Chapter 3 - Cornered In

His adrenaline ebbing away, Vance felt the throbbing of his broken fingers more and more, dulling his every sense. It also made thinking harder and harder. Fortunately, DiNozzo seemed to have everything under control. Ever since he had spotted Oldman and his accomplices, his leading Senior Field Agent had taken over command in a calm and decisive manner Vance would have never expected from the usually so juvenile man. He had effectively saved them just in time from a fate perhaps unknown but for sure painful - if not deadly. So he was happy to let him have the lead for the moment.

Besides, DiNozzo was right. The faster he got out of Philadelphia the better. He wasn't so sure about letting him board alone, it went against any protocol and basic rules of protection details. Then again, if he wasn't safe once he was past security, then he wouldn't be safe anywhere. Should anyone try something, he was certain he could deal with the bold fool himself, broken fingers or not. Most of all though, he was as reluctant to leave McGee behind without backup as DiNozzo seemed to be. The guy had taken a bullet for him already and he agreed, once he passed security, McGee was more vulnerable than him. Most of all, while he saw the need for him to get out of the city, he preferred to have his people remain on the ground and conduct an investigation into just what the hell was going on here, and how it had been possible to breach the security of this high security gathering!

But as he had come to accept, after Gibbs, DiNozzo was the best man to do this so he was inclined to overlook the breach of protocol.

If only McGee had remembered to have his ID with him! He could have accompanied him while DiNozzo stayed back for the investigation. The forgotten ticket was easily replaced, but without the ID there was just no way McGee could get past security, unless they chartered a private flight, and, conscious of his agency's tight budget, Vance wanted to avoid that if it wasn't absolutely necessary. That was a pretty big rookie mistake by the young agent, but then again, he could understand it. No one had expected something like this to happen.

Who'd take such a risk, just to get to someone?

In front of him, DiNozzo abruptly stopped, causing him to almost walk into the bigger man. As it was, McGee bumped into him from behind. "What?"

DiNozzo scanned the check-in hall with narrowed eyes. "They're here," he said with disbelief.

It couldn't be. Following his line of sight, at first Vance didn't see anything suspicious. Then though, he spotted the man facing away from them. Asian, perhaps six foot one. It was the stance that told someone with a trained eye that this was someone who knew how to fight. And lastly, there was the ghost of a bulge at the back of his jacket. If that weren't enough cause to be wary, at that moment, he turned around and spotted them. His eyes narrowing, he started towards them.

"Back," DiNozzo hissed, already starting to retreat. The Asian guy picked up his pace.

Cursing, DiNozzo changed direction, heading towards the exit. "Where are you going? Shouldn't we get back to the car?" McGee asked, voicing Vance's thoughts exactly.

DiNozzo stood back to let them pass to the outside, looking back to the approaching man. "You mean the car we've stolen and the triad has seen us driving away in? That's standing in the very lonely parking house deck where we'll be an easy target, where no one will see if they grab or kill us?"

"The cameras ..."

"Are manned by professionals. Who haven't either dealt with or even spotted at least two armed men in their halls. Thank you, I think I'll pass. Hurry."

Two? Vance hadn't seen a second man, but he was fast learning to accept whatever DiNozzo said at face value. Jesus, just what had they gotten themselves into? He admitted, he had enemies, some of them in the triad, but why attack now? Why such a vicious attack? Something had to have triggered all this but though there were some talks and plans with other agencies to tighten their security especially in the Asian regions, this was hardly fresh news. Of course, it was always possible that SecNav was planning something he hadn't yet brought Vance in on. So far though, their enemies seemed to be very well informed so if that was the case, why get it wrong now?

McGee looked around. "Where to? Try another check-in desk?"

"Or to the charter flights," Vance resigned himself to propose. Better to escape the triad than save a few bucks.

"Too risky, we'd easily be spotted at another check-in desk."

