Dear Readers: We are getting closer to the truth in this chapter! This is chapter 8 out of 10, so nearing the finale. Thanks, everyone who has commented. In this type of forum, a writer can feel somewhat disconnected from their readers unless they hear from them, so it's great to know you're enjoying my story.

Also - for some reason when I respond to your comments, FF doesn't seem to be sending them. I'll try on another computer! ~ Rose

CHAPTER 8

Hypnosis

The easier you can make it inside your head, the easier it will make things outside your head.

~ Richard Bandler

"They're getting out of their seats. Getting drinks," Tony said, his eyes half-closed as he slowly remembered what had happened. "Chris helps me get my jacket off, looks at my arm. It's just a gouge, through the muscle. He bandages it, does a better job than I did. He's a good guy."

Ducky encouraged him to continue.

Tony frowned, trying to recall what happened. He remembered tossing his bloodstained jacket on top of his bag at his feet, and when he looked up the length of the plane…

His heart starts to race. "He's talking to the senator. Looks angry. Shit, he's coming back here."

"Who is, Tony?"

"Skinny-tie guy. Raymondo. Really nice suit, looks like Prada. He's smiling at me, talking, asking questions, real slick. It doesn't feel right. He's… casual, but I get the feeling he's about to pounce. I can tell Chris doesn't like him." Tony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before continuing. "I ask him, 'Eres Cubano?' He says, 'No, acere, yo soy de Miami.'" Tony snorted. "I tell him we're not buddies. He keeps smiling but his eyes are angry. I ask him if his accent is Cuban, and he says his parents were Cuban. I get the feeling he knows who I am. I don't like… being cornered."

"Is he threatening you?" Ducky asked. "Remember we are here, Anthony, and nobody can hurt you."

Tony shook his head. "It's not that."

Something's wrong. He's in danger and he isn't sure why. Chris feels it, too, because he goes to stand up, but Raymondo gives him a look – that's all it takes – and Chris drops back into his seat. He's never known Chris to back down from anyone.

Raymondo is talking, casual conversation, but Tony doesn't take it in. Chris says something sarcastic, and the Cuban doesn't like it. He speaks harshly. "Es mejor si recuerdas a quién eres leal."

Tony mumbles the words in English, "It's better if you remember who you're loyal to."

• • • • •

"You fucker. Don't you dare question my loyalty," Chris says angrily. "I've done everything you've asked."

"And so have we," Raymondo counters. "Just make sure it remains that way, or she won't like it."

There's a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Raymondo's dark eyes are on Chris, and he smiles, not in a nice way. Then Raymondo turns his head and looks at Tony's bandaged arm and the blood on his sleeve. "Sticking your nose someplace it shouldn't be?"

"Just an innocent bystander," Tony replies with an insincere smile.

Chris has had enough. He's on his feet and gets in Raymondo's face, rattling off something in Spanish…Tony doesn't catch it all but it's obvious he's telling the man to keep the fuck out of his way. The showdown ends with Raymondo smirking and heading back to the front of the cabin.

Still pissed off, Chris says needs a drink before going to the galley.

• • • • •

Tony's fingers grip the armrests of the chair. He knows he's in Gibbs' living room, but if anyone asks him, he'd have to say he's on board the jet, observing everything as it unfolds rather than being a participant. Because right now that's his reality.

"Chris comes back. He's got beer and a big glass of a pink juice. There's a man right behind him. I can't see who it is but I know it's the guy who came on board last…"

The man's coming closer. He can't see him and all of a sudden he doesn't want to know who it is. Something's wrong. He wants to get up, to face him head-on, but he's frozen in place. He starts breathing faster, his mouth goes dry and he makes a funny sound when he tries to speak.

Gibbs is touching his arm, saying something… Ducky wants him to wake up… but Tony's in too deep to let this go. He finds his voice and says, "I know who it is… before I even see him."

Gibbs tells Ducky to wait, and asks, "Who is it?"

Tony stares straight ahead. Chris takes his seat and places their drinks on a fold-out tray, allowing the other man to come forward.

Tony whispers, "Shit, it's Alejandro Rivera. And the fucker's smiling."

• • • • •

Alejandro is acting concerned over Tony's injuries, like he gives a shit. He takes a seat facing Tony and says, "When Senator Landry invited me to join him on his return trip to the United States, I had no idea you would be joining us. I am so sorry that you, a guest to your country, were injured."

