Thespywholovedme11
A/N: This chapter is pivotal and has a certain degree of physical discomfort and necessary angst. Live with it or skip it and wait for the next couple of chapters and be considered an emotional coward…lol. You'll also miss one of, if not THE salient point of this entire exercise.
APR
Nik's Notes: As promised. Your Angst. Don't look for much from me. I'm getting busy. he's coming home.
Unknown location
Two days after the Montreal mission
The man examined the photograph and the looked over at the nervous man standing before his desk. "You are certain this is the woman who spent 'time' with our Planner the night before he disappeared? What do you know of her?"
"Her name is Sara Gamble. She's an American citizen who arrived here to meet her husband, reason unknown. She departed alone the following morning via commercial air travel to Washington, DC and from there to Los Angeles. We have informants planted at all airports and it was easy to get the surveillance footage. She left the terminal and drove her white 2005 Porsche out to the interstate. We have no further information."
"Los Angeles, hmmm? Alert our CIA plants in substations Los Angeles and San Francisco. Provide this photograph. See if she's one of theirs."
"Yes, Director. And if she is?" He wanted definite instructions.
"Kill her. Make it look like an accident. I doubt if she knows where our Planner was taken. She was just bait. This whole operation was highly compartmentalized. I've instituted complete closure of all operations the Planner was involved in. It won't matter what he tells them that way. We'll have to leave Montreal, of course. And sacrifice a few of the lesser ranks. A pity. Dismissed."
CIA Substation – Los Angeles
Agent Charles Decker received a coded message to meet with a Fulcrum agent later in the day. He hadn't intended to betray his country but he had a young daughter and one day she'd disappeared on the way home from school and he'd received a threatening call about her safety.
"Your daughter is unharmed and will be released on the corner of the school yard at 10pm. Meet a man at that same corner at 9pm. Come alone. Do not alert your superiors or the police. The results would be unfortunate for your pretty 9-year old."
Of course he follow his instructions. She was his little girl. He never saw the man's face, just heard his cold voice telling him that he would receive requests for 'information' from time to time and that so long as he complied, his daughter was safe.
When he returned to his car, his daughter was sleeping in the front seat. She'd been drugged but wasn't otherwise harmed. Over the next two years he received various contacts by phone and complied. Usually it was nothing more than confirming staffing, transfers of personnel, identities of 'guests' at various facilities, nothing really harmful or treasonous until now.
He met his contact that night at the same corner of the schoolyard he'd met him at 2 years prior. The implication wasn't lost to him. His daughter was still in jeopardy.
"Do you know this woman?" He looked at a photograph of Jennifer Burton and grimaced. "Yes, she's an agent just transferred from Treasury's WitSec division. She's based here in Los Angeles. She's married to a civilian, Charles Bartowski. What…"
"Excellent. You may leave now. We'll be in touch." He waited a few seconds and rolled down his window and called Decker back to him.
"One more thing…" He shot him twice in the chest with a silenced pistol when he turned at the query and then drove away.
The next two months were extremely routine. Chuck and Casey routinely went out and did feats of incredible daring, doing the unnecessary for the ungrateful (Beckman & Co). Jenny was teamed occasionally with Bryce the Lecherous Leper to run routine ops against suspected Fulcrum functions, picking up and passing critical data flash drives to undercover operatives throughout Latin and South America.
Chuck returned to LA after 3 days spent locating, chasing, and arresting a hacker who had broken into DARPA labs' computer system and taken classified data and development plans for a new Predator-type stealth drone and corrupting the resident files before exiting. He was 15 and Casey wanted to kill him and Chuck wanted to spank him. Beckman had him arrested and he soon became a face on a milk carton and a 'guest' of the Moab facility.
He was in a foul mood. Beckman refused to listen to his argument that the kid could be better used to hacker-proof government systems than being put down in the bowels of the earth. Her response: "I'm being extremely merciful because of his youth. If he were 18, Casey would have killed him."
