When Bates had given him and Carmen the news that his long nightmare might finally come to an end, Marty couldn't contain his excitement, standing up and then bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as Bates filled them in. He told them they'd been monitoring the Russians' comings and goings from several Valley restaurants where key members of the Bratva met to plan their operations, and that between that intel and some of the wiretaps Carmen's work had led to, they'd learned that a big exchange was about to go down at the Van Nuys Airport.
The Ivankov family had apparently obtained Russian military hardware they were selling to the Sinaloa Cartel. The weapons were already somewhere in the U.S., and although the airport was going to host the exchange and a number of the Sinaloan higher-ups would be jetting in for the meet, the cartel was planning to drive away with the weapons, likely having lots of easy ways to smuggle them back over the border. Vast sums of cash and drugs were about to be exchanged for the weapons, and catching the soldiers and their Avtoritet, or captains, would cripple the organization, especially when the evidence and testimony they hoped to obtain would be linked to wiretapped conversations of the organization's leaders.
Marty experienced a feeling of deep satisfaction at learning that the wiretaps had provided key intel, and that Carmen had been able to feed them misinformation that had them thinking LAPD didn't know anything about the weapons, that law enforcement was only focused on less significant elements of their criminal empire. He even allowed himself a moment of pride. Even if his role had been tangential, he was damn sure proud of his partner.
Bates told Marty and Carmen to lay low and be ready to head to a safe house as the op went down, lest any escaping Russians put two and two together and seek vengeance. The plan was reassuring but frustrating. "Sergeant Bates, I've worked on this for almost four months, risking my safety the whole time. It would mean a lot to be there at the end. Isn't there any way I could do a ride-along? I promise to stay in the background completely out of the way."
After further wheedling, Bates caved when Marty reminded him that he'd already signed away all claims of liability. "Fine, Deeks. But you follow my orders without question, you do not get involved. Maybe this'll be the last time I have to deal with your trouble-prone ass. Vasquez, don't even think of following your pseudo-partner. I want you to maintain your cover." Carmen nodded at the order.
Marty told him, "Thanks Sergeant. I knew my trouble-prone ass was starting to grow on you."
The meet was to take place at ten PM somewhere on the airport's grounds. Van Nuys Airport was a busy general aviation airport at the west end of the Valley, home to a warren of hangars and smaller buildings owned by the plethora of companies who made use of its two runways. Bates had put Marty in the front of a squad car positioned on a dark side street lined with old wide-branched sycamore trees that ran along the edge of the airport's chain link fence. He could listen in on the radio but couldn't see a thing beyond the back wall of the closest hangar. He looked at the hangar and back at Bates and said, "Really?," hoping to bargain for a better position, but before he could continue, Bates cut him off.
"Don't waste your breath, kid. You are lucky to be this close to the action. And I know you're still carrying that piece of yours but do not be tempted to play law enforcement officer. You are not a tough guy cop. Do I need to remind you that you are a uh, somewhat delicate freakin' public defender, for god's sake?"
Marty recognized the truth behind Bates' words and slumped back in his seat. "No, you're right Sergeant. I promise to behave."
Eight-year-old Marty's dad sat in the living room laughing with his friend. Marty was lurking within earshot in the kitchen, curious about what had his dad sounding so upbeat for a change. His mother interrupted his eavesdropping, asking him to take a couple of beers out to the men.
He cautiously entered the living room and was greeted by the friend, who said, "Ah, Gordie, so this is the little chip off the old block. He's even got your buzz cut."
His dad laughed derisively as Marty handed them each their beer and stepped back. "I don't know that I'd go that far, Max. I do make sure he comes with me to the barbershop, whether he wants to or not - he's gotta at least look like a Brandel - but he's still too much of a momma's boy for my taste. Ain't that right, Marty?"
Marty wasn't sure what to think of the question. He had no desire to be like his dad, but he didn't want to be thought of as weak. He just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled "I dunno, Dad."
