Brotherhood

Chapter 16

...

Time passed slowly as they tried to retrace the way back, and the heart beating sound of two choppers flying low circles over the canopy of trees sent them instinctively seeking cover. Not trusting they would be viewed as friendlies if spotted, they burrowed into the undergrowth next to a massive tree and Deeks was thankful for the rest. The wound in his side felt like it was on fire and was still seeping blood, and he could see the concern on Callen's face as he continually checked on him.

The sky was melting into deep orange and a transparent moon hung low over the trees. It would be dark soon and they were soaked with sweat, surrounded by humming mosquitos and pretty much lost.

"Got any idea which way we should go?" Deeks asked as he leaned his head wearily back against the trunk of the tree.

"Not a clue," Callen replied, sounding tired and definitely irritated.

"Chasin' your tails, fellas?" Roy's voice snapping them out of their doldrums. "Y'all are just babes in the woods for real, ain'tcha?"

"Shut up," they replied in unison.

"Copy that, gentlemen," he replied. "Just heard from Elan. Your brother's in surgery and he said it looks like the entire Doucet clan showed up to offer protection."

"Do George and Diane know he's safe now?" Deeks asked.

"Not yet, but Hetty'll make sure they do. You can trust 'er, Deeks. You know that," he replied.

"I think he's still a little pissed at her," Callen said with an amused smirk.

"Know the feeling kid, but she'll keep 'er word." Roy said quietly. "Now, you two California boys ready to quit walkin' in circles and get back to business?"

"You can really be obnoxious sometimes," Deeks murmured.

"Just part of my charm, boy," he laughed. "I charted your route outa camp from the trackin' spray and right now you're about half a klick south of the trail and about five klicks away from camp."

"Be dark by the time we get back," Deeks moaned as Callen pulled him to his feet.

"Think Saint left one of the boats?"

"Maybe. It'll cut our time in half if he did."

"I'll kick his ass if he didn't," Callen grumbled.

"Why don't we just shoot the sonofabitch?" Deeks said with a cocky smile.

"You boys sound a mite tetchy right now," Roy said. "Don't go doin' nothin' stupid now."

"He left us, remember?" Deeks griped.

"Cause you faked an injury that coulda made that firefight a whole lot worse," Roy snapped. "That was a mistake, boy."

"Not to me it wasn't," he replied, stalking off through the heavy growth.

"I think you've said enough, Roy," Callen said, a distinct warning in his tone.

They stayed off comms except for intermittent instructions from Roy about their route. Once they hit the familiar trail, they knew what they'd be facing and simply put their heads down and slogged across the marshy ground and waded through several streams, watching for alligators and cottonmouths. They took turns taking lead as the track narrowed, and Callen had just taken point when he suddenly disappeared in a deep hole of algae covered water. Deeks threw himself forward, reaching out for him as he struggled to find his footing. By the time he hauled him out he was coughing badly and spitting out the foul smelling water.

"You boys okay?" Roy asked loudly.

"Nothing a hot shower and entire bar of perfumed soap wouldn't cure," Callen choked out.

"Don't think that's in your future, brother," Deeks said. "You scared the shit outa me."

"Yeah? Think how I felt," Callen said before spitting out a wad of algae. "Least I kept my head above water so I can still hear Roy's charming comments. I'm just lucky there weren't any snakes."

"You and Indiana Jones got the same phobia," Roy laughed.

"Yeah...all he needs is the hat," Deeks replied.

"Let's get going movie fans, I think I got algae up my ass," Callen said as he headed down the trail.

"That there is just too much information," Roy replied.

It wasn't the last time they stumbled or fell as the light faded into indigo, the rhythmic beat of crickets and the deep hollow sound of frogs pulsing around them. Both were breathing heavily in the thick, humid air by the time they reached the edge of the bayou they had come up on. After some searching, they found one of the boats tied to the root of a bald cypress. Callen insisted that Deeks try and get some rest and he laid down in the bottom of the boat and promptly fell asleep to the drone of the engine.

