Ch 20

The Boatshed

"Bugger!" Hetty exclaimed with so much force that Kensi, Deeks and Sam stopped their conversation to stare. "That is not good at all. Thank you Owen," Hetty ended the call to her cell and looked up at the team. "Callen's escaped."

"From where? Federal prison?" Deeks said, raising his eyebrows in amazement. "Wow, he really does have mad skills..."

"No, Mr Deeks, he never made it that far. It seems he faked an illness, accosted an officer, stripped him of his clothes and weapons, and left dressed as said LAPD officer. It took them ten minutes to realise and raise the alarm and by that time, Mr Callen was nowhere to be found."

Sam shook his head. "He must've been worried about prison. Do you know where he went?"

"Mr Callen will be a ghost by now. He'll surface when he feels it's safe. In the meantime, we must focus on clearing his name, and I just know that bastard upstairs is behind this. Nell and Eric are scrutinising his electronic footprint as we speak, as I doubt he will admit his guilt."

"But why?" Kensi threw her arms in the air. "Why go to all this trouble? What does he gain?"

Hetty looked at each one of her team. She was starting to develop a suspicion as to Harris' motivation, however she was not yet willing to share until Nell and Eric produced some hard facts. She had gently prodded them to search in specific directions and was just waiting for the phone call as confirmation. In fact she had thought the earlier call was the one; her frustration was barely contained when she realised that firstly, the caller was Owen Granger, and secondly, that Callen had escaped police custody.

"We'll know soon enough," Hetty said in response to Kensi's questions.

"So what do we do now?" Deeks asked.

Hetty smiled at her team. "I think a nice cup of tea would be a starting point, wouldn't you agree, Mr Deeks?"

"Ah, you read my mind Hetty. That was just uncanny...can we have biscuits, maybe some double chocolate chip cookies? Just for Kensi, of course.."

"Deeks, you want cocoa or warm milk instead?" Sam said with a broad smile, suddenly very glad for the companionship and light-heartedness that Deeks provided. "D'ya think we're five years old? No, don't you even dare to get the last word in on that one..."

"Gentlemen please," Hetty allowed herself to smile at the team bonding. A little light relief was most definitely in short supply at the moment. She moved to the boatshed's sofa and sat down. The past few days had been particularly hard on her and although she was loathe to admit it, she was very concerned about the mental state of her team leader. She knew Callen had the capacity and ability to cope with imprisonment and falsehoods about his character. She was also more than satisfied that if Callen went to ground, he would not be found. It was the fact he had been cut off from his fragile support system that worried her; fragile in the sense that it was how she perceived Callen thought. It was only a few years ago he had admitted to her face that his team were not even his, that he hadn't picked them and he didn't need them. He had tried to actively distance himself whilst he yet attempted to resolve personal issues on his own. Hetty recognised how much Callen had grown since that time, but she was equally aware that someone with his background could just as easily regress back to that untrusting frame of mind, and his lone wolf tendencies.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The Ops Centre

Nell and Eric sat next to each other in silence. Having scoured the redacted documents relating to Callen's missions with the CIA and sharing newly found knowledge with Hetty, Nell had been allowed back in to the Ops centre, sans files. The deep diving analysis programmes were running in the background and focused on linking threads from classified CIA missions to Callen's more recent NCIS cases. Not willing to overlook any scenario, Nell had expanded her search to include informants, in addition to her established search parameters of names, locations and high frequency words and phrases.

Eric had managed to 'acquire' access to the CIA's internal systems and databases, and due to Hetty's suspicions of Harris, he was looking in to his highly classified personnel files. Eric believed he had about fifteen minutes of safety before the CIA's IT security realised there was a breach, and he worked quickly, copying as many files as possible before backtracking carefully so no one would realise the CIA had just been hacked.

"You may want to include these CIA files in your search programme," Eric said to Nell. "It's everything I could find on Harris. I can't go any deeper without being detected, but I think I have them all. But I might have to try another way in if they don't provide anything."

Nell moved closer to Eric and leaned against him to view his monitor.

"Hmm, that's still a lot of files. I'll get them added," Nell replied.

Eric looked at Nell and then back at his monitor, smiling to himself and adjusting his glasses. "What do we have so far?"

