A/N Apologies for the delay - reality continues to mess with my life! Another long chapter - trying to move through the investigation as quickly as possible without taking shortcuts - this is a crime fic after all. :) God bless all those currently hunkered down on the east coast of America. Stay safe. L
From Hell's Heart
Chapter 6
Tony rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait with Ziva. He took a couple of deep bracing breaths and shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. Conveying news of the death of a loved one was usually something he avoided whenever possible but he was about to ask a grief-stricken widow for permission to exhume her husband's body and the thought made him sick to his stomach.
Momentarily, a petite lady with short blonde hair opened the door and the agents introduced themselves. Sonya Martin had travelled from Bloomington, Illinois to attend the funeral of her brother-in-law. She was staying on with her sister, Jillian Phillips, for a few weeks. Sonya led the agents into the living room and returned moments later, pushing a wheelchair. Jillian Phillips was in her early fifties with intelligent brown eyes, high cheekbones and dark shoulder-length hair that framed her attractive face. Her left ankle was encased in a plaster cast, the result of a fall several weeks ago.
A tray with cake and freshly brewed coffee was prepared and placed on the small table before them, despite the agent's protests not to go to any trouble.
"Please, you'll be doing me a favour," Mrs Phillips smiled sadly. "The coffee was already brewing and our neighbours and friends have been delivering more food than we could possibly eat."
Sonya poured the coffee and then, lightly squeezing her sister's shoulder, she left the room.
"Excuse me if I come right to the point but why are you here and why is Jethro not with you?" Jillian Phillips asked.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband's relationship with Special Agent Gibbs," Tony replied.
"What's this all about? Is Jethro okay?"
"Special Agent Gibbs requested a leave of absence the day after your husband's funeral service," Ziva answered. "No one has seen or heard from him since."
"I admit that's unusual behaviour for Jethro but it's only been two days," Mrs Phillips replied. "Isn't it a little premature for him to be considered a missing person?"
"Ordinarily, yes. But events prior to his sudden departure have given us cause for concern," Ziva explained.
"Ma'am, outside of work, you were one of the last to see him before he left. We'd hoped that he might have told you of his plans."
Mrs Phillips shook her head.
"Jethro helped me with the funeral arrangements and was wonderfully supportive but he didn't say a word to me about taking leave," she said.
"We understand that Mr Phillips had known Gibbs a long time," Tony stated.
Mrs Phillips confirmed that her husband and Gibbs had met during their basic training at Parris Island. The first half of their military careers had taken similar paths, including their two-year partnership as MP's at Camp Lejeune. When their individual assignments separated them, they lost touch for several years and before teaming up again briefly during Desert Storm.
They had tried to reach Gibbs after the loss of his family but he had been so grief-stricken that he avoided everyone in his past, including his own father. Many years later, after her husband had heart surgery, Gibbs made contact with them and agreed to stay in touch. Every three months when Mrs Phillips travelled to Washington with her husband to see his cardiologist, they tried to meet Gibbs for dinner.
Due to her ankle injury, Jillian had been unable to join her husband for the trip to Washington last week and had insisted that he take the train. Tom made arrangements to have dinner with Gibbs; however, their plans fell through when the agent had to work a case.
"Jethro was dreadfully upset," she said, shaking her head. "He felt awful that he'd cancelled their dinner plans the night before Tom died."
"Mrs Phillips, before his death, did your husband seem concerned or worried about anything?" Tony asked.
"No more than usual, it wa-" Mrs Phillips stopped suddenly, her eyes widened in surprise. "Surely you can't think that Jethro's disappearance has anything to do with Tom's death? My husband had a heart attack!"
Tony set his jaw, reluctant to cause this woman more distress; then unflinchingly, he raised his eyes to meet hers.
"We don't know that for sure, ma'am, there was no autopsy."
"We didn't need one; he had just been with his doctor!" Mrs Phillips explained.
Another moment passed and anger turned to realisation and horror. "Are…are you telling me that you think Tom was murdered! That's insane!"
"Mrs Phillips," Ziva said calmly. "We do not know anything for certain other than your husband is dead and Agent Gibbs is missing."
