Scene XXXIX – CIA Facility, Interrogation Room #3

Jeremy sat in his interrogation room, a gauze pad taped to his right shoulder under his shirt sleeve. The technician headed for the door, his left hand holding the medical kit he used for the extraction and his right hand cupping the tiny transmitter. Casey and Sarah were going to examine the device for anything that might help determine its origin.

Chuck had left the interrogation room when the technician pulled out a wicked-looking device with a long needle. The last thing he heard was Cush asking several fascinated, rapid-fire questions about the removal device; however, Chuck had no real interest in anything to do with long needles. Instead, he had gone back to the main room and booted up Davis' computer. They were going to need to get on his machine to see if there was a reason Davis might be targeted.

Chuck brushed past the technician as he re-entered the room. Cush rubbed his shoulder, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. "I can't believe somebody injected a homing device under my skin." He suddenly looked puzzled. "So, why would somebody do that?"

Chuck sat down across from Cush. "Well, the server that you were trying to break into is highly classified, so we strongly suspect it's related to that."

Jeremy's face turned pale. "What?! Really?" He thought for a moment, and then frowned. "I mean, the security on that box was decent, but it wasn't exactly top-of-the-line. The firewall was brutal, but still…" His voice trailed off, his face alternating between excitement and puzzlement.

Chuck shuddered. If Cush knew how high a priority that server was for the CIA, he'd probably be taking a different attitude. "So, what do you know about the client who commissioned the work?"

Cush said, "Not much. As a matter-of-fact, I was told almost nothing about him or his company. The guy didn't want us doing any social engineering on our break-in; we were just supposed to go straight at the thing."

That certainly seemed like a good cover story; it gave the client a valid reason to tell their company little about their intended target, and would minimize the chance of discovering that the target was a CIA server. Still, it seemed like Davis had to have spent at least a little time with the client. "What about Brent? Did he meet with the client at all?"

"A couple times at the beginning. He even made a trip over to their offices once."

"Do you know where the offices are?"

"Nope. Brent went on those types of calls alone."

Dead end. Chuck wanted to keep the conversation moving, but Cush asked Chuck the one question he didn't want to answer yet.

"Wait, why aren't you asking Brent about all of this?"

Chuck looked down, gathering himself. This wasn't going to be fun.

"Cush, earlier today Davis was taken from our custody by two men in an unmarked black sedan. That's how we found out about the transmitters; he must have had one in him as well."

A change in expression made it clear that this was no longer a game to Cush. "What do you mean, 'taken'?"

"The two men captured Davis and drove off with him. In the process, they shot a CIA agent, and almost killed Agent Casey."

Cush's face lost all color. "So what are they going to do to Brent?"

"We're not sure. But we need your help if we are going to find him."

Cush's expression turned anguished. He started to speak a couple of times, but clearly wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

Chuck leaned forward as he said, "Look, I know all of this is tough to take in right now, and it's a lot to ask for you put aside your fear for Brent's safety. But you'll have to trust me when I say that the best thing you can do for Brent is to help us find these guys."

At the words, Jeremy's face became a little calmer and a little more resolved. "How can I help?"

Scene LX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room

Sarah stood behind Chuck and Jeremy as they worked on the BD Security Enterprises computers. She shook her head in amazement; the two were like peas in a pod, at least when it came to computers, and they seemed to be becoming fast friends.

After Cushman had agreed to help, the two made a list of what they would need. It wasn't much; mostly, it was what Chuck had already requested at one time or another. Both departments weren't eager to help … until they both received an angry phone call from Director Graham. Suddenly, they had everything they needed.

Both of the computers sat on a folding table over in Chuck's corner of the room, with the printer sitting between them. Cushman was scanning through his email and notes, trying to find anything that would help lead to the mysterious client. Chuck was working on Davis' computer, looking through his recent documents. There was a fair amount of business development work, but nothing to do with the current client.

Cushman pushed back his keyboard. "Chuck, I got nothing here."

Chuck said, "There aren't any files, either. Let's check his email."

Booting up Davis' email client, the software offered a password screen. Chuck started to move the mouse to access the CIA software in the CD drive again, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Do you know his password?"

Cushman thought for a moment. "Try 'ucla1995'."

Chuck obliged. Sure enough, the system accepted it.

