Gomez was going to put Tony in general population. The government decided to use a different strategy to get him to talk. Tony could only guess that maybe they wanted to terrorize Tony with the brutes of the general populace that he would come begging to talk in exchange for a private cell. But before that happened, Gomez something in mind.
"You said I was being transferred," Tony protested as his arms were strapped to a chair. The guards strapping him in nodded to Gomez, crossed themselves and left. They knew what was going to happen and they wanted as little part of it as possible.
"And you will," Gomez said, taking a puff of his cigar. "But for weeks and months you have wasted my time. I have used resources to get you to talk and yet you won't cooperate. You are the only man in this prison that I haven't cracked. You have embarrassed me in front of the inmates, my men, my superiors and I have lost the confidence of Comrade Chavez." He grabbed Tony by the chin. Tony didn't know if Gomez was trying to crush Tony's teeth in or if he was just so angry he was unwittingly crushing his jaw.
"Talk or not, gringo," Gomez said. "I don't care anymore. Today..." Gomez leaned forward. "I will make you scream. For wasting my god damn time."
Gomez held up a remote and pushed a button. Before that moment, Tony had thought he knew true pain, true torture, true agony. But the electricity that coursed through his body brought him a new education to pain. It simultaneously burned and froze him. Every muscle tensed and cramped, his body spasmed uncontrollably, and his heart tried to burst from inside his chest. Tony heard someone screaming, only for him to realize he was the one doing the screaming.
After a moment that seemed like hours, it stopped. It was an agonizing thirty seconds. Tony had gotten used to torture. But for the last two months, it was done by men was limitations and wanting specific information. But this was different.
This time, it was just petty cruelty.
For an hour, Gomez didn't say a damn thing. He just pushed the button and listened to DiNozzo scream. Even other inmates nearby prayed for the young American.
After a while, it was starting to get boring. So Gomez decided to cease his attacks.
Most men would've talked, died or even gone mad. But Gomez could tell something was keeping the young American's fighting spirit up. Was he really a patriot? Did he have a purpose here? Or did he have someone back home he was keeping hopes up of seeing again?
"Kate."
Gomez stopped. Ah, so it was a someone. A woman.
"Kate, lend me your wings," Tony managed to whisper through the pain.
Gomez smirked as he whipped his hands. An odd prayer. An odd prayer indeed. He began undoing the restraints locking Tony to the chair. "You view this 'Kate' as an angel, yes? In Christianity, there are many angels thought to be feminine. But I'm afraid Kate is not of those angels."
Tony simply groaned. Gomez rolled his eyes and kicked him to the floor. Tony fell out of the chair and crumpled into a ball. Not to cry but that's just how he landed.
"Get up, American," Gomez commanded. The only response Tony could muster was a very weak groan. Gomez kicked him. "I SAID GET UP, GODDAMIT!"
When Tony couldn't, Gomez sighed. "Ay, guey." He whistled. Two guards appeared through the door and saluted.
"Senior?" one asked. Gomez simply snapped his fingers and pointed at DiNozzo. One of the guards saluted again and approached the American. They wrenched DiNozzo's arms behind his back and snapped on handcuffs, then each took one of his arms. As they dragged him out of the cell, the agony in his arms increased a thousandfold.
"Consider yourself lucky, gringo," one of the guards whispered. "Most men who are tortured by Senor Gomez mostly don't get out alive."
They took him, with his knees dragging on the dirt floor, to a general population cell. Approaching the cell, one of the guards
"Vaya con dios, gringo," the guard said as he locked the cell. "You'll wish you'd stayed with Comrade Gomez. These men will eat you alive."
The guards started laughing as they walked away.
"If not worse."
Two months later, Tony couldn't believe that the torture was over. All the pokes, slaps, punches, slashes and electrocution and other imaginable torments had finally ceased. But after two months of being with the other prisoners, he wasn't sure if he wasn't better off in the torture room.
He was safer in the torture room. Sure the pain was unbearable. But the Veezees were under strict orders not to kill him. The prison guards and that Gomez fella could not kill him without facing the wrath of comrade Chavez. The prisoners on the other hand didn't give a damn about who was in command and what 'comrade' Chavez. Hell, some of them were in prisoner because they opposed Chavez. Or their brother opposed Chavez... or they were on the same street as someone who opposed Chavez. Take your pick.
