DECEIVE | PART FOUR
* * *
A single piece of paper had been tucked under her doormat. An address was written on it. Curious, she tried to locate it on a map, and when that didn't work, she resorted to the internet. It didn't exist. And besides, it was way too early to be figuring this out with no coffee.
She grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory.
"Good morning, Sydney. How are you feeling?"
How he could sound so cordial at 7:30 in the morning was beyond her. Maybe he'd had his coffee already. Did he even drink coffee? She remembered he was waiting for her answer and replied, "Like my head is in a fog. Did you drug my wine?"
"You drank some?" He seemed genuinely shocked that someone would drink it and she wondered when he'd had time to develop such an appreciation for wine in the first place. Maybe between assassinations. "Oh, come now. It probably gave it some flavor, and you desperately needed the rest. Once you wake up, I think you'll find you feel much better."
She wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. "Why is there an address to a nonexistent place on my doorstep?"
"So you did find it. I wasn't sure you would," he ignored her question to carry on his own half of the conversation, "being that you drank laced wine last night."
The only thing that kept Sydney from screaming was the fact that fact that Weiss was a mere wall away. "Why don't you just tell me where you want me to go?"
"Because I suspect, that were I in your position, you'd send me straight to Hell. And frankly, I spent two years there, and I'm not too eager to go back. It will be good to stretch your mind a little. I'd hate to think that your level of intelligence had dulled in the time you were. . . away."
"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed, standing up in irritation.
Silence. And then, "Says the woman standing on her couch."
Surprised, she dropped in a tangle of limbs and winced in pain.
"Are you all right?"
Sydney scrambled off the couch and started for the windows, pulling down the shades. "Tell me where you are, you--"
He let out a gasp of outrage. "Sydney! I am your fiancé! No disparaging nicknames, please. Same goes for Muffin, Pooh-Bear, Snookums--"
Her anger dissolved into giggles.
"What's so funny?"
"You are." How could she explain that "Snookums" with his accent sounded. so funny?
Slightly miffed, he cleared his throat and waited for her laughter to subside. "You will figure out the address in due time. And may I suggest you pack of bag of the things you can't possibly bear to leave behind? You will not be returning for at least three months."
* * *
Of course, she'd figured it out. It had even almost been fun. Properly deciphered, it led her to a private airport outside of LA. At his suggestion, she'd packed a small rolling suitcase of the essentials and taken a cab from town so as not to around Weiss' suspicions.
She knew he'd worry eventually, but every minute she had was precious and the longer he didn't suspect, the better off she'd be.
The plane Sark had sent for her was the typical private jet. Nothing really stood out in her mind and for some reason, that warred with her impression of him. The man was accustomed to luxury and yet he did nothing to customize his jet.
"Do you know where Mr. Sark is?" Sydney asked the steward. He looked at her blankly. She frowned. He'd spoken English before, and even introduced himself as Phillipe to her "Julia." Then it hit her and she inwardly groaned. Of course, if she was Julia. . . "Do you know where my fiancé is? He'd promised we'd make the trip together."
"Oh!" His face lit up in understanding. "Yes. He was regrettably called away to business and had to take his personal jet to Europe. Perhaps there is something I can get to make your flight more comfortable?"
"No," she smiled reassuringly. "I think I'll just take a nap. Will you let me know when we arrive at. . ." Sydney trailed off, hoping he'd leak more information.
The older man grinned toothily, shaking a finger at her. "Oh no. I'm not telling you where we're flying. You just get some sleep and let us take care of the rest."
When he disappeared into the galley, Sydney allowed herself a sigh. So, Sark had already flown ahead to Europe. But it wasn't as if she hadn't flown before. It wasn't like he needed to hold her hand or anything.
The steward trundled back towards her, a glass of merlot in his hand. "He instructed that you be given this before takeoff."
Great. Probably more drugged wine.
Either he was trying to tell her something or he had some serious Arvin Sloane/SD-6 issues to work out.
She downed it in one gulp and handed back the glass, trying not to laugh at his expression. "Thanks."
