The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2007: Part 2 Section 1 of 2
Chapter 2007: Part 2 Section 1 of 2
“This is all moving too fast,” Vaughn muttered as they prepared for landing.
“Are you quite serious?” Sark asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he leaned back against the crate. “It feels like the plane ride took more than a month, to me.”
“It’s all relative,” Dixon noted.
Vaughn nodded. “One minute I’m in Santa Barbara with my girlfriend and the next minute I’m in a plane flying to Afghanistan with her mother who killed my father and her father, who’s basically telling me to get over it or get out of the way.”
“And then there’s Sark,” Weiss added, nodding in Sark’s direction.
Vaughn shrugged. “Big deal. Jack can sing his little song and Sark will follow orders.”
“Jack. Can the protocol be reversed?” Sark called out. He had a sudden sick feeling in his stomach that he would be at the mercy of anyone who could engage that protocol and--
“Completely reversed as I did to Sydney? So that you’re not vulnerable to it?” Jack shrugged. “Given the permutations Dave installed, I don’t know. And at the moment I have no interest in finding out. But keep in mind that it appears that only Dave or I could engage the protocol, so Sark, if...”
Sark nodded, determined not to show relief as he said sarcastically, “If I’m a good boy, then I don’t have to worry about it.”
“Exactly. See? Isn’t positive reinforcement a wonderful thing?” Jack paused as the plane cruised to a landing.
The second the plane stopped, Sark picked up the thread of conversation again as he began to worry about what lay ahead. “I’d like to reiterate that I am not a rat.”
“Of course, I’m sure I might be able to amend the protocol so that others could use it...” Jack offered with a small twist of his lips.
While Sark stared at him, wondering if - unbelievably - Jack was teasing him, Sydney clapped her hands. She almost laughed aloud at the sight of her father’s amused face, a face she suddenly remembered seeing so often in the past. And he was teasing Sark? Even better. Suppressing her laughter, she called out, “Oh, let me! Set it up so that I can engage the protocol!”
“Why, princess, if you wanted me at your beck and call, all you had to do was---Ow!” Sark, rubbed his head and looked down at the floor where a bright pink box lay askew.
“Sorry,” Vaughn said flippantly. “Happy Family Midge didn’t like your attitude and she jumped right out of her crate.”
“And onto my head?” Sark asked, pushing Midge aside.
“It’s a mystery,” Weiss noted. “Maybe you have a magnet in your skull?”
Sydney picked it up and huffily wiped the box down. “Be careful with the Barbies!”
“Who are they for, anyway?” Vaughn asked, taking the box from Sydney and setting it back inside the crate.
Jack picked up his phone and began dialing it as he answered, “A contact who will be helping us,who suggested bringing some toys along for barter given our game plan and who collects them--”
Irina stared at the pink boxes as Jack talked into his phone. “An agent who collects Barbies?”
“Maybe there’s a Secret Agent Barbie,” Sydney laughed. “You know the slogan. Barbie can do anything.”
“I don’t know that slogan,” Irina admitted.
“Neither do I. Clearly a serious omission in my popular culture education, Irina,” Sark noted.
“Clearly.” Irina rolled her eyes and smiled at Sark, relieved when he cautiously returned it. “But what does the agent do with them?”
“She takes them out. She doesn’t believe the Barbies should live in the boxes,” Jack said, an air of puzzlement around him. “That’s what she said.” He smiled as Irina glared at him.
“She?” Irina’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this she? This contact? How do you know her? And for how long?”
Sydney stared at her mother and touched her temple. “Here we go...” she mumbled.
“I don’t get it,” Weiss said. “They’re just dolls, who cares if they’re in a box or out of it---”
“Well, I agree with that!” Sydney nodded. “No one should live in a box.” Then she looked over at Sark and added, “Perhaps I should amend that statement to exclude certain members of our present company.”
Sark rolled his eyes. “You know, Irina, you never answered my question about the pain killers required during Sydney’s birth given the presence of the tiara.”
“Were you always a boil on the butt of humanity or is this a more recent development?” Sydney asked, hands on her hips.
