A/N1: Maybe ownership of Chuck is the prodigal son. Sort of?
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Chuck and Sarah's Apartment, Echo Park, Los Angeles
After breakfast, Sarah was drying her hands on a dish towel near the sink when her eye was drawn out the window to the courtyard. A man sort of shambled in, meandering toward the fountain. He was of medium height, with unkempt brown hair under a beat-up baseball cap. He wore dark glasses and a faded old fatigue jacket over jeans.
Frowning, she said into her watch, "Casey, you watching this?"
"Yeah. Doesn't look dangerous, but what the hell is he doing here? A homeless guy?"
"Dunno. Let me get Chuck's eyes on." Leaving the connection to Casey open, she called out to Chuck. Meanwhile, the man walked around the fountain a couple of times, looking at the courtyard somewhat vacantly.
"Hey, sweetie," said Chuck, coming into the kitchen, still tucking in his shirt. "What's up?"
"I've got Casey on. Take a look," she gestured out the window.
The man stopped and sat down on the edge of the fountain, settling himself and staring down at his shoes. Stunned, Chuck said, in a whisper, "Dad."
"What the hell?" burst Sarah. "God," she followed up in a whisper.
"I know," Chuck said, his hand on her back.
Casey said, into Sarah's ear, "What the fuck?"
"I'll let you know when I know, Case. Talk later." She broke the connection. Turning to Chuck, she said, "Just shows up out of the blue. No call. No nothing."
"Yeah." He sighed deeply and said, "Let's get him out of the courtyard before Ellie sees him. We don't need that drama."
"Right," said Sarah.
Together, they went out to Stephen, sitting on the fountain edge, seeming to be looking at a bee buzz around. He looked up at them and smiled as he was standing. "Hi, Charles." He reached to shake hands and thought a moment later he'd rather hug, but he didn't really accomplish either action too well. The resultant embrace was more than a little awkward.
"Hi, Dad. Little surprised to see you here," said Chuck.
"Yeah. Hi, Charles." Stephen turned to Sarah and said, "And you must be Charles' fiancé. Hi, I'm his dad."
"Hi, Mr. Bartowski. I'm Sarah. Sarah Walker. And yes, we're getting married. Um, it's nice to meet you." They shook hands.
"Nice to meet you too, Sarah. And please call me Stephen." Behind the glasses, no one could see his eyes, but he seemed to be smiling.
"Dad, maybe we should get inside," said Chuck.
"Yes," said Stephen. "The satellites." He gestured at the sky. "And the cameras too," he said, gesturing around the courtyard.
Chuck caught Sarah's eye behind his dad's back.
Together, the three of them walked inside Chuck and Sarah's apartment.
Stephen took off his sunglasses as he took a seat on the couch. This was Sarah's first-time meeting Chuck's dad and, while she'd heard about him from Chuck and Ellie, she could now see him in person. He was a handsome man, not as tall as Chuck. (Did height run on Chuck's mom's side of the family?) Brown hair and hazel eyes. They were soft and gentle eyes. Loving eyes, looking at his son with love. It made her wonder why he had abandoned his children if he would still look at Chuck like that after all these years away.
"Dad, what are you doing here? You sort of caught us a little bit by surprise," said Chuck.
"Yeah. Well, when you came to see me, I thought about it. I decided maybe I shouldn't be a stranger anymore. So, here I am."
"That's good. I'm happy to see you. How long are you going to be here?"
"Oh," Stephen said, "I don't know. I didn't really think about that. A while, I guess. Get to know my kids again now that they are adults. How long does that take?" He smiled to show he understood the absurdity of the question.
"Dad, I'm happy to see you. I really am. But you should know Ellie lives right over there in that apartment. I don't know that her greeting is going to be any different now than the last time you saw her."
He nodded sadly and said, "I understand. She's right to be mad at me, of course. I'll try to stay out of her way. Maybe I can just get to know you and Sarah better."
"That would be very nice, dad," said Chuck, still dubious that a blow up with Ellie could be avoided. "I wish you'd called me first, though. We could have cleared our schedules and taken the day with you."
"That's ok, Charles. I know you have to go to work. Cyber-security, right? That's what Eleanor said. It's no problem." He looked at Sarah and said, "What do you do, Sarah?"
"The same. Chuck and I are partners with one other man. The three of us own the company," she said. "Carmichael Industries."
"Oh, that's great. And Ellie said it's successful," he said with a soft smile. "I'm happy for you both." He stood up suddenly. "Why don't we meet for dinner, then? I can leave you both to go to work. Why don't you tell me where and when to be and I can meet you someplace? I guess there's no need to mention it to Ellie, if you don't want to." He looked and sounded sad as he said the last part.
"Sure, dad. That sounds great," said Chuck.
