A/N1: Anybody think ownership of Chuck is involved in Protocol 123,592? Yeah. I don't think so either.
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Thursday, December 4, 2008; 8:22 PM PST
Brian Murphy sat on the edge of the bed and watched his fiancé sleep with a contented smile on his face. Her mouth was ever so slightly open and she was making a not-quite snoring noise. There was a little bit of drool escaping down her chin and onto her neck. He moved to wipe it away with the edge of a sheet, but stopped himself. He really didn't want to wake her.
Rachel's sleeping face was younger looking than her awake face. He thought she looked like a pretty little girl. He stopped and corrected himself. She was a beautiful woman. Awake, her hazel eyes sparkled with brilliance and humor. She had melded those two characteristics seamlessly and she would often wrap her fierce intelligence with irreverent laughter. Her self-confidence and exuberance might come across as cocky to some, but even her doubters would be won over quickly enough. Only he, and a select few dear friends and family, would see the concerns and second guessing and nerves. And of course, even among that coterie he was head and shoulders above all the others, as she had chosen him to spend her life with for all the decades to come.
God, he loved her. He knew she loved him back, and just as much. He couldn't explain it logically, but he supposed love worked that way. He considered himself a solid and dependable man. He might be fun and gregarious sometimes, but he would never sparkle like her. Rachel, like her pal Sarah, would always light up any room she entered and lead any group she found herself part of. And somehow, this amazing woman had chosen to tie her star to his. Following her to Los Angeles when she took the job with Chuck and Sarah was a no-brainer. He was the luckiest man in the world.
And, as if he couldn't be prouder of her, now he was coming to grips with her new life. She'd been working almost nonstop for a month, in sharp distinction to when she first took the job with Carmichael Industries and her hours had been pretty normal. She'd also stopped talking to him about her work and become evasive when he'd asked what was going on. He was smart enough to back off immediately. He had known for years that Sarah worked for the CIA. Her scholarship and summer internships had not been a secret between the roommates and Rachel had shared that information with Brian as a warning not to ask Sarah questions. A long conversation with the CIA Director and his wife at Chuck and Sarah's engagement party was mere confirmation. Putting all of that together led him to the conclusion that Rachel herself had now been brought into the spy world. Not to be a spy, of course, but in some kind of support role.
He'd also read the newspapers and seen the cable and internet news sources going insane with the developments surrounding the Battle of Ventura. He knew that the Federal Government had initiated the confrontation on Monday and had obviously been preparing for it weeks ahead of time. Rachel had pulled two all-nighters in a row Thanksgiving week and slept like a log on the flight back to New York for the holiday with their families. They arrived back in Los Angeles on Sunday and she'd left her suitcase with him at the airport and gone straight to the office, not coming home until after midnight to catch a scant few hours sleep.
She had left for work early Monday morning and that was the last time she'd been home until three hours ago. Monday night he'd gotten a quick text letting him know that she was ok. Given that it had never occurred to him that she wouldn't be ok, the message had unnerved him more than a little. Throughout the next three days, he'd gotten messages every once in a while, just to let him know that she was thinking of him and loved him.
He knew he couldn't ask her, but he was convinced that Chuck and Sarah and their friends were on the front lines against the enemy. He believed Rachel had been involved in the planning and then had been present at the Battle of Ventura. And he believed that she was working non-stop all week in the war for the heart of the nation.
He had tried to concentrate at work, but found it damn near impossible. As the news coverage was almost non-stop, he found himself watching it or surfing the headlines when he should be working.
Finally, she'd sent him a text asking him to please be home for dinner if he could. He left work at 4PM to be certain to be home on time. He wasn't sure what to expect.
She came through the door to their apartment at a bit after 5PM. She was wearing clothes he'd never seen before and looked stressed and tired. But she also looked at him the way a hungry tigress looks at a tethered goat. Without a word, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms and legs around him like kudzu. Her lips crashing into his. He was a big, strong man and held her weight without strain, but did stagger back with surprise at the impact. When she broke the lip-lock she said, breathlessly, "Bed. Now."
The initial bout was frantic, vigorous, and very, very satisfying. The next one was slower and loving and filled with the words and looks that presaged a lifetime of love and commitment and passion to come. She had immediately fallen asleep afterwards with a contented smile, wrapped in his arms.
She'd been asleep for an hour and a half and he was sitting and watching her.
Her breathing changed slightly and she said softly, without opening her eyes, "It's creepy to watch me sleep."
"Creepy or romantic?" he asked.
"How about a mélange of both?" she asked.
"Mélange? Good word. Did you go to Harvard or something?" he asked.
