A/N My original intent was simply to model this story on The Tall Blond Man with One Black Shoe, but since no one has seen that movie I decided to do a more 'faithful' version instead. There are a number of differences. In the movie, the Tall Blond was getting off the plane. In this story Chuck is the Tall Brunet not on a plane, while the Tall Blonde is obviously Sarah, stepping off the plane into her own plot. The humor is also more physical, like Clouseau, since that's easier to describe. In the movie the bad guys were snapping pictures while the Tall Blond made a lot of silly faces.


Somewhere in Budapest...

Pens scratched across papers and machines beeped as the man sat in the main chair, his head and body covered with wires that tracked any number of biological behaviors that in most men are outside of their direct control. The purpose, to make sure that his answers to the questions being asked of him should have the same profile as the questions to which they knew the answers were true. All his identity documents had his name as Kieran Ryker, an American national. All inquiries regarding that nationality, business, marital status, and other routine matters had established a baseline for the less routine matters to be weighed against. Such as the dead bodies.

"Now you were arrested when police responded to reports of gun violence and found you in a house along with 13 dead people, is that correct?'

Mr. Ryker said nothing.

"Now there's no point in denying it. The bullets in 11 of the 13 bodies came from the gun in your hand. That is correct, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right," said Ryker.

scratch-scratch, beep-beep

"It's good," said the technician monitoring the papers and the monitors. Not that he needed to say anything, the machines would have told them all if there was any deviation, but it was a union position, and they had to have someone.

"I asked for this test," said Ryker. "The truth would be too unbelievable for you to accept otherwise."

"So you're still claiming that in spite of all the evidence against you, that you're not a murderer?"

"No, I'm not a murderer."

scratch-scratch, beep-beep

"It's good," said the tech, because he had to.

"But you are the killer, aren't you?" said the detective.

Crap. "Yes," said Ryker.

"Who are you working for?" snapped the cop. "And it better not be anyone here."

"I work for the CIA," said Ryker. "I killed those men as part of a mission."

"What kind of mission?"

"The kind that sometimes involves killing people."

"Is that what you were supposed to do?"

"Obviously not," said Ryker. "My mission involved the two people in the room that I didn't kill."

scratch-scratch, beep-beep

"It's good," said the tech.

"Convenient," said the cop.

"I was only following orders," said Ryker. "I only killed those men because I had to."

scratch-scratch, beep-beep

"The couple that lived in that house, they had a small child, a baby that wasn't found on the premises. Do you know anything about it?"

"Baby?" said Ryker. "What baby?"

skritch-skritch-scritch, squeal, buzz

"That's, uh, that's not good," said the tech.

"Let's try that again," said the cop.


Langston Graham sat at his desk in his office as the Director of the CIA, staring at pictures. Bodies, lots of bodies. He reached out to his computer and changed the settings to greyscale. His intercom buzzed. "Yes, what is it?" he snapped.

"Deputy Shaw here to see you, sir."

Graham grabbed the little exercise ball from his drawer. "Send him in." He heard the door open, but didn't look up as the deputy director of operations strode in his typically wooden, mechanical way toward his desk. Like a robot, only not as lifelike. Graham's aide, Bryce Larkin, watched him approach with no expression on his face.

"We didn't expect you back from your vacation so soon, sir," said Shaw, in his flat, emotionless way. He ignored Larkin completely.

Graham finally looked up. "Sit down." Shaw sat. Graham smiled slightly. "Now. What is the meaning of this..." He waved his free hand toward the screen. "...filthy business."

"I know as little as you do, sir," said Shaw, trying to sound astonished.

"No more?" asked Graham. The DDO ought to have known more.

"I read it in the morning brief," said Shaw. "I almost vomited when I saw the pictures."

Larkin rolled his eyes, just a little, but no one was watching him.

"Looks to me like someone tried to run a fundraiser, with me as the goat," said Graham. "That wasn't very nice." Or smart.

