4
Sydney tried hard to focus as she put her key in the ignition. She had driven straight to the hospital from the airport that morning. Vaughn was still unconscious. Apparently, the knife had punctured his lung, and he had lost a significant amount of oxygen to his brain. The doctors had no idea if he was going to suffer from any long-term brain damage. They would only be able to determine that when he woke up. If he wakes up. Sydney thought.
She had been sitting in the hospital parking lot for fifteen minutes, waiting for her tears to subside enough so that she could drive home safely. She took a deep breath and put the car into reverse, pulling out of the space. Sydney was just exiting the lot when her cell phone rang out. She picked it up off the passenger seat and answered. "Hello?"
"Sydney." A smooth, low voice greeted her. "I need to meet with you. Are you busy at the moment?"
Sydney clenched her jaw as the memory of Sark's tongue playing with hers, and the smug look on his face that followed flashed through her mind. She had lain awake all that night, partly furious with him, and partly furious with herself for enjoying the kiss, even if only on a basic, primal level. "What do you need to meet with me for?" she forced out.
"We can discuss that in person. Are you available to meet or not?"
"Yes. I'm just leaving the hospital. Where do you want to meet?"
"There's a café on 8th Street, Le Frutta Vietate. Half an hour?"
"Fine." Sydney hung up and tossed the phone back onto the seat beside her. The son of a bitch has me at his beck and call. She hadn't really lied to Simon the other night. For the next while, in any case, she did belong to Sark. Every move she made would be under his direction and supervision, and any misstep on her part would blow everything. Fanfuckingtastic, she thought bitterly. She was also worried about how much Sark knew about the murder of his father. She had no idea how he would react when he found out that it was she who killed Lazarey. On top of this, the thought of playing girlfriend to Sark to keep Simon off her back, and out of her bed, unnerved her more than she cared to admit. She couldn't stop thinking of that second kiss. Sark had been so gentle, tender almost. It surprised Sydney, considering the acts of brutality she'd seen him carry out.
She'd always been secretly fascinated with Sark. The man seemingly had no past, or first name, for that matter, and although he could be no older than thirty, he had the refined intelligence and confidence of someone ten years his elder. Sark had also claimed to have worked closely with her mother, which made Sydney wonder what kind of man he must be to have Irina Derevko trust him so completely. And, of course, there was the fact that he was sinfully gorgeous.
He was tall and slim, but lean. All broad shoulders and narrow hips, he had the build of a swimmer, and the suits that he frequently wore complimented him perfectly. Before his two-year stint in prison, his blond hair had been long enough to curl mischievously, as if rebelling against his deadly serious demeanor. Now, it was cut too close for that, but it didn't detract from his appeal. In fact, it only made him look older, and it showed off the perfect bone structure in his face. The most striking things about Sark, though, were his eyes. They were the purest, most utterly blue eyes Sydney had ever seen. She always felt like she was under a microscope whenever he looked at her; they were always analyzing and calculating everything in sight. Nevermind "windows to the soul", though. Sark's eyes were unreadable. It was almost impossible to divine any kind of emotion from them.
It had always been a passing fascination, though. She had always been able to ignore the slight attraction she felt for him, to quell the mutual curiosity for each other that they shared. It was only natural, she supposed; she, intrigued by the right hand man of the mother she thought she'd lost; he, intrigued by the mythical daughter of the only woman he felt any loyalty to. However, she'd always been quick to dismiss Sark, to keep a distance between them.
Now, she missed the comfort of that distance, as she remembered the pressure of his lips against hers. She had never felt so out of control. Before, she had always felt that she had the upper hand with Sark. Clearly, that wasn't the case anymore. She couldn't stop thinking about his kiss, about him.
Sydney sighed, irritated. Get a grip, Sydney, she scolded herself as she pulled up to park in front of the small café Sark had specified. It was verging on dusk now, and Sydney got out of the car and walked through the open front doors, looking around for Sark. The café was nice; warmly lit with candles and pure white table clothes covering the tiny tables scattered throughout. There seemed to be a back patio, for glass double doors opened onto a garden at the back, and Sydney made her way through the room. She stepped onto the cobblestone patio and into a beautiful courtyard, complete with lush greenery and heavily perfumed flowers. White lights were strung through the trees and bushes that lined the walls of the yard, and a small stone fountain bubbled quietly in one corner.
