Saving Moscow, Chapter 4 (4/9)
Author: dettiot
Rating: T
Summary: Fulcrum may be nearly defeated, but the greatest struggle yet is still to come for Chuck and Sarah. Sent undercover at Volkoff Industries, Sarah worries about losing herself. Back in Burbank, Chuck worries about his future. Will they defeat their enemies in time for their dream wedding and get their happily ever after? The fourth story in the Finding Home series.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! It's hugely appreciated.
XXX
Sarah pulled the USB drive from the computer and gazed at it. She had tried to tell herself that sending a message to Chuck about his mother was a calculated risk. That it would help in the long run if Chuck was aware what was going on. But she knew it was just a justification. In truth, she just needed to talk to him. And since a real conversation wasn't possible, this was as close as she could get.
Bryce telling her what his code name for Fulcrum was-and his dead drop location in Toronto-had turned out to be one of those coincidences that could change everything. He had shared it during the part of his debrief she had conducted, filling in the gaps throughout his initial report after Chuck had brought him in. Her mind had filed away the information, holding on to it until she needed it.
With Volkoff's links inside Fulcrum, it wouldn't be too hard to get a courier to take the USB drive to Toronto and drop it off. Sarah had considered contacting Casey, or even the one agent she had maintained a quasi-friendship with since they had met in training. But when Zondra didn't respond to Sarah's emails, she decided to just make use of the Fulcrum network.
After she had thought about going to Toronto herself. But at that point, she would be too tempted to just go to LA, drop the drive off somewhere that she could spend a few minutes watching Chuck. And once she was that close, she could just step up to him and-
No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't even trust herself to take the drive to Toronto. Being on the same continent as Chuck would be too tempting.
Using the techniques that Chuck had taught her, Sarah wiped any evidence of her presence from the computer. Then she stood up and carried the USB drive to the nondescript office in the Volkoff Building that handled courier deliveries. She wrote out out the directions for the delivery and handed it over, giving a stern look to the man at the counter. "Put that on the next flight."
"Yes, Miss Radwanska," he said, nodding his head.
Being seen as Volkoff's newest favorite had a few perks, Sarah thought to herself. She turned on her heel and left, returning to her duties. First and foremost, she needed to check in and see what her next job would be. Then she had some weapons to test for Volkoff's designers, and she wanted to do some target shooting.
Her profile was rising quickly within Volkoff Industries, which was gratifying-if only because it made her that much closer to being done here. Even better was seeing how Frost was definitely becoming more receptive to her. Although Sarah wasn't sure if it was on her own merits-Frost had been impressed by her retrieval of Yuri's eyeball-or due to Volkoff's clear preference for Sarah, either way she would take it.
It might be one of the toughest parts of this assignment, crafting a connection with Frost. Not that it was an official, explicit direction from Graham. Of course it was wise to ingratiate herself not just with Volkoff, but with those people he valued within the organization. And there were few people that he valued more than Frost. Certainly the older woman was in a class by herself in terms of her longevity.
But it was more than that. As Frost grew used to her, Sarah was starting to see the smallest hints that maybe, just maybe, she really was Chuck's mother. Which, of course, opened up a whole lot of questions. If Frost was Mary Bartowski . . . how had she ended up here? Had she been sent on a mission here and just never left? Sarah had never heard of an undercover assignment lasting so long-it had been fifteen years! Was she still loyal to the United States, still attempting to complete her assignment? Or had she defected quickly, swayed by the potential of being Volkoff's second-in-command?
As she moved through the halls, nodding coolly to those individuals she knew, Sarah considered the evidence. As she had told Chuck in her message, the age and coloring were in favor for Frost being Mary Bartowski. After a few weeks of interactions with her, through idle conversation and questions and listening as much as possible, Sarah had gathered a few other pieces of information.
Frost always defaulted to English when possible, a language she claimed to have learned in California. When she was lost in thought, she sometimes rubbed her thumb against the ring finger on her left hand. After removing Yuri's eyeball, Sarah had caught a glimpse of Frost changing out of her blood-spattered clothes, a long enough glimpse to see stretch marks around Frost's hips-the kind of marks a woman got after pregnancy.