The low rumble of the engines started below them and he gave her one last look. She smiled back at him. He looked sufficiently scared and she settled back into her chair with a smirk playing at her lips.
So he wanted to throw her off guard.
Two could play that game.
* * *
"Would you look at that? All safe and sound, as promised." Simon was smiling, pleased at having completed his job. "Here. Cheers!" He handed Sark a bottle of wine.
Sark didn't even bother to check what kind it was before taking a long pull. He fleetingly thought of Sydney, all curled up in a big leather chair, sleeping off the effects of her second glass of drugged wine. For an operative as useful as her, it was hard to imagine that she'd be out the world right now. But right before Simon had arrived, he'd called his contact on the plane who confirmed that not only had she guzzled it, but that she'd promptly passed out shortly after.
Sark closed the lid to the case and shook hands with Simon. "Excellent. Biological weapons, please."
He watched as Simon traded cases with the sidekick that Sydney hadn't liked, and opened it for his inspection. He glanced at it, satisfied with its condition, and gave Simon a razor-sharp smile. "Glad we didn't incur any further problems."
Simon waved the other man aside so he could talk to Sark privately. "No. Everything checked out clean, and there's been no record of the other man. Julia must have really taken it hard."
His brow lifted. "She doesn't like betrayal. Learned that early on in our relationship."
"Right. How's that going, anyway? I tried calling her to pass on my congratulations, but she didn't answer. Oddest thing."
"She's on her way over right now, as a matter of fact, so you can tell her yourself the next time you see her." Sark didn't feel it necessary to tell the other man that he'd cut off "Julia's" service and looped it straight to his voicemail. If Simon had anything to say, he'd know of it.
Just like any normal, loving fiancé would.
"Oh, good. I think we've got another job coming up and I'd love to have Julia on the team."
"I'll let her know." Sark walked over to the car and hopped in. He revved the engine a few times and waited for Simon to get out of the way. He'd done a good job this time, there really was no need to run him over, after all. He would save that if he ever got too close to Sydney. Simon ambled over and rested his arms on the passenger door.
"So you found your car, eh?"
"It would appear so." Sark was rapidly loosing patience with the man. The plane was due to touch down any minute now and he really hadn't wanted to be late.
"Where was it?"
Sark glanced beyond the alley, hoping to convey his impatience. Simon slowly lifted his arms. "About twenty miles away."
"Really. Well. Ta, mate," Simon gave him a half-cocked salute and Sark hit the gas, wishing at that moment, that the man had never moved from his original location. Julia would have been upset, but she'd have gotten over it. Hopefully.
* * *
The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a different plane. She was in a plane again, because there was that undeniable flight-like feeling, and the hint of turbulence hanging in the air. But her seat was softer and the main cabin--what she could see of it, anyway--was done in soft neutrals with rich cherry fixtures and very mod looking lamps that rested on tables and branched out from chairs.
Instinctively, she knew, this was Sark's personal jet. Why this should be some important was beyond her. She moved to get up and was held back by the seat belt. So not only had someone transferred her from one plane to the other, but they'd taken the time to buckle her in, as well. She unclasped it and moved down the aisle. There were three doors. One was a bathroom, the other was locked. The last door slid back to reveal a wine rack that scaled great lengths.
Oh yeah. It was his, all right.
The sound of a throat clearing startled her and she nearly took two levels of vintage wine down in the process of turning around. It was Phillipe.
"Is there a particular vintage you were looking for?"
"No. I think I've had enough wine for today. I was just looking around. How much longer until we touch down again?"
"Less than three quarters of an hour, miss."
She wanted to read, but had forgotten to pack a book and was still feeling a little groggy. Sydney headed back to her seat and closed her eyes again.
* * *
It wasn't the feeling of being shaken out of a sound sleep so much as it was that someone was watching her. Call it a spy instinct, or gut feeling, but she knew that she was being watched. Her eyes flew open to meet the invader of her peace and revealed Sark, sitting calmly across from her.
"I was wondering if you were going to sleep the whole journey."
Disorientated at seeing him, and realizing that they had once again, landed without her knowledge, she sat up straighter against her chair. Sometime during her second nap, someone had tucked a blanket around her. Touched, and slightly disturbed at the notion of being tucked in at the age of 30, she turned her attention back to Sark.
