A/N: Unlike gambling generally, ownership of Charah is a sure thing. (And I'm not referring to Lou's delicious sandwich, which, I'm told, is selling quite well.)

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Chuck and Sarah slept late and, once awake, didn't get out of bed for some time in any event. When they finally made their way out to the living room area, Casey was already up and reading the day's papers with his second cup of coffee.

"Morning, Case," said Chuck.

"Morning, kid. Walker. Looks like your performance last night attracted the attention we wanted. This had been slid under the door." He pushed an envelope and letter across to them. They were invited to the Kirk cocktail party at 6pm that evening in the Thurston Room of the hotel.

Chuck grinned and gave Casey a high five. "Good job, Bartowski," said Casey. "Remind me to keep you in mind when I want someone to lose over three million dollars."

"I won it first, so don't forget that part when you tell the story," said Chuck, laughing while reaching for the coffee pot.

"Well, guys," said Sarah. "What do you want to do between now and the cocktail party? We've got more than a few hours to kill."

"I was thinking about a visit to the Museum of Nuclear Testing," said Casey. "And maybe a workout."

"How about we go to the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton?" asked Chuck.

"Ughhh," said Sarah, taking the coffee cup Chuck offered her. "You guys can go do either one of those. Or both of them. I'll go to the spa for a little pampering."

"I don't pamper you enough?" asked Chuck.

"Well, sweetie..." she began to run her hand up his arm while giving him a soft smile.

"Oh, God. I'm going to need regular insulin injections if I keep hanging around you two," said Casey.

"Ahhh, come on," said Sarah, with a grin, swatting him gently on the arm. "Best job you ever had."

Casey just grunted.

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Still bundled in their overcoats which had offered protection from the chill wind outside, Secret Service Agent Ralph Watts stood in the foyer of Summers Currency with his partner, Mike Casper. Casper was fresh out of training and on his first field assignment. Watts found a little humor in the young man's enthusiasm. Hell, when they met Carmichael and his team, he thought Casper would ask for their autographs, he was so excited. On the plane ride from LA to Boston he went on and on about them and all the accomplishments they'd had. Very little of it was public knowledge (and, in any event, their identities were closely held secrets), but the gossip in the law enforcement and intelligence communities touted them as an incredibly successful team of operatives. Casper had all the calm of a fanboy meeting his idols. Watts was pleased that he had managed to hold it in check during the briefing in LA. Furthermore, he believed that Casper had a secret crush on Agent Walker.

The Summers Currency facility was located outside Pittsfield, Massachusetts, near the New York border. Paper making is a water intensive industry and Summers was located along the East Branch Housatonic River as a result. There were multiple buildings comprising the facility. At the moment, Watts and Casper stood in the main building housing the offices. Other buildings contained the production processes. There was even a museum highlighting the history of the company. The Summers business was significantly broader than making currency paper, but this division of the Summers Company had been a mainstay of its revenue for literally hundreds of years. Stephen Summers sold the first paper for the Colonies' currency to Paul Revere in 1770. Now the company was established worldwide, was a leading provider of high-tech currency paper to many nations, and was the sole provider of paper to the US government for its currency.

Watts had spoken with the officers of the company many times since the investigation into the bogus hundreds had begun and been repeatedly assured that all of the hundreds paper that had been produced was accounted for by Summers and had, in fact, been delivered to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing (the delivery receipt from the BEP had been emailed to him). It had been Watts' idea to come back out to Massachusetts and talk to the Summers people in person and to look at the production facility himself. With the new information they had gotten from Carmichael's team, he was going to start at the beginning and go through the entire paper investigation all over again from the ground up. When they left Summers, they would head south to DC and the BEP. If the Summers part of the investigation was a dry hole, the paper must have been stolen from the BEP. He knew that the men and women at the BEP had excellent procedures to keep track of the paper, but that was the only other choice. He refused to believe that the counterfeiters had been able to so successfully mimic the actual paper.

When the agents showed their credentials to the receptionist, she told them that they had been expected and to please wait. An older man in coveralls and a parka came through the doors behind them after a few minutes wait.

"This way, gentlemen." He led them back out into the December cold. There wasn't too much snow on the ground and what there was had been well shoveled and the walks were clear. The buildings were a typical New England style of tidy red brick, three stories high. The portion of the facility that produced the currency paper, though, located along West Housatonic Street to the east of the other buildings, was behind high fencing and was protected by barbed wire and a manned guard post.

