The Perfect Weapon Ending 2 Chapter 2003 part 1-2
Chapter 2003: Part 1:
"Mmm. You're home finally." She stretched her legs out and felt her toes curl as his warm lips massaged the curve of her shoulder.
"Finally." He tilted his head and kissed her neck.
"Good...." She smiled sleepily. "Move a little lower...That's perfect. Now...Ugh."
"Ugh?" He lifted his head and stared at her. "Ugh?"
"Did you and Weiss go to a bar? You smell like cigarettes and beer. Ugh," Sydney grimaced and pushed him away. "Go take a shower."
"How about we save water and time? You come with me," Vaughn suggested as he pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand.
"Why did you stay out so late?" Sydney asked, enjoying the view a few moments later as Vaughn bent over to turn on the shower.
He looked over his shoulder. "I thought you'd still be trying to decide what your father was---"
"Well, who was he talking to so long?" Sydney asked, not for the first time. "I waited for him to emerge from the garage---"
"Were you...spying on your father?" Vaughn stood up and turned around.
Sydney shrugged and bent her head until it rested against Vaughn's shoulders. Tucking her chin against his collarbone, she licked the drops of water nestled in the curve of his body there. "Just curious."
"Sydney, c'mon. Your father, well, he could be on the phone to anyone. Anyone at all. Just think how valuable the man's address book would be on the black market. His professional contacts. His personal contacts. That is, if there's a difference. When you think about it, his book would be--"
She lifted her head and nuzzled into his neck. Biting his ear lobe she noted, "Really, Vaughn, I doubt he's got information like that written down somewhere, that would be dangerous---"
"I know that!" Vaughn sighed. Once again, here they were talking about Jack Bristow when there were other topics of greater interest. He slid his hands around the wet slippery skin of her waist and pulled her closer. "Now, why don't you stop worrying about your father's informants or girlfriends and be mine---"
"What?" Sydney squawked. "Girlfriend? Did he tell you something while you two were playing hockey?"
"No." Vaughn sighed again. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? He tried a smile on her. "There are whole blocks of Jack's day not taken up with running games, I'm sure. Maybe he has a girlfriend for those 3.5 minutes per day---"
Sydney giggled, "Girlfriend, indeed!" as she picked up the squeeze bottle of shower soap and shook it in her hand. She shook her head as she poured a generous amount into her palm and returned the bottle to its holder. "I don't see that, although I suppose....He's been alone a long time and... But no. He's so busy, he's probably fallen asleep with his head on his desk. But after playing hockey, I hope he took a hot shower before going to bed or---"
"Stop worrying about your father and what he needs and start worrying about what I need," Vaughn suggested. As Sydney nodded and slid her soapy hands down his torso, he nodded. "There you go, but if you'd go lower still....Ahhhh. You do have good aim, Agent Bristow." He smiled and bent his head. Against her lips he whispered, "Although I do feel bad. There's no way your father would be having as much fun in a shower as I am."
"Ugh!" Sydney exclaimed and stepped back. Vaughn stared at her with his mouth slightly agape as she slammed the shower curtain open and stepped out. Wrapping a towel tightly around herself, she slanted him a look. "Have fun by yourself!"
"Syd!" Vaughn called out. "What did I do---"
"Idiot man! Like I want to hear about my father having fun in the shower when I'm in the shower doing...this..." She waved her hand in his direction, the compass needle for which was rapidly losing its ability to point. "There's shower soap in that container to your left. Squeeze it yourself!"
"Squeeze it myself?" Vaughn repeated as the door slammed. Sliding the curtain closed, he shrugged. Picking up the soap bottle, he held it up. "Well, Jack, looks like we're both equally unlucky in love tonight. Maybe I should call him and we can commiserate." Then pouring a dollop into his palm, he shook his head. "Then again, maybe not. He's probably busy."
Chapter 2003: Part 2:
"Irina..."Arvin began casually as the four of them sat around the dining table, each lost momentarily in their own thoughts. "I tried to call you earlier on your cell phone number and you were apparently too busy to answer?"