"Well, that's what happens when you keep taking drugs. Nice collection you have, back there. Are they all laced, too?"
"Of course not. What a terrible waste that would be."
She rolled her eyes. "Where are we?"
"We've landed outside Paris. Phillipe needs to get home to his family and I think we can take a side-trip before jumping into this arrangement." He didn't tell her that seeing her after a 24-hour hiatus had shaken him and he was beginning to wonder just what kind of hold she had on him. He wished to use the time to explore their chemistry, to see how far the charade could go and how well they could keep it up. The potential was there, certainly, but perhaps their earlier encounters had been mere strokes of luck, and when they spent more time in each other's presence, things would go haywire.
Sark had a feeling they would go haywire whether he was prepared for it or not.
"Simon sends his best wishes."
Her features noticeably softened at the other man's name and she smiled gently. "That was nice."
"There is nothing nice about that man, Sydney. You should know that already."
"What I do know, Sark, is that for some reason, Julia trusted him. So I, at least on some part, will trust him." When he frowned at her disapprovingly, she bitingly slipped in, "It can't be any worse than trusting you."
Sark smirked. "But darling. You *don't* trust me." He leaned in and cupped her cheek unexpectedly, throwing both of them off guard. It seemed as if her breathing had slowed considerably, but he could feel her pulse jumping erratically underneath his hand and that only cemented his next action.
He moved even close and kept his eyes on hers, tucking back a loose strand of her hair. Sydney's eyes darkened in color at the gesture and she wasn't really in a position to respond as he brushed his lips over her forehead.
Sark gently released her and stood up, extending a hand for her to follow suit. She accepted, but it wasn't until after they'd exited the jet and cleared the tarmac that she felt certain her voice was steady enough to ask, "What was that all about?"
He glanced over at her, heading for the limo. "Practice, Sydney. Merely practice."
Sydney didn't tell him that was one area they didn't need practice in.
* * *
I don't know where that came from. I just started with the title and it just. took off. Let me know what you think!
* * *
A single piece of paper had been tucked under her doormat. An address was written on it. Curious, she tried to locate it on a map, and when that didn't work, she resorted to the internet. It didn't exist. And besides, it was way too early to be figuring this out with no coffee.
She grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory.
"Good morning, Sydney. How are you feeling?"
How he could sound so cordial at 7:30 in the morning was beyond her. Maybe he'd had his coffee already. Did he even drink coffee? She remembered he was waiting for her answer and replied, "Like my head is in a fog. Did you drug my wine?"
"You drank some?" He seemed genuinely shocked that someone would drink it and she wondered when he'd had time to develop such an appreciation for wine in the first place. Maybe between assassinations. "Oh, come now. It probably gave it some flavor, and you desperately needed the rest. Once you wake up, I think you'll find you feel much better."
She wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. "Why is there an address to a nonexistent place on my doorstep?"
"So you did find it. I wasn't sure you would," he ignored her question to carry on his own half of the conversation, "being that you drank laced wine last night."
The only thing that kept Sydney from screaming was the fact that fact that Weiss was a mere wall away. "Why don't you just tell me where you want me to go?"
"Because I suspect, that were I in your position, you'd send me straight to Hell. And frankly, I spent two years there, and I'm not too eager to go back. It will be good to stretch your mind a little. I'd hate to think that your level of intelligence had dulled in the time you were. . . away."
"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed, standing up in irritation.
Silence. And then, "Says the woman standing on her couch."
Surprised, she dropped in a tangle of limbs and winced in pain.
"Are you all right?"
Sydney scrambled off the couch and started for the windows, pulling down the shades. "Tell me where you are, you--"
He let out a gasp of outrage. "Sydney! I am your fiancé! No disparaging nicknames, please. Same goes for Muffin, Pooh-Bear, Snookums--"
Her anger dissolved into giggles.
"What's so funny?"
"You are." How could she explain that "Snookums" with his accent sounded. so funny?
