Here's chapter 11! I tried to make it longer for everybody, have fun!
Sark suppressed yet another yawn, probably his fiftieth. He had stopped counting at twenty-seven.
The constant hum of the helicopter had become irritating and he found himself wishing more and more that he had listened to reason for once in his life and never climbed up to that rooftop.
But there he was, stuck in a helicopter with one of his deadliest enemies, of whom had his partner hostage. He glanced at his watch. Seven hours later and the copter still hadn't shown any sign of landing.
Sark was not what you would call an impatient person. He couldn't afford to be, what with his painstaking profession. But after the past couple of days, having not gotten a good hour of sleep…well…it was really starting to get to him. McLean hadn't hurt Sydney but he had taken her up to the front of the copter where Sark couldn't see either of them which made him uneasy.
"Julian, you can only ever depend upon what you can see. Remember that." The thought floated so easily through his head that Sark didn't even register it at first. But that voice, that voice that was drained of any human compassion, that voice that he loathed more than any other, that voice could not go unnoticed.
Sark shook his head vigorously. It worried him how something he had taken such extreme measures to suppress, could return so easily. The last thing he needed right then was to re-visit any of his past, his dark memories.
"How fuckin'long is this fucking ride gonna fuckin' take!" McLean's angry voice roared.
"Please sir, we'll be landing in a couple of minutes. Just wait a little longer."
Sark breathed a sigh of relief. This trip hadn't been doing wonders for him either and getting out to take in some fresh air would probably do him a hell of a lot of good. He expertly stretched his muscles, waking them up.
As the copter descended, Sark mentally ran through the plan he had formed around hour two of the trip. Basically he was going to rely solely on his skill in stealth and of course his gun. Somehow he would get Sydney out.
It wasn't so much a plan as it was an idea posing as a plan to make himself feel more secure.
The copter landed smoothly or as smoothly as that sort of machine can. Sark sunk deeper into the shadows of the back of the craft as he watched the four men get off the copter, dragging Sydney between them. She looked ok…or at least he hoped she was ok.
Before the last man could get out, Sark had grabbed him from behind, swiftly knocking him out with a smooth punch to the neck. Quickly donning the man's clothing which consisted of camouflage pants, shirt and hood to shield the nose and mouth from the sand, he rushed to meet up with the other men.
"McEvans what took you so long?" MacLean asked rounding on him from the front of the pack
Feeling quite thankful for the hood, Sark cleared his throat making sure to cast his eyes downward. "Sorry boss, I had to…tie my shoe." The excuse was lame and Sark new it but he had pulled it off in his roughest Scottish accent.
"Don't let it happen again or it just might kill you." MacLean turned back around, motioning the rest of the pack to continue on, Sark breathing a sigh of relief in their wake.
As they walked, Sark let himself look around for the first time. The helicopter had flown them to a seemingly empty compound, buried deep within the desert. He wondered just how far they had flown because this didn't look like any part of Europe he had ever been to.
Sark looked forward just in time to catch the large, menacing, iron doors to the compound, begin to slid shut. Rushing forward, he made it inside just in time. He was met with instant cold air feeling strange and uncomfortable to his still quite warm back.
"McEvans!" MacLean's curt voice came from the front of the small procession. "Get up here right now!"
Sark strode his way to the front of the line. "Yes sir, you bellowed?"
"Don't be such a fuckin' smart ass McEvans or I swear to God I'll throw ye out inta the desert. Who'd be laughin' then eh?"
Sark bit his lip to keep himself quiet. Now was not the time to get distracted, especially by cussing out Travis MacLean while posing as one of his own "lackies."
"McEvans, I want you and Conway to escort Miss Bristow to the special holding cell we've got fer her. Ya think ya can handle the lass?"
"Yes sir." Sark said, having to forcibly stop himself from doing a mock salute. He looked over at the other man who had stepped out of line and was holding Sydney. "Tell you what; I'll hold Miss Bristow here and you do the directing alright…laddie?"
The man just nodded relinquishing Sydney to Sark's eager hands and turning around, beginning to walk down one of the many long corridors of the compound.
He couldn't believe how fragile she felt in his arms, like if he squeezed her body just a little tighter, she would shatter. He wanted to whisper in her ear that everything was alright but he couldn't let his cover be blown.
"McEvans, herry up!" Sark looked up to see Conway already at least twenty paces ahead of himself.
They walked for a long time in silence. From hunger, sleep deprivation or both, Sark found his mind wandering again. Something about this place seemed to release every single thought he never wanted to think about come up.
Conway stopped suddenly at a door and opened it. Sark walked through with Sydney.
The room had only one over hanging light, giving a dim and eerie appearance. The light illuminated a single flat bed that had similar resemblance to a hospital bed. Sark could just make out straps with which to hold the unlucky sap to the bed, hanging loosely at the bed's side.
A feeling of deep unease began to form at the pit of his stomach. "I thought we were taking Sydney to a holding tank?" He said, beginning to turn around.
All of the sudden he heard a click and felt the cool barrel of a gun against the back of his head. "We are…but ferst, we have somethin' special in mind fer yerself Mr. Sark and let me take this time to welcome ya to Compound X."
