Monday, February 18th, 8:11 PM PST
Sarah stalked across her apartment, brow crinkled with worry and shoulders set high. Her interlaced fingers flexed as she tried to shed some of her tension.
She wondered why she hadn't just told Chuck the truth in the first place.
A series of messages – some voice, some text – had been designed to get him over to her place. Chuck hadn't responded to any of them, which was unusual. Maybe it was just her insecurities talking, but she felt like Chuck was avoiding her.
At first, she resisted using the surveillance equipment. The very idea made her feel like an obsessive schoolgirl stalking a crush. Still, the metal suitcase housing the equipment beckoned alluringly from beneath the side of her bed. It promised an undetectable way to secure answers to some of her questions.
For a while, she managed to ignore the suitcase by doing laps around her apartment, door to window and back again. However, after her umpteenth circuit, she finally said, "You're being silly." Saying the words out loud didn't make her feel any better, but no matter how much she wanted to respect Chuck's privacy, Chuck was still an asset. Casey was off on some other mission, so it was her watch. The job still came first.
She stopped pacing long enough to stare at the city lights through her window and sigh. With Casey away, this would have been a perfect evening for her and Chuck to be alone.
After a lap or two more to convince herself that using the equipment was purely a matter of duty, she pulled out the suitcase and set it on the bed. She popped it open and punched a few buttons. Flickering LEDs and gentle electric hums verified that the unit was coming online.
As the system initialized, Sarah gently pressed her lips together, a habit she had purposely ingrained to replace her nervous tell of biting her lower lip. She felt strangely vulnerable. More and more she found herself opening up to Chuck, and as good as that made her feel, each time further blurred the lines between woman and agent – and threatened both.
Yesterday, she had almost lost him. Chuck had been kidnapped, escaping only by driving his car into a ravine when he recognized that he was the only one in the car wearing a seat belt. He had done it to protect her, had said as much to her on the phone. However, the Intersect was far more important than she was. He shouldn't have risked his life for her, and probably wouldn't have done it but for his feelings for her.
Seeing the crumpled car lying on its roof, tires spinning in the air, had practically ripped her heart out of her chest. Her emotions had compromised her judgment. Instead of confirming that the kidnappers had been neutralized, she had chosen to check on Chuck first. No harm had been done this time. But what about the next? What about the way she had kissed him at lunch, leaving them vulnerable to Fulcrum and Casey's sensibilities? What about the little things, such as the way she had hesitated to verify his whereabouts while on watch?
He was willing to give up his life for hers. She was starting to make mistakes.
It was getting dangerous.
The professional thing to do would be to recuse herself from the assignment, but with Fulcrum agents seemingly around every corner, putting somebody new on protection detail carried its own risks. The replacement might be Fulcrum. If not, Fulcrum could catch wind of where the Intersect was during the change-out. Even if Fulcrum didn't find Chuck, the new agent might threaten the team dynamic or just plain not be as good as Sarah.
No, overall it was tactically sound for Sarah to stay put, so she vowed that the job would always come first. It had to. Far more was riding on this assignment than her feelings for Chuck. The day might come when duty would compel her to leave or escort him to an underground bunker, or worse, so very much worse. But if it came to something worse than her leaving, best it be her so she could ensure there was no other alternative.
Until the day came when orders ended things, she was not going to pass up any moment that they could safely share together. That's why Chuck's absence hurt so much. Tonight was as safe as a night could be, but it was feeling more and more like a missed opportunity, and opportunities were scarce.
The system finished its boot sequence. As she punched buttons and adjusted dials, she cursed herself for not just telling Chuck the truth. Today was her birthday, and she wanted to share it with him. She had left him a hint, but apparently he missed it.
The CIA had recently installed a hidden vault in his room. She had programmed the security code to match her birth date, 02-18-82, and made sure Chuck knew the code. After their lunch and their kiss, she had spent the afternoon in eager anticipation. If by some chance he had missed the clue, she was going to tell him when he came over. More than anything, she had hoped to see Chuck's face light up when he realized she had shared something real with him. Sharing something real was her gift to both of them.