“I have no way of knowing, do I, Sydney - thanks to the help of your mother, your Uncle Dave and the Soviet system-“
“Stop. It.” Irina glared at them both. “We do not have time for childish behavior. Jack, aren’t you going to stick Sark with a transmitter?”
“You do it,” Jack said absently as he looked at his list and frowned.
“Oh, no. Let me,” Sydney said with a smile. “Bend over and-“
“Really, Sydney,” Sark protested in mock dismay. “I don’t think any of us want to know that much about your sexual-Oomph.” Sark rubbed his head where Jack had hit it. He opened his mouth and then closed it when he saw the look on Jack’s face. “I...apologize, Princess.”
“You know, Julian.” Jack smiled as he opened a case and handed a syringe to Sydney. “I really think the punishment should fit the crime. So Sydney will be inserting that transmitter anywhere she wants.”
Sydney smiled and began circling Sark. Irina stopped her and whispered into her ear and the eyes of both women dropped down Sark’s body until he turned white.
“That’s cold,” Weiss whispered to Dixon. They watched as Sydney suddenly grabbed Sark by the collar of his tshirt, pulled it down toward his shoulder blade and stuck him in one hard slam with the syringe.
“Jack...Do you plan on filling us in on the details of this raid?” Vaughn asked, shading his eyes as a large truck rumbled toward them.
“Yeah, how are we getting from here to there?”
“To everywhere?”
“Dr. Seuss,” Irina said absently, also puzzling as the truck drew up near the plane.
“We’re getting to our goal...” Jack said, looking out the window. “By any means necessary.”
“But...a beer nut truck?” Weiss asked. “Is that why you look so disgusted?”
“No.” Jack sighed. “It’s later. We have horses, turbans and beards-“
“Oh my!” Irina laughed, hoping to relax Jack. His face was so tight. “Lions, tigers and bears, Jack. Get over it and stop whining.”
Jack looked away from the window at his wife. Pointing his finger at her, he said firmly, “I am not whining. I do not whine. I have never whined. And I’m not going to start now-“
“You just did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“STOP it!” Sydney exclaimed.
“Why?” Jack and Irina asked in unison and stared at each other in bemusement. Wasn’t she having fun. They were. They both shrugged and faced their daughter.
“Because, because... Mr. Zamir is at the door!”
“Oh. Well, why don’t you open the door instead of shouting at us, Sydney?” Jack suggested with a small smile.
“Why don’t I....” Sydney stared at her father and had a flash of insight about how he was able to drive her mother insane with just one word.
Vaughn and Weiss went over and opened the hatch door. Zamir and another man wheeled in several large crates.
“Pretzels?” Sark asked, tilting his head to read the label on the outside. “Rum?”
“Rum? Oh, Mr. Zamir!” Irina called out, extending her hand. “It is good to see you again.”
“Ah, Jack’s wife who was, was not and is again. And what do I call you now?” Zamir asked, shaking Irina’s hand and bowing slightly. “I knew you from your pictures as Laura, then as Irina and now- In this life? You are lucky to have had so many all while human. What are you naming yourself now?”
“Pain in my-“ Jack mumbled and then shut up at Irina’s glare to shake the other man’s hand.
“What will be a pain in your...butt? Is that the right word?” Zamir turned to speak to the small Indian woman who had been hidden by the bulk of the man who was Zamir’s brother. “Are you planning on falling off the horse again, Jack?”
“Jack!” The woman smiled broadly and wrapped her arms around Jack’s neck to give him a hug.
“Who is that?” Irina and Sydney asked in unison. Dixon looked at the ceiling of the plane to avoid smiling at the identical scowls on the women’s faces. Vaughn looked pained. Weiss frowned. Sark looked bored. More family dynamics, he thought impatiently, wishing that they could just get on with this mission.
“My daughter. Nia,” Zamir said proudly. “Is she not the loveliest---”
“Who is she to Jack?” Irina snapped out.
“Why, like a daughter she is to him,” Zamir began, then stopped at the fury in Sydney’s face.
