* * * * Jack had no clear idea where Sark was nor could he predict the boy’s next move, but he followed the trail left behind with interest. Three weeks later another research facility was hit -this time in France- and again Jack could detect the telltale fingerprints on the operation. Although none of the infiltrated organizations appeared to have anything in common at first glance, he could see the subtle pattern that they formed.
He began with the assumption that the research heist at the Swiss pharmaceutical company had been merely a fund-raising endeavor. Presumably the profits from it had been used to finance the more elaborate operation at the electronics laboratory in Canada. The prototypes stolen from the Toronto lab had enabled him to conduct the Paris raid. None of these break-ins ever made even the local news reports. Only Echelon intercepts of frantic and irate communiqués between careless board members revealed that they had occurred at all.
The Paris hit finally sparked the official interest of the CIA. Rumors floating through the international intelligence community hinted that the laboratory had been doing research on infrasonic weaponry. All the usual terrorist organizations and covert agencies -as well as a few of the more unscrupulous military defense contractors- were scrambling to put in bids on the stolen data. After exchanging some very carefully worded messages, one of the CIA’s Swedish assets managed to set up a meet in Göteborg. Kendall had taken some convincing.
“You really think Sark will show up for the transfer in person?” Kendall had asked.
“It’s a distinct possibility,” he had replied. He had known that professionally he couldn’t afford to treat the boy any differently now, nor could he expect that Sark’s new knowledge would in any way affect his behavior in the field. Jack had proceeded to analyze the situation as objectively as he would have three years earlier. “His current operation seems to be small, and I doubt he employs many people that he would trust with this sort of assignment. All intel indicates that he’s still operating independently.”
“So there’s no chance that this is just the iceberg tip of some larger scheme?”
“Given his past affiliations, there’s always that chance,” Jack had admitted. “But I don’t believe it’s a very likely one at this point.”
“You think the kid’s still pissed at Derevko for selling him up the river?” There had been an amused glint in the man’s eyes at the thought.
“I wouldn’t count on it. They have too much history. Sark may enjoy not being under her thumb anymore, but he’s bright enough to know that he doesn’t have the experience or the resources to challenge her directly either. He won’t do anything foolish on that front. Right now he seems to be trying to stay out of her sphere of influence altogether.”
“Probably the safest thing for him,” Kendall had grudgingly agreed. “What about his association with Sloane?”
“His allegiance to Arvin Sloane is token at best. Considering how quickly he gave up the Mexico City operation -as well as the subsequent intel he provided on the remainder of Sloane’s assets- it’s questionable whether he ever had any real loyalty to him.”
“He does have a persistent tendency to bite the hand that feeds him, doesn’t he?” Kendall had said, frowning thoughtfully. “I want that park crawling with our people.”
“You know we won’t bring him in that way.” Irina would have smirked at the shading in his tone, but Kendall hadn’t heard it.
Instead, the director had smiled thinly. “I don’t want to bring him in.”
Two days later Jack found himself walking through the Liseberg Nöjespark and wondering how many ways the plan could go wrong. The leaves of the surrounding hardwoods were beginning to change in the early Scandinavian autumn -a marked difference from the lingering warmth and perpetual greenery of southern California- but Jack scarcely noticed. Despite the multitude of tall blonds, he found his particular towheaded contact relatively quickly. The boy was wearing a nondescript blue jacket that was only slightly heavier than what most of the natives sported.
It was the first time he’d seen his son since Hong Kong and he took a moment to study Sark before he approached. Sydney had assured him that he’d seemed fit when she’d met him in New Orleans, but Jack was relieved to be able to confirm that assessment for himself. He didn’t miss the irony of having gone through nearly this same scenario with his daughter just a few months ago. As Sydney’s had on that other occasion, the boy’s expression brightened suddenly at the sight of Jack as well, but it was quickly restrained.
“Audio?” he asked as Jack drew closer.
“No. They do trust some of us.”
“So there are lip-readers,” Sark guessed with a grin. Jack knew that he would interpret the silence as confirmation. “We walk, then. That should at least make them work for it. How many are there?”
“Enough.”
They moved slowly through the crowds of late-season tourists. Their path sloped steadily upward and Jack wondered if Sark had a specific destination in mind.
“You knew that this was an official set-up,” he said as they walked. “Why did you agree to come?”
Sark shrugged. “You want the data, don’t you? Your money spends just as nicely as anyone else’s.”
“The amount we offered isn’t anywhere close to the market-value of that research.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already met my asking price.”
Jack frowned at him. “You do realize that those two statements are inherently contradictory? Who else have you sold it to?”
“Do your own legwork. Half a million isn't nearly enough to buy both the research and the info on my other buyers.”
“What about three-quarters?”
“What?” Sark threw him a startled glance -nonplussed by the abrupt change in expected tactics- but didn’t stop moving. He definitely had a destination in mind, Jack surmised.