Their guide had them waived through the entry point and led them into the red brick building that contained the currency paper production floor, where the paper was actually made. They snagged ear protection from a rack near the door and walked onto the floor itself. Their guide warned them to be careful to keep out of peoples' way and not to approach any of the active machines.

Most paper is made out of wood pulp, but not the paper made in this building. US currency paper is made out of a 75/25 mix of cotton and linen. Huge paper machines took up most of the floor of the vast building. The wet slurry of fibers was fed into one end of the machine, the water removed, the web of fibers pressed, dried, and formed into an even thickness. The paper is then run through various finishing processes and ends up on huge rolls. The amazing thing is that the entire process happens in a continuous run on one long machine. Dozens of these enormous machines thrummed and drums of paper whirled as they were prepared. Watts and Casper were struck that what they were looking at was destined to end up in someone's wallet or purse. From the paper making machine, the rolls went to another part of the facility where cutting machines took the rolled paper and cut it into sheets, to be packaged and forwarded to the BEP. Hundreds paper was packed into brown paper wrapped loads of 8,000 sheets and shipped two loads at a time to the BEP in unmarked white trucks.

Not all of the machines were active at the same time, though, as the higher denomination paper was produced in less quantity than the lower denomination paper. Watts and Casper stood looking at one of the quiet cutting machines.

"What are we looking for?" asked Casper.

"I don't know," admitted Watts. "This is the machine that cut the rolls of hundreds paper into sheets." He gestured at the computer mounted to the side of the apparatus. "But I've got the print out of how many sheets were made. They are all accounted for. I've spent hours on the phone with their Chief Information Officer, guy named Prentiss Cuthburt. There's nothing missing. None of the paper from this machine is missing. How the hell did Chen get that paper?"

With a scowl, their guide said, "Missing paper? You get a good count?"

"Yes, Sir. This machine didn't cut any more paper than you guys accounted for, so staring at it won't do me any good."

"Did you double check the computer?" the old guy asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Watts.

"The old analog counter on this cutter. It's mechanical not electronic. This machine is pretty old and predates the computer hook up from the rest of the machines in the process. It's still got the old counter in back. Nobody uses it any more. It's a pain in the ass to even get to it, the way they re-mounted this one near the wall. I'll bet most people don't even know it's there. Here, let me check it for you." The old man went around to the back side of the machine close to the wall and got down on his knees slowly, as if it were painful for him to do so. He called out, "One, two, five, six, seven, one."

Watts wrote the numbers down on the back of the print out he held. Glancing at the other side of the paper, he said to the old man, "Thanks, my friend. No joy. That's just what the computer told us. Thanks anyway."

"Ah, well. Good luck." After spending some time with the packing machines, they finished on the production floor. The older man took them back outside the fenced-in section and into the main office building. He left them in the lobby with a hearty "Good luck." While they waited there, Watts showed the number to Casper, surreptitiously motioning with his finger for silence. The cutting machine in the other building had cut 3,000 sheets of hundreds paper that the Summer's computer system didn't account for. Casper's eyes went wide as he digested the ramifications, but he held his tongue for once.

Cuthburt's assistant, a young African-American woman, came down to get them in the reception area. The woman indicated that Mr. Cuthburt was expecting them. They took the elevator to the top floor. They were led down a corridor of executive offices. She knocked once and opened the door to his office without waiting for a reply, motioning for them to enter. Cuthburt stood up from behind his desk and stepped forward with his hand extended.

"Agent Watts, what a pleasure to meet you in person after all this time. Good to put a face to the voice on the phone," he said cheerfully. He had a Boston accent, which seemed a little incongruous, as, notwithstanding his name, he appeared to be Chinese.

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Lon Kirk began to mingle with the high rollers at his Wednesday cocktail party, forcing a plastic smile onto his face. Mostly a collection of fat businessmen and their fat wives. The bunch of them should be set on the treadmill for a few hours, or days, thought Kirk. Here was that movie guy with his third, or was it his fourth, wife. Here was the sheik with his retinue. Here was...wait a second now.

"I don't think we've met, I'm Lon Kirk," he said, suavely, reaching out to shake hands.

