IV

There were a lot of options for who could come knocking on Vaughn's apartment door late at night, some of them scarier than others.

Jack Bristow ranked pretty highly on the list whatever rating system you used.

Vaughn stepped back, not so much to let him in as out of nerves. Jack moved in just far enough to close the door behind him.

"Irina Derevko made contact with my daughter earlier today," he said without preamble.

"Son of a bitch," Vaughn swore. "I knew there was something up..." Sydney had trained reflexes, but they weren't on a hair trigger. It wasn't like her to be jumpy over nothing.

"Irina wants to arrange a meet with Sydney tonight."

"Do the CIA know?" he asked.

"Sydney feels that her best chance of making contact is to go alone." Jack managed to project his disdain, discomfort and distaste for that plan, all without visibly moving his face. "I was able to convince her to allow me to observe."

Vaughn shook his head. "That's not enough." Nobody should be meeting with Irina Derevko without a fully fledged strike team ready to move in.

"Agreed," Jack said. "Which is why I want you on the scene as well."

He frowned in confusion. "Sydney-?"

"Sydney is unaware of this arrangement. And provided the meet goes off without difficulty, will stay that way." The threat was clear, but Vaughn couldn't help beginning to smile.

"You're picking me?"

Jack's eyebrows lowered fiercely. "Believe me, Agent Vaughn, you would not be my first, second, third or top twenty-five choice for this operation. However," he made it sound like a dirty word, "for reasons best known to herself my daughter would consider you the least objectionable choice. You can, I trust, be relied upon to put Sydney's safety first?"

Meaning above the CIA regulations that required him to even now be reporting Syd and Jack for conspiracy with a wanted enemy operative. He straightened up to meet Jack's gaze. "Of course."

"Good. The meet is scheduled to take place in the bar of the Summit hotel shortly before midnight. Be in position at least two hours early, and do not let Sydney see you."

Vaughn didn't have to worry about seeing him out, because he turned and left without a further word. Vaughn went through into the bedroom to grab some more suitable clothes for hanging around in hotel bars. As he did, his gaze fell on the photo of him and Syd that had newly acquired pride of place on his dresser.

"I think your dad's starting to warm to me," he told it.


Sydney couldn't quite escape the feeling that she should be wearing a wig.

Technically, there was no reason to, since the hotel wasn't hostile territory and she was fully intending to be recognised by her target. She'd improvised a disguise without the CIA's resources before, but for this it would be pointless overkill. Her own work suits and natural brown hair painted the portrait of a weary business traveller as well as anything costuming had in their closets.

Still, there was something comforting about the procedure of getting dressed up for an op. It was like putting on armour, stepping into somebody else's skin. She felt oddly naked without it.

She entered the bar at twenty-three fifteen and spent a long time nursing one drink. She could take in quite a lot of alcohol without it compromising her field effectiveness, but if she was going to be tangling with her mother she wanted all her wits about her.

Though she hated to admit it, she was slightly reassured to know her father was installed in one of the hotel rooms above, studying the security feeds on his laptop. She didn't believe her mom would do her any serious harm, but that didn't mean she was above, say, leaving Sydney handcuffed in an awkward location. Maybe it was as well to have her dad along as backup.

She just hoped her mom still showed.

The hotel bar was not especially busy, but not so quiet that Sydney stood out. She studied the people around her at casual intervals, mostly concentrating on the women but not completely ignoring the men. It was possible her mother would send an intermediary.

Just as long as it wasn't Sark. She'd had quite enough of his insufferable smugness as he stole one Rambaldi piece after another out from under her.

Her mother was winning this war. So what did she want? It would have to be a major prize to risk appearing on US soil. Was it what Sloane had said - she needed the artefacts in the CIA's possession to add to her own collection? Did she think she could manipulate Sydney into gaining her access to them?

