The Prisoner's Dilemma 

Chapter 1

January 2004

Yauyos​​​​​​​, Peru

Andes Highlands
Mining facility

The late evening mist was both a blessing and a curse. It shrouded Jack Bristow from prying eyes as he approached the compound's perimeter defenses, but it also obscured his view of the sentries above. He hefted himself onto the roof of an outbuilding and adjusted his night vision goggles. Shadowy green shapes moved back and forth between the chemical drums and other equipment strewn haphazardly around the yard.

Without warning, a searchlight blazed into operation, loud voices shouted in Spanish, and gunshots broke out at the main gate. Jack cursed silently as his goggles captured the high-intensity beam and transformed it into a cornea-burning supernova. Temporarily blinded, he ripped off his goggles and slid to the ground, taking cover until his vision cleared. He stood there for several moments, blinking and adjusting to the darkness.

The gunfire at the gate increased in tempo, and he heard engines roaring to life and tires screeching as vehicles peeled out and sped through the gates.

Had he somehow set off the alarm? And if that were the case, why were they sending search parties out of the compound?

As he weighed his options, he heard the soft crunch of approaching footfalls. 

He froze. Every nerve tingling, every muscle taut, Jack analyzed the sounds, gauging their source (small, well-trained individual) and distance (closing in). He remained stock still until they were scant feet away from him -- just within reach.

He spun and grabbed the intruder's jacket, trapping him against the wall of the shed. But he stopped mid-punch, his fist wavering in the air, waiting. His vision was still obscured by the earlier glare, but the outline of this ... person ... was familiar. "You," he seethed. "What are you doing here?"

Irina Derevko stood motionless, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was physically threatening her. Was it his imagination, or did she shiver slightly?  A trick of the light, Jack thought.

His wife. His nemesis. A jolt ran down his spine, the now-familiar frisson of wanting her, but wishing her exorcized from his life at the same time. He didn't question the absurdity of crossing paths with her in the middle of his -- and apparently her -- rogue operation in the Peruvian highlands. Absurd, yes. But not surprising.

After a long moment she blinked and focused on his face. Her features were inscrutable, as always. "I could ask the same of you," she countered. "I --"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by a muffled boom in the distance. They both instinctively dropped into a protective crouch. But when Jack tried to rise, she pushed him down flat on the ground. "Wait!" she hissed.

Seconds later, the ground shuddered again as a second explosive went off. This one was closer than the first. Irina raised her head slightly. An orange glow lit the night, and Jack could see the smile that curved her lips as she watched the main building's east wing go up in flames.

"That should keep them busy, don't you think?" Irina's breath along the side of his cheek highlighted the intimacy of the moment - an unwanted intimacy. Jack was relieved when she shifted and rose to her feet. Seemingly unaware of his discomfort, she turned and offered him a hand up.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he considered the woman above him. "Keep them busy," he said acerbically. "Yes, it alerts them to the intrusion." He stood on his own, ignoring her proffered hand. "And what is your role in all this?"

"Rambaldi," she said shortly. "Look, Jack. I'm sure I'm the last person you wanted to see here. So, why don't we just agree to stay out of each other's way?"

"That depends on where Sloane is," Jack ground out.

"I have no idea," she snapped.

"You don't? Pity. Assuming then, that you aren't going to detain me, I'm proceeding to my objective."

"Fine." Irina turned and picked up her pack, slinging it over her shoulders. "I'd stay away from the south side of the compound if I were you." She reached for the ladder and climbed up to the catwalk.

Jack watched her stalk away. In another lifetime, he may have pursued her. Identified her objective. Countered her power play, neutralized or captured her. But his daughter was dead, and all considerations beyond avenging her he deemed... trivial.

And there was no other long-term strategy he cared to devise.

He watched her disappear into the night, and with effort, shook off the emotional jolt of seeing the mother of his child. Willed himself to fix on the objective. Training took over, and he donned his night-vision goggles and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. Soon he was maneuvering around the pipelines and heavy equipment that made up the factory yard, a pale shadow in the sodium lights above.

