A/N: Welcome to the beginning of the third arc of New Day. If you made it this far, thanks so much for coming along on this trip with me. If you didn't make it this far, well, I'm not sure how you are reading this.
Gossip on the street is that someone here owns Chuck and is just being modest by not admitting it. So, keep your eyes open, folks.
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Nick Renny stared out of the open window from the second floor of the Miller Art Gallery in downtown Los Angeles and waited. His boss, Andrew Harris, was below on the loading dock, just visible from the window and waiting for the delivery. Renny was on overwatch above. He cradled a silenced Colt 9mm SMG, a smaller version of Colt's ubiquitous assault rifle, but chambered for the common pistol round.
Renny was in a sour mood. Given his size, skill set and relative lack of seniority on the team, he was relegated to the role of muscle. It was not an unusual situation in MI-6 and he didn't mind it usually, but in this case it was irksome. Harris had no interest in his opinion of the operation and had told him bluntly, on more than one occasion to belt up and obey orders. To be fair, this portion of the operation looked like it might be a success, but they were only halfway done overall.
A dark SUV pulled up to the dock and parked. Renny saw the driver greet Harris with a nod, move around to the rear of the vehicle and open the back gate. He removed a bulky object covered by a light tarp. As Harris and the driver moved off the dock and into the building, Renny moved as well to an open mezzanine overlooking the main gallery space. He took care to move silently and very slowly – knowing that the eye can be drawn to movement.
A display easel had already been set up in the center of the floorspace. The object, a covered framed painting, was placed on it by the driver and the tarp removed. It was called Water Lilies at Dusk and was painted by Adolpho Bernini, an uninspired Italian journeyman artist from the last century. It depicted exactly what its title indicated, with washed out blues and greens. It was not a painting anyone would glance at a second time. The frame was a large smooth wooden piece with a small brass plaque along the bottom edge displaying the title and artist.
Harris confirmed that it was, in fact the painting he was buying, then directed the driver to the attache case with the money. Once the man opened the lid to confirm its contents, he began to reach for a pistol tucked into his belt. As he did so, Harris took out a silenced Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol and shot him in the back of his head. The body collapsed to the floor. Harris turned to look at the painting and said, "What a piece of crap," with obvious disdain.
Renny came down the stairs and said, "Is it there?"
"Bloody well better be," said Harris, moving the painting to the table as Renny took the case of money off it. With a small screwdriver, he removed the brass plaque and looked underneath. "Cheers, Renny."
"Brilliant," said Renny. While Harris removed the small vial from the hidden recess under the plaque, Renny began to empty the dead man's pockets and drop the contents on the table. "Did you have to kill him, Harris?"
"Why not? He knew we had the painting. He was a liability. Don't go soft on me, Renny. There's too much at stake."
"I know what's at stake. I'm not going soft, Harris, but we are in America right now. This isn't some lawless place like the Burmese jungle. We have allies here. People who will help us. They want him as much as anybody. They could have taken and held this bloke. Now we just have a body to get rid of in downtown Los Angeles."
"Allies? The Americans can bugger off, for all I care. This is our hunt and we will bring it to a conclusion ourselves. They will just get in the way. Damn arrogant arseholes as far as I'm concerned. Think they invented counter-terrorism. I was infiltrating the IRA while these blokes were arming Bin Laden."
"Harris, you know as well as I do that we have protocols and requirements to check in with the CIA and NSA in order to operate here. There are rules in place for a reason. 'Blue on blue,' as the Americans say, to be avoided. Can't have that."
"And have those Yanks muddle up our whole operation? We've chased La Ciudad across three continents...five countries...we'll get the son of a bitch and I won't let any Americans get in my way." Harris was almost spitting with vehemence by the time he was done.
Renny nodded, but couldn't shake the thought of Captain Ahab destroying his ship to hunt the object of his obsession. To hell with it, thought Renny, even if Harris wouldn't, he would make sure the Americans were on board with this operation. If Harris got miffed and decided he never wanted to work with him again, that would be a blessing.
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Several weeks later, Chuck took the list of names Sarah handed him and spent a few moments studying it while Sarah waited patiently. "Nope. Nothing," he said.
