A/N1: And we're back. Guess who still doesn't own Chuck?
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The news of LaFleur's suicide threw the investigation into the attack in Bethesda in an unexpected direction. Jenny sent Tony over to LaFleur's apartment with an FBI forensic team to see what they could find. The typed note could not be compared with LaFleur's handwriting of course, but there might be other indications of what had happened to him. Chuck and his team stopped looking at the others from NIAID for the time being and, instead, focused on LaFleur. A couple of hours later, Tony returned to the office with LaFleur's personal computer and cell phone for Chuck to check out, both still showing signs of fingerprint dust.
At about 11:00, Jenny Statler came out to the room and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. She looked very grim. "Guys, listen up. The other shoe dropped. A small...relatively small, NSA substation in Centreville, Virginia was attacked using the virus."
"An NSA substation? What the actual fuck?" asked Chuck, shocked. "Aren't there easier targets?"
"Yeah, I know," said Jenny. "Anyway, reports are thirty personnel inside. When the news of what was happening came through, the EMT's were told to back away and have the local police seal the building off. And, yes, the CDC knows it just probably sentenced those poor people to death, but it was judged better than having the virus escape the building. An emailed warning was sent to General Beckman, but it didn't arrive in time to evacuate the building. NIAID and CDC have sent teams. Chuck, can you take some of your team and go to the site to observe?"
"Of course, Jenny," said Chuck.
She continued, "Tony, you stay here and keep looking into LaFleur's suicide."
"Will do," said the younger man.
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In a borrowed FBI vehicle, Chuck, Sarah and Zondra made it to the NSA facility in Virginia in about forty-five minutes. The building itself was a free-standing two story office structure with a rear parking lot and was completely and intentionally unexceptional. There wasn't even any signage out front to indicate who the occupant was. There were a collection of emergency vehicles and ambulances and police cars gathered around it, the whole area having been cordoned off with police tape. A van marked CDC was off to the side with a handful of people near it. Most of the emergency personnel and police who weren't controlling the curious onlookers were just milling around, waiting for something to happen or someone to tell them what to do.
Off to the other side of the parked cars was a tent of sorts for decontamination with a couple of NIAID vans next it.
Chuck's car was stopped by police outside the area itself, but was permitted through after they showed the requisite identification.
Given the horrible nature of the event unfolding in front of them, there was a touch of unreality to the beautiful, sunny, cool, autumn day.
Looking around, Sarah spotted General Beckman herself off on the edge of the crowd, standing next to her black SUV with Berkley, who Chuck and Sarah had met last winter when they'd come to Fort Meade for Chuck to lecture their technicians on how to open an iPhone.
Team B headed over to her. "Afternoon, Ma'am, Agent Berkley," said Chuck. "Any news?"
"Afternoon." She looked even grimmer than usual if that were possible. "Dr. Roberts and the NIAID medical team has gone in. Nothing since then. It doesn't look good though. In the meantime, here's a copy of the email we received. See if you can make anything of it."
To: Beckman
From: Concerned Patriots
Your facility in Centreville, Virginia will be attacked by the Iblis Strain virus shortly. Attacks on your Agency's facilities will continue until you discontinue spying on American citizens in violation of the Constitution.
"What did this facility do?" asked Chuck.
"PRISM," answered Beckman, referring to the NSA's monitoring of Internet traffic in collaboration with various internet companies. The program was authorized by the FISA Amendments Act of 2008 which had been passed just a few months earlier.
"Who would know that?" asked Sarah.
Berkley answered, "It was closely held, but a few hundred for sure."
"Shit," growled Sarah.
"Yeah. Exactly," said Berkley.
Chuck said, "Attacking your facilities, the email says. Sounds like more to come. Well, we have a motive, now, at least."
"An ostensible motive, anyway," said Sarah somewhat exasperated.
"And maybe a set of targets?" suggested Zondra.
"We are all on high alert," said Berkley. "Especially those operations dealing with domestic matters."
At that point, the NIAID team exited the building. There were four of them, all dressed head to toe in personal protective gear, white coveralls, high boots and long gloves, and with respirator canisters protruding from the lower portions of face masks. Without coming too close to anyone, the smallest member of that group, obviously a woman, said a few words to a nearby policeman. The entire team then went into the tent to be decontaminated.
The policeman, apparently a Captain by his rank insignia, talked to the EMTs and some of the other cops, then made his way over to Beckman and Team B. The EMT's began to organize themselves to leave.
"Bad news, Ma'am. The NIAID people confirmed. The men and women inside are all dead. Thirty bodies. NIAID has instructed that no rescue efforts are permitted or necessary. They will send another team to collect the bodies and decontaminate the facility."
