A/N: Existentialism and an exotic locale. Kierkegaard in the Jungle? Well, an exotic locale and a skoosh of existentialism. (Say, does anyone else think that the line about 'an existential spy crisis' is one of the few lines that YS flubs in the show? It's like she doesn't fully understand the line and so just says the words. Maybe it is just my ear; she seems otherwise to be almost pitch perfect through the show.)
Very glad lots of folks are reading this but would love to hear from more of you. [Pecking on the inside of your monitor screen. Peck. Peck. Peck...Anybody out there? Hello? Hello? It's just me, Zettel. What's up? - What's up with me? Oh, you know, writing a bit, teaching, playing the guitar.]
Don't own Chuck. Making no money.
CHAPTER 12 Existential Enforcer Crisis
Sarah's dreams were bursting with pain and death and darkness. Shards of the nightmares of her past, still embedded in her memory, moved, cut deep into her psyche. The things she had seen. The horrible deaths of innocents, mutilated children, abused women. Monsters, fears enfleshed, afoot or on the wing, vermillion fangs and bloody claws. And through it all, she was there, running not away from but toward the horrors. And then she was running away. Beside her, suddenly, was Chuck, running too, but reaching out to take her hand just as she felt too exhausted to take another step. She grabbed his hand and she was no longer so tired. She even began to gain strength. He smiled at her. Just as she smiled back, she saw blood gush from his nose and mouth, holes appear in his chest. She realized she had heard gunfire a moment before, from somewhere behind her. Chuck stumbled and fell. When she stopped, she heard him say, "Run, Sarah, run. This is as far as I go."
*He never loved me. I never loved him. Dark or dead. Dark or dead. Only a monster could have lived my life. Graham sent his monster to kill others' monsters. Chuck should have been running from me.*
She woke, gasping for air. Casey was already up. A tray of coffee cups and a bag from the nearby bakery were in his hands. He saw her distress with concern, but he could also see that she was not willing to share it. Beckmann was snoring softly in the other chair.
Casey handed Sarah a coffee. She took a sip gratefully, trying to swallow the bitter nightmare with the bitter brew. She put her cup on the nightstand, then grabbed some clothes and toiletries from her suitcase. "I will shower. Then we will get to work. Thanks for the coffee."
Casey grunted his understanding. But just as she opened the bathroom door, he cleared his throat, looking at Sarah and then away from her to the sleeping Beckmann.
"Beckmann thinks that even though the counterspell worked, it will take a while for all its effects to clear your system. Enforcer Walker will still show up in your head now and then. You need to be prepared for that, prepared for her."
The look Sarah gave him told Casey his guess was right. "She will always be with me, Casey. Maybe not as she was in the past and will be for a while, but always. I worked too hard and for too long creating her for her simply to vanish. And right now, as much as I hate it (and, God, I do hate it), I need her. She is the one who can save Chuck. I have to be Enforcer Walker now."
"But does she even want to save Chuck, Sarah? How is this going to work? In your state, even with the potion defeated, if you give her too much control, you may not be able to wrest it back."
Sarah did not answer. She stared at Casey for a few seconds. Then she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Beckmann and Sarah and Casey were seated at the central table in Cave. The topic was Shaw.
He was still healing in a holding cell. They needed information from him, but trying to take it by magical means would mean putting Shaw in mortal danger. The spell was very strong and it often left only a wreck of the mind it ransacked. The question was whether there was any other way. Physical torture was not only itself a dance with darkness, it was also rarely effective. Even if they used the spell, they might not get from Shaw what they wanted. One possible option was to offer Shaw something in trade. But it could not be his freedom. He had been asking for his lighter, even begging for it, but that was not going to happen. Maybe if Chuck had been there and able to access his power, he could have done for Shaw something like what he had done for Jill. Chuck was not there, of course.
Thinking about Chuck's powers brought them back to The Skeleton Key. They talked again about it, and about what Chuck had said after reading it. Beckmann continued to believe it had suppressed Chuck's power.
"Do you think Orion sent it, really?" Sarah asked the other two.
Beckmann pinched her lips and said nothing for a minute. Casey just grunted.
"I don't know why Orion would have sent that book. I never knew there was such a book. I suspect another hand involved, likely The Belgian's. Orion is mysterious but no one has ever seriously suggested he was dark. But Orion has been implicated in these events from the beginning. I believed him dead. But I now suspect he will be a major player in all of this before it ends.
