Chapter 18
The raid on the warehouse and surrounding buildings was text book. The now team of three systematically cleared the outlaying auto-shops before carefully entering the warehouse where the black transit van containing undercover CIA Agent Grigson was last seen. The empty building was surprisingly well lit, the large windows allowing natural light to flood even the deepest corners of the vacant site. Within minutes, the team had confirmed the only presence was the van parked centrally.
Sam and Kensi tentatively checked the front of the van whilst Deeks covered the rear doors. The front was clear, which just left the rear now. Deeks reached out and grasped the handle. He looked at Kensi and then Sam, the latter nodding and mouthing 'one, two, three'. Deeks yanked the door wide and stepped back, allowing Sam and Kensi an unimpeded view of the interior. The bloodied body of Grigson lay prone in the centre, his hands had been tied behind his back with wires that had cut deep into his wrists. A vicious head wound had bled profusely but on first glance from the team, it seemed obvious that the multiple gun shots wounds to his back had actually killed him.
"So another lead gone," Deeks commented. "Do you think he was killed because of Callen or the Russian mafia?"
Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, this wasn't a professional hit; that would be a single or double tap to the head."
"So this could be connected to Callen then and we probably killed him by visiting him at home yesterday," Kensi said.
"We weren't the only ones to visit him. Think CIA Bolton & Fordham," Sam smiled grimly.
"Well, as the CIA asked us to assist them, I guess we can officially bring those two in for questioning..." Deeks eyes lit up at the prospect of turning the tables on the pair who were hell bent on seeing Callen rot behind bars.
"Better call it in," Kensi said. "We might need to speak to Grigson's handler too."
"On it," Deeks removed his cell from his pocket and dialled ops. He had a feeling that their day was about become extremely busy.
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Ops Centre
Hetty Lange strode purposefully in to the technical hub of the building. Nell and Eric were focused on their own investigations in to Callen's persecution and as a result, the only sounds to be heard were the tapping of finger tips on keyboards and the occasional frustrated sigh. Despite the gentle swooshing sound of the automatic doors opening, neither Nell or Eric turned to see who had entered. Hetty stood behind them and coughed to attract their attention, making both jump.
"Miss Jones, Mr Beale," Hetty said. "Do you have an update on Janvier?"
"I've checked with the prison, Eric has hacked into all electronic communications and cameras, and we cannot find a single link between Janvier and what's happening to Callen," Nell answered. "My only worry is that two months ago we struggled too and it turned out Janvier was indirectly behind it."
"All the while Janvier is alive, he can never be ruled out," Hetty agreed. "Keep monitoring the prison, his contact with inmates and prison guards, just in case."
"How did you go with the Russian's?" Eric asked.
"I had a very interesting conversation with some of my contacts. It appears that our Soviet friends were offered a choice of weapons or money in exchange for making Mr Callen's life rather awkward. And it appears to have been an offer they could not refuse." Hetty place her hands on the back of Nell and Eric's chairs. "It seems the as yet unknown enemy of Callen's, circulated his photo to the authorities at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport. Callen's face was then flagged to the officials at LAX so when you and Mr Callen returned to the US, he was detained for questioning."
Hetty paused to observe Eric's reactions. Eric half turned in his seat to face Hetty. His mouth had dropped open slightly and his eyes widened in shock as he realised how close he had become to being implicated in Callen's impending demise.
"Hetty, I..."
"I know Mr Beale," Hetty nodded in understanding. No further words were required from either of them. Nell gently placed a hand on Eric's arm and gave him an encouraging smile.
"As the Russians accepted the bribe and have taken delivery of said illegal weapons, they have not been too forthcoming in providing more specific information, such as who approached them in the first place. And they clearly cannot and will not make any of this official which means we are only a touch closer to clearing Mr Callen's name. They have confirmed they have no knowledge of Yegor Petrov's murder and had no idea that he was anything other than a fledgling Russian mobster."
"So they know he was really an undercover CIA agent?" Nell questioned.
"No Miss Jones, the CIA may still need Grigson's undercover legend and indeed his legacy in order to continue their operation. I need to dig a little further to find out who approached them in the first place and how...But the Russian's have confirmed they did not kill him."
"OK," Nell drew out the last letter as she thought out loud. "Did you manage to get unredacted versions of Callen's classified missions?"
