A/N: More Hotel Detective. We are close to the end.


(She Was A) Hotel Detective

Chapter Thirty: The Fog of (Cold) War


Sarah was stunned.

"Director?"

Chuck's head snapped around; he stared at Sarah. "Director?" Chuck asked her, mouthing the word more than saying it.

Joad's cold smile was frozen in place. A tall man with a face that seemed to be running backward away from the point of his sharp nose, his teeth were small and yellow.

He walked to Sarah's dad, unconscious on the ground, and stepped on the fingers of the nearest hand. He leaned his weight forward and Sarah heard a snap. Chuck gagged beside her.

Joad glanced at them, his expression was matter-of-fact. "I guess he is out. We needed to be sure. I did."

Giving Lakoff a look, Joad knelt and rummaged through the spilled contents of the leather bag. Then he picked up the bag and searched inside it.

"I believe that someone in this room has something I want," Joad announced as he stood up. "Records, I believe."

Sarah dared not look at Chuck but she willed him not to speak. They needed time, she needed time to regroup. She had told Devon she would phone him at 6:05 pm, after they had let Algernon know they had the records. The fake records.

Where are the real ones?

It had to be about 6:05 pm, maybe a little later, now.

Maybe Devon would come. Or maybe Algernon would hear all this. But maybe Algernon already had the records and was gone, taking the antidote with him.

Maybe. Maybe she could get to Lakoff or her gun before Lakoff reacted.

Maybe. And maybe Chuck would get shot in the melee or gunplay.

Joad shook his head. "Always a woman of few words, eh, Agent. I take it this is Charles Bartowski. He must be the explanation for those silly hats" Joad examined Chuck like a mounted specimen, smirking at his beret. He glanced at Sarah, surprise on his face, then he shrugged. He chuckled low at her Boonie hat.

"Where are the records, Agent? Turn them over. I appeal to your patriotism, your love of country, your sense of duty." Sarah could almost hear The Star-Spangled Banner playing in the background.

Sarah knew her face showed her feelings, her contempt for Joad. She could not prevent it.

"You are going to talk to me about those things? With Lakoff holding a gun on us?"

The Director's eyes widened, then narrowed. "I have found that although duty can move people to action occasionally, it is their self-interest that is most trustworthy."

Sarah stole a glance at the clock by the bed. 6:12 pm.

"We don't have the records," Sarah said, again willing Chuck to play along. "My dad had them — and now he doesn't. We don't know where they are."

Joad stepped closer to Sarah but not too close.

"I cannot claim to have turned you into a liar, Agent." He nodded to Jack on the floor. "Daddy gets the credit for that. But I sanded and polished you, brought your native gifts to a high luster. — Don't try to lie to me. I know you have them, or you know where they are."

"No, we don't."

"That's too bad because I do not have time to wrangle, Agent. Give me those records."

Sarah was doing what she wanted. Stalling, and working to make Joad accept the fake records as real if she finally surrendered them. She had to make him think she did not want him to get them, act as if they were real.

"What's in the records that's of so much interest to the CIA?"

"You are no longer with the Company, Agent, and so you do not need to know. Suffice it to say that the documents are vital to national security."

"But if that's true, why make Lakoff here a double-agent, infiltrating the FBI? Why not work together, Company and Agency?"

"I am not answerable to you for my decisions or my actions. I have done what I deemed best; that's all you need to know. So, where can I find the records?"

Sarah put reluctance into her voice, into her pretended admission. "We sold them to Tony Accardo. Dad did. They met here. I guess Accardo or his man welched on the deal. There's no money, and there was supposed to be money. A lot of it."

Joad folded his arms but he was becoming agitated. "I'm supposed to think a member of the Outfit tranqed your father? Not impossible, I admit, but a clash of...styles. Mr. Bartowski, is that what happened? You were part of a scheme to sell the records to a mobster?"

"I do what Sarah says," Chuck replied in a soft voice.

Joad shook his head. "That I do not doubt, but it is not an answer. — One last chance, Sarah. Give me the records. If they are not here, tell me where they are. Chuck can stay until you produce them. Give them to me."

Joad glanced at Lakoff. Sarah glanced at the clock. 6:17 pm.

She had stalled for almost as long as she could. "Or what?"

"Or Agent Lakoff shoots Mr. Bartowski. Someplace non-lethal but painful, first…"

Chuck stepped toward Lakoff as if inviting the shot. "Hey, we're citizens!"

