Chapter 13: Nothing More

Disclaimer: No, Alias isn't mine. I also don't speak three different languages as this story may later suggest. I've had to look up every bit of it up on the internet. I don't even speak Spanish; I don't take Spanish I until next semester. I wanted to take French, but my backwoods high school doesn't even offer it…

A/N: No worries! I know some of you think it seems like this story's wrapping up, but it's got a ways to go yet. I'm just trying to tie up some loose ends through here so I have a nice solid rope by the time I get to the end…

Jack was more than satisfied. He'd have a clear, impossible to miss signal when Sark and his team arrived. While everyone else attacked the more obvious threat, Jack would head Sark off before he could return to his mode of transportation. Tuck the girl into the car, hide her in one of his empty storehouses for a while, until he found a somewhere he could put her on a more permanent basis.

No one would ever suspect Jack had her. Not until the child was grown, and then it would be too late.

Irina stared at her computer screen, unable to believe what she saw.

Thankfully, Sark was busy arranging a team. One that, for reasons Sark accepted, Irina couldn't be a part of. It was best, she'd told him, for her to work behind the scenes and not alert the CIA to her involvement in the Calling's activities.

Her hacking program had finally broken through all of the firewalls of the Informant's computer. She hadn't gotten a name, but she'd gotten the location and access--minimal, but all the same--to the unit's hard drive.

The contact had been made from the underground parking garage of the CIA.

Several programs that required high clearance to get access to had been loaded onto the computer.

The programs used to firewalls the unit had been designed--at a high price, no doubt--by one of her own black market contacts for security needs.

Irina knew very few CIA agents with contacts of the status of the hacker who'd created the security program. Even fewer who'd have the nerve to contact a criminal as prominent as Sark. Only one who was close enough to Sydney to know her reaction to a given situation.

If Irina found him, the sob of a bitch would die at her hands.

She jumped up, slamming the laptop closed. She had to find Sark. Convince him she might be needed on the op.

It was true, what she'd said. They wouldn't know what hit them.

Vaughn couldn't help but grin. As much as Sydney wanted to tell Kelly, she hadn't. Instead, she'd fought tediously to gain Kelly unwavering trust--which she was managing without reducing Kelly to tears--and had sat on the floor with her for hours, playing whatever Kelly wanted to, from board games, to dolls, to Legos--Kelly had taken a special liking to those.

Sydney was still sprawled on the floor, now with a coloring book in front of her. Something Vaughn was pretty sure she hadn't done since she was about six.

Vaughn hated to be the one to tell her that Dixon needed her in debrief.

"Syd," he said softly, opening the door finally. "Dixon said they've finished a preliminary analysis of the documents you and Harte brought back. He needs you for the debrief."

Sydney gave Vaughn a pleading look.

"I'll stay with Kelly," he promised.

Kelly looked at Sydney with the same expression Sydney had turned on Vaughn.

"I don't want you to go," Kelly said simply, but with a resigned air.

Sydney smiled; she knew Vaughn was thinking she deserved to have that pitiable gaze turned on her.

"I have to go, sweetie, but I'll come back as soon as I can. Vaughn will stay right here with you," Sydney promised.

Vaughn smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Okay," Kelly murmured, her eyes downcast.

Sydney leaned over and hugged her.

"Good girl. I promise I'll be back."

Then she kissed her forehead, surprising Kelly. Sydney pointedly acted as if it was nothing unusual, but Vaughn waited anxiously for Kelly's reaction.

She looked up in confusion, but at least she didn't shrink away as Vaughn had expected. As if it was nothing new, Sydney walked out the door, waved back at Vaughn and Kelly, and disappeared down the hall.

Sydney barely managed to walk composedly to the briefing, she was so happy. She'd managed to form an even stronger bond with Kelly. She didn't seem to be even remotely afraid of her or Vaughn anymore.

But knowing Kelly was her daughter still scared her on several levels. First, she had a child--a three-year-old child--out of thin air. Second, she knew she had destroyed their lab. So someone must have outsmarted her, or Kelly wouldn't exist. Third, she had no idea who Kelly's father was. It could be Sark himself, for all she knew.

May be some of her questions would be answered by the heaps of files she and Harte had recovered. Chances were, though, she wouldn't like the answers she did get.

As she opened the door to the conference room, she admitted that she sure as hell would like the answers even less in front of Kendall and his two goons.

She was the last one to arrive, but that didn't bother her. DSR had probably been holed up in here for hours, and Dixon had probably dropped in as soon as he'd sent word to her. The only other person was a guy she recognized as one of the CIA's top analysts. She nodded to everyone and silently took a seat.

"This it?" she asked Dixon.

"Someone has to stay with Kelly. And I don't think we should spread this any further than necessary," Dixon added.

"Appreciated," Sydney said quickly, curious to know what they'd found. Her own perusal of the documents had been cursory at best. She sat back expectantly.

Dixon nodded once and sat, and the analyst rose to begin his presentation.