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Greene Center for the Homeless, Los Angeles
Brad had a big smile on his face as he led Booker and Chen around the facility. It was a peculiar place. A huge shopping mall, empty of tenants as the owner engaged in litigation with its lender. As Brad explained, the owner thought helping the homeless was a good cause and was more than happy to allow the space to be used for the mere cost of utilities while the litigation stuttered its way through the California judicial system. The detectives were told that the Center was seeking more permanent space, but that that was a longer-term project.
They had seen the areas where the homeless men, and a few women, could eat and shower if they choose. There was a nurse on staff, white coat and all, who could look at them for medical issues. Separate places for them to bunk down, if they wanted to.
Brad White, one of the senior staffers, told them that he hadn't noticed an increase in homeless deaths and no one seemed to recognize Bagg or remember him visiting the facility. If there was one thing out of the ordinary to the detectives, it was that Center seemed to be exceptionally well staffed. A large number of men and women bustled about, appearing to be efficient and motivated. White had indicated with a smile of satisfaction that they had ample private funding to permit generous staffing.
The tour ended near their loading dock, where a man was unloading a white van with the markings of the Greene Center. Brad said to the man, "Hey, Bobby. You got a second?"
"Sure, Mr. White," said the man.
"Bobby, this is Detective Booker and Detective Chen. They are looking into the death of one of the homeless men. Some of his friends said he used to come here sometimes. Can you take a look at his picture?"
"Detectives?" Bobby asked, seemingly slightly confused by the description. "Like on TV?"
"Not nearly as exciting in real life," said Chen with a smile.
"Do you carry guns?" Bobby asked with all the enthusiasm of a small boy.
"Yes, we do, Bobby. But we don't really use them," said Booker.
"Oh, boy. I think that's pretty exciting," said Bobby. "Real guns. I'd be afraid of a gun, to tell you the truth."
White prodded, holding up the picture of Bagg, "Bobby, the homeless man?"
"Oh, right. Sorry." He made a little show of looking at the photo and said, "No. I don't recognize him. Sorry, Detectives."
"That's ok, Bobby. Thanks for your time," said Booker.
"Happy to help. Good luck to you both," he said, turning back to the van he was unloading with a satisfied smile.
"Sorry, gentlemen," said White, walking the men back to Chen's car. "Sorry we couldn't be more help."
"Thank you for your time, Mr. White." Booker handed the man a business card and said, "If anything comes to you, please give us a call."
"Will do." He fingered the card and said, "Hey, that's 110 pound card stock with genuine embossing. Really nice."
"Um, yes, Sir," said Chen, getting into the car.
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Emma's Diner, Torrance, Los Angeles
Somewhat later that day, Booker and Chen had pulled into a neighborhood diner for lunch. Including the Greene Center, they had visited four centers for the assistance of the homeless that morning and come up with no new information or leads.
After they had ordered some food, Chen said, "How many more?"
"Five more this afternoon. You got any ideas if we strike out there too?"
"The gas cap? Long shot, but it's at least in play," said Chen.
"Back to Chuck, I guess. See if he's got anything new on his end," he replied.
"If he did, wouldn't they tell us immediately? Agent Larkin is in a car with Lt. Mauser today, right? Cruising past the homeless encampments."
"Yeah, that's right. We'll hear soon enough if they have anything."
Their sandwiches arrived and they began to eat.
Booker said to Chen, "Don't get mustard on your tie."
"Are you ever going to let that one drop?"
Booker grinned and said, "Ask me again in a few years, dude." Both men chuckled. "When do you think you'll hear on the gas cap?"
"Dunno. If they find a print it can take a long time to run it through the system," said Chen.
"Yeah. The feds take forever. You just wish they'd get faster computers." Among other things, a fingerprint check ran through the prints of anyone who had ever been in the United States Military. Many millions of potential matches. While it could take a while to get a hit, it took longer to get no hit, as the search had to cycle through the entire database.
"I'll check after we eat," said Chen.
"Yeah," said Booker. "At least we should find out if there's some kind of usable print on it. Even if we can't get an ID yet."
"Good point," said Chen.
They had finished eating and gotten the bill from the waitress. Chen texted the man he'd left the gas cap with. The reply came through right away.
FOUND A GOOD PRINT, BUT THE FED SEARCH IS SCREWED UP. I'M PUTTING IT THROUGH AGAIN
"What does that mean?" asked Booker.
"Dunno. Let me ask him," said Chen, entering the man's number. Speaking into the phone, he said, "Barry, what's the matter?...What?" Chen's eyes snapped up to lock onto Booker's eyes. "Yeah. That's weird. But in the meantime, email me the file, please. Just for shits and giggles, ok?...Thanks."
Booker said, "What?"
