Eyghon
Author's notes: This chapter is a turning point, don't let the title give you false ideas, French stuff are minor. Careful if you skip the parade parts, wouldn't want you to miss a Jack or Irina/Syd scene. I must warn you, I have a very low opinion of the French Police, and I insist, everything in this chapter is nothing more than my personal opinion on things. Let me remind you also, that this is an AU so this does not follow the timeline of the show, concerning Syd's birth, Irina's arrival and departure, etc…Sydney is 18 ½ here and is not a spy.
Here
you will find a nice animation of the evening fireworks near the
Eiffel Tower.
http/
18: 14th of July
Irina
and Sydney took the metro to the 'Avenue des Champs Elysées'
as the many closed streets didn't make the idea of going by car very
appealing, Since 9/11, public celebrations in France were under tight
security. For the 14th of July especially, the security forces were
bordering on the overzealous. They were searching every spectator's
bags and sometimes verified their identity. Irina realised the fear
of terrorism was as real for the people across the Atlantic as it was
for the Americans.
The tight security was also due to the murder attempt on the President Jacques Chirac during the same event in 2002. Three spectators had jumped on a man who was pointing a rifle at the President a few minutes before the parade had started. A shot had been fired without him or the Police noticing anything until people in the crowd called for them to come and help. Talk about an embarrassment for the Police.
Irina's bag was searched like the others by a Police officer before he would let her and Sydney enter the premises of the parade. She was relieved he didn't try to frisk her. It would have been embarrassing as she was packing a Glock 9 millimetre tucked into the back waistband of her pants.
The streets where the cortege would pass were packed with people and CRS. The women had a hard time finding a spot where they could actually see something without too many heads bobbing in front of them.
The 14th of July was traditionally celebrated with fireworks preceded by a giant military parade, in which every subdivision of every military corps is represented. The different sections in each army corps were complex and countless. Most French didn't know the half of it, beside the obvious: Paratroopers, Infantry, Artillery, Engineers…All the military schools were also joining the party, the best known among the French people being the military Saint-Cyr school.
IMGhttp/i2. IMGhttp/i2. Force and Navy
IMGhttp/i2. IMGhttp/i2. corps of Army
A foreign corps was sometimes invited to lead the parade. In 2002 it was a corps of the American military school of West Point, in 1999 the Moroccan National Guard. Usually, the parade held four thousand soldiers on foot, 1600 in vehicles and 300 on horses. One hundred planes and helicopters would fly over the Champs Elysées to the 'Place de la Concorde' where the Presidential tribune stood. Today, for approximately two hours, a total of 6000 men and women would parade to celebrate France independence, known by foreigners as 'Bastille Day'. The name referred to the Bastille prison, a symbol of the absolutism of the time, which was attacked and won over by the Parisians in 1789. This day is commonly known as '14 Juillet' or 'Fête Nationale' among French is the equivalent of the American 'Fourth of July'.
Chloé Sullivan had confessed nothing more than to following Sydney. She had been released the next day after an Amnesty International lawyer showed up asking embarrassing questions. The higher ups didn't want to bother with small fry and hadn't pushed to keep her. Jack was seething as he knew she had the answer he sought, but he had not choice but to let her go and find his answers elsewhere.
"You know in October you'll have to sign up for the university," stated Irina, as they waited for the parade to start.
"Yeah, I thought about it and I don't really know what to major in. I mean, it's not like they have a degree in American literature here."
"No they probably don't, but you could major in English."
"Major in English? What would it give me?"
"You could teach English. I looked it up in the internet when you choose France. I wanted to make sure you could have a proper degree."
"And?"
"…and you can take a Licence, which lasts three years, or a Master, which is five. A doctorate lasts eight years and it would allow you to teach English in university."
"Like you did? That sounds great," replied Sydney, relieved not to have to worry about what to do.
"I thought so too. Registrations have already started, but they're open till September. Class begins in October. In Paris, there are prestigious universities but the degree is the same, from whatever school you graduate. Of course, you'll have to start everything from the beginning."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't even get my first year at UCLA."
Irina could hear the regret in her voice and felt guilty. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to drag her daughter with her. Maybe she should have left her be and not contacted her again after she had brought her back to the States. Looking at her daughter, she knew she couldn't have just walked away from her without ever looking back.
"Mom?"
"Hummm?" Irina was pulled out of her morose thoughts by Sydney tugging at her sleeve.
