CHAPTER NINE

When McGee got back to his apartment, he downed a couple more pain killers hoping they would at least mute the throbbing in his head. He paced the room, his anxiety prevented him from settling down. Ok, what did he know? He knew the killer's name was David Grimes, and he was living in a mental hospital. Tony had told him that much. He thought about the missing photos. Obviously, Grimes must have access to a computer and the internet.

He hurried over to his computer and settled himself in front of the large screen. Maybe Gibbs wouldn't let him come into work, but McGee was an exceptionally talented hacker and as long as he had a computer and an internet connection, he was in business.

It took longer than it should have, but McGee blamed the relentless headache. At one point, he'd gotten up too quickly and found himself vomiting in the bathroom. He knew this was not a good sign, but he was driven. Despite the distractions, he'd finally tracked down the virus Grimes had managed to insert in order to access McGee's phone files. Grimes was very, very good. But McGee was better. He had eventually traced the virus to a computer in the main Arlington library. He sat for a few moments considering this. It was possible Grimes had used that computer as an intermediary, but perhaps someone there might recognize Grimes and have even a small clue that could help McGee track him down. He suspected Grimes knew they had identified him and would disappear. He couldn't let him get away. He looked at his watch. It was already after ten in the morning. The library should be open.

Grabbing his keys and a couple more pain killers, McGee headed down to his car. As he settled himself behind the wheel, a sharp pain, like an ice pick in his brain, caused McGee to grab his skull as if to somehow keep his head from exploding. The pain gradually subsided, but it left him breathless and shaky. Cold sweat trickled down his face as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. Frustrated, he smashed his hand against the steering wheel. How could he protect Sarah like this?

When he felt steady enough, he started the car and began the long drive from Silver Springs down to Virginia. When he arrived at the library it took him a few minutes to finally pull himself out of the car. The spike in his head had returned and this time, his vision had gone blurry. Thankfully, he was just turning into the parking lot at the time. Five minutes later, found him at the desk of the reference librarian.

The young woman looked at McGee at frowned at his haggard face and bandaged head. "May I help you, sir?"

McGee pulled out his ID. "Special Agent Timothy McGee," he barked. "NCIS". The woman's eyebrows shot up. McGee pulled out a photo of Grimes. "I believe this man has been in here using your computers in the last 24 hours. Have you seen him?"

The woman tentatively took the photo and studied the photo, then shook her head. "I honestly don't know, Agent McGee." The computers are very busy at night and we have an hourly turnover. He might have been here." She frowned thoughtfully and looked over at the banks of public access computers. Then her face brightened. "Do you see that man at the last computer on the right? He's here every night. He might have seen your man."

McGee nodded his thanks and approached the user at the computer. By his ragged, unkempt appearance, McGee suspected the man was homeless and like many without a permanent residence found the library a welcome haven. McGee put his age at somewhere between fifty and seventy.

"Excuse me, sir. I wonder if I might ask you a question."

The old man looked up, his bright blue eyes peering at McGee with distrust. McGee was sure the man had been rousted by cops more than once in his life and was undoubtedly suspicious of all law men.

"Waddaya want?"

McGee showed the man his ID and again introduced himself. He then brought out the photo of Grimes. "I'm trying to locate this man. He's wanted for murder."

The man's eyes narrowed as he stared at McGee, then he took the photo and studied it carefully. Suddenly he face lit up. "He's the guy with the motorcycle!"

"Motorcycle?" McGee's heart sped up as he pulled out a pad and pen.

"Yeah," nodded the man happily. "A 1947 Indian Chief. Yellow with fringe on the seat. Damn that bike was a thing of beauty. Had one just like it when I was a kid. You just don't see those anymore. "

"You're saying this man owned such a motorcycle?"

"Yep." The man's eyes got a faraway look. "Man, I drove all over the country on that bike. Wish I still had it. Couldn't help notice it when it was parked outside the library. Guy who owned it weren't very friendly though. Nearly ripped my head off when I tried to talk to him about it."

