The Burbank Situation
Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck or any of the characters in the series. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters in the series.
Author's Notes: This story is set in an Alternate Universe. A number of canon events didn't happen or happened differently in the series.
Chapter 1: The Mission
Virginia, Langley, George Bush Center for Intelligence, September 20th, 2007
Agent Sarah Walker knew something very important had gone wrong before she entered the director's office. She wouldn't have been pulled off her current mission otherwise. "Director."
"Agent Walker." Director Graham nodded at the seat in front of his desk.
Sarah took a seat, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt so the thigh-holster holding four throwing spikes didn't show.
"Did you hear about the break-in at Site Zero?"
"Rumours only, sir." Someone had broken into one of the most secure and most secret government computer centres in the Directorate of National Intelligence in Washington D.C. That had to be an inside job. She sat a little straighter.
"It was Larkin."
She pressed her lips together as she felt a sudden pang of fear and guilt. Bryce. They had been lovers, in the past. Did the director suspect she was involved in the break-in because of that, and her past? She hadn't done anything. She hadn't spoken to Bryce in months. And she wasn't Sam any more. Hadn't been for many years. But who would believe her? "Was he caught?" she asked.
"Shot by Agent Casey."
She turned her jerk into a nod. Bryce was dead, then. And if Major Casey had done it, then the NSA was involved.
"But Larkin had already destroyed the database - Project Intersect."
Her eyes widened. She had heard the rumours about that project. Cutting edge search algorithms coupled with the complete database of the NSA and CIA. If any enemy agent managed to get their hands on it...
"His computer was secured, but the memory had been wiped. We did find out, though, that he made a call to an associate of his right before he died."
She nodded. An accomplice. Who had a copy of the database - possibly the only copy left.
The director handed her a file. Hardcopy. Thin. "Charles Bartowski. Larkin's college roommate."
"He never mentioned him." She narrowed her eyes as she started to skim the file.
Born September 18th, 1981. Half a year older than herself. Grew up in Sunnydale, California, until he graduated from high school in 1999.
She frowned. Sunnydale? The town that had disappeared into a sinkhole in 2003? Years after Bartowski had left, though.
He went to college on a scholarship at Stanford University but was expelled for cheating in 2002. Moved to Los Angeles to live with his sister. Currently employed as a 'Nerd Herder' at the Buy More in Burbank. Parents...
Her eyebrows rose, and she looked up. "Both parents missing?" That was very suspicious.
The director nodded. "We're still looking into that."
She returned to the file. Hobbies. Member of the Society for Creative Anachronism. Video games. No spouse or life partner. A nerd indeed.
"Is he a spy?" she asked.
"We cannot exclude that possibility. But since he received Larkin's call, he would know that he was compromised. A spy would have already disappeared."
She nodded. The man could be trying to bluff it out, play the innocent victim of a mistake - but with something as important as the Intersect? It was more likely that Bryce had been desperate and tried to use an old acquaintance as a decoy or dead drop. Which meant time was of the essence.
Sarah closed the file. It was rather bare-bones - but she couldn't expect much more this early into the investigation.
"Your mission is to recover a copy of the Intersect and to destroy any other copy. By any means necessary."
She knew what that meant. She had done it before. "Yes, sir."
California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, September 21st, 2007
Sitting in her rented car, Sarah Walker watched Bartowski's car - a white subcompact with the 'Nerd Herd' logo and colour scheme - exit his home's drive. His sister and her boyfriend, both doctors, had left for their shift at the hospital already. The coast was clear.
She stepped out of the car, using a large map to both hide her face as well as pose as a tourist, and made her way to the side alley closest to the Bartowski home. A few seconds later, she was over the fence and in the yard of the house, the map in her belt pocket and a mask on her face, hidden from witnesses by the hedge lining the fence.
The backdoor had a sophisticated lock and security system - for a civilian. Bartowski must have used his employee discount, she thought. But neither would stop a trained spy - half a minute later, she was inside the house.
