Chapter 8

Gibbs thumbed his cell phone impatiently, twisting and turning it over in his hand. For the third time in fifteen minutes he considered calling Abby back at NCIS in order to check to see if she had any news for him regarding the case. The lack of information was especially frustrating to him; while he was used to waiting for results, he had never gotten quite used to it, nor did he like it. He wanted to able to track down the person responsible for killing three NCIS agents and severely injuring two of his top team members, and the sooner they knew who he was, the sooner he'd be able to track him down. But he knew it would be unwise to interrupt Abby before she was ready, and any phone call he made would only delay her tests. Besides, she had hurt greatly; seeing McGee in the state he was in had not been easy on her; she was bound to go slower than she normally would, even if she didn't want to. He silently cursed himself for thinking so selfishly and briefly considered head-slapping himself for it. He settled for jamming his phone into his pocket and gritting his teeth.

Leaning back against the wall, he felt the migraine in his skull begin to build in intensity. He had had it ever since he had argued for a good ten minutes with hospital security over the required measures needed for McGee and Ziva. Apparently they didn't consider two severely injured NCIS agents worthy of more than one security guard each, even though Gibbs had made it blatantly clear that 1) these two agents were his agents, and when he wanted something done for them he expected it to be done; 2) that a single individual was responsible for them being here in the first place, and that if this person could do that to two trained operatives, one of them an Israeli Mossad assassin, who knew what the hell he could do to a couple of mere security guards; and 3) that if they didn't get more security personnel to ensure their safety, immediately, they would soon find out exactly what a former marine sniper was capable of in close combat. After he'd argued, fought and threatened for ten entire minutes, he had finally got an assurance that more adequate measures would be taken and had strode back into the hall to await any news from NCIS.

Rubbing his temples in an attempt to clear his mind, he stared down the hall towards Ziva's room; Tony was still with her, watching anxiously over her condition, making sure it did not get any worse. The ER doctors had just entered into McGee's room, explaining that it was vital that he not be stressed any more than absolutely necessary, and had basically ignored his requests to receive an update on the MIT graduate's condition, which had annoyed him beyond belief. He only hoped Tony was having more luck and not having to put up with frequent reminders about how important it was that 'the patients', as the doctors so colourfully described them, not be disturbed any more than need be.

In truth, he had to give Tony his due; the man had kept his cool, even in the face of uncertainty and strain, and had not strayed far from where he was needed for a second. He wished he had the senior field agent's remarkable talent for not showing his frustration, even though he knew he had to be brimming with it just as much as he was. Tony, he decided, was an anomaly of sorts; he had no end of teases that he constantly hurled towards McGee (and Ziva when he was fairly certain she had no paperclips nearby), yet he showed more concern for them than just about anyone else- certainly more the ER doctors, who most likely considered this no more than a standard case. Well, this was his team, damn it! And there was nothing standard from his perspective about his team.

He was just considering going back to have another run at the attendants about McGee's condition when he heard the familiar ring coming from his pocket- his cell phone. He immediately dug into his pocket and pulled it out; normally he rarely thought much of it when he casually flipped it open and answered it but right now, that was the only thing that was on his mind. If it meant what he thought it meant, it could be the break he was looking for.

Flipping it open and pressing to his ear, he said, curtly and quickly, "Yeah?"

"Gibbs?"

"Abby!" Gibbs immediately pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Are the tests completed? Did they give us anything that we can use?"

"They're completed and they did give us something. In fact, they gave us a little more than I even imagined."

Gibbs paused, arrested by the peculiar tone of Abby's voice, as well as her choice of words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's something really, really weird going on here, Gibbs. I mean, what I've seen shouldn't even be possible. It's- it's flat out scary." Abby sounded distinctively strange; even in her upset state this was not the reaction he expected. Something was definitely bothering the Goth scientist, even more than the attacks on the team.

"Abby, you're going to have to be more specific; what exactly is scary? Are you alright? Do you feel like you're in danger?"

"No, I'm fine Gibbs- it's the test results."

"What about them? Did they return a positive match?"

"They returned a lot more than just a positive match. It's difficult to explain over the phone; you're going to have to come down here. You really need to see it for yourself."

Gibbs frowned to himself. He was more than slightly disturbed at the tone of Abby's voice; normally whenever she requested he come down the lab to check her results in person, it was so she could beam and emphasize her knack for coming up with the impossible, which more often than not happened almost all the time. Yet now she seemed very hesitant about her results, even fearful, and it sounded as though she wanted him to come down himself and make sure she wasn't going crazy. At that moment, he wondered whether he had been wrong to ask her to process evidence so soon after she had had such a traumatic experience. Had he been so caught up in his work frame of mind and his desire for immediate justice that he had completely disregarded the well-being of his remaining team members? He should not have asked this of Abby when he knew she was in the state of mind she was in, and he for the second time in a short while he found himself resisting slapping his own head in self-reproach.

Clearing his throat and getting himself back under control, he said in a calm voice, "Alright Abby, I'll be right over. You hang in there, alright? I'll be at NCIS in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Just keep everything as it is."