Except he wasn't coming over. The surveillance equipment told her that Chuck was home, safe in the apartment. Unfortunately, the equipment couldn't tell her why he wouldn't pick up the damn phone when she called.
Her plan had failed, and really, it was probably her own fault. Everything about her didn't need to be a riddle to be solved or a secret to be discovered. Leaving things to chance and keeping secrets hidden had their consequences.
Some instinct nagged at her, warning her that something was wrong, but she refused to get paranoid just because she had taken things further with Chuck. She refused to get paranoid because the likes of Bryce Larkin had up and left her in the past without saying a word. Chuck was different. He wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't.
She sighed a bitter sigh as she slammed the lid down on the suitcase. So much for surprises.
Tuesday, February 19th, 5:36 am
Chuck wasn't exactly surprised to see the window to his bedroom slide open. As soon as the intruder's foot hit the floor, he flipped on the nightstand light.
Casey froze like a teenager caught sneaking into the house after curfew, one leg still hanging over the window sill. "You're up early," he commented dryly.
Chuck sat perched on top of his pillow, leaning against the headboard. The arm that had reached out to turn on the lamp returned to join the one stretched slackly over his bent knees. A comic book that had long since failed to hold his interest sat discarded on top of the bedspread.
With everything that was going on, he hadn't slept, so he had decided to put on his Buy More gear and wait in case Casey reprised the early wake-up call from the past weekend. Chuck was a little spooked that Casey did. Clearly he was up to something. But what?
Still, for the moment Chuck held the upper hand. Echoing Casey's words from the previous stunt, Chuck said, "Gotta start shifting my schedule around. Be a little less predictable. Right?"
Casey examined Chuck's eyes as he finished climbing into the room. "Right," Casey said.
His voice lacked its usual certainty, Chuck noted with a certain satisfaction. Good. If Casey is so determined to keep me off-balance, let's see how he likes it for a change. He returned the comic book in its place in his nightstand drawer and climbed off his bed to grab his keys and wallet off his nightstand. "Well, this does seem a little extreme, but I guess you're right. After all, nobody in their right mind would expect me to leave for my 8:30 shift at 5:30."
"Look on the bright side, Bartowski. The early bird gets the worm."
Refusing to look at Casey, Chuck answered, "Yeah, but how did that work out for the worm?"
Tuesday, February 19th, 9:58 am
Outside of the holiday season, Tuesday mornings were dead at the Buy More. Today was no exception, and almost eerily so. The store resonated with TV voices that, at least to Chuck's ears, played just a little too loudly, carrying a slightly tinny timbre from reflecting off too many merchandise shelves and too few bodies. It was off-putting, the big box store equivalent of turning into a dark alley and realizing that you were surrounded by little more than towering walls and the sound of your own footsteps.
With the store devoid of customers, only a skeleton staff of green shirts was on site, mostly busy messing with inventory somewhere in the back of the store. Big Mike was holed up in his office, either contentedly sucking down mall food or looking for half a reason to bury a loafer in some poor employee's backside. The Nerd Herd was overstaffed, under-worked, and nowhere to be seen.
Chuck glanced around, knowing full well why the Herders were MIA. When the job queue at one Buy More emptied out, other stores could go into the system and mark jobs to be passed along. Inevitably, they used the opportunity to rid themselves of the customers they didn't want, the ones that really should require warning labels on the job orders: too ignorant, too belligerent, or too far away.
Sure enough, ten o'clock rolled around and the queue on the screen went from empty to three jobs as the corporate Nerd Herd system automatically load-balanced. Out of habit, he gave the list a quick once-over. He could almost see the flags next to each job. Ethel Marks no doubt received a computer from a well-meaning niece or nephew and now couldn't figure out how to download photos or check her email. Too ignorant. Garrison Duckett, a six-time repeat offender, had bought a computer with a service plan and clearly believed that meant Buy More would service every computer at his real estate office. Too belligerent. The last job might very well be halfway to Las Vegas. Too far away.
He printed the order sheets out with a smile devoid of humor. Normally he would just let the more ridiculous jobs expire, but he was in a bad enough mood that he might farm one out if any of the Herders got on his nerves.
He immediately felt guilty. For once, the Herders weren't the reason for his bad mood. Then again, the day was young.