It wasn't a lot, Sarah admitted. It made her wish she had encouraged Chuck to do more hacking to find out about his mother. She knew he had done some idle researching at the beginning of the year, but the situations with Bryce and Jill had sucked up a lot of his free time. And he had kept a lot of the information he had discovered to himself-at least, that's what Sarah had to assume, since he hadn't really told her anything beyond what he had learned from his father's email and the resulting flash.
He also hadn't shared many stories about his mother before she had left the family. Sarah got the sense that it still hurt a bit too much for Chuck to open up about it. Look at how long it had taken her to find out about his Mother's Day holiday with Ellie-that was a clear sign of the pain he was still carrying around. The pain she wanted to heal.
If she was wrong about this, she couldn't imagine how Chuck would recover. But she wanted him to know that the possibility existed. There were bound to be other agents in the CIA with the code name of Frost. And it wasn't exactly like the woman was very maternal. But the longer Sarah spent with her, the more she started to think that this was Mary Bartowski.
And if she was, there was only one action for Sarah to take: extract Frost and get her out.
How could she do anything else? She couldn't leave Chuck's mother behind. Especially if she was still on assignment, forgotten by her government and cut off from any support? Frost had gone fifteen years without seeing her children; she had no idea what had happened to her husband. Sarah couldn't imagine living like that. Of course, it was likely Frost had no idea that her mission would stretch out for so long. But still, it was remarkable that the woman hadn't gone completely crazy.
That was just more reason to get Frost, or Mary Bartowski, out of here. But the real, overriding one was to bring their mother home to Chuck and Ellie. After everything they had done for Sarah, their love and support and friendship . . . there was no way she could repay them for that. Yet if Frost was Chuck's mom, Sarah could tell her how wonderful her children were. She had helped Chuck find his father; now she had found his mother, through the strangest of coincidences.
Soon, Chuck would know that his mother might be here at Volkoff Industries. It was up to Sarah to discover if Frost was Mary Bartowski. And if she was, there was so much Sarah could tell her. It would be a bit awkward, probably, but it would be worth it. At least, she hoped so.
Maybe someday, after Frost had recovered and reconnected with her children, there would be a chance for Mary and Sarah to form a relationship, too. To find out the kind of things she had secretly wondered about Chuck: what he was like as a little boy, the stories that he was too embarrassed to tell her or didn't know about. Of course Ellie had shared some of those things with Sarah, but . . . but Mary had been there from day one. And yes, Mary hadn't been there for a long time, but she still knew so much about Chuck that even he didn't know. Sarah wanted to give him answers. And she wanted some for herself, too.
Blowing out a breath, Sarah paused outside of Volkoff's office. She always took a moment before stepping into this room, to remind herself of who she really was and who she was pretending to be. Now that she was spending more time with Volkoff and Frost, she couldn't afford any slips.
When she stepped into Volkoff's office, Frost turned and walked away from Volkoff, but not before Sarah saw the annoyed expression on her face.
"Ahh, Sabina, my dear!" Volkoff walked up and kissed each of her cheeks. "I am so pleased with your progress."
"Thank you, Mr. Volkoff," she said, giving him a demure smile.
"Yet I sense you are ready for more. I admit, I am eager to see what you are capable of. If you can tap into the violence inside you. Are you eager for that, little Sabina?"
There was a restrained glee in Volkoff's voice. One that was different from normal. Like it was Christmas morning and he was about to open a room full of presents, each one better than the last. It sent a chill down her spine. But if he was ready for her to do more . . . she would be closer to the end.
Sarah gave a small nod to him. "I am, Mr. Volkoff."
"Excellent. Tell me, did you ever think of being a model?"
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, blinking in confusion.
Volkoff handed her a folder. "I need you to go to Milan and pose as a model. You will steal some special bullets from another model, one who thinks she can be an arms dealer, too." His eyes narrowed. "She has been resistant to my recruitment offers. She's not a smart girl like you, Sabina."
Opening up the folder and flipping through it, Sarah saw photos of the woman in question and schematics on the bullets. "These are . . . some kind of smart bullet?"