"No, sir, it wasn't," agreed Shaw, in the same tone of voice he'd use to order an air strike. He only seemed to have one.

"This murderer claims he was on a mission for us, and since he doesn't work for me-" Larkin looked at Shaw.

"And he doesn't work for me either," said Shaw. Larkin looked back at his boss. Like tennis.

"Then who is he working for?"

"No idea sir," said Shaw, although as DDO he really should have had some.

"Hmmp. Well, whoever he is, I'm perfectly willing to let him rot in a Hungarian prison until he learns to sing a different tune." Graham cycled through the photos some more. "A story like this could cost me my job," he said at last. "You could end up as Director in my place."

Shaw tried to look modest. "Whoever your successor may eventually be, I'm sure he'll do his best to carry on the work as you would have, with the same sense of dedication and integrity."

Larkin looked ill. Graham was gripping a little exercise ball in his hand so tightly the rubber was splitting as it bulged between his fingers. "Thank you, Daniel," he said, as woodenly as Shaw himself. He sat back. "So you never met this Ryker before?"

"Oh, no, sir."

Graham spun his monitor around, displaying an image from some party, with Shaw and Ryker sitting side-by-side, big smiles on their faces.

Shaw looked at it with no change of expression. "That's a phony."

Graham turned the monitor back, a smirk on his face. "A composite?" He looked like he was examining the photo critically. "It's possible. Some of the best work I've ever seen but it's possible." He gripped his mouse, moved it around with short strokes. Larkin and Shaw simply watched and waited.

"Looks like you could be right for once," said Graham, releasing the mouse. "Well, I won't keep you from all of your important duties, Daniel." He turned the monitor around again, the face of the man sitting next to Ryker completely erased, a hole with a smiley face drawn in it. "He doesn't look anything like you."

Graham clicked his mouse, got a dropdown menu, and clicked on the 'Delete' option. "Have a nice day."


As was his habit, Daniel Shaw took his lunch out of the office, often mixing a bit of shopping with it.

Today he was in the Buy More again. He walked past checkout, past the small electronics section, nodding pleasantly to the greenshirt staffing the department, his name tag saying Laszlo.

He strolled through the TV section, an old episode from Danger Man playing from the recently released DVD set as he walked past the sales lady there, her name tag showing Sasha. "Ryker botched the snatch," he muttered as he went by.

She checked her watch, and moved to sit at her desk, fingers pressing a hidden button as she pulled herself in. Shaw walked over to a rear corridor that had a Restroom sign over it and went in, but he opened an otherwise locked door instead. The other side was a darkened room, with an Greenshirt named Tommy wearing earphones in front of a control station.

When Shaw entered he removed the earphones and abandoned the seat. "They just got to his place." Shaw sat, but flipped a switch and put the sound on the speakers instead of putting the phones on. The sound of Graham and Larkin chatting about things came through as various agents made their ways to the room.


"Deputy Shaw seemed a little under the weather this morning, didn't he?" asked Graham, opening the door to his apartment. It wasn't much different from his office.

"How could you tell, sir?" asked Larkin.

"I took some archaeology classes in college," said Graham, striding over to his desk. "Before the CIA scooped me up."

"Really, sir?"

"No, not really. They do use some of the same skill sets, but I prefer digging up secrets and burying enemies." He moved the mouse on his computer, watching the screen carefully. "Damn this Ryker mess. I was all the way down in Costa Gravas. A suite in the palace, no less. I had to sweep it for bugs every time I went in but it was worth it." He touched the mouse pad, and his voice came out of a special speaker, designed to sound like a real human voice and not a speaker.

The recorded Graham started going on in some detail about his time in Costa Gravas. The real Graham led Larkin around the room in silence, pointing out a variety of bugs placed in obscure locations. Once that was done, he led Larkin out a side door onto a balcony.

"He's really out for your blood, isn't he?" said Larkin.

