"Don't want you for the weekend; Don't want you for the night
I'm only interested if I can have you for life.
I know I sound serious and baby I am
You're a fine piece of real estate and I'm gonna get me some land."
Brynya gyrated slowly through the opening of the song, keeping her eyes low and fixed on Daniel's face; she saw him swallow hard, and winked.
"So don't try to run; Love can be fun "I'm gonna getcha while I gotcha in sight
There's no need to be alone when you find that someone!"
I'm gonna getcha if it takes all night
You can bet by the time I say "go" you'll never say "no"."
She grinned seductively at him, then turned her attention back to the rest of the crowd. Sassy, Eric and Macie had been working the floor all night, gradually frisking each man while dancing, and rarely with the same man twice. Lipstick marked the collars of five men carrying covert weapons.
"I'm gonna getcha it's a matter of fact
I'm gonna getcha don't you worry 'bout that!
You can bet your bottom dollar in time you're gonna be mine…"
A circle formed in front of the stage. I should have done 'Circus' tonight; it would have been perfect for this, Brynja thought fleetingly. Sassy, Eric, and Macie were joined in the open floor spot another woman—Diane? How did she get in here? Brynja wondered, then focused on finishing the song while the four agents danced for the whistling crowd. Gibbs leaned over and said something to Daniel, and she saw both men stand.
"I'll getcha good!"
Brynja and the rest of Ragnarok took their bows, and she headed for the stage exit. Howard met them there, nodding coldly even as he put on his MC glasses. "Tonight," he said grimly, "watch for it."
Billie's eyes widened as she saw who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Bry, is that who you were…?"
Brynja nodded, pleased at the look on Daniel's face. "Ja, it is!" She giggled suddenly, feeling very much like a teenage girl. "I'll meet up with you on the dance floor, ok? Just give me five minutes."
"Take a fifteen minute break, Bry. Parks, Skyy and I can watch out for you. Get some for me, too!" Halley said the last in a stage whisper as she took her partners by the elbow and led them away.
"What was that about?" Daniel asked when she reached him.
"We're taking a break," Brynja explained, "hitting the bar and the dance floor for a bit before our next set."
"A break? As in, fifteen minutes when you're not working, taking a break?" Daniel raised an eyebrow, and pulled her further into the backstage shadows.
Brynja stepped closer. "That's right."
"Good," he said, pulling her in and closing his mouth over hers.
The scent of diesel exhaust wafted in the back door, but they didn't notice.
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Gibbs stepped out of the men's room and nearly into Parks and Skyy, whose contorted figures conveniently blocked access to the hallway beyond them. He watched them for a moment, then pretended to make a call on his cell phone.
"Where are Captain Hunt and Officer Frost?" he asked casually, cupping his hand over his mouth and phone as if to protect it from bar noises.
"First base, hot stuff," said Halley as she smoothed down Gibbs' lapel. She gently closed his cell phone with one hand, while putting a hushing finger to his lips with the other. "We're giving them the better part of valor. Do you dance?"
Gibbs knew the game; he put a hand on her waist, smiled, and seemed to nuzzle her neck. "Only if pressed." His mouth moved up to one of her ears, and she squirmed as if tickled. His eyes raked the dance floor. "Lipstick marks on collars?"
Halley tossed her hair and laughed, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "Men concealing weapons. They've already left the building, and I can bench-press 175," she cooed.
Gibbs grinned evilly, and one hand moved down her back as the other thumb traced her jawline.
"And your boss?"
"Heading for your table."
Gibbs squeezed her waist once, and spun her around. His eyes passed casually over the table where Leon and Jackie Vance laughed alone. "He isn't there now." Abby caught his eye, and made the sign for 'door'. "He's outside. Damn." Leaving Halley behind him, he started weaving his way through the dance floor.
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BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!
The DC Wine & Spirits truck backed slowly to the delivery dock. Brakes squealed and hissed as it halted, and the driver climbed out of the cab. Carrying a clipboard and attached papers, he scrambled up onto the loading dock.
