GreenEyedGirl9

A/N Don't own Chuck, but do own my insufferably bad attitude. Running in 10-12 kt winds in 2-3ft seas. Doesn't sound like much but I only have 4ft of freeboard. Everything is wet and I wouldn't have it any other way.

One of the 4 or 5 who've actually read the story commented on the father's attentiveness, I have no intention of exploring it other than as it will come out in therapy(?), no salacious flashbacks. Also, yeah, Chuck was underage so how did he escape the do-gooders? And lastly, NickyR, the temperature is going to get hotter…but not "m" sadly. Ellie's a drunk because that's what bled from my fingers. She's always got wine in her hand on the show so I just extrapolated a wee bit. I lurve Sarah Lancaster but that's a whole 'nother thing.

And as for Chuck's apparent 'over the top' self-confidence, have you ever met a rich person who wasn't self-confident? And Chuck's got lotsa loot. I think I'm being influenced by a comment I heard in a bar "Life's like a crap sandwich, the more bread you got, the less crap you eat." Of course, he didn't say 'crap' he said…

Want Charah? Pay the piper. Bwahaha…Can you say Kimberly Montoya?

Armor-Plated-Rat
Gulf of Mexico
26 June 2009


Drake Hotel
San Francisco, CA
January 1 3:00am

The limo pulled up to the front of the hotel and Chuck helped Sarah out of the vehicle. He put his arm around her as an additional buffer to the chill wind blowing down the street.

He nodded to Casey and led her into the hotel. She hadn't said much not mission-related on the trip back. Neither had he. He supposed that was procedure since the major briefing was being held at 7am with the General and Director and assorted flunkies in attendance.

He pushed the button for the elevator and waited what seemed a lifetime. He glanced at her profile and noticed what looked like a tear hanging from one eyelash. When the car arrived they both walked in and turned to face the door, a habit Chuck always found amusing.

He glanced at her again and saw that the tear had lost the battle to the forces of gravity and was winding its way down her cheek. He didn't say anything, concerned that whatever he said would be the wrong thing. He wasn't good in these situations and had a habit of apologizing for things that weren't his fault.

They walked down the hall to their suite and Chuck swiped the card and held the door for her. She walked in and dropped the hooded cape in a bundle on the floor and walked into the bathroom.

'Uh oh, I've screwed up something someplace. This is not the Sarah Walker I've come to know. This Sarah Walker is closed off and distant. I wonder what it was I did that pissed her off? Or was this after-mission Sarah Walker?'

Knowing that whatever it was would be thrown in his face any minute he went to the bar and found a beer in the minifridge below the bar counter. He popped the top and took a long drink. He shuddered. Imported crap. He drank the rest of the pony bottle and squatted down to see what other chicken piss the management thought was decent beer.

Sarah walked out of the bathroom wearing a short robe. She carried her gown over her arm and went to the closet and hung it up. She was about 10 seconds from an emotional meltdown and had no idea why. The mission was flawless, Chuck's performance had been flawless, and the results would speak for themselves. This was victory #2 for Team Intersect. So why was she going to cry? Why was she so sad? Was it because she saw something she wanted and couldn't have? Was it because she realized just how empty and alone she was? And where was Chuck?

She walked into the living room. No Chuck. She check the bathroom, maybe he'd ducked in there. No Chuck. She opened the balcony door and looked to see if he was in his usual place. No Chuck.

The object of her search found nothing worthy of his palate and decided to hop in the shower once Sarah was done. He was over his drowsiness and hoped a hot shower would relax tense muscles and bring on a restful albeit brief sleep. He wandered into the bedroom and saw Sarah standing at the open door to the balcony.

"You'll freeze to death out there dressed like that, Sarah. Come in out of the cold. Please. I know you're sad and I'm sorry I didn't figure it out earlier. I'm sorry you're stuck with me, Sarah, and not him. I know you miss Bryce but at least he's still alive someplace."

Her frustration and longing and her desire for this man all coalesced into the one emotion she was free to display.

She whirled on him, fire in her eyes, not realizing that he was much closer than he sounded. She spun around right into his arms and was momentarily shocked but recovered quickly enough. She looked up at him and fired her opening salvo.

"You stupid little man. You flashed on something in the intersect and believe it's an immutable fact. Well, here's a flash for you, Mr. Intersect. I hate Bryce Larkin. I have for some time now. He's been replaced and your precious Intersect doesn't know about it. And yes, I miss him. I miss him more and more everyday. I love him more and more every single day. And I haven't told him that I love him. He doesn't know. And he won't know. He can't know. So excuse me if I'm a little down. But you're wrong, Mr. Intersect, it's not Bryce Larkin I miss and love."

'It's you, you big dolt. I don't know how but you've slipped beneath the radar and little by little imbedded yourself in my heart. I can't tell you and I can't show you. I'd be gone in less than an hour and you'd have a new handler, someone who wasn't vulnerable to those eyes and that smile and your gentle ways.'

"I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same, Mr. Intersect. We have an early briefing and we need to be at the top of our game."

She turned and dropped her robe revealing not a naked Sarah but one wearing a pair of boxers and one of Chuck's missing t-shirts. She slipped into bed, turned her back toward the center and turned off her light leaving Chuck in the dark, both literally and figuratively.

'Well, I didn't see that one coming. An interesting flaw in the logic of relying on the Intersect. Times change and so do people.'

He removed his tux and accoutrements and placed all in the CIA bag (as good a name as any other) and headed into the shower. In the dark he couldn't see his handler roll over and look at him with desperate longing and a tear-streaked face.

When he came out he pulled out some sleep pants and a t-shirt and took an extra blanket from the shelf in the closet. He looked over at the bed he'd felt so uncomfortable about sharing when he first realized there was only one bed. Well, that problem had been solved, hadn't it?

There was no way he was getting into a bed with a pissed-off CIA agent with an obvious case of 'I despise Bartowski'. He'd sleep better on the couch or out on the balcony.

Actually, he didn't sleep any better. He didn't sleep at all. The couch was as comfortable as he'd anticipated but sleep would not come to him. He was physically and emotionally tired but could not sleep.

It bothered him that he'd hurt Sarah unwittingly but he knew that she'd chosen the life she led with all its minefields, traps and dead ends. He would not make amends. It wasn't necessary. He didn't matter. He was, to her, just a stupid little man.

He ran over the events of the past 7 hours and could find no instance where he'd done anything that might be construed as either unprofessional or insulting. The touching and kissing had been mission necessities and the sweet midnight kiss had probably been one of longing for her true love. It could also be seen as a mission necessity to maintain their 'cover'. He was just the available surrogate, the stupid little man.

His logic was underwritten by her behavior in the limo on the way back. Distant, both physically and emotionally, shut off, inaccessible and not needing anything from Chuck Bartowski but silence and distance.

Well, obviously the 'siren call' of Sarah Walker was an agent device to control her asset when needed. He didn't need controlled. He needed only direction and objective. He'd make the rest up as he went. He had no concern for consequences so long as they only affected him.

Why were all the women in his life suddenly nuts?


Hotel Drake
San Francisco, CA
6am

Chuck stood by Sarah's side of the bed. "Sarah, it's six and our briefing is at 7. I've ordered a light breakfast and coffee for you. I'll be back in a bit after you've showered and dressed."

He walked into the living room and folded the blanket he used on the couch. He hadn't slept at all and was feeling the effects of sleep and food deprivation. It had been more than 24 hours since he'd eaten and longer since he slept. He needed something in his stomach and fresh air.

