8:00 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time
Sunday, August 26th, 2012
San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department
34282 Yucaipa Boulevard, Yucaipa, California
Fortunately, it was a big cell.
Fortunately, there was nobody in there but the group from Los Angeles.
Unfortunately, they were still in JAIL.
Chuck, Casey, Morgan, Bryce, Carina, Commander Harrison, Commander Pope, and all the surviving Los Angeles Police Department officers were sitting in the drunk tank at the sheriff’s office in Yucaipa. There had been San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Deputies in the area when the house on La Paloma Avenue did its exploding act, and they had showed up before anybody even realized what was going on.
They had all been hauled off to the sheriff’s office in Yucaipa, and thrown in the drunk tank. Their vehicles had been impounded. Their weapons had been taken, but they’d been allowed to keep their cell phones.
Chuck was not looking forward to the call he was about to make. It had to be done, though. He sighed and dialed.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. “Um, Tyler, yeah, secure?”
“Director Tyler, this is Chuck Bartowski. I am not on a secure line.”
“Bartowski… it’s 11:00 PM out here. What’s going on?”
Chuck looked up at the ceiling. “Uh, I’m in jail. In fact, we’re all in jail.”
There was silence for a moment. Chuck counted down in his head. Three, two, one…
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
There it was. “Yeah, um, we invaded a Firestone Slayers armory house in Redlands, California. It seems that one of their number was in the basement with a shitload of explosives, and he set it off. The house exploded, the houses on either side of it caught fire, and an entire SWAT team was lost in the explosion.”
Chuck could almost hear Tyler’s headache building. “So what the hell do you expect me to do about it?”
“Well, we need to get out, finish our operation,” Chuck replied.
“Bartowski… Agent Hansen has an NCA ID card. For God’s sake, just have her use it and get the hell out of there.”
Chuck’s brow furrowed. “She does?”
“Yes, Bartowski. Now get out of the jail. I’m going back to bed.”
Chuck hung up the phone. “Carina!”
Her head turned. She stood and walked over toward him. “Yes, Chuck?”
“You have a national command authority ID card?”
A mischievous look crossed her face, and she reached into her pocket, coming back out with a gray and red card. “Oh, did I forget to mention that?”
Casey looked at Chuck, and then at Carina. “What the hell?” he objected. “Walker has one, she has one? That’s bullshit!”
“I don’t have one either,” Bryce added. “They were both deep cover, though. We’re not.”
“And none of that matters right now,” Chuck interjected. “Carina, I need you to use that and get us out of here, right now.”
She held the card up, looked at it, then at Chuck, and then tucked the card into her bra. “It’s gonna cost you.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Chuck growled. “We are NOT going through that again. I’ll call Sarah and have her drive up here with hers if that’s how it’s gonna be.”
“You’re not gonna do that, though,” Carina replied. “You wouldn’t have her leave the safety of Ensenada. I have something you want, and if you’re gonna get it, you’re gonna have to give me something I want.”
Chuck growled unintelligibly. He slammed his hands down on the bench he was sitting on and shot to his feet. Before anybody could react, he had crossed the room to where Carina was, grabbed her by the neck, and slammed her against the wall. Sticking his hand down her shirt, he retrieved the NCA card.
Backing away from her, he removed his hand from her neck. Her eyes had gone wide, and she was breathing heavily – but then, a trace of a smile crossed her lips.
“Oh, now I want more,” she whispered.
Chuck rolled his eyes. “YO!” he shouted, trying to get the attention of the jailer.
“Fuck off,” the jailer replied.
“YO!” Chuck shouted again, angrily this time. “NATIONAL COMMAND AUTHORITY ID NUMBER SIX FOUR ONE SIX NINE SIX ONE!”
That got the jailer’s attention. “I beg your pardon?”
“Go say that same thing to your boss, jackass!” Chuck shot back.
The jailer disappeared. A moment later, he appeared with the sheriff. He didn’t look like much of a cop – he was about Morgan’s height, but about Casey’s weight. He was balding, and looked almost like the Pillsbury Doughboy. His nametag said “Mars”.
“It appears you’re here on a higher authority than I am,” he grumbled. “But I am still the law in San Bernardino County. Get your shit, and get the hell out of my jurisdiction. Don’t come back. Capisce?”
“Gotcha,” Chuck replied. He tossed the NCA ID card back to Carina. That’s when his phone rang.