"Chuck, no," Sarah said. "Just...give him the records. We've played our hand. We lose." Sarah stepped forward, even with Chuck.

Chuck unbuttoned his coat and pulled it open. The two volumes were tucked into his belt. He pulled one free and handed it out to Joad. Joad reached out for it without getting any closer to Sarah and Chuck.

Chuck had reproduced the first page and faked three more pages. He handed that volume to Joad. Sarah waited, holding her breath. Joad opened the volume and stared at the first page. A minute passed, two. Joad looked up at them. He thumbed to the next page and gave it a cursory glance. He shut the volume. Sarah breathed silently.

He held out his hand for the second. Chuck extended it to Joad, spine up. You are clever, Chuck.

Joad took it and, instead of taking the time to turn it and open it, he put the first on top of it. He motioned for Lakoff to come closer.

"You have them now," Chuck said as Lakoff closed the distance. "Go save the nation, and let us go."

"Well," Joad said, "I'm afraid that's not the plan. Letting you go, that is. Not consistent with what the country needs to have happen. Normally, you two would be heroes for what you have done, and you are, but heroes destined to be unsung."

He hunched and rolled his shoulders, frowning. "Alright, Agent Lakoff, it's time for us all to leave…"

Sarah felt her stomach sink. She knew Joad, his tones of voice.

The door to the room swung open as Joad pointed to Sarah and Chuck. Devon was on his knees, his skeleton key in his hand. Behind and above him stood Agent Rizzo, her gun out.

"No one move…" Rizzo said, her voice low and dangerous.


Lakoff kept his eyes and his gun on Sarah and Chuck.

Joad smiled and opened his arms.

"Agent Rizzo, come in. You are just in time to help. I'm afraid this is now a Company operation, a matter of national security, but I will be happy to put a private commendation on your record."

Rizzo did not lower her gun but her gaze became confused. Devon looked at Sarah and Chuck and Joad and Lakoff, and back to Joad. His eyes focused on the records in Joad's hands.

"Come in," Joad repeated. Lakoff kept his gun on Sarah and Chuck but he seemed unsure.

Rizzo lowered her gun and stepped past Devon. He stood up after she passed him. He followed her in. Rizzo looked at Jack's unconscious form, at Sarah. Sarah gave her head a subtle shake. No.

Rizzo lowered her gun but kept it in her hand. She turned slowly to Lakoff. "Lakoff, what the hell are you doing here — with the Director of the CIA?"

Devon started at Joad's title even as he stared at Jack. "Sarah's dad! Is he…?"

"Sarah's dad?" Agent Rizzo.

"No," Chuck said, answering Devon, "no, he's tranqed. We found him this way."

Rizzo shook her head and looked at Sarah. Then Rizzo noticed the records under Joad's arm. "What are those, Director?"

"The records of Manny Sklar and Maria Tomek."

Rizzo's eyes shone. "I've been looking for those," she turned to Chuck, "and looking for you."

Chuck put up his hands. "I had nothing to do with Maria's death."

Rizzo ignored Chuck. "So, Walker, he was with you all along. Impressive. Maybe if I hadn't believed all that Ice Queen stuff about you, I'd have figured this right long ago. I fell for your whole not-interested-in-Bartowski schtick. I should have noticed that the Ice Queen was glowing."

After giving Sarah a bitter smile, Rizzo turned back to Joad. "It doesn't seem to me that it is at all clear who's leaving here with those records. From what I've been told, by Maria herself, those records spell the end of Accardo and the Outfit. I'm not planning on letting you bury the records someplace at Langley."

Joad stretched to his full height. "Your plans have little to do with the disposition of these records, Agent Rizzo. Lakoff has been with you all along and reporting to me. Your boss knows it. The records were going to end up with me one way or the other. I've just saved the DC couriers some time."

Rizzo blinked. "So, why would the CIA care about the records? What do you care about the Outfit?"

"I care nothing about them, under ordinary circumstances. But they managed to mix themselves with the KGB, to cross certain lines, to involve themselves in missions involving CIA deep cover operatives posing as KGB, double-agents.

"The information in the records would, it's true, damage the Outfit, but unfortunately, it would also compromise ongoing, critical CIA missions. I should not say this, but I feel I must: one of those missions involves your father, Agent Rizzo. I can't say any more than that, but I feel it only fair to make you understand what these records might do if they fell into the wrong hands, or were brought to light in criminal trials, —the lives that could be endangered.