His dad told him, "Don't be rude, Marty. Say hello to Mr. Gentry."
He turned to his dad's friend and repeated, 'Hello, Mr. Gentry."
Gentry said to him, "Come over here, boy." He hesitated. The man had a hardness that set his spidey senses on edge. "Don't worry, boy, I'm not gonna bite, not unless provoked anyway." Gentry shared a look with his father and they both started laughing.
His dad told him with an edge to his voice, "Go on, Marty, do as Max says. Don't be disrespectful." Marty wasn't about to disobey his father in front of company; he knew it would end poorly for him once Gentry left. He walked over and stood in front of their guest.
"Listen, son. The world is a rough place. You prob'ly haven't figured that out yet, but you will. You have to be tough to survive it. Look at your dad. He's one tough SOB, right? You look up to him, don't you?"
Marty knew better than to do anything other than nod enthusiastically and reply, "Yes, sir."
"That's right," said Gentry. "Your dad has had to fight for everything he's got in life. So have I for that matter, let me tell ya. There's nothing wrong with fightin'. You gotta show people who's in charge, right? Don't be a delicate little flower, be a little man. You gotta be able to show women their place in your world instead of being as weak as they are. You can learn a lot from your father."
Marty just shook his head, acknowledging Gentry's words. Max told him, "OK, now run on back to your momma, boy. But remember my advice."
Marty didn't need to be told twice to leave the two men, and raced up the stairs to the relative safety of his room. Was he weak? It's what his dad had always told him, but knowing that another man could see it too brought on feelings of shame. Yet his dad terrified him; how could he strive to be like him? He didn't want to scare people- that seemed like an awful, sad and lonely way to go through life. What kind of man would he become? Was there a way to be different, to maybe be like the nice dads he saw on TV? Or maybe they didn't exist in real life. Maybe there was nothing he could do to change his destiny.
The sounds of voices on the police radio pulled Marty back to the present, back to the massive operation unfolding nearby. The LAPD was in charge, with support from ATF and even a small team of military criminal investigators present because of a possible tie to one of their ongoing cases. It all sounded a little chaotic, and since the Russians were linked to three different hangars spread over the length of the airfield, it sounded like a lot of units were in place to make sure everyone involved was rounded up. Marty listened to them converse, making sure every team was well positioned. Then they waited to see if the various parties would arrive as planned. The tension was high since as far as they knew, the meet was only succeeding because Carmen's intel had managed to reassure them that the authorities were focused on the wrong thing. It was still possible the Russians would think better and pull back.
As he waited to see if the meet would go down, his mind wandered to his childhood home that sat just a couple miles to the west. Had he come full circle in some way, literally and figuratively? This misadventure with the Russians certainly had brought up all sorts of old memories that he'd long tried to suppress, to leave behind, yet tonight he found himself within walking distance of the home he grew up in, the very source of so many of those bad memories. Was that just a coincidence, or was it a sign that he could never escape his childhood horrors?
A voice crackled over the radio, "Subjects arriving, north gate." The meet was on, although nowhere close to Marty's location near the airport's south end. He listened intently as additional vehicles arrived, monitored by cops placed in overwatch positions around the airport, as well as from hidden cameras they'd been able to place earlier in the week inside two of the hangars. Everything appeared to be proceeding smoothly, with the Russians exchanging entire vehicles likely filled with weapons for large briefcases assumed to be full of cash and drugs.
The command rang out, "Go, go, go!"
A few seconds of radio silence were followed by the popping sounds of gunfire in the distance. Marty's blood ran cold and he waited with bated breath to see if the shots would cease quickly. Instead, their volume grew. He was completely at a loss as to what was happening and the radio exchanges were filled with men sounding surprised by the firepower they encountered. Shit, please let everyone be alright.
After several minutes, the gunfire began to die down but it didn't stop completely. Instead it appeared to have spread out, though again his vantage point made it impossible to tell for sure. Then, much to his surprise, he noticed several figures working their way behind the hangar on the other side of the wire fence closest to his position. Bates' voice came over the radio, saying, "Deeks, do you copy?"
