PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 4
"I need your help."
Sloane gestured for her to sit down. "I assumed so. You've made abundantly clear what you think of me and it must be a very dire situation indeed if I'm your last resort." He clasped his hands together and smiled. "What do you need?"
She took a deep breath and silently hoped she wasn't making the wrong choice. "You."
* * *
Sloane had remained silent as she'd given her proposal: In exchange for helping her extract Sark from the Covenant's grasp, she would willingly hand over the Rambaldi journal.
They both knew he still had the vial of liquid that made page 47 show up, along with the other artifacts and that substance. This journal was made of the same material. All he had to do was expose it.
Sloane had hesitated only minutely, because she'd demanded he'd be her only backup, her partner. There was a very real possibility that they could--and would--die. That he was willing to take that chance meant little to her. While he would chalk it up to sentimental value--*gag*--she didn't question it. His eyes had lit up when she'd revealed the journal and she then knew that the trump card was in her hand.
"Okay. Say I help you and we do this. What sort of timeframe are we looking at?"
"Under twelve hours."
His brows rose high in shock. "Sydney, there is no way we'll be able to come up with a plan to get him out that fast. We need a layout of the building, we're going to need transportation, ammunition, possibly disguises--"
"--And we both know you can do this. Sending me on a mission two hours after a briefing didn't faze you when we worked at SD-6. Why should it bother you now?"
He took in her defensive stance, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and decided to file it away for later notice. "You are referring to time when I had unlimited resources at my disposal. Things are quite different these days."
Sydney refused to back down. "Then work faster."
Sloane nodded, as if contemplating her statement, showing no expression at her cutting remark. When she was halfway out the door, he called, "Oh, and Sydney? Do you suppose your father approves of this?"
She let the door close behind her and Arvin Sloane allowed a smile to break across his face.
Her father was still her weakness.
But that didn't explain why she was so eager to free Sark, or how he'd gotten there in the first place.
* * *
Her phone beeped once as she exited the building and she dug through her bag. She had one new voicemail. Apparently, Sloane had some sort of block on incoming phone calls that weren't routed through his central lines. It shouldn't have surprised her in the least, but as she listened to her father's voice over the small earpiece, she was almost glad he did.
"--And Sydney, you are going to have to trust that he will make it out of there alive. I know you're going to want to question him about the Covenant's methods, that you hope he'll be more receptive somehow if you're the one asking the questions, but you must remember, this is Sark. He will do whatever he wants. If he hasn't found a way out yet. there may not be one."
She ended the call abruptly, cutting off her father's parting words.
Yes. It was Sark.
And they were both in this deeper than they'd ever thought possible.
She got in the car and reached underneath the passenger seat, feeling the smooth leather under her fingers. The Eye of Rambaldi was embossed on the cover and she shivered. After everything, it still came down to this.
And there was a very good possibility that she still was, in fact, "Prophecy Girl."
* * *
Sark tossed a pebble against the wall with his right hand. His left was chained up, causing him all sorts of discomfort, until he realized that the most logical position would be a half-sit, half-lean against the wall while keeping his other muscles moving.
Sydney had sounded desperate over the phone. It wasn't like her to let that tone in her voice slip through, unless she was really stressed or under the wire. It would do that, low, breathy thing where she practically hissed in anger. In that respect, she reminded him very much of a cat.
He didn't like animals much.
He was beginning to like Sydney.
The pebble bounced off the wall and he threw it back again. Another 46 minutes until the guards switched. He'd have to count well into the thousands until then. That could actually work to his advantage. Maybe then he'd have some sort of news to tell her.
Sark resumed his rhythmatic pebble tossing and sighed. A cough broke loose from his battered ribs and he frowned. Getting sick was the last thing he needed. Perhaps some rest would do him good.
Yes. That was a good idea. He'd just close his eyes for a little while and wake up when it was time to call Sydney again.
* * *
She stared at her phone, willing it to ring.
It didn't.
Sydney threw it at the couch in frustration, and started to pace the length of her living room. There was a knock on the door and she hurriedly opened it, hoping for some sort of message from Sloane.
It was Weiss.
"Hey, Syd! What's up? Wanna toss back a couple of beers and watch the Kings game?"
The Kings were playing tonight. Of course. How could she forget? Silly Sydney, you're supposed to be able to compartmentalize and tuck away thoughts of beat-up Sark to the back of your mind while you drink beer with your almost-roommate and wait for a sign from the man you hate most in the world.
She forced a tired smile onto her face. "Sorry, Weiss, I must have forgotten. I'm actually a little tired, so if you don't mind taking a rain check this time around--"
The sharp trilling of her phone sounded in the room and she nearly cleared the sofa to get to it.
"Hello?" She breathlessly answered.
"Sydney. I've found a way in." Her body sagged in disappointment. It was only Sloane.
Suddenly remembering that Weiss was in the doorway, watching her with rapt interest, she replied, "That's great. My Dad will be so glad you've found the print."
"Instead of being confused, or trying to decipher the cryptic statement you just made, I'm going to assume there's someone nearby you don't want to hear this phone call."
She gave Weiss a reassuring smile and continued, "Of course, that sounds reasonable. When should I stop by and pick it up?"