"That doesn't mean that somebody murdered Tom!" she replied. "My husband was waiting on a crowded platform at Union Station. If he had been murdered, surely someone would have seen something!"
"Mrs Phillips, I know this is difficult but the only way to know for sure is to have your husband's body exhumed and an autopsy performed," Tony stated plainly.
"No!" Jillian Phillips said firmly.
"Believe me, Ma'am, I wouldn't ask if –"
"Agent DiNozzo, how long have you worked with Jethro?"
"Ten years, ma'am."
"Anyone who can last ten years with Jethro Gibbs has to be good at his job so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. But you have told me nothing to make me believe that Jethro's disappearance has anything to do with my husband's death."
"If Gibbs' gut told him that your husband's death was suspicious, he'd do anything he could to find his killer," Tony stressed. "I'm no Leroy Jethro Gibbs but I know him and my gut's telling me that he's in trouble and your husband's death is somehow involved."
Jillian Phillips was torn. She could see the desperation on the face of the man before her and she knew his concern was genuine but she had buried her husband just a few days ago. Could she disturb his resting place based on the gut feeling of a man she didn't know? What if he was wrong? Her eyes filled with tears as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"I'm sorry, Agent DiNozzo, I can't…I won't."
She turned her wheelchair to face the sideboard and took a moment to calm herself, then reached for a small framed photograph and handed it to Tony. He looked at the photo of two young Marines, fresh out of basic training, with wide grins and severe haircuts and one arm slung casually around the other's shoulders. Despite their youth and their carefree demeanour he had no trouble recognising his boss and Tom Phillips.
"Jethro Gibbs saved my husband's life twenty-five years ago. Tom and I had a wonderful marriage and two beautiful children because of what he did that day. I know Tom would want me to do anything I could to help Jethro but if you want me to agree to an exhumation order, you'll have to give more than hunches and feelings."
Tony nodded soberly and, defeated, he rose to his feet.
"I understand, Ma'am, thank you for your time," he said handing her his business card and biting back his disappointment. "If you think of anything that could be useful, please call me."
Closing the door behind them, they headed down the path toward the car.
"That went well," he said, his words thrumming with frustration
"The woman has just buried her husband, Tony. You cannot possibly expect her to-"
"You think I enjoyed putting her through that?" Tony snapped, his anger and guilt taking the Israeli by surprise.
"No, I do not," she said in a quiet voice.
They were almost at the car when Jillian Phillips called out to them.
"Wait, please! Agent DiNozzo? Agent David?"
They exchanged a hopeful glance and walked back to the house where Mrs Phillips sat in her wheelchair, her brow furrowed in thought.
"This may be nothing," she started hesitantly, "but you asked if anything unusual had happened prior to Tom's death."
"You remembered something?" Tony asked.
"Just before Tom's trip to Washington, I was feeling rather housebound in this chair and Tom and I decided we'd take a walk. When we rounded the corner on our way home, there was a man by our mailbox. I thought he was just delivering leaflets but when he saw us coming, he got into his car and drove away."
"Did you or your husband know this man?" Ziva asked.
"Tom said he didn't. He took the card from the mailbox and told me that the guy was some doomsday prophet preaching that the end of the world was coming," she explained, frowning again. "He seemed unsettled afterwards and I had the feeling that he was hiding something from me. When he never mentioned him again, I forgot all about it...until yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"The police in Washington sent me Tom's personal belongings. You know, his overnight bag and his wallet. I was checking his wallet for his driver's licence when I found the card from the mailbox - I couldn't understand why he'd kept it."
"Perhaps you were right," Ziva said. "Perhaps your husband knew the man who left it."
Mrs Phillips called to her sister who appeared a few moments later with the wallet. Nodding her thanks, she handed Tony a card depicting a grotesque-looking angel with large wings, brandishing a spear and standing menacingly over a Christian who was lying supine on the ground defending itself with a shield.
Ziva frowned, as Tony stood transfixed, staring at the card.
"Tony?"
"I've seen this before," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Where?"