Angry shouts and the sudden rocking of the boat woke him. Rough hands grabbed at him and he came fully awake fighting. Dragged out and into the water, his head was pushed under and held there, the muddy water filling his mouth and nostrils as he struggled to get free. Yanked up by many hands, he gasped for air and could hear Callen yelling his name. The brilliant light of a propane lantern held in front of his face made it impossible for him to see anybody as angry shouts in Cajun surrounded him. His hands were tied tightly behind his back and before he could say anything a gag was forced into his mouth, the thick cloth tasting of mud. A sudden kick in the stomach left him sagging as the men dragged him through the underbrush to the camp. Saint was standing bare-chested in the middle of one of the platforms next to a burn barrel, the flames licking upward toward the black sky. Callen was gagged and being tied to one of the corner posts and Deeks felt a stab of fear when he saw he wasn't moving. He was muddy and wet and blood streaked down the side of his face.

"Ain't you supposed to be dead, Jimmy?" Saint roared, taking a deep swallow from the bottle of liquor in his hand. "Git 'im on up here, boys. Got some serious business with this one."

He struggled against the three men as they dragged him up on the platform and shoved him up against the post across from Callen, his mind flashing with sudden, terrifying memories. His elbows were pulled behind the post and tied together, the rest of the rope looped around his neck and yanked tight. Saint was well on his way to being drunk and laughed as he came to stand in front of him.

"Coulda swore those Feds shot ya," his words slurring as he patted his cheek. "You smell like shit, boy. And I'm thinking maybe you are a shit. Maybe a shit that made hisself a deal with the Feds."

Deeks screamed out a muffled curse and fought against the ropes, but Saint reached up and pulled the rope around his neck tighter until he was close to passing out. He slumped against the post as Saint lifted his t-shirt and stared at the bloody wound in his side, a third of the stitches ripped out.

"Don't see no other gunshot wounds. So what happened, boy? Them Feds offer you a deal to rat us out?" He growled. "You wired, Jimmy?"

The slap was hard and the smell of booze nauseating in the warm air, and he began to wonder if the man might not be a little bit crazy. He continued to ask him questions he wasn't able to answer with a gag in his mouth, the slaps coming after each question until his head was swimming. When Saint pulled a hunting knife from behind his back, he closed his eyes and waited for the pain. The blade was smooth and warm against his cheek and he could smell the man's breath next to his ear.

"I don't trust you, Jimmy boy," he whispered. "Them Feds coulda broke your sweet little ass easy, I'm thinkin'. So let's just see if you're wearin' a wire."

Saint cut away his t-shirt, taking his time and seeming to enjoy it. The blade was sharp and he hissed as it nicked his collarbone, and Saint laughed. The man rubbed his callused thumb across the cut and then licked the blood from his finger. Taking the last swig from the bottle of whiskey, he threw it aside and then pressed his hand into his chest, placing the tip of the knife in the hollow of his throat. His thumb began to brush roughly back and forth over his nipple, and he watched the man's eyes glaze over as he did it, feeling sick and chilled by the man's actions.

"You ever been fucked by a real man, boy?" He asked. "Cause unless you do what I say, when Guidry gets here in the mornin' I'm gonna tell 'im them Feds fucked you over to their side, then me and the boys will fuck you for real."

The feel of the man's hands on him had him fighting the dark panic rising in his gut, and he lashed out, kicking out at the man, his anger roaring to life as memories flooded his mind. The sharp sliver of pain shocked him as the knife cut across the top of his shoulder and he fought to catch his breath.

"I like a fighter," the man said as he pressed the knife against his throat. "But you keep tryin' ta kick me, I'll cut your brother over there to shreds and then I'll cut his dick off."

Deeks froze, his eyes drawn to Callen as he hung limply against the post. He didn't doubt the man and it scared him badly, and he became still, knowing his actions would have consequences for his brother. He closed his eyes as Saint unbuckled his belt and then slowly unzipped his pants, a low guttural laugh leaving him shivering. He wanted to scream, but it would do no good and he stared at Callen as the man pulled his jeans down past his hips, letting them drop around his ankles. The knife skimmed against his skin as his underwear was cut away, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks as he tried not to think of the old terrors in his past.

"You remember what I told you, Jimmy?" Saint whispered against his lips, one hand gripping his hair as his fist and knife pressed low on his groin. "You don't tell Guidry nothin' about that firefight. You hear me? Nothin'. I'll do the talkin'. Otherwise, your big brother gonna be in a whole lot a pain."

