The Star Spangled Intersect, Chapter 8: "Maybe You Need Her"

Chuck had leveled the Learjet off at 35,000 feet. He still had his hand on the throttle controls, when he felt a hand on top of his.

He looked down, and saw a hand covered in dried blood on top of his. He didn’t care about the blood, though – the hand belonged to Sarah Walker. He looked up and over at her. She looked back at him and smiled – and then her eyes rolled backward in her head, and she slumped back against the seat.

Chuck’s eyes went wide, and then he looked down – her lap was covered in blood.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. He turned his head to look out the cockpit door. “C.A.!”

His brother-in-law-to-be’s head snapped up in the back, where he was working on pulling bullets out of John Casey’s legs. “Chuck?”

Devin stood up and darted to the front of the aircraft. Chuck had unbuckled his seatbelt and engaged the autopilot. He was trying to get Sarah out of her seat.

“Jesus Christ,” Devin breathed, when he saw the amount of blood in Sarah’s lap. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. “Chuck, take this, find where she’s bleeding from – it looks like the right hand side of her stomach – and hold this against it.”

Chuck lifted up Sarah’s shirt, and there it was – an ugly, gaping gunshot wound. Chuck held Devin’s shirt against the wound, and Devin gently lifted Sarah out of the seat, his arms under her arms and wrapped around her chest.

“Grab her legs,” Devin ordered. Chuck wrapped Sarah’s knees under one arm, keeping the shirt pressed to her stomach with the other hand. Between them, the two men carried her to the back of the aircraft.

After laying Sarah on the floor in the aisle, Devin cut her shirt off, exposing her shoulder and stomach wounds. “Get me a diagnostic unit,” he ordered. Ellie grabbed it for him. He set it on a seat next to Sarah, and attached the leads to her chest and finger. Casey had propped himself up on his elbows, a worried look on his face.

“Pulse is thready… blood pressure is incredibly low,” Devin announced. “Chuck, grab me an IV pole. Ellie, get me two plasmas and one O neg.”

Chuck grabbed the IV pole. Devin slid a catheter into the vein behind Sarah’s elbow, and attached the line to the blood units. “She’s bleeding out really fast,” he said worriedly. “We’ve only got so much blood.”

Devin turned to look at Chuck. “Chuck, we’ve got to get this aircraft on the ground, soon, or Sarah’s not going to make it.”

“Where are we headed?” Casey asked.

“Bakersfield,” Chuck replied. “Sarah said she had contacts there.”

“Where are we right now?”

“Uh, last check, we were over Monument Valley in Arizona.”

Casey’s eyes brightened, an idea coming to him.

“Change the autopilot settings to head us toward Flagstaff, Arizona,” he ordered. “Then get on frequency 121.5 and declare an in-flight emergency. When Pulliam Airport responds, ask them to pass a message to Ulysses Howard – a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties.”

Chuck gave Casey a look like he might’ve given a small child. “A ‘terrifying space monkey’?”

“It’s code, Bartowski. Just do it!”

Chuck scrambled back up to the cockpit. He flipped the transponder over to 7700, turned the radio to Guard, and said, “Mayday, mayday, this is Carlito Lear 1, declaring an in-flight emergency. Repeat, this is Carlito Lear 1, declaring an in-flight emergency.”

“Carlito Lear 1, this is Albuquerque Center. Please state your situation.”

“Albuquerque Center, this is Carlito Lear 1. I am near Flagstaff, Arizona. Request to be transferred to Pulliam Airport.”

“Carlito Lear 1, copy. We are handing you over to Pulliam Airport at this time.”

“Carlito Lear 1, this is Flagstaff Pulliam Airport. How copy?”

“Pulliam Airport, this is Carlito Lear 1. Please alert Ulysses Howard that a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties.”

There was silence for a moment. Then a different voice came on the radio. “Carlito Lear 1, this is Pulliam. Please repeat that last.”

“I repeat, a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties.”

Silence again. Then the voice spoke. “Carlito Lear 1, this is Pulliam. You are cleared for immediate landing. Please change your transponder to 4200 and lock on to our auto-approach beacon.”

Chuck complied. Not too long after that, he could see the outskirts of a small town. Then, he saw a break in the towering pine trees, with a dimly lit gray strip running through the forest.

“Pulliam Airport, this is Carlito Lear 1, I have visual.”

“Carlito Lear 1, you may land at your leisure.”

The Lear’s auto-approach system was more than adequate to bring the airplane swooping in over the trees and place it on the runway, but Chuck kept his hands on the yoke, just in case. As soon as the tires bit into the runway, he pressed his feet onto the toe brakes and yanked the throttles back to the thrust-reverse stop.

The plane slowed to automobile speed with more than half the runway left. Chuck coasted to the next taxiway turnoff, and turned left, exiting the runway. As he coasted to a stop in the parking area, two ambulances came roaring up to the aircraft.

