Ch 21
The Boat Shed
John Harris looked up as the door to the interrogation room opened. Hetty stepped in and Harris smiled. He was ready for round two with the poisoned dwarf. She had taken him a little unaware before and he had now taken the time to straighten his thoughts out about events of the recent and distance past. His smile faded slightly as Sam followed Hetty in and slammed the door, the noise making him jump. Sam had a face like thunder and Harris watched him lean against the door and slowly fold his huge arms across his broad chest. He knew how close Sam was to Callen - he was sure it wasn't the other way round, remembering how untrusting Callen was - and judging by his stance, Callen was now well and truly secured in a Federal prison. Either that, or someone had stabbed the treacherous little bastard already. Maybe Callen was actually dead, that would solve many of his problems. Harris broke his gaze away from Sam and focused on Hetty, who sat down opposite him. He nodded to acknowledge her presence, believing the game was on. This session of questioning would see NCIS show their hand. By the end, he would either be walking out a free man, or walking out in handcuffs, and he was sincerely hoping for the former.
"Harris," Hetty said. "It seems you've been a naughty boy for a number of years now."
"Miss Lange, I am Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Division of the CIA-"
"Yes," Hetty interrupted. "I am well aware of that, yet you seem to feel the need to keep reminding us. Do you really think we are so daft as to forget the high rank you now hold? And do you believe that by holding such a position, that you are above scrutiny and guilt?"
Harris refrained from running a finger along his collar. He may have loosened his tie earlier but the evil little goblin in front of him had this knack of making him sweat.
"You looking a little hot there, Harris," Sam uncrossed his arms and walked the few paces to the vacant chair besides Hetty.
Harris stared at the two of them, side by side. Complete opposites. In another time and place, the situation would have been hilarious.
"I've studying your career with great interest, particularly with around to the devotion you gave to the many years spent working in Russia and other Eastern European countries," Hetty paused for dramatic effect. "Such as Romania and Ukraine."
"Well it just goes to show that all the time spent at college studying modern history, politics and languages found me a niche job." Harris replied glibly.
"Indeed, if only it happened nowadays, that careers directly related to the degrees attained...but I'm not here to comment on degrees and education. Tell me about your time spent in Romania when you ran Operations there in the nineteen eighties."
"Well I was based in Romania for eighteen months but I ran operations that spanned the whole of Europe,"
"And what were the names of the agents you ran?"
"Oh, come now Henrietta, I can't recall every single agent," Harris protested in a conversational tone.
"Don't give me such tosh! You are Deputy Direct of the National Clandestine Division of the CIA. Are you telling me that having an excellent memory is not a prerequisite for the role?"
"It was over twenty years ago! I can tell you the names and dates of every operation I currently oversee, together with details of all the agents, spooks and analysts working on them - but they're above your security clearance."
"I highly doubt that," Hetty replied with a sinister smile.
"Before you ran Ops from Romania," Sam spoke. "You were a senior intelligence officer there. What were you working on?"
"Classified," Harris replied smugly.
"No," Hetty interjected. "I read a copy of the unredacted file before coming in here. You had a dual role, investigating organised crime and links to the Russian Mafia, and tracking the increasing civil unrest that eventually led to revolution."
"If you know all that, why bother asking?"
"We'd like to hear your version, y'know," Sam said. He opened the brown file in front of him and threw a photo on the table. "In Romania you worked closely with a CIA Operative named Donald Banks."
"Yes,"
"Stay in touch?"
"Not since the late nineteen nineties,"
"Really?"
"Really, and any photo you pull out will be fake," Harris leaned back in his chair, satisfied that NCIS had nothing to connect him to Banks in recent years.
"We have a series of emails between you, covering the last four months, plus several calls made from burn phones."
Harris at least had the decency to look puzzled. "That's not possible because it is not true,"
"Harris," Hetty shook her head in dismay. "I employ two of the country's finest in my operations hub, and they have the electronic evidence. And of course, you do know that Banks has recently been arrested as a traitor, amongst other charges. In fact, two of my agents are with him at the moment. I'm sure he'll be keen to cooperate to reduce his sentence..."
Harris did this time raise a pudgy finger to his collar, pulling it away from his neck to allow himself a little air and to cool down.
"OK," he admitted. "So I keep in touch with him occasionally. He's a useful contact - or was."
"And what about Anton Zevlos?"
"Who?"
