A/N: I posted Chapter 11 on Friday, 8/28. I couldn't wait for next Friday, so I'm posting this chapter today, 8/30. I also did some editing for the last chapter. I had wine, I'm sorry. No more drinking and writing for me.

A/N2: Kotov Syndrome is a phenomenon in chess which occurs when a player does not find a good plan after long consideration on the next move, and due to time restraint, suddenly has to make a move that wasn't thought out or planned that may, or may not, be beneficial to the player. It could cost the player the game.


Chapter 12: The Kotov Syndrome

Tuesday, 10:15 PM

Taipei, Taiwan

Xizhi District

Jack was seated on a small and short black stool at a table for four in a tiny Taiwanese restaurant with his very much alive ex-wife sitting across from him. His hatred for her burst forward as he pulled his gun and aimed it right between her eyes. There was no flinch. No widening of her pupils. Only a smirk and a shifting of her eyes over to the man who was standing behind the food counter.

"You shoot me, he shoots you," Irina told him as if she'd won the game.

Oh. She had no idea how wrong she was. How'd that saying go? Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...you get a bullet between the eyes. "I'm good with death as long as I get to take you with me."

And he meant it. She saw in his eyes he meant it.

Preparedness. He was always prepared. Even when it came to death.


58 Hours Ago

Los Angeles

CIA Safehouse

Sydney hadn't said much since Maryland, and he was grateful. He didn't have much to say to her at the moment either. Everything was happening and moving very quickly and he had a lot going on in his head. First and foremost, he'd been a traitor to his country this entire time. Arvin Sloane was the Director of a mercenary group that was affiliated with the international criminal organization known as the Alliance. The very people he thought he was working against were the people he was working for.

He was such an idiot.

Vaughn leaned against the sink in the bathroom and stared at the eyes that stared back at him. They were tired, worn, but most of all, angry. He was angry at everyone, but especially himself. How could he have been so wrong? So stupid? He'd been fooled and in the worst way possible. He'd been a terrorist. The people he killed or the people he had acquired intel on that resulted in their deaths weren't all bad guys, they were the good guys. They were the real CIA.

He was no better than the person who'd killed his father. How many stars were up on the wall at Langley because of him?! He threw his fist into the glass and heard it shatter before he'd felt the sting in his hand from the impact and glass.

The door opened and Sydney stared at him. He could see her reflection in the splintered glass of the mirror. He shook his head and shoved off the sink counter and turned on the water for the shower.

"They'll be here soon," was all she said before shutting the door, leaving him alone again with his thoughts and anger.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl inside a bottle of Jim Beam and live there until nothing mattered anymore, until the pain went away. Except that wouldn't solve anything. That would mean that they had won. He'd be damned if he let the Alliance beat him. What he wanted to do was get even. He would help Sydney, and the real CIA, to take them down. He would bury them if he had to.

He quickly showered and shaved and changed into the clothes he'd brought into the bathroom with him, and then walked out into the living room. There were two other people in the safehouse besides Sydney. A taller dark skinned man in a suit and a guy who looked like he should have been working at a record store or something, anywhere but in the CIA.

"This is CIA Agent Marcus Dixon and our op tech specialist, Marshall Flinkman," Sydney said as she introduced them.

"It's Marshall. You can just call me Marshall. Nobody calls me Flinkman or Mr. Flinkman, or even, y'know, "The Flinkmeister". Although, there was this one agent who called me-"

"Marshall," Dixon said, cutting him off before turning to him and holding out his hand for him to shake. "Agent Vaughn. Sydney told us she's informed you about the true nature of the work you've been doing for SD-6."

He shook Dixon's hand as he told him, "She did."

Dixon didn't drop his hand as he asked, "So you had no idea what they were doing? That the SD cell you were working for was involved in terrorist activity?"

"What? Of course not! I was shocked. I still am." Vaughn pulled his hand away as he realized Dixon was feeling his pulse as he asked him that question. It was a way of checking for a lie. "Look, my father was CIA! I was there with my mother when he got a star on the wall at Langley so don't question my loyalty to this country."

