Chuck vs. the Con

Chapter Seven: "The Face"

CAST (in order of appearance):
Rowan Montgomery – John Larroquette
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi
Adam Baldwin – Adam Baldwin
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski
Mott – James Kyson Lee
Jason K. "Jack" Burton – Gary Cole
Louis Silvestri – Al Pacino

Palm Desert, California

Chuck, Casey, and a very haggard looking Sarah followed Rowan Montgomery back into his Palm Desert condominium. "A drink?" Chuck asked Casey, sotto voce. "Really, we're going to discuss a mission over a drink?"

Casey's face had taken on a look of despair. "Yeah. We're dead."

"Oh, don't be such a downer, Major," Montgomery said in disgust as he entered his kitchen. "Just because I want to have a drink doesn't mean I'm going to compromise the mission."

"All due respect, sir," Sarah interjected, sounding tired, "but the last time we were on a mission with you, you spilled a martini on a sound processing board."

Montgomery looked up from the drink he was preparing and cocked his head. "Agent Walker, you are the last person in the world who should be criticizing a fellow agent for taking actions to compromise a mission."

Sarah's eyes widened and her face turned bright red. "Oh, yes, Agent Walker," Montgomery chided her. "I heard all about when you chose to go after a perfectly safe Mr. Bartowski instead of assisting Agent Larkin with the capture of an enemy agent. Care to explain yourself?"

Sarah looked at Montgomery for a long moment, and then her face hardened. "No," she grated. "I don't."

"Very well," Montgomery replied, crossing the room to Sarah. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better."

Sarah looked at Montgomery guardedly, and then sniffed the drink. "Oh, for God's sake, just drink it, Agent Walker," Montgomery spat. "I'm not trying to poison you."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, and then took a sip of the drink. "Agent Walker, it will do you no good if you just sit there and sip it," Montgomery said in exasperation.

"Fine," Sarah shot back, drinking the rest of it in one gulp. Then her eyes widened. "What the hell –"

Sarah slumped down in her chair, sliding down to the floor. Chuck dove out of his chair to catch her under the arms, keeping her from hitting the floor.

Before Montgomery could move, Casey's gun was out, pointed at the retired CIA agent. "What the hell did you give her?!"

"Relax, Major," Montgomery replied. "It's a CIA-approved flu remedy. It'll put her out for about twelve hours, which will give her more than ample time to recover."

Crossing to a closet, Montgomery opened it and retrieved a sport coat. "In the meantime, the three of us can go take care of whatever business it is that you need me for, and be back in time for breakfast with Agent Walker. Unless, of course, one of you has an objection."

Chuck looked at Casey. Casey shrugged. "I guess it's not that bad a plan," he said.

"Wait, no!" Chuck interrupted. "We can't just leave Sarah here alone!"

Montgomery smiled. "No problem there, Mr. Bartowski. MOTT!"

Chuck winced at Montgomery's shout. A Japanese man in his late thirties ran into the room.

"Yes, Mr. Montgomery?"

Rowan Montgomery looked at Chuck and Casey. "Mr. Bartowski, Major Casey, meet Agent Mott. He's a former Yakuza bodyguard, and he was an informant of mine when I was an active agent. He now works for the Secret Service and is permanently assigned to me."

Montgomery's smile got even bigger. "Trust me when I say that if anybody tries to harm Agent Walker, they will meet an unfortunate end."

Chuck and Casey had to admit that traveling with Rowan Montgomery had its perks. The man had his own private jet – "Courtesy of some money I managed to swindle out of the KGB back in the '80s," he explained.

As a result, the trip to Phoenix took less than an hour from the Palm Springs airport; however, by the time they reached Louie Silver's mansion in Tempe, it was well after midnight. "Wake 'em up," Montgomery demanded of the limo driver.

"Sir… uh, I know who lives here," the limo driver replied nervously. "I really don't feel like aggravating him."

Montgomery sighed. "Pansy," he grumbled, climbing out of the limo. He walked around to the callbox and pressed the button. One ring, two rings, three rings –

"Who the fuck?!"

"Mr. Silvestri, good evening," Montgomery said. "I'm here with a Mr. Carmichael and another associate of ours… I know your niece, Ms. Burton?"

Silence for a moment. "Which Ms. Burton?"

"Jennifer, sir."

There was no response for a moment, and then, the gate swung open. "That's how it's done," Montgomery told the limo driver with a smile as he climbed back into the stretched Lincoln.

The white limousine pulled up the driveway to the front of the house. "Thank you, sir," Montgomery said to the limo driver, handing him the fare plus a twenty dollar tip as they disembarked.

"Any time," the driver replied, accelerating away from the house as quickly as he could.

As the three men approached the front door of the house, it was opened to reveal a very tired and cranky looking Louie Silver standing in the doorway. "CARMICHAEL!" he bellowed. "What in the blue hell is the meaning of this?!"

Chuck put his hands up. "I apologize, sir, it was my colleague's fault. He insisted on coming, and quite frankly, sir, he's an unstoppable force of nature."

"Very true," Montgomery said. "Mr. Silvestri, my name is Rowan Montgomery. This is my assistant, John Clark. We are associates of Mr. Carmichael's, and were informed that we could possibly play a role in a job that he is staffing for you."

Silvestri's mood changed immediately. "Is that so," he said, his voice becoming much more pleasant. "In that case, please, do come in."

They followed Silvestri into the living room, where Jason Burton sat, looking like he had just been pulled from his bed. "Chuck," he said tiredly. "Nice to see you again."

"You too, sir," Chuck replied. "Uh, Mr. Burton, this is Rowan Montgomery, and John, uh, John Clark. Rowan, John, this is Sa… Jennifer's father, Jason Burton."

