A/N: Right, then. Next time I'm sending ownership of Chuck by Fed Ex. This is ridiculous.
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Team Bartowski, supplemented by MI-6 agents Cole Barker and Sydney Reilly and Chief Inspector Alice Carter of the Metropolitan Police, sat in the MI-6 van down the block from the Four Kings nightclub in the Shadwell neighborhood of London, a working-class area with a preponderance of South Asians pedestrians on the sidewalks.
"I'll go in to see Reggie. Have a bit of a chat." She looked at the crowd in the van and pointed to Cole and Casey. "You two come along, if you don't mind. You're the scariest looking of the lot...no offense."
"None, taken, Alice," said Cole with a grin. Casey just grunted to show that he thought she was using good judgment.
The three of them left the van and walked down the street to the entrance to the nightclub. It was situated between a Bangladeshi grocery and an American fast-food restaurant. The Four Kings was obviously closed at this hour of the morning. Alice began to pound on the door repeatedly until a small man carrying a mop opened it. "Closed," he said.
"Right. I should hope so," said Alice. "I'm here to talk to Reggie."
From somewhere behind the man at the door a rough sounding voice called out, "Get lost. Reggie don't have time for no birds at this hour."
Casey pushed the door fully open and the three of them walked past the man with the mop, heading towards the back of the club. The man closed the door and merely shrugged at the development. Chairs were up on tables and there was a wheeled bucket of soapy water sitting in the middle of the dance floor. The room was dimly lit, especially so after the bright sunshine outside. They could make out two men sitting at one of the tables past the bar, reading newspapers. Just past the men was a door marked 'OFFICE.'
Both the men, one large and one quite small, stood up as they approached. "You deaf or something? I said get lost," said the large man.
Carter took her badge from her pocket and showed it to the two. "Chief Inspector Carter. Tell Reggie I want to talk to him."
"I don't think so. He's busy and not to be disturbed. Make an appointment and come back later. We'll tell him you were here," said the large man, with a pronounced sneer.
Alice glanced over her shoulder at Casey and Cole. She nodded her head slightly.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, Cole kicked the speaker in the stomach. The man started to double over. Cole snapped his knee up into the man's face with such force that it almost flipped him over. He ended up still and lying on the floor.
After looking at his partner with alarm, the other man took a swing at Casey. Casey didn't even try to block it. He just took the punch unmoving. He barely blinked. The man's eyes went wide with alarm. Then Casey reached out and covered the other man's face with one large hand. Stepping forward, he smashed the back of the man's head into the wall next to the office door. The man went down.
Chief Inspector Carter stepped up to the door and opened it. Inside the room, sitting behind a desk was a man in his early 60's. He had receding graying hair and was wearing a pair of reading glasses. He appeared to have been studying some papers on the desk in front of him.
Carter said, "Morning, Reggie."
He looked up and removed the glasses. He took in Carter and the two tough looking men with her. Glancing through the open door, he saw his men lying on the floor just beyond the office.
Standing from his desk, he put on a fake smile and said, "Chief Inspector. So good to see you again. Please excuse the rudeness of my associates. So hard to get good help these days. I'd offer you tea, but I'm afraid that the men I would have asked to get it are asleep on the job."
Without being invited, Carter sat in one of the guest chairs facing the desk. Cole and Casey remained standing behind her.
After a moment, Farnham sat back down behind the desk. He was confused, maybe a little alarmed, but trying to hide it. Studying the standing men for a few moments, he said, "These lads aren't from your outfit. What menagerie did you pull these two gorillas from?"
"I'd be polite to them, Reggie. You could very well be spending a lot of time with them...or their friends, I suppose. Pays to watch your tongue." She grinned at him. "These two will put a black bag on your head and drag you out of here by your nutsack. They'll beat the living hell out of you and then sip a pint while watching telly. And I'll laugh."
"You're not making much sense, Chief Inspector. It's not like you."
