Castoffs

Chapter 2

...

The air was hot, sucking the moisture from his mouth, leaving it so dry he couldn't even spit. His mind became fuzzy as he followed the goats along the rough track skirting the cliffs. His memories became fleeting, frustrating him as he stumbled through the barren terrain. The woman he had dreamed of was his strongest connection to his past. He could almost see her in his mind. She had dark hair and mismatched eyes, but the image wouldn't coalesce into someone he recognized. The other names from his dreams seemed to float between reality and fantasy. For all he knew they might not even exist. The man's voice giving him orders remained persistent though, and most of his commands were helpful and encouraging. As was his friend…the goat. He had taken to calling it Yoda because of its eyes and big ears. Its dark horns were a little scary looking and made him wary about letting it get too close. The animal never got far ahead before turning back to look for him, but it only bleated when he asked it questions. Not even trying to hold up its end of the conversation. The clanking bell around its neck wasn't helping his massive headache either, but he appreciated the goat's apparent concern. If that's what it was.

"If you're looking to me for food…that's not happening," he called out. "You, on the other hand, are looking tastier by the hour."

The goat replied loudly, sending a sharp slice of pain through his head. "Guess I deserved that."

Periodically the goats would stop to nibble on the chaparral, the three of them circling one bush at a time. He began to think of them as the Three Musketeers, and himself as d'Artagnan. The craziness of it was slightly embarrassing, but there was no one to make fun of him for it, since he was completely alone. It didn't quite fit with the Yoda name he'd given it, but he had a concussion, and nothing was making much sense anyway.

The path became steeper, and he began to wonder if following a trio of goats had been the right decision. They made it look easy, but he was forced to scramble on hands and knees in some places and it was tiring him out. Finally, he reached a high point and stopped to catch his breath. The downward track looked risky. It was full of broken stones and gravel and wove between sharp edged boulders. But he figured he had no choice, so started down after Yoda. The other two goats were moving fast, and he lost sight of them as the trail twisted and turned. At one treacherous point, his feet slipped out from under him, and he landed hard, his ribs slamming into a large rock. He screamed and almost blacked out as he slid down the loose gravel of the path, before finally grabbing a bush to stop himself. He lay on his back breathing hard as pain shot through his ribs and into his chest. He was covered in grit and grime. Sweat coated his body and the churned-up dirt left him choking. When he was able to breathe, he raised his head to see Yoda staring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Sonofabitch! What? I'm resting, you judgmental bastard," a couple of bleats was all he got in return. "You better not be laughing at me. I have a knife, and I'm hungry as hell."

The goat promptly turned and trotted off.

…

Alejandro Mata's sunglasses cut the brilliance of the sun, but nothing lessened the impact of the heat. Sweat stung the corners of his eyes as he stood on the deck of his elegant, white yacht, staring at the remains of his helicopter, now nothing but a blackened hulk punctuating a troubling failure. He took another sip of his tejate, needing it to cool his anger as well as his body.

He'd been looking forward to interrogating the blond undercover agent who'd been on board, needing to know if he had told anyone other than Homeland Security about his current operation. He'd paid an exorbitant amount of money to buy the allegiance of the two Federal agents who'd been running him, and now one of those men was probably dead. Their buy-in had been the betrayal of their own undercover agent. A skilled man he had grown to trust and like. A man who'd made him laugh, reminding him of his brother. A man he believed was loyal. Now he prayed he was somehow still alive, so he could personally make him suffer. He wanted to know the truth of the man. His real name. The names of his loved ones. If he was still on this island, he would find him, and make him regret every lie he'd told. He didn't like feeling this vulnerable. If his operation had been compromised, he would have to change a plan that had been in the works for months, and that pissed him off.

He watched as Osorio, his right-hand man, and several of his bodyguards searched the wreckage. He clinched his fist when his cell phone buzzed.

"Did you find his body?"

"Tough to know, Jefe. Most of the bodies are burned. Tough to identify…"

"But you found something. I can hear it in your voice."

"Hobson. Shot twice."

"Shot? What the fuck?"

"Something bad went down, Jefe. Don't know what or why. Some sort of fuck up. Change of heart, maybe."

"Hobson's?"

"Si. Maybe he was second guessing himself. Being a traitor to your own is not easy for some men."

