Chapter 11: Thy Speech Betrayeth Thee

"They weren't very clean this time, Boss. There are fingerprints...a whole room full of equipment," Tony reported.

"That's different. McGee said that they could clear out in two minutes. Why not this time?" Gibbs observed.

"Why bring us here at all? McGee said that they knew we would come. Why?" Ziva asked.

Tony walked into the bedroom where Tim had slept. He looked around. They had made no effort to straighten up in here. There were spots of blood on the otherwise-white sheets. Not much, just a little bit. He walked over to the bed and checked the phone. There were prints on it. He opened the drawer and saw the pad. There were a few strokes of ink on the page. He picked up the pad and saw that someone had written a message and then torn it off. It was etched in so heavily that Tony almost didn't have to shade it in. When he did, his brow furrowed for a few moments.

This doesn't mean anything –

"It is a mistake to become emotionally engaged with one of them. You are being manipulated. You are going around in circles to satisfy the curiosity of a power we don't understand and can't control, and she is the living proof that power exists. If she were ugly, you wouldn't want her around; that's why she's not ugly. She is a mirror that reflects part of your mind. You provide the formula. You can only finish where you started, remember that."

Gordon to Kelvin

"Gordon? Kelvin? Why do those sound familiar?" Tony asked aloud. He ran them through his mental lists. Then, he stopped. "Solaris! Why did he leave a quote from Solaris? And why did he preface it by saying it doesn't mean anything?"

What had happened that night that would make Tim leave that behind? They had watched the movie and talked about it. Nothing else. He wrote that it doesn't mean anything. So...why leave it? Why write anything at all? He had already told us what he knew.

"What are you trying to say, McGee?" Tony asked the page. He tried to remember what was going on in that part of the movie. He hadn't watched it again since Tim had forced it on him. George Clooney...or Kelvin...was with the...incarnation of his dead wife. Gordon was trying to convince him to...well, can one really kill something that was already dead? Did any of this even matter? Tim said it didn't...in which case...

"Why, McGee?"

"Why what, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"Why did McGee leave behind a quote from a movie and say that it means nothing?" Tony asked, holding out the page. Ziva took it and read it.

"From Solaris."

"How do you know?"

"I watched it. I wanted to know what it was that interested Tim and bothered you," she said smiling.

"And?"

"And I think it is the fact that you do not know what to do with it, Tony. It is ambiguous, strange, leaving you with some sort of decision to make at the end."

"I watch lots of movies like that."

"All at once? With the added science fiction element?"

"Well...no."

"I think McGee left it for you."

"Why?"

"Who else would get it? I did not tell him that I watched the movie."

Tony took the page back and stared at it. "Well, I don't get it any more than I get the movie itself."

"Maybe you should forget the movie and look at what he wrote...but later. There are some scrapings from a dark-colored car in the garage and they do not match the car that is there."

Tony nodded and took the pad with him, in an evidence bag.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

No one spoke in the car as they headed due east, toward New York City. Tim was thinking. He had no idea what Tara and Carew were doing. He was thinking, wondering what they wanted him to do, why they thought that with all the skill and power the CIA had they had chosen to take him...again. It had at least made some sense when the other group had begun using him. They were behind the scenes, hidden. No one was supposed to know about them. Carew was the Director of the CIA; Tara was an agent...so far as he knew. They should have access to people who could do whatever it was they wanted from him.

He tried to think about these things, but his mind kept going back to Carew shooting the man and then leaving his body lying in the middle of the yard. They had known each other. That much was obvious...but the man, Thomas, had seemed to know Tim as well. There had been recognition in his eyes, but Tim didn't know him. He felt as though he was speaking a different language and was left out of something important. There was something more going on that he just didn't understand.

"Who was he?" Tim said, before he even realized that he had intended to speak.

Carew looked in the rear view mirror. The detachment was back, that cold empty smile that showed nothing. It reached all the way to his eyes. How many years had he practiced that expression?

"You don't know him, Agent McGee?"

Tim shook his head.

"He never saw him...not while he was sane," Tara said.

"Oh. I see. You would probably know him better as Griffen." Tim stared, met those empty eyes and saw a flash of amusement at his shock. "You more than likely only saw him in his true nature: a monster. To the rest of the world, he was a man."

"Why did you kill him?"

"I have my reasons."

"It seems sloppy," Tim said, surprised at his words.

