Chapter Seven


Every once in a while, Sark decided he no longer had a crush on Sydney Bristow. The resolution never lasted all that long, but never had it burned in such a spectacular conflagration as it did at this moment.

She stood in front of him, garbed only in a dark, flowing wig and the smallest imaginable scraps of silver fabric, directly in the sights of his gun. And yet her eyes held no fear, no panic, nothing but pure hatred. God, what a woman.

"You want the diamonds?" Sydney held up one arm, and for the first time Sark realized that a gray pouch dangled from her wrist. "Never thought you were that obsessed with money."

"Money is a means to an end."

Sydney sighed. "And diamonds are a means to money. Fine, then. I wouldn't want to deny the needy. If you've stooped to committing armed robbery, I guess you're hard up."

This was true, Sark thought as he stole another glance at the bikini bottom, albeit not in the sense she meant. "Take the diamonds from the bag and show them to me." She did so, and her palm glittered with pink, blue and yellow lights. For a second, Sark felt a surge of longing for them - not for their value, but for their beauty. It was an aesthetic impulse, no more. "Return them to the bag, then slowly slide the bag along this counter toward me."

As she followed his instructions, Sydney said, "Just making a wild guess here, but if you're holding a gun on me, I take it that means the Covenant is double-crossing our plan across the board."

"I'm not the one who deviated from the plan, darling." The gray sack of diamonds thudded satisfyingly into his hand, and Sark quickly tucked it into the pocket of his coat. "The second half of my question remains unanswered."

"I don't have the Waning Moon."

"But you know where it is."

Sydney frowned. "No, I don't. I'm telling you the truth. I thought it was in here - switched with the diamonds. That's why I came here in the first place."

Everything about her statement made logical sense: Why would Sydney put herself in danger to come to a vault she knew to be empty? Certainly it went against everything Sark knew of Jack Bristow, to believe that the man would endanger his daughter's life for no purpose beyond scoring points off Arvin Sloane.

But Sark knew that, if he were in Sydney's place, he wouldn't have put herself in danger for nothing. There was more to the story, undoubtedly - and that might be what led him to the Waning Moon.

He'd always wanted to work with Sydney someday. He'd never really wanted to kill her. But, down deep, he'd always known which of those outcomes was more likely.

**

The red-haired lady stopped rolling - but not screaming - when the back of her chair hit a Ford F150. Weiss wanted to run to her as fast as he could, but he couldn't let Lauren leave his side, and damn, that girl was slow. "Come on!" he urged.

"YOU try running in Birkenstocks," she huffed, and Weiss thought that maybe, just this once, the girl had a point.

By the time they reached the poor woman, she was already trying to use the truck's bumper to pry the rope away from her arm. "Oh, God. You've got to get me loose," she said.

"Dude, this sucks." Weiss was careful to keep it in character. He knelt by the woman's side, noticing again that she had only one of her shoes. "Were you, like, kidnapped or something?"

"I don't know!" The red-haired woman looked more confused than scared, at least now that she wasn't flying across the asphalt at 20 miles per hour. "At first I thought it was a robbery - the new dealer I hired today, and this redneck who'd been counting cards, they broke into the vault along with this English guy I hadn't seen before -"

Oh, shit, Weiss thought. NO part of this plan involved throwing women out in the parking lot, particularly not on wheels.

"But then the English guy got mad about something, and then it was like he was holding the others hostage, and then the dealer - the handsome one - he saved me -"

Weiss looked up. Lauren looked down. Their eyes met.

He lunged toward her too late; the blow slammed into the back of his skull so hard he could smell blood. The woman was screaming again, and Weiss didn't know why his face felt so cold and hard.

Oh, wait. It was against the pavement. That would explain it.

"Nice working with you," Lauren whispered, too near his ear. Weiss managed to open one eye and see her leering above him. "But, you know, all good things - AAGHH!"

A spiked heel smashed into Lauren's face, sending her sprawling backward as the red-haired woman yelled, "I have had ENOUGH of this for one day!"

Weiss would've cheered, if he'd thought he could move without throwing up.

Lauren didn't come back swinging. She didn't come back at all. He could see her - at least her sandaled feet - as she scrambled upright and began hurrying away. After a couple seconds, he heard another woman, farther away, protesting in Spanish that something was wrong, and wasn't she hurt? Lauren's only response to this kindness was to run.

