Chapter 2: The Section Disparu

Anicetus Security Firm

SD-6

Two days later he walked into the building that'd been his home away from home for the last ten years. Anicetus Security, Latin for the Greek name Aniketos meaning "unconquerable", was the front company of the private security firm that resided in a twenty story building near the edge of Los Angeles. In the basement was a gun range and training facility for new recruits and on the roof a helipad for the black hawk helicopter. The offices throughout were employed by people who believed that they actually worked for Anicetus.

Yes, it was a real private security firm and it was actually owned by Arvin Sloane. His best friend, who was a member of The Alliance, was the Director of SD-6. He was Sloane's Director of Operations and second in command. Sloane trusted him completely not only due to the work he's done for him over the last decade but because of their friendship over the last three decades.

Those who worked for SD-6, who believed they worked for the C.I.A., arrived to Anicetus as their cover job. Inside the building and located on Sublevel 6, was a highly secure section where they had their offices. Smoke-and-mirrors type stuff that he thought was impressive at first but now, not so much. After a decade, it had all become quite annoying.

The Alliance, or the Alliance of Twelve as they were often called, was an international criminal organization that was an enemy to the United States and a rival to the C.I.A.. They had cells in every country around the world. Altogether, they had over a 100 different cells, but only twelve with the prefix of SD, which stood for Section Disparu, or "the section which has disappeared".

And it was his job to uncover the cells and who were all involved, while also gathering information for the C.I.A. in order to take them all down. All twelve members on the board of the Alliance were not yet known, neither were all the cell locations. He did finally uncover who it was that had founded the organization; former counterintelligence officer for the C.I.A., Alain Christophe. A man he'd once known, and who, like Arvin and Laura, blindsided him into believing they were the good guys. That they were his friends and not the enemy. He was getting tired of being blindsided.

Twenty years undercover for Operation Rubicon had taken its toll. It was all up to him whether or not his mission failed or succeeded. This was a solo assignment, after all. There was no backup. No Director of Operations to formulate the plan. One of his area of study and what he excelled at was game theory, which he considered was the optimal science of strategy. He had to accumulate his own resources and contacts in order to create a new life for himself.

A new life for the legally deceased Jonathan "Jack" Bristow. A man who was no longer C.I.A. but one who was guilty of treason. A man who had skill-sets ranging from specialties including, but not limited to, negotiating, interrogating, torture techniques, and, of course, killing. However, his ability to strategize had been what set him apart. With little options, and knowing what his end game had to be, he had used his nickname and middle name to become a mercenary known as Jack Donahue.

For nine years, 1982 to 1991, he traveled the world and took jobs and conducted operations for various different agencies and groups, individuals, or anyone with the means to pay. And in his line of work, payment wasn't always monetary. Payment came in many different forms from sex to drugs, to weapons and supplies, and one time a head on a stick. But the most valuable form of payment has always been information. If you had the right intel, you could buy the world.

By the time he was forty, he'd bought and sold in almost every form of payment to get what he wanted, whether it was classified information or simply a name, or to obtain weapons or a place to stay, to acquiring a job, and everything and anything in between. The only thing he would never compromise on was sex-trafficking. Those that were in that business, he killed. Ruthlessly and relentlessly. Anyone that could harm a human being in that way, especially children, deserved to die. Painfully and very slowly. Soon enough word got around and no one in that business bothered trying to contact him for a job. They wanted to live.

Over those nine years, he had to also sell his soul. Any part of him that had been Sydney's father, any part of him that had once been an honorable agent of his country, had been ripped away from him. Little by little, one death or deal with a devil he had to make at a time until he felt he had become only a shell of the man he'd once been.

Honestly, he never expected to live long enough to see his fortieth birthday. There had even been a part of him that had wanted it to happen if only to end his suffering when it seemed like the mission was at a dead-end. When the mission stopped being enough to get him out of bed in the morning.

That had been the darkness he'd fallen into when Sloane found him in 1991. He'd been in a little flat in Busan, South Korea when he and the man he was with were rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. He stalked toward the door expecting to cuss whomever it was out before slamming it in their face, but when he pulled it open-stark naked-he saw Arvin Sloane staring at him.

He would never forget that as long as he lived.

The instant he saw Arvin Sloane's eyes on his, he stilled, hand on the doorknob as the air rushed out of his lungs. For a moment all he could hear was the music drifting out of the flat behind him. Jimi Hendrix, "Purple Haze". Right then he was also in a haze. One of complete stupefaction.

Sloane glanced down before looking him in the eyes, saying, "I suddenly feel over-dressed. I can come back."

Jack hesitated with his hand on the door as he debated his options. He took in Sloane's appearance, the casual clothes, his posture, and eyes. There was nothing out of the ordinary, other than him being there. Whatever happened, whatever he had to do, it would have to wait until after he put on pants.

He held up a finger and shut the door. Looking over toward the bed he told the man in Korean to get dressed and leave. He pulled on his boxers and jeans as Cho quickly dressed. When Cho opened the door to leave, Jack saw the look on Sloane's face as Cho eased by him. Sloane stared after him before walking inside and shutting the door.

"I hope you're practicing safe sex," Sloane said as he eased into the room, taking in the decor. "I had no idea you were queer, Jack."

"Sex is sex," he said as he sat down in the chair next to the table. "I take it when and where I can get it. Gender is irrelevant."

"Is that what prison taught you?"

The distaste and bitterness he heard in Sloane's voice turned him cold as he stared up at the man. He could end him right then and there. It would've been so easy. Instead, he asked, "What're you doing here, Arvin?"

Sloane stopped and looked over at him. "I came for you." He went to sit on the bed, changed his mind, and stood instead.

There wasn't much furniture in the room. A TV on a nightstand, bed, the chair he was sitting in, and the table with a telephone and liquor bottles and a couple shot glasses scattered over top of it. Under the table, and within range for him to grab, was his gun. There was one door and one window. And he would be shooting his way out one or the other.

"Purple Haze" ended and then "Manic Depression" started and he almost got up to press stop on the cassette but left it playing. If the C.I.A. was listening in, then they would have a hard time hearing what was being said in the room with Jimi playing the electric guitar like that.

He reached over and grabbed a bottle and two shot glasses. Pouring them both a drink, he passed one over to Sloane. "Then I won't offer a salute," he said before he down the drink.

