Saving Moscow, Chapter 5 (5/9)
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: I'm really excited to share this chapter with everyone, because of getting to create my own explanation of how the Norseman works. And some other things, too. :-) Many thanks, as always, to Steampunk . Chuckster for being a wonderful first reader. I'm so lucky to have her as my friend and my writing buddy. I hope you enjoy what happens in this chapter of Saving Moscow!
XXX
Afterwards, Sarah could never be sure just what had happened when Volkoff demonstrated the Norseman. Her memories were not clear and linear; they were more disjointed. The flash of the men's eyes, full of fear; the Norseman device shaking in the hands of one of the children; the screams . . .
It was horrible.
She had always been cautious around Volkoff, wary of getting sucked in by the childlike glee he displayed. But now? Now, she was a little bit scared by him. Scared and worried.
What would happen if he found out she was a double agent? If she blew her cover, she had no illusions about what might happen to her. Volkoff wouldn't just kill her: he would torture her. He could spread out administering the three bullets of a full Norseman dose, letting her linger in pain for days, even weeks. And under such conditions, she might find herself doing things that she would never normally let herself do. She might reveal the secrets that she had vowed never to tell.
This assignment had already involved a massive amount of compartmentalization. She had locked away Sarah Walker as much as she could, trying to eliminate any conflict between her true self and her cover identity. If she was subjected to torture, she wasn't sure how she might react. Would the months of hiding who she really was let her hold out longer . . . or would it make her weak when she had to face a greater challenge?
All she knew now was that she had to ensure the Norseman was completely disabled. She had to find a way to sabotage the device so completely that it could not be rebuilt. Because once she was gone, and Volkoff found out who was responsible-if the smallest piece of the Norseman remained, he would move heaven and earth to rebuild the device just to use it on her.
Sarah shifted in her berth on the Contessa. This day had been awful. After the Norseman demonstration, Volkoff had spent the rest of the day closeted in meetings with his Volkoff Industries associates and Fulcrum. Volkoff had dismissed Sarah, telling her to enjoy herself for the day. Like there was any chance of that. Instead, she had spend the day trying to deal with what she had seen and determining what to do next.
Frost had vanished after the demonstration; Sarah hadn't seen her for the rest of the day. That was probably providential, because it gave her time to consider what she was going to do about that issue. Her doubts and worries about whether Frost was Mary Bartowski had been resolved. The fear in Frost's eyes had been undeniable. It was like she had finally gotten a look at a real person, not the cold woman Frost presented to the world. And seeing that, she was convinced.
It was just a gut instinct. If she had to explain why she now accepted Frost as Mary Bartowski, her proof would be thin and coincidental. But that was the whole point of a gut instinct-it went beyond evidence. Perhaps it all came down to the little boy, with his curly dark hair and big brown eyes. Sarah had looked at him and all she could think of was Chuck. Maybe it had been the same way for Frost-for Chuck's mom.
So as she made plans to sabotage the Norseman and take down Volkoff Industries, she had to find a way to address the issues with Frost. Finding a way to tell her who Sabina Radwanska really was, letting Mary know how much Chuck wanted to have her home, safe and sound. That was what she wanted to do. That was what she had to do.
There was no way to know when she would have the chance to talk to Mary. Sarah had the feeling that after dropping her mask before the Norseman demonstration, Frost would take every chance to avoid Sarah. It was understandable-and it would be helpful. She suspected that Volkoff would have a greater problem with losing Frost versus losing the Norseman.
Taking a few deep breaths, Sarah tried to relax. Tried to find a way to sleep. There was so much to plan and do and she would need her sleep.
As she rolled over in the berth, staring into the darkness, she wondered what Chuck would say about her actions today-rather, her lack of action. That was if she was ever able to tell him what happened. If she could face up to how she let two children hurt their fathers. Not fatally: Volkoff had carefully ensured that each child only squeezed the trigger once, delivering a non-fatal poisoned bullet to each man. And after a few moments, Volkoff had theatrically produced an antidote to the poison, injecting each man with it.
Perhaps the children would be able to forget what had happened. Sarah had been about the same age when she first started helping her father with cons, and she could barely remember the details from those early cons. Hopefully it would be the same for those two children, the little curly-haired boy and the blonde girl who so reminded Sarah of herself and Chuck.
