Flashback
A/N: All you whiners out there…better you sandpaper the ass of a tiger with hemorrhoids than mess with me today. My bad attitude has reached legendary proportions.Armor-Plated-Rat
The cavalry had finally arrived at SeaTac. The reason for the delay became apparent as combat-clad NSA strikers emerged from the plane and after a short but intense firefight had either killed or subdued all the Fulcrum agents. Beckman had instructed the pilot to land in Salt Lake City and pick up a strike team and then proceed on to Seattle.
There was no sign of the floatplane or the asset they'd been instructed to rescue. After a briefing and conversation with General Beckman and the CIA director, NSA units boarded National Guard helicopters and headed out into the darkening sky over the Strait from Seattle to Bear Island.
Becky/Alice/Jill was in a rage. The sea had picked up and the progress her fishing trawler was making was putting them behind schedule. They planned to be at the damned island already but the waters between Vancouver Island and Bear Island were not cooperating.
The Zodiac boats were ready on deck and now all they had to do was cover the remaining five miles and land on the rocky beach and assault the security force and take Sarah Bartowski hostage to force her husband's cooperation. She checked the sub dermal transponder and confirmed her location on the island.
The other device was still functioning but was unimportant now. It had done its job, creating a wedge between the couple and driving Chuck Bartowski into the waiting arms of Fulcrum at SeaTac. The Fulcrum agent on the island had confirmed his departure on the floatplane and the pending arrival of her 'therapist'.
She'd dispatched an ambush force to take Chuck prisoner at the terminal. She'd received a confirming call that he'd been wounded resisting capture and was being taken to a secure location for treatment. She told the agent that if anything happened to 'her Chuck' his life would be forfeit. She had no inkling that the agent himself was a captive and was bartering for his life by making the call.
Everything was coming together and as soon as it became convenient, the wife would meet with an accident trying to escape and Chuck would grieve himself right back into her arms and clutches.
He had the island in sight and now all he had to do was remember which damned side the dock was on. Once more he chided himself for his lack of what Casey called 'situational awareness' and how a lack of it frequently killed you.
He flew down the southwestern side of the island but couldn't see the dock in the dusk. He came north and then northwest and ran along the island shore noting a fishing trawler was following a group of zodiacs that were headed in to the island. They had to be Fulcrum and that meant they thought he was still on the island and that the pilot of the floatplane had escaped at SeaTac. They'd be headed for the cottage and Sarah.
The four zodiacs were pounding through the increasingly choppy water and were almost perfectly aligned for what he had in mind.
He pulled back on the yoke and the Cessna clawed for altitude. At 1,700 feet he brought the plane around in a gentle bank and lined up on an imaginary line in the waves. It was just like Flight Simulator except he hadn't figured out how to stop the game in progress so he could step out for a beer or in this case, jump out. Oh well.
Chuck pushed the nose over and dove at a 30-degree angle at an imaginary point in the sea, pulling up 20 feet from the water and aligning the plane with the first zodiac. He dropped down to about 10 feet and then extended to full flaps and dropped the floats right on the zodiac.
He pulled up to 20 feet and aimed at the third inflatable since he'd overshot the 2nd and again dropped down and hit it with the floats. The Fulcrum agents in the 4th zodiac saw the ruins of the other two and let loose with automatic weapons fire, hitting the floats and wings and fuselage of the plane as it passed overhead.
Chuck pulled back on the yoke again and climbed to almost 800 feet and brought the plane around for another pass but changed his mind when he saw that the second zodiac had made landfall and that the Fulcrum agents in the last surviving zodiac were almost to shore. Figuring he had to land sometime he dove at the last zodiac and again was met with a hail of automatic weapons fire both from the zodiac and from the Fulcrum agents who'd made it ashore.
Jill ran up the path from the stony beach following the transponder signal. She would accomplish her mission and take Walker hostage and the intersect would belong to Fulcrum and her future was assured. The other agents would handle that idiot in the floatplane.
The engine seized and flames shot out of the ruined engine cowling as fuel and lubricants caught fire. Chuck knew it was time for Elvis to leave the building. When he estimated his altitude at 50 feet he forced open the door and stepped down onto the ruined float preparing to jump when he figured he was 10 feet above the water. The flames reached the fuel tanks and the red floatplane exploded and sank in 100 feet of water leaving only a burning slick of gasoline to mark its grave.
A National Guard helicopter opened fire on the last zodiac and it exploded and sank 20 yards from shore. The helicopter landed and discharged its strike team and then flew to the site of the plane crash to search for survivors.
Sarah stood beside the fireplace in the darkened cottage. She held her 9mm ready to shoot the first person through the door who wasn't her husband. She heard the automatic weapons fire and figured the cavalry had arrived but knew from Beckman's call that Fulcrum had landed a handful of agents on the island and to expect company.
