The prep work for the mission took forever.
Keith Mars wanted to vet each and every one of his deputies first. He wanted to make sure that they were willing to take part in a mission that could land them in jail for the rest of their lives.
It turned out that all of his deputies held a certain amount of affection for Keith’s daughter. Even the ones who had been loyal to Don Lamb seemed to care for Veronica.
And so, Keith Mars had himself thirty-two deputies who were ready to invade Canada. Rick Pope’s twenty-man anti-gang task force brought the total number of invading police officers up to fifty-two.
But then, on July 18th, during a strategy briefing at the Balboa County Sheriff’s Office, a group of eight men in suits walked into the briefing room. “FBI,” said one of them, holding up a badge.
“Can we help you?” Sheriff Mars asked.
“Looks like you boys are planning to go somewhere,” the agent who spoke first said.
“Um, sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Keith replied.
“Special Agent Marion Banks,” the agent stated. “We’re the FBI’s southern California hostage rescue team. We know from Rick Pope that you’re planning to go retrieve Chuck Bartowski and Veronica Mars from some air base in Canada.”
Keith looked at Sarah. He didn’t look like he knew what to say. Sarah stood up.
“Agent Banks, Agent Sarah Walker, Central Intelligence Agency,” she said. “Everything you’ve said is correct, but we can’t really discuss details.”
“Agent Walker, let me make something clear,” Agent Banks replied. “Agent Mars is one of ours. If somebody’s going to go get her, we’re damn well going with you.”
Keith raised his eyebrows. “An eight man specially trained FBI team?” he asked. “Uh, we could certainly use that help.”
Banks nodded, and strode forward to the front of the room. “Okay, what’s your mode of transport?”
“Uh, I got that,” Logan said, standing. “We’ve got a retired MC-141B Starlifter.”
Banks smiled. “Perfect. How much equipment are you putting in?”
“Four Suburbans and sixteen Ford Crown Victorias,” Keith said.
Agent Banks’ smile got a little bigger and he nodded. “More than enough room for a Huey,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
Banks spread his hands and began to explain. “Listen,” he replied, “we load in your vehicles, then we load in the helicopter, pre-fueled. The moment we land, we roll it out, deploy the rotors, and use it for aerial support during the assault. What do you think?”
“I think it’s an audacious plan,” John Casey interjected, speaking for the first time. “But I think we aren’t ready to deploy yet.”
“When will you be ready?”
“I don’t know,” Casey said, shaking his head. “We’ll let you know.”
“Why are we driving cross-country again?”
“I thought we’d been over this, like ten or twelve times.”
“So there are two agents in captivity in a foreign country. Like this is the first time that’s happened.”
“I’m sorry, I seem to recall that two agents once pulled your ass out of an Al Qaeda training camp.”
“Yeah, well, I was also a deep cover operative. We’re talking about an FBI agent, and… whatever it is that Chuck does.”
“He’s an analyst. You know that.”
“Sure, whatever. An analyst doesn’t have a CIA deep-cover and an NSA assassin assigned to keep watch over him from day one.”
“Is there something you have against Chuck?”
“Not in particular.”
“Come on, you’re not telling me the truth here. Something happened, and you’ve got something against him for some reason.”
“Fine. The night of Sarah’s memorial service, he came to my hotel room. He was a mess. I basically held him for a couple hours and let him cry his heart out.”
“Wow. That’s mighty charitable of you. You, of all people, having compassion for somebody?”
“Look, Sarah was my friend. One of the few I actually say that about. And honestly, the poor guy was heartbroken.”
“You’re leaving something out here. That’s not all that happened.”
“Yeah… you’re right.”
“What?”
“We slept together.”
Bryce Larkin’s eyes just about popped out of his head. “YOU WHAT?!”
Carina Hansen looked back at him. “We slept together. Had sex, got it on… fucked… am I getting the point across here?”
“I can’t believe you!” Bryce exploded. “You slept with Chuck the night of Sarah’s memorial service!”
“You know what?!” Carina shot back. “Fine. I’ll call it what it was. A pity screw. I felt sorry for him. I thought I’d try to make him feel a little better.”
“Did it?”
Carina shrugged. “Well, no.”
8:04 A.M., Central Standard Time
Monday, July 20th, 2009
Lac la Plonge Auxiliary Air Field, Saskatchewan, Canada
Chuck Bartowski had a serious problem.
He was starting to get used to waking up in the morning with Veronica Mars snuggled in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her left arm thrown across his chest. It made him smile a little more each day to see the mess of blonde hair lying across his chest.
The problem with that was that about half an hour after he woke up every day, he had a horrible attack of guilt. Guilt over the fact that he was cheating on Sarah, whether or not it was to save somebody’s life. Guilt over the fact that he felt like he was leading Veronica on in the world’s most horrible way.
Worse than all of that was that Chuck KNEW that Veronica still had feelings for him, and he could tell, every time she looked at him, that she was growing hope that maybe those feelings he had needed to “resolve” were growing into something again.
And perhaps worst of all – she wasn’t entirely wrong. Those feelings he had hoped that he could make go away, that he had hoped he could resolve – they had come back in full force. Were they stronger than the way he felt about Sarah? Not even close. But the feelings were incredibly dangerous.
To distract him from what he felt like was ever-increasing insanity, Chuck had begun writing code for a new video game. He had already decided, this was going to be the mother of all games. He had tried to describe it to Veronica, calling it, “Part Call of Duty, part Grand Theft Auto, part Need for Speed, part Rainbow Six.” She had been bored.
Chuck had already coded and compiled the ten characters that one could choose from in order to complete missions. Some characters were going to be higher levels, and you had to complete certain missions in order to unlock them.
