A/N: I do not own Chuck. I do own the characters you don't recognize from the show. You may play with them if you promise to put them back when you're done with them. Regarding the timeline, I originally set this as a one-shot but decided to continue. Problem: Building a 3-year story around a dynamic group. Couldn't be done in a way I'd like so if any of you imaginative types can make suggestions via pm or review I'd appreciate it. I have dug a hole and find I cannot escape. I could go back and change chapter 1 but it would mean… changing chapter 1. And confusing a whole buncha folks who have already read the story, asked the question and received my answer. As of this date it's been 11 months, 16 days and 43 minutes since She made her exit. Correction: 44 minutes; 45…and then there's that whole daylight savings time thing and time zones and…
Oh, yeah, I forgot something. The last chapter was dedicated to anyone, regardless of sex or nationality, who has responded to the commands "Stand up, Hook up, Shuffle to the Door". You know what I mean. Blood on the Risers. And if you think HALO is a rush, try LALO.
Previously:
I see Miss Pole Dancer is late as usual
General, they're making GB, Sarin
Rome is a wonderful city for a working honeymoon
Chuck Bartowski was already a hero to his Pole Dancer
Chuck, I won't marry you
Somalia
Dirt track SSW of Bosaso
The CIA convoy was running late. Everything about this country was late. Late 7th century. The people were friendly but wary, especially of white Europeans. A long history of strife had made these people distrustful of the Euros. Not without good reason.
The two land rovers and the three Japanese pickups were making the best speed possible over the worst possible roads. Twice they followed what they thought was the main road to the rendezvous site only to find that they'd taken a wrong fork or had followed a wash out and had to backtrack several miles. Maps of this God forsaken country were inaccurate and old. Really old. Some dated back to the 1920s.
"We're going to be late, really late. I hope this guy has the sense to stay put and let us find him. Why didn't they put a beacon on the site? We could have driven almost straight there instead of following these winding ruts called roads."
He looked into his side mirror and counted the vehicles. Yes, all accounted for. If one had to drop out for some reason their instructions were to remain in place until they returned. He doubted that would happen though. If they lost a vehicle out of the convoy they'd never see it again. It would end up in some Somali chop shop and live out the rest of its days as a gun truck for some warlord or pirate.
"So tell me again why we had to abandon our hide site and drive nearly 40 miles to pick up this guy? Why couldn't he have just have flown in like a normal spy?" He laughed at his joke. Airfields here were primitive and unreliable. And foreigners were frequent targets for kidnappers and worse.
"Orders. Now shut the hell up and drive. We're already two hours late." 'God, I sound like John Casey.'
Rendezvous Site
He'd made good time over easy terrain. According to his GPS he was within 50 meters of the rendezvous site and that was close enough for government work. He sat down and took another pull on his canteen. Once the day heated up and if they failed to show up, he'd be in serious trouble.
He took off the rucksack and leaned back against it. His shades protected his eyes from the glare but did little to protect his eyes from the bleak landscape. He thought about absolutely nothing. He just…sat…waiting. They were almost 2 hours late. He decided that if they were no-shows by dark he'd take advantage of the relative cool and walk to the coordinates that should be their hide. It shouldn't take more than 2 days at the most. And what if they weren't there, O Magnificent Oz? 'I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. Now, get out of my head, Casey. There's too much shit in there to begin with'. He swore he heard Casey's laugh. Bastard.
CIA Convoy
"Damn it, do you want me to drive? I can't believe you can't follow a frikkin' map. This will cost us at least another hour, maybe more." The road they'd been following had abruptly ended at an abandoned village. Probably moved in closer to the city to find work. Nothing would grow in this blighted area. No rain, no crops, and no hope.
"I didn't hear you say anything when I said the road turned south. You just ignored me, as usual. I don't know what your problem is but we'd better get our communications straight. You're supposed to be my partner but all you do is sit there, staring out the windshield. Here, you drive. The land rover and the map are all yours. Good luck with that."
