Part 7
The airport was bustling, Sydney shouldering her way through the crowds with the smaller rolling carry-on pulled behind. The extra two days away from work had been rather nice, though her mind slipped back to the time spent with Vaughn before he headed home. A dimpled smile hit her cheeks, the distraction causing her to run headlong into someone.
Uttering a breathless apology, the man doing the same, she looked away intending to continue toward her gate when he cleared his throat and gently touched her arm. She gave him a cautious once-over spotting a black suit and tie, crisp white button-up beneath, and shining blue eyes. He checked a piece of paper in his hand as if confirming something before nodding and speaking.
"I waved, but you seemed to be lost in thought," he laughed, a badge in a leather holder discreetly in one palm catching her attention. Sydney kept the smile plastered on her face and recognized the MI5 symbol. His voice had an Irish lilt to it, and she took a moment to see that the photo matched the man standing before her.
"Can I help you?" She decided a simple question would suffice.
"We need to ask you a few questions about your suitcase before it's loaded onto the plane. It was flagged by customs and we need to clarify the contents."
It was the code phrase she'd been taught when starting as a double with the CIA, a way for the agency to stop her before traveling if something was wrong. This meant that something was wrong. Warning bells rang in her head along with that critical Bristow voice, 'if you weren't so busy thinking about Vaughn you would have been more aware; you would have seen the man standing there.'
"Of course, was it both suitcases or just one?" She sent the confirmation response, seeing him smile and nod, his hand tucking away the leather I.D. wallet.
"Just one, but we grabbed them both so the other wouldn't get lost," he replied, the right words making her a fraction more at ease. Sydney smiled and nodded, the man turning and assuming she was following toward the side of the busy terminal.
The man held his hand out directing her behind a set of stanchions barricading a door, a sign reading AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. They made their way through, Sydney hyper-focused as she watched the angles of the hallway and checked the corners of other closed doorways for any movement. This guy knew the phrase that was supposed to put her at ease, but she didn't feel as such and hoped that fact was acutely visible on every feature of her face.
Any number of things could happen once they reached an out of the way location. She felt adrenaline course through her veins, her body going on autopilot, and every muscle tensing and preparing for a fight. The thought of being compromised floated through her head.
'Why else would the CIA have sent someone? This was the protocol for a worst-case scenario, you know that.'
Another fearful thought invaded her mind, a drop of heavy worry hitting her stomach. Wherever they were headed, whatever safe room in this hallway was away from prying Alliance eyes and ears, there could be a waiting CIA liaison and a WitSec officer with a briefcase full of papers. Among those papers would be a new identity and witness protection information, and her small suitcase with a pair of dress pants, two pairs of jeans, another work shirt, and two long-sleeved shirts stuffed around some pajamas would be all she had to start a new life somewhere.
By herself.
No Will; no Francie; no father; no Vaughn. No job, no nothing.
Her mind lingered on this last thought until the man leading the way stopped at the only open door in the long hallway. "We can talk in here - no eyes and ears around." Inside the drab room stood two other agents wearing similar suits, one blue and the other grey.
"Ah, Agent Bristow," a hand shot out as the shorter of the three in the blue suit introduced himself with a cockney accent, his brown eyes twinkling. "I'm Agent Derrick and this is Agent Paulson; Agent Briggs was your escort from the terminal. We're with MI-5," he explained without explaining.
"May I ask why I'm here?" They directed her to have a seat with open and welcoming body language, their stance friendly and unthreatening. They sat with her in the available chairs around an old wooden table.
Agent Derrick took the lead, "we need your help and expertise. An artifact made by the inventor Milo Rambaldi was stolen last night."
She frowned, genuinely surprised by this fact. "Really? I wasn't aware that MI-5 was researching Rambaldi's works, though, that's a bit above my pay grade," she chuckled sending a disarming smile.
Agent Derrick chuckled, "when the director of your field office said that not only his best agent but also the agent that knows the most about Rambaldi was in town, we asked permission to meet with you on your way back and see if we could convince you to stay a few extra days."
'Bull - Kendall called me his best agent?' The heavy worry sinking in her stomach grew.
"I could request it," she started, grey-suited Agent Paulson spoke with a thick Scottish accent, his hand waving her off.
"Our director talked to yours an hour ago, so if you're game, we'd love to have you as part of the team for a few days."
'Protocol dictates they contact me on my CIA issued cell. There's no way Kendall would okay this without giving me the order himself.'
