A/N: Welcome back, everybody. I guess that's sort of presumptuous of me, isn't it? I mean, some of you might be here for the first time. If that's the case, just welcome. This is the start of the Stanford arc, loosely based on episode 7 from the first season of the show. Really loosely. But those of you returning know me by now, and can fully expect that we are going to wander off to God knows where before the arc is over.
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"No way. Forget it. Not happening," said Sarah vehemently.
"You know, you sound very closed off about this idea," said Chuck.
"Oh, I know, buster. I know," said Sarah.
"I think it would be funny," said Casey.
"Thank you," said Chuck in reply.
"Stay out of this, Casey," said Sarah. "Maybe I'll have you put on a skimpy metal bikini and wear it out in public."
"It's not public, it's Comicon," Chuck said, ignoring the look she threw his way. "There'll be hundreds of people in costumes there. Cosplay is huge," said Chuck.
"I understand, but I'm not interested in being a center of attention," she said.
"But you look so good in the bikini. You didn't mind at the Halloween party," he wheedled.
"That was different. That was among friends. And anyway, did you see how Awesome was dressed? Almost dressed? That certainly took the edge off of any embarrassment I might have felt."
"OK. Never mind then," he conceded.
"I still think it would be funny. I'd love to see it. You'd have to wade through nerd drool," said Casey.
"Wait, are you telling me you want to go to a comic book convention with us next summer? Cause that's what I thought I heard." asked Chuck.
"No, I didn't say that..."
They had finished breakfast in Chuck's apartment, apple and goat cheese omlettes prepared by Sarah, and Chuck and Casey were doing the dishes. Sarah had mentioned the nice picture of the two of them together in their costumes at the Halloween party. That triggered Chuck trying to talk her into wearing the metal bikini to Comicon in San Diego the following summer.
"I tell you what, Sarah" said Chuck, "For Comicon, I'll dress as slave Leia and you dress as Han Solo and we'll see how it goes. We'll get Morgan to dress as Chewie."
They had already handled the morning routine, seeing if Chuck flashed on any of the evening's traffic, read the day's newspapers and eaten breakfast. After clean-up, it was off to their cover jobs.
Sarah started to laugh at the thought. "Now that will be funny. You'd really do that? You'd wear the bikini?"
"Sure. Why not? So, it's embarrassing...so what? It's not like I have a reputation to protect. We'll just have to try to find one in my size."
Still laughing, she leaned over to kiss him. "You're such a goof..." Sarah was interrupted by a tone from the computer. A video conference was opening.
Without too much by way of preliminaries, the TV came to life to show Beckman and Graham. "Good morning, Team. We have a situation," said Beckman, with a sour look at Graham. "A CIA asset has gone missing. We've had no communication from him for two days." The CIA file appeared onscreen, showing George Fleming.
"Chuck," said Graham, "we know you're familiar with Fleming."
"No way," said Chuck a little breathlessly.
"What? Did you flash?" asked Sarah.
"No. I don't have to. That guy was my professor at Stanford. Wait...asset?...He's CIA? My professor was a spy?"
"The CIA recruits on campuses all around the country. Professor Fleming is a company scientist, not an operative," said Graham. "This is our last communication from him."
From the TV came Fleming's voice, sounding frantic. "This is Glass Castle reporting hostile contact. I made a mistake, Black Code. I copied intel for myself onto a disc. They're after it. I know I shouldn't have." There was a bang noise and the recording ended.
"Do we know what intel he copied?" asked Sarah.
"We don't," said Beckman.
"He's handled many sensitive projects for us over the years. Any leak could prove devastating," said Graham.
"How can we help?" asked Casey.
"We need you to head up to Palo Alto and try to find him and the intel he downloaded. Our Stanford CIA liaison has been alerted and has notified campus security of your arrival. They will not be an issue. Chuck, your knowledge of Fleming and Stanford may be key here. We only have his official reports. You have the personal connection."
"I do have a personal connection, a very bad personal connection. You have the files. You know all about Fleming and what happened to me. The guy kicked me out of school."
"I understand, Chuck. The guy's either an asshole or a tool. Maybe both. We got that. I'm not asking you to like him or buy him dinner. I'm asking you to help us find him," said Graham in his deep gravelly voice. "When you find him and the intel, you have my permission to punch him in the face."
"I understand, Sir. But going back to Stanford...Sir, I'd rather not...I,,"
Graham sighed heavily and leaned toward the camera, leaning in to Chuck. "Chuck, about twenty, twenty-five years ago, I was on a three man op in Beirut. The op went sideways and the rest of my team was killed. I was taken by Hezbullah and beaten for a week before the Israelis rescued me. I've been back to Beirut six times since then. I have nightmares for a week before and at least a week after each trip. I hate that fucking city, Chuck. But you know what?"
