The Perfect Weapon Ending 2 Chapter 2002 Part 3
"I've never been giddy a day in my life," Irina protested, even as she put a hand to her cheek, feeling the smile muscles there protesting sudden heavy use after so long in dormancy.
"Give me time and a horizontal surface and I promise you, you'll see giddy."
"Suddenly you require a horizontal surface?" Irina purred. "Perhaps I need to pull a page out of my memory book and... resuscitate your abilities?"
Jack gulped. He had a feeling the revenge was about to begin. And that he might need another form of resuscitation by the time she had finished with him.
"Are you alive and... well?" She asked in that same tone. "I ask because all I can hear is some heavy breathing."
"Well, you did say it was one of those phone calls. I'm just trying to be...helpful."
"What would be extremely helpful---"
"To your game plan of torturing me?"
"Yes, that. I'm so relieved you're keeping up with me."
"Don't worry about that."
"I wasn't. Now, back to the game. In this step, if you want to be helpful, you can grab a handful---"
"Handful of what?" Jack asked.
"You tell me. What do you have for me? Would it fill my hand?" She asked slowly, using her accent that she had learned the last few months was an excellent strategy. Combining the right words with that accent... Yes, she had him. Or was so close she could taste it. Yes, tasting would be good. She licked her lips.
Jack surrendered to the deep sigh that hissed from his mouth as he traced the circle of the steering wheel in front of him. Concentrate, he told himself. This was a good game.
Spin.
Spin.
Spin.
Sloane spun his wedding ring around his finger as he waited, patiently, he thought, for his contact on the other end of the phone to finish the endless pleasantries the man's culture dictated as a necessity to any business transaction. Even when the transaction involved death and torture, platitudes and politesse were the order of the day. He sighed. He was too much of an American, he decided, looking down at the ring finger. Cut to the chase or rather, he feared Jack would cut too close to the bone and with none of the apparent hesitation he'd felt that day Cole had infiltrated SD-6.The glint of his wedding ring caught a flash of sunlight coming in through the windows. Grimacing, he opened the top drawer of his desk and opened a small box. Emily's ring. He had offered to have it resized for her other hand, but she had declined with a pained look. Or was it the remembrance of pain? Hands, as he knew, could be the source of both pain and pleasure, so sensitive. Like the human heart.
Slide.
Slide.
Slide.
Jack slid his hand along the smooth leather-covered steering wheel before answering. "Depends upon what you're planning on doing. With me."
"Let's start with the scene."
"Let's. I'm in a parking garage, which has its own piquant memories for me."
"For us. But I'm in a place with its own set of memories."
"You're in a damn shower, aren't you?"
"Yes, I have to take a shower anyway and the water provides a good---"
"Auditory..."
"Auditory what?" Irina asked, standing there, leaning against the tile wall. Looking down at her nails, she smiled. There were so many different ways to torture someone, weren't there? "Auditory stimuli?"
"The question would be, I believe, just what do you want to stimulate?"
"That is the question. Hmm. What are my options? Option A, Option B, Option C? Three of them. Hmm. Do tell." Three options, she thought. Imagination, desire, love. Another threefold cord binding them together.
"I believe," Jack offered. "Our best route would be for you to try and stimulate and I'll tell you---"
"I'll tell you what I'm not wearing."
"Is this Option A?"
"Yes. Imagination. With which, as I recall, you were well endowed." She smiled broadly, determined not to say the obvious. Because it would drive him crazy. Which was a positive check mark on the balance sheet of this game. She tapped her big toe against the opposite rim of the tub. Let's see, would that 1, 2, 3 work on him too?
"Aren't you going to say...." Jack bit his words off. "Damn. You got me. Point to you."
"You didn't deliberately throw that point, did you?" Irina asked suspiciously.
"Why would I throw a point?"
"If you thought throwing a point now would help you win the game later, you'd do it in a heartbeat. You don't have that sort of foolish pride." Not like me, she thought sadly. So much time wasted for stupid, stubborn pride.
"Perhaps not. I have other flaws, however." Am I wise to be cautious, he wondered. Or am I just... prejudiced? Well, this he knew, "But I am a fool for punishment. Because weren't you about to expound on what you're wearing or not wearing for me?"
"Yes, I was!"
"I'm waiting."
"Impatiently, it would appear." Damn it, she looked down at her watch. They had spent too much time playing with each other, with words. Always good. And possibly more important than any torture plans she could have imagined, but...
