A/N For the benefit of those who don't know, there's a Facebook group for Chuck Fanfiction, and we'd love to have some new members.
Date night continues.
"It is so awesome that you're my wife."
"Can't abandon my partner."
"Martini."
"New game, new rules."
Late in the evening, California time, which was even later everywhere else...
Orion did a search on the name 'Roni Eimacher', his life, his work. Most of it several years in the past. More recent was an obituary, which described a tragic death in a mugging gone wrong.
Orion recognized a Witness Protection cover story when he read one. What had he been working on, so long ago?
Late at night, in a shielded room in A's completely ordinary suburban home...
"So you're telling me that the earliest point in Sarah Walker's timeline is when she was 10 years old?"
"Approximately," said the tech with his usual annoyingly precise imprecision. The only thing he was certain of was that he wasn't certain of anything. "Yes, sir. She came to Graham's attention due to her father's activities."
"The CIA becoming interested in a con man?" He'd heard of stranger connections.
"Money isn't a purely American concept, sir. A family of wealthy foreign nationals partnered his daughter with their own as part of some sort of co-operative language program. She excelled, by all reports. After some unfortunate and completely unexpected financial reversals, the family had to return to their home country. The lessons continued-"
"Why?" Once the con was done they should have simply moved on.
"No idea," said the tech with utter lack of interest. "Perhaps the two girls were simply friends. Whatever the reason, they engaged for a short time in what appeared to be a regular series of what could be taken to be coded messages. The CIA became most interested when a shallow dive into an ordinary young American girl's past indicated that she didn't have one."
So late it was early in the morning, Russia time...
The phone buzzed, a very low sound, felt rather than heard by the person waiting patiently in the shadows. Zondra was practically vibrating herself, excited to be on a real mission, and what a mission, after what felt like centuries in spy-purgatory. She checked her phone, looking for and finding a message from her handler. Look for anything made of glass, small, round, probably opaque.
Without sending an acknowledgment she did as directed, smoothly opening and closing drawers and cabinets in search of anything that might fit the description. On a shelf she found a tripod holding a glass sphere, somewhat larger than a fist. Not opaque. She took a picture and transmitted it while looking for others.
California time for real now...
"That was dirty pool, Gertrude." For the purposes of the game, normal rank and title protocols had been suspended.
"The treachery protocol was your idea, Blue Five."
"I know," said Morgan, running his hands through his hair in annoyance. "That's why it's dirty. We were already down one against you because of Ellie and Awesome-"
"And now you're down three. If it makes you feel any better, Grimes, it took an awful lot of sacrifice on my part to get Alex to turn her coat-"
"I would hope so." Whatever it was he hoped Alex charged her a lot of it.
"And it's not like I can use her against you anymore anyway, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Your civilian players are comfortable, and I'd like to keep them that way, but you're welcome to try and get them back if you like."
Morgan was already running through her likely options. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replied angrily.
"Oh, I would," she said with obnoxious cheer. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it."
Morgan growled as he killed the connection.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Grimes?" said Casey. He was just an observer, no active role, but snarky comments were a sort of a gray area. "You can't let her get to you like that. It's not like she's ripping their fingernails out."
"Darn."
Devon looked over from his comfy chair. "What's up, El? I mean, Curls."
"I broke a nail."
"You did jump and roll out of a moving car, babe."
"I know, Blond." She went to the door. "Excuse me," she asked the person outside, "Can you get me a nail file?" She waved her hand with the broken nail at the woman with the red armband. "Oh, and maybe a bottle of San Giovese? That's our wedding wine."
The woman on guard smiled back and spoke into her headset as Ellie ducked back into the room.
Elsewhere, secure phone calls and all that...
"She had no documentation?" A's voice indicated his opinion of such an idea. You couldn't sneeze without forms filed in triplicate.
"Plenty of it," said the tech. "Most of it fake, and the fake obscured the real to the point that no one knows Agent Walker's real name, or how old she really is. Possibly not even Agent Walker herself. Her father quite literally destroyed her life."
A spared that unknown father a moment's congratulations for his achievement, but his mind was focused on more important matters. "So no one knows. Except her mother." The only one who had to have been there at the time.
"Yes, sir. Presumably she knows." The tech couldn't resist. "If she's still alive."
"Can Jubilee can find her?"
"Perhaps. The issue would be in the data. Her father erased her, who's to say he did not erase himself just as well?"
He didn't erase her. He hid a tree in a forest. "Find out."
VI HQ (not to be confused with VC HQ)...
The room had quite a few round glass objects scattered about, and Zondra dutifully uploaded them all, without response. With the more obvious objects out of the way, the time had come to examine the less obvious places, such as the various items on the desk itself. She tried to lift a statue of a horse, but it wouldn't come off the desk. It didn't turn, didn't move at all.
She got out a small light and used it to examine the suddenly-very-interesting object. A horse, rather ornate, a very 'busy' piece of-wait.