"At Gibbs' house, last night. I thought it was…it was with the junk-mail," he replied as he quickly refocussed his thoughts. "Mrs Phillips, this could be the connection we've been looking for. I know this is difficult but exhumation and autopsy may be the only way to know whether your husband was murdered."
For a brief moment, Jillian Phillips struggled with her composure, pausing to force the quiver from her voice.
"There's something else you should know," she said. "Before the funeral service, we held a visitation for family and friends. I had Tom's body embalmed."
The words struck Tony like a blow as his hopes for answers and their investigation hit another dead end.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
…'What the white whale was to Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid.'…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
"Talk to me, Probie," Tony said, with one hand on his cell and one on the steering wheel.
"I called Lejeune for copies of Gibbs' and Phillips' arrest records…they weren't happy about having to dig back though their archived records for nearly thirty years, that's for sure."
"Tough. Check and see if-"
"Lejeune has a helo to the Pentagon that arrives daily at thirteen hundred. I managed to talk the Records Clerk into despatching what we need and it should be here…" McGee glanced at his watch, "within the next three hours."
"Did you find any-"
"I couldn't find any connection between Phillips and Franks or Phillips and Franks' son. As far as I can tell, they've never met."
"You know, Magoo, you're developing a very irritating habit of anticipating my orders and I really think you should stop it before I have to hurt you."
"I'll work on it, Tony," McGee grinned, recognising the backward compliment. "Where are you?"
"On our way to Gibbs' house. We're gonna need Abby, can you go pick her up?"
"Sure," McGee sighed. "But when she finds out we started looking for the boss without her, she'll be pissed as hell."
"Come on, Probie, we've been through this before! Are you a McMan or a McMouse? Go squeak to Abby, we'll see you in an hour."
Flashing a grin at Ziva, he ended the call and slipped his cell back into his pocket as he continued to guide the car toward Gibbs' home. The remainder of the trip was quiet as Tony struggled to keep his inner turmoil in check – was Gibbs in danger or had he joined forces with his old partner to inflict it? Either way, Gibbs had made a choice not to confide in him and that was a knife that cut deeply into the very core of Tony's soul.
A nagging thought flittered like a shadow along Tony's subconscious, moving slow enough to sense something was out of place but travelling too fast for him to grasp. But the nauseating roil of his stomach told him that he'd missed something…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
Battle-honed senses shouted a warning even before he was properly awake. He lay gasping and shivering and fighting the remnants of whatever drug was still coursing through his system. Gibbs gradually became aware of two things; the nauseating throbbing of his head and the pain of ropes that bound his wrists and ankles so tightly he could barely feel his hands and feet.
Bile burned the back of his throat and he spat the taste from his mouth as he silently cursed the bout of vertigo. Realising his hands were bound in front of his body he raised them to his face and gently pressed tingling fingers to his throbbing cheek.
With his vision blurred and limited to his left eye he tried to make sense of his surroundings, knowing that wherever he was, he wasn't safe. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door being unlocked. He tensed as he listened to the key being turned and he closed his eyes to feign unconsciousness.
One...two...three steps and he was being pulled upwards and dragged towards the rear of what looked like a large storage facility. His body was slammed against a large metal support and as he fought to regain his breath, the ropes on his hand were cut free. Ineffectually, he struck out with his right fist only to have his arms cruelly wrenched behind him and chained and padlocked to the support. He struggled weakly, still suffering the effects of the drug and what felt like a serious concussion.
It took several minutes to identify the persistent buzzing noise in his head as his captor's voice. Desperately trying to identify the words, he only succeeded in increasing the pounding of his worsening headache. He struggled to track the figure silhouetted against the light streaming in from a nearby window. The man paced agitatedly back and forth repeating the same phrases over and over.
"Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. For the day of vengeance is in mine heart and the time of my redemption is come. Just as he did to me, so I am going to do to him. I shall repay to each one according to his acting."
