Brotherhood

Chapter 4

...

The stillness felt heavy with the rising heat of the day, the water thick with silt and foul smelling. The bayou had narrowed, closing in on him as it twisted and turned back on itself, making it seem as if he was swimming twice the distance he had to in order to reach wherever the hell he was going. Two white egrets stood sentinel on the pale trunk of a dead tree partially submerged among the cattails near the bank, watching with unblinking eyes as he slowly swam by. He was tiring and his head droned in tune with the insects that continually hummed around his ears. He long ago had given up swatting at them. It wasted his failing energy.

He was jolted by the sound of a sudden splash behind him and he turned just as the tail of a gator disappeared into the brownish water. He hurriedly kicked for the dead tree, his heart rushing as the egrets gracefully lifted off, allowing him room to clamber up and scramble for the bank. His swollen knee scraped across the sharp remains of a broken limb, ripping open his pant leg and tearing into his skin, but he managed to continue until he finally fell heavily onto somewhat solid ground just beyond the cattails. He lay face down trying to catch his breath, the clammy heat pressing down on him like a thick blanket he wished he could throw off. He wanted nothing more than to rest, the need of it seductive, muddying his mind. Closing his eyes, his muscles quivered with exhaustion as he panted, taking the rancid smell of the slimy soil into his mouth and making him gag. Sound became muted as his mind drifted and his body waited for the pain to diminish. Finally raising up on one elbow, he looked back at the dark water, listening for the soft hiss of the gator as he searched the water for ripples of movement. He heard nothing, but felt no comfort from it, knowing how deathly quiet the creatures could be.

He collapsed back onto the ground, letting the unconcerned songs of the small birds in the trees above remind him of familiar places and safer times. He yearned for the smell of his young son after a bath, and to see the contentment on his wife's face as she sang him to sleep, rocking him tenderly in her arms. It was a part of his life he never tired of, one that had surprised him the first time he experienced it, having had no one tell him of that particular joy.

He hadn't talked to God since his brother had been killed in Iraq, but now he whispered old prayers he'd learned from his mother, pleading to be allowed to return home to his wife and son, to the missed comfort of family. Even though he was alone he felt embarrassed by the tears that filled his eyes. He thought he had never taken his family for granted, but now he wondered if that were true. He'd grown up with a loving father, and always knowing that deep down, he'd counted on that love without a second thought. It was only when Deeks came to the ranch and he saw the look on his face when his father hugged him, and the amazement he was unable to hide when he took him in and made him his son. He had seen his father's love through another man's eyes and that had made him realize what a gift that love truly was. It was as big and as wide as the plains that stretched out around them and as endless as the broad open sky above. There was depth to it, and freedom because of it, and Deeks had been amazed by a love he'd never experienced or known existed, at least for him. Because Deeks had come to cherish the love he had unwittingly taken as a constant, it had opened his own eyes to how precious a gift a family's love can be. Now he longed to be given the chance to see them all again, to tell them of his unabashed love for them, and mumbled prayers flowed from that deep and reverent need.

His eyes fluttered open and he realized he'd fallen asleep and his earlier prayers were replaced by curses at his own stupidity. He groaned as he pushed his upper body upright, enduring the bright slices of pain in his side. His injured knee was stiff and he could see through the tear in his jeans that it was bloody and he grabbed for his thigh as he struggled to rise. The soft whisper of moving grasses made him freeze, and he sniffed the heated air as if he were an animal, searching the dense foliage for the cause. A low growl made him flush with fear and he began to edge backwards, away from the haunting sound that carried death on its breath. He was almost to the water when the rawboned dog with the pale, blue grey eyes stalked out of the tall grass, its head low and stretched out towards him. It was Guidry's red Catahoula hound. The big one with the mottled patches that made the dog hard to see among the grasses until it bayed and charged its prey. Guidry had made the dog mean just like he was, beating on the animal until it fought back, yanking it to the ground by its chain until it stopped snarling at him.

Joe licked his lips and swallowed down the fear clawing at his insides and began to shakily suck in air as images of his partner's death flooded his mind. Agent Oscar Doucet was a Cajun who had grown up in Lafayette. He'd been young and fearless and loved boudin, the mouthwatering sausage he'd insisted he try the first day they met. He had constantly told dirty jokes with great enthusiasm, telling him he'd learned them all from his mama. When their cover had been blown, Guidry had hog-tied him, smearing him with blood from a recent wild pig kill. The sonofabitch had spit out a muted laugh when Oscar cursed him in Cajun, and ignored his frantic screams after he set his four biggest dogs on him. Joe remembered his own violent struggle against the ropes that held him, yelling curses at the men watching and trying desperately to look away as the dogs viciously mauled the young man, but Guidry held his head and made him watch. It hadn't taken long before Oscar's screams were silenced. When Guidry released his grip on his hair, telling him he would be next, the militiaman had patted him on the cheek before knocking him senseless with the same club he always used on the dogs.

