Brotherhood
Chapter 14
...
First it was a cool hand on his forehead that he recoiled from, and then the heat radiating off his body that made him so desperate to open his eyes. The touch of the blankets against his overheated skin was painful, and he moaned as he tried to free himself. He felt as if he was suffocating and he panted as his disoriented mind struggled to make sense of where he was and who had him now. His mind was a jumble of memories taut with fear and the urgent, unrelenting need to run. Streaks of pain shot through his body as he rose up on one elbow and tried to get up, to face the danger he suspected all around him. Then he heard the voices and he remembered. There was comfort in them.
"You stay put now, boy," Iris said as she shushed him gently and easily pushed him back down on the bed. "You got a bad fever goin'. Wound's infected so you ain't goin' anywheres for a while."
"Have to go to Baton Rouge," he managed to say, his tongue thick and unwieldy and his lips dry and painfully cracked. "Have to get to FBI. Safe there."
"Xavier already be gone, son," Augustine told him. "You been delirious most of the night and mornin'. You in no shape to be on your feet."
"They'll come for me," he whispered as he moved restlessly on the rumpled bed.
"Then you best let us help ya, Joe," Iris said quietly as she pressed a cold cloth to his flushed red cheeks. "Get 'im some of my tea, Augustine."
"No!" Joe pushed her away and grabbed the edge of the bed, tossing the bedding off as he struggled to sit up.
Iris backed away as he sat on the edge of the bed waiting for his head to clear and his body to stop shivering. He felt cold and hot at the same time, chills rushing through his body like waves, leaving him weak and uncertain.
"Get on your feet, dumbass," he growled breathlessly to himself. "Move or people die."
He forced his body up and finally stood shakily, muttering curse words as he took one step after another, heading for the screen door. They did not try to stop him and he was grateful for that, unsure what he would do if they had, afraid he might hurt them if they tried.
"You want your pants before you go?" Augustine asked, stopping him as he grabbed onto the doorframe to stay on his feet.
He was naked except for his underwear, and he blushed deeply and moaned as he leaned his head into the crook of his arm. Every part of his body ached, but the bright, intense pain pulsing up and down his arm made him nauseous and the room tilted, throwing him off balance. With great effort he pushed through the screen door, afraid if he stopped to put his clothes on he would never be able to get going again. He swiped at the hair hanging lankly in his eyes, beads of sweat catching the light as they sprayed out in front of him. The world outside looked distorted and he realized he had no idea where to go, but he did remember one thing. He needed a gun.
"Do you have a rifle?" He asked, unaware if they heard him or not, just throwing the question out and hoping it would be answered.
"You're not gonna get far the shape you're in, dude," Buford said as he came into his field of vision.
"Gun."
It was all he could manage to say and he saw the boy look behind him and he felt another presence, which sent him reeling.
"It's okay, man. It's just Sebastien," Buford said kindly.
"Should I get him the huntin' rifle, Papa T?" Sebastien asked. "In case they try to kill him?"
"That rifle ain't meant for killin' human beings, boy," Augustine said while Joe swayed unsteadily as they stood around him discussing the situation.
"They are," Joe spoke softly, and he saw the old man jerk as if struck.
"He needs a way to defend himself, Papa T," Buford said stridently. "How would you feel if we let him get killed?"
"He's right, Augustine," Iris said as she came up to join them. "It would be a sin to let that happen."
"And what about the soul of the man he kills?" The old preacher asked. "We weighing souls against one another now? Who deserves to die? This man or another? We ain't God. Life and death ain't our decision to make."
"The men coming for me will kill your whole family and they won't ask God for permission. It's why I have to go. All I'm asking for is a fighting chance...to get back to my own family," Joe whispered, exhausted by the effort it took to try and convince him.
The old man stared at him and Iris stepped up next to her husband and took his hand, patting it gently as he struggled to make a decision. He was a good man, and Joe wasn't sure if he had said enough to convince him. Either way he needed to go, so he watched the preacher wrestle with his conscience and pray, wondering if his mother's God was watching too.
"If you can make it to the shed, I'll let ya have our rifle," Augustine finally said. "Go on and show 'im Buford."
Joe was fairly sure the man didn't think he could make it that far, and when he saw the distance he had to travel, he wasn't sure he could either. But he intended to try. If he didn't, these people might lose their lives and he wouldn't be able to live with that. So he started to walk, following the young man with the encouraging smile. It wasn't long before he began to weave, stumbling forward on pure willpower. He could see that the boy wanted to help him, but his grandfather warned him off, so he continued, his vision fading as his fever raged and pain sapped his remaining strength.