Dixon looked him over and then gave a nod as he smiled. "You're right. I apologize, Agent Vaughn." He then asked, "Was your father William Vaughn?"

He took a breath as he told him, "Yes. Did you know him?"

"No, I didn't, but…" he looked at Sydney as he told her. "Those books you sent to the NSA for analysis. They found Cyrillic codes, five rows of three. They were agent's codenames. One of them correlated to Agent William Vaughn's codename."

"Wait," Vaughn said as he stared at Dixon. "Are you telling me that-that the KGB knew about my father? Why was his name in the book?" He knew why. He just had to hear it.

Dixon looked down, then back up at him and he could see the quiet reservation and sadness in his eyes as he said, "Those names were given to a KGB agent for elimination. The CIA for decades had no leads as to who had carried out the assassinations until now."

Vaughn felt a sinking in his gut as he stepped back and fought down the anger that spurred in his chest. "Are you...Are you telling me that Jack Donahue, the agent I've been working with for the past ten years, who I believe to be CIA...murdered my father?"

"It appears that way," he calmly said.

"It appears-" Vaughn cut himself off as he turned and walked away. He wanted to hit someone, or something, and he was afraid it would've been Dixon. He didn't want to hit Dixon. Dixon was only informing him of the information and he-

The air was getting thicker, harder to breathe, as he walked into the kitchen and looked around. He found the bottle on top of the cabinet and unscrewed the lid. He didn't bother getting a glass as he drank the whiskey straight from the bottle. He heard a noise and looked over his shoulder at Sydney as she leaned against the wall and stared at him. He took another drink and turned around to face her.

He wanted...There was so much he wanted to say to her. She'd lied to him. It didn't matter why, she lied to him. During their little trip out East she could have told him anytime, especially Friday night, but she didn't.


Friday Night

Maryland

"You don't mind if I turn on the TV do you?" he asked as she grabbed her toiletry bag out of her suitcase.

"No, go ahead," she told him before going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

He watched her go as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He didn't know why he asked, but felt he had to for some reason. The motel had ESPN and he wanted to check the score of the Lakers game. They were playing the Boston Celtics in Boston. It was still the first quarter and the game was tied.

Sydney came back out of the bathroom, took one look at the screen and said, "I forgot they played tonight."

He stared at her as he asked, "You watch basketball?"

"Yeah," she told him as she put the toiletry bag away.

Looking at the time and then after checking all the channels, he said, "It's not on any of these stations."

"A sports bar would be showing it."

They looked at one another and both grabbed their jackets. She grabbed the motel key as he grabbed the keys for the rental car. Not more than ten minutes later he sat down next to her at the bar and ordered a beer. On the screen in the corner was the game and he watched as Boston scored a couple from the foul line as he sipped on the beer.

Sydney was next to him, doing the same thing. Looking over at her, he smiled as he asked, "Who's your favorite team?"

"Right now, the Lakers."

"What'd you mean right now?"

"When in Rome," she said before taking a drink of the beer.

He laughed a little and shook his head. "You don't have one."

"I like the sport, but don't really have a team. The Washington Wizards would actually be the closest to a home team, I believe. I grew up in Maryland and I remember watching them as a kid. Then when we moved to Los Angeles when I was fourteen and it was the Lakers. I guess I have no strong affiliation for any one team. I like players. Kobe's the best."

Vaughn smiled as he said, "I can drink to that," as he clicked his bottle with hers and went back to watching the game.

"How about you?"

He shook his head as he told her, "I'm from all over. I was born in France. My dad was stationed there for a few years. We moved around a lot. Landed in Virginia when I was six. He was with the agency." He watched as Kobe sank a three pointer, getting the Lakers within two before a timeout was called. As it went to commercial, he turned back to her and said, "I ended up in L.A. for graduate school at UCLA; I was studying to become a professor of French Literature. That's when I was recruited. It derailed my career path but it put me right where I needed to be."

"Why did you want to be a French Lit professor and not an agent like your father?"