"Look, I'm not new at this. You wouldn't mind if I confirmed this with the office on my own, would you? If the boss is expecting me and I don't show up, the last thing I need is for them to panic and send a rescue team."
They seemed to buy her excuse, her black-suited escort settling down in a chair with a smile and nod hiding nothing in his expression, "of course, Agent Bristow."
They agreed but didn't step away, indicating that it also wasn't their first day on the job. She pulled the cell from the back pocket of her jeans and dialed the familiar number.
The agents in the room had no idea she wasn't calling the CIA field office - in fact, she was counting on that fact. Kendall wasn't going to be able to tell her what was going on, that much she knew, and in an instant, her fingers instead dialed the director of SD-6.
'You know that it doesn't matter which director you call. You're screwed.' The voice in her head changed from that of her father beginning to sound more like the painful drone of her boss, her mind confirming it as the man answered the call.
"Sydney; hello." Sloane's tone was forced and she could hear the stress behind his short statement. Truthfully, this was why she had called. One advantage of her familiarity with Sloane was knowing the underlying emotion behind everything he said. The closeness of their past relationship and the perceived closeness he thought they still shared made him easy for her to read, even over the phone.
"Good morning. I'm sorry, I know it's early back home, but I wanted to clarify my next assignment with you. With MI-5?"
He sighed and she could hear papers shuffle around before he spoke. Despite the fact that it was around five in the morning in L.A., he was at a desk, probably his home office, which meant that whatever they were saying was most likely being monitored by a CIA team because of the bug she'd planted. "Of course. The director of MI-5 asked me for assistance and I offered your services." There was a pause, and she heard his chair creak a bit as he moved around.
Her blood ran cold in her veins. This wasn't a CIA operation, and Sloane just confirmed it.
'Shit. I am screwed.' That voice was her own. She did her best to keep the color from draining in her face and put on a smile.
"I'm happy to help, though if I'm being honest, I don't think I can do much. There have to be other people that have actual Rambaldi expertise."
The men in the room shared glances back and forth checking their watches as they waited for her to finish the call.
"No," The fierceness in his sudden barked command made her frown. "You're the closest agent we have to assist and you've seen more artifacts than anyone else. What others would miss, you could easily spot. It's...why you're the best. When they notified me, I knew this was something only you could do." Another sigh, Sydney rolling her eyes faking annoyance as her hand puppeted 'they never stop talking'.
Arvin Sloane sounded...sad. He sounded dejected and distracted, and she heard a few more papers shuffle between his hands before he sighed again.
"Well, I could take a few extra days if you can spare me, especially since I'm already here. That was lucky, wasn't it?" Sure it was a prick to an already bleeding wound but screw him. He was having her killed. She may as well twist the knife a little.
"You've always been right where we needed you. I told them you...were my best. I apologize for the distraction, it's early here and I've not slept much. I'll...see you in a few days, yes?"
"Yes, sir." Pulling the phone away from her ear she stared at it for a second, her mind keeping the small smile on her lips though inside she felt anger and betrayal. Despite what he'd done to her in the last few years, he'd taken very good care of her in the past. Apparently, that had ended. It didn't explain how they knew her CIA passphrase, that was something she'd need to figure out later. For now: she'd been made and there was nothing she could to about it.
Could she take the three agents? Possibly, but knowing how the Alliance did business, that could backfire. They would have sent more, probably half a dozen in plainclothes outside in the terminal. If she left without her escorts it could cause a major problem. While the Alliance didn't much care about collateral damage and would happily fire bullets into a crowd of innocent people in an effort to stop her escape, Sydney Bristow wasn't. There's no way she'd take that risk. She'd have to get clear another way if another option presented itself.
'And if it doesn't?' The Bristow voice was back.
'I had a good run,' she answered, surprising herself.
Realizing that there wasn't any way out of it made her calmer than she thought it would. She'd already set things up with the CIA in the event that she was compromised, and all she had to do was call Vaughn and make sure he knew exactly what she was saying, all while keeping the three agents with her in the dark about her notifying the agency about her status. That would set into motion the Dixon family extraction and Will and Francie being taken into protective custody, and hopefully, it would be early enough that he could contact her father before he left for the office.
Vaughn's voice bounced around in her head, all of this and more going through her mind in the time it took her phone to leave her ear and come back down for her eyes to focus on the screen.
