A/N: Okay all, thanks for the lovely reviews! I appreciate them more than you could ever imagine. Sorry it’s been so long since the update…I didn’t have writers block, I just didn’t have the time to write. I got quite busy all of the sudden with moving and apartment hunting and graduate school stuff…and I was too tired to write at night…
Anyway, this story is coming to a close…only a couple of chapters and an epilogue left. Craziness!!
I know it's a short update - but I wanted to get you all something, so the wait wasn't as long! PMs going out after I post!
Chapter 11
Time runs out on the game…
Everyone sees what you seem, but few know what you are.
-Machiavelli
Oh s***, was the first thought that crossed Sydney and Sark’s minds. Their eyes were locked on each other and their brains were playing the entire situation over again. How had they missed such an important detail? And what were they supposed to do now? The only logical answer was to keep playing the game, along with Sloane. The outcome of this new development would depend on who was better at it.
Sark moved first, going to shake Lauren Reed’s hand. Sydney simply nodded a quick hello. It appeared that the new player wanted to say something to Sydney and Sark, but Sloane just put a hand on hers and spoke up instead, prolonging the pretense of the night.
“Ms. Reed does an excellent job overseeing the process at the winery. It was not until I promoted her that our wine began to sell to the finest establishments, as well as the most wealthy and discriminating clientele.” His voice did not hide his pride, but the pride was in his successful deception and manipulation of the two standing in front of him.
There was a time when Sloane had thought of Sydney as his own daughter. There was also a time when he had considered Sark and Irina Derevko his full partners. Those times had most definitely passed. It gave him great pleasure to ruin their lives – and even greater pleasure to know that he was so close to Rambaldi’s endgame. He could hardly contain his excitement. But he did, just to string them along a little longer.
That was a mistake. Sydney knew exactly what she needed to do. Her mind flashed back to a conversation she had with her father before they came here.
“Most likely you will have to activate Il Dire, just like Sloane wants. But you need to know that this is the last resort. If you can get to the trigger before you have to activate Il Dire, do. We don’t know what this machine will do to you. However, if you need to go that far, once the message is relayed, Sloane is disposable.” With those words, her father had sat back and watched the reaction on her face carefully.
She had been shocked when he suggested it. But now she realized that he was preparing her for the inevitable. Somehow he had figured that Sloane would leave her no other options.
Sydney took a deep breath, preparing to verbalize the decision she had just made. Sark looked over at her – recognizing the look of determination on her face. But this time, he had no idea what was going on in her head. He had no idea what she was thinking. And that worried him.
Her voice was unwavering as she spoke, mustering up all of her skills as an operative for this one moment. “Sloane, lets stop playing at this ridiculous charade. You know the trigger for my memory. So I need you. I hold the key to activating Il Dire and must aid you willingly. So you need me. It sounds like a straightforward business deal to me.”
Sark hissed in his breath, feeling a flash of anger at her suggestion. She had not consulted him, and that made him angry. She had also just put herself at the mercy of Arvin Sloane, and that made him extremely worried. He wanted to know what the hell she was thinking doing this without consulting him first.
Sloane nodded, appreciating her candor. It was pure Sydney Bristow to see everything so clear-cut, so black and white. He could play along with that – to dangle freedom before her eyes, only to take it away. “I think that we could make some sort of arrangement. Lauren, Sark, if you would excuse us, please.”
Sark looked at Sloane like he was crazy. “I’m staying.”
Sloane sent him a truly evil leer and just said simply, “No, you are not. This is between me and Sydney. I will deal with you later.”
His tone left no room for manipulation and Sark knew how to bide his time to make a move. So, Sark placed a hand on Sydney’s shoulder and left the room quietly – the whole time forming a plan behind quiet blue eyes.
Lauren sulkily followed Sark out of the room, annoyed that she was brought in to say nothing and then asked to leave.
Sark stood outside the door to the library, waiting and listening as covertly as possible. Lauren just looked over at him with a sneer on her face. “You think you’re all high and mighty, don’t you? I guess we took you down a peg.”
Sark just laughed at her blatant attempt at intimidation. She was an interesting study, he decided. Tough as nails on the outside, but clearly weak on the inside – after all, she had run away while he was shooting the doctor, unable to stay and fight. And she clearly wasn’t that high ranking in Sloane’s organization, or else he would have asked her to stay. That meant that, while she had her uses, she was mostly a dispensable pawn.
Her lips pursed together and her facial expression became like one who just tasted something extremely sour. “I fail to see how you are in a position to be laughing at me.”
Sark looked over at her, his lip twitching in amusement. “If I wanted to, I could kill you right now. I wouldn’t even need to use my gun. Your threats are useless on me.”
Lauren hissed in response, she actually hissed. And then she retreated to her corner of the ornate hallway, muttering under her breath about British bastards. Sark remained where he was, positioned outside the door, just waiting to barge in there at the slightest provocation.
Sark was generally a patient man, but not where Arvin Sloane was concerned – and most definitely not when Sydney Bristow’s life was on the line.
