In her dreams, it was as if Sydney had never escaped.
She lay curled up in a ball in the tiny cell, arm outstretched to provide a pillow for her head. Her body itched with grime and sweat. They hadn't let her bathe since her arrival here–wherever here was. Sydney calculated that she'd been there for at least a week. Long enough for the feel of dirt and blood on her skin to go past 'annoying' to 'intolerable'. It was a small thing, to make her uncomfortable. It was only one of the tactics her captors used to try and break her. Who they were, and what they wanted was a mystery. No one had come to interrogate her. Food was passed through a slot in the door.
Suddenly, bright white light filled the room, air raid sirens began to screech and blare. Sydney flinched and moved further into her corner. The lights were strobing now, and the sirens had taken on an eerie, foreboding wail. The sound rose, then fell, rose and fell. Her heartbeat accelerated, pushing blood and adrenaline into her veins. She tensed to flee.
She heard her father's voice in her head, calm and almost dispassionate: "The strobe lights are meant to disorient you. and certain musical notes and phrases are known to cause anxiety." Sydney took a deep breath. Of course.That's all this was. Another attempt to unnerve her. She sat up and tried her best to shut out the cacophony. Eventually, the noise stopped and she was left in darkness.
She used the wall to lever herself up, and cried out in surprise when her hand came away wet. A rich coppery tang filled the air. Sydney looked around in horror. The walls were bleeding, folding down over themselves like wet canvas. She stumbled back and hit another wall. Blood seeped into her clothing.
Footsteps. Someone was here with her, and Sydney was tied to a chair. "Mom?" The woman stepped closer.
No. Not her mother. Francie, her dark eyes accusing. "Why didn't you save me? I could have lived. But you didn't give us a choice, did you? You had to save the world, and damn the consequences."
"No, Francie, please..."
Sydney gasped and opened her eyes. Light filled the room, but it was soft, and filtered through sunset-colored curtains. She sat up in her chair and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Another nightmare. Her dreams had been filled with shadows and darkness ever since Francie's death. This one had been bad, but far from the worst. She rose, padded toward the kitchen, and set water to boiling for tea. To say she hadn't been sleeping well was an understatement. Dozing at her desk was just another sign that she was pushing herself too hard.
She'd rented the apartment shortly after deciding to set up a base in Rome. Its bright, airy rooms, cream carpeting, and terracotta tiles had appealed to her, giving the place a crisp yet cozy feeling. It was not Julia's apartment. Simon never came here. She'd needed somewhere to be herself, Sydney Bristow. Julia owned enough of her soul already.
An extra complication. Her father's voice, again.
Ever since she'd started this mission, her inner monologue had occasionally taken on Jack's tone and intonations at their most anal. Her mind trying to cope, she supposed. If her mother started talking to her, then Sydney would know she'd gone insane.
The kettle whistled and Sydney poured hot water into a waiting cup, along with Saidii Shai leaves and several spoonfuls of sugar.
Sitting back at her desk, Sydney pulled up her email and scanned her inbox. Nothing from Simon. She wished he'd hurry up and find them their next job. Every Rambaldi item she found brought her closer to Arvin Sloane, and an end to this charade.
Her gaze dropped to the first few messages in the queue, sent months ago at the beginning of her assignment. Sent both by her father and Vaughn, they were encrypted and sent via the agreed upon 'family' protocols. She hadn't opened them, but she didn't have the heart to delete them, either. Eventually, the attempts at contact had dwindled off. Sydney waited for the pinch of guilt at leaving them out of the loop, and was grateful when it didn't come. I'm doing the right thing, she thought, for about the millionth time. They can't be involved in this. She'd already lost too much. As if conjured by her thoughts, a new message came through.
This one had the family codes in the subject line, but this time the email had been flagged as urgent. Her father again, after all this time? Sydney shook her head. It couldn't be. A glitch in her email, then? Maybe. Or maybe her cover had been blown. No, if it had been that, she'd be dead already. What, then?
Julia's cell phone rang and Sydney reached for it, shutting her laptop as she did so.
"Yes?"
"Julia," Simon said cheerfully. "You're going to be sorry you missed Cairo."
"Am I?"
"Yeah. It was wild. I'll tell you all about it when you get to Bucharest."
Sydney was already moving to her closet. She pulled her soft-shell suitcase down from its shelf.
"Why am I going to Bucharest?"
"I've got us a job. I'll send you the details through the usual channels."
"All right, Babe. I'll see you soon."
