Jun 9, 2004
I am so glad that Sasha and Irina are reunited. I know what Irina is planning to do. She is going to to States



Jan 22, 2003
So. California
1. Rambaldi

Irina stood at her office window staring out across the city. She felt good. She’d had sex last night with Stephan; then dissolved the relationship. Ever since Ivan, no, Jack Bristow left her, she’d had needs which she took from willing men. No relationship ever lasted very long. They seemed unable to maintain a sexual relationship without thinking they could run her life. They never knew who that she was The Man.

The Man was a shadowy figure in the underworld that no one identified. The police were stymied time and again when they raided enterprises they thought belonged to the underworld figure. However, Irina operated with her lieutenant fronting the operations. Khasinau agreed to join her when the KGB broke up. Somehow he knew Irina would give him more opportunities. She did, but kept him on a tight rein.

He was surprised when Irina Derevko disappeared after Alexandra’s training was complete. She promised the KGB she would turn out the most complete foreign agent they needed. Alexandra proved her worth time and again. She never messed up an assignment and her success rate was a hundred percent. When the KGB broke up and became the SVR, she continued working for them. One day however, she disappeared off the face of the earth. At least they thought that at #2 Dzerzhinsky Square.

The SVR first directorate was sure she’d been killed on the current assignment. However, only the general in charge of the foreign services directorate knew he’d sent her on an extremely dangerous job. She was infiltrating the CIA.

When the KGB broke apart, Irina looked for some new business. Fortunately for her a small criminal organization was left drifting when its leader was cut down in a mini-gang war over territory. Irina jumped in and ruthlessly eliminated any who objected when an outsider took over. The rest of the men, about ten, didn’t hesitate to take allegiance with her, especially when she promised they would make more money than they did with their old boss.

Over the next three years, Irina was remorseless as she absorbed men and women from organizations she invaded, eliminating their leaders. She robbed others while building her own bank accounts and sharing the wealth with her men. Millions of dollars disappeared into various businesses located all over the world. She and Khasinau developed a huge contact list and a sub-list of snitches in every country. Her callousness was the only way she could get respect. She was, after all, a woman.

She became a gun-runner for a short while as she took over one organization after another. She branched out into blackmail dealing with international bankers, governments and economic societies such as stock markets and bonds. She learned all about the machinations of these entities while going to the University as Alexandra went to that school.

Irina was a lot more intelligent than anyone thought. She did not have an IQ rating to prove it, but that wasn’t necessary. Everything she touched seemed to turn into gold; dollars, euros and rubles. The money was never kept in Russia. She moved it into several bank accounts located in Hong Kong, Switzerland, the Bahamas and any number of European countries. She even started a bank of her own in the Bahamas, funneling illegal funds into it; then moving it on into banks in the smaller countries, which were quite willing to do anything she wanted.

When she amassed five hundred million, Irina built an office building in Moscow that stood twenty five stories. She took the penthouse suite for her legal offices. She brokered the rest as own-your-own office space. Everything done there was on the up and up: banking, investments and securities. She kept no information of any of her illegal activities on the premises or in the computers. She no more looked like a crime boss than the woman next door.

The staff never knew of her previous or continuing involvement with crime. They thought she was a business woman. The company was an investment company that she set up to help Russian businessmen invest their capital. Not one of her clients knew the depth of her real identity, The Man.

The door opened behind her. Irina turned to see Katya enter. “Ogorchenn.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I thought we had a lunch date.” Irina answered, glancing at the clock.

“Nyet. I came about Alexandra.”


“Have you heard from her?”

Irina shook her head. “No, not for nearly five years. You know she’s in deep cover.” Irina kept her eyes on Katya. “Why? Has something happened?”

Alexandra was the top foreign agent for the SVR, or at least the chief of her directorate thought so. No one knew she was sent to the United States to enter a small political college. The KGB had been well aware of their counterpart’s propensity for finding agents in out of the way colleges and Universities. SVR was equally impressed.

It was to Grafton Valley College that Alexandra was sent with all the necessary papers and background to prove she was an American-born citizen. As expected, she was accepted into the college where she was studying political history and with a minor in criminal justice. Grafton Valley had the type of studies that would interest the CIA in its better students. She was contacted as was expected and shortly after graduating, disappeared. Irina’s watchers notified her that Alexandra was entering the CIA. She kept one man nearby whose only job was to be sure her daughter was all right. He had mailed a report a month ago.

“No, but I was wondering. Aren’t you worried?”

Irina smiled coldly, “No, she’s doing her job and nothing’s happened to her.”

“You should be…she’s in Russia…probably as a CIA agent.”

Irina laughed. “Perfect!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You do not need to know…yet.” Irina turned on her computer. “Speaking of the missing…you haven’t heard from Yelena have you?”

Katya’s eyes narrowed slightly. Irina and Yelena had had a falling out after Irina returned from Kashmir. Yelena told her sister she wasn’t entirely sure Irina was not guilty of helping her husband. Yelena had done some digging and found out what happened in the prison, although she did not have all the facts. Irina was furious and began to wonder how much Yelena knew about her torture. That seemed to end their sisterly contact as well as love.

“Nyet and it’s been six months now. No one at headquarters has heard anything. We know she’s gone into hiding with the Rambaldi material she stole.”

Irina tapped the computer in front of her, working for a minute or two; then she looked up and shook her head. “Nothing. Rambaldi seems to have intrigued several international agencies including the CIA, the French, Germans and Italian Special Services.

“His story and background are extremely interesting and evidence of his prophecies coming true is equally intriguing, especially since he died four hundred years ago.” Katya sighed. She wished Irina knew more. The top chiefs in the SVR were ramping up their interest also.

“Yelena took everything the KGB had during the breakup. The idiots in charge were too busy covering their asses that no one realized what had happened. That means she has a head start on everyone.”

“Well guess I’ll be going. How’s Stephan?” Katya was referring to Irina’s latest lover who was twenty years younger than she was.

“He’s gone.” Irina looked up and challenged Katya. “You can have him.”

“Rishka,” Katya said, using the nickname she’d given her sister, “are you crazy? He adored you.”

“No…he adored my money and my power. He wanted me to let him take over all my investments. I was astounded by the depth of his idiocy. Despite his looks, he was not the best lover I’ve had.”

Katya was suspicious. “I think you’re pining for Ivan.”

“His so-called love cost me too much.” Irina’s dark eyes flashed dangerously close to anger.


“Stop. Do not continue.” Irina stood. “If you have nothing else, I have work to do.”

Katya shrugged, “Very well, I’ll see you for dinner?”

“Of course.”

Katya left the room. Irina used her intercom. “No one is to interrupt me for the next hour. Is that understood?”

“Da, Irina.” The voice was that of her secretary.

To make sure, Irina turned the lock on the door. She returned to her computer and began taping the keys furiously, inputting a message. She hit enter and waited for a response. A minute later, a phone number appeared one number at a time. Irina reached into a lower locked door and removed an untraceable cell phone. She obtained one of the first during her trip to Paris on business several weeks ago. Slowly she brought it to in front of her and punched in the number that was on the screen.

The phone rang five times before it was picked up. “Is that you?”

“Da.” Irina sat straighter. “Can I see you?”

“Nyet. I am in St. Petersburg.”

Irina’s shoulders sagged. “Will you be coming to Moscow?”

“Nyet. I have a job to do. It won’t make the SVR happy.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Nyet. I am working out of the East Coast…Langley. Papa was transferred to the L.A. office before I finished training. He is the Director there now.”

Irina turned her chair around to face the window. “Be careful.”

“I will.” There was a moment of silence. “Does the SVR suspect where I am?”

“Nyet. Your aunt Katya was here a few minutes ago wondering if you were in deep cover still as SVR had not heard from you.”

“They get their reports.”

Irina laughed, “They are fools and no better than KGB was.”

“I must go. I’m off for my appointment.”

“Let me know when you are ready. I love you, sweetheart.”

“Da, as soon as I finish the project for the CIA.”

Irina smiled. “What?”

“Rambaldi artifact.”

“Good luck.” Irina disconnected and then began dismantling the phone, piece by piece. No one would ever know who she was talking to as she planned to crush it when she got back to her apartment.

She thought for a moment before pushing a button on her phone. It was a direct line to Khasinau who was in their crime offices, located in a building across the street. Both she and Alexander had interest in Milo Rambaldi.

He picked up on the second ring. “Yes, Irina?”