"What the hell is going on here?" said the woman in the chair as she tried to roll a little closer to Weiss. "Oh, thank God, this lady's coming to help - I wish I spoke Spanish -"

White Nikes were coming closer to Weiss' face; the next words he heard were in accented English: "I'm terribly sorry about this. What you did was quite brave, and I'm sure you've been through a lot, but I must inconvenience you once more." One heavy thud, and then the red-haired woman's legs went slack.

The woman from the casino, Weiss realized. Jack's mystery agent.

"I'll put her in the van and call security after we're gone," said the voice from above. "How are you?"

Weiss weighed that question very carefully. "I think maybe I can sit up."

"Not promising. But give it a try."

He did, and though the world swirled terribly, twisting his stomach in knots, Weiss was able to keep himself together. Jack's agent was wearing a gray wig and a sweatshirt, and when she knelt by his side, her expression was kind. "I realized we had trouble when you weren't in the van," she said. "Thank God I ran into Miss Reed in time to make the switch."

At least one disaster was averted, then. But Weiss was pretty sure others were brewing. "Sark's double-crossed Dixon and Marshall. I don't know what they're doing -" he sucked in a breath, trying to steady his head. " - but I'm guessing it's seriously bad." Sloane - no big shock - had broken his word. The shock was that whatever he'd done was something Jack Bristow hadn't been prepared for. Weiss hadn't quite thought that was possible. And what it meant was that all of them - including Syd and Vaughn - were in one hell of a lot of trouble. "We gotta get back in there."

"No," the mystery agent said. "I'll get back in there and let Jack know what's going on. But you're out of this. I'm putting you in a cab to the airport."

Weiss turned his head toward her to object, but that made the whole world swim and blur in front of his eyes again. Sydney and Vaughn were just going to have to take care of themselves. Hollowly, he repeated, "Yeah. I'm out of this."

**

Dixon knew, on one level, that they were screwed. No telling where the diamonds were, and if they were wrong about the diamonds, they could be wrong about any number of things - including the location of the Waning Moon.

On another level, he knew that he was having more fun than he'd had since he found out SD-6 wasn't the CIA. This feeling - the thump of his heartbeat, the cool-hot contrasts of adrenalin - this was too good to let go, ever again.

Next to him in the service corridor, Marshall was bouncing on his heels. "You seem nervous," Dixon said. "You can establish a secure line through the security station, can't you?"

"Ain't nothin' but a thang," Marshall said, which Dixon vaguely suspected might be jive for "no problem." "Just still all keyed up, you know? But I'm on it."

How could he re-enter field work? Somebody else could be assigned to head up their division; sometimes, Dixon thought the higher-ups might even approve Jack Bristow reclaiming the position, if for no other reason than they might know where the man was a slightly higher fraction of the time. But what reason could Dixon give for his own change? Psych examined all reassignment requests, and he strongly suspected Judy Barnett would object if his read: Wanted more kicks.

But Robin and Stephen - didn't he need this job to keep them safe? That consideration might have weighed more heavily upon him before the kidnapping two months before. Now, it felt like he would do better to keep a gun in his hand a little more often.

"Almost there," Marshall said, sticking the tip of his tongue from his mouth as he concentrated on a trick of the wiring. Then he grinned and started coding in numbers, the tones echoing amid the clank and thud of the pipes in the corridor. Imitating an automated operator's voice, Marshall intoned, "THENK you for using AT and -"

A flash of white, a crack that sounded like bone, and Marshall tumbled to the floor, unconscious. Dropping from above was a woman that Dixon recognized from security briefings as Olivia Reed.

The Ace of Diamonds was now in play.

"I don't think I killed him," Olivia said, stepping over Marshall's inert body. "I'd prefer to do this without killing you."

"Getting softhearted?" Dixon raised an eyebrow. Playing it cool was the best way he could think of to distract her attention from the fact that he was unarmed. "That won't take you far in the Covenant."

"The Covenant takes me where I want to go," she said. Her gun - shining silver, and enviable in even less dire circumstances - was at her side, not pointed at him yet. "But I'm always the one behind the wheel."

"I don't doubt it." Movement behind Olivia made Dixon's heart jump, before he realized it was just the service-phone receiver, dangling from its cord where Marshall had dropped it. Then he noticed - there was no dial tone. No ringing.

