Chapter 7
Irina looked at the phone in her hand. Sark never used to hang up on her like that. He might still be a little miffed, even if he was willing to work with her again. With, not for.
A pleased smile lit her face, maybe his time had finally come. She'd always known the day would come when Sark would outgrow her. She'd imagined that her stabbing him in the back three years ago would be the last nail in the coffin, but he'd bounced back from that with little more than a detached and sarcastic attitude to show for it. Okay, maybe, there had been a little bit of resentment on his part but he'd still been her Sark.
But now... Everyday, with every new detail of his past with Sydney, Irina felt more and more that her time to consider Sark hers was at its end. The only question now was, would he be his own man or was there someone else going to get him in her stead?
The pleased smile turned bittersweet. If Irina could have seen herself on a mirror she would have been surprised.
Sark drove for hours through deserted roads with no destination on mind. The mechanical task soothed him and allowed him to think about the situation he'd found himself in.
For the last few months Sark had pretty much been retired from the espionage world. He wasn't interested in giving his allegiance to any big organization in the vein of the Covenant or the Alliance. Too much hassle and not enough rewards. And a position like the one he'd coveted as Irina's right hand man was not an option now. It took a long time to rise through the ranks and even longer to build that kind of trust and dependence. And that would still put him under someone else's direction. Sark grimaced at the mere thought. No, his days of following orders had passed. I'll have to make sure to remind both Derevkos of that when the time comes, he thought.
But that left him with only two options: retire or go into business for himself.
Retiring permanently sounded so... boring. He'd been involved with Irina's organization for a very long time. So long, in fact, that he barely remembered a time when he was not a spy. Sark suspected he was addicted to the adrenalin rush this job provoked on a regular basis. He needed the action. Staying home, even if he could live the life of a king, didn't really appeal to him yet.
But going into business for himself seemed a pointless exercise. There were two good reasons to pursue that avenue: world dominance -ludicrous as it sounded; any kind of endgame a la Rambaldi was after some sort of world domination- and the thirst for power and money, making a name for yourself.
Sark couldn't care less about Rambaldi and his stupid vision, or any other for that matter. And he would gladly erase any and all traces of the bastard's existence from the face of the Earth.
As for the other, Sark had money. And he would have even more shortly, more than he could want or need. His ego didn't need to impose itself over anyone or anything anymore. And the name Sark had all the effect he would ever need. He'd made a name for himself even before his name had become public knowledge in the underworld.
No, Sark didn't need anything. He had all he wanted, down to the inheritance his father had put in his possession -because he'd had no other choice, Sark was sure- almost two years ago now. Sark glanced at the disk lying on the passenger's seat. The plastic case refracted the last rays of sunlight into a rainbow on his dashboard. He'd finally gotten the last piece of information he needed to get his money back. And if the file was correct, much more than that. He smirked, that had been a pleasant surprise.
Seeing the city lights ahead he eased up on the accelerator. No need to get caught for something so stupid as a traffic ticket. He was, after all, still a wanted man.
What Irina was asking of him put him back following someone else's plans. And what Sydney wanted, put him right in the middle of more Rambaldi madness. He shouldn't do it. He should go get his money, retire to his villa and decide what he wanted to do next. He definitely should not accept any of the two women's requests.
Sark smiled. But he was going to, anyway.
Irina looked up from the papers she'd been reading surprised to hear the door of her office opening. No one entered her office without knocking.
Sark was leaning on the doorframe, watching her with what could almost be described as a defying look. Irina went back to reading, unimpressed.
"Knocking at someone's door is not a sign of obedience, Sark; it's a show of manners. You were raised better," she chided nonchalantly.
From the corner of her eye she saw him smile and nod in acquiescence. Point made. Point taken.
"Please, take a seat," she offered and he complied. "So, you'll do it. You will help me protect Sydney." He just nodded. "May I ask what made you change your mind?"
Sark studied his hands. He'd debated how much to tell Irina. Not enough, and both Sydney's and his life could be endangered. Too much, and Sydney's confidence in him would be at risk. He needed to find a balance.
"Sydney contacted me," he explained. Irina's raised eyebrow was the only reaction she showed. "She asked for my help with a project."
"And you agreed? After everything you told me the last time we talked? What could she have offered you that would erase everything she'd done to you in the past," she wondered, pretending to be confused.
Sark rolled his eyes inwardly. He knew better. Nothing confused Irina. "I haven't agreed to anything yet. At least not with her," he clarified, because he'd obviously agreed to her own request. "But I will. And I need to know how much you want her to know."
He didn't need to explain what he meant. "Not yet."
Sark hesitated before offering any more information. "This thing she wants my help with... Let's just say, probably, your secret won't hold for long."
"How come?" she questioned him, curious.