Sloane didn't drink as he watched him. A sad contemplative look on his face. "You look like hell."

He wanted to laugh, but didn't. That was the same thing he said to him the last time he saw him nine years ago. Sloane's eyes searched over his bare chest and he knew what he saw. Scars. He'd been shot, stabbed, cut and burned. None of them were worse than what Laura had done to him. She'd cut him the deepest and left the biggest scar.

"Drink the drink." The way he said it left no room for debate.

Arvin didn't argue. He downed the drink.

"I must warn you, I'm not going in peacefully."

Sloane shook his head, "I'm not-"

He had the gun in his hand and was rushing Arvin back until he had him pinned on top of the bed. As Sloane struggled under him, Jack pressed his right forearm against his neck as he asked, "How long do I have? How many are coming-"

"Jack-" Sloane choked out under his arm, "-not C.I.A.-"

Jack stilled and stared down at his old friend. Easing his forearm off his neck, but only slightly to hear his words more clearly, he allowed Arvin to breathe. He also noted that he didn't try to smash the shot glass that was gripped in his right fight against his skull.

Sloane let out a breath and said, "I'm not with the C.I.A. anymore. I left!"

Jack was breathing heavily as anger and adrenaline coursed through his body. He shoved the gun against Sloane's face and gritted out, "I swear to God if you're lying to me I will splatter your brain all over this bed."

"I swear on your daughter's life I'm not lying." Those words cut through him like a sword, completely splitting him in two. "Jack, please, I'm telling you the truth. No one is coming for you."

Shaking his head, he pushed himself off him. Going back over to the table, he watched Sloane sit up, his eyes glaring at him. "Sorry."

"No you're not. You knew when you saw me at the door that I wasn't here to take you in."

He wasn't wrong. Jack did know, but people he thought he knew had betray him one too many times. By giving Sloane a weapon to use against him (the shot glass) and then giving him a very big incentive to use it against him, he'd tested his initial assessment that Sloane wasn't a threat.

Another skill of his involved reading people. He learned to read Arvin Sloane a long time ago. The man loved to play poker in real life situations. Sloane was the master at knowing when to go all in, fold, or to bluff his way through to get what he wanted. And like most gamblers, Sloane's weakness was when he believed he had the winning hand it blinded him to the fact that there were other players with the exact same motive who could have a bigger hand. Sloane's biggest downfall would be his ego.

At the moment, Sloane thought he held all the cards. He thought he was the one shuffling the deck and dealing him in. Sloane had no idea that he had already been dealt into the game a long time ago. Sloane was the new player at the table, not him.

Jack smiled slightly as he sat back in the chair and placed the gun on top of the table. "I had to be certain. Let me refill your drink."

Sloane sighed and reached over to hand him the shot glass. Jack took it from him and picked up the bottle as he watched Arvin's eyes as he tilted his head and looked under the nightstand. He felt his fingers slip on the bottle slightly. He'd forgotten.

Feeling his heart hammer in his chest, Jack waited until Sloane reached under and pulled out the bag before telling him, "Put it back."

That was the last thing he did. Sloane glanced up at him as he opened it, blatantly ignoring his request.

Shaking his head, he said, "You really want me to shoot you, don't you?"

Ignoring him still, Sloane peered inside and sighed heavily. "Oh, Jack-"

Bolting forward again, he snatched the bag out of his hands and walked back over to the table and sat down. He tossed the bag on the table as he told him, "It's nothing for you to worry about."

"I think it is. I remember once having to drag you out of an opium den in the Philippines."

"If I recall correctly," he said a he handed over the drink to Sloane, "you were the one that introduced me to that opium den."

"That's beside the point," Sloane shot back as he took the glass. "That's behind me. Been behind me for over a decade now. I thought it was for you as well."

"So did I. That was before I died and everyone I loved was taken from me."

Sloane was silent a long moment. He sat there, staring at him. "You didn't die. You're still here. And so is your daughter."

"Who I can never see-"

"I came here to offer you a job," Sloane told him.

Jack rubbed his head as he tried to push down the thought that it was ever possible to see his daughter again. "And it's not associated with the C.I.A.?"

"That's correct. It's a black ops division-"

Looking over at him, he asked, "Why me?"

Sloane stood and shook his head as he said, "Do you even have to ask that? You're my best friend. I love you like a brother." He then smiled as he said, "I don't even care if you are queer I just wanted to see that look on your face." He down the drink and handed the glass back to him. "It reassured me that you were still the Jack Bristow that I know and love. The one that can kill a man at the drop of a hat without breaking a sweat."

Jack almost laughed at that. Almost. "How did you know I was still alive?" That was the right question to ask. The only important one at the moment. "How did you find me?"

"You've made a name for yourself," Sloane said as he started to pace around the room again. "I was tasked to track down the one known as the Butcher of St. Croix. A mercenary named Jack Donahue. It took me almost a year. Then one day, lo and behold, there you were. I kept it a secret. No one knows."

Jack worked his jaw. He was paid to assassinate a high profile drug lord, Marco De León, by a rival drug gang who was wanting to stop the reign of terror under De León's rule. At least that was the story everyone believed. Truth was he was given the green light for the job by the C.I.A. Director of Clandestine Services to take out De León in order to further attract the members of the unknown criminal organization within the C.I.A. to his presence. It hadn't gone as plan, and instead of just killing De León, he ended up slaughtering his entire unit of guards and a few dealers. It'd been one against twenty.

"That was two years ago. Why were you tasked-"

"The C.I.A. was in business with De León. He was supplying them information."

He poured another drink and stared up at Sloane. "Is that why you left? Because of the C.I.A's involvement in the drug business?" he asked as he took a drink and continued to watch Sloane pace like a caged animal.

"That's nothing new," he said. "Hell, we're the ones responsible for the Golden Triangle. We supported the anti-Communist Chinese Nationalists. It was one of the reasons we were in Vietnam and Laos-"

"Tell me, how the hell are you going to operate your own black ops-"

"In secret. Covert. We won't be working for the United States, but against it. Against the CIA, but under the guise of being the C.I.A.. We can recruit new agents, even hire old agents who have a vendetta against the C.I.A. or the U.S., like you." Sloane stopped pacing and stared right at him as he said, "You, Jack, I want."

