"Call Mr. Sark and report," Irina commanded. "And do it from another room."
Diego's eyes narrowed with hatred. He opened his mouth - possibly to argue - and then made the mistake of looking Irina in the eyes. He blanched and obeyed without another word.
But as he left he smirked at his partner, who swallowed hard. He knows. And he's going to tell Sark.
For her part, Irina strolled swiftly over to the captive and undid the gag, allowing him to choke in large gulps of air and wretch out the blood in his mouth. With surprising gentleness she also released the top strap pinning his wounded back to the chair. He immediately leaned forward, breaths coming in uncontrollable wheezes, body shaking from coughs.
"I expected more from you, Agent Vaughn," she heard the other woman say. "Much more. What are you doing here?"
Her eyebrows shot up. The CIA agent and the terrorist knew each other?
--
"You know what this is," Jack said. They stood in the CIA Safehouse in Madrid, Sark all but preening as astonished agents stopped in their tracks at the sight of the terrorist.
Sark sighed. "Agent Bristow, surely you know as well as I that I will doubtlessly be scanned for every available bug on arrival? Even implanted ones."
"This is a biological agent," Jack responded, matching Sark's debonair tone with one of his own. "It will give us your location and, via satellite, allow us to listen in. It is completely undetectable."
"Even so - "
"This is not a debate. You will either accept this as part of our agreement or negotiate yourself into prison. Whatever you choose. I don't presume to speak for you."
Sark inclined his head, a mixture of amusement and condescension on his face. "Very well," he said drolly.
--
Vaughn closed his eyes, fighting to pull himself together. If it was anyone else he wouldn't have cared… but the last thing he wanted to do was appear weak in front of his father's murderer.
"You were working with Sark," he managed to say, scarcely above a whisper and sounding as though someone had run over his vocal cords with a truck. Twice.
"Sark was working for me," she corrected. She raised an eyebrow, bending down to be at his eye level. "I understand he's working for you, as well?"
He stiffened, partly because he would never answer her and partly because the other guard chose that moment to step forward.
"What - " the blonde started.
Irina didn't turn. "Go help your partner and keep an eye out for Sark," she ordered.
She hesitated, but nodded and turned on her heel to leave. Before doing so, she captured Vaughn's gaze and he frowned at the look in her green eyes. Disappointment? Disbelief?
His eyes narrowed. Diego had made it very clear she had been helping him. Why?
Who are you?
His only response was a faint smile before she turned and left the room.
--
"Hello?"
Sark took a deep breath. "May I speak with your husband, please?"
"Yes," Emily answered. There was a pause.
"Hello, Mr. Sark," Sloane greeted.
"Hello, Mr. Sloane," Sark said awkwardly.
"I knew you'd call," Sloane informed him. "You're sooner than I expected, actually."
Sark clutched the phone tighter, infuriated at the man's smugness. "I wanted to apologize," he forced himself to say. "My… grief blinded to the open possibilities."
"Understandable," Sloane said, voice still warm.
"Thank you, sir," he ground out. "I… I am calling to request a continuation of our partnership."
Sloane sighed. "Mr. Sark, nothing would please me greater. But surely a talented young man as yourself knows I will have difficulty granting you the same trust you had before."
"Yes," Sark said carefully. "But, sir, I have a way to prove my loyalty to you."
"Oh?" Sloane's interest was undeniably piqued.
"Meet me at the warehouse in one hour," Sark requested.
"And come alone?"
"No," Sark said. "Bring as much security as you'd like. I daresay they will come in handy for transportation of my… peace offering. If you will."
"In that case, see you in an hour," the man that had arranged the death of the woman he loved replied.
--
"You didn't think this through. This was reckless, Mr. Vaughn."
Vaughn somehow found the strength to stare at her, his expression clearly asking why she cared.
"I'm here to ensure you don't die," Irina told him bluntly. "Everything else is none of your concern."
--
Sark sat on top of his car hood, watching as Sloane's dark car headed towards him. The two guards watched him from the doorway, both nervous for different reasons. Their younger boss had yet to say two words to them, or Irina Derevko. Instead, he appeared deep in thought and very alone.
And then Sloane arrived and the two men exchanged words. Diego threw the woman a smirk as they headed toward them. Her heart stopped in her chest. Carefully, she slipped out of view. She'd return later, after gauging how much damage control she'd have to do.
--
"Señors - " Diego said nervously as the two men approached the entrance to the warehouse.
"English."
"There is - are - facts missing," he said, struggling over the English words.
"Yes?" Sloane, too, didn't bother to hide his impatience.
"It regards the woman."
--
She pulled out a stet phone out and dialed, gravitating between anger and resignation.
"Yes," she said when they answered. "I've been - "
--
They glanced at him questioningly, but kept walking.
--
They didn't listen. I'm still in the clear.
"Apologies," she stammered awkwardly into the phone. "My mistake. Stet."
And then she hung up.
--
"In here," Sark directed, guiding Sloane to the room where Vaughn was held. His eyebrows rose at the same time Irina rose from from her conspirative crouch by the agent's side. "Irina."
"Sark, Arvin," she greeted. "I've been waiting. Thank you for your help."
"You're welcome," Sloane answered, pleased to see her. His gaze ticked behind his old ally. "Hello again, Mr. Vaughn. What a surprise to see you again."
Showtime. Vaughn struggled to control his still uneven breathing to answer the man, but with no success. Come on, Mike, he urged himself. Still no luck. Had he damaged a lung?
