Part 3

Director Shepard stood her ground at the head of the conference table. As Cynthia was busy securing the doors to her office, Jenny briefly glanced at each of the three agents sitting at the table. Each was just out of FLETC and she had been giving them a welcome briefing to NCIS headquarters, where each of them was to be assigned. Being held at gun-, and she supposed bomb-, point was probably not what each of them had in mind for their first day at work.

"Now, each of you, please remove your jackets and any weapons you have on you." The man still had Ziva's weapon pointed directly at Jenny. Taking their cues from the Director, each of the brand new agents removed their jackets and weapons, placing both on the table. "Cynthia…it is Cynthia, isn't it? Please secure these around Jenny's and each of these young men's hands and feet." He tossed the secretary a bundle of zip ties. "Make sure that they are nice and tight, I don't want anyone making a fuss for me later. If you all would, you can go sit against that wall." Pointing with the Jericho, he indicated the yellow-coated wall to the left of the Director's desk.

With apologies written across her face and in her eyes, Cynthia bound each of the agent's hands and feet with the zip ties. When she was done, the man tossed her a pair of handcuffs, to which she turned a slightly confused and anxious look. "For Ziva. They are hers after all. I'm sure when she wakes up , she will appreciate the irony of being secured by her own handcuffs and held at gunpoint by her own weapon," the man explained, a sick little smile on his lips. "You may call me Nigel, by the way. I had a professor once by the name of Nigel; a good man."

Nigel moved over to the conference table and placing Ziva's Jericho back in his belt, he collected all of the weapons laid out there. When he turned back around, Cynthia had yet to handcuff the unconscious Ziva. He gave her a small smile, as he walked over to Jenny's desk. He opened one of the top drawers, removed all the clips from each weapon, and placed the guns in another drawer; he dumped Ziva's backup and knives in there as well. When he had finished he turned back to Jenny's assistant, who was looking more nervous by the second.

"Cynthia, you can just sit Officer David up against Jenny's desk and handcuff her arms around the desk leg, please." Nigel's voice was calm, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Cynthia looked worriedly at the explosive vest attached to Ziva and then back at Director Shepard. The red-head just nodded her head slightly and gave her assistant a sympathetic look, indicating that she should do as the man asked.

Cynthia swallowed down hard on her fear and went over to the woman lying listless on the floor; Ziva hadn't moved since she'd been unceremoniously dumped on the ground about ten minutes prior. Cynthia saw the blood oozing out of Ziva's leg and the odd angle of Ziva's left arm, knowing it was broken and probably hurt like hell. Putting her hands underneath Ziva's armpits, Cynthia tried to avoid touching any of the explosives attached to the vest Ziva was wearing. The secretary made a determined effort to be gentle as she slowly dragged Ziva's body across the floor towards the desk. Ziva's moans of pain reached her ears, as Cynthia couldn't help but jar Ziva's injured arm. After a few moments, Ziva's eyes fluttered open and she became aware of her surroundings. Cynthia was grateful that Ziva was now silent. Cynthia knew she was causing the other woman pain, but at least with Ziva awake, she was now trying to give Cynthia a look of encouragement, instead of whimpering softly in pain.

Cynthia helped Ziva to sit up against the back of the Director's desk. Looking directly into the foreign officer's eyes, she mouthed a quick, "I'm sorry," before locking the woman's wrists together around the desk leg with her own handcuffs. Ziva could hardly contain her grimace, as her face turned ashen, from her arm twisting behind her back. Gazing back at Cynthia, Ziva could see the assistant's eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Cynthia," the secretary's back stiffened, as Nigel spoke from directly behind her. She turned to find Ziva's gun back in his hand, the dead-man switch in his other. She noted with some satisfaction that his nose was obviously broken, so Ziva obviously didn't go down without a fight. Once he had her attention, he continued, "Remove Ziva's cell phone from her pocket and call Special Agent Gibbs. Tell him I have six hostages, including his Director, and that I would like your M.E., Doctor Mallard, to be sent up with his medical bag and some sutures."


Cynthia did as she was told and a few moments later out in the hall, Gibbs' caller ID read 'Ziva.' He quickly flipped open his cell phone. Tony and McGee were with him and hung on his every word.

"Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, it's Cynthia. The man, uh, Nigel, has six of us in here. He wants Doctor Mallard sent in with his medical equipment."

"Cynthia, how badly is Ziva hurt? Is anyone else injured?" Tony started leaning in close to Gibbs, worried sick about Ziva and wanting to know if she was okay.

"Just send in Ducky," was all he heard before an audible click in his ear. She had hung up. Gibbs made sure to have his composure back before turning to his two agents. "DiNozzo, go find Ducky and tell him to bring medical supplies. McGee, I need some way to see and hear inside that room, right now."

Tony scurried off to find their medical examiner, while Tim continued working on finding a way to get eyes and ears inside the Director's office. As Gibbs ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, the formally peaceful squad room erupted into movement, as DC Metro SWAT burst through the stairwell doors. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.


