THE RAMBALDI STONE

CHAPTER 36
PHONE CALL


“Yelena!” Sydney cried, recognizing her aunt, whom she had met for the first time less than a month ago.

Yelena rolled to her knees, still gasping. Her niece packed a wallop! “I guess I should have knocked.” She said wryly.

Sydney picked up the gun, removed the clip, and placed it in the pocket of her robe. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you are a Derevko and Mom’s sister.” Sydney was remembering the taser shots she took from her mother. “Perhaps we should retire to the living room and give Jan a chance to dress.”

“Yes, please,” he said in a muffled voice from under the covers.

Yelena still held her side and slowly got up. “Good idea. It smells like sex in here.” She stood a moment taking a deep breath and flashed Sydney a grin. She was going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow on her abdomen and her leg. She pushed open the door and left. Sydney closed it behind her to give Jan privacy.

Sydney walked to the kitchen and started drawing water into a kettle. “Tea or coffee?”

“Tea.” Yelena moved to one of the chairs and sat down gingerly.

Sydney turned the fire on under the kettle and placed three cups and saucers on the counter. She put the tea in a metal strainer and dropped it into the teapot where it would steep. The door to the bedroom opened and Jan disappeared into the bathroom. A couple of minutes later he joined the pair.

He pulled Sydney into the warmth of his arms and the couple faced Yelena. Sydney spoke first. “Tell us why you invaded the apartment with gun in hand.”

Yelena chuckled. “Your grandfather asked me to hunt for you. He is worried.”

“Just how did you locate us?”

“I knew Irina told father she could disappear into the heart of Moscow and no one would find her.”

The whistle on the kettle sounded. Sydney stepped away from Jan and, taking the kettle off, poured scalding hot water into the teapot. “How did you find us?” Sydney repeated, a little more stiffly.

Yelena caught the increased emotion. Her niece was like her mother. Irina wanted answers not preliminaries. “I check public records for property owned by Irina.”
“And you found—what?”

“She own two apartment buildings in Moscow. The one where you live and this one!”
Sydney handed her a cup of tea. “I saw there was difference in seventh floor and the roof top. There was possible apartment above seventh floor. I find switch, then button and…I am here.” She sipped the tea, which was just right, hot, and strong.

Sydney went to the small refrigerator and got out a bottle of cream. She poured a bit into her cup and into Jan’s. “So if you thought I was here, why the gun?”

Yelena shrugged. “Just seemed prudent to be careful.” She wanted to rub her stomach, but didn’t want to show Sydney she still hurt from the blow. Everyone knew Derevko women were supposed to be tough. Her dark eyes regarded the couple openly. She had not had the chance to know her niece and her new husband.

“Are you really a special forces soldier?” She asked Jan calmly.

“Why would you ask that?” Sydney said, allowing Jan’s arms to enfold her again. “He has been on two missions with the family. He got a promotion after the last one. He is the bravest, most courageous man I know…well, maybe there’s another, my Dad.”

Yelena laughed. “Ah yes, pragmatic Jack Bristow. I was only eight when your mother was sent to Central City to train—train to be seductress and spy.” She watched her niece’s reaction.

Sydney smiled. “My mother and father have one of the strangest relationships in the world. She was a spy, yes, but she spent ten years married to a man she learned to love and care for deeply. I only hope that Jan and I will have the same deep love they felt for each other, even when they were apart.

“I don’t know you too well, yet, Yelena, but someday I hope you will also find a man like my Dad or Jan. You seem to be, how should I put it, less emotional than Mom or Katya. Maybe you have someone to love now.” Sydney’s eyes held those of Yelena, who had the grace to blush slightly. Sydney noticed it immediately. However, she would let her aunt talk about it when she wanted to speak.

“So what now, Yelena? You found me. What are you going to do about it?”

“Tell father, I guess. He sent me.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” Sydney said quietly. “I do not want grandfather to get into trouble with his government and, knowing him; he would bluster and perhaps blunder into a trap. After all, this is not an SVR case because the bomb was set off internally.”

“Internal police are sometimes idiots.”
“All of them?” Sydney probed.

Yelena shrugged, “No, not all. Yes, you are right. I should not tell father where you are.”

“I think I need to talk to Mom.”

“Where is she? Do you know how to reach her? Father is very worried. We all are.” Yelena stood up.

“Sit down,” Sydney ordered in a quiet, but firm voice. Yelena recognized she was operating only because she was the aunt. She sat back down.

“Jan, please watch her while I get dressed.” Sydney turned around and walked to the bedroom. Jan smiled at Yelena, leaning against the sink. Neither spoke.

Sydney showered and dressed. She wanted desperately to talk to Irina and Jack. She missed them and had gone through a rough three days of interrogation without their knowledge. Of course, it had been Jan and Grigor who pulled off the raid with Aleksey’s help. Thank God not all the Bristows and Derevkos were out of town.

Suddenly she heard a phone ringing. One of the phones on the desktop was on just in case Aleksey needed to get in touch. She had used it to reach Sophia to help them get food. Now maybe Aleksey had something new to tell her. She rushed out of the room, tying her hair up into a ponytail. She picked up the phone. Behind her, she could feel Jan and Yelena’s eyes on her.

“Hello?” She hoped she had the accent right.

“Nice to hear your voice, honey.” Jack said.

“You too! Where are you?”

“Cairo.”

Sydney blinked. Cairo! What were they doing there…still it was a lot closer to Moscow than Khartoum or the Sahara Desert. “When will I see you?”

“What’s wrong?” Irina asked after taking the phone from Jack.

“You didn’t hear about the plane blowing up, did you?”

Silence emanated from the other end of the line. “No—where?”

“Urals! Several important people were on board including—“she could hardly manage to say the name, “Vaughn’s wife, Lauren.” Sydney now felt Yelena and Jan’s eyes boring into her back. She turned around to see them standing only four feet away.

“Who is it,” hissed Yelena, her eyes narrowing. She had a hunch it was her sister.

Sydney shook her head. She couldn’t fake it any more. “Mom, they think I did it. My fingerprints were on bomb fragments they found at the site. I was interrogated for three days before Jan came and rescued me.” She explained how they kidnapped her after having dinner with her grandfather.

She heard her mother murmur something to her father. “Are they idiots? Who ran the interrogation?”

“The U. S. Government, France, Germany, and Russia. They were not pleasant discussions.”

“Who was in charge?”

Sydney sighed, “I think it was Vaughn.” She heard Jack telling her mother the same thing.

“I take it you are at the apartment,” commented Irina. “Did Grigor take you there?”

“Yes. Don’t be mad at him.”

“Sweetheart, how could I?”

“Mom, there’s a complication.” She looked at Yelena, who frantically kept shaking her head. She was going to lose. “Yelena showed up here this morning, early.”

“YELENA? What the f*uck is she doing there? How did she find the apartment? No, don’t tell me…let me talk to her.” Irina’s voice was strident.

Sydney handed the phone to Yelena, who said, “Hello, ‘Rina. How are you and where the hell are you?” She thought she would get her hits in before she took it from her older sister.

“What do you plan to do with the information about Sydney’s whereabouts?”

“I should tell father I found her, but Sydney said that would be dangerous for him. She’s right. I, as a member of the secret service, should tell some one where she is, but she’s my niece and we’re family.”

“Yelena, I do not want anyone to know about the apartment. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, dear ‘Rina, of course, as always, very clear.”

“Let me talk to Sydney.”

Yelena handed the phone back to her niece. “She wants to talk to you.” Yelena was glad she had not been facing Irina.

“Yes, Mom.”

Irina went into detail regarding what Sydney should do. “Your father and I are on our way. Stay safe if at all possible. If you have trouble, call this number in the United States. Aaron Tchaikov is a very good lawyer, excellent in fact. Tell him Irina Derevko is putting him back on the clock at the regular fee. Tell him everything you know and why you are being hunted.” She continued with a few more instructions.

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“Sloane!”

“Yes, of course.” She muttered something to Jack.

“Sweetheart,” Jack was now on the phone, “we love you and we know you can handle this, and if we’re lucky we will either have Sloane with us or following us. You can manage anything that happens, can’t you?”

“Of course, Dad.” She heard the phone click. They were gone.

“Yes, what?” Jan looked at his wife. “What your parents say?”

“To be careful. They agree it was probably Sloane who masterminded the bombing. They are going to bring him back or get him to follow them.” Sydney moved to the desk and placed the phone next to the keyboard. As she turned back, she cold-cocked Yelena, who dropped like a stone to the floor. “Pick her up, Jan. We’re leaving.”

*** :boxing: Now what's in store for Yelena.
 
Yelena still held her side and slowly got up. “Good idea. It smells like sex in here.”

