Brotherhood
Chapter 6
...
Oak Haven was a big old rambling place, a ghost from a life that no longer existed. The old fashioned parlor looked unused and smelled musty, the furniture covered with dusty sheets, and the rugs threadbare. The lights flickered on an off as Blanchard hurried them through, speaking softly as if he might disturb long dead relatives. The adjacent library appeared to be better cared for, the walls and shelves all a deep, honey colored oak and dominated by a large library table in the center covered in scattered books and old maps. Callen stopped to examine a hand lettered genealogy chart that was brown with age, the edges brittle, so fragile he resisted the urge to touch it.
"Researched my mama's line all the way back to Eleanor of Aquitaine," Roy offered softly. "But my daddy's a whole different story. Sonofabitch took off when I was a kid and my mama isn't real interested in talkin' about 'im cause of that, so research on his family line is slow going. Has taught me patience though."
Callen said nothing, but he heard Deeks snort out a soft laugh and looked up to see him shake his head as he slowly turned a big globe with the flat of his hand.
"Think tracin' your roots is a joke kid?" Roy asked tightly.
"Why do you care about finding out the history of a man who abandoned you?" He asked, sounding irritated, his face softened by exhaustion.
"Just curious I guess," Roy told him. "Aren't you interested in the blood that runs through your veins?"
"Not his," Deeks replied without energy. "Sharing his blood didn't make him a good father."
"Sounds like your daddy was a sonofabitch just like mine," Roy said quietly.
"I'm more interested in the present than the past," Deeks answered. "Our tech operator said this place has the latest equipment. Mind showing us if that's true or not? I don't really give a shit about your slave holding ancestors."
Roy stiffened and Callen quickly caught Deeks' eye, giving him a not so subtle warning look to play nice, holding it until he finally saw resignation on his face. He could see how tired he was, but unwilling to give into it, acting out as a child might and pissing off the one man who was helping them find Joe.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Deeks?" Sam scolded, taking his arm to drag him away before things escalated.
"You and Guidry might just get along if he don't kill ya first," Roy said. "Y'all are both assholes and don't have the manners God gave a pig."
"That last insult stings a little, but I guess it's appropriate...I used to be a cop," Deeks said with a sudden, cocky grin.
"Well hell...don't that beat all," Roy laughed. "So was Guidry. Just don't go sharin' any stories, or he'll likely shoot ya."
"How'd he go from being a cop to running an anti government militia?" Callen asked.
"And why wasn't that in the files the FBI gave us?" Sam wondered.
"Cause most people don't know about it," Roy said, offering nothing more as he headed for the door.
They followed him up one of the curving staircases, Callen glaring over at Deeks as he passed him. When they reached the second floor, open double doors revealed a long, empty room with pale green walls, heavily draped floor to ceiling windows and three French doors that opened onto a veranda. They dumped their gear on the hardwood floor as Blanchard pulled open the center one and led them out into the darkness to the balustrade. A pale moon illuminated several outbuildings and the unkept lawn that swept down to a line of Magnolia trees.
"Those trees line the bayou," Roy said. "And that bayou is our road north. Homer will meet us up a ways in the mornin' with a truck and a swamp boat. I'll introduce y'all, but from then on you're on your own."
"How far after that to reach Guidry's camp?" Callen asked.
"Better start callin' it The Brotherhood, man," he warned.
"How far?" Deeks repeated.
"I have no idea," he responded. "Never been there."
"Then how do we keep overwatch?" Sam asked, letting a bit of his anger show he was not pleased.
Blanchard didn't reply, just turned and walked back inside, leaving Deeks and Sam seething at his abrupt departure.
"I don't like this guy," Deeks fumed.
"Deeks, you need to calm down," Callen said, stepping around to face him. "Hetty said we could trust him and you need to do that."
"He's dropping you both off in the middle of nowhere with someone no one's ever heard of," Sam complained. "How do I track you? Or get to you if you need help?"
"It's deep cover Sam," Callen said easily. "Don't tell me you didn't know it would be like this."
"Yeah? Well I don't have to like it," he shot back.
"If you boys are finished bellyachin' you might want to see that tech room Eric was so excited about," Roy said gruffly, poking his head back out the door.
"You know Eric?" Callen asked, realizing they hadn't mentioned his name.
