MADRID

Hours later, a jet lands in Madrid.

Sark drives to a quiet, inconspicuous building near the edge of the city, pulling in the alleyway and entering from the side. He nods to the woman at the desk and walks quickly up the stairs. He stops at the seventh door and lifts up a small red fire alarm, which reveals a gel pad. He presses his right index finger into it, and after a few moments it turns green.  He then enters the room.

She is rifling through a folder at her desk, but Sark has the feeling her mind is elsewhere.

She looks up and smiles at him, perhaps not genuinely, and gestures at a leather chair. He crosses over and sinks into it.

"How was your stay?"

"Only three days and I can't recall ever being so bored in my entire life."

Irina almost looks amused, but Sark can't be. He's too drained, too detached. She notices, and her mild humor fades.

"Tippin discovered our L.A. asset," he says. "He managed to let Sydney know about her, which resulted in our asset's death- Sydney killed her."

He isn't feeling anything. No sorrow, or pain, or regret. Just emptiness.

She knows he isn't finished.

"Sydney's missing."

He watches her expression change rapidly from confusion to understanding to consternation. "Sloane."

"Presumably."

She sighs. "He *would* want to use it on her first. I should have foreseen that."

"You were preoccupied. It's understandable."

"It's not acceptable."

He says nothing because privately he agrees with her.

"The CIA wanted to know about Il Dire."

"What did you say?"

"I told them we would give them intel on it and our assistance in finding Sydney, if I was released. As you can see, they didn't think much of my offer."

Her face hardens. Sark looks at the patterned ceiling, avoiding her cold brown eyes. "If we were to recover Sydney first, and convince her that the CIA had a chance to save her and passed it up, then . . . her reluctance to work with us might be diminished."

"Maybe."

He speaks earnestly. "If she's really, as you believe, the woman in that Prophecy- she's the only one who can ultimately bring down Sloane. She's an excellent agent; she would be invaluable to our operations. And she won't be able to resist the thought that she could finally get Sloane." He adds, "I assume he hasn't contacted you in the last two days?"

Irina responds with a slight shake of her head. Sark looks back at the ceiling again. "And he must know my loyalties have shifted again," he murmurs.

"He could've used Il Dire already," she says.

"He might still be testing it."

"How do you know he isn't testing it on Sydney?"

"She means . . . too much to him to risk losing her."

Irina looks disgusted, and sighs. "Do you know of any place Sloane could be right now?"

Sark is ready for this. "Do you recall . . . a few months back, when we used the nuclear device on Alia Gizabi, former wife of Ahmad Kabir. One of his associates, Elid Tehrzan, became interested in Sloane's goals. I'm sure he wouldn't refuse Sloane refuge if he needed it."

"Where would that be?"

"Two miles north of Kandahar." He gives her the coordinates. "I shouldn't have any trouble getting in."

"I'll have a jet waiting, then. You'll leave in an hour."

He rises and enters a room behind the desk to prepare.