Brotherhood
Chapter 5
...
It hurt. All of it hurt. Maybe not physically, although there was that aspect as well that he had to deal with. But it was the pain that wouldn't leave his heart that hurt the most. He had pain meds for the headaches and gunshot wound, but the wound in his heart was not going away and probably wouldn't until he found Joe and saw Kensi on her own two feet again. He'd told Callen he was dropping by the hospital, letting him gather the guns and needed supplies, the accepting nod affirming their understanding of one another's needs. At least his relationship with Callen felt good. Everything else that was going on simply hurt.
"Thought you'd be gone by now," Just hearing Kensi's voice eased some of his emotional turmoil.
"Couldn't leave without making sure my tough ladybird was okay," he said, forcing himself to smile.
"Afraid I'll forget you when you're gone?" She teased.
"Seriously? You been checking out the sexy interns and residents?"
"Maybe..." Her smile sliding into a look of sadness. "You good? You seem a little off. Did something else happen?"
"Nothing gets past you even when you're on the good drugs," he replied, nervously brushing his long hair out of his eyes.
"Just tell me Deeks," She said quickly, taking his hand and pulling him closer.
He told her everything and the hurt returned with every word, burning into his chest and making him lightheaded. He concentrated on her firm grip, staring at her long fingers as they curled around the back of his hand. God, he needed her strength, and he told her that too. She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes as she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly, her eyes never leaving his face.
"One of you should have kicked Slater's ass," saying it softly even as her eyes flashed with sudden anger.
"Wanted to. We all did...but, we couldn't take the chance," he said. "Slater would take it out on Di, and I don't think she can handle much more."
"George will look after Diane and Chris," she reminded him.
"I know, but he's scared too, and I hate seeing that," Deeks said. "I have to find Joe for him. I don't know what it will do to him if I don't."
"You're afraid aren't you?" she asked quietly. "I can see it in your eyes."
"I saw crime scene photos of what they did to his partner, Kens," he said, as he stared out the window of her room. "If they did that to Joe..."
He felt the air rush from his lungs as the thought burrowed deep inside of him. He couldn't catch his breath; the thought of the man he loved like a brother suffering such cruelty was too great and painful to deal with even though he knew that's exactly what he had to do.
The past couple of years hadn't been perfect, but he'd come closer to pure happiness than he ever thought possible. He had settled into having a family, becoming used to the simple pleasure of calling one of them just to talk. It was a secret joy to call George when he had something good to share as well as when he needed to hear his calm assurance when bad things got to him. George was his bedrock, a father found late in life and a man he treasured.
Having brothers was a new experience altogether. Callen lived a spartan existence and learning his quirks had been an adventure. The man was extremely protective of himself, of his time, his solitude and especially of his heart. Conquering the fear of abandonment and rejection because of the kind of men they were was something they held in common and had worked on together. Those conversations, as laconic as they'd been, had brought them closer and they had slowly developed a somewhat easygoing relationship, maybe not the same as he had with Joe, just different and one he cherished just as much. They watched out for each other, and had grown to understand each other and care deeply for one another. Sam watched over them both, scolding, mothering, and protecting them both faithfully. He was their shadow, such a constant in their lives that it seemed reasonable to take him for granted. He and Sam had had their ups and downs, but he knew the tough agent would be there for him when needed and he counted on that. And then there was Elan. They had bonded deeply after what they had suffered through in France and in their fight to rescue his long lost son and bring him home to the ranch where he belonged. They needed no words to express their connection, it was just there, solid and unshakable.
All these men had become brothers to him, but Joe had been the first. Through pain and laughter, sorrow and joy they had come to love one another. He had filled a void in his life he hadn't known was there, became the brother he had longed for as a child, and was now a living part of him. Life without Joe was something he could not allow himself to think about. It would cripple him.
"Don't worry about me when you're out there," Kensi said, drawing him away from his thoughts. "Promise me. I don't want you distracted, okay?"
