Part 2
There was something to be said about waking up early.
Yeah, it allowed more time to get in an early workout. Part of it was discipline too. But mainly, Sark liked getting up before everyone else just so he could have quiet. There was also the bonus of having his morning room service a lot quicker.
Room service. Sark stayed in hotels. Sure, he had his hideouts and choice bungalows for longer stays. But lately business was picking up so much, Sark just bounced from hotel to hotel.
This morning, Sark sat behind closed flowery curtains, sipping a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice and reading the morning news from the light of a 40-watt bulb. As soon as he woke up, he printed off the morning intelligence reports from Irina's sources and his own.
Nothing out of the ordinary today, he noticed as he almost choked on the orange pulp. Satisfied, he shredded the reports in his portable shredder and then headed for the shower.
Sark checked out of the hotel early, avoiding the later tourists who checked out during the hotel grace period. A limo driver took him to an airstrip, where Sark boarded his waiting jet.
Well, it wasn't his, but he used it more than Irina did.
"Good morning, Mr. Sark," the waiting pilot greeted. Sark nodded at him.
"Let's go."
The jet took off within two minutes.
The trip was short, but refreshing. Sark went over the intel for his op. He knew it forwards and backwards, but the annoyingly machine-like quality within him demanded he do it again. As the plane went through its final approach in Prague, Sark double-checked his appearance. His silk-woven tie, burgundy, stood out against his gray button-up shirt. Combined with the charcoal pin strip suit, Sark looked like an accountant freshly recruited from a respected MBA program.
That worked to his advantage at ViCount Biotech. Sark entered with enough charm and confidence to have the receptionist swooning, and enough tentativeness to pass as a job-seeking underling.
"I'm here for an interview with Mr. …" Sark stumbled with the last name, purposely. "Wi—wil—"
"Mr. Wilshlegan," the receptionist filled in as she batted her eyes obviously at him. "I'll let him know you're here. Your name?"
Sark smiled. "Bryan Culington."
Though he was well aware this interview was just an excuse for access, Sark was quite annoyed that Wilshlegan made him wait. After five minutes, Sark had to restrain himself from glaring at the melting receptionist.
"Mr. Culington?" she called with a flirtatious tone. "Come this way."
Mr. Wilshlegan could best be described as a chimp-like man. And, with Sark around, he was also a sitting duck.
Sark followed the man obediently to Wilshlegan's office. As soon as he shut the door and sat behind his oversized desk, Sark pulled out a tranq gun from his briefcase and shot the man in the neck.
He pushed the body to the floor, and immediately started typing furiously through ViCount Biotech's network. The man's computer didn't buy Sark access to what he wanted in the lab, but it did have the location of the lab and its access code.
With the access code printed firmly in his mind, Sark stood on top of the desk and unscrewed the air vent. He pushed it to the side.
He took off his suit jacket, grabbed his tranq gun and pulled himself into the air ducts.
The mental map to the lab stayed in his mind as Sark crawled quickly.
Left, right, another right, and down---the lab. Sark peaked through the vent. Two lab technicians went about their work, unaware they were being observed. Sark gave the vent cover a swift and hard kick. The vent clattered to the ground, with Sark following. He landed on his feet and didn't hesitate to render the two technicians unconscious.
He noticed the computer-controlled vault immediately and started to it. A login screen popped up, and Sark quickly got through it and to the access code for the vault. His breath stopped momentarily as he waited.
Access granted. The vault opened with a hiss of a walk-in freezer. Sark pulled back the door. Shelves of vials and test tubes rested before him. His eyes scanned over the labels.
There it was. FZ965. Sark took the vial and pocketed it. He had to move quickly now and get out before Wilshenburg, or whatever his name was, woke up. He also had to get the vial in cool storage within 15 minutes.
Sark pulled himself up into the ducts again and slithered back. Up, left, another left---
"Don't move!" came a female voice. Sark froze as he stared ahead in the dark ducts. There in front of him, dressed in dark attire and looking passionately dangerous, was Sydney Bristow.
