Chuck vs The No Win Question

by HC68

It's a beautiful summer day in 2020, and Chuck Bartowski and his family and friends are having a gathering and an outdoor barbecue. But trouble is brewing between the two most important women in Chuck's life. Can Chuck navigate the perils of the No Win Question?

17. Chapter 17: A Sharp Dressed Man

NOTES: In the previous chapter, Langston Graham muses about his reaction when he first realized that Chuck was the son of CIA agents Stephen and Mary Bartowski. Now Sarah and Casey and Chuck himself would have had no idea about that, of course, in episode 1. On the other hand, Langston Graham and (probably) Diane Beckman would be another matter. They would naturally run Chuck's name as soon as they found out he had received Bryce's email. That would bring up his connection with Stephen and Mary immediately. They have to have known all the way back at S1E1. So they would have to wonder why Bryce sent the I-1 database to Stephen and Mary's kid. It would seem like a huge stretch for coincidence. In my world, one of the reasons Graham did not order Sarah to terminate Chuck immediately was that he did not understand the implications of the family connections and did not want to act until he did. This was part of the reason Chuck survived the early danger window when Sarah would still have carried out a kill order.

Dialogue within \\ indicates Russian.

CHUCK vs. THE NO-WIN QUESTION CHAPTER 17: A Sharp Dressed Man...

The main campus of Leland Stanford Junior University, Saturday, October 13th, 2001, 5:45 p.m. local time...

By the calendar, it was middle-autumn, but the legendary weather of California was holding true to form. Warm sunlight fell across the campus of Leland Standard Junior University, and the temperature was mild. A group of female students from one of the sororities were engaged in a pickup volleyball game on the neatly-maintained grass, and most were clad in shorts and tank tops, a few in swimsuits or bikinis.

At another time, the young man sitting on the ground nearby might have been enjoying watching the volleyball game and its scantily clad female players. Today, though, he had little attention to spare for the athletic girls at play, nor was he paying much heed to the radio playing a few yards away, with the news announcer discussing the week-old bombing campaign against the Taliban in Afghanistan.

Today, as he sat with his back to a century-old tree, pretty much all of twenty-year-old Chuck Bartowski's attention was focused on the dark-haired beauty sitting close beside him. They had been sitting there since their calculus class had adjourned for the day, enjoying the mild weather and each other's company.

"So we pretty much lied through our teeth," Chuck was saying to the girl whose head was resting on his shoulder. "Ellie was just a few weeks past her seventeenth birthday, and both our parents were gone, so she knew we might be separated if that was known. So Ellie lied about her age, whenever she had to. We managed to fake it for a year, until Ellie was eighteen."

Jill Roberts looked up at the boy she had been dating for the previous few months, and asked softly, "So how did you guys live? Money-wise, I mean?"

"Very frugally," Chuck said with a laugh. It was a good-natured laugh, but the girl was not unaware of an edge to it. "Our father had apparently been planning his disappearance. He left some money in the accounts...and Ellie had been handling the family finances anyway, since she was twelve. Like I said, my Dad was...different...after my mother left. It was like part of him left with her, even before he physically left. So Ellie had been carrying a lot of the weight that he should have been carrying.

"But anyway," Chuck went on, "there was some money, and Ellie was used to handling it, and we...made do. Barely, sometimes, I'll admit. We both worked after school, I mowed lawns and washed cars as well, and we managed. We ate a lot of lunch meat sandwiches for dinner, and Ellie..."

"What?"

Chuck sighed and surprised himself by answering her. "Ellie sometimes managed to lay hands on cash in emergencies and wouldn't tell me where she got it. When I had to have a tooth pulled, for example, she managed to get the money in time to pay the dentist, somehow. Another time she laid her hands on two hundred dollars from somewhere just in time to pay our utilities and keep the lights and water on, and to this day she's never told me where it came from...and I'll admit there's a part of me that's not sure I want to know."

"Ellie really means everything to you, doesn't she?" Jill asked softly.

