5:44 pm
"This is it?"
Gibbs looked unimpressed, staring through the car window as they stopped at a set of lights.
"That's it," said Fornell.
Across two lanes of traffic was a swimming pool.
It was a relatively new building, one of the glass and chrome architectural masterpieces Gibbs despised with a passion that nearly matched that he reserved for his ex-wives. But new meant computerised floor plans; easier to access.
The lights changed, and they moved on. Gibbs glanced over at McGee, who was tapping rapidly on his laptop. Files flickered up and across his screen as he desperately tried to condense the information His fingers were jittery, nervously returning to the backspace key repeatedly.
"You nervous, McGee?"
"Yes, sir," he replied without thinking, then winced.
Gibbs felt his lip twitch. Even now, McGee was unfailingly honest. His eyes flicked forward watching the swimming pool receed in the rear view mirror.
McGee's eyes were drawn back to the computer screen. A dead marine stared back from the screen, solemn in his uniform. Alex Cunningham.
But the file wasn't about him; it concerned his son.
Gibbs had told him only briefly what happened. Petty officer Alex Cunningham had been part of a drugs scheme, trafficking between countries. A drug mule, but a dangerous one. Two years ago Gibbs had been part of an investigation that led to his attempted arrest, while he had been at the swimming pool.
It had been horribly botched.
Cunningham had been with his family, but that hadn't stopped him pulling weapons. There was a fight.
In the chaos, his five-year-old son had fallen and drowned.
Gibbs had stopped the story then; his eyes had gone dark, and he stared out the window. It was Fornell who told McGee that marine Alex Cunningham had screamed his rage during the court trial, swearing vengeance.
He never got it. He hung himself in prison a year later.
The car pulled to a stop inside the parking lot of the pool. If McGee looked hard, he could see the faint movements of men shifting in their positions.
Gibbs put the earpiece in, the voices of FBI and NCIS agents filling his ears.
Everything was nearly ready.
The plan was, as always, simple in theory; Gibbs went in, while FBI and NCIS surrounded the place. Gibbs wore a microphone that played in Fornell's ear. He would send the combined forced in, if things got nasty. They had the floor plans, knew every exit and entrance. The man and his people would be trapped.
Simple.
Gibbs had the package on his lap, waiting. The sounds of agents scoping the area whispered in his ears, but he ignored them.
Their car was silent, tense. He could see sweat forming on the back of Fornell's neck.
Gibb's mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket, feeling the eyes of Fornell and McGee on him.
TONY DINOZZO.
He answered.
"I thought I said tell no-one, Agent Gibbs." The voice whispered gently in his ear, hissing with menace.
There was an echo in his earpiece, and the voices fell into a stunned silence.
"He's broadcasting the phone conversation," he heard Fornell mutter. Fornell glared at McGee. "You said this would be a closed frequency."
McGee started to stammer a reply, but Gibbs didn't hear it.
"This poses a dilemma for us. You've broken our terms of agreement."
"It's very hard to keep things quiet when you fall through a building." Gibbs said acidly, feeling a bead of sweat slink from his neck.
Damn, damn…
They had hoped they would be early enough to avoid detection. Apparently not.
There was silence, then a chuckle. "Point taken. We will go forward as planned, with a few changes. You and your agent – McGee - will come. The rest must stay."
Gibbs looked at McGee, who's face had turned white.
"And to the FBI agents listening in…"
Fornell swore.
"Stay out. Otherwise-"
Two gunshots echoed over Gibbs earpiece, followed by a choked noise.
"They shot Cornwall!"
"Agent down-"
"Return fire!" The sounds of submachine guns echoed in Gibbs ear and across the empty carpark. Men seemed to materilise around them.
Another shot from the building, and Gibbs actually saw the agent fall.
"Rosenberg's hit-"
"Fall back, fall back!" Fornells voice grated over the earpiece. The agents did, heads ducked against the next round of shots.
They didn't come.
Rosenburg, was unmoving, sprawled across the carpark.
"That was a warning." The voice said softly. "Next time, we'll shoot them all."
He hung up.
Gibbs turned of the phone.
"Guess you're tagging along," he said to McGee.
"Great," muttered McGee, looking ill.
The lights were off inside the building as they entered.
The room glowed a gloomy blue, swaying lights from the water rippling across the ceiling like an aurora. Gibbs stepped out onto the pool edge, gazing into the silent shifting water.
Nothing there.
He had a sudden flash of the grey face of the five-year-old boy they pulled from the pool, and shook the ghost away.
"Gibbs…"
He glanced back, hand jerking on where his gun should have been.
Two SWAT men had come, as if from nowhere. One had his gun resting amiably on McGee's shoulder.
"You're supposed to go up to the restaurant." Gibbs couldn't tell which one spoke.
"What about McGee?"
"He's insurance, in case anything should go amiss." A hand gripped McGee's bicep, pulling him back a step. McGee was still.
The other stepped forward.
"Microphone and earpiece." They held out a hand. Gibbs removed them, feeling uneasiness rise.
If something should go wrong, there would be no back-up.
They stepped back, and gestured towards the stairs.
Gibbs didn't move. The hand around McGee's arm tightened.
