Chapter Thirteen … in which Chuck faces a multifaceted threat, Sarah confronts her deepest fear, Casey reveals his soft underbelly, and Zondra is forced to take sides.
This chapter is more or less the dying breath of canon for this story. While we'll still reference it from time to time, everything going forward will be mostly original. It's been our plan from the very beginning.
Disclaimer: We don't own Chuck…
Chapter 13: Watershed
Zondra held an inventory list in her hand, scanning its contents for the umpteenth time while she paced the warehouse floor like a caged lion. The receiver was nowhere to be found. Without it, Chuck would surely be bunkered, and she'd lose one of the best friends she'd ever had. He didn't deserve that fate. He was kind, funny, understanding, laid back, honest to a fault, handsome as hell—and always looked out for those he loved. She enjoyed spending time with him more than anyone she'd been around in years. Sometimes she was sure her feelings for him went well beyond friendship, a line of thought she tried to choke off just as soon as it tried to flourish. Either way, she couldn't imagine her world without him now, but what could she do? If they didn't find the receiver, his life—for all intents and purposes—would be forfeit.
And then there was the ring they'd found in his locker. It was unmistakably an engagement ring, and a gorgeous one at that. Who the hell was it for? Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. She and Chuck were close … but not that close, were they? Could he have hidden feelings for her that she'd somehow missed—to the extent that he was considering asking her to marry him? Or was the ring for Walker, as she sometimes suspected … especially given Chuck's abysmal skills at prevarication?
The ring burned a hole in her pocket as she stood there contemplating Chuck's fate. She needed to know what its purpose was—or its target, at least. What was he thinking? How did he feel?
She guessed the bigger question was, what did she feel? And the short answer to that question—to her horror—was that when she thought about marrying anyone, the image of Bryce Larkin's face popped up in her mind, obscuring everything else. Damn him. Here she was, contemplating the unlikely event that the nicest guy she'd ever met was about to propose ... and getting derailed by thoughts of the one man who'd denied what they had altogether and ghosted her after the Farm.
Well, that was her answer, wasn't it? Even if she did have a crush on Chuck, she still harbored feelings for another man—no matter how badly he'd treated her. Chuck deserved better than what she had to offer.
How could she face him with this ring in her pocket? Was she supposed to just ask him outright who it was for—and what would she say if he said he'd intended it for her? What if he'd never thought of her like that at all, and she was a fool for having the slightest notion that he did? She needed time to get her head screwed on straight. But time wasn't on her side.
As if the spy gods were plotting against her, the warehouse's bay doors opened, spilling in light. Chuck and Casey stood there, silhouetted against the backdrop of the California sun. Chuck blinked, surveying the shrink-wrapped equipment, computers, DVDs, and everything else they'd taken from the Buy More, all being examined by NSA agents who were searching for the elusive receiver. Then his eyes fell on her and he strode in her direction with an unfettered sense of purpose.
He came to a stop in front of her, arms folded across his chest. "So … you guys robbed the Buy More, huh?"
She could tell he was pissed off; it was stamped all over his face. He didn't look anything like a man whose attempt to propose had been thwarted, nor like a guy thrilled to be reunited with his beloved. Whoever that ring was for, it wasn't her.
Embarrassed, she turned around, walking further into the depths of the warehouse. "We didn't have a choice, Chuck."
"No choice? Are you all out of your mind?" He stomped after her, Casey in his wake. "Any idea what's going on at the store right now?"
Zondra actually hadn't given much thought to how the staff of the Buy More would react, walking in this morning to find everything missing. This was her job—plus, when she'd found that ring, she'd been somewhat distracted … to say the least. Of course Big Mike and the rest his crew would have been shocked and appalled. She felt terrible for not even considering the fallout that stripping the store bare would cause Chuck. Maybe she should have warned him, at least—but their orders had said otherwise, and after she'd been ostracized for so long, the last thing she wanted was to go against orders in such an obvious fashion.
She opened her mouth to apologize—but before she could say a word, Casey spoke up from behind her. "That bug you found. It's not one of ours."
"Thanks, Casey." Sarcasm rang clear in Chuck's voice. "I kinda figured that one out on my own."
Zondra came to a halt and turned to face him. "Casey only installs EM-50s. The one you found was a GLG-20. It requires a secondary recording device nearby to collect the data."
Chuck stared back at her, his face blank.
"They're looking for the Intersect," Casey said. "They're looking for you. We found a total of twenty-nine bugs just like it, but we still haven't found the receiver."
Growing awareness dawned in Chuck's eyes. Zondra had seen that expression before, when he had had some kind of revelatory idea. It was one of her favorite expressions of his, actually—pure, uncompromised excitement. Maybe that was part of what drew her to Chuck … that and the fact that he wasn't jaded, the way she, Casey, and Walker were. It had been such a long time since she'd been around anyone who didn't run all of their responses through a filter.
"Twenty-nine bugs?" he said, pulling his laptop out of his satchel. "Wait a second."
He propped the laptop on the closest stack of merchandise and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, extracting a disk. Sliding it into the laptop's drive, he pulled up a video file and started fast-forwarding through it. Next to them, Zondra could hear Casey shifting his weight impatiently, but the NSA agent didn't interrupt—a sure sign of respect and faith in Chuck's methods. Casey had no patience for wasted time, especially his own.
Chuck seemed to have found what he was looking for. He stilled the image, then started up the video again, pausing in strategic places and counting under his breath. When he got to twenty-nine, he stopped and stared at the screen, shaking his head. It was frozen on the image of a dark-haired girl in a white shirt, wearing what Zondra recognized from professional experience as an insincere smile.
"Who's that?" she asked, puzzled.
