Lacrima Angelorum

By delordra

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, etc. I don't have any money and won't be getting any from this story.

Please do not reproduce in whole or in part without the author's permission.

Rating: R

 

Part 1: Requiem Aeternam

 

June 1983

 

Irina Derevko walked into Alexander Khasinau’s office in KGB headquarters, rather annoyed. Moments before her plane had been scheduled to leave Kiev for a critical mission in Libya, she had received a message that she was being replaced and was to return to Moscow immediately. She’d spent most of the twenty-four hour train ride quietly fuming; there had better be a good explanation.

 

“Comrade Derevko,” Khasinau said when she entered. “How was your trip?”

 

“It would have been better if I’d been allowed to complete my mission. Is something wrong?”

 

“We’ve received some news from America. Jack Bristow is dead.”

 

The news hit Irina like a punch to the stomach; she flinched and felt the blood drain from her face. Compose yourself, dammit! she told herself sternly. She took a deep breath and pushed her emotions to the back of her mind. “And that minor bit of news was enough to bring me in from the field?” she said disdainfully.

 

Khasinau merely snorted; clearly, he had observed her reaction.

 

“Who is caring for the child?” She was careful to keep a note of disinterest in her tone; Khasinau might be kind enough to ignore her involuntary reaction, but that didn’t mean that she could drop her guard and verbally admit affection for Jack or Sydney. Inwardly, though, she was terrified; without either parent to protect her, what would happen to her daughter?

 

“Sit down, Irina,” Khasinau said, and she took the offered chair gladly. Khasinau sat down in an adjacent chair. “It seems that Jack Bristow’s relatives had difficulty deciding who would take the child. We took the problem out of their hands.”

 

Irina thought she might vomit. What in God’s name had the KGB done? Had they killed Sydney, too? Khasinau sat there staring at her smugly. “How?” was all she dared say.

 

He shrugged. “We felt that the child should be with her mother rather than selfish capitalist relatives, so she was extracted. Of course, if you don’t wish to have a reminder of your mission always about, you’re under no obligation to care for her. I’m sure we can find her a place in one of the better orphanages.

 

Irina waved her hand, still trying with all her might to keep up a disinterested façade. “I did choose to give birth to her; it’s my duty to care for her.” Khasinau frowned. “After my duty to my country is fulfilled, of course.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“When will she arrive?”

 

“She arrived last night. I can take you to her now.”

 

At Irina’s nod, Khasinau led her out and down several flights of stairs to a sub-basement. Irina tried to keep her hands from shaking. Why the hell were they keeping an eight-year-old child in a cellblock? Was this all some kind of ploy?

 

Khasinau directed the cellblock guard to unlock a door, and Irina stepped into the doorway of a dimly lit cell. Her eyes picked out a small form on the bed, huddled in a corner, which shifted slightly when she entered. A pair of terrified eyes stared at her for a moment, and then a quavering voice said, “Mommy?”

 

“Sydney,” Irina whispered. A moment later, Sydney’s arms were wrapped around Irina’s waist, and her head was buried in her mother’s stomach. Irina put her hands on the child’s shoulders and gently guided her out of the cell, a myriad of emotions rushing through her at the sight of her daughter. She had spent the last twenty months firmly repressing the part of her that had been a loving wife and mother, helped by eight months of “re-education” in Kashmir. She had remade herself into a cold-as-ice, thoroughly professional KGB agent; now she wasn’t quite sure what to do for the frightened child by her side. And the news of Jack’s death…she repressed the pain angrily. She shouldn’t be bothered by it. She wasn’t, she told herself.

 

She pulled back and knelt so she could look at Sydney. She had grown quite a bit since Irina had last seen her, apparently using up her baby fat; she was slightly thinner than Irina remembered. Though she wasn’t crying at the moment, her face was dirty and tear-stained, and she seemed rather dazed. She looked at Irina with a glassy stare. “Mommy?” she whimpered again.

 

“It’s all right, Sydney,” Irina said softly in English, tucking Sydney’s hair behind her ears. She stood and looked at Khasinau, who was watching them with feigned disinterest.

 

He handed her a packet. “We’ve gone ahead and had some papers drawn up for her. You have a week off to get her adjusted,” he said with an air of magnanimity.

 

Irina nodded, and Khasinau turned and swiftly walked away. Irina looked down at Sydney, who was watching her with the same shell-shocked expression on her face. She took Sydney by the hand. “Come on, baby, let’s go home.”

 

***

 

Part 2: Kyrie eleison

 

Elena Derevko climbed the stairs to the three-room apartment she shared with Irina when her younger sister was home, glad that her day of teaching at the KGB Academy was finally over. It was too bad that Irina would be gone for several weeks, she thought; her sister was always a good sounding board when she had a problem. Elena opened the apartment door and paused briefly, surprised, when she saw Irina sitting at the table, a pensive look on her face. “Irina,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to be home.”

 

Irina smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She stood. “Elena, there’s something I have to tell you…”

 

The door to Irina’s bedroom opened, and Elena watched in confusion as a child entered the room, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Mommy?” she murmured. She noticed Elena and stared; Elena gasped when she saw the obvious resemblance to Irina.

 

Irina went to the child and put an arm around her shoulders. She spoke in English. “Elena, this is my daughter. Her name is Sydney.” Elena had to grab at the wall for support as a year of Irina’s silent, pained eyes, a year of calling out “Jack” and “Sydney” in her sleep, suddenly made sense. She now had a much better idea why the KGB had considered an eight-month “debriefing”, with no access to Irina allowed, a necessity. Elena had suspected that those eight months had actually been spent reprogramming her sister, but Irina had never talked about anything that had happened in the eleven years she’d been gone. Irina turned to the child. “Sydney, this is your aunt Elena.”

 

“Hi,” Sydney said, barely audibly.

 

Elena gave the child what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hello, Sydney,” she said in lightly accented English. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Sydney gave her a small, timid smile, then turned back to Irina. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she whispered.

 

Irina smiled and pointed. “Through that door, Sydney.” Sydney went into the bathroom, and Irina turned to Elena.

 

“Ira, why didn’t you tell me you had a child?” Elena asked in Russian.

 

“They told me to forget her,” Irina said softly as she sank down onto the couch. “At least until they decided to kidnap her.”

 

Elena sat down beside her sister and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

 

“Apparently her father is dead, and so they brought her here.” Elena saw tears shimmering in Irina’s eyes for a brief moment, but Irina swallowed hard and they disappeared. “They were keeping her in a cell at headquarters until I got there. She’s barely said a word; I brought her home and fed her, and then she said she was tired, so I put her to bed.” She turned to face Elena fully. “I don’t know what to do, Lena. It’s been so long…she would have thought that I was dead. This must all be so strange for her.”

 

Elena saw the raw anguish in her sister’s eyes. “We’ll take care of her, Irushka. It will be all right.”

 

Sydney came out of the bathroom and climbed onto the couch beside Irina, glancing nervously at Elena. Irina was relieved when Elena stood. “Well, since you two are here, we’ll need some more groceries,” Elena said brightly in English. “I’ll go shopping.” Irina gave her sister a grateful smile as Elena grabbed a basket and dropped a book into it. She knew Elena wasn’t really going shopping, since the markets tended to be quite empty this time of week.

 

When Elena was gone, Irina turned to Sydney. She wished her daughter would cry, or scream, or something. She didn’t know how to deal with this silent little girl. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” she said, rubbing Sydney’s back.

 

Sydney blinked and stared at her mother for a moment. “Mommy, are you an angel? Daddy said you went away to heaven.”

 

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Irina would have laughed at the idea of anyone thinking of her as an angel. “No, Sydney, I most certainly am not an angel,” she said.

 

“Is Daddy here? Aunt Karen said Daddy went to heaven to be with you, and I asked why he didn’t take me with him. I don’t think this is heaven, though,” Sydney said with an expression of distaste.

 

Irina broke into a smile. Now she was seeing the child she remembered. “This isn’t heaven, Sydney. Everybody made a mistake when they thought I went to heaven. Have you learned about a place called Russia in school?”

 

Sydney nodded with a frown. “They’re the bad guys,” she said with all the certainty of 2nd-grade morality.

 

They started the indoctrination just as early in America as they did here, Irina thought. “Not the bad guys, Sydney, just different. We’re in Russia now, in a city called Moscow. I grew up here.”

 

“Oh.” Sydney processed the information for a moment. “Was that lady your sister?” Irina nodded. “Does she live here?” Irina nodded again. “Do we live here too?”

 

“Yes, Sydney.” Sydney looked around at the rather bare room unhappily. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping and get you some clothes and things, okay? I didn’t know you were coming until today.”

 

“Okay.” Sydney seemed slightly cheered up at the thought of shopping.

