A/N: I know I promised no waits between chapters anymore – I guess I lied. I'm actually in a remote corner of Scotland at the moment doing some field work, and it's pretty isolated up here. The internet's patchy at best. Seriously, I have to walk several hundred metres to get phone signal! But, yeah, the chapter's done now. Chapter 13 shouldn't be too long as I have a few weeks off once I return from my exile up here.

Thanks to Dana for beta'ing this chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter 12

Trouble with Dreams

17th October 2007

Somewhere off Highway 395, California

09:03 PST

To say the smell that Chuck awoke to was pleasant was an understatement, and that was cutting it lightly. Pleasant was just too bland a word – if words were even fitting. No, the smell he awoke to was definitely more than just pleasant; it seemed impossibly intoxicating and alluring, a combination of grapefruit, elderflower and strawberries rolled into one, something too fantastically complex and perfect to actually be real. And the only thought that was able to pass coherently through Chuck's still semi-conscious mind was that he desperately wanted more of it, a thought his body had decided to act on. Slowly, he felt himself start to shuffle across the soft sheets, closer and closer to the source of that wonderful...

Then, abruptly, freezing mid-shuffle, his awakened mind figured out where the smell was coming from, or rather who the smell was coming from, and Chuck remembered where he was.

Sarah.

Chuck's eyes burst open in shock, rounding to the size of golf balls, and he was suddenly very grateful that he was still fully clothed – even if his heavy jeans had put him in a bit of a sweat – because he was pretty sure his entire body had flushed red in embarrassment. He lay there for a few seconds staring at the ceiling, just breathing, paralysed with the fear that Sarah might be awake next to him. After a moment, when he was sure all was still quiet, Chuck carefully tilted his head to the right, towards his bed partner.

By some inordinate miracle, Sarah was still asleep next to him and Chuck was relieved to see there was still an appropriate distance between them – although, he was positive it was somewhat smaller than it had been last night. Reassured that his shuffling had not done too much damage he forced himself to momentarily relax before he actually did wake her. However, relaxing was easier said than done. It was difficult to distract his mind from just how good she smelled – seriously, what kind of shampoo did this motel use? The last time a smell had woken him up it had been from Ellie's cooking...

At some point in the night Sarah had rolled onto her side, turning to face him. The comforter was still drawn tightly up to her neck, clutched in place by a small fist. Blonde hair that was slightly tussled, made golden by the early morning sunlight, framed her perfect features, and Chuck could do all but stare. Her expression was relaxed and she seemed a lot less pale than the previous night. Bruises were still there of course, though they were starting to show the early signs of fading. But from the shallow nature of her breaths, Chuck could see that the anguish and harsh reality from her three days in captivity was still fresh. It had only been a day, after all. Maybe he should have waited to tell her about Bryce? There was only so much one person could go through...

Chuck quickly shook off the thought. There was little he could do about that now, it was best to just let her sleep where he hoped things would be at least partially peaceful. He drew his gaze away from the sleeping CIA agent and looked to the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. It was slightly after nine. He had slept for a little less than Sarah had instructed, but it was enough. Besides, she was still asleep; she didn't have to know.

His shuffling however, he was rather embarrassed to say, had brought him dangerously close to the middle of the bed, and extracting himself was going to probably to be difficult. His lanky build didn't exactly put co-ordination on his side, either. Very carefully, he used his feet to push back the comforter from over him, and Chuck instantly felt cooler. Now if he could just –

But he couldn't.

He couldn't, because it was then he realised that there was something trapped between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Something soft. Well, trapped wasn't an entirely appropriate word, as whatever it was had a firm grip of its own. His hand was still covered by the comforter, and he couldn't see beyond his forearm. Chuck frowned, puzzled. Cautiously, he decided to test the waters, and carefully moved his thumb over whatever was in his hand. Whatever was there felt warm and incredibly delicate, yet he knew it was too strong to pry off. He repeated the motion with his thumb, and Chuck felt the object's grip tighten around his fingers defiantly. Chuck swallowed nervously – the thing could move! That couldn't be good. And from the stranglehold it had round his finger, it was only one step away from cutting off his blood circulation and once it had finished him off it would go after Sarah and –

"Chuck...?"

