a/n: I posted the last chapter too quickly, so pardon this change: this next part takes place in Zurich, not Bern. Thanks to sallene for her help!!
December 26th
No flight to Switzerland was quick. They got to the airport and onto the first plane they could, but still the flight time and delays meant for a long journey.
It was already the last day of the agreement, as they lost time on the way toward Switzerland. Sark sighed and shifted in his seat.
Last day of the first phase of this agreement, at least. He still didn't know how long he'd have for breaking into the vault. He shook his head. I'll get her tonight, he told himself. He was having trouble thinking positively.
What part of any of this is positive?
None of it would have happened if I hadn't chased the stupidest challenge in the world.
Sark sighed, drawing a look from Sydney.
"Only a few more hours," she said. Sark rolled his eyes.
"Joy," he muttered. Sydney smiled a bit at that, though she tried not to show it.
"Get your mind on something else," Sydney suggested. Sark closed his eyes, thinking.
"Okay," he agreed. His eyes opened, and he turned in his uncomfortable first class seat to face her. "Why did you and your father exchange Christmas gifts at work?"
Sydney's jaw about dropped. "Okay, go back to moping."
Sark huffed at that. "I wasn't trying to-never mind." He straightened in his seat and looked out the tiny window. He heard Sydney shift in her seat.
"The CIA is sending him on a mission. It's a research assignment, something anyone can do. Dad went anyway, though he could have refused," Sydney said. That elegant hand swiped her hair back from her face. "I think he went just so he could have an excuse."
Sark faced her again. "Excuse for what?" She turned her head, her brown eyes staring directly into his blue ones.
"To avoid me. Family obligation. Uncomfortable moments of normal family life." The bitterness of the statement wasn't lost on Sark. But Sark couldn't help but feel for Jack Bristow.
"You know, I think your father and I are very much in the same boat," he said slowly, thinking it out. The remark drew a quick laugh from Sydney. "Seriously. Think about it."
Sydney gave him a look. Sark sighed and continued.
"I've spent the last several months recovering from years of our lifestyle and bad choices. And it's been hard to adjust to . . . normal life." He paused. "Not to mention that my family will never understand the things I've done."
Sydney didn't say anything, but she didn't laugh either.
"Maybe your father stays away because he doesn't feel like he deserves you. Or that you can accept him," Sark said. "I used to feel that way."
Sydney looked down at her hands.
"Maybe," she consented, almost inaudibly. She looked up at him. "Did your family not react well?"
Sark laughed at that, but the pain was still there. He ran a hand through his blonde hair.
"No," he replied softly. He sighed. "It's hard enough to comprehend at all, much less with me being the bad guy." He paused, remembering their reactions. "My father even said it was easier thinking I was dead."
Sydney gasped at that. Sark nodded.
"Not that I blame him," he said. "I thought the same thing." He tried to be nonchalant about it, but feared he was failing miserably.
"It's not easy hearing that from your own family," Sydney said. "But I bet they wouldn't trade having you back for anything."
Sark nodded but without conviction. "They would if they could have Ilene back. And I would be fine with that."
Sark shut his eyes. He leaned heavily into the seat and tried to rest. He could feel Sydney's eyes on him, but he just tried to ignore it.
I don't want to feel right now.
Sydney cleared her throat, signaling a change in topic. "If we take out the kidnappers, how will you get Ilene back?"
Sark opened his eyes. "She'll be there. She's close at least. I don't think they're keeping her far away at all."
"How do you know that?"
Sark shut his eyes again. "Just a feeling."
They landed in Zurich at 12 p.m. Sark called Irina immediately.
"We're here," he said.
"There's a coffee shop across the Limmat River from the Swiss National Museum. Go to the flat above the shop as soon as you can. The train station isn't far from there." Irina hung up. Sark turned to Sydney.
"Ready to see your mom again?" he asked with a smile. She nodded tentatively.
"Let's go."
The flat was much more lavish than the one in London, Sark noticed. Irina was pouring herself a cup of chilled water when they entered.
