I do not own 'Chuck" I just borrowed it. And I really need to return it, though. Angry librarians are scary.
Chapter 7. On the Road Again
February 20, 1977, 1 PM, London.
Roan hurried out into the street and raced to the smoky remains of the Rolls Royce. One glance told him that he was too late; there was nothing he could do. But, he knew there was no reason just to sand there watching the remnants of the car. There was always the chance that the perpetrators were still in the area. After all, someone would have had to have been in the area to see them in the stolen car, and then to plant a bomb on it. A sudden squeal of tires told him that his suspicions were correct. He ran down the street past the assembling group of onlookers. At first he didn't see any cars moving, but then he saw the exhaust trail of a red sports car in the distance.
Roan glanced down the street, in search of another vehicle. There was no way he could catch up to the sports car on foot. Finally, he saw a black sedan parked on the side of the road.
As he approached the car, he heard a female voice behind him. "Agent Montgomery, you're coming with me."
"I don't think so," Roan muttered, reaching for his weapon. But before he could draw it, he felt a stinging in his neck and everything went black.
The first thing Roan noticed when he woke up was that he was moving. Forcing himself upward, he could see that he was inside a car, presumably the one he'd wanted to steal. Judging by the passing farmland seen through the window, he also was no longer in London. Rubbing his neck, he looked up at the car's front seats.
"Oh good, you're awake," a recognizable voice said from the passenger seat.
"Bartowski?" Roan asked in confusion.
"Nice to see you again, Agent Montgomery."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was sent to find you," the young techie responded. "And bring you a message."
"By tranqing me?"
"Yeah, that part wasn't really necessary," the driver commented. It was the female voice he'd heard earlier.
"I thought he was going to hurt you. He looked pretty mad."
"I can take care of myself, thank you," the woman responded curtly.
Roan rubbed his neck. "What was that stuff anyway?"
Steve smiled. "Just something I found left over from my predecessor." He held up his arm, displaying a gold wrist watch. "Shoots darts right from the watch band. Works pretty well, doesn't it?"
"Then you didn't know exactly what it was before you shot me?"
"I did," Steve responded, offended.
"He tried it out on himself first," the woman remarked drily.
This did not make Roan feel better. He shook his head, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the tranquilizer. "Where are you taking me?" he asked again, this time to. "And who is she?"
"This," Steve responded in a bemused tone, "is my bodyguard."
Roan took a closer look at the young woman. At first, he hadn't realized how young she was, but examining her face in the rearview mirror, he could see that she was younger than he was. Which was saying something, since he himself was one of the younger active spies in the CIA right now. "You're a spy?"
"Yes. And I'm not his bodyguard," he commented, removing a hand from the steering wheel to point at Bartowski. "I'm Agent Gunter. Mary Gunter. I was sent here to make sure you cooperate. He's here to provide technical support."
Roan chuckled to himself. The Director must have decided each one was too green to go alone, and combined them instead. His amusement wore off quickly, though, as he was still a bit frustrated about what had happened. "You impeded an investigation. I was about to go after the bombers."
"You wouldn't have caught them," the woman replied. "And you're safer in our hands than on the street. The Brits are just going to assume you did it anyway."
"Not if I catch the people that actually did it."
The driver shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered. You still look like the chief suspect, and that's what Hamilton and his people would see. And there's no use arguing. We're under orders."
"And what if I refuse to go with you?" Roan reached into his pocket to find his firearm. It wasn't there.
"I thought you might not listen to reason," the woman commented. "I relieved you of your gun."
Clearly, Agent Gunter was a company loyalist, through and through. The CIA had done a number on her quickly. He didn't seem to have much of a choice, but to cooperate.
"I am sorry about Agent Banginton," Bartowski said, in a kinder tone of voice than his partner. "I guess you were friends?" The woman snorted as he said this.
