38Chapter 8
-The Sting-
[A sting ~ a confidence game, especially one implemented by undercover agents to apprehend criminals~]
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters are not mine, hopefully CBS & Shane Brennan let me just play with them. So far, I never heard any complaints from any of the directors or CBS.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading so far. The story is being written in bits and pieces and still, we're going to get there. Fun thing is that I already know where we're heading to, and you don't. I certainly hope you will like what is being presented in this chapter too. Please do share your thoughts!
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Los Angeles || Venice Beach Boardwalk
She took some more sips of water, sat down on a bench where she took off her shoes and motioned wordlessly toward the sand. He dumped the empty cup in a bin and followed her to the beach itself. She found a place where there was no-one around and decided to sit down in the sand. He stood there for a while, his gaze going over the waves that came and went, and finally sat down next to Ioulia.
After a few silent minutes she finally said: "You know, if I could, I'd come with you."
There was a mix of sincerity and compassion on her face, but Callen also noticed the sadness in her eyes.
He gently touched her arm. "Ioulia," he started. "We'll get them out. You did what you could, so far. Just trust your people and mine."
She shook her head. "You are... your whole life you've been an agent. Used to read people, see through their lies or manipulation. The same goes for me. Still, your people… You will trust them, but I saw and heard they have their doubts about me. After all, they don't really know me and well, perhaps they have specific reasons to distrust me," she said with a wry smile. "Same could go for you."
"Like you said, I can read people. And I know Darius told you about me and my childhood. It was miserable and mean. That's why I do what I do," he explained.
She looked up at him, his blue eyes even bluer, perhaps because of the time of the day. He'd taken off his jacket as well and she admired his bare arms, strong and tanned. The stubble on his face which made him look tough, but then, there was a gentler side she now noticed too.
"You're — you all are dealing with scum, Callen. You don't know..."
"I can be scum too."
There was a smirk on his face now and it fit with a bad boy-attitude. In a reflex she bent his way even more, her hand on his upper arm.
Callen was fascinated by what he saw. Her catlike eyes wide, in that strange color. This time she was wearing the slightest bit of make-up. The wind blew softly through her dark hair. 'She's beautiful,' he thought. Her mouth with those full lips... yet a pale skin, contrary to all those Californian women. Angelic...
And then Ioulia let her hand go from his upper arm to his neck and eventually let her hand go through his short hair, wearing the sweetest smile on her face when she pulled him just a bit closer and started to kiss him.
For a few seconds he gave in, captivated. Then he broke the kiss, with a short groan.
"What's wrong?" She looked disappointed, still she wanted to know.
"I can't... I mean..."
"There's someone else," she immediately understood.
Callen's reply came after a second of hesitation "Yes," he said, "Anna. She showed up only recently and we... well."
"She's not your partner?"
"Define 'partner'," Callen replied with a short shrug. "No, not in the way you figure. My usual partner, the one I work with, is Sam. The big guy, you met him earlier. Anna… well, we have another kind of relationship. It's rather complicated, I think. It's what the others think as well. Never mind, like I said, I know why I do what I do."
She got on her feet again, brushing off the sand from her short trousers. "Anna… she's upset about you're working with me. Why? Because I'm female? Because of my undercover job?"
"All of that. And maybe… Because you're Romanian. Ties to Comescu. Maybe," Callen agreed, his voice softer now. He slowly breathed out, following the waves which were slowly and softly splashing into the sand. He softly breathed out and said "She knows too how… how I've been hurt by this Comescu family too, and perhaps she's just worried. But well, I'm a grown man and know how life goes."
"Are you saying she doesn't want you to do this? Then… Perhaps you should just walk away from this mission. It's getting far too personal. You need to focus or just let… Well, I wouldn't know if anyone else could take your place." There was more compassion in her voice than one might expect, especially from someone whom Callen didn't really know or who knew him.
He shook his head. "I've made the right decision, Iuolia. I'm going to do this anyway. I trust my team."
This time, he gently let his hand lay on her shoulder and he added "And I do trust you as well. Your information is welcome and I'll gladly use it."
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Next afternoon || Los Angeles || NCIS Headquarters
The button-camera, one of the office's best items, was sending in feed from the pale blue blazer jacket which Callen wore over a marine blue shirt. A tie in the same color as the jacket and a neat khaki pant completed the business man's appearance.
"And… he's in," Eric spoke. To the others at Ops it was obvious, since they were able to observe the camera feed that showed on the screens. His message was meant for the part of the team and the four other NCIS agents as well.
"So this will be some kind of auction," Anna mentioned.
Nell nodded and pointed at the locations where the other teams were at this very moment. "They will bust in once Callen starts bidding. More specific, when he says 'this one'."
Anna prodded "And what is his safe word? I mean, you can't be sure if hèr intel can be trusted, right?" Her words came out more accusing than the others were used to.
"Now, now, Miss Kolcheck... you of all people know that we should trust Mr. Callen's judgement. He is always on top of things and who thinks ahead." Hetty overheard Anna's words and was rather amazed by what the young woman mentioned.
"Oh, but I do trust Callen. But what if she, that other woman, provided him with misleading information? Anna replied stiffly.
"The other woman… Miss Anghel. You should know already she's a trained agent, used to work undercover on her own. Exactly like you, one might say. Perhaps our team could have clarified it to you during the time you spent in this office already. And about my agent, well, I find Mr. Callen persuasive about this case which is most certainly not to annoy you, Miss Kolcheck. Nor is there any reason to be envious of the attention he's showing towards these kids," Hetty mentioned. She then held up her hand as she noticed Anna was about to speak again. "Yes, dear. Mr. Callen does have a safe word."
