Chapter 9. An Even Frostier Reception

February 21, 1977, 6 PM, 20 miles outside Vienna.

"If you touch me one more time you'll be breathing through your ear."

Roan winced as he stepped outside on the veranda. The voice was definitely Agent Gunter's, and its tone was not a happy one. The area was filled with enough partygoers to make it hard to see where she was, but she'd been loud enough that she'd eventually make a scene, and get noticed. He'd hoped to get away now that he'd successfully made contact with Masterson, and it would be a lot easier to do that if he didn't need to explain himself to a half-dozen burly bouncers.

After a moment of looking around, Roan found Agent Gunter. Her new friend didn't appear to be particularly dissuaded by her attitude. He wasn't exactly a body builder, but it clear that there wasn't a 120-pound weakling hidden under the suit. The ruddy complexion and beads of sweat under the red hair at least seemed to suggest he'd had a few too many. Roan still wasn't sure how well Gunter could handle herself against him, drunk or no.

As he was watching the scene, Roan saw some movement down in the bushes below. Eventually, he recognized Steve Bartowski's rumpled suit. From the expression on his face, it was clear that the young techie had also seen what was going on, and was about the rush into the party like a raging bull. Or at least try to, which would be just as bad.

Roan looked back to see whether the situation had managed to resolve itself quietly. The drunk wasn't angry, at least, in fact he didn't seem to be phased at all. Instead, he merely leered and said in a slight German accent. "Ah, an American. One of my favorites!" He reached a hand towards the bodice of Mary's dress.

And in barely a second, his hand had been pulled behind him, and his groin had met the business end of her knee. So much for her not being able to handle herself.

"I warned you," Roan heard her growl. He knew he'd better step in, as people were beginning to take notice. As he approached her, she gave him a dirty look but didn't speak. He leaned over, and whispered, "You're making a scene. We don't need that."

Gunter looked down, examined the now wincing German, and nodded.

"Giggle," Roan suggested.

"Excuse me?"

"Giggle at what I say. Pretend it's the wittiest thing in the world."

Gunter rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Just do it. You're drawing too much attention to us."

"And your solution is for me to act like a drunken floozy?"

"At this party? Yes. You'll fit right in."

Mary relented and let out a somewhat harsh-sounding giggle. Roan lifted her to her feet, and she made a slightly off-balanced lurch into him.

"I think she's had too many," Roan announced to the crowd, who seemed to lose interest.

He pulled Agent Gunter alongside him. She stumbled slightly, making sure to give the drunk German a swift kick in the process. "Perhaps we should go," he said to her.

"Oookay," Agent Gunter responded in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.

"Don't overdo it," Roan admonished her.

"Yeah well, I won't overdo it if you take your hand off of there," Mary responded through clenched teeth, moving Roan's hand upward.

As soon as Roan and Mary were free from the party, they found Steve standing for them, arms enfolded across his chest. "You were supposed to be in the car," Agent Gunter said as she quickly released Roan.

Steve pointed to her bracelet. "Your heart rate was increasing. I thought you were in trouble. I guess not," he added pointedly.

"I told you I can handle myself. Told both of you," Mary added the last part as she turned to Roan.

"Maybe we should just move past the whole who can take care of who debate, and get back to the hotel. We need to discuss our next move." When the others looked at him blankly, Roan added, "I made contact with Masterson. Gained his trust, apparently. He's invited me to his chalet outside Innsbruck. It seems there's a poker tournament, and he wants to bankroll me."

"What would he do that?" Steve asked.

Roan shrugged. "I guess he's decided that I have some promise as a gambler, and he thinks he can make some money by wagering on my winning."

Mary shook her head. "Sounds like a trap to me."

"It could very well be," Roan admitted. "But he does seem to know Romanova. He didn't admit to it, but I think he was lying."

"So then it's definitely a trap. You'll need us to watch your back."

"Maybe so," Roan replied, "but watch it from a distance. I was invited to this tournament, you weren't. I don't even know exactly where this chalet is. You can monitor me from Innsbruck. That way you can help."

For once, Roan added, but only to himself.

Gunter and Bartowski hadn't been too thrilled by the suggestion that they would be better off on the sidelines, but they didn't put up too much of a fight about it. Each had gone off quietly to their respective hotel room.

