Saving Moscow, Chapter 8 (8/9)
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: So people thought I left things on a good note at the end of the last chapter. I wonder if you'll feel the same when you reach the end of this chapter? Let me know when you review! :-)
XXX
They let her walk out of the Volkoff Building.
Out of everything that had just happened, that was what Sarah had the most trouble grasping. Volkoff and Frost let her go. Hadn't even bothered escorting her out of the building. It was like they could care less about her.
Like they thought they had nothing to fear from her.
And at the moment, Sarah wasn't surprised they thought that. Because she didn't feel very dangerous. She felt like a woman just moments away from bursting into heaving, body-wracking sobs.
In a daze, Sarah walked away from the Volkoff Building. Her mind and heart were too shocked to walk with any direction or logic. So she just got lost in Moscow's streets.
One of Volkoff's thugs had used the Norseman on Chuck. Right now, on the other side of the world, the man she loved more than anything-the man that was the center of her whole future-was bleeding, poisoned, perhaps already too injured for any medical attention . . .
Sarah stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the pushes from the people walking around her. What was she doing? This wasn't the time to fall apart. Chuck needed her. And she was the only person who could save him.
Looking around, she noticed a drugstore across the street. She always kept a few 500 ruble notes on her, and that would be enough for what she needed to do.
Barely checking the oncoming traffic, Sarah ran across the street. Before she stepped into the drugstore, she yanked off the black wig and shook loose her own hair. It had been several weeks since she had dyed it, so there was a few inches of blonde before the black started. Good-if Frost and Volkoff changed their minds about viewing her as a threat, looking different from any Volkoff-provided description would help keep her off the radar.
Going through the aisles of the store quickly, she picked up two cheap t-shirts, a box of hair dye, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses, and a prepaid phone that could make international calls. The phone made a big dent in her cash supply, but she had to have it. And although it had been a while since she had to pick pockets, she was confident enough in her skills to be willing to risk it once her cash was exhausted. With a credit card or two, she would be able to get by. But she could worry about that once all her money was gone.
With her supplies, Sarah stepped out onto the street, her mind working. It welcomed the need to make plans, to come up with a strategy. That way, she could push her fear and worry and self-doubt and pain to the back of her mind. All she wanted was to find a way to get on a plane and get to Burbank. To be with Chuck, in case . . .
No. She wouldn't let him die. And she knew how to save him.
She had to get to Smolensk. Once she got there, she could talk her way inside Volkoff's R&D division. She could find the antidote for the Norseman and only then would she contact the CIA. They were bound to blame her for what happened-blame her for putting the Intersect at risk. Not to mention the little problem of Volkoff gaining access to the CIA's servers.
If she couldn't save Chuck, she would be fired so fast it would make her head spin. Probably arrested to boot. If she contacted Graham, he would hold her and keep her far away from Chuck, while the clock counted down to the end and the CIA fumbled around to find the antidote. It was up to her to save Chuck. Going rogue was her only option at this point.
Sarah took a deep breath. She never thought she'd have to do something like that. But it was for Chuck. And for him, she would do anything.
The phone inside the thin plastic bag was practically calling out to her. If she called Bryce, she could find out how Chuck was doing. But it had barely been an hour; Chuck was probably in surgery getting the smart bullets removed. Bryce wouldn't know anything yet. And she needed to protect herself.
One of the public toilets that dotted the streets of Moscow was up ahead. Although they were always smelly and disgusting, a public toilet would have to do for what she needed to do. Dropping a coin into the slot to gain access, Sarah stepped inside and got to work.
After the longest hour of her life, Sarah walked out of the toilet. Her hair was now a muddy brown shade, although hints of the black showed through in places-not that they were all that visible with the scarf tied over her damp hair. She had swapped her button-down blouse for one of the t-shirts and put on the sunglasses. It didn't feel like enough of a disguise, but it would have to do.
