Chapter 15. Live and Let Dive

I'll take "Entertaining Spies" for $200, Alex.

"Ok. The clue is 'James Bond and Chuck.'"

"What are two things I do not own?"

"Correct."

February 24, 1977, 11:40 PM, Jamaica.

Roan quietly pushed the conference room door open to see Agent Gunter's back turned away from her assailant. The secretary had a letter opener in her hand and was advancing slowly on her Mary. Roan started to reach for the gun he had tucked away, but decided the noise could bring too much attention to them. He looked around for another weapon, but didn't see one, so the only option he seemed to have was to yell. Hardly a dignified solution, but he couldn't really let another partner die.

Before Roan could let a sound out, though, Agent Gunter whirled around and pushed the secretary onto the table. The other woman quickly regained her balance, and set upon Mary once again, knocking her to the ground. Roan decided that noise was no longer an issue, and pulled out his firearm. He couldn't get a clear shot, so he moved to the other end of the room.

The secretary was holding the letter opener up to Agent Gunter's neck. As Roan tried to find a workable angle, Mary scissored her legs around a chair, and pushed it around, knocking her adversary to the ground. As the young CIA agent got to her feet, a pool of red formed onto the carpet. The secretary had landed on the letter opener.

As Agent Gunter caught her breath, she looked up to see Roan watching. "Thanks for your help," she commented wryly.

"I don't think you needed it."

"So it looks like Lazenby Holdings isn't quite as in the dark as we thought."

Roan shrugged. "I think Lazenby's chain-of-command is a bit misleading. As far as SPIRITE goes, the secretaries and security guards outrank the managers. How'd you know she was dirty?"

"The brass over there," Agent Gunter pointed to a plaque on the wall, apparently some credential from a local Chamber of Commerce. "I saw her reflection. So did you find the Agent?"

"No, but I found where we need to go next. But first," Roan added, "we should probably clean up here. I'd rather not have anyone notify Romanova that we're on his trail."

Roan cracked open the door and looked outside. Seeing nobody, he stepped outside. A moment later, he was accosted by the manager. "Is everything ok?" the man asked.

Roan looked down to see the clump of papers he'd been handed earlier. "Just about," he replied. "But we do seem to be missing the July 1975 records."

"I'll tell my secretary to see if she can find them."

Roan blocked his way. "I don't think so. My report clearly states that upper management must be able to access to all requisitions and receipts. You wouldn't want me to put an 'X' on that row, would you?"

The manager shook his head. "I'll see if I can find them." He scurried off.

Returning to the conference room, Roan said, "I bought us some time. Now we need to move this body downstairs, out of sight."

It was slow work, but fortunately the manager was too busy looking for his missing paperwork to reappear, and the secretary was soon safely locked away. "Now what?" Agent Gunter asked once they'd returned to the car.

"Now, we need a boat."

February 24, 1977, 2:30 PM, 15 miles off the coast of Jamaica.

"We're almost there."

Roan looked up briefly as he finished putting on his wetsuit. Steve was standing at the helm of the motorboat, his eyes intent on the screen. They'd been surprised to find him waiting for them when they'd returned to the CIA building. The young techie had admitted it hadn't been easy, and it had taken some convincing to allow him to return. They'd finally been swayed by his claim that he'd need to double-check all of the equipment. "It helps that nobody up high seems to understand chemistry, biology or engineering," Steve had explained. "Made it easier for me to convince them."

Once he'd heard what had happened to Roan and Mary, he'd immediately set about finding a boat for them. Now they were quickly sailing east towards the coordinates Roan had found.

"Ok, we're about as close as we can get without being seen. I guess you'll have to swim from here on out."

"You sure you don't want me to come along?" Agent Gunter asked. She'd been carefully avoiding Steve since he'd returned, and clearly didn't seem anxious to be trapped in the middle of the ocean with him.

Roan shook his head, almost causing the mask to fall off. "No, it will be easier to stay out of sight if there's just one of us. And Agent Beckman will help when I find her."

"Try not to get the sensor too wet," Steve commented, and as he handed Agent Gunter a set of binoculars. "I'm not sure how waterproof it is."

