Chapter Text
“Keep on praying, they say
The deaf one upstairs hears everyone
I’m still waiting”
Seeking Teshuva, HaYehudim
Zaranj Airport was nothing special after you’d spent a couple of years in the more interesting parts of West Asia and North Africa – for the value of ‘Interesting’ used in ancient Chinese curses. As it was, Zaranj Airport was yet another patch of pressed mud, with a security force that was the source of trouble as often as not. It was a good thing that the DEA flights typically had their own security, Nate thought as he watched the helo land from inside the car. It made the three Humvees slightly less conspicuous.
The helo touched down.
Callen and Sam had also had the sense to change from whatever they’d worn wherever it was they’d arrived from – somewhere in Europe, Nate reasoned, as he knew they’d arrived to Qabul from Istanbul – into similar gear to the DEA agents. So far, so good. Now all they needed was to not acquire a tail, but that was what the Special Operations Marines were for.
Nate rolled down the car’s window, allowing Callen and Sam to see his face. They made a beeline for the car.
“Long time, no see,” Sam said as he and Callen settled into the back seat.
“Well, I don’t know about that, Sam,” Callen replied. “It’s only been four months, this time.”
“Practically yesterday,” Sam replied dryly.
Corporal Hayes in the driver’s seat was too well-trained to so much as blink.
“I missed you guys, too,” Nate told the two agents. Meanwhile, Hayes got the car moving, keeping it equidistance from the front and the rear ones.
“I don’t suppose you know what’s going on,” Callen said.
“Or is that too much to hope for,” Sam completed.
“You guys do know you sound like you’re in interrogation, right?” Nate asked. The question was semi-rhetorical. The guys did that when they were in a mood. They’d probably just spent about 24 hours in various flights and airports, having been pulled out of a different job, given no briefing about this one, and probably nearly knocked out of the sky by sandstorms on the way from Qabul. Nate expected the foul mood and the antagonistic behaviors, but he figured the guys could use the check. Judging by their expressions, they did.
He continued. “The short version is, several Marines were hurt in a fire incident the day before yesterday.”
“Is there any particular reason that this warrants immediate NCIS attention?” Callen asked, putting a slight emphasis on the word immediate. Marines injured in a fire incident in this region was hardly a matter for criminal investigation, let alone the more subtle skill set that OSP brought to the table.
“Several,” Nate replied. “The incident in question was the culmination of a long-term international effort against weapon trafficking.”
“Any names we should recognize?” Callen asked.
“Yes. Starting with Oleksiy Shevchenko.”
Callen and Sam exchanged a look.
“Big game,” Sam said.
“Yes,” Nate acknowledged.
Everything else went unsaid. The breadth of intelligence required to weave a net around someone like Shevchenko; the kind of bait required to lure him in, and to sell the trap; the number of people involved in an operation of this magnitude.
“Did we get him?” Sam asked.
Because of course Sam wouldn’t refer to the operation as a success if US soldiers had gotten hurt.
“Yes,” Nate confirmed. “Alive, even. But extraction has been put on hold until the fire incident has been resolved.”
Callen and Sam very carefully did not exchange another look. Nate only recognized the subtle shift in both their postures because he knew them well, on top of being trained for this. There was no doubt that they heard what he didn’t say.
Somewhere in a small band of highly vetted intelligence personnel, they had a security breach.
It was a tense drive towards the mountains. There were far too many things that could go wrong with an operation as complex as the capture of Oleksiy Shevchenko, particularly considering the kind of international effort likely involved in capturing an Ukrainian businessman on the Afghani-Iranian border. Nate had brought them some reports to read, but there was only so much that could be brought out of base camp. Afghanistan had its more and less safe areas, and this was one of the latter rather than the former.
The mountains rose sharply, straight out of the plains, with no hills by way of a warning. Nate’s files told G that there were two Marine SF platoons camped at the foot of the mountains. The two other Humvees stayed there; theirs continued up the trail. Wheels only got them so far, though. The trail got narrower and narrower, and they had to hike the final leg of the climb. G didn’t need to search Sam’s expression in the fading light to know that he was happy to be out of the vehicle. He eyed Nate carefully out of the corner of his eye. Nate was clumsy in the field, last G had actually known him – as much as G had ever known him – but that he was still alive, a year and a half after Hettie had first sent him out on his own, was proof enough that that was no longer true. Still, it was reassuring to see Nate hike easily next to the Marines, Sam and him.
