Chuck vs. the Virus
Three months later.
Chapter 1: The Team
[Chuck's Apartment – 8 P.M. Sunday Night]
When the doorbell rang, Chuck was sitting on the couch staring at a blank television. An empty bag of Doritos lay on the table upon which his feet were propped. The government-subsidized apartment he lived in now came equipped with a weekly supply of general condiments, among which he had specifically requested Doritos. No grocery shopping, no housekeeping. To any outsider, Chuck knew, this would seem like the ideal situation.
He glanced first at the camera focused on him, hidden from the eye of a novice, but he knew it was there, above the door of his apartment. Then he looked at the door, hoping, perhaps, that it might open on its own.
"Chuck, are you in there?" a voice called from outside. It was Ellie.
Chuck sighed, slightly relieved, and stood up. "Coming, sis," he said. She tried the handle, he could tell, but it was locked. He discreetly punched in a code on the num pad hidden within the brass below the nob, then unlocked the door.
Ellie held a bouquet of flowers, bright in color, like the leaves in fall. She was smiling broadly, though it seemed to waver after seeing Chuck's face. He knew that whatever his face looked like, it could do little to diminish her excitement that he'd taken the initiative to move on to the next stage of his life. She squealed, did a little happy dance, and he couldn't help but smile. They hugged and she pushed passed him, eager to see the inside of his apartment. The government had graciously found him something less than five miles away from her and Devon.
Behind Ellie, Devon crossed the threshold of Chuck's tenth floor apartment. He held a pan covered in tinfoil in both hands.
"Special Agent Carmichael," he whispered, leaning in close. When the CIA and NSA had first discovered Devon had been privy to Chuck's asset status, they were not happy. It had taken a lot of coaxing to reassure upper level government operatives that Devon did not pose a threat and, perhaps, even helped Chuck's cover in Burbank.
"Captain," said Chuck, bowing slightly.
"Ellie made you a hot dish, bro," he said. "I'll put it in the freezer."
"Thanks," said Chuck. He slapped Awesome on the back and followed him back into the apartment.
Ellie walked back down the hall, from where she had probably been exploring the rooms of the semi-impressive apartment. Both hands were clasped over her mouth and her eyes were nearly red with emotion.
"Chuck, this is amazing! Oh my gosh, I am so thrilled for you. Do you like it? Are you adjusting?" she asked.
"Yeah, I really enjoy it. It's close to work and it's close to you guys," said Chuck. "It's amazing how quiet it gets though." He smiled. "That is definitely one thing I miss about living with you guys."
Ellie waved her hand dismissively. "Come on, Chuck. We loved having you there, but there are certain things we need to do as adults to take control. It won't be this quiet all the time." She looked away, then, and Chuck knew what she was refraining from asking, or mentioning. He appreciated that.
"So, we know it's late, dude, but we thought we had to christen your new digs with a viewing of the Matrix," said Awesome. "You in?"
"Definitely, yeah," said Chuck, moving towards the kitchen. "I'll make some popcorn. You guys need a beer? Soda?"
"Whatever you've got, Chuck," said Devon. He went and sat on the couch.
Ellie followed Chuck into the kitchen. "How is your new job?" she asked. "Is it a relief to be done with the Buy More?"
Chuck nodded enthusiastically. Finally, something he wouldn't have to lie about. At least, not entirely. "More than you can even imagine," he said. "When I wake up in the morning, it's no longer like, 'Gaah, I have to deal with crazies and lunatics.' I love having a change of pace and knowing that I'm making a difference….in the software industry."
Since returning to Burbank, after three months intensive spy training, Chuck was to become a part of a new facility, a new operation, and a new team. His cover was a senior software developer for corporate businesses. Ellie had yet to tour that location, and Chuck was a little wary that it would seem beyond the realm of possibility of what he was capable of. Ellie had always told him he could do whatever he put his mind to, and he knew that when it came down to it, he was competent in most things computer-related, but it didn't dispel the fact he felt out of place, awkward, and too much like an adult.