Chuck looked down at his girlfriend and said, "Jill...you have no idea. Ellie...well, she raised me, really. She's only three years older than I am, but she's also the closest thing to a real parent I've had for most of my life. She's the person who was always there for me. Not my mother or my father, but Ellie, yes. She's all I had...well, her and Morgan."

"Dating you makes me feel like I've been spoiled," Jill laughed. "I'm surprised your sister made me so welcome when we visited her, considering. I mean she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders when she was seventeen, when I was that age I was fretting about whether to have my high school class ring in fourteen carat or eighteen carat!"

Chuck laughed. "Ellie and I have matching class rings. Twenty-four carat stainless steel. It's a lot cheaper than gold. Of course I don't mean literally 24 carat, you don't measure steel in carats, but if you did it would be 24 carat because it's pure stainless steel and-"

Jill interrupted Chuck's spiraling ramble with a kiss, a kiss lasting several seconds.

"That's the nicest way of saying, 'Shut up Chuck!' that I know of," Chuck told her a moment later.

"So whatever happened to your class ring?" Jill asked.

"It's in my pocket," Chuck said. "I sort of carry it as a good luck charm, I guess. I had it on me when I found out I'd received my scholarship, and I suppose I'm a little superstitious about it."

Chuck pulled it out, and Jill took it and looked at it, and slid it on, where it spun loosely, too large for her slender finger.

"So did any girl wear this when you were high school?"

"Steady girlfriends? Not really," Chuck said. "I was too busy to date much, honestly, after Dad left. Between classes and after class jobs and taking care of the house...it ate up most of my time. Before that...well, I went out a few times with a few girls, but nothing serious."

"Good," Jill said with that wicked smile that made his pulse quicken. "I hate sharing."

Chuck was about to respond, but just then his cell phone rang. Chuck pulled it out and flipped it open, answering the call. After a moment on the phone, he lowered the phone and said to Jill, "That was Bryce, he just got out of his chemistry lab session, and wants to know if we want to join him for dinner at Benjamin's."

"Sounds good to me, I'm starving," Jill said.

"Yeah, we can make it," Chuck said to Bryce as he brought the phone back to his ear. "Meet you in...an hour? Good."

Chuck flipped his phone shut and got to his feet, and gave his girlfriend a hand up. As they started to walk away, Chuck spared a surreptitious glance toward the girls playing volleyball, only to let out a pained yelp!

"Ow! Jill!"

Jill had punched his arm, hard enough to sting, and she laughed and said, "Eyes front, Mr. Bartowski! I saw where you were looking, and I told you I hate to share!"

As they debated back and forth about what constituted 'looking', Chuck did not immediately notice that Jill had pocketed his class ring.

Sheremetyevo Alexander S. Pushkin International Airport, Moscow, Russian Federation, Monday, June 1st, 2020, 12:15 p.m. local time...

Sarah walked across the busy concourse, surrounded by hundreds of other travelers coming and going through the busiest airport in Russia. She did not look as she normally did, her golden hair was concealed behind a mousy brown covering and a head-scarf, her usually purposeful stride slower and slightly shuffled, colored contacts had changed her normally sapphire-blue eyes to a pale brown. She had a light jacket pulled over her upper body against the slight chill on an overcast day.

Her plan was to make her way to her contact point, an obscure little hotel, and change there into a different cover identity. As she was retrieving her baggage, however, something caught her eye. A few tens of yards away, she glimpsed a face amid the swirling crowd, there and gone, but a face that Sarah Walker instantly recognized even so.

Gaez!

Sarah did not immediately dash off in that direction, of course, but she was a past master (or mistress) of observing while looking distracted. Her eyes scoured the crowd, and then, for a moment, she saw Gaez again, standing by a vending machine and removing something from the slot. She lost him as a group of chattering tourists passed between her and the vending machine, and for a moment she was left frantically (if not obviously) scouring the immense chamber for some sight of him. Then, just as she was about to conclude that she had lost him, she spotted him heading toward the duty free shops, and saw him vanish into, of all things, a Frederick's of Hollywood store!

