Director Leon Vance descended into the bullpen to find his Major Case Response Team and their FBI counterparts eagerly awaiting his arrival. "You wished to see me? Where are we with this op?" he asked his senior lead agent.
In answer, Gibbs nodded towards the plasma as McGee started speaking.
"Well, we've managed to open all the files. The encryptions were pretty basic in most cases but a few required more advanced algorithms, which took me and Abby most of the weekend to work out. They were multilayered cryptograms with…" Seeing Gibbs' and Fornell's eyes begin to glaze, the computer specialist caught himself. "Anyways, what we have is this. We have more than sufficient evidence of Zaccharia's involvement in the illicit arms deals both at Quantico and Norfolk as well as evidence pinning a number of his associates to his operation."
"What sort of evidence are we talking about here?" Vance demanded.
McGee pursed his lips briefly. Tapping confidently on his computer keyboard, he pulled examples up on the plasma while he listed, "Contact names and addresses, what essentially amounts to sales receipts, orders, photos. I don't know where Tony found this information, but it's pretty damning – he must have gotten into a private laptop. This isn't stuff they should have left lying around anywhere."
"Corroborating data?"
Ziva stepped into the conversation. "Gibbs and I have additional surveillance photos." She nodded to the screen as McGee piggybacked examples of the newer photos next to previous views of each suspect.
"Good work. Anything further we need?"
"We still haven't determined what that initial list of numbers means or how their network works." The junior field agent frowned in frustration. "Based on the evidence we have, they're moving huge amounts of drugs and weapons all over the globe."
"Perhaps, we could extract it from them in interrogation," Ziva suggested with a gleam in her eyes.
Vance looked over to Gibbs. "You have more than enough to arrest and convict?"
"Legal's onboard. They're holding the paperwork for warrants until we're ready to go; the FBI is gonna hit a few associates in a coordinated strike and we don't want to run the risk of a leak by getting the warrants too soon."
Vance shifted his toothpick in thought as he nodded in agreement. "ETA? Where's your boy in this?"
"I'll be seeing DiNozzo this afternoon and will be giving him the signal then. Then we'll finalize everything. Shouldn't be more than a few days."
"Looks good. Keep me in the loop." He raised an eyebrow at Gibbs as he tossed his toothpick in the trash. "Bring him home."
000
Gibbs eagerly pulled the Charger into the theater parking lot, circling twice before settling on a space near the door. Carefully treading over a slushy puddle, he noticed the red sports car parked in the fourth spot from the front. Dodging the sleet, he entered the lobby with a huff, removing his jacket and shaking the slushy droplets free before they melted into the fabric. Scanning the marquee for Theater Four, he grimaced when he saw the selection. The damn acorn movie.
Stepping up next in line, he absently rubbed his thumb across his fingertips where he could almost feel DiNozzo's head snap forward with a yip. "Cinema Four."
"One senior?" the attendant asked, peeking over the counter to make sure he hadn't missed anyone and only looking up when his question was met with silence.
Dead silence paired with an equally deadly glare.
"One adult," the former Marine sternly corrected.
"Oh. Okay," the young man enthused, handing him the stub. "Here you are, sir. Enjoy the show!"
Gibbs bemusedly quirked a corner of his mouth at the young man as he palmed the ticket and headed over to the snack bar.
"Hi! Your usual? I remembered to start a new pot," the young woman greeted him when he got to the counter. At his appreciative nod, she handed him a large coffee and small popcorn. "Anything else?"
Smiling in reply, he made a show of looking at the candy selection. He pointed to the small rolls of mints in front. "Peppermint." He quickly paid for his purchases, turning in time to see a familiar back disappearing into the men's room.
Surreptitiously glancing around for onlookers, Gibbs ducked into the bathroom as well. Placing his coffee and popcorn on a nearby counter, he went into an empty stall. His mints dropped to the floor, eliciting a Marine-worthy oath.
"Peppermint?" came an amused voice from the stall next door. "My favorite."
"Yeah, mine, too, but somehow I don't think I want them anymore."
A soft chuckle echoed in the small room. "Oh, by the way, here's some toilet paper – that stall's out."
"Thanks," Gibbs replied as he accepted the wad of paper passed under the divider. He looked at it curiously before he slipped it into his pocket. Exiting the stall, he took his time washing his hands before heading to the theater.
"Enjoy your movie," wafted from the other stall as the door slammed behind him.
