CHARMING'S AUTHORS NOTE #1: Welcome back everybody, the last chapter got an amazing response, thank you all for the reviews and nice words. This chapter is not the end, no matter what the chapter's title suggests. Not every resolution is the end, sometimes the end is just the beginning.
CHARMING'S AUTHORS NOTE #2: Thanks to the amazing nevr for helping me with the beta of this story. Thanks for the help Nev!
The Monster You Made Me
A Story by
CharmingCharles2896
Chapter Eight
Resolution
Vincent Smith should have known that Quinn, Keller, and Prince weren't up to the task. Agent Walker was an opponent unlike anything Langston Graham's Enforcers had ever faced. Walker was better than any of them, Smith wasn't too proud to admit it. That woman had a gift for inflicting pain and destruction upon the enemy, a gift that at one point Smith had admired in his own way. The thing was, Walker was a traitor, turning her back on Graham. Vincent Smith wasn't overly fond of Graham; in fact, Smith rather loathed the man. Still, Graham's Enforcer Program was vital to the nation's security. In Smith's eye, the job he did was of vital importance to the country. When the country was unwilling to dirty their hands in the shadows, they sent in an Enforcer to do the job. For Walker, with all of her gifts, to turn her back on that, abandon her duty, was simply unacceptable.
With Walker rogue, and Tazi, Quinn, Keller, and Prince all dead, the number of remaining Enforcers had quickly dwindled from ten to five. More concerning to Smith than the lower number of Enforcers, was just how many of them refused the call of duty. With the news that Walker and the two civilians were now in the hands of the NSA, Decker had struck a deal with the DOJ, immunity in exchange for a confession. Gruber had told Smith that he was leaving the country, fleeing to god knows where. Smith's contacts at DHS had informed him that Stromberg had committed suicide, his suicide note mentioning his guilt over his actions. Smith had also been told that Bennett had apparently been killed in a shootout with French police in Calais just two hours ago. No explanation for the death of Ty Bennett had been given. The ship was sinking and apparently, every man for themselves had been declared.
Logically, next play for Smith was to either give himself up to the DOJ and suffer the consequences, kill himself, or flee the country. Smith wasn't going to do any of those things, he was too proud admit guilt for things he felt no guilt about. Graham was more than likely about to flee the country to continue the fight abroad, if he hadn't already done so. This left Smith as the only one left to finish this. Vincent Smith had been Graham's top Enforcer long before Walker had come onto the scene, he could handle this. All Smith had to do to make this right was kill Walker and the two civilians, find Decker and eliminate him, then track down Gruber and eliminate him as well. With nobody left to talk, Smith would be safe; protected from any potential legal trouble and able to continue his work in the shadows.
A strategy to deal with the numerous threats to Smith had come to him rather quickly. If Decker had struck a deal with the DOJ, he'd likely be under police protection. D.C. police were incompetent buffoons, so it hadn't been hard for Smith to find Decker and his detail at a not-so-secret safehouse that the DOJ sometimes used to stash their informants. It was so cliché to hide informants in a hotel room downtown, but nobody ever accused the U.S. government of being smart. Riding the elevator, Vincent Smith was dressed like any mundane DC tourist, back from a day of seeing the sights. The Smithsonian gift shop bag, something Smith kept just in case of situations like this, was the perfect cover. As the elevator door dinged, Smith put on his practiced smile and walked out into the hallway. Walking down the long corridor, Smith could plainly see the single D.C. police officer guarding the door. It blew Smith's mind that Decker's protection detail was likely only two people, considering his importance to any investigation into Graham and the Enforcer Program.
Closing the distance with the guard, Smith turned towards the door across the hallway and made to look like he was searching for his room key. "Where is it? I know I had it with me when I left," Smith said out loud, as he set his Smithsonian bag down and continued to pretend search his pockets. Looking over his shoulder, Smith gave the police officer a smile.
"First time in D.C.," Smith said with a smile, getting a half-hearted smile in return. Turning in place, Smith faced the man. "Say," Smith began as he pulled a folded map out of his pocket. "Can you point out the nearest metro station on this map? I can't seem to find it." Smith unfolded the map after seeing the nod from the D.C. police officer. The officer, who's uniform read the name, Jones, grabbed the map and began looking at it and pointed to a spot on the map.
"Here, it isn't far," Officer Jones began. "Leave the hotel and take a left, continue that direction for two blocks, you shouldn't miss it." Smith gave Officer Jones a grateful smile and a thankful nod.
