Thanks to sallene for previewing this for me!
Wrench in the Plans
Sark felt his bag being taken. He looked up and saw Irina with all the equipment. He stumbled to his feet, his hand clutching a moist spot on his head. He tried to follow Irina, catch up with her.
She glanced over her shoulder as she ran through the laser grid and cleared the iron gate. Sark froze as the alarms went off, and as she triggered the iron gate to close behind her.
He made a desperate lunge for the gate, only to have his body hit up against it as it trapped him.
His eyes were wide and his temper was rising and livid.
"What have you done?" he seethed. Irina smiled—but it wasn't victorious. Sark noted the sadness in her eyes, the regret. What is going on?
"This is the only way we're all safe," she whispered, that regret more evident now.
"You wanted the data for yourself," Sark said aloud. But Irina shook her head.
"The data on this device is as much a threat to me as it is to Sydney. I want it to keep both Sydney and me safe. And I want you in US custody."
Maybe it was the blow to the head, but the vault and tunnel just seemed to start spinning. Sark stumbled back, trying to catch himself from falling.
"With Strachen free and still after you, both Sydney and I are in danger. From you," Irina said. "You have attachments, which have been exploited. But Strachen won't do anything to you while you're—"
"In a nice glass cell?!" Sark clenched his teeth. He could feel his chest heaving, no doubt from the anger as well as the pain shooting in his head. "What about my family?"
Irina's sad smile faltered. "They're fine. Living peacefully in a remote part of England." She noticed Sark's look—the deception was so perfect but painful for him. "I don't expect you to understand. But this is as much for me as it is for Sydney. And for you."
"Pardon me if I don't thank you for hiding my family from me and leaving me for the authorities."
She smirked at that, her eyes narrowing.
"Goodbye, Julian." She raised one arm, and Sark felt his heart stop momentarily when he realized what was in her hand.
It was the surveillance scrambler. With one click of the device, the cameras were reactivated. Sark saw the red lights come back on.
"They know I'm alive," he muttered to the cameras. He looked back at Irina, accusations shooting from his eyes.
But she was gone, quickly escaping while he was trapped like a rat.
Sark stepped back, stunned. He backed against the vault door, and just let his body slide to the ground.
Lies. He thought he was the only one lying, to Sydney and to Ilene. Not that it matters. Sydney would know the truth, as well as the CIA—he came for the data, and now sat waiting for capture.
Sark thought of Sydney. Could she forgive him for this latest deception? She was so ready to love him, to be with him. But now I've screwed it up. He wouldn't see her again, not while he was free anyway. She'll most likely see me behind a glass partition at that Joint Task Force Center.
He ran a hand through his hair. His finger wandered over the matting blood at the back of his head.
Ilene. Would she be all right? Sydney wouldn't let the CIA know about her. Ilene will be safe.
And my family too. He knew Irina wouldn't hurt them, although he was outraged that she knew where they were the whole time. At least Strachen doesn't have them. He sighed.
But they'll be left wondering what happened to me, and Ilene. He hoped Sydney would take Ilene back to them. And he dreaded what they all would think of him then.
Sark snapped his attention to his surroundings as he heard several pairs of footsteps running through the tunnels, no doubt coming for him. He sighed and got to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.
They started to emerge from the darkness, and were dressed predictably in dark tactical gear. Their guns, no doubt government-issue, were aimed at him. The soldiers froze, as if they recognized him.
Sark smirked at that, somewhat proudly. My reputation precedes me. One of the soldiers spoke into a radio headset.
"We have Sark," he said, while motioning for his comrades to open the gate. Sark's brow furrowed as he saw them hook up a descrambler to the iron gate's code panel.
Why are they breaking in? Don't they have the code? The smirk slowly disappeared.
"Yes, Mr. Strachen," he heard the soldier say into the radio, "we'll bring Sark back."
Sark backed up from the iron gate, moving to the vault slowly. No.
No.
No.
The iron gate creaked loudly, opening and allowing the soldiers to spill towards Sark like a wave of water. The click and rattle of weapons being handled caught Sark's attention for some reason.
The guns were aimed at him, circling him as the soldiers prepared to take him. Sark stopped in his tracks. He was surrounded, and everyone knew it.
There was no escape, not with these odds and weaponless.
Sark bit his lip and raised his arms ever so slightly in submission.
"On the ground, Mr. Sark," said the leader. "Mr. Strachen would like to see you."
He made himself shut down. The walls came up, and Sark was impenetrable.
The soldiers, or mercenaries more likely, handcuffed his hands behind his back. They jostled him out of the mine, but not before checking the vault for the data Irina now had. A helicopter waited for them on the surface, and everyone was gone before the NSC arrived.
Sark sat straight, his back a board. He didn't look at any of his captors, but noticed how there were always three guns on him.
He just sat, waiting for the inevitable.
Helicopter, plane, boat . . . after several hours of travel, Sark and his escort landed on an island. It was dark, almost before sunrise. The island was tropical but Sark didn't know where he was.
The boat rocked as Sark stepped out of it awkwardly. His hands were still cuffed behind his back. The three-gun escort still threatened him. His heart beat quickened, but Sark maintained his impartial stony face.
Strachen is close. And alive. He wanted to kick himself for not finishing the man's life before. He shook that thought off.
Focus. It could just be a trick by the CIA.
But if not, Irina's plan backfired.
The path he walked on was old stones. A cool breeze ruffled the tall trees and brush. Ahead was a stately-looking building. It was four stories high, and made of white stone. It looked expensive, luxurious.
The inside supported that. The lavish décor was distracting. Gold, silver, marble, fine rugs and vases . . . Sark let his eyes wander over it all.
His eyes settled on an old man, hunched over as he sat on an oversized couch. The man wheezed, breathing cautiously through some medical device.
Strachen.
"Mr. Sark," he began between forceful breaths. "So good to see you again."
Doubt it.
"Pardon me if I don't share the sentiment," Sark said. "I should have pressed harder with that knife last time."
Strachen started to smile, but coughed suddenly. The gurgling and forcefulness of it made Sark's stomach lurch. Even so, he smirked at the damage he'd done.
"How is your sister, Mr. Sark?"
The smirk froze.
"And Miss Bristow? I believe you two had a connection of sorts," Strachen said. "And Irina Derevko—where is she now a days?"
Sark shot him a look. Like I would tell you any of that.
"I believe we've been over these issues before, and you know the outcome," Sark challenged.
Strachen just grinned, his yellowing teeth showing as he wheezed through his mouth.
"Yes," he said. "But to be honest with you, Mr. Sark, I have lost interest in what you have to offer."
Sark readied himself for a bullet, but it didn't come.
"I would rather just make you—" Strachen coughed again, grasping his throat as he regained control. "—make you suffer."
Hits came instantaneously. Sark yelped as a guard swung hard at his face. The strength behind the hit spun Sark around and made him fall to the marble floor. Another guard kicked him in the side, drawing forced gasps of breath out of him.
The enthusiasm of his tormentors was remarkable, especially for hired guns. Pain spread through his body, but instinctively Sark knew this was nothing compared to what was to come.