ChuckParis4

Chapter 5 – Father Knows Best, The Blame Game and The Carriage House

The limo drives slowly abreast and then ahead of her and stops. One bodyguard gets out and opens the door. An old man gets out and calls her name.

"Hannah, Hannah Nguyen! I have your young man. He's been injured in a shooting while looking for an umbrella of all things. Come, we'll take you both to your apartment. He needs rest and I'll have my doctor come by shortly. There will be no police inquiry, nothing to disrupt your vacation. Please, it's raining and I'm an old man, Ms. Nguyen."

He gasps and then smiles as she approaches. In this light, she's the image of her mother less the mother's dark hair. He helps her into the limo and then motions them to drive on to her apartment.

Shaw's Apartment
Paris 3am

"Let's go through it again, people. Tell me again why you ordered Colonel Casey to shoot and kill Agent Bartowski."

Beckman is barely in control. She's heard the tapes, the internal security tapes of the van and the tapes from the parabolic microphone. She has watched the grainy images of the night-vision video recorder's tape playback of the shooting. Someone had made a mistake. Someone had cost an Agent his life and the intel community a valuable asset. This video conference would continue until she was satisfied with the answers. The 'off the books' operation was dead as was her operative.

Sarah Walker is finished as an agent. Casey knows it and Shaw is painfully aware of it. His stitched hands and arms are silent testimony to her rage and anguish and ability to wield knives even with two trank darts in her.

Casey has decided to submit his retirement papers and find someplace quiet and just sit back and wait for the Grim Reaper. He's done. He doesn't need to see the recordings of the shot that Beckman seems so fascinated by. He still sees the shot, the impact and the result when he closes his eyes. Sleep will become his enemy.

Daniel Shaw could care less. He's figured out whom to blame and how best to escape any stigma associated with what was sure to become known as 'the Paris Incident'. He's knows the face of the Ring Director General and it's only a matter of time until he can find and kill the man.

Jacques Dubois sits at his daughter's kitchenette table and drinks coffee and munches on a fresh croissant. They've spent the night talking and he's found forgiveness where he expected to find scorn and hatred. She's quiet and moving between her beau and her father. She's delighted with both but hesitant to show any real feelings.

"You know, Hannah, Agent Bartowski had no idea who you were when he met you on the plane. This whole thing here", he gestures around encompassing the apartment and the city, "is genuine on his part. I thought he was going to kill me when I suggested he was sleeping with you. Such outrage and such a passionate defense of you. He's a keeper, that one."

"Papa, why didn't you contact me? I would have understood, eventually, just like I'll eventually understand what really happened tonight, last night, I guess now."

She hears a groan from her room and is gone. He sighs. It is time for him to leave. He'll stay in touch this time. He has things to talk over with this Bartowski fellow.

He leaves a note with his cell phone number and a plea for her to call him when she needs anything at all.

Hannah's Room

"Hannah, I'm so sorry. I didn't abandon you. Honest. Oh, Christ, that hurts." He feels like such a wimp. The bullet had lodged only an inch below the surface of the skin on his side, nestled between two broken ribs and an inch above his heart and the old man's physician had quickly removed it and sutured the wound. He could do nothing about the broken ribs except warn him to breathe deeply to avoid pneumonia.

"I know, Chuck. My father told me all that happened. It must have been horrible. Caught in the crossfire between gangs."

The inch-long projectile flattened against the hard metal, broke through and emerged to lodge both projectile and the jagged surface of the flask in Chuck. If it had hit him without hitting the flask first, it would have gone in, killed him, and then blown out a nice big exit wound. He much preferred the current state of things although the broken ribs were going to be a pain for a while. The stitches that Mr. Dubois' doctor had sewn were the least of his aches and pains. Breathing, now breathing was going to be painful for a few weeks. Now he knew what being hit by a sledgehammer felt like.

He looked up at the jerry-rigged IV stand holding two bags of clear liquid that flowed into his arm. He vaguely remembered the doctor saying he'd have a nurse come by in the morning and again in the afternoon to change them out and to check and change the dressings.

Good. He didn't want Hannah traumatized any more than she'd already been.

The scene in the limo had been chaotic when she saw Mr. Dubois' man holding a compress over Chuck's chest and pressing down to stop the blood flow. There was so much blood and the air in the limo was thick with the cloying coppery smell. Chuck groaned and mumbled her name and she pushed herself out of her father's arms and to his side.