"How about this one?" asked Sarah, handing him a different piece of paper with a different list.
"Oh, yeah. This one," he pointed at a name, "is in the hawala network. He is funding the Warriors of Allah terrorist group in Tunisia."
"Ok," said Sarah, typing on her computer. "Any others?"
"Well, this guy sounds like a character from Star Wars."
"Focus, Moron. We have work to do," said Casey from the kitchen area. Chuck and Sarah sat at Casey's dining room table waiting for Casey to serve them pancakes.
"Ignore him. He's just grumpy cause it's his turn to make breakfast," said Sarah. Chuck and Casey wore their respective Buy More uniforms and Sarah was in her vaguely ridiculous Wienerlicious outfit, her hair in pig tails.
"OK, only a few more," said Sarah. She showed him pictures on her laptop of a few buildings, a couple of ships and three or four people. He flashed on one of the ships as transporting banned electronics to China and one of the men as involved in human trafficking. Sarah typed the report of his flashes.
Casey put plates of pancakes in front of each of them. "Thanks, Casey," they each said.
"You done, Walker?"
"Yeah, that's all I have."
"OK, I have some from Beckman." He pushed a button on his computer and twisted the screen around so Chuck could see it. It started a slide show of pictures of bloody, murdered bodies.
"Ugghhh. Creepy. Casey, you did that deliberately. You waited until I had food in front of me to show those." he looked away.
Barely hiding a smile at his own little joke, and chewing on a mouthful of pancake, Casey said, "Oh, man up. We have work to do. Look at them. Any flashes?" With palpable distaste, Chuck looked at each of the dead bodies and shook his head, no flashes. "Ok," said Casey, closing the computer "Want some syrup for your pancakes? Maybe, some blood red strawberries?"
"You are a sadist," said Chuck with a groan. "I hope you are proud of yourself." Casey laughed. Even Sarah laughed a little. The work portion of the morning meeting over, Casey opened and distributed the morning paper. As usual, he gave Sarah the news section and took the sports himself. Chuck choose the comics.
Over the few weeks since they'd captured Zarnow, this had developed into their morning routine. They would meet for breakfast and show Chuck information that Graham or Beckman or both wanted run past the Intersect to see if any flashes occurred. As Sarah didn't have a kitchen, when it was her turn they sat in the back room of a quiet diner near the Buy More. Sarah and Chuck were sleeping together pretty much every night, either at her hotel or in Chuck's apartment, so if Ellie and Devon were out they could use Chuck's place and either Sarah or Chuck would cook. It was generally agreed that Sarah was the best cook of the three, but Chuck's skills were improving quickly and Casey did, in fact, make excellent pancakes.
"Can't believe the Dodgers choked again," Said Casey.
"I know," said Chuck, "You'd think they had Little League kids pitching," said Chuck.
"Be an improvement," growled Casey.
"How can you guys get upset about baseball when the rest of the news is so horrible? Look," Sarah gestured with the paper, "bombing in Baghdad, another sex scandal in DC (this one involving an underage monkey), a school shooting in Miami, a robbery at a National Guard armory in Salt Lake, a family killed in a house fire in Encino. I think Chuck is right and we should just read the comics and be done with it all."
"Could you say that again, please?" asked Chuck.
"We should just read the comics and be done with it?"
"No, the part about me being right." said Chuck with a smile.
"Wait," said Casey, holding up a hand. "The monkey was underage?"
Sarah turned the page of the paper and Chuck flashed. Casey noticed and nudged Sarah. When Chuck stopped flashing they looked at him expectantly.
He pointed to the article in the paper illustrated with a picture of Water Lilies at Dusk and said, "Water lily painting...weapons...art auction. Does the name La Ciudad mean anything to you?"
"Why?" asked Casey.
"Because I think he's going to be at this art auction on Thursday," said Chuck.
Casey and Sarah looked at each other with stunned expressions and pushed aside their breakfast plates. Chuck, seeing their stupefied reactions, collected the empty plates and brought them to the kitchen sink.
"Holy shit," said Casey.
"Yeah," said Sarah.
"Guys?" asked Chuck.
"He's one of the most wanted arms dealers in the world. Incredibly dangerous," said Casey.