"If you would care to follow me, Miss Jones, I have unredacted files that date back to Callen's earliest days as a field agent with the FBI. There are only a couple of sensitive operations during his time with the FBI and DEA. You already have access to all his NCIS files; it's the Agency files that I fear will prove the most interesting, and hopefully provide us with answers. As these are highly classified records, you can work on them in my office. I'm sorry Mr Beale, but you will be on your own for a while." Hetty did not wait for a response from either, but turned and led the way out of the operations centre.
"Sorry Eric," Nell apologised unnecessarily. She quickly moved from her chair, grabbed her tablet and exited the room.
"Alone again," Eric sighed. He pushed his glasses up his nose slightly. He enjoyed Nell's company immensely, and their work methods and knowledge complimented each other well. But he was very much aware that Hetty trusted Nell more than anyone – hell, even more than Callen. And some tasks, like analysing the data contained in unredacted files, required a specialised analyst such as Nell. "I'll just surf, hack and view traffic cams - just like the old days."
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LAPD Interview Room
Callen leaned back in his chair, his cuffed hands in his lap. He tilted his head to one side slightly and narrowed his eyes as the man walked to the vacant chair opposite him. The man paused and rested his hands on the back of the chair. He remained in the same position for several minutes. Callen though it was either to get his breath back or because he was starting off with some very basic one on one psychological games.
"Headcase Harris," Callen eventually said. He could have remained silent but he didn't want to appear rude.
"I see you're still the same insolent little shit I had the pleasure of managing all those years ago. I've had the so-called delight of reviewing your more recent files. Seems you've finally found a home at NCIS – and with only a handful of suspensions. I see Henrietta Lange is the Operations Manager there now. How the hell that poisonous dwarf makes you toe the line I don't know." Harris shook his head and smiled. "You must be mellowing with age, Agent G Callen," Harris pulled the chair out from the table and sat down. "Oh, and nobody calls me 'Headcase Harris'."
Callen stared at Harris, not quite believing what he was hearing. "I think you've forgotten that everyone called you that, I just told you to your face. Must be old age making you forget..."
The smile quickly disappeared from Harris' face which was turning a deeper shade of red with the anger and embarrassment he was suddenly experiencing. He was glad there was no immediate audience but rather less pleased that their 'chat' was being recorded.
"Agent Callen," Harris attempted to assert his authority. "I am the Deputy Director of the National Clandestine Division of the CIA. Two of my agents have been investigating allegations that have been brought to our attention about a former CIA agent who for years, has been working with the Russians, providing them with information on highly sensitive issues. Now imagine my surprise when your name crops up as one of four possibilities. Throw in a couple of determined agents and a spot of luck – and here you are, arrested as a traitor to your country. Oh wait, no, America isn't your country is it. Not even close. What would you prefer to be? Romanian or Russian? Hell, it doesn't matter one iota to me. Both countries are involved in human trafficking and arms offences, but Russia is infamous for its spies and double agents...well that is just up your street, Callen."
Callen remained in an outwardly relaxed position; the only sign of stress was the slight clenching of his jaw. Callen had reported to Agent John Harris during his stint with the CIA. He may now be a deputy director, but sixteen years ago Harris had been Callen's Operations Manager for several missions in Moscow, Ukraine and Belarus. The two had never seen eye to eye and Harris had reprimanded Callen on a number of occasions, mainly for disobeying direct orders. He wondered whether it was Harris who was masterminding this whole attempt to bring him down, but to what end? The last time Callen had seen or spoken to Harris was well over a decade ago. They may not have parted on the best of terms but Callen had given Harris no cause to want to destroy his life. Regardless, Callen was not going to allow Harris to reel him in and so decided to only half bite.
"Romani," Callen uttered one word in response to Harris'little speech.
"Now you're just being clever," Harris pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "Romanian, Romani – it's all the same to me. Hell boy, it's practically the same as being Russian anyways. We'll just say you're Russian for arguments sake shall we?"
"No Harris," Callen refrained from adding any number of profanities and struggled to keep his voice from dripping with sarcasm. "My mother was half Romani, half American. My grandmother was Romani, my grandfather American. My suspected father was Russian. My early years were spent in Romania – the country. You keeping up with this? Romani means gypsy. Look it up, I'm sure Wikipedia lists all the differences."
"Gypsy huh," Harris laughed in a most condescending manner. "Now forgive me if I'm wrong, but haven't they always been a persecuted people? Just like the Jews? Yeah, well that is very fitting. Y'know I'm surprised you've stayed with NCIS for so long. Finally putting down roots?"
"I take it your people are Bolton and Fordham?" Callen asked, keen to move Harris on from his steady attempt to undermine his newly found family roots.
