Gathering Intel
Of all the things in the world at those critical moments where life and death were at stake, weather was the stumbling block.
And for several hours, it ticked Sydney off.
She drummed her fingers on the crumb-covered tabletop in the café. People milled around, groaning at the delay at LAX.
Sark hadn't called, which Sydney took as a good sign. If anything had happened, he would have called.
Should I call him?
She sighed as she dialed his number. Please pick up.
Her heart jumped when he did.
"Sydney!" He sounded excited, which seemed like a good—"What the hell is going on!"
She could hear his ragged breath, and dread filled her body. "I've been trying to get a hold of you. British intelligence knows you're alive and in Toronto." Something made her pause, some horror or realization that she couldn't identify. "What happened?"
"Gee, nice of you to let me know. They've taken my parents and Ilene!" His anger wasn't lost on her.
"Listen, I just found out—" she tried to explain.
"When? They must have known for awhile, because they hit Ilene's and my parents' house close together, as if they were ready for it," Sark shouted in her ear. "They almost caught Calvin and me!"
She knew he was shocked at this intrusion, especially after all he'd already sacrificed to set up this life under the radar. But Sydney didn't take blame very easily.
"Don't act like I didn't try to warn you, Julian," she said, her tone seething with his name. She only used Julian when she was truly miffed, much like a mother using a full name. "I tried calling you about the intel leak, but you didn't answer the phone! On purpose!"
Sark immediately objected to that, but Sydney saw through the lie.
"Oh please, you always answer your phone. You knew it was me!" Calm down, Syd! She bit her tongue and took a quick breath. "Look, right now there are more important things to do. Where are you?"
Sark didn't answer right away but Sydney could hear him breathing. "We're at one of Irina's abandoned safe houses outside Toronto." She shut her eyes, relieved that survival mode had kicked in with Sark.
"I'm trying to get out to you, but there are storm delays in the east," she said. "Can you make it here?"
"No offense, Syd, but you said the information was leaked, which means by someone at CIA. I'm not about to head out there to facilitate whatever the hell is going on."
She sighed. Sark was implying that someone they knew gave him up, and maybe he was even questioning her. She knew he didn't mean it, but the remark made a dent.
"Meet me in Vancouver. The northbound flights are still operating. I'll be there in a few hours."
"What if my family's still here?" Sark pointed out. "I can't be across the country and get them back."
"And you can't stay there and risk getting caught," Sydney shot back. She sighed again. "Let's meet in Vancouver, and I'll find out what I can about the leak."
"Fine," he said. "I'll call you when we land." He hung up without saying goodbye.
Sydney clenched her teeth. Time to find a flight.
It bugged her that Sark was so defensive and irate. But it worried her when he would find out everything.
She knew there was a mole. While she didn't know who it was or that he'd get to Sark, Sydney knew Sark would be upset that such a risk existed without his knowledge.
But how could I have guessed that someone would find out about Sark? How did he find out about Sark?
The flight was boarding, but Sydney had time for one more phone call.
"This is Dixon."
"Dixon, it's Sydney," she said. "What else have we learned from the mole?"
She heard him sigh. "This guy is a real piece of work," he started. "He actually noticed you were 'on-leave' frequently. He got curious—or nosy, in my opinion—and monitored your cell phone."
"He could do that?!" What access did the goon have?! And I thought my phone was untraceable!
"Yes, Sydney, and he obviously went too far. But he overheard you talking to Sark, and tracked you to a home in Hamilton."
"Sark's parents' home," she thought aloud. "They must have hit there first."
"What?" Dixon said, surprised. It was her turn to sigh.
"Someone got to Sark's parents, and his sister. He said he barely missed getting caught himself." She winced as she said it. Though she knew she had no control over this irritating mole, it bothered her that she was the one to lead him to Sark and his family.
"Sydney," Dixon said, "what are you going to do?"
"I'm flying out to meet him, and we're going to find him," she said. "Dixon, if it's MI6, how can we help him?"
He didn't say anything for several moments, during which Sydney felt her body tighten.
"Syd, I want to help," he started as her heart fell. "But officially we cannot recognize that we consciously let him go. Your father is already under scrutiny because he didn't kill Sark like people believed."
She knew the ramifications of the CIA stepping in, and knew it wasn't possible. But she expected some support.
"Dixon, I'm going to need help going up against MI6," Sydney said. "I can't leave Sark out there with nothing." Inside she was screaming. Dad warned me, but come on! She didn't want to be left alone.
"I wish I could help, but as Director of the CIA, to do so could jeopardize more than myself," he said. He had that official tone, and Sydney realized she was talking to her boss now, and not an old friend. But the tone softened. "Sydney, I will not allow the CIA to actively pursue Sark. And I cannot order you against your will to not help him."
It was as close as she would get for a blessing on her new personal mission.
"Thanks, Dixon. I'll be away for awhile," she said. A flight attendant announced her flight, and Sydney hung up the phone.
She stewed over the facts as she flew to Vancouver. Actually, the facts didn't seem to matter as much as her anger. How many times had she risked her life and the lives of others to help the CIA? Not just the CIA, but to do good!! Time after time, threats were neutralized as Sydney came close to death.
Was it too much to ask to have a little help now? Screw the official lines, she thought. Sark is good now, and Dixon knows it. How many times had they "pardoned" or let serious criminals get away because of some deal—and those men never changed!
