I do not own Chuck

Chapter 1

September 2015, London UK

Sarah Bartowski wasn't sure what it was that she noticed first, apart from that something just wasn't quite right. Chuck called it her Spy-dey sense. He'd explained why he found that uproariously funny, sparking an exchange of views about laughing at as opposed to with someone!

Throughout her career she'd come to trust the feeling, even if it did sometimes come at inopportune times, like when you were enjoying an afternoon off on a lovely September day with your husband, strolling around London's West End shopping district. There was actually method in their madness; it was coming up to the eighth anniversary of their actual first date and Chuck was keen to get something to mark the occasion, so they'd spent the afternoon strolling down Bond Street, looking in many of the clothes and jewellery shops.

These carefree times with Chuck were the ones she always treasured more than anything else. For these few stolen hours, she wasn't CIA Officer Sarah Walker, co-head of NATO's anti-terrorism task force, and he wasn't Captain Charles Bartowski, USAF, attached to DNI. They were just Chuck and Sarah. Happily married couple, having what British people called a mooch around, on a fall afternoon (although the Brits insisted on calling it "autumn").

They'd been married all of six months, and every day was new and exciting. Every day increased the love she felt for the very special man who'd taken the broken shell of Graham's premier assassin and made her into a person. They'd been back together now for just over two years. Two years since Chuck had stormed back into her life, rescuing her from torture and certain death. Two years of learning and developing, of changing and loving. She'd grown more as a person in the last two years than in most of the rest of her life. And she'd grown because of the man she was happy and proud to call her husband.

They'd been an active two years. Fulcrum and The Ring were finally broken. They'd foiled a chemical weapons attack on Washington DC, broken a people-smuggling ring and prevented another chemical attack on four NATO countries by Islamic terrorists, during which Chuck was nearly killed. Her husband, now fully-recovered from his injuries, was shortly to become Agent in Charge of Uber, the intelligence services' rescue team, responsible for the Western Hemisphere, and had been instrumental in several agent rescues over the course of the past year.

And Sarah Walker had become Sarah Bartowski. A real person for the first time in nearly 20 years. Sarah Bartowski had friends rather than just contacts, a house that was a genuine home, a social life, and a husband that she loved more than life itself. And who loved her. She had a family as well; a relationship with her mother and adopted sister, and a sister and brother in-law who she loved just as much as if they had been related by birth. Sarah Bartowski was able to love and be loved in a way that Sarah Walker could only have dreamt of.

And now here she and Chuck were on Piccadilly after a lovely few hours of ambling about, but her spy senses were tingling madly. Chuck was dragging her into another jeweller and she let him, still not quite picking up what was wrong, but certain that something just wasn't quite right.

"Chuck," she said quietly as they leaned over the counter, looking at some beautiful bangles. Ever attentive, her husband obviously picked up on the change of tone from the carefree one that she'd had during the rest of the day.

"What's up?" he asked, immediately serious. She was proud to see him reach out with his senses, eyes flicking around for signs of danger, and she saw his nose flaring as he breathed in.

"There's something wrong outside," she replied. "I don't know what it was, but it was something."

"Your spydey sense?" he asked, and she nodded minutely. "What do you want to do?" he questioned, barely moving his lips. He wasn't armed, and she was only carrying the set of ceramic knives he'd bought her for Christmas the year that they'd got back together. That was plenty though; they were both dangerous with their hands and could improvise, plus she'd been teaching Chuck how to throw knives and he was getting really quite good at it for someone who maintained that their job was to save lives, not take them.

"Let's try and find out what it is before we call it in," she replied, also barely moving her lips, but keeping her face open and excited as though discussing jewellery.

"OK, so we'll go out, cross the street and then go into Tiffany's?" he asked, again without moving his lips too much.

"Uh huh," she replied in a similar way, again impressed with his spy craft, particularly considering it wasn't his job. It was a far cry from how he had been all those years ago in Burbank.

"What do you think?" he asked at his normal volume, pointing to the bangles under the glass.

"I don't think they're really me," she replied at the same volume, slightly disappointed because actually she loved them. Never mind, she was sure they could come back later. Agreeing heartily, Chuck led her out of the shop, timing it so that they had to wait on the side of the street for the pedestrian traffic lights to come on.