"I'll see you in 20 minutes at the bridge. Oh, and Sydney? Make sure you bring the book."
The smile faltered briefly on her face. "Of course." She let the call end and turned to Weiss apologetically. "I'm sorry, Weiss. I have to go pick up this picture for my dad, and the supplier is really eccentric about payment and meeting locations. I promise I'm not blowing you off or anything."
He smiled easily. "Hey, no big deal. It's the playoffs, remember? We'll just catch the next game."
"Sounds like a plan," she kissed him on the cheek, ushering him out the door. "If I don't see you later tonight, I'll catch up with you tomorrow at work."
"Okay. And hey, I'm gonna want to get a look at this picture. It must be pretty impressive if Jack Bristow wants it." He called down the hallway.
Sydney closed the door and leaned against it. She slowly counted to 50 and then sprung into action. Getting to the bridge would be no problem. Getting her gear and remaining undetected, however, was another thing entirely.
* * *
"We infiltrate here," Sloane pointed to red circle on the map. It was a layout of the Covenant's facilities in Moscow. He didn't tell her where he obtained it, and she didn't ask. They were flying over the Atlantic in a non-descript jet as he detailed the game plan. "Sark is probably being held somewhere around here, in the capture section. Security is heavy, and we're going to need to knock out the power before we go in."
"Won't the guards have night vision goggles?"
"No. The chances of successfully killing the electricity are so slim, they don't carry the extra bulk."
"Why?"
"Number one, it's guarded by two men with Uzis. And number two, no one has ever managed to do it."
The tone in his voice suggested that it had been attempted before and met with failure. It sure gave her a warm fuzzy feeling inside.
"What about our exit? We don't know what kind of condition Sark's in and he'll probably slow us down. By the time I reach him, they'll have figured out something is up."
He gestured to another circle on the map. "The roof in the observatory is made of glass. You will have a grapnel and climbing set strong enough to clear both you and Sark of building. The roof is surprisingly manned by a single guard. Take him out and you're home free, for the chopper will be waiting on the other end of the building."
She fingered the fringe of her braid. "Where will you be?"
"After you turn out the lights, I'll cover you on the entrance to the building. Once you're in, the helicopter will be waiting in a nearby field. I'll guide the pilot to the roof, and we'll wait for you there."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do I know you won't just leave me there?"
He smiled. "Sydney, do you honestly think I would come this far to desert you? I had my chance before we left the States." A shiver raced down her spine. "But I would never leave you. You mean far too much for me to ever do that."
She angled her body so she could stare out the window instead of at his face and tried to focus on her mission. In and out. Before anyone knew what happened.
Just because Sark hadn't called her didn't necessarily mean he was dead.
Sydney looked at her watch. They had just about two hours left. Great. Nothing like pressure to make a job easier.
* * *
True to his word, Sloane covered for her as she took out the two guards. Then helped her neatly dispose of them in a nearby shed. He gave her thumbs up, which she gamely returned with a shark's smile, and sprinted for the front doors. That was the last she saw of him.
The compound was eerily quiet, and even though she had night vision underneath her ski mask, Sydney knew she was going to have to be careful. Sure enough, around the first corner, there were two guards waiting for her. She ducked her head around and then back again. And three more down the other corridor. Insider her upper left pocket were tiny remote grenades. Where Sloane had gotten them, she didn't want to know. Probably leftover reserves from SD-6 that he had squirreled away in some villa somewhere.
She threw one down the farthest corridor and watched as they all ran towards the faint 'chinking' noise. When she was certain there were all five down there, she hit the button inside her glove. That section of the hallway detonated, bringing down the roof. Even if they had been alerted to her presence by now, their route to her was blocked. They'd have to go the way she came. And she wasn't going back that way.
From her pack, Sydney grabbed a penlight and attached it to the end of her gun, heading down the hallway, and ducking in another one. Sure enough, true to the plans they'd studied on the plane ride over, there were ten cells lining the walls. She flashed the penlight in each one, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde hair. It wasn't until she reached the eighth cell that she began to get worried. Not only were they all empty, filled with bones, but since the lights were out, there really was no way to do a thorough search.
Determined to find him despite these setbacks, she slowed her movement and carefully searched the ninth cell. The light caught a flash of something dark, and she stilled. Going even slower this time, she scaled every inch, landing on something curled up in the far corner. It was blonde, huddled in a ball, and, from the looks of it, shivering.
She cursed under her breath and brought out the mini-laser cutter. Seconds later, she'd kicked down the bar and was inside, pulling Sark to his feet gently. The skin under her hand felt chafed and she used the light to see how red and roughed up it was.
"My god," she breathed, giving it closer consideration. "What did they do to you?"
He snatched his hand back from her grasp and looked at her in the dark. "I'm not going to ask how you got in. But it sounds like we've got to go."
Startled out of her reverie and realizing that there was more to this than met the eye, she nodded. "Okay. We have to go this way--" she stuck her head out and started to move, only to be jerked back sharply by Sark.
Two seconds later, a wave of gunfire echoed in the hallway and she closed her eyes, breathing heavily against his chest. Even though they were in a Covenant hideout, with one injured party and no light, she felt safe. She took a moment to savor the feeling and refused to think of what it meant.