Gibbs made a valiant effort to push back the blackness but an overwhelming wave of exhaustion crashed down on him like a ton of bricks and swept him into oblivion.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
…"The lightning flashes through my skull; mine eye-balls ache and ache; my whole beaten brain seems as beheaded, and rolling on some stunning ground."…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
McGee and Abby were already in the lab by the time Ziva and Tony arrived back at the Navy yard. The Israeli removed two evidence bags from her backpack; each containing the strange apocalyptic cards.
"One of these cards was found at Gibbs' home and the other was placed in Phillips' mailbox," she said. "We believe they may have been left by the same man."
"It's not much to go on," McGee said.
"No it's not," Tony agreed. "But we canvassed nearby homes at both locations and none of their neighbours remembers getting a card like this in their mailboxes. Gibbs and Phillips live thirty miles apart – whatever's going on, these cards have something to do with it."
Abby and McGee each picked up a card to examine it more closely.
"It's Abaddon!" they exclaimed simultaneously.
"Okay…first, who is Abaddon and second, you know this how?" Tony asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to the second question.
"Abaddon is often identified as the Destroying Angel of the Apocalypse," Abby replied. "Or the king of the bottomless pit; Angel-prince of hell, the minister of death and author of havoc on earth."
"Nice guy," Tony stated.
"He's described as having women's hair, lion's teeth, locust's wings, and the tail of a scorpion."
"No wonder he's so pissy," Tony quipped.
"He's featured in several X-Box games and MMORPG's," McGee continued. "Abaddon Rising, Abaddon's Destruction, Ezekiel Abaddon-"
"I love Ezekiel Abaddon!" Abby enthused to McGee. "Except I can never get past the ninth level without the chief demons of the underworld, you know, disemboweling me and throwing my lifeless corpse into the fiery abyss."
"Hmm…I think I can help you," McGee replied stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You need to mount your noble steed, Ruin, and when he charges-"
McGee's felt the sting of a head slap and turned to see the exasperation clearly visible on Tony's face.
"Sorry Boss, er, Tony," he said, shamefaced. "These cards are from the Abaddon Rising game and are available at any computer game retailer in the US."
"In the Hebrew scriptures, Abaddon means place of destruction, or the realm of the dead," Ziva explained. "It is a place of darkness to which all dead go regardless of the moral choices made in life and where they are "removed from the light of God."
Tony turned the cards over and read the quotations on the back.
"Upon the wicked He will rain snares; fire and brimstone and burning wind will be the portion of their cup." He looked up at his teammates. "That's from the book of Psalms 11:6."
"I did not know you were religious, Tony," Ziva stated.
"Well, Ziva, that just goes to show that as our resident spy, you need to lift your game. We are federal agents, crime scene investigators and people depend on us to have a wide variety of general knowledge. Besides," he shrugged, "it says right here in fine print 'from the book of Psalms 11:6."
He tried not to wince as she punched him in the shoulder.
"Both of the cards mention punishment and fire and brimstone," McGee said. "You think whoever left them used them as a threat against Gibbs and Phillips?"
"The feeling in my gut says yes," Tony replied. "Of course, that feeling could also be the habañeros I ate last night. Look, all we know is that Phillips died and Gibbs went off grid within days of receiving one of these cards."
Abby's vision blurred as tears crowded into her eyes. She refused to let them escape, but could not blink them completely away.
"Tony, do you think that Gibbs-"
"I don't know, Abs," he said somberly. "But I need you to run the cards for fingerprints and anything else you can find."
"How can you be so calm about this?" Abby asked anxiously. "I mean, Gibbs could be in danger, he could be hurt or…or worse!"
"For all we know he and Franks could've taken a road trip to DisneyWorld! Besides, I pride myself on my ability to stay calm in a crisis, cool in a catastrophe, collected in a calamity," Tony said receiving skeptical looks from his teammates. "Okay, so it doesn't always work, but when it does, I pride myself on it."
Once again, Tony reverted to humour in an attempt to hide his concern but Abby, Ziva and McGee could see that the cracks were beginning to show.
McGee's cell shrilled loudly in the quiet laboratory.
"The archived records have arrived from Lejeune," he said to Tony.
"You and Ziva start checking the files and contact Metro Security at Union Station - if there's any CCTV footage of the platform from the day Phillips died, I want to see it."