Jenny had left a note saying she was out of town for a few days filling in at one of the rehab satellite centers for a staff member with a sudden family emergency.
That makes 4 times in as many months. I know she loves her job and is very dedicated to her patients but this is getting ridiculous. I've only done the occasional overnight, except for this trip to Taos, New Mexico to pick up the hacker. Maybe I'll ask Casey to use his contacts and see what's up with TLC.
Chuck found having the intersect was very frustrating at times. Sometimes all he had to do was think about something and the data flowed whereas other times a visual cue was required. The data he pulled out of the intersect was sometimes old and out of date and other times, the files were incomplete or were corrupted.
The entire Omaha Project was a slap-dash affair. But sometimes the information was incredibly accurate, concise and timely. Those moments made the whole headache thing worth it.
He grabbed his coat and went out to grab some dinner and then go back to the Castle and do some more work on the intel dailies. When he pulled out of the lot and headed to the restaurant he didn't notice that he'd picked up a tail. His mind was on other things.
Chuck hated eating alone. He hated being alone. Alone was defined as being without Jenny. He was alone a lot lately.
Her job seemed to be involving more and more travel to 'cover' for staff at other locations, to receive updated training on new rehabilitation therapies and equipment and additional certification. He was proud of her dedication to her job and he knew she loved it. Still he absolutely hated being alone.
When the waitress came to take his order he looked up at her and smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I just don't feel like eating alone. Sorry to have bothered you." He stood, left a $5 bill on the table and walked out of the restaurant.
He was pulling out into traffic when Jenny called.
"Hey, baby, it's me. I'm at the airport. Can I catch a lift home? I left my car at the office parking garage. We can swing by and pick it up there. Cheaper than long term parking. Have you eaten yet? I'm starved. Could we stop someplace on the way home? How are you? You're not mad are you?"
He had to laugh. He still couldn't get a word in edgewise when she talked on the phone until she paused as if to say 'Your turn'.
"No, I haven't eaten either. I'll be there in 30 minutes. We'll stop on the way back and then pick up your car, Jennifer, and we'll talk."
He hadn't really meant to be so curt but he hated driving and talking on the cell phone at the same time.
He thought again about the elephant in the room whenever they were apart.
'To hell with Beckman. She's my wife and she'll keep her mouth shut. I'll explain everything except about the thing in my head, this 'burden'. I'll tell her I'm an agent of the National Security Agency and have been involved since before we met. Yeah, that's it. That'll work.'
Jenny Burton Bartowski stared at her cell for a moment and then put it away in her jacket pocket.
He called me 'Jennifer' and he never does that unless he's ticked off or mad or deadly serious about something. It's his emotional 'tell'. He was angry about something – probably her ill-timed and poorly explained absence.
Oh, yeah. "Chuck, I'm a CIA agent and I and another agent, Ok, a guy, just spent a few days stealing flash drives from bad guys. Oh, did I mention it was in South America? Or that I slept in the same bed with someone not my husband? Nothing happened, baby, I promise."
That sounded lame, even to her. It was the truth and she knew how he valued the truth. They hadn't even been together a year yet and already she was bringing lies into her marriage.
OK. I'll tell him tonight. In bed where I can wrap my arms and legs around him and keep him from leaving in disgust until I can calm him down. Yeah. I'll tell him tonight.
His tail followed a discrete distance behind his SUV. "He's heading for the airport. Probably to pick up the target. Call for backup. We'll make our move when they're both in the SUV and heading home." He watched his lo-jack display and followed the blinking icon of the target vehicle as it drove towards LAX.
LAX
Arrivals
Jenny hopped in the SUV after throwing her suitcase into the backseat. She leaned over and kissed her husband hungrily, holding his head between her hands and thoroughly enjoying his response. Her tongue double-tapped his lips and she enjoyed a little tongue and tonsil hockey before someone behind them blew their horn angrily.
