AN:
This is an AU, inspired by a throw away comment in the Chuck Fanfiction Facebook group some time back. Blame MyNameIsJeffImLost for encouraging it. It will be borrowing from the Blacklist and Chuck, but is not a crossover. Think Chuck as Reddington, kinda. Alterations to canon character backstories will become apparent. Dates may not perfectly line up but assume an expanded timescale to make things work. If you spot the influence of other tropes and 'fan canon' items, leave a comment. Its just internet points but you can say you won something. As always, barely edited and posted with no express or implied warranty.
Two men approached the entrance of a government building that seemed to date back to the 1950's, ignoring the newer and busier structures nearby. One of the men was short and bearded, in his late twenties, and he walked to the side of the another taller man, hovering in an almost protective way. The taller clean shaven man, appeared to be of similar age. That is until you saw his eyes which were guarded and somehow much older looking. Both men wore suits but the bearded man seemed far more comfortable in the formal clothing. Nothing seemed out of place on either, unless you counted the pair of vintage Chuck Taylor's to be odd or out of place. Somehow they seemed to fit the image the tall man projected. Unruly hair, slightly rumpled suit, inappropriate shoes. More of a tech entrepreneur going to an investment meeting than a threat, a man out of his element.
"You think they'll ever figure out how we just walked in here?" the first asked.
The tall man smiled. "They'll ask, but I think they'll have more to worry about."
The shorter man put a hand on the other's shoulder, stopping them both. "It's be good to be home again."
The reply came with a sigh. "Yeah. Well, we'll see about that.""
Nodding, the other man handed the tall man a flash drive, then turned to walk away without a backwards glance.
-0-
The remaining man continued his walk to the entrance and through. Then crossed the large low in the floor that read Central Intelligence Agency, approaching the reception/guard desk. "Good afternoon," he peered at the name-tag on the attractive middle aged woman manning the desk to the side of the turnstile like card readers. "Janice. I'm here to see D/NCS Graham please."
"Do you have an appointment?" her voice was pleasant, polite, but an observant person like this man was, noted that her hand was already on the alarm button.
He smiled a warm and friendly smile and said, in a businesslike tone.. "I do not. Tell him its Charles Carmichael."
The woman blinked and shook herself, then pressed the button. Alarms began to wail and spinning red lights began to flash. After freezing for a few moments, most of the people in the spacious entrance bolted for other locations. Guards began to filter into the room with H&K MP-5's held in low ready position. During all of the commotion, the man who's name was at least at one point Charles, stepped back five paces and sank to his knees. He calmly placed his hands on his head as the armed men surrounded him. His smile never faded, even as they took him into custody.
-0-
Two men and a woman walked down a corridor in a covert detention facility outside of DC. One was a tall, broad shouldered, African American man in his fifties. The other a mid forties caucasian man of a military bearing. The last was a short, red haired, woman wearing the uniform of an Air Force general and a scowl.
"Casey, NSA" Casey, the caucasian man said. "I've been the case agent for Carmichael for the past year. Took over from your CIA boy Larkin when he failed."
The older gentleman nodded. The general spoke. "When did this happen Casey?"
"Just under an hour ago, ma'am. He walked right in the front door of the old headquarters building at Langley." Casey replied.
With a raised eyebrow and a rumbling low voice, the older gentleman spoke. "We confirm its actually him?"
"Its him. Prints, voice, build all match. And..." There was a pause from Casey. "A tattoo that I did not need to see." He paused again until the general nodded. "He even volunteered some information about our operation a year ago in Brussels."
"Beckman?" The older man looked at the Air Force general.
"We tried to kill him, Graham. We missed, he… sent us an operational critique after." The older woman replied shortly.
Neither Casey, nor Beckman noticed the tightening of Grahams jaw muscles after they'd mentioned trying to kill Carmichael. He managed to school his expression by the time they arrived in an observation and operations center that overlooked a large empty space. Graham looked over the people working at various desks and looked over the camera views. "So its really him."
