A/N: Hey, if you own Chuck wake up to all the cool stuff happening here on this site. Awake? Good.
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Casey stepped out of the shower to the sound of his ringing phone. Glancing at the screen he answered saying "Casey, secure." He was glad his phone didn't have a video mode activated.
"Beckman, secure. Morning, Major. Where's Chuck?"
"We're just back from PT. All three of us. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I tried his phone, then Agent Walker's phone and neither one of them picked up."
"I guess they're still in the shower."
"Oh, okay...wait...together?...you know what, never mind. I don't want to know," said Beckman, sounding exasperated.
"Welcome to my life," growled Casey, but with a wry smile.
"Tell him the warrants were approved. He has access to the information he wanted."
"Roger that. I'll let him know."
"Right. Good luck."
"Thanks, General."
Moments later, Casey was crossing the common living room wrapped in a towel when the door to the other bedroom opened and Sarah came out in a bathrobe with wet hair.
"Beckman called me and Chuck. Did she get you?"
"Yeah. The FISA warrants were approved. Chuck's good to go on those other searches."
"Ok. Thanks. I'll let him know."
"Leave for San Jose in about a half hour?" asked Casey.
"Sure."
Forty minutes later they were in the SUV and heading towards the highway to San Jose. Chuck was sitting in the back seat, typing on his laptop. Driving time south to San Jose from Palo Alto can be as little as twenty minutes or, depending on traffic, as long as an hour. This trip took almost an hour of stop and go progress. Just as they were arriving, Chuck said, "Turn the car around, Casey. We're going to San Francisco."
"What'd you find, kid?"
"Fleming's brother has a credit card being used there," said Chuck.
"Maybe he's on vacation?" asked Sarah, not really believing that possibility.
"Nope. A different card is being used in St. Louis. He's not in two places at once. My guess is he gave his brother a card to use in case George wanted to drop off the grid."
'Where has it been used?" asked Casey, turning the car around.
"A cash withdrawal at an ATM in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco. Chocolates twice at Ghirardelli's store ..."
"That fits," said Casey. "Fleming has a sweet tooth. I found candy in his home. Chocolate."
"A restaurant called O'Neill's. A pizza place. A handful of other places. I plotted them all on a map. They are all near the Fisherman's Wharf area."
"How about a hotel?" asked Sarah.
"Nope. Maybe he's paying cash or hasn't checked out yet," said Chuck.
"But hotels run a card for incidentals, right?" asked Sarah.
"Yeah," said Casey, "but the fact that they run the card doesn't mean they submit any charges to the credit card company. Not until check out. He could still be there. Kid, what's the most recent charge?"
"From last night, at the Lou's Fish Shack on Jefferson. Again, near the Wharf."
"Ok. Sounds like he decided to hide out in a crowd of tourists. Not the stupidest plan. Stays in the neighborhood and ventures out for food and chocolate. Let's get up there," said Casey.
"Here's the map of the charges." He showed the screen to Sarah, who had twisted around in her seat. The map showed six flags, all at locations around Beach or Jefferson Streets. The farthest inland was in North Beach on Columbus Avenue, the cash withdrawal.
"Other than the chocolates, any place he's hit twice?" asked Sarah.
"No."
"Can you superimpose hotels on that map?" asked Sarah.
"Sure, hold on." He tapped a few keys and there were about a dozen boxes added to the map, scattered around the neighborhood.
"Damn," she said. "Casey, too many to cover statically."
"Ok, we'll have to establish a mobile surveillance in the neighborhood. Try to ID him when he comes out next."
"With maybe a static watch on the chocolate store?" asked Chuck.
"Yeah. Good idea, kid," said Casey.
Sarah studied the map some more. "If we do one of us static at Ghirardelli, we are really thin for the mobile watches. Especially in that crowd of tourists."
"Why don't we call your friend to help?" asked Casey.
"Mead," she said. "Yeah, he'd love the chance for something to do. I'll have him bring one of the other guys with him. With one of us static and four on the move we ought to cover the whole area decently."
"Do you have his number?" asked Casey.
"Yeah, he called me yesterday. I didn't save it, but it will be logged as a recent call."
As they drove up to San Francisco, Sarah got on the phone with Mead. He was enthusiastic about lending a hand and promised to bring another bored Agency spy a pair of extra eyes. They agreed to meet in two hours at the San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park near Fisherman's Wharf on the northern edge of the City, only steps from the cold blue waters of the Bay.
