Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Enough said.
Thanks: To Lauren. And Kelsey!
Perhaps the house on the cliff meant more than I original assumed. Ireland was the one place that I had for myself, now it's been tainted by my occupation. I never wished for that to happen but now that it has there's no escape.
One must cut one's losses though and the place will be on the market tomorrow morning. In my work, you have to be able to make split second decisions with conviction or you end up dead. A depressing thought to say the least, one which I have absolutely no intention of ever becoming a reality. When I do die, as all people eventually do, it will be on my own terms not someone else's. Only the facts matter in this instance. My home has been compromised and like a disease, the only response is quarantine and eventual containment. I will never return to that house, those cliffs, or even to that county. It has been damaged by Ms. Bristow's visit, and now has none of the purity which I admired about it.
Besides, things are just things. They bear little consequence. Everything in that house is completely replaceable. There were chairs, a table, a bed, some pillows, nothing that would say anything about the kind of man I am, or the kind of man I'm not. When you live like I do, you can't afford to take risks like owning things that distinguish your personality from others. It's not worth risking yourself for a bunch of material possessions that could ultimately be replaced at any time.
Every risk I've ever taken, including the purchase of the house, has been a calculated one. Carefully weighed odds and loyalties are considered. I'll admit, some decisions, most notably the one to precede the meet in Stockholm knowing that Irina was aware of my whereabouts and entering the final phases of her plan, were not as meticulous as I would have liked, or believed them to be. But I will not seek retribution.
The quest for revenge has never led anyone away from the path of grief. Truly, has it ever forwarded someone's cause to punish those responsible for his condition? The only thing that revenge does well is distract. Passion of any sort only impedes the expected result. I have never sought revenge for anything that was done to me, nor will I. Not because I am above it, I'm not naïve enough to believe that to be the case, but because it is not useful. Revenge serves no purpose but to fuel the fire of passion and engulfed in those flames mistakes are inevitable.
There is no room for mistakes. They are a direct result of the carelessness that comes with feeling. That's why emotion is so frown upon whether that weakness is anger, hatred, desire, love or some other indistinguishable feeling. These things are completely unnecessary. Contrary to popular belief, a fulfilling life can be lived without love and long stretches of sorrow. Why severe bouts of depression appeal to people has always eluded me. Why would people want to bring that upon themselves willingly? The stupidity of the human race never ceases to astound me.
The solitude of the rental car was a perfect choice after spending so many hours in crowds the loneliness was welcome. Even trapped in rush hour traffic, blending into the masses, the serenity overwhelmed me. The calm that I felt signified the calm before the storm, to borrow the cliché. I couldn't even tell you what the band on the radio sang about, it was a blur of drums, bass and guitar. The strong melody was suppressed to background noise as my concentration switched to the job at hand, though I would not arrive at my destination for hours yet. Preparations had already begun.
**********************
I sat and waited, my arrival being earlier than anticipated, my target was not expected for another hour. Patience held great value in the business of trade. Trade of physical matter, trade of information, trade of lives, it didn't matter what the target may have been it's always the same. That makes life sound trivial, and maybe it is.
Cynicism and pessimism often seem interchangeable in my case. I don't see myself as cynical or pessimistic, but realistic and practical. We all die one day, people should just learn to accept that fact. The inevitability of death doesn't bother me as it does most, maybe that's why I'm able to sleep perfectly well at night. I chose to play the role that suited me perfectly. My job is portrayed differently in Hollywood movies, nights full of nightmares after which I'd wake up in the morning screaming at the horror of my actions. But that's just something that writers and directors created to ease the minds of the masses. Most people like me, competently trained assassins, are cold, emotionless, practical people who are few and far between those of us who label ourselves assassins. Because we are detached we don't require anti-depressants or nerve suppressors, or trips to the psychiatrist, though I have been a psychoanalytical patient once as part of an assignment. We are completely self-sufficient. We don't need anyone to clean up our messes, that's where the competency comes into play.
I hear her car pull up just minutes before she opens the door. I know that she'll be totally alone, tomorrow is her day off and she likes to spend it away from people, much like myself. I pull out my .9mm which already has a bullet waiting in the chamber for her should she decide to do something heroically foolish as she has done so many times in the past.
