A quick but heartfelt thank you to everyone who has favourited and is following this story, and to those reviewers who only sign in as guests such as Skippy. I hope you continue to enjoy 'Traitor' as the story notches up a gear. [This chapter is a marathon but there was no natural breaking point.]
Chapter 11
The next morning, just after 11am Callen strode in to The Mission with his bag slung across his shoulder. He entered the bull pen which was eerily silent, placed his bag gently on his desk and glanced around.
"That is bull and you know it," Hetty's raised voice broke through the silence. There was a pregnant pause until she spoke again. "Very well then Leon, when can I expect them...Direct them to the boatshed...No I don't understand...Good day," Hetty replaced the phone in its cradle and muttered, "bugger."
Callen warily approached Hetty's office. It was rare to see their formidable Operations Manager with ruffled feathers and that call from the Director of NCIS clearly meant trouble.
"Hetty," Callen said tentatively. "Everything OK?"
"No, everything is not OK." Hetty replied seriously. Her demeanour changed instantly to one of concern as she recalled the reason for Callen's late arrival. "But tell me how your physical assessment went?"
"Passed with flying colours, I'm now fully cleared for all lines of active duty. And," Callen added with a smile, hoping to lighten the atmosphere, "I even have perfect hearing."
"Good, good." Hetty seemed to barely be paying attention to his response. She remained silent for almost a minute before collecting her thoughts and speaking again. "Mr Callen, as your hearing is perfect, I need you to listen carefully to what I am about to say. Do you understand?"
Callen instinctively felt on edge. Whenever those kinds of words were uttered, they were usually followed by bad news. He sat down on the chair in front of Hetty's desk and leaned back with folded arms. A classical defensive pose, Callen knew, but he did not have a good feeling about what Hetty was about to say.
"Go on..." There was a confidence he did not feel in those words.
"It seems that our friends at Langley have come across some information that has caused them to look closely at one of my team." Hetty paused.
"One of your team," Callen repeated. His gut instinct told him exactly who that agent was.
"Yes Mr Callen. I need you to accompany me to the boatshed where I hope we can answer their questions before this gets out of hand."
"I take it the CIA's concerned about what you told me yesterday, about my past?"
"Director Vance stated the CIA has found something else. He refused to tell me what exactly, but I had to reassure him that you would fully cooperate with the CIA. I assume that I won't be feeding back anything to the contrary, Mr Callen?" Hetty tilted her head to one side as she asked the question. She did not want to have to verbalise the fact that if her senior agent was not fully cooperative, Director Vance had made it clear that Callen would risk suspension with possibly a warrant put out for his arrest.
"No Hetty," Callen replied. "I understand. But if they've found out something about me that I don't know, how can I answer any questions?"
Oh, Hetty thought, the logic behind that question was something she also had a problem with. Vance had not divulged what exactly it was the CIA had uncovered. She just hoped they were on more of a fact finding mission and they would not cause too much of a disruption to her unit or indeed, to her team leader.
"I would hope this can be resolved by the end of the day but," Hetty chuckled dryly and without humour, "this is the CIA. Mr Callen, I know patience is not always your strongest point however it will be in your best interest to focus on honing this skill quickly."
"OK," Callen didn't really have much choice in the matter. There was nothing he could do immediately so he turned his attention to the emptiness of Ops. "Where's the rest of the team?"
"They're following up a lead in the Mason case. Now will you join me for a calming cup of tea before we leave to meet which ever incompetent fools the CIA is sending our way?"
Callen nodded his head in acceptance of Hetty's offer, his mind racing at what possible information the CIA had now uncovered. It could only be connected to the Russian sleeper agents who had paid to raise him and his sister as their own in the 1970s. Once that failed, they had been abandoned and picked up by Social Services. What else could there be? Callen knew from firsthand experience how awkward the CIA could be and how lengthy their investigations – and indeed interrogations – were, after all he used to work for them.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
"What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded as he barged into the boatshed.
He quickly absorbed the scene in front of him. Two suited Federal Agents were seated at the table in the centre of the room. Callen was sitting at the head of the table, lazily leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out. Hetty was brewing herself a fresh pot of tea; the others all had steaming mugs of coffee in front of them.