She opened her eyes and looked at him with a smile, "I did. You know, even the Harvard admission office can make a mistake, but I hung on gamely."
This was a routine they'd played with each other before. "Don't tell me. Sarah saved your ass. Tutored you through everything."
"She did. Well, almost everything. I had to tutor her in how to have a boyfriend."
"Fast learner, was she?" he asked.
She shrugged with a grin and said, "Well, I'm the master, but she seems to have figured it all out in the last year or so." She gave his bare thigh a squeeze.
Brian smiled back at her and used the edge of the sheet to wipe the drool from her chin. His smile left his face and he said, "Don't tell me anything you can't, but are you ok? Are they ok? Are our friends ok?"
She paused and said, with a slight frown, "Mostly. Yeah. They are mostly ok. But it's been a really tough week. And it shows no signs of letting up."
"That cyber-security business is really hard," he said, with a bit of a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
She looked at him seriously for a moment, understanding that he knew but wouldn't say out loud that she was now helping Chuck and Sarah. She appreciated both his intelligence and his discretion. "Yeah. It's murder out there," she said without expression, trying to convey her thoughts with only her eyes.
"Are you ok? I mean, this isn't taught in law school," he said.
"I'm...I'm...actually, I'm better than ok. It's going to sound insane, but I'm great. The pressure is nuts. It's like taking a bar exam every day for weeks without studying and with horrifying consequences for failure. It's both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And the bonds forged with our friends...it's like nothing I can describe," she said.
"Sounds like the descriptions coming from combat veterans," he said.
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? And despite it...or maybe because of it...I feel so alive, Bri. I haven't felt like this professionally ...well, ever. The closest I can come to it is in school with Sarah and the crazy shit we used to get up to. Crazy shit. Hare-brained schemes. We easily could have been expelled and she could have lost her CIA scholarship. But we kept at it and kept beating the odds. She and I. That's what I feel like now. It's happening again but multiplied by a thousand. It's so... thrilling. My world is...it's...You remember The Wizard of Oz? How after the tornado everything was in color? That's what I feel like right now. Everything is suddenly in color. And, Brian, this is all just too cool. I can never go back to Kansas."
He smiled at her description and said, "So I guess the law firm life..."
Her cell phone rang and she looked at it for a moment before answering it. "Hey, Jorge. What's up?...Yeah, don't worry about it. My batteries are recharged. In fact, I'm freaking awesome." She grinned at Brian. "What is it?...All of them, at once?...OK, but still. Jesus." Her happy expression took on the slight frown she wore when thinking hard. "Ok, I'm on my way. If anything comes up on the database call me on my cell. I'll be in the car." She threw back the covers on the bed and jumped out. Brian backed off, to keep out of her way.
With the phone still to her ear she headed into the bathroom. "Ok," she said. "Let the other guys know I'm on my way in...To hell with sleep." She chuckled. "I'll talk to you soon, dude. Later."
Brian heard her phone being put down on the countertop and the shower turn on.
He stared at the empty bathroom door with soft eyes. Love and pride warred with each other for first place in his heart at the moment. With a smile he finally decided he felt a mélange of the two.
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Thursday, December 4, 2008; 8:45 PM PST
Casey paced the floors of Castle and watched Jorge's team work. Rachel, Chuck and Sarah were all on their way back to the Studio. Zondra had come up from one of the rooms downstairs, where she'd been crashing.
Only a few hours ago dozens of cell phones had received the same message.
SUPERNOVA. EXECUTE PROTOCOL SEVEN
Each of the Fulcrum agents they had captured either at Roak's campus in Ventura or earlier today at the Strength Leader building had multiple cell phones on their persons. Jorge's men had marked them and scrounged to find enough chargers for all of them. More importantly, however, they had installed software that would automatically feed any texts or emails or the transcripts of any voicemail messages into the database.
Not all of the captured phones had received the message, but it seemed that each Fulcrum agent had at least one phone which did. The assumption was that, like other spies, they had a single phone for Fulcrum business and other phones for other matters and contacts.
Jorge looked up at Casey and said, "Ok, Colonel, here's the bottom line. We don't know what the code word 'supernova' means, but the database has a list of the Fulcrum protocols downloaded from the Ventura mainframe. There are fifteen protocols. Each one is a command to assemble someplace. Protocol seven is the command to assemble at Blackrock. The problem is, we have no idea where Blackrock is."
"Any way to tell where the message originated from?" Casey asked.
"Came from a cell tower in eastern Kentucky, but we can't get any closer than that. And who knows? That could just be the last of a series of relays," said Jorge.