"Fine, but we're going off-road from here on out. We'll drive straight to the GPS coordinates and to hell with the map. The rendezvous site should be fairly easy to locate once we're within spitting distance. Go tell the other drivers to keep it tight and watch for any sudden turns or stops. We have a lot of lost time to make up. I hate being late. Totally unprofessional. Makes us look like amateurs instead of veterans."
"How come when I suggested it, you vetoed it as unacceptable?"
"Because you suggested it. Nothing you 'suggest' or do ever has a positive outcome for anyone but you. Now inform the drivers and let's get a move on. It's getting hot. Our guest may not have been outfitted for a long-term desert vacation."
Rendezvous Site.
'Damn, I should have lugged that parachute along. Could have made a crude shade shelter. Too late now. The bastards are 4 hours late. 4 hours. Stupid CIA pricks. They're all incompetent assholes with big egos and tiny peckers.' 'Pole Dancer is CIA, Bartowski, does she have a tiny pecker?' 'Shut up, John. Don't need the distractions right now, got serious sitting in the sun to do. And get out of my head'.
He had stripped off his heavy insulated coveralls from the HALO and left them at the landing site. Another mistake. He just might need them tonight. It would get a bit chilly when the sun went down. For now, though, the desert camos were pretty comfortable. It was his busted ass that hurt. He could have sat on the coveralls. Another lost opportunity.
If he remembered his briefing, it got pretty damned toasty in the afternoons here. Damned toasty. 4 hours late. Damned CIA incompetence to hell. Can't grab their ass with both hands. It should be dark about 7pm. If they weren't here by then he'd find their hide and frag their worthless asses. Bastards are probably sitting around drinking cold beer and swapping spy-lies.
He opened up his kit and popped two Advil and a handful of salt tablets. At least the CIA included Advil. They got something right. They even put a small roll of duct tape in it. Not totally incompetent after all.
CIA Convoy
"I cannot believe this shit. A busted radiator hose and you don't have any duct tape? What kind of spy are you? Everyone has duct tape. You use it to tie up the bad guys, fix broken bones, and cure STDs. I can't believe you don't have any duct tape anywhere in the whole damned convoy."
"Calm down. I'll figure out something. Maybe one of the locals has a suggestion. They live out here all the time and there are damn few NAPA dealers in town." He walked back to one of the trucks, spoke to the driver of the first one, then the second one, then the last one. He even asked the other land rover driver. He walked back to his partner.
"Well, what did they say?"
"Um, they said they used duct tape and they couldn't believe we didn't supply it. Now they're all worried about breakdowns."
"Well, shit shit shit. Let's abandon the damned land rover and double up and get back on the road. I'll drive the other land rover. Move the driver over to one of the other trucks. Strip the rover of anything useful and we'll get back on the road. I can't believe you don't have duct tape in your toolbox. Everybody has duct tape."
Rendezvous Site
He'd tried dozing but between the flies and the heat it was impossible. He should be tired after all the hassles he'd been through. Still, it had been pretty cool flying in the Blackbird and the HALO was a once in a lifetime thing (he prayed to every saint and God it was so).
He started to take another pull on his canteen but vetoed it. Needed water discipline. He'd just suck it up and wait for dark. He had no faith in the CIA.
CIA Convoy
"Get that idiot to move his ass and fix that tire. We're losing time. Here's another hour lost."
"We don't have a lot of spares since we never planned on off-roading it. How much further to the site?"
"Another 2 hours at this rate. Barring another break down or blown tire we should be there well before dark. I don't fancy driving in the dark off-road. But we're still 6 hours late already. And according to GPS we've still got 12 miles to go. Damn it." The route they were following was strewn with waddis and wash outs as well as small pointed stones that loved to imbed themselves in tires.
Rendezvous Site
SIX hours late. SIX. Damned CIA assholes. Can't tell time? I know someone else who has a bad habit of being late for everydamnthing. Must be a job requirement. 'Oh, wannabe CIA agent, you're on time for the interview, sorry, you failed.' Hmmm, you never seemed to mind it when Pole Dancer was late now, did ya, Chuck? And I wonder why that was?
Take a hike, Casey. And get out of my head.
US Embassy
Rome Italy
"Beckman, secure."
