Leslie
Super Fantastisch
Title: My Only Real Ally (or You Most of All)
Rating: R (for language, violence)
Word Count: 13,963
Summary: Sydney Bristow, undercover in the Covenant as Julia Thorne, is sent by her new “employers” on a mission that might blow her cover – a mission that will force her to come in contact with someone who knew her as Sydney. What she could never have foreseen is that this job sets in motion a chain of events that will lead her down paths she never thought she’d take and to alliances she never thought she’d make. In the end, it all comes down to loyalties. What will she choose?
Song Used: Spring: Allegro and Largo by Antonio Vivaldi
Author’s Note: Special thanks to the guys at the ruslang Yahoo! Group for help with translation.
QT Quotes Used: I went a little QT crazy.
From Reservoir Dogs:
Joe: How does freedom feel?
Mr. Blonde: It’s a change.
From From Dusk Till Dawn:
Seth: Now I’m gonna ask you one question, and all I want is a yes or no answer: Do you want to live through this?
Seth: Do you think this is who I am? I am a professional thief. I don’t run around killing people I don’t have to.
From Pulp Fiction:
Jimmy: I’m not a cob of corn, so you can stop buttering me up.
Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bulls*** in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the f*** up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.
Lance: If you’re okay, say something.
Mia: Something.
Yolanda: You touch him, you die.
Jules: Well, that seems to be the situation.
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Commencement.
She wanted to cry, but she bit her lip to keep the tears inside as she half-listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. She stared across the street at the tanned men and women bustling around the bodega and adjacent street market. A slight gust of wind blew a strand of blonde hair across her face and she brushed it away absent-mindedly. She sighed, then realized that the director's voice had stopped ringing in her ears.
"Sydney? Are you there? Do you understand the protocol I just explained to you?"
She snapped back to reality.
"Yes! Yes. I understand."
"Good luck, Sydney." He sounded sincere, sympathetic.
"Thanks." She placed the receiver back on its hook and stepped out of the booth. She shivered, though the Mediterranean air was balmy and the breeze wasn't particularly strong. What now? She had to go back. Into the den of thieves. Shivering again in spite of herself, she began walking purposefully down the Italian sidewalk as she tried to ignore the deafening sound of the mass of jumbled pieces of conversation screaming in her head.
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She sat in the antique mahogany chair facing his desk, legs crossed politely, trying not to let the cold hatred show through her eyes as she listened to her handler.
"Julia, Julia, Julia. Have I the job for you. I think you'll enjoy this one." He was sitting half-on, half-off the desk, hands folded in front of him, his perpetual grin accentuating his odd features. He handed her a file, which she opened. She coughed suddenly to hide her shock at what she saw inside.
"I believe you know our mark already, Julia. Oh wait. You don't. Sydney did. But you'll have plenty of time to get re-acquainted on this mission." His black eyes sparkled, obviously enjoying the irony. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen this dude in a while, either. When you break him out, tell him ‘hi’ from his good ol' buddy Cole. Hah! I can just imagine the look on the little bugger's face." He laughed at his own joke. Sydney smiled, but rolled her eyes inwardly. What an idiot! But she was glad he was distracted enough not to notice the fear that was gripping and twisting at her insides. If any of her missions was going to out her to the Covenant, it would be this one.
"Is that all?" She asked.
"Yep, you're free to go." He gestured toward the office door. "Your job goes down tomorrow at 2300 hours, so you better get crackin'. Simon'll get you set up."
She thanked him and left the room, heading down the Rome building's long hallway. Once she got her equipment she would be headed to Los Angeles, where everyone knew her as Sydney. But she wasn't going as Sydney. She was going anonymously. She would have to blend into the night. Not even Kendall could be informed about this job. When she met with him later that night in a Tuscany CIA safehouse, she refused to breath a word about it.
"Sydney." He stepped in, as tall as she remembered him. She almost cried, she was so happy to see a familiar face from her former life. She smiled warmly, but maintained a cool emotional distance from him.
"Kendall."
"You look well."
