Abby awoke with a start. A glance confirmed she was still at work, something that had happened enough times that it didn't disorient her anymore. She sat up and focused on the clock at her desk. 2:38 a.m. Wonder what woke me up?' she thought. She stood and stretched, then paced her lab. No tests were running; all the critical lab work was finished and the results distributed hours ago. Now she was waiting for Tony to bring her whatever else he found from Erickson's . Pocketing her cell phone, she decided to take a walk and visit whomever was supposed to be keeping tabs on Tony and on Kate and Gibbs conditions.

Even with the night staff, the corridors had an eerie feeling. Somehow the last eighteen hours had taken on a menacing tone. From the moment she received Tony's call about Kate and Gibbs, the normally spunky girl felt unseen fingers of evil plucking at the edges of her world. She dealt with the evil that men do every day, as a matter of course. She tried to shake it off, tried to put it in its place, but this dark depravity would not be vanquished. It taunted her with every shadow, teased her with every whispered noise. She fought to summon a smile, the ghost of the laughter she might otherwise have had, to hold fear and dread at bay.

Hey guys, she called, as she entered the bullpen. Who's monitoring Tony's progress?

One of the other agents in the room gestured toward MTAC. Morrow, now. Apparently it's turned ugly.

Turned ugly? How much uglier... Wait, what happened? Fear bubbled up, threatened her composure.

Don't know. I wasn't listening. But whatever DiNozzo and Shales found, Morrow near had a fit.

Abby thanked the agent, not even bothering to note who it was. Breathe, dammit, just breathe,' she told herself. She'd been so afraid that someone else, that Tony, had been poisoned, or killed. She reached the sanctuary of her lab and sank to her knees on her futon, arms wrapped around herself, head bowed. The words were barely whispered, but they were uttered nonetheless. Whatever God is listening to me, you will bring them all home safe. You will protect them and heal them and bring them all back safe. You will not allow a man so devoid of humanity to defeat some of the most wonderful and most caring people to brighten the world. Trembling with the forcefulness of her declaration, she knew this was no mere supplication. Her burdened heart held no more room for doubt.

Tony and Christie stood side by side for the first time in hours, poised on the brink of what could be Hell.

So, Shales, you want to hand me that scanner? Cause I'm sure not setting foot on those stairs without it.

You want to check for any infrared switches first? Or any other kinds while you're at it? I don't relish stepping into whatever nut boy escalates to from electricity and rubber solvents.

Tony lay down on the floor and began examining the first of several stairs. No switches that I can see. He stood up, brushing himself off out of habit. Hang on, let me check up high.

The pace continued as they progressed down the stairs, with Tony checking for sensors both high and low and Christie scanning. At the bottom was a bare concrete floor covering a small open area and three doors.

Exhaling the breath she was unaware she'd been holding, Christie spoke up first. Now that was just way too easy.

Yeah. Creepy easy. Okay, ladies first. Pick a door. Tony held out his arm in a gentlemanly gesture.

Oh, thanks. Let me be the one that gets us killed. Okay, I pick... She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Door Number Two. She headed for the middle door, using the scanner to check for traps, switches, anything embedded in the door frame or surrounding woodwork.

Tony visually checked the area around the door for any other traps or switches. When each was satisfied they had found none, they gave the other a very wary nod. Tony held Christie back when she would have gone for the door.

No way, Shales. Let me do this. Slowly he turned the knob, every sense on high alert. He felt no clicks as the knob released and the door swung open. Cautiously he stepped ahead, just as Christie yanked at his back. He turned his head and she thrust the scanner at him. Giving her a grateful look, he continued into the room, using the scanner to guarantee safe progress.

As Tony entered he could see that the room was roughly rectangular in shape. There was a low screen of some type, maybe four to five feet high, dividing the room into equal sections. Moving slowly and carefully, Tony didn't like look of the room and as he rounded the edge of the screen he let out a string of profanity that would have scorched some of the most seasoned ears.

You gonna tell me what caused that, or you just gonna swear some more? Christie asked.

Holy cow, DiNozzo! I didn't think you knew some of those words! What gives? Harrison joined his partner's concern.

I'm going to have to have a serious discussion with Gibbs about your use of adjectives, buster. Now what's the problem? Even Owens couldn't stay out of it.

Tony moved to wipe his brow with his shaking hand, once again forgetting the helmet. How about, um, somewhere between thirty and fifty pounds of semtex rigged to blow in about forty-five minutes? If the timer's accurate.

His statement was met with varying echoes of his original profanity, and Owens' assurances that he'd call in the bomb squad.

