Chapter Nine

January 2004

The Grand Hotel
Stockholm, Sweden

Twenty hours later, Jack was leaning heavily on his cane as he limped down the hallway to their hotel room. He unlocked the door and remained on his feet long enough to check the room for intruders. Then he stripped off his winter coat, scarf, and gloves before collapsing onto the sitting room sofa.

The bulge of his sidearm gouged his ribs, so he pulled it out of the holster and set the Glock on a small table.

Chilled and exhausted, he sat for a half hour, maybe more, when the doorknob rattled. Jack picked up his gun and, too tired to move, simply pointed it at the doorway.

The door swung open and Irina stepped in. She glanced in Jack’s direction. "I hope you aren’t going to use that." Her words held no sting, merely a bone-deep weariness. She moved past him and entered the bathroom, leaving the door ajar.

Jack heard the water running in the sink. He sighed and heaved himself out of the chair, wincing as his injured leg protested. He ignored it, like he had the previous day. Leaning against the bathroom door jamb, he watched in the mirror as she washed her face with tepid water.

"Did you find anything?" Irina asked.

"No. You?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm waiting for a call back. My contact didn't recognize our thief, but he'll make some inquiries." Frustration leaked into Irina's tone.

He flipped on the lightswitch and saw the exhaustion in his own eyes mirror that in hers. He also saw the bruises from her fight with the security guard darkening her cheek and brow. "You need ice for that."

Irina examined the damage to her face. One side was puffy. She probed the injury experimentally, and winced. "I look like hell. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?"

"I just did."

She snorted. "Thanks." Irina moved past him to the minibar. She pulled out an ice tray and piled individual cubes into a washcloth.

Jack shrugged and filled a glass with water before returning to the main room. He took a sip, then a long draught, draining it. "Have you eaten? I’ll order room service."

She followed him, the washcloth pressed to her face. "That’s a good idea." She settled into a green overstuffed chair.

Jack returned to the sofa and sat heavily. He picked up the room service menu and the phone. He called in, ordering entrees, sides, and dessert. "You want something to drink?"

"Wine. You choose."

He ordered her a glass of chablis, then, thinking about his steak and dessert, added: "Château Potensac Médoc, two glasses." Jack hung up and stripped off his tie, tossing it on the floor. He did the same for his now dirty and torn suit jacket. He sat quietly for a long time, staring blankly across the room.

Finally, Irina broke the silence. "Do you think she's still in Stockholm?"

"She could be. Or she drove to another airport, used a different ferry terminal. We can't adequately surveil all of southern Sweden," Jack admitted. 

"She may be staying the night in the city, and leaving in the morning. But you're right, the two of us can't cover every possibility. I’m beginning to think…" Irina bit her lip. "No. She was there. Sydney was there," she repeated firmly, almost to herself.

"She was there," Jack agreed. "And she’s gone."

"I know. I hate to even think it, but we have to consider the possibility that she may have been coerced."

"On the face of it, her behavior is ... illogical. But knowing Sydney, she has to have an excellent reason for doing what she's doing. She has to have convinced herself that she's doing the right thing," Jack mused.

"That may be true. But, assuming she's faked her own death, Sydney's cut herself off from the CIA's resources, and her own contacts. It's a risky move."

"There's no evidence one way or the other that she's cut herself off from the CIA," Jack said. He couldn't help but consider the events at the Agency before he left. "She did not contact Agent Vaughn, or her other friends," he added.

"The other possibility is that the CIA has her on a long term, deep cover assignment." Irina pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear to God, if the CIA is using my daughter as bait in some ill-advised scheme-."

"I share your sentiment," Jack said. "We will have to identify her goal."

"It obviously has something to do with Rambaldi" Irina frowned. "It’s no secret that everyone in the intelligence community wants a piece of the Rambaldi pie. No, what concerns me is that Sydney–or whomever she’s working for–felt that she needed to fake her death in order to get it. That sort of thing reeks of Black Ops. That’s usually your area of expertise."

