CHAPTER TEN
"Quick, close the door."
Tim struggled to see who was speaking. His eyes widened. Yancy? How could he be here?
"C'mon, move them out of the way."
The sound of the second voice made Tim go cold, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He snapped his eyes to the right to see a tall, powerfully built man dragging Morales into a room adjacent to the front hall. Tim recognized him from his photograph. It was Jenson.
Clenching his jaw, Tim began to push himself up, trying to get to his feet. I've got to stop them before they get to Dad. Got to stop them.
"Where do you think you're going, Agent McGee?"
McGee froze and slowly looked up. Jenson appeared before him grinning broadly. He reached down and gave McGee's face several rough pats. McGee's face burned.
"Good to see you up and around. Bet you're surprised to see us, huh? We've just been waiting for you to lead us to your dear old dad."
Tim blinked away the sweat that dripped in his eyes. He was confused. "What…how?"
"Tracking device." Jenson's grin widened at Tim's shocked expression. "Subdermal. With all the bruising, figured no one would even notice. We bet that you'd go see your pop eventually and lead us right to him. We were right behind you all the way. Then you got even us into the gate. Gotta thank you for all your help."
McGee collapsed back to the floor. Nausea fought with the reeling sensation that filled his head. It couldn't be true. He led them here? He was going to be responsible for his father's death? It just couldn't be true.
"Get him on his feet." Yancy entered the hallway returning from dragging Carter into the other room. "Since he's here, he might prove useful."
Tim gasped as Jenson unceremoniously jerked him to his feet. He wavered for a few moments, trying to gain his balance. Jenson kept a firm hold on him.
"All right, Agent McGee," continued Yancy, looking around the hall. "Where might your father be?"
This was the first time McGee had seen Dr. Yancy in person. He was considerably older than Jenson, maybe in his late fifties, but he looked like he worked out. He might have preserved Tim's life once, but Tim doubted he would a second time. He noticed both men now carried guns.
"I don't think he's even here," panted McGee.
Yancy shook his head as he glanced around. "Oh, I'm sure he's here. His so-called protection is here, right? So he must be around here somewhere." He paused, then reached into a small satchel he carried and pulled out a roll of duct tape. Ripping off a strip, he slapped it across Tim's face. "Don't want you calling out any warnings, do we?" He handed the roll to Jenson who yanked Tim's arms behind his back and securely taped them together. Tim grunted, as his injured ribs screamed in protest.
"Myron, check down that room to the left."
Nodding, Jenson handed the tape back then padded to a closed door next to the kitchen. Quickly, he turned the nob and darted inside, gun held at the ready.
McGee shifted his gaze right and spotted a closed door at the opposite end of the hallway. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a large bedroom. He hadn't spent a lot of time in this safe house, but he knew there was a desk in there and his father could easily be using it for a study. A sinking feeling formed in McGee's gut.
"What's going on here?"
Tim's head jerked back to the left. Lt. Owens stood there staring at them in confusion just outside the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. Like a ghost, Jenson materialized behind Owens and brought the butt of his gun down on the back of Owen's head with sickening thud. Tim's eyes widened as Owens' nerveless hand released the cup, the dark contents splattering across the wall like blood. Owens collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath his head.
"Dammit, Myron, I told you no one but McGee was to be hurt!" Yancy's eyes blazed.
"What was I supposed to do?" demanded Jenson angrily. "Let him warn the admiral? We've come too far for that."
Yancy cursed softly, then turned towards the closed door, his face hard. "All right. Never mind. C'mon. There's only one place left. Let's just get this over with."
Jenson grabbed McGee's arm and shoved him forward. McGee looked back towards Owens. He felt numb. Dad won't like that.
They paused outside the door. McGee tried to think, but the throbbing in his ribs and head made it difficult to concentrate. How could he stop them?
Yancy nodded to Jenson, then grabbing the doorknob the two burst into the room beyond, propelling McGee along with them.
Tim was jerked to a halt just inside the room. Admiral McGee stood abruptly, glaring at them coldly from behind a desk. His gaze swept over his son and just as quickly dismissed him finally focusing on Yancy.
"So Tom, looks like NCIS actually got this one right. It was you and your little toadie here, trying to kill me."
"You're always so goddam smug, McGee. Yeah, it was me. You stole my life from me. Me and Jenson. He worked just as hard on Antares as I did. We stood to make millions, maybe even billions from that project before you pulled it out from under us."