Cushman shook his head. "That was too easy."

Sarah asked, "What, that was a guess?"

"Yep. Brent is a huge UCLA basketball fan. 1995 was the year of their last championship."

Chuck grinned. "Nice guess." Cushman slid his chair over, and the pair started scanning Davis' email inbox. The system moved slowly as the software searched for an Internet connection that wasn't there. Chuck made an annoyed noise and disabled the feature. The responsiveness of the system noticeably improved, and they resumed their scans.

Davis was the orderly type, which actually was a bit of a problem. He had organized his emails into folders largely by company name, and they had no idea what the name of the company was.

Rather than the standard Microsoft Outlook, Brent used an open source mail client that Chuck wasn't as familiar with. He asked Cush, "Do you know if there is a way to see all the mail documents in one view?"

"Not exactly, but I should be able to work around that. Let me drive."

Chuck slid his chair over, and Cushman slid in front of the computer. Working faster than Sarah could follow, he opened some other type of editor, and the two men began talking, and typing, rapidly.

"…you think Perl is better than Python for this…?"

"…back up the inbox before you…"

"…not sure that will work for that format…"

"…don't be lazy, do a merge sort…"

Sarah was immediately lost by the technical talk. Still, she enjoyed watching Chuck in his element. When he had a degree of confidence about what he was doing, he was efficient and insightful. His eyes twinkled and his smile was electric.

She fought a sudden urge to brush the stray bangs from his forehead or find some other excuse to touch him as he looked over at Cushman. Instead, she forced herself to look away, unconsciously running a hand through her own hair as she tilted her head to the side.

Within a few minutes, Davis' email client was again running, completely stripped of all folders and organized by date. Sarah leaned forward to watch over Chuck's shoulder. She was momentarily distracted by a faint whiff of his cologne and the proximity of her lips to his neck. She forced herself to focus.

Looking back through the emails, Jeremy was able to rule out a number of companies, as they were clients he had worked with in the past. He was also able to rule out a few other company names based upon conversations he had had with Davis. He deleted all those emails from the copy of the mail file they were using.

Sarah finally felt useful, suggesting that they could eliminate a number of emails based upon date. Some of oldest and some of the newest emails were culled from the inbox.

That left a small set of emails to work from. Rather than deleting at this point, the three sorted the inbox by source domain and started marking emails with colored flags based upon their likelihood. The three started getting frustrated as they got towards the end of the alphabet without seeing a likely candidate.

"What about this one? 'ThirdWay'?" Chuck asked.

Cushman frowned. "I certainly don't recognize the name. Let's see what's in the emails."

The earliest email was a perfunctory contact email, inquiring about the services that BD Security Enterprises offered. They quickly closed that one.

The second email talked more specifically about a rigorous test of the company's network defenses. Specifically, the email asked whether a hacker break into the system without knowing a thing about it, other than the external IP address.

Brent's reply assured the client, 'Ray', that his 'team' was more than capable of cracking into any system. Ray's reply suggested a meeting in November, and the remaining email chain talked about the details of the meeting, including a request for BD Security's fax number for sending directions. There were no more emails after the meeting date.

Cushman was excited. "This has to be the one. The meeting date is just about perfect, and the initial description of the project sounds just like what Brent initially talked to me about."

Sarah pointed out, "But we still don't know where these guys are. And we didn't find a fax in any of the records."

Chuck suggested, "Well, let's go see what we can find on the web."

The three hurried over to the monitoring desk, where Chuck quickly logged into the system. Pulling up a web browser, Chuck started with a Google search on ThirdWay, and found … nothing. "That's weird," he said.

Sarah said, "Not really. It would only make sense if these guys worked hard to stay off the radar."

"Fair enough."

Cushman suggested, "The email domain was ''. See if they have a web site."

Chuck tried the address. No page came up. "Maybe they took it down already?"

"Can you even ping the domain?"

Chuck pulled up a command window, and sent out a ping. The reply came back empty. "Damn. The domain is gone. There isn't even an IP address showing any more."

The group grew silent for a moment. They were clearly running out of ideas.

Chuck snapped his fingers. "Email headers!" he exclaimed.

Cushman immediately headed across the room to Davis' computer. Sarah, having no idea what he was talking about, asked, "What?"