A thousand choice phrases surfaced in his mind, but the genteel façade reigned over.
"Miss Bristow. Fancy meeting you here," he said. His left hand reached back for his tranq gun, while he studied Sydney's gun inches from his face.
"Sark, do you honestly think that you can whip out that gun faster than I can pull the trigger, in these tight air ducts?" she said, taunting him. Sark could see her white teeth stand out through the darkness.
He sighed. "Do you honestly think you can manage me? That's your plan, isn't it? Take the evil Mr. Sark back to the CIA." He almost smiled at her with that, just to goad her.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "I could just kill you."
Sark laughed.
"While I know our conversation up here isn't the most discreet given our agenda, shooting me is sure to attract attention from security," he said.
"Hand over the vial, Sark."
He smirked at her, his icy eyes laughing at the idea.
"Your gun too," Sydney added. A faint grin traced her lips, and Sark knew she was enjoying this power.
He also knew it wouldn't last.
For the sake of ease given their confines, Sark complied with her orders.
"Let's go back to the office," she added, sliding her body back the way she'd come. Sark was actually surprised that she came the same way, but he knew he shouldn't be.
Sark crawled after her, slowly so she didn't shoot him. As they came upon the vent to Wilshlegan's office, she suddenly reached forward and grabbed his arm. With that, she let gravity kick in and they both plopped down on top of the desk.
Sark landed nearly on top of her, which would have been advantageous, but instead he fell on his back. Sydney was standing over him, gun aimed, before he could regroup.
He winced obviously, and for a moment he saw a flicker of compassion. Sark tried to bite back a smirk at her humanity; he showed her what she wanted to see: a mixture of fear and pain.
"Stand up," Sydney said. Her straight hair was slightly disheveled in its ponytail, but the rest of her appearance was stunning. A bit dusty though . . .
Sark faked a sneeze. He ran his hand over his nose.
"The dust. Sorry," he added. She nearly blanched at the politeness. Sark laughed to himself while she regained her authority.
"Come on. Out the window," she ordered, gun still aimed at him. Sark moved for the window, which had a freshly-cut hole in it. He noticed the ropes there too.
"I've got Sark. Meet me at the extraction," Sydney said to whoever was listening on the other end of her comm.
No doubt her Agent Vaughn. Sark started out the window, pausing before descending. Sydney gave him a nod to continue, and he quickly zipped down to the ground.
He looked up as Sydney came after him, and before he could even contemplate running, he saw that she had her gun trained on him the whole descent. She caught her breath as she landed.
"I take it you didn't climb up to his office in broad daylight," Sark said, analyzing the route they just took.
Sydney shook her head as she used one hand to smooth out her hair.
"The roof. It looks like you came in the front door," she commented, looking him over. Sark smirked at that.
It was so obvious that she liked what she saw.
"I think I would have gotten the job too," he added, flashing her a charming smile. That's when she picked up on it and got serious.
She jabbed the nose of the gun in his side.
"Move."
A van suddenly appeared, and Vaughn too as he slid open the door.
"Get in," he ordered.
Sark bit back some sarcasm and complied. He held up his hands in mock surrender as Sydney and her backup watched him.
"Did you get the vial?" Vaughn asked. Sydney nodded, but her eyes never left Sark.
He liked to think that's because she found him so attractive.
"What do we do with him?" Sydney asked with a nod toward Sark.
The way she asked . . . it was obvious the CIA wanted him, but her question betrayed her thoughts. She wanted to consider another alternative. Maybe letting me go, or her running off with me.
Sark let his eyes bore into her; he wasn't challenging her authority, given the situation, but he was playing to her sympathies. He gave her the softest, caged animal look he could muster, and he saw results immediately.
Sydney started to lower her gun, but caught herself. It all took only seconds, but Sark knew he was making a dent in her protective shell.