"Ah Mr Hanna," Hetty nodded in acknowledgement of his presence. "Let me introduce you to our visitors from the CIA. This is Agent Jessica Bolton." Hetty waved her hand in the direction of the female agent. She was wearing a smart navy skirt suit with a white blouse that brought out her deep blue eyes. Dark blonde hair was tied neatly back in a pony tail. She gave the impression of being serious, organised and efficient.
Sam exchanged looks with Hetty and Callen before extending his hand to Agent Bolton and introducing himself.
"Good to meet you," Agent Bolton stood up and shook Sam's hand firmly. "This is Agent Tom Fordham."
Tom also stood to shake Sam's hand. He remained silent, instead nodding a greeting. Callen observed the introductions with a neutral expression.
"So is someone gonna tell me what's going on?" Sam stared pointedly at Callen and Hetty, waiting for one of them to offer an explanation.
"I can only assume, Mr Hanna, that as you are already here someone has prepped you in advance." Hetty turned her attention to Callen who had suddenly decided that his fingers required a lot of studying.
"I heard the CIA's here for Callen," Sam said aggressively. "And I'm here to make sure nothing happens to him."
"You're loyalty is admirable, albeit slightly misplaced at this precise moment in time," Hetty admonished Sam.
"Miss Lange is right," Agent Bolton smiled at Sam. "Agent Fordham and I are just here to discuss recent revelations about Agent Callen's past in the hope it will assist us in an ongoing investigation."
"And what 'ongoing investigation' would that be?" Sam asked. "One where Callen is the investigation?"
"Ah the direct approach," Agent Fordham spoke for the first time. His deep bass voice was very fitting for his size and height. At six foot six he towered over Sam, and width wise would also give Sam a run for his money. How much of that was muscle though, Sam could not tell.
"Well?" Sam challenged for the third time. It was Callen who answered him.
"Apparently when the CIA was following through on the Anton Zevlos case, paper trails were uncovered that led back to the selling of Romanian children to Russian couples who were being prepped as sleeper agents." Callen raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "It would appear that the Comescu's decided me and my sister Amy were deserving of that fate."
Sam's eyebrows furrowed together and he rubbed a hand over his face. It seemed that for every answer Callen found about his early life and his past, there was twice as much pain and many more questions.
"So what? That obviously never happened..."
"At the moment we just need to ask Agent Callen some questions, nothing more," Agent Bolton spoke with a soothing, authoritative voice. She turned to Hetty. "Miss Lange, we need somewhere more private to ask these questions, where we won't be subjected to interruptions." Agent Bolton observed the narrowing of Sam's eyes and added. "The quicker we can be, the quicker your partner will be back in the field with you."
Sam tightened his lips together in an expression of reluctant understanding.
"Certainly, there is a room to the back here. Mr Callen?" Hetty gestured to the ground floor interrogation room and Callen slowly moved to his feet, wandering over to where Sam was standing.
"They're right Sam," Callen said. "I'll be fine. There's nothing you can do anyway." Callen lowered his voice so only Sam could hear him and Callen escorted Sam to the exit. "Get Nell and Eric to keep a track of Granger's movements. Last thing I need is him giving the CIA ammunition about me. Oh, and you might want to get Deeks back here. You and Kens can partner up for the rest of the day."
"Y'reckon Granger's out to get you? And what d'ya want Deeks for?" The two had paused by the door and Sam was sounding slightly put out that Callen was dismissing him and instead requesting the company of their LAPD liaison.
"You know he doesn't agree with my methods so the further away he is, the safer I'll feel. And if the CIA get too tricky – well Deeks can be my legal counsel," Callen held Sam's gaze. "You know what the CIA's like Sam. And between me and Deeks, we'll frustrate the hell outta them."
Sam shook his head as he saw the slight grin on Callen's face. He had a bad feeling about this, especially as Callen had earlier alerted him that the CIA wanted to quiz him and now it seemed all they wanted was an informal chat. But if Callen and Deeks were pairing up to battle against the CIA, and with Hetty on his side too – well, Sam thought - he almost felt pity for Agents Bolton and Fordham...almost.
"OK," Sam said, looking around the room before opening the door to leave. "Take it easy G."
