The Odd Quadruple
Chapter Nine
"Can it, Walker. Just get the stud ready for duty."
Chuck pushed a shaky hand through his hair and turned in his seat to give his handler a dirty look. It was fortunate that Casey was sitting at a table next to the expanse of windows overlooking the ocean, because it meant he couldn't see the freak-out hitting fifteen on a scale of ten.
"I can handle this," he whispered. He almost believed it.
-x-
"Casey." Sarah, standing at the other end of the bar and hearing the dialogue through her mic, jumped in to rescue him before Chuck could open his mouth. "Blosjo seems receptive – and he's opening up to Chuck, so why don't you stay out of it right now?"
Her reproof was met with an angry bear sound in Chuck's ear. "Just speed it up, Bartowski. If I have to hear anything else about the how nice the towel warmer in your bathroom is, I'm going to stab my eyes out with this olive spear. Got it?"
"Cut me some slack here." Chuck turned back to the bar and hunched his shoulders – just in time to jolt when something warm skimmed along the bare skin over his collar.
"Miss me, sweet cheeks?"
"Oh. Hey ... hey there."
Blosjo flashed his dimples and slid into his seat. He wasted no time pointing his barstool at Chuck's again, spreading his thighs so that the kid's legs were wedged between his. Some feat, since Chuck figured he was about five inches taller than the little nuclear weasel. "Brought you another Stella."
Chuck returned the smile, a bit forced, and raised his eyes to see the man watching him with keen interest. "Thank you. Um, cheers."
Okay, so he didn't look like a weasel. Chuck had to concede that much at least. In other circumstances – ones that didn't involve breaking up deals that could potentially eradicate a fair percentage of the Earth's population - he might find a man like this one attractive.
Who was he kidding? Yes, he was attractive. Now that they were close, Chuck saw that his first impression, when they stood in Casey's apartment and were briefed on the mission, still held true. It was crazy and backwards considering the man's black insides, but he had been bestowed with boyish good looks, followed quickly by a devilish smile, and eyes that had nothing on the color of a clear winter sky.
What else had his file said about him? Chuck replayed it in his head, because he guessed that's what a spy should be doing. Thirty-five years old. Self-made almost billionaire, and the kid mentally added to the list 'keeps his appearance immaculate' and 'likes his hands to be busy'.
That last characteristic, the way his hand slipped forward, using his finger to stroke the sensitive skin at his wrist, made Chuck slightly jumpy. Maybe more than slightly.
Okay, honestly, it had him rounding third base and heading for home on the freak-out meter.
"And your ... friend?" Blosjo was asking.
"My friend?" Chuck blinked. "Oh. Morgan." Dammit. He immediately blanched. Was he supposed to give the name of his best friend to a known terrorist?
"The little bearded guy at your table last night?" David – Chuck reminded himself that the first thing he had said was to call him David – smiled at him, a curious gleam in his eyes. "He's not your boyfriend?"
"Who? Morgan?" Crap. He did it again. "No, no, no. Just a friend. That's all."
David lifted a brow while one hand settled on Chuck's knee, traced a circle over his kneecap. "Seems like an odd place for two buddies to be hanging out. A cruise like this?"
"It's ... um." Chuck bought a few seconds to think by taking a drink of his beer. How much should he tell him? Why in the world hadn't they covered this in the tutorial, instead of letting Bryce grope him? Fidgeting, he decided there was no harm in telling him. "He won the cruise. From a radio station contest. It was a last minute surprise – and here we are."
"So your friend is ...?"
"Straight? That would be a yes," Chuck answered. "He likes girls. Or women. Or anything of the female variety, really. He just hasn't been lucky." He stopped to think of Anna. "Not very much, anyway, until recently."
"Hm." David lifted his scotch and took a swallow, then gave him a wry smile.
"Is there ... do I have something on my shirt?" Chuck asked, looking down. The way the blond studied him made the kid want to squirm, but recalling Casey's gruff order to sit up straight, Chuck purposely pressed his spine to the back of the barstool. "I've been known to spill at the worst possible times."
"Heh," he heard through the mic.
"No, nothing like that." The smile faded, and David continued his train of thought. "So Morgan invited you along ... and you are ...?"