"We got a print off the gas cap, but the guy it matches has been dead for three years. IED in Iraq," said Chen.
"Dead men don't screw on gas caps," said Booker quietly.
"No, but spies fake their deaths to go in deep, right?. At least that's what they do on TV," said Chen.
"You're getting the file from Barry?"
"Yeah. I'll share it with Chuck and his team when we do," said Chen.
"This could be big," said Booker.
"Hell, yeah."
Chen's phone made a noise and he glanced at it. "The file from Barry. I'll open in on my laptop in the car."
They paid their bill and went to the car. It took only moments for Chen to open his laptop and retrieve the email. The file was for a man named Edward Rhyerson. Chen moved to a picture of the man.
"Oh, boy," he said. He twisted the computer around so Booker could see it as well.
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Unmarked police car, South Los Angeles
Larkin and Mauser sat in uncomfortable silence. The first few hours had been spent with Mauser asking questions of Larkin, ostensibly to see if they knew anyone in common in the IC. Bryce wasn't sharing with a civilian, even one who seemed to know his way around the community, so that conversation dried up in time.
Bryce decided to make small talk with the other man, but that proved to be damn near impossible. It ended with Mauser driving in what seemed to be surly silence. So, after a while, Bryce gave up and allowed the silence to rule the ride.
Mauser's cell phone rang and he put it on the car's audio system.
"Mauser," he growled.
"Lieutenant, this is Chen. We've had a breakthrough on the homeless case. Forensics pulled a print off the gas cap on the burned-out van. Booker and I recognize the man from the Greene Center this morning. He's doing odd jobs around the center and pretending to be a little slow, but it's definitely the same guy. He's going by Bobby now, but his real name is Edward Rhyerson."
"OK," growled Mauser. "You didn't see anything else when you were there? At the Greene Center?"
"No, Sir. They must have given us a careful tour. But the place is packed with staff. At least a few dozen," said Chen.
"Good work," said Mauser.
"Sir, we'd like you to get us a search warrant for the place. And when we hit it with the warrant, I think we should be loaded for bear. If these guys are doing what we think they are doing, they are some very dangerous people."
"Yeah," said Mauser. "I'll get on it. In the meantime, you guys go stake out the place."
"Yes, Sir."
He disconnected the call.
"Where to now?" asked Bryce.
"Back to the station. Have to get some lawyers from the DA's office to write up the warrant request for a judge to sign. In the meantime, reach into the glove compartment and hand me the taser, please."
Bryce did so. "What do you need that for?"
"This," said Mauser, jamming it into Bryce's thigh and holding it down longer than necessary. Even after Bryce had been rendered unconscious, Mauser continued to shock his twitching spasming form. Bryce's muscles would ache like the devil when he woke up.
As he pulled the device away from Bryce's insensate form, he murmured "That's for Tommy Delgado, you traitorous fuck."
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Greene Center for the Homeless, Los Angeles
As Chen pulled up near the Greene Center, across the street and a bit down a block. They could see the area of the facility being used by the purported homeless center, but not the rest of the massive empty complex.
Booker was just hanging up with Chuck as they stopped. Reaching behind him, he found a pair of binoculars and prepared to use them to watch the facility until Mauser arrived with the search warrant and a million SWAT guys.
Chen pushed his seat back and took out his computer.
"What are you doing?" asked Booker.
"I'm gonna read Rhyerson's file. See if I can spot anything interesting," said Chen.
"Humm," said Booker, looking at the Center across the street through the lenses.
Neither man noticed the five-man team armed with assault rifles, coming up behind them. By the time they had become aware of their adversaries, they had already been captured.
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Castle, beneath Castle Studios, Los Angeles
"Ok," said Chuck. "I've figured out where the Intersect stuff is. Most of the electrical meters in the Greene Center are zeroed out. One is spiking. According to the floorplans, it's the theater," said Chuck. "The theater area of the mall. From the plans it looks like a multi-plex."
Zondra said, "I'm checking the traffic cams and there's nothing weird about the traffic."
Sarah said "If we go back long enough, I'll bet we find the black van, though."
"Oh, shit," said Casey, looking through the Rhyerson file, the man whose print they had found.
"What?" asked Chuck.
"Bad," said Casey. "Rhyerson's a master sergeant in military intelligence. His CO in Iraq was Mauser."
"Mauser? Oh, fuck," said Chuck. "The guys are heading into an ambush."
Chuck tried the detectives on their phones without success. He turned to Sarah, who indicated that she couldn't get through to Bryce either. Chuck pulled up Bryce's tracker. He was in the Greene Center.
Oh, shit.
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A/N2: The other shoe has dropped. Mauser is bad, and seems to know Tommy Delgado, may he rest in pieces. What do you guys think?