Chapter 19: The New Employment

Los Angeles, Silver Lake, April 24th, 2008

Looking at the ceiling, John took a deep breath. His shoulder hurt, as he had known it would. And his ribs hurt as well, if not quite as bad as he had feared - Caridad knew her strength even when she was excited. Mostly. And his hips could take some squeezing. All in all, his body didn't feel any worse than after a sparring match that got a little serious.

A small price to pay for… He sighed as he looked at Caridad, who was sprawled out on top of him, cheek pressed against his chest. Well, they had done it. He had done it. And in the middle of a mission, not even after a mission, as a celebration.

And he felt strangely unconcerned. After quitting the NSA - even if it wasn't official yet - depriving them of intel, prisoners and recovered gear and all but formally joining a British secret organisation, having sex with a co-worker simply didn't matter any more. He snorted - it shouldn't have mattered before, not with everyone else on the team breaking that rule.

"Hm?" Caridad was looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

"I just thought that I was a fool for not doing this before."

She grinned at him. "Yes, you were. A stubborn fool." She reached out and ran a finger over his lips, down his throat, over his chest. "But a handsome fool."

He grunted in agreement. Should he compliment her? Faith hadn't wanted any 'mushy talk', but Caridad wasn't her. On the other hand, she was also a Slayer.

Before he could make up his mind, she added: "And my fool." Her fingernails dug into his skin, lightly but noticeably. Possessively.

Part of him wanted to protest out of reflex. Part of him liked it. He hadn't felt like he belonged to anyone for a long time.

"Slayer," he said with a grin, cupping her cheek again.

She leaned into his hand.

Suddenly, she tensed, then frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked, moving his hand towards his pillow, where he had stashed a gun.

"Chuck's calling for us."

"Oh." So, the others knew. Well, they hadn't exactly been discreet. Or silent. Or, he added as he looked at the room, especially at the clothes and parts of the furniture strewn around, very careful. "I guess we should get up, then."

She pouted.

"I could use something to eat," he said. "I've worked up an appetite."

That made her laugh, and she rolled off of him, then stretched, uncaring of her lack of clothes, yawning loudly. "Yes, food sounds good." Sniffing the air, she frowned. "But we should shower first."

That took longer than expected, of course, but when they finally went down to the kitchen, no one seemed surprised at them being late, and the coffee was just finishing brewing. Real coffee, not some fancy yuppie stuff with more sugar than a Cuban plantation.

While he grabbed a cup for himself, he noticed that Rosenberg was sullenly staring into her cup of tea. As if on cue, she sighed. "You know, tea is almost as bad as coffee. If you think caffeine is bad for you, of course."

"The keyword is 'almost'," Kennedy told her.

Caridad frowned and stopped piling up more bacon on her sandwich. "No strong coffee for Willow, that's the rule. No energy drinks, either."

"Unless it's an emergency," the witch protested.

"Which this is not," Kennedy said.

"We can't leave Morgan and Kirsten sedated much longer."

"They're fine so far. We just checked," Bartowski said. "And we'll start, uh, fixing them in the afternoon."

That perked the witch up. "Yes!"

"And then we can deal with Hernandez and Petrova," John said.

"We still don't have proof that Federica is a spy," Bartowski protested. "Petrova could've lied."

"We'll find out," John retorted. Between the brainwashing machine and magic, the spy would be revealed. He grabbed two pieces of toast and the few slices of bacon Caridad had left, and started eating. "And we need to decide what to do about Petrova." And Hernandez, once she was proven to be a member of Fulcrum.

"Uh…" Bartowski grimaced.

"She's too dangerous to be set free, and we can't just imprison her forever," Caridad said after swallowing a huge bite.

"Uh, but we can… I don't know, fix her?" Bartowski asked.

"Fix her?" John raised his eyebrows. "With the brainwashing machine?" That was an option, of course.

