A/N: Anybody wonder if we could crowdfund enough to buy ownership of Chuck? I'm not even too sure what "crowdfunding" means, though.
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Charles Carmichael was a successful software entrepreneur and business owner. As such, he and his girlfriend were able to travel first class on the Delta flight from Los Angeles to Budapest, with a single stopover in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, his bodyguard had to fly coach for the almost fifteen hour flight. But for Carmichael and his girlfriend, at least, it was a very pleasant flight. They were able to stretch out and nap for a good portion of the time. In the quiet, dark cabin, no one even noticed that they spent some time together in the tiny restroom of the aircraft and returned to their seats giggling quietly.
The main Budapest airport is known as Ferihegy, after the neighborhood in which it is located to the east of the city proper. Once they had made their way through all of the immigration and customs checkpoints, they exited to the main area where arrivals were greeted. There was a young man in a suit holding a "Carmichael" sign.
Chuck approached him and said, "I'm Carmichael."
"Welcome to Budapest, Mr. Carmichael. My name is Tim Brown. Do you and your party have all your baggage?" Chuck nodded in the affirmative. "Very well, please come with me."
He led them out of the terminal to the premium parking lot adjacent to the building. The temperature was hovering around freezing, and they pulled their jackets closed. There was a maroon minivan waiting for them. Their driver opened the back door and, before putting their bags inside, removed a briefcase and handed it to Chuck. He didn't explain what it was. Chuck raised an eyebrow at his partners. Casey said, "Our weapons, kid. No need to smuggle guns into the country when we are being met by our own guys."
"Ah," said Chuck, nodding his understanding. He looked at the young man differently as he handed the briefcase to Casey.
Once they were in the car and driving to the city, the driver said, "Mr. Evans was going to meet you himself, but ...well, he's missing. He's dropped off the radar. All of the senior agents are following up leads looking for him. There are only seven of us here, with Mr. Evans, Harry Evans, as Chief of Station. It used to be a bigger station during the Cold War, but now that peace has broken out here...well, it's smaller. The other five are trying to find him, that left me to pick you up."
"What do you mean, missing?" asked Sarah.
"Just that, Agent Walker. He was to meet an informant yesterday morning and never made it to the meet. We've lost all contact with him since then."
"Maybe the informant took him somehow? Double crossed him?" asked Casey.
"Maybe. But the video cameras show the man where he was supposed to be...alone. He waited the agreed time and then left. Nothing suspicious. And nothing since then."
"Could he have disappeared voluntarily? Gone rogue or something?" asked Casey.
"Well, I guess, maybe. The last COS here did exactly that. Ryker. Up and disappeared. We still don't talk about him, but there's a burn notice out on the guy. I never met him. He was gone before I arrived. Be a helluva thing for Mr. Evans to do the same thing. But we don't think he did. He left his dog alone in his apartment. The guys who knew him well don't think he'd do that. He loved that dog and would have done something to take care of it, even if he couldn't take the dog with him. So, our guys are working on the assumption that someone took him. Maybe related to something he was working on."
"You need some more hands?" asked Sarah.
"Oh, thanks, but I'll let someone else make that call, Agent Walker. And I know you have your own assignment here. Anyway, that's just a long way of explaining that I'm here to meet you. I know Mr. Evans intended to meet you himself."
"Thanks, Brown," said Casey. "Where you taking us?"
"The Corinthia. It's one of the nicest hotels in town. We've gotten your team a two bedroom suite. I hope that's ok. Your cover is techie stuff. Right?"
"Perfect," said Chuck, looking out the window. They were on a road identified as 4, but Chuck didn't know if it was route 4, or highway 4, or some other 4. It was his first time outside of his own country. The landscape had snow, but wasn't blanketed. The snow was mostly on lawns and rooftops but the roads were clear and dry. What snow there was on the roads was confined to the edges and was black with dirt. The sun was beginning to set and they were driving westward into the sun's rays. If there was one thing that made it clear to Chuck that they were overseas it was the European style road signs and the street signs in Hungarian.