Chuck took the elevator down to the lobby and walked over to the coffee bar and grabbed a large cup and walked out the lobby door. The sun was well over the horizon but the buildings created near dark blocks and the wind from the Bay carried the scent of the sea plus the miasma of any city: sewage, pollution and rot.

John Casey had pulled his rental into the hotel parking garage and walked in just as Chuck walked out. Chuck was off in la-la land and Casey realized he could have walked up behind him and shoved him out into traffic if this were a normal day and no one would have noticed anything except another dead body.

Every time the human intersect zinged him with one of his one-liners he made up a new death scenario for him. He was really looking forward to taking out this smart-assed piece of crap. The new intersect was only weeks away. He was very patient.

He wondered why the idiot wasn't up in his room getting his rocks off with his handler. That was her job. Keep the intersect happy and productive. He had no quarrel with her performance. If anything, he felt she was a little too controlled. He knew she, too, was counting the days and hoping that it would be her and not Casey who got to kill Bartowski. If Casey was bothered by occasional contact, poor Agent Walker must be ready to kill him at a moment's notice.

Sarah Walker showered, dressed and picked at the light fruit breakfast Chuck had ordered for her. She didn't see any other breakfast debris so she assumed he'd skipped breakfast.

She didn't know where he was and that disturbed her. She needed to know the location of her asset at all times.

Someone knocked at the door and she looked through the peephole and saw it was Casey. Letting him in, she returned to pick at her breakfast.

"There's coffee in the carafe and you're welcome to share this. I'm really not that hungry."

"Yeah, if I had to spend the night entertaining our asset I wouldn't be able to stomach food for a while either. He's drinking coffee and wandering around in front of the hotel. He looks like shit. You must have wrung him out last night. Good. He'll be quiet on the plane. I look forward to popping him when the new intersect is on-line, unless you get the nod. I wouldn't blame you for wanting to end him after having him all over you. You have the patience of Job, Agent Walker. The things we do for the greater good."

Sarah almost choked on her coffee. 'New intersect? …end him?'

"So when's the new intersect coming on line? I'm not in the loop apparently." She had to know more. She would ask Graham directly if it was necessary but preferred less direct methods.

"Within a month, six weeks, tops. I told Beckman she should let me have another crack at him but she vetoed it until they were sure the new intersect functioned properly. In the mean time we're to molly coddle him and use him to get whatever we can out of the intersect."

'…another crack at him…? What the hell was going on here? She definitely needed to talk to Graham – unless he was party to all this? Another damned dilemma.'


Chuck walked around the block letting the air clear his head as he focused his thoughts on the upcoming briefing and a host of other things. He checked his watch and saw it was time to head back for the briefing. He hoped the plane back to Burbank was leaving immediately after the meeting. He did not wish to inflict himself on his handler one second more than was necessary. Stupid little man, indeed.

He got to the room just as the briefing was about to begin. He sat behind the two agents huddled around Casey's laptop.

The briefing began precisely at 7am. Beckman took the lead and ran down the accomplishments of the evening. She was pleased and could find nothing to fault the team's performance. Director Graham looked tired and distracted and just nodded at the appropriate times. Twenty minutes later it was over and Casey announced that he would be ready to take them to the airport at 9 for the flight back to Burbank.

Sarah's phone rang and she walked out onto the balcony to take the call.

"Walker, secure."

"Graham, secure. Jenn, please come home. Your Aunt Cathy is in the hospital and it doesn't look good. She'd like to see you one last time. Please, if only for a couple of days. It would mean the world to her and to me. She doesn't have much time left."

"Of course. I'll be on the first available commercial flight out of L.A. within a couple of hours of our arrival in Burbank. You should have told me, Uncle Art. You shouldn't have waited. I'd have been home for Christmas. I could have had all that time with her. Damn this job. You let me stay here and do my job while she was dying and now you're going to kill Chuck Bartowski just because he's going to become an inconvenience when your new intersect is on-line. You already tried once and failed. You killed his wife instead. How could y…" and she broke into sobs unable to continue. She hung up the phone and stood on the balcony looking out at the city.

When she felt able, she went back into the suite and told Casey and Chuck she would be leaving for Washington due to a family emergency that required her attention and she didn't know if or when she'd be back. She looked pointedly at Casey and he interpreted it as her saying 'do your job so I don't have to return'.

Chuck simply looked at her, saw her distress and said nothing, believing that nothing he could say would make her misery any less.

Chuck slept the entire flight back to Burbank and then had Casey drop him off at his apartment rather than delay Sarah's arrangements and trip back east.


He unlocked the apartment and saw that once again he was alone. He unpacked and changed clothes and took the bike out to the beach. He was home.

That night he and Ellie had a long talk. As expected, she denied any problems, accused him of trying to destroy her reputation in the medical community and pointed out that Sarah Walker had obviously had enough of him too and left for greener pastures. The conversation ended with 'Chuck, I hate your fucking guts' and promises to ignore his existence in the future. Devon had come over to take Ellie to dinner and caught the last few sentences.

While Ellie was dressing, Chuck reminded Devon of the bottle box in his bedroom and offered to carry it out to his car. Devon said he'd get it later and Chuck figured he didn't want Ellie to know he was the proud possessor of all her booze.

It had been a long and stressful day and he finally called it a night. He didn't hear Ellie come home and wouldn't have cared if he did. The last bridge had been burned.


Reagan International
11:40pm
Arrivals

Director Arthur Graham gathered his foster daughter into a bone-crushing embrace. All the fear and frustration of the past few days hung around him like an aura.

"Can we go directly to the hospital? I want to see Aunt Cathy."

"No, the doctors won't permit it. They won't even let me in after 9pm. She needs her rest and you'd really be tiring her out unnecessarily. I know how you two would talk all night and she can't spare the energy. Tomorrow morning, Jenn, I promise."

"Now, what's this about killing Bartowski? No one authorized any sanction against your young man, now or in the past. What's your information source? And how do you know about the new intersect? Do we have a security breach?"

She told him everything Casey had said and he took notes and made noises and strangling sounds before putting down his pen and looking at her.

"This sounds like one of Beckman's operations. She's after money and power for her agency. She doesn't believe much in humint, trusting instead to satellites and eavesdropping. Casey's her pet dog. He cleans up messes for her. Doesn't much care about any fallout. He knows Beckman will cover his ass. Without proof of any involvement I can't go to the NSC with a supposition. Jenn, I think your boy's going to have to fend for himself."

"Please, don't call me Jenn. She's in the past. I have a future now and I want my 'boy' as you term him, to be part of it. He's like no one I've ever met and you expect me to sit around knowing that some rabid son of a bitch is just waiting to kill him?"

"Take some time with your Aunt Cathy and I'll see what I can do. The intersect is still 6 weeks away and those computer idiots are always telling us they need more time. Just understand there only so much I can do. From what you say, I don't think he would do well in a high security environment."

"You mean in one of your off-the-books holes in the ground, don't you? I'd rather see him dead than buried alive for the rest of his life. He didn't ask for this. He hasn't asked for anything except the chance to live his life. He's performed above expectations and he has a sense of right that I find sorely lacking in our business. And I suspect that son of a bitch Casey had something to do with his wife's death. He did say 'again'."

"I'll do what I can, Sarah. And I'll give you warning if a sanction is approved. After that, you're on your own. Get your ducks in a row, Sarah, if you're even thinking about taking him off the grid. You'll have an advantage, just not much of one."

"I'll take anything I can get. I will not lose this man, Uncle Art."