"No!" Rosenberg snapped. "That's a slippery slope. You start doing a little fixing here and there, harmless stuff, just smoothing things over and avoiding arguments, and soon you can't stop and start doing it to everyone. That's how you get corrupted witches. Well, one of the ways. No fixing people by brainwashing them!"

And that was it for that idea - John could see that no one would challenge Rosenberg over it.

"He said he's half an hour out," Bartowski announced, tapping on his phone. "But he said that fifteen minutes ago."

"Traffic in Los Angeles," Caridad commented. "Not even super hacking skills will help against it."

"Actually, they would - you could simply… Oh." And now the moron was pouting, even though it was his fault for not realising that the Slayer had been joking.

John scoffed and checked his weapons again. One-handed - it was good training. And it would let his shoulder rest some more. He didn't fancy getting medicaled out of the Council before he could officially join them.

"Chuck, we're still on schedule," Walker told him.

"As much as you can schedule a delicate operation you've never done before with equipment stolen from your enemies and the instructions taken from an uncooperative captive," Rosenberg added. She was smiling brightly, but John didn't think it improved Bartowski's mood at all.

"I know!" the guy spat. "I just want Morgan and Kirsten fixed. And Federica, too."

"If she needs fixing," Walker added, and, for a moment, the two spies stared at each other.

Then Bartowski sighed and sat down on a chair. Walker patted his shoulder, then went to the kitchen. Probably too busy herself until Bartowski accepted that sometimes, enemy spies were enemy spies. And had to be dealt with.

John went back to his gun.

Almost exactly half an hour later, John saw Caridad, who had been lazying around with a magazine on the couch, freeze for a moment, turning her head towards the front door.

And Kennedy, cuddling with Rosenberg in an armchair too small for the pair, showed a similar reaction.

A little later, a car drove past the house, then set back and turned into the drive. John grabbed his assembled pistol, just in case, but Caridad gave the all-clear sign. "It's Mr Bartowski."

And there was Orion, smiling in a restrained fashion. "Hello, everyone." He nodded at them as he stepped inside. "Sorry for being late - traffic was hell. Not literally," he added. "Chuck!"

"Dad!"

The two men hugged. Then Walker got hugged by Orion.

"Willow, good to see you again!" The witch got a hug as well.

John remained seated and merely nodded, Kennedy shook hands, and Caridad waved from the couch.

"I've heard you've got some trouble involving a neurological interface."

"Yes! Not quite the Intersect's system," Bartowski replied, "but it affects the memory as well, so - sort of like the Intersect."

"That would be interesting. Dangerous but interesting." Orion inclined his head.

"I know, right?" Rosenberg said, nodding several times. "It's not quite like magic, but there are similarities as well."

"Then let's take a look at the machine, shall we?"

"Yes, Dad." Bartowski led his father down into the basement, already babbling with Rosenberg.

John shook his head once the three had left. Nerds.

That left him with Walker, Caridad and Kennedy. Brown-Smythe was resting upstairs.

"So… once Morgan and Bane are fixed, what do we do about the spies?" Kennedy asked.

"We don't know yet whether Hernandez is a spy or a victim." Walker, apparently, had decided to represent Bartowski's views.

"Assume that they are," the Slayer added.

"Make Petrova disappear and have Hernandez suffer an accident," John said. Both knew too much, and Petrova's knowledge and skills were too dangerous in the wrong hands.

Kennedy nodded. "That's what Giles thought. Can't have anyone start mind-controlling people."

Someone in charge had a working brain then, John noted.

Caridad nodded in agreement, and Walker didn't contradict them.

Good enough to seal the spies' fates, in John's estimate.

"So! We've checked and rechecked everything!" Rosenberg announced. "It all checked out. We didn't run a test, though, since we lack an acceptable test subject. Not that running such machines on anyone - other than to reverse what was done to them - is morally acceptable, so that's more a theoretical position. But," she beamed, "we are ready to restore the mind of Morgan and Kirsten!"