"Sydney!" Irina quickly ran to her daughter and hugged her. Sydney was stiff but tried to hug her mother back. Irina held her back at arms' length, inspecting her daughter's appearance. "You look beautiful."
Sydney almost blushed, but nodded.
"Thanks."
Irina turned to Sark. "How are you holding up?"
"I'll be fine after tonight," he said. "Is my family safe?"
Irina nodded. "Yes. One of my men is moving them constantly, just to be sure." She moved to a desk, and pulled out a file. "This is all I've found on the kidnappers. There's no group or agency name, but they follow Leonardo Strachen. He's a 63-year-old Portuguese-German. I don't have a photo."
Sark didn't need a photo. "That sounds like the man I met. What do they want?"
Irina pursed her lips together and tossed the file on the kitchen counter. "I don't know." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, causing Sark to do a double-take between mother and daughter.
He held up a cardboard tube with the plans inside. "Well, maybe this will help." He pulled out the plans for the mysterious vault, and spread them over the kitchen counter.
"What's it to?" Irina asked impatiently.
Sark shrugged. "We haven't had the time or place to go over the plans yet. This is everything we took from the vault." He thumbed through the corners of the plans.
Irina immediately leaned over them. A title spread out on the sides of the large papers.
"NSA Copperfield Vault," Sark read aloud. "I wonder what the NSA is hiding there."
"Why 'Copperfield'?" Sydney asked.
Irina pointed a finger at the plans. "The vault is underground. Look at these marks," she said.
Sark leaned closer, his face inches above the papers. The marks were like ridges. Rocky but with refined at parts, like rock that is purposely shaped.
"It's a mine," Sark said aloud. "Copper, I bet."
Sydney leaned closer, double-checking his discovery. Her hair fell by his face and tickled his nose.
"Why put a vault in a mine?" she thought out loud.
"It's the last place I would look," Sark said. "Strachen knows what's in it." He checked his watch. "And I'll find out soon enough."
Sydney looked at her watch. "Two thirty-five." She looked at Sark. "You better go."
He nodded, but didn't move when he saw her eyes. Ignoring the presence of his former employer and Sydney's mother, Sark moved to Sydney and kissed her. He put his hands at the small of her back, pulling her close to him.
Her skin was so soft, and her hair tickled his face. He ran a hand through her hair, enjoying the silkiness of it and the tenderness between them.
He finally pulled back. "I'll see you later."
Irina was rolling up the plans. She put them in the cardboard tube and handed them to him.
"Be careful."
Sark nodded. He leaned over his boot, and pulled out his knife. He'd taken it before he sent his family to the cabin. Sark blamed it on superstition-he'd succeeded with it in the past. Now he needed it again.
"Do you have a gun I can use?" Sark asked Irina. She shot him a reproving look.
"They'll find it, Sark."
He shot her his own look. "Yes, I know. Gun, please?" Irina opened a kitchen drawer and tossed him a gun. He tucked it in the back of his pants. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything," he said.
He shot Sydney a parting glance, and Sark could have sworn she was almost scared for him. He smiled reassuringly at her, and left.
The envelope was taped to the bottom of the bench by the ticket counter. Sark ripped it off the bench and opened it up.
Inside was a photo of Ilene. Her red hair was tangled, and her eye makeup was smeared on her face. She looked terrified; maybe it was because her hands were tied and her mouth was taped that she appeared so scared, but either way, Sark didn't like it.
He bottled his emotions and pulled out a piece of paper. The instructions were simple:
Take the 3:05 train to the other side of Lake Zurich. Go to the pier and find the Lady Refuge.
6 p.m.
Sark cut the ticket line, ignoring protests from post-holiday travelers as he bought a ticket for the train.
He ran to the platforms. His train was already pulling out. Sark started to run, his legs pumping quickly to catch up. The train moved on, but Sark was faster. His hand reached for a handle bar. He grabbed it and pulled himself closer.
