N/A: a bug on the system prevented me from seeing your recent comments. I'm so grateful for all the reviews! Thank you very much :) I hope you bear with me a little longer.

Chapter 15

The weak sunlight of the wintry dawn blinded Callen when he went out the container. It was good to feel the chilly breeze of the Mediterranean Sea on the face after three days of confinement. The air and the sudden noise from the siren of the boat, contributed to wake him definitely up. Slowly he descended to solid ground of the beautiful island of Ibiza. It was funny to feel some dizziness just for not being in movement. Carrying the bag pack on his good shoulder and hiding from the port authority by the big truck that had just arrived to unload the boat, Callen found himself in no time at the waterfront esplanade that traversed the port and lead to the city center. The road was deserted except for some late clubbers not ready to give up the party.

- "Craziest fiestas in the world"- Callen thought nostalgic.

First thing to do would be to find a place to stay where he could call the cavalry to the rescue. He was willing to hear Sam's voice. More drunk clubbers on the other side of the road. Germans. Not wanting to attract unnecessary attention G put the hood of the black sweater stole from the container over his head. He needed to check how it looked the wound on his face before addressing someone, so taking advantage of the side mirror he prepared himself to see his reflection.

-"What the hell…?"- a body was lying on the street next to the car's door. Callen's first instinct was to run, but maybe the guy needed help.

Bending down he put his index finger on the guy's neck and checked for a pulse. At the contact with Callen's cold hand, the guy groaned.

-"Hey venga, amigo, vamos levanta."- said Callen in Spanish.

-"Yo …I don't hablar Spanish"- the guy answered trying to get up.

- "Are you English?"- Said Callen guessing his origin and mimicking a Hampshire accent.

- "From Eastleigh…"

- "Really? I'm from Winchester. – lied Callen- "C'mon neighbourg, I take you to your hotel. Is this your car?"

- "Indeed."

- "And the hotel?"

- "Pachaaa"

- "Pacha, the hotel or Pacha the disco?"- asked Callen finding the car keys on the floor.

The guy was completely drunk and barely able to move. He let Callen to check his pockets where he found the Pacha Hotel electronic card key still on the little piece of cardboard with the number written on it. Tourists.

With no little difficulty he got to sit the man on the car and positioned himself behind the wheel.

The plan B was quickly taking shape on Callen's mind.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Hetty following the order she gave to her agents was trying to rest at Dovecoat. It had been a while since she lived there and suddenly the house was too big and seemed too empty. The day before she drove with no particular destination in mind, but her subconscious brought her to the house where Callen had lived with her for three years. The boy had been one of the biggest challenges of her life, so quiet, independent, rebel and mistrustful, trying always to hide behind a wall of irony his compassionate heart.

Back in the day she was always travelling, always from mission to mission, but each time she returned she realized amazed, the boy's improvements, progressively unfolding like a flower.

Climbing slowly the stairs Hetty entered into Callen's bedroom. It was a simple but cozy room; light blue walls with a wooden facing in the lower part and decorated with some framed pictures of Napoleon soldiers. A double window with views to the back garden and the pool let the sunlight enter the room, illuminating the selves above a wooden desk, where it seemed to play with the well aligned trophies of different sports. A single bed completely pulled up to the wall, and a wardrobe, completed the furniture. She still could picture the young Callen studying there.

A knock on the door took Hetty out her reverie.

- "Hetty, the order has arrived. They are waiting for instructions." –Said a tanned man on his late, but well lived, sixties who also looked wishful at Callen's room.

- "Thank you Daniel. I'll be there in a minute."- she answered.

Daniel had worked for Hetty since his early retirement from the Mossad more than thirty years ago. The betrayal of a former comrade put him in a situation where the only possible and recommendable solution was to commit suicide. He was about to swallow a pill of cyanide when a small and resourceful woman crossed his path. Since then he promised to take care of her, even though he soon discovered, she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Callen, on the other hand was at first a welcomed surprise, then the biggest pain in the ass a man could have, and now, well, they have an unfinished game chess on the set that laid on the little table at the library.

When Hetty arrived downstairs he found a group of man waiting for instructions to set an enormous and beautiful Christmas tree.

- "Gentlemen, this way please"- she leaded the gang.

The easiest thing in life is to surrender, she had chosen to hope.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

The most difficult task Callen had done so far was to support the near death weight of the English guy from the car to his room at the hotel. The staff, accustomed to the sad spectacle or drunken tourists living "la vida loca", didn't bother to check if they both have a key. Now, laying on the bed of the luxurious suite beside the snoring guy, Callen allowed himself to rest for a while. The effort was taking his toll and he was hurting all over. At this point he was used to the permanent fever that peaked at night, taking the little energy he could have. He knew that probably the bullet on his shoulder was causing an infection and he'd need to extract it as soon as possible. One handed, without proper instrumental and local anesthesia, the risks of trying were bigger than the possible benefits. The idea of the hospital was ruled off immediately: to be undocumented, bullet wounded in Europe could mean his picture on all the newspapers and Interpol files. Bye, bye to his undercover work. He had only two doses of antibiotic left, and even if the effect was not as good as expected, it was better than nothing.

Biting his lip to prevent a cry to get out his mouth, he raised up from the bed careful not to wake up his companion, but the guy didn't stop snoring, Callen didn't envy the future hang over.

Thanks to the tablet on the bedside table he command to the room service a huge breakfast that he wasn't sure to be able to eat, but for the first time since his fall from the helicopter he was feeling hungry.

Then he explored the room confiscating some aspirins, a tube of antibiotic cream, a change of clothes and a toothbrush from the open suitcase and went to the bathroom. Once again he was shocked by the image reflected on the big mirrors. The cut on his eyebrow wasn't looking good, the edges red and inflamed and all the shades of purple and blue around. He opened the faucet to clean it when, reflected, he saw the bath. He was more of a shower guy, but he definitely could do an exception.

An hour later, refreshed and with a full stomach he sat beside the table. The moment he never thought would arrived, was there. The phone. Just a combination of ten numbers and the team will go to look for him. I would be nice to be with the guys enjoying the beautiful beach in Ibiza, and probably Hetty would pay the hotel.

He picked up the phone and then saw it on the screen.

The date.

24thDecember.

Without making noise he hung up. Sam. A trip to Europe would prevent Sam to spend Christmas day with his family. And he knew he couldn't do it.