A/N: Thank you for your patience and understanding why this is so late, I've learned how crazy busy college can get. This would've been up last night but the wifi decided to not work. Good news is this chapter is three times as long to make up for the last few weeks! :)

Please remember to leave a review, they're the only reward and feedback I get so I cherish each one. Tell me how this chapter is!

The setting sun illuminated the bustling streets of Moscow, people seemingly oblivious to the recent, devastating events. A long shadow was cast across the dark pavement of the parking lot; its owner crouching over tire tracks left on the ground by a speeding van not too long ago. He analyzed the traces left behind, as if he could glean from them something that would lead him to the whereabouts of their agent. It was growing darker by the minute, and every second that passed, their chances decreased immensely.

Sam slowly stood, somewhat glaring at the only shred of evidence left behind by whoever took Callen. He turned towards the hotel off to his left, gazing up at the building's height, wondering how these newcomers could've escaped so easily through their fingertips. He looked around him before deciding there was nothing to learn and made his way towards his teammate standing near the hotel's main entrance.

"Anything?" a hopeful Sam asked.

The detective shook his head, his shaggy hair rustling with the motion.

"Nothing," Deeks breathed, "Kensi is going over the room again. They didn't even so much as leave a gum wrapper behind. The hallways and elevator are clear. Button cam?"

Sam shook his head. "Still down. Probably destroyed during the struggle." He looked down, worried about his friend. "He talk?"

Deeks looked away. "Not a word. Backup team just picked him up." Hetty sent a stand-by team shortly after they arrived in Moscow, and they had come to take Iverson off their hands. They needed to focus on Callen, but Sam was not going to let the man who'd betrayed his partner have a chance at escape. Deeks had watched Iverson until their backup arrived; for Sam probably would have killed him if they were left alone.

Sam grudgingly nodded, not really expecting anything. "Eric and Nell are searching traffic cams. I sent the tire track to them, let's pray we get something."

The side door to the hotel creaked open, revealing a discouraged Kensi stepping through. The two men glanced at her, only to receive a small shake of her head.

"Nothing."

Sam ran a hand over his face. Why couldn't they ever catch a break? Why couldn't they just bring Callen home?

At that moment, Sam's phone decided to ring. He snapped into action, digging it out of his pocket and hitting the speaker button.

"Eric, you find him?!" Sam blurted.

"Not yet, sorry Sam, but we did get lucky."

"Callen's button cam caught a face a few seconds before the feed cut. We ran it through facial rec and got a hit." Nell typed a few keys, intensely staring at her computer screen. "He only has a first name, I'm not even sure it is his real identity. Only a few pictures of this guy even exist, but he's been on many agencies' watch list for a while, including ours." Nell said, a small surprising edge to her voice.

"Who is it?" Kensi prompted.

"Mason." Eric provided, missing Sam's noticeable reaction to the name over the phone. "This doesn't make sense, he appears to be a hit man, along with his brother. I'm reading through his file as we speak."

Nell shook her head. "I still don't understand the connection to Callen, we'll dig deeper."

"Don't bother." Sam urged. The audible keyboard noises coming through the speaker phone ceased. He wasn't able to witness the questioning looks their teammates back home exchanged.

"You know this guy?" Deeks asked.

"Nell, Eric, do whatever you can to find him!" Sam exhorted.

"Sam, who is he?" Kensi pushed.

Sam heaved a sigh, worry written all over his face. "Right after Callen and I started working together we were assigned a case; a SEAL had been murdered with an m.o. that matched two hit men our government had been after for years, brothers only known as Charlie and Mason. They were ruthless sociopaths, known for giving their victims 'what they deserve', according to their hires, before carrying out their hits. They were ghosts, disappearing without a trace, but G and I caught up with them. Callen killed Charlie, but Mason managed to escape and he vanished. We never found him, but he knows Callen killed his brother."

"So if he has Callen…" Kensi tentatively started.

"Then we need to find him fast." Deeks concluded with vehemence.

The three agents felt the intensity of their situation increase. For so long they had dwelt on this case, falling short at nearly every turn. Now the pressure was so much greater. The three agents looked at each other with resolve, recognizing the determination in each other's eyes grow stronger. A silent agreement was made: they'd find Callen and take this Mason down. There was no other option.