Good God If I was Sydney, I would have died from embarressment right then!!!! :lol:
Poor Aunty Yelena I don't envy her right now.
 
CHAPTER 37
CAIRO SECRETS


Jack took Irina’s arm and walked into a dark alleyway. The smell of the city permeated everything in the immediate area due to the closeness of the walls. Debris littered the alley from one side to the other. It was not a nice place to walk or stand for any length of time. Irina was not sure she even wanted to stand close to Jack.

“Let’s leave,” she said.

“I have to pick up some things.” He stuck a key into the door and stepped inside, dragging her after him. She sniffed carefully. The place smelled musty, but still better smelling than outside.

Jack reached to his left and flipped a switch after shutting the door. Bright light flooded a room that obviously remodeled considering what the outside looked like. The walls on two sides were covered with pegboard. On one, there were handguns of all types. The other held rifles and automatic weapons. Against the back wall, sitting on a workbench were machine tools where bullets were made, sights adjusted, barrels re-tooled, and various other gunsmith work could be completed. A table approximately four by eight feet sat in the center. Under the table was a large safe. He bent down and began to open it. It opened only with codes, which he entered. The safe would self-destruct if anyone tried to open it any other way.

Irina was stunned and nearly speechless. “Moya bog,” she whispered. He had enough guns and ammunition to arm fifty men. Her eyes widened even more as he threw open the door to the safe. Stacks of money rested on three shelves and they were combination of U.S. dollars, mostly hundreds, Euros, and Egyptian pounds.

He picked up several sheaves of large paper and thrust four into a briefcase resting on the table. He also took three stacks of hundred dollar bills and a couple of stacks of both the Euros and the Egyptian pounds and put them inside snapping the lock shut. Locking the safe, he turned to face her knowing by the look on her face she had many questions.

“Let’s just say I’m thrifty with my money.” Before she could say more, he took her by the hand and opened the door. Checking first to insure they couldn’t be observed, they stepped into the filthy detritus-littered alley. “We need to find a car.”

“What’s going on,” Irina gasped? “Where did you get all that money—and the guns? You have an arsenal there.”

Jack smiled, “Irina, have I asked how you accumulated your money?” He knew most of it had come from her years of running the cartel as The Man. Her methods were just as ruthless as his were, but he had never spoken of his to anyone. He realized though that he needed to explain some of it, at least to mollify her curiosity for the moment.

“I pilfered it from SD-6. Now, let’s start looking for a vehicle we can use.” As they entered the street, Jack glanced up at the sun and then headed toward the middle of Cairo.

Jack rented an old car from a man standing by it waiting for his wife who was shopping. He handed him one hundred Egyptian pounds. “I will leave the car near the Bazaar Khan El Khalili.”

The bazaar, the largest in Cairo, was west. Jack pulled out and drove through the Cairo streets like a veteran. Irina watched in amazement at the frantic collage of the old and new worlds. Along with cars, there were donkey carts, bicycles, Mercedes, Toyotas and a Chevrolet or two. There was a truckload with some kind of chickens. The cages were piled so high on the old vehicle that Irina thought they would fall at any moment. Muslim girls and women in full head and face coverings strode along the streets with silks sweeping the ground. Schoolchildren wearing uniforms—blue tops and black skirts or trousers, moved in small groups chatting and laughing. Tourist buses were everywhere.

“I take it you didn’t spend much time on the streets of the city,” said Jack, honking fast at a man driving his donkey cart in front of them.

“No,” she said, her eyes darting left and right, taking in the cacophony of sound and bright colors. She noticed an African national in long native garb keeping up with traffic, striding along with a truck tire on his shoulder.

Construction was going on everywhere. Jackhammers dominated even the roar of traffic in some spots. It seemed that Cairo was being rebuilt from the inside out and it was a national passion. Street vendors shouted their wares—selling fresh fruit, pita bread, and bottled beverages. A shepherd was busily corralling his small flock of lambs along the street ahead of them. Glancing back occasionally, he was watching and hoping that none of the buses or cars hit his flock.

Finally, Jack pulled into a parking lot across the street from the bazaar. He stepped out with his briefcase and Irina followed as they made their way toward the entrance. “Stay close. Don’t dawdle either.”

Irina smarted at his words. He spoke to her as if she was a five-year old. “I won’t, but please do not be so condescending again or I’ll…” she left open the threat.

He turned and smiled, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

They entered the Khan El Khalili bazaar after managing to cross the street without being killed. There were no street signs, no lanes, and no right-of-way. One had to have courage to move about on foot. Irina’s introduction to the bazaar was wild. As they passed along the streets with stalls piled high with wares—food, clothing, souvenirs of every description, beggars were after them for baksheesh. Jack paused once and bargained with the seller, purchasing two galabeyas. He handed the package to Irina. “Keep moving,” he pushed her ahead of him as they traversed an intersecting street that led in either direction to more sellers and more booths.

Jack took her elbow and they moved to the left. The street was filled with tourists of all nationalities and the noise was overwhelming. He pushed her further into the interior of the bazaar looking right and left for a particular store. He wanted to buy something for her. Jack looked up over each building for the small sign he had seen a long time ago. Finally, he saw it. He spotted the stairs and pulled her up behind him. At the top, he opened a door to a single room. A man sat behind a counter working on a piece of jewelry. He looked up.

“Marhaba,” he said, standing. He looked at Jack quizzically trying to remember him. The man was not tall, perhaps five seven. Both Bristows towered over him. He weighed about one fifty and was in good shape. His hair was grizzled, a mixture of salt and pepper, indicating he was probably in his late forties.

“Salim, kayfahaluk.” Jack grinned. “Jack Bristow.” He pointed at himself.

“Jack!” The man’s face broke into a grin. He had a missing front tooth. “You have changed color.” His English was poor, but understandable. He referred to the fact Jack was as dark skinned as he was. “And the woman is your…” He looked at Irina with appreciation.

“…my wife, Irina.” said Jack. He then spoke briefly in Arabic. Salim smiled, winked, and left the room.

“Jack, what’s going on?”

“A surprise.” He put his arm around her waist. Moments later, Salim walked out with several pieces of jewelry, gold necklaces, in his hand. They were stunning. Irina’s eyes opened wide and she leaned forward to look at them as he placed them onto a velvet-covered tray.

“Pick one,” whispered Jack.

Jack looked up at Salim and spoke for a moment in a calm easy manner. He was actually asking his friend if there had been any news regarding a mutual acquaintance, Arvin Sloane.

“La,” said Salim shaking his head. Jack continued chatting amiably as Irina looked at first one than another necklace.

“I would like this one,” she said holding it up. She was excited. It was the first piece of jewelry Jack had bought her since she left him in 1981. She had always kept her wedding ring and when they re-married in Moscow, she told him she wanted to use it when they exchanged rings.

“Very good choice,” said Salim in careful English, beaming. His friend Jack would cough up many dollars for this one. In Arabic, he told Jack the cost of his generosity.

Without blinking an eye, Jack reached into his pocket and handed Salim the money. His eyes bulged as he saw the size of the roll of money. “Be careful, Jack, many pickpockets in the bazaar as always.”

Jack nodded, but was interested in putting the necklace on Irina, whose dark eyes studied him. The last time he put a necklace on her, it had been coated with C-4 explosive. This time he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Let’s say this is a thirtieth anniversary present, darling.”

Salim came back with Jack’s change. “Ummm, taslarrafna, Irina.”

Irina smiled, looking at Jack. “He said it was nice to meet you.” She smiled and held out her hand. Salim took it and kissed it.

Jack took Irina by the arm, leading her to the door. Turning back for a moment, he nodded at Salim whose eyes locked onto his for a moment, and then he too nodded. “Ma’assalama, Salim.” The other man gave a small motion to him with his hand, and sitting down behind the counter once more, began to work.

They went down the stairs. Irina was fingering her necklace, delighted with the gift. It had been a surprise. She held his hand. “Now where?”

“The Cosmo’,” said Jack.

They left the bazaar and hailed a taxi. This time Irina was happy being in the rear seat and not next to the driver. She decided that driving in Cairo was a microcosm of life. She wondered how anyone found his or her way around the city, especially without a street sign anywhere. Taxi drivers needed guts to get their passengers to where they needed to go. He had to stay out of other driver’s way and constantly use his horn as a social tool for passing on left or the right. She noted parking was done two and three deep, with parallel cars parked behind cars parked perpendicular to the curb. There were attendants everywhere and you had to leave your keys with them so they could maneuver cars in and out. Obviously, she thought, one never left anything of value in a car.

Speaking Russian, Irina asked, “Jack, just who is Salim?”

Jack smiled, “No fooling you is there?”

