Many, many wonderful thanks to sallene! Just a brief warning, the next few chapters are a bit violent and angst-laden. But it's all leading somewhere. Enjoy!
Part Seven
Sark and Sydney shared that horrified, deer-in-the-headlights look for what seemed like five minutes.
"Devin, this is Sydney, a coworker . . ." Brianne trailed off. "What's wrong?"
Sydney was trying to contain herself from lunging for Sark right then, or so it appeared. Her eyes darted around to the thousands of civilians around them, and Sark knew she would avoid a scene in the interest of protecting the masses.
"Sydney and I have met," Sark said, giving Sydney a polite nod. Just then, U2 launched into another hit, and the lights grew bright around the stage. The sheer volume and bass rattled the concert hall. It distracted Sark.
"So how do you know each other?" Brianne yelled above the music. Sydney just glared at Sark.
"Shall we go outside and speak, Miss Bristow?" Sark suggested, dropping the American accent. Brianne noticed that immediately, and frantically looked to Sydney. Sydney was in the middle of giving him her iciest stare, and turned to whisper something in Brianne's ear. Brianne's eyes widened with fear, then hurt.
Sark sighed, and then held an arm out to lead Sydney. She didn't take her eyes off him for a moment as they walked out of the concert. Amazingly, they even made it outside the building before Sydney exploded.
"What are you doing here, you selfish, deceiving, cold-hearted—"
"Are you done yet?" Sark interrupted.
Sydney suddenly swung a right hook at Sark and nailed him on the cheekbone. His hand flew up to the spot she hit, and he let himself stagger for a second.
"Thank you. I needed that," Sark said with a smirk. "Now what? I'm assuming you told Brianne to call the CIA. Do you think I'm actually going to stick around for that?"
Sydney brushed her hair off her face. "What makes you think I'm going to let you go?"
Sark cocked his head to the side, surveying her with a challenging look. "You couldn't keep me here if you had twenty armed men to back you up." Sydney's lips instantly pursed together for her comeback.
It never came. Suddenly Sark heard the clicks of four guns at his head.
But the guns weren't just aimed at him. They were aimed at Sydney too. Four men. All dressed in black, with face masks. An old milk truck pulled up quickly, and suddenly the four men pushed Sark and Sydney, inside the truck.
Sark had only one thought: The Hierarchy.
Voices. Blurred images. Loud noises. They all swirled together as Sark started to come to.
It was cold. His body lay on something frigid and metallic. And it vibrated.
His ears popped, and Sark realized the loud noise came from engines. Plane. He tried to move, to take in what he could, but a figure suddenly came up to him. Before Sark could say a word or object, the figure slammed something over his head.
Waking up the second time was more painful. His head throbbed, and he felt something caked on it.
Blood, he discovered. As he tried to touch it, he also discovered that his hands were chained together. He moved his feet, and heard rattling metal in response. The chain for his feet was secured in an orange-ish stone wall.
Great.
"It's about time you woke up," came a cross voice. Sark moved his head and saw a very miffed Sydney. She was chained up on the opposite wall, and the first thing Sark thought was why the Hierarchy would take her.
Sark suppressed a groan as he sat up. Light from a barred window, which was well out of his reach, made his head hurt.
"Good morning to you too," he grumbled. Sark used his bound hands to rub his nose, and then noticed his feet were bare. They'd taken his knife too. His leather jacket was also gone, but the jeans and shirt were intact. "Any idea where we are?" he asked.
Sydney just glared for a moment.
"How should I know? I've been unconscious for who knows how long," she spat out. "I doubt it's the Puo-Tang who brought us here, since you slaughtered them."
Sark rolled his eyes at her stupidity. She's going to get us killed if she doesn't shut up.
"I've been up for awhile Sark, and I haven't seen any surveillance. Chill out," she ordered him. "Sheesh, it's not like I don't know what I'm doing."
Sark rolled his eyes again. She thinks she understands.
"Are you saying the room isn't bugged?" Sark asked, forcing the politeness. She nodded. Sark knew she wasn't stupid, and that he underestimated her, but if she was wrong, it wasn't just his life at stake.
"For the record, I only killed a few of the Puo-Tang. Three men and a driver, who came after me while I was in Los Angeles," Sark said.
Sydney narrowed her eyes at him. "How long have you been in LA?"
Sark just laughed. "I think it's ironic that two terrorist organizations have found me from their far-away bases, while the CIA didn't have a clue I was under their noses the whole time," Sark said.
"Two terrorist groups? Who has us now?" Sydney asked. Sark hesitated.
"My guess would be the Hierarchy. They have the same objective as the Puo-Tang," he said. Sydney gave him a look to continue. "They want me so they can get to The Man."