"The time is passing. But if you could appear before me, you'd know just how impatient I am," Jack growled, just to hear the resulting smile in her voice. He tapped the fingers of his free hand on the steering wheel.
He was impatient this time. Excellent. Hmm, a nice role reversal. Torture was a very good thing, indeed. "Well, I would hate to disappoint--" She stopped when he snorted.
"You don't have the courage to do this, is the problem," Jack taunted.
"I do too!" She hissed. Then stopped and shook her head. "Point to you."
"So are we even now?"
"Not for long," Irina promised. Speaking rapidly, knowing her time was limited, she pressed on. "Let's see, where should I start? I know. With what I was wearing when I entered the bathroom."
"Which was...." Jack prompted. This was good. She could delay forever at times, hesitating. And then boldly torture him. What a woman of contradictions; it had always fascinated him.
"I had on a silky robe."
"What else?"
"Nothing, of course."
"Of course." Jack sighed. He liked those robes she had worn at home, the kind that fastened loosely with a fabric belt thing around the waist that one good tug would set loose and then...
"Just my skin. Which felt very warm in that robe. The fabric was so soft, it slid against my skin as I moved. I had to keep retying the belt on it because it kept slipping free."
"And you didn't want it to?"
"No. Not yet. Not until I was in the shower."
"Why?"
"I wanted to wait to be free until I was talking to you."
"Do you feel free, talking to me?" Did she know, did she? That she felt most free when she was connected? Did she understand that paradox of love?
"Yes." Free and...warm. A different sort of warmth than she had been teasing him about, the kind of warmth that came from loving arms. Did he...did he feel it too? He who, Dave had told her, complained of being cold?
"So...go on. Tell me more about this robe. So I can imagine you in it."
"It was red. That deep, dark red you like. Remember the color of the dress I was wearing the night we conceived Sydney?"
"Vaguely," he teased. How could he forget, he wondered, even as he heard her indrawn hiss of annoyance. Well, she would probably laugh and tease him when she saw the truth, hidden away in the bottom of Sydney's hope chest. Hope, that was what he was feeling, he knew, as they talked. Hope that seemed so fragile, but as they talked, connected, blended with each other again, the threads of that cord seemed to grow stronger by the moment. "I am in a parking garage, so perhaps I just need the slightest nudge to my memory. If you wouldn't mind, that is."
Her eyes narrowed. She had to reapply herself if he could still make irritating comments like that. "Well, I remember it quite well. I was standing there, looking into the mirror and noticing how the robe gaped open between my breasts. How the fabric, so soft and silky, was sliding across my legs and then sliding open from the center, exposing me. And it reminded me of that night and lying on the table as you took that piece of glass and..." She stopped abruptly and rubbed her chin with her free hand.
He waited, then realized she wasn't going to continue. Why should she? She had a shortcut right to... Well, the memory was more potent than any words to describe it. He closed his eyes, as he knew she no doubt intended, and saw her, lying back on the table, waiting for him. No, that was wrong, that passive image. She had been active. Enticing him with just the look in her eyes. A look he wanted, hoped to see again. Daring him, pushing him, pulling him toward her. Toward that red, that warm color that was eclipsed by the heat in her eyes. "It was that same red? Really?" Jack asked, rubbing his hand across his warm forehead. She was good.
"I'm telling the truth. I was startled when Emily gave it to me." That would probably be the last thing Emily gave her, knowingly, anyway. "But she remembered how I'd always loved that color."
"I did too. It made, makes your skin, your hair...." He trailed off, seeing her in that red dress that night, the chain winking up at him, teasing him through the sheer waist insert. "Is your hair up or down right now?"
"Up," she answered quickly. She should have thought of telling him that.
"No, it's not. You answered too rapidly."
"Damn you," she whispered, hearing the smile in her voice herself. "But...maybe I should put it up. In a bun or even a ponytail. You liked that, liked tugging on it."
"Yes, I did. It was..." he sought the right word. Ah, this should do it. "It was cute."
She opened her mouth then snapped it closed. She had never been cute a day in her life and he knew it. He also knew how to irritate. But not this time. She had a torture session she needed to resume. Shaking her head, she commented, "Good try. Did I get you yet?" How she wanted to get him, to have him... She thought of the night of the necklace and nodded. This was a good beginning. Later, more, she could tie him up, as it were in the memories, the hope, the love between them. She had the faith; would it be enough for them both? For right now? But right now, she wanted to know, "Did I win a point?"
Jack touched a finger to his forehead and felt the dampness. Smiling ruefully, he noted, "You got me. Your prey, I assume."
