Sydney disembarked from the small fishing boat which had brought her to Île
Mariette, feeling as if she had left more than the French mainland behind--
in fact, it felt as if she had stepped back in time. Brightly colored
fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, as seagulls glided and swooped to
inspect the day's catch. The skyline above the town of Kaertrez was broken
only by a church steeple. Modest one and two-story white houses--some with
blue shutters, others with green--nestled between the bluffs of the
undulating coast. She could tell from the placement of the houses that the
cobblestone streets would be narrow and winding.
"It's beautiful!" Sydney said, more to herself than to the captain, who stood beside her, making sure his small fishing vessel, the Bihan Gouelanig, "The Little Seagull," was securely fastened to the dock.
"Degemer mat," the captain responded, in what Sydney now knew to be Breizh, a language still spoken by the people along the western coast of Brittany that had more in common with the Celtic languages of Great Britain than it did with French. "Welcome to Île Mariette. May I be of any more service to you, now that you are here?"
Realizing that his only passenger for the day was unfamiliar with Brittany or its culture, the captain of the Bihan Gouelanig, who was fluent in both French and Breizh, had regaled her with stories of the region. Having been settled by Celtic tribes early in its history, the coast of Brittany had been alternately ruled by England and France, until it came under permanent French governance in 1532. Although the people in the villages along the coast had assimilated into French culture and gradually lost their Breton traditions, island natives still spoke Breizh and preserved many of the old ways. This, however, was changing as more and more tourists came to Île D'Ouessant and Île Molene, the larger islands to the east of Île Mariette, the captain explained. Île Mariette was too small and remote for most tourists to bother with, even though it was no less beautiful than the other islands, and that, the captain led her to believe, was quite to the liking of the inhabitants of Île Mariette.
"Non, merci," Sydney answered, smiling at the captain who had brought her over from the port at Le Conquet. "I can't thank you enough!"
With a hand clasping her wide brimmed straw hat to her head, Sydney left the pier and began to climb the steep grassy knoll that lead to Jacques Vinneaux's cottage. The tall yellow grass danced in the wind around her, and in the distance she could spy the crashing waves cresting against the rough coast behind the cottage. Like the other houses she had seen in Kaertrez, it was a modest one-story white-washed building with a thatched roof. The front door and shutters were painted cerulean blue, and Sydney thought she had a rarely seen a more inviting retreat from civilization. No wonder Jacques Vinneaux had come to live on this beautiful island after he left the University of Paris.
The captain of the Bihan Gouelanig had pointed out the cottage to her as they rounded the point. It stood by itself on a spit of land that jutted out into the sea. Sydney had gazed at it, leaning against the bow of the boat, clutching her hat, much like she was doing now. She had asked the captain whether he knew Jacques Vinneaux well, but he only chuckled.
"I know him much better by another name," he had answered cryptically. "He has not always lived on Île Mariette, but his people have. He is a true Kernevad--a true Breton--despite his long absences. There are many on the island who hope he will stay now, for good."
The old captain had glanced with grandfatherly affection at the slim, young woman in the simple red sundress who stood before him, taking her in from the tip of her straw hat to the tops of her sandals and enjoying the way the breeze played with the long strands of her dark hair.
"I know he will be very happy to see you," he had continued, with a twinkle in his eye, "and I believe I will leave it at that."
"Professor Vinneaux?" Sydney called, as she now approached the cottage.
When there was no answer, she knocked on the door, waited a moment and called again. It was possible Vinneaux had stepped out, but surely he knew when the Bihan Gouelanig was getting in to port and when to expect her? Thinking perhaps that he was deaf, Sydney pulled the door latch, and finding the door unlocked, stepped inside.
It took a second or two before her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. A man in a cable-knit fisherman's sweater was bent over the fireplace, his back turned to her, stacking kindling.
"Professor Vinneaux?" Sydney inquired. "Excusez-moi. Je suis Marie--"
The man turned around, and Sydney gasped, the hat she held in her hand slipping unnoticed to the floor. The next moment, she was in Vaughn's arms.
