What if the Intersect had been...different? What if its negative effects had been much more immediate, plaguing Chuck from the get-go?
Greetings from Ohio. Wrote a little of this before I started my drive, wrote the rest in my head as I drove. Typed it up.
Chuck Amuck
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
King's Gambit
Wednesday, Afternoon
Bryce stood in the main room of the cabin.
Like everyone else in the room, he was wearing black fatigues. Amy was standing on his right side, Jill on his left. Before him, seated on couches, armchairs and fold-out chairs, were seven hand-picked Fulcrum agents, all male. The heavy dining room table was covered in weapons and ammunition, Bryce had just finished going over the plan one more time, using a blueprint taped to the interior front wall. The men knew the drill - they had been practicing in a physical mock-up, running simulations, in the Northern California hills.
There was one serious kink in the plan. General Stanfield was supposed to be dead, vaporized in an explosion in Mt. Shasta City days ago, his place to have been taken by his successor, a man groomed by Volkoff and put in place long ago, carefully retained and cultivated by Bryce. He was to have been the man on the inside.
Bryce wanted Stanfield gone regardless, since he was opposed to policies Bryce wanted, policies Bryce believed Fulcrum could manipulate.
Instead, Stanfield would be there, part of the entourage, and the inside man would not. A kink, a complication, to be sure, but not insuperable. Bryce was nothing if not flexible. He could cope with the complication. He would rather not have to have made an attack on the location - it would have been easier just to be shown in after the fact, with everything and everyone ready. But it would still work and who knew when he would have the chance again?
Bryce had been holding forth on Fulcrum as he ended, the bright new day that would begin once the mission was completed, and he could tell the men believed. It was always good to surround yourself with true believers. No one was as easy to manipulate as the man who thought he was doing the right thing. Bryce was a true believer too - but in himself, not in any stupid mantra about God and Country. God and Country could go hang; Bryce wanted power, pure and simple. His father had taught him that was the only real currency. Everything else was make-believe, bilge water that sheep were only too happy to suck down, as long as it was flavored with martial music, parades, and talk of American Exceptionalism.
What a crock of shit. Bryce believed in Bryce Exceptionalism. That was the only creed he took seriously. 'I' is a palindrome. The same forward and backward, the only letter in the alphabet worth serving. Not USA...
There's no 'u' in 'Bryce'. But there is in 'Chuck'. Or there was.
Chuck had screwed things up with Stanfield. Bryce was sure of that now. Chuck had also tightened Fulcrum's finances. The drug bust in Seattle had claimed ready money Bryce was counting on, money Smithies would have provided. Bryce was sure that was Chuck now too. All on a damn trajectory toward Outlook, Bozeman. Intersect trajectory. But the finances, like Stanfield, a mere complication - and Bryce had a workaround. Bryce had a fortune in off-shore accounts available, Volkoff money, and other monies. It was more trouble but he would fund things, then pay himself back with interest. Lots of interest. Fulcrum's money was really his anyway.
Bartowski had paid for his interference with Bryce's plan. The mindless chump was doubtless cold on a table back in the Meat Sciences lab, himself now nothing but meat. Meat for science.
Bryce was genuinely annoyed that Ellie Bartowski and Morgan Grimes had escaped, and annoyed that he was unsure where they were, but they were who they were - a doctor and a bearded clown. They would not matter. They would have been useful later, particularly Ellie. She might have been worth keeping around, forced to help Fulcrum with the new Intersect. That would have been ironic - Bryce's lip curled as he thought of that word and his final encounters with Chuck - and it might have been interesting to find out just how far he could push Ellie, whether she was made of the leathery stuff her mother was...But, no matter. It was all going to work out. Before Thursday, it would all be over.
Bryce opened the floor for questions. But no one seemed eager to ask any.
Devon had been nonplussed since he emerged from the concourse at the airport. Ellie had run to him and hugged him - that had not surprised him. But she had made no sound, said no word; she had clung to him and would not let go.
