Part Two
Sark flew to Los Angeles. He had to find out what went wrong.
His asset's apartment seemed quiet, which was what Sark feared. Someone's gotten to him.
Of course, just how much Sark didn't realize until his asset walked contentedly up to the building, whistling away while eating at a bag of Tostitos.
Sark cursed, and inserted a fresh clip into his gun. He readied it and then quickly crossed the street from his vantage point.
His asset was too busy whistling and spewing chip bits to hear Sark come up behind him. As he unlocked the front door, Sark pushed the asset into the man's apartment.
The man yelled out, but Sark shoved his face into the wall.
"Shut up, Haladki," Sark hissed. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to the asset's head. He heard a crunch as the bag of chips got sandwiched between the asset and the wall.
"Sark!! I've been trying to contact you!" Haladki tried to say.
Sark kneed him in the back. "Don't give me that. What's going on?" he demanded.
Haladki tried to keep up his innocence, but Sark cut into that with a sharp twist of the man's arm. "Who are you working for?"
After Haladki caught his breath, he started to talk.
"Okay, okay!" he said, whimpering. "The CIA." Sark twisted the arm more, until he heard a crunch from bone, and not chips.
Haladki screamed.
"That's your cover, Haladki," Sark reminded him. Haladki shook his head.
"But they've been sniffing me out! Ever since the Alliance and Sydney thing, I've had to be careful!! I had to give them something!!"
Sark froze. "What Sydney thing? What about the Alliance?"
"You don't know?" Sark waited patiently for the snitch to continue. "Geez, where have you been?"
Sark whirled Haladki around and promptly hit him across the jaw. He slung the man's body toward a couch. Haladki fell ungraciously, cradling his arm and whimpering.
"You know exactly where I've been. You sent the CIA after me, remember?" He sneered with enough malice to make Haladki remember what Sark was capable of. "Now what's happened?"
"Sloane disappeared a month ago. And then Sydney and the CIA took down the Alliance. When they did, CIA searched Sloane's files, and found one on Sydney." Haladki paused to wince and nurse his arm. Sark cocked his gun, and the man quickly continued. "Sloane had evidence that she went to see you a few months ago. CIA put her in prison for treason."
It was coming together.
"Why didn't they know where I was then?" Sark asked slowly.
"The intel didn't point to a specific place, and she never said where you were. I had to give them something."
"You saved your own hide," Sark thought aloud. Haladki shook his head.
"No. The Man ordered me to give them your location."
Sark studied Haladki's face. He was pale, and nervous enough to be convincing. And what he said made sense, in some twisted way. All this time he'd thought Irina didn't know who his sources were, but it was obvious she'd been ahead of him again.
"You should never have betrayed me," Sark whispered. With that, he fired a single shot in the apartment and left.
Sark sipped at his glass of wine on the patio of some French restaurant, trying to think through all the new developments. A headache was already threatening him, probably because of the LA smog. Sark pushed the dull pain to the background.
Irina had ordered Haladki to tell the CIA where he was. She must still be miffed. Sark shook his head to himself.
Irina wasn't foolish enough to hold grudges just for the sheer satisfaction of it. Everything always served a purpose for whatever plan she was working on. So what purpose was there in giving me up?
Sydney was in CIA custody. There was a drastic change in events. Ungrateful twits, the lot of them, Sark thought.
Wait. If the CIA knew Sydney went to see him, they probably wanted to know what else she'd done or knew.
That was it. Irina gave me up to get the CIA off Sydney's back. If he was right, he had to admire that, even though it was Irina.
Sark took another sip.
What about Sloane? He'd disappeared, and the Alliance conveniently fell thereafter. A little too convenient. Sark figured that Sloane must either be helping the CIA to take down the Alliance, or he orchestrated it.
Sloane definitely didn't have any halo about his head, so Sark leaned to the second option. But why? What was in it for Sloane?
Sark lifted his arm to signal the waiter, but stopped mid-air. A slim, confident woman walked toward him. He couldn't help but think of her as a tiger coming on its prey. Then again, she was a predator of sorts.
"Hello, Irina," Sark greeted. He sat against the back of his chair, taking a long sip while watching her.
She sat opposite him, her legs crossed and with a strong smirk on her face. She wore a black cocktail dress, and looked stunning. She knew it, too.
