So random fact: I don't know if it was the script writer or the editor (I don't think it was the editor) or the props department, but somebody on Chuck can't spell "Seville." And now that that little note is out of the way, how about a preview of What Fates Impose, Chapter 45? Yeah, yeah, I know All the Roads That Lead to You Are Winding did it first, but damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead anyway!
Man, I'm so excited for the rest of Fates 45. I may post another snippet later on because I get to do something absolutely new with Chuck. I've done it to Casey (not in Fates), and now it's Chuck's turn. I can't wait until Sarah has her go at it.
Also, quick note: new ebook on the page. Chuck vs. Fulcrum! ne71 was awesome and emailed me the original file, which meant a really fast conversion. Boo-yah! After the break, a nice preview of What Fates Impose, Chapter 45: Red Day Dawning.
31 JANUARY 2008
GRAND SAVILLE HOTEL PARKING LOT
Chuck fussed with the cuffs of the tuxedo jacket for the fifteenth time. “You know, there are times when the government astounds me.”
“Yeah?” Sarah checked her makeup and set the compact in her kit.
“I mean, look at this.” Chuck spread his arms to encompass the whole suit.
“What? It looks nice.”
“I mean, the government can get me a fitted tuxedo at any time of the day, with almost no notice. Two hours ago, that would never have occurred to me.”
“Connections,” Casey said, slamming open the back door of the van and climbing inside with them. Unlike Chuck and Sarah, he wore nondescript clothing, as he would be hanging around the lobby while the others crashed the private party at the bar. Chuck had spent the entire car ride over from Dr. Anton’s trying to discern if Casey’s anger had anything to do with the fact that somebody was in the country illegally with his dead lover’s credentials, or if it was the normal brand of Casey anger. He couldn’t tell, though Casey certainly seemed grumpier than usual. Indeed, the NSA agent frowned now. “Are you girls ready? The party started half an hour ago.”
“Relax, Casey. One of the principles of crashing is you never show up on time.” Sarah folded up her makeup kit and stowed it on the shelf in the back of the van.
“Yeah, Case, haven’t you ever crashed before?” Chuck asked as he squeezed by the other man. He told himself that the subsonic growl he received in reply didn’t make him move any faster.
The late afternoon sunlight made him blink as he climbed from the van. The other two followed him, but before Chuck could head for the front doors of the hotel, Casey stopped him. “You remember what we talked about?”
“Go in, don’t attract attention, gather as much intel as we can about why this group is on American soil, and get out. Don’t start any international incidents. Don’t overeat on the canapés. Do let you know if there’s any trouble.”
“You know, Sarah’s going to be right there with me, and she’s done this before,” Chuck felt the need to point out.
“Oh yeah, because there’s no chance the two of you will get separated,” Casey said, and rolled his eyes. “And what was the most important thing?”
“Casey, don’t worry, I’m not going to attract attention to myself.”
31 JANUARY 2008
GRAND SAVILLE BAR (SURROUNDED BY RUSSIANS)
The portly Russian dancing in the middle of the group took one look at Chuck. “Sascha!”
Chuck didn’t even have time to blink before the man latched onto both of his arms. Some part of his mind registered that Sarah swiftly stole the tray of drinks from his arm—they had been forced to pose as waiters, as the dress code was most definitely not black tie—but most of him was frozen in shock, staring in terror at the man who had grabbed his arms. “Is that you, my sweet Sascha?”