected hints. It had been the first thing that she'd done outside of a psychiatrist's office to help investigate what had happened to her.
Despite the fact that there seemed nothing further to be gained from the files, Sydney continued to pore over them. After the first week Jack was beginning to grow slightly concerned at the obsessive nature of her study, but her smiles - brighter than they'd been in months - alleviated some of his apprehension. When Kendall assigned him to oversee a mission in Mumbai, he left for India with only minor misgivings. His sense of unease was heightened, however, upon his return three days later.
Sydney continued to smile brightly, but there was a different - almost mischievous - quality to it now. Jack couldn't decide whether to interpret her new attitude as another step in her recovery, or as a sign of something more troubling. Reports from her doctors indicated that new patterns seemed to be developing in her psychological evaluations - greater openness in some areas, unexpected evasiveness in others.
He was certain that she was hiding something from him, but he couldn't determine precisely what it was. He had thought at first that she was still scrutinizing the Frankfurt reports but soon realized that the computer files she closed whenever he approached her working at home didn't look like anything he had ever seen before. Speculating about the possible source of those unfamiliar documents merely fueled his trepidation.
He was somewhat relieved when she sat down across from him in the living room one evening but didn't pick up one of her usual books. She was ready to talk.
"There was a dummy file in the download," she said. "It was designed to delete itself from the server after twenty-four hours but remain on any copy made. It was a message. From Sark - wanting to arrange a meeting."
"Why?" he asked when she didn't continue.
"It didn't say. Just had a time and place." Anyone else would have believed the lie, but Jack was beginning to know his daughter better than he ever had before.
"Have you decided whether or not you want to go?"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"When is it? Where?"
"New Orleans." She looked away. "Last week."
* * * *