It had not gone as expected, but then how many operations actually did? A fifteen year old girl had inadvertently compromised the cell phones of two Federal Agents after her boyfriend deliberately hacked her cell. Teen angst and imposters on social media had just been the start of the problem, leading to a near massacre of the joint agency task force sent to take down a cell of the Molina Cartel…Callen shook his head and smiled as he wondered how Sam would cope when his kids reached their teenage years.
Deeks as usual had provided the comic relief for the day with his walking workstation, and had continued to be a source of amusement when the team hit the bar for a ‘debrief’ afterwards. The four of them had headed down to Venice Beach for beer and burgers at the Surf Shack, a ramshackle hut of a bar that had a sprawl of tables and chairs that spilled onto the boardwalk. The team had sat outside in the far corner, enjoying the last of the evening’s sun and each other’s company.
“So why doesn’t it surprise me that Deeks claims to have finished High School in the style of Ferris Bueller?” Sam asked, kicking off the conversation with a level of intelligence which would be maintained throughout the evening.
“Yeah, I can just see him now, high-jacking a float and shaking his bootie to Twist & Shout, just like the rock star he used to be…” Kensi said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“I’m surprised he even managed to finish High School,” Callen added before snapping his head round to look at Kensi. “And what’s this about Deeks being a rock star?” Continue reading →
At the age of fifteen, G. Callen was arrested for robbing a storage locker and sent to Southgate Juvenile Detention Centre. He spent three weeks there, describing it as hell before he escaped. This is the story of his three weeks of hell.
Warning for language and suggestive abuse in later chapters.
The anger was strong. The rage he felt at life itself coursed through his veins and made his heart pound. He barely acknowledged the sheer force of self loathing he felt; it was a daily occurrence and now part of who he was. And that was the question. Who the hell was he? All he had was a name. No scrap that, he thought. All he had was half a name – Callen. And that was only a surname. The types of kids that were called by their last name were usually those that were despised, whether that was despised as bullies, or despised as the kids no one wanted to know and just labelled as ‘trouble’. Callen usually fell into the second category but there were times when he had to be the bully if only to survive. Survival. Hell, that was a whole new topic. He had no idea how he did it, and some days he had no idea why he even wanted to survive, but it seemed to be an inherent skill. He had survived fifteen years of hell. OK, some months were better than others, but now he had reached his fifteenth year, things had reached a crescendo. Continue reading →
A challenging day forces Callen to recall his past and revisit one of his better foster homes.
The team’s most recent case had proven to be tough on all of them, including those behind the scenes in the Operations Centre. Marine Intelligence Officer Southerly was suspected of feeding misinformation to his superiors about terrorist activities in Iraq and the case had been assigned to NCIS after the suspicious death of Southerly’s co-worker the previous day. Their first task had been to locate and arrest Southerly, which had proven to be easier said than done. Information on his whereabouts was secured by Nell and Eric, who had advised the team to go tactical at zero seven hundred hours that morning. The raid had yielded no results; there had been no sign of Southerly and no evidence he had ever been present in the leafy suburban house by the beach. Nell had subsequently found a small office space in the name of O’Kiefe, which was his mother’s maiden name, and she directed the team to an address twenty miles west of their current location. Again the raid was fruitless. Continue reading →