Part Five
It took two days of zigzag traveling, but Sark finally ended up in Kauai, one of the Hawaiian islands. He based his operations there, until things were cleared from the lab facility.
The island was pleasant; there were just enough tourists to blend in as a pasty-white mainlander, but not so many that he tripped over people. Sark spent most of his days in a bungalow he rented handsomely from a local. He was either on his phone or laptop most of the time, but got out every now and then to walk the beach.
Of course, he only allowed himself that pleasure when the light was low---no sense risking exposure or recognition.
His sources were reporting that despite the raid, CIA hadn't found much to cripple The Man's empire. They had the virus, but in the grand scope of things, that wasn't a terrible predicament.
But rumors were starting to fly about rival groups rearing their heads. All the usual suspects heard about the raid, and their confidence seemed to be overcoming their normal cowardice.
That concerned Sark.
Some of his sources were from within those rival organizations, but that only allowed him so much info. His sources weren't always forthright or timely with their information.
It made sense when Irina told him to find a source within the CIA.
"Are you not concerned about being double crossed?" Sark asked her, playing the role of caution.
Irina paused strategically. "I'm confident you'll be able to tell if there's cause for concern. The intel we get from the CIA could help us avoid such incidents as the one at the lab."
Sark smirked into the phone at the jab.
"It can help us stay ahead of our enemies as well," Irina added.
"I'll get on it."
"Allison," Irina began, "is in Jamaica right now."
Sark hesitated at that. "What's in Jamaica?"
"A menial research assignment. She seemed upset after the raid." Irina's tone probed him for answers. "Any idea why?"
Sark smirked, narrowing his eyes as he pictured Allison in his mind. "Weakness." He could have sworn he heard Irina laugh.
"Get moving on a source at CIA." She hung up without saying another word.
Sark started with the L.A. office, for obvious reasons. Actually, he never considered searching anywhere else for a turncoat.
The problem with CIA and its operatives is you can't be a hundred percent sure of their loyalties, especially when they claim to be your double agent. Sark, though he understood the necessity for having such a source, wasn't keen on the idea of recruiting someone.
As he sat in a LA hotel suite and searched through dossiers, Sark smiled as ingenuity dawned on him.
Brianne Wilcox. Her picture portrayed her as a reserved but bubbly sort of personality. She worked as a secretary at the Joint Task Force center. In reality, she was a step higher than a receptionist, but had access to just enough information to be useful.
Sark estimated that she knew little, if anything, about the goings-on of the center. He severely doubted she knew anything about him or Irina Derevko. But just getting close to her would be enough to know when something big was in the works. Add in technology, and she could do a lot without knowing she was a leak.
Perfect.
Sark observed the Joint Task Force from a rooftop across the street. Brianne was supposed to be an 8 to 5 type of employee, but today she left at 6:30pm. Excellent. Any tardiness in leaving meant something important kept her at work. Sark smiled to himself.
His binoculars followed her bouncing red hair as she walked to the subway. Sark smirked at that. Can't even afford a car on CIA salary. She disappeared down the subway entrance as Sark packed up.
He was waiting outside her apartment before she arrived. The subway route took her 45 minutes, versus his twenty. He watched as she fiddled with her keys and slipped into her apartment without a care in the world.
Brianne was attractive, physically at least. But just from her dossier, Sark knew serious intelligence was lacking. She wasn't an agent, and she would never see the red flags. Again, perfect.
In the morning, she left at 7 am, which meant she preferred being early versus rushing in the office at 7:59. She never resurfaced for a lunch break, which meant she either worked through it or ate inside.
She was simple. Reasonable. Low maintenance and personable.
Sark made contact that night, on the way home. He sipped at a bottle of water in a café until he saw her walk toward the subway. Without finishing, he chucked the bottle at a trash can and followed her.
She waited pleasantly at the platform, seemingly not in any hurry, despite the large crowd. Sark stood two people to her left in the herd. A train came, and people quickly filed on before she even tried to board. Brianne simply moved closer to the front edge of the platform.
He stood right next to her now.
Sark sighed audibly, and checked his watch. "Too many people," he muttered in the best American accent he could muster. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile and look down at the ground.
"In a hurry?" she asked. Sark glanced at her quickly, and then faked a double-take.
He flashed his white teeth in a charming grin.
"Probably like everyone else," he said. "I just have to get to my car."
"Your car?" she asked, on cue.
Sark smiled again. "It's in the shop, which closes in half an hour."
"So you're not used to subways, huh?" Her voice was nice, Sark admitted to himself. He half-expected a high pitched squeak.
"Not at all."
Another train was squealing in. Brianne inched forward, then turned to face him.
"Come on. You can make this one." He nodded and followed her through the crowd.
Subways, or rather, their stench, was one of the most alarming things he'd ever experienced. Sark tried to hide his disgust.
"So where's this car shop?" Brianne asked. She tried to appear nonchalant, but Sark could read the excitement behind her eyes.
"I'm not good with directions, but it's called Mack's, over on . . ." He made a show of trying to remember.