"Oh, now Reggie. 'Not like me'? How do you know what's like me or not? Eh? You don't know me at all. Let me give you an education in what I'm really like, Reggie. I believe in keeping my word. Kind of old fashioned, but it's the way I was raised. So, when I swear an oath, I keep it. You see? And I swore an oath to obey the law. To chase down scum like you, but to play within the rules of the game. And that's exactly what I do. In my heart though, deep down, I'd love to go all Dirty Harry on you and your friends. I'd tie you all up in a sack and toss you in the river. Drown you all like a bunch of kittens. That's the way to take care of murdering scum like you. But, you see, I can't. Because I swore an oath. But the lads behind me, not so much." She spoke casually and with an element of humor in her voice.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"I'm trying to tell you that you fucked up royally this time, Reggie. Black Tony...oh, he's dead by the way...Black Tony and one of your crews grabbed a couple of lads off the street in Limehouse last night. Turns out, you stepped into an intelligence matter." She jerked a thumb at Cole. "This bloke is from River House. His friend is a Yank from one of their alphabet agencies. This thing is bigger than me right now, and you'd better believe it's way, way bigger than you. You know what happens next? A black site in a cooperative country. You disappear, never to be seen again."
"You can't do that to me," he said, looking scared.
"Me? Oh, hell no. I can't. I wouldn't dream of it. Law and order and whatnot. These lads? Sure, they can. It's the War on Terror or haven't you been paying attention? You think Brown is going to stop them? He's been pretty supportive of our lads fighting in the sand. You think he'll give even a tiny little shit if the Yanks want to snatch a scumbag like you and get you to sing a song? Don't be naïve. Like me, they swore an oath too, Reggie. But theirs' is different from mine. You know what it is? Don't let the bastards get away with it. That's it, the whole thing. And right now, they want to find the two men you snatched. And they want to find them really, really badly and really, really quickly. So, you, Mr. Farnham, are in some very deep shit."
One of Farnham's men got himself off the floor and came at Casey from behind. Without even seeming to look around, Casey snapped an elbow back into the man's face and he went down again. The ease with which it happened seemed to shake Farham, whose eyes widened in surprise.
He seemed to deflate a bit. "How did Tony die?"
"He attacked one of their friends. She flipped him over her shoulder and he landed wrong. He busted his stupid neck. You really ought to get your people some training in how to fight, you know. This is just embarrassing."
Carter sat in the chair totally relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself. Farnham, on the other hand, sat looking at this desk for long seconds. He didn't meet their eyes.
"Alright. Alright then. You have to understand. I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm a patriot. I am. I was in the Royal Navy. I was on the destroyer that sunk the General Belgrano in the Falklands War. I wouldn't have touched this job if I thought it was political. He told me it was a money thing. That the men owed him money and he needed to collect," said Farnham, his voice shaky.
"Who told you?"
"I don't know his name. My only contact with him was through a burner phone. He'd been vouched for by … a business associate in Marseille. I only met him once, when he paid the first half of the fee."
"You're sure the man you met was the same one that made arrangements with you on the burner?"
"Yes," said Farnham. "I recognized his voice."
"Describe him."
"Mid-thirties. Average height. Black hair. Dark complexion, like an Arab or a Turk. Strong looking, burly."
"Like a gym rat?" asked Carter.
"No. Manual labor. It's a different look. You can tell by the hands. He had thick hands, like he worked with them in his life."
"Eye color?"
"Dark. Brown, I think," he said.
"Nationality?"
"I don't know. Mediterranean. Middle eastern. I don't know. He had an accent, but I couldn't place it."
"How about clothes?" she asked.
"Jeans and an open-necked shirt. Expensive shoes and leather jacket. Rolex watch on his wrist, one of the gold ones. No other jewelry I saw."
"Scars? Tattoos?"
"Not that I could see."
"How did he talk? Educated? Smart?"
"Smart. Calm. In control. Educated? I don't know. If we was, he spent time in rough circumstances anyway. Thick hands, right?"
"Was he the boss or did he answer to anyone?"
"So far as I could tell, he was the boss."