One of the Colombians joins them. It's Paolo. He stands there, watching Tony closely, his eyes hard. Raymondo has positioned himself next to Alejandro, looking like he's ready for action. Their presence makes the lounge area feel even smaller than it is. Senator Landry is at the front of the plane, engaged in conversation with Garcia, apparently unaware of what is going on in the back.

Chris hands Tony the glass of juice and says, "It's sandia. Watermelon." Tony won't drink anything that doesn't come in a sealed bottle, for fear it might be drugged, and he hesitates. Ignoring their audience, Chris smirks. "I poured it myself, and don't worry about the ice cubes. They're made from Perrier."

Tony thinks that getting Montezuma's revenge from contaminated ice is the least of his worries right now.

"You know, you Americans come down to Mexico and act like you own the place," Alejandro says, shaking his head ruefully. "You are like children, blind to the danger can that can erupt without any warning on public streets."

"Like that little show you put on earlier today?" Tony asks dryly. He casually sips the cold drink in his hand. Not too sweet, and just what he needs right now to ease his dry mouth. "Quite theatrical, Señor Rivera, but over the top. I'll just bet you were a theater major in college. Let me guess… Harold Hill in The Music Man? Am I right, or am I right?" From Alejandro's annoyed expression, Tony knows he hit the nail on the head.

"You are referring to that most unfortunate episode in the plaza? I didn't realize you were there," Alejandro replies, lying between his teeth. He eyes Tony's bandaged arm. "I see you did not emerge unscathed, Agent DiNozzo."

"Oh, this is nothing," Tony counters, even though his head is killing him and his arm is aching. He drinks half the glass of juice, enjoying the feeling of the cool liquid sliding down his throat. He really doesn't have the energy for a sparring match with anybody right now, but neither is he about to give the Mexican government-official-come-drug-trafficker the satisfaction of getting the better of him.

Chris is staring at Tony. "Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony doesn't have the time or energy to explain it right now, so he offers an apologetic shrug.

"And former NCIS agent Mike Franks?" Alejandro puts on a sad face that fools nobody. "I heard he was there. Such a shame he was hurt. I hope not too badly."

"Don't you worry. Nothing happened to him he won't get over. If I know Franks, he's planning his counter-attack even as we speak," Tony says, glad to see a flash of worry in Alejandro's eyes.

"You Americans cannot see that you are not welcome to interfere in our business. It can be treacherous to do so; next time you see Franks, be sure to relate that to him. He, and your Agent Gibbs, have no respect for me and my family," Alejandro counters angrily.

Tony replies, a hard edge to his voice, "Why should we? You sent your man Dean to kill Special Agent Lara Macy, just to prove some kind of point? But now Dean's dead, shot down by me and my agents, by the way. And I hear your sister tried to blackmail Gibbs. Really?" He laughs. "A waste of time, and, if I may say so, a really bad miscalculation. You see, anyone who knows Gibbs knows he'll never do Paloma's bidding. And as far as Mike Franks goes, you lured him to Mérida to kill him. That didn't work out so well, did it?"

Livid, Alejandro yells, "My sister and I will do whatever it takes to exact revenge from the man who killed our father! Agent Gibbs, and Franks, they plotted against my family. It may have been twenty years ago, but it is not something we will ever forget! We have sworn that we will hunt down and kill everyone Gibbs ever cared about! Everyone – Miss Sciuto, Dr. Mallard, Gibbs' father – they will suffer! But first, I promise you, I will cut off Gibbs' legs, and his arms, and gouge out his eyes in front of them so they will see what it is like to have a loved one slaughtered…"

Everyone is staring at Alejandro at this point, as he is practically spitting out his plans for revenge. Tony's had enough and he rises to his feet. There isn't much space, and Raymondo and Paolo don't move. Tony ignores them and gets in Alejandro's face. "You're a low-life drug dealer, Alejandro, just like your father was," he sneers. "The day Hernandez murdered one of our agents, and the woman and child he was protecting – Gibbs' family – he signed your death warrant. Gibbs will never allow you or your sister to escape being punished for the crimes you've committed. He's gonna take you down, and your entire operation, too, stinking brick by brick. He's gonna drive you into the dirt, and me and the team, we're gonna help him, and in case you don't know our record, we always get our man, and you can take that to the fucking bank." Tony pokes Alejandro in the chest for emphasis, and is rewarded by seeing the outraged expression on the man's face.

"You cannot speak like that to me!"

"Yeah, well I just did!" Chris grips Tony's elbow and tries to get him to back away, but Tony shakes him off. "You know what, Alejandro? You're the biggest pussy ever, hiding behind your sister's skirts and pretending to be an upstanding government official… You don't think anyone buys into that, do you? Hell, everyone is laughing at you behind your back. They say you're a drug-dealing murderer's weak and ineffectual son, a whiney little kid who lets his big sister run the whole operation." Tony snorts and shakes his head.