Burbank, CA
January 5

2pm

John Casey hated the fact that he had to take Chuck Bartowski on a mission. General Beckman's group had traced the Fulcrum regional coordinator, Walter Abney, to his office by the simple expedient of tagging his vehicle with a GPS transponder. Beckman had instructed Casey to take Bartowski to the office complex and let him 'roam around and see if he flashed on anyone.' Casey would stay in the suburban and the asset would report any flashes by wrist mike and transmit real time images via a camera in his suit lapel.

Casey picked Chuck up and briefed him again in detail about mission objectives, abort codes and fall back locations and pick-up points. He was tempted to offer him a weapon but Chuck pointed out that he'd never fired one and would probably shoot himself in the foot thereby earning Casey black mark's in Beckman's grade book. Casey resolved, against his better judgment, to take the asset and train him in basic firearms safety and handling. It might be Casey's ass Chuck saved some day.

Chuck had brought along a briefcase with forms, charts and graphs relating to his new start up. If anyone stopped him, he would use the true facts surrounding his company and say he was looking for office space. If anyone checked it would be a valid reason.

The first office visit was a bust. Chuck went up to the security desk and asked to meet with the facilities manager about possible office space but she was unavailable. He'd walked around the exterior of the complex and noted several high gain antennae on the roof as well as several satellite dishes for transmitting and receiving data streams, not HBO. Casey grunted in approval. He would not have noticed those. Score one for the geek.

He walked around the rear of the office facility and saw several people loafing around a loading dock, taking a smoke break. They couldn't smoke inside the facility. Chuck went up to one very attractive brunette and introduced himself and said he was curious about office space and the girl opened up to him like he was the American Idol.

There were only 2 companies in the entire complex, one a subsidiary of the other. The main company processed insurance claims for medical professionals and institutions. The subsidiary organized training and instruction for American and foreign companies in similar market sectors. They were paranoid about security and required photo ID's on all employees as well as limiting access via encoded swipe cards.

'Bingo. Probably a data node for interstate and international data transmission. That explained the antennae and dishes.'

Chuck followed the talkative young woman back into the facility and got her phone number and address and promised to call her later in the week about a possible dinner date. Casey grunted in approval again. Not bad. He left her at her office door and went down a service corridor to a secured entryway. He looked at the keypad and then pulled out a small penknife and popped the cover. He fiddled with some wires and then pushed a series of random buttons and the red light turned green.

On the right side of the corridor was a badge rack with some color-coded badges. Apparently, these allowed access to specific areas and barred the wearer from others.

Taking one of each color, Chuck waltzed down the corridor like he belonged there.

He glanced at one open office door with the name "Donald Hebert" on a nameplate and seeing no one inside, walked in and scanned the documents on the desk. No flashes and the material dealt with shipping manifests. He left the office and continued down the corridor.

A young woman stopped him and asked for his ID or visitor's pass and Chuck produced one the same color as the young woman's and asked her for help finding Mr. Hebert's office. He told her he'd been wandering around like an idiot for the last 10 minutes because he messed up the security guard's directions. Should have written them down. She smiled and led him back the way he came. He thanked her for her help and told her he'd just wait for Mr. Hebert. She told him her name and that she got off shift in 45 minutes and if he needed a guide 'to freedom' she'd be happy to comply. He got her name, cell number and promised to call her when he and 'Don' were done.

He waited until she went into an office and then walked briskly down the corridor and turned into an unadorned computer room. He looked at the first screen and flashed. A gila monster. Ship manifests. Chemicals. Biological reagents. Typhus, Ebola and anthrax. He popped a repeater bug on the keyboards of several machines and was looking to see what other mischief he could get into when Casey spoke in his ear.

"Bartowski, that's enough. Get out of there before someone questions you. Retrace your path and I'll meet you at the loading dock. 5 minutes."

"On my way. We may have a biohazard problem in the making. I'll debrief when I'm out of here."

Just then a man stepped out of an office without looking and ran into Chuck. His file folder and coffee went every which way. Chuck helped him pick up his paper work and flashed on a manifest from Malaysia containing all the ingredients for incendiary devices, including timers, and primers.

As he stood up, he noticed the name on the ID badge, Don Hebert.

"Mr. Hebert, I've been wandering around here looking for your office. I got turned around back there some place. I'm Charles Carmichael and I'm interested in leasing some office space here and they said you're the man to talk to." Chuck had slipped a few pages of the manifest into his inside suit coat pocket while Hebert had been fussing with his spilled coffee.

"That's ridiculous, Mr. Carmichael. I'm in shipping and receiving. You want the 3rd floor. Go down this hall to the bank of elevators and see the receptionist. I'm sorry you've wasted your time looking for me."

Chuck thanked him and turned and followed the directed path. He used his cuff mike to tell Casey of the change in plans and to meet him at the main entrance. It seemed to take forever and he was sure at any moment alarms would sound but he finally made it out the main entrance and got in the Suburban.

"Good thinking, Bartowski. But how are we going to know how they're bringing it in and where? Cool moves on those bitches. Dumb broads always looking for a Sugar Daddy."

Chuck cringed at the slurs but ignored them. He needed Casey now.

"Here are a couple pages of the shipping manifest. I don't know how to read them. Do you?"

"Yeah. Good work. We have the location, arrival time and ship name and berth. We'll have a team waiting when these terrorists dock. Man, Beckman will really be on top now. Taking out a terrorist cell, identifying the locations of a Fulcrum cover operation, getting staff names and telephone numbers. Excellent."

"Y'know, we did the work. We should be there and watch those bastards get theirs. What do you say?"

Casey looked over at Chuck. He had a determined look on his face and a glint in his eyes that Casey recognized from his mirror.

"I'll see if Beckman will OK you being out there. I don't have a problem with it but Beckman might. You're right. We should see them get theirs. Maybe watch an interrogation. That'll be an education, Bartowski."

"Good. We should just sink the damned ship at sea and not risk that crap getting onto US soil." He looked over at Casey playing to his vanity. "After 9-11 a lot of us changed our attitudes. Why pay for prisons, trials, and risk retaliation. Accidents at sea happen all the time…" And he laughed a hard barking laugh.

"Bartowski, I like the way you think. You're not all bad for a California geek."

Chuck just smiled.

Casey had been right. Beckman could hardly contain her enthusiasm for the team's coup. She was effusive in her praise of 'Mr. Bartowski' especially after Casey mentioned the data nodes and the shipping manifests. He asked if he and Chuck could 'observe the take down' but she refused permission. "Mr. Bartowski is proving to be invaluable. We do not want to risk his safety. Permission denied. I know you want to see your efforts come to fruition but there'll be other chances. Another victory for team intersect."

"Damn, Casey, that sucks."

"Orders, Chuck. Orders."

Progress. Geek to Bartowski to Chuck. Only one more thing to do and then all would be ready.


Sarah Walker had just spent another day with her Aunt Cathy, more of a mother than an aunt. She'd taken her in as a foster child and treated her no differently than she would one of her own. They were childless and always fostered girls when possible. The race difference was never an issue.

Arthur Graham had kept her in the loop regarding her team. Another successful mission with Casey actually praising the Intersect to Beckman. Would wonders never cease? The team was now 3 for 3 and Chuck Bartowski had proven to be very innovative and quick on his feet. Intercepting that shipment of biological agents was a major coup for Customs and the Team. She was proud of him and she missed him.


Offices of CyberLogicals llc
January 9
2pm

Chuck was going over the final arrangement for office furniture and had just approved the telephone system. He wondered about physical security. Curious, he called John Casey.