"Casey, secure. Reporting in, General. All present and accounted for. The staff here has our equipment and is assisting in installation. We'll be running full blast before the end of the business day here. I've spoken with the CIA Chief of Station here and have his full support and we've also met with the head of Embassy security and gone over their plans. Everything here is first rate, ma'am. Accommodations are close to this location and are far above standards. What are your orders for us, ma'am?"
"Major Casey, the package was dropped on schedule. However, we're still waiting on delivery confirmation. It's six hours overdue and no word or reason on the delays. In fact, no contact from the ground assets at all. The package has no tracking availability due to local conditions so we just have to wait on word from the recipients."
"Understood, General. So the actual delivery went off without a hitch?"
"Unknown. Again, we can only confirm that the package was dropped in the general area of the delivery point. Nothing else is known. Casey, it was his first HALO and it was also his choice."
"Yes, ma'am. Begging your pardon, General, but it was never his choice. None of this was. Please advise when delivery is confirmed. The senders are anxious to know if the package was delivered without damage. It was shaken up pretty good during packaging and it's rather delicate."
"It's rather a bit more sturdy than first believed, Major Casey, but is there is anything mission-related that I need to be aware of?"
"No, ma'am, nothing related to the mission, just the… oh, hell, General, Pole Dancer said 'No' when he asked her. Can you believe that shit?"
No response.
"General, still there?"
"Yes, Major, I'm still here. That's… unfortunate. No change in orders, Major Casey, stand by for any new developments. Beckman, out."
John Casey just stared at his phone. Did Beckman sound… disappointed? Those CIA pukes had better not let the Boss roast in the sun. Six hours late? Unforgivable. Totally unprofessional.
Carrie Anne Webb aka Pole Dancer was being totally unprofessional. It seemed to be de rigueur with the CIA in this arena. She was sitting in the embassy cafeteria staring at a cold cup of coffee, unsure just how to proceed. Everything had turned to shit in less than 24 hours. Being in Rome just made that more evident. Right now she needed a task to keep her busy and her mind off her troubles. She was out of tears. She had to be. She'd never cried so much or so hard as she had since he'd left her in Georgia and flown off in the Blackbird. There was nothing she could do about the situation until he came back. Nothing but sit and relive those terrible few minutes when everything went to hell. And that had been done a million times already.
Casey was totally ignoring her and that was pissing her off to the max. This was between her and Chuck. He had no business interfering. His little lecture on the plane, well, maybe that was necessary interference but they were both professionals and he needed to start treating her like his partner, not some leprous basket case.
She knew what she had to do. Now was not the time for confrontation, maybe later, but not now. Not when Chuck's status was in question. Now she had to make Casey accept her again as his partner. That's all she could do. Until something else was known about… the Boss, she'd work with what she had.
She headed for their temporary armory. She might as well keep busy until something happened and they were brought back into the loop.
Unknown location
"So, your preparations are on schedule? We will meet the timetable? Ten days from now? All will be ready?"
"Yes, Suleiman ibn Faud has made his men available and we are processing them now to their target countries. Immediately prior to the attacks we will "inform" local authorities of the "Pirate Plot" and allow them to make some brief preparations for defense against the attackers. The more that are killed or captured, the better for us. The focus will be on piracy, not Jihad. And as per our plan, the Crusader home city will suffer the greatest physical damage and casualties."
"This will enrage the western powers and force their focus of military and political attention on Somalia rather then Iraq and Afghanistan. We will plant news stories discrediting anything ibn Faud may say about Jihadists being behind the plots and "suggesting" that it was nothing more than an archaic culture seeking revenge for the death of a family member. His selective looting of chemical shipping will explain the source of the Sarin to the casual eye."
"The lazy west will believe anything rather than accuse a religion. And our Jihadists will greatly benefit from assuming political, economic and operational controls over the remaining Somali pirates. Already our Yemeni brothers are planning assaults against western shipping. And in Indonesia, operations will ramp up and focus on oil shipments. The price of crude will skyrocket as we interrupt shipment to the United States and Europe. Ransoms will greatly enrich the coffers of the Jihad. As will 'quiet tributes' paid by the shipping lines. And the Brotherhood will remain, as always, in the shadows."
