By Karen T
© May 2002-ongoing
Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Except for the time I spend writing this, nothing belongs to me. Those honors belong to JJ Abrams, Touchstone, Bad Robot, ABC, and others.
Chapter 5
[fifty minutes earlier]
Seated in the sterile SD-6 conference room, Sydney slid her eyeballs to her left without moving
her head and then glanced back across the table at Dixon, with whom she exchanged amused glances.
"Marshall? You're bouncing."
"Oh, I, uh, well, I, uh, I-I didn't mean to bother you," Marshall stammered from his chair.
Suppressing her desire to laugh, she swiveled her chair in his direction and said, with a
straight face, "You're not bothering me at all. It's just that you seem rather ... excited.
Since Sloane's apparently running late, maybe you oughta get the meeting started for him."
"Oh, no, I ... I should wait for Mr. Sloane," he responded solemnly, but Sydney and Dixon could
tell from the glint that appeared in his eyes that the thought of running a briefing in Sloane's
absence intrigued him more than he was letting on. After a second of serious contemplation, he
jumped to feet and declared, "Well, since Mr. Sloane is running late ..." Rushing to the
front of the table where Sloane normally resided during their briefings, he exhaled, shook his
arms out in front of him, and then looked up to face the two seated agents with an expression of
gravity. "Ms. Bristow, Mr. Dixon," he greeted each one with a nod, "during a routine hard drive
cleaning, I stumbled upon a most fortuitous discovery." He paused for dramatic effect, but when
he opened his mouth to speak again, his excitement overtook his restraint and a tumble of words
flew out. "It'ssuchagreatthingyouguysthatyou'renevergonnabelieve--"
Just then, Sloane walked into the room and frowned at the image of Marshall holding court.
"Marshall," he growled.
Slinking back to his chair like a newly reprimanded puppy, Marshall lowered his head and mumbled,
"Sorry."
Once Marshall was seated, Sloane grinned and announced, "Well, I don't know how much he's told
you, but I have wonderful news to share with the two of you. Thanks in part to Marshall's sharp
eyes and skill, we've uncovered information on the whereabouts of a second Rambaldi
manuscript."
"A second manuscript?" Dixon uttered in astonishment, his mouth falling open in surprise.
"I didn't know a second one existed," Sydney added.
"A minor inference was made to its existence in the first manuscript; something about 'a story
to make the circle whole.' Since the Alliance didn't learn anything more about it from either
our missions or what we've been able to glean from K-Directorate and Khasinau, we assumed it to
be a red herring Rambaldi inserted into the manuscript to confuse people. But when Marshall
happened upon this new intel--"
"I was cleaning the hard drive on one of the laptops and found an encrypted file!" Marshall cut
in.
"Yes. Thank you," Sloane grumbled, his words frigid and insincere. "As I was saying, once
Marshall succeeded in decrypting the file, we became the first to learn that this second
manuscript is wedged behind a stone in a water well located in a remote area of Caracas." An
image of a stone-constructed well, complete with an attached wooden bucket, flickered onto the
computer screens.
"Wait, a well?" Sydney queried, her voice obviously wary. She recalled all the times she'd
either had to descend into the bowels of the Earth or squeeze her way through a submerged tunnel.
But she'd never had to do both on the same mission before, and the prospect of having to do so
soon wasn't appealing to her.
"We-we don't think the well's real," Marshall attempted to clarify.
"So it's a fake well?"
"Or one that's no longer in use."
"In any case," Sloane punctuated, growing annoyed at Sydney and Marshall's side conversation,
"the well's dry. We've investigated this thoroughly and there's no water anywhere near it."
"How can you be sure K-Directorate and/or Khasinau doesn't already have this intel?" Dixon
questioned. "Marshall said he found it when he was a cleaning a hard drive. That means we
must've picked up during a mission."
"I'm not 100% sure that they don't. But all signs from those two camps lead me to believe that
neither of them has any idea this second manuscript exists. That being the case, extracting it
quickly and quietly is our number one priority. Sydney, you'll go down the well and retrieve
the manuscript from behind this stone." An image of a grayish-pink stone replaced the one of
the well on the computer screens. "Dixon will remain at ground level to provide you with
protection. Detailed specs. of this operation are in the folder in front of you. Any
questions?" Sydney flipped the black folder open and shook her head as Dixon did the same.
"Good. Marshall?"