“Alexandra is picking up a Rambaldi artifact in St. Petersburg. Have you heard anything about it?”

“Da, it is a manuscript. One of our contacts who plays with or against us needed gambling debts paid, so offered the information. The SVR wants it and sent one of their agents to Argentina to obtain it. A freighter is docking tonight. It’s on the ship.”

“Get it.”

“What if Alexandra gets to it first.”

“Get it before she gets there and…” she was like cold ice, “do not fail.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to run into her, Irina.”

“I know. Just be careful.” Her voice was hard and unforgiving if he failed. Khasinau had not failed Irina ever and he knew he wouldn’t again. He called the airport and ordered the small jet to be fueled and they were to file a flight plan to St. Petersburg. Irina would have her Rambaldi manuscript even if he had to tranq Alexandra. However, he sincerely hoped her would not have to go that far.

Ogorchenn - Sorry

TBC - :smash:


Jan 22, 2003
So. California
2. The Page

Alexandra made her way down a narrow alley in St. Pete as the guys in the CIA referred to the most beautiful city of Russia. She’d spent the last two days sight-seeing, knowing she was being monitored by the contact she made and who offered the manuscript for sale. She brokered him for a million US dollars and he’d accepted. He wanted out of the country and with that amount of money, he’d live many years in relative comfort. He’d wanted cash and she made arrangements for him to have it.

She stopped in front of a very old building holding the suitcase with bearer bonds in it. There was a door which led into what looked like a very decrepit garden. Weeds grew in abundance and there seemed to be no flowers or plants. Everything was dead as were the trees whose leaves littered the area. She waited patiently for someone to come, but no one did. Alexandra checked her watch. It was time for the meeting. Something skittered up her spine…an intuition perhaps, but she knew she’d better find a way inside and do it quick.

She checked the wall. It was about eight feet tall, but made out of bricks. She knew she could climb it easily and did so, jumping down into a small pile of brown leaves that had blown up against the wall. Alexandra quickly brushed her clothes off and picked up the suitcase which she’d thrown over first. She pulled a 9mm Glock from under her left armpit where it rested in a well-oiled leather holster. She ran to the door and tried the doorknob. The door opened smoothly.

“Damn!” She looked around to see if there anyone close, holding her gun in her right hand, shutting the door quietly. The house was silent and there were no lights showing. She had a skittering feeling running up and down her spine again. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

Moving swiftly, Alexandra slipped through the living room, into the kitchen and to the hallway. The silence was so deafening, she felt as though her breathing was so loud it seemed to be coming over a loud speaker. She moved to her left and checked the first room. It was empty. Out into the hall and to the next door which was slightly open. Alexandra pushed the door open slowly and saw him.

Running to his side, she kneeled down, putting two fingers next to his jugular. She thought she felt a bare pulse. She put her hand on his chest. He seemed to be breathing.
“Piotr Protsky?” She leaned close to his mouth.


“The manuscript?”

“Not here…” he sighed, coughed and a trickle of blood came out of his mouth. His eyes widened as they focused for a moment on her face. “Moya boje…you…you…are the one on that page…” His eyes closed as pain overtook recognition.

“Who took it?”

“Don’t know.” His eyes closed and Alexandra was certain that he was about to die.

“How long ago?” Alexandra barely understood his murmur…something about a page…

“Hour ago.” Now his whisper was fading. She could barely hear it.

In the distance, she heard a siren whooping. The police…she had to get out of here. She quickly searched his pockets, but they were empty. Nothing left. She wondered if it had been a random burglary. She didn’t hesitate to look further. She had to disappear and fast. She had no desire to be caught and eventually turned over to SVR people. She was supposedly in deep cover and had not told them she was being sent to the Motherland. As she vaulted over the railing of the steps leading to the inner courtyard, she wondered if Mama was behind it. Why would she interfere? Alexandra shrugged and ran for her life.

Irina stood for a moment in front of her ‘criminal’ building. It was blustery and cold. She wore a heavy black leather coat lined with polartek a material to protect her from the icy wind. On her head was a shapkas, made from beaver. Wearing it and the boots with three-inch heels added almost six inches to her height, making Irina Derevko the most imposing figure anyone would meet.

She looked up and saw the light in Khasinau’s office go out. She hurried into the interior of the parking lot. He would be down in a minute. She knew he had not had time to read the manuscript. She also knew he would use the manuscript for his own gain. She would not have known he had it, if it were not for her loyal spy she put into the top echelon of Khasinau’s circle of ‘friends.’ Although he was under her orders to obtain it, he’d called her earlier to say that Alexandra changed the time of the meet to an earlier hour and he was too late. Of course, he was apologetic and begged her forgiveness. Irina told him it was not his fault and hung up.

There were too many people and organizations who wanted to possess the Rambaldi
manuscript. It was Khasinau who stole it from Piotr Protsky and she was not going to allow anyone but herself to read it first. She pulled the Glock from her shoulder holster, screwed a silencer into the barrel, and held it down at her side while standing motionless in the darkening night.

The door to the elevator opened and Khasinau strode out, the book in his arms. She knew then he would not be able to fight back. She stepped quietly behind him as he stopped at his car. Her gun was pointed at his head.

“Do not move, Alexander.” she said quietly.

He froze and knowing it was Irina, he relaxed. “Irina, I was coming to see you.”

“Of course, you were Alexander. Since my office is across the street, I wonder why you would find it necessary to drive. Just cross over and come up.” Now she placed the gun to the back of his head.

He stiffened. “Irina, please, I was bringing it to you.”

“Hand me the keys.” She would drive his car away from here.

“I…I…what are you going to do?”

“Goodbye,” came her answer from a great distance, at least to his mind and then a blinding white flash and blackness.

His grip loosened on the book. Irina pulled it quickly up into her left arm. The right one, holding the smoking gun, waited until Khasinau was flat on the ground and quite dead. She shoved the gun into its holster. She had to move fast as there were still cars in the parking lot. She did not want to be caught with Khasinau dead. She found his keys and placed the book on the front seat, before dumping him into the trunk. It was beginning to snow.

Two hours later, Irina was back in her apartment. Khasinau had been left in the heart of a forest. It began to snow hard when she dragged his body out of her Mercedes. Irina removed his wallet and everything she could find in his pockets. When the bullet entered his brain and out, his face had been obliterated. Irina knew the poletzei would not take too much time trying to find out who the victim was nor would they try to find the murderer. He would be a ‘causality of the times’ meaning he was one of many dead men and women who had been robbed and killed.

Irina knew the snow would cover the tire tracks. She left his car at his apartment house with the keys in it. The car would be gone in less than a day, either to be used with new plates or used for parts. Either way, it didn’t matter to her. Khasinau betrayed her trust and no one, not even a friend, did that to The Man. She would find another replacement. She already had her eye on a younger man Khasinau himself had picked to move up.

Divesting herself of her coat, gloves, and shapkas, Irina carried the book to the dining room table. Laying it flat, she sat in front of it, almost reverently. During the past three years, she had begun her own investigation of Rambaldi. She came to the conclusion that the man had indeed existed and was burned as a heretic by the Pope of his era. He had a group of followers located all over the world and known by a symbol tattooed on their body. They had followed his wishes to put his various inventions, manuscripts and drawings in places no one would find, at least at the time of his death.

Now she was in possession of his most important work, The Manuscript. Supposedly it gave instructions and prognostications regarding the end result of his inventions. One had to accept everything he wrote and follow everything to the letter. Irina opened the book carefully, noting it was very old. It was written in Old Italian script, which was easily translated since she’d been taking courses in several languages. After running into the great interest in Milo Rambaldi, Irina arranged to take a computer course in old Firenze dialect from the University of Milan. She had become an excellent linguist and could read it very well.

Beginning at the first page, she spent the next hour reading and digesting what Rambaldi wrote. She was impressed and was excited by the prospects of getting a hold of some of the artifacts his followers had hidden. Pausing a moment, she leaned back, closed her eyes and thought about how to obtain some already until the protection of the French Secret service and the CIA. There was another organization, a criminal one that sought to gain access to Rambaldi. The Alliance she’d learned was made up of twelve old disgruntled secret service men and women from different countries: CIA, KGB, Suerte, and M15.

Finally, she leaned back over the manuscript and turned the page. “Ahueyet?” Her mouth dropped open as she stared at a drawing near the bottom of the page. Irina blinked and sucked in her breath. “Moya boje!” She was looking at a picture of herself…or was it? It could be Alexandra.

