January 2004
Södermalm, Stockholm
Sweden
GK&K Trust Headquarters
Time slowed. Irina tried to move, but her limbs seemed heavy, as if she were sinking into mud. She heard the vault doors slide open. Guards rushed in and surrounded her. They had long faces, and their hands were white and skeletal against the black metal of their guns.
"Stand back," an authoritative voice announced, and two of the guards moved to the side to allow the other man in.
It was Jack, grim-faced and leaning on a cane. He bent over her and inspected her, and gazed at her intently, as if she were a particularly interesting insect. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell was going on, but no sound came out, merely a soft puff of air as she exhaled. He looked stretched somehow, his skin leached of color. What is... She groped for the words again, trying to push past the thickness in her mind.
His features twisted into a frown and he tilted his head, as if inspecting her from a different angle. "She is not unconscious. What gas was used?"
A guard replied nervously, "It's a paralytic."
Irina stared up at them. Everything seemed out of focus -- faces stared down at her, strangely distorted. Their voices sounded tinny and far away. Something inside her screamed that she should fight, escape. Adrenaline surged through her body and her legs twitched.
Jack turned and said something to the guard to his left. The man nodded. She saw him reach for a pair of handcuffs.
Irina's lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Her gaze darted to Jack. His back was turned toward her as he conferred with two other guards.
Bile rose in her throat. You. Betrayed. Me. She thought savagely. Her gaze burned into his back.
After a moment, the three finished their conversation, and one of the guards started toward her. He knelt down beside her and shoved her roughly onto her stomach.
As she felt the hard metal of the cuffs against her flesh, Irina panicked. She tried desperately to lash out. Once again, her body refused to obey her.
The guard turned her back over, and Irina glared daggers at Jack. Her earlier fears came back in a rush. Had he planned this all along? He looked so damn confident standing there.
Bastard. Look at me! She wanted to scream. Is this what you wanted? It's all so convenient, isn't it?
Her head hurt. Irina was grateful for the sensation; the rest of her body lay frozen, unresponsive. The uniformed guards swarmed around her like angry bees. Panic engulfed her, suffocating her with its weight. A guard reached down to grip her shoulder. His fingers bit into her flesh.
Jack's voice echoed in the vault, distorted and ominous. He barked instructions and the pale guards scurried to respond to his commands. Irina was hauled onto her feet - the sudden motion causing her head to spin and her stomach to churn. They dropped her none-too-gently onto a steel chair and used it to carry her out of the vault and into the elevator. Irina's head lolled to the side and she made an involuntary gurgling sound.
"Stop," Jack said sharply. "Put her down." He bent over her again, this time capturing her chin with his hand, leveling his gaze at her. His eyes bored into hers, a silent interrogation. He continued to hold her head up in place with one hand, the fingers of his other hand rested against the side of her neck.
Irina tensed. Was he going to kill her, right in the middle of the hallway? A thread of fear wormed its way through the haze in her mind. She met his gaze defiantly. Go ahead, you bastard. Do it. I thought you had more guts than this.
Instead, Jack said, "This gas was more than a simple paralytic. Does it affect respiration?"
Another guard answered, but Irina only heard the sound of the man's voice, not his words, so intense was Jack's inspection. After a long minute Jack sniffed and turned away. Her head fell backwards and the guards picked her up again.
Irina's eyes narrowed. She was absurdly proud of herself when she managed a small hiss.
The ride to the upper level seemed excruciatingly long and dizzying. The elevator doors slid open, and she felt the guards lift her chair slightly as they exited. The world tilted sickeningly at the movement, and Irina fought not to retch.
The men carried Irina down the hall and into a small, stark interview room. Jack instructed four of the six men to guard the vault elevator and deploy reinforcements to prevent any further breaches. "Set her down there," he indicated the far corner of the room. As the extra men left, Jack asked the sergeant, "How long do the effects of the gas last?"
The man shrugged. "And hour? Perhaps two? It's never been deployed before."
Jack nodded and took a small notebook from his suit jacket pocket. He sat on the edge of the desk and started jotting down notes. "Is there an antidote?" The guard shook his head.
They continued speaking, and Irina quickly lost the thread of the conversation. Her fingers were tingling, an uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation. After a moment, the feeling spread to her wrists. She could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs biting into her flesh. Gingerly, she flexed her hands. Irina's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. The left cuff was loose. Whether it was because he didn't think she was a threat, or simple carelessness, she didn't know, and didn't care. The guard's mistake would serve her well.
Irina tensed, easing her left hand out of the restraints. The metal scraped painfully against her skin. A second later, though, pain was forgotten as triumph rushed through her. Surging to her feet, Irina whipped the cuffs across the sergeant's face. He reeled backwards, clutching his broken nose
Out of the corner of her eye, Irina saw Jack advance towards her. Before he could stop her, she lurched forward, knocking the cane out of his hand. Irina aimed a short, sharp kick at his injured thigh, but her balance faltered and she missed. Her momentum carried them both to the floor.
