Scene LXVII – 506 Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11

Sarah rested her head on Chuck's shoulder, eyes closed, holding him tightly to her. She savored his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, his smell. For a long moment, nothing else mattered.

She thought she had lost him; now she only wanted to lose herself in him.

As time passed, a small smile gradually came to her lips. Her head nestled neatly into the crease between his shoulder and neck, as if the spot had been created just to cradle her head.

The palm of his right hand slowly stroked up and down the center of her back as his other arm returned her embrace across her shoulders. She felt an urge to make a sleepy, happy noise.

Almost hesitantly, he loosened his embrace. One hand rested gently on a shoulder blade, while the other hand cupped the small of her back.

Reluctantly, Sarah loosened her grip as well, allowing his body to float away from hers. Her front, deprived of his chest, suddenly felt a little cold. Their arms dropped to their sides as the distance between them increased.

As he separated from her, she felt his probing eyes upon her. She looked up with a vulnerable expression, searching his eyes with hers.

His expression was tender, but questioning. She realized that he didn't understand. How couldn't he understand?

She slowly realized that he was patiently waiting for her to say something. Desperately, her mind searched for a way to change the subject, and quickly found one.

"Um, what happened? Is Casey OK?"

The tenderness flowed out of Chuck's face, leaving only the questioning. In a slightly sick voice, he said, "He took a knock to the head; he'll be fine. But we should probably go check on him." His posture was slumped as he shambled towards the door.

Her heart ached to see him like this; knowing that she was doing this to him only made it worse. A part of her that had been pushed to the side during her years of being an agent tentatively ordered, Stop him. Her training overrode her emotions, keeping her from acting. As she watched him walk away, that part of her wouldn't be denied.

Stop him!

"Chuck?" she called, just before he reached the threshold.

He stopped, turning back towards her, his eyes holding a faint flicker of hope. "Yes?"

"Walker! Bartowski! Where are you?" Casey barked down the hallway in a testy voice.

Chuck's eyes closed with a pained look, a pain Sarah shared in her gut. But she couldn't give Casey any hint she might be compromised.

There was no time to explain this to Chuck. Again, she composed herself. "Casey? In here. First door on the right." She looked at Chuck with sad eyes for a moment longer before turning and walking back into the darkness.

Chuck opened his eyes to find her gone.

Scene LXVIII – 506 Grand Avenue, Suite 2206, Room 11

Casey stumbled into the room, holding his forehead. When he first entered the room, he couldn't see anybody; instinctively, he reached over and flipped the light switches. Nothing happened. "Walker? Bartowski?"

As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out details. Walker was crawling on the floor, feeling around. She cursed, jerking back as her hand encountered something sharp.

Towards the back of the room, Bartowski was crouched on the ground facing away from him. Curiously, he wasn't moving much.

Something didn't make sense, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He wondered what he had missed. Couldn't leave these two alone for a minute - although from what he could tell, they didn't have a clue what to do with the private time.

Casey pulled a flashlight from his kit and shined it around the room. Sarah gave a grateful sigh: with the help of the light, she located and picked her gun up off the floor. The attacker must have taken her out as well, although she wasn't staggering around like a drunken sailor. Why was he always the one to get clocked?

Musing on that for a second, he continued to scan the floor with the light. There rest of the room was empty except for broken glass from the light fixture in the ceiling, a single box, and a few sheets of stationery scattered on the ground. It would have to wait; the assailant might bring back reinforcements.

"C'mon. I phoned a clean-up team; they'll be here in twenty. We need to secure the floor." Wordlessly, Bartowski and Walker moved with him to the exit to the room.

Walker and Casey made a quick sweep through the rest of the suite, Bartowski lurking behind them. The remainder of the office proved to be empty. Their attacker had to have been there for some reason, but aside from the box in the dark room, there was no reason apparent on their quick sweep. Hopefully that meant that the last box held something useful.

There was no time for a more thorough search. Casey and Walker bunkered down to guard the stairwell until the NSA cleaning crew arrived; Bartowski lingered in the safety of the office. Within 15 minutes, six men in construction uniforms emerged from the stairwell after giving proper countersigns to Casey's coded challenges.

Two of the agents helped escort the group down the stairwell. They arrived at the lobby uneventfully, where two other "workers" signaled all-clear before the three exited the stairwell. Their two escorts headed back up to the suite; the expression on Bartowski's face made it clear he did not envy them a second climb.

