Disclaimer: I own none of this. This story is based on characters and
situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd.---Oops, wrong fandom there,
but uh no this belongs to other folks and no infringement is intended.
Chapter Fifteen
Michael Vaughn slammed a fist into the wall and didn't even blink as one of the younger operatives looked up at him in shock. Actually the younger agent should have been grateful for his restraint. What he really felt like doing was unloading a clip into the wall. It would certainly be more satisfying and less painful, at least for his hand.
They had found nothing! The building had been deserted except for people who truly knew nothing, a few receptionists and financial consultants who thought they really did work for a bank. Vaughn hadn't been expecting to catch Sloane, but he had at least been hoping to catch a break. True, their were a few of the employees still being interviewed, but so far they had found nothing. A feeling of desperation penetrated his rage at last, and he flashed upon the image of Sydney's face in Taipei, separated by a mere pain of glass, and the look of terror on her face as she thought she would be forced to watch him drown.
He had never even told her he loved her.
If he ever saw her again- "Agent Vaughn," Dixon's low voice snapped him out of his maudlin thoughts. "I think we've found something."
Burying his previous anger, Vaughn followed Dixon back to a computer terminal in a large office. The agent sitting at the terminal looked up briefly as he heard them enter. "We check the computers as a part of the standard procedure. Of course we never find anything," the agent and hopefully competent computer tech said without preamble or a need to be prodded, "but today must be your luck day. I recognized this system as the work of Mr. Flinkman." The agent paused and Vaughn could see the briefest look of animosity in the man's eyes.
For all of his genius, or because of it, Marshall was more than capable of annoying people, or even angering them without realizing it as a man with almost no social skills and an almost boyishly innocent and shy personality, showed up their work as acceptable, but simply lacking his uniquely brilliant touch. For the moment, though, Vaughn couldn't care less about an inner-agency rivalry. He wanted to know what had been found.
"However, the person who activated the memory wipe was obviously not familiar with Mr. Flinkman. After the incident last year when Sd-6 was taken over by McKenas Cole, Mr. Flinkman began working on a way that no information could be downloaded or wiped without a certain procedure being followed. Of course, it appeared as if the action was successful, but it's not." The tech stopped in mid-speech and tapped a few keys. "We don't know what it might give us, or how long it will take to decrypt it, but we should be able to retrieve this." The tech grimaced, "However, we will need Mr. Flinkman here."
Vaughn was already making the call before the man had finished speaking. For the moment it looked as if they had been handed a completely unexpected break and he planned to use the advantage as much as he could.
===============================================================
The limo slowed to a halt and Sydney leaned forward in her seat. It was obvious to her that this place meant more to Irina than just another one of the many locations she owned around the world for business purposes. She wanted to see what made this place special. Carefully she tucked the gun away and reached for the door handle to open it, but stopped when Irina waved her back.
"Let Dimitri get it," she said softly. She was silent for a moment until they finally stepped out. Sydney watched her mother for the distance of the short walk between the limo and the house. She paused inside, taking in the tasteful and comfortable decorations of the room around her.
"It's nice," Sydney said at last.
Irina nodded, running a finger over the top of a nearby table. "Yes, it is. I've spent quite a bit of time her over the years." She sighed and Sydney could see a brief look of sadness pass over her face. "I'll have to sell it, when we get you father back." She forced a smile, "So don't bother sending in a team when you get back, there won't be anything here."
"Mom," Sydney protested weakly.
"It's okay, Sweetheart. We have other things to discuss for the moment. This man that Dimitri told us about; he's not one of my operatives and our discussion might not be that...pleasant." She looked at Sydney, her directness and the look in her eyes almost enough to startle her. "Sydney, you're an adult and you have a choice. Do you want to be in there when I talk with him?"
Sydney nodded, "Actually Mom, I've been thinking about that and I'm not sure that I should be there. Most people know that I'm CIA and if someone finds out that I'm with you, it could make them think you were working with the CIA and make you a target."