“He already has a daughter,” Sydney snapped, tapping her chest. “Me.”
“Ah, but one can never have too much love---”
“Love?” Sydney and Irina both said.
“Like a favorite uncle, to her, he is.”
“Is this guy the Indian version of Yoda?” Weiss asked Vaughn.
“My head hurts already,” Vaughn answered, rubbing his forehead.
“Ah, this must be Michael Vaughn!” Nia said, stretching out her hand toward him.
“How did you know?” Vaughn asked suspiciously as he quickly shook Nia’s hand. He could tell, just tell, that this woman was trouble.
“The forehead wrinkles, of course. Jack has mentioned them.”
“Has he?” Vaughn glared at Jack, who shrugged while talking quietly with Zamir.
“Of course. Perhaps he is worried that his grandchildren will look like Shar Peis?”
Sydney covered her mouth and Irina turned her head so that her hair fell in front of her face, while Weiss burst into laughter. “I like you already.”
“You must be Agent Weiss,” Nia said, extending her hand to him as well. “You have a predilection for Krispy Kreme donuts and magic tricks.”
“Yeah...” Weiss stuck his thumb out and pointed at Jack. “When did he tell you all this about us?”
“Over the years,” Nia shrugged and turned to Dixon. “And you must be Sydney’s partner and good friend. I am sorry to hear about the loss of your wife. I am sure you grieve for her,” Nia commented, reaching out to hold one of Dixon’s hands in a warm clasp of both of her hands. “I know I would be devastated at the loss of my husband.”
“You’re married?” Irina asked in relief.
“Of course. Has Jack not told you about us?” Nia asked, in her crisp British accent, so different from her father’s speech.
“He told us nothing,” Sydney said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh.” Nia shrugged. Elegantly, Sydney thought with a sniff. Nia was petite and well-informed and most importantly, Nia had hugged Jack, who was her father. Her father, not Nia’s. Sydney took a step closer to her father as Nia continued, “And this must be Julian Sark... I hear that if you so much as gaze at Sydney improperly or make an unacceptable move, I am to terminate you.”
“By what means?” Sark asked with a sniff.
“By any means necessary. Personally, I prefer the knife. It’s much quieter than the gun.”
Irina smiled slowly. “We may have a basis for a relationship.”
“I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am to know that the woman who caused such pain to my Uncle Jack is interested in commonalities between us,” Nia said dryly, bringing a quickly hidden smile to Jack’s face.
Zamir ducked his head for a second, then gestured apologetically toward Irina. “I apologize for my daughter. She has, how do you say-“
“A mouth on her?” Jack asked. “I have a daughter like that too.”
“Jack!” Nia called out. “Did you bring my...” She smiled. “Bribe?”
“Yes, Nia.” Jack rolled his eyes. “The Barbies are in here.”
“Why is Nia here?” Dixon asked.
Jack nodded. “The game plan requires someone with a perfect accent-“
Weiss nodded. “Well, that excludes Sydney then - Ow!”
Zamir nodded at his daughter. “Nia. She speaks perfect Pashtun. Mine is quite good, as is my brother’s.
We will be Jack’s brothers, the rest of you his family. Is that not so?”
“Yes.” Jack looked at Irina, who nodded.
“And we will find Dave and then kill Arvin?”
“That’s the short version. The only question will be who gets to kill Arvin.”
Dixon cleared his throat. “How do you intend to pass me off as a relative?”
“Oh, I have a costume that’s just perfect for that,” Jack said with a small smile. “You have the burkas, Zamir?”
“Yes. Two large burkas, as you requested, along with three of normal size for the women.”
“Two large?” Weiss asked, frowning. It would be just his luck...
“Yes. For Dixon and Sark.”
“I will not wear a bloody blue burka!” Sark exclaimed, shaking his head.
“Listen, boy,” Sydney said, slapping him on the shoulder. “If I have to wear one, so can you.”
“But....”
“I swear if you say, ‘But I’m a man!’ I will hurt you.” Sydney glared at Sark, who decided that perhaps the wearing of a burka was not the hill on which he wanted to die. Principles, after all, were less important than survival.