“Jack, we did not go to the bazaar just to buy me a gift. Who is he?” She smiled at him, having noticed the cab driver was watching.

“No, just a man I met at the bazaar several years ago. He’s a gold dealer.” Jack also noted the driver’s interest. Now what was that about? He did not frown or glance again at the driver. He could not believe he understood Russian, but he was not going to take a chance.

Irina nodded and glanced again at the driver who was staring at her. He turned his eyes away immediately as a donkey cart cut across his path. He honked several times, cursing the boy driving it. Jack took Irina’s hand in his and began tapping her palm. She stared out the window, while getting the coded words. “Be careful, we may be in danger.” Jack glanced at his watch; it was five o’clock.

The driver turned left into a long driveway. They had arrived at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. It had been built in the twenties, over eighty years earlier. Almost every room had a balcony and the exterior décor was very French. Jack had stayed here many times while on assignments. He loved the old place and even though it had been remodeled several times, it still maintained its original charm.

When they stopped, Jack handed the driver an Egyptian fifty-pound note. He and Irina stood on the street facing him as the driver counted out change. Irina’s package slipped from her hand and she bent down to pick it up. She heard a noise and looked up to see a large spot of blood appear on the driver’s chest. His eyes were wide in shock.

He’d been shot.


Arabic translations
La – No
Marhaba – Hello!
Kayfahaluk – How are you?
Taslarrafna – Nice to meet you
Ma’assalama – Goodbye.


***
Oh dear, now what? :(
 
ok im thinkin' the rat b@st@rd sloane?........thx for the pm 

Uh yeah! going to have to agree with lizzie on this one.

Okay, finally all caught up again. I have been so busy lately with school and finishing Redemption etc....

hmmm the Yelena comment "smells like sex in herw" I died laughing honestly that was brilliant! and Jack bought Irina a necklace, how sweet!

I think it's sloane, but wouldn't it be a hoot if it was Vaughn who was after Jack and Irina?

Thanks for the pm's
E
 
YoungStarsOwner posted:
finishing Redemption etc....
Accckkk...you really finished it? I wondered how you were going to finish it in the midst of your school work etc. Thank goodness. What's your word count on it? You have been keeping track haven't you, in case you want to publish it as a novel? :woot:

hmmm the Yelena comment "smells like sex in herw" I died laughing honestly that was brilliant!
Yes, wasn't it? Popped into my head thinking it would give Yelena some more persona. -_-

and Jack bought Irina a necklace, how sweet!
About time, I'd say, especially after the one he gave her before they left for Kashmir with Sydney. :D :D ;)

I think it's sloane, but wouldn't it be a hoot if it was Vaughn who was after Jack and Irina?
Yes Sloane is after all the Bristows. However Vaughn is after Sydney. More later about that...the cad. :P

:cool:
 
Accckkk...you really finished it? I wondered how you were going to finish it in the midst of your school work etc. Thank goodness. What's your word count on it? You have been keeping track haven't you, in case you want to publish it as a novel? 

Yep I posted the last chapter last wednesday exactly one year and a day after I started it and then someone nominated it in the Quarterly Alias Fanfic awards I don't know the word count on it, but it is 60 chapters and each chapter averages aroun 6-8 pages but some were more than 8. I will most likely tally it up sometime lol but I'm working on Absolution right now and am about to post an update for Illusion of Sin.

School has been nuts lately, one of my History courses "Family in the North Atlantic," is brutual as far as the reading goes. Usually about 100 plus pages of reading a week except this week wednesday I have to read Pg 111-176 & 132-151 of another book and then thursday Pg 177-227 and 217-268 of another book.
Unreal, you'd think the prof thought we didn't have any other courses! Grrrr... and midterms coming up! busy busy busy! lol

E
 
CHAPTER 38
TARGETS


Jack pulled his gun and fired a couple of shots in the direction behind Irina. He opened the rear door of the taxi and shoved her inside, following and closing the door. “Go out the other side, the angle will be too steep for the shooter to fire at you.”

Irina ducked out the door, keeping her head down and waiting for Jack. “Who knows we’re here?”

“Sloane, probably.” Jack cursed himself for not thinking about a passive tracker sooner.

As they were reacting, the crowd, including a busload of American tourists, made itself scarce. People ran in all directions away from the taxi and the obviously dead driver. Suddenly another shot hit the window on the right side of the car, shattering the glass. Jack swore again as a third bullet hit the seat. He glanced at the interior and then guessed what the shooter was trying to do—hit the gas tank. By blowing it up with them crouched where they were, the shooter would accomplish the same thing but in a much more painful way…for them.

Jack snapped his briefcase open and pulled out a weapon. “Here, Irina, it’s a Glock 9 with 15 shots.” He explained what they would have to do. As he spoke, another bullet plowed into the car, closer to the gas tank. “He’s going to blow it, if we don’t go now.” He turned, pulling the gun from his waistband, and fired. He ducked as a bullet creased the hood of the car where he was standing.

“The fourth floor second window from the corner.” Jack said and nodded toward the hotel. In the distance, they both could hear sirens screaming their whoop-whoop. The police were on their way. Jack wanted to be away from the car when they arrived.

Irina scrambled on her hands and knees to the rear of the car. Jack stood up and fired two shots at the window. Irina leaned out and taking dead aim, fired another four shots. A rifle fell out of the window onto the ground below. She looked at Jack who was already running for the hotel door. She nearly beat him there.

“Everyone is probably hiding.” Jack slowed, entering the reception area calmly. “Put the gun away.” He hissed.

“I have.” Irina knew how to play the game. “Who do you think it was?”

“I’m not sure.” He walked nonchalantly to the Reception Desk and touched the bell.

A young Egyptian man rose slowly up, his eyes wide and scared. He’d heard gunfire before, but not at this magnificent hotel. The manager, who wasn’t there at present, was going to be unhappy.

“We’d like a room, with a King. The best room you have.” Jack slid a fifty-pound note over the desk to the clerk and spoke with a broad English accent. “By the way, do you know there’s a dead man lying on the drive in front of the hotel? Terribly awkward to walk around him. Have you notified the security officers?” The fact that Jack and Irina had dark skins did not seem to faze the clerk.

Irina had a difficult time suppressing a giggle when she heard Jack speaking. She didn’t dare match him, because her accent would definitely not be Oxford English. She tried smiling in a haughty manner, but decided that being blasé about the whole affair was easier.

“Sorry, Sir.” The clerk took the bribe, sliding it into his pants pocket while looking at the computer screen. “Do you want a double or king?” Now he was trying his best to be nonchalant about the situation. Customers were important to the hotel.

“King.” Jack repeated as he removed a roll of money from his pocket. “How much for one night?”

“Two hundred and five pounds.” The clerk watched Jack peel off three one hundred pound notes and hand them to him. “I’ll get your receipt.”

Jack and Irina both glanced behind them as police cars drew up outside. They turned back as the clerk handed them the receipt and a key. “Check out time?” Jack asked.

“Eleven o’clock, sir.”

“Thank you.” Jack turned, giving his arm to Irina, and the pair walked directly to the elevators. Jack glanced at the key. Their room was on the fourth floor! He showed the key to Irina. Her eyebrows rose slightly.

At the fourth floor the elevators doors opened and Jack carefully looked out. No one was waiting for it. That meant the assassin may have left via the stairway or was hit and still in the room.

“Which way…” Irina said.

“Our room is that way, but the room in question has to be the one at the end of the hall. There.” He pointed.

“We don’t have much time…” Jack touched her on the arm and walked quickly toward the room where the shooter had stood to fire his weapon. Irina had her gun out, holding it to her side.

As they came approached the room, they saw the door was slightly ajar. Jack stopped. Then he saw it. Blood. The carpet in the hallway had spots on it, leading toward the stairway, which had to be around the corner. Using his gun, Jack pushed open the door to the room. Irina stood outside the door, gun ready, just in case. No one appeared in the hallway. Jack checked the rug under the window and noticed more blood.

“We’ve got to hurry. The security police will be on their way up here in a minute or two. You go to our room and get inside.” He handed her the key. “Don’t argue.” He saw she was about to object. “I won’t be more than a minute. Hurry!”

She ran down the hall, past the elevators to their room. Jack swiftly moved to the stairwell. He opened the door quietly. Peeking through the small crack, he saw a pair of legs. They were not moving. He opened the door wider, his gun ready. A man sat slumped against the wall, gun in his right hand, in an enlarging pool of blood. His left hand was pressed over his chest, but blood was still pumping out around his fingers. It was obvious he was not going to last more than a few minutes.

Jack’s eyes locked with his. The man tried to bring the gun to bear on his target, but he didn’t have the strength. Life was leaving him.