Slightly miffed, he cleared his throat and waited for her laughter to subside. "You will figure out the address in due time. And may I suggest you pack of bag of the things you can't possibly bear to leave behind? You will not be returning for at least three months."
* * *
Of course, she'd figured it out. It had even almost been fun. Properly deciphered, it led her to a private airport outside of LA. At his suggestion, she'd packed a small rolling suitcase of the essentials and taken a cab from town so as not to around Weiss' suspicions.
She knew he'd worry eventually, but every minute she had was precious and the longer he didn't suspect, the better off she'd be.
The plane Sark had sent for her was the typical private jet. Nothing really stood out in her mind and for some reason, that warred with her impression of him. The man was accustomed to luxury and yet he did nothing to customize his jet.
"Do you know where Mr. Sark is?" Sydney asked the steward. He looked at her blankly. She frowned. He'd spoken English before, and even introduced himself as Phillipe to her "Julia." Then it hit her and she inwardly groaned. Of course, if she was Julia. . . "Do you know where my fiancé is? He'd promised we'd make the trip together."
"Oh!" His face lit up in understanding. "Yes. He was regrettably called away to business and had to take his personal jet to Europe. Perhaps there is something I can get to make your flight more comfortable?"
"No," she smiled reassuringly. "I think I'll just take a nap. Will you let me know when we arrive at. . ." Sydney trailed off, hoping he'd leak more information.
The older man grinned toothily, shaking a finger at her. "Oh no. I'm not telling you where we're flying. You just get some sleep and let us take care of the rest."
When he disappeared into the galley, Sydney allowed herself a sigh. So, Sark had already flown ahead to Europe. But it wasn't as if she hadn't flown before. It wasn't like he needed to hold her hand or anything.
The steward trundled back towards her, a glass of merlot in his hand. "He instructed that you be given this before takeoff."
Great. Probably more drugged wine.
Either he was trying to tell her something or he had some serious Arvin Sloane/SD-6 issues to work out.
She downed it in one gulp and handed back the glass, trying not to laugh at his expression. "Thanks."
The low rumble of the engines started below them and he gave her one last look. She smiled back at him. He looked sufficiently scared and she settled back into her chair with a smirk playing at her lips.
So he wanted to throw her off guard.
Two could play that game.
* * *
"Would you look at that? All safe and sound, as promised." Simon was smiling, pleased at having completed his job. "Here. Cheers!" He handed Sark a bottle of wine.
Sark didn't even bother to check what kind it was before taking a long pull. He fleetingly thought of Sydney, all curled up in a big leather chair, sleeping off the effects of her second glass of drugged wine. For an operative as useful as her, it was hard to imagine that she'd be out the world right now. But right before Simon had arrived, he'd called his contact on the plane who confirmed that not only had she guzzled it, but that she'd promptly passed out shortly after.
Sark closed the lid to the case and shook hands with Simon. "Excellent. Biological weapons, please."
He watched as Simon traded cases with the sidekick that Sydney hadn't liked, and opened it for his inspection. He glanced at it, satisfied with its condition, and gave Simon a razor-sharp smile. "Glad we didn't incur any further problems."
Simon waved the other man aside so he could talk to Sark privately. "No. Everything checked out clean, and there's been no record of the other man. Julia must have really taken it hard."
His brow lifted. "She doesn't like betrayal. Learned that early on in our relationship."
"Right. How's that going, anyway? I tried calling her to pass on my congratulations, but she didn't answer. Oddest thing."
"She's on her way over right now, as a matter of fact, so you can tell her yourself the next time you see her." Sark didn't feel it necessary to tell the other man that he'd cut off "Julia's" service and looped it straight to his voicemail. If Simon had anything to say, he'd know of it.
Just like any normal, loving fiancé would.
"Oh, good. I think we've got another job coming up and I'd love to have Julia on the team."
"I'll let her know." Sark walked over to the car and hopped in. He revved the engine a few times and waited for Simon to get out of the way. He'd done a good job this time, there really was no need to run him over, after all. He would save that if he ever got too close to Sydney. Simon ambled over and rested his arms on the passenger door.
"So you found your car, eh?"
