Part Eight A
Sloane continued to talk with Sydney.
"By doing this, Sydney, something more will come," Sloane said. He paused, making Sydney glance at Sark. He was listening for Sloane, working his way to the madman.
"Immortality, Sydney! By spreading this virus, someone will survive. And that person will have the necessary antibodies to survive this and anything else to come."
Sark rolled his eyes, but moved closer to Sloane.
"Of course, it'd be easier to find that individual if I had the genetic database you beat me to, but I'll be able to negotiate that and more with governments everywhere," Sloane continued. There was a dream-like quality in his voice, and Sark seriously doubted the man's sanity. "All of this, with a push of the button on the launch remote."
Sark hurried his pace stealthily. He has a remote detonator. Sark wouldn't allow Sloane to use it.
Sark hid behind a bookcase, knowing Sloane was within thirty feet of him. Sydney kept him talking.
"Sloane, don't!" Sydney cried out. "Now you know why I couldn't stay with SD-6!" It seemed somewhat tangential to Sark, but it got Sloane's attention.
"You didn't stay at SD-6 because of your attraction to the mysterious Mr. Sark," Sloane said. Sark noticed the disdain in Sloane's voice, but kind of liked where this was headed. He glanced at Sydney, raising an eyebrow at her.
She looked flushed, but kept on target. "No, I left because you lied to me. You act like a family friend and a patriot, but then deceived me to get what you wanted." She might as well have been spitting at Sloane. "To think how many times you wrapped my missions in the flag, like I was saving the world. All you ever wanted me to do was get you closer to power."
"Sydney, I've always thought of you as my own daughter—"
"Save it! I have a father, and he's definitely not you!" Sydney shouted. Sark saw the situation deteriorating, and moved closer to Sloane by crouching behind a large decorative vase.
Sloane was quiet for a moment.
"It pains me to hear you say that, Sydney. But I'm afraid it doesn't matter anymore." And then Sloane laughed. It was low at first, but then loud and demonic. Sark gritted his teeth, knowing this could be the end. With that, he charged the man.
The surprise in Sloane's eyes was all he needed to see to know he'd succeeded. Sark threw his shoulder into the man's body, pinning him to the ground. Sloane cried out, his shoulder still bleeding from Sark's shot.
Sark put the knife to the man's throat, but Sloane grabbed Sark's arm where his gash from the rocks was. Sark's grip weakened, Sloane used the chance to knee Sark in the side.
Sark rolled away but got to his feet again. Sloane was clawing for the launch detonator, just inches away from him.. Sark's eyes grew wide and he started to lunge for the device when a shot rang out.
Sloane's reach stopped, and he sighed out his pain. Sark heard him call out Sydney's name faintly before he stopped moving. Sark checked the man's pulse.
"He's dead," he said aloud. He heard Sydney breathe a shaky sigh of relief.
She stood over her dead, former boss. Sark didn't miss the sorrow there. Maybe at one time she thought of him as a father. But Sark imagined that was long ago.
It was over. And for Sark, it was almost over. The same thought seemed to hit Sydney as she suddenly snapped her head up to stare at him.
"Are you all right?" she said, running to him. He nodded quietly.
"Syd! Are you okay?" It was Vaughn, followed by Weiss. "We heard gun shots." Sark didn't look at them, but held his gaze on Sydney. She just looked at him back. He could see the sadness in her eyes, the horror at the thought of what already was happening to him.
"We're all right. Sydney got Sloane," Sark filled in for her.
"Is he dead?"
Sark nodded. "The delivery system, that rocket—it has to be around here somewhere. He had a remote to it. Check the roof."
Weiss raised a hand. "I'll search for it." Vaughn stayed put.
"We've neutralized the rest of the guards, and backup's on the . . ."
He looked from Sydney to Sark and back again.
"What's up, guys?" he asked. Sydney blinked.
"Sloane," she began, clearing her throat. "He shot Sark with a dart containing the virus." For once, Vaughn had the sense to shut up.
"Listen, we should get going," Sark said, clearing his throat. He ran a nervous hand through his salty hair. "Sydney, you should let the CIA know your success. Agent Vaughn, you can tell them I no longer have to be apprehended." He paused, and from Vaughn's reaction, those were the agent's orders all along. Sark smirked at him. "I'll help Agent Weiss."
Sark turned to leave.
"Wait," Vaughn said. Sark stopped. "Stay here. Preserve your strength. I'll help Weiss." With that, Vaughn was gone.
Sark spotted a chair and took a seat. He inspected his arm. The blood, he knew, was dangerous now. He ripped off his other sleeve and used it to tie off the wound.
