A/N – I know there are some weird formatting things going on with these last few chapters… the whole SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1 thing… I just don't know how to fix it. It's not in the document when I upload, and it's not in the document when I edit… so… I'm stumped. I do apologize for the distraction they cause. And if anyone knows how I can get rid of them – please let me know!
Chapter Nineteen
Crash-
Making her way up the winding trail, Sydney was thinking to herself that things couldn't get much worse.
Was this her fate? To bird-dog the world's most deadly weapon for a self-serving, arrogant maggot? For a man who felt so little for the value of human life that he would use the man she loved as bait to achieve his own barbarous ends? And she was his goddamned puppet? Bullshit. No. This was going to stop here and now.
Sark jabbed the barrel of his rifle into Sydney's back, jolting her out of her self-recriminations. "Keep moving. My buyers do have a deadline."
She felt a rush of cold fury -- enough was enough.
Spinning quickly, Sydney grabbed the barrel of his rifle with one hand and pulled, yanking it sharply to one side while simultaneously striking her other palm firmly against the stock, breaking Sark's hold and coming up swinging the weapon like a baseball bat. She connected with a satisfying thump, knocking Sark off of his feet.
Sydney continued after him and swung again, this time for his head. Sark rolled to his side and, bracing against the ground, drove a sidekick into her midsection. Sydney couldn't control her forward momentum and fell into the kick, dropping the rifle and spinning to the side from the force of the blow. She landed in a heap, holding her ribs and gasping for air.
Regaining her composure, she turned just in time to catch the full force of Sark's foot in her gut. The pain should have been enough to leave her doubled over, but her instincts had taken over and she was surprised to find Sark's boot firmly trapped in her hands. She wrenched his leg to the side, forcing him off-balance and sending him stumbling to his knees.
Sydney came up to her feet in one smooth, perfectly timed flow of motion. Sark, too late, tried to dodge out of reach. Sydney's right fist caught the angle of his jaw and knocked him tumbling to the ground. She rushed after him, intent on finishing the job once and for all. He had barely reached his feet when Sydney struck him again.
She advanced on Sark angrily, slamming into his body with the full force of a freight train. He tried to block her attack, but Sydney caught his wrist with her left hand and stepped into him, driving the heel of her right hand into his nose. It broke with a satisfying crunch and he swayed unsteadily as the blood began to flow. Sydney kept hold of his wrist, landing a punch directly into his abdomen. As Sark doubled over, she kicked him right between the legs.
Wheezing, Sark collapsed around her. Still holding onto his arm, Sydney heaved his body over her shoulder and hurled him onto the desert floor.
As he lay on the ground curled around himself, Sydney wobbled a few steps before dipping slowly to the ground from exhaustion, catching herself on her hands and knees.
The audible click of a pistol being cocked brought her head up. She turned to see Sark pushing himself up on one elbow while the other hand held a small revolver pointed directly at her. Sydney stared at him for a long moment before choking hoarsely, "Go to hell you son of a bitch."
"You shouldn't swear my dear," he gasped through panting breaths, "It is simply not ladylike." He tentatively touched a finger to his nose and winced. "If it's any consolation, know that I'll take no joy in killing you, Sydney. It was never about you. You were just a tool," he paused to take another labored breath as he drew slowly to his feet. "You have always been only the means to an end."
Sydney didn't bother answering. She couldn't care less how he justified this to himself. She wished he would just shut up so she could figure out a way to get back to Vaughn. She was startled back into focus when came behind her and hauled her to her feet.
SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1The fatigue combined with the quick change of location caused her senses to swim for a moment, and when they cleared she found the sharp prick of cold steel at her throat.
"Unfortunately, I need you alive for the next few minutes. That does not mean, however, that I cannot sedate you with something offering a little less finality than a bullet to the back of the skull. Now, which extremity can you do without?" She opened her mouth to protest when the knife jabbed painfully into the skin of her neck, breaking the surface.
Sydney went still. She could feel the thin trickle of blood trailing down her skin.
Suddenly, she lolled her head to one side and buckled her knees, trying not to cry out in pain as she felt the blade slice her skin. Caught by surprise, Sark tightened his grip and tried to keep her upright. He was unstable already when Sydney grabbed his wrist and twisted it outward, spinning the knife out of his hand. At the same time she reversed direction and threw her body into his, SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1knocking him backwards. She kept her feet moving, not wanting him to guess how shaky she was. She had to finish this quickly.
They slammed into the rocky wall, throwing them both off-balance. Sark's body struck granite and air wheezed out of his lungs. His knees collapsed and he fell straight down.
Sydney spun quickly, reaching down to jerk the revolver out of his waistband. In the span of an instant she had drug Sark to his feet and pressed his own gun firmly against the side of his head.
Conceding defeat, Sark retreated to his weapon of choice – his tongue. "So," he began, his breathing still ragged, "how does it feel to know that you are going to destroy the world?"
With a grim set to her jaw she answered him honestly. "I take solace in the fact that you'll be one of the casualties."
Sark remained defiant. "I've never been a casualty and I don't intent to start now."
"Pretty cocky words coming from someone with a pistol burning a hole into his head."
"I've been told my arrogance exceeds expectation."
"You should relish that," Sydney angrily pulled back the hammer. "I'm sure you have very little that exceeds anything."
"Ms. Reed informs me that I exceed your boyfriend by leaps and bounds."
