Still don't own 'em. Nuff said.

Thanks again to Poa for proofreading the previous Chapters. I have gone back and revised them to correct the typos, etc.

CHUCK VERSUS THE BURN NOTICE

CHAPTER 7

Things Fall Apart

"Michael, we have a problem," Fiona said into her phone. "He took Sarah and Carina."

"Do you know where he's taking them?" Michael asked.

"No. He wouldn't say. What are we going to do, Michael? I left the meet, but I can go back and get him to tell me where he's taking them."

"I don't want you shooting anyone in the kneecaps, Fi. Stick with the plan. We've got the GPS tracker on Sarah and Chuck is monitoring Obregon and his movements. "

Fiona saw a black Suburban pass her going the other way. "Sam and Casey are headed toward the lot. Should I send them after Sarah and Carina."

Michael almost said yes, but his professionalism trumped his compassion. "No. We've got the tracker on them. Sarah and Carina can take care of themselves for now. We stick with the plan. Let me call Chuck and tell him to make sure to monitor Sarah's transceiver. I'll have Chuck call you with updates as to Sarah and Carina's location and you can follow them at a discrete distance. But you can't let them spot you, Fi. They could hurt the girls."

He winced. Girls. Sarah and Carina were trained agents. But considering how they looked the last time he saw them, it was hard for Michael to think of Sarah and Carina as anything but girls. That just made it harder not to immediately go after them.

"I know how to run a tail, Michael," Fiona shot back. He could tell from her voice that she was angry, but not at him. If Obregon tried to do anything to Sarah or Carina, he wouldn't want to be between Fi and Obregon.

Michael's voice was surprisingly tender. "I know you do, Fi. Be careful."

Michael cut the connection and immediately dialed Chuck. "Chuck. Obregon took Sarah and Carina, but he wouldn't let Fiona go along."

"What?" Chuck cried. "We have to go get them! I've got them on the GPS locator. They're headed north on 95."

"Chuck..." Michael said.

"If we call Casey, he and Sam should be able to catch them. I can…"

"Chuck!" Michael said, louder. "We stick with the plan. You've got Sarah's GPS locator. The idea was that they would lead us to the other girls. That's still the plan."

"But Fiona was supposed to be with them!" Chuck said, his voice rising.

"Chuck, if this is going to work, you have to calm down. Now, I want you to call Fiona and give her Sarah and Carina's location. She'll tail them so she can be close by."

"What if they split them up?" Chuck asked. "We only have a transceiver on Sarah."

"They won't," Michael said.

"But…"

"They won't," Michael said more forcefully. He only hoped he was convincing himself. "Now call Fi."

Chuck called Fiona and relayed Sarah's location.

"Please, Fiona," Chuck pleaded. "Don't let anything happen to her."

For the briefest instant, Fiona felt an irrational flash of jealousy. She shook it off. "Don't worry, Charles," she said. The stress was getting to her. Her brogue was edging into her voice. "I promise that Sarah and Carina will both be fine. I'll see to it myself."

###

In the parking lot where Fiona, posing as the mule-runner Candace, had just left him, Obregon leaned against his car smoking a cigar. Not bad, he thought. At the very least, he had replacements for those two cows who had managed to get themselves killed and, more importantly, lose his drugs. This Candace might prove useful, but he hadn't gotten where he was by being incautious. Vicente Martinez had vouched for her, but Martinez was weak. Best to be sure before bringing her in. He had the two girls. There was no hurry.

He heard a racing engine and looked up. A black Suburban pulled into the parking lot and skidded to a gravel-strewing halt. The front doors opened and John Casey and Sam Axe got out.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" John Casey asked. "I thought Miami had a no trash ordinance."

Casey approached Obregon from the front of the car, while Sam circled around to approach from the rear. Casey's phone rang. He tossed the phone back in the Suburban without looking at it.

"Obviously," Sam said evenly, "trash pickup missed a stop."

"Who are you guys?" Obregon asked. "What are you doing here?"

"DEA," Casey said.

"I'm clean," Obregon said. "You got a warrant?"

"Oh, we don't need a warrant for this," Sam said. He darted forward and in one, swift move he had Obregon's arms pinned behind him. Casey slammed his fist into Obregon's stomach and the drug runner's breath came out in a painful 'Oof.' Casey gave him a second to catch his breath and then slammed his fist into Obregon's stomach again.

Sam released him and took a step back. Obregon was doubled over in pain, but he managed to cough out, "You ain't DEA. DEA don't coughcough don't harass people like this."

"You know, we missed you the other night," Casey said. "It isn't very nice to go running away like that when we come to make a social call."

"I been out of town until this morning," Obregon said. "Visiting my tia. She's sick."

