Chapter Fifteen

LOS ANGELES

The back room was dark when Natasha first stepped into the small but box filled area beyond the main section of The Blue Lady. Jimmy tossed over the quick comment of, "Mr. Boss lets me use this room when I crash down here every now and again. He stays away 'cause he thinks it's just my personal space." Unlocking the door, he grinned impishly. His quick changing manner of fun to serious of minutes ago had dissipated on the five minute walk through the back corridors. "Only I have the key, and no one finds out what business really goes on back here."

As charming and fun-loving as Mr. Carlton appeared to be, the young spy was taking no chances. She stayed on her guard, ready for any sign that his manner would change again. Luckily for Jimmy, he remained polite and stepped into the room and flicked on the lights so that she could see nobody had been hiding in the dark. "Fortunate for you, because I'm sure you know what would happen if my employers found out someone else was aware of our business."

It was a standard warning, but Natasha was already aware that Jimmy would know better than to blab. He had been doing this for many years, unseen and unaccosted, because he stayed on everybody's good side; no matter what he did. The glare of the overhead lights was harsh, and she blinked a few times as she regained her focus after the darkness.

The room contained a small dresser, which held a small lamp; a threadbare rug which slid underfoot as Jimmy stepped across the room; and his made bed. This was the only sign that the room was actually lived in and not just storage space. She knew the near middle-aged man ahead of her had an apartment, but remained at The Blue Lady because it was homey to him. Jimmy had spent so long lazing around there on his downtime that going to his actual apartment felt strange. There were boxes pressed against the walls, sealed and towering almost ceiling high and it was to these that the forty one-year-old went.

Pausing for a moment as he flipped a pen knife out of his pocket to break the cellotape, he turned around. "A little friendly advice? You need to lighten up a little, especially with the civilians. And no threatening the regular people either. I know who you work for, so you have to be tough; I get it." It was said with a slight expression of amusement. She had gone in with a rather cool expression; she had picked up a few of Anna's habits.

Curtly, Natasha nodded. "Thanks for the advice." It was hard not to feel the sting of the admonishment, however nicely it was spoken and she flashed back to her old teacher's comments. "I got it."

Nodding, Jimmy turned back to the box before pausing again and producing his wallet. He tossed it over to Natasha, and added a joking, "I know how much is in there, so no stealing. Inside sleeve. That's the dearest Sophie."

Natasha turned the wallet over in her hands, the distinct smell of leather filling her nostrils. It was a well made item; she could not help but notice. Opening the wallet and slipping a finger inside, she drew out a small photograph. It was taken from a distance; a woman on a pier. She was not aware she was being photographed, but there was an expression of wariness on the woman's face that Natasha recognised. The woman knew someone just might have been watching her, but did not know where exactly that watcher was located.

The woman's brown hair hung to her shoulders, a few tendrils wafted in front of her attentive face by a light breeze. She was by a pier, and in the background the sun was setting. Mostly out of view was the bonnet of a car; its number plate blurry. Natasha scrutinised the image, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat.

"Told you there was a resemblance," Jimmy commented easily.

Slowly, Natasha nodded. The woman in the photograph was young; she estimated about twenty-one, so not too much older than Natasha herself. They could easily have been related.

BRISTOW RESIDENCE

It was 5am on the second day of school holidays; Nadia was at Irina's hideout and Jack was alone in the house he had spent so many tension-filled years in. There was good tension and bad tension and moments in between, but Jack Bristow was at a complete loss as to what this current kind was. He held the phone loosely in one hand, and the other ran through his already tousled hair; still brown but with approaching flecks of grey. His line of work did seem to send people prematurely grey.

But that was not what was on his mind as he sat on the edge of the double bed in the dark. The curtains were partially open and the rising sun cast an amber glow across his profile, illuminating his stunned expression. His emotions felt stretched, and he did not know whether to laugh or cry or scream his frustrations to the world.

He had received the call at 04h56, and it had been short and clipped. But it had sent him into turmoil after all these years.

"We've found her."

Jack's mind had gone blank, even as his heart lurched into his throat and he struggled with rivalling feelings of hope and scepticism.

"Come in, we need to talk."

Devlin's tone had been curt and brief, and Jack got the feeling that something was being held back. He would find out what that something was as soon as he got himself into gear; and he did a few minutes later. His heart set up a steady pounding that made his chest ache, and he tried to push it aside. This was not a trick; it could not possibly be a trick. If it was, it would be the cruellest one of all.

It did not take Jack long to arrive at work; at 6am on a Monday the roads were still relatively clear. The drivers on the road were slow moving as they woke themselves on the way to work, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching hot cups of latte or espresso. Jack carried no coffee or even food; he had dressed as quickly as possible before exiting his house. He went through the usual rigmarole of ensuring Security Section was not tailing him. Though he was more than trusted to go places unaccosted now, there were times the dark side of working with SD-6 would rear its head, prompting him to be even more careful.