Chuck's eyes shot up to where the voice had come from, away from the spot of covers where underneath the thing – wait, thing? Okay, maybe he hadn't had enough sleep, or maybe his mind was just a bit more willing to accept the possibility that some alien parasite was trying to choke his hand to death, than the reality that Sarah Walker was simply holding it. Again.

Oh crap.

"Chuck?" Sarah asked again, and he jolted slightly, remembering that Sarah's voice was what had brought him back to reality in the first place. Her eyes were only half open, the right one drooping a bit under the swelling, but she was looking at him with concern, and then he became acutely aware that sweat was started to gather on his forehead. "Is everything all right?"

Chuck hesitated before responding. Even though it was probably his stroking of her hand that had woken her, Sarah had probably yet to realise about their...predicament. When this had happened yesterday in the car, he'd managed to detach himself while she was still asleep, and hide them both – mainly him – from the embarrassment of the situation. That was no longer an option. This was going to be awkward, to say the least. Hideously inappropriate on his part was more realistic, particularly after last night, made worse by the recognition that there was a tiny part within him that really didn't want to let go. He wished now that she hadn't talked him into sharing the bed with her – okay, forced him was more realistic. But now, she would no doubt say that it had been mistake when she realised...

"I...I'm fine," Chuck stammered finally, noticing that Sarah's stare had only intensified. "I mean, good morning. How – how are you?"

Sarah's brow furrowed before she gave him a small smile. "Good morning to you, too. What are you..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes moved to where their hands were joined beneath the covers – where they remained.

What seemed like an eternity to Chuck passed before Sarah reacted – though, in reality it was probably only a few seconds. Sarah's reaction when it finally came, however, was not what he was expecting. Her gaze gradually drifted back towards his, where she held it, azure boring into brown. Chuck tried to look away, but he couldn't. Her mouth was slightly parted, lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly, and at that moment she seemed so incredibly small, so precious. The thought of everything she had been through was suddenly even more terrifying to him than before, and Chuck felt his stomach jump.

Then, abruptly, it was over. Sarah quickly pulled her eyes away and withdrew her hand from his, pushing herself back in the bed. Chuck blinked, mentally chastising himself for not doing the same – quicker.

"We should probably get going," Sarah muttered, looking away. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing some sleep out of her eyes. "Don't want to stay in one place for too long."

"Right," Chuck said, nodding, all the while subtly trying to move back to his side of the bed. "I'm just gonna take a shower first."

Sarah paused mid-way through stretching and raised an eyebrow.

Chuck felt his mouth sudden drop, and he quickly forced himself to shut it. "No, no, no – I didn't mean that kind of shower...I wasn't saying..." He trailed off hopelessly, pretty sure that if he physically could have turned any more red, he would have.

Sarah simply nodded, and Chuck took that as his sign and opportunity to finally get out of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could have sworn he saw Sarah give a slight smirk as he did so. That was probably just his mind playing tricks on him – why would Sarah smirk at him? He didn't wait to find out.

Chuck didn't breathe until the bathroom door was firmly closed behind him, putting a shield between him and any more inappropriate things he could say – or do – to Sarah. She had, thankfully, not mentioned their holding hands. But those eternally long seconds of eye contact had said everything for her...

Last night she had taken pity on him, allowing him to share the bed with her, allowing him to get some rest. And how had he repaid her? By taking her hand at some point in the night and nearly rolling onto her in his slumber.

He shook his head in despair as pulled his t-shirt off over his head. What she must be thinking...