Emily stared over her cup at her husband. Why was he worried about getting a busy signal or voice mail? The woman had been in the shower. Didn't he remember Laura and her showers? She looked over at her...former friend. Was that who this woman was? She would see a flash of Laura, then it would be gone. Just as she feared, she would look at Arvin and see the loving husband of decades and then in a moment, he would be gone too. What was this hold Rambaldi had on otherwise intelligent people that made them blind to all else? If the woman she had known as Laura could have walked away from her family, what did that mean for Arvin and their marriage? Was she disposable too, she wondered, as she looked down at the empty spot where her ring finger used to be.
"I'm sorry you could not reach me," Irina apologized. How easy it was to do so when one did not mean a word of it. "I was in the shower, then on the phone. I am, as you know, in need of reestablishing relationships with my former contacts." She suppressed a smile. Jack would love that comment. The best lie is the one closest to the truth.
"Why is that?" Emily asked, her eyes wary.
"For the good of my work with your husband, of course, Emily. It will require great resources and patience and time to achieve our goals, as I'm sure Arvin explained to you." Irina paused to allow the words to sink in. Then turning to Arvin, she said quickly, "Speaking of which, allow me to apologize again, for not being available when you called earlier. I know how...frustrating it is to not receive a desired response to an important query. Why don't you tell me now? We have no secrets, of course, from Sark and Emily. Do we?"
"It wasn't important," Sloane said dismissively, waving his left hand.
The hand, the intact hand, with it's thick gold band, Irina thought derisively as she forced herself to look away from it. A potent symbol, that band. That in his case meant little for the reality under the gold was brass. His words were lies, his motions were lies, his symbols were lies. And what other lies had he told? Or what truths had he failed to tell? Perhaps it was time to uncover more brass.
Sark slanted a glance to Sloane's right, where Irina sat so calmly. It was as if he were watching a tennis match played with fireballs. Who would emerge from this singed and who would walk off twirling their racket? If he were playing odds, he would bet on Irina, he decided. She was less emotional than Sloane, with his talk of love making everyone weak. Yes, Irina was more reliable in her calmness. The only time she showed true emotion was anger. Anger when her plans went awry due to human error. A situation devoutly to be avoided. Therefore, it was Irina with whom he would ally himself. Perhaps she might even have a suggestion as to how to find a way, some means to negotiate with her ex-husband should the need arise. After all, she clearly knew how to handle the man, poor fool. Which he was not, he decided and cleared his throat delicately.
"Perhaps," Sark began to suggest, "Irina would feel more comfortable if you simply informed her of your inquiry. I know she is not fond of waiting for responses to her requests." Then added, "Nor is she one to wait when she has an idea to implement."
"True," Irina nodded at Sark. Smiling approvingly at him, she realized that he had decided that she was the better choice for an alliance that would save his smarmy skin. "I possess the necessary patience. But my preferences are a different matter." She looked over at Emily with a small smile. Then coming to a decision, winked. "As you might remember."
Emily began to laugh involuntarily, seeing her friend again, remembering more than one conversation with Laura on the subject of implementing ideas quickly. Sark stared at this woman he had known for all of the life he remembered and wondered who she was. Or rather, what she was doing by apparently pretending to be Laura Bristow. This must be a way to undermine Arvin Sloane. Sloane stared at her and saw Laura. Saw Laura sitting at a table chatting with friends, laughing. Teasing her husband. Teasing Dave. Never him, though. She had never seemed to trust him completely. And she was... Who was she? Now. And who would she be tomorrow? Or two weeks from now? Or after they assembled all the puzzle pieces of Rambaldi? Perhaps a test might be in order later. For now, she was too useful.
Irina decide to speak, bait the trip. Biting her lip, trying to appear vulnerable, she told Emily, "I may have less patience than I did earlier in life, I fear."
Emily nodded. "I understand. I find that having come close enough to touch death, I have little tolerance for obstacles in the path of living my life well. And you?"