On this day there was no one, but still he did not allow himself to relax. Mentally he prepared himself for what would or might be said, and as his gut lurched the possibility that they had found her and she was dead, crossed his mind. Forcefully he pushed that unsatisfying thought aside. Devlin would have said that outright, were it true.

Absently he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, impatiently, for the traffic lights to switch to green. It was the only outward sign that he was feeling anything other than calmness; and when Jack realised what he was doing his hand gripped the wheel instead. He had entertained the idea of contacting Irina but dismissed it quickly. Stopping to call and explain what little he knew would waste valuable time that he could be debriefed. Better to make contact when he knew exactly what was happening.

However, he knew she would not like hearing that he had kept her in the dark. Chuckling mirthlessly under his breath, Jack thought it was rather poetic considering what she had kept from him for so long.

Pulling into the underground garage of the all too familiar building, he quickly locked his car and headed inside. After flashing his ID and entering the elevator, it took only three minutes to reach the correct floor, cross the offices, and reach Devlin's office. Jack knew, as a rookie agent he had counted. He pushed the door ajar without waiting for an answer to his knocking, and figured the other man would understand. Closing the door again to allow them privacy, Kendall looked up.

"Jack," he greeted in a simple acknowledgement of the agent's appearance. "Sit down." He indicated the well used chair in front of his desk, and leant back in his own high-backed leather chair. A black biro was twisted around in his fingers as he tried to articulate what he wanted to say, in his head.

Like the young, unsure agent he had once been, Jack's stomach flipped but he sat down and resisted the urge to make Devlin hurry and speak.

Finally Devlin did continue, and he clasped his hands; setting them down on a brown folder in front of them. It directed Jack's attention to it, and he knew the information he wanted – needed – was in there. Seeing that, Devlin slid the folder across the table and after a beat, Jack opened it.

There was a picture of the six-year-old Sydney Bristow staring back at him. It was the one people around LA had become familiar with thirteen years before, when the search had first began. Below it was another, a colour photograph, of a teenager. She was not aware anybody was watching her as she walked around a university campus. Jack's fingers glossed over the image of the girl, who was vaguely familiar yet not at the same time. And at the back of his mind, Jack just knew. "Sydney…" He whispered, his gaze never leaving the second photograph.

Devlin nodded, though the expression was tinged with sadness. "She's in LA, Jack." There was something in the few short words that made the comment sound like a bad thing, and Jack quickly studied Devlin to see if he could figure out why. Fortunately the older man was not one for dramatic pauses, and he pressed on with the information he had. Though it was in the folder too, this was something that should be heard.

"There are some things that you should know…" He began and let out a breath. He knew with a certainty that Jack would not, under any circumstances, like what he was about to say. "We were contacted three days ago by a Russian intelligence agent. He claimed to have information that would interest us. We were sceptical at first, of course, but then he showed us pictures, files. The copies are in the folder.

"As we knew, the Russians have had her all these years. What we didn't know was why – now we do. Project Christmas, Jack."

The moment Devlin uttered those words a light of realisation appeared in Jack's eyes. Realisation and dread. All they had done to keep that project from their enemy and now…his daughter had been used for it. "We now know where she lived, was schooled, was trained. I don't think I need to tell you have valuable this information is."

"It is," Jack agreed calmly. "But that source of information is my daughter…Where is she, Devlin?" He had waited long enough, and now he wanted to see her. But the look on his superior's face made his heart sink. "Not here, I think."

Devlin leaned forward on the table and extended an arm to tap the picture of the campus. "UCLA. According to our informant she was sent here on a mission, and a test. They need to know whether she truly remembers her life here…She was conditioned to believe she is the daughter of one of their former agents: Emma Espinosa." He leaned back in his chair again. "She sees us as the enemy, and would never agree to help us – let alone believe the truth. If she does remember anything she will be killed as a liability. If she does not remember, then her mission continues."

Jack smiled, but it was a cool expression. His daughter was the enemy – there was a ring of history to that; like a twisted version of Irina's life. He almost asked if Sydney had been sent to seduce a CIA agent but refrained from doing so. Nobody knew Laura Bristow was alive and a former KGB agent.

"We entertained the idea of bringing her in, but apart from the lack of co-operation we'd receive, she is also being tracked. By Anna Espinosa – her "sister" no less."

"What do you suggest?" Jack quizzed. He had a good idea of what he wanted to do, but it would probably be disallowed by Devlin and anybody else with authority. It was hard to sit back and do nothing when Sydney was only a short drive away. She was so close! But in light of what he now knew, she was also unreachable.

Devlin let out a long, heavy sigh. "I know this will be hard for you. But we watch, wait and see what happens. Short of dragging her in here, I can't see what else --."

"I do," Jack interrupted. A coldness settled over him, and he feverently wished nobody would pay a bad price for what he was about to suggest.