A/N: We've got to stop talking about ownership of Chuck. Or not.
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The slopes up the Alps to the south of Interlaken were too steep for a regular train. Mere friction between the train wheels and the rails alone would not keep the cars moving in the right uphill direction no matter the power of the engine. For that reason, the train used a cogwheel system. With toothed wheels engaging with frames between the rails themselves, the train pulled the skiers up the mountain to Kleine Scheidegg. Feliks Oblonsky and Victor Federov, carrying their ski gear, shuffled out of the train station with the other skiers and moved to the snow, intending to head down the mountain to the town of Wengen. Two bulky bodyguards followed them at a discreet distance.
The rugged, sharp peaks of the Jungfrau region framed the sky over their shoulders, the Eiger, the Schwarzhorn, the Monch, and, of course, the Jungfrau itself, among a score of others. The day was bright and sunny, made even more so by the sun's reflection off the white snow. Both men were wearing sunglasses against the glare. The sky was as blue and cloudless as could possibly be hoped for, but it was nevertheless quite cold. As Russians, the cold didn't bother them at all. They well knew how to dress for it.
Federov stepped into his ski bindings, which locked into place on his boots with satisfyingly solid clicks, and, speaking in Russian, said to his friend, "Try to keep up, old man."
"You see my ass? That's the only thing you will see of me on the slopes," Oblonsky replied with a grin.
They pushed off and began to ski down the mountain. Federov loved the excitement of skiing. The demands of the mountain and the terrain took his mind away from all his concerns. It was impossible to worry about work while skiing. His mind emptied of all but the next turn, the high jump following that, the tree line on his right and the sweeping left turn he made to come back to the center of the trail. He carved long smooth curves atop the snow, working hard, but enjoying every moment. As always when he was having a good run, he found himself grinning, the wind numbing his cheeks.
At a turn in the trail, a natural stopping point, he and Oblonsky stopped to catch their breath. It was the first time they had been alone outside of the hotel all morning. The bodyguards had stopped about a hundred meters up the slope.
"So, tell me, old man, how's the plan going?" Federov asked.
"No concerns so far, Victor. As we predicted, if your presence wasn't reason enough, the guest list seems to have drawn all the Western intelligence agencies to the event. The hotel is crawling with spies. Every one of them looking at us and our friends. Listening devices are everywhere throughout the building. Every time you fart, they are listening in Langley and Paris." They had agreed to only talk business on the ski slopes. It was the only place in the area where they could be reasonably sure that their conversations were private.
"And Boris is listening to them, of course," said Federov.
"Of course. He's broken the encryption on almost all of their wireless devices, so what they hear, we hear."
"But, of course, they aren't actively listening to each other, so we don't get that insight," said Federov.
"No, but the lobby, the bar, the other guests...it's a lot," said Oblonsky.
"Any indication that they know what's coming?"
"No. Nothing," replied Oblonsky.
"And the bodies? The car?"
"All pre-staged. We are using a small garage building. Only one road in and out, so it's easy to observe and control."
"Good. What do we hear with our friends? The wedding guests?"
Oblonsky laughed, "You mean other than that some of them have some very kinky tastes in the privacy of their hotel rooms?" Both men laughed. "The only thing of interest is the speculation about your finances. They all know you are broke and wonder how and why you are throwing the big wedding."
"So, that part worked, I guess," said Federov.
"Well, these men are not the forensic accountants that the Western nations will put on the job, but...yes, so far so good."
"Good. So, it sounds like all good news. You should be proud of yourself. Now, there's one other thing, Feliks. Mara recognized a man in the hotel lobby last night. They recognized each other. She lied to me about knowing him.." Oblonsky took a breath to say something, but Federov stopped him with a raised hand. "I know...I know, Feliks...we've been over this countless times. I know what you are going to say. Take it as said, alright?" With a grimace, Oblonsky nodded his head reluctantly. "I just need you to look at him. I'm sure he's just an old lover of hers and she's embarrassed to tell me. I need to make sure he's not going to be a problem for her."
"Of course, my friend. Who is he?"
