Chapter 8
Jack lay on his back on the cell cot with his eyes closed. With them closed, he could pretend he was not in a glass cage, his every gesture recorded by cameras. He could shut out the humiliation he had felt being perp walked through the Ops Center past the agents and analysts he had worked closely with over the past few months. He could not see the walls, closing in on him.
He felt a surge of anger at the fools who could not understand what was required to win against the forces arrayed against them. Morals were a luxury for desk jockeys that field agents could not afford. Black and white standards could not be applied to a world where only shades of gray existed.
The gray threatened to overwhelm him now. After his experience with the Madagascar review, he knew that the outcome of any formal hearing was a foregone conclusion. How long, he wondered bleakly. How long in prison this time? 10 years? 20? The bile rose in his throat.
He heard footsteps. He did not stir. He was not feeling particularly talkative.
"Dad?" he heard softly. "Dad!" more urgently, when he did not respond.
Wearily he opened his eyes. Sydney. Composing himself with effort, he swung his legs to the floor and moved towards the window. He forced himself to relax and smile. "Hello, Sydney."
"Dad, are you alright?" Sydney said, scrutinizing him closely. She looked pale. He wondered what she had been told.
"I'm fine. Just a bureaucrat flexing his muscles, but I'm sure it will be straightened out soon."
Sydney's gaze took in the handcuffs, the cot with no pillow or blanket, his lack of tie or belt, but said nothing. A fragment of a memory surfaced, from the time shortly after her mother's death. Her father had gone down on one knee to explain to her that he needed to go away on a trip with the men who had come to the door, and he might be away for a long time. He had hugged her and told her to remember that he loved her.
Sydney's eyes grew suspiciously bright, but she did not correct her father. "Is there anything you need?" she asked.
"Books would be nice. It appears that I have some free time on my hands." He smiled briefly, more genuinely this time.
"Dad, what are we going to tell Sloane?"
Jack rocked back. He had completely forgotten his cover. Too busy wallowing in self-pity, he thought disgustedly. Not that his cover would be of much use. Suddenly, his gut tightened. What happened to Sydney's cover if her father just disappeared? Who was going to watch her back? Masking his alarm, he turned to her and said, "Could you ask Kendall to visit me? We'll work something out."
"Sure Dad." Sydney paused uncertainly. She couldn't think of anything else to say.
Jack steeled himself for what needed to be said next. "Sydney, it might be better if you didn't visit me for a while," her father said quietly. "From both the CIA's and Sloane's perspective, you should probably be putting yourself at a distance from me until the dust settles." He cut her off as she opened her mouth to protest, "Sydney. It will be easier for me that way." He felt part of himself dying inside.
He looked into her eyes. "I love you," he said simply. "Be careful." God, how he wanted to hug her.
"I love you too, Dad," she answered. She turned and left quickly, before he could see her tears.
Jack lay on his back on the cell cot with his eyes closed. With them closed, he could pretend he was not in a glass cage, his every gesture recorded by cameras. He could shut out the humiliation he had felt being perp walked through the Ops Center past the agents and analysts he had worked closely with over the past few months. He could not see the walls, closing in on him.
He felt a surge of anger at the fools who could not understand what was required to win against the forces arrayed against them. Morals were a luxury for desk jockeys that field agents could not afford. Black and white standards could not be applied to a world where only shades of gray existed.
The gray threatened to overwhelm him now. After his experience with the Madagascar review, he knew that the outcome of any formal hearing was a foregone conclusion. How long, he wondered bleakly. How long in prison this time? 10 years? 20? The bile rose in his throat.
He heard footsteps. He did not stir. He was not feeling particularly talkative.
"Dad?" he heard softly. "Dad!" more urgently, when he did not respond.
Wearily he opened his eyes. Sydney. Composing himself with effort, he swung his legs to the floor and moved towards the window. He forced himself to relax and smile. "Hello, Sydney."
"Dad, are you alright?" Sydney said, scrutinizing him closely. She looked pale. He wondered what she had been told.
"I'm fine. Just a bureaucrat flexing his muscles, but I'm sure it will be straightened out soon."
Sydney's gaze took in the handcuffs, the cot with no pillow or blanket, his lack of tie or belt, but said nothing. A fragment of a memory surfaced, from the time shortly after her mother's death. Her father had gone down on one knee to explain to her that he needed to go away on a trip with the men who had come to the door, and he might be away for a long time. He had hugged her and told her to remember that he loved her.
Sydney's eyes grew suspiciously bright, but she did not correct her father. "Is there anything you need?" she asked.
"Books would be nice. It appears that I have some free time on my hands." He smiled briefly, more genuinely this time.
"Dad, what are we going to tell Sloane?"
Jack rocked back. He had completely forgotten his cover. Too busy wallowing in self-pity, he thought disgustedly. Not that his cover would be of much use. Suddenly, his gut tightened. What happened to Sydney's cover if her father just disappeared? Who was going to watch her back? Masking his alarm, he turned to her and said, "Could you ask Kendall to visit me? We'll work something out."
"Sure Dad." Sydney paused uncertainly. She couldn't think of anything else to say.
Jack steeled himself for what needed to be said next. "Sydney, it might be better if you didn't visit me for a while," her father said quietly. "From both the CIA's and Sloane's perspective, you should probably be putting yourself at a distance from me until the dust settles." He cut her off as she opened her mouth to protest, "Sydney. It will be easier for me that way." He felt part of himself dying inside.
He looked into her eyes. "I love you," he said simply. "Be careful." God, how he wanted to hug her.
"I love you too, Dad," she answered. She turned and left quickly, before he could see her tears.