"Thank you, Officer, I appreciate the help," Smith said as the officer folded the map up. Smith reached for the map, grabbed Officer Jones instead, and pulled the unsuspecting officer in close to him. The small knife in Smith's left hand pierced Officer Jones in the left arm pit. Smith pulled the knife out of Officer Jones and slashed Jones' neck before the man could scream. Officer Jones fell to the ground, choking on his own blood as it poured out of the wound in his neck. Smith stashed his knife, grabbed his Smithsonian bag off the floor, reached into it, and pulled a silenced pistol out with his right hand. Turning back to the hotel room that Smith knew housed Clyde Decker, Smith gave the door a swift kick, launching the door open.
Smith exploded into the room, shocking the police officer in the room and Decker, who turned with wide eyes. Smith shot the second of two police officers in the head, killing him before he could call for help. Decker took a half a step back as the much larger, and far more imposing Vincent Smith walked to him.
"Agent Smith, what the hell are you doing here?" Decker asked as he eyes the silenced pistol.
"Cleaning up Graham's mess," Smith said as he pointed his pistol at Decker.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy; don't do something rash," Decker said as he continued to backup, through the open door onto the balcony. The ice-cold expression in Smith's eyes had always unnerved Decker and in this moment, her understood why Graham used him the way he did.
"What have you told the DOJ?" Smith asked as Decker's legs came to rest against the metal railing of the balcony. Looking over the edge, Decker's vertigo kicked in at the sight of the nine story drop to the ground below. "What have you told them?" Smith asked again as he grabbed a hold of Decker's poorly fitting button-down shirt. Decker's heart raced as the danger in Smith's eyes grew increasingly present.
"I haven't told them anything yet," Decker said quickly, trying to save his own skin. "I told them where they could find certain things, but they needed a warrant to search for them." Smith saw red, this traitorous scum actually had betrayed them!
"So that's it then, checkmate," Smith said as his posture relaxed. Decker nodded, relaxing as well, seeing the change in Smith. After a few beats, Smith's posture changed once again and the pistol once again began to point at Decker's chest.
"You betrayed us," Smith said angrily.
"Walker was smart, she recorded everything. Walker kept notes, journals, reports of everything Graham ever asked of her. If she gives the NSA those materials, they'll nail all of us, the whole program!" Decker said urgently. "I am not going down for Graham, so I made a deal, sue me."
Smith shook his head, his eyes cold as ice. "I'm not going to sue you, Decker," Smith said calmly.
"So, you're going to kill me?" Decker asked, almost resigned to his fate. Smith shook his head and lowered his pistol to his side and dropping it all together onto the floor. Decker looked at the gun, wondering if he could reach it first, if there was even a chance.
"I'm not going to kill you, Decker," Smith declared with a shrug, confusing Decker.
"What was your plan here, intimidate me to death?" Decker shot back with more confidence, maybe it was false confidence, but Decker was going to roll with it.
Smith shook his head no and spoke; "no, I'm going to let gravity kill you." Decker looked at Smith in confusion.
"Gravity?" Decker asked, just moments before Smith sprang into action, pushed Decker backwards, sending Decker over the balcony railing and down to the ground many stories below. Smith listened to Decker scream before a loud thud greeted his ears alongside cars screeching and people screaming in terror. Smith turned on his heels, picked up his pistol, and left the hotel room. The silent, stoic assassin looked down at his watch.
19:30
Time was running short for Smith to put the rest of his plans into action. If he was going to neutralize Walker and the two civilians, then he needed to act fast.
~X~
Reagan International Airport
Washington D.C.
August 10th, 2023
7:47 PM EDT
Rafe Gruber was nervous, something highly unusual for Langston Graham's top marksman. It had all started when a contact at the agency had called to warn him, telling Rafe that Walker had turned on Graham. If Sarah Walker was turning on Graham than the party was well and truly over. Walker was someone to fear, the most terrifying killing machine in the history of espionage if the rumors were to be believed. Rafe Gruber had blood on his hands, more than Walker to be honest, but he knew as well as anyone that Walker was just better than him. Sarah Walker was smart, meticulous to the extreme, and incredibly skilled in combat.
