Chapter 62 - 63: Rescue
Chuck looked terrible when Simon arrived for his shift the next day.
"What happened?" Simon said.
Chuck sighed. "Nothing. Casey's situation created a complication. I have to keep doing this for a while longer."
Simon kept his expression neutral. Internally he exhaled. "Well. If you're staying, you should tell Big Mike you want the assistant manager position. He'd be glad."
"I'll pass," Chuck said.
Simon didn't push it.
He found Casey next. And stopped when he saw Casey's face.
A bruise along the left jaw. A cut near the cheekbone.
The Intersect fired.
Colt. Mercenary. Safe house at 17 East 103rd Street, downtown LA. Active.
"Someone hit you," Simon said.
Casey walked toward the break room. "Same as always. Pulled Bartowski out of something stupid."
Simon followed at a distance. "Chuck said your operation hit a problem. Was that intentional? Did you cause the problem to keep him in place?"
Casey snorted. "I don't sabotage missions for that idiot."
"Then someone got inside your operation. CIA or NSA?" Simon paused. "My guess is CIA."
Casey looked at him. "You're too smart for your own good. Stay out of it. Go to work. Go to school."
He pushed open the break room door.
Morgan was inside, helping Chuck prepare for an assistant manager interview with a whiteboard diagram. Casey grabbed Morgan and moved him to the wall without explanation. Morgan went quiet.
Chuck saw Casey's face. He cleared the room immediately, kept only Casey inside.
Simon waited in the hallway.
Whatever Chuck was telling Casey in there — it was about wanting his normal life back. Simon had no way to stop it without telling Chuck the truth, and telling Chuck the truth meant declaring war on a federal intelligence agency.
He went back to work.
A while later, Casey walked out fast with his phone to his ear and left the store.
Chuck came looking for Simon.
"Weren't you going somewhere?" Simon said.
"They didn't need me," Chuck said. He looked around the empty store. "Where is everyone?"
"Morgan took them somewhere."
Before Chuck could respond, Big Mike came out of his office. "Bartowski. Tech service call. Go."
"Can someone else—"
"No. Go."
Chuck took his kit and left.
Thirty minutes later, Sarah called Simon.
"Chuck's not answering. Do you know where he went on the service call?"
Simon checked the dispatch log at the Nerd Herd desk.
"Warehouse. About twenty minutes from here." He read her the address. "Is something wrong? Is Chuck in danger?"
"Unknown. Can you go check? We're on our way."
"Already moving," Simon said.
He left without clocking out. Big Mike was in his office with a donut. The store had no floor staff. Simon decided this was not his most urgent problem.
He made it to the address in under twenty minutes.
He stopped the car and looked at the building.
Isolated. No visible activity. No vehicles except one service van. The kind of location that showed up in police reports as body discovered at.
He called Sarah.
"Something's wrong here," he said. "Get here fast."
"Ten minutes," Sarah said.
"I'll hold it for ten minutes," Simon said.
He opened the glove compartment and took out the Beretta and two spare magazines. From the trunk he pulled a vest — ballistic panel, shoulder holster, the gear he'd started keeping in the car after the Buy More firefight.
He put it on, checked the weapon, and went into the warehouse.
Simon heard the crash and the shout before he reached the top floor.
He recognized Chuck's voice.
He moved faster.
On the rooftop he found a man — large, built like a defensive lineman, the specific physical presence of someone who handled problems professionally — dragging Chuck toward the edge by his ankles.
"Stop. Now," Simon said, gun up.
The man turned. Simon recognized him immediately from the Intersect flash earlier — Colt. Mercenary. Known for completing contracts.
"Let him go."
Colt released Chuck's legs.
"Simon." Chuck was already trying to get up. "Really glad to see you."
"Move toward me," Simon said. "Slowly."
Chuck started crawling. When he got close to Colt, Colt grabbed him and locked an arm around his throat.
"Drop the weapon," Colt said. "Or I break his neck."
"Go ahead," Simon said, still moving forward.
Chuck made a strangled noise of protest.
Simon watched Colt's grip — tight but not at the critical pressure point yet. He had a few seconds.
"What?" Chuck managed.
"Stop," Simon said. "You win."
He lowered the gun. As he moved his hand behind his back to set it down, he released the magazine and palmed it. Then he cycled the chamber round out quietly. Then he threw the gun to Colt.
Colt released Chuck and picked up the gun. Pointed it at Simon. "You should have fired when you had the chance."
"My team is on the way," Simon said. "Recommend you surrender now."
Colt laughed. "Twenty-three infantry, sixteen snipers—"
"What?" Simon said.
"Simon," Chuck said quietly from the floor. "I already tried that line."
Simon looked at him. Exhaled. "Then we do this the hard way. Chuck, run."
He charged Colt.
Colt pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The gun was empty.
Simon got his arms around Colt's waist and drove forward. Colt braced — both legs planted, and instead of going over he absorbed the tackle and they both went down together.
On the ground, Colt swung. Simon rolled. Colt's fist hit stone hard enough to crack it.
Simon got his legs around Colt's arm and locked his hands — attempting to apply leverage. Colt roared, got one arm free, and lifted Simon one-handed off the ground.
Simon released everything and rolled sideways before Colt could slam him down. He looked at the cracked stone where he'd been.
"Nobody move. Step away from the kid."
Casey and Sarah came through the stairwell door with weapons drawn.
Colt looked at them. Smiled. "You should put those down. I'm not alone up here."
A section of broken window framing fell away. Six mercenaries stepped through from concealed positions inside the upper floor structure.
Casey and Sarah looked at the numbers. Lowered their weapons.
"Excuse me. Hi. Excuse me."
Chuck reappeared on the rooftop.
Behind Chuck was a tactical unit — eight operators in black, weapons ready, fanning out across the space with the efficient calm of people who did this for a living.
Chuck walked to the center. "Whatever you had planned, Mr. Colt — let me introduce my team."
The mercenaries looked at each other.
"Weapons down," Chuck said. "Hands up. All of you."
They complied.
Casey walked forward and cuffed Colt.
"Your boss Carmichael is good," Colt said as the cuffs went on.
Casey said nothing.
Sarah turned to Chuck. "Tell me you have the chip."
Chuck produced a small component — specialized, clearly what the operation had been about. "I got it. As usual."
Casey walked past, took the chip from Chuck's hand without breaking stride, and kept moving.
Chuck looked at his empty hand. Made an awkward smile.
The mercenaries were processed. The rooftop cleared. The tactical team withdrew.
Simon put the pieces together from fragments of conversation he'd caught.
The chip was a component for the new Intersect system. If that system came online, Chuck became redundant. And when Chuck became redundant, the standing order kicked in.
Washington wasn't far from LA. The new system could be operational tonight.
Simon needed to do something before Casey received confirmation that the new Intersect was live.
He thought about what he had and what he could do with it.
The answer wasn't obvious yet. But he had a few hours.
He started thinking.
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