"As I said, I am...disappointed you did not trust me, trust us. I hope you know that I do not regard Team Bartowski as a tool. You are...important to me. Let's try to communicate openly and honestly with each other. And, in that spirit, I should tell you that I worry very much about that slip of paper and the instructions to read the book backward. The timing is all too convenient. Chuck gets the book and Carina doses you. This was planned, a coordinated strike. The plan was to separate you two, to weaken each of you. Chuck is out there somewhere, in the hands of one of the darkest of Casters. We have to find him."
Sarah forced herself to breathe in and out, slowly. Fear and panic were one unregulated breath away. "Would The Belgian have the means to restore Chuck's powers, or...are they just planning to...take them?"
"I'm sorry, Sarah, but my best guess is that they plan to strip his powers from him, to take The Intersection out of his mind."
"Could they do that short of killing him?" Sarah demanded to know.
"Maybe, but I doubt they will care. The power matters, not Chuck. Even if the process does not kill him, it will destroy his mind, Sarah. They would have to use a spell like the one we were talking about using on Shaw, but one vastly more powerful and malignant. I have no idea if there even is such a spell, but events suggest to me that there is and that The Belgian has it. If he wanted Chuck dead, he could have killed him instead of taking him. If he took him, he must want something from him, and all he has to give is The Intersect."
It was too much. Sarah lept up from the table and sprinted down the passageway to Shaw's holding cell. Casey sprang up quickly and ran after her, his reflexes surprising for such a big man, cat-like. But Sarah was a cat, feline light, lithe and deadly. She heard Casey coming and sprang into a bit of shadow in the irregular wall of the passageway. When Casey came into view, she jumped into the air, spinning, and brought her foot around in a flash. She contacted the side of Casey's head and he went down, hard. Regret flashed across her face, and then she was at the door to Shaw's cell. She went in and used the override code so that the cell could not be opened from the outside. Shaw, who had been stretched out on his bunk, sat up and looked at her. He still had bandages on his hand and wrist. There was an undeniable terror in his eyes. Sarah's eyes were the ice blue of glaciers, freezing. Her face was polar and utterly unreadable.
Casey limped unsteadily into view on the other side of the heavy glass door, swinging his head from side to side. He knew the door was unbreakable and that it was warded. The magic could be undone, as could the override code Sarah had used, but it would take a long time. Beckmann hurried to catch up with Casey.
"Sarah, don't," Casey said this in a matter-of-fact tone, but his eyes showed that he was pleading. "Don't do something to find Chuck that will cost you Chuck if you find him. Don't do something that you may never be able to come back from. Don't throw yourself into the dark, Sarah. Don't."
*Make him talk. Do whatever it takes. If the mission is to save Bartowski, then save Bartowski. Whatever it takes. Save him, then, go!*
"He may already be dead, Casey. If he isn't, he won't have me, he'll never forgive me. I've lost him anyway. Maybe I can still save his life. I am willing to go dark to do it, Casey, to die to do it. I'd give my soul to save his life."
"Sarah, you have to find a way to keep yourself from becoming Walker. Use what she knows, use her skills, but don't become her, Sarah. You can save him. Let Walker help, but don't let her run the mission. She will only care about the mission, not about Chuck."
Sarah began casting. She turned to face the cell door and put her right hand up, palm out. The glass in the door glowed light blue, then became impenetrably black. Sarah could neither see nor hear anything from outside; Casey and Beckmann could neither see nor hear anything from inside.
Sarah was alone with Shaw. Shaw cringed and scooted back on his bed, squeezing himself against the wall.
"Daniel. It is Daniel, isn't it? Daniel, you know something I want to know, something that I need to know. There's a man being held captive by the Belgian. The Belgian is your boss. The man he is holding captive is the man I love, my future husband and the father of my children. And I do love him, Daniel. I love him so much that I would die for him, happily. Do absolutely anything to absolutely anyone. So, do the math, Daniel, where does that put us? Where does that put you? What wouldn't I do to save a man I would die to keep alive? You know him, Daniel, his name is Chuck. You were going to shoot him and I stopped you. Maybe I should have taken your hand from you, Daniel." Sarah's fingers began to glow with power. She reached toward him, a valkyrie afire with vengeance. "What do you think I am willing to do, Daniel? What do you think I am not willing to do? Give me your hand, Daniel. Give. It. To. Me. For keeps." Sarah's wide smile transfigured from great and white to great white.
