A/N: Tulajdonjog
A/N2: Welcome to the twenty-second arc of New Day. I'm calling it the KPFG arc. It is based, sort of, on Chuck vs. Tom Sawyer (Season2, episode 5). Recently my friend Dlitt76 called New Day "canon adjacent." I kind of liked that and I might very well describe my story with that phrase going forward. Thanks, Dlitt76. But before we get there...
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[This entire section takes place in Hungarian, including the thoughts. I didn't want to translate it, so just deal with it, please.]
Jozsef Fodor dreaded these meetings. Every Friday for the last ...shit, almost ten months. Every single Friday afternoon. He was a veteran spy, very good at his job. He could quite easily have told his patron that being reliable...predictable...was a horrible idea. But his patron was a man of established habits... and power. In his experience, men of power insisted on things being done in accordance with their wishes. What was the good of power if you couldn't bend other men to your wishes, after all?
Throughout last fall and winter, a Friday afternoon meeting in Budapest hadn't been too painful. The man's mansion nestled among the Buda hills was beautiful and less than twenty minutes from his apartment. But with the end of the spring came his patron's move to Lake Balaton for the summer, the 78 kilometer long body of water somewhat to the south and west of the city proper.
Fodor had hoped that, with the change in season and his patron's move to the lake, they might be able to handle the Friday meetings over the phone. But it was not to be. Every single Friday he now had to drive to the Lake, about a two hour drive from Budapest. He would tell his patron the latest news and then drive back to Budapest to sleep in his own bed. The whole process was infuriating. But, of course, he kept that opinion to himself.
The drive itself was fine. Mostly on E71, two lanes in each direction. He would leave early enough in the day to avoid the early summer weekend traffic from the city to countless lake houses and getaway destinations. Fodor envied the carefree boaters and beachgoers along the stretch of cool water. He tried to remember the last time he had a vacation. Probably after the Achebe assassination. He smiled grimly. As soon as he managed to take care of this one little thing for his patron, his entire life would be a vacation. A luxurious vacation.
The mandatory meetings wouldn't be so bad if he had news. Any kind of news. Even bad news would be a change. So, he had to go see the man face to face and hear, once again, of the man's impatience. He shared the frustration and impatience, but didn't share the need to wallow in it weekly. At the moment, all they could do was wait.
He left the major road and made his way through smaller roads with increasingly large estates on the edge of the lake. A few kilometers off the highway he approached a high wall with a large gate and a guard outside. The man recognized him and pressed a button to open the gate. Fodor, turned into the driveway.
Every time he did the trip he marveled at the house, really a huge mansion. It had been an industrialist's estate before the communists took over and had been converted to a summer hostel for communist youth during their tenure in power. With the opening of the country to capitalism, it had been purchased and untold sums spent in an extensive and luxurious renovation. It sat perched on a huge green lawn leading down to the lake and a small boat dock.
He drove to the front of the mansion and left the car in the semi-circular driveway. A servant opened the front door without a word and led him inside. As they walked across the silent marble entryway their footsteps seemed preternaturally loud to Fodor. He was taken to the same room every time. The sun room looking out at the lake, large French doors closed against the heat of the day. A room Fodor knew was swept for listening devices every morning and evening. The air-conditioning humming to create a comfortable environment.
And there he was, same position each time. His back to the door looking out at the sparkling waters of Lake Balaton. He was tall and had once been athletic, and his body was still fit at almost 70 years old. Hair gray and short. Fodor knew the eyes were steel blue and reflected his power.
Istvan Szell, at last count the third richest man in Hungary, he controlled a vast industrial empire. But that wasn't enough for him. He was voracious for more money, more power, more companies, more men to control. The rumors were that he had political ambition and wanted to run the country at some point soon.
And he was Fodor's patron.
Szell turned from the window and settled his cold gaze upon Fodor. No greetings. No pleasantries. He asked the question he had asked every Friday for months. "Is the baby dead yet and, if not, why not?"
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Bryce was tucked into the passenger seat of the Chevy Suburban, his bag and crutches across the back bench seat behind him.
Amy took her seat behind the wheel and started the truck.
"Are you ok?" she asked him.
"Yeah, I am. Thanks. They gave me some Percocet, so I'm doing fine right now. I'll take some more in a few hours."
