A dozen monitors flickered with images secured from cameras hidden strategically in two rooms. The woman observing the six screens covering the living room rested her chin in her hands as she stared thoughtfully at her unconscious prisoner. He had been out cold for several hours and if he didn't show signs of life soon, she may be forced to intervene.

She turned her attention to the screens on her left which showed the second prisoner. He had put up one hell of a fight, disarming two of her men and damaging a third. She had stood in the shadows, watching her men fail in what should have been a simple operation and had fired a bullet, grazing the determined man's forearm. As he grabbed his arm, her fourth man punched him to the ground, and gave him a frustrated kick for good measure. Still conscious, the second prisoner had been bound and a hood placed over his head. Both men had been loaded into separate unmarked vans and driven in different directions to arrive at the same location. They had been carried through different entrances of the same house and placed in separate rooms. Neither knew the other had been captured or that they were being held in the same location.

Deeks had been dragged to a ground floor room, still struggling to break free from the handcuffs which bound his wrists. He'd been dropped twice on the way through before being dumped heavily on his back. He had lain winded and quiet, hearing the door close and a lock turn. Footsteps melted into the distance. After a momentary pause, he had pushed his hands into the floor and forced himself into a sitting position. The hood still loosely covered his head and he leant forwards, moving his head from side to side to force the item off. Slowly he surveyed his surroundings; the room was pitch-black. Even though his eyes were already adjusted to the dark, there were no objects for him to make out. Twisting round, Deeks manipulated himself into a standing position, muttering that the walls were not closing in on him. And to prove it, he had taken five paces forward before bumping in to a wall. He turned and paced again, this time counting seven paces. He turned again and repeated the act, smiling to re-assure himself that the walls were definitely not moving. With his back against the wall, he then walked sideways until he encountered a corner, repositioned himself and paced again. Seven paces. He had repeated the ritual until he was convinced he was in a square room with no windows and one door without an internal handle.

Finding the edge of the door, Deeks contemplated whether to shout for help. The pros were someone good might hear and come to his rescue – hopefully his team. The cons, well alerting the bad guys that he was ready for whatever they could throw at him.

He shook his head and said, "Well, here goes...Hello, is anybody there? HELP!"

He had repeatedly shouted on and off for what felt like an hour but been met with silence. No sounds could be discerned, and with a dry throat he had eventually slumped to the floor. With his head rested on his bent knees he wondered what had happened to Kensi, Sam and Callen. Had they all been captured, wounded or even killed? Or had he just been unlucky and the team were already donning their gear to launch a rescue.

The woman had observed Deeks from the monitors. He had been held captive in the room for little over an hour and seemed to have exhausted himself. She remembered how much he loved the sound of his own voice and it had come as no surprise at how vocal his attempts at attracting attention had been. She was somewhat pleased at the coincidence that her other captive was still unconscious yet so close by. Although sound carried further in the still of the night, Deeks' room was sound-proofed, until she decided otherwise. Her other prisoner's room was purpose-built for escape. Although she understood exactly how resourceful both men were and had always been, it was her desire for Callen to experience the optimism that came with possible escape, before she broke him down. She leant back in her chair with a smile that reached her eyes, and waited for Special Agent G Callen to regain consciousness so her fun could begin.

The steady, rhythmic ticking of the mantle clock was starting to drive him mad. Callen had been lying in a darkened room for what could possibly have been hours; there was no sound of human life, no voices, no TV or radio, just the repetitive sound of the darned clock which seemed to be getting louder with every second the ticking confirmed was passing. If he listened really closely, the white noise of what could be a refrigerator was also humming in the background. With visibility practically non-existent, and to prevent his hearing from driving him to the brink of insanity, he focussed on his other senses. The faint scent of nicotine lingered in the room. Not the 'clean' smell of packet cigarettes but the dirtier smell of roll-ups. Touch; well he could feel the rope that bound his wrists burning as he attempted to feel his surroundings.

Callen raised his knees and positioned his feet under his thighs before digging his heels in and pushing himself back gingerly. The caution paid dividends as before he could even straighten his legs, his back and shoulders were knocking against something solid. Turning his head slightly he tried to make out what the solid mass was. The movement caused a wave of nausea to wash over him; his vision blurred and he swallowed, determined not to add vomit to the already unpleasant smell of cigarettes that permeated the room. He licked his dry lips and the final sense kicked in, triggering memories from the events of what he hoped had only occurred a few hours earlier. The metallic taste of blood exploded on his tongue as he found what felt like a cut on his bottom lip. Callen leant back against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply.