Jill approached the cottage cautiously. Even though the transponder display showed that her target was in the back of the cottage she was not going to offer herself up as a target. Stepping up onto the porch she tried to open the cottage door and was surprised to find it ajar. She figured that one of the 'loyal' NSA security people had rushed to aid Walker so she crouched down and pulled out her night vision aids and scanned the room.
Even with just the light from the dying fire she could see that the living room was empty so she walked silently toward the bedroom. The transponder display indicated it was the location of the signal.
She removed her night vision goggles and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness and walked without a sound towards the open bedroom door. She reached her hand around the doorjamb and felt for a light switch on the wall and found it. Jill flipped on the light and found an empty room with an unmade bed. In the center of the bed was a pool of blood and a small computer chip with a wire attached. The transponder!
Knowing she'd blundered into a trap she turned to run but a burning pain in the throat made movement impossible. She dropped the MP-5 to hang by its strap and put both hands on her neck, trying to stem the flow of blood from her slashed throat.
"Hello, Jill. Goodbye, Jill. Chuck figured you out and he's on his way here but it'll be too late for him to kill you. You're already dead, just too stupid to fall down. Hurts? Good. That's for Chuck and me, and for Casey and Gwen and for Rebecca Piersall, CIA and for the two NSA agents you killed."
Jill dropped to her knees, still clutching her throat and fighting against the encroaching darkness.
"My husband trusts me. He told me to trust myself and I do. I cut out your damned transponder, Jill, and threw it on the bed to lure you into a trap. You're dying and I'm watching and enjoying it. Chuck and I are going to have a wonderful life together while you're going to rot in a cold and damp grave because even Hell won't have you."
Nov 5 9pm
Due to darkness and dangerous flying conditions, the search for any survivors of the floatplane or the zodiacs was halted. All those involved knew that when the search began again at first light, weather permitting, it would be a recovery operation, not a search and rescue. It was unlikely that anyone had survived the attack on the zodiacs and eyewitness accounts had stated that the plane had been in flames and exploded before striking the surface and sinking in 100 feet of water. The Canadian Coast Guard boarded the trawler and the crew was taken into custody and would be extradited to the US for 'handling'.
Sarah Bartowski, unconscious from blood loss from a wound to the back of her neck, was evacuated from the island to a secure medical facility in Seattle to undergo surgery to repair damage done to her neck and to close a 6-inch incision she'd made to remove the Fulcrum transponder. Her mother-in-law stood and watched the surgery to ensure nothing 'happened' and planned to stay with her daughter-in-law as long as she was needed and wanted. Eleanor and Devon were flying up the following day.
The last of the NSA security team left the island by helicopter a little past midnight. The Canadians could have it back. The NSA was done with it.
Chuck had never been so cold in his life. He'd lost consciousness when he hit the water and had no idea how he got onto the beach. Those minutes or hours were forever lost to him. He realized that he was dangerously close to hypothermia and needed to get warm and dry or he'd freeze to death. He hoped Sarah had a fire going in the fireplace and that she hadn't used all the hot water. A hot shower would go a long way to getting him warm.
The gate was unlocked as was the front door of the cottage. He stumbled in and called for his wife but there was no answer. He flipped on the lights but the electricity was off. He had a nagging suspicion that he was alone on the island. He found the matches in the kitchen and put newspaper and kindling in the fireplace and started a fire, gradually adding wood until it blazed. At least he had enough wood for a few days.
He fumbled his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower and stepped into a lukewarm stream of water. It didn't matter. He shampooed the gas and oil and salt from his hair and got clean. The water was turning cold. The hot water heater must have been electric.
He found clean sweats in his closet and he pulled all the blankets and comforter off the bed and made up a new one on the loveseat in front of the fire. He was still shivering but he knew now he wasn't going to die.
He was trying to figure out what to do next when he fell asleep.
Sarah Walker had to be sedated when she was told about the probable death of her husband. Natalie Bartowski slept fitfully in a plastic chair by her bedside. She'd talked to Diane Beckman and had been told about her son's involvement in the take down of the Fulcrum assault on Bear Island and Natalie had described Sarah's self-surgery and subsequent killing of Alice/Becky/Jill to an amazed Diane Beckman. Beckman consulted her notes. No female body had been recovered.
Tomorrow, well today, would be difficult. She hoped for Sarah's sake that they would find her son's body and that it had not been swept out to sea by the tides and storm. It would provide her with some closure at the very least.
Nov 6 8am
The sea around the island was full of trawlers and salvage boats attempting to locate the small floatplane and its occupant. Search teams were combing the beach looking for his body and had located 3 male Fulcrum corpses but no Chuck Bartowski.