"My apologies, Mr. Sloane," Sark covered at last, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I had ordered that they retake him unharmed, but clearly that was too much for them to understand," he directed the last bit at Diego and his just-arrived second staff member. Both dropped their eyes.
"Mmmm." Sloane inclined his head, gaze calculating. While he was preoccupied, Sark and Irina exchanged one of their own.
"Am I to understand, Mr. Sark, that Mr. Vaughn is your referenced peace offering?"
"Yes," Sark answered lamely. Even Vaughn, currently losing the fight to stay conscious from blood loss, could sense Sloane's unbelieving amusement.
The former head of SD-6 actually laughed. "You're overestimating his value, Mr. Sark," he chuckled. "I ordered his execution long ago, a decision you hardly objected to."
"But that is the reason why I ordered him spared," Sark argued. "It shows my willingness to act in interests not my own, for which I fully apologize doing earlier."
Irina nodded approvingly at him.
"Interesting," Sloane mused. He glanced at her. "What do you think?"
She shrugged, expression suggesting she cared little either way. "To manipulate my daughter, you need more than just hearsay and rhetoric, Arvin," she surmised. "My daughter cares for this man. Allowing him to live might be to your advantage."
"Your actions with Allison Doren ensured the end of Sydney's concern for Mr. Vaughn," he reminded.
And there it was. His last chance. "What actions?" Vaughn managed to ask, voice still stripped dry from screams and oxygen difficulties. Silence. His laborious voice had no power in it, had Sloane even heard him?
"Ah, yes," Sark amplified, covering for him the second time that day. "You would not have known about that, Mr. Vaughn." He gave Irina mini-bow. "In the time since your escape and subsequent recapture, Ms. Derevko successfully integrated herself into your team of would-be rescuers. In doing so, she was able to take possession of one of your service pistols."
"A lovely weapon, Mr. Vaughn," Irina purred. "Well kept."
"You killed someone with my gun," Vaughn choked out. It was easy to sound horrified, all he had to do was remember Sydney's anguished devastation. "And you framed me for it."
"Well done," Sloane applauded. "Her other little friend Francie, in fact. You see, Mr. Vaughn, by pinning the death on you, we insure that Sydney cares little for the fact that you disappear from her life. She was arrested because of you - Irina told me all about your little hiccup - and now she's mourning because of you. If anything, her desire for vengeance over you will make her more useful to us."
Vaughn's brow furrowed. Why was Sloane insisting Sydney's friend died, instead of Doren?
And then he noticed the slight gesture Sloane made to Diego. The guard was all too eager to load his gun, which he had emptied to ensure he didn't mistake it for the tranquilizer when he had recaptured the prisoner earlier.
Vaughn swallowed hard. Could he really have failed?
Irina inclined her head, the sparkling earrings catching his attention. The look in her eyes… she was trying to tell him something…
It's a test, Vaughn realized, elated. If he was going to kill me, he'd tell me the truth.
So he didn't look at Diego when when the guard loudly cocked his gun, instead searching out Sloane's gaze. "Your logic is circular," he said, as casually as he would if he had run into someone he knew while jogging and struck up a conversation. "It won't work."
Sloane beamed at him, the look of fatherly pride well remembered from his day of forced mission planning for Sydney. "Is it?"
"You are dependent on Sydney reacting this way because of me," he reasoned. "You think she will return here for revenge on me. Obviously, if she doesn't… have that option, she will be… harder to manipulate."
Sloane crossed his arms thoughtfully, leaning against the table. "I have heard many pleas for mercy in my time, Mr. Vaughn," he informed him.
"The day I beg you for anything is the day you're about to kill yourself," Vaughn snapped back. He groaned inwardly when his head caught up with him. Way to earn his trust, idiot!
But Sloane nodded. "Good," he replied. Sark and Irina exchanged another glance. "I refuse to deal with cowards, Mr. Vaughn. Please forgive me that final test."
If he hadn't already been having trouble breathing, Vaughn was certain he would have started having problems right there.
"Sir - " Diego protested, glaring murderously at Vaughn.
Sloane ignored him. "Mr. Vaughn, what are your motives?"
Vaughn frowned. "Pardon?"
"Why would you be willing to cooperate with me?"
Vaughn hesitated. Sloane again gestured to the steaming Deigo, clearing the shot. "You heard me, Michel. Why?
Vaughn looked him in the eyes. "Sydney," he answered, with quiet truthfulness. "If she thinks I killed someone she loved, that hurts her. Whatever hurts her hurts me. I want my name cleared, Mr. Sloane, and if that means I have to work with you than so be it. I'll do anything for her. Anything." What was sobering, Vaughn decided, was that he meant every word.
Sloane nodded again, glancing over to an emotionless Sark and Irina. All three of them knew the weakness Sydney and her agent love had for each other… and Vaughn, who had yet to breathe normally or even sit up straight, was clearly not in any condition to attempt escape if he planned to betray, anyway.
"Then I need insurance, Mr. Vaughn. Otherwise, the patriotism inbred in idealistic agents such as yourself will always win."
"What do you need?"
Sloane shrugged. "Kill a guard for me. They obviously cared little for you."
Vaughn's eyes widened. Sloane held out a hand to Sark, who withdrew his revolver from inside his jacket and gave it to him. Sloane then stepped over and released the bindings on Vaughn's left arm and wrist, handing him the gun.
"I'll make it easy, I'll even choose. Kill the woman for me."
I know, I know! I'm sorry!
And once again, I must promise review responses next time. School and work are awful, man.
But on the bright side, it's shorter wait for the next chapter. ;) See you Friday!