Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.
A/N I come bearing news! Ethan came home from hospital a few days ago. Still more treatments and a long recovery ahead but after seven long weeks he's home where he belongs. What a little champion! Thanks for you kind thoughts and prayers, L
A Hiding to Nothing
Chapter 8
McGee shifted nervously in the passenger seat of the agency sedan.
"Com-check," he said into the headset mike.
"I am receiving you, McGee," Ziva replied in a hushed tone.
"Loud and clear," the team leader answered quietly.
He checked the images being transmitted to the split screen of his laptop from the camera-embedded eyeglasses his teammates were wearing. He made a minor adjustment to the brightness then frowned and adjusted it back.
"Abby?" he said.
"Rrrready to rock, Timmy," Abby replied with forced cheerfulness as she watched the footage from her lab. "Receiving a clear signal from the tracking device and standing by with the facial composites of the kidnappers."
In the back seat, Ducky sat in uncharacteristic silence, still smarting that Gibbs had refused to let him deliver the ransom - he was, after all, just as invested in the success of this transaction as the former Marine. His thoughts turned to his young assistant. With Tony badly injured their chances of escape diminished greatly but, at this point, the elderly ME prayers were for their survival.
Over the years, Ducky had seen Jimmy Palmer grow into a talented and skilful ME. He had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a love of pathology and had proved to be a willing and enthusiastic listener of the older man's countless stories and recollections. Despite the need for the occasional rebuke, Ducky was confident that, some day, Jimmy Palmer would replace him as Chief Medical Examiner at NCIS.
Ducky had led a rich and full life yet the one thing fate had not accorded him was a family of his own. In a moment of despair, he wondered if Jimmy knew just how much he had come to mean to him. McGee's voice from the front seat cut through his musings.
"Good to go, Boss," he said.
"Roger that," came the calm reply. "Ziva?"
"Ready, Gibbs."
"Stay sharp. Peak hour at Union station's gonna make this guy damn hard to spot."
"Understood."
Adjusting the strap of the sports bag with one hand she absently brushed a wrinkle from her skirt with the other as she stood and walked toward the stairs leading to platform nine. Much to Abby's disappointment, Ziva had declined to wear the lilac corporate Barbie outfit and had chosen a soft grey business skirt and jacket. Wearing the camera-fitted glasses and with her hair swept into a fashionable "up-style" she more than passed muster as a clerical assistant. Her Sig Sauer brought a modicum of comfort tucked snugly into the small of her back but the absence of her ankle holster and knife left her feeling strangely bereft.
As she descended the stairs she moved her head slowly from side to side, scanning the area for anyone vaguely resembling the kidnappers. The images were transmitted to McGee and Abby for comparison to the facial composites provided by the Ferny Grove pharmacist. Gibbs was right; at nearly zero eight hundred Union station was a hive of activity as commuters hustled to make their way to work.
Her attention was drawn to a man sitting on a bench forty feet away. Hidden behind a newspaper with a ball cap pulled low over his face, he was dressed in work attire and steel-capped boots and looked for all the world like a labourer on his way to a construction site. His familiar blue eyes met hers for an instant as she made her way through the milling crowd to the vending machine.
She waited to one side, watching as an obese man wrestled the machine for the Snickers bar that had not dropped into the collection slot. She looked anxiously at her watch as the man began cursing and beating a ham-sized fist against the glass. She startled slightly as McGee's voice sounded in her earwig.
"Ziva, it's zero eight hundred. You've gotta get that guy away from there."
Taking a deep breath, Ziva stepped forward and tapped the large man on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, Sir, this machine is Amtrak property. I am going to have to ask you to step away."
"Not without my Snickers bar or my buck and a half," the man complained.
Reaching into her pocket, Ziva withdrew a ten-dollar bill.
"Go buy an apple," she said thrusting the cash into the man's meaty hand. "Trust me, you do not need the calories."
The man started to protest but instead shrugged his shoulders and merged into the crowd. Ziva stood by the machine for a moment before surreptitiously placing the sports bag beside it and moving away.
"The ball's in play," Gibbs said to his team.
A moment later a sound like distant thunder roared to life as the loud rumbling of two passenger trains arrived on either side of the platform. The loud speakers announced their arrival competing with the loud hissing and screech of the brakes and the clash of the carriage couplings as the trains came to a stop. The doors of both trains opened depositing hundreds more people onto the platform and transforming it into a slow-moving congregation. Gibbs cursed as he realised his view of the sports bag had been blocked.
