Chapter 11

 "LA's sending someone to pickup the transcript."  The voice of Richards' supervisor interrupted him as he worked on the debriefing tape.  "They must be in a hurry."

"I'll be done in a few minutes," Richards assured him.

"...after the Countess was overpowered, I was able to locate an escape route that...,"

Richards diligently typed up the debriefing notes from the mission.  He had noted with interest that, at no point, was any mention made of Bristow's wife.  Agent Bristow never lied, precisely; but apparently no one thought to ask him if he worked with anyone else during the mission. He wondered if there would be much of a problem once the LA office reviewed the transcript.

"Agent Bristow, I understand that there were several transmission failures with the glasses."    Marshall looked distressed.  "I don't understand what happened.  I've checked them out and couldn't replicate the problem."

"Don't worry, Marshall," said Jack bracingly.  "They functioned fine when they needed to."

"Of course, the micro-recorder would have been a back-up, but I'm concerned that we lost contact so many times."

"Micro-recorder?" repeated Jack after a slight pause.

"Well, of course I put in a micro-recorder, in case transmission signals were blocked from the villa."

"I see," said Jack, his voice slightly strained.   "And you've...completed your evaluation now?"

"Yes, the technical review's complete.  They're on their way to Analysis in Langley for the post-mission review – I thought they'd find  the full recording of the mission helpful."

"Ah."

Richards froze. He rapidly reviewed everything he had learned about Jack Bristow over the past two days. Decisively he scanned the transcript and made a number of surgical changes.

It was with little surprise that shortly afterwards Richards heard a knock on his door.  It swung open, and a dark shadow filled the doorway.  Richards blinked, his eyes adjusting from the dimness of his office to the light outside.

"Agent Richards?"

"Yes sir," replied Richards cautiously.

"I'm Jack Bristow."

"Yes.  I know."  Richards gulped.  "I recognized you."

"You're working on 'Trojan Horse'?"

"I'm done, sir."

"I see." 

Richards licked his lips as Bristow's eyes scanned the room, coming to rest thoughtfully on the eyeglasses, still sitting in their cradle.  "W-would you like to see the transcript, sir?"

"I think that might be a good idea."  Jack took the printout from Richards and read through it wordlessly.  It did not escape Richards' notice that at no point did Bristow leave an open path to the door.

Jack looked up.  "How old are you, Richards?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"During your training, which qualities did they tell you were most important for a successful agent?"

"Attention to detail and judgment, sir."

"And which of those two do you feel is the most important?"

Richards hesitated only for a moment.  "Judgment, sir."

A hint of a smile appeared in Jack's eyes.  "I think you might be right, Richards."  His eyes strayed back to the desk.

"I...I guess you came for the glasses, too, didn't you?"

"I'd like to see them for a moment, yes."  Jack pulled a case from his pocket and, taking the glasses from Richards, put them inside.  "This will keep them safe."  He handed the case back to Richards.

Richards watched without comment as a paperclip flew across his desk and attached itself to the outside of the case.  "Quite safe," agreed Richards.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Richards.  I'm sure you'll be quite successful," said Jack dryly.  He turned to leave.

"Agent Bristow -," Jack paused, his hand on the door, and turned back.

"Yes?"

"You started when you were seventeen too, didn't you sir?  The CIA's been your whole life?"

"Yes."

"I just wanted to know, sir," Richards took a deep breath, "when you were my age, did you ever think it would turn out like-," his hand gestured towards the transcript, "like this?"

Jack's eyes took on a distant look for a moment before he refocused on Richards.  "No," he said evenly.  "No, I didn't."

"And if you could do it all over again," Richards pressed urgently, "would you do it?"  He held his breath in anticipation.

Jack looked at Richards, then down at the glasses clutched tightly in his hand.  "But that's not really the question, is it?" he pointed out softly.  "The question is, knowing what you know, will you?"   

**fin**