A/N1: Yup. Guess who doesn't own Chuck? You guessed right.
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Castle, underneath Castle Studios, Los Angeles, California
Chuck's phone buzzed. It was a text from Ellie.
Ellie: You go home yet?
Chuck: Nope. Still at Castle. Downstairs with S and Case.
Ellie: Ok. I'm coming to you. Have to talk to you and the team. I'll be there in about 15 minutes.
Chuck: You ok?
Ellie: Yeah. Business.
Chuck: Ok. Wait in the lobby and I'll have Z meet you and bring you down.
Ellie: C U
Chuck touched his watch and said, "Bryce, Zee, Ellie is on her way and needs to talk to us. Come by in about 15 minutes, please. Zee, please pick up Ellie in the lobby on your way down to Castle and bring her down with you.
Both Bryce and Zondra acknowledged his instructions.
Chuck turned back to Sarah and Casey, sitting at the conference table in Castle. "Sorry," he said. "Ellie's on her way over."
"Everything ok?" queried Sarah.
Chuck shrugged. "Seems to be. Guess we'll find out when she gets here. Where were we?" asked Chuck.
Casey said, "It's a life changing amount of money. It's hard to even get my head around it. I've been making government money all my life. Good Main Street money, but not Wall Street money. To me, this offer, it's like monopoly money, you know? Not real to me."
"I understand," said Sarah. "I feel the same way. That kind of money would change everything. Our kids and grandkids would never want for anything ever."
"Wait, what? You have kids?" asked Chuck with a grin. Sarah lightly slapped him on the arm with a grin of her own.
Sarah continued, "But if we took it, we'd definitely have to give up our spy jobs. Microsoft would expect us to dedicate 110% of our time to running the company."
Shrugging a shoulder, Casey said, "Hard to blame them. They are paying for it."
"Yeah," said Chuck. "True that."
"Well, I don't want to do that. I don't want to give up being a spy. I think we're doing good work," said Sarah. "As exciting as CI is, I still want to be a spy. I'm proud of the work we do there. Too many bad guys out there and we are pretty damn effective at stopping them."
"Yeah. I agree," said Chuck.
"And I'm not ready to give up gunfights," said Casey.
Chuck started to laugh, until he realized Casey was serious. Well, maybe he was serious. "Ok. So, the bottom line is, we don't want to sell the company because we don't want to lose the freedom to continue to be spies. Right?" His partner's agreed with him. "Ok. Next question. What if they doubled the offer? Tripled the offer? Three billion instead of three hundred million? Is there any sum for which we would consider selling?"
"Not to me," said Casey. "As it is, I can't grasp the amount they've offered. Any more is just more sillier money. The same logic applies."
"Yeah," agreed Sarah. "At this point in my life, the money isn't the most important thing to me. And Casey's right. More is just numbers. It's not real. At least not to me."
"I agree. Ok," said Chuck. "So, we thank them graciously and turn down the offer. I'll call Joe in the morning."
"Sounds good, sweetie," said Sarah.
"Helluva thing, though. Huh?" said Casey, shaking his head.
"Yeah. No shit, Case," said Chuck, clapping the big man on the shoulder.
As he said that, Bryce came down the elevator. "Hey, guys. What's up?"
"Don't know yet," said Chuck. "Ellie's due any second, though."
"Heard the movie star thinks you're too pretty to be his double," said Casey, ready and willing to cause trouble, particularly for Bryce.
"Shit. Matt said that?" said Bryce.
"Sure did," affirmed Casey.
Bryce looked at Chuck, who sort of shrugged but nodded at the same time.
"Oh, man. What a poser. You'd think he had a million roles before this. This is his first starring role. Before this he was doing supporting roles and soap operas. Jeez," said Bryce with exasperation.
Zondra and Ellie came in. Quick greetings were exchanged, cheek kisses for Sarah and Chuck. She was still dressed in her hospital scrubs.