"I got a spirits delivery for ya," he said to the agent guarding the back door. "I need youse ta sign this, and den yer boss cuts me my check," he waved the clipboard for effect.
The agent scowled at the proffered clipboard. "I'll have to call inside. I don't handle this sort of thing." He started as a large older man jumped out of the shadows, and reached for his sidearm.
"Federal agent! Freez…" his words stopped short as the truck driver smashed him in the forehead with his clipboard. The agent spun into the doorjamb, grunted, and scrambled to his knees, but his sidearm had skittered away onto the loading dock. He looked up at a fist.
And blinked as another one crashed into the 'truck driver's' jaw. Ivan stepped in with a punch to the midriff, and a left across the large man's cheekbone sent him smacking into the concrete.
"The boy said 'freeze', Cossack," he placed a large knee in the middle of the man's spine, "so don't move." He glanced over at the stunned NCIS agent. "You all right, boy?"
The agent rubbed his jaw and stood, reaching for his handcuffs. "I will be until Gibbs finds out, thanks. Special Agent McAlister, NCIS. How did you know," he motioned to the prone 'truck driver' as he handed his cuffs to Ivan, "that he wasn't real?"
"Danka. First Lieutenant Ivan Prprchoski, Interpol. His watch and his shoes are too expensive for a truck driver, and liquor shipments come in before the weekend begins, not during it." Ivan stood, shook McAlister's hand, and looked at the groaning man on the ground. "This was too obviously a set up. You need to call Special Agent Gibbs back here right away."
McAlister nodded, breathing heavy, and pulled out his cell phone.
The bullet shattered the phone just as he flipped it open, and the truck's back door flew up by itself.
NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS NCIS
"God, I've wanted to do this for a long time," Captain Hunt gasped, gulping air as he pulled away from Brynja. He ran his fingers through her thick red curls, then down her bare neck, shoulders, and arms. One finger traced the tattooed figure that seemed to fly down her shoulder: a young woman in Viking armor on a flying horse. "Wow. I've never wanted to be a flying horse so much in my entire life!" He kissed her again, starting at her mouth and then working his way down her neck to her tattooed shoulder, until Brynja gasped. His hands pressed into her back, passing over bare flesh and silky fabric and…he stopped in surprise.
"What," gasped Brynja, shaking with desire, "oh, that. Just part of the job, ignore it." She reached for his face again, and kissed him back with rising passion.
"To hell with the damn job," Hunt groaned. "There's plenty of agents to handle things here. Let's get out of here and find some privacy."
"Privacy is over-rated, Captain. Besides, you are just fine where you are," sneered a French accent. Captain Hunt whipped around, shocked, to see a much older man holding a gun: Director Smythe.
"Go ahead and finish what you have started, and let the rest of us have a go as well. The way she is dressed, it won't take long." Director Smythe sneered over the barrel of his pistol as two men, stripping off their lipstick-marked Navy shirts, appeared from behind him. Both were armed.
Captain Hunt pushed Brynja behind him with his left hand, shielding her with his body, and spread his right hand out in supplication. "Leave her alone. Don't be a fool, Director."
Director Smythe motioned with his gun. "Step out, both of you." He motioned to one of the men standing with him, "Search her carefully, she is adept at hiding weapons."
The two thugs yanked Captain Hunt and Brynja apart, and one pressed the barrel of his gun to the Captain's head, silencing him while the other slid his hands over Brynja's scant outfit. The man grinned evilly. "She's unarmed," he said smugly.
"I'm not!" Lt. Talon announced, stepping from behind the curtains, his Luger pointed at the Director's head. "Drop it, Director! I will kill you first!"
"Not if I shoot first, Howard," said a cold New York accent, "drop your weapon, and go home to your wife. This is a private matter." Talon stiffened at the sound of his Captain's voice.
"I always privately thought you were a horse's ass, Baker. Now I know why. How long have you been on the take?" Talon seethed, but did not lower his weapon.
"A little longer than me, unfortunately," said a female voice, stepping in from the hallway. "But we both appreciate where our bread and butter come from, Howard. You never did." Her gun pointed straight at his heart, which seemed to stop beating.
