December 24
The first thing he saw was the cell phone. It was directly in front of his eyes, resting on the floor by his head. Sark groaned as he sat up.
He was in a motel room, and not the cleanest, judging by what else he saw on the floor.
The envelope was next to the phone. Sark picked both up, and quickly pressed redial.
It rang once, and then a male voice answered.
"What?"
"I want to speak with Ilene," Sark said firmly. He heard the line hiccup and connect elsewhere.
Static and muffled sounds were in the background, but finally he heard a very frightened and timid hello.
"Ilene?!" He immediately heard her cry.
"Julian? Is that you?" He could hear how terrified she was, and it made his heart twist in his chest.
"Ilene, are you hurt?"
"I'm okay," she said with a shaky voice.
"I'm going to get you back, I promise," he said. Sark hesitated; he wondered who else was listening. "Do you know where you are?"
He heard her say something, but suddenly a loud and high beep filled his ear.
"Mr. Sark," came the muffled voice of one of Ilene's captors. "Don't waste your time. You have three days, and if you don't make it, the deal is off. And you know what will happen to your sister then."
The call ended, and Sark threw the phone on the bed. He screamed and threw a luggage rack across the small room.
His anger threatened to continue, but Sark willed himself to calm down. He looked at his watch; it was 2 a.m.
He made another call.
"Yes." Her voice was something Sark would never forget. The no-nonsense tone to it always made him smirk.
"I have a problem I could use your help on," Sark said. His voice seemed to echo in the silence on her end.
"Nice to see you're alive, Sark. Where are you?" Irina asked.
"London."
"Meet me at the safe house there."
The safe house was nothing more than a flat in downtown London. Sark entered the flat, expecting to be early. But Irina's voice startled him.
"You look well," she said. Sark turned to the source, and saw her looking as assertive and powerful as ever.
"As do you," he answered. Irina walked to him, and circled him like he was a model on display.
"What's happened? It must be drastic to risk exposing your continued existence to me and the rest of the world," she said.
Sark smirked at her comment. "You already knew I was alive. And it is drastic." She smiled when he caught her lie, and then nodded for him to go on. "Someone has kidnapped my sister. They're demanding my services in exchange for her life."
Irina's eyes steeled immediately. "Who is it?"
Sark shook his head. "I've never seen them before. I only know what they want me to do." Irina shot him a questioning look. "They want me to steal plans to a vault, and then break into the vault."
She raised her eyebrows. "That's it?" she asked. Sark nodded.
"I have three days to get the plans, and I don't know how many after that for the vault."
Irina started to pace around the flat. "Why would they want you for such a simple job?"
Sark sighed. "I don't know. They say it's very complex, but who knows."
"What do you need?" Irina asked.
"Anything you can gather on this group. After I get the plans, I'm meeting with them before I move to the next phase," Sark said. "I could use some backup at that point."
Irina chuckled at that. "Back up? You plan on taking them out after you get the plans?"
Sark nodded, and Irina smiled with pride.
"All right. I'll help you. Contact me with the location of your next meeting with them," she said. "I'll let you know if I find anything before then."
Irina stopped pacing, and let her eyes bore directly into him.
"You know this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't left."
Sark knew she was referring to leaving her employ, but Sark could only think of the first time he left his life behind.
He turned for the door.
"I know."
The envelope's intel said the plans to this mysterious vault were in Los Angeles. Sark was somewhat annoyed and thrilled at that. With the CIA and who knows what other groups around, Sark was in danger of being exposed. However, he could see Sydney, and get her help on this operation.
Sydney. She was perfect; she already knew he was alive, and she could back him up.
He hadn't seen her since she visited him right after his "death." That time was . . precious. His family warmed up to her immediately. And she and Sark were able to become closer. The deception and lies subsided, and Sark believed she saw him for who he really was for the first time.
And he realized that Sydney was exactly who he always wanted in his life.
But they parted. She went back to L.A., and Sark stayed in Galway. They both knew she couldn't leave her life behind. And Sark couldn't change the minds of every government like he'd changed Sydney's mind.
He hadn't even contacted her at all since then.
Her roommate Francie opened the door.
