Chuck vs the Virus
I know this story has drug on, quite a bit, I wrote myself into a bit of a hole at one point. But I appreciate all who have stuck around! Hopefully the final chapters will be rewarding. We are nearing the end! And no more science, I swear. At least not like the last chapter. Good grief, I don't know who allowed me to do that.
Lastly, in case anyone cares, I changed my pen name to OOHiMBLiND … since my infatuation with Ian Somerhalder ended after I met Mr. Zachary Levi ;)
Chapter 24: Agde, France
When Chuck's eyes finally opened, Sarah was by his side. Half asleep, she was leaning her elbow on his hospital bed and half lying on his stomach. She watched his eyes flutter open and, drearily, she gave him a wide smile.
She'd been briefed, brought up to speed, and warned about all the negative possibilities that could occur in the wake of upgrading the Intersect, and of the dangerous undertaking they'd done previously to modifying the Intersect on the fly. She knew there was a great possibility that Chuck wouldn't know her, knew that it was an even greater likelihood that he wouldn't be very coherent. But she was ready. She was scared, yes, but she was ready.
His light brown eyes looked lazily around the room. He looked exhausted, as though he were in bed after a long day. But there was an alertness behind that exhaustion that relieved Sarah, because that was the Chuck Bartowski she recognized.
"Hey," she said, smiling. She hadn't slept much over the last 24 hours, wanting to be awake for whenever he decided to regain consciousness.
Chuck lifted one side of his mouth into an unenthusiastic half-smile. "Hey," he said, hoarse. He coughed.
Sarah stood up and reached for the cup of water at his bedside table. Carefully she put the straw into his mouth and he sipped. When he was done, he laid his head back on the pillow, swallowed hard, and stared up at the ceiling.
"What the hell happened to me?" he asked, finally.
Sarah hesitated. "Chuck?"
Chuck looked at her. "Yeah?"
"What do you remember?" asked Sarah.
Chuck thought for a moment. "Nothing solid, I don't think. I remember being in pain. I remember pain." He shut his eyes. "But I don't feel any of that now. Not at all. Not any aches."
Sarah reached up and touched his head, stroking the smooth top and thinking longingly of even his blonde hair. Any hair would do. This would take some getting used to.
Chuck's eyes went wide and he reached up to touch his own head. "What the…?" He pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Where's my hair?" he asked, his voice rising a couple octaves.
Sarah grimaced, wondering if she should have saved pointing that out until later. "We were very worried about you, Chuck. They had to shave it in order to correctly place some sensors on your head."
"Sensors?" asked Chuck, looking around. "Sarah, can you please tell me what happened?"
It was the first time he'd said her name since they'd arrived back in Burbank, and it instilled within her the confidence she knew, but was scared of really claiming, due to the odd nature of the Intersect.
"Yes, I can tell you," she said. "But I need you to tell me the last thing you remember."
Chuck shut his eyes and thought. "I have no perception of how much time has, or hasn't past," he said, grimly. "I feel like I've been away for a really long time, but also like it could have all been a dream and it was only a couple minutes."
Sarah shook her head. "Chuck, I understand, OK? I just need to know the last thing you remember so that I don't forget anything, or, I don't know, so that I don't repeat stuff you already knew. I'm not going to be upset if you can't remember something."
Chuck nodded, but still watched her warily. He was resisting something, she could tell. "I remember being in…a city, where we found my dad because… because something was wrong with me and we thought that only he'd be able to fix it. I remember that we found him, that Jill kidnapped us and was going to perform some sort of operation before we escaped…" Slowly he began to grasp more details, and by the time he got to the point where he and Sarah had been strapped down into chairs in the basement of the television studio, Sarah couldn't honestly decide whether he was leaving out details because they were unimportant to the order of events he remembered, or because he couldn't remember them.
The important thing was that he remembered everything remarkably well, better than she had been prepared for, and better than any of them could have hoped for.
"What about the Intersect?" asked Chuck. "Is it fixed?"
Sarah shrugged. "I think that is what your sister and father are hoping." She sat down next to him on the bed. "They worked on it for a solid two days after you jumped off the operating table," said Sarah. "And after that, it only took 24 hours for you to wake up. I think that is a very good sign."
"Operating table?" asked Chuck.
Sarah smiled. "I think it's my turn to tell a story, don't you?"