"As ready as we can be," Bartowski added. "We're treating Morgan first. He, uh, would've wanted it like that."

John suppressed the urge to call the moron names. Bane was still a potential leak or threat while Grimes was vetted, so they should've used her first. But pointing out the obvious wouldn't change anyone's mind - quite the contrary.

"Let's do it, then," he said.

"Yes. He should be waking up soon. Or he might be awake already," Bartowski said.

He was awake, as John found as Caridad opened the cell.

"Hey, guys! What's up? Did I get mind-whammied? I remember trying to fry you all."

"Yes, Morgan, you did," Bartowski said.

"Well, I'm feeling much better now. It's all… like a haze that was lifted." Grimes smiled weakly at them. "I'm so sorry."

"No worry, it wasn't your fault. We'll fix it?"

"'Fix it'? I'm fine, Chuck. Really!"

Caridad picked the man up without taking the restraints off his wrists and ankles.

The man gasped when he saw the machine waiting in the main room. "Guys, this isn't necessary! I'm fine, really! Please!"

Rosenberg grimaced and wasn't looking at Grimes. Neither was Caridad or Walker, John noticed. And Bartowski was grimacing.

But none moved to stop Caridad as she placed Grimes in the seat of the machine.

This had to be done.

Grimes kept begging even after his head was immobilised and the contacts placed on his temples.

Then Rosenberg and the Bartowskis turned the machine on, and Grimes started screaming. The man struggled, trying to free himself, but Fulcrum had designed the machine with such attempts in mind. They probably had planned to use it on Slayers judging by the thickness of the restraints, though John didn't think that the frame itself would keep if a Slayer really pulled on it.

Speaking of Slayers… Caridad was pressing her lips together and looking at the wall behind Grimes. Perhaps he should offer her some support…

He decided against it. He wasn't Walker, and she wasn't Bartowski. She didn't need such gestures out of the blue. Instead, he kept looking at Grimes - as the only one in the room - until the man stopped screaming, met his eyes, and then closed them, apparently falling unconscious.

"Chuck?" Walker asked.

"It's OK," Rosenberg said. "That's an expected side-effect of the treatment."

The witch didn't sound as if she was completely convinced, though. But it was too late to stop anything. And, John knew, the alternative would be worse. You couldn't leave Grimes a potential traitor - the risk was too great.

"Alright," he heard Bartowski mumble, "we're starting now to undo the, uh, programming."

What had they done until then? John wasn't sure if he wanted to know. At least it was a quiet affair now. Very quiet.

And he couldn't help feeling that it had been a good thing he hadn't thought to offer Caridad his hand as he saw the Slayer trying to straighten out the railing of the staircase she had accidentally mangled.

After about an hour and a half, the mumbled chatter coming from the computers connected to the machine stopped, and Bartowski spoke up again: "Uh, I think, this is it."

"We should be done, yes," Rosenberg agreed.

"I don't think there's anything else that we can do any more." Orion sounded a little too fatalistic, in John's opinion.

"So… let's wake him up?" Caridad asked in a rather small voice.

"He should be waking up automatically as the machine adjusts his brain activity back to normal, conscious levels," Orion explained. "It's a very user-friendly system, actually. Much different from the Intersect project, and obviously planned to be ultimately used by field agents."

"And it's a very bad machine for facilitating such an abhorrent abuse of a person's mental privacy!" Rosenberg added with a deep frown.

"That goes without saying," the old man replied.

"I think it should be said," the witch retorted.

Bartowski interrupted the brewing argument by loudly clearing his throat. "So… Morgan?"

Grimes was stirring and groaning. John saw him blinking, though it didn't seem as if he was focusing on anything. "Chuck?"

"Morgan! How do you feel?"

"As if someone took my head and rammed it against a locker a few dozen times."

"Oh. Uh, do you remember the date?"

"April… 22nd?"

"Oh, no… something must have not… wait. Are you guessing? This isn't a test, Morgan, we need to know what you remember!"