"On it," McGee replied as he and Ziva left for the bullpen.
"Tony?" Abby released a hybrid sob and Tony drew her into a firm hug and simply held her - needing to comfort as much as he needed to be comforted.
"We'll find him, Abs," he promised, realising that Gibbs had now become his white whale.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
…"I'll follow him around the Horn, and around the Norway maelstrom, and around perdition's flames before I give him up."…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
Tony entered the elevator and waited until it began to ascend before flicking the emergency stop switch. He took several deep breaths, attempting to quell the turbulent mixed emotions that were building inside of him.
"Get a grip, Anthony," he told himself quietly. "Remember… calm in a crisis, cool in a catastrophe, collected in a calamity."
He dug his cell from the pocket of his hoodie and pressed the speed dial.
"How was the golf?" he asked when the ME answered his home phone.
"Splendid! With the notable exception of the 17th hole," Ducky replied with a chuckle. "For some reason it always seems to have my measure. Tell me, my boy, have there been any developments regarding Jethro's whereabouts?"
"Nothing yet."
"Then I will hazard a guess that you are calling to discuss something more serious than my continuing battle with that wretched sand trap. Do we have a new case?"
Tony's sigh travelled down the phone line.
"Anthony?"
"No, Ducky, no case…I need to ask…I was wondering…"
"What is it, my boy?" Ducky asked.
"How accurate are the results of an autopsy on a body that's been embalmed?"
"I take it that you are referring to Jethro's friend Thomas Phillips," Ducky stated. "Really, Anthony, I know that you are anxious to locate Jethro but I…"
"Something's wrong, Ducky, I think Gibbs is in trouble. He and Phillips both received a card with some kind of angel of death symbol and now Phillips is dead and Gibbs is missing."
"Are you sure that you aren't grasping at straws, my boy? Mr Phillips was in a very public location and in broad daylight when he collapsed. To my knowledge there were no reports of anything sinister occurring in the preceding moments."
"Phillips' blood was never tested for toxic substances. Everyone assumed his death was due to heart failure," Tony said. "Ducky, please, is an autopsy possible after embalmment?"
"A reliable toxicology examination would prove very difficult," Ducky replied. "In fact, it would be almost impossible to detect any kind of toxin in the tissue."
"Almost…you saying we could still get a blood tox?"
"The embalming preservative has often hampered the efforts of toxicologists. However, in embalmed bodies, the best tissue specimen may be from skeletal muscle from the buttock."
"The tush?"
"Indeed. Bodies are normally embalmed while lying on their backs," Ducky explained. "Pressure related to compression of tissue in the…tush, as you call it, restricts the embalming fluid enterring the posterior area. A tissue sample from the buttock may tell us whether or not a toxic substance was involved."
"Huh, Gibbs always told me I'd be talking through my ass long after I'm dead...maybe he was on to something."
"If the mere presence of drugs or chemicals is important," Ducky continued", "the inner lining of the eyes and the urinary bladder can be swabbed with a clean cotton-tip and analyzed. Even though there may be no fluid remaining dried drug residue can still be collected."
"Thanks, Doc, that helps a lot."
"Anthony…I'm certain that I don't need to tell you of the high regard in which I hold the dearly departed," Ducky said sombrely. "I understand how concerned you are about Jethro but surely you realise that without solid evidence of foul play, no court will order an exhumation. Please, Anthony, before you make arrangements to disturb this poor man's resting place, ensure that you have exhausted all other avenues."
"Last resort, Ducky, you have my word," Tony replied. "Sorry to bother you on your day off."
"What would bother me more, my boy, would be for you to need my help and not ask for it."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
Returning to the bullpen, Tony huffed out a long sigh at the sight of six archive-boxes piled next to Gibbs' empty desk. The boxes contained Gibbs' and Phillips' arrest records during the time they served as MP's at Camp Lejeune. Working as quickly as they were able, the team sorted the files into various piles from the more serious crimes that carried lengthy jail terms to the lesser indiscretions that warranted non-judicial punishment.