Moscow was slowly waking up on this Sunday morning. Sarah moved through the growing crowds, trying to appear like a young woman on her way to church or doing some early-morning errands. In reality, she was trying to organize her thoughts.
Before she appeared in Smolensk, she would need weapons. All she had now were the throwing knives in her boot heels, and while she was sure she could take out the scientists with a few punches, the guards that protected Volkoff's Smolensk facility were very capable.
There was also the problem of how to get out of Russia without a passport. There was no way she could go back to the Volkoff lodging house and get her things. Volkoff and Frost might have let her go, but they weren't going to make her escape easy.
At that moment, Mary Bartowski's betrayal hit her. The woman who would soon be her mother-in-law had played her. Used her. And stood by while her lover-because it was clear now that Frost and Volkoff were sexual partners-used the world's greatest weapon on her only son.
How could she have done that? What had made her so cold? Frost said she had married Stephen Bartowski to keep him in line-did that mean she was actually a Russian agent who had infiltrated the CIA? It sounded like something out of a movie, those James Bond films that Chuck liked to watch when he wasn't feeling well. But whoever she had been, at this time Frost was Chuck's mother by blood only.
Sarah could feel her lower lip getting raw in the spots where she was nibbling on it. But she felt so embarrassed and ashamed of her actions. Maybe it would be better to let the CIA fire her-or try to quit before they could fire her. She had made critical misjudgements and threatened important CIA resources. Maybe if she called Graham and-
With an emphatic shake of her head, Sarah stopped that line of thought. Now wasn't the time to start doubting herself. She could do this. She just needed a little help. And fortunately, she happened to know someone who could help her.
It was fitting that the best place she could find to make a phone call was inside a McDonald's, that bastion of America. The restaurant was half-full, with several loud conversations going on. And she needed to eat, since her next meal was uncertain.
The greasy food wasn't healthy in the slightest, but it filled her up and gave her more energy than she thought it would. She slowly sipped her coffee, waiting until the conversations seemed the loudest, before pulling out the prepaid phone and dialing a number she had memorized three months ago.
The phone on the other end rang five times, then ten. Sarah was preparing herself to leave a message when there was a click and a grunt. "Casey."
Holding on to the phone tightly, she spoke quietly. "Casey, it's Sarah."
"Walker? What's going on?"
"Have you heard about Chuck?" she asked, looking around the restaurant to see if anyone was paying too much attention to her.
"Chuck? No . . . what's wrong?" Casey asked gruffly. It might be her imagination, though, but she thought there was a little worry deep down.
She took a deep breath. "I-I messed up and Chuck got hurt. Now I'm stranded in Moscow, the CIA is gunning for me, and I'm the only one who can save Chuck. But I need help."
Laying it all out like that was risky and dangerous. Telling him what was going on would remove plausible deniability for him. And if he actually helped her, he could get into trouble with the CIA, too, not to mention the NSA.
But she needed someone to know how serious this was. Someone who would understand that it was bad enough that she was asking for help.
"Damn Russians," Casey said succinctly. "What do you need?"
"Are you sure?"
"Sarah, what do you need?" Casey said, his voice a mix of long-suffering patience, annoyance and actual sympathy. It was so good to hear that, to feel a little less alone, that she had to close her eyes for a moment.
"Money. Guns. A passport. And I need all of it fast. I have to get to Smolensk."
She could hear noises over the phone, what sounded like Casey scribbling notes. "You want a car?"
In her planning, she had thought she would take the train again. But a car would save her time and let her be much more mobile. So she nodded. "If you can arrange that, yes."
"The passport will be the tricky thing, but I've got people who can get it done." There was a pause, as if he was thinking, and then Casey grunted. "Gonna need about nine hours. You able to wait, or you need a safe house?"
"They let me leave, Casey. They didn't see me as a threat. So as far as I can tell, no one's following me."