And Sark had changed. But so
many looked at that with a blind eye.
--------
"I'm so glad to be off that
plane," Calvin said, casting a glance over his shoulder at the tiny Cessna. Sark smirked.
"Squeamish, are you?" he chided. Not that he blamed his brother. His stomach was grumbling from all the turbulence.
"I'm not hungry, at least," Calvin said. And that was a miracle indeed. The kid could seriously pack down a lot of food. Sark realized that as he figured how much he was spending each month. Good thing I have more than enough for all our lifetimes.
Sark called Sydney. Her phone forwarded automatically to her voicemail. He sighed.
"She hasn't landed yet," he announced to his brother. "Where should we go?" Calvin looked ahead to the city beyond the airport.
"One of my friends said something about Vanier. There's a park, a museum . . ." Calvin said. "It'd be crowded."
"I hope so," Sark said, looking at the sky. It was beyond dusk, and Sark wondered how many people would be out in the dark. "Let's head there."
Sydney called as he drove to Vanier Park.
"We shouldn't linger on the line too long," was the first thing she said.
"Okay," Sark said hesitantly. It was never comforting for a spy to say that, especially when they supposedly had measures in place. "Go to Vanier Park. As soon as you can get there."
And then she hung up. It was odd behavior, even for Sydney. But he went with it.
She explained it all when they met outside the space museum near the park. Sark, of course, wanted to kill the mole slowly, but he knew that wasn't a priority right now. Neither was his irritation for Sydney not telling him about the mole. She has her job, after all. He shook his head clear.
"So was it indeed MI6 that came after us?" he asked. Calvin stood stiffly, just trying to follow everything.
Sydney shook her head. "I don't know for sure."
"Well, find out," Sark said sharply. He regretted the commanding tone, but only slightly. It wasn't time for niceties.
Sydney looked reluctant. Her eyes studied the ground and she tucked her hair behind her right ear.
"It's not that simple," she said. Sark stared at her, waiting for whatever caused her hesitation. "The CIA will not help."
He breathed out. "Of course not. It's the CIA." It wasn't a surprise at all, but he was slightly amused that Sydney seemed to expect such help.
"Well, not even Dixon will help me. Not even as a friend," she said. He noted the sorrow in her voice, and the disappointment.
"Sydney, I am still a criminal at large," he said, grabbing her shoulders to catch her focus. "Did you really expect them to help?"
She shrugged off his hold and flipped her jacket collar up against a wind. Sark noticed what she wore—it was simple, but in that beautiful way that only Sydney could pull off. She had a khaki jacket that fell to mid-thigh, covering part of her dark cargos. It was almost camouflage-attire, but sexy.
And you're focusing your thoughts where? Sark cleared his throat.
"I guess I just thought after everything I've done, that they'd step up and help," she replied softly. "Instead, they're acting like they never purposely decided to let you go. Deniability, I guess."
"One of the joys of terrorism for hire," Sark quipped. "There are no legal issues to consider or rules to follow." He took in her appearance again and smiled. "Have I told you how devastatingly attractive you are?"
Calvin coughed at that.
"Anyway," Sark said, continuing on before she could even blush, "I'm glad you're here, Sydney."
"How do we find out who has Mom and Dad?" Calvin asked. Sark looked to Sydney for suggestions. Of the two of them, she was the one still connected to the world of international espionage.
She pulled out her phone, and called Jack Bristow.
-------- Jack called back as Sydney, Sark and Calvin sat in the corner booth of a bar. Sark's eyes kept darting around, something Sydney found humorous until she remembered that his life and Calvin's were just as much at stake.But if it is MI6, they won't hurt his family.
Will they?
"Dad," she answered the phone.
"Sydney," he said back. "I have some more information." She looked up hopefully at the brothers in front of her. She saw Sark gulp and nod.
"Go ahead."
"The mole was in contact with an Agent Alan Yielding, from MI6. That's who became the main contact over the months that the mole was leaking intel."
"Alan Yielding," Sydney repeated aloud. Sark raised an eyebrow at it, but waited for Sydney to get off the phone to explain.
"I called in a favor. Yielding is a skilled agent, highly respected but often under cover." Jack paused. "He's basically the equivalent of you to the British intelligence agencies."
It was a compliment, because she knew how good she was. But it was meant to sober her up as she realized what she was up against.
"Are his actions sanctioned by MI6?" Sydney asked. It'd be easier if he was a rogue agent of sorts, but something told her that was wishful thinking.
"Yes. MI6 should have notified us of the leak, but diplomacy doesn't seem to be a concern. They've used the intel to go after various terrorists," Jack said. "They even apprehended a former KGB assassin."
"Good for them," Sydney said dryly. Jack cleared his throat.
"Anyway, Agent Yielding seems diligent in his pursuit of Sark. He was standing by for confirmation that Sark was alive, and for his location."
"Which is how they moved in so fast—within hours of the intel being sent," Sydney said. "How did you find all this out?" She was surprised at how much her dad delivered, and this info especially would help her.
"I interrogated the mole," Jack said in his deadpan voice. Sydney swallowed.
"Thanks, Dad."
"Sydney," he said, "Be careful. I've seen Yielding's file. He's highly motivated when it comes to Sark."
Highly motivated?
"Dad, what do you mean?"
"Ask Sark about when he stole a formula from Geneva, about four years ago," Jack said cryptically. "Yielding has reason to go after Sark."