"Chuck, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. Has dad been by yet?" Ellie asked.
Chuck had just set the popcorn maker, so he raised his voice to match the new screeches of the machine behind him. "Yes, actually, he was here for a couple hours yesterday. I think he finds his apartment quiet, too."
Ellie rolled her eyes. "You're telling me. He's been at our place at least three times a week since we got back from our honeymoon. Well, at least we can say you are your father's son." Chuck grinned, Ellie had no idea how true that statement was. She cleared her throat, looking away. "Have you heard from…Morgan?" she asked. Her hesitation made him wonder if she was actually asking about Morgan, or if she had changed her mind in the last moment.
"I have. We played Call of Duty for five hours last night," said Chuck, pretending to whip guns out of his sweatpants.
"Morgan was here last night?" asked Ellie. "He came back?"
"No, no," said Chuck, his grin fading. "We played over the internet." As many hesitations as Ellie had about his underachieving best friend, Morgan had not only proved to be a devoted and reliable friend, but seemed to have an exceptional aptitude for the Benihana training program in Hawaii. He and Anna were living Honolulu while he trained.
"Oh," Ellie's face softened, most likely at the sight of Chuck's look of missing his best friend. He smiled again and she knew it was safe to proceed. She cleared her throat. "So, any other…people you've heard from?"
Chuck stared at Ellie for a moment. Wondering what he should say, how he could explain his time away. He had always been so open about his feelings, considering Sarah, even when their relationship had been a cover. But spy training had changed him, some, and he was less willing to talk about the things that meant most to him.
Ellie stood up straight and breathed in deeply. "You aren't ready to talk about it yet. I understand." She walked around the partition separating them. "But, Chuck, whatever happened there, with you and Sarah, it's not the end. You guys seem so perfect for each other. I know it's probably hard to think about reconciliation at this stage, but believe me, if you don't want it to be over, it doesn't have to be."
Chuck smiled, half-heartedly. "It's kind of a two-way street, Elle." He turned to unplug the popcorn popper and flip it over. "I can't make her love me."
Kenlo Industries, the name of the software company of Chuck's cover, employed fifty non-governmental personnel to run the floors. They were secretaries, researchers, security guards, salesmen, and recruiters.
"We needed people who didn't look like cops," said John Casey, the first day they were introduced to the facility. "We wanted a secure facility, but we needed to keep it from being detected by posing threats."
"The security guards look like cops," Chuck had said.
"They are, technically, cops, numb nuts," said Casey, gruffly. "But they aren't agents. Big difference. Terrorists know the difference."
On the main floor of the four-story complex, Kenlo Industries had a large space devoted to the display and demonstration of various software. Only two people on the sales floor were agents. It had only been a week since briefing had begun on the new Burbank assignment, but Chuck felt as though he was getting better at identifying who the governmental personnel were.
Monday morning marked Chuck's first full week at the Amulet, the name of the government base within Kenlo Industries. John Casey picked him up in front of his apartment complex and drove them to the facility, only eight miles away. It was a narrow building, squeezed between a retail store and a parking garage. The parking garage only connected to the Amulet underground, because the government had made it so. The four levels of parking above ground were intended for Kenlo employees and the building on the opposite side, which was a three-story library.
Casey didn't say much on the ride over, not that he ever did. Lately, since Sarah had been absent, Casey had been more tolerant of Chuck. Chuck wasn't sure if that meant he himself was a more annoying person while around Sarah, or if Casey was extending grace due to the highly publicized breakup between Chuck and Sarah.
"We understand the implications involved, sir." Sarah spoke up for the first time during the hearing. Chuck's spy training was coming to an end, but there were several things standing in his way, one of which the government was hard pressed to remove before it caused liabilities.
