Title: Angel Dark

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame.  Assume everything that has happened up to Counteragent is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias.  If I did, Dixon would actually appear in an episode this season, Marshall would be in practically every scene (that guy cracks me up so much), Sydney and Vaughn would at the very least admit that they have feelings for each other, and most importantly of all, Sydney would wear even less clothes than she usually does.  Unfortunately for my bank account, J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC own Alias.  I own nothing so don't sue me.

Author's Note: After the great feedback that I received for my first Alias fic, Duality, I decided to have another go at it.  Mucho thanks to everyone who reviewed my story, your comments were very welcome.  I've decided that since almost everyone told me that I nailed Vaughn's character dead on, this story will be about him as well.  Of course, it wouldn't be an Alias fic without Sydney, so don't worry.

Author's Note: This story will be about Vaughn's past, something not really explored on the show.  I realize that Alias is a TV show, and so by its very nature is not very realistic, but I refuse to believe that the CIA would give control over an agent as important as Sydney to a man who has had no experience in the spy business.  I mean you can work for the CIA and not be a spy.  This is my take on what Vaughn did before becoming Sydney's handler.  The man had to have at least some experience beforehand.  Especially considering his age, he has to be at least in his early thirties.  I don't think he's been sitting behind a desk for the entire time he has worked for the CIA.

Author's Note: A lot of people have made an issue of the Vaughn/Alice relationship on the show.  Personally, I don't think it's that big of an issue.  It's obvious that he is not in love with the woman, and its perfectly understandable why he is with her.  I also find it very interesting that Vaughn said he and Alice got back together months ago.  Am I the only person who thinks that Vaughn reunited with Alice around the same time Sydney was "reconnecting" with the skinny, bucktoothed Snowman?

            Major Mal Jiang stared impassively at the naked and battered man across from him.  Reaching into a pocket on his uniform, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a gold plated Zippo lighter.

            Placing the cigarette in between his thin lips, he took a deep drag.  He let out a contented sigh as the smoke wafted down his mouth and into his lungs.  After savoring the relaxing sensation, he took another deep drag, and blew the smoke outward into the bloodied man's face.

            Mal leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand.  He studied the man in front of him with interest.

            If it had not been for the way the man was slouched on his chair, it would be obvious to the casual observer that he was a tall man.  He had an athlete's body.  Tan skin over lean, taut muscles.  He was a man built to endure great physical exertion, and it showed in his resistance to his captor's interrogation methods.

            They had beaten, prodded, and poked him constantly for over a week.  His naked body was covered in ugly, purplish bruises.  From the way his left arm unconsciously hugged his chest, one could tell that he was suffering from a couple of broken ribs.  Two fingers on his right hand were broken, and the fingernails removed.

            However, it was his face that had seen the worst of his interrogator's wrath.  His nose was broken and covered in dried blood.  His left eye was a dark shade of black and completely swollen shut.  His right eye was swollen as well, but still open enough so that he could see out of it.  Several bleeding cuts covered his face, and blood matted his hair to his forehead from a deep gash along his hairline.

            He was a mess, but Mal thought with some admiration, he had refused to talk.  Mal was finally coming to grips with the fact that the man might never tell him what he needed to know.  He was going to try one more time.  If he came up empty again, there would be no more need for the prisoner.

            Mal detested killing.  It was counterproductive and uncivilized.  But, as Mal unfortunately knew all too well, it was sometimes necessary.  If the man did not tell Mal where the information that he had stolen was, Mal would have no choice but to kill the man.  He was simply too much of a danger if kept alive.  The chance that he might tell someone what he knew was too high to ignore.

            Signaling to one of the two men behind him, Mal waited for the man in front of him to be revived.  After one of his assistants injected the prisoner with a syringe, Mal leaned back and waited.  He didn't have to wait long.

            With a loud moan of pain, the prisoner slowly came to awareness.  Tentatively blinking his good eye, the man looked at the sight in front of him and let out another groan; this time a groan of annoyance.  The man spoke in a raspy voice, "You again?  How many times are we going to go through this?"

            Mal sighed, showing off his own annoyance and frustration.  Mal spoke in heavily accented English.  "Only one more time I assure you.  I'm afraid my superiors have become very disappointed with your lack of cooperation.  They have given me one more opportunity to extract the information we seek from you."

            Mal paused to take another drag from his cigarette.  He continued, "Unfortunately for you Mr. Johannesburg, if you do not tell me what you know, I'm afraid your usefulness will no longer be enough to keep you alive."

            Martin Johannesburg let out a growl of anger and shouted in desperate exasperation.  "For the last time, I don't know what you're talking about.  I am not a spy and I don't have any information, stolen or otherwise.  I am just a fucking businessman!"