"It would appear so." Sark was rapidly loosing patience with the man. The plane was due to touch down any minute now and he really hadn't wanted to be late.
"Where was it?"
Sark glanced beyond the alley, hoping to convey his impatience. Simon slowly lifted his arms. "About twenty miles away."
"Really. Well. Ta, mate," Simon gave him a half-cocked salute and Sark hit the gas, wishing at that moment, that the man had never moved from his original location. Julia would have been upset, but she'd have gotten over it. Hopefully.
* * *
The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a different plane. She was in a plane again, because there was that undeniable flight-like feeling, and the hint of turbulence hanging in the air. But her seat was softer and the main cabin--what she could see of it, anyway--was done in soft neutrals with rich cherry fixtures and very mod looking lamps that rested on tables and branched out from chairs.
Instinctively, she knew, this was Sark's personal jet. Why this should be some important was beyond her. She moved to get up and was held back by the seat belt. So not only had someone transferred her from one plane to the other, but they'd taken the time to buckle her in, as well. She unclasped it and moved down the aisle. There were three doors. One was a bathroom, the other was locked. The last door slid back to reveal a wine rack that scaled great lengths.
Oh yeah. It was his, all right.
The sound of a throat clearing startled her and she nearly took two levels of vintage wine down in the process of turning around. It was Phillipe.
"Is there a particular vintage you were looking for?"
"No. I think I've had enough wine for today. I was just looking around. How much longer until we touch down again?"
"Less than three quarters of an hour, miss."
She wanted to read, but had forgotten to pack a book and was still feeling a little groggy. Sydney headed back to her seat and closed her eyes again.
* * *
It wasn't the feeling of being shaken out of a sound sleep so much as it was that someone was watching her. Call it a spy instinct, or gut feeling, but she knew that she was being watched. Her eyes flew open to meet the invader of her peace and revealed Sark, sitting calmly across from her.
"I was wondering if you were going to sleep the whole journey."
Disorientated at seeing him, and realizing that they had once again, landed without her knowledge, she sat up straighter against her chair. Sometime during her second nap, someone had tucked a blanket around her. Touched, and slightly disturbed at the notion of being tucked in at the age of 30, she turned her attention back to Sark.
"Well, that's what happens when you keep taking drugs. Nice collection you have, back there. Are they all laced, too?"
"Of course not. What a terrible waste that would be."
She rolled her eyes. "Where are we?"
"We've landed outside Paris. Phillipe needs to get home to his family and I think we can take a side-trip before jumping into this arrangement." He didn't tell her that seeing her after a 24-hour hiatus had shaken him and he was beginning to wonder just what kind of hold she had on him. He wished to use the time to explore their chemistry, to see how far the charade could go and how well they could keep it up. The potential was there, certainly, but perhaps their earlier encounters had been mere strokes of luck, and when they spent more time in each other's presence, things would go haywire.
Sark had a feeling they would go haywire whether he was prepared for it or not.
"Simon sends his best wishes."
Her features noticeably softened at the other man's name and she smiled gently. "That was nice."
"There is nothing nice about that man, Sydney. You should know that already."
"What I do know, Sark, is that for some reason, Julia trusted him. So I, at least on some part, will trust him." When he frowned at her disapprovingly, she bitingly slipped in, "It can't be any worse than trusting you."
Sark smirked. "But darling. You *don't* trust me." He leaned in and cupped her cheek unexpectedly, throwing both of them off guard. It seemed as if her breathing had slowed considerably, but he could feel her pulse jumping erratically underneath his hand and that only cemented his next action.
He moved even close and kept his eyes on hers, tucking back a loose strand of her hair. Sydney's eyes darkened in color at the gesture and she wasn't really in a position to respond as he brushed his lips over her forehead.
Sark gently released her and stood up, extending a hand for her to follow suit. She accepted, but it wasn't until after they'd exited the jet and cleared the tarmac that she felt certain her voice was steady enough to ask, "What was that all about?"
He glanced over at her, heading for the limo. "Practice, Sydney. Merely practice."
Sydney didn't tell him that was one area they didn't need practice in.
* * *
I don't know where that came from. I just started with the title and it just. took off. Let me know what you think!