CIA Convoy
Lost
"God damn it to Hell. The GPS has crapped out. We've been here before. Give me the damned map."
Rendezvous Site
'EIGHT hours. I could have had a pizza and a couple of beers and a nap and then made the damned HALO. No wonder we're losing.' He checked his GPS again, just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake. He really couldn't see too far in any direction. No sand dunes, just rolling hills covered with scrub grass, stunted bushes and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.
And despite the discipline of a Jesuit, he was almost out of water. He scanned the sky, afraid he'd see a flock of vultures circling. Maybe the NSA could see him and send him a sign? They got satellites that can read the fine print on a contract so why can't they find one poor lost intersect? It's all Beckman's fault. Maybe he should moon her?
Since nothing was going to be done for him, he needed to ruck up and move out. He'd find those CIA pukes himself. Hell, he knew where he was but he'd bet good money they didn't know where they were.
He settled the ruck on his back, shrugged his shoulders, made sure he'd left nothing behind and with GPS and compass plotted a course to the CIA hide site. 'Bet they have air conditioning. Indoor plumbing. Big screen TV, probably a Jacuzzi.' He thought about Jacuzzi girl. Ah, that one was a cleanliness fanatic. He plotted his azimuth, sighted his objective and began trudging the miles to the hide. He tried not to think about his disaster of a proposal. But he had little else to do. One foot in front of the other was the order of the day and it didn't need constant monitoring.
He had told her loved her. He knew he had. Several times. At least, well, once, and she was asleep. Ah, shit. Change subject. I wonder what Casey's doing? Probably drinking wine in Rome.
US Embassy
Rome
John Casey was most definitely not drinking wine. No, he was listening to a whine. Agent Webb had confronted him in the armory and let him have it with both barrels. Now she was winding down and losing steam. Casey almost, almost, felt sorry for her. Almost. His other partner had been CIA also. She'd whined, too. Mostly about Bartowski, but she'd whined. He hadn't listened to her. But he was listening to Agent Webb. She was staying the professional course. Keeping it purely business even though they both knew that the source of his ire was her dumping Bartowski right before a critical mission, a life threatening mission.
This is why the rules exist. Agents should not fall in love with anyone else. Well, Bryce Larkin had that one down. Oh, he loved, all right, just that it was himself he loved, not another.
"What do you really want, Agent Webb? Cut to the chase, please. You're being incredibly boring."
"I want back in. You're cutting me out of all that's going on. I'm your damned partner not an accessory."
"Let me make something clear to you, CIA Agent Webb, you're my 'partner' only because we had the same… handlee? No, asset. And your brief was protection of said asset and he's not here to protect. So go… shopping or something equally girly. Right now the CIA is not high on my list of reliable agencies."
"What the hell does that mean, Major Casey?"
"It means that my friend is out there in the damned desert, alone and maybe hurt or something, out of communication, and the CIA trolls who are supposed to meet him are now more than 8 hours overdue. And it's hot there, CIA Agent Webb. Very hot. And a HALO does not allow a jumper to carry a lot of unnecessary shit like extra water and rations. Maybe one canteen, his weapon and ammunition, a first aid kit and precious little else. Now do you understand my reluctance to deal with the CIA?"
"Then why am I not with him. He's my asset to protect. Why was he sent off on this mission alone, without backup? He was never, ever, to be left alone or unguarded. He is too… precious to… risk…" and she started bawling like a baby.
John Casey and Chuck Bartowski were typical males. Tears absolutely defused anger, brought out the protective instinct present in almost all males and generally rendered them unable to do more than hold the sobbing wench until he either gave in to her demands or she ran out of steam. Nether of which were likely in this case. So he just held her against him and rubbed her back and mumbled nonsensical things until she pulled it together.
"Sorry, I'll get out of your way until something breaks and we get news or a mission," and she turned to leave.
"Wait, Beckman's due to teleconference with us in like 15 minutes. Hang around and let's see if there's news of the Boss or a mission or update."
Those were the longest 15 minutes in Carrie's life.
"Agent Webb. Major Casey, what is your status?"