“I don’t believe it!” The voice came from behind her.

Irina jumped up turning to face her daughter. Alexandra let herself into the apartment with the key given to her years ago before she left for her deep cover assignment. “Boje, you scared me, sweetheart.”

“Mama, I didn’t think you would do this.”

“Sasha,” cried her mother, pulling her in close for a long hug. Putting both hands on either side of her face, Irina searched for the loving warmth she knew to be her daughter’s love. “Your godfather was responsible.”

“Under your orders…” challenged Alexandra?

“Nyet, moya spetsial'noye odno. I only found out about it this afternoon.” Irina pulled her around to the table and the book. “Look!”

Alexandra stared down at the open page and her heart skipped a beat. “Sacre merde,” she whispered in French.

“Exactly,” said Irina in agreement. “Read this,” she pointed to the printing next to the picture.

This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks; the signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works, bind them with fury, a burning anger. Unless prevented, at vulgar costs, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.”

Alexandra looked at her mother. “So what do you think he meant?”

“I think I will have to study the manuscript further. I’m going to photograph each page and then, laskovaya moya; you can have it to complete your assignment.” Irina went over to her desk and pulled out a drawer, removing a digital camera. “If you want something to eat, there is cold chicken in the refrigerator.”

“Can I help?”

“Nyet, get something to eat.”

Alexandra turned and walked into the kitchen area. Irina quickly undid the bindings that held the book together. Working quickly, she removed the Page in question, sliding it under the colorful thick tablecloth; then she placed the book on top of the cloth and began photographing each loose page.

Her daughter came out of the kitchen, nibbling on a piece of chicken. She watched as Irina copied each page. Her mother was quick and efficient. In less than thirty minutes the book was copied. Irina closed it.

“Are your hands clean?”

“Konyeshno!” Alexandra took the book.

“How are you going to get it out of the country?”

She laughed, “How do you suspect I will?”

Irina laughed with her. “By Diplomatic pouch!” She frowned. “Will you carry it?”

“Nyet that would be trusting the Gods too much.” Alexandra looked toward the bedroom. “Do you have an old suitcase?”

“Da! Ivan…your Papa left one. You can use it.”

Ahueyet – What the fuk?
Boje – God
Konyeshno – Of course
Laskovaya moya – my sweet
Moya boje – My God
Moya spetsial'noye odno – my special one

Sacre merde – Holy felgercarb

3. The Suitcase

Jack entered his office at the CIA shortly after 8:00 a.m. He was waiting on a report from Chris Andrews who was involved in an information exchange with a North Korean dissident, who was in Alaska. The Korean was waiting for clearance to enter the lower 48, but she was checking on the information’s veracity.

His secretary stopped him as he was entering his office. “Mr. Bristow, you have a call from Devlin at Langley. He’s on line 1.”

“Thanks.” Jack tossed his briefcase on the floor behind his desk and picked up the phone. “Ben, how are you?”

“Good. I’m going to be retiring next week. You are coming to the shindig?”

“Yes, of course. But that’s not why you called is it?”

“No. We’ve lost one of our agents back here. She’s disappeared.”


“We searched her apartment and found something odd.” He seemed hesitant to continue, but then taking a deep breath, continued. “We found a suitcase with a hidden label. It said ‘If found returned to Ivan Brestova, University of Moscow.’

Jack went cold and the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to rise to new heights. “My God! You say it was in your agent’s apartment?”


“Who is the agent?”

“Angela Benton.”

“What was her last assignment?”

“It’s classified!”

Jack slammed his fist on the desk. “Christ, Ben, you tell me your men found a suitcase of mine that I left behind in Russia twenty years ago in the home of one of our agents, now missing, and won’t tell me her assignment. How the hell can I help if you don’t give up that information?”

Ben sighed, “Jack, it can’t go any further than this.”

“Yes, of course.”

“She is working for Arvin undercover.”

Jack gulped. His friend who had helped him out of his predicament when he returned to the US after ten years undercover in Moscow, had left the CIA under a cloud of suspicion that he’d taken objects being held in their secret warehouse located in Nevada. He’d disappeared and then re-surfaced as one of the leaders in the Alliance. The CIA knew about the group which was making huge profits in drug trade, gunrunning, robbery, and even kidnapping. Jack felt sure Arvin was involved only because he could get a hold of more Rambaldi artifacts.

“When did she disappear?”

“A week ago, after she returned from a Russian assignment that we gave her.”

“Which was…?” Jack continued to prod,

“Pick up a Rambaldi manuscript which purportedly outlined his purpose and prognostications.”

“So how do you think she got that suitcase?”

“The manuscript was in it,” answered Ben. He went on to explain they’d scoped the inside and found faint residue indicating old, old leather. Minute flecks of the material clung to the bottom. “The leather itself dated back to the late 1500’s.”

“If she is undercover, working for Arvin, why do you think she’s missing?”

“She didn’t bring us the manuscript. It’s missing also.”

“Send me the suitcase by messenger. Fax me her picture and personnel file.”

“Why the personnel file?”

“If you want answers, send it. I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I see them.”

“You’ll have the suitcase later today and the file with it. I won’t send anything by fax.” Ben hung up.

Jack sat in his chair still chilled by the conversation. For some unknown reason, he felt his heart pounding and the hairs on his forearms felt as though they were going to rise up through his shirt sleeves. He put both hands up to his face. What was happening? Who was Angela Benton really? The Rambaldi manuscript was a prize that so many organizations wanted.

During his stay in Russia, he’d heard about Milo Rambaldi while teaching at the University. There were many professors in the science department who were amazed by some of the inventions they’d come across and attributed to a man living four hundred years or more in the past. A man some said was even a greater scientist than Da Vinci.

He had to see the suitcase and Benton’s personnel file, before he could piece together the answers Ben wanted. The rest of the day would be a long one.

At four o’clock the intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Mr. Bristow, there is a man from Langley here. He has the suitcase.”

“Send him in.”

The door opened and a young man about twenty-five entered, carrying a suitcase. There was sealed envelope under his arm. “Sir, this is from Director Devlin.”

“Yes, thank you.” Jack motioned to the sofa. “Put the suitcase there.”

The agent left Jack who was staring at the suitcase, holding the sealed envelope in his right hand. Putting the envelope on his desk, he opened the suitcase. He sat down quickly.

“Christ!” He whispered as his eyes roved over the empty suitcase. It was his. He brought it to Moscow from Irkutsk when he was sent on an assignment he’d never expected to turn out like it did. He married Irina Derevkova and they’d had a child, Alexandra. It was always possible, of course, that the suitcase had been discarded, maybe ending up at a flea market.

Returning to his desk, he slowly, almost reluctantly, opened the file on Angela Benton. Her picture was on top. His breath caught as he stared at a picture of…of…it had to be Alexandra, his little Sasha, all grown up. She was beautiful and looked so much like her mother, it was as if he were looking at Irina the evening he first saw her at GUM thirty years ago. He exhaled slowly as his eyes devoured her features.

“My God,” he murmured. His hand touched the picture almost reverently.

He put her picture aside and opened the file. She’d been drafted by the CIA from Grafton Valley College in the East when she was twenty-one, gone through training with flying colors, and was considered the best agent ever to graduate from The Farm. She could handle herself in any situation.

As he read through the file and read her debriefing reports, there was no doubt in his mind she was one of their top agents…as well as a SVR plant! Now she was working for Arvin and The Alliance. She’d become a triple agent! How had she managed that? It seemed impossible she could keep her reports straight and how much did she report to anyone? Did she have a handler here in the States?

She must be in Los Angeles, because that’s where SD-6 was located, except no one knew where their headquarters was. He wondered if Angela Benton lived in an apartment. Was she in the phone book? No, she probably had a cell phone. It didn’t require her to be listed in the directory.

Jack stared at her picture, not taking his eyes off it for what seemed to be hours. He put it to one side. That picture was going to be framed but not for here, for his private study at home. Now he had to think, to be a realist. What was she doing exactly…for the SVR? He thought she was a mole sent to the CIA to spy on its policies, activities and operations. However she was now a field agent and was sent on assignment. She certainly wouldn’t have access to any CIA secrets, files or even other agents outside the office.

