So - I have no idea what happened, but apparently this topic got deleted. Rrr. So, I'm reposting, and Part 5 will be up on Thursday. Title: Shades of Gray Author: Samantha Greene ------PROLOGUE-------- Sydney’s POV “We’re alike, you and I. We have more in common than you think.” The idea haunted me, and repulsed me, and at the same time made me curious. Sark has said the same thing on the last three missions we’ve been on. I want to brush it off, but it echoes through my mind. “You know nothing about me, Sark. Let’s leave it that way.” “I knew your mother. For several years, actually. You remind me of her.” It’s just genetics, I tell myself. We share nothing but a few strands of DNA. Except now I remember my mother’s apology, her description of herself as she was recruited into the KGB. It reminded me of when SD-6 recruited me. What if I never learned that SD-6 wasn’t the CIA? Would I have eventually become my mother? Sark is staring at me, trying to guage my reaction. He smirks as he sees the truth flicker through my eyes. I angrily shake off the thoughts. “In case you forgot, I barely knew my mother. So I cannot be like her. And you, you’re a monster. We have nothing in common.” But he just gazes knowingly at me, and I can feel his eyes boring into me. “Everyone has a dark side, Sydney. We’re not angels or devils. Life is shades of gray, no decision purely evil or innocent. And contrary to your protestations, we do have something in common.” “Project Christmas.” *********** *********** Part 2 Sydney’s POV I wanted so badly to ask him for details. Was Sark also programmed? But as I was contemplating whether the answer was worth giving Sark the satisfaction of knowing I wanted something, four guards came barreling around the corner, and we had our hands full trying to take care of them. Only two guards were down when the alarm went off, and Sark and I quickly finished off the remaining guards and went our respective ways. Two days later I’m still faced with the same dilemma. My father, Vaughn, and Will have all asked if I’m okay, so apparently I’m not hiding my inner turmoil very well. Around eleven I head to the pier, hoping to calm down. The moon is just a small sliver, and in the dim light, I can’t see anyone else out here. Normally standing on the pier brings my thoughts to Vaughn, but I’m too worried right now to think of anything but Sark. I hear a voice behind me and startled, flinch. “Miss Bristow, what a coincidence to meet you out here.” I still can’t bring myself to ask Sark about Project Christmas, so I merely nod and turn my gaze back out to the pier. He shrugs brings his own gaze onto the water, silent for a moment. “I know you have no reason to trust the information I’m about to give you. But if you can get level 6 access to the CIA database you’ll find this information.” “Sloane hasn’t given my that kind of access.” ”No, Miss Bristow, I mean the real CIA database. No need to pretend, I’ve known of your double agent status for some months now.” He knows. But he hasn’t told Sloane. THis is not something I want to deal with right now. As if sensing my thoughts, Sark speaks again. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Miss Bristow. However, you persist in turning down my job offers, and before you do that again, I want you to know who you’re turning me down to work for.” Suddenly I’m confused again. I thought this was about Project Christmas, not about me working for Sark. Sark motions to the manila envelope in his hand and continues. “As I said earlier, this information requires level six access. However, you will find the information quite worth your time.” Level six access is what Devlin has. Probably only ten people in this country have level six access. Only an incredibly good hacker could get past all the firewalls, but what truly alarms me is not how to access the information, but what the information actually is. What could possibly need to be hidden that well? For all I know, Sark could be lying, and the information could just be forged. However, I have to admit Sark seems sincere, which is extremely strange. I’m used to seeing his trademark smirk and cocky grin, but today his expression showed nothing but sincerity, and strange as it may seem, sympathy. Finally I nod and Sark hands me a thick manila envelope. “Project Christmas wasn’t a new idea, but this was the first time that extensive progress was made so quickly. Your father did as much work at home as in the office, so you mother had direct access to any and all information. Because of the importance of the project, your mother was relaying information as fast as she could, and the KGB turned around and improved the ideas to form their own project. They began to take unwanted orphans from throughout Europe and test them. With no family to search for the children, no time limit to work on them, the KGB project went much farther than Project Christmas. They didn’t bother to erase memories, began to make training more intensive and more dangerous than the CIA did. Fully one fourth of all the children died during training.” Sark tells me all this