The call got through. Jack Bristow was listening to every word they were saying.

"So tell me," Dixon said, hoping against hope that she'd take the bait. "Why the double-cross? Why not share the message? What the hell does Rambaldi have to say?"

Olivia shrugged; her heavy golden hair fell forward from her shoulders. "Nobody knows. If we knew what the message was, there wouldn't be much point in obtaining the Waning Moon in the first place, would there?"

Dixon hid his disappointment; Olivia was talking, but only because she wasn't saying anything important, and she knew it.

"So this double-cross - it's just for its own sake." Dixon shook his head. "Just to keep us out of the game."

"Has there ever been any other reason? You're a grown man. I'd think you would have realized this by now."

"Maybe I keep wishing for a better class of enemy."

Her face changed; to Dixon's astonishment, he thought she was holding back a smile. "Then maybe we have something in common." 

Their eyes met. A few things occurred to Dixon at once:

She had a really beautiful face.

He not only was noticing women's faces again, he was noticing very inconvenient women's faces at very inconvenient times.

And he'd been out of the field too long if he'd forgotten that adrenalin sometimes did strange things to the male mind.

"Did you kill your husband?" Dixon's brain snapped into focus with a few thoughts about praying mantises and black-widow spiders. "Or was that Lauren after all?"

"Doesn't matter," Olivia answered, as calmly as if though she was at an airport counter and somebody had asked "window or aisle?" "He's dead, and I'm free."

Dixon laughed. "As long as you work with the Covenant - you're never free."

Olivia's eyes darkened and she brought the gun up toward him; apparently he'd pushed his luck just a little too far. "It's been nice talking, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to bring this chat to a close."

"What? We're just now getting acquainted."

The response to this was something Dixon felt, not heard - a bone-deep thud in his jaw that sent the world sprawling. Then he did hear something, a sound that he suspected might be his own body hitting the floor.

He opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - to see Olivia Reed crawling over him so that her blonde hair brushed against his face. "If you ever get sick of coloring inside the lines," she said, "give me a call. You're wasted in the CIA."

"I don't agree." He could throw her now, if he could only move his arms.

"I think you're eager for more, Mr. Dixon." Olivia's face was very close to his now. "I think you need a little more fun in your life."

Which was exactly what he'd been thinking, with one critical distinction: "I do not have fun with international terrorists."

"Too bad." Her red lips twisted in a smirk. "I'm sure Jack Bristow would tell you - you meet the most interesting women that way."

Then the silver gun flashed down again, and everything went dark.

**

Sloane had checked out of the room shortly after Olivia had left it; Olivia's skill notwithstanding, he had no doubt that Jack would detect the double-cross within a few minutes. When his cell phone rang again, Sloane was only surprised that he'd had enough time to get in his limo.

"Just tell me this, Arvin." Jack had somehow become even colder. "Did you ever contemplate following through on our agreement? Even for an hour? It's merely morbid curiosity, but I wanted to ask."

"What concerns Rambaldi concerns Nadia," Sloane said. "Forgive me for putting my loyalty to her ahead of my loyalty to you. You've done the same for Sydney, and I've never judged you for it."

"The message in the Waning Moon also concerns Sydney." Jack paused, then said, "I take it you're putting me on notice -- that your lifelong obsession with my daughter will no longer protect her."

Could Jack ever understand the dread that had gripped him these past three years? The horror of knowing that he might someday have to sacrifice Sydney's life to save his own child? "Nadia is my first priority," Sloane said. "Just as Sydney is yours. I made a promise to myself when I learned Irina had given birth to my child - a promise that nothing would ever be more important than my daughter."

"I've made promises too," Jack said. His voice was different, but Sloane had no time to determine precisely how; Jack immediately hung up.

Heart heavy, Sloane punched in another number. Olivia Reed answered, "What?"

"You sound distressed," he said. "Is everything going well?"

"Fine," she said. "I'm just - annoyed with myself."

"Jack Bristow just called me. If he's been following the original plan, then he's already in the Pleasure Dome. He's aware of the double-cross, and he's about to take action."

Olivia sighed. "I'm on it." Sloane did not repeat his insistence that she not kill Jack; he knew she remembered, and he was reasonably confident that she would obey. But Jack had not heard those instructions, and he would probably fight to defend himself. In those circumstances, anything could happen.

