A/N: The gadgets mentioned in this part are borrowed from 1.04, "A Broken Heart," and 1.10, "Spirit."

Sixteen–Confidantes

"You still have that newlywed glow," Dorothy remarked as she placed Madison's sandwich on the table in front of her.  "How long have you been married now?"

Madison forced a smile and looked up at her older friend.  "Eight weeks this Friday."

"Two months already," she mused.  "Seems like just yesterday you walked in here, new to L.A.  And now you're married."  She shook her head.  "If you need anything, just yell."  With that, she winked and disappeared into the kitchen.

Madison absent-mindedly paged through a magazine while she ate her lunch.  She read about various foreign locales and how to travel there on a budget, but the article that impressed her was written by someone familiar, she realized as she stared at the small photo by the byline.  The waiter on his first brush pass, she remembered.  She smiled to herself as she left the restaurant and slipped inside the waiting taxi down the street.

It truly was a small world after all.

*****

"Miss Thompson!"  He rushed down the hallway to where she stood in the middle of the Ops Center.  "It's been awhile."

She smiled at him warmly.  "Marshall, right?"  He nodded.  "Thanks so much for meeting with me and designing the op tech," she continued.  "I really do appreciate it."

"It was nothing," he said shyly.  "Come here—let me show you all the cool stuff I've got."  Madison followed him into his office.  "They let you have a drum set in here?" she asked.

"Just don't tell Mr. Devlin," he grinned.  "Although I've got a song written about him that I think he would like—want to hear it?"

Her eyes danced even as she shook her head no.  "Sorry, I've got a lot of work ahead of me this afternoon.  Maybe another time?"

"You bet," he agreed amiably.  "Okay, Miss Thompson—"

"I told you, call me Grace," she chided.

"Fine, Miss—I mean, Grace.  I was looking over your op on Friday—just your basic Fourth of July company picnic, right?—and decided to go a little old school."

She stared at him blankly.  "Huh?"

"What I mean is, I took a few things that I had already designed and tweaked them a bit."

Her face cleared.  "Oh.  That's fine," she said.  "Just as long as it works."

"Oh, they will work," he assured her.  "I guarantee it."  He stretched out his hand to pick up a purse and a pair of glasses, knocking off a stack of computer disks in the process.  "Whoops," he muttered to himself.  "Don't worry, I'll pick them up later," he said when she bent down to retrieve the scattered disks.

Madison shrugged.  "Okay.  So what have we got?"

The two agents spent the next few minutes examining the purse, complete with a parabolic microphone, and the sunglasses with the telephoto lenses.

She removed her compact from her purse and stared at her reflection critically.  "I don't really think I look super-swank, Marshall, but the glasses are great," she praised him.  "You're a genius."

Marshall blushed.  "I just hope they help you with this mission you're on.  I wanted to make sure you had the very best op tech this weekend; maybe you'll be able to wrap this up soon."

"Doubtful," she sighed, removing the sunglasses.  "At the rate we're going, this op will never end."  She shook her head and decided to change the subject.  "Who else used these?  You mentioned that these were some of your classic gadgets."

She knew instantly who the agent was when she saw Marshall's smile fade.  "Sydney," she said softly.  He nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears.  "How is everybody doing?"

Marshall walked over to a box of tissues and loudly blew his nose before answering.  "It's hard," he said finally.  "It's been hard on all of us.  And I still—I still—I still forget sometimes.  You know, that she's gone.  Like, I perfected this gadget that I've been working on forever, and I ran out there to her desk . . . and there was some new kid sitting there."  He paused.  "She—she was a good friend.  And I miss her.  We all miss her."

Madison reached over and hugged him; she was surprised when he hugged her back.  "Thanks," he muttered as he released her and grabbed another tissue.

"I'll let you get back to work," she said quietly.  At the door she paused.  "Thanks for doing this for me, Marshall.  I appreciate it."

He nodded, and she softly closed the door behind her.  She slipped the sunglasses in her new purse and carried it in her left hand as she walked through the Ops Center.

"Grace," she heard a voice call out ahead of her.

Madison looked to her left and smiled.  "Hey, Eric.  What's up?"

His expression remained serious.  "We need you in the briefing room."

"Okay," she agreed, falling into step with him.  "Did we finally track down the weapons?"

Weiss silently led her into the briefing room and indicated where she should sit.  It was one of the smaller rooms, barely large enough for the two large tables that were pushed together.  Madison smiled at Ashley and Isabel as she scooted her chair in, but she got no response.  Weiss sat down beside her, and Ashley began to speak.

"Four months ago you asked me to investigate the disappearance of one of Madison's co-workers."  She opened a file folder and pushed it across the table.  "Grace, is this a picture of the woman you wanted us to find?"

Madison studied the photograph.  The hair was different, and her trademark smile was missing, but . . . "Yeah, that's Fiona."  She looked up.  "Why?  Did you find her in witness protection?"