"Hi. I'm Carmichael, Charles Carmichael, but my friends call me Chuck. This is Sarah Walker and my friend, John Casey. Thank you for the invite to the party. You have a lovely hotel here, Mr. Kirk. We've been enjoying our visit." The boy was tall, about as tall as he was, and had all the happy enthusiasm of a puppy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you...all of you. Chuck, huh? Please call me Lon. So, they tell me you won three and a half million dollars from me last night and then gave it right back again. You are a pretty brave gambler, Chuck."

The young man laughed gently. "No, Lon, I'm not brave. I'd be brave if I was gambling with my own money. By the time I was playing roulette it was all house money. It might as well have been monopoly-money to me."

"Well, not many men would have been as free and easy with a three million dollar win."

"I guess you're pretty glad I was, though, huh?" he said with an engaging smile, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

Kirk gave a bit of a sideways grin, his bad mood slipping away, "Well, yeah. I am, actually." This Carmichael was actually a pretty nice kid. Kirk liked him immediately, but, nevertheless, his attention was focused on the woman, Sarah. A rare beauty, her blue eyes held intelligence and passion and he was immediately attracted to her. She reminded him of his second wife, at least as she had looked in the beginning. The exciting thought passed quickly through his mind of seeing those same eyes holding fear or pain, but he pushed the idea away. Not the time for that, he thought. Maybe later.

"What line of work are you in, Chuck? If I may ask," said Kirk.

"Software. I'm working with some open source algorithms to track the market fluctuations on the individual level for the cardinal endruns. The baselines are particularly hard to pin down."

'Whatever the fuck that is,' thought Kirk. 'Like I give a shit.' Aloud, he said, "Ah, I see. Very interesting. And what do you do, Miss Walker. I hope I'm not being presumptuous by the assumption that it is 'Miss'?"

Her smile was delightful and her blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, it's 'Miss' alright. I work with Chuck. Mostly translation of his material. It's really difficult sometimes."

"Oh, how challenging. And you, Mr. Casey?"

"Security," growled Casey.

"Indeed. Can't have too much of that, now can we?" said Kirk. The big, dumb thug looked like he'd be perfect with Tony's outfit, hanging around with those trigger-happy boneheads. "Will you be staying long?"

"We haven't really decided yet, Lon," said Sarah with a seductive smile. This one was as easy as can be. Kirk knew he was handsome and charming, but he also knew that power and money worked its own libidinous magic on women. When you had those things women became yours for the taking and their men could do nothing at all to stop it. It was just the way nature had designed the human species. Certainly, a nice, well-meaning, youngster like this Chuck boy wouldn't be able to stop him from taking Sarah. He began to mentally ascribe the name Cuck to him, and smiled to himself as he did so.

At just that time, Chen walked into the party, scowling and clearly in a mood to have a fight. 'Aw, shit,' thought Kirk. 'So much for my seduction of this blonde,' he grumbled to himself.

Kirk said, "I'm sorry. Please excuse me for a moment." He left Cuck and his woman and reluctantly made his way over to Chen, his mood darkening with every step.

Chen and his men invariably made him mad. He hated being under anyone's thumb and to be blackmailed by this arrogant asshole was doubly infuriating. To push the man's fake money through the coffers of the Magic was hateful. Not that he hated breaking the law, but to be forced to do it...Kirk shook himself. He didn't like being angry all the time. He considered himself a generally happy person.

The General had arrived at the cocktail party in a neat business suit and with his usual pair of assistants.

Kirk approached him with a smile and his hand out to shake. Chen was in a mood, though. The moment Kirk was within earshot, he said in an angry whisper, "Trouble moving the new money? What is this I hear? You know better than that, Kirk."

"General, you know as well as I do that we are running tremendous risks here. I think that we should lay low for a little while, that's all. Someone put an undercover guy into our operation. Luckily..."

"So, what? You found him, killed him, and buried him in the desert. Problem solved. No evidence. Do not lose your courage now, Kirk. Not at this point. This is the last shipment of money to be moved. It will be delivered to you tomorrow night. We've used up the last of the paper we had." He removed a flashdrive from his pocket. "This is the evidence against you. It is the only copy," Chen lied. "Once the last tranche of money has moved through, I will give it to you and you can rest easy. We'll never have to meet again."

Kirk's eyes fixed on the flashdrive in Chen's hand with a desperate hunger. Unconsciously, he began to reach for it. "You can trust me, General..."