"I've lost visual on the bag," he reported, trying desperately to push his way through the throng. "Ziva, you see it?"
"Negative," she replied, struggling her way back toward the machine "There are too many people."
By the time they broke free of the crowd and arrived at the vending machine, the sports bag was missing and both trains were leaving the station.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
As he rounded the final bend and saw the back fence of his home, Ethan let out a hybrid sob of relief and exhaustion. He had kept his promise to his new friend and had run all the way home. His knees and elbows were stinging beneath his clothes from a fall that had left him covered in dirt but he had bravely wiped his tears, dusted himself off and continued on his way.
Arriving at the back fence he slid two loose planks to the side and climbed through the small gap into his backyard. Scampering up to the house, he opened the kitchen door and skidded to a halt as he heard his mother speaking on the phone.
"That's right, Officer, his name is Ethan. He's five years old, approximately 35 inches tall with blonde hair and brown eyes. He's been missing for about two hours. What? Of course I've looked for him but I have a six week old baby and I need your help."
"Mommy?" Ethan called timidly.
Liz spun around quickly, her knees almost buckling as she saw her little boy standing at the entrance to the living room.
"Ethan!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees in front of him and engulfing him in a tight hug. "Thank God! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
She pulled away and held him at arm's length then, with a mother's trained eye, she assessed him for injuries. Seeing no obvious signs, her overwhelming relief turned to anger.
"Where have you been? I've been going crazy; you scared me-" she stopped abruptly and looked at the phone still in her hand. "Oh, Lord…um…Officer, I'm so sorry. Yes, he's here now. I'm so sorry to trouble you. Yes, I will, thank you and you have a good day, too."
Placing the cordless phone on the kitchen table she took several deep breaths in order to relax and then turned to face her son. Her heart melted at the sight of his tear-streaked face but he had broken several very important rules that were in place for his safety.
"Ethan, you know you're not allowed to leave the yard alone, don't you?" she asked pleased at her how calm her voice now sounded.
"Yes, Mommy but-"
"You went to the forest to look for Buster, didn't you?"
A loud sob escaped at the memory of his missing dog and his blonde head nodded.
"I know you miss your dog, honey, but how many times have Daddy and I have told you never to go there alone? What if something bad had happened to you?"
"Mommy, there was a man in the forest. He told me his name but I forgetted-"
"What?" Liz whispered, feeling her blood run cold. "Ethan, listen to me. Did this man hurt you?"
"No, Mommy, he was nice," Ethan said, wiping his face before smiling up at her. "He didn't hurt me, he's going to find Buster. He asked me to-"
The sound of a baby's distressed cry came from the nursery and Liz sighed wearily and looked back at her son.
"Ethan, I need you to go to your room while I see to Amy," she said.
"But Mommy, I-"
"I mean it. You go to your room and think about what Daddy and I have told you about stranger danger and leaving the yard on your own."
Ethan's face crumbled as two fat tears spilled from his brown eyes. Liz pulled her son in for a quick hug, releasing him before she lost her resolve.
"Aw, honey, I know we haven't had as much time together since Amy was born, but as soon as she's asleep I'll come get you and we'll talk, just you and me. But right now, I think you need a time-out. Do as I say and go to your room."
Ethan turned and ran to his bedroom, throwing himself onto his bed and sobbing into his pillow. His Dad always told him that a man was only as good as his word, and now he had broken his word to his new friend.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
By the time Gibbs and Ziva had double-timed it back to the car, McGee could tell them the signal from the tracking device was being submitted from within a moving train. With his fingers flashing quickly over the keyboard he was able to access the Amtrak timetable and determine the train was the 171 Northeast Regional that serviced the Northeast Corridor from Boston through Richmond to Newport News. The 171 had departed Union Station at zero eight hundred with its first stop scheduled at Alexandria in twenty-one minutes. Pulling out into the traffic with an impatient blast of the horn and a screech of tyres, Gibbs had every intention of meeting that train.
"Boss, it's peak hour," McGee said. "We'll never make it to Alexandria before the train."
"Contact someone, tell them to hold the train at Alexandria until we get there – no one gets on or off!"
"Er…Boss…can just we do that? I mean, if we delay one train the whole network gets backed up and…"
The pointed look on the lead agent's face was enough to convince the younger agent.
"I'm…just gonna stop the train," he muttered reaching for his cell.