He pulled the iPhone from its holster. It showed a 310 number that he didn’t recognize. “Hello?” he answered.
“Chuck, George Clooney.”
Chuck sighed. “This isn’t the best time, George.”
“We need to talk, though. We’ve got a problem with the pilot.”
“Crap,” Chuck grumbled as he strode out of the sheriff’s station, Casey and all the others right behind him. “What’s up?”
“Miley Cyrus has backed out. We’ve got nobody for the Tara Pierce character.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Chuck spat. “Not enough money for her?”
“Pretty much,” Clooney replied.
“Can we get Kristen Bell?” Chuck asked. “She did the game, she did the movie… maybe she’ll do the TV show?”
“Sorry, Chuck, she’s not available. We’ve got Katharine McPhee lined up for it.”
That stopped Chuck dead. “Really? Katharine McPhee?”
“Yeah, and she wants to meet you.”
“Uh… yeah, that might be a little difficult. I’m out of town right now. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
Chuck could hear Clooney sigh. “Can you be back by Wednesday morning?”
“I can try…”
“Alright,” Clooney replied. “I’ll tell her Wednesday, 10:00 AM. Grand Lux at the Beverly Center work?”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Chuck sighed. “Katharine McPhee, Grand Lux at Beverly, 10:00 AM, Wednesday. I’ll be there.”
“See you then.” And Clooney disconnected.
Chuck was about to get into the Hummer when he realized that there was nobody behind him. He turned around – and every man in the group had stopped about ten feet behind him. Carina and Rachel were mounting their vehicles, and looked back at the group curiously.
“You get to have a face-to-face with Katharine McPhee?” Casey finally asked.
Chuck shrugged. “Yeah…”
“You lucky bastard.”
8:30 P.M.
Agua Caliente
Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico
Sarah had never been to Casey’s house in Ensenada before, but Devin and Ellie both had. Ellie had actually guided Sarah into the Agua Caliente neighborhood off of the road out to La Bufadora.
As Sarah pulled up to the house, her jaw dropped. It was damned incredible. A two story house, built with faux-Colonial architecture, the back of the house literally opened out onto the beach. This kind of house would’ve pulled in millions in southern California, and Sarah wondered exactly how the hell Casey had pulled together the money for it.
The four LAPD cruisers all parked outside the house as Sarah pulled into the driveway. The two Polícia Federal cruisers that had followed them from the border had stationed themselves at the guard shack into the gated community. From what Sarah could see, there would be more than enough room for the LAPD officers to crash as well.
As Ellie and Devin guided the sleepy toddlers into the house, Sarah pulled out her phone. It registered a company called Telcel GSM, but she was getting five bars, so she could’ve cared less if it was the Al Qaeda Cell network. She dialed Chuck’s phone.
After two rings, it was answered. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” she replied. “Where are you guys?”
“We’re just now headed out of San Bernardino County,” Chuck said.
Sarah frowned. “What took so long?”
“Well, uh, we sort of blew up a house in Redlands,” Chuck replied. “The entire SWAT team was lost. Then four LAPD officers stayed behind to do reports on that.”
“Oh my God,” Sarah said. “What happened?”
“San Bernardino County Sheriff thinks that there was a gang member in the basement with a bunch of explosives,” Chuck replied. “He, well, went out in a blaze of glory. They found pieces of hard drives down there, so they’re guessing he was trying to protect any information on the gang.
“Then, the Sheriff’s department showed up and detained us all. I called Sam Tyler, and he told us to use Carina’s NCA ID to get out. By the way, Casey and Bryce are both rather jealous that you and Carina have those and they don’t.”
“Perks of the job,” Sarah said. “So that worked, I take it?”
Chuck hesitated. “Well, there were, uh… complications.”
Sarah sighed. She just bet there were complications. “Let me guess. Carina complications.”
“Yeah,” Chuck replied wryly. “Let’s just say she stuck the card in her bra and dared me to go after it.”
Sarah rolled her eyes skyward. “Well?”
“I decided to go for the intimidation and the quick extraction,” Chuck said. “I slammed her against the wall. My hand was in and out with the card inside of a second.”
“So there was no extracurricular activity?” Sarah asked.
“None,” Chuck confirmed. “However… it seems that my aggressive actions just turned her on that much more. She is getting to be a real problem.”
Sarah sighed. “Maybe you should just fuck her and get her off your back,” she mumbled.