Pushing them towards the next set of sliding doors, DiNozzo seemed to think about their options. They passed a stream of people, getting out of a bus. They hurried further on, reaching the taxi line, where cabs were loading off people and their baggage as well. Checking behind themselves, DiNozzo herded them past a big and loud family with at least five children, from Texas if he heard right. "And a charter flight would be a good idea if we weren't being tailed already. Besides, if they anticipated us coming here, I've got a feeling they also thought of us bypassing a regular flight in favor of a charter. No, we'll need to find another way."

The next taxi driver was just about to get back into his car. "Get in," DiNozzo ordered, pointing to the taxi cab and rushing forward, yanking open the passenger seat door. The protests from the taxi driver came immediately and loudly, but DiNozzo cut him off by shoving first his badge and then his gun into his face. "Federal agents. This is an emergency." By then, Vance and McGee had slid into the backseat. "Duck," he told them, closing the door and doing so himself, before he addressed the speechless taxi driver. "Okay," he checked the license, "Moses, now pull away, no hurry, do what you always do. We don't want a car chase here, just for you to get us away." A hundred dollar bill appeared in his hand. "This is just an everyday ride, nothing special. A very profitable one though. You okay, Moses?"

The driver looked at him, his eyes still wide. But he had overcome the initial shock and was doing as DiNozzo told him, pulling away and joining the exit lane. He nodded now. "Where to?"

With a sigh, DiNozzo met his eyes. Vance shrugged, letting him know that this was DiNozzo's call. It was his turf after all. That was the main reason why he had taken DiNozzo instead of David along though he'd never anticipated just how fatefully lucky that decision would turn out to be. Making a face, DiNozzo looked forward again, closing his eyes. "Italian Market," he finally said, in a strangely defeated manner Vance had never before heard from him.


Apparently, everything had turned against him. Why did the triad have to have posted men at the airport? It would have been so easy. Drop off Vance at the security gate, then get McGee to the hospital.

And himself.

So far, sheer willpower and the adrenaline running through his system had kept him going, but his strength was beginning to recede and he knew he was running on his last fumes before he collapsed from the pain and blood loss. The bullet from the waitress hadn't done a lot of damage, he thought - but it had managed to penetrate his left side, somehow lucky enough to hit just where the back and front of the vest came together. He'd used his handkerchief and his left arm to put pressure on the wound, but he was losing too damn much blood and was running out of time.

God, he wished Gibbs or Ziva were here. He could trust them to take over and get Vance to security by themselves if necessary. McGee though ... Even without the bruised or even broken ribs and concussion he suffered from taking a round to the chest, Tony wouldn't have felt at ease letting him take point on this. He was a good enough field agent, of course, but this was a whole different kind of field work, one his junior agent just wasn't up to as him forgetting his ID, and also his suggestions so far showed clearly. It wasn't all McGee's fault, truth was, he and Gibbs should have seen to it to train him better in this kind of field work as well. Problem was, you had to be a certain type of person to excel at such work and McGee just wasn't that type. They could show him the ropes, but Tony doubted he'd ever develop the instinct needed for it.

Either way, right now he wasn't fit to take over for him and although Vance may have a lot more experience with this sort of thing, he was the target and hurt too, not to mention too long at a desk for Tony to trust him to get them out of Philly alive. Finally, none of them knew Philly like he knew it. So he needed to keep it together for now. Also, best not let them know that he was running around with a hole in his body or they'd listen to him even less.

First, they needed to regroup and plan their next move. And they all needed medical attention. Still not trusting the hospitals or PPD, that didn't leave him with much choice.

Next logical stop would be the FBI or one of the other sister agencies. Again, he didn't trust them. Probably he was paranoid and way off but he really had his doubts. Maybe it was the cop in him that was stopping him from reaching out to the alphabet soup or maybe his general distrust of any other agency than NCIS. He snorted mentally. Okay, so it was rather that he trusted no one else but Gibbs and his team, especially cornered in like he felt at the moment.

The most sensible and safe bet was NAS Willow Grove. Just hit 611, drive twenty miles north of Philly and knock at the gate of the base. Problem with that was that it was the logical thing to do - meaning they'd most likely be waiting for them somewhere on the way. After finding them waiting at the airport he was pretty sure of that.