"I'm trying," she mustered. He hesitated; he looked a bit uncomfortable, but he carried on.
"I brought you some gadgets from Marshall." She frowned at him, and opened her mouth as if to protest. He put up a hand to quiet her.
"Don't worry, he doesn't know anything. I made up a reason to get these made." She was relieved, and thanked him. He continued.
"I want you to remember that it is essential that you keep me apprised of every move the Covenant makes." He gave her the infamous Kendall pointed look. She nodded, choosing to keep demurely silent. He sighed. He had never been able to control her before, and he would not be able to control her now. Not even in this situation. She decided to change the subject.
"How is Vaughn?" Her voiced was clouded with emotion. Kendall wouldn't look her in the eye. Her voice grew quiet, almost a whisper. "I miss him a lot. I wish I could tell him I was still here, or at least that I'm alive." She looked up. Kendall's rigid gaze met her eyes.
"You don't want to know, Agent Bristow." This puzzled her.
"Yes, yes I do. Is he okay? Why don't I want to know? He is okay, isn't he? People can go on. If anyone's proof of the tenacity of the human constitution it's me, for God's sake." She was afraid now. Kendall sighed resignedly.
"He got married, Sydney."
It was as if the proverbial ton of bricks had actually materialized in front of her and slammed into her stomach. She wanted to deny it, tell Kendall he was lying, but she knew it would be a waste of time. She sat down. She couldn't meet his eyes. Then she began to cry in earnest, and she didn't care that he was watching. She let the tears flow until there weren't any left inside her. Finally, she looked back up at Kendall, all red eyes and cheeks, then stood up. Her eyes turned to slits and she spat out the words.
"I haven't been away that long, Kendall. You're telling me it took him a year to stop loving me?" There was a pause. "Bastard."
"Sydney, for the record, I don't think he ever stopped loving you." Kendall was trying to salvage the situation, but it was no use. She had to convince herself of something in order to dull the pain of the revelation. She had tried anger, and now it was time for apathy.
"Well, he is his own person. I can't tell him how to run his life, right?" She wasn't looking at Kendall anymore. She gazed out a tinted safehouse window. "Besides, he's not part of my life anymore, whether I like it or not."
Kendall sighed again. Sydney could tell he was uncomfortable. He changed the subject.
"Any new Covenant missions I should know about, Agent Bristow?" This distracted her out of her reverie.
"No," she answered hastily, adeptly reverting to agent mode. "I know how to contact you should one develop."
"I will await your notification." There was a short pause. "Take care of yourself, Sydney." He added, as tenderly as the hardened operative could.
Then he was gone. Sydney never acknowledged his exit. She just kept looking out the window at nothing, letting her mind go to another place and time. A place where there was no Julia Thorne; there was only Sydney, and she was happy.
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She had never hated nostalgia so much. Shrouded in the darkness of the night sky, she had driven past familiar houses and office buildings, down familiar streets and over familiar bridges. Nearly midnight, and the city of LA was still wide awake and shining bright. But she wasn’t here to enjoy a night on the town. She pulled up across the street from her target. She turned off the ignition, took a deep breath, and leaned down to get a good look at the back of the CIA holding facility. It looked dead. The good little agents in their starched shirts and black ties had gone home for the day long ago. Now it was just her vs. the security system.
She pulled a small box of plastic explosive and a spray can out of the trunk of the car and threw her day clothes into the back seat. Wearing only skin-tight black spandex, she hurried across the somewhat deserted road to the building. She sprayed the cameras, knowing the disillusioning solvent would only blind them for about eight minutes, then clung to the side on the building and pulled out a digital positioning unit to make sure she was about to blow up the right chunk of wall. Satisfied she was at the right spot, she checked to see if anyone was driving by, then molded the explosive onto the side of the building in the shape of a large, lopsided circle at the spot indicated on the device. She armed the explosive, shifted about five feet away, then set it off, watching the sparks fly in every direction and thanking the Covenant for engineering a low-noise version of the explosive.