"You made it," Buford said, looking quite pleased as he quickly opened the wooden door.
The airless shed was dim and stuffy, but the lack of light eased his headache. He managed to get to a center post, and leaned heavily against it as he rode out another wave of chills. The boy knelt in front of a wooden chest on the dirt floor, raising the lid and revealing an old Winchester deer rifle like the one his father had taught him to shoot with. It made him smile when the boy handed it to him along with a box of shells.
"You want me to bring you your pants?" Buford asked. "The underbrush around here will tear up your legs, man. You can have one of my t-shirts if ya want."
"I'd appreciate that."
The lanky teenager smiled brilliantly and rushed out, calling to his grandmother as Joe made his way to a workbench and methodically loaded the rifle. He listened to the family's distant voices as they continued to discuss the right and wrong of allowing him to have the gun, but then they all stopped talking at once and he felt a different chill at the base of his neck.
"Who ya got hidin' in the shed, ol' man," someone slowly drawled out.
"Ain't hidin' no one, mister," Augustine boomed out bravely. "Who might you be now?"
"None of your fuckin' business, preacher man," he snarled. "Get 'im out here, or I'll shoot one of them two boys of yours."
Joe went stone cold, cocking the rifle as pure anger filled him. What he had feared was happening and he felt so weak he had trouble making it back to the half opened door. He saw Iris cover her mouth in shock as the man stalked towards them from the edge of the bayou. Sebastien stepped in front of her as Augustine reached out and pushed his youngest grandson behind him. Joe closed his eyes and fought to steady himself, knowing he had no time to waste as the man closed the distance between himself and the Toussaints. He prayed he wouldn't be spotted as he leaned his shoulder against the edge of the doorframe and aimed the rifle. He recognized the bastard. His name was Beau and he had been one of the men laughing as the dogs mauled Oscar to death. He knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill every one of this kind family without blinking an eye. With the man's AR-15 pointed directly at them, if he missed or if he only wounded him, he might get a burst off and he couldn't let that happen.
"You lookin' for me, Beau?" Joe shouted. "No reason to hurt these people."
Beau swung his weapon toward the shed just as Joe fired, his bullet catching the militiaman below the left collarbone, sending him flying backward to the ground. The rifle fell harmlessly by his side as Iris choked out a strangled scream.
"Go back in the house," Joe said as he stumbled out of the shed. "There may be more coming."
The adrenaline kept him on his feet, but his body was rebelling and his eyes began to blur as he walked slowly toward the body on the ground. He felt his strength ebbing and he gripped the rifle tighter, afraid he would drop it as his hands began to shake. The world was suddenly spinning and he stopped, blinking slowly as he saw the stark shock on the faces of the Toussaints.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as the rifle slipped from his hands and his knees buckled.
He collapsed face down in the dirt, his mind barely aware of the hands that touched him or the soft prayers from the family who had taken him in. They gently turned him over and Iris began to fuss over him as he fought to stay conscious.
"You boys get 'im in the house now," Iris instructed.
"No...no don't," he managed to say. "He was just a lookout..."
"Hush now, Joe. You cain't go...ya cain't even stay on your feet," she said kindly.
"He's right. We gotta get him away from here," Augustine said. "We all in danger if he stays."
"We could take 'im to the old church, Papa T," Sebastien suggested.
"Good boy," Augustine said with a soft smile. "You 'membered the stories."
"He looks kind of heavy to carry that far," Buford said, looking doubtful as he stared down at Joe.
"Go get the wheelbarrow, Sebastien," Iris instructed. "Hurry now. I'll bring his pants and some of my quilts. That hidey-hole kept many a runnin' man safe in its time, Joe. Our ancestors hid escapin' slaves there in those evil days."
"Then come on back for the poor dead soul he killed," Augustine told them sadly as he looked resolutely away from Joe. "We'll give 'im a decent Christian burial there in the churchyard. Won't sit right with the Lord if we don't."