“WHAT?!”
“Nothing,” Sarah replied.
“That would not solve ANYTHING,” Chuck insisted. “I’m pretty sure it would just make her worse. Besides which… I’m pretty sure I’d be disappointed.”
“Oh?”
Chuck laughed. “No POSSIBLE way she’d measure up to you.”
“Okay, buster,” Sarah shot back, “you aren’t allowed to talk to me that way when I’m a couple hundred miles away and the only male adult around here is Captain Awesome.”
“Like you can’t take care of it yourself,” Chuck said dryly.
She laughed. “Oh, you are in so much trouble when we’re back in Los Angeles.”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
Sarah smiled and shook her head. “Okay, I need to go take care of the twins.”
“I love you…”
“I love you too.”
10:15 P.M.
The Pioneer Room
Norwalk, California
On any given night, the Pioneer Room was packed. Usually, it was packed with a pretty large and diverse crowd. People from all over Los Angeles would come to the bar. Even though it was strictly defined Slayers’ territory, Alberto Calijo had decreed that all were welcome, and on any given night, you could usually find people from almost every gang in Los Angeles there, along with individuals from as far away as Malibu and Ventura.
However, on this particular evening, the only people in the Pioneer Room were Firestone Boulevard Slayers. They were running scared. Word had gotten out about the ambush on Hermosa Audio in Burbank and the destruction of the armory house in Redlands. Alberto Calijo was cursing himself for threatening Charles Bartowski – he should’ve known better than to threaten the man’s children.
And when the door was blown off its hinges, despite the shock, Calijo was not really surprised to see Bartowski himself stride through the door of the bar. Bartowski was followed by a large group of men and women, all dressed in black, all carrying rather formidable looking weapons.
“The Ring of Fire,” Chuck said, seeing Calijo.
“The pain in my ass,” Calijo shot back. “What do you want?”
“Disarm, now,” Chuck replied. “Be out of California by the time the sun comes up tomorrow morning, or you will all be hunted down.”
Calijo snorted. “Pinche gringo, how stupid can you get?” he asked Chuck. “This is my turf, not yours!”
“And when you associated yourself with Fulcrum, you lost the right to have anything,” Chuck said, softly but dangerously.
Calijo’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck could you possibly know about that?”
“I know many things that would surprise you,” Chuck growled. “Now, last chance. Disarm and get out of California, or die.”
“Hey, fuck you, man!” one of Calijo’s lieutenants called from behind him. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere, bitch!”
Calijo shook his head, and was about to speak, but Chuck beat him to it. “Fine,” he replied. “I wash my hands of your demolition.”
He turned and walked back out of the bar, the other men and women following him. Calijo whirled on his lieutenant. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he hissed at him, then brushed past him, headed for the back.
Calijo burst into his office and pulled out a duffel bag. Spinning open the safe, he began to shovel cash into it. When the safe was empty, he reached to the cabinet above him, grabbed several guns, and swept them into the bag.
That’s when he heard the helicopter.
“Madre de Dios,” he whispered. Picking up the bag, he dashed out of his office, turned, and ran through the kitchen. He burst through the emergency exit and out into the alley behind the bar.
Looking up, he could see the silhouette of a Black Hawk helicopter against the moon. “Oh my God,” he said in horror. He turned and ran away from the bar as fast as he could.
A moment later, he heard the distinctive sound of a fifty-caliber machine gun, followed by six explosions in rapid succession. He turned around and watched in horrified amazement as the Pioneer Room – and with it, the Firestone Slayers – utterly ceased to be.
Chuck stood across Norwalk Boulevard from where the Pioneer Room burned and watched, his eyes devoid of emotion. It was finished.
He crossed to where Morgan stood. “Switch vehicles with me,” he ordered. Morgan nodded and handed Chuck the keys to the Land Cruiser in exchange for the keys to the Hummer Chuck had been driving.
Casey jogged over. “Where to next?”
Chuck turned to look at Casey, and Casey watched as exhaustion suddenly swept itself across the younger man’s face. “I’m going to Ensenada, to see my family,” he replied tiredly. “I want everybody else to take the vehicles back to Studio City. Take the next couple days off. Help the LAPD out with whatever they need to clean up. Casey, file a full report with Director Tyler and Senator Graham.”
Casey nodded. “Are you gonna be okay?”