Casey and Mary walked into the large meeting room off the central corridor inside the Amulet. Gathered to meet with them were only four other individuals: General Beckman, representing the NSA, Harold Wyatt, representing the office of the Secretary of Defense, Lieutenant General Nicolas Combes, representing the Marine Corps, and Penelope Farrow, representing the United States on the U.N. Security Council.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said Mary Bartowski as she entered the room, closely followed by Colonel Casey. "I assume you've had a moment or two to become acquainted with one another?" They nodded their confirmation. "Good. Joining me, here, is Colonel Casey of the NSA, formerly a Marine and a high ranking agent within this compound. For the last three years, Colonel Casey and General Beckman have spearheaded the most remarkable field agent team to have ever come out of the CIA." Mary nodded at General Beckman.
General Beckman stood up. "Three years ago, a very intricate set of information was stolen from us and given to a civilian, and because of the unique nature of the information, we were forced to integrate him into our team. That has proven to be a success, though it may not appear so at first." She took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, an agent of ours developed an organic computer capable of being imbedded into a person's brain, called the Intersect. Charles Bartowski received the Intersect in the form of an email, accidentally downloaded it into his brain, and has held the secrets of our joint agencies in his head, using them to provide our agents with the ability to accurately track down enemies, fight terrorism at home and abroad, and to be on the alert for anything out of place."
"What can the Intersect do, exactly?" asked Lt. General Nicolas Combes.
General Beckman looked at Casey. He cleared his throat. "In the field it works like a trigger. If something Chuck sees or hears exists in the Intersect, it automatically downloads all relevant information and makes them readily available to him in order to relay to us. Can't tell you exactly how it works, but one way or another, Chuck has the ability to know, for example, uh, floor plans, known associates of terrorists, and specifications of fighter jets."
Harold Wyatt, Nicolas Combes, and Penelope Farrow exchanged looks of awe.
"So why are we here?" asked Penelope, leaning forward in her seat.
"We have been chasing a group of terrorists known as The Pound for almost a month, now. We were not aware of their organization, as we are now, beforehand, even though we knew we had a threat centralizing in Russia," said Colonel Casey, still standing tall. "Chuck has been through the ringer for the last couple weeks because The Pound was able to implant a virus into the Intersect, which caused a great deal of trouble. The virus has finally been removed and the Intersect is back up to full strength. We hope."
"We're here today to ask for your support as we raid a village in Eastern Central Russia where we believe The Pound's main headquarters are," said Mary. "And where we believe they are developing some sort of device that can steal the information from Chuck's head."
Their guests nodded in understanding.
"In order for the U.N. to formally submit, we would need to present this before the whole council," said Penelope. "I cannot just grant my permission here." She looked from General Beckman to Harold Wyatt. "But…you already know that. So, I am still confused as to why we're here."
"Needless to say, Ms. Farrow, we will be going into Russia with or without your permission…" General Beckman began, but she was cut off.
"If I may, General…" said Harold Wyatt, raising a hand. "As acting Deputy Secretary of Defense, I know that the President of the United States expressly wishes any and all terrorist threats to United States secrets to be kept on the tightest lockdown. If you believe that you know the location of this terrorist group, and can bring some of them into custody alive, the Department of Defense fully supports any initiative that you propose." He turned to Penelope. "And in that case, there is no need of U.N. involvement until these terrorists have been presented before the council for their crimes."
"We wanted to paint the picture of this organization for you all before heading into Russia to take them down," said General Beckman. "That is our true purpose. We are in full-disclosure mode right now, which has you know is a rarity for us. By listening and using this information to do your jobs effectively, you support us by allowing us to continue utilizing the Intersect as it was meant to be. The Intersect was designed to share information within the United States when sharing information was difficult. We want to continue to use the Intersect, but not in secret any more. We want the Intersect to be useful in all facets of government and, ultimately, the protection of the United States."
"We're listening," said Lt. General Combes.
"What do you mean, I'm not going?" asked Chuck, his eyes wide. "That's…that's…"
"There is no way the United States government is going to let our most valuable asset accompany the Marines as they invade Russia," said General Beckman. "Chuck, you are extremely essential to the security of the United States and I cannot authorize you to be a part of this mission."
"But I could be the only one who knows where to go! Or who the key players are!" said Chuck, outraged. "You can't be serious."
"Tactical units have already been deployed," said General Beckman. "We briefed the various parties involved this morning and everyone knows the risks of not having you there."
"Bartowski… this is the best way to do this," said Casey. "As a Marine, I never operated under the idea that I or my commanding officers knew everything we needed to going in, but we knew that we had the motive and the reasoning behind our mission, and that is what made us successful."