"Thailand! The Belgian is in Thailand! I don't know exactly where, but somewhere in the Nakhon Sawan Province. Don't hurt me." Shaw shoved his hands under his blanket as if it could save him, save them.
She turned and waved her hand at the door. It returned to transparent. She punched in the code. Casey and Beckmann looked at Shaw, huddled in his bedclothes, cringing and weeping. Sarah walked out quickly when the door opened.
"Sorry, both of you. Sorry. Particularly you, Casey. Sorry. I pulled my kick a bit at the end, but I had to sell it. He had to think I was coming to maim him, kill him, if he didn't talk. But he did. Teleport me to Thailand."
Casey rubbed his face, still red from the blow he had taken. He shook his head and grimaced. "You owed me one. So, Sarah, Walker's not running the mission?"
"No, Casey. She's not running the mission. Maybe I can't shut her up, damn her, but I can at least ignore her when she speaks, and use her otherwise. My head is clearing. Chuck is smart. I hurt him and we will have to work through that. But when he has a chance to think (assuming he gets one) he will know that I was not playing him. Chuck knows me. I am the one, not him, who keeps forgetting that. So, I have to hear Walker, but I don't have to listen to her. She is strong, but she can't be stronger than me. At the end of the day, she is me, or a part of me. How can I be stronger than myself?"
Beckmann reached out to touch Sarah's arm. "You know, Sarah, if you lost yourself to save Chuck he wouldn't want to be saved."
"I know. That doesn't make anything easier, but I know."
Beckmann quickly assembled a very large group of Casters for the teleportation spell. Getting Sarah and Casey to Nakhon Sawan would require massive power. Beckmann believed that Carina was likely being held by the Belgian too, and likely in the same place, so the hope was that Sarah and Casey could bring them both back. The plan was to teleport to the city and to trawl the shady areas of the city for information about where the Belgian might be.
Two hours or so after Shaw had given up the Belgian's location, Sarah and Casey stepped out of a warehouse and onto a street in Nakhon Sawan. Beckmann had an old friend, a Caster, Kamon Kunchai, who lived in the area, and she had suggested the warehouse as both a target for the teleportation and as a reasonably secure base of operations. Sarah and Casey were going to split up. They were supposed to meet Kamon later at the bar of the Pa Ville, a popular hotel. Kamon would also be making some discreet inquiries of her own. Every tick of the clock was like a body blow to Sarah. But she knew that letting herself go crazy with worry would be counterproductive. She had to believe he was out there, somewhere, and that she could find him.
Chuck's head was throbbing. The metal band around it seemed to be tightening, strangling his thoughts, suffocating his concentration. He had been drifting into and out of consciousness for a while. His hunger had intensified. He had to go to the bathroom in the worst possible way. Just at the moment when he thought he would yield, and begin to scream, a man entered the room. He wore a lab coat, but a strange one, white but covered in arcane runes and symbols. He had long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. He grinned at Chuck like he was meeting an old friend.
"Mr. Bartowski. Chuck. May I call you Chuck, Chuck? I will call you Chuck. Let's do a little something to ease your discomfort." The man unbuckled the heavy straps around Chuck's arms and legs and reached down to help Chuck stand. Chuck thought his legs would give way. He had not expected to be so weak. Two large men entered the room and quickly moved toward Chuck. Each took an arm and they more or less carried him, legs moving slowly but mostly dragging, to the door on the wall Chuck had been facing when in the chair. He was able to stand on his own by the time they got him into the bathroom, and they left him there to take care of business. He looked around the small room. No windows. No ventilation. No exit, except the door he had come in. He finished, washed his hands, and walked out. The two men escorted him back to the chair. They strapped his legs back in but left his arms free.
The man in the lab coat put his hand in his coat pocket and handed Chuck a protein bar still in its wrapper. Chuck tore the wrapper off and took a huge bite. He was glad for anything but even his urgent hunger was no sauce for the taste of peanut shells and sawdust. Still, he ate. Sarah had explained to him one night when they had talked about what he should do if he were ever a captive, that he had to use every available chance to rest and to eat. Fatigue and hunger were enemies as serious as any Caster.