"Hey, Casey, has anyone thought to involve you in planning the physical security for the office? I know the Castle facility will be secure but what about the offices above the Castle? Why allow someone to know about the Castle? "

"No, why? Problems? That's a good point about the Castle."

"Not that I can see but you're the expert and I figure if you can break into this office we need better security. Want to make the security idiots look bad? Break in here tonight and embarrass them? You up to the challenge of taking a laptop off my desk and leaving a smart-assed note for the security dudes?"

"That's a good idea. Just lock up as usual and set the usual security levels and we'll see what I can do. If I do get in and out, I'll want to take those idiots to task for sloppy work. I'll let your know later how it went."

"Thanks, Major. I knew you wouldn't pass up the challenge." A little flattery was Casey's weakness.

"See you later."

Chuck was tired. He still had several things to do and he hadn't touched his BugOut Tasks listing. He kept surfing the net and adding things he wouldn't have thought of in a million years. The list was becoming a monster with a life of its own. He vowed to pare at least 5 items from the list tonight.

He left the office at 5pm and fought the traffic until he was almost to the apartment. He caught sight of a midnight blue Porsche but it was a newer model than Sarah Walker drove. He'd pretty much given up ever seeing her again.

Ellie was out with Devon. He was trying to get Ellie into counseling and she was trying to get Devon into bed – again - but he was having no part of it. If she wanted the Woodcomb in her bed she had to agree to counseling. So far, no joy. She was leaving on the 11th, driving back east to Baltimore. She had made arrangements for the furniture to be delivered once she got a place. Another thing he had to look forward to, refurnishing his living room and dining area. The stuff was going east, just not scheduled yet.

He looked in the refrigerator for something to make into supper but it was practically bare. Since their falling out, she'd quit doing anything around the house that would favorably impact her brother, like food. Well, she'd be in Baltimore in 5 days and then it wouldn't be his problem any longer.

Starving, he decided to head over to the BuyMore Plaza and get one of Lou's famous subs. He'd always like her and she had been very supportive of him after Lynn's passing. He meant to stop by sooner but one thing or another always got in the way. He liked her and felt comfortable talking with her.


It was raining. A cold winter rain. He parked in the closest slot he could manage and sprinted into the store. He took off his helmet and immediately felt the hostile stares of about half the patrons. Some people automatically assumed you were a low-life brain-damaged druggie if you rode a bike. Well, screw them.

"Hey, look what the cat dragged in! How's the new company coming along, Chuck? Hired any employees yet?" Lou had seen the looks on several faces and knew Chuck did not meet their expectations of biker trash. She thought to have some fun at their expense.

"No, Lou, just getting the renovations finished. Got the phones, the satellite dish and the matter transporter installed. We'll be ready for the first intergalactic visitor on the 15th. People have already paid for reservations to Alpha Centauri 3 so we're already making money."

Lou came out from behind the counter and gave her favorite nerd a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. She really like this tall and gangly guy and felt something like sadness when he'd married and real sadness when his wife had been killed. She always had a soft and warm spot for him. She knew it was too soon but she wanted to start leaving hints that she was still available. She felt they had a real chance at a relationship.

"You want the usual?"

"Yep. But make it to go, please. I have a lot to do and I'll just munch as I work."

When she handed him his change and plastic-wrapped sandwich she took his hand in hers and looked up at him and said softly "Chuck, when you're ready, remember I'm still here, OK?"

Chuck just nodded. He had a hard time dealing with people who'd known the both of them. Too many 'remember when' coincidences.


Offices of CyberLogicals llc
January 10
8 am

Chuck unlocked the front door and entered the lobby area. He had painters scheduled in later in the day and the last of the office equipment would be arriving anytime. He noticed that his office door was closed, something he never did. Casey must have left it as a sign he'd been there. He opened the door and saw the empty desktop with the yellow post-it in the middle.

Your Security Stinks!

Chuck took out his cell and called the security firm handling the property. They were sending someone right over. He opened the door to the office across the hall from his. This was to have been Sarah's office and he'd already had it carpeted and furnished. The painters would do this office immediately after the lobby. He'd left any wall hangings or other personal touches undone but now he realized he'd probably have little use for this office.

He hadn't heard from her nor had Director Graham mentioned replacing her during any of the briefings or meetings they had. It had been a bit more than a week since she'd been recalled for a family emergency. Until she was replaced or returned, this space was hers. He put a nameplate on the office door identifying her as the Sarah Walker VP/Finance & Administration.

He missed her. It was not the appropriate description for how he felt but the only way he could identify the feeling. He often caught himself staring out the window or just zoning out when working on the manual requested by General Beckman for the Bartowski Process reliving some mini-moment or wondering about her. His most frequent and favorite was the tango and the following hours. He could almost recall the tangy scent of her arousal, the softness of her toned inner thigh under the pads of his fingers and the sweetness of her midnight kiss. Oh, yes, he definitely missed her and that bothered him.

He wondered if the next time he saw her would be at his own execution. That would be ironic. The spy world was full of irony. He had envied Bryce much since he'd met him but nothing more than the relationship he'd had with Sarah Walker and now she had someone new. Knowing she wasn't with Larkin was satisfying somehow. He didn't know why but it was. And right now that was sufficient for this stupid little man.


MacLean, VA

Sarah Walker was all cried out. Her beloved Aunt Cathy, the only real mother she'd ever known, had passed away during the night after a long and painful battle with pancreatic cancer. Her Uncle was making the final arrangements although she knew that her ever-practical aunt had had everything planned down to the smallest detail for her funeral.

She looked at her cell phone for the 20th time and for the 20th time stopped herself from speed dialing Chuck Bartowski. Did they have anything to say to one another? Had he even noticed she was gone? Had she been replaced by one of Beckman's killer drones? She had heard nothing since his successful operation on the 5th. Arthur Graham had taken personal leave to spend every available moment with his dying wife and one of his assistants sat in on briefings for him. He still got daily updates but actual details were often the victims of summarizing.

She worried that she'd been forgotten or that someone new had caught his eye. He was only human and he was young and vulnerable. She did not want someone (or someone else, if she were truthful with herself) exploiting his vulnerability.

For the hundredth time she wished she could take back those hateful words she'd thrown in his face like knives in their hotel room in San Francisco. She'd left him believing she had replaced Larkin with another and it was this other who held her heart and that Chuck meant absolutely nothing to her, just an assignment to complete. She should have told him then who the mystery man was instead of leaving him in the dark but she'd been afraid of the repercussions from her compromise.

She was free of the penalties for compromise. She decided to take Chuck off the grid if sanctions were issued. She would protect her asset until such time as she could protect a lover. There would be a warning from her Uncle Arthur and she began the mental task of listing the steps and materiel she would need to be successful.

But for now she was alone again. And she was so lonely.


Offices of CyberLogicals llc
January 10
1:00pm

The sales team from SecurConcepts made an appearance accompanied by their tech rep. Chuck explained that a colleague of his had made a bet that he could breach their security and steal a laptop from his desk more as a jab at his new company than as a real threat. Unfortunately when Chuck arrived at work he found his laptop missing and the note in its place. Basically, Chuck wanted to know what they were going to do about it.

Chuck had already paid for the installation but still had the annual maintenance contract on his desk for signature and payment. The senior sales rep was an obnoxious loud mouth with incredibly poor taste in ties. When he started 'interrogating' Chuck his associate, a really nice looking brunette was embarrassed and wouldn't look Chuck in the eye. The only place she'd look was at the floor, mortified.