For just a moment, Beckman's stoic façade crumbled and she looked like she might cry. But the moment passed. "Thank you, Captain." They shook hands and he left to go back to the others.
Jill Roberts came out of the decontamination tent, wearing blue scrubs with a green fleecy jacket to protect her from the October chill. She was sobbing with her cheeks wet with tears. She walked over to Beckman, wiping her face with a kerchief held in one hand, a plastic bag in the other hand.
"I'm sorry, General. I'm so sorry. The virus performed on humans just as we feared. There was nothing to be done for them. I'm so sorry," she said.
"Thank you for trying, Dr. Roberts," said Beckman.
Jill held out a sealed plastic bag with a small device containing one of the vials of virus, empty. "It looks like they set this near one of the HVAC air intakes. At a set time it upset the vial with the virus, spilling the virus out into the ventilation system. Once among the people in the facility, it would spread rapidly, and kill even faster."
"May we take that to see if it yields any clues?" asked Chuck.
"Sure, Chuck. Once my team decontaminates it, I'll have it delivered to the FBI."
"Thank you," he said.
Beckman said to Jill, "Can we re-activate the security systems inside the facility, Doctor?"
"Just let my people do the decontamination first, please, General. Perhaps you'll want to station some guards outside or something, just to prevent the entry while the decontamination process is going on."
"Thank you. I will do that," she said. She glanced at Berkley who nodded once.
"I'll have my people go through as quickly as they can. Can you remotely disable the computers inside, please? Just while it's being decontaminated. I trust my people, but..." she sobbed a little again, but managed to get herself under control. "...but I trusted Guy too. So, better safe than sorry, I guess."
"Good idea. We will do that as well," Beckman said.
"Thank you, General."
Beckman turned and said to Berkley, "Let's get back to Fort Meade."
Chuck said to her, "Can I come with you, General? I'd like to see about trying to backtrack this email threat through your system."
"Of course, Chuck. Hop in," she said.
Chuck turned back to Sarah and Zondra, giving Sarah a kiss, and said, "I'll keep in touch. Probably bum a ride back to town. See you guys later."
"We'll get back with Tony and Jenny and the others and keep busy. Be safe, Sweetie," said Sarah.
"You too," he smiled at her. Looking at Jill, he said, "See you later, Jill."
"See you, Chuck." She was crying quietly again, seemingly still shook up from her experience inside the building.
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Early that same evening, Bryce was sitting in a comfortable chair in the hotel bar called Off the Record located off the lobby of the Hay-Adams Hotel. Plush red upholstery and dark wood. Subdued lighting and large well-made cocktails. It billed itself as a place to be seen around town, but not heard. The marketing for the bar indicated that your private conversations would stay private as they went on in the hushed tones of the truly important people talking about truly important things in a town dedicated to the truly important.
He wore an open-necked white shirt and a gray sports jacket. His legs were crossed casually at the knee, thoroughly relaxed. More than one woman in the bar was checking him out, while trying not to be too obvious about it. Bryce noticed that, but ignored them as he glanced at his watch without concern, his handsome features pleasant and calm. She was almost fifteen minutes late.
And then she was there. Dr. Jill Roberts looked as beautiful as ever, in a short black cocktail dress with a string of pearls and white heels. No eyeglasses for her evening out. Black purse. She looked, however, quite unhappy.
"So sorry I'm late, Bryce. I … well, I started to cry and I couldn't stop. It's been a nightmare today."
Bryce stood and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek with his hands on her shoulders. "I can only imagine, Jill. The sight of all that death in the NSA building..."
As they were sitting, she said, "Yes. Of course, and the day started with the news of Guy's death...his suicide. God. I still can't believe it."
"Believe it, Jill. I saw the suicide note myself. He was our mole," said Bryce.
"Could there be any mistake?" she asked.
"I'm afraid not. The FBI checked it out all day. Open and shut," said Bryce.
A waitress arrived and asked about a drink for Jill.
"What are you drinking?" she asked Bryce.
"Jameson on the rocks," he said.
"Humpf," she said, dismissing that as a possibility. Turning to the waitress she said, "Let me have a double Tanqueray on the rocks in a rock glass, please, with a bit of tonic on top and a slice of lime. Thank you." The waitress left.
"I still can't believe it about Guy. I mean I know he was always complaining about money and was envious of the big pharma guys. You know, guys from his class who went to work for the drug companies instead of the government."
"Yeah, of course. Choosing to work for the government is a lifestyle choice. You'll never get the big bucks, but maybe we do some good."
