A/N: I will be posting multiple chapters per day or week. This story has been outlined and I've already written more than half of it already. So if you're enjoying the story and don't want to miss a posting, please follow. Also, review if you like.

Chapter 4: The Zugzwang

SD-6

Jack listened as Vaughn went over the mission in Qatar and how he obtained the laptop that held all the illegal arms dealings in and around Africa and the Middle East, but especially in the Somali region. Absolutely none of it interested him. The Qatar mission was all Sloane's doing in order to get a leg up in the gunrunning business, one that had been estimated at $60 billion a year. In 2001 alone, the value of legal small arms and light weapons exports was $2.4 billion, after customs it went up to $7 billion. Illegal arms trafficking was the most lucrative of the two but Arvin Sloane, and the Alliance, had their greedy little hands in both pies, having dealings in both the legal, and illegal, sells of weapons.

All this had been made known to the C.I.A. years ago. There was nothing new to report, other than some added names to a long list of gunrunners. The only thing shocking about the entire thing was that Vaughn believed he did all this for the C.I.A.. He was looking rather smug and proud of himself, as he should've been. He was a damn good agent. Little did Vaughn know that he did it all to line the pockets of the world's greediest, power-hunger, and most evil men and women who walked the face of the earth. At least, in today's world. He was certain even after Arvin Sloane died, there would be someone even more evil to replace him. And that person would probably be Julian Sark.

Once Vaughn finished his report and was about to leave, Jack told him, "You have a new mission."

Vaughn straightened in the chair as he stared over at him in confusion. "I'm not done with my current mission."

"I've already re-assigned it," he lied and then gave it a moment's thought before saying, "You can catch Julian Sark up to speed once we're done." Jack regarded Vaughn. If he remembered correctly, he had a Master's Degree in French Literature. He asked, "Comment va votre français?"


Central Intelligence Agency

"I'm fluent in French," Sydney said as she walked with Assistant Director Kendall to his office at the C.I.A. building. The location of the joint task force was off-site and that was where Dixon was headed to now. She was held back so Kendall could talk to her. "Why'd you ask?"

"'Cause I've got an assignment for you and it's going to require you to read and speak French. Remember when I said Antonio Lafayette worked at the French Consulate and that he was one of our assets? We believe he might have information we could use on his computer's hard drive."

"Wouldn't they have scrubbed everything after his death?" she asked as she entered his office. She watched as he stopped at the desk and turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest.

"You really do have a comeback for everything, don'cha?"

Sydney sighed and mocked his posture. To her surprise, he didn't get annoyed. Kendall sat on the edge of the desk, keeping his arms crossed with a stern look on his face as he said, "I can do it better," which made her smirk. Un-crossing his arms and gripping the edge of the desk, he smiled a little as he told her, "Yes, they probably scrubbed everything, except they would want backups."

"In their server room."

"You will need to get in and out on your own."

Sydney frowned as she asked, "No Dixon."

"Can't risk it. Marshall has already been reviewing the blueprints of the consulate and security systems. He'll catch you up to speed." Kendall eyed her a moment then asked, "Think you can handle it?"

If he had to ask that, he didn't know her very well. Sydney asked, "What's my cover?"


SD-6

"Military Attaché Henri Thomas," Jack told him as he went over the mission. "This is a solo mission, Agent Vaughn. You will be alone. No comms, no visuals, no backup."

"How's this different from any other solo mission?"

Jack stared at him as he said, "Once you're beyond the gate at the consulate, you'll be on French soil. I know I don't have to remind you that if are caught the implications and ramifications would not only be embarrassing, but costly. Nothing, and I repeat, nothing can go wrong."

Vaughn gave a tight nod and looked at the table. Jack watched as he thought about what Carrie had told him about Vaughn being the one to get the GPS tracker. He wouldn't confront him about it now, he didn't know enough. Unlike Sloane, he didn't like poker and there was no point in showing that you held any cards at all until it was time to play them. Also, unlike Sloane, he only played them when he knew for certain he would win.

"Get in, obtain the files that are stored in the server room, get out." Vaughn looked up at him and said, "Do I have a time limit?"

Jack wasn't sure if he should scold his arrogance or applauded. "No longer than an hour. Use only the allotted time to complete the plan successfully and without detection. If you are done early, do not linger."

"I don't linger," he said as he went to excuse himself. "We are done here, right?"

"To access the files, the passcode is "Fort Chien"."

Vaughn smirked slightly as he asked, "How'd you know that?"

Jack didn't answer that and instead, told him, "Because I'm good at my job. Carrie will go over the technical aspects of the mission. That's it. You're excused."

Vaughn hesitated after he stood, as if he wanted to confront him about something. He changed his mind and left.


L&S Towing Car Lot

During his extensive search into Antonio Lafayette's life Will had reached out to Hank, his contact at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and got Lafayette's license plate number, car description, and vin number. Then he started making phone calls. It'd been a long shot, but he figured if Antonio had driven to the club and parked somewhere, over the weekend the car would have been tagged and then towed once no one moved it.