Chuck shook his head. “I don’t know, Casey. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
“I understand,” Casey said. “You do what you need to do. We’ll take care of stuff here.”
Chuck nodded tiredly. “Thank you, John.” He got into the Land Cruiser, started it up, and pulled away.
Casey stood watching as the taillights of the Land Cruiser disappeared down the street. Bryce and Carina walked up behind him. “Is he gonna be okay?” Bryce asked worriedly.
“It’s going to be rough,” Casey said, “but I think he’ll be fine once he’s back with Sarah and his kids.”
2:30 A.M.
Monday, August 27th
Ensenada
Chuck followed the GPS directions right into the driveway, parking behind the Suburban. It had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to convince the Polícia Federal guarding the front gate that, yes, he was supposed to be there, and yes, he was in fact the husband of the woman who they were there to protect.
He stumbled tiredly up to the front door. An LAPD officer sat outside, on guard. “Evening, Mr. Bartowski,” he said upon seeing Chuck, standing to his feet.
Chuck just nodded. The officer opened the door and let him in.
The house was huge. Chuck had no idea where he was going, so he headed to the kitchen to get something to drink and clear his head.
As luck would have it, Devin was in the kitchen. “Chuckster!” he said quietly. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
Chuck nodded. “It’s done,” he replied. “I wanted to come down here, be with Sarah and the kids.”
“Sure,” Devin said. “Here, let me show you up to where Sarah’s at.”
Chuck followed Devin upstairs and down a hall. A state of near-sleep hazed Chuck’s consciousness as he opened the door and entered the bedroom.
When the door opened, the dim light from the hallway played across Sarah’s face, stirring her. She sat up, holding a hand in front of her face to block the light. “Chuck?” she asked, confusion and sleep tinging her voice. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” he replied.
She smiled sleepily. “Good. I hate sleeping alone.”
Chuck smiled in spite of himself. “So do I.”
7:30 A.M.
Sacramento, California
Maximillian Calijo exited his opulent apartment and headed downstairs to where the Towncar would be waiting for him. As a citizen of the great state of California, he served in the state Assembly as the representative from District 56. As a highly corrupt gang member, his ties to Al Qaeda and Fulcrum had made his life very, very comfortable.
However, the last person he was expecting to see when he got in the back of his Towncar was his brother, Alberto. And Alberto looked like crap. He looked exhausted. He was dirty, and it looked like he had soot on his forehead.
“Berto?” Calijo asked in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“It was that Bartowski, Max!” Alberto said. “He took down the Burbank store, and he blew up the house in Redlands, and then he had a helicopter that utterly destroyed the bar in Norwalk!”
Calijo’s jaw dropped. Bartowski? Charles Bartowski? The Human Intersect? The lameass nerd from Studio City had single-handedly taken down the Firestone Boulevard Slayers?
“¿Cualquier cosa sobrevivió?”
“Nada,” Alberto replied. “Todo fue destruido. Todos estan muertos.”
“Shit,” Max Calijo breathed. He sighed.
“Berto, you have failed me,” he said quietly. Reaching under the seat in front of him, his hand came out with a silenced Walther P9 handgun.
Alberto Calijo’s eyes went wide. “Max, what the hell is this?”
“I’m sorry, Berto,” Calijo replied. “This is the end.”
He leveled the P9 at his brother’s chest, and pulled the trigger once, twice, three times.
Alberto Calijo’s eyes registered shock as the bullets impacted his chest, and then they clouded. He slumped over in his seat.
“Lo siento, mi hermano,” Calijo said. He placed the gun back under the seat as the Towncar pulled up in front of the state Capitol building.
Barely opening the door, he slid out. Closing the door again behind him, he was confronted by several journalists with cameras and microphones.
“Mr. Calijo! Mr. Calijo! Did you hear about the fire at the bar in your district?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied. “It’s a great tragedy. My condolences go to the families of the people who were at the bar.”
Another reporter tried to ask him a question, but one of his aides appeared from nowhere. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Calijo is very busy this morning. He’ll be able to answer more questions later.”
As Calijo climbed the steps into the Capitol building, his mouth took on a grim set.
“This isn’t over yet, Bartowski,” he muttered to himself. “Not by a long shot.”
Author's Note: Yes, the San Bernardino County Sheriff is modeled on Keith Mars from the TV series Veronica Mars, for those of you who may have been wondering.
