She was watching him intently, there in the darkness with only a small sliver of dim light from the hallway casting shadows across his drawn features. His curly hair lay damp and lank against his skull. She had been watching the sheet, draped across his chest rise and fall very slightly for the last several hours. She checked her watch again for what seemed like the thousandth time, then threw her head back against the cool vinyl of the chair, wide blue eyes staring at the ceiling tiles. Finding no answers there in the random industrial patterns, she blew out a long soft breath, her frustration just barely contained. It took a great deal of her inimitable willpower to not call the "doctor" back every 5 minutes to grill him about the test results, or lack thereof.
The overriding question that had kept her mind twisting throughout the night though, was why? Why did this asset, this ...mark, Chuck, have her on tenterhooks about his welfare. And WHY had he done such a foolish thing to get him here? Didn't he care what happened to him? And to do something so crazy, with no consideration for his own well being? And for Casey no less...Casey would have let him die there beside that nameless road in a forgotten desert without a moment's hesitation. She had known Charles Bartowski less than 24 hours and still she couldn't fathom what hold he had on her, or what in the hell was driving him!.
She grimaced when she realized that she had again bitten the inside of her lip until it bled. She cursed silently at the familiar taste of blood...
She started out of her reverie at the sudden flurry of muted barks and mews from the back room of the building, triggered by the door from the reception area of the veterinarian's office opening quietly, then clicking solidly back into the frame. She rose from the chair as padded footsteps approached. The door pushed inward, just enough for a rather large John Casey to stick his head in. He gazed steadily at the figure on the bed, then turned his eyes toward her. He ducked his head slightly, nodding toward the figure beneath the sheet, "How is he?", he asked quietly.
"No change." She looked at Casey, again at the figure in the bed, then back. "Is the doctor back yet?" she whispered. Realizing her fingers were unconsciously twisting together she forced herself to separate them, glancing at them briefly as if they belonged to someone else.
"Nnhh…" was his only reply, eyes cutting from her back to the bed.
She took the grunt as an affirmative and shoved one wayward hand deep in a back pocket, the other brushing a loose strand of golden hair behind an ear, then shifting her weight to lean loosely against the bed frame.
Her gaze honed in on Casey, a million questions running through her mind, but then, just, "Casey, what are you still doing here?"
The last word she had was that Casey would chopper back to LA to begin arranging Chuck's...the asset's, future situation. A part of her wanted to grill him for more details, but a larger part of her shied away from what she knew was in Chuck's future.. Chuck had worked so hard to stay out of the government's grasp, to battle what he had had no voice in, so she wasn't sure exactly how he would respond to knowing now that his run was over.
"Beckman wants another update in an hour," glancing down briefly at his watch. "Then I'm out of here." He stared at her a moment. "What about you?" With thinly disguised contempt he asked, "What's next for the great Agent Walker? I'm sure Graham already his "enforcer" on the next jet to Jakarta, Dubai, or wherever they need...somebody like you!."
"I don't know," she gestured somewhat vaguely, ignoring his jibe, "Graham wasn't available earlier, but I'm scheduled for a de-brief at oh six hundred." She straightened and turned back toward the chair. "I'll hang around here until the doctor gets back I guess. Make sure he's ok, that Chuck's okay…" She found herself again standing by his bedside, and had to check the urge to push a wayward lock of dark curls off his forehead. She abruptly turned back to Casey, fixing her face with the deadpan demeanor that he expected from "The Ice Queen". She really didn't want John Casey, of all people, to think she had anything beyond professional interest in the mission.
"Casey, have you heard anything more about Mr. Nez?" Casey's blank stare accompanied by a non-committal grunt prompted her to change her tack. "Well, have we gotten any info from the agents we, or that Mr. Nez captured? Do we know who they work for?"
"No, nothing yet," Casey remarked quietly, then glancing back at her.
"Walker?" his steely glare pinning her, "why do you think he did it? What was the moron thinking?" The stone wall that was an inimitable John Casey was showing a very small crack. She turned toward the window, once again rerunning the events of the previous night in her mind before she replied quietly, "I wish I knew Casey, I wish I knew."