He read her file again. He wondered if the CIA had sent her to spy on Arvin. If they had, that would explain her presence with him and The Alliance. What was her real CIA assignment to SD-6, Arvin’s United States operation? What would she gain from that…for the CIA and eventually, the SVR? He turned to his computer and using his encrypted password, entered the operations field. He hoped he would gain access without having to get Ben’s permission.

“Access Denied.”

The screen printed it and Jack was not surprised. He’d have to call Ben and ask for permission. He thought once he told him Angela Benton was his daughter…stop, no, the CIA would put out an arrest warrant. He had to see her first and even then he doubted he would say anything. He couldn’t. She was his daughter and he’d not seen her since she was seven.

Where the hell was Irina? No one mentioned her and she was his wife…until he re-married or she was dead! He’d heard nothing abut her for so many years. He carried her image in his mind all these years. He remembered everything he’d said that fateful morning when he left Russia. Had she?

“I love you more than anything in my life. You are my everything. I want you to remember that no matter what happens.”

He swore. Idiot! As if she would believe you after everything that happened. Jack closed the file folder and stood. He couldn’t stay in the office any longer. He had to go home and think. He’d leave Michael Vaughn in charge for the moment. He’d have to talk to Ben too if he decided to do anything…and he’d have to stop at a drug store. He needed a frame for Alexandra’s picture.

TBC ^_^
Dec 28, 2004
St. Louis, Missouri
Sasha is an agnet for the SVR, SD-6, and CIA...
I wonder what the real plan is that she and Irina have
cause obvioulsy she knows who her Papa is. I wonder why Irina
lied to Syd about ordering Khasinau to steal the manuscript.
Thanks for the pm.
Can't wait for more.


Jan 22, 2003
So. California
I wonder why Irina
lied to Syd about ordering Khasinau to steal the manuscript
Because she wants the manuscript for another reason and before she lets Sasha (not Syd) take it to Arvin. The picture on page 47 is going to play a different role here.


Nov 13, 2006
goodie! you are so brilliant :D (y) :angelic: :shamefullyembarrased: :P :) :D :cool: like your story it is so cool i am also a member in serenade :redhair: :rolleyes: :LOL: :D :angelic: pleasssssssssssseeeeeeeeeee more info in the story hope you can finish it as sonn as possible. :angelic: :angelic:


Jan 22, 2003
So. California
4. Missing Page

Angela entered the bank and took the special elevator down, even though the floor indicator registered up numbers. She thought it was pretty cool for SD-6 to have that kind of technique, although once she met Marshall she wasn’t surprised. The op-tech man for SD-6 was by far the best she’d ever seen to come up with the appropriate gadget to make her assignments easy.

She moved through the outer offices with ease, acknowledging the greetings from various agents, all of whom believed they were working for a covert ops organization run by the CIA. She knocked at the door leading to Sloane’s office.

“Come in.”

Angela opened the door and stepped inside. Sloane was at his desk working at his computer. He turned toward her smiling the oily unctuous way that made her want to take a bath.

“Did you get it?”

She nodded and put the manuscript on his desk in front of him. “Yes.”

“Excellent. You had no trouble?”

Angela shook her head, “No, everything worked just as you predicted. One thing though…”


“Just before I left, I heard that Piotr was killed.”

“He was alive when you took the manuscript?” He absently flipped the first page.

“Yes,” she answered, lying. He’d died before she left.

He looked up. “Don’t worry. He was probably killed by one of his enemies. You did well, Angela. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Angela tossed the keys onto the kitchen bar. She was tired and it had been a long trip back from Russia. Jet lag was something she constantly had to combat, especially on missions to the east. Her main problem was being sent constantly east, then west, or even to South America. It usually took her two days to gain her equilibrium back; often however, she was sent out again with a day or two. This was especially true if Sloane was after more Rambaldi items.

She fixed herself a shot of Anejo Tequila; then sat at her desk, pulling open the computer. She had two reports to be sent: one to Anton at SVR, which had to be encrypted and one for Langley. Her computer was one that had been ‘adjusted’ by Marshall at her request. He was addled by her presence every time there was a briefing and he did everything in his power to make sure she completed assignments and returned home safely. She loved the little man, not only because he was sweet, but because of his intense devotion to her safety.

Too bad he thought he was working for a black-ops CIA. Of course, he was not the only one. Marcus Dixon was her partner and handler on most of her assignments. His wife thought he was a financial counselor at a bank. He explained his absences by attributing them to his boss who sent him overseas often for conferences with clients. Diane, he explained, was just as happy to stay home with their three children.

So in an hour, she sent off her reports making sure the SVR one was not quite the same as the CIA one. She walked to the kitchen and quickly made herself a salad, grilled a small steak with mushrooms. She planned to bathe and hit her bed as soon as she could. She was exhausted.

Her cell rang and she picked it up from the end of the counter. “Yes?”

“I need you back here at once,” said Sloane. He didn’t seem happy.

“Why? I’m tired.”

“I want you here in thirty minutes, tired or not.” He cut the connection.

Angela sighed and picking up her keys, made her way to the door. “God damn it, I really need some sleep.” She opened the door. She jumped back a half step. Two men were standing in front of her—security from SD-6. “Hey!”

“Come with us. You won’t need your car.” One man grasped her right arm pulling her out the door. The other closed her door, making sure it was locked.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed in the dark sky followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. Rain began pouring down. All three were soaking wet by the time they made it to the sedan out in front. Angela was shoved in the back with one man and the other took the wheel. She knew better than to ask any questions. They were Sloane’s goons and just did as they were told and no questions asked. They wouldn’t have given her answers anyway.

The trip to the bank in Westwood took only a few more minutes, but traffic was slow because of the torrential rain pouring down. It would not be long before the streets were flooded. The car drove into the garage and parked. Angela was almost dragged out of the back seat.

“Hey…take it easy!” She snapped. She was tired and irritated by the whole scenario. She was shoved into the garage elevator. The doors opened and she was hustled into Arvin Sloane’s office. The two escorts left her there and went out.

She glared at Sloane. “What the hell is wrong? I just got back from a grueling trip, you tell me to go home and rest, and the next thing you’re ordering me back here.”

“Where is it?”


“Where is the missing page?” He stood up and came around the desk. His eyes flashed with anger.

“What are you talking about?”

Sloane stared for a moment; then backhanded her. Angela nearly lost her balance. “I said where is the missing page?”

“Don’t hit me again!” Angela stared at him with angry eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Don’t you?” He backhanded her again on the other side. “There are ninety pages in the manuscript and I counted eighty-nine.”

Angela didn’t answer. Instead she grabbed his shirt, pulled him to the left and drove her right fist into his jaw. Sloane dropped to the floor.

“Guards,” he screeched.

The two men came in with guns drawn. Angela stepped back holding both hands up shoulder high. She looked at Sloane. “I said not to hit me. I have no idea what you are talking about. What page? I didn’t even look at the book.” If there was a missing page, it was in the hands of her mother and she knew which one, but was not going to tell Arvin Sloane anything.

“Take her to the cell and shackle her.” Arvin held his hand to his jaw. “Hitting me was a mistake, Angela. I’m your boss.”

“So was hitting me, you son of a bitch!” She cursed him as the two men dragged her out. “I don’t lie!”

Five minutes later she was wearing manacles on her wrists and sitting on a hard bunk in one of two holding cells at SD-6. They were used to hold men or women who needed questioning. She was aware torture was often used, but she also knew SD-6 was the black ops division of The Alliance and not the CIA, so they had no oversight into what was done there.

Angela swung her legs up to the bunk and lay down, closing her eyes. She was too tired to worry now. She withstood torture before in other situations. Her mother told her before she left on her first assignment that Derevkos were tough and all had high pain thresholds. Angela thought her mother was kidding, until her visit to North Korea a couple of years ago.

She and Marcus were sent to Korea. She was supposed to play a Russian diplomat with SVR credentials. Marcus was in Seoul monitoring her assignment. She was going to take pictures of missile site to ascertain the structure’s capabilities. It was close-ups the CIA wanted and satellite pictures didn’t get enough detail. So she’d parachuted in on a HALO op the night before, using a GPS signal planted close by one valley distant and hiked into position.

She’d been on a small hill overlooking the area about three hundred yards. She’d cut the wire fence guarding the area when North Korean guards found the opening. That had been a surprise because she’d carefully returned the fence to be normal looking by any passing guards. Unfortunately for Angela, the contact who gave them the information had left out a small detail. The fence was wired for just such an event—a cut which was relayed to the headquarters.

