When I speak of home, I speak of the place where—in default of a better—those I love are gathered together; and if that place were a gypsy's tent, or a barn, I should call it by the same good name notwithstanding. – Charles Dickens
It's Chinatown
17 OCTOBER 2007
THE BAMBOO DRAGON
14:04 PDT
"All I'm saying, and the point I've been trying to make this whole time is that I don't understand why I'm the rookie in this situation. I still think we should take turns or draw straws next time." Chuck knew it was petulant to sulk in the back of Casey's Crown Vic, but there didn't seem to be much stopping him. "That cop back at the night club was about two seconds from patting me on the head and giving me a grape lollypop. I mean, did you really have to tell him it was my first day on the job?"
"How else were we going to explain the sweat, the flinching, and the fact that you spent the entire time hunching forward like a little girl?" Casey said as he muscled his way over to a mercifully open spot in front of the curb.
"I could be deathly ill. Or recovering from something."
"And contaminate their crime scene?" Casey rolled his eyes. "Try again. We're here."
But when Chuck reached for the door handle to follow the others into the Chinese food restaurant, Sarah slapped a hand on the door. "I think you should stay in the car, Chuck," she said, looking apologetic.
"First I'm the rookie, now it's stay in the car? Great."
She leaned close so as not to be heard by passersby—grumbling, Chuck rolled down the window so that he could hear. "We think that they're holding Lee Cho here, seeing as the van they used came from the Bamboo Dragon—"
"The Bamboo Dragon?" Chuck said. "Wait, I know this place. This is a favorite of Morgan's—"
"His friend," Sarah explained to Casey.
"And I'm pretty familiar with the layout myself, having enjoyed quite a few evenings with Morgan and the famed sizzling shrimp. C'mon, I could really help you out!"
"Chuck," and Sarah leaned close again, this time speaking under her breath, "we're going in there to lure a dangerous Chinese spy out before another shoot-out like last night can happen, and maybe it's not the best idea to be taking an unarmed agent with a supercomputer in his head into that situation, hmm?"
Chuck scowled. "I'm going back to Castle and getting a gun now," he muttered. "At least try and bring me some sizzling shrimp?"
"You stay in the car and I'll think about it."
"Wait a second!" Chuck nearly scrambled out to keep them from going inside. Only the thought of sizzling shrimp kept him in the Crown Vic. "What about Lee? You're going to rescue him, right? I mean, this whole thing with Mei-Ling, she's obviously just looking out for her brother and—"
"She's a foreign intelligence officer unwelcome on US soil," Casey growled.
"But, but her brother—"
He saw Casey and Sarah exchange a look, and the way Sarah shifted between him and Casey, taking point. "We'll do our best," she promised without meeting his eye fully. "Just stay in the car."
Chuck folded his arms and sighed. "Next time I'm not the rookie," he muttered, and sat back to enjoy his exciting mission—keeping the car from floating away, apparently. It would probably be an exciting mission…if he lived in some place like Eureka, maybe.
17 OCTOBER 2007
THE BAMBOO DRAGON
14:28 PDT
He came to regret that thought. Rather quickly.
"Look, look, look," he said, well aware of the fact that he was stammering, "there's really no need for that—ow—do you mind? I only have two of those and I need that one to hear with!—no need to shoot anybody here."
"Drop the kid, or I'll shoot you!"
"Drop your guns, or I'll shoot him!"
"Please," and Chuck stressed the word as best he could, bent backwards as he was, "can we just come up with a plan that involves less shooting?" He couldn't do anything about the fact that Mei-Ling was at least a foot and a half shorter than him, and the fact that she had him by the ear. Or the icily cold gun barrel she had pressed to the side of his neck, even though it was broad daylight in the middle of Chinatown.
Well, at least she'd dragged him into an alley. Less chance of a bullet ricocheting and killing an innocent, assuming the Chinese intelligence officer could miss from two inches.
Chuck figured that wasn't a safe assumption.
