A/N: Thank you to Reckless! I'm glad you didn't see the plot twist coming. I really enjoy reading your reviews, and I'm okay if I don't get a lot as long as people keep reading.
Chapter 11: The Satisfying Lie & Awful Truth
En-route to France
Jack ordered another whiskey and coke and got a look from the flight attendant. It was his third. The seat next to his was empty. The flight attendant gave him another drink, he thanked him. Then he took a sip and rested his head back against the seat.
He was glad he'd gotten the early flight, there weren't too many people on the plane, most everyone was businessmen or women taking the flight for work. Families always took later flights.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
He hated it.
He downed the whiskey and coke and closed his eyes. The throbbing in his head didn't stop. Nothing could make it go away. It could've been a lingering side effect from the mild concussion he'd suffered only eight hours earlier. Or, it could've been from only getting four hours of sleep...
...Or, it could have been the fact that the seat next to his was empty.
Either way, there wasn't enough whiskey on the plane to make his headache go away.
Three Hours Ago
Los Angeles
"Your life might still be in danger. Here," he said as he handed the passport over to Will. He didn't reach for it so he sat it on the table in front of him. "It's an alias I created for you. Jonah Grayson."
Will picked up the passport and opened it up. He stared at it and something came over his features that caused him to worry.
"Will, it's best if you didn't use your real name-"
"I'm not going with you."
Jack sat the cup of coffee down as he Will looked over at him. There was pain and uncertainty in his eyes, but also regret. Deep regret.
"I'm sorry but-I can't go with you. I need time. I need to think about…everything."
He shouldn't have been surprised. He should have seen it, realized it was coming, especially after last night. Truth was, he was surprised. He felt his chest clench as Will looked away.
"Of course," he found himself saying. "I understand."
Will shook his head and said, "No, Jack, I don't think you do."
At those words, he grabbed his cup and walked over to the sink to rinse it out. He had to do something, think about something else, as he felt how hard it was to breathe.
This had been inevitable, hadn't it? Why did he think otherwise? Why did he let himself be open and think it was possible to be happy? He'd known from the start that happiness for people like him never lasted. They only got pieces, fragments of time, moments, and nothing more.
There was no happy ever after for people like him. Will deserved so much more. He deserved all the happiness in the world. And that would have to be without him.
"Um, if you're not here when I get back, I'll understand. Be careful, Will."
That hadn't been what he wanted to say, but what he needed to say. He didn't turn around as he grabbed his bag and left.
Bordeaux, France
12 Hours Later
He'd spotted them the moment he exited the customs terminal at the Bordeaux–Mérignac Airport. There were six of them altogether, three teams of two, and all part of SD-3's Security Section. If the Security Section was after him that meant the Alliance had ordered it, which meant either they were there to execute an abduction, or, an assassination. Having conducted plenty of both himself, he realized his options were limited.
He shouldered his carry-on bag and started walking as he mixed in with the crowd. It was late in the evening, having been a 13-hour flight with an hour layover in Amsterdam but the airport was busy with the late arrivals. As many of the passengers broke off to grab their luggage, he headed back toward the ticket area and took the escalator up. Just as he thought, he spotted them breaking up. Two went outside, two stayed below on the lower level, and the two remaining agents followed him up to the second level. He followed the signs for the "Shops and Restaurants" and found a restaurant that was in the process of closing. Several of the staff were still clearing off tables as he spotted a cart with dirty plates, glasses, and utensils.
One of them questioned him as he grabbed a steak knife out of the cart and headed back out. He didn't bother answering. The SD-3 agent spotted him as he rounded a corner and then pushed open the door to the men's bathroom.
Jack tossed his bag in the corner behind the door and then went to the sink and turned on the faucet as the agent walked in behind him. He kept his head down as he placed the knife in the sink. The agent checked the stalls to ensure they were alone before making his move. As the agent reached for his gun, he raised the knife, turned, and threw it right into the man's neck.
He caught the body before it hit the floor and walked it back into the stall. He pulled out the knife, took the gun, and then took the ear piece out of the agent's ear and put it in his own. Then he took his phone. He needed a distraction and the fastest way to get one was to make the airport a less desirable place for an abduction or a hit to happen. He dialed the number for the airport and called in a bomb threat.
Soon, there would be a police presence and the agents would have to reconsider their tactics. But first, he was going to make SD-3 have a panic attack over the amount of cleanup they were going to have to do. He listened as the other agents tried to get a hold of the missing agent as he exited the bathroom with his bag slung across his shoulders.
He spotted another agent waiting in the ticket area. His arm was raised to his mouth as he spoke into it with his back to him. Jack walked right up behind him and rammed the knife into the agent's spine. The agent collapsed against him and he held him as he pulled the knife out and dropped him into a seat. He spotted blood at the edges of his mouth as he tried to speak. He knew that not only did he paralyze him but had also punctured a lung. The agent was going to drown to death in his own blood.
As he neared the escalator, he spotted security as they calmly started telling everyone to exit as an announcement was made over the PA system to move toward the exits. Jack pocketed the knife as a security guard walked by him to check on the dead agent in the chair.
He made it onto the escalator as he heard a yell. Looking over, he saw the guard pull a radio to his mouth as he checked the body for a pulse. The two SD agents that had stayed on the lower level were waiting between the doors. Seeing how there were a lot of possible exits, they couldn't keep them all covered. One agent was near the doors by the luggage claim while the other was directly in front of where he would be getting off the escalator.