"He's very good at his work," said Graham. "The Ryker thing? We'll never pin it on him. I found the bugs mostly by accident. Too bad he's such an opportunistic little creep 'cause I think he'd do a pretty good job."

Larkin stared off at the monuments in the distance. "If he was an honest man."

Graham sighed. "Yes, if. He's supposed to pull that crap in someone else's back yard, not mine. Really pisses me off."

"So what do you plan to do?"

Graham smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Shaw played a dirty trick, now it's my turn. I can only imagine his terror right now."

"That's true, sir," said Larkin. "He emotes like it's his first day at seduction school."

"True. Let's go in." He opened the door and they went back into the room. On the recording Graham was extolling the virtues of Costa Gravan cigars. When he was done Graham tapped the mouse pad again, ending the playback.

"I was planning to get a bunch and bring them back with me when my vacation was over, Larkin, so you can imagine how much this Ryker thing pisses me off right now."

"I can, sir," said Bryce on cue.

"Fortunately I had a deep-cover agent on site over there, keeps a finger on the pulse of the country, knows everything worth talking about. I sent a recall order this morning, myself. No one in the office can be allowed to know about it."

Bryce smiled. "Of course not, sir."

"You will go out personally to bring them in," said Graham, practically speaking into one of the bugs. "Given the delicate nature of the case, they're taking a roundabout route. You will meet them at 9:30 tomorrow morning at the Bob Hope airport in Los Angeles."

Larkin checked his watch. "That's cutting it close."

"The closer the better. After you make the initial contact, fall back. Take Agents Rye and Wu with you as a protective detail until this agent is ready to report. I can rely on them."

"It'll be done."

"This is a rush job, but it shouldn't take long," said Graham. "Don't lose them, Larkin. It's critical."

"Understood."

"Good. Now, let's get some of that lunch we're supposed to be out getting, and then you can arrange your flight. You like Italian...?"


Shaw switched off the recorders, his entire crew standing behind him. "Dammit."


As they exited the building, Larkin asked, "This person I'm supposed to be meeting. Who is he?"

Graham set a brisk pace. "What makes you think it's a 'he'?"

"I assumed you were using ambiguous pronouns to throw off Shaw and his goons," puffed Larkin, trying to keep up. "Get them to think it's a woman when it's really a man."

"You're giving Shaw too much credit," said Graham, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter who you choose, man or woman. Either way, Shaw will tie himself in knots making it seem logical."

"What do you mean, who I choose?"

"I mean it doesn't matter who you choose," said Graham, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Anyone will do, the more anonymous the better. They're just bait for my hook. What matters is that Shaw swallow it."

"A civilian as bait, sir?" asked Larkin hesitantly. "Doesn't the bait usually die, whether the hook gets swallowed or not?"

"Trap, if you prefer," said Graham, setting off again. "A trap for a fool."


9:20 AM Pacific Time, Bob Hope International Airport...

Anna Wu and James Rye emerged from opposite sides of the car simultaneously, and Bryce Larkin got out on the sidewalk side, behind Agent Wu. "This guy we're protecting," she asked, "Who is he?"

"That's need to know," said Bryce.

They walked into the airport as the driver took the car away. Bryce scanned the main board, looking for the arrivals, whichever was closest to 9:30, so he could plant himself outside the appropriate lounge and wait. He moved into the body of the airport, looking for the right hub. Bells chimed and time marched on as he led his team to the place where he would find...someone. Anyone he liked.


The spy waited patiently for the plane to reach the terminal. Traveling light, no luggage to claim, barely even a bag on board, she waited as the rest of the passengers fought to disembark. As she strode down the gangway she kept a hand tight on her bag, and the captured phone inside it. She had to keep it safe, get it unlocked, get the files and plans it held. Lives depended on it.


In the terminal...

"Bryce?"

Agent Larkin stopped at the sound of his name.

"Bryce Larkin?"

He turned. A tall man with curly hair and brown eyes was walking, no, striding, no he was marching up to him.

