Ch. 14 MOVIE NIGHT
A/N: To make up for the late posting, this chapter is slightly longer than normal. It also explains the origins of the name of the NSA cover business.
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Ellie was true to her word and quickly set up a movie night so that everyone could watch White Christmas. Sarah discovered that Ellie was a force of nature when it came to planning a social event- and evidently, having Sarah, Molly and Emma over for dinner and a movie qualified in her books as a social event. There was a scheduled start time (after Ellie checked with both Sarah and Emma as to Molly's bedtime), with an emphasis that "fashionably late" would not be an excuse for tardiness.
Sure enough, everyone was assembled at the designated time at the Bartowski residence (although Sarah was fairly certain that she heard Ellie say that she would pluck out Morgan's beard if he so much as thought of the word mistletoe). Ellie had set up a hot chocolate station with marshmallows (both regular and mini), whipped cream, cinnamon and cocoa powder. There were candycanes and strands of popcorn decorating the room. It made Sarah wish that she had had a normal childhood. Until a thought brought her up short. Ellie and Chuck didn't have anything remotely close to a normal childhood. They had achieved these Christmas traditions through sheer force of will.
Chuck inserted the 4K disc of the movie. Sarah made a mental note to never, ever ask a nerd why the 4K version was necessary for a movie filmed in 1954. Suddenly, Molly asked why Mr. Casey wasn't there for the dinner/movie.
(Two weeks earlier)
Never having been a parent, Sarah's last exposure to pre-kindergarten had been when she had proudly matriculated to kindergarten to be with the "big kids". As a result, she had forgotten the fact that such classrooms were little more than a civilian version of a bio-weapons laboratory. Germ warfare was the major area of study for the "students", with fingerpainting and pasta noodle crafts a distant second and third.
Emma had been off on a day trip to Napa when Sarah had gotten the call from school that Molly had a fever and needed to be taken home- now. When Sarah had entered the classroom, she observed controlled pandemonium. Well, more of contained pandemonium. Entry to the classroom required the permission from one of the two adult teachers. This meant that the chaos was limited to the classroom.
The kids all seemed to be either running or screaming, or, for the apparently advanced students in the class, both running and screaming. Runny noses were everywhere. Sarah watched as one child sneezed all over a toy, which was promptly thrown into the bin only to be snatched up by another child before the toy could be decontaminated.
Molly, though, was seated quietly in a corner. Her cheeks, normally pink with exertion, were pallid. Her eyelids were clearly struggling to even stay open. Sarah ignored the madness and made a beeline for her sister. The volume of noise in the room dying away as the children realized that there was a new adult in the room.
"Molly, sweetie, how are you doing?" Sarah asked as she sat down on the bench designed for a child.
"Hey Sarah," Molly responded with a wan smile. Sarah took note of the fact that Molly didn't immediately give the typical rundown of the day's interactions. That was always first on Molly's agenda: who had done what, as well as who was/wasn't her best friend for the day. On its own, that absence would have created concern for Sarah.
"Let's get your stuff together and head out," Sarah said, patting Molly on the knee. "Since Mom is up in Napa, you and I will be heading to the Carmichael building to keep an eye on Chuck."
The name of Molly's favorite person perked her up a little, getting her motivated enough to stand up and strap on her backpack. Sarah never quite understood the need for the backpack. It was nearly as big as Molly, but only held a sweater, her lunch box and a spill proof water cup. As they made their way out to the parking lot, Sarah reflected that it sometimes paid to have a friend in the DEA. Once Sarah had told Carina that her mom was adopting (not all secrets needed to be shared even among friends), Carina had "discovered" a Porsche Cayenne S that Emma could buy from a DEA auction. Due to a convenient typo on the listed mileage, Emma wound up being the sole bidder.
While Sarah still preferred driving her 911 GTS, if she had to drive an SUV in order to pick up Molly, at least she could be in an SUV with performance. There was no way that she would be caught dead in a soccer mom minivan. Emma had naturally objected (before learning the price), and had waxed on about the convenience of hands-free sliding doors and built in entertainment systems.