“Well, blue is my favorite color,” Sark finally conceded.
“If the debate over your sartorial considerations is done,” Jack pointed toward the pretzel crate. “Get into the crates. Vaughn, Sydney, Weiss and Sark can fit into the pretzel crate - it’s bigger.”
“I don’t know...” Zamir peered inside. “Perhaps I underestimated.”
“No.” Irina waved her hand. “It will be fine. Julian is thin. And Sydney can sit on Vaughn’s lap.”
Jack opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut.
“If you prefer, Jack, she can...” Sark trailed off. He kept forgetting that Jack was angry with him about that minor little videotaping incident. He didn’t understand why he kept forgetting about that danger, but then again, everything seemed a little hazy since Jack had engaged the protocol. He was...confused, a sensation he didn’t understand. But he did understand the look on Jack’s face and he did remember this about the Bristows: payback would be coming.
“Get in.” Jack gritted out, then sent a look in Vaughn’s direction. Vaughn nodded.
Sark, still wearing chains, climbed in with help from Zamir’s brother. Vaughn followed.
“OW!” Sark yelled and then moaned painfully. “Why the hell did you step on my...Ommph!” Sark groaned as a muffled thud or two was heard from inside the crate.
“Is it safe now?” Weiss asked, looking over the edge of the crate. “Well, Sark looks green around the gills, so I guess it is. Here, Syd.” Weiss made a cradle of his hands and helped Sydney inside, then followed.
Dixon smiled and nodded at Jack, one father to another. He went into the other crate.
“The good news...” Irina said, putting her hand on Jack’s arm. “Is that I can sit on your lap.”
“And that’s good news?” Jack asked.
“Because I’ll wiggle around and distract you from your claustrophobia.”
“Hmm. I think more than wiggling is required. That is a small crate, really,” Jack said thoughtfully.
“I’ll think of something,” Irina promised. “Go ahead. I want to talk to Zamir for a moment.”
Jack looked at her curiously and then shrugged. He and Dixon got into the crate.
“Mr. Zamir..” Irina whispered. “Is it possible that you have some of the rum?”
“Ah! My nectar of the gods?”
“Something like that,” Irina agreed.
“Jack.” Dixon sat down opposite Jack. “What’s going on with Sark? And please don’t tell me you have no idea-“
“Clearly, I need to develop new phraseology.” Jack sighed. “What’s going on with Sark? He has potential. I’m trying to access that potential thanks to the protocol.”
“Which... broke him down in some way?” Dixon conjectured.
“Yes. And if I can keep him off balance, he can’t engage any defensive moves of his own and therefore...”
“You have him where you want him.” Dixon nodded. “Which is?”
“Not going down the path Irina went down,” Jack said softly. “Finding something else.”
“Obviously, he’s gifted in our field of endeavor.”
“Obviously. But one can be in this field without being soulless. And if I can switch his loyalties to us, he'll be useful.”
“You think...That you, we might be able to help set him on the right course. Reset his path, his footsteps.”
“Yes. He has such potential...” Jack shook his head. “But he’s damn irritating too.”
“Do you think he’s going to revert to that New Jersey accent once he knows all of his history?” Dixon looked up and saw Irina taking a step toward the crate, still talking to Zamir.
“I hope not!” Jack smiled. Lowering his voice, he told Dixon, “I’m not sure that is his natural accent or if it's something Dave gave him. He was very good with accents. I’m not sure Sark will ever know all of his history or frankly if even that birthday story is true or something Dave gave him instead of... Who knows? Clearly something traumatic happened that Dave was trying to suppress for the boy’s own good.”
Dixon nodded. “I see. Truthfully, there are some memories that one wishes could just be... gone. They serve no purpose but to bring pain. I wish I could erase the sight of Diane’s car blowing up. It repeats over and over in my head. Why? It has no other purpose but to cause pain.”
“Yes...” Jack looked away and then admitted slowly, “Remembering my wife’s death at the riverbank is not a good memory for me either. But with time...the sharpness of the memory does lessen.”