It was almost full dark when they finally made it to a gate fitted between the boulders, enclosed from above as well as from the side. There was no actual lighting on the gate’s other side, which surprised G none at all. This kind of a camp would try to advertise its location as little as possible. Sticklights were placed strategically for safety, marking off obstacles.
The stars were suddenly invisible, indicating that there were camo nets stretched overhead – thermal nets, too, if these people were serious about staying hidden. At first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but then he recognized the darker, rectangular shadows set in the rock faces rising around them. There were dwellings here, fitted into the natural rock, and probably abandoned in one or the other instances of conflict in the region. G had to hand it to whoever had scouted out this place. It was pretty damn good, as mountain hideouts went.
Still. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “We are actually going to hide in a cave, in a mountain, in Afghanistan.”
“More like a whole village of caves, actually,” Nate said.
“One access point?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Nate confirmed.
Sam grunted his approval.
There were also men in the shadows. Marines, judging by the way they carried themselves. One of the men, however, was not a Marine. Male, average height, average build. His voice, when he spoke, had a Midwest accent.
“Hi, Nate. Safe drive?”
“Yes, Ty, thank you.”
“You cut it close on the light.”
“Yes, well.”
“All right.” Ty rotated his head to noticeably glance at Sam and G. “How about we save the introductions for inside, where we have some light?”
“Sounds like a good idea,” G said easily.
Ty nodded, another exaggerated gesture meant to be easily discernible in the mostly-darkness, and made towards what G thought was a doorway. No light spilled out: there were probably blackout curtains hung on the inside.
“Handler,” Nate explained in a low voice as they made their way towards the same doorway. “DEA.”
“I assume not all assets were American?” Sam asked.
“Only one out of three, but by the final stages...” Nate let the sentence trail before continuing. “It made more sense to centralize some things.”
“How long has this been going on?” G asked.
“A while,” Nate said. “We’ve been out here a couple of weeks.”
“Just how mixed a company is ‘we’?” Sam asked.
“Four nationalities, seven agencies.”
“Great,” G said. “No need to ask what’s for dinner.”
Sam huffed. “Alphabet soup.”
There were no torches in the room behind the blackout curtain. The light came from several rooms inside. Light wasn’t the only thing that drifted across. Human voices did, too, as well as the scent of some stew. MREs were designed for short periods and intense physical activity. For anything else, you tried to not rely on them as much. Base camp would have a field kitchen, Sam knew, but he didn’t expect more than field stoves up here.
Most of those rooms weren’t used, Sam noted as they walked towards the source of the light and food. The white rock of the caves was bare, without any of the rugs and curtains the original dwellers had to have used. There was also a noticeable lack of signs of recent habitation. Sam counted rooms, noted the height of the ceiling, and compared these to the outwards size of the compound. The camp was far bigger than strictly needed, even if there were as many intel officers here as Sam thought. It made sense to leave a ring of empty rooms facing outside.
His estimate about the size of their party was confirmed when they finally arrived at the temporary living room. Eight people sat on mats and pillows, seven men and a woman. Adding up Nate, that was nine intelligence officers, not including G and himself.
One of the men – mid-thirties, Caucasian mix – smiled at them and stood up for a handshake. “Hello again.”
His voice was familiar. G gave him a friendly smile – completely fake, not that it was possible to tell – and stepped closer. “Ty. I’m Callen.”
“Hanna,” Sam said, to try and make G’s last-name-only stand out a little less in what was obviously a fake-first-name company. “Nice to meet you.”
The man sitting on Ty’s one side also smiled and leaned forward to offer his hand as they sat down. He was slightly older and had more Anglo-Saxon in him. He also looked like he’d been on site less time and his smile was more controlled.
“Clark,” the man introduced himself.