They got there with time to spare, got a little lunch from a street vendor and looked around the area, being sure to keep alert for Fleming. The Park held down the western edge of the area, with the white painted Maritime Museum to the far side. Running eastward from the Park were Beach and Jefferson Streets, parallel to each other. Counterintuitively, Jefferson was the one nearer the water. The whole area was less than a mile long, but it was filled with restaurants, small hotels, tee shirt and souvenir shops, and tourist attractions. In any area with sufficient room, street performers entertained the masses for the dollars thrown into their buckets. Crowds of tourists made their way slowly up and down the streets. Fleming should be hiding among them.
The Park at the west side was a relatively quiet green space in the shadow of the giant Ghirardelli sign atop the shopping mall up the hill and across the street from the Park, built on the site of the old Ghirardelli chocolate factory. Seen from blocks away, but especially prominent from the Park, the mall was a big tourist draw, as well as a draw for anyone who enjoyed chocolate, like Fleming.
Right on time, Mead arrived with another agent. The other man, named Reis, was a compact man with thinning blond hair and light eyes. His greetings were monosyllabic, but polite.
"Right," said Casey. "Carmichael will take static watch on the chocolate shop. The rest of us will be mobile. We'll do a circuit of Jefferson-Hyde-Beach-Powell using the cars. Sarah, you take ours and go clockwise. Reis, you go counterclockwise. Mead, you and I will show Fleming's picture to the staff at hotels in the area. Once that's done, unless we get a hit, we stick on Jefferson and walk a circuit. Chuck, Sarah and I have a closed loop communication system." Casey gestured to Mead and Reis. "You guys can keep in touch by cell phones. Let's all exchange numbers." They did so.
"Timing?" asked Reis.
Chuck said, "Based on the hits we've gotten, we can expect him to come out for dinner at the latest. Maybe earlier. The trick will be spotting him."
Casey said, "Intel is that the guy he's hiding from is Magnus Einerson."
Mead said, gruffly, "Icelandic guy? Uses a crossbow? What a tool."
Reis said, "Mmmmm."
"Right. Let's go," said Casey.
Chuck gestured up the hill. "Well, at least I won't go hungry. I can always get some chocolate up there."
"Keep your eyes open, kid. Remember, he might be in disguise, so you'll have to pay attention. You're the only one of us who's seen him in person before," said Casey.
"Disguise?" asked Chuck.
"Sure. A baseball cap and sunglasses combo is the easiest go-to disguise, but he could get clever and do more. Lifts in his shoes to change his height. Bulky clothes to make him look heavier. Too quick for him to have grown a beard, but he could have a fake beard. A wig. Hell, he could be wearing a dress and fake boobs."
"He's not wearing a dress. He's using a man's credit card," said Sarah.
"Fair point," said Chuck. He and Sarah exchanged quick kisses. "Be safe," he said.
"You too, Sweetie," said Sarah.
The bulk of the team began to circle the area. Every half circle, going in different directions, Sarah and Reis would pass each other with a nod. There were more people and activity on Jefferson, but more hotels on Beach. They saw Casey and Mead walking up and down Jefferson, making their way through the crowds of visitors. Mead's genial expression fit in well with the happy visitors. Casey's scowl made him look like he was only visiting Fisherman's Wharf because he'd lost a bet.
Meanwhile, Chuck sat on a bench in front of the chocolate store in the shopping mall. He was just steps away from the street along the eastern edge of the mall, named Larkin Street. The universe certainly had a messed-up sense of humor sometimes, he thought. The bench was next to the archway over the mall entrance spelling out the name Ghirardelli Square.
Chuck pulled his jacket around him. It was a beautiful day, but even in the bright sunshine it was cool, maybe mid 50's. Supposedly, Mark Twain once wrote that the coldest winter he ever saw was one summer in San Francisco. The Bay gave the City its own little micro-climate. The temperature most of the year was in the 50's and 60's whether it was February or August. It was one of the reasons many people loved San Francisco like no other city. Being a southern Cal boy, though, Chuck was slightly chilled and was glad he was able to sit in the sun.
Chuck watched a steady stream of people entering Ghirardelli through one door to his right and leaving through the one directly in front of him. The way he thought about it, where he was sitting he had two chances to see Fleming if he came by to replenish his chocolate supply. If Chuck missed the man entering the store, he would see him leaving, when Fleming would be coming straight out to him and facing him.