"It's the schwarma girl, Lizzie. Look." He started the video again, this time in slow motion. Lizzie turned her back to the Nerd Herd desk as her smile slipped from her face. She walked toward the exit, but before she passed the DVD aisle, Zondra saw her slip something onto a shelf. At this magnification, she couldn't tell what it was … but she'd bet the fancy ring in her pocket that it was one of the bugs. And whatever Chuck had been counting—which must've been Lizzie's appearances at the Buy More—he'd stopped at twenty-nine.
Holy hell. Once again, Chuck had accomplished more than a team of federal agents had, and in a shorter period of time, too.
"Huh," Casey said, sounding nonplussed. "Good job, moron. I'll be damned."
Zondra knew calling Chuck 'moron' was just Casey's way—that the NSA agent even considered it a term of endearment—but every time she heard him say it, she cringed. She wanted to chastise him, but that would look suspect, to say the least. Maybe she could find a casual way to bring it up the next time she and Casey were alone … something that wouldn't make her sound defensive, or as if she cared for Chuck more than was appropriate.
Now, though, she needed to keep things strictly professional. She moved forward to point at the screen just as one of the NSA agents who'd been searching for the receiver—what was his name? Johnson? Jensen?— strode up beside her.
"Agent Rizzo, Major Casey, you might want to take a look at this," Johnson/Jensen said, jerking his head toward the back of the warehouse.
Flanking Chuck, Zondra and Casey followed. Johnson/Jensen came to a stop in front of a bank of monitors, checked to make sure that he had Casey and Zondra's attention, and hit 'play.'
"This is a surveillance tape taken during the robbery," he said by means of explanation.
Zondra blinked, puzzled. All four screens were black.
"There's nothing there," Casey said unnecessarily. "Bad guy disabled the security."
"Wait," the other NSA agent said, holding up a finger. Casey made an aggravated noise low in his throat, but complied.
One of the screens lit up, showing those two idiots—the ones that were always ogling her—at the security panel. "Hey," Chuck said, "that's Jeff and Lester."
"Okay, it's off," Idiot #1 said, fumbling with the front of the panel and then staggering after Idiot #2.
"And … they are apparently drunk." Chuck sounded resigned.
As Jeff and Lester passed from view, the other screens suddenly lit up. Zondra sighed, almost amused. "Oh, look, they've mistakenly turned the camera systems back on." Truly, there was no end to their idiocy. In this case, however, it was working in her favor, so she couldn't complain.
Movement flashed on one of the monitors: A figure clad in black, reaching for—was that a giant fish?—on the wall of Chuck's boss's office. Chuck leaned in closer. "Hang on a second, who's that?"
"That's the spy," Zondra said. And an experienced spy, too it seemed. That thing had probably hung on the wall forever. No one would mess with it. Not only was it ugly, it was huge—and in the boss's office. In short, it was the perfect place to plant the receiver.
Chuck leaned in closer still. "Who's the spy who spies on spies?" he said, almost to himself. "Why would a Fulcrum agent want Big Mike's marlin? That's got to be where the receiver's at." He glanced at Zondra and Casey for confirmation.
On the screen, the Fulcrum agent stilled, as if hearing something—most likely the approach of Tweedledee and Tweedledumber—and then left without taking the fish. Seeing this, Casey shook his head. "Those two dillweeds interrupted an actual robbery in progress."
For once, Zondra beat Casey to the chase. "So, the receiver's still in the fish?"
"Marlin, actually." Chuck pointed at Johnson/Jensen. "You would call it a marlin, right?"
"Yeah," the other NSA agent said—to her or Chuck, or maybe both of them.
As fascinating as a taxonomy debate might normally be, they had—so to speak—bigger fish to fry. "Look," Zondra said, pointing at the screen. Inexplicably, the two members of the Idiot Brigade were removing the fish from the wall. What the hell were they doing? Was it some kind of practical joke? A prank? A dare?
"See?" Chuck said, satisfied. "There you go. My job here is done. You just need to track down where the two drunken pinheads stashed the fish ... marlin … Four-foot marlin. I'm gonna need to stick around here and find my ring." He turned to Zondra. "Please tell me you have it?"
The ring chafed against the lining of Zondra's pocket, an uncomfortable reminder of a conversation she didn't want to have. "Yes, I do, but Chuck … we have some bigger-picture concerns right now, don't you think?" God, she was going to have to talk to him about being bunkered—being taken away from his family and friends, getting shoved underground like he'd committed some kind of crime instead of serving his country with good grace, despite being forced into an impossible situation.
He glared at her. "What could be possibly be bigger than me ruining the chances of my sister getting married?"
His sister. His sister? Zondra's heart thudded, blood roaring in her ears as all the pieces fell into place. Chuck wasn't planning on giving the ring to anyone. He was holding it for Devon, until Captain Awesome could ask Ellie to marry him. All of Zondra's worrying and obsessing, her pointless spiraling about what she would do or say if Chuck meant the ring to be hers—not to mention her introspection about Bryce—had been for nothing.
It just figured.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself back to the task at hand. "The missing receiver could contain information indicating that you're the Intersect," she said, glancing at Casey to make sure he didn't drop the proverbial bomb on Chuck without warning. They'd talked about this before Chuck arrived. Zondra was sure that being told he was on the verge of losing his freedom would terrify him—and understandably so. She'd wanted to break the news to Chuck gently—but Casey, of course, had nixed the need for tact. He'd rolled his eyes, wanting to know why Zondra had to drag her 'lady-feelings' into the equation—another phrase she couldn't stand. It was sexist as hell.
