Chapter 27: Volte' - a move allowing the adversary's attack to slip past harmlessly as the protagonist's counter-thrust angles in.
Two days later, Kendall's disbelieving anger squealed out.
"What? - with Vaughn's life hanging in the balance you had the whole of Sark to aim at and instead of just plugging him you shot the gun out of his hand? What were you, aiming for his dick but you missed?"
Sydney forced herself not to blink, not exactly easy in the face of a furious Kendall. Losing Mom and losing Sark during their pursuit of a genetic database in Stuttgart was not really a problem, the mission had gotten so fucked up that in the end nobody had really expected to catch either of them anyway, but her shooting the gun out of Sark's hand instead of just shooting Sark? That was a problem.
They were back in L.A. and Kendall was venting his wrath at yet another screw up with his name partly on it. He saw no reason not to, he'd just had another call from head office, his latest try for promotion had failed.
The fucking CIA! I've devoted my entire life to them and this is their reward? They don't fucking deserve me! Christ – when I think of the people I've turned down 'alternative offers' from – he directed his fury at Sydney.
"You had a choice of Vaughn's safety versus Sark, and you chose Sark?"
Prompted by Kendall's squeal of disbelief, Sydney looked across at Vaughn who sat tight-faced next to her. He was wearing a closed look, strangely unreadable.
Since they'd returned from Stuttgart, things were as bad for them as they had ever been. For all that Vaughn cared for Sydney, she could not return it and she knew it, because the fact was that Kendall's assertions were correct: on a balcony in a stairwell in Stuttgart, Sydney hadn't killed Sark, hadn't even tried to shoot him even though he'd had Vaughn at gunpoint and with every appearance of being about to put a bullet in his head. In shooting the gun out of Sark's hand, instead of just shooting Sark, she had risked Vaughn's life to avoid hurting Sark.
When she had rounded that balcony and seen Sark below her, his sudden presence had hit her with the force of a physical blow. She'd frozen but realised something, that with her gun happening to be aiming right at his body that no force on earth was going to make her pull the trigger - no matter how angry she told herself she felt about him. Part of her cared about Sark, part of her resented him, almost all of her was confused by him but none of her had wanted to kill him or to see him captured and held helpless; a big-cat trapped in a tiny cage, poked and prodded for cruel amusement. Her mother had psychologically withstood such an imprisonment only because she had obviously always had her escape planned. Sydney had feared what such a hopeless, unending, captivity would do to Sark. She feared that if he were ever subject to such, then he might not come out the same man who had gone in
Vaughn had seen her deliberately choose to shoot the gun out of Sark's hand, and in so doing risk him. He knew just what she had done. A couple couldn't just laugh that off and pretend it hadn't happened.
He had been tentative with her on their return, tender-footing around the issue, painfully aware of it yet afraid to broach it head on. He had presented her with a small blue box. Unable to look him in the eye she had taken it, expecting to find the worst of all things inside: an engagement ring. Instead, when she'd opened it, she had been deeply puzzled to find a man's watch: an aged, old-fashioned, clunky wristwatch, one that wasn't even ticking.
She had looked up, her face showing the perplexity she felt.
"It was my Dad's."
At his words, Sydney had felt something cold grip tightly around her heart. She had thought that an engagement ring could be the worst possible content of this particular Pandora's Box, but she had been wrong: this watch could be a lot worse. Vaughn's voice had carried on.
"It was the last thing he gave me, before he left on his last mission."
It was unreasonable of her, but Sydney had felt a sudden flashing anger: he was dragging his dad into it, the man whom records showed had been killed by her mother.
Yes, I get the message Vaughn. That my mother is a murderer, and your father was a saint she martyred.
The fact that Vaughn had never, ever, said it that way, and was a man who almost certainly never would, was not something she had factored in. She had been completely on the defensive.
"Dad bequeathed it to me, it was almost like he knew he wasn't coming back. Do you know what he said to me Syd? He said: Mike, you could set your heart by this watch, always remember that Mike." He had taken her hands in his. "This watch Sydney, this watch stopped the day I met you."
