"And I trust your information is accurate this time?"
Vaughn gritted his teeth, fighting both to stay awake and to not earn himself even more trouble. "It is, Mr. Sloane."
The former head of SD-6 studied him for a bit, one eyebrow raised. Vaughn tensed but forced himself to meet the man's gaze. The plan, his life and Sydney's life depended on it.
The CIA, and Sydney, had found the Rambaldi book before. They would surely be able to do so again, even if he told Sloane where to find it.
"Very well," Sloane said at last. He glanced at the other people in the room. "We'll leave immediately," he announced.
"All of us?" Sark inquired coolly.
"No," he answered, squeezing Sydney's shoulder. "Mr. Vaughn obviously will not be joining us, nor would he be in any circumstances."
"Good," Sydney said, voice rigid.
Sloane handed them both a half-smile. "At least not yet."
"Sir?" Sark inquired.
"Mr. Sark, you will ensure that Agent Bristow has all she needs to complete the task," Sloane ordered. He glanced behind them, where his younger partner's staff members stood waiting.
"Drive them to the airport and then return here," he ordered the woman.
She nodded.
He then glanced toward the other man, who stood even now with his arms crossed and glaring eyes focused on the helpless, bedridden prisoner. "What's your name?"
He straightened. "Diego."
"Well Diego, my wife and I need to spend some time away while the others are on their mission," Sloane said mildly. "I leave Mr. Vaughn under your capable control."
Vaughn's jaw clenched, his heart monitor again betraying him. Both Sydney and Lauren jolted to full attention, fighting the impulse to protest. Meanwhile, Sark crossed his arms and smiled at the floor, amused.
"The information he provided to us will allow him to live, if accurate," Sloane continued, looking directly in the guard's eyes. "If I return to find him dead or further injured before we had a chance to learn his value, you will join him. Understood?"
The other man nodded, though he fooled no one. It took every bit of her control for Sydney to hold her tongue. Vaughn, sensing this, held her gaze with his own, silently pleading with her to stay quiet. Forget his own life. If she spoke up it meant her death, and that would partly be his fault.
"Good," Sloane commended. He turned toward the others. "Mr. Sark?"
"Right," the younger man said, restraining his smirk. He raised a golden eyebrow at Sydney. "Shall we?"
"Of course," she forced herself to say, flashing a smile. I can't leave Vaughn here with that man! I won't leave him here!
"Vaughn - " she blurted, before she could stop herself. Lauren stiffened. Vaughn's eyes widened, the warning apparent. Sydney! Pull yourself together or you'll kill us both!
She closed her eyes in self-loathing but forced herself to step forward and grab him by the hair, turning him towards her. His eyes darkened with pain, but he didn't fight her. "I'll be back," she told him, voice mocking. "Count on it."
He groaned as she tightened her grip, watching Sloane smile in delight from the corner of her eye.
"Sydney - " he said dryly. "Plenty of time for that later."
Nodding her acquiescence, she started to release Vaughn… and then pulled his head back with wrenching force that tore away the oxygen tubes in his nose, bent, and kissed him. But this kiss was harsh and cruel and actually quite painful, judging from the way he reflexively tried to pull away, sputtering in surprise as he tasted blood in his mouth.
Sloane actually laughed. Sydney closed her eyes, accidentally gripping Vaughn harder as her rage at Sloane intensified. He moaned against her lips, again trying to move away, but she didn't hear him.
She needed to make Sloane forget about her outburst, and it looked as though she had been successful. But at what cost? The resistance went out of her love's body and it occurred to a horrified Sydney that in her act she'd literally cut off any chance he had at air.
Oh God! I'm sorry, Vaughn! I'm so sorry!
Careful to seem unhurried, Sydney allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. He closed his eyes, oblivious to his audience as he fought, rather unsuccessfully, to breathe without oxygen aid.
"Sydney," Sloane said, coming over and resting his hand on her arm. "The jet is waiting, and Emily will soon wake up."
She nodded primly, wiping a bit of blood out from inside her cheek. I'm so sorry, Vaughn! Forgive me!
Vaughn whimpered from the bed, his struggling breaths growing in hysteria.
"I'll catch up to you," Lauren said quickly. "Diego doesn't have the knowledge to replace what Ms. Bristow just removed."
Sloane hesitated, glancing at Sydney and Sark, before nodding. "All right," he agreed. "Be fast."
And then they all filed out, Diego last. Lauren grimaced, almost able to taste his anticipation of being left alone with the agent once more.
When she was certain they were gone, she rushed to Vaughn's side. "It's all right," she soothed, carefully replacing the oxygen. He breathed deeply, gradually relaxing once more. Moving as fast as possible she bent and hurriedly examined him, scowling to herself when she realized he was drenched in sweat. His fever's gone up. Unattended, that alone could kill him. The torture Diego doubtlessly had planned for him would only guarantee his death.