The interior wasn't exceptional in any way, but for the large and old-looking cross on the wall - the file hadn't said anything about either of the Bartowksi siblings or the sister's boyfriend being very religious. Perhaps an antique, or an inheritance. It wasn't important either way.
After a quick glance, she sneaked upstairs and entered his bedroom.
"Definitely a nerd," she muttered with a snort at the sight of the posters covering the walls. Call of Duty, Tron, North by Northwest… she blinked. There was another cross. Perhaps Bartowski was the religious type.
It didn't matter. Shaking her head, she approached his computer. No sign of any booby-trap, but there was a 'I'm a professional nerd' sticker on the screen. At least he was self-aware. She snorted again, then frowned. The smell… new electronics. A quick search of the desk netted her a receipt dated yesterday.
Bartowski had replaced his computer hours after receiving Bryce's call. Suspicious. But that meant that he would have disposed of the old machine - likely in a way that ensured it would not have any usable data left given his profession. But perhaps he had saved the hard drive...
She searched his room but found nothing suspicious - apart from the chest under his bed. Old and weathered, it smelled like… metal and oil. Not powder, though. She picked the lock - far more modern than the chest itself - and flipped the lid open carefully. No trap went off.
Her eyes widened at the contents. Crossbow. Sword. Axe. Knives. Multiple stakes. Home-made holsters for everything. Vials with 'holy water'.
Bartowski really liked live-action roleplaying. She snickered and closed the chest, then stood. It would have been nice to find a copy on his computer, but she hadn't really counted on that.
Well, that meant it was time for a more personal touch.
California, Burbank, Buy More Store, September 21st, 2007
Sarah checked her appearance in the rental car's mirror. Subtle makeup - refined, but not blatant or cheap. White blouse, one button left open to show some cleavage. Tight blue jeans. Short brown jacket to cover up the gun holster in the small of her back. She'd stand out of the crowd of the shoppers, but she wouldn't look out of place. Perfect.
She got out of the car and walked over to the Buy More's entrance, scanning her surroundings and the crowd for possible threats. It looked clear, but that didn't have to mean anything. If Bartowski was a spy, he would have prepared some surprises at his workplace.
When she entered the climatised store, she sighed, like most around her - Southern California's weather was a tad too warm for someone used to D.C. Now, according to her intel… there. Bartowski was manning the Nerd Herd station in the centre of Buy More's consumer electronics store. She started to walk towards him, putting enough sway into her gait to draw attention, but not too much - just a pretty girl next door entering a store, not a vamp cruising for a mark.
She didn't react when he noticed her, nor when he suddenly straightened. "Hello," she said, flashing her best innocent smile at him. "I need help with my cell phone," she went one as she pulled it out of her purse. "The screen flickers."
"Ah, an Intellicell," he nodded, his attention seemingly fixed on the device. "That's usually…" He had the case open before she noticed, holding the cover in his mouth. A few of his fingers were bandaged. "Yes. There's a screw loose in the back. Happens often with this model. Let's give it a couple turns and adjust the screen a little… yes, that should do it." He handed it back to her with a smile. "Try it."
It worked. "Thank you." She beamed at him. "I wouldn't have known what to do if I had lost my contact list - I've just moved here, you know, and the company hasn't managed to straighten out the landline yet."
"Ah!" He smiled as well - and looked into her eyes. Mostly. "Where are you from? I mean…"
"D.C." she replied, cutting him off. If he was a spy, then he knew how to act the naive, nervous nerd. Of course, any spy working with Bryce would have been well-trained. "Sarah Walker," she added.
"Ah. What…"
"Excuse me! Excuse me!" A middle-aged man with a young girl in tow interrupted them. "I have an emergency! I shot her entire recital, but I cannot get the camera to play back! Can you help me?"
And there went Bartowski's attention. It was a little vexing - Sarah might not have pulled out all the stops, but to be suddenly ignored by a mark like that? That rarely happened. On the other hand, it allowed her to observe Bartowski up close. He quickly found the problem - the father had forgotten to put a tape into the camera. And then he organised another recital. In the store. In front of the wall of TVs, and with a professional tripod for the camera.
