Author's Notes: See chapter one.

Act Seven:

Gibbs's breath caught in his throat and he could barely mutter, "What?"

Suddenly, it was like 9/11 all over again and he felt helpless beyond belief. People were going to die and he did not even have a name or where to look for this guy. He felt his throat dry as he listened to Jenny describe how seven or eight people had already died around Anacostia, no sailors yet but innocent people nonetheless. It was almost overwhelming to hear and as he glanced back to the elevator at the stark white face of his senior field agent, Gibbs could only manage to mouth a silent "go" before continuing into autopsy.

"Ducky, I need to know the symptoms of Sarin poisoning, now," the ex-marine demanded, his patience already worn to its limits.

"But I just told Anthony," Ducky stated, not in a contesting manner but Gibbs read it as such.

"Are you questioning me?" he asked, resulting in an astonished look on Ducky's face.

"Why no, Jethro," the mortician's anger sparked. "Now sit down for a moment and get a hold of yourself. Really, now. I'd expect that sort of behavior maybe if the circumstances were more dire."

"People are already dying, Duck," Gibbs stated, before realizing that he was still on the phone with Jenny.

"Jethro, I have to get back to SecNav," her voice came through the receiver, startling him a little. "Update me on results as soon as you can."

Surprisingly, it was the fact that she was calm that seemed to help him the most. Her voice strong and confident in him and his team, an almost silent reassurance as if she knew how he felt. He could always say it was the partnership they had long ago, but for some reason he could not even explain it in that fashion. Smiling, Gibbs suddenly found himself glad that she was the Director. Jenny had always had a certain flair for keeping cool, especially as of late, but she knew her people and she knew how to keep them calm as well.

"Will do, Jen," Gibbs replied curtly, wishing he could reassure her in the same way.

"Good luck Jethro."

Hanging up the phone and placing it in his pocket, he realized it was Tony's and made a mental note to return it to him before he left to go anywhere. When he looked to Ducky, the coroner scrutinizing him carefully as if trying to identify a fuse wire in a bomb. While the older man certainly knew how Gibbs tended to react in these sorts of situations, sometimes the unpredictable just managed to happen anyway.

"Jethro," Ducky began, handing Gibbs a piece of yellow pad paper. "All of the symptoms of Sarin poisoning, to the best of my knowledge.

"Thanks Duck," the ex-marine acknowledged the mortician, smiling despite the urgency of the situation before noticing the body laying out on the table still. "That our Superman?"

"Indeed it is," the coroner replied, his eyes drifting over to the dead body of one Clark Kent. "Poor boy. I have to say that I genuinely feel sorry for him. He reminds me of someone I once knew. Pleasant fellow, really."

"Duck?"

"Yes, Jethro?"

"Now isn't really the best time."

"Ah, perhaps later then."

Gibbs gave one last quirk of a smile before turning on his heel and heading into elevator, taking a deep breath and blowing it out, glancing heavenward for a couple moments before the car arrived at his floor. The office was a blur of activity, between people making phone calls to loved ones and trying to get affirmations of the news reports which were on every television in the room. He could hear a cacophony of various reporters making claims as to what the causes were. The panic seemed like it would cause more damage than any chemical weapon ever could. People were going to clog the roads wanting to get the hell out of Dodge, which was going to make getting anywhere fast incredibly difficult.

As he entered the bullpen he noticed the television behind Tony on, despite the senior field agent over at McGee's desk, the two working to decipher something. Ziva was on the phone still, speaking now in a foreign tongue that Gibbs did not quite recognize. The pandemonium was apparent as his team worked furiously to solve the last few pieces of the puzzle in time to save lives. He glanced up to the stairway, almost expecting to see the Director standing there. When she was not to be seen, the ex-marine almost scolded himself in thinking that she would be there to provide some last-minute support before the shit really hit the fan.

"Is that it?" Tony asked McGee impatiently, the adrenaline of the atmosphere now beginning to affect him as well.

"I'm pretty sure, it matches what Abby gave," the younger man insisted, glancing over to notice Gibbs now standing in the bullpen. "Boss we have our suspect."

"Petty Officer First Class Gerhard Schrader," Tony walked over to the plasma, which now bore the image of a thin-faced man who looked like he belonged in a jail than in the navy. "Graduate of Indiana University, B.S. in Biochemistry in 2000 and then got his masters in 2004. Enlisted in '05, working for the Anti-bioterrorism unit here in D.C. He also has a part-time job at the Keel to help pay the bills. In the past few months he's bought many of Homeland Security's flagged products and, get this, works in research for nerve agents."

"You got his face on tape?" Gibbs asked, pointing to the almost gaunt face on the screen.

"Serving food to Clark Kent," McGee affirmed from where he sat at his desk.

"You got an address, McGee?"

"Right here, boss."

Gibbs was about to grab the piece of paper from his subordinate's hand when his cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out. As soon as the receiver hit his ear, he heard Jenny's voice.

"Jethro, get your team to Anacostia now," Jenny ordered, her voice strained by an unknown worry, the confidence he heard before beginning to wane.

"We just got an address for our suspect, PO1 Gerhard Schrader," Gibbs stated, glancing over at Tony, who watched him closely.

"Then send half of your team there, I need you at Anacostia," the Director demanded before hanging up.

"Ziva, get off the phone, you're with me, we're heading to Anacostia," Gibbs ordered, moving to his desk to gather his badge and his weapon. "McGee, Tony, you have the suspect's current address."

