1:32 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Easter Sunday, April 12th, 2009
Northridge Medical Center, Northridge, California
“Push, Eleanor!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Ellie Woodcomb screamed at the doctor, startling everybody in the room. She had unexpectedly gone into labor three and a half hours earlier, right in the middle of Easter Sunday services. Fortunately, First Lutheran Church of Northridge is directly across the street from Northridge Medical Center.
“I thought you weren’t due for another ten days, babe,” Devin had remarked as they rapidly moved her across the street.
“Yeah, well, you’re a doctor, you know how these things go,” Ellie had replied sarcastically.
After arriving at the hospital, Ellie had banned all non-medical people from the room except for Devin and Chuck. Chuck was currently holding Ellie’s hand, because Ellie had banished Devin to the corner with the threat of bare-handed castration should he ever come within impregnation distance of Ellie again.
“THIS THING’S HEAD IS THE SIZE OF A BOWLING BALL!” Ellie howled, the pain evident in her voice.
“Not my fault,” Devin grumbled. “Everybody in my family was born with a small head.”
Chuck turned to him. “Yeah, that would be the Bartowski side of things,” he replied – and almost got his hand broken for it.
“What the hell was that for?” he gasped, turning back to his sister.
“That was because you’re a fucking traitor,” she moaned. “How dare you use logic and sensibility to explain a situation.”
In spite of her pain, she managed to smile. “I can’t believe Mom went through this twice,” she said.
“Maybe that’s why she ran off when we were in high school,” Chuck deadpanned. “She couldn’t stand our enormous noggins anymore.”
“It’s the size of Sputnik,” Ellie whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “GAH!”
“Head’s out!” the doctor announced. “Just a couple more pushes, and you’ll be home free, Ellie!”
And a moment later, the doctor was holding a tiny bundle of baby – a little boy, screaming at the injustice of being removed from his warm, comfortable habitat into the cold, sterile air of the hospital room. He clipped the umbilical cord, clamping it off, and handed the baby off to a nurse.
The nurse quickly wiped him off, and then handed him to Ellie. Tears and a smile simultaneously came to her face as she held her firstborn child.
Devin rose from his chair in the corner and came to stand next to her. “That’s our son,” he said quietly, a brilliant smile on his face. “Awesome.”
“What’s his name, ma’am?” one of the nurses asked.
“Reese Walker Woodcomb,” Ellie replied, without hesitation.
Chuck’s eyes went wide. He looked down at Ellie. “Is that –“
She nodded slowly. “We thought it would be appropriate,” Devin said.
Chuck smiled sadly. “Thank you, guys.”
1:45 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Saturday, May 2nd, 2009
Santa Monica, California
Veronica wasn’t sure what woke her up – maybe a dog barking in the distance, maybe a truck driving by. Either way, her eyes cracked open. She felt cold for some reason. She rolled over to cuddle next to Chuck –
And encountered nothing but a cold expanse of empty bed. “Chuck?” she asked sleepily.
“I’m over here.”
Veronica turned over. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of her bedroom, a dark silhouette against the white walls. “What’s wrong?”
Chuck sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I… I guess, I just feel like we’re forcing it sometimes, you know?”
“No,” Veronica replied. Oh, please, don’t let this be what I think it is. “I really don’t know.”
“Well,” Chuck said slowly, “I guess, maybe it’s just me who’s forcing it then. I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re pretty much amazing. When I tell you I love you, I mean it – but I’m not sure if I mean it the way you want me to mean it. We were so great as friends, and I feel like we’re beginning to lose that.”
Tears sprang to Veronica’s eyes. “But, no, no we’re not!” she insisted. “Spending time with you is always fun. I always look forward to it –“
“And so do I,” Chuck interrupted her. “But that’s the thing. I want to spend time with you – as friends. I feel like I’m forcing the relationship part of it. And honestly, there’s a reason for that.”
Veronica closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re not… you’re not over Sarah yet.”
In the darkness, she could see Chuck shake his head. “I’d be lying if I said I was,” he replied quietly. “I thought I was, I really did. But so much of the time, when I close my eyes, I still see her. I find my thoughts drifting to her so much of the time.”
He sighed. “It gets worse, though. Ever since Reese was born, I keep thinking about what it would be like to have kids – but I always end up seeing Sarah as their mother.”
And that statement was one bridge too far. “No,” Veronica whispered. “Please stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Chuck said quietly, and Veronica could tell from the sound of his voice that he really was. “I really, honestly never meant to hurt you. I only ever wanted to make you happy, and my own heart betrayed me.”
