"Okay, listen up!" shouted Tony, standing atop Ziva's desk and raising his hands. The murmurings of the other agents and office workers quieted as he flashed his patented smile and relaxed his arms. "I'd like to personally thank each of you for participating in our training exercise. Each of you behaved in a satisfactory manner, and we thank you for your cooperation. And a special thanks," he continued, jumping down and slapping a now present Jason Bourne on the shoulder, "to our guest star for this evening. I apologize for the personal inconvenience for you all."
"What was the idea with live rounds?" one of the women snapped at DiNozzo, glaring at him from a few feet away.
Tony's smile didn't falter, and he turned towards her. "We wanted this experience to be as realistic for everyone as possible. Ziva David and this man are highly trained, and we took precautions to make sure nobody would get seriously hurt."
"Was that your idea, Tony?" another voice asked.
"… It may have been."
Scattered "figures" and "dumb joke" phrases littered the office as people began to go back to work. Tony's smile faded, leaving a slightly irritated look on his face as he turned back to Bourne.
"Alright, that should keep most people quiet for a short time," he muttered. "We've talked to the guards you escaped from; they said they wouldn't talk for the time being."
Jason nodded absently, eyes still scanning the work space. Tony knew he was far from relaxed; it felt as though his hand had clapped against rod iron when he had slapped Bourne on the back earlier. Glancing further, he eyed Ziva, who was still glaring stonily at the mysterious man. That look would be enough to have Tony sitting down meekly, and a lesser man possibly soiling themselves. Bourne seemed to ignore it completely.
"Well, secret agent, let's go to the conference room," he said a bit nervously, leading Jason away from Ziva's dagger-like glares.
Jason nodded once and followed.
"So they're buying DiNozzo's story?"
Gibbs nodded at the director's question. "Tony jumped on the grenade, said the live rounds were his idea."
"Foolish decision on his part. If word ever leaks about that story, SECNAV could have his job," grumbled Vance. "But it solves our immediate problem anyway. I don't like the idea of hiding a CIA top priority target from them in our headquarters though," he added, glaring at Gibbs.
The agent smirked. "If you've got a better idea, Leon, I'd love to hear it."
Vance stared for a long moment, chewing his toothpick thoughtfully. "I'll allow it," he said finally. "But you're on a short leash, Gibbs. Any problems and he's gone."
Gibbs nodded, but didn't leave. "You find anything out about this guy, Leon?"
With a push of a button, the room was sealed. Gibbs glanced around, looking back at his director. "That big?"
"The man you've apprehended is one of the biggest red-flagged targets in the CIA at the moment," Vance deadpanned. "I'd say it's as big as you could get."
"Ziva and McGee got that he was black-ops."
"Saying he's black-ops is like saying Michael Jordan was just some basketball player. He's one of the top men that have come from those programs. His specialty is becoming a ghost; making up a background from nothing, infiltrating enemy lines, taking out his target quietly, and vanishing just as fast."
"So why is he running?" Gibbs asked.
"Nobody at the CIA really knows. Most popular theory going around right now is amnesia. He's claimed, in the little contact they've had with him, that he can't remember anything further than two years ago. In short, he's a human weapon that's malfunctioned, and they're trying to clean up the pieces." Vance said.
"So why aren't we turning him in? And how are you getting all this information? When McGee tried, he was shut down," added Gibbs, ignoring the director's inquiring look at the mention of McGee trying to get private information.
"I've got contacts inside the CIA. One in particular who is in charge of his hunt right now; and she's as convinced as I am that there is a lot more going on here that what's being told. I told her I may have information if she was willing to share. But we both think it's in our best interests to put off turning him in, at least for the mean time." Vance glanced at the clock. "I've got a meeting in MCAT in five."
"So what are we supposed to do," asked Gibbs dryly.
"First solve this murder," answered the Director. "We'll worry about Bourne after that."
"So where's he now?" asked McGee, glancing up as Tony returned to his desk.
"In the conference room with Ziva. Remind me to never attempt beating Ziva in a fight," Tony said, visibly shuddering.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," his friend cracked. "Why? Is she still upset?"
"She's giving him the worst death-stare I think I've ever seen in my life. It may even rival Gibbs," Tony breathed, eyes staring ahead as he remembered the sight.
McGee whistled. "Well, I can't say I blame her. I don't think anybody has high opinions of the guy right now," he added, glancing at the elevator door.
"Abby's fine, Tim. Pissed off, and almost as scary as Ziva right now, but fine." Tony walked around and leaned on McGee's desk. "Ducky's going over whatever psych profile we've got on him right now."
"Good; I don't exactly like him being here."
"Join the club," Tony commented dryly. "I'm sure Gibbs and the Director are figuring out what to do with him as we speak."
"The only thing you should be sure of, DiNozzo, is our dead Marine's identity and recent events," Gibbs growled, walking through the bullpen. Tony stood quickly, confused.
"But boss, what about… well… the guy…"
"Now, Tony. Or I'll get Ziva down here to give you her version of my death-stare." Gibbs said, pausing long enough to glare at Tony himself. The senior field agent quickly nodded and sat at his desk, looking through files. Gibbs watched them for a moment longer before heading for the conference room.
The window was two stories up. Depending on how fast he was moving, he might survive the fall, but it wouldn't be in his favor.
The Mossod agent wouldn't allow him close anyways.
He could shoot her first. The gunshot would set off alarms. And it's still two stories.
That plan's out.
Jason's face remained blank. He was completely aware of the woman named Ziva glaring at him from across the table. Several times so far she had attempted speaking to him, but he had ignored her; it was nothing but questioning anyways.
This wasn't ideal. He would rather not be in this situation. But it would be easier to go along with this than attempting to escape. In his mind, he began processing all the people he had encountered.
Gibbs. Leader, ex-marine. Cold, calculating. Dangerous.
Ziva. Mossod. Hot headed, intuitive. Dangerous.
Tony. Cop, creative. Good shot. Dangerous.
Ducky (Ducky?). Medical examiner. Intelligent. Not dangerous.
Abby…
Well, he wasn't quite sure what to make of Abby. Not dangerous, but not safe either. Murder was in her eyes when she was his hostage; she wouldn't hesitate to harm him if she felt threatened. Forensic scientist of some kind. So dangerous in a different way.
He was aware of the door opening and Gibbs entering. Asking Ziva if he had talked; she said no. Even though they are whispering, he can hear them easily. Then Gibbs is speaking to him.
"Come on. We're going to interrogation," he says gruffly.
Not much of a choice.
He'll still bide his time. They haven't called the CIA yet, that's good. He'll need to leave before they do.
Just wait for the right time.