"If I had left his body there, yes, it would have been sloppy...but while some people within the CIA are sloppy, I am not."

"But you did leave his body there."

"The body will be gone...actually, it's more than likely already gone. It was not Thomas' house. No one will know that he was even there. If someone heard the noise, there will be nothing to tell them that a murder took place."

"He surrendered...but you just shot him anyway."

"Are you telling me that you would not have done the same?" Tara asked, turning around.

Tim looked at her, but he knew he had not changed expression. His emotions were essentially suppressed. "You're not dead. I saved your life. You're just as culpable."

"You did, but you were hardly in a position to kill us yourself."

"Exactly. It would have been easy to take them down after they had killed you all. I didn't do that."

"Regardless, I had my reasons."

"How does that fit into your job description?" Tim challenged. "How does the country benefit from his death? Whom were you protecting by killing him? How does it help improve the reputation of the CIA?"

"The reputation of the CIA will be unaffected because no one will know about him. No one will mourn his passing. The country is unaffected."

"Who benefits, then?"

"Again, not the time for the answer to that question."

"When, then? When will you tell me what it is that you want me to do? When is it that you'll give me the answers to the questions I'm asking? When I'm dead? When it's too late? Never? When?"

"I wasn't protecting anyone, Agent McGee...but my second responsibility still applies, in more ways than one."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing you haven't done already before."

Something clicked in Tim's head...but it still made little sense to him. "You want me to track them? With what? If you could have done it with the satellites at your disposal, you would have done so already."

"You tracked them."

"With a program that no longer exists. I destroyed it."

"You built it once."

Tim laughed without humor. "You want me to build that program from scratch? I didn't do that the first time. They had elements already. I just pulled it together."

"We have elements, but we can't figure out what they had or how you did it."

"What makes you think I can do this fast enough for it to be any good?"

"It will always be of some use."

"No. I won't leave this for you to use. It's not a good thing. I've never kidded myself that what I was doing was good."

"Really?"

"Fine, at first, I tried to pretend that there was some good in it, but I never really believed it. That program was too easily abused. It's too easy."

"Too easy?" Carew asked. "Easy to find the people we need to stop?"

"Too easy to abuse. We have enough trouble just having satellites and the power to tap into traffic cameras. This makes it all seamless. It's not something I want anyone to use."

"Except yourself?" Tara asked, cynically.

"Not even myself...in fact, especially not myself. I know what I did with it when I had the chance. I felt like a god. There was nowhere for them to hide from me. I was there. All it takes, when it works right, is one glimpse and I can find them."

"Are you saying you won't do it?" Carew asked.

"No. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that there's no way I'm going to leave it for you when I'm done."

"You think you have a choice?" Carew asked. It wasn't threatening. That was the strange thing.

"Yes, I do. I always have a choice. Always. I may not like the outcome, but I always have a choice. If I do this...if by some miracle I can do this, I won't leave it in a working condition when we find them."

"When?"

"If I get it to work, it won't be a matter of 'if'. It will just be a matter of 'when.'"

"That's all I needed to know, Agent McGee." Carew's eyes went back to the road. The traffic was increasing as they drew nearer to New York City. It was after the morning rush hour...but it was New York. With more than 8 million residents, plus tourists, it was never quiet, never quiescent; however, Carew maneuvered expertly through the traffic. There might have been quite a bit of honking in reaction to his passing, but there were few close calls. After tolerating Ziva's driving over the past three years, it was nothing to worry about. Tim wondered where they'd end up. He couldn't have predicted the high rise in Manhattan.

"Here we are. Now, the doorman knows me, Agent McGee. I'd suggest that you don't try to drop any hints. I'd hate to have to kill him," Carew said blithely.

"I made a deal. I'm not backing out. How much does having property here cost the country?"

"Nothing, actually. It was, believe it or not, donated to the CIA by a grateful benefactor who was dying. We simply said thank you and arranged to have all information about it erased."

"Voluntarily donated?" Tim asked with a cynicism that rivaled Tara's.

"Completely. For rich people, giving something like this is the easiest way to show gratitude for having their lives saved." Carew put the car in park and jumped out.

"Mr. Brown! So good to see you back again."

"Thanks, Davis," Carew said, sounding more friendly than he ever had...Tim wondered if Carew had ever been genuinely friendly in his life. "I have a couple of friends with me, today."

"Very good, sir. Anything you need?"

"Not a thing, just someone to park the car when I get unloaded."

