Big and overdue thanks to both Baylink and MySoapBox for their excellent beta work. All mistakes, generally from not listening to them, are my own.
The atmosphere in the Buy More home theater room was a somber one. Beckman and Graham glowered down from the large monitor, every last ounce of their displeasure conveyed in crisp high definition. A still-woozy Casey sat hunched over on the edge of a couch with a cold pack firmly pressed to the back of his neck. Sarah stood to the side of the low coffee table, barely able to contain her concern about Chuck, feeling as helpless now as when she was cornered at the Weinerlicious.
Fulcrum's plan to distract Casey and Sarah had worked to perfection. With the two of them occupied, Chuck had basically vanished. He wasn't answering his phone. A quick survey of the store turned up no witnesses. The recordings from the security cameras along his evacuation route showed only snow.
Nobody had put eyes on Chuck in over twenty minutes. He had vanished, and none of them had any clue what to do next.
"Are we absolutely certain that Fulcrum has captured the asset?" Beckman asked. Her expression of sour disapproval in no way lessened when she unpursed her lips to speak.
Casey gingerly removed the ice pack and glanced at it, almost as if expecting to see blood. "We have to assume they have him," he said. "Delgado let himself be seen at the front of the store, knowing that the protective detail would go after him while Bartowski bugged out. Shafai said they had agents waiting out back. It all fits."
"What else do we know?" Graham asked.
"A number of the store employees are missing," Sarah said. "Morgan Grimes, Lester Patel, Jeff Barnes, and Anna Wu are all unaccounted for."
"Fulcrum could be planning to torture them to get Chuck to talk. Delgado's made similar threats before."
"Patel and Barnes, being tortured for real?" Casey said, quietly enough that only Sarah could hear. "I'd almost pay to watch that."
At the moment, Sarah had little interest in Casey's brusque humor. "Chuck could have found a place to hide," she said. "Maybe he took his friends over to the mall to get his friends out of danger."
Beckman asked, "Then why wouldn't he be taking our calls?"
"He lost his phone? Or maybe his battery went dead." Both ideas were wishful thinking, and she knew it. Everyone else confirmed that with the long silence that followed.
"I have a question," Graham finally said. He leaned a little closer to the camera. "Why are you still alive, Agent Casey?"
"Your concern for my well-being is touching," Casey grumbled quietly enough that only Sarah could hear.
"Fulcrum isn't in the habit of leaving witnesses. I'm curious why they would make an exception for you."
"Unknown. However, I assure you that I intend to make them pay for their oversight."
"Maybe Delgado was more concerned with evacuating his own men than killing Agent Casey," Sarah suggested.
Graham looked unconvinced, but any further comments were delayed by a knock at the door. Sarah walked over and peeked behind a curtain. An NSA agent, clad in the maroon shirt of a corporate Buy More auditor, waited patiently. Sarah nodded to Casey, who unlocked the door via remote, and she opened it. The agent said, "Excuse me, Agent Walker, but there's something back here you should see."
She looked up at the monitor for guidance. "Director?"
"Go. We have a few more questions for Agent Casey."
Given Graham's tone, the excuse for Sarah to leave probably saved him the trouble of ordering her out of the room. She left, slowing only long enough to cast a worried look back as she shut the door. The paranoia of their bosses was clearly growing if they suspected John Casey of anything. He might be many things, but he was no traitor.
"This way," said the NSA agent. Her terse nod of acknowledgment must have conveyed her mood, because he decided to forgo any small talk as he led her towards the back of the store.
As they walked, her fists balled in frustration. These days, the agencies were turning into their own worst enemies. The bureaucracy and the politics were bad enough, but now they were wasting precious time questioning loyalties. For all she knew, Graham might have ordered her out of the room so they could ask Casey about her.
She stiffly cocked her head to one side and, with a forced breath, unclenched her fists. Getting upset wasn't going to help her find Chuck. She needed to calm down.
Sarah tried to ground herself by re-examining the situation. She glanced around the store as her escort guided her towards the door to the cage area. The clean-up crews had divided the responsibilities along party lines, with NSA tackling the Buy More and CIA taking the Weinerlicious. NSA agents, all dressed in maroon shirts, had things at the Buy More pretty well locked down. Under the guise of a surprise corporate inspection, the agents had closed the store and had locked the remaining Buy More employees in the employee break room. With Chuck gone, the only person who might have stood up to maroon shirts was Big Mike, and he had been lured away earlier by a special giveaway of cinnamon buns over at the mall. The NSA would have free run of the store as long as Mike had an appetite. They might have days.
As they entered the cage, her guide said, "According to what Agent Casey told us, the last he saw of Agent Bartowski was when he headed towards the loading dock."
"That's right."
The two passed through the doorway into the cage area. To her surprise, he didn't lead her outside, instead leading her towards the back corner of the room where another agent stood patiently waiting. "As we were finishing our sweep, we spent some extra time examining the loading dock and the cage area. Agent Timmons was the one who thought to check the storage cabinet."