"You keep going back … because it's your job. And if you can go back to Beirut, I can go back to Stanford..." Chuck sighed. "Ok. I'll go back to Stanford." Sarah looked at him with concern and reached out to hold his hand.
"Thank you, Chuck. We know it's hard for you and we appreciate it," said Graham sincerely.
Chuck gave him a weak smile and a nod.
"It's important we find him quickly. Our intel indicates that he is being hunted. He bolted from his classroom when a man arrived. A witness from his class identified a certain Magnus Einerson. He's an Icelandic spy," said Beckman. A picture of Einerson appeared on the screen.
"Iceland does espionage?" asked Chuck.
"Einerson buys and sells intel to the highest bidder. Iceland is not officially aware of his activities," said Graham. Casey made a scoffing noise.
Sarah said, "Have we talked to anyone who might know where he's gone? Friends? Family?"
Beckman said, "We have. No one knows anything, or at least they won't tell us anything. That's a dead end."
"Any evidence Einerson caught him? That he was taken?" asked Chuck.
"No," said Graham. "Obviously, if he was taken, your job is much harder. If he's still in the wind, you stand a better chance of tracking him down. After all, he's not an operative and shouldn't be able to disappear without a trace. Not without training and resources," said Graham.
"See what you can find out at Stanford," said Beckman. "We've arranged for a CIA plane to be waiting for you at Bob Hope Airport. You can fly yourselves up. Good luck, team." The connection was cut.
Chuck let out a long sigh. Sarah squeezed his hand and said, "This one is going to be hard on you, Chuck. I'm sorry."
"Thanks. Yeah, this is going to suck. I mean...the Director is right. If he can go to Beirut, I guess I can go to Stanford...it's, well, it's gonna suck. Getting kicked out of Stanford was the worst day of my life. Between that and Jill taking up with Bryce I went into a tailspin that I didn't pull out of ...well, until you arrived, until you both arrived. But look, if we have to go there to find Fleming, let's do it, I guess." He was much more subdued than normal. He sounded sad, even. The mission was obviously weighing on him.
"I'm going to get some gear," said Casey, leaving the apartment and his partners alone. Once he was gone, Sarah wrapped Chuck in a soft hug and lightly stroked his back.
"Thanks," he said.
She kissed him gently and rubbed her hand on his cheek, looking deep into his brown eyes, "We're here for you. Casey and I both. We're here for you. I know this is going to be hard, but we'll face it together."
"I know. Thank you," he said. "I don't know what I would do without you. These past few months...well, everything has changed. You've changed everything for me. Thank you, Sarah."
Still holding him she put her head onto his chest and murmured into his neck, "Right back at ya, sweetie. Right back at ya." She kissed him again and said, "Ok?"
"Yeah. I'm ok. Let's do it."
"Ok," said Sarah. "Let's get ourselves together."
They changed out of their respective uniforms, threw some gear and clothes into bags and met Casey at the Crown Vic.
Chuck sat in the back with his computer in his lap, using a secure encrypted Internet connection, and began to run through the available databases on George Fleming. As they were doing this on the run, he was updating them on his findings as they went. He had to force himself to pay attention to his task, as he found his mind drifting back to his time at Stanford and, particularly, his last days there. Those musings were almost physically painful to him.
George Fleming was childless and a lifelong bachelor. Parents dead. One brother, an accountant in St. Louis, and one sister, a homemaker in Waco, Texas. He didn't appear to have any hobbies or interests outside of work. He had received his PhD from Fordham and had taught at Stanford for the previous seventeen years. His field was neurology and psychology. Chuck had taken his Psychology and Symbolism class.
He had worked as a CIA asset and scientist for almost twenty years beginning when he was a graduate student in New York. His work for the Agency dealt with various projects over the years, everything from interrogation techniques to psych profiles of foreign leaders to prototype work along the lines of the Intersect. It seems a certain amount of recruitment was also part and parcel of his portfolio. Chuck scanned the names of the people he had recruited for the CIA and recognized one of them from his time at Stanford.
They arrived at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank and drove through the gate to the general aviation section of the facility. The plane that had been reserved for them was a Piper PA-30 Twin Comanche, a sleek two engine aircraft that looked fast merely sitting on the tarmac. They left Sarah at the terminal office to file a flight plan, and drove directly to the plane. As Chuck and Casey began to move gear from the Crown Vic to the luggage compartment under the plane, Sarah handled the paperwork. Finishing that, she joined them in the aircraft parking area and approached the plane itself with a huge grin
Casey said to Chuck quietly, "The way she looks at that plane, you should be jealous."