As soon as Cynthia had made the call, Nigel indicated that Cynthia should make herself comfortable on the floor, as he took a position half-sitting and half-standing, leaned up against the conference table. Cynthia took a seat next to Ziva and Jenny was proud of her assistant for how she was handling this situation. She was not trained for this and she had yet to become hysterical. If anything, Cynthia was conducting herself better than the agent sitting along the wall next to Jenny. Smith, Robert Smith, was his name, if Jenny recalled correctly. Much to her chagrin, the young agent had the most god-awful look of fear on his face and could not stop staring at all the explosives attached to Ziva's chest. The only time he looked away was to obsess over the switch in Nigel's left hand. At least the other two agents were holding it together from what she could tell, each of them had a grim look plastered on his face, but that was about it.

Jenny turned her gaze to Ziva next to see how she was holding up. She was slightly shocked to see Ziva with her head ducked down, trying to look at anything other than the man at the conference table. She had expected a quiet defiance from Ziva, but she appeared now to have the spirit sucked out of her, her body drawn in as much as possible in as much of a protective stance as she could muster in her current position. For his part, Nigel seemed rather amused by Ziva's behavior; Jenny supposed there must be more to this than she was currently seeing. After a few minutes of everyone in the room sitting silently, Jenny finally decided to see how much information she could gather about the mysterious man who was holding them hostage.


Out on the catwalk, Gibbs had insisted to the SWAT commander that he have some part in any negotiation or rescue effort, it was his people in there after all. The SWAT commander, Lieutenant Michael Rogers, was a former Marine and understood completely. He would allow Gibbs to help run the show, while his people swept the rest of the building for stragglers and anymore explosives.

Tony paced the hall furiously, while McGee was busy jury-rigging a camera to a small remote-controlled robot than he had swindled from the agents down in the cyber crimes basement. Ducky had recently joined everyone out on the catwalk and was awaiting Gibbs' approval to go into the room with his medical bag. Stepping up onto a maintenance ladder, Tim put the piece of duct-taped engineering into one of the vents above the hallway that, according to the blueprints of the building, would lead to the Director's office. Stepping down, he turned on a giant LCD monitor that Tony had acquired from the bullpen and double-checked the feed.

"Okay, boss, we're ready." McGee looked toward Gibbs with an expectant look on his face.

Gibbs stared his youngest agent down, raising his eyebrows slightly, "What are you waiting for then?"

McGee flustered slightly, "Uh, uh, nothing boss. Here we go." Each agent watched as the camera made its way silently down to the ducting of the building. After a few minutes and some finagling by McGee, a bird's eye view of the Director's office came into focus through the slats of an air conditioning vent. From the angle, everyone could clearly see Jenny and the three young agents sitting against the far wall, Ziva and Cynthia up against the back of the Director's desk, and who had to be their hostage-taker leaned up against the table in the middle of the room. From the angle, no one could make out his face; currently they had a good view of the back of his head.

Everyone appeared uninjured with the exception of Ziva, whose face was turning a nice shade of dark purple. Tony gut clenched and his face turned red in anger as he saw the blood all over Ziva's pant leg and the unnatural position of her arm; if he had his way, he was going to kill that bastard for doing this to her. Gibbs took one look at his senior field agent and knew that whoever their mystery-man was, he'd likely bitten off more than he could chew. Tony's gaze was alternating between concerned looks at Ziva and shooting daggers toward the back of the man's head.

Rogers moved up toward the screen and politely asked McGee if he could zoom-in on the bomb vest. "Hey, McNally," the police Lieutenant called down to one of his boys on the main floor, "I got something for you to take a look at." A sprightly, twenty-something, young man quickly took the stairs and a moment later was looking at the image on the screen.

"Whew," the young man whistled through his teeth, "that's gotta be almost fifteen kilos of C4, all wired into this charge of det cord in the center of the vest. There's also two trip wires at the top of the vest under each arm. See that little green light on the center of the vest," he said pointing. Seeing everyone nod their heads, he continued, "That means it's armed. Somebody said earlier, he's got a dead-man switch? Yeah, okay, he releases that, that light turns red and we all go boom."

Jenny's strong voice suddenly cut through the silence, "So, Nigel. What are you doing this for? You haven't made any demands yet, so what's the deal?"

"McGee, zoom back out," Gibbs instructed. They soon had a view of the entire room again.

Nigel's smooth voice drifted over the speakers, "Ah, Jenny, it is not about demands. In fact," he glanced at his watch, "in a little while, I will have accomplished my goal and more. So you just sit there, like a good little director, and shut up." Surprisingly, Jenny did as he said. "Now, where is Doctor Mallard? Cynthia, call Gibbs again, please. Let him know that if Doctor Mallard is not sent in within the next five minutes, one of these bright new agents will not live to regret it."

In the hall, Ducky was already moving toward the doors to the Director's outer office. A hand on his arm stopped him. "Ducky," Gibbs softly intoned.

"Jethro, I am going in there whether you like it or not. I will not be the reason one of those young men dies," the medical examiner had squared his shoulders, his medical bag in hand.

"I was going to say good luck," Gibbs said as he gave his old friend a brief hug. Just then, his cell phone went off. "Yeah, he's on his way in now."

As Ducky's hand clasped the door handle, Tony voice floated over to him from across the hall, "Ducky, take care of her. Please."

"Of course, Tony, of course." Ducky slipped through the doors and a moment later, a slight knocking was heard, and Ducky had entered the lion's den.


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