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Chapter 2

The plane touched down and his heart sank. Callen was in Virginia and back on home soil after three years. The missions had taken him to every pocket of the world except the United States. He made his way through the hustling terminal blending in and attracting no attention. Nearing the sliding doors, he repositioned his blue cap, pulling it down over his eyes. As he stepped out, the sun hit him hard and he stood with his shoulders back, taking a moment of pleasure. LA. Home.

Traffic rushed past as Callen kept his eyes averted and started walking towards the long-term parking. He kept to the camera blind spots as much as he could and continued in a steady pace. Turning the bend and descending two levels he spotted her tucked inconspicuously in the far corner. Callen's pace quickened as he walked over, stopped and smiled. It had been too long. His people had made sure she'd be waiting for him.

Almost afraid to touch her, he extended his hand and pulled off the cover, and then he ran his hand along her chassis. She was beautiful and built for speed, a black MV Augusta F3; a little pleasure he allowed himself. Callen secured his backpack and mounted her. He turned on the ignition and she roared to life, a deafening echo reverberated throughout the entire level. Callen pulled on his helmet then twisting the throttle and releasing the clutch, he zoomed out of the parking lot.

Weaving in and out of traffic, he headed towards Langley. Thirty minutes into the drive, Callen passed the CIA headquarters and continued until he arrived at a non-descript building just off Georgetown Pike. He pulled up to the rather large roller door and typed in some numbers on the touchpad, whilst security cameras followed his every move. The door opened and Callen rode in. Inside the perimeter of the secure building, he brought the Augusta to a stop. A friendly face greeted him.

"Long time sir," stated a rather young and naive individual.

"You've looked after her well, Theo. Thank you," replied Callen as he removed his riding gear.

"Always a pleasure." Callen nodded in appreciation and in concurrence. Leaving her in good hands, he proceeded upstairs to the command centre. It was a small group. They all knew of each other but avoided getting to know each other. In their line of work, detachment and objectivity were the keys to success and the difference between life and death.

Callen's elite status meant that he didn't have much interaction with the worker bees that gathered intel. That was ok by him. Attachments were a liability, a rule he learnt the hard way. A new assignment meant conference room 9. So he headed that way. The floor was quiet as always: clinical and sterile. He pushed aside the large birch doors and found him waiting reading some files.

"You're late," he stated without looking up.

Such a warm and cheery disposition, Callen thought to himself and smirked.

"Traffic," Callen responded whilst moving to settle himself in a rather large and opulent leather chair.

"Uh…she must be a joy to ride. Must get one myself." Callen raised one eyebrow At his age? he thought and smiled. Their relationship was not like the one he shared with Hetty, but nevertheless, the two men shared a bond, which Callen couldn't explain. Callen saw a lot of himself in the man sitting across from him.

Finally he raised his head and those piercing blue eyes fixed on Callen's. "You look well. Equatorial weather agrees with you. You did an excellent job in Ghana…bringing down General Gazubo without loss of life. Brilliant Callen…absolutely brilliant." His tone was sincere. It always surprised Callen when his superior praised him. He didn't think the man had a heart. However not letting the moment linger for too long, he passed Callen a folder, "Here…"

"Where to this time? Monaco…maybe New Zealand," joked Callen whilst he took the folder in hand.

The other just stared at Callen. His face was unreadable. The man that had been so generous with his heartfelt compliment so gone and replaced by the one he was more familiar with…the being with no scruples, "Closer than you think."

Callen opened the file and suddenly he froze at the photo. Callen's breathing hitched as his heart started to beat faster and faster. His jaw clenched as his brow furrowed. He forcibly shut the folder and slammed it onto the table as he looked up to stare at his boss. Callen's eyes widened and for a brief moment, he left his emotions seep through. Weakness…he couldn't show weakness. Yet that's what the photo elicited. "You can't expect…" he said breathlessly.

"You have a problem Callen?" he said coldly, knowing full well how Callen would react.

