LOS ANGELES
The CIA takes him.
They place him in a maximum security cell.
Sark is almost certain that it is the one Irina inhabited for so long.
He has only been there an hour and he doesn't understand how she stood it.
A big, bald-headed man is questioning him and speaking into his headset. Director Kendall, he was arrogantly informed. He's just like a bull, Sark thinks amusedly. His face remains impassive.
Kendall is speaking to Sydney, field name Mountaineer, who is in Mexico City right now with her precious handler and a team of agents.
"They're in the basement," he tells Sark. "Now what?"
Sark answers tonelessly. "The alarm system for Sloane's floor is located twenty yards down on the north wall. The grey box with a yellow stripe. Deactivation code is 1-1-5-6-6."
Kendall looks straight into his eyes, more like an angry bull than ever. "If this intel turns out to be wrong, I will personally escort you to Camp Harris, and I won't leave until you're dead and buried."
"Then I certainly hope Mr. Sloane hasn't changed the code," he replies, his voice sardonic but his face blank.
Kendall keeps his eyes on him as he describes the location of the box to Sydney. Then, with one last glare, he leaves Sark, alone and desperately bored.
He steps slowly to the hard metal bench that will serve as his bed. He sinks down onto it and leans against the wall.
He knows he's in for a long haul.