Chuck explained, "The email header will have the originating IP address. Maybe we can use the IP address to find out who registered it. The registry records tend to lag before they get updated."

Cushman, having gone into the email client and accessed the email headers, called across the room, "Ready?"

"Hit me."

The record came up in WHOIS. Scanning down, Chuck found what he was looking for.

"We have an address. 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Los Angeles."

Sarah added, "Davis told us the place was on Grand Avenue downtown. That has to be it." She picked up her phone, and called Casey at the Buy More. "We have a target location. When can you be ready?"

Cushman came back across the room and asked excitedly, "What do we do now?"

With a slightly self-deprecating grin, Chuck said, "We wait in the car."

Scene LXI – 506 S. Grand Avenue

Chuck wasn't exactly right about the two of them waiting in the car. Cushman, despite his strong protests, stayed back at the CIA facility. They weren't about to bring a witness along on a mission, especially after the only other witness had been forcibly taken from their custody. Cushman was staying at the CIA facility, with a group of three guards securing the interrogation room just in case.

However, the agents thought Chuck might be able to flash on something they found in the office, so he was coming along. In fact, he was driving; they weren't about to struggle to find a parking spot for the Suburban downtown.

Chuck parallel-parked the Nerd Herder in front of an old 30-story office building. The façade was a gray stone that, it its prime, probably made the building look dignified. Today, the building just looked dingy and in dire need of repair. The owners clearly agreed, because a number of construction vehicles were clustered on the slate patio around the main entrance.

Sarah asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Casey shrugged. "We go in, find the office, crack a few skulls if we find any bad guys, and get home in time for Jeopardy."

"Subtle. Hopefully we'll leave a couple conscious enough for questioning?"

"Well, if we have to."

Chuck clapped his hands. "I love this plan. I'm excited to be a part of it. So, you want me to find a shady spot, keep the engine running, what?"

Sarah answered, "You're coming in."

Chuck made no effort to hide his surprise. "Really?"

Casey said, "We wouldn't be able to do a very good job protecting you from the 22nd floor, so we're taking you with us."

Chuck looked down at his customary Buy More uniform before comparing it a little jealously with Sarah and Casey's outfits. Both were wearing casual clothes that were still form-fitting enough to allow easy movement. "Wish I'd known; I could have thrown on something a little more action-friendly."

"Don't worry, Chuck. Your outfit shouldn't impede you from fulfilling your usual contributions: letting out a scream, falling to the ground in fear…"

Sarah interrupted, "Enough. Let's get going."

The three exited the car and crossed the patio to the front entrance. Two of the main doors were propped open; the high-pitched whine of a circular saw grew louder as they walked into the building.

As they entered the dust-filled lobby, Sarah's expression became painfully amused. "Oh, my God."

Casey let out a groan that made it clear what he thought.

Chuck looked around, as surprised as the others at what he saw. "Art deco – very nice."

The reason for the construction crews was immediately obvious: the interior of the building was as sorely out of date as the exterior. Retrofitted columns throughout the lobby were painted garish light colors. Odd geometric shapes were incorporated into the light fixtures and features along the wall. Maybe in the 80's the lobby could have passed for fashionable, but it was now woefully out of style.

In fairness, the basic structure of the lobby was fine. The wall that they had just passed through and the wall to their left were both all glass, allowing the afternoon sun to illuminate the entire lobby. The windows were so filthy that shadows were visible on the floor and the wall from some of the larger dirt spots, but it was nothing a little elbow grease couldn't fix.

However, to their right was a garish bar area that seemed to epitomize the style of the place. Large, deliberately nonsymmetric archways provided access to the space. A low, thick white wall with a semi-circular bevel on the top separated the bar area from the lobby. Happily, the furniture was gone; Chuck was scared to think what might have been used to complete the theme. Thankfully, the man with the saw was working on removing the arches, one light pink and one light orange, indicating that the area was going to be redone.

A wooden circular desk sat in the middle of the polished stone floor. The color theme had been carried over; the desk had been painted bright white, and four lightly colored pillars rose up from the desk. Like everything else, a layer of dust from the construction work covered each available surface. A worker wheeled a sandblaster over, preparing to peel the paint off the wood.