Roan gave the thumbs-up sign and dove into the water.

It was a long swim. They'd needed to stop the boat far enough from the coordinates to remain out of sight, so Roan needed to cover a lot of distance to reach his destination. He was a good swimmer, though, so he made good time.

"Ok, now make a slight right turn," Roan heard Bartowski's voice in his ear. Along with the Klebichok sensor, Bartowski had given him an earpiece so that the directions to the coordinates could be communicated to him. That was immediately followed by, "Are you going to talk to me at all?" Because the line of communication was one-way only, Roan found the question ridiculous, until he realized it wasn't meant for him.

Agent Gunter must have been standing far away from the communicator, because her response was muffled. Roan was fine with that. Listening to people bicker wasn't exactly entertainment as far as he was concerned.

"Look, I believe what I believe, and I won't apologize for that," he couldn't avoid hearing Steve say in response. "I just can't trust that any government, including ours, will always do the right thing. I can't, and I won't change that."

Another response from Mary gave Roan a short respite. "No, I get that. But it doesn't matter anyway. Because I do trust you, Mary. I know that you believe in what's right. It's why I'm here, alongside you. I'm not here for them, I'm here for you."

Roan still couldn't hear Agent Gunter's words, but they seemed somewhat softer than before.

"A few days has been more than enough," Bartowski said. "In those days I've seen what you are capable of, how amazing you are. If you don't believe that, then I wish you could see me through my eyes."

Roan was so busy rolling his own eyes, he nearly swam into a school of tuna. He continued swimming as Mary spoke, once again inaudible to him, but then heard Steve speak again. "It's true. And I know that this is probably breaking some sort of rule, and I do realize that I'm nothing but some goofy tech guy and that someone like you could never look at a guy like me and…mmph!"

Roan was grateful to the sound of the lips smacking together, both because it meant he didn't have to hear any more talking, and that he wasn't there to see it. But the kiss apparently only lasted for a few seconds, and Bartowski started talking again.

"Wow! I mean…Wow. I almost feel like that woman you took down at Lazenby's. Roan told me all about…Oh, God. Agent Montgomery!"

"Nice of you to remember me," Roan said drily into his mask, knowing nobody could hear him.

"Ok, Agent Montgomery, you need to veer right, about 60 degrees. You shouldn't be far now."

Roan did so, and continued to swim. A moment later, Bartowski's voice crackled into his ear again. "Another couple of hundred yards and you should be at the coordinates."

At first, Roan looked up to see if there was a boat in sight. Seeing nothing, he looked down and saw that the ocean bottom rapidly rising. He was nearing shore.

Romanova wasn't in a boat. He was on an island.

Once he'd gotten a bit closer to the shore, Roan snuck his head above water. Through his mask, he could see a single sentry standing a few feet from the water. He was looking to the right rather than towards to the water, so Roan was temporarily safe. But, he'd clearly have to find shore elsewhere. He swam east for a couple of minutes, and checked again. This time, the beach was free.

He rode the waves ashore, and found a secluded spot to stow his gear. He removed his wetsuit, leaving him in only a pair of swimming trunks. He pocketed the sensor and headed into the island.

The sandy ground eventually shifted to a darker soil. Before long, Roan found himself pushing his way through thick vegetation. The brambles were decidedly uncomfortable, but Roan couldn't complain. It meant that nobody passed this way, so he wouldn't need to worry about meeting anybody.

When he finally reached a clearing, Roan paused to find his bearings. There was a small hut ahead, along with two guards standing outside. He waited for one to leave, most likely on rounds, and then quietly moved forward.

The guard didn't notice Roan until he was almost next to him. Roan covered the man's mouth, and injected him with the syringe. He wasn't too keen on leaving the man alive, but Bartowski had insisted the man would be out cold for 24 hours. That was long enough for him to stay out of Roan's way, and he needed the man's uniform unbloodied. He took the man's automatic weapon, and put on his clothes. The guard was smaller than Roan, and the shirt didn't button all the way up. Still, it would have to do, so he continued on.

