Teachers told us

The Romans built this place

They built a wall and a temple on

The edge of the Empire garrison town

They lived and they died

They prayed to their gods

But the stone gods did not make a sound

And their empire crumbled

Till all that was left

Were the stones the workmen found

"All This Time"

Sting

May 20, 2036

Cairo, Egypt

All three CIA agents were dressed head to toe in black, veritable cat burglars, breaking into a state controlled archeological recovery site. There were guards posted at every entrance. The cover of darkness made them almost invisible, but they needed to be silent as well. Far below ground, the usual noises of civilization were muted, making every scratch of shoe against gravel seem amplified.

Once they had woken up from Del's mandatory nap, Stephen's fitful at best, they had contacted Bentley for the go ahead to finish the mission. She hadn't been all that surprised that a CIA-designed microchip was embedded in Nefertiti's mummy, which made Stephen think she knew more than she had led on when she had briefed them. Usually, that was true. His parents had warned him long before he decided to join the CIA that what was real in that world was a matter of the perspective from which one was observing. Armed with that knowledge, and fortified by the strong sense of decency he had learned from his parents, he walked the line between those worlds precariously. Stephen told himself whatever it was that Bentley did or did not know, there was a reason why she didn't disclose any of it to them. Their mission was to retrieve it. Beyond that, it was someone else's job to worry about.

Cozette was the lightest of the three, so she had been chosen to repel from the cavern ceiling into the anteroom with the cement crypt inside. From their vantage point, there were only two guards. Stephen helped Cozette secure the harness around her, then tugged to make sure it was snug. He gave her a silent thumbs up. He leaned back against the wall, the open passageway to the surface behind them. He motioned with his head to Del, who took aim and hit both guards in rapid succession with his tranq pistol. That was the cue for them to move.

Stephen spotted her as she slowly dropped down from the ledge, almost completely shielded in a shadow. He could hear the whizzing of the air in the silence as her body moved. He felt the slack in the rope, knowing she had her feet on the ground, impressed that her footsteps made no sound over the gravelly ground. She had a tiny wrist beacon, providing just a sliver of light that stretched out in front of her. Stephen watched her approach the cement casing, the lid still displaced from the seal to accommodate the streams of archeologists in and out of here since the team from Oxford had arrived on scene.

She hoisted herself up onto the edge, balancing herself at her waist as she folded the upper half of her body inside the cement casing. She stayed like that for close to five minutes, each second increasing the sense of urgency, for fear of discovery. He never got a close up view of her work inside the case, but he watched her scoot backward, sliding down until her feet were back in contact with the ground. Through the darkness, she moved, unseen by both men waiting on the ledge. Stephen felt the gentle tug on the rope, his signal to hoist. He braced himself and leaned his weight backward, until rope was taught. She slowly ascended all the way to the ledge. As she approached the edge, he bent at his waist and gripped her hand, fastening his hold on her wrist to secure her as he pulled her up.

She scurried away from the edge, giving her partner and fiance a silent thumbs up, letting him know she had retrieved what she had needed to, and they were good to go. He gave her a quick hug and kissed her lips quickly, oblivious to Del's eye roll and his motion that they get a move on. Del led the way out, his pistol poised in front of him. Smooth sailing all the way back into their van. For once, a mission that went just as it was supposed to. It almost seemed like they had done something wrong, and Stephen almost said so, but stopped himself, afraid he would jinx something. He did remind himself there were no real bad guys involved here this time, just clandestine work against the archeology community. They were protecting intelligence and preserving the integrity of a national treasure at the same time.

Inside the van, Cozette unhook her pouch from her belt. She had used a micro-scalpel with a miniature camera attached to extract the microchip from just under the surface of the mummy, where it had been injected, obviously by someone in the CIA, in the hopes that someone in Egypt would be able to retrieve it once the exhibit returned. She pulled out a tiny plastic case where she had placed the minute piece of technology. She handed it to Del, who was prepared to examine it, knowing time was of the essence, in order to catch a flight and get back to California.

He loaded the chip into the digital scope attached to the computer. Stephen and Cozette whispered to each other while Del worked. "Anything else from your Mom?" she asked him. He just shook his head. She grabbed his hand, offering silent comfort. "This went over without a hitch. We should be back in L.A. by dinnertime tomorrow."