A bank of three elevators sat in a wooden wall to the right of the information desk. Each of the elevators was framed by a differently colored and shaped arch. Somebody had started to remove the white paint from the wood in the lower right-hand corner of the wall, revealing the original grain.

Of the most concern to the team was the fact that all three of the elevators bore "out-of-order" signs.

Casey had to yell to be heard over the noise of the construction work. "Great. Dead end."

Sarah responded, "Maybe not." She walked over to talk to the man with the circular saw; he gladly stopped his saw for a moment to talk to the pretty blonde. Sarah kept a friendly expression on her face through the brief conversation; the worker pointed across the lobby in response to one of her question. Thanking the man, she walked back to her teammates. The worker stared at her for a moment too long before returning to his saw work, the lobby filling with the high-pitched whine and dust once more.

As she approached the pair, she shouted, "The entire building is undergoing renovations right now; internal construction is supposed to take a few months. Most of the remaining tenants left or found temporary offices elsewhere before the New Year. However, a few tenants kept their things in their offices upstairs."

She continued, "Unfortunately, the elevators are currently being worked on, which means taking the stairs." She pointed in the same direction the worker had pointed.

Casey sardonically responded, "Nice." He made one last check, mostly mental, of the gear he had brought.

Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them. "You're kidding, right? Climb 22 flights of stairs? You picked this mission for me not to wait in the car?"

Casey and Sarah turned and began walking towards the stairs. Casey called, "C'mon, Bartowski. Those scrawny legs could use a workout. Last time I saw legs like that, there was a message attached."

Chuck's expression was more surprised than insulted. He replied, "Seriously, just how old is that joke? I thought you were 'cold school', not 'old school'." Reluctantly, he followed the agents towards the stairwell.

Scene LXII - 506 S. Grand Avenue, Stairwell

Sarah knelt down at the base of a set of stairs, pointing her gun up the incline with both hands. She gave a curt nod, her eyes never wavering.

Casey slid around behind her, pointing his gun up the stairs over Sarah's head. Confirming the stairwell was clear, he slipped past Sarah and took the steps in pairs, climbing just high enough to give him a good view through the triangle created by the next flight of stairs and the roof above the current flight. Scanning the stairs and listening intently for a moment, he gave a curt nod.

Sarah passed behind Casey, climbing to the top and assuming a kneeling position as she pointed her gun up the next set of stairs. She gave another curt nod.

Casey glanced back down the stairs before proceeding. "Where the hell is Chuck?" Casey demanded irritably, fighting to keep his voice down.

A flight down, a winded Chuck pulled himself up the stairs as quickly as he could. After a moment, he turned the corner.

Spotting Casey and Sarah in their defensive positions, Chuck hunched over, clutching the railing for support, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Casey hissed, "C'mon, Bartowski, it's not like we're climbing Everest here."

Chest heaving, Chuck looked around the walls for something to indicate the floor they were on. Beyond where Sarah crouched, there was an exit to the stairwell; to the left of the door was a lighter colored square where a marker usually indicated the floor. It must have been taken down for the construction work.

The brief respite did Chuck some good. He was finally able to whisper, "What floor are we on?"

"Somewhere in the teens."

"Alright, when we get to twenty, tell me: I'm gonna throw up."

Casey rolled his eyes, and began his sweep around Sarah.

Scene LXIII – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Stairwell

By Casey's count, they had hit the 22nd floor. He pointed to the door; Walker nodded, concurring.

Still, they had to wait on Bartowski. By the sound of it, he was still two floors below. Walker took the opportunity to put her ear to the door, listening for any sound. Meanwhile, Casey scouted an extra flight to ensure nobody was lurking above.

By the time Bartowski arrived, Casey had returned and Walker had been listening at the door for a full minute; she shook her head to indicate she had heard nothing.

Casey was also shaking his head, but for a very different reason. "You all right?" he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn't concerned.

In between breaths, Bartowski managed to say, "I feel like the floor of a taxi cab."

Walker silenced both of them with a look.

When she was convinced the two of them were going to stay quiet, she started giving hand signals to Casey. As usual, Walker was all business during a mission.

That was a big part of why she was still on this assignment. Casey had enough to report, and enough evidence, that he could probably get her re-assigned if it suited him. Her margarita-driven escapade the other night was enough to ensure that. But he had to admit, despite the little sideshow with Chuck, that he had trouble imagining a better partner.