"Did I?" She asked eagerly.
"You bet. I have sweat on my forehead."
"Point to me."
He sighed and looked down into his lap. "If you were here, you'd know in a second how well you had succeeded."
"Oh? How?"
"Sweatpants don't hide much, did they?"
"No, they don't. It would provide quite a view." She sighed melodramatically and was gratified to hear his responding chuckle. "And they're nice and soft, too. To the touch. As I ran my hand up from your knee, up over your thigh and then..." She sighed again, then grinned when he groaned. "What color are they?"
"Black."
"Oh. What are you wearing on top?"
"Is this a fashion interrogation now?"
"No, it's my version of one of those phone calls, you twit! Play the game!" Irina laughed silently.
"I'm sorry! It's been a while since I've---"
"While that's gratifying to know, I'm standing here shivering, waiting for your answer--"
"Shivering? Oh, how cold are you? And just where are you the coldest?" he asked in that voice. If she was going to torment him, he could torment her too. In fact, that gave him an idea.
"Wellll..." She leaned her forehead against the wall. Did he have to use that voice? Of course he did! Looking down at herself, she said softly, "I have so many goosebumps, just waiting for you to rub your hands along my skin, to warm me up, to smooth the flesh---"
"Except for the flesh I don't want to smooth," Jack interrupted. Yup, these sweatpants didn't hide much.
"Except for that. But what would you do with that...flesh?"
"Hmm. Let me consider my options."
She groaned. "Here we go. Option A is..."
"Have you had a failure of imagination that you could not---"
"I want to hear your ideas!"
"So impatient. That never changes." He sighed and she could hear the amusement in the sound. "But that changes my options."
"In what way?"
"Well, if I had more time, I would have chosen as one of my options to leisurely stroke my hands along your wet body---"
"Starting where?"
"Hmm. Good question. Should I start at your ankles, and work my way up those long legs? Or should I start at your neck and work my way down? Or should I start in the middle at..."
"Where?"
"Hmm. Front or back? Well, I do have two hands, so one could be---"
She choked. Why was she doing this to herself? "Is this killing you too? I hope."
"Judging from the fact that the stretchability of my sweatpants is now being put to the test...."
Poing.
Poing.
Poing.
Arvin frowned as the rubber band he had been pulling between his fingers to pass the time flew away with a snap and hit window opposite him. Half listening to his contact drone on, he frowned as he heard the pipes still groaning and clanking over the whirring of his computer. Was Irina still in the shower? He looked upward briefly in the direction of the bedrooms as he entered the data into the file and closed down the computer. There was some memory... He'd have to ask Emily. She would remember, he decided, looking at his hand hovering uselessly over his phone. Time to eat, regardless. He sighed, that damn Sark would no doubt be there. So...irritating, that smug young man. Useful, but irritating. Staring at his phone, he pulled it toward him once again and tapped in Irina's number. Voice mail.. . Well, she was in the shower, after all. He shrugged.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"Damn, there went my other phone. I miscalculated the time I have," Irina said slowly, closing her eyes. Felt a regret disproportionate to the moment, as the time wasted in the past seemed to tick rapidly by her. "Apparently a pattern of mine. I'm... sorry. This time, now, I was enjoying this so much I ---"
"Didn't have a chance to finish your torture?" Jack asked, deciding not to tease her about her apology, knowing it was for far more than a current error in judgment. Then he began to suggest, "It's okay, Irina. We will be able to make it up. You could call---"
"I'll call you again. Is that okay?"
"Is that...?" Jack asked, then stopped. "Of course. Whenever you want. If you have intel or if you don't." She said nothing and he smiled, remembering when they were dating and later when he would call her from a trip. How she would wait. How he would wait. Neither wanting to hang up. He would always have to do so first, beginning with that night he had called her after Dave and their friends had teased him about her being 'the one.' After all this time, after everything, after all that water under the bridge, was she still the one? Would he let her be? Did he have any choice?
"Yes. I...Yes to everything." She stopped. Then straightening her shoulders, added, saying the obvious just to have a totally banal conversation, so normal, so...abnormal, so wonderful in its ordinariness, "I have to eat."
"Yes, you do. With whom?"
"Emily, Arvin, Sark."
"He has no other little minions there?"
"No. Not here."
"No, he wouldn't. And he was always a loner, really."
"He probably misses you."
"That's a damn shame," Jack said dryly. "My heart bleeds purple piss."