"Vaughn! How--"
He kissed her in answer, pressing her close to him with one hand on the small of her back and the other threaded through her hair. The kiss was long, slow, and sweetly sensual--one that encouraged rather than demanded her response.
A dizzying sense of euphoria began to suffuse her from head to toe, and Sydney responded to his kiss with every fiber of her being, losing herself in it so completely she no longer knew where she ended and Vaughn began-- there was simply the kiss which united them. Nothing else existed. She wound her arms around his neck, seeking to prolong and deepen it even more.
They were both breathless at the end of the kiss, Vaughn even more so than Sydney, which made her original question seem all the more pressing.
"Vaughn, I don't understand! Weiss said you'd be in the hospital for several more days. He sent me here to meet with Jacques Vinneaux on a covert op for the CIA!"
"I told him to tell you that, and I wish my only reason for doing so was to surprise you," Vaughn replied wistfully, running a hand through his hair. "The fact is that you are on a covert op--just not the one you thought. In fact, we both are."
"Devlin knows you're here?" Sydney exclaimed.
Vaughn nodded grimly. "The CIA wants you to become a triple agent. They want you to feed your mother information, while we work in the background to bring down both her and SD-6 simultaneously. Dixon would be in charge of keeping your cover intact at SD-6, while I'd pose as the new CIA mole, so that I could back you up without making your mother suspicious."
It was all too much for her to take in. She understood her own potential role, but not Vaughn's. "Vaughn--why you? Why would anyone believe you'd become a mole?"
Pain and regret mingled together in Vaughn's eyes. "Because the most persuasive lies are the ones closest to the truth," he said slowly. "Devlin knows the real question is not what I would do to protect you, but what I wouldn't do."
A look of anguish spread across Sydney's face as the truth finally began to sink in. She had stolen documents from SD-6 and disobeyed CIA orders to save Will. She knew in her heart that she would have risked even more than that if it had been Vaughn, and not Will, whose life had been endangered. Would she have gone so far as to betray her country? Possibly, yes, but she would have tried to play all sides against each other first--which was precisely what the CIA was now asking them both to do.
Suddenly, she was angry--angrier than she remembered being at any point since Danny's death. "The CIA's toying with us! They're toying with our emotions! They're making a mockery of our relationship. They're taking what's between us--something beautiful and--and--pure--and using it for their own ends!" She broke away from Vaughn's embrace and began to pace the worn floorboards of the small cottage.
Vaughn simply stood and watched her, allowing her to progress through the same succession of emotions he himself had struggled with when Weiss had broken the news to him.
"Does my father know?" she asked him, knitting her eyebrows.
Vaughn nodded, his brow furrowed. "He formulated the plan."
Sydney shook her head slowly back and forth, her eyes wide with shock. "No, I can't believe my father would do this. I know him now--better than I ever have. He wouldn't sanction something like this."
However, she immediately recalled the disgrace that awaited Will, on account of the cover Jack had manufactured for him, and it made her not only doubt her father, but also wonder what else he had set in motion in the intervening weeks since they had returned from Taipei.
"Syd, there's another way to look at it," Vaughn broke in, drawing her into his arms again. "Your father's a game theorist--the best one I know. There's no way this op can work without our cooperation. Irina may have the advantage, but we're the pivotal pieces on the board, which means we can leverage both sides. We've got more control than you think. Devlin didn't arrange this trip; I did. I told him that if he even wanted me to consider approaching you with the plan, he needed to give us time to strategize. And if the operation hinged on the fact that I was in love with you enough to betray my country, he damn well better give us some time alone so I can start acting like it."
Sydney smiled at his vehemence, and Vaughn couldn't help but laugh.
"You didn't really tell Devlin that, did you?" she asked, joining in his laughter.
She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed. It felt so good, and little by little, the tension inside her began to ease.
Vaughn looked sheepish. "That's what I told Weiss to tell Devlin. Weiss's actual phrasing was probably a little more diplomatic."
"I think your father knew exactly what he was doing when he formulated this op," he continued in a more serious vein, once their laughter stopped. "It's extremely dangerous. I won't pretend it isn't. We still have to keep both our relationship and your status as a triple agent from SD-6, but we have the full backing of the CIA. They'll protect us as best they can. The rest we'll have to do ourselves."