They dragged her into the main Army camp and threw her into a camp’s brig. She was beaten and a particularly nasty interrogator she named Suit and Tie, who pulled one of her back teeth out and promised to continue doing one every day until she talked. When she refused, she was held down and a tooth was extracted without the use of Novocain or any other pain killer. She lost consciousness—or at least that’s what they thought. She, however, was not totally out. The pain was only momentary. Something kicked in and minimized it so that she was experiencing aching only.

It was night time when he returned…alone. He leaned down to tell her what was going to happen to her—a tooth a day when suddenly she head-butted him. He fell backward unconscious. Using strength and the will to live, Angela performed a flip still chained to her chair, landing the legs of the chair over his chest and head. The chair broke. Moments later, she was free. Angela reached into his pocket, found the key, and unlocked her chains. She pulled him over to the filthy toilet that was in the cell. Angela removed his clothes, including tie, leaving him handcuffed naked around the bottom, face up.

Since it was midnight and no one suspected she’d escape, Angela made it out of the camp by cutting through another fence with wire cutters she found, but not before she took a good look at the missile’s silo and the site. Although she didn’t have her ???, she did have a photographic memory and knew she’d be able to draw everything as she saw in detail. Then she got out of there and a CIA operative picked her up after she made a call to Marcus.

McCullough opened the cell door and entered with two men. He was Sloane’s torturer or rather put in a nice way, his interrogator. “Bring her to room 1.” He stared at her, knowing most agents hated the sight of him.

However she simply stared back angry, saying, “I didn’t take any page from that book.”

“Arvin says I’m to find out.”

She stared at him, as the two guards pulled her past him and down the hall to another room where she was shoved into a chair. The manacles were removed and the arms to the chair brought up and locked into place. There were cuffs on each and her wrists were locked down. Her ankles were shackled to the legs of the chair. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to and that was it. Angela said nothing.

McCullough walked in with a syringe in his hand, a bottle of fluid in the other. He withdrew some of the liquid into the syringe; then he placed the bottle on a table. He motioned the two men to leave. He had no fear that his prisoner would move. He pulled over a stool and before sitting, inserted the needle into a vein in her arm.

“This will help to loosen your tongue.”

“Perhaps,” she muttered, keeping her eyes focused on a spot on the wall in front of her. She did not intend to say anything and had learned years ago with the help of Mama, how to withstand any type of truth serum. A minute later she felt the sodium pentothal begin to do its work. It made her feel warm and ‘cozy’ in the chair. She kept staring at the wall and finally leaned her head back, closing her eyes, satisfied.

McCullough walked into Sloane’s office shaking his head. Sloane looked up. “Well…?”

“She told me nothing. She simply kept saying she didn’t take any page from the book. I gave her sodium pentothal, shock, and the needles. She did not break and never once deviated from her story.”

“So she’s telling the truth?”

“She says she didn’t take it and I believe her.” McCullough shrugged.

Arvin sighed. He’d hoped that the simple solution would be Angela, but it looked like it wasn’t. She told the truth according to McCullough. So where did the page go and who has it? And why that page? He was beginning to get a headache.

“Angela? What do you want me to do next?” McCullough stared at his boss.

“Never mind, just bring her here to me.”

Minutes later Angela slumped into the chair in front of his desk. “Are you satisfied?” She desperately wanted to go home. “I’m tired…and not a little pissed at you. Don’t ever hit me again or I’ll report you to Langley.”

Arvin laughed to himself, but said sincerely, “Yes, yes, I understand, but I had to be sure. Someone took a page from the manuscript, but it seems I underestimated Piotr. You’re sure he’s dead?”

She nodded. “When I left him, he was dead and the police were on their way. I could not wait around. I was supposed to bring the book to you. I knew nothing about 90 pages or that one was missing. I told you that and you should have believed me.” She stood up. “I’m going home. I won’t be back for two days because I need sleep!”

His door slammed behind her. “Damn it, she’ll be hard to control.” He reached down and pulled the book up onto his desk. He would take it home to study. Emily was in the hospital and he’d have the house to himself. Of course, he’d stop to see her first. Who had the missing page?

5. Papa

Angela was dropped off at her home eight hours after her return to SD-6. She was still a little woozy with the sodium pentothal, but that might help her sleep. Of course she was angry at Sloane and would have cheerfully killed him if it wasn’t for Em…Emily, his wife, whom she loved. Em was in the hospital recuperating from radiation therapy and supposedly had been started on chemotherapy for breast cancer. She would have to see her soon. She wouldn’t tell her about Sloane and McCullough. Bastards!

After showering, taking some extra strength Tylenol PM, Angela climbed into bed. She fell asleep wondering why her mother took the page and what was she going to do with it? That drawing looked so much like her it was uncanny, almost scary. Divesting those thoughts from her mind, she turned over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She learned long ago from her mother just how to compartmentalize thoughts and box them in her mind, until she needed the information.

She slept for over twenty-four hours. When she awoke for the last time, her body had replenished itself with energy and awareness. Angela showered and put on running clothes and minutes after finishing coffee and juice, headed out for her usual five mile run. It was late evening, so she drove to the local high school that had a half-mile track

The run was exhilarating and she knew she’d been close to her fastest time. Angela wasn’t interested in breaking anyone’s record. She just wanted to keep her own level of skill at the top. When she was on assignment, running was sometimes an option rather than surrendering. It happened on more than one occasion.

Following the run, she walked another half mile cooling down. Grabbing her water bottle she walked briskly to the gate and through it toward her car. She neither saw nor heard anything until the tranq hit her in the neck. She tumbled forward, sprawling onto the asphalt of the parking lot and rolled over onto her back, as blackness reached in and took over her brain. She heard faint footsteps coming toward her and tried to keep her eyes open, but the drug ruled and she saw only a vague unfamiliar shape bend over before she passed out completely.

It was dark when Jack lifted Alexandra out of the front seat of his sedan. The evening shift was on duty and as such there would be fewer agents about. She would be a prisoner now, because she was an SD-6 agent. Jack knew she must be undercover for SVR as well as the CIA, who’d assigned her to infiltrate SD-6 and be a double agent for them. How she managed to keep everything in sync without divulging her agent status was somewhat incredible.

He carried her into the elevator which took him up a flight to the basement floor of the building. Once there, Jack carried her to one of the glass cells and placed her gently on the bunk bed. He’d removed the tranq from her neck in the car, noticing that there was a very small amount of dried blood at the spot. She wouldn’t wake up for another two hours, which gave him time to get ready as well as decide what to tell her.

Jack stepped outside the cell and went into the now empty guard room. He buzzed the upstairs officer of the shift, who answered promptly. “This is Director Bristow. I’m in the basement cells. I want a US Marshal down here within the next half hour. We have a prisoner in one cell. Have the Marshal’s office set up a shift change for eight tomorrow morning and one at four in the afternoon.”

“Yes sir. What is the name of the prisoner?”

“Angela Benton, agent for SD-6 and that’s all you need to know for the present.”

“Yes sir. Should I notify Langley?”

“No, I’ll do that.”

Jack pulled a chair over to the window beside the bunk and sat down to wait for his little girl to wake up. He could not get over how beautiful she was; almost as beautiful as his Irina. What the hell was he going to tell her…?

“Alexandra, malish devochka moya, you are so beautiful.” or maybe “Moya dorogaya devushka, I am your Papa.” Jack groaned softly. Maybe this was a stupid idea although he’d not seen her for over twenty years. He wondered too if she would recognize him. After all, he was that much older and he didn’t have that mustache.

Still he had to bring her in before she did something awful that he could not protect her from being prosecuted. He wondered how long she’d been in the States…long enough he guessed that the CIA contracted her for employment. His little girl had become a spy, a secret agent. Now what was he going to do? He looked at his watch. She ought to be waking up in a few minutes.

He called Ben Devlin earlier and told him about the capture and why. Ben told him he thought he was being overly cautious. Angela Benton was their agent in deep cover for the last two years. The CIA was attempting to bring down The Alliance and Angela was their best lead into the organization. Arvin Sloane liked her, especially since his wife was taken by Angela’s personality and they had a deep friendship.

“Ben, let me be her new handler. You’re retiring next week, so I thought…” Jack hesitated, “…it would be better if I did your work from here. She lives and works here in LA.”

Ben chuckled, “Jack, you aren’t falling for her, are you?”

“What? No! She’s young enough to be my daughter and who is Angela’s age.” Jack thought Ben could hear his heart beat right through the cell phone.