"She's going to investigate the family history," was all he said. After a few moments of silence, he added, "I'm reserving the choice of when to tell her, Irina. At this moment I can walk both sides without getting wet, but I can see the river widening already and I'm not sure which side will be the best for me. Yet."
Irina watched him speculatively. It had really been a long time for them. She had raised him to be the man he was today. For the better or the worse. Sometimes she wasn't really sure. But there was something she didn't doubt. Finally, she smiled. "I trust your judgement."
Sark could have masked his surprise but he chose not to. Irina could see through him, anyway. Seeing him, the smile reached Irina's eyes and he couldn't help but return it. He knew she trusted him to some point. It was just that sometimes he thought she didn't know it.
Nodding amicably at her, Sark rose from his seat. "I'll keep in touch," he promised.
"Goodbye, Julian."
Sydney gritted her teeth against the pain, closing her eyes tightly. The first bullet had gone in through her calf, side to side, ripping her muscle and bleeding profusely. The sudden flare of intense pain had stopped her mid-step, making her a perfect target for the second bullet to lodge itself in her thigh. She'd stumbled, the second wound turning her leg into a raging inferno of pain so severe her vision had blurred and she'd felt dizzy. She would have fallen right on the spot if Sark hadn't caught her by the waist and dragged her around the corner, for some cover, and then carried her out of the building in his arms.
The trip to the safe house had been agonizing, she wasn't sure she hadn't lost consciousness at some point, and the car had been soaked with her blood by the time Sark had gently lifted her into his arms again and carried her inside, lying her on the couch where she was now.
"Here," Sark's voice startled her and she opened her eyes to see him kneeling by her side, a couple of pills in his outstretched hand. She took them and swallowed them down with the water he was carrying in his other hand. Sydney managed to give him a weak smile in gratitude.
Sark took the first aid kit from the table and sat it on the floor beside him. He took out scissors, a sterilized blade and tweezers. Sydney grimaced in trepidation.
"Do you want me to cut through your pants or take them off?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Sydney blurted out something between a laugh and a sob. "Just cut them, Sark. They're ruined anyway."
He nodded and began to cut the fabric, from her ankle upwards by the seam. The second bullet had hit her very high in the thigh and, if it didn't hurt so much to move it, it would be more practical to just remove them completely. But even the slight brushing of the fabric against her skin, anywhere on the leg by this point, while he cut methodically up her leg was making her see stars. She couldn't imagine what lifting her whole body weight would feel like.
Sark was focusing intently on his task. Divesting Sydney. Any other situation and he'd be ecstatic at the prospect of getting her out of her clothes; but Sark could see just in how much pain she was at the moment and all he wanted to do was to fix her. He didn't like to see her hurt. At least not if it wasn't me doing the hurting, he told himself.
When he finished cutting he put aside the pant leg and examined the wounds. There were three holes. One entry and one exit point for the one in the calf -that one would probably need a real doctor to make sure the muscle healed properly- and an entry point in her the side of her thigh. He deliberated which one to attend to first. "Let's get this bullet out," he said finally.
Sydney just nodded and watched him open the sealed wrapping of the blade. She knew he would have to widen the hole a little to get some degree of visibility. When he looked at her inquiringly, she nodded again and closed her eyes.
She felt him lean over her thigh, the slight pressure of his fingers on her flesh, the sudden cold of the blade when it touched her skin. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax and to her surprise she realized it was working. Was that because of the morphine she'd taken a few minutes ago kicking in already? Or was it the feel of his thumb caressing her skin softly, a mute apology for the pain he was inflicting on her...?
"Sydney?"
Startled out of her reverie, Sydney saw Nadia standing on the door to her bedroom, holding the phone and watching her curiously. Obviously that wasn't the first time Nadia had said her name.
"Sorry," Sydney said. She closed the book she hadn't really been reading and set it on the bedside table. "Is it for me?" she asked nodding at the phone.
"Yes." Nadia stepped into the room and handed her the cordless phone.
Sydney took it, glancing at her alarm clock. It was almost midnight. "Who's calling at this hour?" she asked Nadia in a low voice.
"I don't know," Nadia answered and turned to leave. Before closing the door she added, "It's a British guy."
Sydney stared at the phone for a second before hesitantly placing it on her ear. "Hello?"
"Sydney," Sark's voice was politely distant, almost as if the conversation didn't go with him.
Sydney exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It had been two days. Forty-eight long hours of worrying. Half the time she'd been convinced he'd never accept her offer to help her and he wasn't even going to bother to tell her so. And the other half she'd spent daydreaming about their time 'together', like she'd been doing moments before, and almost praying that he'd accept the offer.
"Are you there?" she heard him say and she realized she'd been silent too long.
"Yes, sorry. I was just surprised," she apologized.
"That I called so late? Or that I called at all?" he asked knowingly.
"Both," she said simply. "Have you decided?"