Zondra and Walker were both excellent agents, among the toughest and most dedicated she knew—not to blow her own horn. The C.A.T. Squad, despite the fact that there was still a traitor in their midst, was comprised of all female badasses—and then there was Beckham to consider. On a daily basis, Casey didn't exhibit a hint of sexism or prejudice against the female agents he worked alongside. So what was with the stupid 'lady-feeling' references?
With effort, Zondra filed her irritation under 'to be dealt with later,' right next to 'can't stand hearing Casey call Chuck a moron.' She focused on Chuck's face, which bore a peculiar expression—somewhere between annoyance and acceptance.
"Go ahead and say it." His voice was heavy. "Say what you're not saying. It's okay … I already know."
He already knew? How could he? Unless he just surmised—
Time to stop dithering and get the worst over with. Zondra drew a deep breath. "If we don't locate the receiver in the next 24 hours—" she said, and then her nerve failed her. She stalled, trying to find the words.
Casey had no such problem. He shot a glance at Zondra, and then barreled right into the breach. "They'll store you in an underground bunker for so long you'll forget what fresh air smells like."
Chuck shoulders slumped, as if the weight of this situation was too much to bear. All Zondra wanted was to hug him, to apologize, but that would be completely unacceptable. Instead she stood there, glaring at Casey, who shrugged as if to say, Well, you weren't getting to the point, and someone had to.
Then Chuck straightened up, held out his hand, and fixed his gaze on Zondra. "If that's the case," he said, enunciating each syllable, "then I really need that ring back."
OoOoOoOoO
Her head on a swivel, Sarah sat alone in her car making sure she had all the cardinal points covered. She couldn't afford to miss a thing. If trouble came their way, she needed to be ready. The idea of Chuck being inside the warehouse—a government-controlled facility—without her made her frantic. Right now, he was in the lion's den. Agents could snatch him up without notice and then she'd have to scramble. Sure, Casey and Zondra were watching over him, but her confidence in them had waned.
How could they have left him on his own all day? Even if the receiver was the key to Chuck's salvation, he'd proven more times than she could count that he was a true 'asset' to the team—and not just because of the Intersect he had lodged in his brain. It was folly to leave him behind, knowing he'd have to deal with the aftermath of them clearing out the Buy More. She would never have done that to him … or would she?
Thinking back, she wasn't so sure. After all, she was a different person now—forced to come to terms with her feelings or face losing Chuck forever. How long would it have taken her to declare herself to him if Ellie hadn't witnessed her kiss with Bryce? Months? Years?
The thought still made her cringe. So much wasted time—pretending to pretend.
It had been her specialty before meeting Chuck.
Her thoughts drifted back to her promise to Ellie, which was still weighing heavily on her mind. She'd rather die than fail her family.
Just as she prepared herself to indulge in that notion, her phone rang. Her breath hitched, seeing who it was. Scanning the lot one more time, she activated the recorder on her phone and answered the call.
"Walker, secure," she said, keeping her voice as level as possible.
"Agent Walker," Graham said. "Is Agent Larkin with you?"
Of course, that would be the first thing he'd ask. "No sir. Do you need us both?" God, she was hoping he didn't. Things could get complicated, and quickly.
"That won't be necessary," Graham said, his voice clipped. "This will be for our ears only. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, sir." Sarah leaned her head back against the seat, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief.
Never one to waste time on niceties, Graham dove right in. "We have an issue back in Burbank. It looks as if your old asset's cover may have been compromised by Fulcrum."
Sarah's heart began to pound, but she didn't say a word. Whatever was coming next couldn't be good.
"We already have an agent on site for his extraction—General Beckman's idea. She seems to think he might still be of some use to us until the new Intersect comes online, a sentiment I don't share. I think it's high time for us to take back operational control of the situation."
Graham sounded as cold and indifferent as if he was talking about the weather, rather than seizing complete control of Chuck's life. It made Sarah want to rip his head off. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Through a miracle, none of the rage she was feeling echoed in her reply. "I understand. What are my orders, sir?"
"I need you to get there as soon as possible and 'relieve' the agent onsite of the asset once he's taken him. Bartowski's too dangerous to be left alive and we don't have time to bring this to committee. I don't care how you do it, but no body or proof of death for this one, agent."
As angry as Sarah was, she was also jubilant. Graham had just ordered her to kill Chuck—leave no trace—and thanks to her recording, she had proof. This was what she and Chuck had been waiting for…dirt on Graham that they could use to take him down. But first she needed to play along, no matter how disgusting she found the notion.
"Sir, why are we not using Major Casey or Agent Rizzo for this?" she said as neutrally as possible. "Wouldn't they be better tasked for this op? I'm four or five hours away. What if I don't get there in time?"
Squeezing the wheel to channel her anxiety, she waited for his response. After a long moment, it came—both more disturbing and more satisfying than she could've imagined.
"I have complete faith in your abilities, Agent Walker. But to answer your question, the agents in Burbank cannot know anything about this. I need you to make it look like a Fulcrum hit."
Jackpot.
"How can making it look like Fulcrum help us?" Sarah said, wanting to make him spell it out. The more explicit he was willing to be, the more evidence she'd have to blackmail him and hold him at bay—or take him down completely.
Graham didn't disappoint. "If Fulcrum's responsible for taking out Bartowski, funding for our little project will increase tenfold. With Bartowski off the playing field, the powers that be will have no choice but to see our point of view. Fulcrum's threat is real, no matter whether the bureaucrats in Washington can see it or not. We don't have the time to wait around for them to catch up."
Sarah's whole body flamed. All Chuck was to Graham was a chess piece—a pawn he felt free to move around the board to further his own aspirations or sacrifice as the notion suited him. And all Sarah had turned out to be to the man who'd more or less raised her since she was seventeen was a tool—a honed blade meant to be wielded as the necessity or the mood struck him. "I see," she managed, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
Oblivious to her fury, Graham continued. "Bartowski's fate was sealed the day he downloaded the original Intersect. We're just pushing up the timetable a bit. I should've had you put a bullet in his head on your first encounter. That's my fault. I take full responsibility. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, as they say."
