COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Eyghon
Author's notes: Here is what I had planned since the beginning as the end of this story. Now, don't panic, it's not over yet. I really need to get this over with, as the finals are coming up, but I just can't. I knew I was 'addicted' to reading fiction but I certainly didn't expect to be 'addicted' to writing one! Many thanks to Lenafan for beta reading, for putting up with my incessant questions, and me. Sorry if the end sounds somewhat flimsy, but I was getting annoyed with writing angst.
Chapter 16: Narrow escape
"I will break you Miss Sullivan," promised Agent Bristow. "It's only a matter of time and I have lots of it," he added, finally leaving her alone. The man may think he had all the time in the world but he actually didn't. Soon Derevko would leave the United States and it would be safe for Chloé to tell them everything she knew. She was young; her record was clean. She had never planned spending her whole life running surveillance on people anyway. It was just an easy way to make big money fast. She was not a professional and if she played her cards right, she would never set foot in a prison.
For now, she needed to stall the CIA. She knew if she talked too soon Derevko would get back to her. If she didn't talk, she would end up in a bloody mess. When she had accepted the job, she knew there was a good chance she would be captured. She had been ordered not to resist. While the CIA had her in their custody, they would try to get information from her instead of questioning their own sources, who would have sold Chloé and Derevko out within one hour. Time was of the essence here, and the CIA was playing right into her hands…or Derevko's.
Chloé just had to give the CIA information piece by piece, enough to keep her out of harm's way but too little to compromise her boss's safety.
Irina knew she could count on Miss Sullivan's discretion but she still needed to speed things up. She wouldn't be able to give Sydney time to prepare herself. It was risky, because Sydney, too rushed, could get scared and refuse to come. Irina had no choice. It was up to Sydney now. It was a hard decision Irina was not sure Sydney had made peace with. Despite her protestations during their last conversations, Irina knew Sydney still loved her father. Her daughter would miss her friends at the very least. Irina hoped her rushing things wouldn't ruin everything.
Sydney and Francie were walking down Melrose Avenue. The CIA agents were far away enough so Francie wouldn't spot them, but they were still standing out: It was a street essentially composed of many boutiques specializing in clothes, thrift shops, and second-class art galleries. Not many men had the courage to be seen in this shopping district.
Sydney sighed. Soon she wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. It was probably the last time she would be shopping with her best friend.
Jack had found out a little more about the 'accident' Sydney had mentioned. He knew the Ukrainian authorities recovered several bodies from a car crash site in Kiev. Two cars had been set on fire before being pushed down into a ravine. The perpetrators probably hoped the vehicles would never be found. However, they were, along with four corpses.
It had taken a while to come back to Jack's attention, what with the Ukrainians being chummy with the Russians. The outcome of the next presidential elections in Ukraine could change a lot of things for the Americans, and the world in general. For now, it was all the Intel Jack would get. All the kidnappers were accounted for except one. No female body was among the dead. One of the kidnappers was still on the loose and Jack still didn't know what Sydney was hiding so fiercely.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
Sydney interrupted her chat with Francie to squint at a car that had slowed to her pace.
"Yes?"
"Could you tell me how to go to Robertson Boulevard from here?"
Sydney froze when she came within five feet of the driver, her mother. Why would Irina take the risk to approach her right under the nose of two CIA agents on foot? She took a deep breath. The men knew nothing about Irina. They couldn't even see her. For all they knew, she was just a lost tourist asking for directions. Sydney stepped off the sidewalk, Francie on her heels. She too had recognised the woman she had nicknamed 'the scary lady'. She wondered why Sydney was playing along. Maybe someone was watching them.
"Uh…sure."
She leaned in the car window, hoping she would be isolated enough to keep the CIA from listening in. Thankfully, Francie went to stand on her left, effectively blocking her from the view and earshot of the two suit-clad men.
"Something came up, it's now or never." Irina purposely kept her explanation cryptic. If Sydney refused, Francie would never know how close Sydney had come to abandon her.
"What? Why? What happened?"
Irina sighed, she didn't have time for this, but she would have to take it. "It's only a question of time before your father learns who I am. When it happens, it will be too late for us. I'm sorry I couldn't warn you before." She glanced anxiously at her rear view mirror. The agents were standing awkwardly a few meters behind, waiting for their target to start moving. It wasn't unusual in Los Angeles to see lost tourists asking for directions. The fact that Irina's Mercedes was registered in the state of Ohio helped to keep their suspicions at bay.
Sydney sighed, at a loss of what to do. It was so sudden. She hadn't expected to have to leave for another week. She discreetly looked over her friend's shoulder at the agents. They were getting restless.
"I'm coming with you," firmly declared Sydney.
Irina let out a relieved sigh. "Glad to hear it. We have to hurry but we must be discreet. We can't risk being chased…"
"Wait! What are you guys talking about?" Francie looked at her friend disbelieving and fearing she would finally know why Sydney was being so secretive.
"Now is neither the time nor the place," reminded Irina. "You two obviously need to talk. Go inside a café, make sure you aren't overheard." Then, gravely, she went on, "Sydney, if you still want to come with me, go to The Lavender Girl Boutique two blocks away. Go out through the back door, you'll find yourself in an alley leading to the main street. I'll wait for you there." It was the oldest trick in the book to shake off a tail but the CIA wouldn't expect it. "After fifteen minutes I'll be gone. You will never see or hear from me ever again."
Before Sydney could answer, Irina accelerated and was out of sight.
"Are you leaving with her? Is that what it's all about?"
Francie and Sydney were sitting in the back of a little café, stuck between a clothes boutique and a perfumery.
"Yes." What good would it do to lie to her friend now? Francie had it all figured it out already. She just wouldn't let herself see it.
"Why? What is so special about her?"
"For the first time in my life, I feel safe and loved with someone."
"What?” Francie sighed, knowing Sydney wouldn't answer her question, or even worse, would lie to her. "This is crazy. You are crazy"
"Francie, please…Once I'm gone, I can never come back. I won't be able to contact you either." Sydney said sadly.
"Why? How is that possible? What happened?" She couldn't hold her questions anymore. She was losing her best friend, the closest thing she ever had to a sister.
"It's complicated. I'm sorry. It's been very hard to decide whether to leave all of this. But it's worth it, and I know I'll be happy with her."
"How can you be so sure? You barely know her, unless you lied about that too? And what do you mean loving her? What about me? Did you, for one second, think about what it would do to me to lose you?"
Sydney opened her mouth to talk but nothing came out. She had only envisioned how it would be to live with her mother and to leave her friends and family behind. She had never thought about the long run. How it would be not to have her best friend to confide in. How she would feel when not able to run to the same park she went to when she was little. How she would miss her father's rebuffs or shouts, which were annoying but which proved that he somehow cared, at least enough to waste his breath.
It dawned on her then, how selfish she had been in the process of deciding whether she would leave her life in the US. She hadn't really given much thought to others' feelings toward her. How would Francie feel? How would Mrs. Calfo, who considered Sydney as a part of the family, feel? How would her friends feel? And what about her father? She was so angry with him for ignoring her; she had never once considered that her decision, her disappearance, might hurt him. He was so good at hiding his emotions she had forgotten he could actually feel. She didn't have time to think about him now. He had his chance and didn't take it. Maybe later she would rethink this.
"I thought so," Francie bitterly concluded before getting up and heading toward the exit.
"Fran, wait!" Sydney grabbed her arm, desperate. "It's probably the last time we'll see each other. I don't want to let things like this between us. I love you."
"Then stay!"
"I can't! I have nothing here! I mean…" Sydney sighed, frustrated. She couldn't tell Francie her family was more important than her best friend without telling her who the mysterious woman was. "I'm sorry. Of all the things I'll miss, it's you I'll truly regret leaving behind. I already miss you."
"Sydney…" Francie's voice broke; she had to let her go. "I love you too, and if it means I have to let you go, then so be it. I'm happy for you. I don't look like it, but if this is really what you want, then I'm happy."
"Thank you!" The two girls hugged. "Will you accompany me?" Sydney asked.
"Of course! Let's go!" Francie's enthusiasm was obviously forced but Sydney was glad her friend was trying to be supportive.
"I guess it's when we say goodbye and wish each other luck?" Asked Francie, standing in the alley behind The Lavender Girl Boutique.
"Yeah, I guess," quietly replied Sydney, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Forget what I said earlier, I don't want you to leave." Fran cried.
"But you want me to be happy."
"Yeah." Francie forced a smile. "Can't have both, huh?"
"Nope. Be there and be happy is not possible for me anymore. Not when I know I have something else, something more, waiting for me. Listen we would have had to split eventually. We would have had our boyfriends to take care of, our studies…"
"UCLA offers everything we need Sydney, and you know that. Didn't we say we would share a condo with our respective man and get to the same retirement home when we would be too old for movie night?"
Sydney chuckled, "it's not permanent you know, I said I couldn't come back but in a few years maybe…eventually."
"Syd, be realistic, from what I know, this chick you're so fond of is not American and she's trouble…"
"But you won't tell anyone I left with her," cut in Sydney, worried.
"No! Of course not! I promised you! Will you let me talk? What I mean is… going with her means you're some sort of accomplice, and with your father involved in this mess…just watch your back sister." Sydney nodded mutely, touched by the endearment. "Now go, before she leaves."
"Thank you Fran, thank you."
"You got it."
They hugged again, and Sydney turned around, heading to the end of the alley, where she could hear the cars passing on Santa Monica Boulevard. She sighed. She just left her best friend for her mother. She regretted not seeing her father today. She would have liked to say goodbye, though it couldn't have included actually saying goodbye, or hugging him, or even kissing him, but still, in her head, she could have tried to make peace with herself.
"You were hired by a Russian woman, I want to know her name," repeated Jack for the hundredth time. His prisoner remained unfazed. It was odd. Jack was a master interrogator, and his prisoner, by her young age, at first seemed like an easy target. Still, she was not cracking. Instead, was content by asking for a lawyer.
"There are no such things as lawyers in this place Miss Sullivan. You have been arrested under the Patriot Act"
"What? No one read me my rights!" Protested Chloé, feeling the trap closing in on her. Soon she would have to start talking or the grey haired man facing her would lose his cool and send her to a place she'd rather not see. Miss Derevko had warned her against the danger she would put herself into by accepting to work for her. It wasn't about spying on a cheating husband. It was about spying on a student and report her every move. It was about spying without being spied on by said student's watchdogs. Watch dogs that happened to be on the good side of the law, broadly speaking.
"If there are no lawyers, what is the point in having rights, Miss Sullivan?" Taunted Bristow, putting himself less than an inch from her face.
"Good point. Okay, I don't know her name, I swear. I never saw her, only talked by phone."
"What does she want with Sydney Bristow?"
"I don't know, she just said to keep an eye on her."
"In what way?"
"I don't know! Look, I got paid the big bucks to basically walk behind someone all day long, period."
Jack made no comment on whether he was satisfied with her answer or not when he finally left her alone in the interrogation room.
Sydney took a deep breath and stopped. The sound of the cars passing on the street was overwhelming now. She was just out of sight of her mother. One more step and she would be giving up her home, her identity, her life, as she knew it.
She was walking into the unknown but with her mother. She forced herself to see only that last part. That reassuring presence, who alone could drive away the fear of nothingness.
The Mercedes door was pushed open from the inside. Sydney grabbed the door and took a last look around her before climbing into the passenger seat.
"Are you sure?" Gently asked Irina, fixing her daughter with a stare.
Sydney nodded wordlessly, smiling. Irina pulled away from the curb and off they went, to LAX.
Francie had gone back into the boutique, pretending to look at clothes. She was in the back, in the lingerie section. The people following Sydney, whoever they were, would never dare to check on her as long as Francie remained in here. LAX wasn't too far from here. In the past, they had spent whole afternoons in boutiques. The men wouldn't worry if they didn’t come out for a while.
"You still have time to back out and pretend nothing ever happened. I wouldn't hold you to it"
"Mom, I made my decision, and I will respect it," firmly stated Sydney.
"I can still take you back. I just wanted you to know."
"I know. Thanks for worrying, but please, stop trying to make me change my mind."
"I'm not…" Irina sighed. "I'm just not sure you realise what it entails…"
"Oh not again!" Sydney groaned.
"Yes, again, and you will listen to me, again," scolded Irina, and stopped dead. Sydney was laughing. Irina threw her a death glare, making her laugh even louder.
"Sorry…hum" Sydney was trying to get her composure back, and explain the reasons why she burst out laughing. "It's just, we've been there like ten minutes and we're already playing mother/daughter. I love it." Irina smiled too. "I know Mom, I heard you the first hundred times. By going with you, I know what I'm throwing away. But what I will gain will be worth it."
"Are you sure of that," gently asked her mother. "Do you realise that if you had dreamt, your whole life, of a typical American wedding with all your friends and family by your side, you can forget it? Your father won't walk you down the aisle Sydney, and Miss Calfo won't be your maid of honour."
"Mom! Why are you talking about marriage?" Sydney was stunned. What the hell did it have to do with the problem at hand?
"Well, doesn't every little girl dream of the day of her marriage?" Asked Irina, puzzled.
"No! Mom for God's sake we're in the 21st Century, wake up!"
"Don't talk to me like I'm senile please, because I'm not."
"I know, you just live in another age," s******ed Sydney.
Irina elbowed her daughter, prompting her to whine, "Hey, no hitting the driver!"
"You're not driving, I am!" Replied Irina.
"Well, it works both ways. The driver must not be hit and must not hit, period."
They were at a red light, watching the world, or at least the city, move around them. Both women were invisible to the pedestrians, thanks to the tinted windows. It allowed them to watch without being seen. To scrutinize the people walking by, minding their usual business, unsuspecting of what was about to happen. Tomorrow, they would still be unsuspecting, and yet, many lives would have changed. Irina's, Sydney's, Francie's, but especially Jack's
"There's no coming back Sydney. Not without dire consequences."
"Hit the gas."
TBC
Eyghon
Author's notes: Here is what I had planned since the beginning as the end of this story. Now, don't panic, it's not over yet. I really need to get this over with, as the finals are coming up, but I just can't. I knew I was 'addicted' to reading fiction but I certainly didn't expect to be 'addicted' to writing one! Many thanks to Lenafan for beta reading, for putting up with my incessant questions, and me. Sorry if the end sounds somewhat flimsy, but I was getting annoyed with writing angst.
Chapter 16: Narrow escape
"I will break you Miss Sullivan," promised Agent Bristow. "It's only a matter of time and I have lots of it," he added, finally leaving her alone. The man may think he had all the time in the world but he actually didn't. Soon Derevko would leave the United States and it would be safe for Chloé to tell them everything she knew. She was young; her record was clean. She had never planned spending her whole life running surveillance on people anyway. It was just an easy way to make big money fast. She was not a professional and if she played her cards right, she would never set foot in a prison.
For now, she needed to stall the CIA. She knew if she talked too soon Derevko would get back to her. If she didn't talk, she would end up in a bloody mess. When she had accepted the job, she knew there was a good chance she would be captured. She had been ordered not to resist. While the CIA had her in their custody, they would try to get information from her instead of questioning their own sources, who would have sold Chloé and Derevko out within one hour. Time was of the essence here, and the CIA was playing right into her hands…or Derevko's.
Chloé just had to give the CIA information piece by piece, enough to keep her out of harm's way but too little to compromise her boss's safety.
Irina knew she could count on Miss Sullivan's discretion but she still needed to speed things up. She wouldn't be able to give Sydney time to prepare herself. It was risky, because Sydney, too rushed, could get scared and refuse to come. Irina had no choice. It was up to Sydney now. It was a hard decision Irina was not sure Sydney had made peace with. Despite her protestations during their last conversations, Irina knew Sydney still loved her father. Her daughter would miss her friends at the very least. Irina hoped her rushing things wouldn't ruin everything.
Sydney and Francie were walking down Melrose Avenue. The CIA agents were far away enough so Francie wouldn't spot them, but they were still standing out: It was a street essentially composed of many boutiques specializing in clothes, thrift shops, and second-class art galleries. Not many men had the courage to be seen in this shopping district.
Sydney sighed. Soon she wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. It was probably the last time she would be shopping with her best friend.
Jack had found out a little more about the 'accident' Sydney had mentioned. He knew the Ukrainian authorities recovered several bodies from a car crash site in Kiev. Two cars had been set on fire before being pushed down into a ravine. The perpetrators probably hoped the vehicles would never be found. However, they were, along with four corpses.
It had taken a while to come back to Jack's attention, what with the Ukrainians being chummy with the Russians. The outcome of the next presidential elections in Ukraine could change a lot of things for the Americans, and the world in general. For now, it was all the Intel Jack would get. All the kidnappers were accounted for except one. No female body was among the dead. One of the kidnappers was still on the loose and Jack still didn't know what Sydney was hiding so fiercely.
"Excuse me, Miss?"
Sydney interrupted her chat with Francie to squint at a car that had slowed to her pace.
"Yes?"
"Could you tell me how to go to Robertson Boulevard from here?"
Sydney froze when she came within five feet of the driver, her mother. Why would Irina take the risk to approach her right under the nose of two CIA agents on foot? She took a deep breath. The men knew nothing about Irina. They couldn't even see her. For all they knew, she was just a lost tourist asking for directions. Sydney stepped off the sidewalk, Francie on her heels. She too had recognised the woman she had nicknamed 'the scary lady'. She wondered why Sydney was playing along. Maybe someone was watching them.
"Uh…sure."
She leaned in the car window, hoping she would be isolated enough to keep the CIA from listening in. Thankfully, Francie went to stand on her left, effectively blocking her from the view and earshot of the two suit-clad men.
"Something came up, it's now or never." Irina purposely kept her explanation cryptic. If Sydney refused, Francie would never know how close Sydney had come to abandon her.
"What? Why? What happened?"
Irina sighed, she didn't have time for this, but she would have to take it. "It's only a question of time before your father learns who I am. When it happens, it will be too late for us. I'm sorry I couldn't warn you before." She glanced anxiously at her rear view mirror. The agents were standing awkwardly a few meters behind, waiting for their target to start moving. It wasn't unusual in Los Angeles to see lost tourists asking for directions. The fact that Irina's Mercedes was registered in the state of Ohio helped to keep their suspicions at bay.
Sydney sighed, at a loss of what to do. It was so sudden. She hadn't expected to have to leave for another week. She discreetly looked over her friend's shoulder at the agents. They were getting restless.
"I'm coming with you," firmly declared Sydney.
Irina let out a relieved sigh. "Glad to hear it. We have to hurry but we must be discreet. We can't risk being chased…"
"Wait! What are you guys talking about?" Francie looked at her friend disbelieving and fearing she would finally know why Sydney was being so secretive.
"Now is neither the time nor the place," reminded Irina. "You two obviously need to talk. Go inside a café, make sure you aren't overheard." Then, gravely, she went on, "Sydney, if you still want to come with me, go to The Lavender Girl Boutique two blocks away. Go out through the back door, you'll find yourself in an alley leading to the main street. I'll wait for you there." It was the oldest trick in the book to shake off a tail but the CIA wouldn't expect it. "After fifteen minutes I'll be gone. You will never see or hear from me ever again."
Before Sydney could answer, Irina accelerated and was out of sight.
"Are you leaving with her? Is that what it's all about?"
Francie and Sydney were sitting in the back of a little café, stuck between a clothes boutique and a perfumery.
"Yes." What good would it do to lie to her friend now? Francie had it all figured it out already. She just wouldn't let herself see it.
"Why? What is so special about her?"
"For the first time in my life, I feel safe and loved with someone."
"What?” Francie sighed, knowing Sydney wouldn't answer her question, or even worse, would lie to her. "This is crazy. You are crazy"
"Francie, please…Once I'm gone, I can never come back. I won't be able to contact you either." Sydney said sadly.
"Why? How is that possible? What happened?" She couldn't hold her questions anymore. She was losing her best friend, the closest thing she ever had to a sister.
"It's complicated. I'm sorry. It's been very hard to decide whether to leave all of this. But it's worth it, and I know I'll be happy with her."
"How can you be so sure? You barely know her, unless you lied about that too? And what do you mean loving her? What about me? Did you, for one second, think about what it would do to me to lose you?"
Sydney opened her mouth to talk but nothing came out. She had only envisioned how it would be to live with her mother and to leave her friends and family behind. She had never thought about the long run. How it would be not to have her best friend to confide in. How she would feel when not able to run to the same park she went to when she was little. How she would miss her father's rebuffs or shouts, which were annoying but which proved that he somehow cared, at least enough to waste his breath.
It dawned on her then, how selfish she had been in the process of deciding whether she would leave her life in the US. She hadn't really given much thought to others' feelings toward her. How would Francie feel? How would Mrs. Calfo, who considered Sydney as a part of the family, feel? How would her friends feel? And what about her father? She was so angry with him for ignoring her; she had never once considered that her decision, her disappearance, might hurt him. He was so good at hiding his emotions she had forgotten he could actually feel. She didn't have time to think about him now. He had his chance and didn't take it. Maybe later she would rethink this.
"I thought so," Francie bitterly concluded before getting up and heading toward the exit.
"Fran, wait!" Sydney grabbed her arm, desperate. "It's probably the last time we'll see each other. I don't want to let things like this between us. I love you."
"Then stay!"
"I can't! I have nothing here! I mean…" Sydney sighed, frustrated. She couldn't tell Francie her family was more important than her best friend without telling her who the mysterious woman was. "I'm sorry. Of all the things I'll miss, it's you I'll truly regret leaving behind. I already miss you."
"Sydney…" Francie's voice broke; she had to let her go. "I love you too, and if it means I have to let you go, then so be it. I'm happy for you. I don't look like it, but if this is really what you want, then I'm happy."
"Thank you!" The two girls hugged. "Will you accompany me?" Sydney asked.
"Of course! Let's go!" Francie's enthusiasm was obviously forced but Sydney was glad her friend was trying to be supportive.
"I guess it's when we say goodbye and wish each other luck?" Asked Francie, standing in the alley behind The Lavender Girl Boutique.
"Yeah, I guess," quietly replied Sydney, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Forget what I said earlier, I don't want you to leave." Fran cried.
"But you want me to be happy."
"Yeah." Francie forced a smile. "Can't have both, huh?"
"Nope. Be there and be happy is not possible for me anymore. Not when I know I have something else, something more, waiting for me. Listen we would have had to split eventually. We would have had our boyfriends to take care of, our studies…"
"UCLA offers everything we need Sydney, and you know that. Didn't we say we would share a condo with our respective man and get to the same retirement home when we would be too old for movie night?"
Sydney chuckled, "it's not permanent you know, I said I couldn't come back but in a few years maybe…eventually."
"Syd, be realistic, from what I know, this chick you're so fond of is not American and she's trouble…"
"But you won't tell anyone I left with her," cut in Sydney, worried.
"No! Of course not! I promised you! Will you let me talk? What I mean is… going with her means you're some sort of accomplice, and with your father involved in this mess…just watch your back sister." Sydney nodded mutely, touched by the endearment. "Now go, before she leaves."
"Thank you Fran, thank you."
"You got it."
They hugged again, and Sydney turned around, heading to the end of the alley, where she could hear the cars passing on Santa Monica Boulevard. She sighed. She just left her best friend for her mother. She regretted not seeing her father today. She would have liked to say goodbye, though it couldn't have included actually saying goodbye, or hugging him, or even kissing him, but still, in her head, she could have tried to make peace with herself.
"You were hired by a Russian woman, I want to know her name," repeated Jack for the hundredth time. His prisoner remained unfazed. It was odd. Jack was a master interrogator, and his prisoner, by her young age, at first seemed like an easy target. Still, she was not cracking. Instead, was content by asking for a lawyer.
"There are no such things as lawyers in this place Miss Sullivan. You have been arrested under the Patriot Act"
"What? No one read me my rights!" Protested Chloé, feeling the trap closing in on her. Soon she would have to start talking or the grey haired man facing her would lose his cool and send her to a place she'd rather not see. Miss Derevko had warned her against the danger she would put herself into by accepting to work for her. It wasn't about spying on a cheating husband. It was about spying on a student and report her every move. It was about spying without being spied on by said student's watchdogs. Watch dogs that happened to be on the good side of the law, broadly speaking.
"If there are no lawyers, what is the point in having rights, Miss Sullivan?" Taunted Bristow, putting himself less than an inch from her face.
"Good point. Okay, I don't know her name, I swear. I never saw her, only talked by phone."
"What does she want with Sydney Bristow?"
"I don't know, she just said to keep an eye on her."
"In what way?"
"I don't know! Look, I got paid the big bucks to basically walk behind someone all day long, period."
Jack made no comment on whether he was satisfied with her answer or not when he finally left her alone in the interrogation room.
Sydney took a deep breath and stopped. The sound of the cars passing on the street was overwhelming now. She was just out of sight of her mother. One more step and she would be giving up her home, her identity, her life, as she knew it.