She snapped her phone closed. A job. One more step closer to Sloane.
September 2003
Minsk, Belarus
Sydney limped toward the pay phone on the street corner. Having to panhandle to get change had been embarrassing, but had paid off.
The phone wasn't secure by any means, but it would do for a quick call, if she was careful. She inserted the coins and dialed the emergency number every agent was given at the end of training.
"Dispatch."
"This is officer 2300844 calling for connection confirmation 'looking glass'," she said crisply.
There was a pause and then, "Stand by."
After what seemed an eternity, a familiar voice said: "This is Kendall." All business, giving away nothing.
"I'm in Minsk," Sydney said. "I need extraction."
Another pause, longer than the last. "Bluebird, is that you?"
Sydney shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. What the hell was Kendall playing at? "No. Mountaineer. I need extraction."
"Negative, Mountaineer." Then his tone shifted and he said, "Are you in immediate danger? I need two minutes to make arrangements for you. If we get cut off, you can use the same number and code."
She peered out of the phone booth. The streets of Minsk were busy this time of night, but Sydney didn't see a tail, or anything else out of the ordinary. "I'm secure for the moment."
"Okay, then. I won't put you on hold. But I will be right back." She heard the tapping of keyboard keys in the background, the ringing of a celluar phone. Kendall answered it, spoke a few monosyllables, and got back on the phone with her.
"Mountaineer, can you get to Victory Park? Take the boat to the pedestrian bridge on bird island. I'm sending an operative to meet you and bring you back. Do you need medical attention?"
Sydney wiped blood from her mouth. "Nothing I can't handle."
She heard papers shuffling on his desk. Books shifting. "I can give you access to a numbered bank account for expenses and essentials. Are you ready for the number?"
"Yes." Kendall rattled off a series of numbers, which she repeated aloud, and once more in her head. "Is there an ETA for extraction?" He'd said he needed to work some things out, but she wanted to know how long she'd be on her own.
"Twenty-four hours. Victory Park, Bird Island, pedestrian bridge."
"Understood."
"The confirmation code is forty-seven. Do you remember that?"
"47. I've got it."
"Only discuss your situation with myself or the agent with the correct confirmation code. We'll bring you in, Mountaineer, but we have to be careful."
"Understood." She was flooded with relief.
January 2004
Cairo, Egypt
The driver dropped them off at the Mansour street entrance to the apartment complex.
"I don't think I'll need you tonight, Habib," Irina said to her driver. "I'll call if plans change."
"I will be nearby, Sitt," the driver replied.
It was fully dark now, and a chill breeze wound through the buildings. The steady cacophony of horns and revved engines disturbed the night air. Irina pulled out her key and opened the iron gate granting access to the building courtyard. She kept pace with Jack, who was walking slowly across the tiled floor, and entered the building and keyed them into the small elevator. She kept the rooftop apartment as her base of operations in Cairo. The residence wasn't commonly used, but one of a series of properties in strategic locations she kept for her own private use. Not unlike Jack's fuel-tank storage unit, but offering far more amenities.
She had decorated it in soft, warm colors, in contrast to the glaring modern white and tile motifs in most apartments in Cairo. The flat had darkly stained wooden flooring and carved stucco details on walls painted with deep sage green. Plantation doors opened up onto the small rooftop garden. Cream colored furniture and orange accent pillows added a splash of color to the space.
Irina stepped through the entrance, turned on the light, and tossed her keys on the side table next to the couch. She watched Jack through narrowed eyes. He looked pale, his lips were set in a grim line. She considered letting him be; Jack had been less than receptive with her attempts to help him. Still, he was obviously in pain. She asked: "Would you like a drink?"
Jack perked up at that. "If you're offering?" He pulled off his ballcap and tossed it on the table. He maneuvered himself onto the sofa and, with a grunt, lifted his leg onto an ottoman.
A round dining table and three chairs, all with the same wood and cream motif sat in a corner, not quite opposite the couch. A stack of neatly arranged books and a laptop sat on the dining table, ready for use. The area looked more like a home office, rather than a place to eat.
She made her way to the kitchen. Reaching into her temperature-controlled safe, Irina pulled out a bottle of 18 year-old Macallan single malt scotch. She set two glasses onto the counter. "Do you want ice?"
"That would be perfect," Jack called back.
She dropped ice into both glasses, then poured the rich, amber liquor over them. She carried them both into the living room.
"Thanks," Jack said as he took his glass. He visibly brightened after his first sip. "That's good."