"Yeah. I won't do this. I can't do this," his voice got louder as he stood, placing his hands on the table.

His superior remained stoic and motionless. Callen's aggressive tone and stance caused him no alarm. "You are a professional. I need the best for this assignment and that is you," he finished as his eyes focused hard on Callen.

"No." The standoff continued.

"I thought you had let go of the past Callen. Does she still mean something to you?" There was no emotion. But his question made Callen feel vulnerable and exposed.

Their eyes locked. The game had begun and Callen had yet to make his move. "Our relationship is none of your business," shot back Callen.

"Oh, you are so mistaken, Callen. Everything about you is MY business. You said yourself, you no longer had any ties. So why is this a problem?" he asked mockingly.

"She was a friend and a mentor. She has saved my life so many times and I owe her. I won't do this," growled Callen. His adrenaline was pumping and blood flow increased throughout his body. Losing self-control was not something Callen did.

There was no yelling and there was no argument. "Fine," his superior quietly and gently uttered.

His superior's reaction caught Callen unawares. Callen doubted what he had heard and shook his head. "What? That's it?" asked Callen incredulously watching him slowly rise from the chair.

"You made it quite clear what your position is on the matter. I value you too much to upset you Callen. This is your home and your future. But rest assured this will be carried through. I just thought you'd like to handle it…being a friend and all," he said as he started to walk towards the door.

Callen straightened up and asked quite innocently, "Why?" His voice was soft just beyond a whisper.

Mort knew he was taking a risky chance giving Callen this assignment. But his gut instinct and his Machiavellian scheming had never failed him. Callen still remained a mystery to him even after three years. This unsettled the man. He needed to break Callen and this was the only way. He was going to feed him enough of the truth in order to plant a seed of doubt in his mind. That's all Mort needed to do. Then he'd feed Callen's paranoia ever so slowly until Callen's resentment towards Hetty would become vengeful, until he'd turn his loyalty to him.

The old man stopped and a sickening smile formed on his lips. Callen had taken the bait. "I don't want her dead. Hetty is an old friend but it is the only way. She has a book in her possession. America's enemies have been after it for years. There have been attempts to recover it before and they have failed. There is going to be another attempt. They cannot get the book Callen, and I fear Hetty cannot protect it this time. We must ensure that. Our freedom relies on it. I have tried to talk to her but she refuses to converse about the matter. She is stubborn…so stubborn. She will be branded a traitor if the book is not delivered to the CIA headquarters."

"She doesn't have to die! I can retrieve the book without harming Hetty," reasoned Callen.

"You are still so willing to believe in happy endings Callen. You can be so naive," frustration flourishing on Mort's face. "She protects the book with her life. You will not separate her from it. She will kill for it," his boss argued.

"Let me try," pleaded Callen. He couldn't let anyone else near Hetty. He'd have to be the one to do it. He was fighting for her life.

Mort straightened up and placed his hands on the mahogany table and leaned towards Callen seething, "Fine! But remember you are my agent. You follow my orders. You do not question. This is the last time you negotiate a mission. Is that understood? Do what you have to Callen but you need to get the book or else not even I can save you and Hetty."

Callen tried very hard not to retreat. Mort was frightening and it shook Callen to the core. But he too, was a seasoned agent and he stood his ground nodding his head, "I trust her to do the right thing."

Suddenly he saw the man's body contort and convulse. Callen became alarmed. He thought a seizure, or worse still, a heart attack. Then came a booming yet horrid noise. It sounded vaguely like laughter and it continued for a while until he doubled over just to draw in breath. Wiping tears from his eyes he looked over to Callen who was shell-shocked from the whole display, "You TRUST Hetty? Oh my dear boy, what ever gave you the idea that you could trust her?"

Callen didn't like feeling ridiculed, "She's never given me any reason not to."