Chuck stepped forward and offered his hand. Devon shook it while still holding Ellie. Beside Chuck was the woman Ellie had told him about, Sarah Walker. She came forward a moment later and put her hand on Ellie's shoulder.
The intimacy of the gesture struck Devon. Ellie loosened her grip on Devon and gave him a kiss. She turned and looked at Sarah, nodding, and some silent communication passed between the women.
"Devon, this is Sarah Walker," Ellie said quietly.
Devon put out his hand. "Wow, the CIA…"
Ellie cut him off. "She's Chuck's girlfriend."
Devon shook Sarah's hand. "Awesome." He glanced at Chuck and saw Chuck looking at Sarah. So that's how it is. The Chuckster's a goner.
"We need to get to our hotel, Devon. My mom and dad are there."
Devon froze. "What did you say, babe?"
Ellie gave him a slow sad smile. "I'll explain in the car. Explain everything."
Devon went ahead with Ellie. Behind him, he heard Chuck ask Sarah quietly, "So, 'babe'?"
He heard Sarah make a sound, musing. "Hhhmmmmnnnoo. No, don't think so."
"No pet names?"
"I didn't say that, but not that one. For one thing, it's taken; it might get confusing in Burbank."
"You mean - like in the future?"
Devon heard Sarah's soft chuckle. "Exactly like that."
Brown needed to talk to Sarah.
He was sure now about Bryce's target while still unsure of how Bryce was planning his attack. He had arranged for a CIA 'copter in Bozeman and he had just texted Sarah about that. But he needed to explain it all to her. A few minutes more...
He was so involved in his task that he did not hear anything. So tired he did not hear anything. He felt it though, a sudden pinprick in his neck after a quick sound, almost like an air puff test at an optometrist's office, or someone spitting. Brown's vision blurred. His hands went still. Damn it. He hit a key on his computer, blanking it out.
Brown saw the mole reflected in his computer screen blurrily, then he slumped forward, his forehead on his keyboard.
Manoosh Depak stood behind Brown, a smug smile on his face, an all-plastic Fulcrum-issue tranq gun in his hand.
Depak had found the bug in his office, realized how it had gotten there. Brown was no longer a problem. Depak hid the tranq gun beneath a pile of Brown's papers. No one would find him for hours, maybe longer. Fulcrum would win. Larkin had promised Depak he would be rewarded for his service when Fulcrum won. That Fleming was now...out-of-service...made Depak even more important.
Brown was an old, crippled fool, the kind of man Fulcrum would not tolerate. The kind of man the future could not tolerate, like Brown's father. Conscience was a trick played by the weak to keep themselves in power. A sop for those who could not be remorseless. It was time, past time, for the strong to take their rightful place.
Everything was ready. Depak could oversee it all from a DC Fulcrum location nearby. Larkin had only to upload the Intersect and then…
Brown had seriously underestimated Depak. Seriously.
On a whim, Depak yanked Brown's sweater off the back of Brown's chair and put it on. Too big. He straightened it on himself and left the office, carefully closing the door.
There was a spring in his step as he headed out of Langley. Leave as an underling, return as Overlord.
Overlord...Manoosh rolled that word around in his head. Overlord. Not bad for an MIT dropout. Not that the CIA knows about that - fake diploma and all. Overlord.
Mary was in her room. Stephen was not - she was not sure where he had gone. Perhaps he had already headed to Chuck and Sarah's room downstairs, where Mary had told folks to gather. Mary had come back upstairs to take some aspirin. Her head was killing her. She had not really been able to sleep knowing Stephen was asleep in the same room.
She had spent the night tossing and turning in the bed she shared with Ellie, half the time desperate to climb into Stephen's bed and the remembered warmth of his arm, half the time desperate to flee from the room and outside into the dark. The lack of sleep and the earlier conversation with Stephen had her head throbbing.
