Chapter I
'There aren't enough hours in the day.'
--Sydney Bristow
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Sydney's alarm clock went off at exactly 4:00 AM, as it did every day, including Sundays and holidays. Her eyes popped open, and, full of energy as always, she jumped out of bed, excited to begin another day of grad school study and work at the CIA. She pulled on a sweatshirt and shorts and started her morning calisthenic routine. Half an hour later, after pushing the 'on' button on her coffee pot (which she had prepped the night before, naturally) she had a quick shower, threw on some jeans and a t-shirt and sat down at her small desk. Both of her desktops were organized to perfection, of course, so her Farsi course notes and language software were exactly ready for her use. It took her all of fifteen minutes to memorize fifty new verbs – she started to repeat each one out loud and simultaneously she reached over to the coffee pot.
At five o'clock her desktop timer beeped and she put down her Farsi notes and picked up her textbook on Vietnamese. She found the study of languages to be utterly fascinating and wished she could devote 100 of her time to linguistics, but she could hear the call of duty. In fact, it was her pager going off. She looked at the little screen, Sloane of course, who else would call her before breakfast?
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'There REALLY aren't enough hours in the day.'
--Marcus Dixon
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Dixon kissed Diane in passing as he rushed around trying to find his shoes.
"Diane," he said frantically, "where are my good shoes? I put them right there in the middle of the floor yesterday, how come they're not there now?"
"Slow down dear, whoever needs your bank's money today can wait a few minutes. Your shoes were absolutely filthy, if I didn't know better I'd think you'd kicked someone in the head while standing in the middle of a muddy field! I cleaned your shoes, and shined them for you, you know you must look your best, especially among a bunch of stodgy old white bread conservative bankers!"
Dixon controlled his external reactions. Oh shit, he thought, I almost blew it. I should have stopped by the shoeshine stand before coming home yesterday. "Now Diane, I've told you before, Credit Dauphine is a very forward looking company, you'll not find a single stodgy individual in the whole building. And I assure you, no one there is in the least bit narrow minded, at least, no one who counts for anything. But I really do need to go; I can't be late for this morning's meeting. I'm to confer with colleagues from France today, you know, senior managers – its some sort of emergency."
As always, the constant lying to his wife about his work at CIA/SD-6 made him feel a little sick to his stomach. But, he convinced himself yet again that it was for her protection. Diane silently pointed to the closet. He could see that she had exchanged her banter for bad attitude, the one that told him she could see that something wasn't quite right, there was some little thing between them that she wasn't sure of. But, she couldn't tell what it was, she wasn't entirely sure that there was anything to worry about, and he couldn't come clean.
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Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well.
-- Samuel Butler (1853 – 1902)
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Six a.m. and Sydney ran into the parking level elevator lobby and nearly knocked Dixon off his feet, they were both rushing headlong to catch the elevator. As they stood in the cab, the armed elevator operator pushed the button for sublevel six, they glanced at each other and grinned. At last, they both thought, someone who knows what I do for a living!
Dixon and Sydney walked briskly through the office, into the conference room and sat down at the table. They were the last ones in this morning. Sloane, with his Hollywood stubble and two-thousand dollar suit, stood at the head of the table. Marshall apparently needed sleep, but was studying what looked like an electronic game, but no, that couldn't be, could it? Some other guy from Tech Section sat next to Marshall, and one of those creepy dudes from Security Section next to him. The Security guy had that faint look that all those guys had, the look that said 'I know something you don't'. Syd found it unnerving as always, and wondered what that was about, but put it aside as one of those CIA things that she didn't fall within her 'need to know' parameters.
Sloane said, "Good morning Agent Bristow, Agent Dixon. I'm glad you could make it this early. Please listen to this, a phone call that Marshall and Ingraham worked on very early this morning. I received this call late yesterday evening. Please peruse the transcripts." He pointed to Marshall, who hurriedly put away his electronic game (with an apologetic glance at Sloane) and handed them each a bound report:
TELCON TRANSCRIPTION 347FI3KS10-KD/STF/MF 11/05/1999 SD-6 LA CD SEC SEC TR
CLASSIFIED LEVEL THREE 'NEED TO KNOW' ONLY. DO NOT DISSEMINATE OUTSIDE SD-6. PHYSICAL COPY THREE (3) OF FIVE (5) ASSIGNED TO AGENT S. BRISTOW EMP. ID #(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
TRANSMISSION STARTS 11/04/1999 19:43:04
CD OPERATOR:
"Credit Dauphine stands ready to meet your private banking needs! How may I direct your call?"