With no small amount of horror, Sarah realized that if Graham had asked her to do just that, back when she first took this assignment, she would have obeyed without a second thought. Now? Chuck had become as vital to her as breathing. She could no more hurt him than she could cut her own throat. The past few months had changed her; there was no going back, and what's more, she didn't want to.
"So I take it the burn on Bartowski's not sanctioned?" she said, wanting him to confirm it for the recording.
Graham's voice dropped low, confiding. "Agent Walker … Sarah. When the dust has settled and you and Agent Larkin have been Intersected, the Andersons will ride again. With the Intersect in the heads of two highly trained agents, instead of a complete imbecile's, we'll be able to take down Fulcrum, once and for all. After that, you'll both have your choice of assignments—and the promotions that will surely follow. Section Chief? … Assistant Director? … One day, maybe even Director."
Her stomach churned. "Sir?"
"When I retire, of course. I've been grooming you from day one as my replacement. You're my best field agent. Think of what we could accomplish. We can leave this world a better place."
Is that what you call it? Sarah wanted to retort. Instead, she played the part of the dutiful agent—the one Graham would expect. "Yes sir. I agree. You'll have my full support. Who's the agent in Burbank that's been tasked to extract the asset?"
"His name's Longshore, but his cover's an LAPD detective by the name of Conway. I'll send you his details."
Sarah pressed harder, wanting to milk the conversation for all it was worth. "And what happens if Longshore's resistant to giving up the asset?"
"Kill him." The nonchalance in Graham's voice floored her—even more so because he'd said those same words to her before her first 'date' with Chuck, when she'd asked him what she should do if Chuck ran. "Just let me know when it's done, agent. Godspeed."
The phone went dead and Sarah's vision blurred. Her stomach roiled as she tried to process this new information, threatening to reject the last thing she'd eaten—a granola bar she'd tossed into her bag back in San Fran. She rummaged in her bag for the strawberry lip gloss Chuck loved, hoping the thought of kissing him would calm her down. More than anything, she needed to remind herself of the happy times they'd spent together—and the fact that more of those times were just around the corner. She would keep him safe, no matter what.
Rubbing her eyes hard, she got herself under control as her phone chirped, indicating a new email. Sure enough, Graham had sent her Longshore's full dossier. Sarah read through it and committed his face to memory. The more she thought about the ridiculous situation she'd just been placed in, the more her heavy heart lightened. Graham had just unwittingly put Chuck's fate in the hands of the one person that would ensure his survival.
A new plan started to form.
Before she'd fully plotted all of the components, the warehouse doors opened. Chuck and Casey exited, running in her direction, determination etched on both their faces. Getting out of the car, she walked around the front of the Porsche to meet them. Her hand slipped to the gun in the waistband of her jeans as she gave the lot a final once-over.
Chuck and Casey ground to a halt in front of Sarah, both slightly out of breath. "Walker, I need to take Bartowski back to the Buy More with me," Casey said without preamble. "Looks like it was Jeff and Lester that made off with the receiver without even knowing it."
"Jeff and Lester?" Sarah said, her eyebrows rising.
Chuck sighed. "It's a long story."
"We also know who the Fulcrum spy is, thanks to the kid here." Casey gestured at Chuck. "And since she hasn't gotten ahold of the receiver yet, we think she's still in the area. That's where I need your help. The pucker factor's pretty high right now and this Lizzie girl needs to be neutralized in a hurry. Alive would be preferable so we could question her, but dead's fine if you don't have a choice."
Hands on her hips, Sarah stared Casey down. "Why can't I go with Chuck and you go after her?"
"Think, Walker," Casey said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "The Buy More's on lockdown. Cops are everywhere. Since I 'work' there, it won't raise any suspicions. Plus I'll bet my bottom dollar Jeff and Lester would just hit on you versus wetting their collective pants when they see me coming. Retrieving the receiver as quickly as possible is still our top priority."
"Fine." She gave Casey her fiercest glare. "But you better keep Chuck safe. And you're to contact me once you have the receiver. Copy?"
Casey's eye twitched in irritation. "Solid copy. Don't worry—your boy-toy will be just fine." He pulled out his phone, and a few seconds later, Sarah's phone chirped, indicating his incoming email. "I just sent you the mark's info. You should be able to nail her down pretty quickly."
Slipping her phone out of her pocket, Sarah checked the message Casey had sent. Lizzie Shafai, huh? The girl looked small and unintimidating. Taking her down would be a piece of cake. She scrolled lower and forwarded Longshore's full dossier to Casey, adding a quick message to watch out for the agent—he was undercover and had been sent to extract Chuck. There wasn't time to go into anything more. Every second they spent in this parking lot was a second someone could come outside and catch her standing there.
Exposed or not, she wasn't willing to let Chuck go without saying goodbye—and giving him a warning. "Casey," she said, "give me and Chuck a moment, please."
He gave her comment the measured look it deserved. "A short moment, Walker. Time's a-wastin'."
Strolling a few yards away, Casey made a show of examining his phone. Sarah knew he could hear every word they said, but she appreciated him giving them at least the illusion of privacy.
She took Chuck's hands in hers, her gaze roving over his face. "Look, Chuck. Promise me that you'll stick as close to Casey as possible. You're his shadow till you see me again. Do not let yourself be separated from him no matter what, okay?"
He freed one of his hands, brushing the tips of his fingers across her cheek. A shiver ran through her at his touch, but she did her best not to let it show.
