The Delta airlines flight to Moscow was uneventful. Ten minutes in to the flight Eric had asked if Callen minded if he played The Walking Dead on his PS Vita. Callen had readily encouraged Eric to play; the end result being neither had to try to make or listen to awkward small talk. Whilst Eric played, Callen read the LA Times, followed by the Russian language newspaper Kstati, published weekly in San Francisco. After that Callen further practised his Russian by studying Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago. It was heavy going but provided both a fascinating and horrific detail of the history, internment and mistreatment of inmates imprisoned in the Russian labour camps. Unable to read any more, eight hours into the flight Callen finally closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. Images of forced labour camps, mixed with abuse and beatings passed through Callen's dreams and he was jolted back to reality by Eric, whose efforts to defeat the dead and undead were occasionally thwarted. Eventually Eric too fell asleep, his handheld console dropping in to his lap, zombies running wild.
Their flight landed at Sheremetyevo International Airport a little after three thirty in the afternoon. Callen had already taken the opportunity to remind Eric of his alias. With a first name of Greg, Eric could still call Callen 'G' without raising too much suspicion. And to avoid Eric forgetting to answer to his alias, Hetty had decided that Eric would still be Eric. His surname was no longer Beale, but Brown – his stepmother's maiden name. At immigration control, the two men were issued with electronic migration cards to keep with them at all times. Their Russian visas were scrutinised and they were reminded they only had permission to travel around Moscow. Passport control too was painfully slow, with Callen answering questions posed to him and Eric on the purpose of their visit and length of their stay.
Eventually they made their way to the Hertz rental desk and collected the keys for a VW Polo, an economy car suitable for a history teacher and his student on a research mission. Callen had removed his sling as soon as he disembarked the aircraft in Moscow to ensure there would be no risk of anyone refusing him permission to drive in Russia. He pulled out of the airport and headed south on the E105 towards Moscow where Nell has secured them a room at the Simonovsky Holiday Inn. Although located in the City, a car was still required for them to travel to the Archives Offices and it was hoped that the free high speed wifi at the Holiday Inn would be suitable for Eric's technical requirements.
Callen left Eric setting up his laptop in the hotel, saying he was going out for some fresh air after the long flight and subsequent drive. This time Callen did wear his sling, the biting cold causing his shoulder to ache more than he remembered. As soon as he was clear of the building, Callen pulled out his cell and dialled a number from memory. After a series of brief exchanges, he hung up and walked briskly west until he reached the bank of the Moskva River.
"Katya, it's good to see you," Callen greeted a tall woman in her late forties in Russian.
"G," Katya responded in Russian, kissing each other's cheeks in greeting. "You have not changed a bit, well a little more tired, a little heavier..."
"Whereas you have only grown more beautiful," Callen replied with a cheeky grin. "It must be about ten years since I was here last. Are you still at the State University?"
"I am, I moved from the Faculty of Political Science to History three years ago." A radiant smile spread over Katya's face and she tucked a loose strand of brunette hair behind her ears as she looped her arm in Callen's.
"Still married?" Callen asked as they strolled along the concrete pathway, following the river north.
"More than married, I now have a six year old daughter. She's very much like her father; serious and athletic."
"Damn," Callen smiled slyly. "You've just broken my heart again."
"Very funny. I received a message from the CIA that you and a colleague were arriving today. I thought you left the CIA." The earlier joviality had quickly been replaced with concern. "Why are you here Callen, what has happened?"
"I'm not here with the CIA, I've been with NCIS for a while now but I asked an old contact to reach you. I'm here as Greg Williams, a professor of history researching the final decline of the Labour Camps. I need information on a former KGB Major who was sent to a Siberian labour camp in 1974. Name of Nikita Alexander Reznikov, arrested for helping Russians and Germans escape to the West." Callen stuck to the facts as he knew them, deliberately neglecting to mention the personal element and that he was not part of any sanctioned operation.
"What is his significance?" Katya asked.