"Harris, you are the Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Division of the CIA, in case you've forgotten. Are you telling me that you're not up to date with current affairs? The CIA," Hetty paused to cough. "Excuse me, the CIA apprehended Zevlos and sent him back to Romania on charges of human trafficking and war crimes. This does explain a lot about the CIA and why you're only a deputy. You don't watch the news and you have no idea what your agency is actually doing. And concerning a country you are very close with."
"Look, Henrietta, I'll level with you. I've been diagnosed with early onset of Alheizmer's and some things just slip my mind," Harris smiled. He had played his ace, which was pretty much the only card he had to play.
"Ah, of course." Hetty looked at Sam and then back at Harris. "Alheimer's, my ass. You can keep your doctor's note, you're not at school now. Part of your mission was to investigate Zevlos' war criminal and people trafficking activities, and through Banks, you initiated contact. But instead of accumulating evidence against him, you and Banks decided to go in to business with him."
"That's a load of old horse shit if ever I heard it," Harris said laughing raucously.
"You gave him safe passage and made sure he would not be targeted, and in return he passed you classified information."
"My my," Harris wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "I think the years have sent you a little doolally, now."
"And you continued to work together after you were relocated to Russia several years later. Zevlos gave you his contacts in Russia and the Ukraine, and you expanded your operation."
Hetty leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the table and stared coldly in to Harris' eyes. The CIA man flinched slightly and blinked, not wanting to appear weak by breaking away first.
"I have enough hard evidence against you for people trafficking, weapon smuggling, betraying the USA and fabricating evidence against an NCIS agent, to put you away for the rest of your life. And, Deputy Director, I also have proof that you conspired to murder undercover CIA Agent Karl Grigson. I don't even need a confession. Anything to add before I read you your rights?"
Harris at least had the decency to remain silent. He shook his head and stared at the table.
"I'd like to say something," Sam spoke up. He stood and placed his hands on the table, leaning forward until his face was boring down in to Harris', causing him to move away slightly in fear. "You're a low level piece of scum, and Callen was right to speak up against you all those years ago. What kind of a man sells women and children - babies - and betrays his own country. And just in case you're wondering, my partner is not in a Federal Prison but is waiting for me in a safe house. He's a better person than you will ever be, better than you ever were..."
Harris absorbed Sam's words, but each one of the was like a needle piercing his heart. He had always despised Callen for some irrational reason; he was an unwanted kid with no respect for authority or command chains, with sealed social services files and probably hidden criminal records. He was sure Callen deserved to be behind bars, but instead he was highly regarded within in the alphabet soup world of Federal Agencies. His biggest mistake had been not passing on Callen's details to the Comescu family, once he uncovered their connections. In hindsight, the brutal murder of G Callen would have solved all his problems.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Hetty's Beach House
Callen had dozed on and off for the best part of six hours, catching up on the sleep he had lost during his night in the LAPD cells. He finally awoke just after the sun had set and he sat up on the sofa, blinking the sleep away and breathing deeply. There was no sign of Hetty. The landline had not rung and there were no blinking lights to indicate a message had been left on the answer-phone. Callen glanced at the front door. No note had been pushed through the letter box or under the door. With a resigned sigh, Callen stood up and stretched out his shoulders and chest. True, he could sleep anywhere, but a strange couch always left him feeling a little achy. Rubbing his hands over his face, he moved to the kitchen and raided the cupboards one last time. There had not been much to raid in the first place so he simply moved the left over biscuits to the table.
Callen literally had nothing except the clothes he was wearing and he hope Hetty kept a rucksack or holdall somewhere so he could stash items he planned to acquire within the next few hours. He opened the door to the bedroom and quickly glanced around. The room was sparsely furnished, with a small double bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers; it was light and airy - perfect for a beach house, but Callen still had a problem picturing Hetty living here. The house just seemed to directly contradict everything he had learned about Hetty over the years. Callen pushed thoughts of Hetty away and moved to the wardrobe, quickly finding a black rucksack tucked away in the bottom corner. Perfect, he thought, grabbing the bag and heading back to the kitchen. He threw the biscuits inside and gave the house one final sweep. His eyes fell on a wooden box that adorned the bookcase.
"Sorry Hetty," he said out loud. He walked to the bookcase and opened the box, grabbing the money that he instinctively knew lay inside. He shoved the notes in his pocket, closed the lid and made his way to the front door.
