A/N1: Woo Hoo! Hi, guys. I'm back. Although I fervently hope to get back to my prior regular schedule, I have been reminded of how uncertain life can be. The good news is that some of the chaos in my real life may have abated for the time being. Damn, I sure as shit hope so; the last few months presented epic suckitude. Interesting times indeed. Thanks to all of you who reached out to make sure I was ok. You guys are the best. This is a great community and you are good friends.
A/N2: Maybe ownership of Chuck is underground? Naw. It needs sunshine to thrive.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Gotta do a recap. I've been gone for a few months now and even I needed a recap to make sure I didn't mess anything up. (And, for God's sake, it's my own freaking story.) So, I re-read the last arc; I have to be honest, I didn't remember all of the details. Now I hope I don't miss any going forward. I trust you guys to let me know.
So, here we go:
Recap:
Pretty much open war has been declared between Roark/Fulcrum and the US government. The bloody Battle of Ventura has been a world-shaking news event and has melded the views of the outgoing and incoming Presidents and their collective response to the Fulcrum threat. Team B seems to be the tip of the spear, but let's remember that that expression acknowledges the long, strong spear behind the tip. And, by God, our friends absolutely have that back up. Furthermore, at the express direction of the President of the United States, the entire length of the spear is under the direction and control of the leader of Team B, Chuck Bartowski.
Team B has almost two hundred Fulcrum agents in custody on an off-shore CIA-owned merchant ship being interrogated by their friends, FBI agents Statler and Mulia, and by other FBI agents on loan from the LA office. Some members of Team B have mentioned that the offshore ship makes it easier to dispose of the Fulcrum bodies when the interrogations end. They may be right.
Orion, Chuck's dad, has been captured by Fulcrum during the fighting in Ventura. And while they originally didn't know who they had, Chuck deliberately leaked his identity in an effort to make his dad valuable to Fulcrum and, thus, more likely to survive until rescue. Orion seems to have convinced Roark and Fulcrum that he's de-bugged the Fulcrum Intersect software and it's ready for insertion into the bulk of the Fulcrum agents.
Roark believes Orion, although Smith is skeptical. Roark knows the Feds are closing in. With a final fight in mind, he orders Fulcrum to assemble at Blackrock, apparently with the intention to intersect them all with the Orion-improved program and create an army of super-agents for the upcoming fight. While the destination is still unknown to Team B, they have intercepted the communication and understand its message to gather.
In the meantime, with the idea of all of Fulcrum being in one place at one time, DNI Malone interrupted the President's sleep and, only hours later, met with the son of the current CIA Director, United States Air Force pilot Major Kevin Graham (a pilot of the B-2 bomber). Perhaps that's not a good development for Fulcrum.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 4:44 AM PST
Travis "Bud" McLean came out of his house with a small black duffel bag in one hand and went to the passenger side of the beat-up pickup truck stopped at the curb. He threw the bag behind the seat and shrugged off his military style black jacket, throwing that with the bag.
"Morning, Bud," said the driver as Bud was getting himself comfortable for the drive.
Adjusting the pistol holstered on his belt so that it didn't dig into his side on the journey, McLean replied, "Morning, Pete. You good?"
"Yeah. Ready?" Pete Evans asked as McLean was buckling his seat belt.
"Rock and roll, dude," said McLean.
"I stopped for coffee," said Evans, handing the other man a paper cup with a heat sleeve from the cup holder in the center console.
Taking the cup with a small grin, McLean said, "Righteous. Thanks."
Evans drove through the predawn streets of Los Angeles, blessedly free of the normal city traffic. He was heading to the Foothills Freeway to head east. Once off the city streets, they would be on highways for almost the entire trip.
The men were quiet, lost in their own thoughts, McLean watching Los Angeles pass by the truck's windows. The truck's heat was on low, to warm them from the temperature in the mid-40's.
Finally, Evans said, "How can you be so calm?"
"I keep telling myself it's just another training module. I've been through dozens of training modules in my time...maybe hundreds. Just another day," said McLean quietly.
"But it's not, though. It's the Intersect. I couldn't believe it when we got the Supernova signal. Finally. It's not just another day. It's huge. We'll be Intersected. God knows what skills and abilities we'll be getting. It's like, like we'll be superheroes or something. I knew that trusting the Sachem was the right call. This will be the turning point. Just wait and see."
"Your mouth to God's ears, dude."
The silence resumed. Eventually, the truck turned off the Freeway and onto I-15 heading north and east. It was the road they would have taken to Las Vegas, but on the way, it passed through Barstow.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 5:39 AM PST
A little less than a mile behind the truck with the Fulcrum men, Billy and Leo listened to the conversation and followed the moving spot on the dash mounted GPS screen.
"You get that, Castle? Supernova. They have the Intersect," said Billy.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 5:40 AM PST
"Yeah. We got it," said Casey. "How long til you switch with Frankie and Marty?"
A pause as Billy looked at his watch and said, "Bit over twenty minutes." Switching around tail vehicles made it less likely that the targets would spot them.