"First, my team has completed a preliminary analysis, which pretty much means compiling pertinent data, but from my understanding, there's not much chance of finding any other relevant information in a further analysis," the man said. He had a slightly wiry look, but the messy fall of his hair and blue eyes saved him from the nerd-like look of mast of the analysts. "The file lists the mother of the child, but lists no father, nor does it refer to him at all." He met Sydney's eyes, well aware of whom she was, so Sydney nodded her consent. "Sydney Bristow is listed as mother. According to the file, Miss Bristow's eggs were surgically removed approximately five years ago, with the intention of artificially joining her with Rambaldi. The eggs were destroyed, but a reference is made to another file. Somehow, intel was received that the Chosen One would be Bristow's daughter, and a reference made to an unknown prophecy. A surrogate mother--whose name is not given--was employed. The child was born, and probably stolen from her presumed mother. The rest pertains to her development--mentally, mostly--and isn't really pertinent to this…these agencies." The man shrugged, and returned to his seat.

Dixon stood and dove in immediately.

"Our goal now is one of two things, or both. One is we find the file alluded to in the file we have, or, two, we find out where they have this new prophecy, or where they got it from."

"Do we have any leads in any of those areas?" Quentin asked.

"One," Kendall said, even though Dixon shot him a look fit to kill for taking over his briefing. "One of Sark's low level operatives was apprehended last night. He revealed that Sark's source on their prophecy was a contact that he calls the Informant. Guy calls himself Fallocieux Une."

"Elusive One," Sydney translated. "Sounds like something Rambaldi would have used."

"Our thoughts exactly," the blue-eyed analyst spoke up. "We believe this guy is obsessed with Rambaldi himself. He most likely has some strong motive behind anything he told Sark."

"What else do we have on Fallocieux Une?" Harte asked.

"Not much," Dixon admitted. "Male, Rambaldi obsessed. Possibly a government agent, or was at one time, to be familiar with Rambaldi."

"And what exactly does 'government agent' entail?" Vaughn asked pointedly, obviously already aware of the scale of the answer.

"CIA, FBI, DSR, members of two or three Congresses, plus all those smaller agencies and committees the government scarcely or doesn't recognize," Dixon admitted. "Potentially a million people, including the family members of those workers that may know about things they shouldn't."

"The information this man allegedly gave was fairly current, as far as we can tell," Kendall pointed out. "My bets are on a CIA or DSR agent for this Informant.

Dixon nodded.

"Unfortunately, I have to agree. This one's close to home, folks."

Convincing Sark she should come along as part of the team hadn't taken much. She had a good deal of pull over him, she'd discovered lately.

Separating herself from the rest had been simple. As they all flew in separately, to four different area airports, she had plenty of time to meet up in the house rented for them for this mission, after she'd affirmed or allayed her fears.

She'd sent a message to Jack's CIA inbox, coded in the way they'd developed while searching for Sydney when she'd disappeared. She used a new screen name; she wanted him to suspect, but not to know beyond a shadow of a doubt. I must meet with the Informant, the e-mail said. She had then named an old warehouse and a time. She had ten minutes to get there and get into position. He stood no chance of outsmarting her.

Jack took nearly a minute to realize that the e-mail directed him to be at the warehouse a mere fifteen minutes after it had been sent. The code, the MO, it had to be Irina. But Irina wasn't working with the Calling. And Irina had no way of knowing he was Sark's source, even if she was.

He'd just have to see. It was most likely a trap, but he had no choice. Ignoring the e-mail would most likely be more dangerous than knowingly walking into a trap.

Jack was already fifteen minutes late when he arrived at the warehouse, but he took the time to circle the outside of the building anyway, gun in hand. There was no sign of anyone. May be his contact had already left. Then again, may be that was exactly what they wanted him to think.

He dodged into the dim space with his gun leveled, searching for a target, but he didn't see anyone, nor was he mauled, so he lowered it. There were numerous boxes and crates a good spy could use as cover. He had no choice but to wait for the other person to make their move.

The next thing Jack knew, Irina was to his right, her feet spread wide and both hands on the gun she leveled against his temple.

"Jack."

Jack remained silent. He knew from experience that Irina would say what she wanted to when she wanted to, when she wanted to, and not a moment before. Conversation wasn't her style.

"Jack, there was a time when you would have liked nothing more than to kill me. Do you remember that, Jack?" she asked, a maniacal smile curling at her lips.

"Quite well," Jack said dryly.

"Now, Jack, I can understand how you felt. I'd like nothing more than to kill you right now, you son of a bitch. But if I do that, you won't get the chance to trip over yourself and get caught."

Jack felt the gun press more firmly against his head.

"I know what you're thinking, Jack," she continued. "And if you do anything to hurt Sydney, I will kill you."

Jack was sure she was going to just leave now, but she surprised him.

"Drop your gun, and kick it away."

He did.

"Down on your knees, hands in the air."

Only the quiet click of the door signaled her departure several minutes later.

Yay! Go Irina! Ya just gotta love Irina championing Sydney again. And having her warn Jack that she knows exactly what he's doing, well, that's just funny!