Turned out, he'd been right. Antonio had parked in a business parking lot and on Monday morning-after being unable to contact the owner-they had the car towed. Will was able to gain access to car claiming he was Lafayette's assistant. He lied and said Lafayette was in hospital and was asked to verify that it was his car. Once Lafayette was out of the hospital, he'd be by to pick it up.

It hadn't been the first, nor would it be the last, time he would lie to get himself in or out of a situation. Just part of the job, he told himself as he stared at the car. The new Ford Mercury Sable looked very inconspicuous; no one would've thought it belonged to someone working at the French Consulate. But, whatever. He had no idea what he was doing or looking for, if anything. In fact, he was hoping it would've been unlocked.

He got the lot assistant to unlock the car for him with a slim jim, to, you know, make sure the registration was correct and VIN number matched. Nothing more. He was left alone with the car and got in and looked around. It did belong to Antonio Lafayette and there was absolutely nothing in the car. Nothing. Only the registration and insurance card. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought it'd been cleaned out. But, that would be ridiculous.

Getting out of the car, he walked around it, behind it, and then to the front and stared at it for another long moment. What the hell, he might as well look under it too.

Will got down on the ground and looked under the car and spotted a...thing. It blinked and was box shaped. Was that a bomb? He looked closer and realized not a bomb, but it wasn't supposed to be there whatever it was. He grabbed it and pulled it off. Looking at it in the sunlight, he turned it over in his hands. He had no idea what it was.

He would have to get it to his tech geek guy, Neville. Maybe he could make sense of it.


French Consulate

Sydney, dressed in a tan women's pant suit and clutching an armful of books with a leather satchel bag hanging off her shoulder. As she approached the front desk, she remove her clip on badge and presented it as she said, "Kate Jones. I have an appointment with Cultural Attaché Elisa Roussel."

Her cover as philologist Kate Jones gave her the opportunity to make an appointment with Elisa Roussel to go over a rare French text to ensure the authenticity. Once Elisa led her back to her office, she would have to go from there, down the stairwell that was at the end of the hall to the third floor. The server room was in the middle of the floor, surrounded by mosaic privacy windows and two doors in and out on either side.

She could still hear Marshall in her head as he went over the diagrams with her.

"Okay, so once you get there you're going to have to hurry, like, become The Flash. Have you read those comic books? You know, the ones where he-he uh, runs, he's super quick. Faster than the speed of light; a flash of light he's so fast. A blur of movement, all because of a inhaling heavy water vapors. That was the Jay Garrick Flash. There are others who got the superhuman power of speed from chemicals and lightening bolts and...No? Not a Flash fan. Okay, okay, it's, you know, the server room is monitored for temperature and humidity by sensors and probes. Not like an alien probe. This one monitors the um, heat in the room and if it goes up even by a degree it'll set off the alarm to-to alert the security, or whomever, that the room is overheating. They'll all be like "Oh no! Moisture!" and that's bad. You don't want servers to overheat or to get wet."

"And how could I set the alarm off? Because of my body heat?"

"Well, yeah. You're hot. I mean, uh, not you-Not that way, you are hot, but I mean, your internal body temperature is going to be hotter, uh, higher, than the temperature in the room. Any increase, even in the slightest, will set the alarm-"

"So, be quick," she said with a smile as she took the flash drive from Marshall. That was all the op tech she would require on this mission.

"That's what I said. Be the Flash!"

Elisa Roussell met her in the lobby and proceeded to escort her up to her ninth floor office. There were ten floors in all. As she neared the elevator, she spotted a man, tall, wearing a French military uniform. He glanced at her and their eyes met and he smiled. She found herself smiling back as the door to the elevator opened.

"Après toi, mademoiselle," he said as he gestured for her to get on before him.

"Merci," she thanked him as her and Elisa enter the elevator.

As he stepped inside, she noticed the name wore a visitor's badge. Henri Thomas. He hit the button for the third floor. Sydney didn't know if SD-6 had sent one of their own agents, but it was likely. If Henry Thomas was SD-6, then currently he was a step ahead of her.

She watched as Henri got off on the third floor and watched the numbers climb up to the ninth, all while Elisa rambled in her ear in French about the leather bound book in her hands. The scarce "Regent" edition of Daphnis et Chloe by Longus, 1718, with illustrations from Benoit Audran and Philippe Charles d'Orlans. The excitement and thrill in Elisa's voice only made the wait seem longer. Poor girl.

As soon as they entered Elisa's office, Sydney pulled a perfume bottle from the satchel bag as she asked Elias, "What'd you think of this scent," before spraying it directly into her face.

Elias breathed in the knockout agent that Marshall had mixed up and fainted face down across the Chaise lounge chair near the vast bookshelves. At least it was a soft landing. It actually looked comfortable, like she was taking a nap.

Dropping the book on the desk as an apology, she unclipped Elisa's badge and hurried out the door, down the hallway which was only twenty-four and a half steps to the emergency exit staircase. The short distance seemed longer as she knew if Henri was a fake then he had already been in and out of the server room by now. Running down the steps in flats, she came to a stop on the third floor and eased it open, checking forward, then right, and then left. All clear.