But, when Sarah had pulled up to Emma's house in the Cayenne (operating on the maxim that it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission), Emma had relented. Emma's protests had died away completely once she learned the purchase price. Shortly after that, Sarah discovered that while her driving skills had been perfected by the CIA, it turned out that genes played a big role as well.
Not surprisingly, in spite of the typical LA traffic in between Molly's preschool and Chuck's office, Sarah made it in good time. Sarah carried Molly's backpack over one shoulder, using her other hand to hold hands with the little girl. As they walked into Carmichael Industries, Chuck jumped up from his desk in excitement, "Hey there, Moll." Chuck's eyes grew wide as two of his favorite ladies entered the offices. "Moll!" Putting on his best, although still not very good, James Cagney impersonation, Chuck then said, "You some kinda gangster's moll there little lady?"
Sarah and Molly looked at Chuck, both tilted their heads in unison, before looking at each other with matching expressions of "you have any clue what he's talking about this time". Still moving in perfect synchronicity, they shrugged and sat down, pretending as though Chuck hadn't even spoken. Chuck shook his head in disappointment and slipped down the hall.
Sarah grabbed a couple of throw pillows (still tempted to throw them at Chuck's head
after she bought them for him and he went on a rant about useless pillows that you're not even allowed to throw-honestly it had been worse that his debate with Morgan over sandwiches on a deserted island) and cobbled together a makeshift bed for Molly on the sofa in Chuck's office.
Molly belatedly took note of the Christmas decorations that Chuck had put up- "good for the cover" he'd said at the time in the face of an irate John Casey- in his office and the outer room. The office now sported miniature pre-wired Christmas trees (which both played and swayed to music by TransSiberian Orchestra), as well as imitation pine garlands wound with tinsel. It wasn't even Thanksgiving, but Chuck was clearly embracing the Christmas spirit. It served as a reminder that Ellie's "White Christmas" dinner party was scheduled for the night of Black Friday.
Suddenly, a section of the wall to Chuck's office swung open with John Casey charging in. "Bartowksi, where in the he…" Casey's diatribe cut off mid-stream as he took note of both Molly's presence and her pale complexion. "Ms. Molly," he grunted out, "you ok there kid? You seem a little worse for wear."
Molly ignored the question, instead looking from Casey to the open wall, and back again. "Mr. Casey, howdya get the wall to move like that? Ooh, can you do magic like Hermione, Ron and Harry? Hermione is, like, my favoritest wizard in, like, ever. Are you a wizard Mr. Casey?" Although run down, some of Molly's listlessness had disappeared during her interrogation of Casey.
Casey turned to Sarah with, what passed for him, a pure look of terror. The man clearly had no idea about Harry Potter and his world of wizards, muggles and magical creatures. Molly had seen the first movie on tv a few days earlier and had instantly become obsessed with Hermione Granger. Emma had already bought the first book, and Molly insisted on it as her nightly bedtime story. Sarah worked hard to fight off a smile. She and Casey had been working on an unspoken truce since the creation of Carmichael Industries.
She recognized that a truce was in place when Casey had wired up Echo Park with state of the art surveillance for the perimeter and the courtyard. He had even moved into a unit there, showing Sarah the surveillance monitors (no cameras in Chuck's apartment thankfully), as well as his armory on site.
"Molly, hon, Mr. Casey isn't a wizard. This all used to be one big office space and this wall between Carmichael and Blackbird used to be a door. That's all," Sarah assured her sister.
"But if I'm a muggle and Mr. Casey is a wizard, he wouldn't be able to tell me, would he?" Molly snarked, before letting out a yawn and laying back down on the sofa.
"She's got you there, Casey. If you actually are a wizard, you wouldn't be able to tell us muggles, would you? Statute of secrecy and all that," Sarah asked with as straight a face as she could manage. She could see him struggling to make any sense of what she and Molly had just said. Casey looked at Molly for a moment before turning to sneer and growl at Walker. The kid was mocking him, somehow, but kids were to be protected-not intimidated. Unfortunately, Sarah just smiled as Casey unleashed his fiercest growl towards her. Damn CIA skirts.
Finally, Casey gave up, opting to find Chuck. "Walker, where is Bartowski? He's supposed to be…uh, giving me a report on some…data that he is collecting."