Casey grunted. "Came in with a list of every alias, most of 'em we hadn't heard of. Flash drive full of encrypted data, tech boys haven't made any progress in cracking it."
"What does he want?" Beckman asked.
"We don't know, he hasn't talked." Casey admitted.
"We trained him, he won't give us anything useful unless he wants to." Graham said and turned to one of the CIA technicians. "Call lab services, have him fitted with a tracking chip. Assemble a full intel review. Liaise with Major Casey on NSA, he's here on NSA Director Beckman's authority."
"What do you want them to know?" the technician asked.
"Everything we do."
-0-
Major John Casey stood at the head of the conference table with a remote and a screen displaying a number of photos of their prisoner. "Charles Carmichael. Attended Stanford University, graduated early with a dual major in electrical engineering and computer science. He had enough credits for, but did not declare a minor in psychology. He was groomed for the CIA and recruited, by a Professor Flemming, just before graduation at age twenty one." He paused then and clicked the remote advancing to a photo from a CIA personnel file. "Two years later, he was headed home to visit his sister for Christmas. He never arrives. Shortly thereafter the sister, a doctor in her residency at UCLA, vanished as well. This respected analyst, who possessed a knack for field work, just up and vanished from the face of the earth along with anyone who ever meant anything to him." He paused again and clicked the remote. "Until a few months later, when we started to see classified information show up regarding a number of our operations. NSA, CIA, DIA… there was no specific pattern. Then we had a breakthrough. One of yours…" the remote clicked and a photo of another man showed on screen. "… who'd been recruited around the same time recognized the tone of the analysis and reports that were being leaked. Bryce Larkin, who'd been Carmichael's roommate in college, figured out they were all being written by Carmichael. It was also at this time that we began to hear rumors that a top tier hacker, code-named Piranha, had returned. Larkin confirmed that this was also Carmichael, it had been his alter-ego in school."
Graham and Beckman both nodded. This was background they'd both known. "He's been an equal opportunity offender." Graham said. "No agenda outside of making a profit. We've even bought things from him."
"What was it they started to call him?" Beckman asked Major Casey.
"The 'Amazon of crime'." Casey replied with a derisive snort. "He facilitates operations for anyone with..." He appeared to be ready to continue the briefing, when a beep sounds in the background and the display changes to a live feed of a curly haired man sitting in a chair in the center of an empty room. They watch as a medical technician injects the man with a tag in his arm. The man says "Ow", mildly in response.
Carmichael's been relived of his jacket, tie, and shoes. His hands and feet are secured to the chair. His expression is calm, looking slightly amused, and he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room after the technician departs. "Evidently someone in authority has arrived." The amused expression becomes a sneer. "Expensive cologne… it smells like hubris. That must be you, former SAIC Graham. Congratulations on the promotions."
At a gesture from Graham, a two way audio connection is established.
Carmichael turns his head as if he could see the two clandestine department heads and speaks to the camera. "You must have just, tons of questions for me. Lets start with the most important, why I'm here." When he hears no response, he continued. "Remember the failed project Intersect? Operation Omaha? The CATS and Bogota? The disappearance of Orion? Frost? Dead agents, the lost intel, wasted money?"
Graham winced, but said nothing. Beckman tilted her head at the mention of the Intersect and Omaha but also declined to speak.
"These events and others… you probably saw those events as unrelated. You were wrong. Which isn't unusual for you, Director Graham." He smiles, and shrugs. "The responsible individuals are a threat to all of us. Individuals who work for an organization known as Fulcrum. I have, generously, decided that I will help you remove them. I have some requests, namely..."
"You don't decide anything here!" Graham's fist hit the table, startling Beckman and Casey. They'd never seen him loose his cool like this. They'd also both never heard the term Fulcrum but it was obvious from his expression and anger that Graham had.