 

Irina took a deep breath. “Sydney, can you tell me what happened to Daddy?”

 

“He went on a trip, and he said he was only going to be gone for a week, but two weeks later Aunt Karen came and said that there was an accident and Daddy went to heaven.” Irina nodded. If Jack had been killed on a mission, his sister wouldn’t have been given any details, of course. Sydney continued, “Aunt Karen said I was going to live with Grandma and Grandpa, and she took me to their house, but then Grandpa said I should live with Aunt Karen, and Grandma said that she and Grandpa were old, and they started fighting and sent me outside to play.” Irina felt furious at her in-laws, particularly Jack’s sister, who had always been extremely spoiled and self-centered. Karen enjoyed her single, unencumbered lifestyle and apparently hadn’t wanted to give it up to take care of her niece. Jack’s parents were in quite poor health, it was true, but did they have to discuss it front of Sydney? Irina refocused on her daughter as Sydney continued. “I was down by the lake, and I think I got a bee sting.” She pointed to her neck, and Irina could see a small red mark. “Then I saw a man all dressed in black, and I tried to yell and run away, but I felt really, really tired. I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up I was in that little room, and I yelled, but nobody came. Then I went back to sleep, and then you came. I missed you, Mommy.”

 

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Irina said, giving Sydney a hug. She supposed she should be grateful to the KGB for bringing her daughter to her, although their methods left a lot to be desired. The best place for Sydney had been with Jack, but now that he was gone—Irina swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat, reminding herself that she had not loved him and she would not mourn him—despite the difficulties she would face in learning a new language and adjusting to a new way of life, the best place for Sydney now was with her mother.

 

***

 

Part 3: Dies Irae

 

There was a knock at the door, and Irina got up to answer it. “Can Sydney come to play?” asked the young girl on the other side. Inessa Shurikov was nine and lived two floors down. The building had more boys than girls, and until Sydney had arrived, Inessa had been the only girl between five and fourteen. Her enthusiasm at meeting Sydney had been dampened only slightly when she learned that Sydney didn’t speak Russian; despite the language barrier, the girls seemed to get along quite well.

 

“Can I, Mommy?” Sydney asked in English, jumping up from the table where she’d been practicing her Cyrillic letters. She’d acquired a few Russian words and phrases over the last six days, and showed a remarkable ability to pick up the gist of what was said around her.

 

“Da, Sydney. Come home when it gets dark.”

 

“I will, Mommy.” The two girls scampered off.

 

Irina closed the door with a sigh. Sydney was adjusting remarkably quickly, she thought. Most of the first day had been spent with Sydney clinging to Irina, interspersed with bouts of tantrums—she wanted more toys, she wanted television, she didn’t like the food. In the evening, though, Elena had had the brilliant idea of inviting Inessa up. After a few hours of playing with Inessa, Sydney had begun acting more like her normal self. She’d spent most of the intervening days with Inessa, sometimes in their apartment, sometimes in the Shurikovs’ apartment, sometimes at a playground down the street. Irina was glad for the break; although Sydney seemed to be well-behaved around others, she still threw tantrums and frequently got whiny when she was just with her mother. Irina hoped that those problems would disappear as Sydney got better adjusted.

 

She went over and knocked on the door to Elena’s room. “Elena, she’s gone.” Elena had indicated when she got home from work an hour ago that she had something to tell Irina privately, then disappeared into her bedroom to work.

 

“Inessa again?” Elena said as she came out.

 

“Yes. Thank God Inessa’s grandmother is willing to watch Sydney during the day.”

 

“You could ask for more time off,” Elena said, sitting down on the couch. Privately, she thought her sister needed it, and not just to take care of Sydney. Irina had barely slept since Sydney arrived; Elena could hear her moving about in the main room at all hours of the night. She looked exhausted. Irina had never slept much; during her KGB training she’d slept like the dead for about four hours each night. Since she’d come back from America, though, it was more like one or two hours, and she would wake up at the littlest things. But now Irina wasn’t even getting the few hours she’d gotten before; she said she was afraid Sydney would have nightmares, but Elena, a fairly light sleeper herself, knew perfectly well that Sydney had had only one nightmare the first night and had slept just fine ever since.

 

Irina shook her head. “Not that I don’t want to, but I’m afraid that they’ll take Sydney away if it seems she’s affecting my work.” She paused. “I wasn’t supposed to have a child, of course. I knew the only way she’d be allowed to live was if I pretended she was nothing to me, just an inconvenience.” Though Irina’s voice was calm, she was holding the back of a chair in a white-knuckled grip.

 

Elena stood and put her arm around her baby sister. “It’s because the KGB is run by men, Irushka. They don’t understand anything.” Irina gave her a small smile, then looked away. Elena changed the subject. “Sydney seems to be adjusting well. I’m amazed at how much Russian she’s learned in a week.”

 

“Yes, well, the amount of time she spends out playing probably has something to do with it,” Irina said, moving away and sitting on the couch. “It’s remarkable how well Sydney’s taking all this,” she continued. “It’s a whole different world from what she left, Elena.”

 

“I’m sure.” They sat in silence for a moment.

 

“So did you find out anything about Ja—Agent Bristow?” Irina said, her tone neutral and suddenly distant.

 

Elena winced. The KGB had certainly done their work well. Irina tried to close off completely whenever she had to mention Sydney’s father, but Elena could tell that there was a gulf of feeling being held back by the thinnest of walls. “A little,” she answered. Irina had asked her several days ago to find out what she could about Jack Bristow’s death. “He was on a CIA mission in Poland; the team walked into an ambush and were all killed.”

 

“Who ambushed them?” Irina asked.

 

Elena hesitated, then said, “The KGB.” Irina tensed but didn’t move or speak. “It doesn’t seem like they were out to get Agent Bristow specifically,” she added. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

“Was it…did he suffer?”

 

“Apparently there was a short firefight, over in minutes. All of the Americans were killed cleanly.” Elena was silent for a moment, watching her baby sister. “You loved him, didn’t you?” she said softly.

 

Irina looked at her, shock evident in her eyes, along with…shame? Yes, shame, Elena decided as Irina hurriedly said, “Loved him? God, no! He was just my target!” Her eyes filled with tears; she blinked furiously, but they spilled onto her cheeks despite her efforts. Elena pulled her into a hug; Irina stiffened momentarily, but then let herself cry on her older sister’s shoulder. “It was just a mission,” she said, her words muffled. “Just a mission. Just ten years of…of kisses, and talking for hours, and holding hands, and waking up in his arms, and taking care of him, and taking care of Sydney together…” She pulled back and swiped angrily at her tears. “I didn’t love him, Elena,” she said tonelessly. “I maintained my objectivity, I was only pretending.”

 

She looked away, focusing on the far wall. “I left Sydney for him,” she said softly, sadly. “I knew he’d be devastated when I…when Laura died. I could have taken her with me, if I’d wanted, but it would have killed him. It almost killed me, to leave th—to leave her.” Her tears had stopped, and she wiped the last traces away with her sleeve. Her expression hardened again. “I should never have had her in the first place. Look at this life I’ve brought her into--eight years old, and she’s already lost both parents, been kidnapped by the KGB, and seen her dead mother come back to life.”

 

Elena smiled. “Children are resilient. You were that age when Papa died.” Their father had been a KGB agent; Elena had been thirteen, Katya eleven, and Irina eight when he’d been killed in the line of duty. The three girls and their mother had had to go through major changes with the loss of their father’s income and prestige.

 

Irina frowned. “I barely remember what it was like before Papa died. I barely even remember him. Sydney’s not going to remember much about America and her father, is she?”

 

“She will, because you’ll tell her, Irina.” Sydney came through the door just as Elena finished speaking. She turned to her niece. “Did you have fun, Sydney?”

 

“Da, Tyetka Elena,” Sydney replied. “Mommy, am I going to play with Inessa tomorrow? I think her Babushka said she’d see me then.”

 

“Yes, Sydney,” Irina said, forcing a smile. “I have to go back to work tomorrow, so you’re going to stay with the Shurikovs during the day until school starts.”

 

“Do you have to?” Sydney asked, a whine creeping into her voice. She ran to Irina and climbed on her lap. “I don’t want you to go away.” Then she whispered, “What if you don’t come back?”

 

Jack had been killed while away at work, of course, and she had been on her way home from an evening class when she’d been extracted, Irina remembered; no wonder Sydney didn’t want her mother to go back to work. “Of course I’ll come back, sweetheart.”

 

“You promise?”

 

“I promise,” Irina replied. She knew that she couldn’t really promise that nothing would happen to her, but right now it was what Sydney needed to hear. “It’s time for you to get ready for bed, okay?”

