A/N: The fourth arc continues.


The Missionary


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

—William Blake, The Tyger,
Songs of Innocence and Experience


Chapter Twenty-One: Changes and Secrets


For a moment, the scene in the office was a tableau vivant. No one moved or spoke.

Posed silence reigned.

Then the leader strode into the room.

He bent at the knees and touched Mateo's neck, then turned Mateo's head and examined the bloody head wound. Looking up at his men, the leader nodded. "The fool's not dead, and I do not wish him dead — yet. Take him into the other room and call el curador. I want Mateo to live to regret his actions."

Two of the men handed a third their guns and they each took one of Mateo's arms and dragged him from the room. The leader stepped aside. Mateo's dragging feet scraped through his pooled blood and streaked it in parallel lines toward the door.

Chuck watched it all aghast and amazed. He had done that, turned a small frying man into a murderous weapon. All he had known was that he would not allow Sarah to be harmed — not in any way.

And he had acted accordingly.

Natalie began to wake in Chuck's arm, and he glanced at her. The feeling that he extended, a protective sheath, that he extended around the baby and around Sarah, left him, evaporated slowly away, leaving a feeling of loss. But the Intersect seemed to hum in his head, satisfied yet alert.

Why did that Chomsky line come to me? Green ideas? Why did Zarnow tell it to me?

Does it mean something, somehow, after all?

Chuck had no time to pursue answers to his internal questions.

The leader stood as Mateo was dragged out of the room, then he closed the door with an exaggerated softness. He looked at Sarah with a hint of near-contrition.

"My men know that they may do only what they are told to do. Mateo has a history of needing to humiliate strong women. They threaten him. On occasion, that has made him the perfect man for certain jobs. But not always. His history occurred to me after I left, and so I had my driver turn around. I am not normally so uncircumspect."

He gestured for Sarah to sit on the love seat and for Chuck to join her. Natalie was awake, staring at the leader with bright blue eyes.

When Chuck seated himself, the leader rubbed his hands, not in threat but in thought. "My men call me Tyger…"

The Intersect had not reacted to the Tyger's appearance, his hard symmetrical features. Chuck thought the man must look as Milton had imagined Satan to look: handsome but with features devoid of sympathy.

The name, Tyger, caused the Intersect to whir.

But it produced little, no photograph, only a vague description — an NSA file with the name, Tyger, atop it and a briefly stated guess at a history — that Tyger was not from Mexico, but further south, somewhere in South America; that he had risen to power in CJNG by remorseless, fearful brilliance, carefully targeted cruelties and horrors. And by remaining shadowy.

Chuck wondered about Tyger and the rumors of CJNG cannibalism, not a happy thought standing in a room with a stove and bloody frying pan.

"...and I rule CJNG." He frowned. "The two of you have exacerbated my greatest problem. We have of late increased in power and influence, so much so that we are no longer regarded as upstarts by Sinaloa, but as a genuine rival, hated but feared.

"This intensified the hostilities between us, hostilities that have recently begun to turn in our favor. We are high-tech to a degree that the old guard of Sinaloa refuses to be since updating themselves would require the Sinaloa leaders to admit that they are tech ignorant. Dinosaurs, small brains in mammoth bodies…" He spat, the spittle landing on Mateo's blood.

"Anyway, the explosion you witnessed tonight was the work of one of my new drones. Sinaloa can put money into SUVs, armor them against our firearms, but they cannot protect them against pinpoint death from the sky."

He bent down and picked up the frying pan from the floor. It had a smear of blood on it. He studied the blood for a moment then studied Chuck for a long moment.

But he went on as before — as if he had not paused.

"Sinaloa kidnapped the child in order to bolster their fledgling relationship to rogue US intelligence agents, a group newly named Fulcrum." Chuck tried not to look at Sarah. The name did not move the Intersect. It must be new.

Tyger continued. "Sinaloa believes that this alliance might allow it to repulse us, diminish us again. I was not going to allow that to happen. I planned to end the kidnapping tonight, end it entirely." he gave them a significant look, and his eyes settled, cold and unrepentant, on Natalie. She smiled at him, innocent.