"No, Langston, you've overestimated your position." Carmichael replied, calmly. "I've said I'll help you and I will." His voice lost its good humor. "From this point forward there's one very, very, important rule. I will only work with Jenny Burton… or should I say Sarah Walker?" his expression was stony."
Beckman looked at the others in the room. "Who's Jenny Burton?"
Graham's dark skin helped hide the fact that his blood had run cold and drained from his face. His expression had frozen though and it was clear to everyone in the room that he knew exactly who Jenny Burton was. He gestures sharply and the connection is cut. "I need to make a call."
-0-
Agent Sarah Walker, of the CIA and currently embedded with the Secret Service, stood in the kitchen of her DC town home glaring at the coffee maker. It was the second one she'd purchased this year and it seemed to be about to join its predecessor in the landfill if it failed to dispense her necessary caffeine in the next thirty seconds. Fatigue dragged at her, and she was due to start today with a detail that would rotate through protecting visiting heads of state. She'd been with the Secret Service for a year to get to this position and had worked hard for it. She genuinely liked the people she worked with, even enjoyed the challenges of the work, however her real job was about to start. She'd be in a solid position to begin gathering information and forming friendships with future operational targets. And she was running late. If this were a town with reasonable traffic I'd just pick something up on the way…
She knew she was trying to distract herself. Her frustration and fatigue were due to another failed line of investigation. She looked around and seeing that her roommate was still upstairs, pulled the faded picture from her inner jacket pocket. She never left it behind, keeping it or a copy with her at all times. She knew it was risky – especially when under cover, but it was her anchor… her home for lack of a better word. It had been ten years now since he'd vanished and it gnawed at her in every spare moment of downtime. A wound that she wouldn't be able to close until she found out what had happened… Every damn day Chuck. With all the resources I can find, borrow, even steal now… why can't I catch a break. She sighed, trying to fix in her mind the first time she'd seen met him. Remembering was how she coped with stress and she didn't really care if it was healthy or not to live that much in the past.
"Sarah?" her friend Carina's voice called from upstairs, interrupting her reverie. "Have you seen my purple skirt? I need it for tonight." Carina Miller, DEA, was living in DC with her friend Sarah Walker while she worked the party and club circuit. It might have sounded fun on the surface, but Miller had to be out most nights until 1AM or later and still had to make it into DEA headquarters for meetings and reports. It seemed to finally be wearing the redheaded energizer bunny down.
"It's in the laundry room drying. I washed it this morning. Since you left it, and about four days worth of stuff, in the bathroom." Sarah called back just a bit hotly, closing the lid on the coffee that had finally finished running into her travel mug. "I'm taking your GMC, you can borrow my Porsche later but if you scratch it so help me…"
Her friend came down the stairs laughing. "You'll pull my ovaries out through my nose, yes I'm aware. Thanks for washing the skirt." She paused and made a grab for Sarah's coffee. Sarah deftly dodged, without any real effort and Carina pouted. "I've finally got a date with one of the cartel reps. If all goes well, you probably won't see me until next weekend. Hopefully I'll have this whole case wrapped up a few days after that." She moved to the counter and began making another cup of coffee for herself.
"Well, its been nice to see you, but I have to admit I'll enjoy having that bathroom back." Sarah said as she headed towards the door, opening it. She looked back over her shoulder. "Don't take off for a new assignment until we have a chance to go out though." She turned to step out of the door. Outside was a standard issue black Suburban and three armed agents. A fourth had just about to knock. Sarah raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Agent Lynch." The middle aged man said, glancing at a paper in his hand. "Please come with us Agent Walker, there's a matter of some urgency."
Hmm, Agent Lynch. So its not Secret Service related. "California." Sarah gave the challenge without expression or inflection. 'Lynch' was the typical generic name used by agents temporarily operating at headquarters. So in theory he should know her codes. If not, she'd get her cardio in this morning.
'Lynch' glanced at the paper in his hand again. "Tubthumping?" he replied, his eyes widening slightly in… amusement she presumed. That's Graham's countersign… shit. I guess the secret service op is off.