She was walking into the unknown but with her mother. She forced herself to see only that last part. That reassuring presence, who alone could drive away the fear of nothingness.
The Mercedes door was pushed open from the inside. Sydney grabbed the door and took a last look around her before climbing into the passenger seat.
"Are you sure?" Gently asked Irina, fixing her daughter with a stare.
Sydney nodded wordlessly, smiling. Irina pulled away from the curb and off they went, to LAX.
Francie had gone back into the boutique, pretending to look at clothes. She was in the back, in the lingerie section. The people following Sydney, whoever they were, would never dare to check on her as long as Francie remained in here. LAX wasn't too far from here. In the past, they had spent whole afternoons in boutiques. The men wouldn't worry if they didn’t come out for a while.
"You still have time to back out and pretend nothing ever happened. I wouldn't hold you to it"
"Mom, I made my decision, and I will respect it," firmly stated Sydney.
"I can still take you back. I just wanted you to know."
"I know. Thanks for worrying, but please, stop trying to make me change my mind."
"I'm not…" Irina sighed. "I'm just not sure you realise what it entails…"
"Oh not again!" Sydney groaned.
"Yes, again, and you will listen to me, again," scolded Irina, and stopped dead. Sydney was laughing. Irina threw her a death glare, making her laugh even louder.
"Sorry…hum" Sydney was trying to get her composure back, and explain the reasons why she burst out laughing. "It's just, we've been there like ten minutes and we're already playing mother/daughter. I love it." Irina smiled too. "I know Mom, I heard you the first hundred times. By going with you, I know what I'm throwing away. But what I will gain will be worth it."
"Are you sure of that," gently asked her mother. "Do you realise that if you had dreamt, your whole life, of a typical American wedding with all your friends and family by your side, you can forget it? Your father won't walk you down the aisle Sydney, and Miss Calfo won't be your maid of honour."
"Mom! Why are you talking about marriage?" Sydney was stunned. What the hell did it have to do with the problem at hand?
"Well, doesn't every little girl dream of the day of her marriage?" Asked Irina, puzzled.
"No! Mom for God's sake we're in the 21st Century, wake up!"
"Don't talk to me like I'm senile please, because I'm not."
"I know, you just live in another age," s******ed Sydney.
Irina elbowed her daughter, prompting her to whine, "Hey, no hitting the driver!"
"You're not driving, I am!" Replied Irina.
"Well, it works both ways. The driver must not be hit and must not hit, period."
They were at a red light, watching the world, or at least the city, move around them. Both women were invisible to the pedestrians, thanks to the tinted windows. It allowed them to watch without being seen. To scrutinize the people walking by, minding their usual business, unsuspecting of what was about to happen. Tomorrow, they would still be unsuspecting, and yet, many lives would have changed. Irina's, Sydney's, Francie's, but especially Jack's
"There's no coming back Sydney. Not without dire consequences."
"Hit the gas."
TBC
pasta_sauce385
Cadet
Thank you for the pm also.....nice update.
mr.sarklover
Cadet
Wow Great story, Can i Get a pm When you update?Thanks
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Eyghon
Author's notes: This chapter is kind of France centric, still, there is a lot of 'action' going on so you can't skip it or you'll be lost. I just couldn't help myself. There are so many things you Americans don't know about France. We French know lots of things about the US.
A little detail, I don't know how it works for you, wherever you are, but in France, you have to start learning English at ten. I've been doing that for eight years now so I like to think I understand it perfectly. I imagine Sydney understands French as much as I do English.
Everything in here comes from my experiences, my thoughts, and my different visits in Paris. It is as such, quite realistic. Some telling of events might seem harsh, so bear in mind that it is MY personal judgment over things.
Chapter 17: Bienvenue à Paris
France was indeed the perfect hideout, Irina decided. Paris was such a big city and new people blended in without notice. She herself could speak fluent French without being identified as a Russian or an American. Sydney couldn't, her American accent was actually quite horrible, but she understood very well when talked to, and enjoyed watching TV and reading all she could everywhere. So blending in this crowded city, even when being a foreigner, was quite an easy task and an added bonus. In case of an emergency, they could easily take a flight to anywhere in the world from the Roissy Charles De Gaulle Airport. They could also discreetly sneak into England by riding the Eurostar or taking a Ferry.
France was directly connected to Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Irina and Sydney could enter each of those countries by car or train with a simple fake ID card that was easy to procure. The beauty of Europe was that you didn't need a passport, which was harder to counterfeit, and that you weren't thoroughly controlled at the 'borders'. Irina had calculated that from Paris you could go anywhere in France or enter a neighbouring country in less than nine hours, by car. France was the size of a US state and its capital was swarming with foreigners from eastern countries and tourists.
Sydney watched as the taxi deftly made its way through the heavy Parisian traffic. No matter how hard she looked around her, she couldn't find a single car without a bump or a scratch on it. Paris had a really odd way of functioning. Apparently, when a traffic light turned red, it meant two to four cars could pass afterwards. Signaling a turn was unheard of and letting the pedestrians cross the street when they had a green light was just unthinkable. Even the city bus drivers and garbage men drove like mad men. Horns honked everywhere incessantly; the only solace being that the taxis drivers had a special lane that they shared with the city buses…when a delivery truck wasn't blocking it. Tens of scooters, motorcycles, and bicycles passed from lane to lane, coming within inches of cars, trucks, and buses' bumpers. It was chaos.
Sydney was astonished by the swarming traffic. She turned toward her mother who smiled, knowing what she was thinking.
"French are brutes behind a wheel, but Parisians are literally barbaric."
Sydney nodded, approving. The taxi had picked them up from Roissy Charles de Gaulle Airport thirty minutes ago. It was taking them to an apartment Irina owned, 'Rue de l'Estrapade', in the 5th arrondissement of Paris, also known as the 'Quartier Latin'.
The next day, Irina took her daughter to do some shopping. Settling in their comfortable two-bedroom apartment and they were only missing clothes and accessories. The shopping was fun as Irina let her daughter buy anything she wanted.
Sydney decided to learn a little more about the dynamics of her new country. She knew nothing about Paris other than it was the capital of France and one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
The currency was the Euro…that she already knew, but that was about it. Connecting to the internet, she went on Google and started her research. After two hours, she came up with the most recent events in France. They had organised and won the football World Cup in 1998 against Brazil, beating the Brazilians 3-0. Sydney didn't really care, not being a fan of sports. She was more interested in the politics of the country.
Jacques Chirac was President and he was in his second term; the next elections were in 2007. He was the Chief of State but his Prime Minister, for now Jean-Pierre Raffarin, was the chief of the government. He was criticised by many but still stayed in place, for now.
Paris and France in general were peopled by many different nationalities from all over the world. Its diversity was the cause of a major crisis in 2002, for the Presidential elections, Sydney learned. After the first ballot, two candidates had remained and it was not those expected. The PM then, Lionel Jospin, had been humiliated. Sydney smirked, reading what was next. That must have hurt, she understood why the guy had retired from any political activity. A 'fascist' candidate whose slogan was "France belongs to French people" had beaten him. Understand "let's get rid of all the non white people." The man’s name was Jean-Marie Le Pen, from the 'Front National' party. He was voted in right behind the President, Jacques Chirac.
It was a shock for France, and to add to that, the loser, the prime minister, had resigned. The 20% score of Le Pen was like a wake up call, a slap in the face. People were in shock, scandalized, and yet, more than one-fifth of them had voted for him. Some said 9/11 had something to do with most people's choice. Others said people had voted for him, never thinking he stood the slightest chance. People had been wrong and were now facing an awkward choice for the second ballot: A man who was taking after Hitler or the sitting President.
The second ballot got more voters than ever before. Ashamed, panicked, abstentions voted, so did the younger generation, usually uninterested by the elections. Chirac was re-elected 'by default'.
Jacques Chirac and Jean-Marie Le Pen live on TV on May 29th 2005, after the 'No' vote won (about the referundum for the European Constitution:
President of the French Republic, Jacques Chirac (Yes)
Head of National Front party, Jean-Marie Le Pen (No)
Sydney had stopped there, enough politics for now. Pacing in the spacious living room, she found an interesting article in the newspaper 'Le Figaro'. It was a brief portrait of the mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoé. He is the first politician publicly to announce his homosexuality, which he did in 1999, right before the city elections. He was stabbed by a mad man in October of 2002, but recovered. The assailant motives were still unclear: political, homophobic…
So much for politics and Sydney grunted, bored.
"Sydney, do you want to tour the city?"
"What?"
"Well, you've never been to Paris, right?"
"Yeah, Actually, I never left the US…except when you took me to Russia through France, but that doesn't really count."
Irina flinched. She hated the mere mention of that time, three weeks ago when she had assaulted her daughter in a parking garage and kidnapped her. "Well, then I'll take you to do some sight seeing. Since we're here, it would be a shame not to play tourist, there are so many things to see!"
There was a lot to see in the Capital itself. The 'Panthéon' where were buried all the important people especially caught her attention. She asked her mother to take her and Irina complied immediately, happy to share an interest with her daughter: Both fans of literature, they were interested in the many writers who had been laid to rest in the Panthéon.
They stopped for lunch in a beautifully decorated restaurant and went to the 'Eiffel Tower', an attraction that every tourist and Frenchman ought to visit. They decided to take the stairs, which was more fun than riding one of the elevators. The sights were simply breath taking; you could see kilometers around. Irina pointed out to her the main things to notice: The Panthéon, the Boulevard des Invalides. The tour in itself was impressive but was even more beautiful at night when it was lit up. The women had stuck around especially to watch it after the sun had fallen.
The next day was devoted to the 'Musée du Louvre' and the 'Cathédrale Notre Dame'. This time they ate in a little café facing the river Seine and took a taxi to the 'Place Vendôme'. It was the most practical way of transportation since it was nearly impossible to park anywhere in the busy city, save for the underground parking garage, but Irina preferred to avoid those in the presence of her daughter. The Place was practically deserted, a normal occurrence, assured Irina. It was surrounded on all sides by sumptuous jewelry boutiques, exposing a few items in their window. Next, Irina showed Sydney the less tourist 'sights' of the capital, starting with the most prestigious palaces: the Henri IV, the Hilton, the Plaza Athénée, the Ritz, the Bel Ami, the 'Hôtel du Louvre', and the Four Seasons - Georges V…' They choose to devote a whole afternoon the following day to the 'bouquinistes' bordering the Seine: you could buy old books, paintings, and various items directly in the street, along the river Seine. It was a busy street; many people enjoyed walking along the little displays and just look.
Jack was fuming. His daughter had disappeared right under the noise of four fully trained CIA agents. Francine Calfo pretended to know nothing but she was lying. He was frustrated to no end by the young girl. He couldn't make her talk. Even using of his influence, he couldn't get to her as she was underage.
He could do nothing. Chloé Sullivan couldn't identify who had hired her. All Jack knew was that it was a woman, and he wasn't even sure she was the person behind the kidnapping and the disappearance. For all he knew, she was a mere hired gun, just like Miss Sullivan, and someone unknown was above them all.
Someone was out there with his daughter. Someone smart enough to evade the CIA and take Sydney in broad daylight in plain sight. The cameras around Melrose Avenue had been disabled long before Sydney and her friend had gotten here. A professional job. Sydney must have gone willingly there was no other explanation. But why? With who? Who made her feel safe enough that she would leave everything behind and go with them?
He was missing something but could not put his finger on it.
The fifth day of her arrival, Sydney faced a major disappointment. She sighed; 'l'Avenue des Champs Elysées' was so overrated! Okay it was a large and long avenue, and there were lots of traffic and shops…but it was not any prettier than anywhere else was. Plus, there were dog's poops and butts of cigarettes littering the sidewalk. There were trash and smelly stuff piled against the walls.
The 'Arc de Triomphe', situated at the end of the avenue lifted her spirits. The climb up the stairs had been worth it; the sight from up there was wonderful. It was windy but you could see the main streets surrounding the place, as if you were at the centre of a star. Hence the name 'Place de l'Etoile' (étoile = star), she thought. When they came back down, they stopped at the grave of the 'Soldat Inconnu', beneath the arch. It had been created in honour of the men fallen during WWI. There were always flowers laid beside the 'flamme sacrée' (sacred flame), which was burning since 1923. The whole thing had become a national symbol, honoured during Republican manifestations.
Irina Derevko would always remember this day, 29th May 2005. She was preparing breakfast. Sydney entered the kitchen, a nervous smile on her lips. She handed a wrapped box to Irina and kissed her on the cheek. "Bonne fête Maman." Irina stood there, frozen, the precious little box in her hands. The last Sunday of May was Mother's Day in France. Her daughter had bought her a gift, for Mother's Day! She was moved beyond saying. The last gift she had received was a plaster handprint of her six-year-old daughter, on May 9, 1993, Mother's Day in the US.
Thinking along the same lines, Sydney nodded encouragingly, "I promise it's not a purple plaster handprint."
"I loved that handprint," replied Irina, crying.
"I know. I think you'll like that better."
Irina carefully opened the package to reveal a box of sweets.
"It's called Mentchikoffs. It's not really Russian but…"
"Thank you." Irina hugged Sydney fiercely and kissed her four times, touched by the gesture.
"You know those chocolates? Cuz I wasn't sure…"
"I do. Chocolate and meringue. Invented in the end of the 19th Century. They are the symbol of the Franco/Russian rapprochement. Here, let's have one."
Irina was overwhelmed by emotions. This was so sweet of Sydney not only to buy her a gift on Mother's Day, but also to take in consideration her Russian origin in the choice of the gift. Sydney had really done well by herself.
Setting 'le Figaro' down, Sydney turned off the light and tried to sleep. Three months had gone by since her arrival in France. She preferred to refer to it as this, not as her 'departure from the US'. It made it less painful that way.
Her mother and she had settled in a quiet routine. They would curl up in the sofa of the living room and read for hours. In the afternoon, they would talk and watch TV until dinnertime. They would go out in a restaurant or Irina would cook if she were in the mood. She was happy to get a chance to teach something to her daughter, who had a serious lack of cooking abilities.
In the beginning, their daytime activities had kept Sydney's mind off things and her exhaustion had lulled her into a peaceful sleep at night. Now that she didn't have anything to do all day but watch TV and pace around the apartment, sleep was eluding her.
Eventually, she would find sleep, but with it would come the nightmares. Today was no exception. She woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and gasping for the breath Nikolai had taken away when he was strangling her. Her mother was already by her side, having heard her screams long before Sydney had even realised it was she who was screaming. Irina felt guilty for causing those nightmares. In her turn, Sydney felt guilty for not being able to handle her kidnapping, torture, and subsequent captivity better. Her nightmares caused anguish to her mother, even if Irina tried not to show it.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Mom. Good night."
"Good night," sighed Irina, getting back to bed. Again, Sydney had had a nightmare and had refused to let her mother stay until she fell asleep. She didn't want to deprive her mother of sleep, she said. What she didn't know was that Irina hovered near the door and listen until she knew Sydney was asleep.
"You know, maybe we could get away from Paris for a few days," suggested Irina the next day.
"Really? To go where?" asked Sydney, excited at the prospect of seeing more of France.
"I have a younger sister, Elena. She lives in Nancy, in the north east of France. She had twins, boys, who are now about your age I think."
"Seriously? That’s so great! I have no family on Dad's side, except for Dad's sister, who is not a favourite. She’s much older than Dad. So we could visit them?"
Irina was surprised Sydney was even remotely interested in meeting more of her family. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah!" Replied Sydney, as if it was blatantly obvious. "Of course! Katya seemed nice enough; I'd like to meet my other aunt and cousins." She added teasingly, "don't you want to show me off?"
Irina grinned, "I would love for you to meet them all."
Two days later, Irina had made the arrangements. Elena Derevko had divorced her husband, Alexandre five years before. The boys had just left for Morocco to spend some time with their father, who had been transferred in Agadir by his firm. Elena had three weeks by herself and was happy to welcome her older sister and her daughter, whom she had never met.
To Irina's dismay, their destination, Nancy (near the German border), was not yet served by a TGV ('Train à Grande Vitesse', understand 'fast going train') so Sydney and she would have to sit in a regular train for 2h45. They packed and left from 'Paris Est' station at 7h44. They would arrive in 'Nancy ville' station at 10h28. There were other timetables available later in the day but Irina wanted to ride in the brand new 'Corail Téoz', comfortable and faster than the mere 'Corail'.
The French rail system was organised like a star, with Paris in its centre. There were four major stations: 'Paris Est' served the eastern cities, 'Paris Montparnasse 1 et 2' the western ones, 'Paris gare du Nord' the northern ones and 'Paris gare de Lyon' the southern ones.
All the railways in France were property of the SNCF (Societé Nationale des Chemins de fer Français). It was a state owned society, and accidents were rare.
Sydney and Irina stepped out of the train and went to fetch their rental car at Avis.
"A BMW? Way to go Mom!" teased Sydney when the desk clerk handed her mother the car keys with the brand logo on it.
"Money is not an issue," replied Irina evasively before putting the car in gear. She deftly launched herself into mid-morning traffic. They drove smoothly toward the suburbs, passing fewer and fewer trucks, cars, cabs, buses and tramways as they neared their destination.
"Here we are," announced Irina as she slowly parked on the sidewalk in front of a two-story house.
"That's your sister's house? It looks so…normal."
Irina smiled, "That's how she has always wanted it. A quiet, peaceful family life. A nice house in the suburbs with husband and kids to put in. Nothing to do with Katya's lifestyle in Italy. She takes care of the house and the garden by herself, something you two have in common, right?"
"Yeah," replied Sydney, not surprised her mother knew things she wasn't supposed to. "Dad is never home, he hired a housekeeper to do the major cleaning and the laundry, but the garden is my domain…like it was yours when I was little. I'm the one who fixes the things that need fixing, clean up the backyard…what a man would do in his house. I also do the shopping and the cooking. I don't mind. A question of habit I guess."
"You've grown up into a wonderful young woman Sydney. I couldn't have hoped for you to turn out any better. I'm so proud of you." Irina smiled and stroked her daughter's cheek.
Sydney blushed slightly, as she always did when receiving a compliment from her mother. "Let's ring the bell."
Elena welcomed them warmly and was more than thrilled to quiz Sydney about her life. She seemed like a very nice person and Sydney was glad to have her as her aunt. She answered every question and Elena wasn't the only one. Sydney noted Irina was also very attentive to the littlest of details she revealed about her life. They both still had so much to learn from and about each other.
"I couldn't help but notice that all the houses around look very similar but yours is different, bigger," observed Sydney, as she carefully observed the neighbour's house from her seat in the living room.
"Yes, this whole street is part of a subdivision, with the street below it. All houses were built by the same contractor on the same model over twenty years ago. We had the upper left floor added when Nicolas and Anthony turned ten so they would have their own space. It was becoming too crowded on the main floor."
Sydney nodded, "What names are those, Nicolas and Anthony? I thought you were Russian."
"I am. But my husband was French, and I didn't want my children to stand out because of a Russian name. I left Russia when Irina entered the KGB. I didn't want to be recruited so I left before they could ask. I hid in France and prayed they wouldn't bother to try and find me. They didn't."
"But even if they had asked, you could have just declined, why bother coming all the way here?"
Elena sighed, Sydney was about to apologize for being so intrusive but Elena held up her hand.
"You don't say no to the KGB, Sydney. Katya didn't follow my example, she got recruited. Like Irina, she didn't mind, she wanted to see the world. By the time the USSR collapsed, she knew what was really going on in the KGB. She took the opportunity to disappear, get away from Russia. She settled in Italy and made her way in the finance world. Her experience with the KGB helped. She's a shark in business!"
Sydney chuckled, not doubting her aunt's assessment of the spiky haired woman she had met a few months ago. Elena eventually answered her question. "Now, about my boys, 'Nicolas' is French for Nikolai and Anthony was named after my father, Anatoly. Were you named after the city?"
Sydney smiled and looked over at her mother, "I never got the opportunity to ask. Mom?"
Irina smiled fondly at the memory, and if she did not know better, Sydney could have sworn her mother looked embarrassed.
"Yes, you were named after the Australian city, sweetheart, because you were conceived there."
"What?!" Never in her wildest dreams had Sydney dreamt of such a moment, in which she would learn the origin of her name was connected with her conception. The first reaction that came to mind what 'Yuck'! She voiced it that way: "Are you telling me that you named me Sydney so each time you would call my name you would remember your great night of sex?!"
Irina and Elena chuckled, the latter as curious as Sydney to hear her big sister's side of the story. "First, I never said it was night, second, we named you Sydney because we loved the city. It was in 1986, (N/A: Don't forget this fic is an AU) we were already married then. We were actually celebrating our five-year anniversary. Jack had managed to get away from the office for the week-end. We walked along the beach, made love…I had never seen Jack so relaxed."
Sydney smiled, moved. She could feel the longing in her mother's voice but didn't comment on it. Elena, probably feeling it too, changed the subject, "would you like to see the garden?"
"Yeah, sure," replied Sydney cheerfully.
They went through the French doors onto the terrace. "We eat outside when the weather allows it. Usually from April to September, but in summer it's too hot sometimes," explained Elena, leading them around the pond to the green grass.
"Wow, it's beautiful, and so big!" Sydney was in awe, thinking of her little bushed of roses compared to those massive flowerbeds.
"The advantage of being on the corner. I enjoy gardening, I think your mother mentioned you do too?"
"Yeah, I got it from her I think. When I was little, she was just crazy about her flowers. I could do anything and she would never yell at me, but if I were to throw a ball in her begonias or something, she would get real mad." Sydney and Irina both smiled at the shared memory. There were so few. For the little girl, there was nothing scarier than to have her mother stare at her without uttering a word. It meant trouble and afterwards, she would always try to make it up to her mother by drawing a picture of flowers. It always worked. Irina…Laura could never stay mad at her sweet angel for too long.
"You two can stay as long as you want here," smiled Elena as they ate dinner two days after they had arrived in Nancy. "Although you might want to make it back to Paris for the 14th."
“Why? What happens on the 14th?" asked Sydney.
"You don't know what represents the 14th of July? You're majoring in literature, right?"
Sydney shrugged, "Yeah, I know, it's a national holiday, huh…Bastille Day, right? Nobody works, all stores are closed…"
"Sweetheart, it's more than that!" explained Elena.
"Oh!"
"The whole country celebrates with fireworks and such, but Paris is the city that receives the most attention. All national TV channels broadcast on live. The President attends a gigantic ceremony with other officials. There is a parade; all the law enforcement forces are represented, on foot, on bikes, on horses, in cars or even in the sky with the aerial parade. The Eiffel Tower is especially decorated and there are amazing fireworks near the Eiffel Tower in the evening. You'd love to see it, it's very impressive."
"Sounds like it. Can we go Mom?"
"Of course sweetheart. I personally never attended one of those but I'd love to."
Something was bothering Sydney, Irina could tell. She didn't know whether she should ask what or not. In the few months they had lived together, Irina had learned to see when Sydney was angry, sad, regretful, or when she was lying. She had scolded, comforted, and confronted her on multiple occasions. Sydney was open-minded but if she didn't want to talk about something on her mind, there was no making her change her mind. Sighing, Irina decided she might as well get it over with now, or she would keep imagining the worst of things that could bother her daughter so much.
"Sydney, are you okay?"
"I want to ask you something."
If Sydney was so eager to talk without being probed, Irina was in trouble. Readying herself for anything, she replied, "go ahead."
"Why didn't you come back?" This left Irina puzzled. "You told me why you left, because of that guy in the park who threatened to kill me, but why not come back afterwards when the KGB was destroyed? Katya ran away from her job and started a new life when the USSR fell. After leaving us, you could have come back, the Russians wouldn't have noticed. Why going to work for the new KGB?"
After a long hesitation, she couldn't help but correct Sydney. "It's called SVR." She sighed. It was a legitimate question, one she should have expected. One she had expected, yet, couldn't answer.
"Mom?"
"It's…" She was about to say 'complicated' but knew how it upset her daughter, so she tried to explain as best as she could. "I loved your father. I betrayed him. I betrayed our marriage, his trust…everything he believed in. I couldn't come back to him. He would have had me imprisoned."
"But how can you be sure? Maybe he still loved you, maybe he still does. He never dated you know."
Irina smiled. Despite her intelligence, her daughter could be so naïve sometimes. "I probably disgusted him for other women. I destroyed his love, that's why he was so distant with you, after."
"But you could have made contact with me, I wouldn't have said anything," accused Sydney.
"Sydney, I wanted nothing more than to come back to you and Jack, to make everything better, like it was before, but I couldn't. After the USSR fell in 1991, I thought I was free. It took two years for the crumbs of the KGB to reform into the SVR. In 1993, they were in place. It was they who had sent the man from the park. They were calling me back, as all the other Russian operatives left behind by the KGB disappearance. I was forced to work for them; I had no choice. They knew everything about me, about my American family. Many agents from the KGB had joined the SVR and reported me. If I hadn't joined them, they would have hurt you both."