 

“Okay, Mommy.” Sydney reached up and gave Irina a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”

 

Irina smiled. So many memories had come flooding back over the last week, and as they did, all the warm maternal feelings that she had privately denounced as weaknesses over the past year and a half had once again begun to feel perfectly natural—and wonderful. She hugged Sydney tightly. “I love you so very, very much, Sydney.”

 

***

 

Part 4: Tuba Mirum

 

The next day, Irina walked into Khasinau’s office with her professional mask firmly in place; she’d dawdled on the way to work this morning to give herself time to hide the mother away and become a hardened KGB agent again.

 

“Comrade Derevko,” Khasinau said. “Did you enjoy your time off?”

 

“I did,” she answered calmly.

 

Khasinau studied her for a moment. “How is the child settling in?”

 

Irina had hoped she could get out of there without discussing her daughter as if she were a mission spec; she’d had enough of that during her time in America. But there was no help for it. “She’s doing well, starting to learn Russian.” She thought for a moment, then tacked on, “She’ll be a credit to the motherland one day.”

 

Khasinau nodded, a look of pride briefly appearing on his features. “Well, then, let’s get down to business.” He handed her a folder. “Ivan Barenko. He creates false papers to help disloyal citizens get out of Russia. We need to know who refers people to him and to whom he sends them for transport; you’ll find out that information and then arrest him. You leave for Leningrad in the morning. It’s a short-term mission; if your work is as good as it usually is, you should only be gone a week or so.” Irina wanted to protest that it was too soon, that she couldn’t leave Sydney now, but she knew better. She simply nodded. “Dismissed,” Khasinau said brusquely, and turned away.

 

***

 

“No! You can’t go away!” Sydney screamed, wrapping her arms around Irina’s waist and refusing to let go as Irina tried to get out the door with her suitcase. Elena tried to pull her away, to no avail.

 

Irina sighed loudly. She’d told Sydney last night that she had to go on a trip; Sydney had cried, but had seemed to accept it by bedtime. Irina had hoped to get away before her daughter woke up in the morning, but Sydney had crawled into bed with her in the middle of the night and woken as soon as Irina tried to get up. “Sydney, sweetheart, I wish I could stay, but I have to go. But you’re going to have lots of fun with Aunt Elena, remember?”

 

“You can’t go away! You’ll never come back!”

 

“Of course I’ll come back, Sydney.” She finally managed to pry Sydney’s hands off of her, and pushed her toward Elena. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” Irina said, tears pricking her eyes as she grabbed her suitcase and hurried out the door as Sydney struggled to escape her aunt’s arms.

 

***

 

Six days later, Irina lay still as a disgustingly drunk man pawed her body. No need to fake an orgasm tonight, she decided; even if he did remember this tomorrow, he would be in a jail cell. She distanced herself from what was happening and waited for him to finish. Sydney’s face swam into her mind, followed, as always, by Jack’s, but she pushed them away. They had no place here. The man grunted as he emptied into her; he then rolled over and promptly fell asleep.

 

As soon as she was confident he would be out for a while, Irina slipped out of the bed and whispered four names into her necklace as she dressed in the obnoxiously skimpy outfit she’d been wearing tonight. The KGB team in the van outside had probably heard the names when he’d given them to her earlier, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

 

A few minutes later, four armed men burst through the door. Irina sighed. Why did they always have to be so dramatic? “Comrade Derevko, good work. We’ll take it from here,” the team leader said. She stood back as the men trooped past her to the bed, ignoring the looks they sent her way—some derisive, some appraising. She knew perfectly well that she was nothing but a whore to them. “You’re under arrest,” one of them said as they hauled Barenko up and woke him from his drunken stupor.

 

Barenko looked around the room in confusion, finally focusing on her. “What…Maria?”

 

“That’s not my name,” she said coldly.

 

He surprised her then—and everyone else—by suddenly twisting from the agents’ grasp. He slipped past all four men on his way to the door, but Irina stepped into his path and flipped him over her shoulder. As he lay on his back, gasping, she placed the heel of her stiletto delicately over his balls. “Cuffs,” she said, holding out her hand. One of the four stunned agents recovered enough to toss her a pair. She looked at Barenko, raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at her shoe; he held up his wrists to her obediently. Only when he was cuffed did she move her foot and let the other agents pull him to his feet.

 

As the men led Barenko out, she caught a new expression in their eyes when they looked at her: awe, and perhaps just a bit of fear. She smiled at their backs; that was much better.

 

She left the room, ready to head back to Moscow, to Sydney, and to somehow get herself back into mother mode.

 

***

 

Part 5: Rex Tremendae

 

July 1983

 

A van stopped at a tall gate topped by barbed wire; the guard spoke briefly to the driver, and the gates rumbled open. Once they’d closed behind the van, the doors opened; armed guards pushed out a man in shackles.

 

Jack Bristow looked around at the barren landscape. Siberia, he’d been told. A prison camp. Because the KGB apparently felt that ruining his life once hadn’t been enough.

 

When prodded, he walked toward the large, nearly windowless brick building that was to be his home for the foreseeable future. The thought inspired little emotion; it really didn’t matter what they did to him any more.

 

Half an hour later, after being stripped, searched, and showered, he found himself in a small room containing nothing but a toilet, a sink, and a narrow bunk with a thin pad for a mattress. It was better than he’d expected: a small window up by the ceiling, running water, and the cell was dirty but not filthy.

 

He sat down on the bunk and tried not to think about the last six weeks, but his mind betrayed him. He’d been leading a CIA mission in Poland that had turned out to be a set-up by the KGB. They’d killed all the other agents and captured him. He’d endured three weeks of brutal interrogation, but had told them nothing; he didn’t even have answers to most of the questions they asked. He’d wanted to shout, “Didn’t my wife steal enough information for you?” But he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of sharing his identity.

 

Three weeks in, though, his main interrogator, a man named Khasinau, had shown him that he knew exactly who Jack was when he placed a copy of the LA Times in front of him. The headline was “8-year-old girl missing”. Jack’s heart sank when he saw the picture of his daughter.

 

“Cooperate and we’ll let you go home to look for her,” Khasinau had said, but Jack knew that was a lie. He suspected that the KGB had either abducted or killed Sydney; there was nothing for him to go home to.

 

More newspapers had followed over the next two weeks, detailing how the authorities were shifting from a search for a living child to a search for a body. Finally, eight days ago, Khasinau had given him a newspaper that told of a body dredged from the bottom of the lake where Sydney had disappeared; it had been followed a day later with a report that the teeth of the body matched the dental records of Sydney Bristow.

 

The KGB was correct in their assumption that learning of Sydney’s death would demoralize Jack; it was true that he now had nothing left to live for. He had known from the beginning, of course, that the KGB would eventually break him if he didn’t talk, so at that point he’d begun answering some of their questions, giving them information that wouldn’t really be important now that so much time had passed. He did his best to appear broken, and could only hope that they’d kill him when they were finished with him. He suspected Khasinau had seen through his act, though, because the fate he’d finally imposed upon Jack had been far worse than death: solitary confinement at a prison in Siberia for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t even have hard labor to take his mind off the complete destruction of his family, of his life.

 

Jack buried his head in his hands. He had nothing; even his memories of happier times were tainted by the KGB. It was just as well that the CIA believed him dead; his life was over.

 

***

 

Part 6: Recordare

 

December 1983

 

“Mama, do you think Aunt Katya will like me?”

 

Irina looked down at her daughter as they made their way through the airport along with Elena. “Of course she will like you, Anya,” she answered, squeezing the child’s hand.

 

She’d discovered when she’d gone out to buy things for Sydney that first day that the KGB papers were in the name of “Anna Ivanovna Derevko”; when she thought about it, she supposed it made sense for Sydney to have a Russian name, though she wished she’d been consulted about the name choice. She had told Sydney about the new name a few weeks after she’d arrived, when Sydney had started complaining that she didn’t like the other kids calling her name strange. Sydney had taken to the new name quite happily, and now the nickname “Anya” was what she preferred to be called. Irina and Elena still called her Sydney at home, but the child insisted upon Anya in public.

 

Sydney had picked up the Russian language quickly, and though her vocabulary had been rather deficient when she’d started school in September, with some extra help from her teacher she was now almost caught up with her classmates. She still spoke with a noticeable accent, but Irina suspected that even that would disappear in another few months.

 

Their timing as they reached the gate was perfect; the passengers were just beginning to disembark. Irina kept a lookout for her sister, even though she knew that Elena would probably spot her first. Irina hadn’t seen Katya in almost fifteen years, ever since Katya had gone on her first deep cover assignment around the time Irina had officially been recruited to the KGB. She had been stationed in Italy for the past ten years as the KGB’s eyes and ears in the Soviet embassy; the last time she’d had a chance to return to Russia had been two years ago, while Irina had been in Kashmir.