"We could never have found their base without you," said General Beckman.
"But I can't even remember giving you those coordinates," said Chuck. "What if it wasn't related to The Pound at all? What if it was a trap!"
"That is a risk we're willing to take," said General Beckman. "If it is a trap, then that means some operatives of The Pound will be there, and we can take whoever we can into custody."
"Chuck, this is not our fight," said Sarah. "We've done our job: gather intelligence. We aren't combat-ready. Not in this sense, anyway. This is a military operation."
Chuck took a deep breath. Sarah's bit of reason settled with him and he let the tension in his head loosen. Sarah patted his arm. "And this isn't the end of it, you know. If it is a trap, we will have to figure out what in your head triggered this location."
General Beckman coughed. "Let's not dwell on that. I have buttered you up to these people, Chuck, and I do not want to lose this one." She glanced sideways at Casey. "Though, there are a couple more pieces to this that we can't ignore."
Sarah gave her a quizzical look. "And what's that?"
"You two lied to the CIA about your relationship," said General Beckman, sternly looking between Sarah and Chuck. "At this point, no one beyond this group of people knows about your engagement. We've had married field agents that work together before, and having worked with you two for the past three years I know that I'd be remiss to punish this breach by assigning you to different partners. I do however want to extend a firm warning: I might not always be in the position to forgive this kind of deceit. Do you understand my meaning?"
"Yes, General Beckman, ma'am," said Chuck.
"Yes, ma'am," said Sarah.
"Good. Secondly, the other thing we can't ignore…" said General Beckman. "Jill Roberts."
Chuck's face fell sullen. "Jill."
Sarah cringed and snarled. "Jill."
"The main reason I'm not sending the three of you in with the tactical team to bring in leaders of The Pound is because we need to find and secure Jill Roberts before she joins forces with any other enemy camps," said General Beckman. "She is a threat to national security and if we cannot find her, then we will be forced to put her on the Most Wanted list. Once you're on that list…" she shook her head, then lowered her voice. "I'd rather not put her on that list and group her with all the others who've been on it."
"We understand," said Chuck.
General Beckman motioned them all to the screen on the other side of the table. "We picked up this airport surveillance a day after The Pound escaped from Chester, Montana." She played the sequence, which found Jill at check in, at security, at a coffee shop, at a bookstore, sitting on a bench in the middle of the terminal, and then boarding a plane.
"She's sure not making an effort to lay low," said Sarah.
"We have no clear indication of what The Pound's next move is. We think it has something to do with Chuck, of course, but what exactly…we can't be sure," said Beckman. "This footage is from Seattle, and the plane she boarded was going to Paris."
"Paris?" said Chuck.
"Any idea why Jill might go to Paris?" she asked.
"Not for family," said Chuck. "And The Pound doesn't have any affiliates in that area of France."
"What about affiliates of Wallstreet?" asked Sarah. "We went to Rio, originally, because The Pound was merely a weapons entity at that point. Could they be trying to finish a deal with Wallstreet?"
Chuck shook his head. "I don't know. From what I learned about Wallstreet, they seemed to be locally based, not internationally."
"Can we play the footage again?" asked Sarah, stepping closer to the screen.
Beckman replayed it.
"She goes from security check to get coffee," says Sarah. "And from coffee to the bookstore."
"And from the bookstore to the terminal," said Chuck.
"Go back to the bookstore," said Sarah. Beckman stopped the footage when Jill walked into the bookstore. She seemed to be casually walking through the isles, looking idly at everything and not really intent on buying anything.
"What are you thinking, Sarah?" asked Chuck.
"If there was any greater meaning to her visit to this airport, it would have happened while she was in the bookstore. A drop, an exchange of information. Something." Sarah kept watching the footage closely.
"There," said Casey. Beckman paused the film. "That book she picked up." Beckman zoomed in. "It looks like a French cookbook."
Chuck walked over to the computer and brought up Google, punched in a couple words. "This looks like it… French Provincial Cooking by Elizabeth David."
"Crawl through the next couple frames," said Sarah to General Beckman. "Does it look like she takes anything out of it?"
"Hard to say," said General Beckman, squinting at the screen. "She's certainly reading something. Notice how she doesn't page through the book?"
"Don't suppose we can make out the page number, can we?" asked Chuck. "Some of the book is online."
Sarah and General Beckman worked with the screen controls until they could make out the page number. "101," said General Beckman.
Chuck scrolled through the book, praying that that page would have a preview online. It did.
