A/N1: No, I do not own Chuck. And, it seems, none of my friends do either.
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Tuesday, December 2, 2008; 12:45 AM PST
Stephen was stuck in a cell, lying on a cot and trying not to jiggle his loose tooth when one of Roark's Fulcrum henchmen came to unlock the door.
"Come on, Gramps. The Sachem wants to talk to you," said the man. He appeared to be in his late twenties and had a blond flattop haircut. As Aryan as he looked, he'd have fit in nicely in the Waffen SS. Or at least on the recruitment posters for the Waffen SS.
Stephen was led out of the cell, but the young man had not found it necessary to restrain him with ties or cuffs.
"Gramps, huh?" asked Stephen. The guy grunted, pushing Stephen in a direction down the corridor. "You know that's discriminatory, right? It's agist."
"Cry me a river," snarled the younger man, prodding Stephen in the back again. "Now move it. No one's going to carry you." The man remained close behind him.
"You see? Agist. Now that's just hurtful," said Stephen. He was aware of being underestimated. It had happened before and always pleased him.
As he said it, he spun on his heel, put all his weight into the twist of his hips, and launched his fist at the chin of the Fulcrum man behind him. The impact spun the man's head ninety degrees and he crumbled to the ground and stayed there. Stephen took the man's weapon and the spare magazines of ammo from his belt. Tucking the bulky mags into his pocket, he checked the pistol in his hand. It was a Colt Mustang, a smaller version of the famous Colt 45 used by the military for years. He flipped off the safety and made sure there was a round in the chamber ready to fire.
Weapon in hand, he began to explore the underground base in which he had found himself confined.
From the airfield earlier, he'd been bundled into the back of one of the trucks. The trucks had no windows in their cargo areas and he couldn't tell where they headed. After a short drive, he was unloaded with the other passengers, not having seen where he was. The truck bay was a large area, as to be expected, but with unfinished walls of pale stone. Unfinished stone walls made him conclude he was underground somewhere in the Mojave. That made sense.
Now free...or free-ish...Stephen's first priority was to escape, but, failing that, he wanted to figure out a way to send a signal above ground to those men and women undoubtedly looking for him.
In contrast to the truck bay, the walls in this part of the facility were finished with rough concrete and cinderblocks, making him think the truck bay remained unfinished as a later addition to the facility. The wall color was a uniform military olive green, the lighting florescent.
He saw no one down the corridor in front of him and wondered where all the enemy operatives were. He had only moved a hundred yards or so down one passageway after another, looking for a stairway to the surface when he felt the hard push of a gun to the side of his head. He'd passed what he thought was an empty branching corridor, but had obviously been mistaken.
Vincent Smith said, politely, "Dr. Bartowski, I admire your effort, but have to admit to a certain level of annoyance. Hand me the weapon, handle first, please." Stephen did so. "Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation. Now continue down the corridor in the direction you were heading."
Wisely, Smith stayed back about two paces from Stephen, too far to be attacked without getting a shot off. It was a surprisingly short walk until Smith said, "Turn into the next doorway." Stephen did so and entered a comfortable living room, totally out of place in this austere underground bunker. Rugs on the floor and paintings on the walls. Overstuffed easy chairs and a large sofa. Softer light. A coffee table. Along a wall was a fancy wooden desk with chairs set up adjacent to it. Along another wall was a full bar, behind which was Ted Roark.
"Hey, pal," he said to Stephen, smiling happily. "Sorry I had to leave you alone there for a while. You know. Evil plans and things." He waved his hands around, perhaps to represent the other things in addition to evil plans which had been occupying him. "Anyway, it's just great to see you again. How's my favorite underachieving reclusive kidnapped scientist doing lately?"
"I'll be better when I can see my hands around your throat, Ted," said Stephen, pleasantly. Smith gestured for him to sit on the sofa near the coffee table, and Stephen did so.
"Oh, come on. What are you going to do? You going to kill me? Beat me to a pulp? You can come up with something more creative than that. Come on. A plasma ray to spread my atoms far and wide. A miniature black hole. You can strand me on the event horizon for eternity. Don't be so boring."
"Sorry, Ted. It's been a long disappointing day. My imagination is a bit starved at the moment."
"Disappointing? Well, that sucks for you, I suppose. You launched a full-scale assault on me. You can't be too disappointed. You drove me out of Ventura. That's got to count for something."
"I suppose," said Stephen, to all appearances dejected. And not in any mood to debate who launched the assault on whom.
"What were you hoping would happen, Stephen?"
"We wanted the files. We wanted the Fulcrum files on that Intersect thingie you people are obsessed with, but your guys blew through the door to the computer wing before we could download anything. Hell, I didn't even find the files in time."
