Free Fall

by Christa Roberts

  AN ORIGINAL PREQUEL NOVEL BASED ON THE

  HIT TV SERIES CREATED BY J. J. ABRAMS

  CHRISTA ROBERTS

  BANTAM BOOKS

  NEW YORK • TORONTO • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  DON'T MISS ANY OF THE OFFICIAL ALIAS BOOKS

  Only several feet separated them from the roaring water below.

  Preview

  Copyright Page

  1

  “DOES IT GET ANY better than this?” Francie Calfo let out a contented sigh, gazing out at the crashing Pacific surf. A summer party anthem was playing on the radio, the sun beat brightly in the cloudless blue sky, and the smell of coconut-scented suntan lotion wafted through the air.

  Sydney Bristow settled back in her striped blue beach chair and cracked open a wet can of Sprite. “Only if I had someone here with a tall glass of ice—and a fan.”

  Francie tilted her head toward a group of guys playing volleyball on the sand. “I'm sure that can be arranged.”

  “Mmm, sorry, they look way too involved in their game.” Sydney picked up the paperback novel she'd stuffed into her canvas beach bag. This was the first day she and Francie had spent together at the beach in weeks, and she was glad that it was just the two of them. “I've been dying to read this.”

  Francie looked over at the book. “Middlemarch?” She scowled. “Have you ever heard of a beach read?” She gestured to the lively scene around them. “Syd, for the first time in months, we are free! No more studying, no more finals, no more all-nighters. Come on! Can't you stop being responsible and vegetate for just an hour? You make the rest of us look way too shallow and vacuous.” She grinned. “See, I wasn't sleeping through English lit the whole semester.”

  It was hard to believe their first year of college was over. Back in September, Sydney had been a scared, clueless freshman. The UCLA campus had seemed dauntingly huge, the classrooms and dorms filled with intimidating strangers, and the workload overwhelming. Not to mention that only a few weeks into the school year, she'd been secretly recruited by SD-6, a covert branch of the CIA based in Los Angeles. She had gone from frightened kid to a full-fledged secret agent dedicated to protecting the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. To say that freshman year had been an adjustment was putting it mildly.

  Sydney took a sip of cold soda. But now, ten months later, things were completely different. She knew where to park and which professors were notoriously difficult. She knew which campus cafeteria ladies were grumpy and that the best place to study was on the second floor of the health sciences library. She knew that having a roommate could be completely exasperating and totally perfect (especially when said roommate came home with a new outfit and let you wear it before she did).

  But most of all, Sydney had learned about herself. Being an agent for the United States government was more than just a job. She hated lying to her friends, but the fact that the CIA trusted her to go on missions for her country, trusted her with top-secret, life-and-death information, made Sydney feel on top of the world. It was an incredible responsibility. She'd been waiting all her life for a chance to make a difference. Now, after months of training and several successful missions, not only did she feel physically ready for any challenge, she felt mentally prepared as well.

  That's what was making the summer ahead a bit of a bummer.

  “You're doing it again,” Francie accused, pointing a French-manicured nail at Sydney, startling her into dropping her book.

  “What?”

  Francie peered at her over the top of her white-framed sunglasses. “You know. Getting that distracted look on your face, like you just remembered you left your curling iron plugged in or a tray of cookies in the oven too long.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “That is not allowed in summer, missy!”

  Sydney laughed. “I know. I'm psyched about summer. Really.”

  Francie sighed. “You know, you have only yourself to blame. You could have gotten yourself a fun yet completely pointless summer job, like being a shot girl at one of those bars down on Sunset. Or—or becoming an extra on a movie set. You'd be perfect at that, with your classic looks. Or—”

  “Or working full-time at Credit Dauphine because it's a good job and they offered me a nice chunk of change to pick up extra hours this summer,” Sydney finished. She and Francie had had this discussion at least ten times. Francie couldn't understand why anyone would voluntarily work indoors, at a bank, when the beaches and outdoor cafes were beckoning. Sydney had a laundry list of excuses why the bank was the perfect place of employment.