They excluded those where the perpetrators had re-offended and were still incarcerated and others where, for whatever reason, the felons were now deceased. This left just two people who had served terms in excess of twenty-five years and been released from the federal penitentiary within the last two years.
"Check them out," Tony instructed Ziva. "I want to know where they were when Phillips died. If they where with 20 miles of Union Station or they don't have an alibi drag their asses in here. In fact, bring them in even if they do have an alibi!"
"McGee!"
"Check out the CCTV footage of Union Station for signs of anything suspicious at the time of Phillips' death," McGee replied.
"You're doing it again, Magoo," Tony said.
"Doing what?"
"Anticipating my orders…I warned you and now I'm gonna have to hurt you."
"You can't hurt me, Tony. You're acting team leader - it's against regulations."
"That's right…Ziva!"
"Yes, Tony," she replied crisply.
"Shoot McGee."
"I will not."
"You're right, too noisy…use your ninja skills and snap his neck like a wish-bone - do it quietly."
The younger agents rolled their eyes heavenward and tried to hide their amusement but Tony noted with satisfaction that their heads lifted and their body language relaxed. Despite the fact that the tactic often placed him on the receiving end of a glancing head slap, Tony frequently employed humour to ease the tension in the bullpen. He gave himself a mental head slap and returned his attention to the matter at hand.
"I'll be with Abby," he said striding toward the elevator.
Entering the forensics lab, Tony veered toward the refrigeration unit and swiped a carton of Caf-Pow from the top shelf. Swinging back passed the sound system, he turned the deafening music down and stopped by Abby's side.
"Whatcha got, Abs?" he asked. "Anything on the calling cards from our angel of death?"
"The only fingerprints on the cards belonged to Tom Phillips, Gibbs and you," Abby replied. "Our angel of death was smart enough to wear gloves."
"Because that would have been way too easy," Tony sighed and turned for the exit.
"Wait, Tony! I'm not done yet! I did find something a little hinky – a trace of a chemical on both cards that wouldn't normally be there." Abby took a deep breath. "As you probably know-"
"I probably don't, but go on," he interrupted.
"Diethyl phthalate, or DEP as it's more commonly known, is a phthalateester, namely the diethyl ester of phthalic acid."
Tony's eyebrows rose toward his hairline.
"You really thought that I'd know that?" he asked.
"Actually, no…I was just being polite," Abby replied. "I love you like a brother, Tony, and you have many talents but analytical chemistry isn't one of them."
"I live with the shame," Tony quipped, flashing a quick smile then returning to business. "So what about this diet-fore-it's-too-late, stuff?"
"Diethyl phthalate," she corrected.
"You say potato…" Tony shrugged, making a circular motion with his hand for her to continue.
"It is a clear substance that is liquid at room temperature. It has a faint, disagreeable odor and when burned, DEP produces toxic gases."
"What's it used for?" Tony said, snapping on a latex glove he looked more closely at the card and took a quick whiff.
"It's usually found in solvents or industrial cleaning fluids. There's been several studies regarding toxicity to humans and the suggestion that DEP can cause damage to the nervous system as well as to the reproductive organs in males and females."
Tony dropped the card onto the workbench like it had burned his fingers.
"It's quite safe, Tony, there's not nearly enough DEP on the card to cause any harm."
"If it's all the same to you, Abs, my boys and I would rather not take the chance," he replied with a grimace.
"Anyway, DEP is not found in household cleaning products so our Abaddon-wannabe would have to come into contact with it at work – maybe a in chemical factory or any other factory that uses industrial strength solvents or cleansers."
"That narrows it down to entire tri-state industrial area," Tony groaned.
"Maybe not," Abby replied. "Major Mass Spec is on the case! If he can isolate a taggant or a signature in the sample, we may be able to identify the manufacturer."
"Let me know," Tony said, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her pale cheek before leaving the lab.
With a mischievous grin, Abby turned to look expectantly at the door. She counted backwards from five, reaching zero just as Tony ducked his head back in the door.
"Abs?"
"Not nearly enough DEP on the card to cause any harm," she assured him.
