A/N:- I will never feel like a broken record by thanking Malia Amane for being an awesome beta, and her hot pink text amendments to my work To the rest of you; sorry about the few-week delay given the cliff hanger I ended with. Hopefully, the resolution will be a suitable salve for that.
Disclaimer:- Only characters that don't appear on CBS's NCIS Los Angeles are mine. The rest… I would fight Shane Brennan for. Fight him to the bitter end.
Even years later, Katy Buschel couldn't have told you what made her look up at the apartment block if you'd paid her. She'd been halfway back to her powder blue Kia, rushing out in the middle of showing an apartment to a young couple, driven out really by the call that told her that her precious dog, Hamlet, had been involved in an automobile accident, when she'd paused and glanced back at the building. Maybe some part of her had sensed it even as it had happened, sensed something wrong with the world. She'd told her therapist that it had been like the sound had been sucked out of the world. Even as she'd watched, it came flooding back, with the great roar of an explosion.
A fireball burst from the window of one of the apartments, the second floor one owned by the marine, red hot flames licking out from the shattered glass. But it hadn't been the explosion that had broken the pane; instead, it had been the two bodies, the young couple. The man had come out first, his back being the impact point that had broken the window in truth, though from her position against him, it appeared as if his wife had barrelled into him, shoving him out. Out into the open air they'd come, before the wide tongues of the flames enveloping them for a second. Katy only had a second to gasp, before they tumbled out of range of the blast, hurtling towards the ground below.
Well, that wasn't technically true. There was hard and unrelenting ground below them, but above the ground was a thick bush, all twisted undergrowth and the sharp thorns of roses. The couple hit the bush at full speed, the thick branches cracking and snapping under their combined weight, and blocking them from Katy's view.
Twigs snapped and cloth ripped as Deeks dragged himself through the thick foliage, creating a large enough hole for Kensi to follow him out. After a moment's struggle, he reached daylight, depositing them both on the rough soil. Kensi lay atop him like a comforting weight. Around them ash drifted gently to the ground; ash and burnt remains of whatever else had been inside Quiggin's apartment.
"You okay, Kens?" he asked, hands roaming over her, searching for any visible sign of injury, pushing her ash-littered hair clear so he could see her properly. Her face was smudged with dark stains and littered with tiny cuts and scrapes that he could only imagine were the mirror of his own, but beyond that – and the tears in both their clothing from the sharp thorns – there didn't seem to be anything beyond superficial damage.
"Yeah," she replied, panting hard, eyes locked on his and seemingly drinking him in. "You?"
He grinned. "Never better," he replied. In his chest, his heart still raced, but he could feel the all too familiar come down from the adrenaline surge. Kensi pushed herself up so she was kneeling beside him, and he raised himself onto one elbow. "Plus, I managed to keep hold of this too," he said, waving Quiggin's laptop for her to see. It still smoked slightly from the flames, but he'd managed to clutch it tight to his chest even as Kensi had ploughed into him at full speed and sent them both flying out of the window.
She smiled at him, showing her teeth, eyes closed as she shook her head in disbelief. Then her eyes snapped open, twisting into anger and she drove her fist into his shoulder as hard as she could.
"Ow-w-w-w," moaned Deeks, half in pain, half laughing in surprise. "What the heck was that for?"
"Do you have any idea how close I just came to losing you?" she snapped at him, and Deeks saw tears forming at the corners of his partner's eyes.
Deeks laughed again, shooting her a wolfen grin. "You're not that lucky," he told her. Then he wrapped his free arm around her back, pulling her in close to his chest. She tried to struggle free, but he held her tightly, peppering soft kisses against her forehead. "I'm glad you're okay too, Sunshine," he whispered. "You're the most important thing in the world to me."
As he held her, he felt the tension seep from her frame, until she all but melted against him. Still, he could hear the occasional snuffles against his ruined T-Shirt. Eventually, the professional attitude returned to Kensi – a hell of a lot quicker than it did to Deeks, if he was being honest – and she extracted herself from his embrace, pushing herself to her feet. She scrubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes, succeeding only in further smudging the ash over her face. Deeks barked a laugh again; she looked like a really hot panda bear.
"Come on, Marty," she said with a smile, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet. "We can't afford for you to lie down all day; we've got a job to do."