"There are so many things you don't know about your precious Henrietta Lange, Callen. You are still a blind disciple. Did you know that?" He moved around so to face Callen straight on, "She deceives you everyday. Yet you trust her? She holds the answers to the many questions you seek. Yet you trust her? She has held back so much about your past from you. Yet you trust her?" he teased.

Callen's eyes danced around as he tried to keep his focus. His past was his Achilles' heal and now Mort had brought her into the equation. Callen stood straight and brought his left hand over his face and started pacing the floor. "She wouldn't hide anything? Why would she hide anything from me about my past? She knows how much it means to me," Callen asked still pacing as his mask was slipping.

"Maybe you can ask her that while she's pointing a gun at you?" he replied arrogantly. Callen's head snapped to his right and stared at his boss. He never ever once entertained the idea that Hetty would hold back secrets from him. She had always been so caring and so sympathetic. Now he started wondering if what Mort was saying was true. He hated the seed of doubt that had been planted in his head. So he decided to turn the table.

"Why should I trust you?" Callen's words were steely cold.

"I'm not asking you to and you're wise not to. I have nothing to hide, Callen. I've always been up front with you. That is how this unit runs. Without the truth there is nothing. Just remember one truth out of context can prove very dangerous." He moved closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I watched you hop from agency to agency. I've seen you manipulate and weasel your way out of situations that would have Houdini screaming and I've seen you struggle with your past. But I waited. I waited patiently for you to mature into the agent I needed. Every trial and tribulation you have endured have made you the agent you are today. Your talent is invaluable and I will not do anything to jeopardise your future here because this is where your future lies."

Callen couldn't stop staring into the cold blue steel eyes. Callen was searching for a crack or a flinch that would belie his words. He knew he couldn't let Mort get under his skin but the truth of the matter was that Mort's words had moved him. He suddenly felt wanted and valued. Emotion…he couldn't let that override the conversation. He needed to take control of the situation. He knew Mort well and Callen wasn't going to get played. "What does she know about me?"

Mort's mouth morphed into a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't happy. Callen was good at playing mind games too. He wasn't the easy prey Mort thought and it irritated him to no end. In times like these Mort knew that the game was never over, one just changed tactics. "Good we're learning to ask the right questions. But I'm the wrong person you should be asking."

"You all use my past as a pawn in the games you play. I just want answers Mort. Just answer me. I'm tired of being played," responded Callen through gritted teeth.

"No, I will not let this be about you, Callen. This is about the book. You are my agent and I order you to complete the mission!" Mort said raising his voice. Callen's face was red and he was seething. He grabbed the folder and headed for the exit when he heard Mort. He stopped in his tracks. Mort's voice was calm and vulnerable, almost fragile. "I'm not playing any games Callen. I don't have the answers you seek. Ask Hetty about your mother. They knew each other. That's all I know." Mort Saulmann had said enough. Mort saw Callen's shoulders tense and his hands clench into fists. But he remained silent and barged through the door. He needed to get out. He needed to think.

Mort sat still as he allowed himself a slight victory smile as he saw Callen's reaction. He was so pleased with himself, so pleased. Callen was the best but the boy would be better if he let go of his past and his ties. He needed to be completely broken before Mort could turn Callen into his protégé. Lost in his thoughts, Mort didn't hear James enter. "Sir?"

"James…so what do you think?"

"An Oscar winning performance sir…" said James relishing in his boss's skill.

"Yes, I do believe you're right."

Callen stumbled towards the cubicle that he very rarely used and suddenly his head felt light. He started to see spots, as his breathing took on a life of its own. He fell into a chair and sat still for a while, holding his head between his hands. Callen sat frozen in horror and shock. Suddenly the brave façade he was putting on for Mort's sake fell away. He had left to keep his friends and family safe from his past. These were the people he had trusted with his life. But the sense of betrayal was overwhelming. When did everything get so screwed? Hetty was his rock. She had always kept him grounded. She had always been there. But what if Mort's revelations were true and she was keeping secrets? What reasons could she possibly have? He felt betrayed and he felt angry. He needed to talk to her to find out the truth.

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