Sarah. As he chewed laboriously on the protein bar, he thought about the note she had left him. The night after the party they had gone to bed and had made love slowly, luxuriously, delighting in each whisper and tremble and caress. What he had seen in Sarah's eyes had excited him immeasurably, but also humbled him completely.
She had not been pretending. No actress was that good. And no woman so in love with him at one in the morning would have been out of love with him at nine in the morning. You could fall in love at first sight, true. But you can't fall out of love at the same speed. Love was not like a light switch, switch on, switch off. Once it came on it took time, an expanse of time, to go off. Sometimes, he thought ruefully, you can't turn it off no matter what you try or how long you wait.
That was a key difference between love and lust. Lust did switch on and switch off. It might come on again quickly, but it went off and would go off again. Lust had conditions under which it could be satisfied, and when it was, it disappeared. You could be in lust with someone at one in the morning and out of lust with him at nine in the morning. Many morning walkers of walks-of-shame could testify to that reality. But love did not have satisfaction-conditions. Love willed the good of the person loved. It did not stop doing that, couldn't reach satisfaction in doing that. It just did that. That was one reason why love could not change readily from one beloved to another, lust could change readily from one object to another.
Love was not demanding in the way lust was or, say, hunger was. God, this protein bar sucks. Lust and hunger could be sated, you could say, "Enough; done!". Not so with love. Lust and hunger were both forms of lack. Love was a form of surplus: 'my cup runneth over', as the phrase went in some old book Chuck had read. Chuck finished the protein bar and steeled himself against the rest of the day.
There had to be an explanation for that note. There had to be. He had to stay alive to find out what it was. I'm sorry, Sarah. I lost my way. Find me. I love you. I know you love me.
"So, Chuck, I am Dr. Mueller. The Belgian has hired me because I have certain skills with the mind and the brain, with computer chips and with Casting. It seems you have read a book. Actually, it seems you have read two books. Or maybe read one and unread the other. Can you unread a book unless you have read it, Chuck? If you read a book backward, do you understand less each time you turn the page? Questions. Questions. My job for the Belgian, and I admit I am looking forward to it very much, is to rip The Intersection from you. To tear it from your mind at any cost. To squeeze you like the lemon you are. Now, don't squirm, Chuck, don't look at me with dread. And don't try to access your powers. Your backward reading of The Skeleton Key has suppressed your powers. You are now nothing but Chuck Bartowski, Unreader. Remember, years and years ago, Chuck, a lemon-lime soda was the Uncola. Which lemon-lime soda do you prefer, Chuck? I ask you, the lemon! Ha! You are the Unreader. Soon you will be just Chuck Bartowski. And not long after that, you will not even be Chuck Bartowski. You will be a used lemon from which all the power has been squeezed!"
Mueller kept up his annoying demented chatter the entire time he was attaching various electrodes to Chuck's head. And Sarah thinks I spiral! At least I am sort of funny! After Chuck had finished the protein bar, he'd been given a small cup of water, and then his arms had been strapped down again. Mueller had finished with the electrodes, blathering away (but mercifully sotto voce), and was now typing quickly on a computer, watching a screen that showed a representation of Chuck's brain. Mueller began to twist various dials and click various buttons. Chuck felt a twinge of pain. Nothing else happened.
Mueller seemed surprised. He picked up Chuck's cell phone. It had been in Chuck's pocket when he fell asleep in the apartment since he was hoping Sarah would call. Mueller had hacked the phone. The list of Chuck's contacts, with photographs, showed on a monitor beside the one showing Chuck's brain.
Chuck glanced at the pictures: Beckmann, Casey, Devon, Ellie, Morgan, Sarah. His primary contacts. The people at the center of his life. And Sarah, the very center, the crux, of it all. He had chosen a picture of her he took at the ranch house in Barstow, while they had been standing and talking together outside. She was smiling gently and her hair was blowing in the wind, lit by the sun. She had a guileless expression of genuine enjoyment. Her eyes were purely blue.
"Hey, uh, Mueller, old buddy. Do you think you could hit Morgan's number for me? We had a bet on which one of us would first fall afoul of an evil madman with a boring German name. He chose me, I chose him. I owe him a twenty. Go ahead, just push the button, the one next to the pic of the little bearded guy."
