"Make way! Move!"
John Nolan, in full uniform with handcuffs and baton clinking on his belt, charged through the airport like a one-man SWAT team. The forty-something senior officer and his rookie partner led a squad of LAPD patrol cops, causing a wave of startled passengers to scatter in every direction.
"Watch it! Move aside!"
From the opposite end, two NCIS agents—a man and a woman—were also running toward the arrival gates, flanked by a group of sharply dressed federal agents in suits.
The two teams nearly collided at the junction but barely acknowledged each other as they converged on the freshly sealed boarding bridge.
"This is Hanalei Air Flight 792, right?"
Despite his age, Nolan beat everyone to the gate, panting as he questioned the staff member at the podium.
"Yes," the attendant replied, not looking particularly surprised.
Gasping for air, the rookie officer beside him managed to speak. "We need all passengers to remain on the plane!"
"They've already disembarked. Is this about the woman who died on board?" the staffer asked as she punched in the door code.
"Yes. The body must be quarantined immediately. No one is to touch it."
Before Nolan could finish, the two NCIS agents caught up. The woman introduced herself rapidly. "NCIS. Special Agent Kensi Blye. LAPD liaison, Detective Marty Deeks. And you are?"
Kensi stood out immediately—tall, athletic, with a casual ponytail and striking heterochromia: one black eye, one light brown. Her vibe was bright and unfiltered, like an older sister who played sports and pranked you in the same breath.
Her partner, Deeks, was even more memorable: curly blonde hair, baby face, and a scruffy beard that made him resemble a friendly golden retriever.
"Uh, John Nolan. This is my partner Selena Juarez. We were sent to assist—"
Then it clicked. Nolan's brain outran his mouth. He turned to the gate attendant. "You said the passengers already got off? So they're in the baggage claim area right now?"
The attendant blinked, then nodded. "Uh… yeah. Should be."
"Okay, Officer Nolan," Kensi jumped back into action, "you take your team to baggage claim. Lock it down and prevent anyone from leaving. We'll secure the body on the plane."
Without wasting another word, she and Deeks charged down the jet bridge.
"Everyone, with me!" Nolan barked, waving in the reinforcements arriving on the scene.
"Jared Brodman. Age 49. About 5'11", brown hair, brown eyes. Photo's been distributed. He may be in disguise. He's likely carrying one or two suitcases and a backpack. First one to spot him, yell out. Got it?"
He stationed two officers at the exit and led the rest through the crowd, checking boarding passes and pulling aside any passenger from Flight 792.
Not long after, Kensi and Deeks returned, still breathing hard. Kensi went straight for Nolan. "Did you find Brodman?"
Nolan shook his head, frustrated. "Total of 230 passengers. Most are still here. No one matching his profile."
"Damn it! He slipped us!"
——
Late that night, a small private jet touched down at LAX. Five passengers disembarked lightly—each with only a backpack in tow.
"Look, I'll admit your novel's gotten me curious," Callen said, glancing over at Jack, "but next time, could you not tell a plane crash story while we're flying? I was half expecting the pilot to chuck you out midair."
Now back in his home turf, Callen was in a visibly better mood—even joking with Jack.
"How about you?" Cheng Ho clapped Danny on the back. "I know you've been dying to get back to the mainland."
Danny looked uneasy. "I was excited… but not like this."
"No need to be grim," Hanna said confidently. "Hawaii was your turf. L.A. is ours. Let's get some rest. We'll take you to HQ first thing tomorrow."
Just then, the low rumble of engines echoed across the tarmac. Two large, all-black pickup trucks rolled right onto the runway, drawing curious looks from the group.
"Hey Jack!" a familiar voice called out. "Rossi told me you were back to saving the world again. Figured you might need something durable—so I brought an old friend to say hello."
Braxton hopped out and patted the armored body of a massive, menacing black truck. He looked a bit softer these days—fatherhood had clearly mellowed his once-sharp features.
"This is… my old one?" Jack stared at the freshly restored Mammoth with wide eyes. The license plate confirmed it—it was the one riddled with bullets years ago.
"Call it a little surprise," said John Nolan as he stepped down from the second Mammoth. "The Wolf brothers re-ordered every custom part. Took almost two years to get them all.
Detective Rick Hunter rented a garage—the same one that modded your Firebird. Even Tim helped out. Took nearly a month to rebuild her from scratch."
He flipped a hidden switch and flashed the interior police lights. "We even installed concealed emergency strobes. This truck is officially assigned to FBI Los Angeles."
Jack was stunned into silence.
"Your house has been cleaned too. Guest rooms ready. Welcome home, buddy." Nolan pulled him into a big hug.
Braxton followed, giving Jack a one-armed squeeze and lowering his voice. "Rossi told us to keep the kids inside. Hotchner's wife and son moved to the farm too. Is this really that serious?"
"Smallpox virus," Jack replied just as quietly. "Prolonged close contact or bodily fluids are required to infect, but yeah—be cautious."
"Got it. I'll send the Hunter family to the farm too. You be careful." Braxton gave a nod.
As the two old friends drove off in the second Mammoth, Jack waved goodbye and turned back to the still-stunned team.
"Almost forgot to mention—L.A. kind of counts as my turf too," he said with a grin to the NCIS agents. He hadn't intended to show off, nor expected such a warm welcome. But the gesture from his friends left him deeply moved.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.