If it was a cover, then Hollywood was missing out on a great actor. If it wasn't… then Bartowski really didn't deserve what was headed his way.
But she was on a mission for national security. Sarah buried the slight guilt she felt and kept smiling as Bartowski returned to the Nerd Herd station. There was an opportunity - and she was a spy trained to use such opportunity.
"That was great!" she gushed. "You really went all-out for the little girl and her father."
He looked embarrassed. "Uh. Well, it was nothing."
She shook her head. "Not many would have done that." Certainly not the coworker bitching at him afterwards.
He shrugged in a slightly awkward manner. "We try to help people if we can."
"You obviously are good at that." She wasn't lying.
He responded to that with another awkward shrug and a sort of half-nod. "So…" He cleared his throat.
Trying to find a reason to keep talking to her, without appearing to be doing so? That was familiar ground for her. She leaned forward a little - his eyes glanced down for a moment - and nodded. "As I said, I've just moved here. I don't know anyone or anything. So… would you mind showing me around? If you're free, I mean."
He blinked at her, then slowly opened his mouth. "Uh."
"He's free!" Another coworker of his interrupted them. "He's got nothing in his schedule - completely free and at your disposal!" Not a coworker - a friend. She had seen him in one of the few pictures in Bartowski's home.
"So… apparently, my schedule was just cleared," Bartowski said after a glare at his friend, who scampered. "So, I am free, I guess."
She smiled and handed him a card with her number and the address of her safe house. "Seven pm good for you?"
"Sure, sure." He nodded rapidly.
"Good." She nodded slowly, then turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her - and felt a little guilty. More than a little, actually. But she suppressed those feelings. She was a spy on a mission.
California, Los Angeles, Glendale, September 21st, 2007
Her phone went off just when she was slipping her bullet-proof vest on. It was the director. "Yes?" she asked, jamming the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she adjusted the velcro straps of the vest.
"Mission's over. The NSA is taking over. You've been recalled."
"What?" she snapped.
"Larkin was CIA. He burned us, and so the NSA is moving in. Major Casey is on the case."
Casey? That violent hardass? "Bartowski's computer was replaced. I need to find out where he stashed the original - and if he had any backup storage," she said. She was so close. And she didn't want to NSA to deal with this. Bryce had been one of theirs; he was their mess to clean up.
The director's voice grew softer. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have prevented this."
She clenched her teeth for a moment. As much as she appreciated the vote of confidence - the NSA certainly would suspect her - she knew she couldn't have prevented this. "I'm too close. I've got a date with him. Give me twelve hours."
The director didn't answer, but that was an answer in itself. She could do this, but if it blew up in her face, he wouldn't save her.
She could live with that - she wouldn't fail. Whether Bartowski was a spy or an innocent dragged into this, she would secure the Intersect.
By any means necessary.
Sheath with throwing spikes strapped to her calf. Poisoned hairpins. Gun holster in the small of her back. Leather boots and pants cut to hide the spikes, but to let her draw them without delay. A sleeveless, high-cut blouse that hid her bullet-proof vest.
Sarah eyed herself in the mirror in her bedroom, then nodded. She was dressed to kill - literally. She smiled - Bryce had loved that joke. Then she pressed her lips together. Bryce was dead and a traitor. And she was on a mission.
Bartowski wouldn't know what hit him. Unless he was a spy trying to trap her. She hadn't yet ruled that out. Working as a 'Nerd Herder' would be a good cover for a spy - other spies could drop off information and messages with him during work, posing as normal customers. With the amount of traffic the store got, it would be nigh-impossible to track everyone. And working as tech support on-site would let him hack computer systems as well as plant bugs in offices and private homes. But if he were a spy, wouldn't he have vanished already? Or did he have a network of spies he didn't want to burn? But why take the risk…
She scoffed. It all came down to what she had already realised: Either Bartowski was an innocent victim of Bryce or a top spy. She would find out tonight. And whether she had to kill him or not.