Half the people at the CIA jokingly called her Mrs. Wick; a tad hyperbolic, but not overly so. As far as Gruber had been told, Walker had forty-six kills to her name, twenty of which came on one assignment a year before. Gruber didn't know if all of the rumors were true, but if someone like that had turned on Graham and was set to expose the entire Enforcer Program, then it was time to run. Gruber had enjoyed the Enforcer Program, the extra money, reputation, and prestige were great, as was the chance to kill people. Rafe Gruber was the kind of person who joined the army for a chance to kill people. The war on terror had given Gruber an incredible chance. Ten years as a Marine Scout Sniper had given Gruber one-hundred and seventy-seven confirmed kills in Afghanistan and Iraq. Eventually, tours in Afghanistan and Iraq hadn't been enough, there was no sport in it, no challenge. Langston Graham had recruited Gruber from the Marines, some six years ago. During the last six years, Gruber had only killed fifteen people, but each one was impossible to pull off. Extreme distance, precarious exfils, impossible infiltrations, all of it combined for an incredibly satisfying career.
The thing was, Rafe Gruber knew that some of his kills were problematic from a legal standpoint. The assassination of Udonian President Kristof Basnikov in particular was a kill that would park Gruber firmly in a Udonian prison for the rest of his life. Because of this reality, the possibility of Walker exposing the entire program was something Gruber was not keen on sticking around for. Gruber's flight to Saudi Arabia was going to be his ticket out of this mess. Having a U.S. Air Marshal credential was a brilliant cover and allowed him to carry his pistol with him on the airplane. At this moment, Gruber was glad he had his piece, because police were everywhere.
With departure only minutes away, Gruber was merely waiting for the damn plane to pull away from the gate and get in the fucking sky. Admittedly, Rafe Gruber hated flying coach, but beggar couldn't be choosers in this instance. An aisle seat in coach was a mild relief, if only because he wasn't trapped on the other side of the fat fuck sitting to his right. That poor sap in the window seat was basically trapped in his seat for the next twelve hours. The feeling of cold metal against Gruber's back wasn't particularly comfortable, but Gruber wasn't moving his pistol anywhere else, it was staying right there where he could get to it.
The feeling of the plane lurching backwards made Rafe sigh in relief, only a few minutes longer and he'd be home free. Looking to his left, across the aisle and out the window on the left side of the plane, Gruber saw the plane moving away from the gate. Soon enough, Gruber would be bound for Saudi Arabia and a new life as a mercenary for hire. Gruber was positive he could find work abroad, especially with his reputation and skill set. Feeling the plane taxi towards the runway, Gruber was practically counting the minutes until the plane was airborne and he was out of danger.
The feeling of the plane stopping suddenly grabbed Gruber's attention. Looking to his left, Gruber could see that the plane was still on the taxiway, not a runway. "Ladies and gentleman, we ask that everyone please stay in your seats. We've encountered a problem and have been commanded to stay where we are. United Airlines apologizes for this delay, we assure you we will be airborne as soon as possible." Rafe Gruber could hear sirens, police sirens far off in the distance, but growing closer. They had figured out he was on the plane and they were coming for him, Gruber knew it. As the other passenger's grew discontent with the delay and the warm temperatures inside the plane, Gruber continued to listen to the sirens grow closer and closer and closer still.
Looking ahead towards first class, Gruber could see the flight attendants moving about in the front. The sound of the engines spinning down told Gruber that this plane wasn't going anywhere, he was trapped, with the police coming to get him. Gruber's only hope was to get the plane off the ground, he had to get the plane off the ground. How was Gruber going to do that, he was all alone, with no support.
"Get ahold of yourself, you're an Enforcer! You've done harder shit than this," Gruber reminded himself, steeling his nerves. As the sirens grew to a fever pitch outside, Rafe Gruber stood up, ready to complete his new mission.
"Where are you going?" the fat fucker sitting to his right called as Gruber rose from his seat. Gruber silenced the man next to him with a single glare as he walked into the aisle and made for the front of the plane. People were giving Gruber strange looks as he walked from coach to business class, to first class.
"Sir, you need to take your seat," came the voice of a flight attendant behind Gruber. Spinning in place, Gruber turned to face the short, black woman in her United Airlines uniform. In a lightning quick motion, Gruber punch the woman throat, the woman falling to the floor, choking. Everyone in the plane gasped in shock, Gruber knowing it was now or never. Gruber raced to the front of plane and pulled his pistol out of the back of his pants.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am taking control of this plane!" Gruber called as he grabbed a terrified flight attendant, pointing the gun at her head. Looking towards the third of three flight attendants, Gruber spoke in a commanding voice. "You, tell the pilots to get this shit heap in the air before I blow her fucking head off!" The trembling flight attendant nodded and made for the phone to call the pilots.
Ten feet in front of Gruber, towards the middle of first class, a man in a business suit stood up from his seat. "Hey!" Gruber looked over at the man in a suit, he knew what the man was doing. Not feeling like listening to this moron talk, Gruber pointed his pistol at the man and pulled the trigger. People screamed as the man's life ended as a heap on the floor.