The three quickly made their way out to the Nerd Herder. Casey volunteered to take the back seat; his head was throbbing a bit from his injury, and sat with his head back most of the way to the CIA facility.

With Casey nursing his headache, Bartowski and Walker shared a quiet ride back to the facility. Neither said much; for the most part, they spent their time in the car with eyes forward. Casey did catch Bartowski taking a look over at Walker, but she didn't respond.

Something certainly had happened. He tried to distract himself from the pain by considering the possibilities, but between the headache and the bouncing of the Herder, he finally gave up and focused on blocking out the pain.

The team arrived at the facility and returned to the main interrogation room. Relieving the three agents on watch, they decided to leave Cushman in his interrogation room for the moment. The group collapsed into chairs around the center table, not knowing what to do next.

Casey had secured a bag of ice on the way up; he leaned back as he applied the ice pack to the ugly red welt on his forehead. "So, did we get anything while we were there?"

Sheepishly, Bartowski said, "Well, I know who the attacker is."

Walker gave him a hard look. Casey was so irritated that he took the effort to remove his ice pack and lean his head forward just so he could glare directly at Bartowski. "Didn't you think that might be important information for us to have?"

"Sorry," he stammered. "I got distracted … you know, the head butt, the shooting, the flying glass … the not-knowing-if-a-team-member-was-dead." Walker's expression seemed to soften for a moment when he said that, but her poker face was back in place almost immediately.

Ah, so maybe that was part of what went on. Bartowski probably made an emotional little display when he found Walker. The question became: how did Walker respond?

That was a mystery for another time. Casey made a show of leaning back and applying the ice pack to the rest of his head, as if Bartowski was giving him the headache. He didn't need to act much. "All right, Bartowski, whatcha got?"

"The speedy blur with the head of steel is Ernesto Gomes, a Venezuelan spy. He occasionally goes by the nickname … um, Rah-yo Nee-gro."

Sarah gave him an odd look. "You mean R-a-y-o N-e-g-r-o?" she asked, spelling the words.

Bartowski nodded. Sarah said, "Rayo Negro. It means 'black lightning' in Spanish. Sounds more like a nickname than a code name."

Without looking up, Casey interjected, "Well, we are talking about the Venezuelan Secret Service here."

Bartowski continued, "He's been with their service about 12 years, done a number of operations and assassinations, and holds the honorary rank of colonel in their military."

Casey asked, "So what's Greased Lightning doing in Los Angeles?"

"Good question. He was in the States a couple years back, trying to acquire a GBU-43/B unit."

"He was after a MOAB?"

"What's a MOAB?"

"Stands for 'Mother Of All Bombs'. When it explodes, it creates a mushroom cloud that looks like a nuclear weapon went off. Most powerful non-nuclear device in the world. Well, unless you ask the Russians; they claim to have created one four times as powerful, the liars."

"Well, the Intersect didn't have anything about him being successful. About the only other thing of interest is that a couple of British agents were shadowing him in Zurich last summer, and he was also spotted in the Middle East. This guy gets around."

Walker said, "We can check in with MI6 to see what he was up to in Zurich, but I'm guessing it won't explain why he commissioned an attack on a classified CIA server. It certainly won't tell us how he got the intel on the machine in the first place."

"So, we're back to square one."

Casey said, "Looks that way."

Silence filled the room. The only noise was the hum of the two BD Security Enterprise computers and their monitors.

Agent Walker sighed. "Well, we'd better call in."

Casey grunted his agreement. This was not going to be fun.

Scene LXIX – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room

The reaction of their superiors was predictable.

"You let him escape again?!" Director Graham grumbled.

Chuck stood between Sarah and Casey in front of the communication array. Even though he knew the director's ire wasn't aimed at him, the director's glare sure seemed to be because of where he was standing. For once, Chuck was happy his name wasn't being prominently mentioned in a briefing.

General Beckman shook her head. "I'm starting to think this assignment is eroding your skills, Agent Casey. And Agent Walker."

Casey grimaced while Sarah stiffened slightly.

The general continued, "By my count, the only one making any progress on this mission is Bartowski, and we didn't invest years of training and thousands of taxpayer dollars in him. Could one of the agents please recount what contributions actual government employees have made on this mission? Aside from losing one of the key witnesses, that is."

Chuck had been the subject of many backhanded compliments in his day, but that one was a beauty. Still, he preferred where he was at the moment. He stole a peek at both Casey and Sarah; both stood at attention with eyes locked forward, avoiding the glares of the brass by staring to the sides of the monitor.