"Yes they are,"
"Figures," Callen muttered.
"And a fine job they have done in uncovering the evidence against you. I just wanted you to know that my suspicions of you back in your agency days were clearly right. I had a bad feeling in my gut about you boy, from the moment I first laid eyes on you." Harris moved his chair back and stood, placing his hand on his portly stomach to emphasise his gut feeling. He walked past Callen and rapped twice on the door. "I just wanted to see you for myself before I sign the papers to have you transferred to Federal prison. You'll await trial behind bars. And when you're found guilty – which you will be – you'll spend the rest of your days there. Probably where you should have been all along." Harris stepped through the door which had been unlocked and opened. "Y'know you've always had a dangerous way about you...yes I'm sure someone made a deliberate mistake with your vetting when they allowed you to join a Federal agency. Maybe I'll investigate that angle too..."
At Harris' parting words the interview room door was once again closed and locked, leaving Callen alone. He exhaled loudly, slumped his shoulders and closed his eyes. He trusted that Hetty had secured his juvenile records many years ago, but he couldn't help but feel concern that Harris had hit so close to the truth. His successful track record as a field operative spoke for itself, even if it did include the odd note about disobeying orders. However it was the transfer to a Federal prison that he did not relish. There would be no hiding from the fact he was a Federal Agent. Someone would slip up or deliberately feed that snippet of information to a couple of suitably psychopathic prisoners. He might even be recognised. Callen placed his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. The moment he was transferred to a Federal prison under his own name, his days were numbered. No matter what front he put up, he would be a marked man.
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Hetty's Office
Nell sat at Hetty's desk for over an hour, pouring over electronic copies of unredacted but highly classified missions. Most of the files originated from Callen's time with the CIA with operations which had taken place in Russia and her neighbouring countries, as well as the Middle East. Occasionally though, the odd mission had seen Callen depart to locations as diverse as South America, England and China. As Nell worked she jotted notes on her tablet in an effort to establish patterns in the cases, the targets, informants and case handlers. She had written a quick programme to initially indentify commonality in names and locations before including key words to focus on high frequency words and phrases. Several files had came from the DEA and related to undercover operations in Caracas and Bogota; there were none from the FBI, reflective of them being Callen's first stint at any Federal Agency.
Tucking a stand of auburn hair behind her ear, Nell squinted slightly to review her notes and the results from her programme. Double checking the data she lifted her head and was startled to see Hetty standing directly in front of the desk, as still as a statue.
"Hetty," Nell exclaimed. "You startled me."
"Miss Jones, it is a pleasure to witness you being so methodical and engrossed in your work. Now please tell me that you have finally found a clue that will not prove to be a red herring?"
"I have indeed. I ran a programme to pinpoint repeated names, places, words and phrases from all of the redacted files you gave me. I repeated the process with all the other files of Callen's that I have access to and ordered the results – and I'm pretty sure I have something."
Hetty looked approvingly at her young protégé. "And that something is..?"
"One John Harris. He was Callen's Operations Manager during field missions with the CIA in Russia and former Soviet countries. From Callen's CIA personnel records, Harris brought him up a number of times for insubordination and disobeying orders. Most are minor misdemeanours."
"Yes," Hetty interrupted. "I think you'd agree that Mr Callen is still struggling on that front."
Nell looked at Hetty but remained serious as she continued. "However this includes an accusation which was later withdrawn by Harris and hidden in the files; that Callen had deliberately sabotaged a mission that covered the Ukraine and Romania. Apparently Harris later cited that a former official of the Ukraine Government was to blame."
"John Harris, yes," Hetty pondered the name for a few seconds. "I believe he now heads up the CIA's Clandestine Service. I'll make a few calls and invite him for a chat in the boatshed. Was there anything else?"
"He's the only possibility so far but I plan to run the same programme against all Callen's NCIS cases. That may throw up a few more connections to informants rather than Operatives. I'll have the results within the next two hours."
"Make it sixty minutes, Miss Jones. Time is running out for Mr Callen. The CIA will not allow him to spend another night in the local cells; I fear he will today be transferred to a Federal prison. I can only hope that it will be an out of state facility, so he has a lesser fear of reprisals from criminals he may have helped imprison."
Hetty allowed her gaze to linger on Nell, ensuring she understood the severity of the situation and the importance her role now had. The rest of the team were failing to produce results, being thwarted at each and every turn as the culprit seemed permanently to be two steps ahead of them.
"On it," Nell said and turned her attention to ensuring Callen's future was saved.
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A/N: written after Rage aired.