Jack was forced to admit that whatever Irina had done -- and for whatever reason -- was effective for his purposes as well. In a matter of minutes the compound had descended into anarchy. Smoke billowed into the sky, releasing chemicals that burned the back of his throat. Most of the guards were outside the walls, and if the constant percussion of Kalashnikov rounds was any indication, they were panicked and shooting at phantoms. 

His objective was a squat, white-washed concrete bunker in the center of the yard that housed the control room and other facilities. It had only one entrance, and two sentries stood outside, nervously grasping their rifles. A camera slowly panned left to right above them.

Jack huddled behind a rusting holding tank. He tossed a smoke grenade at the feet of a guard, and took advantage of the two seconds of confusion to squeeze four rounds from his silenced Beretta. The guards crumpled. By the time the cameras swerved back to his position, he was inside the building.

The next camera was at a 'T' intersection fifty feet down the hall. Jack shot out the lights above him and continued, unerringly, to the control room. The reinforced concrete and steel door was locked; impenetrable except for the motor that operated it from the inside. He tore off his goggles and traded his Beretta for an MP5 and a grenade. Taking up a position off-center to the doorway, he waited.

Predictably, the confusion with the cameras drew out the guards. As they exited the bunker, Jack rolled the grenade along the floor into the main room. With a burst of fire from the MP5, he mowed down the men in the doorway. The grenade ignited, sending a pressure wave through the corridor. Smoke billowed through the door. 

Someone retained the presence of mind to engage the closing mechanism for the vault-like door. Jack charged through the narrowing gap, shooting the guard at the controls. He took over the console and switched the door into reverse and it swung fully out on its hinges, crushing a defender behind it.

The control room was pure chaos. Defenders who had not been neutralized by the grenade fired wildly into the smoke. Jack kept moving, ducking behind the consoles and sending bursts of fire into the remaining targets. The answering fire gradually slowed, and then halted, and the smoke began to clear. Jack slammed the main door shut and secured it, preventing anyone else from entering.

He methodically checked the room for remaining threats lurking behind desks and cabinets. Satisfied the control room was clear and the doors sealed, Jack took advantage of the momentary reprieve. He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and take a few deep breaths.

He removed a keyring and access card from a fallen guard and let himself into the server room. The equipment was housed on large racks, fully powered and with indicator lights softly flashing as if nothing had happened. 

Reaching into his rucksack, he pulled out the datatriever he had borrowed from Marshall and placed it on top of the main server. A few keystrokes later, he had insinuated himself into the network and was in the process of a total data dump into the device. The blue bar on the screen indicated he had four minutes to go.

Leaving that for the time being, he jogged to the main security station in the control room and began working the controls for the hundred cameras situated throughout the plant. He rapidly flipped through the series of cameras -- the several blank screens indicated stations damaged by Irina's explosions or his own efforts. Most of the guards, it seemed, were still on the wild goose chase Irina had initiated.

He had to give credit where credit was due. Regardless of her motives.

Click. External view of the yard, raging fires causing the video to pixelate. Click. Main gate with searchlights rapidly scanning the hillsides and roads. He scanned through several channels until he stopped on what looked like a high-end medical facility. Was that a surgical theater? Incongruous with his understanding of the function of this site. He made a mental note and continued. 

Click...Click... There. He stopped scrolling and saw Irina herself taking out two guards with an AK-47. He checked the video feed display. It read in Spanish, "Crystalline Fabrication". He recalled that she was seeking a Rambaldi item. She had seen fit to tell the truth about that, at least. He couldn't help the knot in his stomach at the thought that she was still pursuing the false prophet even as Sydney -- no. No, he wouldn't think about that. He skipped past the grainy picture of Irina and back to the single remaining camera at the front gate.

He checked the datatrieve upload. Three minutes.

