Here's the deal: Two chapters in two days in exchange for a little help. I have two NCIS scenes stuck in my head and would love to know which episodes they are from. Already Googled-no luck. The first is where Tony and Gibbs are confronting a suspect. The suspect tries to run away, zigzagging and such, to avoid being chased. Tony follows him, says something about "Is that running?" Gibbs goes around and beats the suspect to the car, something about "About time you got here DiNozzo", which is met by "That running style is highly effective" from a panting DiNozzo. The second one was when Tony and Gibbs (and maybe McGee) have to interrogate the sick CO and Team Gibbs acts very germophobic, avoiding handshakes and such, to avoid catching the cold. Please leave me a review with this information! Thanks! Enjoy this chapter!
The park looked the same as it did a few hours ago. Except it was about ten times more crowded. All those government employees were apparently either on break or hosting super secret meetings in very public places.
Keeping tabs on Tony was going to be impossible, Gibbs thought, taking his position at a newsstand a couple hundred feet away. Gibbs tried to take this opportunity to get caught up on the newest gossip in Hollywood, so he maybe could understand half of the movie references Tony made, but half-way in, Gibbs realized he knew who none of these people were, and gave up. McGee was stationed in the car, in case something bad went down and a chase ensued, and Ziva was taking pictures not too far away from the bench.
"Kort's coming." Ziva's alert rang through the com-link.
Tony looked up to see Kort approaching, a thick file in his hand.
"You found it."
"No, DiNozzo, this is my Christmas list for Santa. This is not just one file: it is an entire dossier on Milton Berle."
Tony snickered. "You're kidding, right? Milton Berle?"
"No, I'm not," Kort answered sharply, handing Tony the file. "I don't have to tell you this file is top-secret. Even I am going to be owing people for a time to come. If this gets out, I'm not the only one they'll be ripping apart."
"Thanks for your concern. I'll manage."
Kort began to walk away.
"Kort," Tony called, trying to make small amends, considering how much Kort had just stuck out his neck for Tony. Maybe Kort did feel bad for almost getting Tony killed…Nah! Who was he kidding? "Couldn't've done it without you," Tony finally said, deciding that wasn't too sappy or personal.
It was Kort's turn to scoff as he called over his shoulder, "I sure hope that ME's worth it…"
Tony got up, browsing through the file as he walked to the car. Nothing stood out. Berle was killed by an IED in Iraq six months ago. Spotless service record.
He was so engrossed by the file that he had to be shocked into awareness by Ziva's sharp "Tony! Behind you!"
Tony turned, but was hit with something from behind. The attacker took the file as Tony crumpled to the ground unconscious.
"Agent down! Agent down!" Ziva called, sending the team into high alert.
"Ziva, follow him. McGee, see if you can spot him." Gibbs took off towards his fallen agent.
Ziva had begun to follow the jogger who had knocked out Tony and stolen the file, but he had a large head start. Ziva narrowed the gap, avoiding pedestrians, strollers, and even cars as she pursued the man across the street.
"McGee. He's on Main, heading north on foot." She swore in Hebrew as the jogger, or more accurately, the sprinter, knocked over a bicyclist and stole the bike. "He's on a bike. I'm going to lose him. Where are you McGee?"
"Stuck in traffic," McGee answered. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration as he saw the bicyclist make a left and disappear down J-street. "Did you get a description?"
"Didn't see his face. Tall about 6'1", 185-190 pounds, dark-haired, athletic build."
McGee finally turned at the light, but the bicyclist was long gone. He sighed heavily before turning the car around with some difficulty. He parked by the Monument and ran to where Tony and Gibbs were.
Tony was sitting on the ground being examined by a rather cute paramedic as Gibbs stood, stoically and protectively, close by. McGee knew Tony was all right after he started hitting on the EMT.
"Really," he protested as the EMT continued to examine him. "I'm fine. Look." He put his finger in front of his face and followed it up, down, left and right without moving his head. He also rattled off the date, his current location, his name, and his birthday.
"This happen often?" The EMT asked, very amused by Tony's actions.
"Probably more than it should," Gibbs cut in, as Tony went to protest.
"Come on Boss. It doesn't happen that often. Don't listen to him," Tony told the EMT.
"Well Tony. Boss is right. There was that time when you got into that bar fight after making out with that he-she. And the time where Petty Officer Barbara Swain knocked you out with the vase," McGee countered.