"If I may, Jethro?" Ducky said from the back seat. "As you and Ziva both lost sight of the sports bag, how can you be sure that someone other than the kidnappers didn't take it?"
"My gut." Came the succinct response as the car swerved quickly around a slow moving vehicle.
"Ducky is right, Gibbs, should we not first confirm who actually has the sports bag before heading off on some wild moose chase?"
"Actually, my dear, the term to which you refer is actually a wild goose chase. It is one of the many phrases introduced to the language by William Shakespeare. I believe the first recorded citation is from Romeo and Juliet in 1592 when Mercutio said, 'Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five."
"So...goose, not moose?" she asked.
Yes, my dear, goose-chase not moose-chase," Ducky confirmed.
"If you two are finished goosing each other can we get back to the case?" Gibbs snapped. "Ziva, call Abby. Tell her to call Union Station and get a copy of the security footage of the platform nine."
"I already have, my choleric crime fighter," Abby's voice said over their earwigs.
"Tell me you got something, Abs," Gibbs said hating the desperate tone that coloured his voice.
"I've got something, Abs…I mean, Gibbs," Abby replied. "The image was grainy but I managed to clean it up with my new video enhancing program, which is, like, totally cool by the way. Did you know that the standard interpolation algorithms-"
"Abby!"
"Sorry, Gibbs, I'm a little distracted."
"Ya think? Does the tape show who took the damn bag?"
"Yes. The man who took the bag from beside the vending machine and boarded the 171 Northeast Regional was definitely one of the kidnappers. The facial composite was surprisingly accurate. He's wearing a striped sweatshirt and a Redskins ball cap. I'm sending a copy of the photo to McGee's computer."
"Thanks Abs."
"Boss," McGee said. "I spoke with the supervisor in the Amtrak Traffic Control Centre. He said they're going to need at least 30 minutes to take that train out of service."
"The train will have passed Alexandria by then, yes?" Ziva asked.
"Yes, but if they let it continue through to Manassas, there's a siding it can use so it doesn't block the track and delay the network. That's the best they can do."
"Call Alexandria and Manassas PD," Gibbs said. "I want those stations covered until we get there. Nobody-"
"Nobody gets on or off. I got it, Boss," McGee said, juggling his laptop and his cell as Gibbs changed direction to Manassas and floored the gas pedal.
Twenty minutes later McGee confirmed that the 171 had left Alexandria bound for Manassas and the tracking device was still on board the train. By the time they had arrived at Manassas Station, the train had been directed to a siding and the passengers had grown increasingly agitated by the delay. With the assistance of the Manassas PD, the train was evacuated and searched one carriage at a time. When they reached the final carriage their frustration levels soared when they found the sports bag containing a striped sweatshirt and Redskins ball cap but no sign of the money or the kidnapper.
"He must have changed bags and disembarked at Alexandria," Ziva stated.
Gibbs turned to Sergeant Rigby of the Manassas PD who had been in radio contact with the watch commander of Alexandria.
"How many people disembarked at Alexandria?"
Rigby looked surprised.
"Sir?"
"Our guy got off the train at Alexandria. I need you to contact the officer in charge and tell him we'll be there in thirty minutes."
The colour ran from Rigby's face and his jaw hung open.
"There a problem, Sergeant?"
"Yes, Sir, when we heard that the tracking device was heading to Manassas, I told Alexandria PD to stand down. They let the passengers leave an hour ago."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Ethan slowly turned the doorknob and eased open his bedroom door. He looked both ways down the hallway, relieved to find it empty. Cautiously he edged his way out the door and crept toward the kitchen as quietly as he could. As he neared the nursery, he heard the quiet creaking of the rocking chair and his mother humming softly as she tried to lull his new baby sister to sleep.
He stood stock still eyeing the wide open nursery door with trepidation. He stroked his imaginary beard wondering how he could get past without his mother seeing him. An idea occurred and he quickly lay down on his tummy and began to commando-crawl just like his Daddy had taught him. When he was well clear of the door he climbed to his feet and hurried to the kitchen, reaching for the cordless phone then, taking a deep breath, he did everything in reverse and returned to his room.
Quietly closing his bedroom down he leaned against it, feeling his little heart pounding in his chest. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew the old candy bar wrapper and started to dial the number written in blue crayon. A thought occurred to him and he opened his closet door, sat down on the floor inside and closed the door behind him. Then he dialled the number again.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0
As the team walked back to the car, a feeling of utter despair hung oppressively over them. Gibbs had been so sure that they could take the kidnapper at the drop site and force him to tell them where DiNozzo and Palmer were being held. Now the kidnapper and the ransom were gone and so, too, was any real chance of finding Tony and Palmer alive.