Frost decided at this point to join the conversation. "They contain a microchip with a GPS tracker, so the bullet will hone in on a target." She looked at Volkoff, then back to Sarah. "Stepanova is no idiot. You'll need to check the bullets and make sure she hasn't kept the chips separate."
"Yes, Frost," Sarah said.
"Now, now, I doubt Stepanova has worried her pretty little head like that. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to double-check that, Sabina." Volkoff chuckled and rested his hand on Frost's shoulder. "Your paranoia is adorable, Frost. I am lucky to have you watching out for me."
It appeared to Sarah that Frost was on the verge of rolling her eyes, but instead, the older woman merely gave Volkoff a tight smile. "Of course, Alexei."
"Right! Sabina, spit-spot. Off you go. Get the bullets, kill Stepanova-"
"Kill her? She'd be more valuable if she worked for us. Her ability to move material past customs, Alexei-"
"Now, Frost, not in front of Sabina," Volkoff interrupted, an edge to his voice. He looked at Sarah. "You understand your assignment?"
"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said, taking a step back. "I will return soon."
Volkoff waved her away as he resumed his argument with Frost. Sarah left the office as quickly as possible, her heels clicking against the dark floors.
Getting the bullets wouldn't be that difficult, she thought. Posing as a model would let her come in contact with Stepanova. No, the challenge was who she should listen to: Frost or Volkoff. Should she kill the model/arms dealer or let her live?
This was a moment that could have huge repercussions. And while she could always lie-say that Stepanova got the drop on her, that she got away and left the bullets behind-Sarah was still hesitant. Because that could definitely come back to haunt her. But if there was some kind of power struggle going on, between Volkoff and Frost, and if Sarah ended up backing the wrong side . . .
"Radwanska."
Frost appeared in front of her, standing between Sarah and the front doors of the building. It was all Sarah could do not to look around and boggle at how the shorter woman had gotten from Volkoff's office to here faster than Sarah had. Instead, Sarah smoothed down her jacket.
"Yes, Frost?"
"After you have acquired the bullets-making sure the targeting chips are included-you will take Stepanova to this location." Frost held a piece of paper out to her. "There will be some of Volkoff's men waiting for your arrival."
Glancing at the paper, which held directions to a building in the Austrian Alps, Sarah nodded. "You convinced Mr. Volkoff to change his mind?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wished she had bitten her tongue. It was a bad idea to ever ask questions about what happened between Frost and Volkoff. Not simply because Frost was intensely private, but also because Sarah didn't really want to know.
Thankfully, Frost didn't respond. "Just get her there and I'll handle the rest. Now go."
Sarah nodded. "Yes, Frost." She turned, tucking Frost's note into the manila folder. Walking down the hall, she started running through her strategy for approaching Stepanova, getting the bullets, and capturing the model. It seemed like a simple assignment on the surface. But those were the ones that were most likely to blow up in your face.
XXX
Sarah pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes. The seas were rough and the Contessa was moving at a speed of at least fifteen knots. And while Sabina Radwanska did not get seasick, Sarah Walker did if she didn't take the CIA's enhanced version of Dramamine first.
And the ice cream that Volkoff had forced her to eat earlier, from the authentic ice cream parlor on board, wasn't helping matters.
Breathing slowly through her mouth, Sarah worked to calm her rolling stomach. She looked at herself in the small mirror, then washed her hands before stepping out of the head. Moving slowly down the corridor, she walked into a lavishly decorated stateroom and rejoined Frost, who was sipping a tonic water from her place in the back of the room.
It had been a few weeks since her mission in Milan to recover the smart bullets. Since that time, she had been sent out on a few other assignments, but otherwise she was stuck in Moscow, killing time every day. Although she had been tempted, she hadn't let herself check wedding websites or buy bridal magazines. It was too dangerous. But it meant she had spent a lot of time reading newspapers and magazines or on the shooting range.
Tonight, Volkoff was entertaining a large group of men on the ship: some his associates within Volkoff Industries, others that she didn't recognize. At first, she had been glad to get out of Moscow and have actual work to occupy her time. That was before they got on this boat and before she found out the schedule for the weekend. Right now, the drinks were flowing as everyone "got to know each other" before business began.