"Carina? You can take either car I guess." Sarah said, and tossed her keys back over her shoulder without looking. She closed the door behind her and looked at 'Agent Lynch'. "Lead on."
-0-
"Agent Walker" Graham said, as she entered the neat and comfortable office just over an hour of traffic later. "Please sit down, this may be something of a shock. I'm sorry to pull you out of an operation like that, I know you've invested a year so far."
Sarah crossed the office and sat in the only other chair. Her back was ramrod straight and her hands were in her lap. "Its the nature of changing operations. I don't like it, but I'm sure there's an excellent reason."
"There is." He paused and took a breath. "Fulcrum."
Sarah frowned. That was something he'd said to keep an ear out for but say nothing about. "You briefed me on it a year ago... A group of disaffected agents in the various alphabets who're working to 'protect the nation' their own way. I hadn't really heard anything. Nothing in Secret Service gossip at least." Sarah said, shrugging. "I'm guessing you've got more on them now. Am I infiltrating or going after them?"
He grimaced. Sarah noticed the open containers of aspirin and Tums and was concerned. Graham would normally not have shown that level of human weakness. "Yes, and no. A rogue agent, really more of an analyst with field experience, turned himself in today. Charles Carmichael."
"I've heard of him." she replied, neutrally. "Smart, sneaky, apparently amoral."
"I hear doubt." Graham said raising an eyebrow.
Sarah shrugged. "I sort of thought he was a myth. The main reason is that no one can be that involved in crime and stay as clean as the rumors say he has. They say he doesn't kill. His teams work to limit casualties. That's just not normal for someone running in those circles."
"He's now being held at a facility outside DC. So we can ask him." Graham said shortly. "He's… got a history with us… me to be precise, and the NSA. That aside, he's brilliant, and he's offered to help with Fulcrum."
"What's his angle?" Sarah asked with a note of skepticism. No one did that out of kindness. Carmichael had to want something.
"I'm not sure. I want you to find out." Graham replied and reached for the Tums, chewing two rapidly and swallowing. "He asked for Jenny Burton, Sarah. Actually, he said 'Jenny Burton, or should I say Sarah Walker?'"
Sarah froze. Very few people knew who Jenny Burton was and fewer who she became. Two of which were in this room and the rest who knew even part of it were… missing or in prison. She cleared a suddenly closed throat. "How does he know that name?"
"I don't know that either and would like to." Graham replied, just a tiny bit too smoothly. Sarah's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "This is going to dredge up history we'd buried. You can say no. I'll throw him in a deep, dark, hole and we walk away." His words gave her an option. His expression indicated he desperately hoped she didn't take that option.
"How bad is Fulcrum now." Sarah asked.
"Bad." His shoulders sagged slightly.
For Graham to admit that, and to use her first name, it must be close to catastrophic. And she knew she had to find out for herself who knew about her past enough to ask for her by name in DC. And what Graham was playing at. He knows more than he's letting on.
"I suppose I'll have to go find out for you." Sarah said with a small smile, getting up at his nod and heading to the door.
The same 'Agent Lynch' drove the Suburban that took her to the facility. The habit drilled into them at the Farm, of sleeping whenever the opportunity presented itself, prompted her to try to nap for the hour long drive. As often happened her thoughts drifted back to when she first became Jenny Burton… and met Chuck, as she fell asleep.
-0-
1994 - James Buchanan High
Jenny had finally done it. She'd convinced her dad that she should go to school, be normal. As normal as a fourteen year old who could forge signatures, pick pockets, convince a driver that they'd hit her in the street, and other grifty things could be. She was tired of lying about everything. It would be a relief to only have to lie about some stuff. And… I won't have to see the third or fourth page articles about some poor schlub losing his life savings to a 'team of sophisticated con artists' and know it was me. She'd allowed her father to commit one more crime, forgery, to get her into school. Beyond that, she was determined to do the work and live life on the more or less straight and narrow from here out. She glanced at the schedule in her hand and made her way down the main hall, looking for the indicated first period class. Pre-Algebra. I could have tested right into calc, but some easy work would be nice to start the day. Then English. Nice and normal.