"You're gonna make 'em realize just how big a mistake that was, huh?" She could practically hear his smirk. It made her smile a little-and feel a wave of confidence. Because if Casey thought she was still dangerous, even when making an emotional decision like going rogue to save Chuck . . . it meant that Frost and Volkoff had seriously screwed up.
"I'm going to do my best," she said quietly.
Casey grunted. "Call me in nine hours and I'll have you covered."
"Okay," Sarah said, taking a breath. "Casey . . . thank you."
"Yeah," he said, hanging up the phone without saying goodbye.
Sarah slid the phone into her pocket and leaned back in the booth, finishing her coffee. With nine hours to kill, it gave her a lot of time with her thoughts. A lot of time to stay on guard. She looked at her watch: ten a.m. It felt much later than that. Just three hours ago, she had been walking into Volkoff Industries, thinking about today's extraction and getting home to Chuck. Seeing him for the first time in months, holding him tightly as she told him that she had brought his mother home to him.
Once she didn't arrive at the extraction point in four hours, the CIA would definitely start looking for her, if they weren't already. For now, she was a ghost, caught in limbo. And she had to find a way to stay focused until she could call Casey back.
Standing up, Sarah threw away her trash and walked out of the restaurant. Sliding her hands into the pockets of her trousers, the plastic bag with her supplies swinging from her arm, she started walking. If she was moving, maybe she would be okay.
XXX
The nature of time was a cruel bitch.
How else to explain what she had gone through in this day? Each minute had felt like an hour; an hour felt like a day. She couldn't remember the last time she had over half a day with nothing to occupy herself. Even on those lazy weekend days with Chuck, there had been things like meals or workouts or errands to fill up the hours, to make the time pass.
She had none of that now. With limited funds, she wanted to be careful with the money she had left. Pickpocketing was definitely a last resort, if Casey wasn't able to come through in time. There was only so much food and drink she could consume, only so much time she could linger in cafes. And she didn't want to be too stationary, especially once the CIA realized she hadn't shown up for extraction.
Fortunately, Moscow wasn't too difficult a city to walk around, especially since public transportation was out due to surveillance cameras. But there were plenty of tourist spots, crowded with people, for her to linger in.
By five-thirty, though, she was ready to crack. There was still an hour and a half before she could contact Casey. With all the walking, she knew she had developed some blisters on her feet. The bright sunshine made her sweaty and caused a mild sunburn to begin showing on her arms. And worst of all . . . she started thinking.
What if she wasn't in time? What if she found the antidote, only to arrive in Burbank when it was too late? If Chuck had succumbed to thorium poisoning, would he die in agony, his body burning up from the inside out? Would he wonder what had happened to her? Wish she was there?
And then her thoughts took a dark turn. If she saved Chuck . . . she would have to tell him what happened. Explain her role in all this. She would have to admit, to the person she never wanted to hurt, that she had caused him to suffer such immense pain.
Her legs felt shaky. Somehow, she made her way to one of the benches lining the square and collapsed onto it. Burying her face in her hands, Sarah tried to keep her breathing even. Tried not to cry.
Because what if Chuck couldn't forgive her? She felt ashamed for even thinking it, since she had never seen any sign that Chuck could carry that kind of grudge against anyone. Not even Bryce or his father merited that. No . . . he would probably forgive her.
Maybe the problem was, she wasn't sure she could forgive herself. It was her fault that this had happened to Chuck. There had been too many assignments she had completed for Volkoff without trying to undermine the job. She could have been doing more to tamper with equipment, sabotage plans, something other than acting like she really did work for Volkoff.
Ever since she had gotten the phone this morning, she had been fighting the desire to call Bryce. To find out how Chuck was doing. Maybe . . . maybe she should stop fighting. Maybe if she could hear that Chuck was okay, she'd be able to breathe, to think.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah pulled out the phone and dialed Bryce's cell phone number. She wrapped her free arm around herself, waiting impatiently for Bryce to pick up.
"Hello?"