By the time Chuck secured the aircraft, Devin had opened the door and dropped the airstair. “I’ve got two gunshot victims!” he was shouting to the paramedics running toward the plane. “One has experienced heavy blood loss, and has deep tissue and organ lacerations to the abdomen!”

The paramedics charged up the stairs with gurneys and oxygen. They loaded Casey onto one, over his protests, and Sarah onto the other. Devin got in the ambulance with Sarah, Ellie with Casey, and Chuck was left standing by himself on the tarmac.

A wiry Latino man with glasses and graying hair walked up to Chuck. “I’m Ulysses Howard,” he introduced himself.

“Chuck Bartowski,” Chuck replied, extending his hand.

“Really,” Howard said, his eyes widening. “The Human Intersect?”

“How… how…” Chuck’s mouth opened and shut, kind of like a beached fish.

“I’m NSA,” Howard replied. “Well, deep-cover NSA. I work directly for Major Casey – I’m his contact in Arizona should he ever need help here.”

“I… see…”

“Yeah, he had to keep me in the loop regarding you. Given that we’re essentially California’s next-door neighbor, I had need to know. That, and I used to be part of the project that developed the Intersect.”

Chuck just nodded. “So… what was the bit about terrifying space monkeys?”

Howard cocked his head. “You’ve never seen Firefly?”

Chuck’s jaw dropped. “Oh, of course!” He smacked himself in the forehead. “There’s my nerd cred, all shot to hell.”

“Yeah,” Howard laughed. “Believe it or not, Casey’s a huge fan. Thinks he looks like Adam Baldwin – guy who plays Jayne. I think he’s full of it.

“Anyway,” Howard continued, “I’ve got a car out front that you’re welcome to borrow. You probably want to get up to Flagstaff Medical Center with them.”

“Yeah,” Chuck replied, a renewed sense of urgency in his voice. “But I need directions.”

Howard smiled. “Just how good are you at being the Intersect?”

“Pretty good,” Chuck said. “I scored high on subliminal encoding at Stanford.”

Howard nodded. “Alright. Turn left out of the airport. Right at I-17. I-17 becomes Milton, which becomes Route 66. Stay on Route 66 to San Francisco Street. Turn left. Go north. Flagstaff Medical Center’s on the left-hand side.”

Chuck looked at him, and thought for a moment. “Got it.”

Howard laughed incredulously. “You’re unbelievable, kid. No wonder the government’s such a huge fan.”

Chuck nodded. “Thanks… I think.”

“No problem. Here’s the keys – it’s the green Crown Vic out front.”

Five minutes later, Chuck walked around the front of the small terminal building to see what was clearly a retired Forest Service car. “Damn, that’s an ugly car,” he breathed.

He got in and turned the key in the ignition. The V-8 motor roared to life. As Chuck put the Crown Vic in gear, he laughed at the fact that when he last put a vehicle in gear – less than three hours ago – the circumstances were so very different.

The streets of Flagstaff were fairly deserted at this time of night – until he got to San Francisco Street. As he drove up the street, it became immediately evident that he was in a college town. However, it was only a couple blocks till he was past the “party” area, and then, there was the hospital.

He entered through the lobby, and said he was looking for a Sarah Walker and a John Casey. He was directed to another wing.

When he got there, he discovered Ellie waiting for him. Wordlessly, she stood up, and embraced him. He could feel her starting to cry. “I was so worried about you,” she whispered. “I kidnapped the director of the NSA to find you…”

Chuck’s eyes went wide, and he pulled back. “You did WHAT?!”

“I was working with Casey and Sarah,” she said. “I kidnapped General Beckman.”

Chuck couldn’t help it. He started laughing. “That is fantastic,” he choked out, bending over to catch his breath. “She’s going to hate our entire family.”

Then a sobering thought hit him. “Sarah and Casey,” he said. “What about them?”

“Casey’s alright,” Ellie replied. “Both his legs are going to be in casts for awhile, but he’s okay.

“Sarah, on the other hand… Chuck, she lost a lot of blood. That bullet to her stomach caused a huge amount of damage. Devin’s still in there with her – they’ve been in surgery since the moment we came in the door.”

Chuck sat down wearily in one of the lobby chairs. Just like any other hospital in the world – a vinyl covered chair, cold, and uncomfortable. Ellie sat down next to him, and hugged him.

Chuck raised his hands to his face, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, began to cry.

---

It was just after midnight when Devin came into the lobby. He looked exhausted. It was clear that he’d just stepped out of the shower, and he had ditched his blood soaked t-shirt and jeans for a clean set of scrubs.

But the smile on his face spoke volumes.

Chuck jumped up as soon as Devin walked in. He quickly crossed the room to Devin. “How is she?” he asked.

“She’s an incredibly strong woman, my man,” Devin replied. “She lost her appendix – which, no great loss, that. Aside from that, she had some muscle and tissue damage, and we had to reconnect a few veins and arteries – that was what caused all the blood loss. The shot to her shoulder broke her collarbone, but she should be okay. She’s stable now, but we’re not going to try to wake her for a few hours.”