Irina touched Emily's hand. "You do understand. Myself? I learned through expensively-earned lessons the danger of allowing too much time to pass before contacting people necessary to one's life. Life's work, rather."
"I'm not sure I..." Emily began. Was she reprimanding her for not contacting Sydney? Or was that her own guilt talking? Or...was it Irina's guilt? Or was she simply talking about this damnable game of theirs?
Irina looked over at Arvin, who was openly examining her. No doubt wondering if people did have patterns. No doubt wondering if she was working with Jack. Or if not now, if she would have second thoughts and try and contact him again. That is, if he had known the first time. Jack had not known. But... Someone had received that message, her interrogators had told her that. Taunted her with that, with that failure of her plan, her game. Told her she had trusted someone untrustworthy or else she would not have been caught. Had the message gotten through to the CIA? But...why would Jack have not been told the truth? It would have made logical sense to send him after her -- he would have been the perfect bait, the perfect...weapon to capture her and bring her to justice for her crimes. And heaven knew the Agency would not have considered any psychic or emotional cost to sending Jack on such an op. The Agency, clearly, had not had the care for Jack's well-being that they should have. But then again, if his supervisor and friend told their superiors... Time for a shot in the dark, as the Americans would say. So many pithy sayings to be found in American English. She looked up and over at Emily.
"Irina..." Emily prompted.
Ah yes, Irina remembered. Emily was always likely to be the prompter, provide the cues when she and Jack had conned their friends into acting out a scene from a play. Which play was this? She feared, with a frisson along her spine as she looked at Emily, that it was to become a tragedy. This conversation, perhaps, might change the course of the plot, she hoped.
"I waited, it seemed, too long to contact Jack again after I left--" Irina began.
"What?!" Emily exclaimed. "You what? You tried to contact--"
"Jack, of course. I tried to contact him once," Irina admitted, her eyes intent on Arvin's face, even as she noted with peripheral vision Sark and Emily's shock. Sark hid it, Emily did not. Arvin's face was carefully neutral. A mistake, Irina decided. If he were ignorant of that fact, it should have shocked him. One would think that he would be better schooled in the pretense of surprise. Perhaps he needed a lesson or two in the art of incredulity. Personally she could not wait to see the look of amazement on his face when she killed him. The only question was how, really.
"I beg your pardon?" Sark asked slowly. "I don't mean to question your judgment, naturally--"
"Naturally," Irina said dryly. Jack was right. Sark was far too arrogant for a little flying monkey. He needed a lesson as well.
"But it is unclear to me why you would engage in such a dangerous enterprise as to contact your former husband, your mark---"
Irina shrugged. "He was a valuable asset. I erred when I was on my mission by not recruiting him to the Soviet cause. I merely sought to rectify that mistake." She sighed and toyed with her utensils, realigning them properly. "But unfortunately I made a larger mistake. Something happened to my message. It did not, according to Jack, ever reach him."
Emily sighed with relief. "Ah, so you did tell him. What did he say to that news?" That would have made Jack happy, wouldn't it? But then again, why hadn't she tried to contact him subsequently? Was Jack truly only a means to an end for this woman across from her? And Sydney, what was Sydney to her? Emily sighed with relief at the soft, confused look in the brown eyes across from hers as this woman began to speak, a look she hid once again as she looked at the men.
"He didn't know whether to believe me or not. If I was telling the truth, he said he was... perplexed. As am I, about how that message went astray."
Arvin picked up an apple and began peeling it with a paring knife. "Perhaps it just fell into the wrong hands. That happens, as you know. Perhaps you were not as careful in your choice of messengers as you thought." He pointed the knife at Sark. "Or perhaps the intervening twenty years taught you the best people to trust are those with personal connections. Such as Sydney and Mr. Sark here, whose recent joint effort successfully brought us together."
