The Elusive

The Elusive

*Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. All I can claim is Saoirse.

Sequel to Searching for a Dream. If you're new to the story you might want to read that first.

Setting: Season 3 AU. After the events of Searching for a Dream the rest of Season 2 played out 2 as in: Francie doubled and killed, Will in witness protection, Sydney missing, Jack in
Prison, Sloane pardoned, etc. The story picks up somewhere in the beginning of Season 3.

Summary: 2 years have passed. In the search for her missing memories Sydney is led to an operative of the Covenant. Let’s just say things have gone dark for Saoirse.

Rating: PG-13

Chapter 1
Reality


Sydney wanted to shake it all off and wake up from the bad dream that had become her life. Francie was gone. Will too. Vaughn was married. Walking into work everyday and seeing him with Lauren… Sydney had wanted to marry Vaughn eventually. That was before two years had been taken from her.

Her mind went back to the video her father had shown her. Sure, she had killed many people in self defense, but this sort of assassination just was not in nature. She must have been brainwashed or worse.

“Sydney,” Jack walked over to her. “Dixon needs to speak to both of us.”

Sydney nodded and followed her father into the director’s office.

“Good morning, Sydney, Jack,” Dixon nodded to both of them. “Thank you for being here.” He glanced to the back of his office. “Mr. Smith,” He waved a hand.

Sydney nearly jumped from where she was standing when she realized someone else was in the room.

A tall lanky man, perhaps mid-twenties, trudged forward from an apparent hiding spot along the wall. His attire looked straight from a skate park: baggy jeans and surf company t-shirt. “I don’t know anything, man!” He threw up his hands. There seemed to be no tying them down as he paced around.

“Smith, that would be contradictory to your pardon agreement. Your cooperation in exchange for release from your assigned prison term,” Dixon added. “This is Agent Sydney Bristow.” He directed the young man’s attention to Sydney.

Smith stopped pacing and stared Sydney. He turned to Dixon. “Yeah, man, I’ve seen her. About six months ago in Caracas.”

“What?” Sydney questioned to Dixon.

“Mr. Elias Smith here is a hacker, Sydney. He has one of the longest arrest records of any computer hacker in western hemisphere and he also has been employed by the Covenant,” Jack explained. “And he apparently saw you during the two years you were missing.”

“Just once!” Smith interjected. He shook his head. “You know you looked better as a blonde.”

“Under what circumstances we meet?” Sydney questioned.

“What you got amnesia?” Smith laughed. “For a hottie, you sure fit the profile of dumb.”

“Smith!” Dixon warned.

“Answer my question,” Sydney demanded taking a step closer to the man.

Smith drew back and held up his hands. “Okay, Miss, no need for violence!”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Smith.”

Smith fumbled his fingers. “You hired me to do a job. Plant a virus in the system of some corporation’s security network. I don’t ask questions I just do the work.”

“Did I happen to mention my name?”

“No. You didn’t pay by check or anything either. It was cash so it can’t be traced. I’m sorry if I can’t help you further,” He turned away and started to study the walls as if they held some unknown knowledge.

“Did they give you a contact number?” Sydney questioned.

“No exactly,” Smith replied. “See I was sort of recommended through a friend. She had the number.”

“And how can we contact this ‘she’?”

“Oh,” Smith ran a hand through his hair. “She’s kind of out of contact at present.”

“A name would help,” Sydney suggested.

“That’ll be easy enough for you to remember it’s yours,” Smith choked on an immature laugh.

“You mean me?” Sydney raised an eyebrow.

“No!” He snapped. “Your last name: Bristow. Her name is something Bristow.”

“What does she look like?” Sydney inquired further.

“You know I never actually met her face-to-face it was this weird internet relationship. You know chat room, IMing, etcetera.”

“Do you recall a first name?” Jack suggested.

He shrugged. “No.”

Sydney looked at Jack who nodded. She turned to Dixon. “Thanks, Dixon.” She quickly followed her father from the office.

* * * *

Jack turned down another street and sighed. He glanced at Sydney who was seated in the passenger seat of the sedan. “It is possible, Sydney, that –”

“Dad, it’s not Saoirse,” Sydney replied adamantly. “Next you’ll say it was her who killed Lazarey!”

“I was going to say that it is possible that the woman who murdered Lazarey was your sister. Not that she is this Bristow that punk was talking about.”

Sydney shook her head. “Dad, it was me in that video. Saoirse’s at least three inches shorter than me so it couldn’t have been her. Besides, Dad, why would an agent of British Intelligence murder a Russian diplomat? It couldn’t have been a mission.”

Jack was silent as he pulled over to the side of the highway. He shut off the engine and got out of the car.

Sydney stayed seated for a few minutes and watched her father stare out at the surrounding city. Finally with a sigh she opened the car door and got out. She walked up to her father. “Dad?”

Jack looked back at Sydney. “Sydney, your sister disappeared eight months after you did. There was no evidence of abduction. No body was found so she’s listed as missing. It was as if she just disappeared into thin air one day.”