“Who paid you,” asked Jack. He was careful not to stand in the pool of blood.

“Sloane.” The man had no reason to be loyal…he was dying and knew it.

“Is he in town?”

The man nodded. He slipped a little further down the wall. “Y-yes!”

“Where?”

He shook his head once. Then his head flopped over and he slipped flat onto the floor. Jack left immediately. He wondered if Sloane was in the hotel as he hurried down the hall. Glancing at the elevator, he saw that someone was coming up. They had reached the third floor. He had only seconds left. He was going to knock at the door, but Irina threw it open and pulled him in just as the elevator doors opened.

“Well?” She said excitedly.

“The shooter is dead. He was dying inside the stairwell.” He told her what happened and repeated their conversation. He walked over to the mini-bar, pulled out a scotch, and poured it into the glass provided.

“Sloane is here—in Cairo?” Irina swore a few choice Russian words. “He was closer than we thought. Jack, how did he know we were here?”

“I didn’t knock the tracker out in time.”


Jack sat down and sipped the scotch thinking. He did not like the answer he was getting when he added up what he knew. Had Salim double-crossed him or had Sloane, or one of his men, spotted them? If Salim had not called Sloane, then his friend might be in a lot of trouble.

Irina watched him and asked, “Jack, you’re thinking about your friend, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have an untraceable cell phone in that briefcase?” He nodded. “Call and see if he’s there.”

Jack took the briefcase off the desk, snapped it open, and pulled out the cell phone. He checked a small black book, also in the briefcase and then punched in the number. He listened to the phone ring. No one answered. He looked at Irina and shook his head. Jack checked his watch. No, it was still afternoon and most shops stayed open to serve the tourists. Salim wouldn’t go home until dark.

He studied the phone, weighing his options. Then he smiled, punching in another number.

“Who are you calling?”

“Sydney. We need to know what is happening there. ” There was no answer. She was not at her apartment. He tried their apartment. Again, no answer. He looked at Irina, shrugging. “She’s not at home.”

“Give it to me.” She took the phone, punched in another number and handed it back to him.

The phone rang and then Jack heard Sydney on the other end. “Nice to hear your voice, honey.” He hesitated. “Cairo.”

Irina took the phone from him, listening. “What’s wrong?” She looked up at Jack in a startled manner. “No—where?” She blinked as she heard Sydney describe the events of the last several days. Irina turned to Jack, repeating Sydney’s words.

He took the phone from her “Are they idiots? Who ran the interrogation?” He listened.
”Who was in charge?” Jack looked at Irina. “She says she thinks Vaughn was in charge of the interrogation.”

She snatched the phone back. “Did Grigor take you to the apartment?” She smiled as Sydney pled with her not to be mad. “Sweetheart, how could I?” She listened again and then yelped, “YELENA! What the f*uck is she doing there? How did she find the apartment? No, don’t tell me…let me talk to her.”

Irina grimaced as she listened to her younger sister. “What do you plan to do with the information concerning Sydney’s whereabouts?” She listened, a little more agitated. “Yelena. I do not want anyone to know about the apartment. Do I make myself clear?”
She paused. “Let me talk to Sydney.”

She gave her daughter instructions on how to leave the country and who to contact. Jan could go with her, but not Grigor. He had to stay with his family. Then she told her the name of a lawyer to contact. Sydney was to set up a meeting with him. She had to extricate herself from the charges or at least put herself in the hands of someone not so eager to interrogate. They both suspected Sloane of being behind the plot. Jack motioned her to give him the phone.

“Sweetheart, we love you and we know you can handle this, but if we’re lucky we will either have Sloane with us or following us. You can manage anything that happens, can’t you?” She answered and he snapped the phone off. He stared at Irina. “Sloane wants her more than us now. Do you think he might suspect…”

“That she has the stone? No, I don’t think he has any idea, but he wants her either dead or out of his way so he can go through with his plan to – what, rule the world?”

“Who is Aaron Tchaikov?”

“He was my USA lawyer when I was The Man. He was on retainer for ten years. When I was in federal custody and in their prison after you kindly arranged for my…” She smiled. “Anyway, he was the lawyer who handled my case.”

“He didn’t do much except tell the judge you pled guilty and would not appeal.”

“I know, but he did what I told him to do in spite of his warning me not to do it. Jack, I didn’t want Sydney to know the other part of me, the woman who was a spy.” She stared straight into eyes, never flinching. “I was getting reacquainted. I could not let her know the things I did as that spy.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Jack, please, we said we were not going to relieve our past.”

He put his arms around her. “No, we won’t. I just wanted to be sure he was the right lawyer for Sydney.”

“He is. He has many contacts in Europe and I trust him. That reminds me—I need to call him.” Irina took the phone and punched in another number. She looked at her watch it was early morning in L.A. He would still be at home.
***
 
Yay, first to respond!

fabulous chapter as always. I'm really intrigued about the whole Lauren/Vaughn thing, maybe Lauren turned Vaughn bad and they both work for the covenant, or it's not really vaughn at all and he was doubled.

hmmm...................

What is Jack's reason for still keeping Sloane alive? he's had plenty of opportunity to kill him

E
 
YoungStarsOwner posted:
What is Jack's reason for still keeping Sloane alive? he's had plenty of opportunity to kill him
I agree and ditto the third season...however, they have/were friends for many, many years. However, I believe Jack's hesitation is about to end.
:cool:
 
CHAPTER 39
DISGUISED


Jan picked Yelena up in his arms. She was dead weight. “Sydney packed a mean punch,” he thought smiling to himself. He had quite a wife. “Where are we going?”

Sydney picked up another cell phone saying, “We’ll use her car.” She saw Yelena’s purse on the table in the kitchen. She found the keys and a wallet containing various identity cards and a Visa charge card. “Even in Russia…” Sydney grinned. She could probably use the card a couple of times if necessary, before discarding it. She had a couple of things to do yet.

“Where we take her?” Jan said.

“Gorky Park.” She answered.

He looked at her astounded. “Is daylight, sweetheart. We cannot leave her there. Too many people.”

“No, I know a place that we can drive to and we’ll leave her and the car. Just wait a minute; I have to get something from the bathroom.” Irina had told her about a small black case in the bottom drawer of the sink.

When Sydney returned, she removed a hypodermic from the black case and gave her Aunt a heavy sedative that would keep her out for another eight hours. She and Jan would be gone by that time.

They went down the elevator to the garage. It was still too early for anyone to go to work; at least that’s what she hoped. They were lucky. They found the Toyota and put Yelena in the rear seat, lying down.

Four hours later, Sydney and Jan, disguised as an elderly man and wife were driving a truck filled with fertilizer. They had purchased it from a factory on the outskirts of Moscow, where there were still cattle, horses and many kinds of farm animals. The disguises had come by some judicious shopping in broad daylight at G.U.M., the biggest department store in Moscow. They were walking around, making purchases, just like other shoppers. Jan was nervous, but Sydney made him promise not to get involved…to be silent and calm.

She paid for everything with Irina’s money she had taken from the apartment. Cash purchases would not be traceable. She did not want the Fapsi police or SVR to know what disguise she used to leave the city. She had also removed four untraceable international cell phones from the apartment. She would need all of them.

Jan drove and Sydney made phone calls. She called Helmut in Tupa. He was the one Irina said would give her the most help. She would need passports and visas to get in and out of countries and republics. She would need drivers’ licenses for both herself and Jan. All of these Irina said Helmut could supply. When Sydney called identifying herself, Helmut promised the papers would be ready. All Sydney had to do was escape out of Moscow. He would send someone to meet them twenty-five kilometers outside Tula.

“Do not worry. She is my daughter.”

At the appointed distance from Tula, Sydney told Jan to pull over on the side of the road behind a car that seemed to have a flat tire. “She’s on time,” she said.

Sydney walked over to the woman standing by the car. Jan watched as the two talked. A minute later, the woman followed Sydney back to the truck. She had a package under her arm. Syd opened the door and the woman climbed in to sit by Jan. Sydney introduced them.

“This is Martina, the daughter of Mom’s, Helmut. She is going to help us get through the checkpoint. She says the Fapsi have one on this side of Tula. She will drive. Get out and come around to this side. She will do the talking. We will be her parents!”

“Da,” Jan left the truck cab and moved slowly around to the passenger side. When he sat down, Sydney passed him a sandwich and a bottle of beer.

Martina, who was about forty, was explaining to them that her father knew they would be hungry. Besides, it would be a good idea to litter the cab with crumbs and papers, as many truckers had to eat as they drove. She was singularly ordinary as women go. Her hair was brown with a few gray hairs straggling from under a babushka. Brown eyes, which were not remarkable in any way, regarded her charges with little interest. She knew Irina well. The Man had been good to the family. Her father, until he was retired, had been a colleague, not an employee. Now Martina was helping her daughter.

