Know Choice --- Chapter Two
Chapter Two
It was another contact of her father’s that had set them up for the night after a short meeting just outside of town. In Sydney’s opinion, the safe house in Sekondi-Takoradi is much more comfortable than its outer appearance suggests. Fully furnished bedrooms, a sizable living area, and quaint corner kitchenette. He’d even provided dinner which was warming in the oven when they’d arrived. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she’d been until the sweet smelling kontomire stew was in front of her.
Pleasantly satiated, Sydney settles back into the corner couch between Sark and Jack. What an odd picture this would make. All three of them side-by-side; Jack attempting to sit up straight in the deep cushions, Sark wiping a napkin across one hand, and Sydney looking like she could fall asleep at any moment.
Jack stands, under guise of clearing the table of leftovers. “There’s much to discuss. But we should rest up for-”
“I would really like to take care of everything now.” Sydney interrupts. “You haven’t mentioned if you were successful in Peloponnese.”
“I was. I found her.” Jack carries the pot into the kitchenette and sets it on the stove.
Sark sits up and removes his jacket. “I’m far more interested in your story, Sydney.” He says, laying the jacket across the back of the couch, “You’ve more than the CIA after you now.”
Sydney watches her father cross the room, “I was amazed it only took me a few hours. Addae wasted no time in getting what we needed.”
“He’s wanted to meet you for some time. I expect he was trying to make a good impression.”
“He did. Everything was on location before I left Accra that afternoon.” She looks at her hands for a moment. “Then I got a call from an unknown number which I’d assumed was you.”
Sydney braced the steering wheel with one hand and dug the other into her jacket pocket. She flipped open her phone as she raised it to her ear.
“Yes?”
A man, not her father, replied. “Ms Bristow, no one told me you‘d be so obliging. Quite the opposite actually.”
“Who is this?”
“Just listen, my dear. There’ll be plenty of time for questions later.”
“How did you get this number?”
“My source is obvious, is it not? But don’t worry, your father is doing just fine now.”
“What are you-”
“He’s a slow learner, though. It took him hours to understand the simple concept of answers equal no pain.”
“You’re bluffing. You can’t have-”
“Sydney!” Her father’s voice rang out from the background of wherever the caller was. “Don’t play his game. Get out! Don’t listen -” His words, muffled, faded into silence.
The unknown man’s voice came back with a chuckle. “Pull onto the shoulder.”
Sydney focused on her rear view mirror immediately. An ambulance, about two car lengths away, began to speed up.
“Now, my dear. I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”
Sydney slowed but took her time pulling over. “What do you want from us?”
“It’s just you I’m after, sweet Sydney. As for the ‘what‘, that will be made clear later.”
Before her car had finished rolling onto the road’s shoulder, a man and woman hopped out of the ambulance. Both wore identical plain navy blue jumpsuits yet only the man wore it like he was used to it.
“Hands, Ms. Bristow!” The man shouted as he came closer.
Sydney got out of the car with hands half heartedly up by her head. “You’ve got me. Let my father go.”
The words had barely left her lips when something struck her in the side. Her gaze flicked to the woman, who lowered a bulky looking tranq gun, before everything went dark.
She felt her body crumple under its own weight, like a marionette when its strings are cut.
“What’d you do that for?”
Gravel crunched underfoot; One, two, three, four steps. A woman‘s voice spoke in hushed Japanese. “Listen for him.”
“Now what are you doing?” The man said close by.
The unnamed woman spoke up, her English heavily accented with the Orient, “Shut up n’ carry.”
Hands gripped and tugged, “This wouldn’t be necessary if you hadn’t…just…gone and…oh screw this.”
A pinching in her neck and shoulders started to fade just after she registered the loss of her sandals.
Present
“I didn’t hear much until later. There were no questions directed toward me. Just names. Nothing they said made much sense at the time and I still can’t figure out what they were trying to do.”
Jack nods, “The little we were able to glean before Sark went in, told us you were in surgery for the first 10 hours.”
On impulse, Sydney places a hand gingerly against the side of her lower abdomen. “For what? What was done?”
