8:00 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Sunday, June 10th, 2012
California Highway 23 & Mulholland Highway, Malibu, CA
Sarah Walker sat alone in the driver’s seat of her 2006 Porsche 911. She hadn’t driven the car since before the shooting. She certainly hadn’t gotten the chance to really open it up on the road… well, since before she knew she was pregnant with the twins.
Chuck had thought that it might be therapeutic for her to be able to do so. She had spent the last three weeks rebuilding her strength and her body. Already back up to 120 pounds, her muscle tone was slowly starting to return, and that made her happy.
And now, she was going to get to drive like a maniac. It had been FAR too long since she’d gotten to do this.
Mulholland turned left and became CA-23 at this intersection, and Sarah was just waiting – waiting till she knew she’d have a clear stretch of road ahead of her. After five minutes had gone by with no cars in either direction, she let up off the clutch and pressed the accelerator, the 3.6 liter turbocharged six cylinder engine growling in anticipation.
Sarah slowly brought the car up to thirty miles per hour in first gear, revving the engine to 5400 RPMs. Then she pushed in the clutch, shifted to second gear, and away she went.
The Porsche shot up to sixty in the blink of an eye. Sarah didn’t let off the accelerator, shifting into third as she approached the curve ahead. Gently applying the handbrake, she slingshot the Porsche around the curve. Shifting into fourth, she accelerated up to eighty, laughing with glee as she did so.
Zipping around another curve, she came upon a straightaway of at least half a mile. She shifted the Porsche into fifth, and then into sixth, pushing her speed past the century mark. It kept climbing… 110… 120… 130…
Sarah was positively in heaven, and then there was a pop. “What the hell?” she asked, pulling back on her speed. There was no shimmy, so it wasn’t a tire, it wasn’t the transmission – but her coolant temperature was climbing at an alarming rate.
Sarah decelerated quickly, with steam beginning to come from under the hood as she rolled to a stop. She quickly shut off the Porsche and popped the hood.
Walking around to the back end, she lifted the hood of the German-made sports car, and waved away the steam. It seemed to be coming from where the coolant pipe entered the engine. “Oh, that’s not good,” she muttered.
Staying far, far away from the radiator cap, Sarah popped open the coolant reservoir fill cap – and saw the last thing she wanted to see. Little black flecks in the green coolant.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “No, no, no!”
She walked back to the driver’s door, reached behind the seat, and came out with a shop rag. Folding it several times, she reached in and withdrew the dipstick. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the little white bubbles in the oil.
One blown head gasket, ruining her perfect Sunday morning drive.
“Fuck!” she snapped. “Son of a bitch!”
She pulled out her cell phone – and of course, no reception. “That fucking figures,” she growled. However, there had been a CalTrans call box about half a mile back down the road.
Sighing, she grabbed the bottle of water she always kept in the car and shut the door, locking it. She left the hood up to let it cool down. “Who’s gonna steal a car with a blown head gasket in the middle of nowhere?” she grumbled.
Sarah found that the half mile walk actually wasn’t that bad. Two weeks ago, she barely would’ve made it half a block, but ever since Chuck confronted her with her problems, she’d been making a concerted effort to change things.
She wrenched open the door of the call box and withdrew the handset. There was a dialtone, thank God, and it was followed by a double beep. A moment later, she heard a ring.
“California Highway Patrol,” she heard.
“Yeah, hi, my car broke down just past call box… uh… 23-424 on Mulholland Highway,” Sarah said. “The head gasket blew, and I don’t have cell phone reception out here.”
“Alright, ma’am, is there somebody we can connect you to?”
“Yeah, if you can connect me to AAA, that’d be great.”
Nearly three hours later, the tow truck finally pulled up in front of her house in Studio City. As it rolled to a stop by the curb, Sarah saw Chuck riding his bike back toward the house, John in the baby seat behind him and Lisa in the trailer towed behind the bike.
She saw Chuck’s mouth form the words, “Oh, no,” as the truck stopped. Sarah and the driver climbed out of the tow truck, and he immediately went to the control box to start lowering the flatbed to the street.
“What happened?” Chuck asked as he rode up.
“The head gasket blew,” Sarah said bitterly. “I pushed it up to 130, and that was just a bit too much, apparently.”