"He's still collecting, big guy. Just like he told you an hour ago," Chuck called out as he walked into the room with a delivery bag from a nearby restaurant. "The information won't be rendered for another 42 minutes. Just like I told you an hour ago. So, I ran out to get Ms. Molly here some of the best chicken noodle soup in the world. Or at least in Burbank." Chuck gently ran a hand over Molly's head, smoothing down her hair as she lay on the sofa on the verge of a nap. Sarah couldn't help but to step over and hug Chuck from behind as he showed such care and affection for her little sister.
"Ugh, lady feelings," Casey snarled. "Meet me in Cast…in my office in 10 Bartowski." That said, he spun and stormed back out of the Carmichael offices, slamming the wall closed behind him.
Molly let out a fierce sneeze as she struggled momentarily to sit up to eat the soup. She turned to Chuck, her eyes wide with concern, "I'm sorry Chuck. I hope I didn't just get you sick." Molly looked even more miserable at the prospect than she did at being sick herself.
Chuck, for his part, simiply let out a good natured laugh. "No worries, Molly. When you live with a doctor, you get the full panel of flu vaccines the moment they come out each year." He leaned in close to Molly and in a stage whisper said, "I hate needles. Like really, really hate needles. Needles and me are no bueno."
Molly giggled at Chuck's antics and butchering of the Spanish language. He does have a way with women. Or at least women in the Walker family, Sarah mused. Hopefully for my sake, the latter. She didn't feel the need for any competition. Molly sat up a bit, "So, does that mean that when you and Sarah get married she'll get the flu shots right away too?"
Chuck and Sarah's eyes went wide as saucers. Sarah's jaw dropped open in sheer mortification, while Chuck's kept opening and closing with no sound coming out. After a moment, Chuck regained the power of speech. Sort of. "Wha…uh, what…um. You know what? I bet Casey is ready for that data now. I'd better go. Now. I'd better go now."
Sarah gave Chuck a look of complete betrayal. "Traitor," she yelled with a laugh at Chuck's retreating form. Sarah didn't know what was freaking her out more: the fact that Molly would ask such a question, or the complete conviction in Molly's tone that Sarah and Chuck would be married. Or maybe it was over the fact that it didn't sound so bad. Sarah swallowed hard. Married.
Chuck slowed his pace as he went out of the door for Carmichael Industries before taking a few steps down the hall to Blackbird Avionics. The two business occupied the entire combination hangar/commercial office space. Chuck knew that if Casey saw him flustered that Casey would ferret out what Molly had just said. He also knew that while the big guy was somehow intimidated by the small child, that wouldn't prevent Casey from giving he and Sarah a hard time about their "wedding".
"What are you doing here, Bartowski? I thought the computers needed more time to 'render'," Casey snarled out in a slightly more snarky than usual tone. Great, either a four year old planning my nuptials, or a disgruntled NSA agent. Which to choose? Which to choose? Chuck thought to himself.
"I just thought that with Molly not feeling well that I would get out from underfoot so that she could eat some lunch and take a nap," Chuck offered, hoping against hope that the legitimate sounding excuse would pacify Casey. No such luck.
"Please, if Molly was feeling that bad you would either be rubbing her back or rushing her off to get checked by Ellie," Casey grumbled while staring at Chuck to figure out the reason behind Bartowski's sudden appearance. "Kid said something in there to you that freaked you out, didn't she?" Casey's sneer turned into a wicked grin. "What's the deal with her and Walker, anyway? Mighty big age gap between those two."
"Leave it alone," Chuck's tone was hard, his face matching it. Chuck knew that it was a mistake to reveal anything to Casey, but he was overly protective of the two sisters.
Casey looked up in genuine surprise at Chuck's tone. The question had seemed pretty innocuous. He knew from his dealings with Walker that the girl was almost certainly the missing heiress from Budapest. Walker knew that Casey would drop anyone who posed a threat to the child. Apparently she hadn't shared the memo with Chuck about Casey likely knowing the truth. But the nerd had a spine, it turned out. Chuck wasn't physically intimidating like Casey, but he was beyond gifted with computers and could ruin someone in ways other than a right cross to the chin.
