Chapter 4

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Callen dressed and went down to the concierge as soon as he hung up with Lionel. He was glad that he'd thought to reserve a car before leaving the U.S. Not knowing where in Cuba Anna might be, Callen knew enough about Cuban public transportation to know that his search would be easier if he had his own. Lucky for him Eugene Weston had an impeccable driving record. Callen entered the lobby and discovered that even at this hour, several other guests had not yet retired for the night. Since the concierge was assisting someone else, Callen waited. When the guest was satisfied that the concierge would, in fact, be able to acquire eight tickets for the theater performance tomorrow night, he left. Callen stepped forward.

"Mr. Weston, good evening. What can I help you with?" the concierge asked with a weary, but genuine smile as he straightened out some loose papers.

"I reserved a car before arriving, and it should have been delivered to the hotel this afternoon."

The concierge nodded and turned around in the narrow space behind the counter and checked the various pigeon holes in the organizer on the wall. Eventually, he pulled out a few sheets of paper and a key fob. He placed them on the counter in front of Callen and then set a pen down on the papers.

"If you will sign these papers, Mr. Weston, I will give you the key to your car which is parked in one of the spaces behind the hotel."

Callen had already provided his license, insurance, and credit card information—or rather, Eugene Weston had—so he signed the papers quickly, took the key the concierge handed him, and walked out through the door leading to the hotel parking spaces.

The evening was damp and cool as he climbed into the 1960 Chevrolet Impala Sport Coupe. As he settled into the driver's seat, he looked down at the stick shift. It had been a long time since he'd driven a car with a manual transmission. In fact, the last time was during an op in Afghanistan. This time he wasn't on an assignment, but he hoped the result of this trip was as successful as that one had been.

XXXXXXXXXX

Back in L.A. that night, Kensi and Deeks headed into the boat shed. The agents had wrapped up their case—a fairly simple one involving drug trafficking among some enlisted Navy personnel at Port Hueneme—but Sam had asked them to meet him at the boat shed before heading home.

Kensi sat down on the couch and Deeks plopped next to her. "So, Kenz, any idea what Sam wants to talk about?"

"Maybe," she said, "it has something to do with the case Callen's working on." She paused. "He must be working on something special."

"Or maybe he's going to talk to us about whatever's bothering him." Deeks looked at Kensi with some exaggeration, "Don't tell me you didn't notice it. Sam was not himself today."

"I noticed it," she admitted. "Maybe what's bothering him has to do with Callen. Maybe he's working without overwatch again."

"You might be right," Deeks conceded. "I think having Callen as a partner sometimes drives Sam crazy. I mean, those two are nothing alike." Kensi gave him a look that told him she didn't want to hear anymore, but he continued, "Now, Callen and I would be good as partners. Not as great as you and I are, but good, really good."

"Deeks, honey, if you were Callen's partner, he'd probably quit. And then," she added with a wicked smile, "Hetty would probably kill you."

"Yea, that could be a problem."

"Just a tiny one," she said and squeezed his arm

As she finished speaking, Sam walked through the door. "Hey, Sam, my man," Deeks called out without getting up. Kensi said nothing because a sixth sense told her Sam had something serious on his mind. "So, are you going to tell us about the case Callen's working on?" Deeks continued.

"No," Sam stated simply.

"So," Deeks looked at Kensi briefly and then back at Sam, "you gonna tell us what's bugging you?"

Sam placed his hands on the back of a chair and faced them. He took a deep breath before he spoke and kept his voice steady, "G resigned from NCIS this morning."

"What?" they said in unison and stood up. Kensi immediately crossed to Sam while Deeks stood rooted in place. Several silent moments passed and then Deeks laughed.

"Oh, that was a good one, Sam dog. You had both of us fooled." He laughed a little more and glanced from Kensi to Sam, "Okay, Sam, you can tell us what Callen's really working on."

"He's not working on anything, Deeks. He resigned." The sharpness in Sam's voice startled Deeks, who looked at Kensi. Sam was done. He turned to leave, but Kensi went after him. She laid a hand on his arm before he opened the door.

"Please, Sam. You can't tell us Callen's resigned and then just leave. You need to tell us what happened. We deserve to know."