Roark laughed long and hard and crossed the room to hand Stephen a glass of scotch. "So, your son failed for once. Too bad. And those files weren't even there anyway. They are here. This is where we do most of our Intersect research. Think of it as an underground lair. I hate to tell you, old friend, but your son's overmatched now. I'm part of a major conglomerate of bad guys. And we are always going to win in the end. But, he won't be around to see it. You see, I ordered Fulcrum to kill him and his bitch."
"Sarah's his fiancé. They are getting married in a few weeks. And, I think you'll find that they aren't as easy to kill as you may imagine. You should probably stay away from them, Ted," said Stephen. "For your own safety, of course."
"Aw. Now you've hurt my feelings. I'm your oldest friend. You mean I won't be invited to the wedding?"
"Ted, to be honest, I don't think you're going live long enough to see the wedding. Chuck and Sarah are going to take you and your friends out. You should have learned years ago not to mess with a Bartowski, but you were always stubborn." As he said that the smirk disappeared from Roark's face for an instant.
But then it was back. "Seems unlike you, to let your son work for the government. And to marry an agent? What happened to your old political views?"
"Thirty-plus years of experiences. And as for her being an agent? Hell, Ted. I couldn't be prouder to have her in my family. Not at all. She's an extraordinary person and loves my son without limit. I'm welcoming her to my family with open arms. Chuck is a very lucky man."
"Speaking of wives, how's Mary? She miss me?" asked Roark.
Grimacing, Stephen took a drink of his scotch and said, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, my friend. I really need you to re-think that. You see, the only thing keeping you alive right now is your ability to entertain me. If I get bored, I'm going to ask Smith here to kill you. Think of yourself as a modern-day Scheherazade. So, try again."
Stephen sighed deeply and resolved to spin a tale or two.
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Tuesday, December 2, 2008; 3:22 AM PST
Chuck and Sarah had left Rachel and her team downstairs in Castle and went to the Carmichael Industries offices upstairs. In one of the conference rooms in their space, they activated the video monitor and were immediately connected to Malone, Beckman and Graham from their locations in the Nation's capital.
"Morning, Directors," said Chuck.
"Morning, Chuck, Sarah," they said.
"What's the latest?" asked Malone.
"We lost another good guy in surgery so the total is now nineteen. Ongoing surgeries all over Southern California, so that number may still climb higher. Fulcrum. The number of Fulcrum dead is now seventy-five. Again, it may climb as time passes. Teams are clearing the Roark campus and only encountered one flare up of resistance so far. Both of those Fulcrum agents were killed and those deaths are included in the total I just shared."
Beckman said, "Any leads on Roark?"
"He escaped in one of the four helicopters that made it out. There are a few avenues we are looking at, but we don't have anything concrete at this time," said Sarah.
"Prisoners?" asked Malone.
"One hundred and eighty-nine. We are cross checking now, but at last count only forty-seven of those are on the roster of Fulcrum agents," said Sarah.
"The rest are Roark employees?" asked Graham.
"We expect so, Director, but not all of the prisoners might be using their actual names from the roster. We have to double check the identities of even the individuals not on the roster. Facial recognition. Prints. Something harder to change than an ID card," said Chuck.
"Yes," said Malone. "The roster. Can you share that with my office, please?"
"Of course, Sir. We can't let Fulcrum know we have it, so we cannot act on it for the moment. No arrests. But it will certainly be helpful to know if the person sitting next to you is the enemy," said Sarah.
"Of course," agreed Malone.
"We had one of Director Graham's guys, Jorge Ribas, arrange it so it can be searched in a variety of ways. I'll have him forward it to you and brief your tech guys on it," said Chuck. "One problem is that it has yet to be culled for Fulcrum members who are dead. Many have been killed in the last few weeks alone."
"Hell," continued Sarah. "Seventy-five just last night."
Malone said, "Chuck, I know this isn't your favorite topic, but let's not forget that there is a broad-brush termination order out on Fulcrum operatives. You're mentioning arrest. There won't be arrests. Not like that, anyway."
Chuck had a look of distaste on his face, but said, "Yes, Sir. And you're right. It's not my favorite topic."
"Where are the prisoners being held?" asked Graham.
"The sudden influx would overwhelm just about any facility. Casey arranged for us to use a hangar in the Naval Air Station at Point Mugu. We are using FBI agents to guard them, but given your reminder about the termination order I think we should replace the law enforcement officers with spies sooner rather than later," said Chuck.
"Yes. That's probably wise," agreed Malone.
Sarah said, "What's the plan for the public relations nightmare from the Ventura battle?"
Malone said, with a sour look, "Close to the truth. Right wing militia infiltrated Roark Instruments and began a gunfight when we sent officers to investigate. Casualties on both sides. We'll do our best to downplay it, but it's going to be the biggest story between now and the Inauguration next month."
"I'm sure," agreed Chuck.