So there wasn't really much choice left for them, was there?

Yeah, he thought with a grimace. Too bad. Italian Market was a bad idea. It would lead him straight into the heart of all the places he shouldn't go to, not if he wanted to avoid trouble with the Family. Also, if the triad did their homework, they'd know he'd served there for two years and therefore would also know where to look for him. And if he weren't running out of time, he wouldn't go south at all. But he was, and the way he saw it, knowing the turf still gave him the advantage - and boy, he knew the blocks around Italian Market like the back of his hand. Okay, it had been fifteen years, but the thing with the Family was, not that much changed. Maybe who was calling the shots now and was running the business with a healthy dose of terror but not the pizza place with the gambling hall in the back or the laundry shop washing more than pants and shirts. Besides, he may have kept an eye from afar on the place, so he thought he knew the most important changes – and what hadn't changed.

If they were lucky, he could get them help and resources to get away and out of Philly without running into more trouble yet. If they were extremely lucky.

Somehow, Tony didn't feel like betting on it.


Italian Market turned out to be a very crowded place, the streets around it filled with a myriad little shops, cafés and restaurants. Tony led them across the market place, stopping only to buy them all some sun glasses and baseball caps that he had them pulling low over their faces. Once past the busy stands, Tony continued to walk them through a series of shortcuts that had Tim losing his sense of direction in no time. The merciless hammering in his head didn't help either. If they were still being followed, he was sure Tony had managed to shake them off.

Well, it wasn't a big surprise. Tony had spent two years as a cop here after all. Probably, he'd walked the beat here. Or cruised the streets. Or been undercover. Tim frowned. When he thought of it, he didn't really know what Tony had done while he was serving with PPD. Been here two years, made detective here, worked vice, but that was about it and just what he knew from Tony's file. Tony himself had never talked about Philly. Which was strange. Not that he talked much about his days as a cop period, but there had been several stories or mentions of a particular case or situation over the years. But only from the academy, Peoria or Baltimore, as Tim realized now. Never Philly.

Strange.

He looked over his shoulder an awful lot as well, and Tim had a feeling it wasn't just about the triad following them. Stopping in the shadows of a corner, Tony leaned against the wall, signaling them to stay in the alley as he surveilled - Tim glanced around the corner - a butcher's hop? "What are you looking for?"

If Tony gave him a look, it didn't show thanks to the sunglasses. It felt like it though. But he did answer eventually. "Help. If someone who could help us is still running the shop over there."

"A butcher's shop?" McGee asked skeptically.

"Some clichés are only too true," Vance said from behind them. "What kind of shop would that be?"

"Flesh and bones," Tony answered, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

It took Tim a moment to catch on. He noticed that happened a lot today. He hoped it was because of the concussion. "A mob doctor? You want us to go to a doctor that operates out of a butchery?"

To further increase Tim's incredulity, it was actually Vance who answered. "It makes sense. Tables, machinery and no one asking if there's a strange garbage odor smelling up the place."

"What he said," Tony said, his eyes not straying away from the place.

"He any good?" Vance asked, as if he wasn't worried at all that Tony wanted them to go to some pseudo doctor instead of a hospital.

"He's a she, and before Ducky the only med I willingly let me patch up. So yeah, she's good."

A she? Well, why wasn't Tim surprised? "Come on, you can't be serious. Why don't we just go to a hospital? If we need to go at all. I mean, I don't and if you're so worried about it, I'm sure tending to the director's broken fingers can wait a bit longer."

Vance inclined his head. "He has a point here."

"Hospitals are too dangerous. We don't know how long it'll be until we get back to Washington. We treat you guys now, we don't have to worry later. Also, we need to regroup." Tony sighed tiredly before he gave them a half hearted grin. "Besides, Nan has some really great drugs in there."

Tim's frown deepened. "Regroup? Look, I get it, the convention has been infiltrated, so we have to be wary of whom to trust, but they can't all be corrupt. Shouldn't we try to contact the police or FBI or some authority here? Maybe one of your old buddies?"