"Don't go there McGee," Tony warned, but Ziva had already picked up where McGee had left off.
"Not to mention the time when he went under cover as Jean-Paul Ranier. AND the time when you were taken hostage in the Morgue by that drug-dealer. He watched you over the head with a gun, right?" Ziva continued.
"I think you mean clocked, not watched. And just how did you find out about that last one?" Tony questioned suspiciously.
"Director Sheppard and I are very good friends. You should know that by now, Tony."
"Oh! There's also your beating during the Domino op. And when Mike Franks whacked you over the head so he could lure out Arkady. And who could forget our time in Somalia?" McGee continued over Tony's interjection.
"You forgot the time where he was drugged by the waitress who was getting revenge on Bill Atlas," Gibbs threw in, an amused smile on his face.
McGee nodded gleefully while remembering. Was this what Tony felt like when he was teasing McGee with all the McNicknames? It was kinda fun.
"And that's just the ass-kickings. There's also the time when—" Ziva began again.
"All right! All right! That's enough! Way to kick a Senior Field Agent when he's down." Tony turned to the EMT. "Don't listen to them. It's just what any ruggedly handsome, fiercely loyal, and currently available federal agent would experience."
"Well," said the EMT with an amused smile to match Gibbs' while she packed up, "there is a slight concussion and I would keep him under observation for the next twenty-four hours. If he begins to feel disoriented or unfocused, he needs to visit the ED."
"Any more than usual?" McGee commented to Ziva, slight relief creeping into his voice.
Tony gave McGee a glare that rivaled Gibbs'. "You say something McSmart Ass?"
"No. No, Tony. I didn't. Just glad you're okay."
Tony got up, slightly unsteadily, and turned to look at Ziva and McGee. "Where is he? Didn't you get him?" His partners shook their heads.
"He got away on a bike," McGee replied.
Tony swore under his breath. "So I'm supposed to meet them tonight empty-handed?" Anger crept into his voice. "Palmer and his girlfriend are—" he was cut off by a gentler-than-usual Gibbs-slap.
"Thank you boss."
"What did you see about the file before it was stolen?" Gibbs inquired.
"It belonged to a Milton Berle, killed by an IED in Iraq six months ago. Nothing on his service record other than rapid promotions."
"Why would someone kidnap Palmer and his girlfriend in order to get this information? There is nothing scandalous or revenge-worthy about it." Ziva wondered. "Clearly, it was a tragedy and not a personal killing. Unless someone thought it was a covers down, there would have been no further investigation."
"That'd be cover up, Ziva, not covers down," Tony corrected. Ziva's reply was cut-off by Gibbs' phone ringing.
"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby's voice rang out so loud Gibbs had to pull the phone away from his ear. "Are you okay? How's everyone else—Tony! Is Tony okay? McGee and Ziva—oh! I knew you shouldn't have gone—I had really bad dream last night about you guys—"
"Abby. Breathe." Gibbs ordered. Abby inhaled loudly. "We're all fine. Tony took a small hit to the head. He's fine-really," he added as Abby gasped. "You know how block-headed Tony can be."
"Did you catch the guy?"
"Well, Kort didn't hit Tony if that's what you were asking," Gibbs told her, knowing how Abby hated Trent Kort and how much she wanted to see him in Autopsy. "It was someone else."
"Who would want that file?" Abby wondered.
"You call for a reason, Abs?" Gibbs steered Abby back on track.
"Oh…yeah! I dusted Tony and Palmer's badges—well, Tony's badge and Palmer's ID. Most were theirs but one pair wasn't. I enhanced the print into enough to get a partial. I'm running it through AFIS. It hasn't come back yet. Got some prints from the car. Not the same as the badge. I'm running it now. One pair is registered to Richard Castle, your average joe. Hard-worker according to his employment file, divorced twice, one child of whom he has custody. Lived in New York since 1982. According to his DMV photo, he is not the man Tony described as the leader."
"What's his connection to Palmer or Tony?"
"There's none so far. But you know me, Gibbs: I'm the Energizer Bunny of Forensic Science. Speaking of which, haven't I earned a Caf-Pow! yet?"
"Keep looking Abby and you can put one on my tab later," Gibbs hung up. He turned back to Tony, who was getting to his feet, albeit somewhat unsteadily.
"I'm fine Boss," Tony countered Gibbs' sharp glare with one of his own.
After making a mental note to keep an eye on DiNozzo, Gibbs rallied the disheartened troops back to the squad room.