Callen dug his hands further in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cold, grimacing slightly as he remembered his damaged right shoulder. "We believe that as well as helping genuine refugees, a number of the people he relocated were also sleeper agents that are still active today in the States. And the Cold War is warming up again..." The lies had rolled easily off Callen's tongue, however for all he knew it could be true. He had no idea what his father's role in the KGB had been although counter-intelligence and foreign espionage would have been a safe bet and probably accounted for how his parents met.
Katya halted and turned to face Callen. "But what is his significance? How will researching Reznikov help?"
"I'm not sure," Callen admitted, quickly deciding that an element of the truth would help his cause. "Look I dislocated my shoulder during my last mission." Callen nodded his head towards his shoulder. "My boss did not appreciate my efforts at supporting the team from our HQ and decided to send me on this little errand." Callen caught Katya's eye with his best 'victim' look and continued with a wry smile, "I think it was a case of 'send me to Russia or suspend me'. Apparently I still have a lot to learn about managing people..."
"Ah I see, that makes sense now. You are annoying too many Americans so you get sent to Russia. Just make sure you don't annoy the police or you'll be sent to a labour camp,"
"You're not the first person to say that to me today," Callen was reminded of his earlier conversation with Arkady.
"That person must know you well...so how can I help?"
"I'm only here for a maximum of two weeks and I'm going to be limited with what I can find through official channels in the Archives. I need handheld bug sweeping devices, a gun, two burn phones, earwigs, floor plans for the FSB Offices and I need to know where all information on KGB traitors from 1973-5 is kept."
"I can arrange for the equipment by tonight. My CIA contact has friends in the Russian Mafia who can make sure nothing can be traced back to any Federal Agency or underground faction." Katya glanced furtively around her but the pathway was deserted.
"I need the KGB files on Reznikov. I won't leave without those." Callen insisted.
"I have an acquaintance in the FSB who may be able to help but you need to give me a few days. You can't break in. If you get caught you risk being exposed as an undercover Federal Agent. You'll be headline news world over as an example of American spies in Russia; a political prisoner. And even if you get released, your career will be over."
"If your friend can get me copies of Reznikov's files then I will leave here a happy man. And I won't even have committed a felony," a smirk crept across Callen's face as he used his old friendship with Katya to persuade her to do his work for him.
"Well that will be progress," Katya smiled back at Callen. "I guess that means NCIS haven't managed to completely house-train you?"
"Not completely..."
Katya removed her gloves and reached into her pocket to produce a notepad and pencil. She quickly scribbled down an address and pressed it into Callen's hand. "Be at this address at 10:30 tonight. A man named Romanov will meet you with the equipment. Code word is 'the thaw is coming'. Romanov only speaks Russian and won't answer the door if you are a minute early or late. Make sure you're alone."
Callen glanced at the address and nodded. "If I keep speaking this much Russian I'll forget how to speak English. It's been good to catch up Katya. Take care of yourself and your family."
"You too,"
The two briefly embraced before walking in opposite directions.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
By the time Callen returned to the hotel, it had just turned seven and dusk was starting to fall. He knocked on Eric's door, announcing his name.
"What took you so long?" Eric asked, closing the door behind Callen and returning to his laptop which had been neatly set in the middle of a plain desk.
"Bumped in to an old friend," Callen said. "From the faculty of History at Moscow State University."
"Really?" Eric asked curiously, aware that Callen had a long history of foreign operations, a number of which had been in Russia and the surrounding former Soviet states. "Can he help expedite our research?"
"She," Callen paused as he watched Eric cock his head in surprise. "And she may be able to, yes. You all set up here?"
"Sure am, I was just about to dial into er, video conference Nell." Eric wavered slightly, unsure of the protocol around unsanctioned undercover operations in a country such as Russia.
"We're fine here Eric, just cover your electronic tracks," Callen reassured Eric.