"Hi, is Sydney here?" Sark asked politely. Francie smiled at him, and Sark caught a familiar glint of awe in her eyes. She finds me attractive.
Some things never change.
"Yeah, come on in," Francie invited. Sark nodded.
"Syd! Someone to see you." She turned to Sark. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No thank you," he said. His eyes fixated on the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His breathing picked up as Sydney came into view.
She was amazing, as always. It looked like she just got home from work, which surprised him given the early evening hour. Her shirt was untucked from the suit pants and her hair freshly liberated from the strict-looking bun. But she stopped in her tracks when she saw him.
"Hello, Sydney."
She slowly started towards him, but in as round-about a manner as possible. Sark cleared his throat at her hesitation.
"I didn't expect to see you here," she said. Francie picked up on the awkwardness.
"I'll let you two talk," she said, hurrying out of the room. Sark saw her mouth the word 'details' to Sydney. Not very discreet.
"Sark, you shouldn't be here," Sydney said immediately. "There are too many people who could recognize you."
Sark didn't react, but just stared at her.
"I need your help," he said. That got her attention immediately; Sark hardly accepted any help, much less asked for it.
"What is it?" Sydney asked, suddenly more grave in her tone. Sark took a deep breath.
"Someone has kidnapped my sister." Hearing that even through his own ears was hurtful. He just recovered his family; he wasn't about to lose his only sister because of his past. "I have to get something in exchange for her life."
Sydney's eyes were filled with that familiar sorrow and pity that Sark used to despise. He didn't care for it much now either, but knew he had her support.
"What do they want?" Her voice trembled, which almost sent Sark's wall of an emotional exterior into pieces.
"Plans to a vault, at this point," Sark said. "The plans are in the city." He pulled out the envelope but hesitated, waiting for a decision from her. "I don't want to involve you if you don't want to do it."
Sydney tucked her hair behind an ear and crossed her arms in front of her. "Let's see what you have."
Sark flashed her a grateful smile. "Thank you."
He pulled out the contents of the envelope. The first thing that came out was a photo of the building where the plans were kept. It was a federal building, which he expected, but not this type of federal building.
Sydney stared at the photo.
"A post office?"
Sark read over an accompanying memo. The post office was a multi-story building, and had other federal offices in it on the upper levels. The plans were kept on the sixth floor.
Sydney looked over a rough blueprint of the building.
"It doesn't look particularly tough to infiltrate," Sydney began.
Sark nodded. He brushed his fingers over his lips, a nervous and subconscious twitch he had lately. "Then again, it is a post office."
"What type of plans do they want? If it's in a federal building . . ." She trailed off, and Sark knew the moral conflict was arising.
He sighed loudly and started to pace. "We promised we wouldn't lie to each other anymore," he began. "It's to some sort of vault, probably government. I don't know what it contains that has these people so interested in it. Your mother is working on finding out more."
Sydney's eyes flashed at the mention of her mother. "So she knows you're alive?"
Sark shot Sydney a look. "You figured it out; you don't think your mother would too?"
She nodded at that, and a small smile crept onto her lips. It looked very inviting, but Sark ordered himself to focus on the task at hand.
"These blueprints show some security points in the post office," Sydney said. Every time she said 'post office,' Sark had to order himself not to laugh. "But I don't think they're guards."
Sark squinted at the marks she pointed to on the blueprints. They looked as large as the marks for outlets. "I bet it's just electronic systems. Key cards, codes or thumb prints." He ruffled through the various pages of the envelope. "Yes, key card system, according to the intel."
"We'll need something to bypass that," Sydney said. Sark smiled. The moral dilemma seemed to have subsided. He was actually relieved that they wouldn't have to squabble over—
"Sark, you have to promise me something," she said. "Whatever is in the vault, if it's potentially harmful, you cannot hand it over to your sister's kidnappers."
Crap. So much for no moral dilemma.
Sark sighed. "I'm hoping we never have to get to the vault. Your mom will back me up when I meet with them, after we get the plans."
Sydney's head tilted up as she realized his plan. "You're going to get Ilene out by force."
"I plan to do it with some finesse too, but yes, that's the basic gist of it," Sark said. "Want to help?" He flashed her a grin, to which Sydney responded with her own smile.
