The Prisoner's Dilemma

Chapter Five

January 2004

Lima, Peru

Barranco District

While Irina shopped, Jack wearily reviewed the events of the last twenty-four hours. Two days ago he had been master of his own destiny, black as that destiny was. And now? He was helpless, drawn once again into Irina Derevko's web. In his exhausted state, he couldn't summon a significant degree of resentment. Sydney's death had eclipsed any damage Irina could inflict on him.

He could, if he truly wanted to, find a way to remove himself from this situation. But if he were completely honest with himself, he found her presence comforting. He did not care to examine why. So he remained.

No matter. It would be a short interval, as were all of his experiences with Irina in the past.

Jack shrugged mentally and sat up. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then stripped off his shirt. A jolt of pain leapt up his leg. Every movement was a struggle, and now that the situation was no longer urgent or dangerous, he was losing the edge necessary to push the pain aside and carry on.

So he thought about the mission, such as it was. With effort, he reached out to grab his duffel bag and dragged it across the floor, unzipping it and rifling through the contents. Marshall's datatriever was still there, to his relief. He had spent so much time this last day in and out of consciousness; he resigned himself to trust that Irina would manage their luggage and equipment.

He'd never had any reason to question her competence. That was at least one universal truth over the last thirty years.

Were there any other universal truths about her, he idly wondered.

With a wince, he leapt off that train of thought and palmed the medications Carmelita had prescribed- a course of antibiotics and painkillers. He took them with the last of the Bloody Mary. 

Jack laid back on the bed and attempted to doze, but couldn't settle. He was filthy, his clothes were tattered, and he felt well enough that it was bothering him. Standing, he hobbled into the bathroom, leaning on the wall to brace himself. He sat on the edge of the clawed bathtub, and considered his options. Managing a bath was a logistical challenge, but necessary. He was glad Irina was gone so she wouldn't see him struggle. 

The shop was smaller than most, set back from the bustle of the main avenues. Irina asked Segundo to stop, and he double-parked, allowing her to exit before speeding away to circle the block. Irina ducked in through the shop door and waited in the entrance for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. 

Racks of clothing were crowded into the small space. Irina's gaze snapped to the proprietor, a matronly woman seated on a stool behind the counter, knitting a shawl while a small, dusty television blared beside her. The woman didn't look at her new patron.

Which was fine by Irina. The shop held a mix of Peruvian and western style clothing. She touched a pair of soft white bayeta pants. She hadn't shopped for Jack in... well, in a long time. Irina squelched the sense of déjà vu. She spent a few minutes looking through shirts, slacks and vests before picking out a few items that were casual and comfortable, yet nondescript. She added a pair of jeans to the clothing draped over her arm. Quickly, she chose a few items for herself before heading to the counter. After a bit of haggling - Irina played the naive tourist and deliberately overpaid - she exited the store and waved down Segundo.

He had been idling across the street, waiting for her. He revved his engine and executed an audacious U-turn to line up at the curb for her. Irritated motorists honked enthusiastically at his maneuver. Ignoring their protests, the young man flashed a grin. "Where to next, Señora?"

Irina loaded her bags into the car beside others that contained shoes, socks, and underwear. "I think we're finished," she told him. "Back to the hotel."

Irina declined assistance from the hotel staff when she returned to their suite, juggling bags as she opened the door. She set them down just inside the room, and froze.

Jack leaned heavily against the head of the lounge, his body wrapped in nothing but a sheet, head lolled to the side and eyes closed, his breathing even with sleep. His hair was damp. She noticed he had managed to shave, his jaw smooth and stubble-free..

He made quite a picture, slouched in the chair with the sheet swathed around him like a toga. On another man, the ensemble would have looked comical, but on Jack... Irina shook her head, dismissing the thought, and the emotion that accompanied it.
 
She almost hated to wake him.
 
Irina strode forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Caesar, time to wake up. The cavalry has arrived."  

His eyelids fluttered open and his gaze rested briefly on her lips before he sat up and said, "Clothes?"

"Yes." She rifled through the bags and handed him a set of clothing, the fabric comfortable and loose to accommodate his leg. "I should check your wound before you change."