And then a thought occurred to her. She closed her eyes, bowing her head in silent prayer. What she was about to do could very well kill him as well, but it would be far less painful than what Diego would do to him.
"Michael," she murmured, grabbing the water bottle nearby. Hopefully the more cruel aftereffects would be diluted by the liquid. "Finish this."
He did so, too exhausted to even consider not doing so. Only when she pulled the container from his lips did she brace herself, pulling out a well-remembered syringe from her pocket. Each dose lasts six hours, she thought. One should be enough for me to venture to the airport and back.
"I'm sorry," she said to him when he recognized the needle and recoiled from her. "But Diego won't hurt you if you're unconscious. He plans to manipulate the sedative in the IV, but this will keep you safe until I return and can watch him."
He shook his head. "Don't - "
But she uncapped the needle and stepped closer, gently pulling his head to the side to give her easy access to his throat. "I'm doing this to help you."
He jerked out of her hold, drawing strength from reserves he didn't even know he had. He didn't get far - his arms were still restrained to each side of the cot - but his movement was so unexpected that she stopped.
"How is giving me that helping me? he demanded, voice as uneven as a teenage boy.
Lauren sighed. "If I don't, Diego will kill you," she said. "You know that. And I can't allow that to happen."
"Why?" Vaughn asked suspiciously.
She ignored him, cursing herself for the slip. Moving faster than he could react, she grabbed him by his shoulder and forced him back down, resting a flat hand on his left cheek to hold his head and neck still and at an angle. With him thus immobilized and waiting helplessly, she prepped the needle with her free hand.
"Don't - " he began to ask again, though his voice was resigned.
"I am sorry," Lauren whispered. "Truly."
And then she injected the Chlordiazepoxide. He gasped in pain, hands clenching into fists as what felt like acid poured into him. But then the serum set in and he unwillingly relaxed, spiraling away into a deep, bottomless hole.
"Based on echo transcripts from Sark's transmitter and Agent Reed's reports, the Villa is actually a collection of buildings. Vaughn is held in the center one. There are three ways to enter it; our best bet being a glass door that is directly in front of the wine cellar entrance."
"Okay," Weiss said quietly, leaning over the map.
"I'll have the helicopter hover as close as we can without being detected," Dixon continued, shouting to be heard. "The pool in front of the home will complicate things. The most recent transmission from the basement made it very clear Vaughn will not be able to help you very much, Agent Weiss, but we will have to land on the opposite side of the house because of it. He'll have to walk that distance."
"I'll get him out," Weiss shrugged. "Land the 'chopper, but meet us halfway with a stretcher."
"I will, if he needs one," Dixon promised.
"No, do so anyway," Weiss requested dryly.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Jack."
"Irina."
"I'm on a secure line. Are you?"
"Of course."
She paused, measuring her words. "I have learned much."
"About?"
"Why are you not coming to Spain?"
Jack sighed. "The NSC believes you escaped because of me. Their nervousness over an asset insured that I would not be included."
She chuckled. "What did you tell them?"
"That I walked you to the front door of Vaughn's apartment."
"Which was true."
"Yes."
Sydney sat in the back of a limo, as far away from Sark as possible, staring out the window. Shame and guilt raged equally within her.
I hurt him, she thought, repeating the words like a mantra. I hurt him and I didn't even notice! Oh, God! Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay. I hurt him!
"Sydney?"
Feelings retreating behind a mask, she turned and faced her temporary ally.
Sark held out, of all things, a glass of wine. "I would suggest relaxing, Agent Bristow."
She stared at him. "Did you put something in that?"
He had the gall to smile at her. "Your distraction could get us both killed," he said. He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "and I would never spoil Château Pétrus in such a manner."
"This will be good for us, Emily."
She managed a tremulous smile. They stood outside the Villa, at yet another limo that would take them to Arvin's private jet.
"Will it?"
He kissed her. "It will."
From behind a gate, Weiss watched warily as the house all but emptied over a four hour course. Someone likes me, he thought.
Sydney, Sark and the NSC agent - Lauren? - went first. Weiss' alarm level shot up to extreme when he saw the look Sydney wasn't bothering to hide. What was she thinking?
Am I too late?
And then they were gone. Carefully, Weiss stepped forward… and then dived back into his hiding place.
The Sloanes walked out next, suitcases in hand. Weiss snorted inwardly; they looked like a normal couple going on vacation.
"How's it looking, Retriever?" Dixon called.
"Everyone's leaving," Weiss muttered back. "No sign of Boy Scout."
"Then everyone's not leaving," Dixon replied dryly. "They wouldn't leave him unguarded."