But their fathers certainly would remember. And neither man would be willing to cross Alexei Volkoff in anything from now on. Not when Volkoff had made sure to inform everyone that he had acquired not just their DNA, but that of their loved ones and their top lieutenants. That meant Volkoff could hit them either professionally, personally or both.
That realization was eye-opening; Sarah had no idea that Volkoff had gained genetic material on his people. It made her wonder just how much DNA was needed for the Norseman. In truth, she was still trying to wrap her mind around just how the Norseman worked.
Perhaps that should be her first action: find out everything she could about the Norseman. It would be difficult, since Volkoff had done the bulk of the research himself. But there must have been various departments within Volkoff Industries which had been involved. Volkoff couldn't have done it all on his own. If she could make some connections with Volkoff's top people-people who would know her reputation and be aware how she was favored by Volkoff-she might get some answers.
It wasn't much, but it was a place to start. There was still so much crowding her brain, like Chuck and his mom and just how she would get out of Volkoff Industries when the time came. But with one decision made, it gave Sarah the space she needed to slowly drift off into sleep.
XXX
Now that Sarah knew about the weapon Volkoff had at his disposal, there was a new urgency inside her. Any day that didn't yield some small piece of information, some new relationship that could help her, felt like a day wasted. It was all she could do some days not to scream.
But she couldn't. She had to take the slow and steady approach. Normally, she was all for caution. It was a holdover from her father's training, to not rush a job by thinking about the payday-training that the CIA had cemented. But her knowledge of the Norseman made her want to go as fast as possible, to cut corners in order to find out what she needed.
Somehow, she managed to not let loose. She kept moving slowly, looking for ways to learn more without any suspicions being cast her way. It turned out to be simpler than she thought: all it took was telling Volkoff she was so impressed by the Norseman that she wanted to learn more about weapons development.
"What an excellent idea, Sabina," he said, smiling brightly at her. "After all, you're in a young woman's line of work. You need to find something with more security-that is, if you don't want to get married and have loads of fat babies instead!" He laughed, throwing his head back.
If it had been anyone else, she would have rolled her eyes once her back was turned. Maybe even point out that women could both work and have a family. But giving the world's most dangerous terrorist a lesson in feminism was not exactly why she had been sent here undercover. So Sarah had simply smiled and nodded. "Very true, Mr. Volkoff."
"Of course, you'd learn the most with me, but I'm afraid the business side of Volkoff Industries is taking all my time and attention right now." He scribbled something on a pad of paper and tore the top sheet off the pad, holding it out to her. "Here, go talk to these men in the research and development division."
When she reached for the piece of paper, he pulled it back, eyeing her critically. "You're very eager, Sabina. It's breathtaking how quickly you've risen in the ranks."
Volkoff doubting her could be catastrophic. She had to reassure him, show him that he had nothing to fear from her. Thinking quickly, she injected the tiniest of trembles into her voice.
"Mr. Volkoff, you gave me a chance. If I had not received your offer, with the straits I was in . . ." She let her voice trail off, then gave a small, elegant sniff. "I might have turned legitimate. Become a girl in a shop. Wasted my talents in order to keep a roof over my head. Your offer saved me from that. You saved me, Mr. Volkoff."
Sarah looked at him, making her eyes shimmer with tears. It might be a bit over-the-top, but she suspected he would respond to this approach. Even though it made her feel dirty to be throwing herself on his mercy like this. "I can never forget that, Mr. Volkoff."
"Oh, little Sabina," he said, rising from his chair. He walked around his desk and hugged her. "How terrible, to wither away as a shopgirl or a secretary! You have already proven that you are fit for bigger things." He pulled back and smiled at her. "Go and learn, my dear."
Taking the paper from him, she tucked it into her pocket and gave him a weak smile. "I will, Mr. Volkoff. I will make you proud."
He beamed at her, patting her shoulders. "I expect nothing less, Sabina."
As quickly as she could, Sarah extricated herself from his hold and from his office. She was grateful that Frost hadn't been there for her little performance-Sarah suspected the older woman would have been able to see through her act. And she wasn't quite ready yet to reveal her suspicions to Frost.
