ConAlexandria was the meatier cousin of Rockvillecon. Due to increasing interest by the younger attendees, it had recently embraced anime, and now devoted a large proportion of the con activities to that, increasing the membership fourfold in two years. Comics was still a part of it, though a smaller part than it once had been.
Ziva scurried back out to the parking lot in the still-cool midmorning, Friday, having picked up the convention badges for the four of them. She also had gathered information ahead of time, and briefed the other three as they stood at the van, enjoying the still-cool air. "The convention occupies all of floors two and three in the hotel. Floor two consists entirely of anime and gaming activities: films, panels, games, and so on. On floor three are some small program rooms and the two ballrooms. The sellers, or 'dealers' as they're calling them, are in the Pacific ballroom. Across the hall in the Atlantic ballroom is the Artists' Alley and an area for exhibits and one for demonstrations, though why would people want to be picketing a harmless activity like this?"
"Other kind of demonstrations, Ziva," said Tony, reading the literature. "Drawing, costume-making, and the like."
"Oh. Anime creators will be autographing in –"
"I know all this," Tim snarled. "I've been here before!"
"Well, thanks for sharing that, Probie, but the rest of us are new to this," Tony said mildly.
"It sounds like we concentrate on floor three," said Gibbs. "That's the only overlap with Rockvillecon. Ziva and I will check out the dealers' room. You two check out the Artists' Alley. McGee, again, you don't leave DiNozzo's side. Ever!"
Tim gave him a bland look, which could have meant anything. Gibbs bit back a remark. Will I ever get through to him?!
"Think of me as your shadow, Probie," Tony said, giving McGee a light poke. "Your better-dressed, better-looking shadow."
"Well, come on, then; let's go," said McGee, still sounding measuredly bland.
"Wait. Don't concentrate on O'Hara and Silberwald," Gibbs cautioned. "Just because they're supposedly having an affair doesn't mean that they have anything to do with Latkis' murder, or with you, McGee."
"I know that, Gibbs!" Tim shot back.
"Easy, Probie..."
"You take it easy, DiNozzo!"
Tony wrinkled his brow. Tim had not called him by his last name since they had first met.
"Sorry," Tim said, looking contrite. "I just want to get this solved..."
"As do we all," said Ziva.
They two groups split upon entering the hotel, taking different routes to the third floor. While waiting for the elevator, Tim bounced lightly in place, hands in his pockets. He's wound tighter than a spring, Tony thought, but then Tim gave him a Tim-like smile, and Tony wondered if perhaps he'd imagined it all.
The Atlantic ballroom – curiously located west of the Pacific ballroom – was already a circus of noise, although it was barely 11 o'clock. Ninja-fighting demonstrations were going before an appreciative audience. Some people were ignoring the ninjas, preferring to quietly roam the exhibits of comics history, certain manga artists, and costumes. On the far side of the ballroom was the Artists' Alley; about half the size of the one in Rockvillecon.
Tony gave Tim a glance. "What do you want to see first? I think these ninjas are pretty cool – particularly that ninja chick there..."
"Does it always have to be women with you, Tony?" Tim sighed.
Tony smiled. "That is my preferred state: having women be with me." Tim had sounded reasonably like himself, but when he looked away, Tony thought he saw a glimmer of cunning in Tim's eyes, and he tensed. Is he up to something...?
They looked at the exhibits, Tim's eyes flickering around; not appearing to really be taking in what he saw. Eventually they moved, slowly, toward Artists' Alley.
Some of the same creators seen at Rockvillecon were there: Alfred Wheekin; still signing autographs and selling Sully's Air Force strips. The team of guys who drew superhero men with golfball-sized heads. The women who drew women-only books. The shy man in a neat suit who wrote and drew romance comics under a sexually-ambiguous name.
And then there were the foursome that Tim had met at Rockvillecon.
Dana O'Hara was facing them, but didn't see them, as they started to approach; intent on drawing something. From 60 feet away, something made her look up suddenly. She turned white, and half rose, one hand over her heart and her hand nearest Kim Silberwald's tapping the table near him.
Tim was about to give her a slight wave, but her reaction had him puzzled. She looks like she's seen a ghost...