"Ok," Eric tapped a few keys and a visual of the Ops centre filled the screen. "Hey guys," he called as he saw Nell and Sam assembled. "You're in early."
"Hey Eric," Nell answered. "Is Callen there with you?"
"Morning," Callen said, standing behind Eric's shoulder. "You guys catch a new case?"
"Nah G, an old cold case just got warm again. Got y'self into trouble yet?" Sam asked with a broad smile.
"Of course not," Callen feigned indignity. "Everything's by the book this time, I can't afford to be thrown out of Russia."
Sam shook his head and added. "Or thrown in a Gulag. Just remember I'm not there to save you."
"Sam you are the third person within twenty four hours to make that joke and it wasn't even funny the first time. Where's Kens and Deeks?"
"On their way in, grabbing some doughnuts," Sam added deliberately to get a rise out of Callen.
"Oh yeah, well Eric and I are on our way out to sample some of the traditional Russian culture," Callen countered.
"What like McDonalds?" Sam laughed at his own joke and even Nell stood by his side, couldn't keep a smile from twitching at her lips.
Callen muttered a phrase in Russian, causing Sam's broad smile to grow even wider.
"Whatever," Sam said. "What did you guys want?"
"Eric?" Callen prompted.
"Just checking in really, wondered if you'd managed to find anything that may help us find Reznikov?"
"Nothing at all I'm afraid. All I can confirm is that most records will be on paper and likely locked away in the deepest basements at the former KGB headquarters. Sorry," Nell apologised.
"That's Ok Nell," Callen reassured her. "I may have that covered."
"How?" Sam asked suspiciously.
"I have contacts here, nothing concrete yet." Callen did not want to divulge his secrets.
"Yeah well you just make sure those contacts are still on your side,"
"I'll be careful. We'll be in touch again tomorrow," Callen signed off and Eric cut the connection with Los Angeles. Silence enveloped the room.
Eric shut down his laptop and closed the lid. He turned in his chair and looked at Callen. "So we're off out are we?" Nerves were evident in his voice.
"Relax Eric. There's a decent restaurant a couple of blocks from here, we can eat, relax, have a few drinks and then stumble back here. This is a holiday after all."
"OK, give me ten minutes and I'll meet you in the lobby."
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
The evening passed quickly and Eric was surprised at how amenable Callen was. He had known Callen a long time but rarely had the opportunity – or desire, if the truth be known – to socialise with the field agent outside of work, and never on a one to one social basis. Though conversation flowed between the two of them, Eric was witnessing firsthand how Callen was able to adapt to his undercover alias and his environment. He charmed the waitresses, joked with the barmen and even managed to barter their food bill down. His Russian was flawless and one of the waitresses who spoke rudimentary English, was convinced he really was a native. Even when he switched back to English, she remained unconvinced by his American accent. Shortly before ten, when the two men had knocked back their sixth vodka in almost as many minutes, Callen ushered Eric out into the cold night air. Stumbling slightly, Eric grabbed Callen's arm as they made their way back to the Holiday Inn.
The two men swayed into each other as they walked along the corridor to their rooms. Eric started singing show tunes and Callen loudly 'shushed' him.
"OKLAHOMA," Eric again burst in to song. "Y'know I'm from Oklahooomaaa?"
"Yeah," Callen answered with a tight smile, concentrating on trying to remain upright with Eric constantly bumping into him. "Y'know I'm not?"
"That sucks," Eric replied. "Everyone should be from Oklahoma coz it has an awesome song about it. It would be better if it had beaches with surf..."
"Beaches are cool," Callen said, grabbing the key card out of Eric's hand. After several fumbled attempts he managed to insert the card and opened Eric's door. "Here we go."
Callen eased Eric over to the bed and helped him sit down on the edge.
"Why are there two of you?" Eric asked, blinking heavily.
"I think one of me is enough! You good?"
"Yeah," Eric laid down and closed his eyes.