"Put the kid down," Casey growled, inching forward into the alley. Chuck figured he was wearing his warrior face but he couldn't actually see anything beyond the extremely large barrel of Casey's gun.
Still, he had to bristle. "Kid, Casey? I'm twenty-six!"
"Chuck!" Sarah was a little easier to see beyond her gun—it may have been the blonde hair. "Not helping!"
Indeed, Mei-Ling's grip on Chuck's ear/collar/hair tightened, making the tall man yelp. "Why," she demanded without moving the gun from the side of Chuck's neck, "is the FBI investigating a shooting in Chinatown?"
"Why is Chinese intelligence shooting up Chinatown?" Casey countered.
The gun jammed into Chuck's neck. Hard. "How did you—" Mei-Ling began.
"Still think you're dealing with the FBI?" Casey smirked and shifted his grip on his gun. He and Sarah stood, two points on a very scary triangle, with Mei-Ling and the captive Chuck bringing up the third point. Both agents had the isosceles stance down perfectly. No way was Mei-Ling going to barge past these two immovable points. "Face it, lady. Your case went up the chain. Now drop the kid, and we'll escort you off of US soil and let your government deal with you."
"No!" Mei-Ling's grip tightened once again. "I'm not leaving without my brother!"
"Well, it appears we have a problem, don't we?" Casey said.
"Guys, guys, Mei-Ling, if we agree to help your brother, will you please let me go?" Chuck scrambled for something, anything to grasp onto so that he could have a foothold in this conversation. He should have been used to his heart pounding and his head spinning by now, but it still stole his breath and made him almost gasp. He had no idea how Mei-Ling kept her grip when he was sweating as copiously as he was.
Because he was so close, he heard it—just the slightest hesitation, a tiny hitch in Mei-Ling's breath.
"No can do," Casey said. "Not working with the Chinese."
"Even to stop a Triad scumbag?" Mei-Ling snarled at him.
"Who says we need your help stopping a Triad scumbag?"
"Wait, wait, wait." Chuck put both hands out, fingers stretched, in a desperate plea. He'd heard the hesitation, so maybe if he could just keep talking, he'd sway at least Sarah. And having two people with guns on his side was better than just the one with the gun to his neck. "Mei-Ling, we can help you. We have the resources, we can rescue your brother. But my coworkers, they're a little less trusting than me. They can't help it—Casey wasn't hugged enough as a child, or maybe he was dropped on his head as a baby and that part of his brain is broken. And Sarah—well, actually, let's not talk about that. But they don't trust much, so maybe, I don't know, you would maybe, um, offer up state secrets or something like that as a sign of faith?" The last bit was said in a rush.
He felt the instinctual anger send a shockwave through Mei-Ling, and had to bite hard on his lip to keep from shouting when she yanked on his ear.
"You mean defect," she said, though it sounded more like a snarl.
"Maybe not that far," Chuck began to say, but Sarah stepped forward.
"Yes," she said. "That's exactly what he means."
"If I defect, I can never go back to China. I'll never see my brother again."
Chuck felt his throat closing, but now was not the time to give into acute panic. He'd do that later when it was more convenient (as if it worked that way). "But if you don't," he said, his voice thick, "you'll lose him forever. And you don't want that."
He felt the tension in Mei-Ling's arm ricochet up into her hand. "I want your word," she told Casey and Sarah. "You'll help rescue my brother."
"If you defect," Sarah stressed. Casey couldn't seem to speak beyond his disgust at willingly working with a Chinese spy. "And you let my agent go—without shooting him. I'd hate to have to break in a new one at this point."
Chuck bit his tongue over a hurt comment. In the distant, objective part of his brain, he had to admire what Sarah had just done. In one statement, she had single-handedly established herself as team leader, Casey as team muscle, and Chuck as the team screw-up. Thanks, Sarah.
Behind him, he heard Mei-Ling suck in a breath. For one perfect moment, the world stood stock still. Traffic noise ceased. Birds stopped chirping. Even the radio playing Top 40 hits from a window above the alley went silent. Chuck could only hear his breath rasp loudly against the inside of his ears, and Mei-Ling's rapid breathing behind him, quick, almost fluttery.
