PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER THREE
A/N: This chapter is a little darker, and you won't see the humorous Sark we're so used to. It might have something to do with this past week's episode of Smallville, and how Lex was. well, getting sidetracked here. Also, if you notice a big space between a part of Jack's lines in the story, it's because I tried to put in the eye of Rambaldi and the formatting at ff.net was having none of it.
* * *
Dixon gave her a measuring look. "Sydney, I don't hold Sark's capture against you--I think you're a very capable handler, but the situation was beyond your control."
"I've spoken with Mr. Sloane. He said he had no idea it was going to happen." Lauren spoke in that accent that wasn't quite British or anything else distinct. Sydney wondered what would happen if the woman was ever forced to go on a mission. She'd probably forget what nationality she was supposed to be and give it all away.
"Sure he did," she snorted, "And I'm still Prophecy Girl."
Jack gave her a reproving look and cleared his throat, drawing the inquisitive gaze off his daughter. "We received contact from Sark late last night. Marshall has been working on it and will hopefully have a location soon."
Dixon nodded. "I want Lauren and Sydney to write out their debriefs and we'll proceed once we know where he is."
Sydney caught her father's eye on the way out and he led her to an empty conference room, shutting the doors, and pulling out a familiar looking pen.
"Dad, when they took Sark yesterday, the left this." She withdrew a 3x5 photo of the book.
"Rambaldi," he breathed, noting the and cursing under his breath. "Dammit." He glanced up at her. "Did you read it?"
She shook her head. "It was blank. It looked like some sort of journal or something. But I put it somewhere safe for now, until we figure out what to do with it. I didn't mention it in the debrief, and I hid before Lauren could see it."
Jack opened his mouth to speak, probably to lecture her on the dangers of withholding information--not like their entire family hadn't done [I]that[/I] before; God, they wrote the book on it--but was interrupted by someone tapping on the glass doors. Marshall was gesturing frantically. Jack clicked off the pen and they walked out to meet the excited techno geek.
"What is it, Marshall?"
"I've found Sark! I traced the call backwards, starting from Sydney's house, through the LA lines, and then over the Pacific, to Asia, past--"
"Marshall." Jack halted him in mid-ramble. "Where is he?"
He was out of breath and breathing heavily. "Moscow. He's in Russia."
* * *
"Absolutely not."
Sydney barely held herself back from rolling her eyes. When had Dixon lost all his sense of adventure?
"He could be killed," she helpfully pointed out, trying to sway his decision.
"Then that's a risk we're going to have to take. There's too much animosity between the US and Russia right now, and accusing them of harboring a group of known terrorists isn't exactly going to smooth things over."
Okay, so he had a point.
"So we're just going to let him die?"
"If it comes down to it, yes."
She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm glad to see you can just rationalize something like this."
"Sydney--"
She held up a hand and started to walk away.
"Agent Bristow--" his angry tone gave her pause. "--You are not allowed to move in on your own. That's a direct order." In a softer tone, he added, "Let it go."
Sydney gave him such a cold, blank look it chilled him. It was as if she had ice in her blood. One thing she'd apparently learned with mastery was the Bristow Mask.
Still, he forced himself to add, "Is that clear?"
A razor-thin smirk twisted her lips and the fury was coming off her in waves. "Crystal."
* * *
He called again later that night.
"Is the sun still shining?"
She frowned. He was slurring his words. Sark never slurred. He usually spoke with such precision she wondered if he was programmed with the perfect accent. In any case, he could give Lauren some lessons. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. What you hear in my voice is merely the result of the first stage of interrogation. The second level is to begin tomorrow."
Sydney closed her eyes against the image of Sark being beaten and tortured. She'd been in his position before and knew what it was like. For once, he hadn't done anything wrong and was paying in blood.
"I gather--" he coughed deeply, leading her to believe that he really was worse off than he'd led her to imagine, "--Dixon shot down your request for an extraction?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm getting you out."
He sighed deeply, as if accepting the inevitable. "Sydney, you can't do this by yourself. The security alone is enough to make your head spin. You'd be fried before you entered the front door."
"I don't care. I'm going to get backup."
Sark laughed shortly, but it wasn't an expression of humor. It was bleak, and there was no promise of his usual smirk behind it. "Who? I can't imagine anyone being up for a job like this. Everyone you could ask has been a victim of my job at one times or another. You CIA agents have a habit of holding a grudge."
"You're getting out. I swear it." She was being stubbornly optimistic, they both knew it, but it was the only thing she had to go on right now. She would not fail at her first real job since she'd gotten back. More importantly, she would not fail him. There was too much at stake. "But I won't lift a finger to help you until you stop behaving like it's already over. They haven't schedule your execution yet--there's still time to make this work."
"5 PM, tomorrow afternoon."
"What?"
"That's when I'm scheduled to die."
Sydney glanced down at the Rambaldi journal in her hand. "Not if I can help it."
* * *
She couldn't go to anyone in the CIA. And, as her first mission after Hong Kong had proved all too clearly, most of her contacts were dead. Her father couldn't even help her with transportation, because he was too busy keeping the NSC from finding out the true identity of Lazeray's murderer.
Which left her with exactly one option. She looked up at the other person in the room.
"Sydney. It's good to see you."
* * *
End chapter 3.
