Believe

Chapter Fourteen

The Coming

The warehouse that Jack spoke of was dank and cold. Sydney didn't like the idea of Rogan being kept in this building, but she had the feeling that this warehouse was the least of her worries as far as what Rogan had been experiencing lately. No matter what Sark claimed about trying to protect Rogan, he couldn't stop the child from being exposed to everything. Especially where her mother was concerned. Rogan seemed to be taking the whole deal as a grand adventure that only proved that he was her child, through and through. He skipped around the center of the floor, delighted at the space that was provided. He had obviously been cooped up for far too long, needing the area to play and enjoy himself. Still, something seemed a little different with him. His innocence was tarnished now, the poor boy having no choice in the matter. She was sorry that she had brought him into this, even though she hadn't truly been a part of it.

Jack's unhappiness with Sark's presence was apparent to everyone involved, including Rogan. He didn't understand why his grandfather didn't like Mr. Sark, but he could tell that there wasn't much that could change it. Maybe Mr. Sark hadn't shared his toys with Grandpa. Rogan stopped skipping when he heard the piercing voice Jack held, commanding Sark and Sydney to join him at the small table in the corner of the building. Sark followed the demand almost reluctantly, nothing new, since he wasn't one to take orders. Jack seemed to have some kind of strategy session in mind. What Sark really wanted was to read his mother's journal, in hopes of finding some clue to this Rambaldi mess and how he played a part in it. He had no doubt that Alecksandria had mentioned it, since apparently he was the Guardian. Sark was far from willing to reveal the journal to Sydney and Jack, though, so he decided to play along with Jack. It wouldn't hurt to plan for whatever Irina's attack would be.

Rogan sat down next to the black leather case Mr. Sark had brought with him. He was bored now. At first, the building had seemed like it would be a great playground for games. But everyone was busy, and they didn't want him to bother them. He could tell, even though Mommy had never said for him not to talk to them. He decided that figuring out what Mr. Sark had brought with him would be a better game for him to play. He had had that long tube of paper that he had taken from Grandmother Irina and McKennas. He had seen Mr. Sark take it out of the bag. But there had to be more in it than the paper. He wondered if he would have any books or toys in it. Maybe a gun…like the one he had used to hurt McKennas. Rogan unzipped the bag slowly, a mischievous smile on his face. This was like playing spy or something. They had tried playing that at preschool, before he had gone on the trip with Mr. Sark. He found a gun, just like he had thought he would. It didn't look like a plastic one either. There were a few other things in there, a knife, a small phone, a computer, a tiny toy car like the ones that had been in the bedroom at the house they had been at before…and a book. It looked like a notebook that big kids used for school, so he pulled it out to see what was in it. This was the book Mr. Sark had said was his mother's. Fancy writing scrolled across the page, making Rogan wish he could read really well already. He was just starting to read, and he had been really proud until he saw this. He wondered what it said. A-l-e-c-k-s-a-n-d-r-i-a. That looked like a name. But he couldn't be sure. He looked from the book to Mr. Sark. That wasn't how Mr. Sark would be spelled. Too long. Maybe that was his mommy's name. He bit his lip and tried to decide whether to ask Mr. Sark about it or not. He might be mad if he found out that Rogan had looked through his bag. No, he wouldn't ask. He would wait until he learned to read better. Then he would know what it said.

Sydney kept stealing glances at Rogan when she first sat down at the table while Jack wanted to discuss logistics. He wasn't going to wait for Irina to come to them. They were going to go to her. This was the only way to break the Prophecy that declared that she would be coming after them. They would meet her head on, not have to deal with a surprise attack. Jack had intel that Irina was in Istanbul as of late yesterday afternoon. She had left Whitechapel for the city after she had surveyed Sark's cottage, presumably disappointed in finding it empty. None of them were sure why Irina had chosen Istanbul, but they weren't going to wait to find out why. Jack outlined a rather clever plan for them to surround her at the building she was staying out, leaving Sydney to face down her mother and Sark to protect Rogan. Jack would ultimately capture or kill Irina, and the Rambaldi prophecy would come to an end, with Sydney and Rogan coming out on the winning side. No major world catastrophes, no deaths that would end Rogan's world. All would be well, as long as they attacked her. Oddly enough, no one seemed to realize that this seemed to fall right into Rambaldi's prophecy, leaving Sark in a somewhat precarious position, Rogan open to kidnapping once more, and Sydney and Jack to death. Perhaps it was distraction all around that left these three off their game; Sydney consumed with worry for Rogan, Sark pondering his mother's part in Rambaldi, and Jack afraid of leaving Sark with Rogan in case he decided to turn on them all once more. Sydney wasn't the first to notice what Rogan was up to, as he slid the book over to his own backpack. Sark was on his feet and to the child in no time. Sydney tried to figure out what Rogan had a hold of, but Sark's fire was evident.