"Anyone else feel like dying? I've got plenty of ammunition!" Gruber declared as he pulled the flight attendant in his arms closer. "Where are you going?" he growled to the scared woman. Looking over his shoulder, Gruber pointed his pistol at the woman he'd told to contact the pilots.
"Why isn't this thing moving?" Gruber roared at the scared woman who merely held her hands up and sobbed in fear. "Get on that phone and tell the fucking pilot to get this plane moving. They've got thirty seconds or I'm going to kill you, one!" Gruber said as he began counting. The woman sobbed in terror and picked up the phone again, dialing the cockpit. Gruber looked back towards the rest of the passengers as he continued counting out loud. Knowing ill intent when he saw it, Gruber scanned the passengers' eyes for ill intent. As Gruber's verbal counting grew closer and closer to thirty, he looked back over towards the woman on the phone.
"Three, two, one," Gruber said back to her. The woman sobbed in fear as she saw Gruber's pistol move away from her friend and towards her once again.
"Please don't, I have a family!" the flight attendant screamed as Gruber pulled the trigger. The passenger's screamed in fear as she collapsed onto the floor. Growing impatient, Gruber dragged his hostage with him towards the closed door to the cockpit. Stepping over the dead body in front of him, Gruber used his pistol to bang on the door.
"Did you hear that? Open this door right now or I'll kill another one!" Gruber yelled.
"Please open the door!" The woman in Gruber's arms screamed, the blood of her friend all over the walls. The sound of screaming behind Gruber, caught his attention. Spinning around, Gruber saw an air marshal with a pistol aimed squarely at Gruber's head.
"U.S. Air Marshal, drop your weapon!" the Marshal commanded to Gruber.
"What's the plan, Marshal; gonna shoot me?" Gruber said snidely. "You've got two dead already and no hope of resolving this." Gruber adjusted his position, pulling the flight attendant in his arms closet to him, giving him more cover.
"Let her go, this only ends two ways and you know it," the Marshal said with rock-solid focus. Gruber laughed; he'd been in stickier situations than this.
"If you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it when I had my back turned. Instead, you let two people die; kind of the opposite of 'to protect and serve,' don't you think?" The Marshal's eyes were cold, laser focused, giving off an air of experience.
"Let her go and you'll walk out of here with your life," the Marshal said in a calmer tone. "The offer won't sweeten, only sour."
"Go ahead and shoot, Marshal, we both know you won't do it," Gruber said arrogantly. "Here's what's going to happen," Gruber said as he tightened his grip on his pistol. "I'm going to hold this pretty lady nice and tight; then I'm going to shoot you in the chest and watch you die."
"Please let me go," the flight attendant in Gruber's arms begged between terrified sobs.
"You know I can't let you take this plane," the Marshal began. "Even if you kill me, they'll never let this plane leave the ground. You're trapped in here, no hope of escape." The Marshal knew in his heart that this was going to end in a shooting match, one neither of them was likely to win. For Gruber, he knew his options were dwindling. Any chance of making it to Riyadh was gone, any chance of making it out of here was quickly vanishing. Still, this was Rafe Gruber, he'd gotten out of worse situations, he believed in his abilities.
"Come on, Marshal, take the shot, I dare you," Gruber said, goading the marshal into acting hastily. The sound of the door to the cock pit opening grabbed Gruber's attention. Glancing over his shoulder, Gruber saw the door open all the way. "Excellent," he mused as he looked back to the Marshal and took a step backwards towards the cock pit. As Gruber's steps grew closer and closer to the cock pit, his confidence in his ability to escape this situation grew as well.
"At least one person on this plane knows when to follow or-" Gruber was interrupted by the feeling of a metal object hitting him in the back of the head. Gruber lurched forwards, his grip on the flight attendant failing. The poor woman fell to the ground as Gruber spun and shot the co-pilot who'd hit him. In that moment, as Gruber took yet another life, the Marshal fired, his shots hitting Gruber in the side. Gruber fell to the floor in pain, but he wasn't out of the fight. As Gruber fell down, he turned in place and fired off a series of shots at the Marshal, who fired back at an equally frantic pace. Bullets flew in both directions, both shooters getting riddled with bullets. As the Marshal fell to the floor, several passengers around him did as well. Near the cock pit, Gruber was bleeding on the floor, his wounds mortal. The sounds of terrified civilians filled his ears as he breathed his last, labored breath.
