"Miss Jones?" Hetty beckoned the intelligence analyst over. "I'd like you to do some research into Gordon John Brandel. He was released from Folsom State Prison in 1996."
Nell nodded and scanned the brief details on the discharge sheet. It was the sole piece of evidence in the file folder. There wasn't much to go on. So the sooner she got started, the better.
"Full checks, please. Parole, contacts and addresses. I want to know everything about him since his release."
Nell wondered who this guy was and how Hetty had tied him into the investigation. There was so little detail on him, it didn't seem possible that she could have plucked his name out of thin air. Hetty was a legend in intelligence circles, but surely even she wasn't that good?
"And Miss Jones? Discretely."
That woman could put so much meaning into one single word, Nell reflected, as she hugged the slim folder to her chest and ran upstairs to begin her work. She was beginning to learn when to keep her mouth shut, but nobody said her mind couldn't work overtime. A little speculation could be very productive, after all.
Hetty sat quietly and let her thoughts run back, rewinding the years. Gordon John Brandel. The youngest and most successful of the famous Brandel Brothers. Twenty years ago, that name had been everywhere: Brandel Brothers were among the top property owners in America, with a massive portfolio of hotels, conference centers and malls; holdings that stretched from coast to coast. Everyone knew them; everyone wanted to work with them. Going into business with the Brandels was the nearest thing to a certainty you could get in business.
Thirty years ago, Jack Brandel had been living the American dream. He was the golden boy of the family, who ran the company's west coast operations and lived in a Malibu mansion that was featured in Architectural Digest. He was handsome and talented and he'd even managed to marry well. The proof that he had really made it into the big time was when the wedding photographs were published in People magazine. Jack had the world at his feet and his press service confirmed that more column inches were devoted to him than Donald Trump. Life was very sweet.
His fall was just as swift. And now the business was dismantled, the name of Brandel Brothers was almost forgotten and nobody had seen Jack for years. Well, it was time to change all that. There was a price to be paid and an old score to settle. And Hetty wanted answers. She'd waited too long and today she had realized that it was almost too late.
Where did it all start to go so wrong, Jack? When did the power go to your head, so that you thought you were invincible? You had it all and you threw it all away. Twenty years ago, you were still a young man, with two young sons and a beautiful wife who adored you. You had more money than you could spend in a dozen lifetimes and you ruined everything. Did you think the cocaine would make you Superman? Did you start to believe you were like those superheroes in the comic books Marty used to devour? For a clever man, you were incredibly stupid.
Do you know what your imprisonment did to your family, Jack? Christopher dropped out of Harvard and enlisted in the Marines. He was killed in Iraq. His family never got his body back. So there was no grave to grieve at. That was the last straw for Maryanne. She couldn't live with all those tragedies. Your wife took an overdose and she died. Maryanne died when she was still a young woman. She should have had her whole life ahead of her to look forward to. And now I suspect you are involved in this operation. I don't know how and I don't know why, but rest assured of one thing, Jack: I'm going to track you down and you are going to pay for all the damage you've done.
Being shot is nothing like it is in the movies, Marty thought, trying to find a position that reduced the pain levels from screaming agony to almost bearable. He couldn't. Each position he tried was worse than the last. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job and tried to ignore the waves of pain that peaked with each breath he took.
No matter how hard you train, there are some things that your body just can't cope with and this is definitely one of them. It feels like there are raw ends of bone grinding together inside me and they must have cut every muscle in my chest. His hand reached out and pressed the pain button. I don't feel like I'll ever be able to get out of this bed without collapsing.
"Have you ever been shot?" he asked, more to kill the awkward silence than anything else. Kensi kept giving him the strangest looks and he was too tired and in too much pain to try to figure them out.
She must be fed up just sitting here and watching me fall in and out of sleep. Bet she wishes she was with Sam and Callen, doing something more exciting.
Kensi shook her head.
"I don't believe you." The morphine was starting work, and he was starting to say things that really should be left unsaid.
"It's true. I've never been shot." Kensi felt like she was confessing. She had never told anyone that before, preferring just to let them wonder. Why do I feel so bad about admitting that? It's not like I've failed. But I just feel like I won't be a real agent until I've been shot. And that's crazy.