"I don't have a name for him. Seems to be American. Short brown hair and blue eyes. With a pretty, dumb blonde on his arm. He's a big man, somewhat below two meters, and tough looking. Like he can handle himself in a fight," said Federov. "Maybe ex-military."
"I'll have Boris pay particular attention, Victor," said Oblonsky.
"Thank you. Now let's see how well you can do on the rest of the mountain," said Federov with a grin, slapping his old friend on the shoulder.
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They were having breakfast in the hotel restaurant and trying to listen to the conversations at the nearby tables. At least Casey and Sarah were, as they were the only two members of the team who spoke Russian. Amy excused herself from the table for a few minutes and returned from the lobby with a list of the wedding guests and their room numbers. "How'd you get that?" asked Chuck. Amy just smiled at him and gave him an exaggerated bat of her blue eyes.
He chuckled. "With the list of rooms, we can start to put Casey's gear into them. See what we can figure out," he said.
"Yeah, kid. Maybe you and I can do that while the guests are all out skiing. Sarah, what do you think of you and Amy hitting the slopes and seeing what there is to see with the Russians out there? The wedding itself isn't until tomorrow."
"Fine with me. If you guys finish early you can come join us," said Sarah.
"Roger that," said Casey.
"I don't really know how to ski," said Chuck, a little embarrassed.
"Oh, I can teach you, Sweetie. You'll have so much fun," said Sarah. "It's a sport we can do together back home too."
Chuck grinned at her. He loved it when she said "home."
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After Amy and Sarah left to go skiing and mingle with the Russian wedding guests on the mountains nearby, Casey and Chuck began to enter the guest's hotel rooms and plant listening devices. To Casey's amusement, the best places to install such devices were often already taken by other similar devices. And the second best places. There were a lot of folks listening in on this wedding.
As hard as he tried, and he was very disciplined, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to Ilsa. Who was she really? What was she doing here? How'd she end up marrying a Russian arms dealer? Why had she faked her death in Grozny? Why had she not acknowledged him last night? He kept poking at the questions, but, at the same time, he was marveling at how good she'd looked. How many wonderful memories he had of them together. Every time he went down that path, he had to shake himself to break that train of thought. For the most part, Chuck was refraining from his usual chatter.
They were between rooms and making their way down a corridor when Chuck said, "I had bought the cigars to give to you as a peace offering last night."
"Peace offering? For what?" asked Casey.
"For my being mad at you for bringing Amy onto the team. To protect Sarah from having to do any more seduction missions. I know you were just looking out for her and I really do appreciate it. I can't really let her know that I agree with you though, so please don't tell her I said so. But, thanks."
"Don't mention it, kid," said Casey.
Inside, Casey was amused. Sarah thanked him for protecting Chuck and now Chuck thanked him for protecting Sarah, but neither wanted the other to know how they felt. That, in itself, was pretty funny. The part that really tickled him, though, was the fact that they were both wrong about why he had done it. He wasn't really protecting either of them. Honestly, he thought of it as protecting himself. When Sarah had been with Kirk Chuck had been clearly agitated and upset. He, Casey, had significant training and experience hiding his emotions, so Chuck wasn't reading his state of mind. In fact, Casey had wanted to bust in on Kirk and Sarah and break every single bone the man had one at a time. It was only his professionalism that had stopped him. Sarah had proven to be the best partner he'd ever had. Over the last few months the bond that had formed between them, all three of them, was deep. The idea of her having to tolerate that seduction crap was flat-out unacceptable to him. She had warned them early on to avoid chivalry where she was concerned and he, mostly, had managed to do so. But the seduction stuff...well, he had his limits for chrissakes. Another woman spy? Not Sarah? Carina? Amy? Fine, whatever. Sarah Walker? Nope, he wouldn't have it. That's the real reason he had arranged for another woman to be on the team. But if both Sarah and Chuck thought he did it to protect the other, that was fine too. Let them think so.
They had one last stop, in the main server room of the hotel. They could have set up to watch the hotel's security cameras from there, but instead of that Chuck had worked up a discrete computer relay that would transmit all of the information through the hotel's phone lines directly to his computer in their room. They could watch in real-time all the security cameras and playback whatever they wanted later.