She crossed the hallway and went down to the door on her left and used Elisa's badge to access the door. Once inside the server room, she looked for server number 4774 and inserted the encrypted flash drive into port M11 and she accessed the display. She had to be quick, she told herself, like the Flash.

To get her to the right files all she had to do was enter Antonio Lafayette's name and the passcode "Fort Chien", which was French for "Strong Dog". She hit "enter" and the download started. Feeling the sweat form on her brow, she glanced up and saw the temperature reading in the room on the display. The room was always set at 71 degrees. It was currently 71 degrees.

As soon as the download was complete, she pulled the flash drive and headed to the door. The moment she opened it an alarm sounded. Dashing over to the staircase door, she headed down to the first floor, tossing Elisa's badge into the flower pot that was next to the staircase door as she exited out into the main lobby. Keeping her strides quick but purposeful, like she was late to a meeting or lunch, she kept her eyes on the front door.

She was out into the bright sunlight when she felt someone collide into her right side, causing her to stumble and nearly drop her bag. A pair of hands caught her with a profusely apologetic voice as he said, "Excusez-moi, I-"

Sydney turned and looked right into the eyes of the man from the elevator. It was Henri Thomas.

He stopped and stared at her. A soft smile forming on his lips as he said, "Je ne t'ai pas vu là-bas. Désolé."

"It was my fault, I wasn't watching...Tu parles anglais?"

Henri laughed a little and said with a very nice French accented voice, "I do, but why speak English when you can speak French? Your voice is lovely."

She smiled as she said, "Aww, you're too kind, but I'm rusty. I read languages better than I speak them. I'm Kate. Kate Jones."

He took her hand and bought it to his lips as as he told her, "Kate Jones, it's a pleasure," then kissed her knuckles. "Henri Thomas. Military Attaché. I saw you with Ms. Roussell. Are you a writer as well?"

"Oh, me? No. I'm a Philologist. It's a very boring job."

Henri surprised her as he said, "Studying the language of literary texts to ensure their authenticity, and to preserve culture, is not boring. One day books might very well be all we have left. It's important to ensure they are accurate."

If she really were a philologist, she'd be swooning. Sydney still wasn't sure if he were a spy or not, but at the moment, she didn't care. "Thank you, I've never heard anyone speak so passionately about my job before, aside from myself. I don't know what to say." And she didn't. What was she even saying? She wasn't even a philologist so why'd she care?

Henri smiled as he told her, "I have to go, Miss Jones. I hope to see you again."

"It's Kate," she said as he started to walk away. She had no idea why she had to correct him. It wasn't like they would see each other again. And if they did, she wouldn't be Kate Jones. Then he smiled, a real open genuine smile, and she felt herself blush. Okay. She had to go. This was not part of the plan.

"Bonne journée, Katie."

"Vous aussi, Henri. Bonne journée."


Radio Shack

Will banged on the backdoor to the Radio Shack near Sunset Boulevard and waited. A minute later he heard a voice behind the door.

"Who is it?"

"Neville, it's Will Tippin. Open up."

The bolt for the lock opened and the door was pulled open and he stared down at the paraplegic. Roger Neville, who went by his last name, stared up at him behind his glasses as he moved aside for him to enter. The back of the building where he worked had been converted into his own little workshop. In-between ringing up customer's orders and walking parents of high middle schoolers through setting up their kids home computers, Neville had his own personal side business going on in the back. He did anything from repairs to constructing his own computers, phones, radios, and selling them out the backdoor.

As soon as the door was shut and they were headed over to his workstation, he handed him the device. "I found this under a murder victim's car. What can you tell me about it?"

Neville took the black box from him and immediately told him, "It's a GPS tracker."

"GPS tracker? You mean he was being watched by somebody?"

"Seems so. I wouldn't know why he would want to put himself under surveillance. Unless he wasn't tracking his own movements but his wife's. Was he married?"

Will sat in the chair across from him as he told him, "Never married, no, but he was an attaché at the French Consulate."

Neville's eyes got real big as he said, "Whoa. Maybe his government put it on his car to keep tabs on him."

"Yeah, maybe," he said as he thought about that and how it did make sense. He guessed. "Anything you can get off it?"

"I can download the data for you. I'll print it out as if it were a manifest."

"You can do that? How?"

Neville was already hooking it up to a computer and typing away as he said, "This unit records GPS tracks by receiving radio signals from satellites. I can download the raw data then process it to centimeter accuracy using specialized post-processing software. I'll convert that to a spread sheet printout of every place he's been since it was activated. It'll give you everything. Time, date, locations."

"That would be great," he told him as he smiled. He had no idea yet what he would do with that information, but it was a start to obtaining more information. And in his line of work, the more information he had the better.

The dot matrix printer in the corner came to life and started printing out pages of documents. Getting up, Will picked up the pages and looked the information over as it kept printing. This Antonio guy got around.