Sydney put hand on her father’s shoulder. “Dad, she wouldn’t do of those things. I didn’t know her for long, but she would never kill someone in cold blood. Nor work for an organization like the Covenant.”

“I’d like to say you’re right, Sweetheart,” Jack turned to Sydney. “But if over thirty years in the intelligence business has taught me one thing it’s that everyone has a darker side.”

Argentina

“I still don’t know how you managed to get a real copy,” The tall and rather obnoxious man remarked in an accent the woman noted as New York. He grinned a gold-filled smile at the young woman and closed the briefcase. “Ah, sweets, can’t you smile once? That scowl makes you look twenty years older.”

“I used to believe that happiness was as easily found as a smile,” The woman remarked. “Then I lost it.” She grabbed the duffle bag from her feet and slung it over her shoulder. She turned to leave.

“Hey, Bristow!” The man called. “Would you be up for another job?”

Her brown eyes only glared at him with a hint of annoyance. “You know where to contact me.” She opened the door and stepped out of the shadows into the sunlight of Buenos Aires.

A shiver ran down her spine. The woman brushed it off and put on her sunglasses. She glanced down the street before she emerged into the crowd of pedestrians.
 
Uh oh... me thinks bad things be'est happeningeth with our dear Saoirse.
I loooove the two year jump. Puts it in a different universe without going crazy on us.

Gracias for the PM. May I have another, por favor? :D
 
Chapter 2
Rendezvous


“Sydney!” Jack called after his daughter.

Sydney turned and walked over to him. “What is it Dad?”

Jack held up the folder he was holding. “Irina said that Saoirse was not born in Russia. She lied. I pulled this from the city clerk’s office in Moscow.”

Sydney flipped it open. She took a breath. “Her birth certificate. Arisha Vera Bristow.”

Jack nodded.

Sydney was silent as she scanned the rest of the page.

Arisha Vera Bristow
Birth date: 15 June 1982
Mother: Irina Derevko
Father: Jonathan Bristow


Sydney looked at her father. “Dad, would Mom really leave something like this out in the open?”

“No one knew about your sister except for Irina’s superiors at the KGB.”

“But what about the other birth certificate that says she was born in Dublin?”

“Your mother must have planted it to protect Saoirse from her enemies.”

Sydney glanced back at the certificate she held. “Anyone could have accessed this. Saoirse must have found it and assumed her true identity.”

“Which gives us a name,” Jack remarked. “I’ve started to run a search, but there’s nothing yet. I’ll keep at it and your mother might be helpful in this case.”

* * * *

Handel_4Me> Hello again, Jack.

Mozart_182> We need to talk.

Handel_4Me> About what?

Mozart_182> Arisha.

Handel_4Me> Is she all right?

Mozart_182> I never told you she disappeared.

Handel_4Me> When?

Mozart_182> Eight months after Sydney.

Handel_4Me> I didn’t know she was gone.

Mozart_182> She’s using her birth name.

Handel_4Me> She’s been to Moscow then.

Mozart_182> Can you look into it?

Handel_4Me> Yes. Do you have anything about her whereabouts?

Mozart_182> Caracas. Some time last April.

Handel_4Me> I’ll be in touch.

Dublin

The River Liffey splits Ireland’s capital city of Dublin into two parts. Its passage through the heart of the city is crisscrossed with numerous bridges ranging in age and architecture. The busiest perhaps is O’Connell Bridge which leads north through Dublin past the site of the 1916 Easter Rising. To the east the tracks of the DART is visible as the trains carry citizens to work throughout the city.

Up O’Connell Street a young woman emerged from the General Post Office and removed something from her jacket pocket. She dropped it into a trash bin and dug into her pocket for her car keys. It was a typical day for classic Irish weather. The rain had just passed and now the streets were littered with puddles. The woman adjusted the collar of the dark jacket she wore over business slacks and a wool sweater. It was a short walk to the garage where her car was parked.

Unaware of the eyes on her the young woman tossed the briefcase she was carrying into the back of her sedan and then shut the door. She jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Her eyes glanced at the reflection in the rearview mirror and then away, but her eyes were pulled back.

Never mind. She must have been dreaming. He was gone. She reached for the turn signal and jumped when she felt a hand over hers.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop the car, Love.”

“What if I don’t? You’ll shoot me?” She shut off the engine and pushed her sunglasses off her face into her hair. She faced the person standing outside the vehicle and smiled. “Hello, Julian.”

* * * *

“I didn’t believe it when I first heard it,” Julian Sark stood with his hands hidden in the pockets of his black overcoat. “Saoirse, I didn’t realize it was you until I saw your picture.”

Saoirse leaned over the railing and stared down at the polluted river before them. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and glanced back at Sark. “Surprise.”

“I never thought you would work for an organization like the Covenant.”

She turned around and leaned her back to the railing. “I’m not Covenant,” she remarked sternly. “I’m freelance.”

“That’s your euphemism for mercenary,” Sark quipped.

“Call it what you like.”

“What are you doing back here?”

“Business.”

“You mean breaking into museum vaults and taking out hits.”

