Sorry for the delays. There are so many reasons. Work has been weird. They keep alternating me between the morning, evening, and overnight shifts. So it's been really hard to find any grove. But now, they've got me on one shift for at least the next month, so maybe I can actually schedule time to write. That is, if I don't get too distracted by my Supernatural DVD's, reading Buffy fanfic (Cordelia/Angel and Willow/Angel fic. I know, weird right?), and my original screenplays I'm working on. What little free time I've had, I keep getting distracted. And damn, Alyson Hannigan was so adorable in the early days of Buffy. Am I babbling? Damn. On with the story.
Oh, and give me feedback, please. Or if you wanna talk about Supernatural or the Buffyverse. Charisma Carpenter was a total babe, too. Whoops, babbling again. On with the show.
CHAPTER SEVEN: ROSWELL, PART TWO
Fifty yards. That's how far they crawled through raw sewage to get to the runoff tunnel. From there they walked a half-mile, emerging back on street level through a manhole cover located in a mall parking lot.
So, bathed in raw excrement, Rachel "requisitioned" a 1997 Ford F-150. Twenty minutes later they were riding northeast, just past the town of Acme. Rachel pulled the pickup into a gas station and turned off the engine, but made no move to exit the cab. For his part, Chuck grimaced, expecting the worst.
"Now that I've had a few minutes to calm down, I want to tell you something."
Oh boy. Here it comes. The button. She's gonna push the button. Chuck just knew it. Instead—
"I'm very proud of you," Rachel said.
Huh?
Rachel noticed his stunned expression. "I'm serious. It took guts to do what you did. Not to mention you picked quite possibly the best place to make your move short of inside a police precinct."
"Really?"
"Hell yes. A bank. A relatively controlled environment. You knew I was unarmed. A push of a button and the entire Roswell PD would come down on me. One criticism however, you probably should have made your move in the deposit's vault."
"Noted."
"But the fact you actually took a shot, that you seized the opportunity when your captor's advantage was neutralized, it speaks volumes about your capabilities as an agent."
"Uh...thanks."
"That being said..." Rachel creamed him with a left hook to the jaw. Chuck slumped unconscious. "Don't ever do it again."
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The file arrived nearly an hour ago. Sarah and Casey had spent that time perched at their laptops, scouring for any bit of information that might indicate where Rachel was headed, and more importantly, what her plans were for Chuck.
Nearly 16 months ago, Sarah learned, Rachel was entrenched as the girlfriend of a Russian diplomat. The guy was dirty, using his influence to sell weapons to certain Middle Eastern nations. Turns out, the guy also discovered Rachel was an American operative. When the good guys moved on the false information he supplied her, a strike team of US Army Rangers was wiped out.
Rachel, naturally, was the sacrificial lamb. After a few months riding the bench, a year ago she was assigned a job far below the esteem of an agent of her skills. A babysitting gig in Frankfurt, Germany.
The asset, the chief computer specialist for a major German bank, Heinrich Beisel, discovered irregularities regarding the company's funds. In short, someone inside the bank was laundering money for a Neo-Nazi terrorist cell. The Neo-Nazi's found out that Heinrich had found out. They then decided Heinrich needed to be dead.
Four months ago, despite Rachel's best efforts, they succeeded. Having taken a bullet wound to the stomach, she was flown to the CIA substation hospital in Berlin, then transferred back to Langley where she was promptly placed on the bench. Only two years earlier she had been one of the brightest young stars in the agency – perhaps surpassed only by Sarah herself. Now, Rachel's career was in limbo. From what Sarah surmised from Deputy Director Coolbaugh, many in the CIA's upper echelon hoped Rachel would quietly resign and go away.
That's before she showed up in Los Angeles and kidnapped the Intersect.
"We're missing something," Sarah murmured.
Casey looked up from his copy of the same file. "What?"
Sarah slammed shut her laptop in frustration. "The Thing, you know. The catalyst."
"Her career's going down the drain," Casey suggested. "Maybe she's decided to turn to the dark side. Be the best bad agent she can be."
"I don't believe that and neither do you."
"What the hell does it matter?" Casey snapped back. "Is there anything in her file to suggest where she might take Bartowski? Because if there is I completely missed it."
Before Sarah could snap back, her laptop beeped. She lifted the screen to see it had switched to a police report.
"We may have something," she reported. Casey immediately set aside his laptop and quickly found a place behind Sarah.
"Roswell, New Mexico," she stated. "Attempted armed robbery of Roswell Savings & Loan. Two suspects, male and female. The female suspect identified herself as Annabelle Reed, one of Rachel's known aliases."
Casey frowned in confusion. But that didn't stop him from rushing to his gun cabinet. "Why the hell did she identify herself? That doesn't make sense."