At first, Chuck drew his brows down in confusion. What was he getting at? But as he considered the question, a few fingers began to rub the inside seam of his jeans, and the meaning dawned on him.
"Oh. Straight?" Chuck heard his voice crack. "Well ... I – you see ... It's not that I ... I guess I like to think of myself as a crooked arrow." God, he hated that he blushed, but it was more to do with being a late bloomer. He didn't land on the conclusion that he liked women and men until Bryce took the opportunity to enlighten him. "Back in school, I had a girlfriend ... and a boyfriend."
"Not at the same time, I hope," David said, his dimples diminishing for a moment.
"Together?" Chuck gave him a baffled look. "Me? God, no. I would never – well, you know." He finished his thought with a hand wave since he had no idea what else to say.
David chuckled, and within the impossible blue of his eyes, there was a troubling hint of mischievousness. His fingers inched a bit further up Chuck's inner thigh. "Either you're the best liar on this ship, or I believe you. You don't look like the two-timing type, kiddo."
Did he call him kiddo? Sheesh. Granted, the other man was a bit older, but it made Chuck feel like the newbie in all of this – and what the hell was that?
Chuck blinked, right when he figured out that David's index finger, going back and forth leisurely over the ridge of his pants seam, began trailing slowly inward. Higher on his thigh -
All right, so yes. He was the newbie in this scenario.
"As a matter of fact, they two-timed on me," Chuck blurted. He quickly took a gulp from the bottle and repositioned his legs, discreetly attempting to move backwards.
"Ouch." David shook his head. "So what are you looking for now, Chuck?"
How was he supposed to answer that? Could the truth get him in trouble? "I'm ... looking for anyone who's ferociously loyal. Even to a fault. And more importantly, I guess, they need to accept that in me."
"Hm. Well said." David clinked his glass with Chuck's beer bottle and took a drink.
Chuck glanced down to where their legs touched. Shuffling back hadn't done a lick of good, because Blosjo immediately filled the gap, sliding his hand over Chuck's knee. He picked up where he left off, teasing him with a few fingers over the muscle of his inner thigh.
In the kid's head, just that soft scritching against his jeans seemed to make a hell of a racket, and everybody within fifty feet of them would have to know he was being touched under the bar top.
Why it took Chuck so long to notice, he had no idea, but when he felt Blosjo's hand begin roaming, he understood why the other man had chosen these seats. The bar had the curve of a horseshoe, and since they were sitting at one end with Chuck's back to the rest of the Gotham Lounge, no one could see Blosjo's wandering fingers. Even the fact that he had Chuck trapped between his outspread thighs wouldn't be apparent to anyone else unless they walked around that corner of the bar.
That sleazy jerk!
Once he had him here, it was obvious Blosjo had decided to take full advantage of the positioning. Well, it wasn't just that, the kid figured, feeling his stomach twist. He had planned it this way, and Chuck wanted to smack his own forehead for agreeing to sit back here.
"- and I bet you have a story," David said. "Everyone does."
"Story?" Chuck flinched, just as one sweep of his fingers moved up closer than before. He hoped his burning cheeks weren't too obvious, but then again, only David could see his face, and he had to know that he was the cause of it. "I'm not sure I –"
"Coming out?" David smiled at him and took a sip of his scotch. "Please don't tell me you're one of those people who recorded it for YouTube."
"Uh, no." Chuck returned the smile since he thought he should. "My life's pretty boring, even that moment. I don't need any part of it stamped with number of views." He veered his attention to his beer bottle. "My sister only wants me to be happy – with the right person."
David made a hum sound, his eyes fastened on Chuck's face.
"What? Did I say something?" Chuck asked. Oh, no. Now his hand drifting under the bar was getting darn close to indecent.
"No, it's not that," David said, shaking his head. "I'm thinking – it'll sound dumb, but ... lucky me."
"Why – why is that?"
"What I saw a minute ago – that smile?" He leaned in a bit closer. "I thought I liked you because you stand out in a crowd. But that? I might like it even better."
"Standing over everyone has been a problem since tenth grade," Chuck interjected, cringing at his own lame joke.
"But lucky me, you also have a killer smile."