"Where did you go?" Sydney asked, smiling.
"I'm right here Sweetheart, I'm right here." She kissed Sydney's forehead. "It's starting," she said as she spotted the cavaliers of the 'Garde Républicaine' and their horses. They had departed from the 'Place de l'Etoile' where a huge French flag had been hung under the 'Arc de Triomphe'. Soon they entered the 2 kilometres long 'Avenue des Champs Elysées' and passed Irina and Sydney and continued to the 'Place de la Concorde'. They were followed by other army corps, each group clearly separated from one another.
Francie had been interrogated by Jack Bristow. It was not a pleasant experience. She had kept lying through her teeth all along, and they both knew it. She had denied everything he threw at her, that she knew whom she had left with, and that she had helped her cover her tracks…Like with Chloé Sullivan, he was powerless.
Jack had asked question after question, to no avail. "I know you're hiding something from me, Miss Calfo, and I want to know what it is." He couldn't hold it anymore. He lost control over his temper, worried sick about Sydney. There was nothing he could have done to prevent Irina from taking back her daughter. She was smart; the thirteen years she had spent with him, right under the nose of the CIA, proved it.
What if she decided to bring Sydney into their business? That was Jack's greatest fear. That Sydney would turn out like her mother. He had prepared himself as best as he could for the eventuality. He had distanced himself from her since the very beginning of his life as a single father, as a widower, as a suspected traitor. It had hurt him, but it was for the best. If she ever turned on him, he wouldn't be hurt. He had reasoned this by logic, because that's the way Jack Bristow worked…with logic and planning ahead. It had saved him and his fellow agents countless times.
His thoughts brought memories along with them. The CIA report on his wife's 'accident' and her subsequent death had been very clear. Laura Bristow, aka Irina Derevko, was dead, but he knew otherwise. He had learned the truth a few years after the accident. As soon as he had realised it, he had tried to forget it, and had succeeded, until Chloé Sullivan mentioned the Russian accent of the woman who hired her.
Back in the 90's, he hadn't told anyone what he knew. Why bother? It would only have caused him more trouble. The CIA would have worried he would try to make contact with his wife or something.
He knew someday she would come back for her daughter. What mother wouldn't? However, as the years passed, as Sydney grew older, he thought Russia had dulled her mother's instinct and that they, both he and Sydney, were safe from her. Sydney turning eighteen was a relief for him. It meant she was 'out of the woods'. Why would Irina be interested in her 18 years old daughter? It was too late to mould her into a Russian agent.
So why did she take Sydney now? Why go to such great lengths, why come to the States and take the risk to be arrested by the CIA? If the agency was powerless in France or foreign countries, it certainly wasn't on its own soil. The crimes she committed were over ten years old and she wasn't on any 'shoot to kill' list, but she would still go to jail if they got their hands on her.
Just like Irina, though he didn't know it, he had made one mistake in his planning. One miscalculation had left him two steps behind his wife…the human factor. It was her love for her daughter. He had ignored this parameter and had allowed Derevko to take his daughter a second time. He had no doubt she was responsible for Sydney's kidnapping. It seemed so long ago now. He would have to ask her about that, before killing her. He wasn't here on official business, but the CIA wouldn't mind. Actually, they would never know. No one would ever know.
Still, would he dare? Would he have the courage to end her life? She had been his companion for thirteen years, his wife for eleven, and the mother of his child. She had done his laundry, helped him choose his ties, cooked him his favourite meals for years. She had made love to him. He was startled out of his thoughts at the memory of the countless times they had. The thought of her loving anyone made him sick. It wasn't love, never was. It was just sex. Lust had led to Sydney's existence.
That's the only thing he was grateful for, his daughter, his baby girl. It was hard, sometimes, often, to look at her. She looked so much like her mother. Any stranger could tell. She had inherited her mother's looks. Thinking of his daughter brought Jack on track. He needed to figure out what was Derevko's goal.
She must have an ulterior motive, but what? Why take their daughter to Paris? To hurt him? That must be it. The explanation didn't really convince him. Why now? It was too late, surely she knew Sydney and him weren't close, bordering on estranged. Sydney willingly leaving with Irina certainly stung, but her mother had probably threatened her never to see her again if she didn't come. Jack could understand his daughter's desire to know Irina.
His assumption was not very exact, though Irina never meant it as a threat. Unsure whether Sydney wanted her in her life or not, she had merely offered to get out of it forever, if Sydney wished so.