"Well Hetty is convinced Harris is our man; he certainly has enough power and connections to pull off something like this. We know his links to Callen and their missions in Russia, and I'm hoping that his personnel files will flag up ties with other operations. But what if it isn't Harris?" Nell turned to Eric, a worried look suddenly crossing her face. "What if Hetty is wrong and we've wasted all this time searching for links that don't exist? We could be sending Callen to jail, not saving him."

Eric met Nell's eyes. "It will be Ok. Callen can take care of himself and how many times has Hetty ever been wrong?"

"I know, it just seems so much more real and intense when it's someone we know, when it's one of our team whose life and career is at risk."

"Hetty has complete faith in you, and I have complete faith in you."

"Really?"

"Yes really, so stop worrying and tell me why your computer is flashing that message up."

"Oh," Nell's moment of self doubt evaporated as she stared at her monitor. "Now that is an interesting coincidence. It seems that before Harris worked with Callen in Russia, he spent two years as a senior intelligence analyst in Romania. He then continued to work in Russia for one year after he parted ways as Callen's CIA handler. After that he started to rapidly climb the career ladder, overseeing operations in Eastern Europe and then heading up the European Division before returning to Langley seven years later."

"That's quite a career. I'll see if I can find any irregularities in his finances, going back to those good old days in Russia and the Eastern Bloc."

The two sat in silence for a while, both focused on their respective searches until Nell's monitor pinged and started flashing again.

"What's that?" Eric asked.

"Hmm, let me see," Nell peered at her screen and tapped a few buttons, her head making tiny movements from side to side as she read the words. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly as she continued to read.

"Nell, what is it?"

"Bingo! We have a connection between Harris and CIA Agent Donald Banks. Remember we went after Banks at Burbank airport - with Sam and Callen flying the plane? Banks was a double agent and friend of Romania people trafficker Anton Zevlos. Well it turns out that Harris was active in Romania in the 80s at the same time as Banks." Nell turned to face Eric, her hazel eyes wide. "Harris was Banks' Operations Manager for eighteen months, and after that he oversaw all operations in Europe."

"Woah," Eric responded, absorbing the information. "So if Banks was in with Zevlos, and Harris was Banks' handler..."

"...then they could all have been in the people smuggling business together."

The two turned back to their workstations, thinking about the connections Nell had uncovered. Nell had quickly updated Hetty with the news and was instructed to keep searching for evidence that the connection meant Harris was also a double agent and involved in human trafficking. A further fifteen minutes passed in silence, as the two dug deeper in to Harris' private life. Suddenly, Eric stopped tapping his keyboard and leaned back, stretching out his legs and smiling contentedly.

"Reveal, Beale," Nell ordered, witnessing the rather smug expression on his face.

"I managed to hack into Harris' private email accounts and traced two emails sent in the last month, both to temporary email addresses. The first was to an IP address at an internet cafe in Moscow and is just a description of Callen, with arrival and departure dates and a request to follow him, take photos, and send them anonymously to LAX, claiming he's a spy."

Eric broke off and looked at Nell, a worried look crossed his face. "Y'know Callen kept me safe? He snuck out and bought guns and electronic bugging equipment on the black market. If they'd seen that, Callen would be in a whole load more trouble and so would I."

"I know," Nell nodded, understandingly. "What was the other email about?"

"Well the other one was to Romania...let me just..." Eric paused again and peered at his screen. "It was sent to a coffee shop about ten miles south of the Comescu compound that the guys breached a few years ago...I couldn't decrypt this earlier but it suddenly clicked and this is Harris' email."

"Eric, I could kiss you!" Nell exclaimed. "Not only have you just saved Callen, but you've just proved Harris was behind it; that he's the double agent and has been people smuggling for almost thirty years. Harris will spend the rest of his life behind bars!"

Without allowing Eric a chance to revel in the moment, Nell quickly leaned over and planted her lips on his cheek. And before embarrassment could set in for either of them, Nell tapped her earpiece and called Hetty.