Seen a ghost...
Seen someone who'd died...
And then all memories of the lost Sunday flash-flooded over him. "No! No, really, Tim; that's not necessary..." as he scrambled to pick up her spilled art tools. "I'll meet you in the lobby just after 4:30." The dinner plans. "Just follow me. The restaurant's a straight shot up the highway..." as they left the con. "You're not feeling well, Tim? Just lean on me. We'll take my car. I can drive you back to D.C. and you can get a lift with someone tomorrow to pick up your car here." That was after dinner, and less clearly remembered. He did remember that he had eaten a fine steak, but also that he'd felt really sleepy by the end of the meal.
"Tony!" he hissed. "It is Dana! I remember everything now! I don't know why, but she got me in her car after dinner. I was feeling very sleepy – she must have drugged me..."
Holding on to Tim's arm, since he looked ready to spring, Tony pulled out his phone. "Boss! McGee remembers! It is Dana, and she sees us and looks like she's about to take a powder. Silberwald, too, I think."
"Don't approach them!" Gibbs ordered. "Just watch them until we can get to you!"
"Roger that," said Tony, and hung up. They were still 60 feet away. But then Kim Silberwald got up, casually, and appeared to be making idle conversation with Dodo Runkel. But he picked up his shoulder bag and started casually ambling toward the exit on the northeast side, while Dana trotted for the southeast exit.
"Gibbs and Ziva will be here momentarily," Tony murmured. Tim was standing on his left. Tony stared at the departing Dana, and started to move slowly forward, keeping her in view.
Suddenly Tim gripped Tony's shoulder, and pointed away. "Look! A chicken!!"
"Where?!" Tony looked, saw nothing fowl, and certainly didn't see Tim's fist coming at him until a microsecond before it impacted with his chin.
Tony went down; a little stunned, dizzy, and in pain, but still conscious. He fought the room's swirl about him as he saw Tim chase after Silberwald, who was now also running. Damn! And we always thought McGeek couldn't act!
It took a long, aggravating minute before Tony was able to grasp his phone and push the right buttons. "Boss! We've got trouble! He got away from me, and is pursuing Silberwald!"
"How the HELL did that happen, DiNozzo?!"
"He tricked me, and I fell for it. They've headed out of the ballroom, actually in your direction. So did O'Hara. She's out of sight, too, and headed out of the southeast entrance, I think."
"Okay. I'll head for the second floor, since there's an escalator to there near the northeast entrance to your ballroom. Ziva will track O'Hara. You scour the rest of this floor. If you catch up with McGee, hogtie him or something!"
"Got it!"
- - - - -
Ziva moved fast. She wished she'd thought to ask what O'Hara was wearing, but she'd have to concentrate on blonde hair. The crowds in the dealers' room fought against her, and so she took to aggressive action: leaping over strollers with babies, parting families in her wake, even (not by choice) crashing through a spinner rack of comic books set in a too-crowded aisle. Around her people shrieked and cursed at her; she yelled "Federal agent!" and flashed her badge once as she ran.
Finally, she was out of the ballroom. If O'Hara had come this direction, fleeing, where would she go? The second floor? Out of the hotel?
Or some place where two men, whom she had seen, would not likely follow her...?
There. There was a ladies' room. Ziva pushed the door open quietly, but not too quietly. It should let whoever might be in there that someone might be coming in.
It was a facility of moderate size; eight stalls, which seemed fitting with the presence of two ballrooms. Ziva had a theory about American women and public ladies' rooms. Practically no one used the stall closest to the door, just as no one ever sat at the very end of an empty bench: it implied aloofness. Few people also used the stall next to that; most second-stalls had a broken latch due to overuse by people not using the first stall. Stall number three, on the other hand...
She carefully walked in, her boots making tiny taps on the tiled floor. The bathroom design had the stall doors swing closed, even when vacant. Without stooping down, it would be hard to tell which stalls were occupied. She stopped before the fourth stall, counted to 15. There was no sound in the room other than the soft plopping of a dripping faucet.
Then she drew her gun, leaped and kicked open the door to stall three. And there was the blonde, crouched on the toilet seat, holding out her box cutter/knife before her and shaking terribly.