“Oooh,” Chuck said. “That’s harsh.”
Sarah looked over at him, and smiled wryly. “Nothing about the fact that I was going 130?”
“I’d be concerned if I was going 130,” Chuck replied, “but you’re Sarah, the Super Spy Mama!”
“Shhh!” she hissed, giggling. She was pretty sure that the tow truck driver couldn’t hear Chuck over the whine of the flatbed’s motor, but she didn’t want to take any risks.
Sarah signed off on the sheet the tow truck driver had – thank God for the AAA premium membership, she had unlimited miles for towing – and headed inside the house. “Where are you going?” Chuck asked, wheeling the bike toward the garage.
“To call a Porsche mechanic to get this thing scheduled to be fixed.”
“Uh, don’t do that quite yet,” Chuck replied.
Sarah stopped and turned around. “Why would I not do that? If I’m driving the Dodge, how are you going to get around?”
Chuck smiled. “Let’s just say I think I know what to get you for your birthday.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Oh REALLY.”
Chuck looked back at her, doing his best to look mysterious and failing miserably. “Yes, really.”
Sarah smiled naughtily and stepped forward. “Well, once you put the kids down for their nap, why don’t you join me in the bedroom. I think you just earned an interrogation from the Super Spy Mama.”
Chuck’s eyebrows arched. “I think I like the sounds of that,” he said with a grin.
Sarah turned and walked toward the house, positively strutting as she went. Chuck smiled as he watched her go in. Getting the kids from the bike, he set them on the ground, holding their hands as he escorted them to the house.
“Kids,” he said, with a happy note in his voice, “I think your mom’s back to stay.”
6:00 A.M., PDT
Thursday, June 14th, 2012
SCCS Building
12240 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, CA
They all arrived early that morning. It was a special day – Chuck had promised Casey that they’d run the American flag up for the first time outside the two story office building on Flag Day.
Casey had worked his last day as the general manager of the Burbank Buy More the day before. Despite how much he said he despised the job, it had still been a pretty emotional departure for him after four and a half years at the store.
But it was no matter. Today was a new day, a new job, a new opportunity.
The Bartowskis’ maroon Dodge station wagon was already in the parking lot when Casey arrived. His Suburban was the second car to pull into the lot, followed shortly thereafter by the Woodcombs. They had taken a detour on the way in to pick up the twins and take them and Katie to day care.
By 6:15 AM, the crew was assembled in the conference room on the second floor. Chuck stood at the head of the table, his high-backed chair next to him, turned backward.
“Good morning,” Chuck said, his voice practically trembling with excitement. “And welcome to Day One of Studio City Consulting Services.”
A huge grin cracked his face, and a round of applause broke out around the table. Sitting at the end opposite Chuck were Senator Art Graham from North Carolina, and Director Sam Tyler of the CIA. They both appeared to be very pleased.
“I’d just like to go around and make sure all of our roles are clarified,” Chuck began. “As you all know – as I would certainly HOPE you all know at this point, I’m Chuck Bartowski, and I’m the Chief Executive Officer.
“To my left is Colonel John Casey. Colonel Casey will be our lead combat specialist.
“Next is Morgan Grimes. Morgan is our administrator and office manager. If you need anything at any time, you go through Morgan. Morgan’s civilian front will actually be building receptionist and administrative assistant for Nerd Cave Video Games, on the ground floor of the building.
“Next to him is Carina Hansen, formerly of the DEA. Carina is a combat and narcotics specialist.
“Beside her is Bryce Larkin, formerly of the CIA. Bryce is also a combat specialist. His primary mission will continue to be rooting out Fulcrum.
“You all know Senator Graham and DCI Tyler, so I’ll skip them. On the other side of Director Tyler are our medical staff – Doctors Devin and Ellie Woodcomb. Their civilian front is a working medical practice – Ventura Medical Clinic – also on the ground floor of the building.
“Beside my lovely sister are our two pilots, Commander Rachel Harrison and Major Will Williamson. And beside Will is a fellow Marine Corps Reservist, Master Sergeant Mitchell Tucker. He is our armorer. Weapons all go through him.”
Chuck paused and took a breath. Nobody in the room except for Tyler and Graham knew what Chuck was going to do next.
“Finally,” Chuck said, “I’d like to introduce to you our director of combat operations and our chief operating officer. Formerly of the CIA…”
His chair turned around.