Irina paused as she heard the soft words under Zamir’s chatter about rum. Oh god, what Jack must have gone through at the riverbank. Not a good memory at all. How to exorcize such trauma? Was the only way, the only option to do what Dave had done and bury the memory?
“Does it?” Dixon asked. “Does the pain lessen?”
“It does. If you let it and don’t scratch at the scab opening it.” The way I did, Jack thought. Then shaking his head, he continued, “And with time, I recently remembered what was truly important at that riverbank. Which was Dave helping me, holding me back from making bigger mistakes, when I needed him to do that and letting me grieve when I needed that too.”
“The way you let me stay on that op-“ Dixon broke off as Irina looked over the edge of the crate. Jack stood up. Irina put her hands on his shoulders and Jack lifted her up and inside the crate. They sat down.
“Like that.” Jack looked at his wife as she sat down on his lap and then blinked his eyes once. She smiled at him. Jack looked up as Zamir lowered the lid onto the crate and darkness fell inside. Softly, Jack said, “But yes, memories can hurt. And in Sark’s case, I’m assuming that the fact that under the protocol he admitted to hating red means that there was blood involved in the trauma.”
Irina nodded as Jack slid his arms around her waist. Seeing that the darkness was nearly complete, she took Jack’s hand and slid it under her shirt and then upward to cover her breast. That should distract him from his claustrophobia and ooooh... It was distracting her too, the way his fingers were slowly circling her nipple. “I...I, um, I don’t know if Julian knows this, but assuming he was kidnaped from the States, SOP for kidnaping the children was to stage their death and exchange another child’s body. Seldom were the children taken without... incident. Of some kind. So it’s likely that he saw blood and in a child of that age...”
Dixon nodded. “I see. The trauma might be devastating.”
“Yes.” Irina looked at her husband, unable to see him as Zamir began wheeling the cart down the ramp. She leaned back against him and sighed as Jack’s hand gently caressed her, rubbing the skin on her chest, soothing the ache and fear that were there, no matter how far she pushed them down. Regret, anxiety... Her actions had caused such pain. Dave had been the only one to help Jack. And since Dave had seen the aftermath of Jack’s spiral downward after too many traumas, he had been no doubt particularly attuned to the possibility of preventing a freefall rather than picking up the pieces afterward. Yes, Irina decided remembering the conversation Dave had initiated about her marriage, that was the kind of decision a bone-deep meddler like Dave would make.
“Yasmina?” Dave whispered, as the guards who had secured him back in the cave left, not wanting to watch Yasmina change his bandages.
“Yes?” Yasmina did not look up as she unwound the bandages. She did not want Daoud to see her dismay. This wound needed something she did not have.
In English, Dave asked, “What are you going to do about Arezou? Your husband grows impatient to find her a husband, you said.”
“I do not know. I just have this feeling...that something will happen.”
“Things happen when you make them happen.”
Yasmina smiled. “Ach, that is the American in you. Always thinking you can make these things, you call them, happen.”
“Yes. And that is why things happen. Promise me...” Dave shifted and then paled as a bolt of pain hit his knee that he thought had gone past feeling pain. In a grunt, he said, “Promise me, that when opportunity knocks, you will answer the door.”
“Door? Knocking? I do not have a door. I have a flap in the tent.”
“Very amusing. Open the flap then. Just...seize the opportunity. Seize the...”
“The what?” Yasmina asked, concerned at the sweat on Daoud’s forehead.
“The day. Carpe diem. Seize the day.”
“Which is?”
“Today...” Dave trailed off, meaning to say, ‘I hope it’s today.’ But all Yasmina heard was the one word.
“Today.”
“Burkas, beards, turbans--“ Irina recited, shifting around on Jack’s lap and enjoying what she felt underneath her.
“Food, water, gold,” Dixon continued.
“Guns, knives and knock out drops,” Jack finished the list, having ticked off each item with a tap on Irina’s nipple. He could really start to enjoy list making in the dark with his wife.
“Knock out drops?” Dixon asked as the truck came to a lurching halt.