From their place, Sydney and Irina could see the troops arriving from up the street, slowly march down until they passed them.
Forming a tight cube of equal number in rows and columns, the men and women were walking in synch, lifting arms and legs at the same rhythm. They were preceded by their superior officers. Some of the leaders were carrying banners announcing who they were: army corps, company name, and number…All of the people parading were carrying swords or automatic rifles in a different fashion depending on which corps they belonged to. The officers walking in front occasionally raised their swords high in front of them. The jeeps, cars, tanks, military trucks, bikes, and horses were progressing in line or in specific formation.
All personal had put on their ceremonial uniform, with coloured pants and hats. The Marine Nationale (Navy) was especially distinguishable amongst the uniformed men. With them were parading the Armée de Terre (Army), Armée de l'Air (Air Force), Légion Etrangère (Foreign Legion), Garde Républicaine (National Guard), CRS (stands for Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité, understand 'riot squads') and Gendarmerie Nationale. Among them were the Sapeurs Pompiers de Paris (Paris' fire-fighters). Composed of both military and civilians personal, they are considered the elite of French fire-fighters.
IMGhttp/i2. didn't get the difference between the 'Police Nationale' and the 'Gendarmerie Nationale', beside that they were driving different coloured vehicles. Irina wasn't too sure about that either, but assumed the Police was for the big cities and the Gendarmerie for the little cities. She heard someone in the crowd mention that the Gendarmerie was a military corps while the Police wasn't. It meant that both didn't obey the same rules or the same people.
IMGhttp/i2. IMGhttp/i2. Nationale
IMGhttp/i2. IMGhttp/i2. Nationale
After the planes and helicopters had flown over the area in formation the 'Patrouille de France' (aerial French Patrol) made a demonstration. They were in the most important official ceremonies and their classic trick was to do figures in the sky while releasing coloured smoke representing the country's flag.
IMGhttp/i2. Patrol performing above the 'Arc de Triomphe'
National TV broadcast the whole event from beginning to end on three out of six main TV channels. They showed the parade, the personalities, the crowded streets, and spectators and even the people watching from their homes,
Sydney and Irina enjoyed themselves and went home to eat lunch. They would go back to the Eiffel Tower for the evening fireworks.
He had found her! He knew where they were. An analyst working at the Rotunda had come to see him with a tape. Annoyed, Jack had pretended to pay attention while checking his email account. The man was babbling about how he had recorded a French ceremony broadcast on TF1, a French channel he received at his home by satellite. A young woman had caught his eye and Jack apparently needed to see it.
Jack glanced at the screen as the young man stopped the tape on the right frame and enhanced it. The camera was sweeping through the ranks of spectators; it had only lasted a second, but he could recognize his daughter anywhere. Sydney. He had found her! He had his moment of luck, finally. She was wearing a tee shirt and had her hair in a ponytail. She was squinting at something she saw because of the sun. The crowd was thick; numerous men and women surrounded Sydney. Irina was probably among them but Jack couldn't tell where due to the poor quality of the picture and his lack of knowledge on her appearance. In addition, the sun had prompted many people to wear caps and sunglasses. It was a wonder how the analyst had spotted his daughter. Then again, he was an analyst. When it was over, Jack would make sure to have him promoted.
Now he was on his way to Paris, but then what? What to say when he got there? What was he supposed to do? He couldn't bring the CIA into that. Irina Derevko was a Russian citizen, working for the SVR. She was wanted in the US for espionage and for killing twelve CIA agents some fifteen years ago. That didn't warrant an international warrant. Plus, it was embarrassing for the CIA to ask anyone to help them bring in a Russian spy from the Cold War who had fooled them all and had stolen from one of their own and killed right under their nose.
Without a warrant, French authorities wouldn't help bring her in. Even the DGSE (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Exterieure), the French secret services agency, wouldn't do it under the table, as a favour to their American colleagues. Since 9/11 and the war in Iraq, international relations had shifted. Even the most secret governmental agencies over the world were avoiding being friendly with each other. It was business, nothing more, nothing less. No favours Jack were owed could help him in this mess.
Discreetly entering France with a black-ops team was out of the question. If they were caught, the French would be furious and so would Washington. It would further jeopardize the relationships between the two countries and even Irina Derevko was not worth the risk.