He already knew who, or at least had the general idea of who was at play here seeing how Sloane was former C.I.A.. However, he had no idea that Arvin Sloane, his best friend, would be the one offering him a job to work for the criminal organization. He finally laughed. He really couldn't believe it. Arvin, who was the adoptive father of his daughter, was the enemy. His enemy.

This was hell. No. This, this was purgatory.

"How is she?" Jack didn't have to say who "she" was for Sloane to know.

For the first time since arriving at his door, Sloane smiled. "She's doing great. Beautiful like her mother. Stubborn like her father. Intelligent. She's growing up so fast."

He didn't want to hear that. He poured himself another drink and sat the bottle back on the table. It was almost empty.

"You need to slow down. You're going to drink yourself to death-"

"Why me?"

Sloane looked at him behind his glasses, confusion in his eyes. "I already answered-"

"Why me?" he asked again, unsatisfied with the previous answer. Jack knew Sloane. This sentimental bullshit was just that, bullshit. "I-" He looked at the bag on the table, fingered it as he felt the shame in his gut. "I'm washed up. I have no value-"

"St. Croix. Paris. Bergen. Mexico. Laos. Saigon. Should I go on?"

Looking over at Sloane, he said in anger, "Saigon was a disaster. An intelligence nightmare."

"One that wouldn't have happened if they had listened to you." Sloane stared down at him as his intense eyes bore into his cloudy ones. "You warned them. You had the intel-"

"I lost the intel," he countered before downing the drink and slammed the glass on the table. It was a rare sight to see him lose his temper. These days that meant the bottle of alcohol had run dry.

"It shouldn't have mattered; you were right. They knew you were right. You were ignored because the Officer in Charge didn't like the fact that he was being overshadowed by a 25 year old. You were the best agent the agency had, Jack, and they betrayed you. They betrayed you then, they betrayed you after Laura, and they betrayed you when they put you in prison and then convicted you and sent you off to your death." Sloane sighed and started to pace again. "The questions is, why wouldn't you want to get back at them?"

Sloane started pacing again. That told Jack he was nervous he wouldn't agree and come with him. He had a big hand and he needed him to call so he could lay down and take what he wanted. And right then, Sloane wanted him. "I'm going to be surrounded by people I can't trust. Jack, I can trust you. I can rely on you. Even if you don't have the evidence, if you tell me something, I will trust you that you're right because you usually always are. And I need that." He stopped and looked right at him as he said, "And that's the most important reason. I need you."

"I don't-...How can you be so certain of my reliability when I'm not?" Jack asked as he heard the beginning riffs of "Hey Joe" starting as he looked away.

There was uncertainty in his mind about whether or not anyone could ever rely on him ever again. The past nine years, what he had to do and who he had to become, nearly killed him. To keep going, and to keep going knowing it was Arvin Sloane who he would have to ultimately betray in the end, he didn't know if he could do it.

Arvin had raised his daughter. He trusted him with his entire world. The most important thing in his life. And he was his enemy? How? Why did it have to be Arvin?

"Look at me."

Bringing his eyes up to meet Sloane's, he saw a gentleness there that he hadn't seen in a very long time. Arvin cared. He truly cared about him. That nearly did it. It almost broke him.

"You need to detox. You need to get yourself cleaned up. You need a shave. You need to come with me back to the States. And when I call you, I need you to report for duty because yes, Jack, I can rely on you to do your job. There is no one else on this entire planet that I trust to be by my side at SD-6 more than you."

As far as motivational speeches went, that was pretty good. He didn't need to hear it, as he was going to accept anyway, but it was still nice to hear.

"There's a clinic-"

"I know where the clinic is."

Sloane gave a nod and said, "Then you'll have no problem meeting me there tomorrow morning. You're going to go through Hell, so if you want to "chase the dragon" one last time, you better do it before tomorrow because you sure as hell won't be doing it anytime after." He pulled out a card and placed it on the table and took a pen out of his pocket and wrote something down on it. The name of the clinic and what time to meet. "Just in case you forget between now and tomorrow morning." Then he walked to the door and stopped, turning around, he told him, "Remember when I told you to have hope that you would see your daughter again?"

Jack gave a nod.

"Don't lose hope again, it's all we have. Your daughter taught me that. Along with Emily. You're going to be so proud of her."

As Sloane left, he sat there in the chair, staring across the room out the window that overlooked the bright streets of Busan as Jimi Hendrix's voice sang out to him while he thought about Sydney.

"Hey Joe, I said, uh, where you gonna run to now, where you gonna run to...Hey Joe, where you gonna run to now, where you gonna go...I'm goin' way down south, way down Mexico way, I'mma goin' way down south, way down where I can be free-"

Jack spotted Sloane in his office and frowned as he wasn't expecting him in until next week. He was on the phone so he bypassed the office and headed to the tech lab. Carrie Bowman, their operations tech expert, was busy messing with a laptop that had been acquired from a successful mission to Doha, Qatar. She was one of the best at what she did. And what she did was create the tech they used in the field as well as analyze the tech that others couldn't.

"Carrie," he said as he entered the room.

"Oh, hey, Jack," she said while she spun around in the chair. On her head was a pair of magnifier loupes. She glanced him over before taking them off her face, saying, "You look exceptionally well-pressed today. Did you get a new suit?"

"I did. How'd I do?"

She actually took a moment to consider it before saying, "You should've went with the blue shirt with that tie. Or worn a different tie."

She'd only been with SD-6 for five years but was one of the few agents he trusted unequivocally, even when it came to which shirt and tie he wore with what suit. She had a keen eye for fashion. She also had the ability to bring a smile to his face most days.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a soft smile before getting down to business. Holding up the cell phone he got off of Antonio Lafayette, Jack told her, "The owner of this cell was murdered last night. I want to know if there is anything on it, or in it, that's unusual."

"I'll get right on it after-"

"The laptop can wait."

"But-" she snapped her mouth shut, thinking better of it. "Yes, of course, the laptop can wait."

"Also, I need you to get me everything you can on the French Consulate here in Los Angeles. Blueprints, floorplans, their security systems, everything. And an encrypted flash drive," he told her before leaving the room.

He saw that Sloane was off the phone as he gave a knock and was waved inside. As he shut the door, he said, "I thought I would be acting Director for the next week. What are you doing here?"

Sloane leaned back in the chair, his eyes red and worn. He doubt he did any sleeping over the past two days yet alone the last few months. "I tried being at home. It didn't work."

