Chapter Seven
The ops room was quiet and still. Tension swirled though the air like the moment before the storm hits- the false quiet that lulled you into thinking that everything was alright. It felt like the building was holding its breath, waiting for things to start happening so that it could exhale.
They all knew better. It showed in their tense posture, in their quiet, reserved voices as they waited for the meeting to start. Sam showed it the least, falling back onto his military training and using it hard. His eyes flickered over the group, then moved to the screen, gaze turning focused as he memorized the information displayed there.
Deeks fiddled with a silver pen, turning it over and over in his hands until Kensi reached over and laid her hands over his, stopping the repetitive movement.
He glanced at her, sheepish. "Sorry," he muttered and slid his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to move, to do something other than just stand still. He'd never been good at waiting. It was one of the reasons why he'd become an undercover cop. The rush of being in deep let him empty his mind for awhile.
Kensi handed him the pen back, a tiny, taut smile on her lips. He took it, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingers for a second, and laid it on the lighted table in front of him, resting one hand over it. She lifted an eyebrow, understanding him more than he would ever know.
She looked pale and nervous. The waiting was the worst part for her too. She knew that her nerves would disappear once the operation got underway, but for the moment, it felt like her stomach was filled with butterflies wearing heavy boots. The two cups of coffee she'd drank at lunch didn't help. The caffeine made her feel jittery and a little bit nauseous.
Amy sat quietly on a chair by the large table. Her hands were wrapped so tightly around her walking stick that her knuckles showed bone white through her skin. Out of all of the, she looked the most nervous, almost scared. There wasn't one of them in the room that would fault her for it. They all understood the look in her eyes. What had happened to her could happen to them, if their luck ran out or they got sloppy.
Callen stood in front of the large screen, eyes fixed on the case files there. Eric had added new information from the car lab. Sterile pictures of the wrecked vehicle lined the bottom of the screen. Somehow, the damage looked worse inside of the brightly lit building.
"Why did they tamper with his brake lines?" Callen asked the group at large.
They all turned to him, grateful of the distraction. He scanned faces, relieved to see most of the nervousness vanish. The little that remained didn't bother him- it kept you sharp… kept you careful and alive.
Kensi spread her hands. "Maybe he was thinking about leaving and they found out."
Callen nodded. "Maybe," he agreed.
"No," Amy said and shook her head. "It doesn't fit with what we know about the group." She stood awkwardly and moved over to the centre of the room. "If they knew he was thinking about leaving, they would never have let him out of the camp." She shrugged. "More than likely, he'd have ended up in a shallow grave somewhere missing the back of his head."
"So what does that leave us with?" Deeks asked. "Is the car lab one hundred percent sure that the brakes were tampered with?"
Sam nodded. "I know the woman who runs the car lab. She'd never tell something if she wasn't completely sure."
Deeks nodded. It was the answer he'd expected. "It would be helpful if we knew where he'd been, or where he was going."
Eric spoke up for the first time. "I'm running a search of traffic and ATM cams for five miles around the site of the crash. Nothing's popped yet, but I'll keep looking."
Deeks rubbed the back of his neck. "That doesn't mean much. There are lots of fire roads in that area." He shrugged. "No cams on those. He could have driven along them for hours, and we wouldn't know."
"What if Sanderson wasn't supposed to be driving the car?" Kensi asked. "What if the person who tampered with the brake lines thought that someone else would be driving it?"
Callen nodded. "That's a good theory, Kensi. Sam and I will run it down while you and Deeks learn your covers."
The doors slid open. Hetty stepped into the room, a troubled look on her face. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was clearing up some details with Director Vance. Where are we at?"
Callen turned towards her. "Tossing around ideas about petty officer Sanderson's death.
"And what have you come up with so far?"
"We think that Sanderson may not have been the target. Kensi has a theory that he wasn't supposed to be driving the car at the time."
Hetty tilted her head, considering the idea. "Based on what?"
"Based on the idea that they'd never have let him out of the camp if Steele thought he was thinking about leaving the cult. Steel would have just shot Sanderson and dumped the body," Amy said.
"So who was supposed to be driving the car?" Hetty asked.
Callen and Sam exchanged glances. "We're still working on that."
"Then work fast, gentlemen. It could be important." She turned towards Eric. "Mr. Beal. The covers, if you please."
He swallowed hard and typed a quick command that cleared the screen and brought two pictures up to replace the information. Names and dates hovered under the faces, typed in thick black text that looked scarily formal.
Kensi stared at her own face, a queasy kind of excitement rolling in her stomach. "Jess Hunter." She nodded. "I like it."
Deeks read his cover name. "David Hunter. Very manly." He paused, and blinked at the screen. "Wait, why is my cover older than me?" He turned to Eric, a mock glare on his face. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
Eric raised his eyebrows, but shook his head. "Hey, it's only a year older," he muttered.
Hetty picked up two files and passed them to Kensi and Deeks. "Go. Read your covers. Learn them both."
The partners nodded and took the files, heading out of the door.
Callen watched them go and shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this case," he muttered.