His voice sounded choked, sad. Like he was feeling a bit of what she felt.
Licking her lips, she spoke softly. "Are-are you still taking care of Chuck?"
Bryce's intake of breath was audible. Then he whispered, "Sarah?"
"It-it's me," Sarah said, looking around and trying to appear like a woman just having a normal phone call.
"Oh, God-we thought you were dead. Especially when you missed extraction."
"I can't get extracted yet." Sarah paused. "Is-is Chuck . . .?"
The wait for Bryce to speak felt like ages. Made her consider, for just a moment, what her life might be like if she lost Chuck. "He's hanging in there. He's tough."
It was like her heart started beating again. Like she could think again.
"Sarah, the doctors, Ellie and Devon-they really don't know what they're dealing with," Bryce said. "Do you know what Volkoff used on Chuck?"
"I do," Sarah said, feeling relieved that she could at least pass along some information to Chuck's doctors. Enough to give them someplace to start. "It was called the Norseman. A gun that fires smart bullets, and each bullet deposits thorium inside the body, to poison the victim."
"That is . . . if this was any other situation, I'd say that was really smart," he said, sounding a bit frazzled.
Sarah sighed. "Me, too. With two bullets, Chuck has enough thorium inside him to kill him slowly. You need to tell the doctors that an antidote is coming."
"Okay, that's-wait. Is that why you can't get extracted?"
"I'm hiding for the time being," Sarah admitted. She swallowed, unable to wait any longer. "Can I talk to Chuck now?"
He blew out a breath, then said, "Hold on."
She couldn't hear anything for a few moments, then Bryce came back on. "He's kind of asleep."
"Kind of asleep? What does that mean?" Sarah asked, feeling a spark of anger.
"He's okay for now. But you've got to stop hiding and get to a safehouse-you need to get extracted."
Of all the times for Bryce to toe the company line . . . she started arguing with him, refusing to give in. Sarah couldn't understand why he was pushing for her to come in, but between his insistence that she report for extraction and his refusal to let her talk to Chuck, she was ready to scream.
Suddenly, Bryce said, "Chuck? Hold on, Sarah-Chuck, what is it?"
Even with pressing the phone against her ear, she couldn't make out what Chuck was saying. Bryce muttered something, then the sound changed. She couldn't explain it, but she knew that Chuck was now on the phone.
Hesitantly, she closed her eyes, trying to picture him. "Chuck?"
"Sarah . . . "
Oh, God.
He sounded so weak. Not tired, not emotionally drained. Weak. As if he could barely speak, but was making an effort so he could talk to her. Somehow, hearing his voice, so thin and faint, made everything hurt so much more. She felt like she was being pressed down, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Although really, she just had the weight of one precious, six-foot-four man on her back.
"Chuck, baby," she said, trying not to burst into tears. "I-I'm so sorry . . ."
"Shhh," he said, his words slightly slurred. "S'okay. I'm okay . . . "
"It's my fault, what happened-and I know how to fix it. I just-I need to find the antidote for the thorium, and as soon as I've got that, I'm coming home." She felt like she was on the edge of completely losing it. She needed him to know that she was doing everything she could to fix this. To save him. Because she couldn't lose him. She wouldn't lose him.
Sarah Walker would tear apart the earth in order to save Chuck Bartowski.
There was a long pause, and Sarah wondered if Chuck had passed out. Then, his voice a bit weaker but with a tiny hint of steel in his words, he said, "Back by August 20th. Got a date."
She nearly laughed from relief. Because if he was talking about their wedding date, if it was still on . . . he couldn't blame her for what happened. He still loved her. And with that, she felt all the confidence in the world.
"I remember," she said, her voice gentle but determined. "Nothing's going to make me miss that." Sarah paused, knowing her time was almost up. But there was still one thing left to say. "I love you, Chuck."
"Love you, Sarah," he said, his voice trailing off as if he was passing out.
