Chronic Vertigo
Chapter 7: Vinculum [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: Glenna and Jen make my writing coheirent. Without them, it wouldn't make any sense. I'm posting here since sd-1 is still down, and my readers deserve the next chapter.
He was never supposed to be a field agent.
It was through a strange sequence of events on which Eric Weiss was sent on his first mission. Confined to the hot, cramped interior of an industrial van in Italy, wiping sweat from his brow as he pushed exhaustion to the side and made something out of the fuzzy images on his multiple monitors. Accompanying a young agent, a man two years his junior who had, somehow, managed to catch up to him career wise was not Weiss' happiest assignment, and as he sat in that van with the sunlight slowly baking him like a potato, he felt that somehow, he was now the underdog.
He had a fleeting feeling that his partnership was constructed to give some push in the right direction, that direction being one of obedience and respect for the rules. A rebel since youth, Eric had always felt jokes and lightheartedness were the way to get through life, his favorite quote 'Why take life so seriously? You're not going to get out of it alive.' His childlike spirit and less than serious demeanor had been interpreted by his superiors as a type of disrespect for the agency, something they hoped to rectify, since his analytical skills were an asset they most certainly desired.
So he found himself there, watching this young, ambitious agent run through the hallways of a Italian research institute, their target – a disk full of information detrimental to the US intelligence and their technology - clutched in a white-knuckle grip. A bruise was already forming over his left eye, coupled with a gash from a guard's ring. It was Weiss' own animosity towards the entire situation that kept him from giving the clearest of directions, and as the agent came under the attack of another group of men, he felt no need to warn him of the rapidly approaching dead end. He felt, right then, that if the boy failed, he would no longer be seen as the wunderkind of French-American descent, and Weiss would be allowed to get back to his work where he belonged.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, watching the show before him. Moves he could never dream of using were utilized in the junior agent's defense, and right before his eyes, Weiss could see why he had rose through the ranks so quickly. Fully able to defend himself, the agent took out a guard pinning him to the wall and flashed Weiss a smile and thumbs up in the security camera, all dimples.
In that moment, Weiss realized he would never be rid of him. And as the agent came clambering back to the van, smiling and cracking jokes with Weiss even though he knew what he'd done - putting him in harm's way - he'd decided he'd make it up to him, no matter how many years it took.
Weiss was thankful he had a good memory, and as the second attacker under Apple's employ – and who else's? – pinned him against the wall, he prayed his older and more weighed down body could imitate that movement of Vaughn's from so long ago. What was it again? Remember!
The man's arms were on his shoulders, pushing him against the wall with the power of a bulldozer, Weiss swearing his bones would break under the force. Grab his elbow with your hands , he remembered, and reached up with both hands, lacing fingers together on each side of his elbow, and twisted. The man groaned, but the threat of dislocation from the Hapkido move pulled the man down, his other arm releasing Weiss's shoulder as he attempted to defend himself. With the man bent over, Weiss kneed him in the solar plexus and left the man gasping for breath doubled over as he ran to retrieve his gun.
Weiss kicked the injured man reaching for his gun a few times and whirled around, holding it on the other man.
"Who -" he asked, regaining his breath, astounded the movement had worked. And was so easy! "- are you working for?"
The man laughed. "You believe I will tell you?"
"I would, if in your position."
"No you wouldn't. American, you would say, what is it? Name, rank, serial number?" he retorted, sarcastic. The infiltration of American war cinema seemed to have a reach as far as the orient, the slightly inflated stories giving the Asian realm a biased and inaccurate view of the western world.
"Seeing as I don't have one…" he mused.
"Neither do I. A hired man keeps no identity."
"Your employer does. Who? And how did they know we were here?"
"Fools. Fools are always easy to predict."
"What are you talking about?" Weiss asked, taking a step closer to the man, wondering what he was alluding to in his broken English.
The man smiled. A small bit of information, and he'd trapped the CIA agent.
The first thing he felt was a sharp pain in the back of his neck.
