Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to Without a Trace, its characters or episodes. Just a fan having fun.
TITLE: KIDNAPPED
F.B.I. Building
"I'll see you tomorrow." Jack says to the team, as he puts his head in around the door and prepares to leave the office early.
"You okay, Jack? It's not like you to leave early." Danny remarks, with his usual hint of cheekiness.
"I think I'm coming down with flu or something. I'll see you tomorrow," he replies as he turns and heads towards the elevator.
The team return to their conversation. Danny and Martin are joking about as usual and Viv and Samantha trying to keep some order in the office.
"I hope he's okay." Sam comments. "He doesn't look the best."
"A good nights sleep and some paracetamol should sort him out," replies Viv.
Jack makes his way down the elevator, to the parking garage. He takes a fit of coughing as he reaches the car.
"Damn it," he grumbles as he starts the engine.
He pulls out onto the street, unaware of the eyes that are watching his every move.
His journey home is slow but uneventful. As he parks his car outside his building, a black van pulls in across the street. He enters his building, just as the two figures emerge from the van.
Jack opens his apartment door and takes off his jacket and tie and throws them onto a chair. He unbuckles his gun belt as he walks towards the refrigerator. He grabs some orange juice and roots around his cupboards for some paracetamol. He unceremoniously flops into an armchair and turns on the t.v. It feels good to put up his feet for a while. For some reason, it felt like a long day, even though they had no new case to deal with. Things were unusually quiet in work. He preferred to be busy though. That was probably why the day seemed to drag.
As Jack tuned into a Nick's game, he didn't hear the lock on his apartment door opening. The first he knew of the intruders was when a large figure loomed in his peripheral vision. Instinctively, he jumped and tried to grab his weapon. He didn't make it. Jack screamed in pain as one of the intruders smashed his outstretched arm with an iron bar. As Jack struggled to recover, the second intruder grabbed him from behind and dragged him to his feet. He hadn't even seen the second man come in. In spite of the pain he was in, Jack continued to fight back. Unfortunately, he was fighting a losing battle.
While one of the intruders held him, the other beat him. He punched him in the face and ribs for what seemed like an eternity.
He was thrown to the ground and repeatedly kicked in the back. Eventually, the pain of the attack dwindled, as Jack slipped into unconsciousness.
"Get him up," orders one brutal intruder to the other.
"He's out of it. We'll have to carry him," replies the second man.
"Whatever! Just get him into the van," he barks.
Between them they manage to manhandle Jack out of his apartment, seemingly unnoticed, and into the back of their van. They headed back to the old church. It was an ideal place to keep him, secluded and unused. No one ever went there. It was surrounded by derelict and run down buildings. There was very little passing traffic. No one would see or hear anything.
When they arrived, they bundled Jack into a small, windowless room near the alter of the church. They had left an old mattress and some blankets on the floor. They threw him onto it and walked out, locking the door behind them. Jack never even stirred, he was still lost in the darkness.
F.B.I. Building, next morning"Hey, guys. Has anyone seen Jack yet?" Viv asked as she returned to her desk.
"Not yet," Danny replies as the others shake their heads.
"Maybe he's taking a sick day?" Viv suggests.
"Jack Malone, taking a sick day? Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess," quips Martin.
"I'll try to get him on his cell. He's got a meeting with Van Doren at 11am. I'll see if he wants me to cancel," says Viv being her usual practical self.
She dials Jack's number. The phone rings out.
"That's odd, no answer. I'll try his apartment," she tells them. The phone in his apartment rings out also.
"It's not like him not to at least call in. I hope he's okay. He wasn't feeling well yesterday evening. Maybe one of us should call around and make sure he's okay," suggests Viv, with a hint of concern in her voice.
"I'm sure he's okay, Viv. He's probably sleeping off the flu," Danny suggests.
"I know. I'll try his number again. If there's no answer, I'm going over to his place," Viv insists.
She tries both numbers again. Each rings out. Viv decides to go to Jack's apartment. Martin accompanies her.
Derelict ChurchMeanwhile, back at the abandoned church, Jack wakes. He tries to open his eyes but they're heavy and swollen. His head hurts, his whole body aches. Where the hell am I, he thinks to himself. He tries to sit up. He yells in agony as he tries to use his broken arm to help him up. Confusion sweeps over him.
What the hell happened? Where am I? How did I get here? His head is spinning. He feels sick. He heaves and throws up. He closes his eyes, in an attempt to stop the room spinning. He tries to stand and manages to get to his feet. He steadies himself against the wall. He attempts to take in his surroundings. The room is dark and cold. There doesn't seem to be any natural light. He feels along the wall and comes to the door. He tries it but it's locked. He finds a light switch and flicks it on. It works. At least that's something! There's a bottle of water left on a table near the door. He realises then, just how thirsty he is. He struggles to open the lid, using only his uninjured limb. Holding the bottle between his legs and twisting with his uninjured arm, he opens it and greedily drinks the fluid.
He begins to coughs as he drinks it too fast.
He takes time to examine his prison in more detail, now that he has light. It's a small room with little in the way of furnishings. There's a crucifix on one wall. A large wardrobe stands against another wall. He opens it to see what's inside. He finds some old cloths and what looks likes priest's vestments. Besides some old papers and other garments there's not much else in it.
He tries to use parts of the vestments to make a sling to immobilise his arm. The resulting sling leaves a lot to be desired, but trying to tie knots using your mouth and one hand isn't all that easy.
He flops back onto the mattress. The exertion of the last few minutes takes its toll. A wave of nausea sweeps over him again. He takes a number of deep breaths to try and fend it off. It seems to work….for now.
Bit by bit, the events of the previous night begin to come back to him. He remembers getting home and the struggle with the two intruders. He has no recollection of how he got here or any idea how long he's been here.