Isabel shook her head.  "You're looking at a picture of Gabrielle Brochand.  She's a freelancer who in the past has worked with K-Directorate and the Triad."

Madison willed her jaw not to drop.  "Who is she working for now?" she asked calmly.

"No one.  Grace, her body was found in the Pacific about three months ago," Ashley said quietly.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"She's—she's dead."  She closed her eyes, ordered the tears not to fall.  There was no need to cry over someone who wasn't who she seemed.

Suddenly her eyes flew open.  "She played me . . . just like I'm playing him," she realized.  Isabel looked at her sympathetically while she continued.  "But what did she want from me, from Madison?  Madison's just a nobody."

"That's where it gets interesting," Weiss interjected.  "When her body washed ashore, she was just another Jane Doe.  She wasn't identified as Gabrielle until a few days ago, after the video surfaced."

"Video?"

"Her execution was filmed," Ashley said grimly.  "They wanted us to know who was responsible."

"Monday afternoon Agent Bentley received a copy of the video from one of his contacts.  To be honest, we weren't even sure who the woman was until we finally got it out of her killer."

"You talked to her killer?" she asked, surprised.

"Ironically, he's already a prisoner here.  His face is never on camera, but that cocky British accent of his is unmistakable," Weiss added.

"I want to see him."

All three looked at her, aghast.

"No way, Gracie."

"You're wasting your time, Grace."

"Grace Thompson, I'm not letting you near that devil!"

Madison rolled her eyes.  "Do we have anything else to discuss?"  All three slowly shook their heads no.  "We can meet again later this afternoon.  I don't have to be home until six."

Ashley muttered something, and Isabel promptly smacked her.  "You suck at keeping your word, Ash."

Weiss snickered.

"On that note, I'll see you later."  A hint of a smile crossed Madison's face.  "I have a prisoner to interrogate."

*****

Madison walked down the familiar hallway, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" the guard smirked at her.  He looked her up and down.  "It's been awhile."

She sighed; why did she always have to deal with this cretin?  "I'm here to see the prisoner," she said automatically.  "The new prisoner, that is."

"You're not authorized to see him," the guard began.

"She's being added to the list now," Weiss called out, walking up from behind her.  He glared at the guard.  "So let her in."

Madison looked gratefully at Weiss as the guard grimaced.  "Fine."  He entered in a series of numbers and allowed her to pass him, journeying once more down the long corridor.

It was only as she neared the glass that Madison realized she didn't even know who she was approaching.  It was a he, according to the guard, and he was classified as a devil by Isabel—not that that told her much.

Nothing prepared her for the blond hair and blue eyes that bore into hers.  She mentally cursed herself.

Mr. Sark.

She stood there for a few minutes, giving off what she hoped was her coldest expression.  She would need it to battle wits with him.  Despite his age, he was already legendary in the intelligence world.

And yet here he was, behind bars.  Her lips twisted into a cold smile.  A smirk, some might call it.

If she could talk with Irina Derevko, this should be nothing.

"I'm Agent Thompson," she began.  "I am here to discuss a video tape which the CIA has recently acquired.  I presume you know what I am referring to?"

He sauntered over to the glass.  "I presume you are referring to your precious friend Fiona being shot in the head three times.  Isn't that correct, Madison?"

Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as she had hoped.

"She was only Fiona to you.  Everyone has an alias, do they not?"  Sark paused, reflecting.  "I identify myself as Mr. Sark, even though that was not my given name at birth.  Irina posed for ten years as Laura Bristow.  And you, Agent Thompson—surely you didn't think I was unaware of your alias?  I wonder what that scientist—Christopher, is it?—would say if he knew that his little wife didn't really answer to the name Madison, that she is actually a government agent."

"Obviously Gabrielle Brochand was in your employ.  The question is, in what capacity?"

"Does it really matter now?  In the end, she failed on her mission."  He looked at her meaningfully.  "In that way, she reminds me of you."

"What was her assignment?" Madison asked through gritted teeth.

"Nothing extraordinary.  Insinuate herself in the life of someone, become that person's confidante . . . sound familiar?"

"It appears that you are as interested in the biological weapons as we are," she stated with a calmness she didn't feel.  "Why?  Are your own associates so inferior that you had to piggyback our operation?"

He shook his head.  "You don't know yet, do you."

She took his bait.  "I don't know what?"

"Come now, Grace, you didn't really believe all of your FDA research, did you?  You had to suspect that some of those records were falsified."  She kept her mouth closed, biting back the retort welling up inside her.  "Next you'll say that you believe all of your agents are loyal to your country."  He laughed.  "You'll learn differently soon enough."  He flashed her a daring smile.

The two remained silent as one agent smirked and another fought to keep her temper.

"By the way," he spoke again, "I must say you married well.  Christopher Burke . . . he's a brilliant scientist.  He's excellent at his job."