The whine of the printer dissipated into a dissatisfied hum, allowing Chuck's ears to pick up the torturing of khaki fabric punctuated with heavy footfalls. Big Mike waddled towards Chuck, carrying a Globex delivery box and a big chip on his shoulder. Clearly Big Mike hadn't been eating mall food in his office.
"Bartowski!" he bellowed. "What have I told you about personal deliveries at the Buy More?!"
Chuck stared down at the angry man. "Um, nothing, Big Mike. I've never gotten one before."
The response seemed to defang Big Mike. The man gamely tried to conjure a reply that would justify the initial outburst, but his irritation only grew when he couldn't find one. The silence dragged out a bit too long, leaving Big Mike no place to vent his frustrations.
Lacking any verbal weapons, he settled for a physical one. He shoved the edge of the box into Chuck's gut and barked, "No personal deliveries at the Buy More!"
Chuck gasped at the unexpected impact and hunched over slightly. He instinctively clutched at the package. "Got it," he said weakly. With one last glare, Big Mike headed back for his office.
Shaking off the big man's blustering, Chuck stared curiously at the box as he carried it behind the Nerd Herd counter. He hadn't ordered anything, so he had no idea what it might be. Maybe a beta version of some software?
The package was probably benign, but the previous day's discovery had Chuck on edge. He was taking nothing for granted. A slight shake of the box told him little, other than the contents were packed to avoid movement. A brief examination of the exterior revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
Taking no chances, he used a pair of scissors to poke a small hole in the packaging. A tilt of the package allowed light to shine into the hole. Inside was a pair of large sealed manila envelopes and nothing else. As satisfied as possible that the package was safe, Chuck finished opening it and removed the top envelope. A quick tear of the paper revealed an expensive-looking cell phone padded in a bubble-wrap pouch. Despite the vast array of cell phones that Buy More carried, he didn't recognize the model or the make.
Curious, he removed the pouch to examine the phone more carefully. It felt surprisingly heavy for its size. He flipped the phone over in his hand and caught a glimpse of the back casing, serial numbers and all.
He flashed.
A sunrise, with prismatic colors highlighting the undersides of the high clouds.
Specifications of the phone.
An exploded view of the phone construction.
Technical engineering diagrams.
The multihued sunrise.
It was a nondescript, difficult-to-trace satellite cell phone issued to government agents. But who would have sent it to him … and why?
The phone rang.
Chuck let out a small cry and dropped the phone. It struck the linoleum floor hard, clattering to rest face-up. Horrified, Chuck blurted, "Oh, God, tell me I didn't break it."
The phone rang again.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Chuck crouched down to one knee. He stayed low and glanced around to verify that nobody could see him behind the desk. Satisfied he was safely behind cover, he flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. "If you say, 'Hello, Neo,' I am totally going to lose it."
An electronically distorted voice said, "They know who you are."
"What is it with you guys and pronouns? Who the hell are 'they'?"
"Fulcrum."
The blood ran from his face. He turned around and sat down on the floor, leaning back against a gray filing cabinet. "What?! How?"
"Not important. Fulcrum agents are en route to acquire you as we speak."
"Do you know what they're after?"
"You mean, besides the entire database of government intelligence?"
"Well, yeah, but-"
"They want the Intersect, Chuck."
"I'll tell Sar- ; I'll tell my handlers. They'll know what to do."
"You can't trust your handlers," the electronically masked voice said. "You can't trust anyone."
Chuck's eyes narrowed. "Fantastic. Apparently I'm not supposed to trust the people who have protected me for six months, but I am supposed to trust a random person who sends me a cell phone, somehow knows when I have it in my hand, and disguises his voice. Gotta say that's a bit of a tough sell."
"A new version of the Intersect comes online today."
"What?!"
"A new version of the Interse-"
"I heard you." He fervently wished he hadn't.
"How do you think the government will view you once the new Intersect is operational?"
He thought about that for a moment. The data in his head was six months old. It didn't take a mind-reader to know what Graham and Beckman thought of him. Chuck wanted to believe that all of the missions, the sacrifices, the risks to his life mattered to them, but he had seen firsthand that it didn't. "They'll see me as a liability," he finally admitted.
