Chuck vs. the Virus
Chapter 3: Information Overload
Hansel Waters screamed in pain, unable to mask the tearing agony coursing through his leg. It seemed to reverberate through every muscle in his body, blinding him. He could feel his body slide across a cold floor, which provided him with the only relief against his profusely sweating body. Someone was talking overhead, but he couldn't hear them clearly. His ears rang from the pain.
"Stop blubbering like a baby," said the female's voice, in crisp Russian. The man grimaced, breathing heavily and letting out quick, deep breaths. He clutched and tore at his robes.
The woman was patient. She walked back and forth in front of him as he regained control of his consciousness. Until his breaths were quieter, she paced. Even when Hansel Waters had calmed down, his face still sweat, and the pain still ached through his body.
"That's a little better," said Irina Kopp. She stooped in front of him and touched his right hip. He screamed again and, like a flopping fish, attempted to swat her hand away. "It's only dislocated, you numbskull." She stood up and walked out of his line of view. "They still have the CIA operative our mole told us about. He was here, in our Consulate, and he escaped."
Despite his agony, Hansel Waters understood the depth of what Irina said. The CIA operative had been their opportunity, a possible bargaining chip to obtain United States intelligence, perhaps even forge a connection into the heartland of America's operations.
"Mother Russia has been down for too long," said Irina, mostly to herself. "When will these idiots we appoint to our heads of state learn that to be a reckoning force, a country must make itself a threat to those who refuse to align themselves?" She took the metallic coin out of her pocket and turned it over in her hand.
"Who was the operative?" asked Waters, who managed to get himself into a sitting position against the nearest wall. He was not a man of action. Coming to the aid of Irina Kopp had been an act of pure passion and instinct. He'd lost his sense of self-preservation for a couple moments, until the terrifying crack of his entire leg had jerked him back to reality. "He had many tricks."
Irina sat in a chair against the far wall. Above her, the only lamp in the room was turned on,; it sat mounted like a torch on the wall. It gave the room an eerie luminescence that suited its general purpose.
"I do not understand something, Irina," said Waters, panting. "You say to me that you bring in to your room the man whom you expect to be CIA, and to notify San Juan. But you also said you would go back out to him, pretend to love on him, and then pull your gun. But you did not do this. You went out there and threatened his life before he saw you reappear. Why?"
Irina did not look at the very pale man on the floor. She sat with one hand supporting her chin, the other draped lazily over her knee. "He knows much more than I ever expected," said Irina, in English. Waters did not understand English, so he sat patiently, waiting for her to say more.
"Our mole knows very much about the operatives who seek to infiltrate our organization," said Irina, returning to Russian. "He gives us times of arrival, code names, things he can reveal without giving up his cover. And believe me, Hansel, we need him to keep his cover. So he gives us Agent Charles Fischer and Agent Sarah Walker."
Hansel looked confused. "I do not understand. How is this a bad thing?"
"Because they were not working alone, you dim witted idiot," said Irina. "There was at least one other agent here tonight. I heard them talking." She tapped her chin. "Agent Fischer…" She pondered the name for a moment. "I don't know about him. There is something very strange about that man. His comportment of a CIA agent is weak, but is nonetheless intelligent and deceptive."
The coin she still held in her hand fell to the floor, bounced, and rolled to Waters. He reached out to pick it up. Niamiha, was inscribed across the top of the coin on both sides. On one side there was a crown, on the other side a strange, foreign symbol: five wavy lines, crossing at the center.
"It is familiar to you, no?" asked Irina.
Hansel spluttered. "But of course," he said. "This is the legendary coin of Niamiha, thought to be lost within the river of its name."
"My people are connected to very important leaders," said Irina, now looked at him full in the face. "We need to find this Charles Fischer. Our mole says he is the key to unlocking the fabric that so closely entwines the allegiances between powerful countries. We find Agent Fischer, Hansel, and we are even further ahead than we could have dreamed of."
Chuck woke up on his side, facing his alarm clock. 5:23 A.M. He still had two hours until he needed to be awake. The Harlington Academy wasn't too hard-assed about timing.
Yawning, he stretched, clenching his eyes shut, and doing very little to conceal the soft roar coming from deep within his throat. His body rolled on the bed and he flipped over.
Then, soft fingers brushed his upper lip.
He opened one eye, squinting. Sarah smirked.