Bartowski arrived a few minutes early, but waited in the hallway - she could watch him through the surveillance cameras she had planted. He looked nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and she was certain that he'd be fidgeting with both hands if he didn't have to hold the flowers. Dressed a little too casually to match her, with jeans, sneakers, t-shirt and a light jacket worn open, but decent enough for a date - though he'd fit better into the Silicon Valley than L.A. scene. He'd do.
And there he came, wriggling his fingers before ringing the doorbell.
"Hi!" He smiled at her, looking so naive and hopeful that she felt a pang of guilt once more.
"Hi." She flashed him her best smile, then took the flowers he held out towards her. His fingers were still bandaged. "You didn't get pricked picking the roses, did you?" Both pockets of his jacket slightly sagged - he was carrying something. No gun, though.
He laughed, slightly nervously as far as she could tell. "No, no. Uh, it's from Call of Duty. The controller chafes after a few hours."
"Ah." The bandages might hide tell-tale callouses from shooting, of course.
"A video game," he added as if she wouldn't know what it was.
"I had a Nintendo growing up," she replied as she stuffed the flowers into a vase.
"There's no such thing as a Nintendo," he said.
She looked at him. "What?"
He coughed. "I mean, Nintendo even put out an ad about it - there's the Super NES, the Famicom, and the Nintendo 64, but not a 'Nintendo'. They didn't want to see their brand used for all video games… and I'm boring you," he finished.
She laughed. "Not yet."
"Good, good." He nodded two times. "It's just a thing for Morgan and me, we're, like, dedicated gamers, and so we tend to be… very precise with terms and definitions. A little obsessed - him, that is. Not me."
"You're geeks." Her smile took the sting out of her words.
"I would say nerds," he replied. "Who says geeks any more?"
"Me, apparently." She grinned at his expression.
He raised his index finger. "Ah… point." He cleared his throat. "Uh… shall we go now?"
"Let's."
She slipped her arm into the crook of his as they left her apartment, brushing over his jacket's pocket. It felt like a bottle. PET bottle, not glass. Didn't he trust the drinks? Or was he planning to drug her? No, no spy would use such a large bottle.
"So, where did you make reservations?" she asked as the lift arrived.
"Uh. I hope you like Mexican. It's the best Mexican restaurant in the area. The food, that is. The live music is hit or miss."
It was 'miss' tonight, as Sarah found out fifteen minutes later - the Mariachi group was loud and not to her taste. Unlike Bartowski.
"...so, my sadist parents saddled me with 'Chuck' as a nickname. It could have been worse, of course. But I don't know how."
She snorted at that even as she filed the information about his parents. Just like she had done when he had told her about his sister and her boyfriend, 'Captain Awesome'. He was funny. A little nervous, and definitely not in his element, but funny. Even charming, in a naive way.
"So what about you?" He looked at her with an open expression. "I've been trying to figure out what's wrong with you, you know."
She kept smiling, though she tensed a little. Wrong? Had he spotted her?
"I mean… you're not a cannibal, are you?" he laughed, but it felt a little forced.
She shook her head. "No, not a cannibal. But I just got out of a longer relationship so I may have some baggage."
"Ah." He nodded as if that were not a big deal. Definitely naive or inexperienced. Or a very good actor. "I could be your very own baggage handler." He suddenly looked as if he were embarrassed by his own flirting. "Uh. So, your ex… Is he the reason you moved to L.A.?"
"Yes." She fed him a mix of half-truths and straight lies about her relationship with 'Bruce'. Just as she had been trained to as a spy.
And tried not to feel too guilty when he was sympathetic about her ex cheating on her.
She liked him. And she might still have to kill him. As the Director had said - innocent people generally didn't get sent state secrets.