It was early-afternoon. A slightly gray day of the type that London was well-known for, not hot and not cold, and there was a steady stream of tourists and local workers coming back from their lunch breaks, which gave them plenty of cover. As soon as they left the shop, Sarah started observing their surroundings and she finally saw what she was looking for just across on Piccadilly. Three men in dark suits in a typical capture formation, focusing on one of the takeaway restaurants which were scattered around this part of the street. It was the spacing and their tight focus on the restaurant that was strange. Men in dark suits were quite common around here, but most were strolling round the streets on their lunch breaks – not grouped together but trying not to look together. On closer examination, it just looked wrong.

Looking more carefully, she could see that two of the men had tell-tale bulges in their suits, indicative of concealed weaponry. That, in itself, was worthy of note. The UK was not a culture that embraced guns. Most police didn't even carry them. So for these three, or at least two of them, to be carrying them was certainly cause for concern. That either suggested that this was an official operation, or that they were up to no good.

By now the traffic light had changed and she and Chuck strolled across the street and into Tiffany's just like any other couple. Normally this was one of her favourite shops, but today she had other things on her mind as Chuck squeezed her hand and led her over to one of the counters, telling the saleswoman that they were "just browsing".

"What did you see?" she asked quietly. She was genuinely interested to know what Chuck had picked up on. His SpecOps training had improved his observational skills and situational awareness enormously, but they hadn't been in this sort of situation too often since Burbank.

"Three suits in a capture formation, focused on Itsu," he replied quietly, referring to the sushi restaurant. "One was armed; I don't know about the others."

"Two were armed," she added, quite impressed with his skill. "That probably means that the third one was as well."

"What should we do?" he asked sotto voce.

"We need to call Cole. It's his patch," she replied. "But one of us needs to stay here."

"You should stay. You've got more experience in this sort of thing," he replied. "I'll go get Cole. If you go to that Caffé Concerto down the street, you can watch them from the window. I'll bring him to you."

As a plan it was pretty good and she agreed, squeezing his hand. Chuck made a fuss about looking at his watch, pretending he'd missed a meeting. He told her loudly that he'd meet her at the coffee shop down the street once he'd finished and then left through the door at a fast walk. She continued seemingly browsing in the store for another few minutes and then went to get a table at the coffee shop. It would be easier to keep track of the men from there rather than trying to use the small mirrors in the shop.

"Hi Sarah, long time no see," Cole's echoing voice pierced the restaurant 45 minutes later. Given that they'd seen the British agent only this morning, she would have grinned if she wasn't working. "Chuck said I should come over and meet you. It's been so long." She stood as they kissed each other on both cheeks in the Continental way which was so beloved of Brits of a certain type.

Chuck stood beside her waiting for Cole to be finished, then embraced her, adding "Hi honey, sorry it took me so long. Unfortunately I couldn't get away from this idiot." His tone was entirely right for a playful husband. She was also impressed that he managed to slip her an ear bud, booster pack and microphone under cover of the embrace. That was almost professional-grade spy craft, she thought proudly.

"Thank God, you're here," she replied. "I thought you'd got a better offer!" She grinned. "Why don't you be a good husband and pay the check and I'll just go to the washroom."

She took the opportunity of using the facilities in the washroom; on surveillance you never knew when you'd get the chance again, and then she slipped the earbud into her ear, the microphone onto her collar and booster pack onto her belt beneath her jacket.

"Walker, up," she broadcast. She still used her maiden name in professional situations otherwise it could become confusing with two Bartowskis. Their radios often didn't have the best reception and it was sometimes not possible to differentiate between men's and women's voices.

"About time, what were you up to in there?" grumbled Casey's voice. It would figure that Chuck picked up their partner as well as Cole. "On second thoughts, I don't want to know," the NSA agent added. "I've got eyes on the targets. Cole's identified one of them as Russian. Get this - the restaurant's the same one as the Litvinenko assassination. The team's working on getting CCTV access now. It would be great if you and Chuck could swing by and see if you can get an idea for who they're targeting and then meet up at the Cavendish, room 124."

"OK," she broadcast. It made sense to set up the operation at the Cavendish Hotel, which was only a few streets over. They'd be able to bring people in and out of the hotel as needed, and the target restaurant was between the hotel and where they were now, giving them a reason to pass it on the way over. She headed out into the restaurant to pick up her husband and her colleague.