She bit her lip to keep from laughing, appreciating that he was trying to lighten the moment to help her move on. She didn't need his help to do that, but she sighed, it was such a lightness to know that someone cared enough to try. "I've missed your sense of humor."
"So have I," Jack agreed, looking at himself in the rearview mirror.
"I should go..." She said regretfully, wondering what it would take for Jack to find himself again.
"Then go."
They both grinned. "Do you remember--" they began together. "You go first---"
"Okay, I'll call you in two hours to check in," Jack suggested, as he remembered his role in this little game.
Irina told him the number quickly, remembering how their little goodbye rituals had dragged on forever when they were dating until....yes, there it was. Dial tone. Jack had hung up first. She reached out and put the phone down on the floor and frowned at it. Actually, she had always hated that, how he had always done that. Hated that he had left first. She'd have to tell him that. If she told him, he wouldn't do it, would he? Then a soft beep from her phone had her scrabbling for it. Flipping it open, she pressed the button for a text message. "TAF". She exhaled and sent the message back. Putting the phone down carefully, she briskly snapped the shower curtain closed, making certain that the rings rattled on the rod, in case anyone was listening.
Rattle.
Rattle.
Rattle
Sark resisted the urge to stomp on the snake across from him, now fitfully shaking the ice in his water glass. "Sir, I hesitate to ask this for fear of being considered impertinent---"
"Sark, you live to be impertinent in that too-polite way you can effect, just like---" Sloane frowned. Who was it that Sark reminded him of, when he spoke like that? With the maximum number of polysyllabic words per breath?
"Just like..." Sark prompted, his brow creasing. Sloane seemed increasingly preoccupied. No doubt he was growing more and more concerned, as was he, about the retribution that seemed increasingly inevitable. He needed to spend more time decoding that password and those files that had been so deeply imbedded in Sloane's computer, as if they were a black hole. His fingers practically itched to resume typing on that keyboard.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Irina depressed the button on the ballpoint pen from the desk in her room several times as she debated what to say next to Emily, who had come to invite her to dine with them. Tossing the pen onto the desk top, she walked over to stand next to Emily, fiddling this time with Irina's brush and comb on the bureau top, before the mirror. Closing her eyes briefly, she could see herself standing behind Emily, doing her hair for a fancy night on the town with their husbands.
"Do you remember..." Emily began, lifting her eyes to meet Irina's in the mirror. "How impatient they would get? Waiting for us? To do our hair, make up? In your case, pick out jewelry from that endless selection?" That limitless array of jewelry which she would never loan to anyone. Not one piece, not for one moment, would Laura allow anyone to borrow or try on her jewelry. Just like Jack. Had that possessiveness been an act too? She began, she knew, to babble, as she tried to find a truth somewhere, anywhere in the studied placidity of the face gazing at her over her shoulder. "Sometimes we took forever. What was it Dave's fiancee said that one time? Grown up Barbie dolls? We were so young, weren't we?"
"Making them wait?" Irina asked, remembering. Remembered dawdling a time or two or twelve, looking at their watches, waiting, waiting for Jack to bellow, 'Let's go!' up the stairs, so impatient.
"Yes. But Arvin would say, 'Worth the wait, aren't they, Jack?'"
"And Jack would say, 'Oh I don't know. I think I like Laura a little messy, a little less than perfect myself." Irina smiled and looked down at the brush, ran her fingertips across the bristles.
Emily nodded and put her hand on top of Irina's for a brief second. "He never wanted you, Laura...his wife to be perfect, you know."
"I...." Irina looked down, shocked by the sudden, unwanted sharp sting of tears. But they were useful, nonetheless. Take every advantage, a rule in her own manual. She looked back up, saw Emily's eyes soften.
"He just wanted you to be whatever you wanted, you know that. You could still---"
"Emily..." Irina said, touching her friend's.. No. Former friend. She touched her former friend's left hand. Looking down at the empty space where a ring finger should be, she shook her head. "You were brave for love."
"Is that a strength that can become a weakness?"Emily asked sharply. Had Laura, Irina, whatever, been trying to warn her earlier, warn her of Arvin? For the sake, as she had said, of their former friendship?
Irina ignored the question. It was one to which Emily already knew the answer, now that Arvin had given her the truth. Or a portion of it, anyway. "What became of your ring?"
"My..ring?" Emily asked slowly, trying to understand the abrupt question. She began to smile in reminiscence. "Ah, you and Jack and the jewel---" She bit it off. Then squaring her shoulders, she asked, "Was that real? Or another lie?"