"Perhaps. But betrayal can appear in so many unexpected guises, can it not?" Irina turned to Emily. As Emily struggled for an answer, Irina hid her triumph. Triumph that felt like ashes. But she had him. How had he known it was twenty years since she had made that attempt to contact Jack? Looking over at him, she suppressed a smile. The anxiety was now in his eyes, now that he saw the confusion in his wife's eyes.
"A rhetorical question, I am quite certain," Sark interjected into the tense silence.
"Of course. What else could it be in this company of friends and trusted colleagues?" Irina shrugged and looked up, feeling Sark's gaze on her. She nodded at him. A sharp mind indeed, she thought proudly. A good choice he had been for her protégé. And he would prove useful later no doubt. Good bait. Perhaps a good trade for some small bargaining chip for her pardon.
"I'm sure I do not know. But, I fear I may overstep the boundaries of---" Sark began, then paused. Irina waved her hand urging him to continue. "But...it occurs to me to ask, Mr. Sloane, just how you knew twenty years had passed since Irina tried to contact Jack Bristow."
Sloane put the knife down and took a bite of the apple before answering.
"Arvin..."Emily prompted, feeling her heart sink to her stomach. How could he eat? She felt like vomiting. "Did you know she was alive that long ago? You just told me that you only knew for a couple of months."
"I only had confirmation from Sark here recently."
"But---"
"Twenty years ago, it was....gossip, which I assumed Irina's words confirmed." Unless there was more than one time she tried to contact him, he thought.
"Gossip is another word for intelligence in our business," Sark noted.
"I beg to differ." Sloane shook his head. "I'm sure Irina has explained to you that gossip only becomes intelligence when it is verified. And we did not have reliable verification on that piece of...gossip."
"But you believed it, did you not, Arvin?" Irina asked, biting into a slice of bread. "Or else you would not have just mentioned the passage of time---"
Sloane shrugged. When in doubt, admit nothing. "What possible difference could that ancient history mean?"
"True," Sark agreed. "After all, you did not contact him again?"
"No," Irina answered. "I was unable to do so and then...well, I discovered that I did not need his assistance as I had thought. He was...unnecessary to my work. And too, I am not a fool, after all. Reflection upon the matter..." She picked up the spoon and held it so that it caught the light streaming in through the windows. Smiling when the glare reflected into Arvin's irritated face for a moment, she put the spoon back down. "Told me...Well, in truth. I...did miss Jack. He was a good partner. But reflection upon the matter told me that he was unlikely to feel the same. At least initially. Later he would resume his patterns but Jack's quick temper...He might have killed me. I was correct, of course, to be wary. Even after I turned myself in, he still..."
"Madagascar?" Arvin asked with a small smile. "A typical Jack moment. If young Vaughn had not---"
"I know." Irina smiled thinly. She had forgotten about that. Jack owed her for that one, too. First the passive transmitter. And Madagascar. "So, no, Sark, I didn't contact him again until his usefulness outweighed the danger--"
"Arvin, you knew she was alive all this time?" Emily asked suddenly, interrupting Irina's explanation that made her blood run as cold as the ice that must be in her former friend's veins. Wondering if the same ice ran in her husband's veins, she asked, fearing the answer, "You knew and did not tell Jack? Even if it was just gossip and why was there no verification of it? I would have imagined the Agency would have wanted to capture her at all costs, given the number of agents you told me she terminated and---"
"Orders." Sloane said, putting his drink down on the table with clunk. "The information was classified and I was not at liberty to tell Jack ---"
"You followed CIA orders long after you left the CIA?" Irina pointed out in case Emily had missed that fact. "That's interesting."
"Quite," Sark agreed. Irina was betraying nothing more than interest in this piece of news. No emotions. Which confirmed his belief that nothing mattered more than her own pursuits.
"Arvin... I cannot comprehend this." Emily said. "Do I even know you? I wonder...."