There were other doors further down and when he stepped off the stairs, he turned to his right and headed toward the doors furthest away from the luggage claim. His luggage would have to wait. All his important items were always carried in the carry-on bag with only his clothes in the luggage, leaving it expendable. This wouldn't be the first time he would have to leave it at an airport. Jack looked over his shoulder and spotted both agents on his tail.
In his ear he heard them relaying the information to the other two agents that were outside what his position was and where he was going. They also told them that the other two agents were missing, likely deceased. Jack didn't see the French police but he heard the whirling of the sirens before he spotted the blue lights approaching over the tops of the crowd that had gathered outside.
He stopped. Just before he reached the doors, he stopped and then turned around. The two SD agents were approaching on both sides and Jack stood waiting for them to get closer, and then he charged at one of them, knocking him down. He fell on top of him and pulled out the knife from his pocket and shoved it into the agent's jacket pocket. He was grabbed from behind and yanked backwards. Jack twisted around and blocked the fist and then jabbed the agent in the neck with an elbow.
By that time the French police were breaking the fight up and he was being pushed away.
"J'ai vu un couteau," Jack said as he pointed to the agent who was getting up off the floor. "Il a un couteau! Couteau! Knife! He has a knife!"
The police officer turned to the agent and started questioning him, telling him to empty his pockets. Jack watched as the agent tried to talk to the police officer as he reached into his pocket. The agent's face dropped as his eyes locked with his. Jack smirked.
Coming up behind the SD agents were a couple of airport security guards who were telling the French police that they had found two people who'd been stabbed to death. In the chaos that ensued, Jack pushed open the door and left the two SD-3 agents to the French police.
Out on the sidewalk, he heard one of the agents inside tell the remaining two agents outside that they had lost the target. The agents that were in the getaway vehicle had to move it away from the entrance on Rue Rene Cassin to the P1/P2 parking lot. That was on the other side of the Rent-A-Car lot where he was headed. Having already registered for a rental, all he had to do was pickup the keys.
Jack spotted a van idling across the lot and knew it was the SD-3 van. He took the keys and got to the rental the moment he was spotted. He tossed the carry-on into the trunk and got into the driver's seat of the 2001 Audi A6. He had it up to fifty once he cleared the roundabout and was on the Avenue Rene Cassin heading toward the city of Bordeaux.
The van was right behind him. As he neared another roundabout, he decided to take the Audi for a joyride to see how well the driver of the van held up. Instead of continuing on the avenue, he took the first right off the roundabout onto Rue Archimede and then circled around the next roundabout to the third right onto Rue Hipparque. The van had lost speed and nearly came off the road a few times as it tried to take the roundabouts as quickly as he had, but with all the sudden turns the driver couldn't keep up. Jack kept up the pace and barely braked as he took the turns. There were a lot of roundabouts. He had the van going literally in circles. Jack got back onto Avenue Rene Cassin and hit the gas without seeing the SD-3 van anywhere behind him.
He turned onto Avenue Henri Vigneau and then a third right at another roundabout onto Rue Jacques Anquetil. He continued driving along the avenues and streets, getting closer to Bordeaux, until he was satisfied that he was in the clear.
With all the driving, he'd also been thinking. The conclusion he'd come up with knotted his stomach and had his mind racing. There were only two people who knew he was traveling to Bordeaux: Will Tippin and Hayden Chase.
Jack didn't like the answer to the question of "which one?". Both made him sick. However, there was only one logical answer. One that made sense as to why the Alliance Security Section had greeted him at the airport with the intent to either take him or kill him. That answer also caused him to consider other, and far more reaching, and deadlier, possibilities. His future being one, but also the extent of the corruption within the CIA.
If the Director of the Department of Clandestine Services had been the one to notify SD-6, that meant the only person who knew about his operation and about his status as an covert operative with the CIA, was a "silent" member of the Alliance. Or, if Hayden Chase knew Sloane then they could be working together and she was a member of the unknown group that used the Triad as their front.
He went back over everything he'd entrusted to Hayden Chase. He talked about Sydney, but she would have already known about Sydney. That meant Sloane knew that Sydney was CIA. He also told her that he was still in touch with Will, which would have informed her that Will was not in FBI custody. And the file. His redacted file; the one Vaughn had in his possession.
They, none of them, were safe. He was no longer safe. Sydney was no longer safe. Will was no longer-
He spun the car to a stop inside a nearly empty parking lot and got out. Going over to the public telephone, he made a long distance call and received no answer. He placed another call. Again, no answer. Jack sighed and wondered why no one was answering their damn phones at 2 o'clock on a Saturday in Los Angeles. It was after eleven in the evening where he was in France.
It had to have been because the number was long distance. He couldn't use his cell phone yet because he wasn't able to obtain a SIM card from the airport to put into his phone. He wouldn't be able to use it in the country until he could get one.
Then he thought of one other person to call because he was out of options and his life was unfortunately in danger as well.
On the second ring, the phone was answered, "Hello?"
"Agent Vaughn, this is Jack Donahue."
Vaughn was quiet, startled, before asking, "Hey, uh, Jack, why are you calling me?"
Jack wanted to hang up but knew he couldn't. Michael Vaughn was the only person who answered and he needed to warn him, and everyone. "Listen Agent Vaughn, I need you to do something-"
"Slow down, Jack. I'm not-"
"Do not interrupt me! This is important. Where are you?"
"That's what I was trying to tell you. I'm not in Los Angeles."
"Are you on a mission?"