"When did you see him here?"

The man frowned, rubbing his stubbled cheeks. "Well, he were here for a little while last night. I seen him here a coupla times before that."

McGee closed his eyes for a moment. A yellow 1947 Indian Chief motorcycle. Surely there couldn't be too many of those around. If he could track the motorcycle, he could find Grimes. Simplest way would be to put out a BOLO. But he wasn't supposed to be working the case so he shouldn't even be here. He rubbed his head, willing the pain to go away. It was making it so hard to think straight.

"Kid? Hey kid? You okay?" McGee opened his eyes to find the old man staring at him with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," mumbled McGee struggling to his feet. He stumbled the first few steps before regaining his balance as he hurried to the door. The old man watched him go then shook his head as he returned to his computer.

xxxxx

Grimes sat in the booth at McDonald's eating his way through a large box of chicken nuggets. He was happily replaying the previous night's activities in his head. This McGee guy was just too easy. He couldn't believe the agent hadn't figured out Grimes must have taken several pictures that one time he'd snuck into Sarah's room. Maybe when he'd hit McGee in the head with that bat it knocked a few things loose. After all, the records said the guy was supposed to be some kind of genius. He laughed again when he imagined McGee running to the hospital trying to figure out how Grimes had gotten in. He was sure McGee had tried to show someone those photos, but what were they to think when they weren't there? They must have figured poor McGee had finally cracked, what with the strain of his sister's injury and his own trip to Grimes' Chamber of Horrors. Grimes paused, a chicken nugget halfway to his mouth. Had McGee told the other agents about his evening of fun with electricity? Grimes popped the nugget into his mouth with a shake of his head. Nah. If McGee had told the others, Grimes had no doubt they'd have McGee in a hospital somewhere running a bunch of tests. Interesting.

Unfortunately, he had the feeling the feds were closing in on him. He didn't have any concrete evidence to support the fact, but over the years he'd developed a kind of sixth sense about that sort of thing. That meant he had to disappear. He frowned. He didn't like leaving things unfinished. He'd already decided he wasn't done with special Agent Timothy McGee. Grimes had shot four people and that meant four people had to die. If Sarah McGee was going to survive, then someone had to replace her and what better substitute than her brother.

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Dr. Blume rubbed his eyes as he headed towards his small office to write his reports of the night's events. It had been a long shift. As he settled down at his desk, he pulled out the file for the NCIS agent with the head injury. He read his report, made a few notes then pulled out the skull x-rays. He put them on his light board and stared at them. Something was bothering him. He focused on one of the films studying it carefully.

"Hey, Jack! What's that you're looking at?" Jack Blume turned to see one of the hospital's neurosurgeons standing in the doorway. Dr. Carl Lieber was on his way to his shift in the ER.

"Do you see anything strange in this x-ray, Carl? Guy was hit in the head with something. Claimed he only lost consciousness for a few minutes."

Carl stepped closer and frowned in concentration. Then he pointed to a very slight shadow on the right side of the brain. "It's not very clear but it looks like this could be the start of a subdural hematoma." He glanced at the other images. The shadow was only apparent on the one. "Is the patient here?"

Blume grimaced and shook his head. "No. I couldn't convince him to stay. He's a federal agent on a case, and he refused to be sidelined."

Carl pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, I think you'd better get him back in here. If that is a subdural hematoma, his head is a like a walking time bomb. If that keeps growing, he could die at any time."

Blume nodded reaching for the phone. "Thanks, Carl. I'm on it."

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Ducky stared mournfully at the pile of paperwork on his desk. They had no corpses in autopsy at the moment, and Ducky always used that down time to attempt to catch up on this endless task. Today, he was having trouble concentrating. He was worried about Timothy. The head injury was worrisome enough but the possibility that he had been tortured was even more disturbing. Jethro had called him early and informed him of McGee's frantic arrival at the hospital in the middle of the night. Ducky was considering how he might convince Timothy to return to the hospital when his phone rang.