So be it. For the time being, perhaps Jack and Sydney had to fall by the wayside. The day might yet come when they would understand everything - all his choices, all his gambles, the full extent of the price each of them had had to pay. Then, perhaps, apologies could be made. Sloane was ready to forgive.

**

Now that Will had completed all his tasks, and the Really Cool Mysterious Woman was gone, his mission had entered a stage that could best be called "boring as hell."

Flipping channels with the remote, Will tossed a few pillows behind his bed and settled back for an uneventful few hours. He went by one channel so quickly he almost missed it, but there were certain images that required only a millisecond to register in the male brain. He flipped back, then grinned.

Yes! Free porn. This night was looking up -

The hotel phone rang, and Will answered in his best high-roller voice. "Hel-LO. Who am I TALKING to?"

"Mr. Tippin," Jack Bristow said, "I'm afraid I need you to take care of one further task tonight."

Oh, crap. There was trouble. "Yeah, yeah, anything. What is it?"

Just then, the buxom girl on the TV screen started screaming, "Give it to me, baby! Pound me harder!"

Will fumbled with the remote to shut the television off, but not in time to prevent an awkward pause on the line. Jack finally said, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No! Absolutely not - just - uh - the room has free porn."

"I see." Most men would understand about free porn. Jack did not seem to be one of these men. "If you would be so good as to interrupt your leisure activities, you could help us get Mr. Dixon and Mr. Flinkman out of the casino."

"Why can't they get themselves out of the casino?"

"They were attacked by one of Sloane's operatives. Due to your believed status as a high-roller at the casino, and your real status as a relative outsider to espionage, I think Sloane will be reluctant to move against you. Dixon and Marshall are both injured. I don't know how seriously, but I suspect you won't need to find them medical attention. Just get them out of the Xanadu and to the airport. Slide the key card to your room halfway beneath the door as you leave; I want the space available if anyone needs it."

Holy crap, holy crap, this was BAD. Will could feel panic welling up - not so much at the thought of the attacker, but because he didn't know what to do. "How am I supposed to get two injured guys out of the casino?" Carry them? Marshall, maybe, but Dixon was a big guy.

"I can't devise a scenario with as few facts as I have available. I can only tell you their location and leave the rest to your ingenuity."

That was either the most terrifying or the most flattering thing Will had ever heard. Quite probably it was both. He liked thinking of himself as a guy who could handle this stuff, but really, when you got right down to it, he did one of two things in spy situations: he hung onto Sydney and/or Jack and hoped for the best, or he got squashed like a bug. That was the beginning, middle and end of the Spy Will Story.

Then he found himself remembering the Really Cool Mysterious' Woman's voice: Write another story.

He took a deep breath. "Tell me where they are."

**

It had taken Vaughn too long to get to the south vault to check on the override - in other words, to make certain Dixon, Marshall and Sark had gotten out of the south vault with the diamonds, and that no other security guards, more committed to the job, went there instead. Every few minutes, he was pulled aside by some of these guards who wanted to talk about the explosion, their theories, and the absolutely critical reasons they had for checking out the scene across the street. Some people were suckers for a change in routine.

Vaughn would give anything to have a routine again.

With some difficulty, he put his depression aside. He had a job to do: get the others out of the south vault, then get back to the north vault and make sure Sydney was okay. Not that she'd need it - just to check.

Seeing Sark again wasn't going to be any fun, particularly as he wasn't going to have a chance to murder the son of a bitch. The memory of electricity coursing through him, searing pain and utter humiliation intertwined, still awakened Vaughn in the early hours of the morning, made him spend hours staring out his window at the black night sky. Was Lauren really the force that had caused all his wounds? Or had she merely been the blade in Sark's hands?

In Sark's hands. Literally. Her infidelity hurt him, still, though Vaughn couldn't say why.

He put his hand on his standard-issue gun - nowhere near as powerful or accurate as the weapons he used at the CIA, but serviceable - as he made his way through the hallway leading directly to the south vault. Almost immediately, his training kicked in, taking over from his overtired mind. And just as quickly, that training drew Vaughn's attention to details that were all wrong.

The hallway had two dark streaks along its length, as if somebody had dragged something heavy down it - a cart, perhaps, or maybe a chair. A woman's shoe, a single black patent-leather heel, lay just outside the doorway. And the door was slightly ajar.

Vaughn couldn't put those clues together into a narrative, but he knew that they were no longer anywhere near the original plan.