Sydney simply nodded. "How long do we have?"
Vaughn smiled. "Two and a half days. Welcome to Île Mariette."
"It's beautiful!" Sydney said, more to herself than to the captain, who stood beside her, making sure his small fishing vessel, the Bihan Gouelanig, "The Little Seagull," was securely fastened to the dock.
"Degemer mat," the captain responded, in what Sydney now knew to be Breizh, a language still spoken by the people along the western coast of Brittany that had more in common with the Celtic languages of Great Britain than it did with French. "Welcome to Île Mariette. May I be of any more service to you, now that you are here?"
Realizing that his only passenger for the day was unfamiliar with Brittany or its culture, the captain of the Bihan Gouelanig, who was fluent in both French and Breizh, had regaled her with stories of the region. Having been settled by Celtic tribes early in its history, the coast of Brittany had been alternately ruled by England and France, until it came under permanent French governance in 1532. Although the people in the villages along the coast had assimilated into French culture and gradually lost their Breton traditions, island natives still spoke Breizh and preserved many of the old ways. This, however, was changing as more and more tourists came to Île D'Ouessant and Île Molene, the larger islands to the east of Île Mariette, the captain explained. Île Mariette was too small and remote for most tourists to bother with, even though it was no less beautiful than the other islands, and that, the captain led her to believe, was quite to the liking of the inhabitants of Île Mariette.
"Non, merci," Sydney answered, smiling at the captain who had brought her over from the port at Le Conquet. "I can't thank you enough!"
With a hand clasping her wide brimmed straw hat to her head, Sydney left the pier and began to climb the steep grassy knoll that lead to Jacques Vinneaux's cottage. The tall yellow grass danced in the wind around her, and in the distance she could spy the crashing waves cresting against the rough coast behind the cottage. Like the other houses she had seen in Kaertrez, it was a modest one-story white-washed building with a thatched roof. The front door and shutters were painted cerulean blue, and Sydney thought she had a rarely seen a more inviting retreat from civilization. No wonder Jacques Vinneaux had come to live on this beautiful island after he left the University of Paris.
The captain of the Bihan Gouelanig had pointed out the cottage to her as they rounded the point. It stood by itself on a spit of land that jutted out into the sea. Sydney had gazed at it, leaning against the bow of the boat, clutching her hat, much like she was doing now. She had asked the captain whether he knew Jacques Vinneaux well, but he only chuckled.
"I know him much better by another name," he had answered cryptically. "He has not always lived on Île Mariette, but his people have. He is a true Kernevad--a true Breton--despite his long absences. There are many on the island who hope he will stay now, for good."
The old captain had glanced with grandfatherly affection at the slim, young woman in the simple red sundress who stood before him, taking her in from the tip of her straw hat to the tops of her sandals and enjoying the way the breeze played with the long strands of her dark hair.
"I know he will be very happy to see you," he had continued, with a twinkle in his eye, "and I believe I will leave it at that."
"Professor Vinneaux?" Sydney called, as she now approached the cottage.
When there was no answer, she knocked on the door, waited a moment and called again. It was possible Vinneaux had stepped out, but surely he knew when the Bihan Gouelanig was getting in to port and when to expect her? Thinking perhaps that he was deaf, Sydney pulled the door latch, and finding the door unlocked, stepped inside.
It took a second or two before her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. A man in a cable-knit fisherman's sweater was bent over the fireplace, his back turned to her, stacking kindling.
"Professor Vinneaux?" Sydney inquired. "Excusez-moi. Je suis Marie--"
The man turned around, and Sydney gasped, the hat she held in her hand slipping unnoticed to the floor. The next moment, she was in Vaughn's arms.
"Vaughn! How--"
He kissed her in answer, pressing her close to him with one hand on the small of her back and the other threaded through her hair. The kiss was long, slow, and sweetly sensual--one that encouraged rather than demanded her response.