“Three-quarters of a million. I’ve been authorized to negotiate your status as an Agency asset.”
The boy’s step faltered at last and he paused to stare at Jack for a moment. Then he began to laugh. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” he snorted as he resumed walking. “That’s your idea of a bribe?”
“Your operating budget isn’t what it used to be.”
“It doesn’t have to be, for what I need.”
“Then don’t scoff at the amount. You’ve given us much more for far less in the past.”
“Drugs, torture, and incarceration were my incentives at the time, as I recall.”
“Those still aren’t entirely out of the equation. It would be imprudent to waste this opportunity.” They both knew that the CIA would not be nearly as lenient with him if he if he ended up in custody a second time. Running him as an agent -stockpiling Agency goodwill for his collaboration- was the only form of protection that Jack could provide.
“And if I don’t cooperate?”
“Don’t be difficult, Stephen,” he said tiredly. “This is the best deal you’re going to get from us.”
Sark’s expression was still full of suspicion. “How did you sell them on this?”
“Kendall thinks it’s his idea. He’s prepared to permit you your freedom in exchange for your assistance. He knows that getting you to flip on Derevko is improbable, but he wants anything you can give us on Sloane. We don’t have anyone else close to him anymore.”
“I’m not either,” Sark protested. “The man is completely cracked. I may be willing to work with some unsavory characters, but Sloane is unhinged. I can’t deal with insane people and I won’t be your liaison in this.”
Jack could afford to be patient. Their time wasn’t limitless, but there was enough of it to allow Sark to feign absorbing the proposal. They didn’t speak as Sark steered them toward a long line. A few crumpled krona notes changed hands and soon they were seated in the last row of a roller coaster car. General opinion at the Agency had gone with the assumption that Sark would chose one of the more isolated attractions. Jack had suspected that he wouldn’t be so obligingly predictable, but he had not anticipated the Balder. The boy’s grin was cheerfully malicious.
“Admit it, athair. You didn’t really want to leave here without riding their signature attraction.”
Jack looked back at him blandly. The coaster began moving and the noise of the machinery, as well as the children’s screams and the roar of the wind made further discussion temporarily impossible. He used the opportunity to scrutinize his still-grinning son at close range.
It was difficult to imagine simply by looking at him that this seemingly lighthearted boy was a wanted criminal on three continents. There was no hint of darkness in his mischievous blue eyes, no trace of concern about the negotiations they were trying to conduct. No reflection of the things he had done or the things he had endured stared out of those eyes. There was only pure enjoyment of the sudden acceleration that plastered them to their seats, the thrill as the ground seemed to rush toward them at an impossible angle.
That was how he had survived. He had an ability to compartmentalize his life to an extraordinary degree, to live wholly within the moment - each instant unconnected to any other. Somewhere on another level his long-range planning ability was compartmentalized as well. While the strategy might allow him to retain his sanity for a time, Jack worried about the long-term implications. His train of thought was diverted as the coaster began to climb the next steep section of tracks and Sark raked his fingers through his wind-ravaged hair.
“If you wore it shorter, you wouldn’t have to spike it up like that to disguise the cowlick.”
“If I’ve inherited the Bristow hairline, I’m keeping it like this for as long as I can.”
Jack resisted the urge to sigh and eyed the couple in row ahead of them instead. The teenagers didn’t seem to be paying them any attention; they were too involved with each other to care about -or even notice - the English-speaking men behind them. It was still too soon to press for an acknowledgement that Sark would accept the terms of the arrangement. There were plenty of other topics to discuss in the meanwhile.
“You tried to recruit Sydney again.”
Sark shrugged unapologetically. “I’d make better use of her than you are. Right now I have much more to offer her than you do.”
“I’m not sure that she would really enjoy being an international fugitive.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“We’ve all gone to a great deal of trouble to bring her back in one piece. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do anything to jeopardize her now.”
“That’s the problem though, isn’t it?” Sark asked. “She isn’t exactly all in one piece. There seem to be a few bits unaccounted for.”
One of his suspicions was confirmed with that response. The boy’s comprehensive offer to his sister had undoubtedly included the promise of more information about her missing years.
“Don’t force her to do anything irrevocable.”
“Sydney never… hardly ever does anything that she doesn’t want to do. I certainly don’t hold that kind of sway over her.”
The discussion was abruptly curtailed as they were slammed back against the molded-foam seats. This was not an ideal way to conduct negotiations, Jack thought, but he could see the conversational advantages to it as Sark used the interruption to change the subject when the coaster slowed again.
“Sloane knows who I am,” he said in an off-hand manner. Jack knew he wasn’t referring to a professional sort of recognition, nor was the comment as casual as his tone implied.
“Hong Kong?”
“You and Irina weren’t exactly subtle.”