He hesitated and then said, "Not specifically. Wait, I thought you had two weeks leave. And where are you calling from?"
Jack really wanted to talk to anyone other than Agent Vaughn. He closed his eyes and let out a breath as he said, "As soon as you can I need you to get to Los Angeles. I know you have my redacted file. I need you to get it and put it someplace safe, and then-"
"Whoa, hold up. How'd you-"
"Who did you think took the book out of your car?" Jack waited a moment before he continued telling him, "Get the file. Put it some-"
"In a safe place, I got it. Anything else-"
"You can stop with the dismissive tone," he snapped into the phone. Jack tried not to let his irritation get to him but he was still running on pure adrenaline and fear. He needed to talk to Sydney and to Will. "You need to...Vaughn," he said as he readied himself, "you need to go to the agency's headquarters-"
"Headquarters? I'm not authorized-"
"Let me talk to him," another voice was heard through the phone. A woman's voice.
Sydney's voice.
Jack stilled with his hand on the receiver as his brain tried to figure out a logical explanation as to why Michael Vaughn and Sydney were...together. "Is that Sydney? Sydney Sloane?" he asked and then wondered if it really had been her voice or if he so desperately needed to talk to her that he was imagining her voice.
"Sydney? Yes...She wants to talk to you."
"Then put her on," he nearly yelled and then caught himself.
He took a breath and closed his eyes again as he tried to steady himself. Looking up and around the street, he felt the sweat start to coat his back. It wasn't too hot and not even humid but he was burning up.
"Jack?"
Upon hearing her voice, he said, "Sydney, I'm glad you're okay. Listen, there's something-"
"No, Jack, I need you to listen to me. I have so much-"
Jack snapped then. No matter what she had to say, what he had to say was more important. "Your lives are in danger! Whatever it is you have to talk to me about, it can wait. Now, you will listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to do. Get back to Los Angeles. I do not care what it is you're doing, but you need to get to Will. I can't reach him. He's not answering the phone. He needs to be in protective custody. I also need you to tell Vaughn to not go back to work. He's got something they want. He needs to be taken in. Do you understand me? He needs to be taken in by the Agency...Sydney?"
"You know?"
"Of course I know," he told her and leaned against the phone booth. "Sydney, listen carefully, you can not trust Arvin; he is not on your side. Neither is the Director of DCS. Do not trust her-"
"The DCS." Sydney was silent a moment and then asked, "What does that have to do-"
"It has to do with everything," he said as he felt as if his whole entire world was about ready to collapse on top of him, "I know you have so many questions and I want to tell you everything, and I will, but not over the phone. I need you to promise me that you will get to Will. You need to keep him, and yourself, safe. If I'm right, and I hope for once in my life I'm not right, but if I am, then the file Vaughn has on me is the only chance I've got."
"Your only chance at what? Jack?"
Jack stared out on the street as he saw the SD van go by and felt his body stiffen. How? "To come home," he answered. "It proves I'm CIA."
He hung up and before he could get to the car, he heard gunfire. He hit the ground and pulled the gun he'd gotten off the dead SD-3 agent and took aim over the hood of the Audi and returned fire. As he ducked when more shots were fired his way, Jack felt a pain in his right shoulder and when he looked he saw the blood. He'd been shot.
How did they find him, he asked himself before remembering something he'd done at the airport. Pulling the SD-3 STU cell phone from his pocket, he cursed himself in anger as he threw it. They had used the phone to track him down.
Rookie mistake, Jack. Another shot ricocheted off the pavement. He took aim over the hood once again and returned fire. He was pinned down and running out of bullets fast.
He dropped back behind the car and looked around for any possible options. Directly in front of him was a wall that separated the parking lot to the store from the back yards of the neighborhood. To his right was another wall, partly fenced, and parked cars, but also another way out of the lot and onto a street. He had no options to his left. If he went left, he would die. If he went straight, he'd have to climb on top of a parked car to even think about scaling the wall.
He had to go right.
Checking the remaining rounds in the magazine, he only had four bullets left. One in the chamber, three in the magazine. He could scale over the fence fairly quickly and there was also a car parked in front of it, giving him some cover. The van was at an angle in the parking lot, it wasn't a direct line of sight.
Taking a breath, he rolled up to the back of the car. The agents had a direct line on the trunk of the car. He would have to leave his bag. It held his passport. His laptop. His money except for what was in his pocket. And another passport with a different alias he had planned on using to get out of the country.
Jack took aim and shot at both sides of the van before he took off running. Gunfire erupted and he slid behind the parked car and waited until the gunfire stopped before coming up and firing two more times before the slide stop caught as the gun emptied. Then he climbed the fence, heard more gunfire, and fell to the ground on the other side.
Getting to his feet, he hugged the wall of the building as he took off in a sprint through the yard, around the trees and down the walk and then out onto the street. The whole time ignoring the pain in his shoulder.
Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.
Los Angeles
Francie's Restaurant
"We had a fight."
"Was it a fight or a misunderstanding?"
"What's the difference?"
Francie looked over her cup of herbal tea at him and said, "A huge difference. Misunderstandings are misunderstandings. Easier to forgive and move on. A fight could end a relationship."
Will stared at her and shook his head. "I don't even think it was a fight. There was no yelling. I think I said ten words, tops. Jack said like two. And that was it, but...What I said was that I needed time to think."
"That's it?" she said in disbelief. "That's what you're worked up over? This isn't even worth a five minute slot on the Maury show."