His right leg was wrapped in thick bandages and he wore a pair of gym shorts instead of pants. His head was shaved and had a bandage to cover up the stitches closing the head wound.
"Ok, I'll try to not jostle you too much. Long trip though. Almost eight hours."
Amy had agreed to drive Bryce up to the rehab center outside Calistoga, California. It was run by the Intelligence Community for injured spies, so he would be in good company there.
"I really appreciate it, Amy. Thanks."
"No problem," she replied, pulling out of the hospital's parking lot.
"Not to poke at a sore topic, but has there been a decision yet on whether I can stay on the team?" he asked.
"Do you really want to? It hasn't worked out too well for you so far. Maybe it would be best if you considered another partner or set of partners."
He looked chagrinned and said, "Yeah. I know. I just keep screwing up. And every time I do, it's because I didn't listen to Chuck. I got that. He must be royally pissed at me. I didn't sense it when he came to visit me in the hospital...shit, any of the times he came...but he's got to be mad. But your team is...is exactly what I need. More than I've ever wanted anything, I want to stay with you and the others. I want another chance, even if I don't deserve it. I'm going to have to promise you all to do better and really do it this time. Shit, Chuck's got to be so mad at me." He shook his head in exasperation and looked out the side window at California rolling past.
"Actually, he's not. He's in favor of giving you another chance," she said with a small smile. "Letting you stay with the team."
"He is?" asked Bryce, surprised.
"Yeah," she said.
"Damn." He shook his head thinking of his friend. "And Casey and Sarah?" he asked eventually.
"They'd be perfectly happy if you dropped off the face of the earth and they never had to see your face or hear your name ever again," she replied.
"Yeah. I can see that," he said. After a pause he asked, "You?"
"I'm in favor of giving you another shot," she said.
"Thank you, Amy. I appreciate it," he said.
"Don't thank me, Bryce. My decision has nothing to do with you."
"Ummm, ok, now I'm confused," he said, looking at her quizzically.
"It's Chuck. I realized early on never to disagree with Chuck. His judgement is just so damn good, so much better than my own. He wants to give you a shot, so do I. He wants to deep six you, so do I. Whichever decision he makes, I'm sure he's right and will support him. It's pretty simple, really."
"You put a lot of faith in him," said Bryce.
"Ya think?" she said with a grin.
"So, the vote is tied," he said sounding glum.
"For now. Just wait. I'm betting Chuck will convince them. It's not an urgent decision. You won't be out of rehab for weeks," she said.
"Ok. But will Graham let me stay? He's pissed too, and he's right," he said.
"Graham will let you stay if Chuck says so...if the team says so," predicted Amy.
"I hope so," said Bryce and began to look out the window of the SUV.
Amy put on the truck's radio and began to hum along to the classic rock station.
She murmured, "Classic rock on an LA freeway."
After a while, Bryce said, "Where did you grow up?"
"Pensacola. How about you?"
"Connecticut. Perfect sitcom family. Mom and Dad. Me. A little sister. Perfect for Christmas cards."
"But...?"
"Nope. That's the thing. There's no 'but.' Perfect home life. There's no excuse to be found there for why I'm an asshole," he said with a bit of a charming grin.
"Just luck of the draw, I guess," she said, with a grin of her own.
"How about you? Perfect Leave it to Beaver family?"
"Nope. But fine, though. Single mom."
"Dad out of the picture?" he asked.
"Not always. He was around when I was little, but they split," she said.
"I'm sorry," said Bryce.
"Don't be. He was an abusive asshole. Came home one night drunk and started to beat her," said Amy.
"Oh, God, Amy. I'm so sorry," said Bryce.
"Don't be," said Amy with a grim laugh. Bryce looked at her oddly, not expecting that kind of reaction. Amy continued, "My mom was a very, very tough lady. She took no shit from anyone or anything. He started in on her and she gave it right back to him. He outweighed her and was stronger, but he was drunk and she was faster and meaner. I'd be lying if I told you she kicked his ass, but let's say it was a tie. They were both bloody and battered by the time they stopped. But when she told him to get the hell out of the house and never come back, he did. That was the last I ever saw of him. Asshole," she said with finality.
"Ok," said Bryce gently. "How old were you?"
"I was six. From that point on, it was just Mom and me. Best friends."
"She never re-married?"