He trembled as Saint slid the flat of the blade along the inside of his thigh, up and down as he stared into his eyes, his tongue wetting his lips as he pressed his thumb down hard into his nipple. He squirmed under his rough touch, his breathing hitching and his muscles taut as the knife continued to move between his legs. The bastard was one sick sonofabitch, but he was scared of Guidry and Deeks knew it was his weakness. He swallowed hard when the man pushed away from him, trailing his hand down to his abdomen and stood staring at his body. Deeks looked over at Callen and saw he was regaining consciousness and he felt fear rise in his throat as his brother's head came up. He jerked against the ropes and looked wildly over at him, his eyes widening as he took in the scene.

"Well now...look who's awake," Saint laughed. "Maybe he's the one they wired...huh little brother?"

Deeks madly fought against his bonds, and Saint backhanded him, catching him across the eye. He heard Callen's muffled shout and looked quickly over at him, seeing nothing but raw rage in his eyes. Saint walked slowly across the platform to the burn barrel, resting the blade of the knife on the edge and watching as the flames licked at it.

"I warned you, boy," Saint said, his laugh low and guttural. "Now you watch real close. Pay attention to your big brother's screams. Don't want ya to forget our little deal."

Deeks screamed into the gag as Saint lifted the heated knife and moved toward Callen, whose eyes had widened the closer the man got. The madman slammed his hand into Callen's throat and pressed the hot blade against his bare arm, and Deeks couldn't watch, closing his eyes as he listened to his brother's muted screams. He could no longer hear Roy because he'd lost his comm feed when they shoved his head under water, but he prayed he was talking to Callen now, distracting him as much as possible from the pain. When he finally looked at him, he was staring back, his eyes red, but amazingly defiant. Saint cut away Callen's wet clothes, but he did it quickly and roughly, searching for the wire he believed was there. When he found nothing he cursed and struck him again and again, leaving him sagging naked against the post when he was finished. The bastard leaned over him, talking quietly as he gripped his jaw and forced his head back, and even though he couldn't hear what he was saying, Deeks assumed it was the same threat he'd made to him. He knew the man was afraid Guidry would find out he'd run away from the Feds, and Callen would realize the same thing and would use it against him if he got the chance. At least he hoped one of them would be able to.

"You boys enjoy the evenin' now," Saint said with a smile. "Guidry gonna set ya straight first light."

Men who had been silently drinking and watching, slowly emerged from the shadows, stepping up on the platform to join him. Someone handed Saint another fifth of whiskey and he laughed and took a long drink as his eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them. Deeks fought the urge to vomit, his muscles in knots and quivering as he watched the men get drunk, laughing and talking as the night deepened. He took courage from the rage that still burned in Callen's eyes whenever he looked at him. They had no communication without the comms, and he found he missed Roy's irreverent attitude and snarky comments.

It became a hellish night as the men drank themselves past the point of control. It was all so familiar. His father could have been any one of these men and he locked eyes with Callen to try and stave off the painful memories. When he lost sight of him behind the milling militiamen, he felt himself begin to panic, desperately needing to keep that connection that had become such a mainstay for him. He thought of him more as family than he ever had his father and he struggled to maintain eye contact as three drunken men surrounded him. He ignored the taunts and laughter, and endured their brutality as they egged each other on, their vicious punches adding bruises to his sore ribs and abdomen, sucking his breath away. He screamed when one man hit the wound in his side, leaving him barely conscious. When someone ran their hand through his hair he groaned as the man lifted his head, and he forced his eyes to open as Saint breathed the foul smell of whiskey into his face.

"Havin' fun yet, boy?" Saint slurred out the words with a sick smile as he patted his cheek. "Your brother's a tough sonofabitch. Maybe we oughta test that PLX and C-4 on him. Ever seen what that stuff can do to the human body, Jimmy boy?"

He went ice cold as he listened to the man describe the horrible results even a small amount of that combination of explosives could produce, his heart pounding as his rage mounted.

"Don't think y'all gonna be alive to see our first strike for freedom," he crowed. "Too bad, boy. That there federal courthouse in Baton Rouge is gonna light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Shame you and your big brother is gonna miss it."