Killer? Nice word choice, Blosjo. Chuck quickly took another drink from his beer and tried to inconspicuously scoot back, but the other man seemed to anticipate that move. In an instant, he nudged forward on his seat and filled in any space Chuck had managed to put between them.
"I – what bands do you like? Or – or do you have any pets?"
"Bartowski." On cue, Casey's grumpy voice resonated in his ear. "If you don't cut the crap and get down to his room," he said, "I'm going stuff your skinny carcass under a silver-domed dinner tray, and have you delivered to his room naked with a bow tied to your ass. Move it!"
Sarah, at the other end of the bar, slowly turned around and sent a look of daggers to the lone, large patron sitting next to the windows.
Through the ear bud, Chuck could hear Casey mutter something unintelligible and then heave out a breath. Fortunately for the kid, Sarah's silent but lethal message must've gotten to him, though, because he left it at that.
"You seem ... nervous," David told him, lifting a hand to draw his fingers over Chuck's ribcage. He watched his face for a reaction, and Chuck prided himself on the fact he didn't give him one. "Everything okay?
"It's ... ah ..." Chuck cleared his throat to buy a few seconds. "PDA, okay? I'm not good at it."
He heard Casey snort in his ear. "Heh. Good work, stud. Just earned a ticket down to his room with that line."
Um, why? What did he say?
"You mean you don't care for it, because I think you could be good at it," David gently admonished, "even if it's not technically PDA, considering where we're sitting." He glanced meaningfully over Chuck's shoulder. "No one can see what we're doing ... under here, can they? I made sure of it."
He admitted it, right there. What a dick!
"I – well, it's still –" and Chuck broke it off there to gradually but firmly move the hand about to reach the Forbidden Zone. "It makes me a bit uncomf – able - ah –"
The squeak came at about the time the boyishly handsome and innocent-looking perv got in one more squeeze before his hand was given back to him.
"I have the cure for that," David suggested, giving him a quick grin. The drumbeat of music began, the reverberation making it harder to keep up a conversation. Blosjo pushed Chuck's empty bottle to the side and brought his face close. "Do you want to hear it?"
"I ... guess." Chuck repressed a shudder at the feel of soft lips brushing the outer edge of his ear. The shudder unfolded when the little creep stroked a finger along his jaw.
"Come to my room," David told him.
"Your room?" Now what was he supposed to do? Obviously, he had to go with him or Casey would be looking for a silver-domed tray.
"You're nervous. I get it." David took his last swallow, then he shrugged, putting on an uneasy smile. "I'm a strange man ... I just met you last night – and here I am inviting you down to my room, right? On top of that, you're worried that when I get you down there, I'm going to try to take it further. Is that it?"
"Well." Chuck purposely looked away and sighed. "I think that's obvious."
His voice was interrupted by a low sound in his ear. "Bartowski, I am going to string you up by your geek neck if you blow this."
"Listen." David held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know I've come on to you tonight – maybe a little too hard – but there's no denying it. The truth is I'm attracted to you. And I have to ask ... has this been bothering you?" He rubbed a few fingers over Chuck's knee.
Chuck put all his attention into keeping stock still. "A little, yes."
"Then ... I apologize, sweet meat." It didn't sound much like an apology, especially when he chuckled at Chuck's flushed face. "But here's the thing, Chuck," David went on, and he turned his stool around to lean an elbow on the bar. "I'm making a sale tonight."
"A sale?" Chuck's throat tightened.
"Yes. I found a seller for ... a vineyard in Argentina that I own, and it looks like we've finally come to an agreement on a price."
"They're ... here?" Chuck stopped crumpling a bar napkin to look at him. "On the ship?"
"In fact, waiting for me to sign the papers." David nodded and pointed his thumb in the direction of the exit. "We're meeting later to finalize the deal."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"They say it's bad karma to mix business and pleasure, but frankly, I think they're wrong."
"That's ... not really an answer."
"You're right."
Blosjo's sharp eyes examined him for a long moment, and when he reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Chuck's ear, the kid had to hang onto the edge of the bar to suppress another jolt.