"How far does it go back? Months?" he asked as he watched as line after line of data was printed.

"Looks like...eighteen days worth."

"That's not very long." He picked up the pages and scanned over the dates, times, and street addresses. "This is everywhere he's been-" he stopped as he recognized an address.

Will dropped the pages as he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Inside was the card Jack had given him yesterday. Pulling it out, he stared at the street address of his place of business. Anicetus Security. 12135 E. 14th Street.

He picked up the pages and skimmed it again until he saw the address. 12135 E. 14th Street. "March 7th at 0700. These times are based on the 24 hour clock. So, 0700 would be seven in the morning."

"Did you find something?"

Will gave a nod but didn't tell Neville what it was he had. He didn't know what he had. Why was Antonio Lafayette at Jack's work and why didn't Jack know him? Or did he know him? Was he the one Jack was waiting for who stood him up?


Arvin Sloane's House

"The Louis XIII is the rarest spirit in the world," Sloane said as he poured about four fingers worth of the cognac into two snifter glasses. "Blended from 1,200 eaux-de-vie exclusively from the Grande Champagne region, and aged up to 100 years in century-old tiercon barrels." He handed him the glass as he continued to tell him, "There are more than 250 discrete flavors that an, attentive taster might identify, which I know you are not. With every drink, something new and fresh is discovered. You could taste figs, prunes, dates, and vanilla, to name a few." He took a drink, closed his eyes, swallowed and then said, "Divine. Simply divine."

Sloane grabbed a cigar out of the box on his desk and sat down next to the fire he had roaring in the fireplace. Lighting the cigar, he leaned back and looked over at him. Jack studied him right back. Arvin looked rested, more alert, but still...He was struggling. The cigar and alcohol didn't help but he wasn't one to judge. Though he didn't smoke, he had his own vices. Whiskey, beer, and, as of late, a man named Will Tippin.

Jack stayed standing as he didn't plan to stay long. He took another sip of the drink and knew he wouldn't finish it. The drink was warm, smooth, and had an oak after taste. He didn't have a refined palate for spirits or even wine. Give him a beer, or any whiskey, and that was all he needed. Sloane knew that but it never stopped him from pouring him glasses upon glasses of a variety of different drinks, and the more expensive the better. He was certain the four fingers worth of cognac he held in his hand cost more than his monthly rent.

He picked up a framed picture off his desk and stared at him. A smile nudged at the edge of his lips as he saw the happiness on his daughter's face. She was surrounded by two people who swore to him that they would love her and care for her. With Emily's death, a void opened and in that void he saw a lot of emptiness and along with it darkness. If he continued on the path he'd started, this would all be over in a few months. And in the ruins Sydney would be left standing. She would be surrounded by the wreckage of the illusion she thought was her life with every lie and betrayal at her feet.

"Why are you here, Jack?"

He sat the picture down and shoved his right hand into his pants pocket. Taking a drink, he looked over at Sloane as he said, "Do I need a reason? We're friends."

Sloane blew out a lung full of smoke as he asked, "Are we?"

Jack felt the stab of guilt that hit him at that accusation. Despite everything he's known Sloane to have done, it was hard to ignore thirty years of friendship. Even if they were built on lies. There had been a time there were no lies between them. No deception. A true friendship. The only thing that kept that pretense alive and well was the fact that Sloane was a father to his daughter. That his wife had been her mother. He felt he did owe him a debt of gratitude.

And he was grateful for how Sydney had turned out. The woman she was, her strength and fearlessness, her intelligence and determination, even her stubbornness. Emily and Arvin had done a good job with raising Sydney. He took another drink and realized he might actually finish it even though he really didn't care for it.

Deciding to take a seat across from Sloane, Jack eased into the overstuffed leather chair and stared at Sloane as he swirled the cognac around in the glass. "I'm not sure why you suddenly want to question our friendship. I can only attribute it to the loss you've suffered. I have done nothing to generate such mistrust."

Sloane took a drink then tapped the ash off the end of the cigar before saying, "It's not so much what you've done or haven't done. I know you've been withholding, Jack. I don't like secrets."

Glancing away, he looked around the room as he thought about what to say. The only reason he stopped by on his way home was to see how he was doing. "We all have secrets. You can't expect me to share all of mine." He took a sip and stared back at him. "I know you've also been withholding. I'm not questioning our friendship, or your trust. Should I have been?"

Sloane smiled around the cigar and said, "Don't worry, we have a very unique symbiotic relationship. One that requires us to trust one another implicitly."

There were three types of symbiotic relationships: mutualism, commensalism, and parasitism. Sloane would believe they had a mutualism relationship, one where they both benefitted. Jack knew that wasn't the case. Arvin Sloane was a parasite. His lust for power and wealth, and his need to win, did more harm than good. If he had a reason to kill anyone who got in his way, even him, he wouldn't hesitate. Jack was even certain that if given the right incentive that Sloane would even kill Sydney. There was no limits to what Sloane was capable of. No one he cared about more than himself.