In a whisper, she said, "Save you later." And then she hung up and put away the phone.
There wasn't anything else to say to Bryce; he knew what he needed to know. And she had gotten to talk to Chuck. She felt so much calmer. More centered. Ready to get the job done so she could go back to Burbank.
There was still over an hour before she could call Casey, so she got up from her bench and kept walking. At the entrance to the park, though, she saw several men in dark suits. Men that made her radar go off.
She turned and pulled up short when two men blocked her path. Men who had obviously following her. "Agent Walker," one said, running his eyes over her. "We're glad we found you." His eyes lingered on her watch.
Damn it. They must have been tracking her. And her break to call home gave them enough time to move in.
Sweeping her eyes around, she realized that they had only sent six men. That made her smirk a little. "Oh, I don't think you'll be glad in a minute."
"There's no need to-" the other agent said, right before she punched him.
They had remarkable self-restraint, Sarah thought as she punched, kicked and dodged. They wanted her alive and conscious-ready to talk-or else they would have shot or tranqed her. In fact, they didn't even pull their weapons. But when Sarah got one of their guns, she wasted no time in firing non-lethal shots at the three men she hadn't knocked out yet.
Once the men were taken care of, Sarah tucked the gun into the back of her trousers and started moving. Once she was a few hundred yards from the scene of the crime, she quickly yanked off her watch and set it on the ground, where it shattered from the impact of her boot heel. Then she started running.
Not able to wait any longer, she took out her phone and called Casey, keeping up her run.
When he answered, she spoke quickly. "I'm going to need everything fast, Casey. They're looking for me."
"Got it," he said. "Get to Domodedovo. There's a red Lada Kalina, parked in the short-term VIP parking. License plate Y 175 AK 51. Keys are under the driver's side floor mat. Passport's under the passenger side one. Guns and money are inside the back seats. It's gassed up and ready for you."
"Understood!" Sarah said, looking around for a metro station. She would need to get to the Paveletsky metro stop, where she could transfer to the suburban rail line that went to Domodedovo Airport. "Thanks, Casey!"
"Good luck, Walker."
"I owe you one!" she said before hanging up.
If luck was on her side-which would be unusual given her current situation-she could be in Smolensk by one in the morning. That would be the ideal time to sneak into the building and find the antidote. Even if she ran into some delays, she had a window of a few hours to get in and get what she needed before she had to worry too much about guards or scientists disturbing her.
Hold on, Chuck, she thought mentally. I'm almost there.
XXX
Casey had come through in spades. Not only did she have a flawless passport and her preferred S&W, but there was a range of other weapons: two Heckler & Koch submachine guns, more throwing knives, and most impressive of all, enough Semtex to blow a small building.
There was also a set of dark tactical clothes, perfect for moving through a building, and a variety of electronic gadgets. Plus, a large stack of cash in rubles and Euros.
"I owe you more than one, Casey," Sarah said quietly.
Quickly, she changed clothes and strapped the weapons on her body. In a small backpack, she put the explosives and some detonators, making sure to keep the two separate. She wasn't a demolitions expert by any means, so she just hoped she wouldn't blow herself up. The electronics went into the backpack, too.
It was just after two in the morning. The building that held Volkoff's R&D division was dark; only a few lights interrupted the blackness. At this hour of the night, there would only be a few guards. She made sure to screw the silencer on her gun, then took a deep breath.
Other than a half-hour catnap on her way to Smolensk, she had been awake twenty hours. She was reaching the limits of her endurance, but she knew that she couldn't give in now. She was nearly there.
Moving carefully through the trees that surrounded the building, Sarah paused at the edge of the clearing, not far from one of staff entrances, and watched. Crouching down, she looked for any sign of the night guards. She took a deep breath and let it out.
This could all blow up in her face. If Frost and Volkoff had moved the antidote, she could go in and find nothing in this building. But somehow, she suspected that wasn't the case. With how they didn't see her as a threat, how they thought she was falling apart . . . by now, Frost and Volkoff would assume she was far away. Not so close, not practically in their backyard. Not planning to infiltrate their R&D division and steal the antidote.