"You're sure you followed the instructions and properly armed the system, right, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Yes, and I made sure all the doors were locked and that the exterior light bank was left on as recommended. Check with your security center and they can give you the exact time I logged in and armed the system."

"Well, you must have done something stupid like…" he started to bluster and Chuck had had enough of his bullying tactics. He'd put up with it for 4 years at the BuyMore but now that he was paying the bills, he was the customer. And the customer is always right.

And besides, he was not a 'stupid little man'.

"I've paid for installation and the equipment itself already and the check has cleared the bank. You have until 5:30 this evening to get your crap out of my building and issue a refund check for the equipment. I'll pay for reasonable labor costs to remove it. I'm not incapable of following simple instructions, you pompous idiot. There's a flaw someplace and I wanted it fixed but you assumed your work was perfect. When can I expect your crew to take out your crap?"

Just then the tech rep came in and smiled and apologized for the interruption but said that he'd found two sensors burned out and that access through the rear door would have been undetected. The installation people had apparently left bare wire and a short had compromised the entire zone and would not have been reported or the breach of the door detected and an alarm issued. It was their equipment that was at fault. He'd already repaired the fault and tested the circuits and door. Everything was now in order.

Chuck pointed to the idiot sales rep and said "Get out of my office immediately. I won't deal with you at all." The salesman rose and gestured angrily for the others to leave.

"I said I wouldn't deal with you, not them. They can stay. I have a maintenance contract to sign and she might as well get the credit for it. And I need to speak with your tech rep about scheduling periodic inspections."

And that's how Chuck met Kimberly Montoya.

After a few moments of smirking, trying to stifle laughter and then a breakdown in social order by the duo from SecurConcepts, Chuck Bartowski sent them again into gales of laughter. "I take it you two aren't the greatest fans of your Sales Manager?"

"No, Mr. Bartowski, not fans at all. You shouldn't have toyed with him though. I'm sure any request made by CyberLogicals will be relegated to the bottom of the pile or lost. If you'll make any specific requests either directly to Kimberly or me, we'll see that they get proper handling. And I do apologize for…"

"No. You don't need to apologize for that ass. I worked too long on your side of the counter not to understand how things work. His problem is that he assumes he's infallible and that is something I cannot tolerate. So, to make sure there are no problems going forward I'm sending a letter to your corporate office outlining the events and demanding that only you two handle my account. If it won't get you in trouble, that is."

The tech guy flashed Chuck a grin that flowed into a smirk. "No, Mr. Bartowski, we Nerds can handle a doofus like Marvin. We just tech-speak him until his eyes glaze over. It's Kimberly that's going to pay the price. And don't deny it, Kim. He's Mr. Sexual Harassment with horns."

She spoke for the first time. Her voice was pleasantly low and fluid with a hint of a Latin accent that sharpened her 'S's' and made her trill her 'R's'. "It's not a problem, Mr. Bartowski, he's just a bit overbearing. I can handle pretty much anything he can dish out. We grow up tough in East L.A."

"No one should have to put up with that crap no matter where they're from. My…my wife…. well, it was how we really met. And I didn't put up with it and didn't expect her to and you shouldn't have to either."

Kimberly heard something in his tone when he hesitated mentioning his wife, a sadness. She'd glanced around the office and noticed it was bare of anything even remotely personal although she figured it might be because he'd just moved in. But then she noticed the tan line on his left ring finger and thought about divorce first, of course. She'd google and see what she could find out.

She needed to know as much about her customers as possible to do a good job and to avoid any areas of conflict. Besides, this guy seemed too good to be true. In her experience men only wanted one thing from a woman. Yes, she was cynical but with good reason.

When the meeting was over and he'd signed the agreements and written the check he decided to call it a day. He called Casey and asked him where his laptop was and he got a typical reply:

"Why? You lose it? Look under your desk. It's up against the modesty panel in the front. So, did you bust their balls good?"

"Got it, thanks. Their tech guy found the fault in about 2 minutes and then did a system-wide check to make sure the same problem wasn't going to happen elsewhere. I'm keeping the system but fired the sales guy. A real asshole. Thanks for the help. We should do that periodically just to make sure we're not compromised, don't you think?"

"Yes. Definitely. Especially once the Castle facility is up. You hear from Beckman today?"

"Nope, didn't expect to. Figured you were in command and she'd deal with you. I'm just the talking head. You think something's up? A mission? Break some heads and send more terrorists to Allah?"

Casey laughed. This guy was growing on him. "No. Just bored I guess. I need to teach you some basic firearms stuff so keep a day free this weekend. We'll see if you can hit the broad side of a barn, Nerd. See you later."

Chuck wasn't looking forward to firearms stuff. He just didn't like guns. He knew they were a necessary evil but felt comfortable handling his own safety against the average street punk provided they left their armory at home. Still, he needed to know about them. He didn't have to shoot it, just know how to use it in an emergency.

There was a knock at his door and Kimberly Montoya was standing there looking very uncomfortable. "Mr. Bartowski, could I use your phone? My cell died and my boss took the car and left and I need to arrange a ride. I'm sorry to bother you with this. Mike called his brother and got a ride but I live the other direction and I need to call someone."

"Ms. Montoya, if you don't mind riding a motorcycle and wearing a helmet, I'd be glad to drop you off. I'm done for the day and was just heading out myself. It's no inconvenience. I have absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to be. I usually just go down to the beach and think about crap before heading back to my apartment and calling for take-out."

"That would be great but I live over in Echo Park and I'm sure your wife would want you home." Better let him know she's seen the tan line. Some guys take their rings off and try to get lucky with salespeople. Maybe he was one of them.

"I'd like nothing better than to go home to Lynn but she's dead. I'm sorry if this has made you uncomfortable. Here, use my phone. I'll be out in the lobby to give you privacy and I'll stick around so you don't have to wait in the cold for your ride."

He handed her the phone and walked out into the area designated on the drawings as 'lobby'.

'Well, crap. Now I've upset him. His wife is dead? He can't be more than 27 or 28? Accident? Crime? Drugs? He didn't seem the type to put up with a druggie.'

"Mr. Bartowski, I'd love a ride on your motorcycle. I'll have to snuggle up to keep from freezing so please don't misinterpret my actions. I value warmth over modesty. I'm just glad I wore slacks today."

"Then you'll appreciate the modifications I made to this jacket for my wife. Her hands were always freezing, too, although sometimes I think she just liked…well, sorry, inappropriate response, Chuck. Shut up, Chuck."

She laughed again and this time he really looked at her. She had the lightest brown eyes he'd ever seen and suspected contact lenses immediately. She was classically beautiful and Chuck could imagine her wearing those frilly dresses and a mantilla and promenading around the plaza in old Los Angeles in the early 19th century.

Chuck changed and left his clothing in a garment bag he'd have to remember to pick up later. "Ready?" He put the helmet on her and tightened the chin strap. He wiggled the helmet and retightened the strap. He hated to think what the wind would do to her long hair.

"Yes. I've never been on a motorcycle before. I just hang on?"

"Yes, I drive you just stay as upright as possible, don't lean into the turns. We'll be fine. Just don't fall off. My insurance would skyrocket." He smiled and turned out the lights and reset the alarms and escorted her out and double-checked the doors.

"You didn't have to do that on my account, Mr. Bartowski."

"I didn't." And that was all he said.

He got on and she got on behind him. He showed her where to place her feet and where the storm cuffs were for her hands and he started the Harley and drove out slowly, letting her grow accustomed to riding.