"Future generations of DiNozzos thank you," he said before disappearing again.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
"Where the hell are you, Boss?" Tony muttered as he leaned against the wall of the elevator.
Pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyes and let out a vicious curse. He was more than a little pissed that after ten years as Gibbs' partner, he still occasionally found himself on the outside looking in.
After the debacle with his previous partner, Danny Price, Tony had doubted his ability to trust again. To his surprise he'd found, under the gruff, no-nonsense exterior, Jethro Gibbs was a supervisor he could respect and a partner he could trust with his life. So, why was it that when push came to shove, that respect and trust was not returned? As the elevator glided to a halt and the doors slid open, he ruthlessly shoved his anger aside and attempted an air of professional detachment.
"Campfire," he announced, dragging his chair to the centre of the bullpen and waiting until the others were seated. "Where are we with the files?"
Ziva sighed audibly and pointed the remote toward the plasma, displaying the images of two men.
"There are only two men arrested by Gibbs and Phillips, who served terms longer than twenty-five years. Both were released within the last eighteen months. Gary Munro is no longer on parole and has moved to California."
"Could have hopped a flight. You check his alibi?"
"At the time Phillips was killed, Munro was having his appendix removed at Dameron Hospital in Stockton, California."
"Damn, what about the other guy?"
"Kelvin Irvine was injured in a motor vehicle accident last year and is confined to a wheelchair," she replied wearily. "We are running out of suspects."
"Magoo, give me something," Tony almost pleaded.
"The CCTV footage from Union Station was dark and grainy. I cleaned it up some and transferred it to a disk but to get a clearer picture I'll need to work on it in Abby's lab," McGee replied.
"Show me what you got."
Taking the remote from Ziva, McGee transferred the image from his computer monitor to the large plasma screen and pressed play. Leaning forward in their chairs, the agents focussed their gaze on the image, desperate for any clue.
They watched as Tom Phillips came into view, standing at the front of a small group of other commuters on the train platform. The time stamp indicated that several minutes had passed when another male commuter arrived at the back of the group and slowly worked his way between the waiting people until he stood directly behind Phillips.
As the train arrived and slowed to a stop, the group moved closer together and cautiously made their way toward the edge of the platform. They separated to allow alighting passengers to clear the carriage.
The man standing behind Phillips suddenly turned and pushed his way hurriedly back through crowd, evoking scowls from other commuters. Phillips turned, his eyes widened with a mixture of pain and fear as he clutched chest, staggered and fell to the ground.
"Take it back, Probie, let's see it again," Tony said.
McGee rewound that section of the footage and replayed it several times.
"Hold it there," Tony added. "What's that guy doing?"
"Perhaps he realised he was on the wrong platform," Ziva suggested.
"No, something just happened," Tony replied. "Play it again, McSam, frame by frame."
They watched the scene again, concentrating on every frame.
"There!" Tony said. "You see that? Phillips seemed to flinch just as that guy starts to leave."
"You think that guy injected him with something?" McGee asked.
"That's exactly what I think," Tony said. "Play the next bit."
They watched as Phillips looked back at the departing man with a look of surprised recollection and then horror.
"You are right, Tony," Ziva stated. "Phillips knew him. That man could be our Abaddon."
McGee zoomed in but was unable to get a clear shot of the man's face.
"Give me the disk," Tony instructed. "Make another copy and get it up to the lab. If you can clean up the image, Abby can run a facial recognition against the rest of these files."
"On it," McGee replied.
"Ziva, see if Metro Security got the names of people standing with Phillips when he collapsed. Call them, see if anyone remembers anything or if they can provide a description."
"They would have already been questioned by Metro Security, yes?"
"You question them, maybe Metro missed something."
"Where will you be?"
"Interrupting the director's day of rest," he replied over his shoulder.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
…'Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke- look you, whosoever of ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gold ounce, my boys!'…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0
A/N Whew, condensed three chapters into one to get through that quickly for you. Bit more investigation to come but next chapter will bring the big breakthough - then it's Tony/Gibbs hurt/comfort all the way home! Thank you for all your support and reviews - all received with overwhelming gratitude. L