G Goes Missing
The case was finally over, and both G and Sam were glad that this one was wrapped up in only a few days. Going undercover was never easy, but for Sam to be undercover as a wounded Marine in the Pendleton sick bay was asking a lot from the agent who regularly worked out and considered too much sitting to be detrimental to his health. G had preferred his role as a dishonest orderly although he was beginning to realize how often he went undercover in the role of a dishonest, prejudiced, or angry man. Of those, only angry could reasonably be identified with him, and that emotion was becoming less frequently demonstrated as his personal life became more comfortable. In fact, there were stretches of days when he felt almost happy.
Sam finished typing up his report in record time; G knew how anxious he was to get out and just do something. "Going for a run tonight?"
"I'm thinking I might run all the way to Joshua Tree again."
"If you do, you'll have to call Michelle for a lift home. Anna and I might have plans later tonight, and I'm not putting them on hold to drive out and pick you up."
Sam looked up, startled. "You and Anna might have plans tonight? We just wrapped up the case today. When did you have time to call her?"
"Did you think I was playing a game when I had my phone out?"
"Pretty discreet, G."
"'Discreet' is my middle name. That's why they call us 'undercover' agents." G smiled back. He looked up from his work, "It's been awhile since you've been actually active on your feet, big man, so don't strain anything.'
Sam laughed, "You can bet I won't. I'm not spending another day in a sick bed for at least a year. See you tomorrow, G."
"Good night," G replied as the big man walked down the hallway and out into the LA night.
Soon, only G remained in the bullpen, finishing his report and catching up on some overdue expense reports. The only thing he didn't like about his job was the paperwork. His phone buzzed and checking it, he saw a message from Anna. He sighed and sent her a quick text. He'd forgotten that her mom was in town tonight on her way to Australia. And yes, he had no plans for tomorrow night—but he couldn't guarantee anything until he came to work tomorrow. You never knew what Hetty would have waiting for them. In about fifteen minutes, G finished the last expense report and put all his completed paperwork away. He loved it whenever he could surprise Hetty—which wasn't often—but tomorrow he would. Grabbing his gym bag, he left the bullpen and headed for home little knowing that it would be many hours and he would travel many miles before he would return to OSP.
When G drove up to his home, everything looked normal. The porch light had come on at dusk and the living room light glowed behind the window shade. G pulled into the driveway and parked outside the garage. There was no point in pulling in when he'd be heading out in about ten minutes to grab dinner. In-and-Out sounded good. G opened his front door, and right on cue his phone buzzed again. He dropped his gym bag by the door and checked his phone. He didn't recognize the number, so he hesitated. The phone went dead. He went to his frig and grabbed a beer. His phone buzzed again. Same number. This time G answered the call.
"Hello?"
An unfamiliar voice spoke to him in Russian, "Agent Callen, it's very important that you do exactly as I say. If you don't, the lives of your fellow agents will be at risk. Do you understand?"
G tensed as soon as he heard the man speak in Russian, and he answered in Russian, "I understand."
The speaker continued in Russian. "Good. We have your home under surveillance, so if you attempt to contact anyone by any means, such as say by call, text, or messaging, we will know."
G waited. His eyes moved immediately to the windows and he searched the street for any sign of someone watching his house.
"To prove the threat is genuine, we are sending photos to your phone. Check them."
G's phone buzzed as two text messages came through. He opened them. He knew that the photo of Sam at the beach was taken tonight because Sam was wearing the shirt he'd brought back as a "souvenir" from the Pendleton hospital ward. The photo of Kensi and Deeks was taken at an outdoor café sometime in the afternoon, and it could have been taken today or several days ago. They were on assignment, so G wasn't sure exactly where it had been taken, but he was sure it had been taken during their assignment because of Kensi's hairstyle; blond extensions were a whole new look for her. The photos were enough to convince G.
"What do you want?" G asked in Russian.
"We want you to follow our instructions exactly, Agent Callen. If you do, your fellow agents will be unharmed. It is not our intent to cause unnecessary casualties, but be assured that we will do whatever is necessary. If you don't follow our instructions exactly, they will be killed."
"How do I know they won't be harmed even if I follow your instructions?"
"You don't. You will have to take us at our word, but we can assure you that if you don't do exactly as we say, they will be killed. It's your choice."
"What do I need to do?" G had made the decision to do whatever they wanted when the threat had first been made, but he hoped he might gain useful information if the conversation continued. He hadn't. Whoever they were, they were good—which was all the more reason to believe them when they said they'd kill Sam and Kensi and Deeks.
"It's simple, Agent Callen. We want you to come with us of your own free will, of course, without letting anyone know that you've gone, when you left, or where you're going."
G had to smile sarcastically, "That's all?"
"That's all. So put your phone down—you won't need it, get in your car, and drive to the address I'm going to give you. Someone will meet you there." G listened as the man gave him the address; it was not far from the Burbank Airport. G guessed he'd be out of the country in a few hours. Damn. He hoped Anna would understand why he wouldn't be making their date tomorrow night.
