A/N: Maybe ownership of Chuck was returned to sender?
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Chuck turned away from the other guests and pushed the button for his voicemail to listen to the message from the unknown caller. The message was very short. Just one word. Chuck heard Bryce Larkin say, in Klingon, "QaH." [Help]
'Oh, God,' he thought. Ok. Chuck paused for a few moments to think and plan, then touched his watch and said, "Sarah, to me now, please. Guys, SOS from Operation Thirty. Sarah's taking me to the Science and Tech area. Casey and Amy, get Graham alone and tell him what's up, then come find us."
The rest of his team acknowledged his instructions.
By the time he'd finished speaking Sarah was with him looking worried. Almost at a run, they made their way together to the turnstiles separating the lobby from the elevators and the rest of the building. They showed their ID's to the guards and were waved through.
Neither of them noticed the curious looks they got from a number of CIA officers in the crowd at the ceremony, or the murmurs "Carmichael's team...something going on...wonder what?...See the looks on their faces? Serious...in a hurry...Damn..."
As they were waiting for the elevator, she said "What happened?"
They were standing alone, so he took out his phone and played her the single word message.
"Oh, shit," she said.
"Yeah," he said.
"Number?" she asked.
"No. Caller ID blocked."
"What's your plan?" she asked.
"Hacking, but I have to act fast. There's a ticking clock."
A few floors up and after a short sprint down a corridor, they arrived at the section of the building reserved for the Science and Technology Directorate. Passing through the double glass doors, Chuck said to the first person he saw, "Who's in charge?"
The room was large, with work stations and cubicles set up in orderly rows. Large screens were along one wall, silently showing an all-news cable channel. There were numerous conference and break out rooms along a different wall.
A lean man in his early 60's wearing shirt sleeves came out of an office towards the back of the large room. He looked at them with a no-nonsense expression. "I'm in charge," he said while walking toward them quickly.
Chuck said, "I'm..."
"I know who you are, Carmichael. What do you need?"
"I need an untraceable computer for hacking."
"Right. Jorge, up. Give Carmichael your station." He didn't bark the order but spoke in a clipped no-nonsense manner.
A man immediately rolled his chair back and stood up, relinquishing the computer to Chuck with a gesture of invitation. Chuck took off his suit jacket and put it on the back of the chair. He sat down at the terminal and immediately went to the internet.
Jorge stood behind him with Sarah. The older man, the man in charge, had come over to stand next to them.
Jorge, a Hispanic looking man in his twenties with a black crew cut and a small soul patch, said, "What's he looking for?"
"Where a call came from. Just arrived. Caller ID blocked."
"Ah. Ok." He was watching carefully as Chuck worked his magic.
Jorge made a quiet noise. "What?" asked Sarah.
"He just hacked into his phone company. His provider...he got to his account...he has the number that was blocked." Jorge glanced at his watch. "Four minutes. Jesus."
Chuck kept working at a frantic pace. "Damn," said Jorge. His eyes getting wide.
"What?" asked Sarah quietly, so as not to disturb Chuck.
"He's attacking the MSC." Sarah looked at him. "Right, sorry. The Mobile Switching Center. The Switching Center is what routes the digital phone packets between network paths. And...he's in." A glance at his watch. "Ten minutes total. Oh, my God."
Amy and Casey joined them behind Chuck and stood silently as he worked.
"London," said Chuck.
Sarah looked to Jorge, who said, "He found the tower. The cell tower transmitting the call from the phone he was looking for. The information was in the Switching Center."
A little while later, Chuck said, "Shit, shit, shit."
Without prompting, Jorge said, "He tried to ping the phone through the Switching Center, but it's inactive, turned off or something. No ping response. With the phone off, there's no way to isolate the area any better than the total radius of the signal from that tower in London."
"What's a ping?"
"It's a simple message between the phone and a tower, so that the phone knows that a signal is available from the tower. If there are multiple towers to choose from when you make a call, your phone picks the tower with the strongest signal. It's what gives you the bars on your phone."