“Take it easy, I was kidding. Let me check with the Director and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Jack closed his cell. For some reason, a trickle of sweat appeared on his cheek. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

He heard a moan behind him and turned to see Alexandra move her legs. A hand went to her head, rubbing her eyes as if to clear her sight. He said nothing but waited. She looked around and then sat up. “What the hell…”

“Hello.” Jack kept his voice neutral.

“Where am I?” She stared at him.

“Justice Task Force, Los Angeles CIA headquarters.”

She blinked and gave a shake to her head. “You tranqed me!”

“Yes, I did.” Jack stood. “It’s been some time since we had someone who worked for the Alliance. You are under arrest.”

“Who are you?” She gasped.

“The Director.”

He saw her eyes widened in recognition. He didn’t act as though he knew her though. He had to maintain his cool, because if he told he was her Papa, she would know he knew she was a double agent. He was aware Sloane had kept a record of all the members of his team, but he also knew SVR would have kept any of their agents apprised of the same information. The only thing Sloane didn’t know was that Angela Benton was Jack’s daughter and worked for not only the CIA, but also the SVR.

“You’re …” She stopped and swallowed. “…uhhh ummm, I think you need to call Langley.” She paid no attention to her words as she was busy staring at him from head to foot and back again.

“Now why would I do that?” Jack asked.

“I’m undercover for CIA. Ben Devlin is my handler.”

“Operations Director himself? That’s impressive!” Jack let a bit of disbelief creep into his voice.

“I am,” she insisted. “My agent number is 5633301. Code name assigned Mountaineer.”

“Very well, I’ll call Langley. I warn you that if this is misinformation, it will go harder for you.” Jack heard the first gate open behind him. He glanced up the hall and saw a US Marshal enter. “I’ll be back in the morning. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable.”



“Never mind, just make the phone call.” Angela’s mind was confused and also excited.

It was her Papa standing on the other side of the glass. He was handsome too. Dark hair streaked with silver, he stood at least six foot two inches. His skin was ruddy and he had no moustache. His ears were prominent just like hers. Oh God, I got them from him. His lips were thin, but his mouth was nice when he smiled.

He seemed not to recognize her, but then she was little when he left her and her mother. She might not have recognized him either if she didn’t already know he was in Los Angeles as a CIA director. He nodded and disappeared up the hall, stopping in the last door to speak to the US Marshal and confirm his orders.

Angela sat back down on the bunk. She had to be at work day after tomorrow. If she didn’t show up, Sloane would send someone to see what was wrong. Damn, she didn’t need that to happen after McCullough’s gambit. Her Papa disappeared up the hallway, so she took a look around. The cell was larger than most. At the end of the bed was a small desk and chair. Both were bolted to the floor. There seemed to be a large window with plants growing on the other side. She walked to it and discovered it was a fake. She was in a basement.

On the far side of the window/wall was the toilet. She turned to face the hall. The entire cell was glass. She thought it probably was doubled and bullet-proof. There was a door on the left side. She located the red light which meant she was being videoed. There was literally no privacy. It didn’t matter to her anyway. It’d happened before on other assignments and now she was going to operate as though she was on one more. Her objective was to be let go before another twenty-four hours was up. She had to convince her father, no, the Director, to let her go.

God she was tired. The drug had not complexly worn off and she felt there were still some residual left over from the jet lag. Angela decided to get some more sleep. There was a light blanket folded on the bunk. She shook it out, crawled under it and fell asleep. There would be time tomorrow to straighten everything out. As she drifted off into a deep sleep, she could hear her mother’s voice in the background, “Alexandra Viktoria Derevko you were careless. That is unacceptable when you are as well-trained as you are.”

She knew that, but her excuse was exhaustion. She wondered how Irina would react if she heard and somehow, she knew she would hear. Mama had resources that reached everywhere into almost every government in the world. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if Mama didn’t know about this before the next day. Smiling to herself, Angela drifted off into a deep sleep.

Laskovaya moya – My sweet
malish devochka moya – my baby girl
moya dorogaya devushka - my dear girl

TBC - :cool:
Dec 28, 2004
St. Louis, Missouri
They both know who the other is, but don't know that the other knows...They are giving me headache.
Can't wait to see what Jack does next with Alexandra, and what Irina's response will be.
Thanks for the pm.


Jan 22, 2003
So. California
6. Mama

Julian Sark sat behind the desk in his office…the one that Khasinau once sat in before he strangely disappeared. It wasn’t strange because he was gone. There was no warning and even Irina seemed puzzled. However, she’d come to him and offered him the temporary position of her second in command. He accepted instantly, surprised and gratified by the offer.

“I will ask you to do many things for me. I must warn you. I have safeguards that will prevent you from becoming…how you would say, ‘too big for your britches.’ Do not fail me or Khasinau. He told me that you had the ability to lead.” Irina stared hard at the blond young man. “Do not think my organization is for the taking.”

“I would never…”

She put up a hand, staring into his ice blue eyes. “Do not protest. You are working for a woman and for some men that is ‘degrading’. However,” she smiled coldly, “fail me and you would wish you worked for a man.”

“Your reputation commands respect and care.” He smiled so charmingly that she had to laugh.

“Excellent. You will take over until Alexander comes back.”

“You think he will?”

She shrugged, “I have no idea why he disappeared, but he’s been with me since the beginning. I have no reason to believe he won’t be back.” Irina strode to the desk. “This is the seat of operations for The Man. You are not he, nor will you assume the identity until you’ve earned my respect and confidence.”

“I understand.”

She indicated he was to take the desk chair. “There are four operations now in progress.” She opened the computer and typed in codes that brought up the screen she wanted. “A gun running deal in Somalia, which I don’t approve of, but Alexander set it up. No one is to be punished, if anything goes wrong.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t like who we’re dealing with, but expect a report from Khasinau’s representative in two days with the drop off information.” Irina hit the keys of the computer. “Here are the other three ops…go over each one. I want your opinion as to their validity and chance of success. I’ll be across the street.”

“Yes mam’m, I’ll get right back to you.”

“Call me Irina, Sark, until you do something wrong.” She cocked an eyebrow at him in a friendly, but warning way.

“Righty-o then. Irina!”

Irina left the room a smile on her face. She liked Julian Sark. He was ambitious, but not too much so that it would kill any chance of staying with her. Stepping outside the busy street, Irina made it safely to the other side. She was in her office minutes later. Her secretary handed her several messages and call backs.

She saw one message that had her on the sat phone immediately. Glancing at her watch she saw the time to be twelve hours later than it was in Moscow. It was eleven in the evening in Los Angeles.

Irina put the phone up to her ear and punched in the number. It rang twice. “It’s Irina.”

“The CIA has a new prisoner, who was brought in by the Director…Alexandra.”

“Her father?” Irina’s face registered shock.


“The charge?”

“According to what I heard, she’s being charged as a SD-6 operative.”

Irina’s eyebrows rose, “…not a SVR operative?”

“Nyet. Do you want me to contact her?”

“Absolutely not!” Her voice was sharp. “Just keep me informed about questioning. I know she won’t be talking.”

“Do you think Bristow knows who she is?”

Irina turned to look out the window. “I’m not sure. She looks enough like me. It will depend on how he questions her and what about. Get me a reservation at the St. Bonaventure for day after tomorrow.”

“You’re coming to LA?”

“I think it’s about time I see ‘Ivan’ again.” Irina was upset and yet her heart was beating faster with the anticipation of their meeting for the first time in twenty some years. She spun around in her chair. She had to think…what was she going to do and how? “Tell me does the CIA have a file on The Man?”

“Da, but they don’t know he’s a she…they just have only rumors and contact information. They think Khasinau is the one. They do not know the extent of your business or know of your holdings here or anyplace else.”

Irina’s eyes narrowed, “That’s not surprising…what’s more, they won’t.”

“Why don’t you stay out of LA?” The male voice continued. “Alexandra is tough. She won’t break, no matter what they try.”

“They won’t try anything rough. They are bound by conventions and rules. Get me the room. Register me as Laura Bristow.”


“Just do it.” Irina cut the connection.

