Chapter 12. A Change in Altitude
February 22, 1977, 7 PM, Somewhere in the Alps.
"So then the Klebichok agents do exist?"
Roan wasn't in any rush to answer Bartowski's question, so he took another leisurely sip of his Tom Collins. It was adequate at best, but that was good enough for him. "Looks like it," he finally responded to the techie.
"Hmm. I'd always heard that the Soviet facilities were underfunded, and about half of what they claim to be able to do was exaggeration."
"Well, it's not the Soviets that funded it."
Roan, Bartowski, and Agent Gunter were seated in an Innsbruck bar, where the CIA Agent had just finished relating what he had learned during his mission. They'd chosen the bar as a convenient place to meet after their return from Masterson's chalet. While not exactly quiet, it had the right amount of background noise to keep them from being overheard without keeping them from hearing each other. Besides, Roan felt that he deserved a drink after his narrow escape. He nodded over to a nearby waitress, and ordered another Tom Collins.
The waitress glanced over at Mary, who pointed to her empty beer stein and nodded. Bartowski, meanwhile, shook his head and took another gulp of his hot chocolate.
"So, how can we be sure this other CIA Agent – Beckman, right – is the real deal?" To Roan's amusement, he could see that Gunter wasn't thrilled to have yet another agent on the 'team.'
"She was the real deal, I could tell. And she helped me escape. Why would she have done that if she didn't have to?"
"Well, at least we now know a little more about what we're up against," Bartowski commented.
"But we need to learn more soon." Gunter retrieved a newspaper from her bag. "There's been some fallout from what happened in England."
Roan leaned over to study the newspaper, a late edition of The Washington Post. The headline read, 'Strong Rhetoric Over Looming Soviet Threat.' A picture underneath depicted Senator Felix, looking much less easygoing than when Roan had seen him in London. The photograph showed him standing at a lectern on the Capitol floor, with his finger pointing outward as he spoke.
"I guess he's been busy since he's returned to the US," Roan commented drily.
"What brought that on?" Bartowski asked. "I thought the peace negotiations were a secret? Why would he bring what happened out into the open?"
"It was a secret, but not to everyone," Roan explained. "But enough people are aware of what happened in London to build up a powder keg. And there's always plenty of anti-communist sentiment floating around, so it doesn't take much rhetoric to fan the flames." As Roan looked through the article, he could see that Felix wasn't the only politician to jump on the bandwagon. Still, it was clear that Roan's instincts were right about him. Like almost any politician, the man was an opportunist.
"And given the apparent involvement of an American in the death of the head of the Soviet delegation," Gunter gave Roan an arch look, "I think things are going pretty similarly in Moscow."
"Probably," Roan replied. He wasn't sure whether the British investigation had gone any further, but he doubted the Soviets had looked into it. Not when they had a convenient, American scapegoat.
"So whoever Romanova's working for," Mary said, "wants us on the brink of a war with the Soviet Union. Why?"
"Two rich Superpowers ready to go to battle," Steve commented thoughtfully, "the perfect way to sell some chemical weapons."
Gunter smiled at the techie. "Good thinking, Steve. But is there really a market when both countries have all the nukes they need?"
"Why face the possibility of mutually assured destruction when you have something more practical and less messy as a second option?" Bartowksi asked in response. "And I'd guess what they've used so far is only a diluted version. The real thing could have much more drastic effects."
"And all the while, Romanova is using fear and hatred to make money."
"Great," Steve commented while taking another sip of chocolate. "So what do we do about it?"
Roan looked around the bar. Six PM had just passed, and the place was beginning to get more crowded. A mix of professionals had come in to celebrate the end of the day, including well-dressed businessmen, an assortment of auto workers, engineers and salespeople, and a stray cop or two. None looked like spies, or anyone in Romanova's employ, but Roan couldn't be sure.
Gunter seemed to feel the same way, as she spoke quietly when she turned back to Roan. "So, your new friend. She give us any idea of what we need to do next?"
From Agent Beckman's actions, Roan guessed that she wanted them to leave her alone to her own devices. But he wasn't about to do that. Regardless of whether she intrigued him, and she did, it was clear that Klebichok agents weren't something to toy with, and the more people working to keep them out of the wrong hands, the better.
He was a professional, after all.
His response to the others was at least partially honest. "We didn't really have time to discuss strategy. If I had to guess, though, I'd say that it's quite unlikely that the weapon was in that chalet."
"So we're stuck then."