Chuck continued to work, even more quickly. His concentration was intense.
Jorge, looking over Chuck's shoulder, said, "Fuck. No way. No way. He's going into the tower logs. All the towers on the network all at once. They keep digital logs. He's already got the IMEI..."
"Jorge?"
"Right, sorry. International Mobile Equipment Identifier. It's the unique number for that phone, like a fingerprint or social security number. He's...oh, my God. He's writing a computer program...he's doing a spider script...he's going to crawl all the logs at the same time and get the signal strength for all the towers in London on that network looking for that particular IMEI ..shit...shit … shit."
"Why shit?" she asked.
"Because that info is only there for a little while. It gets overwritten really fast. How long ago was that call?"
"Just before we came up here. Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes?"
"Goddamn. It's gonna be close. Holy shit." Jorge was bouncing on his toes a little bit with the excitement.
The man in charge of the Directorate stood silently, his eyes never leaving Chuck's screen, his arms crossed over his chest, as still as a statue.
Lines of information began to appear on the screen in front of Chuck. By this time, there was a small knot of people behind Chuck. Jorge murmured, "He did it" and spun away, elbowing a couple of people aside to take an empty computer. He began to type furiously while more lines of information assembled themselves in front of Chuck.
Jorge said, "Carmichael." Chuck turned to look at him. "Feed me the raw data on signal strength. I've just done an algorithm to triangulate it over a London map."
"Thanks," said Chuck.
A few moments later, Jorge said, "North side of the Thames. Seems to be an area called Limehouse, near the river."
Leaning down, Amy said, "Ok. Jorge, is it?" The man nodded. "How'd you do that?"
"If we know the signal strength of the pings from the towers, we will know how far the phone is from each tower. The weaker the signal, the farther the phone is from the tower. So, if I know where the towers are and draw a circle around each, showing the phone's distance from that tower, where the circles overlap is where the call Carmichael received came from. So that's what I did."
"Cool," said Amy, nodding in appreciation.
"Now let me factor in the time element...the way the signal strength changed over the last few minutes while it was on that tower's logs...Yeah, based on changing signal strength over time you can tell that before the phone died, it was moving westward. Right?" He turned to Amy and said, "If the signal is getting weaker at one tower and stronger at another one you know the phone is moving away from one and towards the other one."
"Right," Amy responded with a grin.
"Speed?" asked Chuck, swiveling around in his chair.
"Umm...about 3 miles an hour," said Jorge after a few more calculations. "Walking."
"Thanks, Dude," said Chuck, giving the man a high five. The sound of the happy slap was still in the air when Graham appeared among them.
Jorge jumped up, not quite standing at attention.
Graham and the leader of the Technical Directorate exchanged looks. The other man nodded a few times, as if to confirm something that the two men had previously discussed. Then he turned and went back to his office in the back of the large room without saying a word.
The observers began to disperse, maybe a little self-conscious to be caught rubber-necking by the Director. Chuck got up to give Jorge back his chair and computer, taking his suit jacket with him.
"Thanks for the help, Jorge," said Chuck, shaking his hand.
"My pleasure, Carmichael. It was a delight to see you work," said Jorge with a smile.
Graham put a large hand on Jorge's shoulder. "Jorge what, Son?"
"Ribas, Sir. Jorge Ribas."
"Good to meet you, Mr. Ribas," said Graham, looking at the younger man seriously and giving his shoulder a squeeze.
Graham turned to Team B and gestured with his head to an empty conference room. Before heading over to the room, Amy slipped Jorge her business card. Written on the back, under a handwritten phone number were the words "CALL ME IF YOU'RE EVER IN LA. NERDS ARE SEXY."
Jorge, stared at the card in his hand as if it were irrefutable proof that, contrary to everything he'd always believed, magic existed in the world. When he looked up to look at Amy, she gave him a grin over her shoulder while heading into the conference room. Jorge didn't stop smiling until the next day. Late the next day.