"Is that why you do it? To do some good?" she asked.
"Well, something like that. And the great pension plan, of course," he said with a charming grin.
She gave a little laugh and said, "You always could make me laugh. You and Chuck both. You were always so good at playing his straight man. But pension plan aside, what do you do?"
Bryce said, "Like you said, I work for the government. At least sometimes. The rest of the time, I'm a stuntman in Hollywood."
"And what do you do for the government? You and Chuck and his fiancé and the others? What do you do?" she persisted.
"We're with the Farm Service Agency. It's part of the Department of Agriculture," said Bryce with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, come on," said Jill. "The Director of National Intelligence himself held up the meeting until your team flew in from California. He's on a first name basis with Chuck. For God's sake, you've got a Colonel on your team who is clearly subordinate to Chuck. The two women were identified as agents. Give me a break."
"Sure. Agents of the Farm Services Agency. Look, Jill, just stop asking, ok? You give me a break. I'm not going to talk about it and it doesn't matter anyway," he sounded firm on the issue but not angry.
Her drink arrived and Jill raised it to him and said, "It's great to see you again, Bryce. Brings back some wonderful memories. Those were great times at school. You, me, and Chuck."
Bryce clicked glasses with her, and said, "Yeah. They were. Great times."
"So, don't tell me what you do for the government, and don't answer this if you want, but have you been doing it for long?"
"Couldn't say, Jill," he said.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"I like it very much. Very much," he said with a smile.
"Will you do it forever then? This is it, until retirement?"
"I guess. Sometimes retirement can come...somewhat suddenly. But yeah, I don't think I'm suited for much else," he said.
"Not suited? I'm sure that's not right. With a Stanford degree you could do anything, right?" she asked.
"I don't have a Stanford degree," said Bryce, staring into his whisky.
"What are you talking about? Of course, you do. I saw you graduate," she said.
"I know. I did. I did have one. They rescinded my degree. I don't have a Stanford degree anymore," he said, still looking into his drink.
"What? Why?" she asked, shocked.
"Because they learned that I framed Chuck for cheating. I put the tests under his bed and then ratted him out for having them." He looked up at her, his face serious. "So, they gave Chuck his degree and took away mine."
"Oh my God. He didn't cheat? But...Oh my God," she said. "And I...I..." she put her hand to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. Bryce took out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. Bryce watched her and drained his whiskey, motioning the waitress for two more drinks. "Why would you do that, Bryce? You were his friend. You were his best friend. Why would you do that?"
"It was the biggest mistake of my life and I've had some doozies. I thought I was doing something for his own good. I was wrong. I was very wrong," he said with a shrug.
"I don't understand," she said.
"Yeah. Well, I'm sorry, Jill, but I'm not going to be able to explain it to you. I told you the truth just now, but I'm not going to explain it any further. I'm not trying to be mysterious or rude, but it's just something I can't talk about."
"Like where you really work?" she said. She picked up her drink and drained it when she saw the waitress approaching with her second.
"Yeah. Something like that," he said.
"But now you're with him again? You're friends again? He forgave you?" she asked.
"Yeah. He did. He's an exceptional person. He forgave me," said Bryce, taking a big swallow of his fresh Irish whiskey.
"Do you think...do you think...he could ever forgive me for what I did to him?" she asked.
"I'm certain of it. That's just the kind of guy he is. But, fair warning, Jill. Even if he forgives you, there's no going back to the way things were, no future with him. Not for you. He's in love with Sarah and that's that," said Bryce. "It might be hard to hear, but you should know it right up front."
Jill looked like she got a stomachache suddenly. In a quiet voice she said, "Yeah. She seems nice. Certainly pretty enough, I guess."
"Look, Jill, Chuck is the single best person I have ever met in my entire life. On every level. Every single level. I didn't see it as much as I should have at school, but it was there then too. And Sarah is his other half. She's his equal and soulmate. To say that they have an extraordinary love is … is... is almost minimizing it, to be honest. It's like they are two souls that mesh and blend and intertwine and cannot ever be separated. Not ever and no matter what. I've never seen anything close to the love that they share. They are amazing. Together there is nothing at all out of their reach. Anything they set their minds to, they will achieve. Anything at all."
"Wow. Sounds like you like her a lot," said Jill.
"I do. She hates me, but I do like her a lot anyway," he said with a small chuckle.
"Why does she hate you?" Jill asked.
"She's not as forgiving as he is. She holds a grudge," he said with a small smile. "But I'm ok so long as I don't piss off Chuck. And believe me, I spend a lot of time making sure I don't piss off Chuck," he said, chuckling.
