Scene XXIX – Apartment Complex Courtyard

"Give me the book," a man snarled through his facemask. Had Chuck been able to see the man, he would have wondered how the attacker could see through the curious webbing over his eyes.

"Who are you?" Chuck babbled. "And by the way, who steals books at gunpoint? Haven't you heard of a library?"

"Last chance, smart guy – give me the book!" The black-clad man poked his gun threateningly into Chuck's back.

"OK, OK, the library is four or five blocks away, it's probably closed already … there are those annoying late fees …" He started lowering the book.

"Slowly," the assailant ordered.

Chuck obliged, slowing the descent.

Planting the gun firmly in Chuck's back, the man bent over and took the book. He retreated, taking three measured steps backwards as he slipped the book into a black satchel mounted on his back.

"Now," he said, "do you know where the PDA or the boots are?"

Chuck was glad that he was turned towards the door so that his expression didn't give anything away. "The what?" he bluffed.

He suddenly noticed a strange, high-pitched tone up coming from somewhere above him; it sounded like some type of device charging. Involuntarily, he looked up to see what it was.

That was a mistake.

An incredibly bright flash of light short-circuited Chuck's thought process. A wild series of colors danced angrily across his eyes. He instinctively whipped his head away as he covered his face with his hands; he fell to the ground, fighting not to cry out in pain.

Behind him, he heard the door fly open. Casey ordered, "Drop it!"

"I don't think so, Agent Casey." the masked man said, the suddenly more distant voice indicating that he had managed to take several steps back. "You shoot me, and your partner goes down."

"Partner?" Casey sneered. "He's just a courier."

"Whatever," the man said, his voice sounding even further away to Chuck. "He'll be a corpse if you don't put your gun down."

"Not gonna happen. Stay where you are and drop the gun, or you're …"

Casey cut off. In the sudden silence, Chuck heard something skitter across the ground towards him. He heard a pair of hisses escape Casey's silenced revolver, and then felt the big man take a step near him to give the approaching object a solid kick. Chuck heard a mild impact, a splash, and a soft little explosion followed by the sound of water splashing.

The masked man's shoes scuffed on the sidewalk in the distance. Two more hisses from Casey's silenced revolver overlapped with the assailant's fast-fading footsteps.

Casey cursed; he crossed towards the archway in a few quick steps. A distant burst of air preceded a shower of plaster from the wall over by Ellie's apartment; the sound was like a sharp crack followed by a scattering of pebbles on pavement.

"Casey!" Chuck cried out. He had felt helpless plenty of times in the past, but not being able to see while bursts of pain shot through his head took things to a whole new level.

Still writhing on the ground, Chuck heard Casey run back to him. The NSA agent roughly picked him up in a fireman's carry and dragged him back towards the apartment. Chuck felt his heels bump over the threshold; Casey dragged him a few feet further inside, roughly dropped him to the ground, and then slammed the door shut.

The door to Ellie's apartment swung open, allowing noise from the party to escape into the courtyard. Devon, clearly curious about the noises he had heard, stuck his head out and glanced around. Seeing nothing, he headed back inside, a dismissive expression on his face.

Scene XXX – CIA Facility

Sarah wasn't happy returning to the CIA Facility just hours after the attack on her, even with Graham's assurances that precautions had been taken to protect against Fulcrum repeating the penetration. However, he hadn't exactly left her a choice in the matter.

The parking lot of the facility was largely empty this late on a Saturday night. Most agents were off living their lives. As she eased her car into a well-lit spot near the entrance, she couldn't help but be a little bitter as she looked around. The aftereffects of the argument that she and Chuck had just had still lingered, especially the part where he had unexpectedly accepted her suggestion that she may have to leave.

While Chuck may not have considered how difficult dating her would be, she had never considered that he might give up on them. His unflappable confidence that they would somehow find a way, that romantic innocence and determination, was one of the things that had charmed her about him. If he had that type of confidence, maybe they could find way despite everything set against them. However, if he lost that confidence ... she sighed.

Among other things, Chuck was her lifeline to a normal life – perhaps her last lifeline. She wondered if leaving him to go to work was a mistake.

No, Sarah decided. She had said what needed to be said, and left him to think. She was finally comfortable that she could handle what would be necessary in order to date Chuck; he needed to be comfortable as well. Besides, her leaving reinforced her point that the job would always need to come first. It would always have to come first.

She refused to allow herself to consider the possibility that he might not be able to handle that.