Callen groggily lifted his pounding head, squinting his eyes as he grew aware of his surroundings. His body was racked with stiffness, but it didn't even compare to the pain radiating from his head. He soon came to the realization that he was in a cold steel chair, hands tied to its arms with thick rope. Slowly moving his head around, he felt the soreness in his neck straining his movements. Noticing the wooden floor and the small room he was in, he guessed he was in an old, rundown house, probably secluded from any neighbors. He couldn't budge his arms an inch, for the rope was so tight it burned his wrists. Blood slowly trickled from his temple, dripping down and forming a small but growing stain on his right leg. A moment of confusion washed over his mind before he remembered what had happened; the hotel room, Iverson, and another ghost from his past, Mason.

Callen suddenly became alert with that small memory, realizing why he was here, tied up in a dusty old room. He hadn't seen nor heard of any trace of Mason in the past seven years. Knowing he was not only here but also intent on revenge for his brother quickly raised Callen's stress levels. His heart rate increased and his breathing grew heavy. He needed to find a way to escape, or at least contact his team. Were they still in Russia? How long had it been? Callen's mind ran, his expression momentarily conveying the fear that started to take over.

A faint unlocking noise sounded. His head snapped off to his right, recognizing what could only be a door opening. He quickly schooled his emotions before anyone could see his expression.

Mason walked through the door sporting a conniving grin. He was a medium sized man with dark hair reaching almost to his shoulders. A dark beard accompanied his darkly colored clothes, but what Callen first noticed was how much he had aged the past few years, no doubt due to the grief of losing his brother. The wear was most evident in his sunken, pale blue eyes, revealing a person who had long ago lost the capacity to feel either remorse or sympathy. The small traces he possessed vanished when his brother was killed.

Mason now stood in front of Callen, looking down on a pair of cold, disinterested blue eyes.

"Surprised to see me, Agent Callen?" he started. His low voice quietly echoed in the small, enclosed room. Callen was silent, conveying no amount of the emotions raging inside of him.

"Do you know how long it's been since we last met? Huh?" he quietly snarled. Callen remained impassive, almost looking bored. At this, Mason glowered. He quickly laid a hard punch right where the pain from Callen's small head wound radiated.

"Seven years! Over seven years since you killed my brother. For seven years, he's been dead because of you." His voice raised in volume with each word. Callen carefully watched his every move while noticing how unstable his captor was.

"I've waited a long time for this day, when you will suffer like he did. When I can finally get revenge for his death, and believe me, it wasn't cheap. Now, you'll finally get what you deserve. "

He unsheathed a knife from the small of his back, turning the blade over slowly in his hand as he studied it. Callen warily stared as the light reflected off the blade, flashing into his eyes.

"And what you deserve, Agent Callen, is a slow, painful death. At my hands."

Callen watched as the distance between him and the blade closed rapidly, the tip piercing his clothing and embedding itself into his left thigh.

The gray sky had darkened rather quickly by the time the agents made it to a small motel, using it as a base of operations. They'd been waiting for the call from Ops, signifying the wonder twins had tracked Mason down. It had been a few hours since Callen was taken once again, but his team wasted no time in waiting till he was found. They cleaned and prepped their weapons around the small table in their room, choosing their assault rifles as their main weapon of choice.

Sam spent every minute that passed thinking about his friend, worrying about what he could be going through or if he was already killed. He had no doubt that it was Mason's endgame, who suffered with the loss of his brother at Callen's hands. What happened before that though, was anyone's guess. Mason was a sadistic killer, and he would not hold back for a vendetta.

"Sam." Deeks was met with no response. "Sam!"

Sam snapped back into reality, looking at his teammate sitting across from him. The poor lighting in the room cast dark shadows across their faces.

"You with us?"

Sam slowly nodded.

"He'll be okay." Kensi offered, partially believing her words.

"Yeah." Sam mumbled.

Deeks and Kensi exchanged concerned glances before focusing back on their weapons. The silence was deafening in the rundown motel room, each of them willing their phones to break it with a call from Ops.