"They're holding my brother at Ben Lo Pan's estate," she finally said. "I've tried, but I can't take it down myself. A few more bodies would help."
"As long as they're live ones," Chuck pointed out as images from the video surveillance of Mei-Ling's gun battle the night before flashed across his vision. They made an entirely new layer of sweat pop out against his skin at the thought that that same gun was now pointed at his neck. "Let's go rescue Lee! Go team, right? Right, guys?"
"Let the geek go, and we have a deal," Casey finally said.
Of course it couldn't be as simple as that. Mei-Ling waited one long, humming eternity before she reluctantly loosened her grip on Chuck—and wiped her hand on her pants.
He popped up immediately and scrambled away, moving behind Sarah by instinct. Sarah put out a hand on his arm, a silent command. Stay. Chuck was only too happy to oblige.
"You break your word, and I'll kill you all," Mei-Ling said.
"Same goes, sister. C'mon." Casey patted Mei-Ling down, revealing an arsenal of weapons that rivaled the ones Chuck had seen Sarah don in the locker room. Casey led the Chinese spy away to the backseat of the Crown Victoria while Sarah dragged Chuck out of the alley by the wrist.
"Why didn't you stay in the car?" she demanded, pushing on his shoulder so that Chuck had no choice but to crash back onto the Crown Vic's hood. She immediately stepped in and invaded his personal space—but only to examine his neck for any damage.
"She had a gun, Sarah! She told me to get out of the car!"
"Moron!" Casey reached out to cuff Chuck on the back of the head, but Sarah shot an arm out, blocking him. It didn't stop the scowl. "It's bulletproof glass."
"Something that would have been helpful to know before the crazy woman with the gun came out of nowhere and abducted me, don't you think?"
"Suck it up." Casey focused on Sarah. "Is he hurt?"
"Standing right here, you know."
"He'll have a bruise." Sarah, satisfied that that was the extent of Chuck's injuries, took a prudent step back. "You can just tell everybody it's a hickey, Chuck."
"From who? The ghost of girlfriends past?"
"It's LA," Casey pointed out. "I'm sure that somewhere here, there's somebody willing to give a nerd like you a love bite. Get in the car."
But Chuck didn't move from the hood. "He's a happy person," he remarked to Sarah, almost sarcastically. "I really appreciate that about him."
She fought off a smile. "Mm."
"And he works hard, so—"
Casey beeped the horn; Chuck fell off the hood and barely caught himself before he clattered to the pavement. Laughing a little, Sarah snatched his elbow and steadied him. "You take shotgun. I'll ride in the back with the Chinese spy," she observed. "Just another day in the wonderful life of Team Bartowski."
"Good use of the name, but you didn't use it in front of Casey, so no dollar for you."
"Hah," Sarah said, and slipped into the car.
17 OCTOBER 2007
THE BACHELOR PAD
18:42 PDT
Even though Chuck understood the reasoning behind having Casey as a roommate, and could appreciate it from a clinical, objective standpoint, he much rather would have found a hole of his own in some obscure neighborhood rather than sharing a fancy apartment not far from Ellie's place with the man who made grunts not only vernacular, but necessary vernacular at that. But at least the government had sprung for fancy digs and hey, he had his own room rather than sharing with another analyst in a frozen bunker in the middle of nowhere. It was a spacious, airy space on the top floor of the apartment, done in warm and tasteful colors.
He almost preferred the bunker.
While Casey dug up floor plans for the estate belonging to Ben Lo Pan, and their favorite Chinese national paced the apartment's roomy kitchen, he climbed the spiral staircase up to his loft/room. He flicked on the overhead light panels—evening had already cast southern California into a hesitant gloom.
"How do you like it?" a voice asked behind him.
He wasn't surprised that he hadn't heard Sarah climb the stairs. "Is it really safe to store me on the fifth floor?"