"We discovered where they were holding her. We were sending a drone. But then you arrived. Luckily, the father of one of my men saw you as you approached the house, and again as you escaped. And, luckily, we found you before Sinaloa could recapture you.

"You accomplished what I wanted most — you have kept Sinaloa from serving the rogue agents. But you are on my hands, and you have seen my face, — and I must now decide what to do with you." His frown deepened. "I cannot expect to remain faceless forever but…" He shrugged.

"I will be back soon. I promise, no one will disturb you until I return."

He left the room quickly without looking back.


Sarah stood as soon as the door closed.

"Dammit, Kurt," she said as she stalked toward Chuck, using the name she had given him in case anyone overheard, "I can take care of myself. I could have taken Mateo, and — "

Chuck faced her squarely, matching her intensity with his own. "I don't doubt it — but what would have been necessary for you to get into position to take advantage?"

The way he inflected 'position' made Sarah flinch, and stopped her in her cold. "Nothing would have happened. I know how to do this."

"I know. I know as well as anybody, maybe better than anyone alive, since I managed to see the opening of the show but escape the ending."

"I thought we just talked about that night?"

"We just sort of talked about it. You mentioned moonlight…" Chuck waited, vulnerable, looking like a beginner chess player who had just pushed his king to the center of the board.

Sarah blinked at him. She had never met anyone like him, no one remotely like him, anyone who insisted so much on talking, who took words really to mean something. And to be honest, she realized she wasn't really angry with him; she was more surprised and puzzled by what he had done than anything else.

But they did not have time to talk more about their date or to sift through Chuck's motives for protecting her.

They needed to plan. Tyger was a killer. And right now, he was likely deciding whether they would live or die. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to kill them, since he hadn't — and since there had been no reprisal for Chuck's frypanning of Mateo's skull.

"Another time, another time we'll revisit all that. But right now, we need to figure out how to get Natalie home, how to get out from between rival cartels."

Chuck made a face. "What?" Sarah asked. "I said we'd talk another time."

"It's not that, it's Natalie. I think, after eating, she…um…went."

And then Sarah caught a whiff of the telltale odor. "Oh. What do we do?"

"Change it," Chuck offered, sounding timid.

"Okay, so, do it."

"No," Chuck shook his head, "she's a she, and I shouldn't…"

"She's a little girl, a baby. What if she were yours?"

Chuck looked down at the baby, then at Sarah, then again at the baby. "I'd do what I had to do."

"Exactly. I'll help, — if you want." Sarah knew she did not sound sincere about volunteering.

"Okay." Chuck carried the baby past Sarah and to the love seat. He put her down gently on her back. "Bring me a diaper out of the backpack. I think I also saw a small pack of wipes."

Sarah made a slightly frightened face, but then went to the backpack and found a diaper and the wipes. She walked to Chuck and handed them to him. He was seated at Natalie's feet.

He pulled off the yellow pants the little girl was wearing, carefully sat them on the arm of the love seat behind him, then he undid the velcro fasteners on each side of her diaper. He opened the diaper, pulling the top toward him and down between Natalie's kicking legs. She was giggling at Chuck as she kicked. Despite the odor, Sarah smiled to herself as she watched Chuck giggle back at the little girl.

When he opened the diaper, he turned his face away slightly and narrowed his still-facing eye as the small, oily brown smear in the diaper appeared. He looked at Sarah and shrugged. "Not so bad, really." He pulled a wipe out of the pack and began to use it. Natalie made cooing sounds as he worked. A moment later, he pulled the diaper out from under the baby and handed it to Sarah.

She looked at him as if he were crazy for a second, then she took it. He handed her the stained wipe and she let him drop it in the used diaper, then she shut the diaper using the fasteners and she dropped it in the trash can beside the desk.

In the meantime, Chuck had the clean diaper on Natalie and was putting her feet back into her pants legs. Then he pulled them up.