Quick as lightning, Casey's arm whipped out and he caught Obregon with a hard left to the jaw. Obregon staggered. "Look, loser," Casey said. "Just because you've been small enough to fly under our radar before now doesn't mean we haven't been keeping an eye on you. Word on the street is that those two dead girls were mules. You won't know anything about that, would you?"

Obregon coughed again. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Sam slammed a foot into the back of Obregon's knee, and the drug-runner went down. He bent down close to Obregon's ear. "You've been dealing with the local cops up to now," he hissed. "But we hear word of any more young girls getting hurt because of you, and we won't be so nice next time."

Casey leaned over and reached into Obregon's jacket pocket and pulled out two cigars. "Well, lookie here. Cubans. Customs frowns on importing Cubans." Casey tossed a cigar to Sam. Sam backed away from Obregon until he was behind the car, then turned and made for the passenger door of the Suburban. "We'll be keeping an eye on you," Casey said, then slid behind the wheel of the Suburban.

Casey spun the wheel of the Suburban as he pulled out of the lot, showering Obregon with gravel.

"You know," Sam said, pulling out a knife to cut off the end of the cigar. "Mikey did say close, but not too close." He handed Casey the knife and Casey drove with his knee while he clipped his own cigar, then handed the knife back to Sam. "So you think we got too close?"

"How else were we going to get the cigars?" Casey said, leaning over to accept a light from Sam. "I think he got the message. Running mules is a dangerous line of work. Now we back off a bit so he doesn't feel like he's gotta hurry up and dump the other girls to cover his tracks. Nice touch with that last kick, by the way."

"Thanks. Since Mike got to town, I seem to be more on the receiving end lately. Nice to be dishing it out for a change."

"Yeah. Been awhile since I got to do that," Casey said. Then he frowned. The victory smoke didn't taste quite as good as it used to. Damn that Bartowski!

Putting it out of his mind, Casey pulled around the corner and pulled into an alley so he could watch the exits from the parking lot.

Back at Michael's place, Chuck was wide-eyed. He heard every moment of the confrontation between Casey, Sam, and Obregon and he felt sick. He looked down at the cell phone. Casey hadn't answered his call a few minutes ago, and now Chuck was afraid to call him again.

###

Obregon was still in pain when he pulled into the parking lot at his favorite club, Calle Sinco. After the confrontation in the parking lot with those two DEA agents, his ego needed some stroking. He was a big man at Calle Sinco and would be treated with respect. Maybe he would find some bitch inside he could take his frustrations out on. That always made him feel more like a man.

He got out of the car, and was immediately grabbed and slammed against the hood of the car, face first. He felt the hard steel of a gun muzzle pressed against the back of his neck. "I should kill you now," Michael said in the slow, Southern drawl he had affected to play the part of the drug runner. "You got me busted by the DEA."

"Then what…" Obregon began. Michael picked him up and slammed him back against the hood of the car. Obregon winced, but continued. "Then what are you doing out?"

Michael flipped Obregon over and stuck the gun under Obregon's nose. "Because I know how to keep my nose clean." Michael said. "Those feds weren't interested in me. They kept asking me questions about you."

"What did you tell them?" Obregon asked.

Michael eased back a little, but kept the gun pointed at Obregon. "Why, I told them I was looking to be your new importer. What the hell do you think I told them? Nothing! Back were I come from, a snitch gets a Columbian necktie."

"We do the same here," Obregon said, making a show of straightening his jacket to indicate he was not afraid of a man pointing a gun at him. "But we call it a Cuban necktie."

The crazy gringo drug runner seemed to relax a little. Obregon had known he was somewhat volatile from their previous meetings, but that was not exactly uncommon in this business.

"So why are you so hot right now?" Michael asked.

"Two of the girls that I used as mules died. Evidently that caught the attention of the DEA. They do not like pretty young girls dying, it seems."

"Heroin balloons in their stomachs burst?" Michael asked.

Obregon shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

Michael clapped his hand on Obregon's shoulder. He maneuvered him so that he was by the open door of the car so the bug would pick him up better. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," Michael said. "Mules are unreliable. Besides, those mules are penny-ante stuff. How much can you bring in a year? Twenty, thirty kilos?"

"A little more than that," Obregon said.

"But I hear you've been building the distribution side," Michael said. "Looking to move up in the world."

Obregon puffed his chest out. "One day I will own this town."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Michael said. "See, the problem is, I've got this new import channel. I'm ready to move some serious product. But the big boys, Menocal, Cespedes, they've already got their own import networks. They don't need the competition. But I've got no distribution. What good is getting the product here if you can't get it out on the streets? It's like having a steer."

"A steer?" Obregon asked, confused.

"A bull with no balls, son. A bull with no balls. Looks good, but useless."