“Clark arrived just yesterday,” Nate said. “He’s here for our guest.”
Clark’s smile remained perfectly neighbourly, the way that only a professional interrogator could. That certainly explained why he was a newer arrival than Ty.
“And that’s Corey,” Nate continued, indicating the wire-thin Hispanic on Ty’s other side. Corey’s face sported some cuts – cleaned and bandaged – and the bulk of some more bandages was visible under his shirt, once Sam looked for it. “He brought our Mexican friends to the wedding.”
Drugs and guns often funded one another, and opioids were a prime export of this region. This was the reason for the regular DEA presence, and the reason for the DEA handler. Sam nodded politely.
“Scott,” said the man on Ty’s other side. Late thirties, another Caucasian mix – and another CIA agent, unless Sam missed his mark.
“Klaus,” said a middle-aged man, visibly older than the others. He looked Germanic, and had the accent to match. He was sitting next to the only woman in their company, who matched him for age, apparent ethnicity and – when she spoke – accent.
“Anke”, she said.
Sam looked at the way they sat relative to one another, and decided that this was far from their first time working together.
“If it needs fixing, bring it to Anke,” Nate said.
Everyone laughed. It was relaxed and familiar-sounding.
“Duly noted,” G said.
“Nika,” said one of two guys Sam had pegged as Slavic and probably Russian.
“Stas,” said the other guy shortly. His accent was thicker, and he seemed more suitable for brawls and door breaking than his compatriot. He had cuts and bandages, too, though he seemed to have gotten away more easily than Corey.
Corey flashed Stas a grin. “Stas brought the groom to the wedding.”
Another UC, then, which figured: he and Corey must’ve gotten injured in the same incident, which was probably the same one that had put two Marines out of commission.
That closed the circle of those present. They were missing a UC: Nate had mentioned three UCs, and only two were present. Other than the interrogator and the missing UC, Sam counted a tech, a profiler, a handler, two UCs and three others – who, Sam decided, were most likely intel analysts.
“We’re missing our third asset,” Ty said apologetically. “She’s been under the longest, and she doesn’t tend to show up for family meals, much.”
She. And if Corey brought the drug buyers and Stas brought Shevchenko and his merch, that left only one company the missing asset could’ve been embedded in. On the spectrum of crazy undercover assignments, this was as up there as it got.
“Nadin had been embedded here since before we needed an asset for this op,” Nate said, confirming Sam’s assessment.
“That’s one hell of a deep cover,” G remarked neutrally.
Corey flashed him one of those grins. “You would know. You’re the Callen, right?”
“The Callen?” Sam asked, amused. G seemed taken aback, for once.
“Used to work for us, used to work for the big brother,” Corey said, gesturing at Scott as he said ‘big brother’.
“Bit of a legend all over the place,” Scott added, smiling slightly. “Frankly, I thought you didn’t really exist.”
“That’s because I don’t,” G deadpanned.
That caused another round of laughter.
The kits of gear that Sam and G had lifted on their way had maglights, thankfully. The party split up after dinner, each group headed towards its hole.
“The caves aren’t all interconnected,” Nate explained. He shined his maglight on the stairs and started up, watching G’s and Sam’s beams to make sure they were with him. “The Marines don’t like us spreading too much, so this is the compromise we worked out.”
“I don’t see anyone else walking with us,” Sam said pointedly.
Everyone else had paired off for the night, but Nate was walking with just G and Sam. He expected them to call it out, really.
“Looks like an inter-agency no-fraternization policy,” G said lightly.
Nate expected this line of commentary, too. The Germans and Russians didn’t have a choice of compatriots, and the other Americans had split up according to agency.
G continued. “Unless you’re sharing with the mysterious Nadin?”
“Yes, actually,” Nate said. He picked the passage turning left, waving the beam in an arc to emphasize how narrow the trail was up there.
“Anything we need to know?” Sam asked.
“Don’t stand too close when you wake her up,” Nate replied blandly. He pushed open the door to their set of caves. “One room in the front, two in the back, three in the middle,” he said in a hushed voice as they stepped in. Expectedly, there was no light inside.