California, Los Angeles, Echo Park, September 21st, 2007
Bartowski was typing on his phone as they crossed a bridge on foot, Sarah noticed. It wasn't the first time he had done it - though he was frowning this time. She stretched her neck a little, but couldn't catch a glimpse of his screen.
"Bad news?" she asked, in a light tone.
"Uh, no. Just… my friends and family trying to give me advice in the middle of a date," he said, with a rather forced-sounding chuckle.
He sounded like he was lying, but Sarah nodded anyway. "Ah."
"So, yeah, I…" He trailed off, blinking, as he stared at the highway below them, where police vehicles were escorting a limousine.
"Chuck?"
He didn't seem to react to her, but he was blinking rapidly.
"Chuck?"
"What?" He gasped and shook his head. "Sorry, sorry… I kind of zoned out there for a second." He mumbled something under his breath she couldn't hear, but reading his lips…
"Did I just remind you of your ex?" she asked. "Cordelia?"
"What? Uh, no." He laughed, though he looked a little shaken. "Cordelia was my high school's queen bee if you know what I mean. Rich, bitchy cheerleader. She died a few years ago. I just… the sirens reminded me of her."
"She must have had a voice to remember," Sarah replied before she could control herself. "Sorry."
"It's been years. And she put so many people down, she has no leg to stand on if others did it to her."
She nodded. "How did she die?"
"Killer headaches," he replied. "I mean, brain tumour." He tapped his temple.
A few seconds passed without either of them saying anything.
"So, have you recovered from the shock that I don't have a favourite band?" she said, just to break the silence.
"I'm not sure." He grinned. "Can you dance?"
She grinned back.
"So what's the verdict? Can I dance?" she asked fifteen minutes later, after dragging him on the dance floor of the club.
"Uh. Yes. Yes."
His open-mouthed expression as she danced so close to him, their pants rubbed over each other, was very satisfying. For her mission, of course, she reminded herself. She had to find out if he had a backup of his old computer's hard drive.
Which shouldn't be too hard. Bartowski couldn't dance, though. He was more jerking around - she caught a silver cross on a chain around his neck sliding up and down as he moved. And he certainly wasn't clubbing often. She'd convince him to take her home, and then she'd get him to show off his computer. Familiar ground for a nerd.
She stepped past him and rolled her shoulders, pushing her back into his. She felt him tense at the contact and grinned. Putty in her hands. A little more… She turned around and stepped in front of him, glancing over her shoulder…
...and caught him staring at another dancer. A pale woman in a leather dress that went out of fashion with Xena reruns. Seriously? She forced herself to smile as she upped the ante and leaned back until she was pressed into his front. This would…
She blinked. He was texting! She was all but literally hanging on him, and he was texting - and taking a picture of the leather skank! Perhaps she should skip straight to enhanced interrogation?
The sight of several - five - hard-faced men in suits entering the club drove that fantasy out of her mind. NSA agents. That was Casey in the back. She had to leave with Chuck.
Clenching her teeth, she quickly went over her options. Two including Casey at the stairs leading outside. Another at the emergency exit. Two weaving through the crowd towards her. No choice.
She stretched her arms above her head, gyrating her hips - and drew her poisoned hairpins. Shaking her hair free she drew Bartowski's attention towards her face and snapped her arms out, sending the pins flying.
Both agents went down, coughing and choking as the poison started to paralyse them. That drew the attention of the crowd as well, and she grabbed his hand. "We need to go!"
"What? We can't! I mean… hey!" he protested as she dragged him towards the emergency exit. The agent there tried to intercept them, but with the club packed with people, his options were limited.
Sarah's weren't. She crouched down, drew two throwing spikes out of her boot, then flung them at the man. He dodged one, but the other struck his right biceps. He reached over to pull it out, and she knocked him out with a kick to his head. "Come!" she snapped, and dragged Chuck forward, through the emergency exit.
They emerged into a side alley, as expected. That meant… "Come!" she snapped again.
"What's going on?" he asked - but he was following her. And faster than expected. They reached the main street, where he had parked his company car.