Gibbs didn't look at the small bundle of soft paper in his pocket until later in the day when he was parked outside a coffee shop. While it wasn't the first time Tony didn't attend the same film, it still made his gut churn when he didn't see any sign of his senior field agent at all after their brief encounter. He had watched the movie with all his senses directed elsewhere, hoping to satisfy the insistent disquiet to no avail. Carefully unfolding the flimsy paper, he read the quickly scrawled note inside:
'Big meeting Sunday. B-dog's house. Hit then. Watch your 6! T'
000
His veins surging with adrenaline, Special Agent McGregor strapped on his bullet-proof vest, reveling at the feel of the familiar, comforting weight as it settled on his shoulders and snugged against his chest. He cinched it tight, the way he liked it as it reminded him of Amy when it embraced his torso in a protective, almost breath-stealing hug. In every direction, agents were equipping themselves with the trappings of a major armed assault. The raids were to be carried out by a small army of agents from various federal agencies and state police in three states simultaneously. Tibbs' team was slated to assist in the raid on Saccharia's estate, where Tommy had spent the majority of his time.
Once equipped, Tibbs led his team to the west gate of the estate, while the other teams staged themselves at their assigned positions. From where they awaited the signal, McGregor could see Tommy's prized vintage Trans Am glistening in the sun as it stood out from the collection of grey and black sedans. It was unseasonably warm in this part of Virginia, a warm front had brought the heat of summer to interrupt a brutal fall. Above the nearly soundless pattering of feet as teams assumed their positions, an ongoing celebration could be heard in the distance and the aroma of steaks, cigars and shrimp wafted from behind the luxurious mansion as Saccharia's associates partied unaware that their corrupt world was about to come crashing down around them.
McGregor's heart raced in anticipation. This was the most difficult part of an assault – the wait before the order to move in. The soft hint of jasmine to his right alerted him to Lisa's silent presence. He tried to keep himself as still as his two partners even as he berated how he could hear his every twitch, breath, heartbeat and rustle.
Tibbs' hand rose slowly in a tight fist. He circled his pointer finger to include all of them and then pumped it towards a door a sentry had just wandered into three times before he raised his fist again, spreading his fingers straight up and apart for the countdown. Five. Four. Lisa nodded to Tibbs then calmly met McGregor's eyes with a purely predatory look before scrutinizing the environs once more. Three. Two. Resting his hand lightly on the butt of his Sig, McGregor tensed. One.
The earwigs crackled to life. "Go! Go! Go!"
After keying in the code, they followed the gate as it smoothly swung open. Watching their flank, McGregor rested a hand on the small of Lisa's back to help maintain position as he raced sideways up the cobblestoned driveway and into the mansion directly behind his partners. Outside, towards the rear of the building, alarmed screams and enraged shouts could be heard as gunfire erupted in every direction. Intent on their mission, they ignored the heightening chaos as they cleared room after room in the nearly empty house, single-mindedly searching for their teammate. A sudden staccato of machine gun fire froze them all in position.
Tibbs head jerked up at the torrent of increasingly unanswered gun reports followed by an unearthly silence. The earwigs went from a flurry of startled exclamations to frantic team count-offs in a matter of seconds. As he tried to calm his breathing, McGregor watched as a sudden realization flashed between Tibbs and Lisa – the machine guns weren't theirs and, most assuredly, had been turned inward. Saccharia's men had decided to scorch the earth before anyone could be taken prisoner. Uttering a heartfelt oath, the senior agent rushed past him, changing direction and wordlessly signaling them to follow.
Tibbs' hand slamming down on his shoulder dropped McGregor in his tracks as a shadowed figure suddenly pirouetted from behind a door frame, spurting blood and spraying bullets aimlessly. With a few spastic jerks, he fell, clawing his way down the wall before lying still, the machine gun clattering noisily to the floor nearby. Tibbs didn't spare the man a second look as he pulled McGregor to his feet, kicked the automatic gun out of sight and continued to run. Lithely jumping over the man's body, Lisa retrieved her blade from his neck, absently wiping it off on her pants as she raced towards the rear of the house.
Bursting onto the patio into a sea of FBI agents, they found the ground littered with the dead and the dying. In the center of the murky crimson swimming pool lay a macabre display of two women sprawled lifelessly on a slowly rotating raft, which squealed piteously and bubbled forlornly as air gradually escaped the bullet holes in its side. An FBI agent kicked a body off the top of a grill, turning away in revulsion when the body fell to lie smouldering on its back on the blood-spattered marble. While the stereo continued to play upbeat party songs, the coppery smell of blood and scorched flesh hung heavy in the air as the agents looked for the living amongst the dead.
While the area was cleared, Tibbs' team frantically searched for their teammate, desperately checking any body which remotely matched his height and build fruitlessly. They stormed through the house and its outbuildings, looking for any sign of either Tommy or Saccharia and leaving the rest of the raid to the FBI.
By the time the dust settled on that long, bloody day, not even two dozen people were in custody from all the warrants. Anyone alive who was not in custody, including Saccharia, had gone to ground.
Tommy was nowhere to be found.
000
"Ziva, could you stop doing that?" McGee begged petulantly.