She wasn't watching the hall, as she was looking at the numbers. So she didn't see the lanky boy with an unruly mop of curly hair coming towards her. Unfortunately for them both, he was looking down at a comic, not at the hall. Both were moving at a rapid pace, hurrying to reach their destinations before the bell. Impact, when it occurred, was impressive. Both of them tumbled to the floor in a tangle of papers, comics, and uncoordinated limbs. Jenny had the benefit of wearing her backpack at that moment, along with substantial experience in hitting the ground without being hurt, and so used it to cushion her fall. Absorbing the impact, and recovering first, she sat up prepared to deliver a withering comment. She stopped when she noticed the boy wasn't moving.
Jenny cursed, not really under her breath. Apparently this guy knew absolutely nothing about how to take a fall. I guess that's more or less the way normal people are, dang it. I can't blame him for that. She moved to gather up the scattered papers and what appeared to be comics, but glossier than she presumed they would be. Students continued to flow around them, more or less ignoring them except to snicker at the situation. Kneeling by his head, she checked to see if he was bleeding or anything, but he looked more or less OK. Just… out. There was an irrational urge to straighten the hair on his forehead, which she ignored. After about a minute of waiting, she poked him gently on the cheek.
"Hey, wake up. You OK?" she said.
The boy stirred, groaned, then sat up with his hand on his head. "Ow."
"You OK?" Jenny asked again, and stood holding the papers and comics.
Standing, he wobbled slightly, then picked up his backpack. He looked down and took in her size. "I thought you'd be taller." he said after a moment.
She looked at him and tilted her head wondering how he might know her. "What?"
"Physics." he replied, cryptically then winced. "Ow."
"You're not OK. Lets get you to the nurse." Jenny decided, then hesitated. "Where is the nurse?" He pointed down the hall in the direction he'd been walking and she took his arm and steered him in that direction. The halls had started to empty at this point, and she realized she was going to be late or miss her very first class. Perfect. "What's your name?" she asked after they'd been walking for a bit.
"Chuck." he replied, obviously trying to not move his head very much.
She started to worry a bit about his obvious pain, but he was moving so it couldn't be too bad. Maybe a joke? Distract him? "Chuck? I didn't think people still named their kids Chuck."
"My parents are sadists." Chuck replied, eyes half closed and letting her guide him. "Who're you?" he asked a bit woozily.
She steered him around a straggler running to class, smiling at his quip. "Jenny."
"Jenny?" he looked at her, stopping for a moment. "And you gave me crap about Chuck?"
Jenny let out a bark of laughter. She already liked him. He was comfortably normal. "OK, fair." she replied. Looking around, she saw the office sign ahead and steered them that way. The nurse was likely inside. Navigating around a few people waiting for passes or appointments. Cutting right around the line and up to the desk she interrupted the secretary. "Where's the nurse?"
"Just a moment, I…" the woman started to speak in a dismissive tone.
"Hey! Head injury here." Jenny said, interrupting and raising her voice. "More important than their hall passes."
The woman sat up straighter and put her phone down. "Oh, sorry. Over there." she said and pointed. "Take him right back."
Nodding, she used her grip on Chuck's arm to steer him in the indicated direction and through a swinging panel in the counter. Reaching the indicated door and seeing a small woman at small desk in the room, presumed she'd found the nurse. "He got a pretty good knock to the head, I ran into him in the hall. Weren't watching where we were going."
"Oh my. Chuck, this is the third time this year." the nurse said, standing and taking his other arm. She pulled him, and by extension Jenny, into the room. Together they guided Chuck to a chair and sat him down. Examining the bump on his head she tsk'ed and then looked at Jenny. "Usually he forgets to duck. I remember him from the middle school, he shot up a foot over the summer and still isn't quite used to it."