"Yeah. No shit. If it could make her laugh, I'd ask you to kill it," Chuck replied.
Sarah walked once around the plane slowly, looking at it carefully. Chuck said to Casey, "She's really admiring it."
"Naw, kid. That's part of the pre-flight check any pilot does before a flight. You usually can't see it, but even every airline pilot does the same thing, even for a jumbo jet. It's all the pilot's responsibility, so you walk around once to make sure everything looks like what it's supposed to. There's nothing broken or leaking or hanging off or something."
Sarah walked up to the plane and unscrewed something on the wing. She looked inside.
"What's she doing?"
"Checking fuel. We should have full tanks," said Casey.
"Plane's don't have fuel gauges?" asked Chuck.
"Sure, they do. But the pilot always checks visually too. Running out of gas at ten thousand feet really, really sucks."
Sarah repeated the check on the other fuel tank on the other wing. Casey went around the plane, untying it from the steel loops embedded in the tarmac, leaving the ropes still connected to the ground.
Eventually, they were ready to board. There was only one door located on the right side of the frame, and they had to step on the wing in order to clamber into the plane. Chuck went in first and sat in the back, twisting his tall body sideways to give his legs a little more room. Sarah next, moving over to the left seat, the pilot's seat, in the cockpit. Casey entered last, taking the right hand co-pilot's seat, and secured the door closed. Like Sarah, Casey was a pilot, but she enjoyed it so much he let her fly the plane. All three donned headsets, enabling them to communicate with each other easily even over the noise of the engines.
Casey helped Sarah run through a checklist of items once the plane's engines were started up. Sarah spoke to ground control and began to taxi the plane toward the active runway. There wasn't too much of a wait for them to take off. Once airborne, Sarah retracted the landing gear up into the belly of the plane.
Chuck was fascinated and wanted to continue to pay attention to Sarah and Casey and the process of flying, but knew that he should be disciplined and get back to work. She was so competent and professional and super cool, he found it incredibly sexy. Back to work. His internet connection was still secure and strong and Sarah had assured him that he should have a signal on the way up, although she couldn't guaranty that it would be strong and continuous. He got back to checking on Fleming. The flight would last two hours or so and he intended to put it to good use.
He checked the man's phone records, email, medical history, bank records, credit card usage, and investment accounts. There was no activity on his cell phone, not even the ping of its location (he must have it turned off). Nothing recent on his credit cards nor any large cash withdrawls. Chuck activated the GPS on Fleming's car and located it in a Stanford parking lot. The man might not be a spy, but he knew better than to drive around town in his own car and wave to the traffic cameras. Chuck read the reports of the work he had done for the CIA. He read the academic papers Fleming had written.
There was no hint as to where he might be hiding or what he did with the downloaded intel. No evidence that he might have been taken by Einerson either.
How did he leave campus if his car was still there? Chuck accessed Fleming's Uber account and saw a ride at about the right time from the campus into the central business district of San Jose. From there he could have gone in any direction, as the Amtrak station was just a few blocks away from where he had been dropped off. Well, at least that was evidence he hadn't been immediately taken by Einerson. But still no direction as to where he was now.
He filled in his partners on his frustration and said, with a sigh, "I'm going to start on friends and family now. I've struck out on Fleming himself."
"Don't," said Sarah. "You can't look at their stuff."
"Sure, I can. I can get it up..."
"No, you can't, Chuck. They're American citizens and that would be an illegal search without a warrant."
"What?" he asked. "You mean we have to go to a judge. I mean, I've heard of this..."
"It's called the FISA court, kid," said Casey. "It's in DC. Created by the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act. It was set up in '78 to make sure we don't spy on Americans following Nixon and Watergate. It handles questions of domestic surveillance in intelligence matters. Fleming is different. He's CIA and his contract gives us the right to his info. We can't get to other people's info without a warrant."
"If we go to court, won't everyone know we want to look at them?" said Chuck
"No," said Sarah. "The FISA court is secret. No one will know."
"Will it take a long time?" asked Chuck.
"Naw, kid. They can expedite the review. It's pretty quick," said Casey.
"What's the chance we get the warrants? Will they approve it?"
"Oh, yeah. I can't remember the last time they turned one down. It's pretty much a no-brainer. Gotta do it though," said Casey.
"So, what do we do?" asked Chuck.