"Hannah Nguyen, calm down. You will do Mr. Bartowski no good at all by being hysterical. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. His wound is not life threatening if we can stop the bleeding. My physician is on his way to your apartment and will meet us there. We want to avoid involving the police. It never helps in these situations. They will assume he had something to do with it until he proves otherwise. Now, come sit beside me. We have much to discuss, you and I."

Apparently they'd reconciled, if you can call meeting your father for the first time in 24 years 'reconciling'. She deserved so much more and he would give it to her.

"Hannah, you deserve the truth. Lie down here and keep me company. I have a California fairy tale to tell you. But first, did you save Jeff's flask? Titanium. See? Being nice always works in your favor. Without that, I'd be dead."

Shaw's Apartment
Continuing Video Conference

"The money you thought was a payoff, a bribe, Shaw? It's for his daughter. This letter explains it all. It's for his daughter, the girl Chuck was with. He wasn't trying to turn him, he was asking Chuck to give money to his daughter because she'd lost her job and was broke. You killed him for nothing more than that, Shaw. You killed the host, Agent Charles Bartowski, for the crime of running an innocent errand for an old man. How proud you must be, Daniel. Have you figured out yet whom to blame it all on?"

"Agent Walker, please sit down. We can discuss blame another time. Right now, I want some answers. First, is he dead? Second, if he's dead, where is the body? Third, why did you give the order to kill Bartowski first, Shaw, instead of the Ring Director?"

Dubois knows how the Combine works. They'll discuss the situation interminably, place blame, and then start to think outside their constrictive little boxes.

He needs to get Hannah and Agent Bartowski to a safe place. They will come for her if only to question her regarding her relationship with the agent. He will also have his operatives find out who carried out the assassination attempt, who they work for, and why Charles was the target and not him.

"Henri, go to my daughter's apartment. Take a 'team sanitaire' and bring everything and everyone back here. I think the carriage house will be appropriate. It's far enough removed that they will see little of our comings and goings but close enough that we can monitor their safety. Yes, that is it. Go, my friend. And be nice to Hannah. She will be…difficult. She loves that old apartment of hers. I will call and explain the 'why' of her move."

Hannah's apartment

She's frightened and she's angry. Chuck didn't lie to her, he just left a lot out when they first met. She chides herself for her childishness. 'Hi, I'm Chuck and I'm a secret agent but I want to be real with you.' That would have gone over like a loud fart during the sermon at Sunday Mass.

She hears her cell phone trill and reluctantly leaves his side.

"Hello"

"Hannah, a team of men and women are coming to your apartment. Do not be alarmed but the men who tried to kill Chuck will be coming to ask you questions and I would spare you that. Go with my team, cherie, and you and Charles will be safe. Please, if you value his life, do this thing. They will talk to you and find him and kill you both to cover their mistakes."

"Yes, I'll go with them but what about Chuck? I can't leave him here, Papa. I won't leave him!"

"He's coming with you, of course. Now, go and help him dress and Henri will take care of everything. The doctor and nurse will be here when he arrives so don't worry about that."

Shaw's Apartment

"As I suspected, General, there are no reports of the shooting, no reports of a body or of a shooting victim being admitted through emergency services. They've cleaned up after us and we may never recover his remains."

"Or, Agent Shaw, he's still alive and they've got him. Quit being so quick to write off Agent Bartowski. I know he's an obstacle to you in some respects," she looks at Sarah with angry eyes, "but he's shown amazing resilience in the past. I suggest you follow up with the new girlfriend, Hannah Nguyen. Agent Walker, you and Colonel Casey will do the interview. Remember, you're on foreign soil so maintain a cover as friends of Chuck's that he contacted and arranged to meet but never kept the date."

Casey and Sarah sit on opposite sides of the cover cab Shaw's sleeper cell uses to transport the agents. The silence between them is thick and there is a tension that never existed between them before. Guilt has left them both with raw nerves.

"Walker, I think the General still believes Chuck is alive somewhere. Do you agree or are you buying Shaw's version?"