Sarah made her way in that direction as casually as she could, but by the time she reached the store, there was no trace of him, and she could not spot him again after she emerged.

Was I imagining it? Sarah demanded of herself as she went back to her luggage and retrieved it. It was at a distance, I suppose it could have just been a man who looks like him...but I don't believe it! I know that damned face too well, it was him! He was standing right there, I'm sure of it!

Sarah was keeping a keen eye out for 'tails' as she left the building, if she had seen Gaez, he could easily have seen her.

Did he know that I was there? Sarah asked herself. It seems like a huge strain on coincidence if he and I were there at the same time by chance! But...if he knew I was there, why let me spot him? He's good, if he knew I was there he could easily have made himself invisible in that crowd, so either he had no idea or he wanted me to see him.

Of course, Sarah mused, the whole point of this operation was based on the that Gaez, and the people he was working for, were deliberately letting him be spotted by American personnel. Sarah and the other Senior CATs were in Moscow to try and turn that back on him.

But we were trying to get into town unobserved! Sarah thought in dismay as she rode in a taxi toward her contact point. If that was Gaez 'trolling' me...it means he knew where and when I'd be, which means he knew what plane I was on and my arrival time, in spite of all the trouble we went to to conceal it.

Sarah was still digesting that disturbing thought as her taxi arrived at the hotel.

Moscow, Russian Federation, Monday, June 1st, 2020, 1:15 p.m. local time...

A tall man was walking down the sidewalk in the gray early-afternoon overcast. He was taller than average, with curly hair at medium length, touched with a hint of gray at the temples. He was wearing a very nice three-piece suit, with a sedate tie, polished shoes, and he looked and acted every inch the American businessman visiting the capitol city of the Russian Federation. There was no shortage of such in that city, and this man fit the bill perfectly. The name on his business cards, and that he was giving to anyone to whom he might be introduced, was Terry Stanton, and his job description was a medium-level executive in Mitland Products, a midwestern agricultural equipment business, based out of Kansas City, Missouri.

In actuality, though the company in question existed, the man in question was not employed by them. His 'job' was a carefully arranged 'cover', the company would confirm his employment if contacted, even though the man had rarely ever set foot in their headquarters or other facilities. They had a long-standing quiet arrangement with a different business, one based out of California, that went by the name of Carmichael Industries.

'Terry Stanton' was, of course, actually one Charles Carmichael, consultant and field agent, security specialist and 'general services provider', and one half of the partnership that owned and ran Carmichael Industries. The name 'Charles Carmichael', though hardly famous, might fairly be called infamous in certain circles. Though the average person on the street had never heard the name, it was certainly known in private offices in national capitols, among various business groups, and across the world in the so-called 'shadow world' of secrets and undercover activities.

Even among those who were familiar with Charles Carmichael, though, relatively few knew that the man did not exist, that he was nothing more than a figment worn and used by one Chuck Bartowski, computer engineer, software designer, scientist, field agent, security consultant, former Buy-More Nerd Herder, and several other things.

Chuck had taken a good midday meal at the hotel, since he knew from past experience that that particular hotel provided very high quality room service. A brief nap had followed, as Chuck attempted to catch up on some of the sleep he had lost while hopping planes between Los Angeles and Moscow. A shower and shave had followed that, and then a taxi ride across the immense megalopolis that was Moscow in 2020.

He could have gone directly to his destination, but that would have been bad tradecraft on several levels. Instead he made stops at a couple of common tourist destinations, as well as visiting a local business that sold hand-crafted artworks, much like any visitor to the city might do. By the time he finally approached his actual destination, he had changed taxis four times.

One thing about having money, Chuck mused to himself at one point, it sure beats having to ride the bus! In spite of himself, he could not help but smile as he recalled his and Morgan's adventure in Moscow when he first began seeking information about his missing mother. At the time, the whole business had not seemed so amusing.

