Malo Animao
With Evil Intent
Later that evening, three men were sitting around a glass and chrome dining table in a high rent apartment near Embassy Row. It was hard to imagine three people who looked less likely to be sitting together, sharing a chef prepared dinner in an expensively furnished apartment.
Sitting nearest the window, wearing a slate grey cashmere suit was a man in his late thirties, of just about average height. His 240lb bulk and a neck almost as wide as his head, had been enhanced by steroids and hours spent pumping iron in the gym; and judging by his deep tan, he also spent lots of time on the sun beds. His head was shaven, and his deep brown eyes were alight with passion as he tried to make a point to the man sitting across the table.
His protagonist was about twenty-five years old, just over six feet tall, with an almost skeletal frame; his jet black hair slicked back with styling gel. He had a diamond stud in one ear, and a ring on every finger of his left hand. He prided himself on always being at the cutting edge of fashion, and was dressed tonight in faded, ripped denims and a teal silk shirt that enhanced the dark blue of his eyes. He often gave the appearance of being haughty and detached, but he also had ice running through his veins, and could kill with a smile on his thin lips.
Tempers were running high, and the younger man banged his fist on the table, rattling the china.
"Don't blame me Nick; it was you who said we should shut him up before he could remember."
"But you didn't shut him up; they've just moved him somewhere new. He's with Gibbs now."
At the head of the table, doing his best to keep the peace was a man with the kind of face that wouldn't attract a first glance, let alone a second. He was of medium build, medium height, mid-brown hair, brown eyes, no tattoos, no jewellery; he was the poster boy for Mr Ordinary. Even his clothes were none descript, his professional ambition was always to blend in with the crowd, and he was very good at doing exactly that, he was also the most ruthless man sitting at the table.
"Knock it off you two! This isn't helping. Karl, you messed up today, and now they'll be even more on their guard. It makes things harder, but not impossible, I mean, it's not like we don't know where he is."
They concentrated on finishing their dinner, each of them content in the knowledge that Friedman was right; in the days since McGee had interrupted them at their work they had not been idle. Using the wide network of contacts available to them in the DC area, they had been finding every bit of information they could on the one man who could blow their cover, and have them put away for a very long time.
As soon as they had found out the hospital where he had been taken, getting his name had taken a matter of minutes. Armed with that information they had set about getting to know Special Agent Timothy McGee. One thing they learned pretty fast was that it would be suicide to try and reach him in the hospital; he was surrounded by a very protective family, and an even more protective team of co-workers. There had been someone at McGee's side at all times, and after Karl's abortive assassination attempt, no one in his protection detail would be leaving him alone anytime soon.
This was the time when the information they had already gathered would give then a head start. They knew the names of McGee's friends; they knew addresses, favourite eating places, the cars they drove. Wherever they took McGee, and whenever they took him, the three of them would be waiting. Their boss had given them carte blanche to hire as many men, and women as they needed in order to finish the job. He had too much time and money invested in his latest enterprise to let one man ruin it all now.
Heaving his bulk out of the chair Nicholas Grier went to the window, and stared out across the city.
"You know Giles; we shouldn't even have this situation to deal with, if you'd finished McGee off in the alley, we'd be free and clear."
"I didn't have time to think, when I saw him coming out that door, all I could do was react; he'd seen the two of you, and Renton. What was I supposed to do, let him call 911? I saw him make a move, could have been for a phone, a gun; you know what we always say...if you're not certain, eliminate the threat! So I hit him. I was protecting you, how was I to know he was a Federal Agent? He was a threat to the operation, and I dealt with it."
Grier put up his hands in mock surrender.
"Yeah, well all I'm saying is...if you'd hit him harder, we wouldn't have this problem now."
"Oh, I hit him plenty hard enough; just because I'm not built like a heavyweight boxer, doesn't mean I can't pack a punch, and when his head hit the edge of the door...I mean it was a metal fire door...he went down hard, I couldn't see how he would ever get up again."
"So why the knife?"
Freidman gave a cold smile,
"You know me; I like things to be tidy. Alive, he was a loose end, so what better way to finish him than with a coup de grace?"
"But he's not dead Giles, he's still out there, and ready to open his mouth any minute."
"I didn't see either of you rushing over to help me deal with him."
"Kinda had our hands full you know!"
"True enough."
Friedman scraped his fingers through his hair, and gave a brief sigh.
"You know, even when I used my knife, I thought...if you'll excuse the pun; I thought it was overkill...couldn't see how he'd live through the head injury. But, no loose ends, so I stabbed him...that should have been enough."
Karl Lipczynski had been sitting in silence listening to his team mates, but he couldn't let that one go without a response.
"But it wasn't...he must have contacted NCIS, and they found him..."
Friedman shook his head.
"I still don't know how he did that, between the head injury, and the blood...it looked...even before we left it looked like he'd already bled out...the rain must have made it look like there was more blood."
Karl gave a quiet chuckle.
"Man, did it rain that day! I was glad we were in our work gear, because rain and silk do not go well together."
Grier turned away from the window, and shrugged his shoulders.
"That's all spilled milk, we need to deal with the situation we have right now. Munro's been watching Gibbs' house, he said Gibbs and Sciuto went back to NCIS, do you think they already have something?"
"Do I look like a clairvoyant Nick? Don't sweat it; we have the resources to deal with McGee when necessary."
"You think we can get through his team?"
Giles Friedman took a deep swig of his beer, and went to join Grier at the window.
"Has anything ever stopped us before?"
Grier looked his partner in the eye.
"Not a thing..."
There was a short snigger from the man at the table.
"You have something you want to say Karl?"
"Look at you two, so smug and self-satisfied. Giles, we've never come up against people like this; they're professionals."
"So are we..."
"I know that, and I know we can get him...but why make it hard for ourselves? I told you, we should leave a welcome home present for him at his apartment."
"And I keep telling you, they have people going in every day to check on his place, there's no way we can get in now."
Grier smirked.
"But don't forget, before they started snooping around, I did leave a little something in that swanky car of his."
"Oh yeah, should be pretty ripe by now..."
Friedman patted his friend's rock solid shoulder and they all went back to the table.
"That was a bit of fun Nick, but things are about to get serious, if he ever does remember, McGee has the power to put an end to all this."
He waved his arm around the luxurious apartment.
"So we stay on our guard, work together, no more going off half cocked right Karl? We have plans to cover all eventualities, so let's stick to the play book from now on. We'll get him, not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day soon will be McGee's last."