with an expressionless face, but his voice sounds suspiciously hoarse, and I realize he’s reliving old memories. “You were one of those children, weren’t you?” Sark nods slightly, then glances away, and for a split second a look of pain flits across his face, but a second later the mask returns, and I wonder if I imagined it. “How many children did they take? How many people were involved?” I wonder, and Sark smiles mirthlessly. “I was in the program for four years. During that time at least three hundred finished the program, and that’s not counting everyone that died during training. There were probably 50 ...teachers,” he finishes, for lack of better word. “You said that was while you were in the program. How many were there altogether?” “I haven’t gotten the records on the first two years, but at least two thousand people.” “Two thousand?! How could that big a project be hidden?” “The project was being simultaneously conducted in fifteen countries. But you’re right, something that big can’t stay a secret for long. A number of moles, from the CIA and other countries, managed to infiltrate the project. This was the primary reason the project was scaled back so far.” My mind is buzzing, and a scary thought comes to mind, but I can’t bring myself to voice it. Finally I ask, “When did the CIA become aware the KGB had a mole, that they were developing their own project?” “Open the envelope.” On the top of a sheaf of papers is a stack of memos and reports between the head of the CIA at that time, and his two senior assistants, one of whom was Devlin. One month into the development of project Christmas, the KGB project was discovered. CIA operatives in deep cover in both England, Russia, and Ukraine immediately attempted to infiltrate the program. Four operatives had successfully joined by the end of the second month. Simultaneously, the CIA began to investigate the US project to find the mole. In two weeks, all CIA officers had been ruled out, and in three more weeks my mother was revealed to be the mole. A quiet investigation was started, a file opened. My mothers file was under the papers, and when I see the date the file was started, I gasp. “Sark, this date is over a year before my mother faked her death. I don’t understand!” “Keep reading, Miss Bristow.” Under her file are another set of communications, these between the CIA director, the head of the FBI, and the president. Based on recommendations by the heads of both the CIA and the FBI, the president decided that my mother would not be brought into custody yet. Derevko could lead the CIA back to the core of the KGB, and it was thought that catching the leaders was more valuable than bringing one KGB operative into custody. CIA moles within the KGB programming project were also sending back valuable information, and a push was being made to introduce this information in Project Christmas. Irina Derevko was already know to have killed eight CIA agents, but it was decided that their loss was not great enough to outweigh the information gleaned from the KGB project, and from the possible KGB heads my mother could lead them back to. I gasp in horror and grasp the rail of the pier for strength. “They knew she was a... those officers,dead...they knew and...” I can’t continue, and Sark gauges my face for a minute before replying. “Yes, Sydney. The CIA knew your mother was a KGB agent for an entire year before she disappeared.” Suddenly this is too much, and I feel the tears begin to build in my eyes. The government I’ve been risking my life to protect has betrayed me. I turn and run from the pier before Sark can see the tears streaming down my face. **************** **************** Sydney’s POV ****************** They lied to me. The CIA knew my mother was a mole, and they let her continue her charade for an entire year. No matter how I say it, no matter how I think it, the horrible truth remains. It replays in my head as I wander aimlessly, although perhaps my body knew something my head didn’t, because forty-five minutes later I found myself on my own doorstep. I’m desperate to barricade myself in my room, where I can think in peace. Unfortunately, Francie is in the kitchen, cooking and humming to herself. She looks up and smiles at me. “Syd, come try these portabello mushrooms, I think the seasoning may be little too strong...sweetie, what’s wrong?” Tears are leaking out of my eyes, and I can’t seem to come up with a lie. “Fran, I...I can’t talk right now, okay? I’ll tell you tomorrow.” And I run to my room before Francie can form any objections. A few minutes later I hear the phone ring, but ignore it, knowing Francie will eventually answer. Soon the phone stops ringing, and I hear Francie’s voice float into the room, although she is speaking in hushed tones. “Yeah, Will, she’s here, but she can’t really talk right now...No, she’s really upset, she won’t tell me why...No, she didn’t say anything about her work, you think that’s what it is?...Why don’t you come over, I’m really worried about her.” A few minutes later the doorbell rings and I head Will’s voice. A minute later a soft knock