He seemed ready to protest, but he acquiesced, reluctantly. He gathered up the bedsheet to expose the wound.​​​​​​​

Irina rummaged through the medical supplies Carmelita had given them, and retrieved a roll of gauze and antiseptic. "Hold these," she said, before kneeling next to him to examine his wound. 

"It looks good," she commented, unwinding the bandage. The wound was raw, but the stitches still held. "No signs of infection." She painted the area with the antiseptic before re-wrapping it with a fresh bandage. "Finished." She looked up at him and flashed a quick smile. "I'd tell you to stay off of it, but we both know you won't listen."

Jack remained impassive, but she recognized a twitch in his jaw. 

Irina rose and took the medical supplies from Jack, stashing them in the bag. "I'm going to take a bath." She pinched a bit of her now grimy shirt between her fingers and pulled it away from her skin in disgust. "Call if you need me."

He looked at her a long moment, then said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Irina grabbed a towel from the stand and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Through the thin doors, Jack heard the water run, and then the squeak of the faucet as Irina turned off the water, followed by soft splashes. He imagined Irina dipping into the tub, and deliberately redirected his mind's eye from that tableau.

Careful not to risk his stitches, Jack slowly and deliberately dressed. Irina had correctly guessed the sizes, and the clothes were comfortable and fit well. After nearly thirty-six hours of being in a pain and drug-induced daze, he felt moderately human again. 

He still couldn't stand for any length of time, and his pronounced limp made even simple actions difficult. The large round had torn through the muscles of his thigh and the entire leg was weak and throbbed with even light use. 

Weighing his options, he decided it was a good time to review the data he had scraped from the server. He hobbled around the hotel room and set up the laptop Irina had retrieved from the cache at Adelmo's. He was plugging it into the datatriever when he heard the splashes as Irina stepped out of the tub.

The plantation doors opened and Irina emerged. She wore a cream-colored nightshirt and her damp hair hung about her shoulders. "Is that the data you got from the plant?" she asked as she dried her  hair with a towel.

"Yes," Jack replied. The scent of herbal shampoo wafted from her. God help him, she was beautiful. Her long, slender legs were bare, and her damp hair only accentuated the shape of her face. In spite of her beauty, she was still pale and drawn. Worn thin. He knew her well enough to interpret the signs. "I just started going through it."

She glanced at the black box attached to the computer. "Nice. Is that Marshall Flinkman's work?"

"Yes. I was able to mirror the plant's servers before you blew it up."

She laughed. "Then we both obtained our objectives. A successful op, all things considered." Her gaze dropped to his injured leg, then back to his face.

There was some truth to them having always been a good team, Jack thought. But he didn't speak the thought out loud, and was irritated with himself for even thinking it. Instead he said, "You should get some rest. I know you drove all night. This won't be indexed for a few hours."

Irina nodded. She placed her used towel on the rack in the bathroom and slipped into bed. "Wake me in a couple of hours?" 

"I'll wake you up for dinner," Jack offered.

For a moment, Irina looked as if she wanted to argue. Then she sighed and turned away from the picture window and the light streaming into the room. "Thanks," she said softly.

+++

Irina slept through the afternoon, and Jack wrestled with the server data. Marshall's device had delivered as promised, and the backup file was huge. Much larger than he had anticipated, which made him all the more curious to explore the contents. But the search algorithm - another gift from Marshall - had to index the entire library or he'd be picking through encrypted source code for months.

He sipped coffee and watched the automated text scroll on the laptop screen as the underpowered CPU steadily decoded and indexed. All the time, he was trying to decipher Irina's motives: her current game, and possible outcomes. 

It was so easy to fall into old habits born of a decade of marriage. Irina was also the only other person on Earth who understood his grief, because she shared it. There was comfort in being with her, as long as they didn't ask too many questions of each other. As long as they didn't address the herd of elephants in the room. But it was also a trap: he was in danger of being lulled into a false sense of security, of mistaking the illusion for reality.

Like he had over thirty years ago. 

Now that his head was clear, he had to decide how far this cooperation would go. It was not unlike the classic thought experiment of the prisoners cooperating with each other or the police. The best play was to work together. But work together on what, exactly? He had to draw his own boundaries, what he would accept, and what he could not condone. He already knew if it devolved into the never-ending Rambaldi scavenger hunt, he was not going to participate. But revenge? Revenge he would gladly collaborate on if it got him closer to putting a bullet between Arvin Sloane's eyes. And probably Julian Sark's as well. 