"Chalk up six more kills," he mumbled as he lost consciousness and faded away for good.
~X~
Office of the Director of the National Security Agency
Fort Meade, Maryland
August 10th, 2023
8:20 PM EDT
The turkey sandwich that Sarah was eating was not the best thing she'd ever eaten in her life, far from it, actually. In spite of that truth, nothing had ever tasted better for Sarah Walker. The introduction of calories to her system had partially revived the fading blonde. The short interlude to eat and decompress after the day's events was welcomed. Molly was her typical jovial self, a shock considering the things that she'd been through. Then again, they say children are often times more resilient than given credit. The picture of what Sarah assumed was supposed to be a tiger, made her heart swell, truly heart-warmed by the little Bartowski.
The short nap on Chuck's shoulder was nice, comforting. It wasn't the longest nap, only lasting fifteen minutes or so, but it had left Sarah rejuvenated nonetheless. As the five people in Beckman's office finished eating, Beckman rose from her seat and made for her desk. Everyone in the room knew this meant it was time to get down to business.
"So," Director Beckman began. "How did you get all of this information, Mr. Bartowski?" Beckman asked as she once again looked at the documents on her desk.
"To prevent myself from revealing incriminating information, I am going to exercise my fifth amendment rights," Chuck said, never opening his eyes, nor moving from his spot on the couch. Casey, Gertrude, Sarah, and Beckman all nodded, stealing glances at each other as they understood the implications of Chuck's words.
"Roger that," Casey said, letting that topic lie.
Beckman grabbed her desk phone and dialed her secretary. "Erika, can you take the little one out to the waiting room and keep her company? Little ears have no place around the discussions we're about to have," Beckman asked, shocking Chuck.
"No, no, my daughter is not leaving my sight," Chuck said nervously as he rose from his spot on the couch and turned to face Beckman.
"Relax, Mr. Bartowski, Erika is a mother of five, she can handle your daughter for thirty minutes." Chuck didn't like it, but nodded and watched Erika enter the room and walk over to Molly.
"Hello, Ms. Molly, let's grab your things and go have fun in the waiting room," Erika said as she collected Molly's things.
"But I wanna stay with Daddy," Molly declared, getting a smile from Erika.
"I know, but the grown-ups need to talk about grown up stuff." Erika paused for a minute, thinking to herself. "Have you ever played the game Tic Tac Toe?" Erika asked, getting a shake of the head from Molly. "It's super fun, if you come with me, I'll show you." Erika's offer finally got Molly to say yes and the two of them left Beckman's office without another word. Once the door closed behind Erika and Molly, Beckman turned to face Chuck.
"As I said earlier, the files I have here are deeply troublesome, but not nearly enough to convict Graham of anything. This is compelling evidence for an investigation into Operation Red Sun and Mary Bartowski's death, but without a real connection between the two, there is no case right now." Chuck did not seem surprised by that, which seemed to shock Sarah, Casey, and Gertrude.
"You already knew that," Gertrude said, speaking the quiet part out loud. Chuck nodded to all of them.
"I had hoped that it would be enough. I contacted the head of the Law Department at USC to get his take on what I had and he told me the same. Knowing what I had wasn't enough, I kept digging." As Chuck finished speaking, he knew the question that would follow.
"Digging how?" Sarah asked Chuck who looked over at her. "Does this have to do with that tattoo on your chest? The fish tattoo?" Casey gave them a strange look, but Sarah and Chuck both ignored it.
Chuck blushed and looked away as he built up his courage, knowing what he was about to say would add an extra layer to the peril that he was in. "Back in my college days at Stanford, I dabbled in hacking. I never stole anything, nor did I ever do anything to harm others, I just did it to see what I could do." Chuck looked away from all of them, down at his hands, his wedding band still on his finger.
"After the cancer in my wife's brain finally took her, I went to a dark place. I kept thinking of all the people I had lost."
"Hence the other tattoo on your chest?" Sarah asked, interjecting for the sake of her own clarity.
Chuck just nodded, never looking up from his hands as he continued speaking. "One night about five months ago, I was thinking about the night my mother was killed, how the police never found the suspect who did it. I've always been a fan of Batman. Bruce Wayne always found out who killed his parents, he always brought them to justice. I guess in my own way, I decided to do the same and perform my own investigation. I began to look into everything I could legally get my hands on. The police report is public record, so that's where I started. The only piece of information that was notable was a bystander's description of a tall, black man in a dark suit, with leather gloves on. The witness described the chilling look in his eyes as he walked past her."