"The CIA does not believe that you do understand, Agent Walker," said Agent Warren Brooks, the correspondent assigned to the Burbank division. He had been working alongside General Beckman to secure the facility Chuck, Sarah, and Casey would return to with dozens of other agents. "Based on the performances by you and your team, there are serious considerations as to whether you are more committed to your partners," said Agent Brooks, pointedly, glancing from Sarah to Chuck, "than to the United States of America. The relationship you two have outside of the CIA has caused enough of a gray area that the whole puzzle is turning gray."
Chuck stepped forward, seizing on a moment of ignorant bravery. "With all due respect, sir, after the last two years, we are all very aware of the kinds of sacrifices we need to make, individually and as a team, myself more than anyone. You cannot say that Agent Walker's performance has suffered in any way since protecting me as a government asset, can you?"
Agent Brook grunted in disagreement. "Clearly, Mr. Bartowski, you have yet to think like a spy, like an agent of the CIA. When it comes to serving your country, you cannot allow yourself the need to make sacrifices. In order for a person to make a sacrifice, a situation must exist in which protocol is considered to be broken."
"Sir, can you please make it clear what you are implying?" asked Sarah, pulling Chuck back into line beside her. She seemed calmer, now, now that he had spoken. But something in her face was deathly disquieting to him. He didn't like it.
Agent Brook looked at the two officials sitting next to him. On his right was Lieutenant Kevin Garfield, a retired military man now assisting with internal affairs at Langley, and on his right was a psychoanalyst assigned to monitor and evaluate Chuck throughout his training.
"Mr. Bartowski, because Bryce Larkin broke protocol on more than one occasion, you have been forced into a very tight predicament. Although we cannot control what form the intersect takes, we can control the environment regardless. We are already making arrangements for you in Burbank, California, but as it pertains to your partners, Agent Sarah Walker and Colonel John Casey, there are things yet to be decided." He sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "We now ask you to leave so that we might speak with your handlers alone."
Chuck looked at Sarah. She didn't look back. He knew what they were going to ask, and it was not going to fare well for him. For them. At one point in their relationship, Sarah might have chosen him over the job, but that was when they both had a chance to get out of the business. Would she still choose him if it meant only she was out of a job?
There wasn't a soul at Harlington Base in D.C., where Chuck had trained, that didn't know Agent Sarah Walker was being assigned elsewhere. The instructions were clear: job, or no job? And how could Chuck really blame her? When a woman was as talented and effective as Sarah Walker, how could she just walk away from her job?
She didn't, and that was that. And even though Chuck knew there were many more reasons Sarah had chosen the job over him, he still couldn't help but brood over all that he'd lost in Sarah. He'd lost a part of himself.
"You're quiet this morning," said Casey, glancing only slightly at Chuck through the corner of his eye. They were stopped at a light. "Not that I'm complaining…" he said, looking as though he regretted saying anything.
Chuck shrugged. "You tend to hurt my feelings less when I don't talk."
Casey grunted, a smirk tugged at his lip. "Well said. At least you're learning."
Chuck didn't feel like getting his feelings hurt that morning. "I was wondering about something, though."
"Here we go…" Casey rolled his eyes, obviously expecting the worse.
Chuck gave him an odd look. "Um, all I was wondering was if there are other government agents in my building besides Agent Morris, the one right next to me."
Casey looked over at him, unable to hide his surprise. "There is one set of agents on every floor, directly under you. They rotate. All from the Amulet."
"And you, of course," said Chuck.
"And me, of course," Casey confirmed.
"If my sister ever comes to visit me at the Amulet, will there be more to the cover story I need to know? Like why you, my co-worker at Buy More, has followed me to…"
"Kenlo Industries?" Casey finished. "Who's to say you didn't follow me?"
Chuck nodded. "Good point, maybe that's a better idea. We went job hunting together since we quit the Buy More at the same time. Kenlo loved our experience working with the common customer…I'm sold." Casey grunted again and mumbled something Chuck couldn't quite distinguish.