It would be petty to remind him that he’d started it - telling Meigui it was his sister who had shot him. He’d probably been half-delirious at the time anyway. “Will that make things difficult for you?”
The boy gave him a disbelieving look and shook his head. “That information isn’t something I’m particularly comfortable sharing to begin with. The fact that Irina seemed to be concerned about his learning of our connection… concerns me.” Jack absorbed that statement as Sark continued. “It may be that she wants me to be wary of him so I don’t interfere with an ongoing project… which is annoying, but not necessarily worrisome.”
“Or she’s trying to protect you from him.”
“Which bothers me more,” he admitted. “That bloody obsession of his disturbs me. Do you think there’s something in the Rambaldi papers which seems relevant to him now that he knows who I really am?” That possibility had crossed Jack’s mind briefly, but he could see that it had been weighing more heavily on the boy. “What is it about him that they find so enthralling?” He sounded genuinely baffled.
Jack was about to respond, but nearly bit his tongue as the roller coaster plunged over yet another precipice. The disruptions were becoming irritating.
“You’ve seen first-hand what Rambaldi’s legacies are capable of,” he said when he could. “You aren’t impressed by that?”
“No, I’m not.” There was a hint of defiance in the tone, as well as something that Jack couldn’t quite place.
“Mexico City,” he said quietly. “Sixty-two dead.”
“That wasn’t my idea.”
He’d heard that reasoning used on several other occasions, and finally it was one time too many. “When are you going to start taking responsibility for your own actions? You didn’t have to do that; you chose to.”
“I needed to maintain my position with Sloane. I couldn’t have managed Irina’s extraction without him and his resources.”
“That’s a lie,” he stated flatly. “You could have found another way. Even if you hadn’t, Sloane still would have retrieved her without your assistance. You didn’t have to turn that device on.”
“Is this going to turn into an ethics lecture?”
“Would you be able to recognize if it did?” Sark’s eyes flashed in anger at the criticism but Jack didn’t care about that. He had seen the flicker of dismay that had preceded it.
“You’re hardly in a position to judge me,” Sark said irritably.
“Maybe not. But I am in a position to understand. I know there are times when killing is necessary, when it’s the only reasonable alternative. And there are times when it serves no purpose whatsoever, when it’s merely a symptom of madness. In Mexico City you crossed that line. That wasn’t a rational strategy; that was an act of insanity.”
He caught a glimpse of his stricken expression before Sark abruptly looked away and watched carefully as the boy tried -and failed- to school his features into an impassive mask. When Sark turned back, the look in his eyes was the closest thing to remorse that Jack had ever seen in them.
“I didn’t believe it would work.”
Once more, he was caught unprepared as the car dropped suddenly. It was amateurish of him to lose track of his surroundings while he talked with his son, but somehow he couldn’t divide his focus between them.
“You need to start making better decisions,” Jack said as they began to climb the next hill.
“I’ve managed to do fine without your advice for the past twenty-five years.”
The statement was so patently erroneous that Jack could only shake his head. The ride was nearly over and he knew that it was time to push.
“Take the deal, Stephen.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your father and I said so.” That line had never worked well with Sydney either, he thought as Sark grinned crookedly. “You came here prepared to collaborate. You wouldn’t have agreed to meet an Agency representative who was offering such a paltry sum otherwise.”
“I didn’t agree to meet an Agency representative, athair.”
Jack paused briefly.
“You’ve already made up your mind to do the right thing.”
“Right doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Make it have something to do with it. You may have been raised in a moral vacuum, but you’re not an idiot. It’s not too late for you to develop a conscience.”
“Borrowing Sydney’s would be easier.”
“It isn’t supposed to be easy.”
The short remainder of the ride was spent in relative silence. Jack was heartened by the boy’s pensive frown. He knew that the decision to accept the Agency proposal had already been made. He hoped that the troublesome thoughts currently occupying his son were concerning the more personal aspects of their disjointed conversation. As the coaster glided toward the terminal, Sark pulled a plain envelope from his jacket pocket.
“The account number?” he asked, handing the envelope to Jack.
“Just the number? You don’t want to confirm the transfer?”
Sark shrugged. “I trust you.”
Jack stared at him. Those three words were not readily spoken by any member of their family - and especially not between them. What astonished him most was the utter sincerity that he heard. Jack gave him the code. As they stepped out of the car, he couldn’t help glancing at the contents of the envelope. It was too bulky and its weight seemed excessive for mere computer disks.
“Data storage prototypes,” Sark said, the ghost of his usual smirk returning.
“Two of them?”
“One’s the weaponry data. The other is their defensive research.”
“Defensive research? How much did you get selling that elsewhere?”
“Nothing.” His grin broadened. “Nobody else asked for it.”
Jack watched as the boy slipped into the throng of other fair-haired people and disappeared. He smiled faintly and headed for the park’s exit.
* * * *