Molly was a good kid. She terrified Casey in ways he would never admit to anyone, but she was a total innocent. If Sarah hadn't killed Ryker in that mission, Casey would have hunted him down just to make sure Molly had a safe future. But Chuck didn't know that, and Casey could use that to torment the guy who should have joined the NSA instead of operating as an outside contractor.
"You'd make a lousy poker player, kid," Casey finally said, before turning back to his paperwork.
Chuck was surprised. "Kid" was as close to warm and fuzzy as Casey ever got. Recognizing that Casey wasn't going to go digging into Molly's background, Chuck headed over to the disguised platform elevator that provided access to Castle hidden behind a false wall in the hangar bay.
"Hey," Chuck said, turning to Casey who had joined him on the hidden platform, "why did the NSA pick an RC Cola vending machine to hid the elevator access? Where did they even find one? I don't think that brand has existed since I was born. And what if someone wants to actually buy one? Did the NSA find a secret stash of cans in order to stock this thing? Hey, is there a use by date on sodas manufactured in the 70s?"
Casey merely grumbled at the string of inane questions. Reaching down, he pushed the second from the bottom selection button, holding all five fingers against it for seven seconds as a biometric scanner concealed in the button verified his identity. A six foot by six foot section of the floor silent slid down the hidden, soundproof NSA station.
"I would have thought that a pop culture junkie like you would appreciate the quirky touch," Casey snarkily shot back.
Chuck gave Casey the flattest of flat looks, "Wrong type of pop. And that was a horrible pun. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"You come up with some ridiculous name for the cover business and you say that I should be ashamed of myself? Really?"
"Wait," Chuck said, quickly turning serious. "I thought that you were a military history buff and would appreciate the tie in."
Casey stepped off of the platform and into the confines of Castle before looking at Chuck with a questioning gaze, "What are you rambling about this time Bartowski? What possible link is there between our office space and this nation's military history? Granted, having a hangar to ourselves makes it easier to deploy a rapid response team covertly."
Chuck was disappointed, having assumed that Casey would have seen the name Chuck chose for the NSA cover business as an olive branch of sorts after the tense start to the unusual team. "These offices and the hangar below are on the spot where the original Lockheed factory was built. Specifically, the home to Kelly Johnson's famous Skunkworks for Lockheed. It was not only a critical source of fighter planes in World War II, but it was also the home to the P80, F117 and…the SR71…" Chuck looked at Casey expectantly.
"The Blackbird," Casey said, understanding dawning on him. "Blackbird Avionics." Hmm, should have known that with a genius like him that there would be a reason behind the name. I just thought it was some weird videogame or something. Clearly I underestimated the kid.
Chuck headed over to the console to check the status of the decryption run, clearly disappointed that his effort to mollify Casey had gone completely unnoticed. Casey decided to extend an olive branch of his own. "So, Bartowski, the logo, with the red line around the globe. Was that the first flight path of the SR-71?"
Chuck quickly perked up, "Close. It's the flight path from the final flight. Or, at least the last publicly recognized flight. I didn't do any digging to see if there were any additional flights after the plane was retired."
Casey gave a grunt, apparently of approval, before heading off to look over some paperwork. The kid really would make the worst poker player I've ever seen. Still, that is a pretty cool reason for the name, and the logo. Casey swept his eyes around his workspace with renewed respect. As Chuck had predicted, he was a military history buff. A lot of highly classified military history had its origins in this very spot. Beckman had told me the office/hangar space was Bartowski's idea. And it really was a damned good idea. Covert entry and exit for the rapid response NSA strike teams. Plenty of room for cover and covert activities. Enough traffic in the area to blend in in plain sight. Clearly Chuck had learned about the history before he had pitched the idea to Beckman. I wonder if she even knew about the Skunkworks tie in.
Casey looked at the Blackbird Avionics logo with the blue-green earth circled by a bright red line. A suborbital flight path. A hidden hint located in plain sight to the cover business name. There are levels to this kid that people just overlook, like I did. Plus, he could have dug into the SR-71 classified files to find out the truth about its final flight, but he didn't need to so he didn't. Most hackers have zero respect for authority. Piranha is a different beast from them. He'd still make for a lousy poker player, but he's a good man.