Irina almost laughed. She couldn't believe what her daughter had said. "Sydney," she stated slowly, "Are you saying that you shouldn't be in there for my safety."
Now it was Sydney's turn to meet her mother's eyes with intensity born of desperation. "I've already lost my mother once. I won't lose you again. I don't care how much we fight or disagree, or shoot one another."
Irina could feel tears involuntarily well in her eyes. Only her daughter could get to her like this. Well Jack could, too, but that was in an entirely different way. Only they, her family could make her feel like a real person, not the cruel assassin, or the powerful, dangerous woman that she had to be to survive the rest of the world. Irina swallowed and she slid her eyes shut for a moment, trying to find a sense of calm. "Sydney, as long as you want me to be here," she said, "I will. I promise you that." She let a small smile flicker over her feature before she hardened them into an expression that would have been completely alien to Laura Bristow, but was infinitely familiar to Irina Derevko. "Now come on, Sweetheart. Let's go see what this man has to say."
===============================================================
No sign of the warm emotions that had been shared outside of the room were apparent when they entered. Irina ignored the man entirely and walked to the window, gazing out of it with seeming preoccupation. Normally she wouldn't have so cavalierly turned her back on the man or anyone whose skills she didn't already know, but she trusted Sydney to watch her back. "You have some information for me," she asked casually. The man's eyes held conceit and a lack of any worry or concern for himself that immediately set Irina's spine tingling.
"Perhaps," the man said curtly, "for a price."
Irina resisted the urge to send the man flying. She had had this conversation countless with countless pigs like this one. She was tired of their pointless posturing. It had long since ceased to hold any interest for her. "And what is your price," she asked not bother to dance around the subject. This was for Jack and she would do whatever she had to. She would do anything for him, even make him hate her like she had twenty years ago.
Her daughter's movement caught her eye. It was almost nothing, so minute of a movement that very few people would have seen it. Sydney's eyes tightened imperceptibly and Irina mentally snapped to full alert. Sydney had seen something, something that was had alarmed her and that worried Irina more than she cared to admit.
"Thirty million US dollars."
She heard Sydney's badly stifled snort of disbelief from behind him, but she didn't respond. Instead she took a seat behind the large desk in the room. Most people would have looked intimidated, sitting in front of the towering man, but she had long since learned the art of appearing full of power even while sitting down. "Thirty million is quite a bit of money," she said calmly, "What exactly do you know that would be worth thirty million dollars to me?"
This time the man smiled, "The exact location of your precious husband," by this time Sydney had walked around the room and made her way over to where her mother sat. Her arms were folded across her chest and she glared at the man. He leered blatantly back at her and then looked at Irina speculatively. "Although, I must admit I would consider lowering the price for a night with her," he added, gesturing rudely at Sydney.
Before the man knew what had happened, he was slammed up against the wall with Irina's gun pressed to his forehead. "She," Irina emphasized, pressing the gun harder into his skull, "is my daughter and," she added coolly, "I will kill you before I let a pig like you near her. Now tell me what you know about Jack and I might not kill you."
"Mom," Sydney snapped and Irina turned her head without releasing the man.
"Sydney," she started to say. She knew her daughter wouldn't approve of what she was doing, but she didn't understand.
"No, Mom," she cut in, "He's wired." Sydney stepped forward easily, and pulled back his jacket. Seeing their momentary preoccupation, the man shoved away from the wall, knocking Irina away from him and into Sydney.
He bolted to the door but crumpled to the ground with a scream of pain as Irina coolly shot him in the shoulder. Not bothering to call her own security people, she quickly rolled him over with Sydney's help. As they fumbled with the man's clothing, stripping everything away from the wire, Irina absently noticed that her daughter had grabbed a corner of the man's jacket and was using it to keep pressure on the wound and slow the bleeding. She spared a moment to glance over at her daughter. "Thank you for trusting me, Sydney."
Sydney smiled slightly, "You could have just knocked him out." But her words held no real chastisement or anger with her mother. She suddenly froze, her smile disappearing, "Mom, this isn't an audio tap being used to record our conversation, this is a remote detonator."