"Yes ma'am, Agent Blye, ma'am," he said with a brief, crooked grin.
"I'm serious Deeks."
"I know. Don't worry about me. Sam and G are already on my back about focusing," he said, feeling surly and edging towards anger.
"But I won't be there."
"Is that so bad?" He asked, knowing he was heading into treacherous territory but unable to stop himself.
"What the hell does that mean?" Sharp anger boiling out with the words.
"Forget about all our arguments already?" His voice sharp, unsure of why he'd even brought it up.
"Listen...I know you're upset and pissed about all that's happened, but don't push me away Deeks. Don't."
"Isn't that what you did on our last assignment?" He asked, his emotions fluctuating wildly between anger and anxiety. "Time apart might be just what you need. It will give you time to think about things, maybe even make a decision about what you want to happen with us."
"How am I supposed to think about our future when you're out there facing who knows what kind of danger?" Her words faltering by the end.
"We're in danger every day," he said evenly. "Forget where you are?"
"You're not being fair," she accused, her eyes softening with tears, making him realize he might have gone too far.
"You're right. I'm not, but what I said is still true," he replied, afraid to look at her. "Take the time to decide what you want, if anything, and let me know when I get back."
"If anything? What does that mean?"
"What do you think it means?"
"Deeks...Just because I might not want children, doesn't mean I don't want you," she said, pleading for his understanding.
"You said you were weighing your options and I figured I was one of them," he confessed.
"You can be a real idiot sometimes," she snapped out, her eyes dark and her jaw clinched in anger.
"Yeah, I got that," he said, taking a step back. "You called me pigheaded, if I remember."
"Well, right now you're being an asshole."
He wasn't sure why he was antagonizing her. She was badly injured and yet here he was being a prick. He loved her deeply, and she loved him, yet he wasn't sure their love was enough to bridge the gap that had developed between them. Wondering if she would ever want a family larger than the two of them was unsettling, her indecision frustrating. He was afraid she'd already made her decision, one he didn't want to hear, one she was afraid to share with him. All of it was weighing on him. Seeing her go down in that explosion had ripped open his soul. Fear that he might not reach Joe in time to save his life was as constant as the beating of his heart, and he suddenly felt as if his whole world was crumbling. Nothing was as certain as it once had seemed. Even the love he once had thought unending now felt transient, and he sensed his anger gathering like a storm he couldn't outrun.
"I gotta go," he said quickly, backing away from her.
"Deeks, you can't leave like this," she pleaded.
"That's what assholes do."
"You may be an asshole sometimes, but you're not leaving until you sign my cast."
"What?"
He stared at her, knowing what she was trying to do, and he felt ashamed of himself for his surliness. Her eyes were soft with tears and her bottom lip quivered into a tentative smile. Her face hinted at her need, but finally settled into that loving look he never tired of.
"Sounds like an ultimatum," he finally replied, softening his voice as he worked to control his chaotic emotions.
"It's not," she whispered. "I don't do well with ultimatums. This is just a simple request from the woman who loves you."
He let his first response fade before it could escape, and reached for a marker one of the nurses had left on the table. Words had always come so easily for him. He tended to let them flow without thinking at times, but now he had no idea what to write on the cast of the only woman he had ever truly loved.
Her fingers trailed down his arm and it was almost his undoing. He had treated her like shit, which she didn't deserve and tears clouded his vision as he searched for the words that might smooth over what had just happened between them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as he looked back at her.
"I know," she said. "But I don't want you to dwell on any of this. I want you focused and I want you to come home and bring Joe with you."
"Kens, I don't know what to write to make up for the things I said," he confessed.
"Just write all the nicknames you have ever called me. Even the stupid ones that I hated."
"All of them? Cause there's a lot," he said with a cocky grin. "You might need a bigger cast."
"Write small, dumbass," she said sweetly.
It was his first laugh of the day and it swept all the bitterness away, leaving just two people who couldn't live without the other. They would work it out. There was no other choice.