During the first turn she'd almost panicked and had tightened her grip on him considerably. He didn't speed and just waited for her to calm down and release her death grip on him so he could breathe. He felt her hands clench into fists on the next turn and he worried she was going to really panic and cause them to spill.

Chuck pulled over and pulled her hands from his jacket and got off the bike. He raised her visor and looked at her. "Ms. Montoya, you're going to have to relax. It's only another 20 minutes or so but I can't have you twisting and turning. Please sit still. I don't want to dump the bike if you freak out. Can you calm down for me?" He was holding her hands and they were trembling.

"Sorry. I just…it will take a few minutes to get used to it. I've never been on one before. Scary."

"OK, let's try it again. Just relax and enjoy the ride. Maybe closing your eyes might help."

They started out again and this time she seemed more relaxed. Something occurred to Chuck and he could kick his ass for not asking earlier. At the next light he asked her if she shouldn't be going back to work to get her car?

"It's dead-lined for a new alternator and payday's a week off so no, home is fine."

Ten minutes later she directed him onto a side street of modest bungalows in classic California style and then pointed to a driveway. He turned into it and stopped and turned off the bike and got off.

"You're only a few miles from my apartment. If you get hung up for a ride, call me. I enjoyed the company."

She looked at him and decided he was serious and harmless. It was obvious to anyone that he had been in love with his wife and he still had moments of despair when familiar things brought back memories. She guessed his wife had been about her height and weight based on the location of the cuffs. And she correctly concluded that the tactile memories came into play.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks a lot. I really didn't want to have to wait for my idiot brother to get off work. Call me anytime you want a passenger. I could really get into that. Like being on a horse only not so bumpy."

"I've never been on a horse. I'm too much the city boy. Not even a pony that I can remember."

"You're kidding? I ride almost every weekend when the weather's decent. You should come out with me some time. If I can hang on to 200 horses, you can manage one, don't you think?"

They both laughed and Chuck took his helmet and put it on but not before catching the hint of her hair scent…vanilla.

He went back to the office and got his garment bag and then rode home. It had been an interesting day. And he'd met an interesting woman in the bargain. Horseback riding? No way. Too old school. Still, Kimberly Montoya was one business card he intended to keep.

Jan 10

8pm

It was midnight in D.C. Sarah Walker looked at her phone. This is ridiculous. I should just call him. I should just tell him I'm coming back and I'll explain everything then. I can't explain everything. I don't know everything. I don't really know anything. I want to talk to him. I miss him. I want to hear his voice. I need to hear it. I need him to know I'm coming back and not to give up on me. On us.

Her subconscious kicked in: I, I, I, you know you said 'I' 13 times in 8 sentences. You are fixated on 'I'. What about him? Do you think his legs have grown back since you cut him off at the knees in San Francisco? Do the words 'stupid little man' ring any bells? Our boy's resilient but I'm here to tell you that you have pooped in your pastry, baby girl. You destroyed that fine young man and for what? For…

Me, Agent Ego. You did it for me because you couldn't tell him how you really felt because you didn't want to risk damaging ME ME ME ME ME o' I love meeeeeeeeee.


Casa Bartowski
January 11
6am

Chuck's POV

I woke up and smelled the Essence. It was definitely waning. Scent is the strongest of all the senses and it's the most innate. Babies bond with their mothers by scent. Scent is the strongest memory trigger. Scent is an aphrodisiac of sorts. Why do you think women wear perfume?

Ellie was leaving today. The scent that triggers the most Ellie memories lately has been drunken puke. No counseling, so no Devon. No apology, no counseling, so no Chuck. I planned on being gone the whole day. I love my sister. I owe my sister. But I did not like my sister right now. She needed help and as a medical professional she chose to ignore the advice and pleadings of those who loved her. Enjoy Maryland, Ellie.

Ellie left at 7.

I left at 8.

It has been 24 days since my wife left.

I have 341 days left.

Thank God it isn't a Leap Year.


Offices of CyberLogicals llc
January 11
11:00am

Chuck's POV

I was in my office by 9am and now I'm without a damned thing to do. I've finished the damned manual for Frau General Beckman on the Bartowski Process and emailed copies to the Director, the General and Casey. No sense including the other handler. I don't think she's going to be making an appearance any time soon. Just as well. The temptation was beginning to grow. I find her incredibly…incredible. Lame, I know but it's the way I feel and this morning feelings do not equate to being articulate. They equate to being…feelings.

I know what I have to do and have been putting off until I can no longer risk not doing the tasks outline. I need to work on my BugOut Tasks. Of the 54 tasks I've identified from surfing the net I'm shocked to find I've complete 31 of them. I swear I must have been on autopilot because I don't remember getting a prepaid Visa Card in my alias. I don't remember buying a Verizon Go-Fone with $200 worth of prepaid minutes, nor do I remember renting a storage unit a few blocks from the BuyMore. I'd also withdrawn $1,500 in cash with denominations of $20, $50 and $100 bills. According to the list, I should withdraw another $1,500 this week.

I run down my list again and run the encryption program written around a personal algorithm that only Lynn or I could ever decrypt. Well, OK, a Cray with unlimited power and tasking could probably do it in say, 2.6 million hours.

I close the tasking program. I'm bored. I wonder what she's doing. I know who she is but I've gotten so I don't refer to her by name just 'she' and 'her'. Less bothersome that way and less personal. Also, I don't have to worry about accidentally flashing on one of her missions or reports. It's bad enough I have her words in my mind. Me, the stupid little man, Mr. Intersect, spoken with all the contempt and venom a person could place on small and unimportant words. Shit. Boredom leads me to maudlin thoughts.

I wonder if Lynn's grandfather has received my letter and package. I hope they provide some comfort since the letter tells him the granddaughter he never saw was dead and the husband she briefly had has sent him a token offering of her remains.

I send General Beckman a weekly status report on the business that is in reality a cover for the Castle project. I never see the people who do the work, I never hear any sounds and I never see any heavy equipment or soil and debris being removed. That freaks me out. I'd ask Casey but I'm fresh out of tolerance this morning already.

I should call her. Really, I should. If only to check and see if she needs anything. Arggg, like Sarah Super Spy would ever need anything from a person like me. Besides, what do I say after 'hello'?

Nope. Scratch that one off to a lost cause. It's time to face facts. I loved my wife. I adored my wife but my wife is dead and I'm not and I'm lonely. The only other person in the world I could connect with on a personal level is driving her crazy ass to Baltimore.

I thought I'd found another, that she felt the same, like she'd found her other part, but I was wrong as she so vehemently informed me in San Francisco on New Year's Day. She'd replaced Bryce Larkin with another. And she had obviously committed to this other person. So much for beach promises made to half crazy grieving surfer boys with bony asses.

I need a human connection. I need to touch and be touched. But all I have is work, the occasional mission, a sword of Damocles swinging over my head and a motorcycle. If I had a regular job I'd say I needed a vacation. This sucks. I wonder if suicide really is painless? Probably not.


Reagan Int'l
Washington, DC

Agent Sarah Walker of the Central Intelligence Agency was standing in line to board a plane that will take her back to one of the few places on this planet she didn't mind returning to. She'd been briefed on the situation as it existed as of 8pm last evening. Her Uncle had kept his word and there had been no sanction issued. In fact, the performance of the team was considered outstanding and enhancements and an expanded role were being considered for the human intersect, her asset, Charles Bartowski.

So why did she feel as if she was unprepared? She had talked with Casey last night and again this afternoon. He seemed fairly satisfied with the asset and even commented that with the right motivation and preparation he might consider him as adequate to back him up on a singles mission. From John Casey that was high praise, indeed.