He pulled into the parking garage adjacent to Kenlo Industries, already filling up quickly, and covertly drove to the underground ramp. The end of the ramp appeared to be a brick wall, but Chuck knew from the last week that the wall lifted to form a passageway to the government-employees only garage. Casey swiped his badge through an old, yellow ticket machine, which had been made to look dysfunctional, and the wall disappeared into the ceiling.
"I will never get used to this," said Chuck, watching the wall lower once again to the ground in his side view mirror.
Casey parked and the two men got out of the car. "Have you flashed on anything in the last couple days?" Casey asked.
Chuck shook his head. "No. Nothing. Not on the news, not at Kenlo."
"You haven't left your apartment," said Casey. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Casey, though living a block away, still monitored Chuck's activity. The agent next door to him was there only as a security guard to ensure Chuck's immediate safety. Casey, as he always had been, was privy to much more of the picture. While Chuck tended to get himself into trouble by simply breathing, he also tended to flash at unexpected moments. It was Casey's responsibility to manage the information that Chuck regurgitated.
They stood in front of the elevator doors that led into the Amulet, which vaguely resembled the Castle, but with much more equipment and many more analysts. Of all sixty government personnel, only twelve people were agents. While Chuck adjusted to his new abilities and the intersect in general, these agents were to be his backup. The government was wary and reluctant to trust Chuck with the intersect alone, which he knew and often resented.
A blue screen appeared on the elevator doors, performed a full body scan, flashed some identifying confirmations of the men's identity, and opened the doors.
"Well, this should be a fun day," said Casey. Chuck worried about the tone in the man's voice. Even though everything Casey said could sound like he was being sarcastic, mean, and unpleasant to anyone who didn't work so closely with him, Chuck had begun to detect the differences in his voice. This tone meant Casey knew something Chuck didn't.
"Why do you say that?" asked Chuck.
"We get our new partner today," said Casey. "Weren't you paying attention on Saturday?"
"I was," said Chuck. "I just forgot." He shrugged. "When there are twelve people here for backup, I don't get why we need another person on our team. Right, buddy? We're just so effective as a two-man team!"
Casey frowned, not liking the details Chuck had just outlined. He had always been reluctant to consider Chuck part of the team. Now that Chuck had some interesting Kung-Fu techniques and decent gun-handling skills, Casey found it hard to altogether exclude him.
"None of the agents here are trained as field agents, which is to say, AAA."
"AAA?" Chuck asked.
"Agents Allowed Aliases," Casey clarified. "At least that's what the NSA calls 'em."
"I was Carmichael for two years, untrained," said Chuck.
"And see all the good that did us? You botched almost every mission," he said, gruffly. "All the agents here are either snipers, body guards, or people who are good at being invisible."
Chuck fell silent. He didn't want another partner.
"Colonel Casey," said a man, standing at attention as the men walked past. He saluted to Casey. "Special Agent Bartowski."
"Morning, Fizz," said Chuck.
"Why do you call him that? You have to start addressing people professionally if you want to gain any respect around here. Or even call yourself a spy," said Casey, annoyed.
Chuck bowed to Fizz, the twenty-five year old analyst. "My apologies, Mr. Fissle." Fizz nodded at him, never before having been offended by Chuck's casual greeting.
"General Beckman is awaiting you via conference call in 22B, and Agent Brook is currently with the new agent in his office," said Fizz. "Agent Brook will join you momentarily with the agent, but asks that you proceed to 22B and take General Beckman's call."
Casey saluted. "Thank you."
"General Beckman has been pretty quiet these last couple days," said Chuck. "Has she been cooking up a bunch of new missions, or is that just the way things are sometimes."
"The way I heard it," said Casey, leading the way to 22B, "is that they didn't want to give us any assignments until we acquired another member to our team. Even though I am fully qualified to keep you safe, I can't keep you safe and keep you out of the way and accomplish a mission at the same time. You are an infant. You need constant supervision."
