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When the door had opened, maybe half an hour earlier, Kat had been dimly aware of what happened. The other people had entered the room and dragged in something heavy.
Her brain worked terribly slow. On with the memory of the needle prick came the immediate burning pain she experienced in her chest.
It felt as if she had been shot and when she finally had the nerve to open her eyes and look down, she knew she was right. However, she could not remember what happened.
Despite the pain, she forced herself not to make any noises. Without the others to notice she saw MacAllen lying on the floor, scruffy, beaten up and unconscious.
Seeing he was a victim too, just like she was, guilt bubbled up. She should have protected him from this.
From the room next door she could hear Comescu talking.
"The Serbians will pick the package up in two hours from now. We will have left Catalina before they arrive. Make sure no evidence is left. Juan will take care of this building too. The Wrigley Road House will blow up first, when team Hanna will enter. Young will lead them into it".
It must be the fever and the drugs that affected her clear thinking. All was mixed up and it was af if she made a mess of all that happened in Avalon. Hanna, that was the detective she spoke with. Why would he be here?
She should save him. And MacAllen. If only she could escape and if only she was not that weak.
It was when everyone had left the room that she tried to get her tenant responding to her voice.
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"NCIS?" he asked, as she told him about the transmitter.
Kat saw the expression on George MacAllen's face, as if he heard something very weird.
"I will explain later. Listen, you have to help me. Your wrists are tie-wrapped. There is a trick to break them, but it will hurt."
"I know the trick, but how do you know?" Callen questioned.
It took him some seconds to get his wrists in the right position. He breathed in, bowed, lifted his arms and in a swift way, stood up and lowered his arms in the same pace. He had to repeat it before he defeated the plastic wraps. It hurt indeed, not only his wrists but his head even more.
Callen then quickly untied her.
She moaned when her body was released from the upright position and she slid down on the floor.
He kneeled next to her, his concerns growing as he saw how weak she looked right now. He carefully checked her shoulder, as her shirt was soaked with blood.
"I should get you to a hospital. It's not good—"
"Not now. There are more urgent things to do now," she softly stated. "I can't even remember being shot. It can't be that bad."
"Kat, what did you not tell me? Who are you working for?" Callen asked.
"What makes you think—"
"He told me, Kat, Comescu told me!"
"It's not important now. You should go and stop Comescu. He is about to leave Catalina".
"But—"
"Stop that George. I don't know how many men there are in this building or outside. All you need is a gun and a car and if there is none around you have to get a golf cart. All I need is a phone and possibly a gun."
Callen admired her strong will. He knew though that she needed medical care too, but she did not want to show it. Just as she did not want to tell him which agency she worked for.
"Before you go: take a shelf holder. It's a great weapon".
He gave her a sweet smile. "Thank you so much, MacGyver-girl."
His blue eyes caught her glistening greys, darker now than he remembered. Pain did that, he knew.
Then, on a whim, he kissed her, gently caressing her cheek at the same time.
"I will be back, promise."
He hoped it encouraged her enough to stay where she was, just as much as he tried to reassure himself to stay save and come back for her.
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"Mister Beale!"
As Eric was concentrating on combining and following strings of IP-addresses, he had not heard Hetty coming in.
"Hetty?"
"Your assistance is acquired Mister Beale. Twenty minutes ago, director Vance received a 'distress code' from an agent who might need our help."
Not yet switched into what the operation manager wanted, Eric asked: "Is it not a Washington-thing?"
"If you were to call it a thing, it is a NCIS-thing. And the NCIS-thing appears to be closer to Los Angeles than to Washington. So, Mister Beale, would you now be so kind as to find out about the exact location of the GPS-thing?"
Being closely watched by the petite woman who organized their office so well, Eric could only do as she asked.
Entering the code, a map opened on the big screen.
"It is close to Los Angeles—on Catalina!"
"Notify the team Eric, and send them the information. Tell them—"
The techno interrupted his manager "Hetty, it will be easier if I'll put you through to Callen… Ohnoes, to Kensi."
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Callen carefully opened the door. There were only two men left in the room, obviously bored, playing cards while watching the Hawaii Five-0 series on TV. He should be able to overwhelm them and leave the building.
He decided to step in and go straightforward, knowing they would never expect him walk in just like that.
Self-assured he approached them and asked "Is it alright to leave right now?"
Before the first man, probably Mexican, understood what had happened, Callen hit him on the head with the shelf holder. Not too hard, there was no need to kill him.
The second guy got up too slow. It was easy for Callen to just trow the holder towards the arm the man was going to draw his weapon with. It probably broke the guy's upperarm and for Callen it was now an easy job to tie him with the tie wraps that were left on the table.
Now he had two guns, one for him, one for her. And a phone.
In a haste, he opened the cupboards to see if there was any first aid kit in it. There was none, however, he found a clean dish towel, some Tylenol and duct tape.
He knew he had to hurry to catch up with Comescu, but Callen also felt the responsibility to help Kat, just as he would have done with one of the other team members.
He went back in the first room. "Here, let me help you."
"No, just go now. Get him before he leaves, please. I can handle this."
She took the phone first and dialed a number she had learned by heart, only on and a half day ago.
He understood arguing would be senseless. Even in the condition she was, she was stubborn and definitely no team player.
He recognized the solo player she was; all too often he had gone 'lone wolf' on his team.
Just as he turned around, he heard her speak on the phone, words tumbling from her mouth like orders.
"Mister Hanna? This is Kat Franks. Listen: the sheriff is the one to arrest. Do not trust him. And don't go into the Wrigley Road house, get away from it, now!"
Stupified, Callen had turned around.
"Sam?"