"Herbs, Spices, Condiments, etc., Used in French Cookery…" he said. "This page describes thym, tilleul, tisane, tomatoes concassées, concentré de tomatoes, and truffes, and, um, then it goes into a more detailed explanation of the truffes."
Sarah walked over to him and began to read aloud: "The truffle grows most readily in sandy or clay and chalky soils. Divers varieties are found in various climates. The most highly prized variety is, without contradiction, the truffle of Périgord, black, with a rough skin and a penetrating scent. It is found particularly in the Charente, in the neighbourhood of Périgueux and Angoulême, also in the Gard, the Isère, the Drôme, the Ardèche, the Hérault, the Tarn, the Vaucluse, the Lozère and the…" She glanced up at Chuck, who looked nauseous. "Chuck, are you all right?"
Chuck opened his eyes. "I flashed. The mouth of the Hérault river is in Agde, France and it comes straight out of the Cévennes mountains."
"And?" said Beckman, impatiently.
Chuck shut his eyes again. "I don't know... that's all the Intersect is giving me. There's something there, a collection of people that many mercenaries have used, but whom we've never been able to pinpoint due to the fact that they operate under the protection of some French consulate. It feels like a prime place for handing off weapons. It's not a busy seaport and that area is heavily socialist, which would make them really friendly with Russian terrorists." He opened his eyes again. "But the Intersect is not linking the town to either The Pound. We don't even know for sure if Jill was reading what was on the page, or if there was a note inside."
Casey, who had taken over control of the footage, was staring at the screen with his arms crossed. "If she wasn't reading the book, she didn't take anything from it either. Whatever she was doing, she put it down clean and moved on."
Beckman looked at him. "We might be too late to recover anything from that book, but call the bookstore at the airport and have them pull it out. You three go to that airport, search that bookstore, and follow any and all leads. Got it?"
"Yes ma'am," they all said together.
General Beckman let her eyes linger on Chuck for a moment. "It's good to have you back, Agent Bartowski, in whatever manner you may now be with us." She left the room.
Casey and Sarah rounded on him. "Is the Intersect not working properly?" asked Casey.
Chuck shrugged. "It's not working like it used to. I used to barely think about something and would have a flood of information, with links and associations all over the place. I'm not getting that same flood anymore." He grimaced. "It feels like the data is being filtered."
Casey and Sarah exchanged a glance. "Maybe that was a part of the modifications your sister and dad made to the Intersect," said Sarah. "They said they needed to modify it so that it wouldn't overtake you like it did before."
Chuck sighed. "This will take some getting used to."
"Probably," said Sarah. "But it works, and you aren't crashing like you used to, so both are positive steps forward."
"Where is my family, anyway?" asked Chuck.
"We're keeping them in witness protection until we can bring the whole Chester fiasco under control," said Casey. "The media had a field day with it."
Chuck rolled his eyes. "I can't even imagine."
"Let's gear up," said Casey. "We're going to Seattle." He picked his pack up off the table and started for the door. When neither Sarah nor Chuck moved, he stopped and turned round. "What's the hold up?"
Sarah was looking at Chuck, but at Casey's words she turned to look at him. "We'll meet you there in just a sec."
Casey looked at Chuck, then nodded. "I'll grab our gear. Meet me at the doors." And he left the room.
Sarah turned back to Chuck and laid a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" she asked.
He looked down at her with a half smile. "I feel tired," he said, honestly. "But not so tired that I can't do this." He heaved a sigh. "It's a strange sort of tiredness… more like, I've been away on vacation and thinking about going back to work is, uh, anti-climactic, or something."
Sarah smiled and moved closer to him, laying her head on his chest. "It's so good to have you up and about again," she whispered. "I don't know what I would have done…"
"If the Intersect had driven me insane? If it would have taken over my mind?" he asked, half-humorously. He wrapped his arms around her and they stood there in silence for several minutes. Chuck breathed steadily and concentrated on Sarah's heartbeat. He could feel it pounding on his chest, he could feel her heart beat as well as he could feel his own. This is what life feels like, he thought. This is tangible. This is real.
"What are you thinking about?" Sarah asked, her head still on his chest.
Chuck didn't answer immediately. He thought about it. "There is a lot to be thankful for," he said, finally. "I know that I often underestimate the small things and try to jump right to the big things…"
"What do you mean?" Sarah leaned her head back to look into his eyes.
