Narrowing her eyes, she discreetly glanced to her right, only to see a
wall. To her left stood her only way out: a door. But the reason she
didn't run sat straight in front of her, perched on a chair, and pointing a
gun to her prisoner's heart. Her mother.
The other reason she couldn't escape was far less complicated- her arms were chained behind her back and locked to the metal chair in which she sat. She had been in this situation before, ironically enough, being chained to a chair, that is. However, only once before was her mother the one pointing the gun, and that time with ulterior motives in tow and her daughter's best interest at heart. This time, the younger was not sure that was the case.
Last time, she was alone in the old warehouse, save her mother, that is, and did not even think of relying on an extraction team to rescue her. In fact, she rarely did count on the chance of being saved, and this was no exception. She would have to find a way out herself.
Meticulously, she brought her gaze up, only to see her mother's ever- watchful eye trained on her. The latter sighed inwardly, wishing once again that she had been able to have a normal relationship with her mother.
However, normal was the antithesis of Sydney Bristow's life. Yet, after Irina turned herself in to the CIA, both mother and daughter formed a truce- like agreement. They had spoken carefully, and had gotten along. And despite the fact that her mother remained behind a shatterproof glass and had killed her daughter's boyfriend's father, Sydney felt her life start to come together for the first time.
Then her mother had pulled a disappearing act, betraying her daughter and leaving her motherless once again. Then Sydney pulled a vanishing act of her own, and after resurfacing in Hong Kong after almost two years, realized she had been betrayed once again. Still by one she loved, this time by the one she least expected. As much as she tried to blame Michael Vaughn for getting married and crushing Sydney's hopes and dreams, she found she was more angered at her mother. For if her mother had not been an enemy of the United States government, duped Jack Bristow, killed William Vaughn...things would have turned out differently. Better. Maybe Vaughn wouldn't have joined the CIA, for that matter, maybe she wouldn't have had to, she reasoned. But no, she shook her head; her mother was still at fault.
And still pointing a gun to her only child's heart, Sydney noted with growing anger. If mother noticed the change in daughter's demeanor, she said not. Instead, she studied her daughter's intense brown eyes. Hard and cold now, Irina remembered a time when they were warm and bright, full of happiness. Now the only emotions that graced the spheres, behind the anger, were anger, betrayal. And at that, Irina felt a twinge of guilt for being partially responsible for that. She slowly considered the possibility that her physically strong daughter, who had once amazed others with her matching emotional strength, had lost the determination that had once fueled her. That maybe she no longer had a reason to fight as hard as she once had, and would maybe even welcome the bullet shot from the gun her mother pointed at her instead of pushing the pain away.
Irina Derevko was trained to follow orders. Irina Derevko was trained to shoot a gun. Irina Derevko was trained to question prisoners. Irina Derevko was trained to withstand physical torture.
However, Irina Derevko could not prepare herself enough for seeing her once- dead daughter again, and had not been trained on how to deal with emotional feelings. So when she repeated the question she had been assigned to ask her daughter, her voice was the smallest bit broken.
"Agent Bristow, tell me where you are hiding Arvin Sloane."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Inside a small, dimly lit room sat a worn man, shivering, but not with the cold. An earpiece lay on the ground beside him, having been discarded only two minutes before. He ran a tired hand over his tired face as the tired gleam of his wedding ring smiled mockingly at him. Looking at it as if it were the first time, he studied the ring, as if looking for an imperfection, some reason to take it off for closer inspection. When he found none, he ran his hand over his face again and glanced at this watch instead.
Sighing, he picked up the new earpiece, the one that had replace the one that was currently lying on the floor, and brought it up to his ear. He sighed again. This one did not work any better than the one before, in fact, almost worse, but for lack of energy, the agent felt no need to toy with it, and left it in his ear. It had replaced the old one.
He pushed his jumbled thoughts aside to focus on the mission. The glaringly bright computer screen in front of him held the layouts of one of the largest museums in Spain. And moving throughout the blueprints were two dots: red, Sydney, blue, whom she wanted. Or rather, who the CIA wanted. This was not supposed to be a difficult mission, like the ones he and Agent Bristow were known for. Tonight, all they needed was to find a man who held intelligence.
He again looked to his wedding ring, half-surprised to see a red dot marring the surface of the band. Yet when he blinked his eyes, the dot disappeared. In the blink of an eye, she had disappeared before.
And when his gaze focused on the computer screen in front of him, the red dot had disappeared from there as well. Berating himself for losing focus, he checked the equipment attached to the computer that allowed him to communicate with Agent Bristow. He felt around the small, dank room, yet when everything checked out, except for the reason she had vanished from the screen, the man's pulse quickened.
"Mountaineer," he almost shouted into the mouthpiece that was routed to an earpiece in her ear. "Do you copy?"
No answer.
Yet, just before he was about to alert the extraction team that assistance was needed to locate the missing agent, her familiar, yet now cold voice sounded into the earpiece he had discarded on the floor after two minutes, now more than two minutes ago. Hurriedly, he picked it up and listened intently.
"Vaughn." She said this one word expectantly, wanting to know the reason of his frantic call.
"You, uh, disappeared from radar," Vaughn fumbled.
"And don't plan on seeing her on it again," a second voice cracked, projected to seem stronger.
