Bethesda Hospital

"Dammit!" Gibbs swore as he slammed his phone shut.

He hated cover-ups. Once, he had worked with a marine sergeant who was a huge conspiracy theorist. Gibbs had been occasionally amused by some of his more off-the-wall ideas, but there were a few that even made the very practical, pragmatic Gibbs think twice. Giant cover-ups would require enlisting thousands of people to help, and there was absolutely no way that many people could keep a secret that long. Rule #4 stated it the best: The best way to keep a secret? Keep it to yourself. Second best? Tell one other person - if you must. There is no third best. Someone would talk eventually. This one… how big of a cover-up were they looking at?

McGee's news wasn't helpful. It just meant that Tony's life was in greater danger than anyone thought by some killer no one claimed to know about. This wasn't just an ordinary murder attempt. It was a hit.

There were immutable laws that governed his universe, and one of those was that no one tried to kill one of Leroy Jethro Gibbs' agents.

Carlisle… multiple murders… civilians and cops… why was there no information on that? Bloodbaths and serial killers' killing sprees were front-page news. A cover-up on that scale would take a lot of resources and influence. McGee was right – a government agency was behind it. FBI? CIA? The entire alphabet soup ran covert ops and covered up their mistakes.

That also meant that there could be two sets of hitters – the bad guys and anyone in an agency who wanted to keep this quiet.

Gibbs pulled out his phone again and dialed a number. "Leon, I need more security at the hospital."

FBI Headquarters

FBI Agent Tobias Fornell was not having a good day. The drive in to the Hoover Building was cold, wet and dreary. Then there was the traffic jam on the GW because of a car went over the embankment. He got into work about an hour late. The cafeteria was closed due to a power outage caused by the early morning storm. His window was leaking and his computer was down.

All in all, so far, Fornell was not having a good day, and he was not in a good mood.

To add to his rather sour disposition, his in-box was full. That was another great topper to the day.

The knock on his door didn't improve matters any.

"Come in," he yelled. He hoped it wasn't some poor intern coming in to tell him bad news because he wasn't in the mood for it.

"Agent Fornell?" an well-dressed man in a dark suit entered his office. Undoubtedly, he was another FBI agent.

"Yes, I'm Fornell."

The man immediately showed his credentials. "I'm Agent James West, Criminal Division. My team and I have been assigned to the DC office for the last few months as we track down an objective. I've been sent as a liaison from my department to possibly enlist your assistance."

Fornell looked at West. Definitely FBI issue. There was no doubt about that in Fornell's mind. He pointed toward the chair. "Have a seat. What can I do for you, Agent West?"

Taking the offered seat, West handed a file folder to Fornell as he explained. "I'm sorry to have come here unannounced and without any warning, Agent Fornell."

"I've been in the same position myself," Fornell agreed.

"My department has been searching for a particular objective for the last few months. We have reason to believe that he might already be in the DC area. If not, he will come here eventually. Our assignment has been to ascertain his location, preferably without him knowing."

Fornell leaned back in his chair and skimmed the paper in the file. Basically, the directors of both the DEA and Federal Marshals were requesting the FBI director's help due to the fact that the objective fell under all three departments' jurisdictions – all of which was being handed off to Fornell. "And this objective is who, exactly?"

"That information is classified," West explained. "I'm not allowed to give any details without authorization from my superior."

"Understandable, but then why are you here in my office asking for my help if you don't tell me why?"

West cleared his throat. "My superior suggested that I make contact with you on the outside chance we need your assistance.

"My assistance?" This agent was not answering Fornell directly. That wasn't a good contribution to his deteriorating mood. "In what capacity?"

"Again, sir, that is classified. However, my superior has allowed me to explain this much. Our objective is the target of various law enforcement agencies. There are individuals in law enforcement who have a personal connection with our objective, one agent in particular. Should the need arise, I have been requested to ask for your assistance with said individual and his superiors."

Fornell crossed his arms and leaned forward on his desk. West kept using the word assistance. Fornell was getting the odd impression that West was quoting a script and had been ordered not to go off script. "You want me to act as a go-between? Agent West, I don't care how classified anything you have is. Either I know what I'm getting into enough to do my job, or you can find yourself someone else to –"

"It's NCIS, Agent Fornell," West explained quickly. "More than that, I can't say until our objective surfaces and makes an overt move. I have been told that you have extensive work experience with NCIS, and if our target should surface here, there could be jurisdictional issue as well as personal ones that could cause some problems."

Fornell almost laughed. This agent had to have heard of Gibbs. Sometimes, knowing someone like Jethro caused more problems than it solved.

