filleinconnue
Cadet
Yes, I posted this on that other Alias site over several months a long time ago. But I thought maybe some of you Sarkneys out there might enjoy a fic about our two favorite characters. It's really long (remember I wrote this over several months) so pace yourselves...enjoy!
Set after the first episode of season 3
Sark sat in his cell thinking of yet another way to make Arvin Sloane’s death as long and painful as possible. This had been his primary preoccupation since he discovered that Sloane was not going to get him out of this prison. And that, in fact, Sloane was now working with the people who were holding him behind bars. He was kept in solitary, that meant no visitors no matter what. The last visitor he had was an irate Jack Bristow who accused him of being somehow responsible for his daughter’s abduction. Sark explained that he had nothing to do with it, and wasn’t even aware of any abduction. Jack seemed to believe him, not that Sark really cared. Since Jack’s visit, Sark had only his thoughts to keep him company. Luckily he had a very active, and graphic, imagination.
He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to be different than the past 582 days he spent in prison. Today he was going to have a visitor.
Sark heard footsteps down the long corridor that led to his cell. It was too early for his lunch. Plus the footsteps did not sound familiar. These were not the guard’s footsteps; for one thing the guard did not wear high heel shoes. Sark sat patiently waiting for whoever was headed his way to finally reach him.
He was pleasantly surprised by the stunning ghost that stood before him. He immediately met her icy gaze with his own crisp blue eyes. He stood up to meet her. He might be nothing more than a CIA prisoner now, but he was still well mannered.
“Miss Bristow.”
“Hello Sark.”
“I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid that’s not possible given my current situation.”
“I’m not here to visit. I want you to tell me what happened to me.”
“I assure you, you know more than I do about your recent disappearance and subsequent resurrection.”
“You obviously know something about it.”
“Your father came to see me over a year ago. He asked me if I knew where you were or what happened to you. And just as I’ve told you, I told him that I do not know what happened to you Miss Bristow.”
Sydney stared at him. Sark could tell she was trying to calm herself down before she began interrogating him again.
“Tell me, how is your father. He did not seem mentally stable the last time I saw him.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about my father.”
Sark managed to contain a smile. He always enjoyed getting a rise out of Sydney.
“I’ve already had to stomach Sloane’s ‘I had nothing to do with your disappearance, I’m a new man’ speech. If I hear anymore b.s. from you people I’m going to take out my gun and start shooting.”
“Tsk, tsk Sydney. You are not going to get any information from me by threatening to kill me.”
“Oh I think you’ve proven that threatening your life is the only way to obtain your cooperation.”
Sydney was right. Sark had shown that self-preservation was on the top of his list of priorities. Or at least it had been in the past. Now there was only one thing on his mind: getting out of this cell. The only problem was he didn’t know much about Sydney’s disappearance. Except, of course, for who was responsible.
“Very well, I do have some information for you. But I will need more than just a promise that you will not kill me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want a full pardon from the CIA.”
“That’s impossible. Even if I could manage to convince the CIA to let you go, I don’t even know if you have any information worth trading.”
“Trust me, I have first-hand information that will be very enlightening for you.”
Sydney contemplated Sark’s offer. Would she really be able to get the CIA to release him? And what exactly did he know?
“Do we have a deal Miss Bristow?”
“I’ll get back to you. For now, just sit tight.”
As Sydney walked away Sark realized how much he missed their lively encounters. For the first time in over a year he wouldn’t be dreaming about killing Sloane tonight.
* * *
Sydney stormed out of Dixon’s office. They had rejected her proposal. It didn’t matter what Sark claimed to know, they were not going to let a dangerous assassin out of prison. Sydney needed to find out what Sark knew. There was no way he would talk to her while he was still locked up. She wasn’t left with any other options.
Sark was surprised to hear Sydney walking down the corridor towards his cell only a day after they had last spoken. He assumed she could get him the CIA pardon, but he didn’t expect her to do so in less than 24 hours. Once again, she managed to impress him.
“Miss Bristow I…”
“We don’t have time for conversation now Sark. We’ll talk after we get you out of here.” Sydney put a small keycard into the slot outside his cell. The door to his cell opened up. He was free. He wanted to take a moment to savor his freedom but Sydney didn’t give me the chance.
“Come on, let’s go. We have to hurry.”
“What is the rush? Does the CIA want me to be transported in the middle of the night for security reasons?”
“The CIA has nothing to do with this. Now move, unless you’d prefer to stay here.”
Sark didn’t answer her, he simply follow her as she was already sprinting down the corridor. Along the way he noticed several guards lying on the floor. Knocked unconscious, presumably by Sydney. It was then that the reality of the situation hit him. CIA Agent Sydney Bristow was breaking him out of prison.
When they were finally outside the building Sydney directed Sark to a waiting car. They jumped in and Sydney drove off. Sark rolled down the windows to the car, smelled the cool autumn air and smiled.
* * *
As Sydney sped down the street she couldn’t help glancing over at her passenger. He was staring out the window at the Swiss countryside. They had been traveling for over a day since they first left the prison and had not yet exchanged any words. Even though she was technically in charge of the situation, since she had broken him out of prison, she felt considerably uncomfortable in his presence. He seemed at ease, almost content. At one point Sydney thought she even saw a hint of a smile from him. He seemed to be somehow out of character. Although, she thought, it’s not like I really know him anyway.
“We’re almost there.”
“May I ask where ‘there’ is, Miss Bristow?”
“An old contact of mine has a small chalet in the Alps, he said I could use it for as long as I need it.”
Sark nodded. He had been thinking about what he was going to tell Sydney when they finally reached their destination. He knew she wouldn’t question him until she was sure that they were safe and would not be disturbed. She expected him to open up the door to her past, but he knew he would only be able to offer her a brief glimpse through the keyhole. She would not be pleased. Perhaps a fight would ensue.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I was just admiring the landscape.”
Damn it. Sark hadn’t realized that his private thoughts had manifested themselves so openly. The thought of fighting with Sydney ought not make him feel so elated. He was already in a relationship with another woman, Allison.
He had heard that she was still alive and working for his former employer. He was glad to hear that Sydney had not killed her that night. And yet, he wondered, if she was alive why had she not attempted to free him from the CIA? If she cared as much as she led him to believe wouldn’t she have at least tried to free him? Maybe she was too much like him, only focused on staying alive. Or maybe their relationship only developed as a remedy to the monotony they were both experiencing when they first met.
The reasons behind their union and Allison’s reasons for not rescuing him were inconsequential. He would remain faithful to her. Just as his professional loyalties were malleable, his amorous loyalties were unwavering. Yes, he would tell Sydney what he knew and then he would find Allison and rush to her side.
“Sark, we’re here. Are you planning to get out or do you want to stay in the car all night?”
“Sorry,” he replied.
Sydney had accurately described the chalet as ‘small.’ There were only two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. It was not particularly to Sark’s liking, but he knew they would not be there long. Once they were both inside, Sydney led him into the living room and plopped herself down on a large couch.
“Alright, start talking.”
“Why yes Miss Bristow, I’d love to sit down. Thank you,” Sark said as he found his way to an antique rocking chair.
Sydney was definitely not in the mood for Sark’s infamous air of pretentious civility.
“So sorry Mr. Sark. Of course have a seat. And would you care for a beverage, or maybe I should heat up the fondue pot.”
“Some tea would be nice.”
“Excuse me?”
“You asked me if I would care for something to drink; I’d like some hot tea. I would have asked for a glass of wine but somehow I suspect that any alcohol to be found in this chalet, and I use the term loosely, would be fit for consumption.”
“Tea.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sydney growled softly as she went to the cramped kitchen and looked for a kettle and some tea. He was definitely not going to make this easy for her.
* * *
Sark sat in the antique rocking chair sipping the jasmine tea Sydney had made for him. He glanced at Sydney over the large mug he was holding with both hands. She was not happy. In fact, she looked as if she were about to jump across the table that separated them and attack him. Would that be so bad? Yes, yes it would. No more thoughts of that kind. Just tell her what she needs to know and get back to your itinerary. First on his list, kill Sloane slowly. Next find Allison. Hmmm, he thought, just as he suspected flirt with Sydney Bristow was nowhere on his list of priorities. Of course since he would have to spend at least one day with her, he could at least have a little fun.
“I have not yet thanked you properly Miss Bristow. I am very much grateful for your efforts in rescuing me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I didn’t do it for you. I don’t give a damn about your well being Sark.” Sydney did not see any sort of reaction as a result of her harsh words. Still, for some reason, she wished she could take them back.
“Please, tell me what happened to me.”
“It really is always about you isn’t it?”
“Sark!”
“Fine. I will answer you honestly. It is the least that I can do.” He paused, not for dramatic effect but because he knew that his response was bound to unleash Sydney’s anger.
“Honestly, I do not know what happened to you. I have no idea where you spent the last two years, or why you reappeared in Hong Kong.”