“Sarah Walker.”
The eyes of everybody around the table went wide. None of them had seen her since she left the hospital, and Chuck had been very tight-lipped about her condition.
The first person to speak was Casey. He actually had a huge smile on his face. “It’s good to see you back in the saddle, Walker,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied with an equally large smile. “It’s good to be back.”
After the re-introductions, Chuck took everybody on a tour of the building. He and Morgan were the only ones who had really been through the building thus far, getting everything wired and getting all the tech stuff up and running.
On the second floor, behind the conference room that overlooked Ventura Boulevard, there was a large open space with desks for everybody. Sarah had her own office. Behind the workspace was a small shooting range and the armory.
On the ground floor, out in front was the reception desk. Taking up a quarter of the first floor to the left of reception was the office for Nerd Cave Video Games. That was Chuck’s office. Taking up the remainder of the floor was the Ventura Medical Clinic.
But the best part was yet to come. Chuck led everybody down the stairs into a very dimly lit garage area, grabbing a paper Whole Foods bag from his office as they went.
“As members of the team, you have each been assigned a company car,” Chuck explained. “These are yours to do with as you please; however, you are responsible for gas, periodic maintenance, and repairing any damage incurred during personal use. If damage occurs during a mission, then the company will pay for it.”
“By which he means the United States government will pay for it,” rumbled Art Graham. “So be careful, for God’s sake.”
Chuck lifted a small remote control, and then paused. “Before I start, I apologize for the theatricality of all this.” He nearly giggled. “I just couldn’t resist.”
“IN SPACE NUMBER ONE!”
“Christ,” John Casey muttered, rolling his eyes as Chuck hit the button to illuminate a spotlight over the first car. It was a black Lexus RX 400h hybrid.
“Morgan, that’s yours,” Chuck said, his friend’s eyes growing wide as he reached into the Whole Foods bag and tossed Morgan the keys.
“Dude,” Morgan breathed. “That’s… that’s…”
“Awesome?” Devin suggested.
“Yeah!”
Chuck smiled, and hit the remote again. A second spotlight lit up, revealing a black four door Jeep Wrangler. It had clearly been heavily modified, given the off-road tires and what appeared to be…
“There’s a machine gun turret on that Jeep,” Bryce said.
“Yes, yes there is, Bryce,” Chuck replied. “And it’s yours.”
Bryce arched his eyebrows in disbelief. “It got anything else I should know about? Maybe a slime shooter on the back end?”
Chuck smiled and shook his head. He reached into the bag again and pulled out the keys. “Press that… blue button,” he said.
Bryce did – and two TOW missile launchers deployed and unfolded from the front fenders. “Okay, now THAT’s pretty cool,” Bryce said with a grin.
“Behind door number three,” Chuck muttered, and hit the remote again. A third spot lit up to reveal a Suzuki Hayabusa GSKR1300 bike.
“Oh, that is SO mine,” Carina said, walking toward the bike. “Please tell me it’s mine.”
Chuck rolled his eyes. The former DEA agent was practically drooling. “It’s yours, Carina,” he said, reaching into the bag and tossing Carina the keys.
She stuck the keys in the ignition, and then started the bike up. It roared to life, and she gunned the engine several times.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned.
“Why don’t the two of you get a room!” Chuck shouted over the din.
Carina smiled and shut the bike off. “Only if you’re there too.”
Chuck sighed, and next to him, he could tell that Sarah was fighting to stay calm. Carina might have been a bad idea.
But this was not the time to worry about that. Chuck hit the button again, and three spotlights lit up to reveal a black Toyota Land Cruiser, a black Dodge Charger, and a black Chrysler 300C. “These are Master Sergeant Tucker, Major Williamson, and Commander Harrison’s cars, respectively,” Chuck informed them. “In addition to being our armorer and pilots, you’re also going to be our drivers. Mitch, you get a bigger one so you can fit your vast array of weaponry in it.”
“Excellent,” Tucker intoned, sounding remarkably like Montgomery Burns.
Chuck shook his head. He hit the remote again. Two more spotlights lit up, revealing a black Saturn Sky and a black Shelby Mustang SuperSnake edition.
“Ellie, Devin, these are yours,” Chuck told his sister and brother-in-law.
