Chuck's been in Antwerp for two days and there's been no activity at the piers. The info Bryce gave him said there'd be a three day window in which Sarnov is set to make his trade, so that means that today's his last day.
However any of this goes down today is it.
He looks at himself for too long in the mirror over the sink. The light's still harsh, his eyebrows are still furrowed, and it's the same picture he's been seeing every day for a year. Nothing's changed, and sometimes he thinks it's all been a waste.
His fingers lightly scratch at that spot in his chest where her name is written and he closes his eyes. This is what he does when he wants to really focus on thinking about her, on bringing up his favorite memory.
Sarah had actually forced him awake by asking if he was already up. Not that Chuck minded, of course.
"Mmmhu?" he asked, taking so much effort to turn around it was like he'd been sleeping for a hundred years. Her face was blurry in his sleep-filled eyes. He blinked a few times. "Something wrong?" his voice sleep-filled too.
"No."
"Ok." He was already halfway back to sleep again.
"Chuck?"
"Mhmm?"
But before he can even get through the full memory his thoughts are interrupted, like they so often are, by that knife; so easily slipping into her like hot butter. Once, twice. He doesn't even know if she screams because all he can hear are his own. His screams are so loud they fill his head.
Chuck opens his eyes. He hates this. He hates the way this vivid memory can overpower his favorite one. And he knows it won't stop until he finds Sarnov. And today is it.
He turns the lights off in the bathroom and leaves.
.
.
.
Chuck's pretty sure he's seen this in a movie once. In fact he's pretty sure this has been in every spy movie ever made. It's the scene where there's someone in a hotel room, hiding behind the curtain on the balcony, gun and/or blunt object in hand, waiting for the room occupant to come through the door.
In this scenario Chuck is the one behind the curtain.
He found Sarnov and it was almost by accident.
It was morning when Chuck went back to the pier, knowing that nothing would transpire in the light of day but wanting to be there anyway for surveillance. And on his way there he saw him. He was just standing outside a Café, talking with a couple of other men, head bowed and shifty eyed. Chuck had stared at him so hard it was lucky nobody saw him. But he had to make sure it actually was Sarnov. After such a long time of going by memory alone, he had to be sure. When the men parted Sarnov was alone and he entered the hotel down the street unescorted. It wasn't hard to find which room he was in.
Chuck waits for him to come to the balcony, and as he double-checks his gun's mag a waft of memory comes to him and suddenly he's thinking about Morgan.
In simpler times they used to kill whole armies in two-hour fever sprees and top it off with a couple of beers and pastrami sandwiches. He can hear Morgan's voice now: "Nothing better than two buddies totally killing it on Call of Duty and kicking back with some bruskies."
Chuck actually misses video games. To think there was a time in his life when he could play a game with his best friend and not have a care in the world. As lame as it was to other people video games were absolutely an unadulterated source of happiness for him. But as soon as he thinks that he denies it. His idea of happiness has altered so much since then he's not even sure he knows the meaning of the word anymore. Is it relaxing in front of a Playstation or is it killing Sarnov, because it can't be both. They're too contradictory.
Sarnov's out of the bathroom and grabbing a pack of smokes from the night stand. This is good, Chuck decides. A likelier chance that Sarnov will come to him, out to the balcony. And he does.
The man stands just a few feet away now, staring down at the city below and totally oblivious to Chuck.
He points the gun right at the back of Sarnov's neck, hearing that quiet sound that metal on skin makes, that clammy click. "Get in the room."
Sarnov freezes beneath the gun but after a moment he complies, walking slowly back inside.
"Turn around," Chuck commands (because it isnt real if he can't face him).
Sarnov turns and when he does Chuck can see that he's smiling. "I have men outside my door," he says in his thick accent. "I say one word they come and kill you." He's still smiling when he says this but it's an act, Chuck can tell. "I have many men outside."
"No, you don't."
Sarnov's smile twitches a bit but it's still there.
It takes him a minute to do anything because this is the moment Chuck's been waiting for, striving towards. He looks at Sarnov, totally defenseless and standing at surrender and he hears a 12 year-old Ellie in his ear. "Chuck, if one of those kids ever bothers you again you need to come and tell me. You know how mom gets when you get into fights. Don't be ashamed to have your big sister protect you."
"Give me that pillow," Chuck says. He hasn't got a silencer and there are too many people around who will hear the gun go off. He needs something to muffle the sound.
"Give, me, that, pillow," Chuck repeats.
"Ok, ok," Sarnov says, holding his hands up but not actually doing anything.
"This is how you hold a gun, Chuck." It's Sarah this time. Gun training, but not to shoot it. His only session in gun training and it had only been for appearance's sake; Charles Carmichael would know how to hold a gun. "It isn't a live grenade that's about to go off. A gun is your friend. It's an extension of you. Try and make it look convincing."
"DO IT!" Chuck snaps.
His gun's quivering a bit, and from the objective point of view it'd probably be hard to tell if Chuck's shaking cuz he's nervous or because he's about to blow a fuse. Sarnov inches toward the bed, toward the pillow at the head; every move saying, don't shoot, I'm doing exactly as you say.
Except a second later he's not, and before Chuck has a chance to react the pillow's in the air and Sarnov is a blur coming towards him. He should've seen him coming. Shouldn't have frozen up the way he did. It was like his own subconscious sabotaged him. He knocks Chuck out like a quarterback and the gun skids on the tiled floor. Chuck punches him a few times, hard and quick. His knuckles meeting cheek bone, nose, teeth, coming back bloody. But the most important thing is the gun. He turns around, scrambles to get it, his shoes slipping as Sarnov grabs the back of his jacket. The gun is just in Chuck's reach, but what he can't see is Sarnov raising a big, ceramic vase over his head. Chuck grabs the gun, spins, but the vase shatters around him.
And everything turns to black.
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It was a night when he was already growing so used to having Sarah in bed with him that he, amazingly, incredibly, wasn't holding on to her in some capacity. They were in that comfortable stage in their relationship where you fall asleep spooning and wake up with someone's hand in the other's face or someone's head by the other's thigh. And that night Sarah had actually forced him awake by asking if he was already up. Not that Chuck minded, of course.
"Mmmhu?" he asked, taking so much effort to turn around it was like he'd been sleeping for a hundred years. Her face was blurry in his sleep-filled eyes. He blinked a few times. "Something wrong?" his voice sleep-filled too.
"No."
"Ok." He was already halfway back to sleep again.
"Chuck?"
"Mhmm?"
She took a minute, looking like there was so much she wanted to say but didn't know exactly how to say it. "I love you."
He didn't say anything for a moment because he was half asleep and it was two in the morning and Sarah was still a little blurry and this was all he'd ever wanted to hear her say for such a long time and he needed to make sure that she had actually said it and why would she wake him up in the middle of the night to do it? He wanted to say all of these things. "I love you," he said.
It was a while before they went back to sleep. Beyond all the love what Chuck really felt, at the core of it, was happiness.