Smoke out a mole
A/N A short one-shot, inspired by the constant hints of the mole in the OSP. Based on Traitor [6.09] and Granger, O [7.22]. Darker than my usual stories.
Disclaimer: the characters of NCIS Los Angeles belong to CBS. The only thing that's all mine is the idea for this storyline.
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The Whiskey Club || Los Angeles || April 10th, 2016
For fifty milliseconds I was sure that those bright, ocean blue eyes rested on my face and I kept my breath. Then he was distracted by something his company said and one of these trademark smirks appeared on his face.
I let out a deep sigh. God, I never expected him to be in here, not in a place like this.
Right here and now, I realized that for the sake of this operation, I needed to take better care of staying unseen. I needed to stay unseen, but it went for the others as well. He knew me, but he might just as well recognize one of the others.
Back into the shadows, I pondered over this whole situation once again. So far, we had it all under control.
This whole mole-thing — the hints, the insinuations and even the far-off accusations. The situation was killing the team, though only figuratively speaking, of course. And so the situation went on and on. Cases came and cases went, and although every now and then Hetty, especially Hetty, had this worrisome look upon her face, she still had not found out who it was. Hadn't she carefully selected her team? Could it be someone of the back-office, someone like Brown?
He had been the best distraction so far and he never broke and gave up the names of his contractor.
Yeah, so far, all went well.
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Office of Special Projects, NCIS || Los Angeles || April 14th, 2016, 3 in afternoon
They come back in the office, first both juniors, bantering over food. It's fun to watch them every now and then, although it can be annoying too. Callen and Sam came in soon after. Peeved perhaps, because of Nate's actions which shook up this case. Although, until now, he only appeared in the office when Hetty ordered him to or when one of the team needed him, he had been the talk of town, or rather, of the team and the back-office. Could it be Nate was the mole?
I just chit-chatted and speculated with the others. Of course I had to do that.
There was a lot of discussion about Nate's actions, especially after what he did to Callen. And although Callen appeared to be a little shaken, it didn't strike me he was really affected by the situation. Of course not. Cocky as could be.
And there it was.
That suspicious look on his face, a short glance that comes my way. And I know there's hardly any time left.
He's always three steps ahead. Not this time.
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Office of Special Projects, NCIS || Los Angeles || April 14th, 2016, 7 in the evening
"The others already left?" I ask when I see him, still sitting behind his desk.
He looks up and smiles. "Sure. As ever. And, as ever, they left me do the dirty work. Piles of files. Same as every Friday night, right?"
He tries to joke, but by now I have learned to read his eyes.
I shake my head. "Feel sad for you, you know."
I know I'm going to have to play the game now, and play it fast. "Well, I've just finished. Any chance to grab something to eat?"
He shakes his head. "Nope. Don't think so, not for the first hour now."
I manage to keep my appearances up and take his empty cup from his desk. "Right. Well, I'll fill it up then."
Callen hardly notices, busy with the paperwork Hetty supplied him with. He just nods and looks concentrated when he keeps working the keyboard of his laptop. I see how his phone is positioned next to the laptop.
One minute and five seconds later, I wrinkle my nose when I hand him back the cup, now filled with a black coffee, like I know he prefers it.
"If you decide to stay in late, you might want to have fresh coffee. This smells like it's been from over hours ago," I tell him.
He gratefully accepts the refill and leans back in his desk chair now, more relaxed than before.
And I wait until he takes the first sip. A small one though. "What did you do with it?" he growls. He then gets up, watches his cup and smells it. He smacks it on his desk and glares at me.
Crap, he probably tasted it. I am silent for a beat, not sure what to say or do.
"I figured out you know what I know by now. And so, I had to take the right precautions," I then tell him.
Then, when I finally see him getting paler and in pain, I know this may work out just the way I planned it.
"You know, Callen, I think you thought you might be able to outsmart me, but you're wrong this time. I found out, just in time. And so I needed to find the right time, the right place and the right manner to nail you."
He slowly slumps down, back against his desk and facing the cast-iron partition wall. His shoulders are now constrained and stiff. And while he tries to fight it, but his muscles are losing power rapidly. The beads of sweat, the dilated pupils, the way his hands desperately try to grasp to something solid to keep him from falling, but they shake too much to hold onto anything.
Once again, he asks, his voice nearly a gasp. "What was it?"
I shrug, then straighten my shoulders. "You're the only one who knows. And I know you've observed me, all the time with your girlfriend as a distraction. It was just a matter of time."
I motion to my partner.
"You know damn well it's called double-crossing, Callen. It proves that if you know how to play the game it sure is worth the while. No use in trying to fight this. When it's done, I'll tell the others that I finally nailed the mole."
"What—?"
And I tell him "Strychnine," when my eyes are drawn to the first small flames which try to eat the desk next to his.
The messiest desk of them all. The desk-light is still burning. The feisty flower garland is a dangerous one, especially when it's dusty and gets overheated like this one. It'll soon burn as well, and with all the wooden features in this old, Spanish like mission, the place will be going up in fire and smoke in a matter of some minutes. It will suffocate him, if the poison wouldn't be effective enough.
His mind understands, but fights it, like his body desperately wants to do too. I watch how the convulsions are torturing his healthy body by now, and I suppose he will soon lose consciousness.
I've got the back-up story complete, I smile and follow my partner.
Too careless. I forgot how determined he was. The persistence I admired so many times I now ignored.
And I stupidly process how the loud crack I hear comes before the burning I feel, low in my back. He's a magnificent good shot.
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Office of Special Projects, NCIS || Los Angeles || April 14th, 2016, 8.05 in the evening
"What the hell were you thinking?" the dark voice of Sam Hanna sounds. It is impossible to respond, not in this condition.
Sam shakes his head, surprised how, again, Callen decided to go lone wolf and gambled he'd be on the winning side. He then quietly watches and decides the EMT's who had been waiting outside, know what to do now. His stubborn partner will survive, as ever, He's sure about it.
Sam turns around and watches how Henrietta Lange, who made both those people, appears to be 10 years older since she found out what happened. Callen's e-mail which came earlier that night and recording through his i-Phone had given them all they needed.
"Oh, Miss Jones…" Hetty whispers.
I look up and manage to say "I know — I found the mole."
There's a sad look on her face when the older woman shakes her head. "We know. We now know. Mr. Callen smoked out the mole. Be sure that Mr. Hanna and I will be going to do a lot of talking with you."
She then got up on her feet, watched the young woman she had always trusted, shook her head and gestured to the armed men who accompanied her. "I think you don't need to cuff her."
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