Immediately, as he spoke these last words, he could see the rage building behind Sydney’s narrowing eyes. He had expected this.
“I hope for your sake that you are lying to me Sark. Because if you’re not you will soon be begging me to take you back to the CIA.”
Sark realized that he could no longer hide what little he knew about Sydney’s disappearance if he wanted to survive the night.
“There is one piece of information I can give you. I know a person who can tell you exactly what happened to you.”
She did not ask him for a name; instead she got up from the couch and stood over him with her arms crossed. He looked up at her, she seemed more sad than angry now. He truly wanted to help her at that moment.
“You need to talk to Irina, your mother. She has all the answers that you are looking for.”
“My mother? I thought you were going to say Sloane.”
“Sloane,” Sark snorted. “He would not be able to help you. Soon he will not even be able to help himself.”
“I don’t know where my mother is.”
That did not surprise Sark. Irina was not the easiest person to find. Thankfully he was one of the lucky few who were privy to her emergency contact system. If he told Sydney about this, she would most likely want him to help her contact her mother. This would delay his own plans. Kill Sloane, find Allison.
He stood up and examined Sydney. She seemed to be putting on a resilient front despite her evident fragility. She needed someone to depend on. Sydney Bristow needed help. She needed his help. Well, he reasoned, I need to find Irina anyway. She can help me kill Sloane and find Allison.
“I can find her for you Sydney.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Nothing.” Sydney looked at him quizzically.
“Except,” he added, “I could use some new clothes.”
* * *
When Sark awoke in the guest bedroom the next morning, he found a suit lying next to him on the bed. It was not haute couture, but it would do. At least it was better than the prison garbs he had been sporting for so long.
He decided to shave and take a quick shower first. As he stepped out of the shower, he removed the small towel that was wrapped around his waist and began getting dressed. Before he could put on his shirt Sydney burst through the door.
“We should get going soon. Are you ready?”
Sark turned to look at her. “Do you not knock at the CIA?”
Sydney seemed to notice for the first time that Sark was not yet dressed. She unintentionally let her eyes wander across his body, lingering on his still damp chest.
“Would it bother you if I put on my shirt now?”
Sydney lifted her gaze to his and saw his amused expression. She felt her cheeks redden despite herself.
“Fine, get dressed and meet me outside.”
Sark thought he saw Sydney stumble a bit as she rushed out of the room. He had affected her. He always believed that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. This definitely proved it. Maybe this little trip to see Irina might be worth his trouble after all. He could always kill Sloane and find Allison later.
“Where to?” Sydney asked after Sark shut the car door behind him.
“A phone booth.”
“Could you possibly narrow that down? I’m pretty sure there’s more than one phone booth in Switzerland.”
“It doesn’t have to be a specific phone booth Miss Bristow. I am going to contact your mother via telephone. If we use a cell phone we could compromise ourselves and your mother.”
Sydney nodded in comprehension.
“More importantly,” he added, “if Irina finds out we tried to contact her using a cell phone she would not be pleased.”
Sydney laughed. “You’re afraid of my mom.”
“You find that strange? Funny, I would find it strange if someone was not afraid of your mother.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
Sark turned to face Sydney. She was starting to regain her confident demeanor. Her confidence was always one of things that attracted him to her. Still, he had an idea about the feelings her mother evoked in her.
“Liar.”
“What?”
“You are just as afraid of your mother as the rest of us. Actually, you are even more so.”
Sydney couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sark was claiming to know how she thought, how she felt! How dare he pretend to understand her?
“So you know me better than I know myself now?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Then by all means, enlighten me further. Why am I so afraid of my own mother?”
“You are afraid of your mother because she is so much like you. The qualities that you try so hard to keep hidden are those that form your mother’s character. So you are afraid of her, not for the same reasons as the rest of us, but nevertheless she still scares you.”
When did Sark become so perceptive? Was she so easy to read? Sydney was noticeably shook up. He had done this to her. She let him upset her, she knew better. Come on, she thought, shake it off Sydney.
“Is this you being insightful Mr. Sark?”
“I am sorry if I upset you Miss. Bristow.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing you could say to upset me. I don’t let people like you get to me.”
He knew he had upset her, that’s why she had lashed back at him. People like you. What did she mean by that? Spies, liars, assassins? No, stop it. Sydney Bristow’s personal opinions were of no concern to me, he unsuccessfully tried to convince himself.
“There, “ Sydney pointed to a phone booth near a post office. “We can call from there.”
“Alright. You wait in the car.”
“Yeah right, like that’s going to happen.” Sydney opened the car door and stepped out. “Are you coming Sark?”
* * *
Sark had hoped he would be able to speak with Irina without Sydney breathing down his back. All of a sudden she seemed to be attached to him, waiting to hear what Irina was going to tell him. He knew Irina would not say much. Hopefully she would still be willing to speak with him. If not for his past loyalty for her, than at least for her own daughter’s sake.
Sark picked up the receiver and inserted the phone card in the slot. Then he dialed the number only he and a selected few were privy to. After two rings his call was answered. There was no response from the person receiving the call.
“It’s Sark,” he said simply. The key was to say as little as possible and attain the most information. That is what Irina had taught him.
“Where are you?” a velvety voice with a hint of a Russian accent questioned.
“Basel. The post office.”
“I’ll send someone immediately.” And with that their brief conversation had come to an end. Sark had no idea how long it would take for Irina to have them picked up. He did not even know where she was. But, for better or worse, they would soon be in Irina’s dangerous hands.
Sark hung up the receiver and turned to an anxious Sydney.
“What happened?”
“Someone will pick us up, and take us to your mother.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she? Is she in Switzerland, or at least Europe.”
“I do not know Miss Bristow.”
“So what now?”
“Now we wait.”
Sydney was getting restless, and this was making Sark feel uncomfortable. They both needed to be in a more relaxed, controlled state of mind when they met Irina. He looked around and noticed that a café had just opened near the post office.
“We should wait in that café,” Sark suggested.
“Right, we need to blend in. It wouldn’t seem normal for us to wait here in front of the phone booth all day.”
“That is true, but I simply wanted to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee. So you want to sit down and have a little chat? Maybe get to know each other better?” Sydney offered sarcastically.
As banal as it sounded, that is exactly what Sark was looking forward to doing.
“My treat.” He added.
Yeah, Sydney thought, I break him out of prison and he wants to buy me a cup of coffee. That seems fair. Well, it’s at least a start.
“Let’s go. And you’re buying me a brioche too.”
* * *
Sark sat down at a small table in the darkened café. Café Noir, the sign had read. What a cliché. Sark wondered how many Café Noirs there were in the various francophone countries.
“Un petit café et une brioche pour Mlle. Bristow.”
“Merci M. Sark. Mais nous devrions parler en anglais pour les gens qui ne savent pas parler français.” (wink wink)
“So tell me, Miss Bristow, what do you want to know about me?”
Sydney broke of a piece of her brioche and took a sip of her coffee. “Nothing,” she said plainly.
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me. I know you’d like to think that everyone wants to unravel the mystery that is Sark, but I am not the least bit curious about you.” Sydney tried to read his expressions. Did he know she was lying? It didn’t seem like it, so she continued in the same vein. “Sorry Mr. Enigmatic, I do not want to hear your story of how a difficult childhood led you to a life of espionage. Plus there’s that whole relationship you have with my mother that’s sort of, well, icky.”
Sark’s eyebrows rose in amusement. Even though he was not smiling, Sydney could see the laughter in his eyes.
“I can assure you Miss Bristow, there has never been anything, ‘icky’ between your mother and me.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“Since you have expressed your total lack of interest in my past, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”
Sydney made a gesture with her hand to encourage him to continue.
“Why is Agent Vaughn not helping you on this quest of yours?”
“Vaughn is no longer with the CIA.”
“Alright, he might not be with the CIA, but he is with you. And yet he is not here with you and I have not seen you contact him.”
This was not the story Sydney wanted to be telling now. She didn’t want to think about it. Even though she hated Vaughn for his betrayal, she would always love him. Every time she thought about him with his new life and his new wife, the wound he inflicted on her opened up once again.
“Vaughn is no longer with me either. He’s married and happy with his new life. He doesn’t want a bothersome partial-amnesiac rogue CIA agent interfering with his happy home.”
Sark strained to limit his reaction to this news. He never thought that Vaughn was worthy of Sydney. This proved it. It also explained Sydney’s erratic behavior. She usually had more control over her emotions. He suddenly had a strong desire to hunt down the people who were responsible for Sydney’s disappearance and make them pay. And Vaughn too. He had dreamed of killing him before, but now he wished him the same painful death as he wished for Sloane.
“Miss Bristow I can say with absolute certainty that Michael Vaughn did not deserve your…esteem. I can only imagine how his betrayal has affected you. But do not forget who you are.”