  Of course, the real reason wasn't on that list.

  Not that she wasn't glad to work for SD-6 in the summer—she was. It would have been silly for her to even think of getting another job. Not only would the pay be much worse than what she earned as an agent, but there was no point in learning a new job only to quit two months later. All year long, Sydney had struggled to balance school and SD-6. Now she had only SD-6 to worry about. And that was a good thing, right?

  It's not like I have anything else on my plate, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment. Her father had recently visited her in Los Angeles, and although there had been a few nice moments in between all the awkward ones, the whole thing had left her depressed.

  They had never been close. Ever since Sydney's mother, Laura, had been killed in a car crash when Sydney was a child, Jack Bristow had stayed as far away from his daughter as possible. Her childhood was a blur of nannies and boarding school and more business trips than she could count. He didn't seem to want her in his life. Sometimes Sydney wondered if he wished she'd never been born at all.

  Yet despite the ice-cold air that hung between them every time they were together, Sydney still held out some small nugget of hope that they could actually have a normal father-daughter relationship. Go to Athletics games . . . catch a movie . . . have dinner. And every time, her hopes were dashed. Even when they did spend time together, it was never like she hoped it would be. They were virtual strangers, growing more distant as the years passed. After this last visit, Sydney had resigned herself to the fact that they were just two very different people, with very different personalities. And that made her feel more unloved than ever.

  As for romance, she'd ended things with Burke once and for all. Her on-again, off-again relationship with her UCLA classmate was off for good. He was a sweet, nice person, and it wasn't fair to string him along, never being able to be honest with him, never letting him feel like he could ever truly understand her. Not that Burke was eager to hang around her any longer. After Sydney had reluctantly told him about Noah, Burke had been understandably upset—and angry. He'd avoided her those last few days on campus. She'd heard from her friend Todd that Burke was going to Joshua Tree this summer to “find himself.” Sydney hoped that he did find whatever he was looking for . . . and maybe meet someone who wouldn't have a secret life as part of the package.

  At least with Noah Hicks, there weren't any secrets like that.

  There wasn't any security, either. Sydney never knew quite where she stood with the older, more experienced SD-6 agent. Maybe that was why she liked him so much.

  She watched now as a harried-looking mother chased her young son along the beach as he darted into the water. “I wouldn't exactly call your job g
lamorous,” Sydney said to Francie, foraging in her bag for some suntan lotion. “Got it,” she said at last, popping the top and rubbing some of the white lotion onto her legs. “Picking up after three rugrats, schlepping off to their summer home in New Mexico, and running after them twenty hours a day? Wow, you were lucky to get that one.”

  Francie pouted. “I am lucky! These aren't regular kids, you know. Their mother is one of the top food critics in L.A. And if I ever want to open my own restaurant, what better person—”

  “To learn from,” Sydney finished. Then she laughed. “I'm sure you'll be learning about all sorts of exotic cuisine. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, s'mores, Rice Krispies Treats . . .”

  “Stop! You're making me hungry.” Francie ad-justed her tropical print bikini and reached over for the small nylon cooler they'd packed earlier that morning. “Okay, we've got fruit salad, pasta salad—”

  “Any sandwiches?”

  Sydney and Francie turned to see two tall, cute guys in board shorts standing at the end of their beach towels.

  “If not, we've got our own,” said one of them, his surfer blond hair falling across his face.

  His friend gestured behind them. “See that red cooler over there? Totally stocked with food and water. We just wanted to make sure you girls had enough to eat.”

  Francie tilted her head. “Bet you don't have homemade chocolate cake.”

  Sydney raised her eyebrows. That cake was for the two of them to share! Francie must have thought these guys were really cute to offer up some of her most prized dessert.

  A few moments later, the guys—Matt and David—had set up their things next to Sydney and Francie.