When he finished she smiled, her expression changing as if a special memory was attached to each one she read. She laughed out loud at a few, frowned at one or two, but whispered others and they became caught up in a game of trying to recall the occasion he had given them to her. He'd forgotten a couple and when she reminded him, he dutifully added them to the sloppy looking list scrawled across the long white cast. In a way, they were a record of their time together, and he found it hard to keep from smiling.
"Deeks?"
"Yeah, Fern?"
"You don't call me that much anymore."
"Maybe it'll stage a comeback," he teased. "The Return of Fern...starring Kensi Marie Blye."
"I'd like that."
"I'll miss you," he whispered. "Get better."
"Come home to me Deeks," her voice wavering, her eyes dark and shimmering.
He nodded and leaned down to kiss her goodbye, whispering promises he wanted nothing more than to keep.
...
Deeks had always been particular about the clothes he used for undercover assignments, but he took particular care this time. He rejected four gimme caps before settling on a gray one from a feed store in Idaho, and when Hetty offered to help assemble his outfit, he rejected her offer as well. The jeans he wore were from his college days, and looked anything but collegiate, soiled on the front as well as the seat, the edges of the pockets frayed as were the knees, and the hems ragged. He brought in his own collection of t-shirts, most unwashed and faded, touting different country western groups. The black one he was now wearing sported a barely discernible graphic for Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys, the Cajun band he was the most familiar with. He finally accepted a rumpled blue plaid shirt Hetty had found, but had left with it briefly, returning smelling slightly of fish.
"Where'd you get the belt Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asked, admiring the big silver and gold buckle featuring the head of a bull.
"Diane asked me to wear it," he replied, rubbing his thumb over the dull finish. "It's Joe's. He won it in a rodeo when he was eighteen."
"A bull rider too," Hetty mused. "A very brave and talented man, your brother."
"Yeah, he is."
"I have faith in you both, Mr. Deeks," she said, patting his arm. "You'll find him."
"You ready to brief us Hetty?" Callen asked as he walked up dressed in a pale yellow western shirt with pearl snap buttons. His jeans were black and well-worn and tight fitting over old cowboy boots.
"Yellow's not your color G," Sam said as he joined them.
"I didn't know I had a color," he replied with a smirk.
"Of course you didn't, Mr. Callen," Hetty said as she evaluated his outfit. "I should think you'd be better suited in pink. It compliments your eyes."
"Seriously Hetty?" Deeks said, getting exasperated with the gentle banter.
"I don't think a militiaman would be caught dead in pink," Sam offered.
Deeks stiffened at the comment, turning away to stuff the rest of his clothes into his go-bag. Sam came up behind him and ruffled his hair, apologizing softly for the ill-advised comment. They were all on edge, but it was Deeks who remained the most agitated, snapping at anyone who said or did what he considered the wrong thing. He was antsy to go and his eyes pleaded with Hetty until she sighed deeply and ordered them up to Ops for the briefing.
"You'll be flying out tonight on a military transport plane to the Naval Air Station in Belle Chasse, just outside of New Orleans," Nell informed them. "Paperwork and IDs for your new identities will be handed out before you leave. They've been back stopped ten years, which was as far back as we could get on such short notice. Eric will be doing the monitoring, and will let you know if anyone goes digging."
"Gentlemen...Consider this a black op. You will have only one contact on the ground in Louisiana. Outside of this office, no one is to know your true identities or the nature of this operation," Hetty added. "Your contact is a retired Navy SEAL. He was born in Evangeline Parish, moved around a lot as a child, but is familiar with the area and the Atchafalaya Swamp."
"Would I know him, Hetty?" Sam asked, openly curious.
"He would have been before your time I'm afraid," she responded.
"You said he was retired? How old is he?" Callen asked.
"Are you an ageist, Mr. Callen?"
"Only if he's on crutches."
"If he were Mr. Callen, he could still take you," Hetty said with a nasty little laugh.
