9:30 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Friday, June 29th, 2012
SCCS Building, Studio City, California
After the incident in Norwalk, Chuck had told everybody to take a couple of days off. He wanted everybody to sort of cool down from confronting the Firestone Slayers on their own turf and getting away with it.
He also didn’t want anybody even REMOTELY connected with the Slayers to see a bunch of black vehicles together and be able to pinpoint where they were. He figured that after a few days, they’d move on to bigger and better things, but until then, he wanted SCCS to fly under the radar.
On Friday morning, though, he asked everybody to come in. He wanted to look at the mission, figure out a plan of attack, figure out what exactly they were going to do.
“Alright,” Chuck said, looking around the conference room. “So. Our objective is to neutralize the Firestone Boulevard Slayers as a criminal force in Los Angeles County, and if possible, apprehend Alberto Calijo. Ideas?”
Not surprisingly, John Casey opened his mouth and let loose with gusto: “Kill ‘em all!”
Chuck rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Not an option, Casey. Other ideas?”
“Deport ‘em all!”
“Casey, come on. Let’s be serious.”
Casey looked back at Chuck. “I AM serious,” he replied. “Round them up, and drop them on the other side of the border. We give a heads up to ICE, none of them will EVER get back in the country.”
Chuck shook his head. “We can’t do that, Casey. It’s against the law, and it’s unconstitutional.”
“I seem to recall you have a ‘We are the law’ warrant stashed somewhere, Bartowski.”
Now Chuck was getting mad. “We are not going to ABUSE the law, Casey. What makes you think that rounding them up and tossing them out of the country will solve the problem anyway?”
“Sure take care of a bunch of illegals,” Casey grumbled.
“What about the legal residents and the citizens?” Chuck protested. “And for that matter, what do you have against illegal immigrants? They leave, California falls apart.”
Casey gave him a sideways glare. “They leave, they stop being a drain on the system. They stop causing crime. They stop being a pain in my ass.”
Chuck’s blood was starting to boil. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.
Sarah saw that Chuck was getting angry, and moved to intervene. “Casey, I think that’s enough. We need to think –“
“No, Sarah,” Chuck grated. “If Casey wants to have his opinion, he can have it. But let me tell you a little something about illegal immigrants, bucko.”
He paused and breathed deeply, collecting his thoughts. “In 1943, a pair of twelve year old children were smuggled out of the Warsaw Ghetto, shortly before the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Their parents knew that the Uprising was coming, and knew that they had to get the children out of there so that they would be safe.
“Their names were Ladislaw Bzechewski, a boy from a Jewish Polish family, and Irina Kuznetsova, a girl from a Jewish Russian family that had settled in Warsaw after the pogroms that accompanied the 1917 revolution. They had been friends since they were toddlers, and their families were desperate to get them as far away from the Nazi empire as possible.
“A Catholic priest had contacts across Europe and in the United States, and was able to get them out of Warsaw to Gdańsk. There, they were placed onboard a container vessel which dropped them overboard in a rubber dinghy off the coast of Ireland.
“An Irish Catholic priest who was friends with his Polish counterpart arranged for Ladislaw and Irina to be placed onboard a ship that was going to the United States. It miraculously made it across the Atlantic unharmed, and they were smuggled ashore near Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
“Ladislaw and Irina were taken in by different families, but in those days, the process for getting legal status for a Jew – especially a Jewish child with absolutely no paperwork – was a nightmare. So, the Catholic Church provided them with false paperwork, because they believed that that was the Christian thing to do, and because it was easy to get away with in 1943.
“As they grew older, they became more Americanized, and adopted Americanized versions of their names. Ladislaw became Sid, Irina became Irene. Their friendship grew into something far greater, and in 1950, when they were both 19, they were married.
“Shortly thereafter, Sid, feeling a sense of duty to his adopted country, joined the United States Army. When he enlisted, his last name was also Americanized – he was told to make it easier for his comrades in arms to pronounce it.
“Sid served three years in Korea, and then returned home. He remained in the Army. He and Irene were shuffled all over the United States, and had their first child – a son – in 1957. They named him Irving – after, of all people, Irving Berlin.
“In 1963, they had a second child – a daughter. They named her Marilyn – yes, after Marilyn Monroe. Then, in 1967, Sid was sent to Vietnam.
“He was a Sergeant First Class when he was shipped out, and received a battlefield promotion to Master Sergeant in 1968. However, in 1969, he was shot and killed – at the age of 38. He didn’t live to see his own grandchildren.
“Irene, however, did. Irving had two children, but Marilyn didn’t have any. Irving’s first child – a girl, named Eleanor, was born in 1979. His second, a boy, named Charles, was born in 1981. So Irene lived to see two grandchildren, AND she lived to see a Polish man become Pope – a Polish man by the name of Karol Wojtyla, who years before had risked his life as a 23 year-old deacon to drive her and her future husband out of Warsaw.
