A.N.: Here is the next chapter. I appreciate all of the reviews. They really help, both from a technical and a motivational aspect. Keep 'em coming. Also, more big thanks to my beta, KittyGoddess415.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or anything else to which I might make a cultural reference.

Carmichael felt a cool rush of dry air as he walked down the stairs into Camelot. When the new CIA substation was built, a state of the art facility was constructed beneath it and Castle was removed. He had been involved in the selection of the code name for their new base and he had thought, why not the most famous of castles?

The romantic connotations had not been lost on him at the time, but that had not really been him. That had been Chuck Bartowski and Chuck Bartowski was dead.

The sound of rounds being busily shoved into a clip disturbed the quiet hum of equipment fans. Carmichael walked up to a desk, pausing to shuffle some papers and drag his fingers across a keyboard striking a few random keys as they went. With Colonel John Casey, it was always smart to announce your presence.

"So, what government abomination are we expected to participate in today?" Carmichael asked as he walked into the armory.

"And a good day to you, too," Casey grunted. Carmichael continued to stare at him.

"I don't know. Why do you always assume I know? I get briefed at the same time you do," said Casey, a little annoyed.

Carmichael turned and stared at the wall, pretending to pick out his weapons for the mission. Casey knew better. Carmichael's armament never varied: two H&K MK23 .45 caliber handguns, tranquilizer gun, tactical knife, throwing knives, and a backup piece, usually a Semmerling. Maybe a MP-5 and some flash bangs if the situation called for it.

"Oh, I don't know. I think you guys talk behind my back." Carmichael said, only half joking. He was inspecting a Walther P22. A weapon he once called an assassin's gun. A gun he would never carry. Yep, he was definitely working up to something and Casey knew what that something was. It did not happen as often, even so, it was good to know Chuck was still stumbling around in there somewhere.

"Have you heard anything about her?" It was almost a whisper. Carmichael's back was still turned towards Casey.

Casey shook his head, not without a little sadness. "I haven't heard anything but then again, I don't have an Intersect in my head."

Carmichael was still fiddling with the Walther. "I've come to the conclusion that they exclude any pertinent data from my refreshes. You have contacts I don't."

Casey was fairly certain he was right. Carmichael's refreshes came once a week now. He was pretty much was on top of everything intelligence wise but that was all the CIA and NSA needed was a pissed off super Intersect spy going to the rescue of Sarah Walker if she happened to get into trouble.

"Look, if something happens with Walker, I'm sure you'll be the first to know," Casey said. He and Carmichael both knew that was bullshit. The day something happened to Sarah, she would just disappear never to be heard from again. That is just the way it was with deep cover. This wasn't exactly the first time they'd had this discussion.

Carmichael put the Walther back in its proper place on the wall and turned around. Conversation over and back to business.

"Come on, it's almost time for the briefing." Casey followed Carmichael out into the main operations area. Just about the time they settled in front of the large flat-screen monitor, it flashed on.

"Colonel Casey, Agent Carmichael," greeted CIA Director Selene White.

Casey and Carmichael were taken aback. Of course, they knew who Director White was, but she had never taken part in mission briefings before. And General Beckman was conspicuously absent.

"General Beckman is otherwise detained at the moment. This mission is important and time is of the essence," said White, sensing their surprise.

"A Fulcrum remnant cell has captured a high level CIA operative. SIGINT suggests they are not aware of the importance of the agent nor are they sure what direction they should take with the situation. This cell is comprised of low level Fulcrum agents and there appears to be little or no leadership. The agent was recognized and the kidnapping was strictly opportunistic in nature," said White.

Casey had pulled the mission details from the printer and was looking them over.

"Director White, I am looking at the brief and there is not a name or physical description of the agent."

"You are correct, Colonel Casey. It is better for both of you if you do not know. You are familiar with the term 'Need to Know'?" asked White.

"Yes, ma'am, but…," started Casey.

"No buts, Colonel Casey. I think you will recognize the agent. He'll be the only one bound and gagged." snapped White. "Gentlemen, it is of the utmost importance that this agent is recovered. I expect you to execute this mission with your normal efficiency. White out."

Casey and Carmichael glanced at each other. That had be the strangest briefing either of them had ever experienced.

Casey looked at this watch. "Okay, we'll give them to about midnight to settle down before going in. You want to flip for it?