"You didn't miss the shot. You saw the body and the blood. He's dead, colonel, and that's the end of it. I don't understand why Beckman is so adamant that we go through with this farce? Finding his body won't bring him back now, will it?" Sarcasm. Not even veiled. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes she saw the green-tinted images of the video recording of 'the shot'.

"He's dead and you still hate him for Prague. You know why he took the download. Carina told me everything. You should forgive him, Agent Walker. You should forgive yourself."

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! He's dead. I'll never see him again. I'll never…"

"Forgive him, Sarah, if only in your own mind. He wouldn't want this for you. You know that. You won't find peace until you do."

"I'll find peace, colonel, when the Ring is no more and they're all dead, every last one of them."

The driver turned around, his cell phone in his ear. "Agent Shaw reports that his cell visited the apartment and it is totally empty and no one saw a thing. It has been cleaned with a fine comb. They even poured bleach down the drains and hauled off the apartment's accumulated trash and the outside trash bins. You are to return for a conference with the General."

The teleconference was very short. "Agents, return home. Close down Operation Burbank and report to your various agencies for reassignment."

"General, I don't think that's wise. I have concerns about the thoroughness of the cleanup. Some things add up to more questions than answers."

"Go on, Colonel Casey, state your case."

"Thank you. Number 1. Why clean out the drains with bleach? Number 2. Why take the 'outside trash bins'? Blood. Lots of blood. And bandages and dressings. They were removing any evidence of blood and the stuff that goes with it. They had no reason to kill the girl and if they did, there was no tie to Bartowski so they'd leave the body for the neighbors to find. I believe he's alive, critically injured, but alive. I intend to find Agent Bartowski and I'm asking permission to do so, General."

Sarah turned to Casey, something like hope in her eyes. "Do you really think he could be alive, John?"

"Yeah, the lack of evidence and the steps they went to in order to hide it makes me believe he's alive, horribly hurt, but alive and in their hands instead of in our hospital."

Shaw had had enough. "Colonel, he could be anywhere in Paris, anywhere in France, anywhere in Europe for that matter. How do you propose to find Bartowski?" His comments and question were arrogant and surly.

"Unless he dumped his personal stuff or it's been removed for him, he's wired with a IFF-type transponder. It's in his wallet, in the handle of his tech case and there's one in his suitcase. There's also one in his laptop and in the heel of a pair of those stupid high top shoes he wears. Range is down, though. Only about 15km for the passive units, 45km for the powered unit in his laptop. I'll need to have a unit shipped here and then the means to begin flying patterns across France. We'll start with your sleepers driving around Paris and we can have 3 teams and triangulate any hits. So amend the order to 5 interrogative units, General."

Chateau Almandine
15km SW of Paris

The classic Bentley glided to a stop in front of a carriage house that had been converted into a guest house. Chuck levered himself up and out of the comfortable backseat with Hannah's help and stood upright but quickly stooped. The strain on his ribs was painful when he stood upright to his full 6'2".

The driver and Henri helped Chuck into the carriage house and onto a couch in the main salon. They took his bags to the smaller of the two bedrooms and then left the couple on their own. Chuck quickly went to the bed prepared for him. He was dizzy and the ride had tired him. A half hour later, Henri stopped by for a moment and handed Chuck some electronic wafers.

"These were in your luggage, your shoes and your wallet. Transponders, I think. They've been disabled but you may have them back when you leave."

Chuck looked surprised, something Henri noted. "Well, Henri, destroy them. They were placed there without my knowledge or consent. Another breach of trust and privacy on the part of my 'mistress' and her minions."

"As you wish. It is a dangerous game you play, Mr. Bartowski. Be on guard once you leave here but relax while you can. There are no devices or monitors here. The Director forbids it. Now, the call box is near the door and there's a panic button in every room. Use the box if you need anything. The panic button is self-explanatory." He nodded and left but returned a moment later.

"Mr. Bartowski, if you would permit a suggestion? Why not activate these devices and send the 'minions' on a tour of Paris' darker side? I know of several 'houses of ill repute', not from personal experience, I assure you, that I could plant these in, leading them around Paris by their noses. No harm will come to them. The Director forbids it."

"I like the way you think, Henri. Yes. The darker the better. I know who she will send. My former handlers. Such a tour will do them good. Add insult to injury. Leave a note asking why they killed me. Yes, killed me for I am dead to them now. They're searching for a body, not a living man. A living man would be a failure and the woman does not tolerate failure. So just write 'Why?' on the note."