"No. Boyfriends sometimes, but never for long. She had horrible taste in men honestly. One loser after another, so mostly it was just her and me."
"She still around?" he asked.
There was a pause and Amy seemed to shudder. She stared at the road sliding beneath the wheels of the truck without responding. The silence lasted long enough for Bryce to think he ought to apologize for prying or asking her an uncomfortable question. But then she said, "No, she's not. She passed away from lung cancer a few years ago."
"I'm sorry, Amy. Sorry to bring that up. Bad memories," he said, softly.
"Thanks. Yeah. Bad memories. Horrible memories, actually. She took a long time to go. She was tough, like I said. Lingered in hospice for months, about twice as long as the doctors had predicted. I was just out of the Farm and they gave me some compassionate leave to be with her. I … sat with her...I..."
She stopped speaking, leaving her last thought hanging.
Bryce said, "I'm very sorry, Amy. Both my parents are still alive so I have no idea what you went through. What you are going through. I don't have any words to make it better and I'm so sorry I brought it up." She made an affirmative noise which could have meant almost anything. He continued, "She was your best friend, huh? Did you do stuff together? You know, mother and daughter stuff? Having fun?"
Amy laughed lightly, appreciating Bryce's effort to lighten the mood. "Yeah, we did. She loved Brazil. She'd been stationed down there with the Peace Corps. She took me there on vacation a bunch of times and went a bunch of times by herself when I was at school and stuff. Made sure I spoke Portuguese in addition to Spanish. We'd hang out on the beach sometimes. Go dancing in the clubs. She was my mom, but she was really young looking and beautiful. When I was a teenager people thought we were sisters."
Bryce laughed. "When you're not driving you can show me her picture."
Amy laughed and said, "Yeah. She was great. We learned scuba-diving together. Wind surfing. She taught me how to shoot. We used to have so much fun."
"What did she do for a living?" Bryce asked.
"She was a nurse. Well, mostly anyway. For the last five years she was a union organizer for United Healthcare Workers, organizing nurses into unions around the panhandle. Management hated her," said Amy with a laugh. "She was a ferocious negotiator."
"Not afraid to take on authority?" he asked.
"Not afraid of anything. She wanted the local schools to run dual language immersion programs with the Spanish speaking kids. It was a pretty conservative place...still is, I guess... and she had a real uphill battle. Took on the whole school board...organized protests and everything. Eventually she got her way. To save face, they called it a pilot program, but it's still going on."
"She sounds like she was an amazing woman. Did she encourage you to go into the CIA?"
"Not really. She didn't discourage me either, I guess," Amy shrugged. "She didn't like authority too much, as I guess you could tell. Didn't want people telling her what to do. She was always pushing back against it. But it was after 9-11. Like everyone else, her mindset changed. She saw the need to defend the country. She understood that I wanted to be part of that, even if she looked at it with a bit of an arms-length mindset. She would have come to my graduation from the Farm, but she was already sick."
Bryce wanted to steer the conversation away from Amy's mom's cancer and sickness. It seemed to upset his friend too much. Still too raw, it seemed.
"Is that why you joined up? 9-11? Shit, enough of us did because of that."
"Not really," she said. "I was looking for adventure. Travel. Stuff like that. God knows I found it. But the last few months with this team have been the best that I've had in the business. Hell, they may be the best months of my life. I'm incredibly happy working with Chuck and Sarah and Casey. They are the best teammates and friends I could ever imagine. I'm getting rich in the company we started together." She started to laugh with happiness. "And I'm going to be a bridesmaid. How cool is that? I'm really excited for the wedding."
Bryce laughed with her.
They talked and listened to music and the miles and hours passed. After a few stops for food, gas and bathroom breaks, they arrived at the rehab facility.
They were just approaching the building when a song came on the radio. Amy reached out and turned up the volume. "I love this song," she said.
Modern day warrior, mean, mean stride, Today's Tom Sawyer, mean, mean pride...
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A/N2: I haven't been to Lake Balaton in thirty years, but at that time it was a beautiful and relaxing destination to beat the summer heat in Budapest.
A/N3: So, we've met Istvan Szell. I wonder if he's important? Oh, and we have a bit of back story for Amy, whose mom sounds like a pretty impressive woman. And Tom Sawyer came onto the radio. Overall, some stuff going on. What do you guys think?