His normal animosity towards Bartowski gone for the moment, Casey made his way over to the console where Chuck sat scrolling through data. "So, what are we looking at here?"
Chuck didn't take his eyes off of the monitors as he replied, "The NSA sent a wish list when we opened this fully armed and operational battle station." Chuck paused, realizing that Casey was genuinely interested and that nerdisms would destroy whatever reprieve from sarcasm this was. "Basically, among the tasks they wanted me to try would be to see if I could get into the secure servers for the Iranian Revolutionary Guards. A couple of days ago there was an intercept showing that a high ranking Colonel in the Guards was traveling to Yemen under diplomatic cover. I figured out his official email address and spoofed a memo from the Guards IT department requesting that he reset his password."
"Now identity thieves often do this by sending a link that looks like a legitimate website, such as a bank. The victim types in their account information and password, and 'resets' their password on the fake site. The thieves then access the account and clean it out before the victim has time to realize that something was wrong."
Chuck paused to face Casey, realizing that the NSA agent was paying close attention, interested in what Chuck had to say. Hoping that his olive branch had been belatedly accepted, Chuck continued, "Now the guy I'm targeting is smart and security savvy. So, instead of setting up a fake Revolutionary Guard portal, or attaching a file with malware, the email itself was a trojan horse. The act of opening the email embedded a virus into the operating system for the guy's phone. The virus then captured every keystroke he entered, and sent the information to a dark web site in small data packets that would not be detected. I've been converting Farsi to English, as we can't outsource this a translator, and Sarah has been tied up with Carmichael Industry paperwork. The computer has been decrypting the files to that we can figure out what is work related, and what is personal. If there are any glitches, we can have Sarah take a look to figure out the proper wording."
Casey gave another grunt of approval. "The NSA would want both. If there is some personal information that could be used in the future, they might be able to flip him and make him a double agent. Or even get him to defect. That would be a huge coup. A high ranking member of the Guards would have access to a tremendous amount of information and insight."
"Well," Chuck said, clearly pleased with Casey's approval, "I'll give 'em whatever we get. But, for now, let's just see what we get access to." A short time later, Chuck was deep inside of the operating system for the Revolutionary Guards servers and communications systems. He created an access portal for the NSA to use that was all but guaranteed to never be detected by the Iranians. All they would see would be standard self-diagnostics being run on a regular basis, not any unauthorized access.
Sarah had gotten the text from Chuck that he and Casey were on their way back up to the cover offices at Blackbird. A few moments later, Molly began stirring after a much needed nap brought on by a combination of flu medicine and (thanks to Chuck) a full stomach. Molly already looked loads better than she had when Sarah had picked her up at school just a few hours earlier.
Sarah and Molly retraced Chuck's (instead of Casey's) steps out of Carmichael Industries and next door to Blackbird Avionics. Molly instantly had a concerned look as they entered the NSA covert facility. She gave a warm smile when she saw the two men, "Chuck! Mr. Casey! Hi!" But then she continued in a worried tone, "Mr. Casey?"
The gruff NSA agent knew that he had a soft spot for the small child, even if he tried not to let it show (especially in front of Bartowski). But her being sick and now clearly worried was too potent of a combination for him to maintain his normal air of indifference. "What is it kid?" He asked gently, bending down so that he didn't tower over her.
Chuck would have teased Casey about being a squishy teddy bear on the inside, but both he and Sarah were too concerned about what had Molly upset. "Mr. Casey," Molly repeated in a timid tone, "do you not believe in Santa Claus?" The look on Molly's face made it clear what her opinion on such heresy would be. She had tears forming in her eyes, and her lower lip was quivering.
All three adults looked at each other in confusion, wondering both where Molly was coming from and where she might be going with this. "Of course I believe in Santa Claus," Casey replied earnestly, figuring that with a four year old that would be the safe, best and likely only acceptable answer.
Sarah smiled at Casey's statement. She might not know yet what Molly's reason was for the question, but she knew Molly. There was always a method to the madness, even if the logic behind the madness wasn't discernable to a grown up. Sarah had a feeling that Casey had just unwittingly painted himself into a corner from which there would be no escape. At least no escape without either significant tears from a little child, or significant embarrassment from the NSA Major. Sarah was actively pulling for the latter. Chuck, meanwhile, just looked thoroughly lost.