Roan's eyes turned from the downcast expressions of his co-agents to the bar entrance. A couple more cops had just entered the establishment, and had now converged on their carousing colleagues. When their hushed dialogue continued for a couple of minutes, Bartowski and Gunter noticed them as well.
"I wonder what that's about?" Bartowski wondered aloud.
"You think it's important?" Mary asked.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Probably nothing," Roan commented. "Probably some petty theft, a mugging or something like that. Probably not a hidden cache of chemical weapons."
"Why not check though?" Gunter stood up. "Maybe I can find something out." She moved over to where the policemen were gathered. Roan watched her for a moment, then turned to Bartowski, who was staring at her.
"It looks like she trusts your instincts more than mine," Roan commented drily. "I guess you've made friends while I was away."
"Hey you told to me to find some way to compete." Bartowski looked over and gave Roan a sly smile. "I found one. Turns out, she loves to fly."
Roan couldn't disagree. Most of the trip to Innsbruck had been punctuated by the sound of the occasional whoop and cheer coming from Agent Gunter's vicinity. She had only stopped flying in circles when Bartowski had reminded her that the jet packs only had a limited supply of power.
The trip back had been less enjoyable for Roan himself. He wasn't afraid of heights, of course. However, the indignity of having to cling to Bartowski's legs wasn't one he wanted anyone to witness, either friends or enemies.
Roan did take some slight satisfaction now in seeing that Bartowski's newfound cockiness had taken a hit at the sight of Mary's flirting with the Innsbruck police officers. Her technique had improved a bit since the party the other day, but Roan could still see that her smiles and occasional "accidental" touches were all for show. The young techie couldn't, and was now pouting into his drink.
A couple of minutes later, Agent Gunter returned and sat back down at the table. "They just found a body out in one of the alleys nearby," she stated immediately. "Gert Masterson's."
Roan wasn't surprised. Romanova had probably decided he was a liability now, and now that they had full control of his company, the Austrian was extraneous. "How?" he asked.
"They said it looked like a heart attack."
Or more likely, something that simulated a heart attack. "They used the Klebichok on him, I'll bet. His own product. So, what are the police going to do?"
"Apparently, just have a drink or two in his memory. Masterson was popular around here. But, they don't see any possibility of foul play, so that's where it ends."
For them, but not for Roan. "I think we're going to pay another visit to that chalet tonight."
"You think Romanova's still there?" Agent Gunter asked.
"No, but he might have left something. Maybe not chemical weapons, but some clue as to their next move." Or more likely, somebody with him might have left a clue.
Still, there was one important thing for him to take care of first. "You can build another one of those jet packs tonight, right?" he asked Bartowski.
"I don't know. I'd have to find the raw materials first, and then I'd have to run the proper diagnostics once I've finished it."
"Well, you'd better get on it then. I am not hitchhiking with you again."
February 23, 1977, 1:00 AM, Somewhere in the Alps
As expected, Masterson's chalet was deserted. None of the telltale signs that the police had been there were in evidence either. If they did go as far as to investigate the Austrian's death, they'd probably head to his primary residence first. If the chalet was even listed under Masterson's name, it probably wouldn't be looked at for a couple of days.
Roan had first checked the storage room he'd been held in, but other than the odd cleaning supply, there were no poisons left inside. The large drawing room that the poker game had been held in also was empty. If Adagio, Trax, and Hamburg were as dead as Romanova had claimed, their bodies had been dumped elsewhere. Even the bar had been cleaned out.
"I thought this place would be a little more…evil," Steve commented while he flipped through a pile of record albums. "I wouldn't have thought a master criminal would have had this much Donna Summer."
"What were you expecting?" Roan asked. "Skulls lining the walls? Anyway, Masterson wasn't exactly a master criminal. More of a guy who got in over his head."
They continued to look around, failing to find anything of value. Roan was about to give up, until he remembered to check the garage that Agent Beckman had lead him to earlier in the day. It took a while for him to retrace his steps down the dark hallway, but soon he managed to find his way.
Very little seemed to have changed. The room still contained the remaining sets of skis, shovels, and other useful items for the snowbound. But no Klebichok agents or anything else of value.
"So that's it?" Agent Gunter asked from behind him. "Nothing in the whole house? So now what do we do?"
Roan wasn't exactly excited about the idea of contacting the Director to tell him they were at a dead end. He knew Romanova was a careful man, and probably wasn't likely to leave any evidence behind. But one of his henchmen could have carelessly left something behind.
Or Agent Beckman could have. She'd said she could handle things on her own, but beneath her bravado, she had to know that she was in very deep and needed all the help she could get. So she might have wanted to leave a clue.