His breath caught at hearing the information they had all been working to discover. He silently cursed losing his comm link with Roy, a feeling of despondency settling deep within him as the man continued to spew out venom about the government. If he died, the information would die with him and he tried desperately to think of any way he could turn the tables on the vile man in front of him. What would happen when Guidry arrived he had no idea, but the pictures of Oscar Doucet's body flooded his mind and he was finding it hard to breathe. He struggled to see Callen, needing to feel that bond they had and he began to struggle against the ropes. Saint just laughed and hit him hard in the chest, leaving him breathless while the man yelled to the others in Cajun and jumped down from the platform, all of them finally leaving them in peace.

His legs would no longer support him, the pain in his arms excruciating as he slumped down the post, tightening the rope around his neck. It was his anger that made him force himself back up before he hung himself and he looked to see if Callen was conscious. The two brothers stared at each other and although his eyes were heavy with exhaustion, he could see Callen's expression soften in the dimming light as the fire burned down. The caring he saw there bolstered his resolve to remain strong. As distant laughter floated out of the shadows, fatigue dragged at him and he finally let his eyes close. He really didn't sleep, the tightening rope around his neck waking him if he slumped too low. Callen's head was down, but he doubted he was sleeping either. All he could do was wait for dawn and try and find a way to let Roy know what The Brotherhood was planning. Then his thoughts drifted, first to Joe and George and then to Kensi. He pictured her with her hair down and smiling, savoring his memories of their time together. They loved each other, their differences unimportant now. Her smile lingered in his thoughts as he stared up at the far-flung dusting of stars.

...

...

None of them were in the mood to talk. There was no news, so there was nothing to be said, making each day seem longer than the one before. Tension ebbed and flowed between the three of them as the days passed, all of them putting on a pleasant, but false demeanor whenever Michelle came over with pizza or a movie. George didn't believe she was fooled. Little Chris seemed to sense the underlying strain and occasionally would suddenly start crying for no reason anyone could see. Reminiscences, once so easy to recount, had now become too painful as hope slowly began to fade. Kensi was irritable most days, refusing earlier to take her pain medication until Diane had yelled at her, leaving them both with teary eyes and overly explained apologies. Tonight, George had found it hard to spend time with his grandson, the little boy's rambunctiousness and endearing smile reminding him too much of Joe when he was that age. It left him feeling guilty and melancholy, and fighting to keep his hopes up. Diane had put him to bed early, which left the three of them trying to find anything that would fill the silence of the long evening.

"Where did you and Michelle go today?" Kensi finally asked as she licked her spoon clean of ice cream.

Diane seemed startled by the question, and nervously smoothed the pages of the book she'd been reading, or at least trying to read. George was fairly sure she had been reading the same page for the last half hour. He had caught her crying in the kitchen earlier as she put together some leftovers for dinner, but hadn't thought to ask her why, simply assuming the waiting had become too difficult to handle.

"Did she say something we should know about?" George asked, her nervousness making him think she was hiding something.

"No, no...nothing," she mumbled. "She hasn't even heard from Sam."

"Of course not. It's a dark op," Kensi said, sounding irritated as if Diane should know that.

"Well excuse me for not being a super agent like you," Diane snapped, getting up and walking quickly into the kitchen.

Kensi looked as if she'd been slapped, totally unaware of how she'd sounded, and George could see how sorry she was.

"Shit," She spit out as she reached down to pick up her crutches. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"She knows that," George said, rising to help her up. "All of us have been a little short tempered lately."

"There's no way to relieve the stress," she replied, hobbling unsteadily toward the kitchen. "I can't work out, I can't go to the firing range and shoot a damn paper target to shreds...dammit, George. I'm just not used to sitting around and waiting. I can't do anything to help them and it's killing me."

"No it's not. You're alive Kensi...and...and Joe is probably lying dead somewhere..." Di cried out, her anguish shaking both of them.

George wrapped her in a hug and whispered encouragement to her as she wept, the thin hold she'd had on her emotions finally crumbling. He'd been impressed with her strength this past week, especially whenever that annoying FBI agent showed up to pester her and ask more unanswerable questions. He hoped he didn't show up tonight, because they were all so on edge he wasn't sure what might happen or what any of them might say, and that wouldn't help Joe's situation at all.