"Really? I always thought you were a lot like Wonder Woman, and now I know you are. You're bulletproof". Oh God, these drugs work fast. Shut up, Marty. Next thing you know you'll be calling her by her Superhero name: Kensi the Confident.
"There's a lot we haven't told each other." There's a lot I should have told you. Like how I think you're a pretty decent guy. And how watching you try not to let on how much pain you're in is breaking my heart.
Deeks shut his eyes for a second. There's something she's not telling me.
Kensi decided it was time to change the subject. "Sam faxed over a list of suspects. Lots of names – got to be over a hundred." That was an impressive tally. Sam had added that, although Versey clearly didn't like Deeks, he admitted he was a good cop. Which meant a lot, coming from that particular source. And she was holding the proof right here in her hands.
"I didn't realize I'd pissed off that many people," Deeks said, scarcely able to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.
She tried to lighten the atmosphere. "I was actually thinking the list was pretty short!" Her attempt at levity failed completely.
"Maybe you should add your name to it?" he said flatly. He gave her a beseeching look and Kensi almost dropped her guard.
Does he really think that? Have I really been that bad to work with? Why am I such a bitch to him?
For a moment, they just looked at one another, and then Deeks dropped his gaze and plucked nervously at the Band-Aid covering the IV site. He didn't have the strength to pretend anymore. It was easier just to give up the struggle and say what he really felt. "I just got lazy and made myself an easy target."
"You shouldn't beat yourself up." Let me make it better.
"I can't help it. It's one of the things I'm good at." One of the very few things. Don't you agree, Kensi?
And maybe it was the drugs working, but suddenly Deeks experienced the most vivid flashback, like some weird acid trip. He could see the shooter from this morning so clearly, see the gun pointing right in his face so that he was staring straight down the barrel. He could relive the exact moment when he realized he was going to die.
"Some cop, huh?" he asked wryly.
Kensi could not think of a single thing she could say in response that would give him some solace. She wanted desperately to comfort him, but could not begin to find the right words. I've failed him again. Why can't I say what I feel? That I was so terrified when I heard he was shot? That I've been fighting my feelings for him since the very first day I saw him, even before I knew he was an undercover cop. That right now I want to lean over and kiss him like there is no tomorrow. Why can't I do that?
Only she knew that saying or doing any of these things would ruin everything, so her only option was to sit quietly and just say nothing at all.
Marty was too tired to see the look of anguish on her face. All he knew was that he had bared his soul to her, told her how inadequate and stupid he felt and he'd got nothing back. Not one single word. Kensi had just looked at him.
All of a sudden, everything seemed completely pointless to him and the slide into morphine-flavored oblivion was a welcome release.
He's been through hell and he still looks gorgeous. I want him so much it hurts. And I don't know what to do. This is such a mess. How come his hair still looks so good? Oh great, I've completely lost it. I can't even control my thoughts. I wonder if he is wearing boxer short or if he is naked under those covers? Guess I'll never find out.
Kensi sat patiently until she was certain Deeks was sound asleep and then she stood up quietly, leaned across the bed and stroked his bare arm gently. She didn't trust herself to kiss him, although she badly wanted to. And then she sat back down and waited some more. It seemed like all she was doing today was waiting. It was almost a relief when Nell came in an hour later, even if Deeks did reveal some extraordinary information that altered everything she thought she knew about him.
"Progress report please, Miss Jones?"
Nell was clearly bursting with news. "I couldn't find a trace of Gordon John Brandel after he was released in any of the systems, but I'm going to keep looking. Only, when I went over to the hospital, Deeks said he'd identified three possible suspects. Two of them are in prison, serving life sentences, but on non-related cases: Ivan Lee and Michael Thomson."
"And the third name?" Hetty asked impatiently. She wasn't interested in either Lee or Thomson.
"Gordon John Brandel!" Nell announced triumphantly. "Deeks shot Brandel when he was eleven years old. He told Kensi and me..." She had expected a reaction and was immediately deflated when she saw that Hetty was not in the slightest bit surprised by her revelation. It's almost as if she knew all along. But how on earth could she? That's impossible – isn't it?
"And did he say anything else?"
Nell shook her head. Deeks had clammed up after that and Kensi had suggested she leave. Right enough, the poor guy was so white he looked like he might pass out at any moment.
"Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Callen?" Hetty asked, aware of an uninvited visitor who was hovering close by and giving every indication of eavesdropping.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" he countered.
