Awareness returned slowly. At first, all DiNozzo noticed was the mind numbing cold, then the hard, unyieldingness of the floor, his dress shirt and pants providing little protection against either. His jacket was gone, along with his gun. He had socks but apparently no shoes. And he was sporting various bruises and abrasions, like he'd been dragged. No bullet holes. Just a pain in his neck, like he'd been bitten by a bug or …

Memory returned in a rush.

Ziva

Gingerly, he raised his head slightly and scanned the surrounding area. He was in some sort of unfurnished, basement; room, dimly lit by a single bulb. A red plastic bucket stood in one corner and a couple of cardboard boxes of water and MREs were stacked on top of a workbench against the far wall. No windows and no door, just a trap door in the ceiling and at the edge of his vision, an unfamiliar pair of black Gucci shoes.

"You know," He coughed, over his dry throat. "White socks are really not a good look with those."

"Up."

Tony rolled onto his knees, enough that it was not outright disobedience, not enough to suggest that he would be easily cowed and looked up. The first thing he saw was the barrel of the gun, then the thin, weasel looking man who held it. Probably not the brains of the operation and, judging by the lack of muscles under his jacket, not the brawn either.

"Where's my partner?"

The force of the blow across his mouth was enough to snap his head back, the heavy, gold ring on weasel's right hand, splitting his lip, so that bright, red, blood splattered across his shirt. Tony took a moment to gather himself and lick the blood away before he tried to speak.

"Nice," He managed finally, nodding at the ring. "Decorative and functional."

"Up."

Deciding being upright might give him some advantage, Tony clambered to his feet, shaking his head slightly to try and clear away the lingering effects of whatever it was they had drugged him with. From eye level he could see that the weasal was wearing an ear wick and he'd bet his paycheck there was a hidden camera somewhere around as well. He sighed. In the Bond movies the hero always had all the best gadgets.

"You going to take me to your leader?"

This time Tony was expecting the blow; ducking under the raised fist, he slammed his head into the weasel's stomach, propelling him across the room, until they hit the wall, winding the goon with the force of their impact. With a vicious snarl, he slammed weasal's gun hand into the wall, hearing the fine bones crush under the impact and ignoring the howl of pain, to hold the newly accquired gun to the weasel's throat.

"You should have listened when I asked nicely. Now, where's my partner?"

"This is a mistake," the younger man spat. "Do you not know who you are dealing with?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," Tony retorted. "Care to enlighten me?"

He didn't react as the younger man's eyes slid sideways and upwards, looking over his shoulder at someone who had appeared at the top of the stairs. Although, the cold, measured, tones, which spoke of a ruthless man used to getting his own way, did make his gut clench.

"My name is Ivan Petrovich. And you will step back, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"I don't think so," Tony answered more confidently than he felt. The only Ivan Petrovich he knew was an infamous Russian Mafia Boss, if they were one in the same then he was as good as dead. "You're going to kill me eventually anyway, the way I see it, this is a win win situation, you don't get any information out of me and I get to take your boy here down with me. What is he? Son? Nephew? Cousin?"

"Very good," Petrovich sounded genuinely impressed. "Tell me, how did you know that Sergi and I were related?"

"He's wearing a very expensive suit."

"Ah, you are most observant," He could imagine Petrovich nodding sagely. No operation, no matter how profitable, would pay a mere henchmen that well. "Still, perhaps you should step back?"

Something about his tone made the hairs on the back of Tony's neck stand up. Forcing a neutral note into his voice he spoke up without turning his head.

"Ziva?"

"Ziva's fine, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered, as calmly as if he was in the office. "Quit worrying."

"Hey, Boss," Tony knew he didn't sound quite as casual as the ex-Marine, Ziva and McGee were good but, if he had to be kidnapped, there was no one he would rather have on his trail than Gibbs. Still, he liked to think he covered well enough. "Did you bring Pizza?"

"Enough games!" Petrovich snapped, as he came down the stairs. "You will release, Sergi and drop the weapon or your Boss here will die."

Tony had no doubt that he meant it. He shrugged slightly sheepishly, as he complied, smiling at the younger man, who gave him a murderous glance, before nursing his injured hand.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. No hard feelings?"