“Why don’t we leave?” Jan took a long gulp of the beer.

“We’re waiting for dark. Then we’ll hit the checkpoint when it is its busiest.” Sydney’s eyes twinkled as she thought about the truckload of fertilizer ingredients they carried. By sitting in the sun for a while, it would raise the stench to its highest level. They would be processed though the line fast.

Martina drove the truck along the highway to Tula and as they approached the city, there was a line of stopped traffic ahead. She cautioned the pair to act their “ages” and she would take care of the questions. Sydney leaned over onto Jan’s shoulder. She was wearing an old dirty housedress of undeterminable age, hose that bagged around her ankles, a babushka over her head and thick glasses. Just before they started back on the road, Sydney had used some makeup to add lines and dirt to both of their faces.

When the truck finally crawled to the head of the line, the three policemen took one whiff and turned to look at the man in charge. He grinned and pointed to one. The other two walked to the next car behind the truck. The smell was pungent enough that the policemen held a handkerchief to his nose.

“Bumagal!” He wanted identity papers and truck manifest, although it certainly would seem he knew already what they were carrying.

“Chtu vy nesete!” He asked what she was carrying.

“Idiot!” Martina threw her hands up into the air. She cursed him for being so stupid. Was he without a nose? She was taking her father and mother back home to the farm with a load of s***!

The policeman took a cursory look at the two old people in the truck and then waved the woman to leave at once.

“Spasibo!” She took her papers and climbed up into the cab. She shifted into first gear and drove off with irritating slowness. She was acting every bit the farm wife. They drove into the city and stopped at a warehouse. As soon as they vacated the truck, another man who looked like a farmer, drove the truck into the outskirts of the city to his fruit and vegetable farm. He had been awarded the truckload just to drive it there.

“Helmut?” Sydney pulled off the babushka as the man, obviously Martina’s father, approached them, a smile on his face.

“Irina’s daughter! You are very beautiful just like your mother. I am happy to meet you.” He shook her hand. “Come to the office. I am getting you passports and visas. I need your pictures.”

“How is that going to work?” Sydney asked. “Our pictures are published in every newspaper and on television in every country.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but there are ways and…” his eyes glinted as the challenge was somewhat daunting. “ I love pulling, how you Americans say, wool over eyes of politzei.”

Sydney chuckled. Her mother had some very resourceful friends and contacts just as Sydney did, but here in Russia, Sydney had to depend on Irina’s friends. She herself could not trust her own contacts, especially in this case. They were an unknown quality. She knew they could depend on Irina’s men. They walked into the office where they found a camera sitting on the desk. “We can’t look like ourselves.”

“Yes, of course. I have taken liberty of making disguise for you both. It may take rest of night.” Helmut rubbed his hands. He loved doing this. It was a game for him and he had done it many times for Irina. He had a background in theatrics from his early years working for the KGB. He was a master of changing someone’s appearance with very little effort. Sydney, of course, was also adept at changing her appearance. However, she loved watching other people work their magic. She always learned something new.

She watched with interest as Helmut changed her husband and lover into a wreck of a man—a veteran of the war in Afghanistan. He put him into an ordinary private’s uniform that was three sizes too large, making it look as though Jan had lost a tremendous weight. The picture on his veteran’s identity card showed a man who had been in robust health. He still looked the same, but older, sadder, and definitely overcome by his experiences as a soldier. Helmut used the best makeup he could find—in France and some from the U.S. He was a perfectionist and knew shading and touches of infinitesimal amounts around the eyes, nose and even the mouth could age one. The best trick was making Jan a one-armed veteran.

Sydney was transformed from a beautiful woman of thirty, to a dowdy matron of forty, overweight and plain. Helmut added padding to Sydney’s waist and rear. He streaked her hair with gray. She wore no make-up except for a thin line of lipstick. He added some cotton to the inside of her mouth to change its appearance enough so her face did not match the bone structure of Sydney Bristow, aka Anna Derekova Riffkovsky.

At dawn, two very different people left Tula in a battered old car. The woman was driving, as the man had only one arm. Papers, visas, and identity cards, all correct with the proper official stamps, were inside the man’s jacket. Ivan Zhukovsky and his wife, Maria, were traveling to the Ukraine and would go via the highway south of Chornobyl. Helmut told Sydney that he seriously doubted they would be searched thoroughly once they had taken that particular route. Chornobyl was the site of the world’s largest atomic radiation leak. No one was left in the city. It was literally a ghost city.

As they drove off, Jan looked at Sydney. “Must we go that way?” He was just a boy when the ‘accident’ occurred in 1986. Of course, he lived in St. Petersburg then and there was very little information passed on to the Russian people after the melt down.

Sydney smiled. “We won’t leave the car and we’ll drive straight through. There won’t be any checkpoints nearby either. We’ll probably be seventy to eighty kilometers from the first checkpoint.” She chuckled. “But if you are worried, be sure you don’t have to pee until we are further south.”

Jan’s mouth broke out into a grin. “I shall be careful to wait.” Then he became serious. “Your aunt is awake by now. Do you think she is mad?”

“Perhaps a little, but then she should know, being a Derevko, that cunning and deceit is a part of my…” she leaned over and kissed him, one hand on the wheel, “…heritage. That is not to say we have not heard or seen the last of her.”
***

Author’s note:
Chornobyl is the Russian spelling for Chernobyl. The city was abandoned following an atomic meltdown in 1986. It is now a ghost city and is slowly deteriorating after many years of abandonment. If you want to visit the site that shows you pictures of the city and surrounding area, go to this site. It’s scary and sad. Just copy and paste.

http://www.kiddofspeed.com/default.htm
 
omg........you must live in my mind or something, Friday in Global History we had a discusion on the Chernobyl leak and the thyroid cancer stuff with the kids........wow, i still can't belived that i didn't sleep throught that class.......the old farm couple is cute......thx for the pm ^_^
 
Awww poor Yelena will be pissed! lol
Great chapter as usual. The farm couple was great stink!

thanks for the pm and the link to the info about the ghost town.
E
 
CHAPTER 40
FOLLOWED

Jack stood behind the curtains watching the activities below. There were many people coming and going from the hotel. Although it was nearly six in the evening, he could see a couple of dozen men and women sitting on lounge chairs around the large pool. A bar stood at one end with a young man dressed in a white galabeya with a red fez dispensing drinks. Irina stood behind Jack, off to one side. They heard noises from down the hall, which meant the security police, were now investigating the room and the bloody implications. It would not be long before the body was discovered. There was no way either of them could leave before the police finished their work. Irina hoped they would not be questioned.

Suddenly Jack turned to Irina. “Get undressed and into bed, quickly. The security police are knocking on doors. They’ll be here any minute.” He removed his shirt and then unbuckled his belt dropping his pants on the floor. Irina’s clothes came off quickly and she jumped into bed, sliding between the sheets. Jack was beside her almost at once. He leaned over her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. God, he thought, her eyes are dancing with excitement.

There was a knock on the door. Jack did not respond until there was a second and more urgent knock. “Just a minute,” he called getting out of bed. He reached down, pulling on his pants and partially zipped them up. He ran his hand quickly through his hair, giving it a tousled appearance and then opened the door about two inches. He knew that whoever was on the other side would be able to see the bed and Irina.

“Yes, what is it?” He demanded in an imperious British accented voice.

“Security, Sir! We are investigating a shooting.”

Jack saw the man’s eyes flick over his undressed appearance and the woman in bed. The policeman had the courtesy to look apologetic. “Sorry sir, but there’s been a shooting down the hall in room 405. We need to know if you saw or heard anyone.”

“Sorry, old chap, but my wife and I have been—well, resting.” His voice was strong and accented; his eyes were staring coldly at the security man, daring him to ask anything more. “We have neither heard nor seen anything. Now, if you don’t mind” he shut the door without waiting for further words.

He turned and walked to the bed. Irina stared up at him, a big smile on her face. He chuckled, “Woman, don’t you ever get enough of me?”

“Never!” She welcomed him into her arms.

It was ten o’clock when Jack crawled out of bed and went to the window to look out. There were a couple of people sitting by the pool, but otherwise the travelers had dispersed, either going to dinner, night clubbing or to bed. He could hear music from somewhere in the hotel, but could not identify the location. He walked back to the bed. They had spent too much time here. He wanted to see if Salim was all right.

“Irina, wake up.” He said quietly.

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

Muttering to herself, Irina moved to the side of the bed, and stood up. She was tired. It had been a long day and now it was going to be even longer. She entered the bathroom, turned on the shower and checked to see if the hotel had set out complimentary shampoo and conditioner. She was not leaving without smelling at least better than she smelled when they arrived. Looking around, she saw a hair dryer on the wall near the sink.