 

“Elena! Irina!” Irina looked up to see her sister coming toward her, older, with much shorter hair than she remembered, but smiling. “Irina,” Katya said when she reached them, putting her bag down and looking at her. “It’s so good to see you.” She pulled Irina into a hug. “And Elena, you haven’t changed a bit,” Katya said after a moment, pulling Elena in.

 

When the hug ended, Irina looked around for Sydney. Katya didn’t know about her niece; Irina hadn’t known how to write about it in a letter, and she and Elena had agreed that it was better to wait until Katya could come home. Irina finally located Sydney directly behind her and pulled her forward. “Katya, this is my daughter Sydney.”

 

Katya stared for a moment, but then smiled, though she still looked quite confused. “Hello, Sydney,” she said.

 

“Hello, Aunt Katya,” Sydney replied politely. Then she leaned forward and whispered loudly, “You can call me Anya in public.”

 

Katya laughed a bit forcefully. “All right, dear, Anya it is.” She looked up at Irina and Elena. “Well, shall we head home? It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

 

***

 

Several days later, Elena and Katya met for lunch at a small cafe. They had been having similar meetings whenever Katya was in town for years. As a matter of course, Elena took out a pen and pressed a certain spot on it before they began to talk; though there conversations were usually about unimportant matters, they sometimes found themselves discussing topics that could easily be viewed as treasonous if someone were listening.

 

Katya took a deep breath before speaking. What she’d found out the night before had shocked her, and she desperately needed to discuss it with her older sister. “Elena,” she said softly after making sure they couldn’t be overheard, “Jack Bristow is alive.”

 

***

 

Part 7: Confutatis

 

Jack Bristow lay on his back on his prison bunk, hands behind his head. Aside from twice-weekly perfunctory interrogations, in which he was always asked the same questions and gave the same responses, and a daily visit to the frozen exercise yard, he spent all his time in this small cell. As in his previous imprisonment, that time as a guest of his own government, he had little to do but think. Then, his thoughts had been filled with anger and fear—anger at the KGB and the woman who had betrayed him, and fear that they would take away the only consolation he had left, his daughter. During one of the impossibly long nights, the horrifying thought had come that maybe, just maybe, Laura had survived. His worst fear had been that she didn’t love their daughter, but would take her away just to spite him. He had nightmare visions of his daughter in Russia, alone, frightened, not knowing the language, with a mother who would teach her how to lie, kill, and hate the country of her birth.

 

His current imprisonment was different. Instead of anger and fear, he felt mostly dull resignation. Strangely, though, there was also the tiniest seed of hope, he supposed born of the knowledge that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. What had previously been his greatest fear was now his greatest hope—that Laura had, indeed, come for their daughter and faked Sydney’s death just like she’d faked her own. Now he imagined his daughter in Russia, smiling, playing in the snow she’d always wanted to see—alive.

 

The sound of the food slot in his door opening brought him out of his thoughts. He got up, went to the slot, and looked through it to see a pair of brown eyes. Strange; the guard who normally delivered his dinner had blue eyes. He thought little of it, though; he just took the tray and hungrily ate the watery soup and stale bread.

 

Twenty minutes later, he felt a sudden, stabbing pain run across his chest and down his left arm. Moments after that, everything went black.

 

***

 

Elena placed her fingers on Jack Bristow’s neck and was relieved to find a pulse—it was faint and slow, but steady. The drug that Katya had slipped into his food to make him appear dead had worked very well, so well that Elena had been a bit worried for the past several hours that they had in fact killed him. “He’s got a pulse,” she said over the rumble of the moving train, turning to face Katya on the other side of the boxcar.

 

“I told you he would be fine,” Katya answered, sounding rather bored. “He’ll probably wake up around noon; the drug usually lasts about eighteen hours. That will give us time to tell Irina what’s going on.” She took a sip from the bottle of vodka she’d brought, then passed it to Elena.

 

“She’s going to be furious with us,” Elena said after taking a long drink. She had always enjoyed some good vodka after a mission; she’d missed this since she’d been taken out of the field and given a teaching job several years ago.

 

“For breaking him out of prison, or for not bringing her along?”

 

“For not bringing her along, of course. You think she’d want the father of her child to rot in a Siberian gulag?”

 

Katya shrugged. “She hasn’t said a word about him in the time I’ve been home. Are you sure she doesn’t hate him?”

 

“Positive.” Elena took another drink, then handed the bottle back to Katya. They lapsed into silence, both wondering what their sister’s reaction would be when she saw the man they had rescued.

 

***

 

Part 8: Lacrimosa

 

“Oh…my…God.” Irina’s face turned white. Elena pulled out a chair and gestured to Katya, who maneuvered Irina into it; they’d warned her to sit down, but she’d stubbornly insisted upon knowing what was going on instantly. “He’s alive? How? Where? Is he…”

 

Katya gently put a hand over Irina’s mouth when her volume grew louder. “Hush, Irina, you don’t want to wake Sydney.”

 

Irina looked over at her daughter, asleep on the bed; she’d been exhausted after the excitement of her first train ride out of Moscow. Katya and Elena had suggested that they all get out of the city for a few days; Elena had arranged to borrow a friend’s dacha, hardly a feat in the middle of winter. Her sisters had said they’d meet her there and then disappeared. Irina had been dying of curiosity the past few days, but she’d never suspected something like this. “Start talking,” she said softly.

 

“The KGB did attack Jack Bristow’s team in Poland,” Katya said, pulling up a chair of her own. “They killed all the members of the team except for your husband; he was captured. He was interrogated and then sent to a prison camp in Siberia.”

 

“He’s in prison? How long have you known about this?” Irina felt fury rising up, but she pushed it down; logically, she knew that her sisters weren’t the ones she should be angry with.

 

“A few days,” Elena said. “And he’s not in prison anymore. We faked his death and smuggled him out.” The pride in her voice was obvious. “He’s in the bedroom.”

 

Irina stared at her sister for a long moment, her brain refusing to process what Elena had just said. He was here. She hadn’t seen him in more than two years, hadn’t expected to ever see him again, he’d been dead for six months, and now he was here. Jack…her breath caught in her throat. She stood and pushed past Elena to get to the bedroom door, opened it, and then stood there for several seconds. She searched for something, anything rational to focus her thoughts on, and seized on his appearance: his face had gained lines, his hair had gone gray, and his face was thin, almost gaunt. She stepped forward to the side of the bed and reached out to caress his cheek with a feather-light touch. Her eyes filled with tears, but she pushed them back down with well-practiced resolve and forced calm on her mind. She turned to see Elena and Katya crowding the doorway, looking worried. “When will he wake up?” she whispered.

 

“In an hour or two,” Katya answered.

 

Her hand, still outstretched toward Jack’s face, began to shake slightly; she quickly pulled it back and crossed her arms over her chest. In the confusing maelstrom of emotion running through her she found a kernel of anger and seized on it. “What the hell were you thinking?” she hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out he was alive? What are we going to do with him now?” Despite her best efforts, the tears broke and spilled down her cheeks.

 

Elena came forward and pulled her into a hug while Katya disappeared, returning a moment later with a chair from the kitchen. “It will be all right, Irochka,” Elena said soothingly. “We’ll work it all out.”

 

Irina pulled back. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

 

“Because of Sydney,” Katya said bluntly. Irina looked at her, confused. “If we got caught, we wanted you to be able to honestly say you didn’t know anything about it, so that you would be free to take care of Sydney. If we’d told you, would you have let us leave you behind?”

 

“No. Probably not.” She swiped at the tears still running down her cheeks.

 

Elena pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Irina, then gestured to the chair. “Sit with him. He has no idea what’s going on; you should be here when he wakes up.”

 

“Sydney…shouldn’t I tell her?”

 

“Let her sleep. We’ll come get you if she wakes up before he does.” Irina nodded. “Come, Katya, let’s make some lunch.”

 

Her sisters left, shutting the door behind them, and Irina sighed and looked at Jack. What the hell were they going to do? She couldn’t exactly take Jack back to Moscow with her. He wouldn’t be willing to just leave and leave Sydney with her, but she couldn’t give up her daughter again either.

 

Suddenly needing to touch him, to confirm that he was real, she scooted close to the bed and lay her head on his chest. She sat like that for a moment, listening to his heart beat, but the bed was too low; her neck started to cramp up almost immediately. She sat up, considered for a moment, and then walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside him. She snuggled up next to him and put her arms around him, promising herself that she would only stay for a moment.

 

***

 

Part 9: Domine Jesu Christe

 

Jack had thought many times about what he would do to Laura if he could see her just one more time, knowing the truth. He imagined everything from kissing her to strangling her, but he always thought that he’d do something. So when he woke in a strange bed and turned to see her curled up against him, asleep, he was surprised to find that he did nothing but stare.