Chuck closed his eyes and blew out his breath. “So, she’s going to be out for awhile?”

Devin nodded.

“Okay. Ellie, did she bring her grey sweater with her?”

“I think so,” Chuck’s sister replied. “In fact, yeah, because she took it off and stuck it in an overhead compartment.”

Chuck was already on his way out the door.

---

She slowly and painfully came to wakefulness. It was a lot like seventy-two hours before, except this time, in addition to feeling completely hung over, she was in a world of pain as well.

As her eyes slowly opened, she could see sunlight peeking in between the slats on the blinds over the window. Looking down, she also saw that she had been draped in her grey sweater – that explained why she was actually warm; she could never remember having ever woken up, still warm, in a hospital bed before.

She looked back up, and saw Chuck, sitting in a chair past the foot of the bed. He was reading a magazine, but he looked to be pretty close to dozing off. She tried to talk, but nothing came out.

Concentrating, she made her mouth moisten just a little, licked her lips, and tried again. “Chuck,” she whispered.

His head snapped up, and his face brightened when he saw that she was awake.

“Hey,” he said softly. He snagged a bottle of water with a squeeze tube attached, which he put in her left hand. She slowly lifted it to her mouth and drank like she’d never see water again.

“That’s a whole lot better,” she said quietly after having her fill. “How long was I out for?”

“It’s actually only been about twelve hours,” Chuck replied. “You passed out in the airplane just before 8:00 PM yesterday, and it’s about 7:45 local time.”

Sarah looked around. She didn’t recognize the hospital. “Where are we?”

“Flagstaff, Arizona,” was the answer. “Devin basically said that if we didn’t get you on the ground, post haste, you were going to die. Casey, fortunately, has a contact in Flagstaff, and so we landed here.”

“Casey,” she gasped, remembering that he had been shot. “How’s he doing?”

“Hell of a lot better than you, Walker!” was the cringe-inducing loud answer, as Casey rolled into the room in a wheelchair. Just as suddenly, though, his wheelchair was grabbed by Captain Awesome and pulled back out of the room.

“Sorry about that,” Devin said, sticking his head into the room. “We’ll leave you folks in peace.”

He closed the door behind him. Sarah smiled and shook her head – then immediately regretted it, as her right shoulder shifted and shot pain through her upper body.

“Owwww…” she moaned.

Chuck grabbed her good hand. “Just don’t move,” he suggested.

“Thanks, smartass,” she whispered, looking up at him.

He looked back down at her for a long moment. Then, almost as if inviting him, she closed her eyes. Chuck leaned down and kissed her, softly. It lasted for a very long moment, and when the kiss broke, he didn’t move – he left his forehead resting gently on hers.

“Chuck…” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. In fact, she was silent for so long that he was afraid she’d fallen back asleep. But then…

“I love you…”

The Star Spangled Intersect, Chapter 7: "Maybe You Want Her"

“Unbelievable,” Casey grunted.

The Jeep was parked across Mill Creek Drive from the CIA facility, secluded behind a few trees. Casey was examining the entranceway to the facility with a pair of Zeiss field glasses he’d had since he was a kid.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

“They’ve got this high-tech guard shack, everything automated, and yet they have a crappy ass little wooden arm-gate.”

“Are you sure it’s not reinforced?”

Casey handed the binoculars to Sarah. “Look at the cracks in it. One good push, and it would disintegrate.”

Sarah nodded. “That guard shack looks pretty fierce, though. How do you plan to take it down?”

“With this,” Casey replied, hefting a rather strange looking gun-like thing.

“That being…”

“An EMP claw launcher,” Casey said, stroking it. “I launch this thing, the claw penetrates the side of the shack, and fires an electromagnetic pulse into it. That causes the electrical systems in the shack to go haywire, which causes the shack to automatically go into security shutdown and seal itself.”

Sarah nodded, almost admiringly. “Pretty creative. Where’d you get it?”

“San Bernardino County Sheriff. They use them to take down street racers. The best part is, then they take their cars and crush them while they watch.”

Sarah turned to look at Casey. “You’re kidding.”

Casey shook his head with a grin. “Nope. There are more flattened Honda Civics in that county…”

He stopped talking. “Alright, the gate guard’s inside. You ready?”

“Let’s do this,” Sarah said, starting the Jeep and putting it in gear.

Casey aimed the EMP launcher, waited till he got a lock-on tone, and fired. As soon as the claw whooshed out of the tube, he sat down, the Jeep accelerating toward the gate.

The claw latched itself onto the guard shack, and Casey hit the “activate” button on the control panel for it. The guard shack did exactly what he said would happen – everything inside deactivated, and it sealed itself, trapping the two guards inside, with no way to communicate.

Sarah smashed into the wooden gate going about forty miles an hour. The flimsy arm splintered, and she roared onto the grounds.

There was only one building, so that somewhat narrowed their options as to where Chuck might be. Sarah aimed toward the building, and hit the gas.

