Chapter 15
Pins, Bullets and Journals
Authors Note: This could be the final chapter of this storyline indeed. Could be, but it isn't…
Anyway, thank you so much, once again, for helping me with writing this and making me want to finish the story too. Thank you too for leaving your reviews, Wotumba1, Mulderette, n4d1n3, Guests (both of you !), sherrib1968, Linda Wigington and LostForeverInHisEyes. I really, really appreciate those!
There was the question why Sam, Kensi and Deeks are not around in this story, which was explained in the very first chapter: ["Sam's with Kam and you know that. Densi... I mean Deeks and Kensi are somewhere in the Wyoming bush-bush."]
Feeling that he was the one who was unable to act, Eric slowly followed the track of the car, then made his decision. He dropped his shoes and shrugged out of the blouse he wore, then let himself sink into the cold ocean water which streamed in this Ballona Creek.
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Los Angeles || Esplanade Street || same minute
The very small and older woman stood alone in the now nearly deserted street and wondered what all went on.
Nell Jones and Shay Mosley, on their ways inside the apartment block, hoping to meet with the shooter, and perhaps with Callen too. Both Nell and Mosley were hardly armed though, and she shook her head. Going in head over heels meant they were not properly prepared, nor did they carefully assess all scenario's — a mistake Hetty Lange would not have her agents have made, not the skilled, elite team she worked with, nor the ones she trained.
Then there was the other rookie junior agent, Eric Beale, who had in fact such great skills behind the screens and behind the scenes. She wasn't too sure of his skills in the field. Not without a proper back up.
Yet, he disappeared in the cold water of the canal. She hadn't approved any action like his, but she figured Eric had felt the need to do something.
She nodded — she felt the same need. Even now, with the LAPD reinforcement around, it didn't mean the danger was gone. On the contrary. From where she stood, she noticed that the material of the shooter was still around. If that went for the shooter himself too, she couldn't tell. Again, she shook her head. Bates had sent only six men. The two of them who had checked the car Nell and Eric followed had followed the others and went to check the building for anything or anyone suspicious.
Indeed, she was past the age to be in the field. Still, she figured she still had skills and the smallest of a smile hinted her face. It wouldn't be that wrong to be prepared for whatever could come her way. Yes, she sure would feel relieved if the other members of her famous team were around, but she knew that Shay Mosley never chose to warn them and order them back, and by now that would be useless as well. Not that it was something she had a say in, not any longer.
Like in every agency-car this one had the material agents needed. It included guns too, and she was glad to find what she expected to find.
Hetty made another call to the office and nodded several times at the message of the communications officer, Ranisha Singh, who mentioned that the GPS signal stopped, somewhere at a few yards from where Hetty made this call. Nothing much to do for the woman in the headquarters of the LA office for NCIS, and so Hetty thanked her and disconnected the call.
From a distance she heard sirens, but if that meant more people came their way, she didn't know.
Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. What if six LAPD officers, a junior NCIS agent and the assistant director of NCIS were all looking for something or someone they weren't finding? It might mean that there was only one person looking at the right spot – Eric Beale…
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Los Angeles || Esplanade Street || Ballona Creek
The most curious things went through his head. He was in murky waters, well, wasn't that just as literal as it was a matter of saying? Perhaps he went into the water far too impulsive, but then, Eric Beale figured it may be worthwhile to see if there was anything he could do for those who were in this car.
Without his glasses it was just a little more difficult. He saw the back of the van, no trouble at all. Yet it was impossible to enter the car from that way. In a few more strokes he swam around the car, driver's seat. He did try the door and much to his surprise it was easy to open.
There was no way though the driver had tried himself, since the guy hadn't been able to do anything at all. The large hole in his head proved it and the water was just dirtier and darker in here. Being in a situation like this made him sick. He needed fresh air, went up and breathed out some times before he took another deep breath and submerged again.