Roan moved slowly and deliberately, making sure he remained out of sight. As he moved further into the island, he soon found himself once again surrounded by jungle growth. This time the vegetation cleared pretty quickly, though, and he soon was approaching another small building, with another much larger building looming over it.

Judging by the blue water sparkling just past the smaller building, Roan guessed that he had arrived at a pool house. He poked his head past the side, and saw that he was correct. A single figure could be seen lying head down on a pool chair at the other end of the water. A single, bikini-clad figure.

Roan didn't see anyone else nearby, but he still didn't want to walk into plain sight. Looking around, he found a small rock lying on the ground. He picked it up, and tossed it into the pool.

The woman didn't look up, so Roan tried again with a second, larger rock. This time, his signal had the intended effect, and the head of Agent Beckman darted upward. Seeing Roan at the other end of the pool, she nodded, stood up and grabbed a dressing gown. Though it seemed to Roan that she lingered a moment before putting on the gown. Roan also noticed that she took an interest in his unbuttoned shirt. "Your disguise is a bit tight," she commented once she was standing next to him.

"So's yours."

Diane shrugged. "Keeping up appearances."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your appearance, trust me." Agent Beckman was a bit shorter than Roan's usual taste, but her self-confidence, as well as the high heels she was wearing, made her seem much taller. And the bikini, this time a red one, didn't hurt either. "Don't you want the guards around here to not pay attention to you?"

"They pay attention. Just not to what I'm doing. And they're under strict no-touch orders from Romanova, which comes in handy." Agent Beckman turned her head slightly, and Roan could see a small earbud in her ear, similar to the one Bartowski had given him. She then pointed to the towel draped over the chair she'd been reclining in. "There's a tape player over there. I've got all of today's meeting recorded."

Roan frowned. "Then the Soviet emissary, he's gone?" And the Klebichok agent with him, no doubt.

Beckman nodded. "About an hour ago. But it doesn't seem like your weapon was the topic of conversation. Mostly reminiscing about old days, some vague discussion of future business enterprises. They did mention your London meeting, though. Something about a capitalist pig assassinating their representative. I take it you're the pig in question?"

Roan bowed ironically. "At your service. Though I wasn't responsible for that particular act, which I think Romanova is well aware of. But I wouldn't be too sure about what you heard. Couldn't they have been talking in code?"

"Maybe," Agent Beckman admitted. "Still, I saw the Russian leave, and he wasn't carrying anything. He didn't come with a suitcase full of money either, and Romanova isn't one to give things out for free, love for Mother Russia notwithstanding."

That was good, then. He could complete his mission after all, as long as he could find the Klebichok agent. And as long as Romanova wasn't around. "So where exactly is your boyfriend?"

"Shark hunting." Seeing the look on Roan's face, she added, "Don't be impressed. He stays on the boat and shoots them with miniature torpedoes. But it keeps him busy, and out of my hair."

"Great, so how do we get in?"

"Through here." Roan followed Diane into the pool house. Trying to ignore the various selections of swimwear lying around, he watched the young agent head into the changing room. A moment later, Agent Beckman stuck her head back through the door. "Come on!"

Roan smiled, and headed into the room. "Well, we really should focus on retrieving the Klebichok agent first, but I won't object to a momentary distraction."

Beckman had just finished pulling on a shirt and her robe, and gave him a withering look. "This is our way in. Nobody else comes in here, on the boss's orders. Which is good, because it's a handy back way into the house. She walked over to a shower stall, and pulled up a large metal grate with little effort. Without any hesitation, she then climbed down inside.

"We're going down there?"

"That a problem? Don't tell me underneath that bravado you're afraid of the dark?"

"Hardly. But if you'd like me to stay close to you, I'll be happy to oblige."

"Just get down here," Agent Beckman's voice echoed from down below.

When Roan had finished climbing down, he found himself in a nine-by-nine foot empty room. "I think the original occupants were drug runners," Agent Beckman explained. "So they built some oversized air ducts and this room as an easy hiding place. Romanova doesn't seem to know about it." There was another vent in one of the walls, which she climbed inside. "We have to go through here to get to the main building," she said, before disappearing again.