ABLE MONTAGUE:
"Uh,please, uh, extension, uh, 47, and hurry!"
CD OPERATOR:
"One moment please."
TELEPHONE SWITCHING SOUNDS: ENTIRELY NORMAL; WE FOUND NO EVIDENCE OF TAMPERING OR UNAUTHORIZED TAPS. HOLD MUSIC: ROLLING STONES MEDLEY, AS PLAYED BY THE LAWERENCE WELK ORCHESTRA. 46 SECONDS.
SLOANE: "Yeah."
BACKGROUND SOUNDS: (1) 90 CERTAIN ID: NATURAL WATER DRIP, FIVE DRIPS PER MINUTE, 8 ERROR RATE, 14DB.
ABLE MONTAGUE:"Mr. Sloane, Mr. Sloane, this is Able (STUTTER) Montague, I found it, I found it, I found it!"
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(2) ANALYSIS OF SOUND AMBIANCE AND ECHOS INDICATES APPROX. 5000 CU. FT. SPACE, 32 MAX ERROR, ASSUMMING HARD SURFACED WALLS. SEE APPENDIX II FOR METHODOLOGY AND GRAPHICAL INTERPRETATION OF NUMERICAL ASSUMPTIONS.
SLOANE:"Slow down Mr. Montague, calm yourself. Now, what did you find?"
ABLE MONTAGUE:"A (CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)! A genuine (CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)! It's a (CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)! Will you still pay me a million dollars for it? It's in good condition, although the lock is broken on the iron box, but will you still pay?"
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(3)TENTATIVE ID: IRON CLINKING ON IRON.
SLOANE:"Yes I will Mr. Montague. In fact, there may a bonus depending on the precise artifact and the condition. Where are you?"
ABLE MONTAGUE:"I'm in an old underground crypt in Sunnydale, California. I can bundle this thing up and be in LA in less than three hours, if I don't crash my truck. Man I'm hungry, I need to get something to eat, some sleep, and breakfast maybe."
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(4)FAINT INSECT CHITTERING. TENTATIVE ID: VARIOUS BEETLES.
SLOANE:"If the artifact is genuine it is (CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR) centuries old,plus or minus a few years. A few more hours won't hurt, if it will help keep it in one piece. I could have a team meet you there if you'd like."
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(5)TENTATIVE ID: SOUNDS OF A PERSON QUIETLY CLIMBING; (6) TENTATIVE ID: STEALTHY STEPS.
ABLE MONTAGUE:"Maybe that's a good idea, but look PAUSE wait, who's there?"
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(7)85 PER CENT PROBABLE POSITIVE ID: THREE GUNSHOTS FROM RAPIDLY FIRED REVOLVER. NOTE: SMITH & WESSON .38 CALIBER REVOLVER KNOWN TO BE CARRIED BY ABLE MONTAGUE. PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS OF GUNSHOT SOUND IS CONGRUENT WITH KNOWN INFORMATION.
UNIDENTIFIED MALE:"Bugger! I hate it when one of you wankers shoots me!"
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(8)UNIDENTIFIED; (9) TENTATIVE ID: SCREAM FROM MONTAGUE; (10) TENTATIVE ID: SOUND OF KNIFE CUTTING THROUGH SOFT TISSUE; (11) UNIDENTIFIED;(12) UNINTELLIGIBLE WORDS; HYPOTHOSIS (8-12): UNKNOWN MALE WAS SPOTTED BY MONTAGUE WHO SHOT BUT MISSED. UNKNOWN MALE THEN CUT MONTAGUE'S THROAT.
UNIDENTIFIED MALE:"Eh, not bad, a little stringy though. Harm! Git yer butt up here!"
BACKGROUND SOUNDS:(13)UNIDENTIFIED; (14) UNIDENTIFIED; (15) TENTATIVE ID: CLIMBING SOUNDS;(16) TENTATIVE ID: STEPS; (17) TENTATIVE ID: PERSON TRIPPING, ANALYSIS SUGGESTS 125 POUNDS.
UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE (POSSIBLE NICKNAME: HARM):"Ouch! Spikey! What are we doing back here? Just because Angel kicked you out of LA doesn't mean we have to…" INTERFERENCE FOR 3 SECS.
UNIDENTIFIED MALE (POSSIBLE NAME: SPIKE):"Here, have a taste. I ate last night and I'm still full. This daft bugger was rooting around INTERFERENCE what do you suppose is in this old INTERFERENCE"
UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE:"Oooh looky, what a cute little red cell phone! PAUSE I wonder what this button …"
STANDARD DIAL TONE
TRANSMISSION ENDS 11/04/1999 19:45:18
LOCATION:
CELL:...(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
TOWER ID:...(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
LONGITUDE:...(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
LATITUDE:...(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
ALTITUDE:...(CLASSIFIED LEVEL FOUR)
END TELCON TRANSCRIPTION 347FI3KS10-KD/STF/MF11/05/1999 1643 SD-6 LA CD SEC SEC TR
Sydney frowned as she read the transcript. She looked up when Marshall said, "Sorry for the overzealous classifications in the transcript, but we were really rushing and some Security Section goon was mouth-breathing over my shoulder." Marshall was oblivious of the Security Section agent glaring at him from two seats down. "OK, here's the complete raw audio, then I'll play it again, but filtered as best we could."
When the recordings ended Sydney and Dixon both frowned even deeper and glanced at each other. Sydney observed, "That's a very odd exchange at the end. What were they eating do you suppose? And why would they be talking about food while standing over the dead and still bleeding body? I mean, what kind of monster could even think of eating in a situation like that?"
Dixon added, "The unidentified male sounds authentically cockney, the girl just sounds like a ditz though."
Sydney continued, "They're both distinctive voices, why don't you send the tape to NSA and see if they can match it with any other voice conversations they may have on file?" She turned to Sloane with a questioning look.
Sloane said, "Now Sydney, you know we've had this conversation before, NSA has a completely different mission than SD-6, it's very hard to get intel from them. I will take your suggestion under advisement though."
Dixon said, "This is ridiculous, sir, after all, we're all on the same side. Can't you get some Senator or other to come down on them, we need that intel!"
Sloane looked like he had heartburn. "I'll get on it," he said with a frown, "but in the meantime, I want you two to go to…" he glanced down at the report, "…Sunnydale. Security Section will give you the coordinates, and you will investigate and see if you can retrieve the Rambaldi Artifact. Note that your mission is to retrieve the artifact, finding the murderer is secondary. However, if you can get information on the perpetrators without jeopardizing your primary mission, it would be a nice plus."
Sydney frowned even deeper and said, "But sir, Sunnydale is in California, a state within the borders of the continental US, if I remember my elementary school geography lessons correctly. CIA isn't supposed to operate there; but perhaps you are more familiar with the regulations than I. Why don't you call in the FBI or maybe even the local police?"
Sloan's heartburn apparently got a little worse. "Sydney, I really don't appreciate your attempts at sarcasm. There are very good reasons for this to remain an SD-6 operation, totally in house. And you are NOT authorized to call any of our brother agencies for help, under any circumstances. But I can assure you, Sydney, that this assignment is truly important to the United States! Marshall, you're up."
Sydney tried to look apologetic, but wasn't particularly successful.
Marshall stood up and with a shrug and a non-verbal apology to Syd, said, "Well, I really don't have anything very special for you. I mean, it's not like you're going to Siberia – Sunnydale is just a few hours from here, you're not even crossing state lines. Oh, sorry Mr. Sloane, I didn't mean to impugn – I'll get back on topic.
I do advise you to be very careful though, because the death rate in Sunnydale is unusually high – unless the statistics that I have been able to uncover are wrong, and I believe there is a good chance that that is the case. Since this is a local operation, I have obtained for you State of California private detective licenses, you will find that these pass the most rigorous inspection. It took just a little finagling with the State of California Computer System to spit these babies out."
Marshall wriggles and almost does a little dance of joy but stops when he notices Sloane's glare. "You'll have one of our standard Chevy Suburbans, I equipped it with useful tools for underground exploration. Also, handguns, rifles and machetes, all legally licensed for a pleasant change."
"Machetes?" questioned Sydney, "You think we'll be hacking through a rain forest in Sunnydale?"
"Well, you never know what will be useful, do you?"
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