A/N: What? Why is that lazy slob posting so soon? Ah, I'll tell you. This chapter was originally supposed to make up the second half of chapter 5, but my beta and I thought it would be better split up. Hence it is a little shorter. We are still having a little hiatus from Chuck's shenanigans at the moment and, once again, this chapter is solely Sarah. Rest assured, however, our favourite beleaguered spy and possible Ring agent will be back next chapter. Hehe. Also, my sister and I, had a massive marathon of certain tv show at the time I was writing this. See if you can guess what show it was. I really am less than subtle at times.
Thanks go out to everyone who's reviewed/favourited etc the previous chapters. I really enjoy getting feedback. And, of course, to DanaPAH, for betaing this chapter and making tonnes of helpful suggestions.
Chapter 6
The Longest Day
Part II: Revelations
October 12th 2007
Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington D.C.
22:51 EST
Sarah pulled her overcoat tighter around her chest as she sat by the memorial waiting for Skinnard to arrive. In spite of having just come back from the Mediterranean, Washington still felt unusually cold for this time of year. Stars were dotted above, mapping out the clear night sky and the moonlight was casting a long shadow of the Lincoln Memorial over its pool. The cold weather, acting as a meaningful deterrent, meant that very few people were about at this time, save for the rare, courageous jogger.
The roads had been quiet on the way over. Still, she'd asked the cab driver to take a longer route, just to make sure that no-one was following her. Despite doubting that to be the case, after what had just happened in her apartment, she wasn't taking any chances.
Even with the added distance, the cab had still managed to drop her off at Constitution Avenue a couple of minutes early and she now was sitting alone on a bench by the memorial, facing away from the names of a thousand dead. Her breathing was the only thing to break to silence.
A voice called out in the dark.
"Agent Walker." She turned to see AD Skinnard briskly walking towards her. His unbuttoned overcoat, grey to her black, was fluttering in the wind as he walked, giving the impression that he was moving much faster than he actually was.
Skinnard himself was of slender build, slighter taller than Sarah herself, and bald. She guessed that he was in his early fifties, the mark indenting his ring finger evidence of his recent and not-so-quiet divorce.
Sarah rose, keeping her hands in pockets, and nodded. "Assistant Director."
She noticed the bags under his eyes as he sat down on the bench, before doing the same herself.
"You're all right then, I take it?" he asked, sounding concerned.
"Yes, sir, a little bruised, but otherwise unscathed," she swiftly answered. Her well-being wasn't exactly the foremost concern right now.
"And the Ring agent, did you manage to-"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "There was no time. Nothing on his person to indicate why he was trying to break into my apartment, either."
Skinnard grimaced. "Damn. Well, maybe forensics will find something."
Sarah nodded bleakly. Most Ring operatives were trained to resist interrogation anyway and she doubted Cruz would have been stupid enough to leave something for forensics to find.
"The strange thing is," Skinnard continued, "our intel indicates Cruz is supposed to still be in Mexico. If you're right about him looking for Bryce, and the Ring are connected to all this somehow, then we may have bigger problems than we originally thought."
Bigger problems was an understatement, she thought to herself. If there was one thing that could top the CIA director being taken out by one of their own, it was the idea that some barely known quasi-government faction had done it instead. Holy hell must be running loose at the CIA right now.
"What does Shaw think about that?"
"I haven't told him yet," Skinnard said, looking away. "That would involve explaining your presence here. I'm going to sit on it for a few hours – Which reminds me, everything was fine getting out of Italy?"
"There weren't any problems," she answered. "I flew commercial under an, erm, unofficial alias, and Agent Miller won't report that I've left to her superiors for a couple of days."
"Good." He nodded, staring out at the water. "A lot of people aren't going to be very happy if they find out I've recalled you like this."
"Sir, if I may ask," she began, needing to get this out of the way before they went any further. "Why have you recalled melike this? If you believe Bryce is somehow being set up to take the fall for Graham's assassination, wouldn't it be easier to get someone in who didn't used to be Bryce's partner? I could be working with him for all you know. I'm not exactly a Ring expert, either."
Skinnard actually smiled, which made her feel strangely uncomfortable. The older man had never been shy of saying what he thought, and tonight seemed to be no exception. "Sarah, your experience as Bryce's partner is exactly why you're suited for this. You know how he works. You know how he thinks."
Sarah felt the need to blush, but her face remained impassive as ever.
"As to you working with Bryce," Skinnard continued, shaking his head from side to side. "I doubt that's the case. It's a gamble on my part, true. But Bryce has been out of contact for months, and you've been in Europe. I know I can rely on you, Sarah. Call it a hunch."
In spite of liking the man, and genuinely believing him to be a decent person, Sarah still couldn't understand his angle.
"Is that why you think Bryce is innocent, sir? A Hunch?"
