Docking day! For the last several days, Tim had done exercises in the small shipboard suite and had encouraged Abby to do the same, to be limber for their escape. Now September 12 was finally upon them; Dunkerque close at hand. Their clothes were nearly dry after being washed in the sink (for the second time in the journey)—What I wouldn't give for a decent laundering! Abby thought. They again reviewed Tim's plan. At least they had been decently fed on the trip; probably not due to benevolence on the captain's part, but rather a need to get rid of excess perishable food. A chilling thought was that Howell might want them in good shape for—what?

The captain came for them at 6:45 a.m., as they were finishing breakfast. "Come with me now, you two; I cannot be fetching you later while we are preparing to dock. You'll wait on the deck for that man."

The sky was becoming light as they went out onto the deck; the air cool and salty. The Flemish-flavored city of Dunkeque appeared in the distance as a dusky-colored tableau. Tim and Abby were left to their own devices, for where could they go? Their eyes met, and they exchanged a small nod.

As the ship prepared to dock, Abby slipped her hand into Tim's. They edged closer to the stacked containers, and when the captain's back was turned, slipped around a corner. Evidently watching prisoners was not something the captain did every trip.

The ship rocked slightly as the engines were turned off and waves lapped it. "Hey! You come back here!" they heard Roemer call.

"Plan B," Tim mumbled, and they sprinted for the side of the ship. Somewhere along the side there was sure to be a pilot ladder or similar structure that would take them down to dock level.

"There!" Abby spotted a pair of stanchions standing about mid-ship. They ran...and saw Howell and Finch coming up the ladder. Tim and Abby spun to a halt; ducked in a narrow aisle between stacks of containers, wincing as the shadow of the enormous cargo crane swung over them.

Unfortunately, Roemer knew his ship well, and he and his assistant Jan swiftly blocked the ends of their aisle. "You are not getting out of here...unless you have $25,000," Roemer said with a laugh.

"Captain? I'm Howell," came a voice. "Where are my—"

"Plan A," Abby said quietly. She and Tim waited quietly until Howell and the other guy—they knew his name only as Aaron, as Howell called him—came into view. "Oh!" she cried, doubling over. "I can't—I need my medication! Please, Captain! Oooooh!! I crave; I crave..."

"She's sick!" Tim played along. "Please. She's been without her medicine for a week! You took it from her!"

Roemer looked baffled. "I—I did not know. You never said—"

Bingo, thought Tim. He's a creep, but with old-fashioned gallentry.

"Is there anything we might have that could, ah, substitute until you can get medicine?"

"Chocolate," she moaned, holding her stomach, now kneeling on one knee, while Tim rubbed her back, looking very concerned. "I never travel without it! The M&Ms..."

Roemer frowned. "Dutch chocolate is far superior to your American M&Ms. Jan, get the good chocolate. Mister Howell, if you will come with me, we will arrange for the exchange. Come, now, please. I must keep to my schedule!"

Howell eyed Abby and Tim, then followed the captain, as did Aaron. As soon as they were out of sight, Abby's moans ceased, and she and Tim ran for the stanchions. "Hey!" they heard a cry behind them; didn't turn to look.

Cargo container ships did not ride very high in the water. The pilot ladder mounted on the ship's hull was only about nine feet in length. Tim gestured to Abby to go first down the ladder; he quickly followed her and then jumped the remaining four feet. "Go! Go!"

"Stop!!" That was definitely Howell's voice. Gunshots rang...How in the world did he get on a plane with a gun? Or get one here? Tim wondered, but that didn't slow down his running. He cupped Abby's elbow with his hand, moving her. I wonder if...Aha!

Dockyard police came to attention; pointing, phoning, running toward the ship. Tim glanced over his shoulder, saw Howell coming down the pilot ladder; running. Disposed of the gun, or willing to risk it?

"Stop him! Please!" Abby begged curious early-morning onlookers. "He is my ex-husband—he won't accept that I have found a new love!" For emphasis, she grabbed Tim's arm and looked distressed. Immediately several men (and a few women) moved in to cut off Howell's path.

"Down this way," Tim pulled her down a narrow lane, afraid she was enjoying all this acting a tad too much. A door opened in an alley as they ran by. No, not that again! But Abby jerked to a halt. This was a much friendlier door; the back door to a bakery.

"Come on!" she whispered. "I don't think he'll look for us here. This isn't a public entrance; it looks like their storeroom..."

"We could be arrested for trespassing!" he hissed, nonetheless following her quietly inside.

"If we're discovered, we'll buy something."

"Buy something?! With what? Or were you intending to go back to Howell and demand that he give back the money he stole from us?!"