comes on the door, and Will’s head pokes in. “Sydney, do you want to talk about what’s wrong?” He mouths “SD-6” to me, but I shake my head, and realize that as much as I want to confide in someone, it would only endanger Will more if he knew. “No, Will, I’m just tired. I don’t really want to talk now, okay?” He nods, looking disappointed that I won’t confide in him, then turns and leaves my room. I bury my head in the covers and fall into a deep and exhausted sleep. ************ Fortunately, Sloane has no new mission for me, so I spend the next couple days away from Vaughn. I feel guilty for not telling him, but I really don’t know how to broach the subject, and Vaughn might not believe what Sark says. I don’t know precisely what it is that makes me believe Sark, but seeing that he has an unhappy past makes me feel a connection to him, and him knowing my secret adds to the connection. Even though it scares me, there really isn’t anything I can do to stop Sark, so I finally decide to hold another meeting with him, to see if he is going to use the information in any way. And I want to know if Sark has revealed his true motives for giving me the information. However, since I haven’t been on any missions lately, I don’t know how or where to see Sark. By midnight my tension hasn’t subsided, so I decide to return to the pier and hopefully calm down. After a few minutes of staring at the water, I hear soft footsteps approaching the pier, and turn to see Sark confidently striding up. “Miss Bristow, imagine seeing you here again. What a coincidence.” The smirk is back on his face, and for an instant I feel uncomfortable, but gathering my courage, I speak. “Look, Sark, I didn’t come here for small talk. You told me about Project Christmas for more reasons than you’re letting on, and I still don’t know why you haven’t told Sloane I’m a double. Just tell me.” The end of my statement, which I meant to come out as forceful, sounds weak to my ears. I expect Sark to relish his victory, but instead his gaze softens. “Miss Bristow, I have no intention of turning you in. You may not know it, but we’re working toward the same goal.” I stare in shock at him, and he allows a brief genuine smile before continuing. “Three days ago Arvin Sloane formally presented me to the Alliance. Although I won’t be a member of SD-6, I will be a partner to both SD-6 and the Alliance in recovering Rambaldi artifacts, and in discovering Rambaldi’s true aim. Sloane has promised that when the Rambaldi mystery is solved, our organizations will continue combining resources and working together.” “I still don’t understand how I fit in.” “I didn’t tell you everything about Project Christmas. When I told you that the KGB took their project further than anyone else, I was very serious. After a few years of just taking average orphans, they decided that gifted children should be identified and targeted. They began testing children, and for some especially gifted children, they would be put through an accelerated and intensive program. What’s more, they started to take children from their families, or even killing families so that the children would be orphans and have no one to come after them. At that point though, the KGB didn’t have enough people to carry out such a large search, and to cover up so many crimes. So they hired out the kidnappings and murders.” ”Were you one of-” He cuts me off with a gruff nod and stares stormily at the water for a minute. “I was 12. I can still remember my family, seeing them killed in cold blood. And although the assassin didn’t see me, I saw him. His face is burned in my memory.” He pauses to level his gaze with mine. “It was Arvin Sloane. He killed my family.” Sadness and anger flicker across his face, but he quickly regains his composure. “I will get Arvin Sloane, no matter how long in takes. Bit it will go a lot faster with some help.” He glances sidelong at me, and I can feel the question in his eyes. “I’m offering you a chance at a real life, Sydney. Since I’m Sloane’s partner, he would accept if you came to work for me. We’de still see him a few times a month, and to him it would seem we’de still be working for him. Also sharing the artifacts.” “Only-” “Only he wouldn’t be getting the real artifacts. He would be receiving forgeries.” “That’s exactly what I’m doing right now” “Except you’re going on missions twice a week. When was the last time you saw your friends, got to have an honest conversation with them? I’m offering you a chance at a life, Sydney. You won’t have two jobs, just one. You’ll have time for your friends, family, school.” “Sark, I, I can’t. You’re a wanted man. How can I trust you?” “How can you trust the CIA? The people who let you live with you mother for a year, knowing she was a mole? Knowingly let her kill CIA agents?” His intense gaze once again focuses on mine. “They have blood on their hands, too, Sydney. It’s all shades of gray, no organizations is all good. We’re both working to take down SD-6, we’re similar, except my methods are more...unorthodox. But I get the job done faster.” “You kill people, Sark.” “So does