Somewhat reassured that she had done the right thing, she exited the car and headed for the entrance. As she so often had to do, she banished thoughts of Chuck from her mind, double-checking that she had shut her phone off to keep him from distracting her. She couldn't afford to have her mind wander, no matter what precautions Graham had taken.

She forced herself not to roll her eyes when she saw three guards rather than two at the front desk. Tell me you did more than that, Director, she thought sardonically.

After showing her ID and unsuccessfully trying to smile at the guards, she headed past the security station and down the sterile but brightly lit passage. Her relatively slow footfalls rattled through the halls; if she closed her eyes, she would have thought she were in some old abandoned house rather than a functioning CIA facility.

She reached the bank of elevators. She pushed a button.

A whirring and a series of beeps indicated that a car was answering her summons from a top floor. A gentler, lower-pitched beep preceded the nearly silent opening of the doors.

The elevator was empty.

Sarah exhaled, only then realizing that she had been holding her breath and was unconsciously poised to act, if needed. She clearly wasn't comfortable here any more.

She boarded the car and quickly punched in a code. The doors closed, and the bad elevator music kicked in. This time, she did roll her eyes.

Five floors up, the echoes of her footsteps in the halls bothered her less as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. This was one part of her job she didn't care for in the least.

The last door on the left was clearly different than the others on the hall: of an older design and made of heavy gray steel, it looked every bit as strong as it was. Explosives would be more likely to burst out of the back of the building than to break into this room.

Sarah pushed a button next to the door and waited patiently.

"Identification please," crackled a male voice from a speaker just below the button. She held up her badge, remaining still as a smooth, shiny black panel used an infrared device to scan both her and her badge.

A series of metal bolts protested loudly as the door was unlocked. The door swung silently inward.

She walked into the dark room. Most of the light funneled in through the large observation window for the brightly lit interrogation chamber beyond the opposite wall. The only other light came from the desk against the wall to her right: a small lamp spotlighted a notebook and some folders, while a pair of security monitors provided views of the outside hallway and the interrogation room.

A man stood in the center of the room, holding a pair of manila folders and a newspaper. His dark suit unsuccessfully tried to make up for his narrow frame; the oversized suit simply emphasized his rail-thin figure. His close-cropped strawberry blonde hair obviously resisted his best efforts to tame it.

The door to the hallway silently slipped shut behind her; the bolts slid home.

She looked beyond the man through the large one-way window. Her two assailants from earlier that day were carefully secured to two chairs, deliberately set eight feet apart and facing the one-way mirror. The woman stared coolly at the ground in front of her; the man merely seemed lost in thought.

Sarah was all business. "Anything to report?" she asked.

"Nothing. They've barely said anything in the three hours they've been in there, and we haven't seen a lick of emotion. No yelling, no demanding to be set free, nothing. These are two cool customers."

"Tranquilizers from today?"

"Worn off."

"Anything else administered?"

"Not yet. We were waiting to see what you wanted to do." He indicated a silver suitcase holding an array of syringes and vials sitting on a long table against the left wall.

She nodded approvingly, taking the pair of manila folders and leafing through them. She pretended not to notice the agent's eyes tracing her body; instead, she focused on what the CIA knew about the two Los Mellizos henchmen.

The files were fairly detailed; the hard-bitten pair was notorious for their various exploits on behalf of their drug cartel. She had to fight to keep from blanching at some of the things they had done.

She wished she could have brought Chuck to see if he could flash on the two with a better look at them. Every scrap of information helped when doing an interrogation. Unfortunately, she had been forced to rule that out. With Fulcrum having penetrated the facility earlier that day, it was a bad idea to bring Chuck there. He was safer back at the apartment complex.

Also, she had to admit that wasn't sure how Chuck would react to seeing the side of her that was about to emerge.

She gathered herself, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. After a moment, she was ready. "All right," she said in her businesslike manner. She removed her badge, handed the folders and the badge to the man and took the newspaper. She headed for the door to the room.

"Don't you want to give them something to loosen their tongues?"

"Let's see how I do without that," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

The man walked over to the desk and activated some controls. Bolts slid free, and the door to the room swung open.

Scene XXXI – Casey's Apartment

Chuck lay on the cool tile in the entryway of Casey's apartment, eyes kept firmly shut. The sounds from Casey's footsteps had told Chuck that the NSA agent had moved back towards the front door and was now standing perfectly still.

"Casey?! What's going on?" Chuck whispered.