"What's up, El?" asked Chuck.
Ellie took a seat at the conference table with the others. "You told me that the Fulcrum man in Pakistan..."
"Smith," said Sarah.
"Yeah. Smith. You told me that he told you they were going to be starting human trials of their version of the intersect."
"That's what he told us. They hadn't started when we had the conversation with him, but he said they were going to be starting. I had the impression they were imminent," said Chuck.
"Well, I think they've started. I was pulled in on a consult today. A colleague at another hospital asked me to look at the MRI for a homeless man who died in his care. Total neurological breakdown. And there was the clear sign of an intersect, but it ended up in his medulla oblongata. Deadly. It's frankly amazing that he lasted long enough to have an MRI."
"I'm sorry, Ellie. What's the medulla oblongata?" asked Bryce.
"It's the part of the brain that controls the automatic actions of the body. Heart rate. Respiration. The stuff you don't even have to think about. Mess that up and the body goes haywire." Ellie didn't like Bryce, but business was business and she could be as professional as needed.
"Thank you," he said.
"Where would the intersect normally be?" asked Sarah.
"The hippocampus. The memory area," explained Ellie.
"And that's where it is in Chuck?" asked Zondra. Before the mission to Pakistan to hunt Orion, they had explained to her about the Intersect, Orion, and Bryce sending it to Chuck.
"Yes. And where it's designed to be," said Ellie. "Whoever put it in this poor man seriously messed up the program."
"Any chance that anyone else recognizes what you did?" asked Sarah.
"No way. They didn't know what to make of it. If I hadn't done a dozen scans of your brain, Chuck, I wouldn't either. It's a medical mystery at this point. We're the only ones to know." responded Ellie.
"Autopsy report?" asked Chuck.
"I've asked for both the autopsy report and the Emergency Services report from the ambulance that brought him in. Probably get them in the morning. And I called the Medical Examiner and left a message. I'd be surprised if this is the only person they have tested it on," she said. "There might be others. The ME should know."
"Yeah. I agree," said Chuck.
"Homeless is logical for testing. An entire population of seemingly disposable people," said Zondra. "One or two disappear and no one misses them. Some unexplained deaths aren't too likely to get the attention of the LAPD."
"Horrifying, but accurate," said Chuck with a grimace.
"Why Los Angeles? Why where you are, Ellie?" asked Bryce. "Might this have some connection to your work? I mean, they could be testing this anywhere in the country, but they seem to be testing it in the same city as the top Intersect scientist."
"Fair question. I don't know. We know that Fulcrum has infiltrated the Intersect program. I'm sure they know about me and where I'm based. I can't think of a reason to test their version here, where I am. But it's worth thinking about. I mean, it could also be a coincidence," she said.
"Spies hate coincidences," said Sarah.
"Amen," said Bryce.
"That poor man," said Sarah after a moment.
"Yeah," said Ellie.
"You going to let Malone know?" asked Chuck.
"Yeah. I was going to do a conference with him, Langston and the General when I got home. Not much to tell them tonight, but they should know."
"Yeah. Makes sense," said Zondra.
"Thanks for letting us know, Sis," said Chuck.
"I let you guys know first. Ride home?" she asked.
"I'll drive you, El," said Casey.
"Sorry," said Chuck. "Not heading home right now. Dinner out with Morgan and Lou. She leaves for New York in a couple of days and it's like a farewell thing."
"Thanks, Case. OK, little bro, you guys give Lou a kiss goodbye for me, huh?"
"Will do," said Sarah. "You'll see her at the wedding anyway."
"Great," said Ellie.
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CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
The next morning, Graham sighed and dialed the number. "Morning, Peg," he said when the woman answered.
"Director. Good morning, Sir."
"Cut it out," he growled.
"Cut what out, Sir?"
"Being deferential. It doesn't suit you," he said.
"But you're my boss, Sir. Deferential..." she began.
"You went behind my back to ….higher authority. You win. You got what you want," he said.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," she said.