Sam turned back to his teammates, and his face reflected the stress he felt. "I don't know what happened, Kensi."

"But why did he resign?" Deeks approached Sam and joined the conversation.

"He didn't say."

"We all know Callen doesn't talk much, Sam, but he must have said something," Deeks said.

"You think I'm lying, Deeks?"

"Of course he doesn't, Sam," Kensi replied as the tension in the room increased. "It's just, for Callen to resign without saying why, to leave without saying goodbye, to any of us. There has to be a reason."

"Look," Sam said to both of them, "I don't know the exact reason G resigned. He may not even know himself."

Deeks caught the caveat, "Maybe you don't know exact reason, but you have an idea."

They fell silent. Sam finally took a seat at the table and Kensi and Deeks joined him. It was several minutes before he spoke, and he chose his words carefully. "We all know about G's past—his mother's murder, his foster homes, his sister's death—but these past few years have been especially tough." He paused. "We think of ourselves as a family. And we are. I consider you family, even Deeks."

"Thanks, bro."

Sam shook his head and continued, "Anyone of us could suffer a tragic loss at any time. When I lost Michelle, I wasn't sure I would survive that loss. If I'd lost Kam or Aiden, too, I don't know if I would have. But Callen helped me survive. Both of you helped me survive." He leaned back, "But G's suffered loss after loss these past few years, and I just don't know if we did enough to help him survive."

"We were there, Sam, but he never seemed to need us. He's never seemed to need anyone," Kensi said, hurt and confused by Sam's words.

"I know it doesn't seem as if G needs anyone—and that's on him—but he's lived his whole life alone. I didn't ask for help when Michelle died, but you were all there for me." He paused. "If we're a family, we shouldn't have to ask. None of us should." He stood up. "You asked what I think, Deeks. Well, that's what I think. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he just got tired. I don't know. I really don't know." He turned and walked out as Kensi and Deeks, without a word, watched him leave.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost 3 am when Callen neared Santa Lucia. Since he couldn't check the local hotels at this hour, he decided he'd go to the local beach, catch a few hours of sleep, and go for an early morning swim before beginning his search. He turned off the main highway onto the road leading to Cayo Jutias. There was a causeway that led past the metal lighthouse, and the beach was supposed to be just beyond the mangrove trees. Soon after he pulled onto the causeway, he stopped at the security checkpoint where the guard asked to see his passport.

"And why are you traveling to Cayo Jutias at this time of day, Señor Weston?" the guard asked as the light from the single bulb in the guard station cast a faint glow onto the dirt road.

Callen pulled out a paper that outlined his "research" and handed it to the guard. "I thought I'd get an early start on my testing because I have a lot of samples to collect and not much time."

The guard examined the document and handed it back to Callen. "You know that there are no hotels at Cayo Jutias?"

"I know. I'm just going to stretch out in the car until sunrise."

The guard leaned down slightly and looked in the car. He shook his head. Usually the Americans were the crazy ones. He waved Callen to go ahead. He drove slowly over the dirt and gravel, past the lighthouse, and right up to the mangrove trees. He parked and sat silently for a moment absorbed in the darkness. He heard the waves breaking rhythmically on the shore and the rustling of small nocturnal animals scurrying through the mangroves and the high-pitched squeaks of bats overhead. He wanted to get out of the car after the long ride, so he decided to go for a quick swim now even before catching a few hours of sleep. He probably wouldn't get much sleep anyway, and the water would help him relax. Callen grabbed the bath towel he'd brought from the hotel and stepped out into the moist air and cooling breeze. The mangrove trees formed an elegant border around the beach, and when Callen crossed it, he found himself on a wide collar of white, powdery sand. The moon cast silver shards of light across it and on the waves beyond. Callen stopped as he soaked in the serenity. He was a million miles away from where he'd been the day before. He took a deep breath. When he got closer to the water, he dropped the towel and sat down to remove his shoes. His bare toes dug into the sand, and he stood up and stripped off everything. His clothing stacked in neat piles on the towel, Callen headed toward the ocean already more relaxed than he had been in many, many days. At this moment he knew that coming back had been the right decision. And then he saw her, rising out of the surf and coming ashore, her wet skin shimmering in the moonlight.