"Maybe we could all use a drink," Kensi said, as she pulled open the door to the liquor cabinet.

"You're on pain meds, Kensi," George reminded her.

"One tiny nip can't hurt," she replied. "Come on Di. The least I can do is pour you a drink after snapping at you like that."

"I can't," Diane replied, wiping at her eyes as she pulled free of George.

"Please? I'm trying to apologize," Kensi said, looking hurt as her own eyes filled with tears.

"I know...but I can't..." Di said haltingly, weeping softly. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh my God," Kensi said, finally smiling.

Diane seemed to shrink from her enthusiasm, sadly dropping her head as she whispered her fear. "What if she never gets to meet her daddy?"

"It's a girl?" George asked, stunned by the revelation and the intense feeling of sorrow he felt for his missing son.

"We're hoping for one, but I won't know for a while," she said as Kensi pulled her into a hug. "Not that it matters...It's just that Joe talked about all the things he wanted to do if we had a little girl...and now..."

George was finding it hard to say anything, his mind flashing back to the early days of his marriage. He remembered his wife's excited smile when she'd told him she was pregnant the second time. She had so badly wanted a girl, talking about tea parties and dolls and sharing her dreams for her little girl's future. When she had given birth, he had seen the momentary hint of sadness on her face when the doctor had told her it was a boy, but when he had gently laid her son on her chest, she seemed to melt, her love for Joe overwhelming in that very instant. Josie never spoke of tea parties and dolls again, and that still made him sad. Now he wondered if her deep desire had somehow been transferred to her son.

"Did he know?" George finally asked.

"No," her gentle whisper cutting into his heart.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted their attempt to comfort her, and George felt numb as he walked out to answer it. Raw anger flared when he saw Agent Slater standing there in the dull glow of the porch light.

"Not tonight, Slater," he said before the man could speak, slowly closing the door in his face.

"Please, Mr. Atwood," he said, his tone so very different that George froze in fear as the man pushed his way inside.

He heard Kensi ask who it was and he turned to see Diane staring at the man who had made it his mission to torment her.

"Get out, you weaselly sonofabitch," all her propriety gone as her anger exploded. "I'm not answering anymore of your fucking questions. Not tonight...dammit...not tonight."

The look on Kensi's face was nothing short of deadly and George wondered if her gun was close by. He turned back to Slater and thought he might be thinking the same thing.

"Please ma'am," his pleading voice hard to reconcile with the arrogant agent they had all come to hate. "I have news."

Diane suddenly sobbed out a gasp and slowly sank down onto the sofa, her hands shaking as she clasped them tightly in her lap. Kensi stood protectively by her side, her jaw rigid as her eyes shimmered with tears, trying to be strong for her friend. George was finding it hard to move, and the unwelcome agent finally took his arm and led him to a chair.

"Just tell her," Kensi said sharply, her patience gone. "Enjoy your big moment after you leave."

"I know I've been rough on you Mrs. Atwood...and you too sir," Slater said, sounding tentative and nervous. "I was wrong..."

"We know that," George said gruffly. "Now tell us your news Slater, before I do something really stupid."

"Is he dead?" Diane asked solemnly, holding her head high, her expression strong and resolute.

Slater seemed to falter and actually looked shocked by the blunt question as if he hadn't realized the conclusion they'd all drawn from his odd behavior. His expression softened, but his voice came out in that overly officious way he had of speaking.

"Tonight I learned just how wrong I was about your husband, Mrs. Atwood," he said, actually sounding apologetic. "And for some reason I was asked to come inform you that he's alive. He was rescued earlier today and taken to a hospital in Lafayette, Louisiana."

There was that split second of disbelief and then the rush of pure joy as George realized his son was coming back to him. Diane looked stunned and he realized she'd been preparing herself for bad news for so long it was hard for her to grasp the truth. Kensi looked euphoric, lowering herself down on the couch beside Diane, both of them crying as they embraced each other. George was a realist though, and he turned to face the agent, wanting details about how badly he was hurt.

"How much do you know?" He asked. "And how much can you tell us?"