Even in the dark water, even without his glasses, Eric saw that his choice to go under water had been the right one. He recognize the person in the passenger seat in a millisecond and was about to gasp, still knew that was useless. He pulled the door open and reached forward to unbuckle the man, yet in vain, since he found the seatbelts weren't used. 'Damn…'
The lead agent sat in the passenger seat, but how? Eric let his fingers go and follow the shoulder and arm, then felt the restraints. He cursed inwardly. He needed something sharp and he needed it fast.
Again, he went up, breathed in as deep as he could, and got down as fast as he dared. Then, the let his hands roam the dashboard, the console and finally the headliner until he found what he was looking for — a life hammer. In only a few cuts he managed to release his co-worker from the trapped position he was in. All he hoped for was that he was in time. With his left arm hooked behind Callen's shoulder he dragged and pulled until he knew he had a good grip and with only two strong strokes, he emerged and he kept kicking his legs, panting and huffing of the effort it took to keep himself and the dead weight of his colleague above the surface.
He managed a combination of a shout and a gasp "Help!"
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
She turned to where she heard his voice and inhaled sharply — the younger man being the strong one right now, keeping himself above the surface, as he managed to do the same with him… Callen. The man whom she loved like a son. If only…
Her thoughts were roughly interrupted by some shots which were definitely fired at Eric, or rather at the immobile man he tried to heave out of the water.
Hetty Lange spun around to where she sensed a gun was shot at the men. From her position it was impossible to fire back, but somebody else did and after shots either way, she heard some cries of pain and the shooting stopped.
So far, she didn't know who was shot. All she knew was that one of the usual office guys, the one that her outstanding team built on, was in a position where once again, she counted on, although his task was so very different from what she'd seen before.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
By now, Eric was exhausted. But what troubled him most was that he was really scared. There was the fear to be shot at again. To actually feel the ripple of a bullet in the water, hitting his coworker's body. Fear he wasn't able to save Callen's life after all, that it was too late. He even was scared to find out himself.
Once he had the strength to hoist the immobile agent from the cold water, he was glad there were three uniformed LAPD officers nearby to give him a hand.
The first one tore off the piece of duct tape that covered Callen's mouth, something Eric had missed. Another man lowered down. He placed his ear near the senior agent's mouth and nose. It obviously worried the man as he started pressing two fingers in Callen's nick, then shook his head. "Nothing."
Eric heard the sharp gasp. Was it Hetty's or his own? He didn't know.
"CPR," he said, noticing how his teeth were chattering. He'd help, once his own breathing would be back to normal. Until then, there were two of lieutenant Bates' men taking care of the lead agent's life. The third man guarded the surroundings, not sure if the one who was responsible for what happened would still be around, nor if there were more than this single person.
Eric stood and watched how the man gave some one-second mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, followed by some chest compressions. This was repeated several times, until the second guy exhaled deeply. "His chest is moving again, Peter. It looks like he's breathing in!"
The other officer checked and nodded. He then turned Callen's head more to the side. It worked, as water drained from Callen's mouth and some deep and wheezing sounds came from the lead agent. Still, his eyes stayed close and he remained unconscious.
Then everyone started to talk at the same time. "He's bleeding." "So he was hit?" Eric nodded his confirmation. "How bad?" one of the others asked, while the answer came immediately after "A graze, I figure."
"Hetty… I'm so—"
Eric didn't have the chance to really express himself, since Hetty simply shook her head. She looked sad though and her voice faltered in an unusual way. "This is not on you, Mr. Beale. On the contrary, from what I've seen and heard, you have done all you can. Never doubt that."
"But... you know he was shot. Again. And what if he's been without oxygen too long?"
"What ifs don't count, and we all know that." Her petite hand rested on his forearm in a rare act of a personal touch and she continued "Still, I do understand your worries, Eric." She shook her head several times, unable to hide her own shock with all she had seen in only a few minutes.
By now, the sirens were getting closer. Ambulances. She couldn't even remember who called them in, but it didn't matter either — it was perfectly clear that Callen needed medical help. And Henrietta Lange never was the one to be without the ability to order around.