"What I'm getting at is this, Chuck." He met the kid's confused look with a smile. "I have two bottles of my best Cabernet from that vineyard chilling, and I thought it would make the night easier to let go if I had someone who would share it with me."
"The wine, you mean."
"Heh," said Casey in his ear. "He means 'I'll let you bite my pillow, tiger'."
David laughed and reached into his wallet, tossing a twenty onto the bar. "Yeah. The wine," he agreed, and taking Chuck's arm, the kid could see a picture playing behind the other's man eyes now. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
-x-
"How's our stud doing?"
"Shh. Shut the door."
Giving Sarah an eye roll, Casey closed the door quietly behind him and took a moment to appraise the reconnaissance situation. The storage closet at the end of the hall from Blosjo's room was bad enough to begin with. With Larkin sucking up a third of the breathable air, it made the tight space damn right unbearable.
Casey shot his fake boyfriend a disapproving look and he moved a mop out of his way. "Rounding first base yet?" he asked to Sarah.
"You'll have to save the put downs, Casey. After your tender encouragement at the bar, I decided I would control what Chuck hears. And right now, you're on a closed mic."
Casey gave her the stink-eye for her efforts. Checking out the tiny room, he saw that Sarah, appearing squeezed in and uncomfortable, had at least found a large bin of cleaning supplies on which to sit with her ex-partner. It looked as if a serving cart had been requisitioned as a makeshift table for the spying equipment. The light from a laptop sitting on it splashed the tiny room in a ghostly blue glow.
It peeved him off some that this closet was bigger than the bathroom he was sharing with the doofus.
"Please tell me he flashed so we can get out of here," Casey said.
Sarah answered by focusing more intently on the screen, her mouth slightly puckered in a frown.
"Going that well, eh?"
"They just got into the room," Sarah explained without lifting her attention from the laptop. "Before you complain, yes, it's a bust so far, but Chuck seems to be doing fine."
"Casey, come and check out the room. Nice digs, huh?" Bryce pointed at the left side of the screen. "And look. Our Romeo was prepared for Chuck. Champagne in a silver bucket."
"Yeah, he's a fucking charmer." Casey folded his arms over his chest, looking over Bryce's shoulder at the screen. "Bartowski's dream date."
"Not quite," Bryce mumbled. At least he knew not to expound on that. Instead, the smaller man leaned closer to get a better look, unable to repress a smile. "Are those ... red roses? Boy, he wasn't lying when he said he likes tall men."
"Perfect hair swooshes and a craving for tall geeks," Casey said. "Wouldn't have guessed it, Larkin, but you do have something in common with Mr. 'Lets throw a party by incinerating the western seaboard'. Jealous much?"
"Speaking of cravings," Bryce volleyed, "Casey, maybe you should come clean about -"
"Bryce. Casey," Sarah said, curtness flavoring her words. "Our asset is being seduced by Mr. Good Times here, so maybe we should be paying attention to the surveillance?"
Bryce grumbled under his breath, but didn't take it any further. Which saved him, Casey figured, since he would've used the mop at his side to skewer him if he finished whatever he had started.
Casey answered him with a grunt and turned his focus, inspecting the lush suite. The surveillance feed revealed the living area where Chuck's hot date now stood; the little poacher was leaning on the side of a plush grey sofa, brightened up with bursts of yellow on the pillows and the fancy artwork that hung over it.
He almost let a whistle escape between his teeth. Damn. Larkin was right about the room. Beat the shit out of the hell hole they were stuck in.
"Come on, Bartowski," Casey murmured, though he was sure Sarah had not activated his mic. "Give the place a good sweep." He had to bend down to get closer to the screen. "Got the audio?"
"I'll adjust it." Sarah touched a dial and the voices from Blosjo's cabin transmitted clearly through the laptop speakers.
"Do you always pace like this? Come and sit down. No need to be nervous."
"Well. I –" Chuck's voice. "Alrighty, then."
"I told him not to say alrighty," Casey pointed out.
"Tell me again ...?"
"– at, uh, Akamai Software. I'm an engineer. Oh, little known fact for you. Akamai is the Hawaiian word that means witty or clever."
"Shit," Casey griped, shaking his head. "We're dead."