Skinnard scratched his nose. "Back when I worked at the Bureau, there was this agent who worked under me. Very smart, had a psychology degree from Oxford. He used to work on a lot of weird cases, usually going on just hunches alone. Perhaps surprisingly, he actually managed to solve a lot of them. So, in answer to your question Agent Walker: Yes, it is a hunch. But its also a matter of trust. I've known both you and Agent Larkin for over 10 years now; I know you're not traitors. Plus, a Ring operative just tried to brake into your apartment."
Sarah looked at the ground, feeling as if she were five years old. She sometimes wished people wouldn't trust her so much. Trust always seem to get people killed around her.
"How's Shaw's investigation coming along?" she inquired, wanting to change the subject away from her stupid personal issues.
"They're still analysing the scene, looking for any indication as to where Bryce might be. They've set-up highway patrols and locked down the airports and train stations. But that's just a formality, everyone knows Bryce is long gone."
She shook her head in agreement. "So basically, they're nowhere?"
Skinnard gave a brief shrug in acknowledgement. "They've got to at least look like they're doing something."
He let out a long sigh. "It's only been a day, and its already turning into a bureaucratic nightmare. Shaw's currently embroiled in a territorial dispute with OPR, and the NSA aren't helping matters. And until the White House confirms the Deputy Director as Graham's interim replacement, it's going to continue."
Sarah rolled her eyes. She was no fan of bureaucrats, and the fact that the investigation was solely focused on Bryce and not the Ring wasn't helping matters. Then again, the sole Ring connection was pretty flimsy, whereas Bryce was on tape leaving the scene. Hell, barely anyone had even heard of The Ring anyway, let alone understand their agenda. She only knew the faintest of details herself.
"You said there'd been a development, sir?" she inquired, remembering that Skinnard had been the one to call this meeting.
Skinnard nodded and carefully removed his half-rimmed glasses. "Four hours ago, a car bomb exploded outside of Hahamongna Watershed Park in Glendale, California."
"Casualties?" she asked, all other thoughts quickly pushed to the back of her mind.
"None, besides the driver." Skinnard shook his head again. "The bomb detonated in a pretty remote area. A couple of drivers reported seeing the vehicle in question speeding away from them before they heard an explosion.
"They didn't see the explosion?"
"No, it occurred several hundred feet behind them. They're being told it was a problem with the fuel tank, although I doubt that will stick for long with the media."
Sarah frowned. "I don't mean to sound callous sir, but why are looking into this? Isn't this a matter for the Feds?
"Normally, yes. It would be." She noticed that Skinnard had started to fiddle with his glasses "While the body is almost unrecognisable, forensic teams have recovered a partial driver license that miraculously managed to survive the blast. One that belonged to one of our people."
"Who's the driver?"
Skinnard didn't seem to want to hold her gaze and kept glancing down at his glasses. "Charles Bartowski, alias Charles Carmichael."
Sarah froze.
Chuck was dead. Chuck, both the analyst and the field agent, was dead. Chuck, who had been Bryce's friend at Stanford, was dead. Chuck, who Bryce in return had gotten kicked out of the CIA, whilst she had stood idly by, was dead. Chuck, that sweet-talking, kind-eyed, innocent man who had made her feel so-
"Agent Walker?" Hello, reality.
Skinnard was staring at her.
God, her eyes were itchy.
Say something, dammit.
"And you think this is connected to Graham's murder?" Yes, that was a good question.
"Given the proximity of the two events, and Agent Larkin's connection to Charles Bartowski, it seems too unlikely to be a coincidence."
"Any indication as to why Chu – Er, Bartowski was targeted?" Saying the name aloud sounded strangely foreign. She wished her eyes would stop itching. She wasn't going to rub them.
Skinnard's mouth twitched slightly, and he leaned back on the bench. "The strange thing is, it doesn't look like your typical car bomb for assassination. It was on a timer, and they'd be no guarantee Bartowski would have been in the car at the time of detonation." Skinnard looked up at her from under thick brows.
If Chuck hadn't be targeted, then was Skinnard suggesting that-
"It may have been a case of domestic terrorism gone wrong. Now that we know the Ring are involved, we can't rule anything out."
"Charles Bartowski isn't a terrorist," she calmly stated. "Or a member of the Ring."
Skinnard seemed unfazed, but cocked an eyebrow sceptically at her. "We don't yet know enough to pass judgement.
Sarah realised she'd been letting her emotions control her, the shock of Chuck's death still fresh. Skinnard needed her to be calm and collected. She needed to be a spy.
Even so, the idea that Charles Please-Call-Me-Chuck Bartowski was some kind of terrorist – or part of the Ring – was ridiculous. She'd even been surprised when Bryce had told her he was a field agent. Those eyes lacked the cold emptiness that she was sure her own had grown to possess. It was just bullshit.