“Left side is yours,” said Nadin’s voice from a point that was probably not the right passage. “Back right room is mine.”
G’s and Sam’s beams scanned the room. Nate wasn’t surprised that Nadin successfully avoided them.
“Duly noted,” G said as he continued scanning. “You didn’t happen to lay any landmines around this place, did you?”
Nate really shouldn’t have been surprised that Nadin deadpanned in reply: “Ground’s a bit hard.” He resisted the urge to massage his temple. He didn’t really want to know what Sam’s expression looked like right now. “I’m so glad that’s your reason,” he said.
“Also lacking in landmines,” Nadin replied shortly.
“Let me guess: Israeli,” Sam said.
“What ever gave you this idea?” Nadin asked.
“No manners, trigger happy, and also, you think you’re funny,” G replied promptly.
“Also the complete crazy of sending a deep cover female agent in this region,” Sam added. “Takes Israeli balls to do that.”
Good American, bad American, Nate thought wryly. Force of habit; both of them knew better than to think it’d work.
“I bet your girlfriend thinks you’re cute,” Nadin answered without missing a beat, voice still expressionless.
“I’m single,” Sam said.
“I was talking to the other guy.”
“Married,” G said promptly.
Nadin snorted. “You’re married like I’m Osama Bin Laden.”
They could go like that all night, if Nate let them; he wasn’t going to. “As fascinating as this conversation is. Guys, this is Nadin, as I’m sure you realized by now. Nadin, these are Callen and Hanna. They’re also NCIS agents.”
“Good thing I could be moving out tomorrow.”
“Define ‘moving out’,” Nate said, very carefully.
“Clark is going to hate this,” she said.
Nate was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the faint note of glee in her voice. That, together with ‘moving out’ suggesting someone arriving that Nadin would prefer to share with and Clark being the only interrogator on camp, summed up to: “I take it that your people are sending an interrogator.”
“She should arrive tomorrow, yes.”
Definitely gleeful about something. “She?” Nate asked.
“Oh yeah. Looks like this is rating Iris.” Nadin stepped into Sam’s beam, all 5’3” of her in her oversized clothes, long black hair braided away. “Sleep well.” And she stepped into the darkness again.
Just like Nadin, to wrap a bombshell like that, a dramatic entrance and an equally dramatic exit in one. It was probably meant to create an impression, but it also allowed Nate a few seconds to process the idea of Iris Raz showing up the next day.
“And you’re sleeping with her,” G said, loudly enough to be deliberately overheard.
“I don’t think you get to criticize other people’s Israeli girlfriends, G,” Sam said.
That sounded like there was a story worth hearing, there, but that could wait. “First thing’s first, I am not sleeping with Nadin. This was just the way quarters worked out.” Also Nadin needed a gentle hand, which was precisely why Nate wasn’t going to say that out loud where she was guaranteed to hear him.
“Who’s Iris?” Sam asked, mercifully focusing on the case aspect.
“Mossad profiler,” Nate sighed. “She consults on a lot of cases, but I don’t know anyone who’s met her in the field.” Or possibly anyone who’d met her and who would testify to that – or who’d known that they met her, really. The Mossad excelled at appearing to have far more people than they actually did.
“How long has she been around?” Sam asked.
“Oldest case I heard she was on is five, six years old,” Nate replied. Sam and G could work out the math for themselves: Iris was probably in her mid-thirties to early forties, same age or slightly younger than they, and on the senior side of things, for a field agent. Not someone the Israelis would send out without a really good reason.
After a moment, G said: “I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Nice hike down the mountain,” Sam said, changing the subject back to the incident he and G were supposedly there to investigate. What he meant was, We’re supposed to talk to the Marines, and they’re down there and we’re up here.
“Got twelve Marines up here at all times,” Nate replied. “Four on perimeter duty, two for our guest.” With the same numbers on standby went without saying; this was a standard four-four guard rotation. “I talked to Lieutenants Myers and Rosso.” The people they needed to talk to would be sent uphill for them as much as possible.
And G apparently still wasn’t big on a twenty-four-hour circadian rhythm, because he nodded and started in the direction of the door. “Right. Don’t wait up on me.”