"Because he's your boss?" she asked.
"Because he's my friend," said Bryce with a little smile.
"Tell me about him. What's he done since school?" asked Jill.
"He and Sarah and the Colonel, they own a cybersecurity company out in LA. An incredibly successful company. They just turned down hundreds of millions of dollars to sell it. They are doing great. The wedding's in a few months. Everything is going great for them. For him. He's very happy."
"That's nice. I'm really glad things turned out so well for him. Especially after...well, you know. You think they'll be a nice boring married couple?" she asked.
"Well, I have a feeling that the two of them won't ever be boring, to tell the truth. They seem to find excitement the way heat rises," he said with a small chuckle.
"You mean the work they do for the government? As Carmichael?"
"You know, Jill, why don't we talk about you? I've been going on and on about me. Tell me about yourself. I know you went on to get a PhD from MIT, but what else is happening? Did you go there right from school?"
"No, not right from school. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I took a job in a lab for a year or so and then decided to apply. Got into MIT and spent the next few years working my tail off. Took this job right after I got my degree. It's exciting work and I've been enjoying it. At least until a couple of days ago."
"How about outside of work? You married? Are you seeing anyone?" Bryce asked.
"No. After graduation I dated a bit. Some guys. A few women too. Nothing stuck. No real connection. Ever since school...well, you know. You make decisions thinking they're right at the time, and in hindsight...well, there are things I wish I could change, especially about me and Chuck," her voice trailed off.
"Yeah. I know," said Bryce, finishing his drink and motioning for another two. "Believe me, I do. I understand regret. Let's talk about something happier. Remember that time when you, me and Chuck went to the comedy club in Palo Alto and the girl I was with...um, Betty..."
Suddenly giggling, Jill said, "No, Becky. It was Becky something. Redhead. I think she came from the Midwest, some state that begins with a vowel."
"Yeah, right, redhead. Anyway, she starts heckling the guy onstage," said Bryce.
"And he starts giving it right back to her...Oh, my God, I remember. Oh, my God. That was so funny," she said, laughing.
"I thought she was going to cry she was so humiliated. Jeez, talk about regretting a decision. Instant regret that time," said Bryce, laughing along.
"And then she started to get hammered, she felt so bad. I thought we'd have to carry her home," said Jill.
"Oh, no, no, no. She wasn't that drunk. We ended up staying up late, if I remember right," said Bryce with a smirk.
"Oh, you didn't," said Jill.
"I certainly did. And multiple times too. I think she was grateful to get her mind off her embarrassment. I was just trying to help," he said with a patently false smile meant to convey angelic good intentions.
"You were unstoppable in those days. Moving from one girl to another. Have you settled down?" she asked.
"No. Not really. Like you, I just keep looking for the right long-term partner, but she hasn't shown up yet. I'm keeping my eyes open though. Unexpected places. You never know when the right connection gets made," he had dropped his voice a bit and was looking at her with softer eyes.
She held his gaze for a few moments and then looked down at her drink. "You know, if we don't get some food, I think you'll get me drunk, Mr. Larkin. Can't have you taking advantage of me, now can we?"
"I would never do that, Jill. Even though we haven't seen each other for a while, you're one of my oldest friends. I wouldn't jeopardize that with behavior you didn't welcome. I hope you know that," he said, putting a gentle hand on her arm.
"I know. Perfect gentleman," she said with a wry smile and a cocked eyebrow.
"What do you feel like eating?" he asked. "They serve light fare here, whatever the hell that is. Why don't I get us a menu?"
"Thank you, Bryce. I think this is going to be a fun night."
"I hope so, Jill. I really hope so," he said with a warm smile.
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Dawn was still almost an hour and a half away when Jill got out of Bryce's bed in the hotel. She moved about the room as silently as she could, dressing from the clothes on the floor. Once she'd zipped up her dress, she stood for a long moment looking at the naked man asleep on the bed. His breathing was deep and slow. One of her oldest friends and now her most recent lover. She shook her head with a small smile.
She crept to the door and opened it to leave, being careful not to make any more noise than necessary, taking another look back at him.
The moment the door latch clicked closed behind her, Bryce Larkin opened both his eyes, his face hard.
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A/N2: Another thirty people dead and our heroes are no closer to finding the missing Iblis Strain virus or the men who stole it. Dammit.
A/N3: Thanks to my good friend Rachel Smith Cobleigh for her invaluable assistance in making this more sensible. As always, I owe you.
A/N4: How am I doing, guys? Please let me know.