"You forgot to take off your disguise last night," she whispered, still touching his upper lip. He twitched his mouth and, sure enough, there was something stuck there. "It's okay, though. I enjoyed this one." She inched her head closer to him and kissed him, right below his bottom lip.
Chuck moved his hand under the covers and wrapped it around Sarah's body, drawing her close to him. He yawned again, laughing this time. Sleepily, his eyes still opening and shutting without seeing much, he responded. "I'm just thankful you don't have to wear the mustaches."
Sarah laughed. "Me too." She pulled the mustache off his face, very abruptly.
Chuck's eyes shot open and nearly began to water. "Great, thanks. Now I'm awake." The last of his words were drowned in Sarah's kiss. He curled his other arm under her and wrapped her tightly to him. When she broke the kiss and leaned her head back to look at him, he shut his eyes and sighed. "I could definitely get used to this."
She laid her head on the pillow. "Better than the window-less, padded cell, then?"
Chuck pretended to look around their room, evaluating his options. "Yeah, I guess. This place has its perks."
"Like…no surveillance?" asked Sarah.
"Yes, like that," said Chuck, smiling. "And I really like this quilt." He brought the quilt up over their heads. The already dark room completely disappeared beneath the thick quilt.
"The quilt is nice, too," she said. She snaked her arm down his side until she found his hand. Slinking her fingers through his, she moved in closer to him until no space separated them. "We still have two hours."
Chuck rested his chin on her head, focusing on her fingers, thinking about her skin. "What do you think about just staying like this…for as long as possible?"
On his chest where Sarah had nuzzled her face, he felt her smile. "I'd like that," she whispered.
It wasn't hard for Sarah to sneak into the Franklin Street complex. The lights were on outside, but the inside of the surrounding apartments were dark. Ellie and Devon Woodcomb's apartment was dark, too. Looking around, to be sure she wouldn't be seen, Sarah quietly opened the window that had, for so long, been Chuck's.
Still as unlocked as ever before, the window opened noiselessly. She peered inside, looking for signs of life. When nothing moved for several seconds, Sarah took out a small flashlight, crawled inside, and turned it on, keeping it low to the ground.
Chuck's stuff hadn't been moved, despite his recent acquisition of a new residence. The government had, of course, sprung for new things for him, so perhaps he felt like preserving this room for a while.
Sarah had to admit that she didn't have her plan worked out entirely. She wanted to come back here just once, to remember a couple things, and to see how much the government had removed itself from Chuck's family's personal life. Now that Chuck had severed living ties with his sister, Sarah felt it would be worth putting up a fight to have all surveillance removed from the premises.
But once inside, she found it hard to do anything. She sat on his bed for a couple minutes, looking around. Nothing had been touched. The pictures of them still in their frames, his Tron poster still hung. A shirt and tie were even still lying on the ground near his closet. She grazed the light over the clothes and into the partially opened closet. His hamper was still entirely full of clothes. She stood up and walked to the closet, unable to keep from smiling. Only Chuck Bartowski could leave a hamper full of clothes untouched for over three months.
Shining her flashlight into the hamper, she was only slightly surprised to see one of her old Orange Orange tank tops in it. In the week following Ellie's wedding, that had been one of the first things to come off while in this room. She shook her head, clearing the memory from her mind.
And then something odd caught her eye. Down in the far corner of Chuck's closet, completely out of plain view, was a black disc, about the size and thickness of a silver dollar. It was fastened to the wall. She knelt down to get a better look at it. As she got closer to it, she accidentally hit the door of the closet, which slammed noisily against the wall. Her eyes widened and she froze.
Thinking fast, she yanked the object off the wall and stuck it in her pocket. The hallway light had turned on. Did she want a confrontation or not? What if it was Devon? He might understand. But Ellie would tell Chuck that she'd been in here. Maybe not if she explained it, came up with a real-sounding reason for being here.
Too late to make a move, Chuck's door opened and the light flicked on. Devon, shirtless, and concealing Ellie who peered in under his arm, stood in the doorway, shocked.
"Sarah?" Ellie's face changed from fear to pleased relief, and then to confusion.
"Hi, guys…" said Sarah, swallowing hard and thinking fast. "I'm really sorry, this looks really bad, I know…"
Ellie pushed passed Devon, whose eyes were still wide. Surely his mind was racing through the million explanations for Sarah being in Chuck's room.