"Francie, the implication was there. I think he thought I wanted to break up."
"Do you?"
"No!" he rushed out and then said, "I don't know."
"How can you not know? You either do or you don't."
"That's my problem. I feel like I'm being ripped in half. My brain is telling me to abandon ship, but my heart...I love him. I can't. I don't want to leave."
Francie stared at him some more as she took another drink. Will picked up his beer and felt the phone ring in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw a long distance number, and put it away.
"What caused you to have to do some thinking about the relationship?" she asked.
Will looked out the window they were seated next to and tried to figure out a way to tell her without telling her the truth. He couldn't tell her the truth. It wasn't the way Jack did his job. It wasn't. However, seeing him kill someone had been more than a little jarring. It had freaked him out. But, that was it. There were a lot of good guys who had to do some bad things, like killing, to keep the world safe. To keep innocent people safe. So, it wasn't that. It was the fact that Jack could've died literally in his arms last night. And today, he had jumped on a plane to possibly get himself killed again for reasons unknown to him or why.
From everything he had gathered, Jack was a spy. He didn't have to tell him, it was obvious by now. The way he worked. His job at Anicetus Security and the added information that he worked for the government in the intelligence field. It all added up to him being a spy, which was pretty damn cool. He could deal with that.
Will looked back at Francie and told her, "Losing my parents was one of the hardest times in my life. They were there one day and then they weren't. Jack, with his job, I realized the reality of it last night. It's dangerous. People might shoot at him. It scared me. I don't want to lose him too."
Francie sighed and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I get it, I do. That's got to be one of the toughest relationships to manage, being with someone who puts themselves in harm's way every day. I couldn't do it. Remember Tyson? He was a firefighter. The first fire he had to run off to I didn't sleep for a week."
"You broke up with him after a month. How is this helpful?"
"Let me finish," she scolded him before continuing, "My point is, I understand. But I also know that it was me. You're different. Will, you're able to adapt. That's a quality you possess that I don't. I couldn't adapt."
He took another drink as he thought about what she'd said. She was right. Yet, he still didn't know if that was the problem he was having. He couldn't figure it out. He was tired. The last time he had a good night's sleep was before Friday. Everything had been so chaotic that now that he was finally able to breathe easier, it felt like he was being hit in the chest by a truck. His body hurt, his head, and now he was questioning his whole life and his relationship.
He needed sleep. That was probably the real problem.
"Look at it this way," Francie said, drawing his attention back to her. "You had twenty years with your parents. If you'd known what was going to happen, would you have pushed them away and stopped loving them just to avoid the pain of losing them?"
"Are you kidding? I would've loved them harder. I would've told them everything and made sure they knew how much they meant to me all the time."
"Then do that with Jack. You might only be able to have twenty days with him, some get less than that, some get more. Love him while you have him. Don't let the "what if's" control you, because I know with you, they can."
Will smiled and shook his head. "See, this is why I need you. You're such a great friend."
"I know it."
"Speaking of friends, where in the hell is Sydney? Did I tell you she showed up at Jack's apartment the other night and tried to get me to leave him?"
"Stop it, Will, no she didn't!" Francie said in disbelief.
"She did. I don't know why. I think her dad had something to do with it."
"Well, if she ever came back around we could ask her. I don't know where she is. I think she met someone."
"You think?"
"It's that or her job."
Will picked up his beer as he said, "At this point, it being her job and not a man is more realistic. I don't think she has time to date."
"Unless she met someone abroad and that's why she keeps traveling."
Will huffed out a laugh. "I can imagine Syd having a scandalous love affair with a foreigner. I bet they're skiing in the Alps right now."
Maryland
Sydney hung up the phone and handed it back to Vaughn. A million thoughts were running through her head as she took in everything Jack had told her. It was early spring and in Maryland there was a crisp cool breeze in the air but she was burning up. Unzipping her light jacket, she pulled not off and tossed it into the backseat of the car.
When Vaughn received the call from Jack, she had been driving the rental car and had pulled over to talk. Vaughn was watching her, a concerned look on his face. Since they've been traveling, he hadn't shaved. She thought he looked hot no matter what and it was getting harder to deny herself the feelings she was starting to feel when she was around him.
Yesterday they had spent a majority of their time searching through boxes upon boxes of old case files from 1981. There had apparently been a flood and some boxes had been damaged so they had stuffed those files into other boxes. Everything was disorganized and nothing before 1990 had been imputed into the police department's database.
They had found the police report after hours of searching. FBI Agent Bentley Calder had died in a car accident along with another person, a woman who'd been in another car traveling down that same road. A woman named Laura Bristow. Her husband, a man named Jonathan "Jack" Bristow, had been the one driving. The cars wrecked and one of the cars, the one with Jack and Laura had gone over the bridge into the water.
She knew as she read it that she was reading about her real parents. Her mother had died in a car crash and her father had lived. Not long after, she would go to live with Arvin and Emily.
That incident had been what had torn her family apart. And she wondered if it'd all been Jack's fault. If they were right, and Jack had been a former KGB agent, then the only reason the FBI was chasing them that night had been because of Jack's treasonous acts.
She ran her hands through her hair as she remembered Jack's warning about her dad and Hayden Chase, the Director of the DCS. Jack said that the DCS had to do with everything.
It was a lot to take in and consider, especially now with everything they'd found out. Looking over at Vaughn, she didn't know how she was going to tell him that he was the one working for the Alliance.