"I remember spies attacking the base… and they kidnapped us. And I remember this chair, but you weren't there, and… Holy Shit! Did they mindwipe me? Chuck, did they wipe my memories?"

"Uh…" Bartowski grimaced. "Technically, we did that. They, uh, turned you. In a non-vampire way. So, we, uh, had to wipe everything after that, to get you back to normal."

John's eyes widened. That was a logical solution in hindsight, but they hadn't mentioned that before. That would be a shock for people who had been brainwashed months ago.

"Oh." Grimes blinked. "So, I'm… OK?"

"Yes."

"You should be," Rosenberg added.

"Willow?"

"Hi, Morgan!" She waved with a rather sheepish expression. "I'm so sorry for doing this, but it was the only way to save you!"

"Uh… thanks?"

"You shouldn't suffer serious after-effects," Orion told him.

"Mr Bartowski? You didn't implant the Intersect in my brain, did you?" Grimes sounded both horrified and excited at the same time, John noted.

"No, no - we really just wiped your short-term memory," Orion replied.

"Uh… thanks. So… Can I get out of this now? Before it accidentally wipes more of my brain?"

"Oh! Oh, of course!"

John tensed as Bartowski hurried to release his friend. If this had just been an act… But they had a Slayer here, and another listening in a floor above them. Of course, Grimes would be aware of that, at least he'd know about Cariad's capabilities, so even if he were still brainwashed, he'd not act rashly. Then again, this was Grimes...

But the man didn't try anything other than standing on wobbly legs with Bartowski's help. "So… everything's fine now…" He looked around, and his eyes widened. "Oh my God! Where's Kirsten? Is she OK? Did something happen to her?"

"Ah… we tried this on you, first. She's next," Bartowski explained.

"Oh…" The man smiled with such obvious relief, John had to look away for the first time since this started.

Bane was a trained spy, so they took no chances with her - two Slayers grabbed and dragged her to the chair. As a trained spy in the know about the supernatural, she didn't try anything, of course - it would've been futile. She didn't say anything, either - just kept her mouth shut until the three nerds started the machine.

At which point she started screaming.

"Should've gagged her," John mumbled.

"I think Petrova liked the screams," Caridad replied - of course, she had overheard him. "And, well…" she winced, then shrugged as Bane fell silent, dropping unconscious, "it feels wrong to gag your friends."

It also felt wrong to hear them scream, though. But another one and a half hour later, Bane was - supposedly - restored to normal. Or memory-wiped, depending on how you called it. She probably was leaning towards the latter, in John's opinion, since she was hugging Grimes as if he was a life preserver during a landing operation gone south. It would have been a very moving sight if John were a bleeding heart liberal and they didn't have an apocalypse to stop and a traitorous organisation to hunt down.

And if it weren't time for dinner. He cleared his throat. "We should grab a bite to eat before interrogating Hernandez."

"Before examining Federica," Bartowski was quick to protest.

John smiled at him. "Whatever. I'm hungry, and Caridad probably ran out of snacks already."

"Almost!" the Slayer confirmed with a grin. "I could do with more food, though."

"Me too!" Rosenberg chimed in. "And Ken must be starving."

The other Slayer had probably raided the kitchen and pantry. Not that Joh cared much - he had it stocked mostly with cheap food that kept. No big loss.

"And we need to bake cookies, for everyone!"

John didn't stare at the witch, but he was tempted. Baking cookies?

"Baking cookies?" Orion asked.

"Yes. For everyone," Rosenberg explained. She glanced at Grimes and Bane. "After all we went through - I mean, it was far worse for Morgan and Kirsten, but I think observing it, and, even worse, causing it, albeit indirectly since we were fixing what was done to you, but it was still quite the ordeal - I think we could all do with some fresh, yummy cookies."

And that was the most powerful witch in the Council? John suppressed a sigh. It was a very naive and transparent attempt to cheer up people.