Sark jumped onto the stairs, just as the train moved completely away from the platform.
The train ride was two hours long, but Sark was tense the whole time. No one on the train was following him, or watching him. He had called Irina as soon as it seemed clear.
She had sworn into the phone; getting to the pier was going to be tight. Sark was certain Strachen and his associates planned it that way. He knew Irina and Sydney might not be at the pier in time to back him up.
He would have to improvise.
The sun was completely gone by the time he reached the pier, and the ocean winds tore through Sark. He pulled his leather jacket closer to his body. His gun pressed against his back.
The pier was remarkably empty, but that's probably why Strachen chose it. Sark paced the docks, swinging the tube of plans in one hand as he searched for the Lady Refuge.
He found it at the end of one dock. Sark stopped and looked the boat over. It was large, but not nearly the luxury he expected after the meeting in London.
It was a fishing boat.
Sark squinted his eyes, trying to figure this latest twist.
Decoy.
He heard footsteps behind him.
Sark prepared his best and coldest smirk. He turned around to face the newcomers. He folded his arms across his chest, but the plans in one hand poked out awkwardly. It diminished his intimidating stance.
"Mr. Sark," one man said. "Get on the boat." The man raised a gun, waving it towards the boat.
Sark tried to veil his confusion, until he heard a boat motor. A small speed boat pulled up by the Lady Refuge. Sark looked back at the men behind him. One of them poked him in the back with the gun.
He sighed and jumped down into the speed boat. His hands clutched the plans; they were his only bargaining power at the moment. If Irina had arrived at the piers in time, there was no way she was ready for a change of venue.
The speed boat whipped across the water, which grew rougher. Sark looked up at the sky. It was completely covered in clouds. He saw lightening flash further out.
The boat approached a very large and luxurious yacht waiting out in the middle of the ocean.
It towered over the water, especially from Sark's vantage point along side the hull.
Someone rolled out a rope ladder down to the speed boat. Sark, seeing no way to hold onto the plans and climb at the same time, tossed the plans to the deckhand. He climbed up quickly.
Thunder crashed above them. Sark glanced at the sky as it opened up. He was hustled inside just when the rain started to fall.
Strachen was dressed in a stately grey silk suit, and he sat in an oversized armchair. He wore his arrogance openly, a trait that Sark usually claimed for himself. Sark settled on a dissatisfied smirk.
The plans were given to Strachen. Three men around Sark set upon him. Two held his arms while the other searched Sark.
Sark bit his lip, but allowed the search. He surveyed the room; windows, doors to other rooms, and stairs leading to the lower cabins. The rain was pouring down the windows in small rivulets.
The searcher paused when he found the gun. He pulled it out and waved it for Strachen to see. The other two men released Sark.
Strachen flashed him a questioning look.
"Is this really necessary?" he said, pointing to the gun. Sark just smirked back. "I thought you were going to cooperate."
"I will," Sark said, "when I see Ilene."
Strachen stared at Sark, who just matched the look back.
"You forget your place again, Mr. Sark."
"No," Sark said. "Let me see my sister, or get someone else to rob your petty vault."
Strachen actually grinned at that, showing two full rows of unbleached teeth. He nodded to the men behind Sark.
He was kicked behind the knees, and fell instantly on all fours. The men grabbed his arms, pulling them back behind him. Sark felt his head being yanked back by his hair while he was kept on his knees.
"Your sister is very beautiful," Strachen said, rising from his leather armchair. Sark's eyes flashed like flames. "But she is naïve. She doesn't know what you are, does she?"
Strachen nodded again, this time to a guard by a door to a lower cabin. Sark heard faint cries, and soon he saw her.
Ilene! Her hands were bound, and her clothes dirty, but she was alive.
She looked scared, yet her eyes lit up when she saw him.
"Julian!" she cried out. She tried to run to him, but the guard threw her onto the floor by Strachen's feet.
Sark struggled at that, but the men behind him twisted his arms further. He stilled.