"There we go, young lady. No permanent damage done to any of us, I think." He lifted the girl and before Sarah could protest, handed the baby to her. "Hold her for a minute…"

Chuck stood and rearranged the cushions on the love seat, creating a spot for the baby by putting one cushion on top of the other, and leaving a few blank inches between it and the back of the seat. Chuck took the baby back and put her down, checking to make sure she could not easily move the cushion. Natalie kicked at the air and cooed but otherwise stayed in place.

Chuck looked at Sarah. "Ok, so what do we do? How do we get her home?"

"Does the Intersect know anything about Tyger?"

Chuck supplied Sarah with the scant information the Intersect supplied him. She nodded but did not seem to find anything interesting in it.

"If he decides he wants to stay in the shadows, we're in trouble. But he seems reluctant to do anything to us; he came back to protect us — me, sort of."

Chuck nodded. "He can't seem to make sense of me with both the baby and the frying pan."

"What happened with that?" Sarah said, moving closer to Chuck and keeping her voice down. "I know the Intersect is programmed for self-defense, but you weren't under attack."

Chuck's vulnerable look returned. "No, but you were, and — I'm guessing but this is how it seems — I think the Intersect rates you and Natalie as extensions of itself."


Chuck chose to put the matter this way. It wasn't a falsification but it did remove him from the explanation.

He could have said that he regarded Sarah and Natalie as extensions of himself, but that would be too revealing. He wasn't sure he knew quite what it meant, and he had no idea how Sarah would react to it, especially given her anger a few minutes ago. He was not in a hurry to make such a revelation to her.

He was beginning to suspect that perhaps her responses to him were not all professional as opposed to personal, but for now, he would blame his responses to her on the Intersect, keeping his secret. Strange, when a program recognizes your feelings more clearly than you do.

Sarah considered him as he stood there; she was apparently rewinding his words and considering them one at a time. She finally nodded. "Ok — so the Intersect doesn't attack as far as we know, but it will defend beyond just you."

"Evidently," Chuck said, shrugging, as if that were the end of the explanation, hoping to keep her from asking him why. "But that's not going to get the three of us free."

"No, but at least Tyger respects you now. That may help us. I get the feeling that we've arrived at a crucial moment in CJNG history. Maybe, if we're lucky, it'll be time for Tyger to step from the shadows and burn bright."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he can't run an organization as public as CJNG has to be, for all its illegality. Did you see, in the main room, there are CJNG signs stacked against the wall. The group is about to go public and in a big way, I think, and that means Tyger's going to show himself. These cartels are all judged by their El Jefe, the man who runs the show. It's surprising that Tyger's managed to stay hidden for so long. Maybe we can convince him that we can help him."

Chuck checked Natalie. She was no longer kicking; she seemed to be going to sleep again. "Help him?"

"Yes, with Fulcrum. Your enemy is my enemy — that sort of thing. That doesn't make us friends, but he clearly doesn't want Sinnaloa to ally with Fulcrum. When Tyger comes back, try to convince him we don't want that either, and that he can further embarrass and frustrate Sinaloa by returning Natalie to her home, her parents."

"Shouldn't you try to convince him?"

"No, he might not have been willing to let Mateo rape me without ordering it, but he's not going to be interested in appearing to negotiate with a woman." She held Chuck's eyes with her own. "You talk to him. Just be sharp; he is."


Casey stood in Rob and Skipper's kitchen. He and General Stanfield had arrived a couple of hours before, not long after the final text from Walker and Bartowski. But that text had only said that they had followed the suspect to a house south of Tijuana. No one knew whether Natalie was there or not, whether Walker and Bartowski found her and got away — or whether something else had happened (no one wanted to detail what that something else might be).

Stanfield was scheduled to trade himself for the baby early the next morning, but no exact instructions had arrived yet. That at least seemed like a cause for guarded hope. But everyone was stretched taut, exhausted, from travel or worry.

Casey sipped brackish coffee and kept his head down. He knew if he made eye contact with either of the parents, they would scry his gaze for a sign of optimism or pessimism, and he felt that conveying either was not appropriate and not his place. Even though he had not been with Walker and Bartowski long, he had faith in them, faith that they could pull this off and save the baby, but every tick of the kitchen clock was a reminder that the odds were long and getting longer.