She pushed the mass of brick that she had severed from the wall into the building, then jumped inside. She was right where she wanted to be – at the end of the holding facility hallway. She noted two sleeping inmates to either side of her, and slipped silently down the hall so as not to disturb their slumber. Her heart thumped so loudly, she was afraid the entire world could hear it. Dread clung to her stomach, but it was too late to change her course, and soon she had reached the cell.
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He was awake. She hadn’t expected that. Or, maybe she had. His hair was shorter; his face carried a worn expression. His bright blue eyes were dulled, the effects of being in solitary confinement for so long. He looked up as she approached, his training overriding her stealth. His eyes went wide.
“My God.” He exclaimed. She had taken out another Covenant device – this one for unlocking the cell door – and only glanced up at him as she set it in motion, rapidly working to find the codes for undoing the digital lock. She could still feel the fear in the pit of her stomach, and her mouth was dry. Please God, she thought. Let me convince him I’m not me. She began her spiel; he was still gaping at her, speechless.
“Mr. Sark, I presume.” She paused for acknowledgement but got no response other than an amazed stare. “I am here representing an organization known as the Covenant. They have a vested interest in your release. Since time is of the essence, we can dispense with formalities for now. My name is Julia; I know your name. Just let me get this done and I will explain everything in more detail once you’re free.” The device beeped and there was a loud clanking noise. The door opened, and she grabbed his arm. He shrank back.
“You’re dead,” was all he could manage. He had retreated to the cell’s solitary bench, his eyes transfixed on her face, his expression bespeaking disbelief. She was forced to step inside the small room.
“My job is to extract you, and if I do not do my job there will be hell to pay. I realize that being inside here for so long has probably had an effect on your psychological state, but I cannot allow that to eat up our time. We need to go. Now.” She was standing over him, and she forced herself to place her hands on his arms. But at the word “psychological” his expression had changed. He frowned, brushed her hands away and stood up.
“I’m perfectly capable of maintaining a healthy psychological state, regardless of my environment. But Sydney…”
“Julia.” She smiled slightly at him, playing her role.
“Julia.” He repeated. “You mean to tell me that you are not Sydney Bristow, and that you don’t even know who she is?”
“Sydney Bristow. I have heard of the woman. My associates have told me I look a lot like her. But according to them she is dead, as you seemed to imply earlier. Now, can we go? If you have any other questions, they are just as easily answered elsewhere as here.”
There was a pause; he was still drinking her in. Then he laughed; a loud, uproarious, almost maniacal laugh. When he finished, his eyes sparkled.
“By all means,” he said. “Let’s get out of this godawful place.”
She was taken aback a bit by his reaction, but didn’t let it show. She led the way out through the hole in the wall, at which Sark gawked with an appreciative open-mouthed chuckle, until they were safely across the street, in the car, and driving away.
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They were on the plane when the incident occurred. He was seated by the window, she on the aisle. He hadn’t asked many questions after they had escaped the CIA facility, and they were high in the air when he finally ventured a conversation.
“So, the Covenant… what it is exactly that they do? And what I really want to know is why they went through the trouble of extracting me from the custody of the CIA.” She looked at him. There was no familiar smirk on his face; he was being serious, for all that she could tell.
“The Covenant is an organization devoted to the inventions and writings of Rambaldi, a philosopher—“
“I’ve heard of Rambaldi. So these people go after his work?”
“Yes. We compete with the CIA and other organizations for the accumulation of Rambaldi artifacts, though right now they have amassed more than us.”
“I see.” He had been leaning toward her, watching her face, and now sat back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the back of the seat in front of him. “So why do they need me?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just get my orders, and carry them out.”
Sark seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed. She was looking at him now. His face had become somewhat battle-scarred, but it was still as youthful as she remembered. His short-cropped hair was a big change from the feathery curls that had once encircled his head. She tilted her head to the side, studying him. It was so strange, this situation they were in. Then she remembered Francie, and looked away, a sob catching in her throat. How could someone so very evil look so very… normal?
“So, how does freedom feel?” Might as well keep the uncomfortable silences to a minimum, she thought.