“I do what I have to,” Saoirse admitted. “Besides, Julian, you haven’t done too bad yourself.”

“So why did you leave those who you used to so adamantly refer to as the ‘good guys’?”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a grin. “I might be a double agent for all you know.”

“Saoirse, you can’t take orders from more than one place.”

“I do not take orders from anyone.”

“Then you wouldn’t be interested in this,” He removed an envelope from his pocket and examined it. “Looks like payday. I was instructed to give this to an ‘Arisha Bristow’.”

She turned in an instant and thrust out a hand to make a grab at the envelope.

Sark, however, lifted it over his head out of reach. He smirked.

“Isn’t that a bit childish, Mr. Sark?” She resigned.

“You’ve grown up, Miss Bristow,” He lowered the envelope before her.

She stepped closer and he pulled it away. She reached past his shoulder, but failed to grab it. She stopped with her face inches from his. “What do I have to do?”

Sark lowered his face to hers and their lips met.
 
hmmmm so Saoirse is really Arisha who is really Jack and Irina's kid not Irina and the other guys? (Not Flynn but the other one can't remember his name) Or was the Arisha info planted? hmmmmm

fabulous chapter and I'm first cool!
thanks for the PM and BTW I love your avitar pic!
E
 
Chapter 3
Changes


Arisha Bristow, AKA Saoirse Flynn, ran the brush through her wet hair and watched the man behind her in the mirror. She smiled after a moment. “So what’s with the hair?”

Sark looked up at that. “You never wondered where I’ve been?”

“I never wanted to see you again,” Arisha rummaged through a jewelry box and removed a pair of small drop earrings. She put them on and sat down on the bed beside him. “So answer the question.”

“I was in US custody. I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

She laughed. “Oh is that a new torture method for pretty boys like you? ‘Don’t cut my hair I’ll confess!’”

“So why did you leave London? MI-5 didn’t fire you did they?”

“There wasn’t one particular event. One night I was with my family for dinner. My sisters and their children and Paul. He got married two years ago to one of our colleagues at the ministry. I just remember sitting with them and then remembering that as much as I think of them as my family, I was planted there by my mother to hide me from who I really am. I started to think that maybe the life I was leading wasn’t really mine.”

“So you turned to international crime?”

“I took some time off and went away. I went to Russia and checked out the public records. I wasn’t expecting to find anything. I mean as far as I knew I was born in some KGB stronghold, but it turns out that wasn’t the truth. I was born in a government hospital. At least that’s what the records said. I didn’t know what name it would be under. Then I found a certificate for Arisha Vera Bristow. It literally means ‘peace’ and ‘truth’. Things I’ve never known.”

“It seems strange that Irina would name you a derivative of her own namesake,” Sark commented.

Arisha shrugged. “I can’t begin to guess what that woman’s thoughts were.”

“So you just left then?” Sark questioned.

“Work didn’t make sense anymore. I’d never really killed anyone on the job. Then there was a mission to Bangkok. I was hiding in a maintenance closet and they were closing in. I had a disc with intel on it that I was supposed to pass off to my partner. I was about to run when the radios went silent. I found Mitchell dead. The bastard who had just killed him was still there. He didn’t see me. I took my gun and I shot him in the head,” She put her hands to her forehead. “I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t regret it. I was not guilt-ridden. I’d always thought that if I was forced into that action I would have some sort of emotion about it, but I didn’t. There was nothing.”

“You were trained to shoot first and ask questions later,” Sark suggested.

“No, I wasn’t!” Arisha snapped and stood quickly. “If I hadn’t been bloody programmed by Derevko… Sark, I don’t have to think even in the slightest to shoot a target and the Covenant – my first encounter with them was when they caught me trying to lift an access card off an operative. They tried brainwashing me. But guess what? It didn’t work!”

“So they hired you instead of executing you,” Sark observed. He picked up the bottle of wine from the ice bucket and poured himself a glass. He took a long swig and then raised an eyebrow. “What were you doing trying to steal an access card?”

“I was sent in by the Russian mafia to snatch some plans. My code hacking failed so I had to resort to pick-pocketing,” She explained as she paced to the window and stared out the window at the park beyond.

“The Russians?” Sark questioned.

“I have a few friends in high or low places,” She dropped onto the window seat and caught his expression. “You included.”

“Oh, so we’re still friends, Saoirse?”

“My name is Arisha,” She drew her knees to her chest and laid her chin on them. She gazed out at the people passing on the street below. It did not surprise her to feel the hand on her shoulder a moment later. She felt his breath on her neck as Sark ran a hand through her hair.

“I prefer ‘freedom’,” He whispered.

“Freedom has its price,” She replied. Arisha stood and slipped past him. She grabbed her jacket from the bed and picked up her purse. She pulled out the envelope he had given her before and opened it. Her fingers flipped through the currency for a moment before she pulled out a bill and put it on the bed. Her brown eyes met his gaze. “You can tip room service. Enjoy the wine.” She left.

* * * * *

It's very short, but I've been really busy lately. I'm looking to start an undergrad thesis so my my mind's been all over the place. Wish me luck
 
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