Rowan and Casey both shook Burton's hand. "Mr. Burton," Montgomery said.

"Please, call me Jack," he replied. Chuck gave him a weird look. Jack? he thought.

"Anybody for a drink?" Silvestri asked from the side of the room, where he seemed to be preparing himself one.

"What are you having?" Montgomery replied.

"Vodka martini," Silvestri said. "James Bond style."

"Excellent. I'll have one as well." Montgomery flashed a smile at Casey and Chuck. Casey rolled his eyes and Chuck groaned out loud.

"So," Silvestri began, taking a sip of his martini as he handed Rowan's over, "what the hell could've possibly brought you looney-tunes to my house in the middle of the night?"

"Well," Rowan said, "I wanted to discuss this job with you. I wanted to discuss what role Mr. Clark and I could play in this operation."

Silvestri spread his hands wide. "Please. Enlighten me."

Montgomery nodded. "Very well. Mr. Clark here can drive a Crown Victoria like a Ferrari, and he's a deadly shot with any gun ever made. He's not afraid to kill, and has done so many times."

Louie Silver narrowed his eyes. "Is that so," he said. "Mr. Clark – can you prove it to me?"

Casey smiled, an evil look crossing his face. "But of course," he replied. "Mr. Silvestri, could you do me a favor?"

"What's that, Mr. Clark?"

"Blink."

Silvestri looked at Casey as if he'd lost his mind. "I beg your pardon?"

"Blink, sir."

Silvestri looked from Casey, to Chuck, to Montgomery. "I imagine he has his reasons," Montgomery said.

"Alright," Silvestri replied. He blinked –

"HOLY JESUS!"

The former Mob man quickly jerked away from Casey, stumbling and nearly falling as he did so. In the blink of an eye, Casey's hands had gone from being at his side to being up by Silvestri's face, a gun in them, aimed at his forehead.

Silvestri stared at Casey in wide-eyed astonishment. "How the HELL did you do that?"

Casey smiled. "I'm just that good, sir."

Louie Silver shook his head. "Okay," he said to Montgomery. "Clark here has proven his worth. What's your role?"

Rowan Montgomery smiled. "I'm the face of this job, sir."

Silvestri stared at him, as if expecting more. When Montgomery didn't say anything else, he spoke. "That's it?"

"Absolutely," Montgomery replied. "Here's the thing, sir. I'm former CIA. Kicked out for bad reasons, but that's neither here nor there. The truth of the matter is, I know how these operations work, and I know you need a face – somebody who can put your mark at ease, who can grease the skids, make sure everything goes according to plan."

Sarah Walker's uncle shook his head. "I'm gonna humor you here for a minute," he said. "Tell me, why exactly should you be the face of this mission?"

"Well, here's the deal," Montgomery answered. "Mr. Carmichael here tells me that you're dealing with one Doctor Oleg Karimov, a biochemist at Northern Arizona University?"

"Yeah," Silvestri said. "So?"

"I'm familiar with Karimov," Rowan explained. "I understand that he used to be part of the Russian Mob in New York, and I understand that he's had dealings with you. Therefore, he will of course know who you are, which eliminates you as the face of the operation."

"Well, isn't that special," Silvestri replied dryly. "What's wrong with my brother-in-law? Or any of my beautiful nieces? Or for that matter, Mr. Carmichael here?"

Montgomery chuckled. "First of all, none of them has the training that I do. But let's throw that out for a moment here. Your brother-in-law – well, I've read his file. I still have connections in the agency, and I can still get what I need. Sure, he's a good operator, but let's face facts, he's fairly unattractive." Jack Burton's face took on a hurt look. "No offense sir, but it's true, and the fact of the matter is, unattractive people don't garner as much respect."

Burton nodded, although he looked genuinely hurt. Chuck made a mental note to talk to him later, to tell him the story of the time Rowan Montgomery had accused him of being a 27 year-old virgin.

"As far as your daughters go, they are indeed beautiful, but Russians simply do not respect women enough for one of them to pull off the job." Montgomery smiled. "After all, look at what they did to Catherine the Great."

Montgomery turned to Chuck. "And finally, Mr. Carmichael – well, I'm not entirely convinced he's ever had intercourse, and if a man doesn't have the balls for that, then he doesn't have the balls for this mission."

Chuck shot to his feet, furious. "You know what, Montgomery?" he spat. "This was an enormous mistake, involving you. I'm sick and tired of your bullshit."

Rowan smiled condescendingly at Chuck. "Well, Mr. Carmichael, if you get laid, I might let up on the bullshit."

"Yeah, fuck off," Chuck shot back, storming toward the front door. "And for the record, Catherine the Great died of natural causes, you pompous ass."

"Mr. Carmichael…"

The voice of Louie Silver pulled Chuck back from the front door. Chuck sighed, and turned around. "Yes, sir?"

"Running away from your tormentor will not solve your problems."

Chuck cocked his head, and was surprised to find himself mentally agreeing with the older Italian man. "You know, sir, I think you're right." He crossed the room, moving back toward Rowan Montgomery – and when he reached him, without any warning, raised his right hand, balled it into a fist, and punched Montgomery square in the jaw.

Montgomery staggered backward, dropping his martini as he did so. Tripping over his own feet, he fell backwards, landing hard on his ass. A stunned look appeared on his face.

John Casey bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Jack Burton didn't even attempt to not smile. Chuck stared down at Montgomery as the retired agent regained his composure. A look of anger washed over his face momentarily, but then he calmed.

"Maybe, Mr. Carmichael, maybe I was wrong about you," Montgomery said. "It appears you have balls after all."