A/N1: My lawyer has ownership of Chuck in a sealed envelope. Naw, just kidding.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Chuck was sitting in a conference room in Carmichael Industries offices with four of his top hackers going over the newest Windows 7 operating system, due to be released the following year. So far, they had spotted a couple of dozen flaws that hackers could exploit. Microsoft was paying them a not-so-small fortune for the work and wouldn't be at all disappointed. Unpleasantly surprised maybe, but not disappointed.
He glanced at his watch. The meeting with the lawyer from St. Louis, Loria, was due to start any minute.
The intercom buzzed and the receptionist told Chuck that there was a Mr. Loria asking for him at the reception desk and he had two police officers with him. 'Police?' thought Chuck. 'Wonder what's going on?'
Chuck walked out to meet the man. He was in his forties, tall and slender, with short brown hair. He wore a conservative suit and tie. Next to him were two uniformed LAPD officers.
"Mr. Carmichael," said one of the officers. "We were asked to escort Mr. Loria to see you. But we aren't party to the business you gentlemen are involved with. We were told to wait for him to be finished and then escort him back to his hotel."
Chuck looked confused. "Well, thank you, officers. Is there a problem with Mr. Loria?"
The other officer spoke up, "You mean other than two hitters trying to take him out in the middle of Los Angeles traffic? Yeah, not much more than that. When the brass heard that he was coming to see you, they figured the best approach was to get him here asap and under guard. You and your team can deal with whatever is happening. Call us if you need us, I guess."
"Two hitters? Shit," said Chuck. He turned to Loria. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah. Thanks. My driver was a moonlighting cop. I'd have been toast otherwise. Just luck." He sounded a bit shook up, but was trying to hold it together.
"Shit. Ok," said Chuck, laying a hand on Loria's arm. "Come with me." Before he took Loria to an empty conference room, he said to the receptionist, "Lisa, can you get the officers some coffee or soda or something? And ask Sarah to meet me in the conference room."
He led Loria into a room and closed the door behind them. Only a few moments later, Chuck and Loria were seated and Sarah had joined them and been introduced.
"Alright, Mr. Loria. The floor is yours," said Chuck. "What's this meeting about? And why do some people want to stop it?"
Loria took an envelope from his briefcase and laid it on the table. "I'm afraid I can't answer the second question. Maybe you'll be able to figure it out when I've answered the first one. Anyway, Mr. Carmichael, Ms. Walker, I'm an attorney in St. Louis. One of my clients was Mike Crawford. Mike gave me this letter and a retainer with instructions. He told me that if anything happened to him I was to use the retainer to fly to Los Angeles and hand deliver the letter to you personally here at your offices at Castle Studios. Mike was killed in a car accident outside Kansas City earlier this week. When I learned of his passing, I came as soon as I could. I have no clue why someone would try to stop me from coming to see you. I can only presume there's an explanation here." Loria tapped on the sealed envelope.
"What's in the letter?" asked Sarah.
"No idea either. It's sealed. I did not open it," said Loria.
"What can you tell us about your client?" asked Chuck.
"Businessman. Worked for McKinsey as a consultant. Traveling all the time. Divorced and no kids. Honestly, your question surprises me, Mr. Carmichael. I had assumed that you and Mr. Crawford were acquaintances, if not friends."
"No, I don't know him," said Chuck, with a glance at Sarah, who shook her head. "Neither of us do."
"You say he was killed in a car accident?" asked Sarah.
"Yes. Driver of an 18-wheeler was distracted. Plowed through an intersection and T-boned him. He died instantly. The driver, a man named Olson, is expected to be charged criminally. The newspapers say he's had a nervous breakdown." Loria shrugged. "I don't really know."
They were silent for a few moments and Loria said, "Well," he slid the envelope across to Chuck. "here you go. If you have any questions, please give me a call. Here's my card and I've written my cell number on the back." He slid the card across the table to Chuck and Sarah.
