Chuck vs. the Seventh Day, Chapter 5
CAST (in order of appearance):
Bryce Larkin - Matt Bomer
Dr. Samuel Tyler, DCI - John Simm
Lt. Comm. Rachel Harrison - Zoe Saldana
Corporal Rockport - Ben McKenzie
Commodore Forrest Saxon - Gabriel Byrne
Captain Jack Drexler - Jamie McShane
General Diane Beckman - Bonita Fredericy
Lt. Colonel John Casey - Adam Baldwin
February 15th, 2012
1:30 AM, Pacific Standard Time
Running. Always running.
It seemed like Bryce Larkin had spent the last four and a half years of his life running, always running. Even now, as the Dassault Falcon 7X business jet winged its way westbound, he was running away from the rising sun.
Bryce thought for a moment about the missions that this very aircraft had carried him on. The glossy black Falcon had been purchased by the CIA two years before the FAA had even certified its type. Its first mission had been the combination disaster and success that was the mission to remove a corrupt Brazilian government.
That had been followed with a trip to London which, Bryce later found out, was a cover for the assassination of Alexander Litvinenko. It had been used again a few months later for the mission to Belfast to prevent the assassination of Martin McGuinness. And it had been used for one final trip, when Bryce was thought to be dead, and Sarah Walker had flown from Langley Air Force Base to Bob Hope International Airport in Burbank to "retrieve" the Intersect.
Since then, the Falcon had been pressed into service on other missions, but it had somehow found its way back to Bryce for this one – and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.
Bryce had been in Seattle when he got the call from Director Tyler – "Drop everything you're doing and report to Boeing Field by 11:00 PM," he'd been told. And so Bryce had, arriving just in time to watch this wraith from his past land.
He had been quickly briefed on his mission by Director Tyler, who had come with the Falcon but was flying back to Washington commercially. "You'll stop to refuel on Guam," Tyler had said, "and continue on from there to Diego Garcia. On Diego Garcia, you'll be met by a US Navy C-2 Greyhound, which will take you to the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower.
"Onboard the Eisenhower, you will speak with Commodore Forrest Saxon. He's the commanding officer of CTF-77, but we believe him to be a Fulcrum agent. If that is the case, you are to eliminate him. However, Charles Bartowski –"
"Chuck?" Bryce asked in surprise. "Chuck's involved with this?"
"Long story, which I don't have time for," Tyler snapped. "Bartowski has put forth a theory that Saxon wanted out of Fulcrum, and so he ended up being posted as far from Washington as they could put him. If that's the case, I need you to get as much information about the senior officers of Fulcrum as you can out of Saxon."
And so, as the Falcon approached the tiny British territory of Diego Garcia, in the middle of the Indian Ocean, the first tendrils of pink were appearing on the eastern horizon behind Bryce – the dawn of a new day.
As the Falcon touched down on the airstrip, Bryce looked out the windows, and briefly considered how much of a contrast the Falcon must be – a jet black aircraft in the midst of all these slate gray US aircraft and bluish-gray British aircraft. He smiled at the utter irrelevancy of his thought.
The Falcon taxied up next to a small, twin-propeller aircraft that looked like it had been designed to take a beating. A C-2 Greyhound, based on the same body that the E-2 Hawkeye airborne warning aircraft used – both, in turn, designed for use on aircraft carriers.
"Bryce Larkin?" he was asked by a woman in a flight suit as he approached.
"That's me," he replied.
"I'm Lieutenant Commander Rachel Harrison, Fleet Logistics Support Squadron 40," she introduced herself. "I'm your pilot today."
She got Bryce into the aircraft, and helped him strap into the jumpseat behind the co-pilot's seat. She then handed him a helmet and a headset, which he donned quickly. "Can you hear me, Mr. Larkin?" she asked.
"Loud and clear," he replied. "And please, call me Bryce," he added, letting a little bit of flirtatiousness slip into his voice.