"Store you?" Sarah pushed gently on his lower back to propel him into the room—his room—for the first time. It was fitting, he figured. She'd been the force behind his leaving the bunker, she could be the force guiding him into his new room and his new life. "Relax, Chuck. There's a fire escape with easy access from your balcony, and we've installed a zip line for a speedy getaway. I just thought after all those years of being underground, you'd want some place with a view."
"So the snipers can get me?" Chuck tried to infuse his voice with humor, but it fell flat. He forced himself to cross the room and open the sliding glass door, a peace gesture. The evening air felt cool against his skin. It should have relaxed him; it made him want to run back downstairs, to the windowless bathroom. But he forced himself to step outside and to move over in case Sarah wanted to join him.
The balcony overlooked the neighborhood park, a green expanse covered by criss-crossing running and walking paths. It was fairly active in the evening light, people jogging or strolling along in pairs. A pick-up game had just started on the softball field across from the balcony.
"Ellie and I used to come here," he said, not sure why he was telling her this but needing to say it. He leaned his elbows against the railing and stared at nothing. "Back when I was in high school. Dad had left, and Ellie and I combined could barely make rent. I was studying for a full ride scholarship and she was pre-med, so we both just had so much homework. All we could really afford to do was study in the park. Right over there." He pointed. "I never thought I'd see this place again—and now I live right above it. It'll be the first thing I see in the morning, if I want. Weird, huh?"
Sarah mirrored his stance, but instead of studying the park, she kept her gaze on him. "I should have seen that you would visit her right away, and I should have gotten in touch with Casey sooner to prepare you about my cover. I'm sorry for that."
Chuck didn't look at Sarah. "Ellie and I were all each other had. And then she didn't even have me anymore."
"You didn't have her, either," Sarah pointed out.
Chuck moved a shoulder, one of Sarah's habitual moves. "At least I knew something."
Sarah didn't seem to have a reply for that. She turned her face toward the park and toward the last remnants of sunlight pearling the sky, saying nothing. It was a comforting thing about her, Chuck had discovered. Not many people could make silence comfortable.
Of course, not many people could make him this uncomfortable with silence, too. But that was his problem, not hers. He'd deal with it.
A thought occurred to him. "Wait…how were we going to explain to Ellie about your being—"
"Your secretary?"
"Office manager."
Sarah's grin flashed. "Good question. The original plan was that my blonder tendencies would mix up your name—Mr. Kowalski. I was supposed to tell Ellie about this interview I had with Kowalski and then we'd stage a meet-cute in front of Ellie where we realize that it's a crazy small world out there, and the nice guy that gave me the job as secretary—"
"Office manager."
"—Is actually my roommate's long-lost brother." Sarah deliberately twirled her hair.
"Do you actually enjoy playing a dumb blonde?"
Sarah punched him in the shoulder.
"So, now what, now that Ellie knows we've met?"
"I already took care of that." Sarah smiled. "I called and left her a voicemail earlier. Raved about my shock that my big interview was with you, of all people."
"And how'd you do? On the interview?"
"Oh, I was good, but you were incredibly nervous." Sarah nudged him with a shoulder, her smile turning impish. "You'll let me know by the end of the week, won't you, Mr. Kowalski?"
"If you're the best candidate for the job, sure." Chuck couldn't help but smile back. "We're proud to have you with Pacific Securities, LLC, Miss Walker. I'd say let's go have drinks to celebrate, but honestly, at this point a bar would just shut down my central nervous system on the spot."
"And we're busy tonight, remember? Rescuing a low-level Chinese diplomat from the evil, evil Triad."
"It's a glamorous life." Chuck took one final look out at the park. "Guess we should go down—Casey's probably got those plans figured out."
"Okay." Sarah waited until Chuck had come back inside with her before she closed the sliding glass door behind them. "What do you think of the place, otherwise?"
"I like it." Chuck's eyes roved over the walls, painted a soothing royal blue, the blue plaid duvet, the wide desk with the newest desktop model already awaiting him A flat-screen TV ate up most of the wall opposite the bed. "Excellent interior decorating by the Agency."