"I know where that is. It's a couple of blocks from my apartment," Brianne said, smiling at the discovery. She knows we'll be traveling most of the way together.
"Really?!"
Their connection was set enough; Sark engaged her conversation the rest of the way.
She laughed quite a bit, which was somewhat annoying. It wasn't so much the frequency as the predictability of her laughter. That's what you get for playing her. Sark mentally shrugged at himself. Whatever it takes.
They were rounding a corner on foot now, just a block from her apartment. The auto shop Sark named was another block in the opposite direction from where she lived.
"Mack's is just down that way," Brianne pointed out. Sark could hear the hesitation in her voice. She doesn't want this to end.
Sark smiled at her. "Thanks for helping me find it." He paused, awkwardly. "Um, I'm Devin." He stretched out a hand, which she took.
"Brianne." Her brown eyes were searching his for something, anything. Sark just smiled.
"Um, I better go, before Mack's closes. It was good to meet you." Sark started to turn away, and could almost hear her disappointment. Sark quickly turned around. "Would you like a ride?" He pretended to blush at how foolish that sounded. "I mean, I'm assuming that since we were at the same subway, we work somewhat close to each other. I could swing by in the morning."
He let the invitation hang in the air.
"Yeah! I mean, that'd be great," Brianne said, quickly recovering. "Um, I just live down this street, the third building."
Sark nodded, giving her a long look. "I'll be outside at 7:30."
Well, that was hardly a challenge. Sark poured himself a glass of wine and settled into the suite's sofa. He didn't bother congratulating himself; he knew Brianne Wilcox would be easy to win over.
Instead, he readied a bug of sorts to plant on her. The technology was remarkable, really. It was detectable only when on, and Sark knew to wait until she was settled at her desk until he activated it. Aside from listening in, he could also interfere with the network. Of course, that required some skills, but he wasn't worried.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his planning.
"Yes," he answered methodically.
"I thought I should give you a heads-up." The smoker's voice on the other end was a Russian freelancer.
"For what?" Sark asked. He got to his feet and started to pace the suite.
"A new client is very interested in you. After the CIA raid, they think The Man is vulnerable. And they know you have a high place with The Man."
Sark rolled his eyes. "They want me for information or leverage?"
"I'm not sure," the informant replied. "Both, probably."
"Who are they?"
"They call themselves the Hierarchy," the informant replied. Sark filed that in his brain.
"I appreciate the call," Sark said, and hung up.
Leverage was ridiculous. Irina wouldn't sacrifice her operations to get him back, if he were ever taken. That alone was a big 'if,' enough that despite this report, he wasn't worried. That the Hierarchy wanted him for information didn't surprise him. Anyone with a brain knew Sark was a valuable commodity.
Although, it seems someone is thinking about acting on that.
Sark stood by the black Mercedes. He knew his black suit would woo her, which was a switch from the normal goal of fear. The light blue tie against his plain white shirt added to his role as an investment banker, his cover for this assignment.
Brianne's jaw about dropped off when she came out.
"Good morning, Brianne," Sark said in the American accent. His voice sounded almost pubescent without his smooth British, but it was worth it. He didn't want such an obvious flag to tip her or anyone else off.
The ride was quiet. It was like second-date syndrome—awkward enough to wonder why on earth either agreed to it, and with enough potential that no one wanted to speak and risk screwing it up.
"So where do you work?" Sark asked.
"The State Department. I'm a secretary there." Sark noticed that she didn't elaborate beyond that, but he didn't push her. "How about you?"
"I'm an investment banker. I actually just transferred from my firm's New York office," Sark recited.
That piqued her interest. "So you haven't been in town long?"
Sark shook his head. "No. I've been in LA before, but never on a permanent basis. I'm still staying in a hotel until I find a decent apartment."
And the silence settled back over them.
Sark pulled out a business card with his alias on it, once they stopped outside the "State Department" building. She watched him as he hurriedly wrote down his cell phone number.
"Um, here's my number. I leave work at odd times, but if you'd like a ride home, just call me."
"Oh, I don't want to burden you," came her automatic reply. Sark's eyes almost smiled as he gave her a kind look.
"You deserve better than the subway. It's no trouble."
She practically melted right there.
Sark gave her the card and reached for her things in the back seat. As he handed them to her, he slipped the bug in a side pocket of her purse.
"I'll see you later then."
He was back at the hotel and listening by the time she settled at her desk with a cup of coffee. He heard her shuffle papers and talk shop with someone.
So far, it was meaningless, but he didn't expect much at this point.
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice say 'good morning.'
Brianne: Hey Sydney!
Sark nearly fell out of his chair.
Sydney: How are ya?
Brianne: Good.
Sark noticed her tone obviously played down her excitement. Sydney seemed to pick up on it too.
Sydney: Okay, give.
Brianne: What?
Sydney: You're glowing. Come on, spill it.
Brianne: (giggling) I met someone.
Sydney: Okay, you have to tell me! But later, 'cause I've got a briefing right now.
