A/N - thanks for reviewing and the encouragement. We're nearing the end. Hope you like!

Chapter 7

Inside the locked stable, Gibbs started to stir. Kavanagh was alerted to his impending consciousness by the guttural groan that he emitted shortly before rolling onto his side.

"Are you back with me, Gibbs?" Kavanagh asked, his breath coming as pants.

"Ah, Jeez," Gibbs grunted, clutching his pounding head while attempting to sit up. "Where are we?" he asked, squinting through the darkness.

"Stable," Kavanagh replied breathlessly.

Gibbs noticed the man's laboured breathing and sensed that something was wrong.

"Are you okay, Jack?" he asked.

"I've been better," Jack replied, pressing on his wounded side.

In the gloom, Gibbs was unable to make out the blood staining Kavanagh's shirt and jacket. The only source of light entering their concrete prison was a rectangular window high up the back wall, roughly three feet wide, allowing a beam to reflect a few feet up on the door opposite. However, it wasn't enough to light the entire area.

"Are you hit?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, he plugged me in the side," Kavanagh said, leaning his head back against the wall as another wave of pain took hold.

"How bad?" Gibbs asked, crawling closer to his new friend.

"No idea, never been shot before," Jack admitted. "I'm still alive, so that has to be good, right?"

"Sure," Gibbs said, crawling to Jack's side. "Let's have a look."

Jack released his grasp on his side and Gibbs leaned close, trying to see how bad it was. It was hard to see, but he felt around the area and there was little doubt that the wound was bleeding badly. He put his hand around Kavanagh's back and was somewhat relieved to find that the bullet had gone through.

"It's a through and through," Gibbs announced, as he stood up and started to strip off his jacket and shirt.

"Fab! What are…you doing?" he asked, his breathing becoming rapid as he fought to stay conscious.

"I need to stop the bleeding," Gibbs said, removing his shirt. He tore the sleeves and then ripped strips from the bottom of it. "I'll need your belt," he said to Jack, kneeling back down and starting to unbuckle the injured man's belt.

"Eh, you could at least …. buy me dinner first?" Jack said, starting to laugh, before his laugh became a cough.

"In your dreams," Gibbs said, as he freed the leather belt from the trouser loops.

"Okay, Cheapskate! I'd settle for a pint right instead," Kavanagh said, trying to smile through his pain.

"Deal," Gibbs replied.

He hurriedly fashioned padded bandages from the strips of shirt and placed one over the entry wound and the other over the exit wound.

"This is gonna hurt," he warned, as he tightened Jack's belt around his abdomen to hold the bandages.

Kavanagh bit back the urge to cry out and somehow still managed to cling to consciousness. Gibbs patted him on the shoulder.

"I'll try the door," Gibbs said, sensing it would be a useless exercise, but he had to at least try.

He got to his feet and immediately the concrete room started to spin. He took a few steps towards the door before reaching desperately for the wall to stop it spinning. As he leaned on the wall, the nausea that he had been fighting since he woke took hold and he threw up.

"Concussion," Kavanagh said in whispered breath.

Gibbs cursed his luck and knew the guard was right. He salivated and spat to try and get the taste out of his mouth. It didn't really work. He made it as far as the door and examined it. It was a traditional split stable door; the upper part would normally be open to allow the horse to stick his head out. He hoped that maybe they hadn't secured one of the locks. He put his shoulder to the lower door and pushed against it. It didn't budge. He heard the bolt rattle on the other side. He reached up higher and tried the upper one. Again it was no use. Gibbs lashed out and kicked the door, startling Kavanagh.

"We're not getting outta here," Kavanagh sighed, despondently accepting his fate.

"Hey," Gibbs yelled, again startling Kavanagh. "Don't you give up on me. You have a family to think about. We are getting out of here, do you hear me?" he insisted, returning quickly over to Kavanagh, kneeling down and getting in his face.

Kavanagh's eyes opened wide as he met Gibbs' crazed glare. Then Jack began to chuckle at Gibbs' intensity.