Irina leaned forward, her gaze intense. "So, why were you cut out of the loop? Why didn’t Sydney attempt to contact you?"

Jack wished room service would arrive and derail this conversation. Wearily he said, "I don’t know."

"I don’t either," she replied softly. "It’s not like Sydney to just drop out of sight." She took a deep breath. "I don’t think we can even say for certain that she’s working for the CIA. She may have been compromised."

"Sydney would never wilfully turn traitor. Or harm innocent people," Jack said forcefully.

"I know, Jack." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "No, what I’m saying is that we have to be prepared for the possibility that Sydney may have been "— she nearly choked on the word - reprogrammed. Either by the CIA, or someone else. I hope to God that isn’t the case, but we need to consider it."

"Impossible."

She rubbed her temples and sighed. "Jack, her behavior’s so erratic…."

Agitated, Jack stood and began taking halting steps around the room. "Irina, my conclusion is not based on wishful thinking, it is based on fact. It is categorically impossible for Sydney to have been reprogrammed."

Irina’s lips thinned. "Ah. A convenient side effect of Project Christmas, I take it?"

"Not a side effect. One of the four fundamental goals of the project. You already know this, of course, so I can only come to the conclusion that you're baiting me deliberately."

Irina’s hand tightened on the ice pack. Her knuckles grew white. "You arrogant bastard. Did you just have the gall to tell me that I should be grateful you brainwashed our daughter all those years ago?"

"Regardless." Jack’s eyes narrowed. "I did not brainwash her. I gave her the tools to protect herself, so that she could never be taken advantage of. I do not regret it. And if that is Sydney, and what she learned when she was six has kept her whole, then I’d say it was a damn good thing that I did it."

"Semantics, Jack. I know what Project Christmas was intended for, remember? America’s future spies. Russia’s too, once they had the prototype. If, as you say, Sydney can’t be brainwashed because of your little escapade into her mind, then that is fortunate. But that doesn’t change the fact that you had no right teaching a six year old child how to kill."

Jack bit back the response on the tip of his tongue. No, Project Christmas didn’t teach children how to kill directly. But indirectly… "You have no right --," he said forcefully. "No right to criticize my parenting. Whatever I may have done, or not done -- it was you who walked away from her."

"I know." Irina slumped in her chair. 

Her response threw Jack off-guard; he had been expecting further escalation. When it didn’t come, he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. "The most productive course of action is to identify her accomplice. Which we have already set in motion. We can cast a wider net if needed. I have contacts in-."

Room service knocked on the door. The waiter wheeled in a tray and clearly wanted to lay out the food with proper ceremony, but Jack thrust a large bill in his hand and sent him away. Limping to the table, Jack popped the cork on the wine and poured two glasses.

Irina sat and helped him arrange the dinner. A steaming plate of steamed cod and shrimp for her, and a steak for him. Salad, cold cuts, and chocolates rounded out the meal. Jack had been ravenously hungry when he made the order, and it showed. He gave her the glass of chablis for dinner and the glass of red for later. He began carving his steak with meticulous care, and they ate silently for several minutes until the edge of hunger had been taken off, and the wine spread a warm relaxation through the veins. 

Irina leaned back in her chair and swirled her wine in the glass. Resuming the conversation, she said, "Something about this bothers me. You say Sydney would never turn traitor, and I believe you. But you also claim that she can’t be brainwashed. Either she was coerced in some other way…" Irina flinched minutely at the possibility, "or she’s been working for the CIA all along. If that’s the case, it’s obviously something they didn’t want you involved in. Neither scenario fills me with confidence."

"Nor I," Jack said darkly. "If this is a CIA assignment, it was given by someone who knows that I would not have permitted it. I would have blocked the entire operation." 

Irina gave a wintery smile. "I’m sure you would have."

Jack struggled with his natural inclination for secrecy, and decided finally that if he and Irina were working together, it served no purpose for him to hold back pertinent information. 