"Thanks," Sydney whispered softly.
Sark's hand moved clumsily over her shoulder, then her face, before reaching the bars of the cell. "Not a problem. They should be gone now. Let's go."
* * *
Getting out of the prisoner area was actually rather easy. Sark had stopped her outside a door and said, "Wait here."
She'd given him a dubious look that of course he couldn't see and he added, "It will only take a second."
True to his word, he reappeared moments later, looking no different.
"What--?" She asked.
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Now--about this escape plan. I'm assuming you do have one."
She stopped. "Why no. I was just sort of making it up as I went along."
Sark elbowed her and gestured for her to keep moving. As they furtively progressed down more hallways, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into another room. She rolled her eyes. "Sark, back there, I was kidding. Of course I have a plan."
"And I assume it includes the observatory?" Her jaw fell open. He nodded. "That's fine, there's just a small obstacle of at least five more men with guns at the door."
She took a few calming breaths, trying to think of the alternatives. There weren't any. She moved onto routes past the men and into the room.
"We need a distraction," Sydney concluded.
Sark's brows rose. "Hey don't look at me. You're the one who waltzed in here and had to let everyone know you'd arrived. Who throws a grenade as soon as they enter the building? Why not just ask for the welcome mat? Hell, you could might as well wear a neon blinking light attached to the back of your head that says 'Shoot Here!'"
Sydney tried. She really, honestly, did. But she couldn't help it. It started as a squeak. Then another. And another. By the time Sark was looking at her as if she was an insane person, she was full on laughing. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Come on," he grabbed her arm.
She gradually stopped laughing. "And what? Have you forgotten we still need a plan What are you going to do, just run in there, guns blazing?"
Sark continued to guide her down the darkened hallway and her eyes widened. "Oh no. We're not doing it this way. There's got to be a better plan in that intelligent brain of yours."
"You've a better idea?" He dryly inquired. She shook her head mutely. He'd grabbed a gun from a fallen soldier earlier in their trip and cocked it mock-threateningly, before flashing her a quick grin. "Then let's go."
* * *
What happened next was kind of a blur. She remembered shooting, lots and lots of shooting, going back and forth like a volleyball. It vaguely reminded her of a mission that seemed like months ago--and was probably years--with Vaughn, where he was in their very position, except he was being shot at by Sark. And here she was, helping him break free.
They exchanged two more rounds of fire and got up to run. This time, Sydney took the lead and burst through the doors. She thought she heard another shot, and felt Sark jump from behind her, but tucked it away for use at a later time and focused purely on getting them out of there.
While sirens finally started wailing in their ears, she reached for the climbing gear in her pack and started attaching it to her waist. She rapidly threw around belt around his and locked it into place. Then she took the curved tri-hook and shot it straight up into the air. It broke through and rained little pieces of glass all over them. One sliced down her cheek and the other nicked the top of Sark's ear.
Once that was done, she took the last connector and linked her belt with his, ensuring that they'd go up together at the same time. Unfortunately-- or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it--it required them to be unbearably close. Sark, of course, instantly picked up on this.
"Sydney. All you had to do was ask," he stated, sounding drunk.
"I never ask," she replied, tugging the wire tightly, to make sure it would hold. Gunfire sounded outside the corridor and she absently smoothed back his closely shorn hair. "Let's go."
He put his hands around her waist and she locked hers in over his shoulders, mindful of his bruises, and shot the pulley with her gun. It yanked them up, fast, and gaining speed, until she told him to close his eyes and they crashed up through the glass ceiling. They immediately sprung apart and hurriedly shed the climbing gear. She grabbed for his hand and pulled him along the route Sloane had mapped out for them.
Sure enough, there was one guard waiting for them at the end of the rooftop. There was a bullet through his head and she automatically looked up, following its journey with her eyes. Sloane was hanging precariously out of the Blackbird, wielding a rather nasty looking gun.
She yanked Sark's hand, once, to get his attention and set about getting them both back in the air where they belonged. Once situated, she began tending to his wounds the best she could. There was blood leaking from his shoulder. She ripped the prison garb off and saw the hole the bullet had made when passing through.
Her mind replayed the event in slow motion and she silently sent him another heap of gratitude, for being so strong. She didn't know how he'd done it, but was eternally thankful for it. He remained quiet as she cleaned it and set it with a bandage.
Sloane watched their encounter and startled her by asking, "The journal?"
Sydney reached down the front of her jacket and drew it out. "Here."
"Thank you."
The rest of the flight was silent and Sark refused to meet her eyes until they got back to America.
* * *
The shocked looks on everyone's faces were almost enough to make the whole trip worth it. Lauren, she was gratified to see, was, for once, completely speechless. She'd taken one look at them and run straight back to Vaughn. Vaughn had raced from his desk back to the JTF offices, just in time to see a battered Sark and weary Sydney enter Dixon's office. He sighed despairingly.
Weiss elbowed him. "What's the commotion?"
"Sydney just came back."
His eyes lit up. "Oh? Did she get the picture?"
Vaughn paused long enough in his far away, yearning looks to stare at his friend disbelievingly. "What are you talking about?"
Weiss grinned. "Oh, I'm not telling. This is one secret that will not pass through Eric Weiss lips." He walked away, chuckling to himself.
