Disclaimer: I don't own anything Alias, not making any money off this, etc.

A/N: If you're reading both fics, I recommend reading Chapter 2 of "Missing Pieces of the Puzzle" before you read this chapter.

Chapter 2 – The Betrayal of Mr. Bear

A young blond-haired boy napped upon a couch in a luxurious private plane. He dreamt he was a knight, mounted on a white horse, about to slay the dragon that terrorized his people, when the dragon spoke in his sister's voice, "Wake up Misha! I want to play!" What? Ugh, that must be Katya. Ignoring the cries and prodding of his insistent sister, he continued to feign sleep. After several minutes of being shaken and told to wake up, he finally gave in and opened his eyes to stare at the 5 year old, blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl standing before him.

"Katya, can't you see I'm trying to take a nap? Can we play later?" Misha mumbled sleepily.

Katya screwed her face up into her best pout. "But I'm bored Misha! Please play with me!"

When Misha didn't answer, Katya's face fell, her eyes brimming with tears and Misha knew she was about to cry. "Please, Misha?"

Augh, I hate making her cry. Reluctantly, he sat up. "Sure, Katya. We can play for a little while. What would you like to play?"

Katya's grin lit up the whole room. "I want to play 'I Spy'!" Katya's excitement at this idea was plainly obvious.

Misha groaned. Again? "Katya, you always want to play 'I Spy'. Let's play something else this time."

Katya pouted and put her hands on her hips. "No, Misha. 'I Spy'!"

"Alright, Katya. I'll go first. I spy…" Misha paused, looking around the cabin for an object that started with the letter "A". "I spy an apple, leftover from lunch." He pointed at a shiny red apple that sat next to the tray holding the remains of Katya's lunch.

"Okay, my turn! I spy…" Katya's eyes brightened as she scanned their cabin of the plane, looking for an object that started with the letter "B". "I spy a brown bear!" She grinned triumphantly as she held up a dark brown teddy bear.

Not again… "Katya, you always use Mr. Bear for 'B'. Try something else."

Katya giggled as she hugged Mr. Bear tightly. "But he's a brown bear, Misha! That starts with 'B'!"

Misha sighed. Every game is always the same. "Alright, Katya. Then I guess it's my turn. I spy…" he said as he scanned the cabin looking for something that started with 'C'.

An hour later, having played three games of "I Spy," Misha finally was able to convince Katya to let him go back to sleep. He had just fallen into a deep slumber when he felt someone shaking his arm, trying to wake him.

Without opening his eyes, he mumbled, "I told you to let me sleep."

"Indeed you did, Mr. Sark. We've arrived and are about to meet my employer. You still wish to meet my employer, am I correct?" Misha's dead. I'm Sark now. Sark nodded and stood up, following the dark-haired man dressed in fatigues out of the plane and into the black limo waiting for them on the airstrip.

As he rode in the limo, Sark looked out the tinted windows, taking in his surroundings and trying to determine where he was. He simultaneously replayed the morning's events, looking for clues as to who had snatched him from the exchange this morning. Everything had happened so quickly, it was almost a blur in his mind.

~Mexico, that morning~

Knowing that it was futile to attempt to escape unharmed when in the crossfire of two groups armed to the teeth, Sark docilely followed Sydney's instructions and walked in the direction of the waiting black limos. He was almost halfway to the waiting limos, when he thought he heard a faint buzzing sound. He glanced briefly around, trying to locate the source of the sound and saw none. You're just imagining things, Sark. You still hope that Irina will come to rescue you.

When he reached the other prisoner at the halfway point, Sark stopped again, indicating to the other prisoner that he should stop walking as well. There's that buzzing sound again. I still can't tell where it's coming from though. And then he saw them. Two helicopters appeared over the horizon, making a beeline towards the spot where Sark and the other hostage were standing. S**t, I'm dead. I've no weapon and no place to hide. "Get down!" Sark yelled at the other hostage, hoping that maybe the people in the helicopters hadn't seen them and would just pass them by.