Joe had exhausted what energy he'd had and as his adrenalin faded he could only let them do as they wanted, his body shivering with fevered chills. He could hear them talking, but he couldn't respond, his mind close to shutting down, his fever sending him into delirium once again. It was if he were dreaming as he woke to the squeaking sound of a wheel, opening his eyes to the canopy of trees overhead, the flickering light disorienting as they slowly bumped along. When they finally stopped, he turned his head and saw a tiny weather-beaten church, it's paint long gone so that it almost disappeared into the background of the surrounding trees. The steeple leaned slightly, its cross lopsided and the porch was covered in an overgrown web of dead vines. Helped from the wheelbarrow, the two boys draped his arms across their shoulders and he staggered between them to the door.
"No one gonna find ya here, Joe," Iris said quietly as she moved to open the door, which hung loosely on rusted hinges.
It was somewhat cooler inside the empty church, the only light coming from a few of the broken windows not overrun with kudzu. Surprisingly, the pulpit was graced with a mason jar of wild flowers, adding to the feeling of hope and sanctuary the tiny church offered.
"Folks still come here to pray," Iris commented. "But not often, so no need to worry."
Behind the pulpit was a series of five narrow panels framed by worn molding in a soft faded green. Iris moved quickly to the one second from the right and placed both hands on one side and pushed hard. It opened with a loud screech, frightening a host of swallows into frantic flight above their heads. Iris could barely squeeze inside, but she managed, dragging several quilts in with her.
"Let me sit first," Joe murmured.
"When we were little, grandpa told us stories about the Underground Railway, and how this was one of the stops," Buford said as he eased Joe down on the edge of the low platform. "We used to pretend we were runaway slaves and hide back in there. It's a little creepy, but snug, 'cept for the bugs. She'll make it nice as she can for you."
"You boys help me get 'im inside, then go on back and bring up that other fella," Iris said as she stepped up in front of him.
"I'm so sorry," Joe said. "But I couldn't let him hurt you."
"Our Lord is all about forgiveness," Iris said quietly. "I'm no fool, Joe. I know that probably wasn't the first man you ever killed. Takin' a man's life is a horrible burden to carry. I just hope you take it to the Lord when the burden gets too heavy to carry on your own."
"Haven't done that for awhile," he whispered.
"Something ta think about while you're back there in the hidey-hole," she said, patting his cheek gently. "Lots of prayers still floatin' around in this old church. Try and listen to 'em."
"Yes ma'am."
...
They had been slogging through marshland since they'd left the boats, the mud sucking at their boots and slowing their progress. Deeks trailed the group of four militiamen, and Callen hung back to check on him. He knew he was still hurting, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge his pain, glaring at him whenever he asked how he was doing. He was determined not to appear weak in front of these men and Callen found himself feeling proud of him for making it this far through such rugged terrain. Saint finally signaled for a rest stop, and Deeks leaned heavily against a tree, his hand immediately covering the tender wound in his side.
"Them Creoles' place is only two, maybe three miles up," Rigo said. "Beau's a good tracker, so if Beeler's hangin' around there, he'll find 'im."
The distant sound of a rifle shot got everyone to their feet and Saint swore as he signaled for them to move. Callen could see the sudden fear in Deeks' eyes as he rushed past him, and he grabbed his shoulder to slow him down, but he wrenched free, his intensity a sure warning he didn't appreciate the gesture. The next hour had them all breathing heavily as they pushed through the undergrowth and thick growth of pine trees and crossed minor streams coated in algae. As they waded through a narrow bayou, a host of white egrets rose slowly from the long black trunk of a partially submerged tree, scolding them for the interruption. He was grateful when he finally saw Deeks smile at the beauty of the elegant birds.
"Quiet now," Saint said as he held up a fist to stop them.
Callen followed Deeks as he made his way to the edge of the line of trees and looked out on an open area with a small white house, a garden and shed. An old gray haired black man in coveralls sat in a lawn chair and appeared to be praying, while a small woman herded a tall teenage boy into the house through a faded blue screen door. They saw no one else, and Callen wasn't sure if he was happy about that or sad that they might fail to find Joe. Deeks was practically vibrating next to him, nervously twitching his fingers and moving from foot to foot as if he wanted to charge into the yard.
"No sign of Beau," Rigo growled softly.
"Let's go ask us some questions," Saint said sullenly.
The six of them moved out into the open, and Saint signaled for one man to check the shed. Callen heard the soft slap of the screen door as the old woman came out, her steely gray hair worn short and natural around her wide, dark face. The lanky boy followed her out, and they both looked frightened and Callen didn't blame them. He flinched when Elan came on comms, letting them both know they'd heard the shot and were about a quarter mile away. Roy cautioned them once again not to do anything stupid, telling them they were closing on their position.