With Volkoff's blessing, Sarah began visiting the R&D division of Volkoff Industries. There were offices in several locations around Europe, although Volkoff had limited the names he had given her to offices in Russia. But Sarah knew that when she talked to the men in these places, she would find out more than Volkoff might have expected.
After a few weeks studying in Moscow, Sarah went to the base in Smolensk where newly-created weapons were tested by Volkoff Industries. According to what she had learned, the Norseman had been tested here, along with its antidote. In all the questions she had been asking about developing weapons, she had managed to slip in a few about the Norsemen. Most of the scientists and researchers had seemed so dazzled to have a woman pay attention to them, one that was highly-regarded by Volkoff, that they had freely answered her questions. Now in Smolensk, she was hoping to learn about not just how the Norseman worked exactly, but what the antidote was.
Given the high security surrounding the Smolensk base, they didn't receive many visitors. The scientists were so thrilled to have someone new to talk to, someone who was interested in their work, that they gave her a vast amount of data. Together with what she had learned in Moscow, she was able to start determining the pieces that made up the Norseman. Of course, with Volkoff's presentation she already had quite a bit of info, but now she was learning how to disable it, either temporarily or permanently.
From what she could tell, the critical pieces were the smart bullets and the thorium. The Norseman gun itself was fairly easy to create, and in a pinch someone could use a standard pistol that was loaded with the Norseman bullets. The bullets in question had the tracking chip and a small amount of thorium which acted like a poison inside the victim's body. With either the Norseman gun or the suitcase that the device came in, you could enter the victim's DNA and program the tracking chip inside the bullet.
It was all so ingenious, in an evil way, Sarah had to admit. As Volkoff had promised, it was easy to use the gun once it was calibrated for the victim, not to mention it would kill someone in a manner that would be difficult to link to an assassin. Because it would be the thorium poisoning that killed the person, not the gunshots.
Three days of talking and research had let her learn a lot about the actual device. The antidote was still shrouded in mystery. But she hoped with a few more days, she would be able to get some information. Then she could start focusing on how to approach Frost and tell her that Sarah knew her true identity. All it would take was a few more days of laying low, of not attracting attention to herself.
A goal she wondered if she could achieve when she encountered her high school nemesis.
Walking through the base with one of Volkoff's lieutenants, they had passed a room half-full of people. New recruits, the lieutenant told her. Sarah had nodded and would have passed by without much more thought, only to stop when one of the recruits, standing in profile and inspecting her nails, looked familiar.
When the recruit turned towards the doors that Sarah and the lieutenant were walking past, that was when Sarah recognized her. It was Heather Chandler. The head cheerleader and popular girl who made James Buchanan High School a miserable place for Jenny Burton. Jenny Burton, the girl who grew up to be Sarah Walker.
Of course, Heather Chandler had no idea of her existence back then, other than as a nerd with bad hair, braces, and a violin case. And Sarah had come a long way from Jenny Burton. But seeing the pouty-lipped, emaciated girl she remembered as a muscled woman with dead eyes, a woman who had become an associate of Alexei Volkoff . . . it fit, in a crazy kind of way.
But that didn't mean she wanted to spend much time catching up with Chandler. Even if she wasn't undercover, Sarah didn't want to have anything to do with Heather Chandler. Not if she was working for Volkoff. Unfortunately, the lieutenant then asked her to speak to the new recruits.
"Give them a thrill," he said in a friendly manner, his Polish accent showing that he considered Sabina a fellow countryman. "Show them how far they can climb in Volkoff Industries."
Sarah tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't listen. He practically pushed her in front of the recruits, who were all gazing at her with various measures of disdain or regard. Taking a deep breath, Sarah focused on making her accent flawless. This was a test of her cover identity, of her ability to be Sabina Radwanska.
It wasn't much of a speech. A few platitudes about working hard and loyalty, a sop given to how Volkoff was the best man to work for in this business, and so on. The recruits applauded politely and Sarah made her escape, hurrying off to talk to one of the scientists involved in the Norseman testing.