Sliding along the hallway, he listened carefully for any sound, any hint of what was happening. Almost immediately, he received it.

"If you want the Waning Moon, you're not going to find it like this," Sydney said. What the hell was Sydney doing in this vault? And where was the Waning Moon? Wasn't she supposed to have it? "Why are you hanging around the one place you know the Waning Moon ISN'T?"

"Because you have information." It was Julian Sark's voice, as cold and arrogant as it had been the night of Vaughn's torture. "Information I mean to hear."

Vaughn knew too well how far Sark would go for that. His first impulse was to contact Jack, who would no doubt respond to such a threat at near-light speed. But he couldn't speak into the mic in his hat without alerting Sark to his presence. And leaving - with Sydney in trouble - was not an option.

I can't do this, he thought. I can't be trusted with this.

But there was nobody else.

**

Bell, dice, cherries.

Double bar, bar, bell.

Diamond, cherries, 7.

Honestly, Katya thought, this is strange entertainment. One quarter, three pictures, no money. Maybe this counted as excitement for people who never took risks. To her, this was the definition of boredom.

Double bar, 7, dice.

"Win anything?" It was her sister's voice.

Katya only half-turned to acknowledge Irina; making a scene would serve nobody's purpose. "Not yet. I'm only playing for the hell of it."

"Is there any word?"

"If I'd heard anything further about Nadia, I would have contacted you immediately. You know that."

"I do. But I had to ask. I can't stop wondering."

"What have you heard?" Katya asked. A shrug meant nothing, everything - who knew? At any rate, Irina had nothing to share. "Are you going to talk to Sydney tonight?"

The longing in her sister's eyes was clear, but she said, "No. I couldn't find her without interfering with the plan and endangering her. So - it has to wait." Irina draped herself over a nearby machine, obviously tired and not bothering to hide it. Her youngest sister looked as beautiful as Katya had ever seen her - only in a room as noisy and glitzy as a Vegas gambling establishment could Irina fail to draw the attention of everyone around her. But she looked tired, and - at least to Katya's knowing eyes - sad. Katya could easily name a dozen reasons for that sorrow, Nadia chief among them. Certainly in Irina's place, she didn't think she would have the strength not to find Sydney, even for Sydney's own safety. But for the first time, Katya saw Irina's grief wondered how deeply she herself had added to it.

Time to find out, for Irina's good, and Jack's, and her own.

Irina watched the spinning wheels of Katya's machine as they came up 7, diamond, double bar. "You didn't mention this errand," Irina said.

"I didn't see the point; it's minor." This, so far as it went, was true. More importantly, it gave her an opening. "Besides, it's not as if I've kept any secrets from you regarding Jack."

Dice, bar, dice.

His name hung between them, heavy in the air. The gamble paid off. Irina's eyes finally met hers, and if Katya could not read what she saw there, she knew what she didn't see.

"Ah," Katya whispered. "All those years, all those stories about the CIA fool you deceived - they were lies, after all." Well, not all lies. Irina had said that at least her assigned husband was good in bed, a fact Katya had verified to her satisfaction. "I ought to have known. Why did I ever believe you?"

"You believed me because I meant for you to believe," Irina said. She half-smiled, looking at a horizon that existed only in her memory. "I meant to believe it too. For many years, I did believe it. Until the day I saw him again."

Bell, cherries, double bar. Katya heard her money clatter away, spent on nothing yet again. In her heart she felt no guilt - it did not trouble her often - but she was aware of both sadness and a kind of fear.

Sometimes she felt as though Irina was the only person in the entire world she had ever truly known; sometimes she felt as though she'd never known Irina at all.

"Then it's over," Katya said, finishing the discussion before they ever had it. "Jack and I."

"Do you care for him?" Irina watched the pictures spinning in front of them so intently that it might have been her money on the line. "If you do -- I have no further claim on Jack. I know that too well."

Katya did not answer the question. "You're the one he loves."

Irina only looked more tired. "But I'm not the one he trusts."

Dice, 7, 7.

"He doesn't trust me," Katya said. Only a fool would do so on such a short acquaintance, no matter how intimate; Katya had believed Jack Bristow a fool for decades, but had learned better within the first hour of their acquaintance.

"Not yet."