And it was right then that she knew it was over, because staring solemnly up at him, with his hands reverentially clasping hers, she had fought down the terrible urge to laugh out loud, to voice a jagged, hysterical, abusive hilarity. What? – 'my dad's watch stopped the day I met you'. What's that, some cheesy pick up line you use in bars?
She had felt a swirl of insanity in her head.
He had carried on, seemingly unaware of what she was thinking. "It was as though he were telling me that you were the one Syd. It was Dad's way of saying that you and I were made for each other."
How? – he died decades before we ever met!
Standing there, loosely holding The Holy Watch, she had fought down an hysterical, violent and twisted urge to smash it under her boot heel and race from the life Vaughn was trying to present her. A normal life, built of homely comforts: a life she was suddenly terrified would crush her under the weight of its mundanity.
In the debriefing room she looked again at his expression and felt a wariness. She abruptly feared that she had to get out her version of Stuttgart's events before Vaughn gave his.
"I was aiming at Sark," she replied, "but I hit the stair rail and the bullet deflected taking the gun out of his hand."
Compete bullshit, but completely believable bullshit to anyone who hadn't actually been there, and only three people had - she, Sark and Vaughn. She wasn't going to tell, Sark wasn't around to tell, and Vaughn? She flicked another look at him.
"Fine!" barked Kendall, "there was a deflection. So why didn't you shoot at Sark again when he'd lost his gun?"
Yeah, why didn't you Syd? sneered her inner jeering voice. What was Sark, too pretty to shoot? You tell yourself you hate him, that he's beneath you, that you despise him, that you don't care for him, but you can't bring yourself to put a bullet in him?
Fuck! Sydney rallied herself, shoving aside her doubts and confusions – right now this wasn't about Sark, right now this was about staying ahead of Kendall's suspicions.
"Agent Bristow," barked Kendall, "I asked you a question!"
Come on Syd, don't crack. Why didn't you shoot Sark? You knew this question was coming and you know the answer you cooked up for it - dammit, you practiced it in the bathroom mirror this morning! Go for it!
"I didn't shoot at Sark because I was concerned for Agent Vaughn."
"What?" Kendall's riposte was so derisive it was almost a snort of laughter. He obviously wasn't willing to buy any of it. "What are trying to say Sydney? That you thought you were going to miss Sark and hit Vaughn by mistake, even though you were accurate enough to have just shot the gun out of the bastard's hand? Oh, I'm sorry – you accidentally shot the gun out of Sark's hand, on a deflection."
"I believed Agent Vaughn was already wounded and unable to defend himself - "
Kendall's disbelief became even more extreme. "So you let his attacker just run around uninjured?"
" – and thus I didn't dare injure Sark." It was a statement so paradoxical that it was shocking. It got Kendall's attention. In the silence Sydney was able to carry on with her explanation. "I knew we needed to capture Sark alive for intel on Sloane and Derevko," – that's it, refer to Mom by her surname, make it seem like you don't care at all, get those CIA Good Girl points in the bank! – "so I knew I couldn't kill him."
'And?" Kendall's voice was waspish but he was secretly worried. He'd thought he'd been about to nail Sydney Bristow, and now maybe he wouldn't. Shit she might actually have an explanation for this!
"And thus any shot must only injure. Unfortunately, it occurred to me that Sark would be armed with more than just the gun that had accidentally been shot out of his hand, and I strongly feared that if I did shoot to injure, and if he realised he was going to be captured and had nothing to lose, then even injured he could have drawn another weapon and killed Vaughn anyway." Sydney galloped on with her explanation, trying not to give anyone time to pull it to pieces. "I knew that if I didn't shoot him, then he would just run for it, leaving Vaughn without any further injury."
What a cooked-up crock! - but were they gonna go for it?
Sydney tried to keep her breathing even, forcing herself not to dwell on the multitude of stupidities inherent in her explanation, chief among them that there was no way the supremely logical Sark would have killed the hurt Vaughn if Sark had been shot. He'd have needed him alive to use as a hostage in leveraging his escape or, if he genuinely thought capture was imminent, he wouldn't have stacked the deal against him by wantonly killing a CIA agent.