Callen nodded and closed the door behind Sam. He turned on the spot and spoke to the CIA Agents. "We can talk in private here," Callen opened the door to his left, inviting the agents to leave the table and enter before him.
Fordham and Bolton grabbed their coffees and files and strode purposefully to the interrogation room. The sparse room had two chairs positioned either side of the wooden table that stood centrally. A third chair was in the corner near the door, next to a low cabinet; another low and long cabinet stood against the far wall. Callen leaned against the doorway, not offering to move the spare chair to either side so he could see how the CIA would play with the positioning of the furniture and themselves within the room.
Bolton did not pause as she led Fordham into the room, glancing around as she did. She immediately realised the interior window allowed for observers to clearly see the reactions of the person being interrogated (even though the blinds were down) and she walked to the external side of the room, stopping in front of the chair and placing her hands on its back. Fordham took his cue from Bolton and moved past her, hovering at the rear of the room so he could see how his senior agent would play this out. Bolton moved the chair away from the table and smiled knowingly at Callen, wordlessly inviting him to sit down.
Callen returned the smile and nudged himself away from the door frame. He sat down on the 'suspect' side of the table and stored away the small piece of knowledge he had just acquired. Bolton was in charge, but both agents had been working together long enough not to require verbal communication. And both had enough experience to immediately assess the psychological impact of the seating arrangements of the room. And Bolton had also realised why Callen had lingered in the doorway.
"Agent Callen," Bolton started, sitting down with her back towards the internal window. "You are aware that you are here under your own free will to assist the CIA in understanding the Anton Zevlos case and the wide impact of people trafficking in Romania in the 1970s?"
"I am,"
"And to ensure we all understand the situation, you are here as recently discovered evidence confirms that you, as a young child, was smuggled out of Romania and sold to a Russian couple who were preparing to infiltrate America from Canada, as a sleeper agent family."
Callen nodded. "I understand. But do you understand that I had no recollection of my early childhood until recently."
"And what did you remember recently?"
Callen did not answer immediately. It was all well and good giving answers that demonstrated he would cooperate but they left him feeling vulnerable. The memories were private and still painful.
"I remember being on a beach with my mom," Callen paused for a few seconds. He held his head high and met Agent Bolton's gaze. "I remember a man giving me a toy soldier as another man shot her dead."
Bolton scribbled a few notes on a pad she had produced from her bag. She looked up as Callen stopped talking.
"And then what?"
Callen shrugged. "Nothing."
Agent Bolton narrowed her eyes slightly. She had a copy of Callen's personnel file from his time with the CIA, but she had yet to receive an unredacted version and was only in possession of a summary of his years in care. "You have no other memories of your family?"
Callen remained silent. What more could he tell them? He only had one other memory. "I remember my sister pushing me in a cart. I must've been about four and I was telling her to push me faster. It was summer and we were in a garden, but I don't know where."
"How old were you when you saw your mother shot?"
"About four?" Callen replied with a slight question, as he could only assume he was four years old, mainly based on the information Hetty had provided and the solid fact that he was in the welfare system when he was five.
"What language were you speaking with your sister?" Bolton asked, glancing down at her papers.
"English," Callen replied truthfully. He was unsure what Bolton was trying to achieve. If the kart accident had occurred when they were with the Russian sleeper agents in Canada, they would all have been speaking English. But knowing that he was born in Romania to a Russian father, he realised he would have been exposed to both languages from birth, as well as English from his American mother. He wondered what the agents would have thought if he had answered 'Russian'.
"When did you learn to speak Russian?"
"I spent three months with a Russian foster family - the Rostoff's. I picked it up there."
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen or fourteen," Callen replied nonchalantly.
"Hmm," Bolton scribbled a note on her paper. "So you're saying in three months you became fluent? Russian is not an easy language to learn."
"I didn't say I became fluent but I found it easy so carried on learning the language. It's given me wider career choices, but I'm sure you have that listed in my records in front of you." Callen feigned an interested look at Bolton's papers.
"I have a lot of information in my files here, Agent Callen." Bolton said. "And not all of it contains details of your CIA operations."
Callen leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I hope not; at least half of them are classified and a number of others will be redacted."