"But you don't have up any Christmas decorations," Molly insisted. "Chuck has tons and tons." Casey shot Chuck a death glare, realizing that the nerd, even if unknowingly, was responsible for this awkward predicament. Molly battled ahead, "How will Santa Claus know that you believe in him if he doesn't see any decorations? And if Santa doesn't think you believe in him, he won't bring you any presents." Molly looked to be on the verge of tears. Casey looked to be on the verge of an aneurism. Molly glanced around Casey's office despondently. Suddenly a big grin burst out, "You can borrow some of Chuck's! He's got lots and he likes to share stuff."
Casey contemplated sharing things with Chuck. Such as a punch in the face, or a swift kick in the pills. Sarah, recognizing the tic in Casey's tightly clenched jaws, said in a gentle rebuke, "Molly, sweetie, you can't just go around offering to give away someone else's stuff." Sarah shot Chuck a look of pure adoration, "Even if he is the type to give the shirt off of his back if it will help someone else out."
It was now Molly's turn to look completely confused, "But Mr. Casey won't fit into Chuck's shirt. And we were talking about Christmas decorations, not clothes!"
Chuck, oblivious to the danger posed by the irritated NSA agent, saw an opening to torment his tormentor, "No, Sarah. It's ok. Mr. Casey can borrow as many Christmas decorations as he wants. Tis the season of giving, and we certainly don't want Santa to overlook John." Chuck sent his most fake sincerely innocent look in his arsenal towards the man now actively contemplating Chuck's murder.
Casey let out a nearly inaudible growl as his right hand kept clenching into a fist. Thought after thought raced through Casey's head-each of which would result in the name John Casey being put on the naughty list for the rest of his life.
The following morning saw Major John Casey, NSA agent extraordinaire, hauling box after box of newly purchased decorations from a nearby department store. Casey would never admit it to anyone, but he had gone a little overboard in case Molly came by again. Her disappointment at his prior lack of decorations had unnerved the seasoned intelligence agent.
Casey was stringing the last of the garlands from the ceiling of Blackbird Avionics when a chirp from the main monitor in the room alerted to an incoming videoconference call. Casey quickly moved his hands behind his back to hide the numerous band-aids that covered papercuts received while decorating the office.
With her usual lack of preamble or pleasantries, Beckman began discussing the treasure trove of secrets that the NSA had already obtained through Bartowski's backdoor access into the Revolutionary Guards servers and communication systems. She was in the process of detailing the plan to take out a terrorist cell that depended entirely on Iranian backing when she suddenly stopped speaking and started squinting into her monitor.
"Major Casey, explain yourself," the diminutive senior officer demanded.
"Explain what, ma'am," asked a confused Casey.
"Explain what?! Explain the decorations throughout your base of operations? Have you forgotten that you are heading up a covert NSA substation? What is the meaning of this?" Beckman had known Casey for years, and knew that the man did not possess a single sentimental bone in his body. Something was seriously wrong in Burbank. She could only hope that the Ring hadn't somehow compromised John Casey.
"Major Casey, I will have you know that religiously based decorations are being heavily scrutinized by the NSA Inspector General's office as an improper promotion of one religion thereby constituting a violation of the Constitution regarding separation of church and state. Despite this, you spent how much of the budget on the cover operations to make your office space look like the set of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special?
"Your office has been redecorated without prior permission in unauthorized holiday material. You did not submit forms 2763-B1B, 2763-B2A, or 2763 -B52H. Explain that."
"Begging your pardon, General, but all of these decorations were purchased with personal funds. Further, they are necessary in order to preserve the cover of a civilian operation at Blackbird Avionics. We would be the only commercial business at the airport not to have any decorations in place."
"Very well, Major. You will need to submit all receipts and proof of funding source for all of these so-called decorations to the Inspector General's office as part of a full audit of the classified books for Blackbird Avionics," Beckman ended with a glare.
"You're siccing the bean counters on me General?" Casey asked in shock.