Sark was seated at a small table off to the side, facing her. He was the only person in the courtyard. He looked up expectantly from the candle he had been gazing into as soon as she moved towards him. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back of it, the other stretched out in front of him, hand fidgeting with the tiny containers of cream that were left for his coffee. It appeared he was building a pyramid. He looked for all the world like he was waiting for the arrival of an old friend.
He stood as Sydney approached, and she noted the way he was dressed. Faded jeans, with an unbuttoned, dark gray, pinstriped shirt over a T-shirt with some kind of graphics on it. She assumed he'd left the suit at home, in order to appear less conspicuous. Sark was, after all, still a wanted man.
She was dressed casually herself, not having been able to change after leaving the airport. She wore a pair of low riding, khaki coloured corduroy pants and a black, long-sleeved stretch top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It was almost funny to her, how the two of them probably looked like just an ordinary couple meeting for coffee on a warm evening. Sark smiled at Sydney, and opened his mouth to speak, but Sydney slapped him before he could utter a word.
"That," Sydney hissed, "was for the tongue."
Sark laughed, his hand rubbing where Sydney's had made contact with his cheek. "I suppose I should have expected that," he said as he sat back down in his chair, "but you can't blame me for seizing the opportunity."
Sydney glowered at him as she sat. "Was there a reason for this meeting? Or were you just looking to get fresh with me again?"
Sark smiled at this. "No, Sydney. As much as I enjoy trading barbed flirtations with you, I do have some business to discuss. I thought you should know; I'll be replacing Javier Perez on the upcoming operation for the Covenant."
"Why?" Sydney asked.
"He's dead." He replied, bluntly. "He came to me this morning, requesting that I use my resources to find out what I could about you. He was not entirely convinced that you didn't know Agent Vaughn was CIA."
"So, you killed him?" Sydney was unable to disguise her disdain.
"Yes," Sark smirked, "and before you launch into one of your holier-than- thou tirades, let me remind you that Simon's suspicions must not be raised if you are to gain any intel from him."
Sydney quirked an eyebrow. "'Holier-than-thou'? Well, if the shoe fits."
"Only, it doesn't, Sydney." He interrupted. "You can't sit there looking down your nose at me when we both know what you yourself are capable of."
"Excuse." Sydney froze. He knows. They sat in silence, gazing at each other, Sydney realizing the implication of his words, and Sark watching her struggle between anger and guilt. A warm breeze swept through the courtyard, causing the flame of the candle to dance wildly. The rustle of the leaves only accentuated the utter stillness between them. Sark watched the candle flicker in her dark eyes. Finally, she spoke.
"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "That's all I can really say. I have. no memory of killing your father, no idea why I did it, but I am sorry."
A moment passed as Sark considered her apology. He nodded his head and sat forward. "Appreciated, but I never knew my father, so your guilt is wasted on me." Sydney sighed, annoyed at his abruptness, but he ignored her. "San'ko contacted me this afternoon with the specs for the upcoming operation." He continued, getting down to business. "We are to locate a man named Yuri Biryukov. He is in possession of a computer chip containing intel of Russia's military defense system. The Covenant wants that chip."
"Why is the Covenant so interested in Russia's defense system?" Sydney asked.
"I am not privy to that information." Sark replied. "The Covenant does not yet trust me enough to divulge the reasons behind their actions."
"I see. Where do we find Biryukov?"
"My sources have informed me that he is planning to attend a charity gala at the Museo Poldi Pezzoli in Milan two nights from now. I've secured invitations for us. We'll be going in as a wealthy British couple, looking to purchase. You'll have to get Biryukov alone in order to extract the chip."
"What do you mean 'extract'?"
"The chip is implanted under his skin at the base of his neck."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "Great." She said. "Have you contacted Simon with this information?"
"No. I assumed that you'd want to be filled in on the details first."
"Good. I'll have the CIA draw up a counter-mission for us. Obviously, we don't want the Covenant getting their hands on that chip."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree, Sydney."
"What? Why?" Sydney asked, confused.
"We can't fumble on this op. I don't have the trust of the Covenant, yet, and if we are ever to get in deep enough to destroy them from the inside, their trust is what I sorely need. Besides, I'm not sure they won't just kill me if I prove to be invaluable to them, which is what will happen if I don't come through on this mission."
