The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2004: Part 1
Chapter 2004: Part 1
“What do you really want, I wonder?”
Irina rolled her eyes. “I told you. I want to go home. That’s all.”
“Well, I hoped you’re packed. Because the game is in play.”
“The game?” Irina smiled slowly. “You mean, my game.”
“Whatever.”
“That’s mine too.” Irina smiled, as she wondered what Jack would end up calling her. It would be...Whatever she decided, she knew, wishing she could decide. Turning her back, she rested her head once again on her arms. There was nothing to do now but wait. She waited and listened to footsteps receding. Good, at least she was alone again. She needed to think. Needed to set her mind on a straight path...
Irina got up and began to pace. She needed to move, needed to connect her body movements with her mind’s racing. She needed to find the path that would lead...Where? Damn it, where? Perhaps she needed to go someplace familiar, someplace she intended to be anyway. Long ago, Jack had shown her a study that test results were higher if the test was taken in the same room in which the learning had occurred. And there would more than one test this night, she thought. So, yes, moving would help her in more than one way, she decided, as she walked to her destination. Flipping on only one light, she sat down and began to tap her fingers on the horizontal surface in front of her.
There was something missing. Some shadow that needed to be seen in the light. Some dot to be connected. Some link to be soldered onto a chain. Some...key missing a lock. She touched the necklace, the puzzlebox pendant, then the small key. She took off the necklace, opened the puzzlebox swiftly, merely lifting her eyes briefly as someone joined her.
“That was impressive.”
“Was it?” Irina shrugged, irritated with the interruption, even though this person was...helpful. She looked up and sighed, before admitting reluctantly, “I am missing something. Some piece of a puzzle.”
“What puzzle?”
Irina groaned and put the original infinity charm in the palm of her left hand. Staring at it in the dim lighting not so very different than the first time she had seen it in Cuvee’s hand so long ago, she shook her head. She tightened her lips before looking up to say, “That’s the problem. I don’t even know what the puzzle is. The options are infinite.”
“Ah. It’s always difficult to answer the question when it has yet to be asked.”
“What the hell...” Irina bit off a derisive retort. That behavior was not only not in her best interests, but perhaps... “What question could I be missing?”
“You want me to help you?”
“Yes,” Irina gritted out, jaw clenched.
“Hmm. I’ve already done you a favor and as I recall, you believe in giving people only one favor.”
“You know that?”
“I would agree with Jack that there is no substitute for extensive background research.”
Irina sighed. She hated asking for help. Hated it. But... “I need your help. I would appreciate it. If not for me, for Jack. What question could I be missing?”
There was a long pause. Then, “People have patterns, so...”
“You sound like Jack. Again.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. There are certain similarities to our work. Now, I’ll ask you this. What question do you always forget to ask?”
Irina stared without blinking. That question had been damn good. She was impressed. No wonder... She answered, “What if? That’s the question I always forget to ask.”
“Hmm. Why is that, do you suppose?”
Irina shook her head and tapped her fingers impatiently on the horizontal surface before her. She looked up, feeling eyes upon her. “Yes?”
“Nervous?”
“Not really.”
“Really?”
Irina sighed. “Perhaps.” Jack might....
“Hmm. Perhaps you’re not as self-absorbed as I imagined.”
Irina rolled her eyes. “You know that I just want to go home.”
“So you’ve said. But if I were you and I were nervous...”
“Yes?” Irina leaned forward.
“You liked the movies. Take a lesson. Phone home, ET. Phone home.”
“Very amusing,” Irina said, her mouth quirking up into a small smile, even as she touched her phone.
“I wish...” one man said to another in Afghani, as they took a break from their duties and crouched down in the slim shadow of the outcropping above them. “I could see this movie.”
The other man nodded. “I wish I could see a movie. Any movie. Perhaps someday a...what did he call it?”
“A drive in theater.”
“Yes, perhaps someday we will see a movie in a drive in theater.”
“First, we would need a car.”
“True. But still, there are many interesting stories in these movies he had told us about. The killer rabbit and--”
“But this one...this girl who ran away from home to go on a journey only to find her way back home...”
“Yes. If only all those who are lost find themselves with friends hidden---” He grinned, his teeth white in the dark skin of his face. “As scarecrows and tin men, whatever they may be. I suppose they were good disguises if the girl could not recognize her friends.”
“Perhaps she did not know how to look.” The man nodded at the wide expanse of endless hard dirt around them, broken by an equally-expansive number of caves and man-made holes. “And it can be easy to get lost too. If you do not know the way, do not leave a trail--”
“My wife said we lost our way the last time because I refused to ask directions.”