Some muffled talk was covered by Bryce's cough, but when Chuck sat at the other end of the sofa, Blosjo wasted no time letting him know the error of his ways. Moving over to fill the space, he put a hand on the kid's knee.
Casey narrowed his eyes at that hand. The scowl on his face did not register until Sarah turned around to look up at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
He shifted gears to mocking sarcasm. "We're in trouble. With that dickhead's hand there, strap in. Here comes the babbling portion of our date."
"– it's quite, uh, fascinating, if you think about it. Oh – ah." According to the video feed, Blosjo was so enamored with Chuck's story – heh - that one of his hands had come awfully close to the kid's inner thigh.
"Uh-oh," Bryce said quietly. They watched as Chuck automatically startled, and compensated by scooting over a few inches.
"Well, here's the cool part. The browser is redirected to copies of the website and the download times are –"
"Does this kid know he's supposed to be trying to flash, and not putting the mark into a Goddamn geek coma?"
"Casey. Shh." Sarah stole a scolding glance at him and flicked a switch on the audio console. It controlled the feed to the kid's ear bud. "You're doing great, Chuck. Keep him talking."
Before Casey could say anything that would be overheard, she flipped the switch. "You're too easy on him," he argued. "Next time, let me coach him."
"You make him too nervous when you're growling into the mic like that."
"You're babying him, Walker. He's never going to toughen up if you keep him in a bubble."
"This is not the time for him to be pushing the limits, Casey," Sarah told him evenly.
"Eh." The NSA agent decided to leave it at that.
"Who knew the bait would be this effective," Bryce said, watching the same thing that they were all noticing. The little creep's arm slinking over the back of the couch while he pretended to listen to the kid's story. With it folded behind Chuck, it presumably was convenient to draw his hand over the kid's collar and get cozy around his shoulder. "I don't think the mark is bored by Chuck. In fact, he seems to be keeping him ... interested."
"Interested. That's what they call it, eh, Larkin?" Casey snorted, though for professional reasons, it did piss him off that the little jerk was taking so many liberties with the ... Intersect. He wasn't trained for this. "And it looks like his other hand is interested in finding the buttons of Chuck's shirt. Look at him. He's still flinching, too."
"He didn't do that with you," Bryce observed.
Sarah, who had been watching the video feed attentively, didn't say a word. Not that she needed to, Casey saw. No. Instead, she slowly twisted around to look up at him, and that damn brow of hers arched up in curiosity. "Chuck didn't flinch when?" she asked.
Casey's jaw tightened. "Not what you think, Walker. The asset busted into our room this morning. Anxious about his performance tonight."
"And?"
"And," Casey said between his teeth, "his ex-best friend tried to loosen him up some. Show him a few moves from seduction school."
Sarah's mouth started to fall open, but then she remembered they had left Chuck mid-grope to hear this. She swung back around towards the screen, giving Casey the impression that was the end of it.
Yeah, well, that was just a blow back of false hope. Walker wasn't the type to just let something go. Especially a bone this meaty.
"Seduction school. Really," Sarah said, drawing out each syllable. She kept her eyes on the laptop, which was a damn good thing because Casey did not want to see the blonde's smart ass smile. "And how did that little lesson go, Bryce?"
On screen, Chuck jerked away again when Blosjo's hand on the back of the couch began to flip a few of Chuck's curls between his fingers.
"It could've gone better." Bryce frowned at Chuck and shrunk back in his seat. "He seems to hold onto lingering resentment towards me." Pausing to choose his words carefully, he pretended to adjust the audio. "Every time I tried to touch him – you know, warm him up a little for tonight? – he ... well -"
"Jumped like he had been hit by a hot poker," Casey said, his smirk growing so distinct that Bryce wouldn't have to look back at him to see it. "Are those the words you're looking for, Larkin?"
Bryce's face crinkled in a grimace. But it turned decidedly devious by the time he leaned his elbows on the table. "It was interesting, though, Sarah," he said sardonically. "When we switched places, and your partner took over, he seemed to get over his flinching. Not one recoil."
"He didn't?"
"Nope." Bryce didn't look up at Casey, which was a good thing, because he was going to wring his neck. "You must have the gentle touch, John."
