Warning: There's foul language and violence in this story. I'll be rating this PG-13, or so.
I hope you enjoy this story. Please read and review. Many thanks go to my ever-patient beta Rinne.
Chapter Three
Petey jumped at the sound of the phone ringing.
Soldero picked it up and barked, "Yeah."
"This is Captain William Harding, who's this?"
Soldero snorted. "It doesn't matter. We want a van with a full tank of gas; a clear route to the airport; a private plane with a full tank of gas; and two million dollars."
"That's a big order, son," Harding drawled. "It'll take some time to get all that together."
"You got 2 hours."
"Now listen, son, you gotta give me something in return, you know, a show of good faith."
Ryan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Harding looked over at Gibbs as he spoke, "I hear there were shots fired. This injured Fed you have, send him out so he can get medical help."
Snorting, Ryan yelled into the phone, "No way, man. He's our insurance. He's coming with us until we know we're safe."
"I'm afraid that's not an option, son…"
"Stop calling me son!"
"Okay," soothed the detective. "What do you want me to call you?"
Thinking, Ryan looked at Angela with a grin. "Butch, Butch Cassidy."
Harding laughed. "Okay, Butch. How about we compromise? You let us send some EMT's in there, check out the Fed and anyone else that needs help while we're pulling together the money and vehicles. That okay with you?"
Thinking for a second, Ryan nodded. "Okay," he said, "but no tricks. You got that? I'll kill a hostage, I got nothing to lose."
"Stay calm, Butch, no one needs to die. We'll send someone in."
Detective Harding broke the connection. "Okay, we're going to send in the EMT's."
Gibbs said, "What if we send in my people dressed as EMT's?"
The older detective looked at Gibbs in surprise. "They won't be able to carry weapons, they'll be searched."
"They're not professionals, we can conceal weapons somehow," scoffed Gibbs.
"But what about your guy? He's going to need real medical help."
Ziva spoke up, "I have some basic medical knowledge, enough to help stop the flow of blood and hopefully stabilize Tony's condition until we can get the real medical people in there. I can even insert an IV."
"Is there anything you can't do?" muttered Abby under her breath.
"I can't analyze blood, or process evidence that isn't weapons-related," replied Ziva. "I can't work a computer, or slam-dance."
Looking embarrassed, Abby lowered her eyes. "Anybody can slam-dance, there's nothing to it," she murmured. She looked up at Ziva and smiled apologetically. "I can take you to a club, if you're interested."
Ziva smiled. "We can drag Tony and McGee with us, after Tony's recovered well enough, of course."
"Enough," interrupted Gibbs. "We have to get Tony out of there before you can discuss killing him at some punk club. McGee, Ziva, go get into EMT gear. Abby, go back and monitor those security cameras. Keep an eye on the bank robbers, and watch Tony, see if he moves."
Tony rolled over onto his side to take the pressure off his hands. The small movement sent shockwaves of pain through his entire torso. Taking small breaths, he waited until the fireworks behind his eyes died down. Looking around he spotted one of the robbers.
"Hey," he rasped. Raising his voice a bit more he tried again, "HEY!"
Frank Balducci jumped at the sound, whirled around and pointed his weapon in Tony's direction.
"Whoa," Tony said quickly. "Don't shoot, I'm not armed, and I'm tied up, anyway."
Shaking his head to clear it, the nervous youth looked down at Tony. "What do you want?"
Clearing his throat, Tony tried to make his voice calm and soothing. "Look, kid. I can tell you guys hadn't counted on something like this. Why don't you just give up, before something really serious happens and someone gets killed?"
Laughing humorlessly, Frank shook his head. "Too late, Joey killed one of the tellers. They got us for murder now."
Closing his eyes briefly, Tony took a short breath. "You didn't kill him. Right now, all you're guilty of is attempted robbery, possession of a deadly weapon, holding hostages…those sound bad, and they are serious, but they're not murder."
The effort of trying to speak was having an effect on the injured agent. He had broken out into a sweat and was starting to feel light-headed. He had to keep it together, to convince at least one of the bank robbers that they should give themselves up.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Frank."
"Okay, Frank. Listen to me, please. Talk to your friends. Tell them this has gone bad, that you're making a mistake. The police aren't going to just let you walk out of here, and if you kill any more people, you may not make it out of here alive." Tony dropped his head back to the floor, unable to lift it any longer.
Uncertain, Frank turned and looked at his other companions, all wallowing in their own private misery. The cop was right. This was really bad and no one seemed to know what to do to get out of it. Ryan looked like he was about to implode, and if Petey he didn't get another fix soon, he'd start climbing the walls.
He looked back over at Tony, but the man had lost consciousness and was lying there, breath hitching unevenly, looking like he was about to croak.
"The medical guys are here," yelled Ryan. "Joey, Frank, cover them so I can check their equipment."
Angela opened the front door and let the two EMT's through the door while the other two gunmen pointed their weapons at them. Ryan took their cases and opened them, rummaging through the various medical supplies. He then went up and patted the two down.
"Okay," he said. "Over there." He pointed the two techs over to where Tony lay.
The two medics walked quickly over to the injured agent and knelt next to him, checking his pulse and breathing.
"Is it necessary to keep him tied up like this?" asked McGee. "He's in pretty bad shape, he's no threat to you."
"I've seen what the Feds can do on TV," eeplied Soldero. "He can probably still kick our butts."
"That's television," murmured Ziva, "not real life. This man has lost too much blood to stand, much less fight." She carefully pulled Tony's shirt away from his bullet wound, noting the powder burns on the fabric. Gently, she turned him over and found a bigger exit wound. "We need to get him to a hospital right away." She pulled some heavy bandaging to place against the exit wound, taping it in place securely. She repeated the procedure on the wound on Tony's side.
"Can we please get these cuffs off?" she asked.
Rummaging around in Tony's pockets, McGee pulled out the keys to the handcuffs. He held them up and looked questioningly at Ryan. After thinking a moment, Ryan nodded and McGee unlocked the cuffs, freeing Tony's hands. Gently, he and Ziva eased Tony onto his back, placing a rolled up towel under his head.
Ziva placed an oxygen mask over Tony's nose and mouth and started the flow of oxygen. Soon his eyelids began to flutter and he moaned softly. Blinking to help focus, Tony saw a familiar face.
"You're going to be all right, Agent DiNozzo," Ziva's voice was calming. "We're going to take care of you until we can get you to a hospital."
Tony blinked some more, his eyes going from Ziva's face to McGee's, both looking very intense and concerned. He nodded softly and closed his eyes again.
"How'd you know his name?" Joey looked at the two EMT's suspiciously.
Ziva ignored him, motioning to McGee to continue working on the injured agent. She stood and looked at Ryan. "If you're not going to let us take him to the hospital, we need to move him out of this drafty area, and out of that pool of blood," she said, approaching the young man cautiously.
"Okay," agreed Ryan.
"I asked you a question, bitch," yelled Joey.
Ziva whirled on him, her eyes narrowed. "What did you call me?"
"Joey!" yelled Ryan. "Shut up!"
"She knew the Fed's name," Joey's voice rising in pitch and volume. "How did she know his name?"
"The cops probably know the names of everyone in here!" screamed Angela. "They probably know our names too! We're gonna go to prison!"
"I'm not going to prison." Joey was hysterical now, he began waving his gun around wildly. Petey started howling in fear, his weapon discharging accidentally, shattering some windows.
Ziva made her move.