He could only imagine how hard that would be to stay in the house where you lived with your wife for nearly thirty years and then one day for her to be gone. Jack gave a nod in understanding. Looking away, he wanted to ask how Sydney was holding up, and before he could ask, Sloane spoke up.

"Sydney's a fighter. You know that. Strong. Stronger than I am."

Jack looked at Sloane and fought hard not to ask him to keep going. He could sit and listen to Sloane talk about his daughter for days. But they had work to do. He sat down and told him, "My contact was murdered last night before we could meet. I found him."

Sloane sat up straight and leaned his arms on the table as he clasped his hands together. "My God, Jack, I'm so sorry. Did you find anything to explain what happened-"

"I took his cell phone. Miss Bowman's working on it now. There was nothing useful in the wallet. Knowing how my contact operates, he wouldn't have parked anywhere near where we were supposed to meet. I was going to canvass around and try to locate his vehicle."

Sloane nodded in agreement. "Rule number one of negotiation. Don't take the object of what you're negotiating over to the meeting."

"Funny. I always thought the first rule of negotiation was that there are no rules of negotiation. I read my opponent and at all times make sure I'm a step or two ahead."

Sloane smiled slightly as he said, "And that's why I task you with all of our important negotiations."

"To narrow the search perimeter, I was going to have Keselowski tap into the surveillance cameras around the area and see if we can determine which direction..." Jack trailed off as he noticed Sloane was no longer paying attention. His focus shifted away, a distant, haunted look settled over his eyes. "Arvin," he called out. Sloane snapped his eyes over to his, a frown etched on his face. "I know it's hard, but I'm not so sure if being here is the best thing for you."

He looked like he wanted to argue as he sighed and pushed back in the chair as he abruptly stood. Jack saw him wobble slightly and was around the desk with his arms around him before Arvin fell. Easing him back into the chair, he stayed by his side as he looked at him. Sloane's face had paled.

"You're exhausted. I'm taking you home."

"No. I'm okay-"

"That wasn't a question." Sloane stared at him and went to shake his head when he said, "You helped me when I was at my lowest. Let me return the favor."

It was what he needed to hear because he finally slumped in defeat. "Damn you, Jack."

"You're welcome," he said before heading out of the office. Jack informed both Seth Keselowski and Carrie to text him when they discovered anything before going back to Sloane's office.

His friend was sitting there, staring at the wall when he walked back in. Without looking at him, Sloane said, "I don't know what to do. I don't know where to turn. I don't know where to sleep or what to eat. I'm so lost without Emily."

It was painful listening to his words. Sloane's pain and sadness resounded in his own heart and mind, reminding him of the loss he felt many years ago. He stood in front of Arvin and knelt down, once he had his attention, he told him, "I felt the same way after losing my wife and daughter. Without them, I lost myself. You don't have to go through what I went through. You have friends. People who care about you. I care. Sydney cares and you can turn to either one of us if you need to."

Sloane stared at him a long moment. There was a look in his eyes he wasn't quite sure what it meant, but it was almost painful. "You're right."

Jack smirked slightly as he stood, saying, "Of course I am. That's why you hired me."

He stayed by his side until he got him home where Sloane collapsed into bed. Giving Sydney a call, he hoped she would be able to help.


Francine Calfo's Townhouse

"I'm telling you, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. It was like watching a movie. There he was, taking control of the situation and trying to save a man's life, and all I could do was get sick."

Sydney had been listening to her best friend Francie's friend Will tell her about his weekend as she stood in the kitchen, drinking her first cup of coffee. Her and Will had known each other for almost a year now, but it seemed longer. She remembered when they first met at Francie's grand opening of her restaurant that they both had felt like they'd already known each other. It'd been a strange, odd feeling, but one she attributed for how well they hit it off. Will was a very open and honest, and trusting guy; there wasn't anything not to like about him, really.

But, they weren't really close. Not like her and Francie, whom she'd know since the seventh grade. The friendship she had with Will was more of an extension of their friendship with Francie. Will had become like a brother to her since they met years ago while in college. She had gone to the same undergrad college as Francie, but didn't continue on to graduate school, like Francie had done where she'd met Will. Francie was trying for her MS in Marketing while operating and owning her own restaurant. She couldn't have been prouder.

She had the option of continuing on with her studies and get a Master's in Public Relations, but her career had taken a turn she hadn't expected: Field Agent for the Central Intelligence Agency. As a C.I.A. agent, her reason for being a Thrive that night was due to the fact that they had intel that Antonio Lafayette was meeting with a high ranking member of a terrorist organization. It'd been their mission to get "eyes and ears" on the meeting.


56 Hours Ago

Sydney spotted Dixon the moment she walked into the club. He was posing as a bartender at the bar, serving drinks left and right to patrons of men and women. Since the club catered to the LGBTQ community, her presence their wouldn't be questioned or obvious. Wearing a low-cut skirt and top, she adorned a pink wig and pumps. The looks she got from other women, and even a few men, knew she had made the right decision. As long as she blended in, that was all that mattered.

Heading over to the bar, she ordered a drink from Dixon. "Outrigger, anything yet?" she asked as she took the drink from him.

"Nothing," Dixon told her. "Keep your head on a swivel, Freelancer, the meeting is supposed to take place at ten."

Checking the time, they had about twenty minutes. She spent those twenty minutes wondering the crowd, taking in the patrons as she looked for anything or anyone out of place. They did their research on Lafayette and discovered that he had many vices, none of which would elude to him picking this club himself. They reasoned that the one who dictated the meeting spot wasn't Lafayette, but the operative they were to identify.

She was finishing a sweep of the first floor when she spotted a familiar man sitting at the bar. For a moment, she was stunned. She actually froze. Jack Donahue, her father's best friend, was there.

"What is it?"

At hearing Dixon's voice in her ear, she shook her head and said, "Thought I saw something. It's nothing." She didn't know why she lied, but she also didn't want to let him know right then that she recognized someone.

She headed up the stairs to the second floor, observing the people dancing, sitting and drinking, talking, and those making out, before leaning over the balcony. Peering down onto the first floor it was dark, but not too dark as there was enough illumination to see what was happening down below.

Her eyes drifted back to Jack as she watched as he ordered another drink from Dixon.

"This lone wolf over here has a gun," Dixon told her.

Of course he did, she thought, it was Jack. He worked at her father's private security firm. That was what she wanted to tell Dixon, but she couldn't. "Do you think Lone Wolf's our guy?" she asked.