He set his phone on the side table by his chair—making sure to leave the photos open—and left his unopened beer beside it as he headed out the door with his keys. Once outside he got in the car and pulled out. The streets were uncrowded as he headed to the freeway. G spotted the tail about two blocks after he left his home: a black SUV two cars back. They kept their distance even though he wasn't going to make a move to evade. Professionals. G opened the glove compartment and pulled out the extra burn phone he kept there. It was fully charged. When Sam found his car, he'd find the phone. G hoped it would contain some useful information. As he reached the designated location, he turned on the phone's recording app and slipped it out of sight under his seat.
G parked and waited until he saw the black SUV pull up and park behind him. What did he know? At least one of them spoke Russian. How many others were there? He didn't know. They had identified Sam, Kensi, and Deeks. Had they identified anyone else from OSP? Hetty? He didn't know. How had they been able to identify him and the others? He didn't know. He realized he really didn't know a hell of a lot. He'd have to wait. Suddenly, there was a knock on his window. A big man wearing a nondescript pair of pants and a black shirt stood beside his car door. G rolled down the window.
"Please come with me," he said in Russian. Okay, so G now knew that at least two of them spoke Russian because this wasn't the voice on the phone.
"So, Burbank," G replied conversationally in English. When the man did not reply, G continued in Russian, "It's too late to take a studio tour. The airport?" The man did not look pleased. G didn't want him searching the car, so he stepped out immediately. The man searched him thoroughly for any weapons or electronic devices. "I get it. You're not going to tell me where you're taking me, but if I'm going to be gone long, I should have brought my toothbrush."
The man pushed G in the direction of the SUV as he spoke in Russian, "Go." Then he slammed the door of G's car shut and walked back to the SUV. G stood by the passenger door. The man motioned him to the back. G opened the door and slid in next to another man already inside. He asked, "You part of this group or a guest like me?" The man looked at him without humor. "Part of the group, I guess." At least they hadn't torched his car. He hoped the phone recorded enough of the conversation to be useful. At the very least they would know where he might be going. Maybe they could even figure out who the speaker was using voice recognition, but G doubted that the burn phone had a microphone sensitive enough even with the talents of Eric and Nell combined. He hadn't bought the burn phone as a voice recorder, but he made a note to be sure and buy another one—a higher quality one—as soon as he got back. If he got back.
Sure enough, they were getting on a plane. It wasn't out of Burbank; they had driven an hour or so after picking G up. It wasn't even an airport. I t looked more like a private runway or airstrip, and the plane was a private jet. When G boarded, he was escorted by two of the men from the SUV and was greeted by two men already onboard. One of the men waiting was older, and he motioned for G to take a seat. G remained standing and spoke to him in Russian, "I'm here. Where's the proof that the other agents haven't been harmed?"
The older man sat down and studied G before he spoke in English, "Agent Callen, we appreciate that you agreed to come of your own free will, and we assure you that no agents have been threatened or harmed. We regret if you, at any time, thought that this might happen and apologize for any misunderstanding. Once we arrive, you will be free to contact anyone you wish to verify that what I've told you is true. Please, take a seat."
G had to admit he was good. The three other men watched while G considered his options. He only had one. The door of the plane was locked and he could feel the plane beginning to taxi down the runway. G took a seat not far from the older man, and the three other men sat down in close proximity to G. No one spoke. G looked at his watch; the compass element told him they were traveling east.
About three hours into the flight, G's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch, and it'd been an early lunch. He should've stopped for dinner on the drive home. That was the last time, he told himself, that he would go home without eating. You never knew what would happen in this line of work, and it was always better to be prepared. He'd been prepared with the burn phone but not dinner. Sam was right; G needed to start eating healthy. Hell, he needed to start eating regularly. G could already hear Sam's lecture about his horrible eating habits, and he had to smile to himself. He had to admit that he looked forward to hearing that lecture again.
In a little over six hours, the plane landed. The sun was just rising. As he exited the plane, G figured they were in Virginia, Maryland, or maybe Pennsylvania—one of the Mid-Atlantic States. He was hustled from the smaller jet, across a runway, and onto a larger waiting jet. He was not only incredibly hungry by now, but he was also beginning to feel the jet lag. And he knew no one in L.A. had any idea yet that he was already thousands of miles away and would be even further away by the time they reached the office. Thank God he'd finished that paperwork. At least Hetty would be pleased and surprised about that.
The four men accompanied G onto the larger jet and without a word, they all took seats, the two men sitting within striking distance of G. Once the plane was in the air, the older man stood up and walked to the back of the cabin where he fixed himself a drink. G closed his eyes and tried not to think about food. In a few moments, he could sense someone watching him, so he opened his eyes. The older man was standing in front of him, offering G a drink.
"It's a little early for me."
The man smiled slightly, "It's not alcohol."
G reached up and took the cup. The liquid was thin and rather brownish, like very weak tea. G set it down in the arm rest. "Thanks, but I'm not thirsty."
The man wasn't smiling anymore. "Drink it, Agent Callen."
G nodded slightly and then, feigning clumsiness, knocked the cup over. As the liquid spilled onto the carpet, G looked up at the man and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. With the back of his hand the man struck G across the face. G's eyes became hard and cold. The niceties were over.
The man, upset that G had provoked him, walked back to his seat and closed his eyes. He spoke in Russian without looking in G's direction, "Not to worry, Agent Callen. We'll get you another drink when we land." No one moved to pick up the cup.
Great, G thought to himself as he leaned back and closed his eyes again. He had a feeling he was going to need all the energy he had once they reached their destination.