========================================================================
Jack Bristow was one of the best agents in the CIA or even the world for that matter, but even he didn't see a way out of his current situation, at least not without some assistance. He wouldn't find any assistance here, however. He knew that much. None of the men Arvin had gathered around himself here even knew what the "right thing" was, not to mention even considering actually doing it, especially when there was nothing in it for them.
The feeling of utter helplessness was inescapable. Lesser men than he would have abandoned hope and given up to despair by now and fallen in for whatever Arvin Sloane had planned. Jack Bristow, however, was not most men. He didn't give up. He'd had far more taken from him in his life. Sydney and Irina were safe, for the moment or at least as safe as they ever were in their lives.
After the first few days, or what he had approximated to be the first few days, he began to form mental profiles of all of the guards. He watched them and filed away their actions, seeing their habits, all of their strengths and weaknesses. He observed their reactions to Sloane's infrequent visits and he watched Sloane. Jack couldn't really tell how much time had passed, but he could see the effects of time on his former friend.
As if thinking of Arvin had summoned him, Jack could hear the thud of Sloane's shoes making his way towards him. Sloane walked in, accompanied by a burly man who Jack guessed had an IQ roughly that of a peanut's.
Today Sloane was all smiles. "Hello Jack." If anything his smile widened, growing all the more unnerving as it did so. "Today, Jack, I have a deal for you. You see one of my employees has made an interesting discovery. Apparently your lovely wife has made the foolish mistake of developing a pattern of behavior. She has returned to her so called safe house outside of Moscow with Sydney. You see, Jack, the problem, at least for you, Sydney and Irina, is that one of my operatives have approached Irina in the guise of having information on your whereabouts. Of course," he said drawing it all out with such slow silky smoothness that had Jack not already know that Sloane was psychotic he would have know then, "The real problem is that my operative is armed with enough explosives to detonate Mount Rushmore in one blast much less that hovel that Irina calls a house."
Arvin paced around Jack, his fingers steepled in contemplation. "So, Jack, the question becomes, what are you willing to do to save the life of your daughter, and," he added almost as an after thought, "Irina as well."
Chapter Fifteen
Michael Vaughn slammed a fist into the wall and didn't even blink as one of the younger operatives looked up at him in shock. Actually the younger agent should have been grateful for his restraint. What he really felt like doing was unloading a clip into the wall. It would certainly be more satisfying and less painful, at least for his hand.
They had found nothing! The building had been deserted except for people who truly knew nothing, a few receptionists and financial consultants who thought they really did work for a bank. Vaughn hadn't been expecting to catch Sloane, but he had at least been hoping to catch a break. True, their were a few of the employees still being interviewed, but so far they had found nothing. A feeling of desperation penetrated his rage at last, and he flashed upon the image of Sydney's face in Taipei, separated by a mere pain of glass, and the look of terror on her face as she thought she would be forced to watch him drown.
He had never even told her he loved her.
If he ever saw her again- "Agent Vaughn," Dixon's low voice snapped him out of his maudlin thoughts. "I think we've found something."
Burying his previous anger, Vaughn followed Dixon back to a computer terminal in a large office. The agent sitting at the terminal looked up briefly as he heard them enter. "We check the computers as a part of the standard procedure. Of course we never find anything," the agent and hopefully competent computer tech said without preamble or a need to be prodded, "but today must be your luck day. I recognized this system as the work of Mr. Flinkman." The agent paused and Vaughn could see the briefest look of animosity in the man's eyes.
For all of his genius, or because of it, Marshall was more than capable of annoying people, or even angering them without realizing it as a man with almost no social skills and an almost boyishly innocent and shy personality, showed up their work as acceptable, but simply lacking his uniquely brilliant touch. For the moment, though, Vaughn couldn't care less about an inner-agency rivalry. He wanted to know what had been found.
