N/A: Warning: This chapter contains cursing language and Callen's torture. Are you still there? :)

Chapter 8

7200 miles away

Holding from the helicopter, the sharp pain on the shoulder took Callen by surprise. "Fuck!" –he thought- "not now!" And knowing he was losing his grip he tried to control the fall in order to prevent more damage on his side. And explosion of pain burst into Callen's body. The impact against the rocks was brutal, much worse than he anticipated. Incapable of moving for what he thought were decades, he fought to remain conscious and to recover his breath.

He was dangerously near the edge of the plateau not far from where he hid the parachute and the helmet. His eyes closed, his head spinning, he tried to focus on the pain to assess the damage. Left hand, no, arm, continuous, intense. Dammit. He knew he had a broken bone. Above, his shoulder, yes, the bullet, the well-known sharp pain was standing aside and a blessing numb started to take over, nevertheless the bullet was inside and the wound was bleeding badly. His rib, broken, he could feel it like a knife at each inspiration, but the lung wasn't punctured. Good. Time to move. Then he heard steps approaching. One person. His only possibility was the surprise factor and all the luck he missed before. He controlled his breathing and tried not to think.

-"Rely on your training"- he thought.

The man was standing at his side. A small kick on the ribs to check if he was alive. Shit. That hurts. A lot. G didn't react but he couldn't afford another one. It's now or never. And when the man was gathering momentum to kick him again, Callen turned suddenly, held the terrorist by his support foot causing him to fail and, without giving him time to recover, he smashed his head against a sharp stone on the ground, leaving him unconscious. A quick search with his right hand finished with a yagatan knife, a loaded pistol and a wallet confiscated. Not bad, but when he stood up another pain on the left knee nearly cause him to fall. -"No, no, no!"- He clenched his teeth and tried to put some weight on the leg. In vain. It hurt too much.

-"Don't think about it!"- he said to himself.

Ok, time to say "hasta la vista, baby". Without preambles Callen pushed the man rolling down the cliff. Then hopped with difficulty to the hiding place, he took the helmet and let it roll down on the same spot than the terrorist, procuring it was visible. If someone saw the helmet down there he probably will think his proprietary had also felt. For a trained eye the scenario was so poor that he pity himself, but he didn't have time or energy to try otherwise.

Crawling with difficulty and trying not to make noises, Callen returned to the hiding place and took the parachute, with the sharp edge of the yagatan he cut a piece of tissue and made a clumsy bandage around the bleeding wound on his shoulder to control de hemorrhage and to support his arm against his chest.

Unable to move without being discovered, he entered into the crevice and waited. He knew the two men were looking for him and sooner or later they will find him. His death will be slow and painful. Night was falling. He was still bleeding.

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Sam entered in ops like a hurricane. Thousands of thoughts and feelings,- "oh God, G!"- he needed to focus and he needed Eric and Nell's help. He found Eric writing formulas with his finger in the screen. Sam recognized the Second Newton's law and he could imagine the reason for the calculations. But for him Callen was alive and he'll make sure he could survive till help arrived.

- "Nell, please, give me the last radio frequencies used by G, Kensi and Deeks on the balloon. The terrorists probably will have access to the police station and we need to let them know that all the public forces are going to be in that area in minutes. It's the only way to make them run away from there."

- "On it, Sam"- answered Nell typing fast on the keyboard, happy to focus on a concrete task.

- "Sam, why don't you contact the SEALS and send them to look for Callen?" – asked Eric who wasn't interested in international politics.

- "We can't do that Eric, but I promise you that we're going to find him."- said Sam picking the phone.

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Suddenly Callen heard voices. Two people, the two terrorists left. They were arguing. Close, too close. He held his breathing. He was weaker each minute, but he was resolute to die fighting. He tried to pay attention to the conversation; it was hard to concentrate in anything different than pain.

- "Mehmet… orders… radio… leave the European… return… base… important…" - they were receiving orders to go away!

- "Chukumu yala!"(*"Suck my dick") -Cleary one of the terrorists wasn't happy.

- "Anani sikerim!"-(*I'll fuck your mum) - But neither the other one.

The steps went away and with them, the voices. Callen was free, for now. He didn't believe his good luck; he thought his guardian angel was watching his back, again, but he just felt too tired to celebrate. Logic dictated to look for a hospital or help on the nearest village, but doing this he could compromise the entire rescue mission. In fact he wasn't there, he was one of the ghosts meaning he would be on his own. He picked the bag pack, and standing painfully with difficulties, he found a wooden stick and with its help he headed to the mountain, his priority was to find a refuge, to take care of his injuries and luckily to pass the night.

When he finally found an uninhabited small cave wide enough to lay down, but well hidden from intruders, Callen was near the limit of his forces. His breathing was fast and sweat ran down his forehead and cheeks mixing with the blood from the deep cut on his eyebrow. His skin was clammy and he was starting to shake. He knew he was in shock and he could feel the bleeding on his shoulder. Using his good hand he stack up all the fallen leaves he could and he managed to break the stick in small pieces lighting a fire thanks to Deeks' lucky lighter. Once the wood began to crackle he sat down near the flames, his back against the rock wall. Producing a bottle of water from the bag pack he drank avidly and tried to clean his hands and face. The first aid kit that Kensi prepared for the mission was perfect: a big Celox syringe full with tiny chitosan sponges that served to coagulate blood, - "God, this is going to hurt!" - gauzes, antiseptic, saline solution, and various prefilled injections ready to use: adrenaline, B12, penicillin, painkillers, "why they can't just put some pills instead?"

He injected himself the antibiotic on the leg and started to irrigate the wound on his shoulder. The sting made him moan. He could feel the bullet inside, but he quickly dismissed the idea of the extraction. He felt too shaky and weak to try it one handed.

Without thinking any further Callen pressed the tip of the Celox syringe against the wound and taking a deep breath, he pushed the plunger with all his strength. The resulting pain gave him the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.