As he dropped the t-shirt onto the towel rail, his eyes paused, noticing Sarah's old clothes discarded on the floor. The tattered shirt and jeans had been scrunched up and pushed into the far corner of the bathroom, as far as they could possibly go. Chuck's frown deepened as he stared at them. The visible reminders of Sarah's own personal hell. A hell that she was desperately trying to escape from, to forget.

And then suddenly everything made sense, guilt once again freshly washing over him. All this time he had been thinking about himself. How inappropriate he had been – all the embarrassing implications for him. Now, in truth, that seemed strangely pathetic, and he cursed himself for being so stupid and self-centred. It wasn't about him. It never had been.

He hadn't been the one to latch onto Sarah's hand in the night.

It had been her.

Just like yesterday, she had sought out his hand.

But this was different than yesterday. Yesterday had been a mistake – in all her shock and tiredness she had thought he was Bryce. Last night was different.

From the beginning, he'd felt instinctively protective of Sarah. This wasn't just because of a promise made to a dead friend, or out of guilt due to his association with nefarious criminal organisations, but because it was right. It had felt like the right thing to do. But even still, maybe he had underestimated the effect of the last three days on her, and Chuck knew that he wasn't always the most perceptive person.

As much as she might have been able to put on a brave face during the day – ever the invincible Agent Sarah Walker – last night she had been asleep, relaxed, with her sub-conscious mind active. A place where she couldn't hide from everything that she'd been through, where the signs of the effects of trauma, sometimes difficult to spot, could freely break through to the surface.

Oh, God.

She was scared.

And most of it was because of him.

It wasn't fair to Sarah for her to stay with him. She really shouldn't be in the field, not after everything that had happened. He was a wanted man, and every second he was with her, she was put in more in danger.

This couldn't go on.

# # #

Since Chuck had practically sprinted off to the bathroom, Sarah left been left alone, sitting on the edge of the bed. Truthfully, she was more confused than anything else. Confusion was something that had been rife in the past week, but now things were starting to get out of hand.

The slight embarrassment at waking up to see Chuck staring at their encased hands had quickly passed once he had left the room. She did feel a little bad for him as he was, no doubt, currently beating himself up about it in the bathroom for letting it happen – believing it to be his doing. Despite her confusion, though, she hadn't been able to contain her smirk at Chuck's word slip about the shower. She liked that – a joke, humour, something to laugh about. It made a change from the last few hours of sleep, which had involved anything but.

Sarah didn't normally dream – at least not like this. But since she'd gone back to bed after Chuck had told her about Bryce, images of her cell and her chains had persisted throughout the night, along with Cooper chasing her through her sleep, ever closing in, and she'd been unable to shake him. There had been another face, too, with him, guiding him as he had pursued her. A feminine face, familiar, and yet one she was unable to identify, not seen for a long time. What's more, she had felt afraid of it, to confront it, and so she had ran faster, all the while with Cooper chasing her, trying to escape. Faster and faster until...

She had woken up sharply to the darkness of the motel room, cold sweat running across her face. She had lain there for a few seconds as reality had sunk in, trying to shake off the dream. She didn't let dreams bother her; they were for children. It was stupid to be scared by it.

But it had just seemed so real.

Without thinking, she had reached out and pulled Chuck's hand into her hers, drawing it close. It seemed like the right thing to do, the only thing that made any sense. Chuck had still been asleep, but his hand had reflexively curled into hers. It was warm and comforting, and it had given her a sudden, strong feeling of safety. She wanted to pull herself closer to him, but for now this was enough. When she had next closed her eyes, the burden of the dream had lifted away, and peaceful sleep had soon returned.

Now, hours later, she was fully awake and left trying to understand the dream, the face, why she had taken Chuck's hand, all of it. The unknown woman's face was what perplexed her the most, why she couldn't place it. What was even stranger still was that she knew she hadn't seen it in what felt like an age, and that last night, of all nights, it had returned to her...

The sound of the shower being turned on snapped Sarah back to reality. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair.

So much for starting to process, she thought as she stood up off the bed.