She laughed. "Alright, Bryce. I don't know if you've ever experienced a flight in a carrier onboard delivery aircraft before –"
"First time!"
"- then you might want to hold on to your ass, Bryce," she said cheekily.
Bryce laughed as well. Commander Harrison was pretty good looking – he didn't mind flirting with her, not one bit. Especially since he had all but lived the life of a monk since his "death and resurrection" four years prior.
He snorted at the irony of that. Jesus Christ he certainly was not, but boy had he paid for his decision to take on Fulcrum.
The C-2A Greyhound seemed like it had to struggle to get off the runway, and then it felt like it was going to stall the entire time it was climbing. Bryce expressed concern, but Commander Harrison assured him that it was perfectly normal flight performance for the Greyhound.
"I'd hate to see abnormal performance," he muttered.
Twenty minutes after taking off from Diego Garcia, the Greyhound began to descend again. "Okay, Bryce, this is where it gets fun!" he heard Commander Harrison say over his headset.
"Oh, joy."
The Greyhound descended at a far steeper angle than Bryce was used to, and when it hit the deck of the Eisenhower, it felt for all the world like the plane had crashed. He heard the turboprop engines throttle up to full power – and then he felt like his eyeballs were going to be ejected from his skull, as the Greyhound's tailhook caught the number three cable, jerking it to a stop.
"Welcome to the Eisenhower, Bryce," Commander Harrison said, more than a little humor in her voice.
"Is it always that rough?" he asked her, removing the helmet and headset.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'll have you know, that was one of my better landings – right on the ball all the way in, and a number three cable snag – pretty much a textbook perfect landing."
Bryce shook his head. "I'd hate to see a bad one, then."
As they disembarked from the Greyhound, two Marine Corps lance corporals were standing on the deck. They saluted Commander Harrison, and then one of them – his nametag said "Rockport" – turned to Bryce. "Mr. Larkin?"
"That's correct."
"We're to escort you to Commodore Saxon."
"Lead the way, Corporal Rockport."
Bryce was led through a rabbit warren of steel corridors, ladders, and pipes, a Marine before and a Marine behind, until he was thoroughly lost. Finally, Corporal Rockport stopped in front of a door that said, "Commander, Combined Task Force 77". Rockport knocked on the door.
"Come," he heard from within.
Rockport opened the door, allowed Bryce to enter the office, and then closed it again.
When Bryce stepped into Commodore Saxon's office, he was astonished. The office was huge, and it was opulent – at least half again as big as Director Tyler's office, and furnished like a New York penthouse. It was certainly not what he had expected to see onboard a Nimitz class aircraft carrier.
"Bryce Larkin," Commodore Saxon said. "Agent Bryce Larkin, if I'm correct?"
"Yes, sir," Bryce replied.
"I'm Forrest Saxon," the commodore replied. "I was alerted that you were coming by General Beckman."
"Then, Commodore Saxon, perhaps you have some idea of why I'm here."
Saxon gave him a look. "Coffee?"
"Yes, thank you, sir," Bryce replied.
"Cream, sugar?"
"Uh, no thank you on both."
Saxon crossed to a silver coffee service set on the side of the office, poured Bryce a cup, and handed it to him. Then he walked behind his desk, pulled out his chair, and sat. He indicated with his hand that Bryce should do the same, on the opposite side.
Saxon looked across the desk at Bryce. "In January of 1999, I was the executive officer of Carrier Air Wing Eight," he began. "I had been tapped for command of the wing when the commander retired.
"On January 18th, I was at the Pentagon, and I was approached by the commander of Combined Task Force 88, Rear Admiral Frederick C. McConnell. You know that name?"
"Of course," Bryce said quietly. "He's the Chief of Staff of the United States Navy."
"Yes, he is," Saxon replied. "He also recruited me into the organization known as Fulcrum."
Bryce's eyes widened. "The Chief of Staff of the US Navy is part of Fulcrum?"
