Chapter 34

Jack reached out a reassuring hand to Sydney while his mind raced.  Five days Irina had been with Sloane.  What was Sloane capable of?  Suppressing a shudder, Jack said bracingly, "If he'd just wanted to kill her, she'd never have left the cathedral alive.  He needed her for something."

Sydney's voice trembled slightly.  "Information."

"Or bait," said Jack somberly.

Sydney jumped up from the sofa and began to pace.  "I've got to find her, Dad.  I can't just let Sloane. . . "  She stopped, unwilling to voice the thought.  "I don't expect you to understand, but -,"

"Sit down, Sydney."

Sydney shot her father an irritated look.  "Dad, there's no time to lose.  I've got to -,"

"Sit. Down."  There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, and Sydney sat.  "It's been five days.  Sloane's not an amateur at extracting information.  If that's all he wanted from your mother, she's given it to him and she's dead."  His voice was flat, his face shuttered.  "There's nothing anyone can do for her now."

"Dammit!  How can you sit there and be so. . . unfeeling?" stormed Sydney. "She could have been tortured to death.  And you're analyzing it as if it were a crossword puzzle?" 

Jack gazed at her unblinking for several moments, his jaw working. "If she's alive," he finally continued, ignoring her outburst, "we need to assume she's being used as bait.  We'll need to move cautiously."

"We?"

"Whatever my personal feelings for Irina Derevko, she's your mother.  I wouldn't expect you to sit by idly while she was imprisoned and tortured.  On the other hand, I won't have you taking needless risks.  Particularly since *you* may be Sloane's objective."

"So you'll help Mom?  For me?" Sydney pressed gratefully.

"Yes."  Jack's eyes flickered briefly, then steadied.  "For you, sweetheart."

"Then where do we start?"

"We don't," said Jack, standing up and beginning to clear away the tapes.  "Finding your mother in Sloane's extensive network would take months, maybe years.  If I'm right. . . he'll come to us."

**

Sloane casually strolled into Irina's cell, a filthy and windowless storage room in an abandoned garage.  "Show time," he said cheerfully, dialing a number on his phone.  Irina, shackled hand and foot, cursed him in Russian.

"Yes?" 

"Sydney.  Arvin Sloane here."

"You!  If you've harmed my mother -,"

"Calm down, Sydney.  Right now she's only slightly the worse for wear."  He paused for emphasis.  "Right. Now."

"What do you want?"

"The third item.  Delivered to me in Zurich.  Within 36 hours.  Or she dies.  Because, frankly, I find her a nuisance."  Sloane leered at Irina; Irina stared back at him, eyes glittering dangerously.

"Arvin."  Jack's clipped tones came through the phone.  Sloane smiled.  So he had interrupted a father-daughter moment, had he?

"Hello, Jack.  Tell me," Sloane asked conversationally, "how did you live with this shrew for ten years?  Five days and I've had it." 

"We do nothing without proof that she's still alive," replied Jack coolly.  "Let me talk to her." 

"We?" Sloane snickered.  "Your capacity for self-delusion astounds me.  I had thought that only Sydney would have an interest in her mother's welfare; clearly I've underestimated your tolerance for betrayal.  But here she is." 

Sloane stepped carefully around the puddles of oil and grease on the floor and held up the phone to Irina's face.  "Talk to him.  Tell him," he sneered, "how much you love him.  Maybe he'll fall for it again."

Pure hatred blazed momentarily in her eyes, quickly concealed.  Irina smiled thinly and said nothing.

"Now!" growled Sloane, pulling his gun and gesturing at her.  Irina shrugged and leant back against the wall, uninterested.  He stepped forward and roughly grabbed the broken arm, giving it a brutal twist.  Irina screamed in pain and fainted.

The hair on the back of Jack's neck stood on end as he heard the cry through the line.  He glanced quickly at Sydney, who was watching him closely, and took a deep breath to control his features.

"Best I could do," said Sloane into the phone.  "Convinced?  Or should I send you a finger?"

"That will be sufficient," said Jack evenly. B*stard.

"36 hours.  Zurich.  Oh, and a tip – you'll need the Rambaldi cube for the third item."  Sloane closed his cell phone with a snap.

**

"We have six hours to find this item and get out," Jack summarized, as they finished reviewing the survey maps in front of them.  Their plane was on its final approach path into Doha airport in Qatar.  Below them were visible the drilling rigs that accounted for 98% of the country's income; their cover was as reserve estimate specialists for a major oil company.

"That doesn't leave much time to get to Zurich."

"No.  I'll need to go straight there to make the exchange."  Jack glowered as Sydney cocked an eyebrow.  "Don't start.  We've discussed this more than enough.  You will *not* be there."