"Give me the keys!" She raced towards it.
"It's a company car - they don't like anyone other than me driving it!"
Behind them, Casey and the other agent burst from the club.
Clenching her teeth, she used a tool to open the car door. "Keys, now! We're being hunted!"
He turned, saw the two men running towards them, gasped and jumped into the car. "What's going on? Who are these people?"
Instead of answering, she grabbed the keys from his hand and started the car. Unfortunately, they had barely left the parking spot when a black SUV appeared behind them, then stopped with squealing tires to pick up Casey and the other agent. That gained Sarah a few seconds, but the 'Nerd Herd' company car wasn't exactly a sports car. Nor was it inconspicuous. And it most certainly wasn't tough enough to play bumper cars with an NSA SUV.
Still, she had a lead. She turned the corner and entered a side alley as soon as they had broken the line of sight to the SUV.
"I hate to repeat myself, but: "What's going on? Who are these people?"
Sarah briefly debated lying. No. "They are NSA agents."
"What?" Bartowski's voice rose an octave. "Why are they after you?" He also eyed the door handle on the passenger side, she noticed.
"They are after you," she told him as the car slid onto the main street on the other side, turning right before a braking truck.
"Me? Why? I haven't done anything! I'm not special!"
She sped up again, heading towards the freeway. If she could gain enough distance, Casey would lose her. "Did Bryce send you an e-mail?"
"What? Bryce? How do you know Bryce?"
"You received his e-mail two days ago." One more turn and they'd be on the freeway.
But then, the SUV shot out of a side alley behind them and accelerated. Sarah swore and changed the lane right before the other car could ram them. "Did you read it?"
"Whoa!" Bartowski grabbed the handle on his door. "Careful! There's traffic!"
"Did you read it?" She changed lanes again, putting a limousine between them and Casey.
"It was just a game we played. Zork. I mean, a question...Whoa! Watch out! Watch out! Truck!"
Sarah ignored the shrieking complaints as she avoided a frontal collision with the delivery truck - at this hour? Californians! - and changed lanes again. Sadly, Casey's driver managed to avoid the truck as well.
"Did you save the mail?"
"It was just pictures! And it fried my rig! Some birthday present!"
So the data, encoded in pictures, had arrived. "What, no backup? No network drive?" she snapped, swerving to avoid the SUV, which had caught up now.
"It suffered an accident. Not my fault. I was planning to replace it, but… That's the sidewalk! That's the sidewalk! Not the road!"
She knew it was the sidewalk. But between the lamp posts and flower buckets, it was too narrow for the SUV to follow her.
"Stairs! Stairs!" His voice rose another octave as Sarah guided the car down the concrete stairs in front of them. The car's front part didn't survive the experience unscathed, but the car still ran, and she guided it on the street on the other side - after dodging a few pedestrians - and turned back. Casey would expect her to keep running, not doubling back. Unless he had bugged the car. Which he probably had. And Sarah didn't think the trip down the stairs had shaken the tracker loose.
"The car's back!"
So it was. She gritted her teeth and accelerated as much as the dinky car could manage - which wasn't enough. The damned SUV caught up again, bumping into them from behind, trying to run them off the road.
"Are they crazy? Are you crazy?"
"No, I'm CIA," she snapped. "As was Bryce."
"Bryce was CIA?"
They shot over the next crossing, running a red light. Tires squealed, and horns sounded as half a dozen cars braked to avoid a collision. The SUV followed, smashing a convertible out of the way.
"You're CIA? Aren't you forbidden from operating on US soil?"
"This is a joint operation," she replied. Technically, it was true - the Intersect was an NSA operation. Bartowski didn't need to know that they recalled her, of course.
She focused on the task at hand. "We can't lose them in the car." Driving with one hand, she pulled her cellphone - her burner phone - and dialled. "Walker. I need extraction by air." She mentally calculated the distance to the closest building with a helipad or suitable roof. "Point Beta."
"Copy, Point Beta. ETA ten," the other agent answered.