"How's your leg?"
"It's fine," Jack replied. "I just need to rest. Are you okay?"
"Yes." She snagged a chair and positioned it so that she sat across from him. "Looks like the deal's off,"
"Terrible customer service," Jack agreed. His leg satisfactorily propped, he relaxed back into the cushions.
"Abysmal. Did you find out anything useful?" She tilted her head from side-to-side in an effort to release the tension in her neck.
"I was busy escaping," Jack said. "Tell me about the conversation you overheard."
"It wasn't much." She told him about Walker's short phone call in the hotel. "I did hear a name: Julia. It may be nothing," Irina admitted.
"It may be. But it is a lead," Jack said.
Irina bit her lip, lost in thought. "We need a last name. I wish we could have traced the call."
"We didn't have the equipment, or the resources, in any case," Jack said. "I'm evaluating the reason for the double-cross. Was it me, something wrong in my cover, or was it because of the job?"
"It sounded like he already planned to go to Bucharest," Irina said.
"You surmise he's already been contracted to do this job?" Jack asked. "And by eliminating the competition–the Sheikh–it would strengthen his position. I can't argue the point."
"Eliminating a competitor would make things easier for him, and the client would praise Walker's loyalty. It's a clever move," Irina conceded.
"And he could ask for more money. Walker is strategic in his thinking."
"Yes. And we're no closer to finding Sydney," Irina replied in frustration.
"We really only have two possible choices," Jack said. "We could anticipate where Walker plans to steal the artifact, hope Sydney is with him, and try to contact her at that time. Or we could obtain the artifact ourselves and arrange for an exchange at the time and place of our choosing."
"I like the second option more. We have more control over the situation. It would be easier if we could just threaten Walker into revealing where she is," Irina finished with regret.
"Assuming she's undercover, that would blow her cover," Jack said. "I'm not enthusiastic about stealing a Rambaldi artifact."
"I know, Jack, but there are too many variables in the first plan. We could be wrong, and end up at the wrong location. Or we could be right, and Sydney doesn't come. She wasn't with him this time," Irina pointed out.
"It was a client contact," Jack said. "I wouldn't necessarily expect her to attend. If she is a regular associate of Walker's, then she will be in Romania. Along with Julia. Or perhaps..."
"Perhaps 'Julia' is Sydney. We won't know unless she shows up in Bucharest. Which is why we should acquire the artifact ourselves. Ideally, she'll be working on the heist. But if she's not, we still have control of the scenario, and something to bargain with," Irina replied.
"I agree. I don't like it, but it is the best possible next move," Jack conceded.
"So, Romania?"
"We'll have to design an op to rob the train," Jack said. "Before Walker can rob the train." He started to rise.
"No, stay there," Irina said, "I'll get it." She moved to the dining table, where they had stacked numerous books, maps, and timetables. She gathered these up and set them beside Jack on the couch, then resumed her chair. "Given the itinerary we have," she said, "I would choose to steal the artifact when the couriers are transitioning from the train to ground transportation. At or near the station in Bucharest."
"I agree," Jack said. "Which means, assuming he isn't an idiot, that Walker would choose the same."
"He's not an idiot," Irina agreed. "And if Sydney is working with him, then he will be be that much more competent. We'll need to intercept the item well ahead of Bucharest, in the countryside."
Jack pulled out a large map of the Romanian train network. Irina got up, drink in hand, and settled on the couch next to him.
"The InterRegio train starts at Timișoara," Jack followed the train route with his finger. "Travels through the Carpathians. We'll have to be prepared for snow," he added under his breath. "This would give us enough time to interdict the couriers and leave the train well before Bucharest. There's one question we'll have to answer before we can map this operation."
"And that is?"
"If you were transporting a Rambaldi artifact on the Romanian train system... how would you do it?"
February 2004
Bucharest, Romania
Sector 6
Nocturn Night Club
"He tried to hire you for the Bucharest job?" Julia Thorne asked sharply.
Simon leaned back on the unfortunately decorated red velvet sofa, feigning unconcern. "Yeah. Offered four mill for it, too."
Julia looked from him to Javier, who was sitting behind a laptop at the nearby table. The pounding bass from the club beneath them throbbed through the floor. Simon's face was not clearly visible in the gaudy accent lighting–a fact that Julia knew was by design.
"And you didn't get him?" She asked, even sharper and more incredulous.
Simon took a swig of his beer, pointed an accusatory finger at Javier.