"However, the person who activated the memory wipe was obviously not familiar with Mr. Flinkman. After the incident last year when Sd-6 was taken over by McKenas Cole, Mr. Flinkman began working on a way that no information could be downloaded or wiped without a certain procedure being followed. Of course, it appeared as if the action was successful, but it's not." The tech stopped in mid-speech and tapped a few keys. "We don't know what it might give us, or how long it will take to decrypt it, but we should be able to retrieve this." The tech grimaced, "However, we will need Mr. Flinkman here."
Vaughn was already making the call before the man had finished speaking. For the moment it looked as if they had been handed a completely unexpected break and he planned to use the advantage as much as he could.
===============================================================
The limo slowed to a halt and Sydney leaned forward in her seat. It was obvious to her that this place meant more to Irina than just another one of the many locations she owned around the world for business purposes. She wanted to see what made this place special. Carefully she tucked the gun away and reached for the door handle to open it, but stopped when Irina waved her back.
"Let Dimitri get it," she said softly. She was silent for a moment until they finally stepped out. Sydney watched her mother for the distance of the short walk between the limo and the house. She paused inside, taking in the tasteful and comfortable decorations of the room around her.
"It's nice," Sydney said at last.
Irina nodded, running a finger over the top of a nearby table. "Yes, it is. I've spent quite a bit of time her over the years." She sighed and Sydney could see a brief look of sadness pass over her face. "I'll have to sell it, when we get you father back." She forced a smile, "So don't bother sending in a team when you get back, there won't be anything here."
"Mom," Sydney protested weakly.
"It's okay, Sweetheart. We have other things to discuss for the moment. This man that Dimitri told us about; he's not one of my operatives and our discussion might not be that...pleasant." She looked at Sydney, her directness and the look in her eyes almost enough to startle her. "Sydney, you're an adult and you have a choice. Do you want to be in there when I talk with him?"
Sydney nodded, "Actually Mom, I've been thinking about that and I'm not sure that I should be there. Most people know that I'm CIA and if someone finds out that I'm with you, it could make them think you were working with the CIA and make you a target."
Irina almost laughed. She couldn't believe what her daughter had said. "Sydney," she stated slowly, "Are you saying that you shouldn't be in there for my safety."
Now it was Sydney's turn to meet her mother's eyes with intensity born of desperation. "I've already lost my mother once. I won't lose you again. I don't care how much we fight or disagree, or shoot one another."
Irina could feel tears involuntarily well in her eyes. Only her daughter could get to her like this. Well Jack could, too, but that was in an entirely different way. Only they, her family could make her feel like a real person, not the cruel assassin, or the powerful, dangerous woman that she had to be to survive the rest of the world. Irina swallowed and she slid her eyes shut for a moment, trying to find a sense of calm. "Sydney, as long as you want me to be here," she said, "I will. I promise you that." She let a small smile flicker over her feature before she hardened them into an expression that would have been completely alien to Laura Bristow, but was infinitely familiar to Irina Derevko. "Now come on, Sweetheart. Let's go see what this man has to say."
===============================================================
No sign of the warm emotions that had been shared outside of the room were apparent when they entered. Irina ignored the man entirely and walked to the window, gazing out of it with seeming preoccupation. Normally she wouldn't have so cavalierly turned her back on the man or anyone whose skills she didn't already know, but she trusted Sydney to watch her back. "You have some information for me," she asked casually. The man's eyes held conceit and a lack of any worry or concern for himself that immediately set Irina's spine tingling.
"Perhaps," the man said curtly, "for a price."
Irina resisted the urge to send the man flying. She had had this conversation countless with countless pigs like this one. She was tired of their pointless posturing. It had long since ceased to hold any interest for her. "And what is your price," she asked not bother to dance around the subject. This was for Jack and she would do whatever she had to. She would do anything for him, even make him hate her like she had twenty years ago.
Her daughter's movement caught her eye. It was almost nothing, so minute of a movement that very few people would have seen it. Sydney's eyes tightened imperceptibly and Irina mentally snapped to full alert. Sydney had seen something, something that was had alarmed her and that worried Irina more than she cared to admit.
"Thirty million US dollars."