"When we land call Beckman and ask her to get you a FISA warrant...warrants... on the people you are interested in," said Sarah.
"Ok," said Chuck. He took a few minutes assembling the list of targets, names, addresses, phone numbers, birthdays (if he could find them).
Sarah said, "Ok, we have to put this discussion on the table for a little bit, guys. We are getting to Palo Alto and I have to deal with some folks to get us down. Palo Alto is a very busy airport."
For the next fifteen minutes she was busy talking to the Palo Alto tower and following their instructions for approach and landing. Chuck thought it was a very smooth landing. She's so awesome, he thought. Coming off the active runway she stopped and switched frequencies to ground control. Casey cancelled their flight plan, now that they had landed safely. They taxied to a designated area and parked the aircraft. Climbing out, Casey tied the plane down using the ropes waiting in the parking spot and chocked the wheels. Chuck went to get the car that had been left for them by the local CIA office, a large black SUV. By the time he had returned, Casey and Sarah had unpacked the gear and locked up the plane.
Chuck took out his phone and called Beckman. She understood immediately and, after taking down the information, promised to get the lawyers started immediately. Given the danger to Fleming, she intended to have the submission done on an emergency basis.
Searches of Fleming's house, car and office were the first order of business. They decided to go to Fleming's house first, as it was located between the airport and Stanford in the residential Palo Alto neighborhood appropriately called Professorville. Casey was very vocal in his opinion that any place with that name would be filled with nothing but ivory-tower commies. A few streets in from Embarcadero Road, they found Fleming's house.
It was one of the smallest houses on the block, appropriate for a bachelor. The green lawn was tidy and the house looked neat. They approached the house and went around to the back door. It only took a minute for Sarah to pick the lock and let them in to the house. After a cursory search to make sure that Fleming wasn't in the house (and no one hunting Fleming was in the house), they prepared themselves to begin a thorough search. But Casey stopped them. "Why don't you and Chuck head to the Stanford office and search that? You can leave me and pick me up again after you finish. There's no computer here, so Chuck's skills aren't being put to any good use. We can save time if we split up."
"Ok," said Sarah. "That makes sense. You good with that, Chuck?"
"Sure. Be safe, Case."
"You too, kid."
They left Casey in Fleming's house and began to drive to Stanford campus, just a short trip away.
Chuck had been dreading this. He was silent and wore a look like his stomach hurt. Sarah saw it and felt terrible for him. Desperately wishing with all her heart that there was some way to make his pain go away, she reached out and held his hand. His palm was sweaty, a sure sign of nerves. He gave her a wan smile and said, "I wanted to go to Stanford ever since I knew what a college was. It was the only school I was interested in. I mean, I applied to others, but I didn't care about them. I knew it was a long shot...a long shot to be admitted... it was more than that though, cause I needed a full scholarship. We didn't have any money. It's how Ellie paid for college, with a scholarship, and I knew I'd have to do the same. If not for a scholarship, I'd never have been able to afford college. I totally worked my ass off in high school, just to go to Stanford. And there it was, one day I found out I got in with the scholarship. You have no idea how happy I was. How happy Ellie was. Elated. This was it now. Like Ellie, I was going to be ok. We were going to be ok. She was going to be a doctor and I was going to be a computer guy."
Sarah had pulled the car over and parked it. She reached out and hugged Chuck as he spoke. He hugged her back, but his eyes were focused thousands of miles away, or many years ago. "We had a big party before I left. Morgan bought me a going away present. And then I got here and Stanford was everything I expected and more. The classes were great, really interesting and cool. I was learning so much. Totally cutting-edge stuff. The professors were just the smartest people I'd ever met, and so engaging and generous. I made friends. Bryce, fraternity brothers. Other nerds like me. I had a girlfriend I thought I loved. Life could not possibly get any better. I was going to graduate with a double major, electrical engineering and computer science. Maybe even with honors, if my final grades held up. Everything was going to be great."
"And then... " His voice cracked with emotion. "...and then Bryce fucked me over and everything turned to shit. I was expelled. Jill dumped me like I was radioactive and started to sleep with Bryce. That's it. I was out. It was over. Back living with my sister, who was now a doctor, and her awesome boyfriend. She had climbed out of the shithole that was her life, but me...nope, I was right back in it. Everything crumbled. All my dreams turned to nothing. All my hard work...and I had worked really, really hard... was for shit. I had no dreams left. Nothing. Why should I dream? Why should I plan? The only thing left for me to do was put one foot in front of the other. Go to work at the Buy More with Morgan. Fix computers. Bide my time until...until I don't know what. I guess I could apply for the Assistant Manager position at the store. Maybe that's my dream. I don't know."