"Just because you're on American soil now, doesn't mean that I can't kill you." The sense of irony does not escape my notice as she is quite as shocked as I was when she made her unexpected appearance. After a lengthy pause I began again, "I see you weren't expecting me." No, she hadn't been expecting me, she still had her keys frozen in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. She also had yet to close the door which was a danger to us both. "Perhaps you should come in and close the door behind you," I suggested to her gently. This was supposed to be a spy, one of the best in the business and right now she seemed like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Then just as quickly as she'd slipped into the trance, she snapped out of it.
I blinked and her gun was pointed at me and the door was closed behind her. Where the keys had disappeared to, I didn't stop to wonder. "Well it seems we are once again at an impasse." She had yet to speak. I couldn't wait to hear the first sarcastic phrase pass through those sharply witty lips.
"Perhaps an impasse, but if you were going to kill me you would have done it already and we would not be having this conversation." Who had the upper hand at this moment, I don't think either one of us knew. The only thing that mattered was the fact that my actions had a purpose and she was about to find out what that purpose was.
"Touché, Ms. Bristow." And once again she had managed to surprise me. Sydney Bristow seemed to be a constant source of amazement. She could go from clingy and whiny to strong and witty within the span of a few moments. "I've come to make a deal with you."
"Have you really," she moved gracefully towards the living room. "Well, if we're going to discuss business I suppose I should ask you to sit down." She motioned with her hand to the couch a few meters away from where he stood.
"I prefer to stand actually, but by all means." She sat down on the couch but kept her weapon in her hand, though she placed it in her lap. "I propose a trade."
"What kind of trade," she asked calmly, almost too calmly, like she knew what I was going to say before I'd even entered the room.
"I can deliver Allison Doren to you." I chose my words carefully as I knew that she would inevitably be able to read between the lines easily.
"Why would you want to do that? Allison is your partner isn't she?" The connotation was obvious, she knew about our former relationship.
"She is no longer of value to me, which is not to say that she's not important to the Covenant."
She seemed to ponder this point for a few moments before asking the question that she had been postponing until the last possible moment. "And what would you be asking for in return?"
The two words I give her, shock her again.
"Lauren Reed." With that I walked towards her along the back of the couch and pressed myself up against her ear. "I'll contact you in a couple of days for your answer." I turned around and walked out of the house leaving no trace of myself except for the vivid memory I'm sure Sydney had of my visit.
************
If one were to look for honesty in the world that I live in, they would be hard pressed to find it. I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't have an angle working for them at the time. Everyone always has ulterior motivations, no one does anything without having more than one purpose. Normally the main reason is the hidden one and then the obvious reason is thought up after the fact to cover the honest motivation. It's sad to think that you never fully know what someone wants from you. Every conversation, every deal, every death has more than one purpose.
The same could be said for me, as I am no exception to the rule.
I suppose that having no real identity would make me a part of a whole. I would be consider one within the ranks of assassins, instead of Sark. It's funny how I think of myself as separate from them though. The title does not define who I am and yet at the same time, I am no one. It is possible to be a paradox in yourself. I am everyone and I am no one. How could I ever explain that feeling to someone else?
The sky above the park bench is gray for the first time since I arrived in L.A. three days ago. The clouds seem to be waiting for me with their threatening appearance. They will open up and pour down before the day is over. That doesn't really concern me, what does concern me is the fact that my contact is late again. He doesn't seem to consider that I have other things that I have to do today, this is not my only appointment. Also, he's taking a great risk meeting me out here. It's a necessary risk, one that he had to take in order to maintain his tenuous relationship with my employer and his current place of employment.
He sat down beside me, most dangerously, holding a newspaper to try and conceal the fact that we were talking. "Warehouse 28, 8pm," he said to me as surreptitiously as he could. I nodded slightly in agreement as he picked himself up and walked on leaving the paper behind him.
I walked calmly away and mused at how amazingly easy it was to infiltrate the CIA. All you needed to know was the right button to push in order to get the desired result. I knew the right button on Michael Vaughn, and he will bring the downfall of my enemies.