"That depends on why you're here. Is everything okay? Are you back in town?" asked Ellie.
"Everything is fine," said Sarah. She ran a hand through her hair and looked around the room absently. "I just, I haven't been able to find a necklace…I had a brain wave, thought it might be here."
Ellie crossed her arms, eyeing Sarah carefully. The look Sarah was getting from Ellie in that moment was one of the reasons she envied Chuck so much; this woman was devoted to her younger brother in every way possible. It made Sarah's heart hurt just a little bit to know the kind of resentment Ellie felt toward her.
But Ellie's face softened and she let her arms hang loose. "A necklace, hmm?" She looked around the room. "Well, honestly, Sarah, I haven't been in here much since you and Chuck went on vacation."
A vacation to Northern Europe. They'd made it to Denmark for three days before being ordered to Harlington, D.C. for Chuck to attend the academy.
"And Chuck hasn't been here at all since he got his own place," said Devon. "Not once. It's like he doesn't want anything from this room." Devon's voice was stern, so unlike anything Sarah had ever heard come from his mouth.
"Oh, yeah," said Sarah, pretending to only just remember Chuck's new apartment. "I'd heard he got his own place. Not to far away, is it?"
Ellie glanced at Devon, who shrugged. "It's a little drive," he said, nonchalantly. If Sarah didn't know exactly where Chuck was, Devon sure wasn't going to tell her. Sarah nodded, understanding the vibe she was getting from Devon now. Ellie might not understand the whole story, but Devon certainly did.
"I am really sorry to have disturbed you," said Sarah, backing up toward the window. "I feel very foolish. I shouldn't have worried about the necklace."
"Don't be silly," said Ellie. "Exes can be allowed to come collecting." She yawned. "Tell you what, I'll get Chuck to…"
"No," said Sarah, quickly. "Please don't tell Chuck I was here…"
Ellie smiled kindly. "I just meant I'd have Chuck come clear his stuff out. Maybe it will turn up that way. Chances are he'd recognize it."
Embarrassed by her own reaction, Sarah looked away, to where her gaze unfortunately landed on a picture of her and Chuck. She wholeheartedly regretted coming here now. Too many memories, too much history.
"I'm going to go, now," said Sarah, "before I embarrass myself further."
Ellie nodded. "Sarah…you're always welcome here. Don't ever feel like you have to climb through a window."
There were three main rooms Chuck used for his on-site training: the Art Room, the Fitness Center, and the Studio. They were named for their purpose, mostly, but also to increase confusion should any enemy pick up chatter within the main floors. The facility hidden within the Amulet cost nearly three million dollars, so no risky labeling was going to take place.
The Art room was designed for quickening Chuck's response to weaponry and object-oriented tasks, such as disarming bombs or scaling walls. Of the three rooms, this was the biggest, being nearly a quarter mile in diameter and at least two stories high.
The Fitness Center was designed specifically for Chuck, whereas other agents were allowed use of the Art Room and Studio, only Chuck was permitted access into the Fitness Center. This was due to the sensitive nature of the technology provided to him. The two-dimensional hologram in the center of the room was impossible to fight without the Glasses, which somehow controlled the simulation and allowed Chuck to see his opponent in a three-dimensional state. It could hurt him, and it knew every form of self-defense he knew, though it was slower.
The Studio was the room Chuck found himself in the morning following his first mission back in Burbank. There was a chair in the center of the room, an odd contraption in and of itself had the straps and headgear not have been attached. It sat bolt upright and reminded him eerily of the one Fulcrum had strapped him into under Meadow Branch. In many ways it was softer in appearance than the Fulcrum model; it seemed less imposing, yet still stingy and dogmatic.
The rear of the room had a large one-way glass and the entrance to the room; directly opposite, the far wall had one large screen. The other walls were devoid of décor, opting instead for soundproof walls.
He was alone in the room. Chuck breathed in deeply and swung his arms, not quite sure what he was waiting for.
"You can sit down, Agent Bartowski," said a voice over the intercom. It could have been Agent Brook.
Chuck sat down, obediently. As he did, the chair moved and strapped him down to the chair.
"Whoa," he said, involuntarily. "Is this really necessary?"
The com squeaked. "It's for your own safety."
"That can't be a good sign," Chuck muttered. He had an idea what they were going to use this for.
"We need to debrief the Intersect," said Agent Brook. "Please recite all information each photograph triggers."