Sydney stared down at her coffee.
“You are one of the most talented, intelligent women I have ever met. Not to mention,” he continued, “painfully gorgeous.”
Even though Sydney did not look up from her coffee, Sark could see a soft smile adorn her beautiful face.
“You were destined for greater things than the CIA and ex-Agent Vaughn.”
Finally Sydney looked up. “Thank you. You’re being very…kind.”
“How very uncharacteristic of me.”
Sydney smiled, he really could be charming at times. And for the first time, she could think of Vaughn without wanting to sob or totally shut down. She wanted to ask Sark something personal in return, but that would give her a way. No matter how badly she wanted to discover who Sark really was, she knew it would be a mistake to show that she was interested in him.
She didn’t have time to question him anyway; Irina’s emissary had arrived. It was time to go.
* * *
It had only taken them a few hours to reach their destination, a large estate near Anncey, France. Pine trees lined the driveway leading to the chateau. It was supremely serene. Not at all where Sydney would have expected her mother to be living. In any other situation Sydney would have been delighted to visit this home situated in front of a lush garden and over looking the famous lake of Anncey. But she knew who was waiting for her inside.
“Sydney,” Sark started “I should warn you, I did not tell your mother that you were with me. She is not expecting you.”
“Yes she is.”
Sark was about to argue when he realized that Sydney knew her mother better than he had thought. Now that he considered the situation he understood what she meant. Irina always knew what the important or dangerous people in her life were about to do. And she knew where Sydney was at all times.
The driver opened the car door and Sydney and Sark walked up the stone path to the chateau. A large man in a suit greeted them at the door and led them to the library. The room was empty. Sydney walked around the room, examining her surroundings. Sark directed her attention to a clock over the fireplace.
“She wants to observe us first.”
Sydney glanced up at the clock. Her mother was once again in control. This was not going to go well. The only way Sydney would be able to get the answers she wanted without having to play her mother’s game was if she could somehow get the upper hand. Sydney turned around to Sark who was now sitting in a leather armchair. She walked across the room and stood in front of him. Sark stared up at Sydney. She was wearing an expression that he did not recognize.
“Yes?” he asked.
Without saying a word she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up out of the chair. She quickly looked back at the mirror from the corner of her eye before she forced her lips onto Sarks’. He immediately returned her kiss with equal force. Soon they found themselves locked in a passionate embrace. Sark pushed aside his surprise and let himself enjoy the moment. He had thought about what it would be like to kiss Sydney, but nothing in his imagination could have prepared him for this. He knew that she must have some ulterior motive for kissing him, but at that instant he did not care. His mind became clouded and he could think of nothing else but keeping Sydney close to him. He reached around her waist and pulled her in closer.
“Excuse me.”
As soon as Sark heard that familiar voice he released Sydney and moved back, almost stumbling onto the chair. Sydney did not seem surprised by the intrusion. She turned to face the interloper.
“Sorry mom,” Sydney said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
* * *
Sydney waited to see what type of response she had elicited from her mother with the impromptu kiss between her and Sark. It was totally out of character for her and she was sure that Sark had no idea what was going on. Although he did not seem to mind her forward gesture. Hopefully her mother was now in a state of bewilderment equal to Sark’s.
“I’m so happy to see that you are safe Sydney.” Irina started. “I’ve missed you.”
Damn it! Not even a hint of anger or surprise in her mother’s placid tone. She had seen right through her lame attempt. When Sydney did not answer her mother’s greeting, Irina turned to a now composed Sark.
“Mr Sark,” she said, nodding her hello.
That’s it? Sark thought. No thank you for bringing my daughter to me? No sorry about leaving you in CIA custody for two years of your young life? Not even a, ‘you’re looking well Mr. Sark’?
Sark stopped himself. Why should he care what she thought about him anyway? Being unappreciated by Irina was nothing new. Yet, for some reason he always sought her approval. Now he felt dismissed by Irina and used by her daughter. He was starting to develop an empathetic respect for Jack Bristow.
It had not taken him long to deduce that Sydney’s plan was to confuse her mother by kissing him so that she could take control of the situation. Although, whether or not she had planned to extend their kiss for so long remained unclear. Not that he should concern himself with something as inconsequential as the length and intensity of Sydney Bristow’s embrace. Do not forget, Sark reminded himself, number two on your list of priorities: find Allison.
“I suppose,” Irina continued “that you did not ask Mr. Sark to bring you here for a social visit.”
“No. I want to know what happened to me.”
“Have you asked your father? He was looking for you for quite some time you know.”
“He doesn’t know anything. No one at the CIA does. Not that that would come as a surprise to you. As far as I know, you’re the only one who can tell me about my disappearance.”
“What makes you think that I know something that your father and everyone else doesn’t know?”
Sydney glanced over at Sark. Irina’s gaze followed hers.
Nice Sydney, Sark thought, why don’t you just give Irina a gun and point her in my direction.
“Ah, I see. Mr. Sark has asserted that I am the woman with all the answers.”
Sark felt Irina’s cold stare mercilessly penetrate him. This was not good.
“And you believe him? Sydney I am somewhat surprised that you would be so willing to believe the word of an imprisoned terrorist. He was most likely just trying to save himself by offering you faulty information.”
Of course I was trying to save myself, Sark thought. That is exactly what you taught me to do. Irina was once again using him as a scapegoat. This was definitely not good.
“I’ve had enough experience dealing with Sark to know when he’s lying. So please don’t try to confuse me. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. You were about to tell me who is responsible for me loosing two years of my life.”
“You mean you’re not blaming me for your disappearance?”
“You might have been involved, but I think someone else was responsible for abducting me.”
“And who is it that you suspect?”
“Sloane.”
Sark let out a low laugh and shook his head slightly.
“Is there something you would like to share Mr. Sark?” Irina asked.
Perfect. Why couldn’t he keep his hatred of Sloane in check? This was not a conversation he wanted to be brought back into.
“I think Miss Bristow gives Mr. Sloane far too much credit.”
Irina seemd to contemplate Sark’s observation.
“I’d tend to agree with Mr. Sark. However that does not mean that Sloane did not play some part in your disappearance.”
“You’re acting as if you’re not sure what happened to me. Don’t tell me that you are as in the dark about this as everyone else.” Despite the anger Sydney felt surging inside of her, she calmed herself down. Irina would not respond to shouting and threats. Sydney crossed the middle of the library to where her mother was standing. She searched her mother’s emotionless eyes for some sign of understanding.
“Mom, please. I’m asking you as your daughter, tell me the truth. You can’t imagine what it’s like having two years of your life ripped away. I need to remember what happened. I need your help.”
“Sydney, I…”
This was it, Sydney thought. Her mother had finally let her emotions take control of her. She could see a spark of sadness in Irina’s eyes. Her mother was ready to tell her everything.
And then, as quickly as her mother’s expression softened it returned to its usual state.
“I need to have a word with Mr. Sark. We can continue this discussion later, in private. For now why don’t you let one of my servants show you to your room.”
This was not the answer Sydney had been hoping for. But, she reasoned, at least it wasn’t another lie.
She glanced back at Sark who was now looking out a large window, appearing to ignore the exchange between mother and daughter. As Sydney walked out of the library she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Sark. She was sure that her mother did not want to extend a warm welcome to her former employee. Sydney realized that this could be the last time she would see Sark alive.
* * *
Now then, Sark thought, this is a pivotal moment. I have to prove my usefulness to Irina. Plus, justify why I used her emergency contact system and brought her daughter to see her without any advance warning. Not to mention find out what happened to Allison, and see if she would help him find Sloane.
Irina was now sitting behind a large oak desk, waiting for him to say something. What did she want him to say exactly? Did she want an apology? Probably not. She definitely did not want to hear an excuse. Sark finally opened his mouth to start the explanation he had been rehearsing since he had first arrived there with Sydney, when Irina stopped him.
“Before you say anything Mr. Sark, there are a few things that I would like to clear up. I understand that my daughter broke you out of prison. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. And your extraction from this prison was contingent on your ability to name the person responsible for her abduction two years ago?”
“Yes, I promised I could take her to someone who would be able to help her find the truth.”
“That is when you decided to use the telephone number that is reserved for the most serious emergencies to contact me.”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
Irina paused. She was smiling now, and Sark felt more unnerved than comforted by her altered demeanor.
“I am happy to see that you are no longer in CIA custody. If it had been in my power to help you escape I assure you an attempt would have been made.”
Sark knew very well that if Irina wanted him out of that prison, he would have been free within a week. But he appreciated her consoling lie.
“Thank you, but I do not hold you responsible for the CIA capturing me. We all do what we have to do to survive.”
“Yes, I knew you would understand that. I also want to thank you for bringing Sydney to see me.”
Sark was noticeable surprised by Irina’s last remark. He was sure she would chastise him for not telling her that Sydney was with him.