"Because of Sydney," Jack said as he regarded his so-called friend. It hadn't been a question, but a statement of fact. It was because of Sydney that they had this unique relationship.

Sloane removed the cigar and blew the smoke out. "Sydney, yes. The catalyst of all our disagreements over the years."

"I wouldn't call them disagreements-"

"Semantics, Jack," Sloane said before taking a drink.

Jack stared into the glass as he tried to figure out where this conversation was going. Sloane rarely talked without a purpose. He was going somewhere with this little chat, and the question for him was: what form of damage control would he have to enact and for whom.

"There was a time I considered recruiting her into SD-6."

Jack's head snapped up at that as he glared over at Sloane. His hand tightened around the glass and he had to catch himself before he accidently caused it to shatter.

"She would've been the perfect agent. Her intellect and abilities." Sloane kept his eyes on his as he finished, "Her training."

Jack looked away. Anger at Sloane for bringing this up and guilt at himself for what he'd done.

"Instead," Sloane said, "she's a PR specialist wasting-"

"By all accounts, she is doing a wonderful job. She worked very hard to be a special consultant specializing in crisis management. She gets to do the two things she's always wanted to do: help people and travel the world. As long as she's happy-"

"Her happiness isn't my top priority. Her usefulness is."

And that was why Sloane was parasitic to his daughter. All he could think of was what she could do for him without considering how it would affect her. Staring over at Sloane, he said, "Her usefulness to you."

"To me. To her family. The business. She could've had it all-"

"Why didn't you?"

Sloane regarded him as he answered, "She took a year off college to "find herself". When she returned, she had a job, a boyfriend, and you."

He wrinkled his head in confusion at the inclusion of himself in his explanation. "Me?"

"She's developed a, fondness for you."

It sounded as if Sloane had said something vile the way he spat that out of his mouth. Jack didn't like the feeling it brought up in his chest. Or the thoughts it formed in his head.

"I knew you would've been upset with me if I had approached her. You can be defiant on your own, but with her there, working with you, it would've caused friction between me and her. I couldn't have that."

It was hard to keep himself calm, and steady, focused, as he finished off the cognac. Looking over at the man that he had given the greatest gift of his life to, he immediately deeply regretted everything. Sloane, in the only way he knew how to illustrate any point or threat, basically told him that he didn't want Sydney to be in his life. He didn't want Sydney to work with her real father. In not so many words, he told him that he was upset that Sydney liked him. He almost sounded jealous.

"I am her father. I had been...indisposed-"

"You weren't indisposed, Jack, you abandoned her. The only reason you're here now is because I offered you a job. Otherwise, you'd be dead-"

Jack stood and glared down at Sloane, his hand threatening to break the glass in his hand by using Sloane's face. Towering over the man, he said, "Do not threaten the relationship I have with my daughter. She is not a pawn to be used by you in any way. I swear, if you do anything to bring her harm, Arvin...I will bury you."

Sloane stared up at him and did the best thing he could have done in that moment to save his own life. He kept his mouth shut.

He slammed the glass down on the table and walked out. Jack felt his hands shaking as he pulled open his car door and got in. They weren't shaking in fear for himself, but fear for Sydney. Fear that he wanted to do nothing more than to rip Arvin's head off his body. Putting the car into drive, he sped away.


André's Bar

"You lingered."

"I did not linger."

"Jack told you not to linger. Flirting is lingering."

Vaughn sighed and slid further into the booth at the corner bar near his house. It'd been five hours since his run-in with Kate Jones at the French Consulate. That woman had the most gorgeous smile and eyes he'd ever seen. Of course he was going to bump into her on "accident" in order to talk to her. Any man would've in his position.

Glaring over at Weiss, he said, "If you saw her, you would've lingered too. How'd you know what Jack told me?"

Weiss glanced up at him from his basket of fries as he said, "Because I know Jack, that's why."

"You don't know Jack," he shot back and picked up the beer and took a sip.

"Was that a pun? It sounded like a pun." Weiss swirled his french fries into a glob of cheese before stuffy them into his mouth.

Eric Weiss had been his friend and colleague at SD-6 for the past four years. Weiss was usually his backup and partner, but for the last month, Sloane had him on solo assignments. That was a good thing, he figured, as it meant that the company was confident in not only his abilities but that he could get the job done without any assistance. Still, he missed the partnership and knowning he had someone in the field with him.

He stared over at Weiss and asked, "What do you know about him?"

"Who, Jack?" Weiss picked up his beer and brought it to his lips as he gave a shrug. "I know what we all know. I've read his file. I'm pretty sure he was in a war at some point. Korea, Vietnam, World War II. That stoicism can only be mastered by badass, cold-hearted, combat vets."

Vaughn suddenly felt the urge to laugh. "I don't think I've ever seen that man blink once."

"Isn't that a sign of a sociopath? I think I read that once."

After taking a sip of his beer, he asked sarcastically, "You read?"

