Chapter Five

"I looked over the information more carefully, and there's something wrong," Sark explains to her, as he rummages through the refrigerator for something to eat.

"Yeah, what is it?" Sydney knows she sounds completely rude, but she admits that she feels annoyed at Sark for not showing any kind of acknowledgement about last night's kiss. She is nearly about to burst, wanting to explain why she pushed him away, but she knows it will only make things worse. Besides, who says she owes Sark any kind of explanation? Still, a tiny part of her brain nags at her, you saw that look in his eyes after you pushed him away. What look was it, exactly? Sure, there was desire shining in his eyes, just as in hers, but there was also something more. Sydney thinks it could have been disappointment, but she realizes it wasn't just that. It's something she still can't exactly pinpoint. Regret? Anger? Both? She notices Sark is speaking and forces herself to listen.

"—same time you arrived Hong Kong," Sark finishes. He looks at her carefully and sighs. Perhaps a lost look is written all over her face, or Sark is learning to read her, but either way, he shakes his head and asks, "Have I interrupted your daydream?"

She blinks, "Uh—what happened the same time I got to Hong Kong?"

"You arrived in Berlin. According to my records, you got to Berlin exactly 6 hours before you arrived in Hong Kong. Now, either you had a private jet that could fly extremely fast—which I doubt, or we have a problem—which we have to solve."

She doesn't see the problem. "Your information is wrong. It's kind of simple," she tells him in a condescending manner.

"No. It wouldn't be. My sources are extremely reliable," he is completely confident of this fact.

"Maybe," she tells him scathingly, "your sources are setting you up." Sark opens his mouth to give a smart retort, but she plows on, "Of course, I wouldn't really know, since you won't tell me where you got your information from."

He tilts his head and gazes at her for a moment. "Irina," he says quietly, raising his eyebrow, wondering what her reaction will be.

"What?" Whatever Sydney had been expecting hear, it certainly hadn't been Irina's name, thought she knows she probably should've been anticipating it. "You got all your records from her?"

Sark gives her a contemptuous look. "Don't sound so incredulous. I verified the information through my own channels afterward. You did fly to all those places."

"Okay, let's think about it. What are you going on? What 'evidence' so to speak?" Sydney pulls out a chair and plops at the small kitchen table next to the window.

Sark sits down across from her and folds his hands together on the table. "Irina sent me airport surveillance footage; I had records of a plane ticket through one of your aliases."

"Surveillance can be forged, and buying a plane ticket does not mean I actually went to those places."

"I realize that, but why is it necessary? Why would Irina want to lie to me about your whereabouts? No," he shakes his head, "I am almost positive the information is true."

Sydney just stares at him, before blurting out, "How do I know you're not lying to me?" She expects Sark to laugh at her, or tell her to be sensible.

Instead, he gives her a blank, indifferent look. "Why would I lie?"

She doesn't understand how he can be so calm. He probably will never understand the way she is feeling—frustrated, confused, and upset. Before she can think twice, she is accusing him, "Why? I don't know. I could be a pawn in all this. Maybe you know exactly where I've been. Maybe you've been with me. Or maybe you held me custody for those two years and this is your idea of a sick, twisted—"

Sark grabs her by the shoulders and gives her a slight shake. He looks into her eyes. "Sydney. Don't be ridiculous. I was in custody for half the time you were missing. I couldn't have been with you."

For a moment, Sydney looks almost crestfallen, but she pronounces, "It doesn't matter. You've still been free for a year. Maybe Irina had me hostage. Maybe you joined her after she helped you escape. Then, you two decided to leave me in Hong Kong after giving me amnesia. And you saw the chance to play hero when I was in Zurich by myself." By now, Sydney isn't clear about what she is saying, or why she is blaming Sark, but that's the problem with no memories. Somebody did this to her, and she is aching to blame someone, anyone, and Sark happens to be the closest.

Sark doesn't look angry, just taken aback and even slightly amused. "Honestly, Sydney, I am just as baffled as you are on the places you've been the past two years. Whatever happened, you weren't with Irina or me. I'm telling the truth."

"That's the problem!" she cries out. "I don't know anything. Without knowing what happened, I could walk straight into a trap of sorts. I have no one to turn to, except the CIA but I know they just want to pry my brain open for information. Maybe they think I know where Sloane is, where Irina is, where you are! I don't know, but they don't care what happened to me unless it benefits them. If I can't trust the people I worked for, how can I trust you, my enemy?" She jumps up and begins to pace around the kitchen.

Sark sighs, and stands to grab her arm. He turns her around so she is facing him. "Sydney," he puts both hands on her shoulders and forces her to look at him, "You're here, aren't you? I don't think we're enemies at this moment, if we ever were. Just…" he drops his arms and shifts, looking everywhere but directly at her. "Just… trust me."

She isn't sure how to respond; aside from just hearing the most unlikely words from Sark, her skin is still tingling from his touch. When he put his hands on her shoulders, his thumb grazed her bare skin, and she felt a warm flame spread from inside her. A crazy part of her wanted to just lean into Sark and kiss him again.

He frowns at her silence and tries to study her expression. Was he wrong to have said those words? Was she going to burst into laughter at the absurdity of his suggestion? "Sydney?"

She snaps out of her thoughts and looks down at the kitchen floor. "Sorry… yeah," she mumbles, "Okay. I'll trust you. For now."

Sark nods, "Well, do you want to see the video surveillance that's from Irina?"