“Walker, what are you doing?” Casey asked, as she got closer to the building and didn’t slow down. “Walker… WALKER!”

She pushed the speed up to sixty, and just before she was about to hit the building, she stomped on the brake and the clutch, yanked the handbrake, and jerked the wheel as far to the left as it would go. The Jeep did a 180, and slid backward through the glass doors of the building, smashing them and coming to a stop in the lobby.

“Not bad,” Casey admitted, slipping from his seat and crouching down in the foot well in front of it. Sarah did the same.

“You in the Jeep! Exit the vehicle, with your hands up!”

Casey did exactly the opposite, instead pulling the pin on a flash-bang grenade and tossing it out into the lobby. He and Sarah both ducked, and a moment later, a brilliant flash of phosphorous-fired light filled the room, followed by an incredibly loud bang.

When Casey and Sarah exited the Jeep, guns at the ready, they were met by a team of four stunned CIA agents. One was bleeding from the side of his head, but all were conscious. They were quickly relieved of their guns, and Sarah restrained them with plastic zip-tie style handcuffs.

“Anybody know where the Intersect is?” Casey asked, as he and Sarah roughly sat the agents against the wall.

“Interrogation Room 12B,” one of them answered in a hollow voice.

Casey took off down the hall. Sarah followed in his footsteps, saying, “You would do well not to even try to follow us,” as she went.

The facility was surprisingly empty. “I figured they’d have a platoon of Army Rangers here,” Casey muttered. “They usually do for situations like this.”

“The Army was relieved,” came a voice from behind them. Casey and Sarah both whirled around, to find Director Graham standing behind them, an armed CIA agent to either side. “Bartowski is no longer our guest, he’s our prisoner.”

Sarah strode forward, toward Graham. “What the hell have you do-“

She was cut off as one of the agents fired. The bullet tore into her right shoulder, sending her flying backward. She slid to a stop, and lay motionless on the floor.

Casey looked down at her, and when he looked back up, there was murder in his eyes. “You son of a bitch,” he growled. With seemingly impossible speed, his hands came up, a gun in both, and before the agents could react, they were each on the floor, dead, a bullet in their brains.

He advanced toward Graham, both guns aimed at him. “Your jacket. Take it off.”

Graham shed his suit coat. “Why am I taking it off?”

“I need something to stem Walker’s bleeding, you jackass,” Casey replied. “Now, that supply closet to your left. Open it.”

Graham did so. “Now what?”

“Step inside.”

Graham complied. “And now?”

Casey smiled. “Peace.”

He kicked the door shut, and then shot the lock out. “Good luck getting out of there with a permanently shut deadbolt, Director!” he shouted.

He heard Graham’s muffled yells from inside the closet. “Let me out, you son of a bitch!”

“Not a chance,” came the weak voice of Sarah Walker from behind Casey. He turned to see her, standing behind him, a blood-covered hand on her shoulder.

“Here,” Casey said, handing Graham’s jacket to her. “Hold this against your shoulder. It should help to stop the blood flow.”

Sarah took the jacket and pressed it against the wound. “Can you still move your right hand, enough to fire a gun?”

Sarah’s right arm came up about halfway, but it was more than enough for her to lift the gun and aim it. “A little shaky,” she replied, “but it’ll do.”

Casey didn’t say a word, just took off running down the hall, Sarah on his tail. He read off the room numbers under his breath as he went. “Nine A, Nine B, Ten A, Ten B, Eleven A, Eleven B, Twelve A…”

They skidded to a stop in front of 12B. “Three deadbolts,” Casey groaned. “Crap.”

“And yet, two normal hinges,” Sarah pointed out.

Casey grinned. “Excellent.”

---

Chuck had been awakened by what he thought were shouts and gunshots, but then everything was quiet again. “Must’ve been a dream,” he said to himself.

He stayed lying in the bed, and then he was certain he heard voices outside his room. Very familiar voices.

That was followed by the sound of metal scraping on metal – and then the door to his room fell off its hinges.

As Chuck stood up from his bed, John Casey stepped into the room. “Casey!” Chuck practically shouted. He ran across the room, and wrapped the NSA agent in a bear hug. “I never thought I would be so happy to see you!”

Casey awkwardly patted Chuck on the back. “Uh, you can let go now, Bartowski,” he said. “I think there’s somebody else who wants to see you, anyway.”

Chuck turned to his right – and there was Sarah, standing in the hallway. His eyes lit up when he saw her – and his expression immediately changed to one of concern when he saw how pale she was, and realized that her right shoulder was drenched in blood.

“Sarah? What happened?!”

He stepped toward her. She started to explain, but then changed her mind. She took her left hand off of her shoulder, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him to her.

The kiss was passionate, furious – and brief. “There’ll be all the time for that in the world when we’re not in a life-and-death situation,” Casey grumbled, breaking the moment.

Chuck pulled away from Sarah. It was a moment before she opened her eyes.