"The transmitting phone itself?" asked Casey.
"No response, even to a ping. It's turned off or out of range of the cell system," said Jorge.
"Ok. Probably disabled or destroyed it as soon as the message was sent. How about the other direction? Can we tell who the recipients were?"
"Let me see what I can do," said Jorge.
"Ok," said Casey. "Let's try to figure out who is assembling and where they are assembling."
"Right, Colonel," said Jorge.
Rachel hustled into Castle followed only a few moments later by Chuck and Sarah. Once Casey brought them up to speed, Chuck said, "We have the roster. With the names we can identify their cell phones and physically track them."
"Probably use burner phones," said Zondra.
Jorge spoke up, "Guys, I can't get the recipients or the data on their phones, but I can make a pretty solid guestimate on the number of recipients."
"Ok," said Chuck.
Jorge said, "Almost a couple of thousand total."
His announcement was met with silence as the team contemplated the news. Sarah said, "That's everyone. That's all of Fulcrum based on the roster. With the losses they've suffered we know their strength is diminished, but I'm thinking they haven't culled the dead and captured from their messaging list."
"Shit," said Chuck, stunned by the news. "All of them are being ordered to assemble?"
"In one place? Holy shit," said Rachel.
"What kind of a fucking idiot would pull off a strategic blunder of that magnitude?" wondered Casey.
"Don't interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake," said Chuck. "I'd better call Malone."
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Friday, December 5, 2008; 12:02 AM EST
Director of National Intelligence Malone was in his most comfortable easy chair in his living room reading a report on the latest developments in the investigations into the Mumbai terrorist attacks the prior month. While the information was quite relevant and might prove essential for the relationship between the United States and Pakistan, he nevertheless found it difficult to concentrate.
His mind kept being pulled back to Fulcrum and the work of Chuck and his team on the west coast. That was the most consequential challenge they were facing and the one that literally kept him up at night.
As if it were reading his mind, his cell phone rang. At a glance, he saw it was Chuck.
"Malone," he said by way of answering the call. "Evening, Chuck."
"Evening, Director. Sorry to wake you," said Chuck.
"Wasn't asleep. Don't want you to think you are the only one working tonight, son," said Malone.
"Yes, Sir. You're on speaker as I'm here with Sarah," said Chuck.
"Evening, Sarah," said Malone.
"Sir," said Sarah.
"Director, there's been a development here. A message went out to what appears to be the entirety of Fulcrum. It orders them to assemble at a given, but as yet unknown, location." said Chuck.
"What? You're kidding," said Malone with disbelief.
"No, Sir," said Sarah.
"Is this an early Christmas present? All of Fulcrum in one place at one time?" he asked.
"Well, Sir. I guess we will have to find where they go and if they obey the order, but at the moment it certainly seems to be exactly as you describe," said Sarah.
"Casey can't believe anyone would be that stupid," said Chuck. "He's worried it might be a trap."
"I think I have to agree with the Colonel on that one. But we can't take the chance that it's not legit. Very well, team. Thanks for the heads up. Keep an eye on it and let me know of any developments," said Malone.
"Yes, Sir," said Chuck. "Goodnight."
"Night, Chuck, Sarah," he said.
Disconnecting the call, he sat staring at nothing for a few minutes while he made a decision.
He hit a few buttons on this phone and said, "Director Malone, here. Wake the President."
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Friday, December 5, 2008; 7:26 AM EST
Major Kevin Graham walked into the outer office in the Pentagon on the way to his own private office. Lieutenant Andrews sat at his usual spot. Before Graham could share a casual good morning with the man, Andrews said, with a raised hand to forestall discussion, "Turn around, Major. VIP's waiting for you in conference room 102."
"Humh," said Graham, dropping his briefcase on the floor near Andrews' desk and putting down his cup of coffee. He took off his coat and dropped it on an empty chair.
He spun on his heel and headed down the corridor. Reaching the door to the conference room, and cognizant of Andrews description of VIP's, he knocked twice. A voice shouted for him to enter.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him. And stopped with surprise.
Waiting for him were Secretary of Defense Robert Gates, DNI Malone, and CIA Director Langston Graham, his dad.
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A/N2: Napolean Bonaparte: Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake.
A/N3: I'm a freak. I've ended this chapter with the beginning of a meeting I have had planned since chapter 81 of New Day. Right? That's not normal.
A/N4: Things are moving quickly now. I have to admit, as I type the words "Wake the President" I get a little shiver. What do you guys think? Seems Malone made some things happen overnight in DC. And Happy St. Patrick's Day everybody.