Saxon laughed bitterly. "Oh, Agent Larkin, that's just the tip of the iceberg. I can tell you seven other very powerful men and women who are part of Fulcrum."
"Why exactly would you want to do that, Commodore Saxon?" Bryce asked, more than a little puzzled.
"Have you ever heard of something called ECOMCON, Agent Larkin?"
Bryce shook his head. "ECOMCON is the abbreviation for the Emergency Communications Control protocol. It was proposed in 1998 as a method of taking control of all communications networks throughout the US – landlines, cell phones, radio, Internet. However, the actual purpose of ECOMCON was far more sinister – it was to be used as a distraction while the military removed the President from power."
Bryce's eyes widened. "An op-order was written for it in 2008," Saxon continued. "I wrote that op-order, and now, Fulcrum has decided to execute it. They are very unhappy with the nuclear disarmament treaty, and have decided that it's time for the President to be removed from power."
Bryce's jaw dropped. He was sure he looked like an idiot, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"The plan to use ECOMCON was proposed after the President came up with the disarmament treaty," Saxon said. "Despite the fact that I wrote the op-order, I objected vehemently. The President is a patriot. He's a war hero, he was a naval aviator. The thought of removing this President from power using this plan is utterly abhorrent to me."
Bryce just shook his head. "This… this is unbelievable."
"It's why I was assigned to CTF-77," Saxon replied. "I had been working in the Pentagon. I was on my way up, probably destined for great things in naval aviation, but when I voiced my objections to the plan, that was it. Even though I didn't technically change in rank – I'm still a one-star flag officer – commodores have always been considered lower than rear admirals, which is what I was. In fact, I'm the first 'commodore' the US Navy has had in quite a while."
Bryce took a deep breath. "Wow."
"So, you want to know the rest of the high muckety-mucks Fulcrum's got?"
Bryce reached into his jacket, withdrawing his Sony Vaio UX. "Go ahead," he said, pulling out the stylus.
"Alright," Saxon replied, taking a deep breath. "General Melvin Powers, Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The plan is to install him as President once the President is removed from office."
Bryce was scribbling furiously with the stylus. "Okay?"
"General Robert Kellerman, Commandant of the United States Marine Corps. Admiral McConnell, like I said. Linda Foster, Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security. Marianne O'Hare, Secretary of Defense."
Bryce looked up at Saxon. "That's three of the Joint Chiefs, and the two cabinet secretaries most closely connected to the military."
He frowned. "What about General Stanfield?" General Leland Stanfield, after his tenure as the C-in-C of NATO, had become the Chief of Staff of the US Army.
Saxon shook his head. "Leland Stanfield has absolutely nothing to do with Fulcrum or ECOMCON," he replied. "He's going to be one of the first people relieved of duty when Powers takes over."
"I take it you don't approve?"
"No, I don't," Saxon said bitterly. "Leland Stanfield has served his country for forty years. His task as NATO C-in-C was not an enviable one, having to oversee operations in Afghanistan and Iraq."
Bryce nodded. "You said there were seven besides Admiral McConnell? So who are the other three?"
"Ian Noble, Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court. Lou DeBlasio, junior senator from the state of Utah, ranking minority member on the Armed Services Committee. And General Diane Beckman, director of the National Security Agency."
Bryce's mouth fell open again. His hand went limp, the stylus clattering off the computer and dropping to the deck. He stared at Commodore Saxon for a moment, and finally croaked, "What?"
"She's not aware that I know," Saxon replied. "Most members of Fulcrum aren't aware that she's part of the organization. They only know her as 'Fulcrum Command'. But Admiral McConnell got rather drunk at a party and let it slip."
Bryce couldn't speak for a moment. His mouth just refused to form words. Finally, he breathed, "Jesus fucking Christ."
Saxon looked at Bryce intently. "You're not safe here, Agent Larkin. You need to get off this ship, and you need to find a different way back to the United States."
