11:42 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Tuesday, June 26th, 2012
SCCS, Studio City, California
The phone on Morgan's desk rang. He sighed. It was going to be another boring call. All of them were. Every single call he'd received since they'd opened twelve days beforehand had either been for Ventura Medical or for Nerd Cave Video Games. The troops were getting restless, and Chuck was making noises like he was getting ready to send Bryce back out into the field for more Fulcrum-hunting.
"Good morning, thank you for calling the SCCS Building, my name is Morgan, how may I assist you?" he spat out rapid-fire.
"Yes, may I be connected to Studio City Consulting Services, please?"
Morgan's eyes widened. A real call?! No way. Finally!
"Uh, may I ask who's calling please?"
"Yes, my name is Commander Rick Pope. I'm with the Los Angeles Police Department."
"Uh, could you please hold a minute?"
"Not a problem."
Morgan pressed the hold button with a trembling finger, then put the phone in its cradle. He shot out of his chair and dashed across the lobby, wrenching open the Nerd Cave door.
"Chuck!" he gasped breathlessly. "I've got an honest-to-God call for SCCS on the phone! It's some dude with the LAPD!"
Chuck looked up from the code he was working on for his next game. "No shit," he said, standing up quickly. He followed Morgan out the door to the reception desk, where he picked up the phone.
"Thank you for holding," he said. "My name is Chuck Bartowski, I'm the president of SCCS. How can I help you?"
"Mr. Bartowski, my name is Commander Rick Pope. I'm with the LAPD Gang Squad. I understand that your company specializes in operations that otherwise reputable organizations may not necessarily want on the books?"
Chuck frowned. That wasn't exactly how he would have described SCCS. "Actually, sir, we're an organization that was begun as an adjunct to the United States government to provide security services for sensitive situations."
Commander Pope laughed. "So in other words, yes."
Chuck sighed. "I suppose we could be described that way, by less than charitable individuals."
"Mr. Bartowski, I'm not looking to be charitable," Pope replied. "I've got a task force that encompasses seven Southland police agencies, the California Highway Patrol, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We've got this gang that we've been trying to shut down for almost a year now, but because one of their number managed to get himself elected to the State Assembly, we're finding roadblocks every time we turn a corner."
Pope paused. "I've spoken with Senator Arthur Graham," he continued. "He assures me that your organization can take care of things, with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of federal support."
Chuck sighed again. "Commander Pope, this sounds like a very serious mission. I would need to meet with you in order to discuss specifics before committing a single moment of my company's time. There would also be a rather substantial fee involved."
"Fair enough, Mr. Bartowski. How quickly can you get to Parker Center?"
"Forty-five minutes?" Chuck replied. "An hour, maybe?"
"How about 1:00?" Pope asked. "Can you be here with your top people at 1:00?"
"Yeah, we can do that," Chuck said.
"We'll see you then."
And the phone went dead.
Chuck shook his head and replaced the handset in its cradle. "Morgan, can you get Sam Tyler on the phone?" he said. "And call Bryce… tell him he's not going anywhere."
Before Morgan could respond, Chuck had crossed the lobby to the stairs, and was headed up to the second floor. When he burst out into the SCCS offices, the only desk occupied was John Casey's.
"Casey," Chuck said, and pointed toward Sarah's office. Casey said nothing; he simply rose from his desk and followed Chuck toward the office of the chief operating officer of Studio City Consulting Services.
Chuck knocked on the door and pushed it open. Sarah was sitting at her desk, staring intently at her screen and making the occasional sharp movement on the keyboard.
Curious, Chuck walked around her desk. Sarah was sitting there playing Call of Duty V.
"Seriously, you're the COO of the company, and here you sit, playing Call of Duty," Chuck said, no small amusement in his voice.
"I… have been… on one serious op in the last… three years," Sarah replied, her concentration clearly on the screen. "I have to… get my aggression… out somewhere."
"That may all be about to change," Chuck said, and THAT got Sarah's attention quickly. Casey's interest was piqued as well, his eyes brightening and his posture getting a little straighter.
"I just got off the phone with Commander Rick Pope of the LAPD's Gang Squad," Chuck told them. "He's apparently running an interagency task force that's trying to take down a gang; however, it would seem that a former member of that gang somehow got himself elected to the state Assembly, and is now being a royal pain in the ass. Commander Pope has spoken with Senator Graham, and the three of us have an appointment to speak with him at Parker Center in a little over an hour."
"Wait," Casey said, "I'm confused. What exactly does he expect us to do?"