Sark mentally slapped himself at the sound of MacLean's malicious voice. How could he have been so stupid to have let his guard down and walked into such a simple trap?
"Could ya be so kind as to hand Miss Bristow over to Conway?"
Sark pulled Sydney close to his body protectively. "You'll have to pry her out of my dead hands MacLean."
"The thing you seemed to be miss-comprehendin' Mr. Sark, is that your death can be arranged quite easily. But something tells me that for once, you're not just lookin' out fer yerself. So let me enlighten ya as to what'll happen to Miss Bristow if your unfortunate demise occurs this night."
MacLean, walked around Sark so that their eyes locked with a passionate mutual hatred. It was then that Sark realized the room was full of Scottish fucks and that the wrong move of a finger would get him shot.
MacLean, brushed a strand of hair away from Sydney's face, gazing at her with a hunger that made Sark want to throw up. "While you're the one we're lookin' fer Mr. Sark, Miss Bristow could prove to be quite…pleasurable company…Make no mistake, we'd kill the lass…but…all in due time… I mean, the boys and I would never, ever, let such beautiful company go to waste."
"So really, it's all up to ya, Mr. Sark. Do ya continue to be a stubborn fool and get Miss Bristow here quite an interesting last couple of hours of life, or do ya let both of ya live and cooperate with me here?"
Sark gritted his teeth. He had no trouble believing MacLean would do good on his word about Sydney and that was something he just wouldn't let happen. "Ok." He released Sydney's unconscious form over to Conway.
"Thank ya very much Mr. Sark. Now, to deal with yerself." MacLean nodded and two rough pairs of hands grabbed Sark and began to push him towards the bed.
Sark felt fear flash through him for the first time in a while as they pushed him towards the table. He wouldn't do that again, he was done with that. "NO! NO! GET OFF ME YOU BASTARDS!"
Sark struggled with all his might, but with five men grabbing at him, he didn't have a chance in hell. They pushed him roughly onto the bed, strapping his arms and legs tightly so that he was unable to move.
"LET ME GO YOU STUPID FUCKS!" Sark struggled to get out, trying to do something, anything to prevent what was going to happen.
MacLean stepped forward, wagging a finger in his face. "Bad Mr. Sark, language like that'll jus' get ya a smack in tha face an' a rag in yer mouth. Strugglin' is no use either, nobody could get outta there, we've made sure."
Sark stopped struggling and MacLean smiled at the look of defeat in his eyes. "Good. Now, onta business." MacLean produced a pair of latex gloves, donning them as he spoke. "Ya might 'ave heard. My business associate has asked me to find a certain Rambaldi Artifact fer' him, an of course, I obliged. Now let me tell ya', I looked fer the sonuvabitch fer' quite sometime, but it weren't no where. I asked a lot of people too. I didn't hear a single thing fer quite some time until just recently. You know what I heard Mr. Sark?"
Sark glared into MacLean's eyes, his own fiery blue one's trying to burn death.
"I heard that a Professor Lazarey, at one time, knew exactly where this certain artifact was. But the poor man, like many before him mind ya, succumbed to his own fear of holdin' such important information." MacLean paused, giving his trademark sinister grin, revealing his mangled yellowing teeth. "I think ya' know the rest of the story quit well."
Sark tasted blood in his mouth, and it was only then that he realized that he'd been biting his tongue.
"So we tracked this Lazarey down…straight to his grave. I'll tell ya, we were quite ticked. But…luckily fer us, turned out he had a son. One, Julian Sark, in whom he had transferred all of his secrets to in as I understand quite a complicated and painful procedure. I couldn't believe my luck because I had just been working with a Mr. Julian Sark myself. And now here we are."
MacLean picked up a long syringe, testing it. "So it turns out that, the way yer father put the information into yer head, is almost the same way we've gotta get it out. See, I'll just pump ya full o' this handy substance a friend o' mine sold me, hook ya up ta a machine that'll monitor yer every thought while comatose and ultimately give me just what I need.
Sark watched the familiar red liquid ooze out of the syringe and he felt his insides being to churn. This wasn't happening again. He had promised himself it wouldn't happen again.
Sydney blinked her eyes a couple of times, letting the room come into focus. She wasn't even quite sure of where she was but she was aware of the fact that her hands were cuffed and that she was being held by a man.
There was a bed close to her, with a man on it and another man leaning over the first. How had she gotten her?
All of the sudden Sydney remembered everything, the mission, Spain, the hotel, the helicopter, fighting MacLean's men, Sark… She all of the sudden realized that the man strapped to the bed was none other than Sark himself.
She watched helplessly as MacLean ripped open Sark's shirt and roughly pushed a long syringe into Sark's bare chest. A loud and blood curdling scream emitted from his lips.
Sydney found herself screaming as well, struggling against the man holding her. "Stop! No! What are you doing to him!"
The last thing Sark heard was Sydney's voice thought it seemed to be coming from somewhere far, far away. Then slowly, everything faded into darkness and a thick, unbearable silence settled over everything too.