"What's wrong, Sarah?" Despite the fact that he was the one whose life was in danger, he sounded concerned about her. It was so very like him—so Chuck—that she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him. If she did, she was afraid she'd never let go.
"You look really unsettled," he went on, with his usual perspicacity. "Is it about having to go after Lizzie? I don't care what Casey says, you don't have to kill her. You're the best there is. I'm sure you'll figure out another way."
As always, his confidence in her both amazed and disturbed her in equal parts. She was so afraid she'd let him down. "No, that's not my concern," she said slowly. The last thing she wanted Chuck to know was that she'd been ordered to take his life. He had other things to worry about right now. "But you're right. I've gotten enough blood on my hands to last a lifetime. I just want you to know that I love you more than anything."
His features softened. "And I love you." Tugging her closer, he threw caution to the wind and pressed his lips to hers. Predictably, Casey cleared his throat, as if they were offending his tender sensibilities. Sarah ignored him, going up on her tiptoes and knotting her hands in Chuck's hair to deepen the kiss.
Casey cleared his throat again, louder this time. "Clock, Walker," he said in admonition. "Ticking."
It took everything Sarah had to step away, but somehow she did it. "Goodbye, Chuck," she said, opening the door to the Porsche. "Be safe."
He gave her an open, sunny smile. It hurt her heart. "I will."
As Chuck and Casey headed for Casey's car, Sarah couldn't hold back the grin that split her face when she heard Casey mumble something about Chuck's damned lady-feelings.
OoOoOoOoO
Chuck slipped into Casey's car and put on his seat belt, thinking about the mint-and-strawberry taste of Sarah's lips. God, he loved that lip gloss of hers. If he asked nicely, he wondered if she might be willing to put it on for him again and again, so he could have the honor of repeatedly removing it.
Next to him, Casey made an aggravated sound. "Knock it off, Bartowski. I can hear you thinking nasty thoughts about Walker from here. She's like my sister, and I'd rather not sit here knowing you're imagining sticking your tongue down my sister's throat. It's bad enough I had to see it."
Embarrassed, Chuck folded his hands in his lap. "I'm not—"
The NSA agent shot him a disgusted look. "Save it. Here, take this. It'll be a good distraction." Cranking the car's engine with one hand, he set his cell phone on the console between them with the other.
"Why are you giving me your phone?" Chuck said, picking it up.
"You've got bigger problems than thinking about the next time you're gonna get to French-kiss Walker, numbnuts. Read."
Silently, Chuck obeyed. Sarah had forwarded Casey an email. There were a couple of notes at the beginning of the message, saying that the agent in question was undercover and had been sent to extract Chuck. He scrolled lower and saw a photo of someone who was all too familiar.
"Hey, I saw this guy at the Buy More this morning. Detective Conway, right?" he said, examining the agent's face. "Or … not, apparently."
Casey grunted—#56, affirmation with a side order of contempt.
"I'll take that as a yes. Moving on." As Chuck read through Sarah's email, he felt like his brain was operating on some kind of time delay, like a badly dubbed kung fu movie whose dialogue didn't quite match up with what was happening on screen. "Graham and Beckman's ordered this guy to extract me? What about them giving us twenty-four hours to find the receiver?"
"Now he gets it. I'm driving. You're reading. Get with the program." Casey pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road that led to the stoplight.
Chuck did as he was told. Sure enough, Casey hadn't lied. Conway—or Longshore, he now surmised—was a total badass. Halfway through the guy's dossier, Chuck wanted to duck for cover. No wonder Sarah'd looked so worried.
He got to the end of the dossier and handed the phone back to Casey, feeling like he'd just gotten the gig as one of Spinal Tap's many drummers—right on the verge of spontaneous human combustion. Struggling to stay calm, he blew out a long, unsteady breath.
"Don't freak out, Bartowski." Casey reclaimed his phone and stuck it back in his pocket, then turned left onto the main road. "Stick to me like glue and I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I'd hate to have to explain to Walker how I let her boy-toy get kidnapped and stuck underground … or worse."
Chuck stole a sideways glance at the NSA agent. Usually, he didn't find Casey's company all that comforting—but today felt different. Today, the guy was in full-on protection mode on his behalf, for no reason other than that he wanted to be. It gained Casey nothing, and it might well lose him his job—which meant that his only other possible motivation was friendship.
It had taken months of thinly veiled insults and outright threats, but somehow they'd arrived at a place where the two of them were friends. Casey might never admit it, but Chuck knew it was the truth.
"Look, Casey," he said, daring to touch the NSA agent's much-vaunted bicep, "I just want to let you know how much I appreciate this."
Casey shrugged out from under Chuck's grip. "What the hell are you yammering on about, Bartowski?"
"This." Chuck gestured at the empty space between them. "You've done a hell of a lot for me and Sarah. You've put your neck on the line again and again. I just want to let you know that I see it—and I appreciate it more than you can imagine. To me, you're like family."
A muscle in Casey's jaw twitched. "Don't you go thinking I'm gonna let you stick your tongue down my throat. Save that shit for Walker."
"I'm serious, Casey. I consider you family. Have for a while, and as such, if Sarah and I have to run, I'd like to ask you for one more favor—to look after the rest of our family … Ellie, Devon, and even Morgan. I'll never be able to pay you back for it, and I know I have no right to ask. But it would mean the world to me."
For a long instant, Casey didn't reply. Then he cleared his throat, and this time it didn't sound obnoxious, the way it had when Chuck was kissing Sarah. It sounded … almost emotional. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after them for you till you and Walker can right this sinking ship. You're a good man, Bartowski."
"Thank you so much—"
"Thank me later." He made the right turn onto the Buy More's street and pulled into the parking lot, now devoid of police officers. "Right now, we've got a receiver to find."