"Sydney, what about you?"
She scoffed, "you and I both know that if the Alliance makes me, I'm dead. I just...I have to know that they're okay if something happens. Can you get it approved?"
Vaughn furrowed his brow from the small crappy chair in the bloodmobile, his new Agent standing before him with hopeful but serious eyes.
"I'll get something in writing and you can review it at our next meet."
Sydney thanked him and put the backpack over her shoulders, ready to head back to class when she stopped at the door with her hand on the latch. "I mean...you know...if you do find a way to not let them horribly murder me," pausing, she flashed a dimpled grin, "explore the option."
Punching in the number she had memorized, she turned that flashing smile back on the agents hoping none of her internal dialogue was written across her features. "One more call, and then I'm yours. If I don't ask my boyfriend to walk the dog I'll have a hell of a mess to come home to," she muttered, the black-suited Agent Briggs looking at his watch.
"We have to get across town in less than an hour, let's do make it short, yeah?"
"I can talk as I walk if you have a car ready." This was the information that relaxed all three of the men in the room. Sydney saw their tense shoulders drop, noticing for the first time how nervous they had been. In their minds, everything had worked perfectly and the woman before them was blissfully unaware of the harsh truth of her situation. She wasn't going to fight back, she was going to walk out the front door with them. Standing, she gathered her purse as Agent Paulson in the blue suit fisted the handle of her carry-on wearing a relieved polite smile.
They led the way from the room and back into the main terminal, the Agent in the grey suit holding the door and letting her pass as he fell into step behind them with Sydney in the middle. Dialing Vaughn and setting the now ringing phone against her ear, a seed of sadness buried into her heart as she realized that she wasn't going to see him again.
Pushing it down she heard the click as he picked up, his voice already going instead of giving a greeting. "I was just about to call you. I'm in a meeting with your father and Kendall and they just told me that the artifact we photographed two days ago was taken last night. That...that wasn't you, was it?"
It was a load off her mind that her father was already at the JTF where he'd be safe.
"Hey Michael, sorry to call so early."
"What?" The hairs on Vaughn's neck stood at attention, and he held his hand up and cut Jack and Kendall off mid-conversation.
"Mr. Vaughn, this had better-"
"Shh!" Growling, the young Agent switched to speakerphone. "Syd?"
She rolled her eyes sending the Agent next to her an acted knowing smile. "Hey, you awake?"
She'd only used his first name a few times before this conversation, that he was aware of, each time warming his heart. Now, though, he hated it. She'd used it just to get his attention. "You've got my attention. What is going on?"
She was slightly out of breath, their fast clip heading to the exit of the airport signaling that she didn't have much time to talk. The moment she hit the vehicle, that was it. This was her last chance to tell him what was happening - maybe even to talk with him at all.
"I know that you were going pick me up tonight, but the bank called and one of our loans in London just went belly-up. Since I'm already here, you can guess who got the job. Could you take care of the dog for a couple more days?"
Vaughn's eyes met Jack's, the blood rushing from his brain to his heart as he realized what she was saying. The conversation during one of their first few meetings rattled around in his head, Sydney making him roll his eyes when she'd said, "Look, if I'm made I'll just pretend you're my boyfriend. If they even give me a phone call you'll at least know right away that something's up."
"Sydney...are you compromised?" Her father's usually stoic and steady voice had a tremor, she could hear it in the tone and knew Vaughn had put her on speaker.
'Good boy.'
"Yeah," she sighed and paused, letting the confirmation hang in the air. "I promise, it's just a couple more days. Make sure you reschedule tomorrow's dinner with Marcus, Will, and Francie."
Swallowing past the tightening in his throat, Vaughn knew what she needed him to say. "They'll…I'll get them out. I promise."
"Okay. I'll see you in a few days. I love you," she tossed it out hoping that both of the men in her life knew who it was for.
The damp, chilly air hit her as the sliding doors opened, a black limousine waiting with a large, bald man standing guard beside the rear door. He opened it, Sydney feeling the phone pulled from her hand as one of the agents met her eyes, his smile gone and a wave of serious contempt across his once chipper expression.
"Miss. Bristow? If you don't mind," the guard held open the door for her and beckoned with a booming voice to accompany the massive frame, and she took a deep breath before sliding into the darkened interior.
Her eyes adjusted and spotted a man sitting across. Sydney recognized his face from information Vaughn had shared with her at the beginning, but it did genuinely surprise her to see the director of SD-9 sitting across the limo.