Alejandro is red in the face and breathing hard as he faces Tony. He shakes his fist in Tony's face and shouts, "You cannot stop us! We will take you down, Gibbs and your precious friends! We will have revenge for our father!" With a flourish, he pulls some folded papers from his jacket pocket and waves them under Tony's nose. "This is for my sister, all the details of your friends' lives: Ms. Sciuto bowls at 7 PM on Wednesday nights, drives a 1931 red Ford coupe, license plate SCIGIRL, lives on 1500 Trinity Street in a converted church… Jackson Gibbs, Maple Street, Stillwater, Pennsylvania, drinks at the Old Suds every Saturday night from 8 to 9:45, has a dental appointment on Monday with Dr. Bricker and is due for his annual check-up on–"

"You touch one hair on anyone's head and I'll personally castrate you," Tony replies angrily. How the hell did Alejandro obtain his friends', damn it, his loved ones' personal information? "Revenge may be your family's middle name, but you don't get it. You and your sister can never win against Leroy Jethro Gibbs! Paloma's delusional if she thinks she can get away with this."

"You do not know my sister very well, do you?" Alejandro retorts.

"Which reminds me, where is that sister of yours?" Tony looks around as if he expects Paloma to pop up out of nowhere. He leers at Alejandro and says suggestively, "She must be busy recruiting drug dealers to work for her, fucking her way up to the Canadian border. That's a fuck-load of men to get into bed with in order to sell your drugs. But then she must be used to spreading her legs for strangers by now because it's obvious you can't satisfy the bitch!"

"You do not speak about my sister in that way!" Alejandro erupts and lurches forward, intent upon getting his hands around Tony's neck, but Tony swings around and strikes Alejandro in the throat with his forearm. Alejandro goes down, clutching his throat, making terrible gagging sounds.

Instantly, Tony is forced facedown in the narrow aisle. He fights with everything he's got, kicking hard, and someone yells in pain. Chris is shouting, "You can't do this! Get off–" but there's the sound of fists hitting flesh and he's silenced. Tony fights for his life with everything he's got, and just as he gets free and stumbles to his feet, Raymondo grabs a fistful of his hair. There's a sharp pain in his neck, and, just like someone pulled a plug, all the strength saps out of his body.

He's being dragged to the rear of the cabin and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He's face up, but he can't move, paralyzed by whatever they injected him with. His vision is blurry but he can make out Chris on the floor; his nose is bloody and one eye is swelling. From what seems far away, Senator Landry is looking at the scene with a horrified expression; he's protesting but it doesn't do any good. One of the Colombians holds a handkerchief to his mouth, his eyes black with anger; must be the guy he hit square on.

They're hovering, planning what to do with him like they're haggling over the price of soybeans, Raymondo and the Colombians, and then Alejandro pushes the men aside, and his face is swimming above Tony's, all twisted with hate. He grabs Tony's shirtfront and lifts him just enough to shake him. Tony's head falls back and flops around. He has no control over his muscles.

Alejandro threatens him in a rasping voice, barely audible. "My sister is going to be very happy when I bring you to her. You are going to be the perfect gift. She will take great pleasure in breaking you apart, giving you so much pain you'll wish a thousand times you were dead. And then we're going to do the same to all your friends."

Tony wants to laugh at the dramatics but he can't. He's having trouble just breathing, and, as the lights fade and the world grows dark, he thinks, "I wish I'd had more time."

• • • • •

Tony sat up abruptly. He looked around wildly, thinking, for a moment, he was still on the jet. He held a hand to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. He coughed and chokes a little, but managed to calm down enough to breathe.

"Everything is all right," Ducky said, his voice calm.

Gibbs was at Tony's side, one hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Good thing, because he was sweating and feeling damned shaky. It felt like he had suddenly awakened from a bad dream, a really bad one, and even though he was alert, tendrils of the dream still clung to him. This was hardly the relaxed state he'd heard was the norm when emerging from hypnosis. Struggling out of the chair, Tony mumbled he needed to take a piss, and bolted for the bathroom on unsteady legs.

Once the door was shut behind him, Tony splashed cold water over his face. He leaned over the sink, eyes closed tightly until his breathing evened out and he didn't feel like he was going to puke. God, he hated that they'd seen him like that, especially Gibbs.

And then it struck him that the hypnosis seemed to have worked. He remembered meeting Chris and the senator, those men on the jet. And going one-on-one with Alejandro, just like little kids insulting each other in the schoolyard.