“It’s a change.” He smirked then, like he always had, and for a minute she forgot she was Julia. Then she remembered.
“By the way, I was told to tell you that McKenas Cole says hello.” He turned his head back toward her at the mention of the name.
“Cole? My God. He’s part of this racket?”
“So you know him.”
“Oh yeah. We’re old ‘buddies in crime.’ I’m surprised he remembers me. Is he high up in the organization?” His eyes burned into hers.
“I don’t know his exact position hierarchically. He’s my handler.” She had changed back into her day clothes before they boarded the plane, and now she fiddled with the pleats in her skirt.
“Ah.” He was still staring at her. She glanced back up, meeting his gaze.
“Well, I appreciate that he sent you, considering your… abilities.” He smirked again. Typical Sark-the-womanizer, flirting with the ‘new girl.’ “I’ve been trying to figure out… Was that plastic explosive you used on the wall? It couldn’t have been. It was too quiet.”
“It was. Ma—“ She caught herself. “The Covenant has developed a ‘silent’ version. It’s the equivalent of a silencer on a gun, only for explosives.” She studied his face. Had she revealed herself? His expression revealed nothing. She breathed an inner sigh of relief and decided it was time to stop chatting up the blond assassin. She was tired. She watched him turn to look out the window, then dropped her head back on the head cushion and closed her eyes. It would be a few more hours till they reached Rome.
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When they had reached Covenant Headquarters in Rome, Sark had been rushed off to another room without explanation and she had been left alone in the main hall.
“Julia?” It was the secretary.
“Yes?” Sydney smiled sweetly at the woman.
“You can go home now. Cole called. He says congratulations on a job well done, and that he’ll see you tomorrow at 0900 hours on the dot.”
“Thank you.” She was puzzled, but smiled again. What were they doing with Sark? Oh well, she thought. It was no skin off her nose. She didn’t care if they killed the little sonofab****. And her bed did sound lovely just then. She turned on her black pump-clad heel, walked out the front door, and hailed a taxi to her awaiting hotel room and its linen sheets and puffy pillows.
Rating: R (for language, violence)
Word Count: 13,963
Summary: Sydney Bristow, undercover in the Covenant as Julia Thorne, is sent by her new “employers” on a mission that might blow her cover – a mission that will force her to come in contact with someone who knew her as Sydney. What she could never have foreseen is that this job sets in motion a chain of events that will lead her down paths she never thought she’d take and to alliances she never thought she’d make. In the end, it all comes down to loyalties. What will she choose?
Song Used: Spring: Allegro and Largo by Antonio Vivaldi
Author’s Note: Special thanks to the guys at the ruslang Yahoo! Group for help with translation.
QT Quotes Used: I went a little QT crazy.
From Reservoir Dogs:
Joe: How does freedom feel?
Mr. Blonde: It’s a change.
From From Dusk Till Dawn:
Seth: Now I’m gonna ask you one question, and all I want is a yes or no answer: Do you want to live through this?
Seth: Do you think this is who I am? I am a professional thief. I don’t run around killing people I don’t have to.
From Pulp Fiction:
Jimmy: I’m not a cob of corn, so you can stop buttering me up.
Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bulls*** in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the f*** up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.
Lance: If you’re okay, say something.
Mia: Something.
Yolanda: You touch him, you die.
Jules: Well, that seems to be the situation.
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Commencement.
She wanted to cry, but she bit her lip to keep the tears inside as she half-listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. She stared across the street at the tanned men and women bustling around the bodega and adjacent street market. A slight gust of wind blew a strand of blonde hair across her face and she brushed it away absent-mindedly. She sighed, then realized that the director's voice had stopped ringing in her ears.
"Sydney? Are you there? Do you understand the protocol I just explained to you?"
She snapped back to reality.
"Yes! Yes. I understand."
"Good luck, Sydney." He sounded sincere, sympathetic.