“I attempted to ascertain just that before I made my way to your room.” Sark jumps in. “If there are any records, they’re not accessible electronically.”
“Were any of the names they stated familiar to you?” Jack shakes out a large fleece throw from it’s folded shape and drapes it around his daughter’s shoulders.
“Thanks…they named off almost everyone I know but there were a few names I didn‘t recognize.” Sydney shivers then tucks her feet beneath her as she repositions on the couch.
“Who?” Sark asks.
“Erica Gao, André Michaux, and Tomas Kane. They repeated his name a few times.”
Sark looks about to say something more when Jack changes the subject.
“This surgery, or whatever it was, could very well be what has led to these symptoms.”
Sydney laughs, “Symptoms? I’m tired, that’s all.”
“It’s more than that. You lost consciousness on the ride here.”
“I don’t-”
“-remember. I know. Sark says this also happened after leaving the facility earlier. Couple that with the headaches and chills…”
“Since when are you two so friendly?”
Seconds pass in silence as Jack registers the sharp change in topic. “What are you-”
Sydney stood up and backed away from them, wary. “No. I’m asking the questions. You two have been working together. Why? I want to know why he’s even here.”
Jack took on a look of confusion and disbelief, “What? For yesterday, you mean?”
Her eyes narrowed, “Of all the people you have access to, all the favors you could call in-”
“We’ve discussed all this before. We were pressed for time.”
“Are you kidding me?! I bet I‘m just conveniently forgetting that too.”
Sternly, Jack attempts to cut the argument short, “Sydney, listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.”
“Do you-” Breathing shallow, she stops abruptly and puts a hand to her forehead. “Sark? Could you get me some water?”
Sark hesitates for a moment but without a word moves to do as she asks.
“Maybe you should-” Jack begins but Sydney is already returning to the couch. He cautiously approaches her from the side. “A headache?”
“Why him?” She asks again, head still in her hands and eyes closed.
Her father, apparently deciding to placate her, quietly responds, “Because he’s made this personal.”
Using her hands to shield the light from her eyes, Sydney slides her father a sidelong look. “What is that supposed to mean?
“Your water.”
Sydney immediately regrets the involuntary glance up at Sark. His head just barely covering the edge of the harsh yellow light from an overhead bulb.
“I’ll get the light.” Jack says on his way across the room.
“No. It’s ok.” Sydney dismiss with a gesture. “I’ll just try and get some sleep.” She stands carefully and reaches for the proffered glass of water. For a long moment the exposed skin of Sark’s forearm catches her eye. His smooth, pale skin is subtly marred by a jagged and puffy shape. Compelled, Sydney grasps his wrist and gently turns his hand palm up.
Several small puncture marks grouped close together.
Trigger thrown, Sydney remembers…laughter.
“You find this comical?” Sark continued furiously wiping the sole of his dress shoe against a patch of wet grass. “Of course you do.”
“Hurry up.” Sydney ordered and bit back a lingering smile while her colleague muttered something about Italian leather. “And do try to be professional, Julian.”
He walked up beside her as she gazed past the courtyard to the mansion entrance. They linked arms, Sark refusing to move until Sydney deigned to meet his eyes. “Think you can do this without chatting up every man in the room?” Without waiting for an answer Sark strode forward, dragging her along with him.
“No, I don’t.” She replied sarcastically.
“Just remember who’s taking you home.”
She held up the hem of her gown as they ascended the front steps, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Sark smiled despite himself.
Sydney didn‘t miss the crack in his usual façade of apathy; it had her smiling too. “Perverted freak.”
The large stone mansion was bustling with life and music once they cleared the foray. Sydney had never been to such an extravagant affair. And that was saying something. Her gaze swept over the massive ballroom brimming with royalty and other political juggernauts.
They continued down more stairs to the ballroom floor. Wordlessly they motioned through the formal invitation and acceptance to dance. Sark took her hand and Sydney moved in close. Together they merged into the crowd with a slow waltz, each surveying the people around them for their respective targets.
“I see McVee; table three, northwest corner.”