With the knowledge that he'd regained ownership of the floor, Marshall scurried to the front of
the room, smiling brightly. "Hello. So, wow, gotta go down a well, huh? That sounds kinda
exhausting, especially when you think about how the manuscript's 100 feet down there. Going
down shouldn't be that hard, though, right? 'Cause you just, you know, take some rope, tie it
to something strong, and let gravity run its course. But what about coming back up? Long way
to travel. It'd take a lot of time to climb your way out. Plus you'll be all hot and sticky
and just, ew, gross." Sydney giggled at the 'show' and encouraged Marshall to continue by
nodding her head. "So, how'd you like a little help?" Reaching into a bag that had been
sitting underneath the table, Marshall pulled out what appeared to be a metallic shoebox.
"Now, I'd love to take credit for this masterpiece, but I'm afraid that goes to our friends in
the Defense Department. They've been playing around with manufacturing ultra lightweight
equipment SEALs can bring with them on reconnaissance missions, and Mr. Sloane talked them into
letting us test-run some of the things they've put together."
"How did he manage to--" Sydney began to challenge before remembering that, in Marshall's mind,
it made complete sense for the military to share their learnings with SD-6 since both were
supposedly extensions of the U.S. government. When she saw everyone in the room look at her in
puzzlement, she quickly covered her tracks, all the while wondering who and how many Sloane had
killed in order to gain access to this new technology. "Never mind. I'm sorry. I was thinking
about something else."
Marshall shot Sydney a small smile to help her feel at ease again and then continued on with his
report. "The nuts and bolts of this thing is titanium, which means it packs a punch without,
well, knocking you out." He chuckled at his joke but grew serious when he saw Sloane's scowl.
"Anyway, there's a titanium wire and motor inside. When Ms. Bristow's ready to leave the well,
she'll give Mr. Dixon a hoot or a holler or ... whatever it is you two do, and he'll lower the
wire into the well, set the box onto the ground, flip this switch to secure it to the ground,
and then push this button to pull her up. Two seconds later, she'll be back at ground level.
It'll be like she was Superman."
Sydney and Dixon laughed at the flourish with which Marshall ended his demonstration and leaned
forward in their seats to get a closer look at the box.
"You two will leave for Caracas tomorrow morning," Sloane pronounced as he opened the door to
the conference room. "We'll see you back here on Tuesday."
Sydney and Dixon waved their good-byes to Marshall and headed back to their desks.
"Going home?" Dixon asked when he noticed her straightening the items on her desktop.
"Not yet. I've got to go back to campus first for a meeting with my thesis advisor."
"This late?" He raised his left wrist and looked at the time on his watch. "It's almost seven.
You sure your professor's still there?"
"Seven?!" Sydney snatched her purse and a book off the top of her desk. "Great, I'm supposed
to be meeting with her at seven. I'd better go. See ya tomorrow morning. 'Night."
She heard Dixon wish her a good night as well as she strode to her father's office. Standing
underneath the doorframe, she waited for him to acknowledge her, but ultimately had to call out,
"Dad?"
Jack looked up, startled. "Oh, Sydney, I--"
"I don't know if you've heard," Sydney interjected, making her way towards his desk, "but
Marshall found out there's a second Rambaldi manuscript hidden in a water well in Caracas.
Dixon and I are flying out there tomorrow, so I wanted to return this book to you before I left.
Thanks for letting me borrow it."
Jack glanced down at the item she was holding underneath his nose and read, scribbled on a slip
of paper she'd taped to the cover of the book: No time to tell Vaughn about trip. Please
inform him for me. Clearing his throat, he accepted the book and automatically crushed the
note into a ball for him to dispose of later. "Thank you. I was thinking about rereading this
over the weekend."
"Sure." Her face was emotionless and her demeanor was cold.
"Sydney, I know we haven't been ... communicating very well ... lately," he haltingly told her,
his eyes focused on her feet. "But after what you said to me the last time we really talked, I
... I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you. I don't know what you want me to say
to you."
Gazing at her father's melancholy figure, she was struck by how, even when he was attempting to
connect with her, he still felt so far away, so removed from who she was as a person and a
daughter. Or maybe it was her who was being distant. "Well, Dad, sometimes there's just
nothing else to say. Wasn't that the conclusion I came to a month ago?"
And with that, she departed the office and returned him to his solitude.