A/N: Lots happening in this chapter. If you find yourself feeling a little lost at any point I recommend re-reading Chuck and Casey's meeting with Beckman towards the end of chapter 10 and Chuck and his dad's meeting all the way to the end of chapter 12. Don't worry, the chapter's not too complicated and answers a lot of questions.
Thanks to KateMcK for making some really great suggestions in this chapter. Any mistakes are due to my copious tinkering and not her oversight. Also, for the two of you that don't know, she's a great writer and you should check out the story she's currently working on, "A Common Spy Problem".
Oh ... and I own nothing in this chapter. Well I did have a chicken parmesan sandwich recently but ... well that's more like renting than ownership, right?
"He's gonna what?"
"Casey's gonna crash and burn in epic proportion is what he's gonna do. No one has ever been able to keep up with Jeff in an eating contest … without vomiting."
Chuck didn't have to fake a smile, seeing his friend's excitement. "And it's Ho Hos this time?"
Morgan snickered evilly.
"Well that should be a little more pleasant coming back than when Jeff and Fernando had that Easter-egg eating contest."
"I could have done without remembering that." Morgan shuddered.
"Wow, even the Mystery Crisper King is humbled. So what do you think got into Casey?"
"No idea. He never does this stuff ... but it's gonna be awesome." Morgan started hopping from foot to foot with unsuppressed glee, seeming like his old, non-AssMan self. Chuck felt sorry to disappoint him.
"Well, Buddy, I guess I'll draw the short straw this time and watch the store. Can't have everyone disappear."
"Yeah, you can. I'm the AssMa … assistant manager."
"And I want it to stay that way, which is why I can't abandon my post. Someone's gotta be here in case the customers start a riot."
"Am I gonna have to stage an intervention for you? It's the Buy More. No one cares."
"No one except the long lost Emmett."
"You know, I don't want to invoke policy with you, since we're friends and all, but that name is not to be spoken here."
"Sorry. Anyway, I'll have to miss this one."
"Your loss."
"Document it for me?"
"Are you kidding? I'll FaceTime it and you can watch it live." Morgan rushed off, likely to perform his MC duties, and Chuck smiled, feeling at least one small thing was right with the world.
The call came two minutes later as he knew it would. The only reason Casey would take part in the Buy More Olympics was in the line of duty, in this case, clearing the Nerd Herd desk to ensure Chuck would get the order for out-call service. Casey had taken Chuck's use of the word "emergency" very seriously.
The address was in North Glendale, a modest bungalow nestled in an LA mix of oak and palm trees. Chuck was impressed that the CIA had managed to make a safe house look so lived in, toys scattered about, yard maintained but not meticulously, driveway slightly marred with automotive stains.
The CIA officer who met him at the door seemed very young and Chuck was not surprised when he failed to flash on her face. "So I hear you have a computer emergency?"
"You're here so quickly."
"You caught me at a good time. Our cue is the shortest it's been in months"
"Please come in. You're the first people we call now since you fixed our old computer back in August of 2008."
Code phrases exchanged, Chuck relaxed and looked around. He was even more impressed with the hominess of the interior. The officer cleared her throat seeming expectant.
"Oh right. One more authentication thingy. Eight six juliet mike five niner five charlie x-ray uniform niner two zulu." Chuck realized too late that he probably should have used the normal alphabet since he wasn't speaking over the phone. The young officer's wry smile had him feeling sheepish.
"Welcome Mr. Carmichael. I'm supposed to ask you for your mobile and watch."
His sudden panic must have been apparent.
"... so your tail can't follow." Her expression rested somewhere between reassurance and rolling her eyes.
Ah …right. Get in the game, Chuck.
He activated the signal-cloning app on his phone then handed it and his watch over, realizing Sarah and Casey wouldn't be able to track him now either.
"Your ride is in the garage of the house directly behind this one. You'll find a ladder next to the big oak in the back for hopping the fence."
I wonder why we can't do the meeting here. It occurred to him then, looking at the photos and portraits in the hall, that the CIA might not have owned either this or the house behind it. This charade was going down in peoples' actual homes! Is that even legal? Hope they know the owners' schedules. And I guess this means Beckman thinks the CIA's safe houses have been compromised. Great. Is there anything that isn't?
"Greet your driver as Mr. Chomin and tell him you'd like to go to your suite."