"Oh, yes! Chocolate cookies!" Morgan smiled.

And, apparently, working.

Fortunately, even though Rosenberg insisted on cooking a 'decent dinner' instead of heating up some frozen food, she had chosen to cook spaghetti, so by the time dinner was done, the Slayers weren't famished and ready to hold up a food truck. Although judging by the way their nostrils kept flaring whenever Rosenberg checked the pot with the sauce, John wouldn't dream of trying to get between them and the food until they had their first serving. Possible their second serving as well.

The actual meal wasn't bad, though he'd have preferred meat in the sauce. Not that he'd tell Rosenberg that, of course.

"And now: Cookies!" the witch announced as soon as the remains of the meal had been cleared off the table - Caridad was eating the last pasta directly out of the bowl while she carried it to the kitchen.

The cookies she presented were good. Really good. But once they were gone - which hadn't taken long at all - it was time to get back to business. Spy business.

"How do you want to do this?" John asked.

That apparently ruined the mood at the table, but he didn't care much. This had to be done.

"Uh… check her for mental modification?" Bartowski said, as if it were obvious.

"And if there's no trace?" John looked at him.

"Uh… absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence…"

"Unless there should be evidence," Orion pointed out, "And in this case, I think we will be able to find evidence. If there is any to find, of course."

Bartowski shot a look at his father as if he had been stabbed in the back.

"And what if she was mentally manipulated?" Walker asked. "Do we wipe her memory?"

"Err. It was just a few days for us, and most of that we slept," Grimes said. "But it would be weeks for her."

"It'd be better for her than being a programmed killer." Bane's shrug looked a little forced.

"And it would be better for us if we didn't have to deal with a killer programmed to go after us," John reminded the rest of the actual stakes. "Or after our friends and families."

That sobered the group up, as far as he could tell. Brown-Smythe nodded in agreement. "If Miss Hernandez was put under mind control, then removing her memory seems to be the most gentle course of action. And it will protect our secrets as well."

No one seemed to have a retort to that. Well, Bartowski mumbled something about the morality of wiping out what might have become a personality in her own right, but not even Grimes cared about that.

Half an hour later, the point was moot anyway - the nerds hadn't found any traces of mental manipulation in Hernandez's brain. And Bartowski had tried his hardest, from what John could tell.

John didn't smile upon being proven right. Not until he met the spy's eyes glaring at him.

Gotcha.

"So you are a Fulcrum spy!" Caridad spat, glaring back at Hernandez.

"We don't know that. Not yet," Rosenberg objected. "Although all evidence - or lack thereof - so far points to that conclusion, mainly since she was helping Fulcrum several times without being forced to through brainwashing. In theory, she could be working as a double agent infiltrating Fulcrum." John wasn't the only one looking at the witch as if she had lost her mind, and she blushed. "I'm just mentioning the possibilities, here!"

John glanced at Bartowski. The moron was shaking his head, with Walker trying to comfort him. John hoped that the guy would finally learn that you couldn't trust anyone as a spy.

"The implications are pretty clear," Orion said. "And we're not a jury."

Hernandez was still glaring at them. As John had suspected, she was a very good spy. Probably one of Fulcrum's best, to be picked for this assignment. Although she could've just been the best match for Bartowski's likely type and age range.

"How many people did you fool and then kill with the innocent girl act?" he wondered aloud.

Bartowski jerked, finally staring at the spy with wide eyes.

And Hernandez snorted. "Enough."

"But…"

"She's a veteran spy, Chuck," Walker cut in. "Probably older than she looks."

Another snort. Was Hernandez breaking down, knowing she had nothing to lose any more? Or did she have an angle? She didn't know about magic, so she might think she was merely facing an enhanced interrogation. Would she try to make a deal?

"You think this is funny?" Caridad snarled.

"I had almost all of you fooled," Hernandez shot back. "You'd have been fooled as well if you hadn't had the hots for the old man."