 

She was on her side, face pressed up against his shoulder, one hand on his chest, the other reaching under his neck to lie on his other arm. He stared at her, not moving, barely breathing, watching as her chest rose and fell and feeling her warm breath against his neck. She was alive. If Laura was alive, then maybe there was hope for Sydney, too.

 

He was about to shake her awake and ask if she had Sydney when he heard a creak from down by his feet. He turned to see a woman slip in and shut the door behind her, looking surprised. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the woman came closer. “Don’t move,” she whispered.

 

“Who are you?” Jack answered back. He tried to speak aloud, but all that came out was a dry rasp.

 

As she opened her mouth, he realized that he already knew the answer. The family resemblance was clear. “I’m Elena,” she said. “Her sister.” She looked over at Laura. “She’s barely slept in months. I hate to wake her, but…”

 

“Sydney,” Jack interrupted. “Is she…”

 

The woman beside him stirred, then sat up, blinking. “Elena?” She looked down and met Jack’s eyes, and they stared at each other uncertainly.

 

“Irina,” Elena said, and they both shifted their gaze to her. “Sydney’s awake.”

 

Jack sat up, too fast as it turned out; he grabbed at the nearest available support, which happened to be Laura’s shoulder, as a wave of dizziness passed over him. Laura turned to him, and he was surprised at the concern in her eyes. “Jack? Are you all right?”

 

“Sydney,” he whispered. “She’s with you. She’s alive.”

 

“Of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be?” Laura frowned. “God. They told you she was dead?”

 

He nodded, and was about to speak when the door flew open. “Mama, I’m hungry. Will you come out so we can…” Sydney stopped speaking and her jaw dropped when she saw Jack. She stared at him for a moment, then screamed shrilly, turned, and ran.

 

Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand, but another wave of dizziness hit him. Elena put a hand on his shoulder. “You stay here. Irina, go after her.” Laura got up and hurried after Sydney.

 

Jack stared at the doorway, his mind still reeling. Laura, alive. Sydney, alive. And there was something funny about the way she was talking…it took him a moment to figure it out. Sydney had been speaking Russian. He sighed and looked over at Elena, who was watching him silently. “Irina is…Laura.” He’d realized at some point that Laura wasn’t her real name, but if the FBI or CIA knew her name, they hadn’t bothered to tell him.

 

“Yes,” Elena said.

 

“Where…what happened?” Had Laura—Irina chosen to leave him in prison until now? Was this some sort of KGB trick? Irina had really seemed shocked to learn that he believed Sydney dead…but then, he had obviously never been able to see through her acting abilities.

 

Elena frowned. “In June, the KGB brought Sydney here from America. They told Irina you were dead. A few days ago, Katya found out that you were alive and in prison, so she and I faked your death and got you out.”

 

“Who’s Katya?”

 

“Our other sister.”

 

“Why?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why did you rescue me?”

 

Elena looked confused for a moment, as if she’d never considered the question before. “Because Irina loves you.”

 

Jack almost laughed. He was tempted to say something derisive, but reminded himself that he didn’t know this woman. She was Irina’s sister, and she exuded the same disarming charm that Irina did; whatever she wanted, he wouldn’t give it to her.

 

Elena looked like she was about to speak again, but then Sydney appeared in the doorway, Irina right behind her with her hands on Sydney’s shoulders. Sydney still looked frightened, and Irina looked rather nervous as well. “Hello, Daddy,” Sydney said in English, her voice barely audible.

 

“Hello, Sydney,” Jack answered back in English. “I missed you.”

 

Sydney stood there uncertainly for a moment, until Irina nudged her forward. “Sydney, go give your daddy a hug.”

 

Sydney walked toward him hesitantly; when she reached him, she gave him a stiff hug. Jack hugged her back carefully, remembering that she’d been like this when he’d gotten back from his first stint in solitary, too. She pulled away and turned to Irina. “Mama, I’m hungry.”

 

“Go ahead and eat, sweetheart. We’ll be out in a minute.”

 

Sydney left the room; after glancing at both of them, Elena followed, shutting the door behind her. Irina leaned against the wall, contemplating Jack, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. “She’ll get better,” Irina said after a moment. “She was skittish around me the first few days, too.” It was almost as odd hearing his wife speak Russian as it had been hearing Sydney’s words.

 

“I thought you were dead,” Jack said. “Both of you.”

 

“We thought you were dead. I didn’t find out differently until a couple of hours ago.” They stared at each other for a moment. Jack wanted to ask her why she’d been in bed next to him, if maybe she did have some feelings for him, but he said nothing. “Are you hungry?” Irina said next.

 

Jack realized that he was, nodded, and started to stand, but felt horribly lightheaded and had to sit back down. Irina came over to the bed. “Katya drugged you to make you appear dead. You should eat something; that will help.” She offered her arm. Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to take anything from her, but he didn’t really have a choice; he leaned on her as he got up and then let her support him as they walked into the other room.

 

***

 

Part 10: Hostias

 

Jack looked around at the room that Irina helped him into. It was much larger than the tiny bedroom; at one end was a fireplace, another double bed, and a couch, while the other end had a table and chairs, a sink, and what looked like a wood-burning stove. Sydney was sitting at the table; she looked up when they entered and watched him warily. Elena stood by the stove with another woman who had to be Katya. She didn’t resemble Irina quite as much as Elena did, but the family resemblance was still evident.

 

Jack was soon seated at the table next to Sydney, and bowls of potato soup were served in silence. Jack ate slowly while trying to organize his thoughts and emotions into something that made sense. How should he react to all this? Think tactically, he told himself.

 

Elena had said that Sydney had been in Russia for six months; the fact that she could apparently speak Russian with relative ease backed that up. He looked over at his daughter. Her hair was a good four inches longer than it had been when he’d last seen her, and was bound in two neat pigtails. She looked healthy, clean, and well fed, she didn’t seem unhappy, and the only person in the room that she seemed to be uncomfortable around was him. All the evidence, therefore, said that Irina had been taking good care of her. Had that not been the case, Jack’s first goal would have been to find a way to get away with his daughter.

 

As it was, though, escape was out of the question, at least for now. He was physically weak, both from the drugs and from his time in prison, and Sydney would no doubt resist if he attempted to take her from her mother. He needed to find out what the sisters wanted with him.

 

Jack finished the soup and sat there uncomfortably for a moment, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “Would you like some more?” Elena asked when she noticed he was done.

 

“No, thank you,” he replied. The soup was already doing its work; he felt better than he had in months. But after six months of prison food, what he had just eaten was a huge meal.

 

Irina finished her food, then went to the fireplace and put a few logs on from the large pile there. “We need more wood,” she said to no one in particular, before putting a coat on and leaving the building.

 

Jack watched as Elena at Katya looked at each other with expressions of concern. “So which one of us is going to talk to her?” Elena said after a moment.

 

Katya raised her eyebrows. “You’ve had a year and a half to knock some sense into her. Let me try.” Moments later she, too, was out the door.

 

“It’s been over two years,” Jack said, confused.

 

Elena glanced at him, then looked at Sydney. “Are you done, Sydney?” Sydney nodded. “Good. Why don’t you take a book and go read in the bedroom?” Sydney frowned and looked between Jack and Elena, clearly sensing that she was being sent away so the adults could talk. Elena sighed. “Sydney, don’t test my patience,” she said firmly. With a look that was only a bit pouty, Sydney retrieved a book from the couch and went into the bedroom.

 

Elena collected the dishes from the table and went over to the sink. “After Irina returned from America, the KGB kept her for debriefing for eight months,” she said as she began to wash the dishes. “When they finally finished with her, she was…well, she looked a lot like you do now. Far too thin, pale…I don’t think she said more than ten words the first week she was home.”

 

Jack suddenly felt a bit disoriented again; he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. He’d always thought that if Laura had survived, she would have received nothing but accolades from the KGB. “They sent her to prison?”

 

“’Re-education,’” Elena said bitterly. “Tell me, when she was with you, was she a heavy sleeper?”

 

Jack’s lips turned up slightly. “Like the dead,” he said, remembering the time in Los Angeles that Laura had, in fact, slept through an earthquake. True, it had only been a minor one, but they’d laughed about it for weeks.

 

“She’s barely slept at all since she came back. And the slightest thing will wake her up.” Elena finished washing the dishes and came to sit across from Jack. “I was shocked when I went into the bedroom earlier and she didn’t wake up. And she only sleeps about half an hour at a time.” She paused and looked down at her hands. “When I said earlier that she loves you…she didn’t tell me that. In fact, when I asked her, she denied it. I don’t think she can even admit it to herself, anymore. But I can tell, when she talks about you, when she looks at Sydney. She was devastated when she thought you were dead, but she wouldn’t let herself grieve.”

