Disclaimer: no legal rights to NCIS, no money being made.
NOT BETA'D, EACH AND EVERY MISTAKE IS MINE, SORRY!
Warnings: same as Chapter One, also not for Ziva fans, nor Tiva fans. Therefore, read at your own risk you have been warned.
DETERMINED TO HOLD
Chapter Nineteen, heart weary
"I SAID DON'T MOVE!
Tony hadn't moved, couldn't. Couldn't even speak his dry mouth and tongue impeded that and his lips were cracked. So he lay there and waited for the inevitable and in the meantime must have passed out because when he was aware again, it appeared he was still on the floor and still breathing.
"You awake yet? I need to know something about you before I kill you," said the same low raspy voice he had heard before.
"Could I have some water first," Tony managed.
"Yeah, I guess you'd need water, don't see no canteen on you or one of those fancy colored bottle things those crazy lost tourists like to carry their capucheetos around in. How long you been out there? Most people don't make it this far after traveling through this part of the desert with no water. The dry heat, the blinding sun, yeah, you're a lucky so-and-so making it this far," said the loquacious stranger. "Did you try drinking your urine, ah, but you don't have nothing to pee into so that wouldn't have worked for you, would it?"
Oh, golly gee, drink my pee. Yeah, but no cup so how would I bend down far enough to...okay, I'm delirious and this guy is nuts, Tony thought, but still he needed water. He'd go find some on his own but that hadn't worked out so far. Still determined to hold onto his independence as long as he could but feeling as weak as a blind, mewling kitten, he tried getting up on all fours but his right ankle objected.
"Here, turn over, can you sit up, drink this," came the strangers rapid orders, sounding less harpy old codger than a few minutes ago. The grimy tin can the man thrust at him contained what sounded like the beautiful swoosh of a rainforest waterfall and he grasped the can with both hands. As he drank the meager amount of liquid in the cup and prayed it was water, his benefactor snatched the cup away too soon. "Slow down would you, were you raised in a barn? You'll be vomiting it all back up pretty quick gulping it down like that and I don't have it to spare."
"Okay, okay, you're right and I know better," Tony placated Mr Long-winded but he wanted to scream out, anything to get the liquid back. "Take small sips, right? I got it. Now can I have the can back?"
When Tony finished the water, he handed the can back to the man and managed to shift around so he was sitting back against a wall. Tony looked around for the weapon.
"Thanks for the water and I'd appreciate not being killed today."
"Days not over yet," the guy smirked sounding a lot like Gibbs. "I'm looking at my options."
"I appreciate that," agreed Tony. It was light enough outside now the sun was able to penetrate the one grimy window he could see. And he could get a good look around him and at the no-name character who sat on a crate a few feet from him. His scraggly full beard and mustache and long dirty blonde hair pretty much disguised the man's features and age. His Salvation Army pants and shirt were dirty and wrinkled as though he was used to working or living outdoors. Nothing about him stood out. Was it a coincidence he was here, now?
"Thanks for the help by the way. Name's Ben," and Tony reached out to shake his hand.
A moments thought later, the stranger shook his hand, "Charstairs, Jim Charstairs. Had to help you. My Pa used to say, 'live not on evil deed, live not on evil.' He was a Bible thumping old devil, loved the guy though."
"Funny, my father used to quote the Bible too." Tony said, and it took effort not to roll his eyes at that. "His favorite saying was, 'Eve damned Eden, mad Eve.' Don't even know if that's in the Bible or not but he hated women after my Mom ran off with the dog catcher, so it fits."
The stranger sighed, they had both given the secret code correctly. "Agent DiNozzo, then?"
Tony sighed with relief also. "Yeah, that's me. You had me going."
"Figured it had to be you but didn't want to figure wrong and we're running out of time. Been looking for you to show up for several days now, didn't expect you to show up this way, and what happened to your foot, more importantly, can you walk?
The sudden change in voice from cantankerous old coot to efficient, reliable fellow agent filled Tony with palpable relief.
"Yeah, sorry for the delay but I had to bide my time. I was being watched as one of those guys thought he recognized me but hadn't figured out from where yet. Talk about fubars, how'd that happen? Anyway, the minute their attention was not on me and some help from my backup, I got what I needed and left. No time to stop for anything else."
"And your foot?" Charstairs repeated. "What happened? Can you walk?"
"When I got into town, I had to hide from a couple guys sounding Russian. Hid under the undercarriage of their Jeep, which backed into my foot when they took off. Don't worry about me walking. I'll manage."
"Look, DiNozzo, the big macho tough guy routine is just going to hold us back. I'm going to assume you can't walk and change my plan a little bit to get us outta here, that ok with you." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah, sorry..."
"Don't say sorry, sign of weakness."
"You're retired marine, right?"
"Yeah, something wrong with that?"