"Ilene, darling," Strachen said, "Did you know that your brother is a murderer?" Ilene's defiance was instantaneous.
"Liar," she muttered from the ground. She started to get up; Strachen slapped her, and she crumbled back down with a cry. Sark's eyes still blazed at Strachen.
"That's not wise if you wish me to cooperate," Sark seethed between clenched teeth.
"Tell her the truth, Mr. Sark," Strachen said. He looked down at Ilene. "Sark was the most accomplished and strong spy in the intelligence world. But he didn't work for any government; he killed, stole, destroyed-all for money and power."
Ilene wasn't buying it, given the source, but Sark knew that'd be a problem he'd have to address later.
"Sark knows a lot of information too. There isn't a government around that wouldn't torture him for what he knows," Strachen said, a creepy smile spreading over his face. Sark wasn't sure where he was headed with this. "The Hierarchy already tried their best. Beatings, cuts, cattle prods. . . . The water bins really started to wear you down, of all things."
What the . . . Sark's confusion couldn't be hid.
"How do you know about that?" he questioned. Strachen just smiled, and nodded at the men holding Sark.
A designated hitter came forward, and kicked Sark right in the stomach. He gasped and groaned, and tried to clutch the pain. The men still held his arms back, until Sark felt them pulling his jacket off of him. They let go of him and he was dropped.
Another kick landed on his chest, and Sark could have sworn he heard a rib crack. He wheezed a bit, coughing to catch his breath. He felt another hit, this one a punch to his face.
Black faded over his vision for a second. He heard Ilene shout, and felt hands on his chest, pulling at his dark sweater and the undershirt beneath it. The men picked him up, lifting him to his feet and forcing him to stay still. Sark just glared at Strachen. The guards pulled Sark's sweater up to his chin.
"See the scars, Ilene?" Strachen pointed to Sark's chest. "They tortured him for days." Sark could feel his sister's eyes, wide and questioning as they surveyed the variety of scars. "Imagine what they might have done to you to get what they wanted."
Sark tried to rush at Strachen, but the guards twisted his arm again and pinned it up behind his back. One guard delivered a swift blow to his side. Sark yelped at that before he could stop himself. He made himself recover quickly.
"You lay a hand on her, and what I did to the Hierarchy will be merciful compared to what I do to you." He said the threat between gasps for breath, but his eyes showed his seriousness. Strachen nodded.
"I'm sure of it. After all, you even blew up Halzden."
"Who are you?" Sark demanded. Strachen knew too much; that he chose Sark wasn't coincidence. There's another motive.
"The former leader of the Hierarchy," Strachen admitted with pride. "A silent, but superior partner." His smile grew, and it was obvious Strachen was quite pleased with himself.
"So that's it," Sark whispered. "This is your revenge?" He huffed at that, but Strachen merely shook his head.
"I'm above revenge. Your abilities are quite clear. No, I used you to redeem yourself," Stachen said. "You destroyed my organization. I've rebuilt it, but certain things can't be replaced." He flicked his hand towards Ilene, and one of his men picked her off the floor.
The guard pulled out a long bladed knife, and pressed it against Ilene's throat. Sark tensed. Strachen's threat was clear, and Sark knew what he had to do to save his sister.
"Tell me about the vault," Sark said, holding his rage back with the façade of professionalism. Strachen grinned at that, and Ilene was thrown down to the ground again. The guard kept the knife pointed at her like a sword.
Strachen held up the plans, waving them at Sark.
"The NSA vault is in the Kennecott Copper mine. The vault's technology is unsurpassed," Strachen said sternly. "The vault contains, among other things, data storage. There is a large directory of files called Retract. It has all the inventions and discoveries that the United States wished they never found."
Sark allowed himself to smirk at that. "Information. That's what you want?"
"Mr. Sark, you of all people know that information is power. I was mere months away from power when you destroyed my organization." Strachen glanced at Ilene. "You choose the way you apologize to me: by getting the Retract directory, or by saying goodbye to your sister."