"Vaughn," she said, "there's something I have to tell you. It won't be easy for you to hear, but it's the truth." She took a breath and said, "SD-6 is not a covert division of the CIA."
Vaughn stared at her and shook his head. "What're you talking about? Yes it is."
"No, it's not. You're not unauthorized to go to CIA Headquarters. You can't go because you aren't CIA. SD-6 is one of the twelve SD cells of the Alliance. My dad, Arvin Sloane, is a terrorist and I've been assigned to-"
Vaughn turned around and walked away. She could tell he was upset and angry, but he didn't lash out.
"They recruited you, everyone, under the guise of being CIA, but that's a lie. Think about it. You don't have the same ID I have. You've never been to Langley. You didn't receive your training-"
"Just stop!"
She stopped and crossed her arms as she waited. Vaughn was smart and reasonable. He would put it together.
With his head down and back turned to her, he said, "You knew this whole time and didn't tell me?"
"I wasn't authorized to tell you. I am so sorry." And she was. He had no idea how sorry she truly was.
They were both dealing with feelings of betrayal, for different reasons, but the sting was the same. It went deep. She looked around at all the trees that surrounded them on the two lane road in the middle of nowhere Maryland and tried to take it in as a way to calm herself down. The sky was blue, the sun was warm, but the ground was horribly unbalanced.
"I had a thought the other day that Arvin Sloane could have been working for the CIA along as a covert operative for the DCS. I'd been desperate, wanting him to be one of the good guys and not-"
"A monster," Vaughn said as he turned to face her. The anger she saw in his blue eyes should have unnerved her if she didn't feel the same. "It's understandable. He's your dad."
"He's not my dad," she told him as she leaned against the car. "The reason this is so important for me is that I believe Jack and Laura were...are, my parents. My biological parents. I was adopted. Anyway, what if I was right, but not about Arvin."
Vaughn leaned beside her as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You think the covert operative is Jack."
"You said you thought he was a double agent. It's not the Alliance he's working for, but the CIA. If we can't trust the Director of the DCS and Jack wants us to secure his file, he must think she's working with someone else-"
"If she's working with the Alliance, and the only one who has access to Jack's CIA file, Syd, she can deny that it even exists."
"Or erase it completely," she said.
Vaughn shook his head as he said, "If that's the case, Jack's stranded out in the cold. A man without a country or a name with a target on his back. They're going to kill him."
"Where is the file?"
Vaughn gestured to the trunk of the car. "In my bag. I brought it with me."
"Good. We'll figure out somewhere to hide it. Right now, I don't trust anyone, not even my superiors. We have to get back to L.A. and get Will. He's in danger."
"Wait. Who's Will?"
"My friend. Jack's boyfriend."
Vaughn's jaw nearly dropped as he stared at her. "I had-..." he shook his head. "Jack's gay? He's so…" he trailed off as he shook his head again in disbelief.
"I'm assuming since he was married to my mother, he's bisexual. It doesn't matter, let's go. I'm driving," she said as she opened the driver's side door and got in.
It took Vaughn a couple more minutes. She had to honk the horn a few times to get him moving.
Bordeaux, France
Years ago, long before he ever knew what betrayal truly felt like, he'd been an agent runner for the CIA. Before his specialty of killing had been discovered, his specialty had been his ability to get himself into a hostile country, construct a network of agents, then get himself back out where he could collect on the intel in relative safety. Developing a network of agents, who were really traitors to their country, had been a matter of recruitment and communication. He had worked most of the Eastern bloc countries and then later he had running networks in East Berlin out of the station in West Berlin.
The CIA was nothing without traitors. People who were willing to risk imprisonment or their life for an idea. To be an agent runner someone had to be the biggest con man in the game. He had to sell not only himself but the idea of being someone greater than you were to support a cause bigger than yourself. Democracy. Freedom. Ending Communism.
But what it really came down to was money or another form of payment. Drugs. Sex. Weapons.
Everyone had a price.
He wondered what Hayden Chase's price was to sell him out.
Jack leaned back against the building and closed his eyes. In the distance he could hear the footfalls. He'd read once that people should do what they were made for. Find your specialty and excel at that. Chefs should cook. Poets should write. Operatives should spy.
And killers should kill.
The SD-3 agent entered the alleyway and he heard the footsteps get louder as he neared. Jack wrapped the end of his belt around his left hand as he waited and the moment the agent walked past, he looped the belt over his head and pulled tight. He didn't let up until the struggling agent's body went limp and his feet stopped kicking. He eased him to the ground, took his gun, and headed back the way he came.
He had one more SD-3 agent to kill.
Jack got to the corner and leaned against it, pressing his wounded shoulder into the brick and bit back a moan as he peered around the corner. The agent was on the other side of the street. He raised his arm to his mouth and spoke into it.
His vision blurred slightly as he let out a breath and gripped the gun tighter in his hand. On a normal day, he would've been able to take that shot and hit his mark. Tonight, he was struggling to see straight as he fought off the effects of the gunshot to his shoulder. He had to get closer. Moving back into the shadows of the alleyway, he rested his head back against the brick and focused on controlling his breathing. His right side and arm was covered in blood and it dripped off his fingertips. He was certain that was how the agent followed him.
Which was fine. He'd gotten his gun.
Once he saw the agent get to the end of the street and then cross over to come back up the other side, the side he was on, he slid further down the wall and raised the gun. The light from the streetlamp only lit up the entryway into the alley and left the rest in darkness. He was in the darkness, waiting.