"But Dad. . . ,"

"But nothing, Sydney.  I've done everything I can to counter Sloane's home court advantage in Zurich; with luck we'll end up with this item as well as your mother.  But all the mercenaries in the world won't be able to prevent him from reactivating you if you get too close.  That's not a risk I'm prepared to take." 

Sydney glanced at him through her lashes.  Miss a chance to corner Sloane?  Unlikely. 

"I mean it, Sydney," said Jack warningly, correctly interpreting her look.  He hoped she wouldn't force him into the kind of pre-emptive action she loathed.

"We'll discuss it later," replied Sydney primly.  She watched as Jack rechecked his backpack.  "By the way, you never told me how you convinced the CIA to give you the Rambaldi fluid," she said, switching the subject.  "I wouldn't have thought they'd part with it for Irina Derevko."

"They didn't."

Sydney gave him a puzzled frown.  "Then how'd you get it?"

Jack looked at her and said nothing.

"Oh."

**

"Absolutely not.  You will *not* be there at the exchange."  Jack's exasperated voice rang off the walls of the passageway as they made their way through the cave.  "The next time I see Arvin Sloane I want to be focusing on rescuing your mother.  And how he's going to die.  Not on your safety."

"You don't think *I* might have an interest in . . . "  Sydney's voice stopped abruptly as the entered the main chamber.  "Dad, look!"

Jack raised his lantern and scanned the wall nearest to him, pausing long enough to identify the Rambaldi inscriptions on the wall.  His eyes brushed over them without interest and he lowered his lantern, trying to locate Sydney.  She was stationary in front of one in particular, a portrait of a young woman.  "She will be the one to bring forth my works. . . ," she whispered to herself.

Jack rolled his eyes.  "Get a grip, Sydney.  Let's just get this artifact and get out of here." 

Sydney looked up, sheepish.  "Right, Dad.  Look, the keyhole's right here."

Jack moved to join her, combining his lantern with hers to shine light on the engraving above.  Ancient Italian.  Slowly and clumsily he began translating.  "A key. . . an. . . inheritance?. . . "

Sydney shook her head.  "No Dad, it's:

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

Jack looked at her oddly.  "How'd you do that?"

"I don't know," Sydney replied puzzled.  "Maybe it was one of my dreams – in fact, the whole room feels familiar."

"Could you repeat it for me?"  When she was done, Jack groaned.  "Wonderful.  Of course we'd have to wade through some impenetrable, pointless riddle first."

"A key, a legacy, and a choice. . . ," murmured Sydney.  "I wonder what that means."

The scratch of a match in a corner of the room reverberated off the walls like a gunshot.  Sydney and Jack whirled guns up to see Arvin Sloane's face flickering in the flame, a specter whose image merged with the Rambaldi inscriptions behind him. He leant down and touched the match to his lantern.  "Perhaps I could assist." His tone was self-deprecating, but his eyes glinted sardonically.

"Sloane! What are you doing here?" gasped Sydney.

"Don't answer that," came Jack's steely voice as he fought to master his fear for Sydney.  "In fact, don't say a word, Arvin.  Or I'll put a bullet between your eyes." 

"That might be hazardous to Irina's health," Sloane pointed out reasonably.  And with that, 3 more lanterns were lit, illuminating the room with an eerie glow, and revealing Irina on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by three guards.

Bound hand and foot, mouth covered with duct tape, her right arm hung at an odd angle.  But although her face was creased with pain, her gaze remained defiant.  "I think the duct tape's an improvement, don't you, Jack?" observed Sloane reflectively. 

Jack's gaze briefly met Irina's.  Her message was clear.  Shoot him now.

"Why don't you both just put your guns down?" Sloane suggested calmly.  "It would be much more civilized."

"Wrong.  Tell them to lower their guns or we'll fire," said Jack impassively.  "Two on one, Arvin.  You lose."

Sloane shrugged, putting his hands in the air, and shifted his position slightly to move closer to Sydney.  "Whatever you say, Jack."

"Move away from him, Sydney," Jack ordered.

Sydney ignored her father, glaring at Sloane with repugnance.  "Why did you do it?" she hissed.  "Why did you steal two years of my life?"

Sloane shifted again, so that Sydney was now blocking Jack's angle.  "I wanted something that belonged to me."

"Sydney!  Move out of the way!"

"It's your choice, Julia," said Sloane softly, locking eyes with Sydney.

Sydney blinked and lowered her gun, swaying slightly.  "Dad?"

"Yes?" Jack and Sloane answered simultaneously.

"W-What's going on?  Why am I here?"

"I'll explain it later," said Sloane.  "Right now, we have a bit of a problem."  He glanced over her shoulder.

Julia turned, taking in Jack with his gun raised, dawning horror written across his face.  "You're Jack Bristow, aren't you?" she said with a flash of recognition.  "Nice to meet you."  She pulled her trigger and a deafening roar filled the cavern.