When he opened them again the room had changed. A slither of dawn's early light was teasing around the edges of a window. He thought that within half an hour that slither would grow to hopefully allow enough light through for him to get a handle on the room; the layout, contents and with daylight would come noises of the street. Anything to drown out that damned incessant tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick of the clock. It had been about 2am when the operation had begun to rapidly turn south and the last thing he remembered was being surrounded by four burly Hispanics, all brandishing weapons, before being pistol whipped hard from behind. That would explain the dizziness and nausea, Callen thought, concussion. And if his estimate was correct, he had been unconscious for approximately three hours. He closed his eyes and waited.

Daylight filtered through the edges of the window blinds, causing shafts of light to cut lines on the floor of the room. Callen opened his eyes again and lifted his head, squinting in an attempt to keep the throbbing in his head at bay. He surveyed his prison cell and was not particularly surprised with what he could now see. The tick, tick, tick of a clock was indeed a small mantle clock that sat above the fire surround opposite him. The fireplace was open, with several logs pile haphazardly on the hearth and a layer of fine dust covered much of the room. The floor hadn't been swept for a while and in the corners of the ceiling, cobwebs had formed. A small brown leather sofa was to his left, pushed tight against the window, and to Callen's right was a closed and presumably locked door.

Callen manoeuvred himself into a standing position and leant against the wall, his bound hands behind his back. Although they were tight and cutting into his wrists, he now felt some flexibility. He squeezed his fingers together and attempted to slip his hands through, but without success. He exhaled loudly and tried to pat down his pants pocket to see if his captors had overlooked anything. His gun obviously was gone as was his pocket knife and picklock set. The bobbi pin was still on his belt but that would prove useless against rope ties.

He stared at the fireplace and hoped there would be something sharp he could use. Gingerly pushing himself off the wall, he walked slowly to the other side of the room, somewhat relieved that the earlier dizziness had passed. With his hands tied, the clock was too high for him to knock down and break, but later the parts could be used to break out of the room. He filed the thought away and knelt in front of the fireplace. The logs were resting on a cast iron grate shaped like a basket and Callen quickly placed the rope that bound his wrists over the edges. He pulled, twisted and sawed, causing the rope to chafe and burn his wrists. Within five minutes he was able to squeeze his hands through the frayed rope and he was free. He rubbed his raw wrists and hissed slightly at the pain it caused. Remembering his attack, he touched the side of his head and winced as he made contact with a gash that still felt tacky. Even in the dim light of the room, he could make out the blood on his fingers. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he turned towards the door and tried the handle. It was locked which was no real surprise, so Callen turned his attention to the window.

He lifted the blind and shook his head imperceptibly when he saw the iron bars. This felt more like a prison cell. Still, he thought, maybe he could break the glass and call for help. He dismissed the idea almost immediately as the view from the window was of a large expanse of grass and whoever had captured him most likely had the building guarded. He turned his attention back to the clock and focused on taking it apart; looking for pieces he could use to forge his escape. Within minutes, the clocks innards were on the floor in front of him. Callen chose a strong, thin piece of card from the clock's base and moved to the door. Sliding the card between the door and the door jamb he tilted the card backwards and forwards until it slipped under the angle of the bolt and the locked door popped open.

Callen paused and held his breath, peeking out in to the corridor beyond. The humming of the electrical appliance was now louder and he guessed a kitchen was close by. His senses told him the house was empty but his intuition advised he was being watched. Looking back in to his former prison he surveyed the ceiling. A solitary light fixture could house a hidden camera; two light fittings on the wall, cavities in the sofa and fireplace may also contain cameras; he knew how small but effective these could be.

A sudden noise jolted him back to his escape plan and he pulled the door to, still inside the room. It had sounded like someone banging against a wall and Callen wondered if one of his team had also been captured. He would have laid money on there being no-one else in the house, at least no-one that wasn't a prisoner. A shuffling of footsteps could now be heard and Callen made his way quickly into the hall, turning left into a kitchen. A cursory glance told him the kitchen was just as sparse as his own, however he made a search of the drawers and cupboards in the vain hope of finding a knife or another sharp piece of kitchen equipment.

"Heellooooo?" A familiar voice broke the silence, confirming to Callen that a member of his team had been captured; Deeks. "Is anybody there? C'mon now, ya can't keep me locked up forever, I need to pee..."

Callen pulled a grim smile; even in danger Deeks had a way of lightening a situation, even if it was rather inappropriate. Deeks' voice had come from a room at the end of the hall and Callen approached it with caution. He tried the handle. Locked.

"Hey man, I can hear you. Talk to me," came the plaintive appeal from Deeks.

Callen placed his face close to the door and whispered, "Deeks, it me, Callen. You good?"

"Hey Callen," Deeks voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm good, you here to rescue me, are the others with you? Can you hurry up?"