'Mine's bigger than yours!'

'No, it's not.'

'Is too.'

What was thinking, getting into a fight with the fucking cartel at 40,000 feet?

Just before he'd passed out, Alejandro had said something to him. It seemed important that he should remember. But what was it? Tony tried to recall the exact words. Something about Tony being a gift for his sister? He shuddered at the thought of what that horror show would involve. Probably gang rape and a chainsaw. "Okay, this is not Scarface," Tony reminded himself.

Except… whatever Alejandro Rivera had planned for him had never come to fruition. He'd never been dropped into Paloma's eagerly waiting arms. Or, at least, as far as he knew, he hadn't. After all, he was still alive and, mercifully, intact. Now, thanks to the hypnosis, and, presumably, Abby's drug that had broken down its molecular structure or whatever, he remembered being on the jet flying to DC… and being taken down by Alejandro and his friends… but after that? He was drawing a blank.

The last thing Tony remembered was being tackled and dumped on the aircraft floor, and next thing, it was as if he had been magically transported onto the sidewalk in front of Gibbs' house. It felt like he was back to square one – wondering what the hell had occurred during the missing hours?

Okay, so he now knew more about his actions and recalled the flight to DC. Due to airport surveillance he was aware Chris had pushed him into an SUV, and Raymondo Cruz had driven them away from the airport. Cruz had been found dead only minutes away, Chris and the SUV had disappeared, and he had… had somehow ended up at Gibbs' house, alive.

Eventually, Tony emerged from the bathroom and found Gibbs waiting for him in the living room. Tony took a seat on the couch, not sure what the next step was, or even what to say.

Ducky came from the kitchen and pressed a mug of hot, sweet tea into his hands. Tony nodded his thanks. For once, he felt unable to speak.

"A fascinating thing about the history of hypnosis…" Ducky began, as he turned on a couple of table lamps.

Gibbs hovered, not saying anything, but Tony was well aware of the pitying looks being sent his way. Finally, he'd had enough, so he glared at Gibbs in an outright challenge for him to say something. Instead of responding with words, Gibbs gave Tony a crooked smile, pulled out his cell phone and ordered a pizza.

Once the order was placed, Gibbs got himself a cup of coffee and sat next to Tony, close enough that their knees occasionally bumped. Feeling nervous, Tony covered it up by finding his voice and talking. "I still don't know how I got from the jet to your front door, Boss. The plan was to take me to Paloma. I really don't want to think about what was supposed to happen next."

"Okay. Describe them, everyone on the plane," Gibbs said, all business.

"Really, Jethro," Ducky protested. "Anthony has just been through the wringer."

"We need to know," Gibbs replied, his tone unyielding.

At that moment Jackson joined them, his hair a little tousled and his cheeks pink. "Nothing like a nap to refresh the old brain." He lowered himself into an easy chair without being invited and turned to Tony. "What's going on? Is Leroy riding you too hard, son?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes at his father.

"It's okay," Tony said, because talking facts over feelings was fine by him. "The boss is right. We need to get to the bottom of this. I remember the jet was a Global 6000, great headroom. Chris Landry – his father is Senator Matt Landry – I knew Chris from Ohio…" Tony described Chris and his father in succinct terms – height, weight, appearance, other details – then went on to the passengers. "There was Raymondo, no last name, Cuban parents, six-feet, wearing Prada. He's the dead guy in the park."

"Raymondo Cruz, formerly CIA, then high up in the Reynosa cartel," Gibbs said with a nod.

Tony kept on until he'd described all the passengers on the jet, and then he said, thinking aloud, "That park is only a few minutes south of the airport. It's the only stretch along that bit of road that isn't built up; the highway comes up soon after. Maybe Chris stuck a gun in CIRaymondo's back, ordered him to drive into the park. It wasn't dark yet, maybe 5 o'clock."

Gibbs agreed. "Something pretty bad must have gone down to make Landry force Cruz to pull over, and them kill him."

Tony couldn't figure Chris out. His old friend had lied to him about his connection with the Reynosa cartel, although nobody in the drug business was going to freely admit to it, not even to an old friend. Still, it had been obvious Chris hated Raymondo, and he had done his best to protect Tony. He had even gotten himself beaten up for trying to prevent Alejandro's men from drugging him.

Tony said slowly, "I think Chris killed Cruz to stop from stashing me in whatever hole he and Alejandro planned to keep me in – until they could hand me over to Paloma. He saved my life, Gibbs."

• • • • •