* * * * - two months later -
Jack looked up from his computer at the tentative tap and saw Marshall hovering anxiously in his doorway.
“Hi,” the engineer said. “Could I…? Do you mind…?” He made a complicated two-handed gesture that Jack interpreted as a request to come in and sit down. It didn’t require any great intuitive leap to guess what the topic of conversation would be when Marshall carefully closed the door behind him. “I don’t know if you know yet, but I thought you’d want to if you didn’t already,” he began even before he had settled into the chair. “Sort of a little heads-up just in case it meant anything -which it might not- but you’d probably be a better judge of that than I would. Kendall’s pulled the Sark files.”
“Which ones?” Jack asked when Marshall paused expectantly.
“All of them. The interrogation tapes, the mission logs, the paper transcripts. Everything. Even Sydney’s field reports from four or five years ago. Every scrap of information we have on him. And this…” He handed a sheet of paper across the desk. “These are the keywords that were added to the Echelon watch-list this morning.” He practically quivered on the edge of his seat as Jack read. “So should I let Sydney know? You know, warn her?”
“About what?”
“About…” Marshall gawked at him for an instant. “She knows, right? Because the other day when she said that he… and then I… She does know, right?”
“She knows.”
“Oh good,” he breathed in evident relief. “So I should tell her about this then? I mean it might be nothing - just Kendall being paranoid. Although I suppose it isn’t really paranoia if they really are out to get you. Not that Sark is,” he added hurriedly. “Because he’s been cooperating really well lately. The intel on that syndicate operating out of Cairo? Sweet. And that was really cool of him to give us the prototypes for the next-generation cultured diamond wafers… Well, actually we didn’t ask him to steal those and it wasn’t really a matter of national security. More of an industrial intelligence kind of thing, but who knew that those were so far along and…”
Remembering the off-hand comment Sark had made once about employing Marshall himself, Jack wondered briefly there was an ulterior motive for his son’s periodic plying of the resident genius with shiny new toys. “Thank you, Marshall.”
“You’re welcome… That was goodbye, wasn’t it? Okay. But about Sydney?”
“No.”
“Right.”
Jack looked at the page once more after the door closed, then tucked it into his jacket pocket. He was interrupted again a few hours later when Sydney dropped into the chair in front of his desk. She hadn’t bothered to knock.
“Will is freaked about something. Some kind of research Kendall has him doing. He won’t tell me what it’s about but he has this look in his eye.” She leaned forward and propped her arms on the desk. “It’s about the brat, isn’t it?”
He had been mildly amused when he’d first realized why she called him that - an apt American insult with its fitting Russian subtext. It was much easier than calling her brother by name. He nodded.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” she repeated indignantly. “Dad, tell me what’s going on.”
“Just minor repercussions from the incident in Hong Kong.”
“You mean the incident where I turned up out of the blue for no particular reason?”
“I mean the incident where you shot the particular reason. As we began dealing with the aftermath of your reappearance, your mother and I may have inadvertently also begun dispelling the notion that Sark is quite as solitary as he’s always appeared to be.”
“What you mean is that you and Mom acted like a couple of mother hens over him and people have started figuring out we’re related. If we end up in prison because of that little brat, he’d better get us out.” They looked at each other for a moment, then Sydney laughed. “You know, he probably would spring us just for the fun of it.”
“In about sixteen to twenty months,” he agreed with a small smile. “It won’t come to that.”
“It won’t?”
“No.”
* * * * “Three days ago, we had a walk-in to our Far Eastern office,” Tippin said at the next morning’s briefing. The analyst had scrupulously avoided meeting Sydney’s eyes since he’d arrived and had been all but ignoring Jack as well. Sydney nibbled fretfully on her lower lip as she watched him but stopped when she caught Jack’s critical frown. “His name is Joseph Obouhov and he’s been giving us plenty of information on the Pacific Rim operations of a Russian arms trade group suspected of having ties to Arvin Sloane. So far, most of what’s been processed seems to be checking out. We have surveillance photos of several alleged members of the group that Obouhov has identified for us. Alexei Ushakov,” he said as the man’s picture flashed on the screen behind him. Several other photos appeared in rapid succession. “Karpovich. Turgenev. Risanovsky. And this guy. Look familiar?”
“It’s Sark,” Sydney said. “Isn’t that his assignment? To get close to Sloane for us?”
“Technically yes,” Kendall answered. “But that’s not what’s so interesting about finding him in the middle of this.” His tone suggested that ‘interesting’ wasn’t really the word he wanted to use. “Tippin?”
“Obouhov didn’t call him Sark during his debriefing,” Will continued. “When we showed him this picture… Obouhov called him Derevkovich.”
Jack felt the focus of the room shift, but there was no sudden outcry of surprise from anyone. Not even Dixon seemed startled. Beside him Marshall fidgeted in agitation, no doubt uncertain whether it would appear more suspicious to look at Jack or not look at him. Sydney met his eyes and cocked an eyebrow. Kendall’s gaze swept the table, obviously unhappy with what he saw.