Her answer was instinctive and as emphatic as it was succinct. "No."
Callen wasn't prepared to let this pass without further enquiry. "We are on the same page, aren't we?"
He knows there is something more to this! Does he really think I'll rise to the bait? Callen should learn to play chess; it might give him a little more finesse. "Of course we are," she answered blandly.
Callen smiled. "Just seems that you're a few pages ahead of me." And that you're never going to let me catch up.
"I'm a fast reader." Her tone was as mild as tempered steel. Don't push me. You don't know who you are dealing with, Mr. Callen. There is a lot that you do not know: there are things you do not require to know.
Callen knew when to back down, when discretion was the better part of valor, but he couldn't resist one final parting shot. "You will tell me if something comes up?"
"Of course, Mr. Callen." She waited until he was definitely out of hearing before she continued her conversation with Nell. "Keep looking, Miss Jones. I need more information. Find Brandel for me."
I'm getting closer, Jack. You can't run forever. You haven't begun to pay for that night you came home high on cocaine, so out of your head you were paranoid. At the trial, your lawyer said you were so delusional that you thought Christopher was trying to take over your position in the company. He was a nineteen-year-old college student – he was just a boy! He was more interested in having a good time with his buddies. But you couldn't think straight. You just saw him as a threat, so you threw a punch and you knocked your son right across the room. When Chris hit the wall, it was with such force that your shotgun fell off the rack. Did it seem like a good idea to finish off the evening by killing him? Did it? Was that why you were aiming that gun at his head? Thank God, Marty knew there was a pistol in your desk drawer. I'm glad he shot you. He saved his brother that night but he's had to live with the consequences for nearly twenty years.
Can you imagine what it is like for a child of eleven to see his father trying to kill his brother, as his mother stands screaming in the doorway, unable to move? Can you even begin to think about how scared he must have been? Or what it must be like for a little boy to have to shoot his father? Do these thoughts haunt you like they haunt me? I hope they do.
And what about Maryanne? Her whole world fell apart that night and she could never rebuild it. Eventually, she just couldn't endure the struggle any longer. You killed her too, Jack. You've ruined so many lives. And you haven't begun to pay. Prison was only the beginning.
The Brandel legal team had gone into overdrive. They didn't bother to try to exonerate Jack: he was a liability, and even in a family business, money took precedent over sentiment. No, they had concentrated on keeping publicity to a minimum, making sure Jack pled guilty and that he signed over all his shares in the company to his wife, along with the Malibu mansion, the apartment in New York and the summer house in the Hamptons and various other assets too numerous to mention. One thing Maryanne didn't have to worry about was money.
The smell of failure is anathema in the world of big business, and Jack's sins were too great to be ignored. Once the trial was over, Brandel Brothers employed entire teams of publicists to try to repair the damage and to halt the decline in stock prices. They were very successful and the share prices soon began to climb again. Which was all most people were really bothered about in the first place. Soon, it was as if Jack Brandel had never existed. A few years later, the company sold their property holdings, re-invested in new technologies, changed their trading name and Brandel Brothers quietly disappeared.
Once you were locked away in prison, Maryanne divorced you and went back to her maiden name, and the boys did the same. Chris enlisted in the Marines and seemed really happy. Marty was doing well at school and Maryanne was trying her best. It didn't last, of course...
I think I was working in Moscow when Christopher died. I'm certain that I'd newly transferred to Berlin when Maryanne took the overdose. The world was a very different place then; there was a lot of work to do and I was needed. It was deep undercover work, playing a long game that lasted for nine months. I'd devoted my life to serving my country and I was proud to do that. But I'm not proud of the fact that I was never around when Marty needed me. I failed him just as much as you did, Jack. I made some bad decisions and I've regretted them ever since.
By the time Marty was seventeen, he was completely alone: his mother and brother were dead and you had vanished as soon as you'd left prison. In the space of six years, your son lost everything that mattered. He'd inherited everything when Maryanne died, but what good was money when he'd lost his family? Did you know that your son was rattling around in that huge house in Malibu, with only the servants for company? Did you even care?
Marty is nothing like you. You don't deserve a son like him. He became a cop because he wanted to make a difference. He's a good man and I'm proud of him. I've kept my distance though. He was only four the last time I visited you and Maryanne, so he doesn't remember me. Of course, I haven't used my real name for years, so there is no reason he should make the connection. Marty has no idea who I am and it will stay that way.