"What else can you tell me, Agent West, and don't tell me it's all classified. The NCIS team I think you're referring to is a bunch of cowboys who play within the law but by their own rules. If I'm going to have to smooth their feathers, I need to know why."

West seemed to consider the statement. Finally, he said, "The only other information I have been permitted to tell you is that the objective is connected with Project Lasso."

Fornell closed the file and pushed it away from him. "I've heard of it. Project Lasso was an op that was run off the books to locate and arrest smugglers, drug dealers and arms dealers. It was closed down earlier this year after a fairly successful twelve-year run."

West nodded his head. "Yes, it was. However, there is some mopping up action we have to take care of."

"Such as this objective of yours."

"Exactly."

Fornell didn't have a choice. The order was coming from his boss at the request of the Federal Marshals and the DEA. "One thing, Agent West."

"Yes?"

"This goes across jurisdictions. That could cause me some problems. How are the other agencies involved?"

West shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The DEA granted custody of several objectives to the FBI and the Marshals assisted us in relocating one particular individual."

"Your particular objective," Fornell surmised.

"Yes." West stood up and looked at Fornell. "May we count on your help should the need arise?"

Fornell nodded his head. "Yes, Agent West. If you need my help with NCIS, I'll do what I can. However, you should know that they're not easy to deal with, and if you cross them, you're not just taking on federal agents on the lowest rung on the ladder. The ones you'd be dealing with are a former marine sniper who never misses his mark, a former homicide detective with several commendations for bravery, a Mossad officer that's a certified lethal weapon and a computer geek that could do terrible things to your credit rating."

At West's surprised look, Fornell added, "Just letting you know."

West nodded his head and walked out of the room.

Fornell looked at his watch. "Well, that took all of about five minutes," he said to himself. Then he looked over at his in-box. It hadn't shrunk in those five minutes. He picked up the phone and called his assistant. "Taylor, is there any fresh coffee out there?"

Bethesda Hospital

"I don't care what happens," Gibbs ordered the three NCIS guards, "I don't care if there's a fire, a code red, code blue, if one of you gets sick or if there's a lost puppy. Under no circumstances will the guard on duty leave this post and only the doctors and nurses you have on your list will be allowed in. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the guards answered, almost in unison.

Gibbs' angry look had one of the guards backtrack. "Uh, Gibbs. Not sir. You want us to take an eight hour shift each?"

"Eight hours on, four hours off, with four hours overlapping. That puts two guards on duty at all times. Any questions?"

"Is there a description for who we're on the lookout for?"

"Not yet," Gibbs answered as he went back into the hospital room and sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chair. The monitor showed that Tony's temperature was back to normal, as were his vital signs. Doctor Pitt's latest report was that he was going to be all right, and there was no reason to worry that he hadn't reawakened yet.

In a low voice, Gibbs muttered, "Someone's trying to kill you, Tony, and someone else is covering up your past. What secrets have you been keeping?"

~*~ Day 2 ~*~

Squad room

Tim glanced up as Gibbs rounded the corner and walked to his desk, handing him a cup of coffee as he approached.

"It's 3:00 in the morning, McGee. Were you here all night?"

"Yeah." He took a quick sip of the coffee. "Thanks, Boss. How's Tony?"

"Still sleeping. Under guard. He'll be fine. What have you got?"

In the middle of a big yawn, McGee answered, "Not much. There are a lot of files that have been hidden and a lot of misinformation to sort through. It looks like a huge cover-up."

"Who's behind it?" Gibbs looked over McGee's shoulder at his monitor.

"Don't know yet. I'm working on seven different searches, researching about ten different people – it's like I find one piece of information and it doesn't make any sense but it fits into another search that I'm doing that isn't related to the first."

"Cover up and conspiracy," Gibbs added. "How much longer do you think it'll be?"

McGee shrugged his shoulders. "Before I can put anything together? It could be an hour, it could be a day. Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide information and make people disappear."

"But you can find it, right?" Gibbs' voice took on that irritated edge it normally had.

"Find it? Yeah. But it's not just a matter of finding it, Boss. It's a matter of putting all the pieces together in the right sequence once we find it. Someone literally took dozens of files, deleted them, rewrote them, rearranged them – I'm having to put little bits of information back together from areas in databases that haven't been wiped clean, but I have to find them first without getting caught. The searches I've got going are hitting databases that just weren't designed to do what I'm trying to get them to do which is probably why I'm still under everybody's radar. I've got some preliminary data and I'm starting with that… It's gonna take a little while, Boss."