The doors remained firmly closed and Vaughn sighed. What had Sydney done and why did he have the sinking suspicion it had something to do with Sark? He groaned and took a seat near the door. He'd intercept her when she came out and maybe then they could talk.
If nothing else, he could give her some tips on being a handler. It looked like she wasn't doing too well.
* * *
"Sydney, what is the meaning of this? I distinctly remember telling you that you were forbidden to go in and extract Sark!" Dixon was all but yelling and she was forcibly reminded that he was, indeed, a very powerful man.
Sark's eyebrows rose at this, and he quietly pouted. "Nice to see that you've such concern for my welfare."
"Stay out of this," Sydney and Dixon barked simultaneously.
His lower lip stuck out even further and he crossed his arms, slouching in his seat.
Sydney glared right back at the man who had been her partner for so long and again, wondered what had happened to make him so. anal. She decided it would be best to save that question for another time. "Yes, I was ordered against going in *by myself*. And I did not disobey your orders, because I went in with another person. Then you add Sark, which brings us up to a grand total of three people. Clearly, I was not alone."
Dixon could do nothing but blink furiously and shoot her a very angry look. Finally, he said, "Both of you, out of my office, *now!*"
Sark examined his fingernails and pretended to be surprised when Sydney yanked him out of his chair and pulled him out the door.
They were met by an office of staring CIA agents and one extremely vexed Agent Vaughn.
"Sydney, what in the world is going on here?"
She took a deep breath and tried to remember that killing him in plain view, with more than three-dozen witnesses was a very bad idea. Even if it would put her closer to Sark. No! No, she did not just think that! Bad Sydney!
"If you would excuse me, I have to escort my agent back down to his cell. Then we have a debrief to write out. As you can see, I really don't have time to chat."
He looked flustered at being shot down so fast, and at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out.
"You know, your impression of a fish is really quite amazing. Perhaps the circus will have an opening for such talents. I still have a few contacts, I could inquire, if it's something you're interested in."
"--Sark!" Sydney snapped, shooting him a death glare and shaking her head.
He sighed and let himself be pulled along to the doors. At the last second, while they were rounding the corner, Sark looked back and saw Vaughn standing there, gaping in their wake. A deviant little thought crossed his mind and he stuck out his tongue. Vaughn's jaw dropped even lower but the doors closed before anything else could happen.
"I saw that."
* * *
After they'd gotten him cleaned up and cleared by medical services, Sydney brought Sark back to his cell and watched emotionlessly as the guard locked the door again. They waited until he was gone before attempting to speak.
"I wanted to thank you for--"
She shook her head once, curtly. "It was nothing." Her eyes betrayed her, though, for they were still fiery with irritation directed at Vaughn and partially at their predicament. It was only a short period of time before Dixon cleared through his anger to ask who had accompanied her on the mission and telling him flat out "Arvin Sloane," would not go over well at all.
Sark took in her folded-arm stance and the way she was nearly shaking and realized that he hadn't been the only one scared in the past 24 hours. Unfortunately, it was more than his battered mind could take, and he didn't care to analyze precisely what it meant. Which meant he would have to make it disappear, and the only way he knew how, standing behind a glass wall.
"Why, Sydney. Can it be you were actually *worried* about me?"
Her eyes drilled into him at the flipness of his statement. Instead of some sharp rejoinder, however, she sighed and quietly remarked, "Yeah. Believe it or not. . ." a self-deprecating smile as she seemed to be laughing at herself, "I was."
For once, Sark was left speechless and could only watch as she walked away and disappeared from view.
* * *
Jack Bristow found his daughter on a folding chair, outside of Sark's cell. Hours had passed since her return and the toll was clearly written all over her face. She looked up at his footsteps and managed a weary smile.
"Hi."
"Hi," he uncertainly replied. "I'm glad you're back."
"Me too." She exhaled heavily, and closed her eyes briefly. It was a move that looked wrong on his daughter, something that aged her before his eyes and he didn't care for it much.
Jack looked around the room and found another chair several feet away. He carried it over and set it down next to hers. "Sydney, I was there when Dixon told you not to go in, we talked about this--" he made as if to reach in his pocket, and she put a hand on his arm, effectively giving him pause. His expression was so wounded she almost laughed.
"Dad. I only did what I felt necessary." Her gaze moved beyond him, to where Sark was fitfully sleeping on the narrow cot.
He followed her gaze and frowned. "I hope you're not doing this out of guilt."
Abruptly, the weight of Andrian Lazeray's death settled heavily back on her shoulders. It visibly seemed to upset her further and Jack put a hand on her shoulder.
"Sydney," he lowers his voice in earnest and she looks at him with her little girl eyes. "You couldn't help this, it wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was."
"No," Jack raised his voice an octave, careful not to wake Sark-- because the last thing they needed was for the cocky blonde assassin see their family dysfunction--"it wasn't. You didn't do this to him."
She frowned at him. "Yes, Dad. I did."
* * *
Ooooh. Am I evil, or what? Talk about channeling Mr. Sark! Well, you know what, the length of this chapter more than makes up for the tricky cliffhanger I left you with. Have fun and don't forget to review!
