The Perfect Weapon Ending 1 Chapter 1002: Part 2 section 3 of 3
Ending 1 Chapter 1002 Part 2 Section 3 of 3
As she got up and looked down the beach she saw a distant fire and remembered the night he had proposed, the little word game. That night. So many nights. So many days. So many games. This was just one more. The game between them...the sense that he was right there was so strong, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to dial, then put it back. No, she had to play this game out. She had to find way to win him, win the game. Get what she wanted. She had to come up with a better plan, she had to tie up all of these loose threads, she needed to clean up the mess... She should start first with Sloane. She needed to remove him as a player as soon as possible. She should have done it decades before. She should have done more than break his wrist. She should have told Jack about Arvin’s awkward, drunken pass at her. He would have taken care of Arvin.
“Sydney wouldn’t touch Susan,” Jack said firmly, as he desultorily tapped that damn pencil.
“Jack....” Vaughn sighed and shook his head. Did Jack truly not realize that Sydney was the poster child for a daddy’s girl? Oh, what the hell. “Don’t you understand that Sydney wants to compete?”
“Compete for what?” Jack had stopped tapping that pencil as he carefully asked the question. Thank god! Vaughn could breathe again.
Yes, Sloane had to go. She would betray him, of course. He was in her way. And his behavior on the plane out of Panama had sealed his fate.
Sydney...that bizarre possessiveness Arvin allowed to surface from time to time over Sydney, that they had dismissed as merely a result of the Sloanes’ much-lamented childlessness. But now she saw how sick he was, how pathologically-twisted was his belief in his honor as a husband, his role in Sydney’s life. How utterly ridiculous. Then and now.
Jack was Sydney’s father. The two of them were so much alike.... Which might explain... She had always thought Arvin's behavior stemmed not from misplaced desire for her, but as so often, for whatever Jack had. Abilities, talents, skills. Her. Sydney. Or worse, to beat Jack, to win whatever Jack had, in some bizarre form of competition that Jack had always just dismissed lightly as - what had he called it?
Oh, yes. Short man syndrome. She would have to remember to wear heels the next time she was with Sloane. Jack, she sighed in remembrance, had always liked the heels, actually liked it when she was even taller than usual, liked being able to find her in a crowd. Like the night they had conceived Sydney, when he’d asked her to wear red to grab his attention. She swirled the stick through the pool again.
“Compete not only to win some trump the teacher game, but to get your attention.”
“She always has my attention. But...” But I suppose, part of that need to compete for attention comes from the fact that she felt like she didn’t have it growing up, he thought sadly. Maybe he should be a little more demonstrative now? Then, he felt a shiver pass up his spine as he hoped that she had not inherited that possessive gene from Irina.
His behavior the night they conceived Sydney notwithstanding, Jack was not terribly possessive, but -- she decided, still thinking about Sloane - a betrayal by a friend - that he would never forgive. He might have killed him or arranged for a convenient accidental death on a mission.
Well, that’s what she would have done. And it would have been so easy, after all; when Sloane went on missions he often was the lookout; to his chagrin, his smaller stature made it much easier for him to blend into the crowd, to be the person scanning the area in a hotel lobby, a concert, a marketplace. And everyone knows that marketplaces in third world countries could be quite dangerous, life threatening, even, like....
Well, that was hindsight. Yes, she should have told Jack - then she would not be dealing with Sloane right now. She would have had a free shot at Rambaldi and probably could have tied it up so much sooner.
“Oh no. Not another possessive...This has to be nipped in the bud.” He began tapping again.
“I think-“ Vaughn began as he saw the two women approach, Susan’s face alight with satisfaction, while Sydney behind her looked...thoughtful, he decided in relief. “I think...maybe that has been taken care of.”
“Don’t dangle your prepositions,” Jack said absently.
“You sound like an English teacher, Dad,” Sydney said equally absently as she came up behind him. Her eyebrow raised as she looked from the pencil on the table to Vaughn and back again and rolled her eyes. Her father was an evil man. Vaughn was so played.