"And what does the government do to a liability?"
"Eliminate it." He fought the urge to crawl back into one of Jeff's favorite hiding spots beneath the desk and go fetal until the store closed, settling instead for a quick peek around the store to make sure he was still safe. "What am I supposed to do?"
"If Fulcrum isn't a threat, you won't be seen as a threat. Figure out who the leaders of Fulcrum are."
"Oh, is that all. Because it's not like dozens of other agents have tried to do that."
"You're the only one who can figure it out. You can upload the latest version of the Intersect."
"Wait, so you're suggesting, what, exactly - that I somehow break into a government facility, upload intel from one of their most closely guarded secret projects, and try to make it out alive? I saw what happened to the last guy who tried that, and he was one the agency's best. That's suicide!"
"Suicide would be staying where you are or trusting your handlers."
Chuck shut his eyes. His emotions were taking over, and that certainly wasn't helping. He drew a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, and then forced himself to consider about everything again.
Fulcrum was coming. The new Intersect was coming online. He could be seen as expendable. This was no time to hide – or be caught with his eyes closed.
His eyes popped open. He needed to act, and do that, he needed some more answers. This might be his only chance to get them.
He hoped his mysterious friend was feeling chatty.
He asked, "Why would uploading the latest version of the Intersect help?"
"The government was very thorough in its efforts to enter about every piece of information it could get its hands on into the system. However, significant sets of records that were uploaded the first time mysteriously went missing before the second load."
"Fulcrum records?"
Even through the electronic distortion, Chuck could sense the impatience in the voice. "Yes, Chuck, but in the latest upload, a variety of additional information was added. Linking the two versions of the Intersect could allow you to string together the clues and figure out who heads Fulcrum. Since you are the only remaining copy of the first version of the Intersect-"
"I get it. I'm the only one who can do this. But, for the sake of argument, let's say I somehow pull off this miracle and that it somehow helps to bring down Fulcrum. Then I'd have both Intersects in my head. I'd be seen as even more of a risk."
"With Fulcrum around, no place is safe for you - not a safe house, not a bunker, not anywhere. Without Fulcrum around, there are places where you could be safely hidden."
Chuck saw a ray of hope. He was in trouble no matter what, but this might give him a chance. "Where is the Intersect?"
"You have the details in your head. Flash on 'Operation Sand Wall'."
"I already did."
"Then you've got the interior plans for the building in your head. As for the location, flash on 'Operation Grindstone'."
Chuck's eyes narrowed.
An image of a crowded street amidst skyscrapers, dozens of taxis interspersed with other cars.
A series of maps of the NSA campus.
Details behind the information feeding into the Intersect.
The image of the busy street.
"Maryland," Chuck gasped through the aftermath of the flash. "The Intersect facility is in Maryland. Who is this?"
"Focus. Get away from Fulcrum - and your handlers."
-click-
Chuck pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. While everything the strange voice had told him made sense, he wasn't stupid enough to blindly trust a stranger.
Unfortunately, he didn't have reason to trust his handlers either. Casey was working overtime to try to drive a wedge between Chuck and Sarah, claiming that she was up to something. On top of that, Chuck had already caught the NSA agent carefully watching him several times that morning, and the early morning wake-up calls had to be more than just an annoyance.
As for Sarah, he wanted to trust her. His gut told him to trust her. However, she had told him there was no spy gear in the watch that she had given him, but after finding the tracking – and assassination – device in his watch, it had become pretty obvious that she wasn't sharing everything, either. The one thing she had been honest about, he thought, was that she wanted the time the two of them could have together.
What if that time was up?
He glanced down at the watch. The band felt cold against his skin. He had forced himself to put it on that morning, knowing full well that Casey or Sarah might get suspicious if he suddenly stopped wearing it.
He desperately wanted to call Sarah, to hear her reassure him that everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible. Sarah had to take orders, too.
It was all too much. He needed to think. Chuck decided to head for the cage area to find some privacy.