At last, though, it was time for Chuck to make for his rendezvous. Two taxi rides and a stroll between them, followed up by another stroll, brought Chuck to a small outdoor café, where he sat down with a cup of Raf coffee and began to thumb through some papers from his briefcase. The papers were part of his cover, they mostly concerned prices on various agricultural products, and price projections for the coming year. Chuck was not really interested in the contents, but they made for good 'protective coloration' as a out-of-town businessman.

After a few minutes he had finished his drink, and he saw what looked like a typical Russian taxi cab pull up to the curb. He had been expecting that arrival, even though he had not actually called for a taxi just then. He noted that the cab was of a particular make, color, and markings, matching the vehicle he was expecting.

Chuck walked over to the taxi cab and boarded it as if it was one he had called, and once he was inside, he heard a very familiar voice greet him from the front seat behind the wheel. It was a voice he had known since he was nineteen years old...and that voice had lost none of its tone of superiority and disdain in all that time.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Nerd Herd," the female voice said, as she put the car into motion and merged with traffic.

"Hello, Shari," Chuck replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Business good?"

"It'll do," replied Shari Baxter. "Want me to drop you off at the Buy-More? Moscow has one now, if you're feeling homesick! I'll bet you've even got your old green shirt in your bags!"

Chuck grimaced and forced himself not to respond to her taunts.

"I'm afraid I left my green shirt at home," Chuck said, his voice superficially calm, though anyone who knew him well would have heard the irritation in his tone. "So I guess we'll skip the Buy More."

For now, anyway, Chuck thought to himself. And as a matter of fact, Shari, there are three Buy-Mores in Moscow these days, and I just might visit one of them before I go home.

"Oh, well, I'm sure you can find something equally geeky to do," Shari replied.

"Are we free to speak?" Chuck asked.

"Within reason," Shari replied. "The car was swept for bugs before I left, and I'm following a fairly random route."

"Does Jill have a meeting place chosen?"

"Why else would she send me to pick you up? Honestly, nerd, sometimes you just don't think!"

Chuck felt his jaw lock, and forced himself to relax by an effort of will. Shari's voice still had that unique combination of entitlement and world-weariness and contempt expressed in a tone. Somehow that tone seemed to convey 'loser' and 'geek' when she spoke to Chuck, even if she did not say the words themselves. Of course, sometimes she did say the words, Shari had never been particularly reluctant to speak her mind, or to express her opinion that he was not good enough to be worthy of dating her best friend.

Chuck sighed. He knew that Shari Baxter had been Jill's best female friend since they were in high school, had remained so in college, and somehow or other had ended up following Jill into the shadow world when the time came. Shari had disliked Chuck from the moment they all met at Stanford, she considered him beneath Jill.

Which was silly, since Jill and Shari and I were all scholarship students, Chuck mused. Wally and Judy had more money than Ellie and I did, of course, but they still couldn't have begun to afford Stanford on their own resources any more than we could, and Shari's folks were not any wealthier than Wally and Judy. But somehow Shari had an attitude about things anyway.

When Jill had become the head of her own shadow organization, she had brought Shari Baxter in as well, and for years Shari had been Jill's right hand. Chuck knew that Shari was competent at her work, but in spite of that he often found himself wishing that Jill had chosen a pet to drag around the world with her instead of her abrasive friend.

Yeah, something traditional for a master criminal, say a fluffy white cat like Blofeld's. Or maybe a ferret. The ferret would be sweeter to deal with than Shari. Though I sometimes wonder if there was anybody in our circle at Stanford who didn't end up in this sick business.

"How long before we get there?" Chuck asked, managing to keep his voice pleasant.

"Not long, Nerd. Believe me, I've got better things to do than drag your geeky ass around town. So does Jill, but for some reason she likes to waste time on you."

Chuck's jaw tightened again, and he kept silent. Don't feed the troll, he commanded himself sternly.

The 'taxi ride' terminated when Shari pulled up to an expensive gentleman's club, somewhere in one of Moscow's nicer areas, and said to her passenger, "Here you are! Try not to drool over the hostesses when you get inside, okay Nerd-boy?"

Chuck forbore to answer, reminding himself again to not feed the troll.

