A/N: More story.
Spy vs. Spy vs. Spy vs. Spy
Chapter Fifteen: Knifed
Bryce turned red and looked at his feet.
He picked up the backpack on the floor beside him. After shouldering it, he peered at his watch.
"Orion should be here with the rental van, given when I dropped him off. Sarah, your car's out of sight in the parking garage. You and Ellie can take mine. I will ride with Orion."
Still smarting from Sarah and Ellie's response to his earlier comment, he went out the door. Sarah grabbed Ellie's arm before she could follow.
"Ellie, back at the park. Why didn't you tell your dad we believe your mom is the person, the inside-person, helping Chuck?"
"Because Chuck hasn't told Dad that, and I'm guessing there's a reason. As you said, this is Chuck's mission. Also," and for a second her face seemed much younger, a girl's face, "I don't want to get Dad's hopes up if we're wrong. Losing her once broke him. He's taped together now; you saw him.
"I don't understand what could have happened, why she could have been gone so long, what she could have, might have, been doing...so, even if we're right, I'm afraid of what it means. How could she have been gone — gone — for so long? Who leaves the people she loves, if she loves them?"
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. Good question. Who does that? She felt for Ellie. She felt for herself. Ellie's words came back to her. "It was in your grasp." Sarah balled her hands into fists as she followed Ellie out of the apartment, digging her fingernails into her palms. She shut the door.
Sarah stayed close behind the van. They had been on the look-out for Shaw but had seen no sign of him. Neither Bryce nor Orion had told Beckman about Shaw's reaction to the upload, his jump. So far as they knew, no one was looking for Shaw but them.
The event was, in effect, a public relations gambit by US Intelligence. Sarah knew the sort of event. Fancy Washington hotel ballroom. Powerful, influential, rich invitees. Drinks, a band, some dancing — then short, patriotic remarks on national security by Holt and Beckman, followed by more drinks and dancing.
Sarah had been working for Beckman since Graham was killed, since coming to DC, so she did not know Holt, though she knew of him. Stern, spartan, humorless. His crew cut and square jaw made him look like he'd been constructed out of Legos.
That was Chuck's joke, when we looked at a picture of Holt in the newspaper, shortly after he had been made Director.
Without deciding to, without realizing even that she had done so, Sarah fell into an internalized Conversation with Chuck.
"Hey, Chuck, may I have this dance?"
He was dazzling, long and lean in his tux. He looked at her, unsure he was seeing her.
"Sarah? You look...like you but not like you. Yeah, um, sure, you can have this dance." He smiled at her as he always had. Her smile. Her Chuck.
She imagined them in one another's arms, moving synchronously to soft music.
"Chuck," she said when she found the courage, as he took her more firmly in his arms, as the music wreathed them in magic, "leaving Burbank...No, leaving you...that was the worst mistake of my life. When you got rid of the Intersect, it all became...real...for me. You and me.
"Without the Intersect, I had no excuse for...withholding myself...from you. No empty gestures at an agent's duty, a handler's responsibilities. Being with you was no longer structured by my job. You see, Chuck, I protected you but the Intersect protected me. It always gave me an out, whenever things between us became too real, whenever I became too real, I could interpose the Intersect between us. It was always there, more effective than Lou or Jill, or Bryce or Cole…"
"Sarah," Ellie said, concern evident in her voice, "what are you doing? Your lips are moving, but you aren't talking…It's kinda creepy, like the dummy without the ventriloquist."
Sarah blushed crimson. "Sorry, Ellie...just prepping for tonight. Thinking to myself." Dancing with myself.
Ellie nodded as she raised an eyebrow. "Right."
Sarah had the earpiece in, hidden by her long black hair. Bryce had equipment at his apartment, so they had what they needed. Sarah had pinned on a brooch on her dress; it contained a camera and a mic.
Bryce, Orion, and Ellie were in the van. Orion had linked the earpiece and brooch to his laptop so that they could see and hear what Sarah saw and heard.
They had delayed until a few minutes after the event started. Dark was falling. Sarah wanted to enter once the event was in motion so she could simply fall in with the guests. She had no invitation but there was not much formality at such events.
"Remember," Sarah said, "you can't all three talk to me at once. Bryce should do most of the talking. One of you should keep an eye on the entrance. We haven't seen Chuck and Amy yet, so I need you to tell me when they arrive…"
Sarah walked into the hotel, through the lobby, up the marble staircase. She entered the ballroom. On the far side, she could see a table on a podium. No one was seated at it. That was what she expected. Beckman and Holt would not appear, probably not even arrive at the hotel, until it was time for them to speak. They would spare themselves the tedium of the evening.
Sarah walked around the side of the large room, stopping at a table that allowed her to see the entrance and the table on the podium equally well. Each table had a rather tall centerpiece, a glass vase with a tall white candle burning in it, and Sarah moved hers so that it was between her and the entrance, providing minimal but perhaps essential cover.
She tried to make herself relax. The room reminded her of that first date-not-a-date she had with Chuck, the ballroom in which Chuck disarmed the bomb, finished disarming Sarah. She should have gone to him on the beach later, not in the morning light, but in the dark, and she should have taken off her clothes and taken Chuck there on the beach. That fantasy had been in her mind that night, all that night, on a loop, her loop, but she had refused to acknowledge it. She had spent that night breathless, as she had been since seeing Chuck on the motorcycle.
"Sarah," it was Bryce in her ear, "a couple's coming in. Disguises are good but Ellie knew Chuck immediately. The woman's in red." Bryce's voice became self-conscious. "A little of it, anyway."