Alerted to the man's new awakened status, Vaughn fired blindly into the darkness, hoping one shot would hit Apple and allow him to run for the door and the light beyond. He heard a few bullets hit the walls, but didn't count the discharged bullets, not knowing how many had hit his target. He ran as if his life depended on it, the heavy, confused footsteps of the other man behind him. The knocks to the head had taken their toll on the goon, and while running through the darkness, he still found himself unable to focus, to move his legs.
Vaughn threw open the door and let the sunlight flood over him.
Ignoring momentary blindness, he ran, flat out, for the stairs and the outside world.
No one, he realized to his eternal happiness, was following.
"Think. Who told you to come here?" Weiss' attacker asked, drawing him in; a spider capturing a fly. Weiss pondered the answer to the question, but said not a word. A cardinal rule, learned on the first day, was not to reveal any information while extracting as much as you could. It was obvious, he reflected, that this man knew exactly who had sent them there.
Which meant, again, Mitchell was not who he seemed.
It was a strange circle of interconnecting events that brought the CIA to the status of trusting the shady man, a decision not made lightly. Service to the CIA was like service to the Marine Corps, solid, steadfast dedication to home and country without question, the act of mutiny or desertion seen as an offense punishable by death. Those seen as traitors, while not always brought to the law, were never trusted and often left for dead if the circumstances called for it. It was only through Mitchell's last minute pardon agreement, brokered by a world on the edge of nuclear war, that he was trusted to any degree even in the modern day.
But once a traitor, always a traitor.
The full weight of the situation came tumbling down upon Weiss' shoulders, and if he weren't fueled by adrenalin, he might have shifted under the new burden. Lead like cattle to the slaughter, the CIA had played right into his plans. Sloane's plans.
No , he shook his head, the CIA hadn't. Vaughn had.
"Shit," he swore, now standing inches in front of the goon.
What was the saying? Divide and conquer? From the beginning, Apple had split them up, making sure there was no way Weiss could get to his friend until the instant she wanted him to, and the instant he reached Vaughn, the guards looked at him. Looked right at him. Damn it! She told them to, practically gave Vaughn the opening to attack, and send him off in a separate direction than that of his partner, effectively separating them.
"Vaughn!" he screamed into his earpiece, unintentionally turning his back on the still-standing guard. "Damn it, Mike, where are you?"
He headed for the back door; hand pressed to his ear as if that would will Vaughn's response from it. Forgetting the man he had been fighting only seconds before, Weiss' brotherly concern for his partner took precedent in his mind. The air was thick with the smell of decay, of rot, finally noticeable as his mind cleared, no longer locked into a survival instinct. Almost suffocating, it smothered his senses as his rushed steps echoed in the ally, heart rushing.
It took a moment before he realized the rushed beating was not his heart slamming against his chest, but the running steps of the man he'd forgotten, gaining speed as their neared Weiss. He turned, almost coming face to face with the attacker, eyes wide as he stood like a deer in headlights, frozen to the spot with nothing to do.
The man fell back in a splash of blood and heated metal, falling to the ground in a heap of flesh and bones, three bullets sizzling in his chest.
He eyed the dead body at his feet, then turned, grinning.
Once again, Vaughn had saved him, standing awkwardly in the doorway to the club, gun held strong in two hands before him. He was breathing hard, result of running down the hallway, frantic as he heard Weiss' cry through the still-functioning COM link.
"Thanks, man; he came from nowhere," Weiss sighed, wiping his brow for extra melodramatic value. Vaughn smirked and pushed off the door jam, eyeing the two bodies lying out in the sunlight. An eyebrow rose quizzically.
"You're been busy," he commented, approaching Weiss. His steps, which started straight and sturdy, suddenly deviated, crossing over into a drunken slur of a walk, pushing him over into the rear wall of the infiltrated club unexpectedly. A hand coming out to push off the building's offered assistance was waved off. Where as a moment ago he appeared the valiant savior, covering his partner's back just as he should, he morphed before Weiss' eyes into a drunken man attempting to walk the line on the side of a busy Californian highway. Like the officer observing such an attempted feat, Weiss' expression darkened, unsure of what exactly transpired as he'd battled the leftover hired men out on the surface.
Weiss forced back the urge to take a step forward and assist. "You okay?" he asked instead, desperately trying to keep his tone light.