He wanted to handle this with aplomb and sophistication, but in truth he was pretty excited. If Brown hadn't been in the car, he'd have been enthusiastically voicing his excitement, but Agent Charles Carmichael was way too cool for that. Chuck Bartowski, though...
Like airports around the world, Ferihegy was some distance from the City itself and the journey took a while. The road was mostly secondary with the occasional stoplight, but it was early on a Sunday evening and traffic was light. Eventually, the buildings became more numerous and closer together as they arrived into Budapest proper. Chuck was struck by the age of many of the buildings. Big, solid, gray stone buildings that looked like they had been built in the 19th century. Intermingled with them, more prevalent farther from the city proper, were huge gray concrete buildings of more recent vintage, the ugly reminders of the Communist years. As the differences from home accumulated, he became even more excited.
They turned right onto a street called Jozsef krt and continued north. Although this might not have been the city center, it was certainly an active busy street with a tramway running down the center. After a while, the street name changed to Erzsebet krt and they continued. Soon they arrived at the Corinthia Grand Hotel Royal. Brown let them off in front and a bellman came to take their bags. Casey held on to the briefcase. Brown gave them his contact information, the keys to the minivan, and wished them luck. A hotel parking valet took the car.
The hotel had opened before the turn of the last century and was the epitome of classical European elegance. It was a large six story tall building. The ornate exterior was spotlit that evening and looked warm and inviting. After checking in, they crossed the white marble to the elevators as the bellman took them up to their suite. Most recently, they had been in a similar suite in Las Vegas, but whereas the Vegas suite was modern and flashy, this suite was comfortable and dignified. Chuck liked it much more than the Magic. He tipped the bellman with forints which had been provided by the CIA with their document package.
Once they were alone in the suite, and before they said anything, Chuck took a device out of his bag and walked around the rooms with it. "We're good," he said, assuring them there were no wireless listening devices in the suite.
"Ok. So, we meet Yuri tomorrow night. We can crash tonight and explore the city tomorrow. Get the lay of the land before the meet," said Sarah. "Casey and I have been here before, but you haven't, Chuck. So, we'll get you a feel for it."
"Sounds like a plan," said Chuck.
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After a delicious breakfast of chocolate pastries and coffee, and dressed in their ski jackets, jeans, and comfortable shoes, they left the hotel to explore the city. Sarah and Casey carried the weapons Brown had provided to them. Chuck carried a trank pistol, also courtesy of Brown. The first destination was the A Pince ruin bar, to scout where the meet would be that night, determine routes to and from, establish a rendezvous spot to meet if they became separated and other basic operational tradecraft. As luck would have it, the bar was walking distance from the hotel, so they decided to leave the CIA's minivan parked. 'A Pince' translates from Hungarian as The Cellar and, true to its name, it was partially below ground in the cellar of a half empty residential building. Casey grumbled about setting up a meet in a cellar, but his concerns were assuaged when he counted the number of exits.
Once that had been taken care of, they began to walk the city to familiarize Chuck with it. The city is really two ancient towns separated east/west by the Danube, called the Duna in Hungarian. The Danube enters the city from the north and bisects Buda, the hilly area to the west, from Pest, the flatter area to the east. At one point in its history, the city was informally known as Pestbuda, but the name didn't stick. Two islands (well, with a bit of a third) are centered in the Danube at this point of the river, Obuda Island and Margaret Island. Margaret Island is a popular park, similar to New York's Central Park. It was only in the late 19th century that the areas were merged into a single metropolis.
Given the geography of Budapest, bridges are prominent features and are established landmarks. They walked back and forth across the Danube. Heading west on the Chain Bridge and east on the Margaret Bridge. They had lunch from a street vendor selling sausage and blood pudding in the cold afternoon sunshine. Dinner was a much warmer meal. Casey knew a small family restaurant on the Buda side of the river. Chuck had a stew made with wild boar and winter vegetables. They shared a couple of bottles of a deep red wine from the Egri region. Before they knew it, it was time to head to the meeting with Yuri. All day, they had been watchful to make sure they were not under observation.