"CIA is expecting him. Weiss has a sedative standing by at the airfield," Vaughn said.
Well, that won't do. I can't seduce her when I'm unconscious.
Sark cleared his throat, drawing both the agents' attention.
"I hate to interrupt, but have you put the vial in proper storage?"
"Of course." Sydney's 'duh'-look bordered on being insulted.
Sark shrugged in apology. "I just want to make sure you know what that is," he said with a fake smile. "I never know how much you know about your missions."
That got Sydney's attention.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her defiant tone challenged him, and Sark couldn't help but smile. He loved it when she got this way.
"Miss Bristow, I never mean any offense," he said insincerely. "I've noticed you act on half-hearted intelligence without the full picture. That's why I've normally stayed ahead of you."
"Until now," Vaughn said. Sark nodded.
"True."
The van was slowing down, and Sark knew his moment was coming. Vaughn jumped out first.
"I'll watch him. You get the sedative," Sydney said. Vaughn left.
Perfect.
She was nervous, more because of how she questioned herself about Sark than because of the danger he posed.
"While we have a moment, may I ask you a question?" he started. His calmness just put her on edge more, or maybe it was her feelings for him.
"Fire away," she said with a wave of her gun. Sark smirked at that reminder.
"How can you hate me so much, Sydney? We're really not that different."
He knew exactly what she was going to say next. He rattled it off in his head as she spoke.
"We're nothing alike. I'm not a killer, Sark."
Sark acted like that hit him. His pained look made her seem regretful of that line. She is so easy to manipulate. He took a slow, hurtful breath.
"Irina told me you were trained, like me, to be a spy," he said quietly, almost whispering. "Project Christmas."
It was sinking in, that maybe, just maybe they weren't that different. Of course, Sark was well aware he was lying to her. If she really knew he'd chosen this life and gave up his past, she'd probably shoot him in the knee.
"I only bring up the similarity, because I was wondering if you'd consider working with me." He waited for the shock, which was almost instantaneous.
And at that moment, he pounced.
Sark lunged forward and grabbed the gun and Sydney. He whirled her around in his arms and held the gun to her head.
Just as Vaughn returned.
To his credit, Vaughn didn't go for his gun. And, luckily, he didn't drop the syringe with the sedative.
Sydney was tense against him. Sark could feel her lungs breathing erratically.
"Agent Vaughn." The agent clenched his fists, which made Sark's smirk grow. "You'll take that syringe and inject yourself with it."
He saw the looks Sydney and Vaughn gave each other, and Sark knew they were plotting. He pressed the gun harder against her head.
Vaughn sighed, and Sark almost laughed at the pathetic surrender in his tone. The man slowly took the syringe, and chucked the cap of it to the side. He pushed up a sleeve, glancing at Sydney and Sark as he did. After a moment of hesitancy, Vaughn slipped the needle under his skin and injected the sedative.
He fell to the ground ten seconds later. The sound of him hitting the ground made Sydney jump.
"Don't hate me, Sydney. You would have done the same thing to ensure your survival," Sark whispered in her ear. She shuddered; the revulsion in that made Sark pause.
It did more than that. It angered him, and made him rethink this plan. He let himself go from the forced politeness.
"I'll spare you having to witness me kill anyone today, Miss Bristow," he said between his teeth. Sark pulled a hand back, just out of her view. "Consider this a professional courtesy."
She tensed right before the blow, but probably because she thought he may just kill her. That made Sark mad too, but he pushed that aside for now. Sark let Sydney's body fall to the van floor and then pushed her out by her precious handler.
The vial was in a cooler of sorts behind the driver seat. Sark started the van and quickly drove off before the rest of the CIA came after him.
He won this round, which pleased him despite the surprise brush with the CIA. The only thing that dampened his satisfaction was Sydney.
Sark shook his head clear of such thoughts. It didn't matter. He would win her eventually.
Anything worth having took time.