“Alright,” she finally said. “I’ll take point. Chuck, you stay behind me. Casey, bring up the rear.”

She took off, her left hand back to putting pressure on her right shoulder, her right hand at hip level, gun leveled. Chuck followed, with Casey behind, a gun in each hand.

They reached the lobby with no incident. However, one of the restrained CIA agents had managed to worm his way over to an MP5. As Casey passed him, he fired, not looking, not aiming. The automatic fire stitched across the back of Casey’s legs, causing him to cry out in pain and collapse to the ground.

Sarah whirled round. “Get down, Chuck!” she shouted. Chuck dove behind the protective cover of the Jeep as Sarah aimed her gun as well as she could. She fired, and her shot hit the agent in the shoulder, causing him to drop the gun – but not before a stray bullet from the MP5 hit her in the gut.

“Shit!” she shouted, doubling over in pain. Chuck popped up from behind the Jeep, saw her bent over, and ran over to her.

“What happened?!” he practically yelled. Sarah stood back up, wincing.

“Nothing, I’ll be okay. Get Casey into the Jeep.”

Casey had latched onto the rear bumper and dragged himself up to his knees. Chuck grabbed him under the arms, pulled him up the rest of the way, and hefted him over the tailgate of the Jeep, unceremoniously dumping him into the back end.

Sarah had started to limp her way around to the driver’s seat, but Chuck stopped her. “Absolutely not,” he said. “You can’t drive and shift with one good arm, and I don’t feel like getting out of here just to die in an unfortunate car crash.”

Sarah smiled through her pain at Chuck’s sarcastic word choice. Without saying anything, she limped over to the shotgun door and got in the Jeep. Chuck got in the driver’s seat, started the Jeep and pulled out of the building.

He rounded the corner, heading toward the exit – and found that there were several Hummers between him and the gate. “FLOOR IT!” Sarah shouted. And so Chuck did.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!” he yelled, as the Jeep flew toward the waiting Hummers. The Army Rangers with the Hummers opened fire. Bullets pinged off the Jeep’s body. Chuck and Sarah both ducked as the windshield shattered. Then, the left front tire was hit, and Chuck thought it was the end of the world.

Fortunately, Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell Tucker was a paranoid man. He had had tires put on his Jeep with steel plates in the middle – much like the tires on Secret Service vehicles. It would continue to drive for as long as Chuck needed it to.

As soon as Chuck realized that the Jeep was still moving forward and still under his control, he started laughing. “YES!” he shouted, dropping down to the next gear and rocketing forward.

He blasted past the Hummers, through the exit gate, and out onto Mill Creek Drive. He fishtailed out into the road, swerving to the left. In the back, Casey was rolled into the tailgate, the impact causing his bullet-riddled legs so much pain that he passed out.

Chuck kept the accelerator to the floor. The Rangers had regrouped, loaded up their Hummers, and were following the Jeep. Sarah was shouting out directions, and Chuck was taking the turns at as high a speed as he could without rolling the Jeep. The fact that he was driving on a steel plate on the left front corner was making things a little bit difficult.

Finally – or at least, it seemed like finally; in reality, it had been less than five minutes – the airport entrance came into view. Chuck poured on as much speed as he could. When he hit 110, he realized that there was a stepvan coming toward him from the interior of the airport.

Chuck blew through the airport entrance, and passed the stepvan a moment later. In the rearview mirror, he watched the stepvan skid sideways to a stop, blocking the entrance to the field.

As the Jeep rocketed toward the Learjet waiting at the other end of the field, Gunny Mitch Tucker jumped out of the stepvan with a rather wicked looking launcher in his hands. He aimed it directly at the front of the lead Hummer.

The Hummer convoy rolled to a stop in front of him. “UNITED STATES MARINES!” he bellowed in a voice developed through years of overseeing basic training. “You will dismount from your vehicles and throw your weapons to the ground, or so help me, the next person you speak to will be St. Peter!”

The twelve Rangers did exactly as he ordered, exiting the Hummers, and dropping their weapons to the ground. Gunny Tucker’s jaw dropped when he realized who they were.

“Rangers?!” he gasped. “Working with terrorists? I KNEW the goddamn Army couldn’t be trusted!”

Meanwhile, at the other end of the field, Chuck had skidded to a stop outside the Learjet. “ELLIE! DEVIN!” Sarah shouted from the Jeep.

Chuck’s sister appeared in the door of the Learjet. Her eyes went wide when she saw Chuck, and then even wider when she saw the shape Casey and Sarah were in.

Ellie practically flew down the airstairs, Devin hot on her heels. She quickly gave Chuck a kiss on the cheek, followed by Devin saying, “Awesome to see you, bro,” but just as quickly, the two doctors turned their attention to John Casey and Sarah Walker.

“Let me see your wounds, Sarah,” Ellie was saying.

“No,” Sarah insisted. “Casey’s hurt a whole lot worse than I am.”