Javier was just a shade defensive. "I did not. He was a pro. Melted away in the souk. I know what he isn't. And he is not an elderly Sheikh."
"True," Simon said.
"What the hell are you trying to pull off here, Simon?" Julia exploded before Simon could protest. "You know that if I tried to feed you a line of bullshit this obvious, you'd have Javier shoot me in the face."
"There's an element of truth to that, Sweetheart," Simon admitted. "How'd you know I'd have Javier do it?"
"Because you'd need to apologize to him for trusting me," she shot back. "You are jeopardizing this job, and you're jeopardizing my involvement in this job if you don't stop this evasiveness right now."
Simon must have sensed she meant business, because he stood and moved into the light. "Look, Julia, I know. Believe me when I say I know. All I can tell you is that our client wants to keep this competition under wraps."
"It's not exactly 'under wraps' when we run into someone during a job in Stockholm, and another one knows exactly what our future job is going to be in Bucharest. You know what that sounds like to me? A security leak, and it's probably coming right from the client."
"She's right, Simon. And for the record, I agree with her, as much as it pains me to admit. And no," Javier said to Julia, "I don't know either."
"I brought up all of these excellent points to the client, by the way. I'm not oblivious," Simon said, trying to placate both Julia and Javier, who were dangerously close to ganging up on him. "It allowed me to renegotiate the deal from, shall we say, a position of greater strength. We got our usual fee, plus the four mill the fake Sheikh offered. Since operating expenses have doubled, we're bringing in additional assets to tighten security and make sure this goes off without a hitch."
Julia stared hard at Simon. "It had better. This is already a complicated job. If your new friend," she said with a sneer, "shows up and makes trouble, we are screwed."
Simon took another drink. "We can handle him."
"Maybe," Julia said. "It was just this guy at the meet? You didn't see anyone else?" She looked from one man to the other.
Simon raised an eyebrow and looked at Javier. "Mate?"
"No. He wasn't part of a team. Avery was pickpocketed by a street Arab, but neither of us saw anyone else. And we staked out the place all afternoon," Javier confirmed.
If this had been a CIA hotwash, she would have pointed out that the apparent absence of accomplices didn't definitively rule them out. But this was a discussion among thieves, and while Javier and Simon were skilled and dangerous, they weren't trained in pure spycraft. She decided against arguing that point further, and sat back on the velvet couch. "So, we have a guy, who may or may not be a Bedouin Sheikh, interested in the artifact."
"He was trained in evasion tactics," Javier pointed out.
"This person," she went on, "Is obviously trained in subterfuge. By whom we don't know. It could be one of any number of organizations, both legal and illegal."
"Don't forget the bitch in Stockholm," Simon said mildly.
"How could I?" Julia gave him a fake and overly cheery smile. "Whatever happened to her? Oh, that's right, she got away."
Simon took a drag on his cigarette and blew hazy smoke up to the ceiling. "That wasn't my fault, Babe. Blame GK&K's security for that."
Two days after the break-in at the trust, Simon had checked in with his source inside GK&K. They had fully expected the break-in to be hushed up, but the surprising point had been the escape of the intruder they had captured.
How their competitor had freed herself and disappeared that night, neither Simon nor Julia knew.
"So we now have two parties interested in our item," Julia continued her assessment. She met Simon's gaze, and held it just long enough for the moment to be uncomfortable. "I have to wonder if it's worth it."
"He's our best client, Julia. "He could have shown me the door the second I told him about the Sheik. But he doubled our payout instead," Simon said.
"And that's not weird to you?"
Simon blew another stream of smoke into the air. "It tells me the client knows a good team when he sees it."
"If this client of ours is so great, why haven't I met him, then?" Julia pressed. Time to exploit Simon being on his back foot.
"It's not the right time, Babe. He's used to dealing with me."
Julia's gaze flicked to Javier and then returned to Simon. "We're a team, aren't we?" She almost sneered. "I have the right to meet our benefactor."
"She's got a point," Javier said.
"Shut up," Simon replied. "Look, Julia. That's the way it has to be, for now." He slid across the couch to sit next to her. "It's better this way. Plausible deniability, and all that."
"I don't like it."
"You don't have to." He leaned forward to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. "I'll take you to meet him after the train job, all right?"
"You know I grade you on your follow-through," she said.
"I know it. You can deliver the item to the client yourself," he said.
Julia turned to Javier. "Let's see the specs, then. And find ways to put our new assets to good use."
