Chapter 11. The Obligatory Ski Chase Chapter
February 22, 1977, 5 PM, Somewhere in the Alps.
"What do you mean, you work for the CIA?"
Agent Beckman's pace didn't slow down, but she did turn around to give Roan an annoyed look. She had led him away from the storage room, down a stairwell, and now quickly through a dark hallway. Roan wasn't sure whether it was the effects of the antidote he had just taken, but he thought he could feel cool air come from in front of him. Hopefully that meant that they were near an exit.
"It seems pretty clear to me," Beckman finally responded to Roan's question. "What don't you get?"
"The Director has had you looking into the deaths at the peace negotiations too?"
"No. My job has just been Romanova. I've been on him as soon as he entered the West."
I'll bet, Roan thought to himself, though he didn't say anything. Seduction was part of the job, after all. The one part he wished he'd get to do more often.
"And to answer your question, no he didn't kill Simon Warner. At least not himself."
"Then who did? Masterson?"
Beckman snorted. "Masterson is nothing more than a dupe. Useful as a front for what Romanova's been trying to do."
"Which includes developing the Klebichok agents."
They'd reached the end of the hallway, leaving only a heavy door in their way. Beckman managed to tug it open, and Roan found the source of the cold air. They found themselves in a small garage, surrounded by several partially opened windows. The only thing Roan could see through the windows was a sheet of fresh snow. Inside, the garage was mostly empty, but there were several pairs of skis lining the wall. As Roan examined the room, Beckman responded to him. "Well, at least you got one thing right."
Roan looked back at the female agent. "Masterson implied that the Soviets aren't actually behind any of this."
Beckman shook her head. "I don't think they are. Alexei likes to brag about how he's become his own man now," she explained wryly.
"Then he's doing this on his own?"
"No." Beckman unhooked a pair of skis from the wall, and handed them to Roan. "He's working for somebody."
"Who?"
After a pause, Beckman admitted, "I don't know." Seeing Roan's face she commented tartly, "I've been a bit busy saving your ass to figure it out. There should be some ski poles over there," she added, pointing to a corner of the garage.
"Are you seriously suggesting we ski our way out of here?"
"No. I'm suggesting you ski your way out of here. My cover's still intact, so I'm not leaving."
"You sure? Romanova's nobody to mess with. What if he suspects something?"
"I can take care of myself. Now go!"
Roan began to strap the skis to his feet. "You know, I'm not really dressed for this," he commented, examining the suit he was still wearing.
"Not my problem. My problem is getting you out of here so I can do my job."
Roan managed to find a pair of goggles and a leftover cap in the garage. Finally, he clomped over to the outer door, and found a nearby slope. He glanced back, but Agent Beckman had already disappeared. Shrugging to himself, he began to descend the mountain.
As Roan slid down the mountain, he thought back to what Agent Beckman had told him. Romanova wasn't working with the Soviets, but instead with some other unknown person. It was still clear that he was somehow connected with the deaths at the peace negotiations, even if he himself hadn't done the killing. They'd used Masterson, taking over the company under the guise of making it solvent, in order to secretly develop weapons beyond the Iron Curtain.
And all of this had been figured out by Agent Beckman. The diminutive agent wasn't a whole lot older than Agent Gunter, but she had a self-assurance that the other didn't. When Gunter said that she could take care of herself, it sounded like sheer bluster. When Beckman said it, Roan believed her.
She was also quite attractive. And Roan could only imagine that it would take more than just a pretty face to keep Romanova blindly interested. It would take…imagination.
As Roan was considering this, he almost missed the sound of whooshing from above. Luckily for him, he managed to glance back just as a figure on skis took aim with his rifle. Roan dodged the shot, and continued down the slope.
Roan was a decent skier, though most of his ski vacations had involved staying in the lodge with a friendly bunny. So, he was able to slalom his way back and forth down the mountain. This made it even tougher for the man above to hit him; a difficult enough task to do while moving. Still, all it took was one lucky shot and Roan's mission, well, Roan's everything, would be over.
Feeling that he was gaining ground, he decided to get on the offensive. He made a quick cut to the left, too quick for his opposition to follow him. He knew, of course, that it wouldn't take long for Romanova's man to find him, so he went in search of a sturdy pine tree. Once he'd found one, he removed his skis, hid them in the snow, and climbed up the branches.
A few minutes later, the other man appeared. Peering carefully, Roan managed to recognize the bartender from the chalet. As honorable a profession as that was, Roan knew he had to get rid of him. Timing perfectly, he jumped down just as the other man was crossing underneath.
Now atop his enemy, Roan took a swing at the man's face, and managed to grab the shotgun. A moment later, the job was done.