"Hold on," he said, noticing that one of the sets of skis had been moved slightly from earlier in the day. Now they were angled into a 'V' shape, with each ski shifted slightly as if pointing to the window at the other end of the room.
Roan winced as he stepped out into the cold, night air. He looked around the snow standing outside the garage window. Finally he saw a slightly disturbed bank, and began to dig.
"What is it?" Roan heard Bartowski ask behind him. Rather than answer, he continued to dig until he found what he was looking for. He dusted the snow off, and held it up to the moonlight.
"Are you kidding?" Mary asked as she stared at the bottle. "That's your big find?"
"Yes, it is," Roan said, studying the bottle of rum. "It's from Agent Beckman, telling us where we need to go next."
The message they'd been looking for. And even better, a properly chilled one.
February 5, 2011. 3:30 PM, Burbank, CA
"Chuck! Thank God I found you!"
Chuck's eyes darted up from the page he was currently reading, and met the frantic eyes of his brother-in-law. It was an expression he'd only seen on Devon once, when he'd been thrust into Chuck's own spy world. "Devon? What is it?"
"I need your help, Bro!" Devon leaned over the Nerd Herd desk.
"Of course," Chuck replied. "Is Ellie alright? Is Clara?"
Devon nodded wordlessly. Finally he gulped and said, "Yeah, they're fine. For now."
"For now? What do you mean?" Could Deloski have tracked down Chuck's family? Did his connection to the Bartowskis extend beyond one narrow escape on an Austrian mountain almost 35 years ago?
Devon must have seen the panic in Chuck's eyes, as he quickly held up his hand in a calming way. "No, no, it's nothing like what you're thinking. No ninjas or anything like that. It's just…Clara…won't…sleep."
Ah. A slightly more mundane threat, Chuck thought to himself. But still, family helped, and after all, Sarah had quite a few pages to read before she'd catch up to him. "Ok," he asked. "What do you need?"
"Anything to help her sleep," Devon replied. "If Clara's not sleeping, Ellie and I aren't sleeping. She's starting to go a bit crazy, and I… well, I do what I can, and try to be home as often as possible. I've turned away so many shifts at the hospital, they've started calling me 'Doctor No.'"
"Ok…and what do you need me to do? Babysit?"
"Oh man, I don't think Ellie's ready for that. No, I just need something, anything to get Clara to sleep."
Chuck wasn't sure what that would be. He knew of a few items in Castle that could get a 240-pound warlord from Uzbekistan to fall into a deep slumber, but he doubted that's what Devon had in mind. And the Buy More wasn't any more promising in that arena. "Like what, exactly?"
"Well, I was thinking maybe you would have, like a mobile of sheep or something like that?"
"Sheep?" Chuck asked skeptically.
"Sure. So Clara could count them and fall asleep."
"Umm, Devon, I'm not sure she's quite able to count yet."
"Well that's not a problem. There'll only be like five sheep that spin around all the time. So she won't need to count that high."
Chuck was beginning to appreciate his brother-in-law's situation. He'd been skimping on sleep himself, which was apparently enough for Devon's logic to almost make sense. But he still didn't think he could help. "I'm sorry buddy. The Buy More doesn't carry mobiles. We've got plenty of videos, though. Teletubbies, maybe?"
Devon shook his head. "Oh God, no. Ellie and I are barely clinging to our sanity as it is. We don't need to throw another log onto that fire. Look, I appreciate your help. I'm sure we'll figure something out. And I can tell that you're busy." He pointed to the notebook that Chuck had slide under the desk. "Was that spy stuff?" The word 'spy' came out as a hoarse whisper.
"Nothing too important," Chuck replied quickly. "Just basic paperwork really. Not exciting or dangerous at all."
"Ok," Devon said, unconvinced. "Well, you do that. I've got to get home and check on Ellie. Bye to Sarah for me."
As Chuck watched his brother sleepwalk out of the store, he wondered what it must have been like for his parents. With one, or both, of them involved in spy work, how could they have managed the late night feedings and diaper changes? No wonder most spies seem to turn into Roan Montgomery.
Speaking of which, Chuck sat back down at his desk and retrieved the notebook. Maybe Sarah had caught up to him by now.
Once again I have to apologize for the slow updating. I'll do better, I promise (I know I've said that before...)
I hope everyone is still enjoying the story, and that you haven't strained your eyes from all the rolling at the various James Bond references.
Please let me know how I'm doing! I'm only paid in feedback here.