Sydney's jaw tightened. If her mom was planning to dupe her, Sydney would turn the game back on her. She would be the one to bring her mother into custody. Better that than the hail of bullets the rest of the CIA would be just as happy to see her operations end in. And at least if she were in jail Sydney could actually go and see her, try to disentangle the truth from the layers of lies.

What did her mom want? What was she doing this for? Was it solely about power? Had she ever cared anything for the two of them at all? Her dad might prefer to cling grimly to his worst-case scenarios rather than contemplate it at all, but Sydney needed to know.

"Sydney." Despite her vigilance, it was it was her father's voice in her ear that first alerted her. "To your left," he said over the comms.

She looked over casually, in the act of putting her glass down after she'd finished the last dregs that she'd been nursing for ten minutes. There was a woman in a large concealing hat. Sydney could see little of her but the curve of her arm and a fraction of her profile. It looked familiar.

Apparently aware of her scrutiny, the woman placed her half-finished drink on the bar and rose to move away. Sydney slipped down from her own bar stool to follow. "In pursuit," she murmured into the mike, lips barely moving.

"Don't let her lead you out of the building," her dad cautioned.

As she left the bar, she saw her mother's figure just disappearing into the women's restrooms. Of course: the quick and simple way to avoid security camera coverage. It would mean her father would be blind; acting off the books, they hadn't had time to rig surveillance of their own, only hack into the hotel's existing feeds. She was surprised and grateful when he didn't object to her following her mother. Maybe he'd actually accepted the fact she could look after herself.

"Mom?" she said, as the restroom door fell shut behind her, but the woman with the hat didn't turn. Sydney stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder to turn her - and found herself looking into the startled face of a stranger.

A stranger who was too close a physical match to her mother for it to be a simple mistake. She was a ringer. From the way she gaped at Sydney fearfully, probably a random innocent persuaded with a wad of cash. The meet was a setup. And if Sydney wasn't the target of the ruse, then...

She spun around and ran out of the restroom, speaking into the hidden mike. "Dad? Dad!"

There was no response.


The first warning Jack got was the faint snick of the hotel room's lock being picked. He scrambled up, but didn't have time to draw his weapon before the door bounced open. He wasn't surprised to be faced with the sight of a cold-eyed woman pointing a gun at him.

He was surprised to see that the woman wasn't Irina Derevko.

She had short dark hair, the near-masculinity of the severe cut countered by blood red lipstick and features that were classically beautiful despite the signs of middle age. When she spoke, it was with a Russian accent and a faint twist of amusement.

"The famous Agent Bristow. I've heard so much about you."

"Perhaps I could say the same, if we'd been properly introduced," he said coolly. There was no point pretending a case of mistaken identity. He had little doubt she was working for Irina. His eyes darted sideways to the laptop to seek out Sydney on the feeds, but the angle made it impossible to read the screen.

The woman smirked. "Some know me as the Black Sparrow."

It was quite an attractive smirk... And that was neither a helpful nor a particularly focused thought. Jack narrowed his eyes. "Is there any point in asking what you want?"

"It's the prerogative of the woman to be mysterious," she said. She gestured to him with a nod. "And to give the orders. Move away from the laptop."

He could go for his own gun, but she'd shoot him before he drew it. Being a live hostage was always better than being a dead hero, as one of his old CIA instructors used to say. Jack did as he was told.

"Entrenched roles are always a sign of an... unimaginative... relationship," he said.

The woman smiled. "What can I say?" she said lightly. "I enjoy being in control. Take off your coat."

Despite the flirting, he somehow doubted he was being compelled to perform a striptease. As he shrugged out of the long coat and tossed it onto the hotel bed, his shoulder holster was left plainly exposed. Her smile broadened. "Take that off too."

He gave the holster the same treatment. "Anything else?" he asked pointedly.

She grinned, briefly showing her teeth. "Perhaps later."