“She’s right, babe,” Devin called. “He’s got compound fractures in both legs, not to mention a number of bullets still in his flesh. CHUCK!”

Chuck ran over to where Devin was. “Help me get John up into the plane.”

Chuck grabbed Casey under one shoulder, while Devin got the other. Mercifully, he stayed unconscious as they dragged him up the airstair, his legs bumping against the steps several times.

Ellie, meanwhile, helped Sarah up the stairs. Sarah wobbled a little going up, but determinedly strode into the aircraft and turned left, into the cockpit. “Chuck! I need your help flying this thing!”

Chuck darted forward, into the cockpit. “Oh, Lear 35J,” he said. “Piece of cake.”

Sarah looked over at him. “What?”

“I have logged more hours in this thing on flight simulator games than you would believe,” he replied confidently.

“I told you so!” came Ellie’s voice from the back.

Sarah started up the engines as Devin pulled the door closed. “Okay, I’m going to need you to actually fly this thing,” Sarah said. “I can control the flaps, gear and radios, but you’re going to need to handle the yoke and the throttles.”

“Not a problem,” Chuck replied. “Just get strapped in, and tell me when you’re ready to go.”

Sarah turned toward the back of the aircraft, wincing as she did so. “You guys ready back there?”

“We’re good!” Ellie shouted.

The aircraft was already positioned for takeoff, so Chuck simply pushed the throttles to full. Sarah reached over and flipped on the exterior lights. “It’d be nice if you could see where you were going,” she commented dryly.

“I need you to call off our speed,” Chuck replied, ignoring her sarcasm.

Sarah looked over at the ground speed indicator. “100… 110… 120… 130…”

When she reached 140, Chuck pulled back on the yoke. The Learjet leapt from the runway into the sky, thundering over the entrance gate. Gunny Tucker looked up, watching the gear retract into the fuselage.

“Good luck, and God speed,” he whispered as the jet disappeared into the night sky.

The Star Spangled Intersect, Chapter 6: "How to Save a Life"

It was nearly four in the morning by the time they reached General Beckman’s house, north of Baltimore. Casey and Sarah got her out of the car and helped her into the house.

After lying her down on her bed, Sarah removed a sterile syringe and a vial from her purse. Sticking the needle into the vial, she withdrew a milliliter, and tapped it to remove bubbles.

“What is that?” General Beckman whispered, still in shock from her encounter in Virginia.

“It’s something that I received in pill form three nights ago, General,” Sarah replied.

General Beckman’s eyes went wide. “Rohypnol?”

Sarah nodded, her face expressionless. “Medicinal grade,” she replied. “Inject you with it, you’ll be out for eight hours. Don’t worry, nobody’s going to do anything to you.”

And then, without a word more, Sarah bent over General Beckman, stuck the syringe into a vein in her wrist, and pressed down the plunger.

As she and Casey were walking out of General Beckman’s bedroom, Beckman softly whispered, “Agent Walker.”

Sarah turned around. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Sarah paused, as if unsure of how to answer the question. Finally, she looked General Beckman in the eyes.

“I made the mistake of falling in love.”

---

It was the third morning of Chuck’s captivity in the secret government facility. He was worn out from the prior two days of terrorizing Beckman and Graham.

As he came to, he realized something was wrong. The refrigerator was gone, replaced by one of those little Arrowhead water coolers. The plasma screen TV was gone. The media cabinet was gone. The sofa was gone. All that was left was the water cooler and his bed.

“The hell?” he grumbled, sitting up.

The door opened, and Director Graham walked in. He was accompanied by two men in dark suits, armed with Tasers.

“Good morning, Bartowski,” he said, a smile on his face.

Chuck didn’t return his greeting. He just did like he had the first morning – stared expressionlessly at the Director.

“I see you noticed the lack of furniture and décor,” Graham said.

Chuck simply nodded.

“Well, that’s because you’re no longer a guest here,” Graham informed him. “You are now a prisoner. You will no longer be referred to as Bartowski. You are now Prisoner Number One. You will answer to that. You will not cause trouble. You will obey orders. If you step out of line, you will be stunned.”

Chuck swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood, and stepped toward Graham. Immediately, one of the dark-suited men lifted his Taser and pulled the trigger. A tiny dart impacted Chuck’s upper arm, and suddenly, he felt like he’d stuck his finger into a high voltage outlet.

As Chuck collapsed back onto the bed, Director Graham stepped toward him and looked down at him. “Enjoy your day, Prisoner Number One,” he said with a smile.

Graham and the two men stepped back out of the room. Chuck just lay on the bed, recovering from the electric shock. Eventually, he rolled on his side, facing the wall.

He curled up into a ball. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, but he tried to hold it back.

Finally, he could control himself no longer. The sob burst forth from his chest, and unbidden, he began to cry.

---

Sarah, Casey, and Ellie had caught the first Southwest Airlines flight of the day out of Baltimore. It had left at 5:15 AM, and arrived in Los Angeles just after 9:00 AM Pacific Time. “The Rohypnol will be wearing off within a few minutes,” Casey warned as they ran through the airport. “Ellie, I need you to call Devin and give him an address to meet us at.”