"God, I missed you, baby. I'm so glad to be home. I'm starved. Are you hungry? Did you miss me?"
"Yeah, Jenny. I missed you and yes, I'm hungry. Let's eat and then go home or we can pick up some Thai or Indian take out. Whichever you prefer."
He pulled out into traffic and smiled as she prattled on about her trip, the people she'd met and how excited she was about the new techniques they'd been shown.
"Backup's in position to pick up the mark. We'll pinch the SUV off and ram them into the construction dividers. We will pull up beside them and the tractor will push them into the concrete divider. You sure you fixed the brakes and the rest of it?"
"I've done this before. Equipment malfunctions are so commonplace today. Shoddy workmanship. A real shame."
They both laughed. It was true but in this case, arranged.
The backup vehicle made its move about a quarter mile from the road construction. The lead vehicle pulled up along side Chuck's SUV and hung there while the backup vehicle, a large Freightliner tractor minus the trailer pulled up behind Chuck and then both vehicles slammed into Chuck's SUV.
Instinctively, Chuck slammed on his brakes but the pedal sank to the floor. The small pinhole in the brake lines expanded with the sudden pressure and ruptured leaving him with no brakes.
The lead vehicle slammed into Chuck again and Jenny screamed and started pawing through her purse for her pistol. The tractor slammed into them from behind and pushed the vehicle into a concrete road divider at nearly 70mph before turning to follow the lead vehicle north to a dumpsite.
The front end crumpled as designed on impact but nothing else went right. The airbags failed to deploy and the seat belts failed and Jenny Burton Bartowski was thrown through the windshield and out of the vehicle. Her husband's legs were crushed against the dash and the steering wheel crushed against his chest. He suffered severe facial lacerations.
Chuck's special 'On-Star' NSA equipment signaled a crash and things went to Hell shortly thereafter.
Two separate ambulances responded as police routed traffic away from the crash scene. John Casey appeared about twenty minutes after the wreck occurred and waited impatiently while EMTs from the NSA' special unit cut his partner from the wreckage. Another ambulance had already removed his wife's body from the scene.
"Beckman, secure. What is it, Major. It's late and…"
"Someone ran Cardinal off the road. It was deliberate. Witnesses state that two vehicles were involved. One vehicle pushed him toward the guard rail and a tractor pushed his vehicle into a concrete road construction divider. His wife's body has already been removed. Seatbelts and airbags definitely sabotaged and I figure they got his brakes, too. They're cutting him out of the wreckage with torches."
"Have him taken to our NSA facility for initial workup. Then, as soon as he's able, get him to Moab for treatment. How does it look, John? Is he conscious?"
"Yeah, in and out. He's calling for his wife. The EMTs are ours. They're sedating him in case of a spinal injury. It's…it's bad, Colonel. His wife's apparently DOA. I have Chuck's power of attorney. I'll handle arrangements with their family attorney. I know they both have living wills and statutory wills."
"Keep me informed. I'll want his intersect retention tested as soon as he's able to speak."
Casey checked the address book in his cell and called Chuck and Jenny's attorney at home. He wanted copies of the couple's living wills in the hands of the physicians and he needed to know about 'arrangements' if one or probably both didn't make it.
Rob Shadow hung up the phone and went into his study. He'd known Chuck almost all his adult life and he'd met his charming wife soon after they married. He remembered that meeting very well.
"OK, Mrs. Bartowski, let's go through the formalities and then…"
"I have client privilege with you, Mr. Shadow, correct? What I say stays between us, right?"
"Of course. Now…"
"I'm a CIA agent and Chuck has no idea. It has to stay that way for his safety. If I die, you must follow these instructions to the letter, is that clearly understood?"
He was surprised and it showed. He tried to form a sentence but couldn't find the words. Chuck's wife was a CIA agent?