Upstairs, Jack watched on the monitor. She was cool, he thought proudly. No doubt she was confident that the Langley call would get her released. Jack stared at the daughter he had not seen since she was seven. She was twenty-seven now, at least that’s if his memory was correct. She was very beautiful and the more he stared, the more he realized she looked like her mother. Irina was taller, he remembered, but she wore her dark chestnut hair long too. What would Alexandra, no she called herself Angela, what would she give up on SD-6? Somehow he felt regret if she did. It was something he did not think she would do. She was a Bristow, but probably thought of herself as a Derevko.

He shook his head. Where was he getting all these thoughts from…it certainly was not protocol at the CIA to think of a prisoner as being stubborn and NOT giving in to pressure that they would put upon her. He thought of Camp Harris…out in the middle of the desert. His predecessor would not hesitate to send her there if she didn’t give them the information they wanted. Taking down The Alliance was at the head of the to-do list at the CIA and SD-6 was his baby to take down because it was based in L.A.

He’d heard that Sloane was stubborn about moving his operations to the East coast. His home was here and his wife, Emily, was ill with cancer. In order to become a full-fledged member of the Alliance, Sloane might have to shift his priorities. Catching his top agent, Angela Benton, might give the CIA and FBI the necessary information to do it.

Jack stood and walked back to his office. He needed to call Ben Devlin and get his take on what they should tell Angela or perhaps, even to let her go. He slid behind the large desk that had only a computer, a telephone, and a small elegant calendar. He kept everything else in his desk drawer, including pen and pencils. He glanced at the clock over the doorway and saw that it was late in Washington. Ben was home asleep. He’d wait until morning. Besides it might be an advantage to have her spend the night in the glass cage, as most of the staff called the detention cells.

The next day Ben told Jack to interrogate Angela. There was a suspicion that the CIA had a mole amidst the staff at the Task Force. They were not sure at Langley, who the mole might be working for, but until they identified him or her, they would treat Angela as a prisoner. He was to have her interrogated just to see how well she withstood the event. They trained their agents well at The Farm, but one never knew until the real thing happened how well training had been absorbed.

However, neither the CIA nor the SVR should have worried. Angela Benton aka Alexandra Derevko did not tell anyone anything. Incredibly, sodium pentothal did not loosen her tongue. She was always on the attack, demanding they let her go—she had done nothing wrong. Then she demanded a lawyer…but was told she was being held under the Patriot Act and as a probable terrorist working for a terrorist organization, she was not entitled to such a luxury. After that, she said nothing.

By ten o’clock that night, everyone was exhausted. The two interrogators suggested to Jack that Camp Harris might be the next option, but he was not going to go that route either. They all went home and Jack did the same, fighting a headache that threatened to make him cranky. He didn’t get them often, but then it wasn’t every day he was walking a very tight line.

Jack drove into his driveway and noted it was nearly midnight. He had dinner out at his favorite Italian restaurant in Westwood and apologized to the owner, a friend of many years, for keeping such late hours. Luigi had been effusive in telling him that as long as the lights were on in the restaurant, Jack could eat there.

He opened the door, tossing his keys in the tray he kept on an end table. He wanted a drink and a stiff one. Jack pulled out a bottle of Chivas from the cupboard along with a heavy bottomed glass. He poured the glass full and returned the scotch to the cupboard. He took a swallow, rolling his shoulders trying to ease the tension. He’d take his drink to the bedroom.

“Hello Ivan.”

TBC :o :o


Jan 22, 2003
So. California
7. The Mama and the Papa

The hair on the back of his neck rose as he turned around, glass wobbling, falling and shattering as it hit the floor. His body turned nearly into ice when he saw the woman standing in front of him. He blinked without comprehension or understanding. It was impossible. It could not be. He swallowed, closed his eyes trying to eliminate the image. He opened them again. She was still there, smiling at him.

“Irina?” His voice was hoarse.

She entered the kitchen and the light illuminated her face and body fully. She wore a bright red cocktail-length dress. It was draped across her broad shoulders, falling into a scoop neck design, which managed to show off her breasts in a desirable fashion. The dress flared out from a small waist to just above the knees. Some sort of chiffon if he had to guess. It was sleeveless and showed her well-muscled biceps. Her elegant long legs were clad in sheer nylons and on her feet were red stilettos. She took his breath away.

Her face was older, but there were no heavy lines, only a few around the eyes and the mere suggestion of a line or two around her mouth. It was a magnificent mouth with full lips colored a bright red for the occasion. The dark eyes danced with glee at seeing his shock and discomfort.

“It’s been a long time,” she said huskily in lightly-accented English. It surprised him a little, as she’d not spoke English at all twenty years ago.

“Yes…” Jack stared, unable to take his eyes off her. “I…uh…” He was flustered and that did not happen to Jonathan Donahue Bristow, the temporary Director of the CIA/FBI Joint Task Force. He was never caught off guard. To cover his discomfort, he bent down under the sink and took out a dustpan and brush. He quickly cleaned up the remnants of his glass and dumped them into the wastebasket under the sink.

“I see you are as neat as ever.” She kneeled down to pick up an errant piece of glass he’d missed.

“Yes.” He took a dishrag and wiped up the small amount of liquid left of his drink that was on the floor.

“You are looking well,” she said, standing and crossing the floor into his space, standing inches away. “You are still handsome, but without the moustache I see.”

“Yes…” He straightened, trying to regain his equilibrium. “What are you doing here? I never thought…”

“That we would ever see one another again?” She smiled lips quirking slightly. “Tell me Jack, that is your real name isn’t it?”


“Then tell me, Jack,” she paused, her eyes fastened on him, “did you ever love me?”

He blinked and felt as though his heart were being squeezed hard. “Yes, and I…”


“…still do.” All those years and he admitted out loud what he’d always known deep inside. “I still love you. I’ve never stopped even though I thought I’d never see you again.”

“And yet you betrayed Sasha and me. If it were not for Katya, I would not be standing here now.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized what she was saying. The KGB had arrested her. He’d thought of that happening, but he blocked out those consequences because he had to be extracted.

“Ya ogorchenn,” he said softly in Russian. “Laskovaya moya, ya ogorchenn.”

“That is comforting to know now,” her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“…and if the circumstances were reversed?” He countered stiffly.

She paused, contemplating the meaning of his words. “I suppose…”

Their eyes held one another. Irina put her left hand on the back his neck and brought his head to hers. Her lips fastened over his with ferocious desire. She wanted to taste him and to feel him. Was he as good now as he was then? Ivan had been the only man she truly loved and the only one who made her feel loved. She knew that as surely as she knew he’d betrayed her. All the lovers she’d taken over the years never made her feel as Ivan had. It was one reason none of them lasted very long...that and the fact they thought they were better businessmen than she.

She felt herself being pulled tight against his body and he opened his mouth to take in her tongue and to feel her sexuality blossom as his own phallus recognized an agonizing need. She tasted him, savoring scotch and tomato sauce, informing her he’d recently eaten Italian food. As she pressed her tongue around his mouth, she felt a sharp surge between her legs.

Then he took over, his mouth dominating hers. His tongue pushed hard against hers, his teeth nipping her tongue, her lips. He held her head with both hands as he explored every inch of her face. Then one hand dropped down to the neckline of her dress and reached inside to find her braless. Her nipples were standing erect.

“Moya boje,” he growled softly.

Jack swept her up in his arms and strode into the bedroom. His penis was erect and painful, restricted by clothing. Jack wasted not a moment, dropping her down on the bed. He ripped the dress off to find her naked other than a garter belt. His breathing was heavy and he felt an urgency in his loins. He kicked off his loafers, undid his belt dropped his pants, and pulled out his erection, which he plunged inside her lower lips already wet with her own cum. He thrust hard with pent-up urgency.

Vaguely he felt her spread those long legs and then clasping his thighs and buttocks tight against her. She was still wearing those red stilettos. He closed his mouth over her left nipple, sucking as he sensed his orgasm was about to explode. Groaning, he held back. She didn’t seem ready, but she moaned with desire. He pulled out a couple of inches then thrust, repeated the maneuver thrusting even harder. She was panting. Sweat rolled down her face and breasts.

“Fuk me, Ivan, fuk me,” she cried urging him to continue. He felt so good inside her. She’d been right. No one else could give her what she needed, wanted. Ivan was the only man with the balls to give her the rough sex she liked.

“Past’ zabej, padia jebanaja,” he swore at her. They loved to talk dirty in Russian and it excited them both. Every time he’d made love to her, he did it swearing at the peak when he thought she was ready to come. It usually brought her within seconds.

Her dark eyes flashed and she swore back, “Mudilo!”