Being allowed on the Contessa in the first place was a sign of Sarah's advancement; being present at this meeting was another. She had the sense that the gathering was related to Fulcrum business. The strangers had the air of the Fulcrum operatives she had met before: serious, patriotic, dull. Not even the free-flowing liquor had gotten them to loosen up much. So while Volkoff and his men were singing Russian songs loudly, the possible Fulcrum agents stood around in clumps, talking quietly and drinking Scotch or whisky.
If Chuck was here, he could have flashed on the men and discovered who they were. That wasn't the only reason she wished he was here, of course, but tonight it was definitely higher up on the list than normal.
But she was certainly capable of finding things out for herself. Yet she didn't want to be obvious about her attempts to draw out the strangers. Looking at Frost, she spoke quietly. "I am going to the bar. Do you need another tonic water?"
Frost nodded. "Yes," she said, holding her glass out. "And get the bartender to splash some vodka in it. If this party gets any more dull, I'll go to sleep."
Sarah gave her a small smile and a nod, then started moving through the clumps of men towards the bar on the opposite side of the room. She moved slowly, doing her best to overhear as many conversations as possible while appearing to be simply taking her time and steadying her footsteps with the rough rocking of the yacht. It also let her sweep her eyes around the room frequently, dissuading any wandering hands from making contact with her.
Although honestly, any man who groped her would get what he deserved. And that held true for Sarah or Sabina.
Smiling slightly at the thought, Sarah stopped at the bar. "Vodka and tonic for Frost, and a tonic water for me."
"Yes, miss," the bartender said, quickly getting to work.
There was a quiet conversation between three men, just behind and to her left. Sarah kept her back to them, appearing to be idly watching the bartender, while she eavesdropped.
"This will backfire someday," one man said in a low voice, speaking in English.
"What choice did we have? We need his materials and his funds."
She guessed that they were talking about Volkoff, a hunch that was confirmed with the third man's words, more forceful and direct than the others. "Fulcrum would have died without Volkoff. Making him Director was a sop to his ego-and it opened up his wallet wide."
The other men chuckled quietly. "You can say that again," the second man said.
"And soon we will have his newest playtoy," the third man said. "One that will make our enemies run for cover that they will not find."
The bartender set down the drinks in front of Sarah at that moment, ending her chance to hear more. But there wasn't anything she could do, so she smiled and nodded to the bartender.
So the strangers in this room was Fulcrum. And Volkoff was the Director of Fulcrum. That was something new. It made sense, given the state of Fulcrum, that they would have been eager to get Volkoff's attention. It made Sarah wonder just how the terrorist group had changed with being run by Volkoff. There was also this 'playtoy' the men had referenced. She pondered all this as she walked the drinks over to Frost.
"Finally," she said, grabbing her drink and taking a good-sized swallow.
"You do not like parties, Frost?" Sarah asked, taking a tiny sip of the tonic water and trying not to think about her stomach.
"No," Frost said shortly.
On the inside, Sarah sighed. Frost wasn't in a chatty mood tonight.
"At least no one has tried to pinch my bottom," she said lightly.
"Wrong crowd," Frost said. "These guys are too dedicated to the cause to even notice you. Plus, they're a bunch of sexist pigs."
"Do they think women incapable of doing as they do?" Sarah asked, noticing the venom in Frost's voice.
"Women should be in the kitchen or the bedroom, in their eyes. Madonna or whore. Maiden, mother, crone. That's all they see. But these men are just the foot soldiers, really. The truly great minds in Fulcrum have been killed or captured, leaving behind the aimless and desperate. These men who were searching for a leader when Alexei came across them."
Sarah hid her face in her glass. She knew that Frost didn't have a high opinion of most people. But her unrestrained loathing for Fulcrum was interesting, to say the least. It would seem that Frost was upset about this state of affairs, about Volkoff becoming involved with Fulcrum. Perhaps she had counseled against taking over Fulcrum and Volkoff had disregarded her?
"What is the business happening tonight?" Sarah asked, turning back to Frost.
Frost eyed Sarah. "None of yours," she said shortly. "Stand back, watch Alexei, and keep your ears shut." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and moved around the room, engaging various people in short conversations.
