Chapter 4: Obligatory torture scene
Tony groaned as his brain clawed its way back to reality. At his head, there was a fierce heat. Behind him, he could feel his wrists bound tightly together with thick twine. In fact he seemed to have four hands. As he became more aware of his surroundings he realised his was lying on his side crammed into a hard wooden box with his back against another person who was also bound. The box was rocking slightly – no moving, moving slowly with a rumbling motion. He cracked open an eyelid.
Fornell's face filled his view. "Nice of you to join us, Mr DiNozzo."
"Why do you pronounce my name like that?" Tony demanded.
"It's a reflex: every time I say your name, the bile rises in my throat."
"I thought I killed you ages ago," complained Sacks appearing at Fornell's side.
"You almost had me with that hair," said Tony, "It must have been painful when the Jackson 5 rejected you."
Tony felt the person behind him move a little and Sacks disappeared from view.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr McGee," mocked Sacks, mimicking Fornell. "What is it with you NCIS agents? Why to you all have to have such complicated surnames with 'Mc' or 'Di'. Why isn't anyone named 'Smith' or …?"
"Sacks?" suggested Tony.
"Yeah," Sacks agreed.
"Gibbs, is simple," Tony commented, trying to draw Sack's attention from McGee.
"I'll tell him you said that," said Fornell, "at your wake."
"You're pretty cocky for a guy without a crop killing formula," Tony bated.
"Well, you're pretty cocky for a guy about to be cremated in a coffin built for two," Fornell countered. "Handy things, funeral parlours – they come equipped with everything you need to convert your enemies into a smouldering pile of ash. You'll notice you are steadily getting hotter: there's a nice conveyor belt taking you to an oven preheated to 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Of course, you might be distracted by the bucket hanging over your heads full to the brim with maggots and rats. It's designed to tip in 30 seconds."
Tony turned his head slightly and spied a red bucket almost directly above them. "Haven't you got something better to do than sit around researching phobias and devising ways to kill NCIS agents?" he asked, feeling the sweat trickling down his face.
"Well, yes," Fornell replied thoughtfully. "I could, for example, be decimating the world's food crops but, oh that's right: someone stole the formula."
"Sorry about that."
"Don't be: I have a couple of bargaining chips packed in a coffin," Sacks gloated. "One quick trade, for your lives incidentally, and the FBI will destroy the free market crops and control the food supply to every nation on the planet."
Tony waited for the maniacal 'Bwhahah' laugh but it didn't eventuate.
"Gibbs would never trade with you," McGee rasped, finally joining in the game.
"I'm not trading with Gibbs," said Fornell, "I'm targeting someone far more – in touch with her emotions."
Tony felt McGee stiffen behind him – Fornell was trading with A: their lives for the formula, or so she would think.
"So if you gentlemen will excuse us, we have a date with a certain young lady." Fornell turned and disappeared from Tony's view.
"Goodbye Agent DiNozzo," called Sacks in the distance.
"It's not the first time you've tried to kill me," Tony yelled as the door slammed shut, "and it won't be the last." He waited a heartbeat to ensure they were really gone. "I'll race you Probie," he called, using one fingernail to tease a sharp blade from his watchband.
"Too late," McGee said, sitting up and rubbing his wrists.
"I hadn't even said 'go' yet," Tony complained sitting up beside him and bashing his head on the seething bucket overhead. "Man, this place is hot."
"Well, maybe we should leave," McGee suggested as they clambered out of the coffin. "So how do we get out the door?"
"It's probably not locked."
McGee shot him a withering look and placed his hand on the door handle. "What sort of bad guy doesn't bother…..oh."
"Don't feel bad," Tony clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Years of experience."
As the door shut, a coffin lid opened and a hesitant face accessorised with small round glasses and topped with brown curly hair popped up. "Holy smoke, Batman," the face owner said, "that was close".
A petit Asian woman joined him to peer over the rim of the coffin, just managing to not roll her eyes at him. If this guy was going to be her man, he was going to have to come up with better expletives. At least she'd shifted him away from 'Gee willikers': People named Jimmy could not afford to use that. "Let's get out of here," she said.
The street outside the funeral parlour was almost deserted. Tony and McGee strode nonchalantly to the nearest phone box and dialled Gibbs' number on the rotary dial.
"How do you use these telephone things?" Gibbs snarled as he answered.
"Ahh, hi Boss," Tony started.
"It's about time, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled. "A has already left for the trade."
"You'd trade for us, Boss?" said Tony, touched.
"A devised a formula for a super strength fertilizer," said Gibbs. "They use that and even crops in the desert will grow. Get back to headquarters; you two have work to do." The phone went dead.
Tony hung up the hand piece and turned slowly to McGee.
"So did the Boss miss us much?" McGee asked, expectantly.
"I don't think so Probie. Com' on, we have to get back to headquarters."
"We could catch a ride with Palmer and Lee," said McGee pointing to the NCIS pair climbing into a car not 50 feet from them.
"Those two turn up in the strangest places."