Jack turned and smiled. “No surprise..” He stood up and helped Sydney scoot forward in her chair. Great, making me look like a piker yet again, Vaughn thought to himself. Vaughn bit his lip as he saw Jack raise an eyebrow in Susan’s direction. She gave him a guileless look as she sat down that caused him to shake his head. Squeezing Sydney’s shoulder, he sat back down. “My mother was an English teacher.”
“She was? I didn’t know that!” Sydney exclaimed, as Jack sat back down.
Susan’s snide, if soft retort, “Wow, color me surprised!” was cut off by Vaughn’s kick to her ankle. She really needed to meet Weiss, he decided once again, this time with a deep sigh.
Luckily, Sydney had not heard it, as her attention was focused on her father. Watching, Vaughn could practically see the gears turning in his head, then slowly, Jack held out his hand to his daughter. She looked at it for moment and then took his hand for a second or two, her face transforming from stricken to glowing in a heart beat.
Irina mused as she walked down the beach, restraining her hair with one impatient hand, remembering the tension she had sensed between father and daughter. The longing in each of their faces when they looked at each other and thought the other was not looking. What in the world could be the cause of that?
“Me, me first, Daddy!” she could hear in her head, smiling, remembering that little game when Jack would come in the door. The little competition between mother and daughter that had supplanted too often, in her opinion, the game where he stood in the doorway with hands upraised and said, just for her, “Honey, I’m home” and waited for her with that look of almost-shy anticipation. Watching Sydney and Jack, she had struggled so often not be jealous.
Knowing that Jack had enough love for both of them, his heart was so big, so soft for those he loved. She had wanted so often to blurt out to her daughter, then and now, “You are so lucky!” Sydney could always trust her father to be there for her. Save her, like the day she had jumped off of the roof....
She shuddered, pushed the memory away. Oh well, she thought finally, not knowing the answer, not being able to imagine a single reason why the two might have problems, they would work it out in the end. Jack lived for Sydney and Sydney had always been the ultimate daddy’s girl.
After that, the conversation degraded, in Vaughn’s opinion, into a slightly stilted, but heartfelt discussion - well, a three-way heartfelt discussion - about which Jane Austen book was the best one, which heroine was the best character. Borrrring. The only interesting aspect, he decided eventually, was watching Jack interact with Sydney. If she said something negative to Susan, Jack would ignore her. When she interacted in what Vaughn thought, but was, he decided, smart enough not to say, a more mature manner, Jack would touch her hand or smile at her or...What the hell was he doing? Was he using positive and negative reinforcement on Sydney? Ha. She was so played. Wait, he had heard something to which he could respond, he thought. "Emma?’"Wait he had heard of that one!
“Gwyneth Paltrow right? The movie? Emma?” Vaughn interjected, earning himself triple looks of disdain. He nervously blurted out, “I saw that movie, got dragged to it by-,” He bit off his words. “Someone.” Oh good recovery, you idiot, he thought to himself, looking over at Jack, hoping he’d help him. Instead Jack just gave a small smile and mouthed, ‘Smooth move.’ Vaughn clamped his lips together. Just keep your mouth shut, he decided. Spare me, he thought as the discussion continued without him. I could be watching a game right now, instead I have to listen to-
“Vaughn? We’re leaving,” Sydney said. “Coming?” Not likely tonight, he thought to himself, seeing the confusion on Sydney’s face since her return from the ladies’ room.
Why hadn’t he contacted her? Why hadn’t he come after her himself in Italy? Why send Sydney and that boyfriend of hers? What game was he playing? She felt...lost, she decided as she turned around and began walking in a straight line back to her villa. Concentrate on the game plan, Derevko. First things first.