He hadn't wanted to answer that question, but since she asked, he would answer. "I didn't think I could cut it." He looked over at her and shook his head. "My dad was a hero. I didn't think I could do better, or live up to his name. His sacrifice. Did you know that he has a star on the wall at Langley? No one will ever know why or how but...that star is proof it was worth-That his death wasn't for nothing. It meant something. I can't compete with that. I wouldn't want to. I didn't want to. So, I set out to find who I was and what I wanted to do. Turned out who I was and what I wanted to do was exactly what my father did."

She was staring at him and he knew that look in her eye. She liked him. It was lingering and flirtatious and it was all he could see. All he wanted to see. Then her eyes went dark, and sad, and they shifted away as she returned her attention back on the game. He no longer cared about the game. Bringing the bottle up to his lips, he took a sip and turned his attention away, unfocused as his thoughts were on the woman next to him and not on basketball.

They talked a little more, had a few more beers and some pizza. The bar had wonderful pizza.

And then they left.


CIA Safehouse

Vaughn stared at her as he said, "I feel like I've been knocked around the ring a few times by Mike Tyson and slipped into a coma induced nightmare."

"I know and I'm sorry. This wasn't how-"

"You could have told me sooner-"

"Protocol-"

"To hell with protocol," he snapped as he slammed the bottle down and then dropped his head. "I'm sorry-"

"Is everything okay in here," Dixon asked as he was suddenly around the corner staring at the both of them.

"We're fine," Vaughn said as he pushed past him into the living room. "Everything's fine." Nothing was fine, but it was what he had to tell himself to be able to move forward. He sat down on the couch as Marshall eyed him with concern.

"How are you two going to get out of returning back to work?" Sydney asked Dixon as they joined him on the couch.

Sydney sat next to him as Dixon sat beside her at the other end. Marshall was in the recliner. "I told Kendall I had a family emergency," Dixon answered. "He gave me the week off."

Marshall looked over at Sydney and his face was troubled with guilt as he said, "I hacked the system and put in that I had already requested the week off and it was approved. That's a felony. I committed a felony. I had no other choice!"

"Can they prove it," Vaughn asked.

"Can they-? Oh, no, no, not at all. I, uh, I used a cryptographic extension at the protocol level and used a two-tiered secure vpn service-"

He raised his hand to cut him off saying, "I get it. It was secure. You're a hacker?"

"I prefer not to be called that."

Vaughn nearly laughed at that as he shook his head. "A hacker works for the CIA?"

"Well, you know what they say," Sydney said, "if you can't beat them, recruit them."

"Yeah," Marshall said with a smile. "I'm the best they've got."

"I sure hope so," Sydney said, "because that's why you're both here. We have a new mission. Off-books and it could likely end our careers if we're caught. If either of you want to back out, now is your chance. And believe me, there will be no hard feelings." They all looked around at one another as no one moved. She opened up the laptop that was on the coffee table and said, "Okay. Let's figure out how to extract a covert double agent for the CIA out of a hostile country without alerting the local authorities as well as the CIA, the Alliance, and Interpol."

"Oh wow, okay," Marshall said as he sat up straighter. "Where is the agent now and where do we need to get him, or her, exactly?"

Sydney looked over at Marshall and answered, "He's in France and we need to get him to Taipei. Once in Taipei, we need to locate and then extract an asset into our custody."


22 Hours Later

Bordeaux, France

Sydney had been to France many times but never Bordeaux. It was a beautiful city on the southwest side of France and bordered the Atlantic Ocean. They found the tall industrial building fairly easily as they exited the train station since it was right around the corner across from the Garonne River. She looked up to the top floor and saw the tall wide windows that were open. An older man was sitting in the window, smoking a cigarette and when he spotted her, gave a wave and then turned away.

Vaughn, Dixon, and Marshall followed her inside the brick building and into the freight elevator that took them up to the flat of James Moreau that seemed to be the entirety of the top floor.

Once they exited the elevator, James took one look at them and called out, "L'amour, your guests have arrived."