the CIA. And if 10 people die to eventually save the lives of hundreds, isn't that justified?Sydney, once Arvin Sloane and SD-6 are gone, you will have a normal life, no lies, no killing. If you work or me, you can get there faster. And in the mean time, you can have a more normal life.” His arguments are so reasonable, and I feel myself longing for the regular life I haven’t had for so long. But I would be betraying my father, Vaughn, Will, the CIA. As if reading my mind, Sark speaks again. “You’re still working to take down SD-6. You’re not betraying anyone.” “But Sloane, if he tells my father I’m working for you...and I can’t just quit the CIA for no reason.” “Sloane knows that leaving SD-6, where your father works, to work for me would put a serious strain on the relationship. He’s agreed not to mention it. And the CIA can’t force you to work for them. You can tell them this is too much to handle, that you’re returning to school and a normal life.” I wanted to take Sark’s offer so much, and enormity of how much better my life would be wars with my loyalty to my father, Vaughn, Will, the CIA, yet I think of how the CIA betrayed me, and the disgust I feel with myself for endangering my friends, for lying to them. Tears well up in my eyes and drop down my cheeks before I can brush them away. Sark looks at me with sympathy I am unaccustomed to. ”Sydney, it’s all right. Everything will be okay.” Suddenly I’m in his arms, not caring who he is,what he has done, knowing only he’s a comforting pair of arms and that he’s trying to help me. I feel more sure than ever before, and when the tears stop, I lift my head to stare up into Sark’s eyes. “All right. I’ll work for you.” He smiles a genuine smile at me before letting go. Unexpectedly, I feel a sense of loss, but speak quickly to cover my uncertainty. “Look, they may notice if I’m gone. I should probably go-” “It’s fine, Sydney, I know you need time to get used to the idea. I’ll contact you next week, we can set up a private meeting with Sloane to tell him of these changes.” He smiles warmly at me, and I return to my car, feeling happier than I could have expected when I first came to this pier. ******* ******* A lone blond figure remained standing on the pier, staring out into the water, apparently deep in thought. After a few moments he removed a cell phone from his suit and dialed a number. “This is Sark. I just spoke with Agent Bristow.........No, I told her we would meet with you next week......Yes, of course she took the bait, didn’t suspect a thing. I’ll be in tomorrow to give you the details....Goodnight.” ********** ********** 3 Months Later Sydney’s POV I was halfway through my mission report when Sark stopped off at my desk. “Miss Bristow, I just returned from a meeting with Sloane. He just received intelligence on a Rambaldi artifact in Russia. It’s the key to several Rambaldi artifacts, not all of which Sloane has.” “Who has them?” “K-Directorate mostly. Your mother had two of them, but I’m not sure what happened to them. And a few other less prominent Rambaldi collectors have the remaining seven.” “Seven! How many artifacts does this key open?” Sark sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m not sure. Sloane seems really desperate to get it, but he hasn’t said much more than that. He’s insisting that we fly to Kiev tonight. We’ll be attending a private party of a collector that owns the key. Apparently they haven’t realized the importance of the key, because they still have the key stored in their safe.” Sark grimaced and pinched the area between his eyes. Worry seems to be etched deep into his eyes. “Sark, what’s going on?” “Rambaldi always had a purpose. If he made a single key for so many artifacts, they would be linked together. The thing is, I don’t have access to any of these artifacts. They’re all from Sloane’s personal collection, and although he is sharing information about them, I don’t have physical access to them. And I don’t know if Rambaldi used a literal key.” “You don’t know what the forgery should look like.” He nods tiredly. “Normally I could just get the real thing and make a fake later. But Sloane is sending two of his operatives with us on this mission. There’s not going to be very much time to switch keys.” “There’s more, isn’t there?” Sark sighs again. “Sit,” I insist. “I’ve never seen you this stressed out. What’s going on?” “Sloane knows I have more than enough operatives to complete this mission. Sending his own operatives is his way of saying that he doesn’t trust me.” “Do you think that he’s realized the you’ve been giving him forgeries?” For an instant a look of guilt flashed across Sark’s face, but a second later all that is there is tiredness. “I doubt it. If he knew he has a warehouse full of forgeries, we would both be in the conversation room right now.” His words are careless, but I can’t help but notice the slightly nervous tone to his voice. Sark has been acting a bit stressed these last few weeks, but he hasn’t opened up, and improved as our relationship is, he probably won’t take to kindly to me prying into his moods. So I