They went to their separate cars. Vaughn, looking over, hoped Sydney did not see Susan giving Jack a quick hug, but hearing her slice of indrawn breath, knew she did. Then decided the look of sheer astonishment on Jack’s face was almost enough to make the rest of the evening worth it. He paused, gathering his strength after closing Sydney’s car door - not that he did that every time, but with Jack standing there, he knew he had better act like a gentleman or some door would get slammed on his hand sometime soon.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack look over at Sydney briefly. Then pause before getting into his own car. Watched him look into the night sky, saw his lips move, but was too far away to read his lips, to tell anything more than that he had said three syllables. How....odd. He had seen Sydney do the same a few times, when she thought no one was watching, when she thought he was asleep.
So first thing, get the intel she needed, then ditch Sloane. But, she shrugged, as she scooted sideways to avoid the incoming tide, Sloane was just a minor inconvenience. A...fly to be captured and crushed. The bigger question was, how to get Jack back into the game? Sydney?
What was that about? Vaughn sighed. Yet another connection between father and daughter, no doubt. No doubt another unacknowledged connection. He was so frustrated with them. Although...Jack had held out his hand to Sydney tonight, in public. That was something. Sydney had held onto it one time for a long moment, acting as if it were some...lifeline. She never hung onto his hand like that, he groused to himself! He had to work a lot harder than holding her hand to get that look on her face, as well! This was so unfair and geez, he wanted this to be over, he wanted her attention, thank you very much. She was his girlfriend and....He sighed, he was jealous of Jack. This was bordering on pathetic. He wondered, did Barnett do family therapy? Wait, had he just thought of himself as member of the Bristow family?
He looked up into the sky, seeking inspiration, solace, or possibly, a meteor that would fall out of space and hit him on the forehead. As Vaughn looked around he noted Jack looking at Sydney, Sydney pretending not to notice her father and sighed. He wondered, did Jack and Sydney realize how lucky they were? He wondered, did they understand that even though their relationship was messy, how very safe they were within that charmed circle of theirs? He wondered, if they understood that the love between them protected them within that circle? That the strength of that connection would hold them together through everything that buffeted it? The world could fall apart around them and what centered them - their love for each other - would hold firm.
Sydney...She would explain somehow to Sydney. Sydney would believe her. And if she explained to Sydney, Sydney would do the hard work of telling Jack. She would deal with his quick temper, she was good at that, anyway. Jack listened to Sydney. She kept thinking, walking, shaking her feet with almost every step, thinking, trying to find the straight path, kept walking even when the tide came in and her feet grew drenched, caked with sand that had once been soft and now had grown hardened, dragging her steps down.
“Good evening, Mr. Bristow. You’re full of energy tonight,” the doorman commented, as Jack crossed in the lobby of his apartment building in quick strides. “You look as if you’ve had a good night. A hot date?” the doorman asked.
Jack paused and smiled at the ever-friendly Juan, who had worked here for years. “No. Dinner with a friend and my daughter and her...” He rolled his eyes. “Boyfriend.”
“Ah. Boyfriends,” Juan said mournfully. Both men grimaced. “How is this one?”
Jack shrugged. “He’ll do.”
“Don’t show too much enthusiasm.”
“Well, I don’t want to kill this one. Well, at least not all the time. He’s actually...pretty amusing at times.” Like when I see how many furrows I can create in his forehead or the look in his eyes when I tap a pencil. Sigh. Life was good.
“That’s something, then. Good night!”
‘Oh, it’s been a good night. See you tomorrow,” Jack called out as he moved toward the elevator. Opening his door, he changed the security system from unoccupied to occupied and pulled his toolbox out from under the kitchen sink.
Irina knew she should probably relax, think about this later. Tomorrow she had to rejoin Sark. He required an inordinate amount of watchfulness. She should rest. She seemed to just be going in circles tonight.
It was such a pleasure, Jack thought, putting down the pliers to begin scrolling through his personal files, when everything came together in a nice, tight little circle.
“Senator? Jack Bristow. I need to call in my favor....”
“Senator? Jack Bristow. I have a deal I’d like to make...”