"Just stay out of the papers," he said. "Behind the scenes do whatever you want. Just stay out of the fucking news, you understand? No more interviews."
A man walked into his office, led by his assistant. The man dropped a cardboard box onto the side table to one side of the room and left with the assistant.
"Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you, Sir."
"And stop calling me 'Sir,' for chrissakes," he growled.
"Yes, Sir," she said, clearly fucking with him at that point.
"Aghhh. Goodbye," he said.
"Bye, Sir," she said. He could swear he heard the grin in her voice.
Graham hung up with his difficult-to-corral agent on the west coast and walked to the door to his office. "That's it? That's all?" he asked his assistant.
"Yeah. All the original Orion files were digitalized years ago and the digital files..."
"Are somehow missing," finished Graham with a grimace.
"Exactly," the man said.
"How did this box survive?" asked Graham.
The man shrugged, as if to acknowledge one of life's mysteries.
"No calls for the next hour or so," Graham said.
"Right," said the man.
Graham closed and locked the door and went to the box. Sitting down, he opened it and began to look through it.
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Westside Medical. Los Angeles, California
On the way into work, Ellie saw the email with the two reports on the dead man, but didn't get to sit at her desk and open them until after morning rounds.
The autopsy wasn't helpful. The most pertinent medical information had been conveyed to her the day before by Bradshaw when he called for the consult. She was interested in some other data, though.
The dead man, Robert Bagg, had advanced alcoholism, but hadn't had a drink in at least a day. He had eaten a full meal. He had bruising on the outside of his wrists. She imagined a strap holding his arm immobilized against something like the arm of a chair. No bruising on the other side of the wrist indicated that it wasn't shackles or handcuffs or something similar. Otherwise there was nothing new to be found in that report.
The Emergency Services report was more interesting. A cruising patrol car of the LAPD had been flagged down by a homeless man (John Plang) on West Boulevard in South LA. Plang told them that his friend Bobby was in trouble and needed an ambulance. He said that Bobby was unresponsive and seemed to be dying. The police called an ambulance. The EMT's who arrived had a separate report, but mostly the same facts. The man Bagg was face down among his belongings. The police had, probably before touching him, sanitized his skin, but it hadn't helped the man's condition in the slightest. They loaded him into the ambulance and took off at speed for the nearest hospital.
Ellie went back to the police report. Sanitized. No mention of that. But the EMTs thought the cops had done so. Someone did.
She made a call. "Chuck," said Ellie. "Do your computer thing for me please and give me the cell phone numbers for police officers Ellen Chin and Oscar Toven. And EMT's Harold Wheeler and Flannery Dorner. Thanks." Moments later he had emailed her the four numbers.
"Good morning, Officer Chin, I'm Dr. Bartowski at Westside Med. Can I ask you about the incident with Robert Bagg last week?"
"Who?" asked the woman.
"The homeless man you called EMS to pick up. On West Boulevard?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. What do you want to know? Did that old guy make it?"
"No. He died," said Ellie. "Did you and your partner disinfect him before the EMTs arrived?"
"Disinfect? What do you mean? Like how?" she asked.
"I don't know. Alcohol or something? Something to protect yourself against infection?" asked Ellie.
"No. We wore the gloves. The rubber gloves. But like spraying him with shit or something? No, we didn't do that. Should we have? Are we at risk of something?"
"Thank you. No, you wouldn't be expected to do something like that and you are perfectly safe. I just wanted to check. Last question. Is there anything that didn't make it into your report?"
"Nothing important," said the woman. "The guy who flagged us down said his buddy had been dropped off by a black van without plates. Dropped back into the dude's own stuff. But the guy telling us that was mostly bombed and spouting all sorts of crazy conspiracy theories and shit. Nothing to be taken seriously."
"Like what?" asked Ellie.
"Oh, just the typical paranoid crap. The world is after him. He's being hunted. Same stuff they all say, at least sometimes."