 

Jack found an interesting spot on the wall to look at so he wouldn’t have to meet Elena’s eyes. The worst thing, the hardest thing for him to accept when he’d learned the truth, was the idea that his wife had never loved him. That she had lied to him, stolen secrets, even killed—he could deal with that. He did all of those things for his own country. But he hated himself for not seeing through her, for loving her so much and never realizing that she didn’t love him back. He had searched through his memories countless times, looking for the signs that she didn’t love him, and hadn’t found them; he could only conclude that he had been so blinded by his love for her that he didn’t notice them. Now Elena was saying that she had loved him, did love him—that he hadn’t seen those signs because they weren’t there. But it couldn’t be true—if she did love him, if she’d seen him as something other than the enemy, how could she have left and destroyed their family?

 

He’d need some time to sort all of this out, Jack decided. He stood up from the table and was pleased to find that he felt much better; he thought he might actually make it across the room without help. “I’m going to go check on Sydney,” he said, and Elena nodded. He needed to see his daughter, to confirm once again that she really was alive and well.

 

Sydney glanced up from her perch on the bed when he entered, then went back to her book. Jack sat in the chair by the bed and just watched her for several minutes. Then she said, without looking up from her book, “You were only supposed to be gone for a week.” Her tone was accusing.

 

Jack sighed. He could hardly tell his eight-year-old daughter that he’d been imprisoned and tortured by the people her mother worked for because he worked for their enemy. “Sydney, I never wanted to be gone for so long. Every single day, I thought about you and wanted to come home.”

 

Sydney put her book down and looked up at him. “Why are you and Mama mad at each other? Is one of you going to go away again?”

 

The first question was another he couldn’t possibly answer in a way that Sydney would understand. The answer to the second question was almost certainly yes, which wasn’t what Sydney would want to hear. Sydney continued to look at him with a frightened, vulnerable expression, though, and he knew he had to tell her something. “Sydney, your mother and I…it’s hard to explain, sweetheart. But we’re going to do our very best to make sure you’re happy, no matter how things turn out.”

 

“Do you still love her, Daddy?” Jack stared at his daughter in shock. “She still loves you, and she misses you. It makes her sad when I talk about you. Please don’t go away again, Daddy, and don’t let Mama go away again either.” A tear escaped her eye and made its way down her cheek.

 

“Oh, Sydney.” Jack stood and pulled her into his arms. “I promise you, sweetheart, somehow we’re going to make it all right.”

 

***

 

Part 11: Sanctus

 

Irina attacked the block of wood with the axe, glad to have a physical release for her frustration. She sensed someone behind her, but didn’t turn. It was probably Elena, who would offer her a hug. She didn’t want a hug, damn it. She didn’t know what she wanted.

 

She kept chopping until her shoulders burned, but stopped when the block was in splinters too small to hit with the axe. She put it down and stood there, breathing hard.

 

“I thought you knew how to chop wood better than that,” Katya’s voice said behind her.

 

Irina turned, surprised. “I was expecting Elena.”

 

“Elena doesn’t quite know what to do with you. To be honest, neither do I.”

 

Irina raised her eyebrows. “What to do with me? What about what the hell we’re going to do with that man in there? What about Sydney? She’s never going to be able to mourn anyone properly now; she’ll never believe they’re dead! How am I supposed to tell her that her father has to go away again? And I hope you two are planning to be the ones to tell Jack that he can never return to his country or see his daughter again!” She was yelling by the end, but she didn’t care; it felt so good to finally verbally give vent to at least a little of the anger and frustration that had been building up inside.

 

Katya just stood there, looking disturbingly smug. “Here I thought you’d be grateful to us for saving the man you love.”

 

“Love him? You think I love him?” she screamed. “Damn it, Katya, I hate him! Ten years I lived with that man, putting up with all of his quirks, and arguments, and damn game theories—ten years I spent serving my country faithfully. And then they accused me of treason and put me in prison, beat me, starved me…and it’s all his fault! Then he had to go and die and leave Sydney alone, and now you had to find him and bring him back! He hates me for what I did to him, he’ll never forgive me, there’s no way we can ever be a family again…” Irina fell to her knees and began to sob. This time it was more than a few tears; she abandoned any attempt at control and simply remained there, shaking violently, as the tears flowed unceasingly.

 

Katya knelt beside her, put her arms around her, and began to rock back and forth gently. “That’s it, Irushka. Let it all out.”

 

Some time later, her sobs finally tapered off to sniffles. She pulled back and looked at Katya, who was smiling. “You made me mad on purpose, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, little sister. And don’t you feel better now?”

 

Irina had to admit to herself that she did feel a bit better—but she wasn’t going to admit that out loud. “Well, now I’m stiff and cold, and my head hurts, my eyes are burning, and my nose is running…And you know, that was either very brave or very foolish to provoke me when I had an axe in my hands.”

 

Katya laughed and got slowly to her feet, as did Irina. “You don’t hate Jack, Irushka. I can see that quite clearly. It’s the situation you hate. And those fucking morons at the KGB who put you in prison.”

 

Irina nodded. “I never really hated him, Katya. It’s just…sometimes I wish…well, I don’t wish the whole thing never happened, because then I wouldn’t have Sydney. But…” She trailed off. She wasn’t really sure how she felt about Jack now. She’d convinced herself that she didn’t love him, had never loved him, but now that she’d seen him, making herself believe that was suddenly much harder. She sighed. “What the hell are we going to do?”

 

“We’re going to go in the house and have some hot tea and wash your face,” Katya said decisively. “After that, now that you’re no longer wandering around under a black cloud and we can put that brilliant mind of yours to use, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next.”

 

Irina smiled, then impulsively gave Katya a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

 

***

 

Irina emerged from the bathroom, having washed her face and feeling almost human. She sat down at the table, where Katya and Elena were waiting. Elena pushed a mug of tea at her. “So did you two actually make some plans for what the hell we’re going to do now before you broke him out?” Irina asked.

 

“Well, our first step, naturally, is to get him out of the country,” Elena said. “I can help with that.”

 

“That’s assuming he’s willing to go,” said Irina. “He won’t want to leave Sydney. And even if she could go with him without causing suspicion, I’m not giving her up again.” She sighed and buried her head in her hands. “I wish there were some way…”

 

“There is,” Elena interrupted. Irina looked up at her in surprise. “Have you ever thought about leaving the KGB?”

 

Irina raised her eyebrows. “You know perfectly well that no one can just ‘leave’ the KGB. What are you suggesting, that I go throw myself on the mercy of the American government?”

 

Katya and Elena gave each other a long look. “Not quite,” Katya said. “We were thinking that Jack could leave the country, and then in a few weeks you and Sydney could follow him. You’d have to stay somewhat hidden, of course, but Sydney would have both her parents, and you wouldn’t have to keep going out on these damned KGB missions that Elena says half kill you.”

 

“They would at least put you in prison, Elena—probably both of you.”

 

“Not if we leave at the same time,” Elena said. “We can plan a date, while you’re on one of your missions. Katya disappears from Italy, you leave from wherever you are, and I take Sydney and get out of Russia. Easier that way if we only have two people to smuggle out of Russia.”

 

Irina stared at Elena for a moment. “You would do that? Leave Russia and the KGB? Just like that?”

 

“Oh, it’s not ‘just like that’,” Katya said. “Elena and I have been talking about getting out for years. The KGB has problems. It’s thoroughly corrupt from the top down. Look at what they’ve done to you! After all the years you served your country…”

 

“Katya and I were just griping, we never planned to do anything about it—until you came back,” Elena said. “When I saw how they’d treated you…I’ve been getting ready for this for a year and a half. I was just waiting for a chance to talk to Katya.”

 

Irina looked at her sisters in shock. She’d thought many times over the last eighteen months about how much she’d like to leave the KGB, but had never truly considered it because of the danger it would place her sisters in. She’d never thought that they might feel the same way. “God,” she whispered. “This just might work.”

 

***

 

 

Part 12: Benedictus

 

Jack and Sydney came out of the bedroom to see the three sisters at the table, each holding a mug of tea, their heads together in conversation. They looked up at them when they entered, and Jack couldn’t help but think of the three witches in [I]Macbeth[/I], who manipulated things to their own secretive ends. He pushed that idea to the back of his mind. He’d talked to Sydney about her mother and her aunts; she didn’t know Katya very well, but she seemed to like Elena very much, and her relationship with her mother appeared to be similar to what it had been when Irina was Laura. He wasn’t prepared to trust these women, of course, but he decided that he should at least hear out whatever their plan was with an open mind.