"You must call this number and identify yourself as my attorney and then tell them where the body is. They have procedures that must be followed. IF, if Chuck survives me, they'll probably follow my provisions in the will. If he doesn't, they follow protocols."
Shadow pulled her file up on his computer, found the telephone number and made the call. He told them what he knew of the accident, where the body had been taken and that the husband was DOA (as instructed by Casey for safety purposes).
CIA Emergency Medical Facility
South of Los Angeles
"We have an agent en route from a civilian hospital. Locals have been told she was DOA. This was definitely a professional hit. Husband's a civilian and we've learned he's dead at the scene. EMTs are cutting him out of the wreckage but he's dead."
"Our agent was ejected from the vehicle through the windshield. Be ready for major facial and cranial trauma.
CIA Rehab & Trauma Center
Langley, VA
The director himself came and visited her, offering his condolences on her loss but offering her an opportunity to avenge her husband. She leaped at the opportunity, not caring at all that it would mean painful reconstructive surgery (like she wanted to look like grated cheese) and a completely new identity.
"Jenny, you're dead. You died in that wreck. You were cremated and your ashes were spread out across the Pacific in accordance with your will. You were the target of an assassination, probably because of Montreal but we're not sure. We can give you a new face, a new identity and a new purpose. Take down Fulcrum. Are you in?"
She couldn't really speak. Her face was a mess and her throat had been severely damaged requiring intubation to save her life. She nodded as vigorously as she could.
Jenny had known that he was dead the moment she'd awakened. She felt…empty and disconnected. She'd screamed his name even though she couldn't make a sound.
Six months after Jenny Bartowski had been wheeled into the Rehab Center, Sarah Lisa Walker walked out. She still wasn't completely comfortable with her new legend and identity but she still retained one precious thing from her previous life.
Her trainer and therapist had both objected to retaining what they termed a useless piece of the past.
"There is no place for sentimentality in the spy business, Agent Walker. Either put it some place safe or throw it away. You cannot wear it." Her trainer had been blunt, as usual.
"Agent, this is an unhealthy reminder of what you no longer have. Believe me, a complete break with the past is healthy and necessary." The therapist who'd worked with her to overcome her grief and learn to function again was concerned with her constant references to the past.
She'd been really nice about it but essentially she'd told them both to 'fuck off' and wore the jeweled key Chuck had given her their first Christmas together. It was all she had left of him. It was all she needed.
The first thing she did after being released was to demand the reports concerning her 'accident'. She made copies and returned the originals to her supervisor telling him "I won't read them. I just want to have them. They'll go in the lockbox."
She'd lied through her brand new pearly white implanted teeth.
She cried for hours after reading the extent of his injuries, how he'd regained consciousness and had called out for her and then how he'd finally succumbed to his massive injuries in the hospital. He'd originally been reported as DOA but Jenny found entries that indicated he'd hung on for almost 48 hours before letting go.
There was no grave to visit. No ashes to keep in an urn on a mantle. In keeping with the terms of his will, he'd been cremated and his ashes spread out over the Pacific. She could live with that. It's what he wanted.
Sarah Walker joined a team of agents and analysts whose sole purpose was to identify and eliminate Fulcrum agents and facilities. She was cold, driven and totally without mercy when it came to dealing with Fulcrum scum. None of her teammates could ever remember seeing her smile or hear her laugh, but at least one, her partner, had seen and heard her cry.
NSA Facility
Moab, Utah
He hardly spoke except for what was minimally required by his duties, in answer to questions by the physical therapists that worked unstintingly to get him to walk and run and enable him to use his left arm again with only limited range of motion.
"We're really proud of how hard you've worked, Agent Carmichael. You should feel proud, too. You've come a long way in the months you've been here."
"Yeah. Thanks for all you've done. Can I go now?" His voice was husky and strained.
Casey came to visit him as often as possible and Chuck did most of the talking and that came as a pleasant surprise to those who monitored the conversations.
