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Chapter Four
Gibbs weaved crazily in between cars, his lips tight. Tony said nothing,
although he was full of questions. At first, leaving the District, the highway could lead them anywhere. But after a few sharp turns, the crowded capital turned into the charming Virginian countryside. With each turn, it appeared more and more rural, until they came to a familiar white farmhouse.
The young man knew it well. He and his boss had brought Kate home from here. She had been furious that she let Haswari take her, and even more so when he, and the DC cell, had cleared out of the assassin's headquarters. They had found her, locked up and alone, just as the "double agent" had said.
Why hadn't he killed her then? Was it because it would destroy his cover, making it impossible to launch missiles onto thousands of innocent civilians and military personnel? Or was it that he really wished to harm the Marine-turned agent, if it meant taking out his whole team?
Why would he do these things? Many years as a homicide cop with the Baltimore
Police Department could not answer that. Kate was the one with extensive
criminal psychology training. What had she said about Haswari?
"He wasn't in it for religion."
She had said he had made no mention of anything connected with religion. Not
your typical terrorist. But then, how did they earn that name?
He really had had everyone fooled. Even Kate, who had the most instinctive
instincts. She called it woman's intuition; Tony himself referred to it as
naturally field agent guts. She had possibly been more fooled than anyone had. Even after Gibbs had made it clear that "eyes will lie", she was convinced that it was something in his eyes that stopped her from stabbing him. Kate, who was trained to shoot first and ask questions later, not able to stab her captor! Stockholm Syndrome—perhaps, but there was something more. Something that both let her be terrified, and sympathize with Haswari. She had been wrong—and she had lived to see that. But she had not lived to fix the mistake. That was now their job.
Gibbs cleared his throat, and Tony realized he was already out of the sedan and waiting for him. He stepped out, and, although it was only May, felt a cold breeze blow through him. A shiver went down his spine, and not from the cold. When he and his boss had located Kate here, he searched the house, while Gibbs took the rest of the premises. Tony was the one to find Kate—cold, alone, tired, hungry—and angry. Yet still able to throw a smart-mouthed response to him. As always, she was herself. Kate, even a half a second before she was killed, was herself. She, no matter how hard she tried, could never be anyone else. Maybe that was what made her so different from the girls he dated. What made him love her so much.
Northern Virginia in late May was normally warmer. The cool breeze was
unexpected—and eerie. Like a bad omen.
"What are we looking for, boss?" Tony asked, uncertainly looking up at the
abandoned old house.
"Anything—anything we might have missed the first search."
"FBI primarily performed that search."
"Yeah, and with their thoroughness they probably missed something."
Tony nodded. "Okay, want me to throw a rock through the window, or climb through
the opened second story?"
Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Dinozzo, sometimes I wonder how PD put up with you so
long. You are a special agent. Even a five year old who has done nothing but
read the Hardy Boys knows you pick the lock."
"Right……you read the Hardy Boys as a kid, boss? I always was more into Nancy
Drew."
Gibbs snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"
Gibbs bent to the lock, picked it, and swung the door open. The downstairs
windows were all boarded up, letting no light in. Both agents turned on their
flashlights.
Although it had only been a year since Al-Quaeda abandoned their headquarters, the building looked as if it had not been touched in decades. The cobwebs, the musty smell, all the factors showed how disorder had taken over.
"Terrorists aren't much for cleaning up," Tony thought, as he watched flies buzz around the trash. It was obvious Al-Quaeda had left in a hurry—why else had they forgotten to take out the trash, or throw away the bloody napkin on the table?
That Gibbs bagged. "You want to take the upstairs, Dinozzo?"
As always with is boss, it wasn't a question. The agent nodded, and listened to the stairs creak under his own feet.It was brighter up here. Tony switched off his flashlight. He paused when he felt something squish under his feet. Mud. Funny, it looked fresh, but he hadn't remembered stepping in any.
He moved on, almost tripping over the broken leg of a sofa. He remembered that sofa from last time. It was in this room he had found Kate.
Maybe it was his guts, or maybe it was just a coincidence that he bent forward, pulling the cushion down.
A few papers lay, some in English, and some in Arabic under the cushion.
Of course! A sofa—the FBI should have found this—that was an obvious location. Most drug users hid their crack in a cushion or mattress.
He bent closer to examine the papers in English. "Ari Haswari, Washington DC,
USA." He read. These looked important. Why hadn't Al-Quaeda come back for them? Hearing footsteps behind him, he called out.
"Gibbs, you really gotta see this."
No answer.
He heard a shot, just as he whirled around, letting something sharp graze his
shoulder. The force knocked him down, and he hear more shots, not at him this
time, and finally a motorcycle fleeing in the distance.
Breathing hard, things went foggy.
He could barely hear his boss saying, "Stay with me, Tony," and hear him whip
out his cell phone, saying into it, "In need of assistance. I got an agent
down!"
"Stay with me, Tony," he heard it again, almost as a whisper.
Then everything disappeared into a world of darkness.