Look at us, Katya thought. Two Derevko women, pushing away the man we want because we think he makes us vulnerable, needy, week. As much as she hated that thought, she despised the other alternative more: the idea that perhaps they were behaving like this for Jack's sake, and not their own. Katya sincerely hoped the day had not come when Derevkos would bleed for a man before they would fight for him.

"We could always let Jack decide," Katya said. 

"Don't be absurd," Irina said absently, as the wheels showed cherries, diamond, bell.

"Talk to him." Katya broke open another roll of quarters; the motion was automatic by this point, almost soothing. Maybe that was what the slot jockeys liked about spending time this way - action without thought. "Tell him the truth - no, not everything, I haven't lost my mind. But the truth about yourself. About the two of you."

Irina's eyes were dark, unreadable. "The truth changes nothing."

"Between you and Jack? Perhaps not. But it changes things between you and me. It makes it - fair." She weighed her words, decided that yes, that was what she'd meant to say. If they both wanted Jack - then, by God, let it be a fight, hard and bloody and out in the open. Not the slow corrosion of unwilling sacrifice, of silence and lies. In the first scenario, even defeat might be a delight; in the second, even victory would be hollow. Whatever Jack Bristow was to each of them, they had to remain allies for one another. That was more important than any man.

Did her sister understand? To judge from the light in Irina's eyes - the spark she only got when she was thinking about combat or sex -- she did. "We play dangerous games, Yekaterina."

"What else is life about?" Katya put another coin in the slot. "I expect to lose, you know. I never underestimate my opponent's skill."

Diamond, diamond, diamond.

WHANG WHANG WHANG WHANG WHANG! Sirens began blaring, lights began flashing, and half the gaming floor turned to stare at Katya as coins began pouring from the slot machine in a heavy golden tide. The bright blue letters atop the machine blinked JACKPOT!

Katya rolled her eyes. "Oh, shit."

"How about this?" A casino employee came running toward them, yelling into a bullhorn. "The Xanadu has yet another $50,000 winner!"

Applause and cheered welled up. Katya looked over at Irina in dismay; the last thing they wanted was this much attention. Wisely, Irina had already begun edging away from the commotion.

Their eyes met once more, and Irina said - barely audible over the yelps and whoops of the people who'd begun to surround them - "I never underestimate my opponent's luck."

Then Irina was gone, lost in the crowd. Putting her hands over the slot, Katya tried to stem the flood of coins, but it was useless. A photographer was already hurrying over to get a picture, which was unlikely to be seen by Interpol, but still made her uncomfortable.

Is this good luck or bad? Katya thought. What the hell. My winnings should be good for a drink, anyway, and right now I could use another.

**

Sydney hadn't been scared of Sark for a long time -- not since he'd poured chemical solvents on her safety suit four years ago, and even that was mostly terror that they wouldn't broker their deal in time to save Vaughn.

But now - half-naked, cold, cut off from her friends and her father, surrounded by a ring of blinking red lights for alarms that made no sound, with Sark's pistol aimed squarely at her head - she was beginning to remember what that fear felt like.

"We've always had unfinished business between us, you and I." Sark's eyes were appraising; his sexual interest in her, never pleasant, was repugnant now. Sydney had no fears of rape, for the strange yet true reason that it simply wasn't Julian Sark's style. But merely having to stand there for his inspection made her flesh crawl. "But I am a man who can live with -- unanswered questions."

"Then we ought to be fine here. You asked a question; I can't answer it. Live with that."

Sark tilted his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple."

Behind him, the door slowly began to push open. Sydney forced her face to remain still as she saw Vaughn's face in the shadows. His gun was at the ready - but, she realized with an unpleasant jolt - not cocked. He must not have had a chance to do so without being heard, and if he tried it now -

The Glock was still in Sark's hand, cocked and ready; as she watched, he lowered the weapon so that it was aimed at her hipbone. She didn't move, and she forced herself not to look at the gun, not at Vaughn. "You might feel more talkative after I've demonstrated my convictions. Though the blood loss would render any conversation necessarily brief."

Vaughn stepped in the room, moving forward. His eyes - Sydney had only seen that expression in them a few times, never before he'd learned of Lauren's treachery. It terrified her, even now. She knew, beyond any doubt, that Vaughn wanted to kill Sark. Maybe he wanted to kill Sark more than he wanted to save her. And if he thought like that, he could end up killing them both.