Sydney stood, frozen. The explanation she had wanted since she knew her mother was alive was not what she had expected. It was not her fault. Irina had done nothing wrong. She loved them; she had wanted to come back. She felt guilty for doubting her mother's intentions of the time. Stupid too, because her mother loved her, there was no reason to doubt her. She stepped forward and they hugged.
At dinner that night, they talked about everything but Sydney's 'past life'. She chose to keep that between herself and her mother so Elena didn't probe.
"So, where are you going this summer?"
"What do you mean?" asked Irina, puzzled.
"Well, aren't you going to go somewhere for the summer vacation? You don't have to go abroad; there are beautiful regions to see in France itself."
"We'll have to think about it. We have time, Sydney's class finish in June and the next year starts mid-October."
"Most French leave in August. Even more so now, since the heat wave."
"What heat wave?" asked Sydney, her puzzled expression mirrored by Irina’s?
"A heat wave struck Europe in the summer of 2003. It killed 27.000 people. You never heard of it?" Elena was frowning. It was a major disaster; surely, they would have talked about it over the other side of the Atlantic.
"Yes, I remember reading something about it…France was the hardest hit I believe?" Irina said.
"Correct. It was around 40°C (104°F) in the shade and the heat caused the pollution rate to rise. In Paris, the mix was deadly. There were 12.000 dead within ten days. The hospitals and morgues were full. Dead people were found in their homes or in hotels, died in the hospitals or in their retirement homes. Sick people collapsed in the streets.
"Everyday the media announced new numbers. It started with three digits the number of dead by day but it soon became a minimum of 1.000 a day. Around the 12th, it went up to more than 2.000 a day. On the 13th, the official toll from the Ministry of Health said 3.000 victims since the 4th. It was 12.000. By the end of August, they counted 14.802 victims of the heat wave. The numbers had been wrong because it had started 'before' the 4th of August, without anyone noticing that too many people were dying for the season.
"How can something so big happen without anyone noticing? And how come we haven't heard of it?" Sydney was shocked. So France too had had its tragedy.
"Heat waves are very rare in Europe, I believe the last one was in 1983 and there were less than 800 victims. Nobody saw it coming, Sydney, nobody could do anything. They said they ran out of places to put the bodies and the sick. It was chaos. As I told you, most of the French take their vacation in the first two weeks of August. So does the medical profession and the government. Most politicians were abroad at the time. The whole country was asleep. There were not enough doctors here and no one with the authority to call the others back home to help. Like they said, hundreds of dead people turned up everyday but nobody realised how bad it was. The authorities were taken by surprise; they weren't prepared to respond to that kind of disaster.
"That's crazy! I hope they learned their lesson?"
"The reports are rather pessimistic. A public holiday in May is now a workday, and the money goes to the old people, but…they tried that before with a mandatory yearly taxed sticker for cars. No one really knows where the money went. They have more people working in the hospitals, and more beds available.
"But how come I haven't heard of it? I mean, the world knows Bush almost choked to death on a pretzel, you know...And it's worse than 9/11! It would have never happened in the US."
Irina smiled. "You Americans are so arrogant!" She answered for her sister, "it's not the same, Sydney. You can't compare by counting the dead. It doesn't work that way. And France is not all that bad. People make mistakes. The French government failed to handle that crisis properly, but the American government too has failures.
Different countries have different identities, different visions of things and different priorities. France did not go to Iraq, Italy did, Great Britain did, and the US did. In France, there are very well developed social, medical, and educational systems. Each is available to anybody, with or without insurance. School is mandatory for children below the age of sixteen to ensure they have a minimal education. There are many other things you will discover as time goes by. You can't just look on the internet, watch TV or base your opinions on hearsays to judge a country or a people you are not a part of."
"How do you two know all that stuff?"
"I've been leaving here for more than twenty years, I had time to learn the French ways. I even have the double nationality."
"Really? So you're what? Franco-Russian?"
"Yes."
"Is it true you guys, the French, are anti-Americans?"
"Not exactly. French, like a good part of Europe, are not 'anti Americans' per say. They are more 'anti Bush' than anything else. They don't understand how the American people could re-elect Bush, just like you can't understand why we, the French, refused the European Constitution."
"You voted 'Yes' or 'No'?"
"A vote is secret; it is usually bad taste to talk about it, among family or friends. For the Presidential elections that is. Now, with the vote for the European Constitution, the debate was all over the place. I voted 'No' and the 'No' won. Now we're still waiting to see what happens next. It's been one month. Nothing have changed so far, despite the Prime Minister being ejected."
"Politics," muttered Irina. "For me the knowledge of other countries' dynamics just comes with the job. I travel a lot, read a lot. The more you know about the country you're supposedly coming from, the better. My job often requires me to pretend to be someone I'm not. It included nationalities. I've pretended to be French before. Better to know French history to make conversation, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess that holds. So you know everything about every country of the world?"
"No! I just know the dynamics and major events. This heat wave was of major influence in the politics of France, it also affected economy so I got interested."
"So I'm the only one that feels out of place in here? I mean, we've been here for more than three months and yet it seems so foreign still!" complained Sydney.
"It's normal, it will subside eventually."
"Yeah…but I still don't get it: everybody talks about 9/11 and the tsunami; they consider it normal topic of conversation, so…why be so shy and secretive about the European heat wave?"
Irina sighed. "Many foreigners didn't even hear about it. I don't know why. It was a vacation time for everyone and a lot of people think only people above the age of eighty five died so they don't care much."
"Gee, not a good point for us either, huh? It says a lot about the French mentalities too."
"You can't judge them on that alone Sydney," cut in Elena. "Who said the US would be able to do better if they were struck by a heat wave?" She sighed. "From what I heard, the doctors tried to tell them, the people responsible, to warn them, but there was nobody to listen.
After it was over, at the end of August, people started pointing the finger at their government. They believed it could have been avoided if the Ministry of Health had done its job. The government and other public services tried to cover their blatant incompetence by denying the high tolls and by pointing the finger at each other.
Eventually the funeral home's reports set the ugly truth. There had been 13.000 additional dead in comparison to the death toll of an average summer. The head of the department of health resigned. I'm sure he was merely a scapegoat. The people and the officials wanted someone to blame. They got him and the Minister of Health stayed in office. People moved on and simply were more careful with their drinking habits the next summer.
It wasn't affecting only the old people. It struck randomly. Some victims were men and women who weren't even fifty. I knew someone, a gynecologist. He delivered my children twenty years ago. He died of a heart attack that summer, and he wasn't even suspected of having a cardiac problem. But nobody talks about the people like him."
"That's so sad," murmured Sydney.
"Yes, let's change the subject Elena, Sydney already has a bad enough opinion of this country and I don't plan on moving again anytime soon so let's not scare her away," half joked Irina.
In the morning, a loud siren awakened Sydney. Puzzled and slightly worried, she went in search of her mother but found her aunt instead. Elena was in the kitchen, cooking lunch as if nothing was happening. She smiled, seeing her niece's confused look.
"I thought it would wake you up. Don't worry, its normal."
"What was it?" Asked Sydney, still worried by the annoyingly loud sound.
"It's a siren."
"Yeah I got that, thank you," smirked Sydney, still not getting an explanation.
"They have those in every city, on firehouses and major buildings. It rings on and off every first Wednesday of the month at 12 o'clock for three minutes, I believe. You get used to it; most people don't even hear it after a while."
"Why would they do something so stupid as to ring a damn bell every month at noon?"
"It's not a bell; it's a siren. They're checking if they work! If you hear it any other time than the first Wednesday of the month, it means trouble. Don't you have that in the US?"
Sydney shrugged. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
Elena shrugged, "A few years ago, it was seen as a means to warn people in case of a nuclear accident. In the past, it was used to warn people about aerial bombings. Today…who knows? It could be for a biological or chemical terrorist attack, a radioactive cloud like with Chernobyl or lots of other horrible things…basically it means run and hide."
"So it's a good thing then?"
"Not really. It didn't ring for Chernobyl. The Ukrainian authorities tried to hide it and no one knew until well after the radioactive cloud had passed over France. It was in April of 1986, I was pregnant with the twins, and being so close to the east border, I was worried. Today, some people claim their cancer comes from Chernobyl; some are right and proved it. One year after the accident, laws were voted guarantying the public would be informed if such a thing happened again. A few months ago, several sirens in Nancy were accidentally activated at two in the morning. It was scary enough that the sleeping people who were within earshot of the sirens went out in the street in their PJ's. With all that's going on today, they thought it was war."
They made small talk until Sydney bluntly asked her aunt to tell her about Irina as a child. The woman hesitated but gave in, happy to share old memories with her estranged niece.
Sydney and Irina were back in Paris for the 'Défilé du 14 Juillet'. They had come home the day before after promising Elena they would visit again soon to meet Nicolas and Anthony. This trip had delighted Sydney to no end. With some insight from Elena, and the opportunity to closely observe Irina's behaviour toward her sister, she felt closer to her mother. She now understood the choices Irina had made and the reasons why. She had left one family to find another. Everything was not lost. She missed her father and Francie greatly.
He would find her. She was out there somewhere hidden among six million people. No matter how long it would take him, where he would have to look, he would find her, and his daughter too. He just needed a lead, something, anything. A little burst of luck.
'A Russian accent', Chloé Sullivan had said. And Sydney had felt safe enough to leave with her. She had felt good enough with her to leave him. For her.
He should have figured it out sooner. He should have prevented her from taking Sydney away from him. His daughter. Their daughter. He was responsible he knew. If he hadn't driven Sydney away from him, she wouldn't have gone to her. Her mother. Supposedly dead but very much alive. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or angry that she was alive. He was certainly not happy. His wife. Laura. Irina.
TBC
Eyghon
Author's notes: This chapter is kind of France centric, still, there is a lot of 'action' going on so you can't skip it or you'll be lost. I just couldn't help myself. There are so many things you Americans don't know about France. We French know lots of things about the US.
A little detail, I don't know how it works for you, wherever you are, but in France, you have to start learning English at ten. I've been doing that for eight years now so I like to think I understand it perfectly. I imagine Sydney understands French as much as I do English.
Everything in here comes from my experiences, my thoughts, and my different visits in Paris. It is as such, quite realistic. Some telling of events might seem harsh, so bear in mind that it is MY personal judgment over things.
Chapter 17: Bienvenue à Paris
France was indeed the perfect hideout, Irina decided. Paris was such a big city and new people blended in without notice. She herself could speak fluent French without being identified as a Russian or an American. Sydney couldn't, her American accent was actually quite horrible, but she understood very well when talked to, and enjoyed watching TV and reading all she could everywhere. So blending in this crowded city, even when being a foreigner, was quite an easy task and an added bonus. In case of an emergency, they could easily take a flight to anywhere in the world from the Roissy Charles De Gaulle Airport. They could also discreetly sneak into England by riding the Eurostar or taking a Ferry.
France was directly connected to Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Irina and Sydney could enter each of those countries by car or train with a simple fake ID card that was easy to procure. The beauty of Europe was that you didn't need a passport, which was harder to counterfeit, and that you weren't thoroughly controlled at the 'borders'. Irina had calculated that from Paris you could go anywhere in France or enter a neighbouring country in less than nine hours, by car. France was the size of a US state and its capital was swarming with foreigners from eastern countries and tourists.
Sydney watched as the taxi deftly made its way through the heavy Parisian traffic. No matter how hard she looked around her, she couldn't find a single car without a bump or a scratch on it. Paris had a really odd way of functioning. Apparently, when a traffic light turned red, it meant two to four cars could pass afterwards. Signaling a turn was unheard of and letting the pedestrians cross the street when they had a green light was just unthinkable. Even the city bus drivers and garbage men drove like mad men. Horns honked everywhere incessantly; the only solace being that the taxis drivers had a special lane that they shared with the city buses…when a delivery truck wasn't blocking it. Tens of scooters, motorcycles, and bicycles passed from lane to lane, coming within inches of cars, trucks, and buses' bumpers. It was chaos.
Sydney was astonished by the swarming traffic. She turned toward her mother who smiled, knowing what she was thinking.
"French are brutes behind a wheel, but Parisians are literally barbaric."
Sydney nodded, approving. The taxi had picked them up from Roissy Charles de Gaulle Airport thirty minutes ago. It was taking them to an apartment Irina owned, 'Rue de l'Estrapade', in the 5th arrondissement of Paris, also known as the 'Quartier Latin'.
The next day, Irina took her daughter to do some shopping. Settling in their comfortable two-bedroom apartment and they were only missing clothes and accessories. The shopping was fun as Irina let her daughter buy anything she wanted.
Sydney decided to learn a little more about the dynamics of her new country. She knew nothing about Paris other than it was the capital of France and one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
The currency was the Euro…that she already knew, but that was about it. Connecting to the internet, she went on Google and started her research. After two hours, she came up with the most recent events in France. They had organised and won the football World Cup in 1998 against Brazil, beating the Brazilians 3-0. Sydney didn't really care, not being a fan of sports. She was more interested in the politics of the country.
Jacques Chirac was President and he was in his second term; the next elections were in 2007. He was the Chief of State but his Prime Minister, for now Jean-Pierre Raffarin, was the chief of the government. He was criticised by many but still stayed in place, for now.
Paris and France in general were peopled by many different nationalities from all over the world. Its diversity was the cause of a major crisis in 2002, for the Presidential elections, Sydney learned. After the first ballot, two candidates had remained and it was not those expected. The PM then, Lionel Jospin, had been humiliated. Sydney smirked, reading what was next. That must have hurt, she understood why the guy had retired from any political activity. A 'fascist' candidate whose slogan was "France belongs to French people" had beaten him. Understand "let's get rid of all the non white people." The man’s name was Jean-Marie Le Pen, from the 'Front National' party. He was voted in right behind the President, Jacques Chirac.
It was a shock for France, and to add to that, the loser, the prime minister, had resigned. The 20% score of Le Pen was like a wake up call, a slap in the face. People were in shock, scandalized, and yet, more than one-fifth of them had voted for him. Some said 9/11 had something to do with most people's choice. Others said people had voted for him, never thinking he stood the slightest chance. People had been wrong and were now facing an awkward choice for the second ballot: A man who was taking after Hitler or the sitting President.
The second ballot got more voters than ever before. Ashamed, panicked, abstentions voted, so did the younger generation, usually uninterested by the elections. Chirac was re-elected 'by default'.
Jacques Chirac and Jean-Marie Le Pen live on TV on May 29th 2005, after the 'No' vote won (about the referundum for the European Constitution:
President of the French Republic, Jacques Chirac (Yes)
Head of National Front party, Jean-Marie Le Pen (No)
Sydney had stopped there, enough politics for now. Pacing in the spacious living room, she found an interesting article in the newspaper 'Le Figaro'. It was a brief portrait of the mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoé. He is the first politician publicly to announce his homosexuality, which he did in 1999, right before the city elections. He was stabbed by a mad man in October of 2002, but recovered. The assailant motives were still unclear: political, homophobic…
So much for politics and Sydney grunted, bored.
"Sydney, do you want to tour the city?"
"What?"
"Well, you've never been to Paris, right?"
"Yeah, Actually, I never left the US…except when you took me to Russia through France, but that doesn't really count."
Irina flinched. She hated the mere mention of that time, three weeks ago when she had assaulted her daughter in a parking garage and kidnapped her. "Well, then I'll take you to do some sight seeing. Since we're here, it would be a shame not to play tourist, there are so many things to see!"
There was a lot to see in the Capital itself. The 'Panthéon' where were buried all the important people especially caught her attention. She asked her mother to take her and Irina complied immediately, happy to share an interest with her daughter: Both fans of literature, they were interested in the many writers who had been laid to rest in the Panthéon.
They stopped for lunch in a beautifully decorated restaurant and went to the 'Eiffel Tower', an attraction that every tourist and Frenchman ought to visit. They decided to take the stairs, which was more fun than riding one of the elevators. The sights were simply breath taking; you could see kilometers around. Irina pointed out to her the main things to notice: The Panthéon, the Boulevard des Invalides. The tour in itself was impressive but was even more beautiful at night when it was lit up. The women had stuck around especially to watch it after the sun had fallen.
The next day was devoted to the 'Musée du Louvre' and the 'Cathédrale Notre Dame'. This time they ate in a little café facing the river Seine and took a taxi to the 'Place Vendôme'. It was the most practical way of transportation since it was nearly impossible to park anywhere in the busy city, save for the underground parking garage, but Irina preferred to avoid those in the presence of her daughter. The Place was practically deserted, a normal occurrence, assured Irina. It was surrounded on all sides by sumptuous jewelry boutiques, exposing a few items in their window. Next, Irina showed Sydney the less tourist 'sights' of the capital, starting with the most prestigious palaces: the Henri IV, the Hilton, the Plaza Athénée, the Ritz, the Bel Ami, the 'Hôtel du Louvre', and the Four Seasons - Georges V…' They choose to devote a whole afternoon the following day to the 'bouquinistes' bordering the Seine: you could buy old books, paintings, and various items directly in the street, along the river Seine. It was a busy street; many people enjoyed walking along the little displays and just look.
Jack was fuming. His daughter had disappeared right under the noise of four fully trained CIA agents. Francine Calfo pretended to know nothing but she was lying. He was frustrated to no end by the young girl. He couldn't make her talk. Even using of his influence, he couldn't get to her as she was underage.
He could do nothing. Chloé Sullivan couldn't identify who had hired her. All Jack knew was that it was a woman, and he wasn't even sure she was the person behind the kidnapping and the disappearance. For all he knew, she was a mere hired gun, just like Miss Sullivan, and someone unknown was above them all.
Someone was out there with his daughter. Someone smart enough to evade the CIA and take Sydney in broad daylight in plain sight. The cameras around Melrose Avenue had been disabled long before Sydney and her friend had gotten here. A professional job. Sydney must have gone willingly there was no other explanation. But why? With who? Who made her feel safe enough that she would leave everything behind and go with them?
He was missing something but could not put his finger on it.
The fifth day of her arrival, Sydney faced a major disappointment. She sighed; 'l'Avenue des Champs Elysées' was so overrated! Okay it was a large and long avenue, and there were lots of traffic and shops…but it was not any prettier than anywhere else was. Plus, there were dog's poops and butts of cigarettes littering the sidewalk. There were trash and smelly stuff piled against the walls.
The 'Arc de Triomphe', situated at the end of the avenue lifted her spirits. The climb up the stairs had been worth it; the sight from up there was wonderful. It was windy but you could see the main streets surrounding the place, as if you were at the centre of a star. Hence the name 'Place de l'Etoile' (étoile = star), she thought. When they came back down, they stopped at the grave of the 'Soldat Inconnu', beneath the arch. It had been created in honour of the men fallen during WWI. There were always flowers laid beside the 'flamme sacrée' (sacred flame), which was burning since 1923. The whole thing had become a national symbol, honoured during Republican manifestations.
Irina Derevko would always remember this day, 29th May 2005. She was preparing breakfast. Sydney entered the kitchen, a nervous smile on her lips. She handed a wrapped box to Irina and kissed her on the cheek. "Bonne fête Maman." Irina stood there, frozen, the precious little box in her hands. The last Sunday of May was Mother's Day in France. Her daughter had bought her a gift, for Mother's Day! She was moved beyond saying. The last gift she had received was a plaster handprint of her six-year-old daughter, on May 9, 1993, Mother's Day in the US.
Thinking along the same lines, Sydney nodded encouragingly, "I promise it's not a purple plaster handprint."
"I loved that handprint," replied Irina, crying.
"I know. I think you'll like that better."
Irina carefully opened the package to reveal a box of sweets.
"It's called Mentchikoffs. It's not really Russian but…"
"Thank you." Irina hugged Sydney fiercely and kissed her four times, touched by the gesture.
"You know those chocolates? Cuz I wasn't sure…"
"I do. Chocolate and meringue. Invented in the end of the 19th Century. They are the symbol of the Franco/Russian rapprochement. Here, let's have one."
Irina was overwhelmed by emotions. This was so sweet of Sydney not only to buy her a gift on Mother's Day, but also to take in consideration her Russian origin in the choice of the gift. Sydney had really done well by herself.
Setting 'le Figaro' down, Sydney turned off the light and tried to sleep. Three months had gone by since her arrival in France. She preferred to refer to it as this, not as her 'departure from the US'. It made it less painful that way.
Her mother and she had settled in a quiet routine. They would curl up in the sofa of the living room and read for hours. In the afternoon, they would talk and watch TV until dinnertime. They would go out in a restaurant or Irina would cook if she were in the mood. She was happy to get a chance to teach something to her daughter, who had a serious lack of cooking abilities.
In the beginning, their daytime activities had kept Sydney's mind off things and her exhaustion had lulled her into a peaceful sleep at night. Now that she didn't have anything to do all day but watch TV and pace around the apartment, sleep was eluding her.
Eventually, she would find sleep, but with it would come the nightmares. Today was no exception. She woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and gasping for the breath Nikolai had taken away when he was strangling her. Her mother was already by her side, having heard her screams long before Sydney had even realised it was she who was screaming. Irina felt guilty for causing those nightmares. In her turn, Sydney felt guilty for not being able to handle her kidnapping, torture, and subsequent captivity better. Her nightmares caused anguish to her mother, even if Irina tried not to show it.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Mom. Good night."
"Good night," sighed Irina, getting back to bed. Again, Sydney had had a nightmare and had refused to let her mother stay until she fell asleep. She didn't want to deprive her mother of sleep, she said. What she didn't know was that Irina hovered near the door and listen until she knew Sydney was asleep.
"You know, maybe we could get away from Paris for a few days," suggested Irina the next day.
"Really? To go where?" asked Sydney, excited at the prospect of seeing more of France.
"I have a younger sister, Elena. She lives in Nancy, in the north east of France. She had twins, boys, who are now about your age I think."
"Seriously? That’s so great! I have no family on Dad's side, except for Dad's sister, who is not a favourite. She’s much older than Dad. So we could visit them?"
Irina was surprised Sydney was even remotely interested in meeting more of her family. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah!" Replied Sydney, as if it was blatantly obvious. "Of course! Katya seemed nice enough; I'd like to meet my other aunt and cousins." She added teasingly, "don't you want to show me off?"
Irina grinned, "I would love for you to meet them all."
Two days later, Irina had made the arrangements. Elena Derevko had divorced her husband, Alexandre five years before. The boys had just left for Morocco to spend some time with their father, who had been transferred in Agadir by his firm. Elena had three weeks by herself and was happy to welcome her older sister and her daughter, whom she had never met.
To Irina's dismay, their destination, Nancy (near the German border), was not yet served by a TGV ('Train à Grande Vitesse', understand 'fast going train') so Sydney and she would have to sit in a regular train for 2h45. They packed and left from 'Paris Est' station at 7h44. They would arrive in 'Nancy ville' station at 10h28. There were other timetables available later in the day but Irina wanted to ride in the brand new 'Corail Téoz', comfortable and faster than the mere 'Corail'.
The French rail system was organised like a star, with Paris in its centre. There were four major stations: 'Paris Est' served the eastern cities, 'Paris Montparnasse 1 et 2' the western ones, 'Paris gare du Nord' the northern ones and 'Paris gare de Lyon' the southern ones.
All the railways in France were property of the SNCF (Societé Nationale des Chemins de fer Français). It was a state owned society, and accidents were rare.
Sydney and Irina stepped out of the train and went to fetch their rental car at Avis.
"A BMW? Way to go Mom!" teased Sydney when the desk clerk handed her mother the car keys with the brand logo on it.
"Money is not an issue," replied Irina evasively before putting the car in gear. She deftly launched herself into mid-morning traffic. They drove smoothly toward the suburbs, passing fewer and fewer trucks, cars, cabs, buses and tramways as they neared their destination.
"Here we are," announced Irina as she slowly parked on the sidewalk in front of a two-story house.
"That's your sister's house? It looks so…normal."
Irina smiled, "That's how she has always wanted it. A quiet, peaceful family life. A nice house in the suburbs with husband and kids to put in. Nothing to do with Katya's lifestyle in Italy. She takes care of the house and the garden by herself, something you two have in common, right?"
"Yeah," replied Sydney, not surprised her mother knew things she wasn't supposed to. "Dad is never home, he hired a housekeeper to do the major cleaning and the laundry, but the garden is my domain…like it was yours when I was little. I'm the one who fixes the things that need fixing, clean up the backyard…what a man would do in his house. I also do the shopping and the cooking. I don't mind. A question of habit I guess."
"You've grown up into a wonderful young woman Sydney. I couldn't have hoped for you to turn out any better. I'm so proud of you." Irina smiled and stroked her daughter's cheek.