Ten minutes. Doable. As long as the NSA didn't catch up.
"Extraction?" Bartowski asked.
"If the NSA catches you, they'll vanish you." Casey would, without hesitation.
"Vanish? But why?"
"You know too much."
"I thought that was a movie line! I'm an American citizen!"
The SUV bumped into them again. Snarling, she took another detour through the sidewalk, then a side alley, smashing through trash cans. Their pursuers had overshot, which would gain them a few seconds. And the target building was close.
She braked, stopping with the back of the car still in the side alley. "Out!"
To his credit, he was already out of the car when he complained. "What are we doing?"
"Saving your life!" she replied, then grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the target building, ignoring his questions and protests.
They reached the helipad with five minutes to spare - which was a mistake on her part, but with NSA agents in pursuit, waiting inside the building would have risked getting cut off from the roof. But that meant Casey and the others would catch up.
"Don't freak out, Chuck," she said, drawing her gun.
He gaped at her. No, at the muzzle of her gun aimed at him. "I'm freaking out right now."
"It's the only way to save you," she said, taking a step back.
"That's what they said about Vietnam!" He took a step back as well, then apparently remembered that he was standing on a helipad and took two hasty steps forward. "Really, what is this about?"
"Drop the weapon!"
Casey. She clenched her teeth. "Come any closer and I shoot him."
"He belongs to the NSA." He aimed his gun at her.
She forced herself to ignore the threat and keep her pistol aimed at Chuck. "He belongs to the CIA!"
"You shoot him, I shoot you, leave both of your bodies here and go for a late light snack. I'm thinking maybe pancakes."
Bloody Casey. He had to be bluffing. He couldn't risk losing the Intersect. But if he knew that Chuck lost it already...
"I'll kill anyone who hurts him."
Sarah glanced to her side and blinked. A teenager - no, a young woman - stood at the other edge of the helipad, dressed in tacky leathers and aiming a crossbow at her and a crossbow pistol at Casey. How had she gotten there? And, crossbows? Seriously?
"Caridad!"
Bartowski knew her?
"Step away from him!" the woman - Caridad, unless that was a cover name - snapped.
"How did you find me?"
"Morgan tracked your car."
Caridad was good, Sarah noticed. She didn't take her eyes off them and was utterly unfazed by the guns. Or the prospect of killing.
"Who the hell are you?" Casey wasn't playing it cool any more - he must have noticed the same things.
"She's in my SCA group!" Bartowski yelled.
"Yes," the woman said a moment later, scowling.
Sarah was certain that Caridad had been about to say something else. Or expected something else. And she was still aiming that crossbow at Sarah - with one hand, but despite the weight, the weapon wasn't wavering. She had to do something.
Then Bartowski started to pant and blink rapidly. Panic attack, she realised. And he was still too close to the edge of the pad!
She started to walk towards him - and Casey mirrored her!
"Stop!" Caridad snapped.
"They're gonna kill him!" Bartowski interrupted them.
"Kill who?" Casey asked.
"Stanfield! The general! The NATO guy!" Bartowski blurted out. "I've had a vision! The Serbian demolition expert planted a bomb in the room! Oh god - I had a vision. I'm gonna die!"
Caridad cursed in Chinese, but Sarah didn't really pay attention to her any more. The 'vision'. The information compiled and combined. That was what Project Intersect had been about. But now...
She didn't know how it had happened. How it even was possible. But unless she was mistaken, Chuck now was the Intersect. "The pictures you saw!" Sarah exclaimed. "Do you remember them?"
"He saw the pictures?" Casey butted in. "He was working with Bryce!"
"Pictures?" Bartowski shook his head. "What about the pictures? I've got visions!"
"They were encoded with secrets", Sarah explained. "Government secrets. Your visions are the Intersect putting the encoded information together."
"What?" Casey snapped. "You're telling me he's got the Intersect in his head? And all our data?"
"Yes," Sarah replied. "Shoot him, and all our data is lost."
