"Wonderful!" Sloane beamed. Vaughn's skin crawled at the look of fatherly pride on his captor's face. Noting that, it was Sark's turn to smirk at the table.
Sloane then summoned another lackey to bring in supplies, and only then did Vaughn steel himself to meet Neil's gaze. The German guard still stood behind the older man, gun at the ready for the killing shot as an unyielding reminder, but Neil himself sat tall and proud in his chair. A curious mixture of gratitude and disappointment warred in his eyes.
The door opened again and Vaughn ended his contemplation as guards unrolled blueprints of Operations across the long table. Another man set a pencil and a pad of paper in front of him, before bending and unlocking the heavy irons around his ankles. Vaughn raised an eyebrow. With his legs now free and arms hardly inhibited by chains that were as long as he was tall, the temptation to fling the metal chair he was loosely held to at Sloane and Sark's heads was beyond tempting. He had no idea what exactly that would gain him, but he would certainly enjoy it.
Focus, Mike, he ordered himself. Such thoughts were entertaining, but hardly useful.
"Our asset provided these for us," Sloane broke into the silence. "We hope they'll be enough to jog your memory, since even Mr. Caplan probably knows that they are deliberately inaccurate."
Vaughn frowned. That was the second time Sloane had referred to an apparent leak inside the joint task force. Who would betray us like that?
"Mr. Vaughn?" Sark prompted.
"Right," he said, annoyed at himself for drifting off into thought. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Once upon a time, before joining the CIA, he had professed to the dubious "occupation" of pool hustling. His innocent, boyish appearance had suited him well, and it had been a rare opponent indeed that had been able to see through his bluffs.
But this would be the ultimate hustle. Vaughn again looked at his fellow prisoner, regret welling through him. If he succeeded, it would not only ensure his execution but Caplan's as well.
This is for Sydney. Whatever else happens, she will be able to escape.
And that was all that mattered.
"Right," he said again. "To get into Operations, Sydney has to enter a code to open the door. There's no way to bypass it - "
"Mr. Vaughn - "
" - but there are different level codes she can enter. One of those codes will open the door and simultaneously shut down any security cameras…"
Three hours later, Vaughn resisted the urge to drum his hands on the table as his two captors reviewed the steps he had written for Sydney.
I never would have thought anyone as hard as Kendall and Jack existed in critiquing me, Vaughn thought dryly. Guess I was wrong.
"Well done," Sloane murmured. "I daresay, Mr. Vaughn, that if things had been different and you had been recruited into SD-6, my organization would exist today despite the CIA's best efforts."
"We'll never know," he returned, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Sloane's flattery, at first ignorable, was growing in distastefulness.
"A pity," he replied. "Mr. Sark?"
The younger man only nodded, his gaze suspicious. Vaughn met his stare evenly, poker face still in evident.
"Well then," Sloane said, "Bonsoir à vous, Michel." (Good evening to you, Michael.")
While Vaughn started at the almost unfamiliar sound of his first name, Sark gestured to the German guard. The man stepped away from Caplan, allowing another guard to unlock the restraints and reach over to pull the the older man upright.
"Where are you taking him?" Vaughn demanded sharply. He was ignored and Caplan sagged in the guard's arms as the ever-present syringe made an appearance. The two men then vanished through the door.
At another nod from Sark, the German guard shouldered his rifle and stepped toward Vaughn, who fought not to react. Without a word, leather straps were fastened around his shoulders and waist, and manacles replaced the long chains, securing his wrists flat against each armrest of the chair. The irons around his ankles were also returned. Thus, the flexibility of the previous bindings were eliminated, and the new restraints were so tight that even breathing became a difficult task.
"I'll give your best to Agent Bristow," Sark said, his tone amused. Duty done, the guard stepped back and held open the door for Sark, Sloane, and the lackey holding supplies to saunter through.
Exhausted, Vaughn slumped against the chair, the blue silk of his shirt and the torn bullet hole over the middle sliding strangely against the leather straps in an illusion of laxity.
Against all odds, he'd done it.
Okay, I hate to do this again, but school is really quite the bother. I'll get the responses next time, okay?
And because I feel really guilty (and because the SD folks rallied to make this happen), Chapter Sixteen : Reunion has also been uploaded and awaits your reading pleasure!