"Operational and awaiting orders, General"
"Excellent. I'm sorry to say we've had no contact with either Mr. Bartowski or the CIA team that was to rendezvous with him. It's been almost 9 hours since the scheduled rendezvous without word. We must assume that the CIA team has met with insurmountable obstacles or been killed and that Mr. Bartowski is missing. We will hold off on modifying that status until we have more information.
A Keyhole8 will be making a pass over the pirates' staging area and will also provide images of the area immediately around the hide and pickup sites. We should have those images interpreted and to you within the hour. Contact me again when you've reviewed the images and made a determination as to the status of um Mr. Bartowski. Beckman out."
"Well, that went badly. I haven't seen the General that rattled before."
"What? She was a cold bitch. Modify his status. She's"
"Carrie, she's upset. Didn't you notice her hesitation, her pause before saying 'Mr. Bartowski' that last time? That's a rare display of something other than anger with Diane Beckman. She's worried about Chuck, not the asset. Quite an emotional display for her."
Somalia
Somewhere
The pair of CIA agents were standing on the roof of their land rover trying to determine just where they were but having no luck.
"I cannot believe this. We're LBS, again. How hard can it be to find one man out here? If the damned GPS hadn't crapped out we'd have had him and been on our way back to the hide. Instead, we're wandering around like the Israelites in the damned desert. We do not have time for this."
"Hold on, I'm going to climb up on the truck canvas and see if I can get a better view. Be right back."
Somalia
Somewhere else
Chuck was hot. Really hot. He needed a beer and a beach umbrella. For the last 6 miles he'd been imagining that this was a section of Santa Monica beach he just hadn't visited yet. He figured the parking lot was right over the next little ridge and then he'd jump in his car and head for something to drink.
According to the GPS he's walked almost 6 miles from the rendezvous site. It felt like twenty. He was still not drinking water. He figured he'd need what he had to make it through the following day. He checked his pockets and found the small survival kit someone had thoughtfully tucked away in shirt pocket. He hadn't noticed it before. CIA issue probably why it was so ultra slim. Probably had all kinds of secret compartments and cool stuff.
What he found was a nasty tasting power bar that was like sawdust, tasteless sawdust. And all it accomplished was leaving him with a dry mouth and an increased thirst. The salt tablets were gone and he didn't think Advil had any thirst quenching powers. Maybe he'd find an oasis or something equally cool. He remembered a movie where the hero had gotten pissed and shot the dirt at his feet and water had bubbled up all around him. He looked around him, nope no palm trees and he wasn't one to waste ammo so shooting the ground made no sense.
He climbed the small ridge and took out his compass and map. He knew where he was and he knew where he needed to go. He shot his azimuth based on the GPS coordinates and erased his mental pace count and fixed a landmark in his mind and numbly started off again.
He didn't see the cluster of parked vehicles to his right. He just kept on walking his straight line to the hide site. Only 22 more miles to go. And it was beginning to get dark. Oh, joy, maybe it would cool down like in the movies. He'd welcome frostbite right about now.
Somalia
Lost
He stood on the canvas top of the cargo bed of the pickup truck it was the highest point around. He carefully swept the area, turning around to his right slowly, not wanting to miss a landmark or a road. He had almost completed his 360 sweep when his binoculars filled with the image of a tall man in desert camo walking wearily toward the Northeast. He increased the magnification and saw the man was wearing US Army camo battle dress and carried a rucksack and an MP-5 slung like he knew how to use it. This must be the agent they were sent to pick up.
He jumped down to the cab roof and then to the ground and motioned for the drivers to get back in their vehicles and prepare to move out.
"Hey, I found our guy. He walked right past us. Totally focused on his path. Wearing US camo battle dress and carrying an MP-5 he obviously knows how to use. Looks totally at home out here. Steady pace and he has a compass and a GPS. That's got to be our guy."
He handed his partner the binoculars and pointed out where he was but he'd already passed from view over a small ridge. He had set a bold pace for this furnace.
"Let's mount up and pick up our guy. We're only 10 hours late. He'll probably be glad for the lift and something to drink and eat. Those HALO guys don't carry much in the way of reserves. He must be one hairy dude to be out here and walking to us. I'll bet that's the direction to the hide. Impressive."