It had been about three and a half hours since Chuck had perched on the bench. His butt hurt, but he imagined what Casey would say if he started to complain. He was bored, though.
Touching his watch, he said, "Hey, guys. Anything new?"
"Quiet, Moron. Stay off the channel unless you have something to report."
"You know, you're really rude sometimes, Case. Thought you might want to know that I saw some Marines here just now. Looks like they were buying a bunch of chocolate."
"Could you identify the insignia on their uniforms? Tell what units they were with?"
"Guys," Sarah cut in, "seriously, knock it off. Pay attention."
"Ok," said Chuck.
"Roger that," said Casey.
It was another forty-five minutes or so before the man in a sports jacket and baseball cap left the store with a large bag of chocolates. He stopped right in front of Chuck to take off his clear round glasses and put on his sunglasses. Standing up and touching his watch to set it for continuous transmission to Casey and Sarah, Chuck said, "Afternoon, Professor."
Without any preliminaries, Fleming took off running from a standing start, darting out of the mall onto Larkin Street, heading downhill toward the open green space of the Park. Caught a little by surprise, Chuck grabbed his bag and followed. Chuck's long legs made up the distance quickly. He said, "He's on the run. Heading downhill to the Park." Then, "PROFESSOR. PROFESSOR FLEMING. HEY."
Fleming crossed Beach Street and ran into the Park, starting to angle to the right, presumably to join Jefferson Street and lose himself in the crowds of tourists. Chuck was gaining on him steadily, but worried about the crowds giving him cover. "GLASS CASTLE," Chuck yelled.
Fleming stopped suddenly and turned to look back at Chuck. "Oh," he said, a little out of breath. "Why didn't you tell me you were with the Company?"
"Kinda hard while you are running away, you know," said Chuck
"Wait a minute. I know you."
"Yeah, I'm Chuck Bartowski. You got me kicked out of school. I hope that makes me sort of memorable in your book."
"You're with the Agency now?"
"Part of 'secret agent' is the word 'secret' you know," Chuck said unsmilingly. There wasn't much humor in his voice either. Although he didn't sound hostile, anyone who knew Chuck could sense that he didn't like Fleming at all. "They get mad at me if I start yelling things like that around the Park here."
"Chuck, listen...I'm sorry about..."
Fleming staggered forward into Chuck and Chuck instinctively hugged him, holding him up. "Listen, Professor. I don't think our relationship is at the hugging stage, if you know what I mean. Come on..."
Chuck felt the man's back and found the crossbow bolt sticking out of it. "Oh, shit. Guys we got trouble here. Fleming's been shot in the back with a crossbow bolt..."
He lowered Fleming to the ground. On the way down, Fleming forced into Chuck's hand a slip of paper on which was written,
219
F5U 922
"Get this to Bryce Larkin," Fleming said, as he passed out. Chuck was kneeling next to the body of the wounded Professor.
Chuck looked up and a fierce looking man with short hair that he knew was Magnus Einerson was approaching, loading another bolt into the flight groove of his crossbow. The Icelandic spy looked serious and deadly.
As he approached, Chuck said to him, "Seriously? A crossbow? Look around, Mr. Einerson. It's not exactly a concealed weapon. You're the center of attention, dude." It was true. There were a number of people in the Park looking at Einerson, pointing, and holding up their phones to record events. "They're taking your picture. You're gonna be a YouTube star. Hey, I want to ask you," Chuck said. Einerson was right up to the kneeling Chuck now, towering over him and holding the loaded crossbow into Chuck's face. "Is your sister's last name Einersdottir? Isn't that the way Icelandic names work? You dad's first name was Einer and your son's last name will be Magnusson? Different last name than you. Cause that's what I …." Chuck's eyes shifted to the side and behind Einerson and suddenly widened. He shouted, "NO, DON'T SHOOT HIM..."
Einerson's head twisted to look that way automatically. As he did so, Chuck reached up to the crossbow and snatched the bolt from the groove, pulling it from the leaf spring holding it in place at the back end. Einerson pulled the trigger, but by that time Chuck had lifted the bolt over the top of the string and the string snapped down on empty air. As Chuck threw the bolt over his shoulder, he said to Einerson, trying to keep a tremor out of his voice, "Made ya look."