His ride turned out to be a Toyota minivan with tinted windows and a humorless, nearly mute driver. Once Chuck gave the code phrase and buckled in, his driver backed out of the garage and set off without a word. He took Chuck on a circuitous route through Glendale to a cheap motel with the faux alpine façade which, for some odd reason, had been popular in the seventies. Before Chuck hopped out, the driver handed him a room key and pointed in the direction of a room. Chuck looked across the sparsely populated lot. He hadn't seen his tail since back at the house but he still felt trepidation at the thought of being so exposed.
The room the key opened was empty except for sparse furnishings and a briefcase resting on a low table which supported the old CRT TV. Guessing, Chuck dialed a four-digit number Casey had forced him to memorize into the case's combo-lock. It popped open to reveal the same antenna and laptop pair they'd used for previous secret meetings with Beckman. He remembered, as he flipped open the laptop and saw the prompt on the screen, that Casey or Sarah had always needed an encryption key to start the countdown for the connection. Thinking that the fob on the room key might be a flash-drive, he pulled at one end. Instead of revealing a USB connector, however, he pulled out a long strip of paper with numbers and letters printed on it. He entered these and a countdown clock popped up on the screen.
As he waited, Chuck took in the vintage 70s décor. He'd always felt vaguely uneasy in rooms where things had been left unchanged for such a long time. It was like those places had been set outside of time and forgotten and if he stayed too long he might never be able to leave. It was a unique neurosis, he knew.
A crinkling sound to his left caught his attention. He looked down to see the strip of paper with the numbers and letters disintegrate into ash and drift slowly to the floor.
Okay, this is too much. Where's Peter Graves? In his best Bob Johnson voice he said, "This tape will self destruct in ten seconds."
He started to snicker but the creepy silence of the room took the amusement out of it. To combat his nerves he resorted to practicing the memory discipline Sarah had been teaching him. Since he was about to talk with Beckman, he attempted to remember as many details as possible about her office, as seen through the monitor. He started with the General herself and every wrinkle ... twinkle in her eye, then let his focus drift over her shoulder to the framed picture behind her and …
Huh …
Something tickled his memory about the previous Saturday night's meeting, from before they had tranqed and tagged Shaw.
I wonder if that's how … no! Was he … all this time? No!
The General came on the monitor then. Seeing the big glass framed print behind her, Chuck realized that he'd had the biggest clue sitting right in front of his face.
"Bartowski?"
"General." Chuck waited several beats before he realized the General was glaring at him expectantly. "Right. Uh … where do I start?"
"Oh for God's sake, is this an emergency or not! Just give me the abridged version."
Yeesh. They must've put an extra helping of grumpy in the NSA coffee today? "Uh, okay. So, I was talking to my dad …"
"What? You met with your father? With your surveillance? Where is he?"
"I don't know. Not captured, if that's what you're worried about. That wasn't the emergency though. So …"
"You let him go? Was Walker or Casey with you?"
"Sarah was … look, General, we couldn't get him to stay because the Ring knew he was in the area and they were closing in. As it was, they missed seeing him by less than a minute."
"Fine. What's the emergency then?"
Chuck wondered how it was that, even though he was bringing the General possibly the first big lead in their investigation of Shaw, he was still made to feel like he'd screwed the pooch. Suddenly very frustrated he launched into the explanation of his suspicion, not giving her an opening to speak. Despite not having prepared, he made it through in one try. Finally he paused and Beckman put her hand up to silence him.
Damn it! Just because this isn't coming from Casey or Sarah doesn't mean it's wrong.
To his surprise, however, she accepted his theory and offered to give him exactly what he was asking for, but she was dubious about the length of time required to send the files over their current connection, particularly with the level of encryption being used.
Good lord! And she's head of the NSA? Isn't this what they do?
She promised she would get right on it and have the files to him by courier later that evening. It was the first time Chuck had ever seen Beckman seem apologetic. He barged ahead then, hoping her contrite mood would give him an edge in asking his second request. It didn't.
"Mr. Bartowski …" He always knew he'd pushed it when she emphasized that he had yet to become a CIA officer. "… Under no circumstances are you entitled to ask for the Delta Files."
"General, my father seemed to think they were important to the Shaw investigation. Something about Winbaugh …"
"Winbaugh? He's not in those files."
So helpful. Fine. We'll play it that way. "Who is Winbaugh?"
"Not relevant."
"Fine, I guess I'll look into it myself."
"Bartowski!" Beckman visibly clenched her jaw then spoke. "Winbaugh was a PI Eve Shaw's brother hired to investigate her murder. I assure you, there's nothing about him in the Delta Files."