One of the beach team members smelled wood smoke and the small contingent moved inland to the cottage figuring that one of the Fulcrum agents had survived and was holed up there, trying to stay warm.
Chuck was warm and asleep, dreaming about taking Sarah to the Caymans for a vacation when he was rudely interrupted just as he was removing the last of her clothes. An NSA agent and his partner had followed the scent of wood smoke and had seen the smoke coming out of the cottage chimney and slipped into the cottage to investigate.
"Who are you? What are you doing in this cottage?" The NSA agent was brusque and emphasized the question marks with prods from the barrel of his MP-5.
"Well, shit. I suppose you're here to collect for damages done to the Cessna. It wasn't my fault. They shot me down in flames, literally." He'd started laughing until he saw the look on the agent's face.
"My name is Charles Bartowski and you can confirm that with Diane Beckman assuming she's not still pissed about me disobeying her order. And about losing the Cessna. I'd let you use my phone but it seems to have been lost when the plane blew up."
"Any of you guys got any coffee? No electricity and all we have is an electric coffee pot. Any of you guys know where my wife is? No? Then what the hell good are you? Out, out, out! You're blocking the heat from the fire." His one good eye rolled up into the back of his head and he was asleep.
The guy who had prodded Chuck earlier now turned and walked out onto the porch. It was sleeting again and the air smelled like snow.
"Beckman, secure."
"Johnson, ma'am. Call off the search in the Strait. We've got the body."
"You're sure it's him?"
"Yes, ma'am. He says he's Chuck Bartowski and that you're probably pissed about the Cessna."
"What shape is he in?"
"Entire right side of his face is black and blue, the right eye is swelled shut and he's pissed because he has to pay for a damned Cessna. I suggest a medical evacuation since we can't do much in the way of examining him here. He doesn't make much sense."
"He almost never does, Agent. Thank you. Scramble a chopper and get him to the secure medical facility in Seattle."
Natalie Winstead Bartowski, Sarah Walker Bartowski, Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb and her husband sat around Sarah's bed planning a funeral with or without a body. They were planning a funeral but so far no one would say the F-word. They were planning a funeral but no one would say who it was that was dead. So far, no one had said the D-word.
Ellie wondered just how many secret hospitals there were in the United States. So far she'd been in 3 of them. This one was small, staffed with competent professionals, well equipped and boasted state of the art computerized support. It had 4 rooms and an ICU as well as two operating theaters. And it was all under the lowest level of a parking garage in Seattle. Amazing.
The corridor lights changed from white to red and back again. That was the signal that an incoming patient was arriving and that all unnecessary movement in the corridors should be avoided.
Ellie watched as two NSA agents in combat gear carried a Stokes litter into the receiving area and helped transfer the patient to a gurney and then move him off to an examination room.
Natalie's phone rang and she excused herself to take the call. Standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall she dreaded answering her phone.
"Foster, secure."
"Beckman, secure. What is the status of Agent Bartowski?"
"She's recovering from her surgery. I can't believe she did that. I wouldn't have had the guts."
"Fine, but I meant the other Agent Bartowski?"
"We've had no word on the recovery operation. We're sitting around Sarah's bed dancing around the issues of his death and a funeral. If I were this group's therapist instead of a participant I'd say they were hopeless. Diane, what do you think the chances are of recovering my son's body? It would help Sarah with the closure issues she's going to have."
"They found the floatplane, what there was left of it. A crane-equipped trawler recovered it and the fuselage and wing were riddled with bullet holes. The windscreen was missing but there were numerous holes in the frame. There was no body and I've cancelled the search due to weather conditions and other events."
"Now, back to my original question. What about the other Bartowski?"
"There is no other Bartowski. He'd dead. Why are you being so cruel?"
"Oh, you mean they didn't advise you? Go to the trauma room, Nat. Take Sarah with you if she's ambulatory and don't make a big thing out of it. Nine lives, Natalie, your boy's got nine lives." 'Payback's a bitch, Natalie. But discovering your 'motherhood', even this late in life is redeeming. Now don't screw it up'.
Natalie hung up the phone suddenly unable to speak. She walked into Sarah's room and unhooked her IV's and monitoring leads and handed her a hospital robe and slippers.
"OK, Sarah, let's go for a walk. There's something we both need to see here. C'mon, sweetie, the walk will do you good. Ellie and Devon can go find some coffee. Let's go."
She carefully got out of bed, slipped into the slippers while Natalie went and found a wheelchair.
"You're too unsteady to walk. Hop in and let's go." Ellie started to object but something in her mother's eyes stopped her and she just grabbed Devon's hand and pulled him out and down to the kitchenette for coffee.
She pushed the wheelchair down the hall past the empty rooms until she found one with a great deal of activity. She stepped around the chair and looked Sarah in the eyes.
