CHUCK VERSUS DAS BOOT (Chuck 6-07)
The seventh episode of an imaginary sixth season of Chuck nears port.
Disclaimer: I absolutely own no part of Chuck—but does anyone happen to know where I could buy some?
CHAPTER 9
Just after midnight on day five, and very near the Barockschloss Mannheim
Chuck, Sarah, and the Interpol agents have gotten as close to their quarry as they can without risking detection—they're hiding behind the big steel rollers of the City of Mannheim steamroller parked on the periphery of the false construction site. The Bartowskis are sharing a single pair of night-vision binoculars from the spy van, and take turns peering very carefully around the side of the machine, sizing up the situation.
They're both still wearing the formal attire they had on in the hotel, and Chuck is leaning lightly on his steel cane to take some of the load off of his wounded leg.
The tractor-trailer and jury-rigged propane bomb are about fifty meters directly in front of them. Another twenty meters or so off to one side, the shadowy silhouettes of Pjeter and his henchman are visible in an entranceway at the rear of the Baroque Palace. But they're only visible from the shoulders up, as they're mostly shielded by a brick wall extending out from the building. Even so, it's easy to see that Pjeter is agitated: shuffling and pacing in circles just as much as his injured neck lets him move about. His henchman dutifully follows him, holding a phone to the side of his boss's head so that he can carry on a conversation.
The bald Interpol agent, standing alongside Sarah and Chuck, is also on the phone, talking softly with his superiors. Eventually, he ends the call and turns to the others.
"The BKA has a team enroute—ETA is fifteen minutes," he informs them. "And backup from Interpol will be here in twelve or so. I've been designated the agent-in-charge."
He grins at Chuck and Sarah. "Oh—and as far as they all know, the two of you are still in your hotel suite—so kindly do your best not to get us in any new trouble."
Chuck grins at that, and Sarah asks, "What are our—umm, your—orders?"
"Stay concealed, keep watch…but be ready to take Malota out if he looks about to detonate that bomb."
"How can we know whether he is or not, from over here?" grumbles the long-haired agent, who is holding a rifle.
"Well I don't think he'll do it," suggests Sarah. "The hostages are his only bargaining chip. Not only with the BKA, but his own syndicate bosses too. They're probably none too pleased with him or Taschenratte now. I wouldn't be surprised if he's playing both sides for some kind of deal."
"Smart thinking, babe," notes Chuck in appreciation, as he subtly reaches down to squeeze his wife's hand. "And not only that, but look how close to the tanker those two are standing."
"Maybe the trigger requires line-of-sight?" asks the bald agent.
"Could be—but it also means that if Pjeter really intends to blow it up, first he'll have to move farther away, and that'd be a signal to us."
"I hope that you're right," the bald agent says fervently. "But as long as Malota holds the trigger, I'd feel better if we had a clear shot at him."
"I could get a clear shot—from above them," asserts Sarah. "From either of the two floors directly above that doorway. Take another look, sweetie."
Chuck peeks around the back of the steamroller once more with the infrared binoculars. He confirms Sarah's observation: there are indeed two stories of darkened windows extending directly above the heads of their antagonists.
"Looks good," he says. "If you break into the Palace and get up to the second or third floor, you'd have the high ground and the drop on both of 'em."
"Shouldn't take me more than four minutes," says Sarah. "Maybe three, if the alarm system's not too hard to override."
Chuck taps the earbud in his right ear. "You got that, Morgan? I need you to access the BKA database and find the alarm-system blueprints for the Baroque Palace."
His order startles both of the Interpol agents.
("I'm on it, boss," transmits Morgan from the inside of the Sprinter spy van, which is parked a few blocks away.)
"Hey—didn't you say you were only going to monitor their communications?" asks the long-haired agent, sounding concerned. "What's this about hacking into their database?"
Chuck shrugs. "Change is situational, guys. Just roll with us on this one."
"We seem to have no choice," the bald agent-in-charge concludes, then turns to address his partner:
"Right then. While Frau Carmichael moves into position, I want you to circle around back of the Barockschloss to intercept any escape attempts in that direction."
The long-haired agent nods in agreement.
"And I will station myself close to the trailer," continues the bald agent. "That way, if the situation…deteriorates…there might be enough time for me to shoot the lock off the doors and free the hostages before the bomb explodes. If luck is with us."
"Hopefully it doesn't come to that," says Sarah.