"I need your help."
Sloane gestured for her to sit down. "I assumed so. You've made abundantly clear what you think of me and it must be a very dire situation indeed if I'm your last resort." He clasped his hands together and smiled. "What do you need?"
She took a deep breath and silently hoped she wasn't making the wrong choice. "You."
* * *
Sloane had remained silent as she'd given her proposal: In exchange for helping her extract Sark from the Covenant's grasp, she would willingly hand over the Rambaldi journal.
They both knew he still had the vial of liquid that made page 47 show up, along with the other artifacts and that substance. This journal was made of the same material. All he had to do was expose it.
Sloane had hesitated only minutely, because she'd demanded he'd be her only backup, her partner. There was a very real possibility that they could--and would--die. That he was willing to take that chance meant little to her. While he would chalk it up to sentimental value--*gag*--she didn't question it. His eyes had lit up when she'd revealed the journal and she then knew that the trump card was in her hand.
"Okay. Say I help you and we do this. What sort of timeframe are we looking at?"
"Under twelve hours."
His brows rose high in shock. "Sydney, there is no way we'll be able to come up with a plan to get him out that fast. We need a layout of the building, we're going to need transportation, ammunition, possibly disguises--"
"--And we both know you can do this. Sending me on a mission two hours after a briefing didn't faze you when we worked at SD-6. Why should it bother you now?"
He took in her defensive stance, the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and decided to file it away for later notice. "You are referring to time when I had unlimited resources at my disposal. Things are quite different these days."
Sydney refused to back down. "Then work faster."
Sloane nodded, as if contemplating her statement, showing no expression at her cutting remark. When she was halfway out the door, he called, "Oh, and Sydney? Do you suppose your father approves of this?"
She let the door close behind her and Arvin Sloane allowed a smile to break across his face.
Her father was still her weakness.
But that didn't explain why she was so eager to free Sark, or how he'd gotten there in the first place.
* * *
Her phone beeped once as she exited the building and she dug through her bag. She had one new voicemail. Apparently, Sloane had some sort of block on incoming phone calls that weren't routed through his central lines. It shouldn't have surprised her in the least, but as she listened to her father's voice over the small earpiece, she was almost glad he did.
"--And Sydney, you are going to have to trust that he will make it out of there alive. I know you're going to want to question him about the Covenant's methods, that you hope he'll be more receptive somehow if you're the one asking the questions, but you must remember, this is Sark. He will do whatever he wants. If he hasn't found a way out yet. there may not be one."
She ended the call abruptly, cutting off her father's parting words.
Yes. It was Sark.
And they were both in this deeper than they'd ever thought possible.
She got in the car and reached underneath the passenger seat, feeling the smooth leather under her fingers. The Eye of Rambaldi was embossed on the cover and she shivered. After everything, it still came down to this.
And there was a very good possibility that she still was, in fact, "Prophecy Girl."
* * *
Sark tossed a pebble against the wall with his right hand. His left was chained up, causing him all sorts of discomfort, until he realized that the most logical position would be a half-sit, half-lean against the wall while keeping his other muscles moving.
Sydney had sounded desperate over the phone. It wasn't like her to let that tone in her voice slip through, unless she was really stressed or under the wire. It would do that, low, breathy thing where she practically hissed in anger. In that respect, she reminded him very much of a cat.
He didn't like animals much.
He was beginning to like Sydney.
The pebble bounced off the wall and he threw it back again. Another 46 minutes until the guards switched. He'd have to count well into the thousands until then. That could actually work to his advantage. Maybe then he'd have some sort of news to tell her.
Sark resumed his rhythmatic pebble tossing and sighed. A cough broke loose from his battered ribs and he frowned. Getting sick was the last thing he needed. Perhaps some rest would do him good.
Yes. That was a good idea. He'd just close his eyes for a little while and wake up when it was time to call Sydney again.
* * *
She stared at her phone, willing it to ring.
It didn't.
Sydney threw it at the couch in frustration, and started to pace the length of her living room. There was a knock on the door and she hurriedly opened it, hoping for some sort of message from Sloane.
It was Weiss.
"Hey, Syd! What's up? Wanna toss back a couple of beers and watch the Kings game?"
The Kings were playing tonight. Of course. How could she forget? Silly Sydney, you're supposed to be able to compartmentalize and tuck away thoughts of beat-up Sark to the back of your mind while you drink beer with your almost-roommate and wait for a sign from the man you hate most in the world.
She forced a tired smile onto her face. "Sorry, Weiss, I must have forgotten. I'm actually a little tired, so if you don't mind taking a rain check this time around--"
The sharp trilling of her phone sounded in the room and she nearly cleared the sofa to get to it.
"Hello?" She breathlessly answered.
"Sydney. I've found a way in." Her body sagged in disappointment. It was only Sloane.
Suddenly remembering that Weiss was in the doorway, watching her with rapt interest, she replied, "That's great. My Dad will be so glad you've found the print."
"Instead of being confused, or trying to decipher the cryptic statement you just made, I'm going to assume there's someone nearby you don't want to hear this phone call."
She gave Weiss a reassuring smile and continued, "Of course, that sounds reasonable. When should I stop by and pick it up?"