"Yes, sweetheart," he replied, following her away from the smoking building, before stopping short. Not too far from them stood the Realtor, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging slack as she took in the devastation around them. Deeks coughed, clearing his throat. "I, uh," he began. "I don't think we'll be taking the apartment."
"Heads up, G," said Sam, straightening in his seat and dropping the origami shape he'd been working on. Callen instantly lowered the crossword book, senses heightened. He cast his eyes across the road, where Rachel Comiskey was just finishing locking her front door. As she dropped her keys into her bag, she darted her eyes up and down the street nervously, before scurrying to the sidewalk.
"Well, someone's paranoid," Callen said.
"She could just be cheating on her husband," said Sam.
"Could be," admitted Callen. "You wanna lay odds on it though?"
Sam shook his head. "No. This whole thing is…"
"Hinkey?" completed Callen.
"Yeah."
Across the street, the woman had reached her car. With one last look up and down the row of houses – eyes skipping over the Challenger and its occupants with the air of inexperience – she slipped into the silver Prius. Sam waited until it was halfway down the street before pulling his Challenger from the kerb and following.
The two Agents kept a respectable distance from the Prius, but never letting it out of their sights. A few moments later, they passed the Comiskey residence again.
"Circling the block," said Sam. "Checking to see if there's anyone following her."
"Hmmm-hmmm," agreed Callen.
The Prius reached the end of the road again, indicating to go left. The Challenger pulled in four cars back. However, when the lights changed, Rachel turned to the right. Sam followed suit.
"Basic technique," said Sam. "Checking to see if there's a tail, and then shaking one if they missed it."
"Which she did," said Callen. "She's got the technique; she's just not very good at it. It's almost as if she's been told what to do, but never really implemented it in real life. If she had even a modicum of experience, there would be no way she wouldn't have spotted you by now."
"Hey," exclaimed Sam. "I am great at tailing suspects."
"Just like you were a great receiver."
Sam scoffed. "There is no way Michelle gave you any tapes of me in High School. Cause if she did, there is no way you wouldn't know how damn good I was."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Fumbles."
Sam was about to hotly retort when Callen's cell ringing interrupted him. Callen flicked it open.
"What's up, Kensi?"
"Quiggin's apartment, for starters,"the young agent replied, voice sounding from the speaker. "In flames that is."
"What happened?" Callen asked.
"We triggered some sort of booby trap. The whole place exploded."
Callen felt his heart sink. "You two alright?" he asked, fearing the worst.
"No, we're fine, just a couple of cuts and scrapes." There was a slight pause. "Plus Deeks needs a new set of clothes again." Callen could imagine the grin on her face. Then her voice turned sombre. "Callen, I think there's more going on here than we first thought."
"Tell me about it," he replied. "Do you think the bomb was rigged by Quiggin, or to take him out?"
"Still too early to tell," she admitted. "But we did manage to recover a laptop. Once we're done with LAPD and the Fire Department here, we're going to head back to Ops and see if Eric can pull anything useful off it."
"Okay," said Callen, nodding. "Keep me posted."
"Will do," she replied, before ending the call.
Besides him, Sam sighed. "This just keeps getting worse and worse."
"It's about time we caught a break in this," Callen said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really don't like not knowing what's going on."
Sam barked a small laugh. "Well, I think we might have found our first bit of good luck," he said, as he pulled the Challenger up to the side of the road. Callen looked up, taking in their surroundings again; they had followed Rachel Comiskey to a small café not far from the Monterey Park Shopping Mall in Reseda. On exitingher Prius, she headed straight to the café, where a blonde haired man in jeans and a plain white T-Shirt sat at one of the outside tables. The two embraced deeply, before taking a seat.
"That's who I think it is, right?" said Sam.
"Sure looks like it," replied Callen, raising his camera and snapping off a few quick shots of the man. He then flipped on her cell. "Eric," he said, when the tech operative answered. "I'm sending you a couple of pictures. I want confirmation of the subject."
"Will do," came the reply. There was a brief pause, the only sound the furious clicking of a keyboard. "Okay, got the pictures, running them now… and we have a hit. That's PFC Peter Comiskey. You found one of our missing marines."
