Chapter 12

Back at NCIS headquarters, Abby was in the bullpen with Ziva and McGee, pacing nervously back and forth. The last they had heard, Tony had contacted Ducky and informed him that they were sailing to Pensacola. They had tried to reach Tony on his cell but there was no coverage. McGee was trying to gain illicit access into the Coast Guard system to see if there was anything he could find out. Abby couldn't wait any longer.

"I'm calling Josh," she announced with determination. The others looked at her with blank expressions. She could see by their faces that they had no clue who Josh was. "Josh, you know, in the DOD. I need to know where they are and if they're all right. He has satellites!" she said with huge emphasis on the word "satellites".

Ziva and McGee exchanged glances and nodded in agreement with Abby. They were more than a little worried at this stage. They hadn't heard anything from Tony or Gibbs in ages. Abby sat at Gibbs' desk and made the call.

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Back on board the Jolita, Mike was still below deck. He sat beside the short wave radio, which was there emergencies. He was pretty sure this qualified. He checked the handbook that Rico had left for them and then fiddled with the bandwidth dials until he was happy with it. Then he made his call. It didn't take long to reach the shore station's operator and he asked to be put through to NCIS headquarters.

Director Vance was still in his office, despite the hour, when he the call came through.

"Franks? Is that you?" he asked, struggling to hear the voice on the other end of the crackling line.

"Yes, Leon. I'm on a schooner in the middle of the Gulf and there's a problem," Franks told him calmly.

"A problem? What's wrong now?"

"Hernandez followed us out to sea. He shot DiNozzo and, Gibbs, well, he's not doing so good," Franks explained.

"Ah, hell!" Leon cursed. "What can I do?" Vance offered immediately, wanting to help his agents.

"They both need a hospital," he said before giving him their co-ordinates.

"Leave it with me. I'll see what I can do," Vance replied optimistically. "Mike….good luck!"

With that Vance hung up and took a deep breath. He knew Franks was heading for Pensacola. There was a Naval Air Training Station in Pensacola. He made a call to the Base Commander, Captain William Cawley.

"Director Vance, what can I do for you?"

"Captain, I'm hoping you can help me. I have a couple of agents on board a schooner in the Gulf. From what I understand, one of them has been shot. I really need to get them to a hospital, sooner rather than later," Leon explained.

"Do you have their last known co-ordinates?" Cawley asked.

"Yes," Vance replied, reading them to him.

"Just a minute," Captain Cawley said as he checked the location of various training vessels in the Gulf. He knew there were training manoeuvres taking place that week and searched for the nearest vessel to their location.

"It's your lucky night, Director," Cawley said jovially. "We've got a squadron training for carrier landings about 50 nautical miles from their location. I can get in touch with the ship's commander and get a rescue helo launched."

"Thanks, Captain. If you work on that, I'll smooth things over with the Sec Nav," Leon said gratefully.

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Back on the Jolita, Gibbs was sitting motionless on the edge of the bunk where Franks had left him. He was staring into space and shivering in his wet clothing. Despite Franks having advised him earlier to get out of them, Gibbs seemed confused as to what to do. Mike approached him and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. Gibbs turned towards him and looked startled.

"Its okay, Probie. We just need to get you warmed up," Franks said kindly. Gibbs nodded and, without speaking, started to remove his shirt. He appeared to be having some difficulty with the buttons. What Franks didn't realise was that he had no feeling in his fingers. Mike helped him and then looked around and found some old sweatshirts and pants belonging to Rico in a drawer below the bunk. They were probably not going to fit properly but at least they were dry. A short time later, Gibbs was dry and Franks had convinced him to lie down and rest.

With Gibbs safely tucked away, Franks returned up on deck. It was dark now and the stars twinkled in the clear dark sky. DiNozzo was sleeping on a seat, still in his wet clothing. Franks approached him.

"Hey, DiNozzo," he said, touching him gently on his back. Tony stirred slightly. "Wake up. You need to dry off and warm up," Franks said, worried for the young man, who remained deathly pale.

Tony opened his bleary eyes. His shoulder was throbbing and felt like it was burning. He sat up, sorely clutching his injured shoulder. The movement caused a dizzy spell and, for a moment, he felt as if he was going to be sick.

"I think I'll stay here," Tony said, looking up at Franks.

"Okay then. I'll get you some dry clothes," he said before returning below deck for a few moments. He re-emerged from the hatch carrying pants and a jacket and some blankets off one of the bunks.

"How's the boss?" Tony enquired as he started to remove his sodden trousers, with a little assistance from Franks.

"He's sleeping," Franks informed him. "I got hold of Vance and told him what happened. Hopefully, help is on the way."

"Yeah, hopefully," Tony responded faintly.

"You're not giving up on me now, are you?" Franks asked, trying to keep DiNozzo's spirits up.

"Of course not," Tony replied with a smile. "It's just I could really do with some morphine right about now."

"I know, kid. I know," Franks said, sympathising with the young agent.

Franks stayed outside with Tony and manned the boat as best he could single-handedly as Tony slept. A couple of hours had passed when he heard what sounded like a helicopter in the distance. He hoped it was the help they were waiting on. The sound grew closer and Franks turned on all the lights on the boat to help the helicopter spot them in the darkness. He began to lower the sails to make it easier for the pilots to lower a medic onto the boat. Once he had the sails lowered, he dropped anchor.

Meanwhile, Gibbs was woken from his nightmarish slumber by the sound of rotor blades whirring overhead. Because of the effect of the arsenic on his mind, he was unable to think clearly and couldn't comprehend why a helicopter would be hovering over them. His natural defence mechanism kicked in and his instinct to protect urged him to defend the boat. He got up shakily and searched the cabin for his weapon. He found it on the table in the galley. He rushed up the steps to the deck and was dazzled momentarily by the lights from the hovering aircraft and the Jolita's own light. Still unable to see clearly, he raised his weapon and fired indiscriminately in the air towards the noise and lights.