"I'll see you in 20 minutes at the bridge. Oh, and Sydney? Make sure you bring the book."
The smile faltered briefly on her face. "Of course." She let the call end and turned to Weiss apologetically. "I'm sorry, Weiss. I have to go pick up this picture for my dad, and the supplier is really eccentric about payment and meeting locations. I promise I'm not blowing you off or anything."
He smiled easily. "Hey, no big deal. It's the playoffs, remember? We'll just catch the next game."
"Sounds like a plan," she kissed him on the cheek, ushering him out the door. "If I don't see you later tonight, I'll catch up with you tomorrow at work."
"Okay. And hey, I'm gonna want to get a look at this picture. It must be pretty impressive if Jack Bristow wants it." He called down the hallway.
Sydney closed the door and leaned against it. She slowly counted to 50 and then sprung into action. Getting to the bridge would be no problem. Getting her gear and remaining undetected, however, was another thing entirely.
* * *
"We infiltrate here," Sloane pointed to red circle on the map. It was a layout of the Covenant's facilities in Moscow. He didn't tell her where he obtained it, and she didn't ask. They were flying over the Atlantic in a non-descript jet as he detailed the game plan. "Sark is probably being held somewhere around here, in the capture section. Security is heavy, and we're going to need to knock out the power before we go in."
"Won't the guards have night vision goggles?"
"No. The chances of successfully killing the electricity are so slim, they don't carry the extra bulk."
"Why?"
"Number one, it's guarded by two men with Uzis. And number two, no one has ever managed to do it."
The tone in his voice suggested that it had been attempted before and met with failure. It sure gave her a warm fuzzy feeling inside.
"What about our exit? We don't know what kind of condition Sark's in and he'll probably slow us down. By the time I reach him, they'll have figured out something is up."
He gestured to another circle on the map. "The roof in the observatory is made of glass. You will have a grapnel and climbing set strong enough to clear both you and Sark of building. The roof is surprisingly manned by a single guard. Take him out and you're home free, for the chopper will be waiting on the other end of the building."
She fingered the fringe of her braid. "Where will you be?"
"After you turn out the lights, I'll cover you on the entrance to the building. Once you're in, the helicopter will be waiting in a nearby field. I'll guide the pilot to the roof, and we'll wait for you there."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do I know you won't just leave me there?"
He smiled. "Sydney, do you honestly think I would come this far to desert you? I had my chance before we left the States." A shiver raced down her spine. "But I would never leave you. You mean far too much for me to ever do that."
She angled her body so she could stare out the window instead of at his face and tried to focus on her mission. In and out. Before anyone knew what happened.
Just because Sark hadn't called her didn't necessarily mean he was dead.
Sydney looked at her watch. They had just about two hours left. Great. Nothing like pressure to make a job easier.
* * *
True to his word, Sloane covered for her as she took out the two guards. Then helped her neatly dispose of them in a nearby shed. He gave her thumbs up, which she gamely returned with a shark's smile, and sprinted for the front doors. That was the last she saw of him.
The compound was eerily quiet, and even though she had night vision underneath her ski mask, Sydney knew she was going to have to be careful. Sure enough, around the first corner, there were two guards waiting for her. She ducked her head around and then back again. And three more down the other corridor. Insider her upper left pocket were tiny remote grenades. Where Sloane had gotten them, she didn't want to know. Probably leftover reserves from SD-6 that he had squirreled away in some villa somewhere.
She threw one down the farthest corridor and watched as they all ran towards the faint 'chinking' noise. When she was certain there were all five down there, she hit the button inside her glove. That section of the hallway detonated, bringing down the roof. Even if they had been alerted to her presence by now, their route to her was blocked. They'd have to go the way she came. And she wasn't going back that way.
From her pack, Sydney grabbed a penlight and attached it to the end of her gun, heading down the hallway, and ducking in another one. Sure enough, true to the plans they'd studied on the plane ride over, there were ten cells lining the walls. She flashed the penlight in each one, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde hair. It wasn't until she reached the eighth cell that she began to get worried. Not only were they all empty, filled with bones, but since the lights were out, there really was no way to do a thorough search.
Determined to find him despite these setbacks, she slowed her movement and carefully searched the ninth cell. The light caught a flash of something dark, and she stilled. Going even slower this time, she scaled every inch, landing on something curled up in the far corner. It was blonde, huddled in a ball, and, from the looks of it, shivering.
She cursed under her breath and brought out the mini-laser cutter. Seconds later, she'd kicked down the bar and was inside, pulling Sark to his feet gently. The skin under her hand felt chafed and she used the light to see how red and roughed up it was.
"My god," she breathed, giving it closer consideration. "What did they do to you?"
He snatched his hand back from her grasp and looked at her in the dark. "I'm not going to ask how you got in. But it sounds like we've got to go."
Startled out of her reverie and realizing that there was more to this than met the eye, she nodded. "Okay. We have to go this way--" she stuck her head out and started to move, only to be jerked back sharply by Sark.
Two seconds later, a wave of gunfire echoed in the hallway and she closed her eyes, breathing heavily against his chest. Even though they were in a Covenant hideout, with one injured party and no light, she felt safe. She took a moment to savor the feeling and refused to think of what it meant.