"Ok," said Casey. "Keep your eyes open. I'm still worried that this is a trap."
"Roger that, Castle," said Billy.
Casey turned back to the men and women assembled in Castle. "Supernova. Message means we got the Intersect and we're gonna share it with all you assholes. I don't know if Orion gave them the Intersect or not, but he made them think he did at least."
"Case, there's no way Stephen cooperated with them," said Sarah. "No way."
Casey blew out a sigh and said, "All things considered, I have to agree, Walker. It's too quick. I know him and I respect him. It would take a lot longer to break him. I'm not saying it can't be done, but not this quick. I'm betting he conned them."
"I agree," said Chuck, nodding his head.
Sitting in Castle were Chuck, Sarah, Casey and Zondra, as well as Jorge, Rachel, Fitz and Mike. Rachel's and Jorge's teams were upstairs in either the Carmichael Industries space or the temporary space allocated to them on an emergency basis by the Mattocks. A few of them might be napping downstairs. The balance of Mike and Fitz's teams were in tail cars following the Fulcrum operatives to Blackrock.
When they first understood the Fulcrum Protocol message to assemble it was Rachel's idea to follow the three Fulcrum men and one Fulcrum woman who worked at Castle Studios. Her exact words were, "Why don't you guys just shove a tracker up their asses, or whatever it is you spies do? Rob Wilson might have them all bugged already. He's Evans' boss after all."
So, they had checked with Wilson, the head of Studio security. Sure enough, when they had alerted him to the Fulcrum presence in the Studio a couple of days ago, he'd taken it upon himself to place trackers in each of the cars of the Fulcrum agents. With those in place, it had been simple to find the vehicles near the homes of their targets and further outfit them with audio transmitters.
It seemed that all of the agents under observation timed their departure for about the same time, the presumption being that they intended to arrive at their destination at about the same time. Evans and McLean were driving together to Blackrock. The other two Fulcrum agents were making their way separately. The audio bugs in their cars were producing only the music they were listening to (although one of them was singing along and did not have the voice for it). The bugs and trackers could be remotely turned off by Team B when the agents arrived at their destination. It was reasonable to expect that the Fulcrum agents might be checked for transmitters. Although there was potential intelligence value to leaving the transmitters running, Chuck and Sarah decided that it wasn't worth the risk of alerting the target that their assembly point had been located.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 6:20 AM PST
The sky was just beginning to brighten with the coming dawn. Evans and Mclean had left I-15 after Barstow and headed north on Fort Irwin Road, into the Mojave.
"Should be soon," said Evans.
"Yeah. There's just a whole lot of nothing here. The landmark should be easy to spot," said McLean.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 6:20 AM PST
In Castle Colt said, "There's nothing there. My guys and I checked out that area. Just a whole lot of desert. Roark owns some vacant land and an abandoned drive-in theater out that way but it's all empty. Just cracked concrete and lizards."
"I hear you," said Zondra, "but it's smack in the cone of possible landing zones for the Fulcrum choppers that left Ventura."
Casey pushed a button on the console in front of him and said, "Marty, Frankie, what can you see?"
Marty replied from the car a mile behind the Fulcrum agents, "Nada mucho, Castle. Sand and cactus."
"Ok," said Casey, "keep your eyes open."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 6:33 AM PST
"There it is," said McLean, a bit of excitement finally coming through in his voice.
"Starbright Drive-in. Blackrock," agreed Evans.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 6:33 AM PST
"What the hell?" said Colt. "There's nothing there."
"Not above ground, anyway," said Rachel, pensively.
The others looked at her and then at each other.
Chuck nodded, "Not above ground."
"Jesus," said Sarah.
Zondra said, shaking her head in exasperation, "Underground? What the fuck? Does Roark think he's Blofeld with an underground lair? If you people tell me it's a dormant volcano I'm going to go take a nap."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 6:35 AM PST
"What are you doing?" asked McLean.
"Texting the code phrase 'cicada.' The code phrase for them to open the ramp."
"Ok," said McLean. "But hold off a second until this car passes."
"Right," agreed Evans.
The car passed and, when the saw the taillights in the distance, Evans pressed send.
A portion of the cracked asphalt lowered by about a foot or so and slid away revealing a ramp to the underground Fulcrum facility.
The men drove down and the hidden door rose to ground level again, completely disguising itself once again.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, December 5, 2008; 9:45AM CST
The F-15 came in balls to the wall and had been granted immediate clearance for a landing at Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. Ground control directed the pilot to park near an out of the way hangar on the far edge of the field. The aircraft was met by a ground crew to service and park it. The special treatment was to be expected, especially as General Schwartz, the Chief of Staff of the Air Force had called the Base Commander at dawn and explained that the pilot was to be given any and all cooperation without hesitation or question. No matter what the request, he'd emphasized.
The pilot climbed down from the plane and returned the salute of the sergeant commanding the ground team. Both men ignored the wind pushing the drifting snow around their ankles.