"What? I don't have the hots for Phil!"

John had to smirk. A cheap shot that had missed. "What matters," he said, baring his teeth, "is that we caught you. And you'll be telling us everything you know about Fulcrum."

"You're going to brainwash me."

"Of course not!" Rosenberg gasped. "We wouldn't do such a thing - that would be a terrible violation of, well, your mind! Not to mention the trauma that it would cause to Morgan and Kirsten!"

Who were upstairs. Probably in a bedroom hugging each other.

Hernandez frowned at the witch, as much as she managed with her head immobilised, then looked at John again. "Is she trying to play good cop?" she asked, voice dripping with scorn.

"No, she's a good witch," Bartowski spoke up.

"And you don't want to meet bad witches. That would be very bad," Rosenberg went on.

"Witches."

"Yes, witches." Now Rosenberg was frowning. "You shouldn't be so derisive of other people's faith."

"A witch? Scraping the bottom of the barrel, Agent Casey?" Hernandez scoffed. "Couldn't find any sane specialists you could trust, hm?"

"I'm not a specialist," Rosenberg pouted. "Just because I'm a skilled witch doesn't mean I can't do anything else."

"Specialisation is for insects," Bartowski added.

"That's not exactly true. Modern civilisation does require specialisation - although only to a certain degree. And many research groups focus on interdisciplinary exchanges," Rosenberg explained. "It also depends on individual talents, of course - not everyone is suited for every career."

Hernandez laughed. Was she trying to provoke them into killing her? Why would she be doing this? Did Fulcrum have true believers who'd rather die than betray the organisation, or did Hernandez's superiors have enough leverage on her to force such loyalty?

Rosenberg pouted again, then held out her hand, and, once more, a pen started to float in front of her, quickly moving over to Hernandez.

"Magic exists, Miss Spy," Rosenberg told her. "And witches such as myself can wield it."

"And we'll use it to find out everything you know," John added.

Looking at the suddenly gaping enemy spy, he smiled. As much as magic made him wary - which was a completely rational stance - Hernandez's reaction was fun to watch.

"...and do you know any other Fulcrum members except those you already mentioned?"

"No."

"Any other Fulcrum bases that you haven't mentioned yet?"

"No."

John stifled a yawn. It was past midnight already - time flew if you were interrogating an enemy spy with the help of magic. But he was wrapping it up. They had names and locations. Hernandez's accomplices and superiors. The bases she knew. And her operational history with Fulcrum - which had been as bloody and ruthless as John had expected. Bartowski hadn't liked hearing that at all. But hearing her plans for him and his family had been worse.

There was one thing left.

"Do you know Fulcrum's goals?"

"No."

"Do you care about their goals?"

"No."

"Why are you working for them?"

"For the money and the power."

Like all other Fulcrum operatives they had been able to interrogate so far. John shook his head. He would have almost preferred some true believers no matter their actual beliefs. Selling out your country for profit? How low could you sink?

After sedating Hernandez again and locking her up, they met up in the living room, which was now pretty crowded. John leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed, as he studied the others. Bartowski was sitting at the table, typing rapidly on a laptop. Across from him, Orion did the same.

John suppressed the urge to shake his head. Like that, it was impossible to miss the resemblance of the two men. He glanced at Bane, who was on the couch with Grimes. She was looking, no, staring at the two Bartowskis - the spy hadn't missed that, despite still being rattled from her ordeal. Grimes leaned over, and the two started whispering. Orion had been presented as a member of the Watchers Council and Chuck's dad, but Bane looked as if she suspected that there was something hidden from her. Well, they would have to settle this sooner or later anyway.

He looked at the kitchen, where Caridad and Kennedy were scarfing down a 'late-night snack' that would have fed a marine fireteam for a day. Once the Slayers were fed, then. Tempers were already a little frayed from the interrogations.