Carmichael shook his head. "No, I'll take it. I owe you one, anyway."

They always played this song and dance but both of them knew Carmichael would be the one going in. Besides being younger and Intersect-enhanced, he seemed to excel at penetration and extraction. Rescuing people was just something he was good at.

"How are you going in?" asked Casey, silently hoping Carmichael would opt for stealth.

"Hmm, I am thinking shock and awe…loud and proud. From the roof. They'll never know what hit them."

Casey groaned. There was a lot of cleanup involved in one of Carmichael's loud and proud operations.

"No worries," Carmichael said grimly as he tapped his temple. "We have it under control."

Carmichael would have had the Intersect running combat simulations in background since reading the mission brief. Again, song and dance. Casey knew he never left anything to chance but still, it disturbed him when Carmichael referred to himself as a "we".

Carmichael started pacing the floor as he always did when explaining the details.

"Okay, I'll blow a skylight and go through using the bungee drop."

Casey groaned louder. Not the bungee. The bungee drop was designed by Carmichael as a faster alternative to a free rappel. Shoot the drop with a laser range finder, set the length of the bungee cord, and jump. Sensors detect when the reaches zero gee…not going up, not going down…and fires quick releases, detaching the dropee from the cord and hopefully depositing him lightly on the ground. It was as scary as it sounded and so far, no one but Carmichael would use it.

"Jesus, Carmichael, not the bungee. You're going to kill yourself and then, Beckman going to have me killed."

Carmichael snorted. "Yeah, right. This coming from someone who's a member of the military branch that used the Fulton recovery system."

"That may be true," grunted Casey. "However, I feel the need to point out that the Fulton was originally developed for the CIA."

"Touché," said Carmichael. "Anyway, it's a perfect setup. Intelligence suggests four targets max. More than likely, they'll be expecting a group attack from the ground. They won't be looking for one guy coming in like Batman."

Casey shook his head. "All right, then what about collateral damage? The CIA isn't going to like it if you slice and dice their agent with shrapnel going in."

"Relax. I'll pick a skylight that's a little ways from the hostage and shape the charges to blow straight down. Unless he's right under it, he'll be fine," said Carmichael.

He had quit pacing. Casey knew that meant the plan was set in stone. There was no need for further discussion and he was fine with that. Whether it was a natural ability or learned from years of gaming, Carmichael was an excellent tactician. Add the Intersect and he was unparalleled. Casey grunted in resignation and pushed himself out of his chair.

"Fine, let's go pull the CIA's ass out of the fire. Again."

Port of Los Angeles
11:55 PM

Penetration in t-minus 20 minutes. Casey and Carmichael went over the final details in the dull glow of the van's equipment indicators.

Casey tapped his ear. "Radio check. Bravo up."

"Delta up," responded Carmichael. He glanced at one of the monitors. The abandoned warehouse looked haunted on the low light cameras.

Casey looked at the chrono. "Time."

Carmichael threw his mission bag on his back, quietly popped the door, and slipped out without a word. There was no sign of external surveillance save one sentry. Scratch that. No sentry. Man, these guys really are amateurs, Carmichael thought to himself as he cleaned his knife.

He lightly trotted around the corner of the warehouse, finding the ladder right where it was supposed to be. T-minus 15 minutes. Another dumb Intersect trick. Carmichael always knew what time it was with atomic precision, synced every time the Intersect was refreshed.

Carmichael quietly climbed up the ladder and softly jumped on to the roof. Running to the closest skylight, he punched a small hole in the fiberglass and ran a fiber optic scope through it. He peered around and spotted his targets towards the northwest corner of the warehouse. Three targets and…two dogs.

Shit, dogs. Dogs are always a wild card. You never can predict how they'll react. Oh, well, that's why you carry the tranq gun, he reminded himself.

The warehouse was mostly empty, the only light from the three lanterns the targets had apparently set up. Carmichael twisted the scope from side to side, looking for the hostage. Then, he saw a foot at the edge of the lanterns' pitiful illumination and followed it up until his mind registered the hostage's silhouette. Perfect spot. This skylight would do.