"Amen," adds Chuck.
"But they're keeping a constant watch on the trailer," the long-haired agent argues. "How will you get close without being seen?"
"I know how," says Chuck decisively. "We need a Magnet—and that would be me!"
Sarah gulps and grabs his right arm.
"No, Chuck—it's too risky! You can barely walk, let alone run!"
"Exactly. So I won't seem much of a threat to 'em."
"I still don't like it. Pjeter's just too violent, too unpredictable!"
"What's a Magnet?" asks the long-haired Interpol agent.
"A distraction. I can walk out there and draw their attention to me."
"You really think that would be a good idea?"
"No!" Sarah cuts in. "Is anyone even listening to me?"
"Well…it would also let me get a close look at the triggering device that Pjeter's using, and maybe the detonator too. Who knows—I might have to disarm it in a hurry. It so happens I'm pretty good at that stuff."
"Now it makes a little bit more sense," the bald agent says. "Just a little, though."
"That's good enough for me," replies Chuck.
Sarah sighs deeply. "All right…okay…but only if I get into position first. And…I want you to wear a vest!"
"Where would we get—" the bald agent starts to complain, until he's cut short by Alex's reply in each of their earpieces:
("We brought one with us! It's right here in the van!")
"Great," replies Sarah. "Have Morgan bring it over here right away. But carefully!"
("He's busy searching for the alarm specs," says Alex. "I'll come bring it to you.")
"Negative," Sarah fires back. "We can't let you. We made a promise to your dad."
("Ummm…well then that just leaves us with…uhhh….")
There's an awkwardly protracted pause…during which everyone can hear the excited voices of Jeff and Lester in the background, imploring Morgan and Alex to Let us help! Let us go! We can do it!
Chuck mutes his earpiece and mutters to Sarah, "Tell me again why we didn't just leave the two of them back in the hotel."
"You mean without any adult supervision?"
"Riiiight. That's why."
Barely a minute passes before Lester and Jeff come running with the gunmetal-grey Kevlar-and-ceramic vest. Panting excitedly like two retriever puppies, they crowd in with the others behind the big steamroller.
"Here you go! See, we did it! We're still ace spies like you, right? What's the plan?"
"Ssssh!" the long-haired Interpol agent hisses, and puts a finger to his lips.
"Thanks, boys," says Sarah quietly as she slips Chuck's tie off, then takes the proffered vest from Jeff.
Chuck shucks his suit jacket, and Sarah carefully fastens the protective garment around her beloved's upper body. She double-checks and triple-checks it to make sure it's fully secure. Then she gives Chuck a brave smile—even as tears well up in her eyes.
"It's all right, babe," he tells her tenderly. "You know I've been in a lot riskier situations than this. Are you okay?"
"Must be the hormones," Sarah answers with a little sniffle.
Chuck slips his jacket back on—a bit of a tight fit, but it works.
("Found the specs," Morgan breaks in. "Sarah, I can talk you through the disarm when you get to the alarm box at the service door.")
"Good—thanks, Morgan," Sarah replies. Then, with worry tensing her beautiful face, she throws her arms around Chuck's neck.
"You better be careful," she whispers in his ear.
He chuckles, and whispers back, "Of course I will. See you in a few minutes."
"It'll be a damn long few minutes."
They kiss—and then Sarah slips away into the black night, soundlessly sprinting toward the front of the Barockschloss. The two Interpol agents sneak off in opposite directions, leaving Jeff and Lester behind with Chuck.
"What do we do now?" asks Jeff.
"Can we stay here and watch?" asks Lester.
"You do realize that's a full tanker of highly inflammable propane, don't you?"
"But aren't we safe behind this cold metal beast?" Lester softly taps (pinnk!) on the hefty rear roller of the hulking Mannheim steamroller that conceals them.
"Can't guarantee it…but yeah, probably."
"And you might still need our help, so we should stay!"
Chuck starts to shake his head no…then thinks better of it.
"Guess I really can't stop you anyway," he reasons. "So okay. But please—please!—stay right here and keep quiet. Really quiet! Yours are not the only lives that might depend on it."
He hands the night-vision binoculars to Jeff. "And if Sarah or I happen to yell for you to do something—like maybe, run!—you do it! Without thinking. Without hesitation. We got a deal?"
Ecstatic, Jeff and Lester together reply, "Deal!"