Joe stared at the advancing hound with red-rimmed eyes, unaware of the tears that silently fell for his dead partner. He had always loved dogs and horses. He had been taught how to care for them and be gentle with them, but now he would have to kill this dog or it would kill him. Not taking his eyes off the animal, he continued to back towards the water on his hands and knees, feeling for anything he could use as a weapon. The dog moved slowly, slinking ever closer, its long tongue hanging out as it panted heavily, its jowls dripping with foamy drool. It had run a long way and Joe prayed it was as exhausted as he was. He braced himself against the trunk of the dead tree, but his feet suddenly slipped out from under him and he fell, instinctively raising his right arm to protect his throat from the onrushing hound. The snarling growl was deep and hollow sounding as the dog savagely tore into his arm, the force of its charge knocking him backwards into the bayou. He went under screaming, his mouth filling with dirty water, choking him until he managed to regain his feet. He clawed at the dog's eyes, but it stubbornly held on as Joe wrestled its head underwater, hoping to drown the beast. When he felt the dog slightly release its grip, he pulled his bloody arm free and slugged the dog as hard as he could, knocking him away, and then twisted and dove under the dead tree, putting it between him and the vicious animal now swimming for him. Joe tried to find his footing in the slippery muck at the edge of the bank as the dog clawed at the pale trunk, snarling out its anger, it's teeth bared as it struggled to pull itself up. He scrambled backward into the cattails, gasping at the raw pain in his now useless arm, frantically tearing at a broken branch, hoping to wrench it free with one hand. The hound had managed to climb halfway way up onto the partially submerged tree trunk when Joe heard a sudden splash and the wide open pink mouth of a gator snapped closed over the dog's hindquarters and pulled it under. The last, tortured cry of the dying animal almost made him feel sorry for the creature, but Oscar's savage killing drove the thought from his mind.

"Serves you right, you filthy, dumbass mongrel," Joe screamed.

Raging and slamming his fist into the water and mud again and again, he finally pulled himself up on the bank and collapsed, his soppy wet clothes steaming in the heat. Coughing and spitting out the foul brown water, he groaned deeply and shivered as blinding pain roared through his body. He knew he had to move, but the pain was overwhelming and swimming was no longer an option. Dark blood soaked into his t-shirt as he cradled his mangled forearm against his chest. If he wanted to survive he had to stop the bleeding, so he struggled to sit up, pulling the shirt over his head, the effort leaving him panting and drained. The wet shirt was filthy and he paused at the thought of the infection he was risking, but he had nothing else. He bit off a scream as he wrapped the wound as tightly as he could stand, and fell onto his back, staring up at the cloudless bit of sky he could see through the canopy of dark trees.

He remembered telling Deeks once that FBI agents were tough. Now he wasn't sure he was one of them. But Deeks had survived worse, his cousin Elan too, and giving up was not an option if he wanted to see his family again. If his brother could survive a madman's vengeance, then so could he. Rolling over, he forced himself to his knees and then to his feet, staggering forward, whispering supplications to his dead mother's God.

...

George watched his son as he lay face down on the sofa, having finally agreed early that morning to listen to Callen and sleep. Seeing the bandage on his arm left him feeling unsettled, as did the small one on his forehead that was hidden beneath his freshly washed hair, which was longer than he usually kept it. He guessed it was for the undercover assignment he'd just completed. His bare back was marked with multiple dark bruises from the flying debris of the explosion he'd survived, making him once again so grateful that at least one of his sons was safe where he could see him. He tugged the light blanket up to cover him, and rested his hand briefly on the back of his shoulder, the need to comfort him something he couldn't deny.