"Okay. Why not? What are the Delta Files?"
"They're none of your concern."
And around and around we go. I'm not giving up, General. "You are aware of everything in my head, right?"
"The growing hole in the lining of my stomach is evidence of how completely aware I am of what's inside your head. However … there are some files that are too top secret even for the Intersect. I don't even know all of what's in there. Those files have effectively been deleted … more like suppressed ... and I'm not changing the status of those files based on your father's suspicions."
Hmmmm. What would they want to hold back from the Intersect? Maybe something embarrassing to our government … or to certain individuals in the government? Does our tiny General have a skeleton or two in the closet? You gotta go for it, Chuck.
"General, you yourself have pointed out the stakes of our situation several times. We're talking about the integrity of our republic and democratic processes here. The Constitution would be meaningless if the Ring or Shaw got what they wanted. Now my father thinks there's something relevant in those files and I think he probably knows a thing or two about the Intersect. So don't hold out on me because you're worried about me seeing something embarrassing about one of your friends!"
Despite beginning with righteous frustration, Chuck felt his resolve eroding by the mountain-full in front of her wrath, even considering an apology by the time he reached the end of his rant. Before he got the chance, however, she spoke, shaking in her effort to restrain her anger.
"When your father comes out of hiding, he and I are going to have a long ... long ... talk." She took a long slow breath, her fury ebbing as she exhaled. "Okay, Bartowski, I'll make you this compromise. You'll get the de-suppression device but you will access only that which is relevant to Winbaugh! If there's nothing in the files on him, then that's that and you will not access anything else. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am ... sir … General."
"Once you've seen your files you will activate the device again and suppress them. Again, understood?"
"Yes General."
"You've had an unusual road to becoming a CIA trainee so your insubordination has been tolerated in the past. I want you to understand that tolerance ends here. You will obey me on this. If I hear anything about those files coming back to me from any channels, with the exception of what I've authorized you to look up, then there is no safe place for you on this Earth! You don't want me as your enemy, Bartowski. "
"No General." His voice box failed to engage and it came out as a whisper.
"I'm glad we understand each other. Expect the courier seven to eight pm your time."
As usual, she was gone before he could ask another question and, as usual, Chuck was left with the distinct feeling of having been rebuked. The screen flashed a terse sentence, "Leave the brief case and contents", then went dark. Chuck didn't stick around to enjoy the room's anachronistic creepiness.
As he watched the shop fronts and apartment complexes of Glendale through the minivan's windows, the realization began to dawn on him that he had actually gotten both things he'd asked for. Although it also dawned on him that none of it would have happened if it wasn't for his father. All this time their investigation had turned up virtually nothing, but then a three minute talk with his dad had given them their biggest lead yet. Somewhere along the way his little team had started playing ball far outside of its league.
Oh yeah. This is the life.
Out of Chuck's entire love hate relationship with the late Bryce Larkin, there was one thing he could feel unambiguously thankful for. At the end of a crappy day Chuck had always wanted one of two things, a beer or a long shower, but Bryce had been the one to ask, "why choose?" And why indeed? The combination was nothing short of one of mankind's greatest inventions. So great, and so seemingly obvious, in fact, that when Chuck had recently installed a new piece of hardware in the shower, perfectly shaped to hold a beer bottle, Morgan hadn't even needed to ask why.
Chuck took a swallow of the Redtail he'd picked up from the corner market and tried to let the alcohol and hot water wash away a persistent prickle of guilt. Casey deserved the poor man's hot tub treatment far more than he did. The man had indeed taken one for the team that afternoon.
As predicted, the eating contest had ended in vomiting, though it was Jeff, not Casey, who'd finished driving the porcelain bus. Even so, it was obvious that Casey had drawn the worse fate. Chuck had returned from his meeting with the General to find the big man laid out across a table in the break room, a continuous gravelly moan coming from his mouth, and strange, whale-like sounds coming from his middle. He didn't need the steely death-glare to tell him that he owed the man … again.
Fortunately Casey's situation had improved and he was now convalescing at home with a bottle of Pepto at his side. This left Chuck more or less on his own, his other partner having gone home for the night. She'd sent him a brief text, "Lots of work. Staying home 2night. Call U later. Love U. S.", which he wasn't quite sure how to feel about. On the one hand, this gave him a respite from what was sure to be a scary discussion, but on the other, he didn't like not knowing where that conversation would lead. The suspense left an acid ball in his stomach. Regardless he knew he'd be pining for her tonight.