Obregon thought for a moment. "I have been giving your proposal some thought. Given recent events, I think we can perhaps do business. In fact, I was going to call you."

"Now, hold on a minute," Michael said. "I've put my chips on the table. Now, as my Daddy would say, it's time to see your hole card. I need to know something about this organization of yours. Make sure you can handle the product I bring in."

"So you can take it away from me?" Obregon asked. "Do you think I am stupid?"

"Hells bells," Michael said. "If I thought you were stupid, we wouldn't be talking…" His voice suddenly got much colder and he put his gun to Obregon's forehead. "And I'd blow your head off right here." Then he laughed and clapped Obregon on the shoulder again. "Come on, I know the score. I ain't Cuban. You think anybody in this town is going to give me the time of day? They gonna do business with a white boy from Louisiana?"

Obregon thought on this for a moment and then said, "All right. I will tell you of my distribution organization if you will tell me how you are getting the drugs in. Let us go inside."

Michael lowered the gun and gave his shoulders an exaggerated shrug, as if working the kinks out. "Don't know that I'm comfortable walking in there. Home field advantage and all that. Tell you what. Get in the car and we'll do it right here."

Obregon looked over at the entrance to the club. He really could use a drink right now. But business was business and business came before pleasure. "All right," Obregon said. "Get in."

###

The van pulled into a rundown neighborhood. Many of the houses were boarded up and covered with gang graffiti. In the back of the van, the two girls whimpered. "Keep it quiet," the driver spat, adding a rather rude Spanish slang for a certain part of the female anatomy, "or it will not go so well for you."

The girls in the back of the van huddled together, and any observer could see that they were clearly frightened. At least, any casual observer. Closer inspection would show that the eyes that seemed to dart about nervously were carefully noting locations, escape routes, potential vulnerabilities.

###

Fiona, following the van in her panel truck, had to pull farther back. The neighborhood the van she was following was entering was mostly deserted and her thirty yard cushion had stretched to sixty and now she was following it only by virtue of Chuck's phoned-in updates of the van's position. Looking around at the neighborhood, Fiona reached under her seat and pulled out the semi-automatic she had hidden there.

Casey and Sam, sitting in the Suburban smoking their Cubans, were watching Michael and Obregon talking in Obregon's car. Casey pulled out his phone and dialed Chuck to check in.

###

Chuck has been staring at the screen of his laptop which had a split window with the GPS track of Obregon on one side and the GPS track of Sarah's transceiver on the other. His mouth was dry, his shoulders ached and he had to go to the bathroom, but he was afraid to take his eyes off of the little glowing dot that marked Sarah's location.

In the background, the conversation between Michael and Obregon droned on as Obregon detailed his organization in an attempt to finalize an agreement with Michael to be his new supplier. Chuck spared a glance at the tape recording the conversation to make sure it was not about to run out, then turned immediately back to the glowing dot marking Sarah's location.

His cell phone rang and the picture of Casey in his green Buy More shirt appeared on the phone. Chuck's hands shook a little as he hit the screen to accept the call.

"Chuck," Casey's gruff voice said. "Report. Everything secure there?"

"Casey," Chuck said, his voice shaking. "Obregon has Sarah and Carina."

"That was the plan, moron," Casey replied.

Chuck completely ignored the dig. "No," he said. "Obregon took Sarah and Carina but he wouldn't let Fiona go along."

"Why didn't you call me?" Casey asked between clenched teeth.

"I tried, all right?" Chuck said. "Right before you and Sam beat up Obregon."

Casey grunted. Not one of his normal grunts, but more as a way to buy time for what he was going to say next. He hadn't thought about the kid listening in when he and Sam worked over Obregon. A part of Casey, a small part but one he thought he had buried years ago, felt guilty for the beating he had given Obregon. He glanced over at Sam, and the feeling was gone. Dammit, he was an agent. Bartowski was not going to get to him the way he had Walker.

"Do you still have Walker's location? Is the GPS working?" Casey asked.

"Yes," Chuck said. "And Fiona's following them, but she can't get too close because they're going into some really, really bad neighborhoods. We're talking Grand Theft Auto bad kind of neighborhoods."

"Calm down, Carmichael," Casey said, barely remembering to use Chuck's alias. "Walker can take care of herself."

"What is it?" Sam whispered from the passenger's seat.

Casey held a thumb over the microphone on the cell phone. "Obregon's got Walker and Carina. Fiona's tailing them."

"We're not doing any good here," Sam said. "Michael's with Obregon. I think we should go give Fiona some backup."

Casey thought for a moment then nodded. No plan survived first contact with the enemy. When everything started to go to Hell, improvise. He told himself that Walker was just a CIA skirt, but he got a sick feeling in his stomach thinking about her – and Carina – unarmed and alone with Obregon's goons.