Callen watched Eric for a few minutes until his breathing regulated and it became apparent he was asleep. He carefully removed Eric's glasses and placed them on the bedside cabinet and took off the younger man's shoes, leaving them next to the door. Callen felt a little guilty at encouraging Eric to drink so many Vodkas especially after the drinks that had accompanied dinner and before he left, he poured a glass of water and left it next to Eric's glasses. He gave Eric one final glance and took a deep breath, readying himself for the meet with Katya's contact.
Not wanting to make his movements known to the reception staff, Callen exited the hotel by the rear stairwell and quickly made his way to the VW Polo, which he'd deliberately parked at the rear of the building. He started the engine, switched on the headlights and gave up a silent prayer that he wouldn't be stopped by the police. There was a zero tolerance on driving whilst intoxicated and Callen was well above the limit, although he could hide it well. Five minutes later, he pulled up to the curb by an old warehouse. He stole a quick glance at the handwritten address Katya had given him and checked the time. He had little more than three minutes to find Romanov.
Locking the car door, Callen pulled up the collar of his coat and placed a knitted cap on his head. His sling had been left in the hotel room. He could show no signs of weakness and needed to appear as anonymous as possible. He approached the warehouse door and rapped loudly. A light came on and footsteps echoed from what sounded like an empty building.
"What?" A voice asked gruffly in Russian.
"The thaw is coming," Callen replied in Russian.
The door opened and Callen saw a stocky bald man in his mid fifties standing before him. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, creating smooth clouds that drifted towards the ceiling. "Come."
Callen followed Romanov through the narrow hallway until they reached a door at the far end. He rapped on the door three times, waited for fifteen seconds and then repeated the knocks. A lock was turned from the other side and Romanov pushed through. Callen quickly followed. As soon as he was through the door was locked behind him and Callen found himself in the centre of the warehouse. Row upon row of metal shelves filled the large room, each shelf full of crates and storage boxes. The contents could not be determined but the overall feeling was one of claustrophobia. Romanov walked towards an oasis of desks and grabbed a box.
"Bug sweepers, a PSM with ammunition, two burn phones, earwigs," Romanov continued to speak in Russian. He took each item from the box and placed it on the table in front of Callen.
Callen picked up the PSM pistol and assessed its weight. It had been a few years since he had last handled the semi-automatic pistol and it felt strange in comparison to his US Federal issued SIG-Sauer. He nodded in approval, tucking the weapon in to the back of his jeans and stuffing the ammo in his pockets. He carefully took two earwigs and placed them in his inside jacket pocket. The bug sweepers were identical and Callen left one on the table. The two cell phones and bug sweeper were again stuffed deep into his jacket pocket.
Silently, Callen now pulled out a wad of notes and left them on the table. Romanov laughed loudly, pulling his lips back to reveal stained and crooked teeth. "No fee. A favour was called in."
Callen again nodded and replied in Russian. "A toast then?" he pointed towards the vodka bottle sitting half full on the table. "To success."
Romanov leaned and grabbed the bottle. He waved the bottle towards Callen.
"To success," he said, taking a long swig before passing it to Callen.
"Success," Callen raised the bottle to his lips and drank an equally long mouthful. Vodka was not his favourite drink but tolerance must be in his blood, he thought with a rueful smile that he kept to himself.
Satisfied that the deal had been brokered, Romanov tilted his head to a teenager who stood guard at the door. The youth unlocked the door and opened it wide for Callen. Seconds later he was outside and alone in the cold dark night. Making sure he really was alone, Callen quickly made his way back to the car and the hotel, again parking at the rear and entering the building via the back stairwell. As he passed Eric's room he paused to listen. Nothing. With a slight smile, Callen arrived at his own room just down the hallway. Making sure he locked the door securely behind him and emptied his pockets. Comms and weapons, thought Callen, not bad for an evening's work. No violence had been required and it was only slightly illegal, Callen rationalised. He set about stripping and cleaning the pistol, hoping that the rest of their stay would run just as smoothly.