“DURA!” He yelled. Jack felt his heart pound and he also was aware of sweat rolling down his back. He wanted her to come with him as they had done so many times in the distant past.

“Moya milochka,” he grunted, “I am fukking your brains out.” He thrust again this time with all the strength he could muster. She squeezed him inside tightly as his hand stroked her clit. He heard her suck in her breath, expelling it with a scream.

She bucked hard as waves of intense painful pleasure ripped through her. He stayed with her as his jizzum flooded her womb. Although he was finished, he kept his phallus inside and watched as she pleasured herself twice again. It was something he didn’t understand and never did...how a woman could come two or three times.

Jack was exhausted as he finally rolled over. “Jeezus, Irina, it’s the best fuk I’ve had since…since I left.”

He glanced at her and saw her eyes close; then open again and she turned to him. “Spasibo, for me also.” She ran her hand across his chest, looking at the hair that had almost turned silver. “Ya tebya lyublyu! Ya propuskal va!”

Jack leaned over her. “Irina, I can never ask for your forgiveness. Too much has happened. I…I do want to thank you for raising Alexandra. She is a beautiful young woman.” He ran his tongue across her left breast and slowly, but gently sucked on its nipple. “You are as beautiful as I remember.” He raised his head and looked into those dark eyes.

“You too are much handsomer. I like you without the moustache.” She murmured, staring up into his eyes.

He pulled her close to him, in a spoon-like position. He held her close enough that there was not a millimeter between them. Her skin was so soft and the smell of her hair was fresh. He nuzzled her neck and his right hand stroked her thigh. “How did you manage to get here?”

“I bought a ticket. Restrictions are not so bad in my country now.”

“As a member of the KGB, how…”

“I am no longer in their employ and haven’t been for twenty years.” She pulled his hand from her thigh and put it on her breast, leaning forward slightly to suck his thumb. Irina wondered what he was thinking. “I am not on any list, because I passed through your customs without a hitch.”

“You didn’t join SVR?”

“Nyet! They are the same as KGB.”

“But…but…” Jack stopped. He was positive Alexandra was SVR.

“But what…?” She pressed.



“I thought she…” Jack was suddenly aware he might have gone too far. Maybe Irina did not know. That was a fleeting thought only. She had to know. She was her mother.

“You want to know if our daughter is working for SVR.” She turned over to stare at him. “What if she was an agent? Are you going to turn her in?” The question was hard and put directly at him.

Jack decided to tell the truth. “No!” He shook his head; then bent over and kissed her again, softly. “I would hope she wasn’t spying on us.”

“How strange to hear that coming from you?” She laughed and pulled his head down and kissed him back.

He laughed. “I guess it is.”

“She is working to put Arvin Sloane out of business! The Alliance, I understand, is a group of ex-agents from around the world who are seeking to control as much criminal activity as they can.”

He turned to lie flat on his pillow and pulled up the sheet and blanket over the both of them. He yawned. “I know. That’s what the CIA has asked her to do when they hired her.” He chuckled. “My dear, she is extraordinary. I will be sending her home in the morning.” As the temporary Director, Jack hoped someone would be taking over for him soon. This was a muddle and he wanted to be outside of the ‘know’ before he was entangled in a plot that would challenge Alexandra’s status with the CIA.

Irina smiled to herself and allowed Ivan/Jack to hold her. It had been too long and she now realized just how much she’d missed him all these years. He was asleep. She was not far behind him.

Irina awakened to the sound of water. It was the shower she thought, stretching languidly under the sheet. She rolled out of bed and stretched. She was feeling in need again. Walking into the bathroom, she saw Ivan, no Jack, in a larger than usual shower. She licked her lips and her breath quickened. She moved silently into the shower behind him, sliding her hands around his waist and down.

“Moya milochka,” he breathed, turning and pressing her up against the wet tiles.

“Raise the temperature,” she breathed as the water tumbled over them both.

“Too hot,” he muttered against her mouth as the spray steamed.

“I want you hot,” she said, reversing their positions and turning up the heat and clamping her mouth onto his jaw.

She was already wet and she was aroused. Her hands and mouth busy on him, taking him over in a kind of cheerful aggression. He put his thoughts into a box as he heard only the hiss of the spray and the heat of his own blood.

He decided he could want her every minute of every hour of each day. Was certain he would go on wanting her after he was dead and gone. Irina had become not a dream but the pulse, the reason, the breath. She was real and she was here. When he caught her dripping hair in his hand, yanked her head up so his mouth could fuse to hers, it was like feeding a hunger that would never, ever be quite sated. He never realized until now how much he needed her.

She felt it from him, the edge of that violent appetite she’d missed all these years…that she’d been looking for, but never finding no matter how many lovers she’d taken. When she tasted it, it made her crave danger by letting the animal in both of them let loose to feed.

With him she could be tender, where there had never been anything but tenderness. And with him she could be brutal, rough, without fear.

“Now, now, now, NOW! Inside me.”

He gripped her hips, fingers sliding over slick, wet skin until they dug in. Her breath caught when he shoved her back against the tiles, then released on a cry when he rammed himself into her.

Her body plunged through the first vicious orgasm, then raced for more. Irina’s eyes locked with his. She could see herself reflected there, swimming in…drowning in those piercing eyes. Trusting his strength, she wrapped her long legs around his waist to take in more of him.

Steam billowed, thin mists. Water streamed, hot rain. Jack drove himself hard and deep, watching that shocked pleasure radiate over her wet face. He could see her rising to another peak again, the way her dark eyes blurred, the gilded darkness of them deepening an instant before they went blind, an instant before her body gathered, then shuddered.

She clamped around him, a hot, wet fist, and nearly dragged him over with her.

“Take more.” His voice was ragged, his lungs burning. “Take more, and more, until you come screaming for me.” There flashed in his mind that night in Moscow when he made love to her in the same manner. It was the night before he left to be extracted.

She could hear the sharp, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, of flesh against tile, and could taste when his mouth crushed down on hers again the outrageous need in him. And as he thrust into her, as pleasure and pain and madness merged into one searing mass inside her, she heard herself scream.

Limp as rags, still tangled together, they slid down to the floor of the shower.

“Jesus,” he managed.

“The water is rising,” she muttered, exhausted.

“Then we’d better move.” He stood and helped her up.

Irina reached for the lever and turned the water to cold. Jack jumped and left, muttering under his breath. Irina let the cold spray run over her another minute, before stepping out. Jack had a towel around him and he handed her a terry cloth robe, helping her into it.

“I love you,” he said putting his arms around, bringing into him. He stared at her in the mirror and their eyes met. “I never stopped loving you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

She felt herself lifted and carried into the bedroom where he put her down on the bed gently. He kissed her, savoring her, wondering what miracle happened to bring her to him once again. He really didn’t care about the whys. He just cared about having her with him again.

“How long are you going to stay—forever I hope.” He sat down next to her looking into those magical, dark eyes drawing him closer. He bent again and kissed her softly with more tenderness than he knew.

She put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him back. “I can’t stay. I came to see you and to make sure our daughter would be safe.”

“How did you find out? I thought you didn’t work for SVR?”

She laughed, running her hand over his naked chest. “I know where Alexandra is on a daily basis.” She saw him frown. “No, I don’t spy on CIA. I told you I wasn’t SVR.”

“But how…”

“Oh Jack, I have friend who watches for me.” She sat up, looking at him. “If something bad happened, could I count on you to…”

“She’s my daughter too. Yes, I would help no matter the circumstances.” He lay back on the pillow. “I’m thinking about retiring. I have enough years on the books to get a nice pension. Could we…?” He glanced at her leaving the question unspoken.

“Moya boje, Jack, how can you keep an eye on Alexandra if you…”

He sighed. “Well, I’m not going to be doing what I’m doing now.” He didn’t specify and would have been aghast if he’d knew she knew exactly what his position was at JTF. She did not identify her ‘friend’ nor where he was located.

Irina smiled to herself; then said, “You can’t come back to Russia. You’d be arrested as soon as you stepped onto the tarmac of the airport.”

“Then,” he responded, “Suppose I retire to…ummm…Rome or Paris?”

TBC :love: :love:

Moya boje – my God
Moya milochka – my darling
Past’ zabej, padia jebanaja –Shut the fuk up, you fuking bitch
Mudilo – Arrogant idiot
Dura – dumb *b*itch
Ya tebya lyublyu – I love you
Ya propuskal va – I need you
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