Carmichael went about setting his charges. There would be a lot of bang but just enough actual explosion to shred the skylight. Once this was done, he prepared the bungee drop. Using a small cutter, Carmichael widened the hole just enough to accommodate the range finder. He shot the distance and adjusted the cord appropriately, after finding a support to secure the bungee to. Carmichael stepped out on to the skylight. As he felt it groan slightly under his weight, he adjusted the detonator for a delay of 10 seconds and depressed the button with his thumb.

10…

Pocketing the detonator, he pulled his weapons. MP-5 in his right, tranq gun in his left.

5…

4…

Carmichael took a deep breath and softly spoke what had become his pre-mission mantra since the day Chuck Bartowski died.

"Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam."

There was a sharp crack as the charges went off and Carmichael felt momentarily weightless as the skylight disintegrated beneath him. Thanks to the Intersect, he had an almost preternatural focus. Falling in a cloud of fiberglass and metal shrapnel, his eyes were already tracking the movements of the enemy targets and the dogs. His descent quickly slowed and suddenly, the bungee releases fired, dropping him lightly on his feet.

Startled by the blast and seeing nothing but dust and smoke, the enemy agents were confused and focused on the warehouse doors. The dogs, however, quickly homed in on where the real threat lay and, with a growl and hackles on end, bolted in Carmichael's direction. He brought his left hand up and fired the tranq gun twice. Two for two. Both dogs dropped to the rough concrete floor, one yelping as it did. And, that caught the attention of one of the dog's masters. Whistling an alert to the rest, the closest agent squeezed off three rounds in quick succession. Carmichael jumped to the right as one bullet bit the concrete in front of him and the other two sizzled past him. He rolled through a forward somersault and came up in a crouch, firing a short burst from his MP-5. The enemy agent caught it full in the chest.

Securing his MP-5, he pulled his MK23's and launched himself towards the remaining two agents at a full run. Unnerved at the sight of a lone gunman in full combat gear bearing down on them at an unbelievable rate of speed, they tried to take aim but it was too late. Two double taps, four hits, center mass.

As the last agent fell on his back, Carmichael spun around, guns up, scanning the warehouse for further threats. Standing quietly for a moment, he allowed the Intersect an opportunity to isolate any suspicious noises. There were none, Carmichael and Intersect concurred.

Threat neutralized, situation nominal.

Carmichael felt his muscles relax and a slight loss of focus as the Intersect went to standby. Holstering his weapons, he started toward the hostage.

"Bravo, Delta. Warehouse is cle…."

Suddenly, Carmichael felt an impact on the back of his left shoulder as if someone had struck him with a sledge hammer. He went to his knees as he yelled, "Son of a bitch!" Just as quickly, he spun around and was up, advancing on a seriously freaked out agent who appeared to be struggling with his weapon. One of Carmichael's MK23's suddenly appeared in his hand as he leveled it between the gunman's eyes.

"Getting shot really, really pisses me off," he growled.

The Fulcrum agent visibly blanched. Carmichael looked down on him. "Wow. Piss poor shot and your gun's jammed. Bad day to be you."

His finger put the barest amount of pressure on the trigger. Carmichael always had to fight this urge. The Intersect was programmed to eliminate threats, not take prisoners.

His hand began to tremble slightly as he fought the urge. Reasons flashed through his mind as if the Intersect was trying to convince Carmichael that executing the Fulcrum agent was in their best interests. Carmichael mentally pushed, forcing the Intersect back into the area of his brain where he kept it compartmentalized.

"Today's your lucky day," grumped Carmichael as he secured his weapon.

The enemy agent's shoulders slumped in relief as a foot viciously slammed into the side of his head, flipping him over on his side and knocking him cold.

"Jesus Christ, that hurt. I hate getting shot," Carmichael muttered as he turned and walked back towards the hostage. "Bravo, Delta. Now the warehouse is secure."

For once, Casey kept his smart ass comments to himself.

"I'm going to check on our boy."

Carmichael stepped up to the hostage who was slumped over in a chair, hands cuffed behind his back, black bag over his head. Dressed in some sort of baggy coveralls, there were no overt signs of injury but the hostage was definitely out.

"Hey, buddy. The good guys won for a change. You're safe," said Carmichael, as he grasped the bag. A wash of golden hair fell out as he pulled the bag off. Carmichael's eyes widened in recognition.

"Omigod, omigod, it's…it's…," he stammered. "Aw hell, Casey, it's Sarah!