"Shut up and let's pick him up and get back to the hide. I'm hot and a cold beer would be nice right about now. "
Chuck heard the engines start up and he whirled around looking for the source. Over the ridge he'd just passed over. Not knowing if the vehicles were his contacts, he dropped to one knee and brought the MP-5 up to his shoulder. He figured that if they were the bad guys he'd try and take out the lead vehicle and then rush them. If he could panic them into abandoning their vehicles or just driving off he'd have the lead vehicle for transportation. Piece of cake. He was in The Zone almost without thinking about it.
He moved closer to the ridge so that when the lead vehicle appeared he'd have a solid deflection shot on the cab. He didn't want to risk damaging the engine or tires. He'd cap the passenger and then the driver and run up over the ridgeline to flank the remaining vehicles.
The lead vehicle surged around the tapering ridge and presented the perfect opportunity for a kill shot on the passenger. Just…a…couple more…seconds…
Sarah Walker pulled off her baseball cap and let her hair fall free. The wind whipped it back and she felt the almost cool breeze of Land Rover's speed blow through her hair. She shook her head, reveling in the small pleasure. She turned her gaze to her right and saw the man on one knee, billed cap shadowing his face, MP-5 aimed directly at her in a textbook perfect ambush.
"Bryce, stop the vehicle and get your hands up, now!" She rarely used that panicked tone or volume so it got his attention instantly.
Larkin looked to the right, assimilating the tableau and knowing that if this guy was not a friendly then he and his partner were toast. A picture perfect ambush. A real pro. He jammed on the brakes and followed his partner's lead and raised his arms above his head showing he was unarmed.
Chuck Bartowski let out the breath he was slowly releasing in preparation for the shot in one big exhalation. He got to his feet but maintained his point of aim while walking towards the Land Rover. With the sun setting behind him, neither could see his face. They could see the weapon still aimed at them as the man advanced steadily.
Bryce Larkin was impressed. This guy was a pro. Maybe one of the legendary CIA Ghosts that legend had it were too good for regular missions.
A raspy voice uttered: "Rhubarb" Sign.
"Spinach" Countersign.
Friendly.
The ghost lowered his weapon. "Hello, Sarah, Bryce."
Neither agent recognized his voice. It had a dry and raspy quality to it as if it hurt to speak.
As the pickups drove slowly around the ridge the man quickly stepped behind the Rover and again set up his ambush. 30 meters, 25 meters.
Sarah walked over to him and placed a hand on his arm. "It's Ok, they're with…no, no, not you, not now"
Chuck Bartowski lowered his weapon and hooked to his LBE. He took out his canteen and drank the last few mouthfuls and replaced it on his webbing. He still hadn't looked at her, instead waiting to see if the men in the pickups made the wrong moves. At 10 meters, his M1911 would do just fine.
Sarah Walker could not see his face still shadowed by the setting sun behind him but she'd recognized the profile she'd spent so many hours looking at and memorizing. It was Chuck Bartowski. Here. All she wanted to do was slide between his arms and hold him until she didn't want to hold him any longer. He was here.
Bryce Larking got out of the driver's seat and walked over to the fender. He reached across the hood and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Bryce Larkin and this is my partner the lovely Sarah Walker. I'm sorry we're late but"
"I know who you are. You are a worthless piece of offal vomited up by an adulterous woman. You have no honor."
The look on Bryce Larkin's face was priceless. It segued from shock to surprise to fear and finally caution. For he had been addressed in flawless Klingon. And been given a mortal insult as well. One that honor dictated required a fight to the death. But this was not some Star Trek program. This was real life.
Sarah watched Bryce Larkin's face flash through a series of expressions. The one that intrigued her the most was the fear. She couldn't understand what had been said but Bryce sure did. And whatever had been said to him with that deadly tone was not a friendly greeting. Oh, no. Not friendly at all.
"Chuck Bartowski? Is it really you?" Bryce's face smiled but his eyes didn't. He wasn't sure what to make of this situation but he was fairly certain it did not bode well.