"What good would it have done him to know?" Arvin defended himself. "What would he have done? Chase after her? A chimera. An illusion. Why chase after someone who chose to leave? Who contacted him only once, in all those years, as she just told us? And for what reason? She just admitted that she wanted him for an asset. Professionally, not personally." Was this true, he wondered, even as he told the tale as if it were the truth. Was it true? Did Irina now see Jack merely as a useful...trick, as Dave had thought initially when the truth came out? Then, he had thought that she contacted him out of love. But perhaps not. "Perhaps....It was good luck, frankly, for him that she left when she did. It's just...unfortunate that he did not find anyone else, move on."
"But how could he, Arvin? He was...not himself. I'm sorry, Laura, Irina... but if you could have seen the results--"
"Results?" Sark asked sharply, his eyes suddenly alert. Damn, Irina cursed silently. She had not wanted him to know this fact.
"Yes, yes, he was imprisoned," Irina said impatiently, trying to forestall the truth ready to tumble from Emily's lips. "And Sydney, as I understand, lived with you two during that time. But I'm sure that was, at least in some fashion, enjoyable for her. After all, she always loved visiting her Aunt Emily and Uncle Arvin, who spoiled her almost as much as Jack did."
"It was a little more serious than that!" Emily protested.
"I regret the disruption, as temporary as it was, in their lives," Irina forced herself to say in a clipped, dismissive voice, forced herself to bury the raw fury that made her want to take her knife and shove it into Arvin's empty chest cavity. Now. But she had to focus. The look of anger on Emily's face made it clear that this revelation was inevitable and she needed to find a way to use it.
"Stop." Emily ordered in a terse voice that caused Arvin to sit up straight. She didn't use that voice often, but when she did... "Listen to me. You should know that Jack had a breakdown." She stopped at the look of shock on Irina's face, quickly hidden. Then she closed her eyes briefly. "But wait. What... Did Jack know the truth about you? Is that what led---"
"In part. In large part. To lose his beloved wife and then discover their life together was based upon a lie. It was too much." Arvin commented, eager to render someone else responsible. "And then, given how his colleagues treated him, how long they believed he was complicit with her, given how brilliantly she set him up, you understand why it behooved me to try and extricate him as quickly as possible before the danger was permanent. Before the trap she set resulted in his loss of something much more valuable than a leg. His ability to play the game."
"You set a trap for Jack Bristow? That is priceless," Sark laughed. Irina stared at him. He was going to pay for that attitude, she knew. Would Jack use his fist or his elbow? Or both. "How?"
Sloane answered, "With a code the two of them developed, after Jack was not only foolish enough to tell his wife, who happened to be a Soviet operative, the truth, but to involve her in his work, however tangentially---"
"I beg your pardon. I wrote the final code myself, you must know. Jack was better at decryption and I was better at encryption. He always gave me the lion's share of credit for that code and rightly so." Irina smiled.
"And that's something to be proud of?" Emily asked incredulously. "That you wrote the final code that helped send Jack to solitary for six months?"
"It was a wonderful code--"
"Yes, it was," Arvin nodded.
"And I never expected it would take that blue ribbon task force six months to ascertain his innocence. I bore Jack no ill will, after all. I would never have wanted him to suffer unnecessarily, you must know."
"He wasn't entirely innocent," Arvin argued. "He involved you--"
"His actions were not made with malicious intent to commit treason. It was a simple, human error of trust. There is a significant difference between the two, as there is between manslaughter and murder one--"
Arvin interrupted, "In both cases, there is a dead body. What difference does it make?"
"It makes, I would imagine, a world of difference to those who are left behind," Sark noted.
Irina waved her hand. "Enough of the philosophical questions. I tire of them when they serve no practical purpose. My question is why did it take so long for the task force to ascertain that difference? Who was on it? Idiots?"
Arvin spat out, "You insult us and deprecate your own abilities."
"Us?" Emily asked.
"Dave and I. And several others. Of course, Dave got kicked off the panel for being a stupid fool."
"Arvin!" Emily remonstrated.
