The Clumsy Thief
The End of the Beginning
Part One
Five months went by, and she still hadn't made good on her word. Sark could only decorate and furnish his estate for so long, and he easily finished that two months ago. He now tortured himself with the idea that she hadn't been serious.
Feelings of betrayal resurfaced, and Sark was running out of reasons to not doubt Sydney. He didn't expect her to be back within weeks, but five months? Sark had checked up on her last month via his LA asset, and everything was just dandy there.
Maybe I'm being impatient, Sark thought, trying to calm himself down.
He tossed a gun aside, having just finished target practice. Decorating had domesticized him enough to be scared, so he compensated by daily shooting time. After shooting came swimming time.
He forwent the beach and just slipped outside to his pool. The weather was actually a bit chilly for a swim, but Sark didn't care. He threw his shirt on a lounger, and jumped in with the shorts he'd worn all day.
The water was cool despite the heater he used this time of year. Sark caught his breath and then methodically started laps. As his muscles started to warm, he dove underneath the surface and just let himself sink to the bottom of the pool.
He didn't know why, but he found this little ritual comforting. Sark put his hands behind his head and just laid on the bottom, looking up at the surface. The sun was already behind the nearby mountains, so the pool-side lights kicked in. The warm glow they cast on the water captured Sark's attention.
He just stared and relaxed for awhile, until his lungs started to pressure him. With that, Sark pushed off the bottom of the pool and sprung to the top.
Two more laps, and he was done. Done waiting. Sark used his shirt to wipe off his face, and then proceeded to walk into his house, dripping water everywhere as he walked.
He sat in front of his laptop, determined to find out what was going on. Sark wiped away droplets of water that threatened the machine.
He logged onto a chat room, where he waited for his LA asset to respond.
The asset responded within a minute. He must not have a life, Sark thought. But he didn't really care, since it ensured that he always was working on what Sark wanted him to.
Sark began typing furiously.
Beachbum: New update needed.
Surfer47: Will work on it asap. Have something for you. Need to mail it. Location?
Sark froze. His asset had never asked for his location before, but yet his curiosity was piqued.
Beachbum: What is it?
Surfer47: Not now—possibility that security breached. Any location to route to you will do.
Sark almost scoffed at that. Possible security breach and you want me to tell you where I am?
Surfer47: Info involves subject.
Sark froze again. Sydney.
Beachbum: FTP site?
Surfer47: Compromised. Encode location to me at usual URL.
Sark logged off, thinking about this latest development. Who had compromised his asset's security? Something wasn't right, but Sark didn't know if withholding his location was a good idea.
It involves Sydney—do you need any more reason? Sark began typing a post. He went to another web site, this one a discussion about growing roses. Sark posted a message, including an encoded reference to a post office in New Zealand. With that, he shut down his laptop and went upstairs to shower.
He didn't like what was happening, but it could explain something about Sydney's delay in returning.
He visited the post office everyday, exactly ten minutes after they put out the newly arrived mail. Each time he wore a different disguise and took alternate routes home.
Nothing came for a week. Nor had his asset been available.
Anxiety settled in with Sark. Something was definitely up, but until he had more information, he wouldn't know what.
Tonight, Sark actually tried to sleep. He hadn't for the past week, but had little naps during the day to tie him over. Logic told him to get a decent night's rest before something came up.
It took an hour, but he finally drifted off.
It was the crickets that woke him up two hours later. They weren't chirping as usual. Sark sat upright in his bed, listening.
Nothing—no bugs or anything sounded outside.
Something squeaked inside. Shoes on the marble, Sark pinpointed. He quickly reached under his pillow, and grabbed his gun.
His feet padded quietly on the floor. Sark cocked the gun as noiselessly as possible. He peered around the corner to the hallway. It was dark, and he could hardly—
There. He could make out a figure coming up the stairs. Two figures, actually. Sark ducked back into his room, looking for options.
He didn't know how many were in his house, or outside. He could try to take them on, but frankly didn't like the odds. Sark grabbed a pair of pants, shoes and an extra clip of ammunition.
He heard them enter his room. Sark held his breath from above them. There was an attic-access point in his room, which was why he slept there and not any of the other rooms. Exactly for scenarios like this one. He didn't dare move until they had moved onto another room. He waited until he heard them move on before putting on his pants over his boxers.
The shirt came next, and the shoes he tied together by the laces and slung over his shoulder. For now, he wanted to move around as quietly as possible.
Sark lifted the wood panel in the ceiling. No one was in his room. Sark grabbed the edges of the attic and dropped through head first in almost a somersault. His hands gripped tightly as his weight pulled him toward the floor. Sark hung for a moment, surveying his surroundings for any noise.
Satisfied for the moment, he let go and fell to the floor. His weight made a slight thud on the floor, and Sark froze.
He heard the intruders pause their movements, and then resume. Someone was outside his room, getting closer to the noise he'd made.
Sark crouched by his bed, his gun aimed at the doorway. As soon as he saw the figure, he fired.
Two rounds, quickly hitting into the person's chest. Sark jumped to his feet and ran to the fallen man. He stooped over to yank out the man's earpiece, then continued full speed for the hallway. The others came at him from both sides of the hallway. Sark fired a few shots to his left as he dove over the railing.
He had been bored enough of late that he often devised escape scenarios for situations like this. One day he had stared at his hallway and invented this particular scenario as a diversion from decorating.
The chandelier wasn't too far from the railing, and Sark's dive was perfect. He landed roughly, but then again, he was swinging on an expensive oversized lamp. Sark held on with his left hand, strategically swinging his weight around to face the intruders. Their return fire shattered the glass on the chandelier, but Sark held on firmly. He emptied the rest of his clip, watching as four additional men went down.
Sark braced himself for what was next. He swung forward to a column in the entryway, and at the precise moment, let go of the chandelier. His body slammed into the column, but nicely prevented him from breaking his legs as he slid to the floor.
He rolled away from the column, dodging bullets as they came at him. Sark crouched by a wall, wincing at the ricocheting bits of his home that hit him. He quickly replaced his clip and fired off three rounds at intruders on the main level. The hesitation in the return fire was all he needed.
Sark dove again for his study, slamming the doors behind him. He rolled to his feet and quickly looked for anyone in the study.
No one. He put the earpiece in that he'd swiped.
"—main level, in the study. Cover outside by windows." Brilliant strategy, Sark mocked in his mind. As if it wasn't obvious they would surround the room. But that's what he planned on.
He jumped to his bare feet, still aware of the shoes hanging over his shoulder. He went to a bookcase, throwing his weight against it to barricade the door. He only bothered with one bookcase. Sark only needed a minute.
He threw his shoes on, glancing out the windows as he did. He could see shadows moving outside. Sark kept low to the ground as he moved for his desk. He quickly grabbed his laptop, as well as an emergency passport and funds in a hidden drawer. He threw it all in a backpack he normally used for his beach towel, and slung it over his shoulders.
In the back corner of the study, Sark moved a fake tree aside. Irina always had hidden doors around. That was one thing Sark customized when he moved into this estate. The doorway actually blended in nicely, but in daylight it was somewhat obvious. Sark didn't suspect these intruders, whoever they were, were smart enough to discover it.
He slipped through the small doorway and quickly closed it off after him as the assault team broke into the study. Sark didn't stop moving. He came out in the kitchen, careful to make sure no one covered that room.
Sark smiled at his success, and quickly escaped out the service entrance of his estate. A van was outside, and Sark shot the guard posted outside it.
He couldn't trust his own cars, which he suspected were wired to explode or be tracked. That's what he would have done, anyway. Sark continued on foot, disappearing through the thick woods around his estate.