“You are surprised. You didn’t think that I would want to see my own daughter?”
“I assumed it has not been that long since you’ve last seen her.”
“Ah. So you truly believe that I orchestrated Sydney’s abduction.”
“If not you then who?”
“I think there are other questions you would rather ask me. Questions about people in your past perhaps.”
Kill Sloane, find Allison. She knew what he was thinking. She always did.
“Where is Sloane?”
Irina laughed. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you. You will have plenty of time to deal with Sloane, if that is what you decide you want to do. Although you might have to fight Sydney for the chance to kill him.”
Sark figured she was right about that. Even though he and Sydney were different in many ways, they shared a hatred for their former employer.
“Is there anything else you would like to ask me Mr. Sark?”
Find Allison.
“Is Allison still alive?”
“No. She was killed while on a mission a few months ago.”
Sark was glad he was sitting down; if he had been standing he might have been unable to stand this emotional blow. The last woman he had cared about, made loved to, promised to protect forever…she was dead.
“How did it happen?”
“We needed to send someone to make initial contact with Paolo Almeida, the arms dealer.”
Sark knew who Almeida was. They had dealt with him on several occasions. He was notoriously paranoid. He almost always killed whoever made first contact on behalf of a buyer. Irina knew that. She sent Allison to her death.
“You must understand,” Irina continued “Allison had not lived up to the potential she first exhibited to us. She had become a liability.”
Sark listened to what Irina was saying but all he could hear was Allison’s voice telling him how she wanted to stay with him forever.
“I did not think the news of her death would upset you so much. Of course I knew that the two of you were involved, but I assumed it was not very serious.”
“Why would you make that assumption?”
“Because when I asked her if she thought she could help you escape from prison she said it would be impossible. She also assured me that it would not be worth the effort as you could be easily replaced.”
Not worth the effort, easily replaced?
He could not believe what Irina was telling him. No, Allison cared about him. She would not have left him in prison. She would not have tried to take his place in Irina and Sloane’s operation.
“I am sorry if this comes as a surprise to you Mr. Sark. I assumed you knew the extent of Allison’s ambition. She wanted to take your place. Of course her talents were nowhere near your own.”
Allison was ambitious, he knew that. Irina could be telling the truth. Allison did not try to help him, she did not wait for him. Yet, even though she betrayed him, Sark still cared about her. Why? Two years, two of the best years of his life were ripped away from him. Now Allison was gone and Irina was welcoming him back. In her own way, Irina probably missed her young protégé. She was even complementing him now.
“Thank you.”
“If you would like your old job back, I would be more than happy to offer it to you.”
“I assume you are no longer working with Arvin Sloane.”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Fine, I accept. What about Sydney?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to tell her the truth?”
“Eventually perhaps. For now I want to keep her here with me. I think you will be able to help me do that.”
Was she referring to the kiss she had witnessed between Sydney and him, he wondered? She must have known that was not a real sign of affection.
“I do not know how much help I could be in convincing Sydney to stay here with you. I am almost positive that she hates me.”
“Hmmm. I am surprised Mr. Sark. You are usually quite adept at reading people. My daughter does not hate you, although she might not realize it yet.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Talk to her, try to consol her. She needs to be able to trust someone now, and she is not ready to trust me.”
”You are not seriously asking me to seduce your daughter.”
“Definitely not. It would be in your best interest if you kept your relationship with my daughter strictly platonic.”
Right, touch my daughter and find yourself on a suicide mission like Allison. So, he thought, if I am not allowed to use my powers of seduction how am I going to ‘connect’ with Sydney? Sark contemplated this predicament. Finally the solution came to him.
“Good god,” he said under his breath “I am going to have to be nice to Sydney Bristow.”
* * *
Sydney was lying on the large four-post bed staring up at the ceiling. Everything that was going on seemed surreal. Even though she lived in the bizarre world of espionage, the situation she had found herself in was beyond any that she could ever have imagined. The thing that disturbed her the most was that, as she continued her quest to find her lost memories, she felt like she was losing her own identity.
Sydney slid off the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror. She gazed at her own reflection. She still looked like the same woman she had always been.
‘Who are you?’
As she waited for a response from the reflection staring back at her, she was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of a gentle knock. Sydney took a deep breath and walked to her door.
“Hello Miss Bristow.”
She was noticeably surprised when she opened the door and found Sark standing in front of her.
“You’re still alive.”
“Evidently,” he said with a half smile. “May I come in?”
Sydney opened the door further, turned, and walked back towards her bed. Sark took that as a ‘yes’ and followed her, shutting the door behind him.
Alright, he thought, connect with her, be nice, do not seduce her. Not a problem
Sydney plopped back down on her bed. As she sat there bathed in the soft light streaming in through the window she looked almost angelic, like a vision. She always looked beautiful, but at that moment she looked absolutely radiant.
This could be tricky.
“I thought you might be hungry. I brought you some fruit.”
At the mention of food Sydney realized she was famished. The only thing she had eaten in two days was the brioche Sark had bought her at the café in Switzerland. Sark pulled out two pieces of fruit from his jacket pocket.
“Nectarine or peach?”
Sydney wanted to say ‘both’, but she decided not to be selfish.
“Nectarine.”
Sark threw the nectarine at Sydney who caught it with one hand.
“So is this your punishment?”
“Excuse me?”
“For upsetting my mother. Did she demote you to lead assassin in charge of room service?”
“No. I was simply trying to be nice to you.”
“Oh.”
“Or maybe,” he said with a devilish grin, “I poisoned that nectarine, Snow White.”
Sydney considered the possibility, and then quickly rejected it as she took a large bite of the nectarine and smiled.
“Actually your mother is very happy to have me back servicing…uh, that is, she is happy to have me back in her service.”
Sydney choked on a piece of nectarine. “Okay could you please not talk about servicing my mother?”
How many times did he have to explain that nothing sexual ever transpired between her mother and him?
“Sydney, I have already explained that my relationship with your mother has always been strictly professional. I would appreciate it if you could let go of this sexual delusion of yours.”
“Sorry,” she said earnestly. “You actually have been very nice to me lately. And, while I am sure you have some ulterior motives, I still appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. But I assure you Miss Bristow, I have no ulterior motives,” he lied. “Now that I am free, I do not need your assistance in any way.”
Sydney swallowed the last bite of her nectarine and licked the juice of her fingers. “Sydney,” she said.
“Pardon?” Sark was sure Sydney had just said something to him, but he was having a great deal of trouble paying attention to anything apart from her naturally seductive mannerisms. It seemed as if everything she did had a sexual subtext.
”You are not seriously asking me to seduce your daughter.”
“Definitely not. It would be in your best interest if you kept your relationship with my daughter strictly platonic.”
“You can call me Sydney,” she continued. “I really would prefer it.”
“Comme la mademoiselle voudrait.”
Wow, somehow his melodious voice sounded even more sensual when he spoke French. Stop it Sydney. This is Sark, remember? He must have an agenda.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the new, kinder, gift-bearing Sark, but shouldn’t you be off plotting somewhere with my mother? Or perhaps with your murdering clone girlfriend?”
Sydney noticed that Sark flinched at her last words. But she couldn’t tell if it was due to another reference to him and her mother or the mention of the Francie clone. She thought about clarifying what she had said when Sark finally opened his mouth to answer her.
“Your mother and I are not plotting. And Allison is dead.”
Good, Sydney thought, that’s one less person I have to track down and turn over to the CIA, or kill. Now Francie can rest in peace. But then again, until a couple weeks ago I was ‘dead’ too.
“Dead like I was dead, or actually dead?”
“She is most definitely deceased.”
Sydney thought she heard Sark actually raising his voice.
“I realize she killed your friend Sydney, but could you try to be somewhat less joyous about the news of her death.”
Wow, she thought, he’s seriously upset about this.
“Sark, are you saying…did you love her?”
“I cared about her, and I will miss her. But losing someone I care about will not turn me into an emotional wreck bent on self-destruction.”
“Like me, right? That is what you meant.”
“You said it, not me.”
”No, you said it.” The nerve of this man.
“What right do you have to judge me Sark?”
“I am not judging you Sydney, I am simply making an observation. Since we have found ourselves in similar situations I believe that I have a unique perspective…”
“Similar situations? I lost two years of my life, then I woke up in a world where I don’t fit in anymore to find the man I love married. You don’t know anything about my situation.”
“You are right Sydney. It is not as if I was locked away in a prison for two years only to discover that the woman whom I cared very deeply about was, in fact, dead. Please excuse my presumptuousness. I did not mean to infer that my insignificant feelings could possibly parallel your own.”
Sydney averted her gaze. Sark was right. Sark was right and she was wrong. Even worse, she had been unjustly cruel to him. Whether she liked it or not, she and Sark did have something in common, many things, actually. Now the only way to ease her guilty conscience would be to apologize. Apologize to Sark; that will be a first.