"Ok," she said. "What was the job?"
"Two men here in London. Snatch them and hand them over. But be very, very careful. The men were supposed to be very dangerous and very switched on. Couldn't let them see you watching them. Couldn't be careless about how you took them. Real challenge. Once we had them, turn them over to the customer immediately and be done."
"Payment?"
"One hundred thousand Euros in used bills. Half when we got the job, half on delivery."
"You get paid?"
"Yes. In full. No issues."
"What was your plan?" she asked.
"Observe them and learn their behaviors, which we did. We found a favorite restaurant they liked in Limehouse and they always walked back to their hotel along the river. There's a spot where the cameras aren't working. We took them there and made a switch so the Box or your lot wouldn't notice. Hand off to the customer from the van in another blind spot, crew splits again in a third blind spot, ditch the van, and we're good. Guess it went wrong somehow."
"Tony used his own van. It's in his garage," said Carter.
Farnham gave a long sigh. "Stupid git," he said, shaking his head. "It's always the little things."
"Did you hear from your crew last night?"
"Yeah, I did. Sounded like things went well. One of the blokes got off a phone call, but too short to do much. The hand-off was fine. The two men in exchange for the bag of money."
"What kind of car or truck did the customer use to take them away?"
"Don't know."
"Make a call and find out," she said.
Farnham did. After a quick conversation with one of his men, he said, "Gray van. Late model. Didn't notice the type."
"Where was the handoff?"
"Gaskin Road. Islington. No cameras."
"Number of the burner you called to contact the man with no name?"
Farnham put on his reading glasses and looked at his phone. After a moment, he read off the number.
"Right," said Carter. She shifted in her chair and looked back at Casey and Barker. "I forget anything?"
"I don't think so. Chuck, anything else?" He paused as he heard Chuck's voice in his ear. "...no, we're good," said Casey.
"Reggie, this thing is top secret, so I can't nail you for it. Too much press. Can't have a public trial. But I know you did it and you know you did it. Seems both of us are going to have to have a good long think about that. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, Chief Inspector." He sounded chastened.
Carter, Barker and Casey turned and began to head out of Farnham's office. Barker turned around by the door and said, "The General Belgrano was sunk by the Conqueror, a nuclear submarine. Not by a destroyer. If you are going to try to steal glory from men who earned it, at least get your fucking history straight, you bloody wanker."
The three of them made their way back to the van holding the rest of the team. Climbing inside, they saw Reilly on the phone and Chuck on his computer. Eventually Reilly said into his phone, "Thanks, Cathy. That's excellent. Big 'elp. We owe you. Cheers." He disconnected the call. Turning to the rest of the team, he said, "Starting in Islington she found the gray van and followed it with the cameras to the Tilbury docks."
"The docks?" asked Cole. "That's quite the drive from Islington."
"It is. She lost it about there."
Chuck said, pointing to a map on his computer screen, "Is this the Tilbury docks?"
"Yes," said Reilly.
"I pinged the burner that Farnham's customer was using. This is where it is."
"Well, then, I guess I know where we are heading next," said Barker.
"This is where I step out, my friends. I think you all are going to be doing a bunch of spy stuff and probably don't want the police looking over your shoulder. And I'd probably just as soon not know. Anyway, you've left me with Black Tony's body to deal with. Paperwork," said Carter.
They all thanked her for her help. Chief Inspector Carter was turning to leave when she stopped and looked at Reilly. Stepping back into the van and taking the back of his head with one hand, she leaned forward and kissed him soundly. Pulling back she said, "Don't get killed, Syd."
He broke into a smile, one that she didn't reciprocate, and said, "Not me. I'm a right coward. I make Cole do all the scary bits."
"Right," she said with a roll of her eyes. With a quick wave, she left.
Cole began to laugh while Syd just sat there with a happy smile.
Chuck looked at his watch. Almost twelve hours since Bryce had called for help.
