Chapter 8
"No, Officer David," the CMC said. "I can't think of a single person who sought out Agent Burley's company beyond the men you've already detained. Like I said, people didn't like him."
"How often was he sending messages?"
"Quite a bit at the beginning, but that tapered off. He only sent one...the night before we docked, I think. I can't remember any other time he was there. You can check the logs."
"We will. Thank you, Master Chief."
Tony and Ziva left together.
"What do you think about this thing with McGee?" Tony asked.
"He made a mistake. A bad one."
"Yeah. That's not McGee-like at all."
"It was during a time of upheaval, Tony. Surely, you did not do everything perfectly when you got transferred."
"No, but...this is McGee!"
"He is not perfect, Tony. And I think it is wrong of Gibbs to blame him."
"He doesn't blame him."
"Do you think that McGee can tell?"
Tony snorted. "Are you kidding? McGuilty noticing that the boss doesn't really blame him when he's obviously blaming himself?"
"Your lack of empathy is astounding," Ziva said and stalked ahead.
"Ziva!"
"Tony, can you not see how bad McGee is feeling about his mistake?"
"Sure, but I also know why Gibbs is doing it."
"Why is that?"
"Because it will make McGee work better."
"That is justification for cruelly blaming him for something he did not do?"
Tony shrugged. "Welcome to the world of Gibbs." He continued on his way.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim was digging through months of files, knowing only vaguely where he had to start looking. He searched, but there was a backlog of information in the ship's computers and he was working on two hours of sleep. He didn't know how some people managed like this. He ran a search and watched as the computer scrolled through the data. ...and his eyes started to droop.
"McGee!"
Tim jumped and felt the top of his head connected soundly with another head.
"Ow!"
Thwack!
"Hey!" Tim rubbed his head and turned around to find Tony rubbing his forehead, looking annoyed.
"Sleeping on the job, McGee?"
"You wanted to wake me up, you could have chosen a method other than shouting in my ear," Tim said irritably.
"You're pretty flippant considering you're on the verge of joining Jethro in the dog house."
"Ha ha. What do you want?"
"Got some info for your search, McGee."
"Oh?" Tim looked at him skeptically and then shifted his gaze to Ziva.
"It is true, McGee. The CMC said that Clarkson sent a message out the day before the Roosevelt docked."
"Really?" Tim asked. He stared stupidly at them both for a moment and then spun around and began typing madly. His fingers flew over the keys and he leaned forward further and further until his nose was almost touching the screen.
"See?" Tony whispered. "It's an impetus."
"I do not believe that it is effective," Ziva shot back. "McGee would work this hard no matter what. Stan Burley is part of NCIS and someone Gibbs values very highly. That is enough."
"Values very highly? You think he'd expend this much energy for me without something extra to push him along?"
"Jealous, Tony?"
"No, of course not. Got over that a long time ago. I've outlasted Stan by a couple of years!" Tony preened slightly.
"A-ha!" Tim said triumphantly, not noticing their conversation. His mind was functioning on the level of only being able to think about one thing at a time. After his declaration, he said nothing else and began typing again.
"A-ha, what?"
No response from the hunched form.
"McGee! What?"
Still nothing.
"Probie!"
"Do not hit him, Tony. You will only distract him. Just wait."
"Wait for what?" Gibbs asked from right behind them.
If Tim's voice tuned out Tony and Ziva, it was ultra-attenuated to Gibbs' voice. He jumped and turned back around. Before Gibbs could say anything at all, he began to talk.
"Tony and Ziva found out that Clarkson sent out a message the day before they docked. I found it! I'm deciphering the header info now. I should...I should have a fix on the location."
"When should this happen?"
"As...as soon as I get back to work, Boss." Tim swallowed and turned back to the computer.
"What else did the CMC have to say?" Gibbs asked.
"He couldn't think of anyone else who might have been cozy with Clarkson, Boss. The guy was a major prick. Basically, the opposite of Stan."
"Prick?" Ziva asked.
"It means obnoxious."
"Why?"
"Yeah, Tony, explain that to Ziva," Gibbs said, raising his eyebrows.
"I've got it!" Tim said.
"So...what does it mean?" Ziva asked.
Tim looked at her in confusion. "What?"
"What do you got, McGee?" Gibbs asked, rolling his eyes.
"The email was sent to a computer in Petersburg, Virginia!"
"That area is huge, McGee," Tony said. "Can't you narrow it down any more than that?"
"Yes, but that will take time. I know the email address to whom it was sent. I have to decipher the IP address and see if I can pinpoint the location, but even that might not get us the actual location. It could be someone bouncing off a wifi...that's happened before." Tim flushed. "It could be from an internet café. I don't know if it will get you what you want!"
"Well, find out, then, McGee!" Gibbs said and turned his chair around.
"Boss, ease up!" Tony said.