Her mind was trying to reconstruct what had happened just a few hours ago. She distinctly remembered Chuck saying to her, "Sarah, we have a problem!", an undercurrent of panic in his voice.
Looking back, it seemed like such a huge understatement. She had been passing an old truck of indeterminate origin, full of trash and debris, when Chuck stiffened, his eyes fluttering uncontrollably, and then making his statement in a weary but urgent voice. She started to question him further, when suddenly, from the left side of the road, headlights exploded into her vision, blinding her. Instinctively she knew the lights were far more powerful than standard high-beam headlights, they had to be military grade to burn so brightly. She swerved right automatically to avoid the surging vehicles from the left, realizing too late that she had nowhere to go. The glistening spikes set up across the blacktop blew all four tires almost instantly, pieces of what used to be their tires thudding into the undercarriage as the Jeep slewed violently toward right hand ditch. Only hours and hours of evasive maneuver training allowed her to keep some semblance of control. When the dust settled, the car was surrounded by agents in black, weapons at port arms, flashlights blazing into her eyes. As she pushed back the deflated air-bag, John Casey's visage had filled the driver's side window, big right hand pointing a huge black pistol at her head, his left snatching the door ajar violently.
"Hands up Walker! I really, really want an excuse to send you to see your boy toy Bryce, but Beckman wants a word with you. And oh yeah, I also understand Graham"s panties are in kind of a twist too…" he snarled with entirely too much satisfaction.
Another agent, one even larger than Casey if possible, was manhandling a groggy Chuck out of the passenger side door. Slamming the lanky young man against the Jeep brought a sharp response from her, blue eyes flashing dangerously, "Hey Mongo! Ease up on my asset or I'll make you wish you were still rinsing out jocks back at the Farm!" Without waiting for a response, she turned her attention to Chuck, "Are you ok?" Noticing his somewhat unfocused gaze, she snapped her head around to glare at Casey, "Tell your goon to ease up, he's not a threat and you know it!"
Casey responded by twisting her arm a little tighter behind her back, making her wince. "For one thing, he's MY asset now, and for another, I not only KNOW he's a physical threat, I think he's a threat to national security! I only have to get shot once to learn!"
"Sarah…?" Chuck's voice was disjointed, groggy.
"Chuck, are you ok?" She stopped struggling against Casey, trying to get a read on what Chuck was mumbling about.
"Sarah, the truck we passed…"
"Chuck, I know…"
"No Sarah, the truck isn't part of this, it's something else"
Casey shook her like a rag doll, growling at her, "What the hell are you two gabbing about?" Glancing across the hood of the Jeep, he motioned with the deadly barrel of the .45 he was brandishing for the mountainous agent holding Chuck to drag him closer.
"Bartowski! What in the hell are you talking about? What truck?"
Chuck's eyes bounced back and forth between the two agents for a moment, "Sarah, the old truck, the one we were passing when this...well, it wasn't CIA or NSA, it's, it's something else, I'm not sure...but it's not good."
"What kinda crap are you rambling about idiot? There isn't any 'old truck' out here."
The guttural query was barely out of Casey's mouth, when red laser dots began dancing across the chests and foreheads of the four black clad agents that were accompanying him. Steady red dots also painted themselves on Casey and Sarah, too steady to question their validity.
A voice rang out from the darkness, an oily voice, heavily tinged with sarcasm. "Agent Casey?" The voice was calm and contained. "Thank you so much for leading us to the Intersect! If it wasn't for you, and of course the beautiful Agent Walker as well, we may have had to resort to some rather...hmmm, drastic measures." The mocking tone of the voice coming out of the ink black night had everyone's hackles on edge.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to release Mr. Bartowski, and step away from the vehicle, than I assure you that this entire incident will be relatively painless."
As Casey and Walker both tried to get a grasp of who, and how many assailants they faced, each calculating their next move, a lone individual stepped out of the darkness. The harsh light of the headlights cast a foreboding shadow across a deeply scarred face. The man seemed to be unarmed, hands clasped lightly behind him. He gestured almost daintily toward Chuck to step away from the hulking agent that had been holding him pinned to the Jeep.
