Little Child Lost
Chapter Two
Searching
Sark dialed the emergency number he'd been given from a pay phone. He shut the phone booth in an effort to block out Sydney's hearing, though the thin glass didn't really obstruct it like he'd hoped. The phone rang endlessly and Sark began to wonder if the number was no longer in affect. "Hallo?" A strange voice finally answered.
"I am looking for Andrian Lazairey."
Sydney's head shot up from the car when she heard the name. Why was Sark calling a dead man? Did he know she'd killed Lazairey and he was wishing to unnerve her? She had to fight the urge to scream and run all at once.
"May I ask who is calling?" The voice was accented Russian, so Sark figured it was still the correct number. He couldn't see his father hiring anyone else for the embassy.
"This is Mr. Sark."
"Mr. Sark!" The voice was now ecstatic. "Andrian Lazairey has been dead for eight months. The lawyers have been searching for you."
Sark nearly dropped the phone at the news.
"Why?"
"Mr. Lazairey left you 800 million dollars in gold bullion."
Sark let the number spread over him. He was completely and utterly rich. He had enough money to do whatever he wanted to, even more so than before. The best part was that he would never have to depend on anyone. Maybe Lazairey had been good for something.
"Where is it?"
"The Cayman Islands."
"Transfer some money to the El David Aeroport."
"Sir, I can't. It is in a VIP vault that only you have access to."
Sark paused. "All right. I'll be visiting the islands tomorrow."
Sark hung up the phone and turned to Sydney.
"Do you have access to any funds right now?"
"You're broke." Sydney said it in surprise. She had always figured Sark for they type to have money with him in all sorts of bank accounts.
"My accounts have been frozen, Sydney. At least my most used ones and the others I have to be present to withdraw the money. Besides, I need us to reach the Cayman Islands for a considerable amount."
"How much?"
Sark didn't reply, simply headed back for the car.
"Why did you call Andrian Lazairey?"
Sark flinched slightly, the death of his father sinking in. He'd never been incredibly close with his father, but they weren't mortal enemies. Andrian had been an acceptable man. At first, he'd been a great patriot. He worked with the KGB first, where he'd met a woman named Irina Derevko. She was a woman his own age, ready to embark on a deep cover mission in the United Sates. When Irina had returned, Sark had been a little boy of five, motherless and impressionable. Irina had still been feeling maternal after leaving an adorable six-year-old daughter behind in the States. When he turned six, his father was sent to Britain as an ambassador. Sark had been sent to boarding school. School had been bitter, cold, and lonely, but he'd adapted. The KGB slowly dissolved with the Communists and Andrian's loyalties no longer belonged to the Russian government. Andrian continued to work for the government, crookedly. He'd become affiliated with The Man, K-Directorate, and several other terrorist organizations. Sark figured it was during that time that Andrian accumulated 800 million dollars. Sydney started snapping her fingers in front of his eyes to grab his attention. Sark blinked, focusing on her face.
"Andrian Lazairey was my father."
Sark turned away and started the car to drive towards the hotel in town. Sydney sighed while she buckled her seat belt. She'd murdered Sark's father. A flash of remorse coursed through her veins, the guilt wracking her body. She had to find out everything.
Sark only rented one room for the night. He claimed it would be better if they didn't split up. Sydney accepted that explanation without much protest. Maybe it was because Sark gave her a sense of comfort. He'd barely changed over her missing years, only a bit more jaded and shorter hair. In a universe that had changed so much, an entire world full of different, Sark remained the same. It made her feel ordinary. He didn't treat her much differently, either. He still hid everything from her, he still tried to unnerve her, and he still remained one of the most talented agents she'd ever encountered. Sadly enough, it soothed her frayed nerves. Sydney laid back on the king-sized bed, staring up at the grimy white ceiling. This wasn't exactly a four star facility, but it was the most comfortable Sark could find. The hotel was better than his holding cell, even if it was much, much dirtier. Sark took a seat in the desk chair, propping his feet up on the desk. At the moment, he didn't feel like invading Sydney's space. Sydney was still fairly silent and it didn't hurt to let her consider their situation. Besides, he liked the calm. It was giving him time to absorb the last day. Escape, death, Gold bullion. He didn't mind the first and the last. Sark pushed his hands over his shorn hair, a habit he'd never been able to break. He needed to do something with his hands. He never was the sit-still type. He started to shake his leg, unconsciously, unable to stop. "Do you have to do that?"
Sydney's voice was muffled by one of the pillows, but her annoyance came clearly through.
"No."
"I just thought I'd ask."
Sark smirked at Sydney's sarcastic retort. He also stopped shaking. Sydney turned over on her side, her arms underneath her head. Sark studied her, debating whether he should speak up and ask her what she did remember. He needed to know.
"Sydney?"
"What?" She sounded incredibly crabby. Joy. It was going to be especially pleasant to question her about her memories.
"Where did you wake up?"
"I am not discussing this with you."
"You want my help, you have to inform me of your previous situation."
"I'm tired of going over the same thing all the time. I'm so tired of it."
Sark knelt in front of Sydney, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek in a rare moment of tenderness.
"You must. Just once more. After that, I will aid you in filling in the blanks. Tell me, Sydney."
"I woke up in Hong Kong. The last thing I remember was fighting with Allison and shooting her. I passed out from exhaustion and blood loss and when I woke up, I was in the middle of an alley in Hong Kong. Everything had changed. My best friends were gone, Vaughn was married, my dad was in prison, Sloane was 'good'. You're the only thing that hasn't changed."
Sydney's eyes welled up with unshed tears. She hadn't really had a chance to cry about anything. Her defenses were down, but she still refused to let Sark see her like this. She would not let him see her this distraught. Sark leaned forward to kiss her forehead softly. It was so feather-light, Sydney almost thought it hadn't occurred.
"Rest, Sydney. We'll be leaving early in the morning for the Cayman Islands."
Sydney stretched back out on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut. Sark examined her as she dozed into a restless slumber. Perfectly pale skin, beautifully almond shaped eyes, silky brown hair. She was perfect. No wonder Rambaldi chose her for The Telling. Sark returned to his chair, settling in to the uncomfortable plastic. He'd adapted to sleeping on hard surfaces. The metal cot the CIA provided was hardly the epitome of softness. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back, and slipped off into a dreamless sleep.