The address Casey gave was in south central Los Angeles. He maintained a safe house that nobody – not Sarah, not the NSA, not the CIA – knew about. “I figured I might need it some day, but not for this,” he explained.

It didn’t look like much from the outside – just one more run down ranch house off of Florence Boulevard – but on the inside, it was a virtual armory. Casey had just about every weapon one could acquire legally, and several illegal ones as well.

“So what’s the plan?” Devin asked.

“We know the location of the facility that Chuck’s being held at,” Casey replied. “There’s a tiny airport just a little distance away. It’s big enough to land a Learjet at, and I just so happen to have one – off the books – parked at Hawthorne Airport.”

“Okay,” Ellie said. “So, my question is, why do you want me and Devin along on this retrieval mission?”

Sarah took a deep breath. “Ellie, there’s a good chance that Casey, or I, or both of us, or possibly even Chuck, is going to need medical attention when we get back to the plane in Moab.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “What kind of medical attention?”

“Gunshot wounds,” Casey answered her simply.

Ellie blew out her breath in one big puff. “Well. Okay.”

Devin held up a hand, almost as if he were a child in grade school, asking a question. “So, who’s going to be flying this thing?”

“That would be me,” Casey answered. “It’s my plane.”

“But you just said you might be injured. What if you can’t fly?”

“Walker’s trained to fly a plane of that type in an emergency.”

“What if she’s wounded too?”

Casey and Sarah looked at each other. It was pretty clear that they hadn’t thought that far in advance.

“Chuck,” Ellie said simply.

“What?!”

“Bartowski? Come on.”

“Ellie… as awesome as he is, I’m not sure Chuck can do that.”

“Of course he can,” Ellie insisted. “He’s the world’s biggest video game geek. He’s played every version of Microsoft Flight Simulator to come off the line. He could probably start up and fly a Learjet in his sleep.”

Sarah looked at Casey again. “Well…” she started. “I guess, all the training I’ve received was in a simulator… Chuck may well be just as qualified as me.”

“Alright,” Casey said. “So Bartowski’s the backup to the backup. Let’s try not to get to that point, shall we?”

“We’re going to need medical equipment,” Ellie mentioned. “Probably a fair amount of it.”

“Not a problem, babe,” Devin said. “I know a guy over at L.A. Metro Med Center – it’s a mile the other side of Hawthorne Airport. I’ll give him a call –“

He started to pull out his cell phone, but Casey reached out and grabbed it out of his hand. “Use a land line, a pay phone, but not a cell phone,” he warned Devin. “I guarantee you the instant one of our cell phones goes active, the NSA will be all over us.”

Devin shrugged. “Not a problem, big guy.”

“Okay, so weapons, medical supplies – how exactly are we going to transport this all?” Sarah wanted to know.

“Come with me,” Casey replied.

Sarah, Ellie, and Devin followed Casey into the backyard, to a ramshackle garage. Casey opened the door – and there was an old, faded blue Ford panel van. “That’ll work,” Ellie said.

It took about fifteen minutes to load all the weaponry that Sarah and Casey had decided to take – “Looks like you’re planning to start World War 3,” Devin joked, although it didn’t draw a smile from either Sarah or Casey.

At 3:00 PM, they left the safehouse, headed for Hawthorne. They stopped at a 7-11 on the way so that Devin could call his friend at the hospital. That was their next stop, fifteen minutes later, where they managed to abscond with a crash cart, two diagnostic units, two IV units, and enough type O- blood and plasma for a small army, among other small supplies.

They got everything loaded without incident. At four o’clock, Casey was taxiing out to the runway, when a half dozen police cars came screaming onto the field. “John Casey,” one of them announced over his loudspeaker. “This is the Los Angeles County Sheriff. You are under arrest. Shut down your engines and exit the aircraft.”

“Like hell,” Casey muttered. Pulling the yoke all the way over to the left, he brought the right hand engine up nearly to redline, spinning the aircraft around in a circle, so that its tail was pointed at the sheriff’s deputies. He then redlined both engines, causing the Lear to leap forward, headed the wrong way down the taxiway, the jet blast knocking the deputies over to a man.

“Everybody buckle up. This is going to get real interesting, real quick,” Casey shouted to the back of the plane.

“What the hell is going on, Casey?” Sarah shouted back.

“We’re taking off from a taxiway, with the wind,” Casey yelled back. “Either one of those is dangerous by itself. Together, they might be fatal!”

He laughed, almost maniacally. “Rock and roll!”

In the back, Devin had a white knuckle grip on his armrests. “Not… awesome.”

Casey somehow managed to get the plane off the ground with just inches to spare. He practically scraped the fence on the border of the airport, and screamed over Prairie Avenue low enough to terrify people on the street.