"Thank you."
Chuck, at the top of the stairs, paused and squinted at Sarah, as though seeing her for the first time that night. "Wait a second—did you do all of this? The apartment, the decorating…Castle?"
"I only oversaw Castle, but they let me have more of a hand with the apartment."
"Even Casey's room?"
"Yes, even that."
"So, he's sleeping on what—a bed of nails?"
"Are you kidding? That's way too comfortable for him."
Casey's distinct growl—annoyance, slight menace, Bartowski's making my life hell—drifted up the stairs. "You two realize that that being a loft bedroom means I can hear every word you two say, don't you?"
Chuck popped his head over the waist-height wall to scowl down at the bottom floor.
"What?" Casey demanded, almost looking innocent. "Get over it, Bartowski. It saves on surveillance equipment."
"If I ever do find a girlfriend," Chuck grumbled as he followed Sarah down the spiraling staircase, "at least that solves the 'your place or mine' debate.'"
Sarah didn't seem to find that as amusing as he did.
17 OCTOBER 2007
THE BACHELOR PAD
19:08 PDT
"So the cameras are TKX-50s…" Sarah frowned at the monitor and kept clicking until it brought up a list of physical properties for the security cameras on Ben Lo Pan's estate. "A little outdated, but they are equipped for remote access."
"Let me see that." Chuck slid his chair over and paged through the specifics. After a moment, he nodded. "I can hack these."
"Are you sure?"
Chuck's grin flashed. "Are you really doubting me about computer stuff? You stick to being super-spy, I'll be the computer whiz-kid."
"Are you two done?" Casey wanted to know from the other side of the room, where he and Mei-Ling had stuck the blueprints for Ben Lo Pan's estate up on a whiteboard. They'd formed something of an uneasy alliance, but Chuck and Sarah had had to be on their guard all afternoon to keep Casey from saying anything that might cause an international incident. "Chuck, you work on setting up the hack, we'll need a seamless loop so that we can take out the guards."
"Aw, you called me Chuck."
"Shut up, Bartowski."
"And there it is." Chuck turned his attention back to studying the specifics, freeing Sarah to wander across the room and plot how to take out all of the guards, and which weapons would be most effective in this situation. All three turned down Chuck's suggestion of "nunchucks, they work every time!" He decided that it might be best to put his head down and get to work.
Twenty minutes later, he carried a small device from his own arsenal over to Casey. "Here you go. This will get me access to the cameras—I've already input the override codes for you, so it should be idiot-pro—good to go."
"Nice catch," Sarah said under her breath. Casey just glared.
"Here, I put together a diagram of how you'll need to hook it up." Chuck, keeping a wary distance, used the remote to drag his work from his own screen to the living room's overlarge TV. "You should be able to just clip into the wires here and…here." He used the laser pointer to indicate which nodes and then nodded at the device. "I've labeled them A and B for you. Should be pretty easy."
Casey gave a half-shrug. "Okay. Good work."
Chuck blinked. "Did you just say—"
"Don't spoil the moment, Bartowski. Go outside and wait for the van, and if I hear you've had another one of your panic attacks just standing out on the sidewalk, my foot will go so far up your—"
"Got it, got it. Foot, ass, NORAD, hand-drawn map." Chuck rolled his eyes, grabbed his keys and hurried away before Casey could decide to make good on his word, panic attack or no. The rebellious side of him muttered that it wasn't like he could help it. It wasn't his fault, after all, that the government had stashed him underground for five years.
Or was it?
He stepped outside and took a deep breath, prepared to wait for that van until kingdom come, if only to prove to Casey that he could handle it.
17 OCTOBER 2007
OUTSIDE BEN LO PAN'S ESTATE
19:56 PDT
He was feeling a lot less together when the van did show, and it turned out that he would be driving it—while three agents bailed out the side door. "I don't understand why you can't just jump out of the van while it's standing still," he'd pointed out to Sarah, who'd pulled him aside so that Mei-Ling and Casey could assemble weapons. "Does the van really have to be moving? What if I'm going too fast? You could sprain your ankle or something—"
"Chuck, Casey has a better jump record than most Army Rangers. You can bet Mei-Ling's done worse than jump out of a slow-moving vehicle."