"I always look for those defining moments, you know? Where I can say this is the moment when I knew, whatever, and this is the moment where I decided, whatever. And I build up those moments in my head to be so important until I've forgotten everything that has gotten me to the point we're at now. Well, not forgotten completely, but definitely lost sight of."
Sarah raised her eyebrow. "Are you talking about something specifically?"
Chuck shrugged. "I'm talking about a lot of things. I'm talking about us, our relationship. I'm talking about my time with the CIA, my relationship with my sister. The time I spent at Stanford. The friends I used to have, the friends I have now." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Nothing feels very concrete right now. I still feel like I'm drifting in and out of sleep."
Sarah reached up and touched his head. It was already starting to prickle with stubble. "Chuck, you don't have to reprimand yourself for not remembering the little things when there are big things going on. We remember the little things during the important moments, like conversations with old friends, or reminiscing on the holidays, or during traditions. We need both." She stretched upward and laid a light kiss on his lips. "And if there is anyone who appreciates moments, it's you, Chuck," she whispered. "You are the moments of my life that I will always remember."
He smiled. "And you are the moments that I will always remember." He hugged her close. "I will always fight to protect you."
Sarah hugged him back. "I don't need to you fight for me Chuck. I need you to fight with me."
Sarah watched Chuck sleep on the plane. Casey sat next to her reading the Sky Mall magazine and anxiously looking up and down the first class cabin. The two and a half hour flight into the Seattle airport was nearly complete, and Chuck had been asleep since the plane leveled at 32,000 feet.
She was forced to wake him as they landed at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport and rolled into their terminal. He opened his eyes groggily; she kissed his cheek and helped him up. He got quite a few stares for his baldness, which Sarah thought was odd, since many men choose that hairstyle. He lifted her pack off her shoulder and slung it on his own, then wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked through the jet bridge leading into the airport. She looked up at him with a sweet smile that hinted something much deeper. He returned the smirk and behind them Casey grunted.
The Seattle airport was busy, and all too soon Chuck and Sarah found it impossible to continue walking as they were. She took her pack back, he removed his arm, and they held hands as Casey led them to the bookstore. Chuck looked around, feeling as though his baldness was drawing even more attention than his stark blonde hair had. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He thought Sarah seemed to sense this, or sense something was off, because she pointed at a souvenir shop across the way.
"Do you want to get a cap?" she asked.
Casey heard her question and stopped walking. "What?"
"I was talking to Chuck," she said. "Should we get him a cap?"
"Why?" asked Casey.
Sarah looked up at Chuck. Chuck gave a half-smile. "I'll be fine."
"Will it make you feel more comfortable?" asked Casey. He stepped back closer to them.
"I just feel a little conspicuous," he said, nervously looking around.
"It's just because you've never been bald before," said Casey, leaning in and delivering his comment in a whisper. "If you rock it, if you own it, no one will realize it's unnatural. This is the part of the job where you are who you look like to other people." Then, for the first time in Chuck's memory, Casey clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We need you for this, Chuck. You have to be a spy."
Chuck gulped, nodded. "I'm fine, I don't need a cap." Sarah wrapped her arms around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. Casey nodded, his features moving ever so slightly into a look of satisfaction.
They continued walking and, shortly, arrived at the bookstore where Jill had made a quick stop. Casey walked into the store, flashed his badge, and the woman behind the desk gave him a, "Just one moment," and hurried into the back room. Casey looked back at his partners, nodded, and the women reemerged from the storage room with the cookbook. He handed her a twenty-dollar bill and left the store.
They hurried to the nearest private wi-fi enclosure and looked through the book.
"Page 101, right?" said Casey, flipping through the pages.
"Right," said Chuck. Sarah opened her pack and pulled out a number of items. "What's all that?"
"Different dyes to illuminate any hidden text on the page, blacklight, the usual," she said casually.
"Here it is, right as you read it, Walker," said Casey, pointing to the page.
"Nothing seems like it was written on," said Chuck. "It looks normal."
"Looks can be deceiving, hmm, baldy?" Sarah chided. He rolled his eyes.
She began with the black light, carefully pulling it down the page, looking closely for anything that was out of place. She tried two other lights that were useful for detecting certain inks in various invisible hues. As a last resort, she dipped a q-tip in the orange dye, cast a look at Casey, who nodded, and she began spreading the dye across the page. It absorbed quickly and spread, exposing the whole page in a thick, sopping amber liquid.
They all exchanged looks of relief. "Well, we have our answer," said Casey. "Ready to go to France?"