"Thanks, Case. I really appreciate that," said Chuck, disheartened.
Casey opened the door to 22B. It was a large room with a screen on the far wall. Several computers were set up in the middle, as was a large desk, several chairs, and along the walls more screens. Casey moved right to the middle of the room, hit a button, and General Beckman appeared on the screen.
"Oh, good, you're in," said Beckman. "We have a lot to do today, so we need to get moving. Where is Agent Brook?"
"He's joining us shortly," said Casey.
"As is our new partner," said Chuck, trying to look enthusiastic, without feeling any enthusiasm.
Casey turned his head away from the screen and looked at Chuck. "Let's hope you don't fall in love with this one."
As he said it, the doors opened and Agent Brook walked in. "This may come as a surprise, it may not," said the agent, "but the agency has had time to reconsider its decision."
And then Sarah stepped into the room. Chuck inhaled sharply, his heart thudding. She looked at him with her blazing dark bronze eyes; skeptical, apprehensive, stagnate. She locked eyes with him for a full three seconds, then moved her gaze to Casey, nodding politely. Chuck heard Casey chuckle quietly.
"What's going on?" Chuck finally asked, finding his voice.
General Beckman cleared her throat. "In the process of finding Agent Walker's replacement, it became clear the sheer amount of information, training, and preparation that would go into ensuring your new handler would be equipped to...handle you."
Agent Brook turned to face Chuck. "Certain analysts assigned to this case have determined since your hearing a month ago that the acquisitions rate of your three-person team is among the top three percent of all government operations. Not to mention the civilian casualty rate is not only the lowest of all operations, but you've actually managed to rescue and spare lives, unbeknownst to innocent civilians."
Chuck turned his head and looked at Casey, who looked as bemused as Chuck felt. Without looking at Sarah, Chuck turned to face the screen General Beckman appeared on.
"Agent Bartowski, in light of recent events, we must pass over the general introductions and explanations," said General Beckman. "Tomorrow night is your first mission with your new intersect."
"Yeah, you know, I've been wondering about that," said Chuck, almost too distracted by General Beckman's use of his new title—Agent Bartowski. "How many people know about…." He pointed as his head suggestively.
"Only the people in this room," said Agent Brook. "Everyone here assumes you are training to become a field agent due to your intricate knowledge of computers and your father's affiliation with the CIA."
Chuck couldn't say that made him feel very confident, the idea that nepotism had secured his position at the CIA, but it was better than a slew of people knowing that a rather incompetent spy, which he admitted himself, was himself the bearer of all secrets between the CIA and NSA. In today's environment, both politically and socially, just about anyone could be working for the elusive bad guys.
"We have gone to extreme lengths to contain this information," said General Beckman. "It would be wise for you to keep that in mind and continue along the same path of not giving it away. Agent Walker and Colonel Casey will do their best, but having not been properly trained before getting involved with this line of work, there are certain…"
"Yeah, I get it," said Chuck. "I'm a liability because I'm not a pro. I understand." He was beginning to resent this fact. Throughout training, though he had performed perfectly when his flashes gave him the proper instructions in combat, he was less effective when learning to handle weapons without flashes. From the corner of his eye he saw Sarah lower her head. Casey grunted in agreement behind him.
"Moving on," said General Beckman. "The most notorious diamond smugglers in Russia are looking to change their game. Since the New Year, they've taken it upon themselves to use their connections to move illegal weapons into terrorists' hands. It has given them leverage and access to locations that worry high-level NSA analysts, particularly when it comes to associates with domestic U.S. companies."
"The first mission is simple," said Agent Brook. "You must infiltrate the party, plant bugs throughout the consulate, and tag as many internal members as possible."
"The head of this ring of smugglers is the only living descendant of Commander Leon Trotsky," said General Beckman. "If you aren't familiar with your history, he was second in command to Vladimir Lenin during the October Revolution. A Bolshevik. A Marxist, but a rebel."