"Not at all." Tony appeased and even gave him a thumbs up.
Charstairs left his perch on the crate now that they got that straight and came back shortly with a backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. It took him seconds to examined Tony's swollen ankle and wrap it tightly in an ace bandage, which felt good but Tony still didn't think he could walk on it. The arm bleeding had stopped and Charstairs dumped some antiseptic cream on it along with a bandage so he wouldn't lose his sliced up arm. His luck was looking up.
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Charstairs retrieved a bottle of water and an MRE bar from his backpack, which he tossed to Tony. "OK, the foot's not broken but you're not going to be able to walk on it for any distance." He punched some numbers into the cell phone he pulled from his pack and was talking almost immediately.
Tony listened as he unwrapped the bar and consumed it. He only heard Charstairs side of the short conversation but it sounded urgent; helicopter, an hours walk, rendezvous at 0900. Charstairs listened a few more minutes and then hung up.
"Headquarters said they followed the tracker you placed in the package and buried in the sand. The package has been delivered. Thought you'd want to know."
"Thanks." Tony didn't seem disposed to elaborate but Charstairs was curious.
"So you left the package in the sand with the tracker knowing that your relief would follow the tracker, and you then took off into the desert with no survival provisions?"
"Basically, yeah."
"Ok, I think I know why you did it that way but you were taking an awful chance."
"I didn't know how far I'd get and didn't want anyone to find the package on me. Seemed the right thing to do at the time."
"Thought so," Chairstairs nodded. "Well, it worked. Congratulations, you're..."
"Look, thanks and all that but don't we need to get going..."
"Just hold your horses, DiNozzo. You can't walk and I've got a plan. So we..."
Tony moved to lever himself up interrupting Charstairs again. "I said I'd manage. Just find a crutch or stick and let's get started."
"SO, WE...as I was saying..." interrupted a glaring Charstairs, "wait for the elite breakfast crowd to be in the 5-star diner stuffing their maws and I heist a Pontiac that is usually parked out back with the keys in the ignition. Bo Jensen, the owner of our getaway is a fired LA cop and by this time in the morning is drunk enough to lurch and stagger into the diner. He'll pass out at a table with his face in a plate of runny eggs. It'll take me 5 minutes stat. Get yourself up and at the door and be ready to go. Got that?" Charstairs said as he headed out.
"Got it," said Tony to an empty room.
He was at the door in 5 crawling part of the way since he couldn't find a stick and hopping the rest. The car pulled up as promised and Tony wondered how this euphemism for a car was still running. It could use a new paint job, too.
The interior was no better, was disgusting if anyone asked. And someone had recently thrown up in it.
"Just get in, it has an engine, wheels and," he took a quick look, "some gas. What more could you ask?" Charstairs upbeat chatter didn't fool Tony, something had unnerved him so Tony jumped in as best he could and they took off.
As they tried to speed away Charstairs frowned at his rearview mirror. "Too late, we've got a tail."
"So fast," said Tony looking back. "What the heck happened, the owner of this beauty got sober that quick?"
"Don't think so. But a couple guys hanging around the encampment looked outta place, could be them. The whole place is full of Russians and Mexicans. Have to have been some kind of bidding war going on for them to be here.
Charstairs floored the gas pedal and the vehicle picked up speed grudgingly.
"Jensen usually kept a gun in the glove compartment. Take a look."
Tony did and found a Glock pistol in excellent condition fully loaded. At least the guy took care of his gun.
"Ok, thought we could get more mileage outta this piece of metal junk but we're about out of gas, gonna have to fight it out and hope backup gets here in time."
Charstairs glanced at Tony who didn't blink an eye as he glanced back. They agreed without it having to be said aloud that they were virtual strangers but with a common duty to protect the innocent. They'd stand their ground together. This whole op had gone sideways but at least with help Tony had delivered the package and there was the slim chance he'd get out of there with his life.
Charstairs pushed the vehicle for all it was worth but inevitably it sputtered, slowed down and stopped.
They shook hands quickly with no words said then exited the vehicle.
Tony's bandaged ankle encumbering him, he stumbled out of the car and kneeled behind the open back door; this was it, not much protection but it was all they had. Men chasing behind them and desert. Ahead of them more desert and a helicopter 5 minutes out.
Was it worth it? Tony thought. To die ignominiously in the desert just to get away from an untenable situation back home?
Echoing Tony's thoughts, Charstairs asked as he hunkered down behind his door, "You got any last words for anyone back home?"
So Tony gave an honest reply. "No, not married, no significant other. Father's in jail for the rest of his miserable life, mother's been dead to me a long time. Some friends who might care. Doesn't matter though, Charstairs, we don't need last words cause we're not gonna die, I haven't had my last meal yet."
"You're strange, you know that, right? Now me, I've got...never mind, here they come."