"Obama on board?"
"Yeah," said Malone. "It was his idea. We keep the intelligence aspect and Roark's personal involvement quiet."
"So, what's next, Team?" asked Beckman.
"In no particular order, we have to find my dad and rescue him, round up and arrest everyone on the roster, get to Roark and arrest him too," said Chuck. "We've asked for some more hands here. There are going to be hundreds of electronic devices to be cracked and reviewed for intelligence. Director Graham, we've asked to raid your Science Directorate for some tech guys..."
"Yes, Chuck. I've approved the orders," Graham said.
"Thank you, Sir. We've also asked Director Mueller for a couple of the FBI agents we worked with before on the Yama Twins business and the Iblis virus theft. We have dozens of interrogations to take care of and they can help with that. In addition, some of our people will be looking at all the real estate owned, leased, licensed or borrowed by Roark Instruments or any of their subsidiaries or affiliates."
"Why the real estate, Chuck?" asked Beckman.
"To find my father," he said.
"Chuck, we all want to find your father, but I'm afraid it's not our priority at this point."
Chuck sighed and said, "Ma'am, I will do anything to find my father. I will do whatever it takes and use any means necessary."
"One hundred percent," agreed Sarah.
"And the first thing we are going to do is leak the news to Fulcrum that they have captured Orion," said Chuck.
"What?" asked Malone, startled.
"Why?" asked Graham.
"Absolutely not," said Beckman.
"Absolutely yes, General," said Chuck.
"Chuck, think of the risks if they know he's Orion," said Beckman.
"I have, General. But think of the risks if they don't," countered Chuck. "They have no need to keep him alive without that special knowledge. This way, it gives us time to find him and rescue him."
Her voice raised in anger, Beckman said, "No, Chuck. We can't let them get the key to the Intersect. His not having a usefulness to Fulcrum is a risk you'll just have to take."
"You misunderstand me, General," said Chuck, getting angry himself. "You seem to think I was asking permission. I wasn't."
"Chuck, you don't have the authority to overrule me," yelled Beckman.
Fists clenched, Chuck stood up and stared fire at the video screen. He said, his voice harsh, but quieter, "Wanna bet?"
Malone stepped in, "Ok, everyone calm down. General, I was on the call with Chuck and the President a few hours ago. The President put Chuck in charge of the battle with Fulcrum. Told him that our jobs were to get out of his way and give him what he needs. So, basically...yeah, he has the authority to overrule you. And me and Langston too for that matter."
Beckman looked like she'd smelled something particularly noxious, and, red-faced, she chose to remain silent.
Chuck took a deep breath to calm himself, while Sarah said, "Thank you, Sir. Once they understand who they have, finding Orion becomes a time-sensitive matter. It is the answer to the question of why we are intending to focus on Roark's real estate. Of course, it's possible that they are using some location off all of the books, but given what we know about them so far, we judge that to be unlikely."
"Makes sense," said Malone. "Good luck with that."
Graham said, "You two have had a long day. Try to get some rest. You're not going to be good for anyone if you're exhausted. Reach out to us when you need something or have some instructions for us." As he said it, his eyes flicked for only a moment to the silently sulking Beckman.
Malone added, with a tiny smile, "Or if you just want to bounce some ideas around with the old folks." Chuck and Sarah smiled at him.
"Sir, we will keep you three in the loop regularly," promised Chuck. "You can count on discussions like this one several times a day."
"Excellent," said Graham.
"Good night, Chuck, Sarah."
"Goodnight, Directors," they said.
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A/N2: Ok, so we haven't seen Stephen do anything more physical than typing so far in New Day. But, and it's a big but, in canon (Dream Job) Stephen knocked out Smith with a single punch. I felt it was convenient to give him a somewhat commensurate skillset.
A/N3: Scheherazade. The heroine/narrator of The One Thousand and One Nights who avoided execution in the morning by leaving the king with an unfinished story the night before. The stories were so compelling that he just had to hear the ending. And she managed that neat trick for...you guessed it...1,001 nights.
A/N4: One of the plot points in First Kill was Chuck's desperation to save his dad and his frustration and anger with the government, as personified by General Beckman. If you've been with me all along, you know that I have never had any intention of aping canon on this point and have not made the government another villain for Chuck to overcome. I can and do, however, arrange for Chuck and Beckman to butt heads on occasion. Usually, as in this chapter, it is to show Chuck's gradual growth from a nervous newbie to a singular powerhouse of the intelligence establishment (in combination with Sarah, of course). Believe it or not, I never had it pre-planned for Chuck to command this level of authority. It just happened naturally, as a consequence of Team B's accomplishments and successes. In any event, here we are. Chuck can and does overrule Beckman. Don't worry, though. She's still invited to the wedding.
A/N5: Whaddya think? You know I always love to hear from you.