She dumped several ibuprofen tablets into her palm, not even counting. She threw them into her mouth and picked up one of the upside-down glasses on the sink and filled it with water, washing them down.
She had just swallowed the pills when she heard a soft knock on the door. She opened it, expecting Ellie and Devon, but Zondra was standing there.
"Um, hi, Fr...Mary, is Ellie here?"
"No, Zondra. She's not gotten back from the airport. You needed her?"
Zondra smiled self-consciously. "Yeah, I...uh, I wanted to talk to her about Morgan."
Mary, despite her headache, despite everything, smiled back. "Well, my Morgan file is out-of-date, but it is rather deep. Do you think I could help you?"
Zondra gave Mary a frank, appraising stare. "Maybe. Maybe, in fact, you are just the person I need to talk to."
Mary stepped aside. Zondra walked in and sat down in the armchair. Mary walked right up to her and leaned down slightly. "Before we talk Morgan - maybe as part of our talk about Morgan actually, I need you to tell me something. Did Langston Graham send you to terminate Ellie as your Red Test."
Zondra glanced around the room nervously. "So...you know about that. Yes, he did. But I didn't. I mean, obviously, I didn't. I couldn't. I thought I could. I thought I wanted what doing it successfully would get me…"
"And that was?"
"Sarah's job, in effect. I don't mean that I would've forced her out, only that I thought I would be a new...Enforcer."
"And you thought you wanted that?" Mary leaned down more and Zondra slid back into her armchair. She took a moment.
"I did. But I now know I didn't. I have...killed, but I am no executioner."
Mary stared at her hard for a long time in absolute silence, motionless. Finally, she blinked. "No, Zondra, I don't think you are. Thank God." Mary stepped toward the bed and sat on its side. "Good for you."
"That's what Sarah said."
"So you two have patched things up?"
"Yes. Sarah's not Sarah anymore."
Mary straightened. "What do you mean?"
Zondra shrugged almost imperceptibly. "She loves your son."
"Does she really?"
"Yes," Zondra said, nodding, "she does."
"What would you say if I told you that although she sincerely believes she loves Chuck - even uses that word - she really does not know what it means, and so doesn't love him?"
Zondra's face colored. "I'd say that's one hell of a mouthful - and dead wrong."
Mary leaned toward Zondra again, although she stayed seated on the bed. "How could you possibly know?"
"Because I knew her before. If that Sarah had told me she was in love, but she was still that Sarah, I might have thought, well, all that you just said. But I guess...I mean...I think I'm beginning to see...that love changes people. Not like an itch changes people, a change that gets added to who they are but otherwise changes nothing about them, or like the change when you paint your nails or dye your hair. Really to love is to...change, all over, everywhere, inside. To become a new person while you are still yourself..." Zondra twisted her lips to the side, not sure she was making sense.
Mary listened and felt her own face color. A lesson I learned too late. She nodded at Zondra and they sat looking at each other.
"I had a Red Test, you know, Zondra." Mary did not pause for a response; she just went on. "It was in Bordeaux. Early in my career, before I met Stephen. The man was a US diplomat selling secrets to terrorist groups. The Director then - long before Graham - gave me the assignment. I did it.
"The man was young. He had a wife, kids. I shot him in the head in a cobblestone alleyway and I walked away. I never let myself reckon with it. I just did it and then it was done, past tense, unchangeable - and I moved on. Moved on. But I came to know something about myself that day: I was an executioner." Mary felt her eyes become so intense Zondra could not meet her gaze.
"I thought I could live with that self-knowledge until I fell in love with Stephen. Then it began to haunt me. But it came home to me, materialized, the day I gave birth to Ellie. The doctor put her on my chest - she was crying loudly, of course," Mary gave a quick, wry, fond grin, "and Stephen looked down at her and then at me and my first thought was: I am a killer. I loved her. God, did I love her. But it all felt like a cosmic joke, a black cosmic joke. A joke on Stephen and on Ellie and later, on Chuck too. They were innocent, and I…I couldn't be anyone's wife, anyone's mother. My love wasn't enough..." Mary stopped. She got up and went into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet, splashed water on her face and then toweled her face dry. She walked back into the room and sat down on the bed again.