“Senator? Jack Bristow. I need to call in my favor....”
“Senator Douglas? Jack Bristow. Yes, that Jack Bristow, Sydney’s father.” He sighed. He’d still like to paddle Sydney’s butt for that idiotic lie she had told Douglas about a senator being in the pocket of SD-6. As if, it wouldn’t, eventually, occur to the dim-witted politician - excuse him for being repetitive, he thought - that SD-6 had been taken down but nothing more had been heard about said senator. Sigh. Did he have to do everything himself? Oh well, this is why one performed extensive background preparation - one never knew when the resulting...intelligence might come in handy, did one? “How did I get this private number? Why, am I interrupting...something? Did I wake your....wife? No, I thought not ..... Senator, are you there? I have a deal for you. Oh, I think you might want to listen. It’s a good deal, a good offer. Everyone benefits. Let me explain- Oh, I wouldn’t be so fast to use that kind of language....Don’t you want to hear my offer? No?” Sigh.
“Well, I wouldn’t be so fast to hang up, Mr. Senator, elected on the strength of his commitment to traditional family values. Now, I’m a man of the world, it doesn’t bother me that you’ve got some pretty young thing on the side.” Cameras were such useful tools, weren’t they? “Even though I’m seeing way more of you than I want to in these lovely black and white photographs I have here. Or perhaps, I’m mistaken, perhaps this is just a... masseuse friend of your daughter’s? She attends George Washington University, doesn’t she? I’m sure her brand new, very powerful computer could easily upload this jpeg images of you and whatshisname I’m about to send to her email address, which is....Or I could do it the old fashioned way and send them in a manila envelope.” He sighed. Blackmail, it was so beneath him. Really. “What do I want? A favor. I just want you to listen to this deal and I think you’ll see it has merits of its own. Ready to listen now? Thank you for your time and attention.”
Why had he sent Sydney and her little boyfriend after her in Italy? Why hadn’t he come himself? Why hadn’t he contacted her? That passive transmitter was just one step in the game, but what fun was the game if he wasn’t directly involved?
She had, she sighed happily, those photographs of the last few moments in Panama and photographs didn’t lie. He had known she was going to betray him, Sydney, the CIA, and yet those photographs - he had allowed her, actually encouraged her to take them. He looked perfectly at ease in them, so... he must have viewed her extraction, that transmitter as just one more step in the game. He must have wanted her to have those photographs, to replace the ones lost from her personal portfolio.
“Senator? This is Jack Bristow. Yes, let’s play golf again the next time I’m in town. And your wife is doing well with her import business? Did she enjoy that vase I sent her for her birthday as much as she indicated in her thank you note - I mean, I truly hope I hit the nail on the head with that. Good, good....I’m calling because I have an idea that I hope you’ll support in committee. It will net us the terrorist who is number six on the CIA’s most wanted list, will do so with the use of only three agents - so very low monetary expenditure, no bloodshed, and we can give credit to one of our recalcitrant allies for a stunning win in the war on terror. And it will all be perfectly legal. Yes...” He laughed. “I swear - perfectly legal....Ah, you know me too well, but I swear on my own personal honor, that it is all perfectly legal, nice and tight, no loopholes. Interested? I thought you might be. So I can count on your support in committee for my offer in regards to the penalty clause? Thank you.”
She should probably call Sark. But... whose side was he really on? One never knew with someone like him. Even now, he might be conspiring with Sloane. She was under no illusions about her allies. They were not friends, after all, just... co-workers, at best.