He was only safe for a moment, however. The sound of the gunfire would certainly bring more of Romanova's men downhill. He decided he at least had the chance to switch into warmer clothing. He exchanged his suit jacket for the bartender's winter parka, only briefly wincing at the prospect of wearing another man's blood-stained apparel. Once he'd put the suit jacket on the dead man, he stood him up by the tree. He figured the gambit wouldn't work for long, but he needed whatever time he could get. He retrieved his skis and continued his way down the mountain.
A minute later, his suspicions were proven right. This time, judging by the loud humming sound coming from above, his pursuers were in snowmobiles. Hardly a fair fight.
At least he was now armed. But shooting someone behind him while moving quickly downhill wasn't exactly an easy proposition. Bullets weren't a whole lot worse than sliding into a tree at the moment.
As he slid downward, Roan heard the sound of distant shots, followed by what sounded like muffled Russian curse words. That was quickly followed by the sound of a motor restarting. He'd bought a minute or so, but not much more.
Not much later, gunfire erupted again, coming from multiple angles. There were two snowmobiles now, descending on opposite sides of Roan. He continued to crisscross down the mountain, but the shots began to get closer.
Roan decided to turn as sharply as he could without slowing down. This almost landed him on his back, but he just managed to keep to his feet. Unfortunately, moving at an angle decreased did decrease his speed enough that he knew they would be on him shortly.
As he heard the oncoming roar of the snowmobile engine, Roan noticed that the trail had opened up into a passage underneath a jutting precipice. Seeing the snowcapped peak of the cliff, he moved behind a tree and waited. Not a second later, one of the snowmobiles came into view. Rather than fire his rifle at his pursuers, Roan aimed for the top of the cliff.
His timing was perfect. The shot hit its mark, loosening a bank of snow. The pile descended on the snowmobile, blocking the vision of the driver. Roan jumped out of the way of the fiery explosion as the vehicle crashed into the tree.
That still left one remaining snowmobile. Roan guess the same trick wouldn't work twice, so he got back onto his skis and head down the mountain. It didn't take long for the second set of pursuers to reach his peripheral vision. He noticed that the marksman on the second car was wearing the telltale fez. Naturally, his newfound friend had come out to play.
At this point, the slope had become clear of rocks, trees, and any other inconvenient obstacles. Unfortunately, this meant that it was also clear of any obstacles to Fez's bullets, which was seriously bad news for Roan.
Things went from bad to worse very quickly. The slope began to level off, and off in the distance Roan could see why. The trail ended in a large crevasse. And it was a little too far to jump across. He was trapped.
Roan fired a few times at the oncoming snowmobile. He managed to hit the front of the vehicle a few times, but no further damage. A few shots later, and the ammunition was gone.
The snowmobile stopped a few feet in front of Roan. Fez stepped out, his own rifle in tow. He cocked his head, offering up a sly smile.
"I don't suppose you'd grant me a last request," Roan commented.
Fez paused, but said nothing.
"I'm guessing you don't have any drinks with you." Romanova's man shook his head. "How about a cigarette?"
Fez shook his head.
As Roan struggled to think of a plan to delay the inevitable, he heard a sound from above. He blinked, trying to make sense of the rapidly approaching figure in the sky.
As the sound from above continued to become louder, Fez finally noticed what was happening. The other man in the snowmobile was slower on the uptake, however, and didn't see the incoming missile until it was too late. As he sat there gaping, the snowmobile exploded.
Roan wasn't able to recognize the figure until it had reached the ground. For one thing, Agent Gunter was much better dressed for being out in the snow than Roan was. For another, he wasn't used to see her flying. For a third, he certainly wasn't used to seeing her smile as much as she was now.
"What the-?" Roan finally asked.
"He did it!" Agent Gunter finally explained. "He built a jet pack!" She turned to show the metallic contraption strapped to her back. "It's amazing!"
"Great, now he builds something useful," Roan muttered, though he knew that wasn't fair. The wristwatch he'd built had probably led them to find him, after all.
He took a moment to look for the fez-wearing henchman, but he'd disappeared somewhere up the mountain.
Roan checked to see whether the man from the snowmobile could still talk. Unfortunately, the blast's effect had been permanent, and the driver wouldn't be able to answer their, or anyone's, questions any more.
While Roan was doing this, a second jetpack-wearing figure descended from the sky. Stephen Bartowski nodded to Roan then over at the still-beaming Mary.
"These things are amazing, Steve! Flying with this, I've never experienced anything like it!"
"Glad you enjoyed it."
"Do you think I can keep this one?"
"Well, I'm not sure how ownership works with these private contracting deals, so…aw, what the heck."
Roan finally felt the need to clear his throat. The two others looked over at him.
"So, I'm guessing it was a trap," Gunter remarked drily.
"Well, I did learn a few things. Still, I think maybe we should move away from here. Uh," Roan pointed at Steve's pack, "I don't suppose you have a third one of those?"
