The stated twenty minutes passed, the screen still grey. Nerves began to fray, worry creeping in. Did something happen? Was all this some elaborate...
A crackle from the speakers, and the screen grew brighter, the room turning to color. Philip Pearson entered, gesturing from the door to the chair. Two men, one tightly gripping each arm, led Deeks into the room. Seeing the chair, he began to struggle, swiftly overcome by repeated punches to the stomach. Kensi cried out, the sounds of fists on flesh driving a spike through her heart.
"The chair," Sam whispered. He knew what had flashed through Deek's mind. Nate glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. "Sidirov," Sam swore. "He flashed back to that damn auto-shop." When first seeing it, Sam had done the same, replaying the screams that still haunted his nights.
Secured, the bonds tested, they were able to get their first good look at Deeks. Nate saw it first. "He's exhausted," he spoke quietly. Sam, no stranger to sleep deprivation agreed.
"He looks exhausted, but not badly beaten. Like their...preparing him for something."
Kensi said nothing. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, searing his face into her mind. She noticed there was very little bruising to his face. Like they had purposefully not damaged his head.
"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" Eric's voice startled them, a strangled groan of frustration. Two other tech operator stood looking at the monitor, as Eric slammed his hand against the arm of his chair.
"Eric?" Sam moved to the station, peering down at the seemingly frustrated man. "What's wrong?"
"The first transmission, had seven proxies. Now there are over a hundred, and they're being bounced everywhere! We've broken four so far, then ten more popped up. Look!" As he pointed as further five more appeared, masking the location even more. "I'm not sure we can break this in time," he whispered to Sam, hoping Kensi couldn't hear him.
Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder, stared at the three techs, trying to fill them with a confidence he was struggling to find. "All of you, do your best. Just, do it faster." The three turned, coordinating as to how to attack the problem, focusing on their work.
"Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD undercover operative, and Liaison to NCIS, you must have many questions." Pearson's voice filled the room, drawing the eyes of almost everyone in OPS to the screen.
"Yeah, actually I do." Deeks stared at the man, marshaling his resolve. "I'm could
use a couple of fish tacos, I'm a tad hungry."
"Deeks..." Kensi whispered, proud of his defiance, and scared of what it would bring down on him.
Pearson laughed, gesturing to the two men in the room. "Gentleman, this is how you meet your death! Not with pleas or tears, but jokes and a defiant attitude." His laughter cut out sharply, a cold hateful stare enveloping his face. "I had wanted to get my hands on Agent Blye..."
"Not a good idea man. She'd stomp you into the ground. Most definitely introduce her boot to your non-de-plumes," he cracked, a grin on his face.
"Yes, well I will just have to settle with you then. I take it you understand why you're here?"
"Most likely, we kicked your ass, and now you're out for revenge. Jeez, try something different for a change, mix it up some." Deeks looked around him, taking in his surroundings. "A warehouse? Really? Damn, why is it always a warehouse with you guys? Why not the beach, somewhere nice?"
The group in OPS couldn't help but smile, chuckling as their detective taunted his captors. "The man is a smart ass like no other," Sam cracked, the grin on his face wide.
In the cornet of the screen, they could see the edge of the door swing open, a figure charging through. They watched as Deeks, his face paling as he recognized who it was, let out a strangled, desperate "no!", then was punched, the fist of the unknown man connecting with his stomach. Tied to the chair, he fell on his side, unable to protect himself as the man began to rain kicks and punches, the blows landing with precision. Gasps and yells filled OPS, watching, helpless as Deeks was beaten, the voice of Pearson sounding over the assault. "Where are you jokes now Detective?"
The man stopped, his chest heaving as the two men who had carried Deeks in sat him up, laughing as they stood back, enjoying the entertainment.
The man stood over a now bruised and bloody Deeks, he's breathing returning to normal, fists clenched as he stared at Deeks. The whole assault, he never spoke a word. Finally, dragging another chair from out of their view, he sat, facing Deeks.
"Hello Martin. It's been a long time. We have so much to catch up on...son."
Pearson hid his shock at the assault, only now understanding the hatred the man had for the detective. Recovering, he smiled at Deeks. "Well, Martin, aren't you going to answer your father?"
Nell turned to Hetty, a strangled gasp choking her, both their faces stunned. "It can't be," Nell murmured. "He's dead. All the records..."
Hetty, not sure of anything at the moment, studied the man's face. "I'm afraid it is Miss Jones."
The others still not fully understanding just how bad the situation had turned stared at her, waiting for an explanation.
"Meet Gordon John Brandel, Mr. Deeks' father."