The club was much like a thousand similar establishments all over the world. Superficially high class, it had marble decorations, the bar was a gleaming expanse of glass and metal, the carpeting soft and neutral-colored, the music quiet and soothing. On the other hand, the uniforms of the hostesses showed substantial amounts of cleavage and leg all the way up to the thighs. Even the bouncer was neatly dressed in a suit and tie, though his looming bulk and attitude left little doubt of his actual job description.

All that was only indicative, however. Confirmation came from the Intersect, which informed Chuck that this club was owned by a major figure in Russian organized crime.

Chuck was escorted to a table as soon as he reached the door, Terry Stanton's name apparently on a list already. By now it was early evening, and a rush was starting, but Chuck's table was situated near the back, and it was easy to sit with his back to the wall. As he waited, Chuck pretended to nurse a drink and looked around the room, and he let the Intersect work its magic and provide him with information. Most of the people his gaze fell upon were just what they appeared to be, moderately wealthy businessmen and high-paid young professionals, mostly but by no means entirely males. Some, though, were either more or less than they appeared, depending on how one chose to look at it.

Chuck's gaze fell on a thirty-something man in a suit and tie, and the Intersect worked its mental magic...Adrian Kellival, age 34, wanted by French authorities for money laundering and drug smuggling...his eye fell on a couple sitting at a table a few meters away, and particularly the young woman flirting openly with her table-mate...Kira Vesilova, age 24, wanted by Russian authorities for stock fraud and suspected of involvement in murder...as his gaze crossed the room, Chuck picked out several people who were criminals, suspected of being such, or had other shady connections and associations.

Chuck shook his head, and said to himself, I have to hand it to Jill, she knows all the classiest places.

As he remembered his old girlfriend as she had been when they first met, and contrasted that innocent girl to the woman he knew now, part of him felt surreal and part of him felt suddenly very sad and tired. Chuck could guess what the Jill he had first met would have thought of this place and the people in it, and now she was arranging to meet him there. In some ways it was her natural element now. It some ways, he thought sourly, it was his as well.

"They changed me," Chuck recalled her saying to him so long before. Suddenly a part of him was angry, angry at the CIA and FULCRUM, angry at the entire shadow world, angry at the world as a whole for being so broken. But he forced that down, it was emotion to no purpose, and he had other fish to fry.

"Sir," the bouncer said, appearing from out of nowhere, "would you mind accompanying me?"

As the hulking man spoke, he showed Chuck an item in his hand...a ring. A high school class ring...his high school class ring, as a matter of fact.

"Of course," Chuck said with a quiet nod, as he took the ring from the man and pocketed it.

The bouncer led Chuck through a well-concealed door behind the bar, and once on the other side, the marble finishes and curtains and other decorative flourishes were gone. Chuck and the bouncer walked down a service corridor, and came to a room opening off to one side.

"She's waiting for you," the bouncer said, voice neutral and expression stoic. Idly Chuck wondered if the man had had the nerves to his facial muscles severed to maintain that impassive look.

"Thank you," Chuck said politely, carefully keeping his eyes on the man as he walked away. After thirteen years in the 'spy business', Chuck had a well developed instinct, and that instinct said that man was dangerous. Dangerous the way John Casey was dangerous.

As Chuck entered the room, the slightly citrusy scent of a very familiar perfume reached him, and instantly his mind went back over the years, and for just a moment he was nineteen years old again, unable to believe that he was about to go out with an incredibly beautiful and wonderfully nerdy girl who actually liked to play Dungeons and Dragons. He shook his head to dispel the memory and focus his mind on the present. A quick glance around took in the room.

A microwave oven sat on one counter, a refrigerator stood to one side. There was a table and chairs, and a vending machine with Russian soft drinks. On one side of the room was an old sofa. Chuck had worked at Buy More long enough to recognize a break room when he saw one, they looked the same all over the world. A tall slender brunette was sitting at the table, engaged in a conversation on her smartphone.

The brunette looked up and saw Chuck and broke into a smile. It was that same smile that had made nineteen-year-old Chuck Bartowski think his mind was melting, and that had tended to send the blood rushing away from his brain.

