"Tony, I swear, if I have to listen to one more movie fact on this stakeout, I'm going to take out my gun and start shooting." Ziva turned her intense gaze on her partner and held up her hand. "No, no. I do not care about Martin Lawrence, or this Steve Martin. Now we are here to work."
They'd been surveilling a petty officer suspected of providing weapons to a small but determined militia group based in Virginia. They had recieved the tip off yesterday evening and tailed him from his on-base housing to this average street in D.C., hoping he would meet with a buyer and they could bring him in.
Tony grinned. He loved winding her up, for some reason her accent always sounded sexier when she was exasperated with him. He was about to retort when she elbowed him in the side as she bent to pick up the binoculars, which had fallen from her lap onto the floor of the sedan.
Instead Tony said, "He's entering number 731. Looks like our anonymous tipster was right."
Ziva put down the binoculars and turned to look at Tony who was already reaching for his door handle. Taking the cue Ziva unfastened her seatbelt and exited the car. Walking lightly but quickly, they approached the building. Together they reached the door their petty officer had entered and drew their weapons. Tony pulled the door open a crack and peered inside. The hallway was clear. He motioned to Ziva and they stepped inside.
Ziva noticed an elevator on her left. "The elevator is stopping on level four."
"I'll take the stairs," Tony replied as he moved towards the stairwell.
Ziva nodded, jabbed the call button impatiently and waited for the elevator to decend.
--
Tony ran up the stairs, some childish part of him wanting to beat Ziva to the fourth floor, even though it wasn't a race. He kept his ears alert for the sound of footsteps from above. He had just reached the fourth floor landing when the door flew open and their suspect barged through, knocking Tony off his feet. Tony groaned as his ribs hit the corner of the concrete steps. His weapon
clattered into a corner. Hurting and slightly winded, Tony pulled himself to his feet with the railing and scooped up his gun. He could hear the petty officer's footsteps coming from the landing below him and put on a burst of speed in an effort to catch up. Every step seemed to jar his ribs and Tony forced himself to continue his pursuit. Third floor, second floor, and finally the first floor. Tony had heard the suspect exit the stairwell only moments before and slammed his shoulder into the door, pushing it open and running for the exit.
"Stop! NCIS!" Tony shouted, still slightly winded. It didn't come out as forcefully as he'd hoped.
The petty officer merely glanced at Tony over his shoulder and ran out onto the sidewalk. Tony reached the doorway in time to see his car pull away from the kerb and disappear amongst the traffic on the street.
Wearily Tony headed for the elevator, hoping Ziva wasn't having trouble coping with the buyer alone. As he waited, he wondered what could have spooked their man so badly that he'd run from a million dollar paycheck.
--
Ziva had however, discovered that she was in quite possibly the slowest elevator in the modern world. It had taken her longer to reach the fourth floor than it had Tony, meaning that when she had arrived the hallway had been empty. She'd walked stealthily along the corridor, looking for some sign of their suspect and finding none until she'd come across a door that was ajar. She'd stopped and listened but there was only silence. Her instincts told her that their was nobody in the apartment, and wondering where her suspect had gone, she stepped inside. She found herself in an empty room. One side was carpeted and the other was tiled with a small kitchenette. It looked as though it had been thoroughly cleaned not long ago and smelled like bleach. Ziva noticed two closed doors, which she guessed led to a bedroom and a bathroom. Both doors were open a crack, as if their petty officer had checked them out before leaving.
There was still no sign of Tony, so Ziva decided to check out the other rooms. The first door was indeed a bathroom, just as clean as the living area. It too, was absolutely empty. Not holding out much hope for the third room, Ziva opened it slowly and her eyes widened. This room wasn't empty. In the centre of the room was a cast iron frame bed. It was made with crisp, white sheets. It had been scattered with rose thorns but this was not what drew Ziva's attention. On top of the bed lay a human skeleton. It had been laid there very carefully, piece by piece, in the middle of the bed, as if it were sleeping only it was missing its head.
Pulling her cell out of her pocket, Ziva called it in to Gibbs.