The dirt kicking up behind the fast moving cars on the dusty desert road gave truth to that statement. Tony accepted they were going to be outnumbered and outgunned as another car trailed closely behind the first and another.
"Ride will be here in 4, all we need is 4," Charstairs repeated his mantra.
Tony didn't think they had 4 as the vehicles ground to a stop behind and around them and without preamble a gunman rolled down his window and started firing. Whoever else was in the three cars didn't even have the decency to get out and pretend it was an even fight. They knew the two agents were no match for their machine gun Kelly sidekick so why not have a little fun, why should they step out into the heat when they could sit in the air conditioned cars and watch the show. After all, the boss didn't want the men dead right away anyway. There were questions to be answered after a little torture fun.
Charstairs was trying to shoot out the bullet proof windshield while Tony aimed for the shooters weapon or arm or something. He could hear the laughter inside the car and the egging on the occupants were giving the guy with the gun to scare them up good. It didn't appear they wanted them dead, not right away but then again... Tony heard Charstairs yelp once before he became quiet and the thug in the other car stopped shooting.
"Hey? Ben, right, or is that a lie too? You had me fooled, I'm impressed. Who you working for, Big Cam Carter, Marten the weasel, the Russians or maybe the Feds; FBI, CIA, ATF? Come on, man, I'm curious. It's me, Raphael. You working for yourself, right? Maybe we can make a deal."
Yeah, keep talking Raphael, Tony thought, 3 minutes. "I know who you are, Raphael, and you'll need to find out some other way who you have to constantly look over your shoulder for because I'm not telling you diddly-squat."
"Diddly-squat? What the hell is that? Look, how about this? I'd like to chat some more with you, Ben, but it's too hot to sit out here and I believe the Russians aren't far behind us so how about you give me what you stole and we'll let you go, just get in your car and drive away. Oh, wait. The drunk said the tank was empty running on fumes, you outta gas, Ben? That's okay, I'll let you walk outta here no penalty. Just hand it over."
"Don't know what you're talking about Raffie but if I did, you know, have IT, you'd let me walk away, just like that? How come I don't believe you?"
"Cause I'm lying! Take him out, men!" said their short-tempered boss. "And don't call me Raffie."
More cars were showing up and they weren't his. He'd make a deal with the Russians once they got their stolen item back
Tony had pinpointed the speaker's location sitting in the rear seat left hand side behind the driver. There was no one sitting in the front passenger seat and his plan was he could make the shot through the passenger window if he stepped out from behind the door. Hopefully, Raphael's men would be suitably distracted and cause a lot of commotion as their dead or wounded boss bled out from a neck or head wound in the back seat. That should give him a few extra seconds to hold on just in case his luck held and the helicopter made the 2-minute deadline.
Lot of ifs and maybes to his plan but he took a deep breath then took the shot anyway and stepped back. That was for Charstairs, Raffie, he thought, not knowing if the other agent was dead or alive. The car window shattered as the bullet zagged through it and a man screamed out and gurgled. No one was laughing now as men scrambled from their vehicles with guns drawn cursing and aiming to kill him and litter the old drunks car and the surrounding road with bullets.
Tony had used up his last bullet and waited for the end or Blue Thunder to arrive. How dramatic, he giggled nervously at his private joke as he heard propeller blades overhead and the AH-24 Apache helicopter weapon doing its thing, rattta-tat-rattatat, what a beautiful sound as it came to his rescue.
The M230 chain gun mounted on the chin turret spat out 625 rounds per minute and couldn't miss, a few of the perps dropped dead to the ground. The others still standing jumped into their vehicles and took off round the bend. The copter's big gun laid a barrage of bullets peppering the cars as they sped away but rather than chase them, the aircraft landed choppily in the middle of the road and men disembarked and ran to Tony's car.
Tony hurried around the car as quickly as he could on his bum ankle to Charstairs side.
"Charstairs, come on buddy, you okay?" Tony questioned as he dropped down to The man's side and turned him over. There was a lot of blood. A shoulder wound but Charstairs eyes were open and full of pain.
"Should've given you my wife's name and number while I had the chance. Want you to tell her in case I don't make it. Don't want none of those impersonal goons showing up at her door scaring her with their guns and uniforms and..." Charstairs couldn't finish as he passed out.
Tony ripped his shirt away and saw the wound was high and smooth, not too much damage going in probably a small caliber and there was no exit wound. The man would be okay if he could stop the bleeding.
Tony had almost forgotten about the helicopter as two air medics ran up and Tony relinquished Charstairs care to them. Breathing a sigh of relief that the man should be alright he collapsed back against the car door as another man ran up behind him and grasped him on the shoulder.
"Tony? Geez, are you okay? You're bleeding, man."
Tony gawped at the newcomer and shook his head and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Was this heat stroke?
"McGee, Timothy McGee!? What in the hell are you doing here?"
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