            Mal made a clicking sound with his tongue, showing his disapproval.  "Now, now, now Mr. Johannesburg, we both know that's not true.  Normal American businessmen do not carry multiple passports, all containing different names I might add.  Normal businessmen are not disavowed by the American embassy.  And normal businessmen do not carry around a 9mm handgun in their pocket."

            Martin squeezed his left hand tightly, trying to fight down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.  He knew that his story was full of holes, as the Chinese major sitting in front of him had just proven, but it was the only thing that he had to hold onto.

            In a tone full of resignation and despair, Martin said quietly, "I explained to you earlier why I had those things.  My trip was sudden.  I did not have time to alert the embassy that I would be traveling, and the gun is for my personal protection.  I know that it is not legal, but I heard so many stories about tourists getting mugged that I didn't want to leave myself unprotected."

            Martin consciously left out the passports.  He had no rational explanation for them.  How they managed to find the passports is a mystery to him.  He had carefully hidden them in his hotel room, but I guess I didn't hide them well enough.  He had seriously underestimated the Chinese intelligence services.  Who knew they would be so thorough?

            It was his own fault he was in the mess he was in.  He had been on so many missions, that he had grown complacent.  He had dropped his guard and gotten sloppy.  He fell into the trap that he had sworn he would never allow himself to fall victim to.  He had been so successful, on so many different missions, that he had allowed himself to think himself invincible.

            Now he was broken and battered, sitting on a cold metal chair in a dark and dank room.  And he was only moments away from death.  He may have underestimated the Chinese's thoroughness, but he knew better than to underestimate their ruthlessness as well.

            Despite the fact that he was about to die, he was not even tempted to tell them what they wanted to know.  If he was perfectly honest with himself, he could say he was actually invigorated by the knowledge of his impending death.  For the first time since his capture, he was feeling adrenaline saturate his body.  His pain was receding to the back of his mind, and he was experiencing a sense of clarity that he had not felt since the days where he still worked at Langley.

            If they wanted to kill him for the information that he possessed, he was perfectly accepting of that.  But they would not kill him without a fight.  Of that he was absolutely certain.

            Martin was brought out of his inner thoughts by the slight chuckle that escaped out of the mouth of the Chinese major.  "I must say that I admire your tenaciousness Mr. Johannesburg, no matter how foolish it is.  Your explanations are specious at best, and you have yet to give an adequate explanation as to why you have so many fake passports."

            Martin just shrugged his shoulders.  "What can I say?  Would you believe me if I told you that I had a bunch of clones running around, all with different names, and that I was just holding their passports for them?"  Martin asked with false hope.

            Again Mal laughed.  "I like you Mr. Johannesburg.  You have a very optimistic outlook on life.  If our positions were reversed, I do not think that I would take my impending death as lightly as you are."

            Giving up the pretense that he was not what they claimed him to be, Martin let out a sigh.  "Yeah, well, when you've faced death as many times as I have, it tends to lose its bite.  I stopped fearing death a long time ago."

            Mal frowned at Martin's response.  "This I know.  That is the problem with interrogating people like you Mr. Johannesburg.  Those that do not fear death are far more difficult to break than those that do."

            "I'd say I'm sorry that I'm causing you so much trouble, but seeing how you're about to kill me, I just can't find it in me."

            Mal took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it down to the floor and grinding it out with his boot.  Standing up, Mal drew himself to his full height and looked into Martin's eye.  "I will ask you one more time Mr. Johannesburg to tell me where you put the computer disk."

            Martin simply responded with, "What computer disk?"

            Mal sighed and turned his back on Martin.  Walking to the back of the room where the exit lay, he spoke to the two guards who were standing in front of the door.  "Kill him," he ordered.

            As Mal walked through the doorway and into the hall leading away from the interrogation room, he lit another cigarette.  It was his last one, he noticed with some apprehension.  He would have to make a stop over in his office before reporting to his superiors to pick up another pack.

            He brought his lighter up to the cigarette in his mouth, and paused slightly when he heard the angry retort of a single gunshot reverberating down the hall.  Frowning slightly at the knowledge that Mr. Johannesburg was dead, he quickly shook himself of his thoughts and lit his cigarette.

To be continued…………………….

P.S.      I know most of you are probably wondering what the hell all this had to do with Vaughn, and all I can say is that you have to wait and see.  As the story moves farther along, so does Vaughn's involvement in everything.  In this story, I will try to involve everyone, and I mean everyone, but will more than likely focus on the big three: Jack, Sydney, and Vaughn, and whatever original characters I pull out of my ass.  Further chapters will be much longer than this.  I just wanted to set the tone for the rest of the story.