"He was my lifeline once, when Hetty had 'im doing odd jobs for her," he replied. "That was before she settled down at NCIS."
Having gotten their attention, they followed him to one end of the long room. The wall had a central bookcase with large, full-length portraits on either side. Roy stepped up next to the painting of a dark haired woman in a pale pink ball gown and pressed his thumb into a carved detail on the ornate gold frame. The hollow sound of a latch releasing echoed back from the bookcase, and the team smiled and Sam shook his head.
"No wonder Hetty likes you," Callen said.
"Man's gotta keep his secrets don't he?" Roy laughed, pulling the bookcase open on a room steeped in darkness except for the cool light emanating from a bank of computer screens.
He quickly flipped a switch to light the room and Callen let out a low whistle as he caught the surprised expressions on the faces of his partners.
"What were y'all expectin'? A roomful of Commodore Amigas?" Roy asked with a broad smile that faded with the nonplussed looks he was getting. "Dammit ta hell. You never even heard of those, have ya?"
"How old are you, man?" Deeks asked with a soft grin.
"Old enough to have wiped your butt when you were born," he replied easily. "Or kick your butt now if you don't wipe that shit faced grin off."
"A little sensitive about your age, dude?" Deeks asked quietly, a smile still flickering around the edges of his mouth.
"Experience comes with age, boy. Let's just say I got a shit load of experience," he replied solemnly. "Some good and some bad. Guessin' your experience started early just like mine."
Deeks just stared back at him, but the man had already turned to type something quickly on one of the keyboards, bringing the big screen on the wall to life.
"Good evening gentlemen," Hetty said from a chair in Ops. "Shouldn't you all be in bed by now? Or has Roy decided to regale you about his current obsession with genealogy?"
"Don't think they appreciate me just yet, Hetty," Roy replied.
"You are a bit of an acquired taste, Mr. Blanchard," she said with a tight smile. "But I think a bowl of your jambalaya might make a favorable impression."
"You want me to spoil 'em right off?"
"I think they could use a bit of spoiling before you send them up river," she replied. "Especially Mr. Deeks. He probably didn't mention he suffered a gunshot wound and a concussion on the undercover assignment he just completed. With his partner in the hospital and his brother missing, I believe it's probably made him a little difficult to deal with."
"He has been a mite prickly, as my mama would say," he replied, turning to visually assess Deeks.
"Is there any new intel, Hetty?" Deeks cut in wearily, ignoring the remarks.
"Yes, but we're not sure what it is," she replied. "Agent Slater interviewed Diane Atwood again, and questioned her about a map Joe managed to send to his handler right before he went missing. When Di told Michelle, she contacted me and I got Roger Stinson to release the map to us. It was marked up with quite of few locations in and around your area, but we have no idea what might be at those locations. Eric and Nell are researching it and so far all we know is that they are not possible targets because there is nothing at those locations that we know of. If we find out anything Eric will forward it."
"Is Di okay?" Deeks asked.
"She's fine Mr. Deeks. She got more out of Slater than he did out of her," Hetty replied.
"We need to know who Joe's handler was, Hetty," Callen said.
"And why they won't give us that information," Sam added.
"I'm working on it, gentlemen," she replied. "Now go have some jambalaya and get some rest. Tomorrow will come quite early if I know Mr. Blanchard."
"Hetty...you might want to send me that map," Roy said. "I'd like to take a shot at figuring it out."
"It's headed your way, Major Tom," Eric said, popping his face into view behind Hetty.
"Hey Eric. How ya doin' partner?" Roy asked quietly, his voice taking on a wistful warmth as he spoke. "Did ya get the pralines I sent?"
"Made them last as long as I could, man," Eric said quietly. "Which was about two minutes. Ouch...Nell just punched me for not sharing."
"I'll send a bigger batch next time," Roy promised. "You take care, son."
"You too, Major Tom," Eric said as the screen went dark.
"Major Tom?" Deeks asked.
"I'd been deep undercover for eight months with hardcore insurgents in Eastern Europe," he shared. "I got made and captured, along with my handler. We managed to escape, but I was pretty badly wounded and my handler was killed. There aren't many people I trust in this business, but I do trust Hetty. I called her and she hooked me up with Eric. He was my lifeline, and when I told him how messed up I was and how alone I felt he started calling me Major Tom. I'm embarrassed to say he even got me to sing a couple of stanzas of that song with 'im. That kid kept me sane. He located where I was and talked me through the area I was in, all the way to the exfil point. Don't ask me how, cause I don't remember a lot of it. I can never repay what he and Hetty did, so when she called me about your brother, I wanted to help because I've been there."