"I apologize, Zondra. It's been a...difficult time for me." Mary offered. "So, how can I help with Morgan? Or did...all that...disqualify me?"
Zondra gave Mary a generous, sympathetic smile, leaned forward, and put her hand on Mary's arm. "No, I think it qualified you. He'll text me when the others arrive. We have a minute. Why don't you tell me about him when he was little, when you knew him?"
Mary smiled back, her smile strained but real. "Morgan showed up at my house after school one day. A bully had been mistreating Chuck - and Morgan stepped in between them. The bully blacked both Morgan's eyes for interfering. That made Chuck so mad that he actually hit the bully and sent him running away with a bloody nose." Mary shook her head.
"Morgan's mom...she worked all the time, so Chuck came home with this little raccoon-faced kid in tow. Chuck told me what happened, and I cleaned the boys up and made them Rice Krispy treats. I make a mean Rice Krispy treat. Morgan loves them…"
Zondra was lost in the story already and Mary could see that. She let herself get lost in it too.
Sarah had tried several times to get Brown to answer his phone. No luck. Everyone except Mary and Zondra was crowded into the room. Sarah gave up and put her phone on the nightstand. As she did, Mary and Zondra came in together. Sarah was unsure what to make of that.
Zondra went and sat on the arm of the armchair Morgan was in. Mary shut the door and leaned against it. Stephen glanced her way and she glanced his, but neither acknowledged the glance of the other.
Sarah began. "Everyone, this is Devon." Devon, seated cross-legged on the floor beside Ellie, smiled and waved. "Devon, this is everyone. We can do individual introductions later. Right now, we need to try to figure some things out and I don't think we have much time. I can't get in touch with Brown, but he has a helicopter waiting to take us to Mount Rushmore - if that's where we are really going. Brown found out that Bryce was there. But after Brown's text about the helicopter, I heard nothing more. Chuck and I have talked. We're afraid to wait, but we don't want to head off in the wrong direction.
"So here's the first question: does anyone have any idea why Bryce would be at Mount Rushmore? What, other than tourism or patriotism would take Bryce there?"
The room was quiet. Then Zondra asked a question: "What day is it again?"
Chuck: "Wednesday, why?"
"Is it the last Wednesday of the month?"
"Yes."
"Oh. That's not...He wouldn't…"
Sarah broke into Zondra's stammer. "Z, what is it?"
"A while ago, some years, right after the CATs...finished," Zondra glanced from Sarah to Carina, sitting nearby, "I ended up on...bullshit duty. I got re-assigned for a while, loaned out to the Secret Service. I don't think that what I did ever made it into my files - probably only the re-assignment itself. Basically, Graham gave me to the Secret Service for a while. Punishment. Anyway, I got stuck babysitting one of the generals on the Joint Chiefs of Staff."
Devon looked at her in surprise. "That doesn't sound like 'bullshit duty'. That sounds awesome."
Zondra shrugged and smiled. "I was a spy. I wanted to be doing my job, spying, not someone else's job.
"So, anyway, I ended up making a trip to Mount Rushmore with that general. Twice a year, the final Wednesday of a month (it rotates), the Joint Chiefs of Staff meet to...wargame, I guess...It's top-secret, hidden. They 'go dark' for a couple of days and work through computer simulations of enemy military or terrorist attacks. It starts on Wednesday, ends late Thursday. In between, they aren't in contact with anyone. The place they conducted the wargaming was Mount Rushmore."
Morgan put his hand gently on Zondra's leg. Sarah saw Zondra's quick, pleased reaction. So, 'not yet' has become 'yes'. "On Mount Rushmore?" Morgan scrunched his face in an effort to picture it.
"No, Morgan, in Mount Rushmore." Morgan nodded vacantly, mouthing the word, 'in'.