"It's 1965, Agent Rizzo, ask yourself: what is the greater threat to our American Way of Life, the Chicago Outfit, Tony Accardo, or the Soviet Union, Leonid Brezhnev?"

Agent Rizzo stood silently, her gun in her hand, her shoulders sagging. Joad watched her and spoke again.

"I promise that if, once the records have been vetted, there is any information on the Outfit that can be safely released, I will see that you are the FBI agent who receives it. I am sorry about Lakoff's deception, and so is he, but I had to have someone involved who could make sure the records ended up where they needed to be — where they now are."

He nodded toward the records still under his arm.

Rizzo looked at the records and then at Sarah. "So, you had them all along too?"

"No, I...we just found them this morning."

"Why were you looking for them?"

"We wanted to clear Chuck's name, and we found...some clues…Things got complicated."

Rizzo frowned. "I won't ask." She faced Joad. "And what happens to them, Walker and Bartowski?"

"They will come with me and Agent Lakoff. They must be...debriefed."

Devon finally seemed to come to full awareness of the situation. "Debriefed? What's that mean? Custody? Are they prisoners? I don't understand."

"You don't need to. Come along, Agent Lakoff. Bring Walker and Bartowski. We'll go down the stairs and out the back way. A van is waiting for us."

Clearing her throat, Rizzo stepped in Joad's way. "This just seems...strange. I don't get it. Why infiltrate the FBI? Why are you, the CIA Director, here, in person?" She glanced past Joad to Sarah. "This feels...off."

Joad shrugged. "We are the CIA, Miss Rizzo, not the FBI. Your rules are not our rules. I have given you more explanation than I was obliged to."

Rizzo stood, indecisive, then with a frustrated sigh, she stepped out of the way. "My dad? Really?"

"Yes, and be assured, he will be safer because of what's happened here tonight." Joad looked at Lakoff.

Chuck crossed his arms. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Director. I'm a citizen; Sarah's a citizen."

"Chuck should be allowed to see his sister," Devon interjected, "They should be allowed to call a lawyer. They have rights."

"Rights are a luxury of peace," Joad said in a tone of flat exasperation and confident entitlement, "and this is the Cold War."


Sarah had no idea what to do.

Baffled. Frozen. Cold War.

It was all winding down, winding, winding, winding all the wrong way. Twisting out of her grasp.

She had watched all of the exchanges with growing hopelessness, feeling fogged in, disoriented.

Algernon had the records and was in the wind. No antidote.

It was all happening so fast and Sarah could not pull it all in focus, all that Joad was saying, all that his tone implied. The tension between the words and the tone.

Her focus was Chuck.

If Algernon had poisoned Chuck, the antidote was out of Sarah's reach. The effort and exhaustion of the last five days settled on her like a crushing weight, increasing her sense of despair. Her shoulder ached, so did the side of her face. Mostly, her heart ached.

So much ache.

She had been close, they had been so close...

And now, given what she knew of Joad, given the way he had been talking before Rizzo showed up, his tone, Sarah would lose Chuck, he would die of the poison. Joad would not help. Sarah would be dumped in a forgotten bunker or an unmarked grave.

She had known it to happen to others who Joad had personally debriefed. Personal. This was personal for Joad. He had cultivated her, trained her, warned her not to quit. Quit him. Warned her.

But if Chuck was dead, she did not care what happened to her, because, in a way, everything had: she had been thawed, made real, fallen in love, changed her understanding of herself. All because she dropped her fountain pen. All in a few feverish days.

She took Chuck's hand in hers.

She was not going to miss a moment of contact with him, not now, whatever happened. Her love for him outshone her despair, chasing its shadows away.

He looked at her, his eyes as they had been earlier in the day when they had shown her everything she hoped to see — herself as he saw her, and his love for her.

Sarah heard a sound, a click, and turned her head.

The door of the room opened. An arm extended into the room, and a hand tossed a grenade.

A grenade!

It bounced, thudding, once, twice, three times, on the floor, slow motion. No one moved for a split second, then Sarah threw herself on top of Chuck.

The grenade did not explode. It spewed gas.

A moment later, as she lost consciousness, Chuck slumped beneath her, Sarah saw a man in a gas mask enter the room. He had a gun in one hand and a bag in the other…

...


A/N: One more regular chapter to come, followed by an epilogue.

Thoughts?