His hand shook slightly from his fatigue and he fought to keep it steady and level as he took a breath. Then another. Then another. Until all he could hear was his breathing. Then he held it as he saw a man's shadow in the light. A face appeared. It was the agent.
Bang!
Jack watched as the agent's head snapped back, taking his body with it as he fell backwards to the ground. Dead.
He shook his head, put one foot in front of the other, and left the alleyway.
During the time he had been acquiring agents to spy on their own country, he started acquiring his own "contacts". His own network. People he could rely on and who could help him if the need should ever arise. He'd done it not through the use of recruitment, but of friendship. An actual friendship. Trust and loyalty, and sometimes love.
One of those people was Leslie Cole. He was a friend. Another was a woman named Odette. Felix was another. And Bertille. Rahim. Charles and Bini. Ren and Hiroko. Wen-je. Pak. All good friends. Every last one of them.
Antonio Lafayette had been one, but he was now gone.
That left the last person. His oldest friend, besides Arvin Sloane. A man he'd met in a bar in Paris. A man who moved from Paris to Bordeaux nearly a decade ago and had a flat near the Saint-Jean train station that was on the top floor of an old industrial building.
Jack opened the door to the building and got into the freight elevator and took it up to the top floor. The flat was more than his friend's home; it was also his work studio. He was a painter. A writer. A poet. Had once been a model. He did all those things and was very successful.
The elevator stopped and he lifted the gate and took one step inside and nearly collapsed. He landed against the side of the wall and slid down to the floor. He heard noises and then a chair squeaked and he looked up and saw the olive colored face and brown eyes of his friend. His ex-lover. James Moreau.
"Merde," he heard James mutter under his breath as he hurried over and helped him to stand. "Jack! Up, come on, l'amour, get up. Today is not the day you get to die on me."
He didn't know what he had said in return, but with James he never really did.
A while later, after he'd awoken after passing out on the sofa, or as James called it "settee", he stood at the window that overlooked Garonne river and stared out at the city. At night, with all the lights, it looked beautiful. He didn't think anything looked beautiful in Los Angeles besides the view from his yacht when he was out on the ocean, Sydney's smile when she actually smiled around him, and Will. Those were beautiful things in Los Angeles. He wanted to call to check in but he couldn't risk giving away his location. He couldn't risk James' life. In the morning he would leave and get a prepaid mobile phone and call Sydney. Right now all he could do was admire the view and pray.
The Pont Saint-Jean bridge was close as well as the Gare de Bordeaux Saint-Jean, which was the train station that had access to the tram lines and buses. He could also see the streets along both sides of the building from the corner loft. There were multiple ways in and out of not only the building but the city. It was perfect.
He could actually see the Banque Citadelle signage from the window he stared out of. Too bad he wouldn't be able to complete his mission. He was on their radar now and was certain they had increased security and changed every security protocol and network password. This had been a disaster.
All he kept thinking about was how he'd been played. Sloane had to have known this entire time if Hayden Chase was involved. He thought back over his conversations with Sloane in his office and at his home and knew that Arvin wasn't having lapses in his judgement. He was using his weakness and love for his daughter against him. He had made him be the one who had to make the critical decisions and let Sark run loose on purpose. All the while Sloane did nothing but sit back and watch.
Jack pushed his hand against his head as he felt a headache starting to pound inside his skull. If Arvin Sloane had his own group going, outside of the Alliance, then his play would be to let the Alliance be taken down. Get the competition out of the way. It was either that, or he would try to break away from the Alliance with the intent of partnership. The Alliance wouldn't allow Sloane to leave without it. If Sloane tried, he'd be killed.
His only question now was, what was he going to do about it? What could he do about it if anything?
He was currently a man without a country.
James came back into the room with a tray. He placed it on the table and told him, "Sit down, eat, drink some herbal tea."
He really didn't want tea. James had an entire spread prepared that consisted of bread, cheese, fruits, olives and nuts. He sat and winced in pain. His shoulder was still on fire even though it was no longer gushing blood. Aside from being a wonderful painter, James knew how to stitch a wound. He'd used a scarf to secure his right arm to his chest and had given him pain medication and antibiotics that weren't legally obtained, but he did not care because both were necessary. When it came to doing what was necessary, he never gave much thought to legality.
He wasn't as young as he pushed his body into believing and right then it was painfully obvious how old his body felt. Everything hurt and was sore. He eyed both the bottle of wine and pitcher of water and wished he could have something alcoholic but he was on antibiotics and pain meds. James grabbed the water and poured him a glass.
Anywhere else and with anyone else, besides Will, he would have been nervous and oddly self-conscious about not having a shirt on, but not there. James had seen him completely naked plenty of times. At least he had on pants; not his own, but it was something. All his clothes had been ruined by his blood so they had to be tossed.
James handed him the glass of water and then poured himself a glass of wine. "À votre santé," he said before taking a drink.
Jack took a sip of the water as he leaned back in the chair and let out a breath. "Thank you."
He waved off his thanks and grabbed some food and started eating. "If I didn't rescue you at least once every five years or so, I'd start to think we were no longer friends."
James was tall, lanky, and eighteen years his senior, but the seventy year old still had the free spirit of a much younger man. Despite the white of his hair and beard, he lived the "French way" of living life with pleasure and enjoyment, everything always to the fullest, everyday. He grabbed his cigarettes and didn't bother offering him one; he knew he didn't smoke. He got up and opened the window before lighting it up and sitting back down.