Biting back a sigh, Sarah moved against the wall of the stateroom, watching the party. Every time Frost cut her down, Sarah wondered if she was fooling herself. But at this point, she had committed herself to finding out the truth about Frost. It was just going to take some more time.
As she watched the crowd, Sarah found her thoughts drifting to the wedding. She wondered what progress Chuck had made so far. He had Ellie to help him, and with how organized he could be, there would probably be nothing left for her to do except show up.
Well, and get a wedding dress.
She really wished she had found a dress in her initial shopping with Ellie. But nothing had felt right. Over the years, she had worn a wide range of formal gowns and designer dresses, but those were for missions. When it came to dressing herself, she wasn't quite sure what she wanted. Not for one of the most important days of her life.
Ellie had tried to reassure her. "With your figure, Sarah, anything would look great. And you could buy a sample size and look like a million dollars."
Chuck's sister hadn't understood, though. That made it even harder. Intellectually, Sarah knew how lucky she was to have a good figure, to have enough savings to get whatever wedding dress she wanted. But in this area, having no limits or restrictions meant that any dress could be the right one. But it would be impossible to try on every wedding dress, even in the small boutiques they had visited. Not even Ellie had enough patience for that, and Sarah certainly didn't, either.
The best-case scenario would be that she finished her assignment with Volkoff in enough time to find a dress, probably a sample, and get it altered in time for the wedding. That was certainly what Sarah was hoping for. The worst case was that Sarah missed the wedding entirely. She wouldn't let that happen. So as long as she had a few hours, she could find a dress.
As much as she wanted the perfect dress, as much as she wanted the wedding to be like something out a bridal magazine, deep down she knew the details didn't really matter. All she wanted was Chuck. As long as they got married, she would be content. When she had told Ellie that, the older woman had argued that she might regret not having a big fancy ceremony.
But Sarah didn't think so. At this point, her goals had narrowed to making it back to Burbank with enough time to get a dress before the wedding and having Chuck's mom come with her. Everything else was window dressing.
The ring of a knife against crystal silenced the conversations in the room. Alexei Volkoff stood in the middle of the stateroom, smiling widely. "My friends!" he cried out, holding his hands out in the air in a welcoming gesture. "I am so pleased you could join me here, in the presence of the two great loves of my life. First, this beautiful ship, my Contessa."
There was a murmur of agreement, even some muted applause. Volkoff beamed at those who clapped. "And of course, the woman who has been by my side at all times: my Frost!"
From her place near the bar, Frost raised her glass to the room, acknowledging the overly riotous reaction.
Sarah held back a smirk. Clearly, everyone here knew how to make Volkoff happy: treat Frost like a queen. It would appear that Frost could care less about their applause, though.
"Now that we have gotten to know each other, I am very excited to begin business with all of you," Volkoff continued, looking around the stateroom like a benevolent father speaking during a family dinner. "Dinner is ready to be served in the dining hall, and tomorrow, we will have the meeting you have all been waiting for. I think you are all eager to see my latest creation, but a little more anticipation will just sweeten the pot!"
The men in the room didn't seem happy to hear that, but with food and more liquor in their future, they all appeared resigned to waiting a bit longer.
The secrecy made Sarah wonder more about what was going to happen tomorrow. Volkoff was acting like a boy with a new toy, something so unique and special that he would be the envy of all. If he had been a small child, it would be endearing. In a fully-grown man who happened to be an arms dealer, it was not a little terrifying.
But like everyone else, Sarah would have to wait.
XXX
Between the rocking of the Contessa and the loud, drunken partying coming from the various staterooms holding Volkoff's men, Sarah hadn't slept well. She slipped out of her tiny room early in the morning, on the hunt for some coffee.
As she approached the kitchen, she heard voices coming from the stateroom where the party had been held last night. She paused outside the door, listening.
"We are in agreement, then." The man's voice was bland and unaccented, and he spoke perfect English. It must be someone from Fulcrum.
