Chapter 38
Omnifam President Reported Missing, Feared Dead
Arvin Sloane, internationally known head of the world health organization Omnifam, was reported missing today at a press conference at the company's headquarters in Zurich. Last seen at a charity benefit in Brussels on the 23rd, Mr. Sloane was observed departing in a black limousine, destination unknown. Police have appealed for anyone with information regarding Mr. Sloane's whereabouts to contact them directly. Omnifam has long been a leader in. . .
Putting down his paper to take another bite of breakfast, Jack wondered idly if he should start a scrapbook. He looked up in mild surprise as Sydney slid into the seat opposite his. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said easily.
"Morning, Dad." Sydney waited until the waitress finished pouring her coffee before leaning forward. "So, were there any problems?"
"Problems?" repeated Jack blandly.
"With the Rambaldi cube," she said in a low voice.
Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Bureaucratic mix-up. The CIA thought the DSR had it; the DSR thought the CIA had it; it was actually found on a back shelf in an unused storage room." His eyes twinkled. "Shocking mismanagement of government property."
Sydney rolled her eyes and took a sip of coffee. Jack studied her surreptitiously. Her personality was still volatile; while it was too early to say, it appeared she would end up as Sydney with a Julia edge, rather than Julia with a Sydney edge. But it varied. On a recent Julia day, he had overheard her telling Vaughn to "get some balls or get the h*ll out of Ops." Perhaps, he mused to himself, the changes weren't all bad. "Where have you been this morning?"
Sydney grew pensive. "At Arvin and Emily's grave."
Not a muscle moved in Jack's face. "I see. Has the tombstone arrived yet?"
"Yes."
Jack took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. Supportive. He needed to be supportive. "If you'd like," he said carefully, "I could go with you one day."
Her eyes flew to his face. "You understand," she said gratefully.
"I think so. You have happy memories of him, ones that you mourn. So," he said reflectively, "do I."
"And I haven't forgotten that he was a psychopath, the person responsible for Danny and Francie's deaths. It's just that -,"
"I know. For a period of your life, he may have been the only person who gave you a reason to laugh." Jack was pleased with the steadiness of his voice. That particular revelation of Sydney's, as she had begun integrating the memories of Sydney and Julia, had been devastating.
Sydney took her hand in his and squeezed reassuringly. "Thanks, Dad."
"But perhaps you shouldn't mention it to your mother?" he suggested. "Her recent memories of Sloane might, er, color her perspective."
Sydney shot him a hopeful look. "Have you heard from her?"
"No," said Jack shortly. He turned his attention to his breakfast, hoping to forestall any further conversation.
Sydney ground her teeth in frustration. "I'm not getting any younger, Dad. Do you suppose the two of you will talk again in my lifetime?"
"Sydney," Jack began warningly. This happened every time she thought about the Sloanes and their 'perfect' marriage. Perfect, with the exception that he'd lied to his wife for 20 years and she'd been shot while he was evading arrest. "It takes two to talk."
"I'd settle for one, right now. She protected me, she didn't betray you. You told me yourself that the two of you were close before you went to prison. What's the problem?" She glared at him accusingly.
"It's not my f -," he stopped abruptly. He wasn't five. But the martial light in Sydney's eye was new. She didn't back off as easily as she used to, he thought to himself, sighing inwardly. "Sydney, it's a trust issue. She found out you were alive; she didn't tell me. She went ahead and took matters into her own hands. If I had known, a lot of things could have been different."
"Oh. . . ," said Sydney meditatively. "Do you think it's possible she was afraid to tell you the truth?"
Jack snorted. "Your mother's not afraid of anything. And besides, if she didn't have the courage to tell me what might have been an uncomfortable truth. . . ," his voice trailed off and his brows snapped together in irritation.
Watching him with interest, Sydney said nothing.
"I see what you're doing. Implying that what your mother did to me is the same as what I did to you. But it's not. She has repeatedly lied to me. . . ," he stopped, face flushing.
Sydney raised one eyebrow.
Jack got to his feet and threw down his napkin. "Dammit, Sydney, the mistakes I made were because I loved you. It's not the same." He tossed some bills on the table and stalked out.
"Of course not," Sydney murmured to the empty table. "I forgave you."
**
"There's a problem," said Jack into his cell phone. In front of him on his kitchen table lay 22 files, carefully organized and cross-checked. "There must be a missing file."
"Mr. Bristow, my contact at the prison assured me that those were the files of every prisoner that's used that exercise block in the past two months."
"That's not possible," snapped Jack. "Have him check again." He hung up without waiting for a reply.
Who are you? he muttered to himself, looking again at the files. Serial murderers, child sex-offenders, gang leaders, snitches. All had used the exercise block in the solitary confinement wing. And none had been discharged in the past 3 weeks. Even more problematic – none had been there for more than 7 months.