"Good to have you back, Sir," said the man, when the sound of the engines had diminished to the point that conversation became possible.
"Thanks, Eddie."
Taking off his flight helmet and letting it dangle from one hand, he entered the hangar and headed for the offices to one side. The room was smallish and filled with five men, all majors and all wearing flight wings.
Greetings were exchanged. "Hey, Buster." "Hey, Kev." "What's up, man?" "How'd you get here?"
Graham said, "Borrowed an F-15 out of Andrews. Got authorization to bust every speed limit between here and there so long as I didn't top Mach 1." Before his stint in the Pentagon, Graham had been based at Whiteman and had been a squadron-mate of these men.
"Jesus," one of the men breathed under his breath.
These were Kevin Graham's close friends and fellow B-2 pilots, personally selected by him for this mission while enroute from Edwards. The B-2 had a crew of two, one pilot and one mission commander. With the addition of Graham, the six men constituted the crew of three bombers.
"Take a seat, guys. I have a hot one for you," said Graham.
Once the men sat, Graham remained standing.
"I walked into my office this morning, just a few hours ago, and was sent to a conference room. I met with Gates, Malone, and my dad." He blew out a sigh. "You guys know the news? The Battle of Ventura? It's an outfit called Fulcrum that went to war against our government. My dad's guys are on it. Turns out Fulcrum is assembling in one place as we speak."
Expressions of amazement were murmured around the table.
"I've been ordered to create a suitable and permanent response. We're the hammer, fellas. When my dad's guys give us a target, we are the hammer. I figure three aircraft. We can work on the strike package when we ID the target."
"CONUS?" asked a man, referring to the continental United States.
"Don't know yet, but we expect so," said Graham.
"Shit. Posse comitatus?" asked one man, referring to the law which prohibits the military from involvement in domestic law enforcement.
Graham reached into his breast pocket and removed a folded letter. He handed it to the man closest to him and said, "Take a look and pass it around. No copies and it leaves with me. For obvious reasons, none of this ever leaves this room. The President signed that this morning. The ink might still be wet. It was messengered to my meeting in the Pentagon. He's declared Fulcrum an insurrection, we are now legal to hit it with the armed forces. Obviously not for public consumption, though."
The man with the letter in hand said, in awe, "Holy shit, Kev."
"Yeah. I know. General Schwartz is running the blocking for us. Basically, we have more authority than we've ever had before, or maybe ever will have. They need this done and need it done well and invisibly."
"And who better," one of the men said, "to handle it than the son of the Director of Central Intelligence?" He gave a slight grin.
"Naw," said Graham. "They picked me for my charm."
A couple of his friends made scoffing sounds.
"Do we report to General Schwartz?" asked a man.
"No. Overall mission commander is a full bird named Casey. He's a Marine seconded to Malone's world. I've met him. Seems like a good guy. My dad holds him in very, very high regard."
As he said that, his cell phone buzzed. Looking at it, he said "Speak of the devil."
Graham stepped back from the others and answered the phone.
"Graham," he said.
"Casey. We have a target for you. About ten miles northeast of Barstow into the Mojave."
"Right," said Graham.
"Stage out of Edwards," said Casey.
"Yeah, makes sense. That's what I figured," said Graham.
"I'll have Schwartz make a call. Get the CO of Edwards in line. Like Whiteman, you'll have the run of the place," he said.
"Thank you, Sir."
"Get your team to Edwards and come see me tomorrow to get our plans in order," said Casey.
"Yes, Sir. I'll be in touch."
"Talk to you later, Major."
"Yes, Sir. Later," Graham said, ending the call.
He turned back to the men at the table.
"We're on. Target is in the Mojave, so we stage out of Edwards. This is beyond secret so I worry about eyeballs on us. I want us in the air this afternoon after sunset. This time of year, sunset will be early. We'll land at Edwards in the dark and be tucked into a hangar or two before first light. Tomorrow I'll be with Casey on planning. This is the real deal, boys. Questions?"
With no questions, he dismissed them from the conference to make their preparations.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N3: "Balls to the wall." Just so you know, most folks think the slang term for 'all out' or 'flat out' comes from something else. It is actually derived from pilot-speak. The throttle on aircraft used to have balls on top for the pilot to grip. If you gripped the throttle ball and pushed it all the way forward, taking the plane as fast as possible, to the 'wall' of the plane's cockpit panel, you have pushed the balls to the wall.
A/N4: "Full bird" is a colonel, after the silver eagle insignia of his/her rank. (In distinction to a Lt. Colonel.)
A/N5: Believe it or not, next week we take a little break from the relentless noose-tightening on Fulcrum to visit Positano, Italy, on the Amalfi Coast (Sorrento Peninsula) in chapter 265. It may be way outside tourist season, but the town should be all dressed up for Christmas. We pick up again with the Blackrock story with chapter 266.
A/N6: How'd I do? Love to hear from you guys. But you know that. I'm so happy to be back.