"I don't know. He hasn't checked his watch once and it's time for the meet. I'm going to see if I can get the keys to his car the next time he orders. That is if Lafayette is still a no show."

She agreed. Even though she didn't think Jack was the man they were looking for, she knew they had a job to do. Anyone that was suspect could be the suspect.

It was odd, working a mission on American soil. They were C.I.A. and they had very limited authorization when it came to conducting operations in their own country. However, since 9/11, they were allowed to work in conjunction with the F.B.I., which broadened their access and ability to work within the jurisdiction of the United States.

They were there to verify and ID only as well as to get comms and video on the meet. Her glasses had video capabilities that still baffled her, but Marshall had sworn by them. Speaking of which, "Oz, how're the visuals?"

"Why am I Oz?" Marshall asked when she'd given him that code name.

"Because you're like the Wizard of Oz. You're the man behind the curtain," she simply told him.

Marshall looked confused as he said, stumbling over his words, "Y-yeah, uh, but Oz is the-the uh, city, the Emerald City, in fact, not the man. I'm a city. Shouldn't it, you know, be Wizard-"

"Marshall," she said as she stared at him as she took the glasses from him that would allow him to have visuals inside the nightclub since there were no security cameras. "You're Oz."

"Colorful," was his simple reply. Then, "Like looking into a kaleidoscope. Did you know that there's such a thing as Kaleidoscope Vision? It's caused by visual, or, ocular migraines. It's-it's, that's not what's important. I think it's the lights in the club. They're causing reflective, uh, you know, like how the rays of the sun reflect off water, or oil on the street, and it makes a rainbow."

She let herself smile since no one was watching and asked, "Are the visuals clear? Are you able to identify who people are-"

"Oh! Yes, we're good. All clear," Marshall said.

She signed off. Switching back over to Dixon and stayed up on the balcony to have a better view of the entire club as she waited. As she stood there, her thoughts kept drifting back to Jack. She didn't care that he was here at all. It hadn't been her business to know anyway, and from the way Jack has always presented himself to be, he would be very upset to know that she knew. He was a very private man.

She wondered if this was the reason why. He looked lonely. That thought made her realize that Jack probably was lonely, especially tonight. Like her, he had also lost someone. Emily had been her mother but she had been also been a good friend to Jack.

That thought took her back to the first time she meet him ten years ago.

"Mom, Dad, I'm home," she yelled when she walked through the front door and she slung her bookbag to the floor.

Kicking off her shoes, she headed straight for the kitchen. It'd been a long day. Francie had finally gotten asked out to the Homecoming Dance by Derrick, the guy she'd been crushing on since freshman year, and she would not stop talking about it. That made her so mad she wanted to hit Johnny in the face again.

Johnny told her that he wouldn't be caught dead at a school dance and didn't care if she wanted to go. So, she hit him. Then she went up to Steve Larson and asked him out to the dance instead. Right in front of Johnny. Come next Friday, her and Steve would be-

She stopped as she spotted a man she didn't recognize in the kitchen. He wore a suit and was talking to her mom who was crying. Fear rose up in her chest as she thought of her dad. Did something happen?

They both looked at her and she noticed how he changed. He went completely emotionless as looked at her. Looking to her mother, she asked, "Is dad okay?"

Her mom wiped the tears that were on her eyes away and said, "Oh, yes, he's fine. He's in his study."

"Work?" she said as she walked over to the refrigerator and yanked it open. Looking back at the stranger, she noticed that he was still watching her. It gave her the creeps. She grabbed a soda as she asked, "Who are you?"

"Sydney this is..." her mom looked at the man, as if she didn't know who he was. Which was odd.

"I'm...Mr. Donahue," he said and looked at her mom. She gave him a smile and then suddenly left the room, leaving her alone with Mr. Donahue. She took a sip of the soda and went to walk away when he said, "I will be working with your father."

She stopped and turned to look at him. He was taller than her dad, bigger, and very stern. He should look mean. But, in his eyes, she saw something else. She didn't know what it was, but it reminded her of how her dad would look at her at times.

"You know my dad?"

"Yes. We-" he stopped and looked away to the floor, "we have history."

She didn't know what that meant.

"Sydney."

Turning, she saw her dad and smiled, asking, "Hey, dad. Is Mr. Donahue working with you?"

Her dad placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. Finally, that weird feeling in her stomach went away. "Yes. He's one of my oldest friends."

"I've never seen him before."

"That's because I've been away," Mr. Donahue said as he stared at her dad. At the hand he had on her shoulder, and suddenly that rock solid face softened. "Overseas."

"Sydney, why don't you leave us. Mr. Donahue and I have a lot to discuss."

She gave one last look to Mr. Donahue and said, "Nice meeting you," before she turned and headed up to her room. When she looked back she saw him watching her again; when he realized she noticed, he looked away. Stopping at the top of the steps, on the landing where they couldn't see her, she spied on their conversation.

"You're right. She's all grown up," Mr. Donahue said. The way his voice sounded made her sad. He sounded sad. "Is she driving?"

"Yes."

There was silence for a moment before he asked, "Boyfriend?"

"I honestly have no idea. Emily might know; she mostly talks to her about all that stuff."

"She should know how to defend herself-"

"Jack," her dad suddenly said in that tone that said he's heard enough. "Let's go to my study. We'll talk more in there."

Mr. Donahue's first name was Jack. Why was that familiar? She listened as they left the kitchen before going to her room. Mr. Donahue's concern for her was odd, and sort-of creepy, but also a little sweet.

Picking up the phone, she stopped thinking about it as she called her new boyfriend.

Jack ordered another drink and she watched as Dixon got him a beer. He sat it down in front of him then Dixon told him he had enough and asked for his keys. Jack said he didn't drive, and she wasn't sure if he did or not, but most likely he did. Jack had a '98 Lincoln Continental.

Dixon lied and said he saw him park when he was out on a smoke break. Then, whatever it was said to him, and how it was said, caused Dixon to straighten and walk away.

"Lone Wolf's getting high on my suspect list."

"What'd he do?"

"It wasn't anything he did, but what he said but how he said it. I thought he was going to kill me."

She looked over to Jack and wished she could tell Dixon what he had gone through tonight. Tell him about his job. Tell him that he was overreaching. Instead, she said, "Watch him and if he shows any other signs-"

"I'll let you know. What're you thinking?"