Together, the two of them strode into the Buy More. For the first time, Chuck felt as if he and Casey were truly a team. Too bad it was just in time for Chuck to get the hell out of Dodge.
They found Jeff and Lester leaning across the Nerd Herd desk, engaged in an activity more suited for elementary school students than two adult IT employees. Together, the two of them were chanting, "One, two, three, four. I declare a thumb war!"
Truly, they were an embarrassment to the human race. Bracing himself, Chuck walked over to them. "Jeff, Lester, we gotta talk. It's important."
Neither one of them so much as looked up. "Here's your problem, Charlie," Lester said. "Why's your time more valuable than mine?" He crushed Jeff's thumb against the latter's hand. "Oh, he is taking him over the top!"
This was too much for Casey, who had run through his depleting store of patience. Plowing through the crowd of Buymorons, he grabbed Jeff and Lester by their shirt collars and dragged them toward the home theatre room, with Chuck bringing up the rear. As the rest of the employees singsonged 'narc' under their breath, Casey threw both thumb war combatants into the home theatre room and slammed the door.
"Easy on the shirt, narc," Jeff said, smoothing his collar.
Casey ignored him. "Where's the fish?"
"Fish? What fish?" Jeff said, doing a truly terrible impression of an innocent person.
"Okay, we can do this the easy or the hard way." Casey cracked his knuckles and pointed to Lester, his eyes fixed on Jeff. "Easy way is I shove his foot up your ass."
"What's the hard way?" Jeff squinted up at Casey, who glowered at him.
"I use my foot," the NSA agent said, raising his sizable boot in a demonstration.
As much fun as Chuck was having, he figured he should probably intervene before Casey beat the information out of the two cretins. "Look, we've seen the surveillance footage, guys. Okay? We know you were here last night."
"Yeah, right," Jeff said, smirking the way he did when he thought he'd pulled something over on someone—a ploy that was successful exactly … never.
"You two geniuses thought you were turning the cameras off," Casey said, looming over them. "But instead, you turned them back on."
Neither Jeff nor Lester said a word. Before Casey murdered them, Chuck decided it was time to appeal to their greatest weakness: Fear of accountability. "We won't say anything to Big Mike, I promise."
Jeff and Lester looked at each other, but stayed silent—and Casey finally ran out of whatever sort of forbearance had enabled him to avoid crushing the two of them into pulp.
"Okay," he said, his voice dangerously even, and yanked the curtains closed.
"Whoa." Jeff finally sounded alarmed. "What's happening?"
Casey straightened, hands on his hips. "Charles, would you give us a few minutes, please?"
Frowning at Jeff and Lester, Chuck scrubbed his hands together and held them up as if to wash them clean of the situation—which he dearly wished he could do. Apparently his performance passed muster, because Lester's eyes widened in fear.
"Chuck?" he squeaked as Chuck backed away and Casey took his place. The NSA agent emanated quiet menace, and Jeff began to quake. The longer Casey stared at him, the more he trembled—and then he broke.
"It was his idea," he said, pointing at Lester.
"What?" Lester said, indignant. "The whole reason we snuck in was to get your alcoholic ass another drink. You were getting the shakes."
"Not cool." Jeff had the nerve to glare at him. "It's a disease."
Lester's voice rose, and he took a step away from Jeff. "You're a disease and you've diseased us all. Me, Chuck, this guy."
It would be just Chuck's luck if Lester decompensated before they could discover the location of the marlin. "Calm down," he said in his most soothing tone.
Lester fidgeted, his gaze flicking between Casey and Jeff. "Okay," he whispered at last.
Since Casey seemed unlikely to speak anytime soon, Chuck took control of the situation. Some level of diplomacy was obviously called for, and that was in no way the NSA agent's strong suit. "Look, Jeff, I totally understand your plight." He reached over to grab Casey's shoulder. "We sympathize with you, okay? And we don't judge."
At this, Casey shot him an incredulous look. Oh, I definitely judge, the look said. I judge, and I thirst for retribution. Please let me smash their faces in.
Chuck shook his head, repressing a grin. "Just tell us, what exactly happened?"
With a sigh, Jeff capitulated. "We were across the street at Bennigan's and I got cut off again—"
"Jeff. If you're gonna tell the story, please, don't butcher it." Lester rolled his eyes. "We were at Benni's, enjoying the deep-fried sampler, and we decided to come back to the store for a nightcap in the boss man's private stash. We turned off the alarm and we closed the security panel—"
"I told him we had the store to ourselves," Jeff said. "We should take off all our clothes."
"And I told him, don't make me uncomfortable to be alone with you." Lester edged further away from him. "We went into Big Mike's office and I told him to go get what we came for. So he opened the drawer in Big Mike's desk where he keeps his stuff and—"
"It was empty," Jeff said, looking affronted—as if Big Mike had demonstrated impossible audacity by not leaving sufficient libation lying around for anyone who decided to break and enter.
"I told him this was a wasted mission," Lester said. "That while we were here, we should do something exciting."
"And I suggested we burn the Buy More down." Jeff glanced nervously at Casey. "I was kidding, obviously. Because arson is a crime. Ha, ha."
"I looked up and I saw the marlin," Lester said, shrugging. "Then I told him, I was thinking more along the lines of a … fishing expedition. And that, my friend …" he paused for dramatic effect … "is the story of the missing marlin."
Chuck crossed his arms over his chest. "And where is the marlin now?"
Apparently Jeff's smirk was contagious—because it was now on Lester's face. "Ah, I'm afraid I'm going to need a little compensation," he said, rubbing his thumb and index finger together.
His tolerance for stupidity evaporated, Casey grabbed Jeff's ear, hard—and the thief caved.
