"Won't be blackmailed?" Lindsey repeated, amused. "Well, in that case…"
Lauren swallowed, swearing at herself. Losing control would not help her. "Apologies, sir," she forced herself to say. "I spoke out of turn."
Sydney waited, arms crossed, while Sark paced in front of her with his phone to his ear.
"It appears, Mr. Sloane, that we missed quite a little event."
"Explain, Mr. Sark."
"The guards are missing, save one dead one. And Agent Vaughn has also disappeared."
"Sydney's reaction?"
"Upset that she was deprived of her vengeance.," Sark lied, glancing at her. She turned away, eyes closed at the thought. "My supposition is that Agent Vaughn tried to escape or fight back, thus killing the accounted-for guard, and was subsequently executed. The other guards, fearing reprisals on our part, disposed of his body and then hid themselves away."
"Sounds logical."
"Orders, sir?" Sydney still refused to look at him.
"Emily adores that home. Ensure that we will find no surprises when we return."
"Of course."
I remember when sleep wasn't just a dream.
Weiss sat at his desk, bone-tired. He didn't have to be there, of course. Kendall, Jack, Dixon, Devlin and Rick had all suggested he head home. But it seemed so ridiculous, sleeping and relaxing while his best friend was busily ripping himself apart. The least he could do was stay in the Rotunda and help however he could to bring Sydney home to Michael.
Hushed voices caught his attention and he turned, watching. Whatever it was, it was something private. Kendall, Brandon and Jack leaned in close, heated in discussion about something, and then broke apart abruptly. The two directors headed towards Kendall's office, and Jack headed for his car.
Odd, Eric thought. But it didn't concern him, and was soon forgotten.
It was déjà vu. And yet it wasn't.
Aaron! Aaron! Excuse me, did you see a little boy? He's five-years-old, he's got a striped shirt on, he's got brown hair, his name is Aaron.
She flew in the hospital doors, her husband hot on her tail. "Where would I go to find my son?" she gasped out to the receptionist, out of breath. Neil skidded to a halt beside her, taking her hand to calm her down. He'll be fine.
A security guard, alarmed at their hasty entrance, moved to stand behind them. Neither frantic parent noticed.
"Name?"
"Caplan. Aaron. Uh, C-A-P-L-A-N."
Silence for a moment, while the elderly lady typed into a computer. Elsa resisted the urge to tap her foot.
"I've had enough, Jack." His ex-wife's - no, wife's - impatience came through loud and clear.
"We don't have a choice, Irina. We need that weapon." Jack sat in his car, cell phone earpiece in, bugs neutralized.
"She never should have been involved. That's why we have this partnership, you idiot. I was working on acquiring the device."
"Irina, you sent Sark into Operations. That was not part of our agreement. Because of your orders, he directly included Agent Vaughn. That was not something I authorized! Did you not realize that meant our daughter wouldn't even consider not involving herself?"
"Vaughn would have been out of our way and yet unharmed, were it not for that one independent variable. The other guard watching over him worked for me."
"You have an NSC agent in your pocket?" So that's why Vaughn was so hesitant around Reed. He knew she was a mole. How long has he known?
"You find that surprising? You should have known better." Irina smiled to herself.
"No, I do not." He knew more than anyone what she was capable of. But he was confused. Why would Reed work for the woman that hired her partner's killer?
"Caplan told me what you ordered him to do. His captivity was also not approved."
"Jack. You may not trust me, and that's fine. I am not certain I trust you. But we are in this to ensure Sydney's survival. I kidnapped him from men that would most certainly have killed him, gave us an out, and then let him go."
Jack pursed his lips, stubborn. "Irina, should you continue on this streak and choose to not inform me of pertinent information, I will consider that a breach of our agreement."
"Understood," Irina replied, amused.
"Furthermore, if you do not produce results, I will personally end our partnership. Sydney grieved her mother once. She can and will do so again."
"Of course, Jack."
A dial tone then signaled the abrupt end of their conversation, though nether could say who disconnected first.
The guards were the least of his concern. If anything, they were beneath his attention.
Arvin Sloane resisted the urge to yawn, checking his ID badge as he strolled down the hospital corridor. Emily had understood, or so it had seemed. As much as he loved his wife, he had Rambaldi's manuscript. Nothing else mattered.
Well, except what he was about to do.
