Summary: In which, Roan Montgomery saves the day, because he's Roan Montgomery, and he's still got it. Chuck vs The Seduction, as seen by our favorite spy legend.
I don't own Chuck et al.
A.N. This is not a direct sequel to the previous chapter, but since it is closely related, I've added it to the first. I'm sure you'll figure out why. And for those of you who remember him, see if you can spot the Kenny Everett joke.
When I was first granted the opportunity to observe the Burbank based team, I was curious as to why such an obviously blatant civilian like Bar-what's-his-face had been involved. He certainly didn't seem to have an obvious skill or position of power that was useful to The Cause. So why on earth was he being involved?
Especially when you take into consideration the handlers he had. Yes, handlers, plural. And not just plural handlers, but plural handlers from very different services. Something I was not aware had ever happened previously. And using John Casey? As a handler? That was like using a loaded gun as a nanny. Stranger still, Agent Walker? Using her to babysit an asset was like using a ball-peen hammer to crack a watermelon. It'll definitely work and it might be fun to watch, but it's going to be messy for all concerned, and the watermelon isn't good for much afterwards.
Curiosity for spies is a two edged sword. In the field, curiosity can keep you alive. Investigating why it's so quiet all of a sudden can be beneficial to your health. Second guessing the decision making processes of The Powers That Be can make for an interesting career decision. I can remember, there was an example of this in East Germany, I think…..nineteen eighty…. Never mind
Spying is a somewhat Darwinian life style. Quite possibly the main reason why spies aren't supposed to fall in love. I used to tell my students that, and they never listened.
So, assuming that Charles was an asset, then his protection was paramount. Why on earth take him on missions? If you must take him along, at least leave him in the car. Crack a window, and leave him some water, he should be fine.
And yet, Walker and Casey, who were each the best I'd seen in their respective fields, were babysitting some computer repairman. A computer repairman from a Buy More of all places.
What on earth had this poor fool stumbled onto?
And he was obviously smitten with Walker. That just means he was roughly the same species, and has a pulse. But he'd also had an effect on both of his handlers. Practically every decision Walker made was made with 'what effect this would have on Chuck' in mind. Fine, so the head of the C.A.T. squad that I'd set up, was now a heartbeat away from picking out the color of her bridesmaid dresses. Blue, by the way, would be my suggestion, matches her eyes. Interesting, because she'd been involved with Larkin previously. The pair had made a formidable team. The rumor was, Larkin had been killed by her current partner, Casey.
The effect on Casey was more pronounced. When he was under my tutelage, the man had the empathy of….. well, there's this one sociopathic vigilante killer, that I know of in…. Miami, I think, that shows more emotion.
Casey's best methodology would involve either the use of 'big game warden' grade tranquilizers and a supply of C-4 explosive, or shoot first, shoot some more, possibly ask a question and then keep shooting until it was time to change magazines for the second time.
But the Casey I saw in Burbank was different. He might make the same sounds, but he would defend his civilian asset beyond the call of duty.
And slightly more telling, Diane even tried to warn me to keep quiet about Bartowski.
So, these three stooges held an important secret.
The first time I met Bartowski…..
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me begin with Casey. His fellow students called him agent Frankenstein. For he was, and is, about the right size. He certainly has the right emotional state. Now, being an NSA hitman, an assassin if you will, seduction is not exactly a prerequisite. The vast majority of spies are simply pumped through Inducement as a means of identifying when they are in the process of being honey trapped, and how to lie back and endure it. The ones that show talent, well, I have a more detailed itinerary for them. Casey was just one of those former Boy Scouts who wanted to pass every possible damned test in their path. He didn't need to apply for the more detailed seduction class.
Let's be honest, I can't see seduction being a useful tool for a sniper, can you?
But when he was able to talk agent Taylor into being his practice partner, I suspected he had a certain natural skill. Jenny Taylor, I should explain was, and remains, an attractive young lady. Her fellow students called her…. Let me see if I can… Seven! That was it. Seven Of Something. They apparently named her after some character on a television show.
So, if Casey was able to talk a pretty girl like Taylor into being his partner for seduction, well, he had some potential.
Sadly though, she didn't. I failed her. Twice. Pretty girl, but she had the empathy of a robot. Or a cyborg.
Walker, I should say in all honesty, was not completely one of my successes. My star pupil, a gorgeous, sophisticated young lady, well, she was once she had her glamour make over. But she already had the skills before she came to The Farm. Most women have some degree of manipulation skills, have you noticed? But Walker had almost a sixth sense about it. She would have made an astonishing con-woman had she have chosen that path. Or politician, if she'd had less scruples.