"Thanks." She placed the receiver back on its hook and stepped out of the booth. She shivered, though the Mediterranean air was balmy and the breeze wasn't particularly strong. What now? She had to go back. Into the den of thieves. Shivering again in spite of herself, she began walking purposefully down the Italian sidewalk as she tried to ignore the deafening sound of the mass of jumbled pieces of conversation screaming in her head.
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She sat in the antique mahogany chair facing his desk, legs crossed politely, trying not to let the cold hatred show through her eyes as she listened to her handler.
"Julia, Julia, Julia. Have I the job for you. I think you'll enjoy this one." He was sitting half-on, half-off the desk, hands folded in front of him, his perpetual grin accentuating his odd features. He handed her a file, which she opened. She coughed suddenly to hide her shock at what she saw inside.
"I believe you know our mark already, Julia. Oh wait. You don't. Sydney did. But you'll have plenty of time to get re-acquainted on this mission." His black eyes sparkled, obviously enjoying the irony. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen this dude in a while, either. When you break him out, tell him ‘hi’ from his good ol' buddy Cole. Hah! I can just imagine the look on the little bugger's face." He laughed at his own joke. Sydney smiled, but rolled her eyes inwardly. What an idiot! But she was glad he was distracted enough not to notice the fear that was gripping and twisting at her insides. If any of her missions was going to out her to the Covenant, it would be this one.
"Is that all?" She asked.
"Yep, you're free to go." He gestured toward the office door. "Your job goes down tomorrow at 2300 hours, so you better get crackin'. Simon'll get you set up."
She thanked him and left the room, heading down the Rome building's long hallway. Once she got her equipment she would be headed to Los Angeles, where everyone knew her as Sydney. But she wasn't going as Sydney. She was going anonymously. She would have to blend into the night. Not even Kendall could be informed about this job. When she met with him later that night in a Tuscany CIA safehouse, she refused to breath a word about it.
"Sydney." He stepped in, as tall as she remembered him. She almost cried, she was so happy to see a familiar face from her former life. She smiled warmly, but maintained a cool emotional distance from him.
"Kendall."
"You look well."
"I'm trying," she mustered. He hesitated; he looked a bit uncomfortable, but he carried on.
"I brought you some gadgets from Marshall." She frowned at him, and opened her mouth as if to protest. He put up a hand to quiet her.
"Don't worry, he doesn't know anything. I made up a reason to get these made." She was relieved, and thanked him. He continued.
"I want you to remember that it is essential that you keep me apprised of every move the Covenant makes." He gave her the infamous Kendall pointed look. She nodded, choosing to keep demurely silent. He sighed. He had never been able to control her before, and he would not be able to control her now. Not even in this situation. She decided to change the subject.
"How is Vaughn?" Her voiced was clouded with emotion. Kendall wouldn't look her in the eye. Her voice grew quiet, almost a whisper. "I miss him a lot. I wish I could tell him I was still here, or at least that I'm alive." She looked up. Kendall's rigid gaze met her eyes.
"You don't want to know, Agent Bristow." This puzzled her.
"Yes, yes I do. Is he okay? Why don't I want to know? He is okay, isn't he? People can go on. If anyone's proof of the tenacity of the human constitution it's me, for God's sake." She was afraid now. Kendall sighed resignedly.
"He got married, Sydney."
It was as if the proverbial ton of bricks had actually materialized in front of her and slammed into her stomach. She wanted to deny it, tell Kendall he was lying, but she knew it would be a waste of time. She sat down. She couldn't meet his eyes. Then she began to cry in earnest, and she didn't care that he was watching. She let the tears flow until there weren't any left inside her. Finally, she looked back up at Kendall, all red eyes and cheeks, then stood up. Her eyes turned to slits and she spat out the words.
"I haven't been away that long, Kendall. You're telling me it took him a year to stop loving me?" There was a pause. "Bastard."
"Sydney, for the record, I don't think he ever stopped loving you." Kendall was trying to salvage the situation, but it was no use. She had to convince herself of something in order to dull the pain of the revelation. She had tried anger, and now it was time for apathy.
