Chapter 36
Sydney took a deep breath, her gun wavering in front of her mother's face, then she fired three times. Before the guards on either side of Irina had hit the floor she had whirled to face Sloane.
Color drained from Sloane's face, but he recovered quickly. "It's your choice, Julia," he said clearly.
Sydney's face did not change. "I think you're right. I think it is my choice."
"Julia?" asked Sloane, puzzled.
"Sydney. And Julia," she replied. "One person, both memories. Finally. Put the artifact on the floor and take two steps back."
"Julia," Sloane began, "I -,"
Sydney flicked a knife that whistled past Sloane's ear, nicking it on the edge. Involuntarily Sloane's hand went to the cut and he stared, stunned, at the blood on his fingers. "I've shot my mother and my father," she said coldly. "You're into symmetry. Who do you think is next?"
Sloane put the artifact on the floor and took two steps backward.
"Now, reach into your back collar and remove the spare gun you keep there. Put that on the floor as well." Sloane looked hurt. "Remember. *Both* sets of memories," Sydney prodded. A gun dropped to the floor.
Sydney stepped forward, kicking away the gun and picking up the gear. Her gaze swept the room. Jack Bristow, rising to his feet, face drawn with pain and swaying from the blood lost from his shoulder. Irina Derevko, eyes alert, bound and silenced by the duct tape. Arvin Sloane, brow furrowed, mind racing.
"I *was* here six months ago," Sydney said conversationally. "As Julia. I read the inscription and knew I was the chosen one. But the inscription doesn't refer to the chosen one. It refers to a choice. A choice whether or not to withdraw the final piece for Il Dire."
She turned over the piece in her hand, watching the flickering light play off the randomly shaped gear teeth. "The one person that I loved in all the world," she glanced at Sloane, "was asking me to make that choice. But in my dreams, he was someone else entirely. *I* was someone else entirely. And I knew that I couldn't make that choice until I knew the truth." She looked at Sloane, a hint of apology in her eyes. "Lazarey offered me that opportunity. By that time I trusted none of you absolutely. So I mailed the keys, and turned to the one person I knew I could trust. Sydney.
"And now," she said thoughtfully, "here I am again. With more choices. Am I Sydney or Julia? CIA or assassin? Child of the world's most dysfunctional parents, or of the world's greatest megalomaniac?"
"Sydney," said Jack softly. "You don't need to make all those choices now. You can take your time. Only one choice needs to be made here."
Sydney looked at her father gratefully. "Yes. You're right, of course."
"Julia," interjected Sloane. "You were given this choice because you are capable of wielding the power you hold in your hand wisely. Rambaldi was a genius. You were chosen. Don't throw that gift away."
"You've dedicated your whole life to this moment, haven't you?" she asked him sadly.
"Yes," he replied simply.
Sydney walked over to Irina, and carefully removed the duct tape from her mouth. She cocked an eyebrow in inquiry at her mother.
Irina smiled slowly. "You already know the right choice," she said gently.
Sydney laid a hand against her mother's cheek. "Thank you," she whispered. She turned and walked back to the opening in the wall. "I choose - no." She placed the gear back onto the basin and moved away. After a moment a faint whir could be heard, and the basin began to move slowly back into the wall.
"Good god, Julia!" Sloane darted forward, his bloody hand outstretched. With a mighty effort he reached the basin before it disappeared and, hand grazing the surface, snatched up the artifact. Joyfully he hugged it close. "You don't know what you're giving up, what you could -,"
Sloane stopped abruptly as a loud crack emanated from behind the wall. The floor beneath his feet began to shake, and Sloane struggled to stay upright. An unholy spark of glee lit Irina's eyes. "Not very wise, Arvin. *You* were not the chosen one."
Sloane looked at the piece in his hand in horror, then over at the basin, smeared with the blood from his fingers. Any reply he might have made was terminated as the floor surrounding the opening in the wall began to descend precipitously.
Sydney, standing just on the perimeter of the area that was sinking, hurled herself to the edge and threw out her arm. "Dad! Grab my hand!" With a leap, Sloane jumped and grabbed her just as the floor fell away, crashing to a stop 25 feet below. For a brief instant they held each other, balanced, and then Sydney began to infinitesimally slide towards the rim.
"Sydney! No!" Jack threw himself on top of Sydney's legs, biting back a sob of pain as he landed on his shoulder. Below them, oil had begun to seep from the walls of the bedrock, covering the floor. As the oil reached Sloane's lantern, it began to blaze. Jack's weight counter-balanced Sydney for a long moment, then they both began to slide along the sandy floor.
"Dad, give me your other hand," cried Sydney desperately. Sloane's other hand tightened around the artifact. He shook his head in desperation.
"SYDNEY! I CAN'T HOLD ON!" Inch by inch, Sydney was slowly being pulled over the edge. Desperately Jack tried to slow her slide, but his feet could not gain purchase on the smooth rock, and his bound hands were useless. Jack himself was almost at the edge, and could see over it to Sloane, hanging onto Sydney's hand below the lip.
"Arvin. For God's sake," Jack ground out.
Sloane looked up, catching Jack's eye, seeing his message, then down into the pit below him, now smoking with burning oil several feet deep and rapidly rising as the fissures in the rock widened with the heat. He lifted his head to gaze once more at Sydney and, with an infinitesimal nod, released his grasp. "Take care of her, Jack," he called as he fell, cartwheeling into the flaming pool.
"Dad!" wept Sydney. Jack was not sure which of them she was addressing as he helped her pull back from the precipice. "Go help your mother," he ordered, pushing her away from the sight of Sloane, flames up to the middle of his thighs, writhing in agony as his hands scraped the vertical walls of the pit, futilely seeking purchase with his oil-slick hands.
"Arvin!" Jack shouted, standing on the edge.
Sloane raised his head, his expression a mask of unbearable pain, his mouth contorted in a silent scream. Jack lifted his bound arms together, a gun in his right hand and a question in his eyes. Sloane studied him for a moment, then nodding, turned to face him, arms outstretched. Once more, the sound of a gunshot filled the cavern. Jack watched somberly as Sloane slowly slipped below the surface of the oil and was consumed.
**
They sat in silence in their jeep a half-mile away. The heat from the fire had destabilized the cavern; their exit had been hastened by an ominous rumbling as the foundations realigned and shifted, raining debris on them during their sprint to the exit. The ground beneath them began to shudder and, as they watched, the cave roof collapsed inward with a mighty roar, flames shooting upwards into the sky.
"And without the choice," whispered Sydney, "my work will be consumed by a burning anger."