Chuck turned to Sarah, still not looking at her but with his gaze fixed on Larkin. He did not trust him. "Agent Walker, do you have any water to spare? You're late and I've only had this one small canteen since early this morning."
"Um, yeah, sure. Let me fill it for you. We have plenty to spare." She was practically fawning over him. This was not how it was supposed to happen. It's far too early. She had a plan and she had to stick to it.
"So, Chuck. You're our new analyst for the mission. Cool. Whenever you're ready we'll get this show on the road."
"Cut the crap, Larkin. I'm not your anything. Since you two seem unable to accomplish the simplest of missions, I'm executing my brief and assuming command of the team. You were supposed to have 2 Land Rovers and 3 tucks. I see only one Rover. Where's the other one?"
"Mechanical failure. Busted radiator hose and we had nothing with which to repair it so we abandoned it. Them our GPS crapped out and the maps are virtually useless out here and"
"Quit talking, Agent. Do you have the slightest idea where you are? Or were you 'Lost bigger 'n shit' again?"
"Wait a minute, we found you, didn't we? Our mission is successful. We continue on as planned."
"Actually, Agent Larkin, you didn't find me. You saw me walking past your laager and followed me. That's why you fell right into an ambush a rookie would have avoided. Your arguments have no merit and you bring further dishonor on yourself by avoiding the truth. " The last in Klingon, again.
Sarah Walker had heard the entire conversation. Chuck had sucked them in like rookies and could have killed them both before they were even aware he was there. "Chuck, here, I refilled it for you. It's almost cold, too. The cooler still has some unmelted ice. And what language are you speaking? Either of you can answer that question since obviously you understand each other."
"Thank you, Agent. Now, let's get mounted and take advantage of what little daylight remains and get to the hide site. We have a lot of planning to do."
"Ask Larkin. Ask him for a translation, too. You'll find it… enlightening. Now, as I said, let's get moving. No need for stealth with these noisy beasts, so we'll just go like hell until we either find a decent road or a landmark either of you recognize. We have a lot to do and little time to do it. First off, do you have secure commo with Beckman?"
"Yeah, of course we do, why?" Walker asked, still not certain just who she was speaking with. And also concerned since Bryce had refused to contact Beckman with any updates until they found the pickup point. She supposed he couldn't acknowledge failure on any level. He was such a tool.
"Because I've been out of contact since 8pm yesterday when I caught a hop on a Blackbird. The situation is very…fluid and I need to update her on our little cluster fuck and check on the status of my team in Rome."
Chuck had a team? In Rome? What was going on here? Walker's cage was rattled. "So much has happened in the year I've been gone."
"Commo, please. And it's been 11 months and 16 days but who's been counting?"
"Larkin, why are you still standing there gaping? Get your people organized and let's get moving. You're wasting time we don't have."
"Bartowski, secure, General"
"Beckman, secure. Report please."
"I made contact with the CIA cluster fuck you sent to pick me up. They were lost bigger than shit and I came across their laager when I was walking out to the hide site. They've lost one vehicle to a mechanical breakdown so we're short a Land Rover but we can adapt the plan to accommodate it. What's the status of my Team, General?"
"In place and awaiting your return, Mr. Bartowski. Can I speak to the agent in charge, please?"
"You are speaking to him. I have assumed command since the leadership here has been… lacking. I know what you're thinking but it would only jeopardize our mission's success. It has to be done my way, General to succeed. Now, any change in status of the target? Still a green light on taking him out or would you prefer a snatch and grab?"
"Kill Suleiman ibn Faud, Agent Bartowski."
"Understood, General so if there's nothing more…?"
"Chuck, about what happened. I think it's just a horrible misunderstanding. I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do in your personal life but…"
Chuck's laughter startled her into silence. "You wouldn't presume? I no longer have a personal life, General, I… I…lost everything I've ever loved, twice, thanks to your greater good. But I won't presume to lecture you of all people, General. Our next contact will be at mission completion, General. Bartowski out."
The whole conversation had been on speakerphone. Chuck had planned it that way, well most of it. He'd established his role, his mission brief and assumed command all in one conversation. Beckman knew he was right. And she probably knew she was on speaker, too, so his summary "promotion" to Agent status was probably more for their benefit than his.