"Well, he is his own person. I can't tell him how to run his life, right?" She wasn't looking at Kendall anymore. She gazed out a tinted safehouse window. "Besides, he's not part of my life anymore, whether I like it or not."
Kendall sighed again. Sydney could tell he was uncomfortable. He changed the subject.
"Any new Covenant missions I should know about, Agent Bristow?" This distracted her out of her reverie.
"No," she answered hastily, adeptly reverting to agent mode. "I know how to contact you should one develop."
"I will await your notification." There was a short pause. "Take care of yourself, Sydney." He added, as tenderly as the hardened operative could.
Then he was gone. Sydney never acknowledged his exit. She just kept looking out the window at nothing, letting her mind go to another place and time. A place where there was no Julia Thorne; there was only Sydney, and she was happy.
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She had never hated nostalgia so much. Shrouded in the darkness of the night sky, she had driven past familiar houses and office buildings, down familiar streets and over familiar bridges. Nearly midnight, and the city of LA was still wide awake and shining bright. But she wasn’t here to enjoy a night on the town. She pulled up across the street from her target. She turned off the ignition, took a deep breath, and leaned down to get a good look at the back of the CIA holding facility. It looked dead. The good little agents in their starched shirts and black ties had gone home for the day long ago. Now it was just her vs. the security system.
She pulled a small box of plastic explosive and a spray can out of the trunk of the car and threw her day clothes into the back seat. Wearing only skin-tight black spandex, she hurried across the somewhat deserted road to the building. She sprayed the cameras, knowing the disillusioning solvent would only blind them for about eight minutes, then clung to the side on the building and pulled out a digital positioning unit to make sure she was about to blow up the right chunk of wall. Satisfied she was at the right spot, she checked to see if anyone was driving by, then molded the explosive onto the side of the building in the shape of a large, lopsided circle at the spot indicated on the device. She armed the explosive, shifted about five feet away, then set it off, watching the sparks fly in every direction and thanking the Covenant for engineering a low-noise version of the explosive.
She pushed the mass of brick that she had severed from the wall into the building, then jumped inside. She was right where she wanted to be – at the end of the holding facility hallway. She noted two sleeping inmates to either side of her, and slipped silently down the hall so as not to disturb their slumber. Her heart thumped so loudly, she was afraid the entire world could hear it. Dread clung to her stomach, but it was too late to change her course, and soon she had reached the cell.
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He was awake. She hadn’t expected that. Or, maybe she had. His hair was shorter; his face carried a worn expression. His bright blue eyes were dulled, the effects of being in solitary confinement for so long. He looked up as she approached, his training overriding her stealth. His eyes went wide.
“My God.” He exclaimed. She had taken out another Covenant device – this one for unlocking the cell door – and only glanced up at him as she set it in motion, rapidly working to find the codes for undoing the digital lock. She could still feel the fear in the pit of her stomach, and her mouth was dry. Please God, she thought. Let me convince him I’m not me. She began her spiel; he was still gaping at her, speechless.
“Mr. Sark, I presume.” She paused for acknowledgement but got no response other than an amazed stare. “I am here representing an organization known as the Covenant. They have a vested interest in your release. Since time is of the essence, we can dispense with formalities for now. My name is Julia; I know your name. Just let me get this done and I will explain everything in more detail once you’re free.” The device beeped and there was a loud clanking noise. The door opened, and she grabbed his arm. He shrank back.
“You’re dead,” was all he could manage. He had retreated to the cell’s solitary bench, his eyes transfixed on her face, his expression bespeaking disbelief. She was forced to step inside the small room.
“My job is to extract you, and if I do not do my job there will be hell to pay. I realize that being inside here for so long has probably had an effect on your psychological state, but I cannot allow that to eat up our time. We need to go. Now.” She was standing over him, and she forced herself to place her hands on his arms. But at the word “psychological” his expression had changed. He frowned, brushed her hands away and stood up.
“I’m perfectly capable of maintaining a healthy psychological state, regardless of my environment. But Sydney…”
“Julia.” She smiled slightly at him, playing her role.