Madison held her breath.

"He was instrumental in getting the FDA approval early.  You must thank him from all of us for that," Sark added as an afterthought.

"Early?" she echoed.

"Yes.  It hit the markets a few months ago.  But I'm sure you and the CIA already knew that," he smirked.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she growled.  "I'll be in touch."  She spun on her heel and returned down the long hallway.

He waited until she disappeared from view.  "Doubtful."

*****

"Thanks for letting me see him."  Madison sank onto Weiss's desk.  "I owe you."

"Doesn't everybody?" he quipped.  "So what did Pretty Boy have to say?"

She shook her head.  "You're not going to believe this.  He said that—wait.  Where are Ashley and Isabel?  They should hear this too."

"They got a phone call about five minutes ago and high tailed it out of here."  He shrugged.  "They didn't say when they would be back."

"Oh."  She quickly relayed her conversation with Sark.

Weiss whistled.  "So not only are the weapons a threat, but they're being used already?  God, what next?"

"My thoughts exactly."  She absent-mindedly ran her left hand through her hair.  "The thing that bothers me the most is that this happened since I made contact with Burke.  I should have noticed something, should have been able to stop this from happening."

"Don't beat yourself up, Grace.  You're doing a great job."  He patted her arm.  "Besides, how do we know that Sark is telling the truth?"

"How do we know he's not?" she countered.

He sighed.

"There was something else Sark said," Madison remembered.  "Besides the fact that the weapon is already being used."

Weiss stared at her.

"He all but said we have a mole."

He sat up straight.  "What were his exact words?"

She closed her eyes, concentrating.  "Something about how I was going to say that I believed everyone in the CIA was loyal, but that I would know differently soon enough."

He swore under his breath.  "The bastard is threatening us from our own jail cell."

"But could he be right?" she questioned.  "Could there be a mole in this operation?"

"You trust Ashley and Isabel, right?"

"With my life," she assured him.

"I know we don't know each other very well, and this is gonna sound lame, but I swear to you, I'm not—"

"I wasn't accusing you," she interrupted.  She paused.  "Besides, Jack trusts you.  That's the highest kind of recommendation you can get."  She flashed him a weak smile.

"We're going to have to look at every agent who has ever been involved with this, aren't we."

"'Fraid so, Eric."  She glanced at her watch.  "Uh-oh.  I've got to get out of here.  Burke is expecting me home soon."

"We can talk on the way; I'm your designated driv—" Weiss was interrupted by the ringing phone.  "Weiss.  Mr. Devlin!  Yes, sir.  Right here, sir.  What?  Now?  Yes, sir.  We're on our way."  He replaced the receiver and looked at her.

"What?"

"Change of plans.  Devlin needs to see you at headquarters asap."

"Are you sure he said headquarters?  I've never even been in the LA office; it's considered too dangerous."

"For whatever reason, right now he's willing to make an exception."  He pulled his keys out of his pocket.  "Come on, let's go."

*****

"Hello, Kaye," Madison said, reading the nameplate on the secretary's desk.  "I'm here to see Mr. Devlin."

Kaye looked up from her computer.  "Agent Thompson?"  Madison nodded.  "Hang on," she said, picking up her phone.  "She's here," Kaye said into the receiver.  "All right.  I'll tell her."  She hung up the phone.  "Mr. Devlin will be here in a few minutes.  You can have a seat while you wait."

"Thanks," Madison replied as she eased herself into one of the empty chairs.  She glanced at her watch.  Five-twenty.  She hoped whatever Devlin had to say wouldn't take too long.  If she was a few minutes late coming home, she could always blame traffic.  But if it was more than that . . . she could see it now.  "Hey Chris, I was late because I had to meet with my boss about the swallow mission I'm on.  With you."  She grimaced.  That wouldn't go over well.

"Grace," Devlin greeted her as he entered the reception area.  "I need you to come with me."

She dutifully rose from her seat and followed him back out the door.  "No offense, sir, but I don't have a lot of time to talk with you.  If I don't get home soon, Burke will begin asking questions and—"

Devlin shook his head and laughed.  "Dinner is the least of your worries."  He motioned with his hand.  "There's something you have to see."

Sighing, she continued to follow him down the hallway.  He opened a door and held it for her, allowing her to enter the communications center.  An entire wall was filled with television screens.  They allowed agents to monitor all hallways.  The CIA rotunda.

And interrogation rooms.

Madison turned to face Devlin.  "What is going on?  Why didn't someone tell me?"

"Because it's not what you think, Grace," he replied.  He looked at her meaningfully and pointed to the screen.  "We didn't apprehend Burke."

Her brain processed this information quickly.  If he had not been apprehended, why would a known terrorist be in a CIA interrogation room?  She drew in a breath.  "You mean that . . ."  She couldn't finish her sentence.

Devlin nodded.  "We had a walk in."

tbc