  “So do you come to this beach often?” Matt asked Sydney, taking a big bite of pasta salad.

  Sydney laughed. “Only when I want to have some peace and quiet and relax.”

  Matt clutched his tanned chest. “Ouch! Hey, if I'm bugging you, just tell me.”

  Sydney shook her head. “No, you're not.” Francie and David were totally hitting it off—in fact, they were feeding each other pretzels. And Matt seemed like a nice guy. He was cute enough, with his surfer hair, brown eyes, and toned build. It was just that, well, Sydney wasn't really open to meeting anyone. She wasn't even much interested in making platonic friends. Because she'd only have to lie to them. It was hard. No one ever mentions how much lying you do when you become a CIA officer.

  The pager in Sydney's tote bag went off. In fact, the lying never ends.

  “Don't even tell me!” Francie screeched as Sydney shot an apologetic look at Matt, then reached for her pager. She squinted to read the message on its small screen: SLOANE.

  “I'm sorry, guys. I need to make a phone call.”

  “Why do they always do this?” Francie said, rolling her eyes. “Don't they know that it's summer? That you're still a teenager?” She shook her head in disgust. “Credit Dauphine rules your life!” Francie gave a perplexed Matt and David an exasperated look. “The bank Sydney works at falls completely apart if she doesn't show up there on the weekends.”

  Sydney took out her cell phone and stood up, brushing some sand off her legs. “I'll be right back.” She walked down to the ocean, letting the water cool her toes. Her phone looked just like a regular cell phone, but it worked worldwide and it couldn't be traced. Sydney used it to make cover calls to Francie—and to make sure she was accessible 24/7 to SD-6. Shielding her face from the sun, she punched in the number she'd memorized.

  “Sydney! How are you?” came Arvin Sloane's confident voice over the line.

  “Hello! I'm fine, thanks,” she said, trying to quell the nerves that always seemed to jump inside her when she was speaking with her new handler at the agency. “Do you need me to come in?”

  Sloane chuckled. “And miss this beautiful sum-mer day? No, Sydney. I'm calling with an invitation.”

  Sydney blinked. An invitation?

  “My wife, Emily, and I are having a dinner party later this evening. It's nothing extravagant, but I thought it might be a nice way for you to get to know me on a more personal level. See that we truly are one big family at SD-6.” Sloane paused. “That is, of course, if you're free.”

  Sydney stared longingly over at Francie and their new friends, all of them laughing like crazy. She gave the splashing surf around her a long look, then took a deep breath.

  “It sounds lovely. Of course I am.”

  2

  “OKAY, YOU MADE IT. Now relax,” Sydney told herself, closing the door to her white Mustang and walking up the fancy stone walk toward Arvin Sloane's house. By the time she had found a decent dress and stopped at a Mobil station to fill her almost empty gas tank, she'd had barely enough time to find her way to the address she'd scribbled down. She wasn't even sure what part of L.A. she was in, there had been so many twists and turns.

  Sydney glanced back at her car, parked in a mammoth brick-paved driveway between a sleek black Mercedes and a coppery Jaguar. A few other cars—another Mercedes, an Audi, and a canary yellow Hummer—were there as well. The sun was just starting to set in the west now, and the cars were bathed in crimson. “Must be nice,” she whispered, her sandals clicking on the smooth stones. In a town where what you drove was everything, the cars parked in the driveway gave Sydney a pretty good idea about who was waiting inside.

  Probably not other college students.

  Sloane's house wasn't a typical L.A.-style bungalow . . . it was a villa. It looked like a home that would be found in Tuscany, deep in the hills of Italy. Lush landscaping filled in the front grounds, and tiny spotlights lit up the olive trees and lavender bushes that lined the walkway. Sydney could make out burnt-orange gables along the roof, and large potted ferns graced the expansive entry steps.

  Taking a deep breath, Sydney rang the doorbell. She could hear a soft ding-dong chime inside.