She sighed and shook her head, telling Dixon, "I'm wondering if Lafayette got tipped off and isn't going to show."

Making her way down to the first floor, she thought nothing else could surprise her until she spotted another familiar face within the crowd. It was Will; Will Tippin. Francie's friend.

He was sitting across the room, near the dance floor, but his eyes were focused across the room at someone. Following his eyes, she saw the man he was looking at. Jack. Before she could think too much about it, Will stood, finished the drink in front of him, and then walked over.

She watched as he sat next to Jack and started talking to him. Studying them both for a moment she saw something she'd never seen on Jack's face. A smile. He was smiling and laughing at whatever it was Will was saying. And the look on Will's face was one she'd seen many times. He was excited, and eager, and adorable as usual. Obviously that adorable eagerness was winning Jack over because she noticed how he turned to be face him, becoming more open.

It was a good look on him. She realized that this was the real Jack. The Jack that didn't work for her father. The Jack that wasn't standing outside the hospital room, guarding the door like a hawk to make sure they all stayed safe. This was the Jack he hid from everyone. The one that laughed and smiled. The man who was flirting with Will as she watched him put his right hand on the back of Will's left knee. It was subtle, but it made the desire impact as Will smiled and moved his leg into Jack's hand.

Okay. She really needed to stop watching them. She knew that neither man was the one they were looking for. Her focus shifted from them to a man who'd walked into the club. It was Antonio Lafayette. "Heads up. Lafayette just arrived."

Dixon gave a nod to her as he continued handing out drinks while she sipped on a club soda as she moved around the dance floor. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she saw Will, who was holding onto Jack's hand, pulling him toward the back hallway.

Good; they were leaving.

She went back to watching Antonio who was moving through the crowd, eyes searching for the person he was meeting. For all she knew, the terrorist operative already left a long time ago. Lafayette was over an hour late. Then she noticed he was making his way toward her. Well, not her, but in her direction. She made it to the hallway near the back door.

As Lafayette neared, she saw the gun in his hand. This wasn't a meet. "Lafayette has a gun."

This was a hit. Antonio Lafayette wasn't there to give the operative any information, but to kill him. Or her. She was about to step into the hallway when another man brushed by her and entered the hallway behind Lafayette. He had short blond hair and a gun.

"Be advised, Blondie is making contact with Lafayette. He also has a gun."

Lafayette stopped.

Blondie stopped.

Lafayette turned and aimed the gun at Blondie the exact moment Blondie aimed his gun at Lafayette. She watched the standoff as Blondie's mouth started moving. She couldn't hear what was being said.

"Oz do you have comms?"

"I have comms, but until I can filter out all this electronica music I don't know what they're saying."

Lafayette suddenly lunged forward. Blondie fired. They struggled of a moment and she wondered why Lafayette didn't shoot back a moment before Blondie pushed Lafayette away and fired twice more. Two direct shots to his chest. Three all together, in a triangle pattern. Hallmark of the C.I.A..

Looking back, Blondie spotted her watching. His blue eyes narrowed as he smiled and then he was out the back door.

She followed.

As she ran, she thought about the way Blondie smiled after killing Lafayette. Who does that? Better yet, where did he go?

"Does anyone have eyes on the shooter?"

"Negative, Syd-Freelancer," Marshall's voice said in her ear. "We lost him."

"Outrigger?" she asked.

"I'm at Lafayette's body now. Lone Wolf ran out the door into the alley. He might be on your tail."

Sydney hurried away and ducked behind a car across the street. The moment she did, she looked through the window and saw Jack coming out of the dark alley, gun in hand, as his eyes swept the area. He looked frustrated and upset. With seeing the people filling out of the club onto the street, Jack put the gun away and then headed back down the alleyway.

"Lone Wolf's coming back toward you. Get out."

"I'm already gone," Dixon said as she spotted him among the mass of people exiting through the front door.


Present Time

"He was so cool, y'know, calm and everything," Will was saying as he lifted the cup of coffee to his lips. "I had the most amazing weekend. I mean, Friday night started off like something out of a Michael Mann movie, yeah, but you know where we went afterwards? His yacht."

Sydney looked up at that as she asked, "He has a yacht?" Jack has a yacht?

Will smiled wide as he said, "It's a sailing yacht, so it has the sails and everything. We didn't use them Friday night because there was no wind, but Saturday-"

"Who has a yacht?" Francie asked as she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the cup of coffee out of Will's hands. "Do you live here?"

"No-"

"Then you need to start paying for all the coffee and food of ours you consume. We're going broke on all the extra groceries we have to buy because of you."

Will rolled his eyes then told her, "I met a guy Friday night. He's the one with yacht."

Francine "Francie" Calfo was her best, and oldest, friend. They've known each other ever since they were 13 years old. She had been the new kid in school, having just moved to Los Angeles from Alexandria, Maryland where her father had worked. It was a huge change moving from the house they had on the Potomac River to the West Coast, but meeting Francie had helped her to adapt. Fourteen years later and they were still best friends.

The moment they met there had been an instant connection and friendship. They knew they were going to be best friends and in each other's lives for the rest of their lives. What made their friendships so great was that they both really did love one another. That's why it hurt so much to have to lie to her about being C.I.A.. Immediate family were allowed to be "read in", and only if it was absolutely necessary. There might be other reasons why someone could be "read in", such as fi they happened to find out or if they got involved in a mission somehow, but those were two very unlikely scenarios.

She thought about telling her dad, but she didn't know how he would handle the news. He would probably be happy for her. Scared and terrified, but happy. She should tell him, at least to have an ally on her side and someone she could talk to about it. Keeping everything for everyone was starting to take its toll.

Francie gawked at Will and said, "You're dating a guy with a yacht. Is he cute?"

"Tall, distinguished, and handsome."

"Mmm-hmm, he sounds old and rich to me. I swear, Will, you have a proclivity for older men."

Will took a moment to think about that before agreeing, "I do have a proclivity for older men; they know what they want."

"Yep, sure do," Francie said as she leaned against the counter and took a drink from the coffee cup she'd taken from Will. "They want a cute little boy-toy like you."

He gave a shrug as he said, "I'm okay with that. Hey, you want to know how my last date went with a guy my age? We did it in his car and then got Taco Be-Oww!"