An Agency shrink would probably have a field day with her. She gave a humourless laugh. Despite all the torture and the fresh news of her partner's death, everything with her would probably be put down to daddy issues.

She shook off the thought as she started to stretch. The psychological bullshit would have to wait. Right now, she needed to protect Chuck, and to do that she required her wits about her. While she wasn't at her best physically, she would have to make do.

Her shoulders felt a lot better as she moved them, though she couldn't quite fully rotate them, and she groaned slightly as the movement met pain. She forced herself to relax into it, until it numbed. Her legs felt strong enough to move at a fast walk, although probably still a bit too clumsy to run on. Roundhouses were definitely out of the question, but if required to defend herself, a strong kick to the stomach should be easy enough.

She nodded to herself, satisfied that she was at least partially capable of field work.

Feeling slightly more enthused, she drew her hair back into a messy ponytail, tying it with a blue band she found in the bed-side table, and lowered herself cautiously to the ground. She pushed her feet under the edge of the bed, slid her arms to the back of her head, and gently started to pull herself up, careful not to strain against her stitches on her back. The first push-up seemed to take forever – but she did it. Sarah smiled, and attempted another. Two. A third went well, and then –

The bruises on her torso cried out in protest, feeling as fresh as ever, causing Sarah to groan. "Shit," she cried, falling back to the floor.

Seconds later, before she'd had time to compose herself, the bathroom door was flung open and Chuck came sprinting out, eyes widening in shock at seeing her on the floor. He was at her side in an instant, skidding to a stop.

"Oh my god, Sarah!" he said kneeling down, looking genuinely fearful. "Are you okay? What's wrong? Should I call an ambulance?"

The cries of resistance from the bruises on her chest and stomach had faded enough for her to manage a grim smile, which she gave in an effort to reassure him. When Chuck's expression didn't change, she was about to say that she was fine, only to abruptly realise that he was soaking wet, his chest bare and clad only in a towel, the distant sound of water still running from the other room. He must have practically run out of the shower.

"No. I mean – yes, I'm fine," she said hoarsely, feeling a couple of drops of water fall on her face.

Chuck still didn't look convinced.

"I was just trying to do some sit-ups," she explained, feeling foolish for attempting such a thing when she was injured and scaring him. "They didn't go so well," she added.

After a quick frown, Chuck's expression lightened, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah," he said, turning slightly red, and Sarah felt herself start to blush when she noticed his face wasn't the only part to redden. "So you're okay then?" he asked feebly, standing back up, clutching the towel more tightly around his waist.

Sarah forced herself to look at his face. "Uh-huh."

"Good," Chuck nodded awkwardly before glancing longingly back at the open bathroom.

Then, remembering she was still on the floor, he quickly offered his free hand to her, which she accepted.

Once she was on her feet, Chuck murmured something incomprehensible and retreated back to the bathroom. As she watched him go, she couldn't help but be fascinated by the way his wet hair curled so much more than when it was dry...

As soon as the bathroom door closed shut, Sarah collapsed back onto the bed and shut her eyes.

Processing was not going to be fun.

# # #

About half an hour later they had left the room, and Sarah was waiting by the payphones outside the reception building while Chuck returned their key. The morning had a cool, brisk feel to it, and immediately upon leaving their room, Chuck had naturally offered her his jacket. She had refused, not wanting to leave him in just his t-shirt, whatever comments he might make about them being in the desert. He had grudgingly accepted this. Eventually. Besides, they weren't going to be outside for long, and her new hoodie – much as it wasn't her usual style – did a surprisingly good job of keeping the wind off.

Neither of them were feeling particularly hungry and seeing as it was already nearly ten, they had decided to pick up breakfast on the road, once they had gotten moving. However, before they did that, they were going to need help, logistical support from within the Agency, if they going to evade the Ring, clear Chuck's name and get to the root of Graham murder. Although, contacting the Agency was easier said than done.