"Dr. Mallard," he announced as he picked up the receiver.

"Ah, Dr. Mallard, thank goodness I got you! This is Dr. Blume at Doctors Community. Listen, I had a colleague of mine, a neurologist, look over Timothy McGee's skull series. He thinks Agent McGee may be developing a subdural hematoma. We need to get him back here immediately to reassess the situation. I tried calling Agent McGee, but he isn't answering his phone. I thought you might be able to contact him and bring him back here."

Ducky had gone cold. Bleeding inside the skull was extremely serious and could result in death anywhere from a few hours to a couple of weeks, depending on the extent and location of the clot. "I will do everything I can to find him," Ducky said as he hung up. Quickly he dialed McGee's number. It rang several times before going to voice mail. Ducky didn't know if Timothy was avoiding his call or unable to answer. He would need to find Jethro immediately. He suspected Gibbs was the only one Timothy would listen to in his current emotional state. Assuming he was conscious of course.

Ducky quickly made his way up to the bull pen. Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva all sat busy at their desks. Gibbs looked up as Ducky approached. "Something wrong, Duck?" Ziva and Tony were immediately alert.

"Yes, Jethro. I have some potentially disastrous news. I just spoke with the doctor from the ER that examined Timothy. He had a neurologist look over Timothy's x-rays, and he thinks Timothy may be bleeding into his brain. If he is, it is a potentially fatal situation. He could collapse at any moment. We need to convince him to return to the hospital as soon as possible."

Jethro frowned in concern. "Did you try calling him?"

Ducky nodded his head. "I tried just before I came up here. Dr. Blume told me he had tried several times, but Timothy did not respond. Either he is incapable of answering, or he is avoiding our calls. If it is the latter, I suspect you are the only one he will respond to."

"Are you saying McGee could die?" asked Ziva stepping forward.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Ducky looked unhappily at the three agents now standing before him.

Without a word, Gibbs picked up his phone and dialed. They all waited. McGee did not pick up. Gibbs got to his feet and turned to Ziva and Tony. "We need to find McGee. Now. Ziva, see if you can trace his cell phone. If he has it on, we should be able to locate it. I'm worried McGee may have gone after Grimes on his own again."

"Do you really think McGee would do that, Boss?" frowned Tony gathering his things. "You know him. He follows the rules to the letter."

"You didn't see him last night," replied Gibbs with a shake of his head.

"Plus, with his head injury, he may not be thinking logically," added Ducky. "It is imperative we get him back to the hospital as soon as possible."

"How long do you think he has, Duck?"

Ducky frowned uncertainly. "It's hard to know, Jethro. It all depends on the rate of bleeding. Even if it is a slow, gradual process another blow to the head could be immediately fatal. Head injuries are very unpredictable."

"We will find him," said Ziva firmly as she hurried back to her desk intent on tracking McGee's phone.

Tony joined her, his heart heavy. What was McGee thinking right now? It killed him thinking his partner might be in serious trouble, and he wasn't there to help him.

"I feel so very responsible," sighed Ducky, rubbing his eyes. "I should have insisted Timothy stay in the hospital. If he dies, I feel it will be my fault."

"Gibbs?" Gibbs turned to see Abby standing nearby, her pale face stricken. No one had heard her approach. "What did Ducky mean? What's wrong with McGee?"

"I'm afraid Timothy has a potentially lethal head injury," replied Ducky turning to Abby. "We are trying to find him."

A few moments later, Ziva looked up from her computer. "I am sorry, Gibbs. He must have it turned off. I am not getting a signal."

Gibbs cursed softly. "You two get over to that mental hospital and see if you can track down Grimes. I'll head over to McGee's apartment and see if he's there."

"You've got to find him!" Abby gripped Gibbs' arm tightly. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Don't let him die."

Gibbs enveloped her in his arms. "Don't worry, Abs, we'll track him down. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything." He hugged her once more, nodded to Ducky, then followed his agents to the elevator.