"Thanks Eric," said Callen, hanging up. He turned to Sam. "So what do you think? Bring him in or follow and see where he goes?"
Sam took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Usually, I'd say follow him. But… the explosion at Quiggin's place makes this a whole new ball game. I think we grab him now."
"Agreed," said Callen, already stepping out of the Challenger. "But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."
Sam threw him a grin. "Sorry, G, you're team leader. The buck stops with you."
Together, they crossed the street towards the café where the Comiskeys were deep in an animated discussion. As they neared, they could make out some of the words.
"What two guys?" demanded the marine, his voice thick with concern.
"I don't know," replied his wife. "Two guys showed up at the door, said they were old friends of yours."
"PFC Comiskey," called Callen as he approached the table, his tone firm and authoritative. The man looked up, confusion clear on his features. "NCIS…"
Sam watched as first Comiskey's eyes widened, then the blood drained from his face. He knew what the PFC was going to do a second before it happened, but even so, when the marine snapped to his feet, sending the round metal table tipping over, sending glasses and plates flying, it took a moment for the fact to register in the ex-SEAL's brain. Rachel Comiskey was still shrieking in surprise even as her husband reached the kerb, but Sam and Callen were moving too, their feet pounding on the pavement as they gave pursuit.
"Federal Agents," yelled Callen at the top of his lungs, for all the good it would do them.
Sam saved his breath, concentrating instead on the chase. Comiskey wasn't like a lot of the petty thugs the Agents chased down on an almost daily basis; he was a trained marine, at the peak of his physical fitness. And he seemed to know a little bit about evasion, as he darted directly out into the street and the heavy flow of traffic, twisting this way and that to avoid impact. Horns honked and vehicles skidded aside to avoid hitting him, but succeeded only in colliding with each other with the crunch of twisted metal. Callen slowed, holding his hands up and Whoa-whoa-whoa-ing to prevent himself being run over, but Sam didn't; when a black Ford Mustang neared him, he leaped up, sliding his butt across the bonnet and not even slowing down in the slightest.
By the time he reached the opposite pavement, Comiskey was half a block down, but struggling to force his way through the thick press of pedestrians. Shoppers and tourists alike were sent flying as the marine pushed his way passed them, but it was costing him valuable seconds, and slowing down the pace of his escape. Sam, however, had no such trouble, as the civilians around him were already parted from the fleeing Comiskey, leaving a large enough gap for the big man to pick up the pace, and close the gap on the suspect.
A moment later, Comiskey darted to the right, taking another street, and almost ran directly into a mother pushing her baby in a stroller. Comiskey dodged aside at the last second, but his foot caught the back wheel and he stumbled forward, pitching off balance. It was enough for Sam, who launched himself into the air, coming down with his full weight across Comiskey's back and driving the other man to the ground.
"Federal Agent," Sam yelled as the marine struggled beneath him. "Stop resisting. Stop resisting." A few seconds later, Callen was at his side, SIG out and trained on the marine. Upon seeing the silver gun pointed directly at him, Comiskey complied. With little effort, Sam bound the marine's hands behind his back.
"You good, Sam?" asked his partner, as they manhandled the marine to his feet.
"See this? This is why I was a great receiver," said Sam, starting to walk Comiskey back towards the Challenger. "Cause I catch everything."
"I want my JAG lawyer," said Comiskey, his jaw set determinedly. On the table before him, his cuffed hands were clasped together, fingers interlaced. He passed his cool grey eyes first over Callen, in the chair opposite him, then over to where Sam leaned against the doorframe of interrogation.
Callen ignored the request, opening up the manila file. "Private First Class Peter Comiskey," he read aloud. "US Marine Corps. 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines. Kilo Squadron. That's you, right?"
"I want my JAG lawyer," repeated Comiskey. He met Callen's gaze, features still.
"See," continued Callen as if the other man hadn't spoken. "The funny thing is that PFC Comiskey was supposed to have been on a C-2 Greyhound headed to Camp Pendleton from Afghanistan." Silence greeted the statement. "So what I suggest is this; if you want a JAG lawyer, you need to prove to us that you are, in fact, PFC Peter Comiskey. And to do that, we need you to tell us why you weren't at Camp Pendleton; you need to tell us why instead wefound you in the middle of Los Angeles?"