Your son has done so well, Jack, despite everything you did to him. I kept an eye on him when I came back to California and it was relatively straightforward to arrange his secondment here, of course. There is no precedent for a liaison officer between NCIS and the LAPD, but I was able to pull some strings. I have one or two friends who have a certain amount of influence and this seemed like a good time to call in a few favors. I thought I was so clever. It all seemed so perfect.
How wrong I was. I must be getting old. But I'm not so old that I've even begun to forget what you did, Jack. And I'm going to find you and make you pay. Watch out. You won't see me coming until it's too late.
Clock watching was never fun. As the hands edged slowly towards three o'clock, Kensi could feel her muscles starting to tense up. It looked as if NCIS identified the man behind the shooting and a meet was arranged for three. It was nearly time. It would soon be over. The plan did not allow for any survivors.
By now, Sam and the SWAT team would already be in place, ready and waiting for Callen. The waiting was the worst time. You had to control your adrenaline, keep alert, and not let your concentration slip for one second. You had to be prepared for the unexpected and be ready to react to a change in the game plan without a second thought. And Kensi excelled at that. Thinking on her feet was one of her best skills. She just hated all this waiting on the side-lines and the feeling of being completely helpless. But as much as she wanted to be with Sam and Callen and get the bastard who shot her partner, she wanted to stay beside Deeks even more.
He shot his father when he was eleven? Did he kill him? What on earth happened?
Deeks lay back against the pillows, eyes heavy with fatigue. He couldn't rest, this one particular thought kept nagging away at the back of his mind.
"Why didn't he finish me off? He used a .22 pistol. That's just going to wound, unless you go for a head shot. He used a girl's gun. So why didn't he shoot me in the head and finish me off?"
Kensi didn't want to go there. "Maybe that's what they wanted – to wound you."
Deeks shook his head. "No, that's not it." There was something more to this. If he could just think a bit harder, it would come to him. It was almost within reach, he just needed to concentrate. The morphine was dulling his senses, so he leaned forward knowing the movement would be agony. Which it indeed it was. Mary Mother of God, that hurt!
The waves of pain rolled back and forwards for some considerable time and the room went in and out of focus for at least two minutes, but it certainly helped to clear the fog from his head. And then the clouds cleared and he could see everything with complete clarity
"If I'm an easy target, that makes you guys impossible targets, right? I'm new to this but you guys, you guys live your lives with heightened security awareness at all times. I'm a cop and, like it or not, I'm the weakest link." It's all so obvious, now that I can think clearly. How come the others can't see it?
"What if I'm not the target? What if I'm the bait?"
"To lure the rest of us out?" It made perfect sense, Kensi realized. Grabbing her phone, she speed-dialed Eric. There wasn't a moment to lose.
"Callen is walking into a trap. Deeks is not the target. This is a set up to hit the rest of the team. Abort the mission." Barely pausing for breath, Kensi turned to Deeks, "You are safe – they are not". She was on a roll and ready for action. At last there was something constructive she could do. She started to run. At last there was something she could do.
"Wait a minute!" Deeks objected. "I'm still thinking here!" There's something missing. Something important. Something you need to know, Kensi. Just give me a minute to figure it out.
But Kensi was too busy hear him, too involved in her plans to listen. Her mind had already moved on to the next step. Got to think ahead. Got to warn the guys. Deeks is okay now; I don't have to worry about him.
Suddenly it all made sense, horrible sense. Deeks saw the whole picture and it scared him rigid. There was only one reason Santo and his buddy had come to the hospital and one reason only: they knew his partner would be there. Shooting him was the only means to an end. Kensi was the real target. And Kensi was gone haring off somewhere.
"KENSI!" Deeks yelled so loudly his right lung felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. A new, sharp pain asserted itself and it was noticeably difficult to breathe. Might have just done a bit more damage there. Great.
It was too late. Kensi was gone and he was stuck in this bed. And she clearly had no idea what she was going to run into. What did she say about being security conscious? That it was hard and you had to think every moment of every day?
There were some days when the best option was not to even bother getting up in the morning and just stay in bed with the covers pulled up over your head, Deeks thought. Only this wasn't one of those days. Not by a long shot.