It was simple. When he had at first spontaneously decided to kidnap Michael Vaughn along with Sydney, his reasoning had not been complete. He had then simply considered him a useful motivation tool; someone he could utilize to manipulate Jack's daughter - and perhaps even Jack - in any way he saw fit.
And while that train of logic had been correct, he had underestimated both how far Sydney would go to protect him, and Agent Vaughn's undeniable abilities. The boy had genuinely impressed him.
Which was why he was here.
The guards outside Agent Vaughn's closed door stiffened to attention at the sight of him. Sloane braced himself. The prosthetics he wore were very similar to what he had donned in Zurich, and there was always a chance they would fail him.
"Excuse me," he said politely, very aware of both the cameras and the guns they held. "I'd like to have a word with Agent Vaughn."
The two guards exchanged frowns. "Sir, it's very late and Mr. Vaughn is of course sleeping."
He glared at them impatiently. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded.
"We can check the list - "
"My name is Field Manager Mark Lucas!" Sloane barked, holding his credentials right up to one guard's face. "That's two away from Deputy Director! I am not accustomed to runaround, gentlemen!"
They gulped. "Sir," one said awkwardly. "I apologize. Of course you can go in. We just need to make sure you're approved- "
Change of tactics.
"Of course," Sloane apologized, rubbing his forehead. "I apologize. I was just so concerned the moment I heard… and Sydney - ah, Agent Bristow, my asset - agreed with me. She asked me to check up on him for her."
They looked at each other again. They knew that name.
"You know, checking the list can take a bit of time, especially at this time of night," the other guard said. "And, pardon my candor, sir, but I think everyone that knows Agent Vaughn is aware of his concern for Agent Bristow. Why don't you - "
"Thank you," Sloane breathed, holding open his jacket so they could see his empty shoulder holster. "You two are wonderful. In fact, since what we have to discuss is obviously very personal, why not take a take a moment for yourselves? I doubt anyone else is as insane as me, to come in at this time of night."
They shared a chuckle at that.
"We can't hear anything, really," one guard ventured. "The room is soundproof. Designed for intelligence meetings, I think." The faintest hint of envy was in his tone. What boy growing up didn't want to be a spy? The injured man inside was that and more.
"Not even that," Sloane said easily, logging that information away. "I'm not exactly a desk jockey myself. I can handle things just in case someone is as insane as I am."
"All right," the other guard allowed. Maybe they could find chairs…
"Gentlemen," Sloane called as they dislodged themselves from their posts. "Is there a way to cover the window? The information I have for Mr. Vaughn is quite classified…"
"No," one man replied. "But we won't look, sir. I'll make sure no else does, either."
"So helpful," Sloane commended them. "Have a nice break."
Tossing salutes, they turned and left him standing alone at Vaughn's door.
"He's in the ER right now, but he's scheduled to be moved to the fourth floor, room seven," the nurse said, voice studiously neutral. The security guard behind the Caplans raised an eyebrow. Floor four was reserved for the most notable of patients - intelligence operatives, celebrities and the like. At the moment, it housed just one patient…
Bewildered, Elsa and Neil exchanged glances. That was Vaughn's room!
"We'll wait for him there, then," Neil drawled, draping an arm over his wife's slender shoulders and steering her towards the elevator that was just to the left of them. "My thanks, ma'am."
She flushed, flattered. Elsa hid her smile, a bit of amusement cracking through her worry. Her husband was quite a looker, after all.
The guard fell in step with them. "I'll go with you," he offered, still a little starstruck. "You need an escort if you don't have credentials.
They nodded, hurrying to the elevator. Their self-appointed escort pressed the summoning button for them.
Sloane looked over his shoulder at the small window in the closed door, noting the clear hallway carefully before removing an envelope from inside his suit jacket pocket and resting it just by the young man's hand. With deliberate slowness, he then reached up and turned down the IV, wondering as he did so why such a thing was being used.
A few moments passed. Sloane waited patiently, reaching out to lightly nudge his shoulder. The boy shook his head as he came out of his sleep, moving his hand to rub his jaw. Sloane stepped back, waiting, as Sydney's beloved realized something new was there. Puzzled, the agent reached for it - and then opened his eyes in the process and saw Sloane peering down at him. Vaughn jerked backwards, eyes widening, recognizing the man effortlessly despite the prosthetics he wore.