Sydney threw an apple at him as she told him, "Too much information, Tippin."

He started laughing as he brought the apple up to his mouth and took a bite. Looking around, he glared at Francie as he asked, "Can I at least get a glass of water?"

She was about to say something to Will when her cell phone rang. It was Jack. Holding up a finger, she walked away as she answered, "Hey, Jack, what's-"

"It's your dad."

She stilled, fear shooting through her as she asked, "Is he okay?"

"He collapsed at work from exhaustion. I drove him home. Sydney-"

"I'll be right there." She hung up and told Will and Francie as she grabbed her keys and purse, "It's my dad. I have to go."

"Hey, wait up," Francie said as she followed her out. "Is he okay?"

Sydney didn't know and that was exactly what she told her before giving her a kiss on the cheek. On the drive to her parent's house, she cursed every red light, jaywalker, and car going under 65 miles per hour. Turning into the long driveway that curved up to the front of the large brick house, she saw Jack's Lincoln first before she saw Jack.

He was standing by the door, eyes trained like a hawk on her car, waiting as she parked. As she got out, she asked, "Where is he?"

"In the guest bedroom. He refused to go into his own."

She hurried inside and ran up the stairs, something she hadn't done since she was a teenager. Looking back, she saw him watching her. His face, as usual, was set in stone. Going to the guest room that was on the far east side of the house, she opened the door and peered inside. Her dad was curled up on the bed, shoes off but still wearing his suit, fast asleep on top of the covers. She felt his head and noticed how hot it was along with the sweat coating his collar.

Taking her time, and being as gentle as possible, she got his suit jacket off and laid it over the back of the chair in the room. Jack had walked in and was starting the fire in the fireplace.

"I think he has a fever," she told him.

Jack stood and left the room. Moments later, he returned carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a glass, along with a bottle of aspirin. "I'm not sure when he last ate anything."

"He barely ate at the hospital. I tried to get him to eat over the weekend, but you know how he gets."

Jack gave a nod then suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He must have received a message.

"We'll be okay if you have to leave."

He stood there for a moment, watching her. It was in those moments when she swore she saw something in his eyes. She would dare call it love. She was perfectly fine with it if that was how Jack felt about her and her family.

"I put a pot of water on the stove for tea. I know how your mom would do that for you when you came over to visit."

She smiled at him in amazement. "That's very considerate. I can't believe you remembered that."

Jack stared at her a moment. His eyes were so hard to read, yet she knew compassion when she saw it. "I need to get going. If you need anything-"

"I'll give you a call."

Jack looked from her to her dad before telling her, "He is very lucky to have you."

"Thanks," she said as she gave him a smile and felt lucky to have him too. And she wasn't just referring to her dad.

She could see Jack walk down the hall as she sat in the chair in front of the bed. When he got to the top of the stairs, he let out a deep breath, glanced back toward the room, and then was gone.


SD-6

Jack had canvassed the area around the club and had eventually found Antonio Lafayette's car a mile away in a parking lot. Using the keys he'd taken off Antonio's body, Jack searched the car and came up empty. There was nothing of interest except for about fifty pens from every bank, hotel, and company Antonio ever visited. Deciding to take anything of interest, he grabbed up the pens and dropped them into a bag and stuffed it into his suit pocket. He also pocketed the cassette tapes that were also in the middle console. The cassettes could have other recordings and/or conversations imprinted on the analog magnetic tape besides the music that was supposed to be recorded on them.

Before he left he decided to also check under the vehicle. He was glad he did. There had been a tracking device placed on the undercarriage of the car. He left it in place and assigned an agent to watch the car and to take pictures of anyone who got anywhere near it. He also had Keselowski tap into the tracking device to see if he could triangulate where the signal was broadcasting to. Hopefully they would be able to track down who it belonged to.

Sitting down in Sloane's office, he got onto the computer and did his own research into Lafayette. The man had been a contact of his for a number of years, going on six, and last night had been the first time he'd ever been late. Every bit of information he could find out about Lafayette, he obtained. His phone records, bank accounts, driving history, anything and everything was downloaded and saved to a flash drive.

As he made a phone call, he looked around the command center and noticed an empty desk. "Hello," the man on the other end of the phone call answered. The accented voice held a mix of both British and Irish.

Taking out a "pen" from his suit pocket that was actually a signal jammer that interfered with the listening devices in the office, he said, "Come to Sloane's office. I have an assignment for you."

"On my way." The call disconnected and he flipped his phone shut then recapped the "pen" and put it back into his suit pocket.

Leaving the flash drive on the desk, he left the office as he went in search of the missing agent. He checked the conference room, ops tech, the break room, and even the men's restroom. As he looked around the command center once again, he asked, "Has anyone seen or heard from Agent Vaughn?"

"I'm here!" Vaughn said as he rounded the corner.

Michael Vaughn had been one of their earliest recruits having joined SD-6 in 1992 when he was 21 years old. He was one of their most gifted field agents and senior officers. They've been in the field together only a handful of times over the past ten years. The last time he got to work with Vaughn in the "field" had been a few months ago when SD-6 had been infiltrated by a team of mercenaries lead by McKenas Cole. He and Vaughn were the only two agents not taken hostage and together they were able to stop Cole. Vaughn was a very good agent, though cocky and reckless at time, he was quick, intelligent, and thorough. Just like his father, former C.I.A. Agent Bill Vaughn.

In 1979, Vaughn's father had been killed by the KGB after his cover had been discovered. It was in 1981 that Jack discovered that his wife Laura had been the KGB agent who obtained Bill's cover identity and passed it along. Because of him, Vaughn's father was dead.

When he discovered that SD-6 had recruited the son of Bill Vaughn, Jack didn't know what to feel other than regret. Now, after ten years of working together, he's come to highly respect Michael. Truth was, he saw a lot of himself in the young agent. And, though he would never admit it, he had watched over him like a father would a son. Jack wanted to do nothing more than to make sure Michael Vaughn walked out of SD-6 alive so, maybe, one day he might actually become a real case officer for the real C.I.A.. He deserved that much.

Jack looked him over and noticed his hair was wet and he nicked a spot on his neck shaving. His suit was also wrinkled. "Where have you been?"

"I apologize," Vaughn said as he put his briefcase on the desk. "I overslept. Did Carrie get anything off the laptop?"