Sarah tensed as she saw one of the guards walk past. She waited two minutes, then stayed low to the ground as she hurried over the door. Fumbling with the electronic lock-cracker, she waited impatiently for the device to open the door. When it did with a soft click, she dashed inside and pulled the door shut behind her.
It was the first step in the plan: getting into the building. She felt a brief flutter of relief, then pushed on, placing each foot carefully as she moved through the halls. If there was anywhere the antidote would be, it was in the vault in the interior of the building.
Her heart was pounding as she looked around corners and walked through unlocked doors. It all felt too easy, but perhaps it was just because there was so much adrenaline inside her. She could practically feel her skin itching from it. It was fighting with the exhaustion starting to weigh on her.
She wouldn't be able to sleep until she was maybe on the plane to Burbank. Yet Sarah suspected she wouldn't truly rest until she knew that Chuck was okay. Until she could see him getting better with her own eyes.
What was his condition now? It had been nearly a day since he had been attacked with the Norseman, and while eight hours ago he had been hanging in there, how long could he fight? Sarah knew that Chuck had more strength than he realized, more determination and courage than he'd ever give himself credit for. But did he have enough, this time?
Time was of the essence. She had to pick up her pace. Sarah was grateful that she had spent several days here in Smolensk, enough time to become familiar with the building. It made navigating her way through the halls much easier.
When she reached the vault, she half-heartedly attempted the lock cracker. But as she had thought, it didn't work. So she set down the H&K and pulled the backpack off her shoulder, taking out some plastic and a detonator. It was a risk: if she used too much explosive, she could damage what was in the vault, possibly even weaken the building's structure. But what other choice did she have?
Sarah was so focused on molding the plastic explosive around the lock that it took a moment for the click of a gun cocking to register with her. Then she paused, her mind racing. Her Smith & Wesson was at the small of her back-as unreachable as the submachine gun a foot away. She lifted her hands into the air slowly.
"I'm going to stand up and turn around," she said, keeping her voice calm and even.
When she didn't hear anything, she did as she said she would, facing the guard who had found her.
And she nearly laughed, because it was Heather Chandler. Heather Chandler, holding an Uzi and attempting to look calm.
"Well, well," Heather said, bravado in her voice. "Look what I caught. Sabina, right?"
Thinking quickly, Sarah came up with a plan. It was crazy. Risky. Because it was all about trust. And there was none of that between them. But with some motivated self-interest . . . it just might work.
"Actually, you were right when we met," Sarah said, not bothering with any accent but her own. She kept her hands in the air, needing to make a connection between herself and Heather for this to work. "You do know me."
Heather frowned, clearly trying to place her voice. Somehow, Sarah came up with a small smile. "James Buchanan High? San Diego? Go, Cougars?"
The Uzi lowered slightly, but it was nothing compared with Heather's jaw. "Oh my God, Jenny Burton?"
"In the flesh," Sarah said lightly.
"What are you doing here? And why were you telling everyone you were that mean Polish chick?"
Sarah lowered her hands a little, testing Heather. The other woman tightened her grip on her gun but otherwise didn't make any aggressive moves. "It's kind of a long story. Right now, there's something I need to get. And then I'll be out of here and no one will be any wiser."
"Right," Heather said, quirking an eyebrow. "You're using Semtex to blow off the vault door, but nobody will know about it."
"That's right," Sarah said. "Because you're going to get out of here and leave me alone."
"And why would I do that?" Heather asked.
"If you stay, if you keep working for Volkoff, you'll be arrested like everyone else," Sarah said, her eyes locked on Heather's face. "Sure, you're a minor flunky-guarding a building like this in the dead of night says that. But international tribunals won't really care about that-they'd lock you up and throw away the key. Do you really want to go to prison, Heather?"