"Evidently, the original designers, artists, whatever, hollowed out an area inside Abraham Lincoln's head - the government requested it. No one else knew about it. For years, it was used for storage of God knows what."
Morgan grabbed her arm. "Maybe it was like that place at the end of the first Indiana Jones, you know, where they stowed the Ark of the Covenant."
Zondra laughed. "No, Morgan, not like that - at least I don't think so. Even Lincoln's head's not that large." Smiling indulgently at him, she turned back to Sarah.
"Later, much later, during the Cold War, the area was expanded into a backup nuclear control center. There's a hidden elevator that provides access." Zondra finished. "All the equipment's now state-of-the-art and it is one of the sites for the JCS wargames."
Morgan had listened carefully, Sarah saw, but when Zondra stopped he looked at her, everybody. "All that - inside the head of the Great Emancipator?" Zondra nodded and Morgan shook his head. "Weird."
Sarah looked around the room: silent agreement.
Chuck stood up. As Zondra talked, he had a strange feeling, like he knew what she was going to say. "Tell us more about the games, Zondra."
"I don't know much. All computer simulation stuff. Big screens all around the main room, the giant conference table."
"Larkin is going to download the Intersect into the Joint Chiefs of Staff…" Stephen said it to himself but still loudly enough for the room to hear.
Carina looked at Stephen from her seat beside Casey. "But why? I mean - it'd create quite a ruckus, getting to them up there, in Lincoln's head. And, the ruckus would clue folks in, right?"
"Unless there was no ruckus. Unless Bryce thought he could pull it off without detection. Not just from outside but from the inside…"
Sarah looked at Chuck, who was staring into space. "What do you mean?"
"What if he thought he could get in without making any noise, get the Intersect into the generals, and get away without anyone knowing he had done it?"
"Tranqs of some kind?" Casey asked, but went on.
"Yes," Chuck nodded slowly, still staring.
Mary: "But even if he could - the generals would know they'd been...tinkered with...right? I mean, even a viable Intersect would take time to assimilate, integrate, right? They'd know they were flashing, and how would that help Larkin?"
Stephen shot a questioning glance at his wife. "Could Larkin have known about Volkoff, I mean about Tuttle...wait," he slowed, his tone apologetic, "...of course he could. Fleming had my old journals. Nothing there was spelled out, in the open, but he could have worked it out. He might even have...shit."
Morgan looked at Stephen. "C'mon, Mr. B, share with the class? I'm lost again."
"What if Larkin is going to use the Intersect to implant an identity in the Chiefs, one that he could turn off and on. He could download it, implant it, turn it off, and the JCS would leave, not knowing that they were, in effect, Larkin's puppets."
"But that failed...failed miserably...with Tuttle," Mary spoke softly but urgently. Half the room still looked lost, Morgan particularly.
"Yes, it did, and that's…" - looking at Mary - "that's on me. But Larkin has an Intersect that has been made viable by Chuck. It would just be a matter of changing the way the download went, and then adding the identity in. Fleming could have had all that ready, already, before Larkin killed him. Hell, if Larkin killed him - and if we are right - then Fleming must have had it ready. Still, Larkin would need someone way beyond him technically to make sure it all worked…"
"Well, Dad, he's here, so let's go ahead and assume he has someone."
Stephen nodded. "Right." He went on in a thoughtful, ominous tone. "So, Larkin breaches the facility, Lincoln's head, quietly, Intersects the Chiefs, leaves, and then he can in effect control the head of each branch of the military. And they have access to the Secretary of Defense, to the President. Jesus…what kind of disaster couldn't he create"
"But are we sure the Intersect is viable?" Morgan asked. Everyone looked at him. "Well, I am part of the 'we'."
Zondra leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Yes, you sure are, Snuggles." Morgan beamed at her. She re-beamed at him.