“Good. Is he alone?” Jack Bristow’s disembodied voice sounded through their comms.
“For the moment.” She said noting a few half empty drinks at other placements at the same table.
“Don’t move on him until you’ve located Klien. If he IDs you-”
“Yes, thank you, we have done this before.” Sark drawled as he continued leading Sydney across the floor.
“Top of the stairs by the entrance.” Sydney said under her breath.
Sark discreetly spun them around so that he could view the entrance. “The pudgy one, are you sure?”
“Yes, that’s Dietrich Klien.” Syd caught Sark’s frown as he continued to scrutinize the man. “What?”
“I know him. He‘ll recognize me.” His face became unreadable again. “Incidentally that’ll make things easier.”
“Base, what should we do?” She asked.
“This changes nothing. Both of you get moving.”
Sark twirled her out of his arms and bowed slightly to kiss Syd’s hand. “See you downstairs.” With a wink at her bewildered expression he made a beeline for Mr. Klien.
“Dad, I don’t like this.”
“He’ll be fine...I’ll keep an eye on him. Now complete your objective.”
Did he think she was worried about Klien or Sark? Sydney pressed her lips into a line and turned away. Her target was still sitting alone and nursing a glass of red wine when she sat beside him. “Excuse me, are you David? David McVee?”
The man turned in surprise, “What? Oh, yes, I am. You must be Anita?” He smiled and shook her hand. “Sorry, I was so caught up in my er… thoughts.”
“That’s quite alright. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Syd said, playing into his mistaken identity of her.
“Well..” He began with a chuckle, “The others have only been here thirty minutes and already…”
Sydney appeared to listen politely as McVee continued on even with her father’s voice in her ear.
“That’s great, hold that position for as long as you can.”
Seconds ticked by in idle chit-chat with Sydney wishing she could afford a quick scan of the entrance…for curiosity’s sake, of course. She knew exactly what Sark had meant by it being easier with Mr. Klien knowing his identity. There would be no need for pretense of the kind Sydney engaged in now. Last week’s ‘missions’ opened her eyes to how Sark truly preferred to work. Ease equaled efficiency; getting the job done without entangling oneself in disguises and unnecessary contact with others.
Mr. Klien was most certainly dead by now. He couldn’t be allowed to inform the CIA of their actions.
“Scanning complete. Uploading to your PDA now.”
Sydney brought a hand to her lap, slipping a finger beneath the embroidered waistband of her gown. She then glanced down, startled before looking down to either side of her.
“What is it, Anita?” McVee asked.
“My bag, I must’ve left it somewhere.” Sydney stood; looking worried and speaking fast. “I’m sorry. I must find it. I’ll be back.” She touched his shoulder gently, leaving behind a small tracer.
McVee nodded emphatically, “Of course, of course.”
Moving quickly through those people gathered at the outer edge of the dance floor, Sydney eyed a staircase leading to the restrooms. “On my way. What’s Kitten’s status?”
“On schedule, you’re clear to the lift.”
Without losing her momentum; Sydney entered the last restroom and locked herself in. It was quite the decadent washroom with dark marble floors and a personal vanity table. But Syd had little time to take it all in with greater detail. She used the vanity’s stool to reach a high vent and removed the cover. Within was the traveling pack her father had placed there the prior day while disguised as part of a maintenance crew. Quickly, she slipped out of the gown and into a black cotton jumpsuit.
With the gown inside, she secured the cloth pack across her back and chest like a sash.
“I’m at the first door.”
“Shrimp.”
She moved to a service door concealed as part of the wall in the far right corner. It was half the size of a normal door and indented inward when she pushed against it to slide it into the side wall. Sydney crawled inside and closed the door behind her.
She was now in a cramped corridor that ran several meters to her right. Thick iron pipes ran overhead forcing her to duck down as she weaved past service ladders every two meters or so. She counted them as she went and stopped at number five.
“Coming up on second door.” As she descended the built-in cast iron ladder the constantly circulating air had her unbound hair whirling in all directions.
“You’re good on time. Pace yourself.”