Sydney blushed slightly, as she always did when receiving a compliment from her mother. "Let's ring the bell."
Elena welcomed them warmly and was more than thrilled to quiz Sydney about her life. She seemed like a very nice person and Sydney was glad to have her as her aunt. She answered every question and Elena wasn't the only one. Sydney noted Irina was also very attentive to the littlest of details she revealed about her life. They both still had so much to learn from and about each other.
"I couldn't help but notice that all the houses around look very similar but yours is different, bigger," observed Sydney, as she carefully observed the neighbour's house from her seat in the living room.
"Yes, this whole street is part of a subdivision, with the street below it. All houses were built by the same contractor on the same model over twenty years ago. We had the upper left floor added when Nicolas and Anthony turned ten so they would have their own space. It was becoming too crowded on the main floor."
Sydney nodded, "What names are those, Nicolas and Anthony? I thought you were Russian."
"I am. But my husband was French, and I didn't want my children to stand out because of a Russian name. I left Russia when Irina entered the KGB. I didn't want to be recruited so I left before they could ask. I hid in France and prayed they wouldn't bother to try and find me. They didn't."
"But even if they had asked, you could have just declined, why bother coming all the way here?"
Elena sighed, Sydney was about to apologize for being so intrusive but Elena held up her hand.
"You don't say no to the KGB, Sydney. Katya didn't follow my example, she got recruited. Like Irina, she didn't mind, she wanted to see the world. By the time the USSR collapsed, she knew what was really going on in the KGB. She took the opportunity to disappear, get away from Russia. She settled in Italy and made her way in the finance world. Her experience with the KGB helped. She's a shark in business!"
Sydney chuckled, not doubting her aunt's assessment of the spiky haired woman she had met a few months ago. Elena eventually answered her question. "Now, about my boys, 'Nicolas' is French for Nikolai and Anthony was named after my father, Anatoly. Were you named after the city?"
Sydney smiled and looked over at her mother, "I never got the opportunity to ask. Mom?"
Irina smiled fondly at the memory, and if she did not know better, Sydney could have sworn her mother looked embarrassed.
"Yes, you were named after the Australian city, sweetheart, because you were conceived there."
"What?!" Never in her wildest dreams had Sydney dreamt of such a moment, in which she would learn the origin of her name was connected with her conception. The first reaction that came to mind what 'Yuck'! She voiced it that way: "Are you telling me that you named me Sydney so each time you would call my name you would remember your great night of sex?!"
Irina and Elena chuckled, the latter as curious as Sydney to hear her big sister's side of the story. "First, I never said it was night, second, we named you Sydney because we loved the city. It was in 1986, (N/A: Don't forget this fic is an AU) we were already married then. We were actually celebrating our five-year anniversary. Jack had managed to get away from the office for the week-end. We walked along the beach, made love…I had never seen Jack so relaxed."
Sydney smiled, moved. She could feel the longing in her mother's voice but didn't comment on it. Elena, probably feeling it too, changed the subject, "would you like to see the garden?"
"Yeah, sure," replied Sydney cheerfully.
They went through the French doors onto the terrace. "We eat outside when the weather allows it. Usually from April to September, but in summer it's too hot sometimes," explained Elena, leading them around the pond to the green grass.
"Wow, it's beautiful, and so big!" Sydney was in awe, thinking of her little bushed of roses compared to those massive flowerbeds.
"The advantage of being on the corner. I enjoy gardening, I think your mother mentioned you do too?"
"Yeah, I got it from her I think. When I was little, she was just crazy about her flowers. I could do anything and she would never yell at me, but if I were to throw a ball in her begonias or something, she would get real mad." Sydney and Irina both smiled at the shared memory. There were so few. For the little girl, there was nothing scarier than to have her mother stare at her without uttering a word. It meant trouble and afterwards, she would always try to make it up to her mother by drawing a picture of flowers. It always worked. Irina…Laura could never stay mad at her sweet angel for too long.
"You two can stay as long as you want here," smiled Elena as they ate dinner two days after they had arrived in Nancy. "Although you might want to make it back to Paris for the 14th."
“Why? What happens on the 14th?" asked Sydney.
"You don't know what represents the 14th of July? You're majoring in literature, right?"
Sydney shrugged, "Yeah, I know, it's a national holiday, huh…Bastille Day, right? Nobody works, all stores are closed…"
"Sweetheart, it's more than that!" explained Elena.
"Oh!"
"The whole country celebrates with fireworks and such, but Paris is the city that receives the most attention. All national TV channels broadcast on live. The President attends a gigantic ceremony with other officials. There is a parade; all the law enforcement forces are represented, on foot, on bikes, on horses, in cars or even in the sky with the aerial parade. The Eiffel Tower is especially decorated and there are amazing fireworks near the Eiffel Tower in the evening. You'd love to see it, it's very impressive."
"Sounds like it. Can we go Mom?"
"Of course sweetheart. I personally never attended one of those but I'd love to."
Something was bothering Sydney, Irina could tell. She didn't know whether she should ask what or not. In the few months they had lived together, Irina had learned to see when Sydney was angry, sad, regretful, or when she was lying. She had scolded, comforted, and confronted her on multiple occasions. Sydney was open-minded but if she didn't want to talk about something on her mind, there was no making her change her mind. Sighing, Irina decided she might as well get it over with now, or she would keep imagining the worst of things that could bother her daughter so much.
"Sydney, are you okay?"
"I want to ask you something."
If Sydney was so eager to talk without being probed, Irina was in trouble. Readying herself for anything, she replied, "go ahead."
"Why didn't you come back?" This left Irina puzzled. "You told me why you left, because of that guy in the park who threatened to kill me, but why not come back afterwards when the KGB was destroyed? Katya ran away from her job and started a new life when the USSR fell. After leaving us, you could have come back, the Russians wouldn't have noticed. Why going to work for the new KGB?"
After a long hesitation, she couldn't help but correct Sydney. "It's called SVR." She sighed. It was a legitimate question, one she should have expected. One she had expected, yet, couldn't answer.
"Mom?"
"It's…" She was about to say 'complicated' but knew how it upset her daughter, so she tried to explain as best as she could. "I loved your father. I betrayed him. I betrayed our marriage, his trust…everything he believed in. I couldn't come back to him. He would have had me imprisoned."
"But how can you be sure? Maybe he still loved you, maybe he still does. He never dated you know."
Irina smiled. Despite her intelligence, her daughter could be so naïve sometimes. "I probably disgusted him for other women. I destroyed his love, that's why he was so distant with you, after."
"But you could have made contact with me, I wouldn't have said anything," accused Sydney.
"Sydney, I wanted nothing more than to come back to you and Jack, to make everything better, like it was before, but I couldn't. After the USSR fell in 1991, I thought I was free. It took two years for the crumbs of the KGB to reform into the SVR. In 1993, they were in place. It was they who had sent the man from the park. They were calling me back, as all the other Russian operatives left behind by the KGB disappearance. I was forced to work for them; I had no choice. They knew everything about me, about my American family. Many agents from the KGB had joined the SVR and reported me. If I hadn't joined them, they would have hurt you both."
Sydney stood, frozen. The explanation she had wanted since she knew her mother was alive was not what she had expected. It was not her fault. Irina had done nothing wrong. She loved them; she had wanted to come back. She felt guilty for doubting her mother's intentions of the time. Stupid too, because her mother loved her, there was no reason to doubt her. She stepped forward and they hugged.
At dinner that night, they talked about everything but Sydney's 'past life'. She chose to keep that between herself and her mother so Elena didn't probe.
"So, where are you going this summer?"
"What do you mean?" asked Irina, puzzled.
"Well, aren't you going to go somewhere for the summer vacation? You don't have to go abroad; there are beautiful regions to see in France itself."
"We'll have to think about it. We have time, Sydney's class finish in June and the next year starts mid-October."
"Most French leave in August. Even more so now, since the heat wave."
"What heat wave?" asked Sydney, her puzzled expression mirrored by Irina’s?
"A heat wave struck Europe in the summer of 2003. It killed 27.000 people. You never heard of it?" Elena was frowning. It was a major disaster; surely, they would have talked about it over the other side of the Atlantic.
"Yes, I remember reading something about it…France was the hardest hit I believe?" Irina said.
"Correct. It was around 40°C (104°F) in the shade and the heat caused the pollution rate to rise. In Paris, the mix was deadly. There were 12.000 dead within ten days. The hospitals and morgues were full. Dead people were found in their homes or in hotels, died in the hospitals or in their retirement homes. Sick people collapsed in the streets.
"Everyday the media announced new numbers. It started with three digits the number of dead by day but it soon became a minimum of 1.000 a day. Around the 12th, it went up to more than 2.000 a day. On the 13th, the official toll from the Ministry of Health said 3.000 victims since the 4th. It was 12.000. By the end of August, they counted 14.802 victims of the heat wave. The numbers had been wrong because it had started 'before' the 4th of August, without anyone noticing that too many people were dying for the season.
"How can something so big happen without anyone noticing? And how come we haven't heard of it?" Sydney was shocked. So France too had had its tragedy.
"Heat waves are very rare in Europe, I believe the last one was in 1983 and there were less than 800 victims. Nobody saw it coming, Sydney, nobody could do anything. They said they ran out of places to put the bodies and the sick. It was chaos. As I told you, most of the French take their vacation in the first two weeks of August. So does the medical profession and the government. Most politicians were abroad at the time. The whole country was asleep. There were not enough doctors here and no one with the authority to call the others back home to help. Like they said, hundreds of dead people turned up everyday but nobody realised how bad it was. The authorities were taken by surprise; they weren't prepared to respond to that kind of disaster.
"That's crazy! I hope they learned their lesson?"
"The reports are rather pessimistic. A public holiday in May is now a workday, and the money goes to the old people, but…they tried that before with a mandatory yearly taxed sticker for cars. No one really knows where the money went. They have more people working in the hospitals, and more beds available.
"But how come I haven't heard of it? I mean, the world knows Bush almost choked to death on a pretzel, you know...And it's worse than 9/11! It would have never happened in the US."
Irina smiled. "You Americans are so arrogant!" She answered for her sister, "it's not the same, Sydney. You can't compare by counting the dead. It doesn't work that way. And France is not all that bad. People make mistakes. The French government failed to handle that crisis properly, but the American government too has failures.
Different countries have different identities, different visions of things and different priorities. France did not go to Iraq, Italy did, Great Britain did, and the US did. In France, there are very well developed social, medical, and educational systems. Each is available to anybody, with or without insurance. School is mandatory for children below the age of sixteen to ensure they have a minimal education. There are many other things you will discover as time goes by. You can't just look on the internet, watch TV or base your opinions on hearsays to judge a country or a people you are not a part of."
"How do you two know all that stuff?"
"I've been leaving here for more than twenty years, I had time to learn the French ways. I even have the double nationality."
"Really? So you're what? Franco-Russian?"
"Yes."
"Is it true you guys, the French, are anti-Americans?"
"Not exactly. French, like a good part of Europe, are not 'anti Americans' per say. They are more 'anti Bush' than anything else. They don't understand how the American people could re-elect Bush, just like you can't understand why we, the French, refused the European Constitution."
"You voted 'Yes' or 'No'?"
"A vote is secret; it is usually bad taste to talk about it, among family or friends. For the Presidential elections that is. Now, with the vote for the European Constitution, the debate was all over the place. I voted 'No' and the 'No' won. Now we're still waiting to see what happens next. It's been one month. Nothing have changed so far, despite the Prime Minister being ejected."
"Politics," muttered Irina. "For me the knowledge of other countries' dynamics just comes with the job. I travel a lot, read a lot. The more you know about the country you're supposedly coming from, the better. My job often requires me to pretend to be someone I'm not. It included nationalities. I've pretended to be French before. Better to know French history to make conversation, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess that holds. So you know everything about every country of the world?"
"No! I just know the dynamics and major events. This heat wave was of major influence in the politics of France, it also affected economy so I got interested."
"So I'm the only one that feels out of place in here? I mean, we've been here for more than three months and yet it seems so foreign still!" complained Sydney.
"It's normal, it will subside eventually."
"Yeah…but I still don't get it: everybody talks about 9/11 and the tsunami; they consider it normal topic of conversation, so…why be so shy and secretive about the European heat wave?"
Irina sighed. "Many foreigners didn't even hear about it. I don't know why. It was a vacation time for everyone and a lot of people think only people above the age of eighty five died so they don't care much."
"Gee, not a good point for us either, huh? It says a lot about the French mentalities too."
"You can't judge them on that alone Sydney," cut in Elena. "Who said the US would be able to do better if they were struck by a heat wave?" She sighed. "From what I heard, the doctors tried to tell them, the people responsible, to warn them, but there was nobody to listen.
After it was over, at the end of August, people started pointing the finger at their government. They believed it could have been avoided if the Ministry of Health had done its job. The government and other public services tried to cover their blatant incompetence by denying the high tolls and by pointing the finger at each other.
Eventually the funeral home's reports set the ugly truth. There had been 13.000 additional dead in comparison to the death toll of an average summer. The head of the department of health resigned. I'm sure he was merely a scapegoat. The people and the officials wanted someone to blame. They got him and the Minister of Health stayed in office. People moved on and simply were more careful with their drinking habits the next summer.
It wasn't affecting only the old people. It struck randomly. Some victims were men and women who weren't even fifty. I knew someone, a gynecologist. He delivered my children twenty years ago. He died of a heart attack that summer, and he wasn't even suspected of having a cardiac problem. But nobody talks about the people like him."
"That's so sad," murmured Sydney.
"Yes, let's change the subject Elena, Sydney already has a bad enough opinion of this country and I don't plan on moving again anytime soon so let's not scare her away," half joked Irina.
In the morning, a loud siren awakened Sydney. Puzzled and slightly worried, she went in search of her mother but found her aunt instead. Elena was in the kitchen, cooking lunch as if nothing was happening. She smiled, seeing her niece's confused look.
"I thought it would wake you up. Don't worry, its normal."
"What was it?" Asked Sydney, still worried by the annoyingly loud sound.
"It's a siren."
"Yeah I got that, thank you," smirked Sydney, still not getting an explanation.
"They have those in every city, on firehouses and major buildings. It rings on and off every first Wednesday of the month at 12 o'clock for three minutes, I believe. You get used to it; most people don't even hear it after a while."
"Why would they do something so stupid as to ring a damn bell every month at noon?"
"It's not a bell; it's a siren. They're checking if they work! If you hear it any other time than the first Wednesday of the month, it means trouble. Don't you have that in the US?"
Sydney shrugged. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
Elena shrugged, "A few years ago, it was seen as a means to warn people in case of a nuclear accident. In the past, it was used to warn people about aerial bombings. Today…who knows? It could be for a biological or chemical terrorist attack, a radioactive cloud like with Chernobyl or lots of other horrible things…basically it means run and hide."
"So it's a good thing then?"
"Not really. It didn't ring for Chernobyl. The Ukrainian authorities tried to hide it and no one knew until well after the radioactive cloud had passed over France. It was in April of 1986, I was pregnant with the twins, and being so close to the east border, I was worried. Today, some people claim their cancer comes from Chernobyl; some are right and proved it. One year after the accident, laws were voted guarantying the public would be informed if such a thing happened again. A few months ago, several sirens in Nancy were accidentally activated at two in the morning. It was scary enough that the sleeping people who were within earshot of the sirens went out in the street in their PJ's. With all that's going on today, they thought it was war."
They made small talk until Sydney bluntly asked her aunt to tell her about Irina as a child. The woman hesitated but gave in, happy to share old memories with her estranged niece.
Sydney and Irina were back in Paris for the 'Défilé du 14 Juillet'. They had come home the day before after promising Elena they would visit again soon to meet Nicolas and Anthony. This trip had delighted Sydney to no end. With some insight from Elena, and the opportunity to closely observe Irina's behaviour toward her sister, she felt closer to her mother. She now understood the choices Irina had made and the reasons why. She had left one family to find another. Everything was not lost. She missed her father and Francie greatly.
He would find her. She was out there somewhere hidden among six million people. No matter how long it would take him, where he would have to look, he would find her, and his daughter too. He just needed a lead, something, anything. A little burst of luck.
'A Russian accent', Chloé Sullivan had said. And Sydney had felt safe enough to leave with her. She had felt good enough with her to leave him. For her.
He should have figured it out sooner. He should have prevented her from taking Sydney away from him. His daughter. Their daughter. He was responsible he knew. If he hadn't driven Sydney away from him, she wouldn't have gone to her. Her mother. Supposedly dead but very much alive. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or angry that she was alive. He was certainly not happy. His wife. Laura. Irina.
TBC
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Eyghon
Author's notes: This chapter is a turning point, don't let the title give you false ideas, French stuff are minor. Careful if you skip the parade parts, wouldn't want you to miss a Jack or Irina/Syd scene. I must warn you, I have a very low opinion of the French Police, and I insist, everything in this chapter is nothing more than my personal opinion on things. Let me remind you also, that this is an AU so this does not follow the timeline of the show, concerning Syd's birth, Irina's arrival and departure, etc…Sydney is 18 ½ here and is not a spy.
Here you will find a nice animation of the evening fireworks near the Eiffel Tower: http://www.parisrama.com/thematiques/thema...ite14072004.htm
Chapter 18: 14th of July
Irina and Sydney took the metro to the 'Avenue des Champs Elysées' as the many closed streets didn't make the idea of going by car very appealing, Since 9/11, public celebrations in France were under tight security. For the 14th of July especially, the security forces were bordering on the overzealous. They were searching every spectator's bags and sometimes verified their identity. Irina realised the fear of terrorism was as real for the people across the Atlantic as it was for the Americans.
The tight security was also due to the murder attempt on the President Jacques Chirac during the same event in 2002. Three spectators had jumped on a man who was pointing a rifle at the President a few minutes before the parade had started. A shot had been fired without him or the Police noticing anything until people in the crowd called for them to come and help. Talk about an embarrassment for the Police.
Irina's bag was searched like the others by a Police officer before he would let her and Sydney enter the premises of the parade. She was relieved he didn't try to frisk her. It would have been embarrassing as she was packing a Glock 9 millimetre tucked into the back waistband of her pants.
The streets where the cortege would pass were packed with people and CRS. The women had a hard time finding a spot where they could actually see something without too many heads bobbing in front of them.
The 14th of July was traditionally celebrated with fireworks preceded by a giant military parade, in which every subdivision of every military corps is represented. The different sections in each army corps were complex and countless. Most French didn't know the half of it, beside the obvious: Paratroopers, Infantry, Artillery, Engineers…All the military schools were also joining the party, the best known among the French people being the military Saint-Cyr school.
--- Air Force and Navy
--- Two corps of Army
A foreign corps was sometimes invited to lead the parade. In 2002 it was a corps of the American military school of West Point, in 1999 the Moroccan National Guard. Usually, the parade held four thousand soldiers on foot, 1600 in vehicles and 300 on horses. One hundred planes and helicopters would fly over the Champs Elysées to the 'Place de la Concorde' where the Presidential tribune stood. Today, for approximately two hours, a total of 6000 men and women would parade to celebrate France independence, known by foreigners as 'Bastille Day'. The name referred to the Bastille prison, a symbol of the absolutism of the time, which was attacked and won over by the Parisians in 1789. This day is commonly known as '14 Juillet' or 'Fête Nationale' among French is the equivalent of the American 'Fourth of July'.
Chloé Sullivan had confessed nothing more than to following Sydney. She had been released the next day after an Amnesty International lawyer showed up asking embarrassing questions. The higher ups didn't want to bother with small fry and hadn't pushed to keep her. Jack was seething as he knew she had the answer he sought, but he had not choice but to let her go and find his answers elsewhere.
"You know in October you'll have to sign up for the university," stated Irina, as they waited for the parade to start.
"Yeah, I thought about it and I don't really know what to major in. I mean, it's not like they have a degree in American literature here."
"No they probably don't, but you could major in English."
"Major in English? What would it give me?"
"You could teach English. I looked it up in the internet when you choose France. I wanted to make sure you could have a proper degree."
"And?"
"…and you can take a Licence, which lasts three years, or a Master, which is five. A doctorate lasts eight years and it would allow you to teach English in university."
"Like you did? That sounds great," replied Sydney, relieved not to have to worry about what to do.
"I thought so too. Registrations have already started, but they're open till September. Class begins in October. In Paris, there are prestigious universities but the degree is the same, from whatever school you graduate. Of course, you'll have to start everything from the beginning."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't even get my first year at UCLA."
Irina could hear the regret in her voice and felt guilty. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to drag her daughter with her. Maybe she should have left her be and not contacted her again after she had brought her back to the States. Looking at her daughter, she knew she couldn't have just walked away from her without ever looking back.
"Mom?"
"Hummm?" Irina was pulled out of her morose thoughts by Sydney tugging at her sleeve.
"Where did you go?" Sydney asked, smiling.
"I'm right here Sweetheart, I'm right here." She kissed Sydney's forehead. "It's starting," she said as she spotted the cavaliers of the 'Garde Républicaine' and their horses. They had departed from the 'Place de l'Etoile' where a huge French flag had been hung under the 'Arc de Triomphe'. Soon they entered the 2 kilometres long 'Avenue des Champs Elysées' and passed Irina and Sydney and continued to the 'Place de la Concorde'. They were followed by other army corps, each group clearly separated from one another.
Francie had been interrogated by Jack Bristow. It was not a pleasant experience. She had kept lying through her teeth all along, and they both knew it. She had denied everything he threw at her, that she knew whom she had left with, and that she had helped her cover her tracks…Like with Chloé Sullivan, he was powerless.
Jack had asked question after question, to no avail. "I know you're hiding something from me, Miss Calfo, and I want to know what it is." He couldn't hold it anymore. He lost control over his temper, worried sick about Sydney. There was nothing he could have done to prevent Irina from taking back her daughter. She was smart; the thirteen years she had spent with him, right under the nose of the CIA, proved it.
What if she decided to bring Sydney into their business? That was Jack's greatest fear. That Sydney would turn out like her mother. He had prepared himself as best as he could for the eventuality. He had distanced himself from her since the very beginning of his life as a single father, as a widower, as a suspected traitor. It had hurt him, but it was for the best. If she ever turned on him, he wouldn't be hurt. He had reasoned this by logic, because that's the way Jack Bristow worked…with logic and planning ahead. It had saved him and his fellow agents countless times.
His thoughts brought memories along with them. The CIA report on his wife's 'accident' and her subsequent death had been very clear. Laura Bristow, aka Irina Derevko, was dead, but he knew otherwise. He had learned the truth a few years after the accident. As soon as he had realised it, he had tried to forget it, and had succeeded, until Chloé Sullivan mentioned the Russian accent of the woman who hired her.
Back in the 90's, he hadn't told anyone what he knew. Why bother? It would only have caused him more trouble. The CIA would have worried he would try to make contact with his wife or something.
He knew someday she would come back for her daughter. What mother wouldn't? However, as the years passed, as Sydney grew older, he thought Russia had dulled her mother's instinct and that they, both he and Sydney, were safe from her. Sydney turning eighteen was a relief for him. It meant she was 'out of the woods'. Why would Irina be interested in her 18 years old daughter? It was too late to mould her into a Russian agent.
So why did she take Sydney now? Why go to such great lengths, why come to the States and take the risk to be arrested by the CIA? If the agency was powerless in France or foreign countries, it certainly wasn't on its own soil. The crimes she committed were over ten years old and she wasn't on any 'shoot to kill' list, but she would still go to jail if they got their hands on her.
Just like Irina, though he didn't know it, he had made one mistake in his planning. One miscalculation had left him two steps behind his wife…the human factor. It was her love for her daughter. He had ignored this parameter and had allowed Derevko to take his daughter a second time. He had no doubt she was responsible for Sydney's kidnapping. It seemed so long ago now. He would have to ask her about that, before killing her. He wasn't here on official business, but the CIA wouldn't mind. Actually, they would never know. No one would ever know.
Still, would he dare? Would he have the courage to end her life? She had been his companion for thirteen years, his wife for eleven, and the mother of his child. She had done his laundry, helped him choose his ties, cooked him his favourite meals for years. She had made love to him. He was startled out of his thoughts at the memory of the countless times they had. The thought of her loving anyone made him sick. It wasn't love, never was. It was just sex. Lust had led to Sydney’s existence.
That's the only thing he was grateful for, his daughter, his baby girl. It was hard, sometimes, often, to look at her. She looked so much like her mother. Any stranger could tell. She had inherited her mother's looks. Thinking of his daughter brought Jack on track. He needed to figure out what was Derevko's goal.
She must have an ulterior motive, but what? Why take their daughter to Paris? To hurt him? That must be it. The explanation didn't really convince him. Why now? It was too late, surely she knew Sydney and him weren't close, bordering on estranged. Sydney willingly leaving with Irina certainly stung, but her mother had probably threatened her never to see her again if she didn't come. Jack could understand his daughter's desire to know Irina.