Confusion quickly came over Sydney's features. She's wondering why I said The Man, instead of her mother. He nodded ever so slightly, and suddenly it clicked in her mind. If they wanted Sark to get to her mom, they would want Sydney even more.
"So they took me too?" she said softly. She didn't seem so confident about the bugs anymore, not when her neck was on the line too. Sark shook his head.
"They probably took you because you were there. I think they'll find you aren't needed." He said it, but didn't believe it. If they discover she's Irina's daughter, they will exploit Sydney. And if not, they'll use Sydney against me.
Neither appealed to him.
"I'm assuming you were in LA to spy on the CIA," Sydney suddenly said. Sark smiled to himself. He knew where she was headed.
"Yes."
She pursed her lips together and the fire lit up in her eyes.
"You were using Brianne, weren't you?"
Sark didn't grace that realization with an answer.
"You are such an unfeeling monster," she hissed at him. Sark just blinked. "Brianne was so excited about 'Devin.' And you were just using her."
Sark sighed. "Sydney, you can't tell me that you've never misled the opposite sex to get whatever intel you needed."
"Those that I've misled were horrible men who deserved it. Brianne is sweet and fun, and she shouldn't be treated like—"
"I never mistreated her, Sydney. Except for my deception, I'm sure I treated her better than any of her past boyfriends," Sark said. He steeled his voice, trying to make no room for argument on Sydney's part. It didn't work.
"Did you even see the look on her face? When I told her who you really were?" Sydney waited for an answer.
"She looked hurt," Sark said. "A little heartache is much better than what could have happened."
Sydney appeared stunned at that.
"You were going to kill her, weren't you?" she said more to herself than to Sark. "You sick, conniving—"
"I wasn't going to kill her," Sark interrupted, though he knew the thought had crossed his mind before. "She's a nice woman, beautiful even, and I used her for my purposes." He saw the horrified look on Sydney's face. "Intelligence, Sydney, not sex." He paused as he considered whether or not to say his next line. "Besides, how can I really care for Brianne when my heart prefers you?"
The look on Sydney's face at that point was priceless. The sheer horror in it almost made Sark laugh, until he realized how much she hated him. And that thought jabbed at his heart.
"You're insane if you think I would ever care about what you feel for me," she said.
Sark nodded, somewhat hurt but unwilling to show it, even if it made her feel bad. "Of course. You could never care for someone as unfeeling as me." The way he recited it caught her attention, but that didn't stop her.
"That's right. Besides, there are about 2 billion other men I'd consider before you," she said, twisting the knife a little more.
Sark feigned a smile, and decided to change the course of this discussion.
"How are things with Agent Vaughn?"
That got her attention. "What things?"
"Ah, I see," was all Sark added. It fueled Sydney's reaction even more.
"There's nothing between us, Sark," she said vehemently.
"My condolences."
Sydney shot him a go-shoot-yourself look. "He's not dead, Sark."
"Sorry. Wishful thinking," Sark said with a smirk.
Footsteps started to their cell, and suddenly the thick metal door opened. Two men came in and started toward Sark. One put a gun to Sark's head as the other unlocked Sark's feet.
"Move," one of them said. Sark couldn't tell which one. They picked him up and half-dragged him along. He heard the metal door clang shut, leaving Sydney in the cell.
Sark's senses started to scream for his attention. Before, he was too distracted with Sydney to analyze the situation, but he was making up for that now.
He was escorted down a stone hallway. It was surprisingly light; the hallway was open to the outdoors, but on a second floor. Tall, grassy fields surrounded whatever building he was in. The air was thick and wet. Sark could hear birds chirping away in the distance.
The stone floor beneath him was slightly chilly, even though the air was sufficiently warm. Sark thought back to the information he'd reviewed earlier.
Burma. That's where he had to be. The climate and surroundings didn't fit with Nicaragua or Tunisia. Sark felt some elation in that discovery, but it subsided quickly as his escorts led him into a dark, but open room.
The darkness stemmed from curtains covering every window. The footsteps of the two escorting guards echoed in the room. They stopped in the middle of it and forced Sark to his knees. His kneecaps banged against the hard floor, making Sark wince. The guards stepped away from Sark, but he knew there were at least two guns still on him.
"Mr. Sark," came a male voice from one corner. The man came forward in the shadows. He was European, and he wore khakis and a white shirt. His hair was long and dark but his eyes bright green. He looked cold. Arctic.
"I have many questions for you, about you and your employer," the man said. His accent reminded Sark of Sweden. "In the interest of keeping your stay pleasant, you will answer these questions."
"Who are you?" Sark asked. Because of the accent, he guessed this man was one of the three leaders of the Hierarchy.
