Chapter 31
"Sound check."
"Is this really necessary?" huffed Lazarey. "Why can't *you* answer her questions?"
"I gather that means you can hear me," replied Irina irritably. "My credibility is a little suspect at this particular time." She lay prone in the choir loft of the cathedral, with a clear view of the floor below and a sniper rifle hugged to her side.
"And this beard itches."
"Five million dollars, Andrian."
"Let's get this over with."
**
"Yes, sir. We're tracking Bristow. He's in a van parked by the church. His daughter's just going in now. It appears that they're working in tandem this time."
Lovely, thought Sloane. Sydney must be meeting Irina and Jack had planned another family reunion. "The shooter's in place?"
"Yes, sir. We observed Bristow earlier today when he was casing the church. He placed cameras; we've made adjustments accordingly. Our spotters will be outside his camera angles."
"Keep me posted on what's happening. Make sure your man is ready to take the shot on my order."
"Yes, sir."
**
As instructed, Sydney slipped into the pew 8th from the back, left hand side, sliding down to kneel next to a man whose beard obscured most of his face.
"Dr. Lazarey?" she whispered. When he turned she inhaled quickly. One of his hands was missing.
"Ah, Julia. Your disguise is quite convincing."
"Do you know me?" asked Sydney, bewildered, trying to place him. His face and voice were familiar, but she couldn't. . .
"But of course. I've known you since you were a child."
"Excuse me?"
"But you might remember me as. . . Mr. Peters."
Sydney recoiled, aghast. "I do remember you. You're the man in my dreams. The man that. . . ,"
"Yes," said Lazarey complacently. "I was in charge of your development program for many years. Summers only, of course. When your father believed you were away at camp."
Sydney's thoughts were interrupted by a string of epithets coming through her comm. link.
"Ask him when he started," snarled Jack.
"When did you first start my. . . development program?"
"When you were 7."
Sydney heard the crash of a fist against the counter in the van.
"B*tch."
**
"Mr. Sloane?"
"Yes?"
"We have no, repeat no, sighting of Derevko. This may be a wild goose chase."
"What is Sydney doing?"
"Praying."
**
"But tell me about your dreams. How interesting." He peered at her closely, almost, Sydney thought, as if she were a bug in a microscope.
"I didn't come here to tell you about my dreams," snapped Sydney. "I came here to learn about Julia."
The mass had now commenced, and a droning chant could be heard from the front. Irina slid over to her left to get a better view of the worshippers behind Sydney and Lazarey. She examined them closely then relaxed, satisfied. "Get on with it, Andrian," she whispered.
Lazarey rubbed his ear irritably. "Ah, but Julia had dreams, too. Dreams about Sydney. It was the first step in helping her to reverse the activation."
"It was *you* who reversed the activation?" asked Sydney, stunned. "How?"
Methodically Jack zoomed in on different parts of the church. No one was paying attention to Sydney and Lazarey. Excellent.
"I am a genius," replied Lazarey simply. "It took a long time. Almost a year, really. Successive hypnosis sessions, interspersed into your life, aimed at opening up a gateway into your subconscious. I couldn't eliminate the programming – I would have needed the trigger phrase, and only one person had that – but I was able to successfully blur some of the lines between Julia and Sydney." He paused and frowned. "It was a travesty of course. You were my greatest triumph."
Sydney impulsively leaned over and placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you," she said with feeling.
"Don't thank me," spat Lazarey, snatching his arm away from her, his face twisting. "Your life has been a curse. You've attempted to murder me twice, and you've beggared me once. I should have throttled you when I had the chance."
"I've tried to murder you *twice*?"
"Yes, the first time 15 months ago. Fortunately, I had been. . . convinced to take a leave of absence the day prior. The man that died was my body double."
"Body double?"
"I am a Romanov," declared Lazarey proudly. "One of the last of our line. Naturally I have a double. A loyal subject, willing to risk his life to protect our noble family."
"But he knew my name."
"Of course. He would scarcely be effective if he did not have access to my appointment calendar," replied Lazarey indifferently. Sydney attempted, and failed, to discern the slightest trace of remorse in Lazarey's voice.
**
"Still nothing?" demanded Sloane.
"Yes sir."
"Describe who she is sitting next to."
"An elderly gentleman. Long beard. His lips are moving – he's either praying or talking.." Lazarey shifted positions. "And. . . he only has one hand, sir."
**
"And the second time?"
"Eight months later, I got careless and was spotted. You were sent to finish the job properly, and produce my hand as proof of completion. By that time, though, you had started to access some of Sydney's memories. You wanted more; you were willing to negotiate." Lazarey raised the stump of his arm accusingly. "This was the only deal we could strike."
"If I was such a curse, why did you bother?