She was surprised at the use of "l'amour" as a term of obvious endearment from the older man to, whom she assumed, was Jack. It meant "love". The main living area where they entered was an open wide room with exposed brick wall, beams, and high ceilings. The walls and floor were surrounded by artwork and paintings, both of portraits and landscapes. There was a sofa between two windows and a table by the window James had been sitting in.

Everyone stood around the room, taking it all in, when Jack entered from a hallway. His right arm was in a sling and he was wearing jeans and a black polo shirt that was open at the top. He looked over at the people in the room and said, "Did you have any trouble at the airport?"

"It went smooth," said Dixon as he greeted Jack. "I'm Dixon, this is Marshall. You know Vaughn and Sydney."

Jack looked at her and then away. She could tell he was highly uncomfortable. She had disclosed to Dixon and Marshall everything about Jack. The only thing she left out was his sexuality because it didn't matter. But, it seemed to have mattered to Jack and she regretted not informing them of it sooner.

James took that moment to say, "And I'm James. Welcome. Tea anyone?"

"I would love some tea," she answered a little too quickly.

James smiled and excused himself to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"He's, uh," Marshall stalled and then said, "flamboyant. I like him. Reminds me of my uncle. Gerald Flinkman. Uncle Gerry. He was, uh...he liked..." He looked around and said, "These paintings are fantastic. Are-are they for sale?"

Sydney saw Jack's irritation as he stared at Marshall and immediately hated the fact she felt embarrassed for him. This had to be hard. She knew how private Jack was but in order to help him, they had to interfere in his private life. She wondered how long Jack had known James. Were they merely friends? Ex's?

It took them all a moment to get into "work mode" but once James had tea on the table and they were all seated around it with the laptop and maps and Marshall keeping his mouth shut most of the time, they were able to get down to business.

Sometime later, Dixon said, "This would be a whole lot easier if we had the use of our agency's resources, but since it's just the five of us-"

"Six," Jack said, interrupting Dixon as he looked at James who was sitting in a chair across the room working on a painting. "He's an asset."

"He knows what you do?" Vaughn asked.

"He knows enough. More importantly he knows the cities and the locals. He's helped me plenty of times during missions here, and not just Bordeaux but all throughout France."

Dixon chimed in as he asked, "James, do you know anyone with a private plane?"

James spoke up from across the room, saying, "Rosalyn and her husband Bernard. Jack, you've met them. At that dinner party at the Château de Joux."

"The Duke of Anjou's niece and her husband?" Jack asked in disbelief.

"Oui."

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. "We're not hijacking their plane."

"Who says anything about hijacking? They owe me for a painting I never received payment for. I'll tell them I want to take my friends on a trip to the Philippines or whatever it is you're going."

"Where's the plane located," she asked.

"Most likely somewhere near Anjou, France," Jack said as he picked up a marker and marked the area on the map. It was nearly a straight shot East from Bordeaux to Anjou. "Shortest route is this one but it's all toll roads, which is out of the question. Toll roads have CCTV cameras. The only other route is this one," he traced the route with the highlighter. "It's about an eight hour drive. By train it would be...ten to eleven hours with multiple transfers and a bus. Best course of action would be to drive."

Dixon nodded as he said, "James if you don't mind making the call-"

"Give me an hour," James said as he continued painting.

"Once we have the exact location of the plane, we'll strategize how to get us there without hopefully getting into an international incident."

"My concern isn't getting out of the country," Jack said. "It's what we're going to do in Taipei. We have to locate Will and get him out."

"You're a fugitive," Sydney told him. When Jack's eyes met hers, he frowned and looked away. "It's not going to be easy getting you in or out of any country."

"It is if you know where to go and who to trust," he said as he looked up at her.

Dixon then looked over at Jack and said, "This is actually my first time in Bordeaux. I would love to explore the local eateries. Any recommendations?"

"Anywhere that's open," spoke James from across the room, breaking the tension in the air. "When you leave here, take a left and start down the avenue."

Sydney watched as Vaughn, Dixon, and Marshall all left the flat to grab something to eat as she stayed behind. She was jet-lagged but also wanted alone time with Jack. He pulled the laptop over and started typing on it with one hand.