"Bryce fucking Larkin. What the hell are you doing here?"

Larkin smiled, weakly. "Hi Chuck." A woman's voice called out from behind the tall man. "Chuck?"

"You're supposed to be in Connecticut," said the Chuck person, ignoring whoever called his name. So focused was he on Larkin that he failed to notice little things, like Anna Wu's feet. He tripped over one of them and lurched forward, charging Larkin like a clumsy bull and hitting him in the belly head first. Both men fell, sliding into a row of chairs.

Bracing himself on the ground, Chuck raised his head, catching Bryce under the chin as he tried to stand up again and knocking the agent's head against the hard metal of the frame.

"Ow!"

"Ah!"

Bryce pulled his head forward, away from the pain, just as Chuck raised his head up, banging their foreheads together.

"Ah!"

"Ow!"

"Chuck!" yelled an attractive brunette coming up behind the whole scene, "What the hell are you doing?" She ran forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him up to a standing position.

"Hey, El," said Chuck woozily, "Look who I found."

The woman called El looked at the other man, still sprawled on the ground. "Bryce Larkin?" She turned Chuck around and pushed. "You, go."

Chuck ambled away as El turned her wrath on the man at her feet. Anna and Rye walked away from the scene as well. Bryce smiled at El. "Hi?"

"Looking for more victims, Bryce? More lives to destroy?" snapped El. She pointed. "The Atlantic is that way. Keep walking until you find it." She walked away, looking for Chuck. For such a tall man he got lost in crowds so easily.


The guy dressed in an airport service tech's uniform, standing atop a ladder with an excellent view, moved his tool box so the camera inside could track his target. "Now that's what I call a handoff."

A tall man in a trenchcoat pulled out his phone and snapped. "Cut the chatter, Gruber." All around him, the members of his team were taking pictures with every device they had.

"Just admiring his technique, Decker," said Gruber. "He really made it look like he fell on his head."

"Just get down here, he's moving into a new hub," said Decker, continuing to snap. "Tommy, take over video while Rafe repositions. Everyone, keep up."


Chuck wasn't paying any attention to the crowd as he stumbled through it, touching the top of head gingerly, front and back. Spotting a small pharmacy, he went over and bought an overpriced travel pack of pain-killer.

The plastic overwrap resisted his fingers, his teeth, and a pen, but finally yielded to a small screwdriver he kept in his pocket.

The child-proof cap also seemed to be Chuck-proof. He tried to twist it off, like a gentleman. Failing that, he turned, and applied more force, like a gorilla. Failing that, he turned again, and applied yet more force, like a deranged and unfortunately crippled lunatic. He gripped it in his hand, pressed between his knees, his entire body hunched over as the woman called El walked past, looking for someone taller.

Finally, he ripped the damn cap off with a mighty twist, the little blob of cotton coming with it, letting the little pellets scatter all over the floor. He dropped to his knees, trying to pick the little buggers up as pedestrians were kicking them and crushing them all around him.


"He's brilliant," said Laszlo.

"Maybe you'd like to get his autograph, Mahnovski? How about you keep your distance while he's checking six. Sasha, keep at it."

"Oh, I am," said Sasha, focusing her attention, and her camera, on Chuck's backside as he scrambled around.


Chuck crawled on his hands and knees, gathering his pills, when suddenly he saw a most incredible sight. A pair of bright yellow chucks, with a pair of fine ankles sticking out of them. Above the ankles, a well-shaped pair of legs and he was quickly moving into forbidden territory with his observations.

He stopped at her knees and looked straight up, and there she was, looking down, a beautiful blonde in a yellow dress. He shot to his feet, standing chuck to chuck, towering over her with those sneakers on. Even so he wasn't that much taller than her. For a second he just stared into those blue, blue eyes and garbled nonsensically, but then he clenched his fists and tried again. "Hi. Love your shoes."


A/N2 How's that for a meet-cute?