Chronic Vertigo
Chapter Four: Catalyst [Part C]

Author: Kira [kira at sd-1 dot com]
Genre: Romance/Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We all know the drill. I don't own Alias, so please don't sue me. I'm already in debt. And even if you did sue me, it would come off my credit card and I'd still be in debt. So, right. You're better off leaving me be.
Author's Note: Feedback = updates. I swear, that's a real math equation.



"They say you wanted to speak with me." Headache still pounding despite large doses of painkillers, Michael Vaughn pulled a chair up from the far side of the cell and placed it before Mitchell, sitting properly in it while he awaited the prisoner's response.

"I don't suppose they allow weapons in here?" he asked somewhat hesitantly, leaning against the wall behind the cement slab that served as a cot. Vaughn laughed and moved aside his coat to reveal his holster, something he'd come to wear everywhere he went now. It gave him a sense of control he'd lost in the last few months, the illusion of a wish he held onto with all his might.

Mitchell sucked in a harsh breath and retreated farther against the wall.

"Now, what did you want to say?" Vaughn asked, eyebrows raised. He was annoyed, he was aching, and he wanted to go home. There was no conceivable reason why Mitchell would only speak to him, unless he wished to torture him further.

Mitchell sighed. "Information, of course. If it will warrant my release."

"Get real. You willingly betrayed CIA officers, not to mention engaged in illegal activities after faking your death…" He trailed off, astounded he would ask for such a thing. It was – unthinkable. No, he'd had a chance to chat with Kendall before coming in here, and after getting through the expected barrage of explenatories over the failed regression attempt, had learned that after they finished with Mitchell here, he would be sent to Langley for an intensive debrief and ultimately imprisonment for the rest of his time on this Earth. Furthermore, his home and assets were to be liquidated, and his home used for undercover sting operations inside Colombia.

Vaughn had been released to speak to Mitchell a short time later with the order for another regression looming over his head. It was clearly apparent that the FBI transplant director had not heeded Dr. Kerr's warnings about a second attempt, displaying a complete disregard for his subordinates. Add that to the pounding headache he had and this uncooperative prisoner, and it could be said that Vaughn was no longer having a good day.

"I'm sure we can negotiate a trade of some kind. My information for my freedom."

"I don't think we can agree to that," Vaughn retorted, his voice rising. Mitchell held up his hands.

"Surely, you can do *something*."

"Even if I could, I wouldn't help scum like you. Tell me what you know and I might reconsider breaking your face right now."

"Under all these eyes?" Mitchell asked. Vaughn nodded, the pressure in his head building. Not now. Please, not now.

"Do you think they'd hesitate to help me?" he spit at the man, the traitor. "After what you've done? Most men here would die before betraying a partner or a team."

"Most men were not faced with my situation," Mitchell simply stated, crossing his arms.

"And what was your situation?"

The prisoner shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position on the slab, a nervous twitch to cover his unease with the situation. Vaughn felt no sympathy for the man – it was his own fault he was sitting here across from a man who had threatened to kill him once already.

"Do or die."

"Oh, well, I'm just overwhelmed by your sense of loyalty," Vaughn remarked offhand. Mitchell scoffed and shook his head.

"It's obvious you've never been in a situation of th – "

Vaughn interrupted, his temper flaring. A finger was pointed at Mitchell, almost jabbing him as if it were a sword. "No, I have been in a situation like that. And you know what? I didn't just leave my teammates to die just so I could get out of there. I did everything in my power to get them out. *That* is what do or die is, Mr. Mitchell. Not your skewed version."

"But what if you *would* die, attempting to save your teammates. And not only you, but your family as well?"

That stopped Vaughn in his tracks. He hid it well, like most of his emotions, his mind wrapping itself around the question. Yes, if it were his life on the line, he would have no apprehensions about sacrificing himself to save his team. The death of another when it could have been avoided, when *he* could have stopped it, never settled well in his stomach. But his family? How could he sacrifice a broken family for men who had more? Selfish as it may sound, he'd already had one loss while most had none. Could he leave his team to save his mother?

Would she want him to?

"She wouldn't want her life from that blood."

"But you would," Mitchell replied. "I can see it. You say one thing but would do another. How can you question my loyalty when you are the same way? I simply voice my opinions instead of hide behind some outdated CIA doctrine."

"Outdated?" Vaughn asked. "You think…wait, you're saying the loyalty to your team, to your country, that is addressed by the CIA doctrine is outdated?"

"We live in a new world. That was written and addressed in a nicer time. This was the cold war, Michael, when there was no black and white."

"There never was," Vaughn replied, brushing Mitchell's use of his first name away dismissively. It sounded so impersonal and generic, as if he could insert any name there and it would have the same meaning. He was attempting to become personal, to launch another attack against him with his memories, to catch him off-guard.

But Vaughn's emotions were locked away, the key lost somewhere in time. And while from time to time the latch would break and they would pour out like water from a broken damn, he quickly repaired and closed them away, hoping this time, the latch was strong enough.