And then she met and she fell for Bartowski.
So, I met Bartowski when the Black Widow, Banacheck re-surfaced. Diane decided, in her infinite wisdom, to drag me out of my comfortable retirement, where no one knew where I was, and try and get a civilian to seduce information out of Sasha. I'm still having difficulty figuring out how they found me.
Sorry, Sasha, yes. They'd have better odds using thumb-screws. It wouldn't have worked, but they'd have had better odds.
At least someone had left me the makings of a healthy breakfast. Six olives died to make that breakfast, but they died happy. Proper Beefeater gin too, I was impressed. So I drank breakfast while I showered – a handy and time saving skill I'd acquired over the years.
When I needed to see what I was working with, I asked him to kiss Walker. Let's ignore their first attempt. If that was all he could produce, he was dead.
But the second time…. After the thirty second mark, I began to wonder if I needed to go and find a bucket of water. Or a hose. Forbidden fruit, thy name is Bartowski.
The mission itself went as well as can be expected, if you insist on using an untrained civilian to honey trap a professional. And then, bugger me with a fish fork if he didn't actually succeed! The equipment shorted out sometime about then.
Not sure why.
And Walker was grumpy. Probably because she wasn't getting enough. And I'm not certain, but the word 'cavorting' springs to mind.
Well, Bartowski got invited up to Sasha's room, anyways. It was probably highly cringe worthy after that. It would be a miracle if he survived the night.
Walker, in the mean time, took off like a scalded cat to save him, at the mere thought of Bartowski alone with Banacheck.
Anyways, things turned south, what a surprise. I decided it was time to escape Dodge when Sasha said my name into the hidden microphone.
Things are a little hazy after that. I do remember Dianne having a little snit about something. Most likely something to do with Bartowski trying to contact her using his real name. Amateur. I'm reasonably certain there was definitely a mission in a bar, because I distinctly remember looking at a bar stool. From the underside.
I was probably planting a bug. I think. Bennigan's, that was the place. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. I needed to be cautious, there was a large oaf, and a dusky lesbian who'd seemed to have 'made' me.
Naturally, I've still got it. Bartowski, when I found him, didn't have a clue how to save his handlers. He's lucky he had me. When we planned how to get a burner cell phone to Sasha, he wanted to do something called a matrix. I could swear that that was some type of Japanese car, one of the smaller ones.
I will say this, the matrix thing, deliver the cell by courier? Nice trick. He had to do some computer thing with the cell phone to know where it was, and when it got there, but it worked.
At least Sasha remembered me, but she should….. I digress. She even went to so far as to say she wanted to kill me. Ah, yes, well it was two nights. I think. Possibly three. Two for sure….
So, Charles was cowering up on the roof, where he was supposed to be. Along with the computer thingy that was the root of all this fuss. As expected, Casey and Walker fought off their captors at my little distraction.
And then Sasha went and buggered up the plan, by holding Walker as a hostage. Again. At least Charles got the message about tie land. Thailand? Get it? Rather clever, I thought. So Charles swung down from the roof, saving the day and keeping the thumb drive thingy, or what ever it was, out of the clutches of the bad guys.
Hooray for us, good guys win again. Doesn't happen as often as the TV makes you think, you know. Anyway, she rushes to him as soon as she's safe from Sasha's clutches, and he's come to a complete, if sudden, stop. And I told him I'd teach him how to get her….. Ha! All he has to do is be standing still somewhere in her vicinity for about three hours. It'll happen. Trust me.
I sent him up to Walker's chambers in her hotel. A slammed field goal, to use a sports vernacular. He was in love with her, he'd as good as told me when he said she was worth dying for. And she wanted him so badly, it was a wonder it hadn't affected operations.
So, all he had to do was turn up pretty much just vertical and breathing. Because once he turned up, he'd receive the classic hero's reward. I dressed him up with the rose, the jacket and the Margaux. More for my own amusement than anything else. I had considered sending him to her, naked on a bed of watercress, but that would necessitate six oiled up firemen… let's not go there, shall we?
Where were we? Oh yes…..Wine, jacket, rose, her door…..There is absolutely no possible way for this to get buggered up.
So, all things considered, I'd say this calls for a little drink to celebrate.
Now, was that Dallas, or Dulles that Diane wanted me to ….. Why hello my dear. Call me Roan. Would you happen to have a light, by any chance?