"He won't wait long." There was a warning behind that voice. He heard the slight click of a gun being loaded, saw McGee flinch.
He looked, then left McGee to walk across the tiles towards the stairs.
He listened, waiting for the sound of a gun being fired.
Nothing.
He chanced a look back when he reached the stairs. The men were leading McGee back through foyer towards the front entrance.
Good, or bad? He wondered grimly as he climbed.
"On the floor, hands behind your head."
McGee hesitated, mind going towards his injured arm.
One grabbed him, shoved him to the floor. McGee flinched as his arm was twisted behind his head, tied roughly with cord.
They stood back, and took their place by the door.
They were in the small foyer between the front door and the pool area, out of sight from both Gibbs and the FBI. McGee watched as the two soldiers resettled their weapons, eyes turned forward.
They were at ease, in control. They weren't worried about the forces who were just outside.
How were they going to get out? McGee wondered, face flat against the cold tile. The entire place was surrounded.
One moved to peer out through the glass of the front doors.
"Still watching from the vans," they said softly.
The other shifted their grip on the gun.
"Get away from the glass," they said abruptly. They were smaller in stature. Something about the way they moved convinced McGee they were female.
The man raised his hands in mock submission and stepped back. It was a movement that reminded him so much of Tony it gave him the courage to speak.
"Why didn't you take me?" he asked him. He looked down.
A gun poked him in the back.
"Shut up, please," the other said lazily.
The man gazed at him though the dark glass of his helmet, and something about his movements was troubled.
"We weren't told about you-"
"Hey." The woman cut him off.
They weren't told. The statement left him breathless, and not just because it made him feel less like he was in high school again.
Weren't told. Meaning there was someone giving information. It explained how they knew about the microphone and earpiece…
Someone on the inside…
There was a sound that made them all jerk.
A splash in the next room.
The restaurant was up three flights of stairs. Gibbs was wincing as he headed upwards, feeling muscles twinge.
He reached the top, to find the front doors of the Marina open.
He stepped inside.
Dark. Light flitted in through the windows that looked out onto the pool, outlining the elegant tables and the chairs perched on top. It shone across the darkened visor of the giant's helmet as he looked up.
"Hello, Agent Gibbs."
He had removed one of the chairs from the tabletop, sitting on it with an air of great relaxation.
"What? No wine?" Gibbs asked, half sarcastic. This man was still playing a game with him, and he still didn't like it a bit.
The man gave a snort. "Not with what I'm getting payed for this." He straightened. "You have the money?"
"Where's my person?" Gibbs shot back, stubborn. His eyes had searched the scene, seen no sign of anyone else.
No Air!
The man didn't react, waiting.
Gibbs raised the hand with the package. The man stood, and he drew it back.
"Wait. First you tell me what this is all about."
Lungs were crushed, writhing, squealing in agony. She was kicking, trying to wriggle upwards with concrete attached to her feet.
The giant regarded him. The air seemed colder.
"You're not in a position to be calling any shots, agent Gibbs. We have your people."
"This isn't a shot." Gibbs stepped forward, looking him dead in the eye.
A curtain rippled above her head.
One inch.
She was going to die with air just out of reach...
"This entire thing is symbolic. Me handing over drugs that aren't worth the risk, and this…"
He lifted the package, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "$40,000? You could have asked for a lot more then that."
The man shrugged, emotionless.
She curled over, dizzy with pain and suffocation.
She fought the primal urge to breathe, some deep part wanting to lengthen these last, desperate moments of life.
"I just follow orders, Gibbs. You have to figure out the meaning behind this yourself."
Gibbs was confused. He could have sworn he heard regret in his voice.
The man held out a hand for the package. Gibbs handed it over.
"Where is-"
"Here." A roll of paper was thrust into his hand.
Her lungs were collapsing in on themselves.
It hurt.
He glanced at it, only half caring.
Her back hit the tiles at the bottom of the pool. Her head met with a dull thud and the last bit of air popped out. She watched the water ripple above her head.
1987NORFOLKWILSON-441
Pretty. She twitched.
Her throat was cracking, a dyke buckling under the pressure.
At least it's not the ocean, some part of her thought weakly.
They'll find your body.
Only someone dying would find that…comforting…
Her mouth opened, and water rushed inside.
When he looked up, the giant was gone.
McGee watched as the man's hand rose to his helmet, as though listening.
Closed circuit communications, he guessed.
He gave a small nod to the woman. She leant down and started to wrap tape around McGee hands.
The man poked him with his gun.
"Close your eyes and start counting. You can open them at fifty."
McGee stared at him, then closed his eyes quickly as the man brought the submachine gun forward threateningly.
"1…2…3…"
He heard the sounds of their feet as they walked quickly into the pool area.
Gibbs found the emergency exit, where the giant seemed to have vanished. He had half a mind to follow them, but doubt kept him back.
One of his people was in the building somewhere, in danger.
Angrily, he looked at the paper again, turning it over in his hands.
Then stopped.
A postscript, written on the back.
PS- Go for a swim
He felt his heart stop.
He ran, face pressed against the glass as he stared down into the pool area.
There was a dark shape in the water.