Hi there. Certain holidays people celebrate more than others. As you might suspect by my name, St. Patrick's Day is a big holiday for me. Given that my birthday was this past Monday (the 15th), you can easily guess what the "P" in P.J. means. (And those of you who are either devout Catholics or Italians can guess what the "J" stands for.") I bake stuff for work on this day like other people do for Christmas and birthdays. Therefore, I'm keeping my streak of holiday stories going. So far, I've covered Christmas, New Year's, and Valentine's Day, but I would be remiss if I didn't write a story for this holiday.
The bar in this story actually exists in Chicago. It's a great place inside the Irish-American Heritage Center on the north side, and they always have great Irish bands there on the weekends. (No cover charge, either.) In honor of them (and my parents, who were among many fine people who made the IAHC the great Chicago icon it is today, a little Chuck story for all of you.
As always, please review. And may the road rise to meet you.
Fifth Province Pub, Chicago
March 12, 2010
10:30 PM
Chuck had to admit this wasn't really his sort of place. He went out for the occasional drink or ten back in his Stanford days with his fraternity brothers, but taverns like this were not his regular type of hangout. Of course, Los Angeles wasn't exactly renowned for bars with character. Not without a $20 cover charge, anyway. The only character it exhibited was typically imported from other towns by people who only came out to the west coast for the weather.
Sarah, Casey, and he were 2,000 miles away from there right now.
The trio was in Chicago for an unusual mission, one that would require not only Chuck's special skills, but someone from Casey's past. Unfortunately, the contact they would meet in this bar, Kevin Donnelly, might or might not be on friendly terms with Casey. Casey went undercover 14 years ago in one of his first missions with the NSA as part of a joint venture with MI-5 to gather intel regarding the IRA and several covert operations they had planned. A few too many drinks led to a brawl in a Belfast pub that Casey got involved in through no fault of his own. Donnelly received a broken cheekbone, courtesy of Casey's fist, but he did not find out Casey's true purpose for being there until 7 years later, long after the Good Friday peace accord was signed.
Although Donnelly was no fan of the Brits and spent a few years on the terror watch list following 9/11, he had a change of heart about the suffering and destruction he helped inflict against his own countrymen in a war that was waged for far too long. Thanks to relatives in the States who helped him get a new start, he worked as a security consultant for a large Chicago accounting firm and enjoyed his life here. In fact, he was so appreciative of his new life in America; he was the one to initiate contact with the CIA when several individuals approached him two weeks ago asking him questions about his past. The CIA told him to keep a dialogue open, and he reported his findings to the Chicago office. After General Beckman consulted with them, she sent her best team to meet with him. Donnelly was to meet with these individuals the next day, but the particulars had to be ironed out first.
Casey kept watch outside in the van, but getting anything would be a bit tough with the large crowd and loud music in the pub. Hopefully, the new microphones Chuck and Sarah were surreptitiously wearing would be able to filter out the considerable amount of ambient noise and get a better read on what Donnelly had done over the last two weeks.
"It's pretty scary how well you blend in here." Chuck turned with a bit of a raised eyebrow towards Sarah. It was true, too. Although her blonde hair, which was now curly, and her crystal blue eyes could have made her any one of twenty different nationalities, the sweater she bought at an Irish store on Milwaukee Avenue really sold her look in a pub like this. She had a shot of Jameson in front of her that she occasionally took a sip from to make it look like she was enjoying herself with the rest of the crowd as a band played some up-tempo Irish music, complete with a Bodhrán, flute, mandolin, and a fiddle. Although it wasn't a style of music either of them listened to on a regular basis, it certainly was good at lifting the spirits of the crowd.
"You do realize that's my job, right?" Sarah replied back with a bit of a grin.
"I know, but this a bit of a new look for you. The curly hair and the Irish sweater. Is that the term for it?"
"The woman called it an Aran sweater. I think that's what the pattern is called." She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Can't I pull off this look?"
Chuck smiled. "Trust me, that sweater is so you."
Sarah gave a little laugh. "I wish I could say the same for the hat you're wearing."
"What? I'm trying to blend in."
"A green plastic hat with 'O'Party' on it?"