Without understanding why, Jack switched back to the camera that showed Irina. He squinted at the scene before him. What was she doing? He adjusted the zoom lens and watched as she worked on opening a clean room door secured with an electronic access point. The blurry video showed her shooting out a control panel, and immediately a warning buzzer sounded at another console in the room. Jack stepped over to it and noticed a pressure and temperature drop at Irina's location.

She gained entrance, and Jack used the next camera in sequence to follow her in. The laboratory was huge - he had to zoom out to get a grasp of the scale. Even then, he couldn't fit the entire thing in the frame. He had seen the original Rambaldi sketches, had read Sydney's reports, so he knew what it was. The circumference: a massive red ball seemingly suspended in air over a horseshoe-shaped mechanism. The ball glowed and rotated, shifting and pulsing. 

Jack tasted bile in the back of his throat. Is this what Irina was after? Was it the best she could do? Continue the endless Rambaldi treasure hunt in the face of losing their daughter? 

Why he had expected better of her was the salient question.

He followed her movements as she quickly circled the platform and pulled out several shoebox shaped bundles, coiled wire, and electrical tools from her rucksack. He recognized the detonation charges, likely C-4. She left the camera frame, reappeared at a bank of monitoring equipment.

Keeping one camera on Irina, he continued to screen for hostile activity in his immediate vicinity. Click...Click... Guards. He stopped the second monitor and saw a platoon of guards re-enter the main gate. Radio communications indicated someone had finally exerted command and control. Guards were being dispatched to search the fabrication facility. Jack frowned.

Thirty seconds to go. The guards moved closer, and Irina continued her work, oblivious to the imminent danger. Twenty seconds until his download was complete. He silently urged her to hurry, the guards to change course. Ten seconds. He reloaded both his weapons with fresh magazines. The sound of the clips locking into place echoed in the silent room.

The download was complete. Jack rapidly disengaged the device and ran out of the control room. He moved quickly in the shadows, staying close to the perimeter walls and concealment offered by the outbuildings and equipment. 

He slipped into the fabrication facility -- a large metal pre-fab construction that clashed with the aging and rusting pipelines and holding tanks that dominated the rest of the compound. His heavy footfalls echoed through the empty corridor as he rapidly searched. Finding the door, he rapped on it with the butt of his rifle several times; in Morse code: "Irina".

The door jerked open and the muzzle of a Tokarev was shoved in his face. For a moment, all Jack could do was make note of her sentimental choice of sidearm.

"Jack! Kakovo cherta!" She didn't attempt to conceal her irritation. Still, she stepped back to let him inside.

He followed her into the lab, and pulled up short. 

The schematics, the reports, were one thing. But seeing the circumference up close was something else entirely. It felt...wrong. Simply looking at it was unsettling, as if eyes and brain couldn't agree on what it was, leaving a vague sense of discomfort that gnawed at his gut. The entire lab - probably the entire building - was constructed around it. It towered at least four floors above them, and looking down through the floor grates he saw equipment, conduits, and transformers that must have extended below basement level. The flooring, the walls, vibrated with the machinery. 

A pulsing hum filled the room, loud enough to force him to raise his voice. "You need to leave," he said urgently. "The guards have regrouped, they're coming this way. Leave it." He indicated the ball hovering above them. "And get out of here while you can."

Irina shook her head. "I can't."

She moved to a wall panel and used a short crowbar to pry it open with one forceful jolt. She pulled out a bundle of cables and began stripping and rewiring them. Lights dimmed, and the mechanical hum stuttered. Realizing the imminent danger, Jack idly thought that at least the water contained in the ball would spill through the grates rather than flood the building when it blew. He asked, "Is the fluid hazardous?"

Irina continued to work on the cables and shook her head. "It's just water. This is only a prototype." She turned to meet Jack's eyes. "That's why I'm here."

A prototype? He hoped he never had to deal with the full-sized version. He scanned the room, assessing. There were two remaining charges that had to be placed. "Where do you need those?" he asked.

