Sydney was still smiling when she saw the door begin to open behind Sark.
The door swung inwards and Anastasia strode into the room.
Anastasia and Sark stared at each other, oblivious to Sydney's presence. She looked between them with some apprehension, unsure of what was going to happen. They were incredibly similar in the face; the same bright blue eyes, same cheekbones. Anastasia's lower lip was a little crooked on the lower left side as well.
"Well?" Sark said in Russian, breaking the silence first.
"It's good to see you, sweetheart," Anastasia said, and Sydney thought for a second Anastasia looked like she might start crying.
Sark said nothing, but pursed his lips and lifted his chin at his mother.
"I've missed you," the older woman continued, "All these years, wondering about what kind of man you'd become."
"You missed me so much you had to fake your own death?" Sark's mouth fell open a little with disbelief. "You know, some people use the telephone to get in touch with their relatives, Mom."
Sydney almost laughed out loud at his sarcasm, but bit her lower lip to keep from making a sound. It seemed the better course to stay quiet, and not to interrupt their reunion. This was better than a Jerry Springer episode. She liked Jerry Springer; there were people on that show that were actually more messed up than her own family.
"Hm!" Anastasia made a disapproving noise and pursed her lips. "I see Irina's impertinence has worn off on you… Her daughter—" Anastasia gestured at Sydney without looking at her, "—is a lippy one, too."
Sark closed his lips and Sydney could see the muscle in his jaw shift as he clenched his teeth a little. "I suppose it would be too much to hope that you might untie us."
"I'm sorry," Anastasia's lower lip curled out a bit in a mock pout, "But I need you to stay right here until I get to talk to Irina about this whole misunderstanding."
Jack was slouched in his desk chair, facing towards the window when the knock came at his door.
"Yes?"
The doorknob clicked open and Vaughn slipped into the office without a word.
"Oh…" Jack's voice trailed off when he saw who it was. "Please, sit down."
"Thanks."
They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Jack finally spoke.
"I gave her the intel that Sark wanted. Last night."
Vaughn nodded. Jack noticed a considerable five o'clock shadow around Vaughn's jaw line. Jack was suddenly tired, very tired. They'd been here before, five years ago. When Sydney had disappeared from her apartment after the fight with Allison Doren—before Vaughn had given up on finding her alive. Jack felt really, truly old for the first time in his 58 years.
"Where?" Vaughn finally spoke.
"I dropped by your house… I assumed she'd gone home to get her things."
"Yeah, she did," Vaughn said, "I was there when she came home."
"I see." Jack thought of the bruise under Sydney's eye and wondered what had passed between them before he had arrived. Besides Sark, of course.
Vaughn flicked a piece of lint off his trousers and sighed deeply. Jack fidgeted with the fountain pen on his desk that was actually a flash drive. He preferred those cheap black Bic ball-points to anything more expensive. Some things just weren't worth spending the money on.
"So," Vaughn spoke finally, "She's with him, isn't she."
"I believe so, yes."
Vaughn just nodded, not meeting Jack's eyes. "People are starting to ask," he said at last, "Where she is. She hasn't been to work in two days."
Jack looked down at his desk calendar and noticed that it was in fact two full days since Sydney had last been in the office. They'd been in Berlin over the weekend.
"What am I supposed to tell them?" Vaughn looked up, "What am I gonna say?"
Jack continued looking down, considering. He had had it so much easier; "Laura" had died. They had buried her. People could answer their own questions.
"Vaughn," he said, cautiously, "She might come back."
Vaughn's glare told him that he believed that wasn't going to be the case. "Or she might not," Jack conceded.
"I hate to ask this," Jack continued, "But if she does return... Do you think you might be able to rec—"
"No." Vaughn shook his head. "No, Jack, I can't. I'm sorry, but we can't."
"Of course," Jack wasn't about to press the issue.
"How can you even ask me that?" Vaughn was suddenly angry. "After everything that's happened, for it to come to this? God!" Vaughn leaned forward in the chair and pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets, elbows on his knees.
Jack studied his son-in-law. He was opening his mouth to say something when Vaughn spoke first.
"After Chechnya, I thought… I dunno, that things would be different between us. That we'd have less secrets, somehow… But when she came back from England, I didn't even notice—on her chest, and her stomach? These bruises she had—like I didn't even see her." Vaughn finally raised his head. He clenched his jaw several times, like he was wrestling with whether or not to continue. "I don't know how you can feel... disappointed about something you didn't even know to expect in the first place, but… I did. I really did," he said at last. "Did you know, Jack? I mean—did you know she was pregnant?"
"No," Jack said honestly, "Sydney has always been very private about her personal life with me."
Vaughn just nodded. "Yeah."
Then Vaughn's forehead creased in memory and he said, "Wait…"
"Wait?" Jack had no idea what he was thinking.
"When she came home—" Vaughn suddenly sat up straight,"—she said Sark already knew the details of the Chechnya mission. How could he have known, the ops reports are encrypted on a secure server?"
"Word gets around quickly in our business," Jack said calmly, "I'm sure news of Dr. Gotz's extraction was quickly made public."
"No," Vaughn shook his head, "I don't mean that—I mean about her miscarriage. That was in the final mission write-up, and Sark wouldn't have been able to hack into the network without Marshall noticing."
"So the leak must've come from inside the agency," Jack's lips pursed into a thin line. "There's a mole."
Inside the dark hallway of the upper floor of AMS Inc., Irina side-stepped along the corridor, a wall at her back, her gun drawn. The guards outside had been easy; finding Sark and Sydney could prove more dangerous.
She had no idea, the purpose Anastasia had in this; to reappear after so long, to set up such an elaborate ruse to draw Sark out of hiding. Even Irina had not known where he was, though probably more because he had wanted it that way than because she had been unable to find him. She had considered trying to track him down after Jack had let her walk in Sevogda two years earlier, but had decided against it, realizing that her presence might not be welcome in his life at this point.
She came to the edge of a concrete staircase and got as low as she could before she peered around the corner. People always expected to see someone at their eyelevel or above—never below. There was a guard at the base of the stairs. Irina flattened herself against the wall and fished the silencer from a pocket in her jacket, screwing it soundlessly onto the barrel of her gun.
Closing her left eye, she took aim at the guard's temple where his head was bent over his magazine, and squeezed the trigger. She closed her right eye and waited until she heard his body slump, then teeter off the chair on its slide to the floor. His magazine hit the floor with a flutter of pages and she took a quick look. He was slouched over, his eyes still open and his brain matter sprayed on the wall behind him. Irina winced, ever so subtly; the fine lines at the corners of her eyes deepened for a split-second, no more. She wondered, briefly, if she was getting soft in her old age; the sight of blood had never bothered her before.
Not even Sydney's.