Eric nodded, forgetting in his anxiety to see his friend that Dixon wouldn't see his action. Where's the Spanish guy? he wondered.
The second limo pulled away. Weiss braced himself, shouldered his rifle, and made his way to the door. Getting in was child's play, and whoever had been in the hidden room last (Thanks, Agent Reed!) had left it open for him.
But his good humor vanished the moment he laid eyes on the younger agent. He had never felt so sick.
His best friend lay strapped to a cot in the basement, apparently unconscious. Flecks of blood from who-knows-what dotted both his hospital gown and the blanket that mostly covered him. Glancing quickly behind him, the fellow agent strode to his side.
"Mike?" he questioned, freeing his arms. "I may be talented, but I'm gonna need some help getting you up these steps."
No response.
"Damn it," Weiss swore, touching the earpiece. "Retriever to Base."
"Go, Retriever," the reply came.
"I've got Boy Scout, but it'll be a negative on moving him."
"Retriever, you're about to have company. Get out of there!"
Weiss' jaw dropped. "I'm not leaving him here!"
Vaughn frowned, the loud noises bringing him out of his drug-induced sleep. His eyes fluttered and then opened, widening in astonishment at the sight of his best friend.
"Base, hold on for a second," Weiss ordered hurriedly. He leaned over Vaughn, trying to catch his friend's full, alert attention. "Hey, buddy. Miss me?"
Vaughn shook his head. "What - ?"
"I'm here to take you home," Weiss interrupted. "But we have to go, now." He glanced nervously at all the equipment hooked up to his friend. "How essential is this?"
Vaughn closed his eyes; Weiss' energy was making his head hurt. But seconds later, he jumped at the sound of fingers snapping right in front of his face.
"Sorry, buddy," Weiss said from somewhere overhead. "But you can sleep when we're out of here."
"Retriever?"
"Coming!" he yelled, sweat pouring off his forehead. When it came to field missions, he was hardly in his element. "Mike? We need to go."
"I can't," Vaughn stammered. "The Op - "
"Let me rephrase," Weiss shot back. "We're going. You don't have a choice, Mike. Sydney can handle herself, and you need to be in a real hospital."
"But - "
His response ended abruptly. Lacking any chance at doing this correctly, Weiss withdrew his service knife and simply sliced through the oxygen tubes and the sensors connected to Vaughn. He then sucked in his breath and gently pulled out the IV needle.
"Come on," Weiss muttered, pulling his friend upright. Vaughn didn't fight him, though he shook his head.
"I can't walk, Eric. Not now."
"Retriever?"
"Yeah? Mike, shut up."
Vaughn didn't hide a whimper as Weiss stood him up. His breaths were once again coming in wheezes and he could feel blood as it dripped down his back. Had to be the drug weakening the clots, the wounds should not have been so raw.
"Retriever!"
"Coming!" Weiss said again, holding his friend up with one arm and grabbing the blanket with the other. "I'm sorry," he apologized, meaning it. His friend's pain, which he was causing, sent a knife through his heart. Vaughn nodded, resting his head on Weiss' shoulder. He's running a fever, Eric groaned. That meant taking him out to the cold Spanish night would only hurt him more.
"Stay with me," Weiss ordered him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Very slowly, they headed for the door. Vaughn stumbled, moaning as the movement reopened even more wounds. He was almost grateful for the pain; all he wanted to do was sleep and the injuries kept him awake.
"Retriever to Base, I've got Boy Scout. Heading for the bird. Ready cover fire if needed. ETA 10 minutes."
Vaughn's breath hitched, resolving itself into a wheeze. Weiss swore to himself.
You'll pay for what you did to him, you son of a bitch.
"Come on," he urged again, half carrying, half pulling Vaughn up the stairs. His friend tried, but he was far from his best…
And then the sound of a gun cocking tore through the chaos.
Weiss froze, automatically pulling the younger man behind him to provide a shield. The Spanish guard stood there, face twisted in rage, gun aimed directly at Vaughn.
Eric swore angrily to himself. His gun was on his belt and his hands, holding Michael up and behind him, were light years away from his holster. Helpless, he could only watch as the guard strolled toward them.
"You can leave," the man said to him, accent heavy. "I only want him."
"Then you can go to Hell," Weiss replied without thought, gripping his friend tighter. For his part Vaughn was all but laying against his back, shaking, feverish head resting on Eric's right shoulder. "Either that or get out of my way."
"I gave you a chance," Diego smirked in reply, gun shifting to aim at Weiss' heart.
His only consolation, Eric supposed, was that he wouldn't be around to watch the man kill Mike.
Question of the Day: Was Lauren right to drug Vaughn, even though he didn't want her to?