"Yes, we are," Frost said, her voice low. "Not that I need your agreement. It's time to stop living on the fringes and take center stage again. Fulcrum is small but nimble now, with plenty of supplies thanks to Mr. Volkoff." She chuckled. "Alexei and his deep pockets. I've had so many chances to take advantage of them over the years. I'm grateful I never took the opportunity, because he will never suspect me"
"Fulcrum is grateful for your direction, Frost. You have done more to revitalize us than Volkoff ever could."
"I'm glad you see it that way. You're the only one who does, it appears. And when Fulcrum has achieved its aims, it will be grateful to me. Not to Volkoff. And then the house will be cleaned and the idiots who couldn't accept a woman as the Director of Fulcrum . . . well."
Frost sounded almost gleeful at the thought of eliminating those individuals. It made Sarah swallow and turn around, placing her feet carefully as she walked down the corridor.
It was hard to believe, after their conversation last night, that Frost was actually the one running Fulcrum. Not because Frost wasn't capable of it, but because it seemed so unlikely that Fulcrum would accept a woman. Sarah had always known that the group was unusual, a throwback to the "good old days" when men did the punching and women did the typing. She hadn't realized just how far that attitude went, not until what she heard last night during the party and dinner. But it would seem that Frost had found someone in Fulcrum to help her run the show-someone powerful enough to assist with that, while Volkoff had no idea that he wasn't the one in charge.
There was no doubt about it, things had taken a turn for the complicated. But it made Sarah watch Volkoff and Frost even more closely during the meeting that everyone on board had been waiting for.
Inside a stateroom with a long conference table and several chairs, the men of Volkoff Industries and Fulcrum eyed each other warily. Sarah stood in the back corner, watching and waiting for the arrival of Volkoff and Frost. It happened with a literal bang when Volkoff threw open the doors of the stateroom and strode inside, Frost following him with a large hard-sided briefcase.
Volkoff went around the table, shaking hands and joking with the men that looked especially hungover. Frost, meanwhile, had gone to the head of the table and stood by the remaining chair, the one that was clearly meant for Volkoff. She still held the heavy-looking briefcase. Her face was expressionless and Sarah wondered just what was going on behind that mask.
Finally, Volkoff finished pressing the flesh and moved to his seat. He didn't sit down, just gazed at everyone in the room. Then he nodded to Sarah. "Sabina, the doors, please."
"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," she said quietly, drawing them shut and resuming her position.
"My friends," Volkoff said, his voice as rich as caramel sauce, "today is a momentous occasion. Over the years, I have created many weapons. Times change: yesterday's nuclear device is today's biological weapon." He paused and rested his hands on the conference table, leaning forward and fully playing up the drama. "What will be the weapon of tomorrow? None of us can know. But I believe that the newest arrow in our quiver-designed by Volkoff Industries, with a few small suggestions from Fulcrum-will be the best one yet."
At that, Frost stepped forward and easily lifted the case up onto the table. She stepped back, letting Volkoff have the honors of revealing what was inside the case.
With a flip of the latches, Volkoff slowly lifted the lid. Sarah felt a spark of irritation. Would he just get it over with?
"Gentlemen, I present to you . . . the Norseman."
He turned the case around, flourishing an unusual-looking weapon. It was a large and boxy gun, made from a clear plastic or resin. The magazine was clearly visible, loaded with bullets that-did they glow green or was it just a trick of the light? Sarah couldn't tell. And although it looked a lot like a gun, how did that make it as revolutionary as Volkoff seemed to think it was?
It would seem that the men at the table didn't understand, either. One of the Fulcrum operatives even said, "Is that it?"
"Is that It?" Volkoff said, repeating the question with childlike glee. "Oh, you underestimate the Norseman. This device is revolutionary. It will change the way you think about assassination."
Lifting up the Norseman device, he held it out so everyone could see it. "What is the most difficult part about killing someone? Isolating your target. Snipers are expensive little prima donnas, we all know this. Difficult to replace if they get captured. But with the Norseman, you don't have to worry about that."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Volkoff," one of his men said, his Russian accent tinged with subservience and confusion. "But how will this weapon do that?"
"Ivan, you, like everyone else, lack imagination." Volkoff set the Norseman back in its case, then pulled from the molded foam of the case a small vial. "Imagine that you had a weapon that would always hit its target and only your target-even if your enemy was in the middle of a crowd. Once you have the DNA of your victim, the Norseman locks on to that unique identifier and eliminates him. No muss, no fuss."