By the time they arrived at the bar, at about 22:30, there was actually a line outside the entrance. Chuck walked up to stand at the back of the line. Sarah cocked an eyebrow at him and walked up to the bouncer at the front of the line. The man was the size of a mountain in the Carpathians. A big mountain.
She looked him in the eye and said, "Yuri Gobrienko." The mountain physically blanched and pulled back the velvet rope as if it was the most important thing he'd ever done in his life.
Sarah, Chuck and Casey entered the bar. It was dark and smokey and crowded. Hip young people were crowded on the dance floor. Chuck made a point of not looking at the dancing European girls. After a quick look around to make sure that Yuri wasn't already in the bar, they found a table. Casey went up to the bar and brought back three Kobanyai Vilagos beers, a pilsner style lager from a local brewery. Chuck thought the beer was delicious and complimented Casey, who merely grunted. They began to watch the action in the bar/club.
As Sarah had described, the bar was aptly named a ruin bar. As befitting a cellar, the ceilings were low. The walls had crumbling brick and the overhead lighting was makeshift, but the bar itself was fully stocked and the sound system was state of the art. The music was not nearly as loud as at most dance clubs, like Club Ares in Los Angeles, though. Chuck supposed that the residential tenants living upstairs from the A Pince would have raised a real fuss if they had to live with blaring music in the evenings.
The one thing that surprised Chuck more than anything else about the crowd was the prevalence of smoking. It seemed that every other person had a cigarette. In LA it was unusual to see someone smoking, but not here. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and it stung his eyes a little bit.
He found it a little disconcerting to be somewhere where he didn't speak the language. He couldn't tell what people around him were saying and couldn't read any of the written signs. He made a mental note to himself to try to learn at least a little bit of the language of the place where he was going. Maybe just enough to say 'please,' 'thank you,' and 'men's room.'
The crowd looked happy and relaxed. Casey had been right about their ages. Most looked to be in their late teens and early twenties. There were a number of people dancing to the music, most of which he recognized as American pop songs. Sarah and Casey had worked with him on establishing a baseline for situational awareness. If you can't tell what's normal in a situation, you can't spot abnormalities that might be meaningful or dangerous. His first time overseas, this was a great opportunity to practice establishing a baseline in an unfamiliar environment.
There was an abnormality making its way across the bar towards them. Yuri Gobrienko parted the crowd easily. At over two meters tall, he had to hunch slightly to avoid hitting his head. He was dressed casually in dark colors and had a fearsome scowl on his face. In his left hand, he carried a steel briefcase. People made way for him and gave him second glances. His resting state was intimidating.
When he spotted their table, he broke out into a huge grin that transformed his face from terrifying to merely scary.
"CHUCK. CASEY. MOI BRAT'YA" [My brothers – in Russian.] He engulfed each man in a bonecrushing hug one at a time. When done, he turned to Sarah and shook her hand politely. To her he said, "Tak rada snova tebya videt'. Ty vyglyadish' prekrasno, kak vsegda." [So happy to see you again. You look lovely, as always.]
The four of them sat down at the table and got to work.
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A/N2: I'm an American and my default systems of time and measurement are based in the American systems. Would you guys be really annoyed at me if I broadened our views by using the European time system and the metric system when we are describing events elsewhere? Clive Cussler did exactly that in his Dirk Pitt stories. I do feel that we Americans (other than the men and women of our military) are sort of behind the rest of the world on this stuff and it wouldn't kill us to become a little more familiar with these systems. Let me know. If you guys don't like it, I'll abandon the experiment.
A/N3: Please remember that I cannot respond to reviews or PM's right now. Don't take it personally. This is the last of the chapters I had written before my surgery. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to drop one next week, as I still can't type. Sorry, guys. I will do my best to make the enforced hiatus as short as possible, though. Hope you guys stick with me. Thanks for all the good wishes.