Four—Support

He walked slowly, his stomach churning.  In his many years at the CIA, he had seen and done everything, or so he had thought.  Lying, stealing, murder . . . all was fair game in the world of espionage.

This was not.

This went above and beyond the call of duty.  This boiled down to a short-handed office and an old friend who somehow either failed to see the irony in the situation or needed a good laugh later when he reviewed the cell tapes.

He continued walking, slowing his pace.  Avoiding the inevitable.

Left.  Pause.  Right.  Pause.

All too soon he arrived at his destination.

"Jack," she said without turning around.  "It's been awhile."

"Yes, it has," he said between clenched teeth.

"How's Sydney?"

"Fine," he answered in a detached voice as he stared at her back.  Noticed how her hair cascaded down her shoulders.  Quickly banished the thought from his mind.

"We need you to talk to Thompson," Jack began without preamble.

Irina turned and sauntered towards him.  "No."

"That was not a question," he warned.

"Nor was it an order," she retorted.

"Your obligation to this agency extends beyond the Alliance.  You will talk to her."  He glared.

"I cannot help someone whose mission I do not support," she said, leaning towards the glass, her eyes flashing.

"You don't have to support the mission.  Just talk to her."

She smirked.  "Is that what your superiors told you?"

He fought the urge to curl his hands into fists.  Instead, he pulled a piece of paper out of his suit jacket.

"Agent Grace Thompson."  He rolled the paper up and slid it through to Irina's waiting hand.  "AKA Madison Greene.  Age twenty-eight.  Recruited junior year, College of William and Mary.  Three years in analysis at Langley; advanced quickly.  Requested field training.  Served as point person on various ops overseas before leading teams of her own."

"Thompson led the team in Vienna?" Irina interrupted, staring at the page.

"Yes."

"Impressive."  At Jack's surprised look, she shrugged slightly.  "She outwitted my team of new recruits.  Obviously, I underestimated her."

He paused, blinking, before he resumed.  "She was extracted from a deep cover operation in Bogotá last October.  Since then she has established her new identity—residence, career, friends.  Meanwhile, the CIA has been tracking Burke."  Jack looked squarely in her eyes.  "We've waited long enough.  Phase two of this op begins in the next seventy-two hours."

"You still have not indicated why I should talk to her.  This"—she held up the paper in her hand—"tells me she is more than ready for another deep cover mission."

"In many ways, Thompson and Sydney are similar," Jack said.  "Their ages, their number of years in intelligence, the commendations that fill their personnel files.  But they are two very different agents.  Yes, they are both field trained, and yes, they have both served on many high-risk operations.

"But Thompson has never had to fight a guard in heels or walk through a party in a cocktail dress to gain intel.  She's good at her job and has the full backing of this agency—but she hasn't spent the last eight years flirting with men of questionable backgrounds and the like in the name of serving her country.  In many ways, Sydney would be more prepared for this op than Thompson is right now."

"Are you suggesting that our daughter—"

"No, Sydney will not be participating in this op in any way," Jack interrupted.  "Even if she was willing—which she wouldn't be—I would forbid it."

"I thought when the CIA gives you an order, you can't say no," she pointed out.

"There are ways," he said grimly.  "There are ways."

She stared at the grainy photo at the top of the page, noticing how young Thompson looked.  An ear-splitting smile, no worry lines on her face.

It was like looking at the old photograph in Sydney's SD-6 file that she had copied years earlier.  The happiness, the innocence still intact.

"Have you tried other methods of gaining information on this Burke?" she finally asked.

"Yes."  She could tell he was unwilling to elaborate.

She sighed and stared at the photograph again. 

Her ticket to America had been purchased.  She would leave in the morning and begin her most important mission to date.

"Don't fail me," Cuvee's words echoed in her mind.

"I won't," she vowed, willing her voice not to tremble.  Irina was loyal to her country and its cause.  That did not stop the cold fear that had settled in her stomach.  She was moving to a new place with a new language, new customs, new people—one person in particular.

If only she had someone to confide in, someone who could comfort her, not just give her orders . . .

Irina looked up into Jack's waiting eyes.  "I'll talk to her."

tbc