Thanks to my betas Gabs, Brittany, and Serenity because sometimes I even confuse me. All mistakes are my own.
--Part the Seventh--
"Everyone here is so polite, always knocking."
Ana shot Sark a mean look before turning her attention to the guard.
He reported succinctly, "Chered has allied with Pasdik. There's fighting in the halls."
Ana swore. "Where's Lukas?"
"South corridor, in the thick of it."
There was loud crash and the room shuddered.
"They're using explosives? In the compound?" Ana acted as if the stupidity were intended exclusively to insult her.
"Grenades, yes, one of Nadejda's men started it."
"Nadejda? Who else is involved?"
"Aimatov, Jeros, Vaska. You must come."
"Idiots. Stay here." Ana checked her firearm and gestured toward Sark. "Cuff him."
She strode out of the room, flanked by the other guards.
When the guard turned his back to handcuff Sark, Sydney thought it was the opportune moment. Grunting, she freed herself by tearing the leather wrist restraints out of the chair. They were old and she had been working on them since Ana's stupid slideshow began. The guard heard the ripping noise, but Sydney was able to kick him in the head before he could reach for his gun. He staggered back into Sark, who threw his wrists over the guard's head. He used the chain of his manacles to strangle the guard. The guard struggled, gasping for air when Sark finally let him drop to the floor.
"See," Sark said, somewhat inappropriately. "I told you we'd make an unstoppable team."
Sydney retrieved the guard's gun and keychain from his belt. She stood, unlocked the door, exited, and waved at Sark, "Bye bye."
"Sydney! I can get the handcuffs off myself, but that door locks automatically and you have the only key."
"Right," Sydney checked the hall. She stood slightly outside the door, ready to shut it with a flick of her hand.
"You can't leave me."
She grinned and repeated, "Bye bye."
"Don't you want to take me into custody?"
"You've got an injury. You'd only slow me down. Now I really need to go."
"I've got Gould's disk. I lifted it while Ana was groping me."
"Why shouldn't I just take it and leave you here?"
"Because the disk is down the front of my pants."
She paused, considering.
"I don't want to know how or when you managed that," Sydney shuddered. She unlocked Sark's wrists, grabbed his hand, and dragged him after her. "Now, come on!"
***
Unsurprisingly, the halls of K-Directorate bore a physical resemblance to those of SD-6. It was too bad the similarity did nothing to help Sydney's orientation. She wished there were signs with arrows, "Prisoners, freedom this way. Certain pain and death to the left. Canteen next right. "
Lacking explicit markers, Sydney navigated by the sophisticated method of running in the opposite direction of the explosions. It worked until they came to the intersection of four passages. They all looked the same to her so she turned to Sark. His face was ashen. He was hobbling but his breathing was no more ragged than her own.
"You've been here before, which way?"
"I don't know," he shook his head. "They didn't let me in the backways for some reason."
"Figures," Sydney muttered and picked a way randomly. "This one then."
At that second, two men came running from one of the other passages. They were firing behind them and so paid no attention to Sydney and Sark. However, they were firing at Ana and a group of her friends.
Needless to say, Ana noticed them -and more importantly, their linked hands- immediately.
"I knew it!" Ana shrieked triumphantly as she lobbed a small cylinder neatly at Sark's feet. Her voice rose crystalline above the gunfire.
"It's not what it looks like," Sydney yelled back. She fired at Ana's head but they ricocheted as Sark pulled her away.
***
After a terrifying run through the halls of K-Directorate, Sark was able to direct them to a garage. The entire compound had been absorbed in the firefight. They stole a jeep and two rifles, and said goodbye to their prison without further hardship.
Outside in the free world, it was cold and Sark was still dressed in his tattered black shirt. Sydney was more concerned with the ice on the road. She didn't want to turn the lights on, but she didn't feel like skidding off the sorry excuse for asphalt either.
"We were lucky." Sark looked behind them while Sydney drove towards Moscow. "It won't last. Morning will break soon."
"I can get us to a CIA safehouse once we find a phone."
"A phone? Sydney, we don't even have shoes. We look like burglars on the lam," Sark looked down at the remains of his shirt. "Lousy burglars who were attacked by bears. And you cannot just go traipsing into Moscow."