"Oh, that would be terrible." Said Sydney, with a smirk of her own.
"Yes, it would, for both of us. Given that we know the Covenant is behind your abduction and missing two years, it would be terrible for you indeed if they decide to look into the team that failed in getting them their intel and found that you were one of the members."
"All right," Sydney huffed, "point taken. Well, we'll have to make a copy of the intel to give to the CIA. No way in hell am I handing that chip over to the Covenant without knowing exactly what's on it."
"How does the CIA feel about our little arrangement?" Sark asked.
"I phoned Dixon this morning from the plane. Considering that you are giving us no choice in the matter, he feels you might be useful in helping bring down the Covenant."
Sark smiled. "And your father?"
Sydney grimaced. "I haven't spoken with him, yet, but I imagine he'll be less then pleased."
"That's an understatement, don't you think?"
"Yes, it is." Sydney leaned forward fixing a hard glare on him. "I can guarantee you this, Sark: you double-cross me, betray me in any way. if I don't kill you myself, my father certainly will."
"I don't doubt that, Sydney." He replied, unfazed by her threat. "Jack Bristow is a man well-known for his willingness to protect his family at any costs." He was quiet for a moment. He looked to Sydney as if he was weighing what next to say to her. She could hear traffic drive by beyond the walls of the yard, and a wind chime tinkling closer by. She glanced up at the sky from his candle lit face to see that night had almost fallen completely. Sydney looked back at Sark as he spoke again. "I'm aware that you have no real reason to believe this, no reason to trust me whatsoever, but I have no intention of betraying you. I've often told you how much I admire you, how I believe that we were destined to work together. Consider that when I say that I'm not trying to trick or deceive you."
"Why should I believe that? Why should I trust that you wouldn't stab me in the back, literally or metaphorically, the moment after you get your money?"
"Because years ago, I made a promise to your mother. Take that for what it's worth."
Sydney breathed in sharply, tears pricking at her eyes. She refused to believe that her mother had elicited some kind of vow of protection from this man, this man whom she'd seen kill in cold blood on numerous occasions. "It isn't worth anything, Sark. I will never trust you." She stood and walked away from the table, desperate to hide her tears.
Sydney tried hard to focus as she put her key in the ignition. She had driven straight to the hospital from the airport that morning. Vaughn was still unconscious. Apparently, the knife had punctured his lung, and he had lost a significant amount of oxygen to his brain. The doctors had no idea if he was going to suffer from any long-term brain damage. They would only be able to determine that when he woke up. If he wakes up. Sydney thought.
She had been sitting in the hospital parking lot for fifteen minutes, waiting for her tears to subside enough so that she could drive home safely. She took a deep breath and put the car into reverse, pulling out of the space. Sydney was just exiting the lot when her cell phone rang out. She picked it up off the passenger seat and answered. "Hello?"
"Sydney." A smooth, low voice greeted her. "I need to meet with you. Are you busy at the moment?"
Sydney clenched her jaw as the memory of Sark's tongue playing with hers, and the smug look on his face that followed flashed through her mind. She had lain awake all that night, partly furious with him, and partly furious with herself for enjoying the kiss, even if only on a basic, primal level. "What do you need to meet with me for?" she forced out.
"We can discuss that in person. Are you available to meet or not?"
"Yes. I'm just leaving the hospital. Where do you want to meet?"
"There's a café on 8th Street, Le Frutta Vietate. Half an hour?"
"Fine." Sydney hung up and tossed the phone back onto the seat beside her. The son of a bitch has me at his beck and call. She hadn't really lied to Simon the other night. For the next while, in any case, she did belong to Sark. Every move she made would be under his direction and supervision, and any misstep on her part would blow everything. Fanfuckingtastic, she thought bitterly. She was also worried about how much Sark knew about the murder of his father. She had no idea how he would react when he found out that it was she who killed Lazarey. On top of this, the thought of playing girlfriend to Sark to keep Simon off her back, and out of her bed, unnerved her more than she cared to admit. She couldn't stop thinking of that second kiss. Sark had been so gentle, tender almost. It surprised Sydney, considering the acts of brutality she'd seen him carry out.