"Hetty, we have it. Eric found the evidence that will put Harris away for life and clear Callen of all charges."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Venice Beach

Callen had quickly ditched the LAPD uniform, having purchased a cheap pair of jeans, trainers, T-shirt and sweater from a thrift store. The ball cap topped off the new outfit and he was content that he was dressed the same as dozens of other men ranging from thirty to fifty that were now wandering along the boardwalks of Venice. Callen only had five dollars left from the twenty he had stolen from Office Rudd earlier, and although he knew he could survive with less, he had to carefully consider his options. He left the boardwalk for the soft golden sand and as he approached the sea, Callen stopped to remove his socks and trainers. Rolling up the bottoms of his jeans, he tucked his socks safely in the trainers and picked them up. His toes sank into the sun-warmed sand and he sighed contentedly. Within ten paces he was paddling in Pacific Ocean. No one knew where he was and he knew the police would not be looking for a missing prisoner along the shore of the Venice. If they saw a man clearly at peace with life, enjoying a walk at the edge of the sea, they would smile to themselves in envy and continue scouring the faces of every other man on the boardwalk and the alley ways. Sometimes the best places to hide were in plain sight.

Callen was well aware that his luck would not hold forever so he pushed any thoughts of freedom from his mind. The cold, hard fact was that he was a wanted man. The LAPD and FBI would already have issued an APB, most likely classing him as dangerous. He figured he could walk along the seafront until he reached Hetty's beach house. It was only a ten minute walk from his current location and he could access it directly from the beach. Callen had realised many years ago that Hetty had a number of other properties dotted around Los Angeles, and probably further afield, but every attempt he had ever made to follow her had always ended in failure. Three years ago, Callen had decided to follow Hetty home on a whim; he was at a loose end and decided to look on the exercise as a challenge - a test of his abilities. Over a two week period Callen had lost her most days, but did manage to establish that Hetty had a rather grand house in Encino and a small beach house in Venice. The only property he had previously known of was in the San Fernando Valley, as he had spent some time at there as a teenager. Callen was satisfied that, without his juvenile files being unsealed, no one knew about his personal connection with Hetty and that her homes would serve him as a safe house.

The rear of Hetty's beach house opened directly on to the sand from a small white-washed decked area, that was scattered with matching wooden sun loungers. A white picket fence surrounded the property's cornflower blue wooden frame. Callen had never seen this house up close before and he was struggling to picture Hetty relaxing in the California sunshine, but she was a woman of many mysteries, he acknowledged. He casually walked around the side of the house, past a stainless steel barbeque. The side was fenced in from the neighbours and a locked gate prevented direct access from the street. Callen smiled as he approached the side door. He could already see it was fitted with a standard lock and he would have bet a lot of money that Hetty only used this place occasionally. He wondered why she had never mentioned the beach house to him before. Callen pulled the knife he had taken from Rudd and inserted it in the door jamb by the lock, levering it so it snapped open. He paused momentarily but no alarm sounded, although he was certain that Hetty would have received an immediate alert that an intruder had entered one of her properties. He closed the door behind him and looked around. The house was sparsely furnished, with a large sofa facing the patio doors and a full book case against the far wall. To the front left was a kitchenette with a breakfast bar, before that were two doors that Callen presumed led to a bathroom and a bedroom. He stepped forward a few paces and gazed through the patio doors at the ocean, shaking his head slightly. This would have been the perfect getaway for him during his time with Hetty, he thought. He'd been an angry teenager and had countless blazing rows with Hetty, storming out to the streets on a number of occasions. He had always returned though and Callen suddenly smiled, realising that if he had known about a refuge such as this, he would have taken up permanent residence.

Callen found some biscuits in one of the kitchen cupboards and dropped the blinds on the patio doors and windows to avoid any unwanted attention. He sat down on the sofa to consider his next move. He was pretty sure that Hetty now knew exactly where he was and that she probably had the place rigged with hidden cameras. He glanced at the clock which hung on the wall opposite the kitchen. It read ten to one. The afternoon sun was blazing and Callen would not venture out again until it was dark. That would give Hetty the chance to turn up and talk to him, or if she failed to appear, he would stick to the shadows and make his way to one of his secret stashes. He had a safe inside a vault which was in one of many locked crypts in a downtown LA cemetery. Over the years he had accumulated the many of the items required to disappear; fake passports and IDs, satellite phones, untraceable weapons and hundreds of dollars in used bank notes. Callen settled back in to the sofa's deep cushions and closed his eyes. If Hetty didn't show, then he knew it was time for him to say goodbye to G. Callen and to adopt a new identity, and this time it would be for good.

Sorry this hasn't been updated for a while, but I have been focused on my teenage Callen story "Three Weeks in Hell" (check it out if you haven't already). I have the notes ready to tie up this story, so I hope I can finish this one soon and not have such a long delay before the next chapter is both written and posted.