"Well?" They were safely ensconced in a second floor room at the Cavendish, and she turned to Cole and grimaced in reply to his question. Chuck was talking to the technician who was setting up the computer equipment so they could get access to the CCTV cameras.

"I don't know," she replied, slightly frustrated. "There was a woman towards the back of the restaurant who looked vaguely familiar. But I'm damned if I can remember from where? She might just be an actress." London's West End was, after all, a place where lots of people went to see and be seen.

"I can't believe the Russkies would go to the same place twice," noted Cole, "If this even is an official operation. I recognised Igor Kovalev. He's strictly low-level muscle. But he's definitely FSB muscle. I'm not aware of him doing anything freelance." He paused. "Anything yet Chuck?" he asked.

She knew Cole had a healthy sense of respect for her husband and his accomplishments. The two were firm friends; the sort of friendship forged in adversity. They'd clicked from the very first time she'd introduced them, nattering on about some sci-fi bullshit that she'd never understand in a century of trying! Cole had stayed with them a few times in DC before Chuck had gone from acquaintance to saviour and eventually hero in her friend's eyes. Since they'd worked together as part of the Islamic terrorism task force, that friendship had only deepened. It helped that the British agent was different from when she'd known him before; more mature, less wild than he had been originally. He was still a great agent, but experience had tempered his habit of going off piste. He was much more of a team player these days. There was lots of that going round in their team as they all got older and more used to working together.

"Just got into the CCTV," her husband replied, tapping away on the laptop keyboard. "I'm not gonna be able to get a view inside the restaurant but I should be able to get visuals on our friends." He wasn't kidding either. London had some of the most advanced CCTV in the world and it should make this exercise easier.

"Here we go," Chuck muttered as he focused on the men they'd identified, running the tapes back to get angles on their faces and using windows that appeared to be views from other cameras. "Uh oh, I think there's a fourth man," he exclaimed. "Oh, not to worry, he's the driver," he explained as she and Cole had both jerked upright, wondering if they'd been made. "He's parked down on St James'." He muttered under his breath a bit, hands moving on the keyboard and mouse so fast that she couldn't follow, and then selected photos of all four men and put them on the screen. "Running facial recognition," he announced, "But do you know any of them?"

"That's Igor," Cole replied, pointing to a heavyset, black-haired face at the top left, "But I don't know the rest."

"Bingo!" Chuck exclaimed after a few seconds, pointing to the bottom left. "We have a winner. Major Nikolai Ivanisevich Makarov of the GRU."

"Shit, so that makes it an official op and with FSB and GRU as well," Cole observed. "I'm gonna have to take this upstairs, and we may need to get Thames House involved as well."

"Agreed." What the Hell they had stumbled on she had no idea, but this was rapidly moving towards becoming a British domestic matter. She knew that the Brits and the Russians still had a frosty relationship after the Litvinenko assassination. She could understand why. She knew the US intelligence services would be beyond pissed if the Russians attacked a defector on US soil. There was an unspoken rule that you just didn't do that. The Russians had certainly proved in recent years that they weren't big on rules, though.

While Cole went to call his superiors she called Casey back to the hotel (they had CCTV coverage so he didn't need to stay there at risk of being discovered) and went to sit next to Chuck as his computer whirred away trying to identify the other two men.

He looked at her ruefully. "Well, that ruined a perfectly good day."

She smiled back, "No kidding." He reached out to hold her hand, a gesture of support and love that was just so Chuck.

"I don't suppose you saw anything in Tiffany's?" he asked.

"You guys were in the wrong place," Cole interrupted before she could reply. "I told you that you should have taken her to Hatton Garden, mate. Anyway…" the British agent rapidly reassumed his business tone, and they both turned to face him, just as there was a knock at the door.

She raised her eyebrows at Cole, who frowned in return.

"Bartowski, it's me," came Casey's voice through the door, allowing them to relax. She went to let him in.

"Cole was just going to fill us in," she greeted her partner, closing the door behind him.

"I spoke to the Boss and he's going to take it to Five, but the soft call is to bring them in, so we're prepping a team to do that now," the British agent announced. "Any opportunity to bugger the Russians is too good to be missed after the Litvinenko assassination. The Boss said to pass on his thanks and ask if you could hang around for a few more hours?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. Given that their day was ruined anyway and that the request came from the Director of an allied country's intelligence service, why not?