"Me too," Deeks said quietly, and stepped up to shake Roy's hand. "Sorry I've been such a prick."
"Don't make no nevermind to me, boy," he said. "But I won't hold it against ya."
"Was Hetty kidding about the jambalaya?" Sam asked.
"Bedrooms are at the other end of the ballroom," he replied. "Go get yourselves sorted out while I heat us up some of my famous shrimp jambalaya and pop the tops on a few beers."
"Famous? Seriously?" Deeks grinned. "Thought you were a secret agent."
"Don't have many friends and not much family left, but to those who've tried it...they always ask for more, includin' my mama," Roy said as he laughed and slapped Deeks lightly on the chest as he walked by. "So quit pissin' me off, or you ain't gettin' none."
"Never seen you pass on a free meal, Deeks," Sam said as he walked out.
Callen took Deeks' arm and turned him around, shoving him toward the door to follow Sam across the ballroom, picking up their gear and go-bags as they went.
"Think they'll be dancing later?" Deeks quipped.
"Laissez les bon temps roulez!" Roy shouted from the stairs.
"What the hell does that mean?" Deeks asked.
"Let the good times roll," Callen translated.
"Considering the circumstances, that's kind of an odd thing to say, don't you think?" Deeks questioned. "He's weird G."
"But a good weird," he replied.
"And you two aren't weird?" Sam asked as he began opening doors to rooms.
"I'm not weird," the two men said in unison.
"Delusional too," Sam laughed.
Deeks took the first room they came to, calling out his surprise to the others about how big it was. A rather ugly four-poster bed of dark oak dominated it, the bedding basically a couple of light blankets, but it was piled with large pillows that looked like heaven after the long day. The wallpaper had been stripped off in several places, revealing different layers that had been applied through the years, giving the room a creepy, haunted quality. The two overstuffed chairs in front of the white marble fireplace were newer, but looked well used, the seats sagging in the middle. Deeks dropped his go-bag on the low coffee table and walked to the window, pushing aside the worn drapes to stare out at the moonlit landscape and the slow moving bayou beyond the trees. Raising the window, he took in a breath of still, warm air and was enveloped in the much needed solitude the dimly lit room offered. He was dead tired, the stuffy room adding to his drowsiness and causing his headache to intensify. His arm had been throbbing since they arrived, and he realized the bandage hadn't been changed since early the day before. Tugging his t-shirt off over his head, he groaned at the weakening flare of pain the movement caused. The bandage was damp with sweat and he knew he needed to replace it, but his energy was fading fast and he was tempted to let it be.
"You're not trying to change that bandage by yourself are you?" Sam asked from the doorway.
"Wasn't thinking of changing it at all," Deeks replied, smiling at the disapproving look he received.
"Not happening Deeks."
"Looks like you came prepared," he replied with resignation, slumping into one of the chairs.
"Those bruises on your back look pretty deep," Sam said as he rummaged through his backpack for medical supplies. "Must have been quite an explosion. Any cracked ribs you forgot to tell us about?"
"Just bruised," he replied with a yawn.
Sam tended his wound with care and he almost fell asleep before he was finished. He sometimes forgot how kind Sam could be, long used to being on the receiving end of his reprimands.
"Think the comms will reach as far as we're going?" Deeks asked quietly.
"They better, or I'm coming to find you," he replied sharply. "I'm not gonna end up with three missing agents."
"You trust him?"
"Roy 'the dickwad' Blanchard?" Sam grinned.
"Do you?" His expression remained hard and questioning and Sam nodded slowly as his smile faded.
"He's the real deal, Deeks," Sam said confidently. "And right now we have no other option. Besides, Hetty trusts him and he's cooking us dinner. That combo is hard to beat."
"Okay."
Sam gripped his hand and helped him to his feet, but Deeks told him he'd meet him downstairs. He paused to listen to him call for Callen and to them discussing southern cooking as they headed down the stairs, before he wandered over to the window once again and pulled his phone, hesitating briefly before dialing Kensi's cell.
"Hey," her voice was soft and he felt a deep yearning to hold her.