He looked down at his bottle. Crap. Even my beer left me.
With a heavy sigh, he ended the shower and dried off. Scary discussion or not, he realized he wanted to talk to Sarah. He'd learned some interesting things today and wanted to share. Shaw's surveillance everywhere had made this impossible to do earlier. It was not a comforting thought that, aside from Beckman, no one else knew what he suspected. Now it only took two murders, albeit one of a general, to keep the conspiracy secret. He hoped Beckman could trust her staff more than she seemed to trust the CIA.
Towel around waist, he slipped back into his room as quietly as possible, attempting to be the considerate roommate; Morgan and Fabrice were enjoying a romantic dinner in the front room. As he dressed he pondered the problem of Shaw's surveillance. He would be getting some extremely sensitive intelligence from Beckman so he couldn't have Shaw reading over his shoulder. There were a number of tiny cameras and bugs throughout the house, including the bathroom — at least in the past, Casey had left him some privacy — and the number and placement was constantly changing. The only safe way to go was to take them all out simultaneously, which meant frying both the primary and secondary transceivers.
Heh! Might give that fucker a little surprise. That'd be worth it in itself.
In actuality, Chuck was a little worried that he had no idea how Shaw would react if all his surveillance went down at once, so he decided he'd wait till the courier got there before doing anything about it. With time to kill he indulged in a little blog surfing, both curious and afraid to see how the vote was going. The stream of election-day updates reminded him of the imprinting prefixes his father had found in campaign ads and, wondering how they would affect the Intersect, he went searching. He pulled up a commercial on You Tube from one of the candidates mentioned in Ellie's list and played it. Nothing happened in the first few seconds and it occurred to Chuck that his Internet traffic was, no doubt, being monitored. He wouldn't have the luxury of searching through more videos from candidates on that list. If this one didn't have the prefix then ...
Well … how about that.
About fifteen seconds into the video he'd felt the distinct nystagmus and disconcerting rush he associated with a download or flash, though it was one of the mildest he'd ever experienced. Also, no images or messages followed.
Just like Dad said … only the prefix. Well what's the point of that? Flashes aren't exactly pleasant. I can't see how that would make me want to vote for … oh …
Chuck had to restrain himself from smacking his head.
Well that's clever. Lets see that again. Yup! The candidate's face comes on screen, then boom ... negative experience right on top of it. Oh … and on top of his name at the end too. Sonofabitch! That's gotta be more effective than any negative campaign ad. It doesn't even matter if the sound is on. So ... they must have plants in the rival campaigns to insert this stuff. That's pretty brazen. They have to know the CIA can decrypt those prefixes … unless … oh shit! Oh shit!
A knock on his window sent his heart into his larynx. He turned, wishing he'd listened to Sarah's admonitions to keep a weapon in his room, then relaxed when he saw the figure through the window. A twenty-something delivery driver from Buona Pizza stood outside looking alert.
You coward, it's Beckman's guy. Keep it together.
Chuck had become enough of a regular at Buona that the delivery guys now went straight to the Morgan door, which was an especially convenient cover for the courier. Chuck opened the window, eyes scanning the courtyard, racking his brain for the proper protocol.
"You order a chicken parmesan sandwich and side Ceasar salad?"
That's right. Then I say ... "You found the right place. Good thing too; I'm starving. What do I owe you?"
"Thirteen seventy."
"Cash only, right?"
"Yup."
Chuck handed him seventeen dollars. "Keep the change." Okay, now how does the verification work?
As the courier took the money he pressed a scanner he'd been palming against Chuck's thumb pad. At the same time a green light flared in Chuck's right eye tracking across it twice. Less than a second later an LED on the end of the scanner flashed three times. It was over in moments and appeared like nothing more than a handshake.
"Enjoy your sandwich and have a good night." The courier turned and crossed the courtyard.
Huh … that was easy. So ... what do I do first? Remembering the video he'd seen before the courier got there, his hand went straight for his phone, speed dialing Sarah's number. Her recorded message answered him a few rings later.
Damn it! "Hey … call me back when you get this. I'm alright but I'd like to hear your voice already."
He texted a similar message a moment later. The addition of "alright" and "already"was intended put Sarah on guard, using her old message code. If he didn't hear from her soon he'd have to pay a visit to Casey.