Ten feet down, a small access hatch was accessible to the left and right while the ladder continued through a dark recess in the concrete floor. Sydney opened the hatch to her right and pulled herself into the adjoining alcove. She dropped down to the floor, retrieved her mini-light, and took in her surroundings.
“God, this place is ridiculous… I’m in position.” She removed a small panel from the multi-paneled wall in front of her and opened a small pocket next to her shoulder in the sash pack. Pulling out a few small tools she went to work on the wiring within. After a few minutes Sydney said, “Patch is ready.”
“Copy. Standby.”
Sydney waited with tools still in hand until Jack’s monotone drummed in her ear.
“Excellent. Surveillance pinpointed and neutralized. You have sixty seconds.”
She put her tools and mini-light into the pack before climbing back out into the ladder shaft. With the lower recess now lit brightly, Sydney slid the rest of the way down the ladder. As soon as she hit the pavement below she spun around and slapped the pressure plate. The only door slid aside and she rushed in.
“I made it.” Sydney scanned the large white room. The ceiling and floor were ventilated for the benefit of several large servers in the center of the room.
“Good. One of the adjoining workrooms at the far end of the room should be accessible. ‘Kitten’ assures me it is.”
Sydney walked around to the opposite side of where she came in. Three unremarkable doors were evenly placed along the wall. She tried the first door on the left, locked. “How am I on time?”
“McVee is still in the main hall…”
Sydney jiggled the middle door’s handle and found it locked as well.
“…but I’ll not be able to alert you while you’re in the workroom…”
Sydney stopped beside the third door, “It’s always the last one.” She mumbled.
“Concentrate on getting only what we need and be quick as you can.”
“I will. Going radio silent.” She pushed open the thin door and stepped inside.
“Good L--” Her father’s last words fizzled out when the door closed behind her.
Her pulse quickened as she sat in front of a whisper thin computer monitor and keyboard. With the access codes they obtained earlier that week, Sydney navigated through various levels of security.
It took a few minutes to locate the files and she began scanning them for anything relevant. Almost immediately she found her name but it was nothing new. She scanned through the document for a specific name in conjunction with her own.
[December 5th, 2002] ‘With the loss of her fiancée and the exceptional stress…breaking point... need for normalcy... manipulation... indicates extreme resistance if not complete immunity to conventional brainwashing techniques... opportunity for deep cover...In such an event, Sydney Bristow’s attachment and attraction to Agent Michael Vaughn, if properly nurtured into romance, could be utilized as a means to securing her loyalty. Jack Bristow might also be a good candidate but his true loyalties are elusive when in session.’
This was it. Now she had to find the specifics.
[March 12th, 2003] ‘Current intelligence regarding the so called Covenant is scarce but most certainly disturbing in its subtlety...proactive action be taken regarding infiltration and subsequent implosion...instruction to primary only through P2P contact and no distinguishing call sign will be used.’
Sydney continued her intense search. The only sound in the room being that of her fingers as they tapped and moved across the touchpad mouse.
[April 28th, 2003] ‘Request green on final operation specifics... primary has placed passive tracer... player should be intercepted within the next week. Dr. Barnett suggests Agent Jack Bristow’s role as player’s handler be reconsidered... Primary will be available upon target’s reintegration into the Agency.’
Sydney scanned the next document but found nothing. She glanced at the computer’s time display, “Damn it.” She hissed. She opened a series of files just as a tremor went through the building above her. On reflex she glanced up… An explosion? It was time to leave.
She glanced back at the monitor in a moment of hesitation. The words jumped out in sizzling black and white.
‘Julian Sark…’
Against her better judgment she quickly read the first few sentences of the paragraph.
[June 20th, 2004] '...has been considered an unverifiable match for Rambaldi prediction seventy-four. Tablet rubbings acquired by our Covenant operative show the poem in its entirety and were sent to the facility in Ghana. Sark’s psychological tests confirm a peculiar similarity to the four people depicted in the writing and have led our experts to theorize that Rambaldi’s verses are not to be taken literal.’
The monitor suddenly goes black followed by the entire room becoming dark. Sydney hops up and leans into the door.
Locked in.