Fifteen minutes later, she left the bathroom and began dressing. She didn’t have much choice in what to wear…exactly what she was wearing when they entered the hotel. As much as she wanted clean clothes, they would have to wait. Jack was dressed and out in a few minutes. He picked up one more item, a gray galabeya.

“Put this on over your clothes.” He ordered.

“I wish I had clean clothes.” She grumbled a little, but smiled when he helped her pull the galabeya over her head.

“We’ll pick up new clothes along the way. I want to see if Salim is all right.” Jack opened the door and looked out. The hall was empty. “We’ll take the stairs.”

They entered the gardens behind the hotel, always checking to see if they were being followed. No one was interested in the pair as they made their way to the alley that bordered the property. Jack held his briefcase in his left hand and Irina’s hand in his right. They moved quickly out of the alley and into a street bordering the hotel. He hailed a taxi. Taking one from in front of the hotel might have been dangerous. Taking a taxi driving by was less so.

“Khan el Khalili.”

The driver nodded and eased his car into night traffic, which seemed to be as bad as the daytime traffic. However, at this time, Irina did not see camels, donkeys, or loose poultry flocks impeding the cars, bicycles, or motorcycles. There was plenty of foot traffic as they neared the bazaar. Jack handed the driver twenty pounds and they left the car.

“This way and stay close.”

“Wallpaper,” she said.

“What?” He looked at her sharply.

“Oh, never mind.” She didn’t want to take the time to explain, but stuck with him, holding onto his hand. Their fingers entwined, they looked like Egyptians in their galabeyas and sandals.

Neither of them spoke as Jack led the way. Irina moved easily now as the crowds had thinned sufficiently to allow almost free passage along the streets. Some of the shops were closed with their lights out. The owners probably lived over their shops. Those that sold their wares along the streets had long since gone. They would be back in the early morning to get ready for another days work. There were still a few stores open, but it would not be many more minutes before, they too, were closed.

Irina recognized the street and looked up to see the sign at the same time Jack did. They had arrived. Jack leaned back to judge whether or not Salim was in his shop. Since it was located over another, there was no apartment unless there was a back room where his friend lived. He started up the stairs quietly. Irina followed, her hand on the gun under her galabeya.

At the top of the stairs, Jack touched the doorknob and the door slowly swung open making a squeaking noise as the hinges objected. He looked at Irina whose face showed an equal amount of suspicion and he nodded. She stood beside the door, her gun now visible, waiting. Jack slowly pushed the door open all the way before entering the darkened room. Irina slipped in, standing on the opposite side. Both of them surveyed the premises. There were no lights showing anywhere. Jack motioned for her to cover him as he slowly made his way to the service aisle behind the counter. Irina moved silently along the counter to the other end. Salim had been working at his bench when they arrived earlier that afternoon. It was located at her end of the counter. Neither could see much as there were no streetlights to give them some degree of visibility.

“Christ!” Jack said suddenly. Salim was lying face up in front of him. A bullet hole appeared between his eyes. Blood pooled underneath his head. He was certainly dead and had been for at least five or six hours.

“Wait here,” Jack said quietly. Irina nodded. She returned to the front of the shop. She kept watch on the street below. She did not intend to be caught by security police or anyone else, even Sloane, whom she believed was now in Cairo.

Jack moved into the room behind the shop. As he thought, there was the small apartment that Salim indeed lived in when he was not in his shop. He was not married nor did he have any children. He lived alone. Jack touched nothing. He beckoned Irina to follow as he shut and locked the door after them.

“I’ll make a call from another place in the city. Let the security police handle this. He was a good operative.”

“He didn’t know where we were going, did he?”

“Not exactly, but he knew my habits and preferences. Chances are he was asked, none too politely. Salim was a gatherer, not a field agent. He just collected information from the bazaar’s countless multinational population. He knew just about everyone from the richest merchant to the poorest street peddler.”

“So now what, sweetheart?” She said, glancing down into the street, which was dark and slightly ominous.

“We spend the night on the roof.” He jumped for the top of the low hanging roof, which was only a foot above them. When he was on it, he reached down. “Hand me the briefcase.”

She held it up for him. He set it down then reached down again. “Give me your hand and I’ll help you up.”

The next morning they left before anyone appeared in the street. They made their way out of the bazaar and hailed a taxi. Jack wanted to head for the Nile, but did not want to give the driver that information. He had him drop them at Republic Square.

There was a modern coffee shop nearby and both of them were hungry. The city was coming awake after a quiet night. Jack made a phone call to the security police while Irina picked up coffee and croissants. They sat quietly, sipping and eating. There was a commotion outside as newspapers were dropped off for the coffee shop. Jack got up and bought a copy of the English weekly, Al-Ahram. He glanced through the headlines and suddenly gave a whistle.

“Irina! Sydney made her escape. However, they have identified her as a terrorist and she is on the most wanted list in every country, second only to Arvin. The report states that her husband was identified as the man who helped her escape. Damn, that young man has courage.”

“He loves her and he’ll do anything for her.” Irina said. “Jack, what are we going to do?”

“Somehow we’ve got to get Sloane.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.” He looked up and saw two men approaching the shop. “Let’s go.” He pulled her out of the chair and they ran out the rear entrance.

“Sloane’s men, I think.” They were in another cluttered alleyway. He looked both ways and then made a decision. “First, we take care of those two.” He motioned to the doorway and Irina took out her gun as did Jack. They stood on either side of the door, waiting. The two men burst through, paused, and were too late as Jack and Irina pistol-whipped both of them before they could react.

Reaching the end of the alley, Jack darted out into early morning traffic followed by Irina. They made it to the other side of the square and sped into another narrow alley. They paused in the shadows.

“You know this city better than I do.” She said. “Where are we going?”

“We’ve got to leave Cairo. We have to get to the airport.”

He turned and walked quickly down the alley into another street. It was wider with more traffic, men and women going to work for the most part. He studied the street. It seemed to be a northeast road and the Cairo International Airport was twenty-two kilometers away. He sensed that taxis were not the best nor the safest mode of transportation. Arvin had evidently made some sort of offer to those that drove them. Spot Jack and Irina and you make a fortune.

“Jack!” Irina’s voice made him look up. Four men were coming down the alley and they were in a hurry.

Jack turned and pulled Irina with him. He saw something that might give them a chance—a BMW touring motorcycle. It was not new and appeared somewhat battered, but what was more interesting, the key was in the ignition. He glanced around and saw no one who looked as though they belonged to it. Jack didn’t think, he just grabbed Irina and sprinted towards the motorcycle.

“Get on the seat behind. Have the gun ready, you may need it.” He threw his leg over the saddle as Irina, without questioning him, did also. She already had a grip on her gun underneath the galabeya. Jack turned the ignition key and the machine burst into life. He didn’t hesitate but kicked the stand back and maneuvered the bike into traffic just as the four men burst out of the alleyway. One actually fired his gun after them, sending the nearby citizens into a panic.

“Jack, do you know how to ride?”

“Yes, just hang on and watch for anyone who may try to stop us.”

“Where are we going?”

“Airport, I hope.” Jack maneuvered the bike between two taxis and a donkey pull cart.

Irina thought that was a good idea. She said no more. One look at the traffic in the street and she decided to let him concentrate on riding through it. She looked back and saw that the four men were standing still for the moment. Then a taxi pulled up and the four piled into the small car.

“Jack!” She leaned next to his ear. “Those men are in a taxi following us.”

Nodding, he turned the corner and entered another busy street. In the next ten minutes, they had zigzagged through streets and alleyways. Irina held on with her left hand gripping his belt. He had discarded the galabeya when he saw the motorcycle. Jack stopped just long enough for her to take off the over-garment. Now they might look like two different people from the rear. He went up Ramses Street for a few blocks and then cut over to 26 July Street. It went north and over the bridge across the Nile. He turned right on Al Nil Street, going north.

Ten minutes later they came upon a welcomed sight—just ahead of them were several dozen motorcycles and their riders moving along the road with them. A few of them waved at Jack, but in a friendly manner. Jack waved and decided to follow. They soon found themselves in a long line of riders who all seemed to know where they were going. Irina had shoved the gun in her waistband and pulled her shirt over the butt. Jack pulled the motorcycle next to another and parked it when the others did. Jack got off and went over to talk to a couple of the other riders. He returned shortly with a funny smile on his face.

“What is this?” Irina looked around and didn’t see the taxi. For the moment, they were safe. “Why aren’t we on the road to the airport?”

“Sorry about this, but it seems we’re in the midst of a motorcycle race.”


