In The Air Tonight, Part 16
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Breaking out in a cold sweat, Michael Vaughn thought, This is a nightmare… before he mentally amended, No, this is worse than any nightmare I've ever had… Vaughn was pretty sure he'd remember a dream that involved being caught naked in his bed by the enemy.
"What? You have nothing to say to me?" asked the voice. "You've never been at a loss for words with me before…" The speaker slunk forward, face still in shadow. However, glimmering in the shaft of moonlight was a 9mm Luger pistol with an attached silencer, pointed straight at him.
Despite being held at gunpoint, Vaughn was having trouble keeping his temper in check. "That's most likely because I've never been ambushed by you in my bedroom, Irina," Vaughn snapped.
Stepping closer so the moon side-lit her lithe frame, the eyes of his father's killer sparkled with humor. "A pity for you, certainly…" Irina drawled, sounding amused. She spent several moments leisurely perusing his body from head to toe. Vaughn's back stiffened and his fists clenched at his sides under her purposefully insulting scrutiny. His reaction only appeared to amuse Irina Derevko further. "But also for me, perhaps? It's easy to see what my daughter would find attractive about you…" she baited.
Vaughn fought the urge to pull the blankets up to properly cover himself. Although it repulsed him to be so exposed in front of Irina, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing the depth of discomfort she had caused in him. Instead, he raised his chin slightly and glared menacingly at her, hatred blazing in his eyes. He said coldly, in clipped tones, "Is there is some pressing reason to grace me with your presence? One more important than trading sexual innuendos about my…assets, I presume. If this were meant to be an assassination, you would have killed me by now. So that really only leaves one option—obviously, you want something from me. What do you want?"
Irina was amazed at how much this young man sounded like Jack Bristow when he did that. In fact, he reminded her a great deal of the idealistic young CIA agent she'd once married. Like mother, like daughter, she thought to herself. Her appearance suddenly solemn, she replied, "I want to know how my daughter is. Is she still alive?"
"Why the hell should you care?" Vaughn spit back. "You can use the façade of the loving mother with Sydney, but not with me. You and I both know she's not a daughter to you. She's nothing more to you than a pawn in whatever grand scheme you're planning."
A bullet discharged from the pistol, whistling past Vaughn's leg by a fraction of an inch, lodging itself deep into his mattress. "Don't you ever talk about my love for Sydney that way again," Irina seethed. "It was no accident that I missed, Mr. Vaughn. Another comment like that and I guarantee that the next one will be in your chest. Now, answer my question."
Vaughn gritted his teeth, but he complied with Irina's demand. "Sydney is still alive, although she was badly injured in her struggle with the double. The doctors aren't yet sure if she'll pull through."
Irina bit her lip. Even to Vaughn, she seemed disturbed by the news. Finally, she said, as much to herself as to Vaughn, "I was not the one that planted the double. That was something orchestrated by Sark and Sloane. When I discovered how dangerous it was becoming for Sydney…I knew I had to do something."
"You had to do what?" Vaughn asked, incredulous. "Steal the information that Sydney needed to save Will Tippin? If you truly wanted to help her, why not simply tell her the identity of the double?"
Irina's eyes narrowed dangerously and then she sighed impatiently. "It's not that simple, Mr. Vaughn, nor are things always what they seem. While I wanted to help Sydney, in order to maintain my cover, I had to make it appear as if I were helping Sloane. The plan was to retrieve the intel before the CIA so that I could use the DNA strand as a tool to force Sydney to exchange something we needed in return: a keycard to the secret NSA lab where the Dereno heart was being kept."
Vaughn's jaw clenched in anger at the thought of Irina Derevko using Sydney in this way, but dared not open his mouth.
Off Vaughn's look, Irina explained, "But my true purpose was to use the encounter to give Sydney the intel on where to find Sloane's artifact warehouse."
"Intel that turned out to be false; intel that facilitated the theft of the Dereno heart and the abduction of Jack Bristow. It appeared your plan succeeded after all," Vaughn concluded coldly.
"No! That was not part of the plan!" Irina denied. "Somehow—I don't know how—Sloane anticipated my betrayal and had the artifacts moved to another location. Mexico City, as it turned out."
"It's no secret that you've thwarted the Rambaldi investigation at every turn. You masterminded the theft of all the Rambaldi artifacts being held by the U.S. Government. You used the emotional attachments of your own husband and daughter to secure your freedom from CIA custody and joined with their enemy. Now, suddenly you want to us to confiscate the very items you stole? Why do I find that hard to believe?" Vaughn queried suspiciously.
"The Prophecy," Irina answered, as if the two words explained everything.
Vaughn's eyes widened in surprise, but decided to feign innocence. "What are you talking about?"
Irina Derevko was not fooled. "You know exactly what I speak of, Mr. Vaughn. You were one of the first people to view the prophecy revealed on Page 47 of the Rambaldi manuscript. 'This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will be the one to bring forth my work; bind them with fury, a burning anger. Unless prevented, at vulgar cost this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.'" Irina quoted.
"Yes." There was no point in denying it, Vaughn reasoned, since Haladki knew all about Page 47 and had worked for Derevko before his untimely demise at the hands of Jack Bristow.
"This prophecy is not about me, Mr. Vaughn. It is about Sydney."
"No," Vaughn denied. "It's not. Sydney's been to Mount Sebacio. The prophecy said…"
Irina cut him off. "…It said 'This woman without pretense, will have had her effect, never having seen the beauty of my sky behind Mount Sebacio. Perhaps a single glance would have quelled her fire.'"
"Yes."
Irina continued, "What you don't know, Mr. Vaughn, is that the phrase 'the beauty of my sky' refers to a singular event Milo Rambaldi witnessed, not the sky in general."
"What!?" Vaughn said, astounded. "What event?"
"You're aware, I presume, that one of Rambaldi's many passions was the study of the heavenly bodies that make up our skies?"
Vaughn nodded.
"In 1530, there was the concurrence of a total solar eclipse over Italy with the passing of Haley's comet. Rambaldi wrote in other, lesser-known journals about the incredible ability to see the comet in the middle of the day while the earth eclipsed the sun. That is what 'the beauty of my sky' means," Irina explained.
A knot of foreboding grew in Vaughn's stomach.
Irina went on, "So unless Sydney happened to witness a comet in the daytime during a solar eclipse while on Mount Sebacio, her trip to Italy served no purpose other than to get the American authorities to let her go."
Many moments passed between them in silence.
"How do I know what you've just told me is true?" Vaughn questioned at last, skepticism lacing his voice.
"You don't," Irina replied matter-of-factly. "However, even you must be able to admit that I am considered an expert in the works of Rambaldi."
After a moment, Vaughn grudgingly nodded.
"Then you should understand that I would be in a better position to properly translate Rambaldi's prophesy than you."
Anger flashed across Michael Vaughn's features. Stubbornly he denied, "Sydney Bristow is not a traitor."
"I am not suggesting that she is, Mr. Vaughn," Irina replied calmly, her 9mm still pointed at his chest to guard against any sudden moves. "My daughter would never willingly assist in the destruction of the world as we know it. We both know that. However, as I have recently discovered, she may have no choice."