"Hold on," Callen replied as he removed the pin from his belt and worked on the lock. "I was captured but escaped. I don't know where the others are; they could be held on another floor."

The lock sprung seconds later and Callen pushed the door open. Deeks rushed out the door and stopped suddenly, blinking as the brighter corridor assailed his vision.

"Argh, get these off," Deeks turned his back towards Callen so his hands could be un-cuffed. Callen deftly used the bobbi pin once more and Deeks was free within seconds.

"You're bleeding," Callen said as he saw the gunshot graze on Deeks' left arm.

"It's nothing," Deeks said as he pulled at his sleeve to inspect the damage. "What about all that blood on your head?"

"They knocked me out." Callen answered briefly.

"Hey, where's Sam to rescue you when you need him?" Deeks grinned widely at Callen knowing exactly what banter would materialise as soon as Sam rescued Callen.

"I never need rescuing," Callen replied with a faint grin of his own. "Now c'mon," he motioned, "we need to search this house for the others. Stay close and we'll clear it room by room."

Deeks nodded his agreement and they cautiously approached the staircase to check the top floor. Without guns or any weapon both men were reliant on their senses. They trod carefully and listened at every doorway before quietly entering each bedroom and the bathroom. Every room was vacant; free of prisoners, captors and furniture. The bathroom wall cabinet was also empty. No clues as to whose house they were in or if Sam and Kensi were also being held prisoner. Deeks paused by a bedroom window and peered out. With the morning sun low in the sky, the elevated view was of grass and the trees beyond. They could be anywhere.

"What do you remember about the take down?" Callen asked Deeks quietly.

"Kens and I were clearing the first floor of the warehouse and got separated; she got trapped in an office. Next thing I knew I was surrounded by four guys who managed to disarm me. But I fought like a wild jungle cat, got three down and was about to take out the fourth when a bullet grazed my arm. Threw me off my game and the fourth guy plugged me with a right hook. You?"

"Same happened on the ground floor. Sam got locked in a room – but I was only seconds behind him so these guys must have some great tools to have shut the door remotely and so precisely. When I turned round I had two guys either side. I think I fired a shot but next thing I knew I was here. Where ever here is..."

"Well good thing once of us didn't sleep on the job," Deeks grinned. "I had two guys cuff me and carry me to a van. I had no idea anyone else was captured. We drove around for a bit before I was carried in here."

"So I must have been placed in another van and driven here separately. Why? What difference does that make? I found you easily enough."

"And you escaped easily enough...how?" Deeks asked.

"Loosened the rope they'd tied me with, broke a clock and used the pins to pick the lock."

"OK McGyver, but doesn't that seem too easy? My room was literally a prison. Even the door had no handle or lock on the inside, yet you had everything you needed to escape?"

"Let's take another look at your room then." Callen said as the two men walked down stairs.

"I'll wait outside, just in case someone decides to lock us both in this time." Deeks magnanimously held the door open for Callen as he took up his position in the doorway.

The rising sun now allowed a small amount of light to seep into Deeks' former prison and Callen studied the room. It was very unusual for a house to have a room with no window and Callen started tapping the walls. He then stood in the doorway as Deeks moved back in the hall.

"They've soundproofed this room." Callen said as he pointed to this thickness of the door and walls.

"But why do that? I mean you heard me calling." Deeks looked puzzled as he tried to figure out their captor end game.

"How long were you shouting for?"

"At least an hour, then I had a little break before starting again."

"Well I only heard you about one minute before I got you out." Callen furrowed his brow as he too attempted to work out what was happening. "No offence Deeks, but you've got a loud voice and I would have heard you."

"But you said you were unconscious..." Deeks countered.

"I was awake for at least forty minutes before I escaped. But you're right. Someone is playing games with us, controlling our movements."

"In that case we have two options. Check the basement and then break out, or just break outside now." Deeks pointed to the only remaining inside door they had not tried.

Callen glanced at the front door and then back at the basement entrance.

"We know Sam and Kensi were trapped when we were all separated from each other. They're not in any other room in the house so we have to try the basement. If that's clear we break out and check any out-houses."

"What if they have dogs?" Deeks shot a look at Callen.

"What?" Callen replied.

"Dogs, what if they have guard dogs outside?" Deeks said in concern.

"Just use those dog whispering skills you worked on with Monty." Callen threw the remark back to Deeks as he moved a hand towards the basement door handle.

"What?" Now it was Deeks' turn to look puzzled. "Monty is a sniffer dog, sniffing out bombs to save lives..."

"You ready?" Callen interrupted Deeks' ramblings.

"Sure am."

Callen slowly turned the door handle to the one room that remained unchecked and slowly exhaled.

As Callen turned the handle, the woman observing them smiled as her plan started to come together, however unknown to her, she herself was being watched.