His assumption was not very exact, though Irina never meant it as a threat. Unsure whether Sydney wanted her in her life or not, she had merely offered to get out of it forever, if Sydney wished so.
From their place, Sydney and Irina could see the troops arriving from up the street, slowly march down until they passed them.
Forming a tight cube of equal number in rows and columns, the men and women were walking in synch, lifting arms and legs at the same rhythm. They were preceded by their superior officers. Some of the leaders were carrying banners announcing who they were: army corps, company name, and number…All of the people parading were carrying swords or automatic rifles in a different fashion depending on which corps they belonged to. The officers walking in front occasionally raised their swords high in front of them. The jeeps, cars, tanks, military trucks, bikes, and horses were progressing in line or in specific formation.
All personal had put on their ceremonial uniform, with coloured pants and hats. The Marine Nationale (Navy) was especially distinguishable amongst the uniformed men. With them were parading the Armée de Terre (Army), Armée de l'Air (Air Force), Légion Etrangère (Foreign Legion), Garde Républicaine (National Guard), CRS (stands for Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité, understand 'riot squads') and Gendarmerie Nationale. Among them were the Sapeurs Pompiers de Paris (Paris' fire-fighters). Composed of both military and civilians personal, they are considered the elite of French fire-fighters.
--- Sapeurs-Pompiers
Sydney didn't get the difference between the 'Police Nationale' and the 'Gendarmerie Nationale', beside that they were driving different coloured vehicles. Irina wasn't too sure about that either, but assumed the Police was for the big cities and the Gendarmerie for the little cities. She heard someone in the crowd mention that the Gendarmerie was a military corps while the Police wasn't. It meant that both didn't obey the same rules or the same people.
--- Police Nationale
--- Gendarmerie Nationale
After the planes and helicopters had flown over the area in formation the 'Patrouille de France' (aerial French Patrol) made a demonstration. They were in the most important official ceremonies and their classic trick was to do figures in the sky while releasing coloured smoke representing the country's flag.
--- French Patrol performing above the 'Arc de Triomphe'
National TV broadcast the whole event from beginning to end on three out of six main TV channels. They showed the parade, the personalities, the crowded streets, and spectators and even the people watching from their homes,
Sydney and Irina enjoyed themselves and went home to eat lunch. They would go back to the Eiffel Tower for the evening fireworks.
He had found her! He knew where they were. An analyst working at the Rotunda had come to see him with a tape. Annoyed, Jack had pretended to pay attention while checking his email account. The man was babbling about how he had recorded a French ceremony broadcast on TF1, a French channel he received at his home by satellite. A young woman had caught his eye and Jack apparently needed to see it.
Jack glanced at the screen as the young man stopped the tape on the right frame and enhanced it. The camera was sweeping through the ranks of spectators; it had only lasted a second, but he could recognize his daughter anywhere. Sydney. He had found her! He had his moment of luck, finally. She was wearing a tee shirt and had her hair in a ponytail. She was squinting at something she saw because of the sun. The crowd was thick; numerous men and women surrounded Sydney. Irina was probably among them but Jack couldn't tell where due to the poor quality of the picture and his lack of knowledge on her appearance. In addition, the sun had prompted many people to wear caps and sunglasses. It was a wonder how the analyst had spotted his daughter. Then again, he was an analyst. When it was over, Jack would make sure to have him promoted.
Now he was on his way to Paris, but then what? What to say when he got there? What was he supposed to do? He couldn't bring the CIA into that. Irina Derevko was a Russian citizen, working for the SVR. She was wanted in the US for espionage and for killing twelve CIA agents some fifteen years ago. That didn't warrant an international warrant. Plus, it was embarrassing for the CIA to ask anyone to help them bring in a Russian spy from the Cold War who had fooled them all and had stolen from one of their own and killed right under their nose.
Without a warrant, French authorities wouldn't help bring her in. Even the DGSE (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Exterieure), the French secret services agency, wouldn’t do it under the table, as a favour to their American colleagues. Since 9/11 and the war in Iraq, international relations had shifted. Even the most secret governmental agencies over the world were avoiding being friendly with each other. It was business, nothing more, nothing less. No favours Jack were owed could help him in this mess.
Discreetly entering France with a black-ops team was out of the question. If they were caught, the French would be furious and so would Washington. It would further jeopardize the relationships between the two countries and even Irina Derevko was not worth the risk.
It left it up to him. He was on his own. What would he do when he got there? His superiors had specifically told him not to go near Derevko. Their daughter had left America willingly it seemed and she was over 18 so there was nothing anyone could do. Langley had granted him three weeks of vacation and wanted nothing to do with him during his time off. As a father, he had a shot, and he was going to take it. He doubted Sydney had thought it through. How could she leave him for her psychopathic mother she hadn't seen in twelve years was beyond him. He was going to bring her back to her senses, and to Los Angeles, even if he had to drag her by the hair. As for Laura…Irina, he hadn't decided on the issue yet. He would think of a plan when he would land in Roissy Charles De Gaulle airport.
The clerk at Avis handed him the keys of a Mercedes. He wasn't particularly fond of those powerful, fast going cars but knew to appreciate their efficiency. The little monster would help him ditch – or catch up – with any car if he were to engage in a hot pursuit.
Within two hours, he had made contact with Julien Protois, an old friend residing in Paris. The man sitting in the passenger seat directed him to the spot where Irina and Sydney had been standing two days earlier for the cerebration of July 14. If Jack weren’t so sick at the prospect at seeing his wife in the flesh, even from a distance, he would have noted the irony of the situation.
Jack recognised the building in front of which Irina and Sydney were standing when he saw them on national TV. His contact explained that for security reasons, it was very hard to come to the ceremony by car so the people he was looking for had probably taken the metro. Jack agreed with him and they went to the nearest station where they found a control post. Showing his Police card, he asked in perfect French to see the tapes of the cameras inside and outside the 'George V station', from where Irina and Sydney had probably come. The security agent grimaced, arguing that it would take forever to find someone on those tapes because of the abundance of people who had taken the metro that day. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, he said.
The picture was grainy and Jack complained about it. The security agent explained that the cameras were meant to discourage aggressive behaviour, hence them being placed in plain sight. They were not supposed to be sneaky or able to capture every little thing in its view without being thought of as spying on its citizens. Jack huffed and made him forward the tape to 9h00, a little before the parade began. He spotted his daughter exiting the station, accompanied by and older looking woman. He was right. From there, he found the train they had came in and traced back their path.
They had exited the train at 'Luxembourg station' and had gone toward the exit, not to another train, so that's where they must be living. He grabbed a map and traced a circle around Luxembourg station extending to the surrounding stations. Sydney and Irina were somewhere in that circle.
The heat was really starting to get annoying in the French capital. Sydney like Irina found it unpleasant. The air was dry and the sun was hard. The high number of cars circulating in Paris wasn't helping matters. They had decided to spend their 'vacation' in the west of France, the best choice where the weather was concerned. There was wind, beach, and sun. Sydney had wanted to go south, on the worldly known 'Cote d'Azur', in Cannes. Irina had refused because it was an insane idea: in August, the region was overcrowded, the streets and the beaches impracticable.
So they had settled for the most practicable and enjoyable choice: Britain, at the western point of France. They would go by car. One day, Irina had just come home with her very own BMW. She had explained it by getting tired of getting from place to place by cabs or trains and needed her independence. Sydney didn't care much because Irina wouldn't let her drive the car. Too powerful, she had said, the Parisian traffic was not for a beginner, she said. What a typical mother she could be sometimes, Sydney thought.
In two days, they would be away from the madness of the French capital. When they had gone to Nancy, they had mostly spent their time at Elena's without doing much sight seeing. Sydney was eager to discover another region of France, but she hoped she wouldn't get bored. She had packed ten books for the trip. Her mother was not happy about her habit of reading relentlessly. Irina felt Sydney should go out more and try to make some friends. Sydney had snorted and rolled her eyes, saying she would have all the time to make friends once she was at university.
A circle. That was all he had to go on. A circle on a map. They had probably new identities, which meant new names, new date of birth…he had no personal information on either his daughter or his wife. Nothing to track them down to a more precise location than a four street radius. Paris was such a big city; he couldn't just stand on the sidewalk and look around him in hopes of spotting them.
What if Irina saw the broadcast? The thought was pushed aside immediately. The parade had lasted two hours, and the chance that the two seconds sequence in which Sydney appeared would be shown in the news was close to none. Still, if Irina knew Sydney had been spotted on camera, or even that cameras were filming the crowd, she would probably flee the country. She would take her daughter and make her change her appearance and he would never see either of them again. He had to find them quickly.
Irina’s cell phone rang. One the other end of the line, one of her contacts informed her of the arrival of an eminent CIA agent in Paris. The agent was none other than Jack Bristow.
TBC
Eyghon
Author's notes: This chapter is a turning point, don't let the title give you false ideas, French stuff are minor. Careful if you skip the parade parts, wouldn't want you to miss a Jack or Irina/Syd scene. I must warn you, I have a very low opinion of the French Police, and I insist, everything in this chapter is nothing more than my personal opinion on things. Let me remind you also, that this is an AU so this does not follow the timeline of the show, concerning Syd's birth, Irina's arrival and departure, etc…Sydney is 18 ½ here and is not a spy.
Here you will find a nice animation of the evening fireworks near the Eiffel Tower: http://www.parisrama.com/thematiques/thema...ite14072004.htm
Chapter 18: 14th of July
Irina and Sydney took the metro to the 'Avenue des Champs Elysées' as the many closed streets didn't make the idea of going by car very appealing, Since 9/11, public celebrations in France were under tight security. For the 14th of July especially, the security forces were bordering on the overzealous. They were searching every spectator's bags and sometimes verified their identity. Irina realised the fear of terrorism was as real for the people across the Atlantic as it was for the Americans.
The tight security was also due to the murder attempt on the President Jacques Chirac during the same event in 2002. Three spectators had jumped on a man who was pointing a rifle at the President a few minutes before the parade had started. A shot had been fired without him or the Police noticing anything until people in the crowd called for them to come and help. Talk about an embarrassment for the Police.
Irina's bag was searched like the others by a Police officer before he would let her and Sydney enter the premises of the parade. She was relieved he didn't try to frisk her. It would have been embarrassing as she was packing a Glock 9 millimetre tucked into the back waistband of her pants.
The streets where the cortege would pass were packed with people and CRS. The women had a hard time finding a spot where they could actually see something without too many heads bobbing in front of them.
The 14th of July was traditionally celebrated with fireworks preceded by a giant military parade, in which every subdivision of every military corps is represented. The different sections in each army corps were complex and countless. Most French didn't know the half of it, beside the obvious: Paratroopers, Infantry, Artillery, Engineers…All the military schools were also joining the party, the best known among the French people being the military Saint-Cyr school.
--- Air Force and Navy
--- Two corps of Army
A foreign corps was sometimes invited to lead the parade. In 2002 it was a corps of the American military school of West Point, in 1999 the Moroccan National Guard. Usually, the parade held four thousand soldiers on foot, 1600 in vehicles and 300 on horses. One hundred planes and helicopters would fly over the Champs Elysées to the 'Place de la Concorde' where the Presidential tribune stood. Today, for approximately two hours, a total of 6000 men and women would parade to celebrate France independence, known by foreigners as 'Bastille Day'. The name referred to the Bastille prison, a symbol of the absolutism of the time, which was attacked and won over by the Parisians in 1789. This day is commonly known as '14 Juillet' or 'Fête Nationale' among French is the equivalent of the American 'Fourth of July'.
Chloé Sullivan had confessed nothing more than to following Sydney. She had been released the next day after an Amnesty International lawyer showed up asking embarrassing questions. The higher ups didn't want to bother with small fry and hadn't pushed to keep her. Jack was seething as he knew she had the answer he sought, but he had not choice but to let her go and find his answers elsewhere.
"You know in October you'll have to sign up for the university," stated Irina, as they waited for the parade to start.
"Yeah, I thought about it and I don't really know what to major in. I mean, it's not like they have a degree in American literature here."
"No they probably don't, but you could major in English."
"Major in English? What would it give me?"
"You could teach English. I looked it up in the internet when you choose France. I wanted to make sure you could have a proper degree."
"And?"
"…and you can take a Licence, which lasts three years, or a Master, which is five. A doctorate lasts eight years and it would allow you to teach English in university."
"Like you did? That sounds great," replied Sydney, relieved not to have to worry about what to do.
"I thought so too. Registrations have already started, but they're open till September. Class begins in October. In Paris, there are prestigious universities but the degree is the same, from whatever school you graduate. Of course, you'll have to start everything from the beginning."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't even get my first year at UCLA."
Irina could hear the regret in her voice and felt guilty. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to drag her daughter with her. Maybe she should have left her be and not contacted her again after she had brought her back to the States. Looking at her daughter, she knew she couldn't have just walked away from her without ever looking back.
"Mom?"
"Hummm?" Irina was pulled out of her morose thoughts by Sydney tugging at her sleeve.
"Where did you go?" Sydney asked, smiling.
"I'm right here Sweetheart, I'm right here." She kissed Sydney's forehead. "It's starting," she said as she spotted the cavaliers of the 'Garde Républicaine' and their horses. They had departed from the 'Place de l'Etoile' where a huge French flag had been hung under the 'Arc de Triomphe'. Soon they entered the 2 kilometres long 'Avenue des Champs Elysées' and passed Irina and Sydney and continued to the 'Place de la Concorde'. They were followed by other army corps, each group clearly separated from one another.
Francie had been interrogated by Jack Bristow. It was not a pleasant experience. She had kept lying through her teeth all along, and they both knew it. She had denied everything he threw at her, that she knew whom she had left with, and that she had helped her cover her tracks…Like with Chloé Sullivan, he was powerless.
Jack had asked question after question, to no avail. "I know you're hiding something from me, Miss Calfo, and I want to know what it is." He couldn't hold it anymore. He lost control over his temper, worried sick about Sydney. There was nothing he could have done to prevent Irina from taking back her daughter. She was smart; the thirteen years she had spent with him, right under the nose of the CIA, proved it.
What if she decided to bring Sydney into their business? That was Jack's greatest fear. That Sydney would turn out like her mother. He had prepared himself as best as he could for the eventuality. He had distanced himself from her since the very beginning of his life as a single father, as a widower, as a suspected traitor. It had hurt him, but it was for the best. If she ever turned on him, he wouldn't be hurt. He had reasoned this by logic, because that's the way Jack Bristow worked…with logic and planning ahead. It had saved him and his fellow agents countless times.
His thoughts brought memories along with them. The CIA report on his wife's 'accident' and her subsequent death had been very clear. Laura Bristow, aka Irina Derevko, was dead, but he knew otherwise. He had learned the truth a few years after the accident. As soon as he had realised it, he had tried to forget it, and had succeeded, until Chloé Sullivan mentioned the Russian accent of the woman who hired her.
Back in the 90's, he hadn't told anyone what he knew. Why bother? It would only have caused him more trouble. The CIA would have worried he would try to make contact with his wife or something.
He knew someday she would come back for her daughter. What mother wouldn't? However, as the years passed, as Sydney grew older, he thought Russia had dulled her mother's instinct and that they, both he and Sydney, were safe from her. Sydney turning eighteen was a relief for him. It meant she was 'out of the woods'. Why would Irina be interested in her 18 years old daughter? It was too late to mould her into a Russian agent.
So why did she take Sydney now? Why go to such great lengths, why come to the States and take the risk to be arrested by the CIA? If the agency was powerless in France or foreign countries, it certainly wasn't on its own soil. The crimes she committed were over ten years old and she wasn't on any 'shoot to kill' list, but she would still go to jail if they got their hands on her.
Just like Irina, though he didn't know it, he had made one mistake in his planning. One miscalculation had left him two steps behind his wife…the human factor. It was her love for her daughter. He had ignored this parameter and had allowed Derevko to take his daughter a second time. He had no doubt she was responsible for Sydney's kidnapping. It seemed so long ago now. He would have to ask her about that, before killing her. He wasn't here on official business, but the CIA wouldn't mind. Actually, they would never know. No one would ever know.
Still, would he dare? Would he have the courage to end her life? She had been his companion for thirteen years, his wife for eleven, and the mother of his child. She had done his laundry, helped him choose his ties, cooked him his favourite meals for years. She had made love to him. He was startled out of his thoughts at the memory of the countless times they had. The thought of her loving anyone made him sick. It wasn't love, never was. It was just sex. Lust had led to Sydney’s existence.
That's the only thing he was grateful for, his daughter, his baby girl. It was hard, sometimes, often, to look at her. She looked so much like her mother. Any stranger could tell. She had inherited her mother's looks. Thinking of his daughter brought Jack on track. He needed to figure out what was Derevko's goal.
She must have an ulterior motive, but what? Why take their daughter to Paris? To hurt him? That must be it. The explanation didn't really convince him. Why now? It was too late, surely she knew Sydney and him weren't close, bordering on estranged. Sydney willingly leaving with Irina certainly stung, but her mother had probably threatened her never to see her again if she didn't come. Jack could understand his daughter's desire to know Irina.
His assumption was not very exact, though Irina never meant it as a threat. Unsure whether Sydney wanted her in her life or not, she had merely offered to get out of it forever, if Sydney wished so.
From their place, Sydney and Irina could see the troops arriving from up the street, slowly march down until they passed them.
Forming a tight cube of equal number in rows and columns, the men and women were walking in synch, lifting arms and legs at the same rhythm. They were preceded by their superior officers. Some of the leaders were carrying banners announcing who they were: army corps, company name, and number…All of the people parading were carrying swords or automatic rifles in a different fashion depending on which corps they belonged to. The officers walking in front occasionally raised their swords high in front of them. The jeeps, cars, tanks, military trucks, bikes, and horses were progressing in line or in specific formation.
All personal had put on their ceremonial uniform, with coloured pants and hats. The Marine Nationale (Navy) was especially distinguishable amongst the uniformed men. With them were parading the Armée de Terre (Army), Armée de l'Air (Air Force), Légion Etrangère (Foreign Legion), Garde Républicaine (National Guard), CRS (stands for Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité, understand 'riot squads') and Gendarmerie Nationale. Among them were the Sapeurs Pompiers de Paris (Paris' fire-fighters). Composed of both military and civilians personal, they are considered the elite of French fire-fighters.
--- Sapeurs-Pompiers
Sydney didn't get the difference between the 'Police Nationale' and the 'Gendarmerie Nationale', beside that they were driving different coloured vehicles. Irina wasn't too sure about that either, but assumed the Police was for the big cities and the Gendarmerie for the little cities. She heard someone in the crowd mention that the Gendarmerie was a military corps while the Police wasn't. It meant that both didn't obey the same rules or the same people.
--- Police Nationale
--- Gendarmerie Nationale
After the planes and helicopters had flown over the area in formation the 'Patrouille de France' (aerial French Patrol) made a demonstration. They were in the most important official ceremonies and their classic trick was to do figures in the sky while releasing coloured smoke representing the country's flag.
--- French Patrol performing above the 'Arc de Triomphe'
National TV broadcast the whole event from beginning to end on three out of six main TV channels. They showed the parade, the personalities, the crowded streets, and spectators and even the people watching from their homes,
Sydney and Irina enjoyed themselves and went home to eat lunch. They would go back to the Eiffel Tower for the evening fireworks.
He had found her! He knew where they were. An analyst working at the Rotunda had come to see him with a tape. Annoyed, Jack had pretended to pay attention while checking his email account. The man was babbling about how he had recorded a French ceremony broadcast on TF1, a French channel he received at his home by satellite. A young woman had caught his eye and Jack apparently needed to see it.
Jack glanced at the screen as the young man stopped the tape on the right frame and enhanced it. The camera was sweeping through the ranks of spectators; it had only lasted a second, but he could recognize his daughter anywhere. Sydney. He had found her! He had his moment of luck, finally. She was wearing a tee shirt and had her hair in a ponytail. She was squinting at something she saw because of the sun. The crowd was thick; numerous men and women surrounded Sydney. Irina was probably among them but Jack couldn't tell where due to the poor quality of the picture and his lack of knowledge on her appearance. In addition, the sun had prompted many people to wear caps and sunglasses. It was a wonder how the analyst had spotted his daughter. Then again, he was an analyst. When it was over, Jack would make sure to have him promoted.
Now he was on his way to Paris, but then what? What to say when he got there? What was he supposed to do? He couldn't bring the CIA into that. Irina Derevko was a Russian citizen, working for the SVR. She was wanted in the US for espionage and for killing twelve CIA agents some fifteen years ago. That didn't warrant an international warrant. Plus, it was embarrassing for the CIA to ask anyone to help them bring in a Russian spy from the Cold War who had fooled them all and had stolen from one of their own and killed right under their nose.
Without a warrant, French authorities wouldn't help bring her in. Even the DGSE (Direction Générale de la Sécurité Exterieure), the French secret services agency, wouldn’t do it under the table, as a favour to their American colleagues. Since 9/11 and the war in Iraq, international relations had shifted. Even the most secret governmental agencies over the world were avoiding being friendly with each other. It was business, nothing more, nothing less. No favours Jack were owed could help him in this mess.
Discreetly entering France with a black-ops team was out of the question. If they were caught, the French would be furious and so would Washington. It would further jeopardize the relationships between the two countries and even Irina Derevko was not worth the risk.
It left it up to him. He was on his own. What would he do when he got there? His superiors had specifically told him not to go near Derevko. Their daughter had left America willingly it seemed and she was over 18 so there was nothing anyone could do. Langley had granted him three weeks of vacation and wanted nothing to do with him during his time off. As a father, he had a shot, and he was going to take it. He doubted Sydney had thought it through. How could she leave him for her psychopathic mother she hadn't seen in twelve years was beyond him. He was going to bring her back to her senses, and to Los Angeles, even if he had to drag her by the hair. As for Laura…Irina, he hadn't decided on the issue yet. He would think of a plan when he would land in Roissy Charles De Gaulle airport.
The clerk at Avis handed him the keys of a Mercedes. He wasn't particularly fond of those powerful, fast going cars but knew to appreciate their efficiency. The little monster would help him ditch – or catch up – with any car if he were to engage in a hot pursuit.
Within two hours, he had made contact with Julien Protois, an old friend residing in Paris. The man sitting in the passenger seat directed him to the spot where Irina and Sydney had been standing two days earlier for the cerebration of July 14. If Jack weren’t so sick at the prospect at seeing his wife in the flesh, even from a distance, he would have noted the irony of the situation.
Jack recognised the building in front of which Irina and Sydney were standing when he saw them on national TV. His contact explained that for security reasons, it was very hard to come to the ceremony by car so the people he was looking for had probably taken the metro. Jack agreed with him and they went to the nearest station where they found a control post. Showing his Police card, he asked in perfect French to see the tapes of the cameras inside and outside the 'George V station', from where Irina and Sydney had probably come. The security agent grimaced, arguing that it would take forever to find someone on those tapes because of the abundance of people who had taken the metro that day. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, he said.
The picture was grainy and Jack complained about it. The security agent explained that the cameras were meant to discourage aggressive behaviour, hence them being placed in plain sight. They were not supposed to be sneaky or able to capture every little thing in its view without being thought of as spying on its citizens. Jack huffed and made him forward the tape to 9h00, a little before the parade began. He spotted his daughter exiting the station, accompanied by and older looking woman. He was right. From there, he found the train they had came in and traced back their path.
They had exited the train at 'Luxembourg station' and had gone toward the exit, not to another train, so that's where they must be living. He grabbed a map and traced a circle around Luxembourg station extending to the surrounding stations. Sydney and Irina were somewhere in that circle.
The heat was really starting to get annoying in the French capital. Sydney like Irina found it unpleasant. The air was dry and the sun was hard. The high number of cars circulating in Paris wasn't helping matters. They had decided to spend their 'vacation' in the west of France, the best choice where the weather was concerned. There was wind, beach, and sun. Sydney had wanted to go south, on the worldly known 'Cote d'Azur', in Cannes. Irina had refused because it was an insane idea: in August, the region was overcrowded, the streets and the beaches impracticable.
So they had settled for the most practicable and enjoyable choice: Britain, at the western point of France. They would go by car. One day, Irina had just come home with her very own BMW. She had explained it by getting tired of getting from place to place by cabs or trains and needed her independence. Sydney didn't care much because Irina wouldn't let her drive the car. Too powerful, she had said, the Parisian traffic was not for a beginner, she said. What a typical mother she could be sometimes, Sydney thought.
In two days, they would be away from the madness of the French capital. When they had gone to Nancy, they had mostly spent their time at Elena's without doing much sight seeing. Sydney was eager to discover another region of France, but she hoped she wouldn't get bored. She had packed ten books for the trip. Her mother was not happy about her habit of reading relentlessly. Irina felt Sydney should go out more and try to make some friends. Sydney had snorted and rolled her eyes, saying she would have all the time to make friends once she was at university.