"Augustine," the woman called out. "We got visitors."
The old man slowly raised his head from his clasped hands and stared at them, looking at each man in turn before rising to his feet.
"Can I help you folks?" He asked without energy.
"Heard a gunshot awhile ago," Saint said with a soft drawl. "You know anything about that?"
"Don't like guns much, mister," he said.
"That ain't an answer," Rigo snarled.
The man sent to check the shed gave a shout and pushed another kid out, his eyes wide as he stumbled forward, a smear of blood on his lower lip.
"Had a shovel," the militiaman explained when he shoved him into the arms of the old man.
The woman hurried over and lifted the hem of her apron to clean the blood from the young man's face.
"Shame on you," she scolded the militiaman. "You got no cause to hurt my grandson. Buford wouldn't hurt a fly."
"What was he gonna do with that there shovel?" Rigo asked.
"He has chores in the garden," she said quietly.
"You folks wouldn't be hiding a white man in there, now would ya?" Saint asked as he moved toward the man.
"Why would you think that?" Augustine asked.
"Had a man watchin' this place," Saint replied.
Callen saw the old man look warily at his wife, and he sense their fear and knew Joe was here someplace. Deeks looked over at him, his eyes turbulent with the same knowledge and he saw him release the safety on his rifle, which Callen had done before they walked out of the trees.
"Think I'll just have myself a look see," Saint said, brushing past the family, motioning for Rigo to follow as he pulled a pistol from behind his back.
"That ice tea?" Deeks suddenly asked, pointing at the large pitcher on the table next to the lawn chair.
He smiled as he moved between the remaining two militiamen and the huddled family, getting into position to protect them if a firefight broke out. Callen took a step back, watching the house while Deeks was offered a glass of sweet tea by the woman.
"I'm Iris Toussaint, young man," she said, her voice wavering as she handed him the glass. "My husband is Augustine and these two are our grandsons, Buford and Sebastien."
"I'm Jimmy, ma'am," he replied. "Thank ya for the tea. It's hotter than Hades today."
"Ain't nothin' hotter 'n hell, boy," Augustine said. "Should make sure you ain't headin' there."
"Heard you was a preacher," Jimmy replied. "Think I mighta missed the boat on that advice."
"Never too late to come to the Lord, son," Augustine said softly.
Deeks nodded, stealing a look at Callen that convinced him he believed these people had helped Joe. If he was here, there would be a firefight for sure, and he feared they wouldn't be able to keep these people safe or maintain their aliases. He gave Deeks a warning look and received a negligible nod as he set down the glass of tea.
"Ain't nobody in here," Rigo said angrily as he exited the house.
Saint looked pissed as he came out behind him, his face rigid as he stalked toward the family. Callen felt an itch of fear as the man grabbed the old woman by the arm, making her cry out. The teenager named Sebastien tried to stop him, but Saint backhanded him, knocking him to the ground.
"Tell me where Phil Beeler is or I'll break her arm," Saint growled at Augustine.
"Let 'er go, man," Deeks said, stepping forward, his rifle gripped tightly next to his leg. "Ain't right to hurt a little ol' lady."
"Shut the fuck up, Jimmy," Saint ordered. "You ain't in charge here."
"Can't let ya hurt her, man," he said stubbornly.
"Jake? Tell your little brother to back off before I kick his fuckin' ass," the man ordered.
"Why do you think they know anything?" Jake challenged, pulling deeply from the aggressive character of his alias as he held his rifle in front of him. "The shed's been searched. You checked the house. The guy ain't here, man. It's a waste of time foolin' with these folks."
"I knew you two was gonna be trouble," Saint said as he shoved Iris into the arms of her husband, glowering at Jimmy. "You buck against me again, kid, and I'll gut you. Don't care what you did for Guidry."
"I'll be sure and tell 'im you said that, asshole," Jimmy said, his nostrils flaring with antagonism.
"You probably would too, you little shit," Saint said, a look of disgust on his face. "If you're smart, you'll watch your back."
"That's my job," Jake said with a smirk, swinging the barrel of the rifle toward him.
"Hey Saint! Found some tracks," Rigo yelled from the forest behind the house, ending the standoff before it went too far.
