a/n sorry for the late update. I really wanted to update twice a week but lots of things having being eating up my time and it's been really frustrating. Thanks for all the great reviews and comments. They are fantastic. This won't be an epic like my previous one. I watched the promo and WOW…so now I have lots of plot bunnies but I will finish this story first. Bring on sept. 25…

Chapter 8

At OPS

The scanning software and been running all night when a beeping noise, shook Eric from his beauty sleep. "Wha'? Wha'? Oh crap…Nell we've got a hit," screamed Eric.

Nell peeled off the paper that was stuck to her face and looked around like a deer caught in headlights, "We got something?" She was surprised by the impossibility of a hit. "Who is it?"

"Well his name is Mustafa Kadar…Pakistani national…lives in Wana…married…no children. That's all," said Eric surprised at the meagerness of the file.

Nell scrunched up her nose, "Wait, there…there's an encrypted file attachment. Open it Eric!"

Eric tapped and tapped on the keys, "Nell, look at the encryption level…we shouldn't be doing this. This is ISI…we should not be doing this. They'll trace it right here."

"Look, we'll take a peep and then start redirecting. Remember the method you used with that Japanese diplomat last year…" Eric gave her a yeah look. "Right. We do anything we need to no matter the cost." Both analysts gave each other conspiratorial encouragement.

"Ok we have a window of 1 minute before they start tracing. Let's just hope we copy everything," said Eric. They watched the time run down and the percentage bar increase…5 secs 97%; 4 secs 98% 3, 2; 99%; 1 sec 100% complete and hack cut off...untraceable.

"Oh man that was close. We are genius," said Nell looking at Eric with awe. He didn't notice and her heart broke just a little. They were so great together, she just wished that he could look past Nell as a binary code, and see the intelligent woman she was.

"Let's take a look –" Nell stopped Eric by placing her petite hand on his.

"Maybe we should wait for Deeks? He is the one that…you know, encouraged us," said Nell.

Eric looked across at her and she was right, as unusual, "Yeah…ok."

"I'll buzz him," said Nell.

"No need to chickadees…early bird catches the worm. Watcha guys got?" asked a very upbeat Deeks.

Nell looked at him with a very hurt and confused face, "Deeks I don't get it. This that we're doing, doesn't change the fact that Callen is most probably gone. Why are you so…you know…jovial and all? It seems a little insensitive."

Deeks paused and looked at the two analysts. Eric was always hard to read unless he was scared or threatened by Sam, but Nell she wore her heart on her sleeve. He had to explain himself. He wasn't insensitive…far from it. His face morphed and the analysts saw the pain and desperation that laced Deeks troubled face, "I need to be. Someone needs to be. Someone needs to fight for him. I don't believe Callen's dead. Someone like him would have a contingency plan. All plans need a contingency. He would not have made such a mistake. I don't see how you guys don't get that?"

"They watched him die," said Kensi walking into the room. Deeks shook his head in disappointment.

"Kens…don't go there… at least let us try. They saw him get shot. That's all. I mean this man survived 5 direct close range shots. That's superhero stuff…heck Chuck Norris legend stuff," said Deeks trying not to hurt the girl any further. She looked at him skeptically, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Look, Nell and Eric, or Neric as I like to call them…" Both Nell and Eric cringed, "…have found a lead. Maybe this man can help…at least we'll know for certain."

"Kensi, he has a point. It's better knowing," added Eric waiting for a tirade from the raven-haired amazon.

Kensi took a deep breath and glanced at each NCIS agent in that room, "It is better knowing, I guess. I'll help…whatever you need me to do." Deeks smiled and then they all smiled. He was so relieved that even though the nucleus of the team was AWOL, they could still pull it together.

"Well how do we get in touch with this man, Eric?" asked Deeks. "You know this isn't my field of ex-per-tise."

"Oh please," Kensi scoffed, turning her attention back to Eric. "Can we contact him through the ISI?" asked Kensi.

"No." The voice was quiet yet decisive and firm.

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Mustafa frantically maneuvered his hands under Callen's back and pulled him out from under the thorny bushes he had managed to scramble into. He took out his water bottle and poured some over Callen's parched lips. The water just dribbled out. Callen's face was covered in scratches, cuts and burns. Mustafa noticed a nasty gash near his hairline. His clothes were torn and singed from the heat of the Patriot induced flames. Callen was in a bad way.

"Come on Callen, please," he implored tapping Callen gently on the cheek and keeping his voice to a whisper. There was no reaction. As he moved his hand away from under Callen's shoulder, he noticed blood, warm red blood covering his hand. Frantically, he torn open Callen's shirt searching for signs of a wound. But there was nothing. No sign of any injury that would bleed so profusely. Trying to keep his breathing under control and senses clear, he leveraged himself to one side of Callen and pushed him over. He saw the stained cloth. He pulled it away and there it was. Callen had been shot in the back and the wound was unforgiving. He looked around and noticed he had nothing to staunch the bleeding. He took off his shemagh, folded it a few times and pushed it against the wound. It alone wouldn't hold. He scrimmaged around and found a length of cloth. He secured the padding and tied it to Callen's body with the makeshift tourniquet. The pressure of the padding made a lifeless Callen moan in pain.