From what Chuck had told her, almost every level of the CIA had been compromised by Ring agents. Unfortunately, the information he'd gathered at the data storage facility back at the docks in L.A. hadn't contained the identifies of these agents, and now with both Bryce and Graham gone, knowing who to trust was a major issue. Furthermore, the real CIA (along with a half dozen other agencies) still believed Chuck to be a traitor, responsible for the failed bombing in Glendale. Even with the limited data Chuck had downloaded, convincing them of his innocence would be hard done by – not least because of numerous Ring factions within the Agency that would seek to capitalise on the search.

Equally unfortunate was that most of her Agency contacts were also Bryce's contacts, and would likely be being monitored by both the Ring and the Agency given what had happened with the bombing. Carina, a DEA operative, though she trusted her, was also out of the question, as she was still in Europe and unable to help from there. The only other real option was contacting William Skinnard. The Assistant Director was senior enough within the Agency to be beyond the scope of the investigation of the bombing, even given his connection to Bryce.

Chuck had been reluctant when Sarah had mentioned him, but she had assured him that they could trust Skinnard, that he had been the one to recall her from Italy in the first place, that he had set her off on the trail that had eventually led to her finding Chuck. Still not sounding fully convinced, Chuck had agreed. Though he had insisted that they not contact him at the Agency directly, as calls to the Agency would be too easy to trace, and that they instead use a proxy.

Sarah knew just the person.

"So," Chuck said, walking out of the reception building. "You sure we can trust this Chloe person?"

Sarah nodded to him as he reached the payphone. "Pretty sure. She used to work for the government as a data analyst and was heavily involved in stopping several major terrorist attacks. Now she's retired, but still helps me out from time to time."

Chuck nodded cautiously. "Okay."

"She's got a family now," she added, sensing his hesitation. "She's got no reason to be working for the Ring."

Sarah just manage to stop herself before she also said, she's happy, too.

Chuck gave a small smile. "Good for her," he said, trying to contain the longing in his voice, and only just failing. "Well, I mean, if you're sure..."

"I am," Sarah said confidently. "It's the best option we have right now."

Chuck didn't bother to argue. "Okay, then. Just remember to keep it short."

Sarah nodded in agreement as she started to dial the number long buried in her memory. It was a while before someone answered.

"Hello?" a female voice said sounding tired.

"Hi, Chloe," Sarah said, keeping her tone neutral.

"Sarah?" Chloe answered, stifling a yawn. "Do you have any idea what time it is, or what it's like to have a two-year-old? Prescott's been teething and I've been up half the night!"

"Sorry," Sarah said simply, aware of her limited time and not wanting to waste it on pleasantries. Though she did feel slightly bad for drawing Chloe away from her son.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter now," she said, still sounding vaguely annoyed. "What do you need? You never did get back to me on that guy you were chasing. Bartsky? Bartrusquey?" Her voice trailed as she strained to remember Chuck's surname.

"Sorry, Chloe, but I really don't have much time. I need you to set up a meet for me."

"A meet?" Chloe asked, puzzled. "Why? With who?"

"Assistant Director Skinnard. I'm sorry but I can't explain why?"

"Skinnard? Can't you call him yourself?"

"Dammit, Chloe. Please just do this for me," Sarah said, starting to feel herself get annoyed. "And keep it off the books. No-one besides you and Skinnard can know."

"Okay, Sarah, fine," Chloe conceded. "But Geez, there's no need to be such a bitch about it. Where and when do you want this to happen?"

Sarah ignored the bitch comment. "Two days from now. I'll contact you with the exact location tomorrow. Just tell him that's he's gonna need to fly out to central California."

"I'll do that," the other woman replied, sounding more serious. She hesitated. "Are you sure everything's okay, Sarah?"

"Everything's fine," Sarah said quickly, aware that Chuck was starting to tap his watch. "Just make sure no-one finds out about this."

Chloe snorted. "Who do you think I am? The FBI?"

"Thanks, Chloe," she replied, unable to contain a grin. "I'll be in touch."