Anger flared in the General's eyes. He snarled, "Trust you? I do not trust you, Kirk. I do not. I think you are a goddamn animal and belong in a cage. You murdered a woman in Taipei...with a whip. A whip! And you decided to record the murder, so you could watch it later maybe, you sick fuck?" Chen stepped forward, brandishing the flashdrive like a weapon, anger and scorn dripping from every word he spoke. "I want you to think about that, Kirk. You think the United States would not extradite you to my country for the murder? Because you have a few friends in office? Care to try it, Kirk? Want to see if your political friends will stick by your side when this tape is played on your national television? When the choice is you or them? How much loyalty do you expect then? Huh?"

Chen was right and Kirk was very close to panic at the thought. "No, General, no. Calm down. Calm down. I know we can continue to do business. I'll move the money you want. Not going to be an issue." He smiled a fake smile. "I just wanted you to consider a pause, that's all. No issue. We'll go forward full steam ahead when you get me the money tomorrow. I promise. Now please, enjoy the party."

Kirk moved away from him before he lost his temper. His hands were shaking, he was very angry and, if he were honest with himself, scared. As he moved away from Chen, he saw Cuck and his bodyguard begin a conversation with Chen and his aides. Good. Now where was that woman, Sarah?

He turned to look for her and found her at his elbow, looking up at him with her beautiful blue eyes, her smile hinting at mischief. "Well, hello again, Sarah." He forced a smile to his face and pushed Chen and his threats out of his mind. "Enjoying the party?"

"I am. Thank you for inviting me. It's so exciting to be with such famous important people. Isn't Chuck talking to a presidential candidate? From China or something? I recognize him from his picture in the paper. Is that right?"

"Taiwan, actually. Yes, he's running for president in his country. He likes to come over here every once in a while to decompress from the campaign trail, I guess," said Kirk. 'And to twist my balls,' thought Kirk.

"Does he always stay with you?" she asked.

"Of course. He likes the best, and the Magic is the best hotel and casino on the Strip," Kirk said with a self-satisfied smirk.

She giggled deliciously, looking at him from under her lashes, and said, "Only the best, huh?"

"I'd be happy to show you more of the hotel, if your boyfriend wouldn't mind too much."

She put a gentle hand on his chest and said, seductively, her voice lowered and a little husky, "Oh, I think I'd like that a lot. I heard you live upstairs."

"I do. There's a private indoor pool in the penthouse, all glass roof. Do you like to swim, Sarah?"

"I love to swim, Lon. And I have just the bikini to wear. I think you're going to like it." Her eyes spoke volumes to Kirk. He was certain he'd see the bikini on the floor of the pool deck.

"Excellent. Maybe come upstairs in the morning? Say ten o'clock?"

"Wonderful. I'll see you then. I'm looking forward to it."

'Yeah,' he thought, 'this is easy as can be.' His bad mood, even his anger at Chen, had left him. He found himself looking forward to the morning and a swim with this stunning woman in the bikini she thought he would like.

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A/N2: I once spent an entire afternoon at the Museum of Nuclear Testing in Las Vegas. (Yes, it's a real thing.) It was a fascinating museum exploring a time when we needed to test the bombs physically (many in the area then known as the Nevada Test Site) rather than through today's computer models. The last actual US test was conducted in 1992. The decision to forego atmospheric testing by both of the Cold War adversaries was particularly interesting. Also, the Star Trek Experience was open during the time this story is set, but closed permanently in September of the following year. Thanks to KeithB for reminding me of that cool attraction.

A/N3: Please use your favorite search engine and read about Crane Currency, a division of the Crane Company, off which the fictional Summers Company is very loosely based. As Crane is the sole provider of currency paper to the United States government, I cannot avoid a comparison between Crane and Summers. Crane is a company so steeped in American history that it's amazing that it is not more well known. And to see how it has reinvented itself as a technology company to keep up with the demands of the anti-counterfeiting technology used in today's currency paper is awesome. A million thanks to my friend LetsGoRed, who went out of his way to visit the Crane Currency facilities in Dalton, Massachusetts and send me photographs of both the grounds and the currency building truck bay. I've said it before, but it bears repeating. This is a wonderful community of friends here. Having said all of that about Crane, I made up a lot of things about Summers Currency, including the specifics of the cutting machine and most especially the people. To the best of my knowledge, Crane has never lost a single sheet of currency paper over all the years they have been the producers for the BEP.

A/N4: Bond homage in the last chapter. No winners. The line about the smells of a casino at 3AM was, essentially, the first sentence of the first James Bond novel (Casino Royale) from 1953.