"Ssssh!" Chuck hisses at them, frantically making downward waving motions with his hands. "Not so loud!"
Five minutes later
"Was verdammt!" cries Pjeter's henchman at the sudden sight of Chuck: limping his way through the fake construction site in their direction, steadying himself with his cane, and waving a white handkerchief high over his head.
The henchman starts to raise his rifle, but Pjeter holds out a shaky hand to stop him.
"I just wanna talk!" Chuck hollers at them, stopping momentarily. "I'm unarmed!"
"Unarmed? You're supposed to be drowned, you geek!" retorts the henchman.
"Then I'd be a ghost of a geek—and a ghost can't harm you, can it? So may I join you two gentlemen...? You haven't shot me yet, so I'll take that as a yes!"
Chuck resumes his inelegant hobble forward.
(From above, concealed in a darkened third-floor room in the Barockschloss, her nose pressed to the window and her long-barreled pistol in hand, very much on edge, Sarah alertly watches her husband draw steadily nearer to the two bad guys.)
Pjeter smiles and growls something indecipherable in Chuck's direction.
"What'd he just say?"
"Herr Malota asked you: how does your leg feel?"
"Fantastic!" replies Chuck. "Thanks for asking! Guess I don't have to ask you how your neck's doing!"
Pjeter starts to laugh at the retort—then quietly winces at the pain that causes him.
When Chuck gets to within about three meters of him, Pjeter wheezes, "Close…enough…"
"Nice vest you got," says the henchman, who then casually points his rifle up toward Chuck's head.
Chuck stops in his tracks, stuffs the handkerchief in his jacket pocket, and leans forward on his cane, studying the two men.
Pjeter eyeballs him back. "Zo…you are a spy…or…Polizei? BKA…zent to…help negotiate…?"
"Something like that. You must know that your phone call's been traced. And that there'll be a whole lot of well-armed agents all over the place in just minutes."
"Not…vorried about…zat."
The muscular blond sneers at Chuck and holds out the triggering device at arm's length to taunt him…bingo! Chuck flashes on it, and in just a half-second the Human Intersect inerrantly identifies the device…and how it works.
"Would you really kill all those innocent kids?" asks Chuck angrily.
The question gives Pjeter pause, but then he says, "If…if I had to, ja."
Then he displays his smartphone in his other hand.
"Fortunately…your superiors….vant to deal with us. Zo. I…expect a return…call…any minute now."
Clearly visible to Chuck—but out of Pjeter's sight—the expression on the henchman's face gets much darker.
"Und…vere is Frau…Carmichael?" Pjeter asks.
"She prefers to avoid confrontation."
Another laugh and another pained wince from Pjeter.
"I suspect…not. She…is nearby. Maybe I vill…heh!...confront her once more, ja? Repay...her...for zis!" He points to his bulky cervical collar.
"If you ever see her again," growls Chuck, "it'll be from behind the bars of a prison cell!"
"Don't be so...sure…I…may…be out of the country…very zoon…." Pjeter looks at the screen of his phone in anticipation.
Curiously, his henchman unobtrusively lowers his rifle, rests it against his side, and unlatches the strap of a holstered handgun on his belt. Pjeter still hasn't noticed anything, but Chuck tenses for a fight-or-flight response.
Suddenly the phone buzzes! This time, Pjeter creakily lifts it to his ear himself. He converses softly—barely above a whisper—in German, for about a minute. Then he hangs up and grins victoriously.
"Ze deal is done!" he rasps, his strained voice nearly cracking. "Ulrich…is going to testify…against the syndicate…for a reduced zentence…und go into vitness protection. So…shall…I!"
"That's a deal way sweeter than you deserve," says Chuck scornfully.
"I couldn't agree more," the henchman snaps—then yanks the pistol from his holster, whirls…and (BLAMM!) shoots Pjeter point-blank in the chest!
Pjeter topples onto his back on the cold pavement: eyes confused, mouth agape.
Momentarily paralyzed by uncertainty, Chuck looks on as the henchman-turned-assassin steps astride his boss and points the gun at his forehead.
"Herr Malota, we no longer require your services." (BLAMM!) The assassin calmly bends to reach for the triggering device in the dead man's pocket….
Then—(BASSSH!—tinkle!—tinkle!)—Sarah smashes out the window in front of her and aims her own pistol down at the assassin!
"Freeze! And drop that gun!"