Hetty's gaze bored into Anna and she added "Mother. His safe way out is 'mother'. And his team knows."
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Bel Air Road || Los Angeles
In one of the company's Mercedes Callen had arrived at this mansion. Showing up at this place at a fancy time meant that several cars were parked already. He handed the key card of the car to one of the personnel who were paid to move cars to another part of the property, checked his clothes and devices and entered the main entrance.
He didn't really know what to expect at this meeting and he sure as hell would have preferred to be with his team right now. They'd be nearby, he knew. After all, they'd gone over the plan for what've seemed to be hours and hours.
Eric was the one who'd chosen the angles from which their own people would gather – an empty spa-like outbuilding. FBI and Homeland found another place, opposite of the road and barely able to see the entrance of this mansion from behind the bushes and walls which were supposed to keep any curious visitors eyes off what was going on on the private property. At least twenty men and women as a back-up.
Unseen, but whenever he needed, they'd bust in.
Sure, going undercover was one of his best qualities. But then, these kids, the girls and boys... would they be in time to get them out, sane and safe?
Lately, he was used to shoot his way in or out of the most dangerous places with his partner, dodging bullets, looking for terrorists and saving the innocent who mostly never realized they were endangered. Not only in their own country but too many times fighting their way in and out countries everywhere on the planet.
But now... a case on their own turf and it brought back memories of all the damaged kids and youngsters he'd seen. Lived with and as one of them and he knew all too well how damaged a kid could be. Just because of that he would focus.
He looked around, breathed out slowly and managed to be the self-assured Russian businessman. He put down his briefcase and accepted a drink from a waitress. It looked like a whisky and it was. He slowly swirled his drink in the glass and nipped a bit. Not the cheapest liquid, but he knew he needed to keep his head in the game.
He let his gaze go over the men and women, all around since they somehow knew about this trade. It actually surprised him to see more women than he'd expected, but then when he thought about all of the foster parents he'd seen and heard of, there were just as many women who never showed a caring side at all.
All kind of languages sounded too. English, of course. But there was French and Spanish too, Russian and Romanian.
This was what modern slave trade looked like. Buying people with the money they had. Trading lives, ruining lives. Sly faces. Or stoic, empty gazes. People who could buy lives, destroying futures.
Callen didn't even want to think about the kids themselves. Kids who expected to come to the city of angels, perhaps as models or actors indeed, or hoping to find a job which would enable them to find a place off the streets. However, he knew they'd be slaves. Most probably sex slaves.
He took a swig from the brown liquor, longer than he wanted to, just to swallow away the nausea that he felt at what was to come next. And the minute Callen had the feeling that most of the young girls and boys, teenagers, would be somewhere in this main building, he would give the sign to end this sting operation.
Callen moved from where he stood to another part of the large room. From several undercover jobs he was used to blend in among this society of the rich and famous. Still, he always felt he played a part on a bad show. He slowly turned around, making sure that the analysts at the office could identify other guests.
"Pierre Mereux," he murmured, as he expected the camera to catch the sophisticated man in an expensive suit and a remarkable grey mustache. His comment would be loud enough to be heard in Ops, he knew. The small microphone was attached behind the knot of his tie. Mereux was supposed to be one of the contacts in Haiti as well, perhaps the organizer of this happy little party.
He clenched his jaw for a second, wishing he could leave. Although this whole charade would be over within the hour, Callen also was aware there would be scenes he preferred to skip. Another sip from the whisky, slowly breathing in and out, making sure nobody would notice his wrath for all the things which were never prevented. His team wouldn't understand, although Hetty probably would, how this was his weak spot.
He also recognized some of the Romanian men Ioulia mentioned the other day and mentioned their names too.
From one of the side rooms, shrill and fake laughter sounded and he glanced around the corner. Too many beautiful young women, using too much alcohol and pills. He felt for them too. This city could make you or break you and for a few contemplating seconds he realized that without Hetty, he would have ended up as one of the persons at that very wrong side of the law. Hell, probably not be alive anymore. Fate had twisted and worked in his advantage, after all.
He turned to another quiet part of the main room where more people had gathered. Callen was pretty sure the small camera would pick up more people which Eric and Nell would check upon. Those who were known for their illegitimate business would be sued. The ones responsible for organizing this business arrested.
"Another drink, Sir?" One of the waitresses addressed him and for a slight moment he was distracted.
"Mr. Taymis?" A man had approached and Callen was absolutely sure he'd seen him before.
'Gordon Taymis' was one of the aliases of a long time ago. He remembered, but Callen managed to keep his expression blank as ever. He shook his head. "Njet... I arrived in this city only some days ago," he said with an accent as thick of any Russian he knew.
The other man's brow furrowed at Callen's denial, then shook his head. "Sure, you are Taymis. You were the one that was introduced to us by a good looking barmaid a couple of years ago. In here to make another nice score, are you? With some 'new money'" The man used his fingers to emphasize the last two words and so he really knew of the counterfeit of years ago.
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At Ops it took a while to settle down the stress. "Ah, man!" Eric exclaimed. "How come this guy shows up in here?"
"It's been ages ago. And I mean... Callen changed quite a bit, hasn't he?" Nell looked at the others and nervously giggled. "We all have."
"What does this mean? He's been made, right? And you think it's funny?" Anna snapped at both analysts.
Nell shook her head. "Not funny. But Anna, he'll know how to talk his way out. No way this will endanger his op."
Still, she was utterly dumbfounded to hear a voice she didn't recognize addressing the agent.
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"Grigori, moy brat! Here to pick some of the most beautiful fresh flowers too?"
Callen spun on his feet. Who else did he know who'd be around in here?
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