"Perp bugged out, Chuck. Just making sure he's not doubling back." Chuck heard some beeping noises as Casey tapped numbers into the keypad by the door. "Stay put. I'm going to make sure our position is secure." The sound of light footsteps faded as Casey headed towards the back of the apartment.

Still unable to see, Chuck felt completely helpless. Unwilling to risk opening his eyes again, he strained to hear anything that might give him a hint of what was going on. He heard nothing.

Chuck forced himself to sit up. He pushed himself backwards, sliding on the seat of his pants, towards where he thought the wall was. His guess was decent, although he found himself at a bit of an angle. He straightened himself so his back was flush with the wall.

He took a moment to try to control his anxious breathing. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he again strained to detect any kind of noise. Minutes passed; silence pervaded the apartment.

Suddenly, he sensed he wasn't alone. He still hadn't heard anything, but somehow he knew somebody was right there with him.

"Casey?" he called hesitantly.

There was no response.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He swiveled his head slightly to the side, trying to detect anything that would validate the strange feeling that he was not alone. At one point, he felt the slightest hint of a breeze touch his face, but the sensation was gone as quickly as it came.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he stopped thinking so much and tried to extend his senses. He listened to what they were telling him – he was right, there was somebody there with him. And the person was…

"Chuck!" Casey blurted sharply into Chuck's left ear.

"AHH!" Chuck yelled, instinctively falling over to his right and catching himself on his forearm.

Casey chuckled evilly.

Chuck did his best to glare at Casey with his eyes shut. "Was that entirely necessary?"

"No." Casey grinned. "But it sure was fun."

"You know, there are plenty of ways to enjoy yourself that don't involve trying to get me to soil myself."

"Most aren't nearly as much fun, and those that are involve guns or heavy machinery."

"Wow, what an interesting personal ad you could write. 'Hi, I'm John Casey. I like M16s, flying fighter jets, and triggering involuntary bowel movements.'"

"Beats pina coladas and getting caught in the rain any day of the week."

Stooping over, Casey threw the lanky man's arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet. The agent transported Chuck across the room.

"What's going on with my eyes?" Chuck asked a bit fearfully as Casey eased him onto the couch. "I still can't see anything."

Casey stood up. "The NSA installed a modified light cell in the porch light. It gives a quick burst of intense light designed to incapacitate a subject for about thirty seconds and completely steal his sight for up to twenty minutes. Your vision should start coming back shortly."

"I'll take your word for it. Whenever I open my eyes, all I see is some kind of psychotic screen saver."

"Stiff upper lip, Bartowski. It's not like we'll need to take you away from Sarah to recover at some mountain retreat for several months. You'll be back to messing up missions and being a general pain-in-the-ass in no time."

"Think you could ease up on the usual routine? I feel bad enough about this." Chuck shifted into a more comfortable position as he thought for a moment. "So why didn't your little light show take out the rabid bookworm with the gun?"

Casey's tone became more clinical. "Your attacker was wearing a mask; it must have protected his eyes. Makes sense: he threw a flash grenade at us during the fight, so he would want to protect his eyes against something like that."

"Was that what I heard you kick away?"

"Yep. I identified it as a harmless flash grenade, but I couldn't take any chances, so I had to kick it into the fountain. Unfortunately, the distraction allowed the guy to escape."

Chuck allowed his eyes to open into slits. For the first time, he was able to make out some of the details of the room, including Casey sitting next to him on the couch, although his vision was still marred by frantically dancing colors. "Better," he commented. He shut his eyes again.

"What was in the book, Bartowski? And why didn't I know about it?"

"Sarah gave me the book half an hour ago. All I know is that the book was one of the things that we confiscated from Andon Minh and that Fulcrum was after it. She asked me to take a look at it and see if I flashed."

"And did you?"

"Not directly. Somebody went through a lot of effort to make the thing look like just a plain old book, but most of the page numbers were actually a simple code."

"But Fulcrum has the book, so we have nothing. Terrific."

"Not true. I cracked the code and deciphered the first couple of lines of the message."

"Well, that's something. Can you remember them?"

"They're on my computer. Why don't we just go get them?"

"Well, let's see. You can't see, and I don't particularly want to risk having to explain how you ended up blind to your sister - not to mention how we ended up alone in your room. Oh, and there's the minor matter of being attacked right outside the door."

"Staying here it is. Grab a pen."

Chuck heard Casey rifle through a pile of items and make his way back to his seat. "Go ahead."

"AL QAEDA. A number: 982 … I can't remember the rest. It was about twelve digits."