"I've done it before."
"Sydney," he faced her. "First of all, you can't contact the CIA because SD-6 is looking for you. Second, you can't contact SD-6 because I'm with you. Third, you can't go into Moscow right now because I won't let you."
His stern tone alerted her.
"Explain."
"Moscow is your mother's backyard. But she's not there to protect you anymore. Her enemies will know. So unless you want to end up in another prison, we need a different plan."
"What are you talking about?"
"The Man made a lot of enemies. Some of them have tried for you before. I've watched your back myself a couple times. You might remember the sniper in '98; he wasn't after your informer, he was aiming for you."
"You're serious, aren't you?" Sydney met his eyes.
"We need to be as inconspicuous as possible. I have a safehouse outside of the city proper, along the Moskva River. We can pick up decent clothing there, and a meal. You can contact your father. I have a secure line."
"What about the disk?"
"It will take your father some time to get here. We can discuss the matter later."
The set line of his mouth informed Sydney that he was going to refuse further conversation. She let him rest as they raced the sun to Moscow.
He only stirred when she tried to remove the rifle from his hand. Besides the weapon, he looked serene. She contemplated removing the disk and dropping him on the roadside. But only for a minute.
***
Sark's safehouse was a modest grey two-story along the river. Its main attraction was a fireplace in every room. Lighting them had been Sark's first priority after donning a heavy green pullover. The jeans he gave her were tight at the hip, but the navy sweater was warm against her clean skin. The shower had come first. She hadn't recognized the brands of soap, shampoo, or lotion and there were no labels to tender information. Sydney noticed they smelled lovely without exception which answered how someone so wicked could smell so good. By all rights, Sark should stink of brimstone, Sydney comforted herself by supposing Sark would but for the miracle of modern beauty products.
The promised meal was vegetable stew and a glass of milk. Curiously, Sark had cooked. He must have retained reliable local help because the kitchen was stocked with fresh carrots, peas, and potatoes. When she had entered the kitchen, he'd given her one long look. He took in her wet uncombed hair, the purpling bruise on her cheek, and the clothes he'd given her and then returned to his preparations. She was surprised he turned his back to her, but then again he was holding a very sharp knife. Sydney decided not to interpret his action not as gesture of trust so much as confidence in his weapon. When the stew was ready, he set it to simmer, and left for his own shower.
She had sat at the small carved table, watching him perform simple tasks like measuring herbs with an easy, unconscious elegance. He hadn't said a word to Sydney the whole time. She meant to discuss the disk but couldn't bring herself to interrupt his concentration. What was he thinking about? Sydney doubted he was contemplating the moral lesson he should have learned in the past few days. Well, she wasn't about to approach him with a line about hell, fury, and scorned women; he'd probably just pervert it into a come-on.
She sat at a kitchen window, watching snow fall in the backyard. Sark had been in the shower for awhile. She imagined he was having a hell of a time washing the wounds on his back and abdomen. The scabs were fresh enough to be removed with even the kindest rubbing but they had to be cleaned or he risked infection. She wondered if he had a tetanus shot. God only knew what diseases Sark could get from…well, from whatever had made the cuts and gashes on his body…
Ana's nails?
Sydney cringed but the thought of Sark's pain gave her a tingly, happy thrill.
She picked up the phone beside her and dialed. When he had handed her the secured cell phone earlier, Sydney wished she had a bug to put on it but philosophically decided it didn't matter; he probably didn't use the house often.
"Bristow."
"Dad-"
"Sydney, where are you?"
"On the outskirts of Moscow."
"I'm in the city. I picked up your trail when the plane refueled in England. I'm coming to get you; is your location secure?"
She paused before answering. "Yes. But I need you to wait an hour."
"Sydney, no, you've been missing-"
"I'll meet you at Kiev station. I have to do something. It's important. I need to do this."
"One hour." Somehow managing to convey relief and efficiency, her father hung up.
She put the phone down and moved through the kitchen towards the back bedrooms. The shower was still running.
Sydney smiled slowly. It was going to be perfect.
***
TBC
Hang on, the end is totally nigh. There's one more part; thanks for hanging on this long…