ALIAS - Ten, Reversed
[DISCLAIMER: This is an original work of fiction, based on the television series ALIAS, created by J.J. Abrams, and produced by Bad Robot and Touchstone Television.]
EYES ONLY / RESTRICTED PERSONNEL
OPERATION SYNOPSIS:
OAD requests the assistance of agents outside the division re possible infiltration
Target(s) UNSUB
LIMITED extreme action required
Op day-and-date IMMINENT
OPERATION OBJECTIVE(S):
(1) VERIFY infiltration; strict protocol adherence STRONGLY ADVISED, per DIR1991.9.01.
(a) [OAD NOTE: Verification completed 19 Sept / concurred by OAD 19 Sept]
(2) IDENTIFY infiltrator(s) and methodology, using, but not limited to, appropriate threat assessment and identification protocols.
(a) [See AIP1988.3.19a - d, see also AIP1992.4.06b, see also Appendix D, same doc #]
(3) ELIMINATE infiltrator(s), using, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, appropriate measures and / or force, per DIR1998.11.18 (rev. 2002).
(a) [OAD NOTE: Discretion deferred to on-site AC / SAC by OAD 21 Sept]
NOTE(S):
(1) On-site AC / SAC to be determined
(2) Op-Tech: SOPs apply; non-standard tech subject to approval by on-site AC / SAC
Signed and dated this 21 Sept,
signature
Frank Travers
Assistant Director, Oversight
Cc(s): Bristow, Jack
Bristow, Sydney
Dixon, Marcus
Mackey, George
Neville, Catherine
Sterling, Richard
Vaughn, Michael
EYES ONLY / RESTRICTED PERSONNEL
EIGHT
Sydney found Jack curled on the pavement behind his car. It was her worst fear, now real and horrifying and right before her eyes. His body was clenched, and blood was flowing from his wounds, wetting and spreading across his suit jacket, and beginning to pool on the cold concrete beneath him.
"Dad!" she exhaled. Sydney had to keep herself from crying out, even as she wished she could. She dropped to a knee next to his wrenched form, her eyes scanning the blank windows all around her. "Hold on, okay? Just - "
He labored for a breath. "Didn't see. Didn't – aggh."
"Try not to talk," she said, her voice cracking. She inhaled deeply, all but ignoring the grinding of her ribs, then forced the breath out as she spoke into the microphone on her collar. "Freelancer to Base, copy."
A voice broke through her earpiece, one she didn't recognize. "Go, Freelancer."
"Code three," she responded. "I need an emergency vehicle dispatched to the location of this transmission, over."
The responder almost sounded confused. "Say again."
Fear and frustration leaked into Sydney's tone. "Man down!" she hissed. "Dispatch to this location!"
Jack groaned and coughed. There was a wheezing sound to it that was beyond disturbing to Sydney. Still, she tried to keep her voice calm. "Okay, Dad. I'm here. I'm here."
Webber's voice landed on her other ear. "Jesus. Sydney, what happened?"
Sydney's heart skipped a beat. Where did he come from? Sydney pressed her hands onto Jack's torso, trying to stem the bleeding. "I don't know. Dad and I had Gilchrist, and then we split up, and the next thing I know, Dad's shot and Gilchrist is gone."
At the mention of the name, Webber knelt next to Jack as well. "Jack. Was it him?"
Jack swallowed hard, then nodded.
"Do you know where he went?" Webber's question seemed almost gleeful to Sydney.
Another swallow. Then Jack gritted his teeth and grunted, "Warehouse. Eighteen. That way," as a shaky hand tried to gesture a direction.
Webber smirked. "Stay with your father, Sydney. The bastard's mine." With that, he took off in the direction Jack had indicated.
Sydney watched him go, then turned to Jack once again. "Dad? I thought you didn't – "
Jack forced the word out through clenched teeth. "Webber."
She pressed her hands onto his. "He's gone, Dad. He's after Gilchrist."
Jack's breaths shortened. "Catch him."
Sydney felt hot streams rolling down her cheeks. "I can't leave you."
Jack's eyes opened, and even though it was through a squint, she could feel the intensity of his glare. "Sydney," he hissed through his clenched jaw. "Webber's the guy." And with the last burst of energy he had, he showed her the watch on his wrist.
With that, she rose from her crouch and began to sprint, ignoring the whining of her ribcage.
Gilchrist hated the waiting. It was taking too long for Jack to show up. He had said six. Six o' clock at the warehouse. But according to the softly glowing clock on the car radio, it was now quarter-past, and no one had come, for better or worse. He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, and glanced at the rearview mirror again. His eyes shifted to the pistol in his lap, ready to fire again. It gave him no comfort.
That's when he saw the door's shadow shift, and the shaft of light expand and contract on the floor. Gilchrist exhaled. Finally, he thought, popping open his car door with his left hand, and gripping the weapon in his right. And just as he was setting one foot on the ground, and poking his head out into the dusky air, a bullet blasted through his skull, ending his concerns about the future once and for all.
Sydney had stopped counting the blocks after the twelfth. The abandoned warehouse was still ahead of her, but at least now it was in sight. She shortened her stride a bit, trying to slow her pace, allowing her to take control of her breath again. She wasn't in much pain anymore, because her injury had been replaced by other thoughts. She wanted to rid herself of them. To force her memories away.
She was trying not to think about her father, in a fetal position, warm red life flowing through his coat on to a cold gray slab of concrete.
Or about Mackey's throat, sliced open right before her eyes.
Or Neville and Sterling, who discovered too late that they'd cast their lot with a con man.
And then she realized she shouldn't forget them. Those memories were solidifying her nerve, and forming a lump of hate, cold and hard like a chunk of lead, right where she needed it to be, at exactly the right time. Because that's when she heard the crack of the gunshot echoing from the building not ten feet from her.
Sydney dropped into a crouch as she jogged up to the building, then flattened herself against the warehouse wall, right by the door.
She slipped her weapon from its holster, deftly chambered a round, and forced one last deep breath into her lungs.
Then she let her breath out and opened the door.