Chapter 14
"So, Dad, how'd your psych evaluation go?" Sydney asked curiously. Dressed in a t-shirt and gym shorts, she balanced easily on the balls of her feet in an abandoned warehouse that Jack had set up as an impromptu gym. Jack stood opposite her, clad in similar attire.
"Great," said Jack sarcastically. "I have a follow-up with her later this week so that she can make sure I'm 'emotionally stable' enough to be in the field. She wants to better understand my relationship with your mother."
"Don't we all," muttered Sydney to herself. She looked at her father uncertainly. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Dad?"
"I've already explained," said her father patiently. "If I show up in the CIA gym in the condition I'm in, I may *never* get my field-rating back. I'm 55, you know. They're not going to be knocking themselves out to clear me. Just help me get back in shape. It's a little difficult to maintain reaction times and endurance in an 8x8 cell."
Sydney eyed him carefully. "I'm not sure I can do this, Dad. What if I hurt you?"
Jack waved his hand irritably. "I've got 80 pounds and 25 years of experience on you, Sydney. You're not going to hurt me."
"Okay, Dad," she agreed reluctantly, "let's give it a try." Sydney and Jack circled the mat. Sydney feinted with one arm, then swung a kick at her father, which he easily blocked. "Good job," she called. She backed off and Jack charged at her, spinning and landing a punch to her ribs. "Nice one, Dad," she said encouragingly.
Jack, on the other hand, looked thunderous. "Good job. Nice one, Dad," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Christ, Sydney, could you move any slower? Forget the whole thing," he said in disgust. "I guess it was too much to ask." He bent down and angrily snatched up his towel. "I just wish -," he stopped abruptly.
"You wish what, Dad?" asked Sydney sharply, stung. "Tell me."
"I just wish your mother was here," Jack snapped.
"You *what*?
Jack looked up at her slowly, his voice steady. "I wish your mother was here," he repeated. "She's enough of a professional to understand that the split-second I don't gain now could cost my life in the field. Could cost you *your* life in the field when I'm watching your back. She wouldn't be pulling her punches."
"I'm not enough of a professional?" Sydney said in amazement, noticing with a start that her father's eyes were now taunting her. Her eyes sparkled dangerously. "Really?"
"It's okay, sweetheart," said Jack patronizingly. "I'll call someone el - ," Jack crumpled to the floor as Sydney's foot connected with his jaw in a lightning-fast kick.
"Dad?" asked Sydney, her anger swiftly replaced with concern as she bent over him. "Dad? Are you okay?"
Jack opened his eyes and grinned, rubbing his jaw cautiously. "That was a little bit more what I had in mind."
"You did that on purpose!" accused Sydney.
"Did what?" asked her father innocently, as he viciously kicked her legs out from under her. Both combatants scrambled to their feet, and the workout began in earnest.
An hour later, Jack's breathing was labored, he was nursing one arm, and sweat soaked his clothing. Sydney, he noted, looked fresh as a daisy. "Enough," he rasped. "I think you've pointed out enough shortcomings for one day."
Sydney grinned and tossed her father his towel. "You've only yourself to thank, Dad," she said as they both collapsed onto the bleachers. She studied him curiously as he dried off. "What you said earlier - did you mean it? Do you wish Mom were here to do this? I don't remember the two of you ever working out together." Her face colored. "I mean..."
Jack observed his daughter's discomfiture with amusement. "I choose not to answer the question about how much we worked out together," he said with dignity. "However, the answer to your question is no, I had no idea she was an expert in martial arts when we were married. I didn't really find out until Bangkok."
Sydney nodded. "I read the mission report. So she's hell on wheels with a knife, huh?"
"That report didn't begin to capture it. Knifework training starts early in the Russian system. For many, it remains their preferred weapon. She was...incredible," said Jack, shaking his head. "And to think, I used to worry about her when I went away on trips."
"As I recall, your mission reports left out a number of details about Mom," Sydney teased gently. She wondered if her father was aware of the warmth in his voice when he spoke now of her mother. Business relationship, indeed, she smirked to herself.
"My mission reports tend to focus on what people need to know, Sydney. There was a lot about those final missions with your mother that I didn't feel was relevant."
"Such as how she got the passive transmitter?" Sydney asked, eyes twinkling.
Jack stood up hastily, his face turning pink. "That's probably enough discussion about your mother for one day, Sydney," he said decisively. "I think I'll just go totter off now and lick my wounds. Will you be available tomorrow?"
"Sure Dad," she smiled. "Unless Mom gets here first," she added sotto voce as Jack limped away.