"Here we go," Cole announced an hour later. They were now crouched in a surveillance van a few hundred yards away on Piccadilly, having transferred there when the capture team was positioned. The Russians hadn't moved yet, which was positive.

There were now twelve British operatives in the surrounding area plus a large support team. Sarah had been surprised that the Brits were putting so many bodies into it. Sarah had picked out eight of them from the CCTV pictures but it seemed the Russians hadn't. Suddenly, in a well-choreographed move, the Russian getaway vehicle was boxed in by three black SUVs from which sprung five armed men gesturing at the driver, and at nearly the same time three other teams of operatives surrounded the Russians in front of the restaurant, and bundled them into an unmarked van which drew into the curb and rapidly drove away. The take down was all over in less than forty seconds.

"Wow!" Chuck observed. "That was amazing."

It genuinely was an extremely sleek operation. The CCTV screen switched from an overhead shot to what was obviously a lapel camera mounted on an agent, which started showing the interior of the restaurant.

Sarah could still see the woman she'd seen earlier although most of the other diners were different. Could she be the target?

"That's the woman I recognised," she told Cole, pointing at her. The woman was seated near the back of the restaurant, back to the wall, with a clear view over all the exits. Excellent spycraft, Sarah mused, apart from getting bottled up in there. She seemed to be reading something on a laptop.

The other three took a closer look at the screen.

"She does look vaguely familiar," Casey mused. "I've seen her before as well. Can you get a close up?" he asked. Cole was already speaking to the MI5 liaison and, as they watched, the camera drew in.

The woman looked at the camera and waved, her blue eyes mirthful.

That's where she'd seen the woman! Just as she opened her mouth to explain, Chuck almost shouted "SONOFABITCH!"

She looked at her husband in surprise. That sort of a vernacular was extremely out of the ordinary for him.

"Are you OK, honey?" she asked, looking at him curiously. His expression was stunned. His eyes shocked. He seemed to be almost speechless.

"Chuck?" she questioned, worriedly. "That woman was in the hotel when we had our wedding. With a man. I saw them in the lobby when I was heading down to the room." She smiled, unable to suppress the thrill that remembering that day brought to her. "How do you know her?" she asked.

"She was at our wedding?" her husband blurted, sounding more shocked than she thought she'd ever heard him. "Are you sure?" She was surprised. It wasn't like Chuck to avoid answering a question, but it was like he was transfixed on her first answer and hadn't noticed the rest of what she'd said.

"Yeah," chimed in Casey. "I remember her that day as well. But not in the lobby. She and a guy were at the back of the room," he turned to Chuck, "How do you know her moron?"

Chuck's lip twisted up in a half smile, seemingly grateful to Casey for the barb which brought him back down to earth a bit.

"That woman is my mother."

It's short, I know, but nice cliffhanger, eh? You can find how this fits in with the Green Feet timeline on my profile page. Just to manage expectations, this story is six chapters.

Please review if you get a chance!

A/N1 Alexander Litvinenko was a Russian defector and former officer of the Russian Federal Security Service who was assassinated in London in 2006 utilising the radioactive element polonium-210. His wife and the UK authorities are convinced that he was assassinated by Russian operatives. A European Court of Human Rights investigation published in September 2021 also ruled that Russia was responsible for his death. The Itsu restaurant on Piccadilly where this was thought to have taken place (and around which this chapter is set) is one where I regularly used to buy my lunch when I worked in the area! [It's subsequently been proven that the poisoning took place at a nearby hotel].

A/N2 FSB (formerly KGB) is the Russian intelligence service, similar to CIA or MI6. The GRU is Russia's military intelligence service. It is thought that a chemical weapons attack carried out on a former Russian double agent in the UK (Salisbury) by Russian intelligence agents in March 2018 was carried out by GRU agents.

A/N3 According to a 2020 article, London has nearly 628,000 CCTV cameras for c.9.3m population making it the city with the third highest amount of CCTV cameras per 1000 people.

A/N4 Cole is an agent of MI6 or SIS (Secret Intelligence Service) which, like the CIA, is tasked with operating overseas. MI5 (Security Service) is the UK's domestic counter-intelligence agency. Cole's work on the anti-IS task force is outward-oriented, as is the US team's, but for this instance when it's a domestic matter they'd have to inform "Five" (sometimes known as Thames House, after the building where the service is based).