Eyes widened and deep breaths were taken by the men around the table. Sarah, meanwhile, felt her heart plummet. It sounded like the Norseman was some kind of adaptation of smart bullet technology . . . technology that she had helped Volkoff acquire. What else had she done to help create this?
"How?" asked one of the Fulcrum men. "How is the subject killed?"
"Now, that is my great achievement with the Norseman," Volkoff said, the small, delighted smile on his face at odds with his hard eyes. He held up a long bullet. "Inside the head of the bullet is a specially-engineered poison based on thorium. Want to simply incapacitate an enemy until they do what you want? Fire once. Put their life in jeopardy? Two bullets. And three . . . well, I'm sure you all know the words of J. Robert Oppenheimer. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"
Looking around the room, Volkoff smiled slowly. A wide smile, one that took over his whole face. "Who in this room is ready to be the destroyer of worlds?"
If Sarah was any judge, the men were simultaneously uncomfortable and intrigued. This weapon sounded terrifying, and terror was something that arms dealers were well-acquainted with. But not when it was turned upon them. But more than the terror was the possibilities. The ability to take out any enemy with the minimum of ease, to eliminate a costly expense of a sniper.
"The Norseman makes assassination a task for your stupidest associate, your lowliest henchman. Someone you couldn't care less if they were captured or killed." Volkoff paused, then grinned slowly. "The Norseman is so simple to use, a child could pull the trigger."
A child? Sarah pressed her lips together, feeling disturbed by his words. It was a common metaphor, but for some reason, she had a bad feeling now.
"Sabina, we have some special guests outside. Would you bring them in?"
Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah nodded. She turned and opened the doors and reflexively gripped the door handles at what she saw there.
Two children, neither of them appearing to be more than eight years old, looked up at her. The boy had curly dark hair and shy brown eyes. The girl was more forthright, her head whipping up to look at Sarah and ignoring the slap of her blonde pigtails against her cheek. Her green eyes locked on Sarah.
Volkoff appeared at Sarah's side. "Hello, children!" he said jovially in Russian, like an evil Santa Claus. "Come in. Sabina, shut the door." He rested his hands on the children's shoulders and walked them towards the front of the room.
Sarah quickly shut the doors and leaned back against them, her mind racing. Was Volkoff really going to do what she thought he was going to do? And if that was the plan, was there any way she could stop him?
Ivan, the man who spoke earlier, slowly rose to his feet. "Anya." He sounded horrified. Disbelieving. And scared out of his mind.
Another man, on the Fulcrum side of the table, gaped. "Jackson!" Rounding in his chair on Volkoff, he spoke, his voice full of anger. "You have kidnapped my son. I won't stand for this."
"But you will!" Volkoff said, delight in his voice. "Ivan, Michael, you have been chosen as examples. How glorious, you get to experience the Norseman for the first time! And to prove my point, it will be your child pulling the trigger."
It was exactly as she suspected: Volkoff was showing his power over these men in the cruelest way possible. And even worse, he was making two innocent children into the instrument of his cruelty.
"And if we refuse?" the man named Michael asked. Ivan seemed at a loss for words, his eyes glued on his daughter.
"Then I turn the Norseman on your children. Of course, there's no way of knowing what a dose intended for an adult will do to such a small child . . ."
Behind her back, Sarah squeezed her hands together. She couldn't watch this. She couldn't let this happen. It would wreck her cover, put her in extreme danger, but she couldn't let two children be subjected to this. It hit too close to home, too close to what she had experienced as a child. Sucked into con jobs, compromised from the start until she was old enough to see that she could never free herself from the stains on her soul-
Sarah took one small step forward. Then, suddenly, there was a hand on her arm.
Looking down, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Frost holding her back. "Don't," the older woman whispered.
For some reason, Frost had let her mask drop. And Sarah could see the horror in her face. Could see how affected she was by what Volkoff was doing.
In that moment, Sarah knew that this was Mary Bartowski. And she knew that she had to tell Chuck's mom just who she was.
End, Chapter 4