But what is she holding back? He thought. "The CIA was stonewalling me. That's why I left."

Irina sat back in her chair, her gaze unfocused, thinking. "You neutralized my only contact within the CIA." There was no emotion behind the words, only bluntness. "So I'm flying blind there. Was this the first time you'd noticed interference?"

"There's always been political maneuvering, conflicting priorities. This is the first time it felt so purposeful and intentional–to the point when my contacts had no idea what was going on, and couldn't exert influence over it. It started shortly after Sydney's death."

"Sloane? He could have someone working from the inside."

"Of course. But it's not simply a mole or two, this is an entire policy shift."

"There could be another player in the game."

"That's also possible. With an alarming level of infiltration in the CIA."

Irina took a sip of wine. "Earlier, I mentioned the Covenant, how they've become more organized, more of a force in the Rambaldi arena. Jack, I suspect my sister may be leading the Covenant. I can't prove it, but it would explain their attack on Sydney. Which is why I was at that plant in Peru in the first place."

Jack put down his fork and looked at her intently. Sister? She might have mentioned this earlier. "Which sister?" he asked.

"Yelena. She's always been," Irina shook her head, "erratic. Fortifying the Covenant is a good move, if she wants to build up a power base. But infiltrating the CIA? It doesn't feel like something she'd do. I doubt she'd have the resources, even if she did have the Covenant at her back. No, she has something else in mind. And it involves Sydney."

Jack was silent for a long moment, attempting to master the anger that threatened to boil over. At length he said coolly, "Is there anything else I should know before we proceed?"

Irina raised an eyebrow. "No. I broached the subject earlier, if you remember. You didn't listen."

"If by 'broached the subject' you mean you dropped vague hints without providing specifics, preferring that I operate with an incomplete strategic model, then well done. Tell me the plain truth. Now."

Irina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's an outside possibility, Jack. As I said, I have my suspicions, but I can't prove it's Yelena. You're certain it's Sloane, and you may be right. But at the time, you didn't seem open to other options."

"You're right. Surely I should have seen through your prevarication in Peru. This misunderstanding is clearly my fault."

"Fine. You're right, I'm wrong. Do we really need to do this now?"

"No," Jack said. "Yelena Derevko," he continued, searching his memory for information relating to Irina's family. "Former KGB. Fifth Directorate. Russian mafia after 1992 And what about your other sister, does she factor in?"

"Katya? I haven't kept in touch with her, but this isn't her style. She's FSB, now. The only one of us who doesn't have a target on her back. At least as far as the Motherland is concerned. And she never followed Rambaldi."

"Former FSB," Jack corrected. "She retired last November."

Irina chuckled. "See? You have more information on my sister than I do."

Now that I know where to look, Jack thought. He said: "Tell me about Yelena. What isn't in her CIA file. She's a Rambaldi follower?"

Irina nodded. "She discovered his works before I did, but she never told me. I was in the States by that time, and after...we didn't talk.

"Yelena is difficult. Growing up, she was always in charge of any game we played." Irina smiled faintly. "Katya and I would join forces against her, just to have a chance to win. It was always about 'winning' for Yelena, you see. I think she loved us, in her way, but Yelena always came first." Irina grabbed the bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass. She offered the bottle to Jack.

He topped off his own glass, then passed her the plate of truffles he had ordered. The chocolates had been an impulse, because he knew they were favorites of hers. Or at least they had been favorites of Laura’s. "She has a fearsome reputation."

"It's well-earned. She was the first of us to be hired by the KGB. I've always suspected Yelena pulled strings to get Katya and I recruited. She does have a kind of family loyalty, no matter how twisted it is." Irina took a bite of her truffle, pausing to savor it.  

"It was only after we were inside that Katya and I learned exactly what Yelena did for the KGB. Fifth Directorate...even within the service, the branch was feared, if not outright hated. Most of the time, everyone just tried to pretend it didn't exist, to hope the men shadowing us were simply observing. We all knew people who had been brought in for questioning. They usually didn't return."