That was right. It had been Vaughn's mission in Doha, Qatar. "I haven't talked to Carrie about the laptop," he told him. "That's your job. We'll debrief in the conference room in ten minutes."

"What about Sloane?"

Jack turned away as he told him over his shoulder, "He has the week off. I'm in charge. Ten minutes, Agent Vaughn."

He could practically hear Agent Vaughn cuss him out under his breath as he walked away. Since everyone was looking at Vaughn and not at him, he smiled to himself. As he shut the door to Sloane's office, he heard that accented voice that he'd been on the phone with earlier.

"You quite enjoyed that, didn't you?"

Jack looked toward the corner of the room and saw Julian Sark standing in the shadows. He was peering through the open blinds out into the command center.

Sark had been a recruit that he himself had acquired for SD-6. Sark, unlike all the others, wasn't a college kid or a boy/girl scout. He had been a criminal. Still was a criminal. A wayward kid with a lot of promise. Sark had become very apt in the spy game; his problem was that he liked to play all sides of the board instead of just one. He needed discipline, training, and a true goal besides money and staying alive. So, that was what he offered and provided. A goal for him to focus on.

Sark was also one of the few non-senior level members who knew the truth about SD-6. He knew he wasn't C.I.A., which is one of the reasons why he acquired him. Another was the fact that he held no loyalties to Sloane. His loyalties, at the moment, were to him. So, if he wanted Sark to smuggle a flash drive out of SD-6 on his behalf, he would do it. No questions asked.

He took the "pen" from his inside pocket again and and pulled it apart then picked up the flash drive and dropped it into an envelope. Grabbing a real pen, he wrote to whom he wanted it delivered to on the front. Handing it to Sark, he told him, "I want it there by noon today."

Sark glanced at it and said, "Done."

"What did he say?"

"Who?"

Jack stared at him annoyance and said, "Don't play games with me. You know who."


60 Hours Ago

Thrive was the dullest nightclub he'd ever been to in his entire life. No one was going down on anyone in the backrooms, all the tables were clean of any illegal substances, and the waitress walked away from him when he asked for a her number. What a bitch.

Seriously. Americans; they had no sense of fun or adventure, or humor, apparently. All that must have died in th '80's. To have been in his twenties during the hay-day of the '80's cocaine obsession, fast cars, and liberating sex. He would've lived like a King. He lived like one now and no one paid him any mind. He had on a nice Burberry suit and Dolce & Gabbana loafers. Minted, he was, and that woman told him "no". She must have been lesbian.

Directly across from him was a blond woman leaning up against the railing, begging for attention as she wore a short skirt and pumps. He bet if he went over there, caressed her long, very lovely, thigh, and gave her the attention she craved, that she would smack the holy hell out of him for it. To get a woman like that in his bed, he would have to get her plastered.

It shouldn't be this hard to get a woman. Jack wasn't even trying and he had so many offers it made his head hurt. Men and woman, for some odd reason, found that man attractive. If looking cold and miserable was a way to attract someone, then he didn't mind being alone at the moment. He could wait.

And wait he did. It seemed like it took for-ev-er for Antonio to show.

Getting up out of the booth he'd stretched out on, Sark headed down to the first floor. The things he did for his boss. He should get a pay raise. He spotted Jack, and that poser he was talking to, get up and leave together. Hand-in-hand.

Huh. So Jack really was gay. He had wondered.

That blond woman was standing in his way as he started for Antonio. It didn't matter if she watched. He was an exhibitionist himself. Maybe he should wear those pumps and that skirt; he might get laid then.

He pulled out his gun and then took aim as Antonio Lafayette turned toward him.


Present Time

Sark shook his head. "Nothing. I asked him what you wanted to know. He pulled a gun on me."

"The pattern of the bullet wounds to his chest?"

The smug smile that appeared as Sark said, "Thought I would send a message," made him want break every bone in his face.

He didn't give the order to kill Lafayette. In fact, he told Sark if he had to defend himself, shoot him in the arm or leg, or once in the body but not a fatal shot. The fact that he'd been ignored infuriated him. He would see to it that Sark knew just had upset he was at his disobedience. But now wasn't the place.

All he said was, "I gave explicit instructions for you not to kill him. You ignored it."

Sark suddenly swallowed hard. "He was going to kill me." Trying to prove himself again, he said, "He was a Military Attaché at the French Consulate. I could-"

"Not you," Jack said as the "pen" started to beep. "I have someone else in mind."

He said in disbelief as he asked, "Who? Wonder Boy?"

Jack recapped the device and put it back into his suit pocket as he stared at Sark. He had nothing else to say to the young SD-6 agent.

Sark watched him a moment. A quiet contemplation on his face. "You seem rather different today. If I remember correctly from reading your file, Saturday was your birthday. Did you get lucky?"

Jack glared at him, long and hard, as he said, "I don't see how my personal life is any of your business. You're dismissed."

Sark walked to the door but before he left said over his shoulder, "I think you did."

Jack shook his head at Sark's foolish retort and let of a deep breath before heading to the conference room. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Carrie waving him over. Checking his watch, he had a few minutes to spare so he bypassed the conference room where Agent Vaughn was seated, waiting for him, and headed over to her office.

"Did you find anything," he asked.

Carrie was never one to mince words and she always got straight to the point. A trait he greatly appreciated. "The GPS tracker that you found is one of mine."

Jack stilled as he stared at her in confusion. "One of yours? It's SD-6?"

"I don't know if it was our security section that did it or if it was-" she looked at the floor, hesitant of what she had to say.

"Or?" he stressed as he stared down at her. "Carrie." Who else could have done it if it hadn't been SD-6 security. They were the only ones who had access-

"Agent Vaughn."

Jack didn't know if he heard her correctly or not. He looked out across the floor to the conference room where Vaughn sat as she continued.

"He came to me about two weeks ago and asked for a tracker. He was in a hurry, said it was for a job. I gave him one."

Two weeks ago he was away on a solo mission in China. Agent Vaughn had been given the Qatar assignment while he was away. So, some time before Vaughn left for Qatar, he had placed a tracker on Antonio Lafayette's vehicle. Had he done it for SD-6? What did they know about Lafayette? What did Vaughn know about Lafayette?

"Jack, if I had known it wasn't for-"

"Thanks," he said as he went to leave the office. He turned back around told her, "This stays between us."

Jack didn't stick around to make sure Carrie promised to stick to that agreement. She knew better.

TBC...