"Thanks," Sydney whispered softly.
Sark's hand moved clumsily over her shoulder, then her face, before reaching the bars of the cell. "Not a problem. They should be gone now. Let's go."
* * *
Getting out of the prisoner area was actually rather easy. Sark had stopped her outside a door and said, "Wait here."
She'd given him a dubious look that of course he couldn't see and he added, "It will only take a second."
True to his word, he reappeared moments later, looking no different.
"What--?" She asked.
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Now--about this escape plan. I'm assuming you do have one."
She stopped. "Why no. I was just sort of making it up as I went along."
Sark elbowed her and gestured for her to keep moving. As they furtively progressed down more hallways, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into another room. She rolled her eyes. "Sark, back there, I was kidding. Of course I have a plan."
"And I assume it includes the observatory?" Her jaw fell open. He nodded. "That's fine, there's just a small obstacle of at least five more men with guns at the door."
She took a few calming breaths, trying to think of the alternatives. There weren't any. She moved onto routes past the men and into the room.
"We need a distraction," Sydney concluded.
Sark's brows rose. "Hey don't look at me. You're the one who waltzed in here and had to let everyone know you'd arrived. Who throws a grenade as soon as they enter the building? Why not just ask for the welcome mat? Hell, you could might as well wear a neon blinking light attached to the back of your head that says 'Shoot Here!'"
Sydney tried. She really, honestly, did. But she couldn't help it. It started as a squeak. Then another. And another. By the time Sark was looking at her as if she was an insane person, she was full on laughing. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Come on," he grabbed her arm.
She gradually stopped laughing. "And what? Have you forgotten we still need a plan What are you going to do, just run in there, guns blazing?"
Sark continued to guide her down the darkened hallway and her eyes widened. "Oh no. We're not doing it this way. There's got to be a better plan in that intelligent brain of yours."
"You've a better idea?" He dryly inquired. She shook her head mutely. He'd grabbed a gun from a fallen soldier earlier in their trip and cocked it mock-threateningly, before flashing her a quick grin. "Then let's go."
* * *
What happened next was kind of a blur. She remembered shooting, lots and lots of shooting, going back and forth like a volleyball. It vaguely reminded her of a mission that seemed like months ago--and was probably years--with Vaughn, where he was in their very position, except he was being shot at by Sark. And here she was, helping him break free.
They exchanged two more rounds of fire and got up to run. This time, Sydney took the lead and burst through the doors. She thought she heard another shot, and felt Sark jump from behind her, but tucked it away for use at a later time and focused purely on getting them out of there.
While sirens finally started wailing in their ears, she reached for the climbing gear in her pack and started attaching it to her waist. She rapidly threw around belt around his and locked it into place. Then she took the curved tri-hook and shot it straight up into the air. It broke through and rained little pieces of glass all over them. One sliced down her cheek and the other nicked the top of Sark's ear.
Once that was done, she took the last connector and linked her belt with his, ensuring that they'd go up together at the same time. Unfortunately-- or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it--it required them to be unbearably close. Sark, of course, instantly picked up on this.
"Sydney. All you had to do was ask," he stated, sounding drunk.
"I never ask," she replied, tugging the wire tightly, to make sure it would hold. Gunfire sounded outside the corridor and she absently smoothed back his closely shorn hair. "Let's go."
He put his hands around her waist and she locked hers in over his shoulders, mindful of his bruises, and shot the pulley with her gun. It yanked them up, fast, and gaining speed, until she told him to close his eyes and they crashed up through the glass ceiling. They immediately sprung apart and hurriedly shed the climbing gear. She grabbed for his hand and pulled him along the route Sloane had mapped out for them.
Sure enough, there was one guard waiting for them at the end of the rooftop. There was a bullet through his head and she automatically looked up, following its journey with her eyes. Sloane was hanging precariously out of the Blackbird, wielding a rather nasty looking gun.
She yanked Sark's hand, once, to get his attention and set about getting them both back in the air where they belonged. Once situated, she began tending to his wounds the best she could. There was blood leaking from his shoulder. She ripped the prison garb off and saw the hole the bullet had made when passing through.
Her mind replayed the event in slow motion and she silently sent him another heap of gratitude, for being so strong. She didn't know how he'd done it, but was eternally thankful for it. He remained quiet as she cleaned it and set it with a bandage.
Sloane watched their encounter and startled her by asking, "The journal?"
Sydney reached down the front of her jacket and drew it out. "Here."
"Thank you."
The rest of the flight was silent and Sark refused to meet her eyes until they got back to America.
* * *
The shocked looks on everyone's faces were almost enough to make the whole trip worth it. Lauren, she was gratified to see, was, for once, completely speechless. She'd taken one look at them and run straight back to Vaughn. Vaughn had raced from his desk back to the JTF offices, just in time to see a battered Sark and weary Sydney enter Dixon's office. He sighed despairingly.
Weiss elbowed him. "What's the commotion?"
"Sydney just came back."
His eyes lit up. "Oh? Did she get the picture?"
Vaughn paused long enough in his far away, yearning looks to stare at his friend disbelievingly. "What are you talking about?"
Weiss grinned. "Oh, I'm not telling. This is one secret that will not pass through Eric Weiss lips." He walked away, chuckling to himself.