"Sorry, no buddies. They're either dead or have moved on," Tony said sharply, still not looking his way. "And no. Not taking that chance. Not right now, at least." He straightened. "Okay, let's try this."

Exasperated, Tim looked to Vance for guidance, hoping that at least someone here had some sense left. Tony might be in charge of the protection detail and was his senior agent but Vance was still the Director. Surely he could override Tony's decisions? But Vance followed Tony without so much as a hint of a doubt and so Tim had no choice but to follow as well.

Maybe he was wrong to doubt Tony. At least in situations like these. As he'd already proved countless times, Tony was pretty great at getting out of them alive. And admittedly, he had a lot more experience. Still. To him, some things just defied any logic he knew and it was hard for him to ignore that. He was an MIT guy, maybe with a badge, but the logics that had ruled his life for years and years wouldn't let him go that easily.

Tony moved straight to the alley beside the butcher's shop, moving swiftly to the back of the building where he took a stair leading to a door on the second floor. He waited until they were all up the stairs as well before he rapped on the door, one hand on his weapon – which moved away the second the door opened to reveal a little wrinkled lady looking old enough to have been around when the abacus was used by the Mesopotamians. To Tim's horror, Tony's face split into the first true smile he'd seen from him since arriving in Philly, and he stepped in to kiss the antique lady on the cheek. "Nan! You look more beautiful every time I see you."

Nan? As the Nan with the great drugs? As in the mob doctor that was a she?

The ominous Nan squinted up at Tony, scowling. "Boy, I heard you were in town. Foolish. Then, somehow I'm not surprised at all that you're so bold as to risk coming here. Stupido ragazzo."

If anything, Tony's grin widened. "And pass on the opportunity to see my favorite doctor lady? Come on, Nan, how could I?"

She gave him a hard look over before glancing at Tim and Vance. "Yeah, I see why you're here just fine. Get in. By the way, you look like crap, Tonio."

"Not everyone has the luck to grow in beauty like you do," Tony said lightly, but some of his smile dimmed.

Tim too took a critical look at his partner - and could only agree. Again he remembered that Tony had so far not provided an explanation as to just why he was looking so much like crap. In fact, he'd fielded every question concerning his condition. The queasiness in his stomach turned up a notch. He opened his mouth, but Tony was quicker.

"Nan, this is my boss. Some guy had the rudeness to step on his hand. And my friend here took one to the chest. Vest caught it, but there's surely some damage," he explained, nodding at Vance and Tim before turning back to the old doctor. "I hoped we could stay here and let you patch us up a bit. Won't be for long, I want to get out of here as soon as possible. If you let me use your phone while you look after my friends here we'll be even faster out of your hair. Will you help us?"

Forgetting everything else, Tim found himself holding his breath. While he had his serious doubts about the skills of this old woman - she seemed nice enough, reminded him a bit of his own grandmother, well, Nan was a few decades older perhaps - since being here, he felt like his ribs ached even more and the sledgehammer in his head had called a few friends in to help it dismantle his brain. Maybe some painkillers and a little rest couldn't hurt after all. Especially as he had serious doubts that they were still being followed.

Nan was giving Tony a look that put even Gibbs' to shame. Though he showed as little sign of intimidation by it as by Gibbs'. Worse, he actually pushed out his lower lip and looked so pleadingly at the old dragon that even Tim felt the power of it. Her frown deepened, but in the end, she shook her head. "Please. Save that for someone more your age. Go ahead, you know the place. I'll see what I can do for your friends."

"Grazie!" Tony gave her his patented killer grin, kissed her cheek and danced away to disappear down a corridor before her scowl even had time to form. Again she shook her head before she turned to him and Vance, instantly sobering up. "Who wants to go first?"


Back in Nan's old exam room, Tony leaned onto the table with a groan. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to control the pain and wave of dizziness. Up until now he'd been able to keep standing and going, but ever since he'd crossed Nan's threshold, his last strength had been deteriorating fast. Damn it, Nan's place perhaps felt like a safe haven but it was far from it. They weren't safe yet! He couldn't lose it, not yet!