She'd always been secretly fascinated with Sark. The man seemingly had no past, or first name, for that matter, and although he could be no older than thirty, he had the refined intelligence and confidence of someone ten years his elder. Sark had also claimed to have worked closely with her mother, which made Sydney wonder what kind of man he must be to have Irina Derevko trust him so completely. And, of course, there was the fact that he was sinfully gorgeous.
He was tall and slim, but lean. All broad shoulders and narrow hips, he had the build of a swimmer, and the suits that he frequently wore complimented him perfectly. Before his two-year stint in prison, his blond hair had been long enough to curl mischievously, as if rebelling against his deadly serious demeanor. Now, it was cut too close for that, but it didn't detract from his appeal. In fact, it only made him look older, and it showed off the perfect bone structure in his face. The most striking things about Sark, though, were his eyes. They were the purest, most utterly blue eyes Sydney had ever seen. She always felt like she was under a microscope whenever he looked at her; they were always analyzing and calculating everything in sight. Nevermind "windows to the soul", though. Sark's eyes were unreadable. It was almost impossible to divine any kind of emotion from them.
It had always been a passing fascination, though. She had always been able to ignore the slight attraction she felt for him, to quell the mutual curiosity for each other that they shared. It was only natural, she supposed; she, intrigued by the right hand man of the mother she thought she'd lost; he, intrigued by the mythical daughter of the only woman he felt any loyalty to. However, she'd always been quick to dismiss Sark, to keep a distance between them.
Now, she missed the comfort of that distance, as she remembered the pressure of his lips against hers. She had never felt so out of control. Before, she had always felt that she had the upper hand with Sark. Clearly, that wasn't the case anymore. She couldn't stop thinking about his kiss, about him.
Sydney sighed, irritated. Get a grip, Sydney, she scolded herself as she pulled up to park in front of the small café Sark had specified. It was verging on dusk now, and Sydney got out of the car and walked through the open front doors, looking around for Sark. The café was nice; warmly lit with candles and pure white table clothes covering the tiny tables scattered throughout. There seemed to be a back patio, for glass double doors opened onto a garden at the back, and Sydney made her way through the room. She stepped onto the cobblestone patio and into a beautiful courtyard, complete with lush greenery and heavily perfumed flowers. White lights were strung through the trees and bushes that lined the walls of the yard, and a small stone fountain bubbled quietly in one corner.
Sark was seated at a small table off to the side, facing her. He was the only person in the courtyard. He looked up expectantly from the candle he had been gazing into as soon as she moved towards him. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back of it, the other stretched out in front of him, hand fidgeting with the tiny containers of cream that were left for his coffee. It appeared he was building a pyramid. He looked for all the world like he was waiting for the arrival of an old friend.
He stood as Sydney approached, and she noted the way he was dressed. Faded jeans, with an unbuttoned, dark gray, pinstriped shirt over a T-shirt with some kind of graphics on it. She assumed he'd left the suit at home, in order to appear less conspicuous. Sark was, after all, still a wanted man.
She was dressed casually herself, not having been able to change after leaving the airport. She wore a pair of low riding, khaki coloured corduroy pants and a black, long-sleeved stretch top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It was almost funny to her, how the two of them probably looked like just an ordinary couple meeting for coffee on a warm evening. Sark smiled at Sydney, and opened his mouth to speak, but Sydney slapped him before he could utter a word.
"That," Sydney hissed, "was for the tongue."
Sark laughed, his hand rubbing where Sydney's had made contact with his cheek. "I suppose I should have expected that," he said as he sat back down in his chair, "but you can't blame me for seizing the opportunity."
Sydney glowered at him as she sat. "Was there a reason for this meeting? Or were you just looking to get fresh with me again?"
Sark smiled at this. "No, Sydney. As much as I enjoy trading barbed flirtations with you, I do have some business to discuss. I thought you should know; I'll be replacing Javier Perez on the upcoming operation for the Covenant."
"Why?" Sydney asked.
"He's dead." He replied, bluntly. "He came to me this morning, requesting that I use my resources to find out what I could about you. He was not entirely convinced that you didn't know Agent Vaughn was CIA."
"So, you killed him?" Sydney was unable to disguise her disdain.
"Yes," Sark smirked, "and before you launch into one of your holier-than- thou tirades, let me remind you that Simon's suspicions must not be raised if you are to gain any intel from him."
Sydney quirked an eyebrow. "'Holier-than-thou'? Well, if the shoe fits."