The road outside was fairly quiet Several motorbikes sped by and small groups of young adults sauntered along. The night temperature was still high and the asphalt held the remains of the sun's heat. Callen shuddered. An involuntary movement that reflected his state of mind. His team - Hetty's team - had failed to prove his innocence. He was a wanted man, a traitor who had escaped police custody and his actions would only serve to enforce the belief that he was guilty. Callen trawled through his memories as he wandered along, forcing himself not to pick up the pace lest he draw attention to himself. Callen had never betrayed his country. Never. Sure, he had played the part of a disgruntled agent and on several occasions had even been a double agent, but they were all tactical parts of well planned undercover operations. He thought back over his career as a Federal Agent, starting out with the FBI in his early twenties, followed by stints in the DEA and CIA before ending up with NCIS. Admittedly there had been a few hiccups along the way, life never went as planned for him, but it had been a great ride while it lasted.
Callen approached a right turn and took the opportunity to furtively glance around, catching sight of a large figure lurking in the shadows by the corner of a now closed souvenir shop. Moving slightly to the middle of the road, Callen took the turn.
"You know you're too big to hide, Sam." Callen addressed his partner.
"Took you long enough. I was starting to think you'd gone the other way and run into Hetty."
"Really? Hetty's waiting for me?"
"Yeah, she just told me to stakeout this place as she had a feeling you would be passing tonight, either here or the opposite corner,"
"That's it? She said nothing else?" Callen was not really surprised that Hetty hadn't let Sam know that he was actually hiding out in one of her many properties, just minutes from his current location.
"Nope," Sam smiled broadly. He observed his partner's body language. He was tense and edgy, clearly in an untrusting state of mind.
"So you here to arrest me or to tell me I'm a free man?" Callen was still slightly apprehensive that all was not as it seemed, after all, why had Hetty not directly entered her own home whilst Callen was inside. Why this further subterfuge?
"Geez, you're paranoid. If you were gonna be arrested, Hetty would be doing it. You're a free man. Harris finally confessed to everything about an hour ago."
"Harris," Callen narrowed his eyes. "He always was a bastard. But why? Before this morning, I hadn't even seen him for at least fifteen years."
"I could tell you but then Hetty would kill me. She wants to talk to you, a little one on one session. She said she would be waiting for you in your new safe house."
"Ah," Callen looked at back towards the direction he had come from, and then gazed at the ground.
"What did you do?" Sam asked. Callen was clearly feeling guilty, and that guilt was connected to this safe house and Hetty. A smile tugged at Sam's lips.
"I sort of found one of Hetty's houses, broke in and borrowed some money,"
"Are you crazy?!" Sam shook his head in despair. "And is this your type of 'borrowing' where you haven't actually asked permission?"
Callen raised his hands to defend his actions. "I was on the run as a rogue agent, what did you expect me to do?"
"No point talking to me," Sam stopped Callen in his tracks, before he could reel off every excuse under the sun. "You need to appeal to Hetty's better side and hope she's in an understanding mood."
Callen placed his hands on his hips and sighed, raising his face to the heavens.
"You want me to escort you back?" Sam offered, unable to stop himself from enjoying Callen's predicament.
"No, I'm good."
Sam patted Callen on the shoulder. "If you make it through Hetty's debriefing alive, I'll pick you up tomorrow."
Callen threw Sam a withering glance and walked away, catching Sam's chuckles before they were lost to the night. He knew he deserved the wrath of Hetty but he had genuinely had no other options. A few minutes later he tentatively approached the front door of the beach house. A light shone from within, emitting a low, warm glow that was muted by the shutters on the small front window. He wondered if he should actually knock on the door or just enter through the side door - or even just turn around and go home.
"Mr Callen,"
His dilemma was solved by Hetty opening the front door wide.
"Hetty." There were either well-hidden cameras around the house or his boss really had micro chipped him.
"How polite of you to actually consider how best to enter my home. I had feared that all your manners had deserted you." Hetty opened the door wide and stood to one side, allowing Callen to step back inside the house he had only vacated a short while ago.
"Sit," she ordered. "I've ordered Chinese, as I'm sure the few biscuits you took from my cupboards have not filled you sufficiently."
Callen refrained from answering as he sat on the sofa and placed the rucksack in front of him.
"Ah, I see you also found my rucksack. Is there anything actually in it?"
"Just biscuits," Callen replied.
"Anything else you'd like to declare before we get started?"
Callen looked at her blankly. He hadn't had time to acquire any of his stashed possessions so he was unsure what Hetty was driving at.
Hetty continued to stare at her lead agent.
"Oh, I do still have the knife and gun I took from that LAPD officer. They're in the bag."