"So, Dad, how'd your psych evaluation go?" Sydney asked curiously. Dressed in a t-shirt and gym shorts, she balanced easily on the balls of her feet in an abandoned warehouse that Jack had set up as an impromptu gym. Jack stood opposite her, clad in similar attire.
"Great," said Jack sarcastically. "I have a follow-up with her later this week so that she can make sure I'm 'emotionally stable' enough to be in the field. She wants to better understand my relationship with your mother."
"Don't we all," muttered Sydney to herself. She looked at her father uncertainly. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Dad?"
"I've already explained," said her father patiently. "If I show up in the CIA gym in the condition I'm in, I may *never* get my field-rating back. I'm 55, you know. They're not going to be knocking themselves out to clear me. Just help me get back in shape. It's a little difficult to maintain reaction times and endurance in an 8x8 cell."
Sydney eyed him carefully. "I'm not sure I can do this, Dad. What if I hurt you?"
Jack waved his hand irritably. "I've got 80 pounds and 25 years of experience on you, Sydney. You're not going to hurt me."
"Okay, Dad," she agreed reluctantly, "let's give it a try." Sydney and Jack circled the mat. Sydney feinted with one arm, then swung a kick at her father, which he easily blocked. "Good job," she called. She backed off and Jack charged at her, spinning and landing a punch to her ribs. "Nice one, Dad," she said encouragingly.
Jack, on the other hand, looked thunderous. "Good job. Nice one, Dad," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Christ, Sydney, could you move any slower? Forget the whole thing," he said in disgust. "I guess it was too much to ask." He bent down and angrily snatched up his towel. "I just wish -," he stopped abruptly.
"You wish what, Dad?" asked Sydney sharply, stung. "Tell me."
"I just wish your mother was here," Jack snapped.
"You *what*?
Jack looked up at her slowly, his voice steady. "I wish your mother was here," he repeated. "She's enough of a professional to understand that the split-second I don't gain now could cost my life in the field. Could cost you *your* life in the field when I'm watching your back. She wouldn't be pulling her punches."
"I'm not enough of a professional?" Sydney said in amazement, noticing with a start that her father's eyes were now taunting her. Her eyes sparkled dangerously. "Really?"
"It's okay, sweetheart," said Jack patronizingly. "I'll call someone el - ," Jack crumpled to the floor as Sydney's foot connected with his jaw in a lightning-fast kick.
"Dad?" asked Sydney, her anger swiftly replaced with concern as she bent over him. "Dad? Are you okay?"
Jack opened his eyes and grinned, rubbing his jaw cautiously. "That was a little bit more what I had in mind."
"You did that on purpose!" accused Sydney.
"Did what?" asked her father innocently, as he viciously kicked her legs out from under her. Both combatants scrambled to their feet, and the workout began in earnest.
An hour later, Jack's breathing was labored, he was nursing one arm, and sweat soaked his clothing. Sydney, he noted, looked fresh as a daisy. "Enough," he rasped. "I think you've pointed out enough shortcomings for one day."
Sydney grinned and tossed her father his towel. "You've only yourself to thank, Dad," she said as they both collapsed onto the bleachers. She studied him curiously as he dried off. "What you said earlier - did you mean it? Do you wish Mom were here to do this? I don't remember the two of you ever working out together." Her face colored. "I mean..."
Jack observed his daughter's discomfiture with amusement. "I choose not to answer the question about how much we worked out together," he said with dignity. "However, the answer to your question is no, I had no idea she was an expert in martial arts when we were married. I didn't really find out until Bangkok."
Sydney nodded. "I read the mission report. So she's hell on wheels with a knife, huh?"
"That report didn't begin to capture it. Knifework training starts early in the Russian system. For many, it remains their preferred weapon. She was...incredible," said Jack, shaking his head. "And to think, I used to worry about her when I went away on trips."
"As I recall, your mission reports left out a number of details about Mom," Sydney teased gently. She wondered if her father was aware of the warmth in his voice when he spoke now of her mother. Business relationship, indeed, she smirked to herself.
"My mission reports tend to focus on what people need to know, Sydney. There was a lot about those final missions with your mother that I didn't feel was relevant."
"Such as how she got the passive transmitter?" Sydney asked, eyes twinkling.
Jack stood up hastily, his face turning pink. "That's probably enough discussion about your mother for one day, Sydney," he said decisively. "I think I'll just go totter off now and lick my wounds. Will you be available tomorrow?"
"Sure Dad," she smiled. "Unless Mom gets here first," she added sotto voce as Jack limped away.