Roan didn't reply, but instead watched the British farmland pass by through the car window. He'd only known Lottie for a couple of days, but he had liked her. And as far as he was concerned, she had died on his watch. Plus, her death would affect other people as well. "What about the boy?" he asked, finally. "What will happen to him?"
The woman shrugged. "He'll probably become a ward of the state. In the end, it's probably the best thing for him. Having spies as parents never works out. I hope you weren't considering adopting him," she added.
"Of course not." Roan was hardly the parental type.
"Bartowksi, we need to get him on board," Agent Gunter said to the young techie. Give him the message."
"Oh right," he reached down into the seat, and pulled out a briefcase. Handing it back to Roan, he instructed, "Open it." There was a metal box inside, with a small screen on the upper side of the case. "Now put this in the opening in the player." Steve handed Roan a rectangular plastic case, approximately the size of a paperback book.
After Roan did as instructed, the face of the Director appeared on screen, and moved in a slightly animated fashion when the sound began. From both his expression and his tone, Roan could see that he wasn't happy. "When I sent you to London, Agent Montgomery, I meant for you to prevent international incidents, not cause them. Thanks to you, the meetings have come to an end. The Soviet delegation is out for your head, and I'm halfway tempted to give it to them."
"I hope he realizes that I didn't kill Amasova," Roan commented.
"And yes, I do know that you didn't actually kill Amasova," the recording continued. "But it doesn't matter. The Soviets are rattling their sabers, and Senator Felix has picked this moment to grow a pair and stand up to them. It's nothing but a big mess. Fortunately," the Director seemed to calm down, "I have some agents I can rely on, so I happen to know that Alexis Romanova has already left England. Which, fortunately for you, is the exact best place for you to be as well. Agent Gunter and Bartowski here have been fully briefed on our latest intel, and you are to listen to them and cooperate fully. Or maybe I will hand your head over to the Soviets. Or possibly another part of you that you value more." With that, the recording ended.
"How do we know that Romanova has left the country?" Roan asked. He wasn't thrilled about being out of the loop, but at least he wasn't being sent home. Though having two babysitters didn't exactly appeal to him.
Agent Gunter shrugged. "I wasn't filled in on the details of that. I just know that they have reliable information on where he's going, and we're to help you get there as well."
"And where exactly is that?" Roan asked.
"Vienna."
February 20, 1977, 4 PM, Flying over Germany.
The airstrip Roan was taken to wasn't the same as the one he'd arrived at less than two days earlier. It was next to what appeared to be an abandoned storage depot. Clearly, they weren't going through any official channels. Apparently, the Director felt that getting official British cooperation was out of the question now, especially with the suspicious death of an MI-5 agent muddying the water.
The airplane Roan and his two companions found waiting for them had all the comforts of home. If one happened to live inside a can of tinned sardines. The tiny seats and the incessant rattling of the engine would have been bearable had there been any refreshments. But the plane consisted of a single pilot, and no stewardess ready to offer a Tom Collins. Or anything else, for that matter.
Roan took the time to study his fellow Agent. Mary Gunter was fairly short, but clearly in good shape. Her curly, light-brown hair was tied back, and the dark clothing she wore was for efficiency only. Despite that, she was clearly attractive.
Despite her young age, Agent Gunter had seemed quite sure of herself back in London. Now, though, as she slept in her seat, her youth was much more obvious. She appeared much more vulnerable. Despite her confidence, Roan guess that she hadn't had much, if any, actual field experience.
"Don't worry. She really knows what she's doing."
Roan looked over to see that Steve had sat down beside him. He wanted to object to the intrusion, but there wasn't much else to do on this plane. "You've seen her in action?" he asked.
"Not really, but she has a very commanding presence. She's not fazed by any of this stuff." Roan could tell from the expression on the techie's face that he was slightly overwhelmed himself. "She doesn't think much of me, I'm afraid."
"Maybe you should give her one of your recordings," Roan commented drily.