A circle. That was all he had to go on. A circle on a map. They had probably new identities, which meant new names, new date of birth…he had no personal information on either his daughter or his wife. Nothing to track them down to a more precise location than a four street radius. Paris was such a big city; he couldn't just stand on the sidewalk and look around him in hopes of spotting them.
What if Irina saw the broadcast? The thought was pushed aside immediately. The parade had lasted two hours, and the chance that the two seconds sequence in which Sydney appeared would be shown in the news was close to none. Still, if Irina knew Sydney had been spotted on camera, or even that cameras were filming the crowd, she would probably flee the country. She would take her daughter and make her change her appearance and he would never see either of them again. He had to find them quickly.
Irina’s cell phone rang. One the other end of the line, one of her contacts informed her of the arrival of an eminent CIA agent in Paris. The agent was none other than Jack Bristow.
TBC
pasta_sauce385
Cadet
Interesting update....lots of extra information...but nice work!
Nadia Weiss
Cadet
GReat story i love it please pm me. and please dont let jack take back sydney. please let her stay whit her mother
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Eyghon
Author's notes: Thanks to Lenafan for the beta reading and to 'WildC' for telling me a long time ago how to put pictures in fics. Speaking of which, I meant to show you what a French suburb looks like sooner, in Chapter 17, but I couldn't find any pictures on the internet (like I did for '14th of July'). Note that a house in or near Paris is often older, bigger, or more closed up than a house in Province (It is what the whole country outside of the capital is called). The information below does not necessarily apply to the whole of France because each region has its specificities (climate, history, administrative requirements, style of houses…)
A typical French house is surrounded by the garden, and closed up to the outside by bushes all around (#2, the house top left corner) with a gate in the front (#1, opened in the picture). A driveway leads to the house (#1) and in the back there is a concrete yard where you can eat outside from May to September. Flowers hanging from the windows are common occurrence (#1) and French are also big on fruit tree (#2, bottom left corner) like cherry tree, red currant bush, raspberry cane, strawberry plant… and kitchen garden, full of tomatoes, radishes, carrots…
Our mailboxes are quite ugly compared to those in 'Desperate housewives' or 'Gilmore girls' but they are always half hidden in bushes (#1, right). The tiny yellow spot you can see (#1, left) is the equivalent of the big blue 'US mail' mailboxes you can find in the streets.
Chapter 19: Confrontation
Jack was sitting in air-conditioned hotel room, thinking. He needed to figure out how to find Irina and Sydney. One could say he didn't even have an idea of who he was looking for. He had no names, no recent picture, nothing. Without a paper trail, there was no way he could get their address. Maybe in the beginning of the school year, Sydney would enroll in the university, but until then, there was nothing he could do.
Suddenly it clicked. Sydney. Sydney loved to read. She couldn’t go anywhere without a book with her. Maybe, just maybe, she had signed herself up in a library near where she lived, and maybe, just maybe, she had given her address. Why wouldn't she? Irina must think herself protected, and she certainly wouldn't stress Sydney by telling her not to give out her home address, under any circumstances. It was worth a shot.
Hanging up, Irina couldn't help but replay the last few days in her head. What had gone wrong? She must have made a mistake somewhere, otherwise the CIA would have never found her and Sydney. It was not her habit to question herself, but she knew there were no other explanations for Jack being here. She had prepared everything on her own and the few people indirectly involved in her moving to France didn't know whom they worked for or why exactly. The contact who had just called her was merely watching the Parisian international airport for a number of known targets she gave him. He had no idea she was in Paris herself.
Obviously, she needed to leave the city immediately, but didn't know what to tell Sydney. Her daughter had finally accepted the idea of living in Paris, away from her other life, her 'American life'. She had finally settled in her room. She left it bare for many weeks before admitting to herself that it would be her room from now on. She had started to refer to the apartment as 'home', and not as 'the apartment' like she did for weeks upon their arrival.
Irina couldn't just yank her out of her life again and tell her that it's because her father was after them. It was an endless circle; Jack had found them once and he would do so again and again until he had them. Irina didn't want a life on the run for her daughter no more than she did for herself. She was happy with the new lifestyle. She missed the action but spending time with Sydney, cooking for her, even their bantering was pleasant to her. She enjoyed it more than she thought she would.
She would talk for hours about herself and her childhood, and enjoyed sharing her experiences with her daughter, but the most thrilling thing was the teaching. One evening Irina had commented on how Sydney had defended herself against Nikolai and then Irina herself. She had shown pride and admiration and Sydney had blushed, explaining she had picked some moves from a boyfriend in high school. He had been taking martial art classes since he was ten and had shown her a few basic moves so she could defend herself. She was athletic and had taken a great interest in the body's capabilities and moves.
Irina had found herself showing off her abilities as a street fighter. Sydney had asked her mother to teach her. Irina had gladly accepted, happy to pass on one of her many talents to her daughter, without any ulterior motives. She was in excellent physical shape despite her life away from business. She had no further interest in training Sydney than to give her daughter the ability to defend against attack. Now, Irina needed to defend herself against Jack.
Eventually, Sydney would leave Irina. That was bound to happen one day or another. Sydney was eighteen going on nineteen; she couldn’t live with her mother indefinitely. Someday she would have to leave and make her own life, her own home. Irina wondered what she would do with herself then…maybe go back to business, but she still had time to think about it.
It was only a matter of time before Jack showed up at the apartment. She had left no traces behind indicating their precise location, but he would find a way to them, somehow. He always did. That was his job, among other things, to find people in hiding.
Irina needed time to think, to devise a plan, to decide where to go, what to tell her daughter. For now, she needed Jack Bristow off her back. She knocked on Sydney's bedroom door.
"Sydney?"
"I'm almost done packing; I'll just have to add the last necessities."
"Good! I need to run an errand. I won't be gone long. Do you need anything?"
"Uh…Yeah I could use some pens. But hey, I'll come with you. I meant to get out and get some fresh air anyway."
"Oh, no, sorry, I have other things to do. I don't want to drag you into my boring things. Take your rollers and go out."
"Oh, what do you have to do?"
"I want to drop by the convenience store to pick up a few things for the road and I have business at the post office. You don't want to stand in line with me for one hour on such a beautiful day I'm sure. It's going to take me around two hours. How does that sound?
"Good. I'll just go out for awhile and then fix of dinner with what we have here."
"Later, sweetheart." She kissed Sydney on the cheek and left the apartment, cell phone already on her ear.
From her bedroom window Sydney was observing as students were hurrying up the street to Henry IV high school. Sydney noticed the yellow flashing light of the underground parking garage was on, and soon heard honking, signalling pedestrians to watch out for an incoming vehicle. A grey coupe suddenly appeared, its motor roaring under the effort of climbing the steep alley. Sydney couldn't get a good look at the driver but recognised the licence plate. 4700 FOR 75. It was her mother's car and she would bet it was her mother behind the wheel.
The old lady sitting at the entrance desk of the library was rather uncooperative and quickly getting on Jack's nerve. French were very touchy on confidentiality. He had tried to bribe her with twenty euros and she had been offended. Finally he had to resort to waiting for her to put books in shelves to sneak into her computer.
He opened the inscription file and viewed them by date. There it was, two months before: 'Sydney Stevenson, Appt 12, 19 rue de l'Estrapade, 75005 Paris'. He had the address, now he just needed to devise a plan.
Irina was now a woman with a plan. She called Clément, the man who had told her about Jack arriving in Paris. He had been tailing her husband ever since he had set foot out of the airport. He told her the name of the hotel were Jack was staying and his room number.
Borrowing a maid's key, she let herself in. The room was empty, the bed made. The maid had just left. Irina wouldn't have to worry about hiding before Jack came home. Taking out the gun that never left her, she screwed a silencer on it. She hadn't used it in a while; the magazine was *full. She would have plenty of bullets.
Patiently, she waited, hidden in the walk in closet. The bathroom would have been more comfortable but such a logical choice. Jack would feel a presence in his room and would check the bathroom first. That's exactly what happened, thirty minutes later just when Irina was starting to worry she wouldn't make it back home in time. The door clicked shut behind him, masking the noise of a safety being released. He gently eased the bathroom door open and realised it was empty at the same time as he felt a cold object pressed against his neck.
"Hello Jack. Drop your gun in the bowl please."
Catching his breath, he obeyed. It's not as if he had any other choice. He lifted his hand without waiting for her to tell him to do so. He knew the drill. Now she was going to make him kneel and shoot him in the back of the head. Execution style. Professional job. Soon he understood he had misjudged her. Apparently, she wanted to do this 'Derevko style'. Whatever. The ending was the same for him. He felt dejected. He was so close to his goal…he should have known she wouldn't let herself approached so easily.
She cuffed his hands behind his back and made him sit on a chair. He wasn't going anywhere.
"You took my daughter," he spat out, scornful.
"I didn't take her. She came with me on her own free will."
"Yeah, just like when she disappeared from the mall parking garage."
"No. I…That was…It's complicated." Irina should have expected him to bring it up. He had been here no more than ten seconds and had already made her lose her self-confidence. The irony that she was giving him the same answer she had given Sydney all those months ago was not lost on her.
"Then make it easy for me."
"Like I told Sydney…"
"What did you tell Sydney?" He asked brusquely.
Her cell phone rang. She was thankful for the interruption but hesitated when she saw the number. It was Sydney, calling from the apartment. Irina picked up. "Hey sweetheart, what is it? Of course, it's no trouble. See you soon." She hung up and made another call, keeping her gun trained on Jack. "It's me. I need you to pick up a pack of 'Petit Ecolier' for me. It's biscuits, flavour milk chocolate." The phone went back in her pocket.
Jack watched her, mouth agape. "You didn't tell Sydney I was here, did you?"
"No I didn't. She left you, remember?"
"That's your version, and I don't believe a word out of your mouth. What did you tell her about yourself? Did you tell her why you married me? Did you tell her you kill people for a living?"
"She knows who I am. I made sure of that. I wanted her to be certain that she could live with me without regretting her decision of leaving America."
"Well don't you think she would at least want to see me after all those months?"
"No. She doesn't. She never asked about you, not once."
"I don't be…"
"I don't care what you believe or not. Here's what I know. I left her with you twelve years ago, thinking that you would take care of her. Instead, you turned your back on her. You left her to grow up by herself, and I loathe you for that. You only have what you deserve."
"And what about you? You kidnapped her! If she knew it was you she would…"
"She knows Jack, and she accepts me for what I am."
"What lies did you tell her exactly? That your leaving wasn't your fault?" Mocked Jack.
"No. I told her exactly how it happened. I told her I married you on the KGB's orders. I told her I left when they threatened to kill the both of you if I didn't obey their order to come back to Russia."
Jack snorted in disgust. Irina ignored the interruption and went on with her story. "A few months ago I discovered the SVR was planning on eliminating you. I suggested another course of action that would allow us to get our hands on intel dangerous to us and the CIA."
"The disk. So you're the one responsible for all of this. Not only did you play a part in Sydney's kidnapping, but you actually orchestrated it yourself! You're responsible for everything else that happened! Sydney's injuries, the gorram tape, me being shot…"
"Yes I did plan the operation, but I certainly didn't order Nikolai to torture Sydney. He took it upon himself to punish her for fighting him back. And your little stunt with Probulov didn't help her either. You provoked that. You defied him, you had to play smart-ass and he turned on her to give you a lesson. On my part I didn't know what was happening, they conveniently called me back for a meeting in Moscow! They tricked me and I hate myself for falling into their trap and not being there for her, but it was an accident!"
"It would have never happened if you hadn't kidnapped her in the first place!"
"I did it to save your life you moron! Didn't you listen to anything of what I said?!"
"Lies! All lies!"
"I wouldn't kidnap my own daughter for a stupid disk, I was trying to save you…"
"Save me! What do you care about me? You're about to kill me!"
"I'm not! I just wanted to talk to you! And you're right, I don't care about you, but I care about Sydney. I wanted to spare her the pain of losing you!"
"You keep me from seeing her! What's the difference?"
"She knows you're alive and she's happy with it. I'm telling you the truth Jack."
"The truth?! Don't you talk to me about truth! You lied to me! You…"
"This is not about you, Jack. This is about our daughter and her happiness."
"And what? You're going to tell me she's happy with you? You took her away from her home, from her friends, from her father, from me!"
"I took nothing from you. You had already lost it years ago, on your own. You lost her by your negligence. I didn't force her to do anything. She came with me willingly as the result of your failures as her father. You don’t deserve her. You had her for twelve years and wasted it all in the name of your job!"
"It's not just a job! And what about you? You left because of your job, worse, you came in the first place because of your job! You had Sydney because of your job!"
The accusation stung. Irina replied, furious, "don't you ever say that again. Don't you dare to accuse me of getting pregnant for the KGB! It's the one true thing between us. She was born out of love, not for the sake of our marriage or my job. I wanted her for us. Don't soil her like that."
"Out of love?" He laughed. "There was no love between you and me, Irina! There never was because you lied to me our whole marriage. You soiled her yourself even before she existed. You soiled her the first time you *h**ed yourself to me, Irina." He emphasized her name. It was the first time she heard him pronounce it.
She hit him, hard, again and again. "You bastard!" The chair fell back and broke, but she didn't notice, mad with fury. He wasn't moving anymore. His face was barely visible under the blood. Feeling a slight pang of guilt, she knelt by his side and checked his pulse. It was good. She dialled her contact's number and he knocked at the door ten minutes later.
Irina entered her car, two grocery bags in her arms. Her contact had done well. How surprised he had been when she had called him to give him a list of items to buy at the 'Intermarché' three streets down from her apartment. She couldn’t come home empty handed and wouldn't have time to both visit Jack and shop within the time frame she had told Sydney she would be back. Now the same contact was transporting Jack to a warehouse by the western train station. He would keep him there for forty-eight hours and release him. She ordered him to feed his prisoner but to not to talk to him or injure him.
"Mom?"
"Hey sweetheart, I got you your biscuits."
"Great, thanks!"
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah I was out for like one hour. I ran into other people in roller, they told me there's this big thing tomorrow. It's called 'Paris roller'. During the summer, every Friday night at 22h00 people in roller gather to do some rollerblading in the streets."
"In the streets? Isn't that dangerous?"
Sydney rolled her eyes. "No, it's not. It's organised with the city, there's a path to follow and all the streets on it are closed to cars. I thought I might go."
"That sounds great sweetheart. What time will you be home?"
"Well, I heard it's pretty long so I'll probably won't go all the way because I kind of suck but I think I'll stick around till midnight."
"Okay, well you can go but only if you take my cell phone with you so you can call here if you want me to pick you up."
Sydney chuckled, "okay, thanks, but just so you know, I'm eighteen so it's supposed to mean I don't need your permission to do anything."
"Oh yeah? Who said that?"
"I'm just joking, at least with you I can talk. Dad was always like 'No you will not go' and that was the extent of the discussion."
"Well I can be like that sometimes too. If you had asked me if you could go to a club with some perfect strangers you met today, I would have said no and it would have been the end of the discussion."
"Okay, noted. Will you drive me to the meeting point? It's at Montparnasse."
"Sure."
"Hey, did you carry those all the way from the store on your own?"
"Of course I did. It's not so heavy and I can handle it."
"Oh. Okay." Sydney had wanted to see if her mother would lie about taking the car and she had. Shopping and going to the post office couldn't have taken two hours, even if both places were crowded.
What was her mother hiding?
TBC
Eyghon
Author's notes: Thanks to Lenafan for the beta reading and to 'WildC' for telling me a long time ago how to put pictures in fics. Speaking of which, I meant to show you what a French suburb looks like sooner, in Chapter 17, but I couldn't find any pictures on the internet (like I did for '14th of July'). Note that a house in or near Paris is often older, bigger, or more closed up than a house in Province (It is what the whole country outside of the capital is called). The information below does not necessarily apply to the whole of France because each region has its specificities (climate, history, administrative requirements, style of houses…)
A typical French house is surrounded by the garden, and closed up to the outside by bushes all around (#2, the house top left corner) with a gate in the front (#1, opened in the picture). A driveway leads to the house (#1) and in the back there is a concrete yard where you can eat outside from May to September. Flowers hanging from the windows are common occurrence (#1) and French are also big on fruit tree (#2, bottom left corner) like cherry tree, red currant bush, raspberry cane, strawberry plant… and kitchen garden, full of tomatoes, radishes, carrots…
Our mailboxes are quite ugly compared to those in 'Desperate housewives' or 'Gilmore girls' but they are always half hidden in bushes (#1, right). The tiny yellow spot you can see (#1, left) is the equivalent of the big blue 'US mail' mailboxes you can find in the streets.
Chapter 19: Confrontation
Jack was sitting in air-conditioned hotel room, thinking. He needed to figure out how to find Irina and Sydney. One could say he didn't even have an idea of who he was looking for. He had no names, no recent picture, nothing. Without a paper trail, there was no way he could get their address. Maybe in the beginning of the school year, Sydney would enroll in the university, but until then, there was nothing he could do.
Suddenly it clicked. Sydney. Sydney loved to read. She couldn’t go anywhere without a book with her. Maybe, just maybe, she had signed herself up in a library near where she lived, and maybe, just maybe, she had given her address. Why wouldn't she? Irina must think herself protected, and she certainly wouldn't stress Sydney by telling her not to give out her home address, under any circumstances. It was worth a shot.
Hanging up, Irina couldn't help but replay the last few days in her head. What had gone wrong? She must have made a mistake somewhere, otherwise the CIA would have never found her and Sydney. It was not her habit to question herself, but she knew there were no other explanations for Jack being here. She had prepared everything on her own and the few people indirectly involved in her moving to France didn't know whom they worked for or why exactly. The contact who had just called her was merely watching the Parisian international airport for a number of known targets she gave him. He had no idea she was in Paris herself.
Obviously, she needed to leave the city immediately, but didn't know what to tell Sydney. Her daughter had finally accepted the idea of living in Paris, away from her other life, her 'American life'. She had finally settled in her room. She left it bare for many weeks before admitting to herself that it would be her room from now on. She had started to refer to the apartment as 'home', and not as 'the apartment' like she did for weeks upon their arrival.
Irina couldn't just yank her out of her life again and tell her that it's because her father was after them. It was an endless circle; Jack had found them once and he would do so again and again until he had them. Irina didn't want a life on the run for her daughter no more than she did for herself. She was happy with the new lifestyle. She missed the action but spending time with Sydney, cooking for her, even their bantering was pleasant to her. She enjoyed it more than she thought she would.
She would talk for hours about herself and her childhood, and enjoyed sharing her experiences with her daughter, but the most thrilling thing was the teaching. One evening Irina had commented on how Sydney had defended herself against Nikolai and then Irina herself. She had shown pride and admiration and Sydney had blushed, explaining she had picked some moves from a boyfriend in high school. He had been taking martial art classes since he was ten and had shown her a few basic moves so she could defend herself. She was athletic and had taken a great interest in the body's capabilities and moves.
Irina had found herself showing off her abilities as a street fighter. Sydney had asked her mother to teach her. Irina had gladly accepted, happy to pass on one of her many talents to her daughter, without any ulterior motives. She was in excellent physical shape despite her life away from business. She had no further interest in training Sydney than to give her daughter the ability to defend against attack. Now, Irina needed to defend herself against Jack.
Eventually, Sydney would leave Irina. That was bound to happen one day or another. Sydney was eighteen going on nineteen; she couldn’t live with her mother indefinitely. Someday she would have to leave and make her own life, her own home. Irina wondered what she would do with herself then…maybe go back to business, but she still had time to think about it.
It was only a matter of time before Jack showed up at the apartment. She had left no traces behind indicating their precise location, but he would find a way to them, somehow. He always did. That was his job, among other things, to find people in hiding.
Irina needed time to think, to devise a plan, to decide where to go, what to tell her daughter. For now, she needed Jack Bristow off her back. She knocked on Sydney's bedroom door.
"Sydney?"
"I'm almost done packing; I'll just have to add the last necessities."
"Good! I need to run an errand. I won't be gone long. Do you need anything?"
"Uh…Yeah I could use some pens. But hey, I'll come with you. I meant to get out and get some fresh air anyway."
"Oh, no, sorry, I have other things to do. I don't want to drag you into my boring things. Take your rollers and go out."
"Oh, what do you have to do?"
"I want to drop by the convenience store to pick up a few things for the road and I have business at the post office. You don't want to stand in line with me for one hour on such a beautiful day I'm sure. It's going to take me around two hours. How does that sound?
"Good. I'll just go out for awhile and then fix of dinner with what we have here."
"Later, sweetheart." She kissed Sydney on the cheek and left the apartment, cell phone already on her ear.
From her bedroom window Sydney was observing as students were hurrying up the street to Henry IV high school. Sydney noticed the yellow flashing light of the underground parking garage was on, and soon heard honking, signalling pedestrians to watch out for an incoming vehicle. A grey coupe suddenly appeared, its motor roaring under the effort of climbing the steep alley. Sydney couldn't get a good look at the driver but recognised the licence plate. 4700 FOR 75. It was her mother's car and she would bet it was her mother behind the wheel.
The old lady sitting at the entrance desk of the library was rather uncooperative and quickly getting on Jack's nerve. French were very touchy on confidentiality. He had tried to bribe her with twenty euros and she had been offended. Finally he had to resort to waiting for her to put books in shelves to sneak into her computer.
He opened the inscription file and viewed them by date. There it was, two months before: 'Sydney Stevenson, Appt 12, 19 rue de l'Estrapade, 75005 Paris'. He had the address, now he just needed to devise a plan.
Irina was now a woman with a plan. She called Clément, the man who had told her about Jack arriving in Paris. He had been tailing her husband ever since he had set foot out of the airport. He told her the name of the hotel were Jack was staying and his room number.
Borrowing a maid's key, she let herself in. The room was empty, the bed made. The maid had just left. Irina wouldn't have to worry about hiding before Jack came home. Taking out the gun that never left her, she screwed a silencer on it. She hadn't used it in a while; the magazine was *full. She would have plenty of bullets.
Patiently, she waited, hidden in the walk in closet. The bathroom would have been more comfortable but such a logical choice. Jack would feel a presence in his room and would check the bathroom first. That's exactly what happened, thirty minutes later just when Irina was starting to worry she wouldn't make it back home in time. The door clicked shut behind him, masking the noise of a safety being released. He gently eased the bathroom door open and realised it was empty at the same time as he felt a cold object pressed against his neck.
"Hello Jack. Drop your gun in the bowl please."
Catching his breath, he obeyed. It's not as if he had any other choice. He lifted his hand without waiting for her to tell him to do so. He knew the drill. Now she was going to make him kneel and shoot him in the back of the head. Execution style. Professional job. Soon he understood he had misjudged her. Apparently, she wanted to do this 'Derevko style'. Whatever. The ending was the same for him. He felt dejected. He was so close to his goal…he should have known she wouldn't let herself approached so easily.
She cuffed his hands behind his back and made him sit on a chair. He wasn't going anywhere.
"You took my daughter," he spat out, scornful.
"I didn't take her. She came with me on her own free will."
"Yeah, just like when she disappeared from the mall parking garage."
"No. I…That was…It's complicated." Irina should have expected him to bring it up. He had been here no more than ten seconds and had already made her lose her self-confidence. The irony that she was giving him the same answer she had given Sydney all those months ago was not lost on her.
"Then make it easy for me."
"Like I told Sydney…"
"What did you tell Sydney?" He asked brusquely.
Her cell phone rang. She was thankful for the interruption but hesitated when she saw the number. It was Sydney, calling from the apartment. Irina picked up. "Hey sweetheart, what is it? Of course, it's no trouble. See you soon." She hung up and made another call, keeping her gun trained on Jack. "It's me. I need you to pick up a pack of 'Petit Ecolier' for me. It's biscuits, flavour milk chocolate." The phone went back in her pocket.
Jack watched her, mouth agape. "You didn't tell Sydney I was here, did you?"
"No I didn't. She left you, remember?"
"That's your version, and I don't believe a word out of your mouth. What did you tell her about yourself? Did you tell her why you married me? Did you tell her you kill people for a living?"
"She knows who I am. I made sure of that. I wanted her to be certain that she could live with me without regretting her decision of leaving America."
"Well don't you think she would at least want to see me after all those months?"
"No. She doesn't. She never asked about you, not once."
"I don't be…"
"I don't care what you believe or not. Here's what I know. I left her with you twelve years ago, thinking that you would take care of her. Instead, you turned your back on her. You left her to grow up by herself, and I loathe you for that. You only have what you deserve."
"And what about you? You kidnapped her! If she knew it was you she would…"
"She knows Jack, and she accepts me for what I am."