He opened a desk drawer, and withdrew two envelopes which he handed to Bryce. One of the envelopes had a wax seal on it, with the seal of the Department of the Navy engraved in it. "The sealed envelope is written documentation of the entire affair," Saxon told him. "It contains the op-order, the details of the plan, and a list of all the senior members of Fulcrum.
"The other envelope is a TDY order for Lieutenant Commander Rachel Harrison, your pilot on the C-2 Greyhound. It places her under your command until further notice. Harrison and her plane are yours to use as long as you need. Just don't get back on the plane you came to Diego Garcia in."
Bryce stood, his hands still shaking. Leaning over, he picked up his stylus, which he reattached to his computer. The computer went back in his jacket pocket, along with the two envelopes.
"Thank you, Commodore Saxon," he said, his voice quiet.
"Don't thank me," Saxon replied. "I'm a traitor, it's as simple as that. Just swear to me one thing."
"What's that?"
"That you'll stop these maniacs," Saxon said. "Stop them before they destroy the United States, because mark my words, if this happens, it will be the end of our country as we know it."
The jet black Dassault Falcon 7X lifted off from the runway at Diego Garcia two hours later. It headed east, homeward bound.
Some time after taking off, two F-14 Tomcats from the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower fell into formation behind the Falcon. Immediately, the Falcon took evasive maneuvers, diving and heading toward the southwest. The Tomcats, designed nearly forty years before by Grumman, were nonetheless still far more agile and quick than the Falcon, and they easily outmaneuvered the business jet.
As the Falcon screamed over the coast of Australia, the APG-71 radar in the nose of the lead Tomcat locked onto the Falcon. "Fox three," the weapons system officer said, pressing the launch button for one of the four AIM-54 Phoenix radar-guided missiles that hung from the Tomcat's wings.
The missile blasted off the Tomcat's wing and rapidly accelerated. It was still accelerating toward its top speed of Mach 5 when it impacted the tail section of the Falcon.
The missile's warhead exploded, viciously ripping the tail mounted engine and the vertical stabilizer from the business jet. A gout of flame exploded from the rear end of the aircraft, as it completely lost control and spiraled toward the desert below.
"Dachshund-1 to base," the pilot radioed. "Target is down. Repeat, target is down."
Onboard the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower, Captain Jack Drexler, the commander of CVW-7, acknowledged. "Copy that," he said, personally replying to the pilot of Dachshund-1.
He turned and walked to the door of the Combat Information Center. The same two Marines that had earlier escorted Bryce Larkin to see Commodore Saxon fell in behind Captain Drexler as he headed toward the Commodore's office.
Without knocking, he opened the door. "Commodore Saxon," Captain Drexler said without preamble, "you are under arrest for charges of treason and conspiracy. You are hereby relieved of duty."
Lance Corporal Rockport stepped forward and cuffed Commodore Saxon, leading him out of the office. Saxon didn't look shocked, or surprised – just resigned to his fate.
As the Marines escorted Commodore Saxon to the brig, Captain Drexler went to the communications center. Stepping inside as he had the night before, he gave the comms operator a series of instructions that would connect him to a phone somewhere in the United States.
February 15th, 2012
3:15 PM, Eastern Standard Time
The STU-8 secure phone on General Beckman's desk rang. It was a distinctive ringtone, indicating a certain type of call.
"Fulcrum Command, secure," she answered it.
"Sea One, complete," she heard, and then the line disconnected.
Beckman depressed the hook on the STU-8, and when it released, began to dial a number in the 323 area code.
February 15th, 2012
12:17 PM, Pacific Standard Time
His cell phone rang. Removing his surveillance headset, he rose and crossed the room. Picking the phone up off his desk, he answered it.
"This is Casey, secure."
"Colonel Casey, this is General Beckman. We have a serious problem."
"What's the situation, General?"
"Walker and Bartowski have gone off the reservation. You are to terminate them immediately with extreme prejudice."