"You look well," she started. Sark held up the bottle of wine he'd been drinking, and she nodded for him to pour her a glass. "I trust you've heard some news."
Sark nodded and set his glass on the table. "Yes."
"You're wondering why I sent the CIA after you," she surmised. Her dainty but firm hands cradled her wine glass.
"No, actually. I think you were protecting Sydney by giving me up," Sark said. He watched for her reaction. A smile spread over her face.
"Yes," she admitted with an approving nod. "But I also wanted to make sure you were still in shape. I've heard you've been a bit of a beach bum lately."
It was Sark's turn to smile, though he couldn't ignore the questions he had about her prior behavior.
"Do you trust me still?"
That was a loaded question, but Sark attempted an answer.
"I trust that you love your daughter, and that you want to protect her. Even if it means killing me or setting back any other of your goals."
Irina's dark eyes probed him for what he was thinking. "You feel betrayed, with that raid you and Sydney went on, and with the CIA coming after you."
Sark studied his former boss, wondering what really was going on. She came for a reason, as she always did. And she wasn't here to apologize.
"I suspect you actually felt betrayed, by both me and by Sydney," Sark said carefully. "You may even blame me for Sydney's defection back to the CIA." That smile diminished and Sark knew he was right to some degree. But he also knew Irina was withholding something.
"Sydney was more responsible for your defection to morality than the other way around," Irina said. Sark shrugged.
"Either way." They sat in momentary silence, eyeing each other. In that silence, Sark gave up any grudges. "Let's move on. What do you know about Sloane?"
In his mind, he knew that was the piece he was missing, and he appreciated that Irina picked up where his thoughts left off.
"Sloane set up the Alliance to fall, so he could work on the Rambaldi prophecy. He believes he's been chosen," Irina began, "to fulfill Rambaldi's work."
Sark didn't react visibly, but inside he was waiting for a punch line.
"Rambaldi." It was all he could say, but it was enough to prompt Irina.
"You know the prophecy involves Sydney. The CIA believed it was she who would fulfill his works. But I believe she will stop that."
"Stop Sloane?" Sark asked. Irina nodded.
"There's a new document that I found. It says a man will find his destiny and carry it out to the full cost of the world, which will burn to its destruction." Irina took a long sip of her wine.
Sark studied his wine, swirling it around in the glass as he thought.
"If I understand correctly," he started tentatively, "Sloane is about to destroy the world, and you believe Sydney can stop him." He stared hard at Irina. "What makes you think Sydney can stop him?"
"One of the translations of the document that first implicated Sydney—it says as much," Irina said. She looked at him expectantly, and Sark started to put the pieces together.
"So we take this info to the CIA, get Sydney released in order to 'save the world' and stop Sloane," Sark finished. Irina smiled like a proud parent.
"Pretty much," she said. "Except it's just you that goes to the CIA."
Sark tried not to glare at her too much.
The next morning Sark stalked confidently through the entrance of the CIA building. No one recognized him here, but he suspected that would change when he announced his presence.
"May I help you, sir?" a woman asked. Sark smiled pleasantly at her.
"Yes, I'd like to speak with your director. Tell him he has a walk-in."
The woman eyed him cautiously. "Just one moment," she said. "Your name please?"
Sark smiled.
He was escorted back to the director's office, after a security check and pat-down. The guards hesitated over the Rambaldi document.
"That's for the director," Sark had said.
By the time he actually stood in front of the director and Assistant Director Kendall, a whole crowd had gathered. Agent Twit and his sidekick Weiss were there, along with Daddy Bristow and some others he'd never seen.
"My, my," Sark began. "Quite the circus here." The sound of a gun being cocked didn't escape Sark's notice, but he acted indifferent.
"You're the only clown here, Sark," Vaughn said.
Idiot, Sark thought. "What a pathetic comeback, Agent Vaughn."
"Mr. Sark," Jack Bristow cut in. "I'm assuming you didn't come back because of any attachment to your accommodations."
Sark smiled. "You're correct." He held out a hand to the Rambaldi document. "I'm here to help you and Miss Bristow stop Sloane."
"Sydney is in custody, where you'll end up very soon," Kendall cut in. Sark shook his head at the man.
"Not likely. Read the manuscript I've brought here. You'll see it is imperative that you release Sydney. As for me, you'll need my help."
"Help for what?" Vaughn said with an immature huff. Sark stared hard at the tall, wrinkled man.
"Saving the world."