Weiss gapped at him with such a hurt expression on his face, he almost bought it until he smiled and said, "Only articles in Playboy. I think Playmate of the Month of November 1996 was who said that about sociopaths."

He really needed a new partner. Vaughn looked out the window their table was beside and stared out onto the street. A light rain was coming down and it made everything glisten in the lights. He also really needed a girlfriend.

"Okay, enough brooding, what's going on?"

He emptied the beer bottle and looked around for a server as he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Huh-huh, I wasn't born yesterday. I know when something's up. Last time you got your panties in a bunch over work, I got suspended."

Vaughn stared over at him as he said, "It wasn't a suspension. You volunteered to take a day off." He spotted the server and held up a finger, indicating he wanted another beer.

"Correction, it was an involuntary day off-"

"That'd been offered-"

"-and I didn't get to enjoy it because I thought you were going to get fired, or worse, killed. I spent the whole day playing video games and wondering if I was going to show up to work the next day to the news that you've been "retired"," Weiss said as he picked up his beer and took a drink.

The server walked over and gave him another bottle of Samuel Adams. As he took a drink, he debated on whether or not to inform Weiss of his suspicions of Jack. He didn't want to pull anyone else into this just in case it was a false lead. Looking over at his partner, he watched as Weiss finished his basket of cheese fries and pushed it away. Eric Weiss was a talented agent and the best wingman to his point man a spy could possible ask for. That was why he couldn't tell him. He had nothing concrete and if it did turn out to be something, he didn't want to get Weiss fired. Or, like he'd said, "retired".

Vaughn regarded Weiss as he told him, "I promise you, there isn't anything I'm not telling you."

He didn't like lying to his partner, but he was doing it to protect him. He wondered if there had been anyone, another C.I.A. agent, who tried to protect his father from getting killed, or if his dad had been alone with no one watching his six. He knew that he would probably never know the answer to that question. And it was one more unanswered question he was going to have to live with.


Arvin Sloane's House

Sydney sat in her dad's chair, at his desk in his study, and stared at the framed pictures in front of her. Picking one up, she touched the face of her dad and then her mom as the tears stung her eyes. Even though she had prepared herself for this since they received the diagnosis, it didn't make it easier to lose her mom. They had fought. She watched as both her parents fought together with the cancer and separately with their grief.

Through it all, she had tried to be the rock to hold it all together. Someone had to, she told herself, because it hadn't been her dad. Emily had been his wife, and his whole life, for nearly thirty years. That was longer than she'd been alive. And now Emily was gone. Her mom wasn't coming back.

She hated how much it hurt to think about her mom, and how she wasn't there anymore. Hated the pain it brought her and the sadness and the anger. A part of her didn't want to feel that pain and had tried to keep her from even thinking of her mom in order to spare her the grief. Then she thought, she never wanted to go through the rest of her life not thinking about her mom. That would be worse the worst thing she could do. All she had now were the memories she had of all the talks they had, and her laugh, and the way she hummed when she made breakfast, or when she prepared tea, or tended to her garden.

The tears broke as the reality hit her all over again. Reaching up, she wiped them away as she put the framed photo down. Her eyes traveled over the pictures of the last twenty-one years of her life. Framed were moments frozen in time since she became their daughter. Christmases and birthdays, graduations and vacations, all of them looking so happy and normal. A regular loving family.

She'd been six years old when she'd been adopted by Arvin and Emily Sloane. She didn't remember much of her childhood before her adoption. There had been many questions but had received few answers. Her parents had both died when she was a child. Car accident. Something her and Will had in common and had bonded over during the start of their friendship. They both knew how it felt to lose their parents suddenly and unexpectedly, except she lied because she didn't remember it at all.

Her dad had told her stories about how detached she'd been when she first came to live with them. How she wanted to "save" every stuffed animal she had that'd fallen off the shelves one night during a strong storm. He'd told her it was like she had tried to save all of them because she couldn't save her parents. That had nearly broken her, but it had also propelled her in the direction of public service. She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to save as many people as she could the world over.

She never would've thought that her interests would have taken her to the C.I.A. and that in order to save people she might also have to kill people. Killing someone was also the last resort, never the first option, but she ended up having to kill in order to save lives. At the end of the day, that was what mattered. Those lives saved were what counted. At least, that was what she had to tell herself to wake up in the morning in order to do it all over again.

Wine also helped. From the smell of cigar smoke and the two empty snifter glasses she spotted on the table, she knew her dad had also indulged this evening. She grabbed the glass that was on desk and took a drink. Her dad had been there for her many times, but not all the time. He worked a lot. She remembered him going away on trips, some last days, other weeks. Now, she realized that they were all while he worked at Anicetus Security, and possibly SD-6. What jobs had he done? Who, if anyone, had he killed or caused someone to be killed?

Her mind went back to Jack. She wasn't certain if he had been the SD-6 operative who was supposed to have met with Lafayette at Thrive Friday night. The only thing that kept her from believing he was the operative, was Will. If he was to meet with Lafayette, why talk to Will? Why invite a civilian into the mix? Why leave?