"Shut your mouth, Bartowski. I have to think."
Chuck watched Mueller recalibrate his equipment and then hit various buttons. This time, nothing happened at all.
"Hey, Doc. Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on?" Mueller seemed to be considering what Chuck said.
"I'm good with computers, Doc. What say we switch places?"
Sarah walked into the fourth bar she had visited and the last one she expected to visit that evening. Soon she would have to meet Casey and Kamon. So far, Sarah had learned nothing. She had heard numerous suggestions about how she might want to spend her night, usually including rather specific physical details. Most of that she had ignored, but two suggesters had decided to touch her as well as make suggestions, and there were now two men in the city whose broken fingers would keep them from sleeping well tonight.
She walked to the bar and stood beside a man of indeterminate age, who looked like he had spent the last decade or so nursing that same beer on that same stool. He had a long scar down one side of his face, indicating that he had once been on the painful end of a knife fight. Sarah reached behind her and unsheathed the largest of her knives, the knife she reserved for hand-to-hand combat. She sat it on the bar, its black blade dull but threatening in the dim light. The man looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes. I am looking for my boyfriend. American, tall, dark, good-looking, funny. His name is Chuck. He's being held somewhere near here by a man called the Belgian."
"Huh, ain't that sweet." He turned his head just enough to see Sarah more clearly. "That body, that hair, that face, that knife...I figured you for a femme fatale. But you're just a woman racing her biological clock, carrying a knife that is way too big for her."
Sarah glared at him. "Yes, you got me: I'm a mommy-wannabe on a husband-hunt through seedy Thai bars. Beautiful and highly motivated but deeply stupid."
The man had slipped his hand inside his jacket, and he spun on his barstool as he pulled out a pistol. Sarah moved faster than the man could imagine. She hooked her foot under his stool and dumped him off. He landed on his back with a crash. She stomped her boot between his legs. Sarah picked up her knife and turned to look at the others, all men it turned out, in the bar. "I am looking for my boyfriend. This guy thought he could be my boyfriend. Anyone else want to be my boyfriend?" She waved the knife in her hand. The bar emptied immediately. The men ran but each ran with his legs close together and his hands cupped in front of himself.
She turned back to the man on the ground, who was trying to get air back into his collapsed lungs at the same time he writhed in a peculiarly male pain. "Figures. They all already have girlfriends. That just leaves me and you...and my knife. A menage a trois, Mr. Femme Fatale?"
The man began talking immediately and Sarah listened closely before she stood and walked out of the bar, leaving the man gasping on the floor. It was almost time to meet with Casey and Kamon. At least Sarah had a name to go on. She hurried her pace. Chuck was still out there. But she was getting closer. I'm coming, Chuck, hang on. Sarah could feel the clock ticking as her heart beat. Hang on, hang on, hang on...
Casey and Kamon were sitting at a table in a corner of the Pa Villa's bar. Sarah could tell from the set of Casey's shoulders that he had learned nothing. He looked up as Sarah sat down. Kamon reached out a hand. "Hello, I am Kamon."
She was small, with very dark hair and eyes. Sarah was surprised. She was about Sarah's age. "I'm sorry," Sarah offered, "I don't mean to stare. But Beckmann called you an old friend."
Kamon laughed. "Yes, we have been friends a long time, but I was a mere girl when our friendship began. Beckmann found me in an orphanage and recognized my power. She arranged for me to be brought up by good parents. My adoptive father was a Caster, although his wife was not. They were wonderful to each other and wonderful to me. I have long owed a debt to Beckmann. I am thrilled to be able to help such dear friends of hers."
Sarah and Casey looked at each other. Dear friends? Beckmann had been changing lately. Chuck. He changed everyone around him. They smiled at each other, each thinking Chuck's name at the same time and knowing it.
"I didn't find out much, Kamon. What about you?"
Kamon answered Sarah. "Nothing clear. There are lots of rumors in high places about the Belgian. But few are willing to talk about him except in veiled ways. I was able to surmise that he is in Thailand, and nearby. He has collected a small mercenary army and is still offering cash to volunteers. No one seems to know where he has secreted himself, however."
Sarah offered her information. "A man I...talked to said that if I wanted to find the Belgian, I had to first find the Charmer. Damn nicknames. Why can't bad guys just be 'Bob', like on Twin Peaks?"