He smiled weakly. "I just hope that's not too late, Zette."

XXX

"Microdots," Del said, out of nowhere, into the silence as they waited in the van.

"What?" Stephen asked him.

"The microchip. It had hundreds of compressed files that had been originally stored as microdots. The signature is irrefutable," he explained.

"Is that something Bentley can work with?" Cozette asked.

Del swiveled in his chair, typing a series of commands into his computer. "Does this look familiar, kid?" Del asked Stephen.

There was an open file and photographs on the computer screen. As if on cue, Stephen flashed. It was noticeable to even Del, which meant the amount of data accessed was large. "The Belgian, otherwise known as Adelbert de Smet. Geez, Del, that's from before I was born. What the hell is that about?" Stephen queried.

"He was taken into custody in late 2010 in Thailand by the CIA. A lot of that file is redacted. He was found to be brokering intelligence via microdots, most of which he had embedded in precious gems. Reports at the time said the CIA had only recovered one gem, and there were at least ten that were known at the time. The gems were located in Switzerland, but after his capture, when the CIA returned, all the others were gone. I think we just found the intel, 25 years later," Del said.

"I remember reading about that," Cozette mentioned. "They thought the Russians had stolen them, right?"

"Once Volkoff Industries went defunct, it was all up for grabs, and scattered to the winds, it seemed," Stephen deduced. "Del," he said, turning to him. "Did the CIA sanction any missions about those gems, that intel, any of it?"

He read for a bit before he answered. "It looks like the main station in Paris was in charge. Long-term mission, for years, looks like. Lead agent was killed in the line of duty…in Cairo in 2024. He was due to report to his handler…and he never did."

"You think he had the intel, and hid it before he was killed?" Stephen asked.

"It's just proper procedure. He may not have been able to get the information to the right people, but he kept it out of the hands of the wrong people," Del said.

"But…the mummy went into Britain clean. How did the intel get from Egypt to Britain without the X-ray detecting it?" Cozette asked.

Stephen turned his head, fixing his gaze on the floor of the van, his mind working too quickly for him to speak any longer. "Del," he said quickly, almost breathlessly. "How can we figure out the composition of the chip?"

"The GIS has a lab. Why? What are you thinking?" Del asked him.

"Beryllium can scatter X-rays. But not the equipment I was using to scan the crypt," he said. Both Cozette and Del looked at him like he had grown a second head. "I'm sorry. Hello, nerd?" he said, pointing to himself. "Come on, guys," he scoffed.

"Sure," Del scoffed in return. "But what the hell does that mean?"

"If someone had a photograph of George Washington, not a painting, but a photograph, that would be weird, right?" Stephen quizzed.

"The first cameras weren't invented until the mid-1800s, right?" Cozette said, used to Stephen's unique thought processes.

"In 1816, actually. Although they weren't readily used until the mid 1800s. But George Washington died in 1799," he said, almost triumphantly.

"This better not have anything to do with time travel or I'm gonna–"

"No, Del, not that. At least, not this time," Stephen said in a rush, suppressing a chuckle. "It would mean that someone else had invented it, or something similar, earlier than we knew anything about," Stephen said. "In 2024, no one, not the CIA, no one, knew how to make microchips out of beryllium. And yet…there it is. Injected inside Nefertiti's mummy in 2024, undetected as it passed through airport security and the X Ray conducted by the British Museum. The intel isn't important. It's 25 years out of date. It's the method of transmission," he concluded excitedly.

Cozette's eyes widened as she caught up with him. "Temhota knew the Russians had that intel. Somehow they must have found out about the chip."

"Can you imagine what they could do with that technology? They could pass intel almost undetectably. Not everyone has an electron scanner at their disposal," Stephen said.

"Why leave it underground for four years?" Del asked.

"Safer. They could have been looking for someone who understood the technology, or someone who could figure it out. It was protected from the elements inside the mummy," Stephen surmised.

"I knew we kept you around for a reason, kid," Del laughed. "I'll send the report to Bentley ASAP. She can coordinate the hand-off to whoever needs to examine that chip to see if you're right. Let's get the hell out of here so we can get to California."