She moved to the bed, but ignored the gun, instead picking up Jack's coat. Draped over her gun arm, it hid the weapon neatly and naturally; a sharp-eyed and thoughtful observer might note that it was a man's coat and wonder why she was the one to carry it, but in Jack's experience, few people were either.

He let her lead him out of the room and toward the rear stairs, alert for an opportunity but not expecting to get one. The Black Sparrow, whoever she was, was far too professional. Jack stepped through the door into the stairwell-

-And saw a shadow to the left that he resolutely ignored. He held the door open politely for his captor.

"Good boy," she said. "Now-"

Agent Vaughn stepped out of the shadows and took a swing at her.

He showed what Jack had to grudgingly admit was a commendable lack of hesitation to hit a woman, but the Black Sparrow clearly had good reflexes. She twisted in time to turn a solid hit into a glancing blow, and lashed out at Vaughn with a kick of her own. Jack took the opportunity to go for her gun hand, and her weapon went clattering down the stairs to the corner below.

The Sparrow jabbed him with a violent elbow and went after it.

He and Vaughn both had to duck as a shot echoed through the stairwell - not aimed, but all the more dangerous for it. By the time Jack dared straighten up he knew it was too late to bother giving chase. Whether she'd planned to take him somewhere or just shoot him in a more discreet location, she would have transport waiting.

And he had other priorities.

"Sydney," he said urgently.

It was all the instruction Vaughn needed to join him in his headlong rush down to the bar.


There were few things that Sydney hated more than being out of the action.

Being deliberately kept out of the action while it threatened others was one of them.

"And you've never seen this woman before?" she asked her dad. They'd retreated to Vaughn's apartment - fairly weird for all of them, but they needed privacy; her place was out because of Francie, and her dad's would have been even weirder. She'd only been there for the first time herself a matter of hours ago.

Back when this had seemed like a big opportunity and not a complete and total disaster.

"She called herself the Black Sparrow," her dad said. "I'll investigate, but we'll need to keep this off the radar."

"Yeah." She rubbed her face and sighed. Dammit. It would have been better to bring the CIA in after all. "We don't know for sure this was Mom," she said, lowering her hand.

Her father's eyebrows drew together in a fierce scowl. "She's by far the most logical suspect."

"Then why didn't she show up herself?" she demanded. "It would have been a much more effective distraction than paying some stranger to impersonate her."

"Maybe she set this up from out of the country," Vaughn said. "Less risk."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But it doesn't make sense. She's had opportunities to get to Dad before. Why go after him now?"

"The Rambaldi task force," her father said. "She obviously hopes to use us to get at the artefacts in the CIA's possession."

Vaughn frowned. "No offence, but why you? Surely she would expect Sydney to be more cooperative."

He tilted the apologetic look her way as well, but really, it was hard to take being called more open to persuasion than her father as much of an insult. Rocks were more open to persuasion than her father, especially when it came to the subject of her mother.

"You assume that she was intending me to cooperate voluntarily," he said darkly.

Sydney shuddered at the thought of her mother torturing her father. She didn't want to believe her mom could do it - but then, perhaps that was exactly why she had sent a third party to do the job. Her mother could be as ruthless as Sloane when it came to the pursuit of Rambaldi.

Her father rose. "Whatever Irina's plans, they were thwarted - this time. We must make sure she doesn't get a second opportunity."

He left.

"He does like a dramatic exit, doesn't he?" Vaughn said, after a few moments. Sydney smiled. They sat side by side on the couch for a few moments, feeling a strange teenage awkwardness. Vaughn looked at her. "He's totally waiting to see if you leave, isn't he?"

"I'm sure he's not," she said. Uncertainly.

Vaughn still looked perturbed. "The fact that he brought me in on this op means he's marginally less likely to shoot me, right?"

She grinned, shaking her head. "Do you want me to leave and circle back again?" she teased.

"Could you?" he said hopefully.

Sydney laughed and leaned in to kiss him. If her father was indeed checking up on them, he would just have to learn to cope.