Still focused on the video feed, Sarah let out a chuckle that had Casey's neck tensing. "So, let me get this straight. Casey stepped in to take one for the team – and gave Chuck seduction lessons?"
"Yep," Bryce answered before Casey could shove a rag down his throat. "You should've been there in the audience. Casey would've popped some popcorn."
"Or your head off," Casey offered coolly.
"Hang on." Sarah briefly dragged her eyes from the monitor. "So this means that while Casey's little teachable moment was happening, I was stuck watching Blosjo's empty room for two and half hours instead? God ..."
He couldn't make it out, but Casey swore he heard her mumble something about her sucky cover. He only knew he didn't like it one damn bit. If she wanted to compare and bitch about sucky covers, well, stand in line, sister.
"You mean stuck doing your job, Walker?" the NSA agent corrected silkily. "Turn up the audio. I can't hear him with all this yammering going on."
"– content caching – and accelerated dynamic -" Chuck. Still.
For a second or two, the audio scrambled. Casey didn't mind. At first.
"– and by avoiding the, uh, middle-mile bottleneck –"
"Tell him to cut the nerd crap," Casey said, tapping Sarah's shoulder.
"Why? He's keeping it together, Casey. Let's not rock the boat."
"Why?" Casey scoffed, glancing at his teammates with disdain. "Because I'm going to cut my ears off, that's why."
"Peer to peer networking, huh?" Blosjo's voice. Finally, the nerd had let the mark get in a word edgewise. "That's ... remarkable –"
Casey curled his lip in a sneer. "That's code. Means if you keep talking, I'm going to impale myself on the spindle of that four poster bed. Or get you to shut up and get in it."
"I think you're wrong, Casey." Bryce had found a bag of pretzels from somewhere and was now munching a few down. "I think he's very interested in peer to peer networking. As long as it's with Chuck."
"Your mic is off, too, Bryce," Sarah informed him without looking over.
Casey deliberately grinned, now that he wasn't the only one being censured by Walker.
Back to business, they watched as Blosjo got up from the sofa. It had to be something about Chuck's bashfulness or fidgeting, but the blond-haired man always seemed to have an amused little smirk on his face as he listened to Chuck speak. Casey decided he wanted the chance to remove that smirk. With his fist, preferably.
God, he hated this kind of ilk, these slippery smooth talker-types. Wearing his perfectly tailored casual clothes that had to have set him back a mint. Italian shoes that cost more than Casey's first car he bought after West Point, scraping together every last dime.
"- does your business take you abroad?" Blosjo was asking, still with the tight-lipped smug face. "Anywhere you'd like to go again?"
"I – well, not really. I've never been anywhere."
Before Chuck could stammer out the rest of the reply, the video feed blanked out.
"You'd be surprised how much can be done by remote access-"
"What the hell just happened," Casey asked over Chuck's voice on the audio feed.
Sarah sat up taller and her eyes cut back to the wires and ports, not panicked, but Casey could see her tension rise. "I'll see if I can get it back."
"Hang on, Sarah. I'll try to isolate the cause of interference." Bryce reached under her arms and tapped on a few keys. "I might be able to jam it."
Casey could tell Bryce had peeved her, but instead of elbowing him, she sat back and folded her arms over her chest, drumming her fingers along her arm and listening to the feed.
"Be my guest, Bryce," she said, giving him a chilly look.
It was one thing he liked about Walker. Fine, maybe there were others, too. But unlike the jackass here, she knew when it was not the time to get into it with your team.
Next to her, Bryce continued to tap keys and was able to access the program that controlled the video feed, but so far, a hell of a lot of good that did. The screen remained black.
"Why - that should've worked ..." Bryce said under his breath.
Sarah and Casey exchanged a look, and Sarah turned up the audio feed since that was all they had at the moment.
"– more champagne? Well, I – I don't -"
"Chuck, take the champagne," Sarah told him through the ear bud. "You're doing great."
"– sure, why not?" Chuck laughed. Even from the audio feed, it sounded both pained and forced. "It's not as if I have a long drive tonight, right?"
"Enough with the lame cracks. Kiss him or something, will you?"