"Will you be okay by tomorrow night?"

He looked over at her and then at his shoulder. "I will be fine," he answered before going back to his task.

She looked around the room again and then asked, "Where's the bathroom?"

Jack told her without taking his eyes off the laptop, "Down the hall on the left."

She got up and headed down the hall. On the left she saw the bathroom but on the right she saw another room with more painting and books stacked upon books and a desk with a typewriter and stacks of paper. She went to the right. Looking over the walls, she spotted a painting that had her curious. It was of Jack. He looked much younger but just as tired and worn down. And something else. He wasn't sad or upset. It appeared as if he'd given up. Lost and-

"That's what pure devastation looks like."

Sydney turned and spotted James behind her. He picked up his phone that was on the desk and took a book out of the drawer. "When did you paint it? It's a different room and background."

"Paris. 1982. Two days after I met Jack I took a polaroid of that moment. Had the painting completed five days later."

She looked back at it and took in his troubled features, the state he was in, barefooted, no shirt, a glass of liquor in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was seated in a window as he stared out at something but whatever it was, he wasn't seeing it. She could tell that he'd been focused inward. James had captured the moment perfectly.

"Did he tell you why he was devastated?"

"He said he lost his daughter."

She looked back over at him and saw him flipping through the book until he found the number he was looking for.

"Private call, dear."

"Oh, sorry." Sydney left the study and went back into the living area, studio, whatever it was and spotted Jack still working on the laptop. Walking over to the table, she picked up the teapot and poured herself another bowl of herbal tea. She had no idea why the French would drink their tea out of bowls, but they did. Using both hands, she brought the bowl up and took a sip before saying, "James seems nice."

Jack barely glanced up at her as he gave a nod.

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Twenty years."

She took a sip of the tea and sat down beside him and looked at what he was doing. He was tapped into the CIA satellite and surveying the area around Taipei. There was another program running the bottom left corner but she had no idea what that was. Marshall had been using the laptop prior to Jack using it.

"He doesn't seem your type."

Jack frowned then and looked over at her in confusion.

"He's extremely open," she elaborated.

He continued to look at her and then looked away, back at the laptop. "We live two very different lives, doesn't mean he's not my type. Will's open."

Jack had her there. She sipped the tea and said, "I didn't know if you would be okay with the others knowing, I should've-"

"I don't care."

She stared at him and said, "You looked like you cared when we arrived."

"That wasn't my intention. I have the utmost confidence in everyone's ability to remain professional and respectful. We're all adults," he said as he moved the cursor over an area and zoomed in.

"If you weren't concerned about that, then what-"

"Why all the questions?" he asked as he stared over at her.

She sat the bowl down as she turned to face him. "Alright. I'm going to get right to the point."

"Please do," he said with a hint of annoyance.

When Jack was irritated, he got snippy, as Emily would say. "You're my father."

Jack looked away, went to type again, stopped himself, and then looked back at her. "And now you think it's okay to interject yourself into all aspects of my life?"

"I would expect that we could have a conversation."

"You want answers. Not a conversation."

"You're damn right I want answers," she snapped at him in anger. "What exactly happened between you and my mother? What happened to you and why were you gone and why in the hell couldn't you tell me who you were? Most importantly, why did you program me to be a spy when I was six years old, Jack?"

They stared at one another for a long moment. Jack went to say something when he stopped himself and stood. She watched him leave the room and let out a breath. She wanted to yell at him, accuse him of everything she believed him to be, but didn't. Not here. Not now.

Once they secured Will. Then they could yell at one another all they wanted because she would have no other choice but to turn Jack over to the CIA.


En-route to Taiwan

They didn't speak for the rest of the day. They had no problem getting to the airstrip where the private jet was located and once on board, they were in the air and en-route to Taiwan. Jack checked the laptop every half-hour even though Marshall had assured him he had it under control. It wasn't that he didn't trust Marshall, it was that he was worried. Will could be anywhere in the country. There were many places to hideout in Taiwan. There were locations that weren't even mapped. Places in mountains and hills, down in the valleys, that no one knew about unless they traveled there before.

