An Alex Krycek backstory for the Sanctuary universe
Krycek and Marita negotiate an alliance
I'd figured two days in New York to find Mulder's source and another couple if I needed to take him/her out, but my plans changed. I found Covarrubias on the second day, and no profile I could've worked up would have fit the woman who answered that door.
She was syndicate, organized, smart enough to recognize my name and realize I'd eventually come looking for her. And she was prepared. She knew she'd have to make herself valuable to me to save herself, and she pulled it off in a way that topped anything I could've asked for: she had a plan to save the world, or whatever reasonable part of it she could. Because unlike the stuffed suits sitting in the group's board room, she realized that none of us could survive alone. Real survival meant numbers. For the price of Lev's vaccine--or the old man's, the way she had it figured--I could buy in. The organizational end of things was what I wasn't equipped for and that's what she had in place... or said she did.
I tried not to act too eager, and it was probably easy enough for her to read my numbness as detachment, a good thing because my mind was reeling. As far as I could tell, I made it out the door in one piece but by the time I was in the elevator going down, I was shaking. It wasn't until that moment that it hit me: I'd never really expected to have viable chance to survive. Scary, if you think about it, the things your subconscious can hide from you. Now here was that one-in-a-million shot at staying alive, but it shifted the responsibility for what would follow squarely onto me. If I didn't survive now, it was my own damn fault.
If the race didn't survive, well, maybe that could be laid at my feet, too.
I wondered how well she slept at night.
20 May - 10 p.m.
If she's married to this plan the way she wants me to think, then she'll do whatever it takes to pull it off, including taking the vaccine and cutting me out if it suits her. I need to make myself so valuable she won't be able to think about getting rid of me. Ditto for Lev's project. If they catch me trying to take some of the vaccine, I have to be too valuable to cut loose.
Strange kind of overload. I should be flying, high on the possibilities, but all I see are how many ways I could blow it or be left on the outside, banging on bullet-proof glass. But then I guess it's what I know best--being left behind. Whatever he intended me to learn, maybe that's the real lesson the old man taught me. Too bad for him.
Left the Farabloc Ché gave me at his place so I'll have to make it through these few days on my own. At least Covarrubias didn't notice the arm. Hopefully we'll be into this too far to turn back before she does.
21 May - 7 a.m.
No time for speculation now, though. The first of her people that she promised to connect me with is ready to meet, so I've got to pick a location and get back to her ASAP. I need to make sure they're on the level. Taking them one at a time, it should be easy enough to spot any inconsistencies in their stories.
I keep trying to check myself, make sure I'm not falling for something too good to be true. Guess I'll find out soon enough.
21 May - 4 p.m.
He let slip a little about Covarrubias' family. I think he was under the impression she'd already given me the backstory. Anyway, I just let him talk. Evidently this plan was her father's idea. He was some kind of populist, came from money but (Ansbach's words) "valued the stable boy as much as the banker." Wonder how he got mixed up with the syndicate. I bet once he decided to sidestep the official agenda, he planted Ansbach inside the research program.
Seems legit so far. Another meeting's on tap in an hour, this one in Battery Park because the woman uses a guide dog. I'm out the door again.
22 May - 8 a.m.
Met with Mahta Ahsani (World Health Organization) yesterday at five. She described possible distribution routes and wanted to know what I knew about the vaccine's effect on a child's physiology, since third world kids will be the easiest to reach--just ship the stuff in with other medical/relief supplies and label it as vitamin shots. All kinds of details I'd never thought about. I'm way out of my depth here.
Came back too wound up to eat. Grabbed a bottle from the mini bar and fell asleep in front of the TV. Woke up about eleven from a crazy dream, soaked in sweat. Socket and harness were a mess. Tried to wash them the best I could but I don't know if the smell will come out. Like I need a new way to have people notice me.
Mixed-up dreams: the siege of an embassy combined with spies that melted and turned into the Oil, and I was inside with--of all people--Little Miss Upper Crust, Liliana the ambassador's daughter. For an eight-year-old the kid was one bitchy little powerhouse; I remember Vanya swapping shifts with me so he wouldn't have to watch her. In the dream we're holding them off, then all of a sudden I'm asleep and she's shaking me, saying, "Aren't you going to save me, Aleksei? Well, aren't you?" Giving me that iron glare she'd use.
Stump's a mess, rashy. Soaked it for a while, paced the room, ended up going through the Brussels exercises twice and then back to bed. Harness is still damp this morning, so I hope Covarrubias gives me some lead time before she drops her third contact on me. Anyway, I'm still half out of it.
23 May - 7 p.m.
Made myself a long checklist with Tolya at the top. It's been nearly five months and the man's a magnet for good intel. I'll have to check in with him ASAP. Also have to check on Mulder again before I head for Moscow. Everything's so fluid I don't know what or who I can count on. Mulder might crumble if Scully takes a turn for the worse. Strange, thinking about all the time I've put into Mulder and wondering what the chances are it'll pay off. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Other times I start thinking that I sound too much like the old man.
Andrei would be proud if he understood his vaccine's real potential. I owe him big time. Have to make it up to him someday.
24 May - 11 a.m.
Feel like I'm on a treadmill. Cut off a guy's arm, then shove him out the door to save the race.
Hard to keep writing these logs but they've always been good reality checks at a distance. Never pays to throw away a resource--especially hindsight. Or so I keep reminding myself as I work on these entries. Sometimes I wonder what Mulder would think if he got ahold of them--like at a funeral, me gone and somebody handing them to him as next of kin. What would he think, once he was over the shock of finding out who I am? But he'd have to get past Che's encoding first.
I must really be losing it, thinking shit like this.
24 May - 3 p.m.
Realized a couple of hours ago that I haven't eaten a decent meal since I've been here, though I've made a good dent in the stash in the refrigerator. Maybe that accounts for how I feel, like I'm running on empty. Got to get a grip, start taking better care of myself.
I'm getting a bruise on one side of the stump but I can't find anything in the socket it could be rubbing against. Damn plastic arm.
24 May - 8:30 p.m.
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