Underscoring his anger and frustration was a powerful guilt. Even with a bullet in his shoulder, DiNozzo had done everything Gibbs could have asked of him; the ATM and the ransom demand were stalling tactics orchestrated by his agent to give his team time and opportunity to find them. The former Marine marvelled at the depth of Tony's continuing faith in him and felt both honoured and disturbed by it. It didn't seem to matter what he did, Tony trusted him regardless…and Gibbs had let him down.
Ducky glanced at the lead agent, taking in the rigid posture and the signs of a man trying to hold himself together while tearing his insides apart.
"This wasn't your fault, Jethro," he said as they arrived at the sedan and took their seats.
"I should've had more people on this, Duck. Should've had our people cover Alexandria and Manassas."
"You did what you could with limited resources and very little time," the doctor continued. "One could hardly expect-"
"I'm team leader, Ducky, it's my job to expect!" Gibbs snapped, the harshness in his tone reflecting his self-recrimination.
"Surely there's something else we can do?" Ducky pleaded. "You said yourself that Anthony-"
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Ducky's ringing cell. He excused himself and answered the call.
"Doctor Mallard speaking."
"Is that Doctor Duck?" a little voice whispered.
"This is Doctor Donald Mallard…whom may I ask is calling?"
"It's me, Ethan Liam Samuel Thomas," the barely audible voice replied.
"I'm afraid I can hardly hear you…you need to speak up, young man?"
"I can't…she'll hear me."
"Who will hear you?" Ducky asked in confusion.
"My Mom…she's mad at me cos I ran away."
"Oh my…may I ask, how old you are, my boy?"
"I'm five and a quarter going on six."
"I see…tell me young man, how did you come by my number?"
"The man gave it to me…he told me to call you and tell you to come find him."
"What man?" Ducky said, urgently signalling to the others and placing the call on speaker. McGee snatched up his own cell and had Abby trace Ducky's call.
"Keep him talking, Duck," Gibbs said.
"You say a man gave you my number and asked you to call me," Ducky repeated for the benefit of the others. "Can you tell me who that was?"
"The man in the woods," Ethan replied. "I…forgetted his name."
"That's quite alright, lad. What was this man doing in the woods?"
"He was talking to me and looking for my dog…he ran away because he's scared of thunder."
"The man is scared of thunder?"
"No, Doctor Duck, my dog is scared of thunder. Are you going to help me find him?"
"Ethan, can you tell me what he looked like?"
"He has brown hair, brown eyes, a white patch over one eye and a short waggly tail."
"Well…he sounds like a fine dog indeed," Ducky chuckled. "But I meant the man in the woods. Was he hurt?"
"He had bruises and he fell down…but he said to tell you to come and get him. He said you were his friend."
"Yes, my boy…I certainly am. Was he alone?"
"He's probably with Buster by now."
"Buster?"
"My dog…he said he'd look for him."
"Yes, well…I'm sure he will. Ethan, can you tell me where you're calling from?"
"I'm in my closet."
"And just where is your closet?"
"In my bedroom, silly!"
"Ask a silly question, Duck!" Gibbs quipped.
"Do you think I could speak with your Mother?" Ducky asked.
"Why?" Ethan drawled suspiciously.
"I'd like to ask her where you live so that my friends and I can come and help you find your dog."
"Ethan!" A female voice sounded in the background.
"My Mom's coming! I'll have to call you back," Ethan said quickly disconnecting the call.
"Hello? Hello? Ethan, are you there?" Ducky said, looking hopefully at McGee who still had his cell to his ear.
"She got it, Boss," McGee said. "The call was from a landline in the name of John Thomas."
"Got an address?"
"14 Appleby Lane, Preston Meadows, Virginia."
"Preston Meadows? Dammit!" Gibbs hissed, putting the car into a sharp u-turn and planting his foot on the gas. "Kyle Boone."
"Kyle Boone is dead, Jethro," Ducky replied. "You witnessed his execution several years ago."
"Tony's message, Duck. He was telling us he was being held near where Boone buried his victims."
With a few rapid keystrokes of his laptop, McGee played the audio of Tony's message and they listened closely to the wording.