Sark's eyes burned into Strachen's skull. Thunder clashed again outside the boat.
"How long do I have to get the directory?" Sark answered. Ilene was quite obviously relieved, but looked as confused as ever. Sark ordered himself to ignore her for now, for her own protection.
Something caught his eye, out the window. Sark saw a gleam of light. It blinked, on and off. Sark pretended to listen to Strachen, but focused on the light.
Morse code.
Sydney. They were outside, just waiting for him. Sark felt a rush of blood throughout his body. The adrenaline started to fuel his brain. Sark glanced around the cabin.
One guard still had a knife pointed at Ilene. Three more men stayed to watch Sark. And Strachen was eagerly explaining the timeline for breaking into the vault.
Sark slowly rolled his ankle around in his boot. His ankle grated against his knife; the knife felt out of place after months of retiring it to his father's drawer.
Strachen spread out the plans, and beckoned Sark to look over them. He obliged.
Strachen wasn't a thin man, by any means, but there was extra bulk that Sark instantly recognized as a gun.
The plan automatically formulated in his brain.
"The elevator shaft goes down almost further than you can see. A large dump truck looks like a matchbox car when placed at the bottom," Strachen detailed. "The security appears minimal, but once at the bottom of the mine, you'll see more."
Sark nodded, but glanced at Ilene. His eyes hardened when he looked back at Strachen.
Strachen flipped through the plans, and froze.
"What's this? The other pages are not to the vault!"
It was Sark's turn to freeze as confusion made him rethink his position.
Irina. The rest of the pages were marked 'United States Postal Service.' Sark smirked at that-clever woman. Her cleverness forced him to move earlier than he intended.
He went for his knife, lifting his foot to his hand. He grabbed the handle and lashed out with a quick turn. His right arm went around Strachen's neck, with the knife in his right hand at the man's throat. He was ready to just slide his arm away and bring the blade over Strachen's windpipe.
The guard by Ilene stood up, shocked at the turn of events. Ilene scrambled away from his knife.
The guards hesitated, their hands hovering for their weapons, but waiting for direction.
Fools. Sark pressed the blade again Strachen.
"Only a fool has to be taught the same lesson twice," he hissed into Strachen's ear. Sark's left hand snaked into Strachen's expensive suit jacket. He removed the gun and pointed it at the guard closest to him.
"Weapons down," he ordered. Strachen mumbled something, but shut up promptly.
The guards didn't move. Sark smirked at that, and just fired. He changed his aim at the last second, and hit the guard closest to Ilene.
Sark spun his body around, well aware of the blade slicing across Strachen's throat. Sark had the gun up and firing as he spun to the ground, avoiding return fire.
Three shots later, and the guards were dead. Strachen was trying to yell through the gap in his windpipe. More guards were coming.
Sark dove for his sister, who cowered on the floor.
"Come on, Ilene," he ordered. He grabbed her bound hands and pulled her up. They ran for the door just as it was opened by another guard.
Ilene screamed; Sark fired.
The gun had 9 shots; he'd used five.
They ran, out through one cabin and into another. In a tight hallway, two guards met them. One swung at Sark with an automatic rifle, catching him in the chin. Sark snarled at the man, and plowed into him like a defensive lineman.
The other man went for Ilene. Sark was on his feet again, and dove back to save his sister. He grabbed the man's foot, and pulled the fallen man towards him. The guards struggled with Sark, but he didn't feel their blows. He blocked a hit, and landed a punch directly at one guard's heart. The man stumbled back, trying to catch a hold on his life.
Sark lashed out a kick to the other guard, then searched the floor for his weapons. He found his knife, and quickly picked it up. Sark twirled it in his hand and lunged for the guard. The knife slipped in between the man's ribs.
Ilene's mouth was open; the shock was settling in. Sark sheathed his knife, grabbed his sister and pulled her behind him.
They made it to the open deck. The cold rain pelted them, and Sark couldn't help but think back to Burma. He ignored the cold on his skin, seeping through his sweater. He ran for the port side of the yacht.