He ripped the book from Rogan, trying to keep his anger in check. The child had gone through his bag a deliberately taken his mother's journal, even after he knew what it was. Now the others knew about the journal, too. Not only that, but Rogan could have picked up his gun, shot himself, hurt any of them. He had to remember Rogan's age, remember that he was an inquisitive child. But at the moment, he wanted to punish him.

"Don't ever rummage through my belongings again, Rogan. My possessions are not yours to have free reign with. Do you understand!"

Rogan seemed shocked by this side of Sark. Not that he hadn't seen Sark angry, though the passion towards Rogan was rarely shown towards anyone else. Usually, he was a cool, seething type. Rogan nodded slowly, upset that he had angered Sark. Sark had always given Rogan the utmost care and respect, no matter what he had done to anyone else.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sark. I dinn't mean to make you mad."

"Just don't do it again."

Sydney had been standing closely behind Sark, like a mother lioness ready to pounce on Sark if he decided to do anything that might harm Rogan. Surprisingly, Sark just picked up his bag and walked towards the weaponry area of the warehouse where Jack was removing several choices to take with them on their field trip to Istanbul.

Rogan looked up at Sydney with sad eyes. "I made him mad. I dinn't want to. He won't like me anymore."

Sydney enfolded her child in her arms. This little boy idolized Sark in a way that was dangerous. Mr. Sark shouldn't be that influential in Rogan's life. Sark was far from the idealized male role model that Sydney wanted in his life, no matter what Sark meant to her (when she allowed herself to admit it). Still, she comforted him.

"That book must be very special to him. And he doesn't want you to snoop. You know that's not okay, to go through other people's things."

"It was his mommy's book. I wanted to know what it said. But I couldn't read it."

Sydney looked distractedly over to Sark, wondering just what that book said. She knew part of the story of Sark and his mother. But she wondered if that book held the rest.

The plane to Istanbul was eerily quiet. Rogan was starting to wear down, as any child would after days of travel. He was stretched out on a small bench on the back of the plane, his dark hair falling into his face, hair that should have been trimmed a long time ago. He looked unhappy, his face in a pouting scowl, causing Sydney to wonder what her child was dreaming about. He certainly had plenty of life experience to cause nightmares, especially for a near four year old. Sydney was afraid to take her eyes off of his face, almost like if she turned her back, he would disappear once again. It wasn't like this experience had been the first time they'd been separated. She had missed so much time in his short life that she felt like she needed to hold onto him even tighter to make sure he never slipped from her grasp again. Despite all the circumstances of his conception, she loved Rogan with her whole heart and she couldn't keep failing him as a mother as she had before.

She resisted the urge to hold Rogan, because she knew this would only wake him up. Once he was awake, he would remain that way for hours. So she decided to focus her attention on something else. Or someone else. Her father was flying the plane, one of the talents she hadn't realized he had. She and Sark were left in the cabin, with Rogan, alone. Sark was sitting in the corner of the plane, near a window, the blackness from the night standing out against Sark's blond hair. He had the book out that Rogan had been hiding earlier; the book that Rogan had said was Sark's mothers. Alecksandria. She was something Sydney couldn't figure out. Alecksandria was a woman so dissimilar from her own mother, yet in other ways just as obsessive. If that was a journal, Alecksandria's turmoil could be spilled across those pages, explaining how she could give up her obsession for her child, explain that vital mother gene that Irina was missing. She could explain Rambaldi to her. But Sark was absorbed in it's pages, a disturbed look so similar to Rogan's sleeping face that made Sydney wonder what was troubling him as well.