"Wow, Sarah," Casey muttered, "if Chuck were here you two would have to get a room immediately."
If Kamon understood the conversation, she wasn't showing it. At the mention of the Charmer, her face had taken on a slight pallor and she had turned her gaze to the floor.
"Kamon, what is it?" Sarah asked, gently.
"I know of the Charmer. I know where you can find him. But I must urge you not to go. Find another way."
"Who is he?" Casey looked concerned.
"A Caster. A rival to the Belgian. They do not like each other, but neither has wanted an all-out war and so there has been a long, tense truce between them. The Charmer is Thai and very old, much older than nature would allow. He has two loves. Snakes and, ah, non-Asian women."
Casey glanced at Sarah. "Tall blond American woman right here."
"Yes, I know. Sarah is...very much his type. And a Caster. A bonus."
"But if he is so old, Kamon, what is it he wants with these women?" Casey was puzzled.
"He does not bed them or watch others bed them. He wants to watch them die. He considers himself a man of honor, and perhaps by his twisted logic, he is. Here is what he will do: he will propose a contest. If Sarah can survive it, he will tell you where the Belgian is. There is no doubt he knows. But if she loses, she will be dead, and he will demand your death too, Casey. The terms of the contest will officially be between you and him. He will not contract with a woman, although he is happy to contract for one."
"Huh. A real charmer. What will the contest involve?"
"A monster of some kind, Sarah. The odds will...not favor you. And if you die, your death will be truly awful."
"Casey?" Sarah fixed him with a stare.
"Yes, Sarah. Let's find the Charmer. Tell us how to get there, Kamon."
Sarah was ready. She had put on her fighting gear and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She had knives strapped to each calf and the one sheathed at the middle of her back. Casey was armed to the teeth, carrying his guns in the open. They walked to the fence around the Charmer's headquarters, an old factory. There were guards posted there. They looked at Casey and then at Sarah. Seeing her, they looked at each other with subtle smiles.
"We are here to talk to the Charmer. We need some information and we have come to make a deal."
One of the guards used a radio to relay the message. After a few uncomfortable minutes, during which cameras on the fence swung toward Sarah and Casey, an answer came. The guards opened the fence and walked with Sarah and Casey between them to the stairs that went up the side of the factory toward what was once the office. One of the guards gestured toward the stairs. Sarah and Casey climbed them, while the guards took up places at the foot of the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Sarah stepped aside so that Casey could open the door and enter first. He did and she followed.
Inside was a strange scene. There were low couches in various places about the room, and heavy ornate rugs on the floor between them. At the far end of the room was a throne, apparently made of gold. On it sat an old man, wizened and drawn. The throne was covered in carvings of snakes, and there were live snakes crawling around the old man's neck and shoulders. On each side of the throne were ornate ottomans, also decorated in snakes. Seated on each was a beautiful young woman. Each was barely dressed, wearing primarily necklaces of jewels and pearls and heavy gold. The jewelry was cunningly devised to resemble scales. Neither young woman seemed fully conscious. The old man reached out to stroke one or the other of them periodically, as he might a pet. He looked at Sarah and Casey and beckoned them toward him with a weary wave of his arm.
As Sarah drew near, she could tell that the old man's gaze was fixed on her. His tongue slipped from his mouth and flicked his lips. When she and Casey neared the throne, they stopped. The old man looked from her to Casey. "You want to make a deal?" His voice sounded like it was coiling and uncoiling. His gaze slid back to Sarah, before coming to rest again briefly on Casey, and finally sliding back to Sarah. His tongue went in and out of his mouth.
"Yes. We have a...grievance with the Belgian. We believe you know where he can be found. We would like that information."
The Charmer looked at Casey. "Ah, yes, my good friend, the Belgian. I may know where he could be found. I might be glad for him to be found. But I do not give such information away. If you want it, your champion," his gaze slid back to Sarah again, "must defeat a champion of my choice. If she wins," tongue flick, "I will give you the information and you will depart in safety. If my champion wins, she will be his to claim, to do with as he wishes, until she is dead. And you," his gaze slid back to Casey, " you will die immediately."
Casey looked at Sarah and she gave him a tight nod.
"Deal," Casey said.
Chapter-closing music: Split Enz, "Shark Attack"