content myself with giving him a slightly puzzled look but remaining silent. To my surprise, he continues talking. “Miss Bristow, would you care to get dinner with me?” ************** ************** “That’s your disguise?” I laugh, ten minutes later, as Sark emerges from his office. He’s wearing khakis, a crème turtleneck sweater, and has slung a messenger bag over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle up as he smiles at me. “Miss Bristow, the CIA thinks I’m in Europe right now. I’m not disguising myself, I’m merely trying to match your attire.” Well, he certainly looks like a college student. But he still hasn’t explained the messenger bag. I comment on this, and he raises his eyebrows, amused. “Miss Bristow, surely you don’t believe I would go into a public place without a backup plan. And these clothes simply do not have the carrying capacity that suits have.” I’m shaking my head, more amused. “I don’t even want to know what you have in there. And why are you calling me Miss Bristow? You’ve been calling me Sydney for a month.” Sark merely shrugs, and motions toward the parking garage. “Very well then, Sydney, ready to leave?” Unable to understand or follow Sark’s mood, I follow him out the door toward his car. ************* ************* “And what would you like to drink with your meals?” Sark shrugs and gestures to me. “You choose.” “Some Petruse. ’82.” Sark glances quizzically at me as the waiter leaves our table. “I didn’t know you like Petruse.” “And that’s all I know about you.” Sark shrugs nonchalantly. “We’re spies, Sydney. Openness is a liability.” I glare at him, rather frustrated. “We’re on the same side, Sark. It’s okay to open up once and a while.” He appears thoughtful for a moment, but finally nods. “Sounds rather fair. What were you wanting to know about me?” I grin and jump at the chance. “For starters, your name would be good.” A brief look of surprise covers his features, but he quickly covers it. “I’ve just been Sark for quite a while now. Since I don’t use my first name, the information would not do you any good.” “That’s not how this works, Sark. Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “What happened to my relaxing evening?” “It would be a lot more relaxing if you would tell me your name.” A soft, somewhat sarcastic laugh emerges from him. “You’re nothing if not persistent. But perhaps my name is the wrong thing to start with. I can tell you I’m from England, and I’m 26.” This draws a laugh from me. “I know you’re from England, Mr. British accent.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Okay, I guess I was asking for that one.” Sark thinks for another minute before speaking again, and his gaze deepens into seriousness. “I never wanted to be a spy. I always pictured myself as a professor.” “A professor! Of what?” “History. Or maybe English. Your mother was very persuasive.” “My mother? She wanted you to get out of the business.” Sark shrugs again. “She was a strange boss. She knew she would eventually get out of the business, and when she saw my unhappiness, she tried to convince me to get out, as well. To be honest, I don’t think she enjoyed the intelligence world any better than I did.” He gazes deep into my eyes, as if searching for a response. “You’re getting out when SD-6 goes down, aren’t you?” I try to give Sark a simple answer, but after some prompting, it turns into a full-blown history of the last few years, ever since Sd-6 recruited me. I tear up as I remember losing Danny, and Sark reaches across the table to softly brush a tear from my cheek. He doesn’t remove his hand, and we both lean in, our lips inches apart. I ‘m not sure where this came from, or where it’s going. But I feel myself falling into the depths of his eyes, and know only that this feels so right. “So, I have your orders! Who had the salmon?” The waitress’ cheerful voice interrupts, and we both pull back, the magic of the moment lost. *************** *************** After dinner, Sark and I go our respective ways to quickly pack and return to the plane. On the plane, I find I am tired, and I lean my head back, close my eyes, and quickly fall asleep When I awake several hours later, Sark is asleep next to me, and I am glad to not have to talk to him. The awkwardness following our aborted kiss still seems to hang in the air, and I don’t know how to fix it. My mind keeps returning to the fact that I’ve developed feelings for Sark, but I can’t imagine having a real relationship with him. It would be too dangerous. Leave it alone, Sydney, I tell myself. You got over Michael; you can get past this a lot easier. Except my eyes keep returning to his sleeping form, and my mind keeps thinking of the gentle concern in Sark’s eyes as I told him of my past. Forcing the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and drift off into a troubled sleep. After we land, Sark and I catch a cab to our hotel and quickly prepare for the party to take place in less than an hour. We meet Sloane’s operatives outside the building. Sark quietly slips me a pair of earrings, and as we all separate at the party, his