Thanks: To Lauren. And Kelsey!
Perhaps the house on the cliff meant more than I original assumed. Ireland was the one place that I had for myself, now it's been tainted by my occupation. I never wished for that to happen but now that it has there's no escape.
One must cut one's losses though and the place will be on the market tomorrow morning. In my work, you have to be able to make split second decisions with conviction or you end up dead. A depressing thought to say the least, one which I have absolutely no intention of ever becoming a reality. When I do die, as all people eventually do, it will be on my own terms not someone else's. Only the facts matter in this instance. My home has been compromised and like a disease, the only response is quarantine and eventual containment. I will never return to that house, those cliffs, or even to that county. It has been damaged by Ms. Bristow's visit, and now has none of the purity which I admired about it.
Besides, things are just things. They bear little consequence. Everything in that house is completely replaceable. There were chairs, a table, a bed, some pillows, nothing that would say anything about the kind of man I am, or the kind of man I'm not. When you live like I do, you can't afford to take risks like owning things that distinguish your personality from others. It's not worth risking yourself for a bunch of material possessions that could ultimately be replaced at any time.
Every risk I've ever taken, including the purchase of the house, has been a calculated one. Carefully weighed odds and loyalties are considered. I'll admit, some decisions, most notably the one to precede the meet in Stockholm knowing that Irina was aware of my whereabouts and entering the final phases of her plan, were not as meticulous as I would have liked, or believed them to be. But I will not seek retribution.
The quest for revenge has never led anyone away from the path of grief. Truly, has it ever forwarded someone's cause to punish those responsible for his condition? The only thing that revenge does well is distract. Passion of any sort only impedes the expected result. I have never sought revenge for anything that was done to me, nor will I. Not because I am above it, I'm not naïve enough to believe that to be the case, but because it is not useful. Revenge serves no purpose but to fuel the fire of passion and engulfed in those flames mistakes are inevitable.
There is no room for mistakes. They are a direct result of the carelessness that comes with feeling. That's why emotion is so frown upon whether that weakness is anger, hatred, desire, love or some other indistinguishable feeling. These things are completely unnecessary. Contrary to popular belief, a fulfilling life can be lived without love and long stretches of sorrow. Why severe bouts of depression appeal to people has always eluded me. Why would people want to bring that upon themselves willingly? The stupidity of the human race never ceases to astound me.
The solitude of the rental car was a perfect choice after spending so many hours in crowds the loneliness was welcome. Even trapped in rush hour traffic, blending into the masses, the serenity overwhelmed me. The calm that I felt signified the calm before the storm, to borrow the cliché. I couldn't even tell you what the band on the radio sang about, it was a blur of drums, bass and guitar. The strong melody was suppressed to background noise as my concentration switched to the job at hand, though I would not arrive at my destination for hours yet. Preparations had already begun.
**********************
I sat and waited, my arrival being earlier than anticipated, my target was not expected for another hour. Patience held great value in the business of trade. Trade of physical matter, trade of information, trade of lives, it didn't matter what the target may have been it's always the same. That makes life sound trivial, and maybe it is.
Cynicism and pessimism often seem interchangeable in my case. I don't see myself as cynical or pessimistic, but realistic and practical. We all die one day, people should just learn to accept that fact. The inevitability of death doesn't bother me as it does most, maybe that's why I'm able to sleep perfectly well at night. I chose to play the role that suited me perfectly. My job is portrayed differently in Hollywood movies, nights full of nightmares after which I'd wake up in the morning screaming at the horror of my actions. But that's just something that writers and directors created to ease the minds of the masses. Most people like me, competently trained assassins, are cold, emotionless, practical people who are few and far between those of us who label ourselves assassins. Because we are detached we don't require anti-depressants or nerve suppressors, or trips to the psychiatrist, though I have been a psychoanalytical patient once as part of an assignment. We are completely self-sufficient. We don't need anyone to clean up our messes, that's where the competency comes into play.
I hear her car pull up just minutes before she opens the door. I know that she'll be totally alone, tomorrow is her day off and she likes to spend it away from people, much like myself. I pull out my .9mm which already has a bullet waiting in the chamber for her should she decide to do something heroically foolish as she has done so many times in the past.