While both Anthony DiNozzo and the prisoners opposed 'Comrade' Chavez, that didn't mean they were friends. The age old 'the enemy of my enemy is friend' didn't always apply. It was more of a guideline or a theory. Here, in Sabaneta Prison, everyone was on their own, especially if you were an American government agent. The guards did little to prevent DiNozzo's identity as an American government agent from getting out. You'd think that Tony being ousted as an agent of the American government would get him killed on day one. But not this time. While the Enemy of My Enemy didn't make the prisoners friends with DiNozzo, it didn't necessarily make them enemies either. The Venezuelan prisoners wanted Chavez taken down as much as the American government did. They had more understandable reasons than simply 'They won't sell cheap oil to the US'. So the prisoners decided to leave DiNozzo alone. For the most part anyway. Sure, there was the occasional scrap every now and then but for the most part, they didn't seem to target him.
But one day that all changed.
Tony was eating his prison food... or what the Venezuelans considered 'food'. He knew there was pork... but that's all Tony could register of what was on his plate. For all he knew, he was eating prisoners' remains. Or alien remains. Hell, who knew? Out of the corner of Tony's eye, he saw he wasn't alone anymore.
"So you the gringo spy?" an inmate chortled. He and another inmate were up close in Tony's face, almost daring him to strike them. "I keep hearing how Americans are invincible. Nobody can beat the Americans. Except for the Vietnamese. But now Mira, one of Uncle Sam's agents right here in the middle of Venezuela's biggest prisons. Ay, how ironic, yes?"
Tony didn't even look up from his plate. He took a bite of his food. "This food tastes like shit, don't ya think?"
Before anyone could further process what Tony had spoken, the arrogant Venezuelan couldn't help but watch as Tony slammed his fork into his hand. The Venezuelan screamed like bloody murder. The Venezuelan's companion couldn't do anything except look on in fear. All eyes turned towards the table. Without getting up from his seat or even looking at the young man, Tony grabbed him by the ear and pulled him close.
"Maybe you taste better, eh, puto?" Tony sneered. "Maybe slap some sauce on you and I'll have a full course meal fit for a king."
The Venezuelan's friend pulled him away and run away. Tony smirked when he heard them shout as they ran away.
"This white boy's crazy!"
After a few seconds, both the guards and the other inmates simply returned to their business. That little demonstration was a common occurrence, minus the hinted cannibalistic threat. But Tony had bought himself a month of being left alone... At least by the riff raff.
"You obviously aren't from around here, gringo," a voice said. Tony looked up to see a young Venezuelan, perhaps a couple years older than him, looking at him while holding a food tray.
"If you're here to steal my lunch money, you're too late," Tony said, going back to his food. "Like I said, this food is terrible and I'm had my fill of fighting today."
Tony was surprised to hear an amused chuckling. "Ay, relax, gringo. I ain't here to jump ya, man." The man sat down in front of him. "I'm Jose Perez." He stuck out his hand.
"Tony DiNozzo." He shook the hand.
"You're the gringo everyone here's talking about. Your reputation proceeds you. Habla Espanol?"
Tony made a so-and-so gesture with his non-eating hand. "Algunas."
Perez nodded. "Excellente. You can help me with my English and I can help you with your Spanish."
"I'm not here to make friends, Jose."
Perez chortled. "Ah, si, but everyone needs one friend, no? Other wise it gets lonely and you... how do you say in English... Loco?"
"Crazy?"
Perez snapped his fingers. "Si. Si. Crazy. Gracias."
"You got a girl back home, gringo?"
"No," Tony said, shaking his head. But he thought about it. "Well, sort of."
Perez raised an eyebrow, indicating for Tony to continue. "Coworker. I got a soft spot for her."
Perez just sat there for a few minutes. He just stared into Tony. Then what came out of him sounded like a laugh from hell. Perez almost choked on his own laughter.
"Gringo, let me tell you something," he said. "From personal experience. Mira, never, ever, ever date a coworker."
"You sound like my boss," Tony said.
Perez chuckled. He pulled a sauce bottle from his tray and handed it to Tony. "Try the sauce. It makes this prison mierda slightly tolerable. I'll see you later, gringo."
Tony took the sauce and looked at it, then looked at Perez. He had a strange feeling he would see him again.
WASHINGTON DC
THREE MONTHS INTO TONY'S
CAPTIVITY
Kate woke up slowly, her vision blurry and her head pounding like a Mandalorian gong. And for once, it wasn't the liquor that she had binged which combined with the prescribed painkillers made her hangover worse. Three months had passed and they were no closer to finding Tony then the day they were shot down. She had finally stopped crying herself to sleep by last month. Well... she stopped crying herself to sleep every single night. Last night was different. The booze, the pain meds and her emotions came out last night. She almost called an ex-boyfriend to drown her sorrow in drunk-pity sex. Kate guessed only God's will, and the fact she couldn't hold the phone for five seconds, kept her from doing so.
Gibbs had let her have a month of paid vacation to recover from her injuries. Her body was still aching but she was able to work in the last two months. Survivor's guilt was killing her. It should've been her. She should be there with Tony finding a way out of Venezuela. Tony was probably locked away in some Venezuelan prison being tortured for information... if not worse.