“Bah. Wives always say that,” the man noted, shoving the toe of his scratched boot into the dust at his feet. “They do not understand the importance of pride. Although... if this girl had not asked for help, she might still be stuck in...what was the word?”
“Munchkinland. But in the end, this girl found her way home.”
“In the end, she was lucky. She could find her way home merely by clicking her heels three times! If only all refugees were so lucky. My wife does not even possess a pair of shoes!” The man chuckled dryly and reached for his canteen.
The other man held his hand out and took a long swig of brackish water. “We should go back in.”
The two men rose to their feet and slowly made their way inside the nearly-hidden entrance to a cave deep within the earth.
Sark craned his neck to look down the darkened hallway once again. He had a feeling he was being watched, but could see no one. Nor had he been able to detect any cameras, but they were there. He knew it. Could feel it. They were watching. Well, he could bore them as well as himself, he decided and began to pace.
1. 2. 3.
1. 2. 3.
1. 2. 3.
Sark stopped and forced himself to breathe deeply. Calmly. There were three steps from one side of the cell to the other. He had already established that. If he continued walking in those three- step sets, he’d soon start to hum a waltz tune! And that was unacceptable. Demonstrated a lack of control.
“A lack of control undermines one’s own self-confidence and demonstrates weakness to others. Therefore, a lack of control is never useful in the game. Unless one can ascertain and employ it in such a way as to disarm one’s opponent.” He recited it silently, closing his eyes, remembering sitting at a cracked desk with splintered wood on the corner as Irina walked back and forth in front of them, making them repeat it over and over in as many languages as they could speak.
That he could remember, he thought with a wry twist to his lips. The splintered wood that was a test of his own control in not pulling it off. And yes, he could remember the Derevko dictum against weakness in thirteen different languages but he had no idea what his own name was nor his own original tongue. Was it English or... He put his hand to his temple. Why did it matter? He could not go home again. It was impossible. And what was home, anyway? He began to pace, avoiding a question to which he had no conscious knowlege of an answer.
1. 2. 3.
He stopped once again. Home. Humph. “Live in the present.” Another Derevko dictum. For now, home was a ten by ten foot cell, composed of a cot with two sheets, one pillow and one blanket. He should just lie down and force himself to sleep. He had a feeling he might need the rest on the morrow. Jack Bristow might make an appearance after all. One never knew with Jack. Or Irina. Or Sydney. They each had a habit of showing up where least expected and taking the least expected action. So, it could be tomorrow. Or it might be a month from now. God, he hoped not. Time was probably of the essence. Damn it, he should have told Kendall that he had to speak with Jack immediately. Without a second thought, he banged on the bars of his cage and called out. A guard appeared quickly, as if he had been waiting.
“Tell Assistant Director Kendall I need to speak to Jack Bristow immediately. I have intel to offer.”
“Do you?” The guard tapped his fingers on the wall. “It can wait until morning.”
“No. It cannot. Tell---” Sark bit his words off. He was hardly in a position to order anyone around. Which was infinitely irritating. “I would...” He nearly choked on the words, the necessary conciliatory tone. “I would greatly appreciate it if---”
“It just chokes you, doesn’t it?” Kendall asked, appearing as if from nowhere. “To ask for a favor?”
“It’s not a favor. It’s a fair trade. I have intel for Jack--”
“I’ll inform him, Sark. No need to get your lacy panties into a twist. Go to sleep.” Kendall turned on his heel and walked off quickly.
“When, when will you inform him?” Sark called out. “It’s important that-“
“I’ll inform him when I see fit,” Kendall retorted without breaking stride. “Arrogant, irritating...”
Sark stared as Kendall and the guard retreated down the hallway. Call him, call him, Sark thought fiercely. If anything happened to that ace in the hole... He shivered. Toeing off his shoes, he lay down on the cot and pulled the blanket over himself. Damn, it was cold, he thought as he drifted off.
What... Sark surrepitiously slid his eyelids open the tiniest slit as his senses screamed ‘Danger,’ at him. What was that noise, that almost-soundless noise of someone who knew exactly how to move to create no sound at all? He looked down and saw a blanket between the bars of his cell and then...What was that? A flash of movement and...red? Red? None of the guards wore red. He blinked and shook his head. Opened his eyes. The blanket was still there. He must have been dreaming. Of something red. He shrugged. Santa Claus? Not bloody likely. Bloody... He grimaced. Ah. He had been dreaming of the future when Jack was interrogating him. It would not be pretty. He slid out of the cot and darted forward in a flash, amused that still intact was his old ability to grab any physical advantage for food or warmth or...love? He stopped, the blanket in his hands. Looking down at it, he sighed. This would do. It would have to. It wasn’t as if he had other options.