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The area smelled of the river, fuel and rubber. There were massive piles of cargo containers and the huge cranes to move them to and from the ships. The warehouse where Chuck had located the burner phone was medium sized and appeared to be quiet. It was somewhat run down, but then most of the buildings here in the port could use a new paint job and some window repair. They made a quick circuit of the building and saw nothing amiss.
It had been another two hours since they had left Shadwell. London traffic was horrible and it seemed they spent more time sitting than moving. Chuck was worried for Bryce, but knew they were getting closer with each step. Although impatience was eating at him, he did his best to quell it.
The six of them left the van an approached the door, five with pistols in their hands. Reilly held up an electronic device and said, "No one within ten meters of the other side, not that that tells us much."
"Ok," said Sarah. "Let's take a look." She picked the lock on the door and pushed it open. It squeaked a bit on rusty hinges, but opened.
Inside was blackness. They stepped into the building silently and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Whatever windows the building had had long since been painted over, revealing mere spots of light in the darkness. Chuck searched behind him for a light switch, but couldn't find one. A couple of the team tried penlights, but their light didn't penetrate very far in the large room.
Cole saw them first. He pointed for the benefit of the rest of them. About forty meters in front of them were two bodies on the ground. They began to move forward slowly, spreading out and keeping their eyes open for threats. There was a catwalk circling the perimeter of the building with the outline of machinery at seemingly random spots along it. In the gloom, it was tough to make out any details. The ground level, where they were, was almost entirely empty, save the bodies in the center of the room.
Silently, they approached the bodies. The bodies moved, indicating that they were alive.
Once they were closer, Chuck took out his flashlight and shined it on them. Bryce Larkin. Tommy Delgado. Mouths covered with duct tape, bound hand and foot. Chuck said, "We're here, Bryce." He went down on one knee next to them.
Bryce had been badly beaten. His left eye was swollen shut and the left side of his face was badly bruised. Blood had run out of his mouth and down his chin to stain his formerly white shirt. His clothes were dirty and bloodstained. There was dried blood on the floor under him, but Chuck didn't see any fresh blood. Bryce looked up at Chuck and his teammates with a single wild eye and made noises through the gag.
Delgado was even worse. In addition to bruises and dried blood around his face and bloodstains on his clothes, it looked as though his right index finger had been cut off at the knuckle and the wound roughly cauterized. Chuck could still smell the burnt flesh from the man's hand. He too looked at them and gestured upwards with his bound hands.
Sarah said, "Guys. I'm getting a bad feeling about this."
"Yeah," said Casey.
As they spoke Chuck saw something lying on the ground next to Bryce. Something he hadn't seen until that moment. He picked it up. It was the burner phone that had led them to the kidnapped men. "Oh, shit," he said.
Suddenly, from the catwalk above them almost a half a dozen high intensity searchlights flashed on at the same time, pinning Team B in a harsh pool of light. Silhouettes appeared next to the lights. Silhouettes of men with weapons pointed down at them. More than a dozen men, closer to twenty.
An amplified man's voice, with a bit of an accent, said, "Drop your weapons."
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A/N2: In her conversation with Farnham, Carter said Brown won't care what happens to him. She was referring to Prime Minister Gordon Brown.
A/N3: In one of the lasting remnants of the once vast British Empire, Britain owns several islands in the South Atlantic named the Falkland Islands. Argentina also lays claim to the islands, calling them the Malvinas. In 1982 Argentina went to war with Britian to wrest control of the islands away from Her Majesty. In the course of that conflict the nuclear submarine HMS Conqueror torpedoed and sank the cruiser ARA General Belgrano, to this day (3/21) the only nuclear submarine to have sunk an enemy vessel by torpedo. The British won the war and retained possession of the islands. I still remember the headline from the New York Post announcing that the British fleet had arrived near the Falklands and commenced operations against the Argentines: THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. (Seriously, that's what it said.)
A/N4: I know people aren't thrilled with cliffies, but you know me and I'll be back on time next Saturday. And then we'll get to see who has been hunting Fulcrum. Let me know what you think, if you don't mind. It's what makes this stuff fun.