The sound of the shots made Mike, who was watching a diver be lowered from the helicopter, turn around suddenly. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Gibbs, hardly able to stand, was firing at the helicopter which had come to rescue them. The shots caused the pilot of the helo to break away and distance himself from the vessel. Gibbs continued to empty his clip towards them.

"Gibbs! Stop! No!" he shouted desperately at the sick man.

Gibbs didn't react and continued firing. It was as if he couldn't hear him. Mike knew Gibbs wasn't himself, but he had to stop him. A lucky shot could bring down the helicopter. He charged at Gibbs and tackled him to the ground, sending the weapon flying out of his hand. The impact completely knocked the wind out of Gibbs and he remained on the deck as Franks got to his feet. Gibbs eyes glared widely at Franks as he struggled to inhale any air. It felt as though every last morsel of oxygen had been knocked from his lungs and he couldn't get anymore inside. Darkness gathered from the periphery of his vision. Slowly the vision of Mike's frightened face and the glaring ship's lights disappeared into obscurity.

"God damn it, Probie!" Mike yelled at the fallen man.

"What's going on?" Tony shouted, having been woken by the shots and the commotion.

"He can't breathe. Come on, Probie, don't do this to me now," Mike pleaded, as he placed his ear close to Gibbs mouth, hoping to hear breath sounds. He couldn't hear anything.

Mike stood up and waved desperately at the helicopter to come back. Tony stood up weakly and walked over to his boss.

"Boss?" he said fearfully. Supporting his injured shoulder with his other arm, he knelt down and touched Gibbs' forehead. "Breathe, Boss. Please, Boss, breathe," he begged. "Come on, Boss!"

Tony turned and looked up to see where the helicopter was. It was returning, much to his relief.

"Hurry!" Mike yelled pointlessly at the helicopter, the his voice was swallowed by the noise of the rotors.

Within a minute, they had lowered a diver into the water. It was safer to do this than to risk the lines getting tangled in the sailboat's lines. The diver swam to the Jolita and Mike helped him on board along with his gear.

"Thank God!" Mike said, pointing towards his friend. "Hurry, he's not breathing."

The rescue diver hurried over to where Gibbs lay. He felt for a pulse and nodded to the two anxious looking men standing over him to indicate that there was a pulse. He opened his equipment bag and took out an oxygen bag and mask. He placed it over Gibbs' nose and mouth and started forcing oxygen into his lungs. DiNozzo and Franks looked on anxiously. After a few large compressions, Gibbs started to cough and gasp for air again.

"Easy," the dripping diver said to the disorientated man. "You're going to be okay."

The diver told Franks to stay with him while he checked on DiNozzo.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked in confusion.

"It's a long story, Probie. I'll tell you when you're feeling up to it," Franks replied.

Gibbs made no attempt to stand up and Franks remained with him, supporting him with his arm around him to help him sit up. Gibbs just wanted to sleep and Franks was tasked with keeping him conscious.

Meanwhile the diver gave Tony a welcome shot of morphine to help with the pain of his injury. Once Tony was more comfortable, he radioed the helicopter to give a status report. It was agreed that Tony and Gibbs would be airlifted to the carrier, USS Ronald Reagan, from which they had been dispatched. It was taking part in the training manoeuvres in the Gulf of Mexico. It had a fully equipped hospital on board. An aircrew member would then be left to assist Franks get the Jolita to Pensacola.

The tentative and dangerous task of lifting the injured men onto the helicopter was slow and arduous. Thankfully the sea was calm, which helped keep the sailboat relatively still in the water. The pilot and his crew's expertise ensured that they hovered safely at the rear of the boat, avoiding masts and ropes. First the diver hooked Gibbs to his body and they were jointly hoisted on board the Seahawk helicopter. The diver then returned to the Jolita and secured Tony and soon they both disappeared into the bowels of the helicopter.

Tony peered out of the door as the crewman was lowered on board the Jolita to assist Franks. Franks looked up and gave a thumbs-up signal to DiNozzo, who returned the signal. The Seahawk peeled away from the sailboat and headed north in the direction of the USS Ronald Reagan.

Tony turned and sat back against the side of the aircraft. A medic was leaning over Gibbs, his face unable to conceal his concern.

"How is he?" Tony asked.

"His breathing is laboured and his heart rate and BP are all over the place. What happened to this man?"

"He's been ill since yesterday. He thinks he was poisoned," Tony told him.

"That might explain his symptoms. He's very confused and, judging by his attempts to shoot us down, very agitated," the medic commented as he placed a canula in Gibbs' arm. Then he attached a bag of saline to re-hydrate him. "Do you know what he was given?"

"I wish," Tony said woefully. "He had no clue. He just said he thought it was in the water he was given."

"How long ago did he ingest it?" the medic enquired.

"I don't know. Eighteen hours ago maybe more?" Tony replied.

The medic nodded. Tony couldn't interpret the nod.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Tony asked.

"It depends what he ingested and how much," the medic replied. "He's okay for now. Let me have a look at you," he said, starting to remove the makeshift bandage on Tony's shoulder.

Tony leaned back and closed his eyes, preparing for the discomfort that was to come. He was grateful that they were on their way to the carrier and prayed that the medical staff on board would be able to help Gibbs. He listened to the constant drone of the engines and the thumping of the rotors. The sound soon lulled him into a painless sleep.

A/N - again I apologise for my lack of sailing knowledge but I'm sure we can all look past it...right??!! Thanks again all you reviewers and readers.