"I miss you," he said.
"Is everything okay? Are you taking your meds?"
"I'm fine," he replied. "I just needed to hear your voice."
"The nurses love the nicknames you wrote on my cast," she said. "One of the orderlies even calls me Fern now."
"Not sure I like that."
"Makes me think of you every time he says it."
"Good to know, Fern," he said with a soft laugh. "You feeling better?"
"The doctor says everything looks good. He's letting me out in a few days," she told him. "Diane wants me to stay with her until I can get around on my own. I think she's looking for anything to keep her mind off what's going on."
"I'm glad you'll be together. She's a great nurse and she'll spoil you rotten," he replied, feeling calmer now that he knew someone would be watching over her.
"Please take care of yourself Deeks," she said, the worry evident in her voice. "I can't lose you, okay?"
"I like hearing you say that," he whispered with relief.
"You're everything to me, Deeks," she replied. "Don't you know that?"
"That's always been my hope, Sunshine," he said. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she told him quietly and he knew she was smiling. "Now hurry up and come home."
"I'll see you soon and I'll be bringing Joe with me," he said boldly, wanting to believe it with everything he had.
"I'm counting on that...we all are."
"I might not be able to call you much after this," he reminded her. "We're leaving our cells here, but we're taking burner phones."
"Don't call if it puts you in danger," she said in her strict partner tone.
"Yeah, no...of course," he said softly, smiling at her familiar caution.
They talked for a little longer and then he reluctantly let her go. He stood by the window listening to the frogs and a persistent owl, letting his mind wander until it settled on the image of Joe racing his sorrel gelding toward the creek, laughing at him as he tried to catch up. Tomorrow he would take the first step to finding him and all he could do was hope he was still out there, alive and fighting to stay that way. He had to know they were coming. He had to know his brothers would never give up until they found him and brought him home. He had to know that.
When he heard footsteps in the long ballroom, he went to see who it was, hoping it was Callen so they could discuss their aliases. He came face to face with Roy Blanchard, who held out a bowl to him.
"You need to eat," he said.
"Smells good," Deeks responded, surprised by the man's kind hospitality.
"Best jambalaya you ever will have," he said.
"Only jambalaya I've ever had," Deeks said before slurping up a bit from the spoon. "Seriously? This is really good."
"You ain't a real trustin' fella, are ya?" He laughed. "Stay that way on this op and you just might survive."
The man turned abruptly without waiting for a reply and headed for the tech room, and Deeks followed, taking in mouthfuls of the spicy stew as he went. Roy put the map Eric had sent up on the big screen and stood staring at it.
"Any ideas?" Deeks asked between bites.
"The marks are in clusters. Five here...six over here...nine to the north," He replied, pointing out a few of the multiple marks made by Joe.
"There are fifty two marks total," Deeks finally said. "What do you think they mean?"
Roy kept silent, staring at the map as Deeks slid the half empty bowl of jambalaya onto the table next to the keyboard.
"You spill any of that sauce on this equipment and I'll...," Roy stopped mid sentence and began typing rapidly at his computer, bringing up a large map covered in colored dots. "Well I'll be a shitfaced monkey."
"Hate to break it to you Roy, but you already are," Deeks snarked. "Now what the hell are we looking at?"
"Ever heard of stripper wells?"
"Known a few strippers in my day..."
"Quit wise assin'," Roy snapped. "Those dots represent oil wells. Small ones. Stripper wells take out no more than ten barrels of oil a day, but the revenue from the wells marked on Joe's map would be substantial."
"That's how the terror cell is being funded," Deeks said quietly.
"We need to call Hetty," Roy ordered. "The hard part is gonna be finding out who controls them."
"You know Eric, but you haven't met Nell yet," Deeks said with a grin. "She's even smarter than Eric. I don't think those two will have any trouble tracking down the owners of those wells."
"Maybe, but I don't think it's gonna be as easy as you think," Roy said. "These bastards have been covering their tracks for quite awhile and I'm pretty sure they got someone inside that task force watchin' out for 'em."
"The same guy who betrayed Joe and Oscar."
"When he found out they were onto the stripper wells, he blew their cover," Roy reasoned.
"Why not before?"
"Maybe he didn't know they were undercover with Guidry," Roy replied. "Maybe he found out when the mole got caught."
"Find something?" Callen asked as he and Sam joined them, handing Deeks a beer.
