In The Air Tonight, Part 26

- - -

Michael Vaughn was pleasantly shocked at the outpouring of support from his friends and co-workers. "Wow…guys. Um, thanks. I'm sure it would mean a lot to Sydney to know she has such great friends."

Carrie Bowman dared a knowing smile. "We know how much this means to you, too. We all know how important Sydney is to you."

Vaughn wasn't sure how to answer that. Am I really that obvious? he wondered, but he supposed he probably was. He hadn't been that great at hiding his emotions before he and Sydney had finally acted upon their feelings; he was probably even less so now that he was able to have the kind of relationship with her that he could only previously dream about. Still, this was the CIA, and relationships between agents were highly frowned upon. Michael opened his mouth to deny the claim, but found that he just couldn't do it. Finally, he simply said, "Thank you," the solemn tone letting them all know that he truly meant it.

"Well," he said, getting up from his chair and motioning Marshall toward it, "I haven't even had a chance to look at this disc. I have no idea what's on it. Maybe you and Carrie could check this? See if there is any copies of Rambaldi manuscripts you could work on?"

Marshall nodded and sat. Carrie Bowman pulled up a chair from another nearby desk and sat next to him. "But, just make sure you don't use this disc on any CIA computers," Vaughn warned, motioning instead toward his personal laptop. "Irina said she had a hunch that Sloane could have other moles in the CIA and that it was imperative he not find this intel. Of course, knowing Derevko, that thing could include thousands of photos of post-it notes…"

"We'll get right to work on it, Agent Vaughn," Carrie Bowman replied, leaning over so she could see the computer screen over Marshall's shoulder.

"Dixon," he said, turning to him. "We need to make sure there are no live DNA samples anywhere that Sloane could access. That includes the CIA. Many years ago, Sloane worked for the CIA; for all we know, he could still have agents loyal to him imbedded within the ranks."

Dixon gave Vaughn a short nod. Patting him on the shoulder, he said, "I'm on it," and then walked off in the direction of Medical Services.

"Eric," Vaughn turned next to his best friend. "I need you to pull all the intel we have on the Order of Rambaldi. If we have any hope of finding this 'Storyteller'…we need to have some reliable intel on where they originate from, their members…anything."

"Gotcha," he replied. After studying Vaughn's face for a moment, he asked with concern, "What are you going to do?"

Vaughn's features hardened. "I've got someone I need to talk to."

- - -

The sun was much higher in the sky now, a shaft of white light infiltrating the otherwise dismal hospital room. Jack Bristow paced endlessly, casting shadows on the wall each time he passed by the window. He had shrugged off his trench coat, revealing the suit he wore underneath, however, it had lost its freshly creased appearance that Jack's suits always seemed to have. Right now, he was tired, uncomfortable, stubbled, and wrinkled…and none of that factored into his thoughts at all.

All he could think about was this wonderful woman, his daughter, laying between sterile white sheets in front of him. It had been twelve hours now and there was still no real change in her condition, and he was worried. Even with a concussion, he felt that she should have shown some signs of consciousness by now. Or maybe it was just his impatience at waiting for her to get well, he wasn't sure. He was a man unaccustomed to dealing with emotion, but where his daughter was concerned there was no denying them.

His ringing cell phone pulled him from his self-destructive reverie. "Bristow," he intoned harshly, not thrilled with the interruption of his vigil over Sydney's bedside.

"Jack? It's Kendall."

"Yes." Jack verified in a monotone. "What do you want?"

All business, Kendall stated in his slightly condescending way, "We need to talk about your boy, Jack. He's caused quite a ruckus over here this morning."

"Excuse me?" Jack asked, confused. "My…boy?"

"Agent Vaughn," Kendall clarified.

A sliver of ice crept into Jack's otherwise even-toned voice. "I assure you there is no blood relation between Mr. Vaughn and myself."

Kendall sighed with impatience. "You know what I mean, Jack. Did he tell you about this ridiculous theory he got from Irina Derevko!?"

"Yes."

When he realized that Jack wasn't going to elaborate further, he pushed, "Well…do you think there's any merit to this intel!?"

"Of course not," Jack replied testily. "Nothing that Irina Derevko says can be taken at face value. She has already proven that fact to us. There can only be one real reason why she would have approached Agent Vaughn: to involve him and the CIA in another one of her schemes."

"That's my thinking," Kendall agreed. "But Agent Vaughn doesn't see it that way and took great pains to make sure I knew it. He's still insisting on investigating the data…against my express orders."

"Then let him investigate," Jack suggested. "Vaughn needs to feel that he's doing something to help Sydney. He probably feels obligated to follow the lead because she's Sydney's mother. He has no love for Derevko, though; let me assure you of that. He'll realize soon enough that Irina is playing some sort of game with him, and then things will be back to normal."

Kendall was not convinced. "Agent Vaughn is getting harder and harder to control. He's a loose cannon, Jack. Something needs to be done about that."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jack asked in a blasé way that intimated that he knew exactly why Kendall was telling him.

"It seems to me that ever since Agent Vaughn became Agent Bristow's handler, he's picked up a certain…flair for rule-bending and insubordination…things he was not well known for before. Any idea where he might have picked up those…traits, Jack?"

"I haven't the slightest," Jack replied calmly, knowing this would only ire Kendall further. But, Kendall was such a pompous ass that Jack couldn't help but enjoy pissing him off from time to time.

"Right…right," Kendall answered angrily, clearly not convinced. Changing the subject, he asked, "What the status on Tippin and your daughter?"

"Not much has changed," Jack replied tersely. "Tippin's condition is serious, but stable. Sydney's injuries appear to no longer be life-threatening, but she still hasn't woken up."

"Fine. Continue to monitor the situation and let me know if there are any changes…" Kendall said gruffly.

"Fine," Jack answered, effectively hanging up on Kendall. Shoving the cell phone back into the breast pocket of his shirt, he continued to pace.

- - -

Michael Vaughn was almost at his destination when he ran into—almost literally—Director Kendall. "Agent Vaughn, I'd like a word with you," he began, his tone telling Vaughn he would brook no argument.

Vaughn nodded, stepping aside with Kendall out of the line of foot traffic.

"Let me make one thing clear to you, Mr. Vaughn…" Kendall began, a carefully controlled fury in his eyes, "that the only reason I am allowing this little…charade to continue is because there are no other viable leads at the moment."

Vaughn sensed there was more to this conversation than that. "…And?"

"And once we have viable leads, I will expect you and your fan club will obey my orders to follow them. Otherwise… you will all get written reprimands. And I promise I will make your life a living hell for the amount of time it takes to remove you from this task force. Is that clear?" Kendall asked.

"Yes." Vaughn replied, clenching his fists at his sides, but otherwise not reacting.

"Are we clear!?" Kendall demanded, seeing the look of defiance in the young agents demeanor.

"Crystal clear…..Sir," Vaughn spit out.

Kendall clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in front of him, and stared for a long moment at Vaughn, as if assessing him. Finally, he nodded once and walked off.

Turning, Vaughn walked, his step full of purpose, down a long hallway. He knew there was at least one person around here who had more answers than he was giving. Vaughn intended to get those answers; and, in his current frame of mind, he didn't particularly care what he had to do to get them.

Reaching the end of the hallway, he approached a desk where sat a guard on duty. Showing his ID badge to the officer he said in a determined voice, "I've come to see the prisoner."