"Ohhh—not so fast madame!" He brandishes the bomb trigger, with his thumb hovering over the button, ready to activate it!
"To the contrary—you drop your gun! Out the window, of course."
Sarah glares at him for a moment—then reluctantly lets go of her weapon. It lands directly beneath her with an ominous clunk!
"You are most accommodating. Machs gut, my dear!"
With surprising speed, the assassin raises his own gun and (POWW!) fires a shot directly at her!
Chuck gasps and looks up in horror at the now-vacant third-floor window. Then he lunges vehemently at the assassin—but he's hobbled by his thigh wound, and the man brutally knocks him over with the butt of his pistol. He grins evilly down at Chuck.
"Just a couple more loose ends to tie up, Herr Carmichael—then I'll be on my way."
He presses the trigger! Red LEDs flash on the device, and the detonator on the propane tanker comes to life!
"No—you can't!" Chuck scrambles to his feet and grabs for the triggering device, but the assassin manages to hold him back just long enough to hurl the device away—over a high retaining wall—gone!
While over at the tanker, the display on the detonator reads 88 seconds…87…86…
Chuck desperately grapples with the assassin as he fights to work his gun arm free...he shoves Chuck backwards and points the gun at our hero's face—but just then Sarah pops back into the window above, looking truly pissed off, and holding a spare pistol! With her typical lightning speed she—(KRAKK!)—puts a bullet in the bad guy's shoulder, then—(KRAKK!)—another in his right leg!
The killer goes down alongside Pjeter Malota's body, and the gun bounces out of his grasp. Chuck kicks it away.
"Nooo!" screams the newly helpless assassin, gawking in terror at the live and very powerful bomb just a few tens of meters away from him.
Chuck spends a precious second to gaze up at his wife with a mix of relief and gratitude and love—and then he seizes his cane and starts limping as fast as he can toward the propane tanker!
(Music: "Fever," by The Black Keys)
"Chuck!" cries Sarah—who knows exactly what he intends to do. She gets to her feet and hurriedly searches the dim room—until she nearly trips over a long electrical cord running out to a floor lamp….
77…76…75….
As Chuck hobbles toward the propane tanker with maddening slowness, he hears—(BWANG! BWANG!)—the bald Interpol agent already shooting the padlocks off the rear door of the trailer that holds the hostages. Then he notices another sound…kind of a frightened mewling…from Jeff and Lester!
Chuck turns his head to see both of them peering fearfully out from opposite sides of the Mannheim steamroller—and that gives him a crazy desperate idea!
"Hey you guys!" he calls out to them. "I need you to start that thing up! Get it rolling in this direction! Do it! Hurry!"
"What? How?"
"Key's still in the ignition! I saw it! Figure it out! You're both smart!"
60…59…58 seconds….
Lester and Jeff goggle at each other, momentarily hesitant—and then they're clambering all over each other in their haste to get into the cab of the steamroller!
Chuck reaches the detonator as its timer passes 55 seconds. He runs his fingers over the whirring, LED-blinking matte-black plastic box: the size and shape of a quart milk carton, immovably attached to the exterior of the steel propane tank by a strong limpet magnet. He locates a concealed catch and gingerly removes the front cover, revealing a tangle of wires and electronic components garnishing a shaped charge of tan-grey putty-like C-4 explosive.
He flashes on the device—but this only confirms what he already suspected.
"I'm gonna need two minutes to disarm this safely and I've only got 50 seconds!" Chuck cries out in frustration. Nevertheless he heroically sets to work.
49…48….
The bald Interpol agent flings the back doors of the trailer open and jumps inside. He finds the young hostages awake, whimpering, pleading, and praying in a dozen different languages. They're also chained together—all of them! The end of the chain is secured to something he can't quite discern at the other end of the trailer interior.
"Damn," growls the agent as he stumbles in the dark through a gauntlet of closely crowded legs and arms, losing valuable time….
Crouched in the driver's seat of the Mannheim steamroller, Lester finds the ignition key and turns it…but nothing happens!
"It's not working, Jeff!" he shrieks girlishly, still gripping the key. "It's not working!"
But Jeff coolly cups his big hand over his partner's, and turns the key back halfway.
"It's a diesel, dummy! Give it a few seconds for the glow plugs to warm up…two Mississippi…three Mississippi…four…okay now…let's try it now!"