He slept through the night and all the next day and the following night. The doctor had given orders for a light sedative to be infused with the IV so that he wouldn't tear out his stitches. He wasn't aware of the nurse changing his dressing or the IV. He wasn't aware that he hadn't slept alone. Hannah had slept next to him, calming him with soft words when his sleep was disturbed by dreams.

He woke the morning of the fourth day after the shooting. He was disoriented at first until he remembered being shot and moved to the Director's chateau 'for safety'. He knew he wasn't a prisoner and hoped Hannah was being taken care of. He needn't have worried. She was the Director's daughter and was treated almost like royalty.

Henri appeared about noon and helped Chuck up, changed his dressing and then helped him dress. He felt weak and embarrassed. He made his way downstairs carefully, looking for Hannah.

Hannah walked in from the dining room after finding that all her things from the kitchen in the apartment had been placed exactly where she would have liked them.

"Isn't this beautiful, Chuck?"

"It is now. Before it was just a nice room."

"Flatterer. Are you tired? Hungry? Thirsty?"

"Hannah, you're my um, friend, not my servant. What do you think of all this? Are you uncomfortable with me now? I didn't lie to you but I couldn't tell you the truth either."

"Chuck, sweetie, I figured that out the night you were shot after my talk with my father. My father says you defended my honor when he suggested we were sleeping together. That was very sweet of you. It impressed him. That and your comments about me. You must be easily impressed, Mr. Bartowski."

"Why so formal, Ms. Nguyen?" He liked teasing her.

"You're the only one who calls me that. Most people call me Hannah or Hannah Harris. No one calls me by Nguyen. I like it when you do. It makes me feel exotic and special."

"You are exotic and you are definitely special. Why don't you take me on the grand tour and we'll see what other surprises your father has for us. This place is fantastic. Walk slowly, Hannah. I'll do my best to keep up."

They didn't get far before Chuck had to sit and rest. They sat on cushioned wicker settee overlooking the garden. She said she wasn't tired but soon dozed off, leaning against him. She's slept very little the past few days and never more than a few hours at a time.

He maneuvered her so that her head was in his lap and her legs stretched out. He ran his thumb gently across her lips and then blushed. 'Taking liberties?' said a voice in his head. Ellie.

He stroked her hair and she turned against him and sighed and snuggled against him. He dozed off in the warm early afternoon and slept until he felt her stir.

"You give good hugs and you're a great pillow, Chuck. You're good for a lot of things." She blushed furiously. " I mean…"

"Hey. Relax. I know what you meant. Please, Hannah, don't be so up tight. I don't judge and if I did, you'd win first place. Now, please help an old man stand up. I require the facilities, Ms. Nguyen, and then I'll be back and we can resume our exploration."

Two servants brought dinner at 7pm. They set the table, opened the wine and served the first course and then left. Chuck was amazed with it.

"Hannah, this is like something out of a movie! Do you always eat like this?"

"Chuck, you saw my apartment. What do you think?"

They stayed up and talked and exchanged stories and Hannah noted the time and his huge yawns. "Chuck, the doctor left you something to help you sleep. Take the pills and go to bed. I'll just lock up and join you in a few minutes. Oh! I mean I'll go to bed with you…oh, crap, Chuck, you know what I meant.

He laughed his way upstairs. He liked her. Really liked her. She was guileless, funny, open, and seemed to like him. It was too bad they couldn't have stayed just Chuck and Hannah. The assassination attempt changed the game dramatically. It was a sanctioned hit otherwise the Director would have been the primary target. His presence in Hannah's life placed her in danger. They wouldn't stop, his former handlers, until they'd accomplished the sanction or they were dead. Now he understood the Director a little better. Why had Beckman turned on him?

He undressed, put on boxers and slid carefully into bed. He couldn't handle getting a t-shirt on by himself. Tired from a long but interesting day, he was asleep within seconds.

She slipped into her own bed a few minutes later, wearing only her nightshirt and a smile. Her bed seemed cold without him beside her but she wouldn't 'impose' on him now that he was weaned off the sedative.

Hannah Nguyen had found her father and Fate had brought her together with her other half. It was exactly as the old amah had told her it would be. 'A man from the west will find and complete you'.