"In what way was Dave stupid? He was gifted," Irina argued, even as she congratulated herself for finding the perfect weapon to prick Arvin. But could one prick a prick? She must remember to tell Jack that joke; he would like it. "Jack always said Dave was brilliant---"
"He was. But Jack was correct about Dave, as he often was about personnel deployment, one of his many talents. Dave should have stayed home, stayed in the office or been a therapist. A field agent, gamesplayer, he was not."
"He wasn't a field agent," Irina argued. "At least to my knowledge. He did psych field ops, but he was not an operative per se himself."
"He should have been a therapist. Period. A shame, really, that he died before he could help Jack. The doctor he saw in the hospital did not provide adequate care, I fear." Sloane moved his facial muscles into an expression of deep regret. Irina stared at him. When she shot Arvin Sloane, it would not be in the dark. It would be in full daylight, looking into his eyes.
"That is regrettable. But also inexplicable. An agent of his caliber basically left adrift to find his own way back home? What a waste of resources. One I would have never permitted in my organization. Any manager knows that the most valuable resource is human potential. One wonders what foolishness or.. mendacity would lead the Agency to squander Jack's abilities."
"Jack was a superb agent all those years. Superb," Arvin argued. "He did not require specialized assistance---"
Irina looked down at her phone as Emily shook her head and said incredulously, "He was your best friend, didn't he deserve to know that the woman he loved so much was alive? Arvin, the pain of her death.... Remember, how Dave had to stop him from diving into that river after her? My god. The funeral... You saw how devastated he was then---"
"I didn't know then!" Sloane protested, while Irina focused on.. focusing. Don't think about the funeral, not right now.
"But later."Emily shook her head and pressed on. She had to understand this. Irina was correct, she had to comprehend this life in which she had found herself, this man with whom she had lived for so many years but suddenly seemed as much a stranger as the woman across from her. "How could you? Sometimes I think I don't know you at all. He was your best friend!---"
"I was only his best friend only by default," Arvin spat out. Irina hid her satisfaction. Now, they were getting somewhere.
"What do you mean, Arvin?" Irina asked quietly, feeling her every sense go on high alert. Jealousy, as she knew, was a powerful motivator. After all, she had had Jack's Cairo contact killed out of sheer possessiveness masked as political expediency.
"We all know the truth. If Dave had not died, I would have never held that place of friendship. The two of them had a very charmed circle. Dave...."
"Dave, such a loss," Emily commented, shaking her head. "I still remember when Arvin told me the news. I broke down myself, sobbing. Poor Jack. And poor Dave, to die that way. And then for Jack to identify him. Or try to, it was a landmine after all."
"Yes. Dave." Irina broke in. "Dave. All I know about Dave is that he died not so very long after I disappeared. It must have been a great shock---"
"Jack hid it, as he hid everything by then, but obviously he must have been distraught." Emily nodded, her eyes sad with compassion. "Pain upon pain for him. You. Then him. They were like brothers. He even sang at his---"
"Yes," Irina said slowly, picking up her own drink and looking at Arvin over the rim of it. "Brothers. So, truly Arvin, there was no need for you to be jealous of Dave. Would you be jealous of Emily's relationship with her sister, for example? A person's relationship with a brother or sister is inherently different than that of a friend. It's like comparing peaches and prunes. Is that the phrase one would say in English?"
Arvin Sloane hid his internal wince as the projectile found its target. Once again, he came out short in comparison to Dave. True, Dave had had a big heart, had wanted his friends to be happy. Had been convinced Laura would make Jack happy. He had liked Laura from the beginning, had urged Jack to follow his heart where she was concerned. Later that the memory of that meddling had left him ravaged with guilt. Guilt. What a useful weapon to employ against those foolish enough to allow themselves to feel it.
"But of course," Sark interjected into the tense silence. "That was all in the past."
"You are correct," Irina agreed, giving him an approving smile. "We should cease reviewing the past. It has no relevance, does it? Now we are together again, united in our efforts. Partners, are we not?" She looked at each person in turn, ending with Emily. Her sincerity was the weak link in Arvin's chain of deceit that had bound them all in some form or fashion.
