Title: Personal Demons
Chapter: 3
Disclaimer: If I owned this television show, I would not have to resort to writing fanfiction.
21:00
A few hours later, the team reassembled to share intel. The office was devoid of all usual activity; most of the staff had left for the evening. Tony, McGee, and Ziva were clustered in a circle between their desks.
"I was able to isolate the phone number from the list of received calls from Jeanne's cell phone. It was made from a prepay cell phone this morning at 0700. The phone was purchased three months ago, but the call to Jeanne is the only one on record. I have a track placed on it, so if they turn it on again… we'll know." McGee handed Tony the phone records, and Tony rolled his chair toward Gibb's desk and set them down. Gibbs was around the corner on the phone with Fornell.
"That's if they didn't toss it already," Tony said as he rolled back to McGee's desk.
"Right," McGee said, taking an unusually large gulp of coffee.
"It's what I would've done," Tony said, raising his eyebrow at McGee, who was still slurping.
"I stopped by the apartment where Jeanne's daughter was kidnapped. I sent the evidence to Abby. There was not much," Ziva leaned back in her chair and sighed, "A few hairs, a bloody handprint that I assume belongs to the man Jeanne… clubbed. Since we already know who these men are, I am not sure what more we can hope to find."
"There were tire tracks outside the building, possibly some kind of SUV. Abby's doing a tread analysis," Tony said.
"Only one neighbor claimed to have seen an unfamiliar vehicle outside the building at the time of the kidnapping. The woman…" Ziva flipped through her notepad, "Maude Gum—Gumbli—Blu-…." She tore out the page and handed it to Tony.
"That's Maude Gumbliblund—Gumbli…" he laughed, "wow, kudos to this lady's parents."
McGee leaned over his desk to look at the paper in Tony's hands. "Gumbliblunder. Maude Gumbliblunder."
Tony and Ziva looked at him quizzically. McGee shrugged, "it was my Grandmother's maiden name."
The three agents stopped talking when they heard Gibbs clear his throat. He tossed his phone onto the desk. "Anytime now, Ziva."
She grabbed the page back from Tony. "The neighbor verified that the vehicle was a black SUV, tinted windows, and large tires."
Tony shook his head, "large tires?"
"I am just telling you what she said," Ziva replied.
"Women."
"Not everyone can identify the make and model of a vehicle from ten stories up, Tony," she argued.
McGee held up his finger, "I just got a hit on the traffic cam. Looks like a black SUV pulled up in front of the building at 03:00… and pulled away at 03:10 with the girl."
"License plate?" Gibbs asked.
McGee squinted at the screen and hit a couple keys. He sighed, "Can't see it, Boss. I'll send it down to Abby."
"Can you see the man's face?" Ziva asked, wheeling around the desk to see the monitor.
McGee enlarged the man's face. "No, his ball cap is pulled down too low."
"Send it To Abby, McGee." Gibbs leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head.
"Is Tobias letting us use the FBI safe-house, Boss?" Tony asked. His eyes shifted towards Gibb's momentarily.
"Yep."
"Are we rotating in groups?" McGee asked, rolling toward his desk to toss his empty cup in the trash.
"Only at night," Gibbs replied. He shut his computer off and closed the open files on his desk.
"The FBI is taking the day shift?" Tony said, raising an eyebrow.
Gibbs nodded and threw the stack of files into the filing cabinet.
"What are we going to do while they are watching…?" Ziva trailed off before saying Jeanne's name.
"Find her daughter," Gibbs replied. He grabbed his gun out of his desk drawer and shoved it onto his belt.
"And the weapon blueprint," Ziva said, tapping her pencil against her temple.
Gibbs pulled his jacket off the back of his chair, "That too."
"We don't even know what we're looking for, Boss," McGee said, rolling back toward his desk to shut off his computer. "Vance called it a blueprint, but Henri Lefevre asked Jeanne where the weapon was…. Those objects are two very different things,"
"With two very different sets of problems," Tony added.
Gibbs nodded, "Whatever it is, we'll find it."
The three agents began packing up. Tony grabbed his backpack and jacket and followed his boss toward the elevator. It had been one of the longest days of his life.
"We'll meet at the safe-house in thirty minutes," Gibbs said as he hit the elevator button. "I want earpieces on at all times, no one leaves the house for any reason—and no clubbing… or morning yoga." He gave Tony a pointed look.
Tony flinched, "Right, boss."
22:00
Tony tossed his overnight bag into the trunk of McGee's car and climbed into the passenger seat. Ziva had graciously volunteered to sit in the back, although it probably had more to do with avoiding an argument than anything else.
McGee sighed and clapped Tony's shoulder, "you ready?"
Tony snorted, "Ready as a pig being marched to the slaughter house."
"Pigs do not march, Tony," said Ziva matter-of-factly.
"No, they get dragged through the pig pen by their ankles, squealing in protest" he said.