"Graham," Casey said in understanding, Chuck just nodded.
"I needed more information and I knew I'd never find it above board, so I went looking. I started with the NSA, then DHS, then FBI, which is where I found another clue." As Chuck told his tale, Sarah and the others in the room all found themselves leaning in.
"I don't know why this file caught my eye, but ten years ago, a woman named Anita Borisova was found strangled to death in an alley in D.C. Borisova was set to testify to the Senate intelligence Committee about malfeasance in the Special Operations Division of the CIA, which was run by Langston Graham at the time. She was killed one day before she was to testify; her death killed the inquiry."
"This got you onto Graham," Gertrude said, getting a nod from Chuck as he continued his long tale.
"I looked through decades of CIA files, scouring the vast expanse of information for anything similar to Anita Borisova. I found my mother's CIA file back in June. To say that her being a CIA agent was a shock, would be an understatement. I always knew on some level that she seemed to go on a lot of business trips when I was little, but that revelation threw me." Sarah merely nodded, understanding how shocking that kind of revelation could be overwhelming.
"That note at the end of her file pointed me back in the direction of Graham, which is when I found Operation Red Sun." Looking up at last, Chuck looked over to Beckman and spoke.
"Apparently you were a friend of her's, a mentor when she was a rookie. I figured this would be enough to get you to look into Graham, but after consulting an expert, I knew it would not be enough. I kept digging and digging and digging, until two weeks ago."
"What happened?" Beckman asked Chuck, who reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, black thumb drive, holding it tightly in his hand.
"It's important to note that back in college, Chardonnay was my so-called 'thinking juice' that helped me hack better. Two weeks ago, I was missing my wife, stressed out about raising a daughter alone, and just generally feeling low. Sometime after I'd put Molly to bed, I decided that I needed a drink. I drank all night, more than I'd drank in many years. Sometime around two in the morning, I decided that I'd never get my revenge on Graham unless I had a smoking gun. So, I tracked down Graham's home IP address and hacked into his home computer. For a man known to be careful, his home security was a joke. It took me less than ten minutes to find this," Chuck said as he tossed the thumb drive to Beckman.
Everyone looked at the thumb drive, which Beckman quickly plugged into her desk top computer. Opening the drive, Beckman found a single file, a massive PDF. Opening the file, Beckman read the first page aloud.
"Enforcer Program, Subject 001-1138." Everyone looked around at the other, though all of them missed the terror in Sarah's eyes.
Chuck spoke as Beckman skimmed the file. "Graham is an arrogant sonofabitch. Though no photo was given with the file, the context clues from the various mission reports, as well as some corroborative digging I did of other agents, points to this person being Sarah." With that, gasps filled the room, Casey, Gertrude and Beckman glancing at a clearly nervous Sarah.
Chuck continued speaking, knowing it was best to just rip the band-aide off. "Years of off the books wet work, extorsion, blackmail, kidnappings, all recorded, all done by Sarah." In that moment, Sarah was horrified, ashamed, and unsure of what to do. "Every Enforcer assignment that Graham ever gave her, was done under the presumed auspices of the Central Intelligence Agency. In reality, Langston Graham had his Enforcers doing illegal, morally reprehensible acts for his benefit, even if it was against America's national security interests." Sarah was panicking, unsure what was about to happen, unsure if she should run, or face the consequences for her actions.
"I thought I was doing good," Sarah said to herself, her eyes a million miles away. Everyone watched the blonde pace around the room, none of them sure if she even knew she was doing it. "I thought I was keeping America safe. Did I do anything above board?" Sarah asked, stopping to look back at Chuck.
"Sure you did, just not when your orders came directly from Graham." The way Chuck said that was crushing to Sarah. Her entire career was a never-ending parade of evil! It was a rare day when Sarah's orders didn't come directly from Graham, which meant much of her career was criminal, possibly even traitorous.
"Before we go any further," Beckman began, needing to intercede before the whole room fell to pieces. "As party to the revelation of this information, Agent Walker is a whistleblower. Agent Walker is not going down for this, I assure you," Beckman said as she reached for her phone and began dialing. As Beckman spoke on the phone, a chain of events was set in motion that would not be stopped, not before the entire world was changed forever.