His body was not impressed with his insistence. Quite the opposite. His left side was on fire and the droning in his ears warned him that he should get off his feet before his body took that decision away from him. Gritting his teeth, he tortured himself onto the table. Taking a minute, he allowed himself to rest, trying to think about what he needed to do.

Get hold of Gibbs. He sure was already on his way to Philadelphia, but after the attack onto the LEO conference, getting into the city wasn't going to be easy. Neither was getting out, he thought gloomily. Maybe that was for the best. Hole up somewhere and wait for Gibbs. Especially considering the poor state he was in.

Carefully, he pried open the jacket, and shrugged out of it. Next was his vest. He had a hard time suppressing the cries of pain, only able to reduce them to muffled groans. Damn! Why had that stupid waitress managed to hit just the right spot to be able to shoot him? She got him just as he was turning to cover McGee and Vance's escape. It was pure luck on her part and that irked him perhaps the most. If a Kidon fighter broke his arm or a trained soldier got the better of him, okay, but a stupid waitress?

Okay, for sure she'd been more than a waitress. God, he hoped she was some kick-ass assassin or Ziva and McGee would never let him live this down. Ziva. She was certainly also on her way, having Gibbs' six. He wished the both of them were here already.

But they weren't. And they wouldn't be for a while. He couldn't contact them with his phone, that was too risky. He'd already taken out the battery, so they couldn't be traced here. He'd have to try it with Nan's phone, although he loathed the idea of dragging her further into this. What if they screened Gibbs' and Ziva's phones as well? And if that wasn't bad enough ... He'd come here because he trusted Nan and because he knew the turf. Problem was, it was Paccieti's turf. The old mobster was perhaps still on death row, but the way Tony knew him - which was better than he was comfortable with – he'd still got connections here. And after Alyssa had spotted him yesterday, or maybe even earlier than that, it was not out of the question that word had also got as far as SCI-Greene.

Which would be bad. Paccieti had sworn to take revenge on him, for more or less killing his son, ruining his business and finally getting him killed, even if that was still pending. He couldn't really blame the guy. He was a cruel, cold-blooded murderer, but he was also a family man. A proud man. And Tony had betrayed him. So if he got word that he'd come back on his turf and he still had some weight around here ... They'd be looking for him. Maybe were already on the streets, searching for him. The people after Vance probably didn't know much about his past here, but Paccieti and his friends knew it well enough and they wouldn't take long to look here for him. Maybe they were already screening Nan's phone, to see if he'd contact her.

Damn, he couldn't think straight anymore! Was he too paranoid? Sure, the hit had been well orchestrated and was proof of excellent intel and funding. But they'd gotten away. Twice. Maybe they had learned their lesson and had accepted that NCIS was not so easily defeated. And it'd been fifteen years since he'd last been here. Fifteen years since Paccieti had been the Don, had ruled this part of town with terror. And even if they were out looking for him, there was no way they could know he had escaped the attack and was now hurt and on the run, needing to come here in the first place.

So yeah, he probably was paranoid. Still, he didn't move to get out his phone, or reach for Nan's.

"I set the fingers of the broken hand, wrapped baby face up and gave them both pain killers. They're good to go."

He blinked his eyes open and looked to the door. It took him a moment until his focus cleared to see Nan frowning down at him. "Already?" he responded, in Italian as she had done. Huh, he hadn't been aware that so much time had passed while he was trying to decide what to do next.

The lines around her mouth tightened. "Fifteen years and you still are in the middle of trouble. Have you learned nothing, boy?" She didn't wait for an answer and leaned over him, pulling away his shirt.

He smiled. "I thought I'm too young for you, Bella. But no problem, I always was a big fan of Mrs Robinson."

She plucked the shirt away from where the blood had made it stick to the injury. He hissed. Then her fingers probed the wound, gently, but he still gasped, tensing with the waves of fire it sent through his body. Damn. "That's what you get for smart mouthing. The bullet's still in. I need to get it out. And you, you need to rest."

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. "How long?"