"Shoot him, and you two die," Caridad cut in.
"I vote against shooting anyone, especially not me!" Bartowski yelled. "And what is the Intersect?"
"It's a computer program," Sarah said, glancing at Caridad, who had moved up a little. And kept the damned crossbows pointed rock-steady at them. Were they light-weight plastic imitations?
"I've got a computer in my head?"
He sounded far too relieved, in Sarah's opinion, for someone with two guns aimed at him. But there were other things to worry about if she wanted to pull both him and herself out of this mess. "Tell us about the bomb! Where is it? Do we have time to stop it?"
He blinked. "The bomb? Uh… It's in the big room. In the hotel. Somewhere. It's on a timer."
"Casey, call the general's security and have them evacuate the hotel!" Sarah snapped.
He glared at her but pulled out his phone. "If this is a trick…"
"It's not a trick! Why would I try something like that?" Bartowski said.
"To escape, duh," Casey retorted.
"He doesn't need to lie or do anything since no one will be taking him." Caridad sounded dead certain. She was either delusional or an excellent actress, in Sarah's opinion. Perhaps both, given that they were in L.A.
"Who are you?" Sarah asked.
"She's a friend of mine from the SCA!" Bartowski cut in - again.
Caridad didn't say anything, but her smile made Sarah feel the sudden urge to hit her in the face. Or shoot her.
Casey finished his call - his gun had never stopped pointing at Bartowski either - and scoffed. "They're evacuating. The bomb didn't go off, so, at most, we'll lose the hotel. No big deal with modern architecture. Might even improve the city." He bared his teeth in what he probably thought was a grin. "But that leaves him to sort out. Can't let him walk around with our deepest, darkest secrets, can we?"
Bloody Casey. Sarah clenched her teeth.
"What? I didn't do anything?" Bartowski held up his hands. "Call Bryce, he sent me the pictures!"
"Bryce is dead," Sarah replied. "He sent the data to you, then was killed."
"What?" He looked shocked. "Dead?"
"Yes, yes, he's dead, and if you don't come with me, he'll have a lot of company. The country needs the Intersect to prevent more bombings," Casey said. "And, apparently, unless this was a fluke, you are the Intersect."
"That's why you can't take him," Sarah retorted. "We don't know how the Intersect is triggered - or if it works if you lock him up in some underground bunker."
"I don't want to be locked up anywhere!"
"No one will be locking you up, least of all those two."
"Girl that's a matter of national security. You don't get to decide anything," Casey snarled. "You already heard too much."
She saw Bartowski stiffen at that. "Hold on!" He shook his head. "Leave my friends out of this!"
"Not my paygrade," Casey snapped, now focusing on Cardidad. He hadn't moved his gun, though.
"No, no." Bartowski wasn't buying it it seemed. "I don't understand everything that happened, but I understand this much: All your secrets are in my head. You need me. You need my help for whatever you are doing."
"Saving lives and serving the country," Casey spat. "Against terrorists and spies."
"Uh." Bartowski cleared his throat but didn't seem to back down. "Look, I'm not saying I won't help you - I'm all for saving lives. We all are. But I'm saying that now, I'm gonna go home. With her."
"Yes!" Caridad almost bounced. Sarah once more felt the urge to shoot her.
"Not like that!" Bartowski shook his head. "Just going home. Me to my home and you to yours."
But the girl wasn't having that. "I'm not going to leave you unprotected with secret agents planning to kidnap you."
"We're not planning to kidnap him!" Sarah protested at noticing the glance Chuck shot her.
"It's called protective custody and perfectly legal." Casey bared his teeth again. "It's for his own good."
Sarah sighed through clenched teeth as she saw that Bartowski made up his mind.
"I don't care. I'm going."
"We're going," Caridad stated.
And they did. Chuck walked away from both her and Casey, with Caridad covering them with her damned crossbows - Chuck didn't cross her line of fire, Sarah noted - until he had reached the stairs and she followed him.
Damn.