Jessica Bolton matched Callen's supercilious smile with one of her own. "Oh, I know, but they still make interesting reading. Your mother was an American, a CIA agent."
"So I was told about three years ago." Callen remained outwardly amused, but his mind was racing. How did they know that? Had Hetty declared that information to other agencies or the CIA specifically? Or had someone just deeply researched the surname of Callen for any connections?
"How did you find that out?"
"Hetty. After the Comescu's tried to kill me." Callen stopped short of saying 'like they killed my mom and my grandfather'. Somehow he did not think that added piece of information would go in his favour.
"We've looked into Clara Callen's family history. Seems her mother was Romanian and her father an American – also CIA - well OSS in those days. And he died on active duty in said country."
"No, she wasn't Romanian," Callen corrected.
Bolton and Fordham both looked sharply at Callen. They were both aware that the NCIS agent before them knew very little about his past; that he was an orphan who had grown up in a variety of foster homes and orphanages, so it was of great interest that Callen was contradicting that fact.
"What do you mean?" Fordham asked.
"My grandmother was Roma. Gypsy, travellers. It's different to being Romanian. I can speak Romanian but not Roma," Callen added, hoping to add weight to his explanation.
"Do you have any idea where you were when you saw you mother killed?"
Callen leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. He tilted his head to the right slightly and smiled, repeating some of his earlier words. "On the beach."
Agent Fordham moved away from the wall he was leaning against and strode over to the table. He placed his two hands on the table and bent forwards, using his size to try to intimidate Callen. "We know that, smart-ass," Fordham spoke slowly. "Which country?
Callen remained in the same position and looked up into Fordham's brown eyes. The earlier warmth had disappeared and Callen wondered whether this was the first glimpse of what might be in store for him. Were they really out to get him? He had a sudden flashback to his last joint CIA / NCIS operation before Hetty had persuaded him to jump ship and leave the agency. He'd been part of a small team working in Moscow with NCIS Special Agent Gibbs, who was now based in Washington. A ghost of a smile passed his lips as he recalled one of Gibbs' ever increasing list of rules to live by, which went something like, 'if you think they're out to get you, they probably are'.
"You think this is funny?" Fordham raised his voice and leaned in closer to Callen.
The smile left Callen's lips almost as quickly as it had appeared and Callen gave Fordham a hard stare with icy blue eyes.
"I was on a beach in Romania." Callen quickly observed the widening of both the CIA agents eyes. They had not been expecting that, he thought smugly. He changed position and leaned forward in his chair to meet Fordham's challenge. "I found myself on the same beach in 2011 when I was in Romania with my team to rescue Hetty from the Comescu's and the flashback hit me."
Fordham eased himself back a little but remained in close proximity to Callen. "Any other life changing flashbacks?" Fordham asked sarcastically.
"Agent Callen," Bolton stepped in quickly. Now was not the time for Fordham to be antagonising Callen. They needed his assistance and to work with him for answers on how involved the Romanian people traffickers were with the KGB and sleeper agents. She laid a hand on Fordham, which instructed him to back off. "Agent Callen," she repeated in a softer voice. "Are those the only memories you have of your family?"
Callen turned his attention to Bolton. He knew exactly what they were doing and Fordham had now shown his hand. At some point the CIA pair would play 'good cop, bad cop'. It was a tried and tested routine for everyone in law enforcement, although Callen had a sneaky suspicion that when these two really went for it, Bolton would be the real bad cop.
"Yes," Callen answered abruptly.
"What about your father?" Agent Fordham asked he had moved back towards the corner.
Callen shrugged. He ought to be used to these types of questions by now, he thought. He'd been faced with them on and off all his life, through social workers, agency background checks, therapists, his peers, foster families – even the odd girlfriend he'd allowed to get too close. For a long time they had ceased to bother him but now, with the snippets of information which had come to light over the last three or so years, he once again felt...anxious. Callen remained lost in his thoughts and failed to hear Fordham repeat the question about his father. A loud thump of a fist on the wooden table made Callen start.
"Agent Callen," Fordham's face was becoming close to invading Callen's personal space and Callen fought a natural urge to move away. "What about your father?"