Especially since the sideshow could eventually provide him with a convenient exit strategy when the time came.

Besides, he hadn't forgotten that Sarah had saved his life earlier that day. He wasn't so cold-hearted that that didn't count for anything. He almost regretted what it would do to her once the order came. Almost.

Walker double-checked that her piece was locked and loaded; Casey did the same.

Bartowski got his typical confused expression when Walker signaled for him to move to the corner. Her expression became annoyed; she pointed at Bartowski, and then pointed to the corner. He finally got the message, and with an apologetic look quickly slid to the corner.

Idiot.

Walker crouched down on the left side of the doorway and counted down from five on her left hand, her right hand pointing her gun where the door would open. She stopped counting at two to use her hand to steady her aim.

When the count reached zero, Casey yanked open the door as quietly and quickly as he could, and visually scanned the area opposite the door. His line-of-sight was clear.

Sarah nodded; her line-of-sight was clear as well.

The stairwell door led into an open area; on the opposite wall was the three useless elevators. On either end of the open area, double glass doors led into suites. Hallways spun off down the sides of those suites, and he assumed, the sides of the suites they currently couldn't see.

It was a difficult situation. There were six different defensive positions: the four halls and the two suites. After all, the glass wasn't going to stop bullets.

Casey thought quickly. Since the door had made little noise when he opened it, it was unlikely anyone listening around either corner would have heard them. So, they should focus on the opposite hallways and the suites. He tapped Walker on the foot with his; she pulled back into the stairwell for cover and looked up. A series of hand signals conveyed what he was thinking.

Sarah nodded, an intense expression on her face. She clearly loved this stuff as much as he did. Another reason she made a great partner.

Casey indicated that Bartowski should stay put; he gave a nervous, and slightly grateful, nod.

This time, Casey counted down from five on his left hand. Reaching two, he set up his grip on his gun. On zero, the two leapt into action.

Casey went first, nimbly side-stepping into the foyer. He sighted the opposite hall, then the suite, then the previously unseen hallway. Nothing.

As soon as Casey cleared the doorway, Walker followed suit, covering the opposite side of the foyer. Opposite hall, suite, unseen hallway. Nothing.

Casey risked a quick scan of the ceiling and wall area. There was no evidence of cameras. He scanned Suite 2206 through the doors. It was dark, and looked empty.

"Walker, you clear?"

"Yep."

"OK, let's check the suite."

Casey acted as lookout while Sarah ducked her head into the stairwell. Bartowski followed her out, doing a ridiculous walk on his tip-toes. Apparently Walker had told him to stay quiet. His glance told Bartowski exactly what he was thinking.

Idiot.

Walking to the suite entrance, Casey tested the left door. It swung open easily. Either somebody was inside, or this place had already been abandoned. They had suspected the latter, which is why they felt it was OK to bring Bartowski along. Still, they had hoped they would find something, or someone, at the office.

Casey pulled the door open. Bartowski finally did something useful, holding the door so the two agents could slide into the front space without distraction.

The suite had an open welcome area with a high receptionist's desk in the middle of the room and two simple chairs along either wall. Beyond the receptionist's desk was a narrow space with some filing cabinets along both side walls. The cabinet drawers sat open … and empty.

Halls spilled off to both sides of the entrance. The agents stood back-to-back, with Walker staring down the right hallway and Casey staring down the left. The pair stood silent for nearly two minutes, listening for any indication that somebody else was in the suite. They heard only silence.

"Listen!" Bartowski exclaimed. "Do you smell something?"

Walker nodded, noticing the unmistakable acrid stench in the air. "Bleach. This place has been cleaned out already."

Casey holstered his weapon; Walker followed suit. "Looks like we're too late," he suggested.

Walker motioned Bartowski into the suite. "Well, maybe they missed something. I think we'd better split up."

Nodding, Casey said, "Yeah, we can do more damage that way. Go check out the offices down your hall. Bartowski and I will check the offices on the other side."

The group split, flipping the light switches in their respective hallways.

Casey and Bartowski walked down the left hallway, pausing at the first office door, which stood open. Some basic office furniture remained: a black-cushioned office chair, a desk, a hutch and a low filing cabinet. All the furniture except the chair was obviously from the same set, with a boring dark stain on each piece's cheap wood veneer. The drawers all sat open.