And there lay the other trap. Sark was Irina's man, originally. Jack knew with certainty Irina would not intentionally harm Sydney, if "harm" was loosely defined as "not murdering her friends or getting Sydney into a situation she couldn't get out of." But the fact remained that Irina set in motion a series of events which ended in her daughter finding herself in a situation that she did not get out of.

It had been arrogant, but it was unintentional. The decision-making that led up to that event, however, was well worth scrutiny.

DECRYPTION COMPLETE...
INDEXING SECTOR 937 of 1000...

He glanced at the screen. Almost done. Jack picked up the phone to call room service and order dinner.

He portrayed the always-drunk Mr. Johnson when the waiter arrived. Just one waiter this time, as the novelty of their dramatic entrance had worn off. Good. He laid out the food on the table and over-tipped the waiter with an exaggerated "Shhh" to keep from waking his long-suffering wife.

It was time to reopen Pandora's box.

"Irina," he called softly. She continued lightly snoring. He tried again, louder, to no result. He did not want to touch her in case she broke his neck out of instinct when startled, so he resorted to shaking the mattress.

Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up and stared at him, dazed. She blinked. "Jack. You let me sleep in," she said, clearly annoyed.

"I said I'd wake you for dinner," he pointed out.

She looked as if she wanted to say something, but rolled her eyes instead. Irina swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "What did you order?" she asked, peering at the covered plates as she sat.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I ordered a variety. Steak, seafood with plantains, grilled broccoli. Cheese tart for dessert. To keep up appearances, I ordered specialty cocktails in quantity."

She flashed him a smile. "Ah, yes. Must keep 'Señor Johnson' well supplied." Irina reached for the seafood and scooped a modest portion onto her plate.

They ate quietly, conversation limited to trivialities. Once finished, Irina called for the service cart to be removed, then turned to Jack. "Were you able to break the encryption on the server?"

"Yes. It just now finished indexing," Jack said coolly. "Which brings us to a discussion of parameters."

"Yes," Irina agreed. "We do need to discuss strategy, in the broad sense."

"Are you working with Sloane? That would create a broad strategic conflict."

"We've been over this, Jack. I've already told you no."

"Is Sark still working for you?"

Irina raised an eyebrow. "You've seen him more recently than I have. You haven't asked him?"

"I haven't had the opportunity." 

"No? Why not? I assumed you'd be one of the first to interrogate him."

"That's not relevant at this time," Jack said. "What is relevant is that you are actively avoiding explaining your intentions."

"You're not listening!"

"Enigmatic hints are not an explanation!"

Irina swore, the Russian harsh on her tongue. "It's my fault, Jack! If I had kept a tighter rein on Sark, Sydney might still be alive!" 

She was right. Jack saw in her face the cost of speaking that truth out loud. Wrenching guilt, hollow eyes. He knew how it felt. He had this same conversation with himself many times. He had thousands of opportunities to kill Sloane in the last twelve years, at least. If he had taken any one of them...

He couldn't absolve her, any more than she could absolve him. But she had given him the truth, and he could move forward with that.

"What do you know about the mining facility?"

Surprise flashed over her features. "What?"

"Why did you decide to run an operation at the facility?" Jack prompted. "You said you knew there would be a Circumference device there?"

Irina sat down and rubbed her temples. "I traced the agent who killed our daughter. What I found was enlightening."

Jack nodded, prompting her to continue.

"I found a name - The Covenant. Have you heard of it?"

"I have not."

"The members of the Covenant also follow Rambaldi's work. I discovered that Sark set up an exchange–Alison for Sydney." She paused to sip at a cocktail. "Señor Johnson has horrible taste." Irina continued. "I discovered that they constructed a Mueller device. There is only one reason to manufacture such a device, Jack; it's an incubator for a bioweapon."

"Like a virus?" Jack asked. "The one in Taipei?"

"Yes, and no. I never intended to create a bioweapon. That's not relevant now. The point is that I'm depriving the Covenant of resources. I want to watch them burn, Jack. ​​​​​​​Find out who they are, and watch them tear themselves apart."