"He took the money easy enough," Mata hissed, angry with being betrayed once again.

"Max was handcuffed when they took off," Osorio said softly. "Found the handcuffs on the beach by Hobson's body."

"So, he could have made it out?"

"Yeah. I think he did, Jefe."

"Track him down. Bring him to me."

Even from this far away, he could see the man on the beach smile and nod. Knowing what the man was capable of, Mata stood to his full height and lowered his voice.

"I want him alive, Oso," he growled. "Do not fuck this up or I will do to you what I plan to do to Max. You will not like it. ¿Entiendes?"

"Entiendo, Jefe."

…

Kensi was trying hard to control her emotions, but it wasn't working. She felt nothing but sick dread, her mind full of worse case scenarios that left her searching for hope. She knew if she allowed her anger to explode, she would be expelled from the meeting going on, and she was determined not to let that happen. All of them were angry, but the level of Admiral Kilbride's anger surprised her. It was like a controlled burn. A few flare ups here and there, but most of his questions persistently probed for answers from the reluctant head of the task force.

"Assistant Director Ferris, you are testing my patience," the Admiral finally said, exasperated as the rest of them. "You may not know this, but I am very good friends with your boss. And if I don't get a full sit-rep in approximately ten seconds, and every piece of evidence in your possession on this blown operation, I am going to call my friend and have you drummed out of the intelligence service. Am I making myself clear?"

"You can't do that," Ferris said.

"Try me."

"The files are highly classified."

"I can assure you, my security clearance is a helluva lot higher than yours," Kilbride growled.

"Theirs isn't," he said, pointing at the rest of the team before sitting back and smugly crossing his arms.

"Why don't I just call Hetty?" Callen asked. "She's in Washington right now. I'm sure she can arrange special clearance for us."

"Hetty? As in Henrietta Lange?" Ferris said, abruptly sitting straight up.

"That would be her," Callen replied.

"She's very fond of Deeks," Sam added. "My advice? Don't piss her off."

"Admit it, Ferris. You're in over your head and you know it," Kilbride said. "We're willing to help you sort out this clusterfuck of yours, if you let us. Otherwise, I suggest you start polishing your résumé."

"I'll have to make some calls," he said.

"So will I," Kilbride replied.

"Me too," Callen added with a smile.

It was like watching a dam break. At first there were the cracks in the man's carefully established armor, his features losing their tautness as he succumbed to the reality of his situation. His arrogance slowly slipped away, morphing into a semblance of surrender. He remained haughty but seemed resigned to his defeat. When he spoke, it was with effort, as if he had no breath left. But once he started, it became evident that he really had lost control of his men and the operation. It had been a disaster, and Deeks was in the middle of it.

"The target was a man named Alejandro Mata. The DEA brought him to our attention initially. Then it became clear he was into things outside their purview…distasteful operations and dangerous plans that became worrisome for the security of our country."

"So, he's a terrorist," Sam said.

"He's definitely involved with some," Ferris replied.

"What do you know about him?" Callen asked.

"Mata was born in LA. Started as a minor drug dealer. Mentored by his uncle but estranged from his father. His mother is American. She still lives here. Been in and out of jail most of her life. A lowlife junky. As far as we know, his father had no record here. Mexico is another story. There, he had a reputation for violence. We think he crossed over the border under another name, hooked up with his charming wife, Lana, and had a couple of kids. Benito and Alejandro. The word on the street according to one of the DEA's informants is that he used to beat the shit out of his wife and both boys. Benito was the oldest, so he got the worst of it. Suffered brain damage. Apparently, Alejandro tried to kill his father for it. Failed. Good old dad was too scared to stick around for a second attempt and hightailed it back to Mexico."

"That's how Deeks connected with him," Kensi said. "They both had violent fathers."

"I'm impressed with your knowledge of the subject, Assistant Director," Kilbride said.

"That sounded rather patronizing, Admiral," Ferris said stiffly.

"Take a compliment when it's offered, Ferris. I don't give out many. Now, tell us about your operation and what went wrong."