Saint spit in the dirt and swore before turning toward Rigo and waving for the rest of them to follow. Callen saw the scared look that flashed in Buford's eyes and the quick way his grandfather pulled him close, whispering something in his ear about faith. Deeks looked to be in a staring contest with the grandmother, who suddenly reached out and gripped his arm.
"There's good in you, boy," she said with a kind smile. "Don't let the Devil win."
"Yes ma'am. I'm no dumbass," saying the safe word and getting an instant reply from Elan and Roy.
"You sure about that, Cuz? Joe said you were a dumbass from the first minute he met you." Elan said easily.
"We're comin' in from the west, boys," Roy said, panting hard in his ear. "Don't go shootin' us now."
"We'd be there sooner if old Roy here could keep up," Elan said, laughing quietly.
"You'd be followin' your tail if you didn't have me along, Mr. Hand," Roy sniped.
Callen and Deeks shook their heads as they jogged to catch up with the militiamen, grateful that backup would be somewhere in front of them. They found themselves on an old dirt track through dense undergrowth and a mixed forest of oak, hickory and sweet gum trees. The canopy offered a respite from the hot sun, but the humidity still took a toll as they followed the winding path. The air was filled with the racket of birds and sudden screeches from something Callen had never heard before, and he caught Deeks recoiling as a snake slithered through the dirt in front of him. The tension was palpable as they moved deeper into the forest, Deeks breathing growing heavier the longer they walked, exhaustion making him stumble occasionally.
"We're looking at an abandoned church just ahead of you," Roy reported, the news making both of them more agitated than they already were.
"Shit! Got a body," Elan said softly.
Deeks stopped and reached for Callen, his face filled with anguish. Callen shot him a hard warning look as he tightly gripped his shoulder.
"Keep moving, kid," he whispered. "See this through."
He nodded wearily and pushed on, gripping and re-gripping his rifle, his hands slippery with sweat. Callen steeled himself, knowing if the body was Joe that Deeks might not be able to control his emotions and he had to be prepared for that.
"It's not Joe," Elan said, his relief plain in the breathlessness of his voice.
Deeks stopped again and bent over with his hands on his knees, spitting out bile before drawing in a couple of deep breaths. Callen rested a hand on his back as the men ahead stopped and Saint turned to look back at them.
"Little brother ain't up for this?" He sneered.
"Just got shot yesterday, you fuck," Callen finding it hard to be civil to the man.
"Don't really fuckin' care. Move it," he ordered coldly. "Ain't got all day."
"I'm good, brother," Deeks said as he straightened up and started walking.
"Get ready to duck, boys," Roy said in their ears. "I'm about ta start shootin' at y'all."
The track took one final twist around the thick trunk of a giant oak and they saw the little church and the dead body lying in front.
"Federal agents," Roy yelled. "Drop your weapons or I'll shoot ya down like that fella on the ground."
Rigo roared out a curse and started firing, only to be shot down by someone behind the church. They all scattered, looking for cover, as the firing intensified. Another militiaman cried out and fell, and Saint was suddenly running with the other man right behind him. He crashed through the undergrowth and Jimmy and Jake joined him as bullets struck the trunks of the trees high above their heads. Deeks suddenly cried out and fell, surprising the hell out of Callen who immediately went back for him, his heart pounding in confusion and fear.
"Leave 'im," Saint yelled.
"He's my brother," Jake shouted and dropped to his knees beside him.
"You're on your own then," he shouted back and quickly disappeared around a bend in the trail.
"They gone?" Deeks whispered.
"What the hell?" Callen asked over the voices shouting in his ear. "I thought you were hit."
"Faking," Deeks replied as he pushed up onto his elbows. "Need to see if Joe is in that church."
"Don't ever do that to me again," Callen said, grinding out the words as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
He helped him up, noting the smear of blood on his t-shirt, but he had a cocky smile on his face and it was hard not to forgive him for scaring the shit out of all of them. Roy passed them as they hurried toward the church, telling them he would follow the militiamen to make sure they were gone. Elan met them by the big oak tree, wrapping Deeks in a relieved hug and pulling Callen in before he could resist.
"I thought I shot you, Cuz," Elan said, gripping Deeks' long hair and trying to pretend he was still angry.
"It was the only way I could think of to stay and look for Joe," he replied.
"If he's here," Callen said.
"If he isn't now, he was," Elan said firmly. "Somebody shot that guy and I'm guessin' it wasn't the preacher or his family."