Sarah looked to the entrance. The music had started and a few brave or eager couples were dancing. A couple stopped at the entrance. The man was tall, with dark, wavy hair and a beard. It was Chuck. Sarah's whole body recognized him, was bedazzled. Beside him was a woman with short brown hair, bangs. Amy.
Sarah had not said anything about Amy to the others.
Sarah had worked with Amy as part of a team years ago. It had been a short but relatively bright spot on Sarah's otherwise dark path. Until the team fell apart in a firestorm of mutual suspicion and hostility. Carina had been part of the team, and she and Sarah had managed to mend fences, but Sarah had not spoken to Amy, or Zondra, the team's other member since the team was disbanded.
Sarah had suspected Zondra of betraying the team and accused Zondra of doing it. Over the years, Sarah had pushed the incident, like so much else, down inside her, into that dank, miasmal swamp inside her where she sank all her painful secrets, choosing to forget it, abandon it.
But as she looked at Amy, Sarah knew she had been wrong about Zondra. The incident surfaced, broke through the filmy water, and Sarah knew: the traitor was on Chuck's arm.
Amy was in a red dress with a low-plunge neckline and a high-rise skirt. It was backless except for a ringlet of fabric around her slim neck, and as they walked into the room, Sarah could see Chuck's large hand on Amy's back, her pale, bare skin, caressing it, her. Sarah nearly killed Amy on the spot; her hand reached into her bag. Amy turned, taking Chuck's hand. The music had stopped. It resumed. A tango.
Sarah watched, unable to look away, as Chuck led Amy through the steps. Amy exuded a warm, easy sexiness, and the dress was stunning as she danced. Chuck's masterful dancing showcased her, the dress. The dance seemed choreographed, rhythmic sex. All eyes lingered, hypnotized, on Chuck and Amy as the tango concluded. Chuck dipped Amy, back, back, back. Her shapely leg, fully revealed by the short skirt, slipped along his legs, twined up, wound tight just below his midsection, a clinging vine, and they kissed. They kissed. Kissed.
Kissed.
The kiss knifed through Sarah, cutting her to the quick. She wanted Amy dead. She wanted to be in Chuck's arms, dancing with him. She wanted…
Applause stopped her thoughts. Chuck and Amy nodded, acknowledging the applause, and then moved out of the center of the dance floor. But not toward Sarah. They went toward the opposite side of the room.
Sarah realized she was panting. Her hand was curled around the hilt of her gun. And then her jealousy made her reflect. This is what I left Chuck to imagine when I left with Bryce. This is what I left him to feel. Jealous and helpless and empty. Ache without end.
"Sarah, Sarah," Bryce said in her ear, "can you turn a little, we lost them when they left the dance floor."
Sarah shook herself and turned.
"God," Ellie said, "when did my brother learn to tango? I'm his sister and I'll admit — that was hot."
"Ellie!" Orion hissed.
"He's known the woman's part for a while, Ellie," Sarah offered without explanation.
"Maybe, but that was the man's part there."
"Ellie!" Orion hissed again.
She watched as Chuck pulled out a chair for Amy and she sat down. He bent down to her and she kissed him again. Then she whispered in his ear. Sarah got gooseflesh watching it, imagining being that close to Chuck, that close, that way.
Chuck nodded and headed to the bar near the table. He got two glasses of wine and took them back to the table. He looked around the room and Sarah ducked, leaning to keep the centerpiece between them.
A moment later, Chuck put down his glass and looked around. He saw the bathroom and, after a word to Amy, and after smiling indulgently at her giggling, started toward it. Sarah got up quickly and skirted the room, watching to make sure Amy did not notice her. The dancers were between them and Sarah saw no sign that Amy had seen her.
Chuck pushed open the door of the Men's room and went inside. Sarah checked around her and slipped in behind him.
The bathroom looked empty, then she stepped farther inside, and saw Chuck's feet in a stall. She heard him. He was counting. "One, two, three, four, five, six…"
She trembled head to toe. "Chuck?" She breathed out his name.
The counting stopped. The stall opened. Chuck stood there, looking at her, close enough to touch but miles and miles away. "Sarah." He said her name matter-of-factly, without surprise and without pleasure.
She had never heard anything that hurt more. "Chuck, I…"
He closed his eyes, squeezed them shut. She saw his hands contract into fists, his shoulder rise. He started counting again. Slowly, he relaxed. When he opened his eyes, Sarah could see the effort still being expended. "Sorry," he said with a tired, bitter smile, "it seems I've got this thing in my head…I can't talk for long."
It was time for Conversation with Chuck and Sarah could not say anything.
The bathroom door opened and another woman entered. She was older, attractive, dressed in a clingy white dress.
She turned, dropped something purposefully on the floor, then jammed it under the bathroom door with her foot, all one economical motion.
Sarah turned to her. The woman turned from the door, her hand coming out of her purse.
"Mary?" Orion's voice was strangled, incredulous.
Ellie whispered, "Mom?"
"What the hell is she doing here?" The woman demanded, hissing, glaring at Chuck while pointing the end of a thin Grivory blade at Sarah's heart.
"I told you, Chuck, she's just a longer, colder version of that bubbly whore outside. Trusting her is a mistake."
"I know," Chuck answered, "I know. — But she's a good spy."
A/N: Now, how did she get in there?
Lousy security at this event, eh?
Stylized, remember?
Thoughts?