Diane Beckman was a very astute judge of character and she knew that Chuck Bartowski really didn't care about anything any more. Not even his own life. And that made him the perfect leader for this mission because he only cared about the mission, nothing else.
She sent an email to personnel directing them to reclassify Charles Bartowski from asset/analyst to Agent-In-Charge effective immediately and to change his next of kin from Eleanor Faye Bartowski to Carrie Anne Webb.
Diane Beckman was equally determined to accomplish one of her missions also.
US Embassy
Rome
"Casey, secure."
"Beckman, secure. I've heard from Chuck Bartowski. Apparently he found his pick up team lost in the desert after he'd decided to walk out and find the hide site on his own. He called the CIA team a 'clusterfuck' and assumed command and is now preparing to take out ibn Faud. You should be aware that the clusterfuck team consists of Bryce Larkin and Sarah Walker. Upon successful completion of this phase of the mission he will be returning to Rome with the remainder of his Somali team. Any updates from your end?"
"No, ma'am, just waiting on the Boss, er, Mr. Bartowski, to return so we can plan the next phase."
"The Boss, huh? Interesting. Is that a nickname, Casey, like Pole Dancer?"
"No ma'am. It's just an assumption made by all of us that, well, he's the Boss. No disrespect is intended. It's a very happy group of agents we'll have when I tell them the Boss is Ok.
"You're wrong, John. First, he's not the boss. He's Agent-in-Charge Bartowski. But more importantly, John, he's still Chuck and very angry right now and very bitter. Any progress on your end?"
How the hell does she do these things? "No, ma'am, but there's still hope. Assuming he makes it back."
Diane Beckman raised one eyebrow. Things must have been worse than Casey reported earlier. "Beckman out."
Carrie Webb was sitting in the embassy cafeteria with the rest of the team eating a late supper. Well, pushing food around the plate and listening to the others gossip.
"Hey, Pole Dancer, got some news on our boy."
She blushed and thought to herself "he's so not a boy, Casey, he's a man".
"Listen up, team. The Boss is the 'boss' no more. Things are changing. It's very fluid in Somalia. He had to find his CIA pick up team because they were 10 hours overdue and lost. He made contact and assumed command. General Beckman tells me the team is a real clusterfuck according to Chuck and he had no choice but to assume command to save the mission."
He waited until the buzz died down. He glanced at Carrie Webb and saw love and pride in her eyes. YES, hope abides.
"There's more. He's not THE BOSS anymore. He's now Agent-in-Charge Bartowski. Sadly, that's a CIA rank but we'll just have to live with it.
"When Chuck, excuse me, when Agent-in-Charge Bartowski, returns from Somalia after blowing away the Pirate King, we'll resume mission planning to neutralize the infiltrating Somalis we'll be responsible for finding while he's gone. Max effort on this, guys. We have to know if the Sarin is en route or already here. It's not very stable and degrades quickly. A short shelf-life to use the vernacular so we have a short window of time for any attacks."
"Also, two more CIA agents will be temporarily added to our little family. Agents Walker and Larkin were his clusterfuck pickup team. I don't think the Boss is especially impressed with either of them since he assumed command of the operation. At least we know one thing will be done right in Somalia. That's it, chow down and get back to work."
Casey sat down across from Carrie Webb. "You know, it was just a matter of time until their paths crossed. You got nothing to be worried about. He's so far gone over you I doubt he even acknowledges her existence. Carrie, he loves you and you love him. Marry the guy and put him out of his misery. His sister's been his life, now he needs you to be a wife. You're all he's got now. He needs you. And I'm done playing matchmaker. You do what you want. You've always been a little crazy there, CIA Agent."
"Casey, I hope he still wants a relationship with me. I misread the whole situation. I know he loves me and I'm going to correct the mistake of not telling him I love him every day for the rest of my life. Satisfied, John?"
"For now, yeah. But I'm going to be keeping an eye on you, partner."
Somalia
CIA Hide Site
"Chuck, I need to tell you some things about the past year and about a plan I have…"