Chapter Nine

PARIS, FRANCE

The man with the bushy black beard and icy blue eyes picked up the phone that rang shrilly in the cold and dingy basement office that was located beneath a reasonable hotel two miles South of the Arc De Triomphe. He 'Okayed' and 'uh huh' and 'aaahed' as the composed man on the other end of the line told him his new job. The fax machine on the metal desk by the door whirred as the information detailing what he had to do came through. Balancing the phone underneath his chin he strode purposefully toward the fax machine, stretching the curled cord as far as it would go. Setting the first sheet of paper on the bland and impersonal table his keen eyes took in the facts and pictures before him, committing all to his memory. A memory that was steadily fading with age. That was a little tidbit he would not allow anyone to find out, it word reached Arvin Sloane that he was slowing down the Boss would take his work elsewhere.

"Are you sure you do not want me to kill him outright" he asked in his brusque Parisian accent. A native of the great and bustling City he left only when his job meant he had to. He listened carefully as his employer answered the question. It sounded as if Sloane was trying hard to keep his anger in check; anger that the bearded man was positive was not directed at him.

"You know where to take them" Sloane questioned.

Nodding as well as answering verbally the man said"I do. But Paris is a big City Monsieur Sloane, and it is possible they are not even here."

Sloane sighed, frustration seeping through. "I'm sure you'll let your contacts know that a considerable sum will be awarded to them for any help they can give" sometimes all was needed was a little bribery. Whilst his 'friend' was rather low on the pecking order, despite his talents, he knew many people that were in a position to use most resources to their advantage, making the search come to a close a lot faster. And speed was of the utmost importance in this situation.

"I will do what I can. I will update you in three days" he told Sloane and made to put the phone back on the hook.

Before he could do so Sloane interrupted. "You have two days, fail to accomplish your objective in that time frame and I will be forced to take this elsewhere" before the other man could object Sloane put the phone down, cutting off anything the Parisian could say to sway his decision.

VILLE NEUVE, FRANCE

Jack watched as the plane he, Irina, Sydney and Vaughn were supposed to be in took to the now cloudy skies. He was staying behind whilst the two younger agents carried onto Los Angeles to brief Dixon in person over what was happening. Above all, he wanted his daughter away from whatever could eventually happen to Irina. He kept his eyes on the plane; the drizzle outside the warm car he sat in matched his mood quite well. As the airplane disappeared into the grey clouds and out of his site he turned away, started the engine, and pulled onto the road.

Half an hour ago he had put in a call to an old – not quite friend but close enough to be trusted; now Jack drove in the direction Irina and Sark had taken a while before him, not knowing exactly where to go but driving onwards nonetheless, waiting for the phone call that would help him on his way. He was not to be disappointed. By the third ring Jack had pulled over to the side of the empty, scenic road and picked it up.

Dispensing with the niceties he got straight to the point. "What did you find?" as the informer spoke the Agent could sense his nervousness.

"Monsieur Bristow, I do not think I will be able to help you this time" he spoke with a decided air of uncertainty. Who would he like to anger more? Arvin Sloane or Jack Bristow? Or perhaps the better question was: Who would do more damage to him should he refuse to assist them?

"That alone tells me Arvin Sloane has contacted you" he gave the bearded man a few seconds to gather himself, to decide what to say next. "You may think Arvin is more dangerous than I, that however is a myth."

Tentatively the Parisian posed a question. "And how do I know that is true?"

He answered without hesitation, various scenarios of how this conversation could go having already been thought through. "Who do you think gathered the Intel from prisoners of SD-6? How do you think I was able to obtain it?"

The hairs on the back of the bearded man's neck stood on end. Arvin Sloane was certainly not to be taken lightly but who in their right mind would purposely cross Jack Bristow? A laugh that held no humour sounded down the phone. "I was always told never to get in the middle of a personal dispute." He knew the CIA Agent was more deadly this time for the very simple reason that Sloane had made this personal, by involving Jack's wife. He did not know all the details but that much he was sure of. He was cleverer than to ask exactly what had happened.

"So we have reached an agreement?" Jack asked in a voice that made it clear there would be serious repercussions if that were not the case.