voice quietly sounds in my ear. “Sydney, Sloane’s operatives are covering the security system. They aren’t going to be in radio contact, so we can talk this way. Simply press on the center diamond to talk.” “Have you figured out what to do about the key?” “I have several forgeries with me. I can only hope the original looks reasonably like one of them. The guards appear to be on twenty minute perimeter sweeps, so if you can get in right now, you’ll have time to crack the safe and get out.” “I’ll meet you on the foyer when we can make the switch.” I quickly make my way to the safe, and open it without setting off any alarms. The foyer is only two halls away, and Sark is already waiting there when I arrive. He sighs with relief when he sees the key. “Perfect, it looks a lot like this one.” Handing me the key, he pockets the original and motions to the door. Once inside, we duck into a hallway to take the back way out of the house. Suddenly an entire contingent of guards round the corner and shouting, start after us. Sark and I turn and run, sprinting down separate corridors and force the guards to split up. I hear Sark’s voice crackling in my ear as I run. “Take a left at the next corridor. From there the next exit is ….eft…wait, guards ar…..” “Sark? Sark?!” The only response I got was crackling in my earpiece. “Sark?” I randomly choose a direction and continue running, only to run into eight armed guards and the owner of the key with them. Realizing the futility of fighting right now, I slowly lift my arms in surrender. “Good,” the owner comments. “Now I want my key back!” The guards quickly search me, and find the forgery. The owner angrily throws it back at me, and without thinking I thrust the key into my handbag. In the silence of the room, my earpiece suddenly crackles as Sark’s panicked voice comes through. “Sydney, the guards are heading toward you. Turn back!” The owner motions to my earring, and I silently hand the earring to him. He stares at it in disgust for a moment before speaking into it. “I have your partner. If you want her back, you will bring the real key to the far eastern corridor. You have five minutes.” It’s less than a minute later when Sark rounds the corner, breathless and slightly flushed. His eyes are wide with concern. “Sydney, are you all right?” I nod as the owner angrily requests the key again. Sark passes the real key to him as we are forced rather unceremoniously out of the building. The guards reenter the building as Sark grasps my arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The adrenaline seems to be gone, and I sag tiredly against Sark’s arm. He gathers me in his arms and murmurs into my hair, “I know the feeling.” This draws a slight laugh from me, but my expression sobers as I stare up into Sark’s eyes. The concern and sympathy in them is real, and I reach up to run a hand along Sark’s cheek. “Really, I’m okay.” He nods and speaks softly. “I know. I was just afraid I’d… that you were …I knew the guards were coming…” “It’s okay,” I soothe him, and he relaxes slightly and smiles down at me. I feel the magnetism of his eyes, and he brings his lips down to mine for a tender kiss. After much too short a time he pulls back. “Sydney, I-“ He cuts off and we jump out of each other’s embrace as Sloane’s operatives rejoin us. “Did you get the key? Our system crashed, so we couldn’t monitor the security cameras.” Sark and I exchange glances. We know why we were caught, but it appears they don’t know we don’t have the key anymore. Sark throws a sidelong glance at me before quickly speaking. “Agent Bristow has it in her bag.” I hand them the key and silently hope that Sloane doesn’t realize the difference. We turn to leave and I realize that Sark and I are going to have a lot to talk about on the plane ride home. *********** Sloane’s POV 2 Days Later I sat in my office, thoughtfully staring at the key Sark had returned to me. I had tried it on several artifacts, and found it worked on none of them. Which led me to the conclusion that either Sark had given me a forgery, or he had stolen the wrong key. A loud knock sounded on my door and the head of security section entered. “The tapes that you requested, Sir.” I quickly insert the security tape into my VCR and fast-forward until I saw Sark and Sydney separate and run from the guards. I gasp as I see Sydney detained by the guards; Sark never mentioned this in his report. The owner retrieves a key from Sydney but quickly throws it back. I surmise it must be the forgery. Sark next runs on the scene, and he tosses a key to the owner and the guards release them. The cameras switch to an outside view, and I see them embrace and kiss, then jump apart as my operatives return. I angrily turn to my head of security section. “Its obvious Sark is no longer loyal to me, if he ever was. I want you to send security teams to both his home and Sydney’s. I want them brought back here as soon as possible. I want them alive, but don’t hesitate to use force otherwise.” He nods and exits, as I sit back in my chair, anticipating what this night will bring. To Be Continued . . .