The only one who seemed perfectly at ease was Brown-Smythe, and the limey had one of the best poker faces John had ever seen - he couldn't tell at all what the other man was really feeling. Then again, if you were regularly dealing with apocalypses, uncovering a spy ring bent on subverting the CIA and NSA probably didn't rattle you much.

And he already knew that the old Watcher didn't baulk at doing what was needed. Nor did Orion. He was tempted to start the discussion but refrained from doing so. It was better to leave that to others.

After about five minutes, Bartowski looked up. "I've checked the information we got, and it looks legit. The Intersect confirmed a few items, too." He took a deep breath. "I think we got the leader of Fulcrum identified."

John drew a sharp breath. Hernandez hadn't known Fulcrum's leader, but with the Intersect… "How reliable is this?" he asked.

"I flashed." Bartowski shrugged. "So… pretty reliable?" He tapped a key on his computer. "Bart Spencer. Retired analyst for the CIA."

Walker's gasp made everyone look at her. "I know him. He taught a course in data analysis."

And didn't try to recruit her? He probably knew that she was fiercely loyal to the Director.

"He was in a great position to build Fulcrum," Walker went on. "As a veteran data analyst, he would have access to all the data he wanted, and he knew a lot of people. And he wasn't on anyone's radar - just a man good at his job, unlikely to rise further."

That might have been what made him start his own organisation, of course. People who were denied what they saw as their due - like a promotion - were more easily turned. Or corrupted.

"Fulcrum has a lot of field agents from the agency. Not so many data analysts," Bane pointed out.

"I think they have more data analysts than we thought," Bartowski said. "And Spencer would've been able to manipulate data as well - foster resentment by playing up some rifts and such. Portray someone's achievements in a worse light…"

John scoffed. "Enough about the methods. We need to get him and find out what he knows." If the analyst really was Fulcrum's leader, then John doubted that he'd have shown good spy skills and kept the organisation fragmented without anyone, not even himself, knowing all other members. No, he probably had some central data archive that he used personally. Both to keep the traitors from turning against him and to plan his next steps

"Well, I've got his official address - he lives in Langley," Bartowski said.

Of course he'd live next to the CIA Headquarters - he had worked there for decades, after all.

"So we go and get him!" Caridad blurted out with an eager grin.

"That's his official address. I'm sure he's got other houses," Bartowski said.

"He's frequently travelling according to his credit card history," Orion added.

A good cover for absences, and not suspicious for a retired analyst who might have dreamed of exotic countries and of visiting all the locations he only ever read about.

"Where is he then?"

"We'll find out," Bartowski said.

"We need to be quick, though - once the base we raided doesn't report in…" Walker had a grim expression.

"We're doing what we can," Bartowski replied - a little peeved.

"I'm quite optimistic about our chances to find Spencer's whereabouts," Orion said with a faint smile. "I'm aware of his tricks now."

Bane stiffened. "I didn't know that you worked for the CIA."

"I did some work as a consultant," Orion replied, raising his eyebrows. "Top-Secret, I believe."

"So secret that it wasn't in his file," Bane replied. She looked at Brown-Smythe and back to Orion. "And you aren't a Watcher. You're a computer specialist."

"We have computer specialists in the Council!" Rosenberg protested.

Bane ignored her. "You were responsible for building the Intersect, weren't you? That's why Chuck's got it."

It really didn't pay to underestimate a spy, John reminded himself.

"Uh…" Bartowski blinked. He might as well have confirmed Bane's accusation.

"You called him in to help with the… with Fulcrum's machine," Bane went on. "He's not just a computer tech, but also knows about brain interfaces."

They could explain that by claiming he had come with Rosenberg as part of the Council. But the damage was already done. John looked at Walker. She knew it as well. As did Orion.

The older man smiled wryly. "Indeed. I only recently joined the Council. I created the Intersect, but left before it was completed when I became aware of plans to use my family as leverage against me."

"And you killed your entire team!" Bane stared at him.