He brought up his left leg and wrapped his arms around it as he smoked his cigarette. James never sat in a chair and put both feet on the ground. He always had one if not both feet up in the chair. Jack noticed James's feet were covered in dried paint; at least he washed his hands.
Jack really wasn't hungry but it had nothing to do with the last time he had eaten and solely on the amount of stress he was feeling. He was worried about everyone he loved, and he was half a world away with no way of helping. He'd warned Sydney, told her and Vaughn what to do, and he could only hope that was enough. Will should've answered the phone. He could only imagine the reasons why he didn't. His mind went from mild concern, like Will not being in the mood to talk to him, and then to the extreme, which was Will dead somewhere. He didn't want to think about that.
He looked around at the brick walls and at all the paintings in various stages of the process towards completion. There was a painting of him somewhere; it could've been in the other room. He spotted a familiar looking bag near the elevator. It was his carry-on bag.
James followed his eyes. "You gave me your keys and told me where you parked your car. Luckily for you this is not L.A.. It still had the rims. Although, a window was missing and there were bullet holes all over."
"You got there before the police?"
James waved a hand, dismissing the question, before saying, "I hope you got the rental insurance."
"The possibility of bullet holes is the only reason for me to get rental insurance."
James looked at him and smiled slightly; he was amused by his answer. Reaching out, he touched his face. Jack recognized the gesture, the look in his eyes, and he reached up to stop the hand with a slight pain in his chest. He held James's hand in his and moved it away and let go.
He watched as he took another drag off the cigarette, his eyes shifting away in thought, before he asked, "L'amour, are you okay?"
He picked up the glass, downed the water, and then grabbed the bottle of wine. "Yes."
"No wine. You are wounded."
"The very reason why I need wine." He poured himself a glass anyway as he glared at him, daring to try to stop him. He didn't.
James studied him a moment longer before picking up the wine and finishing it off. They sat in a comfortable silence as James nibbled on the food and drank his herbal tea out of a bowl. Then he got up to light another cigarette at the window.
He never once asked him what had happened. James never wanted to know. Jack was grateful because he wouldn't have told him anyway, but not having that pressure to open up was a relief. He wouldn't want that awkwardness to settle between the two of them. Their friendship wasn't dependent on his ability to talk about his work.
He felt an arm wrap around him from the back and for a moment he leaned into the embrace. But when he felt a hand on his chest he grabbed it and turned to him. "Don't. I mean it."
He let the hand go and felt James run it through his hair as he asked, "What's the matter?"
"I'm seeing someone," he told him before taking a drink.
"Tell me about him?" James asked as he sat back down.
He shook his head. "No."
"Jack, if we didn't drink wine and talk about our deviancy, then what would we do? I know about the prostitute in South Korea and you can't tell me about this new man in your life?"
He shook his head again and took a drink of the wine. "This isn't about sex-"
"Then what-" James looked at him as realization entered his eyes. "Oh...my," he said as he broke into a wide smile. "L'amour, you're in love? Why didn't you say so?" When he didn't say anything, he shook his head. "Don't tell me. You didn't know."
"No, I know. There was a situation before I left and I don't know if he'll be waiting-"
"Do you want him to be?"
He thought long and hard about that and decided that yes, he did. He gave a nod, took a drink, and tried to relax. It wasn't working.
"Call and apologize."
"It's not that simple."
James huffed out a laugh as he tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. "It is that simple. You talk. Say what it is you want to say. It can be two words, and that might be all he needs to hear."
He downed more of the wine and closed his eyes. "What I did tonight, the person I have to be every day, there's a darkness that I don't think anyone should follow me through. That's what he'll have-"
"Ta gueule!"
"Don't tell me to shut up."
"Ta gueule," James said again, this time with more emphasis. "You overthink the simplest of things, like love. Stop using your brain when the answer is in your heart. Look at us. You can show up bleeding on my floor and I take one look at you and forget all the reasons why it is that we cannot be together. It has nothing to do with what you do and the dangers of your job. It's for two reasons. One, I'm not following you into that darkness; you are on your own. Two, you're not in love with me, and you never will be. We're friends, and sometimes lovers, and that's all it's ever been and I've always been okay with that. But if this man is willing to follow you, that's his choice. You're not the only one who gets to make those types of decisions in a relationship."
Jack stared at him for a long moment before asking, "How come you're not taken yet?"
James ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged. "I'm shy," he said sarcastically. "You know me, I'm like a delicate butterfly. You don't hold me tight enough, I fly away. Hold me too tight and you smother me."
"I think you just like flirting," he said as he took a drink of the wine.
"That too," James said before taking a drag off the cigarette and then blowing out the smoke. He finished his second cigarette and as he stabbed it out in the ashtray, asked him, "How old is he?"
Jack rubbed the back of his head and stretched his legs out under the table as he felt a heavy weight of tiredness set in. "Twenty-six."
James didn't say anything about it, but he did say, "I was your age when we first met. You were an angry, stubborn, thirty-two year old who was terrified of who he was. So terrified, in fact, that you punched me."
"How many times do I have to apologize for that?"
"Until one of us dies," he said and Jack didn't know if he was serious or not.
"With how much you smoke that might be soon."
James had been going for another cigarette and frowned at him. He leaned on the table and told him, "You're making me nervous. Jack, I've seen you troubled, devastated, angry...lost in throes of passion, but the only other time I've seen you this terrified was that day we met. Whatever is going on has scared you to your core." He grabbed another cigarette and lit it.