"Financial accounting specialists, First Class," Beckman corrected sourly. "Merry Christmas, John." She abruptly terminated the conference.
Now facing a dark screen, Casey began pounding his head against the desk in front of him. "Somehow, some way, this is all Bartowski's fault. I'm going to rip that nerd limb from limb from limb."
Down the hall at Carmichael Industries, Chuck had his feet up on the corner of his desk, looking over the financial revenues from the Nerd HQ's second game-but first under their own label. The central monitor in front of him beeped to indicate a videoconference link to General Beckman had been initiated. While Chuck knew that the monitor could be used, it was a last resort option that hadn't been triggered during the operation to date.
Diane Beckman appeared on the screen. "Nicely played, Mr. Bartowski," she commented with a smirk.
Chuck was thoroughly lost, "I'm sorry, General? Is this about the Guards hack?"
"Ho, ho, ho, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman responded. "Merry Christmas to you and the family. Try not to torment Casey…too much. But photos would be appreciated." Beckman had a devilish grin on her face as she ended the conference call.
Chuck started laughing so hard that he fell out of his chair. Suddenly, Casey could be heard through the sliding wall, "Bartowski! You are a dead man!"
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(Bartowski White Christmas Party)
Sarah was snuggled up tight against Chuck on the sofa as she was being heartwarmed by the Christmas classic. The movie was lighthearted fun, with lots of singing and dancing. Ellie had given her an exaggerated wink when the song "Mandy" came on. Sarah realized that she felt thoroughly content-and not simply because of the incredible dinner that Ellie had prepared (the woman must have been a master chef in a past live). Life was simply better than she could ever remember it being, and a lot had to do with the special guy who was holding her close.
Sarah had the feeling that this could be a new joint Christmas tradition, and she was more than okay with that. She was thoroughly content, thoroughly heartwarmed when her phone buzzed with an incoming text message. Safe your weapon. The message was from Casey. Sarah knew full well that Ellie had invited Casey, but he had begged off. But what was up with that message.
Trying not to alert anyone else in the room to the concerning message, Sarah typed back, What is going on? Is there a threat? Her phone showed that Casey was typing a response, so she waited, unconsciously holding her breath. If there was a threat, do you think I would have told you to safe your weapon? Just make sure your sister is awake, and don't shoot.
A moment later, a surprisingly tall Santa Claus came to the archway into the living room, let out a booming, "Ho, ho, ho." Molly jumped to her feet, gasping at having seen the big man himself. Then Santa raced towards the fireplace in the rear of the room. Chuck was thoroughly confused when he realized two things. First, Sarah had vanished. Second, Santa Claus apparently chose black combat boots as his footwear of choice. Chuck's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead as Santa climbed into the fireplace before reaching around his back and suddenly launching up the chimney with a slight whirring sound.
Sarah, meanwhile, had bolted out of the house, quickly scaling a tall oak tree located near the apartment. She had made her way over to the chimney stack as she heard cursing coming from the top of the chimney. "Careful there Santa," she said with a laugh. "Language like that might mean that you have to put yourself on the naughty list."
Casey was halfway in and halfway out of the chimney, tugging away at a paracord tied to an electric winch. "The damn beard got tangled in the winch and I'm stuck," he groused as he yanked at the offending fake facial hair. "Gimme a hand here, damnit." He then turned to look at Sarah when he didn't hear her approaching.
"Put the phone away, Walker," he growled in his most menacing voice.
"Sorry, Casey. Orders," Sarah said as she snapped another picture with her phone. "Beckman gave express orders that anything unusual regarding the Bartowskis was to be reported directly to her. And a 6'3" elf stuck in a chimney above their apartment certainly qualifies as unusual. Wouldn't you say?"
"I hate this assignment," Casey grumbled as the swooshing sound of an email being sent came from Sarah's phone.
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A/N 2: My apologies for the late posting. This chapter had a lot of revisions (or additions). There's one more chapter and a brief epilogue to go. For any military history buffs out there, there is an interesting story about the Lockheed factory at the Burbank Airport in World War II using camouflage to hide its operations. With netting, fake trees and fake houses strung from the top of one building to another, the entire facility was covered up to look from the air as just another suburban development.