The former Mossad officer's head snapped around to glare at her partner, the knife she had been fiddling with for the past hour pausing momentarily. "Stop what, McGee?!" she hissed. Her eyes wandered back to the man sitting in the interrogation room and her hand started sliding the knife back and forth again.
After finding no significant clues the first twenty-four hours after the raid, they had spent the past two days in interrogation, unsuccessfully trying to get a lead on Tony's whereabouts. Pat Maloney was their last known chance to get information about his disappearance. A Marine MP patrol had picked him up trying to stow away on a ship in Norfolk just the night before and had delivered him to NCIS as soon as they were able to identify him. After sitting for hours, the man had ceased fidgeting and started to space out, staring at a point just to the right of one of the monitoring cameras.
"Just stop whatever it is you're doing with the knife. You're making me nervous."
"I would rather be making him talk!" Her eyes narrowed. "Where is Gibbs?"
"I think he's still working out jurisdiction with Fornell and the Director."
The door to interrogation slammed open and the two senior agents stalked in.
McGee commented drily, "I guess they've worked it out." He raised an eyebrow at Agent Sacks as he sidled into the observation room before pointedly ignoring him.
In the other room, Tobias Fornell leaned casually against a wall, crossing his arms as he watched the suspect with a bored expression.
Gibbs yanked out the chair to straddle it as he loomed over Maloney. "I'm looking for one of your associates." The team leader pulled a pair of photos out of a folder and slapped them down on the table. "This man… Where is he?"
McGee glanced over his shoulder past Sacks to one of the monitors showing a close-up of the table's contents. Tony's old FBI mug shots, with his alias, Antony DiSalvo, photoshopped in, stared up at him.
Maloney snorted and gave the senior agent a bored shrug. "Never seen him before."
"I'm thinking he's lying," Tobias offered glibly. "What do you think, Jethro?"
With a dangerous glare, Gibbs slid another photo from the folder. Ziva and McGee watched the man twitch when he saw the group picture with him at Tony's shoulder. And then another. And a third.
Maloney calculatingly glanced from one agent to the other. "Okay, so maybe I've met Antony -- he and Sal were tight. Whaddaya want him for?" Closely watching their demeanor, he regarded the men speculatively.
"National security," Gibbs stonily replied.
Interlacing his fingers, he slid them behind his head as he leaned back with a feral smile. "Well, while I can't take the credit for it, if that's what you're worried about, I can tell ya you have nothin' to worry about any more…"
"Why do you say that? Where is he?" Fornell asked curiously.
"He's in the wind -- haven't seen him for days."
"What happened?" Gibbs sharply demanded with a scowl.
The picture of calm, Maloney shrugged nonchalantly. "Some sort of big falling out."
"Over what?"
He leaned forward to divulge, "The story I heard was Sal found out he was a Fed."
Fornell shook his head. "Not one of mine. As a matter of fact, I locked him up for murder a few years ago."
"Then why was he out?"
"Stowed away in a body bag – got tossed with the trash," the FBI agent admitted with a discomfited frown.
Refusing to be distracted, Gibbs urgently pressed, "Any idea where we can find Zaccharia?"
Maloney snorted in derision. "If I did, there's no way I'd tell ya." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and rocking his shoulders forward as he looked directly into Gibbs' eyes. "If it's DiSalvo you want, I can tell ya, Sally beat ya to him. Ya don't piss off Sally. If he don't get clean, he likes messy. You ain't gonna be seeing Antony any time soon. If that's all you want, I'm outta here!"
Stone-faced, Gibbs shook his head. "You aren't going anywhere."
"You don't got nothin' on me!"
Gibbs looked over his shoulder to Fornell and bobbed his head with a shrug. "Material witness, ya think?"
"At the very least… He got out of there unscathed, too. Maybe knew we were coming?"
"Hey! I wasn't there!"
Ignoring Maloney, Gibbs wondered, "Informant or trigger man?"
"Either way, dead man walking. Gun residue?"
"Test was inconclusive."
"He definitely had time to wash up. Maybe gloves?"
"Come on!" Maloney pleaded. "I swear I wasn't there!"
Both senior agents turned to the suspect to blink in unison at him before regarding each other again.
Fornell nodded in Maloney's direction. "Kid says he wasn't there, Jethro. Pretty big shindig to not be invited."
"Wouldn't want to refuse an invitation from Zaccharia…"
"..unless you knew what was coming…" Fornell finished Gibbs' thought.
"You got room in your lock-up, Tobias? We've got a full house downstairs."
"I'm sure we can make room for him. He knows most of the guys down there already, so I'm sure they can share."
Maloney grabbed Gibbs' sleeve desperately. "You can't set me up like this! I didn't do nuthin'!"
The glare directed at him in reply was purely predatory. "DiSalvo or Zaccharia – your choice."
Leadenly drawing away from the agent, Maloney nodded at the mirror. "I want a lawyer."