Over the next three days, Sarah did her best to avoid all the recruits. She didn't want to give Heather Chandler any more looks at her than she already had. Fortunately, it wasn't too difficult a task to achieve. Not until the morning of her last day, when she was eating breakfast before leaving to return to Moscow.
A tray containing a large mug of coffee, eggs and two slices of dry toast hit the table in front of Sarah, clearly slapped down in order to startle her. But having seen Heather approach out of the corner of her eye, Sarah was ready. She lifted her eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she said, striving to sound bored.
"I know you," Heather said, sitting down and leaning in towards Sarah, the loose sleeves of her jacket nearly ending up in her eggs. "I don't know how, but I do."
"You are mistaken," Sarah said, turning up her Polish accent just a little bit.
"No, I know you," the other woman insisted. "Have you ever been to the states?"
She sipped the last of her coffee. "No. I hope to never visit America. I would only go if Mr. Volkoff requires it of me."
Heather shook her head, her multi-colored hair in its ponytail sweeping back and forth across her shoulders. "You're trying to play me and I don't like that. What if I told somebody I thought you weren't who you say you are?"
"Who do you think would be believed: you, a brand-new recruit, or me? Trusted by Frost and Volkoff, respected and trusted . . ." Sarah let her voice trail off, holding Heather's gaze.
Letting out a snort, Heather leaned forward. "C'mon, Sabina," she said, putting extra emphasis on the name, "just between us girls, you really think you're that secure here? All cozy and settled?"
This was annoying. Thinking that she knew who Sarah was and automatically thinking they were friends? If this was how Heather was going to act, it didn't seem likely that she would last long. And Sabina wouldn't put up with this kind of crap.
Crossing her legs, Sarah eyed Heather. "What is your name?" She casually rested her hand on her boot heel, feeling for the knife in her boot.
"Heather Chandler," she said, picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite.
It was the perfect opportunity. Without any hesitation, Sarah pulled out her knife and pinned Heather's sleeve to the table. Before Heather had even finished reacting to the knife, Sarah lashed out and punched her right in the nose.
"Owww!" Heather glared at her. "You bitch, I'm gonna-"
"Heather, I am bored now," Sarah said, standing up and taking her knife back. "And I have more important things to do now. Like check my hair for split ends."
She walked away, only pausing to slide the knife back into her boot. She didn't look back at Heather, ignoring the streams of curses she was throwing at "Sabina's" back. Because she didn't really care about Heather's threats. She couldn't hurt Sarah.
Seeing her here was a surprise, because it was possible that could have been Sarah. If Graham hadn't recruited her, she could have easily ended up in this kind of situation: breaking the law, being a terrorist, without a moral compass. Without Chuck.
If she hadn't met Chuck, if she hadn't taken the leap to fall for him . . . this would be her life. Long-term undercover assignments, acting against her ethics to serve a greater good, all of it. The reason she had taken Graham's offer and joined the CIA was because she knew being a con artist was about hurting people. Sure, most of them deserved it in one way or another, but there were definitely people that got hurt when she and her father conned them. She hadn't wanted that. She didn't want to hurt people. She wanted to help them.
All her father had taught her was how to be a con artist. The only thing Graham wanted was an enforcer. They had let her down, time and again, and if she hadn't met Chuck, she would have found herself in this kind of situation, without any other options but bad ones.
Sarah wondered just who had let down Heather Chandler to bring her to Volkoff Industries.
XXX
Volkoff had recalled her to Moscow, telling her that he had a special assignment for her. And using his own words, he had booked her on the overnight train from Smolensk to Moscow as a special treat.
Sarah didn't mind. It gave her time to think and to plan. To organize her mental notes on the Norseman, getting everything in order. It was too dangerous to write anything down, so she had found that reviewing everything before she went to sleep, fixing the details in her mind, would have to suffice.
There didn't seem to be anything else for her to learn about the Norseman. At least, nothing more that she could learn without attracting the wrong kind of attention. She would have to hope she was bringing back enough intel for the CIA to carry on and finish the job.
As she sat in the train compartment, she found herself looking at her watch. The watch that contained a Morse code transmitter, to be used if she was in an emergency or needed to contact the Agency.