"We may not have a little while," Gibbs told him.

McGee nodded his head. "I know. I'm working on a few hunches. I'm starting with Tony's undercover assignments from when he was on the Peoria Police Department. You know he was a Narcotics detective there – according to one field assessment from a superior, they kept putting Tony undercover because he was so good at it. From what I'm reading, there were some long-term undercover assignments. There's one in particular that I think fits in with my searches, but that's also where a big problem is."

"How big?"

McGee saw the worried look on Gibbs' face. Gibbs didn't worry. For him to be worried now, things were worse than McGee thought. "Long story short, there was a gap in Tony's work history. The records show he was on traffic detail, but the date is from after he was a detective in Peoria. I don't think detectives go back to doing beat work unless there's a really good reason, and I can't find anything about a strike, a flu epidemic, a convention, people on vacation, anything. It's that stretch of a few months just before the date on the torn bit of newspaper when the daily sheets have Tony assigned to Traffic, and I think that means it was a very high-profile undercover assignment that no one wanted to keep records of that anyone could access. The undercover assignment doesn't exist according to any written or computerized record. At least, not exactly."

"Someone deleted it?"

"I'm finding evidence of files being tampered with during that time, both the Peoria police department's and the FBI's. And I'm trying to reconstruct it. It ended somewhere between mid-July to early August, 1997. The date on the headstones in the picture is August 17, 1997. I think that assignment might be the key."

Gibbs patted McGee's shoulder. "Good thinking." Gibbs paused a moment. "You saw the pictures?"

"Yeah, Boss. All of them. Abby's got them right now. I don't really know what to make of them. Was he working undercover or -"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to Tony yet. Get what you can, get it good and get it fast. My gut tells me we're on a time limit. I'm gonna check on Abby."

"She's in the garage. We've got Tony's car down there."

"Did she not get any sleep either?"

McGee let loose with a really big yawn. "No one went home last night."

Just as he was about to leave the area, he asked, "Where's Ziva?"

McGee noticed his co-worker's empty desk. "Ducky went on an early breakfast run. Ziva went down to autopsy to get our food."

"Duck's here too?" Gibbs asked.

"He said he wasn't leaving until he knew more about Tony."

Autopsy

"There are reports of victims frozen in icy water for two hours and emerging absolutely fine. Of course, they had to be resuscitated," Ducky explained as he and Ziva sorted out the food. "I'm thankful that Tony wasn't in the water long enough to do any damage."

"Except that someone shot his car," Ziva reminded him.

"Yes. Unfortunately, that's not a strange development. Talented, resourceful agents who are quite good at their job do tend to collect enemies over the years. I've met a few of Tony's, two when he was a detective in Baltimore. I don't believe any went to these extremes however."

"Old boyfriends or husbands?" Ziva suggested.

"No, my dear Ziva. Tony may enjoy a lady's company, but he is not one to seek out married women. Most of Tony's enemies tend to run more along the lines of career criminals with a habit of using guns in order to remove their adversaries. Take the first time we met in Baltimore. He was trying to capture what he believed was a serial killer. His captain didn't agree with Tony's assessment and thought the murders were unconnected. Jethro and I went there when a petty officer was killed, and Tony was assigned to work with us. He explained his theory of a serial killer. It was a very meticulously thought out theory, I must say. Tony's facts supported it. However, he and Gibbs did not get along quite so well that first day. In fact, they came to a head in the police department when Tony told Jethro in no uncertain terms that although Gibbs was searching for whoever murdered the petty officer, he was searching for a killer who had murdered five people. I don't believe I've ever quite seen Jethro at a loss of words before."

"Tony yelled at Gibbs?"

"Oh, yes. Our Tony is probably the only person who will stand up to Jethro in such a way that Jethro has any respect for. As it turns out, the murderer was a serial killer. He specifically went after Tony and cornered him in a warehouse. It was quite a remarkable shootout from a forensics perspective. Abby could go on for an hour about the trajectory of the bullets fired that day. Tony was lucky to have survived it, but I think part of that was because Jethro came to his aid when we heard Tony's call for backup." He lifted the bag and handed it to Ziva. "There you go. I believe Timothy is waiting for his breakfast as well."

Ziva gathered up the bag and the coffee cups. "McGee is still trying to find out anything about this drug dealer. He's becoming somewhat frustrated because he is making very slow progress."

"I can imagine," Ducky agreed. "However, progress, even slow, is still progress."

"Gibbs' gut is telling him something that goes beyond those pictures."

Ducky smiled. "As Abby would tell you, one must never argue with the gut, my dear."