"Irina..." Emily began hesitantly, her eyes avoiding her husband's. "I'm not certain I understand how sanguine you are about this news that Jack might have known the truth about you contacting him if Arvin had told him. If it were me..."
"Ah, but you are not me. I have spent my life in this game, whereas and I mean this with no malice or intent to offend, you are a novice to it. Over time you will learn that one plays the hand one is dealt in order to win. There is little point in holding a grudge against the dealer, no?"
Sark laughed shortly and without humor. "A sentiment Jack Bristow does not share, I assure you."
"But as I recall," Irina shrugged. "He told me once that he had said to Ariana Kane that in this business one cannot cry foul."
"No doubt, but the way the Bristows do business seems to indicate that a failure to cry foul merely means that they are biding their time until they ascertain a way to achieve their goals."
"Plain English, Sark," Sloane urged wearily. It was only early morning and this conversation had exhausted him. Was this what Jack had felt every time he had interacted with his wife who wasn't his wife the last few months? He had forgotten how tiring being around Laura could be. Irina, he meant, Irina. Either way, so damn challenging.
Sark inclined his head. "Certainly. If a Bristow doesn't cry foul, it is merely so that they can sneak up in silence before plunging the knife into one's gut and then twisting it."
"An admirable quality, I have always felt," Irina sighed reminiscently. "That ruthless, vindictive streak." Although, looking over at Sloane, Irina thought that Jack was not ruthless enough. After all, Sloane was still alive.
"Irina, aren't you...worried," Emily asked, twisting her napkin in her hands. "If Jack were to seek vengeance against you---"
Irina scoffed. "Jack? I have no worries about Jack. His weakness is and has always been his emotions." Forgive me, Jack, she asked silently, imagining his wince when he heard this recording. "His emotions caused him to make errors of judgment out of sentimentality. Or hope. Or misplaced faith--"
"Or love," Emily suggested.
Irina paused for a moment. Then she shook her head. "In any case, whether out of hope, faith or love or some combination, he failed to do what he should have. He could have killed me and chose not to."
"When?" Arvin asked, curious.
"In Kashmir, after Sydney jumped out of the train, it was just the two of us. He could have snapped my neck, tossed me out of the door and made it look like a parachute accident. He could have shot me when we were in one of two firefights. He could have..." She smiled. "Pushed me down a hillside. He could have left me behind for Cuvee to...handle my betrayal. He could have poisoned my food or the wine we shared that night in Panama. Or he could have put a slow-acting poison in that passive transmitter or...Well," she finished. "The possibilities are endless."
"As are the ways in which you might have terminated him," Arvin noted.
"True. But he may still prove valuable."
"If his weakness does not overwhelm him once again," Sark commented, Irina thought, with an unseemly amount of relish.
"True," Arvin said thoughtfully. "Because Jack was right. People have patterns. Because, yes, you've left him again. I wonder what impact that will have this time."
Irina shrugged, displayed, she knew, a lack of concern that had to shock Emily but would merely confirm the notion that for her there was nothing so important as the pursuit of Rambaldi. After all, it fit neatly into the patterns of her life. But at least, she sighed, she was turning her weakness into a strength this time. Avoiding Emily's eyes, she said insouciantly, "Jack is strong. Always was, always will be. After all, he had that breakdown and yet managed, nearly on his own from what Arvin has said this morning, to recover. I still fail to comprehend why an agent of his caliber, potential, was essentially left to rot or heal himself. How...lucky that Jack is so strong."
Arvin nodded. "Also true. Jack is...indestructible, I've always thought."
I, however, am not, Emily thought as she felt her heart twist into a tighter and tighter knot. I do not know if I am strong enough to... She stood up. "I think I will see when a car is available to--"
"Emily," Arvin interrupted. "I said earlier---"
"I beg your pardon? Am I not free to visit the city with a friend? Shop, see a movie? Reminisce?"
"Of course, of course," Arvin waved his hand. "I did not mean to imply otherwise. I am merely concerned for your safety, you must know that, my love."