“Julia.” He repeated. “You mean to tell me that you are not Sydney Bristow, and that you don’t even know who she is?”
“Sydney Bristow. I have heard of the woman. My associates have told me I look a lot like her. But according to them she is dead, as you seemed to imply earlier. Now, can we go? If you have any other questions, they are just as easily answered elsewhere as here.”
There was a pause; he was still drinking her in. Then he laughed; a loud, uproarious, almost maniacal laugh. When he finished, his eyes sparkled.
“By all means,” he said. “Let’s get out of this godawful place.”
She was taken aback a bit by his reaction, but didn’t let it show. She led the way out through the hole in the wall, at which Sark gawked with an appreciative open-mouthed chuckle, until they were safely across the street, in the car, and driving away.
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They were on the plane when the incident occurred. He was seated by the window, she on the aisle. He hadn’t asked many questions after they had escaped the CIA facility, and they were high in the air when he finally ventured a conversation.
“So, the Covenant… what it is exactly that they do? And what I really want to know is why they went through the trouble of extracting me from the custody of the CIA.” She looked at him. There was no familiar smirk on his face; he was being serious, for all that she could tell.
“The Covenant is an organization devoted to the inventions and writings of Rambaldi, a philosopher—“
“I’ve heard of Rambaldi. So these people go after his work?”
“Yes. We compete with the CIA and other organizations for the accumulation of Rambaldi artifacts, though right now they have amassed more than us.”
“I see.” He had been leaning toward her, watching her face, and now sat back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the back of the seat in front of him. “So why do they need me?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just get my orders, and carry them out.”
Sark seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed. She was looking at him now. His face had become somewhat battle-scarred, but it was still as youthful as she remembered. His short-cropped hair was a big change from the feathery curls that had once encircled his head. She tilted her head to the side, studying him. It was so strange, this situation they were in. Then she remembered Francie, and looked away, a sob catching in her throat. How could someone so very evil look so very… normal?
“So, how does freedom feel?” Might as well keep the uncomfortable silences to a minimum, she thought.
“It’s a change.” He smirked then, like he always had, and for a minute she forgot she was Julia. Then she remembered.
“By the way, I was told to tell you that McKenas Cole says hello.” He turned his head back toward her at the mention of the name.
“Cole? My God. He’s part of this racket?”
“So you know him.”
“Oh yeah. We’re old ‘buddies in crime.’ I’m surprised he remembers me. Is he high up in the organization?” His eyes burned into hers.
“I don’t know his exact position hierarchically. He’s my handler.” She had changed back into her day clothes before they boarded the plane, and now she fiddled with the pleats in her skirt.
“Ah.” He was still staring at her. She glanced back up, meeting his gaze.
“Well, I appreciate that he sent you, considering your… abilities.” He smirked again. Typical Sark-the-womanizer, flirting with the ‘new girl.’ “I’ve been trying to figure out… Was that plastic explosive you used on the wall? It couldn’t have been. It was too quiet.”
“It was. Ma—“ She caught herself. “The Covenant has developed a ‘silent’ version. It’s the equivalent of a silencer on a gun, only for explosives.” She studied his face. Had she revealed herself? His expression revealed nothing. She breathed an inner sigh of relief and decided it was time to stop chatting up the blond assassin. She was tired. She watched him turn to look out the window, then dropped her head back on the head cushion and closed her eyes. It would be a few more hours till they reached Rome.
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When they had reached Covenant Headquarters in Rome, Sark had been rushed off to another room without explanation and she had been left alone in the main hall.
“Julia?” It was the secretary.
“Yes?” Sydney smiled sweetly at the woman.
“You can go home now. Cole called. He says congratulations on a job well done, and that he’ll see you tomorrow at 0900 hours on the dot.”
“Thank you.” She was puzzled, but smiled again. What were they doing with Sark? Oh well, she thought. It was no skin off her nose. She didn’t care if they killed the little sonofab****. And her bed did sound lovely just then. She turned on her black pump-clad heel, walked out the front door, and hailed a taxi to her awaiting hotel room and its linen sheets and puffy pillows.