Was it time to use it? To warn Graham that she would need extraction soon? She might only get one message with it, so sending word too soon would leave her without communication if anything went wrong. But it was likely that when the time came to leave, she would have to leave quickly. Having the CIA at the ready would provide her much-needed backup.
But she still hadn't even started her last task: saving Mary Bartowski. Until she had at least begun talking to Frost and explaining what she had missed out on, Sarah didn't think using the transmitter would be wise.
Perhaps when she got back to Moscow, she would be able to spend some time with Frost-enough time to find the right words to explain the truth to her. There was so much to tell Mary . . . like how Chuck might know that his mother was inside Volkoff Industries.
She sighed and gazed out the window as the Russian countryside flew past in the twilight. It had been several weeks since she had sent Chuck her video message. Of course, he might not have received it-the courier network might have failed her. But if he had gotten the video she had made, he would know his mother was here.
How had he reacted? Was he angry? Sad? Worried? All of the above and more? Was he trying to get involved in the mission against Volkoff, taking his own steps to save his mother? Sarah wouldn't put it past Chuck to try that. But maybe since she was also involved in this, Chuck had held back, worried about her safety as well as his mother's.
Bringing her legs in against her chest, Sarah wrapped her arms around her knees. Chuck was smart and talented. But she didn't think even he could go up against Volkoff and get both of them-fiancé and mother-out safely. If both of them were going to get out, it was up to Sarah to get Mary Bartowski out. To save her.
And to do that, she had to talk to Frost. Had to reveal who she really was.
Sarah nibbled on her lower lip. That was a scary thought. Letting down the one barrier she had left, removing her only protection . . . but it had to be done. Without that show of honesty and trust, Frost would have no reason to believe her about Chuck and Ellie, about Chuck working for the CIA, about anything.
It was getting late, she realized as she looked at her watch. Sleep was definitely in order. As she slowly drifted off, she contented herself with thinking about how soon, she might be home with Chuck. There was still a month before the wedding date-that would be plenty of time for her to get a dress.
Arriving at Volkoff Industries the next morning, Sarah straightened her clothes. She still felt a bit groggy from sleeping on the train, but that couldn't be helped much. Hopefully, she wouldn't be going right to work.
Inside Volkoff's office, Volkoff and Frost were talking. Actually, it seemed more like arguing from the volume of their voices. But when she stepped inside, the fight seemed forgotten.
"Ahhh, Sabina!" Volkoff said, smiling at her. "How was your study? Did you learn much?"
She gave him a small smile before letting him kiss each of her cheeks. "I did, Mr. Volkoff. Thank you for letting me have the time to spend with the research and development division."
"And do you think you want to do more in that line?" Frost's voice was clipped and professional, a stark contrast to the warmth in Volkoff's.
"Maybe someday," Sarah said, standing up straight with her hands clasped in front of her. It had been so long since she had any conversation with Frost. And knowing what she knew now . . . it made the conversation feel weighted with additional meaning.
Volkoff wrapped an arm around Frost's shoulders. "Now I can send my two favorite ladies on a very important mission. One that will let me use the Norseman whenever I like, instead of rationing it."
"Yes, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah said, hoping her face hadn't blanched at his words.
"We're going to Switzerland to acquire ten vials of thorium, kept in a Swiss bank," Frost said. "The owner of the vault has met an unfortunate accident, and you and I will play his grieving widow and daughter."
Sarah nodded, fully realizing the irony of this assignment. Playing the daughter of the woman who would soon be her mother-in-law . . . it was like something out of a TV show.
"We will go in, get the thorium, then transport it to a secure Volkoff facility. Simple and efficient."
"With that much thorium, the Norseman can be powered for months-maybe even years, depending on how the market shakes out," Volkoff said. "I won't be able to honor my commitments without it, so Sabina, my beloved Frost, you will get me my thorium."
There was a hardness in Volkoff's voice, a tone that wasn't normally there. Sarah wondered at it. Could perhaps things be on the outs between Volkoff and Frost? That could be an opportunity to get Frost out if Volkoff was not paying her his usual amount of attention.
"Nothing will stop us, Mr. Volkoff," Sarah promised. "Frost and I, we are a good team."