"Was what real?"
"The way you always seemed to love those presents he gave you and..."
"Yes, that was real. Jack was a generous man. I appreciated his generosity."
"And the love behind it?"
Irina shrugged. "It was his choice to give me those gifts. I merely accepted them. To do otherwise would have been...unwise." Jack, she thought silently as she looked down at her own hand, intact physically, but still missing something. Jack, please understand when you hear this recording that I was just---
Emily grabbed her hand. "What became of your ring?"
"I flushed it down the toilet," she said briskly and turned to walk out. She had to confuse Emily a little, make her think that she was confused herself. She could not allow Emily to see her face, however, because she knew she did not have complete control and would too clearly confirm Emily's suspicions. And Jack? Would Jack hear that tremble in her voice that no one else would ever notice? Would she allow him to hear it or should she erase this portion of the recording?
"You what?!" Emily tugged her back. "You flushed it... You threw away love, didn't you? Didn't you? For what? For what? Was it worth it? How could it be? How could you? You weren't brave for love, were you?"
"Who said anything about love?"
"You.. did." Emily held on with a tight grip and looked deeply into the eyes of the woman before her with an even tighter grip on the truth she saw, or thought she saw there, thought she saw in her mind's eye, in her memory. "You did. Every time you looked at him. At Sydney. No one, no one could deceive for so..." She trailed off, caught in a trap of her own making, she knew. Her own choices.
"You mean, no one is as adept at deception as your husband?" Irina nodded. "Who kept the truth of his allegiances, his behaviors, his depredations on those he purported to love for many more years than I was able to do so. I congratulate you on your choice of spouses. Quite a... prize in our business, you know, that ability to deceive. It is no surprise that he has reached the pinnacle of our profession. And how fortunate for him that you are willing to forgive and forget, to go on and on---"
"How dare you?" Emily whispered. "Who are you?"
"Speak more loudly, please. I couldn't hear you," Irina urged, knowing she could not dare to look down and ensure that the telephone was recording. Work, damn it, she thought. When she got out of this mess, she was going to recruit that Marshall... No, that was right, she would be working with Marshall. Good. Good too, she thought, was the way the young man made Jack clench his jaw with impatience. She knew a way or two to work off that kind of frustration her husband felt and... Yes, Emily had finally recovered from her shock.
"How dare you?" Emily spoke up. "How dare you say---"
"The truth hurts. And another platitude is that the truth takes time. But...wait too long.." She heaved a regretful sigh, which was easy, because it was the truth. "Wait too long and you find yourself in a place you never intended, never would have wanted if you could have known, have seen what lay ahead. Be careful, Emily, be careful as you set down this road that you are not led astray---"
"I am making my own choices."
"Good. Then you have no one to blame but yourself. I am sure that will be a great comfort when..." She turned around and walked out of the room. After a second's hesitation, Emily followed. Irina stopped abruptly and Emily almost ran into her. She stepped away, distaste on her face. "Emily..." Irina began, allowing her face to relax, smoothing out her accent until it was nearly eliminated. Jack would laugh when he heard this, this approximation of what she had sounded like as Laura. Wouldn't he? Knowing there was only sincerity in her face, because that was all she would allow it to display, she apologized. It did seem to become easier each time she did it. "I'm sorry if I have hurt you by my words. I just want you to be happy. And I'm worried that you will not be happy if you make this choice before you. Even for love..."
"What kind of love is it, if there are limits?"
"What kind of love, what kind of commitment, what kind of allegiance is it that demands limitless sacrifice of principles? Of the soul?" Irina asked softly. Then she smiled, a small smile, not wanting to push. "But I grow too philosophical in my old age. Our old age. We had more fun when we were younger in our conversations, didn't we? Do you remember sitting around our kitchen table teasing the men with hints of what we women talked about in private?"
"Yes," Emily nodded. Laura was before her, the Laura of her past, so many memories with this woman. She smiled involuntarily, shook her head as she studied the confusing woman opposite her, who said such...horrible things. They couldn't be truths, could they? She wondered, as she added, "They were always shocked."
"Jack..." Irina smiled sadly. "He never believed it. He... One time, he teased me, told me he wanted proof."
"Did you give it to him?"
"Let's just say I proved my point. That women shared many good ideas beyond coffee cake recipes. That satisfied his need for proof of my stories."