Loria stood. Both Chuck and Sarah walked him to the reception area, and the waiting police, shook hands with him and wished him good luck and a safer journey home than he'd had thus far.
Back in the conference room, Chuck said, "Casey and Zee?"
"Maybe," said Sarah. "Let's see what the letter says first."
One of Sarah's knives appeared in her hand as if by magic. She slit the envelope open and removed a few pages, smoothing them down on the smooth wood of the conference room table. She and Chuck read it together.
Michael Crawford
111 Main Street
St. Louis, MO
April 2, 2008
Carmichael,
My name is Mike Crawford and I'm dead. Tony would have delivered this to you. He's a good man. Reliable and honest and I trust him. But don't bother asking him about the contents of this letter, as he knows nothing about what I'm going to tell you.
He thinks I work for McKinsey. I don't. I'm retired from the CIA and, until a couple of days ago, I was a Fulcrum operative. I know you and your team have been pursuing Fulcrum for months now. Frankly, they perceive your team as one of their biggest threats. That is the reason why I have chosen to communicate with you in this manner.
Fulcrum has known of your team and its effectiveness for some time. But, the Sachem, the leader of Fulcrum, has instructed us to leave you alone. Not to attack you directly. It seems he's of the opinion that somehow the creator of the Intersect will be found by you and your team and that will be worth the damage to Fulcrum resulting from your actions against us until that happens. Some of us thought that a nice-sized bomb to take you all out would be a pretty damn effective, but that's not the direction we were instructed to go. In any event, if I want to damage Fulcrum, and I do, you are the tool I intend to utilize. To that extent, I'm glad we didn't kill you already.
I am a patriot and love my country and what it stands for. After the failure of 9-11 I knew we had to do something different. We couldn't just react the same old way. I still believe that. We were attacked by a ruthless enemy who used our own freedoms against us. We could not be permitted to do that again. We had to change to overcome the evil we faced. I'm not telling you this to expose some kind of manifesto, but to explain my actions over the last few years.
Several of us, who saw eye to eye with me on the need to effect meaningful change in this country began to talk among ourselves. At first it was just bitching sessions over late-night scotch in a quiet bar someplace. But eventually, the word began to quietly spread. Seems there were more of us. And then more.
We knew the country had to change, had to move. We would be the fulcrum upon which the lever of change would rest. And that's what we called ourselves. Fulcrum.
I was recruited to Fulcrum formally by Brandon Stacey, an old friend from my days in Singapore. Brandon took me to the first meeting. There were ten of us. I recognized some faces, but we used code names as part of the tradecraft. We were to be set up in cells, so if one was compromised the rest would survive.
The meetings were all clandestine. The Fulcrum members were tight and professional. And we were dedicated to the task. I was enthusiastic. This organization promised great things for the nation.
I took my retirement from the Agency and began to operate full time for Fulcrum. I was based on the East Coast mostly. Only occasionally did I come to visit other parts of the country. When I did, though, I began to understand that the Sachem, our leader, was based out west.
Why did I think so? I have no hard evidence for that conclusion. It was an impression I got from side mentions. How long it took him to get from here to there. Whether he was inconvenienced by the weather. Tan from the sun. The smoke from the wild fires. All that bullshit. Anyway, I thought he was on your coast.
I never saw him personally. Just a glimpse here and there. Gray hair, but no better description. Never shook his hand or any of that bullshit. Never had anyone say, "Here's Frank Jones. He's the Sachem." Nothing quite so simple. No. Much of what I've been able to piece together has been the little things. I do know Sachem is a he, though.
But here's what I believe. He's rich. In addition to being the leader of the group, he is the funder. The last page of this letter is a print out of the banking information for an account in the Cayman Islands that I used to fund a Fulcrum project last month. I fully expect a long complicated chain above that bank account until you find anything useful, but the information on that account will be a place to start. It's what the cops always say to do, right? Follow the money.