Okay, don't freak out, Chuck. Keep busy. Let's see what Beckman sent you. Actually, before that, it's time for your voyeur friend to go blind.
Chuck grabbed a book of logic puzzles off his desk then reached into his desk drawer, making a show of searching for a sharp pencil. At the same time he slid a hidden panel out of the side of the drawer organizer, palming the circuit board that fell into his hand. With the puzzle book covering the device, he exited the room.
Just outside his door he brushed the hand with the circuit board against the wall in front of him, flipping the switch. If it did what it was supposed to it would send a focused pulse of radio and microwaves, strong enough to fry small circuitry, into the transceivers on the other side of the wall, hidden on the back of the p-trap vent for the bathroom sink.
Okay, so … how do I know it worked? Great planning there, Chuck. Now you gotta get Casey's signal analyzer thingy.
He started down the hall, thinking of an apology for interrupting his roommate when his phone vibrated. His heart picked up and he whipped the phone out of his pocket, but the name on the screen was the last one he wanted to see.
"Hi Shaw. What's up?"
"Is everything okay? I got an alert that the burglar and fire alarms are going off at your apartment."
Ha! Liar. I guess the EMP must have worked. Don't like being blind, do ya'?
"Nope. No alarms that I can see ... and everything's normal in the courtyard."
"Must be a malfunction. I'll send someone over tomorrow to fix it."
Well, at least I have till then before he knows someone fried his transceivers. More fantastic planning, Bartowski. "Yeah, okay. Anything else?"
"Nope. Stay safe, Bartowski."
Die in a fire, Shaw. "G'night."
Chuck hung up and returned to his room. He got onto his bed, sitting on his knees, and reverently opened the Buona box. He was surprised and gratified to find an actual sandwich inside, taking several large bites before looking at the rest of the contents. Besides the salad there were two black cylinders, one six inches long and the other, four, both rounded on one end and flat on the other. The flat ends had what he recognized to be thumb print scanners and there was a small marking depicting a head with concentric crescents sprouting from the mouth.
Voice ident?
He pressed his thumb against the scanner on the longer cylinder and spoke his name aloud. He was happy to hear a small click then saw a smaller cylinder sliding out from the flat end. Inside were what appeared to be a pair of thick-framed sunglasses and a hand written note:
To activate the de-suppression device, press the bridge of the glasses once while wearing them. Do not press multiple times. After accessing your files, press only one more time while wearing the glasses. The suppression will then be re-activated. The device will not function after this, however it will record whether the suppression was re-activated, SO DON'T YOU DARE TRY LYING TO ME, BARTOWSKI!
B.
Jeez! I wouldn't even have … okay, I probably would've.
He put the glasses on and pressed the bridge against his nose. The darkness dissolved into light which began to flicker. His eyes twitched left and right rapidly for a moment, unfocused, then came back under his control. The glasses went dark again but he waited another half minute before taking them off.
That's it?
Curious what he might find he concentrated on the name, Winbaugh. Nothing happened. He wrote the name down, focusing on the letters. Nothing. He tried multiple spellings. Nothing. Getting frustrated, he tried saying the name. Again, nothing happened.
Well now what? Did it not work or is Winbaugh really not in the database?
A deviant thought occurred to him.
Beckman sure seemed to have something to hide. I could always flash on …
Before he could complete the thought he blanked out his mind. The idea of discovering anything scandalous involving the General was almost as nausea-inducing as the flash that had introduced him to Casey's love letters to Ilsa. Instead, he chose a different target, focusing on Shaw's face in his mind. The flash was immediate and short. As the turbulence receded he was left with the image of a photo and a report from …
… Donald Winbaugh. Dad was right!
Chuck closed his eyes and focused on the photo. The narrow plane of focus and the perspective through a hotel room's sliding glass door suggested a surveillance shot using a telephoto lens. In the photo, Daniel Shaw, wearing a muted Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, was smiling and glad-handing with …
Son of a …
He recognized four of the members of Taproot in the same room, beers, smiles, and casual body language suggesting a celebratory atmosphere. The date on the picture was August 23rd, 2007, two weeks after Eve Shaw's death.
What the hell?
He focused on the report next. Two sections particularly jumped out at him. The first: … cache of notes written by the Client's sister described evidence of what she called a treasonous plot by her husband, Daniel Shaw. The second was superfluous: … found evidence that, prior to her death, client's sister was making arrangements to change her identity and leave the country.