Nan scowled. "Bullet's too deep to simply pull out. It hit your lower ribcage. As you're still standing up, more or less, it probably got stopped by a rib. Which was lucky as the little devil probably missed all the vital organs. But I need to go in to remove it and make sure there's no internal bleeding. Getting it out could be tricky. Best would be for you to go to the next hospital, but I guess you wouldn't be here if that were an option. Still, I don't have all the fancy stuff they could offer you there. Here, it's going to get bloody and I'll be blind going in. So you need to be absolutely still, which means anesthetic. Which means you'll be out for at least an hour or two, longer if there are complications. You'll be weak and groggy and need to lie still for at least another day or two. A week would be better, but I know you better than that."

Again he shook his head. "No. I can't afford that. First I need to get my friends to safety."

Nan slapped his chest. Not hard, but not lightly either. It told him loud and clear how unhappy she was with him. "You can't afford to let that bullet bounce around. It can still get to your lung or your heart and then you are dead, Tonio."

"No."

"Tonio ..."

He caught her hand and stared her into her eyes; black and exasperated, they glared back at him. "I'm responsible for them. I need to keep them safe. Not because it's my job. It's my duty. And at least one of them is family." He let go of her hand, exhausted. This was taking too much time. And too much of his already low energy. "I can't lose them. So please, Nan - help me protect them. Patch me up, wrap me up, do whatever you can to keep me going for a day or two longer. Please."

She turned away. The half huff and half growl of hers told him though that he'd won the argument. Good. With Ducky he wouldn't have been so lucky to get away with this reasoning. Of course, the Scottish ME had one Leroy Jethro Gibbs to back him up. If the boss were here, he'd already be under - that's i f he'd been in this whole mess in the first place. Probably, Gibbs would have caught on that something was about to go on way before he had. Evacuated sooner. And everyone, not just his charges.

There had been wounded. Probably also dead. That grenade Oldman had thrown to cut off his escape had done a lot of damage, for sure. Again he'd been too slow to prevent it. He'd tried to shoot him first, but Oldman had been well trained, knew how to dodge bullets. After the grenade he'd charged him, killed him ... Too late for those killed by the grenade.

"I'll clean and disinfect it, before I staple it. Hopefully, that will prevent you bleeding to death. Then I'll wrap you up. You'll have to move as little as you can."

He reopened his eyes to see her once again standing over him, holding cotton, antiseptic and tweezers in her hands. "Thank you."

"No. No thank you. What I'm doing has nothing to do with helping you."

The pain in her eyes told him she wasn't kidding. How much she hated this. And he was sorry to have to had to confront her with this again. As a mob doctor, she had patched together people most of her life. Helping them - but often also having to avoid doing things that could actually save the wounded on her table. If there was a table at all. She'd already been retired when he met her, but Paccieti had refused to go to anyone but her and that counted for his trusted men too. So after Tony once found himself on the wrong side of a knife, he'd been sent to the butcher to meet Nan. She became a friend.

"A few years back I got pneumonic plague." He had the rare privilege to see Nan puzzled, even gaping at him. "Fifteen percent survival chance. I'm still here." He grinned reassuringly. "I'm a survivor. This bullet won't kill me. The people who are after my friend might do, though. And if one of Paccieti's old buddies finds me here, he won't hesitate either. So the faster you patch me up and get me going, the faster me and my friends are out of your hair, getting further and further away."

She was still gaping. "Antonio, you ... " She interrupted herself with a sigh. "Oh, why am I even trying? But you won't leave for at least an hour. That's how long I insist you're hooked to a drain." He opened his mouth and again she slapped his chest. "No discussion. Drain or no help."

He glared at her. She stared right back, unwavering. Gibbs may have a fierce glare, but it was nothing against the Look of an Italian matron. "No fun, Nan," he grumbled.

She smiled before she went to work. Hissing, he forgot everything else but the pain.


Vance was reaching the end of his patience. Their doctor had vanished down the same corridor DiNozzo had walked away down to make some phone calls. His eyes glanced at the phone standing close-by. DiNozzo had seemed eager to get away from them and he wondered why. He also wondered what the hell was taking them so long.