“Am I the only one here who didn’t know who that son of a bitch was?”
“I didn’t,” Will reminded him.
“Neither did I,” Dixon said calmly. “But it’s been speculation for years. Are we sure it isn’t just an honorific? A name that’s been given to him because she treats him like a son?” Even as he asked, however, it was clear that he knew the answer.
“You’ve known all along,” Kendall ignored the interruptions. “You know the rest, of course. If he wasn’t lying about his age when he was here, then either your wife was having an affair before she left you or that arrogant Limey bastard is yours too!”
Jack couldn’t help glancing at Sydney again. Her lips were twitching ever so slightly. The outburst was strikingly familiar, but he knew that correcting either Sark’s nationality or his legitimacy this time would probably send Kendall into the apoplectic fit that Sydney had predicted.
“Who is he, Jack?” Kendall persisted. “Sark? Derevkovich? Bristow?”
“I don’t know what name he actually prefers,” Jack admitted. “But he is Irina’s. And he is mine.”
“I really don’t claim him,” Sydney interjected. Jack frowned at her and wondered if both of his children had somehow inherited a defective gene for ill-timed flippancy. She shrugged back at him unrepentantly, reaffirming the supposition.
“This is unacceptable,” Kendall said.
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“Like hell it doesn’t! This Agency has made more exceptions for your daughter in the past five years than it usually does for most officers in their entire careers. I’ll be damned if we make one more exception for your son.”
“I’ve never asked you to.”
“Putting him in the field without the toxin capsule? That led directly to Dixon losing him.”
“I told you from the beginning that was an ill-advised course. No one could have maintained control of him under those conditions.”
“You did in Copenhagen.”
“Which should prove that I’ve never made exceptions for him either. He didn’t escape on my watch. But he’s out now and there’s nothing we can do about it but use him. We run him like we would any other agent. He’s still the best link we have to Sloane.”
“And Derevko. Damn it, Jack…” Kendall swore again. “What the hell is wrong with you? Your wife’s KGB, your daughter’s been who-knows-where the past two years, and your son is a goddamn terrorist! Your whole family is a threat to national security. I ought to have you and Sydney both detained just as a preemptive measure.”
Jack didn’t comment. He understood Kendall’s need to vent and knew that only after his initial anger was out of the way could they begin a rational discussion.
“So what are we going to do about Obouhov’s intel?” Dixon asked in the brief silence that followed. “It’s still good, right?”
“So far,” Will said. He looked torn between outrage and disbelief. The confirmation that it was his best friend’s little brother who had been responsible for his Taipei ordeal was no doubt unsettling, Jack mused. As was the implication that Sydney had known for some time and failed to tell him.
“Have we determined why he walked in?” Sydney asked, her gentle tone at odds with the nature of the query.
Will shook his head, struggling to slip back into professional mode as he flipped through a few pages of notes. “Just said that he wanted out. He’d had enough.”
“No specific incident to trigger it?” she pressed. Jack nodded approvingly as he saw where she was headed and let her continue on her own. “Any chance that he could have been sent?”
“Sent?” Will repeated.
“Sent,” Dixon nodded, catching on as well. “Could be that Sark learned his lesson from the situation with Rajkot. Don’t be the only possible source to blame for leaks. Obouhov brings us the intel so that Sark doesn’t have to risk the contact himself. It’s a possible strategy.”
“And one we apparently have to go with for the present,” Kendall said crossly. “Amidst all the information Obouhov’s been spouting, there’s a weapons deal that we can’t allow to proceed. We assume that Sark knows we’re going to act on this. Jack? Can you provide an even remotely objective assessment?”
“He won’t make it easy for us,” he replied. “His counter-measures will be fully functional. But Obouhov wouldn’t have made it to us with this information unless Sark wanted him to. If we move on it, we won’t be walking into a trap.”
“I hope you’re willing to stake your life on that,” Kendall said. “You’re leading the mission.”
When the briefing was over, Jack watched Sydney follow Tippin as he bolted from the room. He didn’t envy her the task of dealing with the emotional fallout of these revelations. He’d much rather handle the political repercussions. And judging by the expression on Kendall’s face as he’d stormed out, he was going to have plenty of opportunities to do just that. He followed, noting absently that Dixon had already cornered Marshall.
* * * * Within the week, Jack’s team was inserted into Khabarovsk to retrieve the cache of ICBMs that had been liberated from a former Red Army stockpile. Although resistance by the Russian terrorists was fierce, the CIA succeeded in recovering the weapons with minimal casualties of their own. Sark had been notably absent from the field. As soon as the missiles were en route to the extraction point under Dixon’s supervision, Jack made an unobtrusive detour, switching off his communications gear and tracking devices as he went.
There was a soft sound, barely a whisper of a cleared throat. It could have been mistaken for almost any quiet, random noise in the vast, abandoned warehouse, but Jack had heard it for what it was.