"Je suis né pour ça," said Chuck, standing up straight. Sarah raised an eyebrow, and he grinned. "I was born ready."
Casey checked his watch. "Our flight leaves in twenty minutes," he said. "Beckman had them book us a flight just in case you were right." He smirked.
"Just in case?" asked Chuck, feigning indignation.
Casey just smiled and led them out of the cubicles. "Let's get some coffee, huh?"
"We're already a week behind her," said Chuck, not moving from where he stood. "And now it's going to take another two days to get to where she went a week ago. What are we really expecting to find?"
"Whatever is going on in France is more complex than a simple vacation spot," said Sarah. "The location is in the Intersect, after all. Whether Jill is there, or it leads us to another location, it doesn't matter. We're just going to follow the only evidence we've got."
"Fair enough," said Chuck.
Jill sat on the patio of a cafe at the southern most tip of Agde, France. A quaint town filled mostly with commercial businesses run by a conglomerate of socialist bums whose only political affiliation was to the size of their wallets. Their patriotism was easily purchased, though their hands were currently dipped into many pockets, but their secrecy and ability to keep all their activity on the down-low was the most admirable Jill had ever witnessed.
She kept cool in the early morning sun as she sipped her espresso and looked through that day's agenda. There was a lot to be done. She only had to be here another three days before she could return to Irina's side for the last phase of their plan.
The plan had exploded beyond what she'd originally imagined. The plan that Irina had divulged at the beginning was nothing to what was taking place now. Their plans with Chuck were almost too horrible to think about, but she continually tried to separate herself from the memory of the man she knew in college, even the one she reconnected with a year ago. There was too much at stake, and too much to look forward to, to back down now or let her feelings get in the way.
She set her phone down on the table and picked up the newspaper. She liked the French newspapers because there was nothing about America in them; at least nothing of significance to her. Now being a woman without a country, Jill prided herself on knowing as little about her first home as possible. She only checked the major sites for news that might warn her to stay away from certain areas, as the CIA had to be looking for her at this point.
That was, after all, why Irina gave her this job in Nowheresville, France, wasn't it? The city had under 30 thousand people and even though it felt busy, it was nothing in comparison to Paris, or Moscow, or Manhattan, or L.A. It was small-time bustling.
Her phone rang. "Yes?" she answered.
"We're ready for inspection," said a man, with a crisp French edge to his poor English. Jill also loved that these people forced themselves to speak her language while she was here. Sure, she was fluent in French and Russian, but they didn't know that. They didn't know she could understand their insults and perverted jokes about her. It only aided in her ability to do her job and report back to Irina how they might make things faster, and do it less expensively.
She was coming into her own.
"I'll be there in ten," she said.
Irina hung up the phone and looked over at Henri. "Jill is on her way to inspection," she informed him. "We'll know soon whether we can initiate phase three by the end of the day."
Henri toyed with the mouse on his desk and leaned on his armrest. "What is your plan with the CIA agent?"
"Chuck?" asked Irina, laughing. "You mean if he recovers from your little trick?"
Henri nodded.
"Kill him, obviously," said Irina, coldly. "He knows too much."
"But he'd lead them right to us," said Henri. "I don't know why you didn't kill him when you had the chance."
Irina rolled her eyes. "If we had simply killed him, all energy would have been focused on us, finding us, stopping us. By corrupting the Intersect, we distract them... his blond girlfriend, that large NSA man, and even his father who built the damn thing. Because we distracted them, we were able to launch phase two, and as you know, once it started, it will be nearly impossible to stop."
Henri gave her a half-smile. "And what if they find us before we can launch phase three? What good is phase two, then?"
Irina scoffed. "They'll never find us here."
"What if?" asked Henri, leaning back in his chair. "What if they find the Council? What if they discover Agde?"
Irina laughed. "I have no doubt they will discover Agde. I hope they do! That means I don't have to kill Jill myself, and, oh, I've grown ever so fond of her."
Henri shook his head. "You are a very complicated woman."
Irina gave him a coy smile. "I try very hard, Henri. Thank you." She glanced at the thin, silver watch on her wrist. "Speaking of the Council, I believe they're expecting us." Henri nodded and they both stood, he following her out of their workroom into the larger meeting room.
The conference camera was already connected and the members of the council were all on the screen, talking amongst themselves. It was Korbov, the senior-most member of The Pound, who noticed them enter the room.
"Are you ready, then?" asked Korbov, gruffly. "We don't have much time to spare."
"We have the time it takes to get the job done," said Irina. "So we have until we begin phase three."