Proof, Emily thought. It had probably satisfied Irina's need to prove her allegiance to her husband too. Proof... She could not imagine what it must have been like, needing to prove.. But then again, she mused, we all do that. We all need that. Proof. Proof of love. Proof of truth. What if... they proved to not be the same? Truth and love? Emily blinked as they entered the dining room and the bright sunlight of an Italian morning caught the edges of the glasses on the table and the gold of Arvin's wedding ring as he rattled the ice in his glass.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Jack fought the urge to slam the glass in his hand against the wall and tried to content himself with lightly pounding it into the desk top. No point in breaking glass if his wife wasn't here to share it, after all, he decided. His...wife? Was she still? What kind of proof did he require? Was it fair to need it, the proof? And what kind of proof would Sydney need?
"Proof? What kind of proof would satisfy you, Senator?" Jack asked, reining in his impatience. He had expected this demand, after all. It had been another reason he hadn't wanted to pick her up in Stuttgart; he needed more time to set his plans in place. For no senator could agree to accept a deal for total clemency with a recently-escaped international terrorist on just the word of a CIA operative, after all. Even if favors were owed, the cost to a senator should the terrorist prove untrustworthy would not be worth the risk. "I see. No, no, I understand that you need some proof and then I will call in my favor. I will tell her.... Yes, she will deliver. I guarantee it." He hung up and sighing, dialed another number. Before the next senator answered, Jack growled under his breath, "Damn it, Irina. You better deliver."
He looked down at his clenched fist and forced it open. Smoothing it on the clean, cool wood surface of his desk, clear as always of any papers, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Have faith, he told himself. It costs you nothing right now to have some faith. "Senator?" Jack asked. "I want to discuss a potential deal with you." He rubbed his hand along his jaw. He should shave, he supposed. But then again, he wasn't going anywhere tonight. He had a feeling an important incoming phone call might come in.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Sark and Arvin both stood up as Irina suddenly entered the room, Emily Sloane close behind her. Sark pulled out the chair next to him for Emily. Nodding at her, then at Irina, he began conversationally, "Irina. I feared you had drowned in---" He broke off as he met the coldness in her eyes. The brown had turned to black, which deepened to that most dangerous of all shades to find in her eyes, black ice. As she looked at Arvin. Then she blinked, once, and he might have thought he imagined it. If he did not know her, that is. He sat down, as gracefully as he could manage, but spoiled the effect by picking up his fork and lightly tapping it on the table.
"Do refrain from such nervous habits, Sark," Irina said in that tone of voice that made him grow tense. Still. As always. That tone had usually prefaced a punishment for a failure of a task. "It shows a lack of self-discipline that is far too revealing. Or a need to mask one's stresses, an energy that might better be utilized--"
"Irina," Emily remonstrated in her own soft tone of voice. "He is merely---"
"He is being foolish. To show anxiety is to show weakness. Unacceptable in this game," Irina noted blandly as she sipped her coffee. "I am merely trying to help him. As always."
"As always," Sark agreed quietly. "You are generous with your advice." What was she doing? What was she trying to tell him? Or how was she trying to use him? What game was this? Whose side should he be on? Or rather, the more pertinent question was, who was most likely to win?
Irina looked up and rolled her eyes. With a self-deprecatory smile, she murmured, "Excuse me for a moment. With Emily's helpful conversation in my room, I forgot that I need to charge the batteries of my cell phone." With a quick movement, she stood and went back to her room. Staring at the phone, she debated, then nodded. She had been correct. Anxiety was a weakness. There was a difference between hesitation and patience. To have patience could be the greatest weapon in one's arsenal. But to hesitate was a weakness. 'He who hesitates is lost...' she said to herself. Damn, the quotations game was best played by two. She flipped open her phone and began typing in a text message.
READY FOR REC Was she ready, she wondered, for him to hear it, how she had flushed the rings down the toilet?
GO AHEAD Jack frowned. This was much earlier than he had expected.
TRUST YOU W THIS She wished she could call the words back, then... No. They were the truth. She did trust him. The question was, would he trust her? That was it. That was the question. Or that is the question. But no, the game would have to wait to see how this one played out.
Y U WORRIED As he typed the words he knew they were true. She was worried about the content of the conversation. Afraid, he supposed, of hurting him. What would hurt him, he wanted to tell her, was lies.
TRUTH HURTS But who did this truth hurt most?
U OR ME Jack asked, not expecting an answer.
Irina pressed the button and the recording of the conversation she'd had with Emily was gone in moments. Also gone was her anxiety, she realized. It was done. Jack, she knew with a deep sense of certainty, would hear the truth in her voice. A truth he needed to hear. A truth she needed to tell him.