"Most of its classified," he said, some of his natural arrogance returning. "But I can tell you that for his own protection the FBI will report that he died at the scene of a shoot out with The Brotherhood. He's in the hospital under the assumed name Joseph Hand..."

"Elan's with him, Di," George called out, the knowledge calming him even more.

"He's going to be okay though, right Agent Slater?" She asked. "Being in the hospital is just a precaution..."

"I wasn't given access to that information, Mrs. Atwood," he replied, sounding slightly miffed that he wasn't.

"I told you he wasn't a traitor," she shot back, her anger fresh again.

"Let it go Diane," George urged. "Anything else you can tell us, Agent Slater?"

"Ms. Lange asks that you stay here until the news is released, which should be sometime tomorrow morning" he replied. "After that, she suggests you both return to your ranch in Wyoming. Everyone in the FBI and other law enforcement agencies will be told that the family will be making private funeral arrangements. When he's able to travel, Ms. Lange intends to fly him up there."

"Why can't I go to the hospital?" She asked. "If he's hurt I want to be with him."

"That wouldn't be advisable, ma'am," he said curtly.

"You're afraid someone might see them or is monitoring their movements," Kensi said softly. "It might compromise his cover, Di. Put him in danger again."

"Elan will watch over him," George said, but his disappointment was still sharp.

"Did they read you in on everything?" Kensi asked, her eyes boring into the man.

"I'm now officially a member of an undercover task force operating under the auspices of the National Joint Terrorism Task Force," the agent responded proudly. "You however, are not, Agent Blye. So, other than what I've already revealed, everything else is classified and on a need to know basis."

"Well I need to know if my partner is all right," she said stubbornly. "He's undercover with The Brotherhood."

"How the hell do you know that?" He demanded, reverting to his usual obnoxious self.

"He told me," she replied, her chin raised in defiance.

"He shouldn't have done that," the man growled. "It's against protocol."

"I'm a federal agent and he's my partner," she said stonily. "My entire team is undercover on this, so don't tell me it's against protocol for me to know what's going on with my own partner."

"Ms. Lange gave me no orders to share information about your partner," Slater said.

"But she didn't order you not to, did she?" Kensi replied curtly, growing angrier if the vein pulsing in her forehead was any indication.

"I met your partner," he said flippantly. "Looked like he would fit right in with a rogue militia group."

"That's one of the reasons he's so good at undercover work," she said, her rigid smile a little bit scary to George.

"Maybe he relates to them on some level," he said, his voice full of contempt.

"What the hell does that mean?" Kensi shot back.

"He saved their leader Antoine Guidry from being killed," he said smugly. "Maybe he's gone over to the dark side, as they say."

"You just can't help yourself, can you Slater?" George said, barely able to contain his outraged. "First you dishonor my son Joe, and now you insult my other son? Get the hell out."

The man's demeanor subtly changed, his natural brashness returning as his eyes flashed with annoyance.

"What other reason could he have had for taking a bullet for the man?" Slater asked.

"Now you're questioning Marty's loyalty?" George growled.

"He's back with The Brotherhood," he replied smugly. "Maybe wallowing in the mud with those particular terrorists holds a certain appeal for him. After reading his juvenile records, maybe Guidry reminds him of his real father."

"How did you get access? Those records are sealed by the Juvenile Court," Kensi asked, her eyes flashing darkly.

"I like to know whom I'm dealing with," he replied.

"If you've seen those records then you know how badly he was abused by his father," George said as he took a step toward the man. "He hated everything about his father. I don't know anything about this man Guidry, but if he's anything like Marty's father, then my son won't be taken in by him."

"Possibly, but it must feel familiar to be under the control of another violent man," Slater stated brazenly. "His father beat him into submission as a child. He dominated him with violence. Maybe Guidry will do the same. That kind of violence is in his blood and blood recognizes blood."

Stunned into silence George stared back at the infuriating agent, still feeling some elation about Joe, but suddenly frightened and terribly worried for Deeks. Kensi instantly pulled her cell and called Hetty, and it wasn't hard to tell she was as angry as he was as she handed him the phone.

"Hetty? It's George. Slater gave us the news about Joe. Thank you for that. Now I want you to come here and tell me what's going on with Marty before I kick the ever lovin' shit out of an FBI agent."

...

...