Her grip tightened and the metal dug deeper into his flesh. "I try to avoid men who leap and bound," she ground out. The banal conversation was beginning to grate her nerves.
Wincing at the sensation, he continued through his teeth, "I think you and I would make an impressive team, Ms. Bristow."
"I could never work with someone whose loyalties were so flexible."
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he spoke. "They're not the only parts that are flexible."
"I forgot about your morals. Now, any final requests?"
He broke into a full smile, his eyes twinkling, "Try and leave the face intact," he swiped at the blood streaming from his broken nose, "as it were."
Sydney released the hammer and whipped the barrel across his forehead, hoping absently that she had left a mark. Frustrated that he had known she wouldn't kill him, she planted a firm kick to his stomach for good measure before looping a quick tie over his feet, then over his wrists, and rolling him on his stomach to bind his feet to his arms.
Tenderly touching the slash across her neck Sydney could tell that it was only superficial; but it hurt like hell and was continuing to bleed. Grabbing a bandana from her breast pocket, she quickly cinched it tightly around her neck, slowing the flow as best she could.
She shot a quick look down the trail to where Lauren was guarding Vaughn. Silently hoping that Vaughn was holding his own, Sydney resolutely turned her attention to the artifact. Continuing up the gruelingly steep path she crested the top of the cliff. The trail had led to what appeared to be a narrow hole in the rock; one that led straight down. She peered cautiously over the edge and softly cursed Sark for failing to bring rope or her repelling harness. She had at least forty feet to descend.
Easing her leg over the rim, she shimmied down, the toe of her boot finding hold on a narrow indentation in the face of the rock. Thank god for small favors. She soon managed to find enough pockets to descend into the cavern with relative ease.
When she reached the cavern floor the change from hot to cool sent a shiver down the length of her spine.
Winding deeper into the mountain, the natural light from her point of entrance soon gave way to shadows, ending in a dark tunnel that was three feet in diameter. Retrieving the flashlight from her cargo pants, Sydney placed it between her gritted teeth, dropped to her knees and began to crawl. After snaking her way along the dusty ground for what seemed like an eternity the tunnel finally expanded into a large cave. Finding her feet, she removed the flashlight from her mouth and began to survey her surroundings.
It took a moment to absorb the enormity of what she was seeing, and even then it didn't fully take hold as being reality. Before her stood over three hundred rectangular steel plates set into the rock wall. Each plate was three inches tall by five wide and bore the symbol of Rambaldi. Slowly advancing on the wall she held her breath as she lightly ran the pads of her fingers across the familiar indentation. When she rapped the butt of her flashlight against one panel she found that it was hollow. From what she could tell, each plate was a door to an in individual cubby.
Her eyes scanned the grid. Twelve rows, each containing nearly thirty columns. The artifact was behind one of them; but what was behind the others?
She hoped she didn't have to find out. Odds were that when Rambaldi created this monstrosity he did not allow for someone to go through them one by one.
She replayed in her head the debriefing with Marshall for some sort of clue to the puzzle. Had he mentioned anything? Any numbers or codes? No. The only thing he had said was that it appeared Rambaldi wanted someone to find it.
Realization suddenly swamped her. No. It couldn't be. Counting the grid she fought the overwhelming urge to throw up. Third plate down, twenty-second over. She wedged the blade of her knife carefully into the crevasse between the rock and the steel, loosing the battle to control the steady acceleration of her pulse. With one solid tug the plate gave way and fell to the ground. An empty compartment.
And then the walls began to crumble.
Behind her the cavern was collapsing on itself, throwing dust and rock everywhere. In front of her plates began to drop to the floor, each cubby collapsing in on itself. She spared a quick glance to the tunnel that offered her only means of escape. She needed to get out. Soon.
Damn it. Only one more chance to get this right. The intellectual side of her warred fiercely with her gut over what being right would mean. She didn't have time to deal with that now.
Quickly counting over seventeen in the fourth row down, she jammed her knife once again under the plate and thrust the metal forward, sending it violently to the dirt below. Reaching into the pocket she removed a slim leather satchel. Throwing it quickly over her shoulder she spun toward the tunnel, plunged herself into the narrow opening, and began to crawl as the cave collapsed on her heels.
By the time she reached open air her elbows and knees were bruised and swollen, her fingertips cracked and bleeding. She leaned heavily against the face of the rock and allowed for a moment to catch her breath. Then, unable to stop herself, she slowly pulled the satchel from her shoulder.
The object in her arms felt heavy. Maybe it was the weight of the burden it represented.
The hollow ache in the pit of her stomach only grew as she cautiously unwrapped the leather bundle to reveal an orange tinted sheet of glass no more than a millimeter thick. Sketched into it were a series of letters and symbols – the formula for biological warfare. This precarious piece of glass was so fragile and yet so incredibly powerful. The recipe for the end of the world could itself be destroyed by the slightest of breezes. The irony was overwhelming.
As she gazed intently at the glass, Rambaldi's words echoed in her head. You cannot fight fate. The man was a prophet. He predicted this would happen. To remove it from its resting place and deliver it into the waiting arms of mankind. It was her fate and it could not be changed.
What a waste,she thought as she hurled the glass into the solid rock that stood before her, the muted crash that reached her ears ringing a presage of freedom.
""
In Ops Center a lab technician working with The Golden End bore witness to the extraordinary event. As he held the artifact in his hands the code that the full resources of the CIA had been desperately trying to decipher began to change. Where there had once been jumbled symbols now lay coherent text. One single sentence.