“Sark, I…”
“Yes?”
Sydney sighed. He was not going to make this easy for her.
Set after the first episode of season 3
Sark sat in his cell thinking of yet another way to make Arvin Sloane’s death as long and painful as possible. This had been his primary preoccupation since he discovered that Sloane was not going to get him out of this prison. And that, in fact, Sloane was now working with the people who were holding him behind bars. He was kept in solitary, that meant no visitors no matter what. The last visitor he had was an irate Jack Bristow who accused him of being somehow responsible for his daughter’s abduction. Sark explained that he had nothing to do with it, and wasn’t even aware of any abduction. Jack seemed to believe him, not that Sark really cared. Since Jack’s visit, Sark had only his thoughts to keep him company. Luckily he had a very active, and graphic, imagination.
He didn’t know it yet, but today was going to be different than the past 582 days he spent in prison. Today he was going to have a visitor.
Sark heard footsteps down the long corridor that led to his cell. It was too early for his lunch. Plus the footsteps did not sound familiar. These were not the guard’s footsteps; for one thing the guard did not wear high heel shoes. Sark sat patiently waiting for whoever was headed his way to finally reach him.
He was pleasantly surprised by the stunning ghost that stood before him. He immediately met her icy gaze with his own crisp blue eyes. He stood up to meet her. He might be nothing more than a CIA prisoner now, but he was still well mannered.
“Miss Bristow.”
“Hello Sark.”
“I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid that’s not possible given my current situation.”
“I’m not here to visit. I want you to tell me what happened to me.”
“I assure you, you know more than I do about your recent disappearance and subsequent resurrection.”
“You obviously know something about it.”
“Your father came to see me over a year ago. He asked me if I knew where you were or what happened to you. And just as I’ve told you, I told him that I do not know what happened to you Miss Bristow.”
Sydney stared at him. Sark could tell she was trying to calm herself down before she began interrogating him again.
“Tell me, how is your father. He did not seem mentally stable the last time I saw him.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about my father.”
Sark managed to contain a smile. He always enjoyed getting a rise out of Sydney.
“I’ve already had to stomach Sloane’s ‘I had nothing to do with your disappearance, I’m a new man’ speech. If I hear anymore b.s. from you people I’m going to take out my gun and start shooting.”
“Tsk, tsk Sydney. You are not going to get any information from me by threatening to kill me.”
“Oh I think you’ve proven that threatening your life is the only way to obtain your cooperation.”
Sydney was right. Sark had shown that self-preservation was on the top of his list of priorities. Or at least it had been in the past. Now there was only one thing on his mind: getting out of this cell. The only problem was he didn’t know much about Sydney’s disappearance. Except, of course, for who was responsible.
“Very well, I do have some information for you. But I will need more than just a promise that you will not kill me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want a full pardon from the CIA.”
“That’s impossible. Even if I could manage to convince the CIA to let you go, I don’t even know if you have any information worth trading.”
“Trust me, I have first-hand information that will be very enlightening for you.”
Sydney contemplated Sark’s offer. Would she really be able to get the CIA to release him? And what exactly did he know?
“Do we have a deal Miss Bristow?”
“I’ll get back to you. For now, just sit tight.”
As Sydney walked away Sark realized how much he missed their lively encounters. For the first time in over a year he wouldn’t be dreaming about killing Sloane tonight.
* * *
Sydney stormed out of Dixon’s office. They had rejected her proposal. It didn’t matter what Sark claimed to know, they were not going to let a dangerous assassin out of prison. Sydney needed to find out what Sark knew. There was no way he would talk to her while he was still locked up. She wasn’t left with any other options.
Sark was surprised to hear Sydney walking down the corridor towards his cell only a day after they had last spoken. He assumed she could get him the CIA pardon, but he didn’t expect her to do so in less than 24 hours. Once again, she managed to impress him.
“Miss Bristow I…”
“We don’t have time for conversation now Sark. We’ll talk after we get you out of here.” Sydney put a small keycard into the slot outside his cell. The door to his cell opened up. He was free. He wanted to take a moment to savor his freedom but Sydney didn’t give me the chance.
“Come on, let’s go. We have to hurry.”
“What is the rush? Does the CIA want me to be transported in the middle of the night for security reasons?”
“The CIA has nothing to do with this. Now move, unless you’d prefer to stay here.”
Sark didn’t answer her, he simply follow her as she was already sprinting down the corridor. Along the way he noticed several guards lying on the floor. Knocked unconscious, presumably by Sydney. It was then that the reality of the situation hit him. CIA Agent Sydney Bristow was breaking him out of prison.
When they were finally outside the building Sydney directed Sark to a waiting car. They jumped in and Sydney drove off. Sark rolled down the windows to the car, smelled the cool autumn air and smiled.
* * *
As Sydney sped down the street she couldn’t help glancing over at her passenger. He was staring out the window at the Swiss countryside. They had been traveling for over a day since they first left the prison and had not yet exchanged any words. Even though she was technically in charge of the situation, since she had broken him out of prison, she felt considerably uncomfortable in his presence. He seemed at ease, almost content. At one point Sydney thought she even saw a hint of a smile from him. He seemed to be somehow out of character. Although, she thought, it’s not like I really know him anyway.
“We’re almost there.”
“May I ask where ‘there’ is, Miss Bristow?”
“An old contact of mine has a small chalet in the Alps, he said I could use it for as long as I need it.”
Sark nodded. He had been thinking about what he was going to tell Sydney when they finally reached their destination. He knew she wouldn’t question him until she was sure that they were safe and would not be disturbed. She expected him to open up the door to her past, but he knew he would only be able to offer her a brief glimpse through the keyhole. She would not be pleased. Perhaps a fight would ensue.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I was just admiring the landscape.”
Damn it. Sark hadn’t realized that his private thoughts had manifested themselves so openly. The thought of fighting with Sydney ought not make him feel so elated. He was already in a relationship with another woman, Allison.
He had heard that she was still alive and working for his former employer. He was glad to hear that Sydney had not killed her that night. And yet, he wondered, if she was alive why had she not attempted to free him from the CIA? If she cared as much as she led him to believe wouldn’t she have at least tried to free him? Maybe she was too much like him, only focused on staying alive. Or maybe their relationship only developed as a remedy to the monotony they were both experiencing when they first met.
The reasons behind their union and Allison’s reasons for not rescuing him were inconsequential. He would remain faithful to her. Just as his professional loyalties were malleable, his amorous loyalties were unwavering. Yes, he would tell Sydney what he knew and then he would find Allison and rush to her side.
“Sark, we’re here. Are you planning to get out or do you want to stay in the car all night?”
“Sorry,” he replied.
Sydney had accurately described the chalet as ‘small.’ There were only two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. It was not particularly to Sark’s liking, but he knew they would not be there long. Once they were both inside, Sydney led him into the living room and plopped herself down on a large couch.
“Alright, start talking.”
“Why yes Miss Bristow, I’d love to sit down. Thank you,” Sark said as he found his way to an antique rocking chair.
Sydney was definitely not in the mood for Sark’s infamous air of pretentious civility.
“So sorry Mr. Sark. Of course have a seat. And would you care for a beverage, or maybe I should heat up the fondue pot.”
“Some tea would be nice.”
“Excuse me?”
“You asked me if I would care for something to drink; I’d like some hot tea. I would have asked for a glass of wine but somehow I suspect that any alcohol to be found in this chalet, and I use the term loosely, would be fit for consumption.”
“Tea.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sydney growled softly as she went to the cramped kitchen and looked for a kettle and some tea. He was definitely not going to make this easy for her.
* * *
Sark sat in the antique rocking chair sipping the jasmine tea Sydney had made for him. He glanced at Sydney over the large mug he was holding with both hands. She was not happy. In fact, she looked as if she were about to jump across the table that separated them and attack him. Would that be so bad? Yes, yes it would. No more thoughts of that kind. Just tell her what she needs to know and get back to your itinerary. First on his list, kill Sloane slowly. Next find Allison. Hmmm, he thought, just as he suspected flirt with Sydney Bristow was nowhere on his list of priorities. Of course since he would have to spend at least one day with her, he could at least have a little fun.
“I have not yet thanked you properly Miss Bristow. I am very much grateful for your efforts in rescuing me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I didn’t do it for you. I don’t give a damn about your well being Sark.” Sydney did not see any sort of reaction as a result of her harsh words. Still, for some reason, she wished she could take them back.
“Please, tell me what happened to me.”
“It really is always about you isn’t it?”
“Sark!”
“Fine. I will answer you honestly. It is the least that I can do.” He paused, not for dramatic effect but because he knew that his response was bound to unleash Sydney’s anger.
“Honestly, I do not know what happened to you. I have no idea where you spent the last two years, or why you reappeared in Hong Kong.”
Immediately, as he spoke these last words, he could see the rage building behind Sydney’s narrowing eyes. He had expected this.