He had gotten in quite late and had been surprised to see Sam Hanna waiting for him when he came through the gate. He didn't know him very well, but he remembered him from the hospital in Germany when he helped Marty through a panic attack by telling him about the two Sotho boys who had brought about his rescue in South Africa. The big agent had been at the ranch too, afterwards, but George never wanted to dwell on that harrowing day and turned his thoughts back to what the ex SEAL had told him on the drive to Joe and Diane's house. Sam had been very matter-of-fact about what they knew of Joe's disappearance, which wasn't much, but it was the FBI's treatment of Diane and the threat to his grandson that had shattered his resolve to remain calm in spite of his fear for his missing son. He rarely cursed, and never took the Lord's name in vain, having been cured of that early in his marriage to Josie, but tonight had been the exception and he wouldn't apologize for it and Sam hadn't asked him to. The big man had also filled him in on Marty's injuries and what had happened to Kensi and the thought that he might have found out he'd lost both his sons in a single day had silenced him. When he finally laid eyes on the boy he had hugged him long and hard, quietly thanking God for sparing at least one of them.

"I got coffee on in the kitchen," Callen said softly.

He caught the lingering look he gave his son, and he reached out to squeeze his shoulder as he rose to follow, knowing how close the two had become. Callen was a maverick of sorts, unbranded by conventional behavior even though he played by the rules of his current situation most of the time. His connection to Marty had been forged in pain, both by the physical trials his adopted son had endured and by Callen's deep anger at not being able to spare him from that pain. He had watched him struggle to understand their growing bond, but once established he seemed to revel in it, and it had changed him, warming some of that cool restraint that was so much a part of him.

His own relationship with the tough agent was still a work in progress. The man was stubborn, like some wild horses he'd worked with, unwilling to be completely broken by accepting any kindness offered, as if it would take away his freedom to run from anything that made him uncomfortable. He had tried to reach out to him whenever he came to the ranch, but Callen maintained a bit of distance from him, as though it were too great a risk to get any closer. He had shared a little about his search for his long lost father, and he reasoned Callen felt that if he accepted his offer to fill that role he would be giving up on his lifelong search, and abandoning the man he still hoped would want him. He was a young man who refused to be broken by what he had suffered as a child, much like Marty, not realizing there was no harm in allowing others to salvage what was already broken inside.

"He's going after him isn't he?" George asked as he stared out the kitchen window at the ever-lightening sky.

"We both are," Callen replied as he came to stand beside him.

"I expected so."

"Does Elan know?"

"Yeah. Called him as soon as I got off the phone with Marty," George answered. "Said he'd get here as soon as he could, but not to wait for him if you got a lead. Said he was leaving Soldier with Mimi and Luc at their farm in Normandy. They've taken to the boy, and Luc could use the help with the horses. Elan says he's learning French."

"How'd Elan take it?" Callen asked, seemingly concerned only with necessary information.

"How'd you think?"

"He's pissed."

"He swore in French. I know it wasn't Arapaho," George said with a brief smile. "Said he'd connect with you wherever you get to."

"We'll need him," Callen replied. "He can back up Deeks."

"Who's backin' you?"

"Sam."

George experienced a wave of emotion he wasn't prepared for and he suddenly trembled so badly he almost dropped his coffee. He gripped Callen's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he was overcome by the gift these men were offering. Elan was family, but the others he had known for less than four years and not well. He'd expected it of Marty. He was a brother and his son. Joe had touched each one of them on some level, and now they were willing to charge out into unknown territory to bring him back. How could he possibly express the deep gratitude he was feeling?

"We'll find him, George," Callen said, sounding concerned.

"I know you will and it means the world to me," George replied softly.

Callen took his cup and went to pour him another coffee, giving him time to get control of his emotions. It was a kindness he hadn't expected, but maybe should have. A man can change if he allows himself to. He'd seen it happen to Marty, and maybe his experience had helped Callen to see that you didn't have to be a tough guy all the time, especially with people who care about you.

"I never wanted Joe to join the FBI," George confessed as he took the fresh cup. "I'd already seen what war had done to him and I didn't want him hurt anymore."

"Have a feeling he didn't like that advice," Callen smirked.

"He did what we call 'takin' the bit in his teeth', and did what he wanted no matter what I said," George replied. "One of the men killed in his unit had left the bureau to join up. Guess Joe had promised him he'd check it out when they got home."

"He's a strong minded man," Callen said quietly. "And he's a good agent."

"Not good enough," George said bitterly, staring into his coffee.

"Don't you blame Joe," Deeks said loudly from behind him.

George turned at the rebuke to see his son standing bare chested, clutching a blanket tightly, the muscles of his arms flexing beneath the skin. He was angry, his expression hard and unyielding, something he hadn't seen on his face in a very long time.

"You're right son," he conceded. "Guess my anger got the best of me."

Humbled by the thought that he had disparaged his own boy without cause, he turned and started to walk away, only to have Callen take his arm and stop him.