Then again, less than 24-hours ago, Bryce Larkin has supposedly assassinated Graham.
Bullshit or not, she knew what her next mission was going to be.
She rose and gave a quick nod to Skinnard. "I'll head out to California then. Track Bartowski's movements. Maybe it'll lead us to Larkin."
"I've alerted local FBI that you're coming," Skinnard said. "Let me know what you find."
"I will do, sir."
"The FBI think you're there in an advisory capacity only," he said, quickly glancing behind him. "So stay under the radar. The NSA are already sending Casey out there, and it won't be long before Shaw finds out and sends someone, too."
Casey was a by-the-book burnout. He could really make things difficult for her.
She stood up to leave as Skinnard spoke again. "Oh, and Sarah, I am sorry about Bartowski. I know that you worked with him"
Facing away from him, Sarah let her eyes fall shut for a second, closing them to a world where Chuck wasn't dead and Bryce wasn't on the run. She didn't need this right now.
The air temperature felt as if it had plummeted ten degrees.
Getting involved with Bryce had been a mistake, she knew that now. It had made her vulnerable. Emotions weren't something she could deal with.
She opened her eyes
Sarah Walker didn't have emotions.
"Thank you, sir," she quietly muttered, before beginning the walk back towards the road, back into the world where Chuck was dead and Bryce was a traitor. "But we really weren't all that close."
Her eyes were still itching.
# # #
October 12th 2007
Hahamongna Watershed Park, Glendale, California
23:57 PST
The flashing lights from all the Federal, State and local law enforcement vehicles were illuminating the tall trees that stood either side of the long road. Despite the lateness of the hour, the scene of the car bombing was still abuzz with activity. Amidst the parking lot that formed from the assortment of official vehicles, it had been a struggle to find a spot for the rental she was driving.
She'd managed to get a call off to her contact just after touching down in Bob Hope airport. This woman had, until recently, worked as a systems and data analyst for the government. She had stepped back in order to take care of her young family, but still did the occasional bit of freelance work. Sarah had asked to her to see if there was any electronic traces of Bryce's post-Colombia records. She'd also requested that she run a facial scan through any networked surveillance cameras in the LA county area, in an effort to find out where Chuck and Bryce had been. It was a place to start.
After showing her identification to the LAPD officer at the crime scene tape, who had clearly been baffled to see a CIA agent show up in the middle of the night, she continued on towards where all the activity was centred. The rejuvenating effects of her brief nap in her apartment had worn off on the flight over. The ever westward journey she seemed to be taking was making this day drag on and on. Three time zones in one day wasn't a record for her, but it was taking its toll. Jet-lag really was a bitch. The California climate, however, made for a welcome return. The circumstances didn't.
For her, it had been the 12th of October for almost 36 hours now, and she just wanted it to end. But she wasn't going to let it. Not yet. Not with so many unanswered questions.
Skid marks ran along the road leading to the burnt out wreck, the remains of which had once been a car. All four doors had been blown off and the disjointed remains of wheels were scattered around the place. Where had once been tarmac, there was now a sizeable crater burnt into the road, on which the car remains loosely sat. Trees immediately surrounding the wreckage were blackened and had been bent backwards by the force of the blast. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and flesh scorched the air and inflamed her nostrils. It was almost enough to make her turn around and run. Almost.
No-one should have to die this way. No-one.
The Agency maxim was that it was part of the job, all part of the risk and service to one's country. It was hard enough to accept that this frequently happened to colleagues in her line of work. But for Chuck to have died this way... Chuck had left the Agency, left the life of risk and carnage and death behind. Correction: he hadn't left, he had been forced to leave. On her watch. This shouldn't have happened to him. Sarah couldn't help but picture the look of terror in those perfectly innocent eyes when he must have realised what was happening to him. The only solace she could take was that it would have been quick.
Every part of her brain was screaming that there was no way he could have intentionally been part of this. Her assessment of that being bullshit was still running strong. There had just been something different about Chuck. He wasn't a terrorist.
As she got closer to the scene, she could identify the Federal agents, with the letters "FBI" brazenly embroidered on the back of their wind-breakers, scurrying around like worker ants, each with their own designated task at hand. LAPD officers were watching from the sidelines, with either looks of fatigue or resentment towards their Federal counterparts that they had been relegated to guard duty. Around the wreckage, men in white overalls were still examining the car, which she could now see was turned at a ninety degree angle to the road.
Sarah stopped for a second, wondering if the explosion could have turned the car that way. It seemed unlikely. She frowned, before continuing over the stationary FBI agent in the baseball cap who looked like he was in charge. He was looking down at a clipboard. This was the queen ant.
"Excuse me?" She held up her badge. "Sarah Walker, CIA. AD Skinnard said you were expecting me."
The man looked up from his clipboard and glanced at her badge before his turning eyes to her, which lingered for perhaps a second longer than necessary. Sarah could already tell he was a bureaucrat.