*** Good grief, now what? (n)
 
CHAPTER 41
GIZA STRIP


Irina stared at her husband as if he’d gone mad. “A motorcycle race here in Cairo? Jack, we have to get to the airport. How far away are we?”

“Actually not that far, but moving with a pack of other motorcycles will keep Sloane’s men off guard. They won’t know which one of the riders is which.” He grinned as though he were twenty-five again and eager for excitement and challenge. “Stay here and keep watch. I want to check with the officials.” He pulled the briefcase out of the carrier bag where he had stored it when they took the bike.

Irina nodded. She was not sure Jack was right—that they were safer in a crowd than alone on the road, but at least there would be some chance for them to leave without question. She saw several women who were either riders or passengers, so she was not the only female involved. Taller than almost any of the women around her, Irina realized she was easily identifiable if Sloane’s men had any description of either of them.

“Here!” Jack was back and had a helmet in his hand. “Wear this. It’s black as are most of the others here.”

“What do I to do with my gun?” She was becoming more conscious of it’s presence under the shirt and in her waistband. “I’m not sure I should take it out here.” She looked around at the milling crowd.

“Leave it if you can,” he said. “We may need it.”

“So where do we leave the race?”

“When we get into Giza, we’ll turn away.” He pulled a map out from under his shirt and stared at it. “We’ll have to make our way up to Oruba Road. The airport is located there. We won’t have any trouble finding it. There probably are planes coming and going regularly.”

A bell started to clang. The riders immediately went to their bikes and got on with their passengers mounting up behind them. It was, Jack found out, a touring race, which meant he and Irina did not stand out in the group. There was a passenger on each motorcycle. Everyone revved his or her motors and the noise was almost deafening. Ahead, Jack saw a green flag rise above the crowd. An unseen hand unfurled it and waved it wildly. Motorcycles began moving out. Irina looked around and saw no one suspicious. Perhaps they were lucky. Sloane’s men had lost contact with them once they decided to stay away from taxis.

Jack moved out with those about him. It would take a minute or two for the riders to sort themselves out and move without running into his or her neighbor. They began to pick up a little speed and Irina held onto Jack with her left hand and leaned up against his back. It was hot and the smell of gasoline and oil was prevalent. She kept her right hand close to her waist, resting on the pommel of the small passenger saddle. Every once in awhile, she looked back, but all she could see were other riders, now strung out behind them. Jack was maneuvering the bike through them as fast as he could without causing an accident.

Then Irina saw them. “Jack,” she screamed in his ear, “there are two taxis following the group. It might be Sloane’s men.”

He nodded. He couldn’t talk to her because she would not be able to hear him over the noise. He motioned with his thumb to indicate she must keep watch. He had a map of the race on his gas tank. The best idea was to keep with the crowd until they came to a spot he could safely leave. In the distance, he could see the famous Giza pyramids. They were still a great distance away, and they were west while he wanted to go north. He glanced down at the map. The race more or less zigzagged through the outskirts of Giza.

Looking ahead, Jack saw the riders make a sudden right hand turn on the route. He edged over to the right. There were now several riders to his left and he was on the inside right. As the group made the turn, Jack revved the BMW and entered an alley he noted on the map. Fortunately, it was not a dead end. He stopped the bike, motioning Irina to get off. He maneuvered the bike behind some clutter and waited. Three minutes later, they both saw the two taxis pass the entrance.

Jack saw something ahead of them. Someone had strung a line from one window to another. Clothes hung limply from it. He ripped off his helmet. “Irina, strip! We’re going to change clothes now.”

“You’re crazy,” she snapped. “These are perfectly good clothes, dirty, but good!”

“Don’t argue.” He grabbed her arm and marched to the line. It was dark in the alley. No one was in it. He pulled off his shirt and pants, reached up and got a pair of dark pants and then a white shirt, trimmed with some sort of metallic thread. He threw another pair at Irina in a threatening manner. She grumbled, but took hers off and pulled the white pants up her legs. Stripping in an alley was not very much fun.

“Jack, they’re two inches short! I look ridiculous.”

“We’ll buy new clothes at the airport. The men following us know what clothes we are wearing. Changing our appearance will throw them off a little. Hurry, here’s another shirt!”

She nodded, pulling the shirt over her head. “At least this fits.”

“All right, let’s move out to the north,” Jack snapped.

Irina grinned as they thundered out of the alley at the other end. There was nothing more exciting she thought than a good chase. They kept angling north through streets and alleys, past hundreds of people, goats, camels, bicycles, cars, carts. Giza was teeming with people and it had nearly meshed its city limits with that of Cairo’s. There were parts of both cities where no one knew where one ended and the other began.

Jack stopped. He looked up to watch a plane overhead. He grinned at Irina, “Landing or taking off?”

“Landing,” she said.

Minutes later, they were on a wide road. Traffic was heavy, so they wove in and out of busloads of tourists, cars and taxis all headed for the airport. Jack knew taxis were the source of Arvin’s knowledge of their whereabouts, but now they had no idea where the Bristows were—and they certainly did not know what they looked like. A change of clothing made all the difference, especially to the inexperienced drivers who knew nothing of their quarries’ abilities to change like chameleons.

Jack and Irina left the motorcycle parked with several others. It would be hours before the police found the stolen bike and connected it to them. Carrying his briefcase, Jack led Irina into the Terminal. “Stay here,” he ordered, entering the men’s restroom. He wanted to get some cash from the briefcase.

Irina leaned back against the wall, her eyes darting around the huge terminal at the people who were coming and going and especially at the security police who seemed to be everywhere. There were at least three behind the ticket counters, watching every one as they approached. She frowned, and then she spotted others at the security gate, more than were necessary. She did not speak Arabic, so had to wait for Jack. She moved slowly away from the security gate in an attempt to keep anyone from looking at her. She had an uneasy feeling.

A hand closed around her arm and she nearly jumped, but saw Jack. “What’s wrong?”

“We have a problem. The security police are looking for us.”

“Why?”

“Salim’s murder. The police received a phone call shortly after I called to report his death. I think Arvin told them he saw us. They found fingerprints and they identified us as Jack Bristow and Irina Derevko, formerly with the CIA and SVR. Now they are assuming we have a connection to the bombing of the Air France plane in Russia. Sydney Bristow is our daughter; therefore we must be terrorists too.”

“Jack!” Irina was stunned. “How the hell are we going to get out of here? Where can we go?”

“First, let’s get some new clothes.” He looked around. The duty free shops were behind the security entrance. That was now out. They couldn’t go there. At least until he checked the situation with security. There were street people selling outside the terminal across from the entrance. He took her by the hand and they hurried out into the heat. In fifteen minutes, he had purchased some good Egyptian clothes that would help their disguise and throw the security police off. He had ordinary galabeyas, new sandals, and desert headdresses that, along with their darkened skin, changed their appearance.

“Go to the women’s bathroom and change. Throw those items into the waste bins. If they were reported stolen, we do not need that added to our crimes.”

“Then what?”

“I’m going to nose around security to see what they are doing when it comes to checking foreigners. I want you to act like a native.” He told her what she was to do as soon as she changed clothes.

Twenty minutes later Irina moved to an unoccupied seat and, feigning sleep, watched the security officials checking tourists through to board their flights. As Jack expected, the process was sloppy—not at all like the U. S. or Canada. Suitcases were gone through in a cursory manner and some not at all. She saw Jack chatting amiably with one of the junior guards.

He joined her and sat down. “They have old pictures of you and me. The guard I was talking to said it was a waste of time, because we wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to leave the country.”

“Are we?”

“What?”

“Leaving the country?” She shook her head and shivered. “I’m having funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

He stared at her. “I have the tickets in my briefcase. We are leaving in an hour on a flight to Tangiers.” He took her hand. “Sweetheart, we’ll be fine. Neither of us looks like the pictures they have.”

“That’s not what I ‘m worried about.” She glanced around. “Something’s going to happen, I feel…”

Jack looked at her concerned. He was not going to dismiss her intuition. He’d already seen evidence of her awakened sensitivity. Both Irina and his daughter were able to sense disturbances in the present and the future. Their meditative abilities convinced him to believe and even act on what they felt.

“What do you want to do,” asked Jack, staring at the people coming, going, or standing in line.

“I don’t like it here.” She stood abruptly and moved toward the outside doors. Jack’s eyes swept the area as they walked toward the automatic doors. Irina gave him the impression she was frightened.

Suddenly he saw two men wearing long coats coming through the doors. It was far too hot for such clothing. They were definitely out of place. He saw their arms move and without saying anything, he pushed her to the ground and fell on top of her. Then both heard the pop, pop, pop of automatic gunfire. There were screams, cries, and the sound of people scrambling to get away. There were two large explosions, like those of hand grenades going off. More terrified screams and cries of pain and horror.