After hanging up the phone she turned back to Chuck, who was still looking at his watch.

"Fifty-three seconds," he said, looking up. "That's not enough time for anyone to establish a trace."

"No," Sarah said in agreement. "We should be all right."

With the motel room paid for, they started to cross the parking lot back to Chuck's Range Rover, Chuck setting the pace slow to accommodate her.

"Are you sure it's best to met Skinnard out here, in person?" he asked. "I mean, wouldn't it be better just to call him on a secure line?"

Sarah shook her head. "Skinnard's always been pretty cautious. He'll want to meet you before agreeing to help us – he's probably still convinced you're part of The Ring. I don't think my word alone will be enough. Plus, I don't think he was ever involved in this Intersect project. You may need to show him."

Chuck visibly gulped before paling. "You – you mean I'll need to flash?"

They came to a stop next to the vehicle.

"Yeah," she said, frowning as she turned to face him, "or at least show him some of the data you downloaded. Will that be a problem?"

"Yesterday...in the cell," he said, failing to meet her eyes, "it was the first time I've flashed since my...my Red Test...and I'm not sure I could do it again..."

His gaze dropped to the ground as he trailed off in embarrassment, and Sarah felt a sudden surge of empathy burst through her as she remembered everything that Chuck had been forced into doing.

What he'd been forced to become.

Someone like me.

"But the data," she said, in an effort to distract him, "you have a flash drive for it, right? I'm sure we can just use that..."

"Not exactly," Chuck replied grimly, looking up.

"Then where's the data?" she asked, trying not to sound too pushy.

Chuck gave a small pitiful laugh before he slowly pointed to his head.

Sarah blinked. "You downloaded it...into yourself?"

"That was why Graham was convinced of the brilliance of this mission," he explained. "There'd be no physical evidence I was trying to steal intelligence. All the data I managed to get was assimilated straight into the Intersect. Besides, the only person capable of downloading data into themselves this way would be an Intersect agent, and why would the CIA send their only Intersect agent right into the heart of the Ring?"

Sarah's eyes widened. "So you're the only Intersect agent out there?"

"Graham thought it was the best way to keep the Intersect out of the hands of the Ring. Just having the one minimised the risk."

"That's crazy," Sarah said, and she suddenly found she was shaking her head. "All the government secrets are in your brain – what if you were found out? Especially with you being the only Intersect. Didn't Graham realise what they'd do to you to get at those secrets if they ever found out?"

"It made sense at the time," Chuck said, shrugging, before lowering his voice. "He said it was my duty."

Sarah stared at him, struggling to comprehend what he was saying. Graham had sent the only Intersect to infiltrate the Ring, Chuck, an agent with barely any field experience outside of the programme in his head. She suddenly felt very sick.

"Don't worry," she said, trying to give his frail confidence some kind of reassurance. "I'm sure you'll be able to flash again."

Chuck looked hesitant, so she gave him a small smile. "You did manage to save me remember?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah, but not soon enough..."

"Chuck," she said firmly, cutting him off before he managed to set himself on another guilt trip. "You can do this, okay? I believe in you."

"Yeah," he said quietly before returning her smile. "I hope so. Thanks."

"Okay. Good," Sarah nodded. "Now let's get going."

As the two of them climbed into the vehicle and Chuck started to drive the vehicle north on the open road, Sarah couldn't help but hang onto Chuck's words. She hoped that she'd managed to reassure him, though she doubted it. She was already starting to pick up on some of his mannerisms, and she had a feeling that he was just putting on a brave face for her, not wanting to spill his burdens onto her again, having already been so open last night.

Whatever he might think though, she was here with him now, just as she'd had Bryce (and a mandatory Agency psych evaluation) there after her own Rest Test – not that it made her feel any better about it, but she'd had the benefit all the same. Chuck deserved someone too. He was a good person, a much better one than she, and she wasn't going to let this destroy him.

She couldn't.