Jack took a drink of water and felt the throbbing in his shoulder getting worse. He'd taken a pain pill and another antibiotic but it didn't do much. He told Sydney he'd be fine, and he would be. He'd push through it like he did everything. He could take the pain, it wasn't anywhere near the amount of pain he felt in his head and chest.

He couldn't even talk to his daughter. He wanted to. He was desperate to, but his hope at ever being a dad to her ended twenty years ago. One day he'd give her all the answers she wanted and deserved. Right then he had no idea how to. His words were stuck in his head, unable to reach his mouth, and every time he thought about saying something, he couldn't do it.

He was a coward. A failure.

And to make matters worse, they were headed right toward Irina. Sydney had no idea she was her mother. How could he tell her? Especially with what he wanted to do to Irina. There was no love for that woman in his heart anymore. All he felt was pure rage. Hate.

He wanted to kill her.

Sydney deserved better than him. He was no longer her father. He couldn't be that man.

He lost his hope of being that man to her a long time ago. There was nothing left. And if Will died...He wouldn't want to fight anymore. Any love he had left would be banished from his heart. Irina would be the one to take it from him, like she'd taken everything else, including his smile.

Will had asked him why he didn't laugh more, smile more.

He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to give away his anguish as he felt the anger rise in his chest. He was going to lose. It didn't matter if he won the game or not, in the end he was always going to lose. But, if he was going to lose then he was going to take Irina down with him.


Taipei, Taiwan

Xizhi District

Jack stared at the building across the street from the Keelung River and worked his jaw. Nearly three decades later and the building was still standing. It was older, worn down, with barred windows and chipped paint, moss growing on the side, but it was exactly where it had been all those years ago. The only difference was the name of the restaurant.

In 1974, there had been about 30,000 US troops stationed in Taiwan until the US established diplomatic relations with the People's Republic of China. Back then, the threat of Communism was very real in the Pacific and the fear was that Taiwan would lead to another Vietnam. He'd been stationed in Vietnam and remembered how Laura wanted to visit him. She had something very important to talk to him about.

He had arranged for a trip the following month to Taiwan in September and had flown her out to join him. The trip was business, but he had found the time for the personal as he showed his wife around Taipei and along the Keelung river on a motorbike. It'd been a very humid day and in the middle of Typhoon season.

The beautiful day had quickly turned into a downpour of rain that seemed to last for days. They had found the restaurant and he'd parked the motorbike right inside the opening under the canopy. The restaurant didn't have walls or windows or even a door. It was open to the road with parking in front for bikes. At night when they closed was when they pulled down the overhead door down.

He could see right inside and sitting there, at the table in the back right corner, was Laura. Not Laura, he reminded himself. Irina. Setting his jaw, he walked across the street and into the restaurant.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said before using her foot to push a stool out from under the table so he could sit down.

"This isn't the same restaurant," he said as he sat down across from her. There was a teapot on the table between them and two cups.

"Different name, same location and noodles," she said before picking up the pot and pouring them both a cup of tea. She knew he would never drink anything unless she drank it first.

"They closed at 9," he said as he picked up the cup and took a sip once she did.

"Only to the public. I arranged for a private party of two. They were very accommodating."

Jack glanced over at the short thin Taiwanese man standing behind the counter. His hands were in front of his body and he stared directly at him. "Your bodyguard?"

"Lady can't be too careful," she said as she took another sip.

Jack stared at her and shook his head. She was wearing a very nice black dress and a necklace around her neck. As he stared at it, he realized it was the one she'd been wearing the night she died. It hadn't been from him, but someone else. She'd told him it was a gift from a friend. She never elaborated on who the "friend" was. He never questioned it. Now, he wished he had.

"I've thought you dead for so long now that seeing you alive only proves that my only purpose in life is to suffer."

"That bad?" she said with an amused smirk.