Sark didn't answer immediately and she just knew he was doing it on purpose to rattle her. Finally, he sighed, as if tiring of the game, "Yes."
"Are you being difficult on purpose?" she asked exasperated. "'Yes, you've decided' or 'yes, you'll help me'?"
"Both," he replied, enjoying getting to her. "I'll meet you tomorrow night at the cinema in Beverly Boulevard, the last show," he instructed.
Sydney blinked, confused. "At a cinema?" she asked.
"What, you'd rather have our first date somewhere else?" he teased her.
Sydney huffed. "Date? Please." Suddenly, she was grateful he'd chosen to call instead of dropping by so he couldn't see the blush on her cheeks. "Okay, the cinema, last show. I'll see you there..." she left the sentence hanging, not sure if he had anything else to say.
"Wear black," he added before hanging up.
"Black?" she asked out loud to the empty room.
Sydney finished the report she'd been working on and looked around. The APO offices were never completely empty, but being Sunday and quite late meant that only the agents with no private life were still around. Sadly, that included her. And her dad. And Vaughn.
Nadia and Weiss had gone out, Dixon had said something about spending time with his children and even Sloane had had plans. Wasn't that scary?
You've got plans, too, Sydney, she reminded herself. Not that she'd forgotten, of course. She'd been thinking about her meet -not date- with Sark all day.
"Sydney, can I see you in my office for a minute?"
She looked up to see her father standing beside her desk, a curious look on his face. Had she been lost in thought of Sark for long? Again?
"Sure." She followed Jack into his office and sat at his desk. "What is it?"
Jack hesitated before speaking, which told Sydney he didn't want to talk about anything work related.
"I've noticed you and Vaughn don't seem to spend so much time together," he said tactfully.
Sydney hadn't told her father about their break up. Nor had she really told him they had gotten back together last June either. They just weren't into the habit of discussing their private lives. He inferred the information he needed from their actions. A fact which meant, of course, that he knew perfectly well that she and Vaughn weren't a couple anymore. He was just being... polite?
"You're right. We broke up a few weeks ago," she confirmed.
Jack nodded twice. "May I ask what happened?" His tone was at the same time concerned and apologetic. He didn't want to intrude into her private life but he worried about her. Vaughn had always been a sore point between them. He'd never approved of the man and she knew it. The fact that Vaughn had made her suffer so much didn't help at all in Jack's eyes.
Sydney shrugged. "We grew apart. I don't think getting back together so soon after Lauren's death helped, but the truth is that we'd both moved on even though we didn't want to see it. We'd been holding onto something that just wasn't there anymore," she offered, not sure how to explain what had really happened, about her memories, without including Sark. And that wasn't something she was ready for. She didn't like to lie to her father but it wasn't anything new either.
Jack studied his daughter. She seemed convinced of what she was saying, but then she was very good at her job. Maybe she was telling the truth just not all of it? She had been rather absentminded lately, not forgetful or out right distracted, just prone to daydreams and reveries. He'd been meaning to ask her about it but the right opportunity hadn't presented itself until now.
"Are you okay?" he prodded carefully.
Sydney smiled at him, moments like this one -when her father got past the distance between them and acted on his concern for her- were still few and far between. "Yes, dad, I'm okay." Seeing that he wasn't convinced she added, "Maybe not perfect, but I'm fine. And I'm getting better every day."
Jack looked out his glass walls to where Vaughn sat at his desk, talking on the phone, still working.
"Is it hard for you to work with him?" he asked, already looking for the perfect excuse to transfer Vaughn if the answer was affirmative.
Sydney thought about it for a moment, but she was unconsciously shaking her head. "No, not really," she said finally. "I think it might be harder for him."
Jack nodded, appeased. And, reading between the lines, he was glad to learn it had been her decision.
Sydney checked her watch.
"Is there anywhere you need to be?" he enquired.
"Not really," she said dismissively. "There's this movie I wanted to see... It's been a long time since I had an uncomplicated night out," she mused.
"Then go," her father prompted her, as she knew he would. "There's nothing here that can't wait until tomorrow."
Sydney smiled at him, dimples appearing on her cheeks. "Thanks, dad. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, standing up and turning to leave.
Jack watched her go. Something didn't add up, but he wasn't sure what.
It was one fifteen in the morning and Sydney was standing outside the Odeon cinema, checking the movies that were showing. She was wearing a black tight turtleneck and black slacks, fitting both for a late night show and some 'work'. She had decided that Sark must have been planning some kind of job and not only playing with her mind.
The last movie was due to start in five minutes and she had to decide if she was going in by herself or waiting until Sark made an appearance. She couldn't stay much longer out there, anyway, she would look suspicious. Paranoid much, Syd? she chastised herself. But once a spy, always a spy.
She bought a ticket and went in. Entering the dark theatre she chose an empty row towards the end and got her glasses from her purse.