"Crazy American!" he groaned, before his head lolled forward.

"No! No, you don't," Gibbs said, taking the wounded man's head in his hands and slapping his face to wake him up. "Open your eyes, Jack. Come on….Claire will kill me if I don't bring you back. Come on….tell me about your boys."

Jack's eyelids flickered at the thought of his sons and his eyes opened.

"My boys," he said, tears forming in his eyes. "My little lads…Eoin….and Colm. Eoin and Colm."

"You're one lucky man, Jack. What ages are they?" Gibbs asked, hoping that the longer he could keep him talking, the longer he'd stay conscious. He sat down beside Jack with his back against the stable wall.

"Eoin is nine…..and Colm is six. They're good boys. You should see 'em," Jack said, his breathing still laboured. "Eoin loves football and hurling, wants to play for Galway someday. Colm is soccer mad. Loves Manchester United…..I promised I'd take him to Old Trafford one day….."

"You will."

"Love your faith, Gibbs, but I'm not sure you understand our predicament," Jack said with a weak grin. Gibbs could feel the injured detective trembling beside him.

"Your guys must have heard the shot. We just need to ride it out until they get here," Gibbs said with confidence. "Keep pressure on that wound."

Outwardly, Gibbs tried to appear confident, but deep down he was struggling. He was exhausted. He hadn't fully recovered from the beating he had received and the latest whack on the head hadn't helped much. His body cried out for sleep, but his years of Marine training had taught him that sleep was his enemy. He had to stay awake. He had to keep Kavanagh awake. Gibbs suspected that Jack was going into shock. He wasn't sure if their rescue was coming, let alone if it would come on time.

Inside the farmhouse, Liam and Conor were pacing around the sitting room. Tom, Seanie and Des, the man who accompanied Liam back to the house, all huddled in a group, whispering among themselves. Out of the blue, the telephone in the hallway rang. Liam and Conor exchanged wide-eyed glances. A voice called from upstairs;

"Will one of you get that?" a voice called from upstairs.

"Yes, Mam," Conor replied.

He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"This is Sergeant Niall Daly, with the Garda Special Response Unit. Who am I speaking to?"

Conor waved frantically in Liam's direction. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and whispered;

"The fuckin' Guards."

He paused, trying to think and decided to answer the Sergeant. He needed to find out what they knew.

"Conor Dunne," he replied.

"Mr. Dunne, we have been trying to reach one of our detectives, Jack Kavanagh, for the last hour. We know he called to your home along with an American agent. I'd like to speak to him," the sergeant asked politely.

"He's not here."

"You see Conor, can I call you Conor? You see, we know he's there because we're watching the house. We also heard a shot and we think you're holding those men against their will. You need to consider the options here, Conor. This can end peacefully and no one needs to get hurt. I think it would be best if you sent your mother and the young American boy out the front door and told them to walk up the lane. They don't need to be involved in this," the sergeant suggested.

"Why? Why would I do that? I do that and you guys will come in shooting," Conor replied.

"No, we don't want to do that, Conor. You'll get a chance to come out with your hands up and surrender peacefully. You're in control here, Conor. This will end however you want it to end. The ball is in your court. I'm just here to help you decide," the sergeant told him.

"I need to think," Conor said, before slamming down the phone. He turned to the others who had been listening to the conversation.

"Fuck! Fuck!" he screamed, swiping a vase off the hall stand and smashing it. He ran to the window in the sitting room and scanned the landscape. He couldn't see any sign of the police outside.

His brother approached him.

"Are they coming?" Liam asked.

"They're already here," he said, straining to see. "Tom, go upstairs and look. See if you can see any activity from there. Seanie, make sure we have ammo, then lock all the doors."

"You're not gonna shoot your way out, are ye Conor?" Liam asked.

