Chapter Eight: Need You In The Spotlight

The dial tone was still ringing through the office, Roy's voice quietly talking over to his partner. Finally, Gibbs reached over, pressing the button that would cut off the horrible, dead noise. DiNozzo let out an audible sigh, brushing a hand through his lightly greying hair. Roy hung up his phone, closing it with a soft snap.

"Pete said a dozen people dropped something off at the desk, but none of them gave in a package, just papers. Whoever it was hid from camera view. I'll check for warehouses in the located area." He reported dully, taking the seat he'd vacated during the phone call. Gibbs stayed silent, looking over at DiNozzo, who was obviously uncomfortable under the icy glare. Who wouldn't be?

"How much have you got?" Gibbs cut through the silence quickly, his voice dark. DiNozzo swallowed, looking at his expensive laptop screen.

"$82,000. But I can't get too much more unless-."

"Unless nothing." Gibbs leant one hand on the back of DiNozzo's ornate wooden chair, leaning close. "Get the money in my hand in one hour or I'll make personally sure that the light of day never sees your sorry face again." Of course, he was going to do that anyway, but DiNozzo should know that. It wasn't like anyone was going to take what Gibbs said as a joke. The man rarely made frugal comments. DiNozzo didn't turn his head towards the quietly irate agent, but raised his sweaty hands to the keyboard.

Moving away from the piece of filth that was littering his personal space, Gibbs moved over to Roy. The younger agent was obviously dedicated, always had been, his face set as he scanned through the hundreds of buildings in the 100 metre wide radius the phone had been traced to. The second call hadn't hinted any more than they already knew, but Roy was determinedly trawling through the industrial sites.

"He said abandoned." Gibbs muttered as a list of sixteen warehouses cropped up on the screen in the usual lurid green font. Adding that into his calculations, Roy narrowed down the search.

"Three, here, here and here." Roy pointed a finger to the pulsing circles around three large buildings on the map. Each a good ten minute drive away from the other. If they got the wrong one nothing good would come out of that and Gibbs was not letting another thing happen to his boy.


Oddly enough, the phone rang once again, the voice on the end horribly recognisable.

"Agent Gibbs." Addressing Gibbs instead of DiNozzo now? See the ring leader.

"We have the money." Gibbs answered curtly, resting his palms on the desk, leaning over the sleek black phone. There was a pause for a minute.

"Well, that's good. Especially since it's rather…chilly here."

"Where are we making the swap?"

"Oh, Agent Gibbs. You don't think I'm naïve enough to know that you'll have the whole area surrounded. No, I am an agent, I know the procedures."

Yeah, not an agent for long, Roy thought to himself.

"What then?" DiNozzo piped up, earning himself one of the dirtiest looks anyone had ever given him from Gibbs, and DiNozzo had been given some pretty dirty looks in his time. Monroen chuckled softly on the line.

"Since I doubt Agent Gibbs will go for leaving the money and hoping we'll keep our word in returning the boy. We'll have to do it the other way, here I have the advantage: I know the terrain."

"And address?"

"Well, now that would be oh so easy. And easy is never a challenge, no-one likes easy."

Gibbs knew he needed to keep them talking, narrow down the three possible targets on the map. It shouldn't be too hard; it seemed Monroen liked the sound of his own laugh. "Let me speak to Tony."

"Oh, Gibbs. I'm sorry, he's indisposed at the moment. Perhaps another time, when the money has changed hands…if you're quick enough that is. If you wait too long he might not feel like talking is a possibility. Especially to you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" DiNozzo scoffed.

"Still there, Mr. DiNozzo. I thought you'd be high tailing to the boarder by now. Is Agent Gibbs making you stick around for the show? I'm sure he is which makes things so much more interesting."

"Where is Tony?" Gibbs enunciated clearly, his voice one step away from a growl. He wasn't going to lose Monroen now, not yet, not when he was this close.

"Gibbs, Gibbs. Calm down. I just can't be asked to go get him from his…accommodations. It's a long walk and I'm tired. Tired of this talk. Better get a move on, Agent."

The line disconnected. Gibbs raised his head and Roy nodded with a smile flashing momentarily across his face.

"But." DiNozzo protested, stuttering for a moment as Gibbs fixed him in his sights. "We haven't got the money!"

"Yeah," Roy agreed. "But, he doesn't know that."


Monroen sighed, opening the door to his little holding cell. Even inside a confined building his breath was clouding up in front of him. Massimo watched him, turning back to his paper. He didn't care much for Monroen, but the money was worth it. Shame about De Lucai, but he'd get over it. He'd get over it when he was relaxing in the Bahamas. Yeah, the Bahamas, or Costa Rica.

Monroen looked down at the shivering sight. The exposed skin was pale, the eyes closed against the onslaught of cold air the open door was bringing. "Oh, little Anthony." He murmured, a smirk forming across his mouth. "Caught in the middle of something you can hardly comprehend. Set up by your father and now look where it's lead you."

With a soft chuckle, Monroen squatted down in front of the huddled boy, scratching a rough hand over his cold head. The boy instinctively, even in unconsciousness, flinches away from the touch, teeth chattering. Monroen wasn't a doctor, but he knew his survival training. Hypothermia in particular. Mild cases varied from shivering, low energy, uncomfortable when the temperature rose, cold skin. Moderate cases was when the shivering became uncontrollable, violent even. The inability to think, confusion, fear setting in. Stumbling when trying to move, mild, temporary amnesia, loss of any co-ordination left. Of course, the feeling of being tired, wanting to sleep, speech coming difficult, thick, weakening pulse, shallow breathing.

Monroen could see this in Tony. The unconscious boy's shivering was like a tremor running up and down his spine, ever inch quivering in unison. His breathing clouding in small pants; and as Monroen reached forward to feel his pulse, he smirked. Quick, very quick in the pulse. Not so good.

Of course, it would be worse when the severe symptoms started. The complete loss of limb control. The lack of shivering, much more serious than the shaking itself. Shallow to no breathing rate. The pulse, weak, irregular…or non existent. The pupils rolled back and dilated.

"Oh, Anthony. If you're hero doesn't arrive soon, I fear you'll no longer be able to say thank-you." Monroen scraped a hand over Tony's scalp once again, pushing himself up and relocking the door.

"How's he doing?" Massimo asked, looking up from his newspaper.

"He's slipping away." Monroen stated matter of fact-ly, but the animalistic grin gave him away.

Behind the closed door, locked from the outside and letting very little light in, even though the sun had set long before, in the darkened shadows. Tony stopped shivering.


I was going to finish with this chapter, but when I started writing it I thought…naw, I'll draw it out a bit more, because I can. That's the wonderful thing about being an author. Life in your hands! Anyway, reviews make the world go round and gotta say, I love them all. You're all amazing, love all of you for following it this far, makes me feel like it's going well. I'll get another update quickly, you know I can!

Soul Music.