As they pulled away from the curb, Tony sighed and rested his head against the headrest. He had accepted the fact that he had no control over the next few hours. Jeanne's three year absence from his life made it difficult to predict how she would react to him over the next twelve hours.
Fifteen minutes later, McGee turned onto the street Gibbs had paged to them and Tony's stomach began twisting into knots.
"There it is," Ziva said, pointing to a house at the end of the dark street.
McGee pulled into the driveway and shut the car off. The house was small, white, with no discernable markings that would set it apart from other homes on the street. As Tony got out of the car, he noted two hidden cameras near the front door and one on every corner of the front porch. The windows would probably look normal to the untrained eye, but they were all reinforced with bullet-proof glass. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and moved into the garage where Ziva and McGee were waiting. McGee dug the earpieces out of the equipment bag and checked the batteries.
Tony stuck the small earpiece into his ear and pushed the button to turn it on. "Alright, let's rock and roll," he said, forcing himself to sound upbeat. He took a deep breath and followed McGee through the door and into the darkened dining room.
Gibbs and Fornell were sitting at the table, arms crossed, having a quiet conversation. Tony nodded a greeting and tossed his bag into a corner. The kitchen was small and the walls were covered with putrid green wallpaper. A dimly lit hallway lead to what he assumed was the rest of the downstairs living space.
Fornell interrupted his thoughts, "I'll bet this is awkward for you, DiNozzo. How long has it been since she accused you of murder?"
Tony rolled his eyes and shrugged his jacket off. "About as long as your last marriage lasted, Fornell," he shot back.
"Touchy," he retorted. He shook Gibbs' hand and grabbed his trench coat. "We'll be back in the morning." Stepping into the hallway, he called to the other FBI agents. Tony heard rustling noises in the living room and saluted as the two men trudged past him toward the garage door. Fornell turned and clapped Tony on the shoulder. "Good luck."
Silence filled the room after the door shut behind the three men.
Gibbs leaned forward on his elbows and linked his fingers together. "Bunk room is upstairs. Two people awake at all times." He locked eyes with Tony, "you want a minute?"
"She awake?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Gibbs nodded and stood, "Coffee's fresh. I'll be in the surveillance room."
Tony watched him as he disappeared down the hallway and through a door to the left. He turned around to face Ziva and McGee. "I hope this place comes with a panic room," he said, loosening his tie and slipping it over his head.
"No such luck." The answer came from behind him.
Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a second, taking a breath. Her voice sounded calm, controlled. He opened his eyes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Before he turned toward Jeanne, he discreetly nodded toward where Ziva and McGee were standing.
McGee cleared his throat, "We'll be upstairs." He and Ziva grabbed their overnight bags out of the pile. As they made their way down the hallway, Ziva shot Tony one last sympathetic look over her shoulder.
He ran his finger along the edge of his shoulder holster and adjusted the strap. He wondered if he should have tried to conceal his weapon. The gun at his ribcage was a solid reminder of every lie he had ever told her. When he glanced back up, their eyes met. He tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind. He looked to her for a clue as to how to proceed, but found nothing. He finally shook his head and leaned against the dining room wall.
"I don't know how to do this, Jeanne," he admitted, fully aware that the rest of the team could hear his every word through the earpiece
Jeanne pulled her blue sweater tighter around her body and offered a tight smile, "I don't know that there is a good answer, Tony."
He searched her face, looking for a sign that she was still angry with him. Her eyes were red, skin pale. He only saw exhaustion. Tony thumped his head against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. "I know coming here wasn't easy."
"No… it wasn't."
"But, I'm glad you did." This statement surprised him; he realized that it was the truth. The initial shock of her arrival had disappeared, leaving his mind clear to consider the situation.
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I'm not sure I share your sentiment."
He let out a sarcastic chuckle, "No, I can't imagine you would… but it's your best chance at finding your daughter."
"Leah." Jeanne walked past him into the kitchen and grabbed a mug out of the cabinet. "My daughter's name is Leah."
Tony watched as she poured herself coffee. Even without sleep, Jeanne was still striking. Images of her smiling at him, laughing, and lying naked in bed filled his head. He recalled her face the first time he had said those three… little… words. Did she know it was the only time he had ever said them to anyone? He snapped back to the present moment when he heard his name.
Jeanne was watching him curiously.
"Sorry, what?" he asked. He had to force her back out of his head.
"I said do you want coffee?" she was standing at the counter, holding the pot.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He wondered if she had spit in it. Probably not, he decided.
She carried the steaming mug over to where he stood. As she handed it off, their hands touched. Electricity shot up his arm. He realized he was holding his breath. He kept his eyes focused on the coffee mug he was holding. If he looked at her, she would see right through him.
"Don't worry… I didn't spit in it," she said, smirking. Jeanne turned toward away from him and started down the hall.
He let out a short laugh, "I never thought-," he stopped when she glanced at him over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Okay, it may have crossed my mind." He took a sip of it and followed her into the living room. She sat down on the sofa and rested her head on her knees. Tony sank into an arm chair and leaned forward, rotating the coffee in his hands.