He hung up and put the phone back into his pocket. Immediately he walked towards Ziva's room, and, acknowledging the fact that the hospital staff had finally gotten off their asses and placed extra security outside his team members' rooms, swept defiantly passed them through the doorway.

Tony looked up surprised. "Boss! What's going on?"

"Abby just called; she's gotten test results on the weapons found at the scene, and she wants me to come down to take a look at them. I'm going back to NCIS; you're in charge here until I get back."

"Understood, boss."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs' tone arrested him for a brief moment. "Being in charge here means that you're responsible for ensuring everything goes as it's supposed to. That includes keeping an eye on Ziva and McGee's conditions. The slightest change and you're to call me immediately. Make sure the security levels remain high on both of them; if anything happens to either because of a sense of laziness of hesitation on your part, you're going to have far worse than just a head slap to worry about when I find out. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded. "Perfectly, boss." He knew this was not a threat from Gibbs- well, not too much of one anyway- but rather an expression of concern. Gibbs cared about his team far more than he led them to believe, and Tony respected that. Besides, if anything did happen to Ziva and McGee because of something he did or didn't do, Gibbs wouldn't need to do anything to him- he would've already done it to himself.

With an approving grunt, Gibbs walked out of the room, leaving Tony alone with his unconscious partner.

He stared down at her, taking in the paleness of her face and the frailness of her figure. Ziva as he knew her would not need his protection- or at least, she would claim to not need it. She was used to taking care of herself, and she wasn't used to relying on anyone else for protection. That was one of things he most appreciated about her, though he rarely missed an opportunity to tease her if it presented itself. Now, lying in bed, it seemed all he wanted was to see the old Ziva back on her feet, kicking ass and messing up English words. Hell, he even wanted her to be able to threaten him right now; then at least he'd know she was aware of what was going on around her. Instead he saw a wounded shadow, a woman he didn't know and, if he hung around her long enough, wasn't sure he'd really like.

Taking in a deep breath, he resigned himself to his duties. He'd promised Gibbs he would watch over his two friends, and he was damn sure going to keep that promise.

He was sure Abby would have found something conclusive- something that would tell them who the bastard that did this was. And even if she hadn't, he wouldn't rest until he'd found out himself. He would get to the bottom of this by himself it he had to.

Even if it killed him.

***

Gibbs tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator took him down from the bullpen to Abby's lab. It was frustrating enough, he thought, that he had to put up with tiresome doctors and incompetent security guards when the lives of his squad mates were in danger; it had been even worse when the entire section of traffic in front of him on the way decided to slow to a crawl with no possible way to get around it. Now he was forced to deal with an elevator system that seemed to move slower every time he used it, and that was on the verge of sending him right over the edge. Maybe it was just that he was in a much bigger rush than usual and everything seemed slower in relation, but dammit sometimes things just didn't work the way they were supposed to!

He breathed a silent sigh of relief as the elevator doors finally slid open and he strolled through into the lab. Normally upon entering, he was greeted by the sound of loud heavy metal music being played at full volume and he'd have to either bellow at the top of his lungs or turn the music of himself in order to get her attention. Now all he heard was a hollow silence and his own footsteps echoing throughout the room.

"Abby?"

Getting no response, Gibbs walked through the lab; the lights were down quite low, creating a rather dark, sombre atmosphere. Though he wasn't entirely sure why, but instead of being concerned about it, it strangely gave him a sense of peace. In a way, Gibbs realized, it reflected his own mood; one that was cloaked in a sense of helplessness and foreboding. Knowing Abby, it meant she was retreating into a part of her mind where she felt most at home.

Walking over to her computer station, he stared at the scene before him. Abby stood right behind her desk, staring forward; her eyes, though open, seemed to be glazed over, as if staring off into another zone. Her face was totally blank, devoid of any emotion. She did not seem acknowledge his approach, even when he placed a hand on her trembling shoulder.

"Abby? Are you alright?"

Continuing to stare straight ahead, Abby's lips parted, just a fraction, and she said in a small voice, "What kind of person is this, Gibbs?"

Gibbs' brow furrowed. "What kind of person…?" His voice trailed away.

In the same small tone, she went on. "I've seen this team face challenge after challenge. I've lost friends and colleagues to this job. I've thought that sometimes the tensions that simmer under the surface would break it apart. And each time, I've seen this team pull through and succeed. I've never had any reason to doubt it." She turned her head slowly and stared at him. "And now I find out that my own job may be the thing that finally breaks it apart for good."

Gibbs stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Abby took a deep breath and turned back to the computer. "I ran the tests on Ziva's knives from the scene." She pressed several keys and the screen changed. "The fingerprint analyses were what you'd expected; apart from some smudges the only distinguishable prints on it are Ziva's own. If what I've heard is true, and whoever did this was wearing gloves, then that's not surprising." She pressed some another keys and another screen appeared. "As far as the DNA analysis goes, one knife was completely clean- no blood whatsoever." She clicked another key. "The second knife had two separate sets of DNA on it; two different blood groups. Which means either Ziva frequently forgets to clean her blades after she uses them or…"

"Or else the blood belongs to both Ziva and her attacker." Gibbs said slowly. "Which makes sense; Tony said that Ziva had one knife wound, on her leg. She wounded her attacker, who then stabbed her with her own weapon." He shook his head. "I never would have imagined."