"And you?"
"I promise you, if I sprain my ankle, I will let you say, 'I told you so.' Now, I've already explained why we need to bail while the vehicle's moving, so we're not going to go over that. Instead, walk me through your part of the mission." And she had drilled him on the subject so many times that now, two hours later, he could recite the directions in his head.
Drive under the speed limit. No use getting a speeding ticket and having police be even more suspicious of an unmarked black van.
Count the lamp-posts on Ben Lo Pan's street. When you get to twenty, alert the team and start slowing down. The team that was currently stashed in the back of the huge Dodge Charger, crouching in various poses of situational awareness. They looked like an actual strike team, dressed in black, geared to the teeth, and toting very dangerous, very scary guns.
As we approach the gates, count down from ten. Keep your speed low, drive straight. Casey will jump first, then Mei-Ling, and I'll bring up the rear.
"Twenty," he called, having passed the appropriate lamp post. He kept his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, taking into account every wobble as he slowed. There was a huge difference between driving the compact he and Sarah had shared from Poland to Greece, and his Subaru, and a gigantic Charger. Up ahead, he saw gates, impressive brick and ironwork creations that all three of his teammates would soon scale like squirrels. He gauged the distance and began counting down from ten.
On three, the door opened.
On one, they jumped. Soundlessly. Chuck strained his ears for the splat of a body hitting pavement, but once again, Sarah had been right. Not a sprained ankle to be heard. The door slammed shut behind them and he sped up a little, as he'd been instructed.
Park in front of the neighbor's house, but stay in range. Turn off the lights. Get started on the surveillance equipment right away.
Well, at least that part was easy. Chuck sidled the van so that it was within a foot of the curb and scrambled into the back. Unlike his teammates, he wore jeans—the first he'd worn in five years—and the essential ubiquitous black hoodie. He pulled up to wall of monitors they'd installed on a cart strapped to the wall in the back. Thankfully, nothing had shifted en route, which meant that everything he needed was ready to go. He pulled on the headset.
"Chuck here, guys. How's it going?"
There was a pause before anybody answered. On the corner monitor, he could see the feed from Casey's over-ear camera bobble as the agent ran. Chuck watched for a few seconds, but had to turn his gaze back to the control boards or risk serious seasickness.
"We hear you, Chuck." Sarah's voice, barely audible. "Hang tight a second—"
On the lipstick camera, Chuck saw Casey reach the fuse box and pry it open. Apparently, he'd been listening to Chuck's instructions, for he set up the device with ease. Every monitor in the van sprang to life. "We have lift-off," he announced. "Now you get to hang tight while I set up the loop."
17 OCTOBER 2007
OUTSIDE BEN LO PAN'S ESTATE
20:09 PDT
"Initiating loop…now." Chuck moved the fader bar, dissolving between the live feed and his preprogrammed loop so that the transition would be seamless. On the corner monitor, Casey's lipstick camera swung around so that Sarah's face appeared in view. Chuck waved, though she couldn't see him.
"Chuck, you're our eyes now," she told him.
"All right." Chuck scanned the monitors. "All right, you've got one guard up at the station—"
"Thank you!" Casey's voice was terse as he went and dispatched the guard with an efficiency that would frighten Chuck when he thought about it later. Right now, however, he just kept his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the monitor cart, even though the back of his mind made kung-fu noises to go with the actions of his teammates.
"Three guards in the kitchen," he announced. "Be careful, though, they're bigger than the first guy—oh, wow. Ooh. Nice!"
It happened quickly—a kick to the face, a karate chop here, a taser to the neck there. And an occasional yelp from Chuck in the van to keep things interesting. Through the lipstick camera, he watched the team prowl through the tastefully decorated estate—heavy eastern overtones to the color scheme and décor and some great wall art he would love to check out later. Maybe he'd review the tapes after the mission to get a few tips for his new room at the Bachelor Pad—
He nearly shouted when the monitors all died at once—save Casey's lipstick camera.
