-Part 5b--

The men left the table, Jack leading Sark to the empty far corner of the balcony.

Sark looked over the railing for two reasons: to appreciate the view of Mont Blanc and so that Sydney could not read their lips. Jack Bristow stood beside him, silent and doing that unnerving, unblinking, staring-thing he was so well known for.

"Are you certain," Sark began conversationally, "you wouldn't rather take this outside? If you push me off the mountain now, your daughter will see."

"Listen carefully, Sark, you've proven yourself to be a cunning man so I'm going to respect that intelligence by not repeating my threat."

"Thanks so much, Jack," Sark smirked. "But we do need to broach the matter of trust. Be reasonable. You can't expect to verify every piece of information I give you. I don't plan to run myself ragged double-checking your work. If this alliance is to succeed, we must trust one another. If you can't trust me as a man, at least trust my intentions."

"It's your intentions that concern me."

"Don't couch your suspicion in fatherly distress at my personal interest in Sydney. I'm not asking to take her to prom. This is neither the time nor the place for you to disclose the rules and requisites for dating your daughter. She is an experienced field operative, perfectly capable of taking care of herself and any unwanted overtures. In any case, I suspect it's not that score that worries you."

"You're right. I'm sure Sydney wouldn't dirty her hands with you. I'm more concerned with betrayal; you have admitted that your loyalties are flexible. How do I know you won't turn her into the Covenant the moment it would benefit you?"

"You don't."

"That's not acceptable, Sark. Acting cavalier isn't helping my assessment."

"I know Julia Thorne killed my father, Andrean Lazarey. I knew before I approached Sydney. We've already spoken of it." Sark turned to face the other man. "She still decided to trust me."

Jack's face revealed nothing. "Sydney makes foolish choices. She may be helping you in a misguided attempt to atone."

"Or perhaps she is as desperate to take down the Covenant as I am, Jack. Maybe you should just ask her."

"My daughter may trust you but it signifies nothing between us. I don't recall giving you permission to call me Jack."

"Well, I don't recall giving you permission to call me Sark," he responded impatiently.

Jack blinked before resuming his glare. Sark glared back, a little miffed at the lameness of his own reply. Well, good verbal riposting was difficult even in the best of circumstances. Good thing he had a broken arm to blame everything on.

They stared at each other. Stalemate.

At that moment, an unlucky waitress approached the Hostility Corner. "Entschuldigen Sie bitte!"

Sydney moved to intercept her, "Oh, sorry, they don't speak Swiss!"

The mood was broken. Sark snorted as Sydney dragged the woman away. He moved to follow but Jack grabbed his broken arm and twisted it cruelly. "This conversation isn't finished yet."

Sark didn't wince. "I didn't think it was. Now excuse me, Jack, I have to debrief my partner. If you have nothing more useful to contribute than B-Movie threats, I cannot be bothered with you."

***

"Nice disguise," Sydney said as opened her hotel room door.

"I'm an aspiring priest keen on devoting my life to the abbey and all that. You're supposed to be perceptive. Can't you tell?"

"God save the Church," she replied.

"I didn't say what church, Sydney. How would you like to be the first disciple in the Church of Sark?" He wagged his eyebrows up and down, "I'm quite good at answering prayers. Plus there's the priestess uniform to consider. The sheer fabrics are very comfortable in tropical zones. And I'd make you my high priestess, of course."

"You're sick."

"You're tempted," he said knowingly. "Now will you let me in?"

"When you ask like that, how can I say no?" She opened the door and sat on her bed.

"I'll have you know there's an Italian widow keeping a place warm for me."

"I don't see why you're dawdling here then. Go ask her to worship at the altar of Sark."

Sark dropped his pack on the floor. He then reached into his back pocket and presented its contents to Sydney with great fanfare.

She unfolded the letter and was soon in tears. "There's a lipstick kiss! What an awful color. Hey, she says you can call her collect." She looked up, "What on earth did you do to seduce the poor woman."

"I assure you I did nothing to give her hope." He sat next to her and blinked innocently down at her. "See what happens when you leave me alone?"

"You're preyed upon by women who want to make you their little blonde love bunny?" Sydney pointed at the appropriate line in Agnese's love letter.

"Exactly." He grabbed the paper away and crumpled it into a ball but Sydney snatched it back.

"No way," she said. "I'm saving this for the scrapbook."

He grinned widely but she cut him off, "The scrapbook where I put all my potential blackmail material."

"Blackmail? My favorite. Sydney Bristow, extortionist. It makes you sound so depraved. I like it."

She elbowed him and he winced.

"What's wrong?"

"The arm, Sydney, the arm."

"I'm sorry I thought that was part of the disguise."

"Yes, Sydney, I've gone undercover as a seminary student who inspires pagans to convert with the overwhelming spiritual force of my broken arm. Look out, pagans, here I come."

"I said I was sorry, you don't have to be snippy about it. We need to get that put in a cast."

"Really? Wow, this must be why I asked you to be my partner. Tell me more, O Perceptive One."

Sydney lay back against a pillow and smirked. "Dad really got to you, huh?"

"I don't know what makes you say that. It was that damned train. Next time, I get to travel first class."

Sydney smirked.

"I think you're starting to pick up my bad habits. This is exactly the kind of evil influence your father was complaining about. I told him, 'Jack, now, Sydney's not as naïve and impressionable as she looks,' but he wouldn't believe me. I can see why."

"If you weren't injured, you'd be the first man to ever get a concussion from a pillow thrashing."

"You feel sorry for me?" He tried the angelic look again.

She laughed. "So what did Dad have to say?"

"That he had a rusty machete in case I knocked you up."

"Did you just say 'knocked me up?' I never thought I'd hear the debonair Mr. Sark use such vulgar language."

"I never thought you'd comment on my language instead of protesting the very possibility."

"You would focus on that."

"I take my hope where I can get it." Sark lay back on the pillow Sydney offered him and then looked at her seriously. "Your father doesn't trust me."

"Term two, Sark."

"I don't believe I said anything about that. In fact, I think trying to keep you from contacting your father would guarantee my very ugly death."

"He only said that because he cares." She crossed her arms.

"I know that, Sydney. Super spy, remember? I was trained to read these things from subtle signs like, 'Breathe near my daughter and die.'"

Sydney sighed. "He is that bad, isn't he?"

"Worse. I will never understand how a man as vigilant in his protections allowed Sloane to get his claws into you."

"Hey," Sydney said. "You can stop that line of thinking right there."

"Why? I'm sure you've wondered the same thing."

"Just leave off, okay?"

They lay together in silence. Sark knew he was acting spiteful, but was loathe to apologize. He needed Sydney to help him and was afraid Jack would take her away. Well, perhaps not afraid but a little concerned.

She rolled over and picked up the phone. The conversation was brief and she turned back to Sark after a few minutes. "I asked the concierge to send the house doctor up."

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," she answered stiffly and stood. "It's not like I want a partner with a broken arm."

She moved away from the bed to sit at the desk where her laptop was set up. "I'm going to do a check on our surveillance."

Clearly, she was going to ignore him. Sark cursed inwardly; he had two Bristows mad at him. Now all he had to do was find a way to offend Irina and he could call it a day well spent.

Perhaps a life of peaceful meditation and solitude wasn't a bad idea. They had to give sanctuary to everyone, didn't they? He sighed. He doubted there was a place on earth he could hide if ever the entire Clan Bristow really wanted to hurt him. It was a truly terrifying thought.

Well, he'd just have to get back in Sydney's good graces.

***

TBC