“Athair.”
“Stephen,” he said as Sark melted out of the shadows.
“I assume everything went according to plan.”
“We have the missiles. Ushakov and an unidentified suspect are in custody. The rest escaped. You should be able to maintain your credibility. How is your approach to Sloane proceeding?”
“I’ve been getting closer to returning to his inner circle, but this little setback won’t make things any easier.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But it was the right thing to do. You’ve helped to save countless lives today.”
“I really wish you’d stop doing that,” Sark frowned half-heartedly. “I’m not like you. We don’t think the same way.”
“Sydney seems to believe that we do.” The boy laughed softly at that and Jack wondered once again just what else had been discussed at their meeting that Sydney hadn’t told him.
“Knowing how the other thinks doesn’t necessarily mean that we agree.”
“True enough. But it’s a start.” he said. “While I’m here, would you care to explain this Derevkovich stunt to me? I was under the impression you had wanted to keep a low profile.”
“It wasn’t my idea.” There was a familiar smirk to go along with the familiar refrain. “Since my… relationship was inevitably becoming common knowledge, Irina seemed to think that we ought to use it to our advantage.”
“Because your own reputation isn’t intimidating enough?”
“It has suffered a bit in my absence,” Sark shrugged. “How quickly they forget. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll use the name Bristow the next time I infiltrate an American faction.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m not keeping score. It was just a matter of curiosity. You know your real name has always been a subject of speculation at the Agency.”
“You can tell them that I don’t have one.” A shadow flitted momentarily across his face before he grinned mischievously. “I’m sure Derevkovich went over well though. Did Kendall have an aneurysm?”
Jack knew that he should be concerned about both of his children gleefully contemplating the director’s impending stroke, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “Nearly. Does that bother you?”
“Kendall?”
“Not having a real name.”
“Why would it? It’s not as if I’m required to hand out my CV in this line of work.”
“I just thought there might be another reason that you’d chosen to go by Derevkovich.”
“I didn’t choose it, athair. It’s just convenient for the moment. Most of the time one name is just as good as any other.”
“Like Stepanushka?”
“Maybe not that one,” he grinned. Jack could see the moment of belated realization. “You two have discussed this, haven’t you?”
“It came up. We needed it for the paperwork.”
“What paperwork?” He frowned warily as Jack handed him an envelope. “What is this?”
“Your pardon.”
“My pardon?” he repeated blankly. “Kendall would never agree to this.”
“Kendall didn’t. Devlin pushed it through a few days ago.” While Devlin had been leery of absolving Irina’s son, Jack’s assurances -as well as Sydney’s unexpected support- had helped to persuade him to endorse the measure. Sark’s access to Arvin Sloane had been a major selling point as well. “Sign that -agreeing to be a cooperative agent of the CIA and to do everything possible to help us bring down Sloane- and your past sins are expurgated. Cross the United States government again and you will be prosecuted as a traitor.”
“I’m a foreign national.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You’re the child of an American citizen. That paperwork has already been filed too.”
“Well, that was rather thorough of you. I suppose this means your questions about my real name were rhetorical? You’ve given me one?”
Jack nodded at the envelope. Sark’s expression was inscrutable as he opened it.
“Stephen Donahue Bristow,” the boy read.
“We debated about it for quite a while - between Donahue and Derevkov. Sydney had some interesting input…”
“You asked Sydney about this too?” Jack almost smiled at the consternation in his voice.
“It’s what we would have done before you were born; ask her to help name her baby brother. We wouldn’t have listened, of course -that’s how we ended up with a cat named Yellow once- but we would have asked.” He shrugged at his bemused son. “We decided that Stephen Donahue is what we would have named you if things had still been… normal. We realized that this was the only thing we could give you now that you should have had all along.”
“A name?”
“Your name. You can hate it if you want too; most children do at some point. But it’s yours - your real name.”
The boy looked back at the paper. Jack watched his eyes sweep across the print, taking in the exact terms and conditions. The bulk of the document was unremarkable, but Jack didn’t blame him for reading it carefully. He suspected, however, that the cautious perusal was also being used as a cover while he absorbed his long-overdue christening.
“I don’t hate it,” Sark said at last. When he glanced up again Jack saw the amusement in his face. “Just don’t expect me to answer to it.” With a sudden, decisive movement he laid the document on the top of a crate and scrawled a quick signature across the bottom of it. He frowned at it thoughtfully as the ink dried, then handed it back to his father.
“Try to stay out of trouble now,” Jack told him as he put the pardon away.
“Sound paternal advice, but rather unrealistic,” Sark said with a grin. “Got anything more practical?”
“Be careful with your mother. Don’t drag Sydney into anything you can’t get her out of. Watch your back with Sloane… And I’m not telling you again to get a haircut.”
The boy’s quick grin flashed once more and then he laughed aloud. “Yes, athair.”
* * * *