Sark lay down on his cot and dozed off. To dream once again of a grey murky past that always seemed just out of reach.
Vaughn awoke with a start as Sydney began moaning again about bats and broken legs. Privately he referred to it as her ‘Indiana Jones nightmare’ of running through a cave while a huge ball of her past came tumbling down upon her. That nightmare. Her nightmare. He’d had them too. Had felt as though he’d been living in one ever since the phone call from Jack. The utter stillness of Jack’s disembodied voice was a warning in itself even before Vaughn’s brain comprehended the words, “Michael, Sydney’s hurt.”
She still was, Vaughn knew. Hurt inside and out, in more ways than the physical. At least with this pain he could help.
“Syd.. Syd...” Vaughn whispered, gently shaking her shoulder, trying to rouse her from this nightmare she’d had in the hospital and ever since her release two days earlier.
Sydney blinked her eyes as a shadowy figure lightly tapped her shoulder, then cheek. She looked up blearily at her ceiling. Yes, hers. There was that tiny crack. Cracks... The mirror had cracked when she’d landed on it. And the glass. She could still hear the sound of it shattering in her head. Or was that the sound of a crack in her head because it looked like leaning over her was... She closed her eyes against the pain as something touched her all over, lightly, carefully, searching.
She blinked again when a fingertip pulled her eyelid up and penlight flashed in one eye, then the other. “Who....” she rasped out, unable to move. The figure shook its head and then left. Sydney cringed as the figure seemed to flap black wings in front of her, then tried to move away as it seemed to descend upon her. “Noooo...”
“Shh...” The figure said as it seemed to fall upon her, as the wings seemed to fall away, then down.
Sydney shivered, then realized that it was only a blanket. To warm her. Standard treatment. For shock. Was she in shock? Is that why everything seemed so shadowy, blurry, indistinct? “Three words. Why use one...”
“When you can use three?” The figure finished.
Sydney blinked and squinted, but something warm was running into her eye. Something red. What was that? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw gloved hands pick up the gun she had dropped and wipe it down carefully.
“Standard issue.” The figure nodded. "Good."
Was that her father? How had he gotten here so fast? Had Will called him too?
“Will....” Sydney whispered frantically.
“Shh....” The figure said again and left the room. The footsteps paused as it stepped over the prone figure on the floor. Sydney strained to hear and with laborious effort turned her head. She cringed as every sound seemed magnified, painful. Had she punctured an ear drum or was it just the pounding in her head? Ceaseless pounding. Footsteps? Pain... Dimly she heard a slight snick. She thought she did. Then knew the sound of a silencer being slid onto a gun barrel. Was that.... She cringed as the whine of a gun with silencer ended with the distinctive thud of a bullet hitting flesh. She lay there, barely breathing, wondering if the figure was going to shoot her now as well. Heard the footsteps again walking away.
With the greatest effort Sydney thought she had ever expended in her life, she was able to pull out her cell phone. Breathing shallowly, the pain from every muscle and the shock spreading throughout her body making even the simple act of flipping open the phone monumentally difficult, she hit the speed dial button on her phone for her father. Then if she’d had enough energy, she would have shrieked in frustration when she accidentally hit the text message button. Use it, she told herself, knowing her brain was starting to shut down. Use the last bit of energy... Breathe in, breathe out. Concentrate on one movement at a time. 1, 2...
S O
She sank back unable to hit the third letter. And hissed in a breath when the figure appeared again and snatched the phone away. The figure looked at the number, then the message and nodded. Using a gloved finger, it hit the ‘S’ button and then showed it to Sydney. She nodded and the figure hit . Sydney stared up at the figure, blinking her eyes in the hopes that she would be able to focus them. “Who....”
“Shh...” The figure said, smoothing Sydney’s hair back from her face.
Sydney stared up into the shadows. More darkness than light now. Her leg hurt. Sharp. Broken glass. Rocks. Broken... “Mommy....Hurt...” Where was Daddy? She needed Daddy. Mommy had chased after her quickly on the rock outcropping, but not quickly enough. She had fallen, tumbled. Was that why she hurt all over? It felt like there were sharp rocks under her. Where was Daddy? He would carry her out. Mommy wasn’t big enough. Daddy would... “Daddy....”
“Shh. It will be okay.”
“Broke my leg? How...” Sydney closed her eyes and moaned. “Get out? Long....” It was a long hike out. They had hiked forever to get here and now....
“Daddy will--”
“Carry me....” Yes, Daddy would carry her. He was the strongest man in the world.