~X~
Palacio del Conquista
4 Miles Southwest of Santa Montero, Costa Gravas
August 10th, 2023
8:45 PM EDT
Costa Gravas was truly a beautiful, little shit hole. The tropical, Caribbean paradise was a country at odds with the United States. Much like Cuba to the west, Costa Gravas had fallen to Communism many decades ago. In December of nineteen seventy-eight, while Jimmy Carter was President, a military coup overthrew the pro-western dictatorship, run by President Patricio Lopez Aguilar. Rodolpho Jimenez Castillo Herrera, declared himself Premier of the Socialist Republic of Costa Gravas. Herrera ruled with an iron fist for the first thirty-seven years of the country's existence. After Premier Herrera's death in two-thousand and five, Alejandro Fulgencio Goya was chosen as Herrera's successor. Unlike his predecessor, Premier Goya understood the dissatisfaction held by the people towards the prior leadership. The citizens of Costa Gravas were tired of oppression, periodic famine, and a stagnant economy.
Premier Goya set about making massive, sweeping changes to the Costa Gravan government. The freedom of the press was loosened sightly, the nation's meager industry was privatized to increase productivity, and a call for aid was sent to the United Nations in response to yet another famine. In the eighteen years since taking over as Premier of Costa Gravas, things had improved a bit. Famine was no longer an issue and American tourism now fueled the local economy. Costa Gravas was still a communist country, but the tiny, island nation had entered the global, geopolitical system, ready and willing to participate.
For Langston Graham, Premier Goya was a dear friend. When Premier Herrera died, Graham worked tirelessly to install Goya as the next head of state, through whatever means were necessary. The United States needed a much milder man at the top of Costa Gravan government. Alejandro Goya was a communist despot; he jailed, tortured, and killed political prisoners. Still, in comparison to Herrera, Premier Goya was significantly milder. Since helping Goya take power, Graham had kept up back-channel communications over the years. Part of the deal that Graham had with Goya was safe passage, just in case. Langston Graham was a man who had to be in control of the situation. Loose ends and unsettle variables were the enemy, hence the Enforcer Program.
Agent Walker was his secret weapon, the tool he'd used to get to the top. When Graham discovered Walker, she was a delinquent, sixteen-year-old girl with a bad haircut and braces. Her piece of shit father was using her for his cons, taking advantage of her clearly developing charms. That was almost ten years ago, an eternity in the intelligence world. Magdalena Lisa Wilson, daughter of Jack and Emma Wilson. When Graham had cornered her, he'd seen the fear in her, as well as darkness. It was the darkness hidden behind her eyes that had convinced him to recruit her. The pitch had been easy, Graham had arrested Jack Wilson only hours early as part of an ATF sting.
With Emma and Magdalena Wilson estranged, it wasn't hard to recruit little Magdalena, faking her death and turning the sixteen-year-old ugly duckling into the perfect assassin. Two years of training before she was even an adult turned Magdalena Wilson into Sarah Walker, the Enforcer to end all Enforcers. The Enforcer Program itself was started by Edwin Mathis back in the seventies, helping him rise to Director of Central Intelligence during the Clinton Administration. When Mathis retired, he turned the program over to Graham. At the time, the program was merely a myth within intelligence circles, but Graham made it something more than that. Mathis viewed the Enforcers like a secret army to serve the United States… Graham saw things differently.
For Langston Graham the Enforcers were a private army that served him and him alone, damn the United States interests. Graham militarized the Enforcers, turned them from a shadowy presence into a band if killers who served one master. Graham used the Enforcers to bribe, kill, and blackmail anyone in his way. No matter who stood in his way, Graham used his not-so-secret Enforcers to get to the top of the mountain. Agent Walker was Graham's secret weapon, the agent he used the most. The woman was a stone-cold killer, nearly devoid of emotion, but much like every other woman in the Intelligence world, she was ultimately ruled by her baser maternal instincts. Graham should have sent Smith after Bartowski, Smith's actions weren't dominated by his fucking ovaries like Walker's clearly were.
Graham thought the implied threat against the father would have been enough to cow Walker, but clearly, he'd chosen the wrong parent to leverage. If Walker was willing to risk the life of her father to save a pair of civilians, then clearly, Jack Wilson wasn't the ace in the hole that Graham had thought he'd be. At the time of Walker's recruitment, he'd assumed she was closer to her father, hence her living with him. Regretfully, there was no possible way to leverage Walker's mother, Emma Wilson, since she died only a few weeks earlier.
The way things had unraveled over the last two days pissed Graham off. To be betrayed by his best Enforcer was a supreme slap in the face. In the hours since learning that Walker had betrayed him, Graham had taken steps, cashed in blackmail material, twisted arms, called in decade old favors, anything to get done what he needed done. Thankfully, Graham had managed to get himself and his family to Costa Gravas long before the shit really hit the fan. Upon hearing from his sources in Washington about the fate of the rest of his Enforcers, Graham felt disappointed more than betrayed. His invincible army had crumbled in a matter of hours at the first sign of trouble.