"It's over, Ms. O'Hara," Ziva said severely. Then a malicious thought hit her and she added, "You once wanted to see a gun up close. You don't want to see it any closer than this." She snatched the blade from Dana's hand and handcuffed her.
- - - - -
Tim rounded a corner, found the hallways swarming with con attendees. He fought his way down the escalator, ignoring the protests made by the people he pushed. There were even greater crowds on the second floor – panel discussions must have just ended on the hour.
I am going to get Silberwald or die trying. He thought about that, and his heart ached. Yes. It's not worth going on if they get away. I'll always be feeling lost in that forest...
There! There went Silberwald, into that room showing anime films! Tim careened around people; shoved in; the room was standing room only. But he recognized curly hair, glasses, and a shoulder bag, silhouetted, hustling out the opposite door. Tim did the same, again causing angry complaints from fans with stepped-on feet or outward-leaning elbows.
"Silberwald! Freeze! Federal agent!" It was a fake threat, since Tim wasn't armed. Whether Kim recognized this or not, he kept going, knocking over a small child as he ran. Tim lost precious seconds trying to get around the child's family, who were comforting the tyke, even though it was apparently unhurt but crying since it saw it revel in the attention.
Where did he go?! Tim's cell phone rang; Gibbs, no doubt. It would take too long to shut it off; instead he hurled it far behind him and continued running.
The only room left as the hallway ended was a door marked No admittance – Service entrance only. He pushed the swinging door open, in time to see Kim dodging a maze of tables and chairs, in an attempt to get to the service corridor. Tim vaulted a small cocktail round table, though he didn't hit it dead center and it tipped, and he tumbled.
Kim halted, and turned back to him as Tim was scrambling to his feet. "You should have stayed dead!" Kim said, wildly, and reached into his bag. In a flash, he had out a gun, and he held it in a remarkably steady right hand. "You're not taking me in!"
Although Tim was only 20 feet away, he knew that a rank amateur probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Tim sprang...
...and fell as gripping pain plowed through his left arm. He looked up, through watery eyes, and saw the effect of the recoil almost knock Kim over.Kim pulled himself together, and raised the gun again. And then Tim saw Dodo and James come in the far entrance. "Tim! What the heck is going on?! Why is Kim–"
No! No! Kim mustn't get them, too! With a cry, Tim lunged straight at the gunman; startling him and knocking him down as the gun went off again; this time, the shot wild. Tim sat on him, and, grabbing the gun, used just enough force with his weaker right hand to knock him out with one stroke of a pistol whipping. "Weren't you paying attention when I said to use two hands?!" Tim raged, nonsensically.
- - - - -
Not far away, Gibbs heard the shots, and his heart plunged to his feet. I didn't want it to end like this. Oh, God... But he pressed on, and barreled into the service room. "Freeze! Federal agent!" only to see Tim in control of Silberwald, and Vaughn and Runkel huddled in a corner.
Gibbs called Tony; gave him his location. Tony was there in under a minute.
"I think we're done," Tony grinned. "Ziva has Dana in custody, and reported that she's 'singing like a cannery'."
"Did you tell her that the expression is 'canary'?" asked Gibbs.
"No—I liked the mental image of a singing cannery better." He knelt beside Tim. "It's over, Probie. Both suspects are in custody. Case is closed."
Tim could feel weeks of bitterness and harshness peel off him, like husks of corn. "Case is closed," he repeated, his voice weak. "Case is closed...!" He felt incredibly light...also light-headed. He was sweating and in increasing pain. Had neither Tony nor Gibbs noticed that he was clutching his bleeding arm?!
Gibbs looked at his watch. "Well, it's after noon. Let's load these rats into the van and then go for lunch. Burgers sound good to you guys?"
"Or pizza. Too early in the day for raw fishies. What about you, Probie? Where do you want to go?"
"To the emergency room," Tim gasped. His eyes rolled back and he fell in a heap.
Tony looked down at him while Gibbs looked at his watch. "That was under three minutes," Gibbs said. "You owe me $5."
"That's really is a mean game," Tony laughed. "So this is what you team leaders do at your team leader conferences?!"
"Among other things," Gibbs said, while calmly calling for an ambulance.