Next, I believe he's famous, or at least well known. Maybe a Hollywood star or something. Recognizable. Again, no one told me that, but they've gone to great lengths to keep the rank and file from seeing him. The men and women who know his identity are known as his Life Guards, named after the elite unit bodyguards from Virginia that George Washington used at Valley Forge. The Life Guards are led by Vincent Smith, who is a close associate of the Sachem. Smith is a nasty piece of work, but if you can get to Smith he'll lead you to the Sachem.
Next, I think he's computer savvy. Maybe not at your level, Carmicheal, as they tell me you are genius level when it comes to tech. But several times, we've had useful suggestions that are supposed to have come from him. Silicon Valley guy, maybe? I don't know.
He might be an opera buff. Several Fulcrum operations stemming from his offices were given code names from operas. Idomeneo. Norma. Etc. Or, I guess, he could just have a book of opera names sitting on a shelf behind him.
Not too helpful, but I think he was in New York City at Christmas time last year. I heard one of the Life Guards mentioning the Rock Center Christmas tree while he was on an operation to protect the Sachem. Does he have a connection to New York? Don't know, but "Sachem" itself is an Algonquian Indian title. Might that mean something?
Finally, he is obsessed with the Intersect. I don't really understand why. It's supposedly going to create super spies and be the greatest tool we've ever seen to save the world. We are told that it will make us Fulcrum agents into supermen and women. At the direction of the Sachem, we've prioritized the Intersect over just about everything else. Useful operations have been cancelled or sidelined just to put our efforts and energy into securing the Intersect. When Larkin blew it up in September, I heard that the Sachem almost had a heart attack. If anything, he seemed to redouble his efforts to get ahold of it.
It's stupid nonsense.
And that, right there, is why I'm not with Fulcrum any longer. All our plans and ideas have been hijacked by the search for the fucking Intersect. We should be focusing on replacing Supreme Court Justices with our own people and, instead, we are chasing after some sci-fi bullshit. It's just stupid and a waste of time and effort.
Unfortunately, my opinion was not widely shared among the operatives I was working with. I had multiple arguments with my fellow members. It was clear that my conclusions were not to their liking. Just about to a man, and woman of course, they had signed up with enthusiasm for the great fucking Intersect hunt. And when I voiced different opinions, they refused to listen.
So, the time came when I had enough. I quit. I left Fulcrum and headed back home to St. Louis. If they wanted to spend their time on their silly Easter egg hunt, let them. I wouldn't be involved. But, I do know how they think. I would be a loose end. Someone who couldn't be trusted to keep my mouth shut. I am just about certain Fulcrum will want me killed to protect the secrecy of their operations and the Sachem.
Hence, this letter. Dead man's handle. I set this up so that if anything happened to me other than natural causes, this letter would be delivered to you by Tony. And, of course, no such precaution made any sense unless the enemy is made aware of it and the consequences of their otherwise preferred course of action. For that reason, I told them what I was doing. That they should hope I never get mugged or something, because it would trigger a trusted friend to deliver this to you.
Well, if you are reading this, my plan didn't work. They killed me anyway. Or maybe I just died. Actually, that would be pretty fucking hilarious if Fulcrum is innocent of my demise and you get the letter anyway. Ah, well. Whatever. I can't hear the answer now anyway.
Good luck, Carmichael, to you and your team. I still think this country is in need of serious adjustment, but I no longer think Fulcrum is the means to accomplish that. Go ahead and take them down. If they killed me, fuck them all and this is revenge. If they didn't and you ended up with this anyway, take them down just because they have turned into a silly bunch of treasure hunters looking for a magic talisman. We deserve better.
Oh, and tell Casey I said hello. If he wasn't such a fucking boy scout, he'd have been perfect for Fulcrum. That dude is stone cold.
Mike Crawford
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N2: Code names based on a book of operas? I don't know. I had a client once who chose the names of title holding entities for his properties based on a book on spiders he had behind his desk. That was weird.
A/N3: How's it looking, my friends?