Abby ambushed the team the moment they stepped out of the elevator.
"TONNNYYY!" Abby cried, wrapping said agent in a bone-crushing hug.
"Ab-by!" Tony gasped, "You-re kill-ing me!"
"Oh, sorry!" Abby let go, skipping back a step. "I'm just glad you're alright." She turned to McGee, Ziva and Gibbs as if just noticing them. "You're all okay?" They nodded.
"You got something Abs?" Gibbs asked, commenting on Abby's usually uncharacteristic visit to the squad room, which were becoming more and more frequent, especially when a certain Senior Field Agent was involved.
"Well, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
"Bad news," McGee answered as Ziva replied "Good news."
"Okay, McGee was first. The bad news is Ducky may or may not have found out that we kinda forgot to tell him about Palmer. He's on his way up." Gibbs gave Abby a softer version of his usual glare. "What? I thought he already knew—Palmer being his assistant and all."
"The good news Abs? So you can redeem yourself?" Gibbs challenged.
"The prints on the badges came back. Registered to Joseph Kemps." She bounced over to McGee's computer and pulled up his service report.
"He's MI5. Retired. Moved back to DC in 2002. No record about his early life, except he attended a local DC school. Short-term. Only a semester. He has an address listed but he moved out two weeks ago and left no forwarding address. Didn't call the DMV either…it's been ten days. That's a crime you know-"
"McGee, run Milton Berle and this Kemps fellow. Look for any similarities." Gibbs called out as the elevator opened and an angry Ducky stepped out. This was not going to be pretty.
Palmer woke in a dark room, meaning there were no windows or it was pitch black outside. He didn't know which. Upon shifting positions, he discovered a mesh bag over his head, blocking his sight but allowing him to breathe. Probably a potato sack. Which brought back memories of his childhood, the county fair, and his undefeated season as Potato Sack Champion, which garnered him a cool $150. He couldn't help grinning as he remembered what he had done with the portion of the money he didn't invest: bought a 5-year subscription to Playpen. And he'd had managed to keep it hidden from his parents.
But he could reminisce another time. The memories came flooding back to him: asking Tony for help, talking Tony out of calling Gibbs, the silent car ride there, and, Palmer winced, the wrong file, followed by his being drugged with something and losing consciousness. A few movements later and Palmer discovered he was tied tightly to a chair.
He leaned his head back in surrender and collided with a semi-soft object. As if on cue, his sense of smell kicked in. He recognized the scent as White Linen perfume.
"Meena," he called softly. "Are you alright?"
"Jimmy! Oh God! Jimmy! Where are we! What happened!" Meena's voice became more and more hysterical and increasing in volume.
"Meena! You've got to keep your voice down!" Palmer whispered. "Trust me!"
"Jimmy!" Meena resumed in a quieter tone, "I was walking up to my house, and someone grabbed me from behind and put something sticky-smelling over my face. When I woke up, I was here—all alone for a long time. Then someone came in with a mask and propped up a laptop in my lap and took a picture. Then he must have drugged me 'cause I lost consciousness and…and now you're here and where are we? Oh God Jimmy! I don't want to die!" Menna's voice again grew louder and louder.
"Meena!" Jimmy whispered, slightly more harshly this time, while searching for her hand behind the chair, "You have to keep your voice down. It's going to be okay. Tony will pull through. Though he can be a real joker, he's one of the better NCIS agents. We're in quite capable hands." Jimmy reassured, finally locating Meena's hand.
They sat in silence for a moment. Jimmy went on alert the minute he saw something partially blocking the yellow light that was leaking in from under the door through the mesh pattern of his hood.
"Milton…IED…Iraq…close." Jimmy strained to hear more, knowing everything he remembered could help Team Gibbs solve the case.
"He was…my brother…Killed by an IED! No way!...It was that case…" The shadow wandered away from the door, the voice drifting off. He must be pacing, Jimmy thought, because the voice became clearer again before fading off continually. "I will have my revenge!...prisoners…let go."
The feet stopped and another set appeared, fully blocking the light. A shiver went down his spine as he heard "They are expendable. No longer needed."
The door opened and the two sets of feet entered. One was dark brown Ermenegildo Zegna Couture Oxford's, valued at $2400, and the other was a pair of Sketchers. Clearly, someone was making a lot more money than his partner.
Jimmy felt a prick in his arm and fought briefly against his bonds before he lost consciousness.