After all, one call to Gibbs couldn't take that long. Especially considering the usual phone habits of his best lead agent. Of course, DiNozzo could make other calls as well, trying to find them a safe route to a secured location.

If he thought about it, he should make some calls of his own. Unfortunately, most numbers he needed were in his phone - which was dunked into a wine glass, thanks to DiNozzo's rushed actions. He was thankful for his quick, and most of all right conclusions and actions, but really, had it been absolutely necessary to destroy his cell?

He glanced at McGee, who was stretched out on the sofa, by doctor's orders. He'd closed his eyes. At first he'd fidgeted, but now he'd stilled, some of the lines of pain he'd carried smoothed out already. No point in interrupting the much needed rest McGee was able to get before DiNozzo would move them again. The young man had after all saved his life. Both of them actually did.

Undoubtedly, Vance was grateful to still be able to see his children grow up. Still, he wasn't feeling too comfortable owing DiNozzo that much. Not that the SFA seemed to think it a big deal, or anything else but his job. This surprised the Director. Usually, DiNozzo was such an attention hog - yet he'd hardly uttered a word about what had happened back at the conference hotel. Or about his involvement in the Paccieti take down.

Time and time again, Gibbs had told him to take a closer look at DiNozzo's file. He'd done that, but perhaps it really was time to take another look, going deeper this time. Once they were back home. Which they first had to get back to.

The setting of the bones in his fingers had robbed him of his breath and clear thinking for a while, but now, as the pain killers Nan had given him kicked in, he grew more and more aware of the mess they were in. Stopping his pacing in front of the television, he hesitated a moment before he looked around for the remote. Normally he'd wait to ask permission to turn on the television, but as the doctor had vanished a long time ago, he'd have to do with a little rudeness. Seriously though, what was taking those two so long? If the doctor weren't the old hag she was, he'd suspect the two of them shaking it up back there.

He didn't have to bother to search for a channel which covered the attack. The footage of the conference hotel's top floor windows blowing out greeted him as soon as the screen came to life. Frowning, he watched as the footage changed to live coverage in front of the lobby, where the reporter repeated the newest events. Behind him, the place was crawling with uniforms and people wearing FBI jackets. The news line scrolling across the bottom of the picture informed him that there had been wounded and dead, no number and names known yet. Motive or identity of the attackers were unknown as well, although, three of the assailants were confirmed dead. All in all, they didn't know much. And as always in such cases, they were slightly hysterical and had closed off the city.

One thing though became painfully crystal clear to him: he needed to find a way to contact Jackie. She must be out of her mind with worry, and the kids too, if they've seen the news. And after that he needed to inform SecNav that he was still very much alive. Again, he glanced at the phone. He didn't know Jarvis' number by heart but he sure knew that of his own home.

His hand had just closed around the phone when an old, wrinkled one laid itself over his. "No. Tonio is handling the calls."

He turned around. "He can hardly call my wife."

She shrugged, though her expression was sympathetic. "My phone, my rules."

He opened his mouth in consternation, but he never got to express it. Suddenly, the door flew open and a young boy who looked barely older than his son Jared burst into the room, letting loose a flood of Italian in a breathless voice. The old mob doctor listened, not interrupting him once, a frown forming and deepening between her eyes. When he finally stopped to take a much needed breath, she looked at Vance with a scowl. "Time for you to go."


Author's Note: So, I'm obviously back. Thanks for all the reviews while I was on my little hiatus. I had to concentrate on finishing two degrees, then NaNo-time came and I focused on my original stuff – and then I hit writer's block. So hence this long pause. I hope you still enjoy this story – and this new chapter in particular. As always, big thanks to my beta for making sure you can still read this without wincing as English still isn't my mother tongue and even with the Proficiency now in my pocket – I continue to make mistakes. So thanks scousemuz1k! Well, like said, hope you liked it – and don't despair, at least one more chapter I've already finished, so this time it definitely won't take another year and a half until the next one.