"Skip it for now. What else?"

"Maher Arar" Chuck went back and spelled it for Casey. "QURAN 2:124. That was it for the first line."

"Second line?"

"FARC. "5702 … again, about twelve digits. Esteban Cruz. A long string of letters that looked like a sentence in Spanish. Casey, I think they're…"

"They're phone numbers. 98 is the country code for Iran. 57 is the country code for Colombia"

"That makes sense: I flashed on Maher Arar and Esteban Cruz; they're reporters in those countries."

"Yep," Casey said, as if that were all well-known to him.

"So what, they're names and phone numbers of reporters? Seems like a lot of trouble to go through to create a phone book."

"Not when you include the names of terrorist organizations and confirmation codes."

"Confirmation codes?"

Casey got up and started messing with one of the many monitors around the room. "The Al Qaeda entry listed Quran chapter 2, verse 124. The Spanish phrase in the FARC line is probably a similar pass-phrase."

Chuck shook his head. "I don't get it."

"Think, Bartowski. Put the pieces together."

Suddenly, Chuck recalled the articles he flashed on. The flashes had both shown pictures of the aftermaths of significant acts of terrorism. His face turned white. "They're pass-phrases so the terrorist groups can call certain reporters to claim or deny their group's responsibility for specific acts of terrorism."

His eyes shot open; most of the flashing colors were gone, and he felt little pain. The first thing he saw was Casey nodding grimly. The agent said, "Fulcrum wants terrorist organizations to take responsibility for something."

"That can't be good."

"No, it really can't."

Ten minutes later, General Beckman was on the monitor. She was not in her office; rather, she was in what appeared to be a richly appointed bedroom. Rather than her typical uniform, she wore a brilliant blue evening gown. Her hair cascaded loosely down to her shoulders, and she was wearing a fair amount of make-up.

Casey took it in stride; he didn't show the slightest hint of emotion. Chuck, however, cocked his head to the side with a disbelieving look, which he quickly tried to shake off.

The general was not amused; she shot an angry look at Chuck before saying, "This had better be good."

"Sorry to interrupt your plans, General," Casey said.

"Diane…" a strange male voice called romantically from off the screen.

Casey's eyes tightened the slightest bit. Chuck could only hope his jaw didn't drop quite as far as he felt it did.

"Just a minute, darling," she answered sweetly. Turning back to the camera, she hissed, "What is it?!"

"Somebody we believe to be a Fulcrum agent attacked Bartowski in the courtyard outside the apartment. A man in a black mask surprised Bartowski and acquired a book that Agent Walker had asked the Intersect to examine. I was able to secure the asset, but the assailant managed to escape with the book."

"Do we need to relocate Bartowski?"

Casey glanced over at Chuck. "Negative, General. I reviewed the surveillance, and I do not believe the assailant ever identified Bartowski. He did, however, identify me by name. In all likelihood I was the target."

The general frowned. "OK, he can stay put for now. Any more attacks, though, and we extract the asset immediately."

Chuck swallowed hard.

"What was this book?" Beckman asked.

"Agent Walker hasn't had the opportunity to fully brief me, General, but I believe the book was an item we obtained when we captured Andon Minh. I am unaware how she learned of its importance to Fulcrum."

The general glanced impatiently to the side of the screen. In an even tone that suggested her patience was being tried, she said, "No, I am asking what the book is."

Chuck said, "It's a facsimile of a hardcover book that we believe Minh used to encode information. I was able to translate two of the lines and was on my way to report to Agent Casey when I was attacked."

Casey added, "The two lines that Chuck translated listed terrorist organizations and their corresponding reporters that the groups use to claim responsibility for terrorist attacks. The lines included pass-phrases to verify their identity."

For the first time since she got on the call, the general didn't look bothered about being interrupted. "That's not good."

Casey gave an ironic chuckle and a sardonic grin. "We had the same thought."

The general seemed lost in thought, as if trying to decide whether to tell them something.

Casey picked up on this quickly. "General, if there's something we should know…"

Beckman snapped out of her reverie. "No. Your orders, Agent Casey, are to stay put and protect the Intersect. Mr. Bartowski, your orders are to not get attacked."

"I'll work on that, General. Ma'am."

Again, the strange male voice came through the speakers. "Diane, how long do I need to…" Looking nonplussed, the general ended the transmission.

"Well, that was thoroughly awkward," Chuck commented.

"At least somebody is getting lucky tonight." Casey directed an annoyed look at his bunkmate for the night. "I certainly didn't."