“Just in case. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” Jack responded as he heard the back door of the truck screech open.
Jack slid his hand out from under his wife’s shirt as Zamir began to crowbar open the crate.
“Come, my friend.” Zamir held out his hand. “You must get to looking not like you. Plural you. English is imprecise, is it not?”
“But it is the best language for swearing,” Irina commented as Jack lifted her out of the crate. She could have jumped out herself, but she wasn’t stupid enough to forego the opportunity to have her husband’s hands on her nor was she so stupid she wouldn’t take the opportunity to see his eyes focus on her. She smiled as she held onto his shoulders and slid down his body before her feet touched the ground.
Sydney watched her parents and rolled her eyes. She knew what her mother was doing and really, was this the time to...act like a woman? Which she wasn’t, she was her mom, for crying out loud. Sydney looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t we all get-“
Weiss stood and looked around the small warehouse. Junk food stacked to the ceiling in every direction. He whistled. “Is this really a snack warehouse?” Or is this heaven?
“Yes.” Zamir’s brother nodded. “Pretzels, chips, beer nuts. We carry Western snacks.”
“And the rum, which made us famous,” Zamir nodded at Irina. “If you wish to have any of the snacks or the rum, please to ask. Jack’s team is our family as well.”
“Well, I’ll take-omph!” Weiss grunted as Vaughn elbowed him.
“We’re here to get dressed and get out of town!” Vaughn noted before Eric could start to make lists of his own. “Jack, shouldn’t we-“
“Yes, yes,” Zamir nodded. “The men’s costumes are over there-“ He pointed in one direction and Vaughn and Weiss set off. “And the women’s costumes are actually in the truck, along with the gold.”
“And where do I go?” Sark asked, as he held out his wrists and Dixon unclasped the bonds. Sark rubbed his skin and then jumped down from the truck.
“Now there’s a question I’d love to answer,” Sydney called out as she opened the box to which Nia was pointing. “Where should he go? There are so many options. Let’s start with Option A, back inside the crate-“
Sark ignored her, remembering from somewhere that ignoring an obnoxious little girl worked sometimes. He looked around, appraising his surroundings. Weiss must be in heaven, but he found the stacked platforms of snacks towering over head like multiple Leaning Towers of Piza, only they were leaning towers of... Sark tilted his head. Pretzels. He might be killed by Jack accidentally on purpose leaning on a box of pretzels. How plebian. What was next? Bowling? He looked around. Where was Jack? He found him, realized Jack was watching him carefully and forced himself to appear relaxed. The warehouse was tight, with no apparent escape. He looked at Sydney and retorted, “Far be it from me to question your ability to comprehend the simplest questions, but I was merely inquiring as to the proximate location in which I might change into my assigned costume, which as you’ll recall, Princess....”
“He is not your son, Jack?” Zamir asked suddenly as Sark rambled on endlessly until Sydney interrupted him by tossing him his burka. She smiled as she handed one to Dixon, who shook his head in the hopeless resignation of an experienced father.
Jack shook his head. “No. But apparently Dave groomed him to act like he was.”
“Did he groom him to act like Sydney’s brother?” Zamir asked, as Dixon tossed the underrobe over his head.
Jack nodded. “I think so. He gave Sark this list of instructions. Embedded instructions that worked on his subconscious or at least began to work once he could verbalize the instructions under the protocol I told you about. Dave implanted that notion in Sark that he should trust me. That he should be aware that Irina sometimes doesn’t ask the right questions. That he cannot harm Sydney, who is a princess...” Jack smiled as Sydney turned to face her mother, smiling as she gestured toward the gold jewelry already covering her chest and picking up a pair of earrings. She was still his little princess.
“Jack!” Irina called out. With a sly smile, she held up a necklace. “Wouldn’t you like to fasten this around my neck?”
“No, that’s alright-“ Jack shook his head, hiding his smile.
“But I really think you should-“ Irina cajoled, beginning to lift up her hair.
“No. I only do that when the necklace has C-4 in it,” Jack quipped, as he closed his eyes.
TBC at Part 2 Section 2 of 2