“Yes. Daddy’s coming for you. He’s on his way now. Shut your eyes and wait.”
“Don’t go---” Sydney called out, but her voice trailed off to nothing as everything went black and the figure disappeared into the darkness surrounding them.
Sydney sat up gasping, feeling her leg automatically. She exclaimed, “It’s not broken.”
“No, Syd, it’s not,” Vaughn said, wrapping his arms around her carefully. “You have two broken ribs, but no broken leg.”
“I...” She shivered and turned into Vaughn’s chest. “That dream...”
“Nightmare, you mean.”
“I’m not sure.” Sydney lay there, feeling Vaughn’s heart beating against his chest. She tightened her arm around him. At least he was alive. At least his association with her hadn’t killed him. Francie.... “I think the nightmare began when I realized that the woman in front of me wasn’t Francie. And maybe it ended when that figure....”
“What do you mean? That bat or ghoul or whatever it was---”
“That shadowy figure was...” Sydney paused and searched for words to describe the amorphous, intangible warmth. “Comforting. That’s it. Comforting. I thought it was my father in my dream. I thought... But the figure referred to ‘Daddy’ and ‘Daddy coming’ for me. He wouldn’t refer to himself in the third person.”
“Syd, it was a dream, a nightmare. Perfect grammar isn’t necessary in a dream---”
“But isn’t there some form of internal logic in a dream?”
“I don’t know! Ask Barnett.” Vaughn bit back his frustration. And he admitted, fear. Sydney was so intense about this dream and he didn’t understand why. Maybe he should talk to Jack about it. “Why do you keep trying to analyze it? Let it go. It’s a mess to figure out--”
Sydney stared at him. “What did you say?”
“It’s a mess. This whole nightmare, real and in your dreams. You’re here to rest and recuperate. Let your father---”
“My father used to say to my mother, ‘Life is messy, Laura. Let go.’”
“Did he?” Vaughn asked resignedly. She was obsessing about this dream and he had to just take his own advice and let her go to it. “It’s somewhat ironic, I suppose, to hear your father tell someone that life is messy and to let go, given how he likes to have everything arranged to his satisfaction, his plans---”
“That’s him now. Not then. Then, he used to garden without gloves. He, we - he and I would get dirty.”
“Did he?” Vaughn asked, looking over Sydney’s shoulder to the clock. Quarter after two in the morning and they were talking about digging in the dirt. But then again, the mind might know the right path... “Sydney...” he said gently but probingly. “We’ll try and find Francie’s body, wherever Sark and Allison might have buried it.”
“I know...” Sydney nodded and bit her lip. “And my father...”
“I know. Jack reminded you that you shouldn’t obsess over Francie’s body, that what’s important...” Vaughn touched Sydney’s heart. “Has gone to where it belongs. Home.”
“You heard that?” Sydney asked, remembering that moment in the hospital. Her father standing over her bed, talking so softly she had to strain to listen to his halting words of comfort.
“I didn’t know if you remembered it, given the dosage of painkillers they’d put you on,” Vaughn admitted. “I’m glad you do. Your father was saying something important and you really should listen---”
Sydney shook her head and interrupted Vaughn. “No, listen. It was my mother. In my dream. Not my father. My father was real. My mother... She was... Maybe the figure was a ghost?” Sydney rubbed her fingers up and down the warm skin of Vaughn’s back. “A comforting ghost? Maybe I was dreaming about that time I broke my leg while hiking and my mother was with me because she was closer to me? Or maybe I was dreaming about my mother because she was dead for so long and now she’s as good as dead to me?”
“Maybe,” Vaughn agreed gently.
“But Mom, I mean Derevko---”
“Sydney, your mind was in shock and it floated back to a time when you were hurt, but safe. The time you broke your leg hiking and your mother was right behind you and your father carried you out. You went to a safe place. Which is not Irina Derevko.” Did he have to point this out? Vaughn hid his distaste. He didn’t really want to talk about Irina Derevko. Again. Sydney wanted to talk about it, but what was the point, really? Especially since Irina Derevko appeared to be out of their lives except as a criminal to chase and really that made their lives so much easier. If she had proven true -- he shuddered at the thought of what that might have meant to him, to them. “What?” he asked, feeling a sudden tension in Sydney’s muscles and began kneading, gently, the muscles in her back, trying to ease her nerves.
“How did Will and I end up covered with blankets before the EMTs and my father got there? Who called 911, anyway? And who broke the glass on the back door, making it look like a B and E? Who set up---”
Vaughn’s hands stopped their movement. They both sat up slowly and looked at each other. “Oh my god,” they said in unison and reached for their cell phones, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.
TBC at Part 2