Icy pinpricks danced up and down her back. If Chuck had managed to avoid detection in the cabinet, the NSA agent would have brought Chuck to the front rather than bringing Sarah to the back. Best case, Chuck or some of his friends were badly hurt and the ambulance was on the way. Worst case…
She steeled herself as her escort nodded to the other agent, who pulled open the door to the locker.
Sarah couldn't have been more surprised at what she saw.
Sitting on the floor were a man and a woman, both wearing dark suits. Hands and feet were neatly bound with CAT5 cable. Gags were seated in their mouths. The man leaned against the side of the cabinet, still out cold with a pair of nasty-looking bruises on his face. The woman, lying prone across the man's lap, was just regaining consciousness. Her pained breathing and stunted movements suggested at least one cracked rib, possibly more.
"They with you?" Timmons asked.
Sarah shook her head, still too confused to speak.
"They have CIA badges." He produced the badges to highlight the point.
Sarah stared down at the credentials and then back at the agents for a moment more. She stalked away and whipped out her phone.
Director Graham picked up after a single ring. "Find something?"
"Yes," she said. "Two CIA agents, bound and unconscious in a storage cabinet."
The director paused for just a bit too long. The extra silence spoke volumes. Her eyes narrowed.
"Can you identify them?" he asked.
"Their credentials say Peter Christopher and Amy Boylan."
"I didn't send them."
"But you did send agents," she said. It wasn't a guess. Graham had given it away with his guilty pause moments earlier.
And there was only one reason why Graham would send CIA agents and not tell Sarah.
"We can discuss that later," Graham said. "Get back to the home theater room. We need to figure out what this means."
Without waiting for a response, he hung up.
So much for calming down.
Part of Sarah wanted to reach into the video screen and throttle Director Graham. The man didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed that he'd been caught sending other agents to check up on her and Casey. She'd known that Beckman and Graham were jumping at their own shadows, but after all the years she'd spent working for Graham, she deserved better, and it was pretty clear Casey felt the same way.
Her pointed questions on the matter had produced only dark looks and unproductive silences. After Graham had made it clear the subject was not to be discussed again, she had reluctantly let it drop in favor of more pressing concerns. But as far as she was concerned, the subject was far from closed.
"I pulled the files on Agents Boylan and Christopher," Graham said. "The two are supposed to be on a stakeout in Missouri."
Casey said, to no one in particular, "Maybe they couldn't find any decent Thai food in the Midwest and just kept driving."
"Whatever Boylan and Christopher were doing there was unapproved. The only explanation I have for their presence is that they are working for Fulcrum."
Sarah tried to phrase her next question as neutrally as possible. "Director, were the agents that you sent on site this morning?"
Agent Graham scowled at the mention. General Beckman cut off his angry retort with a hand on his arm and a question. "Why do you ask, Agent Walker?"
"Somebody put those agents in the locker. The only candidates we have are your CIA agents or Chuck and his co-workers."
"My agents didn't do this," Graham insisted.
"And I'll vote Green Party before I'd believe Bartowski and his band of merry misfits took out two Fulcrum agents," Casey said.
"It was five versus two on their home turf." Sarah asked. "They could have pulled it off."
Casey's grunt said he still didn't buy it.
"We've been proceeding under the assumption that Fulcrum acquired the asset," Beckman said. "Have we done anything to investigate whether the asset might be running?"
Sarah's tongue suddenly felt very thick. "Running, General?"
"At this point, we have no concrete evidence that Fulcrum acquired the asset. The two agents positioned to grab Bartowski were found incapacitated. Agent Walker disabled a third, and Agent Casey took out two more. That leaves one agent to grab Chuck and his friends."
"One known agent," Casey clarified, "and that would be more than enough. Besides, even if Bartowski and company did take out the two Fulcrum agents in the cage area, there could have been others waiting outside."
"Or Chuck took advantage of the confusion and slipped away. We have to consider the possibility."
"Roger that." Casey picked up the remote keyboard for the computer system and started punching at the keys. A detailed map of the greater Los Angeles area appeared on a side monitor.
Graham frowned. "Why would Chuck run? Shouldn't he still have trusted you, Agent Walker? You two seemed to develop a strong rapport."
Casey snorted as he worked.
"Any ideas?" Graham said to her. General Beckman looked at her with interest.
Sarah's face tightened. Ever since the General had suggested the possibility that Chuck might be running, she'd had trouble thinking straight. The idea meshed all too neatly with the way he had avoided her the previous day.
Now she had a real dilemma. She hadn't reported Chuck's strange behavior because she had believed it was some kind of simple misunderstanding. However, more and more his behavior looked to be relevant. She was duty-bound to report what she knew.
But if she reported what she knew, everything was going to unravel quickly – and she might never see him again.
She stalled, torn between two possibilities that she couldn't stomach. "I'm not sure," she said lamely.
General Beckman frowned. "Agent Walker, do we have any reason, no matter how small, to believe that Chuck might be a flight risk?"
An ache grew deep within her chest. She was out of options. The job came first. Period.
She would have to tell them everything.