After explaining what they'd discovered, Callen drew Deeks away and led him back out to the veranda. They stood in the mellow darkness and finished their beers, Deeks anger growing until he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"We need to get that sonofabitch G," Deeks exploded. "Whoever the hell he is, he has to answer for what he did. He's the fucking traitor, not Joe."
"Sam and Roy can follow that lead," he said calmly. "The only thing we need to concentrate on is finding out what happened to Joe."
"I know, but..."
"Don't you think Joe might want to be in on taking this guy down?" Callen asked, gripping his shoulder as he tried to reason with him.
"Of course."
"We owe him that, don't you think?" Callen reasoned. "We just have to find out where he is."
"How do we get Guidry to tell us that?"
"We use our charm," Callen replied with his widest smirk.
"I don't know about Jake Hale, but Jimmy ain't gonna be all that charming," Deeks said.
"Then we'll just have to hope the man likes to brag," Callen replied. "Jake strikes me as the kind of asshole who tempts men to want to one up him."
"And I think Jimmy is gonna taunt him into trying," Deeks said, flashing a tired, cocky grin.
"Just don't go too far, Jimmy," Jake warned. "He might not take to being taunted about his shortcomings."
"I just hope he has some."
Callen rested his hand on the back of his neck as they stood side by side staring out toward the distant lights of Thibodaux.
"Get some rest, Marty," Callen said softly. "Roy's getting us up at 0400."
"Jimmy ain't likin' the sound of that."
"Jimmy sounds like a lazy sonofabitch."
"Jimmy is."
"Not tomorrow he ain't."
"How far you get in school again?" Jimmy asked as they headed back inside.
"Hated school. Got outa there after seventh grade."
"So you're playing the dumber brother."
"The meaner one too," Jake warned with a smartass smirk. "Don't cross me little brother. Would hate to have to kick your ass in front of those self proclaimed patriotic militia boys."
"I'm just gonna laugh if you decide to try, cause that ain't gonna happen."
"You've always been tough," Callen said, suddenly solemn as he threw an arm across his shoulders.
Deeks stole a look at his face and knew he wasn't talking about his alias. He had survived some rough assignments and suffered terribly from violent, hate filled men bent on vengeance. Callen had helped him pick up the pieces afterward, as had Kensi and Joe. If he couldn't have Kensi by his side, he was proud to have G Callen along to watch his back. They made good partners and together they would find Joe, and Jimmy and Jake would kick anyone's ass who got in their way.
...
A ghostly moon was his only light as he stumbled forward, trying to hold back the gasps of pain that sounded loudly in his ears. The world was blurry, and Joe wiped at his eyes once again with the heel of his palm, unaware of how dirty his hands had become. Shivering even in the warm air, his skin was hot to the touch and he knew his fever had gotten worse, but he had found no place to rest so he pushed on. The shirt he had wrapped around his mangled arm was stiff and dark with dried blood, and he blearily looked down at it, walking straight into a post he failed to see and collapsing in a heap on the ground. Having no desire or energy left to move, he lay there in the matted grass and listened to the sounds of the night. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the glistening of stars, pretending he was at the ranch as he searched the blackness for the constellations his mother had taught him. He pretended she was hovering over him, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, whispering lullabies as he babbled unintelligible words that blended with the high pulsing sound of crickets. His mind was muddled, and he assumed he was dreaming when a rusted mailbox above him caught his eye. The bent flag was up, silhouetted against the milky clusters of stars and for some reason he began to laugh softly as tears creased the dirt on his cheeks.
He had no idea how long he lay there, but something or some sound woke him from his delirium and he shivered in fear. He struggled to get away, unwittingly rolling over onto his wounded arm and his high-pitched scream split the air. Panting heavily he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the rolling waves of agony to subside, and when he opened them he saw the ragged cuff of a sweatshirt as a dark hand brushed the hair away from his eyes.
"Shhhh now. Easy. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you here."
The voice was deep and gravelly, the accent heavy with the local lilt. The man called to others and he felt himself being lifted and his mind told him to fight, but his body was uncoordinated, trembling with chills he couldn't stop. He could hear them talking, but his mind closed down and he drifted as they carried him in through a slapping screen door. There was light. Warm, blurry light and then softness as they laid him down. Then he floated away, searching for constellations and lullabies.
...
...