Irina strode quickly into the room. As she sat down, she touched Emily's hand, opposite her. With a soft look at Emily that made Sark sit up straight, she said, "I fear Arvin has not explained the rules of this life to you clearly. It is imperative that one guard one's emotions so that the opponent does not have the advantage--"
Arvin reached out and drew Emily's hand away. "She knows everything she needs to know. I will protect her---"
Seeing the look of anxiety in Emily Sloane's eyes, Sark nodded inwardly. Ah yes. Divide and conquer. Build on Mrs. Sloane's obvious distaste for her husband's business and who knew what might result? She was obviously Arvin's weakness, just as Laura had been Jack's. And Laura was Irina who was determined to succeed at solving the riddle of Rambaldi, of which Sloane held many pieces of the puzzle. Irina had never been interested in sharing. Anything. She must want all of Sloane's Rambaldi artifacts and thought this divisive campaign was the appropriate method. He nodded to himself, satisfied. But then he squeezed his leg. That scenario did not negate the potential disaster waiting in some form, some fashion, some unpredictable location in the person of Jack Bristow. Sydney was a loose cannon, but Jack was a dead shot. He had to find a way...
Irina shrugged. "I am certain you will try. Unfortunately, even the most impregnable fortress has its weaknesses. As you know. A truism from which you have benefitted, have you not?"
"Meaning what?" Arvin asked. She was like a viper, coiled and ready to strike. He wasn't sure, however, why she wanted to strike. Was it Rambaldi? Or was it something more personal? Who was her prey? Or was it their prey? Hers and Jack's? And that comment about impregnable fortresses? Did she know about Jack's illness and how he had prevented Jack from getting the help he needed? What else did she know?
Screw.
Screw.
Screw.
Jack put down the screwdriver and patted the door molding behind which he'd hidden the gold circle in his hand. Gaudy thing, he thought, smiling reminiscently. Not the type of jewelry he would have ever chosen for himself or Laura Or Irina. Whose voice had trembled, he could just make it out, in that recording when she spoke of flushing her rings. And Emily had been unexpectedly sharp with her. But perhaps not so unexpectedly; Emily in the days before her cancer had consumed her energy, could snap on occasion. She had been strong, would have had to be in order to be Laura's friend.
He sighed as he put the ring down and hit the
button to listen to the recording again, to isolate some sound bites here and there. Then stopped again as he heard her say, "I flushed it down the toilet." He touched his bare ring finger, feeling a flush of tenderness at the sound of her voice. He couldn't retrieve those rings for her. Or that 'forever and a day' inscribed within that had seemed to mean so much to her; too much time, too many mistakes, too much...water under the bridge. But he could do something else, he decided and turned on his computer. He sat for a long moment, long enough for the twirling orbs of his screen saver to appear, then shook himself and began typing in a search request.
Twirl.
Twirl.Twirl.
Irina swirled the dregs of her coffee in the bottom of her cup as Sloane asked again, "What do you mean, that I have benefitted from the fact that everyone, everything has a weakness?"
.
"That raid you undertook, so successfully, of the NSC warehouse of the Rambaldi artifacts." Irina held up her glass in a salute. "Brilliant, of course. What else could I mean?"
Emily put her coffee cup down with a solid thunk on the table. "You raided a United States government facility to acquire these..." Her mouth twisted. "Artifacts?"
"Yes, Emily," Sloane began. "As I explained..."
Irina avoided smiling. That patronizing tone would send the Emily she had known either into flight or fight mode. Which would it be?
Emily said abruptly, "I believe I will go into the city today. I need to do some shopping and perhaps see a movie."
Sloane patted her hand. "That would be a good idea, darling, but I worry about you going alone."
"I too would enjoy a movie. I will drive her. If you trust me," Irina said flatly, not looking up from her contemplation of the black coffee in her cup. "I believe I know the way."
Sark looked down, casually he hoped, at the palms of his hands. He didn't need a road map to know that Irina was following her own path in this game. But just how long were the life lines he was looking at? They could not actually become shorter, could they, with the choices one made in life? He picked up a dried apricot and popped it into his mouth, letting the moisture within bring the flavor back to life as he contemplated the best way to decode those files.
Roll.
Roll.
Roll.
Jack rolled the scroll bar on the mouse over and over. What had they ever done before the internet, before Google? As he scrolled through page after page, his frown deepened. Nothing suited his fancy. Then he remembered what he had done before the internet and picked up his phone again.