Jenny smiled at that. It fit the picture she was building in her head. Remembering what she'd read about first aid, it being necessary when your dad avoided doctors and questions, she recalled a bit about head injuries. "Um, he was out cold for a minute. And he's been a bit unsteady on the way here. Could it be a concussion?"
The nurse looked at her oddly. "Hmm. Best not to take a chance. I need to get his mom to take him to the doctor. Let me get him an ice pack. Stay here and keep him talking." she smiled. "Normally that's not too difficult." The woman turned and slipped out of the small office.
A bit unsure of what exactly to do, Jenny decided to sit on the desk where she could keep an eye on Chuck in the one chair. 'keep him talking'… "So, um. What are these?" she asked, holding up the stack of comics.
"Oh! You saved them!" Chuck exclaimed, reaching for the stack, and then winced. "Ow." his voice dropped in volume. "Um, those are graphic novels. Those are Sandman. They're really good. This one's the new Justice League book..." He took the top one off the stack. "It just came out and I guess I was a bit eager to finish reading it." His voice trailed off and she could detect a note of embarrassment.
"Sandman you said?" Jenny didn't know why he was embarrassed. Well maybe she did, in theory, know that comics were a bit 'nerdy' but she was new and didn't know anyone popular so… She reached out and tapped the larger format book. "That looks different than what I imagined a comic to be like. Its glossy and…" she stopped, groping for words.
Chuck blinked. He seemed surprised that she was still talking to him. "Uh… Maybe less cheap? I know my Mom gives me crap for spending so much of my allowance on them." He looked sheepish for a moment. "But they're so good. The writing, the art. Its worth it."
"What's it about?" she asked, curious about something that would hold a teenage boy's attention and not be about – in her experience – sports or boobs.
"Well, its pretty deep. There's this character who's the personification of dream…" Chuck started talking and the words just spilled out. Jenny now knew what the nurse had said about it not being difficult to keep him talking. She didn't mind though, his enthusiasm for his topic was almost contagious and she was caught up in the story.
It hadn't seemed like any time at all had passed, but the nurse had brought an ice pack which Chuck held to his head, and left again. When she returned Jenny was surprised to hear the bell ring. She looked up and saw an older woman with reddish brown hair in the doorway. The color was only a shade darker than her own except it looked natural, Jenny noted with interest. There was a definite resemblance to Chuck. Must be his mom. Chuck's voice trailed off as he looked up and saw her in the door.
"Chuck…" the woman's voice was resigned. "One day you will learn to watch where you are going."
Jenny felt the need to stick up for him. He seemed like he could be a friend and that's what you did, or so she thought. Her dad certainly wouldn't have done it for anyone so it seemed like the right course of action. "Um, ma'am, I think it was mostly my fault. I wasn't watching." she said, as politely as she could.
The older woman blinked and looked at her. "Ma'am? Oh my. My student's don't even call me that. I'm Mary. Chuck's mom." She smiled fairly warmly. "I appreciate you speaking up for him, but I know my son. He was probably mostly responsible for the accident."
"Mary." Jenny replied with a nod. "I suppose that might be true but I can't let him take the fall…" She stopped, groaned slightly at her unintentional pun. Mary's lips twitched in a suppressed laugh. Then she looked right at Jenny for a long moment. She felt like, despite the warmth of the woman, she was looking right through her. Chuck's mom gave off a certain sense of… sharp edged competence. The sort of person her dad would have avoided. Remembering the bell, she looked at the clock and groaned. "Crap." She pulled out her schedule paper to see what class she was going to be late to now. She'd need a note...
"New student?" Mary asked.
"Um, yes?" Jenny sat up straight, startled.
"Jenny Burton, I presume. You're running late to my class. Don't worry about it. I'm going to miss it today." Mary smiled wryly. "I have to take this one to the doctor." she snorted in laughter. "To have his head examined."