Together they twist the key home and—(brrrr-RUM-UMM-UMM!)—the diesel engine starts with a basso roar! The steamroller immediately starts moving—backwards!
"No!" shouts Jeff. "Wrong way! Chuck wanted it to go forward! Do something!"
33…32..31…30 seconds….
Back at the Barockschloss, Sarah is rappelling down from the third-story window using the long electrical cord….
Lester wildly grabs at the lever closest to him—which happens to be tilted backwards—and shoves it forward. Somewhere beneath his seat, gears go GRRRAAAH!—glink-glink! and the Mannheim steamroller abruptly shifts into forward…rolling in Chuck's direction at a leisurely pace.
Jeff leans out of the cab window to alert Chuck—but Chuck has already heard the steamroller rumbling toward him.
"Good work, Jeffster!" he yells, while staying fully focused on disengaging the wiring in the detonator. "Now get outta there and RUN! Run for your lives!"
Lester and Jeff gladly scramble down from the slowly moving machine and tear off, back to the safety of the spy van far down the street.
24…23…22….Chuck's been working far faster than he thought he could, but he's still barely halfway done. Fright-sweat begins to trickle into his eyes.
"No use! Not gonna make it this way!" He taps his earbud. "Interpol—what about the hostages?"
("Cutting 'em loose," comes the bald agent's reply. "Almost there.")
"You better hurry," Chuck urges him. "I mean—really hurry!"
("I'm counting on you, man! You told me you were good!")
17…16…15 seconds to detonation….
The bumping rumble of the Mannheim steamroller is getting louder. It's about twenty meters away and slowly closing in.
Chuck clamps both of his hands around the entire detonator housing and tries to wiggle it free. He clenches his jaws and his arm muscles spasm in pain—but the device doesn't budge; the magnet is too powerful.
"Guess it's Plan C," says Chuck fatalistically, as he rises to his feet. "This thing better not be shock-sensitive."
He lifts his sturdy steel cane straight up over his head and—(whang!)—slams the end down on the top of the detonator with all his might. It still doesn't move!
He does it again—(whung!)—and again, the detonator holds fast.
10…9 seconds….
Bitter anger suddenly swamps Chuck's fear of death, and he blindly flails away—
"Come on!" (WHANG!) "Damn you!" (WHONGG!) "MOVE!" (WHUNKK!—plopp!)
He did it! The detonator lies at his feet—still live—with 5 seconds to go…4….
Chuck snatches it up and flings it with all his remaining strength in the direction of the approaching steamroller. The detonator bounces once and comes to rest about half a meter in front of the leading roller.
Dizzily, stupidly, Chuck stands there fully exposed, watching—but Sarah arrives in time to dive at her husband from the side and tackle him to the ground! They land together with Sarah on top—but in the last fraction of a second remaining, Chuck somehow manages to twist them both over and gets his body atop hers to shield her.
The detonator disappears beneath the enormous steel roller and—(FWOOOOMMPP!)
The front end of the Mannheim steamroller rears up just a little in the blast, then thumps back to the pavement in the midst of a grey smoke cloud, and comes to a peaceful stop—apparently unaffected except for a spray of deep-black soot marks on the roller.
The propane tanker is intact; the trailer is undamaged…all is clear!
"Hey," murmurs Sarah, looking with freshly moist eyes up into Chuck's handsome, though now very scruffy, face.
"Hey," he responds—as dozens of heavily armed Interpol agents and German federal police come pounding into the scene with Senior Special Agent Dieter in the lead.
"Wait!" Sarah cries as she rolls herself back on top of Chuck and lifts her head to look anxiously toward the trailer. "The hostages? Vama!"
She's just about to leap to her feet and run over there—but Chuck grabs her arm and gives it a gentle squeeze.
"They're safe," he assures her. "Let's let the Interpol guys get the glory this time."
(Over by the Barockschloss, the long-haired agent stands guard over the prostrate, wounded, whining syndicate assassin…while at the fake construction site, the bald agent is shepherding all of the dazed but uninjured hostages out of the trailer—to the hearty applause of a crowd of police that has gathered around.)
Sarah smiles, nods in agreement, and drops back down onto her guy to kiss him rapaciously. At that moment Dieter jogs past, clucking his tongue in amusement at the prone passionate couple in their disheveled semi-formal attire.
"Mädchen auf der Oberseite, ha!" (Subtitled: Girl on top, ha!)
Stay tuned for the Epilogue!