Fortunately she doesn't do that to me anymore, Chuck mused to himself. Well, not as much, at least...

\"I have to go, something just came up,"\ Jill said into the phone, and a moment later she signed off, put the phone away, and got up from the desk to come over to meet her visitor. She stopped in front of him, and reached out to brush a stray lock of hair out his face.

"Hi, Chuck," Jill Roberts said softly. "Good of you to come so quickly. She looked him and down and added, "Looking good in the threads, too!"

"Hi, gorgeous," Chuck replied, as she stood inches away from him, looking up at him with those brown eyes...

For a moment neither moved, and then she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back. He was dimly aware that he had embraced her, by instinct the moment she kissed him, and that he had pressed her back against the break room wall.

For a moment that was all he was thinking about, but then he remembered that he was there on business, and gently pulled back, pushing away a tremendous rush of memories as he did: mild autumn nights on the Stanford campus, playing Dungeons and Dragons with her and Bryce and the gamers club, midnight 'study sessions' in his dorm room, dancing at clubs with her on Saturday night, playing 'tag' across the campus with her and Bryce on weekends, the day he'd introduced her to Ellie and the following weekend when she had brought him to meet Wally and Judy, the pain as he realized she did not believe him about the tests, and the humiliation and agony of hearing about her supposed affair with Bryce, the unexpected joy he had found when they reunited five years later, followed by the horror of discovering her FULCRUM affiliation, making out on the Ferris wheel and then hearing the sound of her gun and seeing it pointed at his stomach, the humiliation of realizing how badly she had played him in Castle, the realization that she had been ready to give up a near-certain chance at freedom to save him from falling out that window a few months later, meeting her again in Edinburgh after his divorce, that day in the Christmas Market with Sarah, realizing she was pregnant with their child, Stephanie's birth, the Rio incident, the Antarctica affair...those and a thousand other memories flashed through his mind, and it took an effort of will for Chuck to press them all aside.

"I-uh-that is, I mean...hi," Chuck finally managed, as the blood returned to his brain, "it's good to see you."

She smiled, pleased to have rattled him. "Same, Mr. Wayne. It's been too long!"

"It's been a little over three weeks, Selena," Chuck reminded the brunette, as his mind regained focus.

"That's too long," Jill said, kissing him again. "Though I'm surprised Vickie Vale let you out of her sight again so soon! Didja have to sneak away?"

Her voice had been sweet, but when she mentioned that name Jill's features went into a scowl and her voice had an edge to it.

Time to change the subject, Chuck thought ruefully.

"I'm a little pressed for time, Selena. Are you ready for our little talk?"

"Well, I might be...if you let me go," Jill replied with a knowing smirk.

It suddenly struck Chuck that he still had the slender brunette pressed firmly against the wall of the breakroom, his own body holding her firmly in place. He blushed and released her.

"Sorry," Chuck managed, wishing he could stop blushing and knowing she could see his reaction.

"I'm not," Jill said with that familiar wicked grin that had its usual effect of sending the blood rushing away from his head again. "It was kinda fun."

Focus, Chuck, he commanded himself firmly. 'Think with right head, Numb-nuts!' I can hear Casey saying it now.

Chuck and Jill walked over to the table, and as they did he subtly looked his old girlfriend over. Jill was clad in very tight blue jeans, a snug tank top, and sandals. Her long dark hair flowed freely down her back.

Chuck mused that Jill would have looked completely at home in any of a thousand cities around the world. There was nothing to indicate that she was anything but an attractive woman who looked rather younger than her actual age, nothing to reveal that she was actually a wanted criminal, running her own organization. Nothing about her appearance would even hint that there were arrest warrants out for her under dozens of different names, in many if not most of those same hundred cities.