He stared at her and tried not to let the hatred he felt for her beat him. His anger was so close to the surface, it felt like a shark stalking its prey under the calm surface of the water. All he needed was a reason to attack. He wanted a reason.

"Twenty-eight years ago, in this building, you told me I was going to be a father," he said before taking a drink of the tea. "And in that moment, I knew what I had to do. I had to marry you. I would've asked you anyway, but not here. I had it planned out actually."

"I'm not surprised. You like planning."

"Tell me, Irina, what's next week?"

She looked at him in confusion as she said, "How am I supposed to know?"

"I can't believe that after all these years, you have never once thought about our daughter."

"You don't know that, Jack."

"I do know that, Laura," he said as he glared at her. "I think about her all the time, especially on April 17th."

Irina reached up and touched her necklace, but her face remained neutral. "That's right. It's Sydney's birthday."

"I'm not surprised you don't remember. You never did," he accused her as he remembered the truth in that statement.

"Don't act like you were a perfect father. You didn't even want children and you spent most of your days away at work or on missions. Were they all missions, Jack, or were some of them getaways with someone special?"

"I never cheated on you."

"You should've, then we both would've been honest about who we were. Maybe we would've been happier."

He finished the tea and shook his head at her. "You're right, I didn't want children. I was afraid of being exactly like my father," he admitted. "All that changed when I held Sydney in my arms for the first time." He stared over at her and shook his head at her unemotional and detached view of the child they created together. "How tiny and vulnerable she was. At that moment, she became my entire world. Nothing else was as important, not even the job. I was ready to quit the agency. Remember that? I told you I was done and that I wanted to be home more, to be a more present father in her life. And instead, I returned home to your death. Even after I found out about your deception, that you were KGB, I thought maybe you were planning to defect and that was why-"

"You really thought I would defect so I could be little Mrs. Betty Homemaker?" she asked in disbelief.

"No. I thought you would defect to remain a mother to your daughter. I thought you loved her enough to make that sacrifice. I should have known...You don't even hate enough to love. You don't feel anything. You're a sociopath."

"Now you're just being mean. Oh, Jack, I've got news for you. I never wanted to have your child."

That stung. She didn't want to have his child? Jack fought down the urge to hit her. God, he wanted to strike out at her, but he couldn't. Instead, he said in sudden understanding, "You were ordered by the Centre to get pregnant. You manufactured a family with me to steal classified information."

She stared at him in amazement that he was just now realizing that. "How else was I going to get a closeted gay man to marry me?"

He felt his hand twitch, then his jaw, as he said, "At least I didn't prostitute myself out as part of my job and then fake my death to get out of being a parent."

She glared at him as she said, "What have you been doing over the course these last twenty years, Jack? Have you slept with any prostitutes?" He glared right back at her and then she laughed a little. "Had you quit the agency," she said, "you would have no longer been useful to us. I had no reason to stay."

"You had Sydney," he said.

"She had the nanny."

The coldness in that statement, the truth in that statement, had him on the edge. Jack felt the anger hit his chest all over again. The pure hatred he had for the woman in front of him was nearly overpowering. "I lived for the moments I had with her. You took all that away from me."

"I didn't take anything away from you, Jack. The CIA did-"

"Because of you," he snapped. "They thought I knew you were a Russian spy! They thought I helped you! Not only did you make me a fool, you made me into a liar and a traitor to my country. I was disgraced, imprisoned, but worst of all, a failure and then a stranger to my daughter! I've had to live with that for twenty years. And you think you get to sit here in front of me, alive and free, telling me that you never once wondered about our daughter because she meant nothing to you? That the misery you caused everyone isn't your fault? I'm not going to let you live another twenty years getting to do the same," he said as he pulled his gun and aimed it directly between her eyes.

Irina didn't even flinch as she said, "You shoot me, he shoots you," as she glanced toward the man behind the food counter.

"I'm good with death as long as I get to take you with me."

Her eyes locked with his as she realized this game was over.

"You may be good with that, but I'm not."

Jack froze at hearing Sydney's voice. He looked over and saw both her and Vaughn. They both had their guns drawn, Vaughn was aiming his at the man behind the counter and she was aiming hers at him. "We both know you're not going to shoot me."