"You look… different than I remember," she noted.
He raised his eyes. "Yeah?"
She furrowed her brow, looking at him closely. "Less… carefree." She paused and sighed, "But I guess I never really knew you, did I? Tony DiNardo never existed."
He thought for a moment, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Anakin Skywalker."
"What?" she asked.
He cleared his throat, "Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader were the same person." He leaned back and crossed his legs. "Two personas, one guy."
Her lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. "So, which one are you, Anthony DiNozzo; the nine-year-old boy or the ruthless murderer?" She sounded amused.
He snorted, "Never said it was a perfect comparison."
She smiled into her coffee mug and started to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps above them.
A few seconds later, McGee appeared around the corner with a sheet of paper in his hands. He walked toward Jeanne, and handed it to her.
She looked at it closely. "The top two are email addresses that my father used… but I don't recognize the rest." She handed it back to him.
"Your father rotated addresses through the years. You're sure you don't recognize the others?" He knelt down beside the couch to let her see the list again.
She ran her finger down the sheet and shook her head, "No, if they were his, he never used them to contact me."
"Good." McGee stood up and crossed the room, disappearing down the hallway.
"Good?" Jeanne asked, loud enough for McGee to hear her from the dining room.
He reappeared, lugging the mobile computer. "Good." He affirmed. He set the bag down on a desk in the corner, and unzipped the case. "If he never emailed you from the rest of the addresses, we can assume that they were used for business purposes. And if he used them to buy and sell illegal merchandise, we can find out if he did, in fact, buy the navy blueprint before he died."
"Would the accounts still be active after three years?" she asked, rising from the couch and moving to stand behind him.
Tony stood up and joined them at the makeshift computer station. He watched as McGee furiously punched numbers into the keyboard.
"It doesn't matter," he explained as he opened his hacking program, "Even if he deleted them, I can still access his personal files."
"How?" she asked.
McGee stopped typing for a moment, turning his head to look at her. "Not important."
She raised her eyebrows.
Tony shot her a smile, "What he is trying to say is that hacking into someone's email account…"
"accounts," McGee corrected.
"Fine, hacking into someone's email accounts is highly illegal; and if someone was going to do it, they would need a search warrant." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "But that could take hours."
"My daughter doesn't have hours," she said firmly.
"That's what McGee is here for," Tony said, clapping his partner on the shoulder.
She nodded, turning back toward the computer screen. They stood, watching him work in silence. Tony watched as the program began searching for results.
"How long?" he asked.
"Over an hour… depends how many emails were linked to the accounts and how strong his passwords were. My guess is that given his profession, he had fairly good security."
Tony was about to respond, when suddenly, a loud noise pierced his right eardrum. His hand shot to his earpiece, pulling it from his ear.
When Tony looked back up, he saw that McGee was rubbing his temples, "What was that?"
Tony shoved the small device back into his ear after turning the volume down. The surveillance room door opened, and Gibbs leaned into the hallway with a questioning look on his face.
The noise began again, quieter this time. He recognized it the second time. "Where's Ziva?" he asked.
McGee pointed up the stairs, "I told her to lie down for an hour while I was performing the search."
Tony nodded and suppressed a smile, "That's what I thought." He would recognize that snore anywhere.
Gibbs gave them an irritated look. "Take care of it, DiNozzo," he ordered, before disappearing again.
"Why me?" he asked.
McGee grinned at him, "Sorry, Tony. I'm a little busy here." He turned back to the computer screen.
"It searches itself, McGee." He unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up. "Rock, paper, scissors?"
McGee chuckled, "no way."
Jeanne looked from one agent to the other, "I don't understand," she said.
"Ziva snores," McGee stated, smirking at Tony.
"Loudly," Tony said, as another snore ripped through his eardrums.
"DINOZZO!" shouted Gibbs from the other room.
"Taking care of it, Boss!" he called back.
"Why…?" Jeanne trailed off.
McGee was still grinning. "Ziva's a trained assassin."
Tony adjusted his holster, running his hand over the smooth barrel of his weapon and loosening it. "Have you ever seen Kill Bill?" he asked Jeanne.
She looked at him and nodded slowly, "With you."
Tony had forgotten. He had forced her to sit through both volumes. She had laughed at the way blood erupted out of people, comparing it to lava from a volcano. He had told her that he loved that she wasn't disgusted by the gore. Tony, blood doesn't shoot out of people like that! She had said. He had feigned innocence, claiming to have never seen anyone die. He looked back at her and wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
"Would you want to wake up a sleeping Uma Thurman?" McGee asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
She shook her head, "No, probably not."
"Exactly," he replied. "Good luck, though, Tony."
Tony shot him a nasty look and moved toward the stairs, looking up into the darkness. "Is there a bedside table?" he asked.
"No… why?" McGee looked at him curiously.
Tony started up the stairs, "Just want to know where her gun is," he answered. At the top of the stairs, he took a breath and pushed open the bunk room door.