# # #

17th October, 2007

Unknown Ring Facility

12:12 PST

The Ring director leaned back in his chair, looking round his office for what felt like the tenth time today – and it was still only morning. It was almost an exact replica of the one in L.A., the only main difference being was that it was underground, buried under fifty feet of concrete, though it was hard to tell with the faux window giving the illusion of the L.A. skyline. Regardless, it still felt different. Synthetic.

He'd been holed up here ever since the failed car bombing that Bryce Larkin had averted, his stay made longer by the recent news of Carmichael's betrayal.

Carmichael.

Just thinking about that name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was still having difficultly processing the concept that Carmichael had been a double. When he joined the Ring, he had yet to even pass his Red Test. Or maybe that was just another lie...

It was more embarrassing than anything else. He had personally vetted Carmichael, stared him in the eye. The elders would not be happy.

In the six hours since Panzer had informed him that Carmichael had broken out Walker from the desert facility, the Director's analysts had been combing through their records, going through Carmichael's movements and trying to figure out what he'd been doing. What he was starting to hear was making him progressively irritated.

Surveillance footage had been discovered showing several meetings between Carmichael and Larkin in the previous sixth months since Carmichael had been dismissed from the CIA, which was starting to make the Director question Carmichael's original dismissal in the first place. His contacts in the FBI had also informed him that a driver's license belonging to one of Carmichael's aliases had been discovered in the burnt out car wreck, along with Larkin's remains. Same first name. Different last name. Bartowski. There was no doubt now that Carmichael had tipped of Larkin about the bomb. But regardless, the failed bombing and Larkin were now a thing of the past; they could be dealt with later.

More pressing, however, was the discovery that Carmichael had been at the data storage facility by the docks, the same one that, only days later, Walker had found and triggered the system crash. It would be highly problematic if Carmichael had managed to downloaded anything from there. Highly problematic, but hopefully containable. However, because of the system crash, they would likely never be know if anything had actually been taken.

Regardless, finding Carmichael and Walker and retrieving any data that they had managed to steal was priority number one. Following the joint CIA-FBI-NSA investigation into the bombing seemed to be the most logical option. They would no doubt be looking for Carmichael in connection with the bombing, and Walker had been missing for four days now. Unfortunately, the Director didn't have anyone on the CIA task force leading the investigation...

A knock on his office door caused him to sit forward in his chair. "Come," he said.

A moment later, one of his senior analysts and advisers stepped into the room, holding several files. He approached the desk, but didn't sit.

"What have you got?" the Director asked.

"Sir," the man began, "we've been looking over Agent Walker's movements before we apprehended her, and it seems that she was abruptly recalled from a long term mission in Italy a few days prior, only a few hours after Graham's assassination."

"Oh," the Director said, suddenly curious. "Who recalled her?"

"We're not entirely sure; it appears to have been done very discreetly. But we suspect it to have been Assistant Director Skinnard. He has previous ties to Walker dating back to her recruitment days."

The Director raised an eyebrow. William Skinnard had a sharp mind, and the Director had once considered attempting to recruit him, but intelligent as he was, he was too much of an CIA loyalist who lacked vision, a old-school law-man dating back to his days at the FBI. Still, this was interesting.

"Get me Skinnard's file," the Director ordered. "We need to find out what he knows."

The man nodded. "Is there anything, sir?"

"Actually yes, there is." The Director leaned further forward, pressing his hands together. "Who's leading the CIA task force into the bombing?"

The man glanced down at the files he was holding, flicking through them. "It's been merged with the same group investigating Graham's assassination, and the lead agent is...Daniel Shaw."

The Director actually let out a small laugh.

Shaw, really?

The other man looked slightly unnerved at his reaction, but he stayed quiet.

Finding Walker and Carmichael might be easier than he'd originally imagined. He would no longer have to struggle to move resources onto the CIA task force – something that could be ill afforded at the moment – not with this new piece of information. The cards were already in place.

The Director looked up at the other man.

"Get me the Paris file."