"Thanks Mom." Chuck said. "Glad my pain is funny."
"Oh hush, it can't be that bad if you spent the past half-hour talking this poor girls ear off about comics." Mary chided.
"I didn't mind. It was interesting and Chuck is good at telling a story." Jenny spoke quickly, before Chuck could say anything.
Mary looked at her, and then her son. "Hmm." she said in a considering tone. Jenny shifted under that gaze, she wasn't sure exactly what Mary was looking at. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she needed a haircut and hadn't put a lot of thought into her clothes that day. "Chuck, give me your bag. We do need to go." Turning to Jenny, she smiled again. "You head off to my classroom. I'll talk to your first period teacher later. We're reading a book right now, so grab a copy of Alas Babylon from the shelf and get to it. If you've already read it, refresh your memory. Tomorrow is a discussion day before we start on papers about the topics it explores." Her voice had a note of command in it when she spoke to both teenagers.
"OK." Jenny stood and was stuck for a moment, trying to think of what to say. She wanted to keep talking to Chuck, but she had to go. Finally, she shrugged. "Bye Chuck, you'll have to finish telling me about that graphic novel tomorrow."
Chuck nodded, winced at the motion, and said, "Um, sure, I'd like that. See 'ya Jenny."
-0-
Present - Undisclosed Location
As they pulled up, Sarah shook herself awake and looked over the building and grounds. It appeared to be an abandoned hospital of some kind and showed all of the architectural subtlety of a fortress. The SUV drove around the side and into an open garage bay. Once the door closed behind them, the floor opened to show a ramp leading down below the building to a parking area. She was met by a stern faced man in his mid forties. She recognized him, sort of, but couldn't recall exactly where from. NSA if her memory was right, she'd seen him in passing during a briefing.
"Casey." Casey said jerking a thumb at his chest and then gestured behind him at a guard station. "Lets get you checked in."
Ah, John Casey. No nonsense by all accounts. Old school NSA. Bet he was assigned to take Carmichael down. I wonder how he feels about the guy just showing up and turning himself in. "Of course." Sarah replied with a fractional smile. She stepped to the guard station and presented her CIA credentials. The guard looked closely at the document and his computer monitor, comparing her face to the file photo.
"Place your hand on the scanner, Agent Walker." the young man said in toneless voice.
She complied and the scanner beeped showing green.
"Wear this at all times while in the facility." the guard continued speaking after the device cleared her. He handed her a blue rimmed, black card on a lanyard. The card had her picture, and no name.
Sarah took the card and put the lanyard over her neck. Casey grunted and walked towards the door past the guard. "So, where are we exactly?" she asked as they walked through the corridors, taking several turns.
"Former psychiatric hospital for 'high society' individuals. Abandoned since the 70's. Refurbished after 9/11 to house… valuable targets." Casey said as they walked.
"A black site on US soil?" Sarah said with a mild note of surprise.
Casey looked at her. "Shocked?"
"Mostly that someone had the balls to set it up this close to DC." Sarah replied with a shrug.
"Figured no one would look for it I guess." Casey said pointing at a door up ahead. "The techs've started calling it Castle. Go through there, he's in the next room. We'll be watching from the control center."
Sarah nodded and stopped at the door, giving Casey time to make it to his destination. And giving herself time to prepare to meet someone who knew her as Jenny. She counted to one-twenty and then walked through the door, schooling her face into a non-expression. When she saw the man in the chair at the center of the large room, she nearly stumbled and gave herself away. The photo in her inner jacket pocket felt like a lead weight and suddenly seemed like a colossally bad idea. It may have been ten years… but she knew that face as well as her own. Chuck? What the hell is going on here… he's Carmichael? Breathe, Walker. Don't pass out.
"Ah, Ms Burton. A pleasure. I'd stand, but alas…" his voice trailed off and he nodded at his bound hands and feet. He looked her over, a somewhat clinical expression on his face. "You've gone blonde."