A/N: This chapter is a little darker, and you won't see the humorous Sark we're so used to. It might have something to do with this past week's episode of Smallville, and how Lex was. well, getting sidetracked here. Also, if you notice a big space between a part of Jack's lines in the story, it's because I tried to put in the eye of Rambaldi and the formatting at ff.net was having none of it.
* * *
Dixon gave her a measuring look. "Sydney, I don't hold Sark's capture against you--I think you're a very capable handler, but the situation was beyond your control."
"I've spoken with Mr. Sloane. He said he had no idea it was going to happen." Lauren spoke in that accent that wasn't quite British or anything else distinct. Sydney wondered what would happen if the woman was ever forced to go on a mission. She'd probably forget what nationality she was supposed to be and give it all away.
"Sure he did," she snorted, "And I'm still Prophecy Girl."
Jack gave her a reproving look and cleared his throat, drawing the inquisitive gaze off his daughter. "We received contact from Sark late last night. Marshall has been working on it and will hopefully have a location soon."
Dixon nodded. "I want Lauren and Sydney to write out their debriefs and we'll proceed once we know where he is."
Sydney caught her father's eye on the way out and he led her to an empty conference room, shutting the doors, and pulling out a familiar looking pen.
"Dad, when they took Sark yesterday, the left this." She withdrew a 3x5 photo of the book.
"Rambaldi," he breathed, noting the and cursing under his breath. "Dammit." He glanced up at her. "Did you read it?"
She shook her head. "It was blank. It looked like some sort of journal or something. But I put it somewhere safe for now, until we figure out what to do with it. I didn't mention it in the debrief, and I hid before Lauren could see it."
Jack opened his mouth to speak, probably to lecture her on the dangers of withholding information--not like their entire family hadn't done [I]that[/I] before; God, they wrote the book on it--but was interrupted by someone tapping on the glass doors. Marshall was gesturing frantically. Jack clicked off the pen and they walked out to meet the excited techno geek.
"What is it, Marshall?"
"I've found Sark! I traced the call backwards, starting from Sydney's house, through the LA lines, and then over the Pacific, to Asia, past--"
"Marshall." Jack halted him in mid-ramble. "Where is he?"
He was out of breath and breathing heavily. "Moscow. He's in Russia."
* * *
"Absolutely not."
Sydney barely held herself back from rolling her eyes. When had Dixon lost all his sense of adventure?
"He could be killed," she helpfully pointed out, trying to sway his decision.
"Then that's a risk we're going to have to take. There's too much animosity between the US and Russia right now, and accusing them of harboring a group of known terrorists isn't exactly going to smooth things over."
Okay, so he had a point.
"So we're just going to let him die?"
"If it comes down to it, yes."
She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm glad to see you can just rationalize something like this."
"Sydney--"
She held up a hand and started to walk away.
"Agent Bristow--" his angry tone gave her pause. "--You are not allowed to move in on your own. That's a direct order." In a softer tone, he added, "Let it go."
Sydney gave him such a cold, blank look it chilled him. It was as if she had ice in her blood. One thing she'd apparently learned with mastery was the Bristow Mask.
Still, he forced himself to add, "Is that clear?"
A razor-thin smirk twisted her lips and the fury was coming off her in waves. "Crystal."
* * *
He called again later that night.
"Is the sun still shining?"
She frowned. He was slurring his words. Sark never slurred. He usually spoke with such precision she wondered if he was programmed with the perfect accent. In any case, he could give Lauren some lessons. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. What you hear in my voice is merely the result of the first stage of interrogation. The second level is to begin tomorrow."
Sydney closed her eyes against the image of Sark being beaten and tortured. She'd been in his position before and knew what it was like. For once, he hadn't done anything wrong and was paying in blood.
"I gather--" he coughed deeply, leading her to believe that he really was worse off than he'd led her to imagine, "--Dixon shot down your request for an extraction?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm getting you out."
He sighed deeply, as if accepting the inevitable. "Sydney, you can't do this by yourself. The security alone is enough to make your head spin. You'd be fried before you entered the front door."
"I don't care. I'm going to get backup."
Sark laughed shortly, but it wasn't an expression of humor. It was bleak, and there was no promise of his usual smirk behind it. "Who? I can't imagine anyone being up for a job like this. Everyone you could ask has been a victim of my job at one times or another. You CIA agents have a habit of holding a grudge."
"You're getting out. I swear it." She was being stubbornly optimistic, they both knew it, but it was the only thing she had to go on right now. She would not fail at her first real job since she'd gotten back. More importantly, she would not fail him. There was too much at stake. "But I won't lift a finger to help you until you stop behaving like it's already over. They haven't schedule your execution yet--there's still time to make this work."
"5 PM, tomorrow afternoon."
"What?"
"That's when I'm scheduled to die."
Sydney glanced down at the Rambaldi journal in her hand. "Not if I can help it."
* * *
She couldn't go to anyone in the CIA. And, as her first mission after Hong Kong had proved all too clearly, most of her contacts were dead. Her father couldn't even help her with transportation, because he was too busy keeping the NSC from finding out the true identity of Lazeray's murderer.
Which left her with exactly one option. She looked up at the other person in the room.
"Sydney. It's good to see you."
* * *
End chapter 3.