"What lies did you tell her exactly? That your leaving wasn't your fault?" Mocked Jack.
"No. I told her exactly how it happened. I told her I married you on the KGB's orders. I told her I left when they threatened to kill the both of you if I didn't obey their order to come back to Russia."
Jack snorted in disgust. Irina ignored the interruption and went on with her story. "A few months ago I discovered the SVR was planning on eliminating you. I suggested another course of action that would allow us to get our hands on intel dangerous to us and the CIA."
"The disk. So you're the one responsible for all of this. Not only did you play a part in Sydney's kidnapping, but you actually orchestrated it yourself! You're responsible for everything else that happened! Sydney's injuries, the gorram tape, me being shot…"
"Yes I did plan the operation, but I certainly didn't order Nikolai to torture Sydney. He took it upon himself to punish her for fighting him back. And your little stunt with Probulov didn't help her either. You provoked that. You defied him, you had to play smart-ass and he turned on her to give you a lesson. On my part I didn't know what was happening, they conveniently called me back for a meeting in Moscow! They tricked me and I hate myself for falling into their trap and not being there for her, but it was an accident!"
"It would have never happened if you hadn't kidnapped her in the first place!"
"I did it to save your life you moron! Didn't you listen to anything of what I said?!"
"Lies! All lies!"
"I wouldn't kidnap my own daughter for a stupid disk, I was trying to save you…"
"Save me! What do you care about me? You're about to kill me!"
"I'm not! I just wanted to talk to you! And you're right, I don't care about you, but I care about Sydney. I wanted to spare her the pain of losing you!"
"You keep me from seeing her! What's the difference?"
"She knows you're alive and she's happy with it. I'm telling you the truth Jack."
"The truth?! Don't you talk to me about truth! You lied to me! You…"
"This is not about you, Jack. This is about our daughter and her happiness."
"And what? You're going to tell me she's happy with you? You took her away from her home, from her friends, from her father, from me!"
"I took nothing from you. You had already lost it years ago, on your own. You lost her by your negligence. I didn't force her to do anything. She came with me willingly as the result of your failures as her father. You don’t deserve her. You had her for twelve years and wasted it all in the name of your job!"
"It's not just a job! And what about you? You left because of your job, worse, you came in the first place because of your job! You had Sydney because of your job!"
The accusation stung. Irina replied, furious, "don't you ever say that again. Don't you dare to accuse me of getting pregnant for the KGB! It's the one true thing between us. She was born out of love, not for the sake of our marriage or my job. I wanted her for us. Don't soil her like that."
"Out of love?" He laughed. "There was no love between you and me, Irina! There never was because you lied to me our whole marriage. You soiled her yourself even before she existed. You soiled her the first time you *h**ed yourself to me, Irina." He emphasized her name. It was the first time she heard him pronounce it.
She hit him, hard, again and again. "You bastard!" The chair fell back and broke, but she didn't notice, mad with fury. He wasn't moving anymore. His face was barely visible under the blood. Feeling a slight pang of guilt, she knelt by his side and checked his pulse. It was good. She dialled her contact's number and he knocked at the door ten minutes later.
Irina entered her car, two grocery bags in her arms. Her contact had done well. How surprised he had been when she had called him to give him a list of items to buy at the 'Intermarché' three streets down from her apartment. She couldn’t come home empty handed and wouldn't have time to both visit Jack and shop within the time frame she had told Sydney she would be back. Now the same contact was transporting Jack to a warehouse by the western train station. He would keep him there for forty-eight hours and release him. She ordered him to feed his prisoner but to not to talk to him or injure him.
"Mom?"
"Hey sweetheart, I got you your biscuits."
"Great, thanks!"
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah I was out for like one hour. I ran into other people in roller, they told me there's this big thing tomorrow. It's called 'Paris roller'. During the summer, every Friday night at 22h00 people in roller gather to do some rollerblading in the streets."
"In the streets? Isn't that dangerous?"
Sydney rolled her eyes. "No, it's not. It's organised with the city, there's a path to follow and all the streets on it are closed to cars. I thought I might go."
"That sounds great sweetheart. What time will you be home?"
"Well, I heard it's pretty long so I'll probably won't go all the way because I kind of suck but I think I'll stick around till midnight."
"Okay, well you can go but only if you take my cell phone with you so you can call here if you want me to pick you up."
Sydney chuckled, "okay, thanks, but just so you know, I'm eighteen so it's supposed to mean I don't need your permission to do anything."
"Oh yeah? Who said that?"
"I'm just joking, at least with you I can talk. Dad was always like 'No you will not go' and that was the extent of the discussion."
"Well I can be like that sometimes too. If you had asked me if you could go to a club with some perfect strangers you met today, I would have said no and it would have been the end of the discussion."
"Okay, noted. Will you drive me to the meeting point? It's at Montparnasse."
"Sure."
"Hey, did you carry those all the way from the store on your own?"
"Of course I did. It's not so heavy and I can handle it."
"Oh. Okay." Sydney had wanted to see if her mother would lie about taking the car and she had. Shopping and going to the post office couldn't have taken two hours, even if both places were crowded.
What was her mother hiding?
TBC
Alias=Life
Cadet
I just finished reading the whole thing, and this fic is amazing! Great job, and keep it up!
Nadia Weiss
Cadet
Thanks a lot for the pm. im in a camp now so sorry that i dont have sad somthig before
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
Eyghon
Author’s notes: I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and that you will take the time to review. Even a few words would be nice. Many thanks to Lenafan who helped out a lot in the writing of this chapter.
Chapter 20: A level of maturity
"Our next stop is Germany, but so far, France is where we had the most fun," explained Katy, an American tourist Sydney met at Montparnasse while waiting for the pack to leave. They had been skating side by side for one hour with Katy's friends Kevin and JT. Her mother's cell phone ring interrupted the conversation.
"Sorry, I have to take that."
"Okay, see you!" Her new American friends skated away as she put the phone to her ear.
"Yes?" She asked, expecting her mother to be checking on her. Instead, a man's voice greeted her.
"Irina? It's me. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. He escaped!"
"Who…"
"The CIA agent! Jack Bristow!"
Sydney froze, gulping.
"Irina? I know you're mad, but I swear it was an accident!"
"Hey fais gaffe!" Yelled a young blonde guy as he practically slammed into Sydney who had slowly stopped skating and came to a complete halt. Mouth gaping, she slowly clicked the phone shut. Her head was spinning. She could feel nausea going up into her throat. She moved away from the continuous thread of incoming roller skaters and settled against a wall. A few minutes later, she called Irina and wanted to be picked up.
Less than ten minutes later, the familiar BMW pulled up and Sydney climbed in before her mother could get out.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure? You seem…distracted. Did something happen? Did you fall?"
Sydney could feel her mother's anxious gaze run over her body, checking for injuries. "I'm fine Mom. I was just thinking. About Dad. I wonder how he's doing, you know?" Sydney watched carefully for her mother's reaction at the mention of Jack but there was none. "Do you have news about him?"
"No. My guess is that he's looking for us and has questioned your friend Francie but I don't know where he stands precisely. Why the sudden interest in him?"
"I don't know. It's been so long. I was just curious I guess."
Irina nodded pensively.
Clément was pacing on the sidewalk, undecided as to what his next move should be. His cell in hand, he mentally explored his possible courses of action. He could call Irina back, who had hung up quite abruptly. She was mad at him for his failure and he knew there would be consequences. She must have sent someone after Bristow already but wouldn't let Clément walk away un-scathed. She would make an example out of him. One of her goons, a guy just like him, was probably on his way, unless she was coming for him herself. The thought made him turn pale. Whether it was her or one of her men, he wasn't going to stick around to be tortured or killed.
He threw his phone in a nearby trashcan and jogged across the street where he entered the train station. He had to run now while he still could. Maybe his boss wasn't furious enough to bother sending someone after him on the other end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of France unseen and settle in another country, undetected by her men and maybe he would live to see another day.
As soon as they were out the elevator, Sydney bolted to her room without a word. Irina shrugged it off and prepared herself for bed. She knew she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. She had too much on her mind.
No one spotted Jack yet at either Roissy CDG or in LAX, which meant he was still in Paris, tracking Irina. It was only a question of time before he found them. The time he had spent in her company and Clément's had only slowed his search. He would not give up. On the contrary, his encounter with his wife would only strengthen his resolve.
It was a matter of days before he showed up at the apartment, if he didn't already know where to find them. Sydney and Irina could never come back to Paris whether Jack found them or not, and that was something Irina wasn't looking forward to explaining.
They were scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow, but Irina had the feeling things wouldn't go as planned.
The next day, Sydney was sprawled on her bed, reading 'Voici', a French trash magazine about the life of French and mostly international stars. The magazine was often sued because of pictures taken in violation of French privacy laws. It wasn't unusual for the cover to display a large black and white notice of apology detailing the offence committed, the plaintiff, and the fee paid by the magazine.
Her mother had mocked her when she had 'busted' Sydney reading it a few weeks back. Sydney had replied that it was more interesting than 'Business Week', which her mother religiously read every Saturday. In truth, for Sydney, 'Voici' was some sort of link back to the US, as the American actors and singers were the main subject of the articles.
Irina knocked and waited for Sydney’s answer to enter.
"Yeah?"
"If I ask you a question, will you answer truthfully?" Irina stepped inside the room.
"It depends. Do you answer truthfully when I ask you things?"
Irina frowned. "Things?"
"I know you didn't go shopping yesterday." It was an offer for Irina to tell the truth by herself, without Sydney having to tell her every thing she knew. Whether Irina took it, would determine the rest of their conversation but mostly Sydney's relationship to her mother in the near future.
Irina didn't physically react to the news, but analysed the situation. Clément must have not called on the secured line, the fool. Sydney had known Irina had captured Jack even before she went to fetch her. Hell, it explained her behaviour in the car.
"I see. What do you want to know?"
She didn't ask how Sydney knew, a good point for her. "Your cell rang while I was at the roller night. It was a guy saying that Dad had escaped. Why did you kidnap him?"
"Him being in Paris meant that he was close to finding us. I couldn't allow that now."
"When did he arrive in Paris?"
"Yesterday." She was fine with playing twenty questions. The last thing she wanted was to upset Sydney further by denying her the truth.
"He was really looking for me?"
"Us. He wants you back in the States and me in a prison cell or on death row.”
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. Probably on his way here, it depends on how good he is in extracting clues," she replied flatly, referring to Jack's ability to find pieces of information, which, put together, would lead him straight to his wife's hideout. There were always clues left behind, even if no one was aware of it. You just have to know where to look, and Jack knew because he knew his wife and daughter's habits.
"Is he okay?"
"I didn't hurt him too badly if that's what you're asking." Irina chose honesty for her answer. There was no need to hide her fight with Jack. It was nothing compared to what she had tried to do. Keep Jack away from them at all costs.
"Too badly?" asked Sydney, visibly worried.
"Surely you know that it is normal for a husband and a wife to fight about things…" Irina lifted her hands, trying to quell her daughter's anger at her patronizing tone. "My apologies. It's private."
"There's no such thing as privacy at this point, Mother."
"Your father wouldn't want me to tell you."
"So? I want the truth or I walk out of here and you will never see me again." Sydney sounded determined to do as she said. Irina gave in.
"He accused me of…several things that I didn't take well. I may have hit him a couple of times."
Sydney digested the information, but her curiosity heightened at the intentional vagueness of her mother's statement. She knew her father's ways. He could be harsh in the things he said. If he had managed to upset her mother to the point that she had lost her self-control, it must have been nasty. "What did he tell you that upset you so much? Please Mom, you can tell me."
After a moment’s hesitation, Irina started speaking. "He basically called me a *h**e."
Sydney blinked. "That's it?" Keeping her eyes on her mother, she pushed. "There's something else. Come on, don't make me beg," she added, teasingly. Her pain and anger was forgotten the moment she saw her mother's eyes, hurt, and so full of pain.
"First, I want to say that it is untrue and that he knew it as much as I do. He just said those things to get to me. You can't believe a word of what he said."
"I know he can be quite…malicious when he's angry at you. I've been in your place before. Don't worry about me taking what he says at face value, ‘cause I don't."
"He accused me of…getting pregnant for job purposes." Sydney gasped, mouth open. "I love you, Sydney, and whatever your father wants to think or say, from where I stand, you were conceived out of love."
Sydney noted mutely, tears in her eyes. "Bastard."
"Sydney! He's still your father! He didn't mean it to hurt you, but to hurt me."
"I know, but still, it hurts that he would go that far just to hurt you. Now I know where he stands on your case."
"He hates me."
"It seems so."
"Do 'you' hate me?" The question was a painful one, but Irina needed it to be answered, preferably with the truth, even if it hurt.
"No. Why would I?" Sydney gave her mother a questioning look.
"I lied to you. I kept your father from finding you."
"You were protecting yourself. I can understand that. But you should have told me."
"I'm sorry, Sydney. I was scared you would go back to him. I was scared of losing you." The times when Irina had let her walls crumble so she could show her deepest emotions to her daughter could be counted on the fingers of one hand. This was one of those times. She had just admitted how insecure she felt toward her daughter's love.
"I’m mad. I’m pissed off mad, okay. You lied to me. You kept Dad away from me. I mean, just as a matter of principle, I’m angry because you looked at me in the eye and you lied to me without even blinking. It scares me that you have the ability to do that. I’m your daughter. We should be able to talk without lying or hiding such little things. If you had told me Dad was here looking for us, we could have worked something out. I love you. I told you that already. Whatever you do won’t make me change my mind. Seeing Dad won’t make me stop loving you. Why do you always doubt me?”
"Sydney, I didn't mean…" Irina was horrified, and rightfully so. How stupid she had been to assume that… She would have hit the wall if she had been alone.
"I know it was involuntary. I'm just collateral damage, again. Next time something like that happens, just come to me. Don’t be scared of me, of losing me, because it won’t happen."
Irina felt as if Sydney had slapped her. All those things she was saying rang true. How could her daughter be so perceptive and loving when her own mother was so uncertain and full of doubts? "I'm so sorry…I never meant to hurt you, baby…"
"It's okay I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, or Dad, even if his face is probably all blue and funny shaped like when he fell from his bike when I was little." She smiled at the memory that just popped out of nowhere into her head. She was trying to cheer her mother up a little, to get her to smile. Seeing Irina’s face etched with pain made Sydney feel guilty for bringing this up in the first place. "Just forget it, it’s no big deal Mom," concluded Sydney lightly. “Please? Come on, don’t cry please…"
Irina shook her head, ridding her mind of the numbness that had settled in and recovering some colours in the process. "Sweetheart, you can't just say that and tell me to not speak about it anymore!" Irina couldn't believe how painful her daughter's words were. "I’m sorry for what I did to your father. I’m sorry I kept him from seeing you. I was scared of losing you. I should have known better, I’m sorry. I promise that, from now on, I’ll discuss the matters where your father is concerned with you. How does that sound?"
She raised a hopeful look waiting for her daughter’s response and held her breath. In Kashmir, she had shed many tears, partly from the physical pain inflicted on her by idiotic men, but mostly from the pain of leaving her family. The physical pain ripping through her heart day and night was a consequence of her mental turmoil she knew, but it didn't make it any less pleasant. The pain went away when Sydney gave her a bigger than average smile and went as far as to kiss her on the cheek on her way to the kitchen. Their relationship had been damaged by Irina’s decision and it would take time to rebuilt what little had been destroyed, but it was a good start.
"What is there for dinner?" Sydney smiled.
Understanding her daughter’s desire to do as if nothing had happened, she decided to play by her rules and replied, as cheerfully as she could muster, "Omelette."
"Great, call me when you want me to set the table."
"It's okay, I'll take care of it," replied Irina flatly as she gave up the happy image and stumbled in her own room. She needed some space. Her daughter had apparently forgiven her, but she hated herself for provoking the whole situation. Her maneuver aimed at keeping Sydney to herself had backfired and she had came very close to losing her without her even considering the possibility of that happening.
That night, as Sydney was lying asleep in her bed, Irina was sitting in hers trying to read the same page for the third time. Her thoughts kept her distracted from the book, and she soon put it down on her nightstand, rubbing her face with her hands in an effort to clear her head.
Hours after her talk with Sydney, she still couldn't even begin to understand what had happened. Sydney's reaction, or lack of it, was frightening her. She had adopted such a cavalier attitude toward the whole thing, as if she simply didn't care.
How could Sydney just have sat there and told her all those things, how could she still be there, acting like her usual self was beyond Irina's comprehension. First, she had just not only sat there listening, but had also 'encouraged' her mother's explanations. She should have been freaking out, yelled abuse at her mother. How could her daughter still love her unconditionally after finding out that she had been lied to and that her mother had hurt her father voluntarily? How could she act so carefree, as if nothing had happened?
"MOM!"
Irina's head whipped up. Sydney had just screamed her name from the other side of the apartment. Grabbing her gun, she ran out of her room, not bothering to check each corner on her way to her daughter.
The whole apartment had been quiet since Sydney's scream. Irina's worst fear was confirmed when she pushed open the door to her daughter's bedroom.
A man was standing between the window and the bed, in which Sydney was sitting. He had a gun in his hand, pointed at Irina.
"Jack," she whispered, clutching her own gun.
"Irina."
Irina glanced at Sydney, who was recovering from her scare. She had woken up to a man dressed in black entering her bedroom. Her first instinct had been to scream for her mother's help before even glancing at the man. Despite her erratic breathing, she could hear the window clank against the cabinet in the bathroom. He had probably entered through it.
"Stop pointing your gun at Mom!" She got up the bed and placed herself between her mother and father.
"Sydney, get out of the way!" Yelled Jack, who was furious by her action. She recoiled and backed away toward Irina, still facing him. Her display of affection sickened him. She was blatantly ignoring him and siding with her mother against him.
"Don't point that gun at our daughter, Jack!" Snapped Irina, whose gun was dangling at her side, safety in place.
He felt like an idiot and obeyed, imitating his wife's posture. Thinking of her as such made him feel even sicker.
"No one is going to shoot anyone here, got it?" Asked Sydney in a surprisingly strong voice.
"What are you doing here Jack?" Asked Irina from behind Sydney. She didn't want to use Sydney as a shield but the young woman wouldn't budge despite her mother's attempts at stepping around her.
"I came for Sydney."
"Why the gun then?"
"I thought she was you," he replied as if the reason was obvious.
"So what, you were going to kill me in my sleep?" It made sense as Irina slept on her stomach, a fact that Jack likely remembered from his marriage. The woman usually woke with her hair spilled out around her. It was troubling that he didn't know his own daughter slept in the same position and was having the same hair problem as her mother. It was an honest mistake on his part to have assumed the woman he was seeing was Irina. Sydney's fighting skills had improved under Irina's training, but so had her silhouette. They now took runs in the morning in the streets of Paris and Sydney was now bearing an uncanny resemblance to her mother’s physique, lithe and muscular.
"Something like that," he replied coldly, wincing as his answer drew a gasp accompanied by a look of horror on Sydney's face.
"It's okay, sweetheart." Irina’s voice was soothing, a mother's voice. It only unnerved Jack further. The memories brought back by her voice were invasive and increased his jealousy. He was annoyed at both but there was nothing he could do about it now.
"I'm not interested in you, I only want Sydney back," he said, his voice cold.
"She's not my prisoner, Jack. If she wants to go with you, I won't get in her way."
"I don't want to," replied Sydney brusquely.
"What?" Asked Jack, flabbergasted, as if the possibility of a rejection had never occurred to him.
"I'm living with Mom, period. This is what I want, Dad. That's why I left in the first place."
"You can't be serious! You don't know what she's capable of. I do and I don't want you anywhere near her. If you had seen the true face of Irina Derevko you would be dead by now."
"I have, Dad. I have seen her true face, I have seen what she's capable of and I don't like it, but I accept it. I love Mom for who she is. I loved Laura and now I love Irina. Too bad you can't do the same."
"You only got a glimpse of who Irina Derevko is. You know nothing Sydney. Did you know, for example, that she kidnapped you? She's dangerous, but you'll be safer with me."
"Not to me. I saw, Dad. I saw her true face. I saw her for what she is but I still love her. She's my mother. I know what she did to me, and I still have nightmares from it," Jack missed the pained look on Irina's face at the mention of that particular event, "but what she did, it saved you and me both."
"Lies, all lies! She's feeding you lies and you're buying them. How can you be so naïve as to believe her over me?"
"It's not about who I believe. It's about what I want. I don't want to be with you, I want to be with her. I know what lies are; she lied to me I know that. I know she kidnapped you to keep you from seeing me, and yet here I am. I saw how far she's willing to go for me. That's all I needed to see."
"That's not the point! You belong in America with 'me', period. Get dressed, we're leaving, now!"
"Newsflash, I'm legal. I don't belong anywhere, and certainly not with you." She spat, fed up with his holier than thou attitude.
"Sydney…" He said in a warning tone.
"You couldn't even let go of that gorram disk to save my life. How dare you give her or me lessons about what love is? She gave up her freedom, her life, only to be with me…"
"What are you talking about?"
"How do you think I got back to LA? Did you really think the SVR was going to let me walk away even if you had given them the disk? Now who's naïve?"
She knew, Jack realised. She knew everything about the botched exchange. She knew what he had done, willingly, even after seeing the tape. He felt shame but couldn't give up just yet. Addressing Irina, he smirked. "The snipers in Kiev, they were yours, weren't they?"
"Yes. I sent them to cover your back. I knew you wouldn't give the SVR what they wanted, no matter what the consequences were for your daughter," she spat angrily, still mad at him for endangering Sydney's life.
"She had them shoot me!" He told Sydney, pointing an accusing finger at Irina.
"Did you even wonder why?" Asked Irina quietly, throwing a reassuring look at Sydney who had blanched at the mention of just how exactly her father had come to be injured.
"What?"
"Did you wonder why I would ask the men supposed to keep you alive to shoot you?"
"The reason? You're insane, that's the reason! Don't try to steer the conversation away from your wrongs."
"It was my way of saying 'don't ever screw up again', Jack. Moreover, I still mean it. If, for whatever reason, you put our daughter in the line of fire, I will hunt you down and kill you, no matter what Sydney thinks."
Both Jack and Sydney got the feeling that she was not joking.
"Sydney, you're my daughter."
"I didn't choose my parents, believe me." That was harsh, and she winced as she said the words, but she wouldn't and couldn't take them back. Time to shake him up a little. "For a father, you know nothing about me. You didn't even know it was my birthday. She did."
"Sydney, I…"
"Were you even there at my birth?"
No, he wasn't. Laura had given birth to Sydney right on schedule. He had been called away on a mission and couldn't get out of it. Laura had reproached it to him for years, and now Sydney was. He couldn't find the strength to answer her, not that she didn't already know the answer. She went on…
"You claim you want me back but you never had me, Dad. When we lived together, you had no interest in me. I bet you had no idea I graduated valedictorian of my class in high school, did you? I bet you didn’t know I graduated at the top my class. Numero uno, Dad!
"The first thing you did upon seeing me today was to shut me out. You're treating me like even less than a child. And here I thought you had changed! How naïve of me. You may have been a part in my genetic pool. I may call and refer to you as 'Dad' but understand you only bear the title of father, nothing more."
"That's enough!" The agent in Jack Bristow suddenly reared its ugly head as Sydney attacked the only thing that had a real purpose in his life, his fatherhood.
Sydney blinked, disturbed by her father's cold rage. She had never seen him in such a state. She had gone too far this time.
"Don't you see? Don't you see what she's doing?" He asked, raising his gun at Irina who had moved beside Sydney during the exchange, trying to quell her daughter's anger and to keep her from being too hurtful to Jack and failing miserably. She couldn't get to her gun; she had slipped it in her waistband to have her hands free.
"Don't!" Screamed Sydney, once again interposing herself between her parents.
"Irina Derevko, I am arresting you for twelve counts of murder and espionage.
"Dad, don't do that!"
"Drop your gun to the floor; get on your knees, hands behind your head…" Jack continued, even as he didn't have visual of Irina because of Sydney. Eventually, he was done with his litany and ordered Sydney out of the way, speaking to her as if she was of the same brand of 'people' as her mother. Said mother had curiously obeyed his orders and was begging Sydney to step out of the way from her position on the floor.
"I can't and I won't."
"Move. Or I'll make you," he threatened, out of control.
"I'll fight you if you try to get to her," warned Sydney, deadly serious.
His anger deflated like a pierced balloon, and he realised that he was pointing his gun at his daughter. He stared from the gun to her, disbelieving at his actions.
He forgot about Irina for a second and looked at his daughter, really looked at her. She seemed so grown up, standing before her mother, shielding her from him. It was a big mistake on his part to have forgotten about Sydney's birthday, and it had probably a lot to do with her decision to leave America. She resented him so much that she had just left her entire life behind to start a new one with a mother who she thought loved her.