"How do you know my father was sure of the Waning Moon's location?" she challenged, hoping for a distraction. "Isn't it possible he just made a mistake?"

"Jack Bristow? Don't make me laugh." Sark's confidence in her father was both unexpected and extremely inconvenient.

And now Vaughn was coming closer, and closer again. His form was perfect, his movement soundless. His eyes were fixed on a spot at the back of Sark's neck, the perfect place for bullets to shatter a brain beyond any repair.

He's gonna take the shot, she realized. He's gonna take the shot, which means he's gonna cock the pistol, which means Sark has plenty of time to turn around and blow Vaughn to Kingdom -

Vaughn's left hand came down and slapped a panel on the console - and every alarm in the place began to shriek at once.

Startled, Sark whirled around - but that one moment of shock gave Vaughn time to send the pistol swinging toward Sark's head. The resulting THUD sent Sark falling to the ground like so much dead weight.

Sydney hurdled over his body and grabbed Vaughn's arm. "Go! Let's GO!"

"Sark -" Vaughn stared at the man sprawled on the floor.

"The guards are coming. The REAL guards!"

"Go," Vaughn said, either agreeing with her or commanding himself. And together they ran away from Sark, the robbery, and the entire failed plan.

**

Jack Bristow had come into this mission certain he was prepared for absolutely anything. But now, as he stood in his makeshift headquarters, he knew he had never adequately planned for the Pleasure Dome.

The main source of lighting was a series of gas-jet flames; the outer ring, nearer the windows, didn't seem to be working, but several of them had sprung to life near the bar. Meanwhile, a fountain pumped water through glass blocks meant to simulate ice, which created a few waist-high walls throughout the interior. All around were soft cushions and couches upholstered in red and purple and gold. Lanterns with thick, mottled gold shades hung from chains. The entire effect was vaguely reminiscent of the Playboy mansion circa 1973. (That had been a strange mission, one Jack didn't like to recall.)

He walked toward the windows and looked down. Ringing the ground below were a series of small swimming pools in various shapes - a guitar, a martini glass, a racing car. Past that was the parking lot, where the orange van could still be seen. Jack began counting off the various facets of their current situation: the pit boss was in that van, still obviously undiscovered. Katya was awaiting final instructions. Weiss had just reported in from the airport, where he was receiving first aid in the CIA-chartered jet --

"What luck," the voice said, "to find you alone."

Jack turned around slowly to see Olivia Reed emerging from behind one of the walls of glass. The tiles reflected the white of her clothing in curved white slices, moving as she moved. Her gun was too big for her hand, but he didn't doubt she could use it.

"Mrs. Reed. I haven't seen you since your - bereavement."

She smiled, thin lips curving upward. "Tragic, wasn't it? I never told you how much I appreciated your support during that difficult time. By the way, I'm not here to kill you, in case you were wondering."

"You'd already have killed me, if you were," Jack replied. "But I doubt you just stopped by to say hello."

"It's come to my attention that you might object to my daughter and her associates leaving the Xanadu with the items they came for. I can't allow that to happen." Olivia motioned with the pistol. "Back up against that pillar. Sit on the floor. Keep your hands where I can see them."

I really should have been armed for this, Jack thought. But he wasn't, which meant he had no alternative but to back up to the pillar.

Olivia kept the gun trained on him while she drew a pair of handcuffs from the back pocket of her pants; Jack allowed her to slide the metal around one wrist, then the other. He was now effectively trapped. Although he knew someone from the CIA would look for him here sooner or later, the feeling was unwelcome.

"We have a lot in common, you and I," she said. "I think we've both shared the chagrin of knowing that Michael Vaughn didn't deserve our daughters."

"No man deserves your daughter," Jack replied, with an inflection that made it clear precisely what he meant by.

Her boot caught him in the side, hard enough that he was surprised his ribs didn't crack. Wincing, he sucked in a breath as Olivia said, "You have a gun to your head, Mr. Bristow. If you're not afraid, you should be."

A crunch, a thud, and then Olivia went sprawling past him, head over heels. She caught herself quickly enough, rolling back up onto her feet in a fighting position, but the gun was gone.

"The only person who should be afraid in here is you," Irina said, moving from behind the leather-covered bar that she'd apparently hidden behind. Her eyes were flashing as she flexed her hands. "Because if anyone's going to use handcuffs on Jack, it's me." 

**

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