"I don't remember him at all." The truth of those words hit him harder than they had ever done before. He actually knew who his father was, seen the images of himself as a baby in his father's arms, yet he had no recollection, no feelings of love towards the man. He only felt guilt that he could not remember his father, and bitterness that his father had never come to find him.
All three Federal Agents looked up as the door to the interrogation room opened suddenly.
"Who the hell are you?" Bolton asked. Scraping her chair back she quickly stood and walked towards the door, followed by Fordham.
Deeks entered the room and quickly closed the door behind him. Leaning back against the door he introduced himself. "LAPD Detective Marty Deeks, but I'm on a loan out to NCIS, so I'm the LAPD liaison with NCIS. I'm also here to represent Callen in a legal capacity – that would be as his lawyer – I am also a lawyer, just to clear that up." Deeks broke into a smile.
"Detective Deeks," Bolton spoke. "Agent Callen is not under arrest or caution and so has no need for legal counsel."
"Yeah but I'm here now; and you never know what might happen. Callen here just loves to talk about himself and I would hate for him to say something which you spooks interpret the wrong way, and then my good friend here will have incriminated himself without even realising and then before you know it, he is under formal investigation and his career – no – his entire life is in jeopardy."
"Wow," Bolton turned to Fordham. "That was impressive!"
"Yeah, I don't think he paused for breath during that entire turn," Fordham responded seriously.
Deeks grabbed the spare chair by the door and positioned it at the head of the table. "I know; that was good. I can do better if I speak faster. I'll give it a try later but I won't warn you – I'll just go for the element of surprise."
Bolton smiled at Deeks. "OK, Detective, to summarise, Agent Callen has given us very little to assist in our investigation into the Comescu's and Romanian people trafficking."
"You do know he was like really young at the time he saw the Comescu's murder his mother?" Deeks replied bluntly. "Have you ever considered that a) he blanked the trauma from his mind and b) how much can you remember from being three or four?"
Callen looked at Deeks. Ok, he thought, maybe I can just let Deeks do all the talking so I don't have to.
"Detective Deeks," Bolton countered. "You're a qualified lawyer?"
"Yes ma'am," Deeks replied with a proud smile and a glint in his blue eyes.
"And a LAPD Detective?"
"Yes I am," he turned to Callen. "See, people do listen when I talk."
Bolton ignored the interruption and continued, "And a trained psychologist, specialising in childhood trauma?"
"No, but it doesn't take a qualified councillor to arrive at that conclusion. I barely remember anything from before I was five or six. Can you?" Deeks refrained from adding that he too may have suppressed memories from his childhood due to trauma.
Fordham nodded yet Bolton responded. "Noted, I take your point, but it can sometimes take a trigger, an object, a photo – a beach...to tease out those repressed memories." She flicked back through her note pad and then rifled through several folders in her satchel. Removing one, she placed it on the table and thumbed through a number of pages. Pausing when she found her mark, she tapped a finger on the page and looked at Callen. "How many therapy sessions have you had?"
Callen remained silent. How the hell would he know the answer to that? The number was probably in the hundreds if it included his years in foster care and the obligatory therapy sessions required for each operational debrief.
Bolton softened her voice and asked the question again. "Since childhood, how many times have you seen a therapist, Agent Callen?"
Callen sighed and tried not to look too defiant when he spoke. "I don't know. I never counted."
Bolton looked down at her folder again. Deeks looked between Callen and Bolton, noticing Fordham doing the same.
"Agent Callen I have your CIA records in front of me and it states that during your career with the agency, you attended twenty one sessions and failed to attend a further eight." She ran her finger down a loose sheet of paper. "Records obtained from the FBI and DEA show a similar pattern. NCIS have not yet released their details, but records from your childhood are startling different."
Callen started suddenly in his chair, a movement that was not lost on any of the occupants of the room. He raised his arm and pointed aggressively at Bolton. "Those files are classified."
"Yes the contents of those files are classified, as are the contents of your sessions with the various agencies you've worked with. But I have a statistics. The number of sessions you were sent to between the ages of five and thirteen is over two hundred. But there is a very low count from fourteen to eighteen - your teenage years. Why was that?"
Callen glanced quickly at Deeks and shook his head ever so slightly. "I passed every test and complied with every compulsory session to become a Federal Agent and to stay operational."