As Roan removed his tuxedo, he considered the situation. Agent Gunter was quite correct that it likely was a trap. Masterson's connection to the Soviets had been proven by Romanova's presence at his house. The KGB agent clearly wasn't the party-going type. At least not that type of party, anyway. Even if he had managed to find a girl to hang onto his arm, it didn't make him seem any less out of place.

Masterson, himself, was another problem. From everything Roan had seen, the Austrian was clearly quite reckless. He had made his fortune by gambling, or at least claimed to. Roan suspected that his ruse with Warner's name had worked, and Masterson had been intrigued. Instead of immediately taking action, though, Masterson was waiting for something. If nothing else, he probably felt that he was toying with Roan.

Roan didn't like being toyed with. And he didn't get the rug pulled from under him so easily.

The sound of a knock on the door prevented Roan from considering his situation further. Once again, Steve let himself in the room before the CIA agent could respond.

"I figured I'd check your watch, make sure we can still monitor you. Don't want you to get killed without us knowing." The young techie's voice was uncharacteristically cold.

"Something bothering you, Bartowski?" Roan asked drily.

Steve looked like he was about to retort, but finally he sighed and looked at Roan plaintively. "Aw, hell, what good is it? I never would have stood a chance anyway. She's too beautiful, and now you? You're like the Burt Reynolds of spies!"

Roan didn't have to ask him about who he was talking about. And he was right. Between the two of them, Bartowski wouldn't stand a chance. He could practically be pictured in the dictionary under the word nebbish, after all.

Roan had to admit that Agent Gunter was a beautiful woman. He knew, given the time, he could seduce her. But, it would be a lot of work. The young agent had built up some walls, and breaking them down would take some painstaking effort. And he should spend at least some of his attention on bringing down Romanova and Masterson. He was a professional, after all.

Besides, there would likely be plenty of women at Masterson's poker tournament.

Roan decided that he should be the bigger man in this instance. And for that to happen, a little bit of goading was necessary. "You're going to give up so easily?" he asked. "I thought you'd at least give me a little bit of competition."

"Competition?"

"Of course. I think you're selling yourself short. There must be something that you're better than me at."

"Well, I'm probably a little better than you at not being a jackass," Bartowski retorted.

Ah, there was the fire. "Ok, there's one. But you'd better come up with more than that if you're going to have any hope."

Bartowski looked like he was going to make another retort, but finally gave up when none came. Shoulders slumped, he turned away and headed out the door.

Roan chuckled to himself. At least being the bigger man had its entertainment value.

February 22, 1977, 8 AM, a private airstrip midway between Vienna and Innsbruck

Despite the confidence he'd expressed to Agent Gunter and Bartowski, Roan approached his rendezvous with Masterson with caution. Even if he was expecting a trap, he might not see it coming in time. If anything, the gambler's recklessness made the Austrian even more dangerous than the usual cunning villain. Somebody who's hard to predict is someone who's hard to guard against.

So, Roan kept a careful eye on the surroundings once they'd reached the heliport that Masterson had told him to come to. Once they'd dropped him off, Bartowski and Gunter made themselves scarce, at least as far as he could see. He assumed they were hidden somewhere nearby, with guns and tranquilizer darts cocked and ready.

Once a half hour had passed since the planned meeting time, Roan began to doubt the likelihood of an ambush occurring. Treachery, after all, tended to follow an exact schedule. Before he could relax too much, though, the roar of a helicopter engine appeared in the distance.

Roan shielded his face as the chopper whipped the surrounding snow around. As his transportation touched down, he felt around for the knife hidden in the inside of his suit. A gun would have been nice, but guns don't mix well with airborne contraptions. Shooting the wrong piece of equipment could have disastrous results.

Finally, the engine shut off, and Roan could see Masterson wave to him. No attack appeared forthcoming, so the CIA walked around to the door, nodding briefly to his host. The only other passenger, the helicopter pilot, ignored them both.

"Glad you could make it," Masterson commented once Roan was inside.

"Well, I'm always open to a challenge."

Masterson didn't respond until they were up in the air. "I would hope so. You are a risk taker, like myself, are you not?"

Roan looked down through the helicopter window. The pilot was yet another risk taker, judging by the narrow distance between them and the mountaintops. There was little to see around, other than peak after peak of the Alps. He wouldn't know how to find his way back to civilization if he tried. So yes, he was definitely taking a chance here.