He fumbled for the walkie-talkie, which until this point had sat untouched on the dashboard. "Uh, yes, sir, uh, roger that, um, I copy."
He could imagine Bates rolling his eyes without having to see a thing. Bates replied, "Can you see us on the backside of this hangar?"
"Yes, I see you."
"Have you seen any other movement? We think a few of them ran this way."
"No, uh, negative, haven't seen anything."
"Copy."
He watched as Bates and another man edged their way alongside the hangar when out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the hangar's roof.
"Bates, look out! There are men above you on the roof!" he called out over the walkie-talkie.
Bates and his man only had seconds to duck under the limited cover of the hangar's roof so they'd remain unseen, but the men above seemed to be aware of their presence anyway, perhaps alerted by the walkie-talkie noise. They had a rope and looked to be aiming to use it to either rappel down to the ground or perhaps to toss to the nearest tree, whose branches overhung the fence slightly. Marty watched as they crept forward looking like they aimed to take out the threat below them.
He called in again, saying, "Bates I think they know you're there, you need to get out of the line of fire!"
Bates and his man were peering upward, looking like they were trying to decide how and where to move next, when the men on the roof started firing down in their direction. Marty hesitated just a second, as Bates' explicit instructions to stay put passed through his brain, before he began moving. He opened the car door and raced toward the fence, pulling out his gun on the run. He headed for the big tree that could provide him cover but couldn't take the time to get there without first doing something to protect Bates, who looked to be in a vulnerable position. He fired up at the men on the roof. He'd never be able to hit them, but his cover fire might allow Bates and his man time to get to a safer position.
As he fired, he continued running for the shelter the lone tree offered. He was almost there, just a few steps more, when he suddenly found himself on the ground. He'd barely begun to process the pain in his upper thigh when more bullets started pinging off the pavement around him. He was in trouble and he grabbed his dropped gun and crawled the remaining distance to the tree while Bates returned the favor with cover fire of his own from the safety of the far side of the hangar, which he'd reached thanks to Marty.
God, getting shot really hurt. His mind flashed to his father lying on the living room floor cursing at him, and for just a second he commiserated with the man. He looked down and despite the murky darkness where he sat, he could make out a widening circle of blood on his jeans. He nearly vomited from the sudden queasiness that overtook him. With shaking hands, he reached out and tried to apply pressure, his gun forgotten somewhere on the ground at his side.
When he'd caught his breath and pushed the queasiness down, he tried to figure out what was happening on the other side of the fence. Bates had disappeared, perhaps heading inside the hangar to track down the men on the roof. Bates couldn't know about their rope and that they might try to get away in his direction, but the walkie-talkie was still sitting in the cruiser, too far away to do him any good. He idly considered trying to crawl back over to it, but the thought of moving overwhelmed him so he quickly gave up on the idea.
He heard a soft clanking sound directly above him. He looked up into the tree branches but didn't see anything. A few seconds later, there was loud rustling, as if a giant raccoon were crawling around above him. A single gunshot rang out behind him and he craned his neck around the tree to see a man fall from the hangar roof, followed by Bates' silhouette creeping forward on the rooftop.
He'd just dropped back behind the tree when a dark figure dropped from the branches to his left. Marty couldn't see much, but the man's disturbingly blond hair stood out in the darkness. He wanted to call out for Bates but even if he'd had the strength, Bates couldn't have seen what was happening, nor would he have had an angle to take any action to protect him. The figure he now recognized as Pietyr hadn't seen him in the dark shadows of the tree and began to move across his field of vision. Marty wondered if he should try to pick up his gun, which also lay hidden in the shadows somewhere to his right where he'd dropped it, but he thought maybe the smarter move was to stay quiet and hope the man went on with his escape.
Before he could decide on a course of action, his luck ran out. Pietyr spotted him and stopped, whirled around to face him and raised his gun.