"That's not what she asked." Fordham spoke.
Callen stared straight ahead, his eyes boring into Bolton's. He remained silent.
"Callen doesn't have to answer any questions he doesn't feel comfortable with," Deeks spoke on Callen's behalf. There was a palpable tension in the room and Deeks had instantly understood that if Bolton didn't move away from quizzing Callen on how he was psychologically challenged throughout his childhood – and adult life – then this 'interview' would be over.
"No he does not," Fordham responded to Deeks. "But the more we understand about him, the better we can manage our investigation."
"And what investigation would this be?" Deeks asked quickly. He was well aware that so far Callen was not under investigation; however that was not what these agents were implying.
"The one into Romanian people smuggling, and the use of orphans as Russian sleeper agents." It was Bolton who replied this time. She observed the widening of Deeks' eyes at the latter half of her sentence and she continued. "But I guess your friend here hasn't confided in you about this..?"
Deeks looked as Callen who was clenching his jaw, presumably in an effort to stop his temper flaring.
"I would like a minute with my client," Deeks said. Standing up he opened the door wide and gestured at the two agents. "If you would step out of the room?"
Agents Bolton and Fordham exchanged a look. Guided by Bolton's nod, Fordham led the way out of the room.
When the door closed behind them, Deeks sat back down in his chair at the head of the table. Sitting opposite would only give the impression that he was now interrogating his colleague, and Callen was tricky enough to talk to on a personal level on a normal day.
"Look Callen. I know you value your privacy but you need to give me the basics. I'm here to help you and I can't do that unless you trust me."
The sincerity and seriousness of Deeks' words hit Callen hard. He blinked heavily and stood, walking slowly to the rear corner of the room. It had been difficult enough for him to open up to Sam on the few occasions where he'd no choice. This so called 'chat' with the CIA might be pivotal to his career. Callen figured he had three choices; to run and risk being arrested, to offer basic cooperation and risk being investigated or to fully cooperate and risk personal and psychological hurt.
"You can't run; it would be career suicide. At least give me a summary. It won't go any further than this room." Deeks remained seated. He broke into a broad smile when Callen turned to face him, clearly still running scenarios through his mind. "If it helps I'll tell you my deepest and darkest secrets – and believe me I will know if you tell Sam or Kensi – and then I may have to kill you."
Callen relaxed his shoulders a little and allowed a smile to tweak at the corner of his mouth. He moved to the table and reached beneath to switch off the microphone. Deeks took the hint and walked to the corners of the room and switched off the live feed.
"Ok," Callen finally said. "But even the summary might be longer than you think."
For the next ten minutes Callen recounted what he knew about his mother, father, Grandfather and the Comescu's. Deeks knew some of the story but the revelation that the Comescu family had sold Callen and his sister to the KGB for use as sleeper agents which had resulted in the siblings being dumped at opposite ends of America, left him feeling sick.
"Is there anything else the CIA might have that you haven't told me?" Deeks asked. "I get the feeling they're gonna start pushing on the sleeper agent angle."
"I'm not sure if they know about my father – they haven't asked me anything specific, just if I had any memories of him, which I don't. But they did quiz me on where I learned Russian – and the CIA sent me on plenty of missions to Russia..."
"Where did you learn Russian?" Deeks asked, partly in curiosity and partly on a professional level.
"I stayed with a Russian foster family here in LA for three months when I was about fourteen," Callen replied. "Their young daughter taught me. When she was killed a few years ago, Hetty arranged for me to buy their house."
"Ah, interesting," Deeks commented. "Interesting purely on a personal level," he quickly added as Callen narrowed his eyes as he had attempted to follow Deeks' train of thought. "Any dirt the CIA can dig up about the foster family or those missions?"
"The Rostoff family? No, they were the best three months I had in foster care. The only controversy about the CIA operations, were the ones where they messed up." On another day the comment would have been given a sarcastic slant but today Callen said the words without humour.
"Anything else you wanna give me?" Deeks asked.
"Not that I can think of," Callen responded. He moved away from his position at the back of the room and approached Deeks.
Deeks nodded his head in understanding. Callen had revealed as much as he was willing; it was time to let the CIA back in.