December 25th
Every operative had at least one set of black clothing. Sark, even in his retirement, had one. He tightened the laces on his boots. A black turtleneck sweater lay on the couch, and Sark pulled it over his head.
"You ready?" It was Sydney, and black did amazing things for her. Sark flashed her a grin and nodded.
Sydney tossed him a ski mask. "So we both aren't recognized," she said.
The two spies stood outside the post office, staring down at its roof. They were on the roof of the building next to the post office. Sark tried to estimate the distance between the buildings.
"You ready for this?" he asked. Sydney nodded, and tightened the strap on a bag over her shoulder. She took several steps back from the edge, pulling her ski mask into place at the same time.
Sark followed her. The two poised themselves, twenty feet from the edge of the roof.
Sark was slightly nervous. I don't get nervous, he reminded himself. But he couldn't ignore his anxiety.
I haven't been on an op for awhile. It's not like he was worried about forgetting how to do this. But Julian couldn't succeed at what Sark was about to do.
"Okay," Sydney said, taking a deep breath and a long look ahead.
"Sydney," Sark said, halting her. She looked at him. "Merry Christmas."
She smiled at him, and Sark fought to look confidently back. Then he sprinted.
His legs sprung at the last possible step before the empty space between the two buildings. Sark flew through the air and watched the post office's roof the whole time. His legs ached on impact. Sark rolled off the rest of the force. He somersaulted forward and up on his feet.
Sydney landed more gracefully. She brushed off the dust and dirt from her clothes.
Sark took out a rope from her bag and worked on tightening the rope to a pipe on the roof. He tossed the excess over the edge.
He looked to Sydney. She nodded.
She opened a grate protecting the elevator shaft. Sark climbed through, and grasped the cables. Sydney followed.
They shimmied down the cables and stopped outside the 6th floor elevator door. Sark swung his weight back and forth, moving his body closer to the elevator door. He let go of the cables, and his body hit the ledge below the door. Sark clung to it for a moment, then pulled his weight up so he could place a foot on a small electrical box. His weight balanced between his foot and one arm, while he used a screwdriver to jimmy the elevator door open.
The door was sluggish and heavy, but he forced it open. His arm held it back while he nodded to Sydney.
She swung and jumped from the cables and through the open elevator door. Sydney checked that they were clear before coming back to Sark.
She held the doors open for Sark. He winced as he pulled himself up and onto the sixth floor.
"You're out of shape," Sydney whispered. Sark's blue eyes sparkled through the mask's eye holes.
"See how you do after being in retirement," he mumbled. Her lips curved upward.
There were cameras along the hallway to the room with the plans. The intel mentioned as much, but Sark knew there wasn't enough time to be discreet.
He whipped out a silenced gun. His back was against a wall, just out of the cameras' view. Sydney stood away off, surveying the cameras. She nodded, and Sark turned the corner and fired off two shots.
Two cameras were out. Sark ran down the hall, and continued to fire at the cameras as he saw them.
The disruption in the feed would alert the rent-a-cops downstairs, but without seeing intruders, their pace would be slow and without backup. Sark relied on that.
He stopped outside the target room. Sydney stopped beside him, and pulled out the descrambler from her shoulder bag. She slid the key half-way through the slot and then hit a button on the descrambler.
The two stared at the descrambler. Various numbers flashed and morphed on the display.
Beep! The key card unit flashed green, and Sark opened the door.
Abnormally tall and wide file cabinets bordered the walls, even by the windows. That may be an issue, Sark thought. One computer monitor and several stacked hard drives were in the center of the room.
Sark sat in front of the computer, and opened up a file search program. He entered the plan number.
83-849226-x11.
Another window opened on the screen, and a list of plan numbers appeared. His was highlighted. Sark's eyes followed the line across the screen. In another column on the list was a cabinet number.
"H14," he called out. Sydney started looking over every cabinet.
"Here," she said. Sark crossed the room to her. She pulled out drawer 14, and looked through the plans. "Which is it?"
Sark's eyes scanned over the pile of papers.
Suddenly, he heard voices from the hall.
"Take them all," he whispered. Sydney pulled out the plans and rolled them up. Sark moved to a cabinet by the door, and started to push it.
He bit his lip as he pushed it in front of the door. He heard the guards right outside the door.
Sark motioned for the window. Sydney nodded. She started to push a cabinet away from the window.
The door opened. Sark darted toward Sydney, and pushed the cabinet over. It fell to the ground with an almost deafening crash. Sark whipped out his gun. He saw Sydney's eyes widen with fear for the guards' lives, but Sark aimed and fired at the window.
It shattered loudly.
"Hold it right there!" a guard yelled. Sark didn't even pause. He leaned out the window and grabbed a hold of the rope that waited for them. He took the plans from Sydney and nodded for her to go first.
She slid down to the ground, and looked up at him. Sark turned back to the yelling guards. They fired their little 6-round revolvers. A bullet ricocheted off the cabinets, and Sark ducked.
He fired back, two silent rounds that hit the door, but made the guards back off for a moment. With that moment, Sark stood up and dove out the window, the plans in hand.
He grabbed the rope with his free hand and barely held on. The rope burned through his glove as gravity threw him towards the ground.