Jack followed her logic, but there was one sticking point. "The mining facility is owned by Arvin Sloane," he said. 

"No it's not. It's owned by the Covenant. I would have noticed a reference to Sloane," Irina said dryly.

"I traced the bank accounts to shell companies held by Sloane," Jack said firmly. "That's why I was there."

"Jack, the Covenant was in operation long before Sloane came out of hiding."

"These are shell companies Sloane set up fifteen years ago. I know how he works, how he thinks. He controlled the facility."

Irina looked thoughtful. "When you've eliminated the impossible..."

"... Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Jack looked away; his eyes fell upon the mirror across the room. He could see himself in it, and Irina's back. They looked odd, he thought, sitting together in this eclectic hotel room.

Turning his mind back to the problem at hand, he knew the next course of action was as obvious as a mathematical proof. Obvious, and dangerous. What did he have to lose, ultimately?

With nothing of value left in his life, he was willing to make this wager.

"You came here to destroy a Rambaldi device owned by the Covenant," he said. "As it turns out, you destroyed a device built by Sloane. So," Jack said crisply. "Historical baggage aside, the crux of the problem is that while our goals may appear to be convergent, I do not trust you. This recalls the last time we agreed to work together against Sloane. Being betrayed by you yet again would be ... tedious. What guarantee do you offer?"

"Sydney." Irina closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her gaze was level with his. "You can think whatever you like about me, Jack. But do not for one second assume that I do not love our daughter. That should be enough, even for you."

Jack nearly scoffed at her professed love. Examples hovered on his tongue, the many times in the last year that she had tugged at Sydney's heartstrings and then ruthlessly crushed her hopes. He held back, though, because in Irina's eyes, in her voice, he could sense an echo of the ache that gripped his own soul. He could, after all, sympathize with loving a child but hurting her inadvertently.

And now, with the child gone, every other consideration melted away.

Jack returned her gaze steadily. "Fair enough. There's no point to this argument anymore. Know this, Irina: I walk into this with no illusions as to your reliability. You can betray me, but you won't fool me."

"And you? What does the CIA get out of this? What guarantee do I have that you won't try to put me in that cell again?"

"I'm on vacation."

Jack could see the wheels turning in her head as Irina scrutinized him. 

"Fine. Let's begin."

"I've attempted to trace Sloane's movements after Mexico City," Jack began, "but I was unable to locate his current residence, or base of operations. Have you learned anything that could locate him?"

"Unfortunately not. The Covenant is extremely dispersed. It has a cell structure that is compartmentalized beyond what is expected even for an organization of its type. It is also relatively new. The group arose out of nowhere a year ago. They started with the basics–arms dealing, international drug trafficking. No one thought to take any notice of them. Something so new couldn't possibly have a viable power base."

"Which suggests it was built on an existing power base," Jack said. 

"Yes. They have rapidly become a serious contender in Rambaldi circles. Given Sloane is backing them, it's not surprising." She drummed her fingers on her knee. "If we acquired a Rambaldi artifact and used it as bait, that may do the trick."

Jack knew that was coming. It made perfectly logical sense. Irina didn't need him to find Rambaldi artifacts, she was perfectly capable of acquiring them herself. It still grated, however. "Naturally," he said.

If Irina heard his sarcasm, she didn't show it. "I know a few search strings that might help speed this up." She gestured toward the computer. "May I?"

Jack swiveled the laptop so she had access to the keyboard. 

She tapped out a set of search parameters. Nothing. She tried a second set. Text scrolled up the screen.

The two of them trawled through the data, trading off when eye strain became a problem. Irina ordered a carafe of coffee, under the guise of sobering up her 'inebriated' husband. They were into the third hour when Irina sat back in her chair and shot Jack a triumphant look. "There. Stockholm. Scatola di Pace."

Jack scanned the information. Artifact believed to be owned by private collector Gustus Hannes, a Norwegian oil magnate, who signed a contract with GK&K, a private security holdings firm in Stockholm. "What significance does this item have?" he asked.