Of course, Chuck mused with a mixture of cynical amusement and weariness, she's got so much blackmail on so many politicians, officials, and agents that half those warrants might as well not even exist. She's made herself useful enough to a lot of the rest that even when they could touch her, they don't want to do it. She routinely hobnobs with the same officials who are supposedly working to bring her down. It's a long way from the day I let her go and gave her that diamond ring to help fund her escape. But somehow I'm not surprised...that mind of hers...she could do almost anything with it, if she wanted. In some ways it's tragic that FULCRUM and the CIA got her and dragged her into this world, when I think of what she could have done in the biomedical field...I remember thinking in college that if anybody was going to find a general cure for cancer it would be my girl...and instead she's a crime boss and 'fixer'.

Jill had a briefcase sitting on the table, which she opened. She took out what Chuck recognized as a jamming device, and turned it on, replacing it in the briefcase. Then she led Chuck over to the sofa on one wall, and they sat on it facing each other.

"Are we secure?" Chuck asked.

"I think so," Jill replied. "I swept the room, just now and earlier, and my people are watching the area and scanning for untoward signals or recording devices. I'm pretty sure we're bug free. This place is owned by an acquaintance of mine, and he owes me, and he has reason of his own to be careful about such things, too."

Chuck sighed. It would have to do. He would have liked to sweep the room himself, but under the circumstances he had little choice but to trust her. Which he mostly did. Chuck had long since stopped being surprised by all the times that life in the shadow world, just as in the legitimate world, ran on trust. It had to run that way, nothing else was possible.

"Well, I'm here on business, but before we get to that, I'm supposed to give you a message from Stephie, she said to tell you 'hi' and that she loves you. In case you didn't know."

Jill closed her eyes, and for a moment she looked very sad.

"I know she loves me," Jill said. "And she can't possibly imagine how much I love her. I never intended to be gone as long as I have been this time. But...when Tony contacted me about...well, let's just say it involved wheat. I assume you know something about what I'm talking about, since you mentioned wheat when you called me."

"Jill, I don't think we have time to play around. Short version: what I've been told is that two months ago, or so, Chinese intelligence agents raided and destroyed a laboratory complex of some sort in the RF. Supposedly they captured a strain of nasty fungus that feeds on wheat, something that had been bred, or gene-tampered, or both, to make it much nastier than the natural form, nasty enough to be a viable terror weapon. Supposedly a Chinese agent went rogue with the samples and data and is offering to sell it to the highest bidder."

Chuck paused, and went on, "The CIA and the NSA know about the offer, of course, and they also think that you know something about where the rogue agent might be, or at least that you know more than they do."

Jill laughed rather sourly. "That isn't very hard. So I take it they hired you to see if you could convince me to work with them?"

"More or less," Chuck admitted. "I assume from what you said in our call that you do know something about this business?"

"More than something," Jill said after a moment. "I'm afraid that either they didn't completely fill you in, or they're behind the curve themselves. Chuck...how bad did the those idiots tell you this stem rust is?"

"They aren't sure themselves," Chuck replied. "Or at least that's what they told me. If they were playing straight, they think it can seriously damage enough of the wheat crop to destabilize a wheat-dependent country."

Jill laughed, a bitter kind of laugh, and said, "Oh, it's far, far worse than that, Chuck."

Chuck definitely did not like the nervous 'edge' to her laughter.

"How much worse is 'far worse', Jill?"

She sighed. "Would you believe the Third Horseman?"

Moscow, Russian Federation, Monday, June 1st, 2020, 7:35 p.m. local time...

"Did she see you?" Delgado asked, as Gaez entered the safehouse.

"Oh yes," Gaez said with a small laugh. "Walker definitely saw me, I made sure of that. Just enough to whet her appetite and keep off balance."

"Well done," Delgado said with a cold nod. "We managed to let Miller get a look at Amy as well, when she was in her hotel room earlier today. We still haven't pinned down exactly where Rizzo is, we know she's in Moscow but so far she's stayed off our radar. But we'll pin her down and give her her free sample, too."

"Me or Amy?"

"It'll depend on where and when," Delgado replied. "For now, get some sleep. We've got an early day tomorrow."

Augusto Gaez was still pondered the day's events as he turned in, ideas for ways to turn the overall situation to his advantage moving through his mind.

TO BE CONTINUED...