Chuck slipped the strange phone into his pants pocket. Trying to avoid acting suspiciously, he stood up slowly, forcing himself to look at the out-of-date Nerd Herd call sheet to give himself a moment to calm down. He subtly glanced around. A few customers had finally trickled into the store. One was talking to Casey, but Casey was still paying more attention to Chuck than to the customer. Hopefully the customer would distract the NSA agent at least a little bit.
He started to head for the back, then froze. He had almost forgotten about the rest of the package. All things considered, Chuck would have preferred to dispose of the packaging somewhere where anyone else would have trouble finding it, but after Big Mike's outburst, he didn't want to call too much attention to it by lugging it away with him. He settled for shoving the box and the first envelope in the back of one of the wide filing cabinet drawers and locking it. He picked up the second envelope, covered it with the Nerd Herd order sheets he had just printed, and tried to make a quick exit.
As he left the counter, he felt Casey's eyes follow him. Chuck tried his best to appear nonchalant. He even smiled at Big Mike, who stopped chewing out a young saleswoman long enough to shoot an annoyed glance in return.
"Hey, buddy," Morgan said, appearing out of nowhere.
Chuck jumped, letting out an involuntary "Ahh!"
Morgan, clad in his typical green shirt and khaki uniform, said, "Easy there, killer. Just wondering if we're still on for tonight."
"Tonight. Tonight," Chuck stalled, trying to make his mind work. He finally remembered. "Right! Tonight! 'Godfather night'. Cheap pasta and red wine, followed by The Godfather and The Godfather, Part II."
"Right. Not Part III, unless we are -really- hammered."
Jeff, lounging-slash-hiding near the printer accessories, bolted to his feet, sticking his head over the metal shelving unit. "Did somebody say 'really hammered'?" He walked around to join the conversation.
Chuck grimaced. This was not how a quick exit was supposed to work.
Morgan said, "Yeah, we're drinking wine and watching the Godfather movies."
"Dude, I love the Godfather. 'Say hello to my little friend!'" He improvised shooting a submachine gun at a green shirt carrying a stack of boxes. The teenager gave him a disturbed look and quickly moved along.
Chuck nervously glanced around. The thought of submachine guns wasn't helping him calm down, but at least the impromptu powwow seemed to have reassured Casey, who finally started paying more attention to his customer. Chuck idly corrected Jeff as he watched Casey. "Scarface."
"What's that?" Morgan asked.
Chuck turned back to his two co-workers. "'Say hello to my little friend.' It's a line from Scarface."
Morgan slapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Man, for a moment I thought you were talking about the guy who just walked into the store. I wouldn't be calling him names."
With a sinking feeling in his gut, Chuck slowly turned to look to the front of the store. Just inside the main entrance stood a tall Latino man, his dark hair combed back and a scar circling his left eye like an angry child's scrawl. Tommy Delgado, Fulcrum operative and one of the only people to know that Chuck was the Intersect, casually scanned the store, his hands carelessly shoved deep into his suit pants pockets.
Chuck's chest tightened. Score one for the voice on the phone.
He forced himself to turn back very slowly to face his friends again. Morgan said, "Wonder how he got that thing; it looks vicious."
Jeff said, "I'm sure the chicks totally dig it. He probably gets all kind of play with that thing."
"Ladies love a bad boy."
Chuck shook his head. "Not that bad, Morgan. Not that bad." He ignored the curious looks from his friends.
Fulcrum's presence complicated matters. He could no longer just slip away. If he just left, Fulcrum might decide to interrogate his friends, and he couldn't take that chance. He made a quick decision. "Jeff, can you grab Anna and Lester and meet us out back?"
"Time for another game of jiggly ball?"
"Something like that. Meet us at the loading dock in five minutes."
"OK." Jeff headed towards the back to find the other Herders.
Chuck guided Morgan towards the back of the store by putting an arm around his friend's shoulder, earning a curious look. "Morgan, I could really use your help."
"Sure, man, anything. You know that."
Chuck hoped that was the case. He was about to ask his friend for some unusual favors.
And that might be the only way he and his friends could get out of this alive.
I want to send out more thanks to the people who helped beta-read the first three chapters for me, Baylink and MySoapBox. I can't say enough good things about the advice they provide. All mistakes are my own.