The Ally, part one

            The next day was one Sark wanted to forget. Even thinking about the events made him hurt.

            It hurt to remember. To breathe. To even picture a better place, or an escape. To see Sydney in his mind.

            So he held onto the top bars of his cage, his grip tight to secure his life above the water. Sark let his body just float and marinade in the water, with some hope that it might do his wounds some good.

            He fell asleep, in a vain and unconscious attempt at relief. Instead he found himself choking on the water, and tightening his grip on the bars over his head.

            His clothing was torn, tattered. The shreds of his tactical gear covered little of him, not that he was embarrassed by that. It was more inconvenience, when he was out of the water and trying to stay warm.

            Where is Sydney? Surely the surveillance tapes from the vault revealed he was there. While the CIA knew also, he knew Sydney wouldn't just leave him, not in Strachen's clutches.

            But it had been days now.

            No, it hasn't. What, two, three days? That's it? Sark shook his head, and the water sloshed around him.

            "Are you all right?"

            Sark craned his head to look up. Tenya stood there, her hands clasped in front of her tightly. He didn't answer.

            Tenya ventured to the cage's controls, raising it a full foot. Then she stepped back quickly, resuming her previous position. Sark nodded to her what gratitude he could show.

            "Why does Mr. Strachen hate you?" was the next question. The curiosity of it, combined with her voice . . . odd, yet sweet. It had a kindness, and melodiousness that drew Sark's eyes to Tenya's. She waited for an answer, her hands still clasped in front of her.

            "Several reasons, I'm sure," Sark said. He lifted himself up a bit with the bars, and let his feet touch the bottom of it. He barely stood lately, and it felt strangely good.

            "Is it because you're a spy?" There was no timidity or fear in that guess, and Sark couldn't help but think it funny.

            "Spy?" Maybe 'spy' was the best combination of what he was. He'd started out as just an over-ambitious kid with a knack for danger and darkness. But 'spy' seemed to imply some purpose or ideology. What was his?

            The only thing that matters is getting back to my life. His family. That normal routine that seemed boring at first. But most important, Sydney.

            "Isn't that what you are?" Tenya said. Sark turned around in his little space. He splashed some water on his face, and it stung a gash in his cheek.

            "Not anymore. Consider me retired," he said with a smile.

            She bowed her head, studying the marble floor.

            "You don't like it?" she asked. "Because of the danger, the pain?" Her docile eyes peered down at him.

            Sark shrugged, despite the sharp shot of pain it sent through his shoulders.

            "Because it's not who I am anymore." I'm Julian, not Sark.

            You'll always be Sark.

            Tenya didn't say anything for a minute. Sark watched her think over what he said. Was it just the lack of sleep or did she seem to be taking to him? Sark shook that thought away. Using her would be something Sark would do. Exploiting her . . . you can't do that.

            But if it gets you back to Sydney, isn't that worth it? He sighed aloud, trying to silence this endless and resurfacing debate within him.

            "You are better than him." It was merely a whisper but the meaning shouted at Sark. She realizes Strachen is evil. She took three steps toward the water pit, each one painfully slow as she debated within herself.

            Please. Help me. He willed it, wanted to shout it, but couldn't break what she was coming close to deciding on her own.

            Her fingers touched the control panel. She smiled at Sark and was about to raise the cage, when voices floated down the hallway.

            Tenya dropped the controls, gasping at the approaching interruption. She threw a glance at Sark, with some sort of apology within it.

            "Wait!" Sark pleaded. "Tenya, please!" She shook her head.

            "I can't, not now," she said. She scurried off quickly, and several seconds later Strachen appeared by the controls.

            Sark held back a groan. Too soon.

            "Mr. Sark," the old man wheezed, "How does a boat ride sound?"


            Strachen has a psychotic regard for water and boats. This boat, though, was different from the normal choice. It was an airboat, sitting mere inches in the water. Sark noted its bare-bones appearance in the sparse light from a dock lamp. It wasn't the typical luxury yacht, but just transportation.

            Why an airboat? The ocean waters were deep enough. Sark's stomach churned as he tried to guess the next ordeal.

            The moon barely showed between gray clouds. The resulting muffled light was as revealing as a flashlight with no batteries. Sark hoped the boat driver could see well enough.

            The usual escorting guards threw Sark to the boat's floor. He grimaced at the impact but hid the pain behind a smirk.

            "Midnight sail? That's romantic, Strachen, but you're not my type," Sark said. He tried to sit up, bracing himself with bound hands. Strachen coughed out a laugh.

            "Perhaps a dip in the water then, Mr. Sark?" the man said, indulging Sark's mockery. The guards grabbed Sark's feet and started to wrap thick rope around it. The rope was tied to a water skiing handle. Sark eyed the handle.

            "I confess, I'm not much of a skier. But give me a life-jacket, and I'll try my best." Sark grinned at his own request, but hoped his fear didn't show through. This could be very unpleasant.