"Check those," Casey tersely ordered Bartowski. He entered the room without comment, and began searching for anything.

Casey proceeded to the next office, which looked almost identical to the first, down to the open drawers. Nothing. Damn.

Bartowski showed up at the office door about the time Casey finished his search. Bartowski's expression and empty hands answered his unvoiced question. Wordlessly, he slipped ahead of Bartowski down the hall.

The two finished searching the last four offices in pairs. All of them had the same furniture. All were completely cleaned out. The two headed back to the central area, and started searching the receptionist's area.

On the other side of the suite, Sarah had already searched a conference room and three offices. The hallway turned to the right after the just-searched corner office, and she saw four more doors down this hallway. They were running out of possibilities; it killed her that their sloppiness might end up allowing the suspect to escape scot-free. But if they didn't find anything here, they were pretty much out of ideas.

Walking down the hall for a bit, she came to a pair of doors directly across from each other. The door on her left was open, leading to another windowed office closely resembling the ones she had searched.

The door on her right, unlike the others, was just barely cracked rather than wide open. Another difference was the extra fixture high on the door: it was designed for a padlock to provide extra security against opening the door. Or was it to make it difficult to open the door from the inside?

It was probably nothing, but she drew her gun anyway. She pushed the door open with her right foot; it creaked as it slowly rotated counterclockwise, coming to a rest against a wall. Light from the hallway spilled into part of the darkened room, revealing a dirty but empty space with a concrete floor. Maybe a storage room?

She risked a quick peek into the room, quickly pulling her head back out. This room ran a long ways along the hallway, long enough that the light from the hallway couldn't illuminate the darkness at the far end, or along the interior wall.

She reached her right hand into the room and felt around. Her fingers encountered a light switch, but nothing happened when she flipped it.

A hand grabbed her arm with an iron grip, and flung her onto the ground inside the room. Her gun went skittering across the floor.

Before she could recover, the door slammed shut, casting the room into utter darkness. A metallic noise suggested that the extra fixture had been closed, followed by a fainter, yet different, metallic noise. Then there was only silence and darkness.

She had no idea where the door or her gun was.

"CASEY! CHUCK! WATCH OUT!" Sarah yelled at the top of her lungs.

Scene LXIV – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206

Back in the receptionist's area, both Chuck and Casey heard the door slam and Walker's repeated muffled cries. "Sarah!" Chuck cried under his breath.

He instinctively took off at a run, and was promptly horse-collared by Casey.

"Where do you think you're going?" Casey asked in a low tone.

Chuck looked back at him with wild eyes. "We have to help Sarah!" He tried to take off again, and Casey easily yanked him back, turning Chuck to look fiercely in his eyes.

"And we will. But we have to stay calm." Casey emphasized the last two words.

"Stay calm. Right. Stay calm." Chuck was uncertain what to do; he had trouble getting past the idea of Sarah in trouble. Sarah!

Unable to do more than focus on the word 'calm', he closed his eyes and started a breathing exercise from his aikido class. A deep breath whooshed into his lungs.

Casey smacked him on the side of his head. Chuck's eyes angrily shot open; he would have verbally laid into Casey had he not put a finger to his lips. Chuck, abashed, quickly got the point.

Listening for a moment, the pair heard nothing. Motioning for Chuck to slide behind the reception desk, Casey slid along the wall on Sarah's side of the office, gun drawn.

Chuck watched with bated breath; apparently, Casey still heard nothing. Remembering Casey's instruction, he quietly side-stepped behind the high receptionist's desk for cover, crouching over but peeking over the top.

Taking a deep breath, Casey spun into the middle of the hallway.

Before he could get the gun fully turned down the hall, a short blur in a mostly black outfit leapt into the air and delivered a flying head-butt to Casey. Casey stumbled backwards before falling back to the ground, stunned.

The blow slowed the figure to a stop; apparently the blow stunned him a bit as well. Chuck recognized the figure from the other night, the one who had taken him out so easily. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite so bad about that.

Shaking off the pain, the figure turned towards Chuck. The man's hair was slicked back, his intense brown eyes daring Chuck to come fight him. It was nothing Chuck wanted any part of, and he put up his hands to show that. His single self-defense class wasn't going to help him, not against a guy who could take Casey down so easily.