Ellie’s eyes had gone wide. “I finally have a hardtop roadster,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted a car like this since I was ten!”
“I know,” Chuck said. “I remember quite clearly when you started stealing my Hot Wheels.”
“Dude,” Devin said. “This is… this is almost as awesome as the Awesome Mobile.”
The Awesome Mobile was Devin’s 1967 Shelby Mustang GT 500 – a replica of Eleanor from Gone in Sixty Seconds.
“Devin,” Chuck replied, “this Mustang was built to destroy Dodge Vipers. I have a feeling it would kick the Awesome Mobile’s ass.”
Devin turned and wagged a finger at Chuck. “Speak not an unkind word about the Awesome Mobile, mon frère.”
Chuck laughed. “Casey, this next one’s yours.”
Casey looked at him. “What is it?”
Chuck smiled and hit the remote. Another spotlight illuminated to reveal a jet black 1985 Ford LTD Crown Victoria. “It’s the police edition,” Chuck said. “351 Windsor engine, four barrel Holley carburetor. GPS tracking device in the license plate frame.”
Casey had grown a huge smile as Chuck pulled out the keys and tossed them to him. Then, his face grew serious as he turned to Chuck.
“You blow this one up, Bartowski, I’ll kill you.”
Chuck just smiled and shook his head. “Uh, the next one’s mine… we can just skip over it…”
“Why would we skip over your car, Chuck?” Devin asked. “Everybody’s gotten a pretty sweet ride so far… I’m sure yours is just as good.”
Chuck sighed. “Really, we don’t have to –“
“Show us the damn car, Bartowski!” Casey insisted.
“Fine, fine,” Chuck muttered. He hit the remote – and a spotlight illuminated to reveal a black 1982 Pontiac Trans Am, with a row of red LED lights built into the air scoop in the front of the hood. There was silence for a moment.
“Uh, Chuck,” Senator Graham finally said, “I believe I distinctly remember telling you that you didn’t have the money to build your own K.I.T.T.”
“It’s not REALLY a Knight Industries Two Thousand,” Chuck grumbled. “It’s just a kickass Trans Am with lights built into the hood to make it LOOK like K.I.T.T.”
“LO-ser,” Morgan intoned, sotto voce. Chuck blushed.
“Shut up, Morgan! You liked the show just as much as I did when we were kids!” he said.
“Eh, true,” Morgan replied. “But while you’re blasting around in the Hoffmobile, I’ll be cruising down Sunset in my sweet hybrid.”
At that point, Sarah put her hand on her husband’s arm. “What about me?”
Chuck grew a huge smile on his face. “Well… what can I say, but, happy birthday.”
He hit the remote again. One final spotlight came on to reveal a black 1989 Porsche 959.
Sarah’s jaw dropped. “HO-ly SHIT,” she gasped. “You got me a 959?!”
Chuck nodded, the smile plastered on his face. “Chuck,” Sarah said, “they only built 377 of these things!”
His grin got even bigger. “I know. I bought it from Bill Gates.”
“You did WHAT?!” Sam Tyler had stepped forward, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Chuck held up his hands. “Okay, okay, I didn’t use government money on this. I bought it with Nerd Cave profits.”
That seemed to appease Tyler. Sarah still couldn’t believe what she was seeing, though. She walked around the 959, touching it as if to assure herself that it was actually there.
“Hey, Chuck!” Morgan said. “You mind if we take our rides out for a spin?”
“Go right ahead,” Chuck replied, hitting another button on the remote to open up the sliding door at the top of the ramp leading up to the parking lot. Tyler wanted to see how the SuperSnake performed, and climbed into it with Devin, while Graham got in the old Crown Vic with Casey.
“Let’s see what this old girl can do!” Graham shouted.
When the last echoes of engine noise had faded, Chuck and Sarah were left standing in the garage. “So,” he said, “what do you say we take that 959 out for a spin, see what she can do.”
Sarah looked happier at that moment than she had in months. “I think that’s a fantastic idea,” she replied. “But before I do that, I have a thank you to compose. For a certain German-made birthday gift. And I need your help.”
“Oh, REALLY,” Chuck shot back. “And where do you propose we do that?”
Sarah’s smile got downright wicked. “Oh, I was thinking on my desk.”
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