            Strachen just shook his head. The guards lifted Sark and tossed him in the water. The salty water stung at his wounds and eyes, but he made himself kick as best he could to the surface. His head reached air, and he tried to see ahead.

            The airboat started, and speed seemed to be its goal. Sark squinted his eyes. The seawater blown from the airboat's fans pelted him. As the speed increased, Sark's feet led the way, behind the boat. His upper body was dragged, and though the speed allowed his body to skip on top of the water, it also grazed him roughly.

            Airboat. Shallow water. Find the point of this, quickly!

            And suddenly, he knew why Strachen wanted this midnight excursion.

            Coral.

            It ripped into Sark's back as the boat towed him quickly over shallow waters. Sark yelled, but his mouth filled with sea water. He coughed violently, just as his body ran across another shallow patch of coral.

            The calcified skeletons cut into his back again, then into his arms. The salty sting only intensified with the new exposed flesh.

            Think!! He couldn't just let himself get cut into little pieces, bit by bit from the coral.

             The airboat turned around to repeat its path. It was a faster boat than any motorboat. The turn was instantaneous; it didn't even slow the boat. In the process, Sark was rolled onto his stomach, and soon he was starving for air again as he was dragged face-down.

            The coral came again. Sark could almost hear his flesh tearing. It coincided with searing pain, more like a flash of heat from intense stinging on his chest.

            The boat stopped, but Sark really didn't focus on that. His body started sinking again, and he tried to kick around to keep his head above the water. But any movement made him scream.

            Loudly.

            So he sank, but he could feel his body moving still. The guards were pulling him in, towards the boat. Sark was grateful the water muffled his screaming. As he finally came to air, he coughed and took a deep breath.

            Compartmentalize.

            Compartmentalize!

            As the guards pulled him onto the boat, he just screamed.


            He knew it was a memory, but he didn't remember this ever happening. Ilene.

            They were swimming, when they were younger. Calvin was pouting by the side of the pool, upset that he couldn't jump in the water yet. Ilene, however, was enjoying the feel of the chlorine. She stood in the shallow part of the pool.

            She was less than 4 feet tall, just a young thing with lots of energy. Julian was taller, and swam around the 5-foot depth of the pool as if he were a dolphin. He'd recently seen one on television, and was transfixed by it.

            He wasn't paying attention to Ilene. Julian was too busy breaching and diving like the marine animal he wish he were. When he stopped, he realized Calvin was crying.

            The younger brother pointed to the water, to the deep end beyond where Julian was.

            He looked, and felt his breath stop momentarily.

            Ilene was at the bottom of the pool. Little bubbles of air inched their way to the surface.

            Julian dove in after her, not even hesitating to think of the danger. He'd never been beyond the 5-foot depth of the pool. The pool went as deep as 10 feet.

            He realized that as he pushed himself further and further into the water. His lungs burned, his ears popped, and his body kept rising away from Ilene, but he pulled harder at the water.

            Ilene's eyes were closed. Julian finally reached her, but he was nearly helpless. His legs felt limp, and water started to fill his nose and mouth.

            He touched Ilene, grabbed her wrist. And then he pushed off the pool floor, while the last bubble of air raced him to the surface.

            His lips came to air, but Ilene's weight and his own threatened to drag him back down. Julian kicked furiously just to stay above the water. He knew he had to get Ilene out quickly. She wasn't breathing.

            He looked around for Calvin, but he wasn't anywhere, nor could Julian hear his cries. For a moment, Julian thought he had fallen in. Julian kept kicking, and tried to swim to any side of the pool. But each kick was a millimeter of movement for him.

            Fatigue wore quickly on him. Julian was losing, he knew. And Ilene was dying. He saw the water slip back over his head.

            The sound of shouting was warped by the water, but the splash into the water next to him was unmistakable. Someone had come to help them.

            Calvin was crying furiously, wailing even. He came up to Julian as he rested on the cement floor. His tears mixed with the beads of water falling off Julian's body.

            Ilene was coughing, and that's when he sat up. She was alive! Once she started breathing regularly, she started crying also. Julian crawled over to her, and hugged her. Calvin waddled over to join them.

            He'd almost drowned. Ilene almost died.

            And for some reason, they didn't swim often after that.

           

            Sark shook awake from the memory and found himself on a cold cement floor. He lay in the middle of a small rectangular cell. There was nothing else, other than a barred gate that reached from the floor to the ceiling.

            He could see himself, younger, imagining what happened. And then he saw himself now, Sark, being dragged through the water.

            He shuddered, but that awakened pain throughout his body. His skin felt sticky, but not from the ocean. He looked at his body. It was naked, but Sark didn't care about that now. His legs were unscathed, because the boat carried them higher than his chest. But his chest and arms . . . they were riddled with cuts from the coral. Each cut was puffy, a swollen pink mess that no doubt screamed of infection. Sark swallowed.

            Coral can infect. That was the last thing he needed now, but he didn't have any control over that.

            He moved, bracing his arms against the floor so he could sit up. Sark yelped and recoiled quickly.

            Strachen had outdone himself this time.