Einerson studied Chuck for a moment and snarled, "Hlandbrenndu." (An Icelandic imprecation imparting the wish that the recipient should burn from his or her own urine – not one to be uttered in front of grandma.) Then he kicked Chuck in the center of the chest, grabbed the paper with the numbers on it and ran from the Park. Moments later Casey arrived. He immediately moved to Fleming to check out the bolt in his back. Chuck took out his phone.
Casey said, "Yeah, call 911. Let's get him to a hospital."
Chuck waved him off for an instant and said into his phone, still catching his breath from the kick, "2-1-9-F-5-U-9-2-2"
Switching off his phone recorder, he used the phone to actually call emergency services and report on Fleming. Once an ambulance was on the way, he turned back to Casey who was checking on Fleming's breathing.
Sarah had arrived by this point. Chuck reached for the bolt, to pull it from Fleming's back. "No," said Casey, emptying Fleming's pockets.
"But it's in his back..." said Chuck.
"Leave it be, Chuck. With an impalement injury like this you want to leave the object in place for the surgeons to remove," said Sarah.
"It might be the only thing stopping the bleeding," said Casey. "What were those numbers you spoke into your phone?" He held up a room key for a Holiday Inn to show to his partners, then he pocketed it.
"Fleming showed me a paper with those numbers on it before he passed out. He told me to give it to Bryce. Einerson took it when he ran off."
"Bryce? Why Bryce?" asked Sarah, confused.
"If he lives, we can ask him," said Casey. "You okay? Looked like Einerson clocked you pretty good."
"Yeah, I'm ok. His heart wasn't in it." Chuck said while rubbing his chest.
Mead and Reis joined them from different directions. Mead was out of breath.
"Einerson got away. I chased him, but he had a car waiting. Hey, Carmichael, you got some serious stones, kid."
"Umm, thanks," said Chuck, a little embarrassed.
"What did you do, Chuck?" asked Sarah.
"I sort of faked him out a little," said Chuck, sheepishly.
"Damn, son," said Mead. "You can really kill a good story, you know that?" Mead started to laugh. "Einerson's got a loaded crossbow right in his face and Chuck gets him to look away. Then he reaches up and grabs the bolt from the crossbow and throws it away. Einerson is left holding an empty crossbow. It was fucking hysterical, I'm telling you."
Casey and Sarah looked at Chuck with some amused pride and, in Sarah's case, unconcealed love. Casey said, "Good job, kid," clapping him on the shoulder.
The ambulance arrived and two paramedics got out with a stretcher to attend to Fleming. After a rapid and efficient examination and discussion with Casey, Fleming was loaded into the ambulance. With a nod to Sarah and Chuck, Casey climbed into the back of the ambulance with Fleming and the crew. Sarah and Reis went to bring around the cars, leaving Chuck and Mead standing in the Park.
Mead was eating chocolate. He held out the bag, offering one to Chuck.
Chuck started to reach for one and stopped himself, "Isn't that Fleming's chocolate?"
"Yeah," said Mead. "Don't think he needs it now."
Chuck stared at him for a few moments as Mead continued to hold out the bag. After a bit Chuck said, "Thanks," reaching into the bag with a shrug.
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A/N2: "PT" is physical training in Marine Corps-speak. In other words, they went for a run.
A/N3: I added the FISA court as a mere nod to legality. It bugged me that Chuck could just whip out his laptop and access private information for anyone he wants (without even considering the as-yet-unknown Pirhana aspect of his abilities). But, having said that, what I've shown here isn't really accurate. A warrant issued by the Court would be for future surveillance, and wouldn't include the kind of past information Chuck also wanted to review. For that kind of intel the NSA or FBI, depending on the information to be sought, would issue either National Security Letters, which do not require judicial approval, or request normal judicial subpoenas for Verizon or American Express or whoever, rather than request an on-going surveillance warrant (although, of course, they could do any combination of those three things). Presenting it here more accurately, though, would mess up the timeline I had in mind for our friends' mission, so I humbly ask for both your suspension of disbelief and your indulgence.
A/N4: A crossbow? Seriously? I mean it's such a crazy detail I had to include it. But seriously, guys. (For any crossbow enthusiasts out there, sorry if I didn't treat your favorite weapon with all the respect it deserves.)
A/N5: Ask any of the other guys/gals here. It's the reviews that give us the fuel to go on. Give it a shot. Especially some of you shy people out there who have never reviewed before. Just a little nod would be great. Try it. You'd be surprised how good it feels. I try to respond to every review with a PM, but I'm going to be traveling for the next few days and it may be difficult. I will do it, though. Please be patient with me.