Zondra moved her fingers back, to a depression she had felt in the base of the statue, not at all obvious. Dowsing the light, she took out a device normally used to measure the interior of locks for the fabrication of keys. The screen rendered the shape of the unusual lock in great detail, but had no functionality to make a key of this sort, a small irregular shape.
A familiar shape, with a stylized 'V'. The Volkoff crest, most likely. Where had she seen that shape before, so small?
She turned and swept the room with her sharp gaze. There. The easel. The easel held a painting and the painting held a locket and the locket held a stylized 'V'. She lifted the locket off the easel and took it to the statue, pressing the face into the small hole. She heard a small click and this time the horse twisted freely.
The top of the desk slid aside, and a tall device rose up, a circular cup, three arms, atop a simple pedestal. Zondra captured several images and uploaded them, before dropping to her knees to examine the underside of the desk, to see where such a device would have been stored underneath without hitting Volkoff's legs or otherwise being immediately obvious.
VC HQ (see, I told you)...
Gertude Verbanski acknowledged the request from the guard. "Yeah. Fine." These damned civvies were supposed to be a distraction for Grimes, not her. "Hard to see how much harm they could do with a nail file. No, make it an emery board. Give them the wine. Let them have all they want, keep themselves out of trouble."
Morgan gathered his team together, the ones not on perimeter duty. "Gentlemen-and lady-I have a suicide mission."
Everyone raised their hands. Casey, leaning against the door jamb, looked impressed.
"No," said Morgan, pleased on the inside. "I mean, I have a suicide mission." The hands dropped. "The boss played her 'traitor' card on Alex and now our civilian players have been captured, but they probably don't know it."
"Aw man," said Four. "How the hell did she turn your girl?"
"Probably used the blackmail card, and the promises kept card, and maybe a few others. Alex wouldn't have gone easy. The point is, I have to go in there to get them back. I'm the only one they'll recognize, and trust over Alex."
"Miss Verbanski has to know that too," said Red Five.
"Hence 'suicide'," said Morgan.
"What Gertrude expects is that you'll play your own traitor card," said Casey.
"No need," said Morgan with a grin. "We've got something better than a traitor." That freed up one card, something he could play where she wouldn't expect it. Not to mention keeping her constantly checking her six all the time.
"What's that?" asked Blue One.
"Gertrude," said Morgan. "She's never met Ellie." Casey smiled.
"Neither have we," said Four.
"You will," said Casey. Gertrude had half invaded herself already, and didn't even know it. Too bad she already knew what Grimes was capable of, as much as anyone could. The little gnome was just full of surprises. "Just follow the bodies."
The nice guard returned with a tray, bearing a bottle of wine, not San Giovese unfortunately, a couple of glasses, and an emery board. Agent Curls thanked her profusely, letting her set the tray down while she took the board to her abused nail. The guard even asked them if they would like to smell the cork, which got a laugh from both of them.
When the guard left, Agent Curls grabbed the bottle, poured bit into a glass, and handed it to Agent Blond. "Here, drink up. Then we're getting out of here."
Agent Blond took the glass. "Babe?" He inhaled deeply of the bouquet, and took a sip.
"If Morgan was anywhere around here, he would know not to send a pregnant woman wine."
Agent Blond spat out the liquid in his mouth. "Ergo, Morgan's not around here. The guard's right outside. What do we do about her?"
Agent Curls corked the bottle and picked it up, and went to stand by the door. She pointed at a pail by the table. "Take that bucket. Ask for some ice."
"You're not gonna hit her, are you?"
"Of course not, Devon, it's a game."
"Oh. Okay." He nodded, and picked up the pail, standing a few feet away from the door. "Miss, can we get some ice?"
The door opened and the guard came in. "Sure, doc-"
Agent Curls touched the guard on the back of the head with her bottle. "Gotcha."
The guard stopped, looking a little dejected. "You're supposed to say 'bang, you're dead'."
"We're doctors," said Agent Curls, lowering the bottle. "We take oaths not to do that sort of thing. How about 'bong, you're unconscious'?"
The guard shrugged. "Works for me. Um, how long am I out for?"
"Just a minute or two," said the neurologist. "Any longer than indicates brain damage, and we-"
"Take oaths about that sort of thing," finished the guard. She checked her watch. "Fine, you've escaped. I'll just wait here until I wake up again."
"Want some wine?" asked Agent Blond.
"Thanks, but I'm on duty." The guard picked up the board and started doing her nails as Agents Curls and Blond fled the room. "Good luck."
You know where, in Moscow...
The phone buzzed. Maximum size 3.5 cm. Slightly smaller than the bowl.
If any of the images Zondra had transmitted were the right size the message would have included them, so clearly the object they sought she had not yet found. The mystery of the desk would have to wait, so she pulled their head out from underneath, scanning the room again from a kneeling position. With her head tilted back to see past the pedestal, she noticed some staining on the far wall, and some discolorations in the ceiling.
She thought about their mission briefing documents. Something about the office ceiling. Blood. Brain matter. A tall bodyguard shot in-
His glass eye.
A/N2 I hope you'll tell me what you think because this is really hard and it's nice to hear.