"Demanding is so rude. I would ask him nicely. If he put that awful gun away. No, I have, uh, other resources..." She pulled off a boot and unscrewed the heel. Tim's eyes popped as she pushed open a secret compartment and pulled out a couple of crisply folded bills. "I have $200 here. 'Mad money', the nuns called it."

"Abby!"

"Shhhh. And I should tell you, there might be another reason why Howell is after us..." She opened another compartment in the heel, and dropped in her hand two old, beautiful rings with large stones.

"Are those part of the Blaineville collection jewels?" Tim was stunned by being close to something suitably termed 'priceless'.

"Well, once I had them, I wasn't going to give them back, now was I?"

Tim sighed. "Well, keep them safe. If we need to, we could ransom ourselves out of a tight spot."

He wasn't serious, but Abby gave him a hard look. "These jewels are going back to the Smithsonian, buster! There is nothing else that could make me give them up!"

He grinned and hugged her with one arm, but it took her a few minutes to get her ire down and relax against him.

- - - - -

The park he was in spun about Tony as if it had set to sea in a boat with a broken rudder. "Can you stand, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, pulling him to his feet.

"Yeah," Tony said, gingerly touching his sore head, and struggling to find balance. "Who hit me? A robber?"

"The same person who hit me, I'm sure," said Ziva, sitting on the grass and looking a little pale. "I was not robbed. I don't understand what happened."

"I came looking for you two out when you didn't answer your phones," said Gibbs. "Howell may have spotted you."

"What time is it?! The ship...?"

"Over there at its dock. Police have prevented it from leaving. Shots were fired from it—from the description I got, the gunman sounds like Howell. He got away."

Tony swallowed. "McGee and Abby?"

"I showed the captain their pictures before the police took him away. He freely admitted they were on board." He looked off in the distance. "Witnesses say they ran...and I have no idea where they are now."

Ziva sighed, as did Tony. "Thank God, though. They're alive."

"They'll want to put some distance between Howell and themselves," Ziva guessed. "Probably not a lot; that would be too obvious. There's a city near here, Lille. We passed it on the train."

"Good a choice as any," said Gibbs. "Let's sweep the city first, and if nothing comes up by nightfall, we'll go to Lille."

He called the Director to update her. "What good news that they're alive, Jethro," she said. "But there's bad news, too. The Army paid me another visit. They're threatening NCIS with all sorts of legal entanglements. I'll hold them off as long as I can, Jethro, but they're likely to find out pretty quick that your team has gone to France...and that's where they'll come looking for McGee..."

- - - - -

They stayed very quiet, and with a dollop of sheer luck, no one came to the stockroom where Tim and Abby dozed. When dusk came, they crept out, sticking to the shadows.

"First thing we have to do," Tim said, "is make ourselves not so obvious targets." They found a pharmacie and shopped in the hair color aisle. "Black for you," Abby said, without hesitation, picking up a box of man's noir hair dye. "But mine will be harder. Black hair is hard to color without a lot of peroxide."

Tim waved a box of henne color at her. "Your hair probably won't turn auburn, but even a strong reddish tint will make you look a lot different. You'll see."

They also bought auburn and black eyebrow pencils, though Tim choked a bit. But mascara?! Tim was adamant in refusing it; pushing her hand with the tube away. She gazed at his face, thinking he had such nice eyelashes anyway, even if they were brown, but she didn't voice that. "Well, with luck no one will notice."

Their purchases were eating into Abby's money too much, but Tim insisted she buy a scarf to cover her distinctive spider web neck tattoo. It would probably work if she wore her hair down. They also bought the cheapest, casual clothes they could find, so they'd have a change, and a small duffel bag to carry their simple belongings.

Of course there was no money to spare for a hotel. Night had now fallen, and they found an elementary school nearby; all dark. Tim picked the lock quickly, and soon they were in a bathroom, coloring their hair in the sinks.

Presently they were looking at two seemingly new people in the mirror. Abby's green eyes seemed soft and warm in her reddish-toned hair. She stuffed the elastics that had held her ponytails in place in her pockets, and made faces at herself in the mirror.

But Tim, she thought, was impressive. "I look like my father," he said, making his own faces. "All I need is an S-shaped curl on my forehead, glasses, and to change my eyes to blue..."

"So what's next, black-haired man?" she said, about to dry her hair under the hand dryer. "We hide out here in Dunkerque? Does France have an NCIS station? They could help us."

"No to the first! We put as much distance as we can between us and Howell and Aaron. Let's see in the morning how much train tickets to Paris cost. If we have to hide out, it's better to do it in a big city. And the NCIS office in France is in Marseille, clear on the other side of the country. We'll call them in the morning." He hugged her; kissed her damp forehead. "This will all be over soon, and we'll be home again..."