"I like him already," Sam said, smiling widely.
"Does he know the militia group Joe infiltrated?" Deeks asked anxiously. "Can he get us in?"
"He has contacts who can," she replied.
"Can we trust him?" Deeks voice was low and distrustful and they all noticed.
"With your life, Mr. Deeks. With your life," she said without hesitation. "His name is Roy Blanchard, although that is not the name he was born with. He'll be waiting for you when you land. He will set you up in a safe house and provide you with whatever you may need locally and basically give you the lay of the land. Sam, you'll be on overwatch with him."
"The safe house is fully equipped with the latest tech, so I'll be at your fingertips," Eric said proudly, wiggling his fingers in front of him.
"What militia group are we infiltrating?" Callen asked.
"They call themselves The Patriotic Brotherhood," Nell replied. "Or La Fraternité Patriotique. Their rallying cry is Liberté de l'Oppression. Their leader and a large portion of their members are Cajun and extremely radical. They've been on the watch list of the FBI, the NSA and of this particular Terrorism Task Force for a couple of years."
"Do we know who the leader is?" Deeks asked roughly.
"A man named Antoine Guidry," Eric replied softly as he put the man's picture up on the big board.
Callen took a step closer to Deeks as he stared unblinking at the man's photo.
"Guidry and his men are believed to be the muscle for a local clandestine terrorist group, which was Joe Atwood's main assignment. No one knows who runs this particular group, although they are thought to be of the homegrown variety," Hetty explained. "They are suspected of orchestrating several small attacks on military bases in the South using The Patriotic Brotherhood to carry them out. But, it's believed they are planning something much, much bigger. How they fund their efforts was another target of Mr. Atwood's investigation. We believe he discovered that information, but was unable to pass it on before he disappeared."
"Mr. Callen...Mr. Deeks...you will be going in as two brothers on the run from the FBI," Hetty continued. "Mr. Beale has given you a profile on the dark web, where you are known as the Hale brothers, Jacob and James. You are descendants of the Revolutionary War hero Nathan Hale, who purportedly said 'I regret that I have only one life to lose for my country' before being hung by the British. You are rabid patriots who believe this country has gone to hell and have spent your lives railing against its excesses and the government agencies tasked with keeping private citizens in line. You are violent and wanted in connection with the mysterious deaths of two FBI agents in Colorado."
"Are those the two dead FBI agents found garroted in their car in March?" Deeks asked. "Joe talked to me about that. He wanted to get the bastards who did it."
"Well, let's hope the FBI doesn't find the perpetrators until this op is over," Hetty remarked quietly.
"What about me Hetty?" Sam asked.
"Although you will mainly be on overwatch, Mr. Hanna" Hetty said, "I may also find it necessary to send you inside the New Orleans task force to see if we can't flush out the person responsible for betraying Joe and Oscar Doucet."
"Can't I do that as myself?" He asked.
"If I send you, it will be as a representative of the DOJ," she replied. "I've cleared it with SecNav and the Attorney General."
"Why not send one of their own people?" Callen asked.
"We all want this to be as tightly controlled as possible, and that means one overseer, and that overseer is me," said firmly. "Sam will be directed by me and answer only to me. If he finds it necessary to interview the mole Joe uncovered, that interview will take place in a secure location known only to me and to Roy Blanchard. He's a skilled interrogator, Sam. He's almost as intimidating as you, however in a much different way."
"He's a SEAL. I'd expect nothing less," Sam replied and smiled. "If I'm DOJ, guess you better pick out an appropriate suit for me."
"The wardrobe for Franklin S. Goodman is already packed and on board your transport," Hetty replied, before turning to face them all. "Gentlemen, stay safe."
"Come on, Frankie. Let's move," Callen said, wrapping an arm around Deeks shoulder as he guided him toward the door. "Me and Jimmy are ready to roll."
"Don't disrespect your superior, G," Sam shot back as he followed.