That Sam didn’t roll his eyes at G’s back was a good sign in regards to how much G had slept in the past week. “Don’t make me send out the scouts.”
I really missed you guys. But Nate had learned better than to say those things out loud. Instead, he expelled a long breath.
Judging by Sam’s expression, he got the message just fine.
G hiked up one of the trails and halfway out of camp as soon as there was enough light to make it safe. Or rather, enough light for Sam to not bitch at him when he showed up a while later, carrying two cups of tea. The sky was still noticeably pink.
G accepted one of the cups. “Sleep well?” he asked lightly.
“I didn’t wake up with a hilt poking out from between my ribs,” Sam replied dryly.
“I’m very glad to hear that.”
“Anything interesting?”
G considered the question carefully before he answered. “Only that this doesn’t make sense.”
“Read the files?”
It was a good question, and it was also a stupid question. “Well, I wasn’t going to read them by flashlight, Sam.” The files covered the background intel and the case progression; they weren’t urgent enough to risk waking Sam and having to hear him grouch all day.
Sam gave him a foul look anyway. “And you already decided that this doesn’t make sense. Based on the extensive information you gathered overnight.”
It didn’t matter how many times G was right, or how much Sam relied on his own instincts; Sam would always prefer the long way and want to have the hard data to quote in evidence. “Was the arrest sabotaged? Probably. Is there any indication who might’ve benefited from it? No.” There were too many parties who could benefit from interfering with this op. They didn’t just need to identify the mole; they needed to identify the mole’s operators, and plug the leak before the damage got worse.
Sam nodded, but all he said was: “Definitely need more information.”
G gave him a Look, but he also finally sipped on the tea. The taste was fresh, spicy and – “You didn’t make this.” This was tisane, not tea. Not that Sam wouldn’t have tisane, but this wasn’t one of his mixes.
“Seems like our roommate likes to cook,” Sam replied.
They had two roommates, but if Sam had meant Nate then he would’ve named him. “You’re kidding. You know if anybody’s been compromised in here, she’s top of the list?”
“Or one of the Russians sold out,” Sam countered.
“Could be one of ours.”
“That would fit with your no-motive theory, wouldn’t it.”
“Now who’s being a smartass?”
“What can I say, I learned from the best.”
G decided to ignore that. “You want the Marines, or Nate?”
“I want breakfast,” Sam retorted.
“Marines, then,” G acknowledged. “I’ll tell you what. Bring me breakfast, and I’ll read those files.”
It was Sam’s turn to give him a Look. “How about I throw you off the mountain instead?”
“Pity I won’t be there to see you explain it to Hettie.”
Sam wandered off to fetch them breakfast, and play Chief at some Marines. G finished his tea before heading back to the main area of their camp. By daylight the cave village was quaint. It could be picturesque, almost, but the atmosphere was marred by the signs of conflict as well as by the camo nets overhead and the armed Marines at the gate.
Ty and Corey were sitting in the sunlight. Corey smiled and waved him over. G smiled back and approached them. The necessary privacy to deal with Nate and the files would be there later; this opportunity was now.
Up close, the liquid in their cups looked and smelled like instant coffee. Ty openly considered G’s cup as he sat down next to the other two.
“Must be nice to have connections,” Ty said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ty looked at Corey. “He’s good.”
“He’s really good,” Corey agreed. “Almost looks like he believes himself. Looks a touch too smug, if you ask me.”
“Now, what would I possibly be smug about?” G asked.
“Being friends with the one friend of the one person around here whose field cooking doesn’t taste like field cooking,” Ty said.
“Are you sure you want to say that out loud in the open?” Corey asked.
G raised his eyebrows.
Ty made a face. “One of the Marines said something about Nadin and cooking where she could hear it,” he explained. “She wasn’t kind to his shoulder.”
O-kay. He’d hoped that Nate had played up Nadin’s hypervigilance. She’d be a nightmare to take down, if it was her. Outwardly, he quirked an eyebrow and asked: “Dislocated or broken?”
“Almost dislocated,” Ty said. “Just barely.”
