Dirty Little Secrets
By: The Dark Loremaster

Rating: T [PG-13]

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Spoilers:
This story may contain information from the television series.

Disclaimer:
I do not own any part of the NCIS: Los Angeles franchise. I am simply writing a story based on their characters and the settings provided through the series itself.. Any characters not part of the franchise are of my own creation and are present within the story to continue it along. Some may have bigger roles than others. I do ask that you do not use my original characters or my original storylines without my permission.

Summary:
Everyone has secrets, but when those secrets harbor deadly consequences that become more than what the members of the NCIS: LA team can handle, more than just their lives might be on the line.

Prologue-

"Mr. Fujimura, your car is waiting."

Deep brown eyes glanced up at the concierge as the young man gave a polite bow, a sign of reverence that had transcended the tests of time. It was a gesture he could respect, one that had been allotted to him much like he had given to so many others has a younger man and as a child. Even now, he still gave the greatest of respects to his elders in the form of a bow, and the return bow always made it clear that the sign of respect was accepted and deserved. It brought a small smile to his face as he gave the young man a slight nod of his head, his eyes watching as the man stepped away and left Fujimura alone with his thoughts and with his drink. It gave him some time to consider the mission he was currently on, the trip that he was about to take in order to reach Washington, D.C. with a package he was so careful to keep an eye on. He considered it to be a great honor from one of the top leaders of the Yakuza.

Wrapping his fingers around his glass, he nudged the briefcase with his foot to make sure that it was still resting there on the floor. This simple item was the reason for his trip, the reason he was waiting ever so patiently for his car to take him to the airport. He knew that he would not receive any difficulties going through inspections, especially since the briefcase consisted of nothing but papers. It was what the papers contained that made the contents of the briefcase so precious, so valuable that it had been entrusted upon him. It was an honor, truly. The top hierarchy of the Yakuza did not always leave the most precious of items in the care of ones they had barely met. It left him feeling indebted for the trust, making it more desirable to accomplish the task at hand with great precision.

Picking up his glass, he finished the last bit of his beverage before he slipped out of the booth, his fingers latching onto the briefcase's handle. There was only one leg of the journey left, and that required him to head to the airport and board a one-way flight to Washington, D.C. Once there, he would be given instructions on what to do next. Everything had to be handled properly if his business arrangement was to be a success. So far, everything had gone according to plan. The pesky FBI agent was dead. The two seamen were accounted for and long buried so that they would not cause any trouble. All the pieces were put into place, and he had been the one to conduct it all from the deepest of shadows. But he knew that he could not relax, not until he was on his flight and out of Los Angeles. Only then could he breathe.

Taking a deep breath, he left a few bills on the table for a tip and headed toward the exit of the hotel's bar. He needed to make it to the awaiting vehicle in order to make it to the airport on time. It would not behoove him to be late and miss his flight. After all, he had a very important meeting once he landed in the nation's capitol.

"Mr. Fujimura!"

The sound of his name brought him to a halt. He turned around, his eyes snapping in the direction his name had been called. He saw the young concierge heading toward him, a jacket draped over one arm. There was a gentle smile on the man's face as he stopped in front of him, holding the jacket out for him. Fujimura closed his eyes for a brief moment, chuckling softly. How foolish of him to have forgotten his jacket. He undoubtedly would have looked unusual in a suit without a matching jacket, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Reaching out for the garment, he gave the young man a nod of gratitude.

"I wouldn't want you to forget your jacket, Mr. Fujimura."

Wrapping the fingers of his free hand around the jacket, he pulled it from the young man's arm. For a moment, he could not deny the fact that he had been worried, figuring that his intentions had been discovered. But it was only his jacket, a starched fabric that came with his suit. He had to remind himself that he had taken care of all of the loose ends. Agent Monahan had been shot and killed; the news and his own insiders at the hospital had confirmed that. Jonathon Meyers, the seamen he had thought he could trust was gone, drowned in an underground tank. There was no one alive that could finger him. No one. He had to remember that.

"I thank you."

His voice was smooth, his English fluent as he spoke. Seeing the young man give another bow before excusing himself, he turned back to the exit of the hotel, his eyes spotting the black car that was waiting for him. Crossing the hotel's lobby, he gave a nod as the doorman opened the portal to the outside, allowing him to slip through without so much as a hitch. With his feet touching the concrete of the sidewalk, he felt that mild nervous energy course through him as he approached the car, the chauffer holding the door open for him. A ride to the airport, and he was ready to go. Within a few hours he would touch down in Washington, D.C., deliver the briefcase and accept his reward, and be on his way. A few more hours, that was all.

The door closed, and he watched as the driver got into the vehicle and started the engine. Fujimura grasped his cellular phone, quickly looking information up on the driver. The man was bald, his skin a medium tone of brown, and he was dressed sharply in a black and white suit. He had been professional, doing everything that was expected of him, and Fujimura found comfort in the notion that he was with the right person. The credentials matched up as the car started to move into traffic. He allowed himself a small breath. Everything seemed to be turning out all right, if he did say so himself.

"How are you doing this afternoon, Mr. Fujimura?"