"Call me Jake, Frankie. And just cause you'll be wearing a suit doesn't make you my superior," Callen said.
Deeks broke away and turned back, telling Callen he needed to talk to Hetty. Callen nodded and followed Sam out, their continuous banter fading as they descended the stairs.
"What do you need Mr. Deeks?" Hetty asked.
"I want you to keep Agent Slater away from Diane and George," he demanded, his voice tinged with anger. "Can you do that?"
"I'm not certain I can, Mr. Deeks," she replied.
"I'm worried that George might do something to the sonofabitch if he tries to harass Di again," Deeks was practically vibrating with anger as he spoke.
"I see how that might be a distraction for you," she said kindly. "Let me talk with Michelle. She has offered to help in any way she can. Perhaps she will agree to stay with the Atwoods until this is over. She's strong enough to keep Slater and your father in line, and she would be a good conduit for passing along information if we need to."
"Thanks, Hetty."
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Deeks," she said softly.
"Call me Jimmy," he said in a low, harsh voice as he pulled the gray gimme cap down low over his eyes.
...
Deeks had remained mostly silent on the flight, which worried Callen. He was a nervous flyer and usually talked incessantly to overcome it, but not tonight. He hadn't slept either, even after Sam had insisted he take a couple of pain pills. Constantly scanning his iPad, he read up on the area they were heading into, and repeatedly reviewed the files the FBI had released to them right before they left. Callen had tried ordering him to sleep, which had led to an argument that pissed him off until he realized the kid was already into his alias, a wiseass bastard with the dark undertone of a threat in every comment. His smile was gone, but the cocky grin remained, but it was more of a snarl, full of grit and defiance. Callen had finally responded physically, hardening his own voice as he grabbed Deeks' jacket and yanked him close, ordering him to shut the fuck up and sleep or he'd beat the crap out of him. He had seen the surprise in his eyes, so he had smiled tightly and called him Jimmy, pushing him away before lightly slapping his cheek.
"Gear up, smartass," Callen said as the plane started its descent.
"Fuck you, Jake."
"If that was an offer, I'm not interested," he shot back with a grin.
"You two are already getting on my nerves," Sam said as he buckled his seatbelt.
"Frankie's a sensitive bastard, ain't he?" Jimmy crowed with a grin.
"You ain't kiddin' bro," Jake replied, chewing openmouthed on a wad of gum he'd started to pop his ears.
"Heaven help me," Sam murmured.
"I think on this little trip, heaven's name is Roy," Deeks sniped, suddenly himself again, his smile soft and charming.
The three of them left the plane quickly, and walked across the tarmac side by side, gear and go-bags in hand, searching the darkness for their contact. The air was warm and very humid, the roar of distant jet engines and the nauseating smell of aviation fuel giving Callen an instant headache. Sam stopped him with an arm across his chest before pointing to an approaching four-wheel drive Jeep that had seen better days. The man who exited the beat up vehicle was broad shouldered and around six-feet, dressed in a gray tank top, black jeans and a khaki vest arrayed with multiple pockets. His hair was black, long on top and slicked back on the sides, and tinged with gray, matching his beard. His face and arms were deeply tanned and taut muscles corded under his skin. Callen really couldn't tell his age, guessing he was in his late fifties.
"Guess you're the motley crew Miss Lange saddled me with," the man said with a soft drawl.
"And you must be the resident dickwad," Deeks snapped back, sounding like Jimmy again.
"Deeks!" Sam barked. "I know it's been a long couple of days, but ease up."
"You don't have much of a sense of humor, do ya boy," the man said.
"Actually, he's usually the funny one," Callen said as he stepped forward to introduce himself. "I'm Special Agent G Callen, the smart ass is Agent Marty Deeks and this is Special Agent Sam Hanna, ex Navy SEAL."
"Roy 'Dickwad' Blanchard at your service gentlemen, and asshole," nodding at Deeks with a wide smile. "Stow your gear in the back and let's take a little ride. If you're hungry we can stop on the way, otherwise settle in. The safe house is near a town called Thibodaux about an hours drive west."