"And a ghost," said Sarah. "You didn't flash on a picture of him, I'll bet. Nobody knows what he looks like. None of the intelligence agencies. If anyone sees his face, he kills them."
"I agree with Casey. Holy shit," said Chuck, washing the dishes.
"Beckman and Graham," said Casey
"Yup," said Sarah. After a couple of emails, the video conference was set up and Graham and Beckman were on Casey's large TV monitor on a split screen.
"Good morning, Team Bartowski," said Graham. "Did Chuck flash on something urgent?"
"I did, Director," said Chuck. "It seems La Ciudad may be attending an art auction here in Los Angeles on Thursday night."
Beckman looked pleased and was clearly not surprised. "Well, Langston, it worked."
"They'll be pretty pleased with themselves, won't they?" he said.
"Deservedly so," said Beckman. Turning to Team Bartowski, she continued, "Let me explain. MI-6 is using a stolen vial of plutonium as bait to draw out La Ciudad. After months of pursuit, two of their agents intercepted the plutonium and replaced it with an inert duplicate. They believe that La Ciudad is unaware of the switch and will attempt to buy the plutonium...to buy the painting, at the auction. It was hidden in the frame of the water lily painting. Your flash is the first indication we have that La Ciudad may be taking the bait. They will be more than pleased with this information."
Graham picked up, "But under no circumstances can we tell them that this information came from the Intersect. We are not yet prepared to share that technology...hell, even the concept, with any other government or agency. We will create a plausible explanation for this development."
"Agreed," said Beckman.
Graham said, "We are going to assign you to attend the auction on Thursday. Act as liaison with the MI-6 agents. It's our country, so they don't get carte blanche, but it's been their show thus far and, frankly, they did a damn good job. If La Ciudad shows up, they deserve the credit. You will not be taking orders from them, but I would say they are entitled to a certain deference. Understood?"
"Certainly," said Sarah.
"Yup," said Chuck.
"Yeah, I can play nice with the Limeys," said Casey. Sarah and Chuck looked at him. "What?" he growled. "It was a joke."
"Side splitting, Casey." She did not appear to be actually amused. "Alright, Team, we leave it in your discretion. We'll send you the contact information for the MI-6 agents. Coordinate with them for coverage of the auction. We don't have to tell you how important this is. Western intelligence has been after La Ciudad for years. Good luck," said Beckman. The screen went dark.
"This is going to be incredibly dangerous. La Cuidad is like a crazy pyscho killer. Killing everyone who's seen his face is really nuts. I don't want Chuck anywhere near him," said Sarah.
"Well," said Casey, "we'll have to bring him to the auction. We have no idea what to look for. A flash might be the key to finding the sonofabitch."
"Uh, guys, I'm right here. It's annoying when you talk about me like I'm not here. I'm not four."
"Sorry, Chuck. I just worry about you running into La Ciudad."
"I know, but think about what happened with Andric...I mean before the whole bomb almost blowing up Union Station thing... I walked around with you, ID'ed the bad guys, and was done. If not for the bomb, I could have gone home and played video games for the rest of the day. Why would this one be any different?"
"He's right," said Casey. "He'll have you next to him and me behind the bar or waiting tables or something. We can protect him if there's a problem. If the Intersect is going to be useful, Walker, we have to have it in a place where he can see things. And it's an art auction, for God's sake."
"Chuck, promise me you won't freestyle on this one. With Zarnow you ran up to the roof without a plan or a gun or anything."
"And he stopped Zarnow and Moon from taking off in the helicopter..."
"You're not helping, Casey," said Sarah with exasperation.
"Fine, Sarah. I promise I won't run off like I did with Zarnow," said Chuck.
"Ok. We take him to the auction, but the MI-6 guys can't know he's there," said Sarah.
"I agree," said Casey. "We let them think you and I are alone."
Sarah got a little smile on her face and said to Chuck, "We have an errand after work this afternoon, so don't make any plans."
"Where are we going?" Chuck asked.
"The Armani store in Beverly Hills. We're buying you a tux," she looked like she was really going to enjoy this particular errand.
Casey grinned, "You're in for it now, Moron. Glad we got you a clothing allowance."