Irina's gaze was blank. "We all do things we abhor in the name of country. It's the nature of the game we're in. But Yelena...Yelena enjoyed her job."

Charming, Jack thought. "And you think, after going underground, she's become a major Rambaldi player?"

"I do. So you can understand my concerns. If Sydney is working for my sister, in any capacity, she's in danger. Yelena may have an actual fondness for her, but I can't guarantee that will keep our daughter safe."

"It is a valid possibility," Jack said. "But so far, I don't see anything that would rule out Sloane, or Yelena, or another party for that matter. The identity of Sydney's accomplice should help solidify who we're working against."

"Perhaps all three?" Irina replied grimly.

"At this point, I wouldn't be surprised," he admitted.

Irina finished off the last truffle. "These are good." She licked the excess chocolate from her fingers and wiped them on a napkin. "How’s your leg?"     

Jack watched her intently, and frowned at his involuntary response to her licking her fingers. Clearing his throat, he said, "It's fine." In truth, his leg throbbed painfully and once he had sat down, he did not want to attempt to stand. "It'll be fine."

"Which is Jack Bristow code for 'it needs to be amputated.' Let me take a look at it." Irina pulled the table away from him so she could see the wound. Blood was seeping through the fabric of his pantleg. "Wonderful." she said. "You need a new dressing at the very least, immediately."

"It’s nothing," Jack said automatically. Then he looked down at his leg and saw the stain; the pain had been such a constant over the last days that he didn't pay attention. His jaw set defiantly. "I can do it."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you can. But it'll be easier, and quicker, if I do it. Take off your pants and have another drink." She picked up the nearly-empty wine bottle and placed it on the side table for him. "I'll get set up."

The last thing Jack needed was for Irina… no, to be fair, the last thing he needed was for his leg to collapse on him. The coming days would require him to be mobile. He leaned back in the chair and loosened his belt. The wound had been seeping for some time, and the fabric of his slacks was firmly adhered to it. There was nothing for it–he pulled it away in one tug. He didn’t cry out, but sweat beaded on his forehead. He eyed Irina defiantly.

It was a look that was lost on her. She had turned away from him and was dragging an ottoman toward his chair. "We can rest your leg on this."

Resigned to the indignity, Jack awkwardly removed his slacks and Irina helped prop up his leg. She left momentarily to wash her hands, and he drained his wine glass and poured another. She returned and neatly set wound care supplies on the table.

Irina sat down beside him, scissors in hand. Blood had indeed soaked through the dressing, a splash of stark red against white. Carefully, Irina cut through the bandage, her touch gentle. Jack could feel the cool steel of the shears against his skin. "You've ripped out a few of the stitches," she said as his wound was laid bare.

Jack glanced down, examining the wound. The skin was red and swollen around the surgical site, the stitches like ants marching in a neat, straight line across his flesh. At the very end of the row, two had come out and the cut had opened, weeping blood. He was gratified to note that it was only blood, not pus. Not infected, then.The antibiotics Carmelita had given him staved off the worst. 

"Apparently." Jack agreed. He was glad she wasn’t looking at him, he felt his face contort in pain as she worked. "I can’t afford for this to slow me down."

"It won’t," Irina said firmly. "If you take care of it." She fell silent and concentrated on irrigating the wound and closing it with adhesive strips. She applied a fresh bandage and rose. 

He watched as she repacked the wound care supplies with swift efficiency, stuffing the used gauze and bandages into the small biohazard bag Carmelita had given her. Irina zipped the kit closed. "Thank you for coming back for me," she said. 

Jack froze, surprised. "You’re welcome," he said seriously. "I’m sorry it came to that. But my remote controls weren't functioning. There was no other way. Are you alright? I know you took a beating."

"Most of the damage is to my face, Nothing else seems to be bruised, fortunately. Except, perhaps, for my vanity." She smiled. Her injured cheek muscles pulled oddly at the corners of her mouth.