"What about the money you stole from Officer Rudd?"
"I sorta had to spend that. But I'll pay him back."
"He's OK, by the way."
"Good,"
Hetty remained silent for a minute, uncertain whether Callen had anything else to add. When it was apparent he did not, she suggested they move to the table ready for the delivery of the Chinese takeaway. She grabbed two bottles of ice cold beer from the fridge, taking great delight in the brief look of puzzlement that crossed Callen's face. The beer had certainly not been in that fridge fifteen minutes ago.
"So, Sam said Harris was behind this entire...vendetta against me," Callen was keen to get the conversation flowing, anything to stop Hetty playing mind games with him.
"Indeed. Miss Jones and Mr Beale uncovered the electronic evidence late this afternoon, and the circumstantial evidence a little earlier. Harris was already in our custody, so I just needed to sweat out a confession. Took a little longer than I thought. I'm either losing my touch or Deputy Director Harris has more stamina when it comes to sweating than I believed possible."
Callen was pretty convinced that was a rhetorical question, but thought he had better answer it anyway. "Harris does do a lot of sweating..."
Hetty nodded her head in approval of Callen's answer. "Did you know that when you worked under Harris, he made an allegation that you deliberately sabotaged a mission in the Ukraine?"
Callen thought carefully back to his time in Ukraine with Harris as his CIA handler. "He pulled me up a few times," Callen glanced at Hetty, who raised her eyebrows. "Ok, he suspended me a few times and a few days after one incident, he hauled me to one side as he reckoned I'd leaked intel to the officials. He never said why and nothing ever came of it."
"Well, it turned out that a member of the Ukrainian Government leaked details of your CIA operation so Harris withdrew the allegation before it could go any further. But its more about your prior actions that led to this event. Your mission was to gather intelligence on organised crime, political corruption and illegal weapons trading, however you found a connection to a human trafficking ring between the Ukraine and Russia. You approached Harris but refused to give up any of your sources or evidence, so he shut you down. When your original mission was compromised the following day, Harris believed you sabotaged it out of spite."
"I would never do that. So this is really about human trafficking?" Callen quickly picked up on the real reason.
"Yes, Mr Callen. Harris was clearing the way for people smuggling, mainly from Romania, where his contacts were fellow CIA Agent Donald Banks, and Anton Zevlos. The ring also included the Ukraine and Russia. In return he was paid handsomely, although after the revolution in Romania, he moved his base to Russia and began to trade in classified information, in addition to trafficking."
"So he shut me down in case I discovered evidence of his crimes." Callen raised his bottle of beer to his lips and took a long sip, using the time to order his thoughts. "But why go after me now, all these years later? The CIA already had the evidence against Zevlos, we uncovered Banks' involvement and then the CIA had them both."
"It would seem that Carla Shear, Zevlos' lawyer, managed to warn Zevlos about how determined you were to see him arrested and tried for human trafficking. Zevlos alerted Harris and when he realised you were involved with the case, he feared you would dig further and uncover his connections, so he went on the attack."
"Russia?"
"He had you followed to LAX and alerted his FSB contacts in Moscow. He hoped a little subtly would delay your return and any evidence you found on him would be seized. Nell and Eric found the emails which provided them with a physical description, flight details and a request to detain you as a spy."
"But my trip to Moscow was personal."
"Harris didn't know that and when he failed to find said evidence, he decided to discredit you and he went all out to set you up as a double agent, working for the Russians."
"Just so anything I found on him would be inadmissible in court. That's crazy. I never knew he was involved until he turned up at LAPD."
"Let's hope he's not crazy, we don't want him let off on a technicality," Hetty smiled.
Callen picked at the label on his beer, the condensation allowing him to easily remove it without breaking the paper. "He knew all about my past Hetty...I mean about my family and the Comescus."
"Yes, Miss Jones and Mr Beale managed to trace a call made by Harris from a burn phone to a property close to the Comescu family home. Zevlos and the Comescus were both involved in the people smuggling ring for decades. Harris clearly dug deep and must have accessed your personnel files, although Granger's chats with Vance can't have help. Harris must have thought all his Christmases had come at once when he found out your father was a KGB traitor, and that your mother disappeared for years whilst undercover in Romania."
"He used my family and my background against me," Callen said bitterly. He had only recently discovered his heritage, and was still coming to terms with his parentage. But however much he may have accepted the way he was forced to grow up many years ago, he was still fiercely secret over his past. He finished the first bottle and grabbed the second beer which Hetty had left in front of him.