"Ok, thank you for your time, officer."
"Sure."
Ellie decided not to call the woman's partner, but called one of the EMT's. After explaining her reason for calling, she asked the only question she had. "Why did you think the police officers had sanitized the patient?"
"We smelled it. On his skin. We smelled Hibiclens. It's what they use at the hospital. We smelled it on his skin. He certainly didn't get that stuff from his buddies. So, that cops must have carried some and applied it."
"Got it. Thank you," said Ellie.
She stopped to think. Zondra had been right the day before. The man was homeless and interest in what happened to him had been limited at best. An untrustworthy report that he had been dropped off by a van. He was smelling of antiseptic, but no one she talked to had applied that. Cause of death unknown. If not for Bradshaw's curiosity, Ellie would never have heard of him or his intersected cerebellum.
She still hadn't heard from the Medical Examiner, so she called his office again. After bullying his assistant for a few minutes, she was put through.
"What is it, Dr. Bartowski? I'm a busy man," he said with a self-important attitude.
"Thank you for taking my call, Dr. Rivers. I'd like to ask you about any unexplained deaths you have on your roster."
"None. We have no unexplained deaths. No outstanding mysteries," he said tersely. "Now if that's all..."
"Doctor," she continued, "What about the homeless? Have you seen an uptick in deaths among the homeless, even if they are explicable?"
"I'm sorry to say, Dr. Bartowski, that there is always a steady stream of homeless coming through my doors. An uptick? Who can tell? The rate varies with the seasons. Can't say I've noticed an uptick, but I guess it's possible."
"If I can impose on you just a bit more, Doctor. Please have one of your assistants email me the autopsy reports from homeless deaths in the last two months. I..."
"No. I'm not taking my people away from government work to help you with your little research project. Don't waste my time. Now good day, Dr. Bartowski," he said hanging up on her.
"What a tool," she said to the empty line and her quiet office.
Her next call was to Chuck. Within minutes she had from his computer all the information Rivers had been refusing to provide to her. Chuck wasn't even called upon to use his hacking skills, as his federal clearances gave him legal access to a wide range of government databases and files.
Ellie spent the next few hours in detective work at her desk. There were five homeless deaths (out of thirty-two) that the ME had investigated and assigned a cause of death to, which Ellie questioned. Hypothermia in southern California in August? Possible, but unlikely. Alcohol poisoning with a .2% blood alcohol level? Again, possible, but for a man with all the markers of alcoholism, again unlikely. Ellie came to the conclusion that Rivers' investigations were centered on clearing files off his desk and not on finding the truth. Maybe only for the homeless decedents; she didn't know.
Again, after requesting Chuck's assistance, she got the police and EMS files for all five. She spoke to some of the personnel involved.
Of the five, three had bruising on the outside of the wrists. Two smelled of disinfectant. All five had had full meals and little or no alcohol or other drugs for the twenty-four hours before they died. None of the deceased had been claimed by family, so the bodies had been buried. Ellie talked to one of her radiology colleagues who was pessimistic that an MRI of the brains of the deceased would yield any useful information. Decomposition would have degraded the structures too extensively, so she abandoned the idea of exhumation.
Ellie sat back and released a sigh of frustration. She believed that Bagg's, and at least some of the five deaths, had been caused by Fulcrum, but she couldn't prove it. And the only actual evidence she had, the Bagg MRI result, was classified beyond Top Secret. She couldn't think of a way to get the LAPD involved and she really wanted them involved. Another thousand sets of eyes to look for Fulcrum's black van would help. If for no other reason, police involvement would help protect the homeless against Fulcrum predation. She'd have to talk to Chuck and the team, and maybe to the Directors again.
"Dammit," she murmured.
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A/N2: Ellie has a real problem here. I hope she figures out a solution. And I hope that, when she does, she shares it with me so I can share it with you. See you next week. Hope all of you who celebrate had a Happy Thanksgiving.