"He can hear you," Sarah said. "I turned your mic back on. Don't make me regret it.
"Good." Casey lifted his watch to his mouth before Sarah could swat it away. "Bartowski, if you have any mercy on my aching ass, you will change the damn topic with the next sentence out of your mouth. Got that?"
"- the same artwork in our cabin?" Chuck's voice wavered.
While Bryce continued to fiddle with the laptop to reestablish video surveillance, the audio feed crackled once or twice. On the bright side, Casey thought, he wouldn't have to hear the kid go down in flames, since he was fairly certain he had just heard Chuck compliment the pictures on the wall.
"– someone must really like buttercups ... – or ... sale at ...-"
"Chuck, can you hear me?" Sarah asked.
The com went silent.
Casey growled. "Bust up job, Larkin."
"What did I do?"
"Better to say what did you not do," Casey muttered, wanting to smack the back of his head. "I take it that it was you who set up the surveillance for tonight?"
"So?"
"You have ninety seconds to get us back on line, or this mission is a bust." Twisting the knife a bit, Casey then set the timer on his watch, pleased that Bryce looked up to scowl when he heard the ominous beep. "Starting now."
"I'll fix it." It didn't appear as if he was fixing it though. In fact, he just kept hitting keys and letting out a curse now and again.
A minute ticked by with nothing but static.
"Thirty seconds, Larkin." Casey made a frustrated growl. "Get us online. Now."
"It's a little hard to work with you breathing down my neck like that!"
"Guys, let's focus," Sarah reminded them. "Bryce, let's get back in there ..."
"– attached to the wall like that? ... think someone would ..."
A burst of static cut off the rest.
A full ten seconds passed. If anything, Bryce had only managed to botch it up ten times worse. It was almost as if the little blond dick head planned it -
Planned it.
Blocked them.
What if he did?
What if – for once - it wasn't Bryce's fault?
It was a heartbeat later, when Sarah turned around in her seat to look up at him, that he could sense she felt the same quiver of electricity. There was a sudden prickling of the hair on the back of his neck, that eerie alertness he had always felt before incoming missile fire.
"Got a bad feeling," Casey said. He unfolded his arms and took a step towards the door.
"I think so, too, Casey." Sarah rose and pushed the serving cart out of the way. "Let's go."
"Wait." Bryce held up a hand in a calm down gesture. "I can fix this. Just give me another thirty seconds, okay."
"We don't have thirty seconds, Bryce. This isn't the way it goes." Sarah didn't cast him another look. "I think Chuck is in trouble."
"If you barge in there, guns blazing," and Bryce stopped to give Casey an I mean you glance, "it blows everything." He rose out of the chair with a good deal of stubborn resolve on his face, but if he thought for one minute he could stop them, well, it almost made Casey want to laugh. "He's already told Chuck he's making a deal tonight."
"Bryce, we can't –"
"And Blosjo meant his contact. This deal. The reason we're all here. If you do this, we'll never know who he's working with. They'll run back to their hole in the ground."
"We're not taking a chance with Chuck," Sarah replied, already checking the magazine in her gun and sliding it back in her waistband.
"You mean the Intersect," Bryce said pointedly.
She turned to Casey. "Ready?"
It was the consolation prize, Casey had to concede. It had nothing on the consolation prize they would earn if he had to tell Beckman they had taken a risk with the asset's life, and lost him because of it. With the secrets in that kid's head landing in God knows whose lap, Beckman would have him swabbing out toilets at the Pentagon until retirement.
Yeah, fine. Maybe it wasn't merely the demotion, or the humiliation that came with it. The little stab in his gut could've had something to do with a certain curly-headed nerd who might've gotten under their skin, but he wasn't going to waste precious seconds thinking about that.
The best situation they could hope for was that the surveillance was just a fluke, and when they opened the door, they'd see the kid with a strange man's hand down his pants.
Casey turned away. He certainly wouldn't consider why the damn hand was bothering him almost as much as the danger.
"Let's roll," he said, simultaneously pushing the door open and blocking Bryce from leaving. "Time for the good guys to show the little douche some moves of our own."