Seeing Chuck pass on the fight, the man's eyes narrowed, and he smirked. Chuck's eyelids grew heavy.

A picture of a dark-haired man wearing a flowered hat hitting a golf shot.

A grainy security video of the man taking out three suspects in less than two seconds with fairly simple punches and kicks, his motions a blur. He looked at the camera; his eyes narrowed, and he smirked.

A dossier on the man, including name, statistics, known aliases.

A document in Spanish, on the letterhead of the government of Venezuela.

A picture of a gigantic orange bomb, with an accompanying document detailing the specs of the GBU-43/B.

A color photo of the suspect looking suspiciously around a European-looking plaza; two men in plain suits are blurry in the background.

The picture of the golfer.

Casey stirred on the floor, and in a flash, the suspect was out the door and heading for the stairwell. Casey sat up, and squeezed off rounds at a slow, erratic pace.

Unfortunately, in his dazed state, Casey came nowhere close to the suspect. Chuck flinched in horror as Casey took out both glass doors, a light fixture by the elevator, and one of the doors from the opposite suite. He continued to shoot long after the door to the stairwell slammed shut.

Chuck shouted, "Whoa-oa-oa-oa!" Casey finally stopped shooting. "Nice shootin', Tex!"

Casey turned to glare at Chuck, but his eyes rolled back in pain. Chuck hurried over; pulling on Casey's arm, he was able to help an unsteady Casey to his feet. Casey's eyes were wide, and oddly enough, impressed. "Good hit," he managed to say, looking owlishly at Chuck.

Chuck helped pour Casey into one of the chairs. Casey stared blankly into space, gingerly touching his head where the blow had landed. A slick patch of hair gel marked the area where the suspect's blow had landed, and some of it was now on his fingers. He looked down at his fingers. "Slimy bastard got me."

Seeing Casey was OK for the moment, Chuck ran back down the hallway in search of Sarah.

Scene LXV – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11

Sarah was completely disoriented. She crouched on the floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough to give her a hint of where the door might be. But even as her eyes adjusted, she was unable to see the slightest trace of light.

While she waited, she listened intently for some sign of what was happening in the rest of the office. Chuck was OK, she reminded herself. Casey was with him.

She had just stood up to search for the door when she heard a gunshot, muffled by the walls between her and the front office. Then another. And another.

She tried to understand what was happening from the firing pattern, but it seemed to be utterly random. And why was there the sound of broken glass? Nobody should have gotten out of the office; Casey should have cornered the guy …unless Casey had been taken out, and Chuck was trying to escape into the hall …

"CHUCK!!" she heard herself scream.

It was no use. Nobody would hear her over the gunfire, not that it mattered. She was helpless.

Suddenly, it was quiet. She covered her mouth with a hand, tears coming to her eyes.

Was he gone?

The silence continued for an agonizingly long time. She knew she should be adopting a defensive position, or searching for her gun. But all she could do was listen for some sign that Chuck was still alive.

An eternity passed, but the sign finally came. "Sarah?" Chuck called out, seemingly a long distance away.

She fought back a sob of relief. Her spy training finally kicked back in, and she quickly steadied her voice before responding. "Chuck! In here. First door on the right."

Scene LXVI – 506 S. Grand Avenue, Suite 2206

Chuck breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he heard her response. He ran down the hallway to the specified door. The suspect had slid a large paper clip onto the fixture; Chuck quickly removed it and threw the door open.

Inside, Sarah blinked rapidly as she turned towards the door. She used her forearm to protect her watery eyes as they struggled to adjust to the sudden influx of light. "Chuck?" she asked hesitantly.

With a soft cry, Chuck ran up to her where she stood. She kept her forearm over her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to see in the glare.

He knew he had no right to do it, but he couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close.

Sarah tensed up, her arm trapped between her face and his shoulder. Realizing what he had done, he loosened his grip so she could pull away. He started to think about what he would say when she did.

Instead, she extracted her arm from between them so she could lay her head on his shoulder, her head pointed to the side. She slipped her arms under his, and pulled herself closer to him.

He tightened his grip again, his heart racing. He wasn't sure what this meant, but at the moment, he didn't really care.