On the other side of the glass, Agent Brook controlled the images on the screen and began the recording device. Next to him, Colonel Casey and Agent Walker sat in front of a sound board wearing headphones, as though they were in a recording studio.
Agent Brook turned off his mic and began the program. It only took a second for Chuck to respond to the first image. His response was catalogued into the computer, and the program proceeded to move through the images.
"What exactly are you looking for?" asked Sarah, watching one of the cameras that was focused on Chuck's face. His eyes were only partially opened and every now and then his head jerked, like he was receiving an overload of information.
"We are extracting information," said Agent Brook, bluntly. "Any operation going on within the CIA and NSA requires some unique intelligence, Agent Bartowski seems to have them all locked up in his head. It is easier to get this information from him than to go through the channels necessary to obtain documentation."
Sarah didn't say anything. It sounded inhumane, to subject a human being to this kind of debriefing, but Agent Brook certainly had a point. How many times had Chuck's intel been invaluable on the fly during missions? If other agents could have as much information as they could before heading into their operation, their chances of success increased dramatically.
Casey removed his headphones and grabbed a clipboard nearby. He scribbled some things down, then rummaged through his bag for something else.
"What is your cover here, Casey?" asked Sarah.
Casey looked up, grinning in his curtly bold way. "Internal affairs." He shrugged. "The possibility of being recognized is low. Bartowski was instructed not to mention his affiliation with me to family and friends."
"So you aren't protecting him in his building?" asked Sarah. She couldn't help but sound concerned. It had always been a relief knowing Casey was only a door away from Chuck, should anything happen to him.
"Nope," said Casey, finally finding the folder he was looking for in his bag. "Only off-site surveillance."
"Excuse me?" asked Sarah, confused.
Casey grunted. "That kid has so much stuff locked up in his head it's necessary for someone to have ears on him at all times, in case a flash occurs. He knows it."
"That sounds…invasive, considering his ability to protect himself now," said Sarah.
Casey raised an eyebrow. "Now you're concerned with his privacy?" He shrugged and looked down at his folder. "It doesn't matter much these days. All he does is sit and stare at that stupid blank screen."
Sarah looked back at the monitor focused on Chuck's face. "Blank screen?"
"Yeah," said Casey. "He sits on his couch and stares at his television, but hasn't turned the thing on since he moved in. Well, with the exception of the Matrix when Ellie and Devon visited."
Agent Brook cleared his throat, removing his own headphones. "Agent Walker, would you excuse us please? There is something I need to discuss with Colonel Casey regarding the mission yesterday."
Sarah stood up, realizing she'd asked too many questions, and left the room. The corridor just outside the Studio was a large loop that linked the three rooms Chuck used the most, the Fitness Center making up the large space within. Circling around to the opposite side was the Art room, equidistant to the studio.
Absently, she reached into her pocket and touched the black disc she'd recovered from Chuck's closet. Now was as good a time as any to figure out what it was. She went through the door nearest to her, which led into the main foyer of the Amulet. The main vestibule was awkwardly shaped, like two semi-circles joined at the curve and stretched in opposite directions. Although the entire complex was underground, she wondered if it had something to do with stabilizing the structure, or if the architects were actually high during the construction phase.
It might be easiest for Sarah to just show the disc to the Intersect, but then she'd have to explain to Chuck where she'd found it. She would first try to determine the type of device it was, if it recorded sound or video, or if it was a sensor. If she could get the information off it, she might be able to avoid awkward questions it would raise not only from Chuck, but from anyone who witnessed the information it was undoubtedly retrieving from his room.
"Is everything alright, sir?" asked Casey, the moment the door had closed behind Sarah.
"Agent Casey," said Agent Brook, turning in his chair to stare at the much bigger man. "What is your assessment of Agent Walker?"
Casey's eyes flitted from Agent Brook, to the one-way window where Chuck still rambled on about the images presented to him. "She's professional, very capable, an incredible fighter, and knows how to get the job done."
"Do you have hesitations about working with her again?" Agent Brook pressed.
"Not in the slightest," said Casey, without hesitation. "That has been my assessment from the beginning."
"You don't think working so closely with this asset will compromise her dedication to the job?" Agent Brook crossed his arms, unwilling to give up. He was pressing for an answer that Casey seemed unable to confirm.