"Lawyer," said Comiskey again, biting off each syllable.
"Well, that's the thing about that," said Callen, closing the file. "Lawyers are only for people who deserve them. Unless you haven't heard of a little thing called the Patriot Act? Means we can hold your ass here until you're old and grey."
The marine leant back into the wooden chair, his body relaxed despite the situation. Callen wondered if the marine was calling his bluff; his total combined knowledge of Operation Broken Swallow was zero, so he had no idea if it endangered national security to that level. Comiskey would know, however.
"Is that what you want, Private First Class Peter Comiskey… if that is, indeed who you are? Do you want to rot in a damp cell for the rest of your natural life? Never seeing your wife again? Do you want her to live the rest of her life knowing that you are a traitor, that you betrayed this country?"
Comiskey's mouth tightened further. Callen sighed; he wasn't going to get anywhere like this. He scooped up his file, rising from the chair, and heading to the door.
"He's not going to break so easily," said Sam as he closed the interrogation room door behind him, following Callen into the main section of the boatshed. "A marine squad… a marine squadron is like a family. And for a lot of these people, it's the only family they've ever known. Comiskey is no exception; his file says that he was in and out of foster homes for years before he signed up. The corps gave him a stability that he lacked. They live together, train together, eat together. They're closer than his brothers."
"What's your point Sam?" asked Callen, watching the monitor feed closely. On it, Comiskey still sat rigidly, hands clasped before him. "The same could be said for us."
"That's exactly my point, G," the big man said, opening the fridge and pulling out two ice cold bottles of water. He tossed one to his partner, who caught it easily. "He's not going to roll over on his family just cause we applied a little pressure. He'll gladly do his time and take a dishonourable discharge to protect his family."
Callen uncapped his water, taking a long glug. "So what can we do?"
"We need to find something more than the threat of jail," said Sam, sipping his own water. "Especially since we still don't know why the entire squad jumped ship like that. We need some actual leverage."
"The wife?" suggested Callen. "He did take a pretty big risk, breaking his cover to contact her, even more so to meet up."
Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. He loves her enough to risk whatever's going on, true, but I don't think she knew anything, so there's nothing to apply pressure with there. And I'm betting Comiskey knows it. He didn't bite when you brought her up in there."
"You know what I hate, Sam?"
Sam grinned. "When I'm right?"
"Yeah. Though thankfully, it doesn't happen that often." Then he sighed. "But whatever we're going to do, we're going to have to do it fast if we want to make sure Operation Broken Swallow is secure."
"Hey guys," came a sudden voice as the monitor shifted and asecond image appeared on the screen, this one showing Ops and the fresh face of their data analyst.
"Please tell me you got something off Quiggin's laptop, Nell," said Callen.
"Not yet," she replied. "Eric's still trying to hack his way in; it's rotten with firewalls, plus it took a bit of damage in the explosion, so we need to work around that too. But I did some more digging into financials and we found something interesting."
"With the marines?" asked Sam.
"No. With the pilots."
Sam's eyebrow arched. "The pilots?"
Nell's grin was a large beam. "It turns out both pilots recently opened offshore accounts, both of which received rather large cash deposits two days before Kilo squadron disappeared, a quarter of a million dollars in total, and the same again just a few hours ago."
"Are they still at Pendleton?" Callen asked.
"No, but we managed to trace their cell phones. One of them's actually not too far from Venice Beach."
"Deeks and I are closer," said Kensi, stepping into frame. She'd changed her top to a white button down blouse, but even through the screen Sam could see light cuts and scrapes on her visible skin. "We'll go pick him up. You two keep working on Comiskey."
"You're sure you two are alright?" Callen asked.
The brunette smiled. "We're fine, don't worry about it. We've lived through worse."
"Where is Deeks anyway?"
"He's still getting changed."
"What's that," said Sam, a hint of playfulness in his tone, "the third outfit he's worn today? What are you two doing out there?"
Besides him, Callen smirked. The woman on the screen, however, affixed them both with an unamused glare that Sam was pretty sure he'd seen on his mother's face a few times.
"Stay safe out there," said Callen. "Both of you. And keep us in the loop, okay?"
"Will do," Kensi replied, before the feed cut out. Sam turned to face his partner, unable to keep the amusement off his features.