"Ok. What did you find?" he asked Chuck.
"Bryce was walking by the Thames when he was taken by surprise. He managed to call me for help, but not more than a single word. The phone he was using is dead or off or something."
"How do you know he was taken by surprise, Kid?" asked Casey.
"Walking, not running," said Chuck. Casey nodded, as that made sense.
Amy said, "Wait a second. Bryce?"
Chuck turned to her, "Bryce Larkin is Operation Thirty. Our man inside Fulcrum."
"Bryce Larkin? The prick who sent you the Intersect?" Turning to Sarah, she said, "Your old partner?"
"The same," said Sarah.
"Holy shit. Ok," said Amy.
"We're going to London. Director, where's the Citation X?" asked Sarah.
"Here. One of our hangers at National. I'll rustle up the crew..."
"Never mind about that. I'm qualified to fly it. Casey can be my co-pilot. Just tell the ground crew to have it fueled and warmed up, please. We're going to take off hot."
"Right. Shit. If Fulcrum figured out that Larkin is our man inside, he'll be lucky if they just kill him," said Graham.
"Yes, Sir. But that's not what I'm worried about. Fulcrum could take him at any time they want, no need to ambush him in public. I think he was taken by the people torturing and killing Fulcrum agents," said Chuck.
"Damn," said Amy, barely above a whisper.
"Yes," said Graham. "That's possible too, of course. Not a lot of good scenarios here."
"Agreed," said Sarah. "Chuck, anything else to do here?"
"No. Let's go."
"I'll alert Beckman and tell the London office you'll be in town. Good luck, Team," said Graham as he was picking up the conference room phone to call the CIA hangar at National Airport.
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Sarah maneuvered herself into the cockpit of the aircraft and sat down in the left-hand seat. Casey was already in the copilot's seat going over the preflight checklist.
"All done?" he asked, referring to the flight plan she had just filed.
"Yeah. We're good."
"London City?" he asked, curious as to which airport they would be landing in.
"No, runway's too short for the Citation. Heathrow. It'll be a mess, but it's the best choice." Air traffic at Heathrow was notoriously congested.
"Right," he said and got back to work on the checklist as she powered up the aircraft.
Soon enough, they were ready to move. Casey contacted ground control to request permission to taxi.
One of the ground crew began to direct the aircraft out of the doors of the hangar and onto the active taxiways. A little while later they were in line for takeoff on Runway 4. Sarah was pleased that the airport was using runway 4 at that moment, as the identifying number of any runway stood for the first number or two of the compass direction it aligned with, 4 being aligned with 40 degrees on the compass, a northeasterly heading. Given their destination, Sarah thought that was ideal and would save them a few minutes leaving DC airspace for the flight over the Atlantic.
Casey switched frequencies to begin the conversation with the tower in preparation for takeoff.
Shortly, they were stopped on the threshold of runway 4. Casey read off the checklist for her. Sarah performed the necessary tasks and finally pushed the throttle levers forward. The twin Rolls-Royce AE 3007C jet engines roared to full power. Sarah released the brakes and the jet began to accelerate down the runway ahead of them.
Sarah felt the same thrill that she had felt every single time she pushed an aircraft to leave the ground and climb into the sky. She loved this.
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Meanwhile, in the aircraft's cabin, Chuck had placed a call.
"Barker, secure," said Cole Barker.
"Carmichael, secure. Sorry to wake you, Cole."
Cole said, "No worries, Matey. What's going on? You sound stressed."
"I am. Can I ask you for a favor?"
"Of course. Just name it."
"Thanks. You asked me once how we knew you were coming to LA to do a deal with Fulcrum. We knew because we managed to get a man inside."
"Brilliant," said Cole.
"He sent out an SOS to me a little over two hours ago. We traced it back to a neighborhood in London, near the Thames. We think he was ambushed there and we're afraid he was taken by the same people who have been taking Fulcrum agents."