That put a different spin on things. Knowing Marines and knowing female deep-cover agents, that Marine had likely earned being slapped down and Nadin had inflicted less damage than she could. G smiled blandly and said, “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Gotta hand it to the DEA,” Sam noted when Nate finished debriefing G and him. They were sitting in their shared space. It was late afternoon, and sunset was fading into last light. “They sure know what they’re doing.”
“See, this is why I left the DEA,” G said.
“Because they know what they’re doing?” Nate asked neutrally.
“Because they have no creativity,” G said. “They have exactly one good sting, and they keep running it.”
“That’s because it keeps working,” Sam pointed out.
G gave him a foul look.
“It wasn’t precisely the same sting this time,” Nate said, cutting in before G could drag the conversation down further. “Typically, DEA agents would pretend to be the buyers. In this op, a DEA agent actually brought a Cartel to the table. Drugs, terrorists, Shevchenko. Three birds, one stone.”
The DEA had already bundled off the Cartel people, as that could be easily folded into the regular DEA activity in the area. The terrorists had been rather adamant about not being taken alive; some of them may yet fail on that goal, but they were in a hospital in Germany.
G shook his head. “Three birds and too many cooks. The more complicated an op is, the more ways in which it can go wrong.”
“The CIA only provided intelligence,” Sam pointed out. G’s opinion on the competence of CIA field agents was well-known, and Sam could do without having to listen to it again. His own experience was different. “The same applies for the Germans. Now, the Russians...”
“Really wanted Shevchenko out of their hair,” Nate countered. “I know the Russians have a record of playing nice with terrorists, but Shevchenko was definitely playing by his own agenda.”
“He could’ve made friends with an oligarch. You know what Russian internal politics looks like. Who authorized Russian involvement, the CIA?”
“The case was also vetted by NCIS,” Nate said.
“DC, or...?”
“Us,” Nate confirmed. “OSP.”
Sam exchanged a look with his partner. If OSP vetted this, then either Hettie, Nell or – most likely – both had cleared the Russian involvement. G and he weren’t likely to find any conflicting interests coming from that angle. That would’ve been the easiest explanation, but, Sam reflected, the only easy day was yesterday.
There was a loud thud from the door. It didn’t sound like a tap. Rather, it sounded like a stone hitting the worn wood.
Nate pushed himself up. “Must be Nadin informing us that Iris is here,” he said.
“By throwing a stone at the door,” G said.
“At least she wasn’t standing right outside listening on every word,” Sam pointed out. He pushed himself up as well. “Come on, G”.
There was still light outside. The hour was earlier than they’d arrived the day before; there must have been less sandstorms on the way from Qabul. Sam glanced down at the main clearing as they descended to the main gate. The Marines were holding the shift-change, easily distinct of the civilians by their dress and posture. There were only three civilians by the gate. The silhouette of Clark, the CIA interrogator, was easily distinguishable from the other men in the camp: he was neither tall nor lanky, and heavier than Ty. Nadin could almost be mistaken for Corey, but she was shorter and her long braid was showing in the long shadows. The third person, too, was a few inches too short to be Corey and with the kind of build that could be either a slim man or a medium-built woman in loose clothes. That was probably Iris, what with the large backpack. Her ponytail snapped around when she turned her head to look at them, but the deep shadows obscured her features.
G tensed.
“G?” Sam asked quietly. They were still far enough that voices shouldn’t carry.
“Does she look familiar to you?”
At this distance and this light all he had was body language cues and a size estimate. She was average height, medium build, and had to be quite fit to carry that backpack like that. The posture was right for an Israeli, the ease of it a sharp contrast to Nadin’s slinking gait.
It was familiar, but that could be the result of the consistency training produced and an average body type. It could be, but Sam knew what G was seeing. Or rather, who. “Wrong agency, G.”
“Anything you guys want to tell me?” Nate asked under his breath.
“Too late for that,” G replied. They were fifteen feet away and drawing closer. Loudly, G said: “Hi there.”
Iris turned towards them, revealing her face.
“Oh hey,” Yael Dunski said. “Look who’s not in prison after all.”