"Carmichael," Casey said. "Route me to Walker's location."

###

With a little prodding, Obregon had been incredibly detailed in his description of his organization to Michael. Obregon, Michael quickly discovered, had a huge ego. In a way, the beating he had taken at the hands of Casey and Sam had loosened his tongue. He wanted to tell someone about the organization he had built; about how he was going to replace Menocal and Cespedes as the top drug lord in South Florida; about how he had ruthlessly wrecked the competition he had faced so far. By bragging to Michael about his organization, he was reasserting his manhood.

He even talked about the fact that he had contracted a hit on the former mule who was currently in jail to make sure she didn't talk.

As he listened, Michael grew nervous. Obregon was a much more ruthless character than he had guessed. Michael had known that it was a possibility that Obregon would kill his mules; that was why he had planned the operation the way he had. But until now, he didn't think it was a probability. Obregon was not only capable of ordering the deaths of the girls he had stashed away as mules, he was probably relishing the idea.

Michael had to backtrack. He couldn't let Obregon think that he could start supplying his drugs right away, or Obregon would have no reason to keep the girls alive.

"Give me three weeks to get it all set up and start making your deliveries," Michael said.

"Three weeks," Obregon exploded. "You told me a few days ago that you were ready to start immediately."

"What?" Michael said. "You think I just snap my fingers and the drugs appear in Miami warehouses? Now that we have a deal, I have to work up shipping receipts, bills of lading, phony cargo manifests to piggy-back on real cargo shipments. In this business, three weeks is immediately."

"Three weeks," Obregon said. "It may be good for there to be a shortage on the streets for awhile to drive the prices since if you can supply as much as you say, we can then flood the streets with cheaper product. But if you cannot deliver as you promise, you are a dead man." He turned and looked over at the club. "Now let us get a drink to seal our agreement."

"Sorry, partner," Michael said. "If I'm under a deadline, I need to get moving on this right away. I've got some calls to make."

"Very well," Obregon said. "You can buy me a drink later to toast our success."

Michael shook hands with Obregon and prayed that his palms weren't sweating. He walked as casually as he could back to his car while Obregon headed into the club. Obregon was crazy, and they needed to get Sarah and Carina, and the other girls, out now.

As soon as he pulled away, he called Fiona. "Fi. Do we have a location? We need to get the girls out now."

###

Twenty minutes later, Casey and Sam pulled up bedside Fiona's panel van. Sam and Casey got out of the Suburban and Fiona climbed out of the panel van.

"Chuck has confirmed that Sarah's in a house one block over," Fiona told them as Casey pulled tac vests out of the back of the Suburban and handed one to Sam and started strapping one on himself.

"What about me?" she asked.

Casey shrugged and pulled Walker's vest out of the back and handed it to Fiona. She pulled it on and began to fix the straps. "A little fancier then we're accustomed to, eh Sam?" Sam looked at her and his eyes were hard. He had spoken to Michael on the way here about Michael's conversation with Obregon.

"The signal hasn't moved for the past thirty minutes," Fiona said, "so if we're lucky this is the same place the other girls are being held. I've reconnoitered the neighborhood. The house is a one-story wood frame with a detached garage. One door in front, one in the rear. The van they took Sarah and Carina in wasn't out front, but it might be in the garage. I couldn't get close enough to the house to find out if the girls were inside or how many guards we're talking about.

Casey stuck one gun in his belt and held up the other to cock it. "If they other girls aren't here," Casey said, "then whoever is here will tell us where they are. I guarantee it." Casey's tone made even Fiona shiver.

"Sam and I'll take the front," Casey continued. "You watch the back."

"No watching," Fiona said. "I hit the back door. We need as much surprise as we can get so they don't have a chance to hurt the girls."

Casey looked as Sam. "Trust me, Casey," Sam said. "Fiona can handle herself."

Casey shrugged.

"Shouldn't we wait for Michael?" Fiona asked.

"We do this now," Casey said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Fiona looked at Sam. He gave a slight nod.

"Then let's do this," Fiona said.

Casey and Sam worked their way to the front of the target house, keeping to the shadows as they went. The house was quiet, but there were lights on in all the rooms. Once they were in position, they waited ten minutes as agreed to give Fiona time to get into position. Casey watched the seconds on his watch tick down. At the appointed time, he and Sam charged up the front porch. Sam stepped to the side as Casey used a battering ram to knock in the front door. Sam rushed inside, weapon as the ready.

"Clear," he called as he surveyed the room and saw no targets.

There was a crash from the back of the house and then they heard Fiona yell, "Clear."

Working room by room through the house, they systematically cleared each one. They at last came to the back bedroom. Sarah and Carina's clothes were in a pile on the bed. There was no sign of either woman.

Casey turned and put his fist through the wall.