"See? It's the perfect cover. What spy would wear a hat as silly as this?"
"I'm surprised you didn't wear an 'I'm with McStupid' t-shirt to go along with it," Casey growled over their earpieces.
"And are you having a lovely evening freezing your butt off in the van, Casey?" Chuck gave the proverbial knife a slight twist.
"If I knew this was going to happen 14 years ago, I would have gotten my money's worth and broken both sides of Donnelly's face," Casey replied with a bit of a discontented grumble.
"OK, let's put this argument on the back burner," Sarah replied as she eyed the entrance. "Donnelly is coming in."
A tall, bearded man entered the bar and began to look around. Kevin Donnelly was certainly intimidating, but his combed-back brown hair and sky blue eyes could charm any woman if he was so inclined. He spotted Chuck and Sarah at their table and immediately went over.
"They say beauty is only skin-deep," Donnelly said to Sarah.
"But ugly goes to the bone," she replied. He smiled when she gave the agreed-upon phrase.
"Certainly not in your case," he replied, gently taking Sarah's hand and kissing it.
She eyed him warily but remained pleasant. "They said you were quite the charmer. I guess they were right."
"It's quite easy with a lass as lovely as yourself."
Chuck watched the exchange go back and forth. He had to admit feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy, but clearly Kevin was the type of person who exuded comfort and confidence. In a way, he was like Cole Barker, only far less arrogant. Hopefully, there would be fewer enemy helicopters and torture involved this time.
"And you must be Charles Bartowski," Kevin said, turning to Chuck and shaking his hand.
"You can call me Chuck," he replied with a smile.
"Pity you weren't here a few weeks ago. That was your holiday back then."
"What holiday was that?"
Donnelly took a seat. "That general who saved Washington's life in the American Revolution?"
"Casmir Pulaski?"
"Yeah, that's it. They give the school kids the day off for him, so I was asking the people at the firm what the deal was. There's a huge Polish community here in Chicago. Lots of celebrations for him."
Donnelly took out his mobile phone. "Your lads at the office here gave me this phone setup to take pictures. They said you might recognize one or two of the people on it. I'm meeting with them tomorrow. 12 PM. Not sure how they recognized me, but they want me to consult with them on organizing attacks in urban settings."
Sarah took the phone and scrolled through the pictures. "Do you recognize anybody, Chuck?"
Chuck looked over her shoulder as she went through the pictures. "Wait. Go back one, Sarah." He looked at the image and began to flash, seeing images of Fallujah, a terrorist campsite, and a file.
"I recognize one of them," Chuck said. "Nabir El-Khalel. He recruits for al-Qaeda here in the States. He tried to organize the group that was eventually arrested in Miami for planning to blow up the Sears Tower. The government was never able to prove the link, though. He is supposedly still on the loose."
"Perhaps he's recruited a few people and needed you to take them through the next phase," Sarah concluded.
"That would make sense," Kevin said. "Unfortunately, he's the only one I spoke to. The others never said a thing, and he made no definitive plans with me. Perhaps that's what he wants to do tomorrow. He set the time and the place."
"Where?" Sarah asked.
"I think they wanted the meeting to be as public as possible."
Columbus Drive, Chicago
March 13, 2010
11:55 AM
Chuck, Sarah, and Casey made their way down Michigan Avenue through the crowds who were gathering for the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Kevin Donnelly had given them a location near the end of the parade route. It was a building across the street from the Art Institute. Several undercover units were standing by in an alley two blocks away, ready to swarm the building when Donnelly met with El-Khalel.
Chuck turned his head to look back at the Chicago River. "OK, if they can paint this river green today, why can't they paint it blue the other days of the year?"
"Dammit," Sarah replied as Casey gave an arrogant laugh and held his hand out. Chuck turned back in time to see Sarah give Casey $20.
"What was that?"
"He bet me $20 you'd ask that question within five minutes of walking down here."
"I knew the moron couldn't resist," Casey said with a triumphant smirk.
Chuck rolled his eyes. "We're on a mission, and you two are wagering on what I'd say?"
"It was in the bag. You gave the Tommy Lee Jones speech from The Fugitive in your sleep last year."
"What? You listened in on me talking in my sleep? Did I say anything else while you were invading my privacy?"