"I got tired of dyeing my hair." Sarah replied without thinking and winced internally, heart thudding and uncertainty raging inside her. She called on every ounce of her training to remain calm and give nothing away when the only thing she wanted to do was grab him just to be sure he was real. "I'm Agent Sarah Walker."
"So you are." Carmichael replied with a nod.
"Tell me about Fulcrum." Sarah said, getting right to the point.
"Do you get back home to California much?" he asked, avoiding her question. "I've not been in years now."
She sighed and changed tacks. "You asked for me specifically. Why involve me, I'm nothing special. More importantly how do you know me?" She looked directly into his eyes and willed him to lie about that.
His voice lost its sardonic, humorous, edge and became soft. "I think you're special." She was sucked in by those big brown eyes and her heart lurched. If she hadn't been sitting she'd have had to find a chair as her knees suddenly felt like jello. Then he became brisk and businesslike. "In the next twelve to twenty-four hours, in Burbank, a Serbian terrorist will stage an attack on behalf of Fulcrum. They intend to use this to grab power in the various agencies that are charged with preventing such attacks. The will do so by pointing out, rightly, that the attack was neither predicted nor prevented." He paused. "I asked for your help because I believe, with good reason, that you are not a part of the conspiracy. Plus, I know you'd like to prevent innocent lives from being lost. You have a certain reputation."
"How do you know all of this?" She asked, suddenly alert and focused. By experience she knew the people upstairs would be loosing their shit right about now. She needed to get them the data to figure out what was going on. The message that he'd somehow been keeping tabs on her was not lost. Why didn't you find me…Or did you try? Did someone stop you? If you were CIA why didn't I come across even a sniff of you when I was looking?
"Because I'm the Piranha. While browsing an all you can eat intelligence buffet provided by the NSA, I found that they'd intercepted the transmission of a hotel blueprint recently for a location in Burbank. The CIA found, in Prague of all places – lovely city remind me to tell you about the river tour I took… where was I… ah yes… The CIA, and their lax data security gave me, the schematics of a quite large bomb and computer control system. What neither of the agencies saw was how the information fit together. Certain parties offered me a great deal for those separate pieces. I found out after I'd delivered, and been paid of course, that they were related." He looked her in the eye. "Regardless of any reputation I may have, mass death is not in my repertoire and I hurried straight here to help." He finished with a disarming smile.
Sarah found herself immersed in the voice of someone she hadn't talked to in a decade. It had the same effect on her now as it did then and she fought back a near involuntary smile. Since the first day they'd met, he could keep her enthralled with a simple story, and its seemed like he hadn't lost his touch. She dug her nails into her palm to help her focus. "What do you get out of helping us with this, with Fulcrum?" she said finally after she felt she could trust her voice.
His response was immediate. "Why I get to spend time in your divine presence of course! And with the imitable Major Casey as well I presume. What more could I ask for?"
What more indeed. What game are you playing Chuck… and where the hell have you been for the past ten years? A knot formed in her stomach, one of intense worry. Not that he was actually a traitor, she believed in him with faith normally attributed to religion. She bit the inside of her lip to focus herself. "And we're supposed to believe you?"
"Of course not. I'm a traitor and a criminal. Criminals are notorious liars." He looked her in the eyes and said in a slightly more serious tone. "You know that, of course. Everything about us is a lie."
Sarah's jaw tightened and she didn't say anything. He was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't in a mental state to get the message. Except the obvious one. She should assume anything she'd been told is a lie.
Carmichael continued. "Look at you overcoming adversity, personal problems like your career criminal father. Abandonment by people you cared about..." He paused and looked up at the camera. "Major Casey with the family he gave up when Alex Coburn 'died'." He looked back at her. "And yet here you are now. Feet firmly affixed to the ladder of success. Preventing this attack and capturing the terrorist… I could make you the next Director." He paused for a few heartbeats. "Jenny… Sorry I mean, Sarah."
She blinked, took a deep breath, then stood and left the room, trying not to run.