"Parks and Skyy," he rasped.
"They're napping," said Halley.
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A small liquor truck lumbered slowly past security checkpoints and down the alley leading to the back of the restaurant. Tony scowled at it.
"That's odd," said McGee, staring at the screen, "Brynja was supposed to hit the dance floor with the rest of the band after that last number, but I don't see her coming out."
"Nothing odd about it, Probie. See that?" He pointed to the uniformed figure disappearing around the stage corner. "That would be Captain Hunt heading for a long overdue port of call." He glanced up at the puff of diesel exhaust left behind by the truck and scowled again. "This is weird. What day is it, McGee?"
"Saturday. Why?"
"Stay here. Something weird is going on." Tony palmed his sidearm and disappeared around the corner.
McGee scowled and glanced at the screen again, then up at the door. Officers and their dates were starting to leave now that Ragnarok wasn't playing. He caught a glimpse of Director Smythe heading for the door, but the man never appeared. Scowling, he reached for his cell, only to have it go off as his hand touched it. It was Gibbs.
"Boss?"
"McGee! Director Smythe is heading your way. You and Tony keep an eye on where he goes if he leaves the building!"
"Tony's already out back. He suspects something is up. Director Smythe…Boss, he never left the building, he took an odd left turn and disappeared just before coming out the door. He's still inside!"
Gibbs paused, thinking hard. Something was very wrong; he could feel it, but he didn't know which way to go. Scowling, he turned towards the table he had shared with Director Vance, only to run full-tilt into Diane. His surprise showed on his face.
"Diane? What are you…"
"Gate-crashing, Jethro. What does it look like?"
A sudden thought struck him. "How did you get in the building?"
She shrugged. "There's a side entrance. This place doubles as a hot dog and ice-cream stand in the summertime. I come here with Emily a lot."
"Where is it?" She hesitated, taken aback, and he turned on her fiercely, grabbing her arm. "WHERE, Diane?"
She pointed, shaken by the look on his face. "Around the corner from the coat room, and down the hall."
Gibbs let go of her arm and took off, "Get out of here, Diane! It isn't safe!"
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs…you are NOT my boss," she murmured, and started weaving through the thinning crowd.
A buxom blond woman caught her eye, and followed her.
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Tony ran around the restaurant until he found the truck idling against a dock. Keeping his weapon low, he pressed his body up against the cold brick wall and peered around the door.
Director Smythe held a gun on Captain Hunt and Brynja, flanked by at least two men that he could see. From the snatches of conversation he could hear, there were more inside. The inside of the truck looked empty…except for the extra insulation padding the walls. Soundproofed, he realized, so nobody can hear a victim scream for help. Glancing around, he saw what looked like three bodies lying on the dock, and his blood ran cold when he recognized McAlister. He was reaching for his cell phone when he heard a footstep behind him.
"McGee, I told you to…" he stopped short at the appearance of the stranger, who also carried a gun.
"Not McGee," said a heavy German accent. "Gunter Kloppenstein, Interpol. Vat is das?"
"Well, das is a heavily-insulated truck for kidnapping people with, and das is one of my co-workers. I just hope your boss didn't kill him; he's after one of your co-workers for some sort of sick game of his."
Gunter nodded. "Brynja Frost: I know. Mein coworkers and I figured it out a few days ago, and came to stop him." He scanned the alleyway. "Do you see anything we could use to puncture the tires?"
Tony kicked himself mentally, and pulled out his buck-knife. "Rule number nine," he said, holstering his gun. Creeping along the ground, he quickly slashed one of the truck's back tires, rolled under the truck, and slashed two more. Coming up on the other side, he found himself face-to face with Ivan, who lay bleeding on the dock. The old Russian's eyes opened.
"Stop him," he rasped. "Director Smythe…Captain…traitors…death ship…black ship…"
Tony hushed him, and nodded to Gunter. Silently, both men climbed onto opposite sides of the dock, straining to hear what was happening just inside the door.
"Since 'ee wants to play the champion, let him come along," Director Smythe snarled. "Captain, Corporal, I trust you know what to do with Lieutenant Talon. Now, dévergondée, in the truck!"
