Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-five
"You're sure this plane can get us all the way across the Atlantic?" Kensi looked dubious. "It looks awfully small."
"I'm sure. And, more to the point, so is the pilot. They're kind of funny about things like making sure they've got the right plane for the job. Or enough fuel to get to their destination."
"There's no need to be sarcastic." She looked at the plane sitting on the tarmac again, and then at the other planes waiting to taxi down the other runway. "They're an awful lot bigger."
"That's because they take more passengers." Marty took hold of her hand and marched her forwards. "It's a Gulfstream 550."
"That's nice." Clearly, she was meant to be impressed, Kensi thought, as she walked as slowly as possible.
It was gradually dawning on Marty that Kensi was less than enthusiastic about going home. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter." She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the plane again. It still looked awfully small. Kind of puny, more like a child's idea of a plane than something that would take them safely across the vast expanse of the Atlantic ocean.
"Are we going to play the game where I keep asking and you keep saying there's nothing wrong and then you get sulky because I'm not a mind reader?" You know the game, because we go through this at least once a month, every month. Marty did a quick calculation and realised that whatever else it might be, it certainly wasn't the "don't look at me the wrong way or I'll serve your balls on toast for supper" time of the month. For which he was truly grateful.
"I don't really like flying, okay?"
"Of course it's okay. You should have said." And don't worry, because with what I've got planned, you won't have time to think about the fact we're thousands of feet up in the air. "I'm sorry I didn't realise, because you were fine on the flight over."
"I was paralytic. That's why I drank so much – because I was scared."
"I would have held your hand." Marty raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. " I could keep doing this if it would make you feel better."
Despite herself, Kensi laughed. "I could think of other places I'd rather have you kiss me."
"Really? Like where?" He led her up the steps. "Like in a plane? Like in this plane?"
"I suppose so." Kensi sat down in a leather chair and twirled around experimentally. "It's quite nice." Her knuckles showed white as she gripped the armrests convulsively.
Marty went over to the bar and investigated the contents. "Okay, you've got a choice – champagne or Rescue Remedy."
"No choice. Rescue Remedy tastes foul."
"Champagne it is then." Just to be on the safe side and not wanting a repeat of the last time Kensi drank alcohol when flying, he only opened a half bottle.
The plane started to vibrate as the engines started and within second they were moving slowly towards the runway. Marty settled himself next to her and fastened the lap-belt. "Ready to go home?"
"I'm ready." She clinked her glass against his. "Here's to a safe flight."
"I'll drink to that."
"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"
"We're in a luxury plane, we're drinking champagne, and most importantly, there's no-one to interrupt us – what's not to enjoy?"
Kensi managed to stifle a gasp as the plane suddenly soared into the air. "Goodbye Scotland," she said.
"Hello fun." Marty finished his glass of champagne. "Now, about that corset."
"What corset?" She tried very hard to look innocent.
"The one you tried to hide in the wardrobe."
Kensi slowly undid a couple of buttons on her blouse. "This one?" She stood up and undid the remainder and let the blouse slip off her shoulder and slide onto the floor. Her jeans followed suit a few seconds later. There were very few occasions when Marty Deeks was lost for words, but this was definitely one of them. Kensi walked over to him and insinuated her way onto his lap. "Cat got your tongue, Marty?" Her tongue flickered briefly between her lips and he moved his face closer. "Oh no. I didn't say you could move, did I?" She stood up and walked to the back of the cabin, Marty's eyes following her every inch of the way, transfixed by this new Kensi, wearing black satin and lace and the sheerest black stockings imaginable. Her waist looked tiny, her butt incredible and her legs seemed to go forever. He didn't have a clue what this new game was, but it sure as hell looked like fun.
"That's Erica Jane Barrett. Positive identification." Callen looked through the two-way mirror at the woman lying in the corner of the custody suite at Heathrow airport, curled up in a foetal position and rocking slowly back and forwards, keening softly to herself. While he knew it was EJ, there was something badly wrong here. "She's not said anything? Nothing at all."
"Not a single word. The arresting officer said one minute she was screaming and bawling, "like a fishwife" were his exact words, and he had quite a job to subdue her." Jenkins had a nasty bite mark on his thigh where EJ had managed to draw blood, and had been taken off to hospital for a tetanus injection and HIV/AiDs and hepatitis testing. "When they put her in here, she just seemed to withdraw into herself. And she'd been like this ever since."
"Could it be an act? I really need to get her back to LA?" And I need to get back to LA myself. Urgently.
"Does it look like an act to you?" Sarah Macleod asked. "We're awaiting our psychiatrist, but my guess is she'll be sectioned under the Mental Health Act and taken to a secure unit where she can receive treatment. At the moment, I don't think she would even understand if we charged her with an offence."
This was not the news he needed. "Could she be on something?"
"We'll test her for drugs, after the psychiatrist has assessed her. But this has all the hallmarks of an acute mental collapse."
"There's no way she's going back to LA today, is there?" Callen wished with all his heart that he could go through into the room and wring EJ's scrawny little neck with his bare hands and damned well make her tell him where Sam was. It was nearly 18 hours since he'd disappeared and there was still no news. Not a single demand, not even one possible sighting. It looked bad. And EJ was the only lead they had, only it didn't look like she'd be making sense any time soon – if ever.
"You'd be doing well to get her back next week, I'm afraid." She looked genuinely sorry, Callen thought. Only he didn't need sympathy – he needed action. More importantly, Sam needed action.
"Hetty? It's not good news at this end. Don't count on seeing me anytime soon, because EJ has finally gone right overboard and she's barely keeping her head above the water. You want to cheer me up and tell me you've found Sam?"
"I wish I could, Mr Callen. Believe me, I wish I could." Hetty was trying to summon up every last ounce of courage she had in her body before she went out to see Sam's wife. She'd broken bad news to families before, too many times, and their haunted faces were something that remained etched on her brain with acid. This wasn't something she would ever dream of delegating though, no matter how difficult a job it was, because she knew how much worse it was for the relatives. For Denise, she corrected herself. Denise Hannah. She wasn't just Sam's wife, she was a person in her own right, with hopes and dreams, which Hetty was about to shatter irreparably. Not to mention the child, Crosby. Sam's little boy. Would he see her face in his nightmares – the woman who ruined his childhood because she took his daddy away?
Randy plot bunny is breathing very hard for some unknown reason. I wonder if he is asthmatic?