Steve brightened slightly. "Maybe. Did you make good use of yours?"
"Oh, absolutely. I'd say your musical taste is on the cutting edge." Roan glanced out the dirty window, and studied the clouds for a minute. "I hardly think that I needed the extra company, though."
Steve shrugged. "I think the Director wanted me to experience fieldwork. He said 'it will help inform how I can better aid our agents.' Frankly, I think he wants to get rid of me. He's not a big fan of the whole civilian contracting approach."
That would explain why Bartowski's 'bodyguard' was so inexperienced. He didn't mention this to the young techie, though. He could tell by the way he was looking at the girl that he had a bit of a crush on her.
Apparently sensing the attention, Agent Gunter stirred in her seat. She was fully alert in only a second, warily looking around the cabin. Finally, she stood up and glanced at her watch. "We should be there shortly."
"So how do we know where in Vienna to look for Romanova? Did your intel help us out on that?"
"Actually," the young woman responded, "he's not in Vienna. He's supposed to be staying at a villa twenty miles south."
"Who is he?" Roan asked, after studying the photograph that Agent Gunter had handed him. Unlike the photos of Romanova and other KGB agents, this one was of much higher quality. It was a posed portrait, showing a man dressed in a black tuxedo, with a slightly imperious expression underneath carefully-sculpted black hair.
"Gert Masterson," Gunter replied. "Wealthy industrialist, born from an American father and Austrian mother."
"And friend to the Soviets?"
"That's not quite clear yet. We do know that Romanova is supposed to be attending a party at the Masterson villa tomorrow. Whether he's actually working for Masterson, or if Masterson is a Soviet spy, is what we're supposed to find out."
"A party, you say?" Roan asked, brightening. This sounded like his ideal mission.
"That's right. Masterson is a bit of a playboy, and throws himself a lot of these kinds of bashes."
"Well," Roan commented as he sat up in his seat, "I guess we'll be attending a party, then."
February 5, 2011. 1:30 AM, Echo Park, CA
All Chuck could think about as he walked through the courtyard with Sarah was sleep. Normally the prospect of sharing a bed with his fiancée would put other things in his mind, but it had been a long day. Sure, much of it had been spent reading, but any day with a late night surveillance mission was a long one in his book. Luckily, Casey had agreed to stay behind to brief the General, and he could leave early.
So, as Chuck reached for the door, he figured his day was coming to a close. But the sounds coming from the house as he slowly opened the door put an end to that.
"I swear, I don't know anything!" The sound of fear was clear from Morgan's voice.
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" The voice answering Morgan was female and cold, with a Russian accent. To Chuck, the woman sounded vaguely familiar, and he wondered if he had run across her in a past mission.
Chuck looked to Sarah who nodded, her blue eyes alert.
"Fortunately," Chuck heard the female say, "I have ways to make you talk, Agent Grimes."
Chuck wasn't sure if it was the mere hint of a threat, or his own knowledge of his friend's low pain threshold, that set the Intersect off. A moment later he felt the whirring of the Intersect, and he felt the faint twinge of the electrical impulses hit his muscles.
As he ran into the house, he heard Morgan say, "Do you expect me to talk?"
"No Mr. Grimes. I expect you to strip!"
The woman's words weren't enough to shut off the Intersect, but the sight of what was going on in the living room was. Unfortunately, it was a moment too late, and Chuck only regained control as he was flying through midair. He managed to push Morgan away from the woman, and landed right on top of him.
"Uh Chuck, what are you doing?"
Chuck looked down at his friend. Apparently Morgan did as he was told, as he had already removed his shirt, and was now bare-chested, wearing only a pair of black tuxedo pants. A clip-on bow tie lay on the floor next to the two of them.
"Then, you're not in danger?"
"Well, I'm a little bit…uncomfortable, if you know what I mean."
"Oh God, oh God!"