All those things went against everything a meeting like that was supposed to have been. Secret. Unless it had also been part of the plan. If Sark had been there to do the bidding, while Jack was there only as the bait to draw Lafayette there. To get him alone in the hallway.

During those times her dad had been gone, Jack had been there. And Jack had been there the night of her home coming dance with Steve.

She pushed him off her, using her left arm to jab against his chest and said, "I said stop!"

Steve looked hurt as he reached for her again. The guy didn't take "no" for an answer. She raised her leg to kick at him when the driver's side door flung open, nearly breaking the hinges, and a pair of hands reached in and grabbed Steve up by the shirt and dragged him out of the car.

It was Mr. Donahue. Jack had Steve up in the air before slamming him down onto the hood of the car. She didn't know what he said to Steve as his mouth was directly next to his ear. Whatever it was had Steve trembling as his face went white.

Jack didn't let up, instead, he flung him off the car into the driveway and then straighten his shirt. He left Steve on the ground, making him scramble up to his knees and feet to get into the car.

She stood there, watching almost in a daze. Tears welled in her eyes as she reached up to wipe them away. Jack stood in front of her, a look in his eyes that she couldn't place. He was angry and sad all at once. For some odd reason she noticed he wasn't wearing a suit. He always wore a suit. The fact he wasn't wearing one, and instead had on a polo and slacks, made her laugh.

That caused Jack to snap as he said, "What were you thinking," before looking away. He took a moment then said in a much calmer voice, "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry." He turned suddenly and started walking toward the house.

She followed behind him as she felt an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt. It was her fault. She'd been so stupid.

Halfway across the backyard, he said, "You got in a good jab."

She felt herself smile. "I thought so; it wasn't enough."

He glanced over at her and said, "Use the palm of your hand and jab upwards. Best spot would be the nose."

She flinched at the pain it caused her just thinking about it. "Oh, my God, Jack, wouldn't that've killed him?"

He stopped and said without any hint of remorse or guilt, "It could've." Jack must have realized how bad that was because he then said,"If you want to defend yourself, there are other ways to do it without," he looked away, "deadly consequences."

The idea of Jack teaching her self-defense intrigued her. She liked the idea of it and told him so. "I'm willing to learn if you're willing to teach me."

He didn't say anything else about it as they started for the house again. They entered through the kitchen, where the light was on. She spotted the bottle on the kitchen island and a glass. Jack must've come down to get a drink when he noticed what was happening outside. The windows overlooked the drive behind the house where Steve had brought her after she'd told him to go around back. She didn't want to walk in through the front since it'd been an hour after curfew.

"Where's my mom? I thought she'd be up-"

"I told her I'd wait," Jack said as he went to the refrigerator and pulled out the quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream which was hers.

Handing it over, she smiled as she took it and sat down in a chair at the island. He presented a spoon and she dug in. She knew she looked horrible, mascara a mess on her face and her hair sticking up all over from where Steve had grabbed it as he tried to take their kissing further than what she'd wanted it to go.

"It was my fault," she said. "I shouldn't've kissed him goodnight."

Jack poured himself a drink and sat beside her, but leaving the chair in-between them open. She didn't know if he just wanted to sit away from her or if he just wanted the space. He was always putting distance between them, whether it was physical or otherwise. He'd been living with them, staying in the guest room on the far east side of the house. Their house was so big it felt like a mansion even though it wasn't.

Jack was silent a very long time as he took a drink and stared into the glass. The silence finally got the better of her as she asked in anger, "Aren't you going to tell me it wasn't my fault?"

Jack smiled. She couldn't believe it. The stoic actually smiled. He took another drink and then looked over at her. "I can't tell you how to feel. If I refute it, then I'm not allowing you the right to your own emotions. I'll make you defensive, even combative. It'll be the same if I agree. You'll get angry that I thought it was your fault. I'm in zugzwang. The best move I have, is no move. All I can do is sit here, drink my drink, and listen."

She took a bit of the ice cream as she pondered the philosophy of Jack Donahue. The man had a point. "Then isn't not making a move, a move?" He smiled again. She was on a roll. "And what's zugzwang?"

Jack took another drink then told her, "It's German for "compulsion to move". It's when you're playing a game, like Chess, for instance, and you're at a disadvantage because of your obligation to make a move. No matter what move you make, it'll only worsen your position. Either way, you're going to lose. The only other option then is to forfeit the game."

"Unless you losing, or forfeiting, is the only way for you to get the win you really want, then it's your best move," she said to his astonishment.

She could tell by the way his eyes sparked and the twist of his lips curled upward. He hadn't been expecting that.

Then she said, "I put you in a zugzwang because no matter what you answered, I would have gotten upset and made you feel like the bad guy." He took a drink and looked at her with a look she'd only seen in her parents eyes. He seemed proud. Hey, she wasn't an idiot. She had reasonable comprehensive skills. "Then, fine, it wasn't my fault. Not any of it. Steve chose to do what he did, even though I did kiss him first, that didn't give him permission to take advantage. I was stupid. Stupid to let him make me think that I was the one being stupid. He's the jerk and I'm never going to talk to him again. Happy?"