The man smiled, showing off crooked teeth. "Leave the questions to me." He made a slow round around Sark, inspecting him. "Who is The Man?"
Sark held back a sigh. He had his own goals, and being held against his will wasn't on the list. He could turn on Irina, but he wouldn't. If he did, his career diminished with Irina's demise. He would be killed. And betrayal would just fuel Sydney's hatred for him.
"You're an impressive agent, Mr. Sark. Studying you has been very interesting. I didn't think you cared about anyone. Since you've surfaced in our industry, you've only worked for one person: The Man. And I think you did that to help yourself."
"Is there a point you're getting at?" Sark asked. The leader stopped in front of Sark.
"You seem to have changed. The woman with you—who is she?"
Sark clamped down on his tongue, thinking through an answer.
"A thorn in my side. Does it matter who she is?" Sark answered with feigned indifference.
"I think you are attached to this woman," the man said.
"Actually, we were just about to kill each other at the concert when your men interrupted," Sark clarified with some levity.
The man laughed at that. "You're trying to convince me she's worthless to you, but I think she's really the opposite. It doesn't matter. I'll know soon enough. But I'll give you a choice. I'm going to interrogate one of you for answers. It can either be you or her. You choose."
Choices, choices, Sark thought. There were catches to both options, obviously. What the man before him wanted was proof that Sark cared for Sydney. If he opted for himself to be interrogated, that was proof, and then Sydney was considered to be more leverage. If he let Sydney be interrogated, well, that just wasn't an option.
"I choose myself." Half of Sark's mind screamed at him for being so altruistic. The leader laughed.
"How noble."
"Not really," Sark replied quickly. "You want answers that only I have. You'll interrogate me no matter what I choose."
The leader eyed Sark, his green eyes gleaming at the challenge before him. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the two guards returned and picked up Sark. They connected his shackled hands to a chain that hung above his head.
"You're right," the leader said. "I know a physical beating won't compel you to talk, but let's do it anyway. It'll loosen you up for later techniques."
The first hit made his head snap back. The second depleted his lung capacity. At the third blow, Sark tried to disassociate his mind from the pain. He made himself pass out by hit #14.
"Sark."
He stirred, his consciousness moving toward the voice.
"Sark."
He tried to open his eyes, but one was swollen. Out of one eye he saw Sydney, leaning over him and looking concerned.
Sark lay on his side on Sydney's end of the cell. He moved his hands to brace himself against the floor. As he tried to push himself up, pain shot through his stomach and chest. He collapsed back against the stone with a grunt.
And realized too late that Sydney saw that.
"They came in, while you were unconscious. They asked me who I am," she said. "And they told me what you did."
Sark would have rolled his eyes if they didn't hurt so much. "What terrible thing have I done now?"
"You let them beat you in my place."
That surprised him; Sark assumed she was about to accuse him of something. Instead, her candor disturbed him. He had always wanted Sydney to see him as a man, not a monster, but under his terms.
He didn't like this lack of control. That's what you get for getting captured in the first place—and with Sydney as your cellmate.
Sark didn't say anything, but tried to get up again. Sydney placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing down on him gently.
"Don't," she said. "Just rest." Sark wanted to protest, to say he didn't need to rest, but he couldn't argue with her now. Sark rolled on his back, and took a deep breath. It came back up as a hard cough.
He felt Sydney lay a hand on his chest, quieting him down. He almost stopped breathing for a moment, even longer when Sydney scooted to him and lifted his head to rest on her lap.
Through his blurry and swollen vision, he peered up at her. Sydney tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked around the cell, avoiding his eyes. Sark smiled at that.
He wanted to stay awake, to talk with Sydney, to figure out whatever he could about their situation—but his body overrode his decision. Sark slept.
And awoke to a guard delivering some version of food. Sydney reached for a bowl, but was held back by the chains. Sark's feet were chained together, but not to the wall. They probably didn't bother, since I can hardly move.
"I'll get it, Sydney," he said. She started to protest, but Sark already pushed himself up to his knees. With his bound hands and despite the pain, he slowly crawled to the food. It was some sort of soupy concoction, but Sark didn't feel terribly picky. He pushed the bowl in front of him, closer so Sydney could reach.
"Do you think it's . . . safe?" Sydney asked. Sark lay down on his side, exhausted by his movement.
"Safe as in sanitary—doubtful. Drugged, probably not," Sark mumbled. "Here, let me try it." He started to get up again, but Sydney passed him the bowl. Sark sipped the soup, and instantly struggled to get it down.
"Are you okay?" he heard Sydney ask. Sark nodded, and forced himself to swallow.