"John, I want out of here as soon as possible. I don't care what I look like. Chuck Bartowski is dead. I need a new identity and I want back in the field. I'm going to find every one of those Fulcrum bastards and kill them for what they did to Jenny."
"Chuck, take it easy. You'll be out of here before you know it. Um, honestly, man, you look like…your face…have you looked in a mirror?"
"I never was handsome, Casey. Yeah. I know what I look like. So what. I'm not out to impress them with my looks and if this freaky face scares them into talking, so be it."
"Chuck, Beckman's insisting on cosmetic surgery and some work on your voice. You can't be in the field if no one can understand what you say. I can, but I learned to listen after the first couple of visits. The average civilian or agent won't have a clue what you're saying."
"They understand 9mm, Casey. The universal language."
He underwent the surgeries and they did the best they could with his voice but it still sounded like he was hoarse. Hitting his throat on a piece of shattered steering wheel had done something to his larynx.
He felt he owed his very survival to Hell, well, Helen, who spent more time with him than anyone else. She was…unconventional at best and downright kinky at worst. Still, he owed her big-time. She'd crafted models of his skull and developed his new face. Too bad she couldn't do much for his voice.
The night before he was scheduled to be discharged she reached a decision. She had to know and Chuck, aka Charles Carmichael, was the object of her obsession and her decision. She was gay but there was something about Charles that stirred feelings she wasn't used to or comfortable with: heterosexual feelings.
Chuck was trying to sleep but it eluded him. There was a quiet knock on his room door and Helen slipped in. It was a Helen like he'd never seen before. Gone was the black lipstick, the boots, the leather clothing and the Goth look.
"Ishmael, I've never been with a man and I feel something for you. I want you to be my first and only man. Please, Ish, you owe me."
"We'll sleep together, but that's it. No sex. I'm married, Hell."
"Damn it, Ish, she's dead. I'm sorry but that's the way it is."
"I'm sorry too, Helen, but I'm still alive and I don't cheat, even on a dead woman."
She slipped out of his bed before 5am. He'd been gentle and loving but they hadn't done anything more than kiss and she had to initiate that. He finally asked her to stop and then took her in his arms and held her while she cried herself to sleep.
Chuck watched his best friend, his 'rock', leave and immediately felt her absence. The entire thing was ridiculous. She didn't love him and he didn't love her. It was just propinquity, nothing more. He realized it, she didn't. He missed her already but he had a role to play and she didn't fit in.
Casey came to pick him up 6 months after he'd been brought in. He also brought along his new partner and 'cover wife', Agent Carina Miller.
"Well, Charles, say hello to my partner, Carina Miller. She's ex-DEA and crossed over to us a while ago. Carina, this is my old partner, Charles Carmichael. He got banged up but he's back in the game now."
Chuck waited to see if she'd recognize him. She hadn't changed much. If anything, she was even more beautiful than before. He had had no idea that she was an agent when they dated. He almost asked if she remembered his wife but stopped himself. Jenny had been a civilian and he doubted Miller would have associated with her.
"Hello, Chuck. I'm Carina. John tells me you've done well here and are ready to get back to work. Level with me, Carmichael, are you really ready?"
"It's Charles, not Chuck. Yes, I'm ready. I've been ready since…I'm ready now. Casey, where are we based out of?"
"Same old place. Your new partner will be joining us soon. Don't shit a brick, Chuck, but Beckman was told to add a CIA puke to the team in exchange for full data sharing. Idiots have been holding out on us."
"Chuck, er, Charles…do we know each other? You look really familiar." Carina was looking at him in profile, going crazy trying to place his face and put a name to it. She knew he was a 'born again', with a whole new identity.
"Nope, don't think so. I'd remember a woman as beautiful as you are, Agent Miller."
"It's Carina, since we're going to be working so closely together, Charles. You look so damned familiar." She'd work at it like a rat terrier and maybe she'd make the connection. She hoped so.