Coming to the server room, they checked up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Six eyes looked up at them. It was a very crowded little room. Chuck found he had to squeeze in sort of sideways. His hip was against one of the men and his shoulder was pressed against a rack of servers.
"'Allo, Major Casey," said a man dressed like a bellhop, "I 'ope you blokes brought your own chairs."
There were three men already sitting in the closet-sized room looking at the monitors, one dressed like a bellhop, one dressed like a waiter, and one dressed in casual clothes, like a hotel guest might be.
"Hey, Reilly. I thought you were in prison," responded Casey.
"No dice, Major. They 'aven't caught up with me yet, 'appy to tell you. Let me introduce you to me mates. This 'ere is Claude. 'E's from the DGSE," said Reilly, referring to the Directorate-General for External Security, the French intelligence agency. Casey and Chuck nodded at the man dressed like a waiter.
"An' this reprobate is 'Ans. BND," said Reilly, referring to the Federal Intelligence Service, the German CIA equivalent. Chuck recognized the reference, as Sarah had recently pretended to be a BND officer to the late Dren Selenica in Budapest. Casey and Chuck nodded to the man dressed casually.
Reilly went on, "Lads, this is Major John Casey, star of the NSA. Who's your friend, Major?"
"This is Chuck Carmichael."
All three men looked at Chuck and shifted in their seats, maybe a little startled. Reilly said, "Blimey, Major. You're movin' in rarefied circles nowadays. This bloke is supposed to be pretty 'ot shite. Least if the gossip 'olds true." Reilly stood up and reached his hand out to Chuck, but said to Casey, "I thought 'e'd be older."
As Reilly and Chuck shook hands, Casey said, "Ignore this idiot, Chuck. He got into MI-6 on a special program just for morons. He moves his lips when he reads."
"Bugger off, Major. You're just jealous," said Reilly with a grin. The other two men had also risen to shake hands with Chuck and Casey. "If you're 'ere to watch the Russkies, I wasn't kidding about the seats. We're a little tight."
"Naw, we'll be here and gone. Chuck has rigged up something that will forward all the feeds to his computer."
"No way," said Reilly. "And how did you manage that, Chuck?"
"Naw, Chuck," said Casey, before Chuck could explain. "If they want our tech know-how they'll have to go through channels. The brass will probably demand something in return." Casey started to laugh. "Sorry, fellas. You guys are stuck here. Carmichael and I will be getting room service and watching this stuff in sunlight and fresh air."
There was some good natured grumbling as Chuck plugged a flashdrive into one of the computers. He checked the monitor and gave Casey a thumbs-up. He removed the flashdrive and pocketed it. Chuck said, "Sorry, guys. But, ummm, listen. If it gets too hot in here these machines are going to overheat and shut down or start to screw up. So, I don't know...try to be colder, I guess," said Chuck.
The suggestion was met with catcalls. One of the men threw a wadded-up piece of paper at him. Chuck and Casey left the server room chuckling.
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With the devices in place and recording, Casey and Chuck met the two women members of their team on the ski slopes. Sarah took Chuck to the easiest slope and began to work with him on his skiing. Casey and Amy followed some of the Russian wedding guests to see what they were up to.
It took Chuck about forty-five minutes to get the hang of turning and stopping. He had snow in his hair from multiple falls by the time he did, but was enjoying himself immensely. Perhaps a few months ago, he might have had more trouble skiing, but the workouts he'd been doing with Casey and Sarah had made him a great deal stronger and more flexible. It still took a while to get the hang of it, but once he did he was having a great time. At least until that one time when, on the middle of the ski trail, he forgot how to turn left and Sarah had to walk up the mountain to talk him through it. By the end of the day, though, he was skiing the easiest trails with her and whooping with delight at the exhilaration he felt.
He told her that they were definitely going to try this back home. She had assured him that the trails back home were easier in general than the trails in Switzerland and, back home, he'd be an intermediate skier, not a novice. That made him pretty happy.
Meanwhile, Amy and Casey had been skiing throughout the afternoon and managed to stay near enough some of the Russians to pick up useful intelligence on a few interesting things. And, although this was not a necessary part of the job, they had fun on the slopes as well.