Hetty caught the worried look that washed over Callen. "He would never have been able to access your sealed records."
Callen nodded. Unless they were physically destroyed, no matter how much Hetty reassured him they were safely sealed , he feared that one day his records would be obtained by an enemy and used against him. Either that, or they would be used against Hetty. Harris had possibly come the closest by firstly discovering them, and secondly threatening to get them unsealed by a judge. It may have been the final nail in his coffin, if Harris had been successful.
"So Harris fed me to the Comescus?" Callen was keen to move the story along.
"It seems he asked some carefully chosen questions about you and your past, but he did not sell you out. He was concerned that your outright murder would potentially cause more trouble and lead back to him. He thought that convicting you as a traitor and permanently removing you to a Federal prison, was cleaner and easier than murdering an NCIS agent, either directly or by proxy."
"Well that's something to be grateful for," Callen muttered sarcastically.
"Now, now Mr Callen," Hetty admonished. "You know you have so much more for which to be grateful. You have your freedom, your secrets are intact, and you can return to work tomorrow as an undercover agent."
Callen shrugged and took a long final swig from his beer. He placed the empty bottle on the table next to the first. "I know. It just all leads back to Romania, Russia and people smuggling and that makes it personal. I know what you told me about how Amy and I probably arrived here, but I don't know if my father is still alive. Or if it's safe for me to return to Russia to search for him."
Hetty observed her team leader and remained silent. She had learned a long time ago that Callen had three very different ways in which he dealt with his past. He either became bitter (which used to lead to anger), indifference and melancholy. Recent turn of events had left Callen tired, and so his mood had suddenly turned melancholy.
"What if I find..."
"Mr Callen, you cannot live your life by 'what if' and 'if only'. I'm sure you will find the answers you're searching for in time. However I would suggest a return trip to Russia be placed on hold for several months at least. What you must remember is that you do not live your life in the past. Live for the present. And remember we are your family; Sam, Kensi, Deeks and the rest of the team. Each one of them went above and beyond to prove your innocence."
"Yeah, I know, but..."
The door bell rang and Callen started, his eyes momentarily widening in fear. Hetty barked a brief laugh, her face softening as she stood up.
"You're perfectly safe, Mr Callen. That's just the Chinese being delivered. I hope you are hungry?"
"Yeah, sorry." Callen remained seated at the table and he accepted the two more bottle of beer Hetty placed in front of him before she walked to the front door. He was still struggling to accept this whole incident was now over.
Five minutes later, the smell of Chinese take-away wafted through Hetty's beach house and the two of them ate in a comfortable silence until they were full.
Hetty cleared the plates from the table and left them neatly in the sink, whilst Callen moved from the table back to the sofa and stretched out. He didn't care what Hetty might say, he was not moving from the sofa until the following morning.
"I expect these to be cleaned and put away by the time you leave here," she said sternly, staring at Callen through her thick rimmed glasses.
"Hhmm," Callen answered in apparent agreement, keeping his eyes closed.
"There's whisky in the right side of that cupboard, if you fancy a night cap." Hetty pointed, before adding. "Assuming you haven't already found it and helped yourself."
Callen opened one eye and looked at Hetty. "I'm offended you think I would steal from you," he said, thinking a night cap or two would probably see him through to another five hours of solid sleep.
"Good!" Hetty declared. "I know how loosely you define the word 'borrowing' and how you sometimes confuse the two..."
Callen refrained from answering. He borrowed frequently, it was just that he sometimes forgot to give things back, or they got broken.
"In that case I will leave you alone. I expect you in Ops at 09:30 sharp - no excuses..."
"Hhmmm," Callen again responded, happy to be left alone.
"Oh," Hetty added as she opened the front door to exit. "Just a word of warning...If you don't put back the two hundred and twenty five bucks you borrowed from my box on the bookcase, I will make your life hell for the rest of your living days, and then you will wish that you were locked up in a Federal Prison."
Callen sat bolt upright and called after Hetty, who had already closed the door. "I knew there was something else in that rucksack!" He was met with silence, and a sly smile pulled at his lips. The borrowed money had genuinely slipped his mind and G Callen lay back on the sofa, content with the knowledge that he was safe, and that Hetty would never make his life a living hell for more than a few days, no matter what he had done.
Thank you all for continuing to follow, favourite, read and review Traitor - as usual it is so much appreciated. I love reading your comments and it certainly inspires me to keep going. It's been a bit of a ride as I lost my way a little, but I finally got there!