Alecksandria hadn't written about Rambaldi. Not at first. Sark had been surprised that she hadn't immediately launched into Rambaldi's praises. The first entries detailed long days she had spent with her son, days that Sark had more or less forgotten about as years passed: trips to the park, a visit to a toy store, a row boat adventure on the lake. She seemed very much the doting mother, happy with the life she had made, not missing his father, completely focused on her son. But the tone turned darker, as the journal went on, at the mention of his father contacting her. Fear that he would try to take his son away, that he had known that Sark was his child, had shadowed the first mentions of Adrian Lazarey in this notebook. But it had turned just as fast as the journal's tones had. He had found something. Rambaldi had another prophecy. Lazarey couldn't translate it. He needed Alecksandria's help, because the Guardian's role was supposed to be explained through this one. Alecksandria had been unable to turn him down, though the decision was near impossible for her to make. She hadn't wanted to turn back to the life, turn back to Rambaldi, but she had known who the Guardian was all along. Just as Irina would bear the Chosen, she had born the Guardian. She had to know her son's part in the Prophecy, so she could protect him from it. Alecksandria's very words sounded just like Sydney's a few short days ago, that he could suddenly parallel their lives. Parents' misbegotten hope to protect their children from Rambaldi and spying seemed to appear in every generation, starting with Jack and Alecksandria. Would any of those hopes for protection ever come through?

He glanced up to see Sydney studying him. He didn't want to look away from her, he wanted to show her that she and his mother had felt the same things for their sons, no matter how different they were. But he couldn't. He didn't know if she would want to understand. Besides, he needed to continue reading. The diary went on, detailing Alecksandria's last meetings with Adrian, her work with the prophecy translations. Her beginnings of panic started to show through her words. She obviously didn't like what she was finding. Finally, he discovered the entry he had been looking for. The translation.

I will not let this happen to my child. I've been following Rambaldi for years and never once sought to question him, not until I found that Irina and I were to battle each other for our place in the Covenant. I refused to leave my son behind, to chance my life and his, for some foolish quest based on a prophet's dream from centuries past. I thought my leaving the Covenant behind would ensure our safety. I was so incredibly wrong. I suppose there is no way to run from destiny.

When Adrian contacted me, I feared that Julian would be ripped away from me. In a way, he has been. I don't know how I can stop this from happening, but I will not let my son be sacrificed. He deserves so much more than death at an early age. I burned the papyrus this was on, hoping that if Adrian and the rest couldn't find the Prophecy, it wouldn't come true. I know this is a unrealistic hope on my part.

Rambaldi believes that The Guardian, child of a traitorous follower, will play a major part in The Coming. When The Coming arrives, his death will signify the heir's choice. The Guardian, my Julian, will try his best to protect the child from the Fanatical, but her dedication to Rambaldi will prevail. Rambaldi will prevail. When the Guardian's blood spills, the child will come into his full powers. He will turn on all, the Fanatical, the Chosen, and any one else that stands in his path. His young age will leave him unable to control the powers he possesses, and when he is done, the world will be in a turmoil never seen before.

I don't know how to stop my son from playing a part in this, how to keep him from Rambaldi. I don't know how much longer I will be here to keep him away from The Covenant. If they ever discover who my son is, discover what part he plays, he will be pulled into a world I wish he would never have to see. Julian is a strong boy, but with the right forces at work, he will be destroyed. They all will. I can only hope Irina never finds out about him. And that I am around long enough to stop him from finding out his destiny. But Adrian will know what I've done. He will know that I've taken it with me. And I fear that will be the end of my life.

The journal ended not too many entries after that. His father had likely killed his mother. He had never felt too emotionally attached to the idea of a father, so he wasn't shocked. He'd been in the spy world for far too long. His mother had known about the Coming. She had given him the information he had needed about the Coming, so he could change it. He could only hope to change it. But there seemed to be a long line of hopes to change the prophecies that seemed futile. Still, he would be ready for Irina this time. He would bring an end to this madness.

He looked back up to see Sydney comforting Rogan. He had awakened at the plane's descent, crying about the turbulence, and popping in his ears. She was trying to comfort him the best way she knew how, though she had long ago lost the effect of the pressure in her eardrums after so many flights and loud explosions. He sympathized with the child for the pain he was in, but his thoughts returned to the next few hours. Soon, Rogan could be the one bring pain. They were there. Istanbul.