They stared at each other, smiling, until Sydney spoke.
"I missed you," she whispered. Her eyes gushed the emotions she had kept back while he was gone. Sark stared into her brown eyes, so soft and vibrant with the passion she always had.
Sark closed the distance between them. "I'm sorry I stayed away." His whispers danced over her lips right before he kissed her.
A sudden moment of irresistibility ignited between them, and they encircled each other in a tight embrace as the kiss deepened.
Sark's intensity almost bruised her lips, but so much was weighing on him. The kidnappers, this mission, Ilene, his family . . . Sark willed it all away to enjoy this moment.
Sydney finally pulled back, and Sark didn't understand why until he glanced up and saw Francie staring at them both, with one eyebrow raised in a teasing look.
"Um, I should go," Sark said, clearing his throat. "I have to get some things ready, and then I'll call you."
Sydney nodded, but didn't look at him or Francie.
"See you later."
Sark checked his watch. It was 5 p.m. He had little more than a day to get this mission done, and be back in time to plot his sister's rescue and her kidnappers' takedown. Of course, he still didn't know where that was; he was supposed to call for the location after he had the plans.
He stopped the car outside the post office. It was relatively new, especially for a government building.
But no one was in the building. In fact, the parking lot was empty. Sark's forehead crinkled together. The streets are sufficiently busy—why not the post office?
He smacked his hand against his forehead. Christmas Eve. He'd forgotten about the holiday. This was going to be his first Christmas back with his family. Sark was even looking forward to it.
But the holiday season slipped to the back of his mind when Ilene was kidnapped. I hope she's all right. Sark knew that if the kidnappers were anything like he used to be, her safety wasn't guaranteed.
Sark looked back at the post office. With the building already shut down, he couldn't go in undercover or anything else. It was too risky to break in at this point, and there wasn't time to wait for a business day. Sark started the car, and drove on.
He stopped by an old contact's place. The contact operated a Radio Shack, of all things, but it proved useful in getting various devices for missions. The shop was open, and Sark strolled in.
A salesman approached him.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked politely. Sark smiled and just continued past him.
"No, Troy left something for me in the back storage room," he said confidently. "I'll just get it and let you attend the last-minute Christmas rush."
The salesman started to object, but Sark never gave him the chance. He was in the backroom, and evidently convinced the man enough with his lie that Sark could quickly search the room alone.
He found what he wanted hidden behind a box of TV cables. The security key card descrambler was a little old—last year's model—but it would do. Sark put the small box inside his coat, and left the room.
"Did you find it?" the salesman asked, trying to get his word in. Sark nodded.
"Yes, thank you for your help."
He was back at Sydney's by 8:30 p.m. She answered the door.
"Good, you're back. The pizza just got here," she said, holding the door open for him. Sark shot her a bewildered look.
"Pizza?"
She smiled at that. "I have a great bottle of wine to go with it, if it makes you feel better. I got all the toppings, so pick off what you don't like."
He walked hesitantly to the kitchen, and the disturbingly appealing aroma wafted to him. The pizza was huge, and Sydney wasn't kidding; everything he could ever imagine was on the pizza.
He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. She was actually eating a piece, with every topping. Amazingly, she didn't spill any anchovies or olives that topped the pile.
"Does that actually taste good?" Sark asked. His perplexed expression almost made her laugh and lose control of the toppings. She just nodded as she continued to chew.
Pizza. He swallowed his pride and cautiously picked up a slice of the commoner's food.
There were some things in normalcy that he would never warm up to.
The first bite was more chunky than anything else. Sark fought the inner battle and swallowed. When he looked up, he saw Sydney watching him. She looked incredibly entertained.
"What?" he asked. She shook her head, holding back a laugh.
"You've never had pizza?"
Sark shot her a look. "I know what it is, but by choice, I've abstained."
His formality sent her over the edge, and she just broke down into giggles. She held her slice in one hand, with her other hand covering her stomach as she laughed. Sark's eyes focused on her piece, waving in the air and sending toppings onto the floor.
One, a bell pepper, landed by his shoe. Sark stepped back, disgusted.
Sydney just laughed harder, and soon her whole slice was upside down on her hardwood floor.