“I hope for your sake that you are lying to me Sark. Because if you’re not you will soon be begging me to take you back to the CIA.”
Sark realized that he could no longer hide what little he knew about Sydney’s disappearance if he wanted to survive the night.
“There is one piece of information I can give you. I know a person who can tell you exactly what happened to you.”
She did not ask him for a name; instead she got up from the couch and stood over him with her arms crossed. He looked up at her, she seemed more sad than angry now. He truly wanted to help her at that moment.
“You need to talk to Irina, your mother. She has all the answers that you are looking for.”
“My mother? I thought you were going to say Sloane.”
“Sloane,” Sark snorted. “He would not be able to help you. Soon he will not even be able to help himself.”
“I don’t know where my mother is.”
That did not surprise Sark. Irina was not the easiest person to find. Thankfully he was one of the lucky few who were privy to her emergency contact system. If he told Sydney about this, she would most likely want him to help her contact her mother. This would delay his own plans. Kill Sloane, find Allison.
He stood up and examined Sydney. She seemed to be putting on a resilient front despite her evident fragility. She needed someone to depend on. Sydney Bristow needed help. She needed his help. Well, he reasoned, I need to find Irina anyway. She can help me kill Sloane and find Allison.
“I can find her for you Sydney.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Nothing.” Sydney looked at him quizzically.
“Except,” he added, “I could use some new clothes.”
* * *
When Sark awoke in the guest bedroom the next morning, he found a suit lying next to him on the bed. It was not haute couture, but it would do. At least it was better than the prison garbs he had been sporting for so long.
He decided to shave and take a quick shower first. As he stepped out of the shower, he removed the small towel that was wrapped around his waist and began getting dressed. Before he could put on his shirt Sydney burst through the door.
“We should get going soon. Are you ready?”
Sark turned to look at her. “Do you not knock at the CIA?”
Sydney seemed to notice for the first time that Sark was not yet dressed. She unintentionally let her eyes wander across his body, lingering on his still damp chest.
“Would it bother you if I put on my shirt now?”
Sydney lifted her gaze to his and saw his amused expression. She felt her cheeks redden despite herself.
“Fine, get dressed and meet me outside.”
Sark thought he saw Sydney stumble a bit as she rushed out of the room. He had affected her. He always believed that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. This definitely proved it. Maybe this little trip to see Irina might be worth his trouble after all. He could always kill Sloane and find Allison later.
“Where to?” Sydney asked after Sark shut the car door behind him.
“A phone booth.”
“Could you possibly narrow that down? I’m pretty sure there’s more than one phone booth in Switzerland.”
“It doesn’t have to be a specific phone booth Miss Bristow. I am going to contact your mother via telephone. If we use a cell phone we could compromise ourselves and your mother.”
Sydney nodded in comprehension.
“More importantly,” he added, “if Irina finds out we tried to contact her using a cell phone she would not be pleased.”
Sydney laughed. “You’re afraid of my mom.”
“You find that strange? Funny, I would find it strange if someone was not afraid of your mother.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
Sark turned to face Sydney. She was starting to regain her confident demeanor. Her confidence was always one of things that attracted him to her. Still, he had an idea about the feelings her mother evoked in her.
“Liar.”
“What?”
“You are just as afraid of your mother as the rest of us. Actually, you are even more so.”
Sydney couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sark was claiming to know how she thought, how she felt! How dare he pretend to understand her?
“So you know me better than I know myself now?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Then by all means, enlighten me further. Why am I so afraid of my own mother?”
“You are afraid of your mother because she is so much like you. The qualities that you try so hard to keep hidden are those that form your mother’s character. So you are afraid of her, not for the same reasons as the rest of us, but nevertheless she still scares you.”
When did Sark become so perceptive? Was she so easy to read? Sydney was noticeably shook up. He had done this to her. She let him upset her, she knew better. Come on, she thought, shake it off Sydney.
“Is this you being insightful Mr. Sark?”
“I am sorry if I upset you Miss. Bristow.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing you could say to upset me. I don’t let people like you get to me.”
He knew he had upset her, that’s why she had lashed back at him. People like you. What did she mean by that? Spies, liars, assassins? No, stop it. Sydney Bristow’s personal opinions were of no concern to me, he unsuccessfully tried to convince himself.
“There, “ Sydney pointed to a phone booth near a post office. “We can call from there.”
“Alright. You wait in the car.”
“Yeah right, like that’s going to happen.” Sydney opened the car door and stepped out. “Are you coming Sark?”
* * *
Sark had hoped he would be able to speak with Irina without Sydney breathing down his back. All of a sudden she seemed to be attached to him, waiting to hear what Irina was going to tell him. He knew Irina would not say much. Hopefully she would still be willing to speak with him. If not for his past loyalty for her, than at least for her own daughter’s sake.
Sark picked up the receiver and inserted the phone card in the slot. Then he dialed the number only he and a selected few were privy to. After two rings his call was answered. There was no response from the person receiving the call.
“It’s Sark,” he said simply. The key was to say as little as possible and attain the most information. That is what Irina had taught him.
“Where are you?” a velvety voice with a hint of a Russian accent questioned.
“Basel. The post office.”
“I’ll send someone immediately.” And with that their brief conversation had come to an end. Sark had no idea how long it would take for Irina to have them picked up. He did not even know where she was. But, for better or worse, they would soon be in Irina’s dangerous hands.
Sark hung up the receiver and turned to an anxious Sydney.
“What happened?”
“Someone will pick us up, and take us to your mother.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she? Is she in Switzerland, or at least Europe.”
“I do not know Miss Bristow.”
“So what now?”
“Now we wait.”
Sydney was getting restless, and this was making Sark feel uncomfortable. They both needed to be in a more relaxed, controlled state of mind when they met Irina. He looked around and noticed that a café had just opened near the post office.
“We should wait in that café,” Sark suggested.
“Right, we need to blend in. It wouldn’t seem normal for us to wait here in front of the phone booth all day.”
“That is true, but I simply wanted to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee. So you want to sit down and have a little chat? Maybe get to know each other better?” Sydney offered sarcastically.
As banal as it sounded, that is exactly what Sark was looking forward to doing.
“My treat.” He added.
Yeah, Sydney thought, I break him out of prison and he wants to buy me a cup of coffee. That seems fair. Well, it’s at least a start.
“Let’s go. And you’re buying me a brioche too.”
* * *
Sark sat down at a small table in the darkened café. Café Noir, the sign had read. What a cliché. Sark wondered how many Café Noirs there were in the various francophone countries.
“Un petit café et une brioche pour Mlle. Bristow.”
“Merci M. Sark. Mais nous devrions parler en anglais pour les gens qui ne savent pas parler français.” (wink wink)
“So tell me, Miss Bristow, what do you want to know about me?”
Sydney broke of a piece of her brioche and took a sip of her coffee. “Nothing,” she said plainly.
“Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me. I know you’d like to think that everyone wants to unravel the mystery that is Sark, but I am not the least bit curious about you.” Sydney tried to read his expressions. Did he know she was lying? It didn’t seem like it, so she continued in the same vein. “Sorry Mr. Enigmatic, I do not want to hear your story of how a difficult childhood led you to a life of espionage. Plus there’s that whole relationship you have with my mother that’s sort of, well, icky.”
Sark’s eyebrows rose in amusement. Even though he was not smiling, Sydney could see the laughter in his eyes.
“I can assure you Miss Bristow, there has never been anything, ‘icky’ between your mother and me.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“Since you have expressed your total lack of interest in my past, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”
Sydney made a gesture with her hand to encourage him to continue.
“Why is Agent Vaughn not helping you on this quest of yours?”
“Vaughn is no longer with the CIA.”
“Alright, he might not be with the CIA, but he is with you. And yet he is not here with you and I have not seen you contact him.”
This was not the story Sydney wanted to be telling now. She didn’t want to think about it. Even though she hated Vaughn for his betrayal, she would always love him. Every time she thought about him with his new life and his new wife, the wound he inflicted on her opened up once again.
“Vaughn is no longer with me either. He’s married and happy with his new life. He doesn’t want a bothersome partial-amnesiac rogue CIA agent interfering with his happy home.”
Sark strained to limit his reaction to this news. He never thought that Vaughn was worthy of Sydney. This proved it. It also explained Sydney’s erratic behavior. She usually had more control over her emotions. He suddenly had a strong desire to hunt down the people who were responsible for Sydney’s disappearance and make them pay. And Vaughn too. He had dreamed of killing him before, but now he wished him the same painful death as he wished for Sloane.
“Miss Bristow I can say with absolute certainty that Michael Vaughn did not deserve your…esteem. I can only imagine how his betrayal has affected you. But do not forget who you are.”
Sydney stared down at her coffee.
“You are one of the most talented, intelligent women I have ever met. Not to mention,” he continued, “painfully gorgeous.”