"Take down a gang, I think," Chuck replied. "I really don't know for sure. That's why we're going downtown – he'll tell us there, I imagine."
Fifty-two minutes later, John Casey's Crown Vic pulled into the parking garage at Parker Center. Casey pulled directly up to the front of the building and parked in a spot marked "Police Vehicles Only".
"Uh, Casey," Chuck said from the backseat – how he had ended up there, he still wasn't sure, but it annoyed him – "that sign says Police Vehicles Only."
"Your powers of observation are astonishing, Bartowski," Casey wisecracked. "Do you REALLY think they're gonna tow a black Crown Vic in a police parking garage? There's probably a handful of cars just like this in this garage."
Chuck couldn't argue with Casey's logic, and so just grumbled and followed the two former federal agents into the building. They both removed their guns – and in Sarah's case, her usual veritable arsenal of other weapons – as they entered, and it was a good thing they had gone before Chuck – if he hadn't seen them remove their weapons, he would've completely forgotten about the Ruger .357 that Sarah had insisted he start carrying in a shoulder holster.
He sighed and reached under his jacket, removing the six-shot revolver and placing it on the table next to the metal detector, along with his permit to carry concealed. He turned and walked through the metal detector. Once declared clean, he was told that his weapon and his permit would be returned to him when he left the building.
"You know, I have had to fire a gun exactly once in my entire life," he remarked as they headed toward the elevators. "And that was YOUR gun."
"I believe remember the incident fairly well," Sarah deadpanned. "And I think it's proof of why you need to have the gun. If I had had my gun, it wouldn't have happened."
"Actually, if General Beckman hadn't been a psychotic traitor, it wouldn't have happened," Casey said as they stepped into the elevator.
"Well, there is that."
The elevator let them out on the vice investigation floor, where a corner had been dedicated to the gang squad. A small office that looked like it might've been a broom closet at one point had a sign on the door that indicated it was the office of Commander Richard Pope.
Chuck led the way to the office and knocked on the door. "Come in!"
He opened the door and stepped into a cramped, stuffy office that smelled of coffee and cordite. "Ah, the smells of home," John Casey breathed as he stepped inside.
"Law enforcement?" the police commander asked, looking up at Casey.
"Air Force, and other… activities," Casey replied. "Can't really talk about 'em that much."
"Fair enough," Commander Pope replied, indicating that they should take a seat.
"So, Mr. Bartowski," Pope began, "you seemed to have reservations about this when we spoke on the phone earlier."
"Yes, sir," Chuck replied. "I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea of my company being used for the LAPD's dirty work because of a political hangup."
Pope nodded. "Understandable," he said. "But, you see, I spoke with Senator Graham again after speaking with you. He faxed me a picture, and suggested I have you take a look at it."
Chuck narrowed his eyes, and reached out to take the picture from Pope. He looked at it, and saw a man in a three piece suit, with a teardrop tattooed below his eye –
And Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head. He saw a barrage of images – the first flash he'd had in months. And this one was painful. Incredibly painful.
He blinked his eyes and shook his head. "Alberto Calijo," he said quietly. "Also known as El Anillo del Fuego – the Ring of Fire. Known associate of Al Qaida, FARC, and our good friends, Fulcrum. Also a big cheese for the Mexican mafia, and gang leader of…"
Chuck sighed. "The Firestone Slayers."
Casey rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy," Sarah said dryly.
"You've had an encounter with the Slayers?" Pope asked.
"About four and a half months ago," Casey replied. "We got stuck at a stoplight at Pioneer and Firestone, some of them approached our van, and informed Agent Walker here that she looked like she could, and I quote, 'suck a good dick'. Agent Walker then disembarked from the van and blew the windshield out of one of their cars. The two of us informed a group of about twenty of them that they could depart or die. They chose to depart, but I'm guessing we're on their shitlist."
Pope looked at Sarah. "I thought your name was Sarah Bartowski," he said, looking down at a sheet on his desk. "Why is Mr. Casey calling you Agent Walker?"
She shook her head. "I really can't talk about that."
Pope's eyes widened as his brain connected the dots. "Wait, you're… you're Sarah Walker! Legend in the CIA!"
"Oh, here we go," Chuck muttered.
"Commander Pope, I cannot talk about that," Sarah said tightly. "If you know anything about the intelligence community, then you know exactly why."
He held up his hands. "Alright, fair enough. Anyway. The Firestone Boulevard Slayers are a real menace. They've managed to start, if not gang wars, then conflicts with the Crips, the Bloods, and MS-13. They're causing all sorts of trouble in South Central. LA County Sheriff's has had to start putting uniforms on all Blue and Green Line trains for the protection of the passengers.