Undaunted, Irina wrapped her hands around his throat and squeezed. "Traitor." The word was barely audible, a whisper, but venom dripped from her voice. He pulled at her arms, and fear sparked in his eyes.
A pair of strong arms pulled Irina off of Jack. The remaining guard straddled her and struck her fully across the face. She gasped as her head hit the concrete. Irina grimaced and drew her legs up, shoving her attacker off of her. Before she could get to her feet, the guard was on top of her again. His fist struck her face and she tasted blood.
"Stop!" Jack's voice cut through the melee. The guard dropped his final blow. Listlessly, Irina turned her head to see Jack pull himself up from the floor, pale-faced and breathing heavily. "That is an emotional reaction," he said crisply. "It will only distract from the objective." He straightened himself and leaned on his cane. "Have a seat, Rolf," he indicated the injured sergeant "You," he addressed the other guard. "Cuff her wrists again, and her ankles. Now that the experimental and highly ineffective paralytic gas has failed, we need to take her to corporate security. Can you carry her to my vehicle yourself? Good. Let's go."
The guard slung her over his shoulder, and Irina fought back another wave of nausea. The floors changed from concrete to carpet and back again under her gaze as her captor followed Jack through the winding corridors of the bank. They reached the loading dock outside, and the surveillance van that Jack and Irina had acquired for the op. Jack opened the back doors of the van, and instructed the guard to set Irina down on the floor.
"Sir," the guard asked. "What kind of vehicle is this?"
Then she heard a thud and saw a blur of movement as the guard fell out of Irina's field of view. Jack slammed the van's back doors shut, and Irina's heart lurched. Where was he taking her? To a CIA facility? Or had he simply decided to finish what he'd started in the hallway?
As the van started to move, she saw the street lights blur into streaks of light. Irina struggled to her knees. Whatever Jack had planned, she'd be damned if she'd face him bound and drugged into submission.
Some time later, the van pulled to a stop. Jack limped to the back and knelt over Irina. "While I appreciate your desire to add verisimilitude to the proceedings," he said as he unlocked her wrist and ankle cuffs. "That was not necessary."
Irina shook her head. "Not necessary?" She forced the words out between numb lips. "What is this, Jack? Why didn't you just shoot me? Or were you enjoying your little power trip back there?" She rotated her wrists, working the stiffness out.
The world was spinning again. She dragged a hand over her face. God, her head hurt. Jack was there, in front of her. Too close, she thought. It was too warm. She needed to get out.
She scooted forward and shoved at Jack's shoulder, squeezing past him into the fresh air. She sucked in a breath of frigid, clean, night air. It cleared her head a bit, and she was able to focus her gaze on Jack.
Jack frowned. "I see. I am willing to make allowances for drug-induced delirium," he said dryly. "So to put that entire episode into proper context: I was rescuing you by passing myself off as the vice-president of corporate security."
Irina rubbed her bruised wrists and grunted in response.
"If that's the case, then what took you so long?" She winced at the raspy tone in her voice.
Jack's eyes narrowed and he regarded her intently. "There's something you need to see."
"Oh?" There it was again, the evasiveness she sensed over the communications line. While Jack was no stranger to circumspection, this went a bit far, even for him. She crossed her arms. "Jack, I'm tired. My body feels like it's been through a meat grinder. If you're going to sit there and drop hints..."
"Just..." Jack appeared ready to explode with irritation. He visibly calmed himself down and continued evenly, "I have a freeze-frame image of the intruder who preceded you into the vault." Without further explanation, he turned his back on her and sat at the video console in the van.
Irina rubbed her temples wearily and pulled herself up into the van again. Leaning over Jack's shoulder, she studied the grainy image intently. Recognition dawned, and she gasped.
"Sydney?"
She lifted a hand to the monitor, fingertips grazing the image on the screen.
Jack watched her closely, his eyes taking in every minute expression on her face. Without moving his gaze from Irina, he said, "The resolution is poor, and the angle inconclusive. It could be anyone."
Irina let her hand drop. "True. But Jack, if there's even a chance..."
"Then you think...it could be her?" He asked, his dark eyes burning with intensity.
She stared at the monitor for a long moment. The woman on the screen was in profile, her hair an ash-blond, rather than the natural dark brown. But the set of the jaw, the stance...Irina turned to him. "Rationally? I know you're right. The picture's inconclusive. But my instincts are telling me that that's Sydney. I don't know how, or why. But that is our daughter, Jack."
Jack finally tore his eyes from Irina and looked at the grainy image on the screen. At length he said, "I think so, too."