Even though Sydney did not look up from her coffee, Sark could see a soft smile adorn her beautiful face.
“You were destined for greater things than the CIA and ex-Agent Vaughn.”
Finally Sydney looked up. “Thank you. You’re being very…kind.”
“How very uncharacteristic of me.”
Sydney smiled, he really could be charming at times. And for the first time, she could think of Vaughn without wanting to sob or totally shut down. She wanted to ask Sark something personal in return, but that would give her a way. No matter how badly she wanted to discover who Sark really was, she knew it would be a mistake to show that she was interested in him.
She didn’t have time to question him anyway; Irina’s emissary had arrived. It was time to go.
* * *
It had only taken them a few hours to reach their destination, a large estate near Anncey, France. Pine trees lined the driveway leading to the chateau. It was supremely serene. Not at all where Sydney would have expected her mother to be living. In any other situation Sydney would have been delighted to visit this home situated in front of a lush garden and over looking the famous lake of Anncey. But she knew who was waiting for her inside.
“Sydney,” Sark started “I should warn you, I did not tell your mother that you were with me. She is not expecting you.”
“Yes she is.”
Sark was about to argue when he realized that Sydney knew her mother better than he had thought. Now that he considered the situation he understood what she meant. Irina always knew what the important or dangerous people in her life were about to do. And she knew where Sydney was at all times.
The driver opened the car door and Sydney and Sark walked up the stone path to the chateau. A large man in a suit greeted them at the door and led them to the library. The room was empty. Sydney walked around the room, examining her surroundings. Sark directed her attention to a clock over the fireplace.
“She wants to observe us first.”
Sydney glanced up at the clock. Her mother was once again in control. This was not going to go well. The only way Sydney would be able to get the answers she wanted without having to play her mother’s game was if she could somehow get the upper hand. Sydney turned around to Sark who was now sitting in a leather armchair. She walked across the room and stood in front of him. Sark stared up at Sydney. She was wearing an expression that he did not recognize.
“Yes?” he asked.
Without saying a word she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up out of the chair. She quickly looked back at the mirror from the corner of her eye before she forced her lips onto Sarks’. He immediately returned her kiss with equal force. Soon they found themselves locked in a passionate embrace. Sark pushed aside his surprise and let himself enjoy the moment. He had thought about what it would be like to kiss Sydney, but nothing in his imagination could have prepared him for this. He knew that she must have some ulterior motive for kissing him, but at that instant he did not care. His mind became clouded and he could think of nothing else but keeping Sydney close to him. He reached around her waist and pulled her in closer.
“Excuse me.”
As soon as Sark heard that familiar voice he released Sydney and moved back, almost stumbling onto the chair. Sydney did not seem surprised by the intrusion. She turned to face the interloper.
“Sorry mom,” Sydney said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
* * *
Sydney waited to see what type of response she had elicited from her mother with the impromptu kiss between her and Sark. It was totally out of character for her and she was sure that Sark had no idea what was going on. Although he did not seem to mind her forward gesture. Hopefully her mother was now in a state of bewilderment equal to Sark’s.
“I’m so happy to see that you are safe Sydney.” Irina started. “I’ve missed you.”
Damn it! Not even a hint of anger or surprise in her mother’s placid tone. She had seen right through her lame attempt. When Sydney did not answer her mother’s greeting, Irina turned to a now composed Sark.
“Mr Sark,” she said, nodding her hello.
That’s it? Sark thought. No thank you for bringing my daughter to me? No sorry about leaving you in CIA custody for two years of your young life? Not even a, ‘you’re looking well Mr. Sark’?
Sark stopped himself. Why should he care what she thought about him anyway? Being unappreciated by Irina was nothing new. Yet, for some reason he always sought her approval. Now he felt dismissed by Irina and used by her daughter. He was starting to develop an empathetic respect for Jack Bristow.
It had not taken him long to deduce that Sydney’s plan was to confuse her mother by kissing him so that she could take control of the situation. Although, whether or not she had planned to extend their kiss for so long remained unclear. Not that he should concern himself with something as inconsequential as the length and intensity of Sydney Bristow’s embrace. Do not forget, Sark reminded himself, number two on your list of priorities: find Allison.
“I suppose,” Irina continued “that you did not ask Mr. Sark to bring you here for a social visit.”
“No. I want to know what happened to me.”
“Have you asked your father? He was looking for you for quite some time you know.”
“He doesn’t know anything. No one at the CIA does. Not that that would come as a surprise to you. As far as I know, you’re the only one who can tell me about my disappearance.”
“What makes you think that I know something that your father and everyone else doesn’t know?”
Sydney glanced over at Sark. Irina’s gaze followed hers.
Nice Sydney, Sark thought, why don’t you just give Irina a gun and point her in my direction.
“Ah, I see. Mr. Sark has asserted that I am the woman with all the answers.”
Sark felt Irina’s cold stare mercilessly penetrate him. This was not good.
“And you believe him? Sydney I am somewhat surprised that you would be so willing to believe the word of an imprisoned terrorist. He was most likely just trying to save himself by offering you faulty information.”
Of course I was trying to save myself, Sark thought. That is exactly what you taught me to do. Irina was once again using him as a scapegoat. This was definitely not good.
“I’ve had enough experience dealing with Sark to know when he’s lying. So please don’t try to confuse me. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. You were about to tell me who is responsible for me loosing two years of my life.”
“You mean you’re not blaming me for your disappearance?”
“You might have been involved, but I think someone else was responsible for abducting me.”
“And who is it that you suspect?”
“Sloane.”
Sark let out a low laugh and shook his head slightly.
“Is there something you would like to share Mr. Sark?” Irina asked.
Perfect. Why couldn’t he keep his hatred of Sloane in check? This was not a conversation he wanted to be brought back into.
“I think Miss Bristow gives Mr. Sloane far too much credit.”
Irina seemd to contemplate Sark’s observation.
“I’d tend to agree with Mr. Sark. However that does not mean that Sloane did not play some part in your disappearance.”
“You’re acting as if you’re not sure what happened to me. Don’t tell me that you are as in the dark about this as everyone else.” Despite the anger Sydney felt surging inside of her, she calmed herself down. Irina would not respond to shouting and threats. Sydney crossed the middle of the library to where her mother was standing. She searched her mother’s emotionless eyes for some sign of understanding.
“Mom, please. I’m asking you as your daughter, tell me the truth. You can’t imagine what it’s like having two years of your life ripped away. I need to remember what happened. I need your help.”
“Sydney, I…”
This was it, Sydney thought. Her mother had finally let her emotions take control of her. She could see a spark of sadness in Irina’s eyes. Her mother was ready to tell her everything.
And then, as quickly as her mother’s expression softened it returned to its usual state.
“I need to have a word with Mr. Sark. We can continue this discussion later, in private. For now why don’t you let one of my servants show you to your room.”
This was not the answer Sydney had been hoping for. But, she reasoned, at least it wasn’t another lie.
She glanced back at Sark who was now looking out a large window, appearing to ignore the exchange between mother and daughter. As Sydney walked out of the library she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Sark. She was sure that her mother did not want to extend a warm welcome to her former employee. Sydney realized that this could be the last time she would see Sark alive.
* * *
Now then, Sark thought, this is a pivotal moment. I have to prove my usefulness to Irina. Plus, justify why I used her emergency contact system and brought her daughter to see her without any advance warning. Not to mention find out what happened to Allison, and see if she would help him find Sloane.
Irina was now sitting behind a large oak desk, waiting for him to say something. What did she want him to say exactly? Did she want an apology? Probably not. She definitely did not want to hear an excuse. Sark finally opened his mouth to start the explanation he had been rehearsing since he had first arrived there with Sydney, when Irina stopped him.
“Before you say anything Mr. Sark, there are a few things that I would like to clear up. I understand that my daughter broke you out of prison. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. And your extraction from this prison was contingent on your ability to name the person responsible for her abduction two years ago?”
“Yes, I promised I could take her to someone who would be able to help her find the truth.”
“That is when you decided to use the telephone number that is reserved for the most serious emergencies to contact me.”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
Irina paused. She was smiling now, and Sark felt more unnerved than comforted by her altered demeanor.
“I am happy to see that you are no longer in CIA custody. If it had been in my power to help you escape I assure you an attempt would have been made.”
Sark knew very well that if Irina wanted him out of that prison, he would have been free within a week. But he appreciated her consoling lie.
“Thank you, but I do not hold you responsible for the CIA capturing me. We all do what we have to do to survive.”
“Yes, I knew you would understand that. I also want to thank you for bringing Sydney to see me.”
Sark was noticeable surprised by Irina’s last remark. He was sure she would chastise him for not telling her that Sydney was with him.
“You are surprised. You didn’t think that I would want to see my own daughter?”
“I assumed it has not been that long since you’ve last seen her.”