Korbov frowned, not appreciating the disrespect. "Bring us up to speed."
"We have twenty-five Herrings currently in the last stages of their production, Hummingbird is on-scene to observe and then accompany them back to me, here, in Ust'ilimsk. Our soldiers, who will be carrying them into the headquarters of the targets we've prearranged, will be here just after you arrive tomorrow, and we will be prepared to deploy them within 24 hours of their arrival." Irina stood very still, arms crossed, as she rattled off the update to her council members. Henri stood silently behind her.
"And the CIA agent?" asked one of the two women.
"He is neutralized," said Irina. "We've successfully distracted the CIA from pursuing us for a time so that we can put phase three into effect. There has been no CIA activity in this area or toward Russia in 8 days."
There was a murmur between council members. They were excited.
"And when, do you believe, that we will have control over the systems of the major government institutions?" asked another man. The eagerness in his eyes was blatantly unmasked.
Irina smiled her evil, broad smile. Not a hint of joy, but dripping with the pleasure of accomplishment, and of knowing that they'd soon have their country back.
"Once our soldiers enter the buildings of the institutions, they only need 15 minutes before our computers have access to their data," said Irina. "If you'd like the more technical details, I'm sure Henri would love to explain, that, however, is the extent of my ability to use the correct jargon. I doknow, however, that it will not take long, assuming the soldiers can get the Herring inside the building."
"And do you have a fool proof plan for getting them into the buildings?" asked Korbov, harshly. There was a hint of fear in his voice, as though he was dreading everything going sour.
"Nothing is fool proof," said Irina with a scowl. "Unfortunately, we are riddled with fools in every facet of our line of work. But we have been preparing these soldiers for quite some time to do exactly what it is they are about to do. We have countermeasures and we have plan B, C, and D in case our original plan is thwarted." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, any further inquiries, or shall we reconvene tomorrow when you've all arrived back here at headquarters."
"Good work, Irina," said Korbov. "Until tomorrow, then."
The screens went blank.
Irina couldn't contain her smile. "We are so close, Henri. So close."
Casey led his light-traveling companions out of the airport and into a waiting rental car. The Montpellier was an hour trip from Agde. Sarah rode shotgun and Chuck hopped in the back seat.
"So what do we know?" asked Chuck, as Casey pulled onto the A9 that would take them all the way to Agde. The winds were strong right off the Mediterranean, but it felt good as the air was thick with humidity. The thermometer on the dashboard read 26 degrees Celsius, though Chuck wanted to debate that. In the sun it had to be at least 2-3 degrees warmer.
"We know that Jill took an airplane from Seattle to Paris 8 days ago," said Casey.
"We know that her instructions on how to get to Agde were printed in the cookbook in the Seattle airport," said Sarah.
"Which means shedidn't know where she was going when she arrived at the airport in Seattle, right?" asked Chuck. His question was almost rhetorical, but he was looking for holes in Jill's judgment.
"Possibly," said Sarah. "She might've known she was going to France, but not where, precisely."
"It's hard to believe that all that was in that book was a bunch of instructions on how to get to Agde," said Casey. "Are you sure there was nothing else."
"Well, there was those other numbers," said Chuck. "The 25 - 25 - 25 grouping, near the bottom."
"What about page 100?" asked Casey. "Do you think there was anything on that page?"
"I don't understand how we needed to pour a dye on the page in order to see these messages, but Jill was able to see it all with her naked eye," said Chuck.
"She probably had something in her hand," said Casey. "Invisible ink is usually created to uniquely respond to a solution that is manufactured in conjunction with the ink, whether it be a dye or a light. The dye that we use is probably the most advanced chemical solution in the world and there is very little-very, very little-that isn't exposed when this dye is poured on it."
"I'll check page 100," said Sarah. "I can't believe we didn't check it at the airport. What if it gives directions to a completely different location?"
"I doubt it," said Casey, honestly. "Chuck flashed on this city... it's gotta mean something."
Sarah turned around in her seat so she could face Chuck. "What can we expect from Jill?" Chuck sat back and avoided Sarah's gaze. He stared out the window, looking for something to say. "Come on, Chuck. I'm not going to be jealous, or anything."
Chuck glanced at her through the corner of his eyes. "It's not that... it's... oh, come on. The last time we ran into her, she used me like a boy robot! The most I knew about her up to that point was that she dumped me for my ex-best friend. After we lost her at Fulcrum headquarters, she was the skittish Fulcrum agent who manipulated me three times."