The admiral rolled his eyes. "You weren't going anywhere with that, Yancy, and you know it. It was a dead end project until we took it over. We had the engineers that made it work. In your hands it was nothing but a pipe dream."
He glanced behind the group. "So, what did you do with the others? Did you kill them?" Tim could hear a slight note of tension in his father's voice.
Yancy shrugged. "The two agents are just drugged. I have no beef with them. Owens? Well, we had to subdue him. Could be dead."
McGee watched the color drain from his father's face, a small twitch below his eye betrayed the only signs of emotion. But those minor indicators told McGee just how much Owens meant to his father. He might have killed to have his father show that much concern for him.
"And Tim? Why is he here?" The admiral's voice was flat, uninterested. Tim felt like he'd been slapped.
"Oh, he led us right to you, Admiral. Couldn't have found you without his help." Jenson clapped Tim heartily on the shoulder.
The admiral's gaze once again swept his son. Tim knew he was looking for any indication that Tim had put up a fight. Unfortunately, all his injuries were well concealed. His father's expression turned to one of disgust. Tim looked away.
"Glad he's of some use to someone. Certainly hasn't been to me. All right, so what do you want, Yancy? You going to kill me? Haven't been doing too well in that department so far, have you?"
"I want my project back." Yancy sounded almost petulant.
"That is not an option. Only the Secretary of the Navy could approve that, and I can guarantee you, that will never happen."
"Then maybe we'll just have to be satisfied with killing you, McGee. I doubt anyone will mourn your death, do you? Certainly not little Timmy here." Jenson turned and punched McGee hard in the gut,
Tim's eyes bulged as his legs collapsed beneath him, sending him thudding to the floor.
"Not exactly a chip off the old block, is he, Admiral? I can see why you never talked about him." Jenson gave Tim a half-hearted kick in the leg.
"No. He's not." The admiral's words were glacial.
On the floor, Tim struggled to regain his breath. He had royally screwed up and now they were all going to die. He felt numb as a heaviness settled over him.
Suddenly, the deafening blast of a gunshot reverberated through the room. Tim jerked as a something heavily thudded to the floor beside him. Another shot rang out followed by the crash of breaking glass. A couple more gunshots and yelling, but none of it made any sense.
Then, all went quiet. His ears ringing, Tim blinked and squirmed trying to see what had happened. He froze with a sharp intake of breath. Just inches from his face was Tom Yancy's, his sightless eyes wide in an expression of perpetual surprise. Tim's gaze slid lower and he stiffened. A dark red stain oozed across the white expanse of Yancy's shirt. He must be dead. Tim felt cold and tried to move away, then froze at the worried sound of his father's voice.
"My god, son, are you all right?"
Tim's heart leapt. Maybe his father did care after all; that he just pretended not to to protect his son. As Tim struggled to sit up, he spied the admiral hurrying toward Lt. Owens. Owens wavered in the doorway, a gun dangling from his hand, dark blood dripping down his cheek. The spark of hope that had flared so brightly for just an instant, abruptly died and the heaviness settled back over Tim like a blanket of lead. No. He was wrong. His father didn't care. He slumped back to the floor, defeated.
"Yes, sir. I'm fine. Got a pretty nasty knock on the head, but nothing a few stitches won't put right. But what about you, Admiral, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Damn, that other sonofabitch, Jenson, got away. Have you checked on those two NCIS agents?"
"Yes, sir. I took a quick look while I took their guns. Looks like they've been drugged. I think they'll be okay."
Tim heard the admiral sigh. "Thank god, you're all right. When Yancy said you might be dead, I…, well, never mind. All right, I'd better call NCIS. Let them know what happened."
There was a slight pause before Owens spoke. "Um, sir, shouldn't we untie your son?"
There was a longer pause, but Tim could picture the look of utter contempt on his father's face.
"What for? He got himself into this, he can get himself out. Just leave him there. NCIS can deal with it. C'mon, let's put something on that head before you lose any more blood."
The room went silent as the two men departed leaving Tim bound and alone. He felt a burning at the back of his eyes. He wished he were dead instead of Yancy. Then, maybe, his father might have shown him an ounce of concern. Maybe.
xxx
A/N: Have to leave town again, so thought I'd get this up tonight. Might get another up before I leave on Wednesday, but otherwise, might not be until Sunday or Monday! Thanks for the support! You guys are wonderful to write for.