Chapter 33
"Perhaps we should take a break," Sydney suggested. "I'll get us some more beer." She stood up and moved to the kitchen before he had a chance to respond.
Jack pushed himself back from the table and walked over to the window, gazing sullenly out into the night. Moon. Stars. He hadn't seen those for a year. All, it appeared, because she'd wanted to do it on her own. Had she wanted to earn Sydney's gratitude? Or just not trusted him? Did it get easier, he wondered, to abandon him each time she did it? Or perhaps. . . his jaw clenched. . . it had never been very difficult.
Sydney walked up behind him, putting her arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder in sympathy. And yet, he thought, looking down at his daughter, Irina had demonstrably placed herself at risk to protect Sydney. She had certainly kept up her end of the deal. Of their. . . business arrangement. For that, at least, he should be grateful. He reached his arm around Sydney and hugged her tight.
"We could finish this tomorrow," Sydney offered softly.
"No, let's get it over with." Jack moved back to the table and scanned the pad. "Lazarey gave us most of the rest. With your mother's help he managed to reverse Julia's programming; Julia hid three items, and sent three letters. When she was ready, he finished the job and you woke up in Hong Kong."
"We're back to what we don't know, aren't we?"
"Yes." Jack turned the page and started writing. "What's the third item? Another artifact? Instructions about what to do with the Rambaldi fluid?" Jack speculated, making notes.
"Could be a great recipe for chocolate chip cookies," replied Sydney flippantly. "Only one way to find out."
"You know, Sydney, we don't really *need* to find out," Jack said thoughtfully. "You're back, you're safe, and we know what happened to you. And another of those things we don't know," he said, jotting himself another note, "is Sloane's motive. Retrieving this third item may be to his benefit; I fail to see how it's to ours."
"Well, I can certainly take a crack at Sloane's motive," responded Sydney. "Three syllables. Starts with an 'R', and the last two syllables are a nickname for Kendall."
Jack looked disapprovingly at his daughter, but the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. Sydney smiled to herself. She'd managed to distract him, for a while at least. "Probably a safe bet," he agreed. "Which gives us an even better rationale for just melting down the damn key."
Sydney looked troubled. "I don't know," she said unconvinced. "Julia wanted me to find it. There must have been a reason."
"Enough of a reason for us to both risk our lives giving Sloane something he wants?" Jack shook his head. "You and Julia are different people. Her motivations might not be yours. Besides, I think we've got something more pressing right now – the release phrase. Without it, Sloane could reactivate you at any time."
Sydney scowled. "There's a heart-warming thought. But Lazarey said only two people know the release phrase."
"Wrong," said Jack flatly.
"Wrong?"
"Lazarey's dead. Only *one* person knows now. Your mother." Jack leant back in his chair. "Who's been in hiding since you resurfaced."
"Which begs the question."
"Two questions actually."
"No, three," said Sydney triumphantly. "First, why has she remained in hiding? Second, why hasn't she told us what the release phrase is? And third - ,"
"Where is she now?" Jack finished.
**
Irina faded in and out of consciousness. Was she dead? Was this hell? At one point she was able to focus her eyes enough to discern an IV attached to her arm and a disembodied voice asking her questions. No, she thought to herself hazily. Just Sloane's version of hell.
**
Sloane reverently approached the cave entrance, almost hidden by the shifting sands. Burrowing his way through, he stepped into the cool, dark interior, the stagnant air laden with mold, decomposing creatures that had sought their final shelter, and the occasional whiff of crude oil from the reserves buried far beneath the desert outside. He lit his lantern and cautiously made his way down the sloping tunnel.
After 50 yards, the passageway widened into a circular chamber. Sloane raised his lantern and panned the walls, his face open in wonder. All of Rambaldi's writings, which he had tirelessly collected over 30 years, were inscribed upon the room's surfaces. For a long moment he stood, transfixed. The silence of the room swirled around him as he contemplated the genius that had made this all possible. And that soon would make even more possible.
With reluctance he lowered the light and began searching for what he sought, finding it quickly. A small indentation in the wall; a keyhole. He read the words inscribed above, translating the ancient Italian effortlessly, and cursed.
A key, a legacy, and a choice.
All three must there be
To bring forth the piece which will complete
My greatest work
Without the key there can be no entry
Without the legacy there can be no promise
And without the choice my work will be consumed in burning anger
He reread the inscription one more time and turned on his heel. There was one more thing he needed Irina for.
**
"Hello, Irina."