Acid began to boil in Chuck's stomach. Eve had discovered Shaw involved in treason, then a short time later later was prepared to disappear, and after her death Shaw was photographed celebrating with several men that likely wanted her dead. It made for a horrible story. You evil, sick, bastard! Two birds with one stone, huh? She can't turn you in now plus you get the loyalty of a bunch of SOG goons by giving them their revenge against your wife. Three birds! They'd probably already been recruited by the Ring while in prison so you got your way into that organization. Too much for you to pass up. I bet you didn't even flinch, making the decision. And accusing Taproot of murder was just throwing suspicion off of you.
Chuck had never met Eve but in her place, Sarah's face filled his mind.
How could you do that to someone you loved? Or did you ever love her?
Chuck became aware of a growing apprehension. He pulled out his phone knowing there wouldn't be any messages or texts. There weren't.
Quickly, he opened the second cylinder, finding a flash drive inside. This he plugged into his laptop, his home computer being far from secure with the logging software and key tracker Shaw's people had installed. He clicked past all the warnings telling him to delete all the files when he was finished. In one folder marked 100801-101102 he found a list of the files he had requested from Beckman, sorted by date. He chose one from October 30th, that previous Saturday. A text box popped up: this file requires quicktime 10.0 …
You're friggin kidding me! Quicktime?
Swearing just under his breath, he navigated his browser to the correct page. He paced the room with angry strides as the update downloaded. A call to Sarah only yielded her voicemail again.
Sweetie, you're killing me here.
He installed the update and clicked the file. Several more text boxes opened, warning him of the confidentiality of the files. Only authorized users were allowed to read them.
Oh for fuck's sake! I know!
He checked the boxes on each warning saying he'd read and understood. The file finally opened. Seated at Castle's conference table were himself, his partners and the traitor, staring at the screen.
So this is what we look like to the General. Why isn't there any sound?
It took him a moment to realize his speakers were muted. He'd just reached out to hit the mute button when his body went rigid. His eyes tracked left and right with the beginnings of a download. As it had earlier that day in the Buy More, a face appeared on the screen, overlaying the video. This time it was not his father's face he saw.
Christ, I was right. Fucking Shaw!
Shaw was speaking and Chuck heard the words in his head. "Two items in this update: One ... Charlie has installed surveillance equipment at the site where the elders will be meeting on November 2nd. That meeting must be moved or cancelled. Let me repeat, the November 2nd meeting of the Elders must be moved to an alternate location or their identities will be compromised. Two ... rolling surveillance on Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie starts tomorrow. Two follow cars for each target car. Contract out if you need. Remember, keep a deep cushion, and don't worry about losing contact if necessary. These people know how to spot a tail. Keep focused, we're almost there."
The download ended even as the video continued and Chuck let his breath out, realizing he'd been holding it.
Holy bantha sticks. He's probably got Taproot intercepting all our meetings with Beckman. All this time he's been transmitting to them right under our friggin' noses. And Beckman doesn't have the Intersect construct so we had no idea. Unbelievable! Daniel Shaw has the imprinting tech and a Ring cell all to himself. Do they even know he's working against them? Ah, hell … he's probably trying to take over the leadership. Why build a network yourself when you can take over an existing one? No wonder we couldn't find his people!
As he stared, thinking, a subtle jump suggested a skip in the video.
Wait … that's right after Sarah tagged Shaw with that tracker. That whole bit got deleted … or maybe, never recorded. Good instincts, General! Saved our bacon there.
With shaking hands he clicked on the most recent file. It was dated November 1st.
Yesterday. Didn't log our secret meetings either, General? Good instincts again.
As before, after only a few moments of video Chuck's eyes twitched and Shaw appeared on the screen.
"Two important updates: The first concerns your other job, Sierra. I've arranged a security blackout window tomorrow, November 2nd, at site Charlie-two for twenty minutes beginning at twenty-oh-oh. That's twenty-zero-zero. During this time your path of operation will be clear of video surveillance and security personnel, though you'll still have to contend with civilian witnesses. I'll assume you have the evidence to plant already. Sierra, let me be clear. I know you take pride in your work but remember, your priorities are that Charlie is audited first then …"
Chuck tore his eyes away from the screen, snapping himself out of the download.
Audited ... Shaw-speak for murdered. And Charlie … is Sarah!
His eyes flicked to his bedside clock. It read 8:05pm.
Chuck was through the Morgan door four seconds later with only a single thought in his head.
A/N: Sorry about the cliffie.