“Zamir? Bristow. Just calling to see what you think of Vaughn’s work so far...Yes, he’s Bill’s son.... Yes, my...wife killed Bill Vaughn.... And yes, he’s Sydney’s boyfriend.... Yes, I’m aware of the fact that this is an unholy mess! No, I don’t think I did something in a prior life to deserve this. I mean, wouldn’t I have come back as a cockroach or something if that was the case? Yeah, I’m sure God does have a sense of humor, but.... I’d appreciate it if you did not laugh like that, Zamir. ... Are you done? Good, moving along, I need to have written documentation of the laws regarding the rights of married women in the provinces under question... So, obviously, I’ll need a highly-placed local attorney who can...Your brother’s niece’s husband’s cousin? I met him? When? Geez, I can’t remember, that was almost two decades ago and he was ten!....Okay, give me his number.... Yeah, you’re right. It was her contention that after nineteen years she could still remember the placement of every land mine in that field that... And those stinking wonder berries of hers. Mistake, mistake, mistake.”
He pushed a hand through his hair, as he swivelled around to look out his window at the lights of the city below. Yawned. “Yeah, I’m tired. It’s been a big day. I..had dinner with Sydney and...well,... And it’s not because I’m getting old! What is it with you and.... Yeah, you know how to push my buttons. You’re so amusing. You can do a standup routine at the next old-timers intelligence reunion dinner. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks, Zamir.”
Tiring, she walked back to her villa, then wasted too much time, she thought, rinsing her feet off at the outdoor shower near the beach-side French doors. She had so much to do, this game was so demanding after all. But holding onto the shower pole, she stared off at the ocean for a moment. Promised herself that when this was done, she’d go back home. That is, if Jack did not find it first. He would love it, she knew. And it might be a key to help trigger some of Sydney’s memories, she sighed happily.
But he saw, seeing his eyes glittering with excitement in the black pane of glass in his darkened office, that he was in no danger of falling asleep. At least not until he’d done this last, little bit of work. Pulling a blank piece of paper toward him, he grabbed a pencil. Remembering Vaughn’s look of near terror every time he picked up a pencil, remembering Judy tossing that gnawed-on pencil of hers at him, he smiled, as he wrote down two words, twelve letters in all. He thought for a moment, remembering, after all it had been a while since he’d used this particular code. And she had been the encryption whiz...
Ah, there it was. He’d begin using this. Then he frowned, was that too easy? Maybe....Hmm. He reencrypted it using the mirror method of changing the code, with an A becoming a Z and a B a Y and so on. Hmm, he glanced at both versions. Perhaps she’d used either or both. Only time and trial and error would tell.
Poor Vaughn, he had so much work ahead of him. He would be so busy, Jack sighed happily and smiled. Now, he could go to sleep. As he walked into his bedroom, hung up the suit, he heard something crunch in the pocket.
Oh, he smiled again, as he pulled out that silvery bow, he had forgotten he’d taken that. He smiled as he touched the curly ribbons, still feeling amazement that someone had given him a gift today. And Sydney had gone to dinner with him and Susan; Sydney had acted...not well at first, but they could work on that. The positive reinforcement might help.
But, today had been a good day, a very good day, he decided as he put the silver bow down carefully on top of the book on his bureau, next to the pliers. It was almost a shame to fall asleep and let the day end. Then sighing, deciding he was too tired to do anything other than just collapse in bed, he tossed his shirt and tie and everything else into a corner and crawled beneath the sheets.
Why did he have white sheets, he pondered, falling asleep. Yuck. Maybe, blue.... he thought as he fell asleep to dream again the dream that was no longer a dream, but a plan whose loose ends were tying themselves up even as he slept.
She grimaced as she bent down and had to use the flat of her hand to wipe her feet completely clean before stepping into sandals. This sand was almost as bad as the dust that seeped into every crevice, that made keeping a house clean such a chore. And you could not falter in clearing that gritty dust. All the time, sweeping and vacuuming - if the electricity did not fail, and wiping and...it was endless. But you had to. There was no choice. If you didn’t, the dust would swirl and sweep on its own, right through the house, touching everything in its path, wearing away at surfaces, creating little chinks in the corners and joints, making everything appear permanently dirty. You had, she thought, as she opened the door to her silent, dark villa and shook her feet once again, you had to keep up with the cleaning or everything would fall apart.
TBC at Chaper 1002 Part 3 section 1 of 4