"Finally signs of life. Callen wake up now…wake up," Mustafa continued to slap and shake Callen. Finally his eyes opened. Callen's contacts had fallen out during the explosion and Mustafa saw the blue eyes he knew well. This time they weren't mischievous nor calculating, they were dull and confused.

"Callen, can you hear me?" asked Mustafa trying to get Callen to focus on his voice and his face.

Callen blinked rapidly trying to clear his vision. Then he stopped and focused on his friend, "Mus…ta..fa."

"Yes my friend, yes," smiled Mustafa. "I need to get you out, can you stand?" asked a relieved yet concerned friend, looking around for immediate danger.

Callen looked up confused, then his hand went to his ears as he shook his head, "Can't…hear….you?"

Mustafa positioned himself directly in front of Callen line of vision, "The explosion damaged you eardrums." Callen nodded. "Help me get you up."

"No…go. Don't get…involved in this…please," croaked Callen, shooing Mustafa away with his aching arm.

"Stop you stubborn son of a mule. I'm already involved. Can you get up?" asked a persistent Mustafa. Callen nodded slightly and reluctantly. Mustafa pushed Callen up into a sitting position and stopped when Callen yelled out in pain. He couldn't replace air in his lungs fast or fully enough. Mustafa saw Callen's left shoulder and cringed. It looked askew: broken, dislocated…he simply didn't know. Mustafa shook his head and started compiling a list of Callen's injuries. He was incredibly concerned for his friend. Callen didn't need pity now, he just needed help. So Mustafa donned a brave face and got stuck into Callen. "I don't care what hurts, you need to get up and into the car NOW!"

Callen just shook his head despondently. "It hurts...too much…" he said through ragged breathing. "Please…just leave me and go! Everyone does in the end."

Mustafa felt his warm tears streaming down his face. He knew as much of Callen as Callen had allowed him to know, which wasn't much. His story was known throughout the international agencies. They knew of the prodigious orphaned agent who went by one name, they all knew of his exploits and most of his assignments but no one really knew the man. No one knew what had made him who he was. No one could. So Mustafa knew he was privileged. He was a friend of the said agent. Not many could lay claim to that, and according to Mustafa, friends looked out for each other.

So he grabbed Callen's face and yelled, "NO! I will not leave you. Get up Callen!" His friend was dying and he was berating him. Callen eyes pooled with unshed tears of a painful memory. Mustafa saw it. This time he used a gentler tone, "Please my friend. You will not die today." Callen closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath then nodded to Mustafa. With Callen's determination, Mustafa managed, despite the grunts and screams of pain, to drag Callen into the back of his ancient Land cruiser. He positioned him on his side as to relieve the pressure on his wound and secured his shoulder. Suddenly Callen's eyes widened horrifically as his hand shot to his own chest.

"Can't…breathe…" Callen's face losing its colour as his lips started turning blue.

Mustafa quickly raised Callen to a slouched sitting position enabling Callen to take in relatively deep breaths. Relieved Mustafa sat taking deep breaths in himself. "You need to help me here…broken ribs?"

"I think…this…it's ok."

"Ok…I'm going to take you home. The road will be bumpy but closer than the hospitals. Too many hours drive to get to a hospital in your state and I can't let the authorities get you," said Mustafa about to leave when Callen suddenly moved. Callen's good arm had shot up and grabbed Mustafa's shirt.

Callen's eyes were burning with despair and fever, "No…Mustafa…no. I can't…bring this…to your home. Leave me…anywhere…don't…If they find out you sheltered…a terrorist," Callen managed to say as his eyes slowly started to close and he went limp.

Mustafa took hold of Callen's limp fist and released his shirt. He looked at Callen's wretched form and sighed, "We have no choice my friend." Mustafa was confused with Callen's reaction…terrorist? Why did he think he was a terrorist? All Mustafa needed to do was enable Callen distress protocol via his satellite phone and he would be saved. Mustafa knew that. Callen knew that. They had discussed it before he went into Raza's compound. It was their contingency plan. The question on Mustafa's mind was, why didn't Callen remember?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hetty's sudden presence heightened the tension that was already rampant in the OPS centre. "I think you all did not hear me the first time. We cannot go through any official avenues," scolded an irate Hetty.

"What can we do then? We have a lead and we need to get in contact with him…we need help," said Deeks imploring his boss.

Hetty drew her hands together as if in prayer and pulled them close to her lips. The other agents looked around at each other silently, until Kensi spoke, "Hetty if there's a chance…"

"I know Miss Blye…I know. I want Mr. Callen back home just as much as you all do and deep in my heart, I know he is alive. If we are to do this, it needs to be done fast before anyone has a moment to intervene. I know a man…I could make a call," replied an emotional Hetty looking at Kensi, when movement caught the corner of his eye.