"It's in Jeff's van."
OoOoOoOoO
As Sarah pulled her car into the strip mall where the Pita Parlour was located, she scanned the parking lot for Lizzie's candy-apple red 1969 Ford Mustang BOSS 429. It wasn't your typical delivery girl ride, after all, and should stick out like a sore thumb.
After a few passes, Sarah could see it was nowhere to be found. She drove around back to see if it was parked there. Sure enough, sitting catty-corner next to the back entrance was her target in all of its muscle-car glory.
Sarah drove past it and backed into a parking spot on the far side of a massive black SUV. The larger car would obscure her Porsche completely from Lizzie's vantage point if the pita girl exited the store. It was only a matter of time before Lizzie would have to leave for a delivery—or to carry out a more nefarious act, possibly involving Chuck. That image alone spurred her on.
She thought about confronting the pita girl right when Lizzie came out of the back of the restaurant, but decided that this spot was too public—innocent people could get hurt—and it was also Lizzie's home turf. She had no idea what kind of backup the Fulcrum agent might have. The NSA's deep dive that Casey had emailed to her didn't have any intel about this location, but Sarah was still suspicious. Better safe than sorry.
What the intel had revealed was that Lizzie Shafai was a suspected assassin for hire—a trained killer. She was also quite formidable in hand-to-hand combat and an expert with explosives. Sarah would need to bring her A-game and tread lightly. A lot of lives could be at risk—especially Chuck's—if she made the slightest mistake. That was simply not an option.
An idea popped into her head. Sarah grabbed her phone from her purse and reserved two rooms, side by side, under an alias at the Holiday Inn Express North Hollywood—just a few minutes' drive from the Buy More. She then called in a rather large order from the Parlour to be delivered to her home turf, giving her the upper hand.
Before Sarah made her way out of the strip mall to set up the sting at the hotel, she stopped at Lizzie's car and placed a tracker on the Mustang just to be safe. She'd keep a close eye on Lizzie's movements to ensure she didn't deviate from Sarah's plans, leaving nothing to chance.
Shortly after arriving at the hotel, she was ready to pounce. She'd placed a pen camera in the hallway pointing towards the elevator. Chuck had once configured it for her to send the feed straight to her phone. Then she'd gone to the room further away from the elevator to switch on the TV, turning the volume up. Her trap set, she stood in the adjoining room, waiting for her quarry to arrive.
The tracker planted on Lizzie's car alerted Sarah that she was on her way. It wouldn't be long now. Sarah felt herself coil taut, ready to snap. She steadied her breathing and centered herself as she heard the elevator bell ding.
Game time.
Sarah had ordered so much food that Lizzie's arms were completely loaded down. Just as the Fulcrum agent walked past the camera, Sarah glanced up to see the darkening shadow that crossed the peephole. She opened the door and stepped out of her room, silenced gun drawn.
"Don't you move a fucking muscle, pita girl," she said, her voice a growl.
Lizzie looked over her shoulder at Sarah, face set in an expression of disdain. "Oh, aren't you precious. Listen, sweetheart, do yourself a favor. Lower the gun and just tell me where the fish is."
Sarah returned Lizzie's contemptuous look, with interest. "You obviously don't know who the hell you're dealing with. Now drop the food and slowly raise your hands in the air."
Lizzie complied, but as the bags of shwarma fell to the ground, Sarah saw that the pita girl's hand was inside one of them. Gravity pulled her hand free, revealing a silenced pistol of her own.
The Fulcrum agent lifted the gun, and Sarah threw an outer-crescent kick that knocked it from Lizzie's hand, sending the weapon skidding down the hallway. Lizzie's hands were now empty, which was a good thing—but it also allowed her to counter strike with an open palm to Sarah's face, leaving the CIA agent seeing stars as she staggered back. Before Sarah could right herself, Lizzie grabbed her gun hand, twisting it to the side. She threw an elbow strike to Sarah's wrist, dislodging the gun, which clattered to the floor.
Sarah was in a lot of pain, but she was also really pissed. The stars evaporated from her vision, leaving her bruised and furious.
Undaunted, Lizzie dove for the gun at their feet.
Mistake #1.
Sarah kneed Lizzie in the side of the head, knocking her onto her back. Lizzie didn't stay down long. The little bitch was feisty—Sarah'd give her that. She performed a perfect kip-up and was on her feet again, charging headlong at the CIA agent.
Mistake #2.
Right before Lizzie made contact, Sarah sidestepped her and spun hard, landing a powerful blow to Lizzie's spine with her elbow and sending her flying into the opposite wall. The resultant crunch of her breaking nose was painful to hear.
"You bitch!" Lizzie howled, clutching her face.
Lizzie might be screaming a war cry, but she was also staggering, clearly injured. Her eyes were wide with shock. It was time to finish her.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Sarah crooned. "Did that hurt?"
The Fulcrum agent's primal scream could be heard in the lobby—Sarah was sure of it. Good. Unrestrained anger was a hindrance in a fight.
Face stained with blood, Lizzie pushed off the wall and charged sideways at Sarah, going for an obvious ridge hand strike to the throat.
Mistake #3.
Sarah threw a spinning wheel kick as soon as her opponent got within range. Knowing that the combination of Lizzie's forward momentum and the speed and strength of her kick could easily kill the Fulcrum agent, she backed off at the last second, withholding a degree of force.
The outcome was still gruesome. Sarah's foot caught the girl right on the chin and her head whipped violently to the side. It was lights out for Lizzie. She fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.
Not wanting to stick around the hallway and be forced to offer an explanation for the ruckus they'd caused, Sarah dragged Lizzie into the room with the blaring TV. She zip-tied Lizzie to a chair and injected her with a powerful sedative. The Fulcrum agent would be out for hours.