She heard Sydney's badly stifled snort of disbelief from behind him, but she didn't respond. Instead she took a seat behind the large desk in the room. Most people would have looked intimidated, sitting in front of the towering man, but she had long since learned the art of appearing full of power even while sitting down. "Thirty million is quite a bit of money," she said calmly, "What exactly do you know that would be worth thirty million dollars to me?"
This time the man smiled, "The exact location of your precious husband," by this time Sydney had walked around the room and made her way over to where her mother sat. Her arms were folded across her chest and she glared at the man. He leered blatantly back at her and then looked at Irina speculatively. "Although, I must admit I would consider lowering the price for a night with her," he added, gesturing rudely at Sydney.
Before the man knew what had happened, he was slammed up against the wall with Irina's gun pressed to his forehead. "She," Irina emphasized, pressing the gun harder into his skull, "is my daughter and," she added coolly, "I will kill you before I let a pig like you near her. Now tell me what you know about Jack and I might not kill you."
"Mom," Sydney snapped and Irina turned her head without releasing the man.
"Sydney," she started to say. She knew her daughter wouldn't approve of what she was doing, but she didn't understand.
"No, Mom," she cut in, "He's wired." Sydney stepped forward easily, and pulled back his jacket. Seeing their momentary preoccupation, the man shoved away from the wall, knocking Irina away from him and into Sydney.
He bolted to the door but crumpled to the ground with a scream of pain as Irina coolly shot him in the shoulder. Not bothering to call her own security people, she quickly rolled him over with Sydney's help. As they fumbled with the man's clothing, stripping everything away from the wire, Irina absently noticed that her daughter had grabbed a corner of the man's jacket and was using it to keep pressure on the wound and slow the bleeding. She spared a moment to glance over at her daughter. "Thank you for trusting me, Sydney."
Sydney smiled slightly, "You could have just knocked him out." But her words held no real chastisement or anger with her mother. She suddenly froze, her smile disappearing, "Mom, this isn't an audio tap being used to record our conversation, this is a remote detonator."
========================================================================
Jack Bristow was one of the best agents in the CIA or even the world for that matter, but even he didn't see a way out of his current situation, at least not without some assistance. He wouldn't find any assistance here, however. He knew that much. None of the men Arvin had gathered around himself here even knew what the "right thing" was, not to mention even considering actually doing it, especially when there was nothing in it for them.
The feeling of utter helplessness was inescapable. Lesser men than he would have abandoned hope and given up to despair by now and fallen in for whatever Arvin Sloane had planned. Jack Bristow, however, was not most men. He didn't give up. He'd had far more taken from him in his life. Sydney and Irina were safe, for the moment or at least as safe as they ever were in their lives.
After the first few days, or what he had approximated to be the first few days, he began to form mental profiles of all of the guards. He watched them and filed away their actions, seeing their habits, all of their strengths and weaknesses. He observed their reactions to Sloane's infrequent visits and he watched Sloane. Jack couldn't really tell how much time had passed, but he could see the effects of time on his former friend.
As if thinking of Arvin had summoned him, Jack could hear the thud of Sloane's shoes making his way towards him. Sloane walked in, accompanied by a burly man who Jack guessed had an IQ roughly that of a peanut's.
Today Sloane was all smiles. "Hello Jack." If anything his smile widened, growing all the more unnerving as it did so. "Today, Jack, I have a deal for you. You see one of my employees has made an interesting discovery. Apparently your lovely wife has made the foolish mistake of developing a pattern of behavior. She has returned to her so called safe house outside of Moscow with Sydney. You see, Jack, the problem, at least for you, Sydney and Irina, is that one of my operatives have approached Irina in the guise of having information on your whereabouts. Of course," he said drawing it all out with such slow silky smoothness that had Jack not already know that Sloane was psychotic he would have know then, "The real problem is that my operative is armed with enough explosives to detonate Mount Rushmore in one blast much less that hovel that Irina calls a house."
Arvin paced around Jack, his fingers steepled in contemplation. "So, Jack, the question becomes, what are you willing to do to save the life of your daughter, and," he added almost as an after thought, "Irina as well."