 

“Would either of you like some tea?” Elena asked when she saw them, getting up.

 

“Yes, please,” Sydney said, going over to the stove. Jack nodded at Elena, then took the vacant seat at the table across from Irina. He looked at her searchingly for a moment. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy, and he suspected she’d been crying, but she seemed composed now. She looked back at him steadily; their gazes remained locked until Elena set a mug of tea down in front of Jack.

 

“Thank you,” Jack said absently. Elena nodded and retook her own seat.

 

Sydney looked around at the adults sitting in uncomfortable silence. “Can we play a game?” she asked.

 

The three sisters glanced at each other. Katya spoke. “Elena said she’s been teaching you to play chess. Would you like to play a game with me?”

 

“All right,” Sydney said, seeming pleased. Jack was surprised. Laura had never shown the slightest interest in chess; she said it was “boring”. “Aunt Elena, will you help me?”

 

“Of course, Sydney,” Elena answered.

 

As Katya produced a chessboard from somewhere and she and Sydney began to set it up, Irina stood with a glance at Jack and headed toward the couch. He followed and sat down beside her, necessarily close so they could talk without Sydney overhearing. “I suppose I should thank you, for getting me out of prison.”

 

Irina shook her head. “Don’t thank me. They didn’t even tell me that you were alive, much less what they were planning.” Her voice was soft, but Jack heard an undertone of anger—whether at her sisters or at him, he wasn’t sure.

 

“If you had known…”

 

“Of course I would have wanted to get you out,” she said brusquely. Her expression was carefully neutral.

 

Jack didn’t want to ask her why, afraid he wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, he turned to watch Sydney. “She seems happy,” he said after a moment. He couldn’t help being a bit annoyed by that fact, and guilty for feeling that way.

 

“Children are adaptable.” He could feel Irina’s eyes on him, but didn’t look at her. “She did miss you.”

 

Jack wondered how true that was; he hadn’t exactly been the world’s best father in the months after his wife died. And now he wondered if there was any way for him to get a second chance. He sighed. “What are we going to do?”

 

“We had an idea,” Irina said. “First step is to get you out of Russia. Elena’s going to help with that.”

 

“Alone?” He didn’t expect that she’d allow him to take Sydney, of course, but he did have a nebulous hope that perhaps all three of them could go somewhere together. He could stand to live with Irina, he thought, if it meant making Sydney happy.

 

“For now,” Irina said, surprising him. He turned toward her. “We’ll follow you in a few weeks. All four of us.”

 

“You’re all leaving the KGB?”

 

Irina nodded. “The only way to avoid anyone being imprisoned is for all of us to leave at once.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Jack asked. “Why not just send me on my way?”

 

Irina looked away from him. “Sydney would miss you.”

 

“What about you? Would you miss me? Did you mourn when you thought I was dead?” Jack kept his voice soft, but let the feeling come through all the same. If they really were going to be together in some capacity, he needed to find out if Elena’s assertion was true.

 

Irina stared at him, looking stricken for a moment. “I…” She fell silent and looked at her clasped hands. He watched as she swallowed hard, then looked up, her face an impenetrable mask. “I don’t want Sydney to live her life without a father,” she said impassively. “Once we meet up again in a few weeks and settle somewhere, I’m sure we can work out some arrangement. You get her one week, I get her the next—that sort of thing.”

 

Jack frowned. He thought she might be hiding something, so deep inside that even she wasn’t sure it was there—but he had lost confidence in his ability to read this woman two years ago. He knew quite well, though, that now that she’d closed herself off like this there would be no drawing her out for a while. “I imagine we can arrange something that’s mutually agreeable,” he said neutrally.

 

He looked up then as Sydney got up from her chess game and came over. “Daddy, do you know how to play chess?” she asked politely and a bit nervously.

 

“Yes, I do, Sydney. Would you like to play a game?” She nodded; with a brief glance at Irina, Jack got up and followed his daughter to the table.

 

 

***

 

Irina knelt by the couch, which with the aid of a pillow and blankets had been turned into a bed for Sydney, and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Good night, Sydney.”

 

“Mama, will you and Daddy still be here in the morning?”

 

“Of course, sweetheart. Sleep well.” She smiled at Sydney, then got up and moved to the kitchen area while Jack said goodnight. She grabbed a cloth and began drying the supper dishes that Elena and Katya were washing.

 

“Is he all right with the plan?” Elena asked.

 

“He seems to be,” Irina answered.

 

“I’ll need to take him to Leningrad tomorrow. My contacts there will get him out of Russia,” Elena said.

 

“So soon?” Irina said without thinking. “I…I was hoping we’d have more time to work out the details.”

 

“There aren’t any more details for him, Irina; he just needs to know to meet us all in six weeks at Bastille Square in Paris. And I’ve got to take him soon, because Katya’s got to leave for Italy in three days, and we really should all go back to Moscow together.”

 

Irina nodded. “Of course.”

 

Jack finished saying good night to Sydney and came over. “I think she’s afraid that one or both of us is going to vanish overnight,” he said, then yawned.

 

“You’d best get to bed,” Katya said. “That drug will drag you down for a few days.”

 

“And you and I are leaving for Leningrad tomorrow. The train leaves at noon,” Elena said.

 

Jack nodded. “Where am I sleeping?”

 

“The bedroom, Jack,” Irina said. “I’ll be in in a bit.”

 

Jack frowned and didn’t appear too pleased, but he didn’t say anything; it had obviously occurred to him that this was the only logical sleeping arrangement. Without another word, he headed for the bedroom.

 

***

 

Part 13: Agnus Dei

 

Irina slipped into the bedroom silently. She’d put this off as long as possible, letting Elena and Katya go ahead of her in the bathroom and then taking quite some time herself; when she’d finally come out, her sisters had practically shoved her in here. Her stalling seemed to have worked, as Jack was asleep. She got in bed carefully and arranged herself on her own side. She’d barely gotten settled, though, when Jack grunted, rolled over, and wrapped his arms around her. A smile found her lips before she could stop it. She’d always enjoyed the way Jack cuddled in his sleep. It was merely physical comfort, she told herself; it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy it until Jack woke up and retreated to his own side of the bed. She wiggled a bit to adjust herself to Jack, then closed her eyes and relaxed. Five minutes later, she was asleep.

 

She woke up after what her internal clock told her was about half an hour; that wasn’t unusual ever since Kashmir. What was unusual was that she actually felt like she’d really slept instead of just dozing. Jack’s arms were still around her; he’d shifted slightly, and now one hand was on her stomach while the other cupped her breast. After a moment of enjoying how comfortable she felt, she realized from Jack’s breathing that he was awake. “Jack?”

 

His hands immediately withdrew, and then his body pulled away. She cursed inwardly. “I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry,” he said.

 

“Sorry for what?”

 

“For invading your half of the bed,” he said after a pause.

 

“Jack, we’ve never had halves.”

 

His hand found hers in the darkness; she entwined her fingers with his. “Did you miss me?” he asked. “At all?” She was about to answer when he continued, “I missed you. Even after I found out the truth…I still missed you. Especially at night.”

 

Irina felt tears welling up, and blinked them back. How could he feel anything but hate for her? “I missed you, too,” she whispered. The almost complete darkness in the room somehow made the words easier to say. “I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words. “How long have you been awake?”

 

“Just a few minutes. I can’t seem to stay asleep longer than about half an hour.”

 

“Sleep deprivation,” she said softly. The first three months or so in Kashmir, she’d only been allowed to sleep half an hour at a time, once or twice a night. They hadn’t needed to continue it after that; two years later, she still woke up after half an hour.

 

“They did that to you, too?” Jack asked.

 

“Yes,” she answered. “How did you know?”

 

“Elena told me.” That only made Irina wonder how Elena knew. “Why did they do it? I thought you’d get accolades for a job well done.” Jack’s tone was just a little bitter.

 

She thought a moment before answering. “My first extraction order came in January of 1981. I kept coming up with reasons to postpone it. They questioned my real reasons for staying and my loyalties.”

 

Jack’s hand tightened around hers. “And what were your real reasons for staying?” His voice sounded a bit strained, but only ten years of reading his moods made it possible for her to tell.

 

Irina felt a wall deep inside her, built in Kashmir but weakened by her time with Sydney and by Jack’s presence, begin to crumble. She couldn’t speak as tears flooded her eyes.

 

“Irina?” Jack moved back towards her and touched her face; he froze when he felt her tears. Then he surprised her by kissing her. He started out gently, but quickly became more insistent.

 

She kissed him back hungrily, suddenly craving his touch. She moaned an objection when he pulled away. “Jack…”

 

“Did you ever really have feelings for me, or did you just enjoy the sex? Or did you even enjoy that?” he said harshly, grabbing her wrists and holding her away from him when she tried to touch him.