The basic characters – the ones he had decided to let people start with – were a short, slightly schlubby Latino guy with a beard and mustache, or a short, Italian girl with dark hair and a fiery temper. After completing level one, you could stick with one of those, or move on to the taller girl with Polish features and dark hair, or the tall, blonde surfer looking guy. After level two, you could pick the short, blonde girl with the dark blue eyes, or the tall guy with the curly brown hair. After level three, you could pick either the guy with the ice blue eyes, long brown hair, and slight five o’clock shadow, or you could pick the girl with the bright red hair and the sparkling emerald eyes. And when you unlocked the final level, you could pick either the tall, musclebound guy with dark hair and a LOT of guns, or you could pick the tall, blonde woman who looked like she could kick your ass at the drop of a hat.
Chuck was rather pleased with how much like the people who had inspired them he had made the characters. He was rather certain that Morgan would be shocked beyond recognition that he was even in a game.
The missions ranged from solving simple murder mysteries to invading a Las Vegas casino to overthrowing a foreign government. Chuck was rather certain that this game was going to be a hit – if he was ever able to get out of this place.
All those thoughts ran through his head in about two point five seconds – just long enough for Veronica to wake up. She looked up at Chuck, and a brilliant if sleepy smile spread across her face.
“Good morning, Chuck.”
11:00 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Thursday, July 23rd, 2009
The Avalon Hotel
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California
With a lack of a permanent residence, and not wanting to go back to Chuck’s apartment while he was gone, Sarah had returned to what had become her place of refuge – her suite at the Avalon Hotel. None of her things had been touched – in fact, the suite was still exactly as she had left it. The front desk clerk had informed her that as long as her American Express card was valid, she was most welcome at the Avalon Hotel.
A relatively long swim out in the Pacific hadn’t done anything to clear her head or soothe her nerves. She was hoping that repeating it the next morning would help somewhat.
Right at the moment, though, she needed to rest. Sarah walked around the suite, turning off every light, closing every blind, making sure the door was deadbolted and locked.
She stripped down in the pitch black suite, and collapsed naked onto her bed. She just lay there for a moment, not doing anything, letting the cool air wash over her skin.
As her eyelids grew heavy, Sarah scooted further up onto the bed, resting her head on the pillow. She closed her eyes, but her brain wouldn’t turn itself off.
She started to think – she had decided that this chain of events never would have unfolded had she not decided to pull that stupid, asinine stunt and jumped off the Vincent Thomas Bridge. John Casey had tried to convince her otherwise, but Sarah knew.
Sometimes she dreamed about how it would have been different, sometimes, she just felt like she could see. Like right now.
She could see Chuck taking her out on Valentine’s Day, two weeks after. She could see them going out to the Santa Monica Pier, just hanging out and having fun. She saw him being taken away, to a secure facility, and then saw herself and John Casey rushing in to save the day.
Some of the images made Sarah smile. She saw him on what must have been St. Patrick’s Day, dressed in a leprechaun outfit, leaping over the Nerd Herd counter at the Buy More, and kissing her like she was the last woman on Earth. She saw herself cuddled up next to him in the bed in her old hotel room in downtown Los Angeles, having a Firefly marathon.
It seemed like life could have been so happy. The thought of going with him to Comic-Con. The thought of him proposing to her, on the beach in Santa Monica, one year after they had met. She saw a wedding, at Griffith Observatory – she was dressed in a simple dress with just a hint of pink, and Chuck, dressed in a light blue shirt and khaki pants – but he looked incredible, like he always did.
She saw herself pregnant. With twins, even. She saw herself moving into a house with Chuck. She saw the twins being born – she even knew their names. John Marcus, and Lisa Erin.
Sarah sighed. She didn’t know where these visions came from. She didn’t know why they haunted her. She was engaged to Chuck. It was all still a possibility.
That’s why she had to get him back.
8:00 A.M., Eastern Daylight Time
Wednesday, July 29th, 2009
Highland Park, Detroit, Michigan
Bryce pulled off the road. They were stopped on a back street, far from where anybody would actually see them.
Making sure they were clear, he opened the trunk and lifted the mat covering the spare tire. Reaching halfway down the underside of the mat, he found the seam, and gently pulled it open.
Inside were a set of Nova Scotia license plates. According to John Casey, they’d been put into the database for Nova Scotia’s equivalent of the DMV to match the BMW 525 that Bryce was driving.
Grabbing the electric screwdriver from its spot in the tire well, Bryce worked quickly. He replaced the Kansas plates with the Nova Scotia plates, and then put the Kansas plates into the compartment in the mat, resealing the underside.
He tossed the screwdriver back into the tire well, and set the mat back down. After closing the trunk, he crossed back to the driver’s door and climbed inside.
Carina was sitting in the shotgun seat, looking at the atlas. “So, as far as I can tell, we could’ve pretty much just gone up into Omaha and shot straight up I-29 to Canada,” she remarked as they pulled away from the curb. “Any reason why we had to drive all the way to De-goddamn-troit and now we have to drive all the way around the Great Lakes and then back to Saskatchewan?”
“We have to be completely certain that nobody – and I mean NOBODY – knows who we are or where we are,” Bryce replied. “You know, there’s a lot of people in Fulcrum who would love to see me dead.”
“Come on, you’re hardly even recognizable as Bryce Larkin anymore,” Carina replied. “You honestly think they would be able to tell it’s you?”
“I take no chances,” Bryce replied. He turned onto the onramp for Michigan Highway 10, headed toward the bridge that would take them across the river into Windsor.
He looked over at Carina and grinned. “You ready to go kick some Canadian ass?”
She smiled back and nodded. “Oh yeah.”
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