"Don't make a scene. It may not be pleasant but it's necessary, Sarah. These things happen in life and you have to learn to accept the bad, sometimes the very bad, with the good. Now, be strong, Sarah."
They had to wait while an attendant muscled a portable x-ray machine out of the room.
"Chuck?" Her voice was raspy from the anesthesia and he almost didn't recognize it. He was lying on his left side because the doctors were concerned about something they hadn't shared yet. He felt fine, just tired. They were doing something to his back and had smeared something on it that deadened the pain of their needles or so they said. He hadn't felt much.
He started to sit up but the nurse held him down. "Agent, you must not move right now. Be still and it'll all be over in a minute or two then you can talk with your visitors."
"Hey, what happened? Why are you in a wheelchair? Are you hurt?"
She looked down at her hands and shook her head. She tried not to cry but couldn't stop herself. It was over at last. He was safe. No funeral. No casket without a body. She looked up at him and smiled her most brilliant smile through her tears.
"I'm fixed, Chuck. No more nightmares, no more flashbacks, no more Jill."
The nurse patted him on the arm. "Agent, we're going to roll you onto your back. You can't lift your head, sit up or roll over for 12 hours. The doctor will have the results back to you within the hour and will discuss any necessary treatments or procedures at that time." She belted him in across the waist to ensure he wouldn't roll over in his sleep.
Sarah's eyes got round and her mother-in-law followed the nurse out of the room.
"Chuck, what's wrong? Are you hurt? How did it happen?"
"Not now, Sarah, please? Tell me about you. Why are you here? Were you wounded, hurt, what? And what's with the 'no more' stuff?"
"I cut out the tracking device and the damned implant and used them as bait to trap your girlfriend and kill her. We won't be bothered any more by Alice, Becky or Jill. She's in Hell where she belongs. The implant was putting drugs into my system making me dream like I did. You were right, I could fix myself and I did."
Chuck felt a flash of anger but let it slide. She was not his girlfriend. She was a murderer and a traitor and should have been executed but he appealed on her behalf and got her a lesser sentence and she escaped. She was not his girlfriend. But he had been a fool to trust her.
Natalie Bartowski waved her CIA credentials in the doctor's face and defined her relationship with his patient and demanded his charts and to be included in any discussions regarding treatments. She did not trust anyone in the intelligence community's medical units.
"Dr. Foster, Agent Bartowski has suffered massive contusions over more than 70% of his body as a result of exiting an aircraft in flight and hitting the water at more than 60mph from an altitude of 10 feet or more. We're being very cautious due to the sensitive nature of his…duties. Our instructions are to treat him like royalty but not to put up with any objections to required care. General Beckman's exact words were 'he tends to ignore physical injuries until he's standing at death's door and lately he's been knocking the shit out of it'."
She laughed out loud. "So why the lumbar puncture? Do you suspect anything?"
"Considering the contusions and bruising and given his previous injuries less than a year ago, we're being very cautious."
"Well, thank you, doctor, and please keep me appraised of any treatments."
Sarah held on to Chuck's hand like she planned to never let go. She was horrified at the condition of his face and couldn't believe he got it when he fell down.
"It's true, babe, I fell about 10 feet into the water and that's the truth. I just bruise easily, I guess."
His mother was standing in the doorway shamelessly eavesdropping. She almost let it go but she couldn't let Sarah think Chuck had just fallen down.
"Chuck, you fell more than 10 feet and you failed to mention that you were going more than 60mph and that you were in a burning plane and you didn't really 'fall' more like you were blown up and out of the plane."
Sarah squeezed his hand hard enough that he gasped and tried to pull away. She realized what she'd done and raised his hand and kissed it muttering 'sorry'.
"Any idea how long I'll have to stay here? I'm not hurt, just damned tired. And I had no choice, Sarah, I had to take the plane or Fulcrum would have nabbed me in Seattle. It's a cool ride, Sarah, I might want to take flying lessons later. Everything was going great until it caught fire. I'd smashed two zodiacs but the other one made it to shore and then I think I hit the last one."
He was overwhelmed with Ellie and Devon before she could hurt him for risking his life flying a plane. She would have been fine since the whole place was in lockdown. She never stopped to think that he wanted to be there with her and share the danger and possible consequences. Sometimes she didn't understand the concept of 'marriage', applying some esoteric definition specific to her current requirements.
Natalie had noted the point of probable conflict and was going to bring it up to Sarah at the first available opportunity. Being her mother-in-law did not preempt her position as her therapist, it just gave her more clout.
A/N: You only have to put up with a couple more chapters…be strong…have courage...this too shall pass. No female Fulcrum corpse found? Was Sarah imagining it all? Or did someone remove the corpse? Or a body? Their lives and fate all appear braided together in some perverse manner…