"Can you get me a piece of paper and a pen?" Vaughn looked up sharply, surprised. "I can tell you where it is. It's the least I owe to your mother."

Vaughn swung a right hook before leaving the cell.

::

"I don't understand. If we know where the computer is, then why are we wasting our time with Mom?" Sydney Bristow stood tall and definent, as always, looking amazingly sophisticated in her long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. It was some kind of genetic trait; it had to be, for her to look so wonderful no matter what she wore. And while most people in the offices would be sent home, unable to pull off the look, she flew by with flying colors, no one even noticing her dressed-down approach.

"Do you really trust this Mitchell?" Kendall asked, raising a characteristic eyebrow. With one arm across his chest and the other resting on his chin, he looked ever bit the analyst he had started this life as. Sydney sighed and let her head drop just a bit.

"It doesn't matter. This is a chance we have to take!" she almost yelled. "I'm not going to sit here and wait for Sloane or Irina to come for Vaughn. We have to do something *now*."

"I understand your concern, Agent Bristow, but we – "

"No you don't! You put him under regression when you *knew* how dangerous that could be – "

"There is information he holds that we need in order to use this computer! And we have no idea how to re – "

"If you would only listen to what Irina said. The code is in the journal. We just have to say that and we'll have it."

"But Agent Vaughn, if you remember, disposed of the journal four months ago!" Kendall's voice boomed throughout the conference room, all the heads in the room shooting up to watch the two officers, wondering who would make the next move. It was Jack who did, moving in on them from the other side of the room with his voice.

"Do we really want more people to have that information?" he pondered out loud. Sydney cast him a murderous look, her brown eyes matching his for that one moment. "If we don't do anything, we reduce the chances that Sloane can use it."

"But that puts the burden all on one person," Marcus Dixon spoke up calmly from where he sat at the U-shaped table.

Kendall rubbed his forehead, his eyes widening unconsciously. Issues of morality and ethics had never been his strong point. A career man to the core, Kendall had done what needed to be done before even considering the human aspects of the task. It was one of the admirable yet questionable attributes of his personality that landed him his position on the investigatory board that had brought him to his current situation. Dixon's point, while a valid one, had little impact on him. He was not going to be swayed.

"We have received some preliminary information from Langly," he said to the group. "I don't know about you, but leaving this location with as few people as possible seems like a pretty good idea."

"We know Sloane wants this information! I can't see how you can – "

"Bait," Vaughn interrupted Sydney, speaking up for the first time since presenting Mitchell's contribution to their investigation. "But it doesn't make any sense," he continued, now thinking out loud. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the table top. "Mitchell and Irina's information contradicts each other."

"Unless she is going after something else," Jack rose.

"But what?" the younger agent retorted.

"That's what you're going to find out. Agent Bristow, take Dixon and find out what Derevko is up to in Russia. Agent Vaughn, you and Agent Weiss find out if Mitchell is telling the truth."

"Sounds reasonable," Jack replied, but the tone of his voice seemed to suggest otherwise. It was easy to suspect such a slippery man of ulterior motives, an image he did nothing to change.

Kendall nodded to him and turned to Vaughn, shooting a pointed look, one to launch the subordinate from his seat and send him off to find his magic-trick performing partner. He didn't stay to see Vaughn's sympathetic and reassuring glance in Sydney's direction, more did he wish to witness her worried and masked reply. To him, there was a time and a place for all of that, and a CIA briefing room was neither.

//

"Dude, we're going to have a ton of fun. Think of the food – you know how much I love Chinese food," Weiss babbled, yo-yo rolling up and down next to him in perfect sync with his own movements. Their brisk pace, learned after years of last minute meetings and ASAP information exchanges, provided no obstacle for the self-taught yo-yo master, for even as Vaughn sped up in some kind of insanity-born experiment, the man-yo-yo symmetry never suffered.

"We're going on a mission to Hong Kong and all you can think of is food?" he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Weiss suddenly clapped his hands together, the moment when people would jump with surprise punctuated with nothingness as these trained professionals continued on with their tasks, having no time to reply.

"We should go visit Apple!" he exclaimed. Vaughn groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes, missing the spectacle that was Weiss collecting up his yo-yo, crouching to the ground at one point to catch it before it escaped him.

"Why is it you have to bring up my past girlfriends?" he breathed. Weiss shrugged as he untangled the yo-yo's string.

"Because it's more interesting than bringing up mine. Plus, you have to admit, Apple was pretty cool," Weiss commented.

"For a Communist Chinese spy, yes, she was nice and interesting," Vaughn retorted.

"You know, for a guy who swore he'd never mix romance and the job, you really have had a lot of work-related girlfriends, present one included."

"You *remember* that?" Vaughn asked incredulously, turning to face his friend.