"Ah, Agent Walker," he said. "Yes. I wasn't expecting you so soon."
She tilted her head and gave a half smile. "I came straight from the airport."
The man raised an eyebrow slightly before glancing back down at his clipboard. "You wouldn't prefer to check into your hotel first?"
Sarah let out a silent sigh; she knew she must look tired and was currently going out of her way to avoid mirrors, but she could see past this man's fake concern for her well being. She didn't have time for territorial pissings.
"Look, Agent..." she said, letting her mouth hang open slightly.
Agent bureaucrat looked abruptly up from his clipboard. "Robertson."
She allowed her head to bounce a little in acknowledgement. "Agent Robertson," she continued. "I'd really appreciate it if you could just tell me what you've found. I'm not here to impose on your turf. Just to look around."
Agent bureaucrat-Robertson considered it for a moment before letting the clipboard fall to his side, and began to slowly walk around the crime scene, gesturing for her to follow.
"Preliminary indication from the skid marks on the road, and witness testimony, suggest the vehicle was travelling at least 70 prior to the explosion before the driver began to slow down."
The driver. He meant Chuck.
"The driver then attempted a handbrake turn, hence the position of the car," Robertson continued to recite, all the while circling the wreckage with Sarah in tow. "From the location that the, err, body was found in, it looks like he tried to exit the vehicle before the bomb exploded."
"Wait," Sarah interjected. "If the driver slowed down and attempted to jump out, it suggests he knew the car was about to explode. That doesn't make any sense."
Robertson shrugged before nodding. "It is a little strange."
From the corner of her eye, Sarah could see a dark Sedan pull up in the distance. A tall, bulky man dressed entirely in black stepped out. Great, Sarah thought, John Casey and the NSA were here.
"What can you tell me about the bomb?" she asked, all the while watching Casey in the periphery of her vision, who had begun to silently edge around the scene, speaking only when asked to show his ID.
"Several pounds of C4 attached to the underside of the car. Set on a timer. Rigged with anti-tampering devices. It's just lucky it exploded out here."
She wanted to say that it may be more than luck, but didn't. Instead, she asked, "How did the driving license survive the explosion?"
Robertson looked as if he'd just remembered something very important and was pleased with himself for doing so. Bravo, she thought, remind me to give you a cookie later.
"I was equally surprised at first. Never seen anything like it. But the arson experts say it's not all that uncommon for certain compartmentalised areas to be shielded from the explosion, the glove box, the trunk, under a seat..." He trailed off.
Sarah raised an eyebrow sceptically. "The driving license wasn't found on the body then?"
"No," Robertson answered. "Everything on the body was burnt beyond recognition. We're going to have to run a dental analysis to confirm that it is your man."
"Now, Agent Walker," he said brusquely, raising his clipboard again. "I'm needed elsewhere."
"Of course," she responded politely. "Thank you for your time." Enjoy your clipboard.
He grunted in acknowledgement and started to move away.
Sarah turned her attention back to Casey now. She was sure that he had noticed her and was doing his best to conceal it. No doubt he'd be on the phone to his superiors soon to inform them of her presence.
Her phone started to vibrate in her pocket. It was her contact.
"Walker," she answered.
"Okay Sarah," her contact said, sounding harried. "I haven't been able to find the files you requested, so either they were never entered into the record, or they're on top level Agency severs which I don't have access to."
Sarah felt her mouth twitch. That wasn't good. "Can't you get into them some other way?" she asked.
"Maaaaybe," her contact replied. "It's gonna be a bitch to hack into."
"Okay," Sarah said, reluctantly accepting that it might be several more days before she found out where Bryce had been for the past months, if ever. "And the other thing?"
"That, I did find something," she said, sounding pleased. "But I don't think you're gonna like it."
"Dammit, Chloe, Just tell me."
"Yeah, I forgot. Straight to business and all with you," she replied rather acrimoniously. Right now, Sarah couldn't care less. "Agent Larkin didn't show up on any camera in either LA or DC, no luck there. But, a CalTrans camera did pick up a man with an 83% match to Charles Bartowski at a small transformer station near the port of Los Angeles, two days ago."
"Go on," Sarah said, her curiosity rising.
"The thing is, it was cut off from the power grid after the blackout in 2005. It still consumes a lot of power though. I've traced back county records, and the station was bought after the blackout by a company called McTeirnan Industries. Have you heard of them?"
The name didn't ring a bell. "Should I have?"
"Sarah," Chloe said, serious as ever. "While there's never been any evidence to prove it, the CIA has always believed that they're a subsidiary of The Ring."
Chuck had been at a Ring base?
That was not the hurricane thunderclap she was expecting.
# # #
A/N: OMGOMGOMG! Did I just kill Chuck. Eh, would kinda make the title of this story suck a little.