The parents finally left the kitchen to go and lie down. Casey knew, they knew, they would not sleep, but at least they would not be pacing, jumping at every sound, grasping at straws.

The General sat down on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, and he sighed. "We should know something soon, one way or the other. It'll either be Sinaloa or the team."

Casey nodded. "Tijuana's a little like Westworld — the wild west meets hi-tech. Those cartels have gotten more and more like para-military groups. I've heard that some now have serious military weapons."

The General sighed again. "It's a fucking mess. But it's not our mess and the Mexican government, at the edges, blends with the cartels. They aren't the same, but there's overlap, and that makes it hard to know who to trust, who to believe, hell how to know who is who."

"If Sinaloa calls, if you have to go, we need to find a way to get me there before you. I'm a marksman. Even at a distance, a considerable distance, I might be able to give you a fighting chance."

The General looked at Casey, his lips a hard, colorless line beneath bloodshot eyes. "Be careful what you volunteer for, Casey. I may be desperate enough in the morning to say yes."

Casey sipped his coffee but made no reply.


The office door opened and Tyger came in, closing the door behind him.

Sarah had the baby in her arms, feeding her again. She woke up a few minutes before Tyger came in. This time, Sarah had changed her, surprising herself by doing it efficiently and without any trace of revulsion.

As she held the baby, she put her nose to the little girl's head and was almost made dizzy by the remarkable scent of her, a freshness that had nothing to do with bathing (who knew when the baby was last bathed) but instead to do with the newness of her. Even at six months, she smelled so new, so alive.

The scent stirred Sarah but Tyger's entrance shifted her attention from the alive scent of the baby to the deadly exigencies of the situation.

Sarah noticed that Tyger had a photograph in his hand. He walked to Chuck and handed it to him. "Do you know this man?"

Chuck looked at the photograph, his face composed. "Yes," he said after a moment, though nothing in his manner betrayed familiarity, "that man was a rogue CIA agent. He died weeks ago in an explosion."

Sarah knew then who was in the photograph.

Tyger showed his teeth in a feral smile. "US intelligence is not very intelligent. This photograph was taken a few days ago; that man is very much alive. Tell me his name."

"Bryce Larkin."

Tyger put out his hand and Chuck returned the photograph. "We got the picture from a drone. We believe he is the one who coordinated the details of the kidnapping. He is a Fulcrum agent."

Chuck looked at Sarah but managed still to control his reaction. "So, Larkin is alive." She managed her expression, pretending surprise and nodding as if she were hearing the news for the first time.

Tyger watched her reaction. "I have considered what to do with you. The simplest thing would be to kill the three of you and bury you in unmarked graves." He paused, then went on. "But I have no desire to give the US government, or a powerful US general, any more reason to oppose me, CJNG. The baby is Stanfield's granddaughter — I know that. I want to foil Sinaloa's plan and to ensure that the General blames all the kidnappers, not just Sinaloa. I want him to blame them, of course, but also this…" he waved the photograph as if it were a developing Polaroid, "...Bryce Larkin. But letting you go is complicated. It is tantamount to making myself known, since I cannot expect you to keep me a secret. That is not so important; I planned to soon claim my place as El Jefe, all as part of — what do you call it? — a public relations effort. You see, I am not just tech-savvy, but also media-savvy."

He smiled a big cat smile. After a moment, though, the smile vanished.

"But some of my capitans regard releasing you as weak, no matter how good my reasons for doing it. CJNG captives do not normally live." He said it as if he were talking of throwing out soured milk. "So, here is what I will do, the best I can do: behind the refrigerator, hanging on the wall, are two handguns, loaded. Your things remain in your car. In ten minutes, most of my men will be gone. Three will remain as guards. Two of them are capitans who are…less loyal to me. If you can escape them, and take your car, drive the same direction along the road we came in on for three miles. Turn left and drive for two miles. You will find the highway and then, of course, you turn north.

"But keep in mind that you will be in no-man's-land for the last two miles, and Sinaloa sicarios and los socios may be watching."

He looked at Chuck.