The helicopters were closer now, the lead chopper opening fire on the CIA, the other firing at the Covenant. The helicopters positioned themselves with Sark and the other hostage between them, shielding them from the gunfire. The wind created by the spinning helicopter blades kicked up a whirlwind of sand, making it difficult for Sark to see what was happening. He barely made out a fatigue-clad figure jumping from the helicopter to his right, which was firing on the CIA. The man grabbed Sark and pulled him into the helicopter. As he looked out into the swirling sand outside, Sark saw another fatigue-clad man grab the other hostage and pull him into the other helicopter. Both hostages now safely aboard, the helicopters lifted off, quickly disappearing out of sight.

Sark searched for a familiar face among those in the helicopter, but found himself surrounded by strangers. I wonder what they want with me. I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Just as he was about to do so, the helicopter landed at a private airstrip in Mexico City and the occupants of the helicopter filed out and boarded the waiting plane. A dark haired man in fatigues gestured with his gun for Sark to follow so Sark boarded the plane as well; the dark haired man with his gun trained on Sark, followed right behind him. No point running now, it'll only get me killed.

Sark took in his new surroundings. Soft red velvet fabric on the walls, light tan leather furniture. Tasteful, elegant, and extremely expensive. Whoever owns this plane is obviously very well off -and has remarkably good taste.

As Sark glanced around the cabin, the other men reclined comfortably on a group of couches at one end of the cabin. The dark haired man whom had followed Sark into the plane stood by the door, watching Sark familiarize himself with the interior of the plane. His examination complete, Sark turned to the dark haired man standing next to him and extended his right hand toward him.  "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. You can call me Mr. Sark."

"I know who you are Mr. Sark. I'm Simon Walker," replied the dark-haired man as he grasped Sark's hand into a firm handshake.

Funny, I've never heard of you. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Walker. Would you mind enlightening me as to what you plan to do with me?"

"I've been told that you're a smart fellow Mr. Sark. Why don't you tell me why you think you're here?"

So my reputation precedes me. A small grin crept onto Sark's face. "I presume that you're not planning on killing me because if you were I'd be dead already. You could've killed me back at the exchange point instead of pulling me into this helicopter. With the ambush, you could even have made my death look like an accident. You also could have killed me at the airstrip instead of making me get on this plane. But I'm still here, so apparently I am most useful to you alive."

Simon nodded approvingly. "Very good, Mr. Sark. You're even more perceptive than I was told. And to answer your question, I'm taking you to see my employer."

Employer? It figures he's a hired gun. "And who might that be?"

"You'll see when we get there."

Must be under orders not to tell me who he works for. "Might I ask where you are taking me Mr. Walker?"

"You can call me Simon. And I've already told you, we're going to see my employer. Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Sark. It's going to be a long flight."

Simon brusquely walked away and rejoined his team. Having no desire to socialize with them, Sark lay down on a couch on the opposite side of the plane. He stared at the ceiling, pondering the identity of Simon's mysterious employer. It could be almost anyone. Irina. Sloane. K -Directorate. The names of a dozen other terrorist agencies came quickly to Sark's mind. Best not to try anything just yet, not until I have an idea of what I'm up against.

~Back to present day, in the limo~

Sark continued to stare out the window silently as the limo pulled up to a gated estate. He could barely make out the sun setting behind them.  We're headed east, that much I know.  Too bad I haven't a clue who wants me and for what reason.

The huge wrought-iron gates opened to let the limo in. Both sides of the driveway were flanked by immense floral gardens exploding with color. Nice touch, it looks like a florist's dream, but it's really a general's gauntlet. The flowers don't provide much cover for anyone sneaking up to the castle. They look to be mostly roses too, and with all those thorns I'm certain it'd be rather uncomfortable for anyone to hide there. But yet to the average person, it just looks like a beautiful garden. It's so subtle, this place looks almost normal. Sark admired the combination of beauty and tactical genius as the car reached a rotary surrounding an ornate fountain. Standing behind the fountain was an enormous castle, its design exuding strength and power. Barely visible amongst the centuries old architecture were cameras, gun emplacements, and various sensors. Beautiful yet utterly impenetrable- whoever lives inside is definitely one to be reckoned with. And this person has just spent a tidy sum to extract me.  Could Irina be finally calling me back to her side?  If not, then I've got a whole new set of troubles to deal with.  Right now I don't really care. At least I'm no longer in that damned glass cell. That realization brought a smile to Sark's face as he prepared to meet Simon's employer.