Eric and Nell had worked incessantly since the team had first found their leader, arriving early in the morning to aid them in any way they could. As night settled over the streets of Moscow, midday came upon the analyst and technical operator. They worked as a cohesive unit, tracking a ghost with any lead their information provided. Hours passed, fingers typed, frustrations grew. However, they did not tire in their pursuit. Time was of the essence, and if anyone could find Callen, it was them.

A rush of cold water awoke Callen with a start. He gasped for air as he struggled to control his breathing and the excruciation his body was going through.

For the past few hours, this had become routine with Mason, who had relentlessly awakened Callen in this harsh manner once he finally passed out from the pain, then he would find another tactic to push Callen's limits. He was also soaking wet, and combined with the cool temperature of the room, he was starting to shiver. Despite the agony his body was experiencing, he managed to keep his composure, for the most part, but as every hour of the ruthless cycle passed, Callen wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

Bruises quickly were forming on his torso and face, not to mention the deep wound in his left leg. For a while, Mason had taken to simply beating the crap out of him, making Callen have to fight to maintain his breathing. He'd felt a rib or two crack, although they thankfully hadn't pierced his lungs.

The small wound on the right of his head was now a deep gash as a result from a cheeky remark he'd made. Now, he simply kept his mouth shut, afraid another hard pistol whip would worsen his already pounding headache. Thankfully, his head wound had stopped bleeding, however, he grew concerned about the amount of blood pooled underneath his chair. Almost the whole right side of his head was covered in blood, trailing down his neck.

Mason, who hadn't said a word in hours, now stood in front of him, once again wielding the knife in his hand. Callen, dazed and eyes half closed, barely had time to brace himself before the knife pierced his chest. A shallow, painful cut traced along the front of his torso. Callen couldn't manage to control his reaction this time and let out a wince, his face contorting in pain. He desperately tried to control the level of pain he was feeling, but there was only so much his brain could handle. In response, Mason let out a long, contorted laugh, his eyes glinting as he continued.

Somehow, in his agonized state, he seemed to recall a detail from that case seven years ago. Part of the brothers' m.o. were long, shallow knife slashes covering the victim's chest. Callen swallowed down a wave of nausea as he recognized the similarity. He squinted his eyes and struggled to breathe, praying his team would come for him as his captor worked.

Miles away in the rundown motel, the team was starting to get restless. All three of them felt jet-lagged, having only arrived in the country that morning. Deeks had gone to get them all some food and coffee, figuring they would need it soon or none of them could execute a mission at their fullest potential, which they desperately needed to do. After all, their friend was depending on them.

Sam was pacing the room slowly, letting his mind wander through their first encounter with the two brothers. The more he paced, the more vexed he became. Kensi, on the other hand, spent the time fingering her knifes. She ran her fingers over each blade, the movement helping her think.

Deeks knocked on the door, slowly opening it and announcing himself. "I come bearing gifts," he declared, wielding coffees and bags in his hands. Kensi approached and helped him place the food down. They sat at the table, dispersing the food evenly. Deeks held up a leftover white bag.

"For you, Kensalina. I figured you needed your daily sugar quota."

She grabbed the bag and opened it, a small smile gracing her face as she saw the powdered white doughnut inside. She thanked her partner with her eyes before glancing in Sam's direction. Deeks followed her gaze.

"C'mon Sam-I-Am, eat up." Deeks prompted. He paused, thinking before he continued. "I promise it isn't green eggs and ham."

Sam looked over, contemplating a moment before deciding to join the junior agents.

"I wouldn't say that again if I were you, Deeks." Sam hinted, recognizing the detective's attempt at lightening the mood and nevertheless taking the bait. He'd never admit it, but he was grateful for his light-hearted comments at times like these. The three of them had grown closer since this all started, not excluding Sam and Deeks. Together, they'd become even more of a close-knit team.

"Noted." Deeks grinned, silently enjoying the new nickname he'd created.

The agents had not realized how hungry they were, and afterwards, felt much more energized, thanks to the coffee. It became apparent they would not be sleeping, at least until they received an update from Ops.