It left it up to him. He was on his own. What would he do when he got there? His superiors had specifically told him not to go near Derevko. Their daughter had left America willingly it seemed and she was over 18 so there was nothing anyone could do. Langley had granted him three weeks of vacation and wanted nothing to do with him during his time off. As a father, he had a shot, and he was going to take it. He doubted Sydney had thought it through. How could she leave him for her psychopathic mother she hadn't seen in twelve years was beyond him. He was going to bring her back to her senses, and to Los Angeles, even if he had to drag her by the hair. As for Laura…Irina, he hadn't decided on the issue yet. He would think of a plan when he would land in Roissy Charles De Gaulle airport.
The clerk at Avis handed him the keys of a Mercedes. He wasn't particularly fond of those powerful, fast going cars but knew to appreciate their efficiency. The little monster would help him ditch – or catch up – with any car if he were to engage in a hot pursuit.
Within two hours, he had made contact with Julien Protois, an old friend residing in Paris. The man sitting in the passenger seat directed him to the spot where Irina and Sydney had been standing two days earlier for the cerebration of July 14. If Jack weren't so sick at the prospect at seeing his wife in the flesh, even from a distance, he would have noted the irony of the situation.
Jack recognised the building in front of which Irina and Sydney were standing when he saw them on national TV. His contact explained that for security reasons, it was very hard to come to the ceremony by car so the people he was looking for had probably taken the metro. Jack agreed with him and they went to the nearest station where they found a control post. Showing his Police card, he asked in perfect French to see the tapes of the cameras inside and outside the 'George V station', from where Irina and Sydney had probably come. The security agent grimaced, arguing that it would take forever to find someone on those tapes because of the abundance of people who had taken the metro that day. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, he said.
The picture was grainy and Jack complained about it. The security agent explained that the cameras were meant to discourage aggressive behaviour, hence them being placed in plain sight. They were not supposed to be sneaky or able to capture every little thing in its view without being thought of as spying on its citizens. Jack huffed and made him forward the tape to 9h00, a little before the parade began. He spotted his daughter exiting the station, accompanied by and older looking woman. He was right. From there, he found the train they had came in and traced back their path.
They had exited the train at 'Luxembourg station' and had gone toward the exit, not to another train, so that's where they must be living. He grabbed a map and traced a circle around Luxembourg station extending to the surrounding stations. Sydney and Irina were somewhere in that circle.
The heat was really starting to get annoying in the French capital. Sydney like Irina found it unpleasant. The air was dry and the sun was hard. The high number of cars circulating in Paris wasn't helping matters. They had decided to spend their 'vacation' in the west of France, the best choice where the weather was concerned. There was wind, beach, and sun. Sydney had wanted to go south, on the worldly known 'Cote d'Azur', in Cannes. Irina had refused because it was an insane idea: in August, the region was overcrowded, the streets and the beaches impracticable.
So they had settled for the most practicable and enjoyable choice: Britain, at the western point of France. They would go by car. One day, Irina had just come home with her very own BMW. She had explained it by getting tired of getting from place to place by cabs or trains and needed her independence. Sydney didn't care much because Irina wouldn't let her drive the car. Too powerful, she had said, the Parisian traffic was not for a beginner, she said. What a typical mother she could be sometimes, Sydney thought.
In two days, they would be away from the madness of the French capital. When they had gone to Nancy, they had mostly spent their time at Elena's without doing much sight seeing. Sydney was eager to discover another region of France, but she hoped she wouldn't get bored. She had packed ten books for the trip. Her mother was not happy about her habit of reading relentlessly. Irina felt Sydney should go out more and try to make some friends. Sydney had snorted and rolled her eyes, saying she would have all the time to make friends once she was at university.
A circle. That was all he had to go on. A circle on a map. They had probably new identities, which meant new names, new date of birth…he had no personal information on either his daughter or his wife. Nothing to track them down to a more precise location than a four street radius. Paris was such a big city; he couldn't just stand on the sidewalk and look around him in hopes of spotting them.
What if Irina saw the broadcast? The thought was pushed aside immediately. The parade had lasted two hours, and the chance that the two seconds sequence in which Sydney appeared would be shown in the news was close to none. Still, if Irina knew Sydney had been spotted on camera, or even that cameras were filming the crowd, she would probably flee the country. She would take her daughter and make her change her appearance and he would never see either of them again. He had to find them quickly.
Irina's cell phone rang. One the other end of the line, one of her contacts informed her of the arrival of an eminent CIA agent in Paris. The agent was none other than Jack Bristow.
TBC