Sydney told herself that she may not have known Sark well, but she knew him well enough for that.
Kendall looked doubtful, but from Sydney's perspective doubtful was a hell of a lot better than outright disbelief which was where he'd been mere minutes ago. Sensing she had him toppling, Sydney shoved hard.
"I believed my duty was to protect Agent Vaughn, as I hope everyone would agree."
She wondered just how hot a shower she'd need to wash off the stink of sanctimony.
Kendall flicked her a baleful, bitter look. He looked like a man robbed of a prize.
Sydney's inner cheerleaders broke into a victory roll: Yay Syd!
And then Kendall's eyes gave a sly gleam; the look of a man who's just remembered he has an ace up his sleeve. His glance slid to Vaughn. "So, Agent Vaughn, can you corroborate any of this?"
Fuck! Sydney flicked an anxious look at Vaughn, only to see him glance back at her; he seemed hurt, betrayed … vindictive? He opened his mouth to speak and Sydney suddenly feared he was going to damn her. She'd been in custody before, people out there still thought she should be locked up for that prophesy shit alone, what were they going to do to her now they could throw Sark into the mix?
The voice carried full and clear, silencing the room. "Sydney is lying."
All three of them, Sydney, Kendall and Vaughn, looked toward the fourth person sitting in the room, toward the man who had spoken: Jack Bristow.
Kendall felt the earth shift on its axis. Jack Bristow's about to betray his baby girl and wring her out to dry? Just how many fucking Christmases have come at once? Sydney felt the floor fall away from her as she stared dumbfounded: Daddy? Daddy?
She pulled the sleeves of her jacket convulsively round her, wrapping it about her almost like a blanket or a tent, and then learned that she needn't do that ever again because Jack continued smoothly, lying flat in the face of the CIA to protect his only child. 'Sydney is lying to protect me."
Ten minutes later Kendall glared at the Bristows, his gaze flickering between them. How many Christmases had come at once? Fucking none! He knew he was being lied to, but he couldn't pin down either Jack or his brat.
His voice spat out. "Do you seriously expect me to believe any of that?"
"That is my report." Jack was perfectly calm in response.
"That you suspected Sark was playing a double game and so you advised Sydney not to shoot unless it was in absolute self-defence?" Kendall's voice carried the injured squeal of an only child who'd just been forced to share a toy. "There's virtually no evidence to support that theory!"
"As I said, there is the Mexico City Echelon intercept and the ludicrous ease with which we rescued the Caplans. And as for the lack of direct evidence, well if Sark is double-gaming against a man like Arvin Sloane then we can hardly expect Sark to issue a written invitation to watch, now can we?"
Sydney was stunned, hardly breathing, her mind reeling. Part of her was crazily elated that her dad was unswervingly going to bat for her, part of her wondered if he could pull it off, and part was struggling to take in precisely what he was saying: Sark could be double gaming against Sloane? Sark might have tipped off the CIA about the firebombing in Mexico, saving as many lives as he could? Did this mean that in holding on to some idea of Sark as a human being, that she might not be nuts after all?
The war between her father and Kendall raged on.
"And you never told anyone about your theory through official channels?" Kendall's voice still held that outraged squeak.
"I don't have to. In the Derevko/Rambaldi/Sloane scenario I have official sanction. And in any case, official channels can be compromised. Counting 'contacts' there are thousands of people working for the CIA, who knows how many of them have connections to Arvin Sloane? The place is a sieve." At these words Kendall forced himself not to blink, thinking of all the 'unofficial offers' he'd had in his career. "If Sark were working against him – at whatever level – then risking having it reported back to Sloane is of no advantage to us. I repeat our earlier over-riding orders: Sloane is the objective."