He pulled the nose of the Learjet up to just before the stall point, and pushed the engine throttles to their max stops. The business jet struggled to gain altitude, but it wasn’t climbing fast enough.

“Shit,” Casey muttered. “All right!” he yelled out. “Time to hold on again – we’re gonna be flying straight through LAX airspace!”

Sarah’s eyes went wide, as Ellie’s squeezed shut. “Oh my God,” they both whispered.

Casey brought the nose back down on the horizon, pulled his flaps all the way in, and let the airspeed build. He rocketed toward Los Angeles International Airport, trying to aim his path to go over the terminals, and not over the runways.

He was encountering more and more turbulence as he approached the airport. To his left, a United Airlines 747 took off, the jetwake buffeting his aircraft. Casey closed his eyes and said a small prayer as he crossed the airport boundary –

- and then they were through. Casey could hear the angry shouts of pilots and air traffic controllers behind him over the radio, but it didn’t matter. They were out over the ocean, and he finally had enough airspeed to climb.

He pulled the nose up, and set the auto-altimeter to 32,000 feet. When they reached cruising altitude, he entered the coordinates for Moab, set the autopilot, and walked out into the cabin.

Casey was greeted by three very pale looking individuals. Sarah and Ellie were holding on to their armrests for dear life, and Devin was clutching a barf bag. A smile broke out on Casey’s face.

“The captain has extinguished the seatbelt light,” he said. “At this time, please feel free to move about the cabin, and thank you for flying Air Casey!”

Sarah gave him a look, shook her head, and whispered, “I hate you so much sometimes.”

---

Chuck lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d been doing the same thing for most of the day.

He had gotten up to use the bathroom twice. He had tried to get up when the men in dark suits brought him his lunch, and had gotten Tase’d for his efforts. So, when they brought him his dinner, he just stayed laying in the bed until they left.

The food was boring, but at least they were still feeding him. He couldn’t believe his crappy luck – in seventy-two hours, he’d gone from slow-dancing with Sarah at the Viper Room, her body practically molded to his, to being a prisoner, to being even more of a prisoner. “This is bullshit,” he muttered.

And then – it seemed like he was hearing the end of the world approaching. There was a low rumble at first, and then his bed started vibrating, and then there was an impossibly loud roar of jet engines as an aircraft passed what couldn’t have been more than feet over the roof.

“What the hell is going on?!”

---

Casey’s approach to Grand County Airport had been impossibly low and slow. He had been counting on a short airstrip, so he was mighty annoyed when he discovered that the strip at the airport was 7,100 feet long.

Sarah had been grateful for the low approach, though. She’d been able to eyeball the CIA facility that General Beckman had said Chuck was being kept in. “It looks pretty well fortified,” she observed.

As Casey landed, he saw a Jeep driving down the runway to meet them. He slowed the Lear to a stop at the end of the runway, turning it around to position it for immediate takeoff.

The Jeep pulled up as he opened the door. “Airport’s closed!” the driver yelled, getting out. “You can’t park there, anyway!”

“NSA!” Casey shouted in reply, coming down the Lear’s airstair and flashing his ID. “This is a national security matter, and I need to commandeer your Jeep.”

Hearing “national security”, the airport manager’s whole demeanor changed. “Yes sir!” he replied, snapping to attention. “Gunnery Sergeant Mitch Tucker, US Marine Corps Reserve, at your service, sir!”

“Major John Casey, US Air Force,” was the reply. Gunny Tucker snapped a picture-perfect salute, which Casey returned with equal perfection.

“I need you to stay here and make damn sure nobody touches my plane, Gunny,” Casey said.

“Yes sir. Not a problem, sir!”

Gunny Tucker ran off to go retrieve his step-van and the accompanying KA-BAR knife, M-16, and Colt .45 that were kept inside. As he did so, Casey and Sarah quickly and methodically loaded their armament into his Jeep.

“I want you two to stay in the plane,” Sarah informed Ellie and Devin. “Do not, under any circumstances, leave the plane. If somebody comes along and asks, tell them that you were abducted. You are not here of your own free will, you don’t know what’s going on, you have nothing to do with it.”

Ellie nodded. “Understood,” Devin answered.

Casey was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Jeep when Gunny Tucker returned. “That’s a whole lot of hardware you’ve got there,” the Marine Corps reservist observed as Sarah came down the stairs. “Looks almost like you’re planning to go to war there.”

“Not at all, Marine,” Casey replied. “We’re going to rescue a United States citizen being held against his will by, uh…”

“Terrorists,” Sarah finished for him.

A glint appeared in Tucker’s eyes and his mouth took on a hard set. “You sure I can’t come with you folks, give you a little backup?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I need my aircraft kept safe,” Casey replied.

“Understood, sir.” Tucker snapped off another salute, which Casey returned as he put the Jeep in gear and roared away down the field.

As they exited the airport, Sarah turned to Casey. “Are you ready for this?” she asked, a worried tone in her voice.

“Hell no,” he replied. “But I’m sure as hell gonna give it my best shot!”