"There's no way the Russian authorities will do anything to Volkoff," Heather sneered. But Sarah thought she detected the smallest shred of doubt in her voice.
"I said international tribunals," Sarah said, lowering her hands. "Volkoff is going to be caught, very soon. The U.S. will throw the book at him. And at all of his people they can get. And sure, you might only serve five to ten years-that's with time off for good behavior. If you're willing to be a good little girl and tell everything you know. Or . . . you could run. I can give you money, enough for you to get out of Russia before anyone inside Volkoff Industries would know. And telling people you worked with Volkoff . . . it's not like anyone will be around for them to check your references. You'll have a reputation and your freedom."
"You're talking shit," Heather blurted. "There's no way you'd let me go."
"If you let me get what I need-and better yet, if you can open this vault so I don't have to blow the door-then you bet I'll let you go."
Sarah didn't mention that as soon as possible, she'd put Heather on the terrorist watch list herself. But those could be evaded, if Heather was savvy enough. She did seem to have the cockroach's ability to come back from near-death.
It was possible to almost see the wheels turning in Heather's head. Then she nodded and slung her Uzi. "Okay, fine. But I want a lot of money, and I want it before I open the vault for you."
"I can give you five thousand rubles and five thousand Euros," Sarah said. "But half now, and the other half when we're out of here."
Heather nodded quickly. "Deal. Money, then get that Semtex off the lock."
Opening the backpack, Sarah pulled out the wads of cash, feeling grateful that she had only brought twenty-five hundred in each currency into the building with her and wouldn't have to do some fast shuffling to hand over the promised amounts. It wasn't her normal MO, but sometimes, bribes were easier, quicker and better than fighting. She handed the money over to Heather, who pocketed it.
As Sarah scraped off the explosive, Heather stepped forward, pulling out a key card and a piece of paper. She slid the card through the lock, then punched in a code. And just like that, the vault door opened.
The door was heavy; it took most of Sarah's remaining strength to get it open. She bent down and picked up the submachine gun before drawing her Smith & Wesson.
"C'mon, Burton, I'm not going to kill you now." Heather sounded annoyed.
"You can never be too safe," Sarah said, scanning the shelves. She felt her heart leap when she saw the vials labeled with the Norseman project code-a piece of info she had picked up from a scientist here in Smolensk.
Quickly pocketing the vials, Sarah stepped out of the vault and picked up the backpack. It was a bit difficult to put it on her shoulder while holding two guns, but she managed. "Okay. Now we're going to walk out of here nice and easy. I'll give you your money and you can find your own way from there."
With a shrug, Heather nodded. "Okay, Burton. Gotta say, I liked the other you better."
"Shut up, Chandler," Sarah said, but there wasn't any venom in her voice. Right now, all she could feel was hope and anticipation. She had the antidote. She had the antidote! She could save Chuck! Even though she was on the other side of the world, and the transportation home was sure to be a logistical nightmare to arrange-if she didn't give in and call Graham, that is-it didn't matter because Chuck just had to hold on for a little bit longer, and then she could make him better.
Paying off Heather the rest of her money and watching her go made Sarah feel antsy. It was nearly three in the morning now, and it would take over four hours to drive to Minsk. The Russia-Belarus border was only fifty kilometers away, and Sarah knew once she was in another country she would feel a bit more secure. But now, it was a race against time.
The trip to Burbank was like the pearls on a necklace. One bead followed another, in a chain of anxiety and worry and hope and stubborn drive. The drive to Minsk-ditching the car and the guns at the airport-booking the first westbound flight that went to a major international hub-arriving in Paris long enough to change planes and to call Bryce-"He's getting worse, Sarah. You've gotta hurry."-drifting off on the Paris to LAX flight, only to keep waking up, wondering if she had dreamed it all and she hadn't gotten the antidote-landing in Los Angeles and renting a car-cursing the traffic as she drove as fast as she could to Westside Hospital.