"Bloody hell. Those butchers have been leaving quite a trail in their wake."
"Exactly. We're on our way to London now. About to take off from DC. I'm going send you photos and identifying info on our man. And the details about where and when we think the incident took place. Please get it to MI-5 and see what they can come up with. Maybe Scotland Yard too if you think that would help."
Chuck was pressed back into his seat as the engines roared and the sleek white plane began to accelerate down the runway, gaining speed by the second. He saw the landscape outside his cabin window begin to blur, faster and faster. When the air over the wings had reached the speed required to provide the necessary lift, the nose of the aircraft lifted off the ground, followed by the rear wheels. Chuck heard the sound of the mechanism pulling the wheels up into the belly of the craft. Moments later, Sarah had pointed the nose of the aircraft into the darkness of the night sky, putting the sunset behind them.
"Will do," said Cole. "You know we may just have found a body where it happened. Street crime or something."
"Yeah, but that doesn't really fit with a call to me for help," he responded. "And anyway, he's a pretty dangerous guy. A mugger would have his hands full."
"True enough. You flying commercial?"
"No, private."
"What's the registry number for your aircraft?" Cole asked. Chuck told him.
"Right. I'll get things started on my end. Good flight and see you all soon."
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Chuck and Amy were trying to nap in the cabin while Sarah and Casey shared the flying duties. Chuck, at least, wasn't getting much rest. He was very worried about Bryce and what he might be going through. He knew they were getting to London as fast as they could, though. Given the flight time and time difference, it would be about six in the morning London time by the time they arrived. Sarah had told them, over the intercom, that they had broken the sound barrier over the Atlantic and were traveling at a little over Mach 1, pushing the plane as hard as they dared.
Amy on the other hand seemed to be sleeping soundly, making soft snoring noises.
Their sleep, or attempts at sleep, was interrupted as Sarah spoke over the intercom once again.
"Wake up, guys. We're getting ready to land." Chuck looked at his watch and saw that it was a quarter past 5am London time, earlier than he'd expected. Maybe they'd caught a tail wind or something. Sarah continued, "Whatever Cole did, we are getting the reddest of red carpets. They diverted us to the RAF base at Northolt and pulled all other flight traffic out of our way. Told me to come in as hot as I want so long as I'm subsonic over land, so I've taken them up on the offer. Took more than a half hour off the flight."
At about 5:30am London time they were on the ground at Northolt.
Ground control directed them to a part of the field away from the main buildings. There were two black SUVs waiting for them with a few men standing by. Dawn was more than an hour away, and the area was lit only by a few airport lights on low poles.
Sarah shut down the aircraft and left the cockpit with Casey. She must have been exhausted, but she was smiling. She loved to fly, and the Citation X was an exciting machine. She would tell Chuck later that she had never piloted a plane at that speed before and it was thrilling.
Chuck took her bag and his own and the four of them made their way down the stairs to the tarmac. The temperature was a comfortable 10 degrees Celsius with a strong breeze.
Waiting were Cole Barker and the MI-6 man Chuck had met in the server room of the hotel in Interlaken, Switzerland, Reilly. In addition, there was a military man with insignia Chuck didn't recognize and a name plate identifying him as Brady. While the MI-6 men were casually dressed, the officer was impeccable in his uniform.
They went to Cole first. Dropping the bags he was carrying, Chuck gave him a quick hug, as did Sarah. Casey shook his hand and Amy kissed him.
Chuck turned to the other man. "You're Reilly, right?"
"Good memory, Carmichael. That's right. Reilly. Sidney Reilly." They shook hands. Reilly spoke with what television had always portrayed to Chuck as a Cockney accent.
Sarah, reaching for the man's hand, said, with a laugh, "Sidney Reilly?"
"Yes. My parents seemed to know what line of work I was going to go into all along."
"Prescient."