A picture appeared on the screen. A beautiful woman with long brown hair, a chiseled, wide jaw, full pink lips, and dark eyes. Chuck felt his eyes roll back slightly and prepared for a flash. Pictures of licenses, passports, aliases; a family picture; bloody bodies lying across a street; a fire; buildings torched and falling to the ground; diamonds of all shapes and sizes.
When his eyes focused again, Chuck spat out everything he'd just learned. "Irina Kopp, formerly Irina Sedov. Personally broke into the Turkish Museum of Natural History and stole three diamonds from three different ends of the building; killing three men and injuring twelve before the alarm had even picked up on her presence. Killed her first husband in 1994. One child, whereabouts unknown. Considered dangerous and lethal, currently ranked seventeenth on the CIA's Most Wanted."
"While Agent Walker plants the bugs within the consulate, it is your job, Bartowski, to get close to Irina Kopp. Intrigue her, get her to introduce you to her affiliates," said Agent Brook. "And by whatever means necessary, give Agent Walker enough time to plant the bugs."
Chuck gulped. He hated it when anyone used the phrase, "by whatever means necessary." It usually meant something he was incapable of, like being coy or charming or seductive.
"You can speak Russian, can't you?" asked General Beckman.
Chuck's eyes rolled back and he felt the familiar flash take effect. He spoke in Russian.
"We'll take that as a yes," said Casey, chuckling.
"Before your flight leaves this evening, Agent Bartowski, you must complete another training session," said Agent Brook. "Your partners will meet up with you when it is complete and you will be off the ground by 2000 hours. In the air, they will brief you further on your mission."
"Yes," said Chuck, gulping. "Yes, sir." On his way out the door, Chuck dared to look at Sarah, his face turned away from the others, hers still in plain view. With the brief glimpse he caught, he tried to read whatever it was she was letting him see. But he'd never seen that look on her before. Her jaw was set, like she was thinking, or chewing on the inside of her mouth. Her eyes followed him the whole way out of the room until the doors closed behind him.
"Did they give you any warning?" asked Casey as he and Sarah walked out of 22B.
"Yes," she said. "I've known for about two weeks."
"Did they ask you to return?"
"No." Sarah looked away. "General Beckman made me read the report furnished by the analyst and the psychologist who studied Chuck during his training. It is obvious that Chuck is hard to work with, but with the volume of information and experience you and I have had over the last two years in regards to how he operates…well, if I were to quote the report, 'It is clear after further analysis that the asset Chuck Irving Bartowski is a liability to those whom he does not trust. Training another agent to not only understand how the asset operates, but provide the level of emotional stability required, would be counterproductive.'"
"Emotional stability?" Casey asked.
"Word for word," said Sarah. She cleared her throat. "How is he doing?"
"Bartowski? He's showing a little promise. He can shoot a trank now without fainting," Casey chuckled.
They stopped at the end of the hallway. Casey looked over Sarah's head and nodded to their left. She looked around him and saw the one-way mirror sectioning off Chuck's personal training room.
"Last week, General Beckman ordered that Chuck was to train against a machine. It is technically a two-dimensional hologram stationary in the middle of the room, but the glasses Chuck wears are designed to make it three-dimensional. He was injuring some of the men, after you left Harlington, and not enough people could provide him with the level of practice he required."
Sarah walked to the window, watching Chuck carefully. He swung his legs, jumped, kicked, and punched flawlessly; like a choreographed dance. At one point he stepped backward and his whole head seemed to fly back, as though he had been punched.
"Oh," said Casey, standing next to her, "and it kicks back, too."
"Is he safe in there?" asked Sarah.
"Come on, Walker. This isn't about his safety, it's about preparing him for combat. How can he be prepared if he's safe?" asked Casey. When she didn't respond, he grunted. "The machine hasn't been able to beat him yet." And, under his breath, so low Sarah figured he might have actually wanted her to hear it, he said, "Which of course will all change now that you're back."
