A/N Don't own nor make any $ from Chuck
Langston Graham never took an accounting class. Koslov's death was a bit of an impediment, but in truth, it barely slowed him down. He figured that they would target the funding source of his operation first, and therefore he had taken steps to set up an emergency fund. However his fund was not enough to cover his "bold maneuver" and he was forced to do some creative accounting. Graham was many things, but a banker he was not. Forced into using accounts that he had long since vanished from the government payrolls, he managed to scrape up enough to cover his operation, but the increased activity of the dormant accounts would not go unnoticed. Satisfied that his plan was at least in motion, he prepared to move to his secondary location. He was a rational man and knew sooner or later Beckman would be knocking on his door, but he had an ace up his sleeve, the assassin just needed to come through.
Howard Pressely stared at the clock and even though it was approaching 7pm, just couldn't bring himself to leave. It was late on a Friday afternoon, and the 47 year old account at the OPM was trying to finish the governmental financial reconciliations, before over 20 million pay checks went out to the government employees. He was the final reviewer before processing, and often times it required him to earn those credit hours by staying long after his colleagues had left for the evening.
Ordinarily he wouldn't mind staying that much, especially because his wife was having her book club meeting, and the thought of dealing with a flock of sauced up housewives was less than appealing, but tonight there was an anomaly with the available funds, and he couldn't figure out why. There were a multitude of transfers between different accounts with sums totaling 50 million dollars, and all of the money was then deposited into a private off shore account. The account was listed as a department of agriculture controlled account, which made absolutely no sense to him.
Why would AG need 50 million right away like that? Or better yet why would they have an offshore account at all….he thought.
Sensing that he might just have given himself a working weekend, he picked up his phone and dialed a number.
"Hi honey how is your party going," he said to the voice that answered.
From the sound of things, everything was going swimmingly at home, so he told his wife he would be home later, and signed off, just as the singing began.
"Ok. Let's see where this trail leads," Pressely said as he began to track the money.
"Mr. Faust? Mr. Faust," a young lady asked as she looked around the ornate lobby.
"Oh yes. Sorry I must have dozed off," a slightly grey haired man said as he got up from a very comfortable looking leather chair.
"Understandable sir," she smiled sweetly as she looks around the luxurious lobby of The Canterbury Investment Corporation. The interior of the building was in stark contrast to the rather pedestrian looking exterior.
Like many things at Canterbury, this was by design to avoid any unwanted attention. The exterior was simple a facade. A spartan design rising just 3 stories, camouflaged the 9 subterranean floors where the majority of the activity took place.
"Your vault is ready sir. Please follow me," she said.
"Certainly," he replied as he got up and followed her to the elevator, which would take him to the vault room.
"It's been a few years since you were here Mr. Faust. I trust you are finding the renovations satisfactory," she asked over her shoulder, knowing full well that his eyes had never left her behind.
"Very much so," he replied.
"Well if there are anything you desire please let me know. We want to ensure you are completely satisfied," she winked at him.
Canterbury Investment Corporation was officially listed as a nonprofit debt consolidation firm, with each client essentially being "bankrupt." It had offices in various low income areas throughout the country, offering free credit consolidation and debt relief.
In reality, it was essentially a large multinational bank that is legendary for desertion when it comes to their clients. The firm catered specifically to the ultra-elite, offering an advanced level of privacy and security that is unrivaled.
The few false fronts that were in place through the world were only for appearances, offering low income debt consolidation. Those little strip mall store fronts were literally a world away from the palatial palaces that their wealthy clientele would keep their finances, free of any governmental regulation or interference. Membership in such an exclusive bank came with its benefits, but it also came with great expense.
Clients were required to keep a minimum balance of 50 million dollars, and were charged a premium of 10% of the total account value. This was viewed as money well spent, as the bank enabled many less than reputable entities to house their money with no questions asked.
"Spend as much time as you need Mr. Faust," the pretty lady said as the elevator doors opened and Faust got on.
"Thank you very much," Faust said as the door closed.
"Are you ok?"
"I don't know. We met before? I mean.,"
"Chuck I swear I didn't remember meeting you until I just went into some kind of a...,"
"A flash? That was a flash?"
"Yes. How dos you feel," he asked.
"I'm a bit dizzy and my head hurts like hell," she said.
"Welcome to my world. Here is your mouth dry," he said as he handed her a bottle of water.
"Yes. Thank you," she said as she downed the water.
"Are you ok," he asked.
"Yeah I think so. Is that what you go through every time?"
"My god that must be terrible," she said as she looked at him with concern.
"You get used to it," he said.
"She won't have to. She doesn't have an intersect," Hartley interrupted.
He had returned to the room after giving them a few minutes to sort out some emotions, and found them still wrapped up in each other's arms. He admired their dedication to each other, and considering the information that Chuck had just received, he almost expected to see anger, tears, or feelings of betrayal surface, but all he saw was the true meaning of trust. Rather than fall into the selfish trap of feeling setup, or that the emotions they had for each other were somehow a product of external manipulation, both Chuck and Sarah understood that the source of their strength came from one another. Their feelings for each other were real, and they would need them to get through this.
"How are you doing," Hartley asked.
"We're doing fine," Sarah said resting her head on Chuck's chest.
"And you Charles?"
"I'm ok. I'm just having more than a little trouble trying to process all of this right now."
"It's understandable, but I'm afraid that we must get moving soon. Wouldn't you agree Sarah," Hartley asked.
"Yes. We need to keep a schedule. Chuck you need to get dressed," Sarah said as she reluctantly broke his embrace.