Hurriedly, the Israeli ended her conversation as politely as she could manage before following suit and pulling her primary and backup from her drawers. Her badge was already on her belt as she holstered her sig and glanced over at Gibbs, waiting for him to make a move from his desk. The ex-marine looked to Tony and McGee, watching them with an odd feeling in his gut, as if it would be the last time he would ever see the two men. Tony picked up on the stare and glanced up from his own process of gathering his weapons and badge.

"We'll see you again, boss," DiNozzo assured, his own green eyes bright with fear.

And with that they left the bullpen and stepped into the elevator, unsure of what waited for them at their destinations.

.:NCIS:.

"Alright McGee, there it is. There's his house. Looks like he's got a front door and a back door. We can't let him get away so we're going to have to split up. I'll take the front door, you take the back."

McGee was glad that Tony was driving because his hands were almost shaking with adrenaline. It was incredible just how much panic had been instilled in just a short couple sentences. Splitting up was never a good idea and the geek knew this. It would not end up good for them. However, he recognized that they had no choice at this point. People in Anacostia, even perhaps Gibbs and Ziva, were dying of a violent nerve gas that took their systems by force. From how Ducky explained it over the phone, McGee took a gander that it only took a matter of about fifteen minutes to kill someone with Sarin.

"McGee, focus here," Tony tried to reassure the younger agent who gazed over at him, the fear apparent in his eyes. "McGee, get ready to get out of the car. As soon as I stop it, it's go time, you got that?"

"Got it Tony," McGee replied as the house neared and he felt his adrenaline spike again. "I've got the backdoor."

When the sedan came to a shrieking halt, McGee could not help but jump a little, despite knowing it was coming. He wrenched the door open and slid from the car, glad that his legs seemed to be working better than his hands. He felt time slow as he and Tony ran towards the house, shoes pounding against the grass as the approached. The house, to say the least, was old. The shingles dangled from the roof in places, the paint job peeled, and what looked like a garage seemed almost melted, which alarmed McGee the most.

Soon they split and the geek could not help but wish he had said something to Tony before doing so. It was odd how he felt, the sudden anxiety as he watched his partner kick the front door, not quite completely breaking the lock on the first attempted and backing up to kick it a second time. On the second shot, the whitewashed door smashed in towards the inside of the house and Tony disappeared inside, gun raised. When he reached the back door, he performed his own attempt at the kick.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. His foot and leg were beginning to ache with the fifth attempt and when he staggered back to give it another go, he heard a gun shot. His heart leapt into his throat as he backed up again to kick the door and it refused him entry. Cursing, McGee glanced up towards the front of the house before looking back at the door. Giving it one last kick, he attempted to budge it once more. However, when it refused to give, he hurried towards the front of the house, feeling his shoes slipping a little underneath his feet.

The front door was closed as the geek dashed around the corner of the house to see it. He approached the door with a caution only his gut could explain. His brain was screaming to go but his instinct told him to wait. Wanting to find a compromise between the two, he hurried to one of the nearby windows, looking in as discreetly as he could. Shutters covered the bulk of the window, but McGee found a small hole in the wood to look through. A tall, muscular man with a gas mask on carried a crowbar as he walked slowly towards the back of the house, most likely expecting McGee to be there. A lab table covered in various brown-glassed bottles lined it.

On the floor was Tony DiNozzo eyes closed and bleeding from the temple.

.:NCIS:.

"Jethro, we'd heard you'd be here. Thanks for coming. We really have our hands full here."

"Tobias, what exactly is going on here?"

The FBI agent frowned as he ran a hand over his head, frustration apparent in his eyes as he watched his men work to evacuate the naval base across the street from they stood. The suburb around them had already been cleared of people, especially now that almost twenty were dead. The body count seemed to be jumping by the minute and it had thrown the area into a state of near anarchy. The panic assaulted almost everyone in the area, even Ziva seemed a little anxious.

"It's a gas of some sort," Fornell explained as best he could as he called over a couple workers to put gas masks on and to bring a few for him, Gibbs, and Ziva. "Kills quickly and violently."

"Ducky gave me the symptoms," Gibbs handed the piece of pad paper to the FBI agent, who pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt.

"I'll radio these," he stated before motioning to those working to evacuate the naval base. "Any help you can give in evacuation or really, any help you can give period would be good."

Fornell pulled a couple radios out from a crate that another agent was carrying by and handed one to Gibbs and another to Ziva.

"Channel thirty-three for HQ South of here, channel thirty-four for emergency personnel and channel thirty-five to connect directly to me," the FBI agent explained quickly before voice came over on his own radio. "I've got you Anderson, what's up."

"Ziva, stay with me," Gibbs ordered as they moved towards the naval base, the overcast sky adding to the dismal atmosphere of the day. "We are not getting separated, you hear me?"

"Yes, Gibbs," the Israeli consented quickly, knowing that the man did not want to risk losing her in the mass hysteria that had overtaken the area.

Before they reached the doors, though, Gibbs heard his cell phone ring and he pulled it out, flipping the top open quickly.

"Gibbs," he answered in his usual fashion before McGee interrupted.

"Boss, it's bad," the geek's voice was filled with fear as he spoke. "He's got gallons upon gallons of this gas in his house and I can't get in, the door's locked—"

"Then break it down, McGee!"

"I can't, boss. He's got Tony and he's threatening to kill him."