Sarah was almost in tears as she said, "No, no, no. That was yesterday, Chuck. This is today. That's not you. Not anymore. Look at the last few months. Look at what you've done. Your first day working with us, your first day, you saved a thousand people at Union Station...and that had jack shit to do with the Intersect. That was just you. I'm telling you, sweetie, there's nothing you can't do if you want to. Nothing. You're amazing and wonderful and brilliant and just so damn good. Stanford is full of a bunch of idiots and, one day soon, they are going to regret the shit out of what they did. You'll see," Sarah said, fiercely, all while rubbing his back.
He gave her a weak smile. "Thanks, Sarah. I'm sorry to get all whiny about ...this place. It's just that it's really, really hard for me to see it. To be here and be reminded of all the happiness and then that day when it all came crashing down. I'm not a bitter person, not really, but I feel pretty bitter about this. If Stanford were a guy, I'd like to punch it in the face. Really hard. They didn't believe me. I'd never been in trouble, never had more than an overdue library book, and they didn't believe me. Dean Carroll took Bryce's word over mine." His voice cracked with emotion once again. "Sorry. I know we have work to do and here I am having a little melt down...sorry. Can you imagine what Casey would say if he saw this?" He gave a quiet bark of laughter.
"It's ok, Chuck." She rubbed his back a bit and gently kissed his cheek. "It's ok."
He took a deep breath and said, "Ok. Thanks, Sarah. Thanks. Let's do this. Let's find Fleming and get the hell out of here, ok? I'm ready."
She gave him a tender kiss on his lips and looked into his eyes with unspoken love. Seeing him nod and give her a half smile she pulled back to begin driving to Stanford again. Embacadero Road turned into Galvez Street and curved around to the left to run around the Stadium as they entered the campus.
Stanford was designed in a California Mission theme style with tan sandstone brick, red tile roofs and open archways. The campus, over eight thousand acres, was a beautiful location. With the sunshine and blue skies, it was easy for Sarah to see how people would love it. It was so open and spread out with green grass and groves of trees. So different from where she had gone to school.
Chuck directed her through the campus to the parking lot where Fleming had left his car when he fled Einerson. After cruising the lot for a few minutes, they spotted his car.
Finding an open parking spot, Sarah parked the SUV. She said, touching her watch, "Casey, we're at the parking lot and going to check Fleming's car. How's it going there?"
"Making progress, but haven't found anything yet. In addition to everything else, there're a million books here to look through so I'll be here all day. Don't worry about me."
"Roger that," said Sarah.
"Why does he have to look at all Fleming's books?" asked Chuck.
"If you wanted to hide papers, what better place than in a book? He'll have to shake out the pages of each book and, for the hardcovers anyway, check the gap between the cover and the bound pages along the spine. It takes a while."
"Ah," said Chuck.
They approached Fleming's car, a blue Chevy Tahoe. Sarah motioned for Chuck to stop. She walked around the car studying it the way she had studied the aircraft before they flew up to Palo Alto. "What are you looking for?"
She said, "Just trying to see if anyone was messing with it. Anything that looks wrong." She bent down and lay on her back on the ground next to the car. Scooting over, she looked under the car and into the engine compartment.
"Looking for anything out of the ordinary?" asked Chuck.
"Yeah. Or a bomb," she replied.
"Oh, Jeez," he said.
"Looks clear to me," she said.
Sarah stood up and took a small device out of her pocket and touched the lock on the driver's side door. The door unlocked. "Well, that's cool." said Chuck.
"They don't give these out to just anyone, you know," said Sarah with a smile.
She opened all the doors and she and Chuck began to search the car. The glove compartment had the usual registration and insurance paperwork, a paper map of the entire Bay Area, a flashlight with dead batteries, a tire pressure gauge and a half full box of TicTacs. They checked the door compartments, under the seats, under the floor mats, above the sun visors. Between the seats they found an empty water bottle. The back compartment contained a lug wrench, a tennis racket, a pair of old sneakers and an empty plastic bag from a nearby supermarket. Nothing to help them find Fleming or the intel.
"Ok. No joy here. Let's head to his office," Sarah said, locking up the car.
"Right. It's a bit of a hike, but it's through..."
A big, jovial voice behind them said, "Wow, my lucky day. Agent Sarah Walker. The star of the CIA. And you must be Carmicheal. Hey, guys."
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A/N2: Thanks for everyone following along. Please review or PM me or something. Love to hear from you all.