Pulling out her phone again, she made a call.
"Walker," Casey said, his usual gruff self. "Give me some good news."
Sarah was only too happy to oblige. "Casey, I have Lizzie neutralized. I'm right down the road from the Buy More at the Holiday Inn Express North Hollywood—room 405. She'll be out for quite a while. Send a pickup crew. You'll be happy to know you'll get to question her all you want. She might have a nasty headache, though."
Casey gave a grunt of approbation. "Copy that, and you'll be happy to know we've just found the receiver in Jeff's van right behind the Buy More. Bartowski's wiping it clean as we speak."
"Wait." Sarah tugged on Lizzie's zip-ties, double checking that they'd hold. "You don't want to give it a once-over first?"
"Nope. Chuck was adamant and I concur. No data equals no problems. There was nothing on that thing that could've helped his situation. They could only use it against him. It's better for all parties if…" His voice trailed off, and he sucked in breath. "Conway! What in the hell do you think you're doing? Don't point that gun at…"
Sarah heard Casey grunting and a thump—maybe the sound of his phone thudding to the ground. Then there was a nasty crunch and the line went dead.
"Casey!" she yelled, but no one replied. If Casey was still there, he wouldn't—or couldn't—answer.
Somehow, Conway had gotten the drop on the NSA agent. Which could mean only one thing—Chuck was in terrible danger.
OoOoOoOoO
Zondra's car skidded to a halt as she pulled in behind the Buy More. She could see Casey lying face down near the loading dock, just feet away. Seeing the NSA agent so vulnerable terrified her. Oh God, what if he was dead?
She flung open the car door, rushed over to her partner, and rolled him onto his back. To her relief, there were no visible signs of blood ... but then what had happened? She felt for the pulse at his neck; it was beating slowly but steadily. Sitting back on her heels, she scanned his body for damage and found the source of the problem: A tranq dart, protruding from his side.
Son of a bitch.
"Casey!" She took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Wake up!"
His eyes blinked open, then shut again. Zondra shook him harder. "What the hell happened? Where's Chuck?"
The NSA agent struggled to push himself up to his elbows. When he spoke, his words were slurred. "Conway … is really Longshore. Working undercover. Shot me. Took Chuck. You … track his watch. Call Walker. No time to waste."
"Conway took Chuck? Took him where?" She dug her nails into Casey's arm, trying to rouse him further.
Clumsily, the NSA agent yanked his arm from her grasp. "No need … to bleed me. Don't know. Was unconscious. Stop talking. Call Walker."
Her heart pounding, Zondra fumbled for her phone. This all made a terrible kind of sense. Minutes ago, standing in the warehouse, she'd gotten a call from Beckman.
"We're pursuing the receiver," she'd told the NSA director. "We've got the location and it shouldn't be long before recovery."
"Stay with the receiver," Beckman had advised. "In the meantime, we've decided to extract Chuck."
"What?" A sinking feeling had spread through Zondra's body. "But we don't know if he's still in danger."
"There's a chance the identity of the Intersect has been compromised. We have to err on the side of caution."
"But you promised we had 48 hours," Zondra had said, feeling like a whiny child.
"You know the game, Agent Rizzo." Beckman spat out each syllable. "The order has gone out. Chuck is coming in."
The NSA director had hung up, leaving Zondra in shock—and filled with rage. She'd immediately tried to call Casey, and gotten no answer. Panicked, she'd gotten in the car and headed to the Buy More, only to stumble right into this cluster fuck.
How could Beckman treat Chuck like this—like he was an expendable unit to be shifted around wherever the spirit moved her? And why the hell would Conway shoot Casey—one of their own? The whole thing was more rotten than a case of three-day-old fish.
She activated the app that allowed her to track Chuck's watch and located his signal at 10750 Sherman Way—thank God, not too far from the Buy More. "You gonna be all right, Casey?" she said, looking down at the NSA agent's prone form. "I'm calling Walker and going after Chuck."
The NSA agent managed to make his way to a sitting position. "Don't worry about me." He struggled to focus on her face. "Just get moving."
Zondra didn't need to hear him say it twice. She flung herself back into the car, cranked the engine, and headed in the direction of Chuck's signal. As soon as the car was rolling, she called Sarah.
When Walker answered, she sounded on the verge of tears, her voice thready with panic. "Zondra … oh my God. They took him! They took Chuck."
"I know." Zondra made the first turn as quickly as she dared. "I'm en route. Where are you?"
"About a minute out from Sherman Way. There's a rooftop helipad there. They're gonna airlift him out of here." Walker's voice trembled. Zondra had never heard her sound so unhinged.
As shaken as Zondra felt, it was clear she would have to be the strong one. "That matches up," she said, repressing the fear that threatened to consume her. "I still have a signal on Chuck's watch. I'm about five minutes away. Stall till I can get there. Don't let them take off."
When Sarah spoke again, her voice was stronger. "Not a chance in hell. Hurry, Z."
A/N: At the risk of repeating ourselves, we're so sorry for the long lag in our story. Emily had to have an emergency surgery—gallbladder removal, unrelated to her treatment—and it knocked our whole family on our collective asses for a few weeks. Knocking on wood—we've managed to hop back in the proverbial saddle again, ready for the next phase in our dastardly plan to continue on with season 2. Your voices have been heard. Keep em' coming. They really do help.
A/N #2: A special thanks to Zettel, , WillieGarvin, and michaelfmx for consistently reaching out and showing us how close our community really is. Your friendship is truly cherished. Please give us a few days to respond to your PMs. As I'm sure you all understand, we felt it was more important to continue on with our story with the allotted time we had.
As always, thanks for reading.