Weiss nodded. "Yeah. Of course. But I have a good feeling about this one. Like, well, she won't betray you at the end and say she was only doing her job."

"Why, thanks," Vaughn deadpanned.

"Really. We should look up Apple. She's fun. I'm sure she can find me a girl."

"Is that all you think about?"

"Pretty much," Weiss replied. "Hey, don't look at me like that – you would be too, if you didn't have one." Vaughn simply gave him a look, a look that isn't the easiest to describe, but it was along the lines of friendship mixed with a homicidal urge that would soon pass.

It did pass, fortunately for Weiss, as Vaughn wrenched the door to a smaller, lesser-used conference room and walked in, Weiss on his coat tails. The toy was tucked deep within his suit coat's pocket, far away from prying administrative eyes. Kendall sat at one end of the wood veneered table, a folder in front of him. His faced played into that disappointed look, not because of the somewhat late arrival of his agents (as they thought that was the cause, having lost time somewhere between Chinese food and old girlfriends), but because of the contents of said folder.

He gave them a despondent look and motioned for them to sit.

"I just got this," he held the folder up, "from Langley five minutes ago."

"Not to sound pushy or anything, but what is it?" Weiss voiced.

"Mitchell's file."

"I thought we had that already," Vaughn mused, eyes narrowing.

"We did. Unfortunately, we didn't have all the information," Kendall said, opening the file. "According to this, the CIA was aware of Mitchell's faked death. In fact, they used it to their advantage."

"Wait – what?" Weiss asked. "They *knew* he'd faked his death?"

"Mitchell was placed where he was to monitor those interested in this computer, and to report back to us whenever someone came inquiring about it," he explained. Vaughn reached over and took the open file from in front of him, and for once, the director put up no protest. Weiss and Vaughn, seated next to each other, read through the information as Kendall voiced it.

"In 1976, when Mitchell was declared dead by the CIA, he was moved to Brazil to watch over a group of South American assassins looking to out the undercover agents in that region. Preliminary information said that the computer stores the names, locations, and operations of safe houses around the world. And while some have been added, some closed, well – "

"No one would be safe," Vaughn breathed. "With the location of one, they could find all of them."

"We're hoping that's the only damaging information on its hard drive, but yes, Agent Vaughn, you see the risk," Kendall replied.

"So Mitchell goes to Brazil, reports back to the CIA the names and such of these South American assassins, and we go and pick them up?" Weiss summarized. "How do they do that without the connection back to Mitchell?"

"He was moved. To Colombia, where he'd been for 20 years. As an elusive dealer, he was allowed the screen of security while keeping his secret. It was Mitchell who told us Sloane was meeting with him that afternoon, and gave us the intel to apprehend him. Unfortunately, Sloane left before the team arrived."

It wasn't all that much as a surprise. The CIA was no stranger to plants of any kind, the use of a man known to betray his fellow officers a prime candidate for this type of deep operation. With the word out that he wasn't loyal to the CIA, in fact, that he would willingly betray them in order to monetarily profit, he became sought after by all kinds of underworld citizens looking for inside information on the CIA, their operations, and, most importantly, how to circumvent the agency as to continue their operations and deals without the eyes of the CIA waiting for them to mess up and get caught.

"So why is he still in a cell?"

"Security reasons. We have to re-insert him somewhere, and we can't do that if there are rumors that he was walking free in the CIA while here." Kendall pulled another file from the small end-table behind him, almost knocking over an empty glass as he did so. Vaughn stifled a laugh. It was clear as day that Kendall, despite all his rash last second decisions and orders in the field had never been a field agent himself, something Vaughn knew was despised by Jack Bristow. How could he make the correct decisions if he'd never been in the field himself?

"According to his statement," Kendall continued, "the computer is stored in Kowloon, China at a club named for Wong Tai Sin Temple. Since the equipment is large, it's being stored in a sublevel dug during the second World War. Because of this, it shouldn't prove too difficult, even for you. This is a simple run and retrieve – go to Kowloon, get the computer, and get out of there. The Chinese government won't take kindly to a couple of CIA agents sniffing around their shadiest parts."

Kendall tossed over the pair of matching folders and stood, unconsciously straightening his tie. "I trust this won't be too hard for you, Agents Vaughn and Weiss. Don't make me regret tasking it to you."

As soon as he'd left the room, Weiss leaned back in his chair, showing off his chronic poor posture, and let out a sigh.

"I can't wait to get some of that food. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Time for the girl before that?" he asked. Vaughn shook his head.

"She leaves in," he checked his watch, "an hour."

Weiss leaned over and gave his friend a reassuring pat on the back. "Just look at the bright side – they'll have to give you two some time off sooner or later."

"Yeah. I just wish it would be sooner rather than later."


Reader Responces:

Raina: Hehe. Me too. Except kinda not. Hehe
OHM: You rock. I love you! *hug* Your reviews rock!
Kate: *laughs* Well...I guess you got your answer with these last two chapters.
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