"So, let me see if I understand. You are not releasing us — you're just making it possible for us to escape — maybe. And you are hoping that, if we do, we will also rid you of some troublesome capitans?"

"Yes," Tyger agreed flatly, "you will either kill them or, if you escape without killing them, discredit them. Either way, I am rid of them. And think of it as a trial by combat. If you are meant to live, if the baby is meant to live, you will, and my willingness to let you go is vindicated."

Chuck stared at Tyger. "I suppose we really don't have a choice." Chuck was prepared to negotiate, but he saw no room for it.

"No, none. It is less about choice than opportunity. You have an opportunity to live and to save the baby. I will leave the door unlocked. Vaya con Dios!"

Tyger left the room, again without looking back.

Chuck turned to Sarah. "He's some piece of work."

"Yes, — and we need to get ready. Ten minutes." Sarah hurried to the refrigerator and shoved it away from the wall. There, as Tyger said, two handguns were hanging. Sarah grabbed one and checked it quickly. It was loaded and seemed operational. She put it on the stove and grabbed the other; it seemed the same. Chuck was gathering Natalie's few things and putting them in the backpack. Sarah carried the guns to Chuck and handed him one. Natalie was gurgling on the couch, making squeaking sounds, seemingly content. It was an odd soundtrack to the moment.

"I'll go first, Chuck. You and the baby stay close behind me. We go straight to the car and straight out of here."

"Can we trust Tyger?" Chuck asked.

"No, absolutely not — in general, but in this particular case, yes. He wants us to get away. Even the number of men he said he left behind suggests it.

"Three will seem to the cartel members enough to imprison us; but it is few enough for us to have a chance. Probably one outside the office, one near the car, and one outside the station itself. Leave the fighting to me, Chuck." Sarah dropped her blue eyes from Chuck's and gazed down at the baby. "Just get her to the car."

Chuck took the gun she handed him and put it in his belt. "What now?"

"We wait. Five more minutes or so."


Graham stared out the window of his office into the street-light-pocked Virginia darkness.

No one knew what had happened to Walker and Bartowski or to Stanfield's grandkid. Graham had gotten a call earlier, from a pocketed member of the HPSCI, telling him that his request to remove Beckman from Overlook had been approved. Unfortunately, the committee had thrown Beckman a bone, deciding that Agent Casey would remain as part of the Overlook team even if Beckman was no longer involved in its direction. In effect, Casey now worked for Graham.

But Graham had no illusions about Casey's loyalty — and neither did the damn committee members (Beckman toadies!) who fought for Casey to remain on the team. Casey's presence kept Beckman involved, but not officially.

So, the result was not perfect, but it was good enough.

With Beckman sidelined, Graham could put wheels in motion. He had ideas.

Graham was looking forward to morning light, to tomorrow, when Beckman would find out about the decision. But just now, Graham was growing worried that there would no longer be an Overlook team for him to control.

"Alright, Walker. Bring the Intersect home. I have new plans for it — and for you."


Sarah had her hand on the door.

She looked back at Chuck. He held Natalie close to his chest, a couple of steps behind Sarah. Chuck had discovered a pacifier in the side pocket of the backpack and washed it. The little girl was sucking away on it, happily and noiselessly.

Sarah turned the knob. Chuck took a deep breath. Sarah opened the door. She stepped into the door frame, scanning the room with her gun out, held in both hands. The car was across the large interior room. She could see a man leaning against the front end of the car, half-sitting on the side of the hood.

No one else was in view. She turned to Chuck and made a motion with her hand, telling him to stay where he was. He cradled Natalie closer.

Sarah checked left and right again. She still saw no one other than the man at the car.

Gun out, she started toward the car, staying low, using the metal shelving and the few pieces of equipment to obscure herself. Her eyes moved up and down, keeping track of the guard, still leaning against the hood, and her feet, afraid of stepping on something or kicking something, a bolt or a tool, that would announce her presence.

She reached the rear of the car and crouched down. She looked back. Chuck was standing in a shadow outside the office, the door now pulled shut. He was watching her intently; she could see light reflected in his eyes.

She worked her way to the corner of the car. Now only the length of the car separated her from the guard.