"Might have to," Conor replied. "If they search the farm, they'll find a cache of weapons, serious fire power, enough to put us away for a long time. Between that and shooting a Garda, I don't think we'll see blue sky ever again. So, you do what you gotta do, but I've got the bike outside and I'm gonna make a run for it through the fields."

"But we have hostages. We can negotiate a way out. They'll always deal if it means getting hostages out alive," Liam told him.

"What hostages, Liam? Chances are the cop is dead already. I guess there's always Mam or your kid," Conor growled angrily.

"We have the Yank," Liam reminded him. "They'll want to get him back alive."

He watched as Conor stormed around the house, opening tin boxes, rooting around at the back of cupboards, even lifting a floorboard, each time removing a stack of Euro notes. He was getting ready to run.

"Yeah. Great. Whatever? It's your funeral, Bro. I have places to be," Conor snarled. "I need to make a few calls."

They were so distracted thinking about a way out of their predicament that they had forgotten about Parker, still locked in his room upstairs. Parker had witnessed the shooting through the bedroom window and saw Gibbs and Kavanagh being locked in the stable. He knew he had to try to help them. With the door locked, the only means of escape was the first floor window that faced the open yard at the rear of the house. He opened the window and leaned out to see if it was an option. He was thankful to see that if he got to the edge of the window sill he might be able to drop down onto the adjoining garage roof.

He climbed out and sat on the sill and shifted his way over to the right hand edge of the sill. He twisted onto his knees, using the downpipe for support. He lowered himself down until he hung from the sill, leaving himself a short drop onto the lower roof. He landed awkwardly and almost slid off but managed to stop himself in time. He took a deep breath to steady his fraught nerves and continued on, jumping from there to the ground. He hid behind some dustbins, checking that he hadn't been heard. When he was happy that no one had heard the noise and no one was outside, he followed the line of sheds and stables until he reached the one in which he knew Gibbs was being held.

He turned towards the house once more to check that no one was watching and then slid the bolt open on the lower stable door and opened it just enough to get himself inside.

Gibbs heard the noise from the bolt being opened and tried to get to his feet, but he was stiff and sore and even though he planned to try and jump whoever entered, he was too slow. He saw the shadowed figure dart inside and then pull the door behind him.

"Gibbs?" a voice whispered. He quickly realised who it was.

"Parker?"

"Are you all right?" he asked, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"I am now. How did you get out?" Gibbs enquired.

"I'll tell you later. Right now we have to go," Parker told him with urgency. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, but Kavanagh's been shot. We'll have to help him," Gibbs said, turning towards the semi-conscious man. "What's going on out there? Where are they?"

"They're in the house. They got a call. I heard a lot of angry voices, yelling, I think the police are nearby," Parker told him.

"You did good, Parker. Let's get outta here," Gibbs said, leaning down and taking Kavanagh by the arm and draping it over his shoulder.

Parker did likewise with the other arm. Kavanagh exhaled a torturous moan as they lifted him from the ground.

"Come on, my friend," Gibbs said in encouragement. "Time to get you home to your boys."

They half-carried, half-dragged the injured man to the door of the stable. Gibbs opened the door a crack and checked the yard. Once satisfied that the coast was clear, the pair helped Kavanagh out and Parker shut the door behind them. They moved as fast as they could to the back of the stable block, which would put them out of the line of sight of the house.

Gibbs looked around, trying to see an escape route. He stood, looking into open field in front of him. To his right, past the back of the stable block, was a narrow ditch, the far side of which stood a small overgrown orchard. To his left stood the huge hay shed, which contained some farm machinery, giant round bales of hay and their car.

If he could get to the car, maybe they had a chance. But Dunne's henchmen had the keys. He could try hot-wire it but it would be risky. Then there was the small problem of the tractor in the way. He'd have to move that too. Noisy. They'd never manage it without being heard. So they were left with little choice. They would have to go cross country. He looked at Kavanagh and then at Parker and wondered just how far they could get.

To be Continued...

A/N- you'll be relieved to know that there'll be probably only 2 more chapters in this story. The end is in sight!