She didn’t say anything. The room was quiet for almost five minutes, save for the soft sound of Veronica crying. Finally, Chuck spoke. “Veronica, please say something.”
She took a deep breath. “I think… I think that you should go home.”
Chuck’s heart was heavy as he stood. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But Veronica… I want you to know, I do still lo-“
“Just stop!” she snapped. “Please, just go!”
Silently, Chuck stood. He walked out of the bedroom. Veronica heard the door open and shut behind him.
She turned over and buried her face in her pillow. It just wasn’t fair.
9:30 A.M.
The knocking at Veronica’s door woke her up. Sleepily, she pulled on her bathrobe, and made her way to the door.
She opened it, and there was Chuck Bartowski standing in front of her, two Starbucks cups in hand.
She took a deep breath. “You know,” she said quietly, “it’s not fair.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The fact that you look all clean and crisp and happy, and I probably look like a big bag of ass.”
Chuck smiled. “Nah,” he said. “You never look like a big anything.”
She shook her head, smiled, and punched him in the arm. “Careful!” he protested. “I might drop this coffee I got for you.”
Veronica rolled her eyes, reached out, and took one of the cups. “May I come in?” he asked, as she took a sip and continued to stand in the doorway.
“That depends,” she replied. “Are you done stomping on my heart?”
With that remark, Chuck’s face fell, and Veronica instantly regretted it. “Come on in,” she said, stepping out of the doorway.
Chuck wandered into the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools by the counter. Veronica hopped up onto the other one, and turned to face him.
“So,” he began, “about last night –“
“You mean, when you broke up with me in the middle of the night?”
Chuck paused, and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That would be the one.”
He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I said some things that were, in retrospect, not the most intelligent things I could have said. Really, I’m one of those people who needs to never be allowed to talk between midnight and five in the morning.”
Veronica smiled. “I understand,” she said, but then her smile faded. “That doesn’t change anything, though, does it?”
Chuck closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he practically whispered. “I just, I can’t. And as clichéd as it may sound, it really isn’t you, it’s me. I’m a pretty screwed up guy.”
“No, you’re not,” she replied. “You’re a good guy who got dealt a shitty hand, and you’ve just had a tough time dealing with it.”
He smiled. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Hey,” Veronica replied. “That’s what friends are for. However…”
Chuck looked over the top of his coffee cup, mid-sip.
“If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I might have to call Logan and have him kick your ass.”
11:00 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Wednesday, June 10th, 2009
The Avalon Bake Shop
Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California
It had become a weekly ritual for Beth Reynolds. Every Wednesday morning, she would go to the Avalon Bake Shop, get two of their unbelievable cream cheese danishes, a cup of coffee, and sit at a table with her MacBook, dispensing free computer advice for all those who would come.
It was slow right now. The locals always came by before 10:00, and the tourists generally didn’t start coming by until after noon. As she was mindlessly playing Snood, however, she noticed something a little out of the ordinary.
Two men in black business suits and sunglasses walked up to a Latino man in a lightweight tan suit and a Panama hat. They exchanged pleasantries, but were too far away for Beth to hear.
Then, as the Latino man was sitting down, he turned around – and Beth’s eyes went wide as she recognized him.
It was Geraldo Cardoso da Silva. Former President of Brazil, he had been deposed in early 2006, following a series of unfortunate events in his country.
Those events had been perpetrated by a team led by Sarah Walker. In the end, she had paid a personal late-night visit to da Silva, and told him that he would either step down or he would become a corpse.
“Well, well, General da Silva, we meet again,” Beth mused to herself.. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
As discreetly as she possibly could, she plugged her cell phone into her laptop with a mini USB cable, and then set it on its edge, resting against the computer, so that its camera was pointed at the three men. She then brought up the phone utilities program and opened the camera viewer.
She used the viewer to zoom in on each of the men, capturing still shots of their faces. “Who are you?” she asked.
Logging into her e-mail account, she uploaded the pictures, and sent them to Director Graham. Unplugging the phone, she called him.
“Graham, secure.”
“This is Reynolds, secure,” she said as quietly as she could. “I just sent you some pictures of two men who I just spotted meeting with former Brazilian President Geraldo Cardoso da Silva.”
Graham was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got them,” he said. “We’ll plug these into the Intersect. I’ll give you a call back as soon as I know something.”
Beth felt a thrill of excitement as she hung up the phone. She was going to be working with Chuck again, albeit in a very roundabout fashion.