"Only, it doesn't, Sydney." He interrupted. "You can't sit there looking down your nose at me when we both know what you yourself are capable of."
"Excuse." Sydney froze. He knows. They sat in silence, gazing at each other, Sydney realizing the implication of his words, and Sark watching her struggle between anger and guilt. A warm breeze swept through the courtyard, causing the flame of the candle to dance wildly. The rustle of the leaves only accentuated the utter stillness between them. Sark watched the candle flicker in her dark eyes. Finally, she spoke.
"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "That's all I can really say. I have. no memory of killing your father, no idea why I did it, but I am sorry."
A moment passed as Sark considered her apology. He nodded his head and sat forward. "Appreciated, but I never knew my father, so your guilt is wasted on me." Sydney sighed, annoyed at his abruptness, but he ignored her. "San'ko contacted me this afternoon with the specs for the upcoming operation." He continued, getting down to business. "We are to locate a man named Yuri Biryukov. He is in possession of a computer chip containing intel of Russia's military defense system. The Covenant wants that chip."
"Why is the Covenant so interested in Russia's defense system?" Sydney asked.
"I am not privy to that information." Sark replied. "The Covenant does not yet trust me enough to divulge the reasons behind their actions."
"I see. Where do we find Biryukov?"
"My sources have informed me that he is planning to attend a charity gala at the Museo Poldi Pezzoli in Milan two nights from now. I've secured invitations for us. We'll be going in as a wealthy British couple, looking to purchase. You'll have to get Biryukov alone in order to extract the chip."
"What do you mean 'extract'?"
"The chip is implanted under his skin at the base of his neck."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "Great." She said. "Have you contacted Simon with this information?"
"No. I assumed that you'd want to be filled in on the details first."
"Good. I'll have the CIA draw up a counter-mission for us. Obviously, we don't want the Covenant getting their hands on that chip."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree, Sydney."
"What? Why?" Sydney asked, confused.
"We can't fumble on this op. I don't have the trust of the Covenant, yet, and if we are ever to get in deep enough to destroy them from the inside, their trust is what I sorely need. Besides, I'm not sure they won't just kill me if I prove to be invaluable to them, which is what will happen if I don't come through on this mission."
"Oh, that would be terrible." Said Sydney, with a smirk of her own.
"Yes, it would, for both of us. Given that we know the Covenant is behind your abduction and missing two years, it would be terrible for you indeed if they decide to look into the team that failed in getting them their intel and found that you were one of the members."
"All right," Sydney huffed, "point taken. Well, we'll have to make a copy of the intel to give to the CIA. No way in hell am I handing that chip over to the Covenant without knowing exactly what's on it."
"How does the CIA feel about our little arrangement?" Sark asked.
"I phoned Dixon this morning from the plane. Considering that you are giving us no choice in the matter, he feels you might be useful in helping bring down the Covenant."
Sark smiled. "And your father?"
Sydney grimaced. "I haven't spoken with him, yet, but I imagine he'll be less then pleased."
"That's an understatement, don't you think?"
"Yes, it is." Sydney leaned forward fixing a hard glare on him. "I can guarantee you this, Sark: you double-cross me, betray me in any way. if I don't kill you myself, my father certainly will."
"I don't doubt that, Sydney." He replied, unfazed by her threat. "Jack Bristow is a man well-known for his willingness to protect his family at any costs." He was quiet for a moment. He looked to Sydney as if he was weighing what next to say to her. She could hear traffic drive by beyond the walls of the yard, and a wind chime tinkling closer by. She glanced up at the sky from his candle lit face to see that night had almost fallen completely. Sydney looked back at Sark as he spoke again. "I'm aware that you have no real reason to believe this, no reason to trust me whatsoever, but I have no intention of betraying you. I've often told you how much I admire you, how I believe that we were destined to work together. Consider that when I say that I'm not trying to trick or deceive you."
"Why should I believe that? Why should I trust that you wouldn't stab me in the back, literally or metaphorically, the moment after you get your money?"
"Because years ago, I made a promise to your mother. Take that for what it's worth."
Sydney breathed in sharply, tears pricking at her eyes. She refused to believe that her mother had elicited some kind of vow of protection from this man, this man whom she'd seen kill in cold blood on numerous occasions. "It isn't worth anything, Sark. I will never trust you." She stood and walked away from the table, desperate to hide her tears.