The three of them turned to stare at the church and then at each other. Deeks wiped his wild hair out of his eyes and started toward the door, pausing before he took a deep breath and pushed it open. The whirring warble of the swallows nesting high in the eves stopped as the three of them walked in, their faces blank and as empty as the room.
"Still think he's here?" Deeks asked sullenly.
"We saw no sign of him on our way here," Elan reasoned. "Your heard that shot. It wasn't fired that long ago."
"He wasn't at the Toussaints," Callen said, watching Deeks as he paced around the room, growing more agitated by the minute.
"Roy checked the perimeter," Elan said, looking at Callen with sad eyes. "He has to be here."
"Joe, you dumbass...call out, dammit!" Deeks yell, finally losing control.
His explosive shout flushed the swallows, which chittered wildly before escaping through a broken window, and then it was quiet. Deeks sank down on the platform and sagged back against the old lectern, his eyes closed and his arms hanging limply between his legs.
"You hear that?" Elan suddenly asked in a whisper.
"What?" Callen asked, looking quizzically at Elan.
"Probably just more birds," Deeks said dejectedly as he ran a hand down his face, and dropped his head to his chest.
"Shut up Cuz and listen," Elan said as he stepped up on the platform.
"Joe?" Deeks yelled at the top of his lungs, startling the big Arapaho and making Callen glare at him.
"That you, brother?"
The words were so weak Callen thought he might have imagined them, but he saw Deeks' eyes widen and Elan suddenly had his ear pressed against one of the back wall panels.
"Joe? We're here Cuz," Elan shouted. "He's behind this wall."
Deeks and Callen scrambled up on the stage and began pounding on the wall panels next to Elan. Finally, Deeks began slamming his shoulder into the panels, one by one until one cracked opened with a screech, revealing a dark crawl space.
"Joe?" He called out softly as he squeezed inside.
Elan followed him in and Callen stayed back at first, leaning his head in and trying to control his emotions. The confined space was stuffy, but in the dim light coming in from shuttered vents near the floor, he could just make out a shape. Joe was lying propped up in the far corner at the end, huddled under a couple of quilts, his face dirty with sweat and marred by cuts and dark bruises. As they got closer they could see tear's streaking down his cheeks, and his eyes were bright with fever.
"Is it really you?" He whispered as Deeks knelt down beside him.
"Yeah, brother. Elan and Callen, too...practically the whole family," Deeks said, pulling his head to his chest, holding him as he shivered uncontrollably and mumbled unintelligible words.
"Let's get him outa here," Elan said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
The scream was piercing in the enclosed space, shattering Callen's reserved composure. He was suddenly filled with raw anger and fought his way back out into the empty church, gasping for air and control. He was surprised at his own reaction. The release of finding him alive was mixed with a startling need for revenge. Guidry had hunted him, unrelenting in his efforts to track him down, and finally almost running him to ground. If it hadn't been for the Toussaints hiding Joe here, which he had no doubt they did, The Brotherhood would have found him, and then tortured and killed him.
"G? Help us, brother," Deeks called out as they tried to squeeze Joe's slick body out of the narrow opening.
When they finally carried him out and laid him on the floor, Deeks dropped to his knees and lifted him in his arms as if he'd lose him again if he let him go. He had never seen Elan as frazzled as he was, his emotions playing out across his face as he knelt beside him, grasping his hand tightly in both of his.
"He's burning up," Elan said softly. "He's too weak to walk outa here."
"What do we do now, G? Where do we take him?" Deeks asked, expecting him to know what to do. "We can't let the FBI know we've found him. They think he's a traitor."
"What did you say?" Joe croaked, grabbing a fistful of Deeks' t-shirt.
"It's just a mistake, brother," Deeks said, trying to calm him.
"They got the mole, didn't they?" He asked.
"Yeah, they did," Deeks said.
"I'm not a traitor..."
"None of us believed that for a second," Callen said, his voice rising above the others' reassurances.
"Who blew our cover?" He asked, his eyes closing as he began to pant. "Who got Oscar killed? He was my partner, Marty. Guidry tied him up and set the dogs on him...he kept screaming and screaming...I couldn't do anything...I couldn't help him."
"I'm so sorry, brother," Deeks said gently as Joe slumped in his arms.
"He made me watch...all of it...the sonofabitch made me watch..." Joe moaned softly, his voice fading to a whisper. "Oscar was in over his head...Safa shoulda pulled him out...I told her to...I told her. He was a good kid and she got 'im torn to pieces..."
...
...