"They killed themselves when they decided to use the Intersect without really understanding it," Orion retorted. "Frankly, they should have known better than to experiment with their own brains, but…" He sighed and shrugged. "We were all a little crazy."

"You also decided to experiment with your own brain," Bartowski blurted out.

Orion nodded at him "I did. I just said that all of us were a little crazy, didn't I?"

More than a little, in John's opinion.

"And you hid from the CIA…"

"From everyone. I only met Chuck and Ellie a few months ago." He looked straight at Bane. "The CIA cannot be allowed to get ahold of my work. If anything, Fulcrum's suborning of so many spies has proven that."

"If Fulcrum had both their brainwashing machine and the Intersect, they could turn anyone, any civilian, into a sleeper agent with superb spy skills," Walker said.

"And we already know that the CIA trusted the wrong people, so if they had the Intersect, we'd have Fulcrum spies with it," Rosenberg added.

"And the Council can be trusted?" Bane retorted. Grimes was just sitting next to her, probably feeling too guilty to say anything, John noted.

"The Watchers have had traitors and corrupted members in the past," Brown-Smythe said. "But the current Council has, so far, held up admirably."

Rosenberg blushed. "Well, it helps that we, uh, don't need the Intersect. Not really need, I mean. It would be nice to use it to implant combat skills into Watchers - well, theoretically, since messing with people's minds is never a good thing, even if they volunteer, because that way lies a slippery slope which leads to badness - but the Intersect doesn't really cover fighting demons, so it wouldn't really help that much. Well, the basic skills would help, but you'd still need training applying them to demons, and firearms don't work as well as melee weapons, and there are so many Slayers around, we don't really need lots of Watchers to fight where the Slayer couldn't go, and trying to modify the database so it covers demons, while a very interesting and totally theoretical concept, has its own risk since some of the books used to study demons are kinda dangerous, and if they were part of a computer program directly implanted onto the brains of people, that could end up with a viral possession or even spawning multiple demons."

John blinked. Not even Bartowski and Grimes going on about video games had managed to babble so much.

"Uh…" Bane looked lost. Not that John felt like he had followed everything Rosenberg had spewed forth.

"Long story short: We're aware that the Intersect could be useful, but it wouldn't be worth the added trouble it could bring," Kennedy said. "I wouldn't rule out using it in a pinch to save the world, but it's not going to be standard procedure."

"Exactly," Orion said. "My work with the Intersect will focus on Chuck, but I'll be pursuing other areas of research most of the time." He smiled. "There are fascinating fields to cover."

Rosenberg nodded like an enthusiastic puppy. "Oh, yes! With the Internet extending its coverage all over the world, I think it's only a matter of time until demons take advantage of that. Both as a tool, but, ultimately, also as a way to spread."

"We wouldn't want to prove the religious fanatics claiming that the internet is the devil right." Orion chuckled.

John didn't think that literal computer demons were amusing, and, judging by their expressions, neither did most of the others present in the room, but this wasn't the time or place to discuss it. What matters was Bane's reaction. Finding out that she hadn't been trusted with Orion's secret, while everyone else was…

The spy was still looking at Orion. "So, you met them all before I was sent here?"

"I'd say before you became family," the older man corrected her.

"Ah. " Bane looked like she didn't know if she should be mad or pleased about that. Or that's what she wanted them to think she was an excellent infiltrator, after all.

But she hadn' let them down so far, either. And she'd had multiple occasions.

"We were planning to tell you before, ah, changing employers," Morgan said. "But there never seemed to be a good time, and Mr Bartwoski was rarely around, so…" He shrugged. "Sorry."

Bane nodded, though a little hesitantly. There would be trouble in paradise for a while, or so it seemed.

"So!" Rosenberg spoke up with a wide smile after a moment, "Welcome to the Council? Formally, I mean. I think we can do that, I mean, I can do that."

Bane snorted, then smiled. A little. "I guess so."

John nodded. It wasn't as if they had many choices left.