Agent Tazi getting killed on a simple assassination was very on-brand for the dumb bitch. Graham should have known that the only way she was useful was as a piece of ass. Worse than Tazi, was the fact that Prince, Quinn, and Keller had all been killed by Walker and the goddamn civilian! Apparently, the element of surprise and a numerical advantage didn't mean shit when the blind was leading the blind. The fact that Stromberg shot himself in the head like a fucking coward made Graham's blood boil. Who knew the man was such a pussy, crying about his so-called guilt! The revelation that Decker had gone to the DOJ and surrendered, angered Graham worse than Stromberg's betrayal. Thankfully, Decker must have changed his mind and chosen death instead, considering he jumped off that balcony to his death. When Graham had seen the fate of Rafe Gruber on the news, he'd known that there was no recovering from this mess.
Once Graham and his family landed in Santa Montero, his sources at both the DOJ and the NSA had informed him, that a warrant was coming. Too bad Costa Gravas had no extradition agreement with the United States. Graham's new deal with Premier Goya would ensure that he stayed in power, at the top of the intelligence world, albeit in a reduced capacity. Ultimate revenge would be Graham's, he'd just have to be patient. With his wife and children safely in Costa Gravas, Langston Graham was in the private office of his new estate, trying to get ahold of Agent Smith.
When Agent Smith finally answered the phone, his cold voice filled Graham's ear. "Sir," Smith said flatly.
"About fucking time you answered the fucking phone!" Graham roared, having already called four previous times.
"I was busy," Smith said in return, his tone much more belligerent than Graham had ever heard, clearly a side effect of his falling fortunes.
"Busy how?" Graham replied quickly.
"Agent Decker betrayed us, so I dealt with it," Smith said coldly, his meaning clear to Graham.
With a pleased smile, Graham spoke once again, "Excellent work, Agent Smith. There is still one more traitor out there."
"Walker…" Smith growled. Graham knew he'd always liked Smith, their goals in life aligned well. Smith had always been one to seek power and influence. He was loyal to Graham, because Graham had ensured that Smith got his as well. If Smith had better instincts in the field, he'd likely have been the one Graham trusted the most. Sadly, Walker had always possessed greater instincts as a spy. Walker's ability to pull off missions that ten men couldn't accomplish had been why Graham had relied on her so much as of late. In hindsight, loyalty was more important than skill.
"I want that stupid cunt, Walker, to suffer for this. Find Walker and the fucking Bartowski's and make them regret crossing me." Graham said with a menacing tone, one grounded in a desire for vengeance. "If you do this for me, I promise you I will make you a key part of my revenge against the whole fucking system. When I'm finished, the whole world will understand what it means to betray me!" Graham's crazed ranting was completely lost on Smith, who gave flat, noncommittal acknowledgements.
"It would be unprofessional not to, Sir," Agent Smith said before hanging up, unable to take his eyes off of his own path to revenge against Sarah Walker. Off in the distance, the headquarters for the NSA drew Smith's gaze. Inside that building, Smith would exact his revenge. Graham wasn't the only person in the CIA who had allies in other agencies. Yes, Smith would punish the traitor and her civilian friends.
"Trust me, Revenge will be all mine," Smith muttered to himself as he thought about what was to come.
CHARMING'S AUTHORS NOTE #3: Looks like the Enforcers are all but spent, that just leaves Agent Smith and Sarah Walker. Smith has designs for a grand revenge, while Sarah Walker tries to bring her former boss to justice. It would seem that we are on a collision course. There are only three chapters and an epilogue remaining, so be sure to tune in next Thursday, December 7th, 2023 for The Monster You Made Me, "Chapter Nine: Seeking Courage."
CHARMING'S AUTHORS NOTE #4: I am continually humbled and pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of praise from all of you. I had an inkling that this was my best work when I finished it, but to hear the same thoughts from so many of you... it's a feeling I can't describe. This story was the first time in a long, long time where I felt truly inspired. The last few weeks i've been trying to begin a new story, but I find myself unable to carry the momentum forward into more than one session of writing. I'm not as inspired as I was with this story. It was like I wrote the first draft of this story in a handful of days as if they were merely the blink of an eye. What an amazing feeling that is, the pure, unfiltered creativity of it. It's indescribable and I implore all of you to try your hand at writing too, even if you've never done so before. Be creative, embrace your imagination.
Until Next Time :D