They were waved through a side gate with only a salute by Blanchard, who stomped on the gas as soon as they were on the highway. The brightly lit city of New Orleans glowed in the distance, just on the other side of the dark Mississippi River. Deeks rolled down the window and pulled off his cap, tousling his hair in the warm flow of air. Callen gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, knowing how turbulent his emotions were at the moment.
"Hetty said Joe Atwood is like a brother to ya'll," Blanchard said mildly.
"Yeah...especially to Deeks," Sam replied from beside him.
"Best control your rage, boy," he counseled. "Keep it inside. Use it, but don't go off like ya did on me when you get inside The Brotherhood. Them boys'll chew ya up and spit ya out and that's before breakfast."
"Fuck off," Deeks replied softly.
Blanchard looked quickly in the rearview mirror and pulled off the road and stopped. He turned in a split second and grabbed Deeks' t-shirt in his fist and yanked him forward before either Sam or Callen could stop him.
"Listen, you smart ass little fucker! I know you're pissed, and I know you're scared shitless that what happened to Oscar happened to your brother," his voice hard and deep. "But don't blow this op by letting Antoine Guidry see that. He may be a hick from the sticks to you, but he is anything but dumb. Men follow him for a reason. He's smart and conniving and vicious and they know if they cross 'im their life is forfeit. Don't go gettin' yourself killed before ya have a chance to find out what happened to your brother. Got it?"
"Got it, dickwad," Deeks said coolly.
Blanchard shook his head, laughing as he shoved Deeks back in his seat.
"You knew Oscar Doucet," Deeks said.
"Oscar was my second cousin on my mother's side. I'm more like his uncle though," he said calmly as he pulled back out onto the highway. "It's why Hetty called me."
"How long you known Hetty?" Callen asked.
"'Fraid that's classified."
"Sorry for your loss, man," Sam said quietly.
"Hadn't seen 'im since he was a teenager," Blanchard said softly. "Out of the country for long stretches. His brother called me. When I got here, we went to identify the body together. When we saw what those bastards had done to 'im, it was all I could do to keep Gus from gathering all the men in the family and goin' on a rampage. So I know where you're comin' from kid."
"Hetty said you have a contact who can get us into Guidry's militia," Callen said.
"Yeah. Homer Moreau. Now there's a real dickwad," Blanchard laughed. "But he's one of the few honest men in his family and he owes me. His cousin Henry joined the Brotherhood a year ago. A real piece of shit, that one."
"He's not the one who got Joe and Oscar in is he?" Deeks questioned anxiously.
"No...and it's good to know you're not a dumbass after all," Blanchard snorted out with a laugh.
"Joe didn't always agree on that," Deeks said quietly and turned to stare out the window, staying silent the remainder of the trip.
Callen shook him awake when they drove through a set of tall wrought iron gates that led to a gravel road between a double row of oak trees. The headlights illuminated big old gnarled limbs dripping with tendrils of low hanging moss, and the colonnaded front of a two-story, ghostly white antebellum house at the end. It was totally dark inside and looked abandoned, some of the shutters hanging crookedly next to broken windows, but Blanchard pulled up in front and shut off the engine.
"Yours?" Callen asked as he got out and stretched his legs.
"Belonged to the rich side of my mother's family," he replied. "Creoles. Settled on Bayou Lafourche around 1835. Raised sugarcane."
"I'm guessing they didn't do that themselves," Sam said as he stared up at the graceful columns lining the front of the house.
"Not a part of my heritage I'm proud of," he said with some embarrassment. "But, I've used the plantation for the nation's good since I took it on a few years ago."
Blanchard opened the large ornate front door and flipped on the lights and they all stepped into the two-story foyer under a blazing chandelier that lit a grand double staircase of polished oak.
"Gentlemen...Welcome to Oak Haven."
...
...