May 20, 2036

Bishop, California

Casey let his SUV roll to a stop at the base of the hill, in front of the dirt road that led its winding path through the woods to Orion's cabin. Casey himself had never been here, only heard about it from Chuck and Sarah. Stephen J. Bartowski had gone back into hiding after Chuck had found him right before his sister's wedding; he had come back here, telling no one in his family his whereabouts. A Ring agent had convinced Ellie to place a tracker on her father, lying all the while about needing to protect him, when they needed him to repair the Intersect Daniel Shaw had downloaded. Sarah, doing her own version of spy work, had found out where Stephen lived, and had accompanied Chuck there to talk to him. The Ring had already found him…and a deadly confrontation had ensued.

Chuck had maintained the cabin after his father's death at the hands of Daniel Shaw in 2010. He had run there with Sarah after Gertrude had killed Clyde Decker, right before he had tried to frame Chuck for releasing the Omen virus. He had run here with Cole Barker and his nine year old son after the Sentries had attacked his home. This had always been where Chuck had come when he needed protection.

With a heavy sigh that shook his body, Casey thought, that was why he was here again. Only this time, he was trying to protect others…from him.

Although he was far from the hardened burn-out he had been when he had met Chuck, Casey still had the ability to compartmentalize his feelings and his duty. He couldn't function in the military or the NSA without those abilities intact. He knew what was required of him in this situation, what his closest friend would want him to do, to protect the people Chuck loved, when he could no longer do so. The difference, Casey thought, was the emotion that now roared to the surface that would have remained buried in the past. That was what "going soft" had meant…feeling again.

He could do what he needed to do. But living again after it was done, facing Sarah again, the knowledge of what he'd had to do between them…that was beyond his knowledge, something he couldn't dwell on and still do this the right way.

He had hope, however fleeting, that he could at least delay a deadly confrontation here, even for just a little while, waiting for Stephen and Sarah. The hope ended there, however. Chuck was his friend, but Casey had no disillusionment, believing a heartfelt monologue could somehow break through and stop the complete erosion of Chuck Bartowski, his essence and all that entailed. It was too much of a miracle to solve it like that, something he had never taken much stock in.

Although, he had seen some miraculous things in his life, hadn't he? Finding the daughter he had never known had existed, being allowed into her life, becoming a parent she could rely on…finding Chuck, almost brain dead in the jungles of Thailand, only to be woken, pulled back to reality by a loving kiss and a teary confession of love…watching three people as different as could be, finding common ground and mutual family. A handful of strangers who had become dearer to him than anything else in the world.

Was there room for one more miracle in his life? he thought. Could they really stop this utter destruction?

Maybe "going soft" was more about believing in the unbelievable than it was about feelings. Maybe it was both. Because he felt like believing. He felt like hoping. If Chuck had shown him how to do anything in this life, it was to hope. He closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer full of hope, as he tucked his gun behind his back, that he wouldn't have to use it.

Then he got out of the car and started walking up the dirt path.

XXX

What did it feel like to go insane? Chuck thought to himself.

He seemed to remember reading something…Edgar Allen Poe? Was that right? Something about if you were questioning your own sanity, then you couldn't be insane. The truly, certifiably insane individual had steadfast belief in his or her own lucidity.

Did that apply to a schizoid personality? Was that what was happening…like multiple personality disorder? What had happened to Hartley Winterbottom…what was happening to him…was it similar to that mental illness? Blackouts, strange, inexplicable behavior…and internal battle for dominance? Did each individual personality think the other insane? Did each even know of the other?

Chuck had been blacking out for months, and potentially for a lot longer in smaller increments not known to anyone. It had gradually gotten worse, until other people noticed. Until he had started to frighten his wife, someone who knew and loved him completely.

What did I do to her? He screamed inside his head. The thought would not leave him. He didn't know if that singular thought was what was keeping him here instead of pushing him to the background, as it seemed to have happened all the other times. Sarah had become the only tether to Chuck…instead of…whoever this was that was almost completely in control of his hands and his feet.

It was horrifying, making him sick to his stomach, to have to relive that moment over and over, listening to Sarah tell him what he had done, how he had been with her…but he needed it, he needed to keep thinking it, or Chuck would recede. He feared if Chuck disappeared this final time, he would never reemerge.

For everyone… for Sarah…they would all be safer if he could hold on, just long enough for him to do what he needed to do…before the other soul battling to see daylight took control.

I'm sorry, Sarah, he told himself, as the agony split him down the middle. I wish my promise I made to you was keepable. But there isn't enough time.