She took in a deep breath. "General, I–"
"Got him!" Casey said. Three sets of eyes swung to him, with none nearly as grateful as Sarah's. "I remotely activated the GPS beacon on his Nerdmobile. The car's halfway to San Bernadino and moving fast." A blinking red dot had appeared on the map east of their location.
Beckman said, "Good. Agent Casey, go after him and bring him back."
"In one piece?"
"Preferably. Agent Walker, review the surveillance footage again. Maybe we can salvage something that will allow us to determine who took out the two Fulcrum agents. Also, keep trying to contact Chuck. See if you can convince him to pull over and wait for Agent Casey."
"And if I can't?"
"Then I'll have to assume that the asset has lost his faith in both of his handlers. If that's the case, Operation Bartowski will need to be shut down. Chuck's next stop will be an underground bunker, and you two will be re-assigned."
Without another word, the general terminated the teleconference. Casey shot her a look full of hidden meanings before he dashed out of the room.
Sarah swallowed hard. The entire operation was in jeopardy, and if things didn't get fixed in a hurry, yesterday's kiss might be her and Chuck's last. But at least Casey's find had given her some more time.
She picked up her phone and pressed the number two on her speed-dial. The phone rang and rang and rang again. It rolled to voice mail. She hung up and redialed.
The phone kept ringing. She bit her lower lip in frustration. "C'mon, Chuck," she urged. "Pick up!"
Casey rocketed down the left lane of a Los Angeles highway. He smiled grimly. The trademark black sedan he had requisitioned to replace the Crown Vic was a pain at times, given that this particular model screamed "cop" to anyone in the know. The upside was that, when you needed to get somewhere in a hurry, nobody messed with you. Even the motorcycle cop who clocked the car doing one-twenty-five barely twitched as the sedan flew past.
Still, a thirty-minute head start was not an easy thing to overcome. The Herder was really moving. Leave it to Bartowski to discover he had a lead foot just when Casey needed to chase him down.
The open laptop on the passenger seat displayed a map tracking the location of the Herder. The car had turned north before getting to San Bernadino. Where did Bartowski think he was going? Las Vegas? Was he planning on just driving as far as he could? Maybe he flashed on some mothballed government hole-in-the-ground out in the desert that he planned to use as a hideout.
It was a moot point. Traffic had thinned once Casey hit I-15, and he'd been able to narrow the gap even faster once he'd hit the back side of Cajon Pass. He was now coming into the fringes of Victorville, about five miles back and closing fast. He liked his chances in a high-speed pursuit with Bartowski - not that there would be much of a pursuit once he got close enough. He would see to that.
His hand sought out a small electronic device that looked more like a video game controller than any kind of spy device. He punched in a sequence of numbers, received a beeping acknowledgment and replaced the device on the seat with a smirk. Somewhere ahead, the engine on the Herder was sputtering as the gas cut off, leaving the car to glide to the shoulder with what momentum remained. Now he was close enough that, after Bartowski figured out that he wasn't going to be able to restart the car, he wouldn't be able to wander far before Casey got there.
Casey watched the sides of the road carefully for the next couple of miles, his eyes finding his prey just past mile marker 217. The hood of the Herder stretched towards the sky, a supplicant to whatever automotive gods might help the engine start. Casey pulled in behind it. Traffic whizzed past as the sedan slowed to a halt, tires coaxing small clouds of dust from the shoulder.
He opened his door. "Having car trouble?" he called smugly as he got out, punctuating the comment with a slam of the door. His footsteps crunched in the gravelly dirt as he walked up.
He was unpleasantly surprised to find Lester sitting in the driver's seat. "Casey?" the man asked in surprise.
Anna peeked from behind the hood, her hair pulled back through the loop in a Nerd Herd baseball cap and a streak of grease on her cheek. "What are you doing here?"
Casey didn't gape often, but his mouth decided this was an appropriate occasion to try it again. "No, the question is what are you two doing here?"
Lester said, "Service call."
"A service call. Out here."
"Yeah," Anna said, going back to work on the engine. "Some guy in Barstow has a desktop and an in-home service contract." Lester helpfully held up the work order.
"And Bartowski gave the assignment to you?"
"Along with this piece of junk," Lester said. "I thought there was something special about this Herder since Chuck kept it to himself all the time, but it's pretty obvious this one's just as bad as the rest of them. No wonder Detroit is headed straight into the crapper."
Anna's head poked back around the hood. "It's a Toyota Matrix."
"Sure, defend your homeland."
"Toyota is a Japanese company."
"So?"
"I'm from Taiwan, you bai chi!"
Ignoring the spat, Casey turned and stormed back to the sedan.
Lester said, "Wait, Casey, you can't leave us here!"
"The engine's probably just flooded," he yelled without turning around. "Let it sit for another minute, then try it again."
Casey got back into the sedan and hastily slammed the door, almost catching his foot in the process. He punched the gas line release code into the Herder remote and spiked it off the passenger seat to thump around the floorboard. The key turned in the ignition. The engine roared. Tires and mind spun furiously as both searched for traction.
Where the hell was Bartowski?