It is amazing what adrenaline and meager food can do for a body, at least temporarily. When Callen's cell door was opened by a large, robe-covered man that morning, he was able to marshal his strength, rise to his feet, albeit not swiftly and stand to face this new threat. Thankfully, it only took him a second to realize the perceived threat was actually his savior, Sam.

Sam eyed his disheveled partner dubiously. "Can you walk?"

Callen nodded grimly, pushing all his pain aside as he continued to lean on his adrenaline rush to function. Sam, gun in hand, took point to lead the way out of the prison. It wasn't too hard for the special agents to escape. It seemed like his captors had given no thought to the fact that someone might try to rescue their prisoner. The one guard on the outermost door was easily subdued by Sam. After striping the man of his robe, Sam tossed it to Callen who put it on trying not to let the agony it was causing to don the garment to show in his face. After Callen was covered, the two men stepped into the street which at mid-day was moderately crowded; robed, they blended in fairly well.

"I have a car about a quarter of mile from here," Sam told his partner in hushed tones. Callen gave a quick nod indicating he understood. Walking as swiftly as they could without attracting any undue attention, the men wound their way thru the streets, across the market square and over to an older model SUV.

By this point, Callen was fatigued and happy to slide into the passenger side of the vehicle while Sam took up residence behind the wheel. The SUV roared to life after Sam twisted the key in the ignition. It definitely needed a new muffler and Callen hoped that was the only thing wrong with it; he really didn't feeling like walking if it broke down. Cautiously, Sam pulled on to the street which was crowded with cars, people and animals; it wouldn't do to get into an accident during their prison-break.

Shifting restlessly in his seat, Callen tried to find a way to sit that didn't put pressure on his abraded back. Glancing sideways at his squirming partner, Sam thought that Callen appeared pale underneath the grime that covered his face. Knowing if he asked Callen if he was hurt, he'd get the canned reply, 'I'm good'; so Sam decided to go the direct approach. "Where are you injured G?"

Callen stopped fidgeting for a moment in the seat. "What makes you think I'm hurt?" he asked, evading answering the question and throwing the onus back on Sam.

Sighing, Sam gave his head a little shake; now he knew Callen was hurt because the man had gone into deflection mode. There was a couple of ways he could play this out and Sam choose to go silent and bide his time.

They cleared the town and were now out on the open road. Checking the rearview mirror occasionally, Sam couldn't detect any signs that they were being followed. The dusty dirt road deteriorated the further they got out of town and Sam was glad they were driving a vehicle that could handle the less than stellar surface conditions.

When Callen spoke again, it was not on the subject of his health. "What's the plan?"

"We're heading for an airfield about hundred miles to the south. We'll meet a guy there with helicopter that will fly us over the border and get us as close to the coast as possible. We'll have to hike the rest of the way to the sea where Hetty has arranged for a covert extraction." Just to keep his side-stepping partner on notice he added, "You up for a hike? It's pretty rough country."

The constant unpredictable motion of the SUV when it hit a rough patch of road was keeping Callen on edge as he tried not to jar his mutilated back. Gritting his teeth after they hit a particularly nasty bump that gave him air time off his seat, Callen decided he'd had enough, stripped out of his robe and climbed into the back seat. As Callen's torso disappeared between the seats Sam asked, "What are you doing?"

With an ungraceful plunk, Callen landed on the back seat which was a bench-style. He flipped around to face front before he answered Sam. "Haven't slept in three days. Gonna catch a quick nap so I'm ready for our walk in the park."

Sam couldn't stop a small smile from making a brief appearance on his face. "Well don't snore or I'll be forced to turn the radio on."

Arranging his weary body on the seat to avoid putting any pressure on his wounds Callen mumbled, "This piece of crap has a radio?"

"I can always sing," Sam answered cheerfully.

Callen dropped his weary head on his forearms. "Pass."

Sam had rescued Callen in the early afternoon and now evening was descending upon them. Without a break, Sam drove throughout the night and by the first light of dawn they were approaching their first destination.

Callen had spent most of the night in a semi-conscious state in the back seat. He'd barely fall asleep before being jarred awake by the poor road conditions.

The turn-off for the airfield was another dirt road that led to a large grassy area with a small hanger, a few scattered aircraft and a runway that had seen better days. Sam pulled the SUV into the makeshift parking area and the two men slowly got out of the car, stretching their cramped muscles.

Sam started walking and Callen let out a low whistle when he saw what aircraft his partner was heading towards. "That's a Kamov Ka-25. Code name Hormone. Russian helicopter first flown in 1967." It wasn't a hard aircraft to identify with her dual rotors blades and bulbous nose.

A voice boomed from behind the aircraft. "Man knows his Russian aircraft. I call her Zoya." A tall, dark-skinned man stepped around the front of the helicopter and gave the machine an affectionate pat. "She serves me well."

Callen scanned the craft from stem to stern. "You bought it or stole it from a scrap yard."

The guy looked askance at Sam who merely shrugged. "He has no appreciation for fine machinery. He doesn't even name his cars."

The man eye-balled Callen. "Huh. Well I didn't win her in a lottery. I bought Zoya at a surplus auction. Guess Russia had a cash flow problem. Got a good deal on her too."

Sam finally got around to making introductions. "Peter," he said addressing the owner of the helicopter, "this is my business partner Tom." Peter extended his hand and Callen, a.k.a Tom, shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"A friend of Dan's is a friend of mine," Peter replied genially and Callen took note; Sam was going by Dan. Releasing Callen's hand, Peter turned and headed towards the cockpit. "She's fueled and ready to go. Got any luggage?" he asked jokingly.