After a pregnant pause, Director Graham said, "We'll send you any intel we have on Gomes, but you two better find a way to catch this guy, and soon." The director reached down to the computer and ended the transmission.

As the picture darkened, the shoulders of both Sarah and Casey slumped. Both turned away from Chuck and headed back to the table, reclaiming their chairs. Casey put the bag of ice back on his wound.

Chuck followed suit, dropping heavily into his chair. Big Mike could learn a few things from the DoD brass about dressing people down, he thought.

The room was silent for a few minutes as the agents recovered from the lecture. Chuck wanted to say something to alleviate the tension, but couldn't come up with anything appropriate.

Finally, Sarah rubbed her eyes and sat forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. "OK, so what do we know," she asked rhetorically. "We know Gomes seems desperate to get onto this server, so desperate that he risked an open attack outside what he must know to be a CIA facility. We know he has Davis, and probably can get him to talk. What's his next move?"

Casey tipped the chair forwards as he removed the ice pack, dropping it to the floor. The redness of the welt had subsided slightly. "Well, if it were me, the first thing I would do is to remove the transmitter. They would suspect that we would try to track the transmitter, so I could use it to trap some agents so I could negotiate a trade for Cushman."

Sarah gave him a bemused look. "How would that work?"

Casey backtracked, "Gah. You're right, that wouldn't work. They would have to know that we wouldn't make that trade, just as they will likely suspect that we've figured out the transmitter's existence at this point. That's useless."

Sarah stood up, pacing as she thought out loud. "So, they're left with Davis. They'll interrogate him, obviously; the question becomes whether he knows anything that will help them."

"It's Cushman's code. Can they do anything without him?"

Chuck said, "Cush built his code into a standalone application. If they can get their hands on that, they have a shot at cracking the server security."

"How would they get their hands on the code? We have their computers."

Chuck said, "But what we don't have is the back-ups."

Scene L – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room

Cush sat furiously coding at his computer. A CIA IT technician was stretching a networking cable the entire length of the room to connect his computer to the Internet. He looked none too pleased about the situation.

While Cush and the technician worked, Chuck explained to the agents that BD Security, like many companies, backed up their computers via the Internet rather than using a network server. This avoided the need for an extra server in lieu of a monthly fee, with the added bonus that the back-ups could be accessed from anywhere. In this case, that feature was a problem. Cush had backed up his computer with the latest code, and Davis knew the password to access the back-ups.

However, in order to access the back-ups, Cush's computer needed to be connected to the Internet. As usual, the IT department refused to move quickly without a series of approved requisitions … or a direct call from an irate Director Graham. Again. Chuck had a sneaking suspicion that the CIA IT department would be in for a bit of personnel restructuring some time soon.

The CIA technician connected the cable, and borrowed the computer for a moment to verify the connection was live. He left after grabbing his bag, saying nothing to anyone as he left the room.

Cushman finished up a couple of last lines of code, giving an evil grin. Chuck couldn't resist looking over Cush's shoulder, and quickly shared in the grin.

Casey looked at Sarah impatiently; she signaled for Casey to stay calm. They would get their explanation in due time.

Cush set the time on his computer back a few days and quickly built the application using his development tools. Logging into the back-up site, he uploaded the application, and then quickly scanned the log. He breathed a sigh of relief, and sat back in his chair with a smile.

Chuck and Cush spoke quietly for a moment. At the end of the conversation, Chuck patted Cush on the shoulder and offered a smile before walking over to Sarah and Casey.

"We did it."

Casey's expression showed that he obviously wasn't used to waiting for answers. Through gritted teeth, he replied, "Did what, exactly."

"Cush retooled his code so that it will not break into any server. Not only that, his code will now basically send out a homing signal when it's activated. After he catches his breath, he'll put together a quick little app that will be notified the instant somebody activates the program and track their location."

"And what was the little grin about?"

"Cush put a bit of teeth into the code as well. It plants a virus on the machine, one that will slowly render the computer unusable. And if they happen to use email, it could infect any computer that opens a message, too."

"That's not bad for twenty minutes of work."

"I told you the guy was a genius. But it didn't hurt that he had a bunch of this code lying around; he's got quite a toolbox … "

"Bartowski, focus. What kind of fix can you get on their location?"

"Focus, right. Well, it depends. If they hack into a big corporate network, we may be out of luck. Otherwise, we should be able to get pretty close."