"It'll keep us alive," he said. But just barely. It tasted vile enough to make him forget his aching and empty stomach, and consider not eating at all. He pushed the bowl back to Sydney, who sipped at it with no comment.
Sark started to check his injuries. His fingers gently probed his face. He discovered a deep cut on his cheekbone, and plenty of sore spots. His chest looked as bad as it felt. Sark pulled up his shirt to inspect the damage.
The right side of his rib cage sported a large bruise. Various smaller purple bruises spotted his skin.
Sark pushed his shirt back down and looked up right at Sydney. She snapped her gaze to his face, though she had been staring at his chest.
"It looks worse than it is," he lied modestly.
"I haven't thanked you," Sydney said. "You were protecting me. You could have chosen not to."
Sark shifted uncomfortably. He stayed silent for awhile, unsure of what to say. He settled on: "We're not out of this yet, Sydney."
The metal door opened suddenly, and in walked the arctic leader of the Hierarchy. Sark glowered at him.
"I'm glad to see you are doing better, Mr. Sark," he said. Sydney tensed, and Sark could see her balled fists.
The leader continued.
"I wanted to share some news I've just heard. While I knew and planned on kidnapping Mr. Sark, by a stroke of luck I've also captured The Man's daughter."
Sydney's eyes darted to Sark.
"Not only that, but The Man is really a former KGB spy. A woman," the leader said, "named Irina Derevko."
Sydney's eyes shot accusations at Sark.
"This will make things very interesting," the man said. "I'll see you two in a little while."
Sark didn't care for whatever 'a little while' would bring, especially now that the cat was out of the bag. As soon as the leader left, Sydney flipped the bowl up and at Sark.
"You lied!" she hissed at him. Sark raised his hands to fend off the bowl. "You told him about my mother!"
Drops of the soup littered his arms and clothes. Sark sighed.
"Sydney, I assure you I did nothing of the sort. Giving you up would only devalue me as a commodity to the Hierarchy."
He instantly regretted those words, knowing she would take them offensively.
"Always thinking of yourself, huh, Sark?" Sydney reached for the fallen bowl and chucked it at him again.
Sark ducked, missing the hit just in time. "Sydney, it wasn't me, all right? They must have found out some other way."
She turned away from him and just sat, facing the barred window above them. Sark sighed again, but started thinking.
How did they find out?
The guards returned after an hour or so, and this time took Sark and Sydney down the long hallway.
Sark steeled himself for another beating as the guards strung him up on the chain in the middle of the room. Sydney was to his left, on her knees with two guards on either side.
"Since we all know who you are, allow me to introduce myself," came the leader's voice from the shadows. "I'm Mr. Halzden. I imagine you at least know something about my organization, the Hierarchy."
Sark didn't answer.
"For some time, we've studied what we could about The Man and his—I mean, her—organization. Few have seen The Man or knew her location. But we knew you, Mr. Sark, were her close employee. You seem to know everything about her organization, and play an integral part in it," Halzden said.
Sark just stared at the man.
"There's only so much room in this business. And we've noticed that Irina Derevko tends to get rid of competition. So rather than be eliminated by her, we're determined to take over her empire."
Sark laughed, drawing a bewildered look from Sydney.
"Do you think my information alone can help you? Irina Derevko is hardly trusting, even of me," Sark said. Halzden smiled.
"We realized your information would only get us so far. We thought you could be used as leverage with Derevko. But she's too smart to get attached to an employee." Halzden's eyes scanned over to Sydney. "But a blood relation, an only child . . . Derevko will cooperate."
Halzden nodded at one of the guards, who pulled out a knife and started for Sydney. Her eyes darted to Sark, and they were full of both worry and defiance.
Sark immediately objected.
"You're brainless if you think harming Derevko's daughter will buy you anything," Sark spat out loudly. The guard hesitated, and Sark noticed the knife. It was his, the one his father had. Sark made a mental note to kill that guard later, and get his knife back.
"Why's that?" Halzden asked, challenging Sark.
"If there's one thing I've learned under Derevko, it's that making her angry will only kill you in the end," Sark said. "Harming Sydney will guarantee you a sudden funeral."
Halzden just smiled, and Sark almost groaned as he realized Halzden planned.
"Mr. Sark has intervened again on your behalf, Miss Bristow," Halzden said with a grin. "Get the video camera!" he ordered.
A guard scurried back and forth, and soon a camera was aimed at Sark and Sydney.
"Perhaps the best solution is to show what will happen to Sydney if Derevko doesn't cooperate with us," Halzden said. He nodded to the guard with the knife, who advanced toward Sark.
Sark took a deep breath as the blade took its first bite into his skin.