"We have been aware for some time of your efforts to download the Intersect into an agent, and I see you have finally succeeded! Thank you so much! This will save us untold expense," and casting a conspiratorial eye toward Sarah, "and who knows, if we had found you a month ago, Bryce Larkin may not have had to die…."
Reaching out and casually taking control of Chuck from the huge agent, he turned and again looked at Casey, ignoring Sarah, the laser sights stippling the big agent's chest and face. "I am sure you will do nothing foolish to endanger your team Agent Casey. As you can see, my men have everything well in hand." Casey could see the red pinpoints of light on each of his own team members, but as yet hadn't tracked the sources in the darkness.
The newcomer held Chuck's arm just above the elbow guiding him toward the pair of familiar agents, an insolent smile on his scarred visage. Sarah watched the entire event, arm twisted painfully behind her, eyes wide, waiting for an opportunity. There was always an opportunity. She was Sarah Walker, the Ice Queen. Chaos and mayhem were, after all, her forte'.
Casey seemed to be waiting as well, muscular frame tense and coiled, but things seemed to be slipping away from them both. Chuck was in shock, almost completely unaware of what was happening. The scarred interloper was holding him up, as Chuck's feet seem to be dragging and tangling on each other. Just as they stepped in front of the vehicle, a weird, keening sound echoed out of the inky desert night. The wailing faded away, only to be replaced by voice coming from nowhere and everywhere, all at once, "Charles, niʼ jootłish tʼáá shǫǫdí!"
The seemingly dazed and hooded eyes of the "asset" sharpened into the distance, then immediately back to where Casey stood, Sarah still in his formidable grasp. With a sudden spin that brought his opposite elbow crashing into the temple of the unknown man, he yanked free of the now loosened grip on his arm. Sarah's move mirrored his own almost identically. The roar of a loud muffler and a sudden blaze of headlights pinned Casey and Sarah in a vector of lights with nowhere to go. Just as the truck exploded into movement, tires squealing, engine howling, barreling straight toward the two, Chuck broke like a sprinter toward them.
Time seemed to slow down once again. He was moving at normal speed, but everyone else seemed to be struggling against an invisible force, making it seem as though they were hardly moving. He could hear strange noises as well. A separate soundtrack. Ill-tuned guitar strings being plucked, and wet sounding thuds, all beneath the screaming agony of the old truck's drive-line. He could also hear the hollow "pop" of gunfire, and panicked shouting echoing all around him.
He tucked his head, shoulder down, his feet churning and driving him forward. "Major Casey!" he shouted. He was hoping to hit the NSA agent in the midsection with a shoulder, and still be able to collect Sarah with the other arm as he drove them out of the path of the truck. He needed Casey to focus on him and not move until he reached where they stood.
The truck was moving inexorably across the blacktop directly toward the trio. He thudded into the solid weight of Casey's gut and felt his off hand connect solidly with Sarah's midsection. Legs still pumping, the shrieking of the truck engine filling his mind, pushing all else aside, he shoved Sarah clear with his left hand, and with his right shoulder, bulldozed Casey beyond the truck's path. Casey stumbled backwards landing squarely on his ass, Sarah spinning off into the darkness. But, as powerful as the Intersect was, it was no match for physics.
Casey and Sarah both heard the solid "THUD" as the rusty left fender of the truck caught Chuck's left hip, clipping him crazily into the air, limbs flailing, until he slammed back to the ground, his boneless pirouette making even Casey's hardened sense of pragmatism flinch.
The truck continued straight ahead, slamming into the ditch, engine roaring in protest as the tires struggled to overcome the impossible angle of the truck. Abruptly,l the engine just coughed and died. The silence was complete, the madness of the previous seconds suddenly spent, dust swirling silently on the desert breeze.
Sarah remembered scrambling suddenly to her feet, a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the crumpled form, arms and legs akimbo, face down in the loose sand and gravel of the roadside. "Chuck?" she said quietly at first, then more intensely, "Chuck!", running, then skidding to a stop over his unnaturally still form. Squatting along side him, slender fingers reaching automatically to feel for a pulse, she visibly slumped as she felt the slow, steady thudding of the artery in his neck beneath her light touch. Quieter now, she's almost whispering, "Chuck? Can you hear me? Chuck!"