She didn't know what to expect. Should she just waltz into the office and announce her return? Should she call him and let him know she was at the airport and needed a ride? Should she wait and show up on his beach and just sit down as if nothing had happened?

Sarah wished, for the uncountable time, that she could take back those horrible words she hurled at him in San Francisco. He just absorbed them and continued on but she had seen the dismay and hurt that flooded his brown eyes.

And when he'd gotten dressed for bed she felt a frisson of hope but when he took down the extra blanket and had gazed briefly at the bed she hoped to share with him if just for a few hours she knew then that her words had not merely wounded, they'd crippled.

Those were the last words she'd spoken to him. His words had been perfunctory and matter of fact when he'd awakened her for the briefing. For crissakes, he'd ordered her breakfast and then disappeared to allow her privacy and space.

As she boarded the aircraft and took her place in first class she realized exactly why she felt the way she did. She was afraid that she had squandered any chance of there being an 'us' by totally disregarding him. That was it. She'd treated him as if he wasn't there. Invisible and inconsequential. Mr. Intersect! How cruel she'd been. And after the tiny speech she'd given him at midnight about the next year being better. She sure had started it off well for him. Stupid little man. How cruel and misleading she'd been.

She decided that when she got to L.A. she would call him and ask him to pick her up. She would deal with whatever happened as it unfolded.


Casa Bartowski
2pm

"Bartowski, secure"

"Casey, secure. You up for a little trip to the harbor? Another of those manifested ships is docking and Beckman wants us to check it out and see if you can connect any dots on personnel or anything unusual. We'll board with the Customs and Immigration officials and you can basically stand there while they check officers' and crew's papers. I'll be right behind you and you can signal if you flash. This is a deep cover operation in broad daylight. Oh, a woody-maker."

Chuck had to laugh at Casey. It was funny. He was sexually repressed and violence was his out. "Ummm, maybe you could stand beside me, Major?"

Now it was Casey's turn to grunt. "You're going to be packing iron, Bartowski, I think behind you is the safest place on the boat. Just please remember which little lever is the safety and which ejects the magazine. And for God's sake, if you have to shoot, keep your eyes open! Bring your mission bag over to my place in 15."


Terminal Island Harbor Facility
San Pedro, CA
3:20pm

MV Lope de Vega

A little more than an hour later and the two of them had donned their 'mission jammies' and borrowed US Customs Service flak and Kevlar and were following the real Customs Agents up the gangway of a Panamanian registered freighter, the Lope de Vega, supposedly out of Singapore. NSA had tracked the origination point as the North Korean port of Honshu.

The Customs Team had already screened the officers and had begun screening the crew from the ship's roster. The first two were no-hits but the third man caused an almost painful flash. Pak Song Cho, intelligence officer for the NKPPS, the North Korean equivalent of the CIA. His papers were forgeries. Chuck flashed on an egret followed by photos of dead NK dissidents, South Korean intelligence operatives, and a room full of dead lab techs in white coats surrounded by processing equipment. Their faces were mottled blue and blood poured from every orifice of their bodies. Bio-weapons research.

He flashed Casey the signal and Casey drew his weapon and told the man to step aside and to the bulkhead. The next man in line to be screened suddenly turned and bolted form the line knocking down the man standing behind him in line. This provided enough distraction that the suspect drew a weapon from under his loose shirt and shot Casey twice in the chest driving him back against the opposite bulkhead of the small compartment. He then shot the two Customs Agents in the chest and head and fired twice at Chuck who had fallen to the floor and was scrambling to get away from this armed madman.

Seeing Casey go down made Chuck panic. The suspected terrorist grinned at the frightened man and fired at his head, somehow missing by a hair. He ran out of the compartment and Chuck finally recovered enough nerve to run after the man to at least warn the Agents manning the gangway.

He ran down the passageway assuming that the direction of flight matched the direction several crouching and yelling figures were looking and pointing at. The passageway opened onto the ship's main deck and he saw Cho running and turning back into the ship's superstructure.


Sarah Walker's plane landed at LAX and she retrieved her carry-on and left the aircraft. Her luggage was being shipped directly to her hotel by the Agency.


Chuck wondered for a second why he was going into the ship instead of trying to escape and suddenly Chuck knew the North Korean agent was going to release a biological agent into the ship and make his escape during the ensuing panic.

He ran after him wishing for the billionth time that he had listened to Devon and gone running with him. He could hardly catch his breath and all the damned heavy equipment he was wearing wasn't helping. He pulled off the heavy vest and drew his sidearm and ran in pursuit. He was thinking that this was the dumbest thing he'd ever done in his life and as he ran down a flight of steps to a grated catwalk he knew he'd screwed up.

'Bartowski, never, ever, leave your partner. Do not go off-mission. Call for assistance. You are not an agent. You cannot hit the broadside of the barn. You can't even hit the ground with a pistol pointing straight down. Pathetic.' And those were the kind words from Major Casey at the shooting range.

He drew his Beretta 92 and ran after the figure he could see one level below him through the grating. He ran down another flight of stairs and spotted the NK agent 10 yards ahead of him. He pointed his pistol and, keeping his eyes open this time, fired 4 rounds at him.

He was insufferably pleased to see the sparks of the ricochets frame the NK agent. Not bad shooting for a scared-shitless asset but he missed and the agent fled down another level and Chuck knew from the ship's blueprints that they were now below the waterline. The heat and poor visibility gave his enemy the advantage.

Cho hid at the end of the gangway grating waiting for the tall American Customs agent to run after him. He only had 4 rounds left but he would put all of them into this pest. And then he would detonate the charges that would release the airborne contaminants into the atmosphere, effectively destroying the harbor's utility for years to come and the surrounding area would be evacuated and the residents quarantined. This was not the objective of his mission but would suffice.


Sarah Walker stepped to one side of the mass of humanity heading to retrieve luggage, be met by loved ones or catch ground transport. She took out her cell and speed-dialed Chuck Bartowski to tell him she was back and could he please come and pick her up?


Chuck had just jumped from the stairs onto the deck grating when he felt his phone vibrate. Casey! He answered in a rush of words, not letting the caller say anything as he gasped for breath.

"Casey, you're alive! I'm on gasp deck 3 in pursuit. Don't gasp kill me, Casey, gasp but he's probably going to gasp detonate a device gasp and release all gasp that shit into the ship gasp and atmosphere. It'll create a huge plague gasp and we can't let that gasp happen."

Chuck was only 15 feet away from him when Cho stepped out from among some conduits and raised his pistol and fired.

His Makarov PM had been manufactured in Korea in 1970. Unfortunately, the ammunition was circa the Korean War and had degraded. Instead of a satisfying BANG there was the sound of a pig breaking wind as the cartridge expanded and jammed in the breach and bore rendering the weapon hopelessly jammed and useless.

"Oh, shit!" Chuck was sure he was dead. The enemy agent could not miss at this range. Hell, he couldn't miss at this range.

The enraged NK agent threw his useless pistol at the American and drew a wicked ship's knife from a sheath and advanced on the staggering agent. His throw had caught him in the chest and obviously stunned him if the grunt of pain was any indication.


Sarah Walker startled the many people walking around her with a scream of "Chuck!" when she heard him say "Oh, shit!" followed by an obvious grunt of pain.


Casey felt like he'd been hit with a large sledge hammer. Twice. He knew he had cracked ribs, maybe one of the cracked was broken. He pulled himself up and found a charnel house of blood and brain tissue on the compartment wall and two dead Customs Agents and no Bartowski. The growl he gave was almost feral.