Clamping down on his understandable alarm, Tony took a couple of minutes to check out the setup of the bomb. He was right about it being wired into the power, in a way. Erickson had set up a laptop to monitor Virginia Power; if it was programmed for more than that, he couldn't tell. There were also various runs of primer cord leading into the ceiling, giving him the impression that there were either other triggers or more explosives in the house. As he looked it over, Tony became nauseated at the idea that he'd been able to think enough like that madman to expect this.

So how did we trigger it? Christie asked, as Tony exited the room.

He couldn't answer for sure. I suppose I'd have to know what the original timer was, then I could guess. Could have been the porch, could have been the step you found n the kitchen, or the switch panel. Might have been a light switch somewhere, he shrugged. For all I know, the damn thing's been counting since Gibbs, Kate and I set foot on this cursed property. He redirected her attention to the more pressing matter.

All right -- two more rooms to check, and not much time to do it. Do we split up and take our chances that the doors are safe, considering Big Bertha there? Or do we go one at a time?

How about if we do a combination? Christie suggested. You visual one door while I scan the other, then we switch. If we move quickly, but thoroughly we should be able to do this. Then we can each search a room.

Good thinking, Shales. We'll make a topnotch agent out of you, yet. He gave her a genuine smile and a pat on the shoulder before taking the far left door.

They cleared the doors as quickly as possible, ever mindful of the clock ticking down. Carefully Christie opened Door Number One, as she thought of it, and peered inside. At first glance, she could see a small workbench, the shelves above it laden with bottles; amber, green and clear. Not all the labels were readable in the dim light, but the unmistakable skull and crossbones was easily visible on more than a few. Clearly this was the much sought after poison lab. She looked back at Tony, wondering if he would rather have this opportunity, knowing what he had endured this day. With that thought in mind, she headed for Door Number Three.

Tony's door opened into what appeared to be a working space for Erickson. A large, drafting-style table sat in the middle, papers and notebooks scattered upon it. To the right, bookcases lined the wall, filled with video tapes. He saw the camera , but it appeared to be pointed at a blank wall. He searched the paneling covering the wall and found a small door. Kneeling down, he carefully swung it open. And could not hold back the the gasp at what he saw.

Tony? Are you okay? Christie had just stepped inside the door.

Tony knew his voice was harsh. He tried to soften it some. What do you need?

I found the poison lab. I wondered if you wanted to be the one to...

Tony was shaking his head. No. I'll handle this room. Owens? You there? He choked out the words, anger and horror clutching at his throat.

What do you need, DiNozzo?

Erickson's been torturing people down here. Get those ladders set up, I don't want to risk the stairs. And we'll need at least two ambulances. I think some of them might survive.

The stunned look in Christie's eyes crashed into the sickened look in Tony's. She took a step in his direction, for what, she couldn't have said.

he snapped. That evidence is critical! Without it, everything else is just so much smoke and mirrors. Harrison! Get your butt in here and help her. Don't use the deck stairs and just stay to the right in the kitchen. Everything else is clear.

All four agents worked furiously as time seemed to bleed away. The bomb squad arrived, and having been briefed on the deadly nature of the house, miraculously didn't storm ahead and send them all up in a glorious inferno.

Geez, would I like to study this place! one of them said as Owens led them past Tony.

Tell you what, if you can keep it from blowing to hell and back, we'll let you study it when we're done with it. Right now, you got eighteen minutes, Tony threw over his shoulder, as he helped to heft yet another Stokes stretcher up the stairs.

Boxes of evidence flowed up the stairs in what felt like a never-ending chain. Chemicals, drugs, plants, venoms, notebooks, videos, correspondence; all of it bagged, tagged, packed and moved faster than any agent thought that it could possibly be done. Remembering his conversation with Abby, Tony saw the veterinary flea powder and nabbed the bag to examine it briefly. The main chemical component was indeed benzene hexachloride. Dual purpose,' he thought sourly, recalling the cages containing dead and dying dogs and cats, next to the abused and maimed human victims. His thoughts were interrupted by the captain of the bomb squad.

Okay, we think we have it in stasis. He waited expectantly.

Stasis. What's that mean to us? Tony couldn't shake the impression that this guy seemed more like a movie character than an experienced EOD agent.

Well, it means we've stopped it from counting down. At least we're ninety-eight percent sure we have. But we can't figure out how to defuse it. He swallowed uncomfortably.

The four NCIS agents exchanged brief glances. You watch the bomb, Tony instructed the squad captain, and we'll haul ass. Just in case.

The sky was pale with predawn light as they exited the house for the final time. Fatigue slowed their steps as they moved toward the trucks, the bomb squad still chattering animatedly behind them.

Now you know that bomb could still go off, right? The captain did not want any blame coming back on his desk.

As long as no one's in there when it does. Tony answered, tiredly. Still think napalm would be better.