"OK. Walker and I need to get a couple teams out in the field in case your buddy hits pay dirt. We probably won't have much time once the address is found."

Scene LI – CIA Facility, Main Interrogation Room

It had been a long, long day. Thirteen hours ago Chuck had briefed the DoD brass about what was going on. He didn't want to think about everything he had done since then.

He lifted his head off the conference room table and surveyed the room. Cush stared at his computer screen. The two agents guarding them stared at the door. Chuck stared off into space.

He was brutally tired, especially after struggling to sleep the previous night. He was even too tired to think about Sarah, despite being intrigued by what she might have said, had Casey not come barging in with his usual timing. All Chuck wanted was to crawl into bed, alone, and sleep until an Act of Congress forced him to wake up. He laid his head back down.

Right on cue, Cush let out an excited whoop. "I think we have a bite," he said.

Chuck willed himself out of his chair and across the room. Sure enough, the log files for the back-up showed somebody logging in under Davis' ID and password.

"Let's see if they take the bait," Chuck said.

Minutes passed, with the software on Cush's machine updating the log files every few seconds. Nothing changed. Chuck began to wonder whether they figured out that Cush had uploaded a new file.

Eventually, a log update revealed that the user had downloaded the executable named Gh0st.exe. They had taken the bait.

"YES!" Cush cried out. "I've got you now…"

Cush brought up the tracer application. The app patiently sat waiting for Gh0st to be executed, with the console repeatedly polling. The same message, "Gh0st application not active," printed over and over again.

"Gh0st application not active."

"Gh0st application not active."

"Gh0st application ACTIVE!"

The console went berserk as the tracer program kicked into high gear. Line after line of technical data scrolled by as Cush's code flew through the Internet to locate the host computer. The software had a lock in 23.2 seconds.

Chuck speed-dialed Sarah. "Gh0st is active. Tanner's Coffee Company, Playa Del Rey."

Scene LII – Los Angeles, Street

Sarah hung up the phone, and ordered the driver, "Playa Del Rey. I'll get you an address."

The driver, Agent Phillips, took a second to gain his bearings before pulling a sharp U-turn in the black sedan, barely avoiding clipping the rear of a minivan in the process. "Fifteen minutes, maybe less," he informed Sarah.

Sarah input the name of the coffee shop into the navigational system, and quickly relayed the address to Phillips. Now that they were moving, she thought through the locations of all the agents.

Her car was northwest of the city, putting Playa Del Rey almost due south of them. Two other agents were in a car northeast of the city. They were too far away to effectively contribute. Casey and Agent Thomas were southwest of the city, probably about the same distance away.

Sarah hesitated for the briefest of moments. After the tongue-lashing she got earlier that day, a part of her was tempted not to call in Casey in hopes of making the big score herself. However, her sense of professionalism quickly took over, and she called Casey.

"Casey here."

"Walker here. Got a hit: Playa Del Rey. 200 Culver Blvd."

"We're on it." Casey hung up before Sarah could say another word; she put her phone away with an irritated expression.

Across town, Casey turned to his driver. "Playa Del Rey, and move it."

He turned to face forward, annoyed that he could only stare forward and wait. He needed to get there before Walker.

Scene LIII – Playa Del Rey, Tanner's Coffee Company, Parking Lot

A black sedan sat parked at the end of a row of cars outside the coffee shop. The man in the driver's seat chose the spot because there was no spot in front of him, leaving him a pair of escape routes, should it become necessary. No point in taking chances.

He kept a careful watch, making slow movements to avoid attracting attention. "Are we in?" he asked, his bright green eyes scanning the lot for anyone approaching.

A man with dark, wavy hair and a thick Spanish accent answered, "No. And this thing must be a memory hog; the computer is slowing down in a hurry."

The driver allowed himself a moment to look longingly into the coffee shop. Customers lounged in couches in well-lit comfort, drinking tall cups of steaming hot coffee while reading magazines or books. He had stopped for coffee the other day in order to acquire the key for free wireless Internet access, and it was the best coffee he had tasted in a long time.

Still, he determinedly kept his focus, and started his scan of the surrounding area over again.

Minutes passed. The driver's mouth watered. This thing better finish in a hurry, or he was going lose the fight to stay in the car.

"Anything?" he asked irritably, looking at the other man via the rear-view mirror.

The computer operator shook his head. "The program looks like it's trying different things, but it seems like it's stuck in the mud." Frustrated, the man fussed with his email client as he waited.