"Casey, let's go home. Shit. I don't have a home anymore. It got sold in accordance with my will. Well, I'm rich. I'll just buy a condo near the beach. Uh, where's our stuff, y'know, from our place?"
"I got your stuff at my place and it's boxed up and ready for you. Make sure the condo's a two bedroom one, uh Charles. Your cover is that you're married to the CIA puke. You'll want two bedrooms."
Chuck's face turned white and he sat down on his bed, not trusting himself to stand at that moment. Carina was on him like stink on poop.
"Are you sick, Charles? Too much, too fast? Dizzy, nauseated?"
"No. No live-in partner. No way. Tell Beckman I said no 'married' cover. I work solo or not at all. I'll stay here and work the files. It's all she really wants. She'll be happy as a pig in shit."
"Damn it, Bartow…"
"Watch it, Major! It's Carmichael, remember?" he said sharply. His husky tenor sent a shiver down Carina's spine and she looked at him more closely than before.
Casey ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "She's the one who is insisting on the married cover. She's worried you'll eat your gun or something. Just go with it. Two bedrooms and you'll have transportation until they sign off on the convulsions. You know the rules. No agent can operate a motor vehicle or aircraft until 'event free' for a period of six months."
"Shit!"
Carina had sat there taking it all in. It couldn't be. He was dead. Casey told her he'd been killed right after he dropped the bomb that the man she thought she'd been in love with was an NSA agent.
She looked at him carefully. It had been two years. He was thinner, much thinner, and seemed stooped over as if in pain. There was gray in his closely cropped hair. His eyes were the big difference. They were dead.
She stroked his cheek with one finger and really looked at him, mentally elongating the nose, lowering the cheek bones and narrowing the chin and she gasped. She would never have seen the resemblance if not for Casey's aborted blurt.
"Agent Miller, please don't touch me. I'm ready to go, Casey, if you can get your foot out of your damned big mouth so you can walk."
CIA Headquarters
Langley, VA
"No. Absolutely not. I work with a team but not with a partner. And I will never accept a long-term cover as a wife. Find someone else, Director. It's not how I operate." I've already been a wife. No one could even pretend to be my husband.
"Apparently, Agent Walker, you're under the impression that the CIA exists to meet your needs and nothing could be further from the truth. Close out the three outstanding operations you have on the burner and then pack it up and report to Major Casey in Los Angeles."
"Director, please, not Los Angeles. I don't care what this knuckle dragging science experiment is capable of, please don't send me back to L.A."
"You have your orders, Agent Walker. From the reports I've read, you and the 'science experiment' will get along just fine. He hates Fulcrum with a passion and has registered 16 successful operations against them without a single failure. Well, there have been a few 'failures'. He doesn't like to take prisoners and he flaunts orders when it pleases him just like someone else we know."
"It'll take a month at least to close out the operations we've planned. Maybe two."
"You have until the end of this month to wrap it up or turn it over to your replacement. You owe us, the Agency, Walker. And now is the time we're asking for repayment."
He watched the blonde leave his office scarcely believing it was the same plain brunette whose hand he'd held all night while she grieved for her husband. She was right then. It had been her fault her husband was dead. Fulcrum had targeted her as a result of her success in Montreal.
"Beckman, secure. What is it, Director Graham?"
"Walker will be joining the team in L.A., General. She'll be there by the end of the month. As we presumed, she's dead set against the assignment but she'll carry it off. Oh, and congratulations on the stars, Diane. It's about time."
"I'll alert the team leader in L.A. Your Prima Dona had better not screw with my man out there. He's been through hell and then some just to walk and talk again. You got what you wanted – CIA representation on Team Intersect. To quote someone I actually admire, don't piss in the soup!" Her interest in the conversation was gone and she had things to do.
A/N: Sorry for the damnably long chapter but I didn't want ya'll to suffer. Confuse about Helen? Just read on.
APR