"Marty Deeks?" he questioned, walking forward to get a closer look.
Marty was screwed but hoped that if he could distract Pietyr long enough, he just might have a chance to make a grab for his gun, which if he was lucky, would still have at least one bullet left. Not much of a plan. Come on, Bates, he thought. I could use some help.
"Pietyr. Fancy meeting you here."
"So you are a cop." Pietyr let loose a string of what Marty assumed were Russian curse words.
"No, actually. Believe it or not, I really am an attorney who just has incredibly bad luck." He nonchalantly moved his right hand back as if to support himself, while still clenching his thigh with his left. He tried to ignore the ever growing stickiness of the blood there.
"I knew it. I told Sergei not to trust you, but he did not want to listen to my opinion. Now we are all fucked. The family, myself… and now you."
"That sounds like a very Russian story. Very dark and gloomy," Marty said in a conversational though slightly breathy tone. "But you, you can get away. If you agree not to kill me, I might even tell you where to find the keys to that police car over there."
As he gestured toward the car in the distance, Pietyr turned to look. Marty reached for the spot where he thought his gun lay but it wasn't there. He started groping around in the dark but stopped the second Pietyr looked back.
The Russian did not appear to be in the mood to bargain. He stepped toward Marty and violently kicked him in the leg. Marty cried out and fell over on his right side, overcome by the pain.
"Or," Pietyr told him, pausing to kick Marty in the stomach with every few words. "How about –" kick - "I agree"- kick- "to kill you quickly -" kick- "if you tell me"- kick- "where to find -" kick - "the keys?"
With every kick, Marty had curled further in on himself in an effort to protect his ribs. From the horrible snapping sound he heard on two of the kicks, it hadn't prevented several of them from breaking. As he attempted to catch his breath to respond to Pietyr, he felt his gun pressing into his right shoulder, right where he'd fallen on top of it. If he could just roll back away from it far enough to grab it…
He managed to gasp out, "OK, you win, I'll tell you if you stop kicking me long enough to talk." As he spoke, he rolled backward slightly, now sure of the gun's location. He raised his left hand to point in the general direction of the cruiser. "See that spotlight on the passenger side?"
As Pietyr looked once again in the car's direction, Marty didn't hesitate. He grabbed the gun, and as the Russian turned back toward him, he pointed it at his chest and pulled the trigger. When he heard the bullet fly from his weapon, he breathed a shuddering, pained sigh of relief, and then watched as Pietyr briefly looked down in confusion at the new hole in his chest before he dropped to the ground, where he remained unmoving.
It would be smart to keep his weapon trained on the man in case he wasn't dead, or perhaps to shoot him a second time just to be sure, but Marty had lost the ability to follow through on either idea, his arm and gun dropping back to the ground along with the rest of him. As he lay trying to hold onto consciousness, a police car with flashing lights came to a screeching halt nearby. Two officers emerged from the vehicle and approached. They called out, "Don't move, Police!", which Marty found hilarious seeing as he no longer had the ability to do so. They came toward him with their weapons drawn and Marty felt the first cop kick his gun away from his body.
The second one told his partner, "He's dead." Marty assumed he was referring to Pietyr since he was relatively sure he himself was still alive, his pained breathing offering pretty good proof. Marty heard the other one say, "This one must be Bates' guy- he's got the surfer hair," before calls went out for an ambulance. He felt a shock of pain in his leg as one of the officers started applying pressure. After that, reality began to fall away and he sunk willingly into unconsciousness.
A/N: I know it's a fairly big coincidence that the one bad guy Deeks would run into would be Pietyr, but I really wanted to give Deeks the satisfaction of taking him down.
Also, I tried to make sure Deeks' bullet hole would be in a place where we wouldn't have been able to see the scar. I considered letting him get shot in the butt as a funny tie-in to his conversation with Kensi in "Personal," but the logistics of the scene felt more complicated if he needed to end up lying on his side or his stomach.