Topic 47: History Repeating
"It's not glamorous," says the one-eyed man who either is hitting on him with an elaborate con or recruiting him. College experiments aside, Arvin doesn't consider himself the type to get passes from World War II veterans and thus is reasonably sure which is the case. "You're clear on that?"
Arvin nods, not bothering to go into elaborate protestations about his expectations regarding the secret service.
"No more private priorities. I know you young punks think that's all rethoric, but it's about the ideal. Your country. Lose your girl, lose your friends, that'll happen, more likely than not. Tough shit. Think you can do that? Without breaking down whining and being of no goddam use to anyone?"
"Yes," Arvin said. "Yes, Mr. Fury, I think so."
The one eye narrowed, and his recruiter pulled out a cigar, silently allowing Arvin to light it. Then he nodded. "You just might. Welcome to the CIA, Arvin Sloane."
***
"We won't be subject to bureaucratic idiocy anymore, Arvin," Briault said. "Doing the goverment's dirty work for ridiculous wages. Nor will we be petty criminals. No, Arvin, this is about an ideal. I know how this world works, and so do you. There is no reason why several intelligent men such as ourselves should not use their gifts to achieve what is due to us. Power, money, yes, but most of all control. No more red tape from goverments changing at the whim of an electorate stupid enough to fall for the latest slogan. No, we will be in control. Tell me you're not interested."
"If I weren't, you wouldn't be enjoying this excellent Veuve Cliquot with me, Jean," Sloane said mildly. "And you know that. You knew it before you came here."
Briault opened his hands in one of his elaborate Gallic gestures which were as much a masque as Sloane's own retinence was. They both sipped from their glasses, watching each other in silence.
"Given the nature of what we're planning to do," Briault said, "I can't take 'let me think about this' for an answer, Arvin. Whatever we are, whatever we will become, this is not the CIA. Nothing less than complete dedication will do, and complete secrecy. Anyone not able to commit wholeheartedly is a cancer, and you know the only thing to do with a cancer. Cut it out. Otherwise we might as well not start and volunteer for prison right now."
Sloane nodded.
"You think you can do that?"
"Yes."
Briault's face broke into a smile. "Welcome to the Alliance, Arvin."
****
"I'm not joking," Director Chase said. "This is your last chance. Betray your country again, and no matter how much valuable info you got, how talented you are, you're dead. You are aware how long the line of people petitioning for your execution is, aren't you?"
"Considering that I was already executed once," Sloane said politely, "I have a very precise idea."
She narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to decide whether he was mocking her. He wasn't. The irony of his death, and no matter how technical and temporary, to him, it had been a death, and a resurrection at the mercy of Jack Bristow, still cut deeply into him. He had been utterly without control then. Sloane had no intention of letting this happen again.
"Utter dedication," Chase said. "No private agendas, none. Serve your country, and maybe, just maybe, you will earn back our trust. Do you think you can do that?"
He did not offer his hand for a handshake. Despite being the one who had contacted him, she had made it clear she had no intention of performing any social gestures. Instead, he leaned back on the visitor's chair in her office, steepled his fingers and nodded, silently. Director Chase' face remained impassive.
"Welcome back to the CIA, Mr. Sloane.
Arvin nods, not bothering to go into elaborate protestations about his expectations regarding the secret service.
"No more private priorities. I know you young punks think that's all rethoric, but it's about the ideal. Your country. Lose your girl, lose your friends, that'll happen, more likely than not. Tough shit. Think you can do that? Without breaking down whining and being of no goddam use to anyone?"
"Yes," Arvin said. "Yes, Mr. Fury, I think so."
The one eye narrowed, and his recruiter pulled out a cigar, silently allowing Arvin to light it. Then he nodded. "You just might. Welcome to the CIA, Arvin Sloane."
***
"We won't be subject to bureaucratic idiocy anymore, Arvin," Briault said. "Doing the goverment's dirty work for ridiculous wages. Nor will we be petty criminals. No, Arvin, this is about an ideal. I know how this world works, and so do you. There is no reason why several intelligent men such as ourselves should not use their gifts to achieve what is due to us. Power, money, yes, but most of all control. No more red tape from goverments changing at the whim of an electorate stupid enough to fall for the latest slogan. No, we will be in control. Tell me you're not interested."
"If I weren't, you wouldn't be enjoying this excellent Veuve Cliquot with me, Jean," Sloane said mildly. "And you know that. You knew it before you came here."
Briault opened his hands in one of his elaborate Gallic gestures which were as much a masque as Sloane's own retinence was. They both sipped from their glasses, watching each other in silence.
"Given the nature of what we're planning to do," Briault said, "I can't take 'let me think about this' for an answer, Arvin. Whatever we are, whatever we will become, this is not the CIA. Nothing less than complete dedication will do, and complete secrecy. Anyone not able to commit wholeheartedly is a cancer, and you know the only thing to do with a cancer. Cut it out. Otherwise we might as well not start and volunteer for prison right now."
Sloane nodded.
"You think you can do that?"
"Yes."
Briault's face broke into a smile. "Welcome to the Alliance, Arvin."
****
"I'm not joking," Director Chase said. "This is your last chance. Betray your country again, and no matter how much valuable info you got, how talented you are, you're dead. You are aware how long the line of people petitioning for your execution is, aren't you?"
"Considering that I was already executed once," Sloane said politely, "I have a very precise idea."
She narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to decide whether he was mocking her. He wasn't. The irony of his death, and no matter how technical and temporary, to him, it had been a death, and a resurrection at the mercy of Jack Bristow, still cut deeply into him. He had been utterly without control then. Sloane had no intention of letting this happen again.
"Utter dedication," Chase said. "No private agendas, none. Serve your country, and maybe, just maybe, you will earn back our trust. Do you think you can do that?"
He did not offer his hand for a handshake. Despite being the one who had contacted him, she had made it clear she had no intention of performing any social gestures. Instead, he leaned back on the visitor's chair in her office, steepled his fingers and nodded, silently. Director Chase' face remained impassive.
"Welcome back to the CIA, Mr. Sloane.