"Mata took over his uncle's drug operation when he was twenty-two," Ferris continued. "And he was a lot better at business than his uncle. He expanded, eventually using drug money to buy and sell weapons to any and everybody with the right amount of money. He also got into human trafficking. Anything for a buck. During an ongoing investigation the DEA discovered he was working with a network of terrorists in the United States. Neo-Nazis with plans to attack our infrastructure and political targets. We just didn't know who or where or when. Thus, the task force. The DEA recommended your investigator, Deeks. They knew of him from his undercover work as Max Gentry. Sounded like a good idea to bring him onboard."

"Who's his partner?" Kensi asked.

"His partner is Frank Lozano, out of Homeland Security. Their handler is a man named, David Stokes."

"What can you tell us about them?" Sam asked.

"Lozano is a seasoned veteran. Last ten years with Homeland Security. Before that he was DEA," Ferris said. "He went undercover with Deeks using the alias, Bobby Hobson."

"And his handler, David Stokes?" Kilbride asked. "What's his story?"

"He's been with Homeland Security for a couple of years. Before that FBI, but…" the man's hesitation was a red flag and left Kensi feeling queasy.

"You had doubts," Callen stated. "Why?"

"He was a last minute add," he replied. "I don't like having someone shoved down my throat. Neither did Deeks."

"Who was doing the shoving?" Kilbride pushed.

"Someone higher up the food chain," he said. "Let's just say, I wasn't given a choice."

"When did you meet with Deeks?" Kensi asked.

"A couple of weeks before he and Lozano went under," he replied. "The whole team was meeting in DC. That's when Stokes was introduced by my boss and your friend, Admiral. Like I said we weren't given a say in the matter. None of us knew him and Deeks had questions, but we were told he was going to be the handler and that was that. The boss didn't share why. Maybe he'll tell you, Admiral Kilbride."

"I'll be sure and ask him."

"When was your last communication with them?" Callen asked.

"Five days ago," he said, and looked down. "With Stokes."

The sudden silence seemed to make him shrink into himself. Kensi couldn't find any words to mask her fear that Deeks was already dead, alone in some godforsaken place she would never find. She could see the anger on Sam's face and the strain he was under to keep from throttling the man at the end of the table. Callen's eyes looked like ice, his jaw muscles flexing as he tried to maintain his composure. It was Admiral Kilbride who broke, knocking over his chair as he abruptly stood up, his voice filled with venom.

"You shouldn't be allowed to run a kindergarten, let alone a task force," he shouted. "What the hell were you thinking? No contact for five days and you just sit on it?"

"I tried to call him the next day, but his phone was disabled or something," the man babbled.

"Where are they?" Callen asked coldly.

"Somewhere along the border with Mexico…I think. Not sure which side."

"You think?" Sam roared. "Do you know how long that border is?"

"Stokes said not to worry…that they had to go dark for a couple of days," he whined. "But then…nothing."

"You're a goddamn idiot," Kilbride snapped.

"Did Stokes say anything about Deeks?" Kensi asked. "I need to know."

"Stokes said Deeks was acting uncomfortable about some of the details. He found that irritating," Ferris said. "I asked him for specifics, but he told me not to worry, that he was handling it. That bothered me."

"Why? Sam asked.

"He sounded so pleased with himself. I thought it was odd."

"You ever do a deep dive on Stokes?" Callen asked.

"What? Why would I do that? His file is full of commendations. Not one bad mark on his record."

"Maybe he's good at hiding things," Kensi said. "Like a bank account he doesn't want anyone to see."

"I don't believe that," Ferris said, shaking his head. "No. I just think he was overconfident. Maybe things just got out of hand."

"It sure as hell looks like it," Kilbride snarled. "For all we know they were made. They could all be dead by now."

"Admiral…" Sam cautioned and nodded toward Kensi.

"Sorry, Agent Blye. I shouldn't have said that," he replied.

"But the op is probably blown," Callen said. "Which means they're all in trouble."

"It also means we want in," Kilbride said. "Give us everything you've got, Ferris, and we'll take it from here."

"This is my task force, Admiral," Ferris hissed.

"Then help us," Kilbride said. "Or we'll find Deeks on our own."

"Okay," Ferris said, looking relieved. "Whatever you need."

"Everything…for a start," Callen said as he stood up and put a hand on Kensi's shoulder. "We'll keep you in the loop."

"What does that mean?"

"It means…stay out of our way."

…

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