"Like ice cream and hot fudge!" he said, sounding more like himself. He beamed at them. "The jet is waiting for you. Spit-spot, off you go!"
It was all she could not to boggle at Volkoff. There were times when she was still shocked that this was one of the most successful, most ruthless arms dealers in the world, tracked by nearly a dozen law enforcement agencies.
Almost before she knew it, Sarah was on a plane to Zurich with Frost. While the flight would have been a good time to prepare for her upcoming conversation and reconnect with Frost, Sarah had to admit defeat and get some extra sleep. Given that Frost completely rebuffed her attempts at small talk, Sarah gave in and went into one of the cabins to sleep. It wasn't until an hour before they landed that she woke up, finally feeling ready for the mission.
In a black dress, heels, and a large hat, Frost looked the part of the lost, lonely widow. Sarah chose large sunglasses instead of a hat, twisting the hair of the auburn wig she was wearing into a low bun. It was uncomfortable wearing the wig on top of another wig, but it was only for a short while, and it was necessary: both the mother and daughter they were impersonating were redheads.
The bank, one of Switzerland's oldest and most respected, welcomed Frau and Fraulein Weiß. The bank manager himself met with them, talking gently and quietly with Frost as Sarah faked crying into a handkerchief.
"We are so sorry for your loss," the manager said in German, his voice oily and unctuous. "There is no need for you to remove your late husband's holdings from our facility, though." He gave them both a patronizing smile. "After all, the Swiss banking industry has its reputation for a reason."
"Of course it does," Frost said, attempting to sound like a woman barely holding herself together. "And my late husband spoke so highly of your services. But there is one item, in his safety deposit box, that I need to remove."
The bank manager nodded. "Completely understandable. If you would let me see your paperwork, I can prepare the transfer that will allow you into the safe deposit area."
Playing her part, Sarah turned over the forged documents, followed by Frost handing the bank manager a passport in the widow's name. The manager pushed away from his desk and left them alone in his office.
A heavy silence fell between them. Sarah glanced at Frost, who sat calmly, her hands folded in her lap. Ever since the Norseman demonstration, Frost had not allowed herself to spend much time with Sarah. And when they were together, she kept the focus squarely on the mission.
It was like she knew Sarah suspected something about her and therefore was trying to eliminate any possibility of confrontation. That didn't really fit with Sarah's mental picture of Frost . . . could that be an aspect of Mary Bartowski? It certainly reminded her of Chuck, of how he had admitted that during their rough patch, he had stuck his head in the sand, living in a delusion that everything was all right rather than facing their problems.
Frost let out a quiet sigh, the fingers of her right hand rubbing against her left hand. Sarah had seen her doing that before. It was one of the things that made her think Frost had been married before. Maybe it was time for Sarah to call her on that.
"You have done that before," she said quietly.
"Done what?" Frost said, keeping her eyes facing forward, away from Sarah's.
"Rub your fingers against your left hand. Like you are . . . searching. For something that used to be there. Something that gave you comfort."
"You sound like a pop psychologist," Frost said, disdain in her voice. "It's just a habit."
"In our work, habits are dangerous. They are too revealing." Sarah shifted in her chair, turning to face Frost's profile. "I see you do that, and I think you must have been married once."
"You don't see anything," Frost hissed. She shot Sarah a glare, one full of anger. "Keep your attention on the mission."
Sarah ignored her words and kept speaking. "Married . . . married for a long time. Long enough for you to get used to your ring, used to rubbing it when you are lost in thought." She could see Frost's hands clench. "Did Volkoff kill him?"
Frost stood up and turned to face Sarah. "It's none of your business. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, Radwanska, but after this mission you're done with me. You'll be put back on courier duty, going between Warsaw and Tbilisi."
Looking up at Frost, Sarah knew she was breaking through the shell around the older woman. Could tell by Frost's anger, by her threat. It was time for the final stroke.
"No . . . no, your husband is not dead. And you did not divorce, I think." Sarah paused and dropped the Polish accent, speaking like herself. Like the woman who was engaged to Mary Bartowski's son. "I know this because I've met Stephen Bartowski and he would like to know where his wife is."