Thirty minutes later she felt someone seat beside her and she looked briefly into Sark's eyes before rapidly looking back at the screen. "Took your sweet time, didn't you?" she whispered, leaning closer to him so she could speak even lower. His scent invaded her senses and she almost missed his reply.
"Afraid I had stood you up?" he teased. Not waiting for her answer he went on, "I had to look for a different way in. Your father was watching the front door."
Sydney whirled, surprised. "What?" she hissed.
Sark raised his hand to brush away the hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Careful, Sydney, we don't want to draw any attention to us," he chastised her, but his husky whisper would have been taken as an endearing comment by any onlookers.
Sydney swallowed hard. Lowering her head, she let it rest on his shoulder, keeping up the fa�ade he'd started and, more important, allowing her to break eye contact. "Sorry," she muttered. Her position didn't let her see his smirk.
Glancing around discretely to make sure no one was paying attention to them -not that there were that many people in the theatre-, he shifted Sydney so that he could put his arm around her shoulders, settling her more comfortably on his arm. "Is there any reason why your father is following you to the cinema?" he asked, the hand on her shoulder playing with her hair.
I should've worn it in a ponytail, she thought, disturbingly distracted by the simple touch. She shook her head, both to herself and to him. "I don't know, he must've seen through my half truths more easily than I thought."
Sark stayed silent for a few minutes, lost in thought, and Sydney found herself relaxing in his embrace. 'Danger, Will Robinson,' she warned herself.
"If you have to leave this building in less than two hours we better get a move on," he said finally.
Sydney looked up into his serious face. Playtime's over then, she thought. Whatever he wanted me here for, I'm about to discover.
"Care to explain yourself?" she demanded.
Sark watched her intently for about ten seconds, then he rose abruptly. "No. Are you coming?"
He walked away from her and towards the emergency exit door, keeping to the shadows. Sydney sat dumbfounded until she saw the door start to close behind him and she quickly run after him. "Sark!" she hissed.
When she got to the door she found him waiting for her, a smug look on his face, his foot keeping the door partially open. She could see a small device attached to the striker plate so that no alarm had gone off when the door opened. Slipping through the door, she scowled at him and blocked his path. "Talk," she ordered.
Sark rolled his eyes. Putting one arm around her waist he directed her towards another emergency exit door in the opposite side of the narrow back alley.
"Sark..." she warned.
"This is Leitch's Finances Ltd.," he started, speaking over his shoulder where he was kneeling, busy attaching another scrambler to the door. "Six months ago, one Thieran Rushell made an investment in this company," he explained. Getting a glass cutter from a bag he'd previously stashed behind a dumpster before going into the cinema, he applied it to the emergency door's glass. "Rushell, also known as Ushek San'ko, put six hundred million dollars in a series of companies conveniently situated to avoid a thorough inspection."
Sydney leaned over and took the glass cutter he was handing her. "Only six hundred?"
"Actually, I was surprised to learn it had been that much. You have to admit the Covenant was fairly tight-fisted with my money. 200 million dollars in almost nine months... Commendable," he mused.
"Yeah, they were model citizens," she snorted.
Sark ignored her. "By that time, the Covenant was in shambles, thanks to you and the CIA. So San'ko decided to cut his losses and take my money with him."
Putting his hand through the hole, he pushed the bar down and opened the door. "After you," he told her. Sydney packed up the tools and shouldered the bag, entering the building.
"What makes you think the money's still here. San'ko has been dead for a while now."
Sark smirked at her over his shoulder, as he was leading the way. "My good friend Ushek had a great system. Every single transaction starting from or ending in that money had to go through a safety program he had custom made for himself. Without the disk containing the program the money is stuck somewhere in the limbo of L. F. Ltd."
"Which means, you have that disk now," Sydney commented neutrally.
"Indeed. Miss Espinosa made me an even greater favour than she intended. How is she, by the way?"
"In jail. Pissed at you," Sydney answered coldly. This whole thing didn't feel right to her. "So, what am I doing here?" she demanded, not intending to let him distract her.
Sark shook his head and she heard him chuckle softly. Sydney noticed they were walking down a highly illuminated hallway and she looked around. A brief glance showed at least three cameras that had probably captured both of them breaking and entering.
She stopped and grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. "Sark."
"Insurance, Sydney. You're here for my peace of mind," he said, suddenly more serious than she had seen him in a long time. "Those cameras are transmitting to my private server while receiving a pre-recorded empty building at the same time."
Sydney's eyes flashed, furious. But the steely look in his ice cold eyes took all the fight out of her. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, she reminded herself. Sark is no fool.
"As you so eloquently put it once, 'If you burn me, I burn you'," he said and turned around.
Sydney sighed and followed him sadly.
Click here to review at Gumboot Mafia