"You know how it is. Rarely do official reports contain the whole story."
Casey grunted in agreement. "Gear up. I'm calling for a jet. We can be in Roswell inside 80 minutes."
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Devon was doing about 50 miles an hour on his stationary bike. Being confined to quarters the past couple days, the only thinking keeping him sane was hard core exercises.
Ellie sat upon a stool, sipping a glass of orange juice, staring vacantly out the window. She perked when Casey's apartment door opened and the two agents stepped out, each carrying a duffel bag.
"Devon, something's happening."
Devon was off the bike in an instant and only two steps behind Ellie as she threw open the front door and stormed into the courtyard.
"What's going on? Have you found him?" Ellie desperately asked.
"We have a confirmed sighting," Sarah admitted.
"Is he...?" Ellie couldn't bring herself to ask.
"As of a couple hours ago he was alive. Listen, Ellie, we gotta go..."
"I'm coming with you," the doctor insisted.
"No, you're not," Sarah snapped back.
"This is my brother," Ellie came back in an equally sharp tone. "He's my only family and I will be damned if I'm just gonna sit here and not go rescue him." Before Sarah could open her mouth, "Every moment you argue is a moment wasted."
Sarah looked to Casey, hoping for some sort of help. Casey shrugged. It's your mess. Sarah sighed.
"Fine. But remember two critical items: stay out of our way and stay quiet."
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Highway 380
Somewhere east of Roswell, New Mexico
The Ford F-150 cruised along at a steady 70 mph. The cab reeked of raw sewage, but that wasn't what Rachel found most distracting.
It was the man next to her. Chuck Bartowski, slumped over in his seat, still unconscious from the left hook she delivered an hour earlier.
She was absolutely furious with him. By pulling that bank stunt he effectively brought them back onto the CIA's radar. Not to mention the remote chance of being shot by a two-bit security guard was decidedly NOT the way she wanted to go.
Yet, she couldn't help but be a little proud. It was a ballsy move. Rachel respected ballsy. Especially when it was contained in such an attractive package.
Rachel observed her companion. A wavy lock of unruly hair threatened to spill over his eyes. Impulsively, she removed one hand from the steering wheel, intent on brushing away the curl. Just before her fingers made contact—
"Sarah..." Chuck groggily murmured.
Rachel recoiled, as though shot. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. "Stupid," she softly admonished, upset with herself. "Don't be so stupid."
As Chuck roused back to consciousness, Rachel plastered on a smile. "Mornin', sunshine. Have a nice nap?" It sounded as if Chuck managed to direct a mumbled insult regarding her sexual proclivities. A small smile played at her lips. "Right back at you. Now, let's talk about things."
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Roswell, New Mexico
Roswell First Savings & Loan
The Chief of Roswell Police instinctively stiffened at the arrival of a dark SUV with government plates. Barely an hour earlier a big shot female general had called him and told him to expect two federal agents, one CIA, the other NSA. It was strongly hinted that he give them his full cooperation.
Four people exited the vehicle. It was clear who the agents were. The older man was clearly a fed, what with the obvious Cop Face. But the other agent, it had to be the blonde girl. With the body of a fitness model, the young woman carried herself with a composure that suggested she ought not to be trifled with. But who were the two people with them?
"Chief Gaiman?" Cop Face asked, extending his hand. "I'm John Casey, NSA. My partner, Sarah Walker, CIA."
"And they are?" Gaiman asked, nodding to Ellie and Devon.
Casey hesitated a moment. Sarah lied easily, "Civilian consultants. Don't concern yourself with them. So what's the situation here? Are the subjects still inside the bank?"
"No ma'am. They slipped the perimeter shortly after our arrival. They locked the hostages in the bank vault, then proceeded down to the basement where they broke into the sewage main and crawled to an underground drainage tunnel."
"Please tell me you threw up blockades on the roads out of town," Sarah snapped.
"Ma'am," Gaiman stated calmly, "the majority of our force responded to the situation here. We didn't even know they had escaped the building until thirty minutes after the incident began. No, we didn't put up roadblocks, we were too focused on initiating contact. We finally breeched the bank after the lady inside didn't pick up the phone."
Before Sarah could launch into a tirade that would only alienate the local police, Casey grabbed her wrist to silence her. "Chief," he said, "we need to see whatever you have. Starting with surveillance footage from inside the bank."
Gaiman nodded at Casey, all the while taking a discrete step away from the fuming young blonde. Definitely not to be trifled with.
"My people are working on bringing it up as we speak. If you'll follow me."
As the agents and civilians moved to follow the Chief, Sarah's attention was captured by something in a nearby parking lot. "Hey Casey," she said. "Check out that ride."