And at those words both Jack and Kendall stiffened even further and challengingly held each other's gazes. Sydney shifted, suddenly alert to the increased tension. What was going on? Why had Dad's words triggered this ratchetting up of hostility? Neither Jack nor Kendall blinked, Kendall wondering if he dared to sling the accusation that was on his mind and Jack silently challenging him to Bring It On. Both were dwelling on the same subject, Jack's behaviour and tactics during the CIA's Stuttgart effort to recapture Irina Derevko, to recapture the woman who was still Jack's wife and to seal her up alive in a glass box: this time, forever.
The Stuttgart tactics breach between Jack and Kendall had only announced itself when, from across the Atlantic, Sydney had called out that Sark was taking out surveillance in the Brucker Biotech building were the database was housed. Kendall had wanted to send in the CIA team immediately, they had a lock on Sark and Derevko, there was no Sloane but two out of three was good enough for him. Jack had argued against it, or in Kendall's suspicion, he had stalled for time for Irina Derevko. "It makes it more difficult, but not impossible. The transmitter is still active, we can track them, Sloane is the objective."
"Sloane may or may not be there, they may or may not be working with Sloane."
Verbally the two men had sprung at each other like dogs in a yard, with Jack furiously trying to hold off Kendall's logic as to why they shouldn't scoop up Irina and Sark while they could. Jack had only given the call to move in when Irina was already off the grid, her passive tracker nulled by some electronic overload.
Kendall felt the seethe of bitterness. He knew he would get nowhere pursuing his stalling-for–Derevko argument, he could never prove it, so he switched back to attacking Jack's defence of Sydney.
"So you suspected Sark was playing a double game and you advised Sydney not to shoot unless it was in absolute self-defence, but you never thought to warn any of the other field agents?"
"Warn them of what? That Sark might not shoot them? I thought it was irresponsible to do so, if their survival urge toward Sark was dulled, then he might kill them anyway."
Kendall's eyes gleamed and his heartbeat raced. He spoke slyly. "But you were quite happy to blunt your own daughter's instincts?"
Sydney's breath caught, Dad you've been trapped!
Jack was completely unperturbed. "I wasn't happy to, but I thought it was necessary. Sydney is the only field agent to take on Sark and regularly either win or fight him to a draw, she was the only real danger to him, so of course I told her when I told no-one else - " Sydney invisibly punched the air: that's my Dad! The Houdini of Lies! "I relied upon her field judgement to make the correct call. In my opinion her call was good. Sark is still out there possibly making trouble for Sloane, and, more importantly, possibly turnable as a double agent for us, and Vaughn," he flicked a vaguely dismissive look in Vaughn's direction, "is still alive."
Sydney forcibly kept the grin off her face: Go Dad!
Kendall knew he was a man getting nowhere, but he tried anyway. "Vaughn, what do you say?"
Jack cut Vaughn off. "Vaughn's opinion is irrelevant, all he knows is that he saw Sydney shoot the gun out of Sark's hand, but that hardly matters, because the reason why is what is important, and I have given you that reason." He had just completely nullified anything Vaughn might have said or not said. His gaze hit Kendall like a brick wall. Come on you scheming, slimy, careerist bastard, call me a liar to my face if you dare!
Kendall didn't dare. He realised he couldn't bring down Jack Bristow in a frontal attack so he retreated for the time being, covering his withdrawal with some face-saving bluster. "About the only success we've had recently is the capture of the di Regno heart ahead of Sloane and Derevko getting to it. If you hadn't been instrumental in that Agent Bristow," he glared at Sydney, "then right now things would be looking a lot worse for you than they are."
The meeting broke up and he was left sitting behind his desk, teeth gritted, fists balled, thinking furiously.
Well, they thought they'd won did they? Those damned Bristows? He forced himself to breathe slowly, waiting for his mind to clear: it did. He took a card out of his wallet showing the contact number of a non-existent down-town dry cleaning company. He flicked the card with his thumbnail. It had been a while now, but was that number still active?
What would the person who was ultimately at the other end want of him? More to the point, what could they offer in return?
He'd been surprised when he'd been given the card, but also flattered, quite flattered enough to keep it. After all, Arvin Sloane may have been a criminal, but he was still one of the most powerful and influential operatives there was.
Maybe they could trade?