  Walking out on Francie on their last Saturday night together before Francie started her nanny job did not go over well. “I'm sorry,” Sydney had apologized earlier that evening back in the dorm. “One of the computers is down, and I'm, um, the only one they were able to reach who has clearance to fix it.”

  “Yeah, because anyone with any sense knows that it's Saturday night, and that means you're supposed to do something fun.” Luckily, Francie and Sydney had had plans with a group of friends. . . . Francie would still have plenty of people to hang out with. But Sydney knew it wasn't quite the same.

  “What's the name of that place you're going to?” Sydney had asked, leaning against the doorframe. Even though she knew it was an impossibility, there was a part of her that really, truly, thought that maybe she could still go. “Magee's? On Sunset? If I can get off early, I'll meet you guys there.”

  Francie had slipped on a pair of wedges and given her hair a final fluff. “Like I believe you. You always say that, but you never actually do it.”

  “I'll try.” Sydney had given her an impulsive hug. “Really.”

  But the moment Francie had closed the dorm door behind her, Sydney had thrown a pair of strappy black sandals, a small black clutch, and a cosmetics bag into a backpack. “Okay, cell phone, directions, wallet,” she had said, checking off the rest of what she was going to need. Then she'd slid off her Bugs Bunny watch and replaced it with a silver bangle Fossil one that she rarely wore. She hastily put some of Francie's yummy just-baked chocolate fudge brownies in a plastic container. “Everyone likes brownies, right?” she had said to herself before stepping out into the empty hallway. “Now it's time to go find a dress. This is one dinner party that I definitely can't be late to.”

  And I'm not late, she thought, glancing down at her watch. In fact I'm right on—

  The door opened. A woman in a maid's uniform—starched black dress, white apron, flat black shoes—looked at her expectantly.

  “Hi! I'm Sydney Bristow. I'm here for the dinner party?” she said tentatively, her eyes flicking upward to an ornate metal and crystal chandelier that hung in the high-ceilinged vestibule
.

  The maid smiled. “Come this way.”

  Sydney followed her down a long corridor, taking in the sumptuous surroundings. Beautiful oil paintings hung on the walls, hardwood floors gleamed from a fresh polish, and vases brimmed with meticulously arranged fresh flowers.

  “They're out back,” the maid explained as they walked through an ornate sitting room and stepped through French doors to a large flower-fringed patio and deck.

  Small clusters of people stood about drinking wine. A tuxedoed waiter offered some canapés on a silver tray to a group of well-dressed women. Soft classical music played on outdoor speakers, and the smell of citronella candles drifted through the air.

  “Have a good evening,” the maid said, stepping back inside.

  A few people glanced Sydney's way, gave her polite smiles, and then resumed their conversations. Sydney swallowed. She'd thought that maybe someone she knew from SD-6 might be here, like that nice Agent Dixon, or Graham, or maybe even Noah, but there wasn't a familiar face in sight. Not even Sloane's.

  “Chianti, miss?” A man holding a tray of wineglasses had materialized beside her.

  “Oh! Uh, sure,” she said, taking one by the stem. Then she stared down at her hands. One gripped a glass of full Chianti very tightly. The other clutched a small plastic-wrapped container of . . . Francie's chocolate fudge brownies.

  Sydney winced. How could she have thought that bringing brownies was a good idea? Back in the dorm it had seemed a nice gesture, but now, seeing these people, seeing this house—it just seemed completely amateurish. She watched as a man in an expensive-looking shirt tilted his head back and laughed, while the woman beside him smoked a long, narrow cigarette. They helped themselves to what looked like scallops wrapped in bacon. Brownies. Why didn't I bring chocolate chip cookies and Kool-Aid while I was at it? she thought miserably.

  Sydney looked hastily around. No one would notice if she ditched the container inconspicuously in a potted fern, would they?

  She was just about to do it when she felt someone touch her arm. Great! Now I've practically been caught in the act of —