He didn't even attempt to duck the fist, which connected with his jaw, knowing that to resist would most likely only invite further punishment. A vicious kick to his groin, sent him gasping to all fours, followed by a swift kick in his ribs. Through a haze of red, he heard Gibbs say something in Russian.

"Enough." Petrovich ordered.

Tony panted slightly through the pain, before looking up in some surprise. He hadn't expected Sergi's retribution to be over so quickly, and neither had the younger man, if the mutinous look in his eyes was anything to go by, but a glare from his uncle forced him to step back.

"Not allowed to hurt the merchandise without permission, huh?" Tony goaded slightly.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs spoke, not unkindly. "Shut the hell up."

Tony watched as Petrovich motioned with his hand and Gibbs, still handcuffed and with a gun to his head, was marched down the stairs by two thick set men to join them

"Tell me, Special Agent Gibbs," Petrovich sounded like he was at an Embassy Garden party. "What are the penalties in your country for the harassment of a legitimate business man?"

"Drugging and kidnapping two Federal Agents is hardly the action of a legitimate business man." Gibbs retorted.

"You were trespassing on my property," Petrovich shrugged without apology. "One can never be too careful with security. I have many priceless items on my estate."

"Do you just routinely tranquilise all callers?" Tony demanded. "The pool man, the Avon lady, girl scouts selling cookies?"

"Not at all, Special Agent DiNozzo. Only those who interfere in things which are no business of theirs."

"Maintaining national security is our business," Gibbs rebutted. "If your import business is strictly caviar and vodka, then why aren't you trading under your own name?"

"Tax reasons. It is a perfectly legitimate trading device."

"It's also a perfectly good cover for a fledgling terrorist organisation," Tony challenged. "You take all the profits and if you get caught, some clueless suit takes the fall for you."

"Perhaps, that is how your father operates," Petrovich raised a brow. "Although, how would you know, since as I understand it, he has washed his hands of you?"

"DiNozzo Enterprises provides a livelihood for thousands of families," Gibbs cut in, before Tony could react to the barb. "Its welfare programme is one of the best in the state. David DiNozzo may not win any awards as father of the year, but he's an honest businessman, who achieved his success through hard work and personal sacrifice, not by building on the pain and misery of others by trading in illegal arms."

"Indeed," Petrovich murmured and Tony had the dreadful feeling that they had somehow been manipulated and had failed to spot it. "Except, we all know that NCIS would not be interested in a simple case of arms dealing. So, I ask you, what else do you know?"

"Is there something else?" Gibbs asked urbanely.

"You are going to be stubborn. I was afraid of that. Still, I am also prepared for it."

"You gonna try and beat it out of me?" Gibbs actually managed to look amused. "Didn't work so well the last time."

"Do you think I am a fool?" Petrovich shook his head. "A man like you, I could torture to death, and you would never tell me what I need. But I wonder how long you can stand by and watch as DiNozzo suffers?"

Gibbs kept his face expressionless. To show that he cared about Tony would only encourage Petrovich to harm him. But to act as if he was indifferent might convince the mafia boss there was no mileage in keeping the younger man alive and seal Tony's fate.

"DiNozzo's a Federal Agent. He knows the risks. I trained him myself."

"Really?" Petrovich raised a brow. "I wonder if you will be so sanguine when you have to see him writhe in agony these many hours? Carlos, restrain Special Agent DiNozzo."

Tony forced himself to remain calm as one of the thick set men came over and cuffed his hands behind his back, before wrapping an arm around his neck and putting uncomfortable pressure on his windpipe. Whatever they were about to do to him, he was determined to make Gibbs proud of him.

"I have heard famous tales of the heroism of American Marines," Petrovich was talking. "Of how you can crawl through a desert with both legs broken, I also know that there is a code of honour which says you cannot leave a man behind." At a nod from his Boss, Carlos produced a large syringe, which he plunged through DiNozzo's shirt, and into his arm. In spite of himself, Tony winced at the impact. "That drug is a complex chemical compound," Petrovich explained. "Any attempts at movement or exertion, such as an attempt to escape, will speed its course. Initial symptoms are nausea and stomach cramps. After that, vomiting, fever, joint and muscle pain, paralysis and finally death. If you tell me what I need to know to ensure that my interests are not compromised, I will provide the antidote. Otherwise, Agent DiNozzo will slowly die a most agonising death."