"Anyway, Calijo's cousin got himself elected to the Assembly, and he's blocking everything we're trying to do to take down the Slayers. That's where you come in."
Chuck shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure what you're expecting us to – excuse me."
His phone had begun to ring in his pocket. The "Bohemian Rhapsody" ringtone told him immediately who it was – Director Sam Tyler. "'bout damn time," he grumbled as he dug the phone out. "This is Bartowski."
"Chuck, Sam Tyler. Listen – you are to cooperate with LAPD on this thing in whatever way possible. We believe that Calijo is tied in with Fulcrum –"
"I'm aware of that, sir."
"And we want him gone. His gang, too. By ANY MEANS POSSIBLE."
Chuck threw up his free hand in exasperation. "Sir, you're talking about an illegal operation here!"
Sam Tyler was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low, his tone foreboding. "Chuck, I have here in my hand what is essentially a get out of jail card and hunting license all rolled into one. It's signed by the President himself – he still owes you and yours a debt of gratitude for what happened back in February."
Chuck had been backed into a corner. There would be no getting out of this one. "Alright, sir. But I want a copy of that faxed to my office immediately."
"Consider it done."
3:30 P.M., PDT
Norwalk, California
The black Jeep Wrangler exited the I-5 freeway onto Pioneer Boulevard, followed by a black Toyota Land Cruiser and a black Chevrolet Suburban. The Wrangler looked odd indeed – a machine gun turret on top, with what appeared to be TOW missile launchers deployed from both of the front fenders.
The three car convoy rolled south on Pioneer Boulevard, half a mile to Firestone Boulevard. In the backseat of the Suburban, Chuck leaned over to Sarah.
"You really think this is a good idea?" he asked worriedly.
"If the first thing we do is announce our intention to completely destroy them, there's a chance that they'll pack it in and go home," Sarah replied confidently.
"Yeah, a CHANCE," Chuck said. "This is not just our company's reputation we're putting on the line here – this is my life, your life, everybody else's lives. After all we've been through the last few months, what the HELL do we think we're doing here?"
Sarah sighed and looked Chuck in the eyes. "We will be fine," she replied. "You and me – think of everything we've been through. You were abducted, I rescued you. I was shot, you rescued me. We saved the country together. After all that, do you think a few gang members are going to stop us."
That brought a small smile to Chuck's face. "Well, when you put it that way…"
Sarah smiled, and kissed him lightly. "It's gonna be fine."
The three SUVs rolled to a stop in the middle of the intersection of Firestone and Pioneer. Bryce Larkin opened the shotgun door of the Jeep and stepped out. He looked strange dressed in full body armor and a riot helmet, but it was for his own protection.
He flipped up the visor on the riot helmet, and brought a bullhorn to his lips. "Attention Firestone Boulevard Slayers!" he called.
That got the attention of the twenty or so men standing on the street corners. Chuck recognized a few of them as the men who had accosted Sarah back in February when they were fleeing the NSA. He was glad that the Suburban had limo tint in its windows.
"You are hereby on notice!" Bryce continued. "You have been marked for removal by the United States of America! You have a choice – you can either turn Alberto Calijo over to us and disband immediately, or you can be destroyed. The choice is yours."
Almost before he stopped speaking, a shot rang out, and Bryce was knocked on his ass. The shot spurred Casey, at the wheel of the Suburban, and Mitch Tucker, at the wheel of the Land Cruiser into action. The two larger SUVs pulled up on either side of Bryce.
Carina Hansen threw open the back door of the Land Cruiser, laying down covering fire with an MP-5, while Chuck opened the back door of the Suburban and dragged Bryce inside. Rachel Harrison, at the wheel of the Jeep, brought it around in a circle, while Will Williamson stood up in the machine gun turret and fired a burst into the sky.
The Slayers recognized immediately that they were outgunned and backed off. The Jeep sped off down Firestone Boulevard, with the Land Cruiser and the Suburban hot on its tail. Chuck winced as he heard a bullet ping off the rear bumper of the Suburban.
"Well," Bryce croaked, sitting up and still trying to regain his breath, "I guess they made their choice."
"You think?" Chuck asked sarcastically.
Sarah shook her head at Chuck's sarcasm. "It was a successful mission, Chuck," she said. "That's something you're going to have to learn if you're going to be in this business as a professional."
Chuck rolled his eyes and shook his head. "If this was a successful mission," he cracked, "I'd HATE to see a failure."