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"Corporal, I'm disappointed," Talon scowled.
"You always were, sir," she replied coldly.
"ENOUGH TALK," snapped Director Smythe, "Brynja and I have business to attend to, oi? You," he motioned to the man holding a gun on Captain Hunt, "tie his hands and put him in the truck. Since 'ee wants to play the champion, let him come along. Captain, Corporal, I trust you know what to do with Lieutenant Talon. Now, dévergondée," he grabbed Brynja by the hair and shoved his gun into her face, "in the truck!"
Something flew over Director Smythe's head, smashing into the wall behind him. He ducked reflexively, and his gun flexed away from Brynja's temple. Seeing her chance, she struck his wrist, knocking his gun to the floor.
A knife sailed out of…where?…striking the man holding Captain Hunt in the shoulder. He howled in pain and dropped his weapon. The other thug jumped forward to grab Hunt, only to stop short and fall to the ground, twitching as Brynja's Taser, taken and concealed by Hunt, pumped voltage into his body.
More rogue sailors appeared out of the shadows, only to be met by Sassy and Macie pulling guns out of only-God-knows-where. Diane and her blond friend swarmed the stage, only to have Captain Baker grab the blond woman by the throat.
"Don't be stupid, sweetheart. Stay out of the way," he snarled.
"Don't call me sweetheart, idiot," the blond growled, 'her' voice suddenly bass. "You aren't my type!" Captain Baker's hold loosened in shock, and Eric clobbered him. "GO, Diane!"
Diane sprinted across the stage, tackling Halley, smashing the gun from her hand. "GO, Howard!"
Lt. Talon grabbed his pistol, running to assist Brynja, only to stop short.
The wrestling match for the pistol was over, but Director Smythe held Brynja by her hair again, a knife to her throat.
"THE WHORE IS MINE," he shouted, dragging her towards the truck. Brynja slipped on something, kicking at it to regain her footing. "SHE RUINED EVERYTHING…SHE HAS TO PAY!"
"She doesn't have to pay for your mistakes, Syngion," Gibbs said coldly from just inside the doorway. "Drop the knife! I mean it!"
Shaken, Smythe turned to see three guns trained on him: Gibbs, DiNozzo, and Gunter Kloppenstein. Manic eyes fixed on Gunter. "First Ivan, then Talon and Brown, and now you, Kloppenstein? Et tu, Brute'? You see what you have done to my unit, cherie? First my creation, then my family, and now my unit?" His voice dropped to a whisper, and the knife in his hand touched the skin of her throat. "I wanted you to suffer, cherie, but I'll be satisfied just to know you're finally dead."
"Don't do it!" shouted DiNozzo.
"Put it down, Director!" called Gunter.
"You'll never be man enough, Director," Brynja rasped. "You couldn't kill my partner without hiring a gang, you can't violate children by yourself, and you can't take me out by yourself either. Face it, old man: you're impotent!"
Director Smythe took the knife away from Brynja's throat, and put the point to her chest instead.
"You little dévergondée, stupid vierge, what do you know of virilité, eh?" He twisted the point of the knife, and it started to prick her skin. "You're fini, Valkyrie, done, and your new ami can watch you die." He pivoted, keeping Brynja's body between himself and the Gibbs-DiNozzo-Kloppenstein trio of guns.
"DIRECTOR," bellowed Captain Hunt.
Director Smythe whipped his head around to where Captain Hunt lay prone on the floor. The Director's gun was in both hands, pointed straight at his chest.
"That's my girl," he rasped, and pulled the trigger. Director Smythe jerked once, a surprised look on his face. "Get your own," shouted Captain Hunt, and shot him again.
The knife dropped from numb fingers, and Smythe's hold on Brynja loosened. Elbowing him in
the gut, she dove away from him as he fell.
Daniel reached her first: wrapping his arms around her trembling form as NCIS and Interpol agents swarmed the scene.
"Done, it's done," he murmured. "It's over."
Chaos reigned, and sirens wailed, but Brynja, her face buried in Daniel's chest, knew none of it.
TBC