-x-
Standing on either side of the door into Blosjo's room, the spies glanced down the hallway to make sure they were alone. It was still early in the evening, so the corridor was empty and quiet. Too quiet, Casey decided, since there wasn't a noise coming from the room.
He reached around his back and slipped out his SIG. "C'mon," he mouthed, tilting his head towards the door.
Sarah, for some reason, hesitated. "What if Bryce is right?"
"When has he been right, Walker?"
"Point," she whispered back at him. "But we are going to blow Chuck's cover."
Casey motioned with his gun, and mouthed, "Fine. One more time if you can get him to open the door. If not ..." He tipped his muzzle. Meaning, the guns blazing option.
"Room Service," Sarah called, knocking on the cabin door. "Did you order two rib eyes, Mr. Blosjo?"
Casey rolled his eyes.
Sarah gave him a look and lifted a hand, spreading her fingers. We have to give him one more chance. Five seconds.
The problem was there was no answer. So much for chances.
Looking over her shoulder, Casey saw her bring her hand around to the small of her back, slipping her fingers around the Smith and Wesson she had tucked in her waistband. She nodded at Casey, a signal that it was time to take the lid off of this mission. Reluctance was there in her eyes, because they both knew this was it. The associate would flee.
The cold hard fact, slapping them in the face, was that the risk to the asset outweighed apprehending the man who had so far been a damn ghost anyway.
Casey lined up his back to the wall a few feet to the right of the door. His held his SIG, one hand cradling the other steadily, and waiting for Blosjo to open the door. "Count of three," he mouthed.
Sarah nodded.
They cocked their heads, listening, but there was nothing. No footsteps. No sound of the kid's voice drifting beyond the cabin's walls, and no doubt, it'd be reaching that screechy nervous pitch by now.
How the hell could it be so quiet? There was no doubt they were in there. The sprint from the closet to the door was no more than sixty feet.
"Looks like they ordered a foot long," Casey said. Pushing off from the wall, he moved in front of the door and sucked in a breath. "Time to deliver."
In the time it took for Sarah to level her gun and point, Casey lifted his boot and kicked the door in.
It landed on inside of the room with a crack and a thud.
Firearms leveled, every inch of their bodies taut, Casey and then Sarah skulked through the doorway.
Sarah tipped her head towards the empty sofa. What the hell, she meant. Where are they?
Casey looked over to squint at the imprint in the sofa's cushions, the glasses of champagne. They had just been sitting there, and only moments ago, the spies watched as Chuck shirked away from the man, chattering like a moron. Watched Blosjo's hands drifting over places that little bastard had no business putting them.
Now the living area was empty. Casey pointed his chin towards the bedroom and arched a brow. Sarah gave him a look that said get real.
Okay, not likely. He didn't expect that in the past sixty seconds since the audio had dropped that their awkward and shy asset had thrown the mark to the bed. He shrugged at her, because they were going in, anyway.
Three, two, one ... Casey counted down on his fingers, and at the designated signal, they dodged around the corner to the bedroom suite.
Empty.
Casey blinked, felt a ripple of pressure along his arm as he held the gun. "Christ." Striding into the marble bathroom and seeing it was empty, he turned to Walker. "I'm going to kill Larkin."
"This wasn't his fault," Sarah said, her voice sounding oddly hollow. She lowered her weapon, her clear blue eyes searching over the room. It was hard to quantify the degree of fear, but Casey could see it rising within them. Suspected his were no better. "God, Chuck," she whispered. "This isn't possible."
"Guess again, Walker," Casey muttered, tossing the empty bottle of champagne on the floor with disgust. "Fuck." The bosses were really going to hate getting this phone call.
The nuclear technology dealer was gone. So was the asset.
In his head, Casey tried to tell himself that his spurt of cold panic was simply for national security, and nothing else. Not Chuck.
Funny, but he didn't succeed.
-x- End The Odd Quadruple Chapter Nine –x-
I was chatting with my beta reader a few days ago, and it made me think of Casey and Sarah sending the kid in to seduce Sasha Banachek. What, do they never learn? *insert Casey grunt here*
Thanks, again and again, to those of you reading and commenting. I'm writing the very last scene of this story right now, so things are wrapping up – for me anyway. You, not so much ;)
Til next time,
-skye
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