“Ah. So you truly believe that I orchestrated Sydney’s abduction.”
“If not you then who?”
“I think there are other questions you would rather ask me. Questions about people in your past perhaps.”
Kill Sloane, find Allison. She knew what he was thinking. She always did.
“Where is Sloane?”
Irina laughed. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you. You will have plenty of time to deal with Sloane, if that is what you decide you want to do. Although you might have to fight Sydney for the chance to kill him.”
Sark figured she was right about that. Even though he and Sydney were different in many ways, they shared a hatred for their former employer.
“Is there anything else you would like to ask me Mr. Sark?”
Find Allison.
“Is Allison still alive?”
“No. She was killed while on a mission a few months ago.”
Sark was glad he was sitting down; if he had been standing he might have been unable to stand this emotional blow. The last woman he had cared about, made loved to, promised to protect forever…she was dead.
“How did it happen?”
“We needed to send someone to make initial contact with Paolo Almeida, the arms dealer.”
Sark knew who Almeida was. They had dealt with him on several occasions. He was notoriously paranoid. He almost always killed whoever made first contact on behalf of a buyer. Irina knew that. She sent Allison to her death.
“You must understand,” Irina continued “Allison had not lived up to the potential she first exhibited to us. She had become a liability.”
Sark listened to what Irina was saying but all he could hear was Allison’s voice telling him how she wanted to stay with him forever.
“I did not think the news of her death would upset you so much. Of course I knew that the two of you were involved, but I assumed it was not very serious.”
“Why would you make that assumption?”
“Because when I asked her if she thought she could help you escape from prison she said it would be impossible. She also assured me that it would not be worth the effort as you could be easily replaced.”
Not worth the effort, easily replaced?
He could not believe what Irina was telling him. No, Allison cared about him. She would not have left him in prison. She would not have tried to take his place in Irina and Sloane’s operation.
“I am sorry if this comes as a surprise to you Mr. Sark. I assumed you knew the extent of Allison’s ambition. She wanted to take your place. Of course her talents were nowhere near your own.”
Allison was ambitious, he knew that. Irina could be telling the truth. Allison did not try to help him, she did not wait for him. Yet, even though she betrayed him, Sark still cared about her. Why? Two years, two of the best years of his life were ripped away from him. Now Allison was gone and Irina was welcoming him back. In her own way, Irina probably missed her young protégé. She was even complementing him now.
“Thank you.”
“If you would like your old job back, I would be more than happy to offer it to you.”
“I assume you are no longer working with Arvin Sloane.”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Fine, I accept. What about Sydney?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to tell her the truth?”
“Eventually perhaps. For now I want to keep her here with me. I think you will be able to help me do that.”
Was she referring to the kiss she had witnessed between Sydney and him, he wondered? She must have known that was not a real sign of affection.
“I do not know how much help I could be in convincing Sydney to stay here with you. I am almost positive that she hates me.”
“Hmmm. I am surprised Mr. Sark. You are usually quite adept at reading people. My daughter does not hate you, although she might not realize it yet.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Talk to her, try to consol her. She needs to be able to trust someone now, and she is not ready to trust me.”
”You are not seriously asking me to seduce your daughter.”
“Definitely not. It would be in your best interest if you kept your relationship with my daughter strictly platonic.”
Right, touch my daughter and find yourself on a suicide mission like Allison. So, he thought, if I am not allowed to use my powers of seduction how am I going to ‘connect’ with Sydney? Sark contemplated this predicament. Finally the solution came to him.
“Good god,” he said under his breath “I am going to have to be nice to Sydney Bristow.”
* * *
Sydney was lying on the large four-post bed staring up at the ceiling. Everything that was going on seemed surreal. Even though she lived in the bizarre world of espionage, the situation she had found herself in was beyond any that she could ever have imagined. The thing that disturbed her the most was that, as she continued her quest to find her lost memories, she felt like she was losing her own identity.
Sydney slid off the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror. She gazed at her own reflection. She still looked like the same woman she had always been.
‘Who are you?’
As she waited for a response from the reflection staring back at her, she was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of a gentle knock. Sydney took a deep breath and walked to her door.
“Hello Miss Bristow.”
She was noticeably surprised when she opened the door and found Sark standing in front of her.
“You’re still alive.”
“Evidently,” he said with a half smile. “May I come in?”
Sydney opened the door further, turned, and walked back towards her bed. Sark took that as a ‘yes’ and followed her, shutting the door behind him.
Alright, he thought, connect with her, be nice, do not seduce her. Not a problem
Sydney plopped back down on her bed. As she sat there bathed in the soft light streaming in through the window she looked almost angelic, like a vision. She always looked beautiful, but at that moment she looked absolutely radiant.
This could be tricky.
“I thought you might be hungry. I brought you some fruit.”
At the mention of food Sydney realized she was famished. The only thing she had eaten in two days was the brioche Sark had bought her at the café in Switzerland. Sark pulled out two pieces of fruit from his jacket pocket.
“Nectarine or peach?”
Sydney wanted to say ‘both’, but she decided not to be selfish.
“Nectarine.”
Sark threw the nectarine at Sydney who caught it with one hand.
“So is this your punishment?”
“Excuse me?”
“For upsetting my mother. Did she demote you to lead assassin in charge of room service?”
“No. I was simply trying to be nice to you.”
“Oh.”
“Or maybe,” he said with a devilish grin, “I poisoned that nectarine, Snow White.”
Sydney considered the possibility, and then quickly rejected it as she took a large bite of the nectarine and smiled.
“Actually your mother is very happy to have me back servicing…uh, that is, she is happy to have me back in her service.”
Sydney choked on a piece of nectarine. “Okay could you please not talk about servicing my mother?”
How many times did he have to explain that nothing sexual ever transpired between her mother and him?
“Sydney, I have already explained that my relationship with your mother has always been strictly professional. I would appreciate it if you could let go of this sexual delusion of yours.”
“Sorry,” she said earnestly. “You actually have been very nice to me lately. And, while I am sure you have some ulterior motives, I still appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. But I assure you Miss Bristow, I have no ulterior motives,” he lied. “Now that I am free, I do not need your assistance in any way.”
Sydney swallowed the last bite of her nectarine and licked the juice of her fingers. “Sydney,” she said.
“Pardon?” Sark was sure Sydney had just said something to him, but he was having a great deal of trouble paying attention to anything apart from her naturally seductive mannerisms. It seemed as if everything she did had a sexual subtext.
”You are not seriously asking me to seduce your daughter.”
“Definitely not. It would be in your best interest if you kept your relationship with my daughter strictly platonic.”
“You can call me Sydney,” she continued. “I really would prefer it.”
“Comme la mademoiselle voudrait.”
Wow, somehow his melodious voice sounded even more sensual when he spoke French. Stop it Sydney. This is Sark, remember? He must have an agenda.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the new, kinder, gift-bearing Sark, but shouldn’t you be off plotting somewhere with my mother? Or perhaps with your murdering clone girlfriend?”
Sydney noticed that Sark flinched at her last words. But she couldn’t tell if it was due to another reference to him and her mother or the mention of the Francie clone. She thought about clarifying what she had said when Sark finally opened his mouth to answer her.
“Your mother and I are not plotting. And Allison is dead.”
Good, Sydney thought, that’s one less person I have to track down and turn over to the CIA, or kill. Now Francie can rest in peace. But then again, until a couple weeks ago I was ‘dead’ too.
“Dead like I was dead, or actually dead?”
“She is most definitely deceased.”
Sydney thought she heard Sark actually raising his voice.
“I realize she killed your friend Sydney, but could you try to be somewhat less joyous about the news of her death.”
Wow, she thought, he’s seriously upset about this.
“Sark, are you saying…did you love her?”
“I cared about her, and I will miss her. But losing someone I care about will not turn me into an emotional wreck bent on self-destruction.”
“Like me, right? That is what you meant.”
“You said it, not me.”
”No, you said it.” The nerve of this man.
“What right do you have to judge me Sark?”
“I am not judging you Sydney, I am simply making an observation. Since we have found ourselves in similar situations I believe that I have a unique perspective…”
“Similar situations? I lost two years of my life, then I woke up in a world where I don’t fit in anymore to find the man I love married. You don’t know anything about my situation.”
“You are right Sydney. It is not as if I was locked away in a prison for two years only to discover that the woman whom I cared very deeply about was, in fact, dead. Please excuse my presumptuousness. I did not mean to infer that my insignificant feelings could possibly parallel your own.”
Sydney averted her gaze. Sark was right. Sark was right and she was wrong. Even worse, she had been unjustly cruel to him. Whether she liked it or not, she and Sark did have something in common, many things, actually. Now the only way to ease her guilty conscience would be to apologize. Apologize to Sark; that will be a first.
“Sark, I…”
“Yes?”
Sydney sighed. He was not going to make this easy for her.