If it was possible, Frost's body became even more tense. Her face went blank, her expression carefully composed. But her eyes burned with emotion. Anger and annoyance and frustration, but deep down . . . hope.
Slowly rising, Sarah looked down at Mary Bartowski. "I know Ellie Bartowski and she wished her mother could have seen her get married."
She advanced on Mary, who took an unconscious step back. To her surprise, Sarah felt her heart beat faster, felt her throat close up for a moment. From her point of view, Mary was doing everything she could to not crack. It almost felt cruel, what Sarah was doing. But Sarah had underestimated the strength of Frost's walls, the tenacity of Mary Bartowski to cling to her cover.
But for Chuck's sake, she would break down those walls.
Her voice was thick when she said, "I know Chuck Bartowski because I'm engaged to him. And he wants his mother to come home."
The words hung in the air. Mary's face was still expressionless and she hadn't said anything in response to Sarah's words. It was awkward and tense. But Sarah couldn't help the feeling of relief she had. Someone else knew who she was. Someone else knew who she loved. And best of all, she had gotten to say Chuck's name out loud for the first time since she had seen him two months ago.
Mary ducked her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face. Sarah swallowed. "Please, Mrs. Bartowski-"
"Shhh!" Mary said. "I hear something."
Sarah frowned and cocked her head. It did sound like there was more activity in the hallway outside this office. And . . . "That bank manager has been gone for a very long time."
"Yes, he has-long enough to get a strike team outside this office." Mary tossed off her hat, mussing the immaculate bun that her red wig was styled in. She reached down and pulled a Beretta from inside her boot.
Swiss banks had strike teams? Sarah supposed she shouldn't be surprised. "Now I know why we had to use the VIP entrance."
"No metal detectors," Mary said. "What weapons do you have?"
"Just me," Sarah said. At Mary's look, she shrugged, feeling sheepish and embarrassed. "I didn't think I'd need any for this part of the job. And I assumed there would be metal detectors."
She rolled her eyes. "Your fists won't do much against semi-automatics." Mary frowned, then nodded. "You go out into the hallway and give me a signal about how many are out there. I'll come out and start shooting and you start punching."
"A frontal assault? Are you crazy?" Sarah said, blinking at her.
"Got a better suggestion, Radwanska? Or whatever your actual name is?" Mary shook her head. "I should have known you weren't some freelancer. You were too good. Too professional."
"Thanks," Sarah said dryly, scanning the room. She pointed to the corner, where a three feet by three feet vent was located. "Cold air return. The duct should be large enough to support us."
"And end up where? We don't have maps for this place!"
"It'll get us away from that strike team!" Sarah said, running over to the metal cover that hid the ductwork. Looking around, she saw a letter opener on the bank manager's desk, one that looked sturdy and solid. Without any further delay, she snatched it up and used the metal blade as a lever to pop off the cover. She looked at Mary. "This is our best option and I'm not going back and telling Chuck I let his mother get blown away by a bunch of Swiss bankers!"
Mary eyed Sarah for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Cover me." She pressed her gun into Sarah's hand and pulled a small flashlight from her other boot (was this some kind of mother quality, always having exactly what she needed, Sarah wondered distractedly), then climbed into the duct. She crawled slowly away from the opening, apparently trying to prevent any knocks or thuds in the metal duct.
"Right," Sarah said, waiting for Mary to advance far enough down the duct for Sarah to slip in after her. Pulling the vent cover over the opening and hoping its askewness wouldn't negate the time advantage, Sarah turned and began crawling after Mary, holding the Beretta carefully.
Both of them moved slowly, trying to prevent themselves from being discovered. They had been in the ducts nearly five minutes when Mary paused and turned her head towards Sarah, her flashlight throwing enough light around the duct to light up their faces. "You didn't tell me before."
"Tell you what?" Sarah said, taking advantage of the break to reach up and yank off her auburn wig.
"What's your name?"
Pausing, Sarah looked down at the wig in her hands. It was one thing to tell Mary that Sarah knew who she was, but it was something else to reveal her true self. But this was Chuck's mother.
Sarah looked up and gave Mary a small smile. "I'm Sarah Walker."
End, Chapter 5