'Isn't he supposed to be dead? Poole, wasn't it?'
"Do you know why you are here, Miss. Bristow?"
Sandwiching her in the middle, two of the three agents that had intercepted her at the airport slid in on either side as the hulk of a bodyguard moved to sit beside Poole.
"I'm putting it all together," she said making full eye contact with the well-dressed British man seated opposite. Next to his giant bodyguard, he looked tiny, though the aura he oozed was one of extreme overconfidence and a suave attempt to emulate an evil James Bond.
"We don't usually go through this pomp and circumstance with traitors, but Arvin convinced me that you dearly deserved to be punished for your betrayal. Secondary to that is the possibility of you sharing with us some details about your extracurricular activities. So...here you are."
"Here I am," she confirmed, her brown eyes boring into his.
Her brain was quick to process this new information, but she kept anything but a soft smile and relaxed eyes on the director of the London-based SD cell. Sloane had stopped the typical Alliance-style hit to have her tortured for information. This would have caused her to panic if she lived a normal life, but Sydney Bristow did not live a normal life. To her, it made a sick amount of sense. Sloane had given her the best chance he could of getting out of this, though it was slim to none and they both knew it. Regardless, he'd given her time and opportunity.
Well, not her: her father. Sloane had put all of his eggs in the Jack Bristow basket. His confidence wasn't misplaced, he just didn't know that the entirety of the L.A. Joint Task Force field office was also in the game.
'Then again, maybe he did know. Maybe he does have a conscience.'
All she had to do was survive the torture as long as possible, stall when needed and only give nibbles of information to keep them interested, and maybe that would give the CIA enough time to figure out where they were taking her.
'Great. That...that sounds super fun.'
"You know, Sydney - can I call you Sydney?"
"Sure." She crossed one leg over the other attempting to come across as unaffected by his act. Mildly thankful that she was in semi-formal business attire, the button-up black blazer and sleek dress pants made her feel a little more powerful than if she was sitting there in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She didn't own any of the cards in this particular game and couldn't buy in even if she wanted, but if he was going to play with her, she would absolutely join him. After all - this ate up time, and time was everything she needed at the moment.
They'd likely tossed her phone to the curb before leaving the airport, but the second cell in her purse, her SD-6 phone, could still be used to track her. She recalled the feeling of the bag being tossed against her leg but didn't look to confirm, so there was a chance. If she was wrong, however, the office would be starting from scratch. They needed Marshall, but that probably wasn't going to happen.
"You have an impressive file, both with SD-6 and with the CIA."
'That's how they knew the passphrase. There's a mole somewhere.'
"Thank you."
The man chuckled. "I like you, Sydney. While you seem rock steady, I can't wait to see what unsteadies you. I've never taken the time to get to know any agents outside of my Cell. Why would I? I've the best in The U.K. working within my walls. But you…" He paused, waggling his finger in her direction. "I must admit that I was upset Arvin hid you from the rest of us for so long. An agent like yourself is akin to a prized racehorse; something that is very hard to come by and costs a lot of money, but ends up being well worth the cost."
Sydney rolled her eyes, "it's every girl's dream to be objectified as a racehorse." The man next to her jabbed something into her ribs and she saw for the first time the gun in his hand.
"Play nice," he ordered as she met his eyes with raised eyebrows. Turning to the man on her other side she noticed that he too had a gun trained on her, and a disarming dimpled smile hit her face before she set her attention back to the boss.
"I doubt you've ever been this scared of a racehorse."
"Worth the price until you have to put it down, of course. You're...well-known, so I'll take no chances if you don't mind." He gestured to the men in the vehicle, Sydney realizing that they weren't going to leave her much by way of time or opportunity to escape.
'You know you can't get out of this. This situation isn't escapable. This is what they do; this is what they're good at.' Oh, how she wished she could shut off the Bristow part of her brain, but it seemed it was here to stay.
She folded her hands in her lap over her crossed legs, her stance unthreatening and casual as she waited for him to make the next move. "I'm sitting here instead of the alternative, so you must have some other plan for this particular racehorse. Something other than a bullet, I imagine."
The kempt man dusted at the front of his suit before fixing her with dark eyes, "You'll have to wait for the surprise."
She felt the needle jam into her neck and winced, the interior of the limousine blurring as she lost consciousness.
…