"Just because you're on American soil now, doesn't mean that I can't kill you." The sense of irony does not escape my notice as she is quite as shocked as I was when she made her unexpected appearance. After a lengthy pause I began again, "I see you weren't expecting me." No, she hadn't been expecting me, she still had her keys frozen in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. She also had yet to close the door which was a danger to us both. "Perhaps you should come in and close the door behind you," I suggested to her gently. This was supposed to be a spy, one of the best in the business and right now she seemed like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Then just as quickly as she'd slipped into the trance, she snapped out of it.
I blinked and her gun was pointed at me and the door was closed behind her. Where the keys had disappeared to, I didn't stop to wonder. "Well it seems we are once again at an impasse." She had yet to speak. I couldn't wait to hear the first sarcastic phrase pass through those sharply witty lips.
"Perhaps an impasse, but if you were going to kill me you would have done it already and we would not be having this conversation." Who had the upper hand at this moment, I don't think either one of us knew. The only thing that mattered was the fact that my actions had a purpose and she was about to find out what that purpose was.
"Touché, Ms. Bristow." And once again she had managed to surprise me. Sydney Bristow seemed to be a constant source of amazement. She could go from clingy and whiny to strong and witty within the span of a few moments. "I've come to make a deal with you."
"Have you really," she moved gracefully towards the living room. "Well, if we're going to discuss business I suppose I should ask you to sit down." She motioned with her hand to the couch a few meters away from where he stood.
"I prefer to stand actually, but by all means." She sat down on the couch but kept her weapon in her hand, though she placed it in her lap. "I propose a trade."
"What kind of trade," she asked calmly, almost too calmly, like she knew what I was going to say before I'd even entered the room.
"I can deliver Allison Doren to you." I chose my words carefully as I knew that she would inevitably be able to read between the lines easily.
"Why would you want to do that? Allison is your partner isn't she?" The connotation was obvious, she knew about our former relationship.
"She is no longer of value to me, which is not to say that she's not important to the Covenant."
She seemed to ponder this point for a few moments before asking the question that she had been postponing until the last possible moment. "And what would you be asking for in return?"
The two words I give her, shock her again.
"Lauren Reed." With that I walked towards her along the back of the couch and pressed myself up against her ear. "I'll contact you in a couple of days for your answer." I turned around and walked out of the house leaving no trace of myself except for the vivid memory I'm sure Sydney had of my visit.
************
If one were to look for honesty in the world that I live in, they would be hard pressed to find it. I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't have an angle working for them at the time. Everyone always has ulterior motivations, no one does anything without having more than one purpose. Normally the main reason is the hidden one and then the obvious reason is thought up after the fact to cover the honest motivation. It's sad to think that you never fully know what someone wants from you. Every conversation, every deal, every death has more than one purpose.
The same could be said for me, as I am no exception to the rule.
I suppose that having no real identity would make me a part of a whole. I would be consider one within the ranks of assassins, instead of Sark. It's funny how I think of myself as separate from them though. The title does not define who I am and yet at the same time, I am no one. It is possible to be a paradox in yourself. I am everyone and I am no one. How could I ever explain that feeling to someone else?
The sky above the park bench is gray for the first time since I arrived in L.A. three days ago. The clouds seem to be waiting for me with their threatening appearance. They will open up and pour down before the day is over. That doesn't really concern me, what does concern me is the fact that my contact is late again. He doesn't seem to consider that I have other things that I have to do today, this is not my only appointment. Also, he's taking a great risk meeting me out here. It's a necessary risk, one that he had to take in order to maintain his tenuous relationship with my employer and his current place of employment.
He sat down beside me, most dangerously, holding a newspaper to try and conceal the fact that we were talking. "Warehouse 28, 8pm," he said to me as surreptitiously as he could. I nodded slightly in agreement as he picked himself up and walked on leaving the paper behind him.
I walked calmly away and mused at how amazingly easy it was to infiltrate the CIA. All you needed to know was the right button to push in order to get the desired result. I knew the right button on Michael Vaughn, and he will bring the downfall of my enemies.