Briefing? Sark straightened in his chair. It could be nothing of importance to him, but he'd rather know than guess. Sark activated the bug's network capabilities, and started accessing what he could.
He stumbled across a high-priority intelligence report about a group called the Puo-Tang. He'd never heard of them before, but based on the analysis, Irina had crossed them before.
Not surprising. The Puo-Tang seemed motivated in much the same way as the Hierarchy.
They were after Sark.
Sark put in a call to Irina, who merely assured him that the Puo-Tang was incompetent.
"But they're stupid enough to try something, so be careful," Irina warned. Sark rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
"They aren't the first to have this idea."
"What do you mean?" Irina asked.
"The Hierarchy," Sark started. "I received a call from one of my sources, telling me that they aim to capture me to get to you."
"I've never heard of them."
That almost frightened Sark. Irina usually knew everything, or had some connection to every organization in existence.
"Well, in order for that to happen, you have to be caught," Irina pointed out.
"Yes, I know," Sark replied, a touch frustrated at that obvious comment. "But it's a bit disconcerting that everyone is after me, while you remain anonymous."
Irina laughed aloud, a rarity. "That's a consequence of being under my employ." Which was true; Sark chose to work for Irina, way back when. And now he was a target. It didn't bother him too much, but Sark preferred the anonymity that Irina enjoyed. Instead, he was on everyone's most wanted list.
"I have an asset in place at CIA," Sark said, changing the subject.
"Already? That was quick." Sark smiled.
"How do you think I knew about Puo-Tang?" he asked, teasing slightly.
"Let me know what else you find," she replied.
Sydney's briefing was about the Puo-Tang, which also meant it was about Sark. He wondered what she thought about all this.
His cell phone rang, and Sark was amused when the caller ID read 'US Government.' Sark cleared his throat before answering.
"This is Devin," he answered. Brianne's sugar-and-honey voice responded.
"Devin! Hi, this is Brianne."
"Oh, hi!" His voice sounded pleased, though Sark looked as excited as a stone.
"I'm sorry to bother you at work, but I just wanted to let you know that I won't need a ride tonight," she said.
Really?
"Oh okay," he said, adding a touch of disappointment to his voice.
"I have errands to run," she explained. "But if it's not too much trouble . . ."
"I'll pick you up in the morning," Sark filled in.
"Thanks! I'll see you tomorrow."
The routine (that's what it was starting to become) picked up again with Brianne. Sark realized he needed to at least meet her expectations, to keep this "relationship" going and to produce the results he needed.
So when he dropped her off, he asked her out.
"If you're not busy tonight, I'd love to take you to dinner," Sark said. A grin spread on Brianne's face like wildfire.
"Thank you. I'd like that." Her response was low and slightly breathless.
He flashed a smile. "Call me when you're ready."
She called at 6 pm. When Sark pulled up to the Joint Task Force center, he was pleasantly surprised.
Brianne had changed from a dull gray business suit to a bronze button-down. Her skirt was black, and the heels she wore did amazing things for her legs. Sark let his jaw drop.
"Do you have a spare change of clothes you keep at work to dazzle unsuspecting men?" he asked. He almost felt underdressed in his tan suit and black button down. Almost.
"Let's just say my work keeps a nice wardrobe," she said with a wink. Sark caught on to what she meant. She raided the clothes for special ops.
Sydney would have looked better.
The restaurant of choice was meant to spoil her. Her eyes glowed at the dim lights and extravagant décor. They had a view of the ocean, and Brianne took a moment to appreciate it.
"Anything to drink, sir?" a waiter prompted. Sark opened his mouth to say Chateau Petreuse, but thought better of it.
"Anything you're craving?" Sark asked Brianne. She smiled like a kid at the candy store, but answered reservedly.
"A white wine?" She looked to Sark for approval, who nodded at the waiter.
"So how was your day?" Sark asked, leaning his elbows on the table. She leaned toward him.
"Good. Pretty normal, I think." The waiter returned and she sipped at the wine. "How 'bout you?"
Sark just nodded.
"So, investment banker." She paused, her eyes prompting answers. "You seem pretty well off for your stage in life, Devin."
Sark chuckled. "Are you saying I seem too young for my career?"
"And your lifestyle," she said with a smile. "Like your car?"
"I impressed my superiors quickly at the New York office. And I've always liked expensive cars." He gave her a sheepish grin as he gulped down the wine.
"There has to be more than that. Tell me about you," she said. The candlelight flickered in her eyes.
Sark put his glass down. "Hmm. Like what?"
"Where are you from, originally?"
Sark licked his lips nonchalantly, but Brianne definitely noticed. He opened his mouth to answer, but his cell phone rang.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, pulling out the phone. "Hello?" he answered.
"Puo-Tang knows you're in L.A.," Irina said immediately. "I just got word from a source."
Sark realized Brianne was watching him.
"How?" Sark asked, trying to appear completely neutral.
"I don't know. But my source said they're planning to capture you tonight."