"Unfortunately, the separate DNA strands are too badly damaged to get any viable evidence from them." Abby responded. "This brings us to Knife Number Three. And this is what I was talking about when I said things were really weird." She hit another key. "It appears the sneaking scumbag who did this has his own personal defence system."

Gibbs stared at her. "I'm sorry?"

Abby stared back. "Gibbs, every time I tried to run the DNA, the chemicals that I applied to the blood sample were obliterated!"

"Abby, you're not speaking sense!"

"I really wish that was the case, Gibbs." Abby stared right into his eyes. "I wish I could convince myself that I was going crazy and that this whole thing was in my head." She paused. "But the fact of the matter is that it's as real as the tattoo on my back."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Abby went, seemingly oblivious to it. "There is something in the blood sample that is completely and instantly neutralizing any chemical I add to it; like the CIA's anti-virus program cranked up to its absolute maximum and running on steroids! Either my test chemicals have decided to go completely whacko, or else this guy has a regeneration system that would make the Black Death look like a minor allergen!"

"You're saying this guy has healing capabilities beyond that of any normal human?" Gibbs stared off into space, and when he spoke again it was more to himself than to her. "That would explain why we didn't find any large amounts of blood at the scene. His regeneration system must heal any injuries he sustains in a matter of seconds." He stared back at her. "But Abby, that's physically impossible! What you're talking about can't be true! It- it's just not possible!"

"That's what I originally thought as well." The Goth scientist cocked her head. "Until I finally managed to salvage enough DNA to put it in the system. And when the bastard you're searching for is in the line of work he's in," she hit another key on the keyboard, "suddenly things start to make a little more sense."

Gibbs looked back at the system as an image flashed onto the screen, a list of information alongside it. His eyes narrowed as he studied the face of the young man with the trimmed beard and short hair.

"Asher Ballack," the ex-marine sniper read off the screen. "Canadian subject, born November 17, 1982 in Calgary, Alberta. Father was a German-Canadian, mother was an Israeli diplomat stationed in Ottawa. Joined the Canadian Forces at age eighteen," he looked closer, "and according to these stats, he has technical scores that far surpass anything for his level of experience."

"I figured those sniper scores would catch your eye." Abby now started to smile a little. Looking up just in time to catch it, Gibbs felt some measure of relief; having any part of the old Abby back was definitely spirit-lifting. "And I also thought you should know that I'm not completely off the top of my game yet. Naturally, on my first try to go deeper into the history of the bastard, I came up against a little firewall. Lucky for you," she gave him a larger smile, "America's greatest forensic specialist knows a few tricks of the trade herself. And," she clicked the mouse, "it just so happens there are a few more secrets hidden behind the Great Firewall."

Gibbs looked back to the screen. "I think you're right. According to this, Ballack joined JTF2 just two years after being a full time soldier."

"JTF2?"

"Joint Task Force 2." Gibbs responded. "It's an elite branch of the Canadian Forces that's responsible for combating terrorism- like the Canadian version of Delta Force. I've worked with a few of their operatives; they're among the best trained in the world. To join this group at age twenty, this guy must have really impressed some of the upper brass." He looked up at Abby. "But what does this have to do with Ziva? What's his connection to her?"

"That's the tricky part." Abby frowned. "There's another series of electronic barricades I haven't been able to crack yet. Whatever this guy did after he joined is still in the dark right now."

"But whatever it is," Gibbs declared, straightening up, "that's where we'll find our answer. Good work, Abby. Keep trying to break through that firewall. The sooner we get past it, the sooner we'll be to catching this guy." He pulled out his cell phone and began dialling.

***

Tony brought his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. "DiNozzo."

"It's me." Gibbs' voice came through. "We got a lock on this guy's identity." He gave Tony a brief rundown of the information as it was yet known.

"Well, at least we know the bartender wasn't being crazy when he mentioned the name 'Asher'." Tony said after Gibbs had finished. "What about his history for the last three years?"

"We don't know yet. There's a firewall blocking access to the remaining information. Abby's trying to break through it, but it's going to take some time. She's good, but unfortunately she's not McGee." There was a pause. "By the way, how are things going down there?"

"McGee's still unconscious, and the ER personnel are still monitoring him." Tony replied in a slightly strained tone. "They're not going to say much until they get a better understanding of how bad his injuries are."

"Damn it. What's taking them so long?" Gibbs sighed. "Never mind, I'm sure they're doing all they can. What about Ziva?"

"That's the thing, boss." Tony stared down at his Israeli partner. "Physically, she seems to be improving. But whatever's going on her mind right now may not be quite as pleasant."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that anyone with any sense of perception would think she's having a really traumatic experience. Certainly her own body thinks so."

"Speak sense, DiNozzo."

"The fact of the matter is boss, I think what's she's experiencing is affecting her heart at a very personal level. So personal in fact," he paused as he stared down Ziva's dampening cheeks, "I think she's crying…"