He saw another boat as lightening flashed. Irina.
"There!" he announced to Ilene, pointing at the boat. She nodded numbly. Suddenly a bullet hit by their feet. Sark ducked, pulling Ilene to the deck with him.
The shooter was on the top deck and he continued to fire. Sark half-dove on top of Ilene, covering her body with his.
They rolled behind a deck lounger. Sark's chest heaved with the intensity. He looked out into the ocean.
The waves were high. Even the yacht started to pitch in the rough waters. Sark clenched his teeth together and got to his feet. He stayed crouched down, but looked for the shooter.
"Ilene," he said loudly over the rain and waves, "we have to jump." Her eyes widened, and her body shivered. Sark took her hands, and grabbed his knife. He cut through the bindings, and re-sheathed the blade. "Ready?"
She shook her head. Sark grabbed her by the wrist, and stood up. They both ran for the side of the boat, jumping up onto deck chairs and sailing out through the air.
The plunge into the dark water made Sark gasped. He fought for the surface.
"Julian!" he heard as soon as his head broke above the water. Ilene was flailing in the rough waves.
He swam towards her, but the waves kept pushing him back and forth.
Sark heard gunfire behind them just as he felt something tear through his left leg. He yelled out at the stinging pain.
Focus! Get to the boat! Sark pulled himself through the waves with his arms.
He saw flashes ahead of him, and heard the gunfire. He could see Sydney firing back. Sark didn't allow himself to smile at that, but put everything he had into making it to safety.
He reached Ilene and held onto her with one hand.
"We're almost there!" he yelled. His leg ached, but he tried to push it to the background. Seawater washed over his head, and he swallowed at the wrong moment. He coughed and shook his head.
Irina's boat was getting closer. It circled around them to block them from Strachen's yacht and the gunfire.
Someone threw something to him. It was a life preserver. Sark pushed it to Ilene, and she was pulled towards the boat.
Sark was getting tired. His leg went numb, and his chest ached from the early kicks.
Swim!
He pulled himself closer with each stroke. The boat was only a few feet away, and he saw someone helping Ilene to the deck.
He smiled.
A wave crashed over him from behind. Sark slipped below the surface.
The roar of the ocean, even underwater, was deafening. Sark kicked with his good leg, and pawed for the air.
The cold was making him sluggish. He felt his hand break the surface and kicked again.
Someone grabbed his hand, and pulled him up. Sark coughed hard, spilling seawater from his mouth and lungs.
"Calm down," he heard Irina say. It was almost patronizing, but Sark ignored it. He felt someone pick him up under his shoulders and drag him out of the rain. The boat's engines roared, and Sark knew he succeeded.
"Julian?"
He tried to sit up, and ended up leaning against a cabin wall.
Ilene was soaked, her red hair tangled in wavy curls against her face. Sark held out his arms to her, and she stumbled to him.
He hugged her tightly and breathed a sigh of relief. "You're safe," he whispered. He stroked her hair with one hand as he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Despite what she was starting to know about her brother, Ilene hugged him back.
Sydney came in, drenched from the rain. She put her weapon down and ran a hand through her long wet hair.
"We almost lost you, at the pier," she said as she wrung out the water from her hair.
Sark smiled. "Yeah, I was surprised there too," he admitted. "I'm glad you made it though."
Sydney smiled back, until her eyes fell on the growing blood spot by his leg.
"Mom! Where's the first aid kit?"
Sark almost laughed when Sydney called Irina 'mom.' Something about it was just so normal despite their very dysfunctional relationship.
His humor was interrupted by pressure to the wound.
"Ow!!" he yelped. Ilene backed up as Sydney started working on his leg.
"Julian, are you okay?" He glanced at his sister, and saw how frightened she still looked. He smiled reassuringly.
"Yes, it's nothing I haven't been through before," he muttered, though his body didn't remember being this affected in the past.
His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. Sark let himself relax, and slumped on the floor.