He called it quits after one piece, and filled his stomach with the wine. Sark sipped at it as he looked over the intel. He compared the security info with the descrambler he stole earlier.
"I think this will work," he said. "It may not be the fastest thing, but I don't think we'll be too rushed anyway."
Sydney looked up from her pile of papers. "Okay." She looked back down, memorizing what she could.
Sark watched her. The way she could just absorb information was, for some odd reason, fiercely attractive.
He cleared his throat. "So where is Francie?"
Sydney looked up again. "She's with her family tonight. So is Will." Sark ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry to ruin your Christmas, Sydney," he said. She smiled softly.
"This gives me something to do. My dad and I exchanged presents at work," she said. "Besides, Ilene needs our help."
He looked down and nodded at the floor. Sydney and Ilene had hit it off when Sydney came to visit him. They were like sisters that the other never had. Sark smiled at that thought.
"How is your family taking this?" Sydney asked. He didn't answer. "That good, huh?"
He sighed.
"I had to give them the short version about me," Sark said. "And then I sent them away, before they could really react."
Sydney paused, just thinking that through. "Have you talked to them since?"
Sark shook his head. "It was just yesterday."
Sydney shot him a look that scolded him. "It's Christmas Eve, and your sister has been kidnapped. Sark, call them," she ordered. "They need to hear from you."
Sark sighed and pulled out his cell phone. He gave Sydney a rebellious look as he dialed the number for the cabin in Switzerland.
"Hello?" It was his father who answered. Sark immediately stood up.
"It's Julian," he said. He started to pace throughout the room.
"Julian! Is Ilene all right? Where are you? Who has—"
"Calm down, Dad," he interrupted. "Ilene is alive, and I'm working on getting her back."
"Working on it?!" Sark heard other voices in the background. It sounded like his mom and Calving were fighting his dad for the phone.
"Julian," his mom said, "What's going on?"
Sark clamped down on his tongue to stay calm.
"Listen," he began. "Someone wants me to work for them. If I do what they want, I'll see Ilene tomorrow."
"They want you to work for them?" It was his dad's voice again. "Doing what? Terrorizing? Murdering?!"
Sark shut his eyes.
"If you must know, I'm stealing for them," Sark said. His voice came out tired. He sighed.
"Stealing," his father repeated. "Julian, what have you done to get into this life?"
What indeed, he thought to himself. "I did everything I could to get into this life. And I've done everything I could to leave it," Sark said. "I can't help that someone is forcing me back. But I will resolve this, Dad."
His father was silent except for a sigh of his own. Then his mother spoke on the phone.
"How can you resolve this alone, Julian?" she said. "Get the authorities involved."
"I'm not working alone to get Ilene back. And if the world finds out I'm still alive, the CIA, MI-6 and every other intelligence agency will put me on their most wanted list. Again."
More silence followed, until Sark heard his father in the background.
"Things were simpler when we thought he died."
The emotional bullet hit its target, which was shrinking with every moment he was Sark.
"I need to go. I just wanted to make sure you're all right," Sark said dully. He spoke robotically, voiding any emotion that threatened to break through. "I'll call you later."
He hung up, and pocketed the phone. He had paced to a window, and now stared out through it without seeing anything.
Silence reigned for several moments.
"So when are we going in?" Sydney asked. Sark knew she wasn't deaf to the tone of his conversation with his family, but he respected her focus on the task.
He walked back over to her and picked up his wine. He downed the rest of the glass and refocused on the intel.
"It has to be before morning. Three a.m.," he said. "I wish I had time to go in and verify their intel, but they've made it such with this timeline that I can't."
"I think that's part of their plan," Sydney said. Sark cocked his head to the side. "They're forcing you to rely on them."
He hated being forced into anything. But Sydney was right; and because he had to rely on them, he wondered if it was a trap.
He shook that thought goodbye. They wouldn't set me up to be captured when they still want something from me.
The intel was spread out before him; he'd studied it several times, and it was starting to blur together. Sark sighed and reached for another paper.
Sydney intercepted him, laying a hand on his.
"Sark," she said. "Get some rest. We only have a few hours till we go." Her eyes looked directly into his.
He nodded slowly, drawing a smile from her. Sydney leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
"I'll wake you at 2:30."