Sarah barely stopped the car before she got out. She raced towards the hospital's doors, pulling them open and faintly hearing them bang against the adjoining walls. Running through the halls, all she could think of was Chuck.
As she rounded the last corner, she skidded to a halt in a small waiting area. To her shock, Morgan and Bryce was sitting there, both looking drawn and haggard. But neither of them was the man she wanted to see. Panting, she could only say one thing.
"Chuck?"
Bryce stood up, staring at her. "You did it?"
For her answer, she pulled out one of the vials of antidote. "I did it." She could feel a huge, goofy smile spread across her face. It felt like the first time she had smiled-really smiled-in months. "Where's Chuck's room?"
"Here, here!" Bryce said, jumping into action and leading her to a closed door on the opposite side of the waiting room, Morgan nipping at their heels. Without bothering to knock, he pushed the door open. "Ellie, Devon, she did it! Sarah's got the antidote."
Ellie and Devon, so professional-looking in scrubs and white coats, looked shocked. They began talking and Sarah dimly heard words like "untested" and "not sure about this."
But all she could focus on was Chuck.
The last time she had seen him, he had looked fairly healthy. A little tired and very sad, but healthy and whole. But now . . . he looked wasted. It should be impossible for a six-foot-four man to look small, fragile. Even from here, she could see the beads of sweat on his brow, the shivers that made his whole body shake, the way his chest went up and down as he took in shallow, thready breaths.
He was dying. And his doctors were arguing about risk.
"I'm not a doctor," Sarah interrupted, forcing herself into the conversation between Ellie, Devon and Bryce. "But I know this is the antidote for the Norseman, for the thorium that's poisoning Chuck." She held up the small glass container, holding a magenta liquid. "You give this to Chuck and he'll recover. I know you don't have any way of knowing for sure-unless you trust me."
Sarah's eyes locked on Ellie's. They were the two women who loved Chuck most in the world. If she could convince Ellie, there was a chance. Although either way, Chuck was getting the antidote-she just didn't want to incapacitate Chuck's sister and brother-in-law first.
"I wouldn't give this to Chuck if I didn't think it would save him," Sarah said softly. "We don't have time for testing or research-look at him. We have to give him the antidote now."
"There's absolutely nothing in the journals about thorium being used as a poison, let alone the existence of a way to cure it," Devon said, sounding like he was preparing for a fight. But Ellie held up a hand.
"Sarah's right. What other choice do we have? If we do nothing, Chuck's going to die." Ellie's voice broke a little. "At least this way, we've tried everything."
"If Sarah says this will work, she's right." Morgan's voice piped up from the corner of the room.
"Exactly," Bryce said.
Devon still looked reluctant, but he rested a hand on Ellie's shoulder. "Okay, babe. I've got it."
Ellie wiped at her eyes. "No, I'm okay. Sarah?" She held her hand out for the vial. Sarah handed it over, then moved to the opposite side of the bed, getting a closer look at Chuck.
As Ellie injected the antidote, Sarah slowly took Chuck's hand. It was clammy, clammier than it had been when they stood on that hilltop on the Project Omaha base and she haltingly told him how she felt about him. She felt weak all over at that memory. At remembering the moment when they began, and wondering if this could be the moment they ended.
Because it was true: this might not work. Chuck could be too weakened for the antidote to take effect, it could be too long since his initial exposure for this to work . . . or it could all be a trick. The last revenge of Alexei Volkoff upon a symbol of his lover's former life.
Sarah held tightly to Chuck's hand in both of hers. She perched herself on the edge of his bed, watching his face. Watching, knowing that she had put all her hopes in a chemical that was the color of a crayon.
In that, and in Chuck's love for her. A love that just might be strong enough to come back from near-death.
Bending her head, she lifted his hand and lightly kissed his knuckles. And with all the love that was inside her, she willed him to come back to her.
End, Chapter 8