Irina shook her head. "I don't know. This particular item hasn't been seen in the open market for perhaps one hundred years. There isn't a consensus on what Rambaldi's endgame really is. There are different paths to its fruition, depending on what you believe. I don't know which technologies this item relates to. I've heard of Hannes, but only in passing. What the item does is less important than the fact that it has been located."

"And you propose we acquire this item?"

"Yes. Retrieving the box shouldn't be too difficult. Then we put it on the black market, and wait for Sloane to bite."

It was a standard operation of this type, Jack knew. He had even done it before with the CIA, with Rambaldi items as well as more mundane technology. He set aside for now his distaste for the Rambaldi game, and agreed. "All right. We can make travel arrangements tomorrow, obtain op tech in Sweden, and then rob the vault."

Lima, Peru
Jorge Chavez International Airport

Jack sat stiffly in his seat, his jaw rigid, gazing fixedly out the window at the tarmac. The plane was, predictably, delayed, and they had been sitting there for over an hour. The journey had already been interminable, and they hadn't even left Peru yet. Yesterday had been spent planning (and arguing) with Irina, and today was worse with a painful trek through the airport. His leg throbbed and his mood was sour.  

Irina shifted beside him; he sensed her eyes on him. "You should try to get some rest," she said. "If you'd taken the pills I gave you --"

Jack bristled at her suggestion. "It's not necessary," he snapped. He reached for the in-flight catalog and began perusing it as if it were literature worthy of careful study.

"Not necessary?" Beneath them, the jet engines roared to life. "Damn it, Jack, you're in pain and exhausted. Which is exactly why I didn't want you going in the first place. I refuse to put both our lives at risk just so you can play the silent martyr."

Martyr? Jack thought. I won't be her willing dupe. In spite of his aggravation, he casually flipped the magazine pages. "Let's take a walk through your scenario, shall we? I stay behind in a location of your choosing, while you go out and obtain the item." He didn't want to say 'Rambaldi' in public, but was sure she would get the idea. "Then you circle back and pick me up?"

Irina raised an eyebrow. "You're not fit for an undercover op right now, and you know it."

"You're not answering my question."

Irina sighed. "All right, let's take a look at your scenario. In it, we both raid Stockholm's GK&K Trust, despite the fact that you can't even stand up without assistance. How far will we get, I wonder, before someone guns us down because you were just a second too slow?"

"The solution," Jack said crisply, "is to develop an op that takes both our concerns into account."

Irina closed her eyes briefly. "All right, a compromise. Would you be happy with a less hazardous role?

Jack nodded. "If I have adequate oversight of the operation."

The airplane's engines reached a high-pitched whine, and they started to move. "I think that can be arranged," Irina replied.

A touch of humor tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth. "You agreed to a compromise."

Irina bit her lip. "I did."

Jack grunted and flipped the page. The cabin crew worked their way down the aisle, making sure tray tables were down and seatbelts were fastened. "So, Sweetheart." he said for the benefit of the flight attendants nearby. "What do you think of the radio-controlled aroma therapy disco ball for the den?" He turned the catalog around and showed her the picture.

Irina wrinkled her nose. Without missing a beat, she said, "Too seventies."

Jack's mouth went dry, the humor drained away. She was mocking him, surely. "Yes," Jack nodded sagely. "I can see where the seventies would hold bad memories for you."

Irina shrugged lightly. "Oh, I don't know. They had their good moments."

"It was a period of great personal and professional success," Jack pointed out. He already regretted opening this topic. But all the same, he couldn't resist digging, or in this case, instigating.

"I did have a great deal of personal satisfaction, yes. My career path, however, left something to be desired."

"I never would have guessed. But then again, I didn't, did I?"

"Oh, I think you knew a lot more about me than you give yourself credit for."

Jack flipped another page in his catalog. It ripped. What the hell was she trying to do? Confuse him.  Irritate him. He was angry at himself for continuing the exchange; the only thing to do was to end it now. "But overall, you're quite correct. There's no reason to relive the past."

A shadow passed quickly over her features. "You should try to sleep," she said. "It's going to be a long flight."

"I'll take it under consideration," Jack replied sharply before stuffing his catalog into the seat pocket. When the flight attendant reached their row, he ordered a whiskey.

"Do whatever you like," she snapped. Irina tilted her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.