*************
As Sydney faced Sloane, she was hit with another memory. The simple fact that she was regaining her memory, sans trigger, was what prompted her to make this deal. She decided that she was going to play Sloane – she was going to pretend that she needed him, so that he would in turn need her. But in reality, it appeared that the painting had done the trick.
As with the last time a memory hit, she felt distanced from the reality of the situation at hand and her stomach started rolling in nausea. As Sloane droned on about the power of Rambaldi, Sydney’s vision blurred and was replaced with the sight of crystal blue water and the sound of waves crashing on sand.
Her body was aching. She was so tired; she could barely lift herself up in bed. She could turn her head and see the ocean, the clear blue ocean, through the French doors in her room that led to the beach. The sound of waves crashing was comforting and familiar.
Suddenly she had a sensation that was not as familiar. She heard another set of breaths. She turned her head slowly the other way. There was somebody in her room, sitting on her bed, watching her.
She tried to reach for her gun on the nightstand, but the hand of this person clamped around her wrist.
In the back of her mind, she knew that she recognized this person. She shook her head, as if that would clear away the fogginess of her brain.
She looked into tired blue eyes, set in a haggard face with a purple bruise on his cheek. The unruly blond hair had been shaved.
She looked into the face of Sark.
The sound of Sloane’s voice raising brought her out of the memory. “Sydney? You look distracted, my dear. Is everything okay?”
She was calm and collected in her response. There was just a quiver of fear inside her that she squashed easily as she fell back into the routine of lying to Sloane. “You know I do not believe in this Rambaldi business. However, you also know that I need your help with my memory. Why we must discuss a man that I don’t fully believe in is beyond me.”
Sloane looked at her with an unreadable gaze. “I suppose we should get down to the semantics of the deal, then.”
She nodded, ready to deal. “That would be a good idea. But before we do, I insist that Sark be here with me. He is my full partner. It is both of us together, or you do not get to use me.”
Sloane just looked at her with a condescending glare. “I’m afraid – “
Sydney just held her head up high with determination and stared at Sloane evenly. It was a move so reminiscent of Irina, which surprised him. “I will walk out that door. This is non-negotiable.”
Sloane agreed to her demand; because his pursuit of Rambaldi was too close to throw it all away over such a small demand. Besides, in his mind – it made things easier for when he disposed of the two agents.
He walked over to the door and opened it, allowing Sark to enter the room. Lauren started to walk in as well, only to have the door shut in her face. She recalled what Sloane had told her the other day – the less the details you know, the better it will be.
When Sloane had explained the situation to her, it had made sense. But right now, she was fuming. While Lauren paced in anger, Sark and Sydney made a deal with the devil. A deal they never meant to keep.
***************
It was nearing midnight. Jack kept one eye on the clock and one eye on his cell phone. Sark still had yet to make contact. He was preparing for the moment to break the news to Weiss and Vaughn that plan A had failed and secondary protocol was necessary.
Just then, Weiss came running into the room where Vaughn was sitting quietly, reading over some history of Dante’s life – and avoiding Jack Bristow’s steady eyes. “I found something on Nicolaro,” he panted, as if he had just run a couple of miles.
Vaughn looked up, hope springing into his eyes. For though Sydney would not choose to be with him – he understood that now – he still cared deeply for her and would do all that he could to help bring her memory back. It was, perhaps, his most selfless act of all.
Weiss was flushed and excited as he spoke, “About thirty years ago, Nicolaro and Sloane were both under the instruction of Conrad – a monk in Nepal, who has dedicated his life to the study of Rambaldi. However, later in life, Nicolaro decided that what he really wanted to do was paint. He had no desire to search for Rambaldi. Sloane parted with him to continue the search, but apparently they still kept in touch.”
Vaughn sat back, an amazed look on his face. “So, the trigger phrase must have something to do with a journey.”
Jack, who had been listening, jumped into the conversation. “Yes, that is correct. Conrad, the monk, led them both on this journey – but for some reason Nicolaro gave up and decided to paint, while Sloane continued on. The trigger phrase will have to do with Sloane’s strength and the journey itself.”
Vaughn nodded, his brow furrowed while he thought deeply about the phrases he had come up with from the text. Suddenly it dawned on him. He picked up a copy of the book and leafed through the pages, until he found the passage he was looking for.
A man must stand in fear of just those things
That truly have the power to do us harm,
Of nothing else, for nothing else is fearsome.
God gave me such a nature through His Grace,
That torments you must bear cannot affect me,
Nor are the fires of Hell a threat to me.
The three men read the passage silently. It fit so well. Sloane truly believed he was chosen to realize the endgame of Milo Rambaldi. He believed that the monk had given him the strength, knowledge, and power to do so. And Nicolaro must have truly feared the journey – there must have been something that happened to cause him harm.
Jack was the first to speak. “We’re flying to France tonight. We will go in and apprehend Sloane. Then we will make an attempt to help Sydney. If it doesn’t work, then at least Sloane will be in our custody.”
The three men started packing up right away. In a matter of hours, they were on the private jet, flying to France. Jack could only hope that Sydney had not done anything too impulsive.