"Yes, Gibbs. This is wrong. Allow McGee a rest."
"Do you think Stan is resting right now, Ziva?"
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Scritch...scritch...
Stan yanked and the piton moved beneath his hands. Not much. Not even close to enough, but it moved. Unless there was an extra claw in there, he figured if he could loosen it up enough, he'd be able to pull it out. He had a burst of energy from the bread and water. It wouldn't last nearly long enough, but it was worth a shot.
A voice raised in anger upstairs.
"You tell me that now? Do you really think that I want to hear that?"
Must be on the phone, Stan thought. No audible replies.
"I'm not going to take the fall for this! You get over here and help me deal with it or I'm going to set him free and finger you for everything! That's right! That's what I said!"
That sounded ominous. Somehow, Stan figured that whoever was on the other end of that conversation had been convinced by the threat. ...and that meant no getting released...except into a hole in the backyard...or wherever.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"This is taking too long. McGee!"
Tim turned around again. "I'm working as fast as I can, Boss!"
"Forget it. Send everything you have to Abby. Tell her to work on it and let us know when she finds it."
"I can do it, Boss! I promise!" Tim felt desperate to show that he wasn't screwing up.
"You can't do it right now, McGee. So send it to Abby. We'll head to Petersburg," Gibbs said.
"All of us?" Tim asked.
Gibbs looked about ready to say no. Tim plunged on.
"Please, Boss. I need to be there."
"Do you?"
"Yes! I do!"
"And if Stan is dead?"
"Then...I need to be there still."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
The pile of dust was growing. Stan wasn't bothering to sweep it away. He could tell he was in trouble, just based on the pacing going on above his head. His captors were edgy, ready to take off, write off their losses.
Scritch...scritch...
Then, the pacing became a tread. Stan frantically brushed the debris out of the pile, hopefully adding it to grime already coating the dirty floor. He could have sworn each particle glowed like a neon light blaring out into the night: Escape attempt! Escape attempt! He only barely managed to conceal his tool before the door at the top of the stairs exploded open and his captor thumped down. This time, he didn't stop at the bottom step. He strode all the way over to Stan, picked him up by his ragged clothes and brought him to his face.
"You said you were rich."
"Yeah...I am," Stan said, breathing heavily. He took a perverse pleasure in seeing the man grimace at the smell.
"How rich?"
"I don't have to work if I don't want to."
"Even right now?"
"Even right now."
"How much do you have in available assets right now?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" The man shook him.
"No, I don't. In case you haven't noticed, I've been a bit distracted from monetary concerns over the past...however long it's been. Maybe I don't have money anymore. Is there something going on that I should know about?"
The man sneered and threw him back down. The toilet piece shifted down Stan's pant leg and he tried to remain still, lest it be seen. The man seemed disgusted by more than the filth as he stormed back up the stairs.
The pacing resumed. Stan laying breathing hard, feeling achy from the treatment he'd just received and more convinced than ever that he had better have a plan. Right now, it was basically along the lines of...get away.
The pacing continued and Stan cautiously pulled himself back to the wall.
Scritch...scritch...
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"He is out like a lamp," Ziva said, looking at Tim who was drooling on the window. "Perhaps he should not have come."
"Like a light," Tony corrected.
"Why does it make a difference?"
"I have no idea. Ziva, haven't you figured out that idioms don't make sense? They're not supposed to! I'll bet they don't in Hebrew either!"
"They make sense to me!"
"Yes, that's the whole point! Idioms make sense to the native speakers because it's their language!"
"You have too many of them."
"Well, we have people from too many different places who settled here. Live with it." Tony twisted back around in his seat.
"Gibbs, you should tell McGee that it is not his fault."
"He'll figure it out."
"He might not, Boss," Tony said. "McGee's way too conscientious."
"Not enough to report theft."
"That was one mistake, Gibbs," Ziva said. "Are you trying to tell me that you make no mistakes?"
Gibbs made no reply.
His phone rang and Tim surged from sleep to consciousness in a split second.
"Whoa, chill, McGee! We're not there yet."
"Yeah, what is it, Abby?" Gibbs asked. He listened for a few seconds and then hung up the phone and pushed on the gas.
"What did I miss?" Tim asked, holding onto the door for dear life.
"Nothing much, just some conversation," Tony said.
"Abby traced the email address to one specific place...and it's not a café. She's sending us the address now."
"So...why the sudden urge to defy death?" Tony asked, his eyes wide.
"Because when she got into the account, she found an email indicating that Stan was nothing more than a loose end. ...and if you ask what that idiom means you can clear out your desk as soon as we get back to NCIS."
"I was not going to say a word," Ziva said and then added in an undertone, "I understand that one."
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Scritch...scritch...
Stan pulled on the piton. It moved, but not enough. He began to shove it back and forth.
"Come on you stupid thing!"
Scritch...scritch...