But Sloane held up empty hands, a reassuring smile on his face. "Relax, Mr. Vaughn. I'm not here to hurt or retake you."
"Then what do you want?" Vaughn snapped, bringing his non-IV'd hand up to rub his tired eyes, and then casually returning that arm to where it had lay before; underneath the blankets. Hidden in between the mattress and metal railing of the bed, and beneath the warm bedding, was a gift from the always-protective Weiss…
Seemingly not noticing his captive's actions, Sloane gestured toward the envelope. "Open it."
"Why?" he asked warily, stalling, getting a grip on the revolver.
Sloane sighed. Quicker than sight, he yanked his own pistol from behind his back and cocked it, leveling his aim without batting an eye.
"I'm insulted, Agent Vaughn," he mocked, chuckling. "Give me the gun. Now. Or I can and will pull this trigger before you could clear your shot."
Vaughn's jaw clenched in frustration. Sloane cocked the gun, waiting expectantly.
"I'll only ask once more, Michel. The gun. Give it to me. Now."
Gritting his teeth, Vaughn obeyed. Where were his handy marshal bodyguards?
Sloane took it from him and tossed it carelessly across the room, never breaking eye contact in the process. "Still waiting on that envelope. I certainly hope you're a better listener in the field." And then he smiled. "Ah, but we both know the answer to that question."
Vaughn ignored him, refusing to allow Sloane the satisfaction of baiting him. Instead, he picked up the nondescript envelope and opened it slowly. There were pictures inside…
Vaughn's breath caught. His strength fled his arm, which flopped down beside him on the bed. The pictures scattered, but remained maddeningly visible even from his prone angle.
Sydney and Sark, caught in mid-kiss.
"I felt I owed you those," Sloane told him, nodding at the 4x6 images. "I knew you and Sydney were working on something the moment she arrived at the Villa, Agent Vaughn. True love is impossible to fully disguise, even for two highly trained CIA agents. But I allowed you to believe I was fooled."
Vaughn dropped his head, feeling like a trainee that had failed his very first ops training exercise. Something he himself had never experienced until now, of course.
Sloane tapped his gun against his hand. "You see, your cooperation ultimately gave me the Rambaldi manuscript. Consider those photos my thanks. It is truly one of your most honorable qualities, Agent Vaughn, that you would endure so much for a woman that would turn on you so quickly. What do kids these days call young women like that? 'Lady Of The Night' was my word of choice when I was your age."
It took everything he had to strangle back a retort, glancing at the pictures again to confirm what he had immediately noticed the first time he looked at them, though he had hidden his knowledge. I will kill you for demeaning her like this, he vowed silently, still refusing to grant Sloane any reaction.
Sloane, meanwhile, shifted his stance. He'd done what he came here to do.
"You may keep those," he told Sydney's former handler, gesturing with his gun at the photographs. "But I must be going. And since your guards are doubtlessly back at their posts by now, I can't exactly let you raise an alarm somehow when I open the door, hmm?" He paused as though waiting for a reply. Vaughn swallowed hard. "And as I'm sure you know, Agent Vaughn, the IV may take a bit of time to set in again, which is a risk I will not take…"
He trailed off, moving to stand by the tray behind Vaughn's bed and studying the syringes arrayed neatly in a row on top with interest.
"Your physician is nothing if not thorough," Sloane mused, taking his time as he picked up and compared the needles. Each one was filled with different colors and chemical combinations. "He has quite a complete collection of sedatives back here. Testing for something?"
Vaughn didn't reply, staring helplessly at the ceiling while his captor engaged in the oldest form of mental torture - stalling and taunting. When this was over the Agency would probably have to knock him out for standard immunization shots, because he'd seen enough needles to last a lifetime. Or five.
Enough amusement, Sloane decided. He picked up the largest needle, glancing at the label. The syringe was easily as long, and almost as thick, as Sydney's forearm and was clearly intended to be fed into the IV line on intervals, not directly injected all at once. Which he wouldn't do, Sloane mused, for it made the deed far less entertaining and possibly slower to set in. "Old standard," he informed Vaughn, who clenched his jaw.
"Wonderful," he muttered, resigned. Sloane stepped closer to him, prepping the needle.
"We'll see each other again," Vaughn swore, green eyes hardening into livid orbs of steel. "And when we do, you won't walk away."