Sydney picked Sark up to his feet, and the two spies ran into the darkness. Sirens screamed in the early morning air, but Sark's heart rate was finally starting to even out.
I'm coming, Ilene.
They wound down at Sydney's apartment. Sark helped himself to a carton of orange juice. He gulped it down straight from the carton. The cool liquid slid down his throat.
He swallowed and used the back of his hand to wipe away the orange juice mustache.
His chest heaved in and out. He blamed it on downing the orange juice, but he knew otherwise.
"Nervous?" Sydney asked, watching him with a raised eyebrow.
Sark shrugged. "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself," he said somewhat insincerely. Sydney smiled.
"Not at all. Nervous?" she repeated.
Sark sighed. "Somewhat. I have to call them," he said. "And I don't know what restrictions they'll place."
"You find a way around anything, Sark." Sydney closed the distance between them and grabbed the carton of juice. Her eyes never left his as she downed the rest of the carton.
Sark pulled out the flip phone the kidnappers gave him. He pressed redial again and took a deep breath.
"Mr. Sark," came a raspy voice. The accent . . . it was the old man from the yacht. "You have the plans?"
"Yes. Let me speak to Ilene," Sark ordered. There was a long pause on the end of the line.
"Very well," the old man consented. The same clicking hiccup in the line connected Sark to the captors.
"Julian?" Ilene's voice was still timid, but not broken. That gave Sark some hope.
"Ilene! Are you all right? Have they treated you well?" He immediately rebuked himself for that last question. She's been kidnapped; how well can she be treated?
"I'm all right, but please come get me!" The sudden fear in her voice made Sark tense.
"Ilene?"
The line hiccupped and the old man was back on the line.
"Meet us in Zurich, Switzerland tomorrow at 6 p.m." Sark's body tensed even more when the man said Switzerland. "At 3 p.m., an envelope with instructions will be at the train station under the bench by the ticket counter. Follow the instructions, and you'll see Ilene again."
The call ended. Sark shut the phone, and looked at Sydney.
"Switzerland." He started to pace. "My family is in Switzerland too." Sydney's reaction was swift, and confirmed he had reason to fear.
"Do you think they know your family is there?" she asked. Sark shrugged and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't know if I want to take the chance. If we take them down, but someone survives . . . . It's happened before," he said, thinking of the Hierarchy. Sark used his phone and dialed the cabin his family was at.
"Hello?" his mother answered.
"Mom, put Calvin on the phone," Sark said, cutting to the chase. He heard his mother call Calvin.
"Hello?" his younger brother said.
"Calvin. Has anyone been at the cabin, anyone suspicious?" Sark asked hurriedly. His brother stammered, thinking aloud.
"No, not that I've noticed."
"Have you stayed there?" was Sark's next question.
"Well, we went to get some food a couple of times," Calvin said. "Why, what's wrong?"
"Calvin, listen very carefully." Sark paused to make sure he had his brother's attention. "In the master bedroom of the cabin, there's a nightstand. It has one drawer. The drawer has a false bottom. Move it, and there's a gun and a clip of ammunition there." Sark shut his eyes, hating himself for forcing his family down this path. "Either you or Dad carry it. Make sure the safety's on."
"Okay," was all Calvin said back. His voice wavered a bit.
Sark opened his eyes and tightened his grasp on the phone. "Calvin, there's more. Keep Mom and Dad in the cabin until someone comes for you. Whoever comes will tell you they work for Irina Derevko."
"Irina Derevko," Calvin repeated. Sark nodded.
"Yes. Remember that name for now. And try to forget it later. Okay?"
"Okay," Calvin replied. "Julian?"
"What?"
"Be careful." He heard Calvin sigh. "I don't want you coming back with any more scars."
Sark shut his eyes again.
"Thanks, Cal."
When he opened his eyes again, Sydney was staring intently at him.
"You're sending my mom to get them?" she asked. Sark nodded.
"She can get them to safety sooner than I can," he said, dialing another number.
Sydney paced the room. "You have more faith in her than I do." Sark looked up from the phone at that comment but he heard someone answer the other end of the line.
"Hi," he said, turning his attention back to the task at hand. "The meeting is in Switzerland. So is my family."
He listened for an answer.
"Odd coincidence," Irina said.
"Exactly. Can you hide my family elsewhere?" Sark asked.
"Of course," she said quickly. "What about your meeting?"
Sark's eyes darkened like a fast-moving storm. "We'll move in on them. I think Ilene will be there. I'll call you when I get to Zurich." He hung up.
"You don't have much time, Sark." Sydney's hands were on her hips.
"What is it?" he asked. Something was bothering her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"You're moving so fast that it's easy to make a mistake," she said. Sark didn't answer, but let her continue. "Something about this is wrong. I just can't figure out what."
Sark moved toward her. "Sydney," he said, his accent smoothing out the tension, "there's nothing right about this situation. But I have to go."
She nodded. Neither spoke as the unsaid question hung in the air. Sark stared at the floor.
"I'll still come with you," Sydney said. Sark's head snapped up, his eyes hopeful as they looked into hers. She smiled. "I'll help. All the way."