Later that evening, in the hotel bar, Amy was drinking vodka with a Russian black market arms dealer named Dmitry Siljak. Sarah and Chuck were chatting up a Russian couple, Grigory Krylov and his wife, who were involved in "banking" in the Caribbean. Casey was sitting at the bar sipping German beer and listening to a boring conversation by a couple of Russian men next to him. It involved a woman from the Moscow Circus that one of the men had dated for a while. It seems she was one of the animal trainers working with bears and in bed she could...
Casey's attention to the conversation was abruptly cut short when one of the valets from the hotel's parking garage approached him and said, quietly, "Major Casey, I have a message for you from Lt. Colonel Fabron. DGSE." As that organization operated under the French Ministry of Defense, it was in no way surprising that one of its officers would hold military rank.
Casey looked at the man carefully and said, "I don't know the guy."
The man continued as if he hadn't heard Casey. "She asked me to tell you to steer clear of Federov at the wedding. Your presence has already been noted. She's been after the man for two years and undercover for a year and a half. The target noted your interest in her and was slightly concerned. Please, stay away or you risk blowing an important operation. She further asked me to tell you that she's sorry about Grozny. She thought you were a civilian. Had she known you worked for the NSA, she'd have handled matters differently."
Casey just looked at him, still digesting the information he'd just learned. Eventually, he grunted in the affirmative and nodded his head.
The man, seemingly satisfied, said, "Merci. Bonne nuit, Major."
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Boris Smirnov would be happy when this part of the job was over. He enjoyed the computers and the radios and the other tech gear and he loved the money he was making. But he was stuck in the hotel room for the whole trip. The place stunk. It literally stunk. He wouldn't even let the maid in to clean. He had swept the place for wireless listening devices and knew it was clear of those things. Once clear, if he allowed no one to enter for the entire time he was there and never left himself, it would stay clear. Hence, he was stuck here. The Swiss Alps were just outside the windows and were every bit as spectacular as he'd always thought. But he was in here, eating room service and staring at computer screens. Then and there, he decided he'd have to open the windows in the room. Anything to let some fresh air in.
He had set up five computers and multiple monitors to run all the information he was gathering. Bluetooth receivers were located throughout the room. He thanked God the room had enough power to handle the load he'd placed on it. And if the room was not crowded enough with all the computers and tech stuff, Feliks had decided to store miscellaneous stuff for the wedding itself in the room. There were boxes of a special vodka, bottles of which were to go on each table. Key chain gifts for each guest. A carton of disposable cameras, a few of which were to be placed on each table for the guests to take candid photos of each other during the celebration. He had jammed as much of that stuff as he could into the closet, just so he could move around the room.
With all of his equipment, he had accessed almost all of the wireless bugs that the various intelligence agencies were using in the hotel, but that gave him more information than he could digest. It was all being recorded for later use, but at the moment there were only a few things he was following closely. Victor and Mara, of course, to make sure they were safe. They looked so happy, he thought. The crowd of wedding guests in the hotel bar. And the big American that Feliks had told him to keep special watch on when he returned from skiing. Feliks had particularly wanted to know if the man approached Mara. So far, he had not.
As unpleasant as this job was, the good news is that it would be over tomorrow. After the wedding he would be done. They would pack up and head back to Moscow. He'd talk to Feliks, maybe, and ask for a few days off. He didn't ski, but it might be fun to hang around here and just look at the Alps, while breathing fresh air.
He looked at the hotel's security camera with the image of the man he now knew as Casey. He had installed a relay on the hotel's computer to forward duplicates of all its feeds to his computer. Casey was sitting in the hotel bar alone when one of the hotel's valets approached him and they exchanged a few words. Smirnov reached for the feed on one of the MI-6 listening devices placed in the bar. By the time he got it up into his headphones, the conversation had ended. He backed the recording up a couple of minutes and listened to the discussion. It was in English, a language he didn't speak (although he understood the placename "Grozny"). He marked it and made a note to have Feliks listen to it in the morning.
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A/N2: Don't laugh about forgetting how to turn left on the ski slopes. That happened to my wife when she was learning to ski in Colorado. Luckily, we eventually got her down the mountain. Even more luckily, she doesn't read this story and doesn't know that I just told you all about that embarrassing incident.