Burbank
Chuck knew something was up when Veronica came running into the store. She jerked her head toward the home theatre lounge, and then grabbed Casey, dragging him toward it.
As soon as Chuck was inside the lounge, Casey locked the doors and dragged the curtains shut. “We’ve got an emergency brief with Director Graham,” Veronica told them both.
“Sorry to drag you all away from work,” Graham told them, “but we just got photos from an agent-in-place of two men meeting with the former President of Brazil.”
Casey went stiff when he heard that last part. “Yes, the same man your mission deposed, Major Casey,” Graham said. “I’ll transmit the photos now. I want to see if the Intersect flashes on anything.”
The photos appeared on the screen, and Chuck did indeed flash. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the images shot past his eyes.
“Michael Fullerton and Thomas Van Kamp,” he gasped when he came out of the flash. “Both Fulcrum agents, both very, very bad men.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bartowski,” Graham said. “That’s exactly what I needed to know.”
And the transmission was cut off.
Avalon
Beth’s phone rang. The number was in the 757 area code. “Reynolds, secure,” she said, answering the phone.
“This is Graham, secure,” she heard. “Those two men are Michael Fullerton and Thomas Van Kamp. They are both Fulcrum. Eliminate them both immediately.”
Beth smiled. “Copy that, sir.”
The two Fulcrum men stayed for about twenty more minutes, speaking with da Silva. Then da Silva left. Beth waited until the two Fulcrum men departed, and she followed them at a fairly discreet distance.
She followed them back to the Villa Portofino Hotel. She lost them, though, when she entered the lobby. “Shit,” she whispered, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing her American Express card.
“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the front desk, plastering a smile on her face. “Did you see two men just walk through here in black suits?”
“Uh, yeah,” the front desk clerk responded.
“Oh, good!” Beth replied. She waved the AMEX Black card in the air, immediately getting the clerk’s attention. “One of them dropped this, and I just wanted to make sure he got it back. Did you see which way they went?”
“Uh, yeah, they’re staying in one of the courtyard rooms,” the clerk replied, pointing the way.
“Thanks!”
Beth Reynolds exited to the courtyard, just in time to see the two men walking into a room. “Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy,” she whispered.
Going back into the hotel building, she found a ladies’ restroom. Locking herself in a stall, she withdrew a Walther P9 and a silencer from her backpack. She mated the silencer to the barrel of the P9, and then stuffed it into the waistband of her running shorts. She then fluffed her t-shirt out over it to hide the bulge.
Beth went back out to the courtyard, putting on her sunglasses, and went to the room the men had gone into. She knocked. “Housekeeping?”
She reached under her shirt as she heard the door unlock. It opened to reveal Thomas Van Kamp. “Not right now –“
The gun came out, and before he could even react, he was falling to the floor – dead, a bullet through his forehead. Beth stepped into the room. Michael Fullerton was sitting on one of the beds. “No –“
As his hands came up, the silenced Walther coughed again. Fullerton slumped over, dead.
Moving quickly, Beth dragged Van Kamp to the other bed. She removed their wallets, tossing them in her backpack. Then she grabbed the “Do Not Disturb” sign, and hung it on the door as she was leaving.
As she jogged back to the Avalon Hotel, she sent Graham a simple text message – “Done”. When she walked into the lobby, she went directly to the concierge – the same one who had been on duty the day she arrived – and handed him a one hundred dollar bill. “I need you to get me a professional quality blonde hair dye kit,” she instructed him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Beth returned to her room, she called Graham. “Graham, secure.”
“This is Reynolds, secure.”
“Good work. That was quick.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going to have to change my appearance, and I may have to depart Catalina.”
“Understood. What are your intentions?”
“I want to go back to field work, sir,” Beth said. “I had forgotten… well, I don’t want to say it’s fun and exciting, but you understand, sir.”
“I absolutely do,” Graham replied, and she could almost hear him smile. “Here’s the deal. There was a little kerfluffle up in Utah. Apparently, a Marine Corps Reservist by the name of Mitch Tucker got sick and tired of drugs being distributed out of Moab and went on a killing rampage, taking down an entire drug network. A Los Angeles gang kingpin by the name of Alberto Calijo was up there checking out operations, and he got caught in the crossfire.
“His funeral is on Saturday, in Los Angeles. His brother Maximillian is apparently a Fulcrum bigshot. I need you to get in there and find out whatever you can.”
Beth smiled. “Yes, sir.”
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