With a start, Sark opens his eyes.

He is lying on a bed with white sheets.

He sees Irina's relieved face looking over him, and suddenly he remembers.

"Did you find Sydney?" he asks, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, and begins again. "Where's Sydney? Have you discovered who the ambushers were?" Sark sits up and tries to ignore the sharp stab of pain in his leg.

Irina takes a long look at him and says, "We don't know. We're following a lead now, but we've got nothing so far."

"Sloane."

Irina says nothing.

He stares at her, trying to penetrate her immobile mask. He realizes, and he says quickly, "It couldn't have been the CIA . . . that's just not even a possibility."

"The fact is . . . it is a possibility. And you'll have to accept that."

Sark shakes his head. "She wouldn't."

"She might."

"And what is Jack Bristow's take on the matter?" he asks, a slight edge in his tone.

"He told me he'd spoken to Sydney. And judging by what he said, it's doubtful she would turn to the CIA – then again, she might have been withholding the truth from him because of Doren's escape."

"How long have I been out?"

"Close on twenty-three hours."

Sark inwardly curses. Excellent, really, how well he was living up to his training. Out for nearly a day, and wounded nowhere serious. "Describe this lead that you have."

"Bucharest. There's a team heading there in the next twenty-four hours. We got an intercept regarding 'the clock' being delivered."

Only Sark could sense her initial hesitation in speaking. He knows her. "You can't prevent me from joining that team, Irina."

She gives him one of her Mona Lisa smiles. "I wasn't going to try." From behind her back, she pulls out a folder and hands it to him. "These are the specs," she says quietly. "For now, you have my consent. But if-"

He cuts her off. "Irina . . . I'm going."

She nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. She turns and leaves the room, as Sark looks after.

BUCHAREST

It is a small place, grey and dark and old. And so very Sloane. The team moves with quiet caution and stealth, ready at a second's notice. Sark blocks out his pain and instead, concentrates on his goal.

There is something missing, however, as the team discovers, while splitting and moving throughout the building. The only thing wrong is the absence of human life. The place is completely free of all people.


It becomes increasingly clear to Sark, once he's covered almost half of the grounds. And there is not much left to search.

With a feeling of frustrated resignation, Sark pushes open a door, and he is instantly confronted with a picture.

Il Dire is there.  Along with two other people.

Sark has seen death. But never, never in a thousand times, has he seen death like this.