There stood a smiling Deeks with a phone in his hand, "It's now or never."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Mustafa pulled the car in front of his house and noticed the whole street was chaotic. No one would notice Mustafa bringing Callen into his home. He opened the back of the jeep. Callen was still unconscious, blood pooling on the floor. Mustafa started mumbling prayers under his breath, when he was suddenly interrupted. "Mufti Kaleel…would…make you…clean the rugs…for misinterpreting the Koran…like that," mumbled Callen trying to open his eyes.

"Mufti Kaleel…from university? Callen…come on. Put you good arm around me," begged Mustafa quietly wondering at Callen's odd statement. Callen never went to university with Mustafa…Aziz did. He dragged a near comatose Callen closer to himself and eased him out of the jeep. Callen groaned and moaned and tried to bear some weight on his own legs, but failed miserably collapsing onto Mustafa.

Samina heard the noise outside and ran to see what the commotion was, when she was confronted with her husband and his friend Aziz, both men looking worse for wear. "Oh dear Mustafa, what happened?" she said distraught trailing behind her husband.

"Clear the bed in our room."

Hurriedly she did as she was told. She drew back the covers and placed a worn hessian sheet over it. "I'm going to sit him on the bed and turn him face down. You need to call your father," said Mustafa in a tone strange to Samina.

"Mustafa? Will you take him to the hospital?" she asked quietly.

"Woman just do as you are told." He hated talking to his beautiful wife like that, but this was a matter of life or death. He would explain everything when there was time. Crestfallen she left, wrapping her hijab tightly around her face.

Mustafa ripped the remainder of Callen's tunic open and surveyed the mess. He filled a bowl with warm water and added disinfectant. He slowly soaked a face towel and started washing Callen's back. Callen didn't stir. He cleaned the cuts and scratches and he washed the burns that littered his back. Then drew his attention to the bullet wound. He tried to remove the padding. It was more difficult than he thought. The blood had dried around the wound, so he used more force than he wanted and finally it came away. All of a sudden Callen's blood started flowing. He quickly washed it, only for more to seep through. He placed the washer over the wound to stop the bleeding and he waited, he waited for Samina to bring Yusef.

Mustafa was lost in his memories as he thought of the moment he had almost lost his life and his senses; Callen had rescued him. He knew the risk he was running sheltering Callen. But his alias was still in tact and the locals protected their own; they didn't protect liars, cheats…and undercover special agents. Suddenly the door swung open and Yusef appeared with Samina trailing behind. Yusef looked at Callen's form in the bed and his face paled, "Please Yusef. I know how you feel about…He is a friend."

"He joined Raza's group. He should not be here," said the elder sternly.

"Father, please…behind all the faces we wear, we are all the same. He is just a man who needs help," Samina cooed to her father. He looked at his daughter and relished at her compassion and generosity.

"Fine…let me see." Yusef moved next to Callen's inert form as Mustafa removed the towel. As his wrinkled yet nimble fingers prodded the wound he spoke to Samina, "Samina…get my medical kit." She nodded and hurried away.

With Samina gone, Yusef grabbed hold of Mustafa's wrist almost stopping the circulation and looked him straight in the eye, "He is not who he says he is." Mustafa felt terror grip him tightly. He didn't want to lie to Yusef. He knew he could trust Yusef so he decided to tell him enough of the truth that was necessary.

"He is not."

Yusef frowned, "Is he your friend?"

"A friend I owe my life to several times over."

"Then it's a matter of honour. I understand. This man needs a hospital Mustafa. But if I must I will help but as soon as he is well to travel he must leave…for Samina's sake. Now let me see. The bullet has entered here and travelled to his shoulder…I think it may be wedged in the bone. The extraction will not be easy. This will bleed. He is fortunate to be unconscious…it will be painful." Then his eyes wandered to the gash of Callen's forehead, "This is nasty. He will need stitches." Then he looked at Mustafa, "Anything else?"

"He had trouble breathing." Yusef frowned.

"First things first. This bleeding must be stopped." Then in rushed Samina. "Thank you Samina. Please boil some water, get some cotton rags and prepare that special brew your mother used to make when your brother had his seizures." Samina nodded and set herself to task, meanwhile he handed Mustafa a clean rag and a bottle, "If he starts to wake, pour a few drops and push hard against his nose and mouth. Careful not to inhale yourself. Are you ready?"

Mustafa nodded…then the nightmare began.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The procedure was arduous. Hours passed as Yusef struggled against Callen's body wanting to cease living. But he managed. The old man sighed with exhaustion as sweat beaded his forehead. He succeeded in doing the best he could; the bullet had been removed and the wound secured however the bleeding continued. This worried Yusef. Callen's arm was placed in a makeshift sling, the gash had been stitched up, shrapnel had been removed from his lower back and legs and his broken ribs had been taped…tight. Yusef had done his job, now it was up to Callen.

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