"Yes. We have," then back down to business. "You were correct in your assumption that Monsieur Sloane would contact me for help" that was his first mistake. The Parisian was a man that Sloane, and by extension Jack, had used on various occasions back in the SD-6 days. At times, as now, Arvin used the same, supposedly loyal individuals that had not been compromised in the Alliance takedown. In those days though the somewhat reluctant people that gave their services from time to time did so because of the pressure Sloane had Jack put on them. The Parisian was inexpensive and in a useful location for this mission; it was hard for Sloane to pass up on the chance to use him. Jack had known his old friend and boss would come to this man, he was lucky in his guess.

"The minute you have information on the whereabouts of either Irina Derevko or Julian Sark I want to know about it. Try and delay giving Sloane an update, if that includes misinforming him so be it" Jack gave the plan of action; there would be no deviation from said plan. "How long where you given to complete your directive"

A sigh and then"only two days. It was puzzling, he seemed very rushed."

Jack understood the need to find Irina quickly, she had something he wanted, but why this urgency? Sloane had to know it was impossible to find her in so short a span of time, considering her resources. If Irina Derevko did not want to be found then she would not be. Suddenly he remembered something Sark had said, I"24 hours has almost passed"/I hearing that they had left abruptly. Jack was working on little to no information, and he did not like it. "Call me when you have something" he instructed and hung up.

Sloane had given the Parisian 48 hours; Jack would do the same. That left two days. Jack needed a few more answers; luckily for him he had somebody that had been on the inside of whatever Arvin had been planning. It was time to take a little trip back to the farmhouse where Bourrett was being held.

PARIS, FRANCE

Sark sifted through the thirty or so papers he had liberated from Sloane's desk, unbeknownst to him of course, before the group of scientists and hired bodyguards had been disbanded or killed, and he had left. Sloane had been so busy taunting Jack, bribing him that he had not noticed Sark slip away to do a bit of investigative work of his own. It was true that he did not have any idea that his employer was going to inject the poison, the great but sadly shady Scientists had created, into Irina to make her talk. Nor did he have any idea that she was systematically going through Sloane's carefully made plans behind his back. Sark was privy to various details, but not all of them.

There were perhaps two or three pages of information that could be considered helpful, the rest was nothing of interest or value. He had also managed to take with him two disks that he hoped would be of some use. Maybe he would get lucky and actually find the formula to create another antidote to replace the one Sloane had destroyed. He picked up one sheet of paper, on it were names, some he recognised. Beside him Irina stirred and he put down the list before he could finish reading.

They had picked the car up from a hotel near the airport that, on request, chauffered the more wealthy tourists around in a car of their choice; or if they were booked whatever vehicle was available at the time. Irina had an understanding with one of the employees at the hotel. She had helped him on a few occasions when his extracurricular exploits could have landed him in a great deal of bother, in return he gave her whatever help he could whenever she asked for it. He had every reason to stay loyal and no reason to become a turncoat. Whatever somebody else offered Irina could double it. His help could come in the form of a hideout, a contact or, in this case, an inconspicuous car.

The employees brother drove, he was working himself through school and didn't have much money. In return for his services today he would last the remainder of the year in college and be able to pay off any debts that may have mounted over his time there.

The plane journey was not long; perhaps an hour or a few minutes longer, Sark had not been keeping track of the time. After their initial talk in the car after getting away from the Bristow's and Vaughn, Irina had fallen silent. Even now, though she gave the appearance of sleep it looked to him as though she were in deep concentration. If he had seen how she was at the hospital it might have entered his mind that she was doing her uttermost to keep a firm grasp on her identity, to not slip into the darkness again and wake up with no memory of what was happening or where she was at the time or why.

Though she looked to be in a deep slumber she was not, instead Irina was well aware of her surroundings, for now at least. "We're here" she announced, finally opening her eyes.

Leaving Sark to thank the driver she walked towards one of the red doors or many red doors along the row of almost identical buildings. By the time she had finished knocking: three quick raps then a pause followed by a succession of two slow knocks, Sark had caught up to her. The door opened before he could speak and a face he had seen only in a picture on Sloane's desk greeted him. "This is a surprise" Emily smiled and leant forward to embrace Irina.

"I only wish it were under better circumstances," her old friend responded before stepping into the house.