"I'm not going to hit you if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not worried for me. I'm worried for you. There are people who care about what happens to you, l'amour."
Jack really did appreciate his friend's concern. He understood why he was nervous for him and afraid. James had seen him only a year after Irina's betrayal and having to abandon his daughter. He had been broken then. Much like he was now. Except the difference now was that he had people. People like James, like Will, and he had Sydney. She would help him. If only because Will Tippin was her friend.
He sat the glass down and leaned closer to him. "Come here."
"You can't kiss me. You're in love," James told him as he leaned forward.
He kissed him anyway, then told him, "We're still friends."
"You go around kissing all your friends?"
"No," he said as he went back to drinking the wine. "Just you."
"Make me feel special." He blew out a breath of smoke and said, "I'm going to have to free up my birthday this year since you're taken."
"You'll find someone."
"There's always someone, but to have a friend who literally flies 13 hours to be with me on my birthday, no, Jack, I won't find that again. I hope your l'amour knows how lucky he is." He looked him over then told him, "You're tired. After you eat, you can sleep in my bed."
"I'm fine on the sofa."
"You're a giant. How comfortable were you on the settee?"
He had to admit he wasn't really that comfortable, and his neck did hurt. He reached up and rubbed at the tenderness he felt in his muscle. "It's not the most uncomfortable place I've ever slept. I once used a rock for a pillow in a cave in India."
"Then you're going to love my new Aubusson silk pillows. Now eat something. I'm not sending you back to your boyfriend half-starved and with a bullet hole in your shoulder."
Jack did as he was told and started eating, if only to make James feel better.
Two Hours Later
Jack's Apartment
Will laid down in Jack's bed, pulled the pillow over him and breathed in the scent. God, he was missing Jack. He's never been this needy and longing for his partner in his whole life. Maybe he'd never actually been in love before because this distance thing was killing him. It was like he didn't want to breathe unless Jack was around. He wanted to call him but didn't know how. Jack was in France and-
He sat up and grabbed his phone that was charging and looked at the number that he'd ignored in the restaurant. That could've been Jack. He re-dialed the number but received no answer. It could have been a payphone or from the airport.
Way to go, Will, he scolded himself as he tossed the phone down. He could've been calling for any number of reasons but he hoped he'd been calling to talk to him because he missed him.
He hoped Jack was missing him as much as he was missing Jack. God, he needed to get grip. Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and got comfortable as he started a movie. Jack must have been a huge Steve McQueen fan because he had all his movies. He wasn't complaining. 'The Getaway' was also one of his favorites.
He was dozing off when he heard a knock at the door. Getting up, he shuffled through the kitchen and into the living room.
As he was opening the door, he said, "That better not be you, Syd-"
Will didn't have time to react as he was shot in the chest. He fell backwards, hitting his head on the floor as he went unconscious.
Five Hours Later
Sydney used her lockpicking tools to get into Jack's apartment and she immediately knew something had happened. The once immaculate apartment was torn apart. And there was no sign of Will. He wasn't anywhere and Francie said he'd been with her earlier, around two o'clock, at the restaurant and all he said was that he was going back to Jack's apartment.
She pulled out her phone and realized she had no one to call. She didn't know who to even trust. The fact that Hayden Chase was corrupted made her fear that there were others in the CIA who were as corrupted. She couldn't trust Kendall or Devlin. She could trust her team though. She could trust Marshall and Dixon. And right now she had to also trust Jack.
Vaughn had followed her in and was standing in the living room, looking around. "He's gone."
She gave a nod as her cell phone rang in her hand. Answering it, she put the phone to her ear.
Bordeaux, France
Jack had James go grab him a SIM card once he'd woken up. He would've done it but he wanted to stay as low as possible until he felt better. If he thought he was in pain last night, this morning had been so much worse. He could barely get out of bed.
James had tried to get him to eat some more and to drink plenty of water, but he couldn't hold anything down. "I told you to lay off the wine," he scolded him as he handed him his phone.
Jack ignored him as he switched the cards out and then called Will's number. It was answered on the fifth ring, "Will, thank God-"
"Hello, Jack."
He stilled as he heard her voice. His mind immediately jumped to the worst case scenario as he asked, "Is he still alive?"
James's eyes shot up as he stared down at him.
"Yes," she told him. "How long he remains that way is entirely up to you."
Jack felt the hate for her fill his head as he gritted out, "What'd you want, Irina?"
"Antonio Lafayette gave you information. I want what he gave you."
"He didn't give me anything."
"Jack, you had Will ask Sark about the Prophecy. Tuesday, 10pm, the Xizhi District. You remember that little restaurant near the Keelung River?"
"I remember," he told her and felt the twisting in his stomach. He'd taken her to Taiwan decades ago; and it was on that trip that he'd spontaneously proposed to her in a tiny restaurant over bowls of noodles. "I swear, if you hurt him-"
"Did you get yourself emotionally involved with your pawn, Jack? Wasn't that what he was supposed to have been?" When he didn't answer, she told him, "I'll be waiting."
Jack pulled the phone away from his ear and then dialed Sydney's cell number. He put the phone to his ear as he shut his eyes and prayed she answered. "Come on, pick up-"
"Hello?"
Jack opened his eyes in relief as he said, "Sydney." He wanted to tell her how happy he was she answered, but all he could think about was how Irina had Will. "I know where Will is being taken. I'm going to need your help."
"Of course. Will's my friend and you're-...Where are you?"
"France."
TBC...