She looked away as she dug the spoon deeper into the ice cream and got a big scope on the small spoon. Why'd he give her a tea spoon and not a soup spoon? When she looked back while stuffing her mouth with ice cream, she saw him smiling. He was happy.

That had been what he wanted all along, wasn't it? He wanted her to work it out herself. She had to be the one to tell herself the truth, that she wasn't the one at fault. And in the end, he got his way. He did get the win by doing exactly as she'd said, forfeiting. She felt herself blush at the realization. He was good, she would give him that.

"That's habitual, you know," she told him. "Keep smiling and you might find yourself doing it all the time."

To her amusement, the smile slipped from his face as he took another drink. She thought it was funny at first, like he did it on purpose because she called him out. Then she wondered if she hurt his feelings by teasing him about the fact that he never smiled. She almost apologized but decided not to. It could have been a trick. Another game to see if she'd do what he wanted. So, she would do nothing. Now she was the one who felt stuck in a zugzwang.

Once he finished his drink, she thought he was going to excuse himself and leave. He always found a reason to leave. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself another. Looking at the ice cream in her hands, he said, "As long as you're still eating..." he left the rest unspoken.

He wasn't going anywhere. She smiled and went back to eating the ice cream, taking smaller bites than what she wanted. It gave her more time with Jack, whether they talked or not.

As she looked up, she nearly jumped at seeing her dad staring at her. "You scared me. I didn't hear you."

Sloane gave her a soft smile as he walked into the room. "You were lost in your own thoughts. I didn't want to interrupt. They seemed important. If you don't mind me prying, sweetheart, what were you thinking about?"

"Mom," she lied as she took a drink of the wine.

She'd noticed that her dad's relationship with Jack had grown tense over the last couple years. They were still friends, but there was something else going on between them that she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever it was, it'd put a wedge between the two friends. She wondered if it was work related or personal. Now that she knew they were possibly both working for SD-6, it could be one, the other, or both.

Her dad looked worn down and so much older than he did the other day. The past week had driven him to many sleepless nights and hours spent doing everything he could for Emily but not nearly enough for himself. She did notice that he'd eaten the food she'd made for him. That was a good sign.

He sat down on the couch and she got up to sit down next to him. Pulling her feet up under her, she took a sip of the wine and waited. If he wanted to talk, he would. If not, then all she could do was be there.

"A couple of years before you came to us, we were expecting a child. A little girl."

Sydney stared at her dad and held her breath. How come she was just learning this? And wait, what happened?

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he continued, "Emily was so overjoyed to be a mother. We poured over names for months until the perfect name came to me: Jacquelyn. She fell in love and so did I." He looked over at her as he took her hand and held onto it. "It wasn't meant to be. We lost her."

Sydney felt the tears break and wiped them away. "Dad, I'm so sorry."

He smiled slightly and said, "Emily had shut herself off after that. It nearly destroyed her, and us. We were in a bad place in our marriage. We never told you because the day you arrived, it was like we had to go through the experience of losing a child to truly know how to love a child. You saved us, Sydney. You brought Emily so much joy and happiness. You filled a void within the both of us that we didn't think could ever be filled. She loved you very much."

She put the glass down and pulled him into a hug as tears flowed from her eyes. It was hard to breathe and to even think. All she knew was that she did love them. She loved Emily. She loved Arvin. They were her parents. They had raised her.

And the fact that five minutes ago she had to plant a listening device in her dad's office so that the C.I.A. could listen in on his conversations, nearly crushed her heart. She could only hope that he didn't know the true allegiance of the Alliance.

Hope was all she had. Because if he knew, if he was a criminal...

Tears slipped from her eyes as she thought about Jack's words all those years ago. No matter which way this went, no matter the moves made, she would be the one to lose.


Los Angeles Register

Will walked out of the office at the end of the day, tired and hungry, and tired. All he wanted to do was a get a triple steak burger and beer, take a long hot shower, and then collapse into his bed. He was drained. The weekend combined with the long day he had completely wiped him out. Unlocking the door to his '77 Bronco, he tossed his bookbag and notebook onto the passenger seat before sliding into the driver's seat and rested his head against the headrest.

He let out a long yawn then jammed the key into the ignition. Next stop, the best burger joint in town-

Ring! Ring!

Will checked his pockets and didn't find his cell phone. Opening his bag, he searched through it and pulled it out and frowned.

Ring! Ring!

Why wasn't his cell phone ringing? He tossed the bag to the floor and saw on the passenger seat an envelope. The same type of envelope the flash drive had been delivered to him in. And it was ringing. Looking around the parking lot and not seeing anyone standing around or sitting in any of the cars left in the lot, he ripped open the envelope and dropped the phone into his hand.

It rang twice more before he answered and put it up to his ear. With nervous breath, he asked, "Hello? Who is this?"

"Mr. Tippin," the odd, nearly mechanical voice said, "I have a job for you."

TBC...