“In 1987, she had a massive heart attack and died, at the age of 56. And so, both Sid and Irene Bartowski, both of who had been good, upstanding citizens, Sid giving his life for the United States – both of them died, still technically illegal immigrants.”
Chuck crossed his arms and stared long and hard at John Casey. “Do you kind of understand why I resent your comments about illegal immigrants, Casey?”
Casey shrugged weakly. “It was a different situation,” he offered.
“I don’t care,” Chuck replied. “If you’re going to work here, Casey – and this goes for all of you – you will remember that you are no better than any other human being. I figured this group of people would be able to handle that, but if that’s not the case, please leave now.”
The room was quiet. Everybody just stared at Chuck. Nobody – not even Ellie or Morgan, the people who had known him longest – could remember ever seeing him like this.
“Uh,” Sarah said softly, breaking the silence, “I think we should take a break. Resume back here in, say, fifteen minutes?”
A murmur of acquiescence rippled around the room, and everybody left the conference room except for Chuck and Sarah. She stood up, and crossed to Chuck, who was looking out the window, his back to her.
Placing her left hand on the back of his neck, she began to gently rub it. “Are you okay?” she asked, the note of concern in her voice fairly evident.
He blew out his breath in frustration. “Yeah, I guess so,” he sighed. “I just didn’t figure that this would be how things were going to go.”
“Chuck, you knew when Director Tyler and Senator Graham asked you to start this that we were going to be performing operations that the United States government couldn’t afford to be involved with. That’s why we started this.”
Chuck turned to face Sarah. “I didn’t expect to be going after a gang in Los Angeles, Sarah!” he exclaimed. “This is not what I thought I was signing up to do!”
“Chuck,” Sarah said soothingly, “we’re going after this gang because their leader has ties to Al Qaida and Fulcrum. I think that’s a pretty good reason, especially considering that one of those two groups has, on more than one occasion, tried to kidnap or kill you.”
Chuck shook his head. “Believe me, if I was going after him simply because of the Fulcrum connection, there would be nothing that could stop me. They deserve to pay after what General Beckman did to you. But we’re not. I assure you that the LAPD has asked us to take on this mission because they want the Slayers gone.”
“Is that such a bad thing, Chuck?” Sarah asked. “This is a gang that operates along the I-5 freeway, from Norwalk all the way up to Burbank. That’s just a few miles from our house. Wouldn’t you rather see John and Lisa grow up not having to ever worry about this gang coming into the neighborhood?”
Chuck huffed and ran his hands through his hair, but a hint of a smile began to form on his face. “That’s just dirty, using the kids to support your argument.”
“No,” Sarah replied, “that’s parenting. You want dirty…”
She stopped and smiled.
Chuck shrugged. “I could go for dirty.”
Without warning, he grabbed Sarah and pulled her close to him, kissing her hard, and managing to snake a hand up under the back of her blouse. Resisting the urge to give in to him, she instead pushed him away.
“Not NOW, you pervert!” she scolded him, the smile on her face nonetheless getting bigger. “Everybody will be back in a few minutes.”
“Aw, come on, Sarah, I’m a guy, I can make it quick…”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “LATER.”
A moment later, the door to the conference room swung open and John Casey stepped back in. He stopped short when he realized it was just Chuck and Sarah in the conference room.
Awkwardly looking down at the carpet, Casey made his way back to his chair and sat. He was quiet for a moment, but finally spoke up.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was an ass. It doesn’t change how I feel about illegal immigration, but I shouldn’t have been a dick about it.”
Chuck sighed. “Thank you, Casey. I probably could’ve afforded to be a little less heavy-handed.”
Casey nodded. “I think that you and I should perhaps never talk politics, Bartowski. We might end up going ten paces and draw.”
Chuck smiled. “I think I’d prefer to avoid that, because I think I’d lose.”
“Aw, give yourself some credit, Bartowski. After all, you did have a pretty good instructor.”
Chuck shook his head. “Yeah, an instructor who set up a cardboard target that managed to get us almost blown out of a field by the NSA.”
“But we’re VERY THANKFUL that you taught Chuck how to shoot, Casey,” Sarah interjected, “because if it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what General Beckman might have gotten away with.”
Chuck nodded somberly. “Okay, you’re right on that one… but this conversation is rapidly getting depressing. Can we talk about something else?”
Casey smiled. “We can talk about how the Red Sox have booted nine in a row and are sinking to the bottom of the AL East faster than a submarine with a screen door.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes at the disparaging mention of the Red Sox. “I will end you both.”