"'Fraid not, Agent Montgomery. I didn't have a whole lot of time to work, so…"
Wonderful, Roan thought. Before he could ask Agent Gunter if he could hitch a ride, she announced, "I think I should take a trip around the mountain. See if I can find that guy in the fez, or anyone else we could question." Before anyone could respond to her suggestion, she was back in the air.
"She really likes to fly," Steve said drily. "Come on, Roan. Just grab my legs, and I'll get you out of here."
Roan looked hopefully up the mountain, but no enemy agents appeared to save him.
February 5, 2011. 12:35 PM, Burbank, CA
"Strannaya Deloski. Age 51. Born in Minsk. Father a low-level party official. Hockey player in his youth, recruited by the KGB out of school."
"And quite the aficionado of unusual headgear."
Casey growled slightly at the interruption, giving Morgan an annoyed look. They were all seated in Castle, using the lunch hour as an opportunity to discuss what the NSA agent had learned about the man they'd seen during the stakeout the previous night. A man that Chuck was already quite familiar with.
"You know we only let you down here for these meetings because Bartowski is too soft-hearted to tell you no," Casey replied, though it was clear that his heart wasn't in to it. In the past couple of years, Chuck had noticed the older man's growls had gone from snarling pitbull to playful cub. Not that he would ever point that out, of course.
He didn't seem to need to, as Morgan waved away the insult. "Please, John, you're not fooling anyone with that mean guy act. Just carry on with the tales of the fez-wearing baddie."
Casey sighed, but continued. "Deloski spent a few years working with the KGB, becoming a fairly trusted lieutenant. Eventually, he wound up following another commie out into the west, and went into business for himself. Now we don't have all of the details on what happened next, but from what I could find…"
"Wait! Don't spoil it!"
Everyone turned to Chuck and gave him a shocked look. He sunk slowly in his seat.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" Casey demanded.
"Um, uh…" Chuck's mind was a blank.
"Why don't you let me talk to him," Sarah suggested, and led him into the hallway.
"So," she asked when they were out of earshot, "does this have anything to do with that notebook of your father's you've been so fascinated with lately?"
"Well…" Seeing the look on his fiancee's face, Chuck decided to come clean. "Yeah, this guy Deloski is part of it. He was part of this case that Roan, and my parents, were both involved in. You know, reading my dad's notes has given me a chance to really see both of my parents when they were younger. Plus, I really want to find out what happens next, and I don't want Casey to spoil it." After a momentary pause, "Also, Beckman's there, and she's like this hot double-agent." Chuck finished with an awkward shrug.
Sarah stared at him for what seemed like several minutes, before she finally said, "Give me the notebook."
"What? Are you going to turn it in?"
"No, I'm going to photocopy it, and read it for myself. If this is half as interesting as you say it is…"
Chuck hurried to his locker, and retrieved the notebook. Sarah flipped through the pages, and nodded. "But," she added, "if anything important to this case comes up, we let Casey in."
"Ok." Chuck followed Sarah back into the room.
Casey gave the younger agent a cool look before asking, "Can I continue?"
"Actually," Sarah spoke up, "we don't have a whole lot of time before Chuck and Morgan's lunch breaks end, and they have to return to the Buy More. Maybe you should skip the back story and bring us to the present."
"Fine," Casey said. "But one thing from Deloski's past is important, because the intel suggests that it might be what he's looking for now. Supposedly, he was involved in the development of the Klebichok agent."
"Klebichok's agent? You mean the guy that represents the ice skater?"
Everyone gave Morgan blank looks.
"You know, the famous Russian figure skater? Dominated the World Championships at age 16? Been touring the US for the past year? Wow, I bet her agent is quite important. I mean you should see her. How can anyone watch these skaters from Russia, with the love they show on the rink, it's just…amazing?"
"Um, buddy. I don't think that's what we're talking about," Chuck said gently.
"No? You're sure?"
"Klebichok agents are deadly chemical weapons, you moron," Casey growled, moving a bit back towards angry pit bull territory. "Nothing we want on the black market. Or in the hands of ex-KGB agents with scores to settle." He shook his head at Morgan. "I swear. Figure skating?"
"Hey, Alex loves it too!"
"Man, I don't even want to hear about the weird things you've been getting my daughter into."
Chuck bit his tongue, and he noticed that Sarah had to fight off a laugh. They watched Morgan follow his girlfriend's father out of the room, unsuccessfully attempting to explain the beauty of the triple axel.
"You know what this means," Sarah said once they were alone.
"What?"
"We need to read fast."
Yup, I had the music from "On her Majesty's Secret Service" in my head when I was working on the ski scene. But how can you have a Bond homage without a somewhat ridiculous winter sport-themed chase scene?