Once they'd finished, they cleared off the table and continued to find ways to pass the time. Kensi remained seated at the small table, once again fingering her knives still placed on its surface. She continued to contemplate about their leader, about where he could be now, who this enemy was, what it could mean for Callen. Her frustration began to leak through her calm exterior. She could feel her grip on her knives hardening as the minutes kept passing and passing. In a spontaneous moment of anger, she took one of her knives and forcefully embedded it into the wood, staring at the handle before she once again took control her emotions.

Mason threw one final thrust of the blade into Callen's shoulder, surprising the man who hadn't expected such a sudden gash after the succession of so many slow, meticulous cuts. He couldn't stop the agonized grunt from escaping his lips. Callen quickly bit down hard on his lower lip, using the act to desperately hold on to his emotions. He had somehow managed to remain conscious the whole time as Mason mercilessly carved into his chest, enduring the new sensations as best he could.

Mason dug the knife out of Callen's shoulder, who this time held in his scream. His captor unceremoniously tossed the bloody knife behind him. It clattered against the wall before settling on the wooden floor. Suddenly, Mason left the room, leaving Callen conscious and alone for the first time. Callen couldn't hold his emotions in any longer and finally released the façade he had held for so long. He gasped, attempting to subdue the agony he felt. Even though his head continued to throb, he angled it downward to assess his injuries. All traces of the white shirt he was still wearing were nearly gone as it was shredded and heavily blotched with red. Combining the blood loss from his head, leg, chest, and now the fresh wound in his shoulder, he estimated the amount was dangerously high. Fatigue was closing in on him. His body couldn't take much longer of this continued stress. A small tear managed to escape from Callen's clouded eyes, dripping down his face and onto his red chest. He closed his eyes in response, trying to get himself back under control. He had to stay alive until his partner found him, that was his job, and he couldn't give up now.

Callen estimated it had been almost an hour until Mason returned to the room. This time, Callen didn't bother meeting his eyes, instead continuing to keep his head downward.

Mason carried a white bucket with him over to Callen. He set the bucket down beside him and tore off the lid. Suddenly, Callen caught a glimpse of what filled the bucket and his eyes widened. Some new-found adrenaline fueled his system and he felt his heart rate increase at the sight of the fine, white substance.

Callen could do nothing but wait and watch with dread as Mason scooped up the salt in his hands and ran it through his fingers. The moment it touched his chest, he couldn't stop the scream of agony from escaping. His wounds flared with a new, intense pain he simply couldn't bear. Mercilessly, Mason slowly continued to rub salt into the slashes on Callen's chest. When he finally moved to the deep stab wounds in his shoulder and thigh, Callen couldn't take it anymore, letting out a pained scream. Mason threw a quick hard punch into Callen's jaw before exiting the room, laughing maliciously on his way out. With the door shut and locked, Callen released the tension in his body, having no energy left to fight. He let go of the final hold he had on his emotions, finally reaching his breaking point. Silent tears streamed down his face as he shut his eyes.

"Sam, where are you?" he whispered, right before slipping into oblivion.

In the tense operations center, a single, seemingly insignificant beep sounded. On the surface, anyone would not treat it with very much importance, but for Eric and Nell, a myriad of emotions ran through their minds the second they registered what the signal meant. Simultaneously, they went from shock to disbelief to wanting to shout for joy and celebrate in a matter of seconds. Instead, they just looked at each other, silently agreeing on their next moves before one continued typing while the other picked up the nearest phone and pressed the speed dial.

Sam, Kensi, and Deeks rushed out of the dismal motel room, all of their gear loaded in their arms. They quickly packed it into the stolen car they still had from earlier, working efficiently to get on the road as fast as possible. It was almost two in the morning when Nell called with an address for the supposed ghost, and the stress and jet-lag fatigued the agents. Nevertheless, they were all completely alert, running on adrenaline and ready to bring their team member home. How Eric and Nell managed to find one guy who had been a ghost for years and virtually didn't exist the rest of them will never understand nor even remotely comprehend, but they were always grateful and would continue to be grateful for their skills and talents, especially in situations so important like these.

The agents headed north, testing the limits on their vehicle. With the speed and lack of traffic, they could get to Mason's hideout in under an hour. They just hoped their efforts would be enough.