"You think this was a humanitarian mission?" replied Lazarey acidly. "There was something I wanted."
"What?"
"My son. Julian Sark."
"*Sark*?" asked Sydney.
"Yes, that is the name he uses now. He disappeared without a trace 10 years ago. He is a Romanov, and inheritor of the bloodline. It was imperative that I locate him."
"You wanted to find your son. . . because of your bloodline?" Lucky Sark.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," sniffed Lazarey.
"Not now, Andrian," Irina hissed.
Lazarey pulled out his earpiece in disgust. "Perhaps we should return to the main points?" he suggested.
"Yes," agreed Sydney, keeping her voice low as the priest spoke from the front.
**
"Did you say one hand?" demanded Sloane.
"Yes sir."
Sloane's mind raced. Lazarey was *alive*? "Tell the shooter he has a new target," ordered Sloane crisply. "The man with one hand. And give him the green light."
"Yes sir."
"Wait," said Sloane, as his team leader prepared to sign off. "Derevko must be somewhere in that church. Find her."
"And kill her, sir?"
Sloane tapped the top of his desk lightly with his pen. "No. I have a better idea. Bring her to me."
**
An elderly deacon began shuffling down the aisle, collecting the offering.
"Get more details on the deactivation," urged her father. "It's important."
"You said earlier that you had 'blurred the lines' between Julia and Sydney to be able to deactivate me. What did that mean?" probed Sydney.
"Your programming created clear boundaries between the person who was Sydney and the person who was Julia. Neither could see the other's experiences. The person who was Sydney would not have been able to access Julia's special skills and talents unless activated."
"But I can," countered Sydney. She fingered the throwing knife that now always resided inside her sleeve.
"You can because I made it possible," said Lazarey with conceit. "Julia began to see Sydney in her dreams. It confused her. . . and made her question some of the objectives she was receiving. Eventually I was able to find a way to completely transfer her out of the Julia state. She insisted that I do so. That was 3 months ago."
"Three months ago," said Sydney, wonderingly. "When I woke up in Hong Kong. But can't I just be reactivated again? If someone knows the trigger phrase?" Sydney fumbled for her purse as the deacon grew closer.
"Yes, but I was able to program in a release phrase. If you are Julia, and someone utters the release phrase, you will switch back to Sydney. Although each time you make the switch, those walls between the two of you come down a little further. There will come a time when Julia and Sydney merge. . . for better, or for worse."
"Ask him what the release phrase is," hissed Jack.
"What's the release phrase?" asked Sydney.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Only two people know the release phrase."
"Who?" Sydney demanded.
"Well I do, naturally. And your mother."
Sydney heard her father's breath suck inward. "My mother?"
"Your mother?!"
"Of course," said Lazarey with disdain. "Who do you *think* compelled me to do this? The Easter Bunny? Fifteen months ago she came for me, having found out that you were still alive and had been activated. My life has been a living hell ever since."
Irina smirked and shifted to the right, watching the deacon move down the aisle.
"But I thought my mother *activated* me."
Irina rolled her eyes, then stilled. The deacon. . . "Andrian! The man on your right!" She watched in dismay as Lazarey failed to react.
"Ridiculous. Why would she do that? She's your mother."
"Oh, god," thought Jack to himself, head in his hands, as the pieces began to fall in place.
"Besides, if she had activated you, she wouldn't have risked her life trailing you throughout the world, periodically "borrowing" you and bringing you to me sedated. It was dangerous, in those early days, as Julia had been ordered to kill her on sight. Not until the last few months was Julia aware of, and accepting, of what we were doing."
"But. . . if it wasn't my mother, then, who activated me?"
"Arvin Sloane," Jack ground out. What a prize ass he'd been, he thought as he looked up.
"Arvin Sloane."
"Sydney, GUN! On your right!" shouted Jack, staring at the monitor in horror. He cursed, knowing that he had been too distracted to catch the deacon earlier.
Sydney spotted the silenced gun as it emerged from the deacon's cassock and dove for his hand, but was a fraction of a second too late. Sydney heard the "pfft" of a silencer in stereo as Lazarey and the deacon both crumpled to the floor, fatally wounded.
"Sydney, are you okay? Get out of there!" Jack leapt out of the van and charged towards the cathedral, gun raised, fighting through the panicked congregation fleeing in the opposite direction. Shouts and screams rent the air, effectively muffling the scuffle in the choir loft.
Sydney rapidly exited, blending with crowd and meeting her father on the steps. Placing his arm around her shoulders, they hurried away.
**
Out the side entrance of the cathedral, two men emerged supporting a woman, slumped unconscious. "Fainted," one of them explained to a curious bystander as he helped her to a car. "We'll take care of her."