Jack almost smiled back at her; the self-disclosure prompting his … sympathy. "It’s temporary."

She waved a hand dismissively. "I know." Reaching up, Irina rubbed a hand along aching neck muscles. "I could really use a shower."

Jack nodded. "Me too. Why don’t you go ahead?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I’ll be slow anyway."

She nodded, then rose and headed toward the bathroom, grabbing a towel as she went.

Jack watched her disappear behind the door. He sat for a while, nibbling on the remaining food. His thoughts turned to Sydney–a living, vital Sydney he could find, if he only made the right choices, devised the correct strategies. Where was she now? What was she doing? Sharp pain returned when he realized that whatever it was, she hadn't told him. He perhaps deserved no more than that.

But if he took the time to consider, it laid bare a terrible pain. Sydney did not trust him, she let him think she had died. He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed the thoughts aside. He would not allow himself to wallow in self-pity. The current situation required action -- swift and decisive action. He did not want to think of any future beyond finding his daughter.

He stood with difficulty and picked up the clothes he had let fall. He made his way to his suitcase and pulled out clean underwear and toiletries. He considered his shaving kit, and opted not to use it. As much as he disliked stubble, it could prove useful if he needed to alter his appearance. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited until he heard the water shut off.

The door opened and Irina stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair secured neatly by a second, smaller one. "Your turn," she said.

Jack simply nodded and limped into the bathroom. He sat on the toilet and pondered the problem of bathing without wetting his wound. He grabbed two of the large towels and sat on the edge of the tub then switched on the water and let it pool. It was awkward and slow, but after a while he was able to sponge himself down and turn his attention to his hair. Some time later, he emerged from the bathroom clean and in boxers and t-shirt. 

Irina was sitting on the edge of the bed, their laptop perched on the bedside table in front of her. She was staring intently at the screen. "Feel better?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jack replied. "Where’s your ice?" He hobbled to the opposite side of the bed and sat. 

"What?" She glanced up at him, momentarily confused. "Oh, I’d forgotten. I was just going over the video from the bank again."

"I understand the fascination," Jack said carefully. "But the best way to help Sydney right now is to get some rest. And by refilling your ice pack."

She sighed. "I know you’re right." Irina shut the computer down and walked to the ice bucket. Opening  the washcloth, she scooped up more ice, stacking each cube on top of another until she had a small pyramid. After a moment, she said, "Jack, why did you come after me?" Irina kept her back to him.

"Game theory." The words came out harsher than he intended, so he explained. "Cooperation is the most effective means of pursuing a goal. If I had tried to pursue Sydney, I would have lost both of you. Besides, we had an agreement."

Irina returned to the bedroom, makeshift ice pack pressed to her cheek. "An agreement, yes." The words were hollow.

"I wasn’t going to abandon you."

"Why not?"

"It would have been counterproductive. And… unfaithful."

Irina’s eyebrows shot up. "Unfaithful? That’s an interesting term."

"It’s what one is when they enter into agreements falsely," Jack said acerbically.

"Thank you, oh Wise One, for enlightening me." She moved past him to the other side of the bed and he felt the mattress dip as she sat. "I must admit, I’m a little surprised you didn’t leave me behind. It would have been more convenient for you."

Jack ground his teeth and recalled that he had always hated it when she picked fights before bedtime. "No, for reasons I’ve already explained," he said pedantically.

"Ah. So, when Sydney is found, and our agreement is ended, you’ll turn me over to the CIA? Is that it?"

"That hadn’t been a part of my plan, no." Why was she pushing this? To get me to admit vulnerability, of course. Resigned, Jack pulled the blankets down on the bed.

"Interesting." Irina slid under the blankets, careful to keep a measure of space between them.

"Good night." Jack turned onto his side, away from her. Beside him, Irina did not move, but lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

In spite of his exhaustion, Jack remained tense for quite some time, but relaxed when he sensed her breathing deepen; and he fell asleep as well.