Well here I am dragging myself back to this shocker of a story... It's funny isn't it - the longer you don't write for, the harder it gets. I am filled with The Fear, publishing this, not helped by general 'life stuff' having been high stress/anxiety for a few months now. And along with The Fear is The Guilt - I promised I would never leave a story unfinished, but the longer it's left, the harder it is to come back and pray that's it's worthy of a read! Poor Callen and Sam really have been stuck in this wretched Cell long enough now though... Sadly although this story has been in my thoughts (Fearfully and Guiltily) for the past few months, I still haven't quite worked out chaps 9-11 how they're going to get out! Here's hoping Callen thinks of something, and quickly! ;)
CHAPTER EIGHT
Callen was almost thankful when at the end of the day he found himself once again cuffed and chained in the cell. Pulling the hood off his head, he saw Sam lying on the concrete slab, still clearly drugged but unharmed. Relief washed over him, releasing the subtle tensions of the day in his back and neck. His cracked ribs were aching tiresomely. What he wouldn't give for a relaxing swim and a hot shower, he thought, massaging his hands down the back of his neck. The chain clinked irritatingly round his ears.
"Tough day?" Sam said groggily, watching him.
"Something like that," Callen replied as he put his finger to his lips. He needed to check things out before saying more. He scanned the room, taking in every grey detail now intimately known, before carefully examining the clothes he had been given to change into for the night. His suit had been taken away, to keep tidy for the next day he guessed. A quick look in the restroom at lunchtime had confirmed a tracker was sewn into the cuff of his jacket, and he suspected that wasn't the only way he was being tracked whilst he was relatively free during the day. But he wanted to be certain before talking to Sam that there were no bugs in their cell. It maddened him that it hadn't occurred to him to check before now, but it hadn't exactly been his top priority.
Sam recognised what Callen was doing and sluggishly got up, leaning precariously forward to run his hands under the concrete ledge as he checked for any listening devices or hidden cameras. Once done, he got down on his hands and knees and carefully examined the area under the ledge, knowing Callen couldn't reach that far. Callen nodded, grateful, and continued his sweep of the rest of the room.
Only when he was satisfied that all was clear did he begin to tell Sam about his day. For Sam's sake, he remained outwardly hopeful he could formulate an escape plan for them both, but he needed to pool knowledge with his partner.
"I've no idea where we are. They won't even take me out of here to shower without pulling a hood over my head. Volkov is apparently occupying the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons…" Sam let out a whistle. "Yeah, I know. That place is like ten grand a night. I haven't seen him yet… They tell me he's in LA for two weeks for some environmental summit, as a guest speaker. They've back-stopped me as security for another guest staying in the hotel, supposedly a businessman here on holiday from the Motherland, but I think he's involved in all this somehow. They're monitoring me closely," he told Sam. "An earwig, trackers, the phone they let me have is bugged. They've got multiple people in the hotel watching me, I'm certain."
"You don't know who yet?"
"Not yet, but I'll spot them before long," Callen said confidently.
"Depends how many of them there are," Sam responded gloomily. "They could circulate different people every day. Could be hotel employees on their payroll." He paused, worn out. "How long are you supposed to be keeping up this game anyway?"
"Why, you got somewhere to be? The fish missing you?" Callen made an attempt at engaging Sam in some of their customary banter.
"I guess not," Sam said. He was unable to shift his depressed mood.
"I'll get us out of here." Callen was emphatic. There was no alternative in his mind, but Sam wasn't so sure. The sedative he was constantly being given was messing with his head and being alone in the dim cell all day without Callen had tested his mental capacity, already stretched thin, to new extremes.
"I hope so, G. But how?" Sam wearily opened his hands as far apart as his chain would allow in a gesture that conveyed the hopelessness he felt. Callen looked at him, trying not to let the doubt he felt deep down show. Their whole kidnapping, and the monitoring of him whilst he was out of the cell, had been meticulously planned, and currently he had more qualms than conviction. He realised Sam was still waiting for an answer, and so he gave him one of sorts.
"How did your day go?"
Sam eyed Callen disdainfully, and Callen could see the cogs whirring, could see Sam wondering if he was being serious. Eventually Sam seemed to realise his scheming partner was trying to gather all the intel he could in order to plan their escape, and so rather than unleashing the scathing reply that would normally have been on the tip of his tongue, he responded as helpfully as he could. Callen was grateful, though in some ways he'd have preferred Sam to vent some of his frustration, to show some anger, some fear even. Anything but the flat apathetic demeanour that was so unlike his partner. So unlike how his partner used to be, Callen corrected himself. Before his world was turned upside down when Michelle was taken so cruelly from him.
"I can't see that it'll be much help," Sam confessed. "If I don't see something other than these four walls soon I'm going to go crazy... The only highlight was your pistol-wielding Russian friend visiting in the afternoon to threaten all sorts of dire things he would do to you if I made any attempt to resist his hospitality… namely whatever muck he's got in that syringe. They're willing to kill both of us, G... If I mess them around, you'll be coming back here in a body bag. And then they've got no use for me."
"They've said much the same to me about you," Callen admitted. He didn't tell Sam the additional threats the pistol man had made in the basement of the Four Seasons before sending him out to start his task – they knew Sam's name too. And they knew about Aiden and Kam. The cold truth of that had haunted him all day, distracting him when he needed to remain focused. He simply had to keep Sam and his family safe, no matter what.