"Nothing that you want Walker to hear," Casey replied with more than a hint of knowing sarcasm.
Chuck gave a sideways glance towards Sarah and prayed her reddening cheeks were because of the cold wind.
Casey ducked into the crowd to keep an eye on things as Chuck and Sarah turned onto Monroe and walked to Columbus Drive. They staked out a spot near the end of the parade route. Donnelly spotted them on the street and quietly passed by them. Sarah held her hand out behind her back, and Donnelly took the earpiece from it.
"Is this working?" Kevin whispered as he inserted the earpiece.
"All set," Sarah replied. "We'll hear everything that is said. Remember, 'shamrock' is the code word if you get in trouble."
"Thanks."
"Good luck in there."
Kevin slipped through the crowd and walked into the alley behind the buildings on Columbus. Chuck and Sarah took positions in the back of the crowd, which was waiting for the parade of floats to begin. Casey contacted them on a separate frequency from Kevin's.
"There are two units set on Michigan and Monroe, ready to roll. CPD has a half-dozen blue-and-whites just off the parade route that can be called in if we need them."
"Copy that, Casey," Sarah replied.
Chuck watched the crowd and glanced down the street as the parade started to make its way north on Columbus Drive. He had to smile.
"Twenty degrees out here, the wind is whipping around, and these people think it's a summertime party. You've got to love that."
"I wouldn't mind living here except for the damn cold," Sarah replied. "And I'd probably gain twenty pounds from the food. They don't serve dainty portions in most of these places."
Some chatter is heard over their earpieces. They stepped back from the crowd to listen.
"Where is the rest of your group?" Chuck and Sarah could hear Kevin talking. However, the only reply heard was a painful grunt from Kevin and what sounded like someone falling to the ground.
Chuck's eyes widened. "What the hell is going on?"
Sarah grabbed his arm and started to run. "Let's go. I think he was set up." She switched frequencies on her radio. "Casey, this might have been a trap. Be ready to have those units move in on my signal."
Chuck and Sarah made their way into the back door of the building where Kevin entered fifteen minutes earlier. They moved slowly down the hall. Suddenly, they heard the voice of Nabir El-Khalel over their earpieces.
"Are you ready?"
"All set," replied a voice they did not recognize. They could hear movement on both sides of them.
"Which way do we go?" Chuck quickly whispered.
Sarah didn't want it to come to this, but time was against them. She was always fearful of letting Chuck go on his own, even with the success of his solo mission in Paris and when he successfully defended Castle with Morgan. She knew she had to turn off her personal feelings for Chuck in a situation like this, but it was just as hard to do that now as it was when her primary job was to protect him.
She pointed Chuck forward, and then she indicated she would check the commotion behind them. Chuck nodded and moved slowly down the hall. Sarah backtracked and turned in the hallway.
Chuck found the door where the source of the talking was. He peeked in to see Kevin lying on the floor in a daze and El-Khalel standing over him with a stern look.
Sarah walked into a room with her gun drawn and was shocked to see 5 black vests with C-4 plastic explosives tied to them. From out of the shadows, a foot kicked at her arm, and her gun went flying across the room. She immediately pivoted and kicked her leg up to connect with that person, who promptly went down. Two others tried to grab her from behind, but she thrust upward with the heel of her palm into the face of one and landed a hook on the other. She whirled around and landed a jab at the fourth man, then brought her knee up into his solar plexus. He doubled-over and collapsed to the floor. Sarah could sense the fifth man behind her. She spun in the air and landed a final kick at that person, who went down. She retrieved her gun and kept watch on the five as she called for backup.
Chuck moved forward through the door, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Unfortunately, his concentration in trying not to make a sound made him miss the man with the gun to his left. The man pushed him forward into the room, and El-Khalel turned with amusement.
"Are you a friend of Mr. Donnelly's? Any friend of his is…well, not going to live much longer. The parade outside was a very tempting target, and my men will soon be going out among the crowds and sacrificing themselves for Allah with the vests of explosives they'll be wearing. However, I needed someone to help me finance the attack. Fortunately, Mr. Donnelly here has plenty of enemies in the United Kingdom, and one of them was more than happy to give me the money. I simply had to make sure that Mr. Donnelly would be blamed for it."