Chuck finally got to his feet, and now looked at the woman, who'd abandoned her Russian accent. Alex was wearing a black wig, and was dressed only in some very revealing red negligee.
Once he'd managed to return to his feet, Morgan motioned to Chuck to follow him to the kitchen. Chuck did so, exchanging a look with Sarah as he did. The female spy's expression was a mixture of weariness, shock, and amusement, though the amused part seemed to be growing by the second.
"Um, I guess you guys are in for the night then?" Morgan asked once they'd reached the kitchen.
Chuck nodded. "I'm wiped, buddy. All I can do is sleep now." Though there were a few mental images he'd need to erase before he'd be able to fall asleep. Unfortunately, image deletion was one function the Intersect wasn't particularly good at.
"I wish you'd told me when you were coming home," Morgan sighed.
"I wish you'd warned me you'd be doing… what the hell were you doing?"
"Well, here's the thing," Morgan said quietly. "This whole 'me being a spy' situation. She's kind of…into it. I mean, I know she gets scared when I go out on a mission, but it also kind of…turns her on. So occasionally we, um, play-act?"
Chuck looked around desperately for a way to get away from the conversation. Morgan was undaunted, however, and continued on. "I wasn't sure about it at first, but it's kind of hot. I mean, other than the one time, I pretended to be Timothy Dalton. I should have known that wouldn't work. That guy cannot play a convincing spy. But other than that…wow. There was this one time she tied me up…"
"Morgan! If there's any possible way for you to stop sharing," Chuck begged, "please do it."
"Ok, ok," Morgan relented. "But you have to know what I'm talking about. You and Sarah, all those exciting and dangerous spy missions, the glamour and the danger, come on!"
"Morgan, you've been on enough missions to know it's not always glamorous and exciting. I just spent four hours crouched in a van doing surveillance. Hardly like the movies." Or like the exploits of Roan Montgomery, Chuck thought to himself.
Still, Chuck did know what Morgan was talking about, but he had no intention of prolonging the conversation any further, so he just shrugged.
"So," Morgan said, "since things were left a bit…unfinished, and you guys are in for the night, I think Alex and I will go to her place." They returned to the living room, to see Sarah and Alex carefully avoiding looking at each other. Alex had thrown a coat around herself, but her face was still slightly red.
"Do you want to…"
"Go? Absolutely." Alex sprung to her feet, and helped find the rest of Morgan's tux. A moment later, they were out the door.
Even though he really didn't want to, Chuck heard their voices coming from the courtyard.
"So," Alex said, once again in her Russian accent, "I am now at your mercy. What will you do to me?"
"Well, Agent McHugh, perhaps we should play a little game. I like to call it…Thunderball."
"Ooh."
"Eww," Sarah said, and Chuck shuddered in agreement.
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to look either of them in the eye again," Sarah commented.
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to look Casey in the eye again."
"Oh God." Sarah moved over to Chuck, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to head off to bed. You coming?"
"Uh, in a little bit. There are a few mental pictures I'd like to get rid of before I can go to sleep. I think I'll do a little more reading first."
"Ok, just don't stay up too late." Sarah kissed goodnight and then headed off to the bedroom.
Chuck removed the notebook from his bag, and sat back down on the couch. As he was about to read, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He retrieved the clip-on bowtie from the floor and tossed it to the other end of the room. He shivered again, then returned to his attention to his father's notes.
I can't remember when Mary Bartowski's maiden name was revealed, but apparently it's Gunter. I'm not sure I like it, but I figured I'd have to stick with it. Not that I was going to give her a 'Bond girl' name or anything.
Of course, the end scene was a bit reminiscent of – ok, very similar to – the opening scene in the Valentine's day episode of the show. In my defense, I thought that scene was one of the funniest the show has done. It also was the one time they seemed to give Alex a personality. And I kind of liked the idea of her being into some weird stuff. It should make the whole Casey/Alex/Morgan relationship even more complicated.