He ran out into the companionway and the remaining crew just pointed down the companionway leading to the deck. He saw the asset's vest lying discarded on the deck near a hatch leading to stairs down into the ship's hull. He ran down in pursuit.


Chuck dropped the phone and aimed his pistol at the advancing NK agent and fired the 5 remaining rounds in his magazine. Four missed and one caught the NK agent in the calf knocking him down. While Chuck fumbled through a drill he'd only done twice and ejected the empty magazine and tried to remove another from his belt the wounded enemy agent screamed in rage and ran at the tall American who was trying to reload his pistol.

Chuck looked up just in time to see the point of the blade slicing towards his face and instinctively raised his left arm to block the slash. The knife cut through the cloth, skin and muscle and scraped the bone. The pain was incredible and he screamed in pain and backed up from his assailant holding his bleeding arm. The agent slashed at Chuck's unprotected stomach then limped back and assumed an attack stance. The agent charged again and Chuck's judo lessons paid dividends as he grasped the slashing agents wrist and threw him up and over the catwalk railing to fall 20 feet to the lower deck, impaling himself on some nasty metalwork jutting from the heavy equipment.


Both Sarah Walker on the phone and John Casey on the grated decking above Bartowski heard the five rounds fired rapidly, the scream of rage then a scream of pain from the asset and then nothing for several seconds. Sarah heard a pounding of feet through the phone and then Casey saying something into his phone about "Agents down, require assistance and medical unit to…" and Sarah heard the location of the incident and ran out of the concourse to the ground level taxi stand.


John Casey was standing beside the dead NK agent. The fall would have injured him but it was the 18 inches of steel rod protruding through his chest that killed him. He couldn't find his damned asset. He would kill the son of a bitch for leaving him and going off on his own.

As he searched the dead enemy agent he felt drops hitting his cap bill like spring rain. Looking up he saw the body of his asset spread eagled face down on the grating above him. It was his blood dripping on the older man.


Sarah pushed an older man out of the way and shouted the location she wanted the cab to take her to and jumped in. The driver started protesting and she shoved $300 into his hand and told him to get moving or she'd shoot him. She waved her service pistol in his face and the produced her government ID. "Don't stop for anything. You're now in the service of the US government and immune from prosecution. Go below 90 and I'll throw you out and drive myself."

She heard John Casey say to someone "bag him and leave him on deck. He's mine. I'll be up to handle the body in a few minutes." She started to cry. Chuck was dead. That's what Casey meant. Casey meant that the body was a team mate and he'd take care of it.

Casey pointed to the dead NK agent on the lower deck and told the agent with the body bag to bag him and leave him on the ship's upper deck. "He's mine. I'll be up to handle the body in a few minutes."

Then he knelt down beside his unconscious asset and watched as the medics readied him for transport. A deep defensive wound on the left forearm and more dangerously a slash across the midsection. The medics were already pushing plasma into him.

Casey got up to follow them and spotted Chuck's iPhone on the deck. Crazy asshole was talking on the phone before the attack!

He saw the caller ID and spoke into the phone. "Hello, Walker, are you still there? Walker, answer me, damn it!"

Sarah Walker had heard every word said but didn't understand the context. When she heard Casey's voice she answered, not caring that he would know she'd been crying.

"Casey, I heard the whole thing. He thought you were dead but answered the phone hoping it was you and rushed a report of his location and intentions about stopping a biological incident. I heard the firing and the fight. The screams. I heard you tell someone to bag his body and leave it on deck. I'll be there in 10 or 15 minutes. Wait for me, please?"

"No can do, Agent Walker. I got an asset bleeding like a stuck pig and I got to get him to the hospital. Meet us in San Pedro at the ER. I'll fill you in then. Damned stupid shit. I told him 'never leave my side, never go off on your own. Never think you can hit the broad side of the barn.' Stupid shit. Fair job for a stupid shit."

"Wait, he's alive? He's not dead, Casey?"

"You deaf? You don't take dead bodies for stitches. I'm hanging up now. Hate this piece of crap phone."


The first incident report started the wheels of the intelligence community moving and like most big wheels they went in circles. First they played the blame game, then they played the cover-my-ass game and finally after about 4 hours someone thought to ask the people who actually had been on the scene.

Both General Beckman and Director Graham were in rare form. For once, they were united against the gnomes of the National Security Council and had provided valuable intelligence as well as a force on site that prevented a possible holocaust. It wasn't a smug attitude that they projected, no, it was an "I told you so" attitude. The Council had been cautioned time and again of the possibility of rogue nations attacking the US mainland using poor man's weapons of mass destruction such as anthrax, the plague or ebola. And it had happened but been thwarted by the combined efforts of the NSA and CIA.

The General and Director's initial impressions of the operation had been less favorable. The injuries to the asset were particularly disturbing.

"Major Casey, how did Mr. Bartowski happen to become separated from you?"

"I was unconscious and the asset assumed I was out of action. The other two Customs Agents were dead, splattered all over the compartment. He took the initiative to pursue the enemy agent. He was the only team member left alive. The Customs agents at the gangway were killed by the enemy agent."

"Major Casey, why did he drop his vest? And where did he get a weapon? And what made him assume the worst scenario possible? And how did he overcome a trained enemy agent?"

"Bartowski's a physical wreck. He gets winded after a brisk sit. I guess he thought he could run faster without it. As for the weapon, I gave it to him. We go into hairy shit and I go down, I want him to be able to defend himself or eliminate himself. It was at his request that he be given 'basic training' in one side arm. He was the one who said he couldn't be taken alive and needed a way to do it. It was a reasonable request."

"As for overcoming the NK? He's got some judo training and it worked here. Knowing Bartowski he would have impaled himself on the NK's knife and hugged him and jumped over the catwalk railing. He does tend to focus on the objective without much regard to rules and his personal safety. We all know he's suicidal."

"Major Casey, what are your recommendations? Should he be 'institutionalized' for his own safety?" Casey knew that was Beckman for secure facility.

"Keep him on a shorter leash. He's valuable in the field. He's got courage but not a lot of experience. Team him with me and Walker. Let us hold his hand and lead him through the rough spots. We are a lot more effective with him than without him. This mission proved that as have the others."

"Agent Walker, are you willing to keep him on a very tight leash?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's a proven asset. Untrained but with good instincts."

"Mr. Bartowski's sister is currently working at Johns-Hopkins in Baltimore. Move in with the asset, Agent Walker. Expand your established cover. Keep him on a very tight leash."

"Major Casey, you seem to have softened your attitude towards the asset. Explain yourself."

"We get things done. Important things. He does what's necessary. I haven't softened up. I intend to harden him up once he's back on his feet. Fired 5 rounds at the NK and hit him in the shin. Pathetic."

"Alright, people. That will be all. Tell Mr. Bartowski 'well done' when he's conscious. A very 'well done'."

"Sorry about the assignment, Agent Walker. I don't envy you living almost 24/7 with him. He's fine on missions but the rest of the time…"

"It's for the greater good, Major. I'll just have to make the most of it. But I want the bugs out, Casey. Keep them on the perimeter but not in the apartment. I may have to do some distasteful things and having you know about them, well, as a fellow professional I'm sure you understand. Remember our conversation in the Drake?"

"Consider it done. Just don't blame me when he cries himself to sleep. Or dreams and awakens crying. I won't miss that at all."

Casey was happy. He was freed from surveillance duty and could concentrate on his bonsai.

Sarah Walker was happy. She could concentrate on seducing her asset.

Chuck Bartowski was happy. He was unconscious.