Casey looked where Sarah pointed and spotted a piece of crap Toyota Corolla. "It ain't a Crown Vic," he retorted, confused by her interest.
"A 1992 Toyota Corolla. With California plates."
Casey suddenly got it. "It's a getaway car."
"Cheap, non-descript, disposable," Sarah agreed. She then turned to Chief Gaiman. "Chief, call your dispatch. We need to know if there have been any cars reported stolen in the last three hours." To Casey, "Wanna check the bank while I get this?"
Casey gruffly nodded and followed Gaiman into the bank. To Sarah's chagrin, Devon and Ellie chose to stay with her.
"If you'd like to wait in the car..." Sarah let the thought hang. Devon and the future Mrs. Woodcombe folded their arms, not about to go anywhere. Sighing, Sarah pulled some latex gloves from her pocket and snapped them on. "Fine. This way."
After stopping by a patrol car to requisition a slim jim, Sarah led the group into the parking lot and the suspicious Toyota.
She first got on hands and knees to look underneath the car. Then she peeked in the crack between the front grill and hood. Satisfied by the results of her search, she popped the hood up to check the engine.
"What are you doing?" Devon asked.
"Making sure the car isn't booby trapped to explode," Sarah easily replied.
The young doctors tightened at the suggestion, but made no move to flee.
After popping open the driver's side door an inch, Sarah threw open the door, satisfied she wouldn't blow up, and began her investigation.
She first noticed a few strands of hair on the driver's side headrest. Pulling a strand taught, she held it up against the sunlight. She even sniffed the hair.
"Peroxide," she said decisively. "She's gone bottle blonde."
"I guess you would know," she heard Ellie mutter.
Sarah paused only briefly, equally impressed and hurt by Ellie's comment. Pushing aside emotion, she crawled across the seat, her eyes drawn to the passenger's side door handle. Scuff marks, circular pattern around the handle. Handcuffs.
She exited the car, opened the backseat and grabbed an old beat-to-crap leather duffel bag. She remembered Rachel having this bag back in their academy days. It was only in slightly better shape back then.
Sarah rifled through the bag and found a couple of Rachel's dummy ID's: Silvia Thomas and Tara Patrick. Various bits of clothing, cosmetics, couple full clips for her Beretta. Then, at the bottom--
A children's book. Worn from use. Written in German. Sarah frowned in confusion. Neither doctor seemed to get it either.
"What is it?" Ellie asked.
"German edition of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Chronicles of Narnia."
"Strange thing for a spy to have."
"I know," Sarah replied to Ellie's comment. "Rachel hates C.S. Lewis. I told her how much I loved the movie version and she laughed."
Everyone was silent for several moments as Sarah continued to search through the duffel. Finally, Ellie said tightly, "You know the woman who took my brother."
Sarah looked at the other woman, saw her anger. With a touch of remorse and slight nod, "Yeah. She's a good friend of mine. Or as good a friend as this business allows."
"Great choice of friends," Ellie quipped sourly.
Devon grabbed her arm, shot her a look. Knock it off, it isn't helping. Sarah just nodded slightly, again taking the shot.
"Yeah, uh, I'm lousy at relationships."
Ellie had a biting comment on the tip of her tongue, but Sarah's ringing cell phone cut it off. The blonde nodded quickly, said only, "We'll be there in a second." Disconnecting, she said to the doctors, "Surveillance footage is up."
After turning the Corolla over to Roswell PD for processing, Sarah led the way inside the bank. A patrolman then escorted them behind the counter, down the very same hallway Rachel and Chuck began their escape from.
When they entered the Security Office, Casey, Chief Gaiman, and a tech guy were already viewing the security footage.
"Anything of use?" Sarah immediately said.
"Dunno," Casey grunted. "Haven't been through the entire tape yet. Though we did come across this."
Casey pointed to the monitor.
Rachel approaches the cashier's counter, Chuck behind her, a deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across his face. But as Rachel talks to the cashier, Chuck looks up to the security monitor and mouths:
"Sarah, I'm okay. Tell Ellie I love her."
It took considerable effort, but Sarah calmed her breathing. He's alive and well repeated like a mantra through her mind.
"Good," she nodded. "I'm gonna head down to the basement. Check their escape route."
To anyone but Casey, her response would seem removed, detached, even cold. That certainly seemed to be the case for Ellie. Casey knew better. For an agent, she really was lousy at hiding her emotions.
He saw the way she pinched her right thumb inside her fist. The way her facial muscles tightened. Even the way she was breathing – deep, too regular breaths – was indicative of someone desperately trying to lasso their anger. John Casey could say with one hundred percent certainty – that at this moment – Sarah Walker really wanted to shoot someone.
END PART