Vaughn had heard that voice before. And nothing about it brought any pleasant thoughts to mind.
Jack Bristow.
The other reason she couldn't escape was far less complicated- her arms were chained behind her back and locked to the metal chair in which she sat. She had been in this situation before, ironically enough, being chained to a chair, that is. However, only once before was her mother the one pointing the gun, and that time with ulterior motives in tow and her daughter's best interest at heart. This time, the younger was not sure that was the case.
Last time, she was alone in the old warehouse, save her mother, that is, and did not even think of relying on an extraction team to rescue her. In fact, she rarely did count on the chance of being saved, and this was no exception. She would have to find a way out herself.
Meticulously, she brought her gaze up, only to see her mother's ever- watchful eye trained on her. The latter sighed inwardly, wishing once again that she had been able to have a normal relationship with her mother.
However, normal was the antithesis of Sydney Bristow's life. Yet, after Irina turned herself in to the CIA, both mother and daughter formed a truce- like agreement. They had spoken carefully, and had gotten along. And despite the fact that her mother remained behind a shatterproof glass and had killed her daughter's boyfriend's father, Sydney felt her life start to come together for the first time.
Then her mother had pulled a disappearing act, betraying her daughter and leaving her motherless once again. Then Sydney pulled a vanishing act of her own, and after resurfacing in Hong Kong after almost two years, realized she had been betrayed once again. Still by one she loved, this time by the one she least expected. As much as she tried to blame Michael Vaughn for getting married and crushing Sydney's hopes and dreams, she found she was more angered at her mother. For if her mother had not been an enemy of the United States government, duped Jack Bristow, killed William Vaughn...things would have turned out differently. Better. Maybe Vaughn wouldn't have joined the CIA, for that matter, maybe she wouldn't have had to, she reasoned. But no, she shook her head; her mother was still at fault.
And still pointing a gun to her only child's heart, Sydney noted with growing anger. If mother noticed the change in daughter's demeanor, she said not. Instead, she studied her daughter's intense brown eyes. Hard and cold now, Irina remembered a time when they were warm and bright, full of happiness. Now the only emotions that graced the spheres, behind the anger, were anger, betrayal. And at that, Irina felt a twinge of guilt for being partially responsible for that. She slowly considered the possibility that her physically strong daughter, who had once amazed others with her matching emotional strength, had lost the determination that had once fueled her. That maybe she no longer had a reason to fight as hard as she once had, and would maybe even welcome the bullet shot from the gun her mother pointed at her instead of pushing the pain away.
Irina Derevko was trained to follow orders. Irina Derevko was trained to shoot a gun. Irina Derevko was trained to question prisoners. Irina Derevko was trained to withstand physical torture.
However, Irina Derevko could not prepare herself enough for seeing her once- dead daughter again, and had not been trained on how to deal with emotional feelings. So when she repeated the question she had been assigned to ask her daughter, her voice was the smallest bit broken.
"Agent Bristow, tell me where you are hiding Arvin Sloane."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Inside a small, dimly lit room sat a worn man, shivering, but not with the cold. An earpiece lay on the ground beside him, having been discarded only two minutes before. He ran a tired hand over his tired face as the tired gleam of his wedding ring smiled mockingly at him. Looking at it as if it were the first time, he studied the ring, as if looking for an imperfection, some reason to take it off for closer inspection. When he found none, he ran his hand over his face again and glanced at this watch instead.
Sighing, he picked up the new earpiece, the one that had replace the one that was currently lying on the floor, and brought it up to his ear. He sighed again. This one did not work any better than the one before, in fact, almost worse, but for lack of energy, the agent felt no need to toy with it, and left it in his ear. It had replaced the old one.
He pushed his jumbled thoughts aside to focus on the mission. The glaringly bright computer screen in front of him held the layouts of one of the largest museums in Spain. And moving throughout the blueprints were two dots: red, Sydney, blue, whom she wanted. Or rather, who the CIA wanted. This was not supposed to be a difficult mission, like the ones he and Agent Bristow were known for. Tonight, all they needed was to find a man who held intelligence.
He again looked to his wedding ring, half-surprised to see a red dot marring the surface of the band. Yet when he blinked his eyes, the dot disappeared. In the blink of an eye, she had disappeared before.
And when his gaze focused on the computer screen in front of him, the red dot had disappeared from there as well. Berating himself for losing focus, he checked the equipment attached to the computer that allowed him to communicate with Agent Bristow. He felt around the small, dank room, yet when everything checked out, except for the reason she had vanished from the screen, the man's pulse quickened.
"Mountaineer," he almost shouted into the mouthpiece that was routed to an earpiece in her ear. "Do you copy?"
No answer.
Yet, just before he was about to alert the extraction team that assistance was needed to locate the missing agent, her familiar, yet now cold voice sounded into the earpiece he had discarded on the floor after two minutes, now more than two minutes ago. Hurriedly, he picked it up and listened intently.
"Vaughn." She said this one word expectantly, wanting to know the reason of his frantic call.
"You, uh, disappeared from radar," Vaughn fumbled.
"And don't plan on seeing her on it again," a second voice cracked, projected to seem stronger.
Vaughn had heard that voice before. And nothing about it brought any pleasant thoughts to mind.
Jack Bristow.