Jack rolled off Irina drawing his gun. He fired twice and the two men dropped, their guns sputtering bullets into the floor. Jack rolled over to lie next to Irina, his gun under him.

“Don’t move!” He whispered.


**

That’s our Jack!
 
CHAPTER 42
ROAD FROM CHERNOBYL


Sydney and Jan drove eastward towards the border between Russia and the Urkraine. The checkpoint they had to pass through would be either manned or not depending on the circumstances. Sydney felt strongly that it would be staffed, especially since her escape. She did not think that just because they were hunting her in Moscow they would not be hunting her outside the capitol. She had a reputation with the SVR and they knew she would not be easily captured.

They were driving an old faded blue 1988 ZAZ Tavria sedan. It was battered and it coughed, spewing fumes. Ivan and Maria Zhukovsky were trying to go to Kiev to see their daughter—also Helmut’s daughter and a friend—before the car quit on them. That was the story they planned to tell the guards who would question the reason they took this route.

Near the border, Sydney made Jan let her drive, so she could handle the guards. Under her raggedy sweater, she had a tranq gun. Killing a guard at this point would be stupid. Her destination was a thousand miles or more away. Jan moved into the passenger seat and Sydney drove the next few miles.

A turn in the road brought them up short. The border guards were only a hundred or so yards away. Sydney drove the old car up to the private waiting for her. She kept the engine running, as it would spew unpleasant smells while she was being questioned.

“Zdravstvui!” Sydney greeted the young man, who nodded at her. He asked for her papers, which she gave him. He wanted to know why they were traveling this road.

“Moya sem’ya!” Sydney told the young man they were on their way to see their ‘doch’ka’ , their daughter, who would soon to be moving to America. It would be the last time they saw her, perhaps forever. They were going the quickest route.

“This is a dangerous road,” the young private said.

“We are old. We have seen many bad things and much danger in our lives. We do not fear much anymore. We do not fear death.” Sydney responded in an old tired voice. “We just want to see our daughter one last time.”

The private nodded and stamped their papers. “Do not go north on the next road. Stay on this road until you come to the Dniper. Turn south and you will end up in Kiev.” He handed the papers back. “Do svidaniya!”

They arrived in Kiev close to dawn. Sydney found the address Helmut had given her. She parked and Jan tottered out of the front seat. They both knocked at the door. It was opened almost immediately. Helmut had told Sydney he would tell his daughter to expect them and that she would be able to send them on the next part of their journey by train to Odessa.

Sydney and Jan were to join up with another of Irina’s cartel members, Grigor Stoli. Helmut said he owned a fishing boat and would take them out of Russia and land them somewhere safe in Romania. Sydney chafed at the idea that it was going to take them another twenty-four hours to get out of the country and even then, she did not know if they would be successful.

She had no choice, however. Irina told her to get out and travel to Holland. They were to go to The Hague where the International Criminal Court of Justice was located. Irina had told her it was the only court where she could get a fair hearing. She had to stay free as long as possible. Irina and Jack were going to do their best to get to Holland with Sloane. Jack had a plan; at least Irina thought he did.

Helmut’s daughter, Olga, gave them tea, black bread and jam to eat. She also gave them new papers, tickets for the train, and a basket, which contained more food and water. The less contact they had with anyone on the train, the better and safer they would be.

“I am not talking English good,” said Olga, handing the bag to Jan. “I go to school now to learn better.” She smiled. She was about five six and probably weighed two hundred pounds. She seemed younger than the other daughter. Her blond hair was done in braids that were wrapped around her head like a halo.

“You do well,” said Sydney, smiling.

“Ummm, better English, more money.” She took Sydney’s hand. “Your—umm, mother is good woman. I know her since I was twenty-five. Father think she important to our government. Very important.” Again, she apologized for her poor English.

Sydney gave her a hug. “You are doing fine. Keep up the studies.”

“Da, I get good job with your—your brat, brother.”

Sydney raised an eyebrow. There were things about Aleksey and the business that she was better off not knowing. She knew Irina had turned the cartel over to him to run, but she did not know anything about the business. It probably was not a good idea to ask.

Jan led the way to the bus stop. Olga told him it would take them to the railroad station, Kiev-Pasazhirsky Terminal. It was located on Komintemu vulytsya. Unfortunately, it was in the heart of the city, or at least it seemed so. There was some parking, but very little. Olga said the number four bus would drop them in front of the doors of the huge building. It began to rain.

They stepped from the bus with a dozen or so other citizens, all of whom marched into the terminal. Jan and Sydney moved with them. They had tickets and papers, but there was the possibility the hunt for them had spread to the Ukraine. They shuffled slowly across the wide expanse. People were hurrying everywhere, either coming or going. Sydney swore the huge room was bigger than Grand Central in New York. It certainly was cleaner.

“Can you see which track our train will be on, Jan?” Sydney’s voice was low. She knew no one was paying attention to two elderly people, standing confused in the center of the room.

Jan looked up at the board. “Track ten and it leaves in ten minutes.”

“Then, sweetheart, let’s move, but slowly.”

They entered their assigned compartment with only a minute or two to spare. Olga had arranged for them to have the compartment all to themselves.

“Do we stay in disguise?” asked Jan after pulling the blinds down. He locked the door and Sydney chuckled. “Bad woman…thinking only of…” He left the rest unsaid as she threw her purse at him. He caught it and laughed.

“Yes, we must stay disguised. When we get to Odessa, we head for the docks and look for our next benefactor.” She sat down next to the window, looking out at the dreary, wet countryside.

The Ukraine was flourishing, though still feeling the effects of the Chernobyl disaster. According to a CIA economist three years ago, it was estimated nearly two hundred billion would be spent by 2015 to deal with the ongoing problems. The hardest hit was the forest regions in the north. Still there was a feeling among the people of hope; that things would get better. Unfortunately, it would not happen for many years. Jan pulled Sydney into his arm, the other hidden beneath his soldier’s uniform jacket and they both silently looked out the rain-spattered window. The seaport city was several hundred kilometers away. They hoped the rain would cease by then.

Late that evening, the train pulled into the smaller terminal in Odessa. Sydney and Jan melted into the crowd leaving the train station. They stood under an old battered umbrella that Olga had given them. Sydney glanced at a newspaper rack near the door:
“Terrorist Escapes Moscow” screamed the headline. She wanted to buy a paper, but that would not be in character of poor travelers. She wanted to read how the authorities had found out they had left.

“Ivan and Maria?” The soft voice made Sydney jump and she looked up to see an elderly woman looking at them. “I am Anna Stoli.” She gave both a hug, kissing Sydney on both cheeks. “Please come with me.” She led the way out onto the street.

They walked about three blocks. She opened the back door to a black Mercedes and indicated they were to get inside quickly. She ran to the driver’s side, entered and a moment later, the car glided out into the rain toward the docks. “Helmut says you are to be taken to Romania as soon as possible.” She shifted. “We can get underway with the tide tonight.”

“Can we get a newspaper?”

Anna laughed, “We have one. You are quite a story; have been for the past week. We do this for your mother. I do not approve of terrorists.”

Sydney leaned over the seat. “I do not approve either, Anna. I did not blow up that plane. Believe me, please. My husband and I barely returned home from our honeymoon when it happened.”

“Ah, you were just married then?” Evidently, she didn’t know the happenings in the Bristow family.

“Yes. Jan Riffkovsky is a Special Forces Major. Anna, how could any sensible person believe a man and a woman who were just married would carry out such a horrible plan?”
Sydney sighed. “They interrogated me for three days and I told them nothing—I didn’t know who or why they did it.”

Anna was silent. She was absorbing what Irina’s daughter told her. She looked at Sydney in the rear view mirror. The young woman who didn’t look a bit glamorous sounded sincere and firm. “Yes, well, perhaps you need to read the newspaper. You can then make sense of everything and we can hear your side.”

“Fair enough,” said Sydney.

Suddenly Anna pulled the car to a stop. “I believe we have a problem.”

Sydney looked ahead. About three blocks away, there were two police cars blocking the street, the lights whirling, and four men stopping cars.

*** (n)
Russian translations:
Zdravstvui – Hello
Moya (f) – my
Sem’ya – family
Doch’ka – daughter
Do svidaniya – Goodbye
Brat – brother
 
Glad I found this..I can keep up with this while SD-1 is down. :angry: Jack and Irina can't get a break! But somehow Jack will get them out of this....I hope. ;) Jan and Sydney have almost as many problems...lucky for them they have Irina's contacts. :smiley:
Still can't wait for Sloane to get what's coming to him. :angry:
 
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