"Maybe not, but you aren't going to shoot her," Sydney told him as she looked toward the woman she just found out was her mother. "She's the only one who can tell us where Will is."

"That's the thing isn't it," Jack said as he looked back at Irina. "You've made yourself invaluable. Except there is something I know that you don't."

"And what's that, Jack?" Irina asked as she picked up the cup of tea.

He laid cold eyes on hers as he said, "I tagged Will with a passive transmitter after Sark tried to kill him. It's programmed to send a signal when his heart rate reaches 150 BPM. It went active an hour ago."

Her eyes went wide.

He squeezed the trigger.

Irina's head snapped back as her hand dropped the tea cup before she fell forward and landed on the table.

Another shot was fired and he turned and saw blood splatter behind the wall where the Taiwanese man had once stood. Vaughn had shot him.

Jack looked back at his now dead ex-wife and felt horribly satisfied. He stood, turned, and walked right by Sydney as she stood gapping at him in disbelief and shock. There was no apology; he had nothing to apologize for.

"Why did you do that!" she suddenly yelled at him as she followed him out of the restaurant.

"I told Will I was considering my own happiness. That made me happy."

Sydney stepped in front of him and put her hand out to stop him. There was a lot going on in her eyes and on her face. Anger, hurt, shock and fear, but mostly sadness. He never wanted any of this, but this was the way it was and had to be. Irina was better off to the both of them dead.

"Sydney, that woman has been dead to you for twenty years, and she would have been for twenty more regardless-"

"She was still my mother!"

"Whatever fantasy you had of who your mother was, is just that, a fantasy. Irina wasn't your mother! She never was your mother. She gave birth to you and that was it. I took care of you and when I had to be away, the nanny did. Irina didn't love you. She didn't care about you. And because she was a KGB spy who betrayed us, her family, I was the one who lost you while she was the one who got to get away!"

"And you think that gave you the right!"

Jack glared down at his daughter as he told her, "If anyone has ever deserved to die twice, it's Irina Derevko. Make no mistake, Sydney, if given the choice, her life or yours, she would have killed you herself if it meant her survival. As for me? I'd blow my own brains out if it meant saving your life. Don't you dare mourn for that woman."

He walked around her, leaving her to her sadness, as he walked to the car. Vaughn was already there but leaning over the railing and looking out at the river and the skyline of the Taipei district of Xizhi. Reaching up, he yanked at his tie and pulled it away from his neck. It wasn't as humid as it was in September, but it was still Taiwan.

Looking at Vaughn, he asked, "Was he going for a gun?"

Vaughn shook his head. "He hesitated. I didn't."

Jack looked him over and asked, "Why?"

Turning toward him, Vaughn said, "Irina was the KGB agent who murdered CIA agents in the late seventies and early eighties, wasn't she? Including my father." Jack didn't respond, Vaughn already knew the answer. "The least I could do was stop her from murdering another one tonight." He stared at him as he said, "And you already knew I was William Vaughn's son."

He gave a nod. "I knew Bill. When you were recruited into SD-6...I gave you a hard time."

"You don't need to apologize-"

"That wasn't an apology." He glared at him as he asked, "Are you and Sydney…" Vaughn looked at him and shook his head. "Good. And if that changes...don't tell me."

"What does that mean?"

"That means, Agent Vaughn, that I do not care about Sydney's intimate life. I do not need to know, I do not want to know. And if I find out you're sleeping with her, and then you break her heart because you're not good enough for her...You'll be as dead as Irina." He then looked up at the sky and around at the buildings as he said, "We have to get to Will. It's going to storm and the mountains are prone to landslides."

Vaughn looked over his shoulder. "I don't know if she'll be okay."

"She will be," he said as he leaned back against the car and crossed his arms. He looked over at Sydney as she finally holstered her gun and turned to walk toward them. "She's a Bristow."

TBC…

Polling Question: Was anyone really wanting Irina to live? No? No one? Okay then.