"I suggest you will join Mr. Callen while he's on his way to hospital, Mr. Beale." How she did it, Eric didn't know but she offered him a dry shirt, a jacket and a gun. He frowned, pushed his glasses higher and simply nodded. He could do that. After all, Callen was alive, and he, Eric Bartholomew Beale, would make sure he would stay alive.
o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)o)
Los Angeles || Cedars-Sinai hospital, one and half an hour later
The executive assistant director sat straight up in one of the uncomfortable waiting chairs and broke the silence after the first greetings. "We didn't catch him, but I know for sure we've hit him," Mosley said. "But I think this Paul Angelo won't be around, not any longer. Jones and Beale will be able to find him, I guess."
"You guess. Assumptions. So, how long have you been in the business, Shay? Guesses don't work. We need zero doubts, which in this case you haven't been able to give," Hetty replied. She paused a bit and got on her feet, pacing to the large doors which still remained closed. She turned and slowly paced back to where Mosley was waiting too. "By the way, did you send the youngsters back to the office?"
"I did. After all, that's their usual habitat, right?"
"If you mean that our office is the place where they perform best, I can only agree with you. However, from my point of view, Miss Jones is marvelous in the field, despite the fact she may feel more at ease when there's no-one around to rely on her capabilities as a field agent. Which reminds me — you did take her along inside this apartment building rather unprepared. No vests, no previous briefing, running into whatever situation you may meet, perhaps carelessly."
A huff sounded from the younger woman. "Henrietta… I'm no rookie. And well, you weren't around when your favorite agent decided to go in this hostage situation without any back-up at all, running blindly into danger. We wouldn't be here if—"
"We would. Differently perhaps, but Angelo always would've found a way. He still may be," Hetty cut her off.
Both of them then looked up when Doctor Lee opened the door from the operation area and came their way. "Miss Lange, long time no see," he smiled as he greeted the petite woman. "He hasn't been in here for quite a long time, actually."
"No, he hasn't," Hetty agreed. "Not in here. However—"
The senior Asian physician closed his eyes for a beat before he replied, more or less interrupting Hetty's words "Indeed. It would've been so much better if he'd taken the time to heal properly."
"Really, this wasn't his own doing."
"So, he saved the city, once again? From what I figure, this must've been the second time in less than a week, while he was hardly back in the field? There's no need to tell me though, but let me explain. Your man practically drowned. True, CPR helped. His lungs suffered from this action, however. It doesn't help that his left lung was hardly healed from an earlier pneumothorax, I assume less than three months ago?"
"Nine weeks ago," Mosley agreed, remembering in which condition Callen came back to Los Angeles.
The doctor pursed his lips, not too happy with this confession. "The danger is that after such a pneumothorax, the lung may be damaged indefinitely. We will need to keep an close eye on its development indeed, although there's nothing we can do to improve its condition." He sighed, looked around and wondered why the large friend and partner of this man wasn't around, but he decided not to ask. He continued. "I expect that during the resuscitation, someone pressed his chest with quite some force. As they should, of course. However, in Mr. Callen's situation, it worsened a physical situation. Perhaps one cares to explain, but what we needed to do was to operate on his clavicle, which was completely ruined. Also, we removed a bullet."
"That's correct. He was admitted—" Mosley shook her head, counting back in days and concluded it was absurd indeed. She continued "Three days ago, he was shot and one of the surgeons from UCLA discussed this matter with him. As long as he took the time to rest, the wound would heal and the bone would keep the bullet inside. That is how the outcome should have been." She heaved a deep sigh.
Hetty continued "He was, however, tortured rather unexpectedly. I suppose something went wrong with the period of rest he was supposed to have."
"I see," Dr. Lee said. "In fact, the bone and its surroundings suffered too much from either situation. No rest, torture and odd enough from a lifesaving act as well. What we deal with right now is a serious matter of an infected shoulder joint. You may understand, Hetty and Miss?"
"Mosley. The name is Mosley, Shay Mosley," the other woman said.
"Mosley, Hetty, you may understand that there were complications other than I expected. Hetty, your boy needs a time off and I think you should grant him that."
Mosley shook her head. "That's on me, I suppose." And she explained, more or less to Hetty as well.
to be continued… Please leave a review, it's much appreciated!
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