When he looked up, Sydney was still staring at him. She seemed . . . stunned.
"Sydney," he said softly. She shook her head and looked at the floor, trying to hide the tears that were coming.
"No . . . no! You can't just accept this, Sark!!" she yelled, though he was only a few feet from her.
"This uncomplicates things, Sydney. For both of us." He stood up to collect his knife and move on.
"No," Sydney said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back to face her. "Sark, listen to me. You are not just giving up. I'll call the CIA. Maybe they can reverse-engineer an antidote."
Sark laughed. "I know you think highly of them, but the CIA is not composed of miracle-workers." She looked hurt by that, by his flippant behavior, but Sark continued. "Besides, based on what Sloane told us, I think I'll be beyond help in a few hours."
"He said symptoms—"
"Would show in about 4 hours. After the symptoms show, it won't take long until I'm too far affected by the virus," Sark said.
Her eyes were puffy and blotched pink. She wiped at her face. "I am not leaving you here." He knew what she was trying to say, beyond the current situation. Sark moved past that.
"I don't suggest that you do. You should contact a medical team and have them take me back to LA. The CIA and your government can learn a lot from this."
"This?!" she said skeptically. "From your body? Sark, you aren't dead yet! Let me try! Let me hope—" She'd been flailing her arms at him, frustrated and torn. Sark grabbed her and pushed her against a wall.
"Sydney, you have to focus now. Focus on the CIA, your job and your future," he said forcefully. "And as much as I'd love to be a part of that future, I won't be. I knew I wouldn't be before this mission started."
She had that stunned look on her face again. Her mouth hung open, searching for something to say. Sark gave her a brief, tight smile, squeezed her shoulder, and went to help Weiss and Vaughn.
Sark wasn't sure if it was in his head or not, but he was feeling weak. Of course I feel weak—I fell off a cliff, injured my arm, infiltrated Sloane's estate, rescued all three CIA agents, and it's not even 2200 hours yet.
Either that, or the virus is acting quickly.
Sark didn't go to the roof to help Weiss or Vaughn. Instead, he slowly walked down the stairs. Each step pounded through his body like a loud, ticking clock. His eyes kept to the floor.
He tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard not to. Odd, he thought. He risked his life all the time, and now his time was up. But I had control of my life. He didn't now.
Sark wasn't too keen about lying down and waiting for the virus to ravage his body inside out. He wasn't keen about volunteering to be a lab rat for the CIA while he died. But he was devastated that he was going to lose Sydney, forever.
He sat on the bottom step, and his eyes followed the blood trail of the guard he killed earlier. Sark wished he could go like that. Quick and unexpected. He shook his head. He knew he'd be to disappointed in himself if he was caught that off guard.
"Sark." It was Sydney. Sark turned to watch her descend. She had that same overwhelming sadness in her eyes, but she was trying to hide it now. "I was thinking, about Rambaldi's prophecy."
Sark nodded for her to continue, somewhat pleased that she wasn't going to make this harder for him.
"Well, I was supposed to stop Sloane."
"You did. You pulled the trigger," Sark said. Sydney shook her head.
"Yeah, but . . . is that it? I mean, I couldn't have stopped the prophecy without you," she said. "So why aren't you in it?"
Sark chewed on his lip, and shrugged. His head wasn't in the game, and frankly, he didn't care about Rambaldi's mess anymore.
Her cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
She held out her cell phone to him. "Marshall, for you."
Sark took the phone.
"Yes, Marshall," Sark said with some indifference.
"Sark, er, um, Mr. Sark, or do you—"
"'Sark' is fine, Marshall."
"Oh, okay. We have that database, with everyone's DNA," Marshall stuttered. "Well, Sydney got it, but you know that."
"Keep talking, Marshall," Sark prompted. I don't have much time here.
"Well, I ran the DNA from the virus, and a match came up."
"Really? A match to an individual person?" It was just like Sloane said, but without the world getting infected. An individual person with the same DNA would inherently have the antibodies. . . .
"Yeah, I know, weird huh? But it gets weirder," Marshall said, his voice bouncy and excited.
Sark swallowed hard, waiting. "Who is it?" His voice was barely a whisper. The hairs on the back of his neck started to rise, and he knew. Sark looked at her as Marshall said the name.
"Sydney."
The pieces clicked. I may not be screwed after all. Sark passed the phone to her, never taking his eyes off of her face.
"I know why you're in the prophecy." The phone was barely in her hands when Sark suddenly felt very light headed. He grabbed the sides of his head, trying to stop the spinning inside.
"Sark?" he heard.
"It's starting," he mumbled as he slouched over in darkness.