Kate's phone lit up the room. It was McGee.
"McGee?"
"Hey, we got a development on Tony."
"What?" Kate sat straight up in her bed. She regretted it a second later when he hung over brain began pounding her skull. She mentally swore to never drink again... only to realize seconds later that was a big lie... "What's up?"
"Well, I have to go on the record that you didn't hear this from me," McGee started. "In fact, you aren't supposed to know this. It's very top s-"
"McGee, I am hungover and I'm feeling vomit coming up soon so if you don't wanna hear that over the phone, you might wanna get to the fucking point."
In the days before cell phone video chatting, Kate could mentally image McGee making a face that said 'Jesus fucking Christ, I didn't need to hear or image that'. Inwardly, she laughed.
"Uh, well, I, uh, wanted to let you know that we have discovered that the CIA has an undercover agent in one of Venezuela's prisons."
"Sabeneta?" Kate asked.
"I'm not sure. The CIA firewall I had managed to crack went back up before I could anymore information. But if Tony and this agent are in the same prison, safe to say Tony's got an ally that could help him."
"That doesn't help much, but thanks McGee."
"No problem. Are you going to be okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just gonna take a vacation day. I'll be in tomorrow. I'm too fucking hungover to work today."
"I understand. See you tomorrow."
A few minutes after hanging up, Kate managed to slowly open her aching eyes. The first thing she saw was the painting of Saint Michael hanging on her wall. While on spending spree after getting his tax returns, Tony had one time gotten everyone at the office gifts. He had gotten Gibbs a new wood shaver for his boat projects. He got McGee a Windows program he bought a store. Tony decided to buy Kate a medium painting of Saint Michael the Archangel.
"A gift from one lapsed Catholic to a devout Catholic!" he had said. Kate actually appreciated it.
Kate's legs barely obeyed her brain's command to get her out of bed. She approached the painting and placed her hand on the it, not as a counter weight to her drunk ass but to sincerely pay homage to the Archangel as much as her drunk ass could do.
"Saint Michael, please look after Tony," Kate prayed, crossing herself. "Lend him your wings."
MONTH FOUR IN CAPTIVITY
VENEZEULA
Tony had made a name for himself. At first, the inmates just called him gringo... for obvious reasons. But after a few scraps with some the more bullyish and unruly inmates, Tony had gathered a nickname.
El Italiano.
Everyone knew his name was Tony DiNozzo but Tony never answered to that name anymore. If you wanted his attention, it was Italiano or walk away. Even the guards respected this rule. Tony and Perez had gotten close. They had become the Obi-Wan and Anakin of the prison. Perez arranged for Tony to participate in boxing matches with other inmates. As long as the guards got their cut and nobody died, they looked the other way. The no killing rule wasn't a humanitarian thing, they just didn't wanna have to bury a body and deal with the paperwork. Tony rarely lost a fight and when he did, he made it hell for his opponent. Tony had made a great deal of money but more importantly, a feared reputation. Sometimes, prisoners would avoid him. Others keep their eyes on him when he entered the room. Some prisoners even nodded at him. Along with fear, there was also respect.
Tony went to the cafeteria with the rest of Wing A. They got their slop. No. Slop was more edible than this. But whatever. He went to his table. Some prisoners came to him to greet him, some to kick up to him. But mostly, unless invited, only Perez just sat with him without invitation. After all this time, it was less because they feared DiNozzo, though fear was there, but because they respected El Italiano.
"Hey, Italiano!" a voice cried.
Tony turned to find Perez and two others coming up toward him. Tony motioned for them to sit with him at the table. "Please, my friends here call me Italiano. You may call me Tony."
"Okay, Tony," Perez said. The other two sat on the table, as if to project an enclosed meeting.
Tony looked around. "I take it this is important."
"Muy importante."
"What do you have in mind? Another washroom boxing match with the Colombians?"
"No. Okay, mira, listen up because I'm only to say this once," Perez said.
Tony raised an eyebrow, indicating to Perez that he had Tony's full attention. He leaned in. "I'm listening..."
"We're getting the fuck outta here," Perez declared. "We're gonna escape."
"Escape?" Tony repeated, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Shaving kits in Sabaneta were in very short supply. "My favorite two-syllable word. What's your plan? I take it you're including me on this or else you wouldn't be talking to me."
Perez smiled. "That's why we're here. We can't do it without you, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."
Tony smiled.
Yeah... it's been a while... Been dealing with some personal stuff, finding work, the election, new nephew blah blah blah.
Got a new job that includes my first membership in a labor union at 27 years old. Call your congressmen/senators to tell them to support the PRO-Act.
And for God's sake, stop bing buying gasoline...