"Guys! Guys, if you're seeing this, you might want to get out of there!"
No answer. Dead comm. A litany of very creative swear-words ran through Chuck's head as he stared, frozen in shock, at the wall of dead monitors. And just as he turned toward his last beacon of hope, the lipstick camera fell to the floor, briefly transmitting a sideways view of the room.
Before it was crushed by a boot.
The monitor cut abruptly to black.
Had somebody found the van? Chuck knew that Casey was carrying a small monitor in his pocket with the feeds from the security cameras, a decoy to draw any suspicion away from the huge black van parked within transmitting distance. But if the guards had noticed…
Chuck tripped as he scrambled back into the driver's seat, where he would be able to hopefully see if his car was attacked by ninjas or something.
Which was a ridiculous thought. Ninjas were Japanese. Ben Lo Pan was Triad, Chinese, and therefore not likely to have a team of ninja assassins on string for situations such as this. Chances were, there wouldn't be throwing stars taking his head off anytime soon. But Chuck still scooted down as low as he could go while still keeping an eye on the house.
Across the lawn and the courtyard, he saw the front doors open. Ben Lo Pan's thugs had made short work of neutralizing the team, binding wrists and taking weapons. They led Sarah, Casey, Mei-Ling and…that must be Lee Cho. Oh, good. He was still alive. Chuck felt a surprisingly strong surge of relief flood through him at the thought. At least something about this mission was going right.
Of course, a rather sobering thought followed on that one's tail. All of his teammates were now captives of Triad. And who knew how long Triad would keep a couple of low-level "FBI Agents" alive?
"Dear God, please let their covers hold up."
Chuck watched the thugs march the captives across the lawn, dread eating his stomach worse than a bucket of hydrochloric acid to the gut. He had absolutely no idea of what to do now. His instructions from Sarah had only covered what to do in a perfect setting—with three stellar agents working together, they hadn't even considered the possibility of feces hitting oscillating blades.
"Next time," he muttered, ducking lower so that only the top half of his head was visible from outside the van, "we're going over every damn thing that can go wrong, up to and including the Hellmouth swallowing us whole."
One of the captives stumbled—Sarah! Chuck immediately shot upright, one hand automatically reaching for the door handle. To do what, he had no idea. But she righted herself before he could move, and none of the guards pistol-whipped her…
In the back of the van, static grumbled. Chuck glanced back, certain he heard something. "Casey?" he asked, though he knew it was impossible for Casey to be in the back of the van when he was still surrounded by Triad guards half a block away.
The static cut off. Chuck watched the thugs toss first Mei-Ling and her brother into the back of a delivery van, and then Casey, and finally Sarah. When the van pulled out of the driveway, Chuck didn't think—he just stabbed the key into the ignition, twisted, and set off to follow. A constant stream of cursing in his head kept him company as he followed the van out of Ben Lo Pan's upscale neighborhood and onto the freeway toward Chinatown. Every mile or so, he unglued one hand from the death-grip on the steering wheel to rub his soaked palm on his jeans. When the Bamboo Dragon van pulled off the freeway, he did, too.
"That's weird," he said, blinking. In some corner of his mind, he made the observation that now that he'd escaped the bunker, he'd finally snapped and begun talking to himself. It was probably a sign of insanity. But he didn't stop. "Why would they turn off here, it's still a couple of miles to the—"
Ahead of him, the van began to accelerate.
"What the—"
Chuck forcibly stopped his foot before it could stomp on the gas. Should he speed up, keep following? Or maybe he should peel off and hope against all hope that they were indeed heading for the Bamboo Dragon like the van said, and he could find a way to help out there….
He didn't see the flare of red taillight splashing across his windshield until it was too late.
"Oh, crap," he yelped just before impact.
CRRRRRRRUNCH.
No comments:
Post a Comment