The driver nervously checked the clock on the dashboard. It read 10:08. "Three more minutes, then we leave."

Scene LIV – Los Angeles, Streets

Sarah checked the dashboard clock. It read 10:08. "How long?" she asked the driver. She didn't yet know the streets of Los Angeles as well as she would like.

"Three minutes at the outside," the driver replied. They turned right from Lincoln Boulevard onto Jefferson Avenue.

A little over a mile away, Casey asked his driver the same question.

"Two, three minutes," he answered.

The car accelerated to catch the end of the yellow arrow, turning left off of Lincoln Boulevard onto Manchester Avenue.

Sarah tapped her fingers on her lap as the car waited at a red light to turn left onto Culver.

The light turned green. The car in front of her wouldn't move. She resisted the urge to reach across and honk the horn.

Finally, the car moved. They needed to get there before the suspects took off; this may be their last shot.

She checked her weapon for the umpteenth time. Yep, still loaded.

"Go, go, go," Casey urged.

Agent Thomas gunned the engine to make the right turn onto Pershing before the oncoming traffic cost them any time. A red BMW emitted an irritated honk as the sedan merged roughly ahead of it. Casey resisted the urge to take down the license number so he could hunt the person down later.

Unconsciously, Casey leaned forward as if he could will the car to move faster. They had to get to the scene before Walker.

He checked his weapon again. Yep, still loaded.

Scene LV – Playa Del Rey, Tanner's Coffee Company, Parking Lot

A black sedan sat parked at the end of a row of cars outside the parking lot. "Stop!" Casey commanded; the driver obliged. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it sure looked like the one from the CIA facility the other day.

"Be ready to pursue," he ordered the driver, and carefully turned off the car's overhead lights before slipping out the passenger door. Crouching down, he stole down the row of cars, carefully staying out of sight of anyone in the sedan.

He managed to get around the back of the car without being seen. Excellent, he thought. The driver's side window was open, and the driver seemed distracted, watching the store.

With a quick move, he leapt up and pointed a gun at the driver. "Put your hands on the steering wheel." Noting the lack of slicked-back hair, he added, "And if you have bright green eyes, it's gonna be a long night for you."

Agent Phillips put his hands on the steering wheel, and then he slowly turned his head. "I hope you're not propositioning me, Agent Casey."

With a disgusted expression, Casey holstered his weapon. He looked over at the coffee shop, where Agent Walker was leaving the store. Seeing Casey, she shook her head. There was nobody suspicious in the shop.

Casey seethed; they just couldn't catch a break on this mission. Something inside him snapped, and he suddenly needed to lash out. There was only one potential target.

He stormed over to Walker. "You did this on purpose," he said.

Walker obviously wasn't happy with his tone. "Did what, exactly?"

"You held me off for a few minutes so you could get here first. And look what happened. The suspect got away."

"Gomes must have hit you harder than you thought. I did no such thing."

"Baloney." He turned and walked away.

Walker wasn't letting him off that easy. "Baloney?! I called you as soon as I had the intel." Casey waved his hand at her as he walked past the sedan, clearly not buying it.

"Agent Casey," she called.

He turned around and crossed his arms.

She walked up to him as she pulled her phone from her back pocket. She called up the call log. "9:57 PM: call received, Bartowski, Chuck. 9:58 PM: number dialed, Casey, John." She showed him the phone.

Casey stood there facing the call log, looking for something to say. The previous call on the log was several hours prior. She was clearly telling the truth.

He had taken out his frustration on his partner. As it turned out, not only was it unwarranted, but she had proof to throw back in his face.

He grimaced. This wasn't his best moment as an agent. He stared back at her, trying to hide the guilt from showing.

Sarah stood there waiting. Part of him knew he should apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. And then, it was too late.

She added, "Well, I guess I know what would have happened if the positions were reversed." Caught by his own behavior, again Casey had no answer.

Sarah walked around the sedan. "I'll go back to the facility and finish up there. Why don't you go home and patch up that head of yours."

She got in the car, and tersely ordered, "Drive." The sedan sped off.

Casey planned to ratchet up the tension between Sarah and him, but not so soon. He knew that wasn't what had happened.

This wasn't the first time he had taken things out on a partner. After all, there was a reason he usually worked alone. Old habits, especially bad habits, died hard.

Without a word, he walked back to his sedan, and hopped in the passenger's seat. The sedan sped off into the night.