As Sloane's face came into view, Irina convulsively flexed her arms against her restraints, hissing in pain as the arm that had been broken in the cathedral choir loft rebelled. She eyed him grimly, imagining what she would do to him if given a chance. Even half a chance.
"Not feeling communicative today? No matter. You've been extremely helpful so far." Sloane's eyes flicked to the IV attached to her arm.
"How long have I been here?" Irina ground out.
"Three or four days," replied Sloane offhandedly.
"And you haven't killed me yet? Getting sentimental in your old age?"
"I decided you had some information I wanted."
Irina leaned back against the stretcher, stomach churning. Please no, she pleaded.
"Let's see. Julia's 3rd set of coordinates – in Qatar. The release phrase -,"
"You're lying!"
"Oh, am I?" smirked Sloane, and muttered a phrase. Irina's body went slack against the restraints as all need to resist evaporated. "And wise of you not to tell Jack. He had, after all, blabbed the trigger phrase, hadn't he? Who knows what he might have told me? So you're the only person left *alive* who can reverse Julia's activation."
She had given it all to him, thought Irina dully.
"Of course, while you were under I learned all kinds of other fascinating information, things you must have buried deeply. Does Jack have any idea how you feel about him?"
He probably never would, she thought numbly to herself. Perhaps it was best that way, given the way this was likely to end. "Why am I still alive?"
"Ah, so glad you asked. It turns out that I have a little problem that you can help me with. Sydney and Jack do not appear to be making any effort towards recovering the third item. I thought you might provide them a little incentive."
"F*ck you."
"Well," said Sloane thoughtfully, reaching over and running his finger up her jaw, "if that's what you want. . . .,"
Irina jerked her head away. "Don't touch me, you b*stard. Or I swear I'll rip your balls off." The look in her eyes was murderous.
Sloane sneered. "You're damaged goods anyway. So I'll pass. But I'll be back when it's time for you to play your part."
**
"Uh, Mr. Bristow? It's been 5 days. Are you sure you want me to keep checking?"
"Keep looking until I tell you to stop," snapped Jack irritably. He wasn't quite sure why he felt so bereft at the thought that he would no longer be playing chess with an anonymous prisoner in a maximum-security facility. Particularly since the Abbe had been one move away from beating him *again*.
"Yes, sir. It's your money."
"Wait. Can your source find out if there have been any prisoners using that exercise area that been discharged in the past week? I'm looking for someone that would have been there over a year. I want a copy of the file."
"For a price."
"Do it."
**
Mozart_182: Distinguished composer looking for music lover
Blowurhorn wants to chat privately
Cancel.
Longbow wants to chat privately
Cancel.
Bangmydrum wants to chat privately
Cancel.
Jack glowered at the screen. It was the 3rd straight night he had attempted to contact Irina after he had placed the ad. Why wasn't she responding? And if not to him, then why not to Sydney? Sydney had tried her mother's number numerous times over the past few days with similar results.
Of course, he thought dispassionately, her last two contacts with them had ended in disaster. He had captured her and interrogated her the first time; her emissary Lazarey had died in the second. . .
"Sh*t!" He picked up his phone and rapidly dialed Sydney. "Can you come over? Right away?"
**
By the time Sydney arrived, Jack had loaded the tapes from the cathedral into his video player.
"What's up Dad? Did you hear from Mom?"
"Sydney, you said men died on either side of you? Simultaneously?" asked Jack without preamble.
"Yes. Lazarey and the deacon."
"So there were two shooters."
Sydney thought a moment. "Yes, there must have been. . . oh!" she said in understanding. "You think the second shooter was Mom?"
"Maybe." Jack fast-forwarded to the clip of the shooting. "Look – here's the deacon." They watched together as the deacon lifted his gun and fired at Lazarey. Within two frames, a fatal wound could be seen forming itself on the side of the deacon's head.
"It looks like the angle's from the back of the church," observed Sydney.
"Yes," agreed Jack, "and high. Look at how much lower the exit wound is."
Sydney looked at him. "The choir loft? Do you have any footage of that?"
"No. I couldn't get in there, and couldn't position the other cameras high enough." He fast-forwarded through. "But I had to have caught her on the way out. I had all the exits covered. Maybe we can pick up a car, or a license plate."
Jack switched tapes effortlessly and fast-forwarded through again. Suddenly his finger jammed the pause button. Lips pressed together in a tight line, he backed up and played the scene in slow motion. Irina, unconscious, being carried out of the church.
Blood drained from Sydney's face. "I guess we know where Mom is."
Grimly, her father nodded. "With Sloane." If she's not already dead, he added to himself silently.