"Will you be here long, sir?"

"Unknown at the moment. I'm hoping I'll be able to stay around for awhile, but you never know what business will require."

"Yes, sir." The doorman in a politely curious manner looked in the car and met Tim's eyes. He smiled and nodded and then clucked in friendly concern at the wheelchair. "What happened, Mr. Brown?"

"One of my friends was recently in an accident. Broke both his legs."

"That's terrible," he said. When Tara got out of the car, he smiled and nodded to her as well. "It's been quite some time, ma'am. I thought you weren't coming back."

"Change of plans, Davis."

"I'm always happy to see you back. Let me get the door for you all. Would you like any help with your bags?"

"No. We can manage. Thank you, Davis."

Tim maneuvered himself into the wheelchair, reluctantly allowing Carew to help him.

"Sir, I'm terribly sorry to hear about your accident," Davis said. His tone was carelessly sincere. He wasn't being a sycophant. He was concerned in the way that he would be about anyone. No more, no less.

"Thank you," Tim said. "So was I." He managed to force a smile.

"That's the ticket, sir. You need any help, just give me a call."

"Will do."

Then, he was inside the building, feeling the rush of cool air on his face as they headed to the ornate elevator. He didn't bother to say anything, but he hated being dependent on these two for everything. The ride was a long one. They must be going up twenty floors. He couldn't tell because he was facing the back of the elevator...which, again, annoyed him.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened and Tim was pulled out and pushed down the hallway. He could have insisted on rolling himself, but if he got tired, it would be more embarrassing to actually ask them to help him.

"Here we are, Agent McGee. Your new home away from home," Carew said. The number was 2208.

Twenty-second floor? Tim thought. If I end up in the same situation as before, there's no way I'm getting out alive this time. No one knows where I am. The door opened and Carew pushed him inside. It looked too much like the set up with his former colleagues...only fancier. Tim looked at the computers. He hated that he was going to do this...again and for people he held in only slightly less contempt than the people who had forced him the first time.

He remembered the first time so vividly. It had taken days. She had come for him Friday evening and then kept him at work all the way through until the next Tuesday at three a.m. He had been forced to call in sick on Monday. After three straight days of work and no sleep, he really had felt sick...in addition to what he'd been forced to do. Even then, he hadn't finished. He had passed out on the keyboard. His handler had woken him up in her usual fashion...painfully, and he had tried to work, but his mind was numb and she'd had no choice but to let him sleep. He had slept...for about three hours and then dragged himself to work.

"McGee, are you sure you're not still sick? You look terrible!" Tony said.

"Just tired, Tony. Had some trouble sleeping," Tim said and looked with longing at the top of his desk. All he wanted to do was put his head down and sleep some more, forget what he'd done and never wake up again.

"McGee!"

Tim jumped and looked up. Gibbs was staring at him. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Sorry, Boss."

Tim never had found out what it was Gibbs wanted him to do. Gibbs had stared at him and sent him home. Tim hadn't known how to explain that he didn't want to go home. He just wanted to sleep at his desk...so he had left. He had slept for a few hours and then been put to work again. Another full night of work had finished the program. Tim hadn't slept at all before going to NCIS that morning. He managed to hide his exhaustion and right after work, he had gone back to his apartment and slept solidly from 7:30 to 6:15 the next morning.

That was what it had taken to get it done the first time...and he hadn't been starting from scratch. They had years worth of connections to satellites, cameras, police frequencies, everything...throughout the entire world. He had been required to find a way to cobble all these disparate systems together and force them to work smoothly together on innumerable frequencies. Because he'd done it once, he knew he could do it again, but he didn't know how long it would take.

"Agent McGee? Did you hear me?" Carew asked.

Tim looked up from his contemplation of the computers.

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted to get started now."

"Yes."

"Feel free."

Tim rolled over to the computers. They were already on...and linked in to the CIA servers. That was a bonus. He was already in the mainframe with legitimate access. No requirement to sneak around.

Even if I can do this, why do they want NCIS to follow? This operation can't remain a complete secret forever. It didn't last time. In fact, I wouldn't have succeeded in taking them all down if it hadn't been for... Tim's thoughts came to a stuttering stop. He spun the wheelchair around, nearly knocking it over, and looked at Carew.

"Yes? Was there something?"

"You want NCIS to get them, don't you. You're not trying to do it yourself. You have me along to drag them along. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Carew just smiled.