"I do know that, Arvin," Emily said softly, her eyes sad. Too bad you are not concerned for the safety of your soul, she thought.
Irina fought back the urge, so sudden and unexpected, to hug her old friend. She stood up and taking a step toward her, commented, "I can leave whenever you wish, Emily." Looking at Arvin, she added, "That is, if my presence is both acceptable and adequate. For her protection. If you trust me with her."
"Of course I trust you, Irina," Sloane said smoothly. "What reason would I have to do otherwise?"
"None, naturally. As you know, the pursuit of Rambaldi is my utmost concern. As it is yours. We are united in our priorities, are we not?" She slanted a glance at Emily, whose lips were parted as if to speak, then she said nothing. No doubt wondering about those priorities. Wondering where she fit into her husband's priorities.
"We should go," Emily said shortly, putting her hand on this woman's arm. Perhaps when they were alone, she might find evidence of the love she knew had to have existed in the woman she had known as Laura. Proof that love could exist in this game, this life.
"Of course. I believe I will change my shoes and then meet you in the garden?" Irina asked, placing her hand over Emily's and squeezing lightly. "I noticed a particularly lovely climbing rose I wanted to ask you about."
"The red one. Of course," Emily nodded, feeling a surge of relief. At least that commonality seemed to remain the same.
Sark thought. There were no roses at any of Irina's homes. In fact, if he remembered correctly and he always did, she had said once she was allergic to roses. When was that? Oh yes, one day an admirer had sent her a traditional bouquet of a dozen red roses and she had promptly destroyed them in the garbage disposal. Why this interest, surely a pretense then, in roses?
"Ah, yes. The arguments between Laura and Jack over that garden," Arvin laughed.
"That is what you remember?" Emily shook her head. "I remember that floribunda Jack bought her. A glorious rose bush. A hybrid, I think."
"One she nearly killed, as I recall."
Irina rolled her eyes. "As Sark said, that is all in the past. Emily, I will meet you in the garden. You will wish to say good bye to your husband, I think."
"Yes, thank you. I will see you soon," Emily nodded and lifted her hand as Irina nodded at each man and left the room with a purposeful stride.
"Emily...I'm trying to remember..." Arvin began, as he stood up and skirting the table, went over to his wife. Putting his hand on her arm, he smiled at her, feeling the stiffness in her body, the stiffness in her soul as she looked deeply into his eyes.
"I'm trying to remember the man I married," Emily whispered, staring equally deeply. Both of them ignored Sark who stood and went to the window, turning his back.
"I have had to make...certain compromises in my life," Arvin explained. "Regrettable, but necessary."
"I see." Emily looked down at her missing finger. "What is it that you are trying to remember?" I'm trying to remember the hope and faith I had in you the day you came to me in the Philippines and told me that the Alliance was over and we could live out lives without fear. Because I am very afraid now. Had Jack been right, that people have patterns? Had Arvin just returned to his old pursuits, in much the same fashion that Irina had abandoned her family not once, but twice?
"She was in the shower endlessly and it made me wonder about..."
"Arvin, are you still obsessing over her shower? Don't you remember?"
"Remember..."
"Laura always loved her showers. Remember the day you and Jack and Dave installed the hot water heater?"
Arvin felt himself relax. "You are right, as always. I was trying to grasp some memory and that was it." He smiled. Leaned over and kissed his wife. "I love you. Have a good time in the city. I hope Irina does not exhaust you."
"She, Laura, Irina or whatever as Jack called her, is and has never been boring," Emily corrected him. "If nothing else, she always made me think. But now, I think it's time." Putting her hand on his cheek, she raised her lips and kissed him, pressed against him and then sighing, pulled away.
"Hot water heater?" Sark prompted after Emily had departed with along backward glance at her husband that caused Arvin's forehead to wrinkle almost as much as that pup Vaughn.
"Yes. I suppose there were some facets of American life that a Soviet-born and raised operative would find...irresistible," Sloane commented, hoping that one of them was not Jack Bristow.