"Last airline lost it," Sam said drily. "But I do have a backpack in the car. I'll go grab it." Sam left and Callen walked over and inspected their ride.

The helicopter was painted in desert camouflage colors; she carried no insignias and at first glance the weaponry seemed inoperable. As Callen leaned over to examine one of the guns on the underbelly of the fuselage, Peter materialized by his side. "She a civilian craft now. No need for working weapons."

Callen turned away from the gun he'd been inspecting and quirked an eyebrow at Peter combined with a look of disbelief.

Peter sighed. "I'm guessing your aren't buying that story." Callen gave a slight shake of his head. "Well, perhaps on occasion I have used them, but it is hard to get ammo these days."

Callen gave him a pointed look. "Are they loaded now?"

"Do they need to be?" Peter shot back.

Callen gave him a lazy grin. "Fair enough."

Sam rejoined the two men, carrying a fully loaded backpack over one shoulder. "Let's roll."

Peter hopped into the cockpit and began his instrumentation check while Callen and Sam settled in the body of the beast, donning headphones. Static crackled in their ears before Peter's voice rang out. "There's room upfront for one more if anyone would like a bird's eye view."

Callen motioned for Sam to go, so the taller man took off his headset, hunched over and made his way to the cockpit. He clambered into the co-pilot's seat and donned a new headset.

The increased sound of the rotors told Callen they'd soon be airborne and he settled in his seat trying to be careful of his back. A quick visual inspection of the cabin and equipment around him put him somewhat at ease. This might be an older aircraft but it looked like it was being meticulously maintained. The craft gave a small lurch as it left the ground and soon they were heading south.

"I should be able to get you within a few miles of the coast undetected. But you'll have to hike the rest of the way," Peter said over the headset.

"Not a problem. We appreciate you doing this for us," Sam replied sincerely.

Peter gave Sam an earnest glance. "If it weren't for you Dan, I'd be worm food."

"Those were tough times," Sam said reminiscently.

"Tough times," Peter echoed. "Lost good men."

Sam ran a weary hand over his face. "That we did."

In the back, Callen made a note to ask Sam the backstory between him and Peter once they were safely home. "How long is our flight time?" Callen asked over his mike.

"About four hours," Peter promptly answered. "Hope you brought your own snacks. There's no beverage service on this flight, though if you look under the seat you might find an old granola bar or something."

Laughing Callen said, "I'll pass thanks."

Sam and Peter started talking about past acquaintances and Callen quickly grew bored so he took off his headset. Unable to find a comfortable manner in which to sit, he dropped to the floor, curled up on his side and dozed off ignoring the vibrations in the floor of the helicopter.

Sam and Peter talked for about an hour when it dawned on Sam that Callen had been very quiet. "Tom, how's it going back there?" he inquired over the headset. When he didn't get a reply he grew concerned, "Tom?"

Peter gave a sideways glance at Sam. "Maybe your friend's taking a nap. Our yapping probably bored him to tears."

"Yeh. I'm sure that's it," Sam agreed as he rose from his seat. "But I'm gonna check." Secretly Sam was worried because he knew Callen was not a sound sleeper and should have woken up at when he heard Sam's voice. He was relieved when he spotted his partner curled up on his side on the floor napping. Turning around, he went back to the cockpit.

"Everything hunky dory?" Peter asked as Sam dropped back into the co-pilots seat.

Sam put his headset back on. "Yeh. He took off his headset and is curled up on the floor sleeping."

"That's downright uncomfortable," Peter remarked.

Sam snorted. "Tom has a knack for being able to sleep anywhere, in any position. What he can't do is sleep at night in a bed like a normal person."

"From the looks of it, your friend could use the rest. Our country not treating you right?" Peter said casually.

Sam knew that was Peter's way of asking what was going on so Sam spun a story. "Damnedest thing. We've been doing business in his part of the world for more than a year with no issues. Then a rival company decides they want a piece of the action so they convince the locals to capture Tom to make a statement."

"Did you guys get the message?" Peter made a slight adjustment to the helicopter's instrument panel before looking over at Sam.

Sighing a bit theatrically Sam said, "Well, they have gotten the locals so riled against us with their lies, I doubt we can ever do business there again. If you haven't been able to fly us out, I am not sure what would have happened next. It was getting very ugly."

Peter nodded seriously. "They aren't ones to mess around."

"No they are not," Sam agreed.

The conversation shifted back to more mundane topics for the next hour. They were about two hours into the flight when Sam noticed Peter appeared to be getting a little tense. "Something wrong?"

The pilot looked out the window before carefully replying. "We'll be crossing the border in a few clicks. There have been some, ah, incidents of aircraft being fired upon by ground forces."

"Land before the border. We can hike the rest of the way," Sam told him.

Peter shook his head no. "That's more than 100 miles over some really rough terrain."

"It's not worth taking the risk. We can do it. Land," Sam instructed.

"No way. You didn't strand me and I'm not stranding you. Besides, the odds are good we won't even be spotted." Peter crossed his fingers and silently prayed he was right.

But luck was not with them when fifteen minutes later, the helicopter was fired upon from the ground. Zoya was raked for nose to tail by armor piercing bullets. Smoke billowed out of her engines and Peter frantically scanned his instrument panel. "One engine is out and while she can fly on only one engine, she has too much damage overall. We're going down."