"More likely lucky, is the way I've always figured it," he said with a bit of a grin. He was a small man in his thirties with sandy hair and laughing, intelligent eyes.
"Good luck or bad?" asked Sarah.
"That's the question, innit? The game 'asn't been played to the end yet, so I guess we don't know," he said with a chuckle.
Cole said, "Want you to meet a mate of mine. This is Wing Commander Brady." They shook hands all around. "It's him we have thank for getting you lot down soonest."
"Thank you, Sir," said Chuck. "We appreciate it."
"My pleasure, young man. With this favor for Barker on the ledger I only owe him about a thousand more. Will your crew need accommodations?"
"No crew, Wing Commander. We flew ourselves," said Sarah, holding a hand to her hair to keep it from blowing into her face.
"Ah," he said, looking suitably impressed. "Very well. I'll have the lads secure and service the aircraft. Just give a jingle when you'll need it and it will be ready to go." He handed her a business card.
"Thank you, Sir," said Sarah, shaking his hand again.
Brady gave a jolly wave and left to walk across the field.
"Come on," said Barker. "Let's get you into town. I'm told we have something to show you."
Amy and Casey chose to ride with Cole. Sarah and Chuck with Reilly.
Reilly proved to have an easy sense of humor, especially when Chuck, after stowing their bags in the back of the car, tried to get into the passenger side of the SUV only to remember too late that in the United Kingdom the right side was the driver's side.
Reilly had stocked the car with large cups of black coffee, to Sarah's delight.
"Where are we heading?" asked Chuck.
"Box 500," said Reilly.
"Right." Chuck thought about that for a little bit and said, "Ok, I give up. What's Box 500?"
"It's what we call our cousins. MI-5."
The two SUVs sped through the early spring morning along the A40, into the heart of London, where somewhere Bryce Larkin was in trouble.
Chuck glanced at his watch. It was about seven hours since Bryce's plea. He hoped they would be in time. 'Hang on, Bryce,' Chuck silently implored. 'We're coming.'
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A.N2: The Science and Technology Directorate is one of four (as of 2008, five now) directorates of the Agency. The others are Operations (the spies), Analysis (the folks who look at the intelligence and figure out what it all means), and Support (the admin functions like payroll). In 2015, the fifth directorate, Digital Innovation was created.
A/N3: So, here's how I normally do a technical scene. "Chuck sat down at the computer. Magic. Everyone was happy." Right. Now I'll bet you guys can tell that's not what happened here. I asked for help and was generously provided with way more than I had expected or deserved. My good friend Steelejay is totally responsible for Chuck's wizardry in not only locating an inactive cell phone to London, but further locating the neighborhood in London from which the call originated. Thank you, my friend. Chuck's wizardry is, in real life, yours. As usual, if I messed up anything Steelejay gave me to work with, the fault is entirely mine.
A/N4: MI-5 is the British domestic intelligence agency. There is no real American equivalent. In the United States domestic threats are viewed as criminal and come under the purview of the FBI. Not so in the United Kingdom. It is sometimes known as the Box or Box 500 after its WW2 post office box address.
A/N5: The Citation X can fly supersonic. It's outside the parameters in the Operating Manual, but it is possible and has been done more than once.
A/N6: The original Sidney Reilly, the man my character was named after, was a legendary British spy. Starting around 1900 and continuing until his death in 1925 he accomplished a plethora of extraordinary feats of espionage. Ian Fleming is reputed to have once defended the fantastic adventures of James Bond by saying, essentially, "Well, yes, I suppose so, but he isn't as fantastic as Sidney Reilly, for example."
A/N7: So here we go. Our buddies are in London with Cole. I love London and have been looking forward to taking a virtual trip there with our friends. Given that I haven't left my dining room table for a year, this is all the travel I can get up to at the moment. Let me know what you guys are thinking, please. Oh, and come visit us at the Facebook Chuck fanfiction page. It's a nice bunch of folks to hang out with.