Evidence Garage

Abby dug another spent bullet from the car door. Just like the others, she placed it carefully into an evidence jar. She was taking excruciating care with each bit of evidence. She didn't want any defense attorney to find a way to exclude any of it for any reason.

She really wanted to catch the dirt bag that did this to Tony. She wanted to find him, catch him, crucify him – she'd do it and not leave any forensic evidence.

Someone was trying to kill their Tony.

She wiped away a tear just as Gibbs walked into the garage.

"Abs," he said softly.

She turned toward him and suddenly found herself in a big hug.

"He's going to be all right. The doctor said so," she heard Gibbs say.

"He has to be, Gibbs. We can't let him not be okay." Of course, he was going to be all right. He was Tony. Tony was always all right. He had to be. The idea that he wouldn't be all right just didn't track. It was something that wouldn't process in her scientific mind. So what if someone was trying to kill him? That had happened before, and he always survived. He'd survive this time. She then noticed that Gibbs had brought her a Caf-Pow. She stood up straight, grabbed the drink and took a sip. It helped a little, but only a little.

"What have you got?" Gibbs asked, his voice sounding more businesslike. Abby could do that, she could be all-businesslike. She just needed to 'forget' that it was Tony's torn-apart car in front of her, that it was Tony in the hospital, that it was someone trying to kill Tony. She had to be Science-Abby at that moment. She had to think that this was any other case even if it wasn't just any other case.

"I've got eight bullets out of the car so far. Just from a visual, they all look like they were shot from a rifle but I'll know more when I analyze them. They're kind of mooshed up. All the bullet holes are on the passenger side. All look to be shot at a downward angle, like he was trying to not hit Tony. I've got to do measurements on the door so I can get you a better description of the trajectories and car speed. I think some of the damage was done by the van slamming into Tony's car because there's white paint on the demolished passenger side. I know Tony has enemies, but why would someone do something like this on the GW where anybody and everybody can see him? That doesn't make any sense."

"When we find the guy, I'll ask him. What else?"

"Ziva and Timmy found another fourteen shell casings on the highway. I've got a gut feeling that they won't be very helpful other than telling me they came from the same gun."

She took another sip of her Caf-Pow. It really did help a little. It gave her a little pick-me-up. "McGee's trying to get anything off the traffic cameras, but he hasn't called yet to say he's found anything. I've got Major Mass Spec and all the guys working at super-speed analyzing everything I could get off the photos. The packaging's a wash though. Too many fingers have touched it. I couldn't get any DNA off the underside which only the sender would have touched. There were some fingerprints on the photos themselves and that's all up to AFIS now."

Gibbs glanced around at the amount of work Abby had done with the car. "How will you know when one of your guys ding?"

She pointed to the computer speaker on the nearby table. "I've got my microphone on in my lab. Gibbs, there are few things I can sort of speculate about… it's not scientific or anything. It's just me eyeballing the photo albums –"

"What, Abby?"

"Some of the pictures look like they were taken from the same camera, angle and location. The ones at the house? All taken from inside a car. I can see reflections from the windshield in the picture. The ones with Tony doing his job while he was a beat cop were all taken from the onboard camera in a squad car. I don't know if it means anything or if I'm right or if it helps –"

"It could help," Gibbs told her as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "It means whoever took these pictures wasn't just watching Tony for a long time. It means they had access to police surveillance tapes like the car cameras that aren't easy to get to. That's good work, Abs. A good lead. Can you prove your speculations?"

Abby stood up straight. "I'll start looking as soon as I get back to my lab."

Gibbs' cell phone rang at that moment.

"Gibbs," he answered quickly.

Abby could hear McGee's voice but couldn't understand the words. Maybe he found something on this guy Carlisle? It was when he closed his eyes that Abby saw real pain, not just worry.

"Meet me in the conference room in five minutes, McGee," he answered, his voice sounding almost worried as he closed his phone.

"Anything else on the packaging?" he asked her.

Abby made a bold suggestion. "I'd like to try to trace its path from the day it was mailed in D.C. to when we got it, but it's just regular mail. Tracking it might be difficult. I don't know how long the Post Office keeps records of items mailed. I might only be able to backtrack to whoever forwarded it here." But wasn't that what they did all the time? The difficult? The impossible?

"Okay. Keep working, Abs," he said as he hurried back toward the elevator.

Abby noticed the sudden change in Gibbs' demeanor when he was on the phone. It was as if he was dreading to hear something, but this was Gibbs. He didn't really 'dread' getting information on a case. He lived for information.

Something else was definitely up.