Inhaling, holding her breath, bent at the waist but gun up, she stalked toward the front of the car, one slow step at a time, not willing to rush even though her pulse was pounding..

There was a sudden noise behind her. A thud — and then a sound of something metallic on concrete.

The guard she was behind turned. She did not hesitate. She shot him in the left-hand side of his chest, before he even managed to recognize that she was there.

She whirled, terrified of what she might see, only to find Chuck bending over another guard, the guard unconscious on the floor. Chuck was picking up the gun Sarah had given him. She did not understand but she did not have time to try.

Chuck came running toward her, pushing the gun back into his belt. Natalie's pig-tails were swaying and she was beginning to cry, the gunshot seemed to have caused her to spit out her pacifier.

One guard left.

He was nowhere to be seen, so Sarah took him to be outside, as she expected.

Sarah jumped in the car, behind the wheel. The keys were in the ignition. Chuck got in with Natalie. Sarah gave him a look.

"I decided to throw the gun. The guy was coming after you. He didn't see us. I guess I'm two for two."

Sarah shook her head. "Put on your belt. We're going through the doors."

Behind them, the garage door went up and down — it was the door they came in. But in front of them, the doors were wooden, locked by an interior crossboard; they opened outward.

They were shut but Sarah was sure the car could demolish them.

Chuck put on his belt and curled himself around Natalie. Sarah turned the key and stomped the gas the moment the engine took hold. The tires turned and squealed for a second on the painted concrete floor, then the car blasted forward. They hit the door hard, Sarah bracing herself against the steering wheel, and it blew open, shrapnel wood flying in all directions as the board locking it from the inside splintered. It must have sounded like a sudden sea battle, a broadside cannonade between wooden sailing ships.

A man was standing outside, rifle to his shoulder, facing them. He gaped, not expecting the charging car or exploding wooden doors, and his cigarette dropped from his mouth. He managed to squeeze off a shot before Sarah whipped the wheel and sent the rear of the car slamming into him. The shot went wide. He jumped off the swerving rear panel of the car like a ball jumping off a bat. In her side mirror, Sarah saw him launched airborne only to smack the ground and roll across the street.

She gunned the engine, going the direction Tyger told her to go. Chuck looked back. "We got away!"

"Not yet, but we cleared one hurdle."


Beckman dropped the remains of the stale Frosted Pop-Tart on her desk.

Who knows how long that thing's been in my desk?

She picked up the silver wrapper but saw no expiration date.

The sun was rising. Beckman's phone had started ringing at first light. She had never been asleep, although she had stretched out on the small couch in her office.

The Pop-Tart was breakfast.

She had been waiting for something, anything, from Walker and Bartowski. She was worried about them, the baby, the baby's parents, and Stanfield.

The first-light call had been to tell her that Graham had outmaneuvered her. He had gotten to members of the HPSCI and had turned enough in his favor to get her removed from Outlook. Luckily, she had a couple of incorruptible old friends on the committee, and they had managed to keep Casey on the team.

Political maneuvers had never been Beckman's forte. She wore a uniform because she was a soldier. She thought as a soldier, not a politician. Graham, on the other hand, thought like a politician, the worst sort of politician. Graham was a reptile. She should have known he would make a power play for Overlook, and she should not have let Stanfield's trouble engage her so completely that she let Graham have an unmolested day to steal a march on her.

She would get back into Overlook somehow. But she was not worried about that as she chewed the dry-as-dust Pop-Tart. She was worried about Mexico.

I need to remember. I like the plain strawberry Pop-Tarts, not the ones with frosting.

And I like fresh ones.

Graham probably likes the goddamn frosted ones.


As Sarah drove, Chuck opened the glovebox. "Hey, our phones!"

He reached in and grabbed one. Then he saw the SIM cards in the glove box, separate. "Give me a minute, and I'll be able to contact someone."

Sarah nodded once then flicked her eyes up to the rearview mirror. A large black SUV had just pulled onto the highway behind them.

"Hurry, Chuck, we may need some help."


A/N: Still working on responses to reviews. Thanks for all the comments.