Irina paused in her work, and turned to face him. Her gaze narrowed, head tilted, assessing. The moment was gone as quickly as it came. She nodded and said, "Two power plants, lower level." She waved her wirecutters in the direction of an access ladder, then returned to her task.

Jack took up the charges and descended the ladder. Below, the noise pounded his eardrums, and his boots slid on heavy machine oil as he maneuvered around the equipment. He found the powerplants and placed the charges, then ascended the ladder. 

Irina was completing the detonator setup. She made a few final calculations, and pushed a button on the side of her watch. The charges lit up with a soft beep. "Now we can go. Five minutes."

"Right," Jack agreed. The sound of pounding feet echoed in the corridor. He unslung his MP5 and stood at the door, checking over his shoulder that she was ready to move. "Go left," Jack said quickly. "I'll cover the rear." He rapidly swung the door open, sent several rounds into the corridor. He heard Irina behind him, running along the steel floor. Jack walked backwards, laying down suppression fire. Their pursuers kept their heads low, chastened by the downing of several of their comrades.

They turned a corner, and Jack heard Irina's footfalls speed up. In response, he turned and kept pace with her. They sprinted down another corridor, but stopped cold as a guard blocked their way and peppered the hall with fire. They dove for cover, behind drums and pallets stacked along the walls. The boxes above Jack splintered as bullets struck them and burst through. Irina popped out from behind her cover and took down the guard with her AK. She continued running past him to the end of the hall. "This way!" she said, slamming her weight into the stairwell door.

Jack followed Irina down the stairs, and the hollow echoes of their rapid footsteps rang in his ears. They flew down one flight. Suddenly, voices and gunfire erupted below them. They both pressed themselves against the wall, attempting to find cover from the gunshots and ricochets that bounced in the small space.

Irina swore and fired a burst in the direction of their assailants. A faint scream echoed up toward them, yet the bullets still kept coming. "We're pinned down in here!" Irina hissed. Out of ammo, she dropped her magazine and re-racked another. 

Jack covered the stairwell above them with his MP5, and fired upwards as soon as he saw the door open. The guards from the upper floor were advancing. The spray of shots through the aluminum apparently caused their pursuers to re-evaluate the wisdom of entering the stairwell. Still training his weapon on the door above, he unhooked a grenade from his tactical vest and bit off the pin. He caught Irina's eye as he counted to three before dropping it. It clattered and landed at the foot of the stairs.

Irina threw herself against Jack and they both hit the wall, ducking their heads as the grenade exploded with a concussive blast that threatened to collapse the rickety stairs.

"Now!" Jack called out before the dust could settle. Bits of concrete and plaster rained down on them as they charged down the stairs. They raced off the stairwell and made a beeline for the exit. The sign glowed eerily in the semi-dark of the emergency lights.

Jack saw Irina check her watch. She called out, "Ten seconds," and Jack immediately understood her meaning. The detonation was timed. They picked up their pace with new urgency and sprinted towards the main door, their boots skidding on the slick floor.

Irina's hand was on the door when the charges blew. They both half-stumbled into the main yard, the force of the explosion throwing them from the building. Behind them, the building trembled and the roof caved in, swallowing any remaining pursuers. Regaining their balance, Irina and Jack sprinted towards the main gate. The guards fired blindly into the night, and bullets bounced off every imaginable surface. Heedless of cover, they put their trust in the huge distraction of the explosion and relied on speed to escape.

But as they exited the compound, a burst of fire came from the guardhouse. Jack raised his gun to counter it, and felt a hot stab through his thigh. He stumbled and leaned against the concrete wall before razing the guards with the last rounds of ammunition in the magazine.

Not wanting the adrenaline to wear off, he pulled himself together and followed Irina out onto the rocky field that surrounded the compound.

They scrambled down the slope, but Jack began to fall behind, his leg barely functioning. Sheer willpower held him upright: determination to not be at Irina's mercy. But in the end it wasn't enough. As they descended the crest of a hill, his leg finally collapsed. He hit the ground with a grunt, and spat dirt out of his mouth.