"She helped us break into Fulcrum," Sarah reminded him.
"Load of good thatdid," said Chuck. "They'd already moved my dad."
Sarah shrugged. "Do you think she's prepared to kill us?"
"Yes," said Casey.
"What makes you say that?" asked Sarah, looking at him.
"She's been brainwashed," said Casey. "Anyone can tell that."
"What?" asked Chuck. "Like brainwashedbrainwashed?"
"No, the other kind of brainwashed," said Casey, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "She has that look, you know? The kind that would show up on POWs after we'd intermittently starve them for weeks at a time." He hesitated. "By the time we'd gone through convincing them they were being deceived and that everything they stood for was a lie, they'd have that look, like everything in their life up to that point was a waste, that they shouldn't be allowed to go on living, and that their only allegiance was to us, their captors." He shook his head. "Jill had that look."
"She's a puppet," said Chuck, frowning.
Sarah reached into the backseat and put her hand on Chuck's knee. "Jill chose her own fate," she said, carefully. "At Stanford, with Fulcrum, running away from the CIA...she chose to be this person."
Chuck studied Sarah's expression, and gauged his response. "Does she really deserve what's coming for her, though? She's been used, she's manipulated me and us, but she's never killed anyone. She's never..."
"She betrayed this country, Chuck," said Casey, fiercely, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "This isn't about us, this is about our country."
They drove in silence the rest of the way, Chuck trying to compartmentalize what Casey's comment meant to him. How could he choose his country over human life?
It wasn't just a country, he reminded himself, it was a whole bunch of lives. One person chooses to go astray and puts millions of other people in mortal danger because a couple mercenaries feel they've got an unfair lot in life. And if it wasn't her they brought to justice, if it wasn't Jill or Irina or any of the other Pound members, then it was more American lives lost, and possibly his, Sarah's, or Casey's lives.
He certainly wasn't going to let that happen.
What he feared most about this adventure, however, wasn't confronting Jill. He was wary about how that scene might go down, to be sure, but it was nothing in comparison to how he feared the Intersect would behave in the heat of the situation. He hadn't yet taken the Intersect 3.0 out for a test drive, in a manner of speaking, and wasn't sure what skills he'd lost.
When they got out of the car on the outskirts of Agde, abandoning the vehicle just off the Route de Marseillan next to the train tracks that hugged the city, Sarah and Casey both noticed his trepidation.
"What are you worried about, Chuck?" asked Sarah, flat out. "We cannot walk into this if you have something on your mind." Casey heaved their weapons bulk out of the trunk and let it land on the ground with a clatter.
"Did you talk to my dad or Ellie about the changes they made to the Intersect?" Chuck asked.
"Sort of," said Sarah.
"Did they mention anything that I might need to be aware of? Like…how it might react to situations, or things I might not have access to?"
"Like…?" asked Sarah.
Chuck sighed. "Will I be able to flash on weapons? Will I be able to flash on combat skills?"
Sarah's eyes widened, as though she'd never thought of that. She looked back at Casey, who also looked up from his sack. He looked just as unsure as Sarah did.
"Try it," said Casey. "Flash on this baby." He tossed Chuck a long rifle.
Chuck caught it, noticed the M1913 rail, and immediately flashed. Within seconds he saw everything from the monopod socket to the lightweight bolt carrier to the muzzle break. He saw how to hold it, the level at which to aim it, the physics of it's blast, and the expectation of recoil and how to properly guard the body against the kick. Chuck was surprised. It wasn't exactly the same flow of data that he'd grown accustomed to, but it was more specific. Before, the Intersect would give him everything it could in relation to a weapon or a city, and now it gave him just what he was thinking about, as though he had a checklist and the Intersect had just gone through it one-by-one.
He blinked a couple times. "Okay, we're in business!" He looked at the M107 in his hands. "Why do we need sniper rifles?"
"So we can pick off our enemies if we need to," said Casey, without the slightest hesitation. He tossed another rifle to Sarah, then tossed them both trench coats.
"Great," said Chuck, pulling on the coat. "Americans wearing trench coats in the middle of a French-socialist city. We'll attract zero attention."
Casey chuckled. "You'd be surprised." He put the empty bag back into the trunk of their car and they headed back onto the highway, quickly crossed, and cut over into the residential roads.
"All right, Chuck," said Sarah. "Can you flash again on the city, using the information we found on page 100? Tell us where we need to go?"
Chuck nodded, closed his eyes, and thought about Agde, France and Étang de Luno .