"No, sir," said Casey, the grunt in his voice a clear indication he found the subject draining, annoying, and completely irrelevant. "Whatever happened between Bartowski and Walker no longer stands in the way of the Intersect Project. They no longer carry on a private relationship."
"So you confirm the two were romantically involved, then?"
Casey did his best not to roll his eyes. "Their cover for over two years was as a long-term couple," said Casey. "Anyone who has to fake something like that for that long goes a little kooky."
Agent Brook swiveled in his chair to watch Chuck through the glass again. "Do you agree with my decision, nevertheless, to keep your individual missions a secret from your partners?"
Casey nodded. "I do, sir. I believe that enlightening them to the intelligence we've obtained would be very dangerous, both for their own safety and for the success of the overall mission."
"Did you find the pictures, yesterday?" asked Agent Brook.
From the file in his lap, Casey flipped several papers over until several photographs slid into his hand. He handed them to Agent Brook, who flipped through them, looking very pleased. "This is excellent work, Colonel Casey," he said. "This confirms much of what we've been suspecting." He laid the pictures in his lap and looked at Casey again. "Why do you think this intelligence would be dangerous to Bartowski and Walker?"
Casey breathed in deeply, his jaw clenched. He hated these questions, they always made him draw on the perception and observation portion of his brain that he tried to suppress as much as he could. "Because Bartowski carried on a relationship with this woman on two different occasions and she betrayed him. Walker, well, whatever her feelings are toward Bartowski at the present doesn't change the fact that Roberts has attempted to kill her, escaped while in her custody, and threatens Bartowski's safety."
"If they knew of Jill Robert's involvement, do you think they would go rogue to hunt her down?" asked Agent Brook, seriously.
Casey thought for a moment. "No, not without a really good excuse."
"Like what?"
"Like inactivity from the CIA," said Casey. "If Jill Roberts has joined the Pound, it should be in our greatest interest to find and apprehend this woman. She not only has intelligence from within the CIA, but also the enemy Fulcrum camp, which makes her an invaluable resource to any competing threat."
Suddenly, the screen monitoring Chuck's vitals began beeping. His pulse spiked and serotonin levels dropped. The men stood up, papers and pictures falling from their laps. Agent Brook began shutting down the machine as Casey rushed into the room to detach Chuck from the machine.
Chuck looked catatonic, sitting upright only due to the head bar holding him. His eyes were open, but his pupils fluttered back into his head. Casey growled and muttered something under his breath, then carefully removed Chuck from the machine and carried him out the door into the hallway. Once through the door to the main vestibule of the Amulet, a medical team met him with a gurney and he laid Chuck on the rolling bed. The boy didn't move.
A moment later the gurney had disappeared from sight and Agent Brook stood next to Casey. "What just happened?" asked Casey.
Agent Brook crossed his arms. "Information overload."
"What?"
Agent Brook put a hand on Casey's back and led him across the main floor to the stairwell on the opposite side. "Very few people can handle the Intersect," he whispered. "It's a powerful computer. But Intersect two point oh is an even more powerful computer than the last one. While Agent Bartowski will be able to handle its full processes at some point, it will take some time."
"So you are just going to crank information out of him until his brain learns to process it more efficiently?" asked Casey, disgusted.
"Essentially…yes," said Agent Brook, honestly. "Agent Bartowski knew what he was getting into when he joined." Casey stopped walking and Agent Brook stopped as well, turning to look at him. "What is it, Colonel?"
"With all due respect, sir, Chuck never asked for this. He was tricked into this, twice," said Casey. The kid might annoy the hell out of him, but in a strange way, he'd grown appreciative of Chuck's insights and talents, even before Intersect 2.0.
"He showed up in Harlington, didn't he?" asked Agent Brook, standing up straight.
"Because you threatened to kill him," said Casey. "Look, sir, I appreciate the extortionate sensitivity of the matter, but the Intersect is in a guy who is prone to emotional outbursts and general insecurity."
Agent Brook crossed his arms and wore a grave frown. "Colonel Casey, do not think the government overestimates the capability of Charles Bartowski to be a successful intersect project."
Casey closed in the gap between them. Standing almost a foot taller than Agent Brook, the large Marine had a ferocity within him at that moment that could not be squelched by his meditative words. The government didn't plan on keeping Chuck around for long. They planned on sucking out as much information as possible while they rebuilt the Intersect in the hope that the intense training would leave Chuck inept, brain dead, or just plain dead.