"Yeah, of course." She follows Sark upstairs and into the office once again. She sits down on the sofa once again and watches Sark. His laptop is just where he left it yesterday, except it had automatically shut down to save power. The events of yesterday wash over her, the kiss all too fresh in her mind. She shakes the thoughts away.

Sark moves the mouse and watches the laptop come back to life. He picks it up and sits down next to Sydney on the sofa, resting the laptop on his knees. He clicks a file and, as Sydney watches, some video footage fills the screen. She notes the time and date—January 1st, 200512:47:55—and the words on the bottom of the screen—Leonardo da Vinci Airport, camera 15A. As Sark begins to play back the video clip, she sees herself walk past the camera, wearing a dress suit and carrying a small black handbag. The clip changes and she sees herself walking past camera 12C. There are various shots of her in the airport, next to the customs officer, near the exit.

She sighs, "Okay, I've seen enough. So that was Rome. What's next?"

Sark clicks another video clip. "Moscow." March 1st, 2005 12:57:28, SheremetyevoInternationalAirport. The same basic footage as the other clip shows up on the screen. Sark goes through all the locations. "Madrid." May 1st, 2005 13:22:35, MadridBarajasInternationalAirport. "London." July 1st, 2005 13:02:23,HeathrowInternationalAirport. "Kiev." September 1st, 2005 14:02:23, KievBorispolAirport."Berlin." November 1st, 2005 13:24:16, BerlinTempelhofAirport.

"Alright. What about Hong Kong?"

Sark pulls up another video file, but this one is much blurrier than the previous ones.

Sydney squints at the screen, and sees the same footage as the other clips. "Wait. It says November 2nd, 2005. The Berlin one says November 1st. Wouldn't that have given me enough time to get from Berlin to Hong Kong, had I wanted to?"

"It was November 2nd in Hong Kong. It was also twelve in the morning. There's a six hours time difference between Berlin and Hong Kong.

Sydney realizes it's true. "It doesn't make sense. Are you sure the videos are real? Wouldn't Irina have noticed that something was wrong? It's obvious just looking at the time stamps."

Sark shakes his head. "Irina didn't send me the Hong Kong surveillance. A contact owed me a favor and pulled those up for me just a few days ago. But those, along with all the other videos are real. A source of mine confirmed their authenticity, even though the Hong Kong one is very blurry."

Sydney restrains herself from questioning Sark's many sources and contacts. "Okay. But, the video is very blurry. What if it's not me?" She edges nearer next to Sark until their legs are touching, and leans in to look at the screen more closely. It looks like her, but she can't quite be sure.

"I don't know," Sark admits. "It looks like you, but honestly, it's hard to be entirely sure."

Sydney nods, rubbing her forehead. "Let's think about this later. I've been here a day and I haven't seen any of the town yet. I want to check it out."

"Whatever you say," Sark shrugs, "You can take my car if you like. They're in the garage out back."

As Sark busies himself with shutting down the laptop, Sydney leans back into the sofa and stares at her fingernails. Just as Sark is about to exit the room, she blurts out, "Sark."

He turns. "Yes?"

"Do you want to go eat dinner later?" The words leave her mouth before she can even fully comprehend them. Surprised at her own boldness, she isn't exactly sure what brought upon this. Perhaps her desire to have companionship is greater than her overwhelming fear at what feelings she might have developed for Sark.

If Sark is surprised by her offer, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods with an unreadable expression on his face. "Sure."

Sydney smiles in relief. "Well, I'm just going to take a drive around for some air, okay?"

Sark shrugs indifferently, "Go ahead. Let me know when you get back and we can go." With that, he sweeps out of the room and down the hall.

Sydney walks to the back door and out of the house for the first time since they arrived. Sark must have moved the car to the garage sometime after they got settled. She smiles to herself as she hops into his precious Porsche, running her fingers over the clean, smooth dashboard. The keys are dangling in the ignition, and she powers up the car. She understands why Sark loves this car so much. The engine makes a soft hum, and as she pulls out of the garage, her hands on the steering wheel give her a sense of power. She turns on the radio and dangles an arm out the window, breathing in the clean, crisp air. The car makes for very easy, effortless driving, and Sydney allows herself to relax completely. She follows the path of the lakeshore, glancing at the peaceful waters. There are few cars around, but she sees families by the lake, fishing and swimming. After a while of driving, Sydney frowns and sits up straighter in her seat, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Hasn't that car been behind her for a while now? Sydney shakes her head to get rid of her paranoia. Why would anyone tail her out here? Even so, there is a strange, nagging feeling in her stomach. She pulls off the main road and begins to drive down a small path that leads to the outskirts of town. She takes a few extra twists and turns, not enough to lose a tail, if she is truly being tailed, but enough to determine whether the blue Corvette behind her is actually following her or not.

After a few minutes, she determines that she is being tailed, for some reason or other. Her first instinct tells her to lose the tail. It would be easy with this car. But another part of her wonders if her mysterious follower might have something to do with the missing two years. Only one way to find out. Sydney drives until she comes upon a deserted parking lot. She pulls into the empty lot, watching the blue Corvette follow suit. She makes a full circle around the lot and quickly steps on the gas. She yanks the steering wheel to the left, making a ninety-degree turn so that her car is fully blocking the only exit to the lot. The Corvette stops abruptly, the front only a few feet from the Porsche. Sydney breaths a sigh of relief; she would have had hell to pay if Sark's car even remotely got scratched. Hopping out of the car, she walks toward the other driver.

Here goes nothing.