Chuck could feel his heart racing, and he knew he had to get himself under control in order to flash. Suddenly, he could hear the music from outside as the parade made its way to the end of the route. Something in the bagpipes and drums being played accidentally triggered a different flash. He started to do an Irish step-dance in front of El-Khalel. Nabir looked at him with amusement.
"Is this how everybody reacts to danger in this country? You are a foolish group of people." Nabir and the man behind Chuck started to laugh. That seemed to calm Chuck down. The man behind Chuck prodded him with his gun, and Chuck had a second flash. It was the flash he was looking for.
Chuck spun and kicked the gun away from the man. El-Khalel cocked his gun and aimed it at Chuck, but Kevin Donnelly suddenly got up and threw him across the room. El-Khalel dropped his gun from landing on concrete as Chuck threw a roundhouse at the other man and took him down with a kick to the middle of his chest. Chuck ran over to Kevin to see if he was hurt. Nabir El-Khalel scrambled to retrieve his gun. He pointed it and Chuck and Kevin.
From behind, someone tapped El-Khalel on his shoulder. He turned around to be greeted by Casey's fist. He promptly went down. Casey stood over him with an angry snarl.
"Sláinte, asshole."
Kevin took a long look at the man who assaulted him 14 years ago. Slowly a smile came across his face.
"That certainly makes up for the broken cheekbone in Belfast, mate." He then turned to Chuck. "And I think I owe you a drink or two, my friend."
Fifth Province Pub, Chicago
March 13, 2010
11:00 PM
"Three, two, one, go!"
Chuck picked up the pint and tried to drink it quickly. He wasn't even close. He put the glass down and almost spit out the heavy, bitter, stout beer.
"Soddin' hell, mate! I thought you had a pair after what happened today!" Kevin shook his head and gave Casey the $20 for the bet he just lost.
"I've worked with him for three years, Donnelly. There was no way he was going to down a pint of Guinness in thirty seconds. Nestle Quik in milk is more his speed."
Casey was feeling no pain as he poured shots with Kevin Donnelly from a whiskey bottle Kevin proffered from the pub. Chuck went to sit at the table next to Sarah in defeat. He wiped off his mouth with a napkin.
Kevin brought a different pint of beer to Chuck. "Here you are, Chuck. Harp is probably more your style. The Guinness people make it. It's their lager beer. Like a Budweiser or a Miller. But still a real beer."
"Thanks, Kevin."
Kevin raised his whiskey glass in Chuck and Sarah's direction. "Hey, no need to thank me. The lot of you saved me arse today. I'm paying all night for ya." He pointed at Casey. "Even for the grumpy statue over here."
Casey let out a bit of a growl but immediately stopped when Kevin refilled his shotglass.
"To all of you," Kevin said. "Thank you for what you did today. Bail ó Dhia ort, which means…
"The blessings of God on you," Chuck replied, finishing the sentence. Kevin nodded and tipped his glass at Chuck, and everybody took a drink.
Sarah turned to Chuck with a smile. "Did you get that from…"
Chuck looked a bit humble. "I looked up some Gaelic phrases online before we flew out here. I wasn't sure if we would need them or not."
Sarah was intrigued. "What other phrases do you know?"
Chuck smiled. "Just a few."
"How about Tabhair pog dom, Taim Eireannach?"
A huge grin broke out on Chuck's face. "Are you sure about that? You say that to a guy in this bar and he'll take you up on it in a heartbeat."
Sarah smiled and moved closer to Chuck. "I wouldn't mind it if you did." She held his chin gently in her hand and gave Chuck a gentle kiss on the lips. "You did great work today. You're getting really good at saving the world. Or at least a million parade-goers."
Chuck had that smile on his face that always melted Sarah's heart, no matter what the circumstances. "Are you really Irish, though?"
"Partially. I'm one-half Polish, one-quarter Irish, one-eighth German, and one-eighth Russian."
"Then I guess you can use the phrase 'Kiss me, I'm Irish'."
They sat back in the booth, cuddling against each other; while they watched Casey and Kevin finish the whiskey bottle and engage in boisterous conversation.