"You gotta give 'em…what they want, Boss," Tony said, struggling to get his breathing under control. "You'll never…find us in the boon…boondocks. Screw with them and…this place will become a…a graveyard real fast. We're on death row here. There'll be no… stay of execution for us."
"Of course," Ducky murmured.
"Before my time, yes?" Ziva asked Ducky.
"Yes, my dear, Kyle Boone was a psychopathic killer who brutally murdered over twenty young women, including a Navy petty officer. He dumped their bodies in woodland not far from Preston Meadows. He was sentenced to the death penalty and was on death row for many years before he was finally executed."
The sedan lurch forward as Gibbs demanded more speed. His face contorted into an almost unrecognisable mask of anger and self-reproach.
'Hold on, Tony,' he thought. 'We're coming.'
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Reaching into reserves he didn't even know he had, Palmer staggered a little, urging his fatigued body to push on. He fell heavily to his knees; his chest heaving as the world tilted slightly and then righted itself. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent and cupped his hand over his nose and mouth to confirm it. Then, holding his trembling hands in front of his face, he knew the tremors and sweet smelling breath had little to do with fatigue and a lot to do with the onset of hypoglycaemia.
Jimmy suffered from mild diabetes and diligently managed the chronic condition. But the stress and over-exertion of the last two days, combined with the lack of food, had resulted in the ominous symptoms. Climbing to his feet, he tried to conserve what energy he had left and jogged at a much slower pace. It wasn't until he had arrived in the dense group of trees at the front of the cabin that he realised he didn't have the faintest idea of what to do next. He should have been terrified but he wasn't. He should have gone for help with Ethan but he didn't. He should have done what Tony had asked and left him there…but he wouldn't.
His chest tightened as he remembered the sound of the gunshot. If Tony were already dead, this would be a futile exercise but if by some stroke of fortune the agent was still alive he owed it to his friend to try to help him. He took a deep breath to ready himself - if he were going to die he would not do it cowering among the trees – no matter what the circumstances.
He searched the ground around his feet and collected several sizeable rocks and a sturdy tree branch. He would throw the rocks at the cabin to lure Muluk out to investigate the noise, then wait until the man drew level with the tree and squash his head like a ripe melon. Okay, so it was an idea more suited to Wile E Coyote but in the absence of any others it just had to work. He drew back his arm, ready to launch the first rock when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed firmly into the small of his back.
"Drop it now," the menacing voice of Sanjaya hissed in his ear.
The Indonesian took a firm hold of Palmer's arm and twisted it painfully behind his back as he dragged him toward the cabin calling to Muluk in Bahasa to avoid being shot. Muluk's eyes widened as he saw the two men approach and as he opened the door to allow them entry a heated argument followed. The two men were still screaming at each other as Sanjaya unlocked the door to the back room and practically threw Palmer into the darkness.
Unaccustomed to the darkness, Jimmy tripped over something and fell to the ground. He turned his head to the side as he fell, trying desperately not to smash his face. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he gave himself a moment to recover, enabling his breathing to resume its normal rhythm. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his heart stopped at the sight of Tony, lying prone and unmoving on the ground.
"Oh God," he whispered, scrambling to the agent's side.
He reached out with trembling hands, feeling the heat of a blast furnace coming from his friend. Calling his name produced no response and a quick check of his vitals confirmed his pulse was racing and his respirations were shallow, noisy and strained. He quickly checked him for injuries before easing him onto his black unable to prevent the strangled gasp that escaped upon seeing his friends face.
His left eye was swollen shut, the deeply purpled skin pulled unnaturally tight. A deep gash in his left eyebrow had filled the eye socket with blood that contrasted garishly with his pallor. He carefully lifted the saturated dressing from Tony's shoulder and swallowed harshly at the sight of the badly infected wound. A mottled purple bruise the size and dimensions of a man's boot marred Tony's ribcage. With gentle hands, Jimmy probed the area, flinching as he felt a rib shift beneath his fingers and Tony sucked in a sharp breath.
"Tony? Tony, can you hear me?"
One bleary, pain-filled eye opened and looked up at Palmer questioningly.
"I…I couldn't leave you like this, Tony. I had to come back," he replied as he witnessed the last vestige of hope fade from his friend's face.
"You sh..should have k-kept going – now we're both dead."
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A/N- I have a few horrendously busy weeks coming up but will try to get the next chapter to you ASAP. Hope you'll join me for the final chapter, L