"Yes Chuck. Graham will soon figure out that his hit squad has been dispatched and will be coming for you again. Now I have transportation lined up for..,"
"If I may Sarah," Hartley interrupted.
"I took the liberty of procuring some new transportation. It's here now," Hartley said as there was a rumble outside.
"What the hell is that," Sarah asked as she looked out the window and saw a plane seeming to hover above the ground.
"That's our ride. Shall we," he said as he went outside and the levitating plane dropped softly 50 yards from the hanger.
"Sarah is that a VTOL (Vertical Takeoff and Landing) jet?"
"Yes I think it is."
Once the plane was down, a door popped open and a man in a dark suite came down and approached Hartley. The others had made their way out of the hanger by now and we're able to hear the tail end of their conversation.
"We are ready for you sir. All the required material is on board."
"Very good. Please help Charles aboard," Hartley said as he pointed at Chuck.
"Certainly sir," the man said and then ran up to Chuck.
"Mr. Bartowski, Agent Walker my name is Joseph Frye. I will be assisting you today. I have very much looked forward to meeting you both," the man said in a decidedly cockney accent.
"Thank you Mr. Frye. Our situation is..," Sarah began.
"Please call me Joseph. Your plane is ready Mr. Bartowski and I have been advised of your situation and have everything ready for you. Now if you will all follow me please, we must get moving," he said as he took Sarah and Chuck's bags and headed for the plane.
"Wait! What do you mean everything ready for us?"
"I have your father's message ready for you," he replied from over his shoulder.
"My father's message? I don't understand," Chuck replied as Frye continued toward the plane.
"I'm sorry sir but time is of the essence. Your plane is ready for takeoff."
"What do we do," Chuck asked Sarah with more than a bit of confusion on his face.
"I guess we get on the plane," Sarah replied.
The elevator descended swiftly and within 15 seconds the doors opened to a long white corridor which contained 4 garage sized doors, equally spaced down the length of the floor. Standing in the middle of the floor was a man dressed in a fine black suit.
"Hello Mr. Faust. I will escort you to your vault. Please spend as much time as you need," the man said.
"Thank you," Faust said as he followed.
They walked down the corridor to the last door on the left, and a terminal which held the security lock for the door. The guard waited for Faust to enter his code, and once the screen went green, turned and left him.
He entered a different 7 digit code and the door silently opened to a brightly lit interior, which looked more like an office, than a bank vault. The door silently closed behind him as Faust sat down on a plush leather chair, behind a large mahogany desk, which held a rather ancient looking terminal. Faust entered a few digits into the terminal and checked on his balances.
After ensuring that Grahams deposit was in his account, he went about formulating his plan for his kill. He was a veteran of over 30 years in a profession that does not allow mistakes, so to say he was a meticulous in his preparation, was an understatement. The walls of his vault were filled from floor to ceiling his trove of gear from different jobs, and stirred a sense of nostalgia. This would be the final job of his career, and the biggest mark he ever hunted. He was a man who loved his job, and though he had over 50 confirmed kills, no ghosts or demons haunted his dreams. He was devoid of any sense of humanity, and felt no emotion at all for his targets; he was a man who lived for the hunt, the kill was almost sad for him, because it meant the end of the hunt. He had used many names in the past, but he smiled as he thought of his current one.
Faust..as good a name as any he thought as he realized the irony, and began the arduous process of selecting the correct method for the assassination.
The security of the target would dictate the method, and in this case, a rifle was too conspicuous, and a bomb would most likely be detected. The target that he was going after would be the most heavily guarded in the world, so physical security would dictate that any long range attack would be impossible. He smiled as he thought of the ramifications; his final job would be his most challenging. His years of experience and training would be tested to the limit with this mission, but he loved it. He thought to himself, his final act would be his best.
The plane was luxurious, with open seating for about 20 people. Sarah and Chuck sat together with Alberto and Selma across from them. Hartley sat alone on the side, engrossed in his phone at the moment. Frye hurried everyone on board and, and 10 minutes later they were airborne.
"This is some setup. What kind of leather is this," Alberto said.
"Full grain I would imagine," Hartley said.
"Very nice. Is it Italian?"
Looking over to his wife he could feel her eyes flashing like lasers to tell him to shut up.
"I really don't know," Hartley replied.
A few minutes later, Joseph's voice came on over a monitor and told them that they had reached their cruising altitude.
"Now Charles and Sarah," Hartley said as he got out of his chair.
"I believe it's time for your father's message. If you both would follow me to the back of the plane," he motioned.
They followed him to a little room in the back of the plane which contained a bed and a flat screen monitor. After hitting a few buttons on a consul, a grainy image of Steven Bartowski appeared.
"Hello Charles. If you are watching this then it means that something happened that I was not able to protect you from, and you must be feeling very confused. I know that you have many questions right now, and I'm sorry that I am not there to answer them for you. I also assume that if you are watching this then Sarah is there with you and I feel good about that."
"There is much I need to tell the both of you, but unfortunately this tape will not be able to answer many of your questions. I can only tell you that we did this for your protection. Your mother, Hartley and I all knew that if Graham ever found out about you two then you would never be safe."
"I'm going to tell you both a story, and it's very important that you listen carefully. By know you know that you have met before, and you probably gathered that I suppressed your memories so that you both would forget. What you don't know is why I did it, but it is time that you both know the real story."
"I don't understand," Sarah said as she stopped the tape.
"What is he talking about," she said looking at Hartley.
"Just watch Sarah. You will find out."