Maybe she was right, maybe Irina really loved her. That thought curiously scared him more than anything. He loved Sydney too, that was unquestionable, but Irina was willing to go to great lengths just to 'be' with Sydney. He couldn't give away the disk for her. Irina had turned her back on her country. She had betrayed her agency and put her life on the line by doing so. He had almost gotten his only child killed because he was unwilling to sell out his agency. Still, he argued, she had too, when she had kidnapped Sydney. She had endangered her more than he had.
Those were ridiculous thoughts and he felt petty about it. Still, he couldn't admit that he was more of a bad parent than she was. It just couldn't be. Love wasn't everything in a relationship. His love and Irina's wasn't enough for Sydney. Irina was giving her something else that he wasn't, but what.
"I…I'm sorry Sydney." What was he thinking? He couldn't jail Irina; Sydney would hate him for the rest of his life. If it wasn't already too late. He tucked his gun away and stepped forward to help Irina up, under the watchful eye of their daughter.
"I'm alright sweetheart," reassured Irina, kissing Sydney on the forehead. She didn't let go of Jack's hand until Sydney stepped forward to hug her. The young girl glared at her father before leaving the room to give her parents the opportunity to talk.
Having observed the two of them this evening, consciously or not, Jack had his answer now. Irina was 'seeing' Sydney. She was seeing her for who she was. A person, an equal, someone to show affection to. She was giving her daughter her attention even without Sydney asking for it. He didn't know how to do that, hadn't in a long time, but Irina knew.
"I screwed up, didn't I?" He asked, sitting on a chair.
"Yes. You did." He would have smiled at her honesty if he wasn't in so much emotional pain.
"It’s okay. I did too you know," she added, surprising him once again.
"You did?"
"Of course. That's what parents do. We can consider ourselves 'normal' in that domain."
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad did we screw up?"
Irina didn't reply for the moment, but let out a half-hearted chuckle. "You know, Jack, she’s a wonderful young woman. She’s been through a lot the past few months and has matured, in spite of us. Isn’t that what all parents want for their children?"
He looked at her, nodding. "I guess, but it was so fast."
"Well, we can certainly take credit for that!" Irina laughed.
THE END
Author’s notes: Surprised? Sorry I didn’t tell you that this would be the last chapter. I felt it would spoil your reading. Yes, it is really the end. There will be no epilogue or sequel because this is the ending I had in mind since the beginning. I feel that going further would ruin the whole story. I hope you enjoyed reading Collateral Damage as much as I did writing it. I didn’t think it would go on for twenty chapters when I started, but I enjoyed this too much to let go too soon.
Eyghon
Author’s notes: I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and that you will take the time to review. Even a few words would be nice. Many thanks to Lenafan who helped out a lot in the writing of this chapter.
Chapter 20: A level of maturity
"Our next stop is Germany, but so far, France is where we had the most fun," explained Katy, an American tourist Sydney met at Montparnasse while waiting for the pack to leave. They had been skating side by side for one hour with Katy's friends Kevin and JT. Her mother's cell phone ring interrupted the conversation.
"Sorry, I have to take that."
"Okay, see you!" Her new American friends skated away as she put the phone to her ear.
"Yes?" She asked, expecting her mother to be checking on her. Instead, a man's voice greeted her.
"Irina? It's me. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. He escaped!"
"Who…"
"The CIA agent! Jack Bristow!"
Sydney froze, gulping.
"Irina? I know you're mad, but I swear it was an accident!"
"Hey fais gaffe!" Yelled a young blonde guy as he practically slammed into Sydney who had slowly stopped skating and came to a complete halt. Mouth gaping, she slowly clicked the phone shut. Her head was spinning. She could feel nausea going up into her throat. She moved away from the continuous thread of incoming roller skaters and settled against a wall. A few minutes later, she called Irina and wanted to be picked up.
Less than ten minutes later, the familiar BMW pulled up and Sydney climbed in before her mother could get out.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure? You seem…distracted. Did something happen? Did you fall?"
Sydney could feel her mother's anxious gaze run over her body, checking for injuries. "I'm fine Mom. I was just thinking. About Dad. I wonder how he's doing, you know?" Sydney watched carefully for her mother's reaction at the mention of Jack but there was none. "Do you have news about him?"
"No. My guess is that he's looking for us and has questioned your friend Francie but I don't know where he stands precisely. Why the sudden interest in him?"
"I don't know. It's been so long. I was just curious I guess."
Irina nodded pensively.
Clément was pacing on the sidewalk, undecided as to what his next move should be. His cell in hand, he mentally explored his possible courses of action. He could call Irina back, who had hung up quite abruptly. She was mad at him for his failure and he knew there would be consequences. She must have sent someone after Bristow already but wouldn't let Clément walk away un-scathed. She would make an example out of him. One of her goons, a guy just like him, was probably on his way, unless she was coming for him herself. The thought made him turn pale. Whether it was her or one of her men, he wasn't going to stick around to be tortured or killed.
He threw his phone in a nearby trashcan and jogged across the street where he entered the train station. He had to run now while he still could. Maybe his boss wasn't furious enough to bother sending someone after him on the other end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of France unseen and settle in another country, undetected by her men and maybe he would live to see another day.
As soon as they were out the elevator, Sydney bolted to her room without a word. Irina shrugged it off and prepared herself for bed. She knew she wouldn't get any sleep tonight. She had too much on her mind.
No one spotted Jack yet at either Roissy CDG or in LAX, which meant he was still in Paris, tracking Irina. It was only a question of time before he found them. The time he had spent in her company and Clément's had only slowed his search. He would not give up. On the contrary, his encounter with his wife would only strengthen his resolve.
It was a matter of days before he showed up at the apartment, if he didn't already know where to find them. Sydney and Irina could never come back to Paris whether Jack found them or not, and that was something Irina wasn't looking forward to explaining.
They were scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow, but Irina had the feeling things wouldn't go as planned.
The next day, Sydney was sprawled on her bed, reading 'Voici', a French trash magazine about the life of French and mostly international stars. The magazine was often sued because of pictures taken in violation of French privacy laws. It wasn't unusual for the cover to display a large black and white notice of apology detailing the offence committed, the plaintiff, and the fee paid by the magazine.
Her mother had mocked her when she had 'busted' Sydney reading it a few weeks back. Sydney had replied that it was more interesting than 'Business Week', which her mother religiously read every Saturday. In truth, for Sydney, 'Voici' was some sort of link back to the US, as the American actors and singers were the main subject of the articles.
Irina knocked and waited for Sydney’s answer to enter.
"Yeah?"
"If I ask you a question, will you answer truthfully?" Irina stepped inside the room.
"It depends. Do you answer truthfully when I ask you things?"
Irina frowned. "Things?"
"I know you didn't go shopping yesterday." It was an offer for Irina to tell the truth by herself, without Sydney having to tell her every thing she knew. Whether Irina took it, would determine the rest of their conversation but mostly Sydney's relationship to her mother in the near future.
Irina didn't physically react to the news, but analysed the situation. Clément must have not called on the secured line, the fool. Sydney had known Irina had captured Jack even before she went to fetch her. Hell, it explained her behaviour in the car.
"I see. What do you want to know?"
She didn't ask how Sydney knew, a good point for her. "Your cell rang while I was at the roller night. It was a guy saying that Dad had escaped. Why did you kidnap him?"
"Him being in Paris meant that he was close to finding us. I couldn't allow that now."
"When did he arrive in Paris?"
"Yesterday." She was fine with playing twenty questions. The last thing she wanted was to upset Sydney further by denying her the truth.
"He was really looking for me?"
"Us. He wants you back in the States and me in a prison cell or on death row.”
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know. Probably on his way here, it depends on how good he is in extracting clues," she replied flatly, referring to Jack's ability to find pieces of information, which, put together, would lead him straight to his wife's hideout. There were always clues left behind, even if no one was aware of it. You just have to know where to look, and Jack knew because he knew his wife and daughter's habits.
"Is he okay?"
"I didn't hurt him too badly if that's what you're asking." Irina chose honesty for her answer. There was no need to hide her fight with Jack. It was nothing compared to what she had tried to do. Keep Jack away from them at all costs.
"Too badly?" asked Sydney, visibly worried.
"Surely you know that it is normal for a husband and a wife to fight about things…" Irina lifted her hands, trying to quell her daughter's anger at her patronizing tone. "My apologies. It's private."
"There's no such thing as privacy at this point, Mother."
"Your father wouldn't want me to tell you."
"So? I want the truth or I walk out of here and you will never see me again." Sydney sounded determined to do as she said. Irina gave in.
"He accused me of…several things that I didn't take well. I may have hit him a couple of times."
Sydney digested the information, but her curiosity heightened at the intentional vagueness of her mother's statement. She knew her father's ways. He could be harsh in the things he said. If he had managed to upset her mother to the point that she had lost her self-control, it must have been nasty. "What did he tell you that upset you so much? Please Mom, you can tell me."
After a moment’s hesitation, Irina started speaking. "He basically called me a *h**e."
Sydney blinked. "That's it?" Keeping her eyes on her mother, she pushed. "There's something else. Come on, don't make me beg," she added, teasingly. Her pain and anger was forgotten the moment she saw her mother's eyes, hurt, and so full of pain.
"First, I want to say that it is untrue and that he knew it as much as I do. He just said those things to get to me. You can't believe a word of what he said."
"I know he can be quite…malicious when he's angry at you. I've been in your place before. Don't worry about me taking what he says at face value, ‘cause I don't."
"He accused me of…getting pregnant for job purposes." Sydney gasped, mouth open. "I love you, Sydney, and whatever your father wants to think or say, from where I stand, you were conceived out of love."
Sydney noted mutely, tears in her eyes. "Bastard."
"Sydney! He's still your father! He didn't mean it to hurt you, but to hurt me."
"I know, but still, it hurts that he would go that far just to hurt you. Now I know where he stands on your case."
"He hates me."
"It seems so."
"Do 'you' hate me?" The question was a painful one, but Irina needed it to be answered, preferably with the truth, even if it hurt.
"No. Why would I?" Sydney gave her mother a questioning look.
"I lied to you. I kept your father from finding you."
"You were protecting yourself. I can understand that. But you should have told me."
"I'm sorry, Sydney. I was scared you would go back to him. I was scared of losing you." The times when Irina had let her walls crumble so she could show her deepest emotions to her daughter could be counted on the fingers of one hand. This was one of those times. She had just admitted how insecure she felt toward her daughter's love.
"I’m mad. I’m pissed off mad, okay. You lied to me. You kept Dad away from me. I mean, just as a matter of principle, I’m angry because you looked at me in the eye and you lied to me without even blinking. It scares me that you have the ability to do that. I’m your daughter. We should be able to talk without lying or hiding such little things. If you had told me Dad was here looking for us, we could have worked something out. I love you. I told you that already. Whatever you do won’t make me change my mind. Seeing Dad won’t make me stop loving you. Why do you always doubt me?”
"Sydney, I didn't mean…" Irina was horrified, and rightfully so. How stupid she had been to assume that… She would have hit the wall if she had been alone.
"I know it was involuntary. I'm just collateral damage, again. Next time something like that happens, just come to me. Don’t be scared of me, of losing me, because it won’t happen."
Irina felt as if Sydney had slapped her. All those things she was saying rang true. How could her daughter be so perceptive and loving when her own mother was so uncertain and full of doubts? "I'm so sorry…I never meant to hurt you, baby…"
"It's okay I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, or Dad, even if his face is probably all blue and funny shaped like when he fell from his bike when I was little." She smiled at the memory that just popped out of nowhere into her head. She was trying to cheer her mother up a little, to get her to smile. Seeing Irina’s face etched with pain made Sydney feel guilty for bringing this up in the first place. "Just forget it, it’s no big deal Mom," concluded Sydney lightly. “Please? Come on, don’t cry please…"
Irina shook her head, ridding her mind of the numbness that had settled in and recovering some colours in the process. "Sweetheart, you can't just say that and tell me to not speak about it anymore!" Irina couldn't believe how painful her daughter's words were. "I’m sorry for what I did to your father. I’m sorry I kept him from seeing you. I was scared of losing you. I should have known better, I’m sorry. I promise that, from now on, I’ll discuss the matters where your father is concerned with you. How does that sound?"
She raised a hopeful look waiting for her daughter’s response and held her breath. In Kashmir, she had shed many tears, partly from the physical pain inflicted on her by idiotic men, but mostly from the pain of leaving her family. The physical pain ripping through her heart day and night was a consequence of her mental turmoil she knew, but it didn't make it any less pleasant. The pain went away when Sydney gave her a bigger than average smile and went as far as to kiss her on the cheek on her way to the kitchen. Their relationship had been damaged by Irina’s decision and it would take time to rebuilt what little had been destroyed, but it was a good start.
"What is there for dinner?" Sydney smiled.
Understanding her daughter’s desire to do as if nothing had happened, she decided to play by her rules and replied, as cheerfully as she could muster, "Omelette."
"Great, call me when you want me to set the table."
"It's okay, I'll take care of it," replied Irina flatly as she gave up the happy image and stumbled in her own room. She needed some space. Her daughter had apparently forgiven her, but she hated herself for provoking the whole situation. Her maneuver aimed at keeping Sydney to herself had backfired and she had came very close to losing her without her even considering the possibility of that happening.
That night, as Sydney was lying asleep in her bed, Irina was sitting in hers trying to read the same page for the third time. Her thoughts kept her distracted from the book, and she soon put it down on her nightstand, rubbing her face with her hands in an effort to clear her head.
Hours after her talk with Sydney, she still couldn't even begin to understand what had happened. Sydney's reaction, or lack of it, was frightening her. She had adopted such a cavalier attitude toward the whole thing, as if she simply didn't care.
How could Sydney just have sat there and told her all those things, how could she still be there, acting like her usual self was beyond Irina's comprehension. First, she had just not only sat there listening, but had also 'encouraged' her mother's explanations. She should have been freaking out, yelled abuse at her mother. How could her daughter still love her unconditionally after finding out that she had been lied to and that her mother had hurt her father voluntarily? How could she act so carefree, as if nothing had happened?
"MOM!"
Irina's head whipped up. Sydney had just screamed her name from the other side of the apartment. Grabbing her gun, she ran out of her room, not bothering to check each corner on her way to her daughter.
The whole apartment had been quiet since Sydney's scream. Irina's worst fear was confirmed when she pushed open the door to her daughter's bedroom.
A man was standing between the window and the bed, in which Sydney was sitting. He had a gun in his hand, pointed at Irina.
"Jack," she whispered, clutching her own gun.
"Irina."
Irina glanced at Sydney, who was recovering from her scare. She had woken up to a man dressed in black entering her bedroom. Her first instinct had been to scream for her mother's help before even glancing at the man. Despite her erratic breathing, she could hear the window clank against the cabinet in the bathroom. He had probably entered through it.
"Stop pointing your gun at Mom!" She got up the bed and placed herself between her mother and father.
"Sydney, get out of the way!" Yelled Jack, who was furious by her action. She recoiled and backed away toward Irina, still facing him. Her display of affection sickened him. She was blatantly ignoring him and siding with her mother against him.
"Don't point that gun at our daughter, Jack!" Snapped Irina, whose gun was dangling at her side, safety in place.
He felt like an idiot and obeyed, imitating his wife's posture. Thinking of her as such made him feel even sicker.
"No one is going to shoot anyone here, got it?" Asked Sydney in a surprisingly strong voice.
"What are you doing here Jack?" Asked Irina from behind Sydney. She didn't want to use Sydney as a shield but the young woman wouldn't budge despite her mother's attempts at stepping around her.
"I came for Sydney."
"Why the gun then?"
"I thought she was you," he replied as if the reason was obvious.
"So what, you were going to kill me in my sleep?" It made sense as Irina slept on her stomach, a fact that Jack likely remembered from his marriage. The woman usually woke with her hair spilled out around her. It was troubling that he didn't know his own daughter slept in the same position and was having the same hair problem as her mother. It was an honest mistake on his part to have assumed the woman he was seeing was Irina. Sydney's fighting skills had improved under Irina's training, but so had her silhouette. They now took runs in the morning in the streets of Paris and Sydney was now bearing an uncanny resemblance to her mother’s physique, lithe and muscular.
"Something like that," he replied coldly, wincing as his answer drew a gasp accompanied by a look of horror on Sydney's face.
"It's okay, sweetheart." Irina’s voice was soothing, a mother's voice. It only unnerved Jack further. The memories brought back by her voice were invasive and increased his jealousy. He was annoyed at both but there was nothing he could do about it now.
"I'm not interested in you, I only want Sydney back," he said, his voice cold.
"She's not my prisoner, Jack. If she wants to go with you, I won't get in her way."
"I don't want to," replied Sydney brusquely.
"What?" Asked Jack, flabbergasted, as if the possibility of a rejection had never occurred to him.
"I'm living with Mom, period. This is what I want, Dad. That's why I left in the first place."
"You can't be serious! You don't know what she's capable of. I do and I don't want you anywhere near her. If you had seen the true face of Irina Derevko you would be dead by now."
"I have, Dad. I have seen her true face, I have seen what she's capable of and I don't like it, but I accept it. I love Mom for who she is. I loved Laura and now I love Irina. Too bad you can't do the same."
"You only got a glimpse of who Irina Derevko is. You know nothing Sydney. Did you know, for example, that she kidnapped you? She's dangerous, but you'll be safer with me."
"Not to me. I saw, Dad. I saw her true face. I saw her for what she is but I still love her. She's my mother. I know what she did to me, and I still have nightmares from it," Jack missed the pained look on Irina's face at the mention of that particular event, "but what she did, it saved you and me both."
"Lies, all lies! She's feeding you lies and you're buying them. How can you be so naïve as to believe her over me?"
"It's not about who I believe. It's about what I want. I don't want to be with you, I want to be with her. I know what lies are; she lied to me I know that. I know she kidnapped you to keep you from seeing me, and yet here I am. I saw how far she's willing to go for me. That's all I needed to see."
"That's not the point! You belong in America with 'me', period. Get dressed, we're leaving, now!"
"Newsflash, I'm legal. I don't belong anywhere, and certainly not with you." She spat, fed up with his holier than thou attitude.
"Sydney…" He said in a warning tone.
"You couldn't even let go of that gorram disk to save my life. How dare you give her or me lessons about what love is? She gave up her freedom, her life, only to be with me…"
"What are you talking about?"
"How do you think I got back to LA? Did you really think the SVR was going to let me walk away even if you had given them the disk? Now who's naïve?"
She knew, Jack realised. She knew everything about the botched exchange. She knew what he had done, willingly, even after seeing the tape. He felt shame but couldn't give up just yet. Addressing Irina, he smirked. "The snipers in Kiev, they were yours, weren't they?"
"Yes. I sent them to cover your back. I knew you wouldn't give the SVR what they wanted, no matter what the consequences were for your daughter," she spat angrily, still mad at him for endangering Sydney's life.
"She had them shoot me!" He told Sydney, pointing an accusing finger at Irina.
"Did you even wonder why?" Asked Irina quietly, throwing a reassuring look at Sydney who had blanched at the mention of just how exactly her father had come to be injured.
"What?"
"Did you wonder why I would ask the men supposed to keep you alive to shoot you?"
"The reason? You're insane, that's the reason! Don't try to steer the conversation away from your wrongs."
"It was my way of saying 'don't ever screw up again', Jack. Moreover, I still mean it. If, for whatever reason, you put our daughter in the line of fire, I will hunt you down and kill you, no matter what Sydney thinks."
Both Jack and Sydney got the feeling that she was not joking.
"Sydney, you're my daughter."
"I didn't choose my parents, believe me." That was harsh, and she winced as she said the words, but she wouldn't and couldn't take them back. Time to shake him up a little. "For a father, you know nothing about me. You didn't even know it was my birthday. She did."
"Sydney, I…"
"Were you even there at my birth?"
No, he wasn't. Laura had given birth to Sydney right on schedule. He had been called away on a mission and couldn't get out of it. Laura had reproached it to him for years, and now Sydney was. He couldn't find the strength to answer her, not that she didn't already know the answer. She went on…
"You claim you want me back but you never had me, Dad. When we lived together, you had no interest in me. I bet you had no idea I graduated valedictorian of my class in high school, did you? I bet you didn’t know I graduated at the top my class. Numero uno, Dad!
"The first thing you did upon seeing me today was to shut me out. You're treating me like even less than a child. And here I thought you had changed! How naïve of me. You may have been a part in my genetic pool. I may call and refer to you as 'Dad' but understand you only bear the title of father, nothing more."
"That's enough!" The agent in Jack Bristow suddenly reared its ugly head as Sydney attacked the only thing that had a real purpose in his life, his fatherhood.
Sydney blinked, disturbed by her father's cold rage. She had never seen him in such a state. She had gone too far this time.
"Don't you see? Don't you see what she's doing?" He asked, raising his gun at Irina who had moved beside Sydney during the exchange, trying to quell her daughter's anger and to keep her from being too hurtful to Jack and failing miserably. She couldn't get to her gun; she had slipped it in her waistband to have her hands free.
"Don't!" Screamed Sydney, once again interposing herself between her parents.
"Irina Derevko, I am arresting you for twelve counts of murder and espionage.
"Dad, don't do that!"
"Drop your gun to the floor; get on your knees, hands behind your head…" Jack continued, even as he didn't have visual of Irina because of Sydney. Eventually, he was done with his litany and ordered Sydney out of the way, speaking to her as if she was of the same brand of 'people' as her mother. Said mother had curiously obeyed his orders and was begging Sydney to step out of the way from her position on the floor.
"I can't and I won't."
"Move. Or I'll make you," he threatened, out of control.
"I'll fight you if you try to get to her," warned Sydney, deadly serious.
His anger deflated like a pierced balloon, and he realised that he was pointing his gun at his daughter. He stared from the gun to her, disbelieving at his actions.
He forgot about Irina for a second and looked at his daughter, really looked at her. She seemed so grown up, standing before her mother, shielding her from him. It was a big mistake on his part to have forgotten about Sydney's birthday, and it had probably a lot to do with her decision to leave America. She resented him so much that she had just left her entire life behind to start a new one with a mother who she thought loved her.
Maybe she was right, maybe Irina really loved her. That thought curiously scared him more than anything. He loved Sydney too, that was unquestionable, but Irina was willing to go to great lengths just to 'be' with Sydney. He couldn't give away the disk for her. Irina had turned her back on her country. She had betrayed her agency and put her life on the line by doing so. He had almost gotten his only child killed because he was unwilling to sell out his agency. Still, he argued, she had too, when she had kidnapped Sydney. She had endangered her more than he had.
Those were ridiculous thoughts and he felt petty about it. Still, he couldn't admit that he was more of a bad parent than she was. It just couldn't be. Love wasn't everything in a relationship. His love and Irina's wasn't enough for Sydney. Irina was giving her something else that he wasn't, but what.
"I…I'm sorry Sydney." What was he thinking? He couldn't jail Irina; Sydney would hate him for the rest of his life. If it wasn't already too late. He tucked his gun away and stepped forward to help Irina up, under the watchful eye of their daughter.
"I'm alright sweetheart," reassured Irina, kissing Sydney on the forehead. She didn't let go of Jack's hand until Sydney stepped forward to hug her. The young girl glared at her father before leaving the room to give her parents the opportunity to talk.
Having observed the two of them this evening, consciously or not, Jack had his answer now. Irina was 'seeing' Sydney. She was seeing her for who she was. A person, an equal, someone to show affection to. She was giving her daughter her attention even without Sydney asking for it. He didn't know how to do that, hadn't in a long time, but Irina knew.
"I screwed up, didn't I?" He asked, sitting on a chair.
"Yes. You did." He would have smiled at her honesty if he wasn't in so much emotional pain.
"It’s okay. I did too you know," she added, surprising him once again.
"You did?"
"Of course. That's what parents do. We can consider ourselves 'normal' in that domain."
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad did we screw up?"
Irina didn't reply for the moment, but let out a half-hearted chuckle. "You know, Jack, she’s a wonderful young woman. She’s been through a lot the past few months and has matured, in spite of us. Isn’t that what all parents want for their children?"
He looked at her, nodding. "I guess, but it was so fast."
"Well, we can certainly take credit for that!" Irina laughed.
THE END
Author’s notes: Surprised? Sorry I didn’t tell you that this would be the last chapter. I felt it would spoil your reading. Yes, it is really the end. There will be no epilogue or sequel because this is the ending I had in mind since the beginning. I feel that going further would ruin the whole story. I hope you enjoyed reading Collateral Damage as much as I did writing it. I didn’t think it would go on for twenty chapters when I started, but I enjoyed this too much to let go too soon.
Nadia Weiss
Cadet
that was so evil just do that just end it.
but great chapter ig you write somthing more pm me
but great chapter ig you write somthing more pm me