Sloane nodded agreeably, forcing Vaughn's head to the side by resting the gun on his right temple. "I eagerly await that encounter, Michael."
And then Sloane injected the painfully colossal syringe straight into the operative's throat. Vaughn stiffened at first, gasping quietly, the immense needle seemed just as painful as the one in his dreams. But mercifully, the sedative set in rapidly and he was asleep before his captor finished.
Sloane took his time, draining the entirety of the serum into Vaughn, continuing long after the younger man was clearly unconscious. Glancing again at the small window, he could just see the shoulders of the guards as they returned to flank the other side of the door. All they would have had to do to apprehend Arvin Sloane was to turn around or look behind them using merely the corners of their eyes, but decorum dictated they give the patient, who outranked them both to the point of ludicrousy, privacy.
Smiling to himself, Sloane tucked his gun away and dropped the empty syringe on the floor, kicking it underneath the bed. He then turned and reached up, returning the IV to the same settings it had been on. Combined with the injection, that would keep Vaughn out for quite some time, more than enough for him to leave Los Angeles without trouble and return to Emily.
He glanced down at himself, brushing nonexistent dust off his suit and straightening his tie. After one last glance at the slumbering boy, he headed for the door and knocked. The guards held it open for him, gratitude on their faces for his politeness in not startling them.
"It's nice to see him sleeping peacefully," one dared to venture. The smartly dressed, confident man seemed kindly enough to not mind speaking to them.
"Yes indeed," Sloane agreed, smiling. With a nod, he headed down the corridor…
"Sir!"
He forced himself to turn languidly, one hand reaching inside his trenchcoat to casually scratch his back. Or so it appeared. His gun was in easy reach. "Yes?"
"Your pictures?" the other guard inquired, gesturing inside the room with the nose of his automatic rifle.
"Oh," Sloane chuckled. "Those are his. A gift from Sydney."
"Ah," the other guard said, red-faced. He reached in and closed the door.
"Evening, gentlemen," Sloane said, removing his grip on his hidden revolver and turning once more to push the down button. The elevator dinged.
"Evening, sir," they replied, overlapping each other as he stepped in.
"I'm sure he's all right," Neil assured Elsa. "He comes from us. The kid's got to be invincible by now."
She smiled tremulously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're right," she allowed. "You're right. I just… we're all back together and then this…"
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the forehead, guard be damned. "Everything will be fine," he soothed, his hand cupping her chin. "But you know, you're even more beautiful when you're worried, I must say."
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. Neither one moved. Which meant neither noticed as Arvin Sloane stepped past them.
"Governess reporting in."
"News?"
"Youngest one remains in the field. Other continues to see only what you desire."
"And what of our recovering collateral?"
"Any knowledge he may have that compromises us will be ignored due to questionable circumstances I have seen to myself. My visits are regular, as are the dosages, which have already begun to take effect. Consider him neutralized."
"Excellent. Well done. I have an errand to run."
"Thank you, ma'am. Stet."
He almost did it. Almost walked right onto a secured floor with none the wiser, conned two well-trained guards, ambushed an injured but skilled operative, again tricked said two guards, walked right past two people that he had kidnapped and another armed escort… all with much success.
But almost was not a full triumph, and neither Caplan was to be underestimated. Elsa pulled away from her husband to walk into the elevator as he glided past them both and when they boarded and turned around, all three saw him and accorded him attention. It was late after all, and visitors were thus unusual.
And then Neil went rigid. He'd know that arrogant stride anywhere.
"You!" he blurted. Elsa, hand on the way to the press the button, stopped.
"What is it?" she asked. He ignored her.
"Sloane!" he barked again, astonished.
Neil's former captor didn't turn around, quickening his pace. He reached the doors, shoes squeaking lightly on the polished tile. What could they do, really?
And then Sloane stumbled. Confusing, that. He was older, but he still prided himself on his fitness. But even as he wondered over his clumsiness, a roar belatedly filled his ears as a blinding pain shot up his left leg. He stumbled again, barely managing to catch himself on the doorframe.
"Move again and I'll aim higher," Elsa's resonant voice warned, frigid with hatred. He whirled to face her. The former Russian spy stood in an utterly flawless gunner's stance, her guard's service revolver in her hands and aimed at his heart.
Up next: David has news for Jack, and Weiss has an idea for Kendall.