"Yeah, yeah. Just a little dizzy, that's all," Vaughn retorted, coming to equilibrium. His eyes locked onto the wriggling man leaning against their ticket out of the stinking ally, moving like he would be able to out-crawl the two recovered agents. He was no match, the pair upon him like hunting vultures encircling their dying pray.
There were some questions that needed to be answered.
Sydney bounced into the JTF, strutting like back in high school and the cutest boy in school had just asked her out. Of course, with the recent events occurring in the government secret-keep, it was easy to fit the analogy to the spy's life at the moment, her mind filled with activities for the eve of her boyfriend's return. Her sleek brown hair that was anything but ordinary was pulled into a high, swinging pony tail, and she looked the perfect picture of contentment and ease, no worry lines crossing her face. Smiling at coworkers as she headed for her father, standing at a com station across the room, she sparkled in the otherwise bleak darkness that surrounded the space.
Inside was another matter.
If it were possible, she'd say her veins were twisted into knots, wrapping around her lungs and keeping breath from her. Tight and constricted, she put on her best face to keep hidden the apprehension and fear that gripped her, the knowledge that her love was out in the field, his life threatened by a notorious force she had seen in action wrecking havoc on her.
Better to feel this than nothing at all , she mused, approaching her father's side.
"What's up?" she asked brightly, her smile faltering as her father turned to face him, his permanent scowl even deeper than usual, lips drawn into a straight line.
"Vaughn and Agent Weiss are an hour late with their call-in," he stated simply, Kendall stnading behind him with a gaze intent on a screen. Sydney took a breath, as deep a one as she could, lungs tightening even more so than before. It this was how Vaughn had felt each and every time she was off on a mission, she was surprised he hadn't died of suffocation yet. That, she added, remembering her restless night, or exhaustion. "We've been trying to reach them but so far, we've hit nothing but static."
"That could mean a number of things. There's no reason to assume something's happened," Sydney replied, moving in to become part of the semi-circle collected around the young tech's desk, arms crossed over her chest.
"They were asked to accompany an agent from Chinese Intelligence, a Shu Apple Cho," Kendall spoke up, finally acknowledging Sydney's presence. "We just received this from her agency." The tech sitting before them took his cue and pulled up a dossier, obviously quickly translated from the original Chinese from the mistakes in simple grammar. She wished they had left it alone – for her, at least, it would have been easier to understand than interpreting this garbled English.
Her eyes, naturally, drifted to the tagged and highlighted lines.
CONFIRMED CONTACTS OUTSIDE SCOPE OF GOVERNMENTAL INVESTIGATIONS.
Despite the diplomatic language, all three agents viewing the screen knew the true meaning of this tag.
Traitor.
This agent, to whom Vaughn and Weiss were trusted, was not who she seemed. The full impact of her father's minced words when she approached became clear and she felt foolish for her faked happiness despite her father's visible warning. The failed check-in, mandatory for agents without back-up in order to assure their security, was something Vaughn, aptly nicknamed Boy Scout, would not miss no matter how much Weiss asked him to postpone it for a quick bite to eat. His failure to do so, coupled with the announcement from the corroborating government meant only a few things, possibilities Sydney didn't want to face.
"So, what are our options?" she posed with an even tone.
"The closest team is in India. It will take then 3 hours to reach Hong Kong if they left now," Jack reported. Sydney shook her head.
"That's too long. We need someone there now!" Her temper was rising, eyes narrowing. Being used to Kendall's disregard for the agents under her and her father's stonewalling didn't mean she had to accept it, her anger intensifying because of these facts.
"Agent Bristow, we are doing what we can, which isn't much right now, I admit that," Kendall replied. "But we're doing everything we can."
"Which is nothing."
"Now – "
"Sydney, I'm sure there is some reasonable explanation for the missed call," her father interjected, falling easily into his role as referee between his passionate daughter and her argumentative boss. "In the mean time," he continued, leading Sydney slowly from Kendall's earshot with his movements, "I have something else I need to show you."
"What? What is it?"
"The FBI was investigating the task force William Vaughn was on."
A deep breath left Sydney. First, her own parents under investigation, now Vaughn's? What kind of sick cycle controlled their lives?