"Deeks...he's in shock just like you are," Callen said. "Pulling away from each other won't do Joe any good or us either."

"Don't give up hope, George," Deeks said, tossing the blanket aside as he came forward. "You and Jim Littleshield taught him how to survive in the wild and he will."

"Why do you think he's in the wild?" George asked with surprise.

"Because if he was in a town or a city, he would have found a way to contact one of us," Deeks ventured. "Not sure he knows who to trust in the FBI right now."

"You don't believe he's dead," George whispered, even though he feared the persistent thought that he might be.

"I have to believe that, and so do you," Deeks replied.

George pulled both men to him, hugging their necks like a lifeline, their strong arms enclosing him in a cocoon of hope. He fought the tears that blurred his eyes, but he lost that battle. Standing with a wounded old heart between two stalwart young men, he drew on their strength and determination as he cried for his missing son.

...

"I've never seen him cry," Deeks said softly as they parked in front of the boat shed.

"Everyone has his breaking point. Even George," Callen replied. "Kensi told me he broke down when he saw you in the hospital in Germany."

Deeks felt a prick of remembered pain and a shadow of raw terror slithered through his chest. Breathing rapidly, his right hand trembled before he curled it into a fist and he cursed softly and closed his eyes, trying to banish the harrowing memories that had caught him off-guard.

"Deeks? You okay?" Callen noticed his reaction and gripped his shoulder, helping him ride out the wave of troubling emotions.

"That hasn't happened in awhile," he finally replied.

"Too much stress, and not enough rest," Callen said.

"That's funny coming from a man who never sleeps," Deeks smiled as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"I got enough, but I'm not sure George did," Callen said.

"He's worried."

"He's angry too," Callen continued. "He just doesn't have anyone to take it out on yet."

"We could invite Agent Slater over and watch what happens," Deeks grinned cockily as he climbed out of the car.

"Now that I would pay to see," Callen said with a smirk.

Deeks and Callen exchanged a long look, recalling the last time someone had messed with George Atwood's family, and both men let their smiles fade.

"Think the FBI has a file on what happened to Jürgen?" Deeks asked, pausing uncertainly at the door of the boat shed.

"If they do, Slater hasn't found it or he would have been a lot nicer to Di."

"It'd be better if no one knew," Deeks said softly.

Deeks felt a slight chill, the memories still painful, moving over him like heavy rain clouds, dark and foreboding, shutting out the light. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and it was only Callen's firm grip on his shoulder and the understanding in his eyes that made him leave the past to focus on finding Joe.

Hetty and Sam were waiting for them inside, and Deeks looked expectantly around for Director Stinson.

"He's not coming, Mr. Deeks," Hetty told him. "He and I met late into the night and I have all the pertinent information and some the FBI doesn't even know about. I'll have Nell send it to your phones."

"You brought Nell and Eric in on this?" Callen asked, seeming surprised.

"We are now our own task force and are operating under the same authority as Joe Atwood," she announced. "I've been in touch with the head of the National Joint Terrorism Task Force. Terrance Rigby and I are old friends and sometime political adversaries. However, he has given us the authority to do whatever it takes to find Joe Atwood and bring him in."

"That sounds like they want him arrested," Deeks snapped.

"On the contrary, Mr. Deeks," she said quickly. "He believes Joe has discovered a lot more than a mole within the Louisiana task force. He wants him found because whatever else Joe discovered is all in his head and involves the funding source of a home grown terrorist group operating out of the area."

"How does he know that?" Sam asked.

"Before he went missing, Joe contacted him directly," she replied. "Unfortunately, the call was cut off...possibly because of bad cell reception wherever Joe was calling from. He never called back."

"Someone got to him before he could," Sam commented. "Or while he was on the phone."

"I'm afraid so," Hetty said softly and looked down at the files in front of her.

"Hetty? What aren't you telling us?" Callen had that suspicious look on his face he always got whenever their boss was withholding information.

"Joe was partnered with a local undercover agent. Oscar Doucet," she said softly. "His body was discovered late yesterday by a man baiting crawfish traps."

"Where?" Deeks practically jump when Callen asked.

"Somewhere on Bayou Chene off the Atchafalaya River," she replied. "The body had been in the water awhile."

"But not Joe," Deeks said, watching Hetty as she slowly shook her head no.

"Anything we need to know about the way he died?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Prepare yourselves," she said kindly. "Whoever did this is a brutal sonofabitch."

"And you think they have Joe," Deeks breathed out as he clinched his fists.

"I pray they don't."