"Jack, my friend. So, so good to hear from you. You have been too quiet of late. Nia worries---"
Jack smiled. "My best to Nia and her girls. And that husband---"
"That husband of hers," Zamir sighed. "A good man, but not good enough. Not good enough at all."
"What would be your definition of good enough? His house is overrun with Barbie dolls, for the love of god. The man is a saint."
"Surely you did not call to discuss Nia and her dolls," Zamir guessed.
"No. I was wondering if...." Jack hesitated. "I've been looking and I can't find what I want---"
"What is it that you seek?"
"Jewelry. I was wondering.." Jack stopped again. Rubbed his eyes. What was he doing? Why did this feel...familiar and yet.... Go ahead the little voice urged him. Go this way. He took a deep breath and began again. "Do you... If you had any jewelry---"
"Ah. You seek a woman. It is a woman that ties your tongue in knots."
"I... Well, no. I was just---" He broke off as realization swamped him and warmth and coldness mingled within his chest, fear and love warring within. He shook his head, they could not coexist. One had to win.
"You cannot fool me. I have a long memory. I remember when you chose for Laura the earrings. Hours you spent---"
"I was...just thinking that I might resume designing jewelry. Sydney might like---"
"Sydney? Of course, of course," Zamir said quickly. "I will be happy, most happy to do this for you. I will send you some materials and tools."
"Tools?"
"You should make the jewelry yourself. Not just design it. No, no. You must move on, grow, find your potential---"
"Have you been reading self-help books?" Jack asked in disgust.
"People who believe in karma do not read self-help books." Where, Zamir wondered, was his friend in the circle of his life right now?
Jack snorted. "Karma, my---"
"Regardless, you do not believe people have patterns?" Zamir asked slyly, looking over at the trunk of saris from which Jack's wife and daughter had chosen that day. Jack's wife whom he had recognized in an instant from that long-ago photograph Jack had shown him of Laura in that golden wedding sari. Draped in jewels.
Jack bent forward and lightly banged his forehead on the desktop. People have patterns, indeed. Saying goodbye to Zamir, he rolled the ring on the desk back and forth. 'Dave...Am I doing it again? Am I ignoring the truth in front of me because I'm afraid to trust? But...should I make the choice to trust? No, that was a mistake. I should just let it happen? Is that what my little voice is telling me? Am I thinking too much? You said before that... Damn it, I wish... I swear I could kill, cheerfully kill someone to bring you back.' But he didn't have Dave, he knew, as he pressed the ring flat to the desk. But he did have the next best thing. And someone else to irritate. A doubleplay was always a good thing. Now this was the way to reduce stress. He grinned as he picked up the phone.
"Judy. Sorry to bother you so late."
"That's okay, Jack." Judy sighed as she rolled over in bed and looked at the clock through bleary eyes. One am. But who cared? It's not like she had an actual life or anything. Maybe Susan was right and she needed to dive back into the dating pool. Not every man could be the ass her exhusband was, right? "What can I do for you?"
"Is it a good sign when you can recognize your own patterns?" Jack asked slowly.
"Yes, yes it is." Judy sat up straight. "When you recognize a pattern you can break it or understand why it's important to continue it. What pattern do you recognize?"
"Oh, it's something personal."
"Which would be...?." Judy waited. Then she rolled her eyes at herself and resignedly picked up the pencil from a cup on her nightstand. "Jack....Unless you plan on telling me why you woke me up in the middle of the night--"
"One am is hardly the middle of the night. You don't get out much, do you?"
"No, I don't! I'm too busy writing up notes on my patients who call me in the middle of the night to have a---"
"Judy. You need to get a life," Jack said in that...damn pompous voice that made her want to throw something --- "Did I just hear a pencil hit the wall?" Jack laughed and hung up.
Sitting back, he pulled open the drawer and pulled out a pencil of his own and a pad of paper. He put the tip to the paper, withdrew it. Put it down again. Then sharpened the tip. Then with a deep breath, put the pencil to the paper and began sketching. Stopping for a moment, he nodded. This...this was an act of faith. Something tangible. Without her verbal or physical presence, he needed, he realized, something tangible. He flipped the page and started again. Page after page went by as he waited for the time to make a phone call. Patterns, he thought. These were productive patterns. He knew what he was seeing this time. If she stayed true, that is. 'I will be horribly in love with her,' he whispered, trying the words out. 'Humph. The quotations game is better with two people.' He looked at the pad under his hand, holding the pencil loosely between his fingers.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.