The doors remained firmly closed and Vaughn sighed. What had Sydney done and why did he have the sinking suspicion it had something to do with Sark? He groaned and took a seat near the door. He'd intercept her when she came out and maybe then they could talk.
If nothing else, he could give her some tips on being a handler. It looked like she wasn't doing too well.
* * *
"Sydney, what is the meaning of this? I distinctly remember telling you that you were forbidden to go in and extract Sark!" Dixon was all but yelling and she was forcibly reminded that he was, indeed, a very powerful man.
Sark's eyebrows rose at this, and he quietly pouted. "Nice to see that you've such concern for my welfare."
"Stay out of this," Sydney and Dixon barked simultaneously.
His lower lip stuck out even further and he crossed his arms, slouching in his seat.
Sydney glared right back at the man who had been her partner for so long and again, wondered what had happened to make him so. anal. She decided it would be best to save that question for another time. "Yes, I was ordered against going in *by myself*. And I did not disobey your orders, because I went in with another person. Then you add Sark, which brings us up to a grand total of three people. Clearly, I was not alone."
Dixon could do nothing but blink furiously and shoot her a very angry look. Finally, he said, "Both of you, out of my office, *now!*"
Sark examined his fingernails and pretended to be surprised when Sydney yanked him out of his chair and pulled him out the door.
They were met by an office of staring CIA agents and one extremely vexed Agent Vaughn.
"Sydney, what in the world is going on here?"
She took a deep breath and tried to remember that killing him in plain view, with more than three-dozen witnesses was a very bad idea. Even if it would put her closer to Sark. No! No, she did not just think that! Bad Sydney!
"If you would excuse me, I have to escort my agent back down to his cell. Then we have a debrief to write out. As you can see, I really don't have time to chat."
He looked flustered at being shot down so fast, and at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out.
"You know, your impression of a fish is really quite amazing. Perhaps the circus will have an opening for such talents. I still have a few contacts, I could inquire, if it's something you're interested in."
"--Sark!" Sydney snapped, shooting him a death glare and shaking her head.
He sighed and let himself be pulled along to the doors. At the last second, while they were rounding the corner, Sark looked back and saw Vaughn standing there, gaping in their wake. A deviant little thought crossed his mind and he stuck out his tongue. Vaughn's jaw dropped even lower but the doors closed before anything else could happen.
"I saw that."
* * *
After they'd gotten him cleaned up and cleared by medical services, Sydney brought Sark back to his cell and watched emotionlessly as the guard locked the door again. They waited until he was gone before attempting to speak.
"I wanted to thank you for--"
She shook her head once, curtly. "It was nothing." Her eyes betrayed her, though, for they were still fiery with irritation directed at Vaughn and partially at their predicament. It was only a short period of time before Dixon cleared through his anger to ask who had accompanied her on the mission and telling him flat out "Arvin Sloane," would not go over well at all.
Sark took in her folded-arm stance and the way she was nearly shaking and realized that he hadn't been the only one scared in the past 24 hours. Unfortunately, it was more than his battered mind could take, and he didn't care to analyze precisely what it meant. Which meant he would have to make it disappear, and the only way he knew how, standing behind a glass wall.
"Why, Sydney. Can it be you were actually *worried* about me?"
Her eyes drilled into him at the flipness of his statement. Instead of some sharp rejoinder, however, she sighed and quietly remarked, "Yeah. Believe it or not. . ." a self-deprecating smile as she seemed to be laughing at herself, "I was."
For once, Sark was left speechless and could only watch as she walked away and disappeared from view.
* * *
Jack Bristow found his daughter on a folding chair, outside of Sark's cell. Hours had passed since her return and the toll was clearly written all over her face. She looked up at his footsteps and managed a weary smile.
"Hi."
"Hi," he uncertainly replied. "I'm glad you're back."
"Me too." She exhaled heavily, and closed her eyes briefly. It was a move that looked wrong on his daughter, something that aged her before his eyes and he didn't care for it much.
Jack looked around the room and found another chair several feet away. He carried it over and set it down next to hers. "Sydney, I was there when Dixon told you not to go in, we talked about this--" he made as if to reach in his pocket, and she put a hand on his arm, effectively giving him pause. His expression was so wounded she almost laughed.
"Dad. I only did what I felt necessary." Her gaze moved beyond him, to where Sark was fitfully sleeping on the narrow cot.
He followed her gaze and frowned. "I hope you're not doing this out of guilt."
Abruptly, the weight of Andrian Lazeray's death settled heavily back on her shoulders. It visibly seemed to upset her further and Jack put a hand on her shoulder.
"Sydney," he lowers his voice in earnest and she looks at him with her little girl eyes. "You couldn't help this, it wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was."
"No," Jack raised his voice an octave, careful not to wake Sark-- because the last thing they needed was for the cocky blonde assassin see their family dysfunction--"it wasn't. You didn't do this to him."
She frowned at him. "Yes, Dad. I did."
* * *
Ooooh. Am I evil, or what? Talk about channeling Mr. Sark! Well, you know what, the length of this chapter more than makes up for the tricky cliffhanger I left you with. Have fun and don't forget to review!