Masterson took Roan's silence for assent. "That's good. But I must warn you, I have a lot riding on you at this tournament. So I suggest that you don't take any foolish risks."

"Of course not." Out of all the risks Roan had taken throughout the years, none were what he would call foolish.

A moment later, Roan noticed that the helicopter was slowing down. In the snowy distance he could see the sloping roof of Masterson's chalet. Chalet might have been an understatement. Roan would have gone with the term "mountain palace." It was impressive.

"Well, here we are," Masterson said once they'd landed. They exited the chopper, and Roan followed the Austrian into the building. The entrance way was warm, and led them to a long, ornately furnished hallway. Masterson seemed to like antiques, as various antiquities lined the hallway. Despite that, the place didn't exactly feel homey. Masterson probably spent very little time in the place.

Finally, they reached a large door at the end of the hall. Roan thought he could hear the low sound of murmuring coming from inside.

Roan followed Masterson inside, braced to face his fate.

February 5, 2011. 9:15 AM, Burbank, CA

As Chuck walked through the Buy More doors the next morning, he wished he'd had a few more cups of coffee. He'd had trouble sleeping the night before, which had led to his phone conversation with Cole Barker, not to mention reading a bit more from his father's journal. He'd been unwilling to give up on it and go to bed. The early relationship between his parents that was briefly described had been fascinating, and eerily familiar in some ways.

Once he reached the Nerd Herd station, Chuck noticed that he wasn't the only one who'd had a rough night. "What did you guys do last night?" he asked.

"Things got a little out of hand at Bennigan's," Lester replied, his hand rubbing the black patch covering one eye. "You shoulda been there – you haven't lived until you've been through at least one Benny's brawl."

"Gznxscaramangaptuv," Jeff added helpfully.

"Uh, what was that?" Chuck asked.

"Jeffrey, you forgot to take out your retainer," Lester prodded his friend.

"Oh," Jeff said, once the complicated metal contraption had been removed from his mouth. "Last night totally rocked."

Chuck heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Morgan approaching. "Shouldn't you two be working?" he heard his friend say. Morgan, Chuck noticed, was carefully avoiding any eye contact with him.

"Oh please Morgan, all these new robotic underlings of yours can handle things just fine," Lester retorted, gesturing at a few of the industrious Gretas roaming the aisles.

Chuck looked over at his two colleagues. "They will probably just scare away customers," Chuck pointed out. "Remember last week?"

"What, we find out there's an Octomom sex tape out there, and you expect us not to download it?" Lester objected.

"Yeah, I just wanted to see her octop-"

"Ok, guys!" Morgan quickly interrupted. "Family establishment here. Maybe just go and do your thing, and … avoid any customers at all costs."

After the two Nerd Herders had left, Chuck and Morgan stood there awkwardly for a few moments. Finally, Morgan decided to break the silence. "Listen, Chuck, last night…"

"I say we leave it in the past, and never bring it up again, buddy."

Morgan's face brightened. "Perfect! I wasn't really wanting a big conversation anyway. I'm mean I'm kind of tired, after what Alex and I did at her place…"

"Morgan!"

"Right. In the past. Got it. Hey, here comes Casey. Maybe he's got a big mission for us."

The big NSA agent practically ignored Morgan, and motioned for Chuck to follow. He did so, and they headed to a corner of the Buy More. "We got some information on our fez-wearing shopper from last night."

"The Russian?"

Casey's eyes narrowed. "How'd you know that? You said he wasn't in the Intersect."

Chuck recovered quickly. "Oh, I just guessed. He looked Russian."

Casey gave one of his more agreeable grunts. "Hmm. He did look shifty."

Thankful that Casey's prejudices had gotten him off the hook, Chuck pressed on. "So who is he? Ex-KGB? Probably went freelance after the Soviet Union fell."

Casey nodded. "His name is Strannaya Deloski, which apparently is loosely translated into 'he who takes on strange tasks.' And you're part right. He was KGB. But he went rogue in 1975, long before we brought down the Reds."

I'd been hoping to be a bit more timely with these updates, but things have been busier than I expected, so I apologize for the slow pace with posting new chapters.

And yes, as you can see, it's getting a bit tougher to work in the movie titles now. Especially the more recent ones.

I hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.