A dizzying sense of euphoria began to suffuse her from head to toe, and Sydney responded to his kiss with every fiber of her being, losing herself in it so completely she no longer knew where she ended and Vaughn began-- there was simply the kiss which united them. Nothing else existed. She wound her arms around his neck, seeking to prolong and deepen it even more.
They were both breathless at the end of the kiss, Vaughn even more so than Sydney, which made her original question seem all the more pressing.
"Vaughn, I don't understand! Weiss said you'd be in the hospital for several more days. He sent me here to meet with Jacques Vinneaux on a covert op for the CIA!"
"I told him to tell you that, and I wish my only reason for doing so was to surprise you," Vaughn replied wistfully, running a hand through his hair. "The fact is that you are on a covert op--just not the one you thought. In fact, we both are."
"Devlin knows you're here?" Sydney exclaimed.
Vaughn nodded grimly. "The CIA wants you to become a triple agent. They want you to feed your mother information, while we work in the background to bring down both her and SD-6 simultaneously. Dixon would be in charge of keeping your cover intact at SD-6, while I'd pose as the new CIA mole, so that I could back you up without making your mother suspicious."
It was all too much for her to take in. She understood her own potential role, but not Vaughn's. "Vaughn--why you? Why would anyone believe you'd become a mole?"
Pain and regret mingled together in Vaughn's eyes. "Because the most persuasive lies are the ones closest to the truth," he said slowly. "Devlin knows the real question is not what I would do to protect you, but what I wouldn't do."
A look of anguish spread across Sydney's face as the truth finally began to sink in. She had stolen documents from SD-6 and disobeyed CIA orders to save Will. She knew in her heart that she would have risked even more than that if it had been Vaughn, and not Will, whose life had been endangered. Would she have gone so far as to betray her country? Possibly, yes, but she would have tried to play all sides against each other first--which was precisely what the CIA was now asking them both to do.
Suddenly, she was angry--angrier than she remembered being at any point since Danny's death. "The CIA's toying with us! They're toying with our emotions! They're making a mockery of our relationship. They're taking what's between us--something beautiful and--and--pure--and using it for their own ends!" She broke away from Vaughn's embrace and began to pace the worn floorboards of the small cottage.
Vaughn simply stood and watched her, allowing her to progress through the same succession of emotions he himself had struggled with when Weiss had broken the news to him.
"Does my father know?" she asked him, knitting her eyebrows.
Vaughn nodded, his brow furrowed. "He formulated the plan."
Sydney shook her head slowly back and forth, her eyes wide with shock. "No, I can't believe my father would do this. I know him now--better than I ever have. He wouldn't sanction something like this."
However, she immediately recalled the disgrace that awaited Will, on account of the cover Jack had manufactured for him, and it made her not only doubt her father, but also wonder what else he had set in motion in the intervening weeks since they had returned from Taipei.
"Syd, there's another way to look at it," Vaughn broke in, drawing her into his arms again. "Your father's a game theorist--the best one I know. There's no way this op can work without our cooperation. Irina may have the advantage, but we're the pivotal pieces on the board, which means we can leverage both sides. We've got more control than you think. Devlin didn't arrange this trip; I did. I told him that if he even wanted me to consider approaching you with the plan, he needed to give us time to strategize. And if the operation hinged on the fact that I was in love with you enough to betray my country, he damn well better give us some time alone so I can start acting like it."
Sydney smiled at his vehemence, and Vaughn couldn't help but laugh.
"You didn't really tell Devlin that, did you?" she asked, joining in his laughter.
She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed. It felt so good, and little by little, the tension inside her began to ease.
Vaughn looked sheepish. "That's what I told Weiss to tell Devlin. Weiss's actual phrasing was probably a little more diplomatic."
"I think your father knew exactly what he was doing when he formulated this op," he continued in a more serious vein, once their laughter stopped. "It's extremely dangerous. I won't pretend it isn't. We still have to keep both our relationship and your status as a triple agent from SD-6, but we have the full backing of the CIA. They'll protect us as best they can. The rest we'll have to do ourselves."
Sydney simply nodded. "How long do we have?"
Vaughn smiled. "Two and a half days. Welcome to Île Mariette."