"Hetty? How bad?" Finally tiring of her stalling.

"It appears he was mauled to death by a pack of large dogs," she said, shaking her head with obvious sadness. "His throat was ripped out."

Images of the recovered body suddenly appeared on the big screen, and Deeks stood and walked quickly outside, his fear now so deep it made his gut turn over. He lost his breakfast and was gripping the chain link fence by the dock when Callen and Sam got to him. The men stood solemnly on either side of him, saying nothing, their presence reminding him that he wasn't alone in his anger or his fear.

"We've got no proof he's even alive," Deeks whispered.

"And no proof he's dead," Sam said firmly.

"And that's how we operate, Deeks," Callen said. "We go to Louisiana. We search and we assume Joe's alive until proven otherwise."

"George can't find out how his partner died, G," Deeks said intensely.

"I'm afraid he already has, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said from behind them. "Agent Slater is at the house. Eric hacked the feed from the bugs they installed. I have a call into Stinson, but you have my permission to give that bastard hell. I'll deal with the consequences."

"George..." Deeks choked out and started running for the car with Callen and Sam right behind him.

No one spoke until they pulled up in front of the house behind a black SUV. Sam had beaten them there and was waiting when Deeks got out of the car. He stepped in front of him and pressed a hand to his chest, the warning look on his face one Deeks was quite familiar with.

"Don't do anything stupid, Deeks," he ordered. "You assault that agent and you won't get to look for your brother. Remember that and control yourself."

Deeks glared at him, but he did understand and appreciate the reminder, nodding his agreement so Sam would let him go. Callen was already at the door, and he looked about as pissed as Deeks felt. When they pushed inside, Diane was crumpled in the corner of the couch quietly crying, her arms tightly wrapped around little Christopher, who was dabbing at her tears with his blanket. George stood in front of her just on the edge of rage, his hands clutched into fists, and his face looking like a thundercloud about to spit lightning. Agent Slater looked smugly back at him, but didn't take his eyes off him when he spoke.

"You should warn Mr. Atwood of the consequences of attacking a Federal Agent," he said, lifting his chin haughtily.

"George..." Deeks said quietly as he walked between them, ignoring the agent.

"This sick bastard showed Diane a photo of Joe's dead partner. He'd been ripped to shreds by dogs," he choked out. "He said the men Joe was workin' with would do the same thing to him if she didn't tell him where he was."

"You fucking sonofabitch," Deeks said, turning to face the man.

"I simply showed them what happens to traitors when the terrorists they're collaborating with turn against them," Slater explained.

"Are you accusing Oscar Doucet of being a traitor too?" Callen asked.

"Of course not. Atwood probably gave him up..."

"My son would never do that," George raged. "He almost died trying to save his men in Iraq. Now you want me to believe he would turn on his own partner and the country he loves? My son is an honorable man, something I don't think you know anything about."

"Maybe you don't know your son as well as you think you do," Slater spit out. "Maybe he bragged about exploits that never happened. Soldiers do that."

"You've never been a soldier, have you Slater?" Sam asked knowingly, advancing on the man.

"I serve my country by bringing terrorists to justice," he replied.

"So do we," Sam said angrily. "But we don't do it by terrorizing the wife and father of one of our own agents."

"I don't have to explain my methods to any of you," he snapped back.

"I think you're a cruel, insensitive bastard," Deeks said softly. "You get off on scaring people when they're most vulnerable..."

"I'm not sorry I shocked your little made up family here," Slater said, cutting Deeks off. "I wanted them to see the kind of deep shit he's into. If they're not tough enough to take it, then that's just too bad."

George pushed his way past Deeks and moved purposely into the agent's space, forcing him to take a step back.

"You don't know me, boy," George said, his voice tightly controlled. "But I want you to know I don't take kindly to a man like you. You're like a rank horse that's just plain ornery and mean. You got no manners or good sense. You think that if you bully people you'll get what you want. Well, that don't work with people anymore than it does with horses. I train horses for a living. I've seen what happens to the rank ones who don't learn to behave. People get tired of foolin' with 'em, so they get rid of 'em or they put 'em down."

"Are you threatening me?" Slater demanded.

"If you come around here to bully my daughter-in-law again, I will do more than threaten you," George said calmly. "You've said your piece and had your fun. Now get out."

"I can arrest you for threatening a Federal Agent," Slater blustered.

"Then you're gonna need more men," Callen said as all three agents moved in beside George.

"I won't forget this," Slater huffed out as he headed for the door.

"Neither will we," Deeks promised.

...

...