Silence. Silence. Everyone stared at Morgan and Zondra, particularly Sarah and Carina. Sarah eventually shifted her gaze to Chuck. Chuck looked at her, one eyebrow going up in question. He mouthed "'Snuggles?'" She shook her head no but smiled at him.
Stephen answered Morgan. "Well, Ellie checked him out; medically, as far as she can tell, he is fine. Larkin showed him the 13 slides, so…"
"Twelve," Chuck interjected.
"Twelve?" Stephen asked, turning from Morgan to his son. "Twelve?'
"The Intersect - or I - counted. I saw 12"
Stephen went white. "No, Morgan," he said, still looking at Chuck, "the Intersect is not viable."
Sarah was immediately at Chuck's side. She took his hand. Holding it, she faced Stephen in demand. "What do you mean, Stephen?"
Stephen glanced down. Mary crossed the room to join them, standing on Chuck's other side. Ellie and Devon were now standing. "The slides are...sequenced. The last one is crucial. It...It ties together the changes the other twelve created. Stabilizes and finishes the assimilation. Without it, those changes will unravel. I lied to Bryce about them, as I said. I told him that if he used all thirteen, eventually the person would die from the too-complete assimilation. Instead, it was what guaranteed successful assimilation, all 13."
Mary reached out and put her hand on Chuck's shoulder. "What's that mean for our son, Stephen?"
Stephen ran his hands through his hair. His shoulders hunched. "I'm not sure...I don't know to what extent Chuck can himself compensate for the final slide. The slides speed assimilation. I created them to make it possible for someone to assimilate the Intersect faster. Given what Chuck told me, he had already assimilated much of it before Larkin used the slides. But the Chiefs - they aren't Chuck, they can't compensate - the Intersect will likely...unravel in their minds, in their heads. It will unravel them with it. Larkin won't create puppets, he'll create dead men. Chuck may be able to hold it together on his own, despite being a slide short; they won't."
"Can we call in the cavalry, you know, soldiers or someone?" Devon asked.
Mary answered. "We shouldn't expose Chuck or the Intersect more than is necessary. The endgame for all of this is complicated enough without the entire US military getting interested." Her voice was determined. "And we already have a chopper waiting; we can be there before anyone else. I think we are the cavalry. We've got to stop him." Mary's voice turned acidic. "He doesn't get to hurt anyone else. Larkin doesn't get to hurt anyone else. Ever." She looked at her husband, her eyes aflame. "Let's go, Stephen, this is the ripple effect of Volkoff, of Tuttle. My mission. Still. I want to finish my mission, and then I want…" She stopped.
Stephen looked at her expectantly, but she dropped his eyes and changed topics. "How much of a risk is this for Chuck?'
Sarah nodded her head, seconding the question, her heart pounding as it had been for the last few minutes. Indeed, he had only barely been able to make out the question above the noise of it.
Stephen looked ashamed, small, for a moment. "To be honest, I just don't know. I don't fully understand Chuck's relationship to the Intersect. I created something I don't understand."
Chuck grinned ruefully. "Me or the Intersect?"
"Both. And Ellie"
Stephen turned to Zondra. "So, no way to get word to them, the Chiefs, inside Lincoln's head?"
"No, they really do go dark. Part of the exercise. Larkin chose well."
"Okay." He sought out Carina. "Do you think you can take Ellie, Devon, and Morgan back to the Meat Sciences lab?" Zondra started to protest but Stephen went on. "We need Zondra's knowledge at Rushmore. I saw some devices in the lab I can scavenge to create a suppression device, I think. It's a stop-gap, but better than nothing, if we need it."
Carina glanced at Casey and they traded a nod. Then Carina gave Zondra a significant look. "Yes," she said, "I can do that."
Mary turned to look at everyone, her back straight, her hands fisted. "Then let's get our things and get going. Larkin's going to get a surprise." Mary's eyes frosted over, her voice became a grave. "A bad one."
A/N: Brrrr. Anyone else feel that?
Thoughts? Drop me a response!
Chapter Theme: Devo, Race of Doom