Hello again! Sorry for not updating during the week but i didn't have the time to write cause i was very busy. I'd like to thank all my reviewers ( there are a bunch of them, i know ; ) It's the small things that count in life. You guys keep this going on. Ok, enough.
The story is set in season 1 shortly after they found rambaldi's journal in argentina during ( I think it's Time Will Tell) So Sydney has no idea her mother is alive.
... POLLUX...
2001
Trujillo, Honduras
The sun shone brightly upon the café.
"Could you give me fire, misses?"
Ana Espinosa smiled smugly at the woman sitting across her table. The magazine that had covered her face now revealed a woman in her late twenties, as Ana thought. Her hair was dark brown and cut into a geometrical short bob, expensive shades darkened her eyes. The form of her face was a little bit edgy but she didn't fit to the usual Slavic blond-blue-eyed type you would have expected by reading the name on the file Ana was given. Nevertheless it was a beautiful face. Somehow it reminded her of someone she knew.
"Of course." She bent over to light Ana's cigarette.
"Would you mind joining me?" Ana asked while holding the pack in front of her. She studied her face and paused:
"Well, it depends on the brand...I don't smoke anything that isn't worth it."
Ana chuckled. It was quite sure they were not talking about plain cigarettes now. This woman knew how to play the game very well.
"Havana light. Estimated in this area. Worth about 10.000 $ a job." Ana blew the smoke in her direction.
"You think I would go for that?" She asked challenging.
"Yes. You are in need."Ana countered.
The other woman nervously pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Deal." She stated simply. Ana left the table smiling.
After watching her vanish she picked up the cigarette pack Ana Espinosa had left and opened it. Inside she found a phone number.
After throwing some cash on the table, the young woman left the café and pulled out her cell phone to dial the number she had already memorized and destroyed.
"Cigarillos de Havana. Me llama María Casavella. Puedo ayudarse?" a Spanish-speaking phone operator answered her call.
"Vera Juvalkova. I'm calling for further information." Silence grew on the other side.
"Un momento, por favor."
Vera sighed. Her commissioner tried his best to keep deep cover.
"Ms. Juvalkova, I almost thought you were out of business. What took you so long?" The mocking voice of a man came from the other side of the line.
"Brotec. It's a pleasure to meet you too. Let's drop the small talk and do business." Vera answered him sarcastically.
"My, look who hasn't changed. I have something new for you. Come to my villa and we will discuss everything there. You still know where to find me?"
" I'll just follow the smell." She stated and hung up on him.
... C A S T O R...
2001
Los Angeles
Inside the credit dauphine building Sydney Bristow was sitting in abriefing with Arvin Sloane and her other colleagues. Their new mission was again concerning the 15th century seer Rambaldi.
"Thanks to your excellent work in Argentina we now have conceived the information on Rambaldi's close friend and mentor Ignazio Giminiago we have been longing for." Sloane nodded appreciatoryly at Sydney and Dixon.
Sydney briefly focused Dixon's monitor opposite to herself. The "we" didn't exist. She couldn't share Sloane's passion for medieval prophecies. Sydney couldn't think of anything she could ever be able to have in common with that monster. The "we" was just a sly little gesture that showed that they all belonged to one family, the so called CIA. She shivered slightly.
"Giminiago was tortured to death by catholic inquisitors who accused him of spreading black litany in the name of the devil. He was a genius, no doubt, and he saw and believed in Rambaldi's potential. His death taught Rambaldi the lesson to be cautious. To honor his dead master, Rambaldi ordered to stitch a monogram into his catafalque. This monogram had encoded coordinates to the site were Rambaldi stored his superior's intellectual inheritance. It was the last secret Giminiago carried into his grave."
Sloane paused to upload a picture of a gray-haired man in his fifties.
"Josepho Vuernes, rather known under the name José Vasquez. He worked at the central police department in Honduras and was imputed to be corruptive. He was linked to the drug distribution but somehow managed to disappear without being pursued by either the government or the drug traffickers. A few days ago he was located in Medellín, Columbia where he started a new existence under the pretence as a self-made estimator of archaeological South-American treasuries, including an Rambaldi artifact that is of great importance to our further missions. The catafalque of Ignazio Giminiago."
Sloane paused meaningful.
"Sydney, Dixon, you will fly to Medellín. Your mission is to approach Josepho Vuernes as art connoisseurs interested in antiques of the Conquistadorian time. Steal the catafalque and retrieve it to SD-6. Marshall will show you the gear."
"Ah, yes; umm. Let me see. It's nothing special, ah, actually it's something you can buy any store with the itsy bitsy difference that it doesn't look as flashy as this one, by the way, hehe the price is way over hardware store limitation and a-"
"Marshall."- Sloane's annoyed voice cut him off abruptly.
Intimidated, Marshall went on, holding an inconspicuous pen in his hand.
"It is a multifunctional pen. But you don't use it to write. The four pen leads have four functions. Green for cutting glass and steel, the red one has a small USB entry, black for tranquilizing everybody in a four meter distance and the blue one is able to trigger this explosive."
Marshall handed Sydney the thin explosive that could be attached to the palm of her hand.
"When does our flight start?" Dixon asked.
"In two days. You can leave the office now so you can prepare yourself for your new mission. Good luck." Sloane ended thebriefing with handshaking.
Sydney left the credit dauphine building with worried glance. On her way to the parking lot she would again have to invent a reason why her "bank" had scheduled her a short-termed flight to -well, how about Boston this time?- because of reasons similar to– yeah, you know the bank is about to lose a very important client. I'm the one who'll convince them to stick with us...and so on. Angrily she threw her bag onto the passenger's seat of her jeep.