 

She struggled briefly, as much against her own emotional turmoil as against him, but stopped suddenly as her mind refused to deny the truth any longer. “Yes, Jack, I had feelings for you,” she whispered. “I still do. I…I love you.” This time when she reached for him, he didn’t pull away. She kissed him, gently at first, then more hungrily. Hands, then mouths, found all the familiar places, and he entered her urgently. They climaxed simultaneously, keeping their mouths entwined to muffle their cries. Spent, they lay back, curled together. “I love you,” Irina repeated. It felt so good to say those words, to own them, to finally admit to herself that she really meant them. She didn’t expect to hear them back, hadn’t earned that, but it didn’t matter. “Will you…after we meet back up again, can we try to make something work? I know I don’t deserve anything…but I don’t want to lose you again.”

 

Jack ran his fingers through her hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being angry…but I’m willing to work through it.”

 

“Thank you.” Irina leaned her head into Jack’s chest. “I love you.” Jack didn’t say anything, but he pulled the blankets up around them, brushed his lips across her forehead, and held her close. A contented smile on her face, she fell asleep.

 

***

 

Part 14: Lux aeterna

 

January 1984

 

Irina put on her seatbelt for the landing in Brazil, hiding her nervousness. Katya, Elena, and Sydney would have disappeared from Italy and Moscow several hours ago; she had originally been scheduled to arrive in Brazil the day before, with plenty of time to disappear, but the mission had been unaccountably delayed a day. With no way to contact Katya, Irina and Elena had decided that the only option was for Elena and Sydney to leave Moscow as scheduled; they could only hope that there would be enough of a lag before the disappearances were noticed that Irina could get away after the plane landed.

 

Irina’s stomach turned over as her team leader directed them all to remain in their seats when a messenger came aboard the plane. After a hushed conversation with the messenger, he ordered them all to disembark.

 

Her relief was short-lived, however; the moment she stepped off the plane, she heard a rifle cocked inches from her head. “Irina Derevko, you’re under arrest,” a man’s voice said.

 

***

 

An hour or so later, she was herded into a small KGB office. Her heart sank when she saw who the regional commander was: Gerard Cuvee, one of her tormentors in Kashmir. She barely had time to identify him before he punched her hard between her eyes, causing her to crumple to the floor and nearly black out. “Your little plan failed miserably,” he sneered. “We have both your sisters in custody, and your daughter. You’ll be on your way back to Moscow in the morning, and then you’ll all pay for your treachery.” He kicked her in the ribs, then turned to the guards. “Lock her up.”

 

She was dragged into a small cell, where she breathed deeply and managed to calm herself despite the pain. Cuvee was lying, she decided. If he’d said they just had Katya, or just Elena and Sydney…but surely the KGB couldn’t have gotten all of them without knowing the plan in advance, and if they’d known that, she would have been arrested earlier. She had to believe that her family was safe. And he hadn’t said anything about Jack, thank God; the KGB didn’t suspect that he was still alive, then.

 

Irina looked around the cell and began planning her escape. Cuvee always had been sloppy, she thought with a slight grin as she removed her left shoe and peeled back the insole. They’d patted her down, yes, and to their credit had found both the knife in her belt and the one strapped to her inner thigh, but they hadn’t even come close to finding the lock pick in her shoe. And they must be out assisting on the mission she was supposed to have participated in, because although she could hear a guard nearby, no one was directly observing her. In no time at all, she’d picked the lock on the small window near the ceiling and wriggled through it.

 

She found herself in an empty alley, and for a moment thought that it might just be that easy, but then she heard a shout of “She’s gone!” followed by running feet. Unfortunately for her, they didn’t waste time unlocking the cell and trying to squeeze out the window; instead, two of them came around the building to chase her in the alley. One of them caught her by the left wrist. It snapped with a loud crack and a shot of pain, but she barely noticed as she hit the man in the head with the other elbow. He fell to the ground, groaning. That gave time for the other man to reach her; he had a knife out and managed to gash her thigh and get in a few punches before she knocked him unconscious with a kick to the head. Knowing that more agents were probably on their way, she hurried away.

 

When she was sure she was safe, she stopped to take stock of her injuries. The gash on her thigh was bleeding profusely and clearly needed stitches, her wrist was definitely broken, and she suspected broken ribs. But the most worrisome problem was that her eyes were already swelling shut. She had three days to get to Paris, and it would be damn hard to travel incognito with two black eyes.

 

She tore a strip from her shirt and wrapped it around her leg, then stood, ready to find a way to steal the medical supplies she needed. The blood immediately rushed from her head. Bled more than I thought passed through her head just before she lost consciousness.

 

***

 

Sydney sat on the ground near the Column of July in Bastille Square, holding a doll in her lap but not playing with it. Jack glanced at her as he paced; no doubt she was picking up on his tension and that of her aunts. He glanced at his watch; it was 12:55 pm.

 

On the way to Leningrad, Elena had explained the contact procedure to him. They would meet on the south side of the Column of July in Bastille Square at noon on a specified day. If they weren’t all there, they would wait until 1 pm. If anyone was still missing, they would try again on the two following days. At 1 pm on the third day, though, they would have to assume that whoever was missing had been caught. If the KGB did catch one of them, the torture would be brutal, and no one could be expected to hold out more than a few days, so at that point those who had made it were to leave Paris. Everyone had arrived without incident on the first day except Irina; today was the third day.

 

A deep, somber bell tolled out once. Jack stopped pacing and scanned the area carefully. Nothing. Elena came up beside him and put her hand on his elbow. “Jack, we have to leave.”

 

He wanted to protest, but he knew as well as she did that they couldn’t risk endangering all of them for Irina. “Sydney, time to go,” he called.

 

She didn’t move. “When is Mama going to come?” They hadn’t told her the reason for coming back to the square each day, but she’d figured it out all the same.

 

Jack frowned; Katya shook her head at him almost imperceptibly. Now wasn’t the time; he could tell Sydney the truth when they were far from here, out of the reach of the KGB. “Soon, sweetheart,” he lied.

 

She stuck her lower lip out, but ever so slowly climbed to her feet. She came over to Jack and reached out her hand; he took it and squeezed it tightly. “She’s not coming, is she? She went away again.” She began to cry.

 

Jack knelt down and hugged her. “She wanted to come very, very much,” he said softly. “But she couldn’t. Somebody didn’t let her.”

 

“The bad men that we all ran away from?”

 

“Yes, the bad men.” He stayed there for a moment.

 

“We need to leave now,” Katya said reluctantly. She stroked Sydney’s hair. “I’m sorry, darling.”

 

“A few minutes won’t matter,” Elena responded. “If…” She glanced at Sydney and switched to Spanish. “If they’ve got her, she’d kill herself before she’d tell them how to find Sydney.” Katya nodded.

 

Ten minutes later, Sydney had calmed enough for them to leave. They walked to the street and hailed a cab. Katya and Elena got in, and Jack tried to prod Sydney in, but she was staring across the square, immobile. Jack followed her gaze to see a figure limping toward the Column, face hidden by oversized sunglasses. It couldn’t be…could it?

 

“Mama!” Sydney screamed suddenly, and tore off toward the figure. The person stopped moving, turned toward them, and pulled off the sunglasses. Despite the two black eyes, now faded to a mottled brown and green, Jack recognized her easily: Irina.

 

He only froze for a moment before he started running after Sydney. Elena and Katya piled out of the cab and were right behind him, ignoring the shouts of the cab driver. Jack and Sydney reached Irina at the same time; she was sobbing as they both threw their arms around her. Katya and Elena reached them a moment later and joined the hug.

 

***

 

Later that day, Jack sat in a hotel room, watching Irina and Sydney as they lay nestled together on the bed, asleep. In between bites of an enormous meal, Irina had told them all—in Spanish so that Sydney wouldn’t understand—how she’d been caught by the KGB, escaped them, passed out, and woken up in a hospital. They all found it quite amusing that she’d gotten out of KGB custody in less than two hours but had taken a full two days to escape the civilian hospital. Without the money and identification she’d secreted in her suitcase before the mission, she’d been forced to stow away on a succession of planes to get to Paris. She’d gone to the square knowing she was too late, expecting never to see them again, so it had been a very happy surprise when Sydney called to her.

 

Irina stirred, and Jack moved from his chair to kneel beside the bed. He reached out and caressed her cheek; she opened her eyes and smiled at him. He kissed her. “I love you,” he said softly.

 

Surprise registered in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by joy. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

 

Jack didn’t know what was going to happen to them now, where they would go, what they would do. But he’d decided during the last few weeks of waiting that it wasn’t important. He loved her, she loved him, and they were together, a family. That was all that mattered.

 

THE END

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