Fujimura glanced up, spotting the driver's dark eyes glancing at him through the rearview mirror. He offered a slight smile as he settled in his seat, still holding the handle of the briefcase. He had not expected the chauffer to start up a conversation, and he thought it would only be polite if he continued it. That was the American custom after all, and it would make the drive seem even shorter.

"I am fine, thank you." He glanced out of the window, watching patiently as the cars moved past them in slight blur of motion. Soon enough they would hit the freeway and be on their way to LAX. He could already feel the nervous twinge sweep through him as he returned his gaze to the rearview mirror, watching the driver carefully. "My daughter's birthday is tomorrow. I am anxious to return home." He saw the driver give a smile.

"I can understand that. I have a daughter of my own." The driver was staring intently into the rearview mirror before Fujimura noticed that he signaled and shifted lanes. He pressed his lips together as the nervous twinge grew stronger. Something in the back of his mind told him that everything was not as it seemed.

"Is something the matter?" He forced himself to keep the words steady as he questioned the chauffer.

"Just seems we have someone going in the same direction. That's all. Nothing to worry about it."

Did he dare breathe? He could trust this driver, right? He had to trust this driver. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the black car that was in the lane behind his own vehicle. Something about the car seemed oddly familiar, but, then again, this was Los Angeles. Everything seemed familiar because there seemed to be duplicates of everything. He had noticed that on his first trip to the city years ago when he was a teenager.

"I'm going to take another route. I don't like how this guy keeps riding my tail."

Fujimura gave a nod of agreement, watching as the driver signaled again and took a turn down another street. He turned quickly in his seat in time to see the black car continue on along the other road. Letting out the breath he did not realize that he was holding, he returned to his seated position and rested his head back. It was just a coincidence. That was all. At least, that was what he continued to tell himself. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply in order to slow his heart rate as he tried to relax once again.

But his attempt at relaxation came to a grinding halt as the chauffer slammed on the breaks, bringing the car to a squealing stop. Fujimura quickly glanced in front of him, hearing the driver mutter a curse. He could see the black Dodge Charger in front of them, the driver already out with a gun aimed at the window. Another set of tires hitting the pavement told him that another car was behind his, effectively blocking the vehicle from any exit. Both of his hands gripped the briefcase tightly as he struggled to think of what to do, where to go. A simple car trip to the airport had turned into an ambush, and that was something he found terribly uncomfortable.

"Seems these people are insistent. I think it's best to just do what they want." Fujimura's eyes were wide as he realized the driver was watching him.

"Yes, yes of course."

The man in front of the car was motioning for them to get out of the vehicle, and slowly, he managed to unbuckle his seat belt and ease the door open. He had to make a decision, any kind of decision. Stay and get caught by these people, or run as fast as he could so that he could dial someone, anyone, on the phone to be backup. He could telephone the police, anybody. Setting one foot and then the other outside of the door, he slipped out of the seat and into the sunlight of the hot summer day.

"Put the briefcase down, Fujimura!" The man that had been in front of the car was talking to him, raising his voice to ensure that he was being heard. The man's blond hair was tousled and unkempt, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. Chancing a glance behind him, he spotted a woman with dark hair and dark eyes aiming a second gun at him. He had never seen these people before, never. What in the world did they want with his briefcase?

He did not wait for an answer as he took off in a run, ducking down another alley with his briefcase clutched to his chest. He needed to put as much distance between himself and those with the guns. He just had to.

"Going somewhere, Fujimura?" He skidded to a stop as he realized that another person was at the end of the alleyway, her blonde hair pulled back behind her shoulders. He felt the surprise creep upon his face as he recognized her. How…how was she still alive? Kudoh had sworn to him that she had been died in the hospital.

"How…why are you still alive?" A smile crossed her lips as she stepped forward, preventing his exit. Her left arm was in a sling, and he could see the whiteness of the cast behind the fabric. There were a few bruises that covered her face, indicating the beating that she had received at the hands of Kudoh. Her body language was stiff, and he quickly attributed that to the bullet wound in her back.

"I found that I couldn't rest quietly in my grave, not when you're running around preparing to cause more trouble."

There was a click of a gun behind him, and he swallowed the lump that was developing in his throat. The FBI agent he had been told was dead was standing in front of him. A glance behind him confirmed his suspicion that the NCIS agent, the one who had pretended to be the seamen, was also still alive, the man's blue eyes sharp and directed to him.

"I would suggest putting the briefcase down and coming along quietly. I think you'll find that I have a much better offer for you than the Yakuza when they find out you betrayed them." He pressed his lips into a frown as he returned his attention to the FBI agent, her own blue eyes staring hard at him. She was giving him an option, a way out. Did he dare take it? "Did you hear me, Fujimura?"

"Yes, yes I did. I surrender. I surrender."

He set the briefcase down on the ground and took a step away from it. Whatever this woman had to offer, he knew it would be better than facing an untimely death at the hands of the Yakuza. Hearing the other agent step up to him, he slumped his shoulders, allowing the man to zip tie his hands behind his back. His trip, his plans, the mission he was supposed to accomplish had been foiled, and the only question he had for himself was how. How did this all happen when he had been so careful?

"You made the right choice, Fujimura."