The air shaft was a tight fit, and Roan had to struggle to work his way forward. The only light came from the small flashlight that Beckman was carrying a few feet ahead of him. He could just make out her backside as she dexterously pushed ahead.

"At least the view is nice," Roan remarked.

"Shhh," Diane whispered. "There might be some guards ahead, and it will be tough to explain why we're in here."

It was only a few minutes, but the time inside the air shaft felt like hours. Enclosed spaces ranked with non-alcoholic beer, sweaters and polka music among Roan's least favorite things in the world. But fortunately, while the progress was slow, it was steady, and soon Agent Beckman was moving aside another vent at the other end of the duct.

When his feet were once again firmly on the ground, Roan found himself in a small, dank hallway. "We're in the basement," Agent Beckman explained. "Romanova has firmly, but politely told me this part of the house is off-limits. So, it's the first place I explored when I got here."

"So, this would be the place the Klebichok agent would be." As Roan said this, he once again retrieved Bartowski's sensor. "If it's here, this will lead us to it," he explained.

There were three doors leading out of the hallway. Behind one was a stairwell leading up to the house's main level. The other two were more promising. "That one is Romanova's wine cellar," Beckman commented. When the light on the sensor didn't change, she added, "He's probably afraid your chemical weapon will turn the wine into vinegar."

Roan snorted and moved over to the other door. Still, the light stayed red. "You sure that thing works?" Beckman asked.

"It's the best I've got."

"Well, the walls here are thick. Let's open the door and look inside." Diane produced a ring of keys from her robe pocket. "Stole these from a guard when he was sleeping. Easy enough to make copies." She picked her way through the keys until one finally produced a barely audible click. "Bingo."

The room was small, and mostly empty. A desk stood at one side, the top mostly clear other than a white binder. Roan noticed an odd red figure on the cover, shaped slightly like a ghost. "SPIRITE," he said.

Agent Beckman nodded. "We should take that too. But where's your Klebichok weapon?"

The sensor remained red, but Roan scoured through the room anyway. There was some electronic equipment that he was sure Bartowski could explain if he was here. But it wasn't what he was looking for right now. Instead, he turned his attention to a large box standing at one end of the room. "Well this looks promising." The held the sensor next to it, and the light turned green.

"Careful," Beckman admonished. "Whatever is in there I'd rather you didn't drop it."

Roan knelt down and examined the box. He found a latch at one end, and slowly turned it. Once free, he pulled open the top.

The box was empty.

"I'm afraid you're too late," the voice from behind was thick and accented. "I'm sorry you went to all this trouble for nothing."

Roan slowly turned around to see the face of Alexis Romanova, his usually dead eyes dancing with amusement.

February 6, 2011. 5:30 PM, Los Angeles, CA

"Are you ever going to get that nose of yours out of that book?"

Chuck looked up to see Casey giving him a dark look from the driver's seat. "Well, I would like to read a couple more pages, if it's all the same to you." The light of the day was quickly disappearing, and he really wanted to know what was happening next. Even if they were about to meet the man who could tell him the entire story.

"You're just wasting time, Bartowski. Montgomery's in there. He'll tell us what we need to know."

Chuck looked out the window. The bar at the other end of the street was an LA hangout of Roan's, and apparently where he was spending the evening. Casey and Sarah had used their various contacts to find out that the older agent was currently in the US, though not for long. So if they wanted to find out about the Klebichok agent, they needed to talk to him now.

Once Chuck had considered this, he finally relented. "Alright, let's go. But I'd rather not spend too long in that place." Judging from the look of the bar, Roan's drinking buddies were either hardened criminals or rodents. He stepped out of the passenger seat, and they headed inside.

Sure enough, the man himself was inside, huddled down at the bar. From the white hair and slightly disheveled appearance, Chuck couldn't believe that this was the same man that he'd been reading about the last few days. Still, time takes no prisoners, he guessed, as he sat down on the barstool next to him. "Hey there, Roan."

After a moment, Roan looked up from his drink and fixed an unfocused eye on his new companion. "Charles?" he asked. Then looking behind him, "And if it isn't John Casey?" He turned back to Chuck. "But no Agent Walker. Don't tell me things didn't work out so well with you two?"

"They worked fine," Chuck said, somewhat defensively. "She's actually back in Burbank, keeping an eye on things." Sarah had agreed to stay at Castle in case the General contacted them with any news about the mission.

"So," Roan said, grabbing his martini. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"We were hoping you could tell us about one of your old cases," Chuck answered. "About a man named Alexis Romanova."

Roan looked at Chuck blankly.

Chuck tried again. "It was back in the late 1970s. There were these Klebichok agents…"

"Who's Klebichok? I don't remember anyone by that name."

Chuck could hear Casey stir restlessly behind him.

"No no. It's not a guy. They're chemical weapons."

There was still no sign of recognition in Roan. Chuck realized he would need to bring up something more memorable to the older man. "Cole Barker. You know him right?"

Finally, Roan nodded. "Cole, of course. Nice young man. I knew his mother." He took on a faraway look. "Lovely girl. Very beautiful, quite reserved until you got to know her." He smiled. "Quite the tiger in the sack. She had these…golden fingers, let's just say. Quite amazing."

"Ok!" Chuck interrupted, not needing any details. If he ever saw Cole again, he'd like to be able to look at him. "So you knew Lottie Banginton?"

Roan gave him an incredulous look. "Who?"

"You know, Cole's mother?"

"Cole Barker's mother was named Philippa. Lottie Banginton? What the hell kind of name is that? Charles, I think you've seen too many movies."

Casey chuckled for a moment at that, but then pushed Chuck aside, his face serious. "Look. We're looking for a man named Strannaya Deloski. You may have dealt with him in the past. Used to work for a man named Alexis Romanova. Wears a funny hat all the time?"

Roan returned to his martini, took a long sip, then took a bite out of the olive. Finally, he nodded. "I remember the man."

"Great!" Chuck said. "Do you know where we might find him? He's in LA."

"Before I answer," Roan said after taking another gulp of his drink, "does Di-General Beckman know I'm here?"

Chuck shook his head.

"Good. I'm only here for a couple of days, and I'd rather she not know that."

"Ok, no problem, but can you tell us where Deloski is?"

Roan shook his head.

Casey grunted in annoyance. "I knew this was a waste of time."

Roan put a hand on the big man's shoulder. "Hold on. I don't know exactly where your man is, but I think I can guess. I've run across him a few times, and if I ever had to find him he'd always be at the track. He always seemed to have a taste for the horses, and it was enough of a bad habit that I doubt he's ever shaken it. My guess is that's where you'll find him. Now, if you'll excuse me," Roan nodded towards a group of young women that had just entered the bar, "I have more pressing concerns."

Chuck nodded, figuring that Roan wasn't going to share any more. All of the young women were young enough to be his granddaughter and would probably reject him quickly, but that wasn't going to put him in a sharing mood. He nodded to Casey, and they headed out.

"Don't forget," Chuck heard Roan say, "don't tell your General that I'm here."

Chuck turned around to see Roan had quickly ingratiated himself with the women. None seemed to want him to leave.

Once they were back in the car, Casey commented, "He's one of the reasons I'm glad I'm not in the CIA."

"Well, he gave us something."

"Not much. I wouldn't put any stock in anything he said. The man was pickled like an egg."

Chuck hoped Casey was right. In part because it meant that they might be able to find Deloski, but also because of what he'd said about the information his father had given him. If everything he'd written was wrong, then what was the point of it all? Did his father's last message even mean anything? He decided he would have to do some research once they were back home. It would be easy enough to find out Cole's mother's name; that would at least give him an idea of whether he could believe any of what he'd read.

Despite his newfound doubt, Chuck reopened his father's notebook as soon as they were back on the road. Even if none of it could be trusted, he still